Offshore TG TF Caption *EXTRA UNCENSORED CONTENT* + full story

Théo had told you to swim while he set the lines up because he did not want you standing over him fidgeting, and there was no shade on the boat anyway. So you had jumped off the side. The water was warmer than the air had told you it would be. You came up and blew salt off your lip and stood where the swell was chest-high on you. The Adriatic did what the Adriatic did. It rocked you.

You pushed the wet hair back off your forehead. The hair came back longer than it had been under your palm. Longer past the fingers, still coming. You blinked salt out of your eyes. The reflection in the water where the wake had settled was not a reflection you knew. Orange. Not yours. You looked down. The chest that met the surface of the sea was wrong.

The trunks were not trunks anymore. There was a string tied at your hip. Below the string, a triangle of turquoise fabric that was not covering much. Above, the same. You had never owned turquoise. Your shoulder had a mark on it near the joint that had not been there when you had eaten breakfast. Small. Blue. A curl of a shape you had seen on a woman on the ferry the summer before.

You could still smell the diesel from the outboard even out here, ten meters off the transom. That had been in the air since Trieste and it had not changed. Everything else had. The swell went up and down over the top of the bikini. Your feet were smaller in the sand under the water. Your hair floated around your shoulders. The sun was hot on the back of your neck where there used to be more hair to protect it.

You heard Théo call your name from the deck of the boat. He was not looking. He had his back to you doing something with the lures. His voice came across the water without impatience. He would come to the rail in a minute. He would look for the swimmer he had told to get out of his hair. He would see somebody else in the water where the swimmer had been. You put both hands up to wave and called back.

"I'm right here!" you called.

Théo turned at the rail. He looked for the swimmer who had answered. He did not find her at first. He found somebody else in the water where she had been. His hand did not stop what it was doing on the reel for a long second. Then it did.

He put the reel down on the fish box.

"Come alongside," he said.

You swam the ten meters back to the transom without hurrying. The water pushed you forward a little every third stroke and you let it. He was standing on the ladder when you got there. He held out a hand. You took it. He pulled you up onto the swim step in one movement and did not let go of the hand at the top.

Water ran off you onto the fiberglass. The two of you stood there. Neither of you said anything for a minute.

Then he said, "Get in."

You climbed over the transom. The deck was hot on the soles of your feet after the cool of the sea. He walked you into the shade of the awning by the cockpit and sat you down on the bench cushion under it. The vinyl of the cushion was warm and stuck to the backs of your thighs at once.

He knelt on the deck between your knees. He was still in his own trunks. He looked at your face for a second and then he put his mouth against the base of your throat where the salt had dried in a thin crust. He kissed there. He moved to the collarbone. His hand went to the string of the turquoise top and pulled the bow at the back of your neck. The triangles of it fell into your lap.

He put his palm flat between your breasts and moved it up and down once, slow. The salt on your skin came off on his hand. He looked at what he had uncovered without saying anything. Then his mouth went there.

He got the bottom string undone with two fingers. He kept the bottoms on you longer than the top because he wanted them where he had put them. Then he moved them out of the way with the side of his thumb.

He stood up and pushed the trunks down to his ankles and stepped out of them. He came back down onto you. He hooked one of your knees over his hip and pushed in and the bench cushion took the first stroke without a sound because it was that soft.

You gasped once. He held there when he was against you. Then he moved. Slow. The boat rocked with the swell and every third stroke lined up with the roll. He worked with the boat. His hand went into the wet of your hair at the back of your head and stayed there.

He got faster after a minute. He put his forehead against the side of your throat. The awning canvas above you cracked once in the wind. A gull went past low over the water somewhere behind him. He shifted your hips forward on the cushion with a palm at the small of your back to change the angle. You closed your eyes and let him.

He pulled out for a beat and turned you and put your knees on the cushion and your forearms against the back of it. He came into you from behind. His hand at your waist. The other at your shoulder blade. The bench creaked because it was mounted to the deck with two old bolts and one of them had a little play in it. Neither of you cared.

He got faster again. The reel he had set down on the fish box gave a long slow zip because a fish had taken the lure below the transom and neither of you paid it any attention. He was one hand on your hip and one hand in your hair. Your palms were against the plastic of the cushion back and holding.

You came with the boat still rolling under both of you and the sun on the top of your shoulders where the shade of the awning did not reach. He kept moving through it. His pace broke a minute later. He pulled out and finished on the small of your back and the curve of it ran down your hip and dripped onto the cushion.

He held there breathing against your ear.

Afterward he sat on the bench with you sideways on his lap and both of you looked out at the transom. The reel was still zipping. Neither of you got up to check it. The fish was going to keep pulling until it stopped. The gull came back and stood on the port rail and looked at both of you for a second and then flew off toward the mainland.