"Push-ups."
We both laughed.
So, we took the Paumanok out again and sailed past the three-mile limit where sexual perversions are legal. We found a spot where no other craft were nearby, and I said to Susan, "What did you have in mind?"
What she had in mind was going below, then reappearing on the aft deck stark naked. We were still under sail, and I was at the helm, and she stood in front of me and said, "Captain, First Mate Cynthia reporting for punishment as ordered."
My goodness. I looked at her standing at attention, those cat-like green eyes sparkling in the sunlight, the breeze blowing through her long red hair. I love this woman's body, the taut legs and arms, the fair skin, and the big red bush of pubic hair.
"Reporting for punishment as ordered," she prompted.
"Right. Right." I thought a moment. "Scrub the deck."
"Yes, sir."
She went below and came back with a bucket and scrub brush, then leaned over the side and scooped up a bucket of salt water. She got down on her hands and knees and began scrubbing the deck around my feet.
"Don't get any of that on me," I said, "or you'll get a dozen lashes across your rump."
"Yes, sir… oops." She tipped the bucket over, and the salt water soaked my Docksides. I think she did that on purpose.
She rose to her knees and threw her arms around my legs. "Oh, Captain, please forgive me! Please don't whip me." She buried her head in my groin. You know, for a woman who's a bitch in real life, a real ball-buster if you'll pardon the expression, Susan has a rather strange alter ego. I mean, her favourite and most recurring roles are those of subservient and defenceless women. Someday, I'm going to ask a shrink friend of mine about this, though of course I'll change the names to protect the kinky.
Anyway, I made Susan lower the sails and drop anchor so we could stop for a little punishment. I tied her wrists to the mainmast and delivered a dozen lashes with my belt to her rump. Needless to say, these were light love-taps, though she squirmed and begged me to stop.
Well, we passed the next hour in this fashion, Susan performing all sorts of menial tasks in the nude, bringing me coffee, polishing the brass, cleaning the head. I can't get this woman to clean the crumbs out of the toaster at home, but she really enjoys being a naked slave on board the boat. It's good for her, I think, and very good for the boat.
Anyway, after about an hour she said to me, "Please, sir, may I put my clothes on?"
I was sitting on the deck, my back against the cabin bulkhead, sipping a cup of coffee. I replied, "No. You can get down on the deck on your hands and knees and spread your legs."
She did what I ordered and waited patiently while I finished my coffee. I rose to my knees, lowered my pants, and entered her from behind. She was sopping wet as I discovered, and I wasn't in her for more than ten seconds when she came, and about five seconds later it was my turn.
On the way back into Provincetown, Susan, who was fully dressed again, seemed somewhat distant. I had the impression that there was something very weighty on her mind. In fact, if I thought about it, Susan's behaviour over the past month or so had alternated between periods of clinging affection and bouts of sulkiness and withdrawal. I'm used to her moods, her sullenness, and her general nuttiness, but this was something different. As Carolyn observed, Susan was not herself. But then again, I was not myself either.
As we sailed back to Provincetown, with me at the helm, I said to her, "Maybe you were right. Maybe we should get away. We could take the boat down to the Caribbean and disappear for a few months – The hell with civilization." She didn't reply for a few seconds, then said, "You have to settle your tax problem before it becomes a criminal matter."
Which was true, and like most Americans, I resented any government intrusion into my life that caused me an inconvenience. I said, "Well, then, as soon as I take care of that, we should leave."
She replied, "Don't you think you owe Frank something?"
I glanced at her. "Like what?"
"Well, you promised him you would handle that charge against him." She added, "When you told Carolyn and Edward about it, you made it sound as if you still hadn't decided."
I stared out at the horizon for a while. I don't like people telling me how to run my business, or reminding me of what I said. Also, I didn't recall telling Susan that I promised Bellarosa I'd handle the murder charge. She said, "Didn't you exchange favours or something?"
I said, "I suppose we did." I asked. "Why does it concern you?" "Well, that's your challenge. I think it would do you some good to get involved in a criminal case."
"Do you? Do you understand it would probably end my career with Perkins, Perkins, Sutter and Reynolds if I represented a Mafia don? Not to mention what it would do to us socially."
She shrugged. "I don't care, John, and neither do you. You've already chucked it all in your mind anyway." She added, "Go for it."
"All right. I will."
On Saturday afternoon, we sailed out of Provincetown and headed south again to Long Island, spotting land at Montauk Point, which we rounded against a strong wind and tricky currents.
Out in the Atlantic, about forty miles southeast of Montauk, we saw whales spouting in the distance and we headed toward them but could not keep up. While still not a common sight, in recent years I've seen more whales, which is good news. But an hour later, we had a less happy sighting; not fifty yards off our port bow, the conning tower of a huge black submarine broke the water and rose up like some ancient obsidian monolith, dwarfing the thirty-six-foot Morgan. The tower had numbers on it but no other markings, and Edward gasped. "My God… is it ours?"
I replied, "No, it is theirs."
"The Russians?"
"The government's. Russian or American. The Sutters don't own any nuclear submarines."
And that, I think, completed the conversion of John Sutter from right-thinking, taxpaying patriot to citizen of the world, or more precisely, the sea. With a few hours of usable light left, and a strong southwesterly wind, I headed back toward the south shore of Long Island and sailed west along the magnificent white beaches. We passed by East Hampton and Southampton, then turned into the Shinnecock Inlet and sailed past the Shinnecock Reservation, putting in at The Southampton Yacht Club where we anchored for the night. The next morning, Sunday, we took on fresh water, then navigated through the canal into the Great Peconic Bay. For small and medium-size craft, the sailing in Peconic Bay is some of the best on the East Coast, offering the appearance of open seas with the safety of protected water. Also, there is a lot to see in terms of other craft, seaplanes, islands, and spectacular shoreline, so we just explored for the entire day. Edward explored with a pair of binoculars, spotting four topless women. He kept offering the binoculars to me, but I assured him I wasn't interested in such things. Susan and Carolyn, on the other hand, told him to give them the binoculars if he spotted a naked man. What a crew. On Sunday evening, we put in at the old whaling village of Sag Harbor for provisions. Susan, as I mentioned, is not much of a cook, even in her modern kitchen at home, so we don't expect much from the galley. Susan and Edward thought that provisions should consist of a decent meal at a restaurant on Main Street, but Carolyn and I voted for roughing it. Since I am the captain of the Paumanok, we had it my way. You see why I like sailing. So we took a walk through the village, which was quiet on a Sunday evening, and found an open deli where we bought cold beer and sandwiches. We took our provisions back to the ship, which was docked at the Long Wharf at the head of Main Street. As we sat on the aft deck drinking beer and eating baloney sandwiches, Susan said to me, "If we get scurvy on this trip, it will be your fault."