Train Me Daddy

His father had been the more hands-on of the two as far as maintaining the fleet was concerned, meaning that Kurt had grown up being able to learn about how to prepare a vessel for seafaring. Furse, on the other hand, had focused on the financial side of the business, as well as the marketing, which he was able to keep afloat farther inland at his Portland offices.

Socialising between the two families had been fairly normal when growing up and they were all on a first name basis. This meet up was the first-time Kurt had seen any of the Furses for nine months, however, because he had been on an extended break with friends traveling around Europe. That was part of a pledge to see the world someday, which Kurt had enjoyed although what he learned most of all from the experience was that the best thing about travel was coming home. He was pleased to be back with his father’s yachts and, as far as he was concerned, there was enough to see upon Oregon’s coastline and its Pacific waters to last him the rest of his lifetime.

In truth, he would have rather been there than in the backseat of his dad’s 4 x 4 Honda heading to Portland, but the meetup was also important for another reason.

Last week had seen Clive’s daughter, Darlene, return from college. She had been over in Boston for her higher education but was now home for good. The two families had realized that it had been the first time any of the Wyden’s had seen Darlene for three years and what better reason for a big family meetup to mark the occasion?

It was this addition that would live up to Kurt’s philosophy about peaceful seas, in that an evening at the Furse household seemed the most unlikely candidate for a life-changing event. Other than staying at home in front of the television, he would not have imagined a better way of avoiding anything out of the ordinary.

The Furses were fairly orthodox people. Kurt couldn’t imagine them doing any bad deeds in the world whatsoever and, if any man served as an example that money does not always corrupt, it was surely Clive Furse. The business he co-owned had earned them big bucks, but Clive continued to live simply. Other than the benefit of having a fleet of luxury yachts for his holidays, he believed in good traditional living, shopping locally and attending church on a Sunday. Simple pleasures like walking and bird spotting were his personal hobbies; certainly no one would ever catch him squandering away hard earned money buying rounds of drinks in some fancy bar or behind the wheel of a flash motor. Money and success provided Clive’s family with a blanket of financial security and he had no hang ups about the type of person he was.

Kurt respected the Furses for sure; in fact, the two families would probably always be friends even as the new generations grew up differently. If he was honest, however, he would have to admit that he expected the meet up to be a bit tedious. So, he was a full nautical voyage away from being able to predict that the evening would indeed result in a detour into stormy waters.

None of that was obvious as they arrived. Clive and his wife Beatrice greeted Kurt’s parents, Earl and Brenda, and the three of them were welcomed inside where they sat down at the dining table. A glass of wine each was poured as they awaited the roast and the Furse’s two young boys, Michael and Dennis (13 and 9 years old) joined them at the table also.

After a few remarks on how big the boys were getting (unfortunately in width as well as height, Kurt couldn’t help noticing), the two co-owners kicked off a typically safe and dry conversation about business. Clive was always obsessed with discussing how everything had changed now that the Internet was everybody’s port of call. That was hardly new at all, though Cl

ive still talked as if the online world was wild and adventurous. Fortunately, he had an able team of skilled office staff who were able to ensure that business kept up with the ways of the world, otherwise he would have had trouble treading water.

As all this went on, Kurt sat like a good guest, having painted a polite smile on his face that he intended to keep intact for the rest of the evening, regardless of how bad the jokes were. But fifteen minutes in and something arrived that would see him sit up and start to pay proper attention: and that something was Darlene.

With not having seen the girl for three years, when she had been eighteen, Kurt was aware that she was going to have changed a little. All the same, he would not have believed anyone had they told him that an image of pure lust was about to walk into their leaden evening meal.

She entered without introduction, Clive not even seeing her approach as he rabbited on about algorithms. Kurt saw her before anyone else and genuinely could not believe the transformation. His memories were of a stick-thin girl with a nice smile but relatively little else going for her in terms of appearance. Either a student’s life had done well for her or else she was just a late developer, however, because the young lady he beheld was quite the opposite.

Darlene had the kind of curves that a twenty-five-year-old male notices whether he wants to or not (unless he’s another way inclined). It was not even that she was dressed to put on a show, wearing only a casual V-neck sweater and jeans, but both of which fit her so perfectly that the fabric hugged her curves from her shoulders to her ankles. If her waist was out of shape in any way, like the two young boys, then Kurt’s eyes would have seen. Instead he saw nothing but loveliness, alluring and desirable.

Seeing her approach, Kurt had to be grateful that people had always judged him as laid back. If he was not good at keeping his reactions inside, then he might have completely lost his cool and made a fool of himself. Countless horny students must have succumbed to such instincts over the last few years and so he was thankful to be able to collect his wits and look casual.

‘Ah! Here’s the confident graduate,’ said Clive, after turning to see that his daughter had joined them. ‘Say “hello” to some old friends.’

‘Hello Mr and Mrs Wyden; hello Kurt,’ Darlene said, greeting them all with a smile that was too shy for her looks.

‘Darlene, congratulations!’ his father offered and the conversation then took a detour into polite questions about how her studies had gone.

Relieved to not have to say anything for a time, Kurt sat back and had the convenience of observing Darlene further as she was the centre of attention. After a little while he realized he was not really listening to what she was saying, however, having been waylaid by the shores of his imagination.

Eventually he caught up and discovered that, though she might look the part, Darlene was still very much her father’s daughter. Hellraising student days had not really found her and she had rejected the accommodation of the residence halls almost on arrival. No doubt whatever sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll she witnessed there temporarily was repellent, as her parents intervened and found her a house with three mature students instead. They were all strict Catholics, Kurt would learn and, though it was none of his business, he could not help but speculate on whether sexual liberation had completely passed Darlene by.

The thought served to confound and excite him at the same time.

His ears would then perk up again on detecting what might have been a possible contradiction, in that Darlene had in fact accepted an offer of engagement during her time away.

This revelation was revealed mischievously by young Michael, who was then reprimanded by his father and had to sit with a sulky face for the next ten minutes.

‘She nearly married a country boy,’ he had announced, with a snigger.

‘Mikey, you behave from now on or none of the fine roast your mother is serving will ever make it into your stomach,’ Clive ordered.

‘I’d have noticed if there was a ring on your finger, Darlene,’ said Kurt’s mother, trying to spare the girl’s blushes.

‘That’s OK, Mrs Wyden,’ Darlene replied, for some reason deciding to explain herself. ‘I was in a relationship for a little while; with the son of a priest, but it was a big mistake.’

A priest? Kurt thought, trying to picture how much sex a girl who lived in a house full of Catholics and the son of a priest might manage and finding it hard to conclude it could have been anything more than your average choir boy.

‘Oh! I hope it wasn’t difficult for you,’ Brenda commented.

‘In a way it was,’ Darlene admitted. ‘His mother was a little overbearing and, erm… manipulative. Luckily I saw it wouldn’t work and called it off.’