It was the last night of the cruise, and the hum of the ship's engines had become something I barely noticed anymore. A kind of underwater heartbeat, pulsing steadily as we floated somewhere off the coast of France. I was in the corner booth of the ship's smaller bar with Alfie, nursing a beer and trying not to think too hard about what we were heading back to.
It had been a good trip. A great trip, actually. Warm weather, endless buffets, laughably awkward dance classes, and a fair amount of sunburn. But Alfie and I had spent half the time joking about the cabin--or more accurately, the shoebox they called a cabin. No windows. No fresh air. No sense of time. Just two single beds near the bathroom and a pair of pull-out sofa beds a few feet deeper in.
Julia and Louisa had taken the single beds right from the first night. It had seemed logical and, I guess some old-school notion of chivalry contributed to the decision too. Alfie had grumbled but gone along with it. I didn't mind. Or at least, I didn't think I did.
Until night after night passed without more than a goodnight kiss. Until the novelty of cruising wore off and I found myself acutely aware of how close we were and how far apart we were at the same time.
Alfie sipped his rum and coke, elbow resting on the sticky table, grinning to himself. That grin usually meant he was about to say something wildly inappropriate or get us into trouble. "You ever think about how easy it'd be to climb into the wrong bed in that pitch-black box they've stuck us in?"
I gave him a look. "What, like by accident?"
He shrugged, a smirk still tugging at his mouth. "Sure. Accident. Total darkness. Same size girls. Could happen."
"Julia's got red hair. Louisa's blonde. Even in the dark, you'd notice."
"Not in that room. You couldn't see your own hand in front of your face."
I laughed despite myself. "You're insane."
"Tell me you haven't thought about it. Just a bit."
"I haven't."
He leaned in slightly. "Well, I have. And I think we've earned a bit of fun tonight. Last night, remember? No one's gonna know."
I stared at him, trying to figure out whether he was messing around or not. Alfie had that gift--saying the outrageous with just enough seriousness that you never quite knew when he was joking.
A sudden burst of applause interrupted us. We both turned toward the tiny raised platform where a man in a glittery jacket was pulling a woman out of the crowd for a game involving balloons and a blindfold. It was loud and ridiculous and gave me a much-needed break from Alfie's insinuations. I took another sip of my beer, eyes following the bouncing balloon and the host's exaggerated antics.
Alfie leaned back, stretching his arms. "This place is mad."
"It is," I said, grateful for the distraction.
He nodded toward the makeshift stage. "Wouldn't mind blindfolding Louisa sometime. See what happens."
I raised an eyebrow. "You're full of ideas tonight."
He grinned again. "Just trying to make memories. What happens on the cruise..."
"Stays in the cruise cabin?"
He chuckled, and for a moment I thought maybe it was all just banter. That we'd go back, brush our teeth, climb into our separate, equally unromantic beds and call it a night.
Then he finished his drink and stood up. "Let's go."
I couldn't tell whether it was the rum, the ridiculous idea, or the way the night suddenly felt heavy with possibility, but I followed him out of the bar without another word.
The corridor to our cabin was quiet. Carpeted hush, dim golden lights, the occasional creak of the ship shifting slightly. When Alfie slid the key card into the door, a sliver of light from the hallway cut across the two single beds.
Julia was in the left one, curled up on her side. Her red hair spilled across the pillow like a soft flame, catching the light in flickers of copper and gold. She wore pale blue cotton pajamas, the top slightly loose but the sleeves snug around her slender arms. Her legs, long and lean, peeked out from under the covers, smooth and pale against the crisp white sheets. Even in sleep, there was a grace to her -- delicate collarbones visible above the pajama neckline, and the faintest hint of a curve beneath the fabric, suggesting a quiet, natural beauty.
On the right bed lay Louisa, sprawled with one bare arm thrown up lazily across her forehead. She wore a loose white tee shirt that fell just past her hips, paired with navy cotton shorts that showed off her toned, sun-kissed legs. Her blonde hair was tousled, strands catching the soft light as she shifted slightly. Louisa's figure was more athletic than Julia's -- strong shoulders, a firm waist, and curves that hinted at strength and confidence. The tee clung gently to her, revealing the outline of her breasts in a way that was casual, unintentional, but impossible not to notice.
And then the door shut.
Total blackness.
I moved carefully, peeling off my shirt, trying to keep my hands steady. The quiet rustle of sheets told me Alfie was already climbing into the bed I was supposed to be in. My heart thumped hard as I hesitated by Louisa's bed, not wanting to disturb her. Slowly, almost like I was stepping on glass, I eased myself down onto the mattress beside her, careful to avoid touching her. The warmth of the bed seeped in, but I kept my distance, waiting, uncertain..
For a long moment, there was only the steady hum of the ship beneath us, the quiet thrum like a heartbeat in the dark. I stayed still, barely daring to breathe, listening to the spaces between the sounds.
Then, a soft rustle--a gentle shift of fabric. I caught the faintest noise. Could that be his hand moving up under her pajama top? Another pause. A barely audible sigh, soft and warm, floating through the dark.
Gradually, her breathing changed, slowed, deepened--like she was trying to hold still, to keep quiet. The rise and fall of it was slow, almost teasing. I imagined Alfie's hand moving carefully, fingers grazing--maybe tracing the curve of her breasts beneath the thin cotton, slowly reaching her nipples. The thought sent a sharp twist through me.
Julia's breasts were small, perfect handfuls--sensitive too. A little flick and she'd arch her back and gasp, every time.
The slow, deep breathing continued, but now it sounded shakier, a little tremble catching at the end of each breath. More tremulous. Was he teasing her nipples? She loved that--especially when someone used just the pads of their fingers, circling until she squirmed. Was that what he was doing to her now?
Whatever it was, she sounded like she was enjoying it. Then--another soft shift of fabric. A breath hitched. The faintest catch of air between parted lips.
A long, quiet drag of skin on cotton. Her thighs moving? Spreading?
I heard a tiny, helpless sound--half sigh, half whimper--and then silence again.
I held my breath.
There was a sharp intake of air, then a noise--soft, wet, unmistakably intimate. A stifled moan followed, quiet but unguarded. Julia! That moan--I knew it. Julia never made that sound unless someone had their fingers between her legs. My stomach twisted.
Then came more of it--faint, slick sounds, barely audible, but unmistakable once you knew what to listen for. The wet slide of fingers moving slowly, steadily. Her breath hitched again, then deepened--drawn in through her nose, released in a shaky exhale. Trying to stay quiet. Trying not to give it away.
I could picture it. Alfie's hand moving between her thighs, fingers parting her gently, teasing her open. Stroking her just right, slow circles, maybe dipping inside just enough to make her squirm. I remembered that feeling--how warm she got, how wet. How she'd bite her lip and arch her hips toward my hand without even knowing she was doing it.
