t's early evening and the gulls are mobbing restaurant patrons for scraps as I make my way down the pontoons, weekend bag and backpack both slung carelessly over my shoulder. The air is still warm enough for my tank-top and shorts, though I suspect it will be a cool night later.
I turn onto pontoon F for Foxtrot and saunter along to my private berth, number seventeen. Indigo strains gently against her moorings, seeming as eager as I am to get going. Like me, she'll have to wait till the morning; my Day-skipper's qualification permits me to sail in daylight hours only, and I'm not in any hurry to run afoul of the Solent Coastguard this weekend.
I dump my bags on the jetty by her stern and do a quick reconnaissance down her port and starboard sides. All her fenders are in position and the mooring lines are as I left them last weekend. No sign of any tampering, not that I'd expect any. Lymington Yacht Haven is pretty upmarket, and they look after their clients well. I smile and touch my fingertips lightly to Indigo's side.
She's mine, my one extravagance, and I love her.
I walk back round to her stern, then climb onto her diving platform. I quickly unclip the guardrail wires and raise the hatchway seat out of the way, then grab my bag and heave it into the cockpit. The covers on the wheel and cockpit instruments are in place, but are a bit dirty thanks to the dusty air we've had this week. I'll deal with it in the morning, for now I'm more interested in getting on board, dumping my kit, and grabbing a bite to eat.
I unlock and open the cabin hatch and quickly climb down into the saloon, where I dump my bag and backpack on the saloon bench. I turn on Indigo's water heater, VHF radio set, and saloon downlights at the master panel. I check her batteries; all are steady at well over thirteen volts so there are no issues there. A small red LED shows that she's connected to shore power as she should be.
I smile again. Everything's as it should be. I reach up, running my hands through my hair and tightening my hair-band to ensure it all stays securely fastened in a ponytail. I collect my phone and wallet from my backpack and grab a lightweight thermal fleece from my overnight bag, then clamber out through the hatch into the cockpit, locking the hatch behind me as I go. I climb down to the jetty and clip the guardrails back into their rings.
I like to leave them closed. It discourages visitors from nosing around Indigo. Not that most yachties would, but there's always someone who'll be curious enough to try. The guardrails are a social engineering marker, and old habits are hard to break.
The sun is still a couple of degrees over the horizon and fleecy cumulus clouds dot the blue Hampshire sky. I take a deep, slow breath, enjoying the space and sense of calm that being near the water always brings to me.
All that's missing now is her.
--
I was nineteen years old when my numbers came up. I'd bought the EuroMillions lottery ticket in a fit of whimsy, picking my birthday, her birthday and some random numbers to fill the quota. I'd doubted I'd win anything. My luck is generally abysmal.
Instead, I won a three-way split of the jackpot, walking away with something in the order of thirty seven million Pounds. My parents know, of course, and so does she. I asked them all what I should do, and they each advised me to spend something on myself and follow the advice of Dad's financial advisor over the stashing of the rest in various investment portfolios.
It's a very weird experience to be just out of my teens, knowing that I'll never have to worry about money. It makes things somewhat surreal, I guess.
Of course, I made sure my parents are going to be comfortable for the rest of their lives. I tried to do the same for Emma, but she won't let me.
Emma Charlotte Richards, to give her her full name, is my elder sister. Elder, that is, by a scant two years, and truth be told we're so close we could be twins. Non-identical, of course.
Emma owns a design studio in Guildford, where in my opinion she works entirely too hard for far too little return. I view it as my mission in life to make sure she spends time outdoors. Indigo is my secret weapon; Em loves the ocean even more than I do, if that's possible, so I'm usually able to twist her rubber arm to get her to come with.
And she's a good crew. While Indigo is set up so that I can manage her by myself, the addition of my intelligent, agile, and mentally tough sister makes everything easier.
The added bonus is that her presence always makes the loneliness go away.
--
I sit at a table in the corner, watching the other restaurant patrons as I sip a glass of Riesling. Most of them are yachties, down here to socialise with their friends ahead of the weekend's racing. Some are locals out of Lymington. They're all raucous and laughing, jovially vying with each other with stories of mooring prangs they've witnessed or feats of terrible seamanship they've been party to; never their own, of course. There are one or two crews of school boats and I take note of them, making sure to give them a respectful distance out on the water.
A young blonde waitress with cute pigtails and a lovely smile takes my order, and I catch myself watching her as she saunters off to the next table. I snort at myself. I may be a young-at-heart twenty-four, but this girl looks like she's barely out of school. Never mind that she's likely into boys.
I shake my head ruefully. I can't help who I am. Sometimes I wish I could; I might have the cheat-codes for life, but I've been perpetually unlucky in my abortive attempts at love. I tell myself that it's easier that way, that it frees me to follow my dreams.
When I wake up in an empty bed, though, that platitude seems like very cold comfort.
I twirl my glass, watching the pale gold wine sloshing gently from side to side. Condensation beads on the outside, and a small droplet slides down the stem of the glass till it meets my fingers and dissipates.
Outside, dusk has fallen, and the green and red navigation lights on the channel markers have been turned on.
--
Many people would kill for the life I lead. I graduated from University with a degree in Architecture, but thanks to that fickle bitch Fortune's whim I've never needed to use it to earn a living.
Instead, I was able to set up a small non-profit consultancy doing volunteer work for charities who need designs for low-cost buildings in African countries. It keeps me busy for about four days a week, leaving me Fridays and weekends to do with what I want.
And mostly what I want is to be here, in the Solent, on Indigo.
I bought Indigo directly from the Beneteau yacht factory in Saint Hilaire de Riez and spent two glorious weeks there ensuring that she was fitted out and customised as I wanted her. Electric in-mast-furling mainsail, roller-furling genoa adjustable from the cockpit, the latest in touch-screen GPS, Radar and and other gimmicks, folding propeller system and bow thrusters. She's an Oceanis 31, only a year old now, and she's my second home. While she has a shallow enough draft to go pretty much anywhere in the Solent without issue, she's still big and stable enough to handle any wind and sea that I'd be comfortable going out in.
I try to live like a normal person. I still drive the same second-hand Peugeot 207 I bought four years ago, I socialise with my University friends, and if anyone ever asks me, I tell them I inherited some money and bought a boat. So far, I've been able to fly under the radar. But it's a constant strain to not let it slip, so sometimes its easier to just be by myself.
Thankfully, Em understands.
--
I'm jerked out of my reverie as my phone vibrates on the table top. I grab it with my left hand, and am surprised to see it's Em phoning. Quickly, I answer.
"Hullo darling!" I bubble.
Silence and background noise.
"Em?" I ask, puzzled. "Em, are you there?"
"I'm here," she answers, softly. I can tell something's wrong.
"What's going on?" I ask.
She's quiet again.
"Em, you're worrying me. What's wrong? I can tell that something's wrong. I can smell it."
"It's been a... rough day, Bella."
"Where are you?" I ask, concerned.
"In the car, on the way home. You?"
"Lymington," I answer.
"Alone?"
"Yeah. Just Indigo and I."
"Can I... can I come visit, Bella?"
"Jesus, Em, do you even need to ask? Of course. I'll sort out the aft cabin for you."
"Thanks Bella. I'll... I'll see you soon."
She hangs up. I frown, deeply unsettled. Emma sounds stressed and sad. Stressed is normal for her, but sad isn't; she doesn't let things affect her unless they're really serious.
I pick up my phone and dial Mum, hoping to be able to get some inside intel, but I get no answer. My fish and chips (another guilty indulgence) arrives, but I eat it mechanically, deriving no real pleasure from it. I'm too worried about my sister's emotional state and the long drive she now faces to pay attention to much of anything.
--
I grab spare sheets and pillows out of the storage locker; they're a bit musty so I leave them on the saloon table to air for a while. I make sure that I still have a bottle of wine on board; it's a random Tuscan red, but it will do in a pinch.
I climb up onto the deck and busy myself checking Indigo over properly. The various sheets and lines are secure, and my genoa is still tightly furled with no visible damage. I check the winches, and make sure all the lines are free to travel.
Impulsively, I check the time. Less than an hour has passed since Emma phoned me. I pause, consider, and send her a quick text, telling her to drive safely and to be careful. Then I give the deck one more once-over and head back down below.
I don't have a passage plan or anything worked out for the weekend, and it's something useful to do to keep my navigation skills sharp, so I break out my set of nautical charts and get to work. Tides for the weekend would favour heading east up the Solent in the direction of Portsmouth during the morning and late afternoon, midmorning would favour heading Southwest towards the Needles and Hurst Castle. I like to get an early start so perhaps it would make sense to plan to overnight in Cowes or Gosport marinas. I'll make a final decision tomorrow when we're underway, but this is good enough for now.
I turn on the VHF radio set again and leave it set to channel sixteen, waiting for the inshore weather forecast which should be in an hour or so's time. Then I just sit, listening to the sounds of the boats moving around me, fretting about Emma.
--
Emma was the first person I came out to. I'd agonized for weeks over how to tell her before she finally cornered me one evening when we were home alone and flat out asked me if I was gay. She'd laughed and high-fived me when I'd confessed. I'd been so stressed that she'd despise me, but instead she'd wrapped her arms around me, hugged me till I squeaked, and told me that she didn't care what or who I loved so long as I was happy.
"Make sure she's a hottie though," she'd teased me.
Emma, my awesome big sister. I've lost count of the times she's been the one I've run to for advice or comfort, or even just for some appreciation. Mum and Dad are lovely, but they're wrapped up in their jobs and lives. Don't get me wrong, they love us both, but neither of them have ever really understood me.
Emma's the bridge between us; she ties the family together and keeps the rest of us from killing one another.
I suppose you could accuse me of hero worship, though I don't think it's a fair accusation. Emma has her faults, like her sharp tongue and firecracker temper, but she's careful to moderate herself and would rather say nothing than say something harmful.
Emma's also quiet about what's going on inside her mind. She talks to me, sometimes, but not as much as I'd like and certainly not as much as I think she should. She's a private person, mostly, except when she forgets herself.
That's when I see flashes of her freed from her walls, and that's the Emma that I love most of all: a ready smile, twinkling blue eyes, and a warm, rich laugh that she lets out all too seldom.
Sometimes I wish I could just hug her and make the barricades go away.
--
My phone rings and I answer it hurriedly. It's Em.
"Where are you?" I ask her.
"About twenty miles from Lymington."
"Are you ok?"
"Can't talk now, Bella. Will tell you when I get there."
"Drive safe. I've got wine ready."
"I hope there's more than one bottle of it."
She hangs up. I purse my lips, then grab a jacket and my wallet and, locking Indigo behind me, take a brisk stroll to the Tesco in Lymington town. I quickly lay in some supplies: crackers, some dubious cheddar, tomatoes, fresh milk and eggs, and some apples that look passable. Knowing Emma, she probably hasn't eaten since lunchtime. I add margarine and some Marmite to the basket, and then grab two more bottles of red wine for us.
Emma arrives as I make it back to the car park. I wave at her, and wait for her to park her Volkswagen in one of the visitor's bays. She climbs out and turns to me and for the first time I can see how thoroughly upset she is.
I put the groceries down and walk towards her, arms open. Emma's shoulders slump, and she leans into me as I wrap my arms around her. I squeeze her hard against me. She holds me for a long, long time but says nothing, and I for one am loathe to interrupt her obvious need for comfort.
"You got a weekend bag, Em?" I ask her gently, eventually.
She nods, still clinging to me like a limpet. "In the boot. Random stuff that was lying around. Hope it will be enough."
"You can borrow my warm clothes if you're short," I say, as I release her and walk around to the rear of her car. I open the boot and retrieve her black tog-bag, then let the boot lid slam closed. Emma heaves a sigh and picks up the groceries.
I sling her bag over my shoulder, then take her free right hand with my left. "Come on," I say. "The wine's waiting and you look like you need a glass."
"Thanks for being my port in a storm, Bella."
"Em, you're my sister. No thanks are necessary. Come. Lets go get on board, it's going to get chilly soon."
--
I turn on the catalytic diesel heater while Emma rummages around in her cabin. As I open the wine she emerges, fetchingly attired in a baggy pair of tracksuit pants and a thermal fleece. Wordlessly, she takes the wine I offer, and sits down at the saloon table near the heater vent.
Emma dangles her feet in front of the vent, and slumps against the backrest of the saloon benches. I take position opposite her and watch as she proceeds to drain the glass of wine without pause for breath.
"Ok, now I'm really worried," I say as she sets the glass down.
She laughs bitterly.
"Em. Tell me what's wrong?" I beg.
"He's been cheating on me."
"What?"
"Alan. He's been cheating on me. With some intern from his work. I don't know for how long."
"Jesus Christ. How'd you find this out?"
"He sent me a text he obviously meant to send to her."
"When?"
"Earlier today."
I lean back, exhaling. "Did you confront him?"
"Yeah. It was... loud. Vocal. I think he's aware that I am less than impressed."
I shake my head in disgust. Em's been dating Alan for over two years; I was beginning to think that they were going to last.
"Jesus, Emma... I... I don't know what to say."
Emma rests her head tiredly on her left hand and closes her eyes. "I needed to get away from Guildford, Bella. You were the only person I could be with tonight."
"Em, seriously. Don't you dare start apologising to me. You know you're always welcome, wherever and whenever."
I top up her glass, and she takes a listless sip, then shakes her head again.
"What are you going to do?"
"Right now? I plan to get drunk. In an hour or so, I'll probably have a good cry. Then I plan to delete the fucker's number from my phone and try to enjoy a weekend with you. Then... I guess I'll be changing the locks on my flat."
I sigh. "Are you hungry, Em? I've bought some basics, we need to do a proper shop tomorrow though."
"Not hungry, no."
"You should eat something, Em."
"I know, Bella. I know I should."
I make an executive decision and quickly prepare some cheese and tomato crackers. Em watches me, sipping her wine quietly. I set a plate down in front of her.
"Eat, Em."
She listlessly selects a cracker and chews it slowly. I take one as well, then slip in beside her at the table, close enough that we're almost touching. Gently I reach out; gently I stroke her back.
As I do so, Emma's walls crumble.
--
Emma's always cried silently. She'll sit motionless, barely breathing, as whatever's upset her tears away at her insides with its horrid barbed claws. These spells never last long, but I hate them because I know there's nothing I can do to help her. She has to work her way through them by herself, and all I can do is hold her, touch her, and show her that I'm there for her when she can let me be.
This time is no different. So I sit, lightly rubbing her shoulders, squeezing her gently against me, while she shivers quietly through the hurt and rage, sprinkling the tabletop in front of her with a bumper crop of hot, salty tears. I lean my head against her shoulder, and close my eyes.
I hate it when she's hurting. It's my worst thing in the world.
--
"You need a hug?" I ask her after a while.
She nods, not saying anything, and I wrap my arms around her, pulling her hard against me. It's an awkward position with us both sitting where we are, but I don't care; I'm consumed by the need to comfort her.
"What a shitty day," she whispers. I squeeze her harder.
"I can't believe he was such a complete turd," I mutter.
"Should have seen it coming, I suppose."
"What? Emma, are you out of your cotton-picking mind? How could you have seen this coming?"
"It's happened before is all."
"Emma, seriously, I know where you're going with this and you need to stop now."
"Why do they cheat on me, Isabel?" she asks plaintively.
"I can't answer that, Em, but it's not because of you, ok?"
Emma raises her hands and scrubs angrily at her eyes. "How can you be so sure? I'm the common factor here."
"You're the awesome factor here," I say, irritated. "Don't let a bunch of retarded men fuck with your mojo. You're awesome. They're losers. Fuck them."
She sighs, then reaches up to squeeze my hand gently. She wriggles free of me, takes a deep breath, and sits up a bit straighter.
"So tell me about your day," she says, with a sigh.
I snort, but decide to play along for now.
"It was fantastic, thanks. I woke up, went to gym, went to the office, read my email, went for coffee, sat in a park, and decided to knock off early to come here."
She leans her head against my shoulder. "You have a nice life, Bella."
"I can't say I deserve it, but I am enjoying it, yes," I say quietly. I sip my wine, relieved to see that she's calmed down a bit now.
She eats another cheese and tomato cracker, and takes another sip of wine. "I'm glad money hasn't spoiled you," she says.
"I have you as a role model, Em. I couldn't go off the rails with you to look up to."
"You're sweet, but I'm a terrible role model."
"Nope, you're a brilliant one. You work hard, you tell the truth, you refuse to take advantage of anyone, and the people you love know that you love them. I'd say that's a pretty good way to be," I answer. "If more people in the world were like you, we'd be in a far happier space. And I'd be out of a job."
She snorts quietly, and takes another sip of wine. I top us both up again and she smiles a small, wan thanks at me.
"I've always wanted to be like you," I say after a while. "You always seem to know what you want and where you should be. I have my non-profit, and Indigo... but not much other than that, really."
"You cut yourself off to much," she observes, quietly.
"Yeah, I guess I do," I agree. "I guess I'm scared of disappointment."
"Disappointment?" she asks, curious.
"I guess I'm worried that people will try to take advantage of me once they find out about the money."
"It's a risk, Bella. But life is about taking risks. You're an awesome, loving, generous woman. Hot, to boot. Don't isolate yourself from the people who would appreciate that."
I blush at the compliments, and Emma blesses me with a small smile. I take a long sip of wine and eat another cracker to try to mask the embarrassment, but I know she sees right through me.
"I'd settle for a single person appreciating me," I mutter.
Emma shrugs, and shoots me an unreadable look. "I appreciate you, but I know that's not what you mean. Isn't there anyone in your life, Bella?"
"Nope. I'm all alone."
Emma shakes her head. "Now that's a crime."
I snort, startled. "Why?"
"You're far too cute to be single, Bella. We need to find you a girl."
"I'll advertise in Single Lesbians Weekly," I mutter sourly. Emma lets out a startled laugh at that, and I give her a wry grin.
I finish my glass of wine, and Emma empties hers too.
"Should I open another bottle?" I ask her. She shakes her head.
"I need to shower first," she says. "I need to wash the stink of the motorway and of him off me. Then we can drink."
"Good plan. Did you remember a towel and toiletries?"
"If you can call them that, yes."
"Tell you what, I'll go shower now too and you can borrow from my stash as you need to."
"Thanks, Bella, you're my angel," she says.
--
The shower water is gloriously hot for once, and I spend an indulgent amount of time just letting it run over my body, washing away the day's grime.
I soap myself up thoroughly, and massage my breasts a bit to work out some tenderness caused by my sports bra. I hear Emma singing snippets of nonsense and popular songs in the cubicle adjacent to me, and I grin to myself.
Emma's mood always improves near water. It's her element.
I lean against the wall, listening to her soft, husky alto, letting the water play over my shoulders and back and stream down my legs. Then I shake my head, and start to rinse the soap off my body. I kill the water and wrap a towel around myself as I exit the cubicle. I grab a second towel from the countertop which I wrap around my dripping hair. Only then do I notice that Emma's made the cardinal error of leaving both her towels on the countertop.
I grab one of them and knock on her cube door.
"Em?"
"Yeah?"
"You forgot your towel."
"Oh, right."
She yanks open the door to her cubicle, and for once in my life I'm struck totally dumb. Wordlessly I offer her the towel, and she takes it with a distracted smile, before closing the door behind her.
I stand there, the vision of her naked body seared into my mind.
Emma is my height; tall and slender, with shapely hips and a flat toned belly. Her breasts are small but perfect, falling in lovely classic teardrop shapes, with matching small dark nipples. Her face is round, her jawline delicate, her hair shoulder-length and a true raven black. Her bum is tight, round, and totally free of the cellulite which plagues so many of our compatriots here in the British Isles. Her sex is shaven bare apart from a narrow landing strip of jet-black, close-cropped fur.
She's perfect. She's gorgeous. She blows all my fantasy women out of the water. And I suddenly realise that I have a serious problem on my hands, because there's no way the vision of her is not going to intrude on my fantasies.
"You're very quiet out there," she calls. "Everything ok?"
I jerk spastically and retreat to the counter, where I avoid meeting my eyes in the mirror. She's my sister, and I should definitely NOT be having the thoughts I was just having about her.
"I'm fine," I call, flustered. "Just a bit distracted is all."
I busy myself drying my own hair. After a while, I manage to meet my own gaze. I note with chagrin that my cheeks and throat are flushed. They might as well be a big scarlet letter pinned to me.
A sudden fit of whimsy takes me, and I let my hair out of the towel and stand, eyeing myself.
My strawberry-blonde locks have a natural curl to them which never really goes away, no matter how much I try. Blue eyes... but at least I'm not a dumb blonde, I suppose. I shrug my second towel off, mentally comparing my body to the vision of Emma.
We're both blessed with small, well-proportioned breasts and shoulders, and a genetic predisposition towards being slender. But you could never mistake my body for hers. I have awkward angles, Em's filled out and just has delicious curves. I admit, however, that I'm attractive enough to warrant glances in the street; my body is toned and my stomach is nicely defined, both benefits of the free time I have to spend in the gym.
But ranked against Em? I'm second rate, no doubt about it. There's something about her that just oozes sex appeal, and as a result, she's never short of an entourage of male 'friends'.
I sigh and drag my tank-top and fleece back on. Then I pull on some pyjama bottoms and wait for Em to emerge.
--
Em opens a second bottle of wine as I turn down the heater and crack open a deck hatch. The cabin has grown stuffy while we were washing, and I hate trying to sleep in a room that's too hot. It's easier to make a hot water bottle than it is to try to get a breeze through the forecabin of Indigo. I shoot Em a look, watching her as she pours our wine. Her damp, dark hair falls in tangled strands, leaving wet trails on her short-sleeved top. She and I are both barefoot; Indigo's cabin sole is a wood composite laminate which insulates well enough that one seldom needs slippers, even in the dead of winter.
"Here," Em says, holding out a glass for me. I accept it and take a sip of wine before I slide in again next to Em at the saloon table. I lean back into the corner formed by the fore cabin's partition wall and watch her.
Em stares at nothing for a bit, then shakes her head slightly.
"Talk to me," I say, quietly.
"I'm just angry, Bella."
"I know. But tell me what's on your mind. You may find it helps."
She shrugs, drinks, and leans back against the backrest. Part of me can't help but notice the way her breasts distort the fabric of her tee-shirt. I shove that thought to one side and try to devote my attention to her words.
"I've known something was wrong for a while, now," she says after a short silence. "He was always working late. He was distant at home, and our sex life was pretty perfunctory."
I raise an eyebrow but say nothing. Em's never told me much about what goes on in her bedroom.
She looks up at the cabin lights, and pulls a face. "I put it down to work stress at first, on both our parts. But it went on for far longer than that would explain. And now, today."
"On the plus side, at least you know what was going on," I offer. "I know it's not much comfort, Em, but better this than finding out when he comes home with herpes."
She laughs at that, a loud whoop, and I grin.
"I hope he gets crabs," she says viciously. "I hope he gets so many that they have to put him in an isolation ward and burn his clothes."
I smirk at the image and reach out to rub her shoulder.
"So tell me about why you're single, Bella."
I frown. "Monumental incompetence at finding available women," I respond, sighing. "You know how much I hate clubbing, and... well, lets just say it's not really all that easy to find single girls who like girls elsewhere."
"I suppose it's easier for me, I just have to show a guy some cleavage."
"To be fair," I say unthinkingly, "your cleavage is fantastic."
Em chokes on her wine, and I flush scarlet. She sets the wineglass aside, and eyes me speculatively, wiping her lips.
"I have no idea why I said that," I confess.
"I'll take it in the spirit that it was offered, as a heartfelt compliment from someone I love."
"Please do," I say, face still flaming.
She grins at me. "You're good for my self-esteem, Bella."
"Someone has to do the job," I mutter. I shift uncomfortably. Em notices, and wraps her left arm around me, pulling me hard against her.
"Don't stress about it, Bella. I know you didn't mean anything by it."
Little does she know, of course.
--
See, the problem is, I've had a thing for Emma for as long as I can remember. It started off as a sibling crush, but has evolved from there to something that I have to keep buried deep, that I try not to admit even to myself.
I can't remember when I first realised that I wanted her. It's been a part of me so long. But it's a hopeless kind of wanting; Em's straight, and what's more she's my sister, and there's absolutely no way anything will ever happen.
So I've tried to appreciate her as she is. But tonight... seeing her naked, however briefly, has pushed me into a headspace I've not been in for a while, and I belatedly realise that I need intimacy, contact of some kind. Being by myself has advantages, but it means that I never, ever get laid.
This means that my fantasies are pretty much my sole method of release. And tonight's vision of her is going to make those a perilous place to go. --
"Leave the dishes in the sink, Em" I tell her as I make my bed in the forecabin. Traditionally the skipper of a boat would take the aft cabin, but I love lying with my head near the bow of Indigo, feeling her shifting with the tide and wind.
I hear Emma bumping around in her cabin. I fluff up my pillow in the vee formed where the hull narrows towards the bow, then clamber back off the bed. I move through the saloon, making sure all the hatches are latched and that the companionway hatch is locked (away, nighttime prowlers!) before poking my head through into the stern cabin. Em's wriggling around, making a little nest for herself under some sheets.
"Want the light off?" I ask her.
"Mm. Yes, please. What ungodly hour are you planning to be up tomorrow, Bella?"
"Seven am, darling. I've got to check the weather forecast."
"Ugh. Do it quietly, please, I suspect I'm going to have a whore of a hangover in the morning."
I laugh, then lean over and plant a kiss on Emma's forehead. "Go to sleep, Em. You've had a shitty day, but tomorrow will be better."
"G'night, Bella. Love you," she mumbles.
"Love you too." I return, before I kill her light and close the cabin door for her.
I shut off the saloon lights and return to my cabin, where I clamber onto the bed. Light from the waning quarter moon mixes with the walkway safety lights, reflecting off the water outside and in through the portholes, casting ripples on the ceiling. I watch these, trying not to think about how horny I am.
But my frustration is mounting. It's been over a year since I was last with a girl, and I crave to be touched, loved, used... usually I can suppress the urge during the day, but at night it returns, amplified, and I must either suffer in silence or play with myself to vent some of the need.
I'm tipsy, but not too drunk to orgasm easily, so the choice is clear. It's warm in the cabin, so I strip off my top, pants and briefs and lie there, enjoying the sensation of the cool air on my skin. Slowly, I reach down to myself with my right hand, caressing my sparsely-covered mons. I'm amused and yet unsurprised to find that I'm rather wet. Truth be told, I've been aching for a couple of hours now, and had to really restrain myself from pressing up against Em at the saloon table.
My finger slips gently between my lips, sending small tingles up my spine. My clit, already engorged, stands proud from my inner lips, and I slowly start to stroke around it as I give myself the attention I so desperately need. I close my thighs on my hand, enjoying the sensation of pressure it creates on my outer lips, then spread them again so that I can stroke further down to and into my entrance. I can feel my nipples harden, and I bring my left hand up to gently stroke first my left and then my right nipple and from there the undersides of my breasts.
I can't help but imagine Emma touching me like this, and I let slip a small moan before I clench my jaw. The last thing I need is to wake her up.
The fingers of my right hand are slick with me now, and I move my left down too so that I can work my index and middle fingers into my soaking vagina while I stroke myself silly with my right. I plateau slowly, hampered by the alcohol in my system. I can feel small drops of sweat forming and rolling down over my chest and stomach as my breathing becomes ragged.
Slowly I build. My muscles start to tense as I come close, and I arch my back, driving hard down into myself. My climax takes me then, hard; my body spasms and I gasp for breath, fingers playing a mad fugue on and around my clit and lips. It passes like a wave, and I slump back onto the bed, panting.
Slowly my heart-rate drops and I lie, languidly watching the roof, feeling Indigo move beneath me, listening to the gentle slap of waves on the hull and the dry creaking of mooring lines stretching and easing.
Loneliness finds me eventually, and I roll over onto my side, curling into a ball. It's a futile carryover from my youth, where I made myself small to try to hide from things that upset me.
Once again, I fall asleep to the sensation of an empty bed around me and an aching, hollow hole in my heart where someone should be.
--
Conversation wakes me. I uncurl, roll over onto my back, and listen. I hear Emma's voice; she's having a muffled one-sided discussion, I presume with her cellphone. I pull on my discarded panties and shirt and slip quietly off my bed, out through the door, and into the saloon.
Quickly, I work out that she's talking to Alan, and I can hear from her voice that she's been crying.
Anger seizes me, and I stomp to her door, pushing it open. Em's face is illuminated by her cellphone, and the streaks of tears glitter on her cheeks. This pushes me into my Red Zone, as I call it.
Em yelps in surprise as I grab her cellphone from her. I hold up a finger to forestall any argument from her, and listen to Alan grovelling for a short while.
Then I interrupt him.
"Alan? This is Isabel. You're a cunt. Don't bother phoning back. I'm removing Emma's phone's battery. Fuck off and die in a fire."
I hang up. Emma's mouth makes a little 'O' of surprise as I do as I'd threatened, yanking the backplate of her Samsung off and freeing it from its slavery to electricity.
"Do I need to confiscate this?" I ask her, waving the battery at her.
"No. I'm actually glad you did that. He wouldn't stop phoning."
"Fucking ingrate," I mutter. "Was he trying to weasel out of it? Did he trip and accidentally put his cock in her pussy?"
"He claims it was only once, and that it didn't mean anything," she says, quietly.
"They all read the same script, don't they?"
She sighs. I place the phone and battery on top of the cabin locker, and then climb into the bed with her.
"Bella?"
"Shush," I say, as I pull her into my arms. She resists, briefly, before giving in and curling up hard against me, crying silently.
And again, there's nothing I can do but hold her until the shaking stops.
Eventually, she sleeps. I, however, lie awake for a long time plotting vengeance scenarios.
--
Sunlight wakes me, of course, and I ease myself out of bed, trying not to wake Emma. I feel wooly-headed from the disturbed sleep and quantity of wine I drank, and I rub at my eyes as I sit down at the navigation station and turn on the VHF radio set. It's just gone seven in the morning, and the Solent Inshore weather forecast is broadcast on the half-hour, so I have time to wake up. I fill the kettle and turn it on, then check Indigo's batteries and water levels, both of which are fine. Fuel levels are a little over three-quarters of a tank, which is more than enough for where I plan to go this weekend.
The kettle boils, and I make myself a cup of coffee and Emma a cup of hot chocolate, which I leave on the small platform next to her bed.
I open the companionway hatch to let the cabin vent, and poke my head out. The sun's already well above the horizon and it looks to be a glorious day. I sip my coffee, happily enjoying the faint stirring of breeze. I'm looking forward to getting the sails up later.
The VHF set crackles into life, and I quickly turn down the volume as I hear Emma making protesting noises from her cabin.
"All stations, all stations, all stations, this is Solent Coastguard, Solent Coastguard, Solent Coastguard, with an important Maritime Safety Announcement."
I turn the set down further, and listen as the Coastguard issue the inshore weather forecast. Nothing hectic in the next six to twelve hours, though the wind will freshen from the west. Tonight and tomorrow could be more interesting; there is a low pressure cell moving in from the North Atlantic which could perhaps change course and bring rain and high winds to the Solent. I make a note to have us berthed well before dusk.
But for the morning, certainly, all should be well.
I hear Em moving around. She emerges after a short while, an attractive yawn on legs, tousle-haired and sandy-eyed. She sips her hot chocolate and gives me a small, distracted smile. I, meanwhile, try not to stare at the way her boy-shorts frame her bum.
"Morning, gorgeous," I drawl at her.
"Weather?" she asks, smiling sleepily at me and yawning again.
"Fine for now, dire this evening, perhaps," I answer. "We'll tie up somewhere and get drunk."
"Sounds delicious." she says. Then she puts her cup down, and walks over to me. She wraps her arms around me, and squeezes me tightly. "Thank you for looking after me last night, Bella."
"Em, you'd do the same for me. Don't mention it," I say, uncomfortably aware of the feel of her body against me. I look up at her, shove my discomfort aside, and smile at her. "You ok?"
"Better now that I've had a hug. What's for breakfast?"
I ponder. "We need to do a supply run. I'm thinking Gosport or Cowes this evening, so supper will be pub grub, but we do need stuff for lunch too."
"Cowes. Lets go to Cowes. I like it there."
"Ok then. Breakfast and lunch run to Tesco?"
"Deal," she says. She nips back into her cabin, and I'm titillated by the snatched glimpses of her stripping and dragging on tracksuit pants and a tee-shirt.
"Nice floorshow," I call, amused. I hear her throaty laugh.
"Stop perving, I'm your sister," she calls back at me, then shoots me a wink. I snort and shake my head, filing bits of her performance away for my later amusement.
--
"Let go bow!" I call. Indigo's engine is ticking over at a shade over fifteen hundred RPM, enough to give her headway and trigger the bow thruster circuits so that I'll be able to use the thruster to maneuver us out of the berth.
"Bow clear!" comes Em's shouted response. I lean over and slip the half-hitch that's securing the final line from Indigo's stern to the jetty, and hurriedly pull the short working end back on deck to prevent it fouling the propellor. Indigo noses out of her berth, and I put the helm hard over starboard, giving her a solid three second burst of bow thruster to aid the turn once we're clear of the end of the berth.
"Freedom!" Em calls to me. I grin, then concentrate on getting Indigo into the channel while Emma tidies the deck and stows the lines and fenders. Then she comes and stands alongside me in the cockpit. I smile at her, then step aside.
You have the helm," I say.
"Oh... ok, I have the helm," she answers, stepping into my place and taking the wheel in both hands.
"Give us a bit more throttle and then take us out through the breakwater. Try to keep to the starboard side of the channel."
"What's our depth under keel?" she asks, and I smile at the way she's soaking up the art of helming a boat.
"Plenty, tide's coming in so we're in no danger of touching anywhere. I'll yell if we're somewhere we shouldn't be. Relax and enjoy, skipper!" She laughs, and I climb onto the transom behind her so that I can keep an eye on where we are. And, by virtue of my position, on her.
Em is dressed in short white linen pants and a turquoise sleeveless vest. The straps of her olive-green bikini top are fastened in a scrappy bow behind the nape her neck. She's wearing deck shoes (without socks) and a pair of fashion sunglasses are spread over the brim of the tatty cap she's pulled onto her head. The end of her ponytail flutters like a pennant in the breeze. I can clearly see the freckles from numerous childhood sunburns that speckle her shoulders.
She's in her element, and it's a delight for me to be able to watch her like this.
"Bring us a bit further over to the centre of the channel as we pass the Lifeboat training dock," I say. She nods and eases the wheel a few degrees to port. She advances the throttle a shade and we pick up some speed. I eye the log; we're making four and a half knots, which is ample for the marina channel and entrance.
"We'll kill the donkey and bring up the sails once we're beyond the channel entrance," I say. Emma nods again, distracted. She's keeping a beady eye on the various channel markers, and I have time to relax. I watch the banks slip past and wave to the RNLI training centre crew, as well as a few Royal Navy Reserve yachts which are coming into Lymington after early morning race training sessions.
As we nose out into the Solent proper, I take a good look at the conditions. All seems fine, so after a quick look around to ensure we're clear of traffic I nod to Em. "Bring us into the wind, and get ready to throttle back!"
"Yes ma'am!" she says, saluting. I stick my tongue out at her and am rewarded by another laugh. Then I get to work unfurling the mainsail and genoa, keeping both partially reefed since it's just Em and I on Indigo and I'd rather have too little sail than too much.
"She's all yours, bear off to a broad reach and let's head for Cowes!" I say, having to raise my voice over the flapping of the sails. Em obliges, spinning the helm to starboard. As we pass out of the eye of the wind, the sails fill. I ease the genoa, then ease the main, and soon we are reaching downwind in the direction of the Isle of Wight. Emma puts the engine into neutral and kills the ignition, and sailing in its purest form descends on us: sun, sails, a good boat, and a wind to move her.
Em is grinning toothily at me, and the grin proves infectious. I stand next to her by the wheel and just amuse myself for a moment, watching her.
"What?" she asks, after a while.
"You were born for this," I say. "You were born to be on the water."
"We're waterbabies, you and I."
"I'm glad you're here," I tell her.
She reaches out to wrap her left arm around me, pulling my hip against hers. "So am I, Bella. So am I."
--
Once I'm confident we're past the five metre depth contour I drop down into the cabin and start breakfast. It's simple; cheese, parma ham and tomato slices on whole wheat bagels, and coffee to keep us lubricated. I adjust naturally to the pitching and rolling as Indigo slips downwind, hardly noticing the occasional larger swell. I carry the tray of bagels up and put it on the leeward cockpit seat, then clamber back down and re-emerge with two cups of coffee. I hand Emma hers and she accepts it happily, steering with one hand and holding her cup with the other.
I eat my bagel while keeping a weather eye out, but the Solent is pretty empty where we are. I can see plenty of yachts further to the east near Cowes, which makes sense given its prominence in British maritime tradition. More sails are visible to the southwest near Hurst castle and onwards towards the Needles. But for now, we're alone in our own wide space of water. Radio traffic also seems to be limited, bar the occasional idiot irritating the Solent Coastguard with requests for radio checks.
I lean back and watch the sails, then lean further back and just watch Em as she steers us with confidence. I watch the way her arms move, the way her muscles tense and relax as she adjusts to the roll of the boat. I watch the way her vest slips slightly to the side. I watch the horizon in her sunglass lenses. I watch the small smile as it forms.
"You're watching me again," she says levelly.
"Sorry, force of habit. I like seeing you happy."
"Make yourself useful and tell me what you've been up to. I haven't heard any scandals for at least a month."
I smile wryly. "My life is empty of scandal, Em. I have no social life."
"I'm appalled," she says, deadpan.
"Shush, you," I mutter. "Not all of us are able to render our desired gender senseless with a gesture."
"Oh crap, Isabel," Emma says. "You're a gorgeous woman. You just haven't learned how to hunt yet."
"I'm beginning to think my prey is extinct."
"Oh, really?" Emma asks, cocking her head at me.
"I think all the girls are taken," I say, sadly.
"They're out there," she answers. "You're just not looking hard enough."
--
It takes us several hours to make our way from Lymington to Cowes (a distance of some ten or so nautical miles) mainly due to the action of the tide against us from mid-morning onwards. We pass the entrance to the River Medina, and proceed around the headland to Osborne bay, where we drop anchor for lunch. The wind has freshened slightly, and wispy cirrus clouds are starting to waft across the sky from the west.
"That the bad weather you mentioned?" Emma asks.
"Yeah, a low pressure cell. Looks like it's coming through quicker than forecast," I answer. "Can you make lunch, Em? I'll see about getting us a berth at East Cowes."
I duck down below and contact the marina, quickly negotiating a berth for us for the night, close in to the river bank where the chop and wind will be slightly less severe. Meanwhile, Emma bustles around the saloon, whipping up a salad and getting some hummus, bread and cheese for us to nibble on.
"All sorted?" she asks, as I replace the VHF handset.
"Yep, East Cowes for the night, they're pretty full but they have space for us. They'll be more sheltered than other options around here. Last thing we need is to be kept awake by chop and wash."
"Agreed. Food's ready," she announces.
"Awesome. Let's carry it out onto the deck."
We set up in the cockpit, sitting on either side of the companionway and leaning against the forward cockpit bulkhead. Em hands me my plate and I place it to one side as I pour us both a glass of wine.
"Bit early to be starting, isn't it?" Em asks with a grin.
"Nonsense. We're sailors, and sailors drink. Well known fact," I respond.
"They drink rum, not cabernet franc."
"Shall I pour yours over the side, then?"
"I didn't say that," Em laughs. "Give it here." She takes her glass, careful not to spill any drops on the teak decking, and raises it to me. "Here's to being in the great outdoors, with you."
"Cheers," I echo, taking a sip of the wine before putting my glass aside so that I can take a bite of cheese. "Thanks for organising the lunch, Em."
"Consider it a partial repayment of my debts," she answers.
"What debts?"
"Allowing me to come with you this weekend, looking after me, telling Alan to go fuck himself... the list goes on."
I laugh. "I did find that last one very satisfying, I must confess."
"I wouldn't have had the strength," she says. Then she sighs. "I'm just so tired of the bullshit that comes with relationships, Bella."
"Take it from me, I think the bullshit probably trumps the loneliness of being single," I answer.
"At least you don't have to deal with the constant stress of dealing with someone else's attitude and issues," she mutters.
"I'd trade that for waking up in an empty bed any day of the week."
We sit in a brief patch of silence and I eat some salad, listening to the waves lapping against the hull.
"I guess I haven't been single long enough in the last couple of years to remember what it feels like," she says apologetically.
"It sucks, but I guess it's my base state," I offer. "I can't remember ever actually being in anything long-term."
"And sex?" she asks, curious.
"Um... non-existent. I might as well be a nun," I answer, shifting uncomfortably.
"Ugh," she sympathises. "I can't even imagine that. It'd be like not eating."
"Slut," I mutter with a grin.
"Oi. Not my fault I like physical contact."
"You and me, both," I sigh. "You're just far better at getting it."
"Guys are easy," she agrees.
"I tried being direct. It doesn't work that well," I say, with a wry laugh. "Lots of women take offense."
"Who'd be offended by a hottie like you asking them out?" she asks, amused.
"More of them than you'd think, clearly," I reply. "Sometimes it's easier just to watch."
"So what is it that gets you looking?" she asks, leaning back against the bulkhead.
"Honestly? Nice legs, a slender build, and dark hair. A pretty face doesn't hurt either. But mainly I notice the legs."
Em crosses her own long, delicious legs and I again force my attention to the shoreline, the horizon, the water... quite literally anything but her. Her linen pants are riding up her thighs, showing the definition of her flanks and making things a little warm for me. I bounce my foot in frustration and sip my wine again.
Em puts her plate and glass aside and stretches her arms upwards behind her back. I watch out the corner of my eyes as her breasts strain against the fabric of her vest. I could swear that she has nipplestand, but that could just be my imagination playing tricks on me.
A short-lived gust of wind breaks my reverie as it swings Indigo around her anchor chain, and I sit up straighter. Cirrus and cirrostratus clouds are now crowding in from the west, and it's clear that the weather is changing. I stand and climb onto the port cockpit seat for a better view of the approaching change, then duck downstairs quickly to check the barometer, which has dropped noticeably in the last two hours.
"We should probably get moving soon," I say as I clamber back out onto the deck. Em stands as well, taking up position next to me. She rests a hand on my shoulder to steady herself, and I find myself distracted by the feel of her hip against mine.
"How long do we have?" she asks, curious.
I shrug. "A couple of hours I think. It's going to take us an hour or so at least to get back around the point with the wind in this direction. Unless we just use the engine and take the lazy way out."
"I, for one, vote for the donkey," she says. "Sailing would be fun but I'd rather we were safely moored before things get ridiculous out here."
"You read my mind."
--
Indigo's engine rumbles to life, and I let her idle while Em and I ensure the sails are furled and that all the lines are clear of the cockpit and winches. Em then clambers up to the bow and opens the anchor locker to retrieve the windlass control. She looks back to me and gives me a thumbs up, indicating that she's good to go. I advance the throttle a shade, and Indigo slowly starts to nose forward into the wind. I hear Em winding the anchor chain in, and soon she's guiding the anchor onto the bow rollers. "Anchor clear!" she yells back to me, and I give us more power as we start our trip back to Cowes.
Em bends forward to stow the windlass control in the anchor locker, and I can't help but enjoy the view she gives me of her pants pulled tight over her bum. Then she's standing and working her way back down the starboard side of Indigo to the cockpit, and I shift slightly so she can come stand next to me again.
We force our way upwind through slowly building whitecaps; a glance at the wind speed indicator shows that the wind is now holding steady well over eighteen knots. In the distance I can see the first scudding mid-level clouds which herald the approaching warm front and associated storm. Em stays by my side, safely in the middle of the cockpit, reaching out occasionally to steady herself on my shoulder as we nose through the swell.
Slowly we round the headland near Norris Castle, and as we do so the waves build noticeably. We hug the shore and the new small boat channel, turning southwest to duck into the relatively sheltered entrance to the River Medina. I ease the throttle so that we don't exceed the marina speed limit, and Em starts setting the fenders and mooring lines on Indigo's starboard side.
I nose us into our berth, then put us gently astern while Em steps down and locks off the bow mooring line. Then I put Indigo back into idle and Em and I work fast to secure her to the jetty, rigging extra lines because of the incoming weather. Once I'm happy Indigo's not going anywhere I kill the engine. I quickly hook us up to shore power, then clamber back on board where I stand looking out to the rapidly darkening west.
The wind is now clearly audible, whistling through the rigging of other moored yachts alongside us. The temperature has dropped and the sky is now wholly covered with high level cloud. Em has goosebumps and I am also feeling a bit chilly.
"It's going to be a big one," I mutter.
"Good reason to get drunk," she responds with a smile.
"Wine in the cabin or wine in the pub?' I ask her.
"Wine in the cabin first, then in the pub?" she counters.
"Suits me," I answer. I grab and furl the ensign and we head downstairs. Em pours the poison while I stow the ensign and check that Indigo is charging properly. She holds out my glass and I take a grateful sip, then she and I take up our stations in our accustomed lurking spot on the saloon bench.
I can feel Indigo shifting and rocking slightly as gusts hit us. "I hope you're going to be able to sleep tonight," I mutter, sourly.
Em snorts, shaking her head. "I'm tired enough to sleep through a thunderstorm," she answers. "Chalk it up to being utterly emotionally drained."
"So today didn't help you recharge at all?" I ask, saddened.
"Oh, Bella. Of course it did. But... you know how it is."
"Yeah, I guess I do," I reply. "You feeling ok?"
"A bit brittle, but glad I'm with you and not at home, eating ice cream and chocolate and wallowing..."
I laugh. "That's a cute image. But yes, pub food and drunkenness tops ice cream wallowing any day in my book."
"Cheers to that," she answers, clinking my glass. I smile at her, enjoying the quiet camaraderie of the moment. Em lifts her legs and rests them across my lap, leaning back into the corner. "Do you mind?"
"Of course not," I answer. "You know that I'm your slave."
"Slave, huh?" she replies, eyes twinkling. "Don't offer what you're not prepared to give, you'll get into trouble."
"Don't escalate what you're guaranteed to lose," I return with a snort. Em laughs. I lean into the corner, enjoying the weight of her calves on my thighs.
"So..." she says, whimsically.
"So?" I respond.
"Tell me something that's a secret," she says.
I raise an eyebrow.
"Oh, come on," she wheedles. "We're going to be stuck in here for at least an hour or two before it's late enough to go to dinner, and I'm bored and frustrated."
"Frustrated, how?" I ask.
"Deeply, if you know what I mean," she answers with a pout.
"Um... that's classifiable as overshare," I answer, stalling for time.
"Oh come on, Isabel. Don't get all puritan on me. Tell me a secret. Amuse me," she says with an imperious wave of her hand.
"Ok then," I answer, amused. "Naughty or nice?"
"Naughty."
"I wear boy's briefs from Marks and Spencers, mainly because a girl I slept with did and they looked so comfortable that I had to try it myself."
"Really?" she answers, intrigued. "Do I know her?"
"Nope, she was a one-night stand in second year."
"Pity," Em answers. "You should have got your hooks into her. Ok, your turn."
"My turn?"
"To ask something, silly."
"Oh... um, ok. How old were you when you first kissed someone?"
Em leans back, grinning like a tiger. "Fifteen."
"Fifteen?" I ask, amused. I sip my wine.
"Yeah. Her lips tasted awesome," Em responds.
"Her lips?" To say I'm surprised would be an understatement.
"You've had your chance. My turn now," Em counters.
I eye her, twirling my glass slightly as I wait for her question. Try as I might, I can't visualise Emma kissing a girl. I mean... I can, obviously, but it seems to run counter to everything I thought I knew about her. I shift, slightly, trying to ignore her proximity.
"What's the most daring thing you've ever done?" she asks.
I pretend to think, but the answer is, shamefully, an obvious one. "I went to lectures without underwear, in a short skirt."
"Bella!" she laughs. "You're an exhibitionist! I never knew."
"There's a lot of me you don't know," I answer, smirking. Em shakes her head and rolls her eyes.
"My turn again?" I ask. She nods.
I think. "What's the raunchiest thing you've ever done?"
Em purses her lips. "There're a lot of candidates there. Lets say, for argument's sake, that it's wearing a corset, cat mask and little else to a masked ball."
"That's not very raunchy at all," I protest. "That hardly classifies. The scale doesn't even move!"
"I'm not drunk enough to tell you the depraved stuff," she answers, sipping her wine and looking smug.
"Is there a lot of that?" I ask, curious.
"A fair amount," she says in a matter of fact way. "I lead a double life as an adult film actress, after all."
"Yeah, right," I snort, shaking my head.
"When did you sleep with your first girl?"
I sigh. "First year university. I was drunk and she was available."
"Regrets?" she asks.
"No, it was what I needed at the time, Em."
She leans back, and once again I am confronted by the distracting swell of her breasts under her vest. I almost miss her question.
"Describe it," she says.
"Sorry?"
"Tell me about sex with your first girl," she says.
"Um... Why?"
The boat rocks in a gust, and Emma grins. "Because. Because I'm bored, newly single, horny, and curious about what it was like for you. Also," she says with a nod of her head towards the companionway, "we're trapped below decks till the storm clears."
"It's not even raining yet," I protest.
"Bella, you're killing my mood," she chides.
"Oh good grief, ok, you win," I mutter. I put down my wineglass and sit up straighter. "You're a perve."
She doesn't bother to deny it, opting instead to settle back with an amused grin and wait.
I think back, remembering. "My memory is fuzzy, but I'll tell you what I remember. She was dressed in faded jeans and a tight white tee-shirt. I was getting a drink and she came up and leaned against me. Told me I was sexy and that I had pretty eyes."
"Right on both counts," Em interjects.
"Shush. Right, so, I bought her a drink and she dragged me to a table, told me her name, chatted to me a bit, dragged me onto the dance-floor... where she started to make out with me. It was nice."
"Nice, she says," Em drawls. I laugh.
"More than nice, then. I wanted her, and likewise. We went back to her room. She put on music and sat on my lap while we kissed. Then she got her top off. Her breasts were awesome. Small, pale, warm and soft to the touch. Salty from her sweat. I remember she had goosebumps. I did too when I stripped for her."
I realise that talking is turning me on. I hope my nipples are not showing.
What happened then?" Em asks quietly.
"She went down on me," I say, shivering slightly at the memory. "Lets say she was skilled and leave it there. I came hard, lost count of the number of times. Then she put a finger in me and I saw God."
"Jesus, that's hot."
"At some point she stripped. Her pussy was bare. She tasted delicious. She'd worked out I was inexperienced and taught me a bit. She was a moaner. I loved licking and sucking her."
Em sighs. "Being licked is lovely."
I try hard to ignore her proximity. but it's difficult; her calves are warm on my thighs and I can hear her breathing. She shifts a bit, and I begin to suspect she's also uncomfortable.
"So, my turn to ask details then," I say.
"Damn, I was enjoying the description," Em says with a pout. "Fair is fair though."
"What does a penis feel like, when it's in you?"
Em's eyes open wide, and she says nothing for a short while. "I forget, sometimes," she apologises.
"Forget?" I ask.
"I sleep with girls too, Bella, just not often. I forget you're not bi."
"Wait, backtrack," I say, unable to believe my ears.
"Nuh uh," Em laughs. "You asked something already, so I get to answer. So. How to describe a cock to you. Firstly... I guess the most surprising thing is that it's hard but soft at the same time. It spreads me but doesn't hurt... Unless I'm dry. So not like a dildo, unless you've got a softer rubber one. With me so far?"
"Uh huh," I manage.
"Ok. So, I'm hot. Dripping. Engorged lips, breasts, you name it. You must get that ache deep in your belly, sometimes, right?"
I simply nod, not trusting myself to speak as I listen, rapt.
"Add the head of a hard cock and its worse. I physically need it. That first centimeter of penetration, as my lips spread over him... God, Bella, I can't describe it. And then... The feeling as his shaft slips into me, until his balls are nestled against me...." Em shivers. "The heat of it, the pressure inside, the way it bends to fit me properly, the way it presses against my clit and inner lips... Fuck, you can't better that. I don't think anything can."
I shiver slightly, then shift. Em takes her legs off my thighs. I shoot her a look. She's flushed.
"Fresh air?" I ask her.
"Definitely. I'm overheating," she says with a laugh, as she squirms slightly on the bench.
"In linens and a vest?" I tease her.
"Different kind of heat," she says, softly, dropping her eyes.
I say nothing, because there's nothing safe to say. Instead I open the hatch and stick my head out. It is now noticeably darker and I am glad we are tied up where we are.
"Oi," Em says, slapping me on the bum. I clamber back below where she presents me with a recharged glass and a wide smile.
"Getting me drunk so you can take advantage of me, I see," I tease her.
"Would it work?" she asks, amused.
"I'm a cheap date," I answer,shrugging.
"Hot girls are never cheap," she says sadly.
"Oh, Em," I protest.
"What, Bella? It's the truth. You're a complete sex pot."
"Not half as hot as you are," I respond automatically. I'm blessed with the brief spectacle of Emma being rendered speechless before my ears catch up with my mouth. I shake my head and start to frame an apology as the blush of embarrassment crawls its way up my throat.
"Em, I..."
Emma reaches out, silencing me with a fingertip to my lips. She takes my wineglass and sets it aside, then wraps her arms around me and just holds me.
"You've always been my best cheerleader," she says, after a while. "Thank you, Bella."
"Forgiven?" I ask.
"What's to forgive?" she asks with a smile. "I love honest compliments."
"In that case, your hugs are awesome too."
She squeezes me, then returns my wine to me. "Still overheating," she mutters. She pauses, and then reaches down and in a single fluid motion pulls off her vest, leaving just her bikini top in place. I try not to stare, but the small smile stays on her lips.
"I don't mind you looking, you know," she says softly.
"Sorry?" I stammer, taken aback.
"I like when you watch me the way you do. I enjoy the honesty of it. I know you've been watching me all day. It doesn't bug me at all. I just wanted to tell you you don't have to hide it."
"I can't help it," I murmur. "You fit my type. It's unconscious for me."
She smiles a small smile and slips in behind the saloon table again. Her nipples are now unmistakably erect, plainly visible through the sheer fabric of her top. I try not to stare, unnerved slightly by the smile and the way her eyes seem to have darkened.
"I'm a closet exhibitionist," she says, arching her back slightly. "I like to be appreciated. By select people. You're one of them."
"Even though I'm your sister?"
"Especially since. I can trust you with my secrets."
"True," I say. "Snitches get stitches after all."
"Plus... the taboo aspect makes it hotter," she purrs. "Now... tell me what you'll give me if I take my bikini top off."
"Um..."
"Isabel," Emma sighs. "I'm extremely sexually frustrated. We're having some harmless fun, to while away the time, and then we can lock ourselves in our cabins and work it out before supper. Or at least, that's my plan."
I fight down the mental image of Emma playing with herself. "It's a good plan," I offer nonchalantly. "I will probably try it too."
"So, then, stop being a killjoy and offer me a trade for this, " she says, as she runs a teasing finger down between her breasts.
On a whim, I pull off my tee-shirt, then slip a finger under my sports bra and lift it slightly. "Cleavage?" I offer.
"Done," says Emma, as she reaches around to undo her top. I pull my sports bra off and over my head, then straighten and watch her as she slowly peels herself free. Her perfect pale breasts are as I remember them; delicious in a way that makes me want to nuzzle, touch, taste. Sublime. Her stomach is flat, defined, and there's only the slightest hint of spare weight around her waist. I slip in next to her at the table and lean back, stomach slightly butterfly-ridden.
"God, you're delicious," I say quietly, admiringly, as I feel the hot demanding ache building steadily between my legs.
She quirks an eyebrow and grins. "I could get used to the compliments, Bella."
"If I were dating someone with boobs like yours I'd never leave home."
"Yours are pretty special too, missy," she responds huskily.
"Pity nobody wants mine," I lament, glancing ruefully downwards at myself and pouting.
Em coughs. I eye her. "What?" I ask, suspiciously.
"I want to ask you something, Bella. But you have to promise to keep it private."
"Who'm I going to tell?" I ask, waving a hand. "Just the two of us here."
"Promise," she says, leaning forward intently.
"I promise," I say, slightly distracted by how her breasts swing as she moves.
"What if I told you that I had a crush on someone?"
"Someone?" I ask.
"A girl someone," she says, dropping her gaze.
"I'd say whoever it was was a lucky woman," I reply, trying to hide the dismay I feel. "Very lucky."
"Why?" she asks, reaching out to touch my knee.
"Because. Because, if I could have someone as loyal and loving as you, I'd never have to be afraid of being alone. I'd never have to fear waking up fifty and single, staring at the Reaper. I'd never be without someone to talk to, someone to hold me when it's dark and scary outside. Someone who'd let me love her no matter what..."
The alcohol in my system has clearly weakened my walls, because I suddenly realise that I have tears tracking their way down my cheeks. I scrub angrily at them as I turn my face aside to try to hide my moment of weakness, to try to force down the sadness so that it can't ruin the moment.
I fail.
"Oh, Bella," Em sighs sadly. I hear her put her glass aside. I feel her clamber up onto the bench so she can grab me and drag me into a fierce embrace. I feel the hot breath she sighs out against me as she squeezes me against her.
I feel all these things, but they are grey phantasms against the black bitter ache of the loneliness I sob out quietly into the crook of her neck.
"I fucking hate this," I whisper eventually, hoarse and drained. "I hate being weak and alone. I hate having nobody to share with. Nobody to do this for me. To hold me. To be there when it's all grey."
"Why didn't you say something to me, Bella? Jesus, if you're hurting this much you have to tell me so I can help you."
"You can't help with this. You have your own life to live. I need to make peace with mine."
She holds me, silent for a while. Then she sighs and lets me go. I wipe my eyes and sniff, ashamed of my weakness. Em gently strokes my neck and shoulders, letting me calm down at my own pace.
"Time for supper?" she asks, after a while.
"Sorry I killed the mood," I offer, softly, scrubbing at my eyes.
"Your happiness is more important to me than sexy stories," she replies as she pulls her top back on. "Never forget that, Bella. No matter what, you are worth more than anything else to me."
"Thanks, Em," I whisper.
"Come on," she says, "put your clothes on and let's go eat something. My treat."
I summon a weak smile, stand, pull on my vest and a fleece, scrub my eyes once more, and clamber up into the cockpit after her.
--
I listlessly move my chips around my plate, listening to the storm building outside. We're sitting in a quiet corner near the fire. The view outside is bleak, punctuated by the large but still infrequent drops of rain which spatter against the window. Emma sits quietly next to me, polishing off the last of her pasta verde and shooting me occasional, unreadable looks.
I pick up my wine, a reasonable Chilean white, and take another sip. Truth be told I'm not feeling particularly hungry, but experience informs me that I'll regret not finishing my meal... probably at three in the morning, knowing my luck.
I sigh, and Em leans in to bump her shoulder hard against mine. "Eat your food, Bella," she says.
"Not hungry," I complain, but I comply anyway, finishing off a few more of my chips. The sporadic blat-blat of rain on the glass fits my mood.
I feel strangely bleak and flat, and this bugs me more than normal. I guess it's something to do with the various revelations Emma has made today: that she's been with girls, that she's currently crushing on one, and that she's never told me any of this before. I guess I feel a little excluded, and my current downer is a manifestation of sulkiness. I sigh again.
"Don't make me spank you," Em warns. "Buck up, buttercup."
I snort, but can't help smiling briefly. Em gets fiercely protective of me at times, and it makes me feel safe and warm to know she's there, to know that she cares.
I sit up slightly straighter as the waiter comes by, and order a creme brulee and a refill of my wine. Em orders some sticky toffee pudding and an espresso, and smiles a quick thanks at the waiter as he clears our mains and cutlery away. Then she, too, leans backwards, and reaches out to wrap her left arm around me, pulling me hard in against her.
"You're not allowed to bottle your emotions up from me, Bella" she says, quietly.
"I can't help it, it's a hard habit to break," I murmur. "Years of practice to undo."
"You have to talk to someone. I'm available to listen, if you want to talk."
"I know," I answer. "And you need to know how much I appreciate that... how much I appreciate you. But... I can't talk about it right now or I'll end up bawling again. Can we talk about something else instead? Just for now? Please?"
"Ok, for now then," she accedes.
Moderately awkward silence descends, and I grapple around for a safe topic.
"Where would you go in the world, right now, if you had no constraints?" I ask.
She leans back. "Greece, I think. Or, at least, somewhere warm with blue water and white sand. I need a long, quiet lurk on a beach somewhere, away from phones and people."
"We could do it, you know," I offer, hesitantly.
Emma smiles at me. "You could. I, alas, have bills to pay and employees to look after."
"I'm sure they wouldn't miss you for two weeks, Emma. When was the last time you took a holiday?"
"Too long ago, Bella."
"If I bought you a ticket, would you come?"
"Mm... I suppose I could be persuaded. But it will cost you."
"I'll pay the price gladly if it means some quality time with you."
"I will hold you to that, Bella. But my turn now. Where would you go? You have the ability but you don't seem to have the drive."
I sigh. "Iceland," I answer. "I would go to Iceland to see the Northern Lights. But I get lonely by myself, which is why I don't go."
Emma blesses me with an indulgent smile. "I've also always wanted to see the Aurorae. Book the tickets and I'll book the leave."
"Promise?"
"Cross my heart," she answers seriously, doing the same. I can't help but watch her finger as it trails over her breast. She grins slightly as she notices. "Seems your mood is improving again."
"It's the prospect of spending more time with you," I answer softly.
Her grin fades, and she reaches out to run her fingers through my hair, but says nothing. Our dessert arrives, and Emma tucks into hers with relish; she has always had a sweet tooth. I, meanwhile, sip my wine and fantasise about her and I and the various places I'd love to drag her. Then I take a mouthful of creme brulee, and try to devote to it the attention it merits.
Rain beads on the glass, wind howls through the rigging of boats, and Emma's leg is warm against mine. I could almost be content were it not for the heavy stone of loneliness in my chest.
I drink, and then just for a change I drink some more.
--
"God's teeth, this wind!" shrieks Em as we stagger out through the front door of the pub and into the biting gale.
"Hurry, we're going to get soaked if we loiter out here," I yell. I take her hand, and we jog unsteadily down the pier and out onto the pontoons. The wood is slippery and we have one or two near-catastrophes, but we make it back to Indigo without falling or drowning ourselves. Em hops around in desperation as I fumble the keys in my chilled hands.
"Jesus Christ!" I swear in frustration as I finally manage to get the hatchway open. We hurriedly bundle ourselves downstairs into the hot muggy twilight of the saloon, and I yank the companionway hatch closed behind us. Rain spatters on the outside of Indigo's hull, and she shimmies at her moorings in the wind and swell.
"Wow," says Emma, breathlessly.
"Yeah. It's a hooligan," I answer, bracing myself as a gust blows through.
"Thank God we came in when we did," she says as she peels off her waterproof jacket and pulls her damp hair out of her face. She kicks her boat shoes off and I do the same.
"We timed it perfectly," I agree, and I peel off my socks and scoot them into a corner for the morning. I turn up the heating and strip out of my own jacket, hanging it on a handrail to the side of the cabin ladder. Then I stand, shivering briefly, rubbing my arms. "It's got bloody freezing all of a sudden."
"Yeah. Pity yachts don't have fireplaces," says Emma.
"I could always buy one that does," I muse, "but I think it would ruin me."
"We'll just have to make do with the heater then, I guess. Tea or coffee?" she asks, turning to the stove.
"Hot chocolate?"
"Ok, can do," she answers, and starts rummaging in a locker.
I duck through into my cabin and grab a towel, and dry off my face, legs and hair while Em turns on the stove. I lean against the cabin wall, watching her as she moves in the soft twilight provided by the cabin downlights, her raven hair wildly tangled and the flush of wind-burn on her cheeks.
"Here," I say, handing her the towel, and she briskly dries her own face and legs, then bends to peel off her socks.
I can't help myself.
"Emma?"
"Mm?" she answers, distractedly.
"Do you actually realise how sexy you are?"
She straightens and turns to me, surprised. "What do you mean, Bella?"
"I mean... do you realise the effect you have on people? Just by being you?"
I step closer to her and reach out, heart thumping, to stroke her cheek as she stands watching me. She shivers slightly. Her eyes are dark and I find them unreadable.
"I guess you must," I muse. "There's no way you couldn't. I mean, I see it in the way you dress, the way you walk... you must be aware of yourself, and how people react to you."
Em smiles slightly at that, and leans back against the counter, watching me. She gives me a small half-shrug, before raising her left hand to cover mine, holding my palm against her cheek.
"I am. And I confess I abuse it. Sometimes."
"God, I wish I could be like you," I sigh, leaning against the saloon bench back.
"You are, Bella," she answers, softly. "You just don't know how to use your powers for evil like I do when it comes to sex. You're thin, lithe, gorgeous. You're intelligent, and generous to a fault. You're gorgeous. You're caring. You're loving. Have I mentioned that you're gorgeous?"
I snort, and she grins at me before continuing. "I'm actually glad you're who you are. You could be a total ladykiller and instead you're just.... you. And I love you for it," she quietly adds, as she slides her hand down my forearm and arm to circle around and cup my shoulder.
I feel something akin to sparks of electricity crawling in the trail of her fingertips, and I take a shuddering breath as I struggle to meet her suddenly intent gaze.
"Isabel," she says, gently.
"Em?"
"How drunk are you?"
"Somewhere between very and excessively", I answer.
"Uh huh." She leans closer. My heart thumps hard in my chest.
"You?" I ask, nervously.
"Same. Maybe slightly less, unless you factor in exhaustion from this week."
She takes a deliberate half-step towards me, and trails her left hand (achingly slowly) down to the small of my back, where she pauses.
"Em..." I whisper, breathlessly.
"Shh," she answers, as she closes the remaining distance.
I feel her gently cup the back of my neck, and she presses herself against me. All I can see is her eyes, dark, glinting with the faint light of the saloon lamps. All I can smell is the scent of her damp hair, touched by the faint underlying spice of her perfume. All I can feel is her body, both firm and soft, pressed against me.
All these things, though, fade to the background as her lips touch mine.
--
How does one describe a kiss from the person to whom you are closest in the world?
Words just don't seem sufficient to properly describe the fire that runs through me, the tingling on my skin, the desperate moan that escapes me as Emma drives herself hard against me, a thigh spreading mine, breasts firm against my own, hand grasping me, trapping me, preventing me from escaping... even if I wanted to.
I don't want that. I want her. Desperately.
--
An entire age of the world seems to pass before I come back to myself, staring into Emma's dark eyes, panting.
"Fuck me," I whisper, unthinkingly.
Emma laughs at that. Flustered, I shake my head, before an attack of giggles takes me. Emma wraps her arms around me, holding me tight, as we both shake with giddy, girlish laughter.
"Nice?" Em manages after a while.
"So nice. So, so nice," I whimper, writhing slightly while I enjoy the sensation of her thigh still pressed between mine. "Wrong, but so nice."
"Wrong how?"
"You're my sister, Em."
"So?"
"So," I answer, "society says that what we just did is wrong. Immoral. Like what you're doing to me now."
"Do I look immoral?" she asks, smiling, as she gently presses her thigh harder against me.
"Very," I groan.
"Good," she responds, releasing me, trailing her arms down to my shoulders. She arches herself backwards, holding on to me, and lets her head loll back as she uses me as support. Then she pulls herself back upright and shoots me an amused smile.