My Town s Story III
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SerendipityChapter 19 free porn video
Showering together was definitely going to have a high priority in the Quinton household. After a morning 'quickie' ... well, not so quick ... it was both very enjoyable and rather necessary. Not to mention much quicker and easier than a sponge-down in a cabin at sea. So good, too, to have fresh milk for us to have with our muesli, so much easier as well to have the space and equipment that enabled us to have different breakfasts. One thing that did carry over from our habits at sea was nudity, though we had terry robes in case of callers; no problem with callers at sea. Oh ... and towels scattered around to put on chairs. What for? Oh, please ... Even bacon-and-mushroom sandwiches tasted better when I could ogle Grace whilst eating.
Jim was ... very obviously ... relieved when we called in to say we'd be taking one of the barge trips. "Reminder?" he suggested, "as you'll be together? Tom Carmichael's Mate. I'll ask Gerry Westwood to go with Thistle. I don't think he'll mind, it'll give him nights at home with Delia."
"Westwood? Don't think I know him."
"Royal Marine. Lost a leg to an IED in Afghanistan or somewhere and was invalided out, but he gets around pretty well with a prosthetic. Married a lovely woman ... Delia. He'll make a good Mate soon ... he's been shipping as Third Hand with Tom Carmichael and whoever I can find as Skipper. But what about this woman of yours? Is she up to coping as Third Hand?"
"She sailed Serendipity single-handed the last eighty miles into Kirkwall when I got appendicitis. Motor-sailing, and she had a pilot for the entry, but she's been standing night watches. Dinghy sailor; got a real feel for the ship."
"Really? Looks as if a strong breeze would blow her away."
"Don't underestimate her, Jim. She assessed my appendicitis, called the Coastguard and got me air-lifted out, then got Serendipity into harbour without a scratch. Much of the rest of the time it was just the two of us. The last stretch with Eva, well, Eva had no sailing experience at all. The only reason I wouldn't rate her as Mate is she doesn't know barges."
"Okay; I'll take your word on it. She'll share the Master's Cabin? Might be some remarks about that."
"They'll eat them when they see her at the wheel, or managing the bowline in a tack."
"Very well, then, Ted. Punters boarding by six, under way by eight. Anchor by Osea, maybe, your choice, then you'll have all day Saturday, back here for say nine Sunday night. That woman of yours cook?"
"Pretty well."
"Well, maybe she can give Andrea a hand between times."
I didn't answer that. The idea of my new wife – my new, pregnant wife – sweating over the catering for the punters did not please.
We spent the afternoon with Tom, showing Grace the ropes ... very different to a bermudan-rigged yacht. On a barge, the mainsail and mizzen are not hoisted. Once bent on, they are not removed until the gear is lowered at the end of the season unless repairs are needed. There are special lines called 'brails', which are used to 'brail up' or furl the sail into an inverted 'L'. The main-brail is on a winch as the sail is large and heavy canvas. To give the flat-bottomed ship more grip on the water, lee-boards are used which work like the centre-boards on a sailing dinghy. Enormously heavy, they are raised and lowered by 'crab-winches', which are also used to sheet-in the mainsail.
It was obvious by tea-time that Grace had a thoroughly good theoretical understanding of the principles of sailing a Thames Barge. Tom was no trouble; he'd sailed many times with female skippers and knew they were usually the equal, or better, of any man in most respects. He was also aware of her pregnancy and that he would have to do much of the heavy work.
Andrea, our cook, had a buffet tea laid out for the benefit of the punters, most of whom arrived in good time. Of course, it benefited us too, and was an opportunity to get to know our customers.
On board Serendipity, Grace had dressed primarily for comfort. Knowing she was to be working in a professional capacity, she had gone to some trouble over her appearance; blue chinos, t-shirt under a blue sweater, a blue canvas smock and a matching, soft, peaked corduroy cap. She looked good; trim, attractive and workman-like. Of course, I'm biassed. I did point out to her that barges are not known for cleanliness and her smart outfit would soon be stained with sea-water and Stockholm tar, but she just smiled.
We encouraged the punters to select a life-jacket and fit it. We didn't expect them to wear them routinely, but when you need the thing is not the time to worry about how to put it on, or to get the straps the right length. One of the punters appeared to be making a move on Grace. I listened, discreetly, until I heard her say, amusement in her voice, "My husband is the Skipper. He'd take a very dim view of me with any other man." He desisted and Grace, later, told me the story.
"I keep telling you you're attractive, Grace," was my comment.
"Well, I have to say it made me feel quite good," she said, "not that I got the impression he was that fussy."
We got under way on time, and sailed off the quay. With the moderate westerly wind, it was easy enough. We were going so well I eschewed anchoring off Osea and we finally brought to in Mersea Quarters about eleven o'clock. Grace took a one-hour trick at the wheel with Tom to give advice, but she caught on quickly. It is not easy to keep a barge straight; they tend to wander, and it's more art than science.
We had a pretty good thrash about on Saturday after a substantial breakfast and anchored off Brightlingsea about six so we had time to enjoy our supper; Grace clearly had assimilated both the theoretical and practical aspects of barge life by that point and was being treated with respect by the punters. We went to bed, but clothed in case of emergency. Just holding her and going to sleep was infinitely better than being twelve miles or more apart.
Sunday morning, after another excellent cooked breakfast, we didn't go far out, just enough to be clear of the Cocum Hills, then beat in to anchor in the Mersea Quarters again. We gave them the option of spending a couple of hours in West Mersea, but they were all happy to stay and relax, waiting for the tide to turn. The westerly wind could have been worse for us, but we still had a good deal of beating to do. On a barge, it is necessary to hold the staysail 'aback' to get the head round when tacking, using a rope called the 'bowline' (not to be confused with the knot). The bowline is led outside a stay and a couple of turns taken round a cleat. As the ship tacks, the wind gets on the 'wrong' side of the sail and forces the bows through the eye of the wind. As soon as the mainsail begins to draw, the crew responsible – usually the third hand, if present, otherwise the Mate – releases the bowline and steps back smartly as it whips out of his, or her, hands.
We didn't manage to do it all under sail; there was one stretch, perhaps half a mile, directly into the wind and very narrow. It can be done. Once upon a time it had to be done, but there was no need.
We packed up; Tom showed Grace the way of bundling the staysail into a sausage and hoisting it up the stay and we left Reminder all snug to be home by ten o'clock. Hot shower, together ... bliss. Followed by making love and eight or nine hours of undisturbed sleep.
Laying in bed in the morning, snuggling together, caressing each other; not really thinking about it, but the sensations seeping into awareness and enhancing the pleasure
"I love you," Grace said, quietly.
"And I love you too."
"I know. It's ... wonderful." She was silent, though her hand was wandering over my body, as mine was over hers, but then she went on, "Sailing with you in Reminder was great fun, but I'm not going to do it again until I'm not pregnant. I need to be able to pull my weight. It's time I started to be a home-maker."
I didn't respond immediately; my hand had found its way to the soft firmness of her breast and was squeezing gently. She hummed in her throat.
"I understand," I said, but my voice must have been flat, because she rolled to face me.
"I'm sorry, Ted..."
"Don't be," I said firmly, "I respect that. The baby has to come first. Shortly, I guess you won't feel much like hard work anyway."
"That's true. You know, you don't really have to work."
"True. But I need to do something and I'd miss sailing. Not that I want to be away from you."
That day, we were just ... together. We pottered round charity shops. We went through the house, identifying things that needed fixing ... several cracked light-switches and a socket that had some worrying black marks round the points. Loose door-handles, dripping taps. Broken window latches. We made a little list, so that nothing would be missed.
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