I took several photos of the rest of our adventure. Somehow I was panicking that I was losing such a free-thinking lover. I had never been with anyone quite like her. We took photos of us together and images of me being happy. It would be hard to sell them to Riki as depressed.
Berlin was also slowing down. I suspected she would miss me too. She spent the first day along the Keys, lying in the sun and watching the bridges and mangrove trees pass from a distance. She slept with her head on my lap during the night watch, and I kept my hand on her thigh when I slept.
In the morning, she came to me at the helm and told me it was time for one last game. “It’s called Not Yet! We can do anything we want to each other, and the other cannot deny any act you wish to impose. The only rule is that no one can climax until nine o’clock tonight. Unconditional, higher restrictions!”
We sailed back out to blue water and started the long trip back to the Keys. We sailed nonstop for days while the wind and seas were accommodating. On the third day, the skies stayed cloudy, and the wind speed increased. That evening it started raining… sideways!
The visibility dropped to a couple hundred yards. I was glad I had the chart plotter and radar. We hunted for an island to hide out on for a while. I searched the charts, and we were in the middle of nowhere. We were northwest of Puerto Rico and northeast of the Dominican Republic. From the depth meter reading of fourteen thousand feet, I confirmed we were over the Maimon Basin. We were getting tired, and it was too rough to sleep on night watch changes. The whitecaps were splashing across the deck. The water was cold, and we broke out our heavy weather gear.
I already had the main sail reduced into the mast as we still did seven knots across the big rolling waves. We were considering going back to Puerto Rico when the radio started screaming, “Mayday! Mayday! We are taking on water. Mayday! Mayday!”
I laughed. “Hell no! Although I’ve done that too! I do paintings of things and places and sell them to the tourists.” Her body language took a major change.
“Can you paint me?” she whispered.
I sat and looked at her from head to toe as she modestly held the beach towel over her bikini. She assumed that I didn’t think she was pretty enough, but I was trying to evaluate if I could do her justice with a paintbrush.
I sat and spun my spinel ring around on my finger, wondering if I had been played. It didn’t make sense. Too many things looked like she wanted a future with me. I opened the fridge, got out another beer, and sat on my front porch.
“Hey, Louis, you crazy man! How ya do’n?” said my shirt shop neighbor.
“Ahhh, little bit lonely. A little bit confused,” I said.
“What? That Russian girl?”
“Yeah, but she’s Ukrainian,” I corrected.
“She’s definitely hot! I saw her getting on a private jet up at the airport the other day.”
“Oh yeah?” I said.
“Yeah! She was the only passenger, and they left as soon as she boarded. The passport dude even came to the plane and stamped her passport at the bottom of the steps. Man, you know how to pick them. Beautiful and richer’n hell too. Hey man, I gotta go close up the shop! Take it easy!” He ran back across the street.