“Of course.”
“You mentioned divorce sale, and it reminded me. I know you said you were single, and I’m not saying I don’t trust you, but I was wondering how long it’s been, you know, since you got a divorce?”
Kyle looked down.
Drew’s heart started to pounding.
Here it comes, she thought, the bullshit, the excuses. I’m so out of here. I can’t believe this.
“It’s been filed,” he said.
“Filed?”
“Yes, a couple months ago. We’ve been separated for four months. We filed two months ago. It takes time. Our marriage was over years ago, but, these things are hard to end. It’s tough. I didn’t lie, I mean, I guess technically, I wasn’t completely honest. I’m not divorced, officially, yet. But we’ve filed. I’m getting divorced. We aren’t living together. You okay?”
Drew thought about it.
“I need a second,” she said.
He wasn’t entirely truthful about being technically divorced, but filed is filed. It’s close enough. He’s a nice guy. He hasn’t pushed or moved too fast. Maybe I’m being stupid? But. There’s always a but. He’s handsome and well respected, and it’s not like he’s a wife-beating-drunk-cheater or anything horrible. Not a good fucking standard, but who am I to judge harshly?
“Yeah, it’s fine. You’re sure it’s over?” Drew looked him in the eyes.
“Positive.” He sounded as sincere as a monk.
She smiled at him and changed the subject.
Kyle explained boating terms to her. Port, starboard, stern, bow, the toilet is the head, that’s the mast, this is the bowline, and so forth. Drew listened like she was a student in a classroom. He explained and demonstrated like the natural teacher he was. It felt good to be back on track.
...................
Motor power took them out of the harbor and then Kyle set sail. He explained each step to Drew as he tied off the main sheet and the jib sheet. His craft was small enough to be handled by one person, even if cruising across the Pacific, but it was more fun with two he told her.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said. He gave her a hug.
Drew felt the warmth of his arms and placed her head on his chest. She felt a comfortable sense of protection. They were at ease with each other. She could feel the boat gently moving as it sailed. There were virtually no waves except for long slow rollers. Occasionally the wakes of passing craft caused the boat to rise and dip. She hoped she wouldn’t get sea sick. She’d never felt these sensations before. She realized that some of her butterflies were being caused by a man and not the ocean.
“Look,” he said pointing off the bow. “Do you see the dolphins?”
A school of dolphins passed the starboard side of the boat. They jumped into the air, entirely carefree and playful. Drew couldn’t stop smiling while watching them. Amazing.
You are so getting laid, Kyle. This is already the best date of my life.
“It’s so clear today,” Drew said. “Have you sailed out to Catalina before?”
“Yes, I have. I’ll take you on a weekend if you’d like. We’ll get you your first night at sea. It’s wonderful. The stars on a dark night or the moon when it’s full. You’ll get hooked.”
Drew thought about it. Camping at sea, on the ocean, in a tiny boat? I guess it’s safe. She wondered about the whales. Did they ever knock over a boat? She’d google it later.
He changed course and told her that if she wanted to get some sun, he wouldn’t mind if she wanted to lay out.
She played along. “I’ll need some suntanning oil.”
“Coming right up,” he said.
Drew took off her shorts and top. She was already wearing a bikini. A tiny all-black top and a matching g-string. She found a spot to lie down near the bow. There weren’t many choices because the boat was designed for function not sunbathing. She was small enough to fit into a comfortable spot. She untied her top once she was lying down on her front. No point in having any tan lines, and besides, most of America had already seen her undressed.
“Wow.”
Drew smiled to herself when she heard Kyle behind her.
“You have some oil?” she asked.
“I do. Let me set up the wind vane autopilot, and I’ll be right with you.”
Kyle worked on her legs with a coconut oil blend that was more of a massage oil than a suntanning oil. He worked her calves and thighs and then the small of her back.
“You run a massage school in your spare time?” Drew asked. “You’ve got great hands.”
“Thank you. No, I only learned by practicing. Feedback helps, so let me know if I’m doing okay or if something is too hard or too soft.”
She mumbled something incoherent in response.
He worked on her back, up her spine, and then moved to her shoulders. Next, he massaged her feet using a kneading motion. He gently squeezed each toe and then worked her arches with patience and care.
Drew was ready to scream. Grab my ass, please. Don’t make me beg.
She could tell he was getting more oil into his hands because he’d stopped working on her feet and legs. She couldn’t feel his touch for a moment. He brought this hands down to her thighs and then worked upwards, landing on her ass. She moaned in approval, not wanting him to stop. He didn’t. He massaged each butt cheek as if she’d finished running a marathon and needed her muscles worked to avoid cramps. His hands were strong. He knew exactly how to move his fingers down into her inner thigh to drive her crazy with desire for more.
Drew rolled over and tossed her top aside. She looked up at Kyle and said, “Time for the front.”
He put more oil into his hands and started on her legs, working the muscles with a mixture of therapeutic touch and sensuality.
“You said you were a swimmer?”
“Yes, why? Are my thighs too big?”
“No. No, of course not. I mean you have excellent muscle tone. You’re gorgeous, but fit too, like an athlete.”
She lifted her hands up towards him.
He accepted her embrace and lowered himself to her. He kissed her. His kiss was strong. He was in control of the kiss, from the first moment, as if he’d transferred being the captain of the sloop to the captain of her body.
She ran her hands over his chest and shoulders. He had smooth skin, firm muscles, and a golden tan.
He didn’t stop kissing her while he moved his hands to her breasts. The oil made his touch slick, and she moaned in delight when he rubbed her left nipple between his fingers.
She ran her fingers through his hair and touched his face.
He moved his hands from her breasts to her inner thigh.
She reached down and slid off her thong.
He responded by bringing his mouth to her unveiled flesh.
Drew’s breathing increased.
“Yes, that’s so good. Oh, my God.”
Drew forgot she was on a boat and out in the open. She forgot that the sun was still shining down on her. She entered nirvana, heaven, and paradise. She screamed out when she reached a peak. She had not climaxed with a partner for so long that she had nearly forgotten the feeling of euphoria that came with it.
“I want you,” she said.
He slipped off his shorts and sat next to her. “Come here,” he said. “Sit.”
She sat on top of him with their legs crossing. She was light enough for him to maneuver while she had enough control to vary the depth of his stroke.
They slowly rocked, the motion of the boat gently moving with them. They kissed. He held her face with his hands and caressed her. Occasionally he’d rock his hips and push himself deep into her, but mostly he allowed her to set the pace and pressure. She started increasing her rhythm as she approached her second climax.
He put his hands on her hips and with her motion assisting him, he moved her body faster and more forcibly.
Her breath became faster and harder and deeper, mimicking their thrusting and passion.
“Fas
ter,” she said. “Fuck.”
She could hear Kyle start to breath faster and deeper, too. Then they synced their inhaling and exhaling in tandem.
“I’m so close,” he said. “Look at me.”
She looked into his eyes and watched his face as he began the ascent.
Drew massaged herself; she wanted to climax again. She felt him orgasm. His body convulsed and he cried out. She stayed in place, without pumping her hips, she worked herself while still entwined in his arms. “Kiss me,” she said.
As Kyle kissed her, holding her head in his hands, she peaked again. Her body exploded. All the tensions, fears, and anxiety she’d been storing up left her. Her body and her mind were clear. She felt alive, beautiful, and free.
Drew opened her eyes and saw dolphins leaping in the distance. I am one of you.
CHAPTER FOUR
When you combine psychopathy with paraphilia, you get a very dangerous person. Fortunately, such people are very rare.
~ Kent A. Kiehl
I work with law enforcement in an attempt to rehabilitate sex offenders. The most horrific of the violent psychopaths commit murder, and once caught, rarely see the outside again. However, occasionally a potential murderer gets caught in the system on lesser charges. These are the frustrating cases. You cannot incarcerate someone for crimes you suspect he’ll eventually commit.
~ Randy Hawkins
...................
Randy Hawkins sat down opposite his client. His office was designed to be soft and semi-modern, like home, but still professional. The art consisted of a nondescript landscape that he’d wanted to replace for years and a reproduction of a Whistler piece. His client began speaking first.
“I’m ready. Today’s the day. I’ve been having nightmares about it again. It’s time to get this off my chest.”
“Go on.”
The therapist’s compassion filled the room like pollen on a windy day, but whether it could effect change was always something of a guess. Occasionally the worst cases surprised him, sometimes those people he held great hope for disappeared. Or worse. But Randy Hawkins was a happy person. He promised himself, and told his wife, that if he ever allowed his job to steal his happiness, he’d quit. Even if it meant they’d have to live on beans and rice for a year. He volunteered at church, but never in the counseling department. He preferred to keep his professional duties and his religious duties separate. The majority of his work involved men that were court ordered to be in therapy: probation, parole, and California’s middle category, called euphemistically “community supervision.”
Many of his clients struggled with payment. Those who had been recently released from incarceration and court ordered to get therapy were often unemployed, yet they still required care. Once they became patients, it was not ethical to refuse to treat them based on their ability to pay or not, so a significant number of them got treatment in group therapy where the cost could be shared. It was better than nothing. Randy was very grateful for Chip. He had come to therapy on his own volition, and he paid faithfully, always in cash.
“I was ten years old,” Chip said. He began his story.
...................
“I miss mom and sissy,” he said.
“Goddamn it, I told you, don’t miss them. Shut the fuck up about it. They aren’t coming back,” his father said.
Chip stood in the kitchen willing himself not to cry. He felt a tear run down his cheek, but he hadn’t made a noise. Maybe he’d be okay.
“Bring me a beer,” his father commanded from the living room.
Chip wiped his eyes with a dirty towel and opened the refrigerator. He took the beer to his father who sat in front of the television.
“You’ve been fucking crying.”
“No, Dad.”
“Yes, you have. Don’t lie to me.”
His father took the beer out of Chips hand and slapped him across the face.
“Lying like a fucking bitch and crying like a little pussy.”
“Sorry, Dad.”
Chip sniffed and made himself rigid. If he started bawling now, he’d get a real beating. One slap, he could handle. He wiped his nose with his tee shirt and then asked his dad if he wanted a baloney sandwich.
“Extra mustard, boy. Move the fuck out of the way of the TV.”
Chip went into the kitchen and got out the Wonder Bread, Miracle Whip, French’s Mustard, and Oscar Mayer Bologna. It was his dad’s favorite meal and his second favorite. Peanut Butter Cap’n Crunch being his very favorite. Chip made three sandwiches, putting extra mustard on his father’s and no Miracle Whip on his own. That stuff was gross. He found half a bag of Doritos and poured some onto each paper plate. He inspected the milk; there was not enough to drink now and still have enough for cereal in the morning, so poured himself orange soda instead. It was flat, but it was still better than water.
“Where the fuck’s the cheese?” his dad asked when he took his sandwich.
“We’re out.”
“You need to remind me of that kind of shit, boy. That’s your job. We’d better not goddamn run out of beer if you know what’s good for you.”
“Four left, I counted,” he said.
They ate in silence, watching television. His dad handed him the paper plate when he finished and told him to get another beer.
“We are going fishing tonight,” he said to Chip when he’d returned with the beer. “You need to put on some warmer clothes.”
Chip enjoyed night fishing with his dad. Fishing was the only thing they ever did together that was fun. He smiled to himself knowing that night fishing meant they’d get home in the middle of the night, his dad would sleep in late the following morning, which would give him control of the television. He would watch all the cartoons he wanted.
When they fished at night, it was for catfish. Chip was never able to stay up as late as his father, which was okay. His dad always brought him a sleeping bag and Chip would fall asleep in the back of their van. A twelve pack of beer in front of the television usually ended up with Chip getting yelled at or hit, but a twelve pack at the lake made his father melancholy and quiet. He had never struck Chip while they were fishing together, so getting the gear ready put Chip in a light mood.
They stopped at a mini-mart and bought bait, ice, more beer, and a couple of candy bars. His dad was in a good mood, and he told Chip he could pick out his own pop. Chip struggled between Mountain Dew and Dr Pepper. He loved Mountain Dew, but he remembered his dad had once told him Mountain Dew looked like faggot’s piss, so Chip took the Dr Pepper instead. They drove out to the lake and parked the van next to a sandy alcove which ran up to the man-made dam. They were the only fisherman there, and they set up their gear as if they owned the spot. Fishing poles, a cooler, their snacks, and a couple of lawn chairs were unloaded, and then they baited their hooks and tossed them out.
His father was mostly silent when they fished together except for a few instructions and the occasional request for a beer. They fished for several hours, each landing multiple catfish, which Chip put on a stringer.
When he got sleepy, his father told him to get into the back of the van.
“Go to sleep. I’ll get you up when we get home.”
His father was unusually pleasant. Almost nice. Chip wondered if this was what a normal family was like as he began to reel in his line.
His father told him to leave it. “Just go to sleep. I’ll mind the lines.”
Chip crawled into his sleeping bag and fell asleep.
Sometime later in the night he heard his father talking to a woman. Chip opened his eyes. He could tell they were no longer at the lake. Street lights filled the van with an orange glow. He shut his eyes and stayed quiet. He knew better than to surprise his father with questions. He fell asleep again when the van started moving.
When he woke again, he was cold. He was still in the back of the van. Confused. His dad normally carried him to his bed on late nights like this. He sat up and looked out the
window. The moon was out, and the sky was clear. They were still parked at the lake. He assumed that his dad had gone to town earlier for more bait and beer. He searched for him through the window. His father wasn’t alone.
The scene he saw shocked him, but he couldn’t look away. The woman with his father was naked. She was on her hands and knees, and his father was behind her. Chip knew little about actual sex; his knowledge was about as much as fifth-grade boys could guess at. A man and a woman took off their clothes and did things involving each other’s privates. Sometimes men did things to other men, but only sick perverts did that. Chip knew he liked girls; he had a crush on a classmate. He had imagined what it would be like to kiss her on the lips, but the thought of anything involving complete nudity hadn’t crossed his mind.
He couldn’t stop watching the woman. As his father moved, Chip could see one of her breasts, which hung downward and swung back and forth. He crept to the edge of the van’s rear picture window; the last thing he needed was to be caught, he’d get a really nasty beating for that.
Unconsciously, he slid his hand into his underwear. He squeezed himself, felt an erection, and then rubbed. The harder and faster he moved, the better it felt, but something was not quite right. His memory gave him a trick; he spat into his hand, and the pleasure intensified.
He watched the woman rock back and forth. He didn’t stop watching as his father put a towel around her neck and pulled her backward onto her knees. She struggled to stand, and Chip, for the first time in his life, saw the sight of a live naked woman. The image was far more compelling than pictures he’d seen in his father’s magazines. She had a lot of hair down there, black hair, mysteriously captivating. He spat into his hand again. He stroked himself vigorously, and he felt a fantastic tingling feeling as he looked up from her hairy twat, recalling verbiage he’d overheard older boys using, to her big titties, something his father said about the woman on the news who gave the weather report. Big titties, hairy twat. Her breasts bounced as she struggled to get away from his father.
Chip moved his eyes upward to her face. She looked shocked and scared. Her eyes were wide open as if she had been surprised and knew something dreadful was coming. Chip’s eyes locked with hers; she stared back, and he couldn’t look away. She appeared to be attempting to scream, her mouth stretched wide, but Chip heard nothing. His father released her, and her body dropped, not dramatically like on television, but in one sudden snap. The tingling sensation he had been feeling peaked as she fell and he realized he’d created a fog on the glass. He wiped the glass in a panic; he didn’t want to be caught awake, so he ducked, got into his sleeping bag, and willed himself to fall back to sleep.
Undressed At Sea: A Psychological Thriller (Drew Stirling Book 2) Page 3