"I don't know about all this calling Sovereign Nation a 'he', it's just not right."

What do you mean? My older brother, the only pomo-pro I know, would say "Calling a boat a 'he' is Modern; calling a boat a 'he' and then adding:"

[ Now, before the turn of the 20th century Josh Slocum proved in a court of law that a boat was more then just the sum of it's parts and the mariners I've met (a few, mind you) hold firm to the belief in an entity of some kind. I don't buy any of that shit, I just want to bring people back to the fact that this is a story that they're being told and the teller really wants them to believe that he thinks his boat is a he.]

..."Is pomo. And damn fine pomo, too."

"So, just being adequately Post Modern isn't the point of this story."

Yes, but it is a point in this story,a virtual-pomo, sailing adventure, dot, dot, dot.

"Yeah, I get it but I just don't know if I buy it, I mean, just look at her lines, so sleek and smooth like a grand lady of beauty, grace and wit."

What?! Come on, It just takes some getting used to is all. You can see it, a stern elderly gentleman gliding through the endless pussy of the Earth's flowing Oceans...

"No, you are going to call Sovereign Nation by the personal pronoun that you chose and I will call her by the personal pronoun I chose."

Don't you think that'll get a bit confusing?

"So?"

Good point.

One of the last nations of grand absurdists to believe they could discover civilization on this planet was the Spanish. Those guys sailed all over the place thinking that their wooden boats were male and that the ocean was a beautiful but fickle woman who sometimes allowed them passage. They were armed and reefed with danger.

If you’ve ever seen a clipper bow wave cut through glass water on a warm Puget Sound August morning, you’d get the male/female reference. It looks something like this:

))) ^ (((

As soon as we round the point of Point Roberts it was “Haul yards away!” and Dena and I realize that we aren’t looking at a beautiful sailing day. First day out and we get gale force winds in the Strait of Georgia and six to eight foot seas across the bow to match, we reef, then reef again. Dena takes the helm just long enough for me to put on the "little Jib" and shuffles back down below to muffle all the creaks and bangs that are keeping her from resting. That long, narrow straight lends force and fetch to the waters between Point Roberts and Active Pass, BC, our supposed goal for the morning.

I tire quickly because of the combination of “pre-cruise stress” and slamming through the chop with a double reefed main and mizzen with the jib riding a bubble on the luff. The first of the big waves brings the bow up so quick that all I can see is slate sky for a second. Then we come down on the next wave with the bone-shaking but hopefully not wood-breaking force of twenty five tons of wood landing in the water from ten feet up. Without making any real headway in the direction of Active Pass! Getting mad is futile, so I just get tired. We’re heeled over at 25 to 30 degrees at the gusts, riding the luff and hauling ass through the ebbing current. The GPS, our positioning instrument and knotmeter, says that we are not going anywhere even though it looks as if the water is rushing by at ten knots, damn that ebb! Dena is looking green and trying to hide it. At the end of my four-hour watch, we are both beat and we are only a third of the way across the Strait of Georgia. So we tack, tack again and again and again…Damn, this shit is not easy but the fact is we both know it's best to work out all the kinks in "Sheltered Waters" but all I really want to do is sleep…

Dena’s watch 1:00 PM to 5:00 PM

Nothing cures seasickness like taking the helm. The concentration I bring to steering the boat and working the sails gives me a distraction from my queasiness. In my first hour behind the wheel, I average 6 knots sailing tight on the luff but every time I come about that ebb tide catches us and we end up going backward as much as forward killing our head way. It’s a very strange a thing to see the exact same position two or three times on your GPS. At one point, I am encouraged to see our speed reach 6.5 knots - until I realize that the GPS registers our heading as east. We aren't facing east. We are facing west, going east, and making the best time of my shift to that point. I angle off the waves and still end up going west rather than northwest, still backwardish.

James is getting into the spirit of taking watches by napping during all this. He wakes and comes above decks, yawning, and notes, "We haven't moved." I am saddened by his lack of discernment. I can clearly see the difference between my original position and the 21 tack one boat length I've gone in two hours.

James diplomatically drops the subject and starts looking consideringly downwind. I catch his eye and realize that we have to change heading or stay in the Strait until the wind dies down.

…In about a week, maybe!

We turn tail and set up on a broad starboard reach before the wind and waves that want us to go south. As soon as we turn, our speed falls down to 5 knots, but all those knots are in the right direction. With the wind behind us, the waves are slower to reach and pass under us and the effective wind is only a breeze. We shake out the reefs and manage to hold wing-on-wing for a glorious two hour run.

As it turns out, all that infuriating, sideways-headway that we struggled with all day put us in the perfect position to ride the weather around Saturna Island and into a perfect little bay called Narvaez. We put the hook down in this beautiful little horseshoe of a bay located on the south-east point of the first of the Canadian Gulf Islands, Saturna. We had cruised there earlier in the year with Dena’s dad and a coworker of his from Budapest so it was good to be safe and steady on our ground tackle in familiar territory after the beating we took in the Straights of Georgia today. The wind is still screaming over the hills around us, but we settle the anchor at two fathoms in Canadian mud and have two more hours of sunlight to prepare our feast. As far as we can tell, the crescent of this little bay is the home of two breeding pairs of bald eagles, one on each side of the bay. The sun begins setting early behind the high green hills that seem to gently fall down into the water. The eagles seem to be calling to each other from across the bay. Torn between watching the best show in town and a floating sort of empty hunger, we finally get to work on dinner.

Whitetrash Hash:
One box of DE-lux mac-n-cheese
(the kind with the cheese-goo in the package)
One can of Dolphin safe Albacore Tuna (if you can get it).
One can of vegitarian chili of choice.
Seperate when cooking but eat in close proximity, mix as tempreture permits. Enjoy!

After a wonderful meal James and I have an exhausted, humbled conversation regarding our aim for this trip. We come to the simple conclusion that our biggest priorities are being together and keeping each other safe. We decide to head somewhere quiet, check the gray matter a bit, and wait out the wind storm that pushed us backwards for a large part of the day and promises to give us a restless night at anchor.

“Todd Inlet!”

“Of course.”

By the time I was awarded my bachelor’s degree in English Lit from University of Washington, I was bored by school and ready to ignore the occasion. James asked me a couple of weeks before school was out, “So what are we going to do to celebrate?” I looked at him quizzically and replied, “Well, I haven’t really thought about that. It’s just not that big of a deal. How about you give me a back rub or something?” James would not allow that, so we decided to take a bike trip for the sole purpose of finding the coolest place possible to watch “The Graduate” and celebrate the nothingness that is modern higher education.

I was a new convert to cycling life, finding out that you really can ride anywhere you want to go. Seattle is a beautiful town, and the Burke-Gilman Trail allows a cyclist to cut right through it, north to south, faster than any car stuck in traffic. I got really excited about testing my new bike legs on a longer trip.

I arranged to take a week off from the classy little optical boutique I worked at and James arranged a caretaker for the micro-radio station , FUCC 89.1 FM, he was running out of the basement of our apartment building.

From Seattle, we took the ferry across the Puget Sound to Bremerton, drove North up 101 to Port Angeles, and found a safe place to leave the car. We unloaded our bikes and coasted down to the ferry terminal, where we boarded the M. V. Coho for the trip across the Strait of Juan de Fuca. At the time, I knew very little about that body of water and thought that the heavily loaded, very stable ferry was rolling cause that’s what boats do. I was excited by the motion, and we felt like we were lucky to get a lively trip.

In Victoria, BC - absolutely one of our favorite cities - we rented a cheap motel room and split up. I rode to every video store nearby, then to a few farther away. I finally found one with The Graduate, rented the movie and a VCR, and loaded them into my backpack. When I got back from the store, I marveled, “Just imagine a US video store renting a movie and a VCR to a traveler with no address and ID from another country!”

“…Not likely!” he retorted, but his mind seemed to be on other things. He gave me a devilish grin that I had an easy time interpreting. I swaggered over to him and leaned over to kiss him. “Sorry, I’m too smelly for sex. After showers,” I promised.

I was thoroughly amused by poor Dustin Hoffman’s character in The Graduate. Feeling good about my life (especially in comparison to his), I got to feeling pretty sparky. James showered first, and I followed him, luxuriating in the hard, hot spray from the shower. A cheap motel room with a great shower is my version of heaven.

When I got out of the shower, I was relaxed and horny from, ahem, cleaning really well. James was lying on his stomach, spread-eagle on the bed, fingers and toes drooping off the edge. When he heard me step toward the bed, his ass and back clenched in a mini-stretch, then relaxed as I ran my right palm over the softness of his ass cheeks and down his thighs to his knees.

I gripped the solid muscles at the top of his thighs and asked, “Are you sore?” He shifted and mumbled into the pillow, “I wouldn’t mind a leg rub.”

I started at his toes and took my time touching every bit of skin on his feet, lightly smoothing the delicate tops of them and firmly pushing my thumbs into his arches. Working on one leg at a time, I stretched and kneaded the muscles of his calves and thighs in the warm room, not really thinking about my nakedness.“Turn over,” I directed him. His dick was fat and heavy with blood, but not really hard yet. Assessing his beautifully defined leg muscles and hips, I couldn’t help but glance over it a few times. I brushed my hands over his legs, hips to feet a couple of times to sensitize this side of his body and raised my body into a kneeling position on his right side, still sending heavy-eyed glances up his body to enjoy the scenery.

After working up to his thighs, I took the huge, tight muscles of his thighs into my hands and tried to squeeze them. He seemed to tense, not relax, and I realized that his cock had grown to a raging hard-on. Staring at it, then looking into his eyes, I did my best on his firm, expectant thigh muscles before giving in and sliding my hands into the hollows inside his hip bones. Not touching his cock yet, I leaned down and bit him on the point of his right hip, then moved to his left.

I lifted my head and rocked back and forth very gently to let him see my breasts swing directly above his dick. Then I put my head down to kiss his belly and allowed my tits to settle gently on either side of his dick. When it jerked, I lifted my head and gave him my wickedest smile. “You’re going to have to hold still, James. Do you think you can?”

He laughed a little and admitted, “I’m not sure. I can try.”

I turned onto my side between his legs and considered the toy in front of my eyes. I pressed my hands flat on his abdomen and slid them down and around the base of his dick. Sliding my thumbs around his balls, I gathered his package up by the root and made it stand upright. When I put more pressure on the base, the head of his cock swelled and darkened, so I lightly kissed the very tip. It jerked under my hands again, and I took my mouth off. “Try harder,” I murmured.

James closed his eyes and let out a deep breath, while I got close enough for him to feel my breath on the sensitive skin of his frenulum. Still containing his dick and balls between my thumbs and forefingers and pressing my other fingers firmly into his belly, I opened my mouth wide and rubbed the flat length of my tongue from the base of his dick to a half inch from the head, lapping around the edges and trying to reach the topside without changing my position. The barbell in my tongue stumbled across veins and slid over smooth sections, intensifying the experience of having him almost in my mouth.

Before giving in to my need to fill my mouth with his dick, I cupped my hands and rubbed his dick all over, from balls up, over and around the head, and then pushing back down to the root. I got a little rough, squeezing and pulling harder on it, then grasping it tightly and freezing. James moaned and started to rock, but I pushed his hip down with my elbow and waited until he stilled.

Holding his cock firm and unmoving, I flicked my tongue against the underside of its head, then swirled it all the way around and back to the sensitive cleft. I let my tongue rest with the tip at his frenulum and my piercing laying in the groove, the ball at the end lightly nestled in his urethral opening. Moving my tongue like a miniature belly dancer, I slowly engulfed James’ cock in my mouth without taking my tongue away from the head. When I got my lips around his shaft, I slowly sucked on the entire thing, massaging it with my lips and cheeks and tongue.

Once again, James moaned and bucked his hips. Instead of punishing him this time, I took his cue to start moving. I slid my right hand down to pull his balls up tight to his body and my left hand up to follow my mouth up and down his cock. Every time I came up off his cock, I flicked my thumb across the head, then followed it with my tongue and slid down as far as I could take him. I pumped him to an adagio beat, then sped up slowly and intensified the pressure of my hands and mouth.

“Come on baby, let’s fuck like Superheros! Weeeeeeeee Haaaaaaaaa…”

He slid his right hand down the length of my torso, gently brushing my nipples with his callused fingertips and then, with a firm grip on my left hip, he hoisted me up and over onto my belly. I immediately pulled myself up on my knees and spread my legs as far apart as I could manage while he folded himself over my back.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered with a rumble that started in my ear and stopped perfectly on my clit, then buried his lips in my neck. Slowly, with deep hot breaths, he gently kissed his way down my spine. Finally he made it to the top of my ass and blew a cool breeze across the curve of my cheeks. When he reached my asshole, he stopped for a painful second and then began to gently kiss around the most sensitive skin on my body. When I pushed toward his mouth, he grabbed my ass with both hands, spread my cheeks and buried his tongue deep in my asshole. I let out a squeal that was just a little too loud for a motel room and he slowly pulled back. He chuckled demonically and placed a heavy hand in the middle of my back, gently forcing my face deeper into the bedding and my ass higher in the air.

I tried to relax but when his tongue shoved its way into my pussy I couldn’t stop the scream that was a muffled explosion into the pillows. He moved down and I felt myself start to cum the instant that hot wet tongue touched my clit. As soon as the shudders from my first orgasm subsided, he raised himself to his knees and rested his cock at the entrance to my pussy. I was soaking wet and so ready that I tried to back onto his cock. He held me still and waited for my struggles to fade.

“Please fuck me!” I begged. He pushed into me roughly and began a slow, gentle rhythm that was so smooth I could feel the hair on his thighs gently brushing the backs of my legs. I was unashamedly begging him for more, harder, but he was gripping my hips with enormous strength so I couldn’t move. I came quietly, burying my head in the sheets.

He slid himself in and out of me until I could feel him with every fold of my pussy. I was so lost in my cunt that I didn’t even realize he was speeding up until I started to slide forward on the bed. Bracing myself with one hand flung forward, I arched my back so that I could reach his balls with the other hand.

When I gathered them up in their soft pouch, they tightened and James started pounding me harder. I started to rock back on him while he pulled me by the hips and our thighs were thudding together with the force of our movements. I reached desperately for my clit with the hand not holding his balls and timed my rubbing to the orgasim I could feel gathering in his balls. With two fingers on his snackbar and his sack in my palm, I knew exactly when he was going to go. He pounded me furiously and convulsed, throwing himself on my back and grabbing my tits while I gave myself the final flick that sent me home!

When we left the next morning, we were sated and sleepy, to say the least. We split the load of the VCR and movie and huffed back to the video store, confusing them with our heartfelt thanks.

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