I remember another three ejaculations before the rapture over took me completely, and I almost passed out. I swear that only the sounds of Brandy’s wails of pleasure kept me conscious.
After that, it was a slow decent back to the plains of normalcy for both of us. I lay atop my lover, unable to convince my muscles to respond to the commands of my foggy brain. Even if I had wanted to move, I doubt it would have been possible. Not with Brandy holding me that tightly. I had tried to roll onto my side in an effort to keep my full weight from crushing her. She had successfully prevented that, preferring that we remain joined in this position for as long as possible. As my now-softening cock popped back out of her vagina, I could feel our combined love juices seeping from her, smearing over my balls, and dripping on the deck boards below us. As promised, she had swabbed the decks with our juices.
"Jerry? That was the most incredible . . ." Her words were muffled by the sobs that accompanied her tears. I tried to kiss them away, but there were just too many of them for one man.
"Brandy Bendall, you are the most amazing woman I have ever had the pleasure of knowing" I whispered into her ear. "And consider this deck well-swabbed. Mind you, I think it might need to be touched up in the morning’s light."
""Agreed, Captain" she said through her sniffles, then added softly, "Captain? Permission to . . . fall in love with you? Sir?"
It took me a few moments to get my heart back out of my throat before I replied.
"Permission . . . granted."
We slept on deck that night. The next morning, I finally got into the harbour and anchored as close to the lagoon where Brandy’s sloop lay at anchor as I could. She had found the ideal location in that lagoon. Despite almost a dozen-and-a-half other boats sheltered in the harbour, we had the world to ourselves. For three glorious days, Brandy was the center of my Universe, and I was the center of hers. Or so she professed.
And after three days? Well, Brandy returned to her world of academia. She’s a tenured biology professor at Malaspina University. They sponsor her research, provide her with the boat that made our time together possible, and command her attention whenever the needed funding grants become available.
We keep in touch still. I have her marine phone number, her cell number, and an unlisted private number in Malaspina. They were taped to one of the locker doors, but I’ve memorized them from all the use I’ve put them through.
And as for me? Yeah, I’m still sitting on the deck of the same 32-foot sloop, still plying the same waters, still spending my time escaping from those people that let you scratch their back just before they disappear.
I still frequent that secret cove, the one that’s only accessible when the tide’s in. I seem to find myself there almost every week.
So does a certain 28-foot sloop.
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