A cruise to remember


I mistook the white-haired man at the card table for her father when I tried to buy her a drink at the bar – me still a little queasy from our first whole day at sea, lonely, horny and scared about what might happen with the new job I was to take when I reached England.

The slim, black haired beauty looked as if she had just stepped out of a fashion magazine, her dress so tight it might have been sprayed on as paint, leaving no crevice hidden. And from her gaze I could tell she was as attracted to me as I was to her.

She was exactly the vision of woman I had in dreams, with that Pulp Fiction hair cut, lipstick and nail polish so read, she might have torn open some poor fool’s neck and sucked his blood.

She took my drink and scowled at the white-haired man seated across the lounge, her sneer claiming right to the attentions he apparent paid solely to his cards.

She asked if I wanted to meet her later in a more private spot on the upper deck, saying when I asked about her husband that he would remain at the table for many more houses.

She even sounded hurt, cheering up only when I agreed to the meeting. Her fingers sent a thrill through me when we touched hands.

Seven, she said, then floated away, her shapely read end swaying in perfect time to the shifting angles of the ship, as if she was the moon itself stirring up a powerful tide with each slithering step.

Her trail of perfume consumed me, but I took two more drinks, watched the white haired man who seemed consumed by his cards, then left the room.

She stood in a dark empty space near the life boats, wearing even less than she had earlier, the exact shape of her breasts visible as a silhouette against the cabin lights.

We embraced, below us the sea slashed against the side of the ship, moving in every angle in its assault, as the ship itself pressed on, thrusting its point through the dark ocean in its headlong pursuit to again find land.

Something powerful mounted in me, as we pressed against each other, imitating an act we could not easily perform out of doors. She pulled away, grinning at me, and asked if I would like to come up to her cabin. When I said yes, she gave me the key, then told me to give her twenty minutes to prepare.

Twenty minutes, I unlocked her door.

The light went on inside the darkened cabin, blinding me for a moment, until I saw not the girl inside, but the white haired man seated in the corner with a revolver aimed at me.

“Are you looking for my wife?” he asked.

I didn’t have time to answer before the pistol went off.


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