One of my escapades: working at sea [m/f] | 2016

This is a post from my blog, here just for you lovely redditers. Everything I write about has happened to me at some point in my life.

That time on the Channel

In one of my many incarnations in the job world, my MN employment led me to be stationed on a high speed ferry. Not especially glamorous, but one of the best jobs I’ve ever done. There were six of us in the deck crew, and we’d work four days on and two days off with the cabin crews changing over each shift. I cannot stress how much one gets a sense of unity and being part of a tight team when doing a job like this: you deal with everything together, the highs, the lows, the emergencies, the daily grind of it all. Of course, it does also lead to a bit of cabin fever and, therefore, a lot of on/off relationships with the different cabin crew members. I have to say that at the time I wasn’t really part of the “cabin-hopping” crew – those of the different deck members who had a stewardess from each shift; I stayed out of it, merely enjoying the stories that would come back. About two months into the job, though, that changed a bit.

A fantasy in porcelain

A member of our crew had to leave us for personal reasons and we had a new OS join us. She was a university student working through her summer, and this was her second year doing this as temp staff. Obviously, having a girl on a team with five guys was not going to be…well, there’s a certain amount of banter and political incorrectness. It was nothing she, K, couldn’t handle though and, to be honest, she gave even better than she got. My responsibility was the bow section: mooring and unmooring, co-ordinating the parking, managing the safety, and doing the watch during the crossing and as K was only a temp, and my section was pretty easy, she was stationed with me and we really hit it off: close in age, and me being at the fittest level I’d ever been in my life led to growing confidence around the opposite sex – everything from my wit to my chest was toned and ready, either for the quick retort needed to come back at a retarded comment from an AB or that extra ounce of muscle required to haul in 400lbs of soaked mooring rope. Inevitably, I stepped up my cheeky commentary, and we’d stay a little longer after leaving port, or go down earlier before, in our forward mooring station for a cigarette. The space was accessed through a hatch that had to be shut at all times, and the cramped room was filled by the rope, two pneumatic bollard winches, and there were two large portholes – easily big enough to fall out of – from which, apart from the function, we could sit during calm seas and watch the sunrises and sunsets across the beautiful, summer, Channel seas. Moments just to ourselves in which we’d fill with talk and dreams far apart from the banter with the others.

As time went by during a crossing, our starched white shirts would grow mucky with oil and dirt, hands grubby beyond scrubbing, and K would just become filthier and filthier in her attractiveness. Doubtlessly middle-class, it seemed that she loved this manual labour, as if it were a break from the reality of her norm. She had the build of a 5’4” Lara Croft, with jet black hair, and a nose that always inherited a black smudge of tyre rubber over a shift. And, fuck me, the way that uniform hung from the precipice of her breasts was the hottest thing I’d ever seen in my life at that point. The line was simply begging to be crossed yet I hadn’t the first clue how to do it. As ever, chance finds a way…

Orgasm and death is as close to the same thing as…

We were leaving port in France and, after pulling in my own rope, K was leaning out to catch the return for her forward line. The ship was already drifting away from the dock and, as the third casting attempt came, she slipped slightly and began to fall uncontrollably out of the porthole. I reacted on instinct, having played it out many times in my head – the chances of it happening – reaching the two or so feet to my left to grab at the waist of her trousers. Two, maybe three, of my fingers snagged into the material as the elasticity failed and started to tear the seams. It was just enough to hold. I stumbled over the bollard winches, snagging my shins in my haste, to stand behind her. Hooking my toes under the welding, I leant forward, nearly over reaching myself, I wrapped my right arm around her chest and with forcefully threw us both backwards. I was rested up against the back wall, at about twenty degrees, still holding her tight against me (the line was long gone and forgotten, to be returned next time we would dock, the ship couldn’t wait for another try). The back of her head at my chest, fingers still down the back of trousers, arm pressing across and between her breasts: both our hearts were pounding, and I could feel hers echoing through her ribcage; we were breathing deep and heavy with adrenaline. Feeling her body pressed into mine like that was, I’m slightly ashamed to say, as a youth, an immense turn on. Her toned ass was so tight to me that the rise and fall of our bodies was acting as a massage to my dick, the blood pumping so fast around me that it rushed straight to it…I knew she could feel me growing against her.

Nightingale or Stockholm?

What seemed like an age passed. She exhaled in that way that only girls can as she slid her hand around behind her and dug in between us. Her fingers searching and finding, and clasping at my cock beneath the fabric. Now it was my turn to moan slightly – I’d been wanting her to touch me like that ever since we’d met. I brushed away her hair and leaned to kiss the back of her neck, the taste of salt and sweat one that I have never forgotten. My right arm slackened and she pulled away, not turning round, bending over the rim of the port hole she’d nearly fallen through minutes before, and arched her perfect behind up invitingly. I didn’t hesitate, swept up in the heat of it I deftly unzipped, hooked my boxers down, and out sprang my achingly hard dick. K slipped her thumbs in between her waistband and hips and tugged slightly, tearing them a little more, just enough to slowly and seductively edge them down – underwear too. Reaching back, she gave me a couple of playful strokes with one hand whilst the fingers of the other crept up between her legs to spread the wetness all over her pussy. Drawing her lips apart, she guided my cock to her pussy; fingers dancing further down the length of my shaft as I let her pull every inch of me inside, wanting her to want it more and more. And then I was in. Deep inside this girl I’d wanted for seemingly so long. I could hardly move, I was so turned on. I could feel the glands at the head twitching…never had I thought I could come from so little…her pussy was so tight with her thighs close together and she was tensing, grabbing at me in pulses. I tensed back. She whimpered. I felt so unusually huge inside her. It was incredible. I steadied myself, breathing deeply and slowly, and looked out through the metal and across the finite sea that was now our view. My palms came to rest and press into the edge of the small of her back, fingers gripping around her tiny, toned frame, and started to draw back out. Almost all the way, as I had learnt to do, before thrusting shallow four or five times. Then almost totally out again. Then firmly as deep as I could. She moaned. Her hand came back to press against my thigh, as if it was too much. I backed up. Shallow once more, but now her nails were clawing me to go deeper again. I responded. Fucking and pounding her pussy as deep as I dared. She told me she was going to come, oh fuck was she going to come…I’d hardly started and I could feel the contractions of an orgasm creeping around my cock. I was rhythmic now, though, and I wasn’t stopping. Fuck. She came. Her breathing erratic, gulping for air as I kept squeezing in and sliding out of this incredible pussy. I counted the strokes…twenty…she came again…thirty more….again…her legs were shaking, knees knocking against the solid bollard….fifty…another, smaller this time…she was becoming silent, head back and turned, eyes half closed. She was somewhere else. Then I started to lose it. She was milking my cock with her insides, her skin quivering…seventy…her arms shook and gave way, resting on her chest, a momentary scream, I came. Hard. And that sent her beyond. The feeling of my come exploding into her. She orgasmed so deeply. I’ve never known it since. And I’ve rarely done so either…

The remainder of my time on that ship was spent with her. Finding moments on parked cars or in the mess hall. On inspections of the engine room or late night watch.

Oh, and the best thing about her? I didn’t find out until the last time we said goodbye: her lips. It was the only time we ever kissed. And it’s made her forever unforgettable.

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