Comfortably Numb Adventures: The Windsurfer – Part 1 - Sex Stories

Comfortably Numb Adventures: The Windsurfer – Part 1

... that compliments her or that knows about sailboats. She told me that she had grown up on a lake not too far from Kiev, and that her family had a couple of small boats. Then her father left her mother with a twelve-year old Anya for a svelte young woman. There wasn’t enough money for the house on the water and they moved into a nice rental apartment in Kiev. She missed her sailing dinghy, windsurfing was a diversion. Then she came over, put her arms around me and hugged me. I thought that it was more a gesture of relief than one of intimacy. I held her and gave her a hug. I could feel her firm breasts against my chest. This was a position I was happy to hold for a while, but not a good one for discretion! I’m sure she felt my cock stirring. “Call your mom,” I said, hoping to defuse the situation before it became too awkward, “tell her you’ll be at the harbor cafe in fifteen minutes.” She gave me a little smile; it felt as though she intentionally quickly pressed her crotch against mine and then walked over to the table to pick up the phone. She called her mother who said she’d be there. I gave her a windbreaker. I had purposely not told her to ask her mother to bring a change of clothing so I could have the clothes I’d loaned her back, figuring that would be an excuse to see her again. I was a bit ashamed; Anya could be my granddaughter if I’d started early. Desperate times... I pulled the dinghy close to the stern so she could step in. She turned to me, took my head in her ...

... hands and kissed me deeply on the lips. “Thank you for saving me, Fred,” she said, “I wish I could do something more for you.” Aghh. What does that mean? And how do I, renowned pillar of morality, respond? “That kiss was the second best thing that happened to me today,” I said. “What was best thing?” “Meeting you, beautiful Anya,” I thought that was about as forward as I could be without being a total tool. She looked at me, her big blue eyes opened wide and she smiled broadly. She held that look for a second and stepped into the dinghy. The cafe was a small wooden flat-roofed building along the small basin where locals kept a dozen little wooden fishing boats. It oozed with character. We entered the café, and Anya’s mom was sitting at a corner table with a young woman who must have been Tatiana. They both jumped up, and Anya’s mom ran up to her daughter and hugged her. Anya gave them the thirty-second account in Ukranian of how I saved her life. Then all three cried. “My name is Marina and I don’t know how to thank you,” Anya’s mother said extending her hand. Then she started crying again and hugged me instead. “I’m happy to meet you, Marina; my name is Fred. You don’t need to thank me, I feel great about having met your daughter at sea. I rarely get to rescue a fair maiden,” I said wondering if there are people who really talk like that and if Marina would even understand what I said. Marina was around forty, I guessed. It was obvious where Anya got her blond hair and her ...