Roger Able's Cruise Ship Escapades

The cruise ship adventures of Roger Able: A diary

Part one

March 22nd

We embarked from Plymouth Docks on March 22nd, 1910. The weather for our leaving was unseasonably fair, and ladies in thicker overcoats dressed for the chilly romance of stormy seas fanned themselves on the dock and on the gangplank as we filed slowly onto the ship. Tarrow waved me off, among a crowd of similar well-wishers. My ticket punched, a porter took my carry-on and showed me to my cabin which was pleasant enough, though indeed one of the smaller ones in first class. I've a window and a basin, a clean, soft bed, and that most precious commodity, privacy. Greater comfort than those in steer who sleep ten to a row and far greater comfort than my childhood home where we slept four to a bed if we were lucky. That's no slight on my father, rest his soul: save for his diligence and tireless industry in his trade, I would never have had the chance to study the law.

But why should I, a man who only recently entered his third decade of life, and co-owner of a prosperous law concern -- Able and Tarrow -- be taking a three-week-long cruise to the Americas? And on my own? For my own health, the doctor recommended. I was in a meeting with a client -- a perfectly routine, even dull affair, examining the tax burden of a potential second business -- when the walls began to vibrate with an awful intensity. I felt my face flush and heart race and I looked upon the worried face of my client as if through a keyhole, my view upon the world shrinking down to a singularity of terror. A disorder of the nerves, I was told. I had been working too hard. A holiday, sea-air and lots of it was the prescription. Tarrow, my colleague, a stout fellow with me since University, offered these supporting words -- "Don't worry, old chap. We, which is to say I, can hold down the fort until you return" -- and so I booked a cruise, a voyage with an extended layover in New York, that would take a little less than three weeks.

This suffices for a first entry. I will take a stroll around the ship. The upper deck and the spray of the sea call to me and also.... well, during boarding, I spied a remarkable number of elegant women who have joined me on this cruise; perhaps it is not what the doctor ordered exactly, but I am a young man, unattached and with good prospects, perhaps a little in want of companionship. The captain has also advised us that we may investigate the belly of the ship at our leisure and I have long been curious about how these mighty steel leviathans function.

********

March 23rd

A remarkable series of events has befallen me. I can scarcely hold pen to paper to relay them. To tell of them is indecent, let alone to have experienced them first-hand!

On my perambulations about the ship, I found myself outside the engine room. Impressive but hellish; the workers who toil there, backbreaking stuff, hoisting coal from tail to top all day long, eyed me suspiciously. I nodded at them in what I hoped was a dignified manner. I walked on and took the stairs up and found myself in steerage. The corridor was cramped, empty luggage cases without homes elsewhere abutted the entrances to each cabin and indefinable cooking smells mixed upon the air. I was rather impressed when I peered into a room with an open door. Mattresses instead of beds but otherwise upholstered and clean: a large family could certainly do worse. Cheered by this, I walked on, planning to return to the uppermost deck for a late morning tea in the lounge. But blocking my way were two burly lads -- Irish by their brogue -- who emerged out of cabins on either side of me as I approached. They sized me up and then looked at each other, smirking. It was clear from their expressions that they had taken me for an easy mark. One grabbed me by the lapels and threatened me with a beating unless I paid a toll for trespassing on their territory. I was about to accept their challenge and square up -- I had won (and lost) my fair share of scraps as a youngster in Shoreditch -- but before I could unbutton my cuffs a young woman with scarlet hair and in a shocking state of undress came out of a nearby cabin and bade the lads stand down. Surprisingly, they did so, taking off rather sheepishly past me and down the stairs from which I had come. The woman, who was wearing what I can only assume was her underclothes, a plain shift, secured loosely about her neck with a cord, and a blue, faded skirt which at one point may have been tartan, asked me to come inside and take "dram of whiskey before I get myself into real trouble".

I agreed, hoping I had made an ally and still very much parched from the engine room. Alone, we sat down in the cabin on a wooden bench which judging by the looseness of its fitting and disparity of look had probably been brought on by the passengers themselves. She introduced herself as Miss Aileen Quinn, older sister to one of the boys who had accosted me. Why was she travelling to the Americas I asked?

"The rest of me clan are already in New York. Me and the boys, were left behind as we didn't have the money to cross right away. We also had a little bother with the law, thanks to me eejit brother who can't stay awake for a simple lookout job..."

By this point I was on my third whisky, my host draining her own glass almost immediately as it was filled. Propriety demanded I keep up. We passed the time talking of the upper decks about which she was very curious. I told her it was not so fine -- especially for one such as I, 'new money', and thus looked down upon by the nobility who feel that doing nothing in one place for a long time is the only sure sign of virtue.

As the alcohol settled in, I began to feel a genuine sense of bonhomie with my new companion. Aileen was a raucous character and she slapped me on the shoulder whenever I made a jest at the expense of my grander travelling companions. In an oval face, nestled above a shelf of freckles which began at the cheeks and tracked all the way to her shoulders, were two clear, green eyes, dulled only a little by the drinks we had consumed. All were framed by a shock of red hair, the curls of which she occasionally twiddled with as we spoke. I was beginning, I realised, to find her quite beautiful. After a pleasant time spent in this fashion, there came a pause in the conversation. I looked up at my companion who was now regarding me in a most frank manner.

"Madam, I..."

"You know...you're not bad looking for a toff."

Flushed and not a little pleased by the compliment, I was about to stammer something appreciative about my companion's appearance -- and also object to the 'toff' comment. I made my money, I wasn't born into it -- when she stood up and put the whisky bottle to one side.

"Fancy a fuck then? It could be said you owe me, on account of getting you out of that pickle with me boys."

Whether it was the booze or the blood-pumping proximity to my previous near-confrontation, I felt an immediate desire overtake me for this feisty woman. She seemed so much more lively than the wrapped up and coiffured ladies I was probably soon to embarrass myself around on the upper decks. I considered that I might never get another chance for such an indiscretion this whole trip.

I rose to my feet, composed myself and with as much suave as I could muster said,

"Madam, I am at your disposal."

The following sequence of events happened very quickly and yet I suspect they will live long in the memory. Before we dock, I may yet throw this diary in the sea for fear of the damage to my reputation should its contents ever be publicised.

Aileen lifted one of her leather boots and pushed me none too gently back into my seat.

"Good boy. I'll hold you to that."

In one motion she yanked up her dress to reveal a thin white chemise beneath. This was a shock in itself. But it was quickly superseded. Beneath the chemise, unmistakable, was the outline in fabric of a male organ! It was huge, already engorged. Where the tip met the fabric of chemise a little wet spot had formed, proof, no doubt, of my companion's growing ardour. My own contribution would have seemed insignificant if we had been stood side by side and I've never had cause to doubt myself, nor have I heard any complaints from the two women, a librarian at the law college and the daughter of a family friend, who have seen me in a comparable state of undress. I stood up once more, flabbergasted.

"Sir..." I stammered. "...Madam. I don't know what to make of this!"

"Oy!" she shouted, dropping her skirts and slapping me hard across the face. "I am no sir. For that matter, I'm not much of a madam neither."

Again she raised one boot and pushed me down. In my confused state, my body was so much jelly. "Look. I'm a woman," she said. "I dress like one, sort of -- I've never been one for cages and petticoats -- and this," she said, holding her face with hands, then her chest, and then grabbing what I had glimpsed before down there with one hand, "yes even this: all woman."

"Now, listen. You might not be a gentleman but you sure dress like one and act like one. And you did say those words to me: "'I am at your disposal.'"

"I won't force myself on you, don't be fretting. Why don't you hold it at least? I think you'll like it how it feels in your hand." She paused. "You've only held your own, right?"

I nodded. There was no need to mention a few regrettable boyhood dares, long past remembrance. Once again, Aileen lifted up the hem of her skirt and I was face to...well.

"Touch it," she whispered urgently.

Somehow, my hand was already up and stretching out. Was I really going to do this? Of course, when one is idling on the docking bay waiting to take a magnificent cruise to the marvel of the Americas, one thinks of the dalliances that might come the way of a gainfully employed young man who may stride the upper decks as he fancies. But this? I reached out the rest of the way and wrapped my hand around it. It was incredibly hot to the touch. Through the thin cotton of the chemise, I could feel the bumps and ridges, familiar, in a way, and yet wholly unknown. My untutored ministrations drew appreciative murmurs from Aileen, unseen behind the lifted veil of her skirts. Its length and girth and smell, her sweat and perfume, became an object of fascination to me.

As I continued my examination, she said: "You ever been to the beach?" Something in her voice made me look up. Aileen had moved her skirts to one side so I could see her face. She was smiling down at me with a cheeky glint in her eye.

"Why yes, a few times when I was young and again recently, last year."

"Did you ever buy an ice cream?"

"Once or twice...oh. I see." She laughed heartily, seeing that I had gathered her full meaning.

"Well. In for a penny, in for a pound."

She laughed again, delighted with my game response. "A pound, is it? Don't be getting ahead of yourself, young Master Able."

With that, she reached down and gathered up her chemise, revealing what had previously been summarised in cloth. In the flesh, it was even more magnificent. Uncut but not ungainly. Thick, straight, ending in a bulbous head that was sporting an attractive shade of purple. A little tuft of hair sat above the root. The rest was roughly shaved.

"My, my..."I said, impressed despite myself.

"Oh you do know how to make a girl feel special."

Well. I had come this far. I reached out and grabbed it in my hand and then leant forward, steeling myself for the influx of new sensations. I am ashamed to note that I started salivating.

"Start with the head..." she said. "...before you down the lot like a dram!"

Sage advice, I thought. Tongue out, I dived in, determined to tame this Kraken.

I cradled her member in my mouth feeling the bumps and ridges of its undercarriage on my tongue. Then I wrapped my lips around it and began to suck, slowly, nervously, at first, but with more gusto following the moans I heard from Aileen. Encouraged, I took it deeper.

"That's it. Good boy. Keep using your tongue, never stop moving your tongue."

Of course, being a novice, my tongue was already starting to ache a little but I did as she asked. A not-unpleasant tang and metallic aftertaste filled my mouth. Her member gave off a pleasant warmth. Soon the 'ice cream' was slick with my spit and appeared, even compared to its far from humble beginnings, to be getting bigger. I felt hands clasp against either side of my head and the ferocity of her approach increased. She was, I can think of no other way to put it, making love to my face, except even that euphemism failed to describe the piston-like manner of her approach. I had no choice but to receive.

"That's it. Take it you toff." Again, I would have protested at this slur upon my humble beginnings but my mouth was otherwise engaged.

"Keep sucking. Deeper. Fuck...deeper."

I relaxed my throat as much as possible and concentrated on breathing through my nose all while keeping my tongue swirling about its target.

"Oh I'm close..."

I was engulfing her completely now. My mouth could barely contain the thing, but that wouldn't stop me from trying. Spit dribbled down the sides of my mouth and onto the lapels of my coat. I prayed that my partner was close, my untutored jaw was simply unused to this degree of punishment, to maintaining this locked and wide-open position.

"Holy smokes. I'm there."

Should I retreat? Remove my mouth and direct what I knew was coming (I am no blushing maiden, though certainly the more naive in this meeting) away onto the floor. I was unsure of the protocol. My partner, as it turned out, didn't give me any choice. As the moment arrived she clamped down on the sides of my head and I felt her member swell and the warm gush of her climax hitting the back of my tongue and mouth and pouring straight down my open throat.

"Jesus and Mary...."

Her member pulsed a few more times. I swallowed and then swallowed again and then, with an obligingness that surprises me even now, suckled the last remnants of her climax from her member. The taste was a little acrid but not altogether unpleasant...and I felt oddly proud of delivering her to such a conclusion. As it began to soften she gently pulled it out and looking down at me, smiling, wiped the thick head back and forth across my lips. My own root was as hard as it had even been. Of course, as I had been performing this service, the hope had been cultivated within me that she might return the favour. I licked my lips, fetching up the last of her seed.

"Well, now," she said, smiling down at me once again. "Bless you and your ancestors for that". She had released my head from her iron grip and was now resting a hand underneath my chin, in an affection manner, as if she were assessing the damage to a prized heirloom or toy. "I hope you swallowed all that, there ain't nothing else around to soak up the whisky." She laughed at her own joke.

"You're welcome," I said. "And I did," I said, blushing.

"You'll be wanting me to return the favour, I'd wager."

"Well, if it's not too much trouble..." The grin plastered across my face betrayed the eagerness of my sentiments.

"Well then take a seat over there," she gestured to the seat I had occupied for the hour we had spent drinking, "and pull down those britches if you be no holy Joe."

At this point, I reasoned I had established my commitment to the profane, there was little point demuring now. Dutifully, I stood up, flexing my sore knees, and took my seat again. It took a few seconds to undo my belt and unhook my braces and then to take my trousers and shoes, and everything else off entirely, displaying my still tumescent organ to the cooler cabin air.

"Not bad Roger...not bad at all!" she said, eyeing my member mischievously. "We can work with that," she said, shuffling over on her knees until she sat betwixt my shaking legs.

With one hand, slick with her own spit and issue, she grabbed my member and began, in a manner far more practised and certain than mine, to work me up and down most vigorously. I was an acquiescent mess within a few strokes.

"You'll be wanting a little of this won't ye," she said, leaning over and breathing on me as she continued her action.

"Please Aileen, yes."

"You rich boys be all the same," she smirked.

I was in no state to disagree with the continued assault on my background. She surrounded the tip first, gently sucking and massaging with her tongue. It was an incredible feeling. Soon one of her hands came away, dropping down to the base, as she took me all, with practised ease, all the way down to the base. I looked down at the top of her head. I had disappeared within that uncouth, lovely gob -- and I was glad of it. Her spit ran down the sides of my member and onto her hand, where it gathered and fell over the ridges of her clenched fingers before dripping onto my heaving stomach. With slobbering gusto, she continued. I concentrated as hard as I could on not ending the experience early. Every minute spent under the expert care of this red-haired siren was worth treasuring, to be savoured and re-lived in happy interludes in the following years. I closed my eyes and tried to hold on.

Presently, I felt a most unusual sensation. A wet finger, as I presumed, was idly making its way down... I suddenly felt pressure, in a most unexpected place. Seemingly discontent with just employing her mouth and one hand she was now, well, finger-ravaging me with the other. And what's more, every time her finger found purchase within me a thrill of pure pleasure travelled up and down the length of me. A day of firsts, indeed! My mind wandered at this point, a little hysterically, to my doctor's advice before booking this trip: "Fresh sea air and new experiences will do you good". I had had only a little of the former and rather much of the latter!

"Oh you like that do you, pretty boy. I know what you types get up to at those fancy schools."

The scholarship I had earned to a respectable public school in West London had certainly never prepared for me this but I found myself unable to speak so intense, almost discomfiting was this new sensation. I thanked -- well it wouldn't do to be thanking God right now -- I thanked Fate that I had taken a long, luxuriant bath before my perambulation about the lower deck. Another digit soon joined the first! Again, there was an initial discomfort which soon faded to a most enduring ecstasy. The sensation of her hot mouth and the feeling of her fingers inside me, activating, it seemed to me, some heretofore hidden reserves of pleasure.

"Aye, I think you're ready."

Ready for what, I thought. Then everything stopped. I was aghast. I had been so very close. It had probably been only a few minutes since we switched duties but I had felt adrift in an ocean of pleasure for what seemed like hours. Was I to be so uncharitably discarded, a few bongs from midnight as it were?

I opened my eyes and from my reclining position (I had sunk deeper and deeper along the bench, becoming almost supine under her caresses) I could see Aileen, who had thrown the thin remainder of her clothing aside and was now standing and standing -- to attention -- once more. I had meant to implore her to continue her previous work but something of the devilish look in her eyes gave me pause. She had formed a new plan and it did not take a genius to work out what it was. Surely I should resist, demure. A step too far, even considering the many sharp turns away from propriety and righteousness I had already taken. Instead, I looked steadily at her and uttered the fateful words: "I am at your disposal". She laughed at me and in her look I thought could spy a genuine affection -- one which I returned. She sunk to her knees once more and shuffled over until she was between my legs. From my reclined vantage point, I could see the tip of her member bobbing up into view occasionally. Any calmness I displayed on the outside was merely manufactured. Was I really going to do this? What had come over me? The blame surely couldn't all lie with the whisky. Had a sinful nature always lain in wait, ready to pounce on just such a moment? I could seek absolution and confession of my sins to the ship's chaplain tomorrow -- in as roundabout way as possible. Some very large and pressing details would have to be left out. I felt hands grabbing my ankles. I dared myself to look down. There was Aileen, smiling down at me.