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[This story is a spin off from my recently completed “Unexpected Threesome” series, published in the “Group Sex” heading, so the relationship of the minor characters derives from that story]
Ellen is a doctor, and a friend of mine, at the medical clinic where I am a nurse. She was about five years older than my 21 years, but we’d quickly bonded when she’d joined the clinic because of our mutual interest in sailing.
Mind you, our interests went in slightly different directions.
Ellen had done extensive cruising through the Pacific on a yacht and was now racing it regularly every Wednesday and Saturday. Mine was just Sunday sailing on a small skiff type boat at Avalon Sailing Club – my local dinghy club; something I’d been doing since the age of ten.
She invited me for a day out on a yacht she sailed on. The yacht was looking for some new crew members and this day had been organised to give potentials an introduction to the yacht and let the owner see what they were like.
I have to say, my arrival at the yacht, moored in its marina berth early one Saturday morning just before Christmas, left me feeling somewhat slack jawed and inadequate. It seemed the boat was covered in tall, leggy, stunning women dressed only in the tiniest of bikinis. As I shook each of their hands as I was introduced to them by Ellen, even I found it hard not to stare at the sexualised displays in front of me.
Ellen was my first surprise. I mean, I knew she was very tall, slim and attractive with long naturally blonde hair; but at work she generally wore slacks and a blouse or lower thigh length dresses that flattered her, but nothing like what greeted me that morning. Her bikini was a sky blue number string tied all over. The slide triangles on the top covered barely a third of the flesh of her really nice breasts, leaving an underboob as well as the usual cleavage and side boob and with the outline of her nipples clearly evident in the obviously thin material. The bottoms only came up to just a bit under half way to her navel, with the front just a not very large or wide rectangle, which turned into a cut-away Brazilian at the back. And speaking of Brazilians, the tight fit of her bottoms left not the slightest doubt she had not a skerrick of pubic hair.
I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to look at her at work the same way again.
Ellen first introduced me to Amy.
I’d heard a lot about Amy from Ellen. We’d had a victim of domestic violence in the clinic and Ellen had told me about Amy as a way of explaining how hard it can be for women to escape. A English woman, evidently she’d been about 18 when she took up with this guy and, even though the beatings and other violence and general abuse had become progressively worse, it had taken 10 years for her to escape, and even then she only got away safely by leaving the country.
Which is where Ellen had meet her as they cruised the Pacific.
So allowing for a couple of years since she’d left him, I’d back calculated Amy’s age to be early 30’s. Which is why I was shocked when she looked no more than mid-twenties, if that. English skin I suppose.
Amy was the sort of woman who could make every other woman on the planet feel ugly. A pretty soft smiling face with long auburn, but sun bleached, hair, she was not quite as tall as Ellen; but tall enough and with a beautiful uniform light olive complexion. While slim, she had a shape to her feminine figure to die for; a smooth, nice curve of her hips and nicely fleshed all over but without an ounce of fat on her body. Her breast stood proud and firm from her body; seemingly twice the size of Ellen’s – I would guess a generous c cup, which on her otherwise slim figure, looked enormous.
But that was only the start of where she had it over other women. Her stomach was washboard flat, something that complimented her firm strong body. Her nipples, puffy nipples like mine, even on this warm morning, were already standing proud in her top like a couple of large volcanic cones and, something that even I found a distraction, her mound bulged in her bikini pants in a way that finished the picture of the female equivalent of an overripe piece of fruit ready for picking.
I noticed during the day that every one of the men on board fawned over her at every opportunity; something that was made stranger still by the fact she was the crew boss and ordering them about. All of which might make you think she’d be something of a bitch. But she came across during the day as one of the sweetest, most unassuming women I’ve met.
Still, as we shook hands I was confronted by her in nothing more than the same sort of micro bikini Ellen had on, except with an even more powerful effect. The triangles of her top were no bigger than Ellen’s, trying to cover much larger breasts and that little rectangle of material at the front of her bikini pants, even stretched drum tight, struggled to cover the bulge of her mound. The only difference from Ellen’s bikini was its burnt orange colour and the lack of knots on the strings sides of her bikini bottoms.
I sınırsız escort was starting to wonder whether these bikinis weren’t some sort of crew uniform. I thought the one I had on under the sailing shorts and t shirt I was wearing was pretty sexy, but these ones were challenging my ability to contemplate confidently wearing them.
Ellen then led me back to the cockpit, where an older couple were tidying up the lines. Forgetting for a minute my knowledge of Amy’s history, I had a brief thought they were Amy’s parents. There was a lot of her in both of them; including the way the woman dressed.
Liddy looked in her mid forties, but I found out later she was deep into her fifties. The strong New York accent was the first reminder I had that she wasn’t Amy’s mother. Still, even at her age, she had the same pretty face, long auburn hair and clear olive skin, and much the same figure; perhaps without quite the same perfect washboard stomach and distracting mound. Her breasts were, if anything, larger than Amy’s and abnormally perky in their tiny covering; at least making me wonder about whether they were originals.
I would have said that, at her age, she was brave wearing bikinis of the same style as those of the others, but her trim, taut figure easily allowed her to do so.
Ned, I understood, was the owner of the boat. Very Australian, which made me realise his relationship with Liddy must be fairly recent. He was tall and very well built for someone I understood to be near 60 and came across as very friendly and relaxed, dressed in a blue polo shirt and deck shorts of a matching blue colour.
Ellen then led me up the front to where a woman and two guys were flaking out the genoa on the deck.
The woman was called Issie; another one dressed in these tiny bikinis that seemed to be the boat uniform for women. She was slightly more solidly built than Amy, but being obviously Italian, had the same olive skin. Although smaller breasted and not as flawlessly formed, there was a sultriness about her that more than made up for what she lacked in visual perfection.
Which left me with the two guys, both about 30. Harry was Ellen’s partner and I’d meet him before. Strongly built with a handsome face, it was easy to see what Ellen saw in him; although it would have been easier still if the guys had the sort of semi-naked clothing the girls had. Even so, the blue polo t shirts and deck shorts showed them off nicely.
The other guy was Josh, who I didn’t find out until later was Issie’s partner. Like Harry he was tall, handsome and strong. I decided then that, if this was the standard of males in racing yachts, I was going to have to change the type of sailing I did. Maybe I could even cope with the micro bikinis if that was the reward.
It was about five minutes later that the other two crew for the day showed up.
My eyes immediately fixed on a tall skinny guy dressed in a polo shirt and baggy, bulky cotton shorts. I guessed he was about my age, which made me feel better because so far I seemed to be by far the youngest on board.
He had a masculine, handsome face and broad, strong shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist. As I watched him walk towards the boat I had this sense that I knew him from somewhere. Then the penny dropped that I’d seen him out sailing on Sundays on a Spiral class dinghy that emanated from BYRA; another sailing club on Pittwater that shares our race course.
Walking alongside him was a girl about our age; much shorter but still quite attractive, and, like me dressed, in tight black leggings and a t shirt, with the string ties of a bikini top poking out of the neckline of her shirt. So I was pleased to see there was at least one other girl not running around nearly naked; although the thought occurred to me that if she stripped down to her bikini after she came aboard, I wouldn’t really be sure whether I’d be expected to follow.
It turned out these were friends of Amy from her workplace. Adam turned out to be the guy from BYRA I thought he was and I was chuffed to have him acknowledge that he recognised me too. Kate was also a dinghy sailor, but from a club further South on Sydney Harbour.
I watched with some amusement as Amy did the same round of introductions that Ellen had given me. Adam just clearly didn’t know where to look as he was introduced to each of the women; well he probably knew where he should look, but obviously found it difficult not to be distracted. I even noticed him checking out his workmate Amy on more than one occasion; clearly seeing her in a different perspective from how he viewed her at work. And I could see Kate nearly as equally taken aback as I’d been. But at least she didn’t strip off to a bikini.
As we turned on the engine and prepared to undock, each of the girls slipped below and remerged in a pair of mini, tight fitting blue micro shorts and a very body conforming version of the same long sleeve blue polo shirt that the guys on the bow were wearing; in each case the fronts unbuttoned deeply taksim escort enough to show more than a little cleavage. I could help but wonder just how much of an advantage this boat got in a race due to the distraction is must cause to any adjacent male crews.
The morning was spent practicing a number of sailing drills. Starting with hoisting the sails, then grinding the winches as we tacked, moving up to changing headsails and setting, gybing and dropping the spinnaker and asymmetric.
Through all of this, it was interesting that Amy was the one giving instructions to us as we worked on the foredeck and the winches in the cockpit; teaching us newbies and then standing back and seeing how well we’d absorbed the lessons and worked with the existing crew in some exercises that required some close teamwork from everyone to carry out effectively.
Ellen also was clearly someone of importance on the yacht; sharing helming duties with the owner and often discussing aspects of the sailing with him as they stood together in the aft compartment of the cockpit. Indeed, Ned barely had to say a word sailing wise. It seemed that between them, Amy and Ellen anticipated his every intention and put them into action.
What really surprised me was how tactile Ellen was with Ned. Indeed, all the female regular crew were tactile with him, but Ellen’s role keeping her closest to him made it more obvious.
I suppose at work we all keep a professional distance, so it was interesting to basically see her all over Ned like a rash; standing alongside him in full side to side body contact and regularly putting an arm around his waist as she moved around him – even as her boyfriend was just meters away working the foredeck and Ned’s partner Liddy was right next to them as she played the mainsheet.
As for me, well I took every opportunity I could to work alongside Adam. And while I wasn’t as blatant about it as Ellen was, I wasn’t immune to sneaking a bit of accidental contact when close teamwork or the rocking of the boat justified it. I’d already taken a liking to Adam and was encouraging him to chat me up, subtly trying to squeeze out any opportunity for Kate to do so in the process.
About noon, Ned indicated we were stopping at the beach at The Basin for lunch; sending us through another routine of lowering sails. As all hands bent over the boom, flaking the mainsail across it, as the boat rocked in the gentle swell coming in the heads, I stood with the full length of my flank in contact with Adam’s.
Then, as I stood in the cockpit with Adam, watching Harry on the bow giving Ned final instructions for the lowering of the anchor, Amy, Ellen, Issie and Liddy disappeared below, re-emerging almost immediately in their bikinis. As soon as the anchor was set and the engine off, they climbed down onto the swim platform at the back of the boat, lowered the ladder and dived in, swimming powerfully for the beach in what appeared to be some sort of informal race; quickly joined by Harry and Josh who’s trip below saw them reappear in boardies (board shorts).
Ned looked up at us as the guys in their boardies went past…
“You guys going for a swim?”
It was a hot and sticky mid summer’s day and we’d been working hard exercising our boat skills. Without hesitation, I answered…
“Yep, I’ll just go and get changed.”
I looked questioningly, and maybe a little hopefully, at Adam. Recognising my interest in his intentions, he shrugged his shoulders…
“I didn’t bring any boardies.”
My heart sunk. I had to admit, the shorts he had on were hopeless for swimming and would be diabolical when wet. Ned overheard him…
“What have you got on under your shorts?”
“Well I know you younger guys are obsessed with your boardies, but rest assured the girls on the shore over there aren’t going to complain if that’s all you wear. It’s all I wear and Harry and Josh get teased all the time for their reluctance to dress down a bit.”
Even as he spoke, Ned stripped off his shirt and slid his pants down to reveal an impressive male figure protected only by a pair of budgie smugglers, as they are pejoratively known in Australia; with I might add, an impressive budgie captured inside them.
I could see Adam hesitate. I added…
“Yea, come on Adam, come for a swim.”
He looked at me; apparently building up courage…
Taking Ned’s lead, I just stripped off my shirts and pants in the cockpit, leaving me in just my bikini. It was no match for those the regular crew had on, but it was no granny bikini either; a bralet top that showed significant cleavage and a low slung hipster bottom that, let’s just say was Brazilian inspired in its cut even if it didn’t go all the way. I knew it showed a fair bit of bum cheek, even if it wasn’t as likely to expose my fanny as those the other girls were wearing. And I might not be an Amy, but I knew my figure was tesettürlü escort perve worthy in it.
I deliberately blocked the companionway below, hoping Adam would do the same, as I leant in to toss my bundled up clothes onto the settee where I’d seen the other girls leave theirs. I loitered there watching until Adam started to peel off his t shirt.
OMG he was ripped. Not in that steroid body builder sort of way, just that strong tapered male body with obviously well exercised muscles and devoid of any fat. As he dropped his pants, the sight was even more impressive. I’m not sure what they’re called, but there was one of those pronounced muscular creases that run in a v down the stomach and disappear down into the waistband of his swimmers; leaving a tempting male equivalent of a bikini bridge, just inviting me to peek down it.
And there was a lot to want to peek down at.
Ned’s speedos had been what you might call a comfortable fit; not loose but not constricting either.
Adam’s looked more like they were spray painted on; really low waisted, really tight fitting and with an enormous bulge at the front which showed, let’s say, a lot of detail. And it was an enormous bulge; much bigger than Neds, starting just under the tightly dawn waistband and finishing with the deep hang of his ball sack which seemed to challenge the elastic of the legs seams to keep it contained, while his flaccid manhood lay off to one side, seemingly filling that side of his pants most of the way around to the side seam.
I don’t know what he was trying to hide by not revealing them, but he’d already made my day. And as I surrendered my spot in the companionway and stepped back to let him lean in to toss his clothes with the others, I had the privilege of checking out the tightest little male butt I’d ever seen.
I already knew I was going home randy tonight.
I been too distracted by Adam to have paid much attention to Kate – really the story of the day – but as she too stepped in to toss her clothes down, I bitchily observed she was wearing one of those very fashionable – but bloody ugly – high waisted, high coverage retro bikini pants and a string tie top the triangles of which completely submerged her breasts. Plus she had a significant tummy bulge. I felt like doing one of those fist pumping actions. Yes!
I’d like to say I’m not competitive, but that would be a lie. I just hoped Adam judged women at least partly by their appearance – and what man doesn’t – because that gave me a big head start. Kate had been nipping at him too, but I didn’t intend to give her the slightest chance to get in with him.
Instead of climbing down onto the swim platform, I climbed over the lifelines, signalling Adam to do the same as I stood on the edge of the gunwale facing the water, ready to dive in. As Adam joined me, I challenged him…
“I’ll race you ashore.”
“I’m not sure that’s entirely fair. I’m a state level competitive swimmer.”
OK, so that explained the body and the skin tight swimmers; if not the reticence to display it. I saw him judge the distance to shore before adding…
“I’ll give you a five second head start.”
I was about to dive in when I heard a wolf whistle from the shore; a decidedly female one. We both looked up. Issie, Amy and Ellen were lined up along the shore’s edge staring at us. It was Issie who’d whistled, pumping her fist as she followed up with…
“Nice body Adam. Wo. Wo. Love the blue speedos.”
I dived in, vaguely aware I’d completely misjudged the impact of a dive from the best part of a two meter height. It was not a clean dive, it hurt a bit and I was aware my pants were now half way down my butt cheeks and getting lower with every stroke with the gusset flapping loosely in my wake. But the competitor in me refused to stop to fix the problem.
It was only near the shore I noticed Adam come past me at speed, letting him turn around and sit on the shoreline, legs submerged, as I reached water shallow enough I couldn’t swim further. To narrow the margin of his victory as much as possible, I anxiously stood up to run up to him, only to immediately have my pants fall down onto my thighs. Mortified I’d just shown him my pussy, I squatted down in the water as I readjusted them; lamenting at the same time that I’d got lazy about trimming the garden while I didn’t have a partner. My bikini line was fastidiously trimmed, but under that I’d got sick of the itch and constant maintenance, so had let it grow, only scissor trimming it when I felt it mucked up the way my bikinis sat on me. And that hadn’t been recently.
I fixed the exposure problem without taking my eyes off him and stood up again to run up and sit down alongside him; the water lapping seductively against the waistband of my bikini pants as I tried to control the hormonal urges I was having.
“OK, you won.”
“It wasn’t really a fair race. Hmmm…you know your top has slipped do you.”
I looked down. Oh shit. My whole left breast was hanging out of my bikini top. The hem along the cleavage line had never been a close fit and I hadn’t even felt the pressure of the loose seam under my breast. Part through cold, part arousal, my puffy nipple was fully raised; like an eroded volcano; the harder raised nipple poked, like a cut off telegraph pole, out of the cone of my puffed up areola.
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