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The Side of the Yacht
Jackson hangs from the side of the yacht coughing salt water from his lungs. Mucus and salty foam pour out with a sting through his nose. He bobs up and down, banging against the side of the boat that looms above him. This is not how he had pictured the day trip into the Gulf turning out.
That morning Jackson had woken up beside Alice’s soft warm body thinking his life had turned out better then all those jocks who had teased and mocked him throughout his youth. He had a sexy girl and a great executive job that had allowed him to buy an expensive yacht to add to his collection of extravagant toys.
Jackson smiled as he caressed the pale backside of the sleeping beauty that shared his bed. Alice awoke and pulled his hand around to the moist spot between her legs. She moaned.
Now, spitting out sea water to survive, that morning romp with Alice seems so far away. Her pleasing touch appears decades away from this unintentional swim. Jackson hangs onto a frayed rope dangling from the deck of the boat. He tries several times to pull himself up but only manages to fatigue himself.
After his morning delight with Alice, Jackson took a shower and thought about his lesson on how to sail his new purchase. Tommy, Jackson’s oldest and dearest friend, had given him information about a guy who would take him out on his new boat and show him the ropes for a reasonable fee. That excited Jackson as much as Alice’s round ass and her sexual vigor. He scrubbed the soap on, thinking life couldn’t get any better than this; first a hot girl in bed, and then, the open water. You’re a lucky guy, Jackson Harris.
“Are you enjoying the swim, rich boy?” Hank, the brute hired to teach Jackson how to sail, calls down from the deck of the yacht.
“Yeah sure, asshole,” Jackson speaks too soft to be heard and sputters out water between his lips into the cold ocean.
After his shower, Jackson and Alice had said their goodbyes. The two had been dating for a few months. They had decided mutually to keep it casual. He had a demanding career in finance and she was a well-paid model. Jackson kissed Alice and put her in a cab. She waved through the window on her way to catch her flight to Brazil for a photo shoot.
Jackson drove across town to the docks with the top down and the stock report faintly coming from the speakers. He stopped at the corner store for coffee and a donut. There he flirted with the young girl working the register. She smiled and batted her pretty blue eyes at him, caressing his hand with petite slender fingers as she handed Jackson his change. They exchanged good mornings and Jackson was on his way with his breakfast with only the images of that little cashier using those soft hands on all his pink parts.
The water feels as if it is cooling down. Jackson shivers. The rope stings his hands. He has slipped a few times and is fearful that the next slip might be his last.
Pulling into the docks, Jackson found his reserved parking spot without incident. He stopped along the wooden planks leading to his slip to wave at a beautiful blonde in a tiny bikini sunbathing atop a nice white boat. She waved back and smiled. Jackson imagined her supple breasts falling out of the tiny cups of her bathing suit. He whistled as he made his way to his exciting life as a yacht owner.
“How long you gonna hang on?” Hank shouts down, unseen by Jackson.
Hank arrived just before Jackson at the slip. He had been untying the yacht from the dock when Jackson stepped aboard. The two men said their hellos and shook hands.
Hank was a short muscular man that reminded Jackson of Stallone without the movie theater magic. Jackson himself is a tall thin man. He’s in shape but does not have the physique of a body builder.
Jackson thought of Mighty Mouse while he watched Hank bent over in shorts much too tight for his bulging thighs, with his muscular buttocks up in the air. Jackson laughed to himself, amused by the stocky build of this so-called boat expert.
“Why don’t you let me up, and we can talk about it!” Jackson screams back, straining his vocal cords to be sure he is heard.
Hank pushed off the dock, and kicked on the engine. Jackson watched his teacher motor out into the Gulf waters. Hank explained from the cockpit each of his movements and their importance. The water was calm and he’d said that it was perfect for Jackson’s first trip out.
Once out on the water, Hank pushed buttons that brought the sails up. His hands worked buttons and levers with a flash. The sails lifted in the wind like wings on a plane. The two men were gliding across the water at a good clip, being pulled by the breeze out across the Gulf. Jackson walked out onto the bow of his new toy and felt the salt air brush across his well-tanned face. He watched as a seagull danced above the ocean before suddenly pulling a fish out of the foamy water and into the clear blue sky.
Jackson bangs against the ship forcefully with each lift the vessel makes. His hands burn as they are dragged along the course rope. His body is exhausted, and his will grows weak. With every wave Jackson swallows large amounts of water, failing far too often to hold his breath before being slapped down against the unforgiving sea.
Hank watches Jackson appear and disappear under the waves to an unheard rhythm. The muscle man pulls a cold beer from a small fridge stationed mid-ship beneath the side railing. Jackson had asked the salesman to fill it with his favorite brand of beer, before he knew the man trying to kill him would enjoy a frosty cold one while Jackson himself fought for his life in the cold vast sea.
They sailed out into international waters, and then began to head toward Mexico. Jackson stood on the deck staring out at the horizon and thinking about how much women would love this ride. They would possibly appreciate it enough to reward him just for being the man who owns this joyous nautical craft.
Jackson was thinking about the sunbathing blonde in her bikini when Hank came up behind him slowly and quietly. The steroid head raised a large wrench from his side and held it like a baseball bat. Hank reared back and swung for the fences, smacking Jackson squarely in the side. Stunned and reeling toward the railing of the boat, Jackson screamed in pain from two cracked ribs and turned just in time to see Hank charging at him like a bull in the rodeo coming at a thrown rider. Hank caught Jackson by surprise again and lifted just above his knees shoving Jackson up and over the railing. He fell into the icy water with a thud that knocked the air from his lungs. He sank a few feet down and came up grasping for a piece of the ship.
“I think I like you down there with the fish. Hey, maybe you’ll find a shark. You could be my bait for the really big ones. I could be the first man to catch a great white with a rich dweeb for bait,” Hank laughs and finishes his beer. He smiles and throws the empty can at Jackson who relentlessly clings to his rope.
A rope dangled from the aft side of the yacht. It smacked into Jackson’s reaching hands as the wind carried the boat past him. Hank walked along the deck looking into the water for the guy he’d thrown overboard. He found Jackson clinging to a rope being dragged by the boat. Shit, Hank thought as he shouted down at Jackson. He told the man in the water he would die if he held on and he should try his luck in the open sea. Jackson knew better. He had heard horror stories of people dying at sea. He had no way of knowing if anyone
would be out here before he succumbed to the elements, drowned, or was food for some terrible sea creature. He would hang onto the slippery braids of rope until his body just couldn’t endure any longer.
“I think I’ll look for a place to cut you loose,” Hank says while opening a second beer.
Jackson had been thinking about the possibility of the rope coming loose from the ship just moments before Hank begins his search for the end of the rope that was tied to the yacht. Jackson is able to hold his breath and go under looking for some way to get off the rope but still remain with the ship. His eyes sting from the salt as he searches the length of the vessel. A twinkle of reflected light catches Jackson’s eye just seconds before he bursts out of the water panting. He takes a deep breath and allows himself to slide down the rope below the surface of the water. Three feet from him attached to the base of the boat, a ladder glistens like a lighthouse warning a storm-battered sailor of sure death upon a low-lying reef.
“I’ll find that damn tether and send you into the drink for good…you hear me rich boy?” Hank cackles as he stomps along the edges of the craft searching for where Jackson’s