As I slipped off the train just outside of the Mobile railyard, Jamie and Leeanne Crissler were just arriving at their hotel in Mobile to celebrate their anniversary.
My task was to find a way to get from Mobile to the Cayman Islands. Air travel was out. TSA were closely watching passengers these days, even those traveling via private air. That meant water. This could be sticky. I had $10,000 cash on me and could easily charter a boat to take me where I needed to go. The hard part was finding a captain with the benefit of short term memory loss – amnesia in the matter of who he’d chartered and where he’d taken me. I’d been to Mobile on my yacht enough to know where captains hung out. I made my way to the Greyhound bus station, stopped in for a bite to eat, cleaned up a little, then hailed a cab to take me to my destination.
The bar was called Poseidon’s Trident. It was a slightly upscale bar catering to commercial charter captains. I slipped into the bar, ordered a beer and began to survey the clientele. There weren’t many yet, but with sundown approaching, business should pick up. Sure enough, an hour later the captains and 1st mates began to file in in one’s and two’s. I specifically needed a vessel capable of making the trip across the Gulf, around Cuba and to the Caymans. No tri-hull skimmer or coastal trawler would get the job done. The ship had to be big enough to handle open water. She also needed to be captained by someone who wouldn’t ask questions and forgot everything they saw and heard, especially me.
I’d begun to zero in on a couple of likely candidates when he walked in. Standing about 5’9”, short cropped hair/all but bald with a neatly trimmed goatee gracing his chin. Apparently his name was Ron, because that’s what his friends called him when they invited him over to join them. Captain Ron was wearing a polo shirt bearing the logo of Miriam Charters, a corporate outfit I was vaguely familiar with. They were far too big, far too above board for my needs. Dismissing Captain Ron and his friends, I started to gravitate toward one of the men I’d judged fitting my needs.
Then he walked in. If there is such a thing as love at first sight, then there must be a corollary, hatred at first sight. I took one look at the guy and disliked him instantly. He just reeked of asshole. Stepping into the bar, asshole leaned out the door.
Jamie: Yeah, he’s here. Come on, let’s GO!
Then she walked in.
Pretty face.
Nice body.
Impressive titts.
But those eyes.
DAMN!
I couldn’t label the color, but they were absolutely dreamy.
And she was with this dickhead?
They approached Captain Ron, who waved them to an empty table. I could tell at a glance that the good captain’s take on shithead was comparable to mine. I was going to ignore them, but I heard the magic word.
Charter.
This had possibilities, so I managed to slide down the bar to a stool that allowed me to overhear the conversation without appearing that I was listening.
I’d snagged a pen and surreptitiously scrawled notes from the conversation.
Last name Cosby. His name was Jamie. Her name was Leeanne.
25th anniversary.
9-10 day charter.
Their destination was Miami.
3 days outbound.
3-4 days in Miami.
3 days on the return.
Barlow’s Marina.
Dock 7.
Slip 22.
Ship name – Mary Gale.
7:00 am departure tomorrow.
Swimming.
Fishing.
Fun.
I casually sipped my beer as I spied on the table directly behind me.
When the meeting wrapped up, Captain Ron invited the Cosbys to dinner. He didn’t seem too upset when the husband declined. The Cosbys left. Ron hung out with his fellow captains for another 2 hours. The seed of the idea was planted and began to grow. As midnight neared, I could tell Ron was ready to wrap up the evening. He paid his tab and staggered to the bathroom.
Stan: Can’t blame you bud. If I had to deal with a prick like that, I’d get wasted as well. – I mumbled.
I threw down 2 $20 bills to cover my tab and stepped out into the night air. Barlow’s Marina was across the highway and a few hundred yards down the way, so I knew what direction the Captain would be taking. Hiding myself behind a dumpster, I waited. Through a window into the bar I could see Ron staggering toward the door. I gave him a moment to sample the breeze before calling to him.
Stan: Hey bud, could you give me a hand?
Ron: Pardon me?
Stan: I asked if you could give me a hand.
Ron: What’s wrong?
Stan: I dropped my car keys.
Ron stepped into the alley and surveyed me up and down. I smiled at him, he smiled back.
Ron: Where’d you drop them at?
Stan: Over here I think.
Ron: How in the hell did you drop them back here?
I smiled again.
Stan: I was getting a blowjob and they fell out of my pocket.
Ron chuckled.
Ron: Oh shit. I been there my man.
Ron took the one last step I needed him to take. Now fully out of view of the highway, I wheeled and slugged him with a stiff right cross. He staggered, dropped to 1 knee and tried to regain his balance. I grabbed him by the back of his head and slammed it against the dumpster.
Ron was out like a light.
I gave him one last shot against the dumpster to keep him that way.
Quickly fishing through his pockets, I pulled out his keys. His watch caught my eye, so I removed it. This needed to be seen as a mugging anyway, right? Looking all around, there were no witnesses. I quickly left the alley, crossed the highway and walked toward Barlow’s. Slipping in a side entrance deemed for delivery trucks, I hopped the fence and made my way to the docks. Finding the right one, then the right slip, I saw the Mary Gale for the first time. She was a 52’ Hatteras yacht. More than big enough to safely make the journey, but small enough not to require a crew to sail her.
Stan: Had to be a fucking Hatteras – I muttered.
In my previous life, prior to prison, I’d been an avid sailor. From Bayliners I graduated up in class several times, ultimately settling on my Sea Breeze. I never liked the Hatteras brand. It had plenty of power, bells and whistles, but the big square cabin and aft compartments were just too clunky for my taste. What my Sea Breeze lacked in power it more than made up for in sleek design and reduced wind resistance. Well, in a pinch, she’d do.
I quickly boarded the Mary Gale, made my way to the Captain’s quarters and stepped inside. I’d watched for anyone taking notice. Seeing no one, I knew I had time to myself. I immediately pulled out the manuals from Ron’s desk. I was unfamiliar with the particulars of a Hatteras. The absolute LAST thing I needed was to get out onto the open water and run into problems. It’s not like I’d be able to radio in for assistance. According to Ron’s watch, the time was 0100 – 1:00 am. I had no time to waste though. I’d have to study up on the manuals, prep the ship for sailing and haul ass as soon as I could. Dickhead and his wife were going to be arriving around 0700. Finding no Mary Gale, I figured they’d wander around for a while, eventually calling the corporate office to find out just where the fuck their charter boat was. Assuming that was around 0800, it would take the corporate office a half hour to try to track down their yacht. They’d make a call to the harbor master, who would then inform them that, yes, the Mary Gale had departed earlier in the morning. There would be calls to Captain Ron to figure out what was going on. Assume that’s 0900 hours, 2 hours after shit for brains showed up. I’d need all of that time and more. The situation was precarious. Per the manuals, the best cruising speed was 19 knots, roughly 22 mph. US territorial waters in the Gulf was 100 miles from standard shore positioning. Just to sufficiently cover my bases, I’d need a good 5 hours at top cruising speed to get out of US waters. If I didn’t? If the Coast Guard caught on to me, I was fucked. They’d have air support – a plane or helicopter – track me down. Their schooners would nab me, arrest me, fingerprint me, then cart me off to prison before I knew what hit me. Once out of US territorial water?
Tough shit.
So 0400 hours was my cut off time, 3 hours. I would have to leave by then or else.
If only I’d known what “or else” would mean.
The manuals were pretty straightforward, nothing I wasn’t accustomed to on my Sea Breeze. There were digital gauges and readouts I didn’t have. Damn thing was actually a pretty nice set up.
I’d finished in just over an hour. If I were smart, I would have sailed out of port right then and there. However, I took a quick inventory of myself and decided I’d earned a good shower at a minimum. I kept running the procedures through my head, translating the data from my Sea Breeze to the Hatteras. With the shower done and my clothes being extra ripe, I opted to “borrow” from Captain Ron, who was, thankfully, close enough to my size that his clothes fit.
Prison does wonders when you need to lose weight.
I fixed a pot of coffee, readying myself for the task at hand. Turns out, I needn’t have bothered. I sat down with my coffee to review the charts. Next thing I knew I woke up with a start. I looked around, trying to remember just where the hell I was and why I was there. I quickly glanced down at my new watch.
0520. 5:20 am.
FUCK!
I ran the various scenarios in my head.
Leaving right then was out. They’d have be busted and cuffed before I even hit the barrier islands. I could walk off the ship; just walk away from it. I still had most of the $10 grand. This was the smart thing to do.
Except it wasn’t.
I quickly did the math.
Tuesday night – Escape
Tuesday midnight – Rachel’s house
Wednesday morning – Hopped the train
Wednesday night – Arrived in Mobile
Thursday night – Accosted Captain Ron
Early Friday morning – Boarded the Mary Gale
Friday morning – Captain Ron would either have come to or been discovered and tell the cops he’d been mugged.
Now? – I’m fucked, because:
Wednesday morning – The crew would likely be done with Rachel and Clyde. Assuming they were even still alive, the cops would have been called.
Wednesday noon – Assuming the cops hadn’t called yet, the Cos would discover that I’d escaped. Assuming the worst, there’d be a nationwide manhunt for me. Rachel’s BMW was ditched, so there was no tracing me that way. The cops would have no indication of even what direction I was traveling. I seriously doubted Captain Ron could identify me. The alley was dark and he was drunk off his ass. Even so, at some point someone was going to come to secure the Mary Gale. This was a serious problem. Stuff had been moved around, the manuals, etc… If they called the cops, I was well and truly screwed. My DNA and fingerprints were all over the damned ship. That would be a big honking red beacon to the feds that I was now on the Gulf Coast. With this point of reference, they’d flash my picture from Florida to Texas.
My original plan, call it Plan A, was for me to steal the Mary Gale and sail straight for the Caymans. Now I was having to develop Plan B on the fly. It developed quickly. I knew I could pull it off, at least I was pretty sure I could. I busied myself getting the yacht ready for guests. First things first, I secured a pair of scissors and started to work. I’d purposefully let my hair and beard grow while in prison. The DOC, Department of Corrections, would take a still shot from video footage secured by the prison when they were putting my likeness out to the public. I started to work on my hair first, cutting it as short as I could get it. I used Captain Ron’s electric razor to trim my hair even more. Now, at least, it looked appropriate compared to the other charter captains. Next I went to work on my beard. A full 5 inches of beard was cut away. Using the electric razor again, I fashioned myself a goatee similar to Captain Ron’s. I shaved the rest. Looking at myself in the mirror, the face looking back could easily pass for a charter captain.
I cleaned up the mess I’d made and checked the time. I still had about 20 minutes to work with. I pulled the access door on the fuse box and removed the fuse to the satellite dish, rendering it useless. I’d no more than stored the fuse in the glove box next to the secondary bridge when I heard a voice calling out to me.
I froze.
Slowly turning, I was relieved to see it was dickhead.
I was ready with my story, hoping like hell it would work.
I stepped out to greet the asshole. His wife was standing there impatiently. DAMN but she looked good.
Stan: Good morning, sir.
Jamie: Who are you? Where’s Captain Ron?
Stan: Unfortunately Captain Ron took ill last night.
Jamie: What happened?
Stan: Appendicitis.
Jamie: Excuse me?
Stan: Yes sir. He woke up this morning about 0200 hours complaining of pain and cramps. The harbor master ended up calling for an ambulance. They diagnosed his condition around 0400 hours. Unless I miss my guess, they’re probably operating on him as we speak. Anyway, I’d delivered a yacht to Biloxi for the company. I was asked to come over and fill in.
Jamie: Oh. Ok. Who are you? Are we ready to go?
Fate had lent a hand and this part of the story didn’t require fabrication.
Stan: I’m Captain Harry Johnson, Mr. Cosby. Unfortunately, there’s a problem with the departure.
Jamie: What sort of problem?
Harry: There’s a low pressure system developing in central Texas. NOAA feels like this is going to form a squall line when it reaches the Gulf. The predicted course for the storm is right along the coast. Since that’s the route you chartered, I’m afraid to tell you that the charter will have to be delayed for 24 hours.
Jamie: Delayed? WHY?
Because I just fucking TOLD you why, dipshit – I didn’t say.
Harry: This storm is predicted to be a bad one. Won’t be safe out on the open water.
Jamie: When do they expect it to hit?
Harry: Probably some time after lunch. It’ll likely straddle the coast, churn it up something fierce. It’ll be gone by evening time. We can sail out at first light. Should be safe then.
Jamie: Can we still make Miami in time if we wait until tomorrow?
Harry: Unfortunately, no sir we can’t.
Jamie: This is bullshit! I’m calling the company about this!
Oh fuck.
So much for planning on the fly.
I quickly scrambled.
Harry: If it’s that important sir, we can probably sail due South and miss the storm.
Jamie: How much longer will that take?
Harry: If I push it, and I’d really rather not – but I can, should only add 6-8 hours to the trip.
Jamie: Would that put is in Miami on Sunday? It’s VERY important that I…
Harry: More like late Sunday afternoon to evening.
Jamie: Well why can’t we sail out now on the charter route, then head into port when the storm rolls by?
Harry: I already checked that sir. Most of the ports are already maxed out. When news of this storm breaks, the rest of the portages will fill up instantly. Trust me, the LAST place you want to be in a storm like this is on the open water.
Jamie: So what do you recommend?
Harry: That we wait until tomorrow. Honestly, that would be my preference. For what it’s worth, the company is willing to give you a reduction in the cost of the charter for the inconvenience.
I was HOPING dickhead here was enough of a tightwad that he’d go for it.
Jamie: That doesn’t work for me. I paid for a charter to leave now, and we’re going to…
Harry: It’s the Captain’s prerogative sir. If I don’t think it’s safe…
Leeanne: Jamie, I think we should…
Jamie: We either leave now or I’m calling your corporate office.
What a PRICK!
Harry: The company will back me up sir. Again, it’s Captain’s prerogative.
Jamie: I have GOT to be in Miami on Sunday night. If it’s just a matter of a couple of hours, I can live with that. Leaving a whole day later just isn’t an option.
Harry: If you’re sure sir.
Leeanne: Jamie, if the captain doesn’t think it’s safe…
Jamie: Why don’t you shut up and let me handle this.
Leeanne: I’m just saying, if it’s not safe…
Jamie: You said you could take us out of the path of the storm and it’ll only make us a couple of hours late getting into Miami?
Harry: Yes sir.
Jamie: And you think we’d be safe?
Harry: There’s no guarantee sir, but yes.
Jamie: Then let’s get cracking.
Well this just sucked. I was hoping I could convince jerkoff here to agree to wait 24 hours for departure. As soon as his car disappeared, I’d set sail and be well gone by the time anyone knew anything was amiss. If Jerkface called Miriam Charters, I was totally screwed. And he was just the type to do that.
Time for Plan B. As in, it would B nice if I had a Plan B.
Numb nutz gave me an awkward look as I busied myself getting the diesel engines of the Mary Grace fired up. Was this prick really expecting me to haul his bags on board? Finally Jamie ran out of patience, stepped off the yacht and roughly tossed the luggage on board, grousing the entire time.
My eyes kept wandering in the general direction of the wife. I knew from the meeting at Poseidon’s Trident and from the paperwork that her name was Leeanne. With Jamie fussing about, she just stood back as he started ferrying bags down below. He then stuck his head through the main hatch.
Jamie: Which bedroom is ours?
I closed my eyes, begging for patience.
Harry: The main stateroom is yours, Mr. Cosby.
Jamie: Oh. Well which one is that?
Harry: I’m gonna throw this motherfucker off this yacht before the trip is over. I just know I am. – I muttered.
I glanced over and saw that Leeanne had overheard me.
Harry: Oh. I’m so sorry ma’am.
Leeanne: It’s ok. I feel the same way sometimes, and I’m married to THAT!
She obviously hadn’t forgotten or forgiven the earlier browbeating.
I hustled down the stairs to the main gangway.
Harry: This way sir – I said as I bid Jamie to follow me, lest the dumbass get lost along the way. Again, he seemed to expect I’d pick up bags to help.
I didn’t.
Instead I opened the door to the main stateroom, stepped around shit for brains and hustled back up to the bridge. I actually DID have shit to do, particularly since time was of the essence for all aboard.
Except for Leeanne, of course.
She stayed out of the line of fire, dreading the moment that her frustrated husband would come back onto the main deck with something else to bitch about.
He did and he did.
Rather than engage with fuck face again, I turned to Mrs. Cosby.
Harry: Ma’am? Would you mind too terribly casting us off?
Leeanne: How do I do that?
Harry: Just unhook the ropes from the bow and stern, that’s the front and back of the ship. Just unhook them and toss them onto the dock.
She did so and the Mary Gale was now free and untethered.
I cruised out slowly through the no wake zone within the confines of the marina. Once past the buoys, I opened the engines up a little to about ¼ thrust. I toggled the port and starboard, left and right, engines to sharpen my turning radius. Back in the day, you couldn’t graduate seamanship school until you could make every necessary turn just utilizing the twin screws. The procedure is called a pivot turn. I bumped the starboard engine forward while dragging the port engine throttle back to effect a sharp turn to port. From there I reversed the procedure to make the hard starboard turn. Once clear of the marina, I intentionally garbled the message to the harbor master that the Mary Gale was underway. He responded clearly, either unaware or unconcerned that he didn’t recognize the voice of the new captain of the Mary Gale – Captain Harry Johnson. Bears mentioning that all necessary radio transmissions are digitally recorded. Given I didn’t want my presence on the Gulf Coast known, a garbled message gave me more than ample coverage. Steaming slowly into the main channel exiting the port of Mobile, I gave the engines about ½ thrust. I intentionally joined the long cavalcade of private and commercial craft in the lane.
Dumbass and his wife were currently occupied below. I had 3 more steps to secure my personal safety. First, I removed the fuse for the satellite dish, effectively killing internet access on the yacht. Secondly, I waited until I was deep in the middle of the other yachts, then quickly disabled the transponder. For all intents and purposes, the transponder on a yacht is virtually the exact same as a little black box on an airplane. Third, I removed the fuse for the radio. The Mary Gale was now effectively a hole in the water, and had zero contact with the rest of the world.
Dickhead immediately came charging up the steps from their salon wanting to know why he couldn’t access the internet. I told him that, as I’d assumed they’d be smart enough to wait until the next day for departure, I’d already started a complete reboot of all software. With any luck, all systems would be back online by the next morning. This pissed him off; so much so that I seriously considered just tossing his whining ass overboard. He fussed and cussed, but with no other option, he flopped down on the couch and dropped in a DVD to watch.
Leeanne eventually stepped up on deck. Seeing her husband in such a mood, she opted to avoid him. Instead she joined me on the flying bridge. She was wearing a loose fitting t-shirt, Panama shorts, ankle socks and slip on tennis shoes. Unfortunately she was also wearing sunglasses. I got the reasoning for it, the sun would be blinding without them, but still…
I could lose myself in those eyes.
Three hours out, we were now headed due south. Traffic had thinned. There actually was a storm brewing to the west, so most yachters were heading for port to wait it out. The gulf stream was pushing the Mary Gale so keeping her pointed due south was a chore. Leeanne didn’t say much at first, content to just keep her eyes on the roiling seas. After a half hour she climbed down to the main deck, peered around the corner to see her husband watching a movie. She should probably join him, but in his current mood, why deal with the bullshit? She came back up and sat diagonally from me.
Leeanne: I’m sorry about my husband. He gets pissy when he doesn’t think he’s getting his way.
Harry: It’s not a problem ma’am.
Leeanne: I bet you get sick of guests asking how you steer the boat?
Harry: Not at all. I kind of enjoy it, actually.
She smiled.
Harry: Come here and I’ll show you what I’m doing.
Leeanne: Ok.
She stood by me. I had an instant erection.
Harry: So here are the basics. The wheel controls the rudder, that’s how I steer. These levers are the throttle, one for each engine.
Leeanne: Two engines?
Harry: Yup.
Leeanne: You don’t have them pushed all the way forward?
Harry: No. Too much throttle eats the diesel fuel and beats the ship up.
Leeanne: It’s not that rough.
Harry: It’s a little rough, we call that chop. Basically it’s how the bow cleaves the waves. If we’re too fast, the hull takes a beating. Too slow and the current and waves wrench the heading. That’s the direction we’re traveling.
Leeanne: What are the dials?
I pointed at each dial and readout from left to right.
Harry: This one is our current speed. This one is our heading. This dial reads the RPMs of the screws.
Leeanne: Screws?
Harry: Propellers. If the RPMs are too high, factoring in our current speed, that means I need to reduce throttle. This is our fuel gauge. This is the oil level. This is the oil temperature. These two measure hydraulic pressure, and this last one is the battery meter. The last one is the level of electrical storage in the battery.
Leeanne: Storage?
Harry: Yes. The battery meter measures how much charge is going to the batteries. The other measures the charge and capacity of the batteries.
Leeanne: So the batteries are being charged, even now?
Harry: Oh yeah. The diesel engines charge the batteries as long as they’re running. Everything electrical on the ship is basically running off the engines. When we shut down this evening, everything runs off the batteries.
Leeanne: Sounds hard.
Harry: Nah. Just becomes 2nd nature when you do it enough. Here, you steer.
Leeanne: Are you sure?
Harry: Sure.
I stepped aside and let her take the helm. I didn’t exactly need to do so, but I took the opportunity to place her hands at the proper interval. Her hands were soft and warm. The right hand orbited the helm knob, the bulb on the wheel to easier facilitate steering. The left hand rested on the wheel. She could instantly feel the tug of the wheel.
PART II
Lunch came late. Jamie was still grousing and Leeanne busied herself with learning the art of navigation on the high seas, and avoiding her asshole husband. Leeanne offered to step in and prepare the lunch, as Jamie insisted that I continue to plow on. He was intent on making it to Miami by Sunday afternoon, come hell or high seas. By 1:00 pm the Mary Gale had left the Gulf Stream and was now making better time. We were now moving at a consistent 25 mph. Despite my distraction of dealing with the lovely Mrs. Cosby, and her soft warm hands, my brain was churning through various possibilities. If only shit-for-brains had listened to me, they’d be at their hotel in Mobile and not out in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico, thinking they were well on the way to South Beach. I’d fucked up Plan A, Goober fucked up Plan B, Plan C was going to be difficult. The closer I got to the wife, the more difficult it was going to become.
Speaking of Goober, I heard him yell from the galley. I set the autopilot, hopped down the stairs to find out what his latest malfunction was. He’d burned himself on the stove, not that he was exactly helping in the preparation of lunch. Oh no, mostly he was just overseeing his wife handling the meal. I went to the Captain’s cabin, MY cabin, to retrieve the first aid kit. It was where I’d kept mine and was relieved to find the small cabinet off center of the wing of my cabin. I opened it, hoping there was something that would at least shut him the hell up. Then I saw it. The small vile with tiny printing on it. It was the magic word.
Morphine.
I quickly checked the rest of the contents and found sleeping pills. They were supposedly for motion sickness, but they were sleeping pills nonetheless. I knew the brand. Really, really, REALLY nice sleeping pills.
A plan began to grow to fruition. As I slowly made my way up to the galley to take care of Dip Shit’s boo-boo, I set the idea aside for the moment. With the burn tended to, Leeanne began setting the table for lunch. Supposedly I took my lunch up on the flying bridge because, well, these were guests and I was just a lowly charter captain. In reality, I needed the break away from the chattering and Dumb Ass’s non-stop bitching about the internet and his fretting about making Miami on time.
I couldn’t take the Cosby’s to the Caymans. If you caught the right harbor chief at the right time and put the right amount of money in his greasy palms, he’d be willing to look the other way; which was my ultimate plan. However, with Jamie and Leeanne both screaming that they were SUPPOSED to be going to Miami, loudly questioning how an experience sea captain could miss the entire Florida peninsula, the island of Cuba, and somehow stumble into the Cayman Islands, well that wasn’t going to fly. Corrupt or not, if a citizen was yelling, the Brits could be notoriously thorough in their investigation. One lousy phone call to Miriam Charters, the listed owner of the Mary Gale, and I was sunk.
Cuba was out, for 2 reasons. The first was much the same as taking them to the Caymans; and the Cubans were decidedly less squeamish about just shooting me and taking the Mary Gale via “confiscating the evidence”. I hadn’t escaped a prison in Tennessee only to end up in a Cuban prison, waiting on someone to get around to dragging me out and putting a bullet in me. The Cosby’s would be shuttled off to the US embassy. I would end up being “shot trying to escape”. The other issue was a similar problem. After the Soviet Union collapsed, Cuba’s economy fell on some rugged times. Without the Russian money flowing in, less scrupulous individuals had turned to piracy. If they happened upon the Mary Gale, all 3 of us, not just Leeanne, were probably looking at several days of repeated rape before we were shot and tossed into the Sea as chum for sharks. The Mexican Yucatan wasn’t a much better option. The cartel running the region was every bit as bad, and far better funded, than the Cubans.
I realized I was in exactly the same position I’d been in at my old house.
Time equals distance.
Distance equals safety.
I would need to drop the Cosbys off somewhere that they couldn’t get the word out to anyone until I was well away; preferably in a direction unknown to them. There were thousands of islands, big and small, developed and raw, throughout the Caribbean. How to drop them off had been the sticking point. I wouldn’t mind at all getting into a physical confrontation with Shit Head. I actually relished the idea of kicking the shit out of him, and stranding him on some God forsaken island. If need be, I was certain that I was prepared to do more than give him the beat down he so richly deserved. I could just put a couple of holes in Jamie, toss him to the sharks and let them work it all out together.
The problem was Leeanne. I cursed myself that I’d gotten close to her. I was attracted to her, and I was pretty sure she was aware of it. In fact, I got the distinct impression that she enjoyed it. That made me smile and it shouldn’t have.
Then I spotted the sleeping pills and the vial of morphine in my cabin’s medical stores. The plan was exceedingly simple:
1). Dope the Cosbys booze.
2). Knock them out cold.
3). Dose them with enough morphine to give me several hours to work with.
4). Load the Cosbys into the launch, then drop them off on an island.
5). In order to appease my sudden bout of squeamishness, I’d pick an island in a well traveled sea lane, leave them enough water to survive and flares to summon help.
If it had been just Jamie, I was reasonably certain my life would be much simpler. If Jamie stood between me and the life I’d worked so hard to craft for myself, I could and would do what had to be done. He’d probably already be snoozing with the fishes just now. Then there was Leeanne. Seeing me dispatching her husband would likely elicit a hostile response from her.
Therein lay the problem.
If Rachel hadn’t come up with the idea to set me up, she the very least took an active role in the plot. By rights, what ever I did to her, she had coming to her. But I hadn’t killed her. Left her raped and broken, deservedly so yes, absolutely and with a smile on my face. BUT, she was alive when I left and as far as I knew, was still among the living.
All Leeanne had done was be married to a dickless loser, and find her way in my path. None of which was her fault.
I surveyed the Mary Gale’s stores of maps. I needed something small and undeveloped. There was a roughly 25 mile gap between waters claimed by Cuba and Mexico. I’d have to navigate that corridor. After nearly an hour of careful searching, I found it. Goat’s Head Island. I’d probably sailed past it any number of times and never once took note of it. Right down the middle of the 120 mile corridor between Cuba and Mexico. The area was in a heavy traffic lane. Just the right size. Just the right location. According to the maps, the island had a natural lagoon, easy for me to slip in on the launch, drop them off, then be on my way. I’d told Dumb Ass that the islands we were passing were a part of the Florida Keys. However we were, in actuality over 300 miles due west of Dry Tortuga, the western most island in the Keys. The Caribbean was absolutely littered with islands of all shapes and sizes.
With Plan C now in place, I decided to take things easy. It was just after 2:00 pm when I throttled back the engines. The Mary Gale rolled to a slow stop. I then dropped anchor. The only ships visible at all were freighters on the horizon heading to their respective ports of call. Like clockwork, Jamie came rumbling from below.
Jamie: What’s wrong?
Harry: Nothing.
Jamie: Why have we stopped? We’ve got hours of daylight left.
Harry: Mr. Cosby, since we departed I’ve been pushing the engines pretty hard in order to get you to Miami on time. We’re a couple of hours ahead of schedule. In fact, I can probably get you into port by lunchtime tomorrow.
Jamie: By lunch?
Harry: Yes sir.
Jamie: Shouldn’t we keep pushing on then?
Harry: The engines need a break.
This much was actually true. I HAD been pressing them more than I normally would.
Harry: Mr. Cosby, these islands you’re seeing are a part of the Florida Keys.
Jamie: These are the Keys?
Harry: Yes sir.
Dickhead seemed to be flummoxed.
Harry: So the port of Miami is roughly 4 hours from where we are right now. We let the engines remain idle over night and you’re on South Beach by afternoon tea.
That sounded really cool, way above his head.
Jamie: If you’re sure…
Harry: Mr. Cosby, I am 100% positive.
He didn’t like it, but realized he had no other recourse.
Harry: It’s a gorgeous day. Why don’t you and the Mrs. take a dip.
Leeanne had trailed well behind her husband, carefully avoiding his latest rant.
Leeanne: That sounds like fun Jamie. Let’s go for a swim.
Jamie gave her a dirty look. The nerve of her not backing his play!
Jamie: I’ve got things to do. You do what you like.
Leeanne looked at me. Those damn eyes melted right through me. Again.
Leeanne: I guess not – her voice trailed off.
Harry: Nah! You should go get your swimsuit on. I’ll keep watch.
Leeanne: Are you sure it’ll be ok?
Harry: Yeah. This area has a pure sand bottom. No fish equals no sharks. You’ll be fine.
She seemed suddenly buoyed by the notion.
Ten minutes later she stepped out on deck. I’d noted the legs before, but the one piece she was wearing definitely showed them off. And the boobs? DAMN! Her titts were tightly bound by the suit, shoving them up and plumping them at the same time.
She slipped off the t-shirt and looked to me unsure of what to do next.
I opened the port gate midship facing the island.
Harry: Hop in.
I spotted something glinting on her left hand. I held my hand up, bidding her to stop.
Leeanne: What’s wrong?
Harry: You’re wearing your wedding rings. Probably shouldn’t do that.
She glanced down at her left hand then looked at me.
Harry: Two reasons. One, your fingers will shrink and the skin will soften. They could come off. Way too pretty to risk it. And two? I’m not showing anything on the depth finder, but flashing metal could lure something this way. No need to take the risk. Ok?
Leeanne: OH! Ok. I guess I hadn’t thought of that.
Flexing her fingers open, she slipped first the engagement ring, then the wedding band off. She looked around unsure where to store them.
Harry: I have a cupholder at the console. They’ll be safe there.
She paused a moment then handed them over.
Harry: Ok. Have at it!
She did so. Swimming away from the Mary Gale about 20 feet, she found the sandy bottom and was able to stand in water just over her waistline.
Leeanne: The water is SO WARM!
Harry: Told you.
I watched over her as she swam back and forth. She’d been in the water less than 30 minutes when she slowly made her way back toward the yacht.
Leeanne: Are you busy?
Harry: No. Not really. The engines are shut down and all is well on deck.
Leeanne: You should join me then.
I thought about it longer than I should have, and she could tell.
Leeanne: Come on in.
Harry: I really shouldn’t.
Leeanne: Oh come on. It’ll be fun.
Just tell her you need to go down to engineering and let that be that. It was all I had to do.
Instead?
Harry: Sure. Why not? I’ll be right back.
No more than five minutes later I was back on deck. Captain Ron’s trunks fit me well enough. I dove in and instantly found the water was indeed warm, and refreshing as it always is in tropical climes. She followed me as I swam away from the Mary Gale.
She gave the impression she wanted to talk.
And more?
I was VERY much picking up on the vibe now. She stayed close to me. It could have been nothing more than out of a sense of security, but it wasn’t.
Leeanne looked back to the Mary Gale, then slowly turned toward me.
Leeanne: Can I say something and it not hurt your feelings too much?
Harry: I suppose so.
Leeanne: I don’t think my husband likes you very much.
I had to be cautious about this. No need to scare her away.
I played it off.
Harry: Ah, he’s fine, he…
Leeanne: He’s an asshole. It’s ok. I’ll say it for you.
Don’t leap in too soon. Let her do the heavy lifting, for now.
Harry: It’s not really my place to say things like that. You guys are charter guests and I…
Leeanne: We’re not on the yacht right now. We’re just two people swimming in the Florida Keys.
I think my lip twitched and she noticed it. She mistook the reaction.
Leeanne: I also don’t think you like my husband very much.
Harry: He just wants to make sure you have a good time. It IS your anniversary.
Leeanne: Jamie can be a real prick, when he wants to be. That’s happening more and more lately.
I allowed the gentle current to push me toward her slightly.
Harry: As a charter captain, we deal with all kinds.
Leeanne: How many charters have you done?
Harry: Oh wow. Has to be in the hundreds, at least.
Leeanne: That many?
Harry: Oh yeah. They keep us hopping.
Leeanne: So you deal with a lot of assholes?
Harry: Look, Mrs. Cosby, I…
Leeanne: Call me Leeanne. We’re not on the boat right now.
Harry: Ok, Mrs., um, Leanne. I’m sure your husband just wants…
Leeanne: You see all those movies, charter boat captains and their guests. It seems like it would be fun.
I paused a moment. Moving in oh-so slowly.
Harry: It certainly has it’s moments.
Her hand touched mine. She didn’t pull away.
Leeanne: Do you give all your charter guests a yachting lesson?
Harry: On occasion.
Her other hand touched mine. She still didn’t pull away. Even the paranoid voice in my had was silent just then. This situation had real possibilities.
Harry: The pretty guests, for certain.
Leeanne: You think I’m pretty?
Baby steps, dude.
BABY
STEPS
Harry: Absolutely.
Leeanne: Jamie used to think so. He didn’t say it much, just once in a while.
Harry: Yeah. He’s an asshole, then.
She smiled.
Another score for Team Horny.
Leeanne: Have you, um, well…, have you…
Harry: What?
Leeanne: Well, being on the yacht, here in the Caribbean and all, it’s awfully romantic.
Harry: That it is.
Leeanne: Have you – she paused, unsure of how to ask the question.
Harry: Have I – engaged in said romance?
Leeanne: Something like that, yeah.
I tilted my head to the side slightly. Lots of ways that answer could get me laid. Even more ways it could get me shut down. It was best I tread lightly.
Harry: A few. Why?
Leeanne: Oh, I was just curious.
Harry: About…?
Leeanne: I bet you have a LOT of beautiful women, rich women, that you deal with. And I’m not…
I kissed her fully on the lips. Our tongues melded. I pulled her to me. Her body pressed against mine. Standing in waist deep water in the balmy Caribbean sun, I kissed her long and hard. My arms folded around her body. She gave no resistance whatsoever. No doubt she felt the raging hard on I’d been sporting since she handed me her wedding set.
The kiss ended. She gently placed her palms against my chest to push me away.
Nah. I wasn’t having that.
I kissed her again. I ran my fingers through her hair. I felt her body heave against mine.
Her nostrils flared as she inhaled sharply, softly patting me on my chest.
Leeanne: I’m married. I-I-I’m not, I’m not saying I’m not tempted, but I AM married.
Her fingers slowly traced down my chest, pushing beads of water away.
DAMMIT!
I could have fucked her right then and there. She couldn’t have stopped me. Hell, I doubted she’d even try all that hard. It’s not like we were ever going to be a part of each other’s lives after tomorrow. I was more than slightly put off.
Harry: Then why…?
Leeanne: Harry, I’ve been married 25 years, less one day. I have two grown kids and I’m no teenager anymore. It’s…it’s nice to be wanted. I know what that makes me sound like…
Harry: Human?
She bore a puzzled look for a moment as she gazed in my eyes.
Harry: Everybody want’s to be wanted. And yes, your husband is a dickhead.
She almost smiled at that.
She got someone lusting after her body and called her husband out to boot. I’d noted every time I showed Leeanne’s asshole husband up, she seemed to relish the experience.
Fuck, I guess I SHOULD have been a charter boat captain. I thought about Captain Ron making moves on this hot, horny housewife from north Alabama. My reaction was equal parts wincing and laughter, inwardly at least. Well dude, I not only knocked you the fuck out, I took your boat and beat your action, on this trip anyway.
To Leeanne, I was a dashing charter boat captain. I probably nailed pussy every other week. I wondered what she would have thought if she knew in reality I was an escaped prisoner, barely a week off the farm. And other than grudge fucking my ex-wife, I hadn’t been with a woman in more years than I wanted to count.
Leeanne: I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t have lead you on like this.
Harry: Not sure that’s something I’m comfortable with you apologizing for.
Leeanne: Sorry. I should get back. He…
Harry: I’m gonna stay out for a bit.
It was part rebuke and part surrender on my part, pure capitulation.
She said nothing more, as she gently waded back toward the deeper water then to the Mary Gale. I intentionally refused to look in her direction.
I could have been fucking this bitch right now.
I SHOULD be fucking this bitch right now.
Mentally I started going toward a dark place.
I waited until I was sure she’d made her way down into the cabin before returning to the boat. It was hard work pushing away old memories, good and bad.
When I did climb aboard the Mary Gale, I could hear the voices down below. I’d intended on going below, grabbing a quick shower, jerk off, then come back topside. But if I could hear right, World War III was going on down there and I wanted no part of it. I barely even allowed myself to wonder what the fight was about. I’d been married long enough to know the things you say your fighting about rarely are that. The real cause for conflict was always the undiscovered and unmentioned.
Fuck’em.
I was going to be ditching them in less than 24 hours anyway.
Dickhead came topside first.
Jamie: My WIFE is going to get supper started. I HOPE you two had a good swim?
Harry: Actually, we did. You should have joined us.
Jamie: Naaaaah…, wouldn’t want to cramp your style.
I wasn’t taking the bait. I was just one more snide comment from this jerk off, from dropping him where he stood. For whatever reason, Jamie stayed away from me. Leeanne sheepishly stepped up on deck, went to the galley and began preparing dinner. We ate early. I took my meal in Captain Ron’s cabin. I had no desire to deal with the marital conflict.
Did he see us kissing?
Did he suspect it and accuse her?
Did she admit to it?
Was it just a case of a dickhead doing dickhead things?
Who gives a fuck?
When it was clear by the silence that the Cosbys had gone to bed, I stepped up on deck. I’d found one of Captain Ron’s pack of cigarettes. It had been a long time since I’d lit up. The sensation was everything I remembered and more. The dark thoughts returned. Every single woman who’d fucked with me came back to mind.
IMPRINTING
They call it imprinting. That’s when your first sexual experience sets the parameters for what you want and expect from sex.
Connie White – A former teacher and mom of one of my friends back in my teen years. Mrs. Connie White was that teacher that every guy thought of as he jerked off. Mother to a friend of mine or not, I did the same with alarming regularity. Twisted bitch was a horny cunt that needed dick. Mr. White, her husband, was away from home enough that she obviously wasn’t getting what she needed. After watching a dirty movie together, they had quite the collection, she came on to me hard and strong. She told me what she wanted and demanded that I give it to her. We did our little role play – namely the escaped prisoner game. It was ironic. Here I was, an ACTUAL escaped prisoner, and this cock teaser had come onto me hard as well. After the “escaped prisoner” fucked Mrs. White, taking her wedding rings then finishing her off with one last good, hard pounding, she shooed me out of her house. She used me for her own sexual satisfaction and was a bitch to me for the rest of the time I lived on the block.
Connie’s story ended badly. The whole scandalous thing made the front page for over a week. Eight years after my encounter with her, Connie had changed her approach. Apparently picking up neighborhood studs was just to complicated, so she started picking up guys in bars. One night she picked the wrong guy in the wrong bar. The guy was a stone cold junkie. The press wouldn’t get into the gory details, but my dad was a fishing buddy with the county sheriff. The lowdown was Connie picked the guy up in a bar. They went to a motel where they got their freak on. At some point the guy killed Connie – strangling her with her own bra, robbed her and took off. The guy had a record. So, criminal mastermind that he was, it took the cops all of 45 minutes to get his name based off fingerprints and would later confirm it was his DNA inside Connie. The manhunt lasted 2 days before they found him stoned in one of his girlfriend’s apartment. Mr. White, my buddy Fred and his sister had to move. The shame was just too much for them. I never once considered telling Fred I’d done his mom years before. Poor guy had been through enough, why add to his misery? I’d long since lost track of Fred and what was left of his family.
Angie Grimes – After I got over what Mrs. White had done to me, I decided to try and play it straight. No more older women for this kid. Angie was two months younger than me. She lived just around the corner from my parents house. We went to school together, had classes together and were originally just good friends; at least as good friends as boys and girls can be before finding out girls are different from boys. We dated for nearly a year. One week before the homecoming dance in our junior year, Angie dumped me for another guy – Joe Kelley. Joe was three years older. I knew him through my brother. A high school dropout and a bust out loser, Joe worked at an auto repair shop. He lived in a trailer on his uncle’s land and saved just enough money to buy a piece of shit Dodge Duster – the deciding factor in Angie’s decision to move on to greener pastures. Dude had a job and his own car. Meanwhile, if I was lucky, I had to drive my mom’s LTD or my dad’s truck for our weekly date nights. I’d later find out she’d been seeing Joe on the side since the summer between our sophomore and junior years. After the fall semester ended, Angie disappeared. One of her “friends” clued me in. Angie had gotten pregnant, by Joe of course, and they’d gotten married. She would go back to school to get her diploma after her son was born. With her high school diploma and a couple of secretarial classes under her belt, Angie got a job as a secretary at a dentist’s office. For some extra money, Joe began working the door at a strip club in the seedier side of town. When her firstborn was just over a year old, Angie discovered she was pregnant again. One day Joe just didn’t come home. She was five months into her pregnancy. After finally tracking him down at work, Joe gave Angie the bad news. He’d “fallen in love” with another girl and wanted to be with her. Turns out the girl in question was an underaged stripper at the club who earned money on the side selling her pussy, ass and giving blowjobs. She was also 16. Seems Joe had a penchant for 16 year old girls. I’d lost touch with Angie after graduation when I went away to college. I managed to stay in touch with friends from school. Occasionally I’d ask if they heard from Angie or knew how she was doing. The sad and sordid tale of the life and times of Angie Grimes was something to behold. Three years after her daughter was born, Angie remarried. The guy was supposedly a real prince. He made good money, provided for Angie and the kids. They never had kids together. The marriage lasted six years. One of her “friends” gave me the low down. The “prince” was actually something of a sadist. Story was, he could only get off causing Angie pain. When the biting and pinching lost their allure for him, he turned to more graphic measures. That’s when the hitting started. The guy was always careful not to leave bruises where they could be seen. It wasn’t until the time when even the hitting wasn’t enough anymore and he turned to cutting to satisfy his sadistic needs that Angie finally had enough and bailed.
About a year before all hell broke loose in my life, I went back for my 25 year high school reunion. I basically had to guilt Rachel into going with me. She’d put on weight with childbearing and kept it, but even then, she wore money well. When she really wanted to dress up, she could knock it out of the park. One of my buddies from the baseball team told me Angie had been asking if I were coming. The gist was if I were going to attend, she probably wouldn’t. So I deliberately hid my intention of going to the reunion. I honestly wanted to see her. When Rachel and I walked in, I could feel the eyes on us. Rachel refused to get decked out like I wanted, but the designer clothes plus the few items of jewelry she wore did enough. The rock on her left hand was the coup de gras. Angie hadn’t shown up yet and I was all but convinced one of her friends tipped her off that I was there, with my wife, no less. I took great delight in showing the pictures of me on my boat holding various fish I’d caught. A red snapper, a shark, a tuna and a sailfish that I’d managed to land. An hour and a half later, she showed. Angie’s latest husband, her third, named Joey, accompanied her as she strolled in. The long, curly brunette hair was gone, replaced by a short crop of blonde hair. It was more of a butch look, but she wore it well. Now the office manager of the dental practice, Angie obviously got a discount on her dental work. Her teeth were bleach white and perfectly lined. I noted the thick white gold wedding band on her left hand, no engagement ring though. Oh well, I guess Joey the plumber couldn’t or wouldn’t spring for one? I could see the surprise on her face when she spotted me. Taking my time, I slowly made my way around to her. I worked the crowd, greeting others along the way, finally getting to her. It took no more than five minutes for me to realize Joey knew about Angie and I. He kept himself positioned between us. It was obviously an subconscious move on his part, protecting his bitch from the former lover. All in all though, I found myself liking Joey. He was a personable guy and thoroughly likeable. For her part, Rachel had spent the evening making polite conversation and doing her best not to seem entirely bored out of her mind. That was, until she saw me conversing with Angie and Joey. She made her way over and introduced herself. I’d told Rachel about my relationship with Angie long ago.
She remembered.
She marked her property, namely me, overtly. Finally, as the conversation wore on, Rachel and Angie pulled away and began to converse. Joey found out the classic Porsche in the parking lot was mine. I invited him outside to look it over. I shouldn’t have enjoyed the envy as much as I did, but I did anyway. When both Joey and Rachel were able to calm down and feel more at ease, I managed to pull Angie away and talk. Joey was drug into a conversation about college football and Rachel lost herself in chatting with Pam Howell, the single most stuck up, snooty bitch to ever curse the earth she walked on. Naturally they’d hit it off. Nothing major happened in my conversation with Angie, just some healthy catching up. The only thing of significance that did happen was we exchanged phone numbers and emails. It was all very innocent, just a way for two old friends to keep in touch.
We would chat via text and email, with the occasional phone call here and there. Within three weeks Angie was confessing that she’d done me wrong and she knew it. She’d felt bad about the way things went. I was properly eager to let her off the hook. At the six week mark Angie felt comfortable confiding in me that she was bored in her marriage. Joey was a good man in all ways, but his idea of a good time was watching football or fishing with friends. She seemed intrigued by the idea of getting a touch more excitement in her life. Fourteen weeks after the reunion, I was balls deep in Angie’s pussy. I had to be out of town for “business”, making a quick side trip back home to “see the folks”. Joey was away for the weekend on a fishing trip and no one was at home for Angie to account for her time to. Angie, it seemed, had picked up a few sexual tricks since the last time we’d been together so many years before. We spent the day fucking each other’s brains out. I went out to get dinner for us, followed by another vigorous lovemaking session. We both slept hard that night. I woke up first, just after 6:00 am. She was still sound asleep. I smirked as I realized she still snored.
I quietly set about writing the note I’d leave for her:
-
Angie,
It’s been really great getting to see you again. I absolutely have to admit your blowjobs have gotten better. I haven’t had my cock sucked like that in such a long time. You should be so proud. Whoever taught you, taught you well. The problem is, you’re still a lying cunt. You lied to me years ago when you cheated on me with that asshole that left you with 2 kids. You’re lying now, cheating on Joey to be with me. In short, you’re still the lying, cheating, sex pig of a whore that you’ve always been. That’s a shame, because I’ve found I actually like Joey. He deserves better, but that’s not my problem. At issue, however, is a debt you owe me. I believe when you’ve offended someone, you incur a debt and debts must be paid. So as payback for you being such a cunt, I spent yesterday, last night and part of this morning fucking you. As further compensation, I’ve decided to take your wedding band. Therefore, upon reflection, you should feel good that all debts to me are now paid. Don’t call, email, text or write. Your wedding band is now my property, and that is that. Should you decide to pursue the matter, keep in mind that inevitably Joey will find out about this little escapade. Good guy or not, I strongly suspect, and you well know, that he will throw your whore ass out onto the street. It’s just a simple white gold band, and thus replaceable, if you choose to do so. I will end this by admitting that making you groan as I filled your snatch with my cock pleased me no end. I trust you’ve now received the excitement you’ve been craving so desperately, you cum swilling slut.
Sincerely,
Stan Hayes
-
I left the note on the nightstand adorned by the pearl necklace we’d made use of the previous night. I dressed quickly and quietly, feeling the thick wedding band in my pants pocket. I smiled, blew her a quick kiss, then carefully slipped out of the room.
I got a REALLY nasty voicemail from Angie about an hour after I’d left, then nothing. She’d threatened to go to the police, to Rachel, to my employer, just about every damn thing this side of taking an ad out in the newspaper. By this time in my life, I knew when a bitch was bluffing, and Angie was playing a huge bluff. She was fucked and she knew it.
Janice Copeland – She was the third woman I thought of. Janice was my college algebra teacher. There was a special kind of bile in my gut when it came to Janice. Despite the fact that she was married, we were perfect for each other. Something of a math prodigy as a teen, Janice had graduated high school at 14, got her degrees by the age of 20 and married to an English literature professor at 24. She was now 26 and very much entering her sexual prime, as I witnessed on numerous occasions. I was struggling mightily with the course and Janice took pity on me. The relationship started on a reasonable enough level. She tutored me on the side. I mistook her interest in me early on, but quickly understood the true nature of our relationship. Within weeks of her working with me, we were having sex on a regular basis, so much so that the teaching all but stopped for lack of time. I had one more math class to meet my requirement and she’d be my teacher. For Christmas break I didn’t even go home, opting to stay with her. Janice’s husband had taken the job of being a guest lecturer, being one of the leading experts on the subject of all things related to poets and authors of the romantic era. That Christmas he was on the west coast lecturing poor, hapless students who were condemned to hear him drone on and on about the wit and merit of writers long dead. Meanwhile I was in his house getting my cock sucked by his wife. I got a B+ in Janice’s algebra class. Spring semester for me was trigonometry, a class that I was hopelessly lost in. It didn’t matter a bit. The “love of my life” was grading me. She was going to give me a B- for the class. I fucked her in the ass until she relented and gave me an A-. My GPA needed the boost.
Janice and I were openly discussing life after school. We couldn’t officially be together until I graduated, I was saddened to hear. But when I did? It was Janice that gave me the confidence to pursue investment banking as a career. I once thought I would be good at it. She convinced me I’d be GREAT at it. I had a year to go and a woman that fascinated me no end. I wanted to stay at school for the summer, but she wouldn’t have it. It was “important” to her that I go home and spend time with my family. I thought if she knew my family, she might feel differently.
I talked to Janice by phone at least once a week. I missed her desperately.
Then my senior year came.
Suddenly finding time for the two of us was becoming more and more difficult, and Janice was always the one finding reasons, i.e. excuses, for us not to be together. When we did manage to get together, we never discussed the future, OUR future, anymore. I’d moved heaven and earth for us to be together for Thanksgiving weekend, only to have Janice bail at the last possible moment. She’d told me her husbands lecture tour had wrapped early and he was coming home. It was understandable and she at least had to maintain appearances. I don’t know what possessed me to do so, but I went to her house the Friday after Thanksgiving. As I approached I noticed a car in the driveway I didn’t recognize. Her husband drove an old Morgan convertible. This was a piece of shit Honda. What the hell was that doing in her driveway? Rather than knocking on the door, I started peering in windows.
And I saw them.
Janice, on her knees, before some guy about my age.
His cock was in her mouth.
I felt like I’d been shot in the gut. This lying bitch had ripped my heart out of my chest and stomped on it. I’d been around the block a time or two, I knew the score instantly. There was no future for us. I was quickly becoming a thing of her past. I was months away from graduation, meaning I was no longer forbidden fruit. Janice had no intention of ever leaving her husband for me or anyone else. She bedded students for the excitement and thrill. If she were ever to be discovered, not only was her marriage over, but so was her career. Colleges take this kind of thing VERY seriously, and there’s no forgiveness for such a transgression. In short, fuck a student and in the world of college academics, you’re well and truly fucked.
I moped and brooded for the next week, finally deciding on a plan of action. It took work on my part, but I finally got Janice to agree to see me. It was Valentine’s Day. Graduation was only months away. I almost told her it would be the last time for us, but why spoil the surprise? We met at our favored little NoTell Motel, like we’d done for two plus years. She’d picked up on the fact that my attitude was different. The syrupy sweet approach I’d had for all those months was gone. No hand holding, no kissing – I just couldn’t stomach that – no caressing. I got her on the bed and went straight to fucking. I hadn’t even bothered to take my shirt off; just peeled out of my pants and shorts and got to work. With Janice positioned on her back, her legs over my shoulders, I slammed her married pussy with a vengeance. When my shaft was good and lubed, I slowly pulled it out and began cramming my cock into her ass. The look on her face was priceless. I’d done this before, over her heated objections. Given my mood, this time she didn’t say anything. She just laid there and suffered through it. As I was nearing climax, I reached down and tugged at her engagement ring. While her husband had just as bad of taste in women as I did, I had to give him high marks on his ***********ion of jewelry. The yellow gold, pave style with a damn nice center stone on the engagement ring, and pave style wedding band must have set hubby back a pretty penny. Again, this was not unusual. The only deviation from the norm was the fact that, instead of setting the rings on the nightstand, I dropped them in my shirt pocket. She took no notice of this. I finally came, filling her anus with my jizz, then rolling her over to her side as I collapsed onto the bed.
The ass fucking had a two-fold purpose. First, the bitch deserved it. Second, the other times I’d ass fucked her, Janice immediately went to take a shower, as the act made her feel dirty. I waited until I heard the shower curtain jerk closed, then got to it. I dressed quickly, pulling on my shorts, pants and shoes. Then I scribbled a quick note:
Janice,
You have made a fool out of me for the last time. I know about the other guy. I’m writing this note to you because, frankly, I couldn’t stomach having you lie to my face any more. I’ve thought long and hard about just how I wanted to hurt you the way you did me. I thought long about going to the administration about our little affair, as well as your dalliance with the other guy (guys?). But that would not only serve to embarrass me, I might have to retake the math classes you taught. I fucking earned those grades, you unbelievable cunt. So how could I injure you sufficiently? The answer was obvious. So I’ve taken your wedding set. It’s mine. I earned it as well. You’re at liberty to contact the authorities about the theft, but know a couple of things.
1). If I see the cops coming, I’ll toss the rings and it’s your word against mine. With our affair then public knowledge, both your marriage and your career, hell life as you know it, is over. While you obviously don’t give a shit about your marriage, I DO know how much you value being married to such a famous man. As for your career? Nothing in your life means as much. I know this, you know this.
2). I’m going to stash your wedding rings, if they don’t get tossed. No one but me will ever know where they’re hidden.
So lie to your husband, as you have all this time. It must be second nature to you by now. Tell him you lost your rings, they were stolen, whatever you decide to come up with.
I’ll be graduating in a couple of months, so you won’t need to worry about seeing me for much longer. I intend on moving on with my life. I don’t give a damn if you do or not.
As a parting thought, please know and always remember that the last, abiding memory I will have of you is the look on your face as I ass fucked you. Frankly, you deserve worse. You don’t ever want to find out just how worse this can be for you.
Eat shit and die, you fucking skank.
I quickly folded the note and set it on her pillow, and quietly slipped out of the hotel room, got to my beat to hell truck and left.
No cops.
No phone calls.
No recriminations.
Rachel - For the first time I contemplated whether the crew would leave her and Clyde alive or dead. It should have bothered me more than it did, but I had no preference. The idea of Rachel dying while sucking nigger cock fascinated me. On the other hand, it would mean another charge heaped on me. With my fingerprints and DNA in and on her, I’d be charged with her murder. That was the only remotely troubling thing.
Then there was this bitch. Leeanne had teased me and lead me on during our little swim encounter. I’d been into her since she boarded and she knew it. Hell, I was into her at the damn bar. She played with me, then cut me off out of the blue.
All of this played through my mind in mere minutes. It’s amazing how fast the mind can work. A lifetime of getting fucked over summed up in seemingly no time at all. The anger and rage at each of the women seemed to build, folding over and multiplying as it did. Well the other bitches hadn’t gotten away with it, had they? It may have taken time, but each got their respective payback. So, why was THIS bitch getting to skate by? Hell, even Connie had suffered for her bad choices. The fact that she hadn’t died by my hand was a moot point.
I heard that soft, sultry voice behind me.
Leeanne: Harry?
Wrong bitch.
Wrong time.
Wrong mood.
I did my best to maintain my composure.
Harry: Yes, Mrs. Cosby?
Leeanne: I thought we’d agreed you’d call me…
Harry: We’re past that point, Mrs. Cosby. Besides, we’re back on the boat now. How can I help you?
Leeanne: Are you ok?
I sat up and cleared my throat. She was wearing a hot pink polo and white shorts. I also noted that she’d retrieved her wedding set from the plastic cupholder sometime after I went to my cabin.
Harry: I’m fine. Why?
Leeanne: I’ve been standing here for over 5 minutes. You were so lost in thought that I didn’t want to disturb you.
Harry: Oh. I’m sorry. What can I do for you?
I was losing my patience with this bitch and my tone conveyed this.
Leeanne: I just thought, well, maybe we should talk for a minute?
Harry: Really nothing to talk about, ma’am.
Leeanne: I feel really bad about…
I just didn’t want to hear this right now. In less than 24 hours the Cosbys et al would be marooned on some God forsaken island waiting to be rescued and I’d be on my way to starting my new life.
Harry: Nothing happened ma’am.
Leeanne: Please, can you please call me Leeanne?
Harry: Ok. Nothing happened, Leeanne. So there’s nothing for you to feel bad about.
Leeanne: Well, that’s not exactly true.
Harry: How so?
Leeanne: I think I, ok, well I KNOW, I got you in trouble.
Harry: What kind of trouble?
Leeanne: With my husband.
Harry: What’s his problem now?
Normally a charter boat captain wouldn’t bark a response like that, but my patience was gone and my forbearance with this moron was exhausted.
Leeanne: I ca-I won’t go into all the details, but I’m sure you have seen him?
Harry: Yeah. And…?
Leeanne: The whole thing about not having access to the internet, well, it’s been up his ass the entire trip. And then…
She paused.
Harry: What?
Leeanne: I guess I was feeling like he wasn’t paying me any attention.
Harry: Yeah.
Leeanne: I-I-I guess, well, I guess I was trying to get his attention. Maybe make him a bit jealous.
I already didn’t like where this was going.
Leeanne: I, well I sort of…
Harry: What?
Leeanne: I told him about us kissing earlier today.
I think my lips pursed together, then twitched. The words got out before I could stop them.
Harry: Why would you…
Leeanne: It was stupid of me, ok? I know that. And I’m sorry.
Harry: Seriously, why would you…
Leeanne: I was trying to get a rise out of him.
Harry: Well, I guess that explains his sour puss at dinner time.
Leeanne: Yeah.
I stood there for a moment, calculating what effect, if any, this would have on my plans.
Leeanne: There’s more.
Harry: Really?
Leeanne: He didn’t take it well.
Harry: I did hear you two arguing when I came back on board.
Leeanne: I thought as much. I’m sorry.
Harry: Nothing for you to apologize for.
Leeanne: Oh, there’s a LOT I have to apologize for.
Harry: Nah. Between you and me, your husband was in asshole mode when he first boarded. None of that is your fault.
Leeanne: Even so, he’s really pissed right now.
Harry: Ok. And?
Leeanne: When we were arguing, he told me that when we get to Miami, he’s going to contact Miriam Charters and request another captain take us back to Mobile.
None of this should have fazed me a bit. It shouldn’t have mattered at all. Plan C meant nothing Dickhead could say or do was going to mean anything to me.
Except it did.
In fact, it pissed me off.
The nerve of this asshole?
Leeanne: I, uh, I think Jamie is going to ask that you be fired.
Well, so much for my career as a charter boat captain, yeah? This was going to look REALLY bad on my resume. Hitting on a primary guest’s wife?
For shame.
Harry: I wouldn’t worry Leeanne. It’ll be fine.
My frustration was building upon itself and this conversation needed to end.
Harry: In fact, you should probably get to bed?
Leeanne: Harry, I’m serious. You could lose you job over…
The logical side of my brain told me to just let it go. I’d be parting company with the Cosbys in a matter of hours.
But it did matter.
I was pissed.
I was pissed at Rachel.
I was pissed at Connie.
I was pissed at Angie.
I was pissed at Janice.
I was ROYALLY pissed at Jamie.
Hell, I was even pissed at Leeanne.
Here I was trying my best to play this cool and she just kept egging it on? Even knowing that I’d be dealing with them at and after breakfast in the morning wasn’t calming me down.
Harry: Just go back to bed Leeanne, ok? It’s fine. It really is.
Leeanne: Maybe I can talk to Jamie, get him to settle down. What happened was as much my fault as yours, more really. I’m the one that came on to you. I wanted you to kiss me. I guess I…
Harry: Leeanne, don’t do anything. I kissed a guest’s wife. I’ll deal with the consequences.
Leeanna: But that’s not fair. You shouldn’t…
And I blew.
My jaw was clenched.
Harry: Leeanne, I’m going to say this one more time and as nice as I can. Please, just go back to bed. I don’t need you to fight my battles for me. I don’t need some horny slut of a housewife standing in front of me. Just fucking go back to bed. PLEASE!
Leeanne: HARRY! I…
I grabbed her by her forearm and pulled her to me. I kissed her hard on the lips, forcing my tongue into her mouth. My mouth swallowed her protest as she buried the palm of her free hand into my chest to attempt to push me away. She needn’t have bothered. All that anger and frustration mingled and came out rage. Down deep I knew why I was so angry with Leeanne. I’d been attracted to her and she’d picked up on it. She used that attraction to sucker me in deeper, then went tattling to her husband for the expressed purpose of making him jealous.
This fucking bitch used me.
Those fantasies that play at the periphery of consciousness, not exactly deliberate thought, just random ideas careening by like whisps of thought, uncontrolled and undisciplined about this woman and me on a beach somewhere drinking out of glasses with umbrellas in them. Days walking hand in hand, nights under a full moon fucking each other’s brains out.
I’d been a sucker.
Again.
Without even trying I fell for the same bullshit hopes and dreams.
Again.
Bitch hadn’t even been in my life three days and I got played.
Too much.
Just
TOO
DAMN
MUCH
Just like all the others.
Well, they’d all paid, right?
Time for this one to pay as well.
Drive her back, I pressed Leeanne against the bulkhead. Pinning her arms above her head with my left hand, my right hand began pawing at her breast. Her nostrils flared as she tried to wriggle from my grasp. A fucking useless effort. She’d already told me her asshole husband was out cold. Even so, it was probably best if I made sure the screaming was kept to a minimum.
Leeanne: Please Harry, please no. Don’t…
Harry: Shut the fuck up bitch! – I hissed.
Sliding my free hand down her belly, groping the warm, tender flesh as I did, I found the button for her white shorts. Opening it, I shoved them down below her knees then allowed them to fall free. Cupping my fingers I began stroking her pussy through her panties. Her breath came in jagged gulps.
Leeanne: Harry PLEASE no – she whimpered.
My fingers crept inside the waistband of her panties. I felt the bush, combing my fingers through it. Bending my middle finger I found her clit. Stroking it slowly, I felt her body begin to respond.
I heard her swallow hard, gasping a gulp of the warm sea air.
Her fingers trembled to my touch as my fingers interlaced with hers. Using my fingers I spread her pussy lips, allowing my middle finger to delve deeper into her. Finding the opening of her pussy hole, I began finger fucking her. Her legs moved, at first in a wasted effort to block me, then in an unconscious move to give me better access to her. Swirling my finger around inside of her, I felt her pussy walls tighten then loosen around my finger. In and out, my finger undulated inside her sweet married snatch. Stretching it deep within her, her head rocked back as I slid the entire digit into her. Slipping my index finger into her along with the middle, I splayed them apart, then brought them together as I continued to finger fuck the bitch. Finding her cervix with my fingers, I began to tease it, toy with it, play with it. Her head wobbled from side to side.
I slowly peeled her off the bulkhead, taking her by a fistful of her brown hair, dragging her toward my captain’s chair on the main flying bridge, forcing her back into the chair. Along the way the stepped out of her shorts and panties, leaving them on the floor of the bridge.
Harry: Don’t you fucking move – I ordered.
She didn’t exactly look me in the eye, but she complied.
I opened my shorts, shoving them down along with my underwear. My bulging cock was already hard and getting harder. The Mary Gale gently rocked back and forth on the gentle waves of the Caribbean Sea. Far off in the distance a long line of freighters passed by. I couldn’t have cared less. Sail right by the yacht, watch me fuck this bitch hard and deep. I couldn’t have cared less. Gulls and other birds cawed and screamed above as they migrated from the island nation of Cuba to the mainland of the Yucatan Peninsula. And Leeanne gasped as she saw my hardened manhood stiff and erect. Bracing myself with my left hand, I took my cock with my right, pressed the head of my shaft against her pussy, swirling the head about against the raised, heated mound. Finally pointing the tip in the right direction, the head of my shaft disappeared inside Leeanne’s sweet married pussy. Now bracing myself with both hands as I clamped her wrists to the arm rest of my chair, I began thrusting into her. By the third thrust I could feel her pussy lubing my shaft. By the eighth thrust I was balls deep into her. Leeanne panted with each thrust, then sighed with each withdrawal. Aided by the swaying of the Mary Gale, I began pounding her snatch harder, faster, deeper. Leeanne’s head rocked back again as the sensation began to overwhelm her.
Reaching up, I began tugging at her polo, jerking it over her head. By the pale light of the full moon I could see her titts restrained by her bra. Peeling the cups over her heaving milk sacs, I leaned forward, taking one nipple in my mouth, then the other. Taking a handful of the tender flesh, feeding it toward my mouth, I used my lips and tongue to work her breasts. Her nipples were firm and erect, both from my work as well as the gentle Caribbean breeze.
I came deep inside of her, squirting jet streams of jizz into her pussy.
But I wasn’t done yet. Not by a damn site.
Slowly withdrawing my cock, I peeled Leeanne out of my chair, forced her to turn around, then bent her over the chair. Using my right leg I kicked her legs apart. Taking my cock in my right hand, I fed it straight back into her gaping pussy. I was pretty sure she’d cum when I was fucking her face to face. Less than a minute into fucking her doggy style she came harder, much harder. A geyser of orgasmic fluids flushed around my shaft, coating it in a thick sheen. Her cum, my jizz combined together and soaked my ball sac. I could feel her entire body trembling as I thrust into her again and again. With one hand I reached up, grabbed a fistful of her brown mane and jerked her head back.
Harry: If I’m gonna get fired, let’s do something that’s REALLY worth it! – I hissed.
Eventually I had my hands on her hips, pulling her back to me to afford me maximum penetration. My thighs slapped hers with each pump. Leeanne moaned as she took my cock deeper into her. She whimpered and groaned with each thrust.
Still holding her by her hair, I barked at her.
Harry: You’re gonna play with me, you fucking bitch? Seriously? You think I’m someone you can play games with? This is what happens in the sea when you tease that fucking cunt of yours.
I came, held my rock hard cock inside of her, then she creamed my shaft once more. I could feel her pussy walls spasming around my unit, clenching then releasing. She nearly broke into sobs as I gave her two more long, slow thrusts.
Finally I stepped back, slowly withdrawing my cock.
The pale whiteish-blue light from above allowed me to first hear her pussy burp, then watch as a trail of her cum, my jizz, dribbled down her legs.
She breathed heavy but said nothing for over a minute. She simply stayed in place.
Harry: Now get the fuck off my bridge, you fucking slut.
She stood motionless for a moment.
Harry: You can tell that dickless loser of a husband, if you like. I really don’t give a shit.
She started to move slowly and awkwardly. Her hands trembled as she pulled her bra and shirt down, then reached for her panties and shorts.
Leeanne: I-I’m no-I’m not going to say anything. I’m just going to bed now, if that’s ok. I’m very tired and I’m going to bed. – she replied sheepishly.
She slowly pulled her panties up. I could see them instantly stain from the combined orgasmic juices. She then pulled up her shorts.
Leeanne: I’m just tired is all. If it’s ok, I’m just going to bed.
She wouldn’t even look me in the eye as she slowly dismounted the stairs from my bridge and went down below.
I slowly pulled my own underwear and shorts back on.
Harry: Fuck it – I said to the wind, moon and stars.