Alice Takes a Cruise Ch. 01

When I stepped out of the shower in my cabin that morning, there was a naked girl lying on my bed. She was nineteen, maybe twenty, with straight blonde hair to just below her shoulders and a severe centre parting which made her unsmiling face look even more serious. I checked that the towel was securely tucked in around me, then smiled to show her that I wasn’t embarrassed - though I was.

‘Hello.’

‘Hey,’ she said. ‘You’re Alice, aren’t you?’

‘That’s right. Who are you?’

‘Billie.’

‘That’s a pretty name.’

She turned down her mouth. ‘I hate it. It’s a boy’s name.’

Her tan showed dark and rich. She was slim, with almost boyish hips. Her breasts were small but nicely rounded. She caught the direction of my glance and grimaced.

‘Even my tits are too small.’

‘Oh, no, they’re lovely,’ I protested, my frankness surprising even myself. ‘I mean, they’re just fine.’

‘Oh, sure,’ she sneered. ‘Boys just love little tits. All my friends have much bigger ones and you can see the way guys look at them. You know, like every girl is only four feet tall, because that’s as high as guys can lift their eyes.’

I couldn’t stop a laugh escaping.

‘Yeah, funny,’ said Billie. ‘I’m the only girl who ever gets eye-contact. It’s like my body doesn’t exist.’

I stopped laughing. I remembered how much I had hated my own body when I had been her age - and how much I still did, on bad days.

‘Well, I’m looking at them,’ I said, again surprised by myself. Was I still drunk from last night?

‘Huh, some consolation.’ She looked down at herself, thrusting her chest out experimentally. Her budding nipples stood out clearly.

‘And you have beautiful nipples.’ No doubt I wanted to appear sophisticated, a woman of the world.

She accepted my frankness as if it were entirely natural. She considered them for a moment, her chin pressed in, then as if the effort were all too much, let the air escape from her lungs in a frustrated sigh. ‘Oh, it’s no good. I do that every morning about a million times and they just carry on looking like lemons. Aren’t there exercises I can do to make them bigger?’

I laughed again, but this time sympathetically. ‘I’m afraid not.’ A worrying thought struck me. ‘And whatever you do, don’t go thinking about silicon implants, not at your age.’

‘Why not?’

I could tell from her expression that she’d been considering nothing else for goodness knows how long. ‘Oh, dear, you do have it bad.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Well, think of this. All these friends of yours with big breasts, when they get to my age they’ll be sagging down to their navels and no man will look twice at them. You, on the other hand, will still have breasts like a girl’s.’

She looked doubtful. ‘You reckon?’

‘I do.’

We were still in the same positions, she on the bed, I by the door to the shower. The towel around my head was beginning to feel insecure. Damp strands of hair stuck to my neck. I began to wonder how I could politely engineer the end of the conversation, so that I could dry myself properly and get dressed.

‘You really like them?’ she asked.

‘Oh, yes. Truthfully. Cross my heart and hope to die.’ Now I was beginning to sound like a teenager.

‘Good,’ she said, pleased with herself, almost smug. She got up and walked towards me. Involuntarily I took a step back. I don’t know what I feared exactly, but I could suddenly feel my heart beating beneath the towel.

But she only wanted to look at herself in the mirror behind me. She flicked her hair behind her shoulders, then put her hands under each breast and pouted at her reflection like a girl in a top-shelf magazine.

‘I guess they don’t look too bad.’

She gathered her hair from her shoulders and held it to the top of her head. Strands fell down the nape of her neck and it was as much as I could do to stop myself reaching out and tucking them back up for her. Her small breasts stretched against her chest, the lower curves mere suggestions of the softer flesh above, her dark nipples almost indistinguishable from her all-over tan.

In the mirror she saw where I was looking. ‘You really do like them, don’t you?’

There seemed no point in pretending otherwise. ‘I told you. They’re lovely. I only wish mine were the same.’

‘Why?’ Her eyes were already back on her own reflection. ‘I bet yours are gorgeous.’

‘As if.’

‘Well,’ she said, turning to face me. ‘Let me have a look. I’ll soon tell you.’

‘What?’ My voice sounded like that of an outraged old spinster. ‘I’m not showing you my breasts.’

‘Why not? I’ve shown you mine.’ It was the simple logic of youth. ‘Besides, everyone sunbathes topless here. I’ll see them soon enough.’

‘That’s different.’ Even to me it sounded feeble.

‘Come on,’ she insisted. ‘They can’t be that bad.’

‘No, they’re not. But that doesn’t mean I have to show them to everyone who asks.’

She went back to pouting. ‘That’s not fair. You’ve seen mine.’

‘You showed them to me,’ I reminded her. ‘I didn’t ask you to.’

‘No,’ she agreed. ‘But you’re glad I did, aren’t you?’

Her triumphant tone silenced me. I didn’t want to admit that she was right, but I could think of nothing to say that wouldn’t sound like a ridiculous evasion. Somehow this nineteen-year-old girl was making me feel like a prude. She was right. She was only asking to see what every woman would happily reveal to all and sundry on a Mediterranean beach any day of the year.

‘All right,’ I conceded. ‘At least then you’ll see you have nothing to be ashamed of.’

I fumbled with the towel tucked beneath my armpits, intending only to lower it a few inches, but the towel round my hair chose exactly that moment to unravel. Involuntarily my hand went up to catch it, with the consequence that the towel round my body gaped open. I clutched it back across my front.

Billie laughed at my contortions. ‘Here, I’ll do it.’ She caught the loose end of the hair towel and reached up to tuck it in. ‘Can’t have you exposing yourself, can we?’

I was a little taller than her, by only an inch or so, but it was enough to make her stretch. We stood almost nose to nose and I could smell the faint tang of underarm deodorant. Her nipples brushed momentarily against the backs of my hand, little shocks that made me start.

Evidently she felt them too. She looked down and smiled. ‘That was nice.’

She stepped back and admired her work with my hair towel. ‘You look like one of those Indians - you know, sikhs.’

I pretended offence. ‘Thanks very much. I can change my mind, you know.’

‘Oh no,’ she protested. ‘You promised.’

‘OK. I’m a woman of my word.’ I lowered the towel and made sure it was tucked securely beneath my breasts. This was ridiculous, quite ridiculous. Then I threw my arms wide, one up, one down, and put one knee across the other, like I imagined dancers did at the Folies Bergeres, to make a silly performance out of it. ‘Dadahh!’

I wanted her to giggle at my pose, but instead it seemed to strike her dumb. She simply stared, as intently as if she had suddenly come across a Michelangelo. The silence lasted a few seconds, then a few seconds more. I began to feel awkward. What was I doing showing myself to this teenager? I let my arms fall.

‘No!’ she exclaimed. ‘Don’t move.’

It was a command. Reluctantly I resumed my pose. ‘Well, say something. I feel stupid.’

‘I’m just looking,’ she said. ‘You’ve had long enough looking at mine.’

‘Well, I’m embarrassed.’

‘Why?’ All this time she hadn’t taken her eyes off my bosom. ‘I’m not. And you’re a lot older than me.’

I couldn’t help laughing. ‘Thanks for reminding me. I’m only thirty-one.’

That made her look up. ‘You’re kidding me. My mom’s in her thirties and she’s got wrinkles.’

‘Well, so have I. If you look hard enough.’

She looked scornful. ‘I can’t see any. All I can see is a pair of fabulous tits.’

It was totally idiotic, but I felt flattered. No one had ever complimented me on my body in quite such an open, straightforward way before. For some reason it meant more to me than all the smoothly seductive words I’d heard from men.

‘Can I put my arms down now?’ I asked. ‘They’re beginning to ache.’

‘Oh, sure.’ She nodded absentmindedly, her eyes totally absorbed by my body. Her unwavering gaze was starting to have an effect, as if she were playing a warm spotlight over me. I felt a tingling inside me, some kind of nervous anticipation, as if I were about to appear on stage.

‘Haven’t you ever looked at a woman’s breasts before?’ I asked, to fill the silence.

‘Not really. Only in the shower at school, that kind of thing. And that doesn’t really count, because you have to look away quick or people get the wrong idea. I’ve never really looked at a woman, not really looked like now, so’s I can see every curve, every colour, the way they dip and hold up at the same time. And you lied,’ she added accusingly, looking up at my face.

‘I lied? What do you mean?’

She laced her fingers over her own breasts, trying to hide them. ‘You said mine are more beautiful than yours. But they’re not. Even I can see that.’

‘Oh, Billie. They are, believe me. You may not think so now, but you will. When you get to my age you will.’

She unlaced her fingers and cupped each of her breasts. Her hands just covered them. ‘Do you mind if I touch them?’

‘What?’ I stepped back.

‘I just want to feel the difference,’ she added. ‘I mean, mine feel so hard and sort of funny and yours look so soft and, well, kind of comfortable.’

I could think of nothing to say, but she took my silence as acquiescence. Before I could stop her, she had reached out a hand and touched the side of my breast, a touch that made me shiver involuntarily. Then she laid her palm on me and slid it lower to cup me. Her expression was one of intense concentration, totally absorbed in the feel of my skin under her fingers. I closed my eyes, unable both to watch her and to control the sensations inside me at the same time. She lifted me gently.

‘It feels so soft and smooth, yet so heavy.’ Her thumb found my nipple, which instantly hardened under her touch. It made her laugh. ‘Oh, that’s what mine does.’

I tried to join in her laughter but could manage only a faint inarticulate noise.

‘Are you all right?’ she asked.

I opened my eyes and saw a look of concern on her face, as if worried she might have hurt me.

‘Yes,’ I managed to get out. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Good,’ she smiled. ‘Because I don’t want to stop.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I don’t want you to either.’

‘Can I touch the other one too?’

‘If you want to.’ What was I doing? A girl I barely knew was making love to me.

‘I want to see if they’re the same.’ Her right hand cupped my left breast and her thumb rubbed across my nipple. I felt air rush into my nostrils. ‘Because I always thought they would be, you know. But now I look at them closely, one’s a little bigger, isn’t it?’

‘Well, we’re none of us completely symmetrical. That would be too boring, don’t you think?’

‘I guess so,’ she conceded. She started gently to squeeze each nipple between thumb and forefinger. They hardened even more. I wondered if Billie could feel my heart pounding beneath my ribs. ‘When they harden like that, does that mean you like it?’

‘Yes,’ I said, trying to catch my breath. ‘And because you have very gentle hands.’

‘Oh, I’m just doing what I like doing to myself.’

‘That,’ I smiled, ‘is a good rule to follow with everything in life.’

‘Yeah,’ she went on, ‘and I like rubbing them with the flat of my hands, like this.’ And she held her palms against me so they were just touching the tips of my nipples and rotated them slowly. Involuntarily I took a deep breath, with the result that they pressed into her hands.

‘Oh, yes,’ she laughed. ‘That’s what I do too. You try hard not to, but you just can’t help pushing, can you?’

‘No.’ I seemed unable to let the air out of my lungs. I noticed that her own miniature nipples were sticking out further and seemed to have become more brightly pink.

She followed the direction of my gaze and withdrew a hand to press a finger to her own. ‘They’re harder too,’ she said. ‘D’you think they’re coming out in sympathy?’

‘Something like that.’

She rubbed the flat of her hand over it, round and round, up and down, just as she had done with mine, at first watching herself intently, then watching me watching her movements. ‘Mmm, that is so good, isn’t it? Is this what you feel when I do it to you?’

‘Probably. We’re not that different.’

She returned her hand to my breast and continued her explorations. ‘But yours feel different, like I said. Softer, heavier, and they move more. How come you get the same feelings?’

‘Because we’re both women. And the same things turn us on.’

She smiled mischievously. ‘Is that what’s happening? Am I turning you on?’

‘Come on, Billie, you’re not that young. Of course you’re turning me on.’

She took her hands away, but kept her eyes on mine. ‘Maybe we’d better stop then.’

My nipples were aching from her caresses, but I held her gaze and adopted my sternest schoolteacher’s voice. ‘Yes, I think we’d better.’ I hitched the towel up under my armpits again. ‘And you’d better run along to your own cabin. I have to dress for breakfast. People will be wondering where I’ve got to.’

I made a purposeful move towards the dressing table, but she was standing in my path and made no attempt to step out of my way. In the small cabin there was no way round her, other than by clambering over the bed, which would have been undignified.

We stood facing each other. As if of their own volition her hands drifted up to her breasts again and started moving. Unable to take my eyes off them I became mesmerized by their strokes, their caresses. In order to accentuate their effect, she moved her body in the opposite direction, swaying from side to side.

‘Do you want to touch them?’ she asked.

‘I...’ I began, but couldn’t think of any words to follow.

She let her arms fall to her sides. Her eyes seemed to swim out of focus. But her body continued to move and sway before me, now as if against invisible caresses only she could feel.

‘You know you want to.’

‘I...’ I began again, but again nothing would follow.

‘I want you to.’ She reached out and lifted my hand and put it flat against her small, firm chest. It felt surprisingly hard, almost like a young boy’s, but there was enough softness for my fingers to trace the outline of her breast.

‘I was right,’ I finally got out. ‘They are lovely.’

I felt the nipple grow instantly into my palm, a delicate nut that I could roll from side to side. She took my other hand and placed it alongside.

‘Do to me what you like to do to yourself,’ she commanded.

I delicately traced the underside contour of each swelling with the tips of my fingers. I could hear the intake of breath with each movement. Her eyes regained their sharpness and fixed on my hands.

‘I’m memorizing,’ she explained when she noticed me smiling at the intensity of her gaze.

Her flawless adolescent skin felt soft and smooth, like the finest silk. ‘You have to tell me what you like,’ I said, gently squeezing each nipple in turn between my thumb and forefinger.

There was another intake of breath, sharper this time. ‘Oh, just keep doing that.’ The pink of her nipples was vivid, as if I had been rubbing them raw. ‘Oh, yes, that’s great. Please, don’t stop.’ The motions of her body had become almost trancelike, as if she were no longer in control. ‘Oh yes, please.’

I suddenly seemed to come round. I was making love to her, this girl. It had to stop. I snatched my hands away as if I had thrust them into a fire.

At which she did something absolutely unexpected. She fell backwards on the bed.

‘Billie!’

At first I thought she had fainted, but she was perfectly conscious. While her delicate chest continued to move slowly from side to side as if still under my caresses, her hands got busy elsewhere. My first reaction was fear. Surely she wasn’t going to masturbate in front of me? Yet part of me, I had to admit, was more aroused by the prospect of watching her. I had never seen a woman make herself come, her hands busy, her body writhing, her face screwed up as if in pain. Is this what I looked like when I did it, secretly, in my bedroom with the door locked?

Her hands evidently found what they were looking for. ‘Oh, yes!’ Her fingers fluttered like a trapped bird, then in only a few seconds were still. Her face relaxed into a sigh. Her body ceased its writhing.

It was over. That quickly.

I remembered then how speedily I was sometimes able to achieve my own release. Convenient perhaps, but not very satisfying.

She lay with her eyes closed, her arms spreadeagled. I sat on the edge of the bed. After a while she opened her eyes.

‘Better now?’ I asked.

‘You bet,’ she smiled, like a child who had just eaten a chocolate sundae. ‘Neat, huh?’

‘Very,’ I agreed. ‘And so uninhibited.’

‘Well,’ she grinned, ‘when you’ve gotta come...’

‘Maybe.’

She looked at me sharply. ‘What do you mean, maybe?’

‘Have you never heard of pleasures deferred?’ I asked.

She sat up. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, most things that give one pleasure are even better if one puts them off for as long as possible.’ I should know all about that.

She laughed scornfully. ‘You’re kidding me. When I get like that you’d have to chain me down. I’ve got to finish or I’d go mad.’

I got up and went over to the mirror and starting rubbing my hair with the damp towel. ‘I was the same when I was your age. But you’ll learn.’

It was the wrong thing to say. It seemed to throw her instantly into a temper. ‘Jeez, you really are like my mom, aren’t you? That’s the trouble with old people, always reminding you how young you are, how little you know.’

‘That’s not what I meant.’ I looked round to see if there was a hair-dryer anywhere. There had to be one in such an otherwise well-equipped cabin. ‘It’s just that when you’re young you always want everything straight away. You want it now, this instant. You’re never prepared to wait.’

It calmed her, but only a little. ‘But if you can get it right away, why wait?’

‘Because, as I said, it’s better if you wait.’ I’d opened all the cupboards. No dryer.

‘Is this what you’re looking for?’ Billie got off the bed and snapped a flexible hose off the wall beside the mirror. All built-in. I might have guessed. I reached out for it, but she held it back.

‘No, let me. You sit down.’

I started to object. ‘I don’t know...’

I felt her hands on my shoulders, firmly pressing me down into the chair before the mirror. ‘It’s OK. Just relax.’ She flicked a switch and I felt warm air.

‘Only if you’re...’

The warm air brushed my temple. ‘I used to do this for my mom. You don’t have to worry; I know what I’m doing.’

She picked up my hairbrush and started on the ends of my hair, short, slow strokes. There is nothing quite so relaxing as having one’s hair brushed. It must be some reminder of childhood. I allowed my eyes to close.

‘So is this, like, a pleasure deferred?’ asked Billie after a while.

I opened my eyes. ‘I don’t think there’s much one can put off about brushing one’s hair.’

‘I guess not.’

‘Besides, it’s a very small pleasure really.’

‘Oh.’ I could detect the disappointment in her voice.

‘But it’s still a pleasure,’ I amended. ‘And you can carry on doing it for as long as you like.’

‘Good,’ she said with an air of satisfaction. ‘Because you have nice soft air and I like doing it.’

I watched her in the mirror. She was right: she did know what she was doing. She was moving the brush and the dryer together in long full strokes from the top of my head to the ends of my hair six inches below my shoulders. As she leant forward at the beginning of each stroke I could see how her breasts almost touched my hair. Hoping that she wouldn’t notice, I let my head fall back a little until I could just feel the hardened tips. I could see the faint blonde down of adolescent pubic hair.