Cruisin', Boozin', and Susan

(Readers, this is a fictional story, inspired by IRL events. The description of the cruise ship and the elements of it (except for one) are accurate as I recall them. Some, but not all, of the character's conversations and actions are inspired by actual past experiences. Please forgive the slow build... I hope you find it worth it at the end. This may or may not become a multi-part story. Thanks in advance for your time to read, to submit your ratings, and offer your feedback!)

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So, I'm about to take my first cruise.

My wife of 29 years, Amanda, died of cancer a little over three years ago.

Her last words to me were "Phil, keep living a full life. It's what you're *supposed* to do. I know I'll see you again someday. You can tell me all about it then."

And then she went to sleep. She died quietly about an hour later.

Amanda and I loved to travel. We went all over the U. S., and the world. She just hated the idea of being "stuck on a boat." So we never went on a cruise.

Earlier this year I won a cruise as part of an industry contest. The top five performers nationwide earned a four-day cruise on Royal Caribbean's "Oasis of the Seas."

My two daughters are delighted. They are experienced cruisers; they just could never convince their mother to go along.

My girls are also urging me to get back into a relationship... my oldest daughter, Paige, especially.

"Daddy, you're still young," Paige lectures me between holes during our weekly golf match at our local club.

"I know you still miss Mom. We all do.

"But you're only fifty-seven. You're in shape. You're taking care of yourself.

"You're attractive. You're funny as hell."

Paige stops the cart, retrieves her bag, and strides to her tee box.

Paige sets a tee and places her ball on it.

"Remember when you and mom met?" Paige continues. "You weren't looking for her and she wasn't looking for you.

"But you ended up in the same place at the same time... for some crazy reason. It was like it was just *supposed* to happen."

Paige selects her club and adjusts her stance. Then she looks over at me.

"You have to be open for that opportunity again, Daddy. That's how I met Bobby. That's how Mandy met Steven.

"Mom wanted you to live your live to the fullest. She told you that."

Paige re-adjusts her stance and glares at the ball.

"I know that she meant for you to be open to another relationship... because she told *me* that.

Paige looks up from the ball, and directly at me.

"Mandy and I can't do this for you, Daddy, even if we wanted to."

Paige swings at the ball and sails it straight into a sand trap on the right side of the fairway.

"Fuck!" Paige exclaims. "Fuck, fuck, FUCK!!" Then she glares at me.

"THAT one is on you, Daddy," she mutters.

Paige's lecture delivered, we finish the round. Which she wins... as usual.

It's taken me months to get up the nerve to travel alone. Then, when I pick the date, it conflicts with school and soccer and gymnastics and all the things cluttering up my daughter's kids' lives. We finally give up and decided that a family vacation isn't in the cards.

So, I'm going by myself. And here I am... on embarkation day.

The girls have loaded me down with long lists of "do thisses" and "don't do that's." So I feel adequately prepared. Maybe.

It's still my first time traveling alone, for a reason other than business.

I'm standing at the check-in desk alongside a woman in the line next to mine.

My first glance in her direction immediately demands a double-take. She is a decidedly beautiful woman!

She is petite -- maybe five-foot-four -- and her body is perfectly proportioned to her frame.

She has shoulder-length graying hair, with a hint of blonde remaining. I would guess she's in her mid- to late-fifties, although I'm an awful judge of such things.

Her shoulders are square and allow an ample bosom to ride high on her chest. Her butt and calves lend strong credence to a woman who takes care of herself on the regular.

The skin on her face, neck, and arms (that I can see) is taut and smooth. She all but radiates vigor and vitality.

She has a sharp jawline that matches her short but not-to-thin nose. Proportionally sized lips present an almost perpetual grin.

Her eyes are a rich blue color and they twinkle wherever she looks. I notice that because she glances my way, catching me all but staring at her. And she smiles at me.

There's something about this woman. She just... resonates. She has a confidence and a power, even, like you'd find in an actress or a leading model, or even a top ten influencer on Instagram or TikTok.

She's with a younger woman who's absolutely gorgeous and a school-aged child who is unquestionably adorable. Good genes, I guess, if they're related.

I assume they're all traveling together.

Our respective desk attendants finish checking us in at almost the exact same time.

"The gangway is right beyond that 'this way to ships' sign," my attendant directs me.

As I grab my carry-on and head that direction, I'm aware that there are hugs and "goodbye, Gramma" and "love you" and "have a fabulous time" wishes coming from the trio the next line over.

I'm about ten steps toward my destination when I hear a voice coming from behind me.

"I have a theory," the voice cheerfully calls out, "that the first people you see when you're checking in on a cruise end up being people you see most often the whole trip."

I stop and turn and I'm greeted by the beaming smile of the woman who was in line beside me.

"Want to test out my theory?" she continues as she closes the gap between us.

"My name is Susan." And she extends her right hand toward me.

"Hi, Susan," I reply as I take her hand. It's warm and soft and particularly welcoming.

"I'm Phil. Nice to meet you."

I nod my head toward our destination.

"And I guess the best way to test your theory is right this way."

Then I do something that's unconventional for me. I shift my carry-on and extend my right arm in a manner that encourages this beautiful stranger to link hers in mine.

Susan gives a little laugh, rearranges her carry on gear, and slips her left arm through my right.

"Ooh, such a gentleman," Susan coos.

"Maybe I should keep an eye on you after we set sail!"

We both chuckle and continue toward the gangway.

It's hard to go anywhere these days when you're not presented with opportunities to spend extra money wherever you are.

Best example: Theme parks have a ride-specific gift shop at the exit to every attraction.

Cruise ships are no different, I discover; they have on-board photographers to take souvenir photos at almost every opportunity. They'll happily sell them to you before you leave the ship.

Just as Susan and I turn the corner to head to the gangway we're presented with several cheerful photographers with portable roll-up backgrounds of the ship and Caribbean destinations.

"Start off your cruise with a photo?" a lovely and vivacious young girl in a "Royal Caribbean Photo" polo shirt asks.

"Oh, we've just met," I reply, without thinking. "We're not traveling together."

"Oh, but let's get a picture anyway," Susan cajoles. "Something to remember you by, maybe."

Susan drops her bags and un-links her arm, but then takes my right hand in hers. I drop my carry-on and arrange myself so we're somewhat shoulder-to-shoulder.

The photo-girl snaps three or four quick pictures. Then she lowers the camera and says "Stateroom?"

I'm immediately flummoxed. The desk clerk told me my stateroom number but didn't give me the little pocket sleeve like you get at a hotel check-in.

Susan sees the confusion on my face, and gently comes to my rescue.

"Eighty-two Eighty-eight," she says to the photographer, who dutifully enters the numbers into a display on the back of her camera.

Susan and I collect our bags and continue to move along the hallway to the ship's gangway.

"First cruise?" Susan asks with the slightest snark in her voice.

"Why," I ask with an attempted-matching snark level, "does it show?"

Susan laughs a delightful throaty laugh as we continue toward the gangway.

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Stepping onto a cruise ship is a little like getting on an airplane; there's the slightest gap between "here" and "there" where you can peek through and see the void beneath you.

But, once on the ship, it's an entirely different world. Spacious... opulent... festive. You feel like you're walking into a hotel in Miami... or Rio... or Vegas.

Members of the crew are everywhere, offering directions or providing other assistance.

Susan turns to me. "Since this is your first cruise," she says warmly, "do you have your dining and excursions all arranged?"

My face gives me away. I don't even need to say "Uhhhhh...", which I do anyway.

Susan laughs again and softly grabs my hand.

"Come on," she says, and we make our way to a small kiosk set up in the ship's promenade.

A pleasant and lovely young lady named Ellie greets us. Her name tag indicates her home is in Australia.

"Hi, Ellie," Susan says cheerfully. "My name is Susan and my friend here, Phil, is on his very first cruise.

"Could you help him get his dining and excursions arranged?"

"I'd be happy to," Ellie replies. Then to me, "G'day, Mister Phil! Welcome to the Oasis o' The Seas."

Susan pats my shoulder and says softly into my ear.

"See ya later, maybe? Sail away's at four.

"I like to watch from Deck Fifteen, forward, port side."

And with that, Susan peels away and drifts into the crowd of other passengers bustling their way through the promenade. My gaze lingers on Susan's ass as she saunters away.

For probably the next half-hour, I have Ellie's full attention.

She's like my own personal Aussie concierge-- an absolute wealth of the ship's information. I feel more prepared for what I'll be experiencing over the course of the cruise.

And I absolutely love her accent.

Several times, Ellie offers to be at my beck and call for information or assistance. I feel like I've made a new friend on the ship's crew, which I really appreciate.

At one point, Ellie asks why this is my first cruise.

"It's an achievement award from my company," I answer. "Five of us won the prize."

"Ooh, bangin' prize!" Ellie exclaims. "Are ya gonna catch up with the other mates at some point?"

"No plans that I know of," I reply. "We're from all over the country... er, America... so we don't really know each other... at least I don't.

"Besides, I think they've got spouses or partners or whatever. I'd just be a third wheel."

Ellie spots something on my reservation page. "Oh, your package includes The Key... very nice. And you've got an unlimited drinks package."

"Those are gifts from one of my daughters and her husband," I reply. "What's The Key about?"

"You get Wi-Fi on the ship," Ellie replies with a dazzling smile. "Priority seating at shows, preferred seating at specialty restaurants... perks like that."

I suddenly -- and surprisingly -- find myself thinking that if I could spend some time with Ellie on her day off, it'd be pretty good fun.

There's an unanticipated tingle inside my briefs.

And then Ellie unexpectedly changes the trajectory of my next four days.

I see her processing a thought as she studies her computer screen.

She looks up at me with a cheeky, wry smile.

"Look, I'm not supposed to do this, Mister Phil. But I like ya. You seem a good bloke.

"Your mate who brought you to me," Ellie continues. "Her name's... Susan, yeah?"

"Good memory!" I reply. "And... we're not really mates... er... friends. We just met in the check-in line."

"Well, she seems like a lovely lass," Ellie says with a grin. "Do you know her surname?"

"I don't," I say.

"Do you know her stateroom number?"

Now it's my turn to test my memory.

"Ummm... Eighty-Two Eighty-Eight?" I reply, not entirely sure.

"Let's see," Ellie says as she taps away at her keyboard.

After a few seconds, Ellie exclaims at her computer screen.

"Ah, there she is. Susan Bishop. She's from Kentucky... Louis-ville." Ellie says the first two syllables like you'd say the words "to us."

Whether she knows of the mispronounciation or not, Ellie looks up at me with an explanation.

"You know..." she says, "where they run the horse race. The Darby??"

"Ah," I reply with a smile. "I know of it."

Ellie charges on with her discovery: "And you're in Eighty-Two Ninety-Two. Same deck, same side of the ship... port side... just a couple of doors down.

"Let me check another thing," Ellie murmurs.

More tapping as Ellie clicks through different tabs on the ship's reservation system.

Then Ellie softly announces, "She's got a booking tonight at Giovanni's Table."

She glances up at me. "One of our better specialty restaurants... my favourite, actually. Up on Deck Eight, in Central Park." The last word comes out like "pahhhk."

"There's sidewalk dining if you want it. Very romantic.

"You've got The Key, after all."

I'm starting to realise that Ellie might be turning into my little Aussie matchmaker.

"Looks like there's an opening at Giovanni's the same time Susan's booked in."

Ellie looks up at me with a cheeky little crook in her eyebrow.

"You want me to...?" Ellie trails off, leaving the question hanging.

I grin at Ellie.

"That sounds brilliant," I say softly.

Two or three more clicks on her keyboard and Ellie announces, "There. You're all sorted."

She steps around the kiosk and gives me a quick hug.

"Nice to meet ya, Mister Phil," Ellie says warmly. "See ya round the ship, I hope."

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When you arrive at a cruise ship terminal, you surrender everything but a carry-on bag to porters at the curb, then you go through the check-in and boarding process.

With thousands of guests arriving on board in the course of only a few hours, it takes a little time for the luggage and personal items to get back into one's possession.

My things show up in a gaggle of other luggage in the hall near my stateroom around two o'clock and I spend some time stowing clothes, toiletries, and such in the surprisingly-small spaces within the room.

Then, using the drink package my daughter provided, I find a beer and wander around the ship a little, getting acquainted with what is where.

It's almost four o'clock and I work my way up to Deck Fifteen in the front part of the ship.

On the Oasis, this deck is home to an area called the Solarium.

It's intended for guests over eighteen and it's a collaboration of deck chairs, hot tubs, and shallow pools, all surrounded by glass panels that look out into the ocean.

Peaceful, spa-like music plays continually.

There's also a bar and bistro so one could spend all day here if one wanted.

Susan said to meet her on the port side of the ship. Even with my limited nautical background I know that means the left side of the ship, as I'm facing the front -- the bow.

Sliding doors open from the elevator vestibule. I turn to the right and almost immediately see a petite woman with shoulder-length graying blond hair sitting at a small table along the outside bulkhead of the ship.

Her back is to me but I'm pretty sure it's Susan. I step far enough around to confirm and she looks up with a beaming smile.

"Awww," Susan coos, "... you found me!"

She stands and gives me a brief hug.

"Here... sit," Susan says, gesturing to an empty chair facing hers.

"Looks like we both found the bar," Susan comments as she raises her glass of white wine.

"Cheers," she bubbles as we clink glass to bottle.

"Cheers," I reply, and we both sip our beverages.

We've both changed out of our travel clothes. I have on shorts and a button-up Hawaiian shirt one of my girls bought me.

Susan is in a sleek one-piece coral-colored swimsuit with a white crocheted cover-up. Her hair is pulled back and a couple of clips hold it at the back of her head. A pair of sunglasses rest on her head.

"I think you're ready to start this cruise," I observe. "You look relaxed... and quite lovely, by the way."

"That's very sweet of you to say," Susan replies.

"And very observant as well. Yes... I am *definitely* ready for four days at sea!"

We spend the next few minutes making small talk about the ship, the staterooms, where we're from, and what not.

"So Phil," Susan begins, "you look very comfortable as well.

"Why is this your first cruise?"

I tell Susan an abbreviated story of Amanda's illness and death. I share with her that it's taken a little while to adjust to living alone, much less traveling alone.

I share that my daughters are all over me to break out of my solitary life and make some new friends.

Throughout my story, Susan's beautiful eyes have been riveted to mine. Her hands are folded softly over the base of her wine glass.

"So when I won this cruise in a company contest," I conclude, "both of my girls hoped I would meet someone nice on the ship to spend some time with.

"And look... it seems that I have!"

Susan smiles and laughs softly, dropping her eyes to the wine glass before returning them to me.

"Phil," Susan says softly and sincerely. "I'm very sorry about your loss of Amanda. It's obvious you spent many happy years together.

"And it's a blessing your girls are taking care of you."

And then she gives me a beautiful smile.

"And I'm delighted that we've met as well!"

It's time for both of us to sip our beverage. We do, and then I say:

"So why are *you* traveling on this ship all by yourself?"

Susan laughs softly and takes another sip of her wine.

"Well, I have a spouse story as well, but the more immediate answer is that my best friend who was supposed to travel with me came down with Covid two days ago.

"Good thing she bought travel insurance!"

"I guess so," I reply, taking a sip of my beer.

"My daughters were pissed that I invited Autumn on this cruise, anyway," Susan continues.

"They want me to travel alone so maybe I, too, might find a companion... a new friend.

"I cruise about twice a year. Both girls are travel agents and so their perks pay for the stateroom. I pay for upgrades, internet... things like that."

"That sounds like a pretty fancy way to find companionship," I offer. "Has it worked?"

"Not yet," Susan says with a wink. And then with a low-ish growl, "but the day is young."

"And the week is early!" I conclude.

We laugh and sip our drinks.

"So, what's your spouse story?" I inquire of my beautiful table-mate.

Susan sighs quietly and smiles softly at me.

I think for just a second that it's a question I maybe shouldn't have asked.

"His name was Alan," Susan begins. "Like you, we were married twenty-nine years, and like you, we have two kids.

"Both girls, like you."

Susan looks down at her hands, still holding her wine glass. She pauses, takes a deep breath, and then begins again.

"For my fiftieth birthday, Alan took me to dinner at a fancy restaurant near where we live."

Then Susan raises her gaze at some unspecific thing off to her left in the distance.

"And at dessert, he told me," and she pauses, "... that he was gay.

"And that he had been having an illicit affair with his male lover for several years."

She returns her eyes to mine.

"And then he handed me an envelope full of divorce papers."

She gives me a weak smile.

"Helluva a birthday surprise, wasn't it?"

It's a shocking story. Made more so in the cavalier way Susan relays it to me.

"Wow," I begin. "Susan... I... I don't know what to say..."

Susan laughs and pats my hand as she picks up her wine.

"There's probably nothing that I haven't already said," Susan says with confidence.

"And, probably, loudly, too."" And she raises her wine glass. "And probably with plenty of this!"

She takes a sip through a soft smile and returns the glass to the table.

"I started traveling to bury my sorrows," Susan says with a wistful smile.

"I gave my girls lots of business."

A large cruise ship like the Oasis of the Seas usually doesn't leave its berth in port quickly.

While Susan and I were sharing our stories the crew on the bridge had been using maneuvering propellers to get the ship in the right position to head out to sea.

These movements are hardly felt on board; one has to be focusing on the ship against the dock, or observing the churn of water against the bottom of the channel. It stirs up a swirl of darker-colored water than the beautiful blue of even the Florida coast.

I haven't been focusing on those things. I've been focusing on the beautiful blue eyes that are engaging mine across our little table.

Nevertheless, the ship is now in the right place and the main engines are engaged to push the ship forward.

That event is announced with several loud blasts from the ship's horn high above the upper decks of the craft.

Susan and I both react to the blasts and Susan notices the ship is moving slowly forward.

"Oh, we're underway!" Susan announces as she grabs her wine and stands from the table. "Come on... let's move to the side!"

And Susan strides to the edge of the deck and the chest-high wall.

I pick up my beer and follow, ending up at Susan's left side. She looks up at me and smiles.

As the massive ship moves toward the mouth of the port, smaller pilot craft run alongside and behind the ship.

"There's one more chapter to my story about Alan," Susan says quietly. Then she looks out into the water.

"As a part of the divorce settlement Alan set up trust accounts for both of our girls. Completely paid for their entire education. And I didn't know it, but he also purchased a large insurance policy, and I was the sole beneficiary.

"He kept running his business very successfully and appeared very happy with his new partner.

"And then one night they pulled his car out of the river a few miles from our house. Alan was inside.

"The Sheriff thinks he must have been trying to avoid a deer in the road. Another few hundred feet and the bridge railing would have saved him.

"I've had this nagging feeling ever since that Alan was coming to tell me something."

I've been with this gorgeous woman for about forty minutes now. And twice I've been achingly unable to respond to something she has told me.

My forearms are resting on the deck rail, my beer in one hand. My head is turned to face Susan, but I don't say anything.

After a few seconds Susan turns her head to mine and breaks into a soft laugh.

"I'm sorry," Susan says softly, almost sheepishly.

"I don't talk about Alan hardly at all anymore.

"You just seem like somebody I wanted to share my story with.

"You're just... so easy to talk to."

Susan looks back out into the water and the buildings passing by on shore.

Another couple of seconds pass.

"How long ago did this happen?" I ask.

"Three years," Susan answers. Then she turns to look into my eyes.

"Same as yours."

After a few more seconds Susan looks back out to the water.

I have to admit that something of a chill rolls through me. It's not one of fear, but one of resonance... of connectivity.

It could be ridiculous to think seriously about it, but it's almost like Susan and I were supposed to be together, here... now... with each other. Like my daughter, Paige, predicted. Like my deceased wife, Amanda, wished for.

I turn to look out at the water. I take a half-step to my right. And my right arm moves around Susan's waist and I softly pull her into my side.

A soft laugh comes through her nose and Susan's left arm snakes around my waist. The half-hug is reciprocated, and then accented by Susan tilting her head to rest on my shoulder.

We stay linked... connected... for a minute or two.

The pilot boats have completed their tasks. They toot their horns to the cruise ship's bridge and the ship replies with a soft "wonk" of the ship's massive horn.

It's a signal, and other people watching the sail away begin to collect their things and move to their next activity.

It's Susan's and my signal as well. She unclamps her arm first and turns to face me.

She gives me a soft hug.

"Coming in?" Susan ask cheerily.

"In a minute," I reply. "Going to finish my beer."

"K," Susan replies as she collect her purse from the table we were sitting at.

"Maybe I'll see you a little later?"

I smile across at her. "Still trying to prove your theory?" I snark.

She laughs lightly. "It's the truth, I tell you! You'll see!"

And she turns to the sliding doors leading to the inside of the ship. I watch her progress, only to see whether she'll turn to look back at me one more time.

And just as the doors slide open, right before she steps through them, Susan does.

And, for the first time in a long time, my cock actually twitches a little.

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I want to get to Giovanni's Table sooner than Susan does. I shower quickly, shave off today's stubble, and change into longer pants and another casual shirt that I leave untucked. I decide to wear leather huarche sandals that my daughter Mandy bought me for the trip.

I'm greeting the maitre'd at the restaurant about 15 minutes before my appointed time.

Fortunately, there's an outside table for three available. I take the "middle" seat so I can see Susan coming from either direction.

A server appears to clear the other plates and cutlery. A moment later I'm offered water and asked if I would like a beverage. I order a bourbon.

Royal Caribbean's "Oasis Class" of ships (named after its first... the one I'm sailing) established a remarkable feature on modern-day cruise ships. Built in 2009, the ship features an eight-deck cut-out of the center of the ship.

From Deck 8 to Deck 16, there is a literal hole in the middle of the ship, open to the sky above. Staterooms on Deck 9 and above that face into the place that Royal Caribbean calls "Central Park." Those rooms have balconies that open into the space. Deck 8 is filled with bars, restaurants, and a high-end shop or two.

When you're sitting outside on Deck 8, it's a challenge to convince yourself that you're NOT on a ship in the middle of the ocean; that you're NOT in a beautiful park in your favorite city somewhere.

The waiter has brought me my bourbon. I sip it softly, waiting for Susan's arrival.

We are sailing easterly, away from the Florida coast, and so the sun is streaming into Central Park from the stern side of Central Park, toward the bow.

And it's from the bow side that Susan appears.

I actually see her before the sliding doors open. Once they do, and Susan steps out into the sunshine, she's an absolute vision.

Susan is essentially in all white, save for a brilliantly colored beaded Toucan that is appliqued to her blouse, and wrapped delightfully around her breasts.

The blouse is satin and one-shouldered, anchored to her left shoulder. The fabric slants down to cross beneath her right arm and it allows for a peak of ample cleavage as the fabric crosses her chest.

Her pants are a white flowing silk that somehow still captures her beautiful posterior. She has simple, cyan-colored sandals that pick up one of the colors from the toucan.

Her hair is back down across her shoulders. It's cut in a breezy way that perfectly frames her beautiful face.

She's chatting and laughing with an older couple. They twist their way down a short sidewalk before they enter the actual promenade. There, they part company and Susan begins to scan the area for the entrance to Giovanni's Table.

Her eyes find the restaurant. And then they find me.

Susan gives me a dazzling smile, and then a little laugh.

But -- and why I know this, I'm not quite sure -- she's not able to fully disguise the myriad thoughts zipping through her mind.

"How did he..."

"Maybe it's just a coincidence?"

"Is he meeting someone else?"

"Should I... what should I..."

This has taken nanoseconds as Susan continues to move toward the table. She disguises it beautifully with her smile and a continuing laugh.

I stand from my chair and approach the stantioned chain that separates the tables from the sidewalk.

"Well, look who's here!!" Susan squeals as she gives me a warm hug over the chain.

"Care to join me?" I ask, mid-hug.

"I'd love to," Susan replies, still mid-hug. Then she breaks away.

"Let me inform the maitre'd," she says, "so he can offer my table to someone else."

Susan scoots into the restaurant and about ten seconds later comes back to the table. I offer her the closest seat and she accepts it.

"What a lovely surprise!" Susan coos as she softly grips my right hand from the top with her left.

"Just continuing to attempt to prove your theory," I reply. "I'm beginning to believe it has merit!"

Susan's hand is still covering mine, and it feels fantastic. "Ooohhh... do I get a badge at the end of the cruise for that?"

"I'll see what I can do," I reply through a laugh. Susan pats my hand on the release as servers appear to re-set her place.

"That looks like a nice bourbon," Susan comments as the servers scurry to set her place and pour her water.

"It's Buffalo Trace," I inform her. "One of my favorites, and hard to get at home.

"Would you like one?"

"Mmmmm, please," Susan replies.

The waiter nods an affirmative and scurries into the restaurant to fill the order.

Susan gets settled into her chair as I say: "You look fantastic! I love that blouse." I toss her a stupid line to see how she'll play it.

"May one inquire as to where you got it?"

Susan bats back a perfect reply: "One may not...

... but two can!" (Because, readers, the beaded applique is of a.... (sigh).... never mind.)

The waiter delivers Susan's bourbon as we laugh together at a totally ridiculous, yet delightfully communal, dad joke.

"Thank you for playing," I comment as I raise my glass to her. "Cheers!"

"Cheers," Susan replies as she sips from her glass. Then: "Mmmm, this *is* good!"

Susan then takes the lead.

"So, Phil," she begins, "was it purely a coincidence that you ended up at this restaurant... tonight... this night?"

It's not an accusatory question; at least I don't take it as one.

"You introduced me to the delightful young lady this morning... Ellie, I think... at guest services," I reply.

"She told me that this was one of her favorite restaurants, and that I should try it."

Susan has her lips pursed in a delightful way... like she's trying to not let me in on a secret.

"And," Susan asks coyly, "did Ellie happen to mention that *I* had also made plans to eat here tonight?"

If there's an obvious reason to hide something, I don't know what it is.

"I think I recall that she... did... say something about that."

Susan closes her eyes and laughs softly to herself, shaking her head in the process.

Then she opens her eyes, rolls them exaggeratedly over her head and murmers,

"Ohhhh... my girls... my girls..."

Susan continues to chuckle to herself as she sips her bourbon.

"I don't understand," I say quietly. "Did I do something I shouldn't..."

"Oh, no-no-no," Susan interrupts through a low chuckle. "No-no-no..."

She sips from her bourbon once more, then turns her eyes to mine.

"I think I told you both of my girls are travel agents?"

I recall that from our sail-away conversation and I say so.

"Well," Susan continues, "they both sailed this ship together earlier this year as a part of a Royal Caribbean travel agent... extravaganza... or whatever they call it.

"And they had quite a few evenings, apparently, with Ellie and some of her work-mates after several client parties.

"Not long after they got home they said that *this* should be my next cruise."

Susan lowers her voice slightly and leans into the center of the table.

"And I have no doubt," she continues quietly, "that they e-mailed Ellie with my itinerary and suggested that she should find a... 'companion'... for me on this cruise."

Susan sets her bourbon down gently on the table, then raises her eyes to mine. Then she says softly:

"So maybe that companion is... you??"

⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘

My cock twitches again but I disguise it by reaching for my phone, and announcing with a quiet flourish:

"Well, I don't know Susan... let me check my app!"

Susan plays along with mock amazement: "Wait... you know about THE APP?!?"

I focus on my phone and swipe to find the app.

"Our little match-maker -- Ellie," I say with mock seriousness, "-- set it up for me this morning.

"And... would you look at that," I observe as I look over the top of my phone to Susan's gorgeous eyes, rivited onto mine.

"Every single event on my calendar is appended with one word...

"... Susan."

I didn't intend to over-sell it, but Susan totally over-buys it. There must be some related travel agent super-power of which I'm not aware.

"REALLY?!?!" Susan erupts from her side of the table.

"Show me!! Let me see!!!" And she reaches for my phone for confirmation.

I naturally pull my phone back from Susan's attempted grasp.

"No... not really," I say through a loud laugh.

Susan catches herself and, blushing, settles back into her seat.

"Bastard," she mutters under her breath.

"Besides," I continue, "if I show you mine, you'll have to show me yours."

Susan is settled enough that she picks up her bourbon. As her lips approach the rim of the glass, her eyes come up to meet mine, and she murmurs,

"Perhaps that can be arranged."

And my cock twitches again.

This episode is interrupted by the waiter who comes to take our order.

Like many restaurants on cruise ships -- even the main dining room -- one is offered a limited selection of starters, main courses, and desserts.

One isn't restricted to a single choice from each category, so if two appetizers appeal to you, two can be ordered.

It's a great way to try new dishes with little consequence.

Tonight's menu has venison loin as a main course, and I choose that... since I've never had it.

Susan chooses duck for her main course, and a pumpkin bisque for her starter. My starter is shrimp cocktail.

The waiter recommends a tiramisu for dessert and we both choose that.

We also each choose a wine that matches our entree.

Ordering the food has broken the chain of conversation. I choose to restart in a different direction.

"So, Susan," I begin, "we've both been... single older adults... for several years now."

Susan looks up me and nods her head quickly a few times as she widens her eyes in confirmation.

"Have you found the dating scene to be... challenging?"

"Oh, lord... yes," Susan replies.

"For probably the first six months, I was reeling from everything that happened.

"And then, just about the time I felt like my life was back together the way I wanted it... Alan died.

"And even though we were divorced, it was still tragic and I just couldn't think about 'putting myself out there' for another while... kind of a long while.

"Then I found the online stuff to be just... unpredictible... plastic... unrealistic. Men would say one thing in their profile and then be nothing like that in real life."

Susan stops, sips her bourbon, and looks across the table to me.

"How about you?" she asks quietly.

"Pretty much the same," I answer.

"At first I felt like it would be... I don't know... inappropriate to date anyone else.

"Amanda was very strong in the church we attended and in our community. I was pretty much her coat-tail.

"And then it seemed that when women would talk to me, it was more like they were thinking of Amanda... and not me.

"Almost like they thought *they* were being unfaithful or 'the other woman' or whatever to Amanda if they got involved with me."

"Really," Susan replies. It's a statement and not a question. Then:

"Did anyone actually say that to you?"

"Not in so many words," I respond. "But it seemed to be... inferred... enough for me to believe it."

Our waiter interrupts with the appetizers and Susan and I spend a few minutes enjoying and commenting on our choices.

⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘

Susan handles the conversation's re-start, with a prologue:

"Phil, people who know me will tell you that I'm always asking direct questions... maybe off-the-wall questions.

"Maybe overly-direct off-the-wall questions."

"I am duly forewarned," I announce across the table.

Susan lowers her soup spoon and looks directly into my eyes.

"If there was one thing you could have changed about your day-to-day life with Amanda," she begins,

"What would it have been?"

This beautiful woman sitting across from me is just this side short of being a stranger. But there's something in her... something about her... that allows me to accept such a question... from someone just this side short of being a stranger.

But it's also a question that I don't think anyone -- even my daughters -- has asked me in the last three years.

I don't couch my answer.

"We didn't make love enough," I say quietly. "And when we did, it wasn't... loving.

"It wasn't mutual.

"I couldn't escape thinking that it felt obligatory, on her part.

"Only this. Never that.

"'That's disgusting,' she'd say... 'that's perverted.'"

Susan is staring across the table at me, looking directly into my eyes. Her eyes reflect a remarkable mix of recognition and compassion. I realize that she is really interested in my answer, and maybe that it pains her a little bit to hear it.

I take a sip of my bourbon, and then the server arrives with our main course.

It takes a couple of minutes to get everything resettled. We both sample our entrees while the waiter waits for votes of satisfaction, which he gets from both of us.

I don't wait for Susan to re-start the conversation.

"So, in the early days after I married Amanda," I begin, "we would make love often. It was like we were excited that we had so many opportunites."

Susan surprises me with a direct question:

"How often would you fuck?" Susan asks after a sip of her wine.

I'm also a little surprised at her sudden swing of language. Maybe it's the wine... and the bourbon.

"A couple of times," I answer, "maybe... several times... in a week."

"Morning or evening?" Susan asks, looking across the table into my eyes.

"Mornings mostly, I think," I reply. "Although there were a couple of evenings I particularly remember."

Susan smiles and focuses on her plate, selecting another morsel.

"And then what?" she asks as she re-directs her eyes to mine.

"Well," I continue, "the kids changed everything. Paige came along near the end of the first year. Mandy arrived near the end of the second.

"And then we were both wrapped up in everything that comes along with children. I'm sure you know about that."

"Oh, yes," Susan replies with an appropriate eye roll.

"I thought things would change again after kids went to college," I continue, "and then again after girls got married and started their own lives.

"But they didn't. It eventually got to be more than I could stand, and I blew up about it."

"Your right to do, I would suggest," Susan replies quietly.

"So we established a once-weekly routine," I continue. "But was still unenthusiastic.

"It was perfunctory. It was only for me."

Susan takes another sip of wine and then looks across the table to me.

"Some people would call that the definition of a sexless marriage," she says softly.

"It's not there isn't *any* sex," she continues, "it's just not satisfying sex."

I take another bite of my venison and let the opportunity for a reply pass me by.

Susan questions again : "Did you ever look for sex somewhere else??" she asks quietly, "... like an affair?"

"I got frustrated enough," I reply, "... desperate enough, maybe, that I hired an escort on a business trip once.

"It didn't really satisfy... didn't really give me what I was looking for.

"Plus, it was risky," I continue. "And expensive.

"Spending that kind of money on the regular wasn't... going to work."

Susan smiles softly, then asks:

"Anything else?"

Again, why am I answering these questions? I don't know... but I answer anyway.

"I had an amazing -- but just an emotional -- fling with a woman who worked in my same business," I admit.

"We kissed once, and then we realized we should never kiss again.

"We wouldn't be able to stop it."

I looked over the table into Susan's eyes. "It just made it all worse."

Susan returns my gaze. "Did you ever consider leaving Amanda?" she asks quietly.

"For what?" I reply, sipping my wine, "... 'Irreconcilable differences?'"

Susan answers softly: "Maybe. I'm pretty sure somebody would have recommended marital counseling.

"But after 29 years..."

Susan lets the statement hang in the air.

I take another sip of wine.

"I was thinking about it," I answer softly. "I had researched a few divorce attorneys and was just about to make a few calls.

"And then Amanda got her cancer diagnosis."

Susan takes a breath, then releases it. She takes another sip of her wine. Then she looks across the table at me and gives me a lovely, compassionate smile.

It seems her questions are answered.

We eat quietly for about a minute.

So now it's my turn.

"What about you and Alan?" I ask. "What would you have changed?"

Susan wants to keep the conversation about sex lives.

"Our sex was... fine," she begins. "Not great. Not worthy of erotic literature or anything.

"I spent plenty of time indulging in 'self care.'"

"Of course, things changed after Alan told me he was gay. He didn't say he was 'bi.' He said he was gay.

"I had a couple of revenge fucks while he was out of town on business. They were mostly... unimpressive, and not really worth the risk.

"Kind of like you and your escort, maybe.

"I didn't want to be a hotwife. I didn't want to be a swinger.

"I just wanted to have the kind of sex that... fulfilled me... completed me... made me whole.

"And made me want to have sex more and more and more until I thought I couldn't be more fulfilled... more complete... more whole."

Susan sips her wine and smiles across the table at me.

I hear my own voice reply: "That sounds like what I'm wishing for as well.

The waiter comes to clear away our plates and deliver our desserts.

As advertised, the tiramisu is excellent and Susan and I spend our dessert minutes talking about other topics. She's proud of her daughters and I'm proud of mine. We talk a little about extended family and other places we've travelled.

Susan suddenly announces: "You know what I'd like?

"I'd like to go someplace quiet. With some music. And maybe some more of that bourbon.

"Care to join me?"

"That sounds appealing," I reply. "I haven't heard quiet music since I've been on this ship."

Susan gives a short laugh as she stands from her chair.

"C'mon... I know a place," she purrs as she extends one hand toward mine.

⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘

We say our "good-byes" and "thank yous" to the waiter and step out onto the promenade that is Central Park on Deck Eight of this ship. The sun has set and indirect lighting from all directions create a beautiful park-like scene as we walk toward the elevators.

Susan hasn't released my hand since she grasped it as we left the table. She holds both of our hands down at the adjoining side and with her opposite hand, reaches over and grasps the pectoral of my arm that's extended downward. It isn't necessarily a hug, but it feels a lot like one... and I've never experienced it before.

It has the added benefit of boosting Susan's breasts -- and the appliqued Toucan -- a bit more prominently. Her chest jiggles softly with every step.

"So, where is this we're going?" I ask, if only to distract myself (and my twitching cock) from staring at Susan's bouncing boobs.

"It's on Deck Four," Susan replies. "They call it Jazz on Four.

"My girls tell me other ships have converted the space to a totally smoke-free casino. They haven't done that yet on this one. The girls think it's scheduled for next..."

And at that moment, Susan and I pass beneath a weeping fig or weeping something-or-other tree. My shoulder grazes the foliage and some sort of flying insect zooms out from the foliage and buzzes loudly around our heads.

Susan absolutely freaks out.

"EEK!!" she squeals. "NO!! NO!! EEEEEEKKKK!!!"

Susan is waving her hands wildly over her head. Her eyes are clinched, her face is looking at the ground. She's stomping her feet and spinning in a small circle.

Then she all but leaps into my arms, burying her face in my neck as she continues to wave over her head with one free hand.

"EEEK!!... EEEEEEKKKKKK!!!!!" she continues to squeal, though her voice is now muted because her face is buried into my shoulder.

Other people on the promenade look our direction to try to determine the cause of the disturbance.

I'm naturally holding Susan close to me... because Susan is holding me close to her.

The squeals, the spins, the stomping stops. Susan looks up into my eyes with an exasperated expression on her face.

"I *HATE* flying bugs!" Susan seethes through her teeth. "Bees, wasps, deer flies...

"I *HATE* them!!!"

Susan releases her grip on me and sort of flails her hands down and around herself, like she's trying to clear the air of any flying insect in the vicinity.

"I think that's clear," I say with a chuckle as I release my hold on my beautiful new friend.

"Are you oka...."

I don't get to finish because the flying whatever-it-is returns, buzzing just as aggressively around our heads.

The freak out returns.

Same squeals. Same flails. Same rush into my arms. Same looks from other promenade visitors. This time, a bartender from the Trellis Bar heads our way with a long bar towel, swinging it over his head.

The bartender and I both see the bug -- and he's a big bug -- zoom up and away from the deck. I nod my thanks to the bartender and he returns toward his station.

I release my grip on Susan's waist and allow her feet to return to the sidewalk.

She is clearly rattled and spends a few seconds adjusting her hair and her blouse. She looks at me with sort of a false accusation:

"Did I *TELL* you that I hate flying bugs?!?" Susan says with an exaggerated tone.

"Noted," I reply through a chuckle, as I grasp her hand and begin walking in the direction we were originally heading.

Only a few steps later, we pass behind a structural element of the area. It's not a wall, but it affords a little bit of privacy from the open area beyond. The store behind is closed and the area is darker than the surroundings.

Susan suddely spins and wraps her arms around my neck, similar to how she's done twice before now.

Except this time there are no squeals. There are no flails. There is no burying-of-her-head into my shoulder.

Again, somewhat naturally, I wrap my arms around Susan's waist.

We're standing, torso-to-torso, and Susan's beautiful eyes are looking into mine. Our lips are inches apart.

"I think the bee is gone now," I say softly.

"I know," Susan whispers. "I just like the way this feels.

"Don't you??"

My cock actually leaps.

But before I can answer, Susan releases her grasp on my neck and rotates herself away from me. She re-grasps my hand and we continue to walk toward the elevators at the end of the promenade.

⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘

Jazz On Four is the perfect location for a quiet drink with soft music.

It's also apparently not well known, or not popular with other cruisers. There are only three or four other couples or groups in the room as we enter.

The lighting is soft, muted, relaxing.

There is an all-black quartet on the small raised stage: a pianist, a rather large girl playing a saxophone, a drummer, and a tall gentleman playing a stand-up bass.

A parquet-covered dance floor about fifteen-feet square is in front of the band stand.

Susan and I curl around to the left of the entrance and find an empty table with a rounded, padded couch/sofa thing facing the performers.

The table is round and the seating is along about half of it. Susan and I are sitting as much beside each other as we are across from each other.

In what seems like seconds, a young waiter appears at the table.

He asks the obvious question, and Susan answers with one of her own:

"If you have Buffalo Trace," she begins, to which the waiter agreeably nods, "what cocktail would you recommend for that bourbon?"

The waiter doesn't hesitate: "Buffalo Trace makes an excellent Old Fashioned," he says decidedly.

Susan declares: "Then that's what I'll have," and she rustles in her purse for her SeaPass card, which shows the Deluxe drink package she added to her stateroom bill.

"Stateroom?" the waiter inquires.

"Eighty-two Eighty-eight," Susan says for the second time today.

"Thank you, ma'am," the waiter declares. He then turns to me. "And, Sir?"

"What she's having," I reply, as I show my card I've retrieved in the interim. "I'm Eighty-Two Ninety-Two."

The waiter nods quickly and peels away toward the bar.

"Ah!" Susan exclaims quietly. "We're neighbors," she comments as she re-deposits her Sea-Pass card into her purse.

"The girls like to put me pretty much in the center of the ship," Susan says as she re-addresses me with a dazzling smile.

"They say you don't feel as much of the motion of the ocean."

Susan gives me a wry smile. "Unless, I guess, you make your own."

The waiter delivers our drinks. Susan raises hers and says "cheers!"

"Cheers," I reply. The first sip of my drink is delicious.

Susan leans into the table.

"Okay, Phil," Susan says as she turns slightly toward me on the settee, "are you ready for another of my direct questions?"

I swallow my second sip and reply: "Hit me. Make it a good one."

Susan smiles and looks coyly up at the ceiling.

"Describe your..." she begins, and then shifts her eyes directly to mine, "... perfect... sexual... partner."

I'm grateful that I'd swallowed the second sip. It might be coming up through my nose.

"Well," I begin, through a laugh, "I think I've probably already given you some clues.

"I think a woman should actually enjoy sex, not just tolerate it.

"I want her to have physical touch as one of her love languages.

"I want her to be tactile. She wants to touch me and she wants me to touch her."

Susan's eyes haven't left mine until this point. Now she extends the index finger of her right hand and playfully pokes my shoulder with it.

I take another sip of my cocktail.

"She's not afraid to be physical," I continue, as Susan's eyes return to mine, "and she's not afraid to experiment with things she thinks she would like, or that she thinks I would like.

"Oh, and she's communicative while we're having sex. She tells me what feels good, and she gives me suggestions of what would feel better."

"Anything kinky?" Susan asks with a cocked eyebrow.

I laugh at Susan's directness. And her bravado in asking so casually.

I sip my drink and reply, "Susan, I'm an accountant. My idea of kinky is probably boring by anyone else's standards."

Susan gives me a wicked side-eye. "Oh, come on, Phil," she cajoles. "We all know it's always the quiet ones.

"There must be something. Spill it."

I pause a few seconds for a thought to catch up to me.

"I guess finally, she's descriptive," I reply. "And she's not afraid to talk dirty in the process."

Susan is sipping her cocktail as I finish. She lowers the glass, then lowers her voice as she leans her head toward mine.

"Fuckin' A" she growls softly, followed by a common chuckle from both of us.

The music continues softly and I return my gaze to Susan.

"So," I ask as I stare softly into Susan's eyes, "who's your perfect sexual partner?"

Susan takes a sip of her cocktail and set the glass down on the table.

Her voice drops to a low, throaty whisper. And she also chooses to phrase her description in the second person voice.

Susan's eyes drill softly into mine.

"First of all," she begins, "there's foreplay... lots and lots of foreplay.

"I want you to drive me fucking crazy before you finally fuck me."

My cock twitches at the thought.

Susan's eyes glance around the room a little, like she's checking to see if anyone is listening.

"I also have a thing for who's in control. Sometimes I want to be. Other times I want to be the one who's being controlled.

"I also believe in experimentation. Let's find something new to do... rather than doing the same thing the same way every time.

"I also want you to adore me. And I want to adore you. That means taking time... taking it all in."

My cock has been responding the whole time to Susan's sexual soliloquy.

The quartet finishes their number and there's a smattering of soft applause in the room. I'm grateful for the opportunity to shift in my seat a little and adjust my erection in my pants.

The piano player rotates on his bench to address the audience.

"Thank you," he says quietly. "We're going to take a short break after this next song, and it's one of our favorites.

"Sammy Cahn wrote these lyrics back in the fifties," he continues. "We're doing Al Jarreau's version from the eighties and our sax player, Jade, is going to sing it for you.

"This is 'Teach Me Tonight'."

"Oh, this song is one of my favorites," I remark as the music begins.

"Do you know it?"

"I don't think I do," Susan replies.

I stand up from my seat at the table and extend my hand to Susan.

"Dance with me," I say softly but declaritively.

Susan moves to stand and says in the process: "It's been forever since I've danced with a gentleman..."

I take Susan's hand.

"I'll bet you'll do just fine," I reply as we walk toward the dance floor. Another couple or two are moving to the floor as well.

Jade's sultry voice begins over the band's intro:

♫ "Did you say I've got a lot to learn? ♫

♫ "Well, don't think I'm tryin' not to learn ♫

♫ "Since this is the perfect spot to learn ♫

♫ "Teach me tonight." ♫

Susan and I are swaying to the music. Her five-foot-four-ish frame matches up nicely with my five-foot-ten. Her right hand is gripping my left and her left arm is resting on my shoulder. Her fingers are grazing the skin of my neck, and it feels delightful. She is looking up at me with her incredible eyes and her perpetual smile.

"You know what I'm thinking?" I say quietly into Susan's left ear.

"I'd like to hope you're thinking about... something... maybe later," Susan replies with a jaunty crook in her brow. Then:

"Tell me... what."

I look back into Susan's eyes.

"I can't believe what an amazing day this has been," I reply softly.

"It's the first day of my first cruise... and here I am dancing to one of my favorite songs with an amazingly beautiful woman.

"Is every cruise like this?

"What is tomorrow going to be like??"

Susan laughs slightly through her nose and responds by putting her left cheek on my chest. Simultaneously, she tightens her grip on my shoulder and my hand. The result is she pulls her body more fully into mine. There's no mistaking my cock beneath my pants rubbing against her thigh.

The singer, Jade, begins the second verse.

♫ "Let's start with the A B C of it ♫

♫ "Right down to the X Y Z of it ♫

♫ "Help me solve the mystery of it ♫

♫ "Teach me tonight." ♫

The quartet breaks into an instrumental portion of what is the bridge of the song.

Susan pulls her cheek away from my chest and looks into my eyes.

"Let me answer your question this way," she coos.

"Kiss me. But kiss me the way that Amanda would kiss you."

I pause a few seconds, looking into Susan's eyes.

And then I kiss her. Square on the lips. Hers lips are closed and mine are as well. It's a smooch kiss... the kind of kiss one would give a spouse leaving for work in the morning. Unpassionate. Unpromising. Unsatisfying.

The kiss breaks and Susan looks up at me with a half-smile on her face. But she doesn't say anything.

I decide to take the lead.

"Now, you kiss me," I challenge, "like Alan would kiss you."

Without hesitation, Susan reaches up and kisses me in nearly the identical way that I kissed her. Equally unsatisfying.

Susan breaks the kiss but remains engaged. Her eyes burn into mine. Her mouth is inches away from my own.

"Now," Susan nearly growls, "kiss me the way you kissed that woman you *didn't* have an affair with."

It's not a request; it's a command.

And I get swept up into the moment.

My hands come up to each side of Susan's head. I tilt her head slightly to meet mine. The kiss begins as the music swells and Jade's strong voice delivers the third verse:

♫ "One thing isn't very clear, my love ♫

♫ "Should the teacher stand so near, my love? ♫

♫ "Graduation's almost here, my love ♫

♫ "Come on and teach me tonight." ♫

It's a helluva kiss, y'all. It represents three years of pent-up passion. And twenty-something years of over-anticipated disappointment.

I don't know how long it's been since you've kissed someone -- with passion -- for the very first time. But there's a fire rising up in me right now.

Susan is initially surprised. Her soft "Mmmfff!!" gives that away.

But she catches up quickly.

Her hands come up to grip my wrists, then move on either side of my head and wrap around my neck.

This isn't a sexual kiss, where tongues dance with each other. It's a kiss of envelopment. I am trying to pull Susan into me and she is trying to pull me into her.

We allow the kiss to break, then reconnect... break, then reconnect... break, then reconnect. Every time exploring another centimeter of the other's upper lip or lower lip.

The music is also swelling into the repeated bridge and associated modulated key change into the last chorus.

♫ "One thing isn't very clear, my love ♫

♫ "Should the teacher stand so near, my love? ♫

♫ "Graduation's almost here, my love ♫

♫ "So te-e-a-ach me, to-ni-i-i-i-ight ♫

♫ "I've lost all fear my love, ♫

♫ "Te-e-e-a-ach me... to-n-i-i-i-i-ight. ♫

I feel like Susan and I are the only ones in the room... until I come to realize that we're not the only ones in the room.

We're swaying to the music, wrapped into each other. The song ends, and soft applause celebrate the band's performance... or maybe Susan's and my kiss.

One guy tips his head to Susan and me as he walks by with his wife, I guess.

"Hey, y'all... get a room," he cajoles.

"I've got one," I retort.

Susan joins in from her head on my shoulder: "So do I."

The man's wife scolds him: "Leave them alone, Perry"... and her further comments drift away out of earshot.

Susan and I kind of reluctantly unwrap outselves from each other. Hand-in-hand, we move back to the table where our Old Fashioneds await.

Susan leans to me and says softly: "Y'all were right.

"A kiss like that would lead to... more. Many more. And maybe real trouble."

Our table is a bit out of the flow of the room. As Susan and I approach it, she suddenly turns into me, blocking my progress to sit down.

"You know what?" Susan begins, "... my daughters sent me a bon voyage gift. A bottle of champagne.

"A whole frickin' bottle. It's on ice in my stateroom."

She's looking straight into my eyes, with a sort of sincerity reflecting from hers.

"If I open it, I'll never drink more than a glass or two of it. The rest will just go to waste.

"Why don't you come and share it with me?"

How could I say no to such an invitation?

"That sounds delightful," I reply. "Can we stop by the restroom first?"

Susan laughs and we exit the jazz club.

⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘

There are two banks of elevators on Oasis of the Seas... one on the forward end of the Deck Eight (and Deck Five) promenade, and one on the aft end. Three elevators open to the inside wall of the ship, and three open to a glassed-in view of the promenades outside.

Jazz on Four is at the forward end of the ship. After Susan and I exit our respective bathrooms we reconnect and press the "up" button on the elevators nearest us.

After only a few seconds, one of the elevators on the glassed-in side opens. A few people spill out, as does the sound of an upright piano being raucously played... inside the elevator!

"Oh, my girls were hoping I'd see this!" Susan squeals as she grabs my hand and we somehow squeeze into what little remaining space the elevator car offers.

Within, jammed into one corner of the elevator car, is a small spinnet piano. A bespectacled and costumed crew member is sitting between the piano and the outside window, pounding out popular songs and singing at the top of his lungs.

The top of the piano is littered with a mish-mash of items the musician uses in his act, along with a pile of bills other riders have tipped the musician on previous shoots up and down the elevator shaft.

Susan and I are among probably five or six other travellers jammed into every other available space in the elevator.

The piano player rips into the opening notes of "Great Balls of Fire." And we all join in as the elevator zooms upward toward our various destinations.

To door slides open at Deck 8 and Susan and I are able to slide out of the elevator into the awaiting lobby.

"Well, THAT's something you don't see every day!" I comment as Susan and I turn to head back through Central Park to the aft section of the ship.

"My girls tell me it's a catch-it-if-you-can kind of a thing on this ship," Susan says with a little laugh as he loops her arm inside mine for our short stroll.

"Just one more thing to make tonight special, dontcha think?" Susan accents her question by resting her head against my shoulder.

We take a few more steps before I stop. I take Susan by her shoulders and turn her to face me.

"Now it's my turn to ask a direct question," I declare softly.

"Sure," Susan replies with a soft smile. "What is it, Phil?"

I look into Susan's beautiful eyes.

"If we go to your stateroom and open that champagne," I begin softly,

"I'm pretty sure that... other things... could probably happen."

Susan's eyes don't leave mine but there's a sparkle as she continues to gaze at me.

"And I just want to be straight with you," I continue, "and ask...

"... why me?"

Susan continues to look into my eyes for a few seconds. Then she reaches up and kisses me softly.

The kiss breaks and Susan replies:

"Phil... why *not* you?

"I don't know if you've noticed, but there aren't a whole lot of unattached people on this ship.

"And the people who are unattached, well, they aren't ones I'd want to spend a whole lot of time with."

Susan goes on: "Your girls... my girls... they want us to spend our time on this cruise with someone new... someone special.

"I've spent most of my day today with you. And I think you're very special."

Susan kisses me again gently.

"Let's be friends," she says softly. "And if there are benefits to that, lets just... enjoy... those benefits.

"For tonight... and maybe more nights, if we want."

My cock is not-too-subtly telling me what *it* wants me to do.

Another kiss from Susan punctuates the conversation. I release Susan's shoulders and we turn toward the sliding doors at the aft end of Central Park. My arm is around Susan's waist and hers is around mine.

As we pass the Trellis Bar the waiter who waved his bar towel at the bug looks up and recognizes us. He offers a short happy wave, which I return. The doors to the elevator lobby slide open, and Susan and I step inside.

⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘

Even though it's only one door down from my stateroom, Susan's stateroom is what Royal Caribbean calls a Junior Suite. It's a little larger and configured differently.

One major difference: My stateroom has one small table and two chairs somewhat jammed on the balcony; Susan's balcony is larger and has a small elegant two-cushion loveseat facing the ocean. An thin elongated table sits against the glass outer wall of the balcony.

The champagne is chilling on a low table in front of a small couch on the balcony-end of the room. Susan walks past the table and collects two fluted glasses as she passes.

"Grab the champagne?" Susan asks as she pivots the handle on the balcony door and slides the door open.

I collect the champagne and a small bar towel beside it and follow Susan out onto the balcony.

Susan sets the glasses onto the balcony table and turns to me.

"I'll let you open the bottle. Give me a few seconds and I'll be right back." I move between the table and the loveseat on the right end, facing the stateroom.

Susan steps back into her stateroom and slides the balcony door nearly closed. She then moves into the stateroom, dimming lights as she goes.

Another twitch emanates from my cock.

At the other end of the room, Susan steps into the bathroom. Intentionally or not, she leaves the door slightly ajar. I can see some of what she's doing inside via a reflection on the bathroom door mirror.

As I wrestle with the wrapper and the cork for the champagne, to my delight I can see Susan stripping off her slacks and removing her panties. I'm enraptured with the brief view of her tight, peachy ass.

Maybe my kink is voyeurism?

Susan reaches forward, then returns into view, spritzing something in the proximity of her groin. Then she steps back into her slacks.

The cork pops and I am now torn between continuing to spy on Susan via the mirror or pouring the champagne.

I settle for the latter and look up just in time to see Susan reaching under her blouse and deftly removing her bra.

My cock strains against my pants at what I'm seeing.

Susan checks her hair in mirror and steps out of the bathroom.

The flutes are filled just as Susan comes back to the balcony door.

Susan comes back out to balcony, skootching herself between table and loveseat on the opposite end I'm on.

"Sit, sit," she instructs, as she reaches for one of the champagne flutes. Susan sits just beyond the midpoint of the loveseat.

I do as I'm told and collect the other flute, sitting on my side of the loveseat's midpoint.

There are mere inches between Susan left leg and my right one.

"Oooo, this is nice!" Susan coos as she sips her champagne.

Having never been on a cruise ship before today, I don't know what a non-balcony stateroom feels like. But this is pretty fucking awesome.

Susan's stateroom's balcony is separated from its neighbors by a high partition; one can hear activity from either side but its difficult to see without craning around and over the outer rail.

So we're afforded something of a large poster-sized opening into the sea in front of us and the sky above us.

Tonight is relatively clear but the ship itself makes so much light the stars are a little dim in the sky. In the distance Susan and I can see another ship sailing in the same direction we are.

"I've decided from now on, I always want a balcony whenever I cruise," Susan says breezily.

"Cheers," Susan chirps as she tips her glass to mine. We sip our champagne and look out into the night.

Susan is the one who takes things to the next level.

"That kiss," she begins, "... on the dance floor? That was pretty amazing."

She sets the champagne on the table and turns to her left a little to face me.

"Makes me wonder what the next one is gonna to be like."

I reach forward and set my glass on the table next to Susan's.

Then I turn slightly to my right and move my face within an inch of Susan's.

"What?," I whisper, "... one is not enough for you?"

Susan is caught off guard just a little. Then she smiles and cocks her eyebrow a little.

"No," she growls. "No where near enough."

And, y'all... it's on.

The summer between high school and college, a girlfriend named Alisha made a declaration while we were making out on her parents' back yard swing.

"You communicate through your kisses," Alisha stated then, breathlessly, through a soft and sultry whisper.

"Who taught you to kiss like this?"

I answered her with another kiss... and the question was soon forgotten.

Alisha decided to go to another school, or we might have advanced our physical relationship furher.

Here... now... on Susan's stateroom balcony, our lips are nearly touching. I can smell her perfume. I can smell her skin... her hair. Her breath is flowing softly from her partially-opened mouth, and mingling with mine.

I lean forward slightly, and our lips touch. Barely.

Susan takes a long inhale through her nose. And the kiss deepens slightly.

My left hand comes up to softly grip Susan's right jaw. My right hand snakes around her waist and I pull her body into mine.

The kiss breaks, then resumes, and deepens again.

Susan is beginning to moan softly into my mouth. Her hands are beginning to move along my arms, across my chest.

Susan breaks the kiss, then looks into my eyes and chuckles deeply.

"You're saying something," Susan whispers.

Then she re-engages and begins to kiss me with a passion of her own.

Susan's tongue snakes out of her mouth and into mine, finding and wrestling with my tongue.

The kiss breaks again and Susan moans, "Oh, god...." And then another kiss follows.

Neither one of us is in a hurry to end this experience. We're like a couple of teenagers, making out in the back seat of the car at the drive-in.

After another couple of deep kisses, Susan begins a trio of rhythmic motions with her mouth against mine. They're not the smoochy kisses I would get from Amanda, but they signal a change is coming from my beautiful make-out partner.

And the change comes.

Susan stands up from the love seat and removes her sandals. Then she sits back down, facing the right side of the couch. Her butt is against my right hip. And Susan leans back across my lap. I catch her with my left arm. She wraps her left arm around my shoulder.

And the kisses continue.

My left arm is cradling Susan as she lays over my lap. I use my right arm and hand to capture the back of Susan's neck and pull her mouth more fully into mine.

My left hand, though, is in a perfect position to stroke softly against Susan's left breast, resting beneath her satin blouse.

I softly stroke the side and the bottom of Susan's left boob, careful to gauge her reaction. Susan arches her back slightly and moans softly into my mouth. Good signs.

I shift position on the couch slightly and remove my right hand from Susan's neck. I break the kiss but remain forehead-to-forehead with this beautiful stranger. I look deeply into her eyes for a signal of some sort.

What I see is a twinkle, and a soft smile crosses Susan's lips. I take them both as a signal to continue.

I kiss Susan again and my right hand moves to cup her breast from the front. But the Toucan brocade is in the way. After a try or two I decide to move my hand to the bottom of her blouse. I slip my fingers underneath the fabric and move my hand gently but determindley across Susan's stomach and back up to her soft and silky breast.

I don't know if Susan knows what I know; that she took her bra off when she was in the bathroom. Even with that knowledge, however, the full contact of my hand against Susan's bare breast brings a soft moan from both of us.

"Mmmmmmm" I murmer into Susan's luscious kiss.

"Mmmm-hmmmm," she murmers back to me in affirmation.

For a woman in her fifties, Susan's boobs are -- if only by feel -- spectacular. The whisper-soft skin is taut and firm. I run my fingers lightly across the top, the outside, and the bottom. Susan wriggles against my fingers as they tour the round contours of her left breast.

My fingers continue to roam softly around the orb, occasionally stopping to grope and softly squeeze the firm flesh. On the next circuit with the pads of my fingers, I graze softly across Susan's left nipple.

Susan's back lurches slightly, and she moans softly into my mouth. The kiss deepens.

I continue to trace my fingers around Susan's breast, focusing more closely on the nipple, which is now delightfully erect. I gently squeeze the firm nub between my fingers. And Susan moans into my mouth again.

After another few seconds of fondling her breast, Susan breaks the kiss and looks into my eyes. She's giving me another signal.

Susan resumes the kiss, then moves her left arm to reach for my right one. She pulls my arm away from her breast, catching my hand in hers as it moves low enough under her blouse.

Then Susan guides my hand lower still, across her stomach and down to her heavenly mound. During this transit, Susan moves her left leg away from her right. She guides my hand firmly into her crotch, actually squeezing my hand against her mound.

"MMmmmmmmm..." I moan into Susan's kiss.

Susan removes her hand. My hand remains.

I continue my soft tactile tour of Susan's remarkable body, this time focusing on her blossoming womanhood writhing just below the layer of satin separating us.

My fingers trace lightly across Susan vulva.

They move first softly right to left, transiting up and down her slit, then softly up and down, expanding to include her far outer lips, then narrowing to pinch softly into her inner lips.

Then I use a single finger to move up and down the center of her twat, pressing slightly into her slit.

Now it's Susan's turn to moan. "Mmmmmmmmm," she murmers as her hips gyrate softly against my motions.

I can feel moisture building under my fingers. I can also feel an increasing heat emanating from between Susan's legs.

This kiss breaks and, once again, Susan reaches down and captures my hand in hers.

She pulls my hand away from her crotch and up to the waistband of her pants. Susan then pushes her feet against the couch and the balcony floor to raise her butt up enough to slip one side of her pants down.

Susan loops a thumb beneath the waistband of her slacks and begins to push them off her hip.

"Help me," she whispers, as I somewhat clumsily attempt the same maneuver on her opposite hip.

Between the two of us, we get Susan's slacks below her butt and over her knees. The fabric puddles at Susan's ankles. With a couple of soft kicks of her feet, Susan's legs are free.

In the process, Susan is now laying more flatly across my thighs.

Susan re-engages me with a kiss, and my right hand begins to slide back toward Susan's glistening pussy.

"My god," I whisper as I break the kiss to catch a breath, "you're so wet!"

Susan has moved her mouth up my jaw and to my left ear.

Her voice whispers roughly into that ear:

"I've always gotten wet when conditions are right."

I reply teasingly as my hand grazes across Susan's pussy: "So, these conditions are right for you?"

Susan moves her mouth back to mine.

"Pretty fucking perfect," she whispers as she envelopes my mouth with hers.

Y'all, it's been a long time since I finger-fucked a woman.

Amanda let me play with her pussy -- a little -- until the girls were born, then she acted like it was a no-touch zone. One amongst many.

And don't think I don't know my way around a woman's anatomy. Just not *this particular* woman's anatomy.

Susan told me she likes long foreplay. I decide to take things slowly, and watch and listen for clues and cues.

For her part, Susan sends me an immediate signal. As my hand drifts back down toward her glory hole, Susan spreads her legs wider and sort of lifts her crotch toward my approaching hand.

I engage Susan in another kiss, which she returns like she's starving for more.

I begin in a similar way that I massaged Susan's twat from outside her slacks. My fingertips traverse softly from side to side, moving in a zig-zag pattern from the top of her slit to the bottom.

Then I widen my fingers to surround Susan's entire vulva, and slide them up and down, narrowing my fingers as I go, until I'm pinching her inner lips between my index and middle finger.

Susan's pussy is responding by coating my fingers in her juices, which makes the whole process smoother and slicker.

Susan is moaning into my mouth. The kiss breaks and Susan whispers as she catches a breath:

"Fuck. Why did I know that you'd be good at this..."

The kiss re-engages. And the moans continue.

Now that my fingers are good and slick, I choose to carefully engage Susan's clitoris into the massage.

On subsequent tours around Susan's inner and outer pussy lips, I allow my fingertips to graze slightly across the hood at the apex of her twat.

There's a soft lurch, then a push upward into my hand, followed by a long moan into my mouth.

I collect as much of Susan's juices as I can on my fingers, and begin a slow circular cycles around the whole of her vulva, making sure to include the hood of her clit on each transit.

After a circuit or two, I reverse direction. Susan breaks the kiss, and responds affirmingly:

There's a sharp inhale of breath, followed by "Ohhhh..... fuck....."

I don't engage Susan with a kiss; the woman is now panting so hard she needs to breathe.

I move to nuzzle and kiss and suck her neck, which brings a whole new reaction.

Susan's back arches and she whispers through a moan, "So unfair...."

My fingers are still moving in circles, but now slide to the top of Susan's pussy lips. I think I can feel that her clit hood has retracted since the last circuit. One pass across the nub confirms it.

Susan lurches upward and cries out "OOOHHH!" then "Mmmmmm" then "Shiiiiiiiitttt..."

So now I need to be careful. Using two fingers I continue to circle slowly around Susan's glistening clit, moving closer and closer to the center.

"Fuuuuccckkkkk," Susan moans. "That.... feels... soooo.... MMmmmmmmmmmm..."

Now my thumb joins the party. Slick with Susan's juices, I move my thumb to softly and slowly circle Susan's clit. My index, middle, and ring fingers rub across Susan's pussy lips in the same pattern.

"Mmmmmmm," Susan moans. "That... feels.... mmmmmmmm."

I move away from Susan's neck and spend a second or two watching her writhe on my lap and I continue to massage her pussy. Her right nipple, not covered by the Toucan applique and poking up into the white satin, makes an appealing target.

I adjust the rotation of my hand so I can move my fingers so that my middle finger drops down below the other two.

After only another cycle or two, I slowly slip my middle finger, still moving along with the others, carefully into Susan's dripping slit.

Susan lurches upward again, but vocalizes with a long, "Mmmmmmm.... yesssssss...."

While my thumb continues to stroke Susan's clit, my middle finger moves a little deeper and begins to slowly piston in and out of her love hole. Because I'm looking for something.

After three or four slow and soft cycles, I find my target: Susan's G-spot. Once found, I leave my finger in contact with the nubbly mound then move my finger forward and backward, increasing the pressure against her flesh with each motion.

Susan reacts immediately.

"OHHHH!!" she cries through a seething whisper. "MMMmmmmm... Whaaaatttt.... Ohhhhhh...."

Susan's head is pivoting. Her grey-blonde hair is flailing back and forth across her face. One hand grasps the wrist of my hand that's ravaging her pussy. But she doesn't try to pull it away. It's like she's wanting to keep it there.

Her vocalizations are getting slightly louder, and are matching the rhythm of my hand against her vagina.

"Mmmmm... Mmmmm... Yesssss... Mmmmm..."

Time to bring this home.

While my right hand is continuing to work on Susan's love hole, I lower my head to her right breast. Through the satin of her blouse, I suck her tit into my mouth, I twiddle my tongue over and across her nipple, then release the suction.

I suck once more, harder this time, and actually softly grip her tit in my teeth.

Several things happen, suddenly, at once.

Susan's voice takes a higher pitch and she clamps her mouth closed. Her voice continues to follow the rhythmic gasping from before:

"Mmmmff!!... Mmmmff!!... Mmmmff!!... Mmmmff!!..."

Next, her other arm flies up to wrap around my neck, holding my head against her breast.

Then she pushes her pelvis, simultaneously, into my hand and up into the arch her back is making. She actually holds the arched position for a few seconds and her vocalizations stop.

Then... the release.

"UUUURRRrrmmmmmmmhhhh!" Susan's voice explodes from deep within her. She releases my wrist and, with that hand, clamps it over her mouth to mask, perhaps, further cries from listening ears on nearby balconies.

And those cries come, accompanied by lurches of Susan's hips, and pulses of her stomach, as Susan's orgasm rolls through her.

"Mmmmff!!... Mmmmff!!... Mmmmff!!... Mmmmff!!..."

Susan's head pivots, her eyes closed. Her legs gyrate gently in random directions, and her breath devolves to a series of soft inhales and strong exhales through her nose.

Her orgasm waning, Susan collapses her hips back onto the love seat. I realize my hand, still in contact with her pussy, is now invasive. I pull my fingers gently out of Susan's love hole and she pulls her legs softly together, perhaps to internalize the pulses still moving through her.

Susan lays across my lap, almost in a puddle. After a few more seconds she opens her eyes and looks into mine. She gives me a soft smile and pulls my head down into a soft, lingering kiss.

The kiss breaks and Susan focuses her beautiful eyes into mine.

And then Susan whispers:

"Let's take this inside."

⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘

Susan giggles as she moves to stand up from laying in my lap. She collects her slacks and sandals from the deck and grabs the bottle of champagne from the table.

"Grab the glasses?" Susan asks over her shoulder as she moves around the loveseat toward the sliding door to the stateroom.

I collect the flutes and arrive at the door just as Susan has it open. She steps through and sets the bottle on the table in front of the sofa. She tosses her slacks and sandals aside.

I set the flutes on the table and turn back to the slider to close it.

When I turn back toward the interior of the room, Susan has moved beyond the sofa and is standing at the side of the bed. She's waiting for me.

As I approach, Susan raises her arms and wraps her hands around my neck. My arms move to grasp her softly around her waist. Then Susan envelopes me in a long, lingering, passionate kiss. But just one.

The kiss breaks and Susan's beautiful blue eyes glare into mine.

"You have wa-a-y too many clothes on, Mister" Susan whisper-growls.

Forehead-to-forehead, Susan moves her hands to my shoulders and rotates the two of us around so we basically swap positions. She pushes me backwards until my legs make contact with the bed.

Her eyes break from mine and her arms move down from my shoulders, to the top button of my untucked shirt. She slowly unbuttons the first button, and then her eyes return to mine.

Susan's fingers trace their way down to the second button, then the third, then the fourth. She's still staring into my eyes, and hers twinkle back into mine. She has a smirky smile on her lips.

After the last two buttons are freed from the placket, Susan's hands move up to my shoulders and she pulls the shirt open and down. I release my hands from Susan's waist and the shirt clears my elbows and my hands. Susan breaks her stare as she tosses the shirt away somewhere.

After Amanda died, I realized two things: One, I needed to find something to occupy my time. And two, I needed to do something to keep myself in shape. Mark Twain famously said that "Golf is a good walk, spoiled." And, while I enjoy the game, I see a lot of guys every round carrying around more pounds than they should. I needed more than a good walk to do what I wanted to do.

I adjusted my diet and found a few more strenuous activities that have allowed me to keep myself in pretty good shape for a guy my age.

Susan is discovering one of the results that hard work.

Susan returns her gaze to me and reaches up to kiss me softly. My hands return to her waist.

As the soft kiss continues Susan's hands, meanwhile, begin a soft tour across my shoulders, over my pectorals, down to my stomach, then back up my arms. Her fingers dance across my skin softly, and I think I even feel goose bumps in a place or two. It feels amazing.

Once Susan's tactile tour of my torso is complete, she breaks the kiss and begins a whole new series of traverses across my upper body, this time using her mouth.

Susan moves from my mouth to my left shoulder and engages in a soft, suckling kiss of my skin. Then she begins to move south, across my clavicle and over my left pectoral.

Susan has to dip her knees for what she does next and so my hands slide up each side accordingly. Without necessarily intending to, I'm gathering her blouse on the tops of my hands.

Susan's mouth continues to wander over my chest, until she gets to my left nipple. There, she lingers and her soft suckling kiss becomes more of an intentional suck against my tit. Her tongue twiddles slowly, then quickly over it. Then she sucks harder. Then she nibbles softly against in, then laps over it with the flat of her tongue.

I love sucking on a woman's tit but I don't recall a woman ever sucking on mine.

It feels fucking amazing. And I moan something to that effect as Susan moves her mouth to the center of my chest and continues downward.

Susan stops, and looks up into my eyes with a glint in hers.

"Just wait," she whispers. And a jolt of sexual lightning surges through me.

To continue traversing down my torso, Susan has to shift positions. She does so by dropping to her knees directly in front of me. My hands are still at her sides and her blouse now begins to sort of awkwardly gather beneath her arms.

We both realize it at the same time. Susan smiles at me as she removes her hands from my torso and holds them both over her head. I then pull my hands upward and the appliqued Toucan silk blouse slides up and over her head.

And Susan -- this gorgeous stranger I only met this morning -- is now naked on her knees in front of me.

Susan smiles at me as she tousles her head a little to adjust her hair. And then her hands drop down to the beltline of my pants.

Another zing of sexual energy runs through me as I realize what's about to happen.

I've always loved oral sex... giving and receiving. Amanda always made me feel like it was obligatory on her part, based on her lack of enthusiasm and her saving it only for special occasions. The escort I hired in desperation on my business trip was good at it, but I was paying her for a fuck and I got the impression she didn't want to risk less if I had cum with only her mouth.

And now Susan is on her knees, working to take my pants off.

The belt is unfastened and Susan struggles for just a second with the button holding the waistband. Then she locates and lowers the zipper and pushes my pants off my ass. They puddle at my ankles over the huarche sandals.

For some reason, after Amanda died I decided to start wearing boxer briefs. I dunno... maybe just to be different. I put on a fresh pair this evening after my shower. My cock is fully aroused and completely fills the pouch in the front. And so that's what is before Susan right now. Susan lightly grazes the underside of my cock through the fabric with the tips of her fingers.

"What," Susan says quietly. "... you're not commando??"

She glances up at me with a wicked smile, then returns her gaze to the waistband of my briefs. Susan navigates pulling the waistband forward so my erection can clear it, then pulls the fabric over my ass. The briefs slide down my legs and join the same puddle as my pants.

Susan takes a few seconds to manage my pants, briefs, and sandals and push them all to the side.

Then Susan looks up at me again with a determined grin on her beautiful mouth.

In the process of getting me totally naked, Susan has moved away from me by a number of inches. Now, she closes that gap by skootching forward on her knees. My cock is sandwiched between Susan's body and mine.

Now Susan does something that's kind of amazing. She collects my hands in hers and moves them behind me, holding them in place. Then she resumes her kissing/sucking tour down my body, like she was doing just a little while ago while she was stripping me of my clothes. It's almost like she wants my (and her) memory of the experience to be one continuous loop, rather than being interrupted by something out of sequence.

With her hands holding mine behind me she pulls my body into her mouth as she slides down from my ribcage, across my stomach, and over the top of my groin.

Now, her mouth has traversed down the front of my body until she right at the top of my cock.

And Susan doesn't wait. She moves back a little so my erection is standing mostly straight out in front of me.

Then Susan licks her lips, opens her mouth, and takes my dick directly into her mouth. No hands.

"AAhhhhhh... ggoddddd!!," I can't help but cry out.

Using her hands holding mine against my back as leverage, Susan pistons her mouth slowly over my erection. Out... then in... then out... then in.

Meanwhile, her tongue is lolling around my cock as it slides in and out of her mouth. Susan is mewing softly as my cock -- out of my control -- pistons slowly in and out of her mouth.

Y'all, I haven't had a woman put my dick in her mouth in more than three years. And I've *NEVER* had oral sex performed on me like this. With this intensity. With this wantonness.

It's at once invigorating... exhilirating... and a little bit terrifying.

"Oh, Susan," I groan, not-so-softly. "Urrrgghhhh.... Jesus!!!"

Susan's eyes open and look up into mine. She releases one hand from one of my wrists but captures it quickly in the other hand, still holding both behind me.

Her free hand, the right one, comes around to grasp my cock as she pulls her mouth away to catch her breath.

"Mmmhaahhh," Susan gasps through her exhale.

Still looking into my eyes, Susan then runs her tongue slowly up the length of the underside of my cock. Her breath is racing in and out of her open mouth as she does so.

At the top, Susan closes her eyes and drops her mouth again over my dick and begins a similar piston. Her tongue continues to roll within her mouth. Her right hand encircles the girth of my cock and she begins a twisting motion in counter-point to the piston/roiling going on at the same time.

I'm not going to last long with this type of treatment. And I don't want to cum like this. At least not this soon.

Susan's one hand holding my two isn't enough to keep me captive. I break my left hand free and bring it around to the back of Susan's head to halt her motions.

"Susan, Suze," I moan through a whisper,

"Slow down... wait... slow... don't..."

And Susan stops. In a single motion the releases her hand from my cock and pulls her mouth from around my member.

She looks up with slight concern on her face. At the same time she releases my other hand and stands up in front of me.

"Phil," she whispers, "what's wrong... are you okay??"

I pull this beautiful woman into my arms and kiss her deeply. A kiss she willingly returns.

The kiss breaks. And Susan looks up into my eyes. There's still slight concern in hers.

"What is it?" she whispers.

I smile back at her. "Nothing's wrong," I reply softly.

"I just want it to last longer."

The concern melts from Susan's eyes. A soft laugh erupts through her nose.

Susan breaks free from my arms and crawls onto the end of the bed, stopping when her knees reach the foot of the mattress. She rolls over onto her side and looks back at me.

"Come here," Susan commands.

Like an obedient lap-dog, I climb onto the bed and come alongside the beautiful, naked creature before me.

"Kiss me," Susan instructs, as she reaches her left hand out and circles my neck.

And it's a hell of a kiss, y'all.

It's deep. And rich. And passionate.

I smother her body with my own. Susan's legs move to wrap around mine and mine move to wrap around hers as our embrace deepens.

There's no rush to this kiss. Like the kiss on the dance floor, this is a kiss of envelopment. I am trying to pull Susan into me and she is trying to pull me into her.

The kiss breaks slowly and we spend a few seconds breathing heavily into each other.

But I sense that a fire is still burning within this vixen wrapped in my arms. She's pressing her body into mine. She's roiling her groin against mine.

My cock is pulsing between us.

Susan's eyes open into mine and she spends a few seconds staring deep into my eyes.

Then Susan whispers her next wish:

"Phil, here's what I want," Susan purrs.

"I want you to eat my pussy.

"Eat me like I'm your last meal." She reaches forward with a soft, teasing kiss.

"Savor me," Susan growls. Another tease-kiss. "Lick me." Then another tease-kiss.

"Drink the love-honey I'm making for you...

"... for you, Phil."

And another kiss. This one not a tease.

"Make me cum." Susan whispers, "until I beg you to stop." She moves to repeat the kiss, but then she doesn't.

And her eyes burn into mine.

"Do anything you want with me...

"Do anything you want... to me.

"Can you do that for me, Phil?

"Can you?... please?"

This is the promise of sex like I've never had. My cock is raging.

But I have a question for Susan.

"What if," I begin,

"I don't... what if I go... too far?

"I don't want to..."

Susan puts her finger across my lips to shush me. Then she smiles up at me.

"I won't let you go too far," Susan purrs.

"Our safe word will be," and she cocks her eyes to the ceiling in mock-thought.

"Bee-sting," she announces with a gleeful smile.

I laugh softly through my nose.

"I've never been with a woman," I announce through a chuckle, "who thought a safe word was... necessary."

Susan looks warmly into my eyes.

"Well," she whispers, "there's a first time for everything."

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Readers, I mentioned before how much I enjoy oral sex. What Susan doesn't know -- yet -- is how much I enjoy GIVING oral sex to my partner.

I learned to love to eat pussy while I was in college. It wasn't a challenge, really.

I was an absolute nerd back in school. I was a good enough player to be on the golf team, but I was the farthest thing from being a jock as I could be.

I majored in accounting. I wore dorky horn-rimmed glasses.

My college had a two-to-one ratio, women to men, so there *were* girls that would agree to go out with me, although they were not the most popular -- nor the most beautiful -- like the girls who lived on sorority row.

But two or three of them were interested in getting physical in the course of our dates.

Kissing led to groping. Groping led to more heavy petting. More heavy petting led to getting naked. Getting naked led to blow jobs and cunnilingus.

And, as the dates with these girls continued, our sex focused... especially... on cunnilingus. They even found me willing to forego any reciprocal oral love, just so I could eat them out.

And once these girls discovered how particularly good it felt to cum with my mouth and tongue squelching over and inside their pussies, they wanted more and more of it.

And they started telling their friends about me.

Word started to get around.

As nerdy as I was, I became very popular, even with many of the sorority girls. I even had girls from the Theta house come to watch me... ME!!... play golf.

None of the real jocks in the dorm I lived in could figure it out.

But that was then, and this is now. And Susan has given me an assignment.

Mere seconds have passed since Susan gave me her safe-word. Still, it seems appropriate to re-start her engine. Plus, I want an opportunity to fully appreciate the attributes of this vixen that is laying before me.

I kiss Susan softly, but deeply. And she returns the kiss, richly.

Now it's my turn to kiss my way along and around Susan's beautiful body.

I move from Susan's mouth to her ear, then to her neck, and down to her clavicle. I employ the same kind of suckling kiss that Susan lavished on my torso as she was taking my clothes off.

Susan is enjoying the attention I'm giving her. She purrs and moans and shifts her body from laying on her right side to laying more fully on her back. She stretches her arms up over her head.

I push myself up on my arm to get a good look at Susan -- all of Susan -- as she stretches out on the bed before me.

If she was a vision coming into Central Park at dinner, she's even more of a vision now.

I noticed in the check-in line how proportional Susan's body was to her frame. It's even more apparent now.

Even though her arms are stretched upward, Susan's boobs command attention. I'm no expert at gauging breast sizes, but I'm guessing they're 34 or 35, and probably a C cup.

Her nipples are centered in quarter-sized areolae and sit high on the top curve of her breasts. They rise up about half the size of a B-B.

If she had work done to get or keep these boobs, I don't give a fuck. They're perfect.

Susan's ribcage tapers down to a trim and taut stomach.

Her hips flare as any 50-year-old's would, but I wouldn't guess that they had birthed two children. Susan has worked hard to stay fit as she's gotten older.

Susan has her legs together and pitched to the left side of the bed so I can't make a visual evaluation of her pussy. There is a small and soft landing strip leading to the top of her "V".

Her legs reinforce what I saw earlier today: Her calves are taut, even a little muscular. Her thighs are proportional and not the least bit fleshy or flabby.

"My god, Susan," I murmur in awe. "You're... you're fucking gorgeous!!"

Susan laughs softly as she twists her body sexily before me.

"I appreciate your choice of adjectives," she coos up at me. "Especially the first one." Then:

"Everything you see is all for you tonight."

Then it seems that Susan wants to break me out of adoration mode.

"Why don't you start," and Susan points somewhat exaggeratedly at her right breast,

"... here?"

I stopped kissing Susan's body at her clavicle. Following her lead from her blow job before, that's where I resume.

In only a kiss or two I'm over Susan's right boob. The nipple is poking out a little farther than just before.

I run a wet, sloppy suck kiss over that nipple. My arm has snaked under Susan's lower back and I pull her torso toward my mouth.

And I suck on her tit like a newborn baby.

"Ohhhh... Mmffff... Mmffff," Susan moans as her torso twists under my mouth and tongue and teeth.

I get the sense that Susan's nipples are sensitive, as she lurches and sharply inhales periodically as I alter my attack.

Susan's back is also arching and I'm not sure if it's my arm or my mouth that's causing it.

Susan answers that wonder directly.

"Goddamit," Susan whispers through a moan, "... you're good at this, too."

I give Susan's left boob and left tit similar attention. Then I release my grip on Susan's lower back and begin kissing below her boobs, across her stomach, and heading for her pubic mound.

Depending on where you get you information, there might be forty or more positions for a man to lick a woman's pussy. My go-tos have either been horizontally from between my partner's knees, or more of a top-down approach with my arms wrapped around her legs.

My partners in college liked the latter position because they felt more captured by my arms and my torso.

Just because of the way Susan and I have ended up on her bed, that position is not my choice for this encounter.

I drop to my knees and I gently put my hands on Susan's calves and push them outward. She willingly complies.

And... god... Susan's pussy is beautiful! I've had the priviledge of experiencing six or seven pussies in my life. Susan's is proportional to her frame, and a little bit on the small side. I'd guess her lips are about three inches long and maybe one-and-a-half inches wide.

Susan shaves her vulva. She leaves a tiny triangle-shaped patch of very short hair just above her clit. Her outer lips are a rich pink color, engorged with the anticipation of our sex.

Her legs are spread and so the outer lips are revealing the inner ones. Their ripply beauty is accented by the moisture from within, glistening along the joint of her lips.

My kisses now venture down to the insides of Susan's thighs. They also slow down and deepen. Susan's soft moans guide me the rest of the way.

"Mmmmmmm..." Susan purrs. One hand moves to my head and softly strokes my hair.

My attention now focuses on the outer lips of Susan's pussy. I gently run my tongue up one side and down the other, breathing hot breath out of my mouth and onto her cunt. Her inner lips are still pursed together but a drop of moisture is running out from between them.

"Yes... there," Susan whispers, "... right there."

The smell of Susan's pussy is intoxicating. My cock is straining to slide inside her.

But not quite yet.

I harden the tip of my tongue and run it carefully between Susan's pursed inner lips, separating them as I move slowly from bottom to top.

At the top I twiddle softly over Susan's clit, which is beginning to peek out from its hood.

"Oh, fuck... Phil..." Susan moans. Then:

"Are you going to be good at this, too??"

My arms move up under Susan's thighs and I pull her crotch harder into my mouth. Susan responds by placing her hand behind my head and holding me against her pussy.

Now I'm kissing, sucking, moaning into Susan's quivering quim.

Susan's juices are flowing freely and the taste as they dribble out of her cunt is intoxicating.

Musky. Tangy. Warm. Sweet.

I harden my tongue again and slide it as far as I can into Susan's love hole.

I slide a hand up to Susan's left boob and squeeze the nipple softly between my fingers.

"Ooh... shit..." Susan moans. "That feels... urmmmm..."

I feel her Susan's pussy beginning to pulsate. Her head is pivoting back and forth against the bed. Her legs are beginning to shake a little.

Susan's voice moans down to my ears.

"I know I told you I like a lot of foreplay," Susan whispers through panting breath. I pause my feasting and look up into Susan's eyes. She's raised her head a little to look at me.

"But I really want to cum...

"No, I *need* to cum. Right now."

Susan pulls my head a little harder into her pussy.

"Make me cum, Phil," she whispers.

"Please... just make me cum."

Susan's words course through me like sexual lightning.

"Yes, ma'am," I murmur as I drop my eyes back to Susan's crotch and get back to business.

I was working my way toward this target, but now Susan's clit becomes a major objective.

I open my mouth wide enough to cover Susan's entire vulva, then use my tongue to make long lapping motions from the bottom to the top.

With each repeat of the cycle, I increase tension on my tongue, and pressure on Susan's pussy.

Susan's moans begins to match the rhythm of my motions.

"MMrrrmmm... MMrrrmmm... MMrrrmmm..." she responds softly.

Also with each cycle, I'm shortening the distance from the bottom to the top. By the fourth cycle, maybe, I'm focusing on the space just below and just above Susan's clit.

Susan takes a long inhale through her teeth: "SSSSssssssssssss..."

And that's the change I was looking for.

My position hasn't changed, other than bringing both hands to Susan's hips and holding her crotch against my mouth, which is still locked over Susan's cunt.

But my tongue begins to focus on Susan's love button.

Soft licks become soft, quick twiddles over her clit. Soft, quick twiddles become firmer, quicker twiddles, followed by a softer, lapping graze of her swelling clitoris.

Susan's voice is accenting the motions of my tongue.

"Mmmmfff... Ohhhhhh... MMmmmmmm... Yessss, right... MMmmmmmmm," she moans.

From the very first time I tried it, when I perform oral sex on a partner, I feel almost as though I'm having sex as well. And so I'm starting to get a little gassed... a little tired... in the process.

Susan wants to cum. So it's time to give Susan's clilt some focused attention.

My grip increases on Susan's hips and my tongue becomes a targeted missle against her love button.

I establish a pattern; a few seconds of rapid licks over her clit, followed by a soft lap combined with a suckle of her clit into my lips.

Then more seconds of rapid licks, followed by a suckle, and accented by twiddles with the hard end of my tongue while her clit is held captive in my lips.

I have to breathe through all of this. So I establish a pattern: Twiddle with my tongue, slowly and softly, with my mouth open. Susan has simultaneous stimulation of wetness moving across her clit, and hot breath bathing her entire pussy.

That action lasts until I hear a change in Susan's breathing, and vocalizations.

"Mmmmffff," she moans. "That's... that's... MmmmmOhhhhhh..."

The twiddle stops and I kiss and suck against Susan's whole pussy, savoring the increasing flow of her juices.

Now the same action continues. Only faster... more intense. More pressure against her clit with my tongue.

Susan is trying to move her legs around to escape the assault. I grip against them, increasing the feeling that's she's a captive to my mouth against her cunt. Because she is.

"Shit... Ohhhh... Fuck..." Susan cries. Her voice is getting louder. "You're... ohhhh... right... yesss... right... right..."

Susan is beginning to pump her pelvis hard into my mouth. I take a chance that it's a sign I'm looking for.

I release her right leg that's been held captive by my left arm. That leg immediately moves to the surface of the bed and she begins to push harder against my mouth.

I put my middle two fingers in my mouth and coat them in the saliva -- and pussy juice -- that's there. Then I re-engage my mouth with Susan's cunt and the twiddling begins.

At the same time, those two fingers snake between Susan's love lips and move into her love tunnel.

"Ohhhhh... Mmmmmm..." Susan moans. "What... oh... don't stuh..."

The fingers locate the nubbly flesh inside Susan's love hole. And I begin to rhythmically press against that flesh as my tongue continues to flicker across her clit.

It's like Susan gets struck by lightning.

"OHHHHH!!... OHHHH!!...." she cries. "JEEZ... OHHHH!!!"

And her body begins to grind against me in its own rhythm. And it's a different rhythm than what I'm doing with my fingers and my mouth.

Susan's orgasm is beginning to bloom inside her.

"Ohhhh... yesss..." Susan cries. The pitch of her voice is beginning to raise.

"That's... yess... right... that's... perf... yess.."

I don't stop. I don't dare change a thing.

And I begin to feel a rapid quiver against my mouth. Against my fingers.

Susan is starting to succumb to the raw power building in her body. Her breathing is racing. Her hands are flying all over. My head. The bed. Her body. Back my head.

"YES... OHHHH!!" Susan cries. Her hips are beginning to buck against me.

Her voice suddenly elevates to a much higher pitch. It's how the girl cums.

"Yee... Yee... Yeeeeeee!!!!" Susan squeals.

"Oh I'm... you're making... I'm gonna...

"YEEEEEEEEE!!!!"

And Susan's next orgasm hits her... hard.

Susan's hips are bucking so hard I can hardly hold on. Her stomach is pulsing. Her pelvis is gyrating. I'm sure her head and hair are flailing about.

"URNNHHH... OHHH..." Susan's high-pitched voice erupts.

"URRRNNNHHH... YESSSSS..."

When Susan's orgasm hits, I pull my fingers away from her g-spot. I know the sensitivity of my cock head after I've had my cum. I do savor the pulses her cumming lavishes on my fingers.

I also lessen the intensity of my mouth against Susan's cunt. Now I'm kissing, lightly sucking, collecting the juices that continue to flow.

Susan's orgasm is waning, and she's beginning to realize where I am relative to her on the bed.

"Mmmmfff... "Mmmmfff..." she moans as she works to catch her breath.

Then, with my mouth still engaged with her crotch, Susan reaches down to my shoulders, pulling me upward to lay with her on the top of the bed.

"Come up here," Susan pants. "Get on your back."

⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘

I crawl over the foot of the bed and end up with my head resting against pillows at the head of the bed. Susan pivots her body in a one-eighty.

Once I'm settled she smothers me in a hot, sloppy kiss.

The kiss breaks and Susan moves to straddle me. Her knees end up on either side of my rib cage.

"I want you inside me," she growls through a whisper.

Susan pitches her hips forward and reaches behind her with her right hand. Grasping my cock she directs it to her spread pussy lips.

Susan releases my cock and relaxes her legs. Her butt pivots backward and my cock slips inside her wet, hot, smooth love hole.

"Mmmmmmmm," Susan purrs as she roils her hips against my pelvis. My cock gets seated deeper within her.

Susan leans forward and smothers me in another kiss. She grasps my hands and stretches my arms upward over my head.

She moans into my mouth as her hips slowly move up and down, her pussy sliding in concert on my cock.

"God," Susan whispers, "you feel just perfect inside me."

It's been the better part of three years since I've had my cock inside a woman. Still, Susan's hooch feels tighter than I remember Amanda's ever feeling.

I don't hesitate to mention that to Susan.

"God," I murmur into her left ear, "you're so tight!

"And you're so wet!!"

Susan is definitely more wet than anyone I can remember. She releases my hands and pushes herself into an upright position, with her hands resting on my chest.

I move my hands down to Susan's hips. I'm happy to let her set the pace.

"Ohhhhh, shit...." Susan moans softly as she continues to wriggle against my groin. She opens her eyes and looks into mine with a sleepy-soft grin on her lips.

Another couple of roils and her eyes close again. Another moan rumbles through her.

Next Susan moves her hands to rest on my thighs behind her. This changes the angle of my cock within her love canal. I feel the difference and Susan apparently does, too.

"Ohhhhh," she whispers in rhythm with her motions against my meat pole, "Ohhhh... ohhh... ohhh..."

It feels fantastic. The energy that emanates from Susan -- that I first experienced from her in the check-in line -- seems to flow through her even more now that we're finally fucking.

It's almost like a thrumming that surrounds my cock and emits from her hands as she touches me.

I move my hands from Susan's hips up to her breasts. I softly fondle one boob in each hand.

Susan's eyes droop open and she looks lazily into mine.

"If you only knew what you're doing to me...." Susan whispers with a smile.

I'd be happy to stay in this position but Susan has another idea.

Her eyes snap open and Susan extracts herself from my cock. She pivots so she's facing the end of the bed and so that she's resting on her knees and her elbows.

"I like being on top," Susan coos back at me. "But I like to do the doggy, too."

Fucking in multiple positions in one sex session is a new experience for me. Amanda was a one-position-only girl... and never really anything other than missionary.

Now Susan's ripe and deep pink pussy is winking at me from her peach-perfect ass. I get off my back and onto my knees and position my legs on the inside of Susan's. There are few adjustments that each of us make to get the angles just right.

My cock is raging, and still coated with Susan's juices. I slide back inside her easily. My hands move to the small of Susan's back, resting on her hips.

There's a sharp inhale from Susan, followed by a long and langorous "Mmmmmmmmmmm..."

"Jesus... you feel good!" Susan whispers.

I begin to move my hips to move my cock deeper into Susan's quim. But then she suddenly begins a slow rocking motion forward and backward. It feels fucking fantastic and a low groan escapes from me.

"Uurrrrrrrmmmmmmm," I moan.

I attempt to match Susan's movements. It's not a porn-movie type of fuck. We're not pounding into each other.

Susan is mewing softly in rhythm with her motions. After a few more seconds, Susan stretches her body forward. She's now in a face-down, ass-up posture. I pick up the rhythm and softly keep my cock moving within Susan's pussy.

"Oh, fuck Phil," Susan murmurs into the duvet. "I'm gonna... I'm...

"... I'm cumming..."

And Susan does cum, but more softly than before. Her motions stop and I feel a quiver surrounding my dick, deep inside her. Her stomach pulses and her moans and her breathing match the rhythm.

I try to stay buried within her. I'm softly stroking Susan's back as her orgasm wanes.

Susan suddenly rises up from her face-down position. She pushes her butt into me and then raises up into my chest. The move forces my thighs down into sort of a kneeling position. My arms wrap around her body and I pull her into mine.

Susan then turns her head and engages me in a hot, sweltering kiss.

The kiss breaks and Susan's voice ripples into my right ear:

"Fuck me, Phil," she sizzles through a whisper.

"Fuck me right now.

"Fuck me like you paid for me. Like you own me.

"Fuck me like you've ever wanted to fuck a woman... in your whole life."

And Susan sort of rolls off my lap and positions herself at the head of the bed. Her hands fluff through her hair and then her arms spread wide open. Her legs are open wide.

Her eyes are burning into mine.

I said that I like dirty talk, but jeezus! I don't wait for another command.

I move between Susan's legs and collapse down onto her, wrapping her in a smothering kiss. Susan's arms come around my body.

With a pivot of my hips I get my cock in the right place. And I plunge slowly and deeply into Susan's waiting pussy.

"Ohhhhhhhhh, Phil.... yes!!" Susan moans into my ear.

I move in and out of Susan's pussy slowly, but determinedly. I think I'm going deeper than I was before, but it really doesn't matter.

I feel a renewed tingle deep inside my groin. I've been waiting for my own orgasm long enough.

My pumping into Susan begins to speed up. My breath begins to match my motions.

"UUrrhhh... UUrrhhh... UUrrhhh... UUrrhhh," I hear my own voice say.

Susan joins in: "Yes... yes... fuck me... give it to me... YES!!!"

I'm feeling animalistic. I keep pushing and pounding into Susan.

I hear a wet, wonderful squelching sound with every thrust.

Susan wraps her legs around my hips and grips my shoulders even tighter.

"MMmmff... MMmmfff... MMmmfff," Susan whimpers, in rhythm with my thrusts into her.

And I suddenly feel my orgasm rocketing forward through my loins.

My voice rises in pitch and volume. "UUrrhhh... UUrrhhh... Susan, I'm... UUrrhhh... UUrrhhh,"

Then: "UUURRRNNNHHH!!!!" And I plunge as deep into Susan as I can while my cock erupts and spurts jizzm deep into her love hole.

Susan's hips seem to me thrumping as well, as she perhaps joins me in an orgasm of her own.

My cries die out. My heaving breaths subside.

And I lay, spent, beside Susan in her bed.

⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘

I think we both sleep for a few minutes. I am stirred back to awareness when Susan rolls over and puts her hand softly on my chest.

Then she reaches up and kisses me.

"Mmmmm," I sorta-growl. "You okay?"

"Fuck," Susan whispers, still in dirty-talk mode.

"Are you kidding me?

"If I ask Alexa right now to tell me how many times I've cum in a single love-making session more than I've cum tonight, do you know what she'd say?"

"I dunno," I answer in my post-orgasm grog. "What would she say."

Susan raises up and looks in my eyes.

"She'd say, 'Fucking Never, Susan!'"

And Susan kisses me. Then she starts giggling in the middle of the kiss.

The kiss breaks and we both giggle and then break into laughs at the idiocy of asking such a question of Alexa.

The laughter ends and Susan remains curled up against me.

After a bit, Susan asks another question, with her head still on my chest.

"So, Phil," she says quietly. "What about tomorrow?

"It's a sea day. We don't get to our first port until the next morning."

Susan's hand drifts down and lightly strokes my cock.

"Well," I whisper quietly while I stroke Susan's hair, "I think my instincts are telling me,"

"... that we should propbably... just stay here?"

Susan looks up into my eyes.

"Oooohh, good call," she says softly.

"Because there's a lot more about you that I intend to explore..."

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