Gwendolyn, for Christmas

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Dear Readers, this story is based on my Magazine Girl stories I wrote during the fall. Although this story stands alone, it does reference earlier stories about Gwendolyn that might make comprehension easier. As always, thank you so much for sharing your time to read this story.

The storm hit Nashville pretty hard. From the looks of it, folks would have just enough time to dig out and then get clobbered again. Generally, my village in north Georgia got less of the snow and ice, but it was gloomy at the house, especially since I was the only one in it with Christmas beckoning.

Cat yawned on her pillow on the desk, then arose, doing one of those arched back stretches before batting my pen to the floor. We both solemnly regarded where it landed. It was too far from where I sat to reach it. About then, Gwendolyn texted me. My recent roomie was in Nashville, getting started in the music business, thus the pattern of my thoughts.

She sent me a picture of snow blowing sideways on bundled up people, obviously waiting for the bus. The skies were dark grey and the street lights were on, slush building at the curb. Cat jumped down. Evidently the pen had said something offensive and she started batting it in earnest, then chasing it. She usually does this when I’m either on the phone or drafting a pleading.

Reluctantly, I got up and seized the miscreant pen. As I stood, I was face to face with the picture on the wall of my boat under power, outriggers set under an orange/red sun. Cat was reaching up my leg, trying to get that stupid pen. Loss of time. I was a thousand or so miles south, just imagining…

I got my phone and took a picture of the picture of my boat, shared it to Gwen, to see if she felt like fishing.

It was past four. I poured a finger’s worth into my tumbler and threw some poplar on the fire. The phone chimed.

“!!!!!!!!!REALLY?!!!!!!!!!!YES,YES,YES!!!!!!!!!!

Obviously Gwendolyn was enthused. I grinned, suddenly feeling better than I had in a long time. Now to make things work.

I called my neighbor, Henry. He lives on the other side of Mitzi, here on our street. He also has a four place Cessna at the air strip near Rabun Gap. He was willing. I thumbed the phone.

“Private airplane to come get you tomorrow. Can you get to John Tune Airport and at what time?”

The weather was on the set, the woman waving her hand around the map. Tomorrow would be a good flight day between storms. Chime.

“I can get there by eleven, kind sir!!!

Kind sir. Cute, real cute. I chuckled, leaned back, looking at the old Hunter fan above. Let’s see, leave food for Cat, get boat out of storage and serviced, plane reservations, how many days…

“Pack your rucksack for a week, worst case. It’s hard to leave the Keys any earlier.” I gave that a smiley, and started dialing.

Airplanes and Reuniting

Henry had an old International 4WD from the days of My Three Sons and it rode commensurately. But you couldn’t get it stuck, ergo, good winter truck. Once at the airplane, I secured my luggage behind the rear seats while Henry did his check down sheet.

The flight was uneventful and quick. We were taxiing before ten, under low but calm skies. I’d warned Henry about how youthful Gwen was, since he’d never met her. I’d called her upon landing and we met on the tarmac with a big hug. She was wearing her parka, jeans and a big smile, way big for a size three girl. Henry opened the door for her and introductions were made. He talked to the tower for a minute, stealing looks at the radiant apparition in his aircraft. I got her luggage stowed, us settled and off we went. Gwen chattered nervously, not having been on a small airplane before. I could hear her breathing in my headphones. I reached back and took her hand during take off. It wasn’t long before nervousness became wonderment.

All the way to Charlie Brown airport in Atlanta, Gwen alternated between telling us about life in Nashville and gazing out the windows. And between Uber and Delta we were boarding my boat just as the sun was flaming on the sea in Key Largo.

On the Boat

When they put Galena in the water and tied her up, they actually remembered to plug in the shore power, so the Subzero had already chilled a good bit. The Uber driver had waited and he took us in search of groceries and beer. Upon our return, we went below to stow the provisions and I gave her the nickel tour and how things in the head worked.

She giggled. “Why did you buy a boat that you don’t fit in?”

Below deck, I had to stoop over, being a little too tall. “I didn’t buy it. It was my uncle’s and I inherited it. Even though I don’t fit it, it fit him, and I’ll always keep it.” I didn’t tell her about renaming the boat after a girl in Amsterdam.

“Who’s that?” She pointed at a framed picture of a group of guys clustered around my uncle as he was shaking hands with some goomba.

I pointed out my uncle and Gil, both of whom would do anything for me in my youth. I still missed those guys casino oyna a lot. They lived to an old age, unlike four or five of the others in the old photograph. In fact, Gil’s prized possession, wrapped in oilskin was still aboard this boat.

I, (we) decided to change. It was eighty and jeans and sweaters was definitely outre in a Jimmy Buffet environment. I resisted the urge to ravish the little beauty as we got down to underwear in the stateroom. I was just too hungry.

I grilled some grouper, Gwen below doing veggies, me with the portable grill on the fantail. I could hear her singing, between breezes. I looked over the marina to where the palm trees swayed. I thought of Jackie Gleason, the Honeymooners, palms at dusk, just like now. How sweet it is. A big old Chris Craft glided by, barely rocking us, gents and gals at cocktail hour aft, Michael Buble, piano, tinkle of ice.

The moon was rising, waxing, nearly full, silhouetting a brown pelican on a nearby piling, done for the night.

Timing was good. We ate above decks, holding our plates and sitting in the fighting chairs, watching the moon ascend. I’d cast some songs from the Petersons to the Fusion system, bringing country to Key Largo. Dinner club ain’t us.

She pointed at her plate with her fork. “Mmmmh, this is so good. Oh, I LOVE grouper!”

“It tastes better down here. Fresh caught, like our trout back in the fall.”

“Oh, I know! And Mattie with her old wood burning cook stove. How’re they doing?”

Gwendolyn was referring to our last fishing trip in the mountains. She was quite adept with a fly rod, might be fun to watch her catch a marlin by comparison. “She’s fine, said to say hey. She’s going to be checking on Cat whenever she can.” I paused, watching her stretch to put her plate on the transom. She sure looked good in those shorts and I wasn’t starving anymore.

She raised her arms to twist her long mane of red hair up with a scrunchie, the rise and fall of her beauties duly noted. “Do we have plans for dessert? Or is it, do YOU have plans for dessert, Mr. I’m Too Big for my Boat?” She giggled and getting up, reached for my plate, a soft peck on my cheek. In my ear, softly, “I’m going to go learn the shower while YOU get to clean up.”

I nodded assent, “Sounds like a plan, girl. Remember to turn the water off when you’re lathering up.” She went below, me bending over and following.

Chores done in the galley, I heard Gwendolyn go forward to the stateroom. I doffed my shorts and shirt and ducked in for a rinse. My clothes were missing when I came out. In the stateroom was an unclothed girl with her hair wrapped in a towel laying on the bed on her stomach, looking at her phone and humming. She was waving her calves as she hummed but it was her beautiful dimpled bottom being admired by this old gent.

“Is there a man in here that can’t find his shorts?” She asked her phone.

Right then I was having trouble focusing on conversation. Gamely, “My Polo shirt has walked off as well.”

“I thought I heard a splash.” Little giggle. “No, it was TWO splashes. Well, maybe.”

I cleared my throat. “Obviously, someone facilitated them being thrown overboard.” In my best Perry Mason, I intoned, “I’m going to need to view, uh, review the evidence to conclude my findings. I’ll need your assistance.”

“Nuh uh. Not me. YOU go rescue clothes. I’LL stay here. Besides, I’ve got a secret.” She hummed mysteriously.

As I stood gazing up her slightly parted thighs, I beheld red hair at the terminus, the view hidden then re exposed by her waving calves. She parted herself slightly more and giggled, staring at her phone. It dawned on me that she was watching me by using the photo app on her phone. Also, I espied a blue stripe below those magnificent red curls.

Gwen saw my discovery and, reaching down, retrieved said Polo. “Hmm, where might the shorts be Mr. Investigator?”

“I’ve got a hunch. I really do!”

She rolled over, shorts in hand. “Maybe more than one hunch? There’s something different about you…Could it be your arms? Legs? No? Oh! It’s THIS thing.” Reaching up, grasping my member in soft hands. “It’s so good to see you!” Dismissively, “The rest of y’all can go home.”

It was comical, but it’s hard to laugh when you’re being swallowed. And it’s strange to look down and all you can see is a big towel rubbing against your belly.

Her mouth was liquid soft, pleasuring me, knowing my spots and how to tease me and sometimes it seemed her raison d’etre just to have total control of the moment.

My response was speedy after the absence of relations. She paused, pulling back and handing me firmly from base to tip, Gwen watched a drop of my passion ooze. She licked it off with a throaty chuckle. “My, but WE got quiet, didn’t we?” She patted my hand. “Hold what you got, cowboy. I’ve got to dry my hair.” She stood, rubbing her nudity against me, as I stood gasping, just one doorbell from deliverance.

The hair dryer came on. A gent wearing shorts slot oyna went above after finding some cognac.

She wore a translucent gown that sparkled in the harbor lights and the night lights on the other boats. I watched her look around, not seeing me. I called down from the flying bridge. “Looking for somebody?”

She craned her neck. “Is that my cowboy up there?”

“Yep, come on up. The weather’s fine. Put your tennies on though. That ladder’s hard on bare feet.

There’s nothing quite so erotic as a beautiful red headed young woman wearing nothing much more than a wisp. It does ratchet down a bit when she’s wearing Keds. Maybe -.01. She piled up beside me, accepting the proffered snifter and looking about. There was a party going on ten boats down or so. Occasionally we heard laughter and boisterous talking. But a lot of the other boats had gone dim or were covered, stored at their slips.

I’d regained my senses what with the salt air breeze, drink in my belly and Santa on the roof. I rummaged around to find my binoculars. After confirming what I saw, I handed them to Gwen, pointing. It was a good laugh. Over on land, a lighted Santa was on the rooftop, bag full. Oops. No chimney. We’d seen some other gaffes on the way down, but this one was a winner.

The breeze was luffing out of the west and little swells worked in past the breakwater, gently rocking us where we sat. I showed her the controls, radar, fish finder, all the toys. Gwendolyn liked the fish finder. She wanted an app like it on her phone to use in the streams up north. We settled down, watching the moon.

“I never thought for a second I’d have moments like this. I’m just a girl from a mill town and here I am sitting on a yacht.” She breathed deep, squeezing my hand.

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that this was a fishing boat, just a little bigger than some. “We’re going to take her out in the morning, have some fun. We get past the breakwater, I’ll let you take a turn with her. Sound good?”

“Oh yes. Well. Then. Maybe we should, uh…”

I covered her mouth with mine, tasting her tongue, her cognac, as we swayed twenty feet above the water. Two men walked by on the pier talking, unaware of us above them. She melted into my arms, kissing me back, rubbing my biceps and kicking off her Keds.

Up for air, “You should take off my gown.”

“Then I’d have to kiss other spots on you.”

“I LIKE my spots kissed. All of them and very much.”

“I think the cognac wants me to kiss around on you. At least your hair’s dry.”

“Awww! You still sad over that coiter interrupting thing? What WOULD have been sad is if my cowboy let his cows out of the barn too early. Besides. I want to do things like we’re in mid air!” Gwen peered at me, mischievous smile breaking out. “You game?”

She raised her arms and I doffed her gown, her hair piling luxuriantly down to her breasts. She scuttled into my lap, then climbed off, looking down. “You too!”

“I’m not wearing a gown.”

Through her teeth, “Stop being silly. You know perfectly well what’s next and you need to start operating.”

“Cooperating?” I eased my shorts down, manhood popping free.

“Quit being incorrigated. There’s things to do, including you.” She climbed back on, my guy between our bellies. Gwen gave me a scorcher, then replaced lips with taut young nipple, the tip round and slightly elongated.

I slowly sucked her in, her fresh clean smell in my nose, her soft alabaster white breasts in my hands. She wrapped her hands around my head, imploring more suckle to each in turn.

Her hand reached down, a little tickle to my shaft. Whisper in my ear, “The way you do my titties makes me so wet, Oooh! See?” Her hand, slick on her fingers rubbing my cock’s head, pushing it against her red forest, a gasp from us each.

I cupped her ass, thumbs on her dimples, pulling her against me, my hardness being still teased by her questing hand. She bit on my neck, whispered, “Slap me a little. I’ve been bad.”

“Not that bad. There’s people walking around…” I resumed my worship.

“No one’s here. Do it!”

I slapped her butt lightly.

“Really?”

I slapped harder. She bucked her hips.

“More, ahhh, like that. Teddy, I’m being a PUBLIC perv!” Pausing, “You want more sucky?”

“Mmmph! Want YOU, girl!”

Lips to lips, then her, “Gonna ride you cowboy, ride you deep, right here, OK?” Rising up, titties wet, gleaming in the moonlight…

Puss tight from wanton perving, soaked, but closed, spreading herself, dipping, in a little, little more, ahh! All the way, so tight whole puss squeeze.

She started rocking with the boat, a bit, then more, her face backlit by the moon, eyes dark pools of lust, mouth open, gasping.

“You gotta be quiet when you come.”

“Huh-uh! Oh God, YES!” She grabbed my shoulders fiercely, fully impaled, hips fast and rhythmic, wetness on my balls.

The men were coming back from their walk.

Gwendolyn had this canlı casino siteleri shiver she always does when she starts up the gangplank to her cataclysms. She had just shivered, leaving this boat for Planet Pleasure. Her nipples hard, breasts bouncing, a pale rider of her own purple rocket ship, mouth opening…

The two guys were stepping onto the pier, sharing a laugh.

I grabbed her head, getting her mouth on mine at the mighty moment as Gwen shrieked, coming, foaming at the puss, hips jerking as I held her on the bench with me.

Steps below, then fading away quietly, no words, two very polite persons, knowing, but not showing. Thank you merry gentlemen, God rest ye.

Deep Blue on Day Two

I had started the engines to check the electrics and the instruments and STS radio. The diesels burbled quietly while a trail of pelicans cruised by looking for excess bait. That reminded me to get bait. I went below to get the cooler. There she stood in the galley, rubbing her eyes with her fists, like a three year old would. She’d brought plenty of clothes, but as usual, gone through mine and had on a white t-shirt. Again, three years old. I poured her a mug. “Slow start, eh?”

“Did I go skiing last night? My butt’s sore.”

“I thought you wanted it a little rough…”

“No, that’s all good. It doubles my O, more bang for the buck. It’s my muscles and hips are all achy.” She sipped her coffee. “Did you forget the sugar?”

“You need me to rub you with some oils?”

“Oh! You’re good at that. Up in the fourth room, the massage.”

Months earlier I had given Gwen the works and then a happy ending before putting her to bed.

” Hmm. I would but I want to stay vertical and complain every so often.”

I laughed, turned off the engines and made us an omelette and home fries while she made the bed and put on a teeny bikini under her wrap.

After going to the bait shack for mullet, we finally got underway with the sun a third of the way into the sky. Forecast called for light easterlies and a four to five foot swell building later. We rumbled through the no wake zone out past the breakwater before I shoved the throttles forward. The Galena burst forward, bow high, bone in her teeth, stern low, making 35 knots, booming over the wavelets.

To me the first run out is always exhilarating, seeing the wake spread far and wide aft, breeze tousling my hair. Gwendolyn was grinning, gave me the thumbs up, her red hair in a kerchief, absolutely adorable.

My second sense, that little reverie I always get, came to me. I thought, “Don’t forget this, record and savor. Look hard around you, at her, the water, everything. Promise to forget nothing!” I haven’t. Yet.

Gwen touched my arm. “Where were you? Are you OK?”

“I was right here, even more so. Just don’t want to ever forget any of this.” I smiled, “Didn’t mean to scare you!”

“No, you just go into this trance. I’ve seen you do it before.” She pointed, “What’s that?”

Off the starboard bow, a manta ray had flown out of the water, landing with a resounding splash, creating waves in all directions. I’d only seen it once before years back.

“What my uncle told me is that the manta ray does that to either scare up or disorient schools of fish to feed on. We’ll go a little further out and set up.”

“That is SO National Graphic!”

“Geo”

“What?”

It’s National GEOgraphic.”

“Whatever. Can I drive?’

“Yep.” I gave her the helm. “Typical four speed, reverse is left and down.” Tongue in cheek

“You ain’t right. This is an automatic. Where’s the parking brake?” Her tongue in cheek.

Teeny Bikini hitched up the throttles to just below airborne. Her wrap thrown below, spraddle legged, swooping the boat left and right. “Sure is bigger than a jet ski!”

I yelled back over the engines. “You need some spf 50 or you’re gonna burn!”

“What’s a spiff?”

I pulled the throttles back down to Glide Quietly. “Sunscreen. There’s some in that cubbyhole to your right. Water doubles the effects of the sun. You’ll burn for sure otherwise.”

“OK. Put some on me. I”m busy right now, sir.” Galena came to a new heading, now for this moment running due south, Gwendolyn focusing on her newfound lack of skills as a helmsman.

I took the tube from her and started spreading spiff on her shoulder blades and back.

“Uh-uh, don’t get any on my top. It might stain it. Here.” My helmsman was now topless, the item dangling on the rangefinder.

“You’re gonna get toasted titties, doing that.”

“Nope. Extra spiff please, hold the fries.”

“OK. Let me show you something. Watch this screen here with the numbers and marks on it. We’re going south by southwest. If we want fish, we need a new heading, come to 085, see that? So let’s go to port, there you go and stay on that for a bit.”

That improved things. We were now heading into the swells that started off from Africa, rather than wallowing in trench after trench. I retrieved the sunscreen and resumed my tending.

Finishing her back down to her rump, I slathered it on her grinning face.

“I can do my face.”

“Nope. You’re driving.”

“Can we go faster?”

” It gets bumpier if you do.”

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