Unforgettable cruise

Chapter 12 - (actual chapter 5 continues…)

She squeezed his hand to focus his attention before continuing, “Now in a separate category are men to whom I’m attracted, and whom I’ve gotten to know and with whom I’ve reached an acceptable or better level of comfort. Love to my LGBTQI peeps, but I’m attracted to men—no apologies.”


She squeezed his hand again, gazing less-than-subtly at his crotch. To Clark it looked like she was initially pleased at his moderate turgidity he could not hide, then nauseous, leaving him confused.


“When there’s a strong enough attraction, when I’ve reached a sufficient level of comfort with a specific man I know and feel safe with them as well as into them and vice-versa, *then* I *like* having them checking out my bodacious rack, as long as there’s still some appropriate eye contact now and then.”

“The longer I’m with you gazing into your face, the more drawn in I am by its—*your!*—loveliness, making it ever-more easier to keep my eyes looking into, or nearly into, yours.”

The powerful shot of pure affection Rebecca felt nearly knocked her off balance. “Even with my big schnoz?”

“To me, schnozes are big angular pointy beaks, not the admittedly big cute roundness decorating your face. Durante had a schnoz. *I* have closer to a schnoz than you do.”

“Nah, you’ve no schnoz. I like your nose.”

She smiled more than Clark had yet seen her smile, melting his romantic heart further. “Maybe sometime someday we’ll decide to share nose-rub kisses.”

“Hhmmh” she peep-squeaked, holding back the instant appearance of her inner race horse of passionate desire, chomping at the bit to attack him and make out right then and there!

“Everything about your face is so wonderful to gaze onto… or is it into? Mouth, nose, eyes… *oh* your eyes! Is it OK for me to refer to you as doe-eyed? Or is that offensive?”

“Given that my middle name is Ayala, which is Hebrew for doe, my parents would be offended if I took offense at someone respectfully referring to me that way.”

“They’re the center of your look of sweet innocence.”

“I’m not as innocent as I look” she salaciously and flirtily gazed his way, with a touch of defiance.


It was another opportunity for her to take a big stretch, this time with a yawn. This time she clearly knew that doing so was working him up. She was good with this.


“Thirsty?” she asked, “For anything non-alcoholic?”

“Are you alcoholic?”

“*What?!*”

“Not *an* alcoholic!” he quickly backtracked. “I was wondering–… never mind.”

“*Stop*.” She squeeze-massaged his hand. “Say it.”

“It was a bad start of an attempt at a joke, using language I don’t fully understand, hence none of my business to utilize. I’ve read the word ‘thirsty’ being used in recent years as some sort of synonym for desperately horny, or something like that. I was trying to find a non-offensive way to flirt with you and show more of my desire of you/for you without being a boorish ass nor privileged dick nor any other bad M&M in the Man Bowl. So please allow me to start apologizing right now, because you’re a wonderful person and I’m truly enjoying this long conversation we’re having on its own merits, with the flirting and the ability to hopefully respectfully and tastefully check out the rest of your body below your head being wonderful unanticipated bonuses.”

“Am I misinterpreting where your eyes have been, or are you physically attracted to me below boob level?”

“I’m a Fat Admirer. Do you wish me to candidly speak further on this topic?”

“Yes, but not here, please. If I invite you to my stateroom, will you take it the wrong way?”

“I’ll take it the way you tell me to take it, as long as you explicitly and clearly tell me.”

“I want to be private with you, so we can freely talk about anything in any depth like we’ve been doing, and take our conversation further than I feel comfortable doing here. I also want some tea—herbal infusion, actually. Some I brought rather than what Royal Prince Cruise Lines provides, nice as several of theirs are. I promise nothing about taking things further towards intimacy than what we’re doing here, but I do want that option.”

“My intent is that all that happens between us—me and anyone, actually—whether here, in your stateroom, or anywhere else, will always be fully consensual and as informed as we imperfect humans are capable of communicating successfully.”

“You’ve got a way with words, mister engineer” she brightly smiled. “Let’s go.”


The hip-rubbing hand-holding stroll was scintillating to Clark (and Rebecca) from the moment they started across the Main Lobby towards the stairs from which Leigh had eavesdropped on him (wider than the escalator, hence Rebecca’s choice). Once she moved in closer and put her arm around him, encouraging him to do the same, the stroll became magical!


* *
Far from being offended as he trembled, fighting to hold back his lusty desire staring at her boobs bouncing mightily up and down with each step on the staircase they ascended, Rebecca was pleased. {Can’t have anything less than a boob man I’m into. Not worth my time.}


Some corridors were wide enough for them to continue walking side-by-side, others narrower. As an experiment she had him walk behind her along one of these narrower sections.

{Hmmm, I feel the burn. He’s an ass and hips man too—even better!}

She reached her arms out behind her, pulling him into her, specifically her butt, soon as his hands clasped hers.

He had no idea what was happening, putting all he had into staying in the current moment, to optimally experience all of it.


* *
Passions and moods mercurially cycled in and out and back and forth in a swirly mess, once Clark and Rebecca were inside her pleasant ocean view stateroom on the Vista deck. Rebecca in charge and him struggling to stay on the same page with her as well as manage his own instinctual desires had them repeatedly jerking jackrabbit forward then slamming to a stop, quite like a new driver learning how to drive a manual transmission automobile struggling to master the clutch.

Somewhat like that new driver learning to drive that automobile and possibly having trouble restarting it after a stall, despite several repeated attempts many minutes apart, neither Rebecca nor Clark succeeded in restarting their conversation, whether where they’d been or on any other subject.

The lavender-lemon-chamomile tea was sublime, and soothing. The very soft Brazilian jazz music she’d put on in the background to ease the tension absolutely succeeded. The main issue seemed to be that the sexual tension between them felt thick enough to cut with a knife, on both their part: a passion fog so deep and so blinding, Clark several times tried to wipe what was not there out of his eyes. Rebecca kept waiting to hear a fog horn sound, eventually hearing a real one somewhere on the San Francisco Bay.


One particular jackrabbit start blasted further forward than others so far: Rebecca led Clark by the hand over to her stateroom’s couch, sitting down *very* intimately with him, each of them holding their tea mug in their free hand.

With her own slight trembling and a frightened, pleading look, Rebecca announced, “I’ve gotta tell you something, and I’ve just got to blurt it out.”

“Please do!”

“Set your tea mug down, please” she asked of him as she did so herself.


She claimed and held each of his hands tightly, melting him further with that frightened, innocent, pleading doe-eyed look she in part could not help projecting. “I’m powerfully into you… romantically, passionately. But it’s complicated, and I don’t want either of us to get hurt.”

With nothing to say, he continued giving her his own intense undivided attention.

“I’ve been abused in my past, sexually and otherwise. My trust issues are deep. Many things trigger me, including some things of which I may not be aware, therefore can’t explain nor warn anyone about. I have a literal love-hate relationship with men’s genitals. I desire them more than I can tell you, yet they’ve so often been used as supremely hurtful weapons against me, that it takes a *very very* long time with a man, continually building up trust, before I even consider going there.”

{The poisonous M&Ms} Clark couldn’t help thinking, maintaining his full eye contact and other than this thought, his attentive focus.

“You may have the best penis and scrotum in the world, and from what I’ve been seeing so far, what you have is extremely appealing to me. I cannot go there—with you or anyone I’ve not known a long time—at least a *year* of frequent dating in many cases, if not longer, and it’s case-by-case as so many things in life are.

“So what I want to do is have what I call up-top sex with you. Specifically what that means is you and I get to the point of being topless, but no further. I’ll have a skirt I’ll change into on and we’ll discuss those details in a moment. You’ll keep your pants on.”

“Shoes and socks?”

“Off please, when the time comes” she smiled, relieved that so far he seemed genuinely willing to go along with her requirements, which had not always been the case in the past, despite what her on-deck lover of the moment told her. “We’re free and encouraged to get into any consensual sexy loving things we can do with one another with our hands and mouths, and after we please discuss the details, maybe feet, other than playing footsie is a go, I’ll tell you right now. Hands and mouths mostly, above the waist. Nothing below the waist. *Well OK that’s not quite true*” she blurted out, working out the details in her mind as she spoke. “You may feel my butt and my hips through the outside of my skirt and panties, and as long as you keep your pants fully on and zipper closed, I’m even good with you pressed into my butt and rubbing if you want, like a sexed-up version of the fun we had walking.”