Melanie's Own Choice

Melanie Hampton turned her face to the window of the Chesapeake Lounge on the American Cruise Line's Independence and watched the Maryland Chesapeake Bay shoreline slide by as they sailed toward Yorktown and Williamsburg, in Virginia. It had snowed the night before while they were in the Baltimore hotel waiting to embark, and it was a world of white out here on the bay.

This was a crazy time, she thought, to be taking a cruise and not just because it was February—a special Valentine's Day sailing. She and Howard were at the end of their marriage, not the beginning. The time was past for romance. All of the red hearts and red and white party streamers hanging around everywhere around the ship made her sad, not romantic. But Howard had wanted to do it, to take this cruise, so they were doing it. He didn't have long, so she would give him anything he wanted. Of course he'd always had total control. That's probably why she married him—so she didn't have to make the choices.

"What are you thinking, Mel?" Howard Hampton asked. She turned to her husband, thirty years her senior, looking crumbled in his wheelchair, as well he should have the regime of chemo he just gone through on top of his other paralyzing disabilities, and worked up a smile.

"I was just thinking how good it is to get away from Boston for eight days. But I'm afraid it might be too taxing for you. Maybe we should have planned to do this next year, when you were stronger."

"Next year is as good as saying we'd never do it, my love," Howard said, his voice wistful. "I think we both know I'm not going to be getting any stronger."

Melanie looked over at the third person sitting around the cocktail table, Howard's assistant and increasing his "do everything" man, Bill Walsh. Bill was closer to Melanie's age, in his late thirties and strikingly good looking. They both were strikingly good looking and could be forgiven the number of people they met as the cruise got under way who assumed they were a couple and Howard was a father to one of them.

Howard had been good looking too, ten years ago when he was courting Melanie, who had been working in his investment firm. Melanie and Howard hadn't met until two years after Howard's first wife had died. He'd needed more of a nurse and caretaker even then, as he already was ill, and Melanie had dutifully filled the need. It wasn't that she'd been a "good girl" when they met and started dating. She was a party girl then, willing to party, and she denied him nothing from the beginning of their relationship. But she hadn't broken up his marriage—or anyone else's.

Strangely enough, it had been a good marriage. What they didn't share in generations, they shared in interests—in music, art, literature, and in travel. They'd done a whole hell of a lot of travel. Melanie had been very skeptical of this cruise down and back up the Chesapeake Bay, but Howard had been insistent on taking the trip. They were at a stage where Melanie could refuse him nothing and the risk to his health was getting to be "so what?"

Melanie and Bill shared a look of concern mixed with a shrug. So much was being kept from Howard now to keep him content and comfortable. Whatever the strain would be in this cruise would be endured. Howard had already said he didn't want to do any of the land excursions—that Melanie should do those—and they'd paid extra to have a crew member attend him when Melanie and Bill wanted to do something else. He kept insisting he wanted Melanie to enjoy the cruise.

For weeks Melanie had thought there was something else going on with Howard and this cruise too. He seemed so determined to take the cruise. In a way, his determination had helped him get through this round of chemo, so that was good. But he acted like there was some sort of secret he had and that maybe that would be revealed during this week on the bay. Even more on the surface, he increasingly seemed to be trying to push Melanie and Bill together. He talked of wanting Melanie to have options on taking care of her needs, both now and after he was gone.

Melanie didn't reject Bill Walsh as a possible sex interest—she wouldn't come anywhere close to thinking of him as a love interest. But he wouldn't be her choice if she had one, and all of her energy was going into keeping Howard happy with what life was still available for him.

Their drinks came and they chatted a bit about how easy the boarding process had been and what they thought of their accommodations. The Hamptons were on Deck 3 in a junior suite, with balcony. Bill Walsh was down the hall in a single stateroom that was a bit smaller but every bit as well appointed and also with a balcony. This was not a cut-rate cruise.

As they chatted someone had come into the lounge and was playing romantic tunes on the piano. The playing was exceptionally good, so it was evident that this was part of the official entertainment. Howard was smiling and giving Melanie unusual "cat's-got-the-canary" looks. Finally, as if he could hold it no more, he spoke. "Isn't the piano music fantastic, Mel?"

She turned and looked, taking in the piano and the pianist from across the lounge. Giving a little cry, she stood and said, "Sorry, I suddenly don't feel very well. I think I'll go back to the cabin to rest. Please, continue lounging here . . . and enjoying the music." She picked up her drink and swept out of the lounge.

"Well, that didn't work quite as well as I expected it too," Howard said. "She took her drink, so I don't think she feels unwell."

"Perhaps not physically unwell," Bill Walsh said, the tone of his voice dry. "I think I told you, though, that she might not appreciate it being sprung on her this way."

"I think she'll come around. I think I can convince her that this is the best for her."

"I hope so," Walsh said, taking a deep pull on his drink, and turning his assessing eyes on the piano player. It wasn't at all clear that he hoped so—at least not with the piano player.

Fleeing the ship's lounge, upset and near tears, Melanie collided with a man in a white uniform and would have spun out of control if he hadn't reached out and steadied her.

"Prends soin de toi! Easy there, ma'am, let's not spill that drink," the ship's first officer, Jourdon Jardenes, called out in a voice trained to be calming and welcoming. "There, sorry about that," he added as Melanie was brought upright, apologizing even though it was Melanie who had careened into him in the corridor outside the Chesapeake Lounge.

Melanie stared into the smiling eyes of the hunk of a dark-haired man of no more than his mid-thirties in a trim white uniform and speaking with a slight French accent.

"No, please, it was my fault. Thank you for breaking my fall . . . and for saving my G and T." In embarrassment she fled down the corridor. In her wake, the first officer called out, "I'm Jourdon Jardenes, first officer on the ship. Please don't hesitate to call me if there's anything you need."

She hurried, smiling to a couple she passed but not fully conscious of where she was, up the staircase, and back to her cabin, number 305, above where she, her husband, and her husband's assistant had been sitting in the lounge. Entering her cabin and shutting the door, she leaned up against it, striving to compose herself from the surprise and shock she'd just gotten. For some reason, though, the touch, melodic voice, and French accent of the first officer—what was his name?—intruded in her mind. No, she had to admit to herself, it was the beauty—the sensuality—of him, not his voice that had struck her. Why had she become like this? What had Howard brought her too—just because she had tried to be a dutiful wife?

And what the hell was Steve Shelton doing on this ship? But she suspected she knew why. She was sure now that this had been the little secret Howard had been husbanding and why he'd been so insistent that they take this cruise. A special Valentine's Day cruise. So obvious.

* * * *

Standing and leaning against the inside of the cabin door, Melanie tossed off the rest of her G and T, composed herself, and walked over to the bureau where she had laid her clothes out in the drawers when they had embarked in Baltimore earlier in the afternoon. She pondered her sleep loungewear and chose silky pajamas over the sexy gown Howard had insisted she bring. Howard didn't really have to be persistent much about his wants—and Howard was all about wants, although he treated her like a princess, she readily admitted. Theirs had been a marriage of the older man's dominance. She couldn't argue that she hadn't liked it that way—from the beginning, despite the unusually kink Howard had acquired in the past few years, as he was becoming ill and couldn't always perform on demand as he did early in their relationship. He had always been a highly sexed man. But he'd also been highly capable. It wasn't Howard's money that attracted him to her—not really, although the money, of course, had helped.

Showered, powdered, and decked out in the silk lounging pajamas, Melanie perched on the side of the bed, waiting for Howard to appear, not looking forward to the conversation they would need to have. Hearing the fumbling in the corridor, which wasn't really constructed to accommodate wheelchairs, she went to the cabin door, opening as Bill Walsh, leaning over Howard in the wheelchair was about to pass his copy of their door key over the lock. He smiled at her over Howard's head and gave her an appreciative lookover when she'd opened the door.

Melanie was quite an eyeful. A striking, statuesque blonde, she had Scandinavian-stock good looks on a voluptuous body. She'd been a standout in customers services at Howard's firm, combining sunny friendliness with a sharp wit and an assured presence. A graduate of Smith College in Massachusetts, she had no trouble holding her own in cocktail party chattings. There was no secret why Howard Hampton had been attracted to her and had wanted her despite their thirty-years difference in age. As commanding a figure as he was then, there was no secret why she had been attracted to him either. There was no scandal to be had. Howard's wife had died, worn out, some had said, by Howard's sexual demands, while Melanie was still in college and had no knowledge of Howard's Boston investment firm.

"Thank you, Bill, I'll take him from here," Melanie said as Howard's assistant wheeled him into the cabin. Their stateroom, well forward in the ship, was next door to the owner's suite and had been outfitted for disability. Although well insulated, they could faintly hear the piano playing from the lounge below them, and that gave meaningful background to the discussion they inevitably had to have now.

Bill, still giving Melanie the eye, voiced the one-word question, "Later?" And, although he was looking at Melanie, Howard gave the answer.

"Yes, later."

Melanie hummed, providing a false sense of calm, not realizing that the tunes she hummed were being signaled by the piano below them, while she got Howard undressed, showered, and sitting on the foot of the bed. First things first, she knew, before she could initiate the discussion they had to have.

But even before that, Howard spoke—in his to-be-obeyed voice. "That's not the gown I asked you to bring. Change into the gown, please."

"Yes, of course, dear," Melanie said and she went to the bureau and took out the sexy gown Howard had insisted she bring. She could hear his intake of breath as she stripped off her pajamas and, momentarily, stood there, naked, as she unfolded the gown and put it on. When she had finished, she came over to the bed, where Howard, naked, sat, his now nearly useless legs dangling off the end, one hand fisting his shaft. Howard still, into his early sixties, was a fit-looking man above the waist, despite the various debilitating infirmities that had attacked him over the recent five years. He still worked out with weights, which kept his torso hard bodied for a man his age. There also was no change in the proudness of his endowment—he was still a long and thick man. It just took more to get him up now.

Howard and Melanie had had an active and mutually satisfying sex life, albeit it had become somewhat kinky on Howard's part, which Melanie had accommodated. Their arrangements had only recently become somewhat complicated. He needed extra incentive to be able to achieve a hard that could penetrate.

Reaching the bed, Melanie knelt by her husband. He leaned over and took her mouth with his and they kissed, the kisses becoming ever deeper. She reached over with a hand, brushing Howard's hand off his slowly engorging cock and taking over possession and stroking of it. Howard's hand went to the bodice of her sexy nightgown and he released her amply breasts from the bodice of the gown and kneaded them with his hand. His mouth came down on her nipples as she continued to stroke his shaft. At length, moaning deep in her throat, she pulled away, moved, on her knees between his spread, almost useless legs, and took his cock in her mouth. His hands played in the golden curls of her head, while they both waited for his nearly turgid release.

Later, Howard's desires momentarily satisfied, he sat on the bed and she moved to one of the tub chairs near the sliding glass door out onto their balcony. It was dark now, and there was nothing to be seen but lights along the Maryland shore they glided past, and just hints of sounds from the passing waves and the piano music from below.

"You knew Steve Shelton had signed on to provide the piano entertainment on this cruise, didn't you?" Melanie asked, trying to keep her tone calm and nonjudgmental.

"Yes, of course. That was my surprise. You can respond as you wish. Whatever you wish."

"I knew you were hiding something about this cruise," she said, it not being lost on her that he was giving her permission to indulge her need—as long as it was with a man he provided. "You shouldn't have done that. What I had with Steve was a long time ago. There's no reason to dredge that up now."

She had long known it had been a mistake to tell Howard about Steve. That had once been part of their lovemaking, though, telling each other about past lovers and what they had done with each other in lovemaking. They would tell the other about something unusual they had done with another lover and then they would do it with each other. It hadn't just been a Howard "thing," though. Melanie had enjoyed it as much as he had.

Steve Shelton had been Melanie's first lover. He'd gone to Amherst College, a music major, while she was going to Smith. The two schools had crossover classes and the two had met and been attracted to each other. Steve was a real hunk—a Nordic blond, like Melanie, a fit, robust body and movie star looks. They had been a striking couple and had easily fallen into being lovers, Melanie giving herself to Steve for her first experience. She didn't even know that one of Steve's preferences was kinky until she'd told Howard about it—and then he wanted to do it too, and, after that, had acquired it as particularly arousing for him. She didn't really enjoy it that way, but she did enjoy pleasing her lover and heightening their arousal and performance.

"We've discussed this before, Mel," Howard said. "I won't be around much longer. You need to move on. You were quite fond of this Steve Shelton. I want you to have somewhere to move on to when I've passed."

"I wish we didn't have to talk about you passing, Howard," she said. "We're doing everything we can to keep you alive."

"I know you are—and I have no worries about what we mean to each other and that you are doing everything you can for me. But I still have my interests and my desires. And I want to know that you will have choices when I'm gone. You will be a rich woman when I'm gone. You can have whatever you want, and you are still young and beautiful. You often said that what didn't work out with you and this Shelton fellow was his contentment to play the piano—to live on the edge financially. You said you just couldn't live that way. Now that you're going to be rich, you could have the secure life you want and the piano player as well."

All choices you have provided—your choices, not mine—Melanie thought, but she didn't. "OK, as you wish," she said, in defeat. Howard always had his way. She didn't know why she even tried to be the one making the decisions. Resigned, she added, "What now, then? What do you want to do about Steve Shelton? We're both here, on a ship, now. What do you want from us? I presume you've already talked to Steve."

"Yes, I've already spoken with Shelton. And you know what I want now, Mel."

She started to speak, but she heard a rustling at the cabin door. Before she could get across the cabin to answer the door, it had opened, and Bill Walsh was standing there, smiling. "Now?" he asked.

"Yes, now," Howard answered from the bed. "Help me over to a chair, Mel," he added.

Bill dutifully fucked Melanie on the bed, while, sitting in one of the tub chairs drawn up close to the bed, Howard fisted his cock, stroking himself, and watched. Bill certainly enjoyed the duty and Melanie appreciated the release, although she wasn't in love with Bill. He was a handsome devil, relatively young, fit, hard bodied, and big cocked—picked out as Howard's assistant more to substitute for Howard with Melanie's needs than for his prowess as Howard's "do-it-all," as all-encompassing as "it all" was in this case—and Melanie needed the release.

Melanie arched her back, gave Howard lustful looks, and mewed, as Bill, naked and erect, glided his hands up her inner thighs, brushing the hem of the sexy gown up to her waist and, kneeling between her calves, spread her shapely legs. They positioned themselves on the bed, so that Howard had a good view of the center of the action.

Howard had already released her breasts from the bodice of the gown. Hovering over her, Bill's lips and teeth went to her nipples as his hand reached her pussy, played in her folds, and found her clit. She gasped, arched her back further, and reached out and stroked Howard's cheek, pushing her thumb into his mouth for him to suck, as Bill sank two fingers inside her and moved them—in and out, in and out, varying the friction to her jerks and sighs.

His lips started their short journey down her torso to the quick of her, where he began to feed. Melanie's eyes rolled up into her head and she panted and gave little gasps as the man fed on her. Her hands went to digging into the dark hair on Bill's head, holding him in place and grinding her pelvis against his face. She experienced a series of little explosions, rocking against Bill's face, after which he disengaged, rose over her, entered her strongly, and began to pump. She struggled against him briefly upon penetration, which both men enjoyed immensely, but when he was irrevocably inside her, Melanie surrendered with a long sigh and settled down to moving her pelvis ever so slightly, but in unquestioned submission and acceptance, as she always eventually did when Bill fucked her under the gaze of her husband.

Panting hard and stroking himself vigorously, Howard glided his free hand up and down Melanie's thigh, as, giving a grunt, tensing and releasing, tensing and releasing, first Bill came and then Howard, not fully engorged, but close enough for release, did so as well. Melanie let out a long sigh as she collapsed under Bill and he continued stroking inside her.

* * * *

"A lovely day on a lovely bay, as observed by a lovely lady."

"Oh, hello there." Melanie, sitting lone in the Chesapeake Lounge, facing the Virginia shore sliding by, and savoring a cup of steaming coffee, looked up to see the ship's first officer, the hunky Jourdon Jardenes, standing there in his spiffy whites and his sparkling good humor.