Copyright © February 2020 by CiaoSteve
CiaoSteve reserves the right to be identified as the author of this work. This story cannot be published, as a whole or in part, without the express agreement of the author other than the use of brief extracts as part of a story review.
This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.
Author's Notes
Foreword #1: All sexually active characters in this story are over 18.
Foreword #2: This is a story and intended purely for pleasure.
Foreword #3: This is an eighth chapter in the Voyage of Self Discovery series. Although there is a little recap at the start of the story, you may want to read the earlier parts to get up to speed with the journey so far.
Foreword #4: This story was inspired from a suggestion from a fellow reader, Bablee, whose name I have used in the story but for no other purpose than having a name for a character.
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It was my darling husband who bought me this notebook, leather bound with gold trimmings, as an homage to my fifty years. It was my darling husband who also suggested I put it to good use. He even bought the pen that I have been using to write my memoirs. Sometimes I have to pinch myself to remember that it is a real story and one in which I was the centre of all attention.
So now my love life is better than it's ever been—okay, now that I am a little over fifty it is more about the quality than the quantity, but it is still better than ever. In my time away, I learnt much about myself and even more about my relationship with my darling husband. I just felt compelled to record what have been the best years of my life.
My introduction to this new world, at the ripe young age of forty-something, had been tentative to say the least. It started with a stranger on the top deck of a cruise ship. As I watched his wife getting ravaged by another's cock, he sat unperturbed and pleasured me past the point of no return.
It was just the start and left many a question to be answered. One by one they were, but for each which was answered another took its place. The more I found out, the more I wanted to discover, and so it was that I set embarked on my own pleasure cruise.
"You can go as fast or as slow as you want, everything is in your hands . . . mouth . . . pussy . . . and ass!" were the words of my wonderful teacher.
Given such a fantastic opportunity, I was going to make the most of every moment, and there were many. The only question now was which of the fantastic encounters would make it into my journal.
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Inside, my heart was pounding. I hadn't been able to relax all day. It was for real. Today was the day and there was no turning back. I walked those last few steps, glancing at cabin door after cabin door. Inside the flutter in my stomach was increasing in line with the painted cabin numbers. One by one, I watched them rise towards my target.
And then I was there, standing right outside the door. It was just like all the others, except for the number 43 in silver writing. I stood there, raising a hand to announce my arrival. Still my stomach was doing cartwheels, just thinking about where I had come from, and where I was about to go. This was my first duty as a coveted black shirt.
All I had to do was rap my knuckles on the hard surface. Instead though, my mind was churning. Did I have everything? Was I fully prepared? Would she like me? Over and over in my mind, I ran through my every preparation, my last few hours playing out in front of me.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Dressed in nothing more than a large bath towel—the soft fabric wrapped tightly around my every curve; its whiteness made all the more brilliant by the contrast with my darker olive-brown skin tones—I sat myself down in front of my dressing table. If I was going to do this, then I was going to feel good in myself. A raging shower had offered refreshment, and a sense of fresh cleanliness.
I sat there and pampered myself. Long hair was fixed up in a sort of rolled low bun, held in place by a pair of hair sticks. Oh yes, that was the look, somewhere between sassy chic and smart professional. Lucy wanted me to show her a good time, and I was intent on treating her right. If she wanted slutty trash, then she would have simply asked for sex. A touch of understated colour around the eyes and the most subtle of rouge lipsticks, had me looking the part.
Dispensing with the towel, I couldn't help but take a full-length view in the mirror. If I didn't know it was my own reflection, I might even have fallen for the confident woman who smiled back at me. I had to stop myself from standing there and caressing my every curve. Hopefully that would come later, but for now it was time to cover up. I had everything already laid out on the bed and methodically worked from inside to out. A pair of black stay ups was followed by a mid-thigh length short black skirt, and finally my cherished black shirt.
There was something about that shirt. Was it the way it clung close over my upper body, moulding my ample bust into soft rounded pillows? Was it the subtle embroidered message— 'Liberation Cruises, Where Dreams Come True' —emblazoned across one breast? Was it just the way I felt twenty years younger the minute I squeezed inside? I couldn't quite put my finger on what it was, but for sure I was no longer the forty-something year old mother who had boarded this cruise ship.
A pair of heels, low rise rather than killer, made up the outfit. A final glance in the mirror, just to confirm who I had now become, and then I grabbed the bag of toys and was off in search of Lucy.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Yes, that was it. I was here for Lucy. She had asked and I had accepted. I couldn't really let her down now, could I? I knocked at the door and waited. This was the room alright, so any second now Lucy should be answering. I could already see her in my mind; a woman not too dissimilar to myself, dreaming what it might be like to broaden her horizons. Somebody just like—
"Oh, I'm sorry miss, I must have the wrong room," I exclaimed as the door opened in front of me.
This wasn't the Bablee lookalike that I had been expecting. Instead, I had been greeted by almost a total opposite. Whoever this was, and for sure it couldn't have been Lucy, had to be half my age or maybe less. She could even be young enough to be my daughter. I racked my mind, certain that this was the right room but convinced that I should be somewhere else.
"Bablee?" came a totally unforeseen greeting.
"Yes," I replied.
"I thought so," she continued. "I'm Lucy, do come inside."
I couldn't help but stare, careful not to have my mouth drop open with the unexpected surprise. Okay, so this Lucy was nothing like I was anticipating, but despite her youthful age she did have a certain appeal about her. It wasn't her stunningly good looks which caught my attention; to be honest, she was sort of average. Average height and a slight build wouldn't have had Lucy standing out in a crowd. In fact, if you considered her rather comfortable attire—she wore girl next door blue jeans and a cosy jumper—combined with a pair of small framed glasses, you would have her down as some sort of nerdy academic.
So, what did catch my attention? Maybe it was the slight swagger in her cute ass as she walked back into the cabin, accompanied by a matching sway in her shoulder length blonde locks. Was that it? Or was it more likely the palest of pale complexions, natural skin tones, blemish free and unspoilt by any obvious make up?
