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Over the last few years my ‘Unexpected Threesome’ Series, ‘A Threesome in a COVID 19 World’ Series and ‘Discovering What Big Means’ Series have been written involving a common core group of characters.
Most of them; Issie, Amy and Ellen are women in their late 20’s to early 30’s who crewed on 60 year old Ned’s yacht as he sailed the Pacific and became his polyamorous lovers, together with Liddy, a woman in her 50’s.
After returning to Australia, and a period spent still living with Ned, both Issie and Ellen, encouraged by Ned, found more age appropriate partners and settled down with them; but still — with their partners’ approval – kept in close contact with Ned.
Amy and Liddy stayed with Ned.
In order to fill out the yacht’s racing crew in Australia, Shelley and Adam, the primary characters in the Discovering What Big Means Series, joined the crew.
This story takes us back to around 2016; before COVID, after Ellen and Issie had left Ned’s extended family to marry or take up with their husbands and after Shelley and Adam had joined the crew and spent a week together at Ned’s Evans Head beachside cottage.
For the benefit of those unfamiliar with the background of these characters there is a little — briefly stated — background information woven into the story which might seem repetitive to regular followers. My apologies to those who might feel ‘I already know this’, but it seemed to best way to keep all readers happy.
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It was Amy’s idea. She’d seen an email to me about the Hamilton Island Race Week and asked me what it was all about.
When I explained it to her that it was a week-long regatta based around the resort Island of Hamilton Island in the tropical Whitsundays, she asked me if we could take the yacht to participate in it.
It was mid-July (mid-winter in Australia) when we had this discussion and the race is at the end of August. That wasn’t much time to organise things and get the boat there. It was about a 1,100 Nautical Mile trip from our Pittwater base, at least a week of solid sailing.
But Amy, apart from constant sex, asks for so little and is such a kind, generous and gentle soul that I frankly have trouble denying her anything she does ask for. In any case, it was something I’d always wanted to be part of and my inclination to indulge Amy in this case coincided with my own desires.
We set about planning it; something that necessitated organising a crew both to deliver it up and back plus to race it while we were there.
Getting the crews was much easier than I anticipated. Almost too much so.
Amy and Liddy were in for all parts of the trip as I expected they would be.
Issie and Ellen both wanted to participate in the trip up, with Ellen’s husband joining us for the racing and Issie needing to come home before the racing started. My initial reaction was the trip up would then be a delightful reunion of our Pacific Cruise crew, even if the sexual antics were limited to Amy and Liddy.
Then, to my surprise, and even alarm, Shelley and Adam both wanted to do the delivery trip up as well as the race. Maybe more alarm than surprise.
I doubted Amy’s significant sexual demands upon me were going to moderate themselves for the week long trip and nor was she likely to tone down the screaming. As far as I knew Shelly and Adam were both naively young and oblivious to either the quantity or noisiness of Amy’s sexual habits. That could be an issue on the trip.
At least Ellen and Issie knew what Amy was like and had heard it all before.
One other problem then confronted us when I found out that, because I was booking late, all I could get was a three bedroom apartment to stay in up there, rather than three separate apartments. Shelley and Adam were going to learn a lot about my sex life. I just hoped they wouldn’t be traumatised.
I couldn’t help but wonder how all of this would play out.
When I raised the issue with Amy, thinking maybe she might suggest she could keep it down a bit, she laughed at me (lovingly of course)…
“You know they’re rooting each other like rabbits, don’t you? I don’t think the sound of a bit of sex is going to upset them too much. It might even make them feel more relaxed about indulging themselves.”
I smirked internally at Amy’s use of the Australianism ‘rooting’ in that context. We’ve certainly done much to overcome what she originally described as her “British Reserve” since she joined the yacht in our Pacific travels several years ago. But, in my mature age innocence, I had trouble accepting they were rooting quite as — I’m not sure if that the word is “often’ or ‘vigorously’ or both – as Amy’s words suggested. I’ve seen Adam flaccid in swimwear and even I think he’s hung like a horse. Amy, Ellen and Issie have all seen him aroused and exposed and, in Ellen’s hyperbolic words, “He’s hung like a fucking elephant”. Less emotively, Amy reckons there’s no exaggeration to say it’s the length and width of two escort sincan escort drink can stacked one on top of the other.
Shelley is such a slender little thing, I just can’t imagine them having sex together in any proper sense of the word, let alone a rabbit like sense. I knew they were — intimate for want of something better to describe it as — but given their youth (relative to me as Amy would remind me) and what I might have thought as the shear physical impossibility of their sexual coitus, assumed they were up to little more than hand jobs and fingering.
As Amy in her bemused, slightly patronising way keeps reminding me, at my age, the fact someone is 40 years younger than me doesn’t mean they’re still a child.
But even if they are ‘rooting like rabbits’ as Amy says, that doesn’t mean they’re ready to hear Amy’s sexual performances. Maybe it’s where Amy is just as naive as I am. She thinks all she has to do is explain things to another person and all is well. But we’re talking about performances that have had a hotel manager called to the room we were staying in because a neighbouring room thought a woman was being murdered.
‘Screaming’ is the word I and everyone else who has heard it use to describe her performance. But we’re not really talking about a woman’s distress scream, like, say in the movie Psycho. What we’re talking about are moans and groans that work up until they become incredibly loud and delivered in a high pitch screaming register. Which then often lead on to a string of blasphemous and x rated expletives.
I don’t think just telling Shelley and Adam our sex is a bit noisy is going to cut it.
In the end, I decided I’d just have to go with the flow and let Amy sort it out — which she actually does remarkably well.
There was no point thinking I could ask her to cut back on our sex, nor to do it quieter. And I didn’t really want to deny Shelley and Adam the experience of a long distance offshore passage.
Amy’s extreme sexuality is a mystery to all those who know her, more so given her history. She came to the Pacific Ocean in search of a cruising yacht experience to escape an abusive ten year relationship in her native England, which involved strong physical violence and frequent forceful rapes. Her partner made a point of running down her opinion of herself, denying her any loving support whatsoever, preventing her from having any meaningful human relationships and never in their ten years together and his frequent sexual impositions on her, giving her the experience of an orgasm.
Recognising the possibility of being killed if she simply tried to end the relationship, her escape took a lot of detailed planning and the oceanic yacht cruising was a way of making it impossible for her partner to come after her.
Most persons having gone through that would end up with PTSD.
But seemingly not Amy. The only time we’ve seen any real mental aftereffects was when she had a panic attack in the middle of an extremely violent hurricane while we were bunkered down inside the yacht; it having triggered memories of the violence she suffered at the hands of her partner.
How she ended up in my bed is a story in itself. But the point is that, having discovered sex, having discovered that any and all of her nipples, clit, g spot and cervix can singularly or together give her the most powerful orgasms, while also finding the meaning of being truly loved by someone, she seemingly now can’t get enough of it.
And in Amy’s mind, if you’re going to enjoy something, don’t hold back. If your body wants you to scream, then suppressing that desire to scream will reduce your enjoyment. So don’t suppress it.
Perhaps the only other way in which you might wonder whether her mental health was affected by her experiences was her determination to stay with me after we landed in Australia.
Amy is easily the most beautiful and sexually desirable woman I’ve ever known or even seen. Medium height, slender, feminine, strong, fit, taut and with outsize — for her build — still perky, perfectly formed breasts, her skin is flawlessly light olive and her face has a baby like sweetness and beauty qualities that can, and does, make a man melt in her presence. Her very long auburn, sun bleached hair is distractingly sensuous in the way it cascades down her back.
Over and on top of that perfection, her prominently raised mons and the cone like puffiness of the areola from which her nipples project add a sexuality to her body that makes it irresistible.
Plus her personality is sweetness and intelligence personified.
In short, she could have any man she wanted and in the last few years has had no shortage of them try and chat her up.
But, even though I selflessly encouraged her to consider a more age appropriate partner, she was determined to stay with me. Not wanting children and having found love and sexual satisfaction, she doesn’t want to risk making another draw in the male gene pool least she fall into the trap her former elvankent escortlar partner set for her. Not yet anyway.
Maybe there is one other way in which Amy’s past experience now affects her behaviour. When she came to my yacht, her dress standard might be described as frumpy and unflattering in the extreme. Her previous partner did everything he could to make her unattractive to the outside world (while encouraging her to sexualised underwear) and, together with her low self-esteem, it was one habit she didn’t automatically throw off when she left him.
Downbeat after a day in town with Issie where a lot of guys were trying to chat up a rather alluringly dressed Issie, and completely ignored her, a chat with me and some dress guidance from Issie caused her to go from one extreme to the other.
Finding the attention it gained her affirming, she was the lead adopter of what Issie instigated and came to call the ‘fuck me’ bikinis and clothing that Issie said was necessary to keep my testosterone up if I was going to service the considerable sexual demands of first Issie and Amy and then the rest of what came to be known as the ‘Screw Girls’ — a play on crew girls — who came and went on the yacht during the cruise.
Now she is the lead instigator in driving the standard of dress to be ever more – let’s put it kindly but literally — sexualised. She sets the example which all the others, for complex reasons, seems compelled to follow. And she, with Ellen, now set that as the basis for the uniforms they dictate must be worn on the yacht.
When she’s out in a group, whether of the other Screw Girls or out with Liddy and myself, she revels in the attention it draws to herself, flirting with, charming and almost teasing on the males she attracts, but then hiding safely within the pack when she feels they’re getting too serious.
If some want to call that prick teasing, then I think the men of the world owe her that privilege after what she was put through.
And while I’ve concentrated on Amy’s sexual demands, that wasn’t to say Liddy wasn’t going to want her share of attention on the trip too. Just that her performances aren’t nearly as spectacular as Amy’s, nor her demands as insatiable.
So as I prepared the yacht for the trip, there were in my mind some challenges ahead.
During the week before our departure I spent most of my free time getting the yacht ready. I had to make sure the maintenance was up to date and all the systems were working, ensure the safety equipment was all in date, provision the yacht for the trip and clear off the yacht anything not essential to try and put it in optimal racing trim.
The trip was going to be pretty well non-stop from Sydney to Hamilton Island. So as well as topping up the fuel and water tanks, I added several jerry cans of additional diesel stored on the aft deck. My intention was to keep the boat moving at hull speed and if the wind wasn’t enough to do that then the motor would.
Meanwhile, apart from helping me with a lot of the general preparation, Amy conspired with Ellen to expand the yachts range of uniforms to cater to the variations in weather we’d confront over winter as we went from the cooler South to the warmer North.
These ‘uniforms’, and I think it’s fair to put shudder quotes around the term, have a strange history.
As has already been hinted at, while we were cruising the Pacific, the Screw Girls got in the habit, when they were wearing any clothes at all — because at sea we’d often be naked — what they called ‘fuck me’ outfits. They were supposed to keep my testosterone up to help me keep up with their not insignificant sexual demands. And I have to say, they certainly seemed to help in that regard.
These mainly consisted of tiny bikinis and, when something more was absolutely required, equally tiny and tightly body moulded hot pants and cleavage displaying crop tops or plunge neck t shirts.
When we got back to Australia and settled into racing the boat, they sort of continued the habit, even after Ellen and Issie got married; settling on mid blue as a colour for both their identical bikinis and their shorts and tops. And part of that habit was that, unless the weather was particularly foul, they’d wear the bikinis while preparing the boat dockside and only cover them with the shorts and top as we undocked. And I’d have to say, as racing uniforms went, those shorts and tops were pretty out there.
Both the dockside bikinis and the racing shorts and tops naturally attracted a lot of attention, and cheekiness from some of the other — especially male – crews, which the girls actually seemed to revel in and encourage. Ellen in particular revelled in giving as well as she got in cheeky verbal sparring games with other crews.
While conforming to the colour scheme, initially all of myself, Harry — Ellen’s husband –and Issie’s husband resisted their initial attempts to have us prepare the boat dockside in speedos.
But as Adam and Shelley joined the boat, etimesgut kaliteli escortlar they strong armed Adam and Shelley into complying with their requirements and in the process, then got the rule to apply to the rest of the males too. Evidently if it was good enough for us to perve at them in bikinis, then they wanted to perve at us in speedos too.
For the cooler parts of our Hamilton Island trip, and even for racing on a cooler day during the series, Amy hunted out some leggings and long sleeve polo shirts to round out the uniform.
Unable to find the right blue colour in the leggings, she opted for white. You can imagine, skin tight white leggings — the type that tightly hug your bum cheeks all the way down into your bum crack and mould tightly against your mons — are going to be an interesting sight when they get wet. And so they are, only the white thong bikini pants chosen to be worn under them rendering them even slightly decent.
Fortunately us men were allowed long white chinos as our longer pants. For a while I thought we were going to have to wear compression pants.
The girls’ mid blue long sleeve polos started out decent enough, except they were acquired in skin tight sizes and Amy then had a tailor cut away the button up front into a plunging neckline; adding an embroidered name of the boat to them least anyone had any doubts which boat the crews walking around Hamilton Island in them came from. Here again, while we men got close fitting tops and the embroidered name, at least she didn’t insist on us have cut away cleavage lines.
Finally in the clothing stakes, she hunted out matching tracksuits. Of course, they couldn’t be the relaxed fit of normal ones. While warmer, the pants are as tight as the women’s leggings, for both sexes, even if the tops are of a conventional zip up style; once again with the boat name embroidered on them.
To minimise time off work, it was resolved that we’d leave just before daybreak on Saturday morning; everyone collecting on the yacht ready to go as they came from work the previous evening.
The predawn departure was to minimise night sailing for safety reasons. At sea, at night, visibility can be terrible and steaming lights hard to distinguish or read. It is easy to have a collision, which if it happens to be with a large coastal cargo carrier, is not going to be good for anyone’s health. My plan was basically to undock predawn and motor down the relatively safe and well known waters of Pittwater to leave the heads into the open ocean at first light.
The Friday evening was actually quite delightful. A nice sociable take away dinner on board with a moderate excess of alcohol.
It was as we settled into our bunks I realised my poor judgement in having everyone come straight from work. It might have been better if I’d taken Amy home that night and let her get out of her system her sexual desires.
As I settled down in the bed between Liddy and Amy, all of us just a little tipsy, and as is our habit, stark naked, Amy snuggled up to me with a clear intention to more than just give me a good night kiss. As we lay side by side facing each other, she ground her mons against my manhood until she generated a full erection which she shuffled around on me enough to ensure grew between her legs rather than between our stomachs.
It was a case of surrendering to the inevitable. While it’s not my usual approach to sex with Amy, it was a case of how to satisfy her as quickly and quietly as possible. So, just as one example, that precluded her favourite g spot banger.
Amy’s intentions can’t have been missed by Liddy, laying on the other side of me with my back now too her. I looked over my shoulder at her. She was on her side facing me, so our eyes met. The unspoken question had been asked often enough, we didn’t even need to use words any more. She shook her head, indicating she was happy to be a spectator to what would follow, rather than a participant.
That didn’t surprise me. We’d had sex the previous night and Liddy’s needs tend to run to three or four times a week rather than Amy’s — at her most insatiable — three or more times a day.
But it freed me to instigate a ‘go the animal’ on Amy. In a way, it’s an appalling name for it; but it is what Amy and Ellen christened it when they first demanded it from me. They both complained I was too considerate and too focused on their orgasms to let them feel I was approaching them with the requisite degree of unfettered passion they thought was appropriate to our relationship.
Basically they wanted me to get on top and go for it like I was driven by unmitigated lust. In effect, missionary sex delivered with real oomph.
I have to say it took them some time to train me to really do it the way they wanted. Ellen especially, would get quite cranky with me if she felt I was holding back. I just always felt I had to give them at least one orgasm first, however lustful — and I certainly wasn’t lacking that – I might be feeling.
My problem was, and still is, that I was brought up with the view that man on top missionary sex is not great for the woman. Unless you do considerable contortions (which were incompatible with going the animal as the girls viewed it), it just doesn’t normally hit any of their erogenous zones capable of triggering an orgasm.
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