caribbean-adventure-1

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Subject: Caribbean Adventure Chapter 1 This is my first contribution to Nifty. I have two passions: sailing and boys, so it seemed only natural to bring the two together for you. Hopefully you’ll enjoy either sailing or boys, or maybe both! This is the first of 10 chapters written so far. Chapter 1 is a bit of a scene setter, but bear with me…..there’s plenty of fun as it progresses. I have to confess that i enjoyed writing this, with a lot of of written as i flew to the Southern Hemisphere. I damn recommend it as a great way of whiling away the hours! If there are sailors out there, I’d love to hear from you. And if anyone else wants to give me feedback or have a chat, my email ota. Needless to say that the there’s fact and fiction in here, and that any sections implying activities that involve contact with minors are of course entirely fictional. So I invite you to step onboard my fantasy world and sail off over the horizon with me. I discovered Nifty a year ago. It’s an awesome resource for reasons that we all understand and it costs money to keep it going, so please be sure to donate to .Org in order to ensure that it keeps allowing freedom of thought and expression. Live aboard boys A season sailing in the Caribbean CHAPTER 1 I sat in the cockpit of my classic wooden sailing yacht watching the world go by on the quayside behind where my boat was berthed in the port of Gustavia on the Caribbean Island of St Barths. It was just after Christmas 1973. I’d sailed my boat across from England with friends a month previously. We’d made landfall in Antigua, which is about 3000 miles from the Canary Islands, which us bluewater cruisers tend to use as a convenient jumping off point for the long crossing to the Caribbean. From Antigua we’d island hopped our way along the Caribbean island chain, whilst one by one my crew ran out of vacation time and had to return home. So by the time that I’d reached St Barths, it was just me. I was fine with that; I’m used to sailing along or short handed and enjoy the challenge, although i have to confess that a little bit of younger company never goes amiss. Six weeks 5 friends and i had arrived in the Canary Islands, in preparation for our Atlantic crossing. Not only does it offer the shortest crossing, but also an opportunity to take on fresh stores and water, and to chat with like minded souls contemplating the crossing, many for the first time. The harbour fills up with sailing boats from early November. There’s a real mix of sailors from all walks and ages of life, with seasoned bluewater cruisers like me sharing advice and giving encouragement to first timers. Sailors are a sociable bunch and very cosmopolitan. Before long you get to meet the crews on other boats. Tales are told, and yarns spun, encouraged by all the duty free spirits. And later on, as you make your way around the Caribbean, the odds are good that you’ll bump into each other again. More tales are told and yarns spun, only bigger and braver, embellished by the real life experiences of month or so crossing the Atlantic Ocean. It isn’t unusual to see live aboard families who have decided to give up the rat race, sell their home, take their kids başakşehir escort out of school and head off over the horizon. Some get the bug and never return. Others manage a year and realise that their dream wasn’t for them. Others find the pressure of living together on a small boat too much to bear; tempers fray and friends and family fall out. It isn’t unheard of for unwanted crew to be left on the dock as `their yacht’ sails over the horizon. And that is how this story came about. If you know Gustavia, you’ll recall that boats berth stern to (with their back ends next to the quayside, for you non nautical types). So you can sit in the cockpit, enjoying a sundowner, watching folks come and go. Mostly they’re tourist types, gawping at the spectacle of the gorgeous yachts lined up along the quayside. Sometimes it’s other sailors, looking out for friends, or just come to pass the time of day. Kids from neighbouring boats play on the quayside, maybe kicking a football around or playing tag. It’s a pleasant enough way to pass the day. The live aboard kids are a cosmopolitan bunch, full of energy and always excited to catch up with their friends. It’s a strange life in some ways: spending lots of time cooped up on a small boat with nowhere to run; then meeting up with friends that you made months previously over perhaps weeks or days, before separating again as their boats went separate ways; home schooling; no set routine and so far away from the rules and pressures of life back home. In many ways, it’s an idyllic way to spend a childhood. You see the liveaboard kids wandering around with tanned faces, sun bleached hair, ragged cut off shorts and never a thought to wearing a top, probably as it’s always warm and sunny, and who needs to? But it does have it’s downfalls: boats are generally cramped, and growing boys need space to themselves, both physically and in terms of privacy. Perhaps that’s why I rarely see liveaboard families with boys much beyond double digits in terms of age. Just occasionally, tensions build to bursting point, and so it was with Jonno. As the kids played tag on the dockside and the sun sank lower on the horizon as evening approached, so cooking smells started to waft over from the neighbouring boats. One by one, the kids got called back to eat. Very soon there was just one boy left on the quayside, sitting on the wall, skinny legs dangling over the water. He looked somewhat dejected as his friends left to go to their boats. Beside him was a small rucksack that he held close to his side. “Nothing amiss” I thought to myself, “he’s probably just waiting for his parents to return from town”. I turned back to my book and thought nothing more about him. Twenty minutes later, i looked up from my book. It looked as though the boy had been crying, judging by his tear stained face. He looked up and i caught his eye. He looked back down at his feet again, trying to avoid my gaze. I put down my book, slowly stood up and made way way across the short gangway onto the quayside. I wandered over to where he was sitting. “Do you mind if i join you?” “Suit yourself, it’s a free world” in a voice that was shaky and halkalı escort clearly still unbroken. I sat down on the wall beside him. “Hullo. I’m Tim” “Jonno” he said, in a monotone voice. “Nice to meet you Jonno. Are you waiting for someone?”. There was a long pause, followed by a stifled sob as he said “they gone” “Who’s gone Jonno?”. A further silence. Another sob. “My family. They’ve sailed off and left me here”. I was dumbstruck. Surely people wouldn’t abandon a boy? Looking at him, he was no more than 11, and young at that. I thought through my options: the quayside was deserted, twilight was well advanced and it would soon be dark. “Are you hungry Jonno?”. For the first time he looked up, looked me in the eye, and just nodded his head. “Common on then, let’s feed you”. It was no more than 10 metres back to the boat. I walked over the gangway, turned around and reached out for his rucksack, figuring that it was easier and safer to pass it across. Jonno had other ideas, almost looking as though i was trying to steal it from him. I let it pass. “Come onboard Jonno. Welcome to the Bonne Aventure”. As he stepped over the gangway, i took him in fully for the first time: maybe just over 5 feet tall, definitely skinny, tanned golden brown, freckles across the bridge of his nose and straw coloured hair, that was to say the least, wild. I was in heaven. He looked up for a moment and I’m pretty sure that he caught me taking him in. He gave a little smile; the first I’d seen from him, showing pearly white teeth and a beautiful smile. I went on down the steps into the saloon and beckoned him to follow me. “I have Coke or Lilt. No ice I’m afraid. What’s it to be”? He sat down on the saloon settee and placed his rucksack down beside him. “Lilt please”. “Lilt it is”. I placed the can in front of him, together with a bowl of potato crisps. “Are you hungry?”. Ravenous he replied. I set about making my standard spaghetti Bolognese. If that doesn’t fill him up, nothing will. As I cooked, i gently probed, trying to piece together what had happened and why he was on his own in St Barths. It didn’t come quickly, but by the time supper was ready, i was starting to get the picture: his parents had divorced, his father had remarried, they’d decided to sell up and sail across to the Caribbean with the ideas that they were going to break away from troubles back home and live a new life as bluewater liveaboards on a sailing yacht called, appropriately enough, Nomad. From what I could tell, the troubles seem to have followed them across the ocean and they had money worries. Jonno and his younger brother and sister had been fighting, Jonno had got the blame for it and before he knew it, he was being called `that little monster’ and his Step Mother. There had been a big row the day before. Jonno had been given some cash and told to go ashore to get bread from the bakery. He returned to the boat half an hour later, only to find a gap on the quayside where his family boat had been berthed, and his little black rucksack on the wall with a note pinned to it. He had been abandoned by his family. I’ve never actually seen a boy inhale food until i watched şirinevler escort Jonno demolish my spaghetti Bolognaise. I passed him a paper napkin to wipe the sauce off his face. I pointed out the bits that he’d missed. He smiled. “Where did you sleep last night Jonno?” The smile disappeared. “There was an upturned fishing boat, so i slept underneath it. I slept on a pile of nets, so it wasn’t too uncomfortable”. That accounts for the vague aroma of fish I thought! “And tonight?” “The same I guess” he replied. “You don’t need to do that. It isn’t safe. I have plenty of spare berths onboard. Sleep on here. You’ll have your own cabin.” “Are you sure?” “Of course I’m sure. I’ll make a bed up for you” “Do you have any plans for tomorrow” I asked? He looked at me quizzically. “Can i come and sail with you please?”. I said that I’d planned an early start to sail for Anguilla, some 60 miles away. He seemed happy with that. I thought about raising the issue of trying to contact his parents and seeing if whatever had gone on could be put right, but decided not to press the issue this evening. There would be plenty of opportunity tomorrow, whilst we were sailing the 12 hour trip to Anguilla. “A thought occurred to me: “do you have your passport?”. He reached into his bag, pulled out a dog eared passport and handed it to me: Jonathan Oxbury, date of birth 6/1/62. His 11th birthday was just a couple of weeks away. “Great, I’ll check us out of St Barths this evening so that we can get away first thing tomorrow. Whilst i go ashore, how about you take a shower and put on some fresh clothes? My nephew is about your size. He left some t shirts and shorts behind on his last visit. They’re in the drawers under your berth, Help yourself Jonno”. By the time that i arrived back at the boat, having cleared us both out at the customs and immigration post, there was a gentle snoring coming from the saloon. Jonno was laid out on the settee berth, dressed in just some old white Y fronts that belonged to Max, my nephew, fast asleep. It was 9pm. I considered leaving him there to sleep where he was, but as i planned at 5am start the next morning and as he’d likely sleep on as we left, i figured that he should sleep in a proper sea berth with what they call `lee cloths’, which are like sides to a cot that stop you from falling out, however much the boat rocks and rolls, as it can in the seas that roll through the Caribbean. I bent down close to his head and whispered his name: “Jonno buddy, time to go to bed”. No response; he was out cold. So I bundled him up in my arms and carried him to the bed that I’d made up earlier. At this stage I should say that whilst i have always admired boyish bodies from afar, I’ve never really had any contact with them, unless you count bathing my nephew way long ago. I was taken aback. Taken aback by the lightness, the softness, the gorgeous salty sunburned aroma (no longer fishy!) and above all the look of peace on his angelic face as he slept. I laid him down on the bed, lying on his back. A moment later he turned on his side, curled up and popped his thumb in his mouth. How sweet. I pulled a plain sheet over him, tied up the lee cloth and turned out the light. Rays of moonlight from the skylight overhead played on his skin, accentuating the contrast between his tanned skin and tighty whities and gently lighting his thatch of blond hair. “Goodnight Jonno. Sweet dreams”. The only response was a gentle snore.

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32