We Met Her on a Yacht

I was being held by a naked woman on my left and my then-boyfriend on my right when I realized I’d marry him.

For some, the thought pops up when he impresses your hard-to-win-over parents or picks you up from the airport late at night.

For me, it was a paradox: the freedom of sharing an orgy with him somehow made me fantasize about marriage more than ever.

~~~

We arrived at the boat that evening without a clue of what to expect for the night.

The invitation came from a guy called George, whom we met through an underground swingers dating app a few weeks prior. 

The event’s website read: “Elevated lifestyle experience for young professionals under 40 and a few of our friends.” Strategically vague, it had pictures of cities instead of people, with a few hints of a sexy night.

“Occasionally, our parties are hosted on privately owned yachts, typically in excess of 90-feet. These special evenings afloat are limited in size and typically fill immediately once announced.” 

We booked right away.

During the days leading up to the event, it was all we talked about.

“How old will people be?”

“What’s the appropriate attire for an event like this?”

“How many couples do you think will be there?”

We had no clue. The mystery elevated our arousal.

Gabriel and I grew up together, so, by the time we started dating, the doomed love triangles of our early twenties had evolved into a shared, shameless curiosity for threesomes - and the thrill of sharing a woman together.

After years of fantasizing over drinks and shared whispers in bed, George’s invite turned the question from “if” to “whom”.

We lied to our friends about going out that Saturday night and secretly we both knew it was part of the fun—a complicity so juicy, it must only be shared between the two of us.

Confused about what to wear, I opted for my silky green pants and a tight crop top, matching my favorite brown heels. Showing enough skin to feel sexy, enough flowy fabric to still feel like myself.

Gabriel, on the other hand, was rocking his white nylon shirt (the one I always want him to wear), with decently-tight jeans, sneakers and his hip glasses. Everyone always compliments him on these green, round glasses.

We spent the entire day flirting—I’d kiss him on the neck, we’d lick each other’s nipples, I’d rub my clit against his leg in the middle of lunch—building up tension for the night ahead.

The boat’s harbor was 30 mins away from our home, the right amount of time for our nerves to become jiggly laughs, hand grabs, and that sneaky side smile that turns into a holy-fuck smirk. We were warned the doors closed at 10pm, so we arrived by 9:35 to be only slightly fashionably late.

“We’re actually going to do this,” we asked each other through our gaze. The answer was still a sacral yes.

As we approached the boat, I saw a man in his 50s opening the door. “We’ve arrived!” Gabriel said, excited to at least be getting some answers.

“Have we?” I asked, worried our 30-year old selves wouldn’t find other hot young couples to fuck.

“Is this George’s boat?” I nervously asked the man waving us in.

“Yes!” he said enthusiastically. “I’m George. And you are?”

“Serena and Gabriel, pleasure to meet you.”

George asked us to take off our shoes as he welcomed us onto his yacht. We later found out he bought it from a famous basketball athlete and that he and his wife live on it during the snowbird season.

“Would you like some champagne?” George asked gently once inside. “Please help yourself to some cheese and fruit.”

Gabriel and I grabbed the champagne, looked at each other, and laughed. No tacky leotard fabric, no semen stains on the sofa couch. We were safe.

The boat was elegant, yet casual. Homey, with a sophisticated touch. Everything was well-put together, the vibes immaculately curated, music playing the right beats at the right volume. Drinks were poured at the appropriate ratios and sizes.

But more impressive than the venue was the guest list. 

Men were elegant yet casual, wearing sports suits over breathable linen shirts, staying fresh in Miami’s heat. They looked so well put-together, you could safely assume their fashion had been counseled by their partners. 

That’s when I noticed the women’s attire—delicate cocktail dresses, cleavage showing just enough so you ache for more, heels accentuating calf muscles, blown out hair, light makeup emphasizing their best features. 

Studying them, I realized their sexiest accessory was not in their closet, but in their attitude—a magnetic confidence embodied through their walk, their tone, and their style. These women wore their sensuality on their skin—like a charm to be proud of, owners of their pleasure, unapologetically excited to fuck. And it was hot. 

Before long, it became clear we weren’t the only ones scanning the room.

Like a debutante presenting herself to society, I could feel all eyes scanning us up and down with a fuck-me gaze. And I secretly loved it.

I can see Gabriel is feeling the same - his side smile grasping that we were encouraged to flirt freely, his frown leaking his nervousness about doing it together.

In that moment, a new door unlocked in the relationship. Without a playbook to follow, we did the one thing adults do when they don’t know what to do next: we drank.

A DJ was playing tribal house in the background as we walked over to the bar. We’re not big drinkers, but that night, social lubrication had a whole new meaning.

A couple drinks in, the collective flirting became clearer. People stood closer to each other, laughing grew louder and more common, and touch —a lingering hand on a lower back, a soft caress of the arm, a slight brush of the thighs—became more normalized.

Typical Miami—there was a couple from Brazil, some Colombian newlyweds, a girl who does OnlyFans, a banker, people from Fort Lauderdale and others that traveled all the way from New York. I counted 10-15 couples in the space.

“So, you’ve never been to one of these before?” the muscly Brazilian murmured in our newly-formed clique.

“Wait until we get to the lingerie part,” I heard a woman answer jokingly from across the room. 

Mesmerized by her voice, I turned around to see who it was.

Long brown hair, flawless skin, and a body you only get by working out several times a week, Diana was, without a doubt, the hottest girl on the yacht. A Jewish woman from Brooklyn, she had the worldly eyes you get from growing up in a big city, with the kind-hearted voice you earn by being raised in a tight-knit community. She reminded me of the first girl I fell in love with over a decade ago.

“Lingerie part?” I asked, wondering if I missed something from the email invite.

“Usually at midnight, the girls change into their lingerie and the men start undressing,” Diana explained.

I looked at my phone: 11:07 PM. 

“I’m Diana, by the way. And this is my husband, Alexandre. We’re from New York,” she shared.

“Pleasure to meet you, I’m Serena,” I replied, kissing both of her cheeks, while my right hand brushed her hair. She smiled.

I gave a similar greeting to Alexandre, but there was no doubt who my favorite was.

“Why wait until midnight?” I asked, half-jokingly, quickly regretting the honesty that came out of my mouth.

The boys laughed at my shameless questioning, but Diana smiled, looked at me, and paused. 

“Come here,” she said. Her soft hands brushed mine for the first time, suggesting we go to the room upstairs. 

Blindly, I started following her, unconsciously looking back to seek approval from Gabriel. As though he knew, his gaze replied: “enjoy!”

We went up through the stairs and for 5 minutes that felt like 15, we disappeared. 

“I got this set from Alexandre,” she told me, unveiling her lacy lingerie from her bag. I stretched out on the bed, resting my head on my right arm, heels hanging over careful to not touch the sheets. 

“I want to see it on you,” I said confidently. 

Diana came closer and whispered in my ear, smiling—“That’s why I brought you here.” 

She leaned back and started undressing in slow ceremony—palms gliding over knees, skimming up her thighs, fingers peeling off her little black dress, her hips moving side to side, inviting me to watch and indulge every inch of her spell.

She turned around and slowly replaced her more practical underwear with the intricate lingerie, stripping like a woman worshiping her own skin. I watched her pull a stretchy thong down over the smooth skin of her legs, tempting me to take in all of her. Then lace ran right back up the same way, the most gorgeous decoration for her long legs.

When she bent over to fasten her garter, I couldn’t help but glimpse her pussy under her round ass. Her tits were visible as she swayed side to side, then dipped to fasten her bra around her back. I was mesmerized. Swiftly, she tightened her heels, stood up, and turned around.

“Well.. What do you think?” she asked playfully, pretending she didn’t already know the answer.

I tried responding something quick, but instead became entranced by her spiky heels pairing so flawlessly with her three-piece emerald green lingerie set.

She observed me, lying prone and spellbound, she beckoned, “Come, the boys must be waiting.”

As Diana rushed back downstairs, I felt everyone’s eyes on us; on her. 

We walked over to Alexandre and Gabriel, finding them in the same corner where we left them. Proud of his wife, Alexandre held Diana by her hip bones and gave her a passionate kiss. Gabriel looked at them, then looked at me in my eyes and whispered, “You’re the hottest one here.”

I smiled at his reassurance, knowing full well both our attentions were now set on Diana. 

Pretending she wasn’t half naked next to us, we small-talked about work, life in Miami, and (probably) the weather before Gabriel interrupted us and said “Serena, Diana asked me earlier if she could kiss you.”

“How long has he known this?!” I yelled in my head before realizing it didn't matter.

The butterflies kicked in. The tease started moving through my veins.

Reclined against the wall, I leaned closer to her—my leg rubbing hers as my hand grabbed her waist. I looked back at Gabriel and purred “Hmm, and what did you say?”

“I said she should ask you instead.”

The only right answer. Ahh, I love him so much.

With both hands I leaned over to kiss him passionately, while my body dropped deeper into Diana’s—feeling her pussy rub my thighs.

I wanted more of it.

I looked over at her and caressed her hair away from her face, softly grabbing her neck with my left hand.

Slowly, I brought my face closer to hers; tilting ever slightly to enjoy the build up, waiting for her to ask me as instructed.

“I’d love to kiss you,” she whispered in my ear.

I rested my lips gently on her cheek, then gave her a soft peck closer to the lips. I leaned my body mildly into hers, this time lifting up my right leg to delicately massage her clit while I gave her a slow, passionate kiss.

She was so soft. So perfectly smooth and soft.

I felt the ball of energy I recognize all too well brewing from my pussy all the way to our mouths. She moaned loud enough so only I could hear it, but the men around us didn’t need to hear, they could see.

I started moving my knee slowly back and forth against her pussy in a movement I’d fallen for several times before. And that’s when I heard it again.

As if the sound was a calling from her portal, I answered by moving away from her lips and kissing her neck, lightly tickling her tits, and then sucking her nipples through her laced bra.

I kissed her ribs and her oh-so-strong abs. I grabbed her waist—sturdy enough so she knew where I was headed, soft enough so she felt the building of energy slowly through her whole body.

I let my mouth do the guiding. Intuition driving, body following. 

I could slightly hear the echoes of people around us, the eyes of others on my skin, but there was no fear or shame in me, all my thoughts were on her.

When my lips felt the front side of her thong, I bit it, moving it slightly so the lace did some of the work for me, stroking softly the nerves of her lips. I kissed the corners of her vulva in the most delicate way I knew.

Hairless, slightly wet, and lavender fresh, Diana tasted divine. I started kissing her closer and closer to her clit, while her moaning and forward hip movements grew more urgent.

I moved her thong to the side with my hands and started slowly licking each of her lips with the tip of my tongue. First the left. Then the right. My hands moved softly from her waist, to her thighs, to her ass — growing aroused from the touch of her skin and her strong body.

My tongue led the way through her slit and I got my first taste of her pussy. That’s when I knew. We needed a room.

As Diana moaned, I started softly and slowly sucking the tip of her clit, reacting to her movements. I started moaning, too, feeling my legs fall wider and wider apart, as my open pussy started to get as wet as I was making her.

I felt her hand touch my head and that’s when I looked up and realized—half the party was surrounding us.

Lights had dimmed, guys’ buttons opened, my boyfriend was drooling.

It was the first time he’d seen me go down on a girl like that and I could tell he wanted to see more.

I stood up and slowly fixed Diana’s thong back into place, feeling slightly self-conscious from all the attention. I wanted her to myself. For me and Gabriel. Alexandre could come, too.

Diana looks at Gabriel, Alexandre comes over.

I hold Diana’s hand and we lead the guys into finding that room.