Oh My! Ch. 01

I rejected both the idea of hiding out in the office for the whole cruise -- totally not fun -- and of putting my dress back on and wearing it until it dried -- it would be both uncomfortable and reveal way too much. Making the best of a bad situation, I quickly tied knots, shortening the shoulder straps of the tank top, and rummaged in my purse. Using the claw hair clip I always keep handy, I took up several inches of slack at the side of the waist of the trunks and, sighing in resignation, tried on my new outfit.

It was better. Marginally. The shirt now did cover my breasts, at least from the front. However, the armholes gaped so much that, when I checked myself out from the side, I could see up the slope of my breast almost up to my areola. I'd have to be very careful not to lean forward, and to keep my elbows at my sides. At all times. The thin fabric tented pointedly over my erect nipples, but I knew they'd relax. Eventually. As long as Eric didn't ogle them again, which they seemed to like.

Though slung low on my hips, the trunks did stay up, but should the clip not hold I would lose my pants. I'd have to move carefully. I tried tucking the shirt in to close the gaps at the sides, but every time I did, the clip gave way and the trunks fell. The knot I tied in the bottom of the shirt helped a bit, but the gaps were still substantial. Resigned that I was going to risk being quite exposed, I sighed and walked out to meet my fate, ruing for the zillionth time my choice not to wear bra and panties. 


Once outside, I scanned the ship, looking for Eric to thank him again. The noise behind me drew my eyes and I saw him exiting the door to the storage room, carrying a box of squirt guns. He looked a little serious and sounded subdued as he said, "Hi Maris. Well, that outfit seems to work. What about your dress, though. Shouldn't you hang it up so it will dry?"

Duh! I turned quickly and reached for the doorknob. My breasts swinging freely reminded me of how the tank top gaped open at my sides. When my alarmed eyes flashed to his, I saw Eric quickly pull them off my chest and look away. Flustered, I rushed inside, grabbed the dress, and, elbows tight to my body, rejoined him. "Thanks," I said, feeling stupid and dismayed that I'd just flashed him. "Is there somewhere I can hang it up, in the sun and breeze?"

"How about over the back of the lifeguard tower there," he said, indicating the temporarily abandoned station by the pool. The crew had organized the kids for squirt gun games, so no one was swimming.

"Thanks. That should work well." It was high, in the breeze, and the back of the chair was to the sun.

"Here, let me have it. I'll hang it up for you," Eric volunteered. I shuddered from the frissons of delight and desire that coursed through me as I watched him fly up the ladder, two rungs at a time, the muscles of his arms and buttocks bunching as he raced up. When he looked down, checking that I approved of how he had hung up the dress, I nodded and smiled coquettishly -- perhaps further flirting wasn't impossible? -- and tried unsuccessfully not to stare as he descended.

Once close enough that I caught another whiff of his very nice, manly cologne, Eric said, "There are lounge chairs in the bow and several other mothers, if you'd like company. We'll keep your kids busy and you can find some peace. I've got to go give squirt gun tips. See you later, Maris." He smiled at me and left.

Even with my mind spinning from all that had transpired -- the dip, the rescue, my hazardous garb, how I had unintentionally flaunted myself, and being truly moved by how kind and helpful he had been -- something about the look on Eric's face when he came out of the storage room intrigued me. Maybe all moms become suspicious. About the time their children learn to lie, probably. I walked to the storage room door, carefully of course, and tried the knob. It wasn't locked.

The bright sunlight flooding in from the open door was enough to see clearly. The wall to the left and the far wall had shelving from floor to ceiling stocked with all manner of boxes. To the right there were some lower shelves, and the door to the office. Above the shelves was a luminous pane, glowing dimly. Puzzled, I walked closer and looked. I gasped. I'd accidentally left the light on in the office, and I could see everything. What I had taken to be a mirror was actually one way glass.

My knees went weak as wave after wave of embarrassment and shame rolled over me. Eric had sneaked into the supply room and watched. He'd purposely set me up, arranged for me to change in the office, and had seen my tits, my ass, my pussy, every damned thing! What a horrible betrayal! I'd been certain we had made such a wonderful connection when we'd recited the poem together. Feeling crushed and violated, my face flushed, my neck got hot, and my heart raced as I reeled in humiliation and anger.

My first thought was to turn him in, to let the authorities deal with the pervert. However, though I felt certain he'd spied on me, I had no proof. None whatsoever. A "he said, she said" confrontation would create a scene, lead only to further embarrassment for me, and yield no satisfaction.

Feeling helpless, defeated, and profoundly depressed at how someone with whom I'd thought I had a real bond had violated my trust, I forced myself to carry on. I glumly walked into the office - there was no lock on the adjoining door, either - turned off the light, then went out the storage room door and headed towards the bow. Inevitably, I passed Eric as he was working with some children. When he looked over at me, I gulped, kept my head down, shoulders hunched, elbows in, and suffered through another bout of humiliation as I trudged past.

"Hi, Mom!" Susie's excited cry brought me out of my stupor. I saw her among other girls in the pool, jumping up and down, waving madly. I smiled -- she is such a wonderful imp -- raised my arm and waved. Oops. Too late I remembered the gap and knew that my left breast had been uncovered. Fortunately, Susie didn't notice, as she had rejoined her buddies.

But the man walking toward me did, though Eric pulled his eyes away as soon as I looked at him. Damn. Why did I keep flashing this man?

"Maris, are you all right? Can I help in some way? You seemed down just now." So concerned! So sensitive! Pervert!

My anger at his deception flared, and, as he got close I coldly asked, "Well Eric, did you enjoy 'the view' just now?" I stared him down for a second before pushing my chest out a trifle, then gesturing to the sea vista to cement the double entendre.

Nonplussed by my sudden accusatory tone and dismayed at having been caught peeking, Eric stammered, "Yes, you are very beaut... Uh, it's very beautiful. Truly." His dispirited visage matched his dejected tone. He looked down.

I was rendered speechless by the compliment, by his inferring I was beautiful. Though flustered, Eric seemed completely sincere and I was deeply flattered. And totally befuddled by how he quickly morphed from a leering roué to a nice, concerned, even vulnerable man. Before I could think of a single word to say, he continued, "I need to get back to work, Maris. It should be peaceful at the prow. I'll see you later."

I found four other mothers in the bow, friends evidently, sitting around a table, chatting. They had come prepared. Wine glasses, hors d'oeuvres and a bucket to chill the vino. Nice. When I heard, "Four hearts, doubled, made with an overtrick!" declared triumphantly, I knew they were playing bridge, and was relieved that I wouldn't have to mingle. When one player greeted me cheerily, eyeing my unique outfit, I quickly introduced myself, explained my situation and declined the invitation to rotate into the game.

As I settled into a pool chair I pulled my poetry collection from my bag. My mind was reeling, though, too distracted to concentrate, so I put the book down. I lay back, shaking my head in amazement at all that had transpired. Flirting had been truly fun, exciting, and Eric had become increasingly interesting. And interested, I thought. The dunking and its aftermath were awful, but Eric's rescue was thrilling. Having such bad wardrobe options was horrid, but eventually something worked. Realizing I'd been seen totally naked was humiliating and infuriating. But titillating, too, I had to admit, as I'd been aroused when I'd fantasized about Eric looking at my nude body. While he actually was. Though I'd been angry and hurt at how he had betrayed our connection, he'd just again seemed truly concerned about me, and even vulnerable. To have him get away with spying on me seemed unfair, but now things seemed better. Much better.

The children were having Nerf fencing lessons, and the relative silence was golden, especially compared to the earlier constant din. The breeze was pleasingly buffeting my drying hair, the waves were softly lapping against the hull, the boat was rolling soothingly, and the sun was warm. Like at the beach. My body was tingling from the realization that a very handsome younger man had ogled me, seen everything, and liked what he saw. Had even called me beautiful. Perhaps things weren't so bad after all. As I relaxed into the soft cushions of the chaise and abandoned myself to the warm sun, an intriguing thought drifted into my mind. A way that I might be able to even the score a bit. And enjoy doing it.

Excited by the prospect, I let the idea blossom and grow, then concentrated on working out the specifics. As I did, I realized just what I'd have to do to pull it off, and debated whether or not I'd have the courage. It would require me to do something daring, quite risqué and naughty. Though it might be a tad embarrassing, it would definitely be fun.

Resolving that I would do it, I began visualizing possible scenes, imagining everything I might do and say in the minutest detail, and began to string the scenes together. Consumed in thought, I completely lost track of time as I took pains to be thorough. I ran scenarios over and over in my mind, trying to anticipate every possible alternative, and explore all the options each of them would entail. Once my plan had finally solidified, every possible variation had been worked out, I smiled slyly and played the whole scheme over again as I relaxed into the cushions. I was startled from my reverie by the deep, rich voice behind me. 


"Maris, I'm sorry to disturb you, but I wanted to tell you that we've headed back to port." Eric. He did say he'd see me later. I wondered if he'd watched for a bit before speaking. 


I sat up, noticing how he forced his eyes away from my swaying breasts, and said, "Thank you, Eric." He had my dress in his hand. Nodding to it I asked, "Is it dry? It hasn't been that long."

"Well, it's actually been quite a while, and the fabric must dry quickly."

Remembering my plan, I asked, adding a coquettish tinge to my voice, "Hmm. How much time do we still have before we dock?" I hoped he wondered if there was a message beyond my words.

"We dock in about forty minutes."


That should be long enough. "Well then, I guess I better go get dressed. Thanks so much for bringing it, Eric. You're very sweet." I smiled alluringly and reached out. Eric returned my smile as he gave me his hand -- his large, warm, strong hand -- and helped me up. As I rose, I summoned all the courage I could muster. My breast brushed against his arm ever-so-slightly as I stood, but it was surely just an accident. My mind called me a tart, a floozy, even worse, when, again according to plan, I turned sideways and leaned forward to pick up my book and purse.

When again upright, I feigned dismayed surprise when I saw the tank top gaping open, quickly fixed it, gulped, and whispered to myself, "Oh dear." I shuddered in embarrassment, which inadvertently jiggled my breasts, and screwed up my courage anew. I brushed his wrist and hand unnecessarily as I took my dress, put on my most sultry smile, then looked deep into his eyes as I slowly sidled past Eric. I hoped he interpreted my smile as intended, "Are you coming, boy?" and I let my hips sway more than usual as I headed aft, trusting the clip to keep my trunks aloft. My lips curled into a sly, satisfied smile when I heard the soft footfalls following me. 


I closed the door to the lifeguards' office, flipped on the light and hung my dress on a free hook to the right. After hearing the soft click of another door closing, close by, I imagined Eric on the other side of the mirror. I hesitated, needing to force myself to keep going, to follow the plan. My intention was to rush through the adjoining door into the storage room, catch Eric mid-ogle, confront him, and then haughtily leave. To humiliate him as much as he had me. But I couldn't rush in now; he could just say he was getting supplies. He hadn't ogled anything yet.

I had to catch him red handed, spying on me. Which meant I had to give him a bit of a show. In my detailed planning, I had considered just turning my back, quickly taking off the shirt and slipping on my dress, removing the trunks while covered up, then rushing into the storage room. But, I reasoned, as soon as Eric realized there would be nothing to see, he'd probably quickly leave. I'd get no satisfaction. Have no fun at all.

I summoned all my courage, told myself to be brave, and, ignoring the voice in my head whispering, "Slut!" over and over, I slowly lifted the tank top over my head and blithely tossed it across the room, under my dress. He'd already seen my tits, so what harm in giving him another look?

I could feel my cheeks flushing hot, but guessed his eyes weren't on my face. I don't know who the harlot was who possessed my body and stepped closer to the mirror, hands cupping her boobs from below, pushing them higher, smiling and admiring them in the mirror. My nipples were hard and aching, having fun, liking being displayed. Could I possibly be enjoying this, getting some perverse erotic thrill from flaunting myself so lasciviously? The wetness between my legs argued yes. But that could also be from the remembered image of Eric's eyes growing ever larger as they roamed to my nether regions, after he'd pulled me from the pool.

I was close to the door and the thought occurred to me to rush in immediately. But my plan was that after I confronted him, I'd immediately dress and leave, and my dress was inconveniently still hung on the far wall. My mind plotted a course to the dress, back to the mirror, then into the storage room, and off I sailed.

Perhaps I turned too quickly. Maybe it was just bad luck, or the fates mocking me. Whatever, the hair clip holding the waist of the trunks chose that second to pop off, and I stopped in my tracks rather than trip when they fell to my ankles.

Damn! Not part of the plan!

Oh well, he'd seen my ass, too, so I kicked the trunks to the wall and continued on course. Damn the torpedoes! Full speed ahead!"

However, my mind began hissing "Slut! Brazen hussy! Whore!" at me, over and over, the second the lewd, wanton, irresistible idea -- an improvised augmentation of my plan, to be sure -- came to me, and yelled even louder when the Devil made me do it.

Once I arrived at the wall I bent at the waist. My fingers trembled with equal parts terror and excitement as I reached for the trunks and top, and as they twitched uncontrollably, fumbling over and over, I gave Eric an even longer than intended view of my buttocks and vulva. Knowing I was wet, and getting wetter by the second, I suspected that, in the bright light, my labia and pubic hair were glistening.

I finally managed to capture the clothes and stood, scooped my dress off the hook and, holding them over my pussy, walked, probably strutted, to my mind's reprise of "Slut! Brazen hussy! Whore!" towards the mirror, preening, eyeing my breasts, hopefully transfixing my audience of one. I marveled at my Machiavellian mind as I turned sideways, supposedly to check out my profile, but edging ever closer to the door.

My hand snaked out, grasped the knob, threw open the door and I leapt inside, holding the clothes as a shield in front of me.

Victory!

Mouth agape and speechless, Eric stood stock still, shocked and mortified at being caught. Spying. Ogling. There was ample light coming in through the open door, and in an instantaneous flash, I couldn't help but notice that he was still gorgeous, his eyes were awash with arousal, and his cock, his big, hard cock, was tenting his trunks.

Wrenching my eyes away from his crotch I screamed, "Damn you, Eric, you pervert!" It wasn't brilliant, but it got my point across. It did nothing to assuage my anger, however, which kindled higher, flaring into fury. Wanting to hurt him as badly as he had me, I upped the ante, "Fuck you, asshole!" but still felt unsatisfied. Surrendering any vestige of self-control to my mounting rage, I craved a missile, a projectile, anything substantial to hurl at him in addition to my ineffective invective. I repeated, "Asshole!" as I threw the clothes in his face.

There!

Realizing I'd thrown my dress at him, too, I froze. Not part of the plan. I covered myself as best I could with my arms.

Dismayed but still very erect, Eric's trance was broken when he dodged the garments and he began stammering, "Oh my God, Maris! I am so, so sorry! Please forgive me."

Emboldened by his contrition and obvious discomfort, I haughtily folded both arms across my chest and glared at him. "Seriously? Forgive you? You really hurt me, Eric, humiliated me by spying. I trusted you! How could you?" I was surprised to feel the hot, angry tears on my cheeks.

His voice mirrored the same sincerity and remorse I saw in his eyes. He took a small step closer and explained. "Oh God, Maris. I'm so sorry. The first time I didn't mean to look, not at all. We needed more squirt guns and I went into the storage room to get them. I'd forgotten that it used to be the inner office, with the one-way glass so the boss could see into the reception area. There you were, a vision of loveliness, a naked goddess. You were so gorgeous, so beautiful, I just stared, transfixed. Then I realized how wrong it was and forced myself to leave. My hand was on the doorknob when something in me made me turn my head. Just one more peek. You were trying on the lifeguard's trunks and I couldn't tear my eyes away. You were just so alluring, so sexy, so beautiful. I couldn't help myself. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me."

I was stunned. Eric seemed completely sincere and penitent, and my righteous anger flooded from me like water swirling down a drain. Perhaps his first ogling episode wasn't planned after all. Maybe he hadn't purposely set me up. Had I misjudged him? If the situation were reversed, would I have looked? Kept looking? I certainly had ogled him as he climbed both up and down the ladder. Had I not whimsically wished his uniform would disappear?

I felt deflated, depressed, but realized that my nipples were anything but. They were still standing tall, and suddenly I was acutely aware of being very aroused. By everything, beginning with the poetic connection we'd shared, his breathtaking rescue, my brazen display, seeing his arousal in his eyes and tented trunks, and cemented by my being exposed, totally naked in front of Eric.

I was shocked, completely stunned and inflamed when it became obvious that my body wasn't the only one reacting to my nudity. Even through my tears, I saw the large bulge in his tight shorts jump, his erection forcing the cloth aside as it lurched higher. My pussy throbbed.

As the new wave of arousal washed over me, I saw him struggle to keep his eyes on mine. But, like his cock, they, too, had minds of their own and strayed to my vulva. My anger at his continual ogling flared once more and I said, "Damn it, Eric! Even if you didn't intend to spy the first time, you came back and did it again! How could you?"