Boatscrew

Boatscrew
So we up anchored or at least unstrung the thing from the pontoon and with the diesel throbbing, off we set. Now me I ain`t no sailor, so this was to be a hit and miss affair, health and safety would have a kitten if they knew. Mandy and I had won the lottery and on an impulse had bought a cruiser, yes I know, daft wasn`t it. Anyway, we needed to get the thing home and my persuasive misses, Mandy, had convinced me that midsummer, flat sea and it would be a breeze to get back to Essex, from Brighton if we took a can or two of fuel and our road map, kept the coast in sight and wandered along we could be home in a day or three. Dopey here was under the “affluence of incohol” as they say at the time, so here we were plodding along in the sunshine off the seven s****rs cliffs. Our little cruiser short modern and second hand had all the things we needed the salesman had said so, life jackets, flares, and something he referred to as a bilge pump, oh and a short wave radio (which Mandy was at the moment cursing as she could not get radio 1!). The little boat, ship, call it what you will, had some wonderful features, a huge bed in the sharp end, a nice galley, (not a kitchen even I know that much) and a bog cum shower room. A pair of stick things across the blunt end with a small rowing inflatable effort hung on them. There was a cab sort of thing up top and a wheel to steer the job, a compass and a throttle, gearstick and fuel gauge, oh yes and a ships manual.
They say it`s better to travel hopefully than to arrive.
Mandy had got us a fantastic deal on this boat, it being only a couple of years old, she had taken the young salesman below and returned licking her lips a while later with a huge discount.
Our next problem was the flight plan or whatever it`s called and the harbourmaster came calling.
Anyway Mandy is a real sex mad slut, and she had distracted said harbour master, when he had approached us on the pontoon thing, asking about a masters certificate, she had stuffed her tits in his line of sight, and introduced me as her master, then took him below deck giving him the same treatment, that seemed to satisfy him and he went off, bemused and bareheaded as we backed away from his “harbour”.
So there we were, me wearing a harbourmasters hat at a jaunty angle, her sunbathing topless on the flat bit in front of the cab, and the dog our lab, looking seasick and desperately trying to stay in one spot his feet unused to the hard floor that kept moving about under him. We were pottering along, me trying to get rid of the hang-over and focus on the map, a best quality AA one from the fuel station where we had filled the cans now strung together on the back under the little boat effort. I felt lousy. I did not want food and my head was pounding my dark glasses were a necessity not an accessory.
Mandy rose and suggested we put on the auto pilot and went below for a bit of the other. I explained there was no auto pilot, so she called the dog and went below. Since she had visited a farm in the Cambridge countryside and shall we say had carnal knowledge of the farmer`s dog I had been second fiddle anyway, according to her I was half the length and a third of the girth of that bl**dy dog, and had a quarter of the energy!
We had been married for some years and I had been used and cuckolded on more occasions than I could count, once more with the dog would be just that, once more.
Shall we say we have a very open marriage, and I am no monk either?
We passed Eastbourne by mid afternoon, and hauled the thing onto Hastings beach for the night.
A friendly local fisherman explained that we needed to prop our boat up or we would tip over on one side when the water receded. Even I can`t sl**p at 45 degrees so he lashed us to the side of his much bigger fishing smack to keep us upright. He ranged his eye, over Mandy, and went on to explain about tides, something to do with too much water then not enough or something like that. The next high tide was due at 4 the next morning; he would be setting off then and would call us he said. We staggered off first to the chippy and then to the nearest pub crammed with the helpful fisherman and a lot of young men down from London for the weekend. We were back on the boat and in the bed by 11.30, or at least I and the dog were, Mandy stayed for a “nightcap” with the fisherman, crawling in beside me at 2 am with a smile and damp knickers. I went back to sl**p...just when at 3.45 the fisherman called us, the water having returned, and at 4am muggin`s here was on his way in the grey dawn, the fisherman refused a tip, saying Mandy had done that already, I bet she bl**dy well had!
The English Channel is a beautiful spot at dawn on a summer’s morning, gulls wheeling about, the beach away to our left, marked with small waves our lights reflecting on the water, till it became fully light. In high spirits I and the little boat enjoyed the morning, by 9am Mandy was cooking breakfast and we both felt elated, good to be alive, blue water sailors.
The day passed in sunbathing for her and doing my Pug-wash impressions for me, our old dog was getting his sea legs and had seemingly enjoyed this bit of the trip
By dusk that evening we were tied to the old pier at Folkestone, where the cross channel boats once left from and the horses and men of the expeditionary f***e had set out from, back in 1914.
We tied here as we could stay afloat, having no props and the harbour here being muddy and tidal. Mandy demanded her usual pound of flesh, despite me having been on my feet since 4 that morning! The bl**dy boat managed to tip me from my bed at low tide as well me having forgotten to adjust the mooring ropes!
That was soon sorted by cutting the stringy things and re tying them with a fine couple of granny knots and so at six the next day we loosed off and plodded to sea, me fairly tired, the AA map was doing well till approaching Shakespeare cliff we hit the first traces of sea mist! That got thicker as we groped our way past the first entrance to the great harbour at Dover following the outer wall niftily removing fishing lines as we went; the fishermen high above us in the mist. Mandy ever the comic hooked one of her bra`s drying on the cab roof onto one of the lines. We saw it rise through the mist as he reeled in, so what the fisherman thought god knows.
We played dodge the ferry at the other entrance, the pilot boat crew watching with eyes covered as we shot at full revs across the open harbour mouth just in front of one of those ferry efforts came out on its way to wherever. Mandy swore at it telling the crew what she thought as we rose and dropped in the bow wave of the great thing, as we turned to run parallel with the cliffs. The dog went back to bed the only place he felt safe. He too covered his eyes!
Our next stop was Ramsgate where officialdom fell at us having had details of our progress from every port and harbourmaster along the whole coast.
They demanded we had a qualified crew member with us, and something called “charts” before we left and had a go at the mouth of the Thames. Mandy tried the bribe the officials with sex for blind eye act he was gay so to no avail so what to do?
In the end for the last leg we hired a chap from the local sailing club, a Kentish man, that was suspect to me a man of Kent, but one look at his pretty wife changed my mind; her name was Bridey, as Irish as they come, whom I soon found was not averse to sharing a bed.
Mandy surprisingly had suddenly found a great interest in all things nautical when she met Colin, they forming one crew and Bridey and I the other as we took 6 hour turns driving, unfortunately my tongue working on Bridey while she was at the wheel distracted the girl and we spent some time lost off Southend going round in circles, luckily it`s got a very long pier there, and we were a fair way off shore!
We came near having to go home via the pier railway but managed to miss the silly thing by the skin of our teeth
6 hours later Colin put the handbrake on, or whatever it is you do in a boat, while I did another one or two of my best quality knots round a lamp post on the tiny private pier in the muddy creek beside our home. Colin and Bridey; came ashore with us staying till the next day.
Colin was such a good sailor that he looked distinctly queasy on dry land, though I personally reckon it could have been the casserole Mandy fed him off Southend it having been in our fridge when we bought the boat, the rest of us like all good sailors,...opened a tin. He was feeling a lot better before catching the train home Mandy having “sweated the poison” from him in our back bedroom. The poor man looked somewhat tired it must be said, no stamina the Kentish man.
Bridey however had an Irish smile a mile wide blowing me a kiss as she left.

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Categories: Sex Humor
Posted by alibodge
9 months ago    Views: 561
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9 months ago
I like your style, cheers for posting.