Page 43 of Johnny

capsule things. Space saver kind of shit, you know?”

The wind blows her hair across her face and her hand comes up, haphazardly pushing it out of her

eyes. “Sure.”

I study her for a moment. She’s a little too skinny but that’s probably due to her recent situation and

not her natural shape. Her tits are nice. I can’t see much of them now, but she was naked for almost a

whole day while I had her drugged so I can use my imagination. Her nipples push against the thin t-

shirt and catch my eye for a moment.

She crosses her arms. Maybe thinking about how she woke up naked last night.

I had to do that. She smelled like a prisoner in a dungeon, covered in filth. I put her in the shower

and sprayed her down. Washed her hair. Even conditioned it and combed it out.

She wasn’t drugged for that, obviously. But she was pretty out of it from exhaustion and starvation.

It was creepy. Even for me. Because at one point her hand rested on my leg—I wasn’t naked. I was

in board shorts. But I was wet and her inadvertent touching made my cock jump.

And even I know that was all kinds of wrong.

But she looks a million times better than she did when she got here, so… fuck it. Filed away in

folder: Megan. Subfolder: Required assistance. Sub-subfolder: I’m not a sexual predator, I saved her

ass and that’s why she was naked.

“Where are you going today?” she asks.

I look around, like maybe the answer to that question is out there in the shipping lanes. I walk

towards her, letting her slip to the side to allow me to pass, and then cross the salon and climb the

stairs to the galley. “Depends, I guess. On what you decide to tell me.”

“I’m not sure I can help you much.”

I pull open a drawer and find a bunch of coffee capsules scattered inside. Blue, and green, and

gold. Not the fat kind you see in American grocery stores. The tiny ones you only see in hotels.

I hold up a blue capsule in one hand and a green one in the other. “Regular? Or decaf? And if you

say decaf I’m gonna throw you overboard. Because there’s no room for pussies on my yacht.”

She smiles. Quite nice smile, too. “Regular, please.”

“Good choice,” I mumble, bumping the drawer closed with my hip.

This whole encounter is weird though. That’s the only way to process this morning as I push the

first blue capsule into the compact coffee machine and press start. “So what’s your last name? You