You pulled yourself up so your legs wrapped over mine, your thigh pressing against my groin…all the time you were kissing my face and my neck sendin... wave upon wave over pleasure through me, your breath setting my skin on fire… You pulled away and turned, telling me to unzip your dress, I duly obliged…you stood up facing me and slipped the dress from your shoulders…I watched as it fell to the floor and you stood in front of me…I watched trancelike, as a rabbit does when caught in the glare of a. So. Here I was, mid November, leaving Funchal harbour. (I'd been keeping the magazine updated with chatty and/or informative diary notes. The Biscay storm roused a fair interest.) A couple of days out, and I crossed thirty degrees north latitude, but it was another six days before I was sure of the trade winds, lowered the mainsail and set two large head-sails, poled out. I probably need to explain that sailing a fore-and-aft rigged boat, which means most modern yachts, with a following wind,. More

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