Even More Cruisin Boozin and Susan

(Readers: Thank you for continuing to support this story. This installment represents Day Three of Phil and Susan's four-day cruise on Royal Caribbean's Oasis of the Seas. Like prior installments, I've tried to make it as accurate as I can recall from a prior voyage on this ship. (Full disclosure: I never went into the spa!) Thanks, as always, for your attention to this series, your feedback, and your ratings!)

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Okay... fuck.

Now I can't sleep.

Fuck... fuck... fuck.

After some incredible sex I drifted off in post-coital bliss with Susan curled up in my arms. But now this happens. Now, I'm wide awake.

As I've gotten older I periodically experience a little insomnia. Since I live by myself, it's no big deal. I can get up and check Literotica, watch a movie, surf some porn, or do other things until I get back to sleep... or not.

Susan is breathing softly beside me and I almost feel trapped because I feel the need to move, but I don't want to disturb her slumber. She's as gorgeous asleep as she is awake, except I can't look into her phenomenal eyes.

Thankfully, Susan rolls to her opposite side with her back against me and I'm able to softly slide out of the open side of the bed.

As long as I can remember, I've always slept to my bed partner's right side. My late wife, Amanda, was left-handed so for our 29 years together -- on the rare occasions when she would get handsy with me -- it was to our mutual advantage for me to be on her right.

Now I move as quietly as I can to grab my phone and locate my gym shorts that I brought with me from my stateroom before Susan and I fucked last night.

I slip into Susan's bathroom to pee, swirl away my night-breath with a little toothpaste from my dop kit, then move to the sofa (where Susan and I fucked yesterday morning) and find a place to get comfortable. I put a pillow to my left, against the arm of the sofa.

I've gotten another text message from my oldest daughter, Paige. She's just checking in on me. My eyes dart to the upper corner of my phone to look at the current time; it's just after 3:00 AM wherever we are. I have no idea what time it is in South Carolina. Paige and her family live on Sullivan's Island, about fifteen minutes from my town house.

My two girls and I have a standing rule in our family. It's never too late to call. It's never too late to text. It might be inconvenient, but it's never not allowed.

Me: ["Are you up, sweetie?"]

After a long several seconds, Paige replies:

Paige: ["Hi, Daddy! Yes, Gabrielle woke me up wanting some water. She'll probably wet the bed now. Is everything okay??"]

Me: ["I'm great!] Then:

["Her name is Susan."]

Paige is confused. Because she knows that I know that her daughter is Gabrielle.. we call her Gabby.

Paige: ["Her... who...???] (there's a long pause and I see the little bouncing dots while Paige types her reply.)

["Oh... you've met someone?!?"]

Me: ["Met... and then some."]

Another long pause. Then:

Paige: ["Daddy!!"]

Me: ["It's kinda what you and Mandy (and me, I guess) were hoping for, right?"]

Paige: ["Well, yeah,......... How do you feel about her?"]

Me: ["I feel wonderful. She's beautiful! She's smart, she's successful, she's funny, she's talented...

["We met at check-in. We've hardly been apart for a minute since."]

There's another long pause, then the bouncing dots return.

Paige: ["Are you with Susan now??"]

I might as well come clean.

Me: ["I'm in her stateroom, Paige. She's sleeping. I was, too, for a little while. Then my insomnia kicked in."]

The reality of that statement isn't lost on my oldest girl.

Paige: ["DADDEEEEEEEEE!!!"]

Readers, I'm sure you're wondering why I'm having this kind of conversation with my daughter.

Paige has a doctorate in clinical psychology. She specializes in a category called "family care." She's an expert in trying to keep families together, or in facilitating them separating if there's no hope for resolution. In fact, Paige was actually, surprisingly, supportive of me pursuing a divorce from my late wife before Amanda got her cancer diagnosis.

Plus, Paige gets me. We've always been close and we've grown closer in the three years since Amanda died. I trust her judgement.

The dots return. And the clinical part of Paige enters the chat.

Paige: ["Daddy, why are you telling me this? What's wrong?"]

I'm always honest with my daughters.

Me: ["I'm not sure anything is wrong. It's all just moving really fast, that's all.

["That was my problem in college before I met your mother. I would go on one date with a girl and all the sudden I'd want to pick out china patterns and baby names.

["Then one summer I made a conscious choice to do a one-eighty on that behavior. And then - bam - I met this woman... named Amanda."]

Paige: ["Mom told me more than once that you were very hard to... convince."]

More dots bounce in the message panel.

Paige: ["So... you want to see Susan after the cruise..."]

It's a statement and not a question. It makes me pause and think about it. Paige finally sees dots bounce on her phone.

Me: ["Yeah, I do. I wouldn't mind seeing her every day for, like... forever."]

Paige doesn't answer. Clinical psychologists know when to shut up and not say anything. And so I continue:

Me: ["But Paige, that's my struggle.

["I met this woman what?... two days ago?... and now I'm thinking about FOREVER?!? That's crazy!!"]

The screen is still for a few long seconds. Then:

Paige: ["Daddy, hang on. I need to go get something from my office."]

A half minute goes by and the dots begin to bounce again.

Paige: ["Do you remember when I was struggling with a decision about leaving home for college or staying close because I thought I was in love with Jeremy Settles?"]

Me: ["Jeremy Settles! Jesus, I haven't thought of that kid in ages!

["What brings him up now?"]

Paige: ["This isn't about him. It's about something you told me back then. I wrote it in my diary and I went to find it just now."]

From almost the time she learned to write, Paige has always kept diaries... then journals. Her autobiography is probably already ninety-seven percent written.

Me: ["What the hell did I say way back then?"]

The dots bounce and bounce and bounce. Finally the message appears.

Paige: ["This is straight out of my journal:

'Daddy told me something tonight that I'm going to remember as long as I live. He said:

['Paige, try to not chase after forever. And then don't chase it away. Forever has a mind of its own. Let forever make its own choices. Just be open to whatever forever decides should happen to you.'

["Do you remember saying that, Daddy?"]

I don't and I relay that to Paige.

Paige: ["That's okay. But I've remembered the spirit of those words ever since. Bobby said something similar when we were dating. That's when I knew I was in love with him... because he reminded me of you like that."]

The white letters on the dark background of my phone all the sudden get a little swirly. As the dots continue to bounce I blink my eyes a few times to get the letters to settle down.

Paige: ["Whatever is going to happen, Daddy... just let it happen.

["Susan has a choice in this, too. You know that. But there's nothing wrong if forever makes its mind up in a hurry.

["Is there."] It's another statement and not a question.

The dots bounce as Paige continues to type into her phone.

["But Mandy and I would REALLY appreciate it if you'd wait until you get off the ship to get married! Don't ask the Captain to do it! (They actually can't anyway. That's kind of a myth.)

More dots bounce on my phone.

["Bobby is starting to grumble at me. I'll tell Mandy you're having a wonderful time. You can tell her about Susan yourself.

["Love you, Daddy!!"]

Me: ["Love you too, Baby Girl."]

And I click my phone to darken the display. I sit in the dark and blink away the tears in my eyes.

There's a stirring from Susan's side of the bed. She rolls onto her back and her right arm sort of sweeps across the bedding like she's looking for something.... or someone... or me.

Not finding me beside her, Susan sort of pushes herself up from the mattress. She looks my direction in the stateroom and sees me sitting on the sofa.

"Hey," she says softly with a sleepy smile. "Are you okay?"

"Mmm-hmm," I whisper back. "Just couldn't sleep."

Susan throws back the duvet and does a cat-like stretch on the bed. Her back arches and the dim moonlight from the balcony illuminates her pert boobs as they rise up from her chest. My cock twitches a little at the sight.

Susan gets to her feet on the far side of the bed. She ruffles her hands through her hair as she sleepy-walks, naked, to the bathroom.

I can't take my eyes off of her. Jesus, this woman has an amazing ass!!

After a minute or three Susan comes back out wearing a white robe from the cruise line. She's carrying what looks like a white wash cloth. Even in the robe, even in the dim light of the stateroom, Susan's stunning figure is, well... stunning.

"Sorry if I woke you up," Susan says with a quiet laugh. "My girls say sometimes I snore. I hope I didn't tonight."

I explain my periodic insomnia. I decide to keep my conversation with Paige about Susan to myself.

"I've been catching up on texts and emails," I reply.

"It's funny," I continue, "sometimes they go through slowly and other times they're quick."

Susan replies as she takes a seat to my right on the sofa: "Must be because we're approaching Nassau." She sets the wash cloth on the coffee table.

"That's our port of call for tomorrow," Susan says as she beams brightly into my eyes. Then, her face turns into something of a scowl.

"I hate Nassau," she announces. "Every ship I've ever sailed has stopped in Nassau. There's nothing to do after you've done all there is to do."

I'm puzzled, and ask: "Why do all of the ships stop here, then?" I lean forward and set my phone face down on the coffee table.

"It's money for the local economy," Susan replies. "And that's important, don't get me wrong.

"But I also read that it's part of the deals that the cruise lines have made with the government of the Bahamas so they can have their private islands here and there.

"Royal Caribbean has Coco Cay -- we'll be there tomorrow -- Disney has Castaway Key and some other place.

"And Royal is building a place in Nassau that's supposed to be really cool... it's just not ready yet."

I'm in the dark in this stateroom, sitting on this sofa with my feet resting on the coffee table in front of it, listening to one of the most gorgeous women I've ever met chatter like a songbird about cruise ships and the like.

My cock is twitching inside my gym shorts. And I have a beaming smile on my face.

Susan suddenly stops and looks directly into my eyes.

"Why are we talking about this?" Susan asks with a faux-accusatory tone.

I give her the pursed-lip, shrugged-shoulder international reply that says, silently, "how should I know."

Susan's tone turns downright sultry, and she whisper-growls: "I should be kissing you right now."

I repeat the same gesture, and Susan gives me a snarky glare.

Even so, she stands up from her seated position and puts her left knee, then her right knee on the surface of the sofa. Her hands are in front of her and she sort of tiger crawls towards me. The front of the robe droops down from its own weight and I can barely make out Susan's beautiful breasts softly swaying from side to side as she crawls toward me... over me.

It only takes a second or two for Susan's face to come up against mine. As she approaches, I maneuver the pillow resting against the sofa and lay back against it. I pull my legs off of the coffee table and over to the sofa. Without even looking, Susan adjusts her legs to intertwine and allow room for mine.

And then Susan leans forward and our lips meet. And then our lips part. And then Susan's tongue slides softly over mine, and she wraps me in another one of her amazing kisses.

Her lips are warm and tingly. Her skin smells warm and vibrant. Her tongue is hot and wet and soft. Her soft moans purr into my ears.

The kiss breaks and we both catch our breath. Susan pushes herself up on her arms and, with her right hand, loosens the fabric tie holding the robe closed.

I push the robe off her shoulders and pull it down her back and off into the floor.

Susan must have donned some panties when she went into the bathroom. But we're both topless and as she re-engages in another kiss, she intentionally grinds her breasts into my chest. I'm skin-to-skin with this gorgeous woman. It feels fantastic.

My arms are trailing up and down Susan's back. At her ass, I squeeze her butt cheeks firmly in both hands, pulling her crotch into mine. Susan moans her approval.

This kiss breaks and Susan pushes her arms out and sort of arches her back. This brings her boobs off my chest and up a little. I dip my head and I'm able to suck her right nipple into my mouth. My hands come to join the party and I fondle and squeeze both boobs as I keep suckling her right tit. My tongue twiddles against it and Susan's back arches even more.

"Mmmmm... shit," Susan whispers. "I knew I shouldn't have let you do that..."

Then Susan relaxes her arms and her mouth re-engages with mine in a manic kiss. My cock is fully erect and I'm sure Susan can feel it pushing against her thigh or her mound or her pussy or whatever part of her body is in contact with it.

Of all the activities I can engage in when insomnia kicks in, this is the one I'll choose every time!

The mania of Susan's kiss slows down and we end up forehead-to-forehead on the sofa, Susan is laying softly on top of me. She is looking intently into my eyes.

She says softly, "Phil... you know what?"

I don't answer because I don't know where this is going.

Susan continues with a sultry whisper: "I checked the time while I was in the bathroom.

"It's a little after three in the morning.

"And there is something that I said I'll do for you... in the morning."

Susan's talking about oral sex. Fellatio. A blowjob. My erect cock twitches in anticipation.

In all my fifty-seven years, I have never known a woman with this type of sexual appetite.

I do a quick calculation in my head (hey... I'm an accountant!) and realize that Susan and I have known each other for somewhere around forty hours. In that span of time, we have fucked each other three times and we're getting ready to have a fourth sexual encounter that will lead who knows where.

That's an average of one full-on sex act every ten hours or so.

I think back to my college girlfriends. I think back to Amanda when we were first married, and before the babies came. There's simply no comparison. And there's no relevant experience I can call on for being with a woman who wants sex as much as Susan does.

But... what? I'm going to complain? I'm going to suggest that we maybe slow down a little? I'm going to blame it on my lack of stamina?... of interest??... of desire???

I'm on a fucking vacation, for chrissakes! And I'm lucky as I can be that this fucking vacation is fucking full of... fucking!! With a gorgeous near-stranger who apparently wants to spend all of her time... with me... fucking!!!

Susan has a jaunty little grin on her lips. Her eyes are twinkling into mine. One eyebrow is cocked upward in a way that can only be interpreted as "Well??...".

I reply with a question: "Am I in the right place for you?"

Susan's eyebrow drops to its normal position. Her eyes move from a twinkle to a burn. And her sultry voice burns into my ear:

"Let's find out."

And Susan smothers my mouth in another sultry, smokey, sloppy, sexy kiss.

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The kiss is essentially to re-start the engines. Although for me, having a drop-dead gorgeous MILF, topless and nearly bottom-less, writhing her boobs against my naked chest while she subtly grinds her pelvis against my ragingly erect cock, is entirely superfluous. My engine is more than appropriately revved.

Susan's kiss leaves my mouth and travels over to my left ear. She breathes a soft moan "Mmmmmmmm" into my ear. Then she kisses, then licks, then lightly nibbles my ear lobe.

I'm running my hands lightly across Susan's back.

Now Susan's mouth moves from my ear to my neck, and from my neck to my chest. She's alternating between a series of soft, slurpy kisses and tiny but soft bites, interspersed with hot exhales of her breath all along her path.

As Susan moves down my torso, my hands move up through her hair, then off her head.

I resolve to the fact that this is Susan's show. I fold my arms above my head and wait for the next thing to happen.

Susan is now kissing across my stomach. She comes to the place at my waist line where my gym shorts rest against my hips.

On her transit, Susan has moved her legs down to the end of the sofa. She's now resting on her knees, with one leg in between the two of mine and her other on the opposite side of my right leg against the back of the sofa.

This positions allows Susan to raise up on her knees a bit and use her hands to grip the waistband of my shorts. She pulls the front out to clear my erection and I push against my feet to lift my butt an inch or so off the couch. There's a slight kerfuffle with legs and fabric and feet. Susan and I softly giggle our way through it.

I drop my butt back down to the surface of the sofa. Susan moves her head down across my groin and inhales.

Then she stops and smiles up at me. "Just a second," she whispers.

I didn't realize it earlier, probably because we're in the dark, but Susan slides a hair band off her left wrist. With her right hand, she gathers her hair behind her head, then wraps the elastic around the bunched-up hair a time or two.

My cock twitches in anticipation.

Then Susan reaches for the wash cloth on the coffee table and begins to wipe down my cock and my groin. The cloth is warm, and not hot. That and the surprise causes my erection begins to diminish a little.

It's unexpected, although Susan did bring the wash cloth with her out of the bathroom.

"Susan," I mutter, "I'm... sorry... I should have..."

Susan smiles again as she runs the wash cloth over my scrotum.

"Phil," she begins, "you've probably noticed that when we make love, I'm very..." (she searches for the right word) "... productive." She finishes her task and returns the wash cloth to the coffee table.

"I don't want to taste me. I want to taste you... just you."

My cock begins to re-stiffen with those words. I don't have much chance to react. Because Susan still has my cock in her hand.

"Oh, and I remember something," Susan continues. "I did have your cock in my mouth during our first encounter on Sunday night."

I'm not sure how to respond to that either so I mumble a soft "Oh... yeah, that's...."

"I know," Susan continues, "...that episode is kind of a blur for me, too.

"And you stopped me. You said you wanted it to last longer."

Even in the dark room, Susan's eyes burn into mine. Then:

"Phil, there will be no stopping me this time."

More sexual lightning surges through me.

And Susan starts to go to work.

Without ceremony, without provocation, without anything from me, Susan drops her mouth softly over my ragingly erect meat pole.

Susan's tongue, soft and warm and wet and velvety, swirls around the head of my penis. Then she trails her tongue down one side of my shaft where she stops, moves her tongue to the other side, and moves slowly back up to the head again.

Susan slowly swirls her tongue around the head of my cock again, and repeats a similar pattern.

There's no hurry to her movements. She's not just "doing it" to make me happy. And it doesn't seem to be leading up to anything else. Susan is just willingly, studiously, provocatively sucking my cock in the near-dark of her stateroom.