Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Author: obohobo
Title: Sailing to the Sunset Years
Part: One part only
Summary: When my friend broke his leg and couldn't crew for me and the
rich, snobbish girl refused to go sailing with me after the first time, her
replacement became my life-long partner.
Keywords: MF, bg, Rom
Synopsis: When my friend broke his leg and couldn't crew for me and the
rich, snobbish girl refused to go sailing with me after the first time, her
replacement became my life-long partner.
   Sailing to the Sunset Years by obohobo
   Warnings Please take note!  The text in this story contains erotic
material and is expressly written for adults only.  MF bg Rom If you are
underage or offended by such material, or if viewing this file is illegal
in your locality, then leave, close or delete this file-story now.  This is
a work of fiction, any resemblance to persons living, dead or otherwise is
purely coincidental.  The ideas and thoughts that follow are pure
fantasies.
   (C) obohobo 2012
   Sailing to the Sunset Years
   "Hey, Granddad, what did Grandma mean when she said at your fiftieth
wedding anniversary party that `Uncle' Dag was responsible for her having
to put up with you for all that time.  I know she loves you dearly and she
said it with affection but when I asked Dag, he said to ask you and `get
the answer from the horse's arse', well you know Dag's way with words,"
Jenny my eldest granddaughter asked and went on, "I know you were married
long before Daddy was born so you didn't have to get married because
Grandma was preggers but you were both young when you married though."
   "It's a little joke between us, Jenny, but in a way it's true.  Without
Dag, his real name is Daren Cousins if you didn't know, and a girl called
Celia Swinthorpe, I don't know what her name is now and the last I heard of
her over a year ago, she'd just got her third divorce, I probably wouldn't
have met the girl that became my wife.  Make a pot of tea and we'll sit by
the fire and I'll tell you the tale.  It's quite a long one."
   "And I want all the rude details as well; I'm old enough and I know
people all those years ago weren't as innocent as they make out now,
especially when the war finished and there were more girls than men around
and the `baby boom' started."
   *****
   Even now it amazes me that the breaking of my friend's leg wrought so
many far-reaching changes to my life, including the finding of my wife, and
I wasn't even responsible for breaking it.
   Dag, and I have been friends since infants school and he being an
enthusiastic football player, on many occasions in senior school, as it was
then, he tried to encourage me into playing the game, but I couldn't see
the point of kicking a ball from one end of the field to the other.  I, of
course, played like all the boys in school during one of the two PE lessons
we had each week and, while I wasn't the last one picked to join a team, I
never went to any of the after school training sessions or made it into the
school team.  Maybe I could have done well at the sport because my long
legged, lanky body could outrun many others of my age but I always had
other things I considered more important, like helping Dad on his fishing
boat and rebuilding my sailing dinghy.
   Seeing him now, over weight and with a huge pot-belly, it's difficult to
believe he was once a fine athlete and played football in the amateurs
league until he was forty, but at school, football was his total life.  He
played every spare minute he had and only when the season finished at the
end of April, did he come sailing with me at weekends, but that week early
in May, he'd been playing rough-and-tumble football in the wet grass of a
newly cut meadow with a group of boys.  During a rough tackle, he slipped
and fell awkwardly and broke his leg and two days later, on a Friday, his
brother pushed him to school in an ancient wheelchair mainly because his
mother wanted him out of the way.
   "Looks like it will be a while before you can go sailing with me again,
Dag," I greeted him.
   "Or play football again, Steve," he moaned.
   "That was the cause of the problem.  If you will play these dangerous
games, you must expect some injuries," I teased and the usual banter began
on the merits of football and sailing.
   How did I come to own a boat when we had very little money?  Dad, Dave
Birch your great grandfather, worked at a boatyard and in those days,
nearly all the yachts and boats had wooden hulls and the firm employed a
dozen shipwrights as well as painters and riggers and at school holiday
times I used to wander around the firm, watching and helping.  Health and
safety wouldn't allow that now but what I learned put me in the boss's eyes
and I was destined to get a job there when I left school.  Through my
meeting a yacht owner while watching a boat being launched, for a season I
got a weekend job as the crew on a small sailing boat.  It didn't pay much
and I would have done it for nothing because I enjoyed the sailing but I
really wanted a boat of my own although I knew it would be years before I
could afford one.  Fate helped.  One night a drunken group from a local
yacht club took a sailing dinghy without the owner's permission and in the
dark ran it onto a pile of rocks smashing several planks in the bottom.  It
sank, but the cold water soon sobered the men and they swam the short
distance to the shore.  The insurers decided it would cost more to repair
than the boat was worth and when Dad heard about it he paid the princely
sum of £1 to become the owner and was able to get it dragged to an out of
the way corner of the firm where we spent many hours and a little money for
materials to repair it.  As our labour was free, I ended up with a 16 foot,
seaworthy sailing dinghy, the `Saucy Sue', that I kept on moorings in front
of the local, working-man's sailing club.
   After signing Dag's virgin white plaster I commented, "I guess I'll need
to ask around for another crew if I decide to go out tomorrow.  It may be
too blustery to go out alone."
   "I'll go with you."
   Surprised by the slightly sneering voice I knew belonged to Celia
Swinthorpe, the rich, snobbish, beauty queen of the class who normally
wouldn't bother speaking to a workman's son unless she wanted something or
had an ulterior motive, I queried, "You sure?"
   "I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't.  What time?" she snapped.
   "Eight o'clock at the sailing club causeway."
   "Too early.  Ten?"
   I agreed on ten and warned her, "Wear warm clothes, a waterproof coat
and plimsolls.  I have a life jacket you can wear." Immediately and without
waiting for any more information, she turned away and left with her
cronies.
   "That's a turn up for the book," Dag remarked, "She's up to something
and while rumours have it that she opens her legs for her posh boyfriends,
I doubt if you'll even get your hand inside her knickers." I had to agree.
   The weather forecast said for overcast skies and wind force 3 increasing
to 4 and gusting force 5.  Not ideal for taking a newbe out.  In the event
I had to wait until 10:30 for her to arrive dressed in smart slacks, and
wearing a light coat but at least she'd headed my advice and wore her PE
shoes.  Knowing she'd get pretty wet before we returned, I almost sent her
home but then thought, "Sod her, she's setting me up for something and this
may be my chance for a come-back."
   The lifejackets in those days were bulky affairs, not the neat little
automatic inflating ones we have today, and it did nothing to enhance her
appearance.  She complained but I resolutely insisted she wear it and got a
little satisfaction when my hand brushed her tits as I helped her fit it
on.
   "Is this it?" she asked with a certain amount of disgust when I'd rowed
her in the little plywood tender to the dinghy and indicated she should get
aboard.  She expected a cabin cruiser or much larger boat.  "I want to go
that way," she demanded, indicating the downriver direction that went
through all the larger moorings so she could see all the expensive boats.
With an hour to high water, it meant sailing against the tide in both
directions.  I would have suggested the opposite way but with the moderate
breeze we'd be able to make progress against it.
   The first hour or so went reasonably well and we made good progress,
firstly on a broad reach until the bend in the river and then with the wind
directly astern.  For the most part she sat without talking or looking at
me but from the way she held her arms across her body, I knew she'd begun
to feel cold.  It would get worse.
   "Take me back now," she demanded.  Little did she know that she'd have
to work and that we'd have to tack all the way back against the tide.  As
forecast, the wind had veered a little and freshened and, although we'd
seen other small sailing boats with the crew sitting on the gunwale and
leaning over the water to keep the boat from capsizing, at first she didn't
believe she'd have to do it, not that is, until the boat leaned over and
the water almost came over the side.  I knew I could ease off the wind a
little but now I had my chance to put the bitch in her place.  She'd hardly
sat out when I plunged the bow into a largish wave that sent the spray over
her.  She screamed but I said she had to hold on like the crews in other
boats were doing.
   I won't go into the performance each time we tacked and she had to duck
under the boom and change sides or the complaints and invective I received
but I'm certain that trip put her off sailing for life.  It took nearly
three hours to get back and needless to say she was not a happy bunny. 
Bedraggled, wet through and shivering with cold, she gave me the `fuck you'
sign when I cheerily asked if she would like to go out again in the
morning. She stalked off to a payphone to get a car to take her home.
   "That looked like fun but I don't think Celia thought so." Sheila Broome
she was then, your grandma, another of my classmates stood on the seawall
and watched me pull my tender up the ramp and came and gave me a hand. 
Unlike Celia, Sheila, at that time a short, dark haired, slightly plump
girl, had a more down-to-earth attitude, and when we'd dragged it into the
boat park area, she went on, "I didn't think she would enjoy it and from
what I heard whispered by the other girls, she only offered to go in order
to get back at her present boyfriend who she caught making eyes at another
girl.  I bet we hear how you almost drowned her on Monday and with any
luck, later in the week when I get the film developed, we'll have the
pictures to prove it." She showed me the little 35 mm camera she'd tucked
inside her coat and we laughed and concocted tales Celia might tell and
then Sheila asked, "Do you really want a crew for tomorrow?  I've no
experience but it looked exciting and I won't mind if I get a bit wet or
starting at eight."
   "We're like Laurel and Hardy in reverse," she laughed when I fitted the
life jacket over her already busty chest.  What a change from the previous
day.  Sheila arrived before I did at eight, wearing shorts, plimsolls
without socks, a woollen sweater and a waterproof coat and carrying a
biscuit tin with her sandwiches and a bottle of Tizer.  The weather had
changed too, the clouds had rolled by and the sun came out but the wind
remained strong so I expected a good day's sailing.  My new crew showed no
reluctance at getting her feet wet when we launched the tender and as I
held it steady and she clambered aboard the `Saucy Sue' I had a real
close-up view of her bottom and, with the change of weight in the two
boats, when my nose accidentally, really it was accidentally, touched her
thighs, she just giggled.  "Where are we going, Captain?" she asked with a
mock salute when I got things ready to cast the mooring.
   We tacked our way upstream and several times, particularly when we
crossed the wake of a motor boat, she took the brunt of a wave although I
did make every effort to minimise the spray but by the time I suggested we
stop at an isolated strip of beach for lunch, her shorts were soaked but
she'd didn't complain.  About eleven o'clock I suggested, "We should have
about half an hour before high water so let's go ashore and eat in the
shelter of those rocks and I'll try and get the Primus going and make a hot
drink.  I usually have Oxo because it doesn't need milk." She thanked me
and we laughed when she squelched and left a wet impression on the rock she
sat on.  By then we both needed to pee but there wasn't any bushes or rocks
large enough to hide behind and we agreed to look in opposite directions. I
cheated and got a glimpse of her bare bum and I gather she cheated too but
didn't really see much.
   We returned to the mooring late afternoon, and we'd got on so well, I
asked if she would like to come to tea with us.  Mum and dad would have had
lunch at midday on a Sunday but I knew there'd be plenty of leftovers for
both of us.
   "I'll wet all the chairs," she giggled and then looked sad, "I'd really
like to Steve especially as Dad's at home and there'll be a full row going
on now the pubs are shut."
   Not wanting to lose her, "Mum will find you something to wear and my
shorts are not much better.  Between Dad and me, she's used to us getting
wet." We argued for a while as I trundled the pram-wheeled barrow with the
sailing gear along the seafront.  Of course we met some of our classmates
who laughed at our being together and our appearance and we suspected the
news would get back to Celia by the morning.
   Mum took it all in her stride and only commented when I introduced
Sheila, "Well this is a turn up for the book.  You've never had a
girlfriend before and then you have two different ones on the same weekend.
Dag's brother pushed him here in a wheelchair and he's in the living room
and he's told me more about the other one and at least you've brought this
one home and even gave her a wash by the looks of things.  Go into the
bathroom, Love, and I'll look in my wardrobe for a skirt with drawstrings
that you can wear for a while."
   By the time I'd hung all the wet sailing gear to dry and changed my
clothes, Sheila, now dressed in an almost ankle length skirt, had made
herself at home and sat regaling Dag and Dad with the day's exploits.  We
ate as a family at the kitchen table with Sheila and I having a warmed up
Sunday lunch while the others ate corned beef sandwiches.  Later that
evening I pushed Dag home and walked Sheila, still wearing the long skirt,
to her house and half hidden by some bushes, she gave me a thank-you kiss.
   Mum and Dad approved of Sheila and Mum suggested I try and keep her.  I
did.
   For once I was the centre of attraction at school on Monday; Celia's
bewailing the hell and humiliation I had put her through was countered by
the fun and excitement in Sheila's story.  We found out later that a group
of older boys made fun of Celia's appearance as she waited for her father's
car to arrive and this information had become general knowledge to many in
the class.
   For the rest of the term Sheila and I went out on most weekends and some
evenings either on the `Saucy Sue' or on dad's fishing boat.  Usually we
sailed on our own but Dag tagged along after his plaster came off.  We
became lovers and went as far as we dared without actually having sexual
intercourse; the fear of pregnancy prevented that and, although I secretly
bought condoms, we really wanted to do it properly in bed and not
surreptitiously in an out of the way place where we'd worry over being
discovered.  We also worried over her life at home when her father returned
from his trips on a merchant vessel that traded with France and went on a
drinking binge and became violent.  Fortunately most of his agro centred on
his wife and they fought verbally and physically and when Sheila came to us
one evening in tears and afraid to go home, Mother immediately told me to
clear the spare bedroom and afterwards she stayed with us regularly. 
Mother though, made sure we slept in our own rooms but we were allowed to
cuddle and kiss before going to bed.
   Almost at the end of term and we'd only a fortnight before we left
school and started work, me at the boatyard and she at the sailmaker's in
the loft above one of the workshops, she ran into our house crying
hysterically, "I've killed him, I've killed him." When mother managed to
calm her sufficiently to tell the story she went on in dribs and drabs that
I'll piece together in this tale.  "I didn't know mother had gone out for
the day and thought she'd gone to the shops and would be back soon.  I was
alone with him in the house but, as I couldn't hear him and assumed he'd
passed out in the bedroom but he crept into the kitchen while I prepared
supper and grabbed my shoulders and turned me to face him.  He was naked
and his prick stood out.  "Now that you're sixteen, it's time I gave you a
good hard fucking like you get from that boyfriend of yours." From his
slurred speech I knew he was drunk and that he obviously intended to rape
me.  I managed to free my right hand and grab a tin of baked beans from the
table and swung it hard and hit the side of his head and at the same time I
kicked him hard in the groin.  I still wore my outdoor leather shoes so the
kick must have hurt.  He fell to the floor, with blood flowing from his
head and didn't move.  I've killed him."
   Dad went to the phone box at corner of our road and phoned the police
and ambulance.  The police arrived to question Sheila about an hour later
and by that time Mother had managed to calm her a little and insisted she
remain with her during the questioning.  They went into the front room and
it was only later that we learned her father was still alive but was in a
coma in hospital.  They'd also tried to contact her mother but she wasn't
at her mother's, the address Dad had given them and we found out later
she'd gone to a cinema in town with a man friend.  Fortunately in our small
town we knew most of the police and they knew us and, from previous reports
of Ken Broome's drunken and violent behaviour, believed her story.  We
still had to troop down to the police house for them to take hand-written
statements and didn't get back home till 10:30 and the police had still not
been able to contact Sheila's mother so she spent the night with us.
   Next morning about 10:30 Dad answered the door and admitted her mother,
Pat Broome.  She'd arrived home a little before midnight to find a
policeman on her doorstep and on hearing the news, stayed the night with
her mother and father and he drove her to the hospital that morning.  "He's
still unconscious and has his head bandaged and the nurse said his privates
were badly ruptured and may have to be removed," she informed us.  Sheila
had to explain again what she'd done but Pat didn't seem unduly distressed
by her daughter's actions and gave us the impression that her husband had
received what he deserved.  "He's punched and slapped me enough times," she
told us and this confirmed what Sheila said weeks previously.
   Ken Broome remained in a coma for about a week and in hospital for much
longer because his ruptured testicles became infected and were surgically
removed.  The trauma and questioning affected the man's mind and for a
while they put him in an asylum and, although they released him after a
month, he never properly recovered.  Pat refused to have him back in the
house, `for fear of being molested and injured' so the council found him
temporary accommodation in a flat where the landlord could keep an eye on
him.  The case dragged on before it went to court and, after a harrowing
ordeal for Sheila when the defence barrister made her go over the details
of the assault and even suggested that she provoked it.  Fortunately the
jury believed her and found him guilty of attempted rape and incest and the
judge sentenced him to five years in prison.  He didn't survive his
sentence.
   During this time, Sheila stayed with us mainly because her mother wanted
to have her man around without her daughter seeing what they did and
because the house brought back the memories of that fateful afternoon.  We
became lovers but with mother's watchful eye on us, never had sex although
we cuddled and kissed and several times when we managed to be alone, she
rubbed my prick until I spurted and I fingered her to a climax.  She became
part of our family.  By the time of the trial we'd both been in work for
three months or more and, as apprentices, earned a small wage each week and
contributed part of it towards the household expenses.  The ordeal in the
courtroom upset her terribly and when I heard her crying in the night, I
went into her room.  She hadn't even undressed but sat in a chair weeping
and when I entered, she flung her arms around my neck and whispered, "Let
me sleep with you tonight."
   Mother heard me go into the room and popped out when we quietly walked
along the landing.  "Comfort her, Steve," she said and her words indicated
she wouldn't stop me taking her to my bed when she added, "Don't forget to
take precautions if you do more than cuddle."
   I undressed her and removed my pyjamas but in her distraught state we
only lay close with our bodies pressed tightly against each other.  My
prick hardened and I knew she felt it against her belly but with her
continuing to weep we only kissed and hugged until we fell asleep. 
Sometime in the early hours of the morning, a movement wakened me. 
"Sorry," she apologised, "My arm went to sleep."
   "Are you okay now?"
   "Yes, but now we're together, will you make love to me?" With my prick
at full hardness, my answer wasn't in doubt.  "Don't worry about my
maidenhead, that went when I slipped into the bottom of the boat on that
really rough day a month ago.  I had blood on my knickers when I took them
off."
   I'd left the small bedside lamp alight in case she needed to go to the
lavatory and easily found a condom and with her watching, I rolled it on
but I spent a little time getting her wet before inserting my prick into
her opening and we fucked.  I'd read a little in magazines and heard what
older lads at the firm said to do and I tried to hold back my climax as
long as I could and indeed, was able to remain firm until she'd orgasmed
and then I filled the condom teat with my sperm.
   After that night we basically became a married couple and she only used
her room to store her clothes and after six months I proposed and, with
parental consent, we married in 1957 when seventeen years old.
   The wedding, a quiet affair in the local church with a reception at home
afterwards and a three days honeymoon in Norfolk, just legalised our living
together.  Dag was my best man but Sheila firmly rejected my suggestion
that we invite Celia Swinthorpe to the wedding even though I pointed out
that had she not offered to crew for me, we probably never would have met.
We lived with my parents until we became of age and earned enough money to
rent a council house and later, when the government brought out the scheme
to buy our home, we did that.
   There you have it Jenny, our love is still strong although our physical
passions have diminished with the years.
   Finis 
  
Sailing to the Sunset Years