The season is ending but we have had a couple days of mild temperatures. Of course, I am at the sailboat until odd hours at night. The other night, while I was fussing with a loose wire to my masthead light, my power-boater neighbor brought his family down for an evening’s rest and relaxation. I cannot remember their names but, even if I could, I’d change them in this article. Nevertheless, I was told their names weeks prior but they are new boaters and don’t have the boating passion that more experienced boaters usually develop. Rarely did they visit the docks. Mother and Father are very friendly and Son is about 10 years old. Daughter is about 7 or 8 and I shake in my boots whenever I see Her. Most of the time, the youngsters are fiddling about below decks or yelling and screaming elsewhere. I keep to myself as much as I can because I just don’t trust myself to be anywhere near Her. Why King Neptune allowed them to park their boat next to mine is a torture.

The Son sees me that evening tying a quick but fancy knot in one of my “ropes” on my boat and stares at me and it. “Can you teach me to tie a knot like that?”

Without thinking of the consequences, I agree. Besides, little boys do not have any effect on me other than friendships. Still, though, I avoid them as I do other flavors of young people. I teach him one of the simplest knots: a figure eight stopper knot… make a loop, curl the tail all the way around, and tuck it into the loop. Done. He struggles with it. I am patient and help him get it. I donate a short piece of small stuff to him for practicing his new knot.

Daughter sees us and approaches. Damm! I lose my ability to speak English. My heartbeat slams to a stop and my brain clouds until all I am aware of is Her melodic voice washing over my existence. Son says something. But Her words blaze into my ears and tie a constrictor knot around my heart, “Can I do it?”

I can’t bring myself to ask for the small piece of rope from Son so I choke and reply, “I’ll get you something and I’ll let you try.”

I am a seasoned sailor and can walk blindfolded around my sailboat during a Force 10 hurricane but stepping the three motionless steps down into my cabin was impossible for me and, actually, I stumbled, almost twisting my ankle. I know now that I am in serious sexual trouble and am powerless to change my course. I grab another piece of small stuff and climb, limping, to the deck then to the finger dock and hand it to Her.

She takes it, ties an overhand knot (first half of tying your shoes) and my eyes are watering at the amount of staring I do. The finger dock between our boats are about 32 inches wide so She stands less than 32 inches from me. I can’t breathe. Her delicate hands play with Her knot as she looks at Her brother’s knot. “Oh,” she exclaims, “Mine’s not like that.”

I’ve tied at least a million figure eight knots but I’m still struggling to think about anything except how close She is to me. She unties her overhand knot and hands the small rope to me. I’m not sure how, but a figure eight knot developed in the small rope and I handed it back to Her. She studied it as I studied Her. A good teacher would have slowly helped a curious student to tie such a simple knot but I, as turned on as I was, just mindlessly tied the knot and handed it to Her. What an idiot I was becoming. What I wanted to do was carry Her below to my cabin, mindful of not stumbling of course, and pleasure Her until …. Let me continue with what happened, not what I wanted to happen.

I watched Her fingers slowly unravel the figure eight that somebody else must have tied for Her. I watched. Time slowed until the moon, stars and constellations froze where they were. Her eyes were stern yet sparkling as She focused on Her puzzle. Son was yammering about dropping his rope in the water to catch the salmon everyone was talking about. Silly as that was, I didn’t care if he tried or even dove in to try catching one by hand. Daughter was re-tying a perfect figure eight knot and looking questioningly at me. My weak smile back at Her was misinterpreted by Her as my satisfaction with Her knot tying. As I write this today, I wonder if She had any idea how turned on I was. Probably not. It was dark, cool, and we all were wearing light coats. Nevertheless, as I write this, I’m aware of just how turned on I currently am tending towards. (Can people get Contact Highs from simply reminiscing?)

For about 10 minutes, while Son was fishing with his ¼ inch thick rope, I tied several other simple knots for Daughter. She watched me closely as I watched Her. Son was asking me things but I was ignoring most of it all, occasionally answering a “yes” to whatever sounded like a question. Daughter wanted to fish with Her length of ¼ inch small stuff but I was lucid enough to explain that fish wouldn’t go anywhere near such a line. It would have to be really small fishing line.

Son and Father soon walked down the wide feeder dock and left while Mother was below watching television. Daughter dipped Her practice line in the water but soon realized that I was right. A few moments later, Mother came to the deck of their boat and Daughter announced that She was making figure eight knots. She held Her knot up for Mother to see. Then, like a lightning bolt hitting the water beside us, Daughter complained, “Mom, I need to go to the washroom.”

Mother, “Your Father and Brother just left. Why didn’t you go with them?”

The conversation went on for a few moments. Eventually, Daughter tied a figure eight a couple more times but complained again, “Mom, I have to pee!” She, obviously, was in some discomfort so Mother and Daughter headed down the dock towards the marina’s public washrooms.

I quickly closed and locked my boat, walked down the dock to my car and went to my apartment to wonder if my heart would ever slow down.

Later that night, I headed back to the marina knowing that most boaters leave around that time. The power-boater family should have left by now. Arriving at the docks, yes. They had gone home and I could go back to my boat and finish my electrical work.

It’s been several days, now. I won’t tell you how my imagination ran amok in my feeble, addicted mind, but, as I have quoted many times before, imagination is unreal.

For those who are wondering, yes, I can tie figure eight knots again. It’s odd how I am so easily struck mindless around Pretty Little Girls like I was. But, I’ve always been like this. I will continue to be like this, I suppose. Not that I mind.