I had my summer break all planned out. A week at home followed by three weeks hiking in the French Pyrenees with three university girlfriends followed by a few weeks grape picking. Perfect. I'd just split from my boyfriend and needed a complete change of scenery. Great plans...
I didn't hear the moron on the bicycle in late May, let alone see him. Running along the canal towpath, I'd covered three miles, three to go, then he came around the corner at speed. I screamed, jumped to the left and caught my ankle amongst some gnarly tree roots. The bastard didn't stop. The pain was excruciating. Twelve hours later, dosed up on painkillers, I left hospital with my foot in a cast.
"Oh dear, Kelly," said my mother on the phone, "What will you do now over the summer?"
"Stay at home I suppose," I grumbled.
"Ah..." was her response.
"What does that mean?"
"We're having work done. New kitchen and the whole house repainted."
"While you're at home?"
"No, we're going to France for four weeks. Grace and Stephen are letting us use their canal boat. They need it moving to Toulouse."
"What about Liam?"
Liam was my quiet brother who was two years younger and due to start university in September.
"He's coming with us. There's a twin cabin if you want to come."
"Where in France? Toulouse is in the Southwest, isn't it? I've still got my flight booked to Perpignan."
"Yes, the Canal du Midi, runs from the Mediterranean to the Atlantic. We're picking the boat up from a place called Beaucaire. I'll check with Grace to see if there's a train there from Perpignan."
Four weeks chugging along whilst sunbathing on the roof drinking wine? There are worse ways of spending a month.
By the time my father picked me up from the station at Nîmes, the cast was off and I was getting along okay with a stick. Actually, I was looking forward to seeing everyone again; Christmas was the last time we'd been together. How do I describe my brother Liam? Four inches taller than me at 5'2" he was good-looking but lacked confidence. Yeah, we're not a tall family. As far as I was aware, he'd never had a girlfriend.
The converted small Dutch barge was bigger than I expected. From the central wheelhouse, steps led forwards and down to a kitchen and dinette. Ahead of that, a corridor led to a bathroom and our twin cabin with a bed on each side. From the back of the wheelhouse, more steps gave access to a small lounge and the master cabin with a double bed and private bathroom. To the rear of that was the engine room.
After a reunion of hugs, I unpacked while Grace and Stephen visited to show my father and Liam the ropes. I left them to it, having no intention of being a hobbling deckhand. Soon we settled into a routine; up early, mother off to the nearest village boulangerie for fresh bread, Dad and Liam sorting the boat out and checking the engine, whilst I pondered what book to read. As we pottered along at little more than walking pace, Liam would fish off the rear platform, I'd laze about and my parents would read aloud sections of the guidebooks they'd been loaned by Grace, regaling us with facts about passing villages and churches. At each lock, manned by retired bargees, we'd buy fruit, vegetables and village wine. It was sunny, beautiful and idyllic. Day three, much to my mother's angst, I went topless.
"Your father and brother are here!" she squeaked, looking around frantically.
"Mum," I said with a sigh, "It's the South of France, we're 800 miles from home, no-one knows us here and every other boat we pass has women with her tits out. If Liam and Dad are offended by my boobs then there's something seriously wrong with this family. Anyway, it's not as if I've got massive jugs."
That was true. At 4'10" my B-cup boobs were pretty much in proportion. My father pretended not to notice and Liam blushed and looked away. They soon got used to it though.
The fourth day I'll always remember. Mid-afternoon, on a towel on the roof, as we passed through the lagoons of the Carmargue, I finished my book. In the wheelhouse, Dad was driving or steering or whatever you do to make a boat go, Mum was reading a French recipe book she bought in Sète, and Liam was fishing as usual. I wandered down to our cabin to fetch book two of the trilogy I was reading. Opening the cabin door, I froze. On his bed, Liam froze.
It's amazing how much detail you can absorb in a split second. Liam was naked, erect cock in his fist which was moving quickly. Beside him on the bed was a roll of toilet tissue and a bottle of baby oil. I let out a small scream. Liam, looking terrified, cried "Oh shit!" and tried to cover himself. I staggered back out and closed the door, my hands shaking.
What the fuck? Liam, my Liam? Why wasn't he fishing? Why did his cock look so big? Where had those abs and pecs come from? I sat at the dinette, my mind in a whirl. With a click, the door opened. Liam sheepishly emerged, now wearing a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. " Please..., please don't tell Mum and Dad, Kelly," he stuttered, sitting opposite me.
Slowly, I shook my head, "Liam, of course I won't. I'm sorry, I thought you were fishing. I was just getting a book."
"I don't do it very often, it's just that..."
"Liam, we're cool. Everyone needs release occasionally."
"You?"
"Yeah, sometimes. How about we start knocking if the cabin door is shut."
"Good idea," he nodded, "Sorry if I freaked you out."
"Sorry I interrupted you. You can go back and carry on if you want."
"Nah, it's okay. Somewhat killed the moment."
"Oh, so you were close?"
"Maybe," he grinned nervously.
"So you been working out? Is that why you've kept a t-shirt on?"
"Dad bought a mini-gym for the spare bedroom. I've been using that a lot and taken up running. Been doing those parkruns."
"Well, it's working. You look..., um..., pretty fit, you shouldn't hide it."
"You too."
"What does that mean?"
"Nothing."
"Come on."
Lia looked down at the table and said, "You're boobs. They're pretty much perfect. Shit, sorry."
He was gone, rushing up the steps to the bridge. I shrugged and opened my book. Halfway through the first chapter, I closed it again, realising I had no idea what I'd just read. With a sigh, I leaned back and closed my eyes. One image kept recurring; Liam's cock in his fist. If my body was in proportion, why wasn't his? I mean, at 5'2" he should have maybe a five-inch cock. It was only a fleeting glance before Liam had raised his knee to conceal himself, but Christ alive it had to be 71/2 maybe 8 inches and the head looked bulbous and tight.
Stop it, I told myself, trying to think of something else. Then there was his body. Fuck. Tight abs forming ridges, pronounced pecs and bulging upper arms. How had I missed that? Probably the fact that he wore baggy t-shirts. My pussy clenched. That's not good. It did it again. In fact, my whole abdominal area seemed to be clenching. No, no, no. Uncommanded, my right hand drifted under my bikini bottoms. What? I brought it back up, rubbing the slippery secretion between my thumb and forefinger.
"Kelly, be a dear and put the kettle on, would you? Three teas and whatever you want," my mother shouted down the steps. I filled it, lit the gas and rushed into our cabin before anyone came down. Holding my red bikini bottoms in my hand, I stared at the very obvious wet patch. Very slippery wet patch. I swallowed. This was bad. My only other bikini was a very revealing white one. The other one I'd planned to put in the washing machine that evening. But maybe white was a godsend. It was the colour least likely to show any signs.
"Goodness me, Kelly," Mum said as I emerged carrying four mugs on a tray, "How many bikinis did you bring? And that one's a little risqué." At least she hadn't asked why I'd changed. "Your brother's on the roof. Looks like he's finally decided on a change from fishing. Be a dear and make sure he has some sunscreen on."
Getting onto the roof entailed standing on an equipment box and climbing up. Carefully, I put the two mugs on the roof before clambering up after them. Liam was on his back wearing sunglasses, lying on the towel he usually sat on whilst fishing. "Tea," I said, "Have you got sun lotion on?"
"Uh-huh," he said, rising onto his left elbow, "Except my back. Thanks for the tea."
The lenses in his sunglasses were black. Was he looking at my tits? "Not fishing?"
"Nah, not a bite all day. All I caught yesterday were three eels. Mind you, all I'm using for bait is balled-up bread."
"Can't see the fun in it myself, staring at the water for hours. Did you see those flamingoes a while back?"
"Yeah, did you know it's the shrimps they eat that keep them pink?"
"So if we lived on just beetroot we'd go purple?"
"Maybe," he laughed, "How's your ankle holding up?"
"Pretty good actually, just the odd twinge. I do the daily exercise list that the occupational therapist gave me."
