With Gusts to Ninety

Fore and aft, triplets of four-inch diameter nylon lines strained to hold the big American research vessel against her pier as the perfectly ordinary Cape Town summer "breeze" threatened to rip her free. The captain was cautious enough to keep the engines running, with bridge and engine room fully manned. An hour ago, there had been almost no air moving: now it was a full gale, with crystalline blue skies and bright warm sunshine, and a long wake of clouds streaming away downwind from Lion's Head.

The ship's arrival was a major civic occasion: there was a five-man brass band from the Mayor's office leaning into the wind on the dock, striving mightily to be heard over the wind's howl.

The vessel, although purely academic, technically belonged to the US Navy, and would therefore play diplomat: she'd been priddied to the nines to host a fantail 'garden party' for local celebs and dignitaries. The lady guests had all left their homes in the calm, wearing their best, most diaphanous summertime party dresses.

The party's start-time arrived, and instantly, out of nowhere, came this howling breeze. The women were now having a terribly difficult time as the wind whistled along, swirling about the superstructure in vicious twists and gusts, often taking control of fabric and making it billow like rogue sails in a storm - whipping about in ways not amenable to modesty. Flimsy sun-hats had either gone overboard or were tucked awkwardly beneath their owners' arms.

Albert, the senior member of the scientific party, had agreed to help host, as stated on the badge he wore. At opening-time, he had spent a mere five minutes - a very wearying five- on the fantail, standing duty beside the punchbowl, greeting, while also trying to dip and distribute punch without spraying all parties who were momentarily downwind. He was (tragically?!) unable to help as the ladies fought their dresses with one hand and tried to control punch, hats, and purses with the other.

Most people were giving up on the punch. The wind's more violent gusts were striping male guests of hats, the musicians of their scores, and sending piles of paper napkins downwind like the shuffling of some crazed card-sharp. No food could be persuaded to long remain on a plate - or even on the serving table.

During a momentary lull there stepped aboard an unaccompanied, slender, rather buxom young woman in a flowing silk-print skirt. Albert recognized her from yesterday's overly-busy, hurried formal reception at the town hall: she had put in a brief appearance, but they hadn't actually met. Somehow she'd made it up the gangplank without the skirt doing the "Marilyn Monroe on the grating" thing.

He watched as she scanned the crowd, inventorying.

She caught his eye -obvious recognition- and immediately strode over to stand beside him: she had several inches of height advantage. Clearly amused by the developing debacle, she grinned at him from beneath wind-tousled short blond hair, extended her hand. "Disregard yesterday's formalities..." she said: "This is your true welcome to Cape Town! Roaring forties and all that! I'm Victoria Regina, from the local Governing Council, also a biology teacher in the local schools. And you are...?"

She had his full attention instantly - very pretty indeed, about his age, and brilliantly vivacious. The lovely Afrikaans accent didn't hurt a thing, either.

A long, silent, shared, and positively electric glance held them. She turned gently pink, and he followed suit. Finally he managed to reply, "At your service: this is ridiculous, or maybe an omen, but my name is -seriously now - Albert. I'm not, however, the Dowager Queen's consort - I'm just this leg's resident oceanographer. VR - that's quite a name to carry!"

She shrugged, jabbed downwards with both hands, attempting to control her skirt as the gusts resumed. "Nice of you to recognize it, especially since you're a Yank! My Mother is a history professor, hence the choice. And who can say, perhaps your name IS some sort of omen? But of what?"

Albert nodded - an interesting possibility. They stood eying one another as the wind's tone wound up and down the scale, making simple conversation almost impossible.

He shook his head, took her by the hand, guided her into the lab forward of the fantail, out of the wind but not entirely free of its shriek.

She laughed, looked at him piercingly, scanned his nametag, said "God, what a day for a party like this! I've been aboard ships before - engine rooms and bridges and all that, but never a research ship. Is showing guests about the ship a part of your duties as host?"

He nodded, said he'd be happy indeed to take her on a tour. But it would require returning to the fantail and going up one of the steep outdoors steel ladders - all access to the ship's interior from the lab was blocked for the moment.

"Let's go, then!" she said with obvious enthusiasm.

Albert felt a tiny twinge of guilt for leaving his official post on the stern - but it was easily suppressed. Duty was calling!

Out into the blast they went. He stood beside the ladder, guiding: she did as instructed, taking a firm grip on both side-rails as she began the climb, carefully placing each sandaled foot on its narrow, slippery step. As her bottom reached a level one step above his face, a perfectly timed eddy, a violent, vertical updraft, lifted the entire perimeter of both dress and slip straight up over her head.

From inside her cone of fabric she gave a tiny shriek that ended in a delightful giggle: with her hands occupied and her balance precarious, she could do nothing about the dress's antics. At a distance of under two feet, Albert found himself face to face with the longest legs he'd ever seen in person, Jantzen swimsuit-ad legs. The legs and attached bottom twisted back and forth as she fought to keep her footing. Lovely legs - nylon-encased and framed in an old-fashioned garter belt, beneath which there was no underwear. The front clip-straps of the belt framed a stunning and perfectly shaved crotch, the rear clips an absolutely beautiful bottom.

He gave himself an extra full second to study the apparition, then, the purest of gentleman, leapt to help by corralling the dress and controlling it as she finished the climb, with him immediately behind her.

He ushered her into a deserted passage via a heavy steel waterproof hatchway and shut it behind them. They stood face to face, she gasping slightly for breath, her face flushed. He said nothing.

Finally she giggled again and said with disarming directness "Um... It seems I probably have no secrets from you. Interesting way to begin a relationship!"

He smiled, shrugged, and said "There's no way I could successfully claim that I didn't get an absolutely lovely eyeful. May I make just two very personal short comments?"

She nodded, biting gently on her lower lip - especially with her blushing face, the gesture was monumentally erotic. "I've never seen a more attractive set of legs - and the only thing sexier than a perfectly shaved pussy is one with my mouth pressed firmly against it. Preferably for some considerable time."

Her eyes widened, the giggle returned, the flush deepened quite visibly. "My! Blunt, aren't we? I admire the attitude, however. And of course, the sentiment!" She stepped towards him and linked her arm in his: "But wind-events aside, we did come here on tour. As I said, I've been aboard other ships, but I've never seen the nitty-gritty details - like living quarters and mess halls. Can you show me your room, where you personally will live? Your quarters, I believe? Can we go there?"

They met nobody enroute. He opened the door, followed her into the tiny room, smaller than most decent suburban bedroom closets.

She looked about: "Bunk-beds? TWO adults? In this volume? For forty days? Good god, but you'd better be friendly! And why is the upper berth still folded up out of the way?"

"My roomie arrives day after tomorrow. The ship has five days here - today is number two."

She looked at him again: she was breathtakingly attractive up this close.

After ten seconds of silence, her body language said she'd made a decision. She reached past him to the door, grasped the deadbolt handle, asked in a whisper "Does the lock work?"

He nodded 'yes'.

She shot the bolt. It made a very authoritative, sharp click.

Her arms went around his neck, and just before their lips made contact she whispered "I really, truly don't behave this way. There's something magic in the air today. Perhaps it's pheromones? You wouldn't object to a very sudden, intense encounter between complete strangers, would you? Can you handle my being unforgivably forward like this?"

"I don't mind a bit. But, Vicky Reggie, are we here for what I suspect? What I might perhaps call 'assault with an assortment of friendly weapons?'"

She kissed him ferociously, then said "That's clever! You bet that's why we're here. Perhaps - I hope! - we can be gooey romantic later. Right now, you need to help me out of these clothes."

He felt the two shakes, left, right, that sent her sandals flying: the footwear hit the naked steel deck with tiny clicks like exclamation points. He began work on the blouse's buttons as her hands found his belt buckle. In very few seconds, their clothes were mingle in a heap at their feet, all doffed save nylons and garter-belt.

They renewed the kiss, her nipples drilling into his chest, his rock-like erection trapped between their bellies.

"And, Albert... I'm going to be as blunt as you were. I'm at my most fertile today, so if you haven't any contraception handy we'll just have to use my bottom. In fact, that's a preference - I can come easiest that way."

Albert had foam and condoms in his kit, a whole three feet away, but shook his head sadly (anal being his absolute favorite), apologized for having none instantly available, and said "You have a butt to die for, and the world's prettiest pussy. Could you stand a few minutes' delay while I attend properly to them with my mouth? Then we can use your bottom - so long as we can do half doggie and half face to face. I intend to be kissing you hard when you come facing me!"

She pulled back far enough to focus: "God, but I do love how direct you are! So refreshing! So rare, too. Two questions. These room-lights, is it yes or no? Secondly, garter belt and nylons on or off?"

His reply was instantaneous: "Lights yes -garters and nylons stay on - that'll be something new for me!"

Twenty minutes of intense activity in very cramped circumstances produced some seriously mussed and sweaty bedding, three orgasms for her, and two for him. Breathing hard, wrapped tightly around one another and with the room's sex-scented air now humid enough to befog the mirror, they laughed at themselves, then stood to repair the damage.

She wiped the mirror, then dried her hand on his chest, giggling. Two minutes with her comb, some rearranging of bobby-pins, and she sported no hair more out of place than might readily be blamed on the wind. Three more minutes of mutual help and they were dressed, all buttons checked for proper functioning and alignment, nothing significantly awry.

Now capable of returning decorously to the party -although having no desire to do so - they stared into one another in the mirror, silent for a long moment, until she said "Remember Erica Jong's book "Once is not enough?"

He nodded: "Of course. Required reading once upon a time!"

She fished about in her dress pocket, extracted a slightly crumpled calling-card, picked up a pen from his tiny desk, scribbled, extended the card to him.

"I'm going to be presumptuous and assume two things - first, that you can leave the ship at will and have no pressing duties to keep you here at present, and second, that we both would like more time together. I certainly would! So here's my address. Come meet me at six tonight. It's an easy walk. Go straight out the gate for five blocks to Nautilus Street, go left three blocks on Nautilus Street, turn right, look for the number. I'll make dinner: together we can undoubtedly provide dessert. And Albert..."

He wrapped his arms around her, kissed her again thoroughly, finally said "What?"

"We still have the romantic part to deal with, so bring your shaving kit - you're not coming back to the ship tonight. And with any luck at all, you'll not need this bunk-bed until you're at sea."

"And oh, by the way - I hope you liked your welcome to our fair city!"