Love a Sailor (10 page)

I feel safe so far, no gray mist clouding
my vision. He strokes upwards through the denim to the top of my legs and palms
me there where I am melting. I shift a little, but I am all right. The fabric
of my jeans is between us. I run my hands through his thick hair and press down
to show him everything is acceptable. He sits up and undoes my waist button
then slides down the zip. He kisses me on the lips, and my hips strain upwards
towards him. He gives me little nips on my belly, edging closer and closer, but
that is too much for me, the gray panic is closing in on me. I twist out from
beneath him, feeling both silly and guilty. I want to go further, but I just
can’t. He understands and gathers me up in his arms, kissing me on the top of
my head.

“It’s all right, sweetheart,” he says.

It’s the first time he has called me his
sweetheart. I can really trust this man.

We lie back together and talk quietly so
as not to wake Sukey, planning when we can meet again. Not tonight as he has to
entertain guests from shore. Possibly tomorrow. He tells me the next stage of
the voyage will take several days: Naples to Port Said in Egypt where we shall
enter the Suez Canal for our trip down through the Red Sea, and out into the Indian
Ocean.

A discrete knock at the door. It’s the
doctor come to check on Sukey. The Captain stays to hear what he has to say and
it’s all good. As the door closes behind the doctor, I ask the Captain if it
was wise for him to let Dr Jenkins find him in our cabin.

“Meredith,” he says with impatience. “I
am the Master of this ship. My crew owe me loyalty and respect because of my
position, but I also hope that I earn their respect because of what I bring
personally to this job. My crew do not tittle-tattle about me, and certainly
not to our passengers.”

I reach up to kiss him lightly on the
cheek to say I’m sorry and he sweeps me into his arms. He kisses me on the
brow. “You’re forgiven. Now let me have a real kiss before I go.”

And, of course, I yield — that much I can
give him, but I’m left with the fear that he will grow impatient with me.

It’s another bright and clear morning. Sukey wakes up a
happy little girl, all traces of the fever gone. I get her ready for breakfast
to give Clara a chance for a lie-in but then it’s my turn for the day off. The
Playroom is still closed. Clara will be busy all day entertaining Sukey. I
leave them together making their way down to the dining room for a late
breakfast, and hurry upstairs to the breakfast bar on the top deck where I’m
hoping to catch up with the gang.

Tony is tackling a huge plate of bacon
and eggs, the full English, but Pete and Doreen haven’t shown up yet.

In between one large mouthful and
another, he says, “Whew! Glad that’s Europe behind us. You can have too much
ancient culture. Give me the new world of Australia any day.”

“What? You didn’t enjoy Pompeii? I would have
loved to have gone with you.”

“The site is enormous. I’ve never done so
much walking about broken old buildings in my life. What’s more, the curbs are
knee-high and even for a big guy like me it was exhausting clambering about. I
couldn’t wait to get on the coach and back here to good cold beer or two.”

“Or three or four,” I say as Pete and
Doreen arrive.

We swap news, Doreen saying she loved
every minute of the trip to Pompeii. Kate joins us in time to hear Tony laugh
and ask, “Why is it you Sheila’s have such a hankering for culture, any way?”

We chat about what there is to do during
the two days’ sailing to Port Said. The true problem on board the
Albion
is not that there isn’t anything to do, but that there is too much. It’s
difficult to choose. Life on board is organized with activities every minute of
the day, but the average age of attendees at most functions is decades older
than we are. We settle for another pool tournament, Tony and Pete saying
they’ll rope in some of the younger couples. Now that we are approaching the
African coast, it will be warm enough to swim. There’s darts, the casino,
lectures on Egyptology and Maritime history, salsa lessons. We’re really
spoiled for choice. One thing we are sure of is that we shall have all our
meals at the open air restaurants on deck and not down in the stuffy dining and
grill rooms. I point out that I won’t be available tomorrow as it will be my
turn to look after Sukey, and so we hurry about setting up the pool matches. We
all know it is unlikely that I will survive the first round.

I’m hopeless at pool, never having played
before I came on the ship, but Tony is anxious to teach me and I suffer his
form of tuition, which involves lots of leaning over me to guide my shots. I am
amazed at how far I have come along since the beginning of the voyage. Only a
month before I wouldn’t have let a man get within a yard of me. Kate chuckles
every time she sees us take a double shot. She’s good natured enough not to
mind that I’m hogging the attention of the man she fancies, as she knows it’s
the Captain who’s at the forefront of my mind.

The tournament is left unresolved and I
take the opportunity for a siesta. I want to be fresh for my dinner with the
Captain. I shall be sitting next to him for the first time for quite a while,
and want to look my best and not be tired if he decides he would like my
company after dinner. His note that morning gave no hint of dissatisfaction or
boredom with me, saying only that he was looking forward to this evening.

Sneaking off to my cabin after lunch, I
leave the others arguing about the merits of various pop bands and whether
Australian music can compare with European and American music. An interesting
discussion, but one I can afford to miss.

I don’t sleep for as long as I needed to,
waking at about half past three with the rest of the afternoon and the early
evening before me. I’m impatient for dinnertime; anxious to see whether I am
still the Captain’s sweetheart. To idle away some time I visit the ship’s dress
shop and find a beautiful off-white dress made of fine linen and cut in a
simple body skimming style to mid thigh, much shorter than I usually wear. Not
a great one for caring much how I look or what I wear but wanting to do justice
to my new dress, I make an appointment at the hairdresser’s and come away with
my long hair tamed into a sleek French roll of glossy ebony. I even have a
manicure, the first of my life, and opt for a nail varnish in a pretty shade of
deep coral to go with my new dress.

At last it is time to go down to the main
Grill Room for dinner. My mirror shows me an elegant young woman whose short
skirt lends a touch of sass. Knowing how much the Captain likes to see my legs,
I decide to brave my high heels as the sea is calm and I am now more used to
the motion of the ship.

The girl who looks back at me seems
self-confidant and even worldly-wise, but I’m a fraud. I promise more than I am
ready to deliver. It isn’t fair to keep the Captain hovering on the brink of
sexual satisfaction. I have enough young friends to know that men expect to be
able to go all the way as a relationship progresses even if they don’t demand
it. The Captain will never force himself on me, I know. He has said the pace is
up to me and I believe him, but that doesn’t mean he won’t tire of waiting for
me. I resolve to let myself relax and enjoy his love-making if I get the
chance. It’s sad that what I yearn for the most, scares me the most. I am
determined to take back control of my life and emotions. I shall banish this
sadness and the gray panic that accompanies it.

*

As soon as I catch sight of the Captain,
I know that my fears that he has lost interest in me are unfounded. He checks
his watch twice as I walk down the length of the Grill Room. The second time he
looks over to the doors and sees me. He breaks off his conversation with the
woman on his right and jumps to his feet, a welcoming smile lighting up his
eyes. He takes a step to meet me and guide me to my seat, his arm across my
back, powerful and reassuring.

“It’s lovely to see you again, Meredith,”
he says, waving the ma
î
tre d’ aside and easing me into my chair.

The woman sitting at his side frowns and
her mouth tightens. She doesn’t look too pleased to see me. I guess she’s
another one of the Captain’s hangers-on, one of his social duties. She looks
about thirty-five with strong features, shoulder length dark hair, brown eyes
and a generous figure, from what I can see above the table. When the Captain
introduces us, I learn that she is Anna Christopoulus, a widow traveling alone
— a cougar in the making.

Her constant interruptions and the way
she hogs the conversation, spoil the dinner for me, and for the Captain, who
nudges my foot with his every time she starts off again. When she turns aside
to speak to the wine steward, the Captain winks at me, mimes eating fast and
walks his fingers across the table cloth and off. I take his cue and eat little
and fast. We both refuse cheese and dessert and stand up to leave.

Mrs Christopoulus catches hold of the
Captain’s arm to detain him. “Not leaving already, Captain,” she asks, baring
her teeth in a grim smile like a parrotfish. “I was hoping we could attend this
evening’s concert together like we often do.”

The Captain gently but firmly removes her
hand. “Not tonight, Anna. I have to see young Meredith back to her cabin and
ask her Aunt Clara about her daughter. Then I have a meeting with the doctor.”

“Oh, all right then,” she concedes with
bad grace. “But don’t expect me to be around later.”

As the Captain squires me out in his
usual gallant fashion, I ask, “What was all that about?”

“You don’t want to know, Merry.”

“Yes, I do. What did she mean?”

I insist because I want to put out the
fire of jealousy that has ignited in my belly, the flames licking upwards
towards my heart.

The elevator arrives and he hustles me
in. “Not now, Merry. Give it a break, will you?”

But I won’t let it go. “So you have
something going on with her?” I say, my throat muscles tightening and pinching
my voice up an octave.

The Captain halts the elevator. He makes
his power move: left hand slapped hard against the wall on my left and the
right, slapped on the right, pinioning me. I flinch. He frowns and opens his
mouth to speak but thinks better of it and steps back, turning his back on me.
He takes the couple of paces to the other side of the elevator.

I watch him knowing I shouldn’t have said
anything, but when he turns round he is smiling. He beckons me to him and
enfolds me in his arms.

“Meredith, you know I am a man and I have
a man’s needs and that is accentuated by the fact that I am considered a prize,
a sexual prize by many of the ship’s female passengers.”

I break away. “So? Don’t tell me Mrs
Christo-whatever-it-is is one of your conquests.”

He kisses me softly on my unyielding
lips. And then again, until I give in and kiss him back.

“That’s better. Let’s get this straight
between us. Anna has been on several cruises on my ship. Yes, I have slept with
her on those voyages and, yes, she expects me to again, but I am not her
conquest. I can take her or leave her, and I definitely choose to leave her
while I have you. Does that satisfy you?”

For answer I lean over and punch the
button to start the elevator again, and tuck myself back in his arms until we
reach his cabin.

The
Captain leads me over to the sofa which has been put back in its
original position facing a TV screen. “I thought we could watch a romcom
together. Would you like that?”

I’m surprised, but why not? “Sure, good
idea,” I answer.

He opens a cupboard which is stacked with
DVD’s. “Choose one while I get us a drink. How about a liqueur for a change?”

I get up again and cross over to the
cupboard. He has an extensive collection and I take my time choosing a film.

He continues, “You like Tia Maria?”

“Never tried it.”

“You’ll love it. It’s sweet and made from
coffee. Quite apt actually, as it’s Italian, and we’re sailing along the
Italian coast.”

Not wanting to spoil the moment, I don’t
remind him that I don’t drink coffee. I choose a film and hand it to him in
exchange for my glass. Once again the Captain is right and I am wrong. The Tia
Maria is nectar, dark and bittersweet.

He puts the DVD in the machine and sits
down beside me, putting his arm around me and drawing me in close against him.
He clicks on the film and we watch closely hand in hand, but after a few
minutes as of one accord our eyes drift away from the screen and focus on each
other. The black of his pupils is swallowing up the blue of his irises as he
shifts focus to mine. We stay eyes held fast for several seconds. Subliminal
messages as old as those between Adam and Eve pass between us. Tensions shift
within me: anxiety and self-consciousness slide down the scale, while
responsiveness and arousal soar. I am aware of this and will myself to relax
and go with the flow. This is my Captain, not some gray predator.

He runs his finger down my cheek and
across my lips. “Meredith, you look so serious. Give me a smile. This is
supposed to be enjoyable.”

When I don’t answer, he kisses me lightly
on the mouth and breaks off to look me in the eye again. “All right?” he asks, the
timbre of his voice deep with concern.

I give myself a mental shake and open
myself up to the delicious languor of the day before. My face relaxes into a
smile and my lips part, softening and pulping up. I strain towards him and
offer them up to his kiss. We kiss long and deep, exploring our symbolic joining.
I am juicing up now. I must keep a hold of this feeling of desire. There, I’ve
put my thoughts into words —
desire
. I want and
desire
the
Captain. I want his body and what I hope it can do to mine, but I also I want
to touch his soul, if only for a moment.

As if reading my mind, he gathers me up
into his arms and carries me over to his bed and lays me down as if I’m made of
spun sugar. With his eyes defying mine to look away, he strips off his evening
jacket and tosses it on the chair. Keeping his gaze locked on mine, he slowly
undoes his bow tie and playfully see-saws it along his collar before flinging
it to join his jacket. Shoes and socks follow. He winks at me and undoes his
shirt buttons, pausing between each to roll his hips in an exaggerated Cuban
move. He flirts his open shirt on and off his shoulders. I am beginning to
enjoy his performance. It’s working. I’m being drawn into this duet of fun and
promised sensuality.

He flings his shirt off in one movement
and stands in front of me with his hands on his hips, inviting me to admire his
masculine physique. I know he is trying to make me feel at ease, but there is
no need, for he is truly gorgeous. As if that were not enough, he has a
stylistic tattoo of the head of a beautiful horse just above his left nipple.
It sets off his powerful torso, and when he ripples his abs I catch my breath.
I stretch out my hand. I want to feel his taut-looking muscles, but he dances
back out of reach. He gives me another wink and pumps his biceps one after the
other in self-mockery. I laugh softly and he bows.

Slowly, slowly he undoes the waist
fastening on his pants, slides the zipper down halfway and jiggles it, raising
an eyebrow.

I smile back. “Go on,” I say
breathlessly, though a lingering fear hitches my heart a notch or two. I have
made it so far. I am determined to enjoy this experience.

He draws the zipper all the way down,
spins in a circle with his pants flapping open and his skimpy underpants on
view. “More?” he asks, chuckling.

I am mesmerized, and nod.

He comes over to the bed, lifts my hands
and places them on his waist, and says, “Your turn now. Ease them down for me.”

I sit up and follow his instructions.
When they reach his crotch, I halt. The gray fear hovers. His cock is swollen
and straining at the fabric. I gulp. Second thoughts rampage through my mind
and I tense up, my hands are paralyzed. I cannot continue.

The Captain covers my hands with his. They
are strong and warm. He coaxes life back into mine, and together we slide his
pants down to his knees where he takes over and kicks them off.

He gently pushes me back down onto the
bed and kisses me. “Well done, Merry, sweetheart,” he says. “Now, for you.”

I shrink away from him, but he doesn’t
allow that. He brings me into a sitting position and rubs his hands up and down
my goose-bumped arms to warm me up. I fall forward, my forehead on his chest
and he eases down my zipper. This is not new territory. I yield to his touch
when he draws my dress up over my shoulders and lays it with care on the back
of an armchair.

While the Captain has his back to me I
curl up in the fetal position with my knees to my chest, in the age-old mimicry
of security in the mother’s womb. It’s strange and awkward, lying here with
nothing on but my bra, panties and hold-ups. Apprehension floods through me.
Can I really do this?

As if reading my thoughts the Captain
lies down beside me and takes me in his arms. He holds me like that, gentling
me until I relax once more. He kisses me on my breasts above the lacy edge and
in spite of my fear my nipples swell and rub against the fabric. He mouths them
in turn before dropping down to lick and nip the skin above my waist. The
languor is returning. I am falling into him again.

He pulls away and smiles down at me.
“Take your bra off, Merry.”

I am stunned to find myself sitting up to
do what he asks and falling back down again, arms across my chest.

He sweeps them away. “Merry, we’ve been
through that, please don’t take a backwards step,” he cajoles, and cups my
breasts.

He strokes upwards toward my nipples and
rubs them between his finger and thumb, sending little shooting stars of
pleasurable pain.

He kneels up and one by one he inches
down my stockings, taking care not to damage them. My heart lurches at his
patience and care but I can’t help myself and, instinctively, I sit up and hug
my knees.

“Don’t do that again, sweetheart,” he
rebukes me. “I’m not going to harm you. I want to look at you. Now, Merrylegs,
relax and straighten out those long, long limbs of yours.”

I do as he requests and lie there like a
sacrificial virgin on some primitive altar.

The Captain chuckles. “If you could see
your face—”

He tickles me under the ribs. I refuse to
find this funny. He doesn’t stop. He tickles me again and leans down to tickle
the sole of my foot. This I can’t resist and I burst out laughing. He carries
on until I am doubled up and gasping for breath. “Please, oh please, Captain,
please no more,” I hear myself pleading.

He waits until I fall back again and
swings a leg over me, so that he’s straddling me. I stop laughing at once. I am
trapped. His weight holds me down on the bed. I try to get out from under him.
The gray is edging into my vision. I am close to panic and I fight it back
down. “Please, Captain, please,” I whisper. “Help me.”

He strokes his hands down over my breasts
and up again, cups my face with his hands and bends to kiss me with great
tenderness. He holds me like that as I concentrate on banishing the gray cloud
and relaxing into his kiss. I am now returning his kiss with equal fervor. He
slides his hand down over my breast, over my belly and down into my panties. I
hold my breath. His fingers slide up and down in my wetness. I know it should
be pleasurable, but I am as nervous as an unbroken filly and don’t trust myself
to feel the pleasure. I break the kiss and twist away from his hand.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart? Am I
going to fast for you?”

“No, you are being so patient with me,
Captain, but … the light. I just feel so silly and awkward.”

He jumps off the bed, goes over to switch
off the light and to click off the television set. He looks magnificent: lithe,
powerful and toned to kill. The room is plunged into darkness. The bed dips and
he slides onto the bed beside me. I turn to him for reassurance and run my hand
down his side to his flank, skimming over his hipbone. He’s completely bare. I
swallow hard and snatch my hand away, but he takes hold of it and places it on
his cock. I am surprised by its solidity yet flexibility beneath my hand. I
have never felt a man’s cock before.

“Feel me,” he says, guiding my hand up
and down the shaft. “Get to know the shape and length of me.”

I do as the Captain commands, hoping that
familiarity with the body of the man I love will obliterate my memories of
being penetrated against my will by the body of another.

“Whoa, sweetheart. That’s enough,” he
says, gently disengaging my fingers.

He kneels up. I wonder what is going to
happen next. Is this it? But no, not yet. There’s a soft touch between my legs,
where I’m wet. It’s his lips. He’s kissing me there. The unexpectedness of his
action startles me, but he holds my thighs apart and licks me. Unknown
sensations start in my groin and shoot out along my limbs. Up and down goes his
tongue, each pass spiraling me higher into unknown territory. Too unknown. I’m
fighting to relax into his love-making, but at the same time, I have to stay
aware so that I can fight off the gray mist when it comes.

The Captain hasn’t noticed my mental
withdrawal. He kisses me all the way up to my mouth. He reaches up and pulls a
pillow out from under my head. “Lift your hips, and I’ll slide this beneath
you.”

It’s getting closer, but I’m still all
right. This is the Captain and I know he’ll stop if I ask him to. I raise my
hips, and he edges the pillow under me. I’m fine, but suddenly the sound of
foil tearing makes me jump.

The Captain strokes his hand down me to
calm me. “Sweetheart, I’m just taking care of you.” He takes my hand in his and
makes me feel the torn packet. I understand and lie back once more.

The bed dips as he straddles me again. He
leans forward and kisses me, connecting with me. Everything’s fine. His
knuckles rub upwards against my thigh. I breathe deeply, trying to relax. The
tip of his cock touches me and skirts around my sex. Tendrils of gray mist
creep in around me. They’re ice-cold. I shiver and I count, one, two … but it’s
no good. The fog deepens and crowds in. I can’t hold it back. It’s going to
smother me, crush me.

I have to get away. I strike out with my
arms and drag myself backwards away from the gray shape towering above me. I
fall to the floor and half crawling, half staggering make my way to the chair
and snatch up my dress. I reach the door, fumble with the lock for a moment in
the dark, fling it open and rush down the corridor.

Anything to escape.