Between the Lines

8.

As I leaned against the rail to stare at the white cliffs, I couldn't help wondering if I was making a mistake, and that it might just be the latest in a whole series of recent errors of judgment. I'd been offered a three-month extension to the one-month contract I'd been on and the prospect had been very tempting; free food and board, a decent salary and plenty of other benefits. As a matter of fact, one such potential 'benefit' had joined me to admire the view.

"Glad to be home, Jack?"

"Not really."

"Why?"

"Have you seen the weather forecast?"

My companion giggled and I turned away from watching England's south-east coast passing by to look her over. To be honest, it was a definite improvement in terms of viewing material.

Her blonde hair was cut into what I'd call a 'page-boy' style -- short and neat - while her clear blue eyes gazed up at me with a look that could best be described as 'adoring,' but with a definite hint of sadness. I did my best to smile but I'm sure it wasn't really convincing; both of us knew that we'd be unlikely to see each other again once the cruise ship docked,.

She turned away from me after a moment to watch the gently rippling waves that were barely being disturbed by the passage of the ship through them, and I took a final opportunity to admire her firm young figure. Even beneath the unflatteringly oversized sweat shirt her breasts seemed large and firm and it made what I knew to be a very slender waist (just perfect for a man to slip his arm around), practically indistinguishable. Her ass was possibly a little larger than it ought to have been (something she fretted over too much), and her legs were short and a little bit too heavy to be called beautiful -- but none of it detracted from the fact that she was a very good looking girl. Her name was Rosemary and we'd met shortly after I'd boarded the ship at Ibiza on the homeward part of its journey -- the third such ship I'd been on in a little over three weeks.

The first one had taken me from the port of Harwich in Essex on a tour of the Western Mediterranean, and that had been a real learning experience. To begin with, I'd found that cabaret on British cruise ships was one of the last bastions of Music Hall or, if you're American, Vaudeville; live bands, dance troupes, singers, comics and, of course, speciality acts. For me, the evening shows were like an unexpected preview of heaven -- even if I did find it a bit strange to meet and mingle with the audience the following day!

Then there were the 'extra' duties that all of the on-board entertainers were expected to help with: I found myself conducting quizzes (did you know the Statue of Liberty's index finger is eight feet long? Well, you do now!), doing a couple of afternoon talks about life in the world of entertainment, dancing with lonely ladies who didn't have partners (as well as some who pretended that they hadn't!), and so on. It was hard work, involving long days, but it was also a lot of fun.

To begin with, I'd tried to use it to wash away the memories of the recent past but, having failed to manage that, I'd used my spare time trying to work out a lot of things that hadn't made sense when I was too close to events and being swept along by them. I was still a long way from having all the answers I needed, but some of it was much clearer now.

After a week I was transferred to another of the company's ships when we reached Ajaccio in Corsica. I was then heading for the Eastern Med and Istanbul, while the act I was swapping with - a juggler (good luck with that in that the Bay of Biscay, pal!) - was headed homewards. The routine had been much the same, only on a larger ship but, against my wishes, I was also corralled into doing some 'Bingo-calling.'

I hate Bingo! I don't know why, but I do. Anyway, the entertainments manager -- who should have been doing that job himself -- was insistent. Well, he was -- until the time I called; "Fun for two, with a terrible view... sixty-nine!" After that, my services weren't required for the Bingo sessions any more.

One thing that did happen, though, was that I started to get in shape a bit. I mean, I'm not fat -- I'm one of those lucky people who don't put weight on easily -- but I cut right back on the cigarettes and, with free use of the small gymnasium and swimming pool, I started to exercise regularly for the first time in many years. Also, I defied the nagging insistence that I needed alcohol so that, apart from a couple of cold beers on really hot days, I'd stuck to diet soft drinks. And that continued when I started on the final cruise which, from Ibiza, had just a single stop in Lisbon before returning to Dover.

It had been an eventful few days, though. A member of the dance troupe -- a girl named Gisele -- took a bit of a shine to me. Well, to be honest, after making sure that I wasn't already with someone, she asked if I fancied coming to her cabin to "baise moi?" My knowledge of French is pretty basic but, let's be honest, that phrase is about as basic as it gets.

She was almost as tall as me, very beautiful, and with the kind of body you'd expect to see on a professional dancer. The problem was that she and her troupe had just finished doing a routine to Ravel's Bolero at the time, and that was just too much for me to handle. Besides which, I already had my hands full -- literally, sometimes - with Rosemary. She was one of the girls who looked after the 'Kid's Club' on board but, since there were only two or three on the cruise; she didn't have a great deal to do.

We'd shared a table at lunch on the first day and, in the afternoon, she helped me out with the Bingo (yes, I was shanghaied into it again!). It was only a one-off, though and so I managed to behave myself. Well, almost! There was a small incident when I called the number '88.' An elderly man said he couldn't hear what I'd said, so I repeated it. Then he asked again what the number was so I'd said: "Look... it's 88... y'know? It's like sixty-nine, only with fat people!"

Fortunately, the comment got a huge laugh from the mainly-British passengers (bawdy, but not filthy, remember?), and also from the guy himself, even though he must have weighed about 250 pounds. I also had Rosemary burst into such a fit of the giggles that she couldn't draw out the next numbers. I looked at her -- absolutely deadpan -- which made her laugh louder. Then I looked at the audience and gave a gentle shrug -- which set them off again. It went on for several minutes -- I got loads of laughs by just doing, and saying, nothing whatsoever -- while I mentally thanked Jimbo Mcardle for reminding me of the value of silence to a comedian. Of course, the session overran a bit, but the man in charge wasn't bothered.

"After all, Jack," he said afterwards, "where would we be without a bit of humour and laughter?"

Apparently, "Germany, probably," was the right answer, because it made him roar with laughter but, from that moment, I just wasn't able to shake Rosemary off. A couple of nights later, she was ready to follow me to my cabin, so I'd said:

"Look, Rosemary... I'm nearly old enough to be your father...."

"I like older men!"

"You're gorgeous... you're sweet... you're a lot of fun to be with; but you're very young and...."

"I'm twenty-two, Jack... and I'm perfectly capable of knowing what I want and taking care of myself!"

And I guess that's when I ran out of objections. She made it clear that she wasn't interested in any kind of relationship -- other than one that would last as far as Dover -- so went off to squeeze into the tiny space that was my cabin.

Now, at this point, I would love to be able to write one of those erection-inducing, lurid sex-scenes so beloved of Literotica aficionados; but that, I'm afraid, would be a huge lie. Let me try to explain why.

Firstly, the cabins for the crew and others who work on board are down in the deepest bowels of the ship -- and they are small -- very small! Only top flight entertainers are given cabins to compare with those allocated to paying passengers -- and I was definitely not considered to be in those hallowed realms. Unlike crew members, however, I did have my own cabin and wasn't required to share with anyone -- but let me say again -- it was small!

As you entered, you were faced with, at a guess, a two-foot wide passageway between the bed on the left side and the fitted wardrobe and dresser on the right. There was, of course, no light from outside because the cabin was a long way below sea level. A door at the foot of the bed led to a tiny bathroom which contained a shower, a small washbasin and a toilet that you needed to be a contortionist to be able to use. Above the single bunk bed was another bunk (believe it or not this room was meant to hold two people!), which was fastened up out of the way by a single strap. These were my personal quarters for the duration of the journey.

On the night in question we'd walked, a bit unsteadily, down the stairs and, as we made our way along the narrow passageway to my cabin, Rosemary decided to begin a striptease. Okay, it wasn't of a professional standard -- but it held my attention! First, she shimmied out of her long skirt and just stepped out of it -- leaving it behind for me to pick up. A moment later I was also stooping to pick up the silky top she'd discarded, and thinking that if anyone saw me I'd probably look like some dirty old perve!

So when we reached my cabin, she was wearing nothing more than a lacy matching set of black bra and pants with a pair of ludicrously high-heeled shoes. I'd known that getting us both into the room would involve some very careful manoeuvring, and the situation wasn't helped by the fact that she'd had a few drinks. Don't take that the wrong way -- she wasn't drunk; but she was not entirely steady on her feet and the ship was rolling in a bit of a 'swell' that night.

Naturally, being a gentleman, I held the door and allowed her to go in first -- just as she unhooked the bra and, with carefree abandon, tossed it backwards over her shoulder. It struck me full in the face, momentarily blinding me as I groped for the light switch and, before I could locate it, there was a sudden cacophony of noise as she stumbled over the guitar I'd left leaning against the wardrobe (I don't play very well, but I can strum enough chords to sing a few 'amusing' songs with it), immediately followed by a scream of shock, and then the unmistakable of a body (literally!) hitting the deck.

Panicked by the sounds, I hit the switch which, being connected to a low output, energy saving light, began to give off the faint glow that normally took several seconds to reach full illumination. Long before that process was complete, the heavy door I'd released thumped against my back and propelled me forward -- only a little bit, but enough to put me in direct line of fire with the top of her head as Rosemary struggled to regain her feet.

And I bet I don't even have to tell you which part of my body the top of her head made contact with, do I?

Yes, that's right -- a bulls eye in the princely jewels!

In fairness, it wasn't a heavy blow, but enough to make me attempt evasive action.

The resulting crack of my shin against the foot of the bed was, in fact, much more painful -- but even that didn't compare with the resulting stumble through the open bathroom door, the irresistible fall and the meeting of my forehead with the world's most inconvenient 'convenience!'

I was a bit dazed, and definitely in pain as I shuffled into a sitting position but, before I could even manage a convincing groan, Rosemary came rushing in and got as far as saying "Jack! Are you alri...?" before her high heels failed to cope with the tiled floor. Her feet went out from under her and she fell, quite heavily, onto her admittedly fairly well-cushioned ass.

As she landed, her left foot went forward and (again -- sigh) I don't have to tell you where it struck home, do I?

The pain from that tiny heel was excruciating! As the agony made my stomach immediately begin to churn, I finally did something that was a step too far -- I threw up the contents of my stomach all over my intended partner for the night.

My memory of what followed immediately after that is a bit vague. I know Rosemary helped me to my feet. I know we both stripped our clothes off and took turns to stand beneath the shower (it definitely wasn't large enough for two at a time!). I know that I dried off, crawled out of the bathroom and sank onto the bed. I remember Rosemary emerging from the bathroom wearing my dressing gown and carrying a laundry bag with her clothes wrapped in it. I also remember her saying she'd return the garment later -- because it was pretty obvious that we weren't going to get it together that night since I was doubled up, clutching my meat and two veg and trying to comfort them in their agony. After asking, several times, if I was okay and if there was anything she could do to help, she finally leaned over and gave me a gentle kiss saying, "There's always tomorrow night, Jack!"

"Fair enough," I managed to say, "but can we just have straightforward sex next time? I'm too old for all this kinky stuff!"

**

9.

The following day I was so sore that I had to seek medical attention. I had a little bit of bruising around the left eye - but not enough to bother me -- plus a headache as bad as any hangover I'd ever experienced; but I was confident that a couple of painkillers would sort it out. No, the real problem was that I'd managed to sustain a cut just where the base of my penis met my scrotum -- and the elderly Scottish doctor who treated me found it hilarious. Amongst his comments were: "If you want a vasectomy, pal... DIY is not the best option;" and, "I think your girlfriend needs to trim her fingernails... or maybe she should wear a gumshield!"

Everybody thinks they're a comedian, don't they? His advice was very succinct: "Don't swallow any Viagra, and don't be tempted to have a wank for a few days!" Then he gave me some ointment and told me to rub it sparingly onto the affected place.

Naturally, being a man, I ignored the 'sparingly' part of the instructions and just lashed it on. Now, I don't know what it was -- there was no label on it -- but if the people at Guantanamo Bay want answers, this would be the stuff to get them with! I reckon that even a tiny smear would have been agony -- the amount I put on made me feel as if I was dipping myself in boiling drain clearer!

The shows I did that day were definitely not my best and, when Rosemary asked if I wanted her to kiss it better, I had to beg her not to say anything that might cause me any excitement because even the hint of an erection made it feel as if I was dipping my genitals into a vat of acid.

We still spent a lot of time together; we had our meals at the same table, found quiet times to sit and talk about her hopes and dreams for the future, and there were a few kisses and cuddles that were companionable rather than erotic. On the last night, she expressed her regret that we hadn't had another chance to have sex, and added a promise that she'd be there for me if I ever returned to the ship. Fortunately, we were sitting at opposite sides of the table, which meant she wasn't able to see that her words had given me a very definite -- and almost completely pain-free -- erection. It was severely tempting; but she was a lovely young girl with her whole life ahead of her, while I was a middle-aged, second-string comedian with no sense of direction in my life. I may have cursed myself for being stupid when I climbed into bed on my own that night, but I think I probably made the best decision for Rosemary.

As the ropes were thrown and the ship edged into its berth, we had a final kiss and a cuddle before she turned away, sobbed, and ran down the stairs towards the cabin areas; and I carried the feel of those lovely breasts pressing against my chest with me -- along with a nagging sense of regret -- as I carried my hand luggage off the ship.

It's a weird sensation when you step back onto dry land after being at sea for a while. You miss the movement, somehow and your stride pattern seems all wrong at first. 'Dry land,' did I say? Who am I trying to kid? The sun had been shining as I made my way down the gangplank but, by the time I'd collected my luggage and cleared customs, the rain was pissing down. Welcome to England!

I wandered towards the queue at the taxi rank, then stopped and hauled out my new mobile phone. I'd bought it just before leaving on the first cruise and I quickly searched for any missed calls or messages. I probably shouldn't have been surprised that there weren't any, because the only person who had the new number was my agent, Davy Slack, and his was the only number in my 'contacts' file. Even so, I'd called him from the ship earlier and left a message to let him know I'd be arriving today. I tried his number again and, when there was no reply, I left another message on his answering machine. I informed him that I'd be heading to a local B&B that I'd used a couple of times before and asked him to call back ASAP with details of any bookings he may have made for me.

I'd just finished when I became aware of a looming presence beside me -- and then of another one on the other side. I'm actually blessed with pretty wide peripheral vision, so I didn't have to move my head to take a glance at the faces of the two men. I've also got a very good memory and so, even though I'd only met them once before -- and that a good few years before -- I recognised them immediately. Then, they had scared me; now they didn't.

"Fuck me!" I said, "Curly and Moe... where's Larry?"

"That's not funny, Jack," the one on my left growled as he took hold of upper arm, "You won't need a taxi. Your transport's been arranged for you. You've got an appointment... and we're going to help you keep it."

Without too much effort I shrugged free of his grip, took a step forward and turned to face them, noticing that they suddenly seemed very unsure of themselves.

"So... either you don't want a scene in public... or you've been told not to hurt me," I guessed, and their reaction to the second part told me I was right on the button. "Okay, then," I went on, "let me just consult my diary and I'll see if I can fit you in. But let me tell you... if you're trying to lumber me with another of your dodgy videos, you can fuck off! The last one was a load of shite!"

He reached out as if to take my arm again, but I put on a deadpan face as I told him, "Back off, pal... I don't want to hurt you, but I will if I have to." He raised his eyebrows and began to sneer, but I went on, "You're both older than me... you're a lot slower... and I'm the one with the black belt in origami!"

It worked. Clearly, neither of them knew what 'origami' was but the sound of it made them nervous enough to try a different approach.

"Listen, Jack," the second guy said in a surprisingly high-pitched voice, "we've been asked to pick you up and take you to see someone. We're not allowed to tell you any more than that. But I can promise you that you won't come to any harm whatsoever. Look... it was Davy Slack who told us you were coming off that boat. Now he wouldn't want you to come to any harm, would he?"

"I'm not sure," I answered, "He booked me for a full week at a club in Glasgow once. Let me think about it. D'you smoke?" I added, offering them one of my duty-frees. It turned out that they both did, so we settled on a bench beneath a shelter for a smoke while I tried to get more information, but neither of them would say much.

Of course, it wasn't hard to guess that they were working for my ex-wife and so, using that as a lever, I got as far as knowing that they were taking me to see her. But the best I could get about where, was 'near Folkestone,' with their promise that, after talking to her, they had instructions to take me to wherever I wanted to go.