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I had no idea they existed.

While ordering the last Clive Cussler book in the Dirk Pitt series, Amazon offered up some other selections based on the fact I've read some sailing books too.

 

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When I was about 13 my grandmother knew i was interested in sailing, so she bought me a book called "The Sea Wraith", thinking it was about sailing.

It had so many raunchy bits in it I used to take it to school and we would all read it! Mum or Dad may have confiscated it...even after 50 years or so I still remember the title!

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2 hours ago, Zonker said:

I see your Pirate booty and raise you with a NASCAR Romance. These really exist.

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I put one of those in my wife's  stocking last Christmas.  I think she used it to light the fire in the fireplace.

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2 hours ago, Rambler said:

A sailing friend was very effusive about this series (link to the first chapter)

https://www.literotica.com/s/unexpected-threesome-6

He tells me its very good for the moral of mature aged sailors.

Literoica..........................do not go there..............Oh you already have..............I'm sorry for your mind or GF or Spouse.

2 hours ago, Zonker said:

I see your Pirate booty and raise you with a NASCAR Romance. These really exist.

image.png.9034ecfaf1683549a2979ee7e2df894b.png

Please say it isn't so....................unless there are photos of Danica getting laid.

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17 hours ago, mccroc said:

When I was about 13 my grandmother knew i was interested in sailing, so she bought me a book called "The Sea Wraith", thinking it was about sailing.

It had so many raunchy bits in it I used to take it to school and we would all read it! Mum or Dad may have confiscated it...even after 50 years or so I still remember the title!

Fuck me ... as yer patients if they still have it

Assuming it's not all stuck together  

You could swap it for hookers & blow

And have enough left over for sum good Rum

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Not so much about sailing as scuba diving but this novel that my Dad gave me on a brief visit when I was about 15 sure had an impact on me. My Mom confiscated it and was really upset that he had given it to me. They had been divorced for a couple of years and he had gotten stationed at Treasure Island Navy Base in San Francisco bay and had just taken his SCUBA certification and I imagine he lived up to some of the erotic scenes from the novel. 

GO TO THE WIDOWMAKER

Amazon.com: Go to the Widow-Maker eBook : Jones, James: Kindle Store

    She had caught me coming in the house with the big paperback after I had been showing my buddies the raunchy parts and I think it was a couple or years before she let my Dad visit with me... I hadn't finished reading the whole thing but now way was I getting it back from my Mom so I went to the small town public library and tried to check it out there. The old biddy librarian raised her eyebrows when she saw the title and took me aside and gave me a lecture and refused to check it out to me! Worse was that she called my Mom (also a school librarian) and told her about my perverted reading habits. I didn't know that librarians have some sort of secret society dedicated to being nosy snitches.

    Maybe I should have torn off the book cover as it didn't look anything like the image posted above which I think was the library version. This is what the paperback that my Dad gave me.

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Hard to find an excerpt but here is a review from 1967.

Ron Grant, one of the "Chosen" i.e. beautiful people, a successful playwright, is down in Jamaica taking up skin-diving in an attempt to search for his "Manhood." That this is quite a problem for a man of thirty-six will be evident at the beginning When he looks down at the "head of his peepee." Some 685 pages later he solves it, and gets the idea for a new play, when he comes up with a philosophy that to prove his masculinity he needn't take "refuge in bravery" or all those things (war, shark-shooting, hunting) which was certainly part of the mystique of the man he refers to here as "old Hemingway." But old Hemingway was a writer, and Jones, who has been almost unanimously faulted for his sloppy writing, bad grammar, and fatiguing vulgarisms, hasn't learned a thing. This book is closest to Some Came Running, and it relies on the skin games (sex and diving) other people play for whatever interest it has. The story itself revolves around Grant who has had a fourteen year affair with a castrating older woman (a reminiscently real foster-mother, muse, shrike, patroness) and now his transfer to Lucky Videndi, a high-class hooker—"a reserved sexuality oozed from her like her very own invisible honey." Well, it's not too reserved, and while Ron marries her, he suspects that she has spent a night with a local diver, Jim Grointon (uh huh) while she faults him for his relationship with her predecessor, who is also down there, etc. etc. A lot of time here is spent in the deep waters where Ron is also trying to prove himself but for the most part the arena is the bed, where, for one thing, Ron's manhood is never in question.... Since this book is the first of three on what is now the most legendary contract in the industry, the market too is subsidized. Q-ueue up.]

 

    I knew that there was a sailing boat involved somewhere in the book!

 

 

GO TO THE WIDOW-MAKER by James Jones. 618 pages. Delacorfe. $7.50.

When recently interviewed, James Jones had left his home in Paris and had gone vacationing in Florence—"to escape," he grunted, "the book reviewers." There is, alas, no escape.

His fifth and latest novel, called a "masterwork" by his publishers, is too big to ignore. Publicity assures a healthy increase of his fortunes (he earned more than $2,000,000 from the 6,500,000 copies that his first four books sold), but neither ballyhoo nor sales can refute the conclusion that Jones is a one-novel writer. His first book, From Here to Eternity (1951), at least projected a brutally candid image of the professional soldier between wars. Jones wrote it at white wrath out of his own experience in the peacetime army in Hawaii. The wrath is gone now; what remains is spillover Spillane combined with horrid Hemingway.

     Decameron (Ron) Grant, 36, is a playwright with the genius of an O'Neill and the sexual insatiability of a Sukarno. He is strictly a four-letter man, and he has manhood problems and a domineering mistress—an older woman who with her husband nurtured the young playwright's talents in his more golden days. To rediscover himself, Grant heads for the Caribbean to go skindiving. In addition to a shark or two, he spears beautiful Lucky Videndi, and as he tries to work out a modus vivendi with her, he alternates between ocean and bed. In fact, Jones devotes so much of the book to plumbing such depths that the reader gets a queasy feeling of sea-sackness.

Jones's writing has if anything grown worse since Eternity. Thus, his narrative power: "He had never been so sexually excited in his life; the heat of it was so great he was afraid it would melt his ears, ignite his hair and burn the top of his head off." His gift for simile: "Grant suddenly felt amiable again, like a man who has just been relieved of a serious constipation." Metaphor: "I want to know what makes the wellsprings of human character tick."

Refuge in Bravery. And what is the philosophical crux—or crotch—at which Jones stabs—or grabs—in the end? Sex, naturally. All men, don't you see, are really small boys playing at being men. They are all victims of penis envy. As little tykes, they worried that their organs would never grow as large as Daddy's. "I think maybe the whole world is all like that," Ron tells Lucky. "Russians, Chinese, Americans; Presidents, Prime Ministers, Heads of State; everybody. All of them trying so hard to grow up to Dad's, Dad's thing. And remaining small boys inside because they just can't."

This is the theme of the play which, at the end of the novel, Grant sets out to write. "It all takes place on board this schooner, this schooner, cut right in half down the middle, on the stage," he explains. "We'll even haul up sail, and everything. Have a wind machine in the wings, see? Does it sound kooky?"

Lucky is impressed. "It doesn't sound kooky to me," she replies. "I think you're a fine man . . . Would you like to make love to me?"

"I sure as hell would."

And there goes the wind machine.

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I read the Penthouse Forum when I was a kid. What higher aspirations could one want than to bang the boss's daughter on a bulldozer in a blizzard?

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Women with morals are no fungi.

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