The Plot Begins
363 Words
The Plot Begins“Reggie, the weather’s good. A little early for boating, but we haven’t been anywhere in so long!”
End of April in New York can bring a variety of weather. Fortunately some warmth is expected for the weekend.
“Just the two of us... like before,” I add with camouflaged glee.
My voice turns coquettish, pouting and enticing at the same time. A skilled yachtsmen, simple Reggie likes to skipper his own small yawl. And I’ve learned my way around the craft myself. Ideal sailing for two.
“Fishers Island? We could moor for the night in Fishers Island Sound,” I add as an inducement.
My tone of voice turns romantic, bringing thoughts of the torrid post prandial s*x the other night... when the chemical engineering behind my laced bandage kicked in with zeal.
We skipped dessert, Reggie’s tented trousers too obvious to be displayed to Ms. Grover.
Draping my arms around Reggie’s neck, snuggling most affectionately, spurs thoughts of making love on a gentle rocking boat.
Depending on the wind, Fishers Island, a small enclave for old money wealth, is a few hours sail from our marina off Pelham. I further coax, my soothing voice sparking feelings of romance... for me anyway. For Reggie I am sure it engages the ‘guy’s got to do what a guy’s got to do’ thought process... meaning getting laid.
“I’ll bring wine and do all the cooking. It will be cool, but we can warm each other...”
Yes, cool is important. Though we’ve had some warm days, the waters of Long Island Sound remain quite chilly. It does not take long to induce hypothermia in forty five degree water. And whereas Reggie won’t be getting wet, I need such presumption in commencing the plot... that tumbling into frigid waters brings death... but not certain death. No, nothing too apparent. Nothing too obvious. I do not want a corpus... I do not want a death certificate.
I become rather proud of my acting as Reggie not only verbally agrees, but I also sense that his unfaithful pecker is firming. Thus I gently tap his nose as if playing with a puppy, then lick his ear.
“Save it for tomorrow night,” I advise in my most sultry voice.
Yes, the plot begins.
- Writer
