"What the..." he yelled as the door continue to swing open as his eyes looked at the scene inside on the living room floor. There was his fiance, beautiful as ever, soft tanned skin, sweet face and a body to be jealous of... but with another guy beneath her, filling her up as her shapely breasts hung down as he leaned down to kiss him as she moved... "You fucking bitch..." he said, pulling the keys out of the door and slamming it shut behind him, not even giving either of the two a chance to even realize what had just happened.
My name is Michael. I had just turned thirty two months before the wedding of who I thought was the woman of my dreams. Unfortunately, as I found out that afternoon when I decided to take a half day at work and surprise her, she was a woman of a lot of men's dreams. We were actually engaged to be married two months later. That part didn't bother me, once I got over the shock of being so blatantly cheated on. What annoyed me was the honeymoon.
Now let me start off by saying it wasn't the cost that bothered me. Yes, I'd dropped close to ten grand on the vacation - a cruise, to be exact. I had lived as a cheap bachelor for my entire life after law school and had volunteered for every bit of travel I could. Hell, the firm paid for me to live, which meant I could bank most of my salary. That and I was going to be made partner soon, so that meant a large increase in my income. Like I said, the money wasn't the issue. It was that I was stuck either losing the money or going on the damn cruise alone.
It was too close to the sail date to cancel and get the money back. And I had bought tickets for two nights before in San Juan and the room had its own balcony. It was something I'd always wanted to do and I thought it was going to be a great time. So I called up the company and asked what they could do - I mean, I didn't know anyone who would want to share a bed with me on short notice - so instead I had them use that credit that would otherwise be wasted and upgraded me to a suite. Even after trying to burn the rest of the credit on things - unlimited drink packages, wine packages, excursions (instead of horseback riding, I went scuba diving or the most expensive damn thing they had) and the like. They were nice to convert the rest of the "loss" into shipboard credit, so I didn't lose money. But it wasn't the money that bothered me. I was going fucking alone.
I had actually thought of inviting some random girl to go with me. I'm not bad looking, after all. I'm just under six-foot and a healthy one-sixty, brown hair and green eyes. I played baseball and soccer in high school, soccer a bit more in college before I decided I wasn't good enough, and then used the gym to get law out of my head. I'm fit and I take care of myself. Maybe too much, but I have to charm a jury from time to time. Being nicely groomed and handsome helps. One of the partners - one of the female partners - hinted that she might go... yeah, I let that one pass. Not that she isn't pretty, it's just that its a sexual harassment lawsuit waiting to happen.
So here I am now, watching the diligent port official verify my information and ask me if I have any diseases, have I had the flu, all that bullshit. Just get me on the damn ship and give me alcohol. Not that I didn't have fun in San Juan. I had a fucking blast. Better than I could have ever dreamed. If I have a chance later, I'll tell you about that. But I was looking forward to this trip. Marooning myself on the ship, not a connection to the world if I didn't want one, and all the alcohol I could drink.
"Welcome aboard," the lady said in the tight blue polo that was probably a half size too small, a pair of white shorts hugging her hips and a gold belt buckle in the middle. "Glass of champagne?" she asked again, Michael's hand replying without a word, taking it from her as his lips smiled. The drink was downed in a matter of seconds and he breathed deeply. "Another?" she asked with a chuckle and Michael obliged, debating for a moment whether to share his sob story or to just go on. The latter won out.
It wasn't a few more steps onto the ship that he ran into a pair of ladies - older ladies, most likely head maids or something by the slightly different uniforms resembling more of a maid from one of the hotels on the island - that had little slips of paper in their hands that they immediately offered to Michael. "Lunch will be served at 1 pm, sir, until then we invite you to go one deck up to the spa and have a tour and look at our specials if you book today," one started, handing him a glossy flier that gave about the spa's phone number and location on the deck, and the second then finished, "And no need to worry about your bags. They will be delivered before dinner. An announcement will be made." Michael smiled and just nodded, allowing himself to be moved in the direction they used. The words were practiced and understood to be rhetorical, even with a glass of champagne in him already. He turned as he heard the click of boots behind him, smirking as the ladies began the exact same speech as they had given him mere seconds before.
One deck up...
he thought as he looked to the bank of three elevators to his right and then the stairs to his left. He paused for a moment, a bit impressed. Having never been on a cruise ship, it struck him as somewhat beautiful. It was essentially two banks of stairs with those leading down along the outer wall, twisting so that they came together in front of him in the middle. Art adorned the wall half a deck up. Twisting his head to the elevators, he muttered to himself something about not being lazy and walked up the stairs, slowing only momentarily to look at the painting of water droplets on what looked like glass.
I guess they have to fill the walls with something...
he said as he climbed the second half of the stairs. Even without the flier, it was obvious where the spa was: to his right was three crew members behind a table that outright blocked the door - the sign overhead said "Fitness Center" - so he assumed that was the gym that he had read about on the website. To his right, glass doors that had "Seaborn Spa" in elegant golden letters to the right, the room expanding inside with a small crowd already gathered.
As he slipped in the doors, he was immediately picked out by a lady that he realized quickly was the tour guide. "We have room for one more, sir!" she called out in almost a sing-song voice. She was younger - about the age of the first crewmember he had met - but she was prettier, most relaxed looking and definitely more exotic. She had a nametag, but he couldn't read it from this distance, but she answered that question as she continued. "Hello. My name is Maria and I am one of the directors of the spa here on board. We are open from seven in the morning for you early birds, until eleven at night, in case you need some help sleeping. You can make reservations here with me and my staff, from your room phones or the new menu that is on the televisions in your room. If you're in a suite or higher, your butler can make reservations for you as well." Michael's ears popped to attention when she said suite, blinking a few times as he pulled his SeaCard from his pocket, looking at the gold-colored piece of plastic, the only token right now of his suite.
Cool.
"Now, if you'll follow me, I will give you a quick tour and an outline of what we can provide you while onboard." Michael turned on his heels as Maria made her way through the group, his eyes naturally following her through the crowd.
But they paused when they saw a striking set of legs tightly wrapped in a pair of dark blue, denim skinny jeans. Poured in was more like it, the way that they cupped her tight ass and decorated those toned, round curves with embroidered patterns. But he almost laughed when she took a step and he could see an Old Navy emblem on the bottom of her flip-flop.
It takes all kinds
he thought as his object of momentary lust disappeared as the crowd of people began to move. He frowned, catching himself trying to look through the crowd for that ass again, but he brushed it off, shuffling through a set of double doors into a hall with rooms on either side, wide enough to stand three abreast. His eyes wandered the hall as they continued to walk, passing a small set of stairs leading down to the deck below. For a minute they shuffled through the hall, spilling out in a glass-walled room that overlooked the front of the ship and the helipad below. Michael smirked as he scanned the room again, smiling when he found that ass again. His eyes roamed up this time, no longer distracted by her moving legs and waited for her to turn a bit; right now all he could see was her back. She was thin and looked reasonably fit - that was all but confirmed by her legs and ass - and the orangish-red shirt was tight on her. She had shoulder length straight-as-straight-could-be brown hair and her arms looked fairly fit as well. Maria was saying something, but all Michael could think was
Turn, turn, turn damn it!
And then the crowd all at once looked to the right, the entirely different direction that he was looking and it took him a moment to realize that. He could see that this girl's hair was strarting to move when he twisted his own head, not wanting to look like the leering perv just minutes onto the boat. His attention fell back to Maria, now standing on one of the chairs, pointing at the nearby wall that contained an assortment of fruits, drinks and pillows, "After any spa appointment you can relax in here as long as you'd like. We encourage everyone to drink plenty of water after a massage; you'd be surprised how light headed you can be once we work all the stress out," she smirked before hopping down with a cute little noise that even he could hear, near the back of the crowd and by the door.
The door!
He thought, glancing down the length of the wall and seeing no other except the one they came through. He worked his way through the small crowd - it was no more than perhaps thirty in total and merely three between him and the door - and took up his post next to it.
Now I get a look at her...
