May 18, 2021
An Unexplained Disappearance Sailing A Vast Ocean
Two people begin their love-journey across a blue paradise at sea but, a year later, only one of them returns. Was there an accident on the ocean or did something more sinister happen out there?
Sailing is glamorous, but it’s also a dangerous sport. Whenever solo sailors leave sight of civilisation, anything can happen to them and no one else is around to know the truth. There’s no one to help, no one to witness any event take place, no evidence trail to follow if one doesn’t return to land. That blue world is enormous. A boat is a tiny speck on it. People fall overboard at sea all the time — and many don’t get found.
Yachting romances are powerful. The sea’s energy is alluring, especially for watery spirits like myself. When two passionate water lovers meet at the right time, the wind, tide and sex is overwhelming. The adventure of living life by the breeze is so intoxicating that it takes over everything. It’ll promise couples a perfect paradise, and it’s not unusual for a newly-hitched one to raise a mainsail and just sail away together — leaving it all behind.
Wild sex and ocean freedom go well together. Sea orgasms are longer, greater. The fresh air and the salt spray add vital earth elements into the mix. There’s something uniquely sparkly about the experience.
There is no one to tell you right from wrong, no clock screaming a schedule at you to finish what you’re doing and get to work. Sailing is about flesh and wave. You glide your way over the water, like you feel your way around sun-kissed skin. The connection runs deep and long. It’s sublime.
But love doesn’t last forever, not even on the water.
Maybe that’s just me.
I’ve never settled well. Adventure is the passion. It’s more about luring a new love onto my boat and showing her this way of life. Long love just isn’t for me. Once I’ve caught one and spent all I’ve got, I want to wander again and show someone else that dream too.
Chores. Responsibilities. Pregnancies.
The struggle is real, even on the big blue.
Navigation is an important duty. Keeping track of daily weather forecasts and wind movements keeps me on my toes. I’ve a serious job to do making sure our tiny world stays on top of the surface of the water. It’s not easy. Preparing the boat for any adversity, day and night, before it comes, is something she undervalues. This is how I maintain our paradise. It needs my constant attention. Survival doesn’t happen by magic.
She’ll glare at me from the galley, and I’ll feel the heat. From my chart table, I’ll tune-in and listen to the scratchy atmospheric signals crackling out of my HF radio and ignore the disdain floating across the cabin. Her tummy will grow and so will her anxieties. The pattern is always the same. She’ll ask why I don’t carry a satellite phone, and I’ll reply that I don’t need one. She’ll ask about why we can’t turn the yacht around and go home. I’ll explain how far we are from land. We’ll be closer to a small, mid-Pacific island than a familiar shore. Nothing I say will matter. Her mood won’t improve. I’ll be stuck with an emotional ogre that’ll grow and grow.
I’ve sailed for years. It’s how I do things. I don’t require phones or internet for my floating oasis. I certainly don’t need an irrational female telling me how I should do my job and ruining my happy place too.
A sudden wind change and a rolling sea is all I need to fix the niggling gripes. I’ll jerk the wheel to port and the sail will swing fast from one side of the boat to the other, taking her with it. She won’t see it coming and will end up between the waves, thousands of miles from anywhere, drifting away from my boat fast.
‘Did you hear that, dear? That’s why they call it a boom!’
And that will be that. Fixed. Paradise restored.
‘Where did that nice blonde go?’ an old salty friend will ask, on my return. ‘She was a bit of alright.’
‘She was. Very tasty — jumped ship at Vanuatu — saw something better on land and stayed with him.’
‘Shit. Oh, well. They’re all the same. Always looking for another cock, right? That’s what, four losses now?’
‘ Losses? Ha ha! Yeah, you mean four gains, right? I get the best bit. He has the rest of it.’
‘Too right! Beer?’
‘Thanks mate. Cheers.’
Originally published at https://michaelformanevil.substack.com.
