FAIR WARNING THIS IS FICTION, and ADULT Themed. NAUGHTY WORDS AHEAD. NOT my usual garden stuff. Nor photography. ADULT fiction.
PLEASE take a moment and read, PART ONE: Ocean Dreams: Part 1: Heart Ripped Assunder
My brain was kicking back in, yet, waif was still ahead of me.
“I know this is not normal, but, I need to turn off the AIS. Are you ok if I do that?” I asked her.
I don’t know why, but I wanted to make sure I did not disappoint my waif. My waif? What was that about?
“Ahead of you there, skipper. Already done." Her answer was quick. Of all the answers, I seriously never expected THAT one.
“You Traversed New York Harbor without AIS?” Again, I really need to NOT yell. She winced back into herself.
“I have a portable radio with GPS and AIS broadcasting. Not yours." Her voice, barely a whisper. For someone I did not want to disappoint, I was doing a fine job of it. I looked like an idiot, again, in front of this young, and clearly much more savvy lady than I gave her credit for.
AIS is the boating world’s Automatic Information System. Basically, your radio broadcasts a signal that all major ships over a certain size, and ALL commercial passenger ships must broadcast and also monitor 24 / 7. Period. It helps avoid collisions at sea. Unfortunately, anyone subscribing to some software can also track your boot, world wide. THAT was why I wanted it off. I did NOT want to be tracked. Fuck her. Fuck that.
Waif was ahead of me. I looked out and could see the shoreline, now. Damn
“Oh, turn off my phone! Still agitated, but not as loud. She smiled… Held it up and said, “Airplane mode”
Man, waif strikes again.
“I used to know the people who own the marina ahead,” she pointed forward. "They know we’re coming. I called them a while ago, so, we have dock space. Freebie. Favors owed.”
Favors owed? Wonders, this little waif, wonders. I looked at her, a little more closely. She’s 18 right? Was she older? She flipped a few more lights off, now that it was daylight, and started to focus more on the boat. Powered up the cameras, and tapped the Nav system to a finer resolution. With ease. She knows how to handle a boat. My boat. But also, boating. She’s a mariner. She has the instincts. I need to have a heart to heart with her, really find out who she is. Who is she?
“Get the marriage savers on” she said, and I gasped.
“Shit, Sorry, just habit.” That’s what the walkie talkie headsets most couples use are called. Marriage savers. The joke is, the radios allow you to talk to each other when docking or leaving, without yelling. Hence, Marriage savers. I nodding and grabbed mine, and handed hers. Put it on and we tested. As I watched her, she was all instinct. No wasted movement. I could get used to her voice, for sure. Definitely her steady hand at the helm. But really, I need to be careful. She’s closer to my daughter’s age.
My kids! Damn. My Daughter was 27, son was 25. I dropped off the planet a few days ago, and they’d be worried. Probably the bitch was, too. But again, fuck that. Fuck her.
Time to make some lists. To Do Lists, once we get to dockside.
OK, get the boat to shore. Get supplies. Check out the boat status, maybe fuel, too. Do some maintenance and get my mind right. Then, figure out what’s next. My kids. Finances. You know, that things you do, when the world goes to shit, and your marriage collapses. Utterly.
Sign online and pay off all joint credit cards. THEN Remove half your savings. Half your checking. Move it to your own new accounts. Remove your name from any remaining accounts. Remove your name from joint credit cards. Remove your name from insurance, leases, utility bills. And change benefits too. No way does she benefit. Fuck her! Fuck That!
Remember, the rule of the sea: Boat First. Focus on that, FIRST. All the other noise, and that’s what she was, noise, can come later. Fuck Her. Fuck That!
OK, I was off grid, and had time to get my head together. Bless that little waif. She spirited me away and offline, while I was barely more than a functioning, vomiting drunkard. Under cover. No one had any idea. I knew what my wife... what she did. She didn’t know that I knew, that’s for sure. I am certain the guy running the estate/yard sale had no idea who I was.
So, about my boat. It was a 475 Nordhavn. A 47 foot trawler, not go fast, but go far and steady. Single engine, running a John Deere, and a small get home engine. In case. But that John Deere runs forever. 1200 gallons of diesel, Fuel for days, and days. Cross oceans, fuel. Fresh Water maker for 300 gallons an hour. If needed. Gray water and black water tanks. Anchor lines. 2 cabins, 2 heads (that’s boat talk for bathrooms!) and a nicer galley (kitchen) than my home, frankly. 2 big fridges, and freezers Like, home sized fridges and freezers. Ice makers, ac and heat, too. Full electronics. The boat really can drive itself, and often it’s set on autopilot. With a watch officer (I really owe waif!) to just keep an eye on things, JUST in case. But the boat does really well. Handles simple day trips, from point a to point b, easily. And longer cruises, nicely, too.
So, yeah… get to dockside, and deal with going over the boat. THEN, CATCH UP with my online finances. Once I did all those online moves, she, the bitch, would know. Fuck her. Fuck that. She’d know that finally I know!
And then, of course, find out about Waif. Susan. Waif. Who was she, really?
For now, I let waif be captain, and followed her orders. She’d done this, three times without me, already, and I would be damned if I would not be helping her, now. She snapped me out of my reverie, as we came passed the breakwater. Sent me outside, told me, “Starboard side docking.” I grabbed the fenders and snapped them into place. With a slightly snickering “aye aye” over radio.
I couldn’t quite make out her reply but it sounded like she said, “damned straight” with a grin implied. Yup. I could get used to some help like this.
I could see the kids at the marina, coming onto the dock, where we would be tying alongside. I had lines coiled and ready. I almost, ALMOST called on radio to waif to slow down! But she backed down the engine, and used the bow thruster at the right moment, and the boat slipped silently alongside.
Looking into the pilot house, I swear she was both mocking me, and avoiding my eyes, at the same time. She was no novice, for sure, and very adept at handling. I tossed lines to the helpers and made them fast to our bollard cleats. For and aft, and a spring line, too. Then, to the power connection. Waif was already moving inside, ready to flip over to shore power as soon as we connected. She knows her seamanship. This was NOT an 18 year old… no.
