The yacht’s motion started to ease as we proceeded south, coming into the shelter of the Crete coast. We got up and dressed, donned our lifejackets and made our way up to the bridge. All was quiet. George was asleep on the guest bench at the rear of the bridge, his head on Maria’s lap. Her head was tilted to the side, somewhat asleep as well. Jorge was helming, Dimitri and Greg were nowhere to be seen. We crept to Jorge so as not to wake Maria or George; he whispered that the others were in their bunks. Dimitri was due on the helm in an hour or so. The lifejacket-at-all times order was now rescinded inside the yacht, but the no-going-on-deck order persisted. Dawn was breaking, the sun low on the horizon on our port bow, so we must have turned more towards the East than our initial course. I offered to go below to get coffee and a sandwich for Jorge; he nodded gratefully.

I was back up on the bridge in less than 5 minutes with an enclosed “stay warm” mug of what we called “café-au-lait” back then, and a ham and cheese sandwich: I knew that Jorge liked milky coffee in the morning. Holding the helm, Jorge tried to catch the sandwich, so I offered to take the helm for him. He must have been a bit jaded for he agreed. I had to hold the course on 130 Degrees on the compass. This isn’t as easy as it sounds as the corrections are counter-intuitive, but I was making a good attempt at it when we both realized that George was standing behind us. Poor Jorge got a fright and went to take the helm back, but George motioned to him to relax and have his coffee, leaving me at the helm, albeit with George in arms reach. Apparently he had woken up, Maria indicated for silence and pointed to me. Lisa was too far away to warn me and Maria had put her finger to her lips in any event. Watching me helm for a few minutes, George started to coach me on my tendency to overcorrect and asked where I had learned.

“Just watching you guys.”

“Seriously, you haven’t done this before?”

“No, first time.”

“I think I’ll add your girls to the bridge watch”, George joked, looking at Maria, who responded that we had enough to do without doing his work as well. I picked on the reference to “your girls”; I was getting very comfortable with being seen like that.

Jorge had now finished his breakfast and offered to take the helm back. George told him to get some sleep; we’d be Ok until Dimitri’s shift started. Apparently, George had helmed for the first 6 hours or so then established a shift of 2 hours on, 4 hours off, with Greg, Dimitri and Jorge. As skipper, he had to stay on the bridge in the heavy weather, but could take a nap on the bench. Maria had stayed with him; they both looked wrecked. Lisa offered to go below to get breakfast for them both; George accepted the offer and, gently caressing Maria’s head, suggested that she go below to eat and turn in. She nodded wearily, caught his hand momentarily, then moved away slowly, unsure of her footing on the still moving deck. Other than when I first met them, and they didn’t mean me to notice, this was the first time I’d seen them publicly show affection on board.

I stayed helming when Lisa returned with George’s breakfast, black coffee this time, and he leaned against the helm console and ate.

“Of course, there’s no reason why a girl can’t be a skipper” he mused, half to himself.

“What owner would hire us?” Lisa asked.

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” he replied.

Apart from the fact that he was still referring to me as a girl, this conversation also reflected well on George. At that time, most men, and Greek men particularly, had views on what a woman’s role should be, and that did not involve skippering yachts. He was obviously well ahead in the enlightenment stakes.

“Of course it’s probably easier for you” he said, turning to me, “depending on which side of the fence that you land”.

It didn’t shock me… he had pretty well summed up my dilemma. Lisa looked over at me… time to lighten the mood again…

“You must be Spartan”, I said.

He looked puzzled…

“Famous for being laconic, summing things up in the shortest way possible and not wasting words”, I elaborated.

“You know your Greek”, he laughed.

Dimitri came up on the bridge and I gratefully relinquished the helm. My short stint, and in a lively sea, had required a fair bit of concentration and Lisa and I needed to get back to our own work.

We worked our way methodically through the boat “reception” areas, then on to the guest cabins, or “Staterooms”. Again, I’ve no idea why they’re called that. There was no apparent damage and anything that had drifted out of place was quickly sorted. The sea state continued to moderate and was no more than Force 4 as we approached Heraklion. We woke Maria in time for us all to get to our berthing stations and George moored us without any problems in the Venetian Harbour. Local contractors arrived fairly quickly to give the boat a complete washdown; we were totally encrusted with salt.

Maria briefed us on the owner’s group, and on his particular tastes. He was Greek, about 60, divorced and remarried. His current wife was American, about 40, they had one 7-year-old child. His son from his first marriage, early 30s, was joining him, with his wife, no children. The last person joining was his daughter Sophie from his first marriage. She was 28, recently divorced, and travelling on her own. Aristotle, the owner, had made his money in the tourist trade and owned a string of hotels across Greece, mainly on the Islands. As he was Greek, we would not be doing the faux Greek costumes at dinner. Shorts were not regarded as suitable for formal service with the owner on board so this would be handled by Maria and Lisa wearing their uniform white skirts. I was relegated to cabin duty and working with Chef during dinner… if he let me into the galley!

The Yacht was shipshape by about 3pm, the Owner and his party were due to be on board by 5pm, with dinner at 7. George had to hold on until the owner arrived, greet him, and get to bed! Aristotle and his party arrived around 5:20pm and the reception team lined up at the stern. I was not included – shorts again! Lisa told me the story afterwards, somewhat in awe of Aristotle. He arrived on first, greeted George with a handshake, and then greeted both Maria and Lisa by name and with a kiss on either cheek. He had only met Lisa once before but remembered her all the same. Like a number of self-made individuals, and many politicians, he was a real people person.

He turned to Maria after he had greeted Lisa and said,

“You’re short a girl?”

“We have a temporary stewardes… steward on board. He’s very good but doesn’t have a formal uniform so he’s not doing front-of-house”.

Aristotle continued moving forward as the rest of the party came on board, heading for the door leading to the companionway to the crew quarters.

“I must say “Hello” to Chef; I’m looking forward to seeing him again.”

It turned out that Aristotle and Chef were from the same village, their families being friends. Aristotle considered family and friendship more important than position and status, and that it was appropriate for him to go to the galley to greet Chef.

And that’s how I met Aristotle; I was in the galley arranging canapes on the service lift that Maria and Lisa would serve. He bounced into the kitchen, all 5 foot 6 inches of him, and hugged Chef. For the first time I learned that Chef’s name was Nicholas. They chatted in Greek for a minute or so and then Aristotle saw me. He came over and reached out his hand…

At this stage, I had reverted to my Reserve Defense Forces experience and was standing at what the Army calls “attention”. I was way underage to join, but in those days, that wasn’t a problem.

I shook his hand and introduced myself as Jim. He studied me a little… taking in a girl’s haircut, BB cream and eyeshadow… he had a way of focusing all his attention on the person that he was interacting with that was almost unnerving.

“So, you’re the new steward?”

“Yes, sir, just filling in before going to college.”

“Have you enjoyed your time here?”

“Absolutely sir, I’ve loved the experience and have really been helped out by all the crew, especially by Purser (Maria’s official title) and the other stewardess, Lisa.”

“Other stewardess? Hmmmmm… nice to meet you”. He turned away to leave…

“And you, sir,”

And I gave a small curtsy. Automatic, I don’t know why, I don’t know how I knew how to do it. I must have picked it up from the TV series “Upstairs Downstairs” which had run on Irish TV a few years beforehand.

The canapes went up in the service lift, more ice for the champagne, and things quieted down for a while.

Maria came flying down the companionway, went into the store locker where she kept the purser’s supplies, pulled out one of Anna’s skirts, checked it for wrinkles or marks, threw it at me and said,

“You’re back on front of house, Change into a fresh t-shirt”.

“Huh?”

“Aristotle asked me about you. When I explained your story, he laughed and said he couldn’t tell whether you were a boy or girl, and you didn’t seem to know either, so you should do front-of-house in a skirt”

This was to be a third new experience for me. I had started as a male in a costume dress or tunic, presenting as a male. Then I presented as a female, wearing a dress and pretending to be a girl. Now I would be presenting as something in-between, male, but dressed and made-up as a girl. This was going to be interesting.

The family glanced at me a little curiously at the dinner service. Maria had overheard some conversation that, as I was sleeping with Lisa who preferred girls, that this was a Corporal Klinger type ruse on my part to get into her bed… actually not a bad idea had I thought of it in the beginning. Otherwise things progressed as normal without any hands slipping up our skirts. This was a family group and all were impeccably behaved, with the slight exception of Sophie, who drank too much wine and got a little tipsy. Dinner completed; the group were all turned in by 11:30pm as we were starting early the following day. Lisa and I quickly cleaned the dining areas and headed for our cabin to get some sleep. As this was an owner’s cruise, we were working together both early and late shifts; everything had to be perfect.

About 12:30, just as I had finished washing my teeth, the phone buzzed in the cabin. This was an extension installed just before this trip and calls were diverted to here when the galley was unmanned. This was to ensure constant availability for the owner’s party. Lisa was in bed already, so I answered. It was Sophie, asking for come champagne to be brought to her cabin; she was still partying. I slipped my skirt and t-shirt back on, got a half-sized bottle from the cooler in the galley, climbed the companionway, put the bottle on a linen covered tray along with a glass and an ice-bucket, walked to Sophie’s cabin and knocked very gently on the door.

“Come in.”

I entered, Sophie was not visible, but her voice floated out from the en-suite heads.

“Can you open it and put it on the table?”

I opened the bottle carefully so as not to have champagne spraying all over the cabin and was just putting the bottle into the ice bucket when I felt a tug on the hem of my skirt. I half turned and then looked away again; Sophie was standing right beside me wearing only satin or silk French knickers. From my quick glance, I could see that her face was flushed.

“Will that be all Ma’am?” I asked. It wasn’t unusual to have women sunbathing topless on the upper deck, but I wasn’t happy to be in the cabin of the owner’s daughter in this circumstance.

“Shy, aren’t we? I bet the other stewardess doesn’t think you’re shy!”

Sophie had now pressed up against my back and reached her hands under my t-shirt. She started to gently rub my nipples.

“Ma’am, I don’t think that this is a good idea, and like you said, I have a girlfriend on board.”

One hand reached down to slip up the front of my skirt; it was becoming obvious that, despite my dilemma, I was appreciating her attention.

“Hmmm, you’re not all shy… I’m sure your girlfriend won’t mind sharing you with me for a while.”

“Please Ma’am, I’ll lose my job and girlfriend.”

“Don’t you find me attractive?”

She was now inside my panties and edging them down. I knew that she was high and that I would be the biggest loser if this continued. I turned to face her, thus extracting her hand from under my skirt and caught her gently and firmly around the waist, hugging her closely which would keep her hands from my front at least. Her eyes were somewhat glazed over; I reckoned that she had taken something else as well as the drink.

“Yes, Ma’am, I think that you’re beautiful, and you know that I like you. In the morning you’ll know that I was right not to stay.”

Her eyes welled up and she turned away and sat on the bed…

“I won’t be this lonely in the morning…”

“I’m sorry, Ma’am…”

I edged out the door, closed it gently, tiptoed down the companionway and into our cabin. I sat on the edge of the lower bunk, shaking. Lisa was half asleep.

“Well, you took your time. Are you sure that it was only champagne that she wanted?”

She reached out a hand and put it on my leg.

“You’re shaking; what happened? Are you OK?”

“She didn’t only want champagne; you’re doing any late service for Sophie in future.”

I told Lisa the story.

“What happens if she says that you molested her?”

“Why would she say that?”

“Trust me on this; we’re calling Maria.”

Lisa went and roused Maria. George heard her knock, heard her whispered conversation with Maria and said,

“I’m coming too!”

We met around the crew table in the galley. Both George and Maria had notebooks and made me repeat the story in forensic detail whilst they both wrote it down. I felt really uncomfortable relating, especially in front of Lisa, how a woman had molested me. After about two hours we all turned in, though I got little sleep. Lisa lay behind me and hugged me all night; I was conscious to try not to move so that she could get some rest.

Four hours later Maria knocked and opened the door when I answered. She and Lisa were to do breakfast and I was to stay away until they had “scouted the area”. Obviously someone besides me watched war or cowboy movies! The group arrived individually, Sophie last. Lisa told me later that she looked a bit the worse for wear, but not wrecked. She had an envelope in her hand, one of those from the staterooms usually used by paying guests to write letters to their friend on yacht stationery to show that they had been on board. She was also last to leave and, when Maria was out of earshot spoke to Lisa.

“Where’s Jim today?”

“He had to help Chef; we have a small problem in the galley.”

“Give him this”.

Sophie passed the envelope to Lisa who took it and came directly to our cabin. I opened the envelope; on the boat stationery, two words were written, “Sorry”, and under that “Thanks”. I got dressed, Lisa briefed me on her cover story, and I followed her up to clear up the breakfast area… normal service had resumed. I tucked the envelope into the waistband of my skirt under my t-shirt – no pockets - and quietly showed it to Maria and then George.

I guessed that Sophie would be feeling foolish when we first met, so I put on my best “front-of-house” smile when she was on her way to the bridge to watch the departure.

“Good morning, Ma’am”.

A wry smile…

“Good morning, Jim”.

The rest of the trip to Paphos and the voyage to Alexandria was fairly uneventful. There was no crew shore leave in Paphos but we were to have an opportunity to go ashore in Alexandria. We arrived in the Eastern harbour around mid-day, even this late in the year it was very warm. We picked up a swinging mooring and launched the dingy at the stern. This was a fairly large, fast RIB, but could only be operated at limited speed because of the number of boats in the harbour. An official launch came alongside for some paperwork, although an agent had already completed most of this in advance of our arrival, including paying the necessary “administration fees” to ensure a hassle-free process. A security boat also arrived; it was to stay beside us for the duration of our stay. Aristotle had chosen the eastern harbour, instead of the marina’s further West, as it was right in town instead of being 100kms out. This meant that we needed our own security as the yacht could be very easily boarded if not guarded. The group were to go ashore for a 3-day tour, staying in hotels for two days before returning to stay on board for another two days in Alexandria. Aristotle was interested in breaking into the local hotel market and was combining business with pleasure.

Almost immediately on the owner’s group’s departure, a fuel boat came alongside to fill our tanks. All of our fenders had to be deployed to keep this workboat away from our pristine hull; then we had to scrub the fenders! That done, time for shore leave. A member of the sailing crew and a member of the cabin crew had to be onboard at all times. Chef had no intention of going ashore; he never did unless he had to. We picked cards, highest to go ashore first, lowest to go the second day. I was going ashore with Greg and Dimitri, Day 2 would be Maria, Lisa and Jorge. George would stay on board; it would not be wise for the skipper to be absent should anything occur.

I dressed in the gear that I had brought out to Greece initially. Egypt was and still is a very intolerant society where what they see as sexual deviance is concerned and I was now doing my best to look male! Earrings out, no make-up, hair in ponytail, baseball cap to hide my fringe. Greg was the guide; he was well used to the Middle East from his Royal Navy days, but not with Alexandria itself as the Royal Navy hadn’t been there for some time.

We headed for the Souk. This was like nothing I had experienced to date; a riot of colour, smells and noise. We were accosted on all sides with people trying to sell us everything from leather goods to “Rolex” watches to “ancient” swords. Greg and Dimitri had gotten into a haggle with a merchant over a brace of reasonably genuine looking percussion cap muzzle loading pistols when a colourful stall caught my eye. I wandered over.

The stall was selling harem and belly-dancing costumes; a harem set was pinned on a cardboard cutout of an old Hollywood starlet, probably from the 40s judging by her hairstyle. I looked at the set intently. It was made from a blue, chiffon type material, gaudily edged with gold trim. The short top had a halter neck and was tied with a bow in the front. Some gold trim was sewn in the strategic places to hide the nipples. The bottom appeared to be two triangular pieces of material tied around the cardboard cutouts waist. They came down the legs on the outside and were fastened at the aankle, leaving the inside leg open. The two triangles overlapped in the strategic areas in the front and rear. The effect was incredibly sexy, and I pictured myself, or Lisa, or both of us in that set.

“For your girl, yes?”

An Arab man in traditional dress was looking intently at me.

“Yes, she would look great in it”,

I was only half lying…

“I have more, come, come I show you”.

He headed through the stall into a packed room full of boxes and some more cutouts. I followed him in, wondering how I would manage to buy two costumes, in different sizes, without him becoming suspicious.

“This very good…”

He was holding up another cutout, this time with a belly dancing costume.

It was dark inside, so I had to move closer to get a good look. A hand with a cloth came from behind my head and was jammed over my mouth and nose and I was grabbed around the arms and torso. I tried to move, but there was a funny smell…