Sinopse
Working a charter boat in the Caribbean is hot work, especially with so many smoking hot people lying around in little or nothing. People don't go to the Caribbean to do ordinary things and the temptations are many. Those who hire a charter the West Indies expect sun, sea, and smoking hot sexual adventure. These are some of their stories.
~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~
I know that one issue that had come between them had to do with our sailing schedule. It hadn't taken long for me to sort out that Janet was the better, or at least more avid, sailor. "We haven't made one decent night passage on the entire trip," she said. She was complaining to Bart, not me, but they were in the saloon and talking loud enough that I couldn't avoid hearing every word. The sound of their voices rose up as if I was standing next to them.
"There are no decent night passages. Night passages aren't fun," Bart insisted. "At night it gets cold and wet."
"I enjoy seeing the moon on the water," she said. "There will be a full moon tonight, Bart. The sky at night is gorgeous and very sexy."
He snorted. "Then, when we get to civilization, we can get a room at a marina with a balcony," he said as if that were in every way an improvement over what she wanted.
I didn't hear the resolution to the argument about night passages, but we never made any. We anchored early every day. If he hadn't already picked one in advance after reading the cruising guide, in the afternoon Bart would point to a bay on the chart, have me plot a course to it and we would anchor there before dark.
Frankly, some of those bays weren't all that great. Some were open to the swells from the sea and we would rock uncomfortably all night. When the mosquitos came out in swarms, my vote would have been with Janet on making a night passage, even though I don't view them as romantically as she described them. Anchoring every night also meant we weren't getting south quickly. I got the impression that Janet wanted to get to Grenada before their vacation time ran out. It was looking increasingly like there wouldn't be nearly enough time even if they stored the boat there and flew back.
I suppose there was more to their disagreements than sailing. After all, they were there to repair old problems and some of them must have re-emerged. Just one week into the trip, Bart was no longer focusing entirely on Janet. His head, if not his body, had already ended his vacation.
"I need to check in with the office," he told Janet one night. She didn't seemed thrilled but she got a drink and went to sit on the bow while he made a phone call, got agitated, and made more calls. By the time he went to bed, he wasn't having fun and from then on, he was fixated on that telephone. Now, as soon as we anchored, he was grabbing his cell phone instead of Janet, and making calls. He would grab a bottle of booze and a bucket of ice and settle into the cockpit talking on the phone about some kind of construction shit with people who were probably on conference calls at the other end. This would go on for an hour or two. Janet yelled at him that she didn't like to sit around listening to him talk business and went to the cabin. I figured that her choice of places to sulk wouldn't help her temper any. It was stinky hot below decks in some of those windless bays. I didn't want to listen either, so I dove over the side and took a swim.
One night I got a surprise. From the deck I could see that the anchor was dug into beautiful white sand in about twenty feet of water. I dove in from the bow, going deep down for a close look. It was gorgeous in the late afternoon sun and fish were already planning to develop the anchor as a reef.
