Seven Days Aboard

We were the last to reach our table. As I approached my seat, I saw across the room that Dale was at his table, resplendent in an awesome-looking tuxedo. He watched as I seated myself, then was drawn back into conversation with the couple to his left.

The two frenchmen at our table rose gracefully as we approached, bowing slightly. Formal night apparently meant old-fashioned manners night as well.

I had never sat in the dress before.

The slit opened completely when I did, and there I was in the middle of the dining room, with my entire left leg exposed to the hip. I furtively checked that hip, and was relieved to see that even sitting down, the thong's waistband was still up and out of sight.

That was what I was worrying about?

Thank God for the table cloth.

Drinks could not have come fast enough. And the first course was excellent. At least my soup was. I could tell that Adrian, who was on my left, was unimpressed with her escargot.

We were almost finished, and laughing as Sophia told a story to our table-mates, when Adrian grabbed my leg gently. "Don't look, but wasn't she with Etienne last night?"

I let my gaze roll over our table companions. The elegant brunette, whom I did indeed clearly remember being introduced as Etienne's wife the night before, was now seated all the way over on the other side of Antoine from her husband. And Antoine's wife, the busty, auburn-haired lovely, who was seated between the men and rocking more cleavage than even I was, chose that moment to caress Etienne's hand with her wedding and engagement ring-sporting fingers.

Adrian saw that, too. "Damn..."

When our dining companions switched up seating for the evening, they switched up seating! From the start of the night before, it had been clear that all four of the French people at our table were physically demonstrative, but tonight all four of them were being even more so, and with each others' spouses. It was nothing outrageous, but it was clear as day, once you recognized it.

I looked over at Kimmie and Sophia. "I don't think they've noticed it, have they?" I whispered to Adrain.

"No. Let's see if and when they do," Adrian smiled back conspiratorially.

I swear, neither of them noticed all through dinner. They were both too busy flirting with the men, to notice that they had swapped wives right in front of us.

Watch it girls. These guys might actually bite.

I found myself catching Dale's eye again across the room at some point where I had checked out of the conversation at my own table. We smiled at each other in recognition, and he raised his glass of champagne in my direction. I smiled and sipped my Manhattan in return.

And then Adrian grabbed my leg again. "Is that him?" she hissed.

I was about ask who 'him' was, when I saw who she was talking about. A tall ship's officer was making his way through the room, nodding here and there as he passed. He wore dress whites, immaculately tailored to his impressive form. He was probably about fifty, with just enough gray at his temples to look amazing. He dark, Mediterranean complexion was perfect, and he had the looks to carry off his impressive mustache. I go for younger guys, but I found myself shifting in my seat as this absolute specimen of Italian manhood kept coming our way. There were indeed four stripes on his shoulders. This had to be Captain Giuseppe, and his looks, impossibly, lived up to his voice.

And he made a bee-line right for our table!

He approached from behind the French couples, who only realized he was coming when the four of us all shut up and stared like children looking into a candy store window. They turned as one, and Etienne's wife's face lit up.

"Giuseppe!" she exclaimed. "Don't you look marvelous tonight?" She turned to the table as a whole. "Everyone, may I present our illustrious and dashingly handsome Captain?"

The Captain said he just wanted to say hello, and graciously allowed himself to be introduced to every one of us at the table. I still can't remember Etienne's wife's name, but she knew all of ours. He even took just enough time to speak to each of us at the table individually... When he found a way to ask me quite ordinarily about Dallas, that voice, coming now from that face, atop that body, with that left hand so tantalizingly bereft of rings, imperiled the state of my underwear.

When he inquired of Kimmie's profession, his face lit up more than politely when he heard she sold Porsches. He apparently was on his third model, himself. "I would promise to by my next one from you, Signora, but alas, my ship seldom makes port in Dallas," he joked with her, and from her involuntary reaction, I think he would have more than just imperiled the dryness of her panties, had she been wearing any to begin with.

But our Captain was a busy man, and had to move on. He favored each of my friends and me with a final, eye-locking smile, and Etienne's wife rose just enough for him to favor each of her smooth cheeks with a soft kiss, neither of which were of the air variety. He bowed, and sailed away through the room, stopping here or there as he departed.

We Americans all turned and stared at the brown-haired beauty. She smirked back at us. "Our Captain is quite the handsome man, is he not?"

"How do you know him?" Sophia asked, after a beat.

Etienne laughed. "The Captain's little sister is my wife's boss, back in Paris. She must have told him we were sailing on his vessel."

"Yes," his wife added. "And she is far more attractive even than her big brother. Etienne lusts after her constantly, whenever her comes to my office."

"C'est vrais," he laughed.

"Perhaps someday, should you have the occasion to step over my dead body, you can indulge your desires," she told him more than a little tartly. But her hand next to Antoine was out of sight beneath the table as she spoke, and her bare, elegant shoulder was moving just enough to suggest her hand might be moving quite a lot. My gaze flicked to Antoine's wife, and her hand next to Etienne was similarly hidden, and possibly moving as well. Not a lot of movement, but...

So very much is going on between a couple when the wife essentially tells her husband, 'I may be massaging your buddy's junk right now, but don't you dare touch my boss.'

Adrian, still somehow oblivious that they were not sitting with their spouses, asked, "Is he married?" Then she blushed furiously as the rest of us laughed. But I'll admit, even I listened carefully to the response.

"No, my dear. He most definitely is not."

Even before the dessert arrived, Kimmie and Sophia excused themselves from the table. The meal had gone long, and they had appointments.

As soon as the desserts, which were much better than the first night, had been devoured, our French companions also rose. Etienne, along with Antoine's wife, declared their desire to visit the disco for a while. Antoine, along with Etienne's wife, demurred, and made no mention as to their plans. As the mismatched couples walked away with a wave at Adrian and me, the men's hands clasping the asses of each other's wives made everyone's ultimate destination quite clear.

"We are spending this cruise hanging out with swingers!" Adrian hissed to me as we watched them leave. Antoine was being particularly aggressive with the backside in his hand as they were lost from view.

"Very little is surprising me about this cruise you guys dragged me on," I laughed in reply. "And speaking of sexual libertines, I assume that Kimmie and Sophia ran off to meet up with Raphael and Juan? Or did Soph find some different guy?"

"No, she won out on Juan," Adrian snapped a little dourly. "I was a little bitchy about it when she won our surreptitious game of Rock, Paper, Scissors."

"You did not Roshambo over a guy!"

"We did," Adrian said impishly, her mood immediately lightening. "When I got pissy about losing, Sophia suggested that we could share!"

"That crazy bitch," I laughed. "Get her the least bit drunk and she'll joke about anything."

"I just hope she was joking," Adrian giggled.

What the fuck was with this cruise and people talking about threesomes?

*

After we left dinner, Adrian and I cast about for how to start our evening. I immediately thought about trying the Eagle's Nest, but that seemed to be Dale's haunt, and I didn't want him getting the idea that I was stalking him. Some nice music came from the doors to the Jazz club nearby, and I dragged Adrian that way. There was a nice trio playing in there, and we happily ordered a glass of wine.

The two of us got briefly separated as I watched the band, and that was all it took for Adrian to be approached by a young guy, even younger than either of us. He was cute, with beautifully wavy, sandy brown hair and sporting an expensive suit. I smiled and stayed away, giving her a few minutes to audition. I'm not sure who was auditioning, though.

I found a spare seat at a table where an older couple sat, and horned in their space with their permission. The husband took one look at me, and in broken, German-accented English was very quick to invite me to sit. I looked at his wife before I sat, but she was more amused than not at his reaction. We actually ended up in a nice conversation. She worked in a similar position to mine in Munich, and we traded notes. I might have even learned a thing or two.

When I thought to wonder where Adrian was, a half hour had passed, and the audition had apparently gone well, because my friend had ghosted me.

Instead, as I looked around, I saw Dale enter. Before I could slip away, he saw me and waved tentatively. I shrugged inwardly, and beckoned him.

"Buy you another?" he asked as he approached, indicating my mostly empty glass.

"I've got the drink package," I replied, but rose. "That said, I could get another."

We moved together to the bar. "Like Jazz, do you?" I asked while we waited for the busy bartender's attention.

"I love it actually. But, um, I'll be honest. I had thought about just going for another quiet drink in the Eagle's Nest tonight, but since it seemed like that was your place, I was afraid if I ran into you up there, you'd think I was stalking you," Dale chuckled. "Oops."

"Not at all," I said, omitting my similar thought process.

It never occurred to me until later that I had not said goodbye to the couple that let me share their table.

Our drinks refreshed, we took a spot along one wall, where we easily fell into more conversation. I like Jazz, but Dale clearly did love it, and I spent a good portion of the time listening to him go on enthusiastically on the subject. He knew his stuff, and I was just a little amazed that I wasn't bored.

But I like listening to Jazz more than I like listening about it, and I was feeling left out by all the people dancing. When a new song began, I asked, "I like this one. Want to dance a little?"

Dale brightened at that, and we found ourselves out in the crowd, dancing. The songs were up tempo, and we danced without holding each other, which suited me, and apparently him. He was the one with a special girl back home, after all.

When the music suddenly changed to a slower pace, we both demurred, and returned to the wall to listen and chat some more.

It was genuinely nice to have one person on this boat to have a conversation with that was not trying to charm or smarm his way into my pants, or anyone else's for that matter. That said, when the music picked back up again, I dragged him back out onto the dance floor. I had to be careful, trying to dance in those high pumps, but I kind of liked the way they had me almost at eye level with Dale.

The music quickly went slow again. This time, I shrugged inwardly and made it clear that I'd like to stay out on the floor a little longer. He cocked an eyebrow at me, and we sort of dared each other to dance a slow one or two.

To be clear, I suck as a dancer, even when not on stilts, and while Dale was better, he was no Astaire either. We pretty much just held each other's waists and swayed to the smooth music. I could tell that it was the girlfriend who made him hold me so tentatively. This kind of felt like a challenge to me, because apparently I'm a bitch, and I moved just far enough closer to let my hands slip down to his hips, with my fingertips brushing the edges of his very nice backside.

He held out for a while before his hands slid a little lower too. Actually, it was just his left hand. His right stayed high, well clear of the stupidly high slit in my dress. I still smiled and, while being obviously playful, I squeezed his ass just a little. His eyes widened at that, and I felt his left hand on my right hip clench back in return, getting a lot more of my ass in his grasp than I had expected. I just let him hold there as we danced a few more measures.

Then my feet betrayed me, just as I was starting to genuinely enjoy the feel of his hand... I winced as I wobbled on the heels, my foot threatening to cramp.

Dale instantly reacted and guided me off the floor, concern in his voice. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, fine," I grumbled as we returned to our drinks. "I'm just not used to wearing these Come... crazy high heels. My feet say no more dancing." I took a long drink of wine to recover from almost saying out loud that I was wearing Come Fuck Me Heels.

Dale just shrugged and murmured, "It was fun while it lasted."

I liked him because it was safe and normal to talk to him, but I had to admit that I was also enjoying teasing him just a little bit. Turns out innocent flirting is good for the soul. "It was nice dancing there at the end," I smiled into my wine glass, "but you'd have gotten a better experience if your right hand had slid as low as your left." I looked significantly down at the slit on my left leg.

"Ha!" Dale barked, caught by surprise. "I'll be honest, that dress is a little intimidating," he said almost sheepishly. "It, uh, reminds me of that one that Angelina Jolie wore to the Oscars a few years back.

I shot my left leg out straight to the side, exposing almost its entire length, just like Angelina had at the Oscars. Before he had said anything, I had missed the similarity. But not anymore. "I have no idea what you mean," I deadpanned.

Dale took a much longer look at my leg than maybe he should have, and I left it out there to look at longer than maybe I should have. Finally, I caved first, and slid my leg back under me and inside my dress.

Innocent fun. The rest of our conversation, back again onto normal, comfortable subjects like more baking and the art for sale on the deck above us, was fun too. But my feet did not stop throbbing, and I finally succumbed. I made my excuses and headed back to the cabin before I really wanted to. Kimmie and Raphael apparently found somewhere else to commit whatever unspeakable acts on each other that they were committing--and which Kimmie would likely speak of at length tomorrow.

I took two Advil and crawled into bed. Sleep was only slightly delayed by my mind gnawing on a few witty comebacks it was only now, much too late, coming up with for things Dale had said.

DAY THREE

I slept late the next morning. Kimmie, who had somehow been dragged in by the cat without waking me in the wee hours, slept in even later. I drank coffee on our balcony and looked out over the harbor in Barbados until Kimmie awoke. Then we both showered and put on bathing suits and coverups for our rum boat ride on the Jolly Roger Pirate Tour.

"Ooooh, Daisy. Wearing the sexy red one, are you?" Kimmie teased. "For a girl who claims she's off the market, you sure are advertising a lot on this trip."

"First of all," I said sternly, "whatever this suit looks like, it is actually the least likely to slip off, if we go jumping off the boat into the water, which I imagine we will." That was true, the red bikini didn't cover a whole lot, but it had all sorts of strings and straps criss-crossing around that I had found were actually quite effective in keeping what there was of the suit right were it needed to be. My black suit already had a wardrobe malfunction on its record fro a few months back, and the modest blue one... I wasn't wearing the modest blue one.

Kimmie shrugged skeptically, and we headed out to eat as much as we could to stave off the rum punch we knew we'd be drinking. I didn't want to get drunk.

We got drunk. Everybody on that tour got drunk. All forty of us got back to the boat less than a half hour after before cast-off, and we all literally conga-lined our way on board, through security, and up to the main pool deck, where we made asses of ourselves circling the pool, singing the pirate ditties we had all been made to learn before and after jumping off of the fake pirate vessel. None of the four of us had any bikini dislocations, but there were malfunctions aplenty among our fellow passengers. One guy even lost his shorts. Unlike many of the dislodged bikini tops, his loss was truly unintentional, and the poor, embarrassed bastard had to stay in the water, which was too clear for comfort, while some alternate trunks were found somehow.

Back on the Wanderer, when the line finally broke up, I looked at my watch and exclaimed, "I got to go. Harry Potter trivia is in fifteen minutes!"

Sophia giggled, "Oh, I'm in! You know I'm a Potter-head."

And that is how, to my chagrin, I went to see Dale with my three drunken friends along for the ride. He didn't need them boozily hitting on him. Damn them.

Dale had grabbed a circular booth already, one designed to hold four cozily, meaning the five of us were crammed in very cozily. Dale seemed bemused but quite happy to have four women in bikinis mashed up around him. Damn him.

We somehow lost, despite how big into Harry Potter that Sophia and I are, and how surprisingly much Dale knew on the subject as well. But none of us were the kind of fucking nerd who knows what specific page numbers Snape called for in Potions class. Damn those fat chicks over across the bar.

My friends, to their credit, mostly left Dale alone. That honestly shocked the shit out of me. But when Kimmie let out a huge, involuntary yawn, we girls all took it as a sign that we needed a pre-dinner nap. Adrian, of all of us, felt the need to tease Dale a little, catching me in the cross-fire.

"Daisy says you sit near us at dinner. Are you ready for pajama night?"

He looked back uncomfortably, mostly at me. "Uh, no actually. I missed that there was one, and I don't, um, have any PJs with me." He was turning a little red. It was cute.

"That's okay," Kimmie giggled, piling on once it started. "Pajama Night is really about what we women are wearing, isn't it? You guys can just wear what you usually do to bed..." she added slyly.

Dale turned fully red. "Ah, no. I don't think I'll be putting in an appearance."

I couldn't resist. I eyeballed him and murmured quite loudly, "That's a shame." He looked at me, a little stricken, and I let my gaze tell him that I was sorry. I shooed my friends away to leave him alone, and then I made my own escape, kicking myself for making him feel bad.

I may have been drunk after the cruise, but my girlfriends were schnockered. I wondered if any of them would even remember Dale or any of the trivia experience. I found it would suit me if they did not.

Kimmie and I did not actually nap when we got back to the room however, opting instead for long, hot showers to get the sea salt, general grime, and sticky rum punch residue from our bodies, and the cobwebs from our brains. I went first, and when Kimmie finally came out of the shower, naked as per usual, she took one look at me in the white satin PJs I had on and said, "Oh, hell no, girl! No way. You are wearing that black number you had on the other morning."

"Fat chance," I laughed. "You already conned me into going around the Top Deck with my tits hanging out, you are not going to get me to walk around the rest of the ship with my ass hanging out in that thong! Besides," I added triumphantly, "I left it at home!"