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When I finally got there, 20 minutes later and breathless, the yacht was gone! Good news, it was the only one on the water but too far away. To my blessing, there were those things that let you look great distances if you put a coin in them. I did, and when I finally focused the yacht I almost had a heart attack when I saw this: Through the window of the captain's cabin I saw Claudia. She was obviously riding Paolo, since her breasts were naked and she was bouncing up and down, while she was licking her lips and Paolo's strong arms were caressing her boobs vigorously. She was wearing nothing but her high heels and Paolo's hat, so I barely had time to see her eyes rolling behind her head before the brim of the hat hid them, since the hat was a big big for her head and fell down on her nose. As aroused as I was, I could not help but to feel jealous, as I had never gotten a reaction like that from her. So obviously the bulge was real, and I remember that I'd read somewhere that. Scattered here and there among the locals were a few obvious summerfolk.They were pretty easy to spot ... omelets, sausage and buttered toast, never mind the khaki shorts, loud Hawaiian shirts, or socks and sandals. It was spring so they must be full time residents but, summerfolk just the same.It takes a long time and a few winters to become 'local'. Some folks never get there.To a man, the locals were dressed in khaki pants, with pressed creases so sharp you could cut slices in the newspapers they were all reading. Starched button-down off white shirts with breast pocket protectors filled with ink pens, sharpened number 2 pencils and a slide rule.They all wore deck-shoes, and that felt odd to me; 55 miles to the ocean and all these academic looking old men are wearing deck shoes.Off in the distance, a bell clanged. Down the street a horn tootled.Like puppets, the locals folded their newspapers, reached under the table, retrieved a white hardhat with some foreign writing fore and.
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