The Woman in the Straw Hat

'Don't blame me,' I replied. 'I was just sitting here quietly minding my own business. Oh ... and enjoying the view.'

She smiled again. 'I'll, umm, go and make some more tea,' she said.

I could very happily have spent the rest of the afternoon with the mysterious woman; but the tide was coming in and so, after we had drunk our tea, I said that I had better go and check on the dinghy.

'Very well,' she said. 'I should probably go and do some work anyway.'

When I descended back to the beach, the incoming tide was just starting to lap at the stern of the dinghy. I slipped my shorts back on, untied the painter from the rock, and pulled the dinghy out to where it would float freely. Then I climbed in and rowed back out to Aquila. It was only just after three o'clock, and the breeze seemed to have come up a little, so I decided to sail a bit further up the coast to one of the spots that I had earlier picked out as a possible anchorage for the night.

The following morning I woke early and wrote for almost four hours. My Day of Rest (or something, anyway) had done the trick.

As I said, I had originally planned to sail as far as Anglesey Island. But, before I reached Anglesey, the gentle south-westerly that had been pushing me up the coast turned into a cold, stormy north-easterly, and so I headed back down south. As I got closer to the magical horseshoe bay, summer home of the naked woman with the straw hat, I thought briefly about making another visit. But, in the end, I didn't. In fact, I think that I must have sailed right past the entrance to the bay without even seeing it. The visibility that day was not great.

By the time I had crossed the Bristol Channel again, the storm had passed and the breeze had returned to the southerly quarter, and so I decided to spend a couple of days exploring some of the nooks and crannies of the North Devon coast. It was while I was anchored in one of the nooks that I decided to make a more thorough inspection of Aquila's 'library'.

The library, like the pots and the pans and various other bits and pieces, had come with the boat. It was a pretty eclectic little collection. Books on navigation and seamanship were interspersed with books by Agatha Christie, Ian Fleming, John Creasey, and John le Carré. There were also several cookbooks, and a copy of The Young Person's Guide to Sea Birds. I also discovered a well-thumbed copy of a book entitled Beside the Seaside: Erotic Tales from the Water's Edge. The author was Amanda Marbeck - not a name that I had previously encountered.

The first of the erotic tales from the water's edge was called 'The Man Who Put the Sex in Sussex by the Sea'. And it was both erotic and amusing. In fact, it was very amusing. And very erotic. I took an immediate liking to Amanda Marbeck.

After I had prepared and eaten some supper - and washed it down with a glass or two of Provençale rosé - I returned to Ms Marbeck's little volume.

The second story was entitled 'A Lone Eagle' - quite appropriate, I thought, given that Aquila - the name of my vessel - is, of course, Latin for eagle.

It was a perfect day [the story began], a day when one needed a hat. But nothing else. It was definitely not a day for clothes.

From the moment that I saw him manoeuvre his elegant yacht, gracefully, single-handedly, through the narrow entrance to the tiny bay, I knew that he would understand what I needed. Would he stay and do what I needed him to do? Yes, of course he would. How could he resist?

I took the private lift down to the tiny beach and watched as he came ashore. He would not have seen me standing behind the rocks. I watched as he stepped out onto the sand, secured his dinghy, removed his shorts, and then waded out into the Caribbean-warm water. I was tempted to join him. But I didn't. I just waited. And I watched.

When he returned to the beach, he spread out a towel and lay down in the early afternoon sun. Perhaps he was tired. Perhaps he had sailed all night. I don't know. You would have to ask him that. But, within minutes, he seemed to fall asleep. And then his beautiful cock began to rise. My grandmother was a great believer in the power of positive thinking, and - believe me - I was thinking very positively indeed as I watched his cock rise.

He was only asleep for a few minutes. 'Would you like some tea?' I asked when he awoke.