Unexpected Threesome Ch. 50

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Babes

First an apology about a continuity error in Chapter 49, which you were all too kind to comment on. I’d drafted a few paragraphs about the girls getting dressed up for a fancy dinner, but them worked out they belonged in a later chapter. I was going to go back and transfer them and bridge the continuity gap, but forgot.

Unfortunately, post publication editing on this site isn’t permitted. As far as I know you need to delete and republish, which seems a confusing way to do it. So unfortunately the error stands.

*****

At about 11.15 we left the apartment, heading down to the yacht. Four women, dressed in spray on mini gym shorts and equally minimalist crop tops in the boat’s mid blue colour scheme and three guys in matching shorts and t shirts.

Ned and the four girls piled into the golf buggy for the trip while the other two guys politely volunteered to walk the short distance.

The marina when we arrived and walked out to the boat was a hive of pre-race activity.

Issie and Julie were already fussing about the boat. Already stripped down to the tiny bikinis we wear when getting the boat ready, Issie was helping Julie lay out the spinnaker sheets; one of those jobs you need to get right if you’re not going to get in a tangle later.

The guys weren’t far behind us, so as we all climbed aboard, we disappeared below to stow our day gear bags and strip down to bikinis and speedos in accordance with our usual patterns; the guys having to be supervised to make sure they complied.

To say that our marina neighbours were friendly as we went about preparing the boat was a gross understatement. The bikinis were doing their usual job of making a statement. Quite a statement.

The Race Week here is a major event and attracts a lot of news coverage. The press must have got wind of a yacht crewed by a bevy of nearly naked women because just about all of the news crews made a point of visiting us — which in any other circumstance would be unusual because as competitors we were nothing more than another also ran. The high profile yachts were all around the other side of the marina.

So repeatedly Ellen and I found ourselves standing on the deck talking to reporters down on the dock; the male ones clearly having trouble staying focused on our faces as they looked up to interview us. Then the girls would have to line up along the deck for the photo; the guys, if they were wanted in the photo at all, making sure they got a safe second rank position.

The TV cameras and their crews were a bit more demanding. Ellen, Julie and I would have to get down on the dock — Julie bringing her expert knowledge of the whole race scene with her — and then after the interview they’d try and get videos of us preparing the yacht. Those spinnaker sheets were laid out and re-laid out nearly half a dozen times before they were ready to leave us alone.

But it was soon time to undock and get out on the race course; a quick trip below to put the shorts and crop tops back on preceding it.

The race was starting in Dent Passage, just outside the entrance to the marina. 100 yachts milling about in a narrow passage, hoisting sails, trying to stay out of the way of yachts starting before you and, more importantly, trying to keep the top of your mast out of the way of planes landing at the Island’s airport. Evidently, it’s considered very bad form to have the top of your mast rip out the bottom of an inbound airplane and, at the least, will get you disqualified from the race.

In these conditions, the starts can be a bit chaotic. A downwind start in about 10 knots of South East breeze which necessitates a perfectly timed run to the line and a perfectly executed spinnaker set if you are going to get away well.

With Julie’s help we managed both; popping the spinnaker on the right of way starboard tack to run along the Eastern side of Dent Passage before gybing onto port for a clearer run out into Whitsunday Passage. But it did cause some consternation to yachts which started on Port and suddenly found themselves having to give right of way to us — not always easy with a spinnaker up.

After about 600 meters, we executed a nice dip pole gybe onto starboard, headed a reasonable distance to the North West out into and up Whitsunday Passage, and then gybed again onto Starboard for a long run up to the first rounding mark at the Eastern corner of Whitsunday Island.

The wind started to lighten as we sailed towards the next mark, causing the fleet to bunch. Looking ahead we could see that what is often called a log-jam was developing around the mark.

Now there are rules which given this situation, essentially limit what distance from the mark you need to be to get an overlap on someone to go inside them at the mark.

But in this situation you’re dealing with yachts which weight 8 or so tonnes, which carry a fair bit of momentum, certainly don’t have brakes and where the yachts coming into the mark are blanketing the wind of those already there. ankara iri göğüsleri olan escortlar You don’t just have to worry about the boat alongside you, you need to plan what’s going to happen with the boats that are presently well ahead.

Now one way of dealing with that is just take a wide sweeping turn around all the other boats. It’s a nice safe way of doing it but, since it adds a lot of distance to your course and leaves you in a windless hole downwind of everyone else, hardly a race winner.

Without Julie, it still might have been what we did.

But Julie, initially standing next to Ned, was having none of it.

While still well clear of the mark, she directed Ned out to the inside edge of the fleet. Then she briefed the crew on how and when she wanted the spinnaker dropped and jib hoisted. Finally, she supervised and helped us as we set up for a letterbox drop of the spinnaker on the present starboard tack and with the jib set up to be quickly hoisted and brought onto port tack as we gybed the mark, making sure everyone knew their role well before we approached the mark.

Finally, with a wink to Ned, she stripped off her crop top and bikini top to reveal her naked and very impressive breasts and slipped out of her shorts down to her tiny bikini bottom. Taking the hand held VHF radio, she put it on a lanyard around her neck, together with a marlin spike, adjusted it and the yachts main radio to channel 72, and went up to the bow ahead of the forestay. From there she had a clear view of what was happening ahead of the boat, and it would seem from the reactions, most of the crews on most of the boats around us had a clear view of her.

It certainly caused enough distractions and loss of concentration on the other boats that yachts that had previously been level pegging us started to fall back. And as we snuck up the inside of a couple of yachts ahead, it seemed to deter them from overly aggressive defensive manoeuvres; soothed a little by Julie’s sweet ‘sorry’s’ as we did so, even if no rules had actually been broken.

Watching ahead, she radioed back to Ned through the cockpit speakers where he should steer to weave his way through the mess of boats ahead, a path seemingly opening up for us as we went.

As we approached the mark, with yachts all around us, Julie called for the spinnaker pole to be eased forward by Liddy on the brace and the downhaul on it taken in by me standing in the pit. When it was close to the forestay, she stood up on the bow pulpit with an arm wrapped around the end of the pole to support her.

Her near naked body was now visible to every person on every yacht which could see us; and you could sense, clearly a distraction to every male within a 200 meter radius. While I know that was part of her intention, she wasn’t there just for show.

By now we were barely 100 meters from the mark and on the inside. Every other boat around us had already dropped their spinnaker. Finally, with a call of ‘go the spinnaker’, Julie reached up and used the marlin spike to ‘spike the brace’, which is activating a quick release clip so that the tack of the spinnaker comes completely free of the brace.

With the lazy sheet on the clew of the spinnaker led over the boom and down into the cabin where Issie and Ellen were waiting, I released the halyard while they hauled in first the lazy sheet and then the material of the spinnaker itself; executing a perfect letterbox drop.

It all worked beautifully. Like a puff of smoke, the spinnaker simply disappeared into the cabin.

But that didn’t mean there was time to rest. Already, as previously planned, the jib was snaking its way up the forestay; Adam bouncing the halyard at the mast while, initially, Shelley tailed it across the winch next to me.

As soon as the spinnaker was on its way down, I watched as Julie climbed off the pulpit, then as soon as it was safe to do so, lowered the pole’s topping lift so that Harry and Julie on the foredeck could secure the pole in place.

Still Julie stood on the bow, guiding Ned precisely into the mark while using her physical and natural charms to sooth the feelings of those who wanted to be where we were. She’d noticed that the boats ahead, having all but grazed the mark, had gybed late and then been carried downwind by the north flowing tide. So, she got Ned to steer a course a bit further away from the mark, pushing the boats on the outside of us further out as well, while Ellen came back on deck and stood on the aft port corner of the boat dissuading any boat that looked like it might sneak inside us from illegally doing so.

With the wind getting lighter and the blanketing effect of the boats behind worse, we inched towards the turning point. Just before our bow was abeam of the buoy, Julie called out for the gybe.

Shelly and I madly pulled in (then released) the mainsheet and Liddy the jib sheet while Ned turned the boat to just shave the downwind side of the buoy in a very tight rounding elvankent götü büyük escortlar that left us well to windward of every other boat.

Within moments we had cleared the blanketed wind of the boat piled up at the mark and had gained about 15 places from where we had been ten minutes ago as we sailed nicely to windward in clear air and a wind just a little fresher than what you might have expected from before.

Ellen had previously calculated the course to the next mark and I could hear her instructing Ned…

“The course over the ground to the Southern tip of Pine Island is compass bearing 195 degrees. But there a strong northerly tide, so the optimum course looks like 185 degrees.

That was just off close hauled in the current wind. So we trimmed the sheets just out a little for the optimum Velocity Made Good (“VMG”) to the next rounding.

The foredeck having being tidied up, Julie made her way back to the cockpit. Ned smiled at her as she momentarily stood, still all but naked, alongside him…

“Is that how you do all the mark roundings?”

“It depends on the audience. But it’s not the first time I’ve done it. Except at the highest levels, most males won’t deal with you too ruthlessly if you’ve got a pair of exposed tits and a bit of female charm working the bow. Mind you, it was a bit weird the first time dad asked me to do it. Evidently it was an idea mum came up with and employed when she sailed with dad.”

Julie seemed almost reluctant to put back on her tops and the shorts. But redressing, she came and joined the line up on the windward rail; adding our weight to the righting movement of the keel under the boat.

As we approached Pine Island, the wisdom of Ellen’s course direction became evident. The yachts we had rounded the last mark with us were now well to leeward of us and while the slightly broader reach they were sailing gave them a little more boat speed, they were not laying the end of the Island and now had to tack and try and make way directly into a raging tide around the island; letting us overtake a few more boats.

As we passed the end of Pine Island, we eased the sheets a bit to take us the short distance to the Southern end of Long Island, our next turning point.

There we turned further away from the wind a set the spinnaker for a long easy run down the inside of Long Island.

Things started to change a little as we approached the top of the Island and the next turning point. The wind had picked up and the formerly balmy weather had become just a bit more chilly.

That meant we were going to change headsails for the next work and really should consider changing into the next step up clothing; the leggings and long sleeve polo shirts. But time was running out. We had to be quick.

As Ellen, Shelley, Issie, Julie and myself went below for the smaller jib, we did a rapid change of clothing. There was no need for modesty between us. In the main cabin we simply rushed to strip out of everything we had on and put on the leggings and polo top. In our rush, only Issie, who had her gear aboard and the item handy, put on a tiny white g string bikini bottom under the leggings. The rest knew that, even dry, there weren’t entirely opaque, but as long as we stayed moderately dry, it didn’t really matter.

As we lugged the no 2 jib onto the deck and up to the bow, the boys and Liddy were able to let us take control momentarily and drop below to let the boys change into their long white chinos and polos and Liddy to mirror us, taking the number 1 jib back down below with them.

At the top, North West corner of the Island, we executed another perfect letterbox drop of the spinnaker and hoisted the number 2 jib for the long beat back to the finish in Dent Passage. At first everything seemed good and like we’d made the correct choice of jib.

But as we started to clear the Island, it was evident we’d underestimated the wind. A sudden gust caught Adam and Harry doing the hard work of playing the main off guard and nearly spun the boat around as it heeled right over. From that point on it was a full time job playing the mainsheet; dumping it quickly as a gust arrived and then grinding it on again.

It was clear that a reef in the main and a change down to the number 3 jib was required, and quickly. While half of us attended to the reef, the rest went below to haul out the number 3 jib.

It was as we took the number three jib up to the front of the boat that another issue that Ned had been quietly dealing with became evident. The tide had turned during our run up the inside of Long Island and was now running to the South. That might sound good in that it helped push us home a bit, but it also meant we now had wind against tide, giving very short nasty waves that the bow had a habit of dipping right into.

Even so, on a short port tack, Julie quickly and efficiently had the number three up the spare windward track. Now all we had to do was tack back etimesgut çıtır escortlar onto starboard to bring the larger number 2 back to the windward side and bring it down.

That turned out to be easier said than done. With only a couple of us on the bow to suppress it, as it came down, it quickly broke free from our grip, threatening to get washed overboard.

It was a case of all free hands to the front to supress the sail and get it away. And since Ned was on the helm and Harry and Adam playing the all-important mainsheet, that meant it was the six girls.

The weight of extra crew on the bow simply exaggerated the way the bow dipped as it came over every wave. Now as the bow went under a nearly a meter depth of white water cascaded across the foredeck and ran down both side of the boat. And since that foredeck was right where we were sitting trying to get the sail into the bag so we could carry it below, that meant the six of us were getting washed out by water sometimes up to our neck; one hand on the sail, the other grabbing at the stanchions, lifelines and the jackstay to keep us aboard.

We eased the sail, finally secured untidily in its bag, at least enough to keep it under control, back over the cabin roof where the six of us could finally stand on the windward side deck to try and carry it in its wet and heavy state back below.

It was at this time that the full transparency of the white leggings I’d chosen became truly evident. Let’s just say that, in a group where it was evident that there was nothing more than a small landing strip among us to provide camouflage — and it was only Julie with even that — we’re talking full VJJ and puckerhole displays. Basically like you had nothing on at all. Only Issie, whose white g string bikini pants stood out clearly on her body, and Liddy, who in her haste to change had left her blue bikini pants on, had even a modicum of modesty left.

But we were needed on deck quickly so it was very much a come as you are party headed topside where our weight was required along the side deck to provide more righting moment; the classical sailors pose of your bum on the side deck facing outwards with your legs shoved under the lifelines and lower legs hanging down on the side of the boat as you leaned into the lifelines. So at that point you could add a row of twelve nipples poking out on high beam through our polo shirts to the display we offered up to any nearby boats.

I’d like to say we went unnoticed. But of course we’d created a boat that was meant to be noticed and there were two competitors to windward of us who knew full well which boat we were. We’d even been bantering with them just before we went into the spinnaker takedown.

They’d been complementing our leggings and cleavage displaying polo shirts outfits — the first time they’d been seen in the regatta.

Now as we sat on the windward rail, we were directly facing them. Of course, in normal circumstances, their crew — except for the skipper and mainsail trimmers — would also be on the windward rail, facing away from us.

But these weren’t normal circumstances. Yes, they were lined up on the windward rail. But for as long as their neck muscles would tolerate it, they had their heads craned around, looking at us. Waving and smiling certainly. But let’s just say they weren’t always looking at our faces. Because as the boat crashed over and through waves, and more white water poured along the side deck under and over us, it was impossible to keep your thighs demurely together. And that’s before worrying about what the gusts and occasional bigger waves were doing to the plunging necklines of our wet polo shirts.

If any of us were paranoid about our modesty, I suppose there might have been a problem. But that was not us. Some of us had never been fussed in the first place. The rest had grown to accommodate a change of attitude. We just waved back.

And watched. Watched as what became known as the Julie principle took effect.

A big gust hit the boat just to windward of us as the sheet trimmers and skipper were, shall we say, inappropriately distracted. They didn’t react quickly enough to dump sheet and correct the turn, with the result they spun out of control into an unintended tack, nearly taking out the other boat just behind them.

The boat that lost control lost nearly 600 meters by the time they recovered and the other boat about half that; leaving us temporarily sailing in clear wind and with no male gaze upon us (other than the men on board our boat).

But about half way back to Hamilton Island, the serious race boats — having done a longer course — started to come past us. Because the course was more or less a straight line to the finish, a well navigated boat would almost certainly be on the line we were on. And since many of these boats had professional crew — and as a result a professional navigator — on board, the fact they were on exactly the same line as us was an incredible compliment to Ellen and her navigation.

First to pass us was one of the hundred foot long yachts that normally contest the Sydney Hobart line honours race. They must have had 20 males on board. Of course, these are the hard core race guys you’d expect to be fully focused on their race. But the also the hard core testosterone overdose types too.

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