The First Mate, Part II

To read Part I click here.

At six o’clock the next morning I awoke with a start – as I had every couple of hours throughout the night – and knew my time for sleep was over. My body was buzzing, my mind racing through the possibilities of sating my lust with the First Mate’s growling passion. I lay still, listening to the water lap against the side of the boat, and further, trying to hear him in his cabin. Someone was moving around the boat, but I had no way of telling if it was him or the Skipper or just another crew member. Closing my eyes I imagined him, dressing, making tea, rolling cigarettes, and had to firmly hold onto the edge of my sleeping bag to prevent my hands from wandering.

Finally, bored and tense on my sticky leather mattress I untied the knots and climbed out of bed. I skillfully put on my bra, underneath the thin tee shirt I slept in, and made my way out onto the deck. There he was; six feet of rugged, filthy, tired sexual urgency, coiling lines in the cockpit. I automatically tugged at my shirt, exposing the point of one shoulder as I flicked my hair. Noticing the girlie affectations I had unconsciously picked up always left me feeling irritable; I had never been particularly feminine and using my gender to attract anyone felt disgustingly like posing. Nevertheless, as I accidentally tapped my knuckle against the rail, his attention was drawn briefly to me.

He looked up, over the top of his sunglasses, and nodded, not a flicker of change on his face. I certainly hadn’t expected more, and I played my role, pretending to look out across the marina, taking far too much interest in the speed boats and ketches that surrounded us.

After a few minutes he muttered to me, asking for my help tying a particularly heavy line. I played it cool, walking over to lend a hand. He worked silently, unthinking, his hands tying automatically, and as I watched his skillful fingers move I felt the memory of them between my legs. Only momentarily, before the job was finished and he grunted his nodding gratitude and moved away, below deck to find his morning caffeine.
Being the man he was it surprised me how fast he moved; nothing about his frame looked fit for a quick getaway. He was neither overweight nor particularly tall, but he took up space with his elbows and hunched shoulders, and watching him he always gave the impression of someone who moved in steady, calculated motions. And yet, for the second time in less than twelve hours he had seemed to vanish, faster than I could speak or protest. Not that he was the kind of man you called for anyway.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. He gave orders and the crew followed them. I chatted with the Skipper and my fellow group leader. From time to time the First Mate joined us and offered his opinion on whatever topic we were discussing – always without being asked for it. Not once did he agree with me. Before the previous evening I had wondered if he was simply of a compulsively contrary nature, but now every point he made against my innocent theories felt like bait. In my head we played a game of power, one which he never allowed me to win. I passed him seductive glances between topics but my attentions were never reciprocated or even acknowledged and I felt myself being drawn – irrevocably – further in.

Over dinner he barely raised his eyes from his plate, except to request the salt or help himself to more food. The day hadn’t been particularly gruelling and I tried to remember if he had been so reserved at previous meals. But my mind was swimming with fantasies and I found I was having trouble separating them from reality. I ate in relative silence, flicking wanton, unnoticed glances in his direction from time to time.

Being a group leader I was happily excused from washing up duties, and once again slipped out onto the deck. The evenings all week had been warm and slightly overcast, just slips of turquoise sky between navy clouds. But as I emerged from the hatch the air nipped at my exposed skin and I looked up to see the sky, clear and glittering above the still water. It occurred to me that I ought to call my fellow crew mates to enjoy the view, but in that moment I wanted my peace and quiet, a few minutes to let the spinning thoughts leave my head. I leant back on the bench, breathing deeply, relaxing, and mere seconds later the First Mate appeared and fixed me with his piercing gaze.

“My cabin, half an hour after quiet boat,” He muttered, glancing around the bay. His eyes flicked back to mine. “If you still want it.”

I opened my mouth to answer, but he was already gone, leaving me to tremble with lust as the evening passed with unbearable slowness.

To read Part III click here.

This entry was posted in Fiction, Lustful, Series, The First Mate. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to The First Mate, Part II

  1. pratthead says:

    wonderful continuation to the story. i love the feeling that the story is caught in time somehow… part of the story feels old as though narrated during a pirate voyage. meanwhile, the actual setting of the story is obviously in modern times. wonderful tension building between the narrator and the first mate. can't wait for more!

  2. JohnShowsCock says:

    Brooding tension – someone is going to get fucked hard!

    Very well written regarding the boat too. They really are enclosed spaces that push people together.

    Looking forward to the next instalment.

    Cheers, John

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