Unforgettable cruise

Chapter 7 - (actual chapter 4 continues…)

“I just don’t see the point in being cutthroat, myself. In my field we work better on teams, for sure each doing our own thing yet in concert for a common goal. I’ve worked at cutthroat places where it was every man or woman for themselves. No real teamwork, throwing each other under the bus—all that. Stressful, shitty work environment, and the company’s deliverables *sucked*, in part because so many were larding the barely- or inscrutably-documented code with land mines to blow up each other’s careers, or backdoors for remote nefarious access if they got booted.”

“I don’t see how team building translates to sex, unless we’re getting into gang-bangs or other forms of orgies.”

“I’m playing for Team FA, Male Het division, building up the team by my individual efforts, or at least trying. When we’re cutthroat lone wolves attacking each other, I believe that vitriol all too easily spreads over to the women we’re supposed to be loving. Their humanity gets diluted in the heat of competition, which drives our lone wolf kind to need to treat the BBW we love more as property we aim on possessing than free-will humans gifting us their time, attention, bodies, and minds for whatever long or brief duration they deign, I assume based upon what they’re getting from us. You know the M&M bowl analogy, right?”

“Oh yeah.”

“The more cutthroat competitive dehumanizing lone wolves there are amongst us fighting what some apparently must believe is the good fight, the more bad M&Ms in the bowl. At least that’s what I imagine, trying to put myself in their place. Is it any surprise that so many choose to avoid the male FA bowl entirely, going for the safer and apparently awesome route of testosterone lite by loving another woman, often another BBW? I think not.”

“Deep… everything you’ve said these last few minutes. I still don’t understand why you’re not going back after Beryl, having tried and liked her, and why you’re so open to boosting my chances.”

“Those things are related. While not by my own definition cutthroat, I’d likely not be sharing so much with you if I intended to keep after her. I’m a pragmatist, striving to remain reality-based. She made it clear at the end of last night that she and I are **done**. To her credit she clue-by-4’d this to me in an entirely pleasant manner, not any sort of screaming yelling bitch-out rage rant. Nice and calm and clear, from her position of power knowing her awesomeness, and what she wants out of life.”

“So you just went back to your stateroom all happy, having lost her?”

“I wouldn’t say brimming with joy, but neither was I sad. She gifted me with a life-changing experience I might never otherwise have had, especially at my age and with the lifetime countdown clock ever-closer to Game Over.”

“Better level up and earn another life!” Per laughed.

“Oh yeah, if it worked that way I’d be all over that” Clark laughed in return. “You can’t lose something you never had. I never ‘had’ her—no one does… so far, and likely for all time as that seems to be her strong preference. I went back to my stateroom pleasantly drained, partly numb from the intensity and bliss. Yes with a sense of loss in terms of wanting to feel those kinds of feelings over and over and over, not knowing how to make that happen or if it’s even possible.

“So anyway back to the point. I’m out, there’s no question, no debate, no argument, and most of all no effort on my part to get back in where for me there’s no in to get back into. I therefore have nothing to lose and everything to gain by making this minuscule contribution to your forthcoming efforts as part of both of us being on Team FA, Male Het division. To the degree you succeed, or at least don’t piss her off or worse, the M&M bowl gets a little cleaner. Someday, even if not in my lifetime, maybe it’ll be clean enough for more BBW to dip their delightfully soft, squishy, fat hands in for a heaping helping of prongy man meat or whatever else they’re most into, without getting poisoned. My actions are as trivial as a single grain of sand on the beach near this harbor we should now be in the process of leaving. Yet like one ant amongst a colony, if we all work together as a team, we can change and move things far, far bigger than any of us individually. Good luck, Per” Clink! “You may be the one to level us all up. If not that, here’s hoping your time with Beryl is at least as memorably epic as mine.”

Clink!


“Everything good, Ms. Down?”

The sudden unexpected voice of concierge Akom (per his name tag) speaking to her nearly made Leigh drop her handheld when she sharply jump-jerked. “Yes, I just… like standing here. The airflow’s nice” she replied on the soft side, hoping not to be overheard down below as easily as she’d been eavesdropping up above.

“Very good. Let me or anyone on the staff know if there’s anything we can do to make your cruise better.”

“I shall. Thank you.”


The next time she looked over the railing (once Akom departed), the overstuffed comfy chairs were empty, all glasses, cocktail napkins, and everything else gone, almost as if no one had been sitting there. Looking around the Main Lobby as she could from her vantage point, Clark was nowhere in sight. Given her need to mentally process all she’d overheard, she was glad. She continued the rest of the way down the stairs, onward with her meandering adventure.


* *
{A chocolate mousse flight with triple-shot espresso at 7:30 at night is not a good idea if one wants to sleep} thought Leigh, wired and wide awake around 9 PM with nothing on her agenda. She decided she might as well change into suitable evening wear and survey all the ship had to offer in the way of nighttime entertainment.


* *
Neither dressed for a hoedown nor truly in the mood to be part of one, Leigh’s time in the dance venue currently running under the name Hootenanny Hall was comparatively brief, at a little over 7 minutes. She did enjoy watching, and the friendly people already on the floor encouraged her to join in despite her other-realm attire.


The pool table at nearby Card Shark’s Card and Game Room did entice her, were there anyone else with whom to play who looked less competitive shark-like. Deeper into the venue in a lighter, brighter area the unoccupied ping pong table called her even harder: she’d once been quite decently skilled at table tennis. {Gosh that was a long time ago} she sighed, lamenting both the passage of so much life time and the lack of a suitable playmate.

Video games had never floated Leigh’s boat, whether vintage arcade-style or more modern (and Card Shark’s had quite a range of generations and types).

“*BAA*Haah! Dingy Dinghy!” she laughed aloud, seeing the very clean, well-maintained, brightly lit apparently-vintage pinball machine near the far end of the line of the video arcade games, tucked into a quiet corner. For clarification, its back glass presented its title thus [except with big red fancy text, which is not possible on FF]:


🔔 Dingy Dinghy ⛵️


All about ringing bells, not drab gloominess. She gave the machine a go, scoring well and filling that area of Card Shark’s Card and Game Room with plentiful actual mechanical bell ringing (no electronic synthesis/sampling).

Two long rounds being a pinball wizard off on her own in this secluded corner was enough for Leigh; she was ready to move on.


* *
She gave both the stage and big screen theaters a pass, somewhat surprised how many people were gathered in the latter.


The painfully bad and loud singing of “*DAAAAY*-oh!, DAY-ay-ay-ay-Ohh!” let her know she was passing the karaoke venue, whose name she didn’t even bother checking in her rush to get away from it.


One particular conversation between a pair of what appeared to be young-ish (or at least far younger than her) mothers caught her ear:

“Are you sure hampster doesn’t have a P in it?”

“No, you’re thinking of that animated Hampster Dance meme, with the sped-up sample of Roger Miller. The name of the animal has no P in it. The animal itself, that’s another matter: my son’s hamster has all kinds of pee in it!”