The sun is warm on our backs as we walk down the dock. A few glasses of wine
at a local pub, a smiled thank you and we are walking to board "Cut the
Mustard". There's nobody else around. The seagulls call out in the humid
air, a warm breeze beckons.

The boat is a beauty. "Cut the Mustard," whose lines say William Tripp..
She's stout and smells of the sea. She's well-found and capable or anywhere
on the deep blue sea. She'll take good care of Jessica B.

You're smiling at me with that teasing, knowing grin, shaking your head.

I smile back, but you know that smile. It's dangerous, and you start to
step away.

I'm too quick, even for a track star. I snag a hand around those lovely,
strong curves of yours and stand tall. I pull you close. I feel your hands
on my shoulders, but you yelp as they slip off. No questions, no pause; I
kiss you hard, both arms wrapped around you. Bodies together from head to
toe.

I want you. You can feel it in my lips. In my hands. You can feel it in my
body, pressed against yours. You can see it in my eyes as I pull away and
look at you. Desire. Passion. Lust. Fulfillment.

Suddenly, I hear the shuffling of an interloper coming up the dock behind
us. I push you away, still holding your hand as you collect yourself, catch
your breath.

"Hey, what's happening?"

The newcomer has an awkward moment when she realizes that she probably
interrupted something. I smile back and nod. "Hi, JM. Could you get us some
ice." She goes.

I ask you to stand in front of me. The contrast is enormous, but I catch a
perfect outline of you framed against blue sky. A strand of soft hair is
blown above your cheek, and your damp shirt clings to your body. You are
turned slightly, just enough for the soft outline of the nipple to be barely
pointed out against the light coming to attention, the curve of your hips
just as inviting.

Definitely a private photo op just for you and me. It's hot!

It's hot all around. The sweat is beading on my arms and it looks like
you're no better off.

I walk behind you onto the deck. I can taste your sweat on my lips still, a
little salty.

You stop at the companionway, looking forward. Nobody is behind me. I step
directly behind you. By the time you realize it my arms are already wrapped
around you. I cup your breasts in both hands as I kiss the back of your
neck, nuzzle your hairline. A moment's surprise gives way to sudden arousal,
and I hear your pulsed exhale as you push back against me.

I whisper in your ear, "We could get caught. JM is down the dock getting
ice."

"We could...ooh!" I caress your nipples as you reply, and you clap your
hands over mine. "Ohhhh... stop it." You're strong, though, and quickly turn
to face me, shaking your head.

You don't step away, though. My fingers trace the top of your shorts in the
small of your back and then hold your back as I lean forward and kiss low
below your chin. A little higher, a little higher. Your lips are so perfect
and wet and open . . . Your shirt is in the way but I still feel your body
against mind. Your head is back as I kiss your neck, so smooth and lovely
and sweet.

I kiss your neck softly, then nibble and you're suddenly unsteady in my
hands. The breeze stirs your hair as I kiss you, slowly, just feeling your
body. Your eyes are closed. Your breath is steady and deep as you hold me.

Your eyes open and you look at me. Too wide! You pull away suddenly, and I
am caught by surprise. You slip away, and demure.

I step towards you once, quietly.

Your back is against the bulkhead, hands flat against the wood.

I put my hand out, slowly, palm up.

Your hand comes off the wall, slowly.

Hands closer. Touch. Electricity. Fingers intertwine.

I pull your hand, hard and you pull into me. The collision knocks the
breath out of you. You are heavy in my hands as I step forward and push you
against the wall as I kiss you, hands pulling, holding. Hot.

Then release and roaming!

I slide fingers beneath your shorts and find your panties. A slow slide,
and both to your ankles. A moment's consciousness lets me take them off
without ripping them. Your eyes are open now, wide, watching me. I'm a few
inches away, still for a moment.

I reach out, and hold your head lightly, softly around your ears guiding
you to me as I kiss you again. I want you. My lips demand from you, my hand
lifts you shirt.

I'm still kissing you, a little gentler as I circle your breasts with my
fingers. My palm feels aroused nipples Circle, roll, press!

I smile as your hips respond, pressing against mine. Your eyes are closed,
your head back against the wood behind you.

"Oh god...."

You can feel me ready, hot against your leg. You press against me as I
gently bite your neck. I push you back up against the bulkhead, forcing your
legs apart with mine. Hands on your hips, I lift you up. I'm holding you off
the floor, pressing. Your hips roll in my arms.

Skin on skin. I feel your heat. I smell your arousal. You're wet, ready. I
slide a little, back and forth, feeling your arousal, hot and wet. Pushing,
sliding; close, but not quite the right angle.

You are watching me, wonderful, wide eyed openness.

In a moment, I lift you and catch just inside. Your breath gasps a moment
at the sensation. I lean forward and kiss you, as I slide in, out a little,
in more, a little more. Sliding, deeper, out, then deeper. I am holding your
hips to me as I stand a little, pressing bone to bone now. Your heart is
pounding, your hair has loosened.

I pull your hair loose, and your hair falls down around your face. I hold
your head and hips to me. Your are almost limp in my arms, writhing, pulling
me closer, deeper.

Slow, and hard. Out, teasing, just a little in, in and out. I'm savoring
this moment. The smell of you, the smell of us. Your hair is wet and
tousled. The sweat beads on your face, your eyes closed in desire, as if in
concentration.

I push slowly, feeling you, feeling the soft, silky wetness. I'm alive, I'm
holding you, sharing, giving, taking.

Harder now. Your legs are wrapped around mine, your fingernails press into
my back. It smarts, and the pain wakes a fire.

I nip your shoulder, and take you. It's hot in here, unbearably hot. My
shirt is off in a moment. Skin on skin, wet, sliding heat wet with desire.
My hands hold you up as we make love, harder, faster, taking.

You're moaning, high pitched, pulling me closer, fingers clutching my
shoulders. I growl. Deep, strong. You're mine.

You can feel me, moving faster. The urgency in my hips, in my shoulders as
I pull you closer.

You feel it close, hot, wet . . .

Closer. My voice is low and rumbling as I push into you.

I hold you tight to me. Feeling the pain of your nails, the grip of your
legs. Feeling the need of your body. One more push. One more. Once again ...
and pulse!

You feel me. Warmth. Wet. Heat! White fire. Pulsing, clenching, breath ...
breath!

Breath.

Air.

Shhhhh...

I'm holding you, moving a little in you, smiling, as you open your eyes.

I kiss you again, slowly, just holding you in my arms.

I bend down and kiss your nipple, erect and sensitive.

We swoon.

"WaIIy" wrote in message
...
On Sun, 1 May 2011 16:35:11 -0400, "Wilbur Hubbard"
wrote:


We swoon.

There's only one problem with that scenerio.

You're flaccid.



True, sometimes I do suffer from ED but, with a young goddess like Jessica
B, I am confident that there would sufficient arousal to do the deed to
completion even if it took more than one try. When one is over sixty one
just has to have the right mindset but a totally stimulating partner, mind
and body is certainly a cure for whatever ails you.

Skippy can verify this reality.

Wilbur Hubbard

"Wilbur Hubbard" wrote in message
news:4dbde4e4$0$2613
True, sometimes I do suffer from ED but, with a young goddess like Jessica
B, I am confident that there would sufficient arousal to do the deed to
completion even if it took more than one try. When one is over sixty one
just has to have the right mindset but a totally stimulating partner, mind
and body is certainly a cure for whatever ails you.

Skippy can verify this reality.

Wilbur Hubbard




Skip demurs, no small fellow, he, like the demure in the story.

Boy, if you wanted to scare her off, this was a good way to do it.

Oh.

I forgot she was imaginary...

L8R

Skip

--
Morgan 461 #2
SV Flying Pig KI4MPC
See our galleries at www.justpickone.org/skip/gallery !
Follow us at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/TheFlyingPigLog
and/or http://groups.google.com/group/flyingpiglog

"Believe me, my young friend, there is *nothing*-absolutely nothing-half so
much worth doing as simply messing, messing-about-in-boats; messing about in
boats-or *with* boats.

In or out of 'em, it doesn't matter. Nothing seems really to matter, that's
the charm of it.

Whether you get away, or whether you don't; whether you arrive at your
destination or whether you reach somewhere else, or whether you never get
anywhere at all, you're always busy, and you never do anything in
particular; and when you've done it there's always something else to do, and
you can do it if you like, but you'd much better not."

"Flying Pig" wrote in message
...
"Wilbur Hubbard" wrote in message
news:4dbde4e4$0$2613
True, sometimes I do suffer from ED but, with a young goddess like
Jessica B, I am confident that there would sufficient arousal to do the
deed to completion even if it took more than one try. When one is over
sixty one just has to have the right mindset but a totally stimulating
partner, mind and body is certainly a cure for whatever ails you.

Skippy can verify this reality.

Wilbur Hubbard




Skip demurs, no small fellow, he, like the demure in the story.

Boy, if you wanted to scare her off, this was a good way to do it.

Oh.

I forgot she was imaginary...

If she's real she's playing me for a patsy anyhow, so what's to lose?

On Sun, 1 May 2011 16:35:11 -0400, "Wilbur Hubbard"
wrote:

The sun is warm on our backs as we walk down the dock. A few glasses of wine
at a local pub, a smiled thank you and we are walking to board "Cut the
Mustard". There's nobody else around. The seagulls call out in the humid
air, a warm breeze beckons.

Ah yes Willie-boy does it again. For years you've told us all about
what a REAL SAILOR you are, keeping your boat at a mooring, and now
you fess up that you really are keeping it at a dock.

Cheers,

Bruce
(bruceinbangkokatgmaildotcom)

On Sun, 1 May 2011 18:55:19 -0400, "Wilbur Hubbard"
wrote:

"WaIIy" wrote in message
.. .
On Sun, 1 May 2011 16:35:11 -0400, "Wilbur Hubbard"
wrote:


We swoon.

There's only one problem with that scenerio.

You're flaccid.



True, sometimes I do suffer from ED but, with a young goddess like Jessica
B, I am confident that there would sufficient arousal to do the deed to
completion even if it took more than one try. When one is over sixty one
just has to have the right mindset but a totally stimulating partner, mind
and body is certainly a cure for whatever ails you.

Skippy can verify this reality.

Wilbur Hubbard


I can see a problem here. With all Willie-boys tirades about women,
over the years, it is apparent that he doesn't like them.

Cheers,

Bruce
(bruceinbangkokatgmaildotcom)

"Bruce in Bangkok" wrote in message
...
On Sun, 1 May 2011 16:35:11 -0400, "Wilbur Hubbard"
wrote:

The sun is warm on our backs as we walk down the dock. A few glasses of
wine
at a local pub, a smiled thank you and we are walking to board "Cut the
Mustard". There's nobody else around. The seagulls call out in the humid
air, a warm breeze beckons.

Ah yes Willie-boy does it again. For years you've told us all about
what a REAL SAILOR you are, keeping your boat at a mooring, and now
you fess up that you really are keeping it at a dock.

Cheers,

Bruce
(bruceinbangkokatgmaildotcom)

Ah, Bruce, c'mon - cut the boy some slack :{))

First, it's imaginary. Second, with all that anticipation going on, who'd
want to wait for the long row back in the dinghy, when he could get it on
immediately when she arrives? Besides, he's looking to impress, so putting
out the coin for a day's dockage is probably a good investment to that end.

Yes, I admit, he could do it in the bottom of the dink, but that's
inconsiderate to the lass, given the usual condition of dink floors (oops,
soles) or bilges, if his craft isn't sufficiently luxurious to have floors
as ours does (removeable, for better access for cleaning, even)...

L8R

Skip, about finished with the grinding and preparing to fair after the last
few wet-outs

--
Morgan 461 #2
SV Flying Pig KI4MPC
See our galleries at www.justpickone.org/skip/gallery !
Follow us at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/TheFlyingPigLog
and/or http://groups.google.com/group/flyingpiglog

"Believe me, my young friend, there is *nothing*-absolutely nothing-half so
much worth doing as simply messing, messing-about-in-boats; messing about in
boats-or *with* boats.

In or out of 'em, it doesn't matter. Nothing seems really to matter, that's
the charm of it.

Whether you get away, or whether you don't; whether you arrive at your
destination or whether you reach somewhere else, or whether you never get
anywhere at all, you're always busy, and you never do anything in
particular; and when you've done it there's always something else to do, and
you can do it if you like, but you'd much better not."

On Mon, 2 May 2011 08:23:03 -0400, "Flying Pig"
wrote:

"Bruce in Bangkok" wrote in message
.. .
On Sun, 1 May 2011 16:35:11 -0400, "Wilbur Hubbard"
wrote:

The sun is warm on our backs as we walk down the dock. A few glasses of
wine
at a local pub, a smiled thank you and we are walking to board "Cut the
Mustard". There's nobody else around. The seagulls call out in the humid
air, a warm breeze beckons.

Ah yes Willie-boy does it again. For years you've told us all about
what a REAL SAILOR you are, keeping your boat at a mooring, and now
you fess up that you really are keeping it at a dock.

Cheers,

Bruce
(bruceinbangkokatgmaildotcom)

Ah, Bruce, c'mon - cut the boy some slack :{))

First, it's imaginary. Second, with all that anticipation going on, who'd
want to wait for the long row back in the dinghy, when he could get it on
immediately when she arrives? Besides, he's looking to impress, so putting
out the coin for a day's dockage is probably a good investment to that end.

Yes, I admit, he could do it in the bottom of the dink, but that's
inconsiderate to the lass, given the usual condition of dink floors (oops,
soles) or bilges, if his craft isn't sufficiently luxurious to have floors
as ours does (removeable, for better access for cleaning, even)...

L8R

Skip, about finished with the grinding and preparing to fair after the last
few wet-outs

Wouldn't a REAL SAILOR swim out to the boat?

Cheers,

Bruce
(bruceinbangkokatgmaildotcom)

Bruce in Bangkok wrote:

Wouldn't a REAL SAILOR swim out to the boat?

Cheers,

Bruce
(bruceinbangkokatgmaildotcom)



REAL sailors can walk on water...

Or so it seems around here.
--

Richard Lamb
http://www.home.earthlink.net/~cavelamb
http://www.home.earthlink.net/~sv_temptress