Unforgettable cruise

Chapter 10 - (actual chapter 5 continues…)

Upset enough at being called out as fat after her hearty day of fine walking exercise to nearly toss her singular hot dog and small green salad with fury into the nearest trash bin, her emotions drove her the opposite direction: she loaded up her plate with taquitos, spring rolls, *and* a second hot dog! {I took this cruise to eat freely and without shame, and dammit, I’m *going* to eat freely and without shame!} Grabbing a bag to hold some fries then filing up a large cup of soft-serve vanilla milkshake, she had everything she felt she needed.

Emotionally hurting and not wanting to allow anyone else to call her out for any reason, Leigh rushed back to her stateroom and closed the drapes for full privacy, so she could enjoy every single bite and sip. She had no idea what drove her to take her clothes off and doodle herself to orgasm whilst she ate, binning it as temporary insanity and focusing on the sensual pleasure rather than the mental Why.


* *
Clark found himself back at the Sip And A Wink Pub, alone at a table in the corner, sighing as he struggled to enjoy his craft brew. *Hhhhhhhh.* {*Why* do I keep messing up so badly with every potential love interest that I need to apologize?!} Hhhhhhh. {If I haven’t figured out how to date by age 61, it’s likely not gonna happen.}

His pulse jumped, spotting one of those to whom he felt the need to apologize taking a seat at the bar, the unabashed sexiness of her magnificent width and spreading rear making her look better than ever, thus him that much more upset. Thankfully, she hadn’t looked around much and hadn’t seen him.


“Anything else for you at the moment, sir?”


The sweet high-pitched voice of the somewhat scantily-dressed all-too-twiggy young barmaid startled Clark anew. “Yes please, if you’re willing.”

Taking full advantage of a situation better than he could have hoped, he pulled a beautiful baby blue small card envelope out of his pocket, laying it on the table with its back side and the shiny gold circle seal face-up. From his wallet he pulled out a pair of $20s, setting those atop the card.

“One of these 20s is your gratuity, if you’ll be so kind as to deliver this card to the lovely large blonde woman in the mauve dress sitting across two stools at the bar. The other is my payment for buying her whatever drink she may wish to order that 20 dollars will cover. Is this acceptable to you?”

The pleading look in the expression of this man, older than her father, tugged at the barmaid’s heartstrings. “Yes, I can do that for you. Nothing else to drink, for you?”

“I’m good with what I have, thank you.”


He pounded the remainder of the craft beer he had and was already out the door whilst the barmaid was on her way to deliver the card.


“Ma’am?”

“Yes?”< br>
“The gentlemen in the corner over there wanted me to give this to you, and has paid for whatever you wish to drink, totaling no more than 20 dollars on his tab.”

Rebecca couldn’t imagine what this was about. “Who?” she asked, whipping her head around to look where the barmaid was pointing.


They both saw the empty booth at about the same time.


“He was the one over in the far corner booth.”

“Didn’t see him. Thank you, luv.”


She studied the envelope before opening it. Unable to pick up any meaningful scent when sniffing it apart from a vague floweriness, all she could tell on the outside was that the handwriting in which she saw her given name appeared to have been an attempt by someone who didn’t normally write longhand to do so in flowing, rounded cursive. She unsealed the envelope with care.

The message on the card inside was written in the same lopsided, halting longhand. Thankfully, she had little trouble reading it.

[Author’s note (that’s usually what’s happening when i use square brackets): FF currently lacks an option for alternative fonts. To see my story’s presentation with optimal formatting, consider viewing it on my new stories site: jigglejunkie.com. Otherwise, keep reading here and please visualize messy handwriting:]


Esteemed Acquaintance Rebecca,

I sincerely apologize for my in-hindsight vastly inappropriate come-on, regarding going to either of our rooms. Lifelong nerds like me never learned the requisite social skills to civilly flirt, much less date, or even to make new friends.

Sorry I blew my opportunity to get to know you better. Knowing so little about New York City and intrigued by what I read on Wikipedia about Bedford–Stuyvesant, I’m curious to know more from someone who lived there what it’s like living amongst the brownstones and row houses—or maybe those are the same thing? If, during the course of this voyage, you find you’re in a mood for a flirt-free platonic conversation on this or most any other subject, I will appreciate the opportunity to have that conversation with you.

Respectfully and Fondly,

Clark Barr




Rebecca didn’t know whether she felt more touched or confused. Having been hurt so many times in her past, she had to also consider that this could be the clever ploy of a seasoned womanizer. She slowly read it over and over, as though struggling to find something between the lines able to explain the true meaning of this apology card.


“Thought about how you’d like to use your drink credit?” asked the bartender, as he dried a glass.

“Yes” she replied with a faraway look, and somewhat of that tone, “I’d like a Manhattan, please.”

“Coming right up” he smiled.


Further studying the missive through the mind alterations of the cocktail for which Clark had paid, thinking back amongst the various nerds and geeks who’d gotten with her (or tried) over the course of her life, she concluded that this was not the work of a philanderer: it was an honest, surprisingly literate admission from a man forthrightly admitting his limited social skills. She decided that taking Clark’s message at face value was far and away the most reasonable interpretation.


* *
While Clark Barr might not be a womanizer, he certainly had some perv in him. Since leaving the Sip And A Wink, he’d taken up residence in the Main Lobby’s spacious lounge area on a fancy upholstered exposed wood large loveseat or small couch: an older style which surely had a name he didn’t know, the kind with the big ornate mushroom-shaped tack heads all the way around the fabric rim. It was about as good a spot as any during the chilly night hours to people watch. In his case as an ardent male het FA, he was on the lookout for women cruisers who may already have visibly fattened up since he’d last seen them. No plans to actually approach anyone, given his recent track record of offense, but looking was free 😜.


{How and where might I approach him? Should I even? It never seems to work out} Rebecca mused in her mind, starting to pass through the Main Lobby. {*There he is!*}

She managed to duck behind a pillar before he spotted her, making her way out of his sight to the nearest women’s room for some touch-up work.


* *
Clark had trouble believing whom he was seeing walking directly towards him, smiling. Rebecca’s sexy sway and hot pink lipstick (freshly applied, though he didn’t know this) sent his lust into overdrive. Thankfully with a face as easy on the eyes as hers (despite, or possibly because of, her eye-catching big nose), it proved somewhat easier to keep his gaze there rather than farther below.


In moments, she stood directly in front of him, tantalizingly close and smelling great. “Is now a good time for you, for a conversation?”

“Absolutely” he couldn’t help smiling back.

She sat down surprisingly intimately close, flustering him. “I do have one condition, about the discussion we’re about to undertake.”

{Of course you do.} “Alright.”

“I reject the notion of this being a flirt-free conversation. I want another chance with you too, moving at a more gradual pace so we can better know one another before considering moving past platonic.”

“I’m delighted! But I don’t want to wreck things again, nor leave hard feelings between us. On that basis, I’m now distracting myself from your luscious body so I can ask you about life in Bedford–Stuyvesant, about which I’m genuinely interested. As I mentioned in the card I looked it up, so I know where it is in Brooklyn in New York City and should be able to find it on a map, but nothing beyond what Wikipedia has to say about it. What was it like?”

“Well, my earliest memories as a little girl in the 1960s are of living in a brownstone—one of the rowhouses—on Throop Ave., between Lexington and Greene. Where I’m from ‘brownstone’ and ‘rowhouse’ are synonymous, even though we both know one’s a building material and the other’s all about houses with shared side walls regardless of what they’re made of.”

She noticed him looking lost.

“I’m going too New Yorker fast for a Cali boy like you, aren’t I?”

“A little bit” he smiled endearingly. “I’ll try and remember the street names and look them up.”

“Throop is T-H-R-O–”

“–O-P. Apologies for interrupting, but that one I know from the original name of Caltech: Throop Polytechnic Institute, spelled the same way. Sorry!”

“That’s alright, but let’s please try not to interrupt one another. That’s a New York thing I’d rather leave behind, to help me slow down and get more into your laid-back Cali ways. Did not know that about Caltech.”

“Is it rowhouses all one word? Or two words row houses? I ask ’cause I’ve seen it both ways online.”