Crossing The Line A Sea Story

Author's Note:

This is a submission for the 2025 On the Job event. This is a longer story, novella length, and a bit of a slow burn but I hope that won't deter you and you'll find it worth the read. Thanks to all of my friends and colleagues who pitched in to give me advice on the finer details of sailing on big ships, and any errors are mine, not theirs. Finally, a big shoutout to the unsinkable

PennyThompson

, my one and only beta reader, who stuck with this through 5k increments and helped make the story even better than I could have on my own. Go check Penny out and give a follow!

I hope you enjoy the trip!

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Norfolk, Virginia

28 March 2025

1815 hours (6:15 PM EDT)

First day of voyage

"Would you look at that?" Ashley told me, her voice filled with awe.

I followed her gaze, taking in the massive container ship that rose above us like a towering giant. It looked like it had seen better days -- the light blue paint on the hull was flaking off in a variety of places, and there were rust stains trailing down the hawseholes. The ship was riding high in the water, and we could see containers being loaded onto her from the shore cranes.

"She looks like an old piece of shit," I remarked to Ash, sniffing. The

Cleveland

wasn't an ancient ship, strictly speaking. She was built in 2007, which made her eighteen years old -- the average age of most container ships was about fourteen years, but the

Cleveland

was an American ship, and we tend to run our ships longer than most other flags. She had at least a few more years left in her, but I'd heard this class of ship tended to start falling apart after year ten. She was small - she only carried around 6400 containers - I didn't like the rust, and I was generally in a bad mood. I tended to be sour at the start of a voyage. At least, since last year. Fear of the unknown, I guess.

"Oh, she does not," Ashley retorted, looking at me out of the side of her eye. "Just because she's half the size of your daddy's ship doesn't mean she's a piece of shit," she told me. "Not everybody can run the newest, biggest ships in the fleet."

"She's a third the size of Daddy's ship, and please don't mention that when we get aboard, okay? I don't need any repeats of last year," I warned her.

Ash smiled at me sweetly. "Aye aye, ma'am, anything you say, ma'am," she said, snapping off a smart salute, right hand to the brim of her blue Merchant Marine ballcap.

"Don't do that shit, either," I grumbled.

"You're in a mood today," she laughed, as we made our way towards the gangway. "Wake up on the wrong side of the bunk?"

"I've heard a little about this ship," I told her. "Nothing good, honestly. I don't need a repeat of last year," I told her, for the second time.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Ashley replied, a hint of exasperation finding its way into her voice. "I was there too, remember?"

"How could I forget?" I mumbled. Bad memories of my first time on a ship, the looks I got when people found out my father was a ship's captain, my mother a Navy Rear Admiral, were still fresh. The most annoying part was my dad didn't even work for the same company as that ship's captain, but they still knew each other, and I had to live with two solid months of "teacher's pet" and "nepo baby" bullshit from the rest of the crew. My Dad DID work for this company, though, and I was dreading the crew finding out. If last year had been bad, this year could be even worse.

I wanted to sink or swim on my own merit. Ashley and I were going to be on this ship and others like it for nearly nine months, the capstone to my 2C -- the equivalent of junior year - at the Merchant Marine Academy. The program was called 'Sea Year,' and it was critical to our success as future merchant mariners. It could be a fun adventure, or it could be a floating hell. Determining which one - fun or hell - would likely come down to what happened in the next twenty-four hours, at least as far as the

Cleveland

was concerned.

I'd be living, working, learning my profession, and (maybe) relaxing for at least the next two months on this ship, and I didn't want to feel everybody's eyes on me. Naive, I know. But I just didn't want to be treated

differently

from anybody else. It was bad enough being female in a heavily male profession, and bad enough being gay surrounded by straight men who rarely saw women for months at a time or saw them as anything more than someone you spent time with on shore. There were some men in this industry who just hated the idea of women being on ships period. I was prepared to deal with all of that. What I didn't want to deal with was everyone walking on eggshells all the time because of who my parents were.

Ash and I made our way up the gangway, where we were met by one of the third mates, a small, squirrelly looking guy named Harry who didn't add anything to my estimation of the ship. He directed us to the captain's cabin. Ten minutes later, we were standing in front of his office door, our sea bags on the deck beside us, waiting to gain entry.

"Reporting for duty, sir," I told the captain after we knocked and were granted admittance. The captain's cabin was a large affair, with a bedroom, bathroom, and day room that functioned as an office. Ashley stood next to me, and we both waited to see what kind of reception we'd get from the captain.

"Welcome aboard," he told us. He was sitting at his desk, a stack of paperwork in his hands. "I'm Stephen Lawrence," he said, reaching out a hand to me. I shook it. He was tall, well-built, middle-aged with a salt-and-pepper beard and short, gray hair that was parted down the side. He wore a white uniform shirt, epaulettes with four gold stripes on the shoulders, and a pair of black trousers, impeccably creased. It was surprisingly formal, but I knew that's what this company expected in port. His face, at least the part not covered in bristly hair, was bronzed by the sun. I could see the crow's feet that were endemic to merchant mariners, caused by hours of squinting at the horizon with the sun in his eyes. The skin tone and the wrinkles made his face seem both familiar, like Dad's, and experienced. This was the first thing I'd seen that made me think this ship and this voyage might not be all that bad. I looked over at Ash and she had a tight grin on her face. I could tell she liked him, too. I was going to have my hands full with her on this trip.

I had specifically not asked Dad about the

Cleveland

, because I didn't want him to ask questions and cause me problems. All the scuttlebutt I'd picked up had been from other midshipmen at King's Point, including a pair of friends who had just come off the ship a month earlier.

"I'm Meredith Madsen," I told him. "I usually go by Mer."

Mer. Daddy had started calling me that as a baby. Mer was French for "sea," and I think that was probably why he'd been okay with Mom choosing my name. Fitting name for a girl who'd been born on a ship, after all.

"I'm Ashley Hinton," Ash told him. She held out her hand, and he shook it in turn. "Everybody calls me Ashley," she said, with a friendly smile. I looked at her sideways. I'd been calling her Ash for three years now. She looked back at me and shrugged.

The sides of his mouth twitched up at this. "Ah, yes. Midshipman Madsen is our future third mate, and you're our future third engineer, is that right?"

"Yes, sir," we told him.

"Madsen..." he said, sitting back. He had a cup of coffee in a wide-bottomed mug at his elbow, and he took a sip from it, and I could see the screws turning in his head. I said a silent prayer that he wouldn't put two and two together and out me immediately. "I seem to recall a colleague with that last name," he said slowly.

"It's a pretty common name," I told him quickly. Hopefully, not too quickly. He took another sip of coffee, then shrugged.

"Eh, maybe it'll come to me later. Anyway, glad to have you two. We're short-handed as it is. You all ready for a trip to the Middle East? Things might get a little dangerous on this route, you know."

"We're looking forward to it!" Ashley said enthusiastically.

Captain Lawrence raised his eyebrows at her. Not everybody was so giddy at the idea that they could be facing pirates or Houthi militants, among the other dangers of the sea, but Ash had always been known for her exuberance.

"I'm glad to hear that, Midshipman Hinton," he responded. "Let's get your paperwork done, and then I'll have one of the stewards show you to your cabins. Safety familiarization at 1900. That'll give you a chance to get your gear stowed and get a general idea of the layout of the ship. We'll be loading for another day or so."

He went over everything we needed to know, and when he finished, he sighed, then crossed a leg over his knee and looked up at us. He took another sip of coffee, and sighed again, like he was about to begin a conversation he'd rather have avoided.

"Let me be frank. We've got some old-fashioned sailormen on this ship. They don't particularly care for women, and we've had some trouble in the past. I'm not telling you this because I want you to be afraid or because I expect there will be trouble this time. I just want you to understand what you're walking into."

This was what I'd been expecting, and what I'd gleaned from the two Mids I'd talked to who had shipped out on the

Cleveland

last year. They were both male, and they noted that it was odd how few women were part of the crew. The modern merchant marine, while still heavily male-dominated, had plenty of women in it. Apparently, the

Cleveland

only had one. She was the boatswain (or bosun, as it was pronounced), of all people, the senior unlicensed mariner on the ship. Ashley and I were going to triple the female complement in one afternoon.

"We understand. We're used to it, sir," I told him.

He looked at me carefully, and I thought I caught a gleam of amusement in his eyes. "I hope so, Midshipman Madsen. I run a taut ship, and I am not going to be pleased if I have to play Human Resources Office. I expect my mariners to be professional and I expect them to solve their own problems. We're going to be going into some hairy areas, and we don't need any distractions." His voice softened and I saw some compassion come into his face. "Don't get me wrong, now. I don't want any 'Midshipman X' style stories on my ship, either. Anybody comes at you like that, you can ignore what I just said about solving your own problems and come directly to me. And if you don't feel comfortable talking to me, you can always talk to the Chief. Understand?"

Ashley and I both knew what he was referring to. A few years ago, a Midshipman had made international news alleging that she and almost every female mariner she knew had been raped at some point on their ship. Avoiding this was drilled into us at King's Point, and if it hadn't been, Mom's job made me very aware of the issue. She'd been fighting misogyny her entire career.

I wasn't that concerned, frankly. I could take care of myself, and I could take care of Ashley, too. I was an athlete, knew my way around a martial arts dojo, and was not a shrinking violet. My parents aside -- I refused to use either of them as a crutch -- I did not anticipate many problems with the rest of the crew.

As for the reference to the Chief, Ash and I both assumed he meant either the Chief Engineer or the Chief Mate. There were a lot of chiefs on a ship, and the term was so common neither of us thought anything of it.

Half an hour later we had been escorted to our cabins by a squat, surly steward in blue coveralls. He didn't say a word to us, just gestured. We were at the end of a long corridor, the last two cabins on the left. Ashley's was next to mine, which was convenient.

Once in my cabin, I unpacked my gear -- laptop; all my documents and paperwork; khaki pants [5 pairs]; khaki shirts [5]; formal uniform [1], the 'blues' we called it; underwear, [5] (not sexy); underwear, [1] (sexy); socks [14]; a small stuffed animal of a shark which I had with me since I was a baby, a gift from one of Mom's friends in the Navy; civilian clothes [3 sets]; laundry bag; long johns; makeup and other hygiene stuff; shower shoes; my Xbox and controller (Ashley brought the movies, I brought the games); knife; flashlight; water bottle; my coffee thermos; my smartphone; study materials; my pocket rocket vibrator, which I expected to get me through some lonely nights; and the rest of the random stuff I would need for the next nine months. I traveled light, compared to some of my peers, but thanks to Mom and Dad I knew what was necessary and what was nice to have. I focused on the necessary.

Ashley and I would have to share a head -- bathroom, for you lubbers - not an uncommon thing, and we'd dealt with it before. I'd heard stories about ships where everybody but the Master was using the same communal heads, and I was glad that this ship had been built this century. It was convenient that Ashley and I were female, as it made this kind of sharing a lot easier and it gave the captain a convenient excuse for keeping us together.

I was just getting my gear stowed when I heard the inevitable tapping on my door. We had about half an hour until the safety muster, and I knew what was coming.

I opened my door and saw Ashley standing there, looking pensive.

"You got a minute, Mer?" Ashley asked me, a bashful look on her face.

I sighed. "Of course, Ash," I told her, emphasizing the nickname. "Come on in."

Ashley pushed past me. I closed the door, locked it, and turned to face her.

She was on me almost immediately, her lips hungrily finding mine, her tongue snaking out past her lips, licking mine and then worming its way into my mouth. I pressed my body to hers and returned her kiss, with only slightly less enthusiasm.

Now, before we continue with my sea story, let me make a few things clear. I'm single. Ashley was a friend with benefits, and she wasn't gay, like me. She was completely bisexual and had a boyfriend back at King's Point. I was too focused on my career to care about relationships besides a few close friends like her, but I had to admit that her body felt good next to mine, and I appreciated having someone who could help slake my lusts. It was a long time alone at sea and like I said before, this is a male-dominated industry.

Nearly every man I'd ever sailed with would have been happy to sleep with me. But, unfortunately for them and for me, men didn't do anything for me. Ashley, on the other hand, did. And that's why I, against my better judgment, played with her from time to time, especially at the start of a voyage. It had become our little routine.

We didn't have a lot of time, so we didn't stand on ceremony. I unbuttoned enough of her shirt to pull the rest of it off, and then she undressed me. I unsnapped her bra and it fell away, and she did the same for me.

Ashley was far more gifted in the boob department than I was -- her breasts were slightly too big for my hands to hold completely, her nipples thick and already hard from my attentions. I could feel them under my palms, and I pinched one, eliciting an 'oooh' from Ashley's mouth into mine.

Her hands found my breasts, which, though smaller, were firm and perky, just large enough to fill her hands and keep my shirts from hanging perfectly straight on my body. She could have pinched my nipples, had the stiff barbells from my piercings not made that a difficult maneuver. The nipple piercings were a reminder of our first cruise last year and our drunken night of shore leave in Trieste. They were the only thing I had to remember that night by, that and the fouled anchor tattoo above and to the right of my mons. Ashley had a matching one on the other side and a grainy video on her iPhone, and that's the only reason we had any idea how any of these body modifications had gotten there. The booze in Trieste had flown freely. A little too freely, honestly.

It had been a dumb, rookie move, getting blackout drunk in a foreign country on our first voyage, just out of our teens, but Ashley had already spilled the beans about my parents, and the bosun had taken us under his wing to keep us out of trouble. He let us do what we wanted but kept the men away from us -- both the Italians and the rest of the crew -- which, looking back, I really needed to thank him for if we ever sailed together again. It was nice to be able to let off some steam without having to worry about a roofie or a knife.

Besides, what was a more natural pairing than sailors and tattoo parlors?

I pulled away from Ashley, stared into her brown eyes briefly, and then dove back in. I took the initiative this time, pushing her towards my rack -- the bed, that is. Her long, curly brunette hair had been hidden underneath her blue ball cap, but she'd left her cap in her cabin. It would have just gotten in the way. She needed that cap to keep her hair out of the engines, but we'd have hard hats on when we did the safety briefing, so she could leave the hat in her stateroom.

I didn't have the same problem. I was a swimmer and kept my hair in a short, blonde pixie cut, far shorter than my mom's shoulder length, face-framing blonde hair that looked so professional in her official portrait -- the American and Navy flags behind her, the star above a single broad and narrow stripe of a Rear Admiral (Upper Half) on her arms, the gold wings of a Naval aviator and the gold command star of a ship's captain on her chest, a pair of demure pearls in her ears and that ugly ass tab tie around her neck. She'd been vaguely disappointed when I'd chosen King's Point over Annapolis, but I think she understood I was Daddy's girl, and I wanted to be a ship's Master, not a flyer, like her.

But what I wanted right now was to get off, and to get Ash off, as quickly and quietly as we could, because we didn't have a ton of time. I knew she needed to cum to take the edge off her nerves -- we'd talked about this a lot over the last year, how being nervous made her frisky -- but I also didn't want us to get caught. There was only one thing that I didn't want to get into the rest of our crewmates' heads besides who my parents were, and that was that Ash and I were a couple of randy sluts who were ready to party.

The problem was, I knew that we WERE a couple of randy sluts ready to party -- just not with them. If there was one thing my father had drilled into my head over the years, it was his philosophy about relationships at work. It could be summed up in a single sentence: "Don't shit where you eat."

Ash and I tumbled over onto my rack, her fingers fumbling with the button on her pants, sliding them off as she scooted onto the bed. The racks were about six feet long, and Ash fit perfectly, while I, being tall, always had to bend my legs to fit. You got used to it.

Her pants and panties came down, and as my mouth went back on hers, my fingers found the patch of dark fur above her clit which pointed straight down towards where I had been aiming. My fingers sank into her, the slickness of her pussy proving to me how hot she was and thus how nervous she must have been. I felt her groan into my mouth as my fingers began to work inside her, getting them good and wet, before I withdrew them and began to circle her clit softly like I knew she preferred.

"Oh God, Mer..." she panted, cupping my breasts and pulling on my piercings, which sent an electric shock through my chest and down to my womanhood. I may have been drunk as hell when I got them, but I have never regretted it, not once. They've made my nipples far more sensitive than they'd ever been before, and I loved having them played with.