Boating is... Stuck on the Shrimp boat Part 3
About dark the first crack whore climbed aboard the
Pukin' Pelican. She was skinny and missing her lower front teeth.
Paul knew better than to ask. He just laid back and let her earn her
twenty dollars. It was better than jacking off but not by much. It
was mostly about the power he felt during the sex.
The whore was gone over the boats in a flash after getting paid. She had enough for a rock and would smoke it up and be in her little part of heaven for a while before going back aboard the boats and repeating the exercise.
Paul was happy to dangle his legs off the top of the pilothouse and look out on the Back Bay. He watched the boats glide by. Some were commercial vessels and he knew a lot of the fishermen so he waved and raised his beer to them. Most of the boats were privately owned and they were just curious about the Shrimp boats. Whenever a good-looking girl was on the boat, Paul would stand up and pull up his shirt around his neck. Only once did a woman return the favor but Paul always had hope.
The Back Bay was full of anchored boats and Paul knew a few of their owners, too. Most of them were water born gypsies who lived aboard their boats and once cruised the coastal regions but now were mostly trapped behind Estuary Beach by one circumstance or another. Paul dreamed of having a boat one-day but some how he could never get enough money together to pull it off.
Wyoming Bill came back around nine that evening. He wanted to borrow money from Paul. "Spe spe spen-spen spent I, I, it all," Paul said. Bill took six beers without offering to pay and went back the way he came. 'No use bothering with him. If I don't have kill him tonight, I'll be rid of him tomorrow,' thought Paul.
Paul climbed back onto the pilothouse and listened to
the music wafting across the water from the tourist bars. He like the
Jimmy Buffet and the Jamaican Steel Drum music but he only heard the
bands from afar because his 'kind' weren't welcome in the tourist
bars or restaurants.
Shrimpers stuck out like sore thumbs. They wore white rubber working boots with shorts and usually wore tee shirts from Texas bars. They sported scruffy beards, tattoos, earrings, and scars and were usually missing fingers although Paul was remarkably in tact. Working fishermen wanted to spend as much time on the water as possible. They didn't want to spend more time on the Beach than it took to blow all their money. The family men lived in town because they couldn't afford the beach. The single men lived aboard the boats or in run down motels on the mainland side of the Back Bay.
This blog/column is meant for educational purposes only. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Void where prohibited. Some assembly required. Do not read while operating a vehicle or heavy machinery. Keep sending those great questions and comments! (Contact) boatguied@aol.com
The whore was gone over the boats in a flash after getting paid. She had enough for a rock and would smoke it up and be in her little part of heaven for a while before going back aboard the boats and repeating the exercise.
Paul was happy to dangle his legs off the top of the pilothouse and look out on the Back Bay. He watched the boats glide by. Some were commercial vessels and he knew a lot of the fishermen so he waved and raised his beer to them. Most of the boats were privately owned and they were just curious about the Shrimp boats. Whenever a good-looking girl was on the boat, Paul would stand up and pull up his shirt around his neck. Only once did a woman return the favor but Paul always had hope.
The Back Bay was full of anchored boats and Paul knew a few of their owners, too. Most of them were water born gypsies who lived aboard their boats and once cruised the coastal regions but now were mostly trapped behind Estuary Beach by one circumstance or another. Paul dreamed of having a boat one-day but some how he could never get enough money together to pull it off.
Wyoming Bill came back around nine that evening. He wanted to borrow money from Paul. "Spe spe spen-spen spent I, I, it all," Paul said. Bill took six beers without offering to pay and went back the way he came. 'No use bothering with him. If I don't have kill him tonight, I'll be rid of him tomorrow,' thought Paul.
Shrimpers stuck out like sore thumbs. They wore white rubber working boots with shorts and usually wore tee shirts from Texas bars. They sported scruffy beards, tattoos, earrings, and scars and were usually missing fingers although Paul was remarkably in tact. Working fishermen wanted to spend as much time on the water as possible. They didn't want to spend more time on the Beach than it took to blow all their money. The family men lived in town because they couldn't afford the beach. The single men lived aboard the boats or in run down motels on the mainland side of the Back Bay.
This blog/column is meant for educational purposes only. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Void where prohibited. Some assembly required. Do not read while operating a vehicle or heavy machinery. Keep sending those great questions and comments! (Contact) boatguied@aol.com
Comments