Why did I have to fight with her? Of all the times to pick a fight, why now? Tonight was the first night of a 9-day cruise we were taking, from Miami to the Caribbean. It was supposed to be romantic and wonderful, not a freaking battlefield. But, we had got onto the topic of her quitting work to go back to school, which I didn't want her to do, and we were in a downward spiral of harsh words and accusations. Great way to start a vacation.
Melissa had just turned 30, which wasn't an easy milestone for her, mentally. She was aware of her waning youth, and didn't like it. A former soccer player at her small college, she still had an athlete's tight frame, although age and motherhood had added just the right amount of fat on her hips and on her small breasts to make her that much more voluptuous than she was in her teens and early 20's. The small pads of fat on the back of her thighs were especially inviting, signifying the onset of MILF-dom. She wasn't overly athletic anymore, but she was still recognizable as a blue-eyed blonde-haired beach-loving California babe. Just looking at her made most normal men think about how fun it would be to breed her, and they were right!
But damn was she pissed off at me right now. And that meant that she would be drinking over the next couple of days. It was how she coped with stress. But Melissa was an absolute lightweight when it came to alcohol, she never could hold it very well at all. When sober, she was a shameless flirt who enjoyed teasing men and often put herself in positions where she could get chatted up and hit on hard, then back out at the last minute. But even two glasses of wine would cloud her judgment enough to cause problems. So I wasn't looking forward to the first few days of this trip.
We had picked a pretty classy ship for our cruise. It was smallish, at just a little over 500 feet, so it wasn't one of those super liners. More like an enormous yacht, although it had room for about 60 passengers. It didn't have all the activities of one of the huge liners, but the setting was more intimate, and it made quite a few stops in the islands.
We spent the first day getting to know the ship and some of our fellow passengers, but we were quickly isolated from them, due to Melissa's cold anger. She wasn't in the mood to socialize, and was pissed off that she was more or less forced to be around me all day. By the time supper ended, she was fairly well drunk, and so we took a pass on the evening's meet and greet. Well, she took a pass on it. She didn't want to leave the cabin, but made it quite clear that I wasn't welcome there myself, so I went to the party alone. That was fine by me, because she wasn't the most pleasant woman to be around just then, to be honest.
I had a blast at the party. There were all kinds of free booze flowing, and the band was amazing. I chatted with some interesting people, danced a little bit, and ate and drank to my heart's content. When I got back to the cabin it was nearly 1:30. Melissa woke up when I crawled into bed, went to the bathroom, and turned on the cabin light. She wanted to talk. But, me being a little bit tipsy, and her being very emotional at the time, we chose to fight instead of talking. Before long, she told me to get out of the cabin and find somewhere else to sleep.
"Like hell," I said. "If you want to be away from me, you find somewhere else to sleep. Good night."
With that, she swore up a storm at me, and to my shock, walked out of the room, wearing nothing more than her flimsy satin teddy with a bum-length, tiny see-through satin wrap over top of it. What a fool I was, my beautiful wife had put on some of her sexiest negligee, in a clear invitation for us to make up and fuck the night away, and instead of taking her up on it, I got into a fight with her and threw her out the door. Damn.
I lay on the bed thinking through the argument, thinking about Melissa, our life together, the kids, the cruise, everything. Before long, I noticed that she had been gone nearly an hour. I was worried, where on earth would a half naked woman go on a boat like this. So I got up, got dressed and went out the door in search of my wife.
The ship was pretty deserted this time of night. I didn't even see any crew around, let alone passengers. One of the perks of so small a ship – privacy. I didn't have to look very far to find Melissa though, she was leaning on a railing on the front starboard of the ship, just looking out at the water and the moon, shivering cold in the crisp night air.
From the deck above her, I stopped and looked at my wife's amazing silhouette, backlit by the full moon. She was wonderful, her long legs, creamy white and just a little bit soft and chubby up top, her thighs starting to flatten and spread with age. Her full hips, signaling her fertility and womanhood, contrasted her narrow waist ever so nicely. I could even see the smooth sheen of her upper arms, round and tight, but no longer muscular. All this topped off with her shiny blonde hair, straight and silky. I was married to one hot piece of ass.
I sat down on the deck above her, my legs hanging over the edge, and just looked at her. I thought again about our fight, and how foolish it was of me to be so stubborn. Time for me to get up and apologize.
But before I could stand up, a tall black man approached my wife from behind, his eyes glued to her shapely bum as he walked up to her. He looked to be about 25 or so, maybe six foot one, a bit taller than me, and quite fit. I recalled noticing him as I got on the boat, he was one of the crewmen, a deckhand or something. I froze in my seat and my stomach dropped a little bit, me being the jealous type. I had to know what this was all about. I could hear their voices quite clearly, in the night air, but the breeze broke them up, so I only caught snippets of their conversation.
"Great night out, ain't it ma'am?" he asked. "You ok or what? It's pretty cold out here."
Melissa was in no mood for small talk, apparently, because she got philosophical right away. Looking up at him, she started "Why can men be such jerks?" She had been thinking about me, about us, all night, I guess. Same as me. "He's an asshole" she said. "He hates me, I know it."
The wind picked up, so I lost some of the conversation, but from the bits and pieces I could hear, it was clear that she was filling him in on our story, about our ongoing fight. The black guy was smooth. He listened attentively, and offered all kinds of supporting words.
"He IS an asshole." I heard him say. "What a jerk." The wind blew on in gusts. "A woman like you should be treated like a princess." More wind, as she continued telling him the story.
"But you're so beautiful and friendly. What kind of man would fight with someone as special as you?"
He was feeding her all the right lines that an angry, hurt, drunk woman wanted to hear, to make herself think she was special, that she was right. He was feeding her all the right lines to get between her legs, is what he was doing. And from my wife's constant glances up at him, from the way she kept brushing her shiny hair out of her face as she talked to him, from the way she turned her sultry legs inwards, subconsciously signally submission to his strength, he was having quite a bit of success with my pretty white wife, with the mother of my children.
This guy had had a job that probably gave him lots of experience in seducing married white women, so recognizing the possibilities offered by a drunk, lonely female passenger on a romantic ship in the middle of the night, the deck hand made his move, and he made it ever so smoothly. Melissa shivered in the cold night air, and rubbed her arms vigorously. The guy took off his track jacket and put it around her glistening, porcelain white shoulders, leaving his arm around her and pulling her tiny frame closer to his large, warm, black body. My cock sprung to life, even as my heart raced in fear of what was happening right in front of my eyes. My wife was being seduced by a black man right in front of my very eyes.
