Unexplained Disappearance On A Vast Ocean
Not Everyone Makes It Back To Land After A Sea Voyage, Not Even Lovers On A Holiday Of Their Lifetime.
Two people began their love-journey on a yacht and sailed across a blue paradise but, a year later, only one of them returned. Was there an accident on the ocean, or did something more sinister happen out there?
Most people think of cruise-sailing to be a romantic and glamorous lifestyle. Salty skin, surf hair and a hunger for adventure on the open water sounds lovely, on paper.
Sailing is also a dangerous sport. Whenever sailors leave sight of civilisation, anything can happen. No one else is around to witness anything. There’s no one to verify an accident, no evidence trail to follow if someone mysteriously doesn’t return. That beautiful blue world is enormous. Any boat on it is a tiny speck. A human being is a speck on that boat — and people fall overboard at sea all the time. Many don’t get found.
Yachting romances add an interesting element to the water. It’s powerful. The sea’s energy is alluring, especially for watery spirits like myself. When two passionate water lovers meet, the wind, tide and sex is overwhelming. The adventure of living life by the breeze is so intoxicating that it takes over. It’s not unusual for a newly-hitched couple to raise a mainsail and just sail away — to leave it all behind and to cover themselves in love and lust.
Wild sex and ocean life go well together. Sea orgasms are longer, greater. The fresh air and the salt spray add vital earth elements to it. There’s something uniquely sparkly about the experience. Sailing is mostly about flesh and wave. You glide your way over the water, like you feel your way around a lover’s sun-kissed skin. The connection is sublime.
But love like that doesn’t last forever, not even in paradise.
Or maybe that’s just me.
I’ve never settled well. Adventure is my real passion. It’s more about experiencing a new experience, even if that experience is a person. Long love just isn’t for me. There’s no new experience to be had once the lover becomes familiar. The lust fades, and then the rest of it is boring.
Chores. Responsibilities. Pregnancies.
The struggle is real.
Her tummy will grow, and so will her anxieties to get back to land. The pattern is always the same. She’ll ask why I don’t carry a satellite phone onboard, and I’ll reply that I’ve never needed one. 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. An irrational female telling me how I should do my job only ruins my happy place.
“You can get off whenever you like, dear.”
A sudden wind change and a rolling sea is all I need to fix the problem. I’ll swing the wheel to port and watch the boom sweep across the cockpit, taking her with it. She’ll end up between the waves, drifting away from my boat fast.
“Did you hear that, dear? That’s why they call it a fucking boom!”
And that will be that. Fixed. Paradise is restored.
“Where did that nice blonde go?” an old salty friend will ask. “She was a bit of alright.”
“She was. Very tasty — jumped ship at Vanuatu — saw someone better.”
“Again? Shit. 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 on October 24, 2021.