Rescue at sea

Mike lowered his binoculars and pushed the throttle forward to its maximum. It would be an exaggeration to say that his elderly cabin cruiser surged ahead. A large cloud of black smoke and a series of backfires belched from the exhaust, the ancient hull vibrated and slowly the revs increased.
The inappropriately named “Queen of the Waves” lurched and protested as the speed built up to 15 knots.

Through his binoculars Mike had seen hundreds of gannets diving into the water. He knew what that meant. A huge school of pilchards. From the air the gannets were feasting and he knew, in the water below, the game fish would be assembling. A great chance for a big yellowtail or tuna.

Slightly ahead and to starboard there was a large, modern cabin cruiser; a gin-palace more than twice the length of Mike’s modest craft. He was surprised to see it this far out. Usually the rich owners wouldn’t venture into these waters, so far from port. There were far closer bays where they could moor to drink their champagne and nibble their salmon salads.
The two cruisers had the sea to themselves.

The gin-palace was still 100 hundred meters away when he drew level. Then he noticed two women waving. That was strange. The occupants of such craft always ignored his with its fading paint and unkempt look. Mike looked behind to see if they were waving at someone else.

The sea was empty.

Mike lived out on an outer island in a settlement of five cabins making a modest living writing computer software via the Internet as he wrote his book. At 20 years of age he had become fed up with university and enjoyed the solitude of life three hours by sea from civilization.
The other owners of the cabins were holiday makers and most of the time, like now, he had the island to himself. Just as he liked it.

He gave the women a cursory wave and returned his attention to the gannets, studying the foaming sea with his binoculars and cursing “Queen of the Waves’ slow progress.
He scanned to the gin-palace. The women came into full focus.
“Looks like a mother and daughter. Why were they waving so much?”
He looked more closely. They had their hands by their mouths and looked like they were shouting. He couldn’t hear anything over the raucous noise of his straining engine.
Probably some Smart Alec comment about the dilapidated state of “Queen of the Waves.”

He resisted the urge to wave two fingers at them and went to check his fishing gear.

Then it dawned on him. They were calling for help. Mike looked back at the gannets. There were there in their hundreds. There must be some great fish below. It was only a couple of hours until dusk. If he stopped to help, there went his chance of a decent fish.

Mike reluctantly changed course and headed for the larger boat. As he got closer he could see them more clearly. Both were wearing sun dresses. Long, dark hair and as far as he could see from this distance, slim figures.
The daughter looked like a clone of her mother. Maybe 17. The mother looked far too young to have a daughter that age. But Mike knew that where there is enough money for a gin-palace, there is enough money for personal trainers, age reducing creams and perhaps a cosmetic surgeon’s scalpel..

He drew close to the stern of the cruiser and tossed a rope to the mother who dropped it.. She dropped it again on the next attempt. Mike sighed and pointed to the daughter who just managed to catch his third throw. Mike had to yell at them to tie it to a cleat, which they did very inexpertly.

He finally got close enough to jump onto the transom then climb aboard. Ignoring the women he quickly tied a knot to secure his own craft.

“Why didn’t you come sooner? Couldn’t you see us waving?” the mother asked with a frosty stare.

“I thought you were just being friendly.”

“Friendly? Do you think we would wave at someone in a tub like yours for twenty minutes, just to be friendly?”

Mike sighed.
He had forsaken a fighting tuna to be abused by an upper class snob. He looked the mother.
An aristocratic looking beauty, there was no doubt. High cheekbones which were accentuated by her long dark hair being drawn sharply back from her face. A perfect, almost unlined complexion and, at this moment a haughty, disdainful expression.

She was studying Mike’s sweatshirt which he had screen printed. A portrait of Clint Eastwood holding up a pistol with an improbably long barrel. Above it Mike had printed the words:
“Resistance is futile.”

As the mother studied the words a twinkle seemed to come to her eyes and her face softened just a bit.

As he tried to think of a reply, Mike looked at her. She was tall, only a couple of inches shorter than his six feet. Her sun-dress did little to hide her body.
It showed the cleavage between her breasts. It showed to Mike that she wasn’t wearing a bra and that her breasts were up to the challenge.
It was tight around her waist and it showed to Mike she was very slim.
It was extremely short and showed to Mike that her legs were extremely long, extremely slim and extremely shapely.

She seemed unconcerned by Mike’s leisurely gaze.

“Have I given up the chance of catching a tuna, just to have my beloved “Queen of the Waves” abused by the people I’m rescuing from certain death?”
“Are you telling me you love that tub?” There was definitely a strong hint of a smile now.

Mike looked as his craft, smoke pouring from the exhaust, the paintwork which he had been intending to paint for two years, but hadn’t got around to, the three cracked windows with strips of masking tape, the pile of empty beer cans which again he had been planning to tidy up, but hadn’t quite managed.

“’Queen of the Waves’ has always been faithful, always been there when I have needed her. Unlike the women I have known.” He looked at her steadily.
The twinkle in the mother’s eyes brightened.

The daughter interrupted.

“He’s dead.”

Mike was not used to death, but felt he was expected to commiserate.
“I’m sorry to hear that. None of us go on forever, I guess.”
But even as he said it, he felt that his compassion sounded hollow.

“Who’s dead?” he added as an afterthought.

“The charter skipper. He went to the toilet and when we checked after half an hour, there he was sitting there.”
“Sitting there?”
“Yes, on the toilet with his trousers down.” Was that a slight grin that Mike noticed?
“He could be constipated,” Mike reasoned.

“Constipated! That was three hours ago. He’s still in exactly the same position with exactly the same stupid expression on his face.” The mother’s tone had become haughty again.

Bracing himself Mike went to the toilet. He had never seen a dead body before. He opened the door and saw a fat, middle aged man, sitting on the toilet, shorts around his ankles and leaning into a corner. There was a look of surprise on his face.

“Well, I suppose I’d be surprised too.” empathized Mike.

Tentatively, he touched the body. It seemed very cold.
“How can you tell if someone is dead?” he wondered. Then he remembered an old movie.

“Do you have a hand mirror?” he asked the women who had followed him.
“Why do you need a mirror for heavens sake?” The mother looked irritated.
“Just get one if you have one please.”
With a skywards roll of her eyes the mother went to her handbag.

He held the mirror in front of the corpse’s mouth. No misting at all. According to the movie, no misting meant no breathing and no breathing meant death.

“Dead,” Mike pronounced. “Like last week’s roast dinner.”
He looked at the now former skipper with sadness.
“Poor bastard. . . . . What a way to go. . . . . With your trousers down.”

The daughter’s grin was quite open now. But her mother resumed her haughtiness.

“I’ve already told you that he’s dead. He’s been there for three hours. I’ve stuck him with this pin 20 times to try and get some reaction.” She pointed to a large safety pin.
”Why did you have to touch him with my mirror?”
“I saw it in a movie.”
The daughter giggled, even the mother had a smirk.

“What a coincidence. I saw a movie where someone used a safety pin to check a corpse.”
Her smirk turned to a smile and when her daughter started laughing, the mother joined in. Out of deference to the dead, Mike tried not to laugh, but failed.
He composed himself and closed the door to try and give the corpse some dignity.

He took the opportunity to study the daughter. She was only an inch shorter than her mother. She had her mother’s bone structure but her face was softer with her youth. Her sun dress didn’t show as much cleavage as her mother’s but Mike had noticed the movement inside when she laughed,
Like her mother, the daughter seemed to think that bras were not needed at sea.. Her legs were the match of her mother’s.
Her expression was not haughty in the slightest. More a wide eyed innocence but she did have that alluring, mischievous twinkle of her mother.

“If he’s been dead for three hours, why didn’t you radio for help?”
“Me! Are you mad? How would I know how to work the fucking radio thing?” The mother was indignant. ”And we’ve been out of cellphone range.”
“So, we’ve been sailing around for three hours trying to find our way back to port,” said the daughter.
“Port is that way,” said Mike, pointing behind. “You’ve come in the wrong direction. This way is South America.10,000 kilometers away. How’s your Spanish?”

The daughter giggled but the mother glared. “Well, use the radio yourself.”
This presented a problem to Mike. Although he spent a lot of time at sea he was ignorant when it came to nautical equipment. “Must take that Master Mariner’s course soon,” he had been saying for years

He looked at the radio and uselessly twiddled a couple of knobs.
“This one is a new one for me. Where’s the manual?”
“We spent three hours looking for it. There isn’t one.” The mother eyed him coldly.
“You’ll have to use the radio on your tub.”

Mike was starting to take serious exception to her description of his beloved craft, but embarrassment stopped him from protesting. Like much of the equipment on “Queen of the Waves”, the radio didn’t function.
“Ah um, mine’s not working right now.”

The mother looked at him in disbelief. She looked at her daughter.

“Well Sarah, let this be a good lesson for you about men. One is sitting on the toilet, stone dead, and this one” pointing at Mike, “our savior, our rescuer, is obviously brain dead.”

Sarah looked at Mike, then started to giggle. Mike watched in amazement as the mother started to smile and then laugh. The two women held each other as they laughed hysterically.
Although the joke was directed at him, Mike could see the humor and couldn’t suppress a grin.

The mother looked at him.
“I’m sorry, that’s a bit unfair. My name is Simone and this is Sarah.”
Mike introduced himself.

“Well, Skipper Mike, what do you suggest?” asked Simone. Her haughtiness had gone, replaced by a twinkling, challenging smile.
“Won’t the charter company be looking for you?”
“I don’t think they will miss us until tomorrow. We were going to moor in a bay and have two days out here.”
“It’s called Dead Man’s Bay. We got the dead man but we didn’t get the bay,” Sarah giggled but soon she and her mother were laughing in each other’s arms again. This time Mike laughed out loud.

“It’s going to be dark in a couple of hours. The only safe mooring we can get to is the bay where I live. Here, look at this chart.”
He bent over the chart which was lying on the table. The two women came close to look, one on either side. Simone propped her arm on his left shoulder as she bent over and Sarah’s arm rested on his right shoulder.

Both women seemed to be fascinated by the chart and bent over further, resulting in their torsos pushing hard into his back.
Mike was not fascinated by chart but certainly was fascinated by the feel of one of the breasts of each of the women pressed into him, by the long dark locks and the whiffs of perfume.

“We’ll go there and I’ll call the coastguard.”

It took him a couple of minutes to set up “Queen of the Waves” to be towed by the gin-palace. As he made his preparations he pondered.
There was something surreal about this situation. These two stunningly beautiful women with their bizzare senses of humor, their coquettish behavior and their twinkling, challenging looks at him.