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Overboard

By: Ludo



Standing by the deck rail in the pre-dawn hour, I gazed at a billion stars, uncontested by the new moon, like a blizzard that would never descend. I thought back to the dream which had awakened me; not so much a dream as a memory, brought to life by sweet slumber. I was back in the arms of my dear Mariah, tasting her wanton kisses on my lips, caressing the swell of her breast. The knowledge that this would be our last night together for many months, perhaps even years had driven us to an almost insatiable pitch of desire. I covered her face and neck with urgent kisses. I sought to devour her, take her whole being inside me, carry her with me across the sea.

I kissed her eyes, her warm, flush cheek, the hollow of her throat. I gathered her breasts in my hands and nestled my face between them, cherishing their softness, their life-giving warmth. I alternately kissed and licked and suckled one insistent nipple, then the other. Mariah gasped with pleasure, her taut stomach quivering, beckoning. I heeded her call, trailing hot kisses down her body, savoring every morsel of her flesh as I made my way to the seat of her desire. Her musky scent welcomed me as I grazed her downy fur with my nose and lips. I blew softly, watching the fine, dark hairs dance and wave and part, offering teasing glimpses of the treasure they barely concealed. I reached out my tongue and nudged the very top of her cleft, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from my lover. Emboldened, I gently probed her tender outer lips, parting them, teasing them, tasting them, coaxing the sensitive nubbin from its hooded sheath. Slowly, almost shyly, her clitoris swelled, venturing timidly from hiding place like a kitten begging to be petted. Lifting it with my tongue, I drew that sensitive button between my lips, sucking it like a teat, painting the tip in broad strokes with my tongue. Mariah shook and moaned, thrashing her head back and forth, the wetness growing between her legs giving further testament to the height of her passion.

With one long final lick up the length of her love, I released her vulva from my oral assault and moved upward, leaving a trail of licks and kisses up her body, between her breasts. At the moment our lips touched, my throbbing cock head came to rest at her opening. Her wetness seemed to draw me in, deeper and deeper, until her dark down nuzzled my coarse, red curls. For long moments we stayed, two bodies joined, two hearts intertwined, two souls existing as one life. We devoured one another's mouths, lips, tongues with kisses of fire and desperate longing. Without a word we began to move our hips in unison. No pumping or thrusting, we simply ground against one another, unwilling to yield an inch of our union. The muscles of her vagina caressed and claimed my cock, making it as much a part of her body as of mine, drawing it to her irresistible will. I had neither the ability nor the desire to resist.

With a shuddering groan, I poured my love deep into Mariah's womb, as she received it with a cry of woeful ecstasy. This intense physical, spiritual joy in the face of impending separation overwhelmed me. Hot tears rolled down my face, splashing onto Mariah's cheek, mingling with her own.

And now, standing on deck beneath the canopy of stars, the tears returned, welling forth from reluctant eyes. Though we had parted many months ago, I could still feel the heart-pounding waves of passion, smell the scent of our lovemaking, mingled with the salt air and...smoke! I smelled smoke! Looking around, I saw a faint orange glow emanating from the window above the galley. Racing aft, I looked through the window, down onto a scene from Dante. The galley was consumed in flames. The fire had eaten through the wooden floor, and was dripping burning embers into the hold below.

At Madagascar, we had taken on a special cargo: seventy barrels of black powder! I ran to the warning bell amidships to sound the alarm, but the first toll from the bell was answered with a deafening explosion. The deck erupted in a riot of smoke and flame, catapulting me thirty feet into the air. Plummeting toward the water, I saw the ship, eviscerated by the blast. I plunged into the warm tropical water head first, sinking several feet before regaining my senses and struggling for the surface. When I broke through, I was greeted with a scene of utter desolation. With its midsection gone, the ship had folded upon itself, bow and stern alike reaching towards the heavens in a pleading gesture which the stars refused to answer. Swirling slowly, the doomed ship disappeared beneath the still waters. The only remnants of this once proud vessel were a rapidly dispersing waft of smoke, a few smoldering splinters of wood, and me. And floating in this desolate stretch of ocean, I had no doubt that I would soon share my ship's fate.

Suddenly, out of the blackness, I heard a plaintive cry. At first I hoped for a fellow survivor. But the sound came again, from above. Looking up, I saw the first ray of dawn catch on a flutter of alabaster wings. A gull! But how? Our charts showed no landfall for three days! Turning away from the site of the wreck, I say a faint gray shape emerge. An island, and a large one, not a half a league away! Praying that it was not an illusion, I began to swim. In the time it took to cover the distance, the sun had risen, revealing a lush green landscape surrounding the islands volcanic center. As I approached the shore, the swells turned to waves. Exhausted from my ordeal, I was tossed like a rag doll in the crashing surf, until I was eventually deposited, retching and sputtering upon the sandy beach. I crawled beyond the reach of the surf, and collapsed.

After a few minutes rest, I looked around at this land which would likely be my final home. The beach extended for twenty or thirty yards, before giving way to lush, tropical vegetation. The trees were alive with birds of a thousand colors. Peering deep into the thick foliage, I thought I saw something move. Then a sparkle of sunlight glinting off of metal. Then another. I stood and began walking toward the forest. I hadn't gone a dozen steps when I was stopped cold by the sight of a score of native warriors emerging as one from the trees! Each held a formidable spear, topped with a vicious metal point. Their loins were girded with animal skins, and their olive flesh was decorated with bright war paint that covered their faces and encircled their.... Breasts?!?!?

They were women! Each and every one of them a perfect specimen of female strength and grace. Their lithe, athletic bodies were an alluring contrast to the menace of their approach, not to mention their weapons. Weapons! I reached behind me, and pulled out my pistol. It was loaded, but even if it had survived the swim to shore, there was only one shot in it, and twenty of them. My only hope was intimidation. I raised the gun n both hands above my head and pulled the trigger. Thunder roared as my trusty pistol spewed fire and smoke into the air. The warriors froze. The sight of this six foot man, with pale skin and flaming red hair, who had emerged from the fire on the ocean, and summoned thunder to his will was just too much for them. They dropped their spears as one and fell prostrate before me. I could not understand their native babbling, but it rang of a plea for mercy.

I replaced the gun it its holster, and extended my arms forward, palms out, in a gesture of welcome. The relief on their faces was unmistakable as they backed away into the woods from whence they had come. There was a great deal of shouting and commotion coming from the forest. Soon, an ornate throne, carried by eight dark, naked men appeared through the brush, escorted by the all-girl welcoming committee. The manner and posture of the men indicated complete subservience. They brought the throne before me, and at a command from one of the female warriors, dropped to one knee, heads bowed. I climbed aboard and sat down on the soft fur seat, running my fingers over the many precious stones set in the arm rests.

At a word from the guard, the bearers rose and carried me smoothly into the woods. We moved quickly down a well-worn path. I admired my escorts who surrounded the carriage. The loincloths I had seen before were simply ornamental swatches, hung from an intricately woven and beaded twine around the waist. I stared at the escorts before me, enchanted by a dozen firm asses undulating with feline agility. Gazing to my sides, I beheld the proud, painted breasts of the guards, swaying gently as they marched astride me with a perfect blend of military precision and a grace born of strength.

The path quickly led to an immense clearing. At the far end was a large hut of wood and lashed bamboo. It was a circular structure, roughly forty feet in diameter and twenty feet high. Fanning out on either side were a succession of smaller huts, about fifty in all, similar in design, which traced the perimeter of the village. The center of the circle was dominated by a large pavilion which housed the well and an open cooking fire. In the pavilion, and around the edges of the village, I saw a number of men, all naked, tending to the daily tasks of existence; cooking, washing, that which in my world was women's work. The women, in contrast, were all adorned with some manner of clothing, jewelry, or paint; symbols of their higher station, and engaged in conversation or acts of leisure. But as our procession wound its way through the village, all eyes were upon me.

I was carried around the pavilion to the entrance of the large hut. As we approached, the female guards pulled back the enormous tapestries which served as doors, allowing the entire party to pass through. Once inside, the bearers set the vehicle down, assuming the same subservient posture. As soon as I stepped from the chair, they stood and backed out through the doorway, which closed behind them.

The hut appeared even larger from the inside. The lashed bamboo walls were covered with intricately woven tapestries featuring stylized exotic birds frolicking beneath blazing yellow suns. Against the far wall was not so much a bed as a lushly padded playground. Roughly circular, and a full ten feet in diameter, it was covered in feather-soft white llama skins, giving it the appearance of a captured cloud. In the center of the room was large wooden tub, filled with steaming water, scented with colorful flower petals. Standing expectantly around the tub were three beautiful girls. Except for necklaces and waist chains of brilliant glass-like shells, and wreaths of flowers woven into their hair, they were naked. With their small, budding breasts, and only the finest wisps of hair barely bothering to conceal the treasure between their legs, they appeared very young. But every woman I had encountered thus far on this island paradise had exuded such an air of youth and vitality, that guessing at their ages was a fruitless exercise.

The girl behind the tub nodded to the two on either side, and they approached me. Without a word, one began to unbutton my shirt, while the other untied the laces of my boots. I simply stood in dazed amazement as soft deft hands removed my shirt and opened the front of my trousers. With one smooth motion, my pants and undergarment were lowered. The sight of my flaming orange pubes elicited a flutter of giggles from my handmaidens. Their laughter was short lived, however, quickly replaced by astonished stares of wide-eyed wonder. Concerned, I followed their gaze down. Yes, there was still just the one penis, not abnormally huge, though more than large enough, or so I had been told by the few women of my experience. And then it occurred to me; these girls had never before seen a circumcised man. The phalluses they knew were hooded, hidden things. My purple-peaked passion pillar, wearing naught but a cowl-neck, and staring defiantly back at them with his one good eye was a breed apart from the timid tallywhackers of the local gentry. Basking in their unabashed attention, he was rising to his full, prodigious height. Their rapt and admiring attention led me to believe that the local boys didn't begin to measure up.

With a force of will, the girl before me snapped out of her hypnotic trance, and uttered a command to her accomplices. Cautiously they rose, took me by each arm, and led me toward the inviting tub. All the while, they kept one eye on my swaggering saber, (and he on them), lest it do anything more to surprise them. We all stepped into the fragrant water. As spectral clouds of lilac scented steam trellised upward, my attendants reached into the water and pulled up three large sea sponges. Raising them up above my head, they squeezed, sending torrents down my salt encrusted body. More than dirt was washed from me under their tender care.

As they simultaneously scrubbed my chest and back with the coarse sponges, I felt the trials of the past few hours melt away. I closed my eyes and swayed softly in place as they worked their way slowly down my body, constantly dipping the sponges to bring fresh streams of hot, sweet water cascading down my torso, hips and legs. Down they moved in unison, lingering midway. The rough texture of the sponges contrasted with the kneading of their small, smooth hands as they cleansed my buttocks, stomach and thighs. Fresh water flowed over my cock and balls, as gentle hands stroked and caressed it. My shaft grew ever more rigid under these ministrations. Suddenly, I felt a hot wetness on the head. I looked down and saw that one of the girls had taken my bulbous plum into her mouth. She was swathing my cock head and glans with her tongue, teasing my slit with the tip, as her companion looked on hungrily. The third bather was behind me, bringing up water between my legs in her cupped hand to wash and fondle my heavy balls.

The beauty who was fellating me turned toward her friend. She leaned forward, and their lips met in a hot, opened-mouth kiss, transferring my throbbing member seamlessly from one hungry mouth to the other. The second girl was more voracious in her technique, rhythmically bobbing her head forward, taking more and more of my engorged shaft into her mouth on each stroke, until I could feel the head pressing against the back of her throat. She raised herself up slightly, tilted her head, and in one deft motion swallowed the remaining few inches of my cock. The head of my cock plunged down her hot, tight throat, as her lips came to rest at the base of my shaft, her nose nestled in my copper pubic hair. He tongue did a luxurious dance on the underside of my member, as the muscles in her throat rippled, drawing me to fruition. Her companions had dropped their sponges, and were urgently stroking, licking, and kissing my thighs, ass, balls. The sensations overwhelmed me, and I came in a swooning orgasm. My expert fellatrix never broke her rhythm as my essence flowed into her. I was giddy, light-headed, and would surely have fallen, were it not for the three pairs of hands that supported me. This goddess of pleasure released my manhood slowly, almost reverently. My sublimely satisfied serpent hung spent. No lingering drops of semen fell; he had been sucked dry.

As though nothing had happened, my attendants picked up their sponges and resumed washing my legs and feet. When I was finally cleaner than I had ever been, they rose, and escorted me from the tub. They dried me with soft cloths, then presented me with a beautifully woven robe of deep maroon, flecked with gold. They led me to the enormous bed. I climbed up, and sat, cross-legged in the center. Visions of further sexual exploits with these nubile and exquisitely talented nymphs danced in my head, but were quickly dashed, as they backed respectfully out of the hut. Perhaps I was meant to rest. Yes, rest. It had been a long and remarkably adventurous day. The weariness began to invade my body, drawing me into the velvety cushions. My head was mere inches from the bed when the deafening peal of a gong startled me upright!

The curtains at the entrance to the hut parted, and yet another of those wicker, man-powered chariots entered, flanked by four of the most ornately decorated female guards I had yet seen. The bearers carried the chariot around the tub, and stopped directly in front of the bed. They dropped smoothly to one knee, lowering the vehicle onto its stout feet. The seat of the chariot was surrounded by opaque curtains, through which a lone figure could be dimly seen. Two of the color guards moved to the front, and parted the curtains. Upon a gilded throne sat a woman of incredible beauty. She wore a robe similar to my own, but far more richly embroidered with threads of gold and small precious stones. The limpid pools of her dark eyes sparkled above a silken veil which concealed her face. Hair the color of midnight flowed from beneath a thin gold crown.

Sensing that I was in the presence of royalty, I rose up to kneeling, and lowered my head respectfully, yet without taking my eyes off of the beautiful apparition before me. She rose from her throne and stepped out of the carriage. At once, the bearers rose and, accompanied by the guards, backed out of the hut. The curtain closed behind them. I raised my head and gazed upon this goddess queen. Her robe was fastened only at her waist by a bejeweled pin, affording me full appreciation of the swell of her breasts, as well as tantalizing glimpses of her smooth, shapely legs. I was entranced, not only by her beauty, but by a haunting sense of familiarity. Her eyes, her hair, the subtle lines of her half-concealed body all evoked distant memories. She must have seen the consternation in my face, and in reply, raised her hand to her veil, and drew it aside. My heart ceased to beat, as my eyes beheld what could not be. Mariah!

I longed to speak her name, but dared not, for fear that it would break the spell, and cause her to vanish. She smiled, and stepped toward me. Reaching out, she cradled my face in her hands and whispered, "Yes, my love. It's impossible, but true."

"Mariah..."

The word finally escaped "But... but how?" She climbed up onto the bed, and sat before me.

"Two days after you set sail, I was walking home from the mission, when I was attacked by two men, and knocked unconscious. I awoke in the hold of a ship, already several hours out to sea, with three other young women who had suffered similar fates. We were to be sold as slaves in the far east. As horrible as our future seemed, it paled in comparison to the journey itself."

Mariah bowed her head slightly, closing her eyes tight, dredging forth a memory she'd hoped would never see the light of day. "Once we were safely out to sea, the four of us were brought up on deck." she began, "Their intent was to break us, destroy our will, make slaves of us. But they were at a disadvantage. They couldn't damage the 'merchandise'. They had to be more... creative. Chantel was the first; dragged up onto a crate, stripped naked as the crew cheered. The first mate pushed her to her knees, opened his trousers, and entered her from behind. Another crewman grabbed her by the hair, and forced himself between her lips. I turned away, unable to watch the debasement of this innocent girl. It was then that I spied a young man, barely more than a boy, hiding behind the bulkhead, refusing to partake in the spectacle on deck.

"When the first two sailors were done with Chantel, they were replaced by two more, and two more, and two more. When they tired of Chantel, they brought up the next girl, and the next. I was the last. I had already been taken twice, when the captain emerged from his cabin. He had been watching from his cabin, making sure his entire crew was satiated before taking his pleasure. As I perched on my hands and knees upon the crate, like an animal on the auction block, the juice of my violators dripping from my sore and swollen vagina, the captain walked slowly around me, inspecting me, and thanking the crew for 'saving the best for last'.


Overboard



Chapter 1 The Interview

Tom Lynch sat quietly, waiting for the detective to begin. The man was studying a report, probably re-familiarizing himself with the known facts. A woman sat beside him, looking across the table at Tom Lynch, but saying nothing. At length, he closed the folder and spoke.

"I'm Pavel Janecek, Detective Sergeant, E Division. This is Detective Philliponi. We'd like to talk to you about the disappearance of your wife on the night of April 23rd, this year."

"Why?" Tom asked. "I thought this was all covered when I reported her missing to the Coast Guard."

"Perhaps. However, there have been a couple of developments that they wouldn't have been aware of when you gave your account of the incident."

"Such as?"

"How would you describe your relationship with your wife, Mr. Lynch?"

"Fine. It was great. We've been married eighteen years and still going strong. At least ... we were until ... the accident."

"You weren't having any trouble ... you know ... married trouble?"

"No ... not at all!" he said emphatically. "What's this about, Detective?"

"Do you know a man named Brandon Collingsworth?"

"No. Should I?"

"He's one of the senior accountants at Samples and Reed where your wife worked. Are you sure you don't know him?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I didn't have much contact with Veronica's business associates. She didn't report to him, she reported to Marcel Lapierre. They didn't have social occasions that we would attend. Very much a business first and only company. Again, Detective, what's this all about?"

Janecek sighed and leaned back in his chair, still not taking his eyes off Thomas Lynch.

"We had an anonymous tip a few days ago that your wife and Mr. Collingsworth were having an affair. Apparently it had been going on for several months. You knew nothing about this?" he asked sceptically.

Lynch stumbled to say something. The look of shock on his face was telling. 

"I don't believe it. An anonymous tip? What does that have to do with her disappearance?"

"Are you saying you had no idea your wife was having an affair with anyone?"

"Yes ... Hell yes!" Tom spat. "I don't believe it. What proof do you have?"

For the first time, Detective Philliponi spoke.

"We interviewed several people at your wife's office. More than one of them suspected there was something going on between Collingsworth and Mrs. Lynch. She wouldn't normally have any contact with him. He was in another department and quite a bit senior to her."

"You're relying on office gossip!" Tom said in an accusatory voice.

"Not entirely, Mr. Lynch," Janecek answered. "We also interviewed Mr. Collingsworth. It took a while, but faced with the rumours and the fact that he thought we had some evidence, he finally admitted that they were seeing each other."

"What evidence?" Tom asked, now pale and looking bewildered.

"The company has security cameras, and by checking them randomly over the past six months, we found several examples of the two of them being quite a bit more friendly than would be appropriate in the office. I think it's safe to say that they were involved at least to some extent and had been for several months."

Tom Lynch's eyes became glassy and he was shaking his head slowly back and forth. 

"I can't believe it. I ... there was no hint ... no sign. Why?" he asked, more to himself than the detectives.

Janecek shrugged and Philliponi remained motionless and expressionless as they continued to observe the man.

At length, Tom raised his head and looked at them both.

"Why am I here? Why is the RCMP involved in this?"

"There's a possibility that this could be a suspicious death, Mr. Lynch," Philliponi said. "Perhaps you found out about your wife's cheating and decided to do away with her. Much cheaper than divorce."

"That's crazy. First of all, I didn't know anything about her cheating on me. Secondly, I'm not a murderer. I might have divorced her ... or maybe she was planning on divorcing me, but I wouldn't have killed her."

"That's what all the husbands say," Philliponi said, "but sometimes rage can overtake common sense and bad things happen. You read about it in the papers almost every week."

"So ... are you saying I'm now a suspect in the disappearance of my wife?" Lynch asked aggressively.

"No ... not at this time," Janecek said quietly. "We'd just like to go over the facts with you one more time. I realize you gave the Coast Guard a full report, but we'd like to get your statement on the record here for our own files."

Tom Lynch sat quietly, looking at the two detectives. His mind was working a mile a minute and he was visibly uncomfortable.

"All right. One more time. But if you want to talk to me after this, it will be with my lawyer present. Keep that in mind," he said.

Janecek nodded. Philliponi rose and went to a water cooler, bringing back two cups of cold water, placing one in front of each of the two men before returning to get one for herself.

Janecek opened the file in front of him and passed several pages to his partner. Tom could see that the top page showed Coast Guard letterhead. It was a copy of the statement he gave the morning after the accident. He showed no sign of concern. 

"We were entered in the Southern Straits race as we had each year for the past six years," Tom began. "This year the weather was expected to be rough, but not anywhere near as rough as it turned out to be. My boat is well equipped with radar and GPS, plus both Veronica and I had plenty of experience in bad weather, so I wasn't too concerned.

"We took turns at the wheel, with four hours on and four hours off. I set it up so that I took the midnight to four am watch, while Veronica got some sleep. In fact, I didn't plan to wake her unless she woke up herself. I had coffee in a thermos and some energy bars to keep me going. 

"Shortly after I took over, the storm started getting more intense and I could see on the radar that it was going to be stronger than forecast. I checked the reports on the various light stations on the marine radio and they confirmed it was going to be a rough night. I put my survival suit on and hooked up my tether, just in case. I left Veronica's suit at the bottom of the companionway so that she wouldn't come on deck without it. That was standard operating procedure for us.

"Everything was fine until just before two am. I had been feeling poorly since midnight, but now I was having internal cramps. They felt like bowel cramps. I've had them before if I've had some tainted food, but these were getting worse. I knew I wouldn't make it until four am without relief, so I pushed the alarm bell for Veronica to let her know I needed her right away. Five minutes later she was on deck, wearing her survival suit. I explained the situation, and she immediately took over, telling me not to come back until I was better.

"I made it to the head and relieved myself. Whatever was bothering me had given me diarrhea and it took a while to purge myself. I could hear something banging on the deck I thought something had come loose and was causing the racket. I was sure Veronica wouldn't leave the helm until I returned, so I cleaned myself up as best I could and suited up to go back up on deck. When I got up to the cockpit, there was no sign of her. I turned on the big deck light and called her name, but there was no answer." 

"How long were you away from the cockpit?" Janecek asked.

"I'm not sure. Maybe ... fifteen or twenty minutes. No more."

"Carry on," the detective said.

"The boat was on self-steering, which was unusual. We seldom use that when we are in bad weather. The noise I heard was the inflatable. One of the oars had come out of its cradle and that's what I heard below. I went below again to make sure Veronica hadn't gone to the other head or into one of the cabins, but there was no sign of her. I guess I was in shock. It hadn't quite sunk in that she had gone overboard. It took me a couple of minutes to decide what to do.

"I dropped what little sail we had and started the engine. I circled back the way we had come using the GPS plotter to determine my course. I turned on the deck light again, and began calling her name. I knew it was futile, but I had to do something. While I was motoring, I made a distress call to the Coast Guard and told them what had happened. I'm sure they'll have a recording of it.

"I went back and forth over the area I thought she might have fallen in, but there was no sign of her. With the waves and wind at the time, I'd have to have been very lucky to spot her. As time went on, I began to lose hope. She could last for a while in her survival gear, but with the water temperature where it was, I doubted it would be long enough for us to find her alive.

"The Coast Guard cutter turned up just before four am, and by then I was a basket case. They checked my GPS to confirm the area where she disappeared and began their own search, but I knew just by talking to them that it was hopeless. I had lost her. Somehow, someway, she had fallen overboard and she was gone."

"Your wife's body has never been found?" Philliponi asked, knowing the answer. 

Tom Lynch shook his head, looking sadly at the two police detectives.

"Is there anything else that you can think of that might help us clear up this case?" Janecek asked.

"No ... I'm as confused as you are about the ... cheating thing. I don't see how it could be related to her disappearance."

"As I said before," Philliponi stated, "An angry husband might be prone to take revenge on a wayward wife. If she was planning on leaving you for her lover, maybe you figured out how badly you'd come out in the divorce. She'd get half of everything, including your business. So, if you did know about the two of them, you'd have a pretty strong motive."

"No! How many times do I have to tell you? I didn't know anything about her affair. I had no reason to kill her. It was an accident ... that's all. A tragic, horrible accident."

The two detectives sat quietly watching the distraught man in front of them. Was he telling the truth? They had no evidence to the contrary, but he had a motive if he knew of his wife's cheating. Was it just a coincidence that she went overboard, missing without a trace? They were taught not to believe in coincidences.

"That's all for now, Mr. Lynch. We'll contact you if we need to talk to you again. In the meantime, if you're planning any trips out of town, please let us know. This file is not yet closed."

Tom Lynch stood, looking at the two angrily.

"If I'm down here again, I'll have my lawyer with me. I'm not going to be your personal whipping boy while you try and make two and two equal five."

With that, he turned and walked out of the interview room. The pneumatic closer prevented him from the slamming the door as he so desperately wanted to.

"What do you think?" Janecek asked his partner.

"Don't know. It really hinges on whether he knew about her fooling around on him, doesn't it? I guess that's what we have to find out. Did he know?"

Janecek nodded. Any case at all hung on that one question.

Chapter 2 Carrying On

It was more than three months since he had lost Veronica. Three months of turmoil. First the grieving, then, a month ago, the revelation of her affair with someone in her office. What was his name? Collingwood ... Collingworth? He had come to understand why the police were interested in him. He would have motive if he knew of her affair. It put an end to his inward grieving.

Veronica's parents were distraught, of course. Losing their eldest daughter had been very traumatic and they had yet to recover from the shock. Tom sensed that they blamed him for the accident and he felt their withdrawal from him over the past weeks. His only support came from Veronica's younger sister, Connie. She had always been a close friend, having had a crush on Tom when she was a teenager. She was seven years younger than her sister, but now, at thirty-three, was a bright, self-reliant young woman running her own successful interior design business.

Tom's mother was upset at Veronica's death, but not to the extent Tom might have expected. She had accepted the accident as just that, a tragic unforeseen event. It was the second time they had lost a family member. Tom's father had died six years ago on a business trip to China. He had been robbed and murdered near his hotel in Shanghai. The three men were quickly captured, tried, convicted, and executed. It had been little consolation to Marion Lynch or Tom, their only child, or to Tom's family. 

At the young age of thirty-two, Tom Lynch had become president and CEO of Lynchpin Plastics. Now, with the death of Veronica, his mother transferred all her affection to him and her grandsons, believing they needed her support and love. Tom had yet to decide what to do about his future. The twins, Vern and Tony, were in their final year high school. Vern was writing for an academic scholarship to a local university, while Tony planned to take plastics technology at the nearby technical college. Tony saw himself as his father's natural partner at Lynchpin.

The two boys had seemed to be handling their mother's death more easily than their father. Tom had told no one about his wife's infidelity or the police interview, and saw no reason to reveal what he had been told. They had held a memorial service for Veronica three weeks after her disappearance. A plaque was placed at a shady site in a park near her parents' home after a small service for the immediate family, conducted by their local minister. That small gesture was well received by her father, but Veronica's mother was still distant and cool toward Tom. Only her grandsons felt her love and sorrow.

Connie had developed the habit of dropping in on Tom on the weekends, knowing he hadn't touched the sailboat since the accident. She tried to encourage him to get out, taking her or the boys or both along with him, but he steadfastly declined. He wondered aloud if he should sell the Lynchpin Lady, but the boys and Connie had raised such a fuss against doing it that he let the subject drop. And so it sat, forty-six feet of fibreglass and teak, rocking gently at its dock in Fisherman's Cove.

Tom was thankful to have his business. It needed attention and that took his mind off Veronica and his other problems. Lynchpin Plastics specialized in rigid plastic containers made of PET: Polyethylene Terephthalate. It was commonly found in soft drink, juice, and water bottles, but now was being used as an almost universal substitute for glass as well as metal can.

Tom's father had recognized early on that the soft drink and water business was far too competitive for a local medium-sized converter like Lynchpin, so he looked in other directions. Pharmaceuticals, cosmetics, specialty food products, and other segmented market opportunities were the targets, and the company had thrived on his foresight. Tom had simply followed on in his father's footsteps, keeping his sights on the markets that they could fit into profitably.

Tom had hired an old friend and classmate at college to be his sales manager. Brian Edgar was the same age as Tom, 40, and was married with two children, Shania, 11, and Ronnie, 9. His wife, Virginia, was also an old classmate from college. They had started their family a good deal later than Tom and Veronica, but were devoted parents and good friends.

Brian and Tom were on the same wavelength when it came to their strategy for the business. They worked closely together to seek out new opportunities and new products. If his father could have seen him now, he would have been immensely proud of Tom and where he had taken Lynchpin.

Even though Tom hadn't set foot on the Lynchpin Lady since the accident, his refuge was still the yacht club. To be specific, the club dining room and bar. He was well known and well liked around the club. His father had served as Commodore for two terms and Tom was expected to follow in his footsteps. The dramatic and tragic events during the Southern Straits race had put a hold on that. Just the same, he felt comfortable in these surroundings and often had the boys join him for dinner.

It was a Friday evening in mid-July after another long week at the plant when Tom stopped in at the club. He had invited the boys to meet him there, but Tony had plans with his current girlfriend, so only Vern would be joining him. He'd been there about a half hour, nursing a scotch and soda when he saw Vern enter the dining room. He had a visitor with him as well. Connie Fairly was following closely behind.

"Hi Dad, I didn't think you'd mind if Aunt Connie joined us since Tony couldn't make it."

"Tom, will you please tell your son not to refer to me as Aunt Connie. It's making me feel old," she said petulantly.

"Vern, you should respect your aunt's wishes."

"So ... I should just call her Connie?" he asked carefully.

"Sure ... or Babe ... or Hot Stuff," Tom cracked.

The laughter by the three of them was contagious. It was the first time Tom could remember laughing in quite a while.

"Don't you dare, Vernon Lynch," she said, poking him in the chest with her finger. "You may call me Connie or Ms. Fairly in more formal surroundings." 

Vern shrugged, looked at his father and grinned. There hadn't been very many light moments for any of them in the last three months.

Friday night was fish and seafood night in the dining room, and each of them chose a different entrée. The food was always prepared and presented well and that evening was no exception. The conversation was light and upbeat until the dessert tray was wheeled to the table.

Connie and Tom declined, but Vern chose a New York cheesecake that was large enough for all three of them. Their waiter saw the reaction and promptly presented three forks with a smile.

"I've got to stop eating here," Tom said, leaning back in his chair. "I'll weigh three hundred pounds if I don't.

"Nonsense," Connie said immediately. "You're still the hunk you were when you were dating my sister."

"Ooooohhhh," Vern said with a smirk. "Guess who's got the hots for Dad?"

"Careful, young man," Tom said seriously. "You are on dangerous ground. This is family, not one of your teenage bull sessions."

"Don't get all bent out of shape, Tom. Vern didn't mean anything by it ... did you Vern?"

"Ah ... no ... sure ... I didn't mean to upset you, Dad." He looked genuinely concerned.

"I'm not upset, but there are some topics that aren't for public consumption ... or private for that matter," Tom said quietly, all the while looking at Connie.

"Party Pooper," Connie grinned.

"Now don't you go leading my son astray, Connie. I'm trying to raise the two of them to be proper gentlemen."

"Good luck with that," she laughed. Vern wasn't far behind with a snort of his own.

As coffee was served, Vern turned to Tom and asked, "Is it okay if you drive Connie to our place, Dad. She left her car there and I've got a date in another half hour. I didn't want to rush you."

"That's fine. Don't be too late, but have a good time," Tom said with a smile.

As Vern excused himself and left the dining room, Connie turned to Tom.

"You've raised two really great young guys, Tom. You must be very proud."

"I have to give a lot of the credit to Veronica. She guided them along and you're right, I am very proud of them."

"They'll be leaving the nest one of these days soon. What are you going to do then?" Connie asked.

"Don't know. Haven't really thought about it. Downsize, I guess. Maybe a condo. I might even live on the Lady."

"You haven't been aboard since the accident, have you?"

"No. Just can't seem to work up any enthusiasm."

"I know the boys would love to go out with you. So would I, for that matter. I love that boat almost as much as you do."




Overboard



"I sure don't want to go out by myself, Connie. I don't think I could handle that."

"You don't need to. I'm always available to crew with you. I know my way around it pretty well."

"Yes ... you do, don't you. So ... maybe I should take her out. She's probably lonely sitting there without moving for the last three months."

"There you go, talking like it's a living being. That's more like the Tom I know," she smiled softly.

"I'll give her a once over tomorrow and we can go out Sunday if you like?"

"Why don't we do that now? There's enough light left, and if everything's okay we can make a weekend out of it. All we'd need is an overnight bag."

Tom looked at Connie carefully. They had gone from a simple comment to her suggestion that they spend the weekend together on the boat. How did things get pushed along that far he wondered?

"Can I trust you to be a good girl," he grinned.

"Absolutely not!" she replied quickly with a big smile. "Vern was right, I do have a thing for my brother. I have had since I was fourteen. I won't try and kid you about that."

"I guess I always knew that, but I wasn't about to take advantage of you ... and then ... then I was married and every other woman was off limits."

"You took those vows very seriously, didn't you?" she asked with a wrinkled brow. There was no humour in her voice.

"Yes ... of course. That's why they're called vows. I would never dream of breaking them."

Connie sat back in her chair, looking at her cup, not at Tom.

"Why don't we go check out the boat?" Tom said, breaking the silence.

"Yes. Let's go."

They were on their way to the locked gate on the dock entrance in a minute. Tom slipped his card into the slot and pushed the steel mesh door open for Connie to precede him. She brushed up against him as she passed, but didn't look back or pretend it was an accident. He watched her walk down the gangway and onto the floating dock, heading directly toward the berthing slot for the Lynchpin Lady. 

Constance Fairly was single, had never married. She claimed she had never found the right man, but Veronica often remarked that she wasn't looking very hard. She was a graduate of the Interior Design class in her local community college. She had first worked for a well-known developer to get experience before setting out on her own at the very young age of twenty-seven. Surprisingly, she had been successful almost from the very beginning, and now, six years later, was well established and apparently very well off.

Veronica, her sister, had been slim and tall, perfectly proportioned but not voluptuous. Her attractiveness came from the way she presented herself. She was always conscious of her appearance, careful not to be excessively made-up or overly dressed. She was a certified accountant, but had ceased work when the boys were born, satisfied with being a stay-at-home mother at the time. When the boys were thirteen, she returned to the workforce and her old job at Samples and Reed.

She seemed happy in her job and told Tom so a number of times. She didn't seem to socialize with anyone there, however. That wasn't so surprising. Veronica wasn't an outgoing personality by nature. Their friends were people they had known for some time and Tom was careful to introduce any new people to her before suggesting they form any greater friendship.

Connie was her sister's opposite in many ways. Not as tall, but more full-bodied. Voluptuous, Tom thought more than once. She was a very attractive woman with a sparkling personality. There were times when Tom wished Veronica could be as lively as her sister. On the other hand, he was perfectly content in his marriage and put any thoughts of dissatisfaction behind him as they matured. Now, at age forty, he was beginning to think he was too young to give up on life. If he was to look for another partner, he would be very selective.

Tom Lynch was, by any account, a handsome man. An even six-foot tall, dark brown hair, and medium build. He exercised regularly and it showed. His face was highlighted by dark brown eyes, a natural smile, and a year-around tan from sailing. More than a few women were envious of Tom Lynch's wife. He was smart, successful, and personable. 

It took only a few minutes for Tom to determine that everything was in good order on the boat. The fresh water tanks were empty thanks to the maintenance crews that were hired to help maintain the boats in the club's marina. Diesel fuel was past three-quarters full, the batteries were charged, and the radar, GPS systems, and radio were all functional. He left instructions for the maintenance manager to look after the water. A quick stop in the morning for some food and drink would complete the preparations.

As he lay in bed that night, he thought of Connie. He wondered what others would think if he started dating the sister of his late wife. It was too soon, of course. It wasn't incest, but it had a certain odd feel about it that he couldn't put his finger on. Perhaps he was still thinking of her as the skinny, teenager with braces and an awkward way about her. She certainly had got past that stage with flying colours. The fact that they were going out on the Lady for the weekend didn't bother him for a moment. Connie had often joined the family on weekend trips. She and Veronica made very suitable crew and worked well as a team.

When he got home that evening, he left a note for Vern and Tony that he was taking the Lady out for the weekend and they were invited to come along. He threw a few items into an overnight bag in preparation for the weekend. Strangely, although he'd been reluctant to be anywhere near the boat, he was looking forward to getting out on it once again. He went to bed that night with a jumble of thoughts on his mind, keeping him from sleep for a while. 

Chapter 3 A Weekend Away 

He woke with a start the next morning. He gradually became aware that someone was ringing the doorbell. He raised his head and saw that it was barely seven o'clock. Who the hell was at his door at this time on a Saturday morning? He struggled out of bed, pulling on a pair of jeans over his briefs while moving barefoot down the stairs to the front door. 

He opened the door to find Connie standing there, fully dressed for sailing, and showing a bright smile.

"What the hell are you doing here at this ungodly hour?" he croaked.

"Come on, Tom. The sun's up and time's a wastin'," she chirped.

"Well ... come in then. I need to get dressed and cleaned up. Make some coffee, please."

"Sure. Don't forget to pack an overnight bag."

"Already done," he growled. 

Connie moved quickly about the kitchen as Tom retreated to the bedroom, then the bathroom. Fifteen minutes later, he was showered and shaved, dressed for the day, and carrying his bag to the front door. Neither of the boys had stirred and he supposed they had come in very late.

"Did you see this?" Connie asked, holding up Tom's note to the boys.

"No ... what's it say?"

"It says, Have a good time and behave, T & V," she smirked. "Looks like it's just you and me for the next two days."

He nodded with a faint smile, lifting his first coffee of the day. 

"Gotta stop at the store for some groceries," he grumbled.

"Nope. Looked after it last night on the way home," she said, obviously proud of her foresight.

"Good," Tom nodded grudgingly. "When's the high tide?"

"Just about now, so we should have an easy exit." 

A low tide in an overcrowded marina like Fisherman's Cove always presented a difficult entry and exit for a larger craft like the Lady. Luckily, Tom's father had secured a berth large enough and near the channel for the 46 foot motorsailer when he first purchased it years ago. There was more than a ten year wait for that size space today.

Connie drove them to the Yacht Club in her SUV, chatting happily along the way. Tom sipped on a second coffee, trying to clear the cobwebs from his abrupt waking. The groceries and supplies were neatly packed, with perishables in a cooler and dry goods in a well-used tote. They loaded them and their overnight bags on a cart and proceeded to their berth in the cool morning sunshine. 

Connie skilfully slipped the lines as Tom gingerly manoeuvred out of their tight slot with the bow thruster, then into the channel. The powerful diesel rumbled beneath their feet, turning the big bronze propeller slowly as they eased out toward the open waters of Georgia Strait. 

There was little wind, but since they had no particular destination in mind, Tom maintained the motor as he looked for some signs of wind out in the straight. 

"Where would you like to go?" he asked as they stood together in the cockpit.

"Somewhere sunny and warm and private," she said, looking at him with a satisfied gaze. 

Tom looked at her and grinned, her motives transparent to him. In the twenty years he had known Connie, he was aware of her attraction to him. At first it was embarrassing. A fourteen-year-old with a crush on a twenty-one year-old. When he married Veronica and Connie had matured into a very attractive young lady, he was almost at the point where he wanted to avoid being alone with her. Veronica had laughed when he mentioned it to her. Either she didn't see it, or chose to ignore it.

Now, everything was different. They were both single, and it had started again. Only a week after he had returned from that fateful weekend, she began stopping in to make sure he was all right. She would fuss over the boys, even though they were capable of handling most of their own needs. She did the washing, made dinners for them, hired a housekeeper to keep the place tidy, even making sure the boys cut the grass and washed the cars. This, after having spent all week at her own business.

To be truthful, Tom didn't mind at all. Connie was her usual upbeat self, and that was a big factor considering what had happened. Tom saved his reminiscences to private times, usually at night. It was lonely being by himself in their bed. He was almost upset when the sheets were changed after he got home and he could no longer smell Veronica's scent on them.

They had seldom been apart. Tom travelled to the occasional trade show, but usually took Veronica with him. Chicago and Düsseldorf were the two main plastics and equipment exhibitions, and he regularly attended, taking Brian and his wife Virginia along with them. If they were in the market for new equipment, he might also include his production manager as well. If he could get away, Tony would accompany him to the Chicago show this November.

His mind drifted back to the conversation with the detectives. He was still having a hard time believing Veronica would have an affair with one of her senior managers. She had done a remarkable job of hiding it. Unfortunately for her, it wasn't flawless. Others knew, and others talked. He was left with the conclusion that the affair was real and he had to accept it as fact.

"A penny," Connie said, moving to his side.

It snapped Tom back to the present. "Oh ... sorry ... nothing. Just reminiscing," he lied.

"Tom ... it's time to stop grieving. Your sons have, even my parents have come to terms with their loss. I know it must hurt, but you've got many years to live, and they could be happy years if you want them to be."

He nodded. "I suppose you're right, Connie. Is that what this weekend is all about?" he asked with a slight frown.

"Yes. That's exactly what it's all about. You are a young, virile, healthy man in the prime of your life. What's happened to you is a horrible accident that you aren't responsible for. It happens to families everywhere all the time. I know it's hard, but each day will get a bit better. You know you can count on me to help in any way I can," she concluded in a soft but serious voice.

"Yes ... I can, can't I. You've been a rock, Connie. I'm sorry if I haven't said so, but your being around had been very helpful ... very ... comforting. Thank you."

She smiled her acknowledgement, putting one arm around his back and giving him a friendly hug. 

"Have you decided where we're bound?" she asked after a silence.

"I thought we'd go south to Saturna, maybe anchor in Winter Cove overnight."

"Oh great," she said enthusiastically. "I love that place."

"Then it's settled," he said. "Why don't you take the helm for a bit, and I'll get some coffee and biscuits."

"I bought some Danish for us."

"Danish it is, then," he agreed as he headed for the companionway. 

A quick look around told him the wind was finally picking up from the northwest as expected, and they could raise sail when they'd had their coffee.

Tom's father had purchased the 46 foot Hunter from a somewhat desperate business colleague when his divorce made it an expensive millstone around his neck. He then set about refurbishing and refinishing it to full modern electronic and comfort standards. There were many weekends when his father and mother, Tom and Veronica, and the two boys spent on the water in the Lynchpin Lady. 

All the sail controls were in the cockpit, and it had a full canvas enclosure for rough weather. The boat proved itself the night Veronica was lost when, despite heavy seas, Tom was able to control the boat and stay on course as he searched for her. Now, more than three months later, he was reminding himself of that night once again. What could he have done differently that would have saved his wife? And if he had, what of her affair? Confusion, on top of doubt, on top of regret.

He returned to the cockpit with a tray with two cups, a thermos jug of the freshly made coffee, some creamer and sweetener, along with two of the Danish pastries that Connie had provided. They drank and ate in companionable silence as they looked about the vista before them. They were headed west out into Georgia Strait before they would turn south toward the Gulf Islands. Typical of the summer months, ferry and other traffic was frequent and they would have to be constantly conscious of it.

When they'd finished the coffee and snack, the two of them began to raise sail, beginning with the Genoa, and then the mainsail. They were a practiced team, having gone through the routine many times before. Powered winches made light work of raising and setting the large foresail and mainsail. The 14 foot beam would limit the cruising speed to about eight knots, but it wasn't built to be a racer, but a cruiser with all the comforts. It was perfect for their needs.

The wind hadn't picked up to the predicted 15-20 knots yet, but they were making way comfortably with just a light chop to break up the otherwise smooth surface. Sunglasses and sunscreen were mandatory as they sailed into the dazzling reflection off the water. 

They took turns at the helm, Connie being just as confident as Tom thanks to her many hours on the water over the past years. Veronica had always invited her along whenever she was available, and Tom was always happy to have her aboard. She never failed to pitch in and help with the duties both on deck and in the galley.

It was late in the afternoon when they reached Winter Cove on Saturna Island. It was a familiar location and they noticed right away that their favourite spot to anchor was available to them. After lowering sail and motoring into the large cove, Tom watched the depth sounder for the area he wanted to anchor, knowing he would have plenty of water under them even at low tide. Shelter from a westerly was provided by the land and trees, but the wind would likely drop at sunset. 

Tom handled the anchor while Connie followed his instructions to make the set. It was an excellent bottom for a large boat like the Lady. When he was satisfied that they were properly hooked, he signalled Connie to kill the engine. The silence that followed always amazed them. No cars or trucks, no trains and few planes. The jet-ski crowd had retired for the supper hour, so the peace they longed for was there for them.

"What did you decide on for our meal, Connie?"

"Nothing fancy. Pork and beans on a paper plate," she said with a straight face.

"You liar," he laughed. "Okay ... come on ... what did you get?"

"A variety of cold cuts, cheese, coleslaw, fresh baked rolls, and two nice big lemon tarts," she admitted.

"Sounds like health food to me," he grumbled. "Anyway, I trust you not let us starve, so I'll leave you to it. Any particular wine you'd like?"

"You still have that nice Spanish red ... what was it ... Castillo something?"

"Yup. I'll open it now. I've got a bottle of Beaujolais with a couple of glasses left in it. Want to start on that?"

"Sure. I'll put the dinner together while you set up the table," she volunteered.

They would eat at the back of the cockpit, enjoying the last of the sun and its warmth in the quiet cove. The table was stowed in the locker along the stern, and only took a minute to set up. He dropped into the galley to retrieve the open bottle of French red from the cooler, then extracted the cork on the Spanish red to let it breathe. He poured the last two glasses of Beaujolais and handed one to Connie. They touched glassed silently in salute.

Connie had understated her food selection. The variety of meats and cheeses were a perfect complement to the wine. They couldn't possibly eat everything, and there would be plenty left over for a lunch-on-the-go tomorrow.

"I'm really glad you decided to do this, Tom."

"Go sailing?"

"Yes ... that ... and invite me along."

"As I recall ... this was all your idea," he said with a wrinkled brow.

"Would you have gone if I hadn't suggested I come too?"

He stared at her for a moment before dropping his eyes to his plate. 

"No ... I guess not."

"Any regrets so far?"

He looked up and smiled. 

"No ... none."

Connie shrugged and went back to eating her lemon tart. Tom was just picking at his. He'd eaten more than he usually did and didn't have any appetite left. They were well along on their first glass of the Spanish wine. There hadn't been much conversation, but it wasn't awkward or uncomfortable. They had known each other too long to need to keep the other interested in what they had to say. On the other hand, they were seldom afraid to say what was on their minds.

"Tom ... do you know what the five stages of grieving are?"

He looked at her, again with a wrinkled brow. Where was this going?

"Yeah ... well ... I've heard of them. I don't remember them off hand."

"Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance," she said unemotionally.

"Okay ... yeah ... I remember now. Why do you ask?"

"Isn't that obvious? Where are you right now? Which step are you at?"

"I haven't given it any thought. No point in denying that Veronica is gone. That's real enough. I was angry with myself for letting it happen. I blamed myself and thought a thousand times about what I could have done differently. I don't know about bargaining. But depression was certainly there. I think I'm getting through that, but it seems like a long road. Every time I see or hear something that reminds me of her ... well ... the hurt is still there."

"So ... you're almost through, then? Almost at acceptance?" she quizzed.

"It isn't that simple, Connie. There are other things ... things that I know ... that I found out about ... us ... things that change everything."

Connie had a look of confusion at first, then it morphed into surprise.

"She cheated on you, didn't she," she said angrily.

He looked at his sister. How could she have come to that conclusion so quickly ... so easily? He shook his head, not in denial but in surprise at her statement.

"She did ... didn't she," Connie reiterated.

He nodded, but said nothing.

"That selfish, stupid, egotistical bitch!" she spat. "How did you find out?"




Overboard



"Look, Connie, I don't want this to get out ... particularly among our two families. They don't need to know. It would hurt the people we care about too much ... and she's gone now ... so what's the point?"

"I know. I don't want them hurt either. I think my mother would have a heart attack, and your boys would be devastated."

Tom nodded, composing his thoughts, wondering if telling Connie was the right thing. She had guessed what her sister had done, but now she wanted to know more. He was going to have to be careful with his answer.

"I was called into RCMP headquarters for an interview. It was supposedly to put a close to their file on the ... accident. I wasn't there very long before the questions about what happened that night started all over from the beginning. They asked me to describe the events and I could see that they were comparing my answers to the statement I made to the Coast Guard that night.

"Pretty soon, one of the officers asked me if I knew a Mr. So-and-so. I forget his name. Turns out he was a senior manager in the office where Veronica worked. I'd never heard of him, so that's what I told them. Then ... I couldn't believe this ... they wanted to know if I was aware my wife was having an affair with this guy.

"Well, things went downhill from there. I was in a daze and couldn't come to terms with the idea that Veronica would cheat on me. Apparently, someone had passed along a tip to the police about the affair, but didn't accuse me of anything ... just that the two of them were awfully palsy. The police interviewed this guy, and after some tough questioning, he admitted to the affair. It had been going on for some time ... months."

"Oh, God," Connie groaned. "How could she? I can't believe she would be so stupid as to do this to you."

"Yeah ... well it was a shock to me I can tell you. I had no clue. None! In the meantime, the cops were trying to see if I had known about it and had maybe done something to Veronica."

Connie looked shocked, but sat silently, wondering what to say. In the end, she just shook her head.

"I guess that explains why you've had such a tough time getting past what happened."

He nodded. "Yes. Not only do I not know what happened to her that night, I don't know why she felt the need to cheat on me ... on the boys ... on all of us."

Again, Connie sat silently, almost about to say something, but stopping at the last second. Finally, she spoke.

"Tom, my sister has always been a self-absorbed, selfish, bitch. Before you came along, we were constantly at each other's throats. I don't know why she hated me, but she did. Maybe it was because I was an unexpected accident. I came along long after her, and I got a lot of attention from Mom and Dad. Maybe she was envious of that. I don't know, but whatever the reason, she and I didn't get along for the longest time, and I'm just stubborn enough that I wasn't going to take any of her shit ... especially when I got older.

"When you appeared on the scene, I could almost see her mind working. You were a catch. You were going to inherit your father's business some day and be a 'somebody.' It didn't hurt that you were handsome, polite, sexy, smart, well-educated, and ... oh, did I mention handsome and sexy," she said with a hint of black humour.

Tom couldn't help but chuckle. She wasn't revealing any well hidden secret about how she viewed him at that young age.

"I was helpless. Too young for you, and not very pretty at that stage of my development. No tits, no ass, braces, and some acne. But wonder of wonders, you treated me great. You never ignored me or made fun of me. Can you imagine what that did for my ego? You were Prince Charming, but I was going to lose you to the Wicked Witch of West Vancouver. I can't count the number of times I cried myself to sleep wishing I was eighteen and pretty and not fourteen and ugly.

"As I got older, she quit giving me a hard time. She had you and the life she wanted and I wasn't a threat to her."

"You were never ugly," Tom protested. "You just hadn't grown into your body yet. The braces and acne were both temporary. I remember seeing your portrait that your folks had done for your sixteenth birthday. You were very beautiful, and nothing since then has changed. You've just gotten more and more beautiful over the years. It makes it all the more surprising that some guy hasn't swept you up and stolen you away."

She looked at him again, long and hard.

"You don't get it, do you?" she said sombrely. "I was waiting for you. I was waiting for Veronica to screw up and then I'd make my move. Every time I went out with another guy, I was comparing him to you. None of them measured up. None of them were ever going to measure up to you."

Tom sat back again, a surprised and confused look on him. A length, he let out a long sigh, leaning back against the cushions along the bench. 

"You waited twenty years for your sister to make a mistake?"

She nodded. "Stupid, huh. Talk about futile. Veronica never was going to make a mistake if she could help it. You were too good to let go of. When your father died, she thought she'd hit the jackpot. As time went on, she was even more sure she had. You gave her everything she wanted. New car? Sure. Big house? No problem. Vacation in Europe? When should we go? And the more you gave her, the more she began to take you for granted."

"I never knew," Tom admitted. "I guess I thought I was just giving her the things she deserved for being a loyal wife and wonderful mother. I had nothing to complain about. We had sex on a regular basis. There were no mysterious late night meetings or out of town conferences. She didn't complain about some of the long hours I was putting in when we were developing new products. I never had a hint that anything was wrong."

"The only thing wrong was Veronica, Tom. She was getting everything she asked for and it still wasn't enough. I told you, she was selfish. When she ran out of things she could ask you for, she probably thought that she could have a lover and it would be just another acquisition."

"You didn't have a very high opinion of your sister, did you?" he said sadly.

"No ... I didn't. Part of it was jealousy. She had you and I didn't. Part of it was frustration because I could see her taking advantage of you. And part of it now is anger because she betrayed you for no reason. Somehow, in the back of my mind, even back when I was a teenager, I knew she would do something like this. I never envied her about anything other than being with you."

"And now she's gone," Tom said looking at her intensely.

"Yes. She's gone, and I'm still here ... and ... I don't have a clue what to do about it."

Tom leaned back again and closed his eyes. 

"It's too soon, Connie. Too soon for me to even get my head around the future. I admit, I'm attracted to you too. When I'm alone and thinking back on my life with Veronica, I find now I'm picking it apart, looking for things I didn't like, or didn't feel good about. Now that I know, it's like I'm undermining the foundation of all my beliefs about my marriage and I don't like what it's doing to me. Maybe I need therapy. I've been thinking about that too."

"Are you serious? Do you really think you need professional help?" she asked incredulously. 

"I don't know. I might just go and see what a doctor thinks. I'm not anxious to do it, but I've got to get my life back on track sooner or later. I've got the boys to think about, the plant to run, and ... other things too."

She moved beside him and hugged him closely.

"I'm sorry, Tom. I didn't mean to unload all this on you right now. I had no idea my sister had done this to you. Now I'm the one being selfish. I'll back off until you feel better about it. I've waited this long ... a while longer won't make much difference," she said sadly.

Tom wrapped his arm around Connie, squeezing her to him. He was confused about his feelings for her. Was it sisterly love, or something else? Was it too soon or was he just denying what he might be feeling for her? He needed to get those things straight in his head before he did something that might have disastrous consequences.

They finished the bottle of wine and sat quietly on the benches in the stern. Not close enough to be touching, but not far apart either. The stars had begun to appear, and the occasional satellite made its way slowly across the sky. It always fascinated him to see a man-made thing hundreds of miles up in the vacuum of space, constantly orbiting earth. It would be one of literally hundreds of like devices, some in stationary orbit, watching us, photographing us, unseen to the naked eye.

The cove was quiet as it always was at night. Now and then a jet from Vancouver International would climb overhead, going who knows where, its lights flashing against the black sky. The birds had retired, but the insects were still active and it was time to button up the cockpit and go below. They would rise early tomorrow morning as they always did, not wanting to waste another sunny, summer day.

Tom slept in the forward stateroom and Connie chose an aft guest stateroom. There were two staterooms aft, separated by a modesty panel, and Tom's father had cleverly designed another bunk by modifying the galley table top to tilt. They could sleep seven comfortably, but seldom did. In the past few years, usually it was five, with Tom and Veronica, the boys, and sometimes Connie. 

Chapter 4 A Change in the Weather

Sunrise was near five-thirty on Sunday, and the light in the cabin woke Tom shortly thereafter. He lay in his bunk, knowing he wouldn't go back to sleep. Wearing just a t-shirt and his briefs, he grabbed some fresh underwear from his bag and moved to the forward head, beginning his morning ritual. This head was the only one with a shower, so he quickly used the facilities, shaved, and showered, knowing Connie wouldn't be much longer in her bunk. 

When he exited the tiny facility, Connie was standing in the galley wearing a translucent dressing gown, busily making the coffee.

"Good morning," he said with a smile.

"Hi ... sleep well?"

"Yeah ... I did, thanks. You?"

"Okay, I guess," she said, noncommittally. "We got into some heavy stuff last night. I think that was on my mind." 

"Sorry to hear that. Didn't mean to drop that on you."

"I know. But ... I'm glad you told me. No one else needs to know ... but I did. Thanks."

"Sure. You want to use the shower?"

"Yeah, thanks," she said, squeezing out of the narrow galley and into the lounge.

Tom could see the outline of her clearly naked body through the thin material of her gown and immediately felt his reaction to it. He was glad her back was to him because his erection was going to be very prominent in his underwear. He would wait until Connie was in the head before going to the stateroom and putting on a pair of shorts and a clean t-shirt.

It wasn't like he hadn't seen Connie in a skimpy bikini or a tight, braless halter top. She liked to tantalize him and he was always amazed that Veronica didn't seem to care. Perhaps she knew him well enough to know that he would never take advantage of what her sister was offering. Now, with Veronica gone, his inhibitions were lowered ... perhaps to a vulnerable level. 

He knew she wouldn't be interested in a big breakfast, so he would let her decide whether it would be cereal, toast, or another Danish from the pantry. Tom was accustomed to cereal, and he poured himself a large bowl of bran flakes, topped it with some raisins, and added the milk. It would keep him satisfied until noon.

When Connie exited the forward head, he turned to look at her. She was drying her hair with a towel and as she did so, he could see her full breasts swaying with her movements. The nipples were prominent against the flimsy fabric, and that erection he'd almost controlled was in full force again.

She was almost as tall as her sister at five foot eight, but definitely more solidly built. Tom assumed she got her build from her father, while Veronica got hers from her mother. Whatever the source, she was a stunning figure, and few if any men would not notice her without a lustful gaze. Her blonde hair was cut short, coming only to the base of her neck. Her pale blue eyes complemented her lightly freckled face and brilliant teeth. Her nose was a little larger than perfect, but it wasn't out of place on an otherwise beautiful face. 

Tom often wondered if Veronica had envied her sister. Hearing Connie tell him about their combative younger years, he thought not. It wasn't until Tom and she were married that Connie matured into the beautiful young woman she was to become. He was glad that the two sisters had overcome their animosity. It would have made life difficult for all of them if it had carried on. Veronica was beautiful in her own, elegant way. Connie was the voluptuous, over-the-top sibling that would often drive men crazy when they couldn't interest her in them.

He watched her as she walked toward the aft stateroom. He thought she might have been putting on "show" for him, letting him know what was waiting for him if only he would ask. Perhaps it was the sly smile on her lips as she passed, looking at him briefly. Perhaps it was the seemingly exaggerated sway of her hips, despite the narrow passage. Perhaps it was just his imagination. Perhaps not.

He finished his cereal, cleaned out the bowl in the sink, and put it in the drain rack, joining last night's meagre collection of plates and utensils. Both Tom and Connie liked the minimal style they adopted on board the boat. There was a dishwasher, but it was more for larger quantities than they would use over the entire weekend. 

He poured another cup of coffee just as Connie emerged from the stateroom, provocatively dressed in a very snug sleeveless t-shirt and equally snug shorts. It took only a moment for Tom to realize she was braless. It would appear that the game had begun. 

"Are you going to be warm enough in that," he asked, trying to disguise his grin.

"I'll layer up if I need to," she said with a raised eyebrow. "That way, whatever goes on, can easily come off."

Tom shook his head, wondering if she was going to put on anything more than deck shoes if she didn't have to. The day promised to be a warm one according to the weather forecast, and sun block would be essential. With as little as Connie was wearing, she'd need the large economy-size container to cover her exposed skin.

He was thinking just how much things had changed in his attitude in the past month. Whatever grieving remained had ended abruptly when Veronica's infidelity was revealed. The confession that her co-worker had made to the RCMP, and their questioning of Tom's potential involvement in her disappearance had put that to rest, once and for all. He was beginning to understand that he was intellectually free to pursue other women, given a reasonable period of mourning, of course. 

Ah ... that was the question. How long was reasonable? And who was he trying to please? Connie's parents? Definitely. His mother? Her too. The boys? Not as much, since they were already giving indications that they saw their father and Connie as a couple. Who then? Why not just himself? Why not be concerned about what seemed right to Tom Lynch? He hadn't even given a thought to the RCMP and what they might think. That could be a mistake.

They pulled anchor and motored out of the cove, heading WNW between North Pender Island and Mayne Island. High tide was still a half-hour away, and the winds were very light. They stayed on the motor, enjoying the early morning sun and the peaceful surroundings. Before noon, dozens of powercraft and sailboats, along with the usual ferry traffic, would clutter the seascape. But for now, they were among only a few "early birds."

They made their way through Active Pass without encountering a ferry, and were once again out in Georgia Strait, heading due north toward the entrance to English Bay. What little wind there was blew mainly on the island side, but they decided to raise sail anyway, hoping it would pick up later that morning. It looked like it was going to be a long day getting back to Fisherman's Cove.

By noon, they knew they were not going to arrive at their home port until dark unless they used the motor all the way. With just the two of them, combined with a falling tide, they would have a difficult time docking.

"Can you get someone to cover for you tomorrow?" Tom asked.

"There's just me, Tom. On the other hand, I've got my 'Crackberry' with me, so I won't be out of touch. I could handle a day off playing hooky," she smiled.

"Yeah ... I'll call the office and leave a message I won't be in tomorrow. I haven't had a day off since ... well ... for quite a while. Let's find a place to stay where we can get a decent meal."

"Ladysmith? Nanaimo?" Connie suggested.

"Nanaimo. There's a decent pub right on the harbour by the float plane dock."

"Good. I won't have to dress up."

"You'd look good in anything," he smiled, not looking at her.

"Why thank you, sir. That's a very nice thing to say to a sex-starved woman bent on tracking down her man."

"Young lady," Tom replied, "if you are sex-starved, then it is entirely your own fault."

"And just what do you mean by that, Mister Lynch?"

"Exactly what it sounds like. You know damn well you are a gorgeous woman that any red-blooded heterosexual male would lust after in a second."

"Are you telling me that you aren't red-blooded, or is it that you aren't heterosexual," she smirked.

"You know better than that," he snapped, still with humour in his voice.

"So ... what is it about me that you find ... unappealing?" she challenged light-heartedly.

"Connie! How the hell did I get myself into this conversation anyway?" Tom scowled.

"Well, Thomas Lynch, if you haven't figured it out by now, I have a plan to seduce you. I have been patient ... up until now. Now, I'm going to be persistent. You don't have one single excuse for resisting me that will hold water."

Tom looked at her carefully, measuring how much was light-hearted fun and how much was serious. By all appearances, it was three-quarters serious and one-quarter fun. Not only that, she had thrown down the gauntlet, and he had to decide whether to pick it up. If he did, everything about his life at that point would change. Everything!

"Don't you think we're rushing things a little?" he managed weakly after a lengthy silence.

"No ... I don't," she said firmly. "Besides, we don't have to advertise our personal lives. I live alone, and the boys are almost grown up and out of the house. I've waited for you for twenty years, Tom. I don't think I can handle being patient much longer. I'm not some horny teenager with raging hormones. I'm a thirty-three year old woman whose clock is ticking louder and louder each year. I want you, and I want at least one child by you. Can I make it any clearer than that?"

The look on Tom's face told the story. Connie had never been so direct and forceful with her desires. She held nothing back, even going so far as to declare her want for his child ... or children. Starting a family all over again? Could he handle that? He was completely nonplussed by her declaration.

"No ... I guess not. You've pretty much laid it on the line."

"So?"

"What am I supposed to say?" he asked, bewildered by the last few minutes.

"You are supposed to say that you've lusted after my body for at least the last fifteen years and that you can't wait to get me into your bed the fuck my brains out."

Tom could detect the return of Connie's offbeat sense of humour once more.

"Oh. Anything else?" he asked warily. 

"One step at a time, Tom," she grinned. "One step at a time."

Tom turned back to the windscreen and stared out over the bow, seeing nothing as his mind swirled from Connie's frontal assault. Connie wisely said nothing, allowing him to handle her aggressive attack on his senses.




Overboard



At length, he turned to her.

"Just exactly how does one go about fucking some person's brains out?" he asked.

Connie exploded in laughter, bending double in the big cockpit, releasing all the built up tension from the past few minutes. Through her tears she saw that Tom was laughing too. The stress had been released and she walked the short distance to him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him as deeply as she had ever kissed anyone in her life. 

"If you let me, I'll show you," she whispered.

"I'll look forward to it," he said, pulling her back into another deep, tongue-filled kiss.

"You mean it?" she asked, not certain he was serious.

"Are you withdrawing your offer?" he teased.

"Never! You are mine, Mister Thomas Lynch, and I'm never going to let you go." 

There wasn't a single doubt in Tom's mind that she meant every word. He slipped his hands up underneath her top, stroking her back gently. 

"You've been stalking me for this whole trip, haven't you?" he stated with a raised eyebrow and a serious expression.

"At least you noticed," she smirked.

"How could I not notice? I'm surprised you didn't stroll around naked last night."

"I thought about it."

"But?"

"I chickened out. Decided to just give you the thin nightgown test first. Did it work?"

"If you mean, did it get a rise out of me, the answer is yes."

"Well good, but I guess it wasn't enough to get you motivated to take advantage of the invitation."

"I thought about it."

"What are you thinking about now?" she asked, looking him directly in his eyes.

"I'm wondering why you're so sure I'm not going to disappoint you," he said quietly.

"Hah! You know how Veronica can't drink more than one or two before she starts to babble. She's done enough bragging about your performance to convince me."

Tom paled as she expressed her confidence and Connie saw his mood change immediately.

"What's wrong? You embarrassed by what she might have said?"

"Yeah ... I guess. That stuff is supposed to be private. I didn't think she would spread it all over the place."

"Tom ... she was my sister. She was more likely to tell me than anyone. I never heard her tell anyone else anything remotely personal."

He looked at her sadly. "I guess we'll never know for sure, will we? I wonder what she might have told her lover? Would she bad-mouth me?" 

"Cut it out, Tom," she said gently. "Let it go. She's gone. I'm here for you. I'm going to make sure you forget the bad and only remember the good."

"That's as much as I can hope for, isn't it? Forget the bad and remember the good."

"Yeah ... and ... then I'll show just how good 'good' can be," she smiled. 

"I'm thinking I'm going to lose all power to resist your charms," he said, moving his hands around to her magnificent chest. He ran his thumbs over her nipples and got an immediate response from her with a groan and a tightening of her arms around his neck. It precipitated another deep kiss, and she could feel him relax once again. It was going to be a slow process to bring him back to the man he was before the accident, but Connie was dedicated to the goal. Tom Lynch was hers and hers alone.

Chapter 5 In for a Penny 

The Lady motored into Nanaimo harbour just before five that Sunday afternoon. In the three-plus hours since Tom's mental surrender to her, they had talked about inconsequential things. Tom wanted to talk to her about the things he wasn't sure of. What were her likes and dislikes? He thought he knew, but he wasn't positive. There was so much more to know about someone who was dedicated to capturing him for a lifetime.

Connie had backed off after her final declaration. She had pushed him to the end of the diving board and she had forced him to make a decision, jump or walk away. He chose to jump, but it was never a foregone conclusion. Inside her, she was excited and elated at his decision. She knew she could win his heart. They had too much in common and he was going to be on the receiving end of as much loving as he could stand, both physical and emotional.

There's an old saying, "in for a penny, in for a pound." Tom was thinking of it as they walked back to the boat from the pub, hand in hand. Their meal was quiet as the place was barely a third full on a Sunday night. He'd made some kind of commitment to Connie, although he wasn't sure just what that commitment was. Perhaps it was just about sex. He wasn't kidding himself; Connie definitely thought of it as long term. 

Their conversation during the meal was cautious, staying away from the obvious. "You're awfully quiet," Connie said softly as they walked onto the dock. "Having second thoughts?"

"I don't know ... but ... to be honest ... I guess I am. I'm maybe feeling guilty ... you know ... like I was cheating on Veronica. That's crazy, I know, but in the back of my mind, that's what's nagging at me. I'm not sure how to handle it."

Connie stopped walking and turned to him. There was a sincere look of sadness about her, something he hadn't seen lately.

"I won't make you do anything you don't feel good about, Tom. I know what I want, but not at any price. I'm going to back off and let you decide when or if the time is right."

He nodded and smiled. "Thanks. You are something special ... and I do love you. I'm just not too sure of what that love is yet."

This time, Connie smiled a resigned smile. Once again she would be forcing herself to be patient ... not to rush this man. When the time came, she wanted it to be permanent.

They climbed aboard and went below to the lounge. Tom poured each of them a brandy and turned on the TV. They sat beside each other in silence, watching a PBS special featuring a well-known rock star. It kept their minds off the recent events until it was time to retire. He kissed her goodnight and walked slowly to the forward stateroom.

Connie sat in the lounge, thinking about her situation, discouraged that she had come so close and yet still couldn't get Tom to commit. She knew better than to invade his stateroom that night. That could ruin everything. She had to be prepared to wait once more. But for how much longer could she let this go on. She had her own life to live, and if Tom wasn't going to be a part of it, then she needed to set off in a different direction.

Tom lay in his bunk, wide awake, thinking of nothing else but that afternoon's conversation with Connie. Had he "chickened out?" Maybe. He was torn between the natural, sexual desire for the beautiful woman, and his anxiety over what it could mean to both of them. 

Was he really being haunted by Veronica? He forced himself to think of her as an adulteress, but he found no satisfaction thinking about confronting her ... hearing her excuses. Her unfaithfulness was only a piece of information, no more. It left a hole in him from what he always believed was a perfect marriage. Or, at least, as perfect as he could expect.

He heard the soft chimes of the ship's clock strike midnight. He'd been lying awake for two hours with no likelihood he would fall asleep anytime soon. He got out of bed, and quietly opened his door. The lights were out in the main cabin, but the dock light shone through the skylight and he saw the door to Connie's aft stateroom was closed. He pulled a beer from the fridge, plugged the headphones into the stereo, tuned in a local soft-rock station, and sat in one of the two nearby chairs.

The music soothed him. There were no annoying commercials at that time on a Sunday night. He must have finally dozed off into a sleep full of dreams. He fought to remember them, but his conscious mind told him it would be futile. He rarely remembered any dreams. 

But these dreams ... they were different. They were erotic ... very sexual. They featured voluptuous women, all wanting to bestow their favours on him. All but one, that is. Connie was crying in the background, her hands covering her eyes. He couldn't make out what she was trying to say, but she was distraught about something. Tom was naked in this dream, and his erection seemed larger than real, standing out proudly before him. It was very confusing.

And then there was the scent ... that female scent ... Veronica's scent? No ... not quite. And now the touch. Lips ... on his lips. So soft he could hardly feel them, but they were there just the same. 

His head jerked back in alarm. He was awake now, coming out of that confusing dream, wondering what had happened. And then he knew. Connie! She was kneeling before him. It had been her scent. Her lips. As his consciousness came back, he looked around. He was on the boat. Connie wasn't crying, she was smiling at him. He reached up to rub his eyes and remembered the headphones. Taking them off, he blinked and tried to pull himself together.

"I must have fallen asleep," he croaked.

She nodded. She held up the beer bottle and Tom could see that half of it was gone. 

"Drank yourself to sleep, huh?" she grinned.

"I guess. What time is it?"

"About two o'clock. What were you doing out here? Couldn't you sleep either?"

He shook his head. "No. You too?"

"Afraid so. You must have been having quite a dream, though," she said. "You were talking in your sleep, but I couldn't make heads or tails of it. Do you do that often?"

"Not as far as I know. At least, Veronica never mentioned it."

"Well, as far as I could tell, it was about sex. You had a hell of a hard-on when I found you."

"Oh shit. Sorry about that."

"Don't apologize. I was impressed. Veronica was a very lucky woman." 

"Why were you crying?" he asked absently.

"Crying? I wasn't crying?"

"Oh ... I thought you were. I guess that was in my dream. I'm glad ... I mean, I'm glad you weren't crying."

She had remained on her knees, her arms resting on his thighs, her face tilted up to him. Even without makeup, she was incredibly lovely. Flawless skin with a light sprinkling of freckles on her cheeks, lovely blue eyes, and even the reckless tumble of her blonde hair seemed to be a perfect frame to her face. 

"That must have been some dream," she said in a soft, husky voice.

"I don't usually remember dreams, but this one was so vivid. If I remember my college psychology course correctly, the ones you remember are the ones that feature stress or danger," he said.

"I wouldn't be surprised about the stress, Tom. You've been under a lot of stress in the last three months. Just when you might have been getting past Veronica's death, along came the police with that business about her infidelity. That couldn't have helped."

"I didn't want to hurt you," he said. It seemed like a non sequitur.

"What?"

"You were crying ... covering your eyes. I didn't want to hurt you," he repeated.

"How could you hurt me?" she asked, now very curious.

"All those women. They were naked ... so was I. They were after me, but ... you were there, standing in the background, fully dressed ... and you were crying."

"Jesus, Tom. Freud would have a field day with that dream," she joked, almost instantly regretting it.

"Yeah ... I guess. But I remember being sad ... like I didn't want to do ... something."

"Maybe that accounts for the erection," she said, smiling.

"Was it that noticeable?"

"Yeah ... it was. You're not a small man, Tom. It would have been hard not to notice. I almost ... well ... never mind."

He brought his hands up gently to her face. "You almost what?" he asked quietly.

"I almost took advantage of you."

"What stopped you?"

"I don't know. Maybe because you were mumbling something, like you were trying to stop something from happening."

He thought about that for a minute. "Maybe. Maybe I was trying to stop your crying?"

She smiled a comforting smile and took his hands in hers. "You care for me, don't you," she stated.

"You know I do. I'm just trying to understand if it's more than that."

He looked at her for a long while before continuing.

"Connie ... will you stay with me tonight?"

She nodded and stood, helping him up out of the chair, leading him to his stateroom. She stripped off her t-shirt and panties unselfconsciously, climbed into the bed, and pulled the covers up to her waist. She was perched on her side, her head propped up in her hand, waiting for him.

Tom was out of his briefs and t-shirt just as quickly, sliding under the covers and turning toward Connie. His erection was full and it confirmed to her that this would be the moment she had waited for. They embraced and she felt his rigid member press into her abdomen. 

When he awoke the next morning, he was briefly disoriented. He was lying on his side with Connie's wonderful body spooned back into him. His arm was draped over her waist, his hand cupping a warm, soft breast. He was about to pull away when he changed his mind. The scent ... her scent ... was an aphrodisiac that had generated his usual morning erection, comfortably tucked in between her full, round, cheeks. 

He raised his head carefully, looking back at the clock on the bulkhead. It was past eight o'clock, long after his normal waking time. His mind drifted back to last night and the conversation about his dream. What did it all mean? Why did he care? It was just a dream. But dreams meant something, didn't they? They were the doorway to the subconscious. But one thing was real. He had made passionate love to his sister last night and she left no doubt that she was satisfied. 

Connie stirred and turned her head toward him. "You're awake."

"Yes. I was just thinking about last night ... you know ... just how much I wanted to make love to you. I wanted it to be perfect for you."

"It was," she yawned, stretching her naked form as she did. "I never felt so good, Tom. Never." 

"When I woke up," Tom said, "I felt so comfortable. You were here and I could smell your wonderful scent. I'd forgotten how much that one thing meant to me each morning. I don't want to give it up again."

Instinctively his thumb idly began to stroke a nipple, and Connie moaned her approval. Her hand reached back and sought out his erection. She gripped it gently, squeezing now and then.

She rolled over onto her other side, facing him. Her hand returned to his cock immediately.

"Do you have any idea how badly I want this inside me?" she asked in a throaty whisper. 

He chuckled. "I think I do."

"Then what's keeping you," she smiled, pulling him closer to her.

She spread her legs, kicking the covers back, and welcomed him between her knees. He mounted her, and with her guidance, pushed slowly into her, not stopping until he was fully enclosed. There had been no need for lubrication. Connie was wet and willing and wanting. She wrapped her legs around his thighs and drove herself upwards, taking every inch of him. They were locked together like rutting animals until she finally relaxed her grip and allowed him to begin to stroke into her. 

It was a more frantic and reckless joining than last night. It was an uncontrolled sexual mating of two sex-starved adults. He was pumping into her furiously now, out of control. It was uncharacteristic, but it seemed strangely necessary for him to assert himself this way with her. 

"Yes ... yeaaaassss ... ohhhhhhh ... fuck ... yeaaaassss," she cried as they neared the breaking point. 

Suddenly, Tom began to move and breathe erratically as his climax arrived. His motion was jerky and he pushed into Connie, holding himself inside her as he began to pump his seed into her womb. After a number of single, forceful, deep strokes he collapsed beside her, panting heavily. Connie was still holding him tightly to her.

"Sorry ... Connie," he gasped. "I couldn't ... help myself. I didn't mean ... to be so ... rough. Sorry."

She was kissing his face, tasting the sweat that poured from his forehead.

"It's okay, Tom," Connie said softly. "I wanted it this way. I wanted you to show me what a man you are. We had all this 'stuff' bottled up inside us," she whispered. "It was bound to explode when we took the lid off."

Tom lay silently beside her, stroking her breast idly, his eyes fixed on hers.

"This can't be a one-time thing, Connie. I couldn't handle that. I know that's not what you're thinking ... but ... if you and me ... if we are going to ... be together ... I don't do things half-way."

He looked so serious as he spoke, and Connie couldn't help herself. She smiled. 

"Did you really imagine that I would be happy with a 'one-time thing?'"

"I don't know," he said, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. "I feel like some teenager who's just had sex for the first time. What was I supposed to say? My head is so fucked up ... I can't think straight."

She went quiet again, watching him as he wrestled with his thoughts. She struggled with something to say ... something to tell him ... that would help ease his conflicted mind.

Tom resumed his silence, still on his back, staring at the ceiling of the cabin. Connie rolled closer to him, wrapping her arm over his chest, pulling him tightly to her. 

"I'm going to make it better for you, Tom. I promise. I'm going to make it better."

He rolled toward her, his arm now wrapped around her, holding her closely.

"I believe you, Connie. I really do."

Chapter 6 Whatever Comes Next

Connie stood behind Tom, her arms wrapped around his waist as he guided the Lady across the gulf, heading toward the entrance to Howe Sound. The wind was brisk, and had shifted more to the west, helping make the passage quicker than they expected. The traffic was light, typical for a Monday morning. Not everyone had the luxury of playing hooky that day.

She thought back to last night and earlier that morning and to the beginning of their "affair," as she thought of it. It had caught her by surprise, so unlike what she expected from Tom. It was later, after they had calmed down and talked that she rediscovered the Tom Lynch from last night. They had made love. That's what it really was ... love. He had worshipped her body and had lifted her to a number of orgasms, mild and strong. It was perfect. 

Veronica hadn't been bragging. It was a fact; he was a magnificent lover. She had never been so content in all her life. All she wanted to do was to be with him, to hold him as she did now, not losing contact with him for a moment. This was what she had imagined, what she had dreamed of for all those years. And now it was coming to pass. She had never felt this happy in her entire life.

As luck would have it, they arrived back at Fisherman's Cove on a half-tide, and docking the boat wasn't as challenging. Connie stood on the dock with the fore and aft lines, quickly tying them off as Tom carefully moved the big craft into place; first the stern, then the bow. They silently loaded their gear onto a nearby cart and pushed it up the ramp toward the parking lot. 

They rode in silence to Tom's home, each lost in thought about the consequences of this past weekend. Their relationship had changed irrevocably; there was no going back. Then again, neither of them wanted to revert to their previous status. For their own reasons, they wanted to continue down the path they had mutually chosen. Connie was the more desperate to see it through, but Tom was resolved as well. He'd made a decision and he would stick to it. The only question now was when they would let "others" know about this change.

"Come in," Tom said as they pulled into his driveway. "I doubt the boys are home, so we can relax and talk a bit."

Connie nodded, turning off the ignition and pulling the hand brake. Tom pulled the two containers out of the back hatch while Connie picked up his overnight bag. He tried the front door, but as usual it was locked. He inserted his key and opened the door, ushering her in ahead of him. 

"Anybody home?" he called. 




Overboard



No one answered immediately, but a few moments later Mrs. Calderone, the housekeeper, looked tentatively out of the laundry room and into the kitchen.

"Oh ... it's you, Mr. Lynch. I wasn't expecting you. Vernon said you were sailing and wouldn't be home until later."

"Yes," Tom smiled. "Miss Fairly and I caught a nice stiff breeze today and got back early. Everything all right?" 

"Yes, sir. Tony is at the factory and Vernon went to the university to see about some courses and books or something. Did you have a nice weekend?" she asked.

"Yes ... very nice. We went to Saturna Island. Lovely weather all the way."

The middle-aged woman smiled and went back to the laundry room, sorting and folding clothes from the dryer.

Tom reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a large bottle of Pino Grigio that was already open. Taking two glasses from the cupboard above, he poured a glass for each of them, then motioned to her to step onto the back deck. Again, Connie led and Tom followed, sitting in chairs around the glass-topped table in the middle of the deck.

"She's not a busy-body, but I don't want her listening in on our conversation," he said.

Connie nodded agreement and sipped her wine.

After a couple of false starts, Tom began. "So ... where do we go from here, Connie? Is it too soon to talk to our parents or the boys?"

She didn't answer immediately, gazing into her wine glass.

"Probably," she said a length. "I don't feel pressured to tell anyone yet, Tom. We really haven't even begun to get used to the idea that we are going to be together. I have a feeling we both have a lot to learn about each other."

"Now you're starting to sound like me. What happened to the woman who said 'damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead?'" he chuckled. "Are you having second thoughts?"

She shook her head violently. "No ... absolutely not! I waited too long for this ... now I'm going to enjoy every moment of it. I just ... I just don't want to hurt anyone. I guess my mother is most on my mind. And yours too. They might be upset if they thought we were rushing things."

"What about the boys?" he asked.

"I'm not so worried about them. I wouldn't be surprised that they didn't already have a clue, based on my being here so often. I feel really comfortable around them, and I think they feel the same way around me."

"Maybe it's just teenage lust," he joked.

"You think?" she said with a raised eyebrow.

"Raging hormones are common in the youth, male and female."

She laughed. "Well, I'd be flattered, but not interested. As nice as they are, I've got the hots for their father."

Tom went silent, looking out over the back yard. After a couple of minutes, he turned to Connie.

Connie reached out and took his hand, squeezing it in confirmation. She wanted to go to him and hug him closely and tell him it was all right, but she didn't. What neither of them saw was Mrs. Calderone, watching through the kitchen window and smiling. 

Nothing was decided that afternoon aside from not yet wanting to reveal their mutual attraction to the family yet. They were hoping they could see each other regularly and keep their relationship quiet for another three months before they revealed it. Tom was doubtful that they would be successful for that long, but he would try. 

It worked for a while. August turned out to be hot and dry as usual. Tom and Connie took every opportunity to get out on the Lady on the weekends. Neither of the boys seemed interested and had any number of excuses why they couldn't go. Neither he nor Connie was disappointed, of course. It gave them the privacy to spend intimate personal time together. 

When the boys went back to school, little seemed to change for Tom. He was cheered by the fact that they would be home almost every night. The turmoil following Veronica's death had blunted the interlude from mid-April to June. During their summer vacations, Vern had been sharing his time between studying and writing his scholarship examinations and his latest girlfriend, while Tony went immediately to work at Lynchpin Plastics, this summer being assigned to quality assurance for all three months.

Tom had his own work to keep him occupied. He thought about Connie every day, marking time they could get together more often than just on the weekends. He was becoming more certain of his love for her. His mind no longer dredged up memories of Veronica. That was a relief. His dreams no longer featured her, either. The sexually voracious Connie had removed all those images. In fact, he discovered he hardly thought of Veronica at all these days.

What brought it back all over again was a call one September Wednesday morning from their family lawyer, Malachi Wise.

"Hello, Tom. It's been quite some time since we talked. How are you?" the older gentleman asked.

"Fine, Malachi. I'm doing okay. To what do I owe the honour of your call?" he joked.

"Actually, Tom, I was wondering why you hadn't come in to talk about Veronica's will? Perhaps I should have called sooner, but since I hadn't heard from you, there didn't seem to be any urgency to it."

"Her will? I hadn't even given it a thought. I'd forgotten she had one, to be honest. I only thought about my will and making sure it was up to date. Besides, she hasn't been declared officially dead yet ... just missing and presumed drowned."

"Yes ... that's true, but it doesn't preclude our assuming her death and opening the will for review. We just can't take any action on its provisions. Why don't we make an appointment and go over that and a few other loose ends from her estate?"

"Sure. I'll make myself available to you. When would be convenient?"

"How about Friday? Come in just before noon and we can have lunch together. I'd like to catch up on how you and the family are doing," he said.

"I'd like that, Malachi. See you at your office near noon on Friday, then."

When Tom hung up the phone, he sat back in his office chair. He hadn't given any thought to Veronica's financial or personal affairs after the funeral. It was true he'd forgotten the will, but when Malachi mentioned "other loose ends," he wondered what that might include.

When Tom arrived at Malachi Wise's office on Friday, he found the man chatting with his secretary, waiting for him.

"Hello, Tom," he said, extending his hand. "It's been far too long since we've gotten together," the white-haired man smiled.

"What time do you have to be back?" Tom asked, assuming Malachi had afternoon an appointment or two."

"No rush. I cleared my calendar on Friday afternoons years ago. There had to be some benefit for success."

They conversed amiably as they walked down the street toward a well-known restaurant. Tom held the door as they entered and the maitre d' immediately greeted Malachi familiarly. They were seated within a minute and a waiter took their order for drinks. 

"How are you, Tom? Holding up alright after that dreadful accident?"

"Yes. Much better now, thank you. I've come to accept that she's gone and I have many years yet to go if I'm lucky. I'll make a new life ... you can count on that."

"That's great. I'm really pleased to hear that. I was thinking the other day that it didn't seem that long ago that you lost your father ... and now Veronica. That must have been very difficult to deal with."

Tom nodded but didn't comment.

"Well ... enough of that. Tell me about what you've been doing. Have you been out on the boat at all?"

"Yes. Several times. Mostly with Connie ... Veronica's sister. She's helped pull me out of my blues and keep me active."

"That's wonderful. And how are the boys?"

"Fine. Both back in school and as far as I can tell, doing well. It's early yet, so I'll know more around Christmas I guess."

They ate in a comfortable silence as two friends might. Despite the age difference, Tom had always enjoyed meeting and working with Malachi Wise. He was nothing like the stereotypical television lawyer. He was quiet, humorous, thoughtful, and wise. His advice was almost always the right advice.

As they finished their meal and accepted an offered coffee, Malachi turned his attention to the reason for their meeting.

"Tom, did you know that Veronica made an addendum to her will only a couple of weeks before she ... disappeared?"

"No ... no, I didn't. What kind of addendum?" he asked, puzzled by this information.

"I don't know. She gave me a letter, sealed, addressed to you and to be included with the will. As far as the basics in the will, nothing changed, only the addition of the letter. Since you have a copy of her will, I see no reason you can't read the letter now."

"And this happened shortly before the accident?"

"Yes," Malachi said. "March 29th, just short of three weeks before that terrible weekend."

"I can't imagine what it would be about. I guess I won't know until I read it. Why don't we go back to your office and deal with everything," Tom suggested.

"Of course. Let me get the bill," he volunteered. If there was anything Tom knew about Malachi it was that the bill wouldn't show up on any billing later.

They walked the five minutes back to his office and Malachi closed the door behind them after having asked his secretary not to interrupt them. He sat behind the big cherry desk that had been his father's before him, leaning back in a comfortable, large leather chair. He looked every part the gentleman lawyer. 

He took a folder from his centre desk drawer, laid it in front of him and opened it. He took out the original of the will, a cream coloured envelope, and some miscellaneous papers.

"Nothing's been changed in the body of her will since you both filed them with me, so unless you want to refresh your memory, I can leave that. I assume you have a copy at home or in your safe deposit box?" he asked.

"Yes. Both our copies are in there."

"Then the only thing to concern yourself with is this envelope. I don't know what it contains, so if you'd like to open it in private, I'll leave the room until you are finished."

"Thank you," Tom said as Malachi rose and left the room, quietly closing the door behind him.

He picked up the envelope and stared at it. It was a heavy paper, quality paper, with a single name printed in ink on its front: "Tom." He had a sinking feeling about what it might contain. He was initially reluctant to open it, but at length, his curiosity got the better of him. He borrowed Malachi's letter opener and slit the top flap. Inside were several pages of similar paper. As he unfolded them, he saw Veronica's distinctive, stylishly neat handwriting. He felt his stomach clench, giving him momentary pause before he began to read.

My Dearest Tom: As you read this, you know I will be gone. I haven't yet chosen my exit, but I won't be able to put it off much longer. I'm sorry I have caused you pain, but for my own selfish reasons, I have chosen this way to tell you why. That word, selfish, is important, and you will see it again and again in this letter.

Earlier this year I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. My doctor prescribed a treatment program, but before I agreed to it, I asked her to be completely honest with me. What were the odds of my recovery? It took some time to get her to admit that they were one-in-five. Not very good odds, I'm sure you'd agree.

At that point, I made a decision. A selfish decision, I admit. I chose not to agree to the treatment. Naturally, my doctor tried to talk me out of it, but I was adamant. I told her that no one was to know of this diagnosis, and I made her swear that she would not reveal it to anyone. 

Chemotherapy, radiation treatment, and whatever cocktail of drugs would be very unpleasant, and frankly, I'm not that brave. I decided to take the easy way out. I would allow the cancer to run its course until I couldn't tolerate it any longer and then end it on my own terms. The coward's way out, they say, but I disagree. I couldn't stand to see the pain and pity in your eyes, or the eyes of our family and friends.

I am, if nothing else, a very good actress. I hid that information from you and everyone else. I never had a hint that any of you suspected anything was wrong. As I thought about what was left of my life, I realized I wasn't the woman I wanted to be. I was selfish. I thought about me first, regardless of whom else might be involved. You gave me everything; your love, fidelity, devotion, and of course, the material things that I craved.

I had everything a woman could want. A handsome, successful, loving husband, two wonderful sons, a supportive family, a lovely home -- everything. I was spoiled, but it never occurred to me that I was until I had to face my own mortality. Now, looking in the mirror, I know who I really am, and I'm not very proud of it.

Shortly before I was told of my fate, I began an affair with another man. It doesn't matter who he was -- and no, you don't know him. Why? Because I could. He wanted me and I wanted the thrill of something forbidden and completely outside what anyone would ever expect of me. Again, it was selfish of me, but at that point, I didn't worry about anything except being caught. That would have been disastrous. 

I'm not telling you this to hurt you, only to show you who I really was. I wish I could give you some explanation for why I would betray a man like you for one who would happily take advantage of a married woman. I can't. In the back of my mind, I thought I could get away with it and it would be my dirty little secret. I didn't intend for it to last, only to experience the illicit thrill of cheating. 

I wanted to end the affair some weeks ago, but I didn't. It can't last much longer. When I was honest enough to compare him to you, he failed in every way. It had ceased to be exciting or rewarding in any manner. It was just cheap and selfish. I did it for me.

I have been trying to write this letter over the last month. I know now that the time I have left is limited. Sooner or later, you will notice the changes in me. I can't let that happen. I loved you, Tom; at least as much as I loved anyone besides myself. I'm not very proud of myself, but it is who I am. Now at least, I can be honest with myself. 

Take good care of our sons. My death will hurt them, and I ask that you do not share this letter with them or my parents. I'm told that there will be an autopsy, so the disease will be revealed then, but if I could prevent that, I would. You will survive, my husband. There is another woman who loves you even more than I do. Constance has loved you from the moment she first met you, and nothing has changed. Allow her to comfort and love you, Tom. She will never do to you what I have done. With her, you will find true happiness and a deep, abiding love; something I was incapable of giving.

Take care, my husband, and goodbye. Veronica He put the letter down, tears streaming down his cheeks. All the answers to all the questions were there. He could almost see her stepping over the rail on the Lady and dropping into the water, putting an end to her misery. 

He wasn't aware of how long he just sat, staring at the letter in his hand, the pain of her confession penetrating deeper and deeper with each passing moment. At length, he heard a soft knock on the door.

"Come in," he said, wiping his eyes and standing as Malachi re-entered the room and approached.

"Are you all right?" he asked solicitously.

"I don't know how to answer that, Malachi. Veronica's letter ... it was ... a confession. She had terminal cancer and intended to end it all before she couldn't handle it any more. She never said a word to anyone about it. None of us knew she was ill. But there was more," Tom said, collapsing back into the chair. "Can I assume this is all under attorney-client privilege?"

"Of course," Malachi answered quickly.

"You'd better read this."

Tom sat quietly while Malachi read Veronica's letter. He could see the aging lawyer's eyes open wide as he read. The look of surprise and shock was written plainly on his face. After a few minutes, he put the letter down on his desk, shaking his head.

"I never would have imagined, Tom."

"There's more. Something I should have told you at the time. I was called into RCMP headquarters for an interview two months after her disappearance. That was when I first learned of Veronica's infidelity. They asked me if I had ever heard of Mr. So-and-so and I said no. That was the truth. I didn't know the man and had never heard his name. Then they revealed they had received a tip that this man was having an affair with Veronica. The tip must have come well after Veronica disappeared. They questioned the guy and extracted an admission out of him that he was indeed involved with Veronica. 

"Then they suggested that if I knew she had a lover that I would have a motive for doing away with her. Naturally I denied any knowledge and they seemed to accept that. I was released and I haven't heard from them since."

"Why didn't you call me, Tom? You put yourself in a very dangerous position."

"I know, but I was innocent and I wasn't expecting to be accused of anything. As it turns out, I wasn't."

"I don't think we should take that as a given, Tom. The police can sometimes take quite a while to build a case before they file charges. It wouldn't we wise to just wait without taking some action."

"What should I do?" Tom asked.

"I have a suggestion," Malachi said. "I think we should contact the RCMP and go there and present them with this letter. It doesn't prove anything about what you knew or didn't know of her affair, but it shows Veronica had the intent to commit suicide. That would certainly mitigate any motive on your part."

"All right," Tom agreed. "I haven't heard anything from them for months now, so I wasn't expecting to. Unless her body washes up somewhere, I doubt now she'll ever be found, and even if it is I can't imagine what kind of condition it would be in."

"Do you remember who you were talking to at headquarters," the lawyer asked.

"Yes. I have their cards," Tom said, digging them out of his wallet.

"Why don't I give them a call and set up an appointment. I'll do the talking and you just come along as a silent party. Let's see if we can put this whole thing to rest and get a death certificate issued when they close the case." 

It went better than Tom anticipated. They met with Janecek and Philliponi at their office and Malachi showed them the letter, attesting that it had been received on March 29th, three weeks before her disappearance. Tom included a sample of her handwriting to confirm it was written by Veronica. One hour later, they left RCMP headquarters, satisfied that the case would now be closed and Malachi could petition the court to grant a death certificate.

There was little to distribute in Veronica's will except her jewellery, clothes, and car. Tom would look after that himself with Vern eventually assuming title to his mother's car in order to commute to SFU. Tony had purchased his own car with his earnings from his summer job at Lynchpin. The jewellery would be held by Tom to be given to the future wives of Vern and Tony, with the exception of a diamond pendant that Veronica bequeathed to Connie. Tom had bought the pendant on their fifteenth anniversary and Connie had always admired it.

In a strange way, the letter had put an end to Tom's unease about Veronica's death. He now knew what had happened to her and why. In a way, he understood, but still was unhappy that she had chosen to leave them without the opportunity to say goodbye. The affair would remain a secret shared only with the police, Malachi and Connie. He didn't want Veronica's memory stained by something as tawdry as her affair turned out to be. 

When he arrived home, he called Connie.




Overboard



"As the crew laughed and jeered, the captain took his position behind me and removed his breeches. I felt the head of his manhood nudge against my nether lips, but before he entered me, I heard him call our "Where is my cabin boy? Joshua!" There was a cry, and a burly sailor emerged from behind the bulkhead, dragging the boy I had seen earlier by the ear. Ignoring the young man's struggles and cries of pain, the brute thrust him through the throng of seamen, until he stood right before me. Afraid to meet his captains gaze, and ashamed to look at me, he stared at the deck, trembling.

"'Come now, lad,' the captain admonished him, 'I'll have no boys upon my ship! Only men! And men don't hide from women! They have their way with them! Am I right?' As the crew roared their agreement, the brute who had fetched the boy grabbed his breeches in both hands and yanked them down. The shouts of the crew were suddenly swallowed in a collective gasp! For hanging between the spindly thighs of this skinny whelp of a boy hung the most enormous penis I had ever seen. Take no offense, my love. Surely you know that your manhood is more than I could ever want or need."

"None taken." I assured her, convincingly, I hoped.

"But," she continued, "though only half erect, it appeared to be eight or nine inches long, and nearly as thick as my wrist, with a head the size of a small plum. 'Well,' the captain said, 'I may have spoken too soon! That's surely a manly weapon you have there, lad. But do you know how to use it?' With that, the captain buried himself in my swollen snatch with a single thrust, and, laughing, began to pump. Joshua raised his eyes to mine, and silently said 'I'm sorry.' I smiled at him. I wanted to let him know that it was all right. In truth, knowing that there was one decent soul aboard this ship of decadent fools filled me with a great sense of relief. But this was no time for words.

"I took his amazing tool in my hand, feeling it throb and grow larger still. Raising the bulbous head to my lips, I kissed the tip lightly, then engulfed him in my mouth. I could only take a few inches of his cock into me, so I concentrated on pleasuring his cock head, and the sensitive spot just beneath the slit. Soon, very soon, the captain let out a groan, and I felt his seed splash into me. Joshua had not yet cum. I looked up at him. His eyes were shut tightly, and beads of sweat trickled down his anguished face. He was struggling to hold back, obviously not wishing to defile me with his ejaculate. But I knew that the crew would never let him leave unsatisfied. I called out softly to him, 'Joshua.' He opened his eyes, releasing fresh tears, and looked at me with shame and longing. 'Cum for me, Joshua', I urged him, 'please.' His eyes rolled back, his legs went rigid, and he came. Oh, how he came! I swear, it was as though it was the first orgasm of his life. The torrent of hot, sticky cream that erupted from his outsized organ was truly astonishing. It splashed across my face and neck, running in viscous rivulets down my chest, dripping from my nipples to form pearly pools on the crate below. When he finally exhausted his load, he looked down at me with what can only be described as adoration. I knew I had one friend among this wretched company.

"My relief was short lived, however. At an order from the captain, we were herded, naked, back into our cell in the hold. There, we comforted one another as best we could. That evening, after the crew had eaten their supper, their table scraps were gathered into a pail, and brought to our cell. Demeaning as it was, this was to be our only food. So we shared the few edible scraps we were able to find among the bones and gristle. Late that night, as we fitfully slept, I was awakened by the sound of the key in the lock. I despaired, expecting to see one or more of the crew returning to abuse us further. But it was Joshua. He had brought bread and clean water to drink, and a pail of hot water, that we might bathe. He begged us to be silent. For if he were discovered, his punishment would be death.

"And so it went, day after day. Each afternoon we were brought up on deck, to amuse the crew at the expense of our dignity. Any refusal was dealt with harshly. Chantel, always the most spirited among us, forgot herself and struck one of her abusers. For this, she was lashed to the bowsprit, and left to hang for hours, like the figurehead of the ship. The crew paraded by, groping her, slapping her naked arse, shoving their rough fingers into her most secret places. When they took her down, she was physically undamaged, but her spirit was broken. Despite Joshua's kind intervention, I soon lost hope. Every night, I prayed for deliverance or death to take me from this nightmare. One week out to sea, my prayers were answered.

"Just before dawn on the seventh day, we awoke to a sound of thunder. There was a great commotion on deck, and we feared that a storm had overtaken us. The thunder roared again, and the ship lurched, as though struck by the hand of God himself! We scrambled to the tiny porthole and beheld our deliverance. A ship, flying the flag of the royal navy, was bearing down on us, her forward cannons blazing. Our elation turned quickly to fear as we realized that she did not know we were here. Firing indiscriminately, she might well kill the very people she set out to save! Frantically, we fled from the window and huddled together in a corner of the cell. In the next moment, we were hit broadside. There was a tortured crack of splintering wood as the ship buckled under the blow. I looked up through swirling dust and smoke, and saw that the door was ajar, knocked open by the impact. The four of us rose as one and poured through the open door. We made our way to the ladder that led topside. One by one we climbed up, intent on throwing ourselves overboard and swimming to our rescue. The others went before me. I was halfway up when strong hands grabbed me by the waist and pulled me from the ladder. I fell backward and landed..... on Joshua!

"There was panic in his eyes. 'M'lady', he said, 'you mustn't go up there. That is not Her Majesty's ship. It belongs to Captain DeVries, known as Redbeard. The royal colors he flies are a ruse. Though your life on this ship is hell, only slow death awaits you on the other.'

"'Joshua,' I said, 'There are worse things than death in this world, and life here is among them.' 'Very well, then.' He replied, his gaze hardening, 'But do not embrace death, risk it! Risk it where there is at least a chance of life!' With that, he grabbed my hand and dragged me toward the stern. The ship had begun to take on water, and soon we were knee-deep in a rising flood. Joshua forced open a door, and led me into the storeroom. A cannonball had ripped a corner from the stern, and the sea was pouring in. Joshua hauled down a large wooden tub, and helped me climb in. He instructed me to lie in the bottom of the tub, and covered me with a piece of sailcloth. 'Stay low and don't move. DeVries' men will be too busy plundering the ship, and your three friends, I fear, to take notice of an old tub. May providence guide you to a welcoming shore.' And then, before I could protest, he gave the tub a shove, and I floated out onto the sea.

"For what seemed like hours, I huddled, trembling in my makeshift lifeboat, afraid to breathe let I give myself away. Finally, I could bear it no longer. Slowly, I lifted the cloth and raised my head to peer over the edge. I had drifted several hundred yards from my prison ship, which now keeled heavily to her starboard side, as black smoke belched from her midsection. DeVries' ship was sailing triumphantly off to sea, leaving the carnage behind. Anguished screams echoed across the water, as dorsal fins broke the surface. I closed my eyes, unable to bear the sight before me. I dared not hope that my companions, and my savior Joshua had survived, but only prayed that they had died with merciful speed.

"For two days and nights I drifted on the open sea, growing ever weaker and more delirious from hunger and thirst. On the third day, or perhaps the fourth, I'd lost all sense of time, I awoke to feel the tub rolling in a gentle surf. I pulled back the sail cloth, and dragged myself up. I was dizzy, quite near to death, and a vision swam before me; a vision of trees and sand. There were hazy figures on the sand, pointing at me and gesturing wildly. Then my last bit of strength deserted me, and I collapsed back into unconsciousness.

"How much time passed, I do not know. But I finally awoke on a soft bed, this very bed, in fact. I was surrounded by beautiful young girls who were bathing me, and caring for my wounds. When they saw me open my eyes, they became very excited, and one ran off. She soon returned, accompanied by a woman of great beauty and stature. Like my attendants, she wore no clothing, but her neck, arms and waist were adorned with splendid golden jewelry, and a crown, this crown, was upon her head. She began to speak to me in a strange tongue. I didn't understand a word, of course, so I simply smiled and nodded. She kept repeating the same phrase, and I finally realized that she was asking my name. When I replied 'Mariah', their eyes went wide, and they instantly dropped to their knees! It seems that in Kenundi..."

"Kenundi?" I asked? "What is Kenundi?"

"Kenundi is the goddess of the sea. This island is her home. These people are her children, and their language is her gift. So, it is all Kenundi. And in the language of Kenundi, 'Mariah' means 'Ocean Light'. It is the name of the ruler that their prophecy claims would one day be sent from the sea goddess to lead her children to new prosperity."

"I have always found your name to be lovely, my dear Mariah," I said, "but I never dreamed it would one day serve you so well."

"Indeed," Mariah replied. "Thank goodness it was not my dear sister, Lucretia, who suffered this adventure!"

"Why do you say that?" I asked.

"In Kenundi," Mariah explained, "'Lucretia' translates roughly as 'Eat me'."

"I see your point." I laughed.

"Once they had nursed me back to health, a great ceremony was held, in which I was proclaimed "Alani" or Queen of Kenundi. That was three months ago. And now, by providence I cannot imagine, the fates have brought you to me. I had given up all hope of ever seeing you again. And now, here you are!"

I raised myself back up, kneeling before her, and said with a smile "Yes, my love, my Queen, I am here. I am your servant. How may I please you?" Her lips curled into a seductive grin, as she climbed up further and knelt before me, our bodies inches apart. She undid the single clasp on her robe, reached up, and drew it off of her shoulders, revealing her magnificent body. She ran her hands slowly down her breasts, allowing each finger to climb and fall over her swelling nipples. She pushed down over her taut stomach, down toward her pelvis, until her fingers entangled themselves in her downy pubic hair. Widening her stance slightly, Mariah curled her fingers up between her thighs, and with eyes half closed, cupped her pouting lips. Pulling back, she drew away the ebony curls, revealing the slightly parted, glistening source of her pleasure. Opening her eyes, she gazed deeply into mine and said, "As we say in Kenundi, 'Lucretia'!"

I gently took her head in my hands and drew her lips to mine. A brushing taste was all it took to ignite all those months of passion. We crushed our mouths together, our tongues dancing in joyous reunion. I grasped her shoulders and turned. Laying her down on the soft fleece, I covered her body with mine. I tangled my fingers in her hair as I covered her eyes, her lips, her neck with desperate kisses, constantly breathing "Mariah. Mariah. Mariah.", like an incantation. I brought my face to her breasts, inhaling her perfume, feeling their soft warmth against my cheeks and lips. I teased each nipple with furtive licks and kisses, enticing her areola to grow flush and full, her chest rising with the breath of passion's labors.

Pausing to dip my tongue into the well of her navel, I continued through her curly forest, to the pool of her desire. I taunted her with licks, nibbles, and kisses on her silken thighs, as she writhed her hips, her lips searching for mine. Finally, I graced her with a merciful lick at the wellspring. She gasped, then reached down and pulled back on her outer lips. The flower of her womanhood opened before me like an offering. I placed my hands under the cheeks of her delightful derriere, and raised her hips, relishing her wanton beauty, her womanly scent. I placed my open mouth full upon her, allowing my tongue to explore her slick folds, probing deep into her expectant hole. Like the starving man I was, I feasted on her, alternately licking and sucking on her lips, the screaming nubbin of her clit, fucking her with my urgent tongue. Mariah thrashed upon the bed, lost in orgasmic waves. Her back arches, her cheeks tightening in my hands and a sigh and a scream escaped her lips in the same breath as she rode the crest.

I lowered her back down to the bed and removed my robe. My cock, having recovered from his earlier adventure, throbbed almost painfully. I moved up Mariah's body, leaving a trail of wet kisses in my wake, until the head of my member nudged against his destination. Mariah placed her hands on my chest and said, "No, my love. Wait."

"WAIT!!" I cried, incredulously, "But... Why?"

"My darling," she said with a mischievous grin, "It's been so long! I must say hello to my old friend." With a knowing smile, I sat back on my haunches. Mariah sat up and leaned forward, taking my straining phallus in her soft, cool hands. Were he not so firmly attached to my loins, my one-eyed monster would have danced for joy. As it was, he simply twitched. Maria planted a warm, wet kiss on the purple head. "Hello, dear friend" she proclaimed to my penis, "I thought I'd never see you again!" She parted her lips and drew in the head, swirling her talented tongue across every nerve. As she swallowed more and more of my shaft, she began to hum, sending vibrations deep into my body. Down she went, until her nose nuzzled my hair, and my cock head nuzzled her throat. Retreating, she worshipped the sensitive head of my prick, then plunged down again. After two or three of these journeys, I felt myself begin to boil. Placing my hands on either side of her head, I tilted her eyes to mine.

"We had best stop now," I said, "unless you want your friend to answer you. And I think there is somewhere else that message should go."

Mariah smiled and lay back. She cupped her breasts in her hands and spread her legs wide before me. "I agree." She said, raising her hips up to me. "Take me. Fill me, my love! Fuck me!" I placed the tip of my manhood at her opening, and with one long, smooth, slow thrust, buried myself in her steaming wetness. As the throbbing of my cock wrestled with the contractions of her vagina, I ground my pelvis against hers, crushing her clit between us. I collapsed forward, laying full upon my beloved Mariah, and began to gyrate, pumping rhythmically in and out of her burning pussy. I covered her mouth with kisses, plunging my tongue between her lips in sync with our lovemaking. Soon, the point of no return was breached. I arched my back as my seed erupted, and cried out "MARIAAAAHHH!" Wracked in the throes of her own fulfillment, she cried back "MELKIORE!"

Huh?

Suddenly, a thunderous roar, like the sound of a thousand voices arose from the village outside. Gongs sounded, and conch shell horns pealed off into the distance. I leapt off of Mariah, the last shot of my cum arching high into the air, landing with a gleeful splash on he belly. "What the hell is that?!" I cried to my startled queen. "And who's Melchiore?"

Maria sat up. "Why, you are, my love. Or you must be. The Kenundi legend says that the Fire God, Oakasha, will send his son, Melchiore, to be a mate for the 'Ocean Light'. The Kenundi saw you swim from a great, distant fire on the ocean, and then you fired your pistol. Naturally, they assumed that you were Melchiore."

"I see," I said dejectedly, "but 'Melchiore'?"

"I'm sorry my dear, but we can't all be named after deities." She teased, "Surely, you don't expect the Fire God to have a son named 'Roger'!"

"But I like Roger." I pouted. "Oh, very well, Melchiore it is. Now, what's going on out there?"

"The ceremony has begun, my love." Mariah said "Congratulations, your majesty. You're about to marry the queen." She rose from the bed and retrieved her royal garment. Fastening it about her with the pin, she held out her hand.

"A king?" I mused.

"And the son of a god." She reminded me. I stared thoughtfully into space for a moment. "Hmmm." I said finally, "I think I can live with that." I put on my robe and leapt off of the bed. I took the hand of my goddess queen, and we strode out of the hut to greet our subjects.