The Sleazes

 I should have known it was going to be a terrible idea to come on this cruise alone.

It’s my Dad’s birthday and everyone decided a cruise was the best idea due to it’s accessibility and the fact they were throwing cruise packages away like they were Christmas hams in a raffle. I’m the only one in the whole extended family here that’s not coupled up. The one and only distinct advantage being that I had a cabin all to myself, but it’s become a boring daily routine to wonder where everyone is and to ‘accidentally’ be left off land excursion activity lists because someone decided they want some romantic time without a third wheel (me). I should’ve hunted Tinder for some poor fool to bring with me just for something/someone to do. 

Another day, 3pm, and I’m at the bar entertaining myself. It’s become routine now - everyone is in their rooms fucking or napping or arguing or whatever it is that couples do these days. At this point in time, I’ve largely forgotten. A sun-pink gentleman in a short sleeved button up shirt shuffles over to me, he’s misread the vacant look on my face as vacancy, and encroaches my space, filling it with the smell of Jack n Coke and horny desperation. I’m far too good looking to be drinking alone, he informs me, without me asking. Perhaps I’d like some company, his wife is far too busy gas-bagging with her mate to care what he’s up to, he snarls. A ‘no thank you’ is laughed off, and he asks the bemused bartender to fetch me another of what I’m having. Ok, I preferred my newly-divorced day-drunk pit of despair to this, but thanks.

I look over his shoulder, to work out which his wife was, which he notices. I ask, are you trying to pick up for the both of you? Nah, he says, she’s not interested in sex anymore! Huh! Don’t ever get married! He says to me, the recently divorced singleton on a cheap cruise with her parents… He nods towards the brunette, and it’s immediately obvious to me that she’s far too hot for him. Shame, I say. He shuffles a little closer, too close, and leers at me. Take a hike, I say meaningfully - the sleaze dripped from him like lard from a pork chop. Fucking snob, who do ya think y’are! And he waves at the bartender as if to cancel his generous order. Away he trots, and I wink at the bartender who puts down my Prosecco and promises to charge it to his room. Good lad.

But I’m still noticing Sleaze’s wife. She’s older, sure. Maybe mid - late 40s. And her hair is a little too curly to be entirely natural and her leopard print sarong suits her far too well for her to be wearing it ironically. She looks at home on this cruise, with it’s loud carpet and gaudy chandeliers that cast unfathomably poor light. But she has these cheek bones, not highlighted or contoured with makeup, just elegantly carving her face. Her hair is thick with a hint of auburn, flowing down her back, mostly covering a fading butterfly tattoo on her shoulder. She’s striking really, I forgive her shouty outfit and wrong hue of lipstick when I watch her face dance as she loses herself in animated conversation with her friend. Looks nice to have company. Her friend leaves and I see Sleaze’s wife quickly glance around the bar for her missing husband, sinking relaxed into the couch when she notices him gone. Should I?

I take my Prosecco and approach the couch, can I join? Sure! She has a friendly inviting smile, a certain kind of purity to it. I wonder, am I this bitch? Sure, today I am. Your husband was just hitting on me at the bar, are you swingers? (Knowing of course that they aren’t). Shocked, she rebuts a little too quickly, definitely not! Her husband is just trouble you know, but he’s all talk. Her shock isn’t hurt, I think she’s more taken aback by my candidness. It’s a shame I say, because truly, you’re beautiful. There’s a blush, and she doesn’t know what to say. I ask more questions, have they tried swinging before? Did they know swinging happened a lot on cruises? Is she bicurious?

Look, I’m a bottle in and I’m not really proud of my behaviour, but she isn’t shying away from me. She tells me that her husband has strayed, or at least tried to, but you know, that’s just how he is. They have a nice life together and maybe it’s easier this way. I tell her she doesn’t need to tolerate his poor behaviour, she’s beautiful, she can have anyone. She laughs amusingly, that her husband thought he could have a shot with a beautiful young woman like me. So, I say, you think I’m beautiful?

Next thing you know I’m leading her by the hand out of the bar. I notice the bartender watching us, he’s going to have questions for me tomorrow. We pass Mr Sleaze in the hall near the exit to the pool, and his jaw drops. No words come out. I catch a glimpse of her face, giving a cheeky shrug to him but she never lets go of my hand. She’s almost skipping. I unlock my room, thank god I have a room to myself, and I give her a flirty push inside and shut the door.

I don’t know if I’d be as attracted to her in another situation. I wanted to have what he had, I wanted him to know. Am I proud of this? I don’t know, I know that in this moment I don’t care. I unwrap her sarong with haste and take my time tracing my fingers along her collarbone and the side of her striking face, while I try to figure out the inner workings of her over-complicated hot pink swimsuit. I’ve never been with a woman before, she says, and I assure her that that’s about to change. Her swimsuit now sits bunched on her hips, baring her exquisite chest, nipples like icicles and the unmistakable tiger stripes of motherhood on her belly. She’s a deer in headlights as I pull my dress unceremoniously over my head, quickly snap off my bikini and push her onto the bed. She’s much, much too hot for Mr Pork Chop.

..

For a second time, she quivers, cumming and pushing my head further into her untrimmed pussy, howling like an injured animal. There’s just no way my cabin neighbours don’t hear. I can’t tell if it annoys me or strokes my ego, or both. I’m drunk and uncertain if I’m horny or if I’ve just been craving a good time. This is certainly the kind of good time I wasn’t inclined to have with the lad behind the bar or any of the sleazes I met while nursing my lonely bubbles. Mrs Sleaze has discovered female breasts today and won’t leave mine alone, it’s cute really. When I tire of it I flip her over, fuck her with my fingers the way she likes it, and lick her chlorine tasting ass. She moans and writhes, and I hold her in place with my other arm so she doesn’t injure me with all that bucking about. I feel powerful in this moment, exposing her to the pleasures of women, pleasuring her in ways her husband doesn’t, and enjoying a little revenge. I love making her cum, we go at it for a couple of hours. She tries really hard to make me cum, but either the mojitos I watched her down or just inexperience make her a little clumsy. And that’s okay, I enjoy pulling her up by the hair to sit her on my face again, looking up to see those icicle nipples shiver and shake as her world shifts on it’s axis, possibly forever.

Knocks never come, though I expected them. He knows where we are, he watched us skip down the hall and disappear through my door, but he never comes. His wife does though, many times. Hah. Eventually we lie there, tongue-tied and spent and there’s nothing for us to say but goodbye. I kiss her open-mouthed as I open the door, to her husband sat on the floor against the wall, red-eyed, to greet her. Not my problem I think, and I shut the door before a word is said. That was an excellent way to pass the afternoon I think, turn on the TV and drift into a short doze before I go to meet the family for another buffet dinner.

..

It’s 3pm again, my favourite family members are romantically swimming with turtles while I order another Prosecco from the bartender, fast becoming my closest friend in this gaudy outdated ship that smells of stale Chanel No 5 and yesterday’s vomit. I look across the bar and spot the Sleazes, canoodling on the couch. Maybe I am an asshole, a drunk depressed asshole, but I think I might have unintentionally saved their marriage. Pity about my own I think, and gesture to the bartender - another bottle please. They catch my gaze and raise their glasses to me, so I raise my nearly empty bubbles in their direction and nod. Good for them. Charge this to their room, I say, I earned it.

PETRA FOX

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