Chapter 15
I lay there in bed for a long time watching her sleep after my circadian clock woke me around five a.m. An occupational hazard of being in the service, sadly. I really have to be exhausted to sleep much past that.
I was trying to take stock of what I was feeling. I've had crushes before, but I've never been in love. Well, I'd never felt like this before, whatever it was. Was it really love, or just the constant rush of dopamine from having so much sex?
"I can feel your eyes on me," she whispered. I saw a small smile on her face. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to wake you." I watched her roll onto her side and pull the sheet down to bare her breasts. "It's okay, it's a strange bed. I never sleep all that well in hotels." I had to agree.
I rolled toward her and kissed her deeply and set my hand on her tit. She moaned softly. She pushed me off. "Hold that thought, sailor, I gotta pee."
I heard her urine stream in the toilet, the flush, and then the water in the sink turned on. She came out a few minutes later with the last of her make-up cleaned off and her hair brushed. She walked up to my side of the bed and climbed up to straddle my waist. She was smiling. "You owe me an orgasm," she whispered. I reached up and grasped her tits firmly.
She began rolling her hips, and my cock began sliding under her labia. She grinned at me. "Is there a soccer game today?" She reached down and guided me into her pussy. When I was fully inside her, she paused like we always did in this position. Just to enjoy the moment.
"No, the World Cup is over. Today is college football." I groaned. "What time are the games? She said as she slid up and down on my cock. My heart was racing. "Most games start at noon, and others at two-thirty, others later on."
She began breathing hard and her eyes closed. She almost always came when she rode me cowgirl style. Especially with some judicious attention to her breasts. "Sounds like a ... ugh, perfect day." She moaned.
A few days later I left for another patrol. Rather than leave my car on base, Tina dropped me off that morning. I had no idea that goodbye was going to be so hard. There was so much I'd wanted to say, but I didn't know how. In just eight weeks, we'd gotten so close.
We said goodbye at the car. She didn't want to watch the ship leave. We kissed and stared into each other's eyes. "Be safe out there will ya? I've kinda gotten attached to you. It would be a huge hassle to find a new roommate," she said softly.
I smiled. "Yeah, he probably wouldn't cook for you." She hugged me. "Or hold me at night. Gabe listen, this has gone way further than I ever thought it would, we need to ..."
I smiled and kissed her. "Listen, I'll be back in a couple of months. We can use the time to figure this out. We'll talk after." She smiled sadly and nodded. I changed the subject and tried to lighten the mood.
"I bought fresh batteries for you. They should get you through this patrol," she laughed but tears weren't far behind. "You're always so thoughtful." We pressed our foreheads together. "I have to take care of my slut." Then I kissed her, picked up my bags, and turned down the pier. It was the hardest hundred yards of my life.
Eight weeks doesn't sound like a long time. The size and type of Coast Guard Cutter I'm on can only hold six weeks' worth of fuel and provisions at a maximum. It would usually require a pit stop at a Navy base somewhere to reprovision and refuel to stay out longer. So, for us to do patrols as long as the Navy ships do, just isn't possible. But our patrols are frequent. We're away from home two hundred and thirty days a year at a minimum.
We work hard when we are underway. Most crew members put in sixteen-hour days, every day. The Culinary Specialists, like me, are up at 4 a.m. and work until 8 p.m. Sometimes, Sundays are easy, but the crew must still be fed, and the galley still has to be spotless. If we aren't doing search and rescue, law enforcement boardings, or searching for drug runners, we are running drills for every possible emergency that can arise on a ship.
Happily, this pace doesn't leave you a lot of time for dwelling on your problems at home. But every night in my rack, Tina was on my mind. They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder. I'm not sure of that, but it certainly does make what the heart truly feels, clearer. And then you have to figure out how to deal with that. That was the tough part for me.
During the last two weeks of the trip, things began to wind down. We do the job we're out there for, but drills become less frequent. The new people are trained, response times are honed, and confidence in the crew is high.
On October 31st, we decorated the galley and mess deck for Halloween. Being underway for holidays is hard, but more so for the married guys who are missing their children in cute costumes and their wives in sexy costumes. That evening my fellow cooks and I served the evening meal wearing Jason Voorhees hockey masks with spooky haunted house sounds from an old compact disc. That night our ship encountered, boarded, and seized a ship carrying ten tons of cocaine. It was called the Mala Luna. In Spanish it means "Bad Moon."
From the moment we boarded the ship, everything went to hell. It was a fairly ancient island-hopping Caribbean freighter. Being entirely wood it sat high and bobbed like a cork. At first, it was just another bust, but it very quickly went sideways. We took the three crew members into custody, put our boarding team on board to drive the boat and we realized that the damn thing was held together by baling wire and prayer.
The bilge pumps were running constantly, and the steering was a ramshackle affair involving bicycle parts, pulleys, and some very old rope. The cargo hold was entirely coated in fiberglass and was inexplicably in the nose of the ship, which did not improve the boat's handling.
The engine block had a crack in it, so someone needed to sit nearby and pour the oil that leaked into a drain pan, back into the crankcase every twenty minutes. The fumes in that engine room were so bad, it made two crew members sick. And on its best day, the boat was capable of seven knots. We traveled like that for three days through some rough November seas before the engine blew. At that point, we took the vessel in tow, but due to the nature of the boat and the ..., ah hell, let me just cut to the chase. The vessel broke up and sank in the middle of the night. None of our crew were still on board. It left us with about ten floating bales of cocaine. We piled it up on the flight deck and headed for Coast Guard Station Miami.
Two great things finally came from the Mala Luna. We dropped off our smugglers, and I got within range of a cell tower. I called home to hear Tina's voice and she was in quite a state. It seems things had gone kind of cattywampus back home
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