Melanie's Own Choice

"You're looking pensive. Are you contemplating tomorrow's land excursion to Yorkton and Williamsburg, in Virginia?" Melanie found his smile dazzling. She wasn't put off by his hunky body, either.

"No, I was just thinking . . . of times past."

"Happy times, I hope, Ms. Melanie. It is Melanie, isn't it? We're a small ship and we like to know our passengers intimately."

Melanie looked sharply up at him when he said that—contemplating his use of the word "intimately." How could he have known during the dinner service the previous even, with him supervising the service, how she herself had thought in terms of "intimate" with him? Frequently when she sought him out with her eyes as he moved efficiently around the dining room, speaking to passengers here and wait staff there, she'd noticed him looking at her and they had exchanged smiles. But he was French. He probably wasn't fully in tune with the various meanings of that word.

"Yes, it's Melanie," she answered. "It's Mrs. Hampton, of course, but I am happy to be on a cruise where everyone is on first-name basis. It's Jourdon, isn't it?" she made like she had to scrutinize his name tag to pull that name up, but she'd already checked that out.

"So, can we hope you are having happy thoughts this morning? I've seen your husband, and I know that life is probably a bit difficult for you now. I hope we can make you both comfortable and give you memories you will treasure."

Again, Melanie wondered if they were anywhere close to being on the same track in their thoughts. Jourdon Jardenes had featured in her dreams the previous night.

"Most of the thoughts are happy ones—some from some time ago," she said. She looked across the lounge, where Steve Shelton was playing the piano softly. When she entered the lounge, he'd been at the piano and had said, in passing, that they needed to talk. She had been waiting for him to reach a break so that he could join her briefly. She thought it was just as well that they met like this—that he'd have to return to his work after only a short break. She hadn't been looking forward to the conversation they needed to have.

"I do hope you will join the excursion tomorrow," Jardenes was saying as her full attention returned to him. "I understand your husband will not be able to go, but he's told me himself that you could use the break and he hoped you'd take the excursion. He'll be in good hands here. I'm leading one of the groups myself—a small one. It's the C group. I do hope you'll take the opportunity to go off the ship. I assure you that you would be in good hands for the excursion."

"It sounds lovely," Melanie said. "I hadn't thought of going, but I'll have to consider it."

Having delivered what he'd come to do, having been prompted by Howard Hampton to cajole his wife to take the excursion, Jardenes moved on to talk to another couple. As he withdrew, Steve Shelton advanced, having stopped to fill two coffee cups, one to bring to Melanie.

"Imagine my surprise that you wanted to hook up with me again, Mel," he said, as he sat by her at the expansive glass overlooking the water and Virginia coastline.

"I assure you that it wasn't something I wanted at all, Steve," she responded. "I knew nothing about it. This is Howard's idea. He's been matchmaking."

"It certainly is an unusual proposition. He hasn't long to go, does he?"

"No, I think not."

"It's quite sensitive of him to try to look out for you beyond the grave. He told me this cruise—a cruise I'm working on—was to be a Valentine's Day gift to you. He didn't tell me that you didn't know what the arrangements were to be."

"The arrangements?"

"I think you know. He said you would enjoy it—that it would be a fitting present, and he hoped it might lead to something . . . for you and me. Regaining lost opportunities. It is what you want, isn't it, Mel? I've never stopped thinking of you—of loving you."

"It's what Howard wants."

"I have one more cruise in my contract—down the Colombia River from Spokane to Portland, Oregon. And then I can be free. I'll be there when . . . if . . . you need me."

"I'll keep that in mind," Melanie answered. She was trying to keep this neutral. She almost lost it, though, when he reached out and touched her on the forearm. She'd always been weak in the knees where Steve was concerned.

"I have to get back on the piano now," he whispered. "Later then?"

"Yes, I suppose . . . later." It was what Howard wanted, and Melanie wasn't sure how much of what Howard wanted was connected with what she herself wanted or needed. She couldn't help but acknowledge that Steve had once met her needs very nicely. She didn't think she loved him, as he had just professed to her. But she'd have to think about that. From that first day Howard had appeared at her desk with roses and had taken her on a date and then bedded her, all of her efforts and thoughts had gone to Howard.

But was that really true, she wondered.

In watching Steve return to the piano, Melanie's eyes picked out Jourdon Jardenes, jollying an older couple sitting at another table. When her eyes went to him, he instinctively knew that and captured her gaze. His smile was more than just a look of studied hospitality.

After Steve Shelton had settled back at the piano and Jourdon Jardenes had left the lounge, Melanie rose, went to the purser's desk, and signed up for the Williamsburg and Yorktown land excursion the next day, making sure she had registered for the C group.

* * * *

Melanie answered the knock on the cabin door wearing a black negligee over black lace bra and panties and black mesh stockings held up by a garter belt. Howard had brought them in his luggage, wrapped up in Valentine's Day wrappings. He had just given them to her just now, insisting that she wear them, strut about wearing them and her black spike heels, while he sat, naked in his wheel chair, appreciating the view, working himself up and working the two of them into a sexy afternoon.

She had thought she was doing this just for Howard, this strutting around in sexy black lace, probably to finish with her kneeling between his legs or leaning over him, with his head between her thighs, which basically was what their sex life had been taken to by his increasing disabilities. But when the knock at the door came, she instantly knew what this was about—and who it was who would be at the door. It always could have been Bill Walsh or the cabin attendant, but instantly she knew that it wasn't.

Steve Shelton was at the cabin door. Melanie wasn't surprised. She had already figured out what was transpiring here and, as always with Howard's planned activities, resigned to it. Steve slid into the cabin, closing the door behind him, and let out a low whistle.

"Absolutely stunning," he murmured, as he took Melanie into his arms. They embraced and kissed by the door, while Steve's hand's moved between them, flaring Melanie's negligee open, unhooking her bra at the front, and then feasting, first his hands, and then his lips and teeth, on her breasts. He briefly turned his head to acknowledge Howard's presence and acquiescence, and being satisfied, went back to work-pleasure.

Howard watched them from his wheelchair, a hand stroking his shaft, a slight smile on his face, his tongued darting out to lick his lips, as Steve guided Melanie to the bed, laying her down on her back on the edge of the bed, sliding the black lace panties off her legs, raising and spread her legs, and then going down on his knees between them and burying his face in her sex. Moaning and arching her back, Melanie gave in to the scenario her husband had set up, bringing to bear her first lover.

She reached down and ran her fingers through Steve's blond curls, holding his head to her as his lips and teeth worked between her folds, sucking on her clit, and tonguing her vagina opening. All of this was positioned to enhance Howard's arousal at seeing her shapely stockinged legs raised and spread in a V arising from the back of Steve's head, Melanie's fingers laced into his hair. Howard sighed at the sounds of Steve lapping and of Melanie moaning and groaning.

Howard wheeled close to the bed, as Steve rose, stripped, and positioned himself between Melanie's thighs, grasping her ankles and spreading her legs as he moved into position and she gave a little cry as he entered her. Close behind him, in his wheelchair, Howard grasped the younger man's butt cheeks and helped guide the fuck all three now were fully invested in.

Steve didn't finish her in that position. At Howard's request, he moved into the signature move that Melanie had told Howard about and that Howard himself had practiced until he had gotten too debilitated to manage it. Steve withdrew, put an arm under Melanie's back and coaxed her to turn and move up onto the bed, positioning her on her forearms and knees, her body parallel to the side of the bed, where Howard sat in his wheelchair so that he got a good view of it all. Steve then came up on the bed as well, hovering over Melanie from behind. Covering her body, he mounted her from the top and back, in the position of the dog. She groaned as, covering her close, his hands clutching and squeezing her breasts, he fucked her in long slides showing his long cock entering, thrusting, and pulling back.

Panting hard himself and emitting little moans, Howard reached out and stroked Melanie's forearm. He leaned over and took her mouth in his in a deep kiss. She went with the kiss, but then jerked away, arched her head up, and emitted a little cry. In his signature move, Steve had withdrawn from her pussy, repositioned himself higher, and was working his shaft into Melanie's ass channel.

Melanie writhed and huffed and puffed and Howard made appreciative noises, murmuring, "Yes, yes, like that," the fingers of one of Howard's hands going to between Melanie's legs, invading and working her folds and clit, as Steve fucked Melanie in the ass. After her initial struggle against it, old memories of heightened arousal and completed satisfaction came flowing in for Melanie, and her focus going to the fingers working her between her legs, she moved into the rocking rhythm of Steve's cock moving in and out, in and out, of her ass.

This had done the trick with Howard. He was hard as a rock and was pulling at the couple on the bed. "Me. Sweet Bejeejus, I'd thought never again. That I'd never again. . . . Now. Put her on me now," he muttered in a lust-filled voice.

Steve climbed off Melanie, put an arm around her waist, turning her toward the edge of the bed. She helped, knowing what they were doing, grateful that she could do this for her husband—that he was able to get it up well enough for one more time. Steve helped her settle in her husband's lap, facing away from him. She came down into Howard's lap on his now-fully hardened cock, sheathing it in her ass canal, as she recognized had been what had aroused him to this point. Her legs were draped over the arms of the wheelchair, but she was able to use the muscles in her legs to rise and fall on the cock, as Howard held her waist between his hands, arched his head back, and savored the ride—perhaps the last ride.

"Thank you, thank you, thank . . ."

Steve sat on the side of the bed in front of the wheelchair, and Melanie leaned over and took his cock in her mouth, helping him—helping them all—to reach a climax.

Howard could say that this was all for her, to ease her into life after him, but she knew better. She didn't resent it, though. It had always been more about Howard than about her anyway. She did wish that just once it could be her choice. It wouldn't be long until it was all just her choice, though.

For some reason, that thought scared her more than gave her comfort.

* * * *

Melanie thoroughly enjoyed the land excursion to Yorktown and Williamsburg in Virginia, although, even after having been to both, she couldn't have told you what the significance of either was or why the cruise had included land excursions there. As Jourdon had promised, his tour group was a small one, only seven people, the other six paired up, two mixed couples and a couple of retired women librarians traveling together. With a group that small, Jourdon could give Melanie a lot of attention without slighting the others, and that's exactly what he did. By the end of the day, when they were back on board and the gangplank was up for the start of the cruise back up the bay on the ocean-side coast, the two were practically in each other's arms.

On board and the other excursioners sent off with smiles, Jourdon turned to Melanie, "That was thirsty work. Would you like to have a drink with me? I don't think you'd finished telling me about your trip to Paris."

"Yes, that would wonderful," Melanie said. "I should go back to my cabin to freshen up and check on my husband. But I could meet you in the lounge."

"Alas, I'm not permitted to drink in the lounge when I'm not on duty."

"You're not on duty now?" She asked.

"No, not for four more hours," he answered, giving her an even look and a little smile. "For the next few hours I am all yours, if you like."

There it was again, the man saying something that could be taken as laced with sexual innuendo or just as a foreign-language speaker trying to carefully navigate English.

He continued. "I have all of the fixings of a bar in my cabin. We could go there. Now. You could do whatever freshening up you needed to do there."

She couldn't check up on Howard, though, if she went straight to Jourdon's cabin. But she didn't mention that. Their eyes meeting, she knew what he was proposing. At last a choice she could make of her own. "That would be fine," she said. "Which way?"

"Whichever way gives you pleasure," he said. They both understood what the proposal was, and she put her hand in his for him to guide her.

As first officer, Jourdon had a nice enough cabin. It wasn't in the bowls of the vessel where most of the staff and crew were stacked up. It was one of the balcony cabins on Deck 2, well aft of the Chesapeake Lounge, smaller than the Hamptons' cabin, but more than adequate. They were able to get there quickly without any of the other passengers or crew seeing them.

Jourdon had a gin and tonic ready for Melanie when she came out of his bathroom, and she was impressed—and said so—that he remembered what drink she'd nearly spilled on him the first day out of Baltimore. She took it to the balcony doors and watched the ship nosing out of the York River and back into the Chesapeake Bay. When Jourdon came out of the bathroom, having taken a short shower, he was wearing just a towel wrapped around his waist. Melanie turned her head and smiled at him, not showing surprise that he wasn't dressed.

"You left these in the bathroom," he said, as a matter of explanation for the assumption he was making. He was dangling her bra and panties from a raised hand. "I took that as a signal that I needn't dress."

"Yes, I can understand that you would," she answered.

"Before we take this any further, I think I should tell you that I won't be on the cruise all of the way back to Baltimore. I am based in Annapolis, which will be the last stop before Baltimore. I'll be replaced as first officer there. I live in Annapolis. It's a beautiful place."

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked.

He told her. And then he came over to her at the sliding glass door out to the balcony and took the glass out of her hand, placing it on the desk by the door. He was in back of her, close, and encased her in his arms, his lips going to her throat. She made a moaning sound deep in her throat, as one of his hands grasped and squeezed her breasts, kneading them gently, driving her crazy with what his thumbs were doing to her nipples. She pushed her rump back, into his crotch, feeling him hard there, and, groaning, rocked against him. Leaving one of his hands to divide his attention between her breasts, he slid other one down her trembling body to the V between her legs. She writhed a bit and continued moaning as he worked her with his hands and his lips.

At length, he murmured, "Yes? Permission to mount, my lady? That is a word for it—mount?"

"Yes, oh yes," she whispered. "That's a perfect word for it." This was her choice. At last she had a choice. Something Howard didn't arrange and somehow develop for his pleasure as much as hers.

"To mount and à baiser, à visser—to fuck, to screw?" he asked. "I am sheathed. I think it is sex you want now, not just some romantic lovemaking. That can always come later. You want me to talk dirty, to be dirty with you now."

"Yes, now. Do it," she answered. "Screw me!"

His mouth moving from hers to her throat, he unbuttoned her blouse and her skirt and let them float to the floor. She was naked in his embrace and he continued working her breasts and pussy with his hands and fingers from behind until, crying out, she begged for the cock. She had reached back, unknotted his towel, letting it fall to the floor, and handed his sheathed cock, finding him thick and long and in full erection.

"Jut your ass back to me," he commanded, and Melanie did so, raising her arms over her head, one cupping the back of his neck, holding his face into her throat, the other palming the glass of the door of the balcony, and pressing her cheek to the glass as well. Jourdon palmed her lower belly with one hand, used the other to put himself in position and to gain purchase before moving the hand back to her breasts to worry her nipples during the mounting.

"You're sure?" he whispered. "I screw you hard the first time?"

"Yes. Do it. My choice. Fuck me!"

He thrust deep and thick up into her as she cried out "Yes, yes, own me," and there, against the window, he fucked her, in strong, rapid strokes, for the first time of three times that afternoon, moving from insistent and needy into the romantic.

* * * *

Howard didn't ask why Melanie didn't appear in their cabin until dinnertime. He didn't appear to have any curiosity about that at all. She had prepared excuses, but he didn't seem interested. He was chipper enough, though, and the four of them now—Melanie, Howard, Bill, and Steve had, at least on the surface, a jovial dinner. The tension between Bill and Steve could be cut with a knife, though, both of them having nursed the possibility of a claim on Melanie after Howard kicked the bucket but Melanie not playing favorites between them. Howard seemed to be enjoying the evening the most. Jordon, once more supervising the dinner service, seemed on edge too. But then he knew he was in the same competition as Bill and Steve were.

The next two days of the sail back up the Chesapeake Bay nearly exhausted Melanie. Steve and Howard fucked her in the afternoon; Bill and Howard fucked her in the evening. Jourdon fucked her whenever they could steal away. On the night before they docked in Annapolis, Maryland, for the last land excursion before arriving back in Baltimore, Melanie slipped a double dose of Howard's sleeping medicine in his nightcap and he slept the sleep of the almost dead while she moved silently around the cabin, gathering up her clothes and packing her bags.

Howard woke from his stupor late the next morning, with the ship already docked in Annapolis and the excursioners disembarking. Melanie was gone. She'd left a note, which said, "I'm not leaving you, but I need some time away from this. I'll be back in Boston by the time you get there."

The effect on him was a bit unusual in the circumstances. He smiled. "Good for her. The girls still got some spunk," he said to himself. "She'll be OK when I'm gone."

There was another envelope that had been shoved under the door. It took him a while to work his way over there and to pick it up. The note was from Jourdon Jardenes and a torn check for $2,000 was included with the note in the envelope. The note said, "I'm returning the check, as I am quite happy to do this. I will take very good care of her. She is worth it."