Taboo

Keywords: Nereids, Ch., 10,

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"STANDARD DISCLAIMER

This story is intended as ADULT entertainment. It contains material of an adult, explicit, SEXUAL nature. If you are offended by sexually explicit content or language, please DO NOT read any further.

This story is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in it are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental. The author does not necessarily condone or endorse any of the activities described.

This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without the written permission of the author. It may be freely distributed with this disclaimer attached.

Copyright [Copyright] 2006 Nick Scipio. All rights reserved."

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CHAPTER TEN

The low pressure front pushed to the north, exactly as the weather report predicted. Still, Jack felt a sense of relief that the high pressure system moving in from the south had arrived as forecast. Even at the end of hurricane season, and even in the cooler waters of the eastern Pacific, late-season storms could wreak havoc with small craft.

But the sky had begun to clear as they passed the Coronado Islands and entered Mexican waters. Later, they watched a glorious Pacific sunset, the sky ablaze with color, full of pinks and reds and oranges.

Susan and Beth went below to fix dinner. They had trouble with the close confines of the galley and the motion of the boat, but they eventually emerged with plates of sandwiches and potato chips.

They had a picnic of sorts in the cockpit. David was at the helm. The soft glow from the compass binnacle lit his face. Beth passed him a plate and then climbed into the aft cockpit with him.

The breeze was still a moderate fifteen knots, but the temperature had dropped when the sun went down. The evening was downright chilly, and Jack was glad he'd brought his heavy windbreaker. The women both wore turtlenecks and thick sweaters, and David had donned his Navy pea jacket.

"Do you want to take the helm?" David asked after dinner.

Jack shook his head. "You keep it. I'll take over when we get closer to Ensenada. We'll anchor for the night."

"Will we need to stand watch?"

"Not tonight," Jack said. "Once we get under way tomorrow, the day watches should be pretty informal. One of us needs to be at the helm or on deck at all times. Other than that…" He shrugged. "Like I said, pretty informal."

David nodded.

"We'll need formal watches at night while we're under way," Jack continued. "Two-person watches, four on, four off."

David nodded again.

"Unfortunately," Jack said, "I need to take the morning watch."

"Why 'unfortunately'?" Susan asked.

Jack grimaced. "It begins at oh four hundred."

"Oh."

"I need to catch the morning stars, to do my celestial navigation. So that means you and I have to haul ourselves out of the rack at zero dark thirty."

She groaned.

"But David and Beth will just be getting to bed when we get up," he said. "They'll have the midwatch: midnight to four."

David shrugged philosophically. "Another "fine" day in the Navy."

Jack grinned.

"I don't remember joining the Navy," Susan said to Beth, her tone sardonic.

Beth merely smiled and shrugged.

"Well, if I'm going to have to 'stand a watch,'" Susan said into the silence, "then I want to learn what I'm doing."

She'd always been a feminist, even before it had become fashionable. She wasn't ready to join Betty Friedan and "her" bunch, but she came close. Her determination was one of the things he loved about her. Her beauty might fade over time, but she'd always have an independent spirit.

"All right," he said aloud, "let's get the chart and you can help me plot our course."

**

They reached Ensenada shortly after ten o'clock. The small Mexican city was their last chance for diesel and fresh water until they reached Turtle Bay, two days' sail down the coast. It was also their last chance to purchase anything they'd forgotten.

Several other boats were anchored in the harbor, including a big two-masted schooner looming above the skyline. Jack and David anchored the "Nereid" a safe distance from the other boats.

They'd had a good first day, covering fifty nautical miles in nine hours. Nothing had broken, parted, or gone overboard. Jack had a mental list of little things he'd forgotten, but they weren't worth going ashore for. He and David furled the sails and then headed into the warm glow of the cabin.

With a flourish, Jack withdrew a bottle of champagne from the cooler. They didn't have proper flutes, but no one seemed to mind. He popped the cork, poured four glasses, and they toasted their first day's journey.

Much to his surprise, Susan brought out a gift-wrapped box.

"It's sort of an early Christmas present," she said, handing it to him.

The box was about the size of a large cigar humidor, and heavy. He tore off the wrapping paper and gazed down at the rich mahogany box. He opened it and felt his breath catch at the sight of an antique brass sextant. Someone had polished the brass, but it still showed signs of careful use.

Susan seemed to be holding her breath. "Do you like it?"

"Like it?" he said, taking the instrument out. "Like it? I "love" it!"

She beamed.

"Seriously, Suz," he said, "it's beautiful."

"It's from the 1860s," she said. "It belonged to a clipper captain in San Francisco."

Jack held the sextant to his eye and gazed through the lens. Then he tested the smooth movement of the arc. He had a modern Cassens & Plath sextant, but the brass one was a thing of beauty, a working piece of art and history.

"It's beautiful," he said again. Then he remembered his manners and looked up. "Thank you very much."

Susan smiled warmly.

"Can you use it to navigate?" Beth asked.

"Sure!" he said. "It's as good as the modern one I have. Maybe it doesn't have tenths of a minute on the vernier arc, but David can shoot sun lines with the modern sextant to double-check my navigation."

"It's been a while since I've had to use a sextant," David said hesitantly.

"It's like riding a bike," Jack said. He fell silent then, and simply gazed at the beautiful instrument in his hands. "Thank you," he said again, his voice soft with reverence.

**

Beth woke the next morning to the smell of eggs and bacon. She was in the right-hand berth—

"The starboard berth," she reminded herself.

David's berth on the port side was empty, and she suspected he was the reason she smelled breakfast. The morning was still chilly, so she slipped into her jeans and sweater after she went to the bathroom.

She could see why Jack had been so particular about the toilet. It wasn't exactly cantankerous, but it wasn't as simple as she'd first thought. "Nothing" was as simple as she'd first thought. Fixing sandwiches the night before had been a minor trial, with food sliding across the counter as the boat moved.

She was grateful that David had decided to fix breakfast. She smiled at a memory of him fixing another breakfast, of pancakes. He'd been wearing one of her frilly aprons, and he'd dabbed the tip of her nose with batter. She tried to remember where that had been.

"Milton, Florida?" she wondered. But then she remembered him picking up Paul, who'd just started walking. "Kingsville, Texas," she decided. They'd lived in dreary off-base housing for ten months while David did his advanced flight training. Then they'd moved back to Florida, to Jacksonville and the Replacement Air Group.

She could chart the course of her married life with the initials NAS: Naval Air Station. NAS Pensacola. NAS Whiting Field. NAS Kingsville. NAS Cecil Field. NAS Lemoore. And Lemoore brought her to Susan. She realized with a start that she'd known her a year.

"A year?" she marveled. "Has it really been that long?" She smiled inwardly. "Of course it's been that long. It seemed short because you were falling in love."

David gave her a puzzled look, and she realized that her emotions must have been written on her face. She gave him a phony smile and slipped into the dinette. A moment later he brandished a plate with eggs and toast. He set it in front of her and she kissed him in thanks. As he turned back to the stove, her thoughts turned inward again.

"What if he finds out how I feel about Susan?"

Beth knew that her relationship with David wouldn't change, but did "he" know that? Would he see Susan as a threat? A rival?

Beth scoffed at the thought. David knew he didn't have any rivals, male "or" female. She loved him with all her heart, utterly and completely. She couldn't imagine life without him. But how would "he" see things? Would he brush it off? Would he brood? She had a panicked thought: would he make her choose between him and Susan?

She idly forked her eggs. Part of her noticed that they were perfect, over hard without being crispy on the edges. But the bigger part of her was still worried about what David would think if he ever found out she loved another woman.

She'd given up trying to deny her feelings. She'd given up trying to tell herself it was wrong. And she'd given up trying to change.

But would David see things the same way?

Panicked thoughts aside, she knew he wouldn't make her choose. He "was" secure in their relationship. She knew he looked at other women, but she also knew that he'd never done more. Plenty of pilots screwed anything that moved (her brother came to mind), but David wasn't like them. She knew he had a wilder side—things he'd let slip while talking about Subic Bay—but he never went too far.

"That's why he and Jack are friends," she told herself. Jack valued loyalty and duty above all else, and would never have a friend who couldn't be loyal to his own wife. He and David were the same kind of men: they liked to look, but they didn't touch.

"But David "wants" to touch," she thought, "especially Susan."

As if on cue, Susan and Jack emerged from the salon.

"Good morning," Jack half-boomed. "That coffee smells good."

Susan smiled and slid into the dinette. "Morning," she said.

Keywords: Nereids, Ch., 10,