Why Did He Die?

Chapter 9

Michael’s flight arrived at 6:13 pm. I paced back and forth in front of the airport arrival monitor excited but wondering why was I was complicating my life by bringing this naïve kid into it. I knew the chances of things getting worse were probably as good as them getting better. Michael was flying from Santa Barbara to Los Angeles; getting himself from the commuter terminal to an American flight to Dallas where he connected to Charlotte, NC. He and I would fly from Charlotte to St. Maarten.

My eye caught the flashing signal — “10 minute delay.” I settled into an airline waiting room chair designed for discomfort. I slouched down and closed my eyes. I drew in a deep breath thinking of the time I consumed getting Andrew’s affairs managed. I was thankful for my father because he helped greatly.

I closed my eyes and tried to remember all that had happened. My drive from Santa Barbara the morning I left Michael at Carl’s was uneventful. I arrived at San Francisco International shortly after 1pm. I was in first class on UA 967 to Chicago O’Hare at 4:01 pm. I found the office of airport manager and asked to speak to the chief of security. A burly gentleman came out and I quietly explained what I had in the case. He asked the receptionist to call Madeleine. He introduced her as the security liaison with United Airlines. I explained my situation and assured her I was not carrying illicit money by showing her the executor papers.

She accompanied me to the contractor’s office that handled security for United. In a small room I was frisked by an officer with an electric wand metal detector. The frisking wand came close to the Price Waterhouse satchel and wailed. “What’s in there?” he snarled.

“A coin collection,” I explained again, “I was executor of a person’s estate and I need to take his collection to Chicago. After opening the satchel but not taking the contents out the officer had me sign two papers. Madeleine directed me to walk through the metal detector while the other man carried the satchel around the detectors showing papers to a senior officer. He met me on the inside and he handed over the satchel. Without a word or a smile he motioned for me to move on.

In the Red Carpet Room I opened my cell phone and dialed the San Francisco number for Mr. Park. I got an obnoxious answering machine message, “Jim and Jeremy are out screwing around and can’t talk to you. Leave your message and maybe we’ll call you back if we like you.” I assumed that Jim was Jim Park. I left a message informing him of Andrew’s death and told him he was named in the will. Within five minutes my cell phone’s music rang. The man on the line said he was Jim Park. I told him that I was Andrew’s executor, “You’ll be getting some money when the final calculations are complete and the taxes withheld.”

“Man, why are you fucking with me. Are you some Ed McMahon?” There was a long pause. The voice of a man with a slight Asian accent continued the conversation with spew of expletives. I hung up figuring I had found the correct Mr. Park and rationalized that I would have been equally suspicious.

My plane arrived about midnight. My dear father was there waiting for me with another man who he introduced as Mr. Samson, a coin dealer. I apologized for the late hour but we drove directly to Mr. Samson’s shop to stow the collection in his safe. With his hands in white cotton gloves he removed the gold and other coins. I convinced him to hold the gold certificates as well.

Father and I returned in the morning to learn from Mr. Samson that he estimated the gold and coins to be worth close to $2,000,000. I tried not to appear as shocked as I felt. After some convincing Mr. Samson agreed to hold the gold and coins until I got a trust account set up. I wrote a check for $10,000 as a down payment toward Mr. Samson’s selling commission and storage fees. I told Samson he could bid on the contents when I decided how much I was keeping and how much I was selling. Father and I went to the Northern Trust immediately with the gold certificates. I began the process of establishing the Andrew Henley Charitable Trust. I was the only trustee but I put father on the checking account so he would be able to handle transactions when I was out of the country. He insisted that there be a second signatory so he was protected. I put my attorney on the account for insurance.

After a couple of days I was back in San Francisco for one of three board meetings Lee wanted me to attend. On the second day I called Mike at the restaurant. He seemed surprised to hear from me. I assured him my offer was good and wondered if he had two days off to come to San Francisco. I heard him lay the phone down and I could hear muffled voices. When he came back on he said, “The manager said I can have next Sunday and Monday off but I had to be at my shift on Tuesday morning.”

“Do you enough money for the bus?” He assured me he did.

After a pause when I assumed the manager was telling him to hang up he said, “I can’t talk now.”

“Call my cell later. The number is 312-777-0960.”

“OK, Bye.”

I kept telling myself that Andrew would want me to use some of his money to help Michael. He seemed like Andrew with no roots and no family. Sunday afternoon he arrived at the Greyhound station near the San Francisco Hilton after a seven hour bus ride. After dropping his things in my room we rode the cable car to Fisherman’s Wharf for dinner. He ate as if he hadn’t eaten for a while. At bed time he crawled into bed with me and cuddled as before rubbing my hairy chest.

“John, is it OK if we fuck?”

“Michael, do you really think we should?

“You don’t want to. I think it would be fun. I know what to do to give you pleasure. And I don’t want any money. Promise!”

With mixed feelings I let him touch my dick. I was immediately hard as he wrapped his hand around it. I shivered at the sensation. Tension flew out of me. He did pleasure me by first playing with my nipples, then sucking my rock hard cock before slipping a condom on it. The lube bottle was close enough for him to reach without having to let go of me. His plan was to sit on me and methodically torture me.

As he slid down on my shaft he smiled, “You like?”

Returning his smile, “Very much. Go slowly I am not going to last.”

He went slowly, occasionally reaching down and gives me a passionate kiss which I did not resist. He moved slowly up and down enjoying himself. Suddenly without warning his juice shot across my chest. He leaned back on his hands moaning. With three rapid moves I erupted inside of him. He continued moving up and down as pleasure and pain filled me. He fell against my chest smiling.

We showered together and said little. Sleep came quickly. We got up in time to eat a full breakfast. I told Michael about my plan to have him sail on the Sulu from St. Maarten to Tampa.

“Are we leaving now?”

“No, I will let you know so you can tell the restaurant you are leaving.”

“I’m ready to go now.”

“There are other things I have to do before we are ready.”

We discussed his flying to meet me in Charlotte but I told him I was not sure of the date yet. He was comfortable with whatever I proposed. I insisted he take fifty dollars in case of emergency. He seemed hesitant but took the money. I got Michael back to the bus station minutes before the bus left for Santa Barbara. He confidently waved from the window.

Michael called the following Saturday night about dinner time. He had finished the day shift and was on the pay phone outside of the restaurant. There was the clinking sound of coins dropping into the slot which disrupted my train of thought. After a few annoying minutes I told him I would call him back.

I reiterated, “Bring your passports and your birth certificate if you can find it.”

“We’re leaving the United States?”

“Yes, that is where St. Maarten is — in the Caribbean. We will be there for about two weeks and then we will sail to Florida. Where are you living now?” I questioned.

“Oh, I have a room. It’s pretty nice.”

“Why pay rent while you’re gone? Can friends can keep your stuff?” I said getting paternal. “Do you have any friends?”

“Maybe Barb, she’s a waitress. She might sell my stuff,” he said talking to himself. We worked out when he would receive the airplane ticket. “Call a week from Friday if you haven’t gotten the ticket. That’ll give time to send another if we need to.”

Someone had a hand on my shoulder, “John, John wake up.” I jumped up and Michael stood before scraggly in his Lakers jacket. He was tousled and looked tired. He put out his hand. I grabbed it and pulled him into a stiff hug. “Where’s your luggage?”

“I have everything.” He clutched his boom box in his right hand and a plastic bag with Merlin’s stamped on it in his left hand. He lifted the boom box. “I had to bring this or Barb would sell it for drug money. I gave everything else away.”

I shook my head silently thinking, “God, what have I done? He has no plans to go back.”

Once in our room at the Hampton Suites I fell into the arm chair. I told Michael to shower and get in bed because our flight to St. Maarten was at 10:30 am. No more than five minutes later he was in bed and asleep. A feeling of being a protective father swept over me as I watched him. I opened his plastic bag to see what he brought. I was invading his privacy but I had to see. I found a pair of faded surfer trunks; 3 tee shirts, one more pair of gray underpants, a new pair of flip flops with the plastic tags still on, a pair of wrap around shades, four super hard rock CD’s and an unopened box of rubbers. Inside another small bag was his tooth brush, tooth paste, brush and his birth certificate in an envelope. I opened it. I didn’t recognize the words but decided it was East German.

Studying the Xerox copy I found the name of Michael Erik Smythe. The space after the word “Vater” was blank followed by “Mutter” where a Vietnamese name was written. Mike stirred and I quickly stuffed the paper back in the envelope. He patted the space next to him suggesting I get in.

The harsh buzz of the alarm announced morning. Michael stirred as I reached to silence the obnoxious intrusion. I sat on the edge of the bed and looked across to see if he was moving. He wasn’t and I decided to get ready and then wake him. As I brushed my teeth I chastised myself for pulling this kid out of his environment where he had few complications. Then I thought, “But he had few opportunities.” I was shaving when his sleepy, puffy face appeared in the doorway. “Man is it time to get up?”

With shaving cream covering my face I nodded, “Yes.”

“You done with the shower?” Another nod. “Are we in a hurry? I’m really hungry. The meal on the plane was so small,” he said in a pleading tone. I laughed and acknowledged that we had time.

He had a puzzled expression as he sat on the toilet. “Why did you invite me to come with you? I’m not much of a companion.”

“I like you. You’re a good person. You need to get out and see the world. And I don’t exactly know why I did it.”

He smiled, “That’s bullshit. Tell me the real reason. I never thought I would see you after you drove away from Carl’s.” I didn’t say more as he stepped toward the shower. As he turned on the shower I stared at his tight young butt. He was well proportioned but not muscular. His stomach pushed out in a slight paunch which would disappear if he stopped eating French Fries. I turned away just as he looked over his right shoulder and caught my look. He smiled.

When he was drying off I said, “I guess you can call what I am doing an experiment. A friend of mine died and left a lot of money behind. His story sounds like yours: no home, no parents, no one who loved him. You just came into my life at the right moment. I am sure he would approve if some of his money was spent on you.”

He cocked his head slightly, “Man, I’m no charity case. You’ve got me all wrong. But thanks…” After a short pause he added, “John, don’t bullshit me. Please don’t do it.”

We ate the complimentary breakfast provided by the hotel. After two trips to the breakfast bar Michael seemed satisfied. Our seats were first class seats which Michael thought were seats for wealthy people

“These seats are for millionaires and some who have flown a million miles.” I had bought these seats to impress him which was unnecessary. I said, “It’s so crowded in the back.”

Michael mimicked my words and added sarcasm, “It’s too crowded in the back. You are a snob. You don’t want to mingle with the likes of me, the common man. If you got it, you might as well flaunt it.” Michael settled back with the head set buds already in his ears. He acted as if he flew all the time.

We arrived at the St. Maarten International Airport at 15:30 but no one met us because I wasn’t specific when I sent a telex to Larry. With the temperature close to eighty-five degrees, Michael commented on how clammy he felt. The taxi ride to Marigot was a roller coaster ride. The driver’s speed took my breath away especially as he passed cars on blind curves or as he careered down the two-lane road avoiding bikers, walkers and the putt-putt scooters. Michael’s head couldn’t turn quickly enough looking at people and things. He spoke softly, “Are all the people on this island black?”

“For the most part.”

“Is there a lot of crime?”

I could see where his questions were going so I said, “Let’s talk about it on the boat.”

“Are we going to the boat now?”

“In about five minutes.” In less time than that we pulled into the parking lot. We paid the driver who stood around angling for a larger tip. He didn’t get one. As we walked toward the marina, Michael said, “What language are these people speaking?

“French, because France owns this part of the island.”

“Do they speak English?”

“Yes,” letting my word linger suggested that I was tired of his questions.

He understood, “OK, OK I’ll stop with the questions.”

“No, no, Michael, your questions are logical. Let’s sit down at the bar and I’ll tell you the whole story.” I ordered a beer and asked if he wants one. He squirmed, “Yes, but what if they card me?”

“There is no legal drinking age here.” Once the beers were set before us I left Michael watching a basketball game and carried my beer over to the dock master’s shack. Neither of the dock boys had seen Larry for several days. They indicated that the Sulu was moored close. I asked them to get a dingy ready.

When I got back to the bar, Michael was watching ESPN and having another Heineken. To my surprise Rob was talking to Michael. Rob’s skin looked like perfectly buttered toast. His hair was light brown, with streaks of blond and not quite long enough for a pony tail. He has a blue scrunchy around his hair pulling it away from his face. His shorts hung on his protruding hip bones which were shaded by a long faded 66er’s tee shirt. He was a stark contrast to Michael in his tight jeans and dark shirt. The first order of business was getting Michael some new clothes.

I walked up and said, “Well, I see the two of you met.” Rob turned and threw his arms around me as if he was my son who I hadn’t seen in years. He said, “When’d you get back?”

“Today,” was Michael’s puzzled response to Rob's question to me. Rob turned to Michael, “Are you with John?”

“Yeah, He invited me to sail with him to Florida,” Mike said. “How about you?”

“Rob looked at me and smiled and added, “He invited me to do the same.”

Michael appeared concerned. “You look like you’ve been here for a while.”

“I have been. I’ll tell you how I got here later.”

Michael snarled with annoyed sarcasm, “There is not going to be enough time later for people to tell me all the things they are going to tell me ‘later’.” Rob and I laughed.

I jumped in, “Rob was one of the crew on the Sulu. He’s been here since Christmas sailing up out of Tortola. When did you get back?

“Actually, I got here last night and stayed with Nick…I know what you’re thinking and ‘No’ we didn’t, in fact, he didn’t even ask. Anyway the boat I was on developed engine trouble on the way down here and was out of commission for a month. I didn’t know when you were coming back.

When he finished I said, “Let’s go shopping!”

“For what?” Michael asked.

“You need some new clothes.” I started walking away and looked back at the two cute young guys.

“There’s nothing wrong with my clothes.” Michael turned to Rob, “This jerk is insulting my clothes. What would you do?”

“Aren’t you the one complaining about your clothes sticking to you?” I said. “You need lighter, looser stuff. Do you want to pick it or sit here and drink beer?”

Rob jumped in without looking at me, “Tell him to go fuck himself. There is nothing wrong with your clothes. Besides, when you sail all you need is a swimming suit anyway.” I could see I was being double teamed so I walked away into a shoe/sportswear store and bought a pair of Tevas, a black, small Speedo cut high on the legs for Michael and a bright orange thong for me. I probably wouldn’t have the nerve to wear it. It was just three strings and a pouch.

Next door I bought two floral print shirts, one gray tank top with extra long body, a pair of khaki Bermuda length shorts and two pairs of running trunks. Finally, I stopped at the underwear rack and bought a package containing three low cut colored briefs.

When I returned to the picnic table Rob and Michael were talking basketball as if they had been friends for years. I dropped the bags in the middle of the table. Rob piped up “Well, what did you buy for my good friend Michael, John?”

“Yeah,” Michael added. I decided to remain quiet to reduce the good natured taunting. I pushed the bags Michael’s way thinking I would, at least, win points with the Tevas. He pulled them out slowly. His face showed the excitement I hoped for. “These are fantastic.”

“Look at the rest of the stuff first.”

Michael gently picked up the first bag with the swimming suits prominently visible. He looked inside and didn’t pull them out but rather reached for the other bag. First, he pulled out the brief briefs. He looked at me, “You don’t like my Jockeys, I see.”

Rob laughed, “How does he know what your Jockeys look like?

“Shit, he’s seen more than my Jockeys. What else is there?”

Rob encouraged Michael to lay the contents out on the table. Michael looked at each item approvingly. It had probably been a long time since he received a gift. Michael stood up, “I’m going to change,” and began to pull off his shirt then his shoes and socks. He strapped the Tevas on. Rob and I watched wondering if he would go from naked chest to bare it all. Rob pointed, “There’s the john. Go in there.”

“I like this and this,” Michael said as he picked up a tank top and pulled the tags off. He tried to rip off the tags the shiny yellow basketball shorts but couldn’t so reached for a knife. Michael opened the package of briefs and took a pair out. “I’m going all the way,” as he held up a bright blue pair.

With shirt, shorts and briefs in one hand and Tevas strapped on he walked toward the open door. He wavered either from the beer or the excitement. With Michael out of earshot, Rob said, “John, who is this guy?”

I waited to make sure Michael was inside. “To make a very long story short. I ran into him waiting tables in Santa Barbara when I was clearing up Andrew’s affairs. He sort of followed me to the hotel like a lost puppy. I fell for him. In a weak moment, and I mean a weak moment, I invited him to come sail with us.” After a swig of beer I continued, “He has no family that he knows of…I just thought Andrew would want me to help this guy.”

“Is he gay? Did you have sex with him? Were you safe?

I felt my face blush, “Yeah, we fooled around some. But he told me he wanted to. I didn’t push.”

Frowning Rob said, “That means you and I are finished?” Panic crossed on my face. He laughed, “What about a three way? Kidding, I knew it had something to do with Andrew. You saw a younger version of him and put on your missionary hat. I knew that is what it was.” I detected a tinge of jealousy that I wanted to cut short. A jubilant Michael confidently walked back to the table. He looks terrific except for his bird legs protruding from the shorts. He said, “When do we eat… I’m starving?”

Rob joined in with equal intensity, “Yeah, John, when?”

“It’s not my decision. What do you guys want? We can stay right here for hamburger and French Fries.” We moved to a larger table and ordered. Our conversation turned to the Sulu.

When we were finishing Rob said that he had to return to the Outward Bound, where he was crewing, to batten down and clean up. The group who sailed in from St. Vincent were flying back to the states from Saint Maarten. The captain sent him ashore. with the passengers to get them in a taxi but with the admonition that he return to clean The captain and the woman who cooked wanted the boat to themselves for the day. The afternoon shadows were lengthening when we left the sports bar. I said, “Michael let’s go to the Sulu and see if we can discover what happened to Larry. Rob jumped in his dingy. Michael stepped in cautiously attempting to steady himself. As I watched the thought occurred to me that maybe Michael didn’t swim. I pushed us off and Rob steered toward the anchored Sulu.

“I’ll drop you off and be back in an hour.”

Ten minutes later we pulled up to the sleek navy blue hull. There was no obvious life. The sun was setting. The eerie evening glow made the Sulu appear undulating ebony rhythmically moving on the shimmering mirror of the bay. Rob eased the dingy up to the stern. I grabbed a cleat and tied on. I steadied the boat as Michael stepped onto the aft seat. Rob followed me on board.

The cabin was locked. I opened the port compartment and took the key out. I felt queasy sensing Andrew’s presence with memory of the first hot, sultry day he and I swam, drank beer and talked. Rob raised his voice, “John, hey John, are you with us?”

We opened up the cabin to a rush of sultry air. Rob stripped out his shirt and shorts leaving only his ripped boxers. Michael watched as Rob and I stepped below. Michael took off his Tevas, his shirt and his shorts. Rob motioned for Michael to climb up on the deck. His hip bones were as pronounced as were Rob’s. I heard two splashes.

I reached for the main electrical switch. Dimness prevented me from seeing the words above each switch. After three tries the lights came on. I could see that the cabin was relatively clean but Larry apparently left quickly. The light in the head was on which is supposed to be turned off before shutting the main off. My nostrils were met with a strong pungent odor from a warm refrigerator’s effect on cheddar cheese. I wondered what happened that Larry left so quickly. I am growing increasingly irritated. I found the explanation note on the table. ‘John, had to leave today because I got word my dad is sick maybe dying. Sorry things aren’t cleaner. If you sail before I get back please leave my stuff with Nick or the dock master. Thanks for letting me use the boat. Had no mechanical problems. You are ready to sail. Larry.’

Michael and Rob’s voices were happy as they continued to splash in the water. The final light of dusk highlighted only their heads hanging on the safety ring. I heard, “John get

your ass out here.”

“How modest should I be?”

“The island way. We both have seen that little dick of yours? I dove into the warm water of the bay.

Back on board Michael reached for his clothes. Rob didn’t bother. Even though Michael was ready to get dressed he acted like he wasn’t as he pretended to fold his clothes. I wrapped a towel around myself in an attempt to impart decorum but it didn’t affect them.

Sitting in the aft cockpit the cool evening breeze cooled us. Michael asked if he could use the john. Rob laughed, “It’s called a head. If all you got to do is piss, do it over the side. The head is a pain in the butt to empty.”

Michael said, “I need to shit.”

“OK, let me show you how it works.” I heard them talking as first Michael then Rob used the head. Rob called, “John, start the motor and let’s juice the battery. You left the main lights on.” I knew I shouldn’t have. They didn’t immediately reappear as the motor hummed in neutral. When they returned Michael had his tank top on which covered his butt. Rob had his boxers on and a cut off tank top exposing his tight gut.

As we sat there Rob suggested a shakedown cruise for Michael. “Do you get seasick?”

“I don’t know, I don’t think so. I haven’t been on the ocean.”

“Could be interesting.”

It was raining when we went on deck to take the advantage of the rain to shower. As the rain continued we scrubbed the deck and the aft seats. Rob said,“This is so much easier than hauling the water up over the side. Take advantage of the fresh water whenever you can.” He suddenly jumped up and declared that he was going to get dinner. Thirty minutes later he was back with fried calamari and fries with two six packs of beer. We ate ravenously and drank the beer. Before long Michael’s eyes were closing slowly. We sent Michael to bed and cleaned up before dropping into bed.

I awoke to the sound of someone relieving himself off the port side of the boat. Through the hatch I could see Rob standing with his hands on his hips as his stream splashed into the water. After he finished and said, “Morning, I hope these clouds drop some more rain. I could use a shower.” Ten minutes later his wish was fulfilled as the skies opened for a downpour. We generously soaped and thoroughly rinsed with time to spare. Michael was giddy and kept saying, “Doesn’t anyone care we’re naked like this.” Rob and I laughed at him. The rain continued as we went below to dry off.

Michael said, “This is fucking crazy.”

“What’s fucking crazy?”

Without cracking a smile Michael said, “Me, being here with two of the best guys I’ve ever met.” He paused and slapped Rob solidly on the butt. “I mean skinny, out of shape me with two hunky guys. I used to look as good as you when I was wrestling.”

“When was that, one hundred twenty pound light weight? Rob said sarcastically.

“How did you know I was in the one hundred twenty-three pound class? I was good and was first runner up for the 1996 US Olympic wrestling team.

“Sure you were!”

“Really, I was. Do you remember that DuPont guy who killed a wrestler on his farm?” Rob’s face showed he didn’t know what Michael was talking about but I did.

“I remember. It was about five years ago, Right?”

“The murdered dude was my wrestling coach. He is the guy who saved me in high school. When he was killed I couldn’t concentrate on wrestling and didn’t make the team.”

Rob was listening intently. “Really, shit.”

“Yeah, I used to practice at that farm in Delaware.” Tears formed in Michael’s eyes. “They were my family, but after the murder, coach’s wife didn’t invite me over any more. I turned to swimming but was too muscular and not buoyant enough.” Rob had pulled Michael up and put his arms around his waist. Michael sat back into Rob’s dick which was resting in Michael’s crack. I watched and got hard.

“You guys need some privacy?”

“No, you need to get over here and hug Michael from the other side.” I stepped in front of Michael and did exactly what Rob directed me to do. I put my arms all the way around Michael and Rob. Michael’s dick was sticking into my stomach and mine into his. Rob’s right hand reached around and took both our dicks in his right hand and gently rolled them together. I was oozing enough for both of us as Rob rubbed. Michael reached toward me for a kiss. I couldn’t resist. Rob laid his head on Michael’s shoulder.

Rob stepped below and cleared a space on the forward berth. We climbed in and snuggled. Michael said, “Rob, I want you and then John inside me.” Without a word Rob opened a drawer and pulled out a condom and the lube. He generously lubed himself and Michael’s hole. With the condom in place he thrust forward into Michael’s body cavity. Michael yelped.

“Sorry, Mike, I went faster than I planned to.” Michael couldn’t talk because he had taken my dick in his mouth. Soft moaning was coming from each of us. Rob was the first to cum. Before I could get my turn Michael shot his milky stream across his chest. Rob said, “John, come over here?”

I positioned myself when Michael said, “Bareback, is that safe? I am safe. I got tested in Santa Barbara before I left,” Michael offered without emotion.

“Me, too. OK, here goes,” I easily slipped in where Rob had been. Michael’s silky interior felt warm and sticky. He moved with me and within minutes I could feel my climax rising within me. I slowed because I wanted this experience to last. “Oh, here goes. Oh, my god, Auch….”

We didn’t lounge around because Michael said, “I’m hungry.” He came up with was a box of crackers. “This is all I found to eat.” The rain stopped and the sun was heating up. We took the dingy into Marigot to eat and pick up food at the grocery store. On the way back we dropped Rob off at the Outward Bound so he could finish his clean up. In a hour he radioed that he was ready to be picked up. After he rejoined us we ate sandwiches and drank beer that we bought.

The next morning I needed to find a captain. If it is going to be Roddy McAlister I insisted that there be no drugs. Michael needed a full breakfast because sailing on a full stomach for a new sailor hopefully will make his shakedown cruise more comfortable for him and for us. After tying up at the yacht club we walked to a bakery to buy freshly baked croissants. We ate at a small café table as the dust was whipped up by the passing cars. The aroma of the baking croissants mixed wonderfully with the bougainvillea fragrance. Michael exclaimed, “The air smells good enough to eat. Being with you guys this morning was great. I hope you didn’t mind.”

“Michael, when you get to know me better you will know that I worry about the consequences of things like our sex together. In the midst of fucking I worried that was making you and Rob gay? I am like your older brother. Should a brother be having sex with you young guys? It is just my hang-up.” We laughed. Michael ordered some more croissants as I sat quietly thinking. I knew Roddy lived up in the hills above Marigot.

We walked to the dock master’s shack to get Roddy’s phone number. The scruffy, golden tanned kid began rummaging through a pile of envelopes and papers sitting on top of a battered desk. He said excitedly, “Here it is! Aren’t you Haffner?”

I took the soiled envelope. The date on the outside was March 21 just two days ago. I read, “John, I didn’t know when you’d be back so I took a week’s charter. If you get back and decide to start north call Mur at #26741. I’ll join you on the way. My home is #8671. Leave me a message with your proposed route. I’ll get it after March 28. Mac.” I was pissed but relieved. If I couldn’t have him for the entire time at least he would be there for the challenging crossing to Florida

Momentarily I contemplated sailing Sulu with Rob and Michael as far as San Juan. I quickly decided I didn’t want to work that hard. After pressing the buttons on the phone fastened to the side of the building I waited. A deep, feminine voice answered. “Could I speak to Mur Verde?”

“Speaking,” heavily accented Mur answered. I paused not knowing what to say. I thought, “Do I want a woman captain?” My mind was clouded and I barely hear her say, “Mr. Haffner is this who is calling? Mr. Haffner!”

“Yes, it is.”

“Roddy said you might want a captain to help sail the Sulu up north.”

“Yes,” I acknowledged.

“Do you want meet me and discuss the trip?”

“That’s a good idea,” I answered tentatively. “Can you come down soon? We’re sailing to St. Bart’s later.”

“It’ll take me about thirty minutes. Where will I find you?”

“A young fellow with me needs a solid breakfast. Any suggestions?”

“Are you calling from the yacht club?”

“Yes.”

“Walk toward town and you’ll find Louis’. I’ll meet you there.” She hung up.

Even after eating croissants Michael ate an abundant breakfast ravenously. More than thirty minutes passed and no Mur Verde appeared. I was again considering the three of us sailing alone. I wasn’t sure we needed a woman scrutinizing our activities. I had almost decided when Mur appeared that I was going to decline. We were pushing away from the table when she walked up. “Mr. Haffner.” She firmly grasped my hand with her big, brown hand which matched the milk chocolate features of her face.

Her dark, brown eyes were framed by long black braids pulled tightly away from her pleasant face. It was difficult not to stare at her barrel-like chest and muscular upper arms. She spoke again, “Mr. Haffner, I’m Mur. When do you want to sail?” I hesitated at my indecisiveness. “Roddy said I am to tell you that he recommends me highly. He tells me to tell you he will catch us and do the crossing to Florida if you are concerned.”

I snapped, “Then why isn’t he here?” She remained silent figuring this was not her deal. I jumped in, “I was thinking of bare boating until Roddy can join us.”

“Just the two of you?”

“There is a third guy with a lot of sailing experience.”

“You mean the boy who sailed with Roddy earlier. Oh, I know him. Ask him about me. He sailed for me before Christmas. He is a good worker, but no captain.”

She took a drag on her cigarette and Rob walked up. “Hi, Verde, what’s up?” Not seeing McAlister, Rob sized up the situation, “Where’s Roddy?”

I spoke to Rob as if Mur was not there, “He’s off for a week’s cruise. Left day before yesterday. We shouldn’t wait until the 28th to get started. What if we run into weather or have mechanical problems?”

“I agree,” Mur contributed.

“Roddy left word that we should start and he will join us up the way. What do you think?”

“Rob furrowed his brow and asked, “Who’s going to cook?”

“I will bring my niece, she’s a good cook,” Mur volunteered.

“She can’t be any worse than that guy we had when we sailed together last month. Where did you find him?”

Mur defensively chimed in, “He wasn’t feeling too well.”

Rob laughed, “The guy was so high that he couldn’t find the galley.” I noticed Michael’s head turn as a beautiful girl approached with an older man. The girl was a seventeen or eighteen years old with long, delicate legs extending forever below her short cutoff jeans. Her skin was two shades lighter than Mur’s. Rob and Michael eyes were fixed on her model-like figure.

Mur said, “This is my niece and her grandfather, Hector.” Hector looked like he had just left the inside of a Muriel cigar box. His white hair and mustache were in stark contrast to his dark, crusty skin. He extended his hand to shake mine. His short, gnarly fingers reflected years of hard work. “Buenos Dias!”

“Buenos Dias.” I realized that I had lost two votes for sailing alone. Mur’s niece cinched the deal.

Rob said, “When do we sail?

“Let the captain decide,” I said feeling a smirk on my face.

Mur smiled, “I’ll check the weather. Not for a couple of days, I think.”

“That gives us time for a shakedown cruise with Michael to St. Barts.”

Muriel hesitated then asked another question: “Mr. Haffner would you consider letting Hector sail with us to San Juan? He flies back to Spain from there and it is on our way.”

“Does he get seasick?” I joked

She took the question seriously and asked him in Spanish. He laughed and answered looking at me as Muriel translated, “He was crew on an ocean-going rescue tug for many years.”

“OK, the day after tomorrow we sail north.” Mur, Hector and the girl walked away.

We secured groceries and drinks and were back on the Sulu close to noon. I planted a “St. Maarten” baseball cap on Michael’s head which he quickly took off. Rob said, “Put it on. The sun will fry your brain.” Michael dutifully put it back on. Within an hour we cleared the new bridge at the airport. We decided to wait until we were into open water to hoist the sails. The westerly wind blew across the starboard bow as Rob pulled on the main halyard. Michael’s eyes were as big as saucers as the boat sat on its keel. His veins in his knuckles were white as he held tight to the gunwales. Rob returned to the cockpit to tighten the jib lines. He looked at Michael and said reassuringly, “Yeah, man, relax.”

Michael looked at me with tears in his eyes said, “John, is this thing going to tip over?”

Realizing it was real terror in his eyes I said. “Michael, this is how a sailboat cuts through the water. It cuts through on an angle. That’s how it gets momentum and reduces friction. It is very safe. As Rob said, “Relax.”

Rob went below for soft drinks. He handed Michael a plastic glass filled with 7-Up and ice and told him to drink it slowly. We were both anticipating the worst as we rose and fell with the five foot swells. About an hour into the trip Michael went below to put on his Speedo. He bolted up on the deck and heaved his breakfast over the leeward side which, at least, preventing us from getting puke in our faces.

Luckily for us the wind calmed toward evening and the swells grew smaller. Michael’s white face continued to show discomfort. He tried to smile.

“Well, I guess I get seasick.” Rob gave him more 7-Up which he sipped. He kept it down which was a good sign.

Rob was a natural sailor moving around the boat adjusting and straightening sails. He was constantly hiking up his boxers which still left half of his butt exposed. As he took the wheel I said, “What are you going to do when we have Muriel and the girl on board?

“Mur has seen me work. The girl may cause some troubles.” He laughed. Our unstated objective was to get Michael to relax. Michael’s color was returning as we sailed into the Gustavia harbor and dropped the sails. He helped Rob secure the main sail. No slip was available so we dropped anchor about two hundred yards off shore. I proposed dinner on shore. Michael said he wasn’t interested in food. Both Rob and I knew we have to get him off the boat to get his equilibrium reset. I told him about the seasick patches I brought along. He was interested but we had to be onshore to give them time to work. I stuck one behind his ear as we entered the dingy. Rob said, “Should we take toothbrushes? Are we staying on shore?” suggesting what I also thought would be the best thing.

We ate dinner and Michael seemed fine so we returned to the Sulu for an uneventful night. At breakfast Michael ate heartily. He was noticeably nervous as we prepared for the sail back to St. Maarten. To everyone’s relief everything went fine. We told Michael under no circumstances should he go below deck. Rob and I were probably more relieved than Michael because when someone is uncomfortable it makes sailing tense for everyone.

On the trip back to St. Maarten Michael and I covered ourselves with UVF#30 lotion. We struck the sails about 16:30 and motored through the uplifted bridge to the yacht club. We needed to start the trip with empty holding tanks and full fresh water and fuel tanks. As we were working Muriel approached. She spoke without using my name, “I think we should start tomorrow. That way we will absolutely beat a storm they’re predicting.”

“What’s our destination?” Rob inquired.

Without answering his question she handed me a Telex and said, “The dock master said I should give this to you. I took it but really didn’t want to know what was written. For once Lee’s message simply asked to have our projected route cabled to him. He thought he might sail with us part of the way. The message also said to cable him any changes as we went along.

I folded the note and repeated Rob’s question, “Yes, Mur, what is our projected route. What’s our first stop? Have you worked out the route? My boss wrote that he might join us along the way.”

“The first two days are constant sailing. It can be modified if that’s too much,” she said seriously.

“Let’s give it a try.”

“The first leg is seventy miles to St. Thomas. Next we sail to Virgin Gorda in the British West Indies. It is a challenge because the winds require sailing to specific headings rather than letting the wind push us there. After that it is easier.” After some discussion we decided to leave at 14:00 the following day. As we sat at the chart table examining the projected route she said, “I’ll take the first night leg 0 to 4 in the morning. Less can go wrong. Rob will be on at 4. I think Hector will want to do his part. What about Michael?”

“No, but he can learn. This is his first sail.”

“I noticed the patch,” she said. My confidence in this woman was growing as she charted our route to Virgin Gorda then San Juan for a day layover, and finally Georgetown, Exuma before crossing to Florida. Hopefully, Roddy would meet us in San Juan. I copied the points down and wrote dates beside each stop and carried it to the dock master to give to Roddy. Then I went to the telephone office to send a Telex for Lee.

On March 26 at 14:30 we pushed away from the yacht club slip. As we motored toward the control tower at the airport I thought about Andrew. He would be alive if I hadn’t come into his life.

As an American airliner roared overhead with engines whining I was remembering the first time we played squash, the first time we had sex and most of all his childlike joyfulness at Thanksgiving. We sailed into open water as Mur was giving orders for Rob for setting the sails. Michael seemed relaxed as the swells slapped the bow of the Sulu. Michael’s face showed his anxiety as the wind pushed Sulu into sailing mode and the deck keeled to the right. He kept his eyes glued on the horizon as Rob has told him to do.

The air was sultry even with the eighteen to twenty knot breeze blowing from the northeast. Mur sets a course of three hundred forty degrees and instructed Rob, Hector and I to sail that course until we cleared the reefs off of Anguilla. The Sulu cut through the water leaving a trail of white bubbles in her wake. She was a beautiful site under full sails.

Shelia was below stowing baggage and supplies and preparing dinner. She had gathered her long, shiny brown hair with a barrette to keep her face clear. Cold food was planned since everyone had a big lunch at Muriel’s request. Michael ate plenty but keeping his stomach full was critical to his continued comfort.

Shelia, dressed in a full white skirt and a tight white top, brought a tray of sandwich makings to the deck. The form of her chocolate teats were clearly visible through the translucent white fabric. Michael’s stare suggested he was waiting for Shelia’s skirt to drop. That didn’t happen so he ate a salami and cheese sandwich.

Muriel turned the wheel over to Hector at 20:00. I took the wheel from 22:00 to 24:00. She took the long night watch followed by Rob. The plan assumed the wind remained constant. Rob would take the wheel about the time Mur wanted to change course to one hundred ten degrees. Rob would sail into first light.

I had company well into my watch from Shelia, Michael and Rod. The conversation initially was friendly until Michael said something about women as captains of ships and pilots of airplanes. Shelia snapped at him with, “Well, we can do those jobs as well as men.”

Rob responded with, “I don’t agree.” A lively discussion ensued. Shelia’s hot Latin temper intentionally was provoked by Rob’s sarcastic barbs. Michael sat quietly until Rob and Shelia finally departed to their bunks. I inquired as to Rob’s access to an alarm clock. “It’s already set.” Michael asked if I think he would get sick if he went below to sleep. “Try it and if you are uncomfortable bring a pillow and blanket on deck” He left and didn’t return.

On my watch I thought about many things as the sleek bow cut the surface of the sea. I thought about how much I loved Rob and Michael and I wanted to protect them. I loved Andrew but in a different way. He didn’t let his guard down even in the midst of passion. I felt his reticence when we kissed and cuddled. I was not sure our relationship could ever have been more than physical. Was it me or was it him?

The silence of the night was magical as the Sulu slipped through the velvet blackness peppered with countless sparkling lights. The splash against the gentle swells on the portside was occasionally accented with a slap. As the lights of Anguilla faded on my right tiny specks came into view in the north. I sailed my watch until Mur relieved me without a word. I stirred from my deep sleep when Rob and Muriel came about. It was sunny when I awoke to find Hector at the wheel.

The air was sticky and warm. The sun was at Hector’s back as I looked up the stairs at his silhouette against the bright sun. I grabbed a tank top and my sunglasses and came up to the deck. I relieved myself over the leeward side. As I turned around Rob came out of the cabin. He didn’t attempt to conceal his erect dick which pushed against his boxer opening. His self-confidence bordered on arrogance but I couldn’t help but like his attitude. “Michael sleep alright?” I nodded. “Well, we may be home free. If he can sleep below and not blow his cookies he may have beaten it.”

I heard rustling below. ”Shelia is putting the coffee pot on the propane burner”, Rob said. A few minutes later she emerged followed by Captain Muriel. Shelia’s bikini was a thong and two spots of cloth covering the tips of her teats. She brought black coffee, fruit and slightly crushed croissants with cream cheese and jelly. She returned for the milk and sugar for the coffee drinkers.

Muriel walked forward looking at her watch. She turned back to me, “John, it’s your turn. See how close to two hundred seventy degrees you can sail. We came about and with Rob’s help adjusting the sails I made it to two hundred seventy-two degrees. We settled. Michael finally appeared tousled with a forlorn look. He had his tank top over his Speedo. He picked up a croissant and began to munch away. He asked Shelia if there was anything to drink except coffee. She said, “Name it.”

“Seven-up.”

Rob was organizing halyards and cleaning up on the front deck with his butt exposed to everyone. He occasionally pulled his boxers up. We chatted as the hours passed. Tall green islands were clearly visible on the starboard side. Muriel took the wheel as we approached a coral outcropping and said, “Rob, prepare to come about.”

He gulped the last of his coffee and said, “Can you wait just a minute? I’ve got to put my suit on.”

Muriel laughed and said, “Rob, forget it. Get to work.” As if that was an order he stripped off the boxers. He pitched his boxers below and scampered up to the winch on the port side waiting for the order to come about.

I watched Michael as he watched Rob in disbelief. After the sails were reset Rob took the wheel from Muriel as she carefully monitored the course through the patches of turquoise and deep ink blue water. “I figure we have about an hour to go. Rob steer to sixty degrees. We’ll let the main out a bit.” Naked he calmly executed her orders. Rob’s being undressed caused initial uneasiness but growing smiles of accommodation.

Hector's face told us he didn’t approve and showed his displeasure with a frown. It was clear Rob was in his element and didn’t care what anyone thought. About an hour later we anchored off Virgin Gorda. Rob said, “When do we eat?”

We went ashore for lunch. Muriel suggested a place called Happy Joes. Rob shuttled Michael, Shelia and me in the first dinghy load and returned for Hector and Muriel. Lunch was giant lobsters, she crab soup, spicy fried snapper, jerk chicken and plenty of rum to go in Cokes or alone. Mur commented that things had gone well. After I paid the bill Muriel said she wanted to show Hector around the town before returning to the Sulu. Rob said, “I’m going back for a swim. Anybody can come that wants to. I’ll come back for passengers in a couple of hours,” he said waiting for some reaction.

“That’s OK,” Muriel said as she turned to Hector and began speaking in Spanish. Shelia said to Rob, “Don’t leave. I’ve got to get some groceries for dinner. I want to go with you.” She walked toward to the street vendor’s stands without waiting for Rob to respond. Michael followed her.

I called after Michael, “Are you going to stay on shore?”

His response assured me he was completely comfortable, “No, I want to go swimming, too.”

Twenty minutes later we are on our way back to Sulu. Shelia stowed the groceries as Rob and I got the bimini out over the aft deck. The sun was intense. Shelia emerged from the cabin in a tee shirt that she provocatively pulled over her head for Rob’s benefit. Michael and I enjoyed the brief strip tease. Michael was in his Speedo but it took little encouragement from me and Shelia for him to drop it to the deck. Michael said to me, “Aren’t you going to join us?” Rob dove off the front pulpit.

I spoke quietly, “As soon as my dick settles down.”

He laughed and I noticed that he was fully erect, “Well, too late for me.” He hopped up on top and jumped off with arms flailing.

I didn’t get into the crystal sea but covered myself with lotion. The breeze cooled even with the sun’s intensity. A half an hour or more later Rob, Shelia and Michael climbed aboard. Rob went below for modesty towels which no one used. Michael offered the first comment, “Certainly different than my sail in college.” Shelia spread a towel on the seat. Her firm brown breasts gently bounced as she eases herself onto her elbows and into a full recline.

All eyes were on her. She spoke softly, “Do I have to get dressed to stop getting stared at?”

“Sorry,” I apologized. Rob was so hard than even with his right hand pushing it down his dick was perpendicular to his stomach.

He said, “Screw it,” and leaned back. She turned her head and stared right at his throbbing dick. Michael’s predicament was no better. In a few minutes their members did relax. Time passed and it was time to get Muriel and Hector. Rob asked if I’d go and I agreed — I would let them have their fun. I was really not interested.

NEXT CHAPTER