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John Bailey's father first introduced him to water at the age of three and by his fifth birthday, he was a strong swimmer. By the time he was nine, nobody entertained fears about his playing by the river.
The Baileys and their neighbours the Coolidge family were long-standing friends and their daughter Sara, also a good swimmer before the age of eight, was considered to be perfectly safe in John's company even though he was the younger by a year. But that was before Jim Coolidge obtained a new job; Sara, then almost twelve, moved away with the family. Somehow, without obvious reason, they failed to keep in touch.
John was a loner; the loss of his companion made little difference to him. His riverside wanderings continued as before and the old disused boathouse down by the river now became his exclusive haunt. He and Sara were boating one lovely afternoon when they had discovered the ruin buried like Sleeping Beauty, in rampant green growth. Later they found that it had belonged to an old mansion now fire-damaged and forgotten and so they made it their secret den.
There, for some five years, John spent his lonely but not lonesome hours. He was completely happy in his own company and in messing about with the many treasures he found in that long forgotten house of leisure and pleasure. In a steel locker in the storage space under the roof, he found a package heavily wrapped in canvas and some sort of oiled cloth. This proved to be a collection of books on boat-handling, on seamanship and, of greatest interest to him, on rope-work.
Just after his eighteenth birthday, John was in his favourite haunt. In a pool of sunlight from a high-level window he sat cross-legged on the floor and was deeply immersed in the self-appointed task of tying a four-turn Turk's Head around a four-by-four support; the wood posts were spaced at regular intervals along the side of the boat-house where they supported a structure of overhead racks for lengthy and awkward devices such as spars and oars. The book showed clearly how to tie such decorative knots but its demonstrations were all tied on round spars; on these square posts he was attempting to tie them with four complete rounds and with each face looking exactly alike after they had been worked until they fitted tightly and immovably.
The slight bump failed to draw his attention but the rattle as the door was pushed open could not have failed. He sat perfectly still and watched the figure now silhouetted in the open doorway. It was clearly that of a bikini-clad girl but how had she come to discover this place? In her right hand she carried a plastic bag and from this she extracted a towel and began to dry herself . Next from the bag came a white T-shirt which she donned after removing the wet bikini top. She removed the bathing cap to release a luxurious mane.
Clearly this girl had arrived by swimming and had brought with her some necessities; that could only mean that she had not found it by accident. Did she perhaps own the boathouse? Was he about to lose his private place? She hung the towel and bikini-top over a rail and stepped forward into the boat area. At first she failed to see John even though the sunlight was full upon him but then in such a large cluttered place ... ? Her whole bearing seemed a mix of curiousity and expectancy as though she had been there before but was not sure what she might find.
"Is anyone here?"
The rich contralto voice was not familiar but there was something in the manner of delivery; something too in the manner in which the right hand swept up as she addressed the room.
"Hallo John. Thought you would be here ... sometime or other."
"I'm always here but ... how do you come to ... "
"Been back in this area for a month or so now ... but ... er ... I'm afraid I wanted to be alone. Dad went to Europe on business; Mother went with him and they were killed in an air-crash. After a while I came back here but ... " She trailed off.
"Today I suddenly felt I needed a friend. Are you still my friend, John?"
"But of course. Must admit I've not thought about it much but ... er ... you know ... d'you remember I never had much need for friends?"
"You mean that, in five years, you've never brought another girl here?"
"No, Sara. This place is special for you and me."
"Dear John. I do believe that's the first time you ever paid me a compliment."
She moved toward him: "What do you do here all alone in your splendid isolation. Play tiddlywinks, marbles, count the grains of dust ... ?"
"Five years hasn't done much to soften your tongue and wit ."
"Don't be huffy, John." She indicated his several efforts at rope decorations: "What are all these?"
"They're called Turk's Heads. Main purpose is simply decoration although they do occasionally come in useful. They're quite easy to tie but it needs practice to get them looking right."
"That one is what you were doing when I came in? Looks fine to me. What's left to do?"
"The book shows the knot on round spars like masts and posts and rails. It's a lot different I find on square posts. I want it to look the same whichever side you look at."
She walked around the post and then moved her inspection up to the simpler versions he had tied first. "They're quite pretty," she offered, "and they get better as you come down the post."
Suddenly she pushed out her left hand. "It's round," she said. "Make me a bracelet please."
But she misunderstood his hesitation. He had yet to recover from her surprise appearance and her easy return to the old camaraderie had kept him off balance. Add to his confusion that this was not the Sara he had known in the old days; she was somehow more ... more ... more Sara ... than she had been. To have this ... what was the word he wanted? ... this Being suddenly thrust a beautiful little hand at him and demand that he tie a rope around it reduced him to the mental state of standing on one leg.
"It will neither bite nor smite," said she.
He picked up the nearest length and, holding her hand as though it were red hot, began to wind it around. As he dipped the end under each turn he was careful to pull it through gently; for a reason he didn't even notice he dreaded that this episode might end because he caused her a rope burn.
A simple task it took but a few minutes. "There you are," he said and watched as she examined the result.
She seemed not to notice the long tail that now fell from her wrist. "That's great," she said. "I like it. Thank you."
Then she startled him again. Seizing the front of her T-shirt in both hands she yanked it up, right up, until it hit the buffer-stops of a rounded bosom. Now exposed to his view was an expanse of slightly off-white tummy centred by a little dimpled belly-button. Still seated on the floor, his upward gaze could see where skin began to lift at the base of ...
"Make me a cummerbund."
It wasn't that he had never seen a bare female midriff before because they are on show wherever you may go but, in truth, he had never before been vouchsafed a view of a pair of naked breasts. And this mid-riff was more personal and certainly much closer; and here he was also invited to lay hands on it? He became aware of a certain excitement, a slight quickening of breath, a feeling of rising temperature, a certain ... what was that expression ... je ne sais quoi?
He took the long length of white cotton rope and began to wind it around her waist. He was obliged to get on his feet and move around her so that he could get the weave even. Above all he took his time, working slowly and carefully because now prolonging the task was more important to him than the risk of generating rope burn.
Hands holding up her T-shirt, head bent as she watched him, she stood quietly. When at last he stepped back he became aware of her eyes looking up at him through a veil of long curled lashes; was that, he wondered, what novelists were pleased to call a sultry look? Her lips were slightly parted as though at the beginning of a smile and now it struck him that, against the whiteness of her teeth, they had a particular ... ripeness was the only word he could call to mind.
She broke the spell by once again holding out her left hand. "What do we do with all this?"
An innocent enough question but ... yes, it could be a challenge. Perhaps there was in him after all a bit of the gambler and he threw caution overboard. With his hands on her shoulders he turned her until her back was to the post. At wrist height a hole had been bored through it but the bolt and its purpose were long forgotten. He threaded the end of her wrist rope through it and, taking her right hand, rapidly formed a second Turk's Head bracelet. When he had worked the slack out of it she had barely two inches play and, with the post between her hands, it was impossible for her to unravel either.
"You came here by yourself," he said, "but now you can't go away again."
He expected her to pull at the rope or to struggle or to scold him in some way but still she stood. He found himself once again the subject of that sultry look. And now he saw that the T-shirt was stretched across her bosom with the nipples pushing hard through the thin material. To his horror he saw a hand, his hand, reaching out toward her.
"May I ... er ... could I touch you ... your ... er .. ?"
"I can't stop you."
"I know that. But I asked if you would mind."
"Would it stop you if I said I would mind?"
"Sara ... I don't unders... ! What's the matter? You want me to untie you?"
"No, John, no. Always my gentleman John. No! I don't want you to untie me - I want you to touch me. Just there where you so nearly did. Does that shock you so very much. I've met several fellows who would have taken advantage long before this."
"You mean you've been tied up before?"
"Most I wouldn't trust if they were tied up themselves."
"In that case, perhaps ... " He moved behind her, picked up the short length that lay there and joined her ankles together to the post. He waited anxiously but there was no response. This time his hand moved unnoticed - un-checked; as he wrapped it gently around that appealing enticing bump his middle finger stroked lightly over the nipple and she jumped.
The growing realisation that Sara was now his to command and of her reaction to his slightest touch was causing a revolution in his innermost being. There was a hngry ache rising in his groin; his fingers ached to play on this delicate instrument so suddenly created in his realm and yet ... this was Sara and he was beset by a feeling of guilt; by the feeling of a sacrilege.
He drew the knife from his belt and slid it down the post severing her bonds. Facing her again he found her eyes closed, lips moistly parted as she breathed deeply and slowly. Without intention, he reached out and drew her to him only to find himself obliged to tighten his hold as her legs relaxed and she sagged against him. Lifting her he carried this exotic bundle to the couch he had created in the far corner.
Here it was often his wont to lie and contemplate Life, or his navel, or the mysteries of ropework, or again his navel or ...
She had opened her eyes: "You spoilt my bracelets," she accused.
"Easy to replace them."
She moved restlessly under his steady gaze. "A penny for them. What dastardly deed are you contemplating now?"
"I was thinking of a poem."
"So! John Bailey does conceal a spark of romance. Tell."
"Do you know James Elroy Flecker?"
"I don't think so."
"I'm not sure that I have it word perfect but ...
'We that were young tonight have found a fear, a secret and a shame: I am on fire with that sweet sound you make in uttering my name.'
His voice grew deeper and trembled slightly:
'Forgive a young and boastful man whom dreams delight and pleasures please And love me as great women can who have no children at their knees.'"
Thus, with tears in their eyes and arms tightly entangled, two young people began the exploration of those mysteries and intense pleasures which Life offers as counterpoint to its inevitable travail and tragedy and pain.