her tight, mouthwatering body to the St. Barts sunlight (and the hungry gaze of every red-blooded male in the vicinity), had put a fire inside of me that I had barely been able to contain.
So I had done the only thing I could. I turned away from the sight of my gorgeous, naked wife and walked right into the ocean. It had been too warm to completely cool my ardor, but at least it had hidden my erection when Em joined me, the clear blue water sluicing over her curves as she dove into the waves.
In the end, all I had to do to keep from flashing an erection was think about Emzee’s flat, emotionless expression on our wedding day when she said she didn’t love me. That killed off my desire pretty quickly, and it didn’t resurface again until later that night. Still, when I turned to her in bed, I could sense that she was holding herself back a little. So was I.
Still, the sex was good. It was never not good with Em; our physical attraction was too strong. I made her come pretty fast, could feel the contractions of her cunt squeezing me hard enough that I knew she wasn’t faking her orgasm, but things still felt off. I thought about how I had surprised her in the dressing room at the wedding dress shop, how responsive and hot she had been, especially knowing we could get caught at any moment.
That’s why this whole windsurfing thing was such a great idea. We just needed to bond over new, daring experiences. It had always been a vital component of our friendship.
Phillipe dropped us off at the beach where he’d reserved our private lesson, so it was just me, Emzee, and the instructor. I was grateful it was an older woman, not one of the young cabana boys that seemed to constantly be running around in their flashy little Speedos.
Our instructor Angie walked us through the basics while we were still on the beach.
“First things first, we need to know which direction the wind is coming from.” She held up a finger, motioning for us to do the same, and then pointed. “I happen to know the wind forecast for today is seventeen knots from the northeast, which is actually perfect for a first-timer. It’s your lucky day!”
“Good to hear it,” I said. I felt like I was overdue a bit of luck.
“When you launch your board into the water,” Angie went on, “you’ll want to make sure your back and the mast are facing the wind. Otherwise you’ll never get your sail up.”
“So…we’ll be walking into the water backwards?” Emzee asked.
“For today, yes.” Angie nodded as she carried on with her introductory information.
I glanced over at Em, who was listening so intently I was surprised she hadn’t pulled a notebook and pen out of her bag to take notes. Meanwhile, Angie was explaining how to use the direction of the sail to steer the board once we were out on the water, throwing around terms like uphaul and daggerboard and boom so fast I could barely keep up.
I’d always been a natural when it came to any kind of sport, but since I was new to windsurfing, I did my best to focus more on the lesson and less on Emzee. It wasn’t easy.
“When you pull the sail up out of the water, you want to keep your back straight,” Angie said, hopping on the board resting in the sand to show us how it was done. “Use your leg strength to lift, not your back.”
Emzee nodded. “Legs, not back,” she repeated obediently.
It was kind of adorable how she was so intent on getting this right immediately. Me, I learned by doing. And I always did things well.
Angie instructed Em to get on the board to practice the proper sail-lifting and boom-holding techniques she’d need once we were actually on the water.
“Cross one hand over the other to grab the boom,” Angie said, “and then you’ll use the boom to turn the sail and fill it with power.”
Fill the sail with power. I could get into that.
Coming up behind Emzee, I wrapped my arms around hers so we could go through the motions of steering together. Angie looked on approvingly, stopping us every now and again to adjust or explain. After another twenty minutes of demonstrating rig steering, tacking, and jibing, she finally announced that we were ready to surf.
“Here goes nothin’,” I said, grinning at Emzee.