I arrive at a new marina. The foxy manager gives me a sexy welcome.
Chapter 75:
THE GIFT BAG
After my harrowing experience with the United States Navy, I found my way back to the Intracoastal proper in the morning sun. As I entered the St. Johns basin, the currents picked up considerably. My Love Boat was being pushed off course by strong tidal flows. Two freighters and a cruise ship were visible, one freighter outbound at the river’s sharp turn east and one inbound just entering the jetties from the ocean. Ahead of me was an inbound cruise ship, hundreds of people all standing at the rails on multiple decks. From my distance, it looked like everyone had drinks in hand and were having a grand old time. Festive clothes, souvenir hats, flower behind the ear kind of times. I pushed the throttle forward and fell in between the cruise ship and the incoming freighter.
Even in restricted, close quarters like this, the behemoth ships, guided by tugboats, still hit over 10 knots. My comfortable limit is 6 kts in the Love Boat. The cruise ship easily glided ahead and the freighter behind me was closing in rapidly. The rules of the road are similar to land roads, at least in the USA. Keep to the right, any other boat between 12 and 4 has right of way, commercial vessels have priority, sailboats (not under power) have Right Of Way over power boats. Common sense prevails – generally the less maneuverable boats have ROW. I calculated that the freighter would overtake me at or near the ninety degree bend in the river ahead. I had to plan my course accordingly or risk swimming with Poseidon.
I had targeted a boutique marina quite a distance down the St. John river. It would take until after dark before I arrived. I started an email chain with the marina manager and the dockmaster. They were very accommodating, sending me maps of the marina with my slip highlighted. Between the ocean entrance and my destination there were seven bridges, two of which had to be opened. The first one that had to be opened was a railroad bridge near downtown, opening on the half hour; the final one was a small ‘call for open’ near my destination. All the rest were ICW compliant (65 foot clearance minimum).
The freighter passed as we were gliding through downtown Jacksonville. Big buildings, civilization, lots of hubbub and activity. Much later, I rounded a bend and there was the cruise ship, plastered to the seawall and disembarking passengers. Some travelers were still at the rail. As I drifted past, we waved and hollered at each other. One balcony had two darling college girls who flashed their tits at me. They got a horn toot as thanks.
Rounding another bend is when the boating got bad. The stereotype is sun shine, bikinis, little umbrellas on drinks, smooth sailing. That image was soon sunk. The first bridge that required opening was a railroad bridge at the south end of downtown. I had been listening to the radio hearing numerous boaters calling it to get in the queue for the next opening. Looking at my charts, I could see that I was on target for the 5:30 p.m. opening. When I was in sight of the bridge, 10 minutes ahead of the 5:30 opening, I called on the radio.
“This is Strass Trunnion Bridge, go ahead Blow Me. Over.”
“Just confirming your 5:30 opening. Over.”
There was a long pause. “Uh … Our next opening is at 7:00 p.m. Over.”
An hour and a half and I was mere miles from my destination. What the fuck? I called back and the bridge tender carefully explained that due to the rush hour traffic in Jacksonville, the bridge was restricted from opening between 5:30 and 7:00. “Coast Guard and Dept. of Transportation rules, Blow Me. I’ll put you on for the 7 p.m. open. Over and out.”
Nice. Now I had to tread water for an hour and a half in a strong current. The wind had picked up, too. I looked behind me, and a huge dark storm cloud was hovering overhead. Within 10 minutes the dark clouds opened up, pouring buckets of rain, nonstop. Here I was deciding whether to drop anchor or not and the weather turned ugly. Shit. No sunshine, tiny bikinis, or little paper umbrellas in non-existent drinks. Just wind and rain and wasting time drifting aimlessly in a busy river.
The current was pushing me toward the bridge. I positioned myself way up current and shut down the motor. It took twenty minutes to drift dangerously close to the bridge. Cranked up the iron maiden and repeated this process, idly floating where the current took me in the pouring rain. I was a soggy, miserable, drenched puppy.
After the uncooperative railroad bridge, the river opens wide. It looked like a large lake bending off to the left. My target marina was ahead and to the right, past a small ‘call for open’ bridge. Looking at my charts, the dredged channel veered far to the left, requiring deeper draft boats to follow it until it met up with a smaller channel headed toward my marina. The depths were dangerously shallow, hovering between 5.5 feet and 6.5 feet. With only 6 inches of room between my boat and the bottom, I sprouted some new gray hairs. I learned later that the channel veered far left because there was a sandbar with only a 3 foot depth extending across the wide bay area.
It was now dark out and I was in unfamiliar, shallow waters. That scotch was going to soothe some jangled nerves. With some luck and guidance from above, I approached the final bridge and called for an open. Sure enough, as the span began raising, I gunned the boat and got through without grounding out. I found the marina and docked myself at the fuel dock for overnight.
In the morning, I was awakened by noises on the dock. Poking my head up I saw a guy filling up a ski boat with gas, the two men chatting away. I disembarked and introduced myself.
“Oh, yeah. Blow Me. Jenny told me to expect you. Welcome.” We took care of the necessary pump out and topping off fuel tanks. Then he helped me tie off in my slip. Very helpful, very nice guy. Brent was his name, the dockmaster. After securing my Love Boat in my assigned slip, I walked up to the office to check in.
The marina office was in an adjacent small strip mall. In addition to the office, there were two restaurants, a micro-brewery, and a few random businesses. When I entered the office, the front part was just two desks, end to end making an invisible line between the public lobby and the private back area although there was no wall behind the desks. There were two ladies, one at each desk. The lady at the righthand desk spoke up.
“Hi. May I help you?”
“I’m looking for Jenny. I’m Sailor on Blow Me. I got in late last night and need to register.”
“Oh, hi, Sailor. I’m Jenny.” Jenny had the most engaging eyes and a very pleasant face. When she stood up to shake my hand, she was petite and still in good shape for a woman approaching middle age. Her body signaled that she had already birthed her offspring, having thickened some around her hips. She motioned to the chair by her desk, and we walked through all the details. She made copies of all my papers, driver’s license, insurance, boat registration and so forth. When we were finished, she offered me a mini tour of the marina. I accepted.
We strolled around as she showed me the swimming pool and the adjacent covered tiki hut, complete with Bar-B-Q grill and fire pit. When we got to the bathhouse, she wanted to show me the laundry room and facilities. Each of the private bathrooms and the laundry room had keypad entries. She poked in the code at the laundry room door, and opened it. We entered the room which only had a wall of washers and dryers, a kiosk to use your credit card to pay to unlock the machines, a table for folding clothes on, and a small bookcase. I hadn’t seen a proper captains lounge. I’m guessing this was it.
She was explaining how the kiosk worked to pay for the machines. I was much more interested in her shapely legs, her firm breasts, and her mesmerizing eyes. I couldn’t take my eyes off her and was rudely just staring at her. Finally, she turned to me and said, “Is my hair out of place or do I have lettuce in my teeth? You’ve done nothing but stare at me this whole time.”
“I’m so sorry, Jenny. I didn’t mean to be rude or intrusive. The reason why I’ve been starting at you is because I find you overwhelmingly attractive. I just can’t take my eyes off you. There’s no lettuce in your teeth and your hair looks wonderful, as does the rest of your body.”
“Oh, thank God. I thought I had sprouted a second head or something, the way you were looking. I’m glad it’s just attraction because I’m feeling the same thing. There’s something about you, Sailor. I don’t know what it is, but I aim to find out.”
With that she went over to the door and opened it. She poked some number into the keypad and shut the door. “There, manager’s lock in place. No one can enter without the secret code.” She tentatively approached me, looking for acceptance or rejection. She reached up and took hold of the lapels on my shirt. Looking seductively into my eyes she purred “Wanna have some fun, newcomer? It’ll be sort of like the gift bag that some marinas give out to new tenants.”
I put my hands on her hips. “Jenny, I’d like nothing more than to have some fun. However, that rock on your left hand signals that you’re already taken. I don’t usually fool around with married women. Something about jealous husbands, handguns and violence makes me shy away. Plus, playing in that sandbox usually gets messy.”
She turned her head to the side, thinking and forming her reply. “I get that, Sailor. I really do. But you’re new here. You don’t know about me yet. Let me explain. My husband is bedridden with a terminal illness. Has been for years. So, no jealous rage from there. I’ve worked here for several years now. I’ve seen boaters come and go. I’m ***********ive who I sleep with. It’s usually no more than two boaters per season. I don’t have a steady boyfriend, just my casual hookups with marina tenants like you. So, shall we start over? Hi, Sailor. I’m attracted to you and want to have some fun. Will you join me?”
With that out of the way, we slammed into each other, passionately. The clothes’ folding table was wiped clear and we used that as a prop to rock each other’s world. I had the pleasure of my head buried between her legs as she lay on the table. She got to see how well my dick fit down her throat. We both got to relieve ourselves with productive orgasms.
“Wow, Jenny. That was the nicest gift bag I’ve ever had. Thank you.”
“No, thank you, Sailor. We’re glad to have you aboard.”