First Summer: Sex After Sailing

Foreword

These stories are based in Australia and written in the idiom the characters would use.

Some issues in language variations I anticipated and built translations into my narrative. Others have caught me by surprise especially in their intensity. Generally, the intended meaning will be clear from the context if you don't cling too tightly to your usual usage.

Crutch/ Crotch has been a subject of much comment. Australians more commonly use 'crutch' and that meaning of the word is supported by the Macquarie Dictionary.

*

Story

With such a long summer holiday, Greg, as he so eloquently put it, said he needed to find ways to entertain me so that we just didn't lie up the back of the beach and screw each other silly all day. One of the things he introduced me to was sailing.

It was a sport Greg had been active in until the end of year 10, at which point the need to get a job and study harder for his HSC years had left him with the choice of giving up sailing or lifesavers. Greg had chosen to give up the former and his sister had eagerly taken over the boat. So the boat was still owned by the family and kept in the sailing club by the river.

The club was one of those old boatshed type clubs built by the members themselves out of concrete blocks and fibro in the 50's. The boat storage and change rooms were downstairs; while upstairs there was a big open hall and canteen with large glass windows looking out over the river. From the looks of it not much -- and especially the change rooms -- had been updated since the 50's either.

The type of boat was a 29er; a high performance skiff type boat intended for experienced older teenagers and 20 year olds. It was not really the sort of boat one generally learns to sail in; especially as it has both a spinnaker and trapeze. All Greg said in relation to that was that I was no ordinary student.

In actual fact Greg had got me sailing fairly easily. By the end of the first day I was trapezing confidently; for those of you who don't know trapezing is hanging out from the side of the boat suspended only by a wire or rope coming down from the masthead and attached to a hook on a special nappy like belt that you wear. I was also setting the spinnaker and controlling it from the trapeze.

On this Monday it was forecast to be over 35 degrees by midday; a typical Australian Christmas Eve. So rather than play tennis, we'd thought we'd have another sail. This was only my fourth time on the boat. Still, I more or less knew what was going on, where the wind was coming from, how the sails should be set and even what I was doing. However, I was about to discover a whole different side to sailing.

We'd been out for a while when Greg pointed to the South where a big black cloud was forming and seemingly racing toward us and suggested that we'd better head for the beach. We'd really only just started out for home when the first gusts from the storm front hit us. It was much stronger than anything we'd been sailing in before. Greg saw the gust racing across the water toward us and called for me to ease the jib so we wouldn't get blown over. I was still trying to flick it out of the cleat when the gust hit. Even though Greg fully dumped the main, the gust was strong enough to capsize us from the pressure on the jib alone.

Fortunately Greg had briefed me on what to do if we capsized while I was out on trapeze; so I threw myself out the back of the boat to land in the water behind the mainsail without damaging myself or the boat. By the time I'd recovered my composure, Greg was already on the centreboard having climbed straight over there as the boat capsized.

Greg called out for me to quickly come around and help him get it up. I couldn't help myself-

"I know you're keen on getting it up whenever you can, but shouldn't we get the boat back to the beach first."

Concentrating on the work of looking after the boat, it took a minute for my words to sink in. Then a smile broke across his face, followed by a giggle. I think he was just about to say something back when the combination of his loss of concentration and the rocking of a passing wave caused him to lose his balance and fall in the water.

As Greg explained later, one of the issues with the 29er is that after it capsizes it rapidly turns itself around so that the top of the mast is facing toward the wind. This means as you start to right the boat the wind gets under the sails and often blows it straight over again on the other side. This happened to us three times, even though Greg had me lie alongside the cockpit of the boat as it was on its side so that as the boat came up I was scooped up in to the cockpit and just maybe in a position to stop the roll. Trouble was, even in those instances where I was quick enough to act I wasn't heavy enough to make much difference.

For the fourth attempt Greg tried a different technique. He had me stand on the centreboard while he held on to the forestay a little less than two metres above the deck level. As I used my weight to right the boat far enough for the wind to get under the sail, Greg used the rising forestay to lift him on to the foredeck while his weight slowed the speed with which it righted. At the same time he dragged his foot in the water just enough to encourage the boat to spin around in to the wind as it came upright.

That left the boat facing in to the wind with Greg already aboard. While the cracking noise made by the madly flapping jib was deafening, and it was rocking madly from side to side, Greg was able to help me aboard and start sorting the boat out to get sailing again.

A strong outgoing tide had at least been pushing us back in the direction of the clubhouse while we were going through all this, but we still needed to get sailing or the tide would sweep up straight past the club and out to sea. With the increase in wind, my weight on the wire was more important than ever, so there was not able to be any slacking off on my part just because it had got a bit scary.

The wind against tide very quickly meant large waves were forming. As much as Greg tried to minimise the effect the boat tended to leap off the waves and into the air as we went through them. For me on trapeze, this was exciting and scary all at once. Even though the wind was vicious, now it had settled in Greg was able to keep the boat sailing in a fairly stable manner; sailing a little bit free of the wind to give him the best course back to the club and me a very fast ride even if I did get tea-bagged a couple of times.

And for those of you giggling at my use of the expression tea-bagged, get your mind out of the gutter. It describes when the boat heals to windward and the crew on trapeze is swept off the deck and left dangling in the water at the end of the trapeze wire from the masthead. That's a far more literal use of the expression than what your dirty little minds were thinking of.

When we'd left the beach it was 35 degrees and sunny. I'd dressed only in a very light pair of wetsuit pants I'd borrowed from Greg's sister; which was mainly to minimise sunburn and bruising to my legs. Up top I just had a rashie over my bikini. Apart from that I was wearing a lifevest and trapeze belt; but neither of those gave anything in the way of insulation from the cold which was now settling in to me.

Matters became worse as it started to rain so heavily I couldn't see the shore any more. I was already saturated. Now a combination of the cold rain, the cold air swept down by the storm cell and the wind chill factor meant I was soon shivering madly. I was of course saturated and the wind on my wet rashie was especially chilling, although in these conditions even the thin wetsuit pants didn't stop my legs from freezing.

As I stood out on the trapeze, I looked down the length of my body to watch my legs as they shivered enough to shake the whole boat. In the process I couldn't help but notice my nipples. Being a bit too big for me, the lifevest and trapeze belt tended to stand proud of my chest as they supported my weight on the wire, so I could quite clearly see the rashie absolutely plastered to my breasts in their soaking state.

The cold had raised the nipples to their full height. As they stuck out from the top of my breasts, they reminded me of vents of extinct volcanos from which most of the cones had been eroded away. To cap it off as I shivered both breast and nipple were vigorously wobbling like jelly shapes left on the dashboard of a car speeding along a rutted dirt road.

I was glad Greg couldn't see them since I neither wanted him distracted at the moment from his task of sailing the boat nor trying later to compete with the cold to make them even bigger. That momentary thought process brought back memories of the nipple orgasm Greg had given me. My groin warmed to the arousal that thought gave me and I held it savouring the pleasure of the experience and the diversion from all pervading sense of cold that just moments before had crowded my brain. No doubt that warmth was being drawn from deep within my body's core and even as I enjoyed it was being dissipated to the outside cold. As a strategy for long term survival it was probably a poor one. As a way of spending the next ten minutes getting back to the beach it made the most of my situation; maybe even helped me enjoy the excitement of the sailing experience over the misery of the cold.

As we roared in to the beach, Greg had me let the jib go and come in off the trapeze to bring the centreboard up. Greg then slid over the side to catch the boat. Once he had it steady he had me jump off so I could go up the beach for the trolley. As I jumped off I fell flat in the shallow water. Ironically it was much warmer fully submerged than it was standing up and it took a lot of will power from me to get up and get the trolley.

By the time I'd got back with the trolley Greg had already released the halyard on the jib and it was sliding to the deck captured by the hanks that held it to the forestay. At least that stopped the infernal cracking noise it made as it flapped. As soon as the boat was tied to the trolley and we'd got the boat a reasonable distance out of the water, Greg told me to go and get warm in the clubhouse while he dropped the sails. I meekly protested that he'd need my help but I think he recognised that in the state I was in I'd be of little use.

So I went and waited just inside the door of the clubhouse where neither the rain nor the wind blowing viciously through the door could directly get me, but where I could still see Greg through the driving rain as he secured the boat. Hunched over, my whole body was shaking madly.

I'd barely got under shelter when an enormous thunderclap shook the whole building and it started to hail; just small ones but coming down with an intensity that deafened me as the hit the tin roof of the clubhouse. Greg came in carrying the mainsail and jib bunched up as much as he was able in the wind and rain. As he dropped them on the floor just inside the door he took one look at me, pointed at the ladies room and told me to quickly get under a hot shower and that he was going back out to get our dry clothes from the car.

I went in to the ladies and started fumbling with my sailing gear to try and get it off. The zipper of the lifevest was easy enough to undo, but as my whole body shook I couldn't get my fingers to untie the rope that held my trapeze on. To compound matters, my brain wasn't functioning that well so I couldn't really concentrate as I worked on it. I heard the door of the clubhouse close with a bang as Greg pushed it against the wind and he came in to the room with my gear bag wrapped in his towel. He was still hunched over the lot having walked through the rain like that to try and keep it all dry.

He was blue and shaking almost as much as I was. He took one look at me, walked past me to the shower cubicle, turned on the water and adjusted the temperature and dragged me under it fully clothed. As he did so I notice him register the sight of my breasts plastered down within my top, the nipples out and the whole lot wobbling. But he was too concerned by my condition to even joke about it.

The showers were just a single bay with a line of closely spaced showerheads with individual taps, so Greg turned on the one next to it for himself and got under it; also still fully clothed.

As I pathetically hunched under the hot water and it penetrated in to my clothes, I stared at Greg with an intensity that only a zombie like state can induce. As soon as he was under the water, he stood upright and put his head under the stream, opening out the neckline of his sailing gear to let the water run down inside.

Then working from the top down he started to undress. Like for me, getting the life vest off was easy. It wasn't quite so easy for him to get out of his rashie; once they're wet you have to wrestle with them to extract your body from them. Next he bent down and took his booties off after which he actually sat on the floor of the shower cubicle while he pulled his legs out of his wetsuit pants. Finally he stood up, dropped his swimmers, wrung them out and hung them on the tap.

As he turned his back to me to hang them, I had time to think how rarely I got a really good look at his bare bum even as I admired the view. A cute tight little bum it was too. I liked it. Now naked, I watched as he let the water run over him; imparting its warmth to his body. It seemed special that he could stand so comfortably naked next to me; a couple of months ago I couldn't have conceived of being in this situation with a guy -- now it seemed entirely normal. Sure, we'd spent a lot of time naked together; either having sex or just lying in bed, but to just casually have him standing next to me like this as if it was the most normal thing in the world thrilled me more than I would have expected. I felt a surge of desire between my legs.

He'd been casting an eye toward me through his undressing process. As I continued to stand there just hunched over and letting the water run down my back, I could see the look of concern linger on his face.

"Are you going to get undressed?"

"Eventually, when I can move again."

While it suited me to sound pathetic, I was overstating my case. It was really just inertia locking me in place; I was enjoying the initial effect of the hot water and being able to stare vacantly at Greg's naked body without judgement being cast on me.

"Let me help you."

So stepping out of his life giving hot water stream he came over to me. In seconds he'd undone the knot on the trapeze belt that had defeated me and slid the belt down my legs; bending down and telling me to balance myself with a hand on his head while I lifted each foot out of it. Then standing up he stripped my rashie over my head; casting it down on to the floor of the shower. Following the same order as his own undressing he knelt down to take my booties off and while he was down there he rolled my wetsuit pants down my legs and pulled them over my feet; his head in each case being my balancing point.

Being undressed by him had only caused a surged in my desire. As I stood there with my hand on his head I eagerly anticipated him ripping my bikini off too, standing up in front of me, bringing his erection between my legs and taking me. I longed to be taken; for him to impose his manhood upon me.

When he had me stripped down to my bikini, instead he stood up behind me to coerce me in to a fully upright position with my head under the shower stream. With his hips against my bum he encouraged me with his hands around my underarms in to an upright position. As I straightened, I deliberately kept our bodies in contact; pushing the full length of my back in contact with his front, my head almost leaning back on his shoulders as his gentle hands rinsed the hot water through my hair and encouraged it to run down the full length of my body.

"You'll absorb more heat if you let the water run over your head and neck."

I was waiting, wanting to feel his manhood swelling against my spine or rising through an arc between my legs. I assumed his actions were foreplay and enjoyed them as such. Instead he'd remained almost flaccid. I was touched that he was so concerned about my well-being that it was suppressing what I thought would be an automatic reaction; but frustrated by the lack of action. While our bodies were in full contact I waited; expecting nature would take its course. Instead, when he thought he'd broken the spell that the cold had over me, he kissed me on the side of my neck and moved back under his own shower.

I admit my brain and body functions were taking some time to catch up with my libido in returning to normal. I followed Greg's lead in taking off my swimmers and hanging them on the tap before turning to face him, to stare at that beautiful body. Those broad shoulders, that body all tall, lean and muscly like a greyhound. Couldn't he tell how aroused I was? Wasn't the swelling of my breasts and the engorgement of my nipples under the hot water enough of a signal. Surely there must be some change visible in my loins to tell him that my groin was wet with something other than the water of the shower and my body had already fully anticipated the arrival of his manhood.

There we stood, each silently eyeing the other off, captured by our own thoughts. Mine were full of lust and desire; his of care and concern.

I pouted. I stood under the shower bolt upright, stomach sucked in breasts thrust forward. I turned gently from side to side, running the water over my breast as they swung to the momentum of my turns. My whole body was calling out "come on Greg, come and take me". I managed to induce some reaction but he was still essentially flaccid.

Damn his lifesaver background. Just because he'd recognised me as clinically hypothermic ten minutes ago, somehow I'd ceased to be a sexual object and had become a patient. Keep up with it Greg, can't you see I was ready to go back to being a sexual object?

Finally I conceded I wasn't going to get myself taken standing here. I'd have to make the first move. I stepped over to Greg and put my arms around him.

"Thank you for looking after me."

The words weren't merely an excuse for pressing myself against him. They were sincerely felt. Somehow in his presence I always felt safe; felt that he was always looking after me, protecting me, just there for me. Indeed it was probably those very feelings which were driving my physical need for him. Is there a name for the syndrome that causes a rescued woman to want to melt in to the arms of her rescuer?

If you're of a feminist bent, don't condemn me for these thoughts. I too am an independent woman; always have been. It's all Greg's fault. He seems to have woven this spell around me that's turned me in to some sort of old fashioned fairy tale princess; the type who gets rescued by and falls for their prince charming. I'm as appalled by as I'm sure you are, but can't control the feelings just the same.

He put his arms around my shoulders and drew me closer to him.

"I was the one who got us in to trouble in the first place."

"Not really. You'd checked the forecast. Sometimes these things just happen."

As I put my head on his chest he stepped back a little giving me a generous portion of the flow of water coming from his shower head. Once he was certain I was staying where I was Greg reached over to turn off the taps on my shower, then we both just stood there locked together letting the warming water cascade down our bodies.

At last I managed to induce a sexual response in him. I felt his growing cock arc up the inside of my thigh before its progress was stopped as it lodged itself firmly along the length of the valley of my crutch; throbbing as it tried to force itself higher. With my head on his chest I heard his heart beat louder and faster.