She was about five years older than my 21 years, but we’d quickly bonded when she’d joined the clinic because of our mutual interest in sailing.

Mind you, our interests went in slightly different directions. Ellen had done extensive cruising through the Pacific on a yacht and was now racing it regularly every Wednesday and Saturday.

Mine was just Sunday sailing on a small skiff type boat at Avalon Sailing Club – my local dinghy club; something I’d been doing since the age of ten.

She invited me for a day out on a yacht she sailed on.

The yacht was looking for some new crew members and this day had been organised to give potentials an introduction to the yacht and let the owner see what they were like.

I have to say, my arrival at the yacht, moored in its marina berth early one Saturday morning just before Christmas, left me feeling somewhat slack jawed and inadequate.

It seemed the boat was covered in tall, leggy, stunning women dressed only in the tiniest of bikinis. As I shook each of their hands as I was introduced to them by Ellen, even I found it hard not to stare at the sexualised displays in front of me.

Ellen was my first surprise. I mean, I knew she was very tall, slim and attractive with long naturally blonde hair; but at work she generally wore slacks and a blouse or lower thigh length dresses that flattered her, but nothing like what greeted me that morning.

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Her bikini was a sky blue number string tied all over. The slide triangles on the top covered barely a third of the flesh of her really nice breasts, leaving an underboob as well as the usual cleavage and side boob and with the outline of her nipples clearly evident in the obviously thin material.

The bottoms only came up to just a bit under half way to her navel, with the front just a not very large or wide rectangle, which turned into a cut-away Brazilian at the back.

And speaking of Brazilians, the tight fit of her bottoms left not the slightest doubt she had not a skerrick of pubic hair. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to look at her at work the same way again.

Ellen first introduced me to Amy. I’d heard a lot about Amy from Ellen. We’d had a victim of domestic violence in the clinic and Ellen had told me about Amy as a way of explaining how hard it can be for women to escape.

A English woman, evidently she’d been about 18 when she took up with this guy and, even though the beatings and other violence and general abuse had become progressively worse, it had taken 10 years for her to escape, and even then she only got away safely by leaving the country.

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Which is where Ellen had meet her as they cruised the Pacific. So allowing for a couple of years since she’d left him, I’d back calculated Amy’s age to be early 30’s.

Which is why I was shocked when she looked no more than mid-twenties, if that. English skin I suppose. Amy was the sort of woman who could make every other woman on the planet feel ugly.

A pretty soft smiling face with long auburn, but sun bleached, hair, she was not quite as tall as Ellen; but tall enough and with a beautiful uniform light olive complexion.

While slim, she had a shape to her feminine figure to die for; a smooth, nice curve of her hips and nicely fleshed all over but without an ounce of fat on her body.

Her breast stood proud and firm from her body; seemingly twice the size of Ellen’s — I would guess a generous c cup, which on her otherwise slim figure, looked enormous.

But that was only the start of where she had it over other women. Her stomach was washboard flat, something that complimented her firm strong body.

Her nipples, puffy nipples like mine, even on this warm morning, were already standing proud in her top like a couple of large volcanic cones and, something that even I found a distraction, her mound bulged in her bikini pants in a way that finished the picture of the female equivalent of an overripe piece of fruit ready for picking.

I noticed during the day that every one of the men on board fawned over her at every opportunity; something that was made stranger still by the fact she was the crew boss and ordering them about.

All of which might make you think she’d be something of a bitch. But she came across during the day as one of the sweetest, most unassuming women I’ve met.

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Still, as we shook hands I was confronted by her in nothing more than the same sort of micro bikini Ellen had on, except with an even more powerful effect.

The triangles of her top were no bigger than Ellen’s, trying to cover much larger breasts and that little rectangle of material at the front of her bikini pants, even stretched drum tight, struggled to cover the bulge of her mound.

The only difference from Ellen’s bikini was its burnt orange colour and the lack of knots on the strings sides of her bikini bottoms.

I was starting to wonder whether these bikinis weren’t some sort of crew uniform.

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I thought the one I had on under the sailing shorts and t shirt I was wearing was pretty sexy, but these ones were challenging my ability to contemplate confidently wearing them.

Ellen then led me back to the cockpit, where an older couple were tidying up the lines. Forgetting for a minute my knowledge of Amy’s history, I had a brief thought they were Amy’s parents.

There was a lot of her in both of them; including the way the woman dressed. Liddy looked in her mid forties, but I found out later she was deep into her fifties.

The strong New York accent was the first reminder I had that she wasn’t Amy’s mother. Still, even at her age, she had the same pretty face, long auburn hair and clear olive skin, and much the same figure; perhaps without quite the same perfect washboard stomach and distracting mound.

Her breasts were, if anything, larger than Amy’s and abnormally perky in their tiny covering; at least making me wonder about whether they were originals.

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I would have said that, at her age, she was brave wearing bikinis of the same style as those of the others, but her trim, taut figure easily allowed her to do so.

Ned, I understood, was the owner of the boat.

Very Australian, which made me realise his relationship with Liddy must be fairly recent. He was tall and very well built for someone I understood to be near 60 and came across as very friendly and relaxed, dressed in a blue polo shirt and deck shorts of a matching blue colour.

Ellen then led me up the front to where a woman and two guys were flaking out the genoa on the deck.

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The woman was called Issie; another one dressed in these tiny bikinis that seemed to be the boat uniform for women. She was slightly more solidly built than Amy, but being obviously Italian, had the same olive skin.

Although smaller breasted and not as flawlessly formed, there was a sultriness about her that more than made up for what she lacked in visual perfection.

Which left me with the two guys, both about Harry was Ellen’s partner and I’d meet him before.

Strongly built with a handsome face, it was easy to see what Ellen saw in him; although it would have been easier still if the guys had the sort of semi-naked clothing the girls had.

Even so, the blue polo t shirts and deck shorts showed them off nicely. The other guy was Josh, who I didn’t find out until later was Issie’s partner.

Like Harry he was tall, handsome and strong.

I decided then that, if this was the standard of males in racing yachts, I was going to have to change the type of sailing I did.

Maybe I could even cope with the micro bikinis if that was the reward. It was about five minutes later that the other two crew for the day showed up.

My eyes immediately fixed on a tall skinny guy dressed in a polo shirt and baggy, bulky cotton shorts. I guessed he was about my age, which made me feel better because so far I seemed to be by far the youngest on board.

He had a masculine, handsome face and broad, strong shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist. As I watched him walk towards the boat I had this sense that I knew him from somewhere.

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Then the penny dropped that I’d seen him out sailing on Sundays on a Spiral class dinghy that emanated from BYRA; another sailing club on Pittwater that shares our race course.

Walking alongside him was a girl about our age; much shorter but still quite attractive, and, like me dressed, in tight black leggings and a t shirt, with the string ties of a bikini top poking out of the neckline of her shirt.

So I was pleased to see there was at least one other girl not running around nearly naked; although the thought occurred to me that if she stripped down to her bikini after she came aboard, I wouldn’t really be sure whether I’d be expected to follow.

It turned out these were friends of Amy from her workplace. Adam turned out to be the guy from BYRA I thought he was and I was chuffed to have him acknowledge that he recognised me too.

Kate was also a dinghy sailor, but from a club further South on Sydney Harbour. I watched with some amusement as Amy did the same round of introductions that Ellen had given me.

Adam just clearly didn’t know where to look as he was introduced to each of the women; well he probably knew where he should look, but obviously found it difficult not to be distracted.

I even noticed him checking out his workmate Amy on more than one occasion; clearly seeing her in a different perspective from how he viewed her at work.

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And I could see Kate nearly as equally taken aback as I’d been. But at least she didn’t strip off to a bikini.

As we turned on the engine and prepared to undock, each of the girls slipped below and remerged in a pair of mini, tight fitting blue micro shorts and a very body conforming version of the same long sleeve blue polo shirt that the guys on the bow were wearing; in each case the fronts unbuttoned deeply enough to show more than a little cleavage.

I could help but wonder just how much of an advantage this boat got in a race due to the distraction is must cause to any adjacent male crews.

The morning was spent practicing a number of sailing drills. Starting with hoisting the sails, then grinding the winches as we tacked, moving up to changing headsails and setting, gybing and dropping the spinnaker and asymmetric.

Through all of this, it was interesting that Amy was the one giving instructions to us as we worked on the foredeck and the winches in the cockpit; teaching us newbies and then standing back and seeing how well we’d absorbed the lessons and worked with the existing crew in some exercises that required some close teamwork from everyone to carry out effectively.

Ellen also was clearly someone of importance on the yacht; sharing helming duties with the owner and often discussing aspects of the sailing with him as they stood together in the aft compartment of the cockpit.

Indeed, Ned barely had to say a word sailing wise. It seemed that between them, Amy and Ellen anticipated his every intention and put them into action.

What really surprised me was how tactile Ellen was with Ned. Indeed, all the female regular crew were tactile with him, but Ellen’s role keeping her closest to him made it more obvious.

I suppose at work we all keep a professional distance, so it was interesting to basically see her all over Ned like a rash; standing alongside him in full side to side body contact and regularly putting an arm around his waist as she moved around him — even as her boyfriend was just meters away working the foredeck and Ned’s partner Liddy was right next to them as she played the mainsheet.

As for me, well I took every opportunity I could to work alongside Adam. And while I wasn’t as blatant about it as Ellen was, I wasn’t immune to sneaking a bit of accidental contact when close teamwork or the rocking of the boat justified it.

I’d already taken a liking to Adam and was encouraging him to chat me up, subtly trying to squeeze out any opportunity for Kate to do so in the process.

About noon, Ned indicated we were stopping at the beach at The Basin for lunch; sending us through another routine of lowering sails.

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As all hands bent over the boom, flaking the mainsail across it, as the boat rocked in the gentle swell coming in the heads, I stood with the full length of my flank in contact with Adam’s.

Then, as I stood in the cockpit with Adam, watching Harry on the bow giving Ned final instructions for the lowering of the anchor, Amy, Ellen, Issie and Liddy disappeared below, re-emerging almost immediately in their bikinis.

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As soon as the anchor was set and the engine off, they climbed down onto the swim platform at the back of the boat, lowered the ladder and dived in, swimming powerfully for the beach in what appeared to be some sort of informal race; quickly joined by Harry and Josh who’s trip below saw them reappear in boardies board shorts.

Ned looked up at us as the guys in their boardies went past Without hesitation, I answered Recognising my interest in his intentions, he shrugged his shoulders