Her Name Was Celine

17. Celine

After the girls left for work, I started in on the scotch. Wanting to get off the boat, I poured an extra large glass with ice and decided to tour the marina docks.

The marina was fair sized, about 100 slips arranged on 4 piers. As I traipsed down dock 1, I saw every kind of boat conceivable. From 20 foot day sailers to 50 foot ocean going craft. From 25 foot tugboat trawlers to 65 foot yachts on the T dock at the end.

Some boats were empty. Others showed signs of life but no one visible. A few had their owners on deck fixing stuff or relaxing in the cockpit. So far I hadn’t spotted anyone who appeared interesting enough to engage.

Finally, on dock 3, I saw her. A 40 foot sailboat, much like my Love Boat, with a bikini clad hottie on deck washing her boat down. “Ahh … the fun part of boating!” I called out.

She turned to me and, with a broad smile said “You’re welcome to join in the fun if you like. As Mick Jagger says ‘It’s a gas, gas, gas!'”

“I’ve got my own fun on dock 2. You have a beautiful boat by the way.”

“Thanks! I’m Celine. I’m about to take a break from all this fun. Care to join me for a cold one?”

“Love to. I’m Sailor. Permission to come aboard?”

She emerged from down below with two ice cold beers in her hand, extending one to me. She popped hers and chugged the whole can in one uninterrupted motion. “Guess I was thirsty. Let me grab another.” While she was below getting her beer, I heard her let out a loud belch. She laughed and called up “Excuse me! I don’t normally act like the sailor I am around people I’ve just met.”

Once settled in her cockpit, we exchanged stories. Who we were, where we were going. Celine was early 40s, divorced, one adult child living out west. She was a graphic designer, working remotely from her boat. As she put it, she was travelling “from there to here to there.”

She was envious of my story, being retired already. “You certainly don’t look old enough to be retired. You must have hit the lottery and just quit work, huh?”

“I didn’t hit the lottery and my exit story, and my age, is not what it appears. And I must say that you certainly don’t look your age. In that bikini with your toned body – well, you could pass for a college girl.”

“I must admit that on the rare occasions when I do visit a club, all the young guys hit on me mercilessly. I’ve learned how to shut them down because I much prefer older men, such as yourself. They just have that savoir-faire, that sophistication, that wisdom so absent in today’s youth.”

She continued “This young generation would rather stare at their phones than engage in conversation. Such a pity, too. Their hard bodies, their stamina … ooohhh … it makes me wet just thinking about it. But the older men, they have that touch. These young kids just paw at you. Not a single one I’ve tried even knew I had a clit, much less where to find it.”

I responded “We’ve just met and already I feel a bond with you. And I agree about the younger generation. The cute little teenage girls, with their tight bodies and tight everything else – well, they’re fun, but with age comes experience.