Seven Days Aboard

Kimmie just smiled, fists on her hips. "No, you didn't," she replied, equally triumphantly. "I put it in your blue suitcase for you!" she crowed, pointing at my bag.

Sonofabitch. It was in there. I looked pleadingly at her face, and she just grinned. I didn't know why, but I knew I was going to lose this argument. I often lost arguments with Kimmie. "I can't believe I'm going to walk around a cruise boat all night in a half-transparent teddy with nothing over my ass," I sighed. Kimmie pumped her fist in triumph. "I swear, bitch, you are going to have me flaunting my bod on this voyage more than I have over the rest of my life."

Kimmie stopped at that comment, then drawled, "I find that difficult to believe."

I smiled weakly. I had had a definite weakness in college for overly tight tops... and the boys who were attracted to them. But actual exposed skin had never been my MO.

Caving completely, I ditched the PJs and put on the teddy. Kimmie also slid into a sheer, pink, frilly babydoll with matching panties that covered a hell of a lot more than my bottom did. It still was rawly sexual, with only the frills on her bust hiding much of anything.

"Dammit, Kimmie," I appealed one last time. "It is Pajama Night, not Lingerie Revue."

Kimmie just picked up the day's printed schedule from our nightstand. "'Pajama Night'," she read. "'Wear your coziest PJs or most daring nightwear to dinner and to the party on the Plaza after.' There. Black and White."

"Fine," I said. Then I went to the closet and grabbed one of the cruise line's provided white robes. As I tied the fairly short and thin robe around me, I tossed the other to Kimmie. "Even if we hadn't discussed these robes for dinner earlier, we are wearing them now." Before Kimmie could object, I added, "I'm not sitting there at our table with those swingers without this robe, and neither are you."

"Wait. The swingers?"

Oh yeah.

I explained the swapping Adrian and I had observed, and which Kimmie and Sophia had missed.

"Fuuuuck," Kimmie breathed. "That is so fucking hot!" I rolled my eyes, but Kimmie straightened suddenly. "Sophia won't miss it a second time, will she?"

"Maybe?" I mused, amused.

"Then I'm going to tell her in advance," Kimmie said gleefully. She thought a second longer. "She has got it bad for Etienne. When we were back with Raphael and Juan last night in her room..."

"Wait, you two took them both back to Sophia's cabin, together?" I interrupted.

Kimmie grinned almost sheepishly. Almost. "Yes? But we ended up all talking, in between, you know, and when she brought up Captain Delicious coming to our table, she spent more time talking about Etienne than about our scrumptious skipper."

"Where was Adrian?" I asked, still incredulous about the whole parallel fucking thing.

"Dunno? She didn't get back until after I left," Kimmie grinned.

I just did a little showy golf clap.

"What?"

"I'm trapped on a voyage with three sluts," I said wearily. "I might as well enjoy the spectacle."

"Slut?" Kimmie scoffed. "I prefer to think of myself as a cougar-in-training."

A pillow fight ensued. A brief one. This wasn't some 80's teen skin flick.

"We do need to be careful with Sophia," I said, remembering her Emily In Paris fetish. I explained Etienne's wife's willingness to let her husband have away games, but her fairly tart insistence on controlling the 'opponents'.

Kimmie nodded. "We'll warn her on that as well. But mark my words, once we do tell her, she'll be sucking up to the wife before dinner is over."

*

The four of us met up for a quick shot before dinner. The Shot of the Day, we decided, was to be the Pink Panty Pull-Down. The bartender accepted our order without comment. I doubted he knew what was supposed to be in it, but that was okay with us, we didn't either. It was just a name we liked to say to jerk bartenders' chains. We'd never had two bartenders make PPPDs that tasted remotely similar.

Kimmie did indeed tell Sophia what they had missed as we tossed our shots down. I added the warning about the wife, couching it in indirect terms. Directly warning Sophia off of something was usually a counter-productive idea.

Our friends had also thankfully gone for robes for the dinner table. I guess we all have some shreds of class. If not many... Sophia shot forward to make sure she could sit right next to Etienne's wife, who was back sitting with her husband that evening. I couldn't help myself and sat next to her to hear the shit-show.

Our dining companions had also embraced the concept of Pajama Night. Etienne wore silk pajamas that were unbuttoned enough to show off some appealing chest hair. His wife wore a silk gown that was mostly transparent lace, with little opaque motifs in random locations that just happened to include the strategic ones. It had to have cost more than my dress from the previous night.

Antoine and his wife went casual. Both wore baggy gray sweat pants. He had on a wife-beater that showed off some highly impressive musculature. His wife had on a little button-up top that didn't reach her waist, and which couldn't button up more than halfway over her significant chest.

I hoped I could be half as hot as those two women when I was in my thirties.

The meal was delicious, but I hardly noticed.

To begin with, Dale never showed up at his table. He had evidently meant it about not having jammies, and had opted out of Pajama Night. Too bad. I'd have been amused to see him in whatever he did sleep in...

More to the point, Etienne's wife decided to be absolutely charmed by Sophia! She even remained charmed when Sophia's robe started coming loose and she kept leaning over to talk to Etienne. I didn't know yet what my friend was wearing, but from what little I could see, it did not include a lot of topside coverage.

Kimmie tapped me on the shoulder, and I leaned over to let her whisper in my hear.

"Goddamn! Sophia may get what she's after," she murmured.

"I know. I can't believe this shit," I said. I might be behaving this trip, but I was going to get more vicarious sex than I could handle.

"I just hope she's ready for the conditions," Kimmie went on.

"Conditions?"

"Look at her," Kimmie said, subtly indicating Etienne's smiling wife. "If Sophia gets a green light, the offer is going to be a package deal for both of them."

I took a look again. The Frenchwoman was indeed taking a very long and interested look inside Sophia's robe.

Fuuuuuck.

Dinner ended, and the little potentialmenage a trois beside me seemed mutually unready or unwilling to close the deal. The French all rose and bid us adieu, with a suggestion that we might see them dancing in the Plaza later. Sophia was, of course, especially glad at the prospect, though oblivious to all the implications. Etienne's wife smiled back in friendly but slightly predatory fashion. Etienne himself was possibly uninterested, maybe playing it cool, and most likely just ignorant that he was being dangled as bait.

"We better tell her," I told Kimmie. She just nodded.

Lots of people had opted for robes at dinner, and many, to start with, clung to them up on the Plaza deck, where a disco group with a rather homely but serviceable singer and three damned hot dancers stood on a balcony to perform. Colored lights swirled everywhere and a huge actual mirrored ball had appeared from the ceiling. But as the evening went on, most of those robes vanished. Most had been put into the hands of the check stand the boat was providing, the rest left along with the more shy or timid of the wearers.

Our robes, of course, were among the first left at the robe check, at Kimmie's unsurprising insistence. At first, I thought that this experience, wearing what was practically a stripper outfit in a crowd of people, might be worse than the Top Deck. But once we were dancing, things weren't too bad. I even found myself dancing here and there with guys on the floor, strangers all.

However.

The bars were doing a land office business all around the Plaza, as were the shot girls circulating the dance floor with test tubes filled with Lemon Drop and Red-Headed Slut shots. After about an hour, the crowd was denser, the music louder. The band did not know any disco songs that weren't about sex, either.

The crowd was getting thicker, and more boisterous, and more, well, drunk. Including me, but not enough drunk, thankfully.

It was hard to move, much less dance, on a floor this packed without bumping and brushing against others, but I started to feel that I was getting brushed a lot more than most. Maybe that last was my imagination, but the fact that I was getting brushed by more than simply the hips and backsides of oblivious fellow dancers was surly not. I was getting a little irritated that there seemed like there were some fingertips being included in what was contacting me.

I didn't like it. But I tried to ride with it, since it all was playful, I was safe around my friends in such a large crowd, and no one was taking any major liberties. I took steps to be more careful.

Then a whole hand, palm and five fingers, was on my bare ass cheek, and giving it a quick squeeze.

No. Fucking. Way.

I froze just an instant in disbelief, then spun around.

It could have been any of four guys (or maybe that one girl) who had copped the feel. None seemed to be paying attention, and all were looking elsewhere. Making a scene would not help, since I had essentially no legitimate suspects.

Instead, I turned to Kimmie, who was dancing nearby, and yanked her away from her current dance partner.

"This outfit you made me wear is getting things out of hand," I shouted at her over the music. She looked at me, somewhat tipsily, somewhat puzzled. "Are you getting touched out here?" I asked hotly.

"A little. It's crowded," Kimmie said. She laughed, "There was one guy who was heading back to his buddies with some drinks and I felt his boner drag across my tummy when he squeezed by. He knew I felt it too. He was so embarrassed!"

"Yeah? Well I just had some anonymous hand outright grab my bare ass," I replied snottily.

"What? Fuck that," Kimmie said, eyes suddenly focusing. "Do you want go?" she asked me seriously.

I paused. Aside from the grope, I was actually having fun, in spite of my state of near-undress. Sure, I was getting a lot of looks, but as long as it wasn't fucking touches, I kind of... enjoyed them. More than usual.

Since when the fuck was I a closet exhibitionist?

"Actually no. I don't want to let some perv ruin what is admittedly kind of fun," I shouted. "But I also do not want to be groped again."

"Let's just dance together," Kimmie said. "We can watch each other's backs. And let's find Adrian and Sophia."

And so the two of us danced, face to face, keeping an eye out behind the other, and finally wound our way along to rediscover Adrian and Sophia. "How the fuck did I, out of all of us, end up the sluttiest dressed?" I complained instantly.

Adrian and Sophia laughed, but Kimmie clued them in on what happened, and they were both pissed at my tale.

"That's fucked up," Adrian said. Then she looked around. "I mean, there are plenty of guys here who would be welcome to do some groping on me, but they better fucking ask first!" She was a little louder than she should have been.

Less than a second later, a short but very nice-looking dude leaned over to her and with a wide grin said, "Would you like to dance?"

"What did you say?" Adrian said, certain, as were we all that this guy had heard her.

"I said, would you like to dance?" he grinned again. "After that, if you want me to ask you anything else, just let me know."

Sonofabitch, his line worked. Adrian winked at us and said she'd be back. We all looked at each other as she moved away. Maybe she would be back. But I wasn't giving odds. He was really cute, and had just the kind of game Adrian liked.

For my part, I was losing energy, and despite my determination to not let it mess up my evening, I was kinda losing the dancing feeling. Sophia had not seen Etienne and company, and I was unsurprised that I had not seen Dale. This was not exactly the atmosphere for a lone guy with a girlfriend back home.

I danced another few songs to be sure I was done, then told Kimmie that I was heading back to the cabin to crash. She fist-bumped me and said in my ear, "Go chill. If I find Mr. Right Tonight, I'll go somewhere else with him." She straightened up, then leaned in again, "Unless you'd rather I bring him back so you can watch?"

What was with my friends this trip?

DAY FOUR

Kimmie had actually been back in the cabin by midnight, no performance partner in tow. It was just as well, she said, since we had snorkeling at our next port of call.

The island had some truly nice reefs, still undamaged and available for snorkeling and diving. The four of us had a great time, and even saw several sea turtles. But the water was choppy for the first time on the trip, and everybody was kind of battered by the time the speed boat that took us out made it back to the dock before lunch.

Sophia and Adrian had both apparently been up much later the previous night, doing nefarious deeds they surprisingly chose not to share, and each just grabbed a sandwich before heading back to their cabin to crash.

Kimmie and I sat and enjoyed a decent lunch and felt our backs ache. I considered my spending on this trip and decided I had been pretty good so far. "I think maybe we two old women should get a massage, if they are available," I suggested, stretching my back. My legs hurt too, from a lot more dancing than they were used to lately.

"You are a genius!" Kimmie said enthusiastically. "If they don't have any slots, we should consider bribery or possibly poisoning a couple of people who do have reservations."

It turned out no felonies were needed to get a rubdown. Since we were still in port, there were two slots available for massages, though not quite at the same time, alas. I let Kimmie go first, and sat naked in the women's sauna to wait for my turn. When the host came to get me, she said, "I'm so sorry. I did not mention, but the only therapist I have available for this slot is Pasquale... he's a... he. Are you comfortable with that?"

I might have been enjoying the sauna, and feeling its benefits, but I was still sore. I'd have taken a skilled goat walking on my back.

On the other hand, why did Pasquale have to be so damned hot? This might not actually be totally relaxing.

He invited me to undress to my comfort level and lie down on my chest under a sheet, and stepped out of the room. My comfort level was going to be naked, since that was what I was under my robe. Also, I got massages often, though never from a guy before. I tossed the robe almost before the door closed behind him, and slid under the top sheet onto the padded and gloriously heated table. I stuck my face in the hole in the brace and nearly fell asleep in the seconds it took for Pasquale to knock and come back in.

Massages on a cruise turn out to be crazy expensive, but this one started out worth it from the beginning. Pasquale was good, asked all the right questions, and quickly adjusted to just the pressure I wanted and needed. I exhaled softly and prepared to take a nap on and off.

But that didn't happen.

Why did his hands have to be so darned big?

I was thinking too much about sex on this trip. Especially considering that I wasn't in the market.

All was fine at first, as he worked over my back and arms. He went low on my back, but never came near my glutes, which honestly was my only complaint. I've had women go a lot lower in the past, and my back could have used it.

When Pasquale pulled the sheet gently up over me to my neck, and moved to lift it off of my legs, that was when things got difficult for me.

To be clear, Pasquale was totally professional. Not a damned thing out of bounds. But his touch was so nice, and I was starting to relax so well, and this was such a horned up vacation, and thoughts of Dale of all people were intruding into my head as Pasquale caressed me. My body started to wish for some fantasy/porn scenario.

I was almost enjoying that for a bit, until her started to reach the tops of my legs.

Again, Pasquale was totally professional. He worked my thighs well, but never once actually touched even my ass. I even let out an approving noise when he got close once, before I realized what I was doing, but he was not going there.

If his hands has strayed between my legs, he would have found no massage oils needed there. And while his fingers did work the insides of my thighs, and it sure felt like he was getting close to things verboten, he never really did. I was halfway to begging him to before he lowered the sheet again and told me that he wanted me to roll over. As he was moving into position to lift the sheet, I was tempted to just roll over on my own, knocking off the sheet before he could grab it.

Again, this was not actually a porn scenario, so I waited patiently for him to lift the far side of the sheet so I could turn over out of his sight.

As he worked my neck and shoulders, I found myself imagining that is was Dale standing over me, running his own, also fairly large, hands across my skin. Pasquale rubbed gentle circles around the base of my throat, but I imagined Dale instead sliding his fingers down my chest, under the sheet, and grasping my breasts. He would massage them gently, rolling my nipples, which were damned sure hard as rocks under that sheet in real life, between his fingertips softly.

Stop thinking about Dale, I scolded myself, at which point I found myself imagining Pasquale sliding his hands down to grope my tits, as scenario that was at least physically possible at the moment.

Like I said, my high-beams were on full, and covered only by a light sheet. I decided I hoped Pasquale was enjoying the view.

But come on. Dale? He was off the market, and I was not in the market. If I was going to fantasize, why not ask the Captain to do my massage? A guy like him would probably just dispense with the sheet entirely. Standing over me and exploring every curve of my torso, his hands would move lower, caressing my sore abdominals, then sliding even lower to my mons. His strong, mariner's grasp would oh, so delicately touch me there, maybe even tickle me.

My mind's eye looked up, and it was back to Dale standing over me.

I jerked my eyes open to banish the image. Pasquale looked down at me, his good looks doing nothing to calm me down, and asked if something was wrong. In real life, his hands were still well above my tits. Again, I fought a psychotic urge to pull the sheet downward. I just said I was having a blissful time.

I was not having a blissful time. I was horny as a goat. And when he moved back down, exposing first one leg and then the other in turn, his fingers worked deeply into my quads. When he started lifting the first leg up to move it around, working the hip muscles remotely, he was very careful push the sheet close to keep me fully covered.

Come on guy, give me a break. Take a peek. Right then I needed to be gawked at. Once he smoothly lowered my first leg, covered it, and swung around the table to the other side, I was dying. When he lifted my other leg, and once again made sure I was showing nothing, I couldn't help opening my eyes and checking out the front of his pale blue scrubs. The was no sign of an erection, not of any great extent.

I was a fucking hypocrite. Here I had been for two days, whining about being looked at or hit on, and now I was feeling hollowly unfulfilled because the masseur wouldn't take a peek at my snatch? He couldn't even give me a courtesy erection?

I flounced inwardly in disgust. I found myself picturing Dale again involuntarily, as Pasquale dug his skilled, amazing-feeling fingers into the flesh of my thighs. Dale would do me right in this fucked up scenario. He'd slide those marvelous fingers upward fully, shove aside that sheet, and give me the happy ending that I so richly...