How is it that some guys get lucky with women all the time? For Burt Olsen, luck has nothing to do with it. In The Floating Threesome he figured out a perfect way to persuade lots of women to have sex. The story unfolds in 11 short chapters. It gets more complicated in Chapter 7.
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Things started happening when Taylor began putting content online. One afternoon she came in and said she was getting a lot of questions from people who wanted to know things that were beyond her knowledge of sailing. She opened her laptop and started asking me stuff about the boat, the cruise, monohulls vs catamarans, and on and on and on.
"Geez, Taylor. How many of these damn questions did you get?"
"So far, just over seven thousand," she said.
"Seven thousand! You've gotten that many questions already!? What the actual fuck! How is that possible?"
Taylor smiled. "It's possible because I'm good, Burt. The secret is putting the information in front of people who are interested in that kind of thing. Don't get too excited. Most of the questions are from people who know nothing about sailing and are not likely to ever buy anything bigger than a canoe. But you know the saying. From tiny acorns, mighty oaks grow. Things are going to get a lot busier when we post some photos of you sailing with a pretty girl. That would be me, by the way.
"As soon as people start imagining that this trip is going to involve a handsome couple who can't keep their hands off each other, the number of unique daily hits is going to explode. You already understand that the central message in your promotion is to appeal to guys who like to fantasize that buying a boat will help them score with hot girls. Well, the web is all about sexual fantasies. Prepare to be inundated. Aren't you lucky that you hired someone who knows how to handle that kind of volume? That would be me, by the way."
I was becoming very, very fond of Taylor. Her feelings were beginning to matter to me. I didn't know if I was making a fool of myself. When Taylor told me she works as an exotic dancer, it explained a lot. Those women make their living convincing saps that each guy occupies a special place in their hearts. It was impossible to forget that Taylor might be treating me like some dude thinking about paying for a lap dance.
That's part of the reason I continued to "interview" women for the modeling job. As sure as I was that Taylor would go on the cruise with me, I still entertained the idea that another woman might be a better choice. And I'll just be honest about this. I was not able to stop doing something that let me have sex with so many beautiful women. At times I worried that I was getting these women excited about an opportunity that was probably out of reach.
But it's not like I exploited them. All of them got a check for $100, a souvenir t-shirt or some jewelry, a meal at Sloppy Joe's, a nice two-day sailing trip, and an opportunity to decide if they wanted to experience the wonders and glories of my cock. I am serious about that. I've gotten past the idea that sex is a transactional thing and I am obligated to do something extraordinary for a woman who agrees to have sex with me. As far as I'm concerned, riding up and down on my cock is a privilege. Any woman who gets to do that should consider herself lucky.
There certainly were a lot of very lucky women that summer. I'd go through the bikini photos of the girls who applied, and I'd decide which one I wanted to fuck next. Did I want a blonde? A red head? Tall? Lean? Curvy? The growing pile of applications seemed like a pussy buffet. And remember that all this was voluntary. When the women realized that I needed someone who'd be an intimate companion on a long cruise, what happened next was up to them. Several declined to take that opportunity, and that was fine. But I got the impression that most of the women who wanted to be models were very pragmatic about sex. For years, they'd used sex to get what they wanted. I was happy to let them use it on me.
I didn't think I'd change my mind about Taylor when I saw the application from Madison (Maddy) Katelin. Maybe you recognize the name. Maddy won an Olympic gold medal in gymnastics. Her application included a photograph of her with the medal around her neck. That got my attention.
Unlike most of the applicants, Maddy had done some real modeling. The people who sponsor the American Olympic programs use the athletes to model products ranging from sportswear to mutual funds. She emailed me copies of advertisements with her wearing everything from windbreakers and workout clothes to swimwear. As you might expect, a strong athletic woman like Maddy looked pretty nice in a one-piece, and even better in a two-piece. Her abs alone were worthy of a gold medal.
According to her letter, Maddy felt she'd accomplished everything she could in gymnastics. After winning gold, the life of an athlete is all downhill. She'd been working like crazy since she was a little girl, and she decided she wanted to do other things. She also acknowledged that although she was still young enough to compete, she knew it would get harder and harder to achieve less and less.
It turned out that Maddy's family was enthusiastic about boats. They owned a very nice yacht, and Maddy grew up learning how to sail it. I realized quickly that she was probably a better sailor than me. I was intrigued. I wanted to meet her. I had a feeling that an elite athlete with a gold medal probably wouldn't be tempted to have sex with a 30-year-old owner of a nautical business, but I didn't really care. I thought it would be fun to see what kind of woman she was. I called her in for an interview in my office, and she showed up right on time.
"It's good to meet you, Mr. Olsen," she said before giving me a very firm handshake.
"Please call me Burt," I said.
"You can call me Maddy," she said.
Maddy was refreshing. She was calm, and articulate, and she had a good story to tell. She felt that a whole world of opportunities was waiting for her, and that she could be a success with any of them. Her years of gymnastic competitions were over, but she thought she could find some other athletic field worthy of her time. Maybe sailing?
"This boat you are building. It's suited for racing, isn't it?" she asked.
I hadn't thought of that. "Yes. Catamaran races are very popular in certain circles," I said.
"If we took your boat out and won some races, that would be good advertising," she said.
"Maddy, I hadn't thought of that, but you are correct," I said. "Jack expects his new hull design to be very streamlined. I was thinking it would make the boat fun to sail, but it's true that a few modifications might turn it into a fine racer."
"I like to go fast," she said.
I felt a bit awkward mentioning that part of my promotion plan involved sex. But when I talked about the notion that I wanted to appeal to guys who believed owning a boat would help him score with hot girls, she had no problem with it.
"Burt, that's been part of the Olympics since before I was born. Look at figure skating. Those women go out on the ice in those skimpy dresses and perform like ballerinas. It's very sex positive and erotic. That's part of what I like about it. I think you may have already seen the photos I sent of me modeling swimwear. Been there, done that."
I had her talk to Jack, who fell in love instantly. "Burt! Burt! That girl knows how to race! She's perfect! You've got to hire her!"
"Jack, Maddy knows how to sail, and she knows she'd like to race. She's never done any actual racing."
"Doesn't matter. She's an elite athlete. That girl has the potential to be a first-class racer. I know it. I know it! I want her on my boat."
"Ok. I'll take her out sailing. We'll see how she does."
