Fucking In a Boat

I’d been to watch Sailor Boy, Number 8 on my list, pass in/out (depending on your age) when we found ourselves walking along a rocky beach. We weren’t exactly looking for somewhere to fuck; we were just walking and talking, figuring out where we went from there.

I’d left the Navy. Neither of us were sure if we could make a relationship work long-distance, long term, plus I’d not long left The Fireman behind. So, after the parade and many, many drinks in the bar that followed, we stumbled along the beach, hand-in-hand, laughing and joking and talking all the way.

It was a cold and dark night. Slightly drizzly, too. Neither of us minded. I loved (and still love) the rain, and he didn’t mind it when (in his words) I “smiled like that.” After a while, though, the rain got heavier – too much for us to keep walking and talking in.

“Let’s just jump in here for a second,” Sailor Boy said, pointing to one of the many rickety boats that were tilted on their sides. The tide was out, and the rocky beach seemed to roll out for miles. We both commented on it as he heaved himself into the boat, then helped me to follow suit. We both ducked under the covered hatch to escape the now heavy downpour of rain. I had mascara running down my face, but he just wiped it away before leaning in for a kiss.

It was far from romantic, but still somehow romantic as hell; one of those moments that sticks in your mind for the rest of time. I can still remember the butterflies fluttering away inside my stomach and the sound of the rain tip-tapping loudly on the wood, and that look in his eyes when he pulled away.

It was the kind of look that said everything without having to say a single word. One that told me to unbutton my trousers and tug them down while he did the same. We were fucking in that boat, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. (And a “borrowed” boat at that.)

We didn’t bother taking all our clothes off; it was too wet and cold for that. We were too impatient for it. People would start asking questions if we were gone for too long, too. We had only “popped out for a smoke,” after all. Instead, trousers were shimmied down to the knees and underwear was pushed to the side. Foreplay was all but forgotten about, just a quick lick of spit to ease things along. It was fast. Kinda furious, too. Hands grabbing and grasping and slapping. Mouths covered with hasty hands.

“Sshhh,” he whispered, more than once, as someone rambled past, pebbles crunching underfoot.

I didn’t care, though. Not about the noise, not about being caught, I just wanted to… something. I’m not really sure what. Please him? Remind him of what he was missing during our long-distance-ness? Ensure he didn’t want to fuck anyone else? Who knows? All I knew was that it wasn’t about me. There would be plenty of other times for that. This was our first time… you know, after we were so rudely interrupted by that PO on my last night on the base.

So, I gave him the best performance that I had in me, arching my back and shoving my ass in the air just as he’d not-so-politely requested. I loved it when he told me what to do in bed – and/or any other man for that matter. Always the submissive… but I just didn’t know it yet. Sailor Boy took full advantage, ordering me to do this and that.

“Touch yourself,” he said at one point, and I did just as I was told.

My fingers worked furiously at my clit, circling and teasing and desperately trying to catch up, but it was too late for that. He was too close to the edge for me to have ever caught up. I tried really, really hard, though. Gosh, did I.

My handiwork was the thing that finished him off, and he exploded into me with loud grunts that made me also want to shush him right back. I didn’t, of course; I kept my mouth shut and enjoyed the moment…

Because sometimes, just sometimes, it’s not all about my orgasm.

That’s what I thought back then, anyway.

Later that night, he went back to base, and I returned to my hotel, both of us slightly worse for wear after one too many boozy beverages. I was sharing a room with one of his relatives, who was far too young to have had breast enlargement, yet still somehow rocked a pair of silicones with pride. To my disappointment, she didn’t go back to one to one of the other rooms, where a few others were continuing the party with cheap booze, bought back from day trips to France.

So, I took myself to the shower, then let my fingers finally give me the silent orgasm I urgently needed, all while remembering us fucking in a boat.

See: we both got our happy ending… in the end.

The next blog post in the dating timeline is this one: A Breakup/A Make Up.