Two Sides to Every Story Pt. 02

Over a few beers I learnt that Honey was an executive at an internationally renowned bank. She was based in New York but considered Honolulu to be her spiritual home. The barman knew her so very well because she came to Hawaii five or six times a year.

Yet another laugh. 'That's not completely true,' she said. 'The Island Maiden is my spiritual home, and she lives here. That's why I come so regularly.'

'Let me guess,' said I, 'the Island Maiden's a boat.'

'That's correct. Do you want to see her?'

I had all the time in the world and gladly went with her to have a look. And I was immediately rendered speechless. I'd been expecting something small, not a contestant for the America's Cup.

'What sort of crew does this have?' I said eventually.

'Just me at the moment, and I can handle it. She's beautiful, isn't she?'

'She certainly is.'

I left my backpack on the polished wooden deck while Honey showed me around. I have to admit, I was impressed. Everything about the boat had five stars.

'This is my big holiday,' she told me, 'I usually only get to sail her for a week at a time. This time I have a whole month, starting today. Isn't that something else?'

My mind was whirring. What sort of mere "executive" could afford a vessel like this? And more to the point, what sort of employee could take a whole month off to go sailing?

A bloody important one, I concluded. Hot Honey must be a very powerful woman.

Hmmm . . .

'Won't they miss you?' I wondered out loud. 'At the bank, I mean.'

'Most of 'em will be happy I'm out of the way. They have sweepstakes about me retiring. Not that I'm going to give 'em the satisfaction; not in the foreseeable.'

'Where are you sailing to?' I asked into the ensuing silence.

'Nowhere in particular. Mostly I'll island hop. In-between I'll sail or drift and do nothing except be at one with nature. You should try it. It's very liberating.'

'I'd love to,' I said, completely forgetting the seasickness I'd once had on the ferry to Cherbourg.

'Come with me, then,' she said impulsively. 'Be my chief mate.'

Don't ask me why but my mouth moved of its own accord. 'Okay,' it said.

CHAPTER TWELVE

For the first few hours I felt like a spare part, hanging about on the deck while Honey did all sorts of complicated nautical things. She was clearly engrossed in what she was doing so I didn't even try to make conversation. Then, finally, she grinned at me.

'All shipshape,' she said. 'I'll just go change into my sailing gear, then we can have a drink.'

'Who's steering the boat?' I asked anxiously.

'It's self-steering, so don't worry yourself. We're out of traffic and heading towards the middle of nowhere. We won't find anyone to bump into for days.'

Moderately reassured, I scanned the horizons. Honey was right; we'd been out of sight of land for a while and there was no sign of other sails. There simply wasn't anything there to bump into.

When she returned with a wine bottle and two glasses I whistled in admiration. On shore Honey hadn't been wearing much: plimsolls, abbreviated shorts and a tiny bikini top. Her "sailing gear" showed off even more of her: it consisted of nothing at all.

'This is my way of being at one with nature,' she said. 'I hope you don't mind.'

I just grinned back at her. I certainly didn't mind. I was already in lust with Honey's face and those body parts she put on general display. Now, seeing the rest of her . . .

The woman was stacked. Her tan really was all- over and her stomach was as flat as a board. As for her tits . . .

'You're even more beautiful than your boat,' I said, stooping to unfasten my trainers.

'Not bad for fifty-eight,' she said.

I was undoing my own bikini top as she spoke. Stunned, I had a closer look and still didn't believe what I'd just heard.

'Forty-eight,' I said diplomatically. 'You don't seem anything like that sort of an age.'

'I'm fifty-eight and proud of it.'

'You ought to be,' I said, tossing my top onto a deckchair and stepping out of my shorts. 'You look as though you could run marathons.'

'I don't do a lot of running anymore, but I'm crazy about cross-country skiing. I regularly beat the men I come up against.' Then, noticing my eyes feasting on her pussy: 'Easy tiger. You'll make me blush.'

She handed me a glass and we sat cross-legged on the deck. The planking had been hot under my feet and was even hotter under my bare bum.

'Welcome aboard,' said Honey, chinking her glass against mine.

'Where's your husband?' I asked, pointing at her wedding band (you might think that that was a question I should have asked earlier, before we set sail; and you might well be right).

'We live in separate states, never mind separate houses. He's a big wheel in retail and never has any time off. He also hates sailing and we don't have kids. You could say we've drifted apart.' Her latest laugh was light and infectious. 'I haven't physically seen him in six months. With any luck I'll stretch that out until Christmas.'

The wine was white, icily chilled and deliciously dry. On top of my lunchtime beers it went straight to my head. Not that it made me drunk, I hasten to add. It just pushed aside my inhibitions. You know the ones: that tiny handful, the inhibitions I usually ignore anyway.

'Do you often pick up strange girls at the drop of the hat?'

'Me?' Honey's chuckle was throaty and suggestive. It was even better than her laugh. 'Only when I meet girls that have looks to die for. And girls with refined accents, of course.'

'I might not be as refined as I sound.'

'I'll settle for your looks, then.'

'You do realize I'm massively attracted to you?'

'Of course I do. I wouldn't have brought you along if there wasn't a spark between us.'

'A spark,' I echoed, 'I'm getting bolts of lightning, not sparks!'

*****

We flirted shamelessly while we finished the wine, talking about tastes and experiences. It was a good way of getting to know each other, and exciting too. Normally I'm in a hurry to get down to business, but that half hour or so was well spent.

'That's my lot for now,' Honey said as she drained her glass. Then, excitedly, 'Look, malolo!'

I followed her line of sight and saw something silver flashing through the air, perhaps two hundred yards away.

'It's a flying fish,' Honey explained. 'I must have seen thousands, but they always thrill me.'

I was still trying to focus on it as it neatly re-entered the water.

'That was only a short flight,' my hostess went on. 'If they get the right waves and wind they can go a lot farther.' Then, chuckling that chuckle: 'Some of the locals say seeing your first malolo is a sign of good luck. Maybe something pleasant is headed your way.'

We'd been sitting less than a yard apart, face-to-face. As well as flirting we'd been admiring body parts. Honey was completely unwrinkled and insisted she was surgery-free. I tended to believe her. I tended to fancy every inch of her, too. Her tits were full and natural-looking. Her waist was slim and I've already said she was athletically built. Turned out she was a fitness freak. Her office was on the hundredth floor of a building belonging to "her" bank. When she wasn't away sailing or skiing she was in the corporate gym first thing of a morning, last thing of an evening, without fail.

'It's a perk of the job,' she told me. 'If I'm having a bad day I take a break to go there and kick fuck out of one of the hanging bags. Ten minutes of that always calms me down.'

Her main body part of interest was what she referred to as "pussy-pussy". She had a short, sun-bleached landing strip (later shaved off, as a special treat for me!). She also had a clitoral hood that belonged on a work of art. I have honestly, sincerely never seen anything more perfect, from the very sharply defined lines of her folds to her actual clit, which peeped out of the end like Kilroy peeping over a wall.

Honey put our glasses and the empty bottle into her ice bucket and shoved it out of the way.

'It's my boat and your lucky day,' she said. 'Add 'em together and that means I get to go first.'

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I'm not going to skimp so much on our very first time; I'm going to tell it as best I remember.

Honey approached me and sank to her knees. I was still sitting cross-legged so she had a height advantage when she kissed me, keeping it cool . . . initially, anyway. Conscious I was supposed to be refined I kissed back, determined not to get carried away but wetting myself already.

I had expected my new lover to be experienced and I wasn't disappointed. Honey's kissing alone was an extreme sex act. I was turned on beyond all reason, even allowing for the mighty mutual attraction and our prolonged, slow-building flirting.

And her hands were darting here, there and everywhere. It was like having a swarm of butterflies fluttering all around me, landing, sampling and then moving elsewhere. Trust me, that lady had it off to a T. Delicate fingers on my skin, stroking me then, fractionally before I'd begun to respond, they had gone again. Talk about being teased and tantalized!

The height difference was arousing too. I wasn't been dominated . . . not exactly . . . but I did feel as if I was at least slightly yielding. And why not? Honey was a beautiful, powerful woman. I was on her boat and she was about to fuck me.

Hmmm . . . why not indeed!

That kiss lasted a long, long time. Right at the end, an instant before she broke off, Honey's hand made a return visit to my groin, her fluttery fingers circling my distinctly soggy opening. And this visit was a little more lingering. Muscles inside started to contract. Then Honey thrust her tongue into my mouth. Just once, but her meaning was plain as day.

'Please,' I said as she regarded me, smiling. 'Pretty please, please, please.'

'Shut your eyes,' she commanded.

I obeyed without question and was surprised when she kissed my closed lids, paying them a lot of attention, her hands fluttering hither and thither once more. Then she kissed my forehead and my nose and . . . fleetingly . . . my lips.

I reopened my eyes as she began to nuzzle my neck and draw wet tongue lines along the angle of my jaw. Everything about this was exotic and erotic. My excitement levels were off the scale. I mean really, really off the scale. I suspected I'd cum already but couldn't be sure. Hell, I could've had half a dozen small cums without even knowing.

Enjoying the moment, confident I was en route for something monumental, I glanced out to sea. I may have been expecting to see more flying fish, bringing me even more luck, but I didn't. All I did see was empty ocean and to the west, off to starboard, the slowly sinking sun.

(Yes folks, off to starboard; I have mastered some of that seafaring lingo!)

Then Honey traced a finger down the nape of my neck, sending an incredible shudder all the way along my spine.

And that time I came for certain.

Honey seemed to have had enough of my head and shoulders. Co-ordinating her hands for once, they ran up my stomach and cupped my tits, pushing them upwards, making it easier for her to stoop and assail.

Cue certain orgasm number two.

After perhaps thirty minutes of bliss Honey stopped her gnawing . . . and her chewing, nibbling and sucking.

'I want you,' she said. 'I need you. Get on your back.'

The deck had cooled some by then. Not that hot planking would have put me off. My knees were stiff from all that sitting but, ignoring such trifles, I assumed the most submissive position I could think of.

Honey immediately revisited my tits. Gnawing, chewing, nibbling and sucking them. Her hands had stopped cupping, though; they were exploring my lower body instead.

Oh . . . my . . . God! She was good at this. No, better than good, she was brilliant.

At last she moved on. I watched her blonde hair as she licked her way down my quivering tummy, calling in to say hi to my belly button as she passed. Then she was nibbling my hood; nibbling all of it except my clit. Nibbling and licking. Meanwhile her fingers were busily fluttering. And this time the contact was all sexual. And it wasn't nearly so fleeting.

'Yes,' I moaned. 'Oh yes, thank you little malolo. Thank you ever so much.'

Honey chuckled and, using her index finger (I assume!), traced a feather-light line from my vagina all the way up to my clitoral hood, somehow avoiding my clitoris, only stopping when she reached her own tongue. Then she reversed the line. And then she traced it and traced it again.

Guess what? Her tracing was too much for me. I went off like a volcano.

Screaming and yelling didn't end it, however. Oh no, Honey had hardly got going. Demonstrating her usual expertise, keeping at it for seemingly aeons, she gave my clit the same loving treatment she'd given my nips. Then, after being very loving with my labia, she finally arrived at my opening.

First thing she did was thrust in her tongue. She did it exactly the way she'd thrust it into my other mouth. The cum was instantaneous and more volcano-like than ever.

I've always been lucky in sex. My cums can be vaginal or clitoral; both enjoyable but not always both so easy to come by. Up until Honey I believed I was like the majority of women who write in to the girly mags: on a hair-trigger with my clit but much harder to please in my hole. Trust me, I was wrong. Oh my, was I wrong!

Honey probably gave me a year's worth of vaginal orgasms in less than an hour. And I'm aware of the arguments for and against. All I will say is this: Honey was proficient at putting her tongue in my vagina and making me cum. She instantly found parts of me others usually miss.

And she was even more proficient when she did it digitally.

The sun was flattening on the horizon when Honey eventually grinned at me. 'Do you want a go or can I fuck you properly?'

'I want a go,' I said.

I did as well. I wanted to do all the things she'd done to me. Call me a copyKat if you like, but I wanted her to feel all the thrills and sensations she'd given me. I wanted her to be the one who was screaming and yelling on the deck as the warm darkness settled around us.

And, I'm pleased to report, that's exactly what happened.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I will never forget the twenty-nine days I spent with Honey. We did do some sailing, during which Honey taught me basic ways of helping her. We also visited a few islands along the way, but not so many of them. No, most of the time was spent out at sea, the self-steering system keeping us out of harm's way while we concentrated on each other.

Now, you may have noticed Honey said she wanted to fuck me "properly". I had been intrigued by that and if not apprehensive, a tad cautious. Whatever does she mean by "properly"? I wondered.

I found out on our first evening, after she'd set the yacht to hold position and suggested that, as we "worked well together", we should share her bunk of a night. I'd never had much intention of sleeping on my own and agreed immediately. She then showed me her extensive collection of strap-on harnesses and dildos.

Extensive? You'd better believe it was extensive, particularly the dildo section. She must have had fifty in all shapes, colours and sizes, a few of them double-ended. Grinning, Honey invited me choose one and, conscious she was an athletic alpha female, I went for a reasonable-sized blue number that resembled a cock rather than a medieval instrument of torture.

Stick with what you know, girl, I told myself. We can try the ones with spikes some other night.

I needn't have worried. Although Honey looked very much the aggressor when she was sporting a hard-on, her lovemaking couldn't have been kinder. And talk about plenty of foreplay! She was all over me for ages, kissing, nibbling and sucking . . . and rubbing, stroking and caressing, of course. By the time she was ready to take me, I would have accepted anything, anywhere: small, medium, spiky or large.

But Honey didn't want aggression. Tenderness personified, she eased the dildo into my (wet as usual) vagina and slowly, so very slowly, began to move. The sensation was heavenly. I had the boat gently rocking under me and her gently rocking on top of me . . . not to mention her gently rocking into me.

And she kept it going all night! I kid you not! We went to her cabin around eleven o'clock and it was getting light when she decided she'd finished. It was all her, too. I kept asking when I'd get my turn; she kept laughing and saying, "Tomorrow night."

Our routine for the first week hardly varied. Snoozing a while after dawn, we'd finally climb out of Honey's bunk around eight. Then, after washing and breaking our fast, we'd sail for a couple of hours. Then we'd lie together on the deck and fool about, wasting the rest of the day. And then we'd retire to "fuck properly", alternating roles on a nightly basis. And no, I never once felt sleep- deprived. Not even once.

So a relationship was established. We lived a naked existence apart from those rare occasions when we were in sight of land. There was never one angry word between us, not even when I messed up some simple seafaring task (which happened twice a day, at least). And we chuckled and laughed together as often as we made out . . . which was nearly all the time.

*****

One morning I woke from my short slumber to find Honey's tits in my face. That was a first but not much of a surprise: Honey's bunk was ample for one person but very cosy for two. No, make that extremely cosy; waking in a compromising position was far from unheard of.

Honey was running her fingers through my hair. That wasn't too much of a surprise either: a lot of lovers seem to like running their fingers through my crowning glory. And it isn't a problem for me. I rather like it.

Then I realized Honey wasn't so much holding me as cradling me. I rather liked that as well. The boat was, as always, gently rocking and I felt at peace with the world.

She's mothering me, I thought serenely. She's mothering me and everything's cool.

'Katrina,' Honey said softly, her voice like friendly raindrops, 'please will you suckle me?'

Without hesitation I moved my mouth to the nearest nipple. Her nips had become very familiar to me and her request seemed reasonable enough. Except now it wasn't just another erect nip; now it was a teat and it wasn't erect in a sexual sort of a way.

I had never suckled before, not with the intention of drawing milk, anyway, but I gave it my best shot. Honey had, needless to report, no milk to be drawn but showed every sign of enjoying the experience. She kept on at my hair, her other hand continuously stroking my bare back, every now and then murmuring and sighing.

'There's a good girl,' she crooned. 'There's a good girl.'

I half-expected her to say "There's Mommy's good little girl" but she didn't go that far.

Eventually I switched teats, keen to give them equal attention. Honey persisted in pampering my hair and stroking my back, whispering sweet nothings to me all the while.

This latest confession is the one I had doubts about sharing. I'm twenty-nine, for fuck's sake! I'm far too old to play games like that. Hell, it wasn't even a filthy fantasy . . . not one I would've ever dreamt up, anyway.

Let me put the record straight. When it happened I was totally relaxed about it. A little later I felt a teeny-weeny bit uneasy. Now, with the benefit of hindsight, I am totally relaxed again. The way I see it is this: Honey generously gave me the mothering I'd missed getting from my own mother; in return I was, for a few precious moments, the daughter she'd never had.

However I look at it, I can't see anything wrong with that.

*****

We saw very few people during our month at sea. It was no great loss. The handful we met and spoke to during inhabited island trips were more than enough. The one other close-ish encounter took place towards the very end of our idyll. We'd been in one of our usual positions on the deck (on our backs, idly fingering each other and soaking up the sun) when I noticed something grey and huge bearing down on us, seemingly dead ahead.