Veronique Goes Sailing Ch. 01

I was fishing on my mate's forty-foot launch a couple of years ago, and we pulled into a bay for lunch. We moored alongside a dozen other boats. After lunch, I climbed onto the flybridge for some peace and quiet, as there were teens onboard, and they were horsing around.

Moored next to us was a yacht with four teenagers, three guys and a girl. I took note, as the girl was clad only in a skimpy bikini, and she was beautiful. One of the guys looked like a gypsy, dark-skinned with a ponytail; the other two were younger and vying for the young lady's attention.

When they jumped from the yacht into the water with her, I could see that both boys were having a good grope with her. I was even more certain of this when the young lady rose topless on the stern ladder, and one of the guys was holding her top in his hand. I almost fell out of my seat when he reached up and pulled her bikini bottom down below her knees. She just stepped out of the bikini bottom, leaving it in his hands, and pulled herself on deck, giving an old man a trill he had not experienced in many years. I was very jealous when both guys climbed out of the water and followed her below deck. That brief moment in time was the catalyst for the following story.

While this story is a work of Fiction, it contains many genuine events. On several occasions, I have sailed to the Mercury Islands, once with a young lady whom I fucked in Peachgrove Bay. And I once attended a party out in Henderson that, after some party games and much booze, turned into an orgy, and I got to watch a young wife gang banged on the dining table. So, without further ado, let me tell you about Veronique.

----

My name is Veronique, so named because my mother spent her last year of High School billeted with a French family in Tahiti, and she named me after the family's youngest daughter.

My mother and father met in high school and left when they turned sixteen to get jobs and save some money for their big OE to Europe. At eighteen, they were on a boat to England and based themselves in London, as it was easier to get a three-year working permit there. But their intention was always to spend as much time as they could in France as they had good contacts from the family my mother had met in Tahiti.

In their third year away, I was conceived, in a small town called Marly-le-Roi, a suburb of Paris, hence my middle name Marly. My parents returned home to New Zealand for my birth. And my father got a job with a local car dealership as a mechanic. A good job but not especially well paid, and I was brought up in a small house in a modest suburb of Auckland.

I had a very normal upbringing; my parents were always open and honest with my younger brother and me. They were an attractive couple, especially my mother. They had been hippies when they were young, and my father still had long hair and wore tie-dye tee shirts and baggy jeans.

My mother spoke both French and English to my brother and me from the day we were born. So no surprise that I topped that subject when I attended secondary school. I was not too shabby in most of my other subjects as well.

I was among the last of my friends to develop. But when I finally did, my petite frame was sporting some decent curves. I was in my final year of secondary school and had a large circle of friends. The big topic of conversation amongst us girls was about boys. And especially about sex with boys. 

My best friend, Tania, had lost her virginity after the school ball. The rest of us girls were all pretty envious of her. However, we noted that although she raved about how good it was, the guy that took her cherry did not ask her for a date again, and he broadcast their liaison to all his mates. That was a life lesson for all of us.

At the end of that year, when I left school, at least another half dozen girls in my class had lost their virginity. My girlfriends were always on to me, making hints about it being time I lost mine. But I was in no hurry. However, I constantly checked out the guys and pondered who would be a good prospect.

My parents had taken me to church every Sunday for as long as I can remember. Neither was very religious, but my mother said we kids had to go so that we could make up our own opinions. But by my mid-teens, I was questioning the teachings at youth group and began missing the odd Sunday. But I didn't give it up altogether, as my friends and I enjoyed the dances they held every second Saturday night.

It was a confusing time in life; I'd just turned eighteen. Half the people I knew were telling me, No! The other half was giving me shit about still being a virgin. The most confusing, though, was my youth group at our church. It seemed ironic to me that my girlfriends in the bible group were the ones losing their virginity. Yet the leaders told us every Sunday to save ourselves for marriage and not become fallen women!

Halfway through that year, I began seeing a boy from the bible group called Adam. I had known him forever, and he seemed as good a bet as any if I wanted to experiment with sex. From the day I first wore a bra, he had pressed me about going out with him (sleeping with him), which put me off. But after a few months of his persisting, I finally agreed to go a bit further than the light foreplay we had tried on some dates. I laid out some ground rules, though. I made him promise to wear a condom and pull out when he came. There were all these stories about condom busting and young girls getting pregnant. And most importantly, I made him swear that he would say nothing about it to his mates if I let him.

Two days later, he approached me with three condoms in his hand. 

"Why did you buy three?" I exclaimed. "You're not doing it three times!"

He blurted out, "I went to the chemist and said I needed condoms, and the lady sold me a packet of three. Don't know if you can buy one; I just paid and hot-footed it out of the shop."

It was just as well that he did buy three, as the first time we tried, he came putting the condom on. I let him play with my tits but went home very frustrated.

A week later, we tried again. Adam managed some penetration this time, but how much is debatable, as he came so quickly and wasted another condom. He blamed it on me, said I was too pretty, and that he never had this problem with any other girls. Which was a joke, as I knew he'd not been with any other girls.

A couple of days later, we tried for the third time in his bedroom. He reckoned he had things sorted and should be okay. 'Nope!' Useless again; this time, I knew he had it in me, though, as it hurt, and I had blood in my knickers. But again, he came before I was even close to having any good feelings. I didn't bother to try with him again, he did ask me out, but I had an excuse ready every time he asked.

Soon after I stopped seeing Adam, my mother had a heart-to-heart with me about sex. She must have had a clue I was starting to experiment. I admitted to her that I had tried sex with Adam. I expected her to be disappointed and lecture me. But instead, she just exclaimed, "Well, you held off much longer than I did. I had better see about getting you on the pill."

Without thinking, I opened my mouth and said, "But Dad said you didn't have sex until you were nineteen when I was conceived."

"He told you a white lie, and there were many before your dad," she said, suddenly placing her hand over her mouth, realising what she had just admitted.

We had the most open talk I had ever had with my mother. I told her about how useless Adam had been. She told me she had had a lot of guys like him and told me not to be in a hurry, as the right guy would come along.

A few days later, she took me to her doctor. He asked me some awkward questions and then sent me home with a prescription for the pill. I think I was the last of my friends to go on it.

I finished my school year with a scholarship to Auckland University and a full-time job as a laboratory technician. The laboratory freed up time for me to attend all my lectures.

A few months later, one of the girls I worked with introduced me to Maximilian; everyone called him Max. He was twenty-five and seemed so mature and in control. He was a medical rep, quite handsome and worldly-wise. On our second date, we had it off in the back of his station wagon. My first orgasm! With a guy! I was in love.

 But the bastard didn't ring for two weeks afterwards, and I felt used and got pretty down in the dumps. I talked to my mother about him, which was great; she was so understanding. She gave me good advice about guys like him who only wanted one-night stands. 

So I resolved to give him the bum's rush if he ever bothered to call again. However, when he did call two weeks later, he gave me the excuse that he had lost my number and was out of town with work. He had contacted my work friend and got the number from her as soon as he got back in town. He was so sheepish and guilt-ridden that I forgave him, and we arranged another date.

The next day at work, I asked the girl that had introduced us about her giving Max my number again and was not surprised to hear that she hardly knew him and that he had not called her. It must have been the thought of sex, addling my brain because I convinced myself it must have been my mistake.

We went out that Friday night, and sure enough, parked on the way home, he had me over in the back seat of his car with my knickers around my ankles again. The orgasm this time was even better, and again I thought it was love. Especially as he was so charming afterwards and apologised to me for coming so quickly. He said I was the most beautiful girl he had been with, and I made him come too fast. (Where had I heard that before?) I wasn't concerned about his staying power; he had lasted ten times longer than Adam had.

But over the next couple of months, he kept messing me around. He always had excuses and treated me like a queen when we were out, and the sex got better and better. But I never could arrange anything, as I never knew when he would call.

Then I met another guy through work, Gabriel, and we started meeting for lunch most workdays. He was handsome and caring, but I was cautious and took things very slowly with him. Finally, on the second week of lunching with him, I agreed to go out on an actual date. Auckland's Anniversary weekend was only a week away, and I told Gabriel I would call it off with Max and for him to choose somewhere for us to go.

But the following Monday, I arrived home to find Max sitting and drinking beer with my father. He had come around to ask my parents if he could take me away on a yacht for the Anniversary weekend with his friends. My dad was looking very dubious, I guessed, as I was still quite young, still a month away from turning nineteen.

I listened as my dad asked questions about the competency of the guys sailing it, how big and safe the yacht was, whether we would have lifejackets, etc. And before I knew it, I was nodding and all sorted to go sailing.

When Max left, I had second thoughts; doubts flooded my head. I knew I should have declined and had intended to call it quits with Max. I felt I had been railroaded into the trip. But on the other hand, I had never been on a yacht, and listening to Max selling it to my parents, the trip sounded exciting. I told myself that as there were others on the boat, I should be able to avoid his advances and not let him sleep with me. I had heard him assure my father I would have a bunk to myself.

He was to pick me up around 7:30 am the following Friday. I suddenly realised I needed to ask at work for the Friday and the Tuesday off work. And that this could be a problem, as it was a long weekend, and me being one of the newest staff members, maybe everyone else at work wanted those days off.

On Tuesday morning, putting on my most humble look, I asked my boss about getting time off and was relieved to be told it was not a problem. I already had half a dozen days of holiday owing. And no one else had asked to extend their long weekend.

I then had the awkward task of calling Gabriel to tell him our date was off. I had to tell him a white lie about who I was going with, which left me feeling guilty as hell when I hung up.

---

Friday morning, I was up at 5:30, packing and asking my dad for help with everything I would need on a boat. Dad helped me pack stuff I would never have thought of. But I ensured he didn't see the small white bikini I had bought for my weekend away. 

I had two swimsuits: one was a bikini well past its used-by date, and the other was a one-piece. Having checked out online about sailing, I saw that all the girls on yachts wore skimpy bikinis. So I let one of my friends take me shopping and talk me into a bikini that was very much outside my comfort zone. It was brief, especially the top, which hardly contained my breasts. I did buy another much more conservative one, which I expected to wear nearly all the time.

On the way to the boat, I quizzed Max about how many others were going with us. I was alarmed to find that there were just two other guys. Mates off his that I had never met and that I was to be the only girl. I wanted to tell him to turn around and take me home, but I couldn't pluck up the courage. The thought of all the friends I had told about the trip and having to explain to them and my parents made me bite my tongue.

When we got to Halfmoon Bay Marina, I was relieved to find two handsome, normal-looking guys waiting for us. Max introduced them as Ryker, who owned the yacht, and his mate, Aaron. They both made me welcome, helped me aboard, showed me where to stow my gear, etc. They were a lot older, and thankfully, I immediately felt very safe with them.

The boat was a forty-two-footer, whatever that meant. And had two bunks up in the bow, which Ryker informed me he usually had as a double bed, but seeing as I was on board, they had stowed the centre mattress, and he and Aaron would bunk up there. He showed me to the larger of the two bunks, each side of the cockpit. I was taking everything in and trying to remember all these new words. My bunk wasn't quite a double, but much wider than the one on the other side he had allocated to Max.

Soon we were underway, Ryker had me sit with him, and he showed me how he controlled the boat and what he watched for in the sails. I found him fascinating; he was very worldly-wise; he reminded me of a gypsy. Dark hair pulled back into a ponytail that hung just past the nape of his neck. He had thick dark eyelashes and a 5 o'clock shadow; it was a little longer than that, more like a very close-trimmed beard. His olive skin was burnt dark brown from being outdoors. He only had a pair of cut-off jeans and a white tee shirt with the sleeves torn off and holes in it. You could see his well-defined muscles showing through the holes in his shirt.

I also took the time to evaluate Aaron. He was around six-foot, so just a pinch shorter than Ryker. Handsome in a rugged outdoor way, he was of a much more solid build than Ryker. He also had olive skin and was burnt brown, and his sun-bleached blond hair was quite long. Every time I looked, I saw he was checking me out, and he would smile and shyly look away.

Ryker told me we were heading for Tryphena, on Great Barrier Island, and would stay the night in the bay. But we would have dinner ashore with friends, and on the morrow, we would sail down to the Mercury Islands for two days.

Having never been to any of these places, I was excited and quickly fell in love with sailing. It was so graceful; the boat leaned over with the wind and flowed lazily up and down the waves. Ryker picked up on my enthusiasm, soon had me on the tiller, and coached me on getting the best speed out of the boat.

It was mesmerising, and I found my mind wandering, evaluating who I would like to go out with if I could have the pick of the three guys. 

It was interesting to see Max in this company. He deferred to both the other guys in everything. This guy that I had thought for months was so in control and confident was a bit of a wimp around these two and jumping to do everything they said. It also didn't help my opinion of him that I had already made my mind up that our brief relationship needed to end. So he was a non-starter.

Ryker was the most dazzling but also the oldest and super confident. I felt a bit nervous around him and was worried all the time I was going to blurt out something stupid. And although he was paying me a lot of attention, I didn't get the impression that he intended anything more than to be friendly.

That left Aaron. His discreet glances showed his interest, but he had hardly said anything to me. I realised then that I felt strongly attracted and wondered if I had any chance with him. He probably had a girlfriend and would keep clear of me. And it didn't help that Max was being possessive and attempting to make it clear that I was his, which was annoying me immensely.

So I sat at the helm with Ryker and took in all he was teaching me, but I ensured that every time I caught Aaron's eye, I returned his smile. I also looked for an opportunity to let slip that Max and I were not an item. 

In conversation, I learned that Aaron was also a Presbyterian, which was stupid as neither of us attended church anymore, but it felt nice to have something in common. I also learned that he came from humble beginnings, whereas Ryker had obviously come from money. I mean, he owned this fabulous yacht.

In the first few hours of sailing, I began to get a feel for the boat. We were sailing with a ten-knot breeze coming from slightly behind on the port side. I didn't know what half of this meant, but Ryker loosened the sail and told me we were running with the wind and making good time. Aaron was down below, working on the outboard for the little rubber dinghy. That was something else that enamoured me to him, as my father had always taught me engine stuff. Max finally gave up trying to vie with Ryker or Aaron for my attention and wandered up to sulk at the bow.

Ryker said he needed a piss and for me to keep the yacht pointing at the end of what he told me was the Coromandel Peninsula. Then he stepped out onto the transom (a shelf on the back of the boat), unzipped and started peeing into the sea. I was shocked; I expected him to go to the toilet below.

He turned and caught me looking, "If you're going to watch, you realise I will get to watch you when you relieve yourself."

My head snapped back to the bow as his raucous laughter alerted the other two to my plight. I had taken in that his penis was impressive but knew that it being slack like that didn't tell you what it would be like when it was hard. I had seen four dicks before; my father's, brother's, and Adams and Max's. However, Ryker's looked more significant than any of them; this thought sent unwanted tingles racing around my groin.

"I'm not going to pee from there!" I yelped, hoping that my wicked thoughts were not obvious.

"Oh, we'll have you peeing from here before the end of this trip," he stated.

I just thought, 'You don't know me yet. I can be very stubborn.'

Around noon, we sailed into Elephant Cove on what they told me was 'Happy Jack Island'. Ryker explained that it was best to find a cove to stop for lunch, as the yacht rocked around a lot if we stopped out on open water. There was a cliff face to our left as we sailed into the cove, and Aaron pointed out an elephant on it. But it looked more like a rhinoceros to me. However, once Aaron described the shape. It was startling just how precise the elephant shape was.

Another reason for stopping at the island, they said, was they wanted to catch some fish to take to their friends for dinner. But we didn't have much luck, and as there were no bites, we just left the rods hanging over the side while we ate.