"You tell it different now to the way you told me ashore," I accused.
He looked at me sadly. "You're overlooking something, Mike. You're you. And I'm me!"
I bridled. "You cocky bastard!"
"No, Mike," he said patiently. "I'm a Ship's Officer. I walk the deck in my white uniform and I burn up under all those hungry eyes riveted upon my crotch. Pussy can't resist an officer's uniform. Even the Beauty Queens fight for seats at the Captain's table. I often can't taste my food for the smell of hot pussy steaming up from under the table. Every time I go to my cabin I have to send a steward in first to chase out any hot pussy that's got undressed and crawled into my bunk. D'you know that every voyage the girls run a sweepstake? Each time they score with a Ship's Officer they pay a pound into the kitty. The girl who scores most, scoops the pool. It gets to be a pretty big pool. When land's sighted competition gets fierce and it's a jungle below decks. Any girl an officer meets in a corridor is liable to have his prick out and up inside her for a two-minute screw so she can improve her odds on winning the kitty."
"How do I get to be a Ship's Officer?" I asked wistfully.
My around-the-clock timetable stopped me seeing much of Dave. Occasionally I glimpsed him pacing the bridge, or casually striding the deck, looking magnificent in his white uniform. The women's heads turned like men in Soho studying a hustler's strut. But Dave wasn't my nursemaid and I had to find my own feet.
By the time the ship had steamed through the Channel, turned left around the north coast of Spain, weathered the Bay of Biscay and docked for twenty-four hours in Gibraltar I knew the prices of all drinks, could balance a tray on one hand, knew which was port and which was starboard. When the ship steamed out into the Atlantic, to my astonishment it was as smooth as a millpond. The sun was hot, the passengers lay around in swim-suits all day, and the cooks in the galley worked stripped to their jockey-shorts. But sex didn't rear up until we'd rounded the tip of Africa and set course for the Canary Islands. It took a few days for the sea air to enliven the passengers, smother self-consciousness, breed conviviality and make pussies itch. I used those few days to size up my stock-in-trade.
Each shift I worked different decks. This widened my range of passengers, who usually put down roots and sprawled in the sun in deck-'chairs they always occupied. I mentally selected three married pussies. One was a redhead, about thirty-two, and a lovely figure she showed off in a wispy bikini. But she had a big mouth crammed full with enormous teeth. She was an easy-going woman, but when she smiled, which was much too often, she looked like a horse snickering. Her husband was about thirty-five, well-made but flabby. He sat perched up at the bar and soaked from morning until night as though he'd wagered he'd drink the ship dry. There was only the merest hint of a bulge in his swim-trunks and he'd have needed to dry out for a week, and employ hustlers to work upon him, before he'd get a stand. I observed how redhead's pussy got itchier and itchier. First, she sprawled out long-leggedly, watching the men who walked past through dark sunglasses. Later, she removed her glasses and stared at the men boldly. Then she began calling out cheeky comments to those she'd met casually. Finally, she engaged them in conversation, inveigled them into sitting down to have a drink. Her husband couldn't have cared less. If he was drawn into the conversation he'd make an effort and say a few words. Otherwise, he sat with a glazed expression in his eyes, his tilted glass spilling whisky over his thigh.
Nobody gave the redhead a tumble. There were reasons. She was married, and male passengers went after the single girls. Also, there were four or five Beauty Queens aboard and each trailed behind her a large school of admirers with open mouths and bulging cocks. And then, there was the redhead's big teeth. She laughed too often. Only a Texan wearing boots and spurs could have felt at ease with her. In desperation she worked at it too hard. Her gushing eagerness frightened off many men who suspected a catch to it. Eventually she took on the silent, brooding alertness of a cat stalking a bird.
That was when she noticed me. I'd always eyed her with interest when I served her drinks. She had good tits and a firm belly. When she was stretched out in her deck-chair, her bikini cut across her abdomen so low that auburn curlies peeped out from it. While she basked in the sun I suspected she fantasized. She moved her ass subtly against the canvas deck-chair, drawing her bikini up tight beneath her crotch. Sometimes it was so tight it showed the deep crease within her crevice. Often there was a little wet patch there. Simply looking at her gave me a hard-on. It showed through my tight, black pants. I kept my face turned away from her while I served her husband's drinks so she could study it. I was a mere steward. But I made her aware that passengers weren't the only men who had pricks. She began ordering twice as many drinks and kept me fetching and carrying like a shuttlecock. While I served her she chatted with me and surreptitiously studied the bulge of my cock. I answered her bantering with double-meaning sentences, and boldly admired her. She loved that. She sat in all kinds of poses that showed off her figure. She'd artlessly learned my working schedule and called me two minutes before I was due off-duty.
"Steward."
"Yes, Ma'am?"
"I'm going down to my cabin, number two-seven-three. Bring down a long cool drink, please. Lemonade, dash of gin and ice." She looked at me expectantly. She knew what I had to say.
"I'm sorry, Ma'am. I'm going off duty."
She smiled easily. "Then why don't you just bring my drink down anyway? Bring one for yourself too. You've been so rushed I'm sure you'd like to relax."
"I'm sorry, Ma'am. That's not possible. There's a steward for cabin service." There are strict rules about cabin service and I didn't want to cause a strike.
Her face fell. "What a pity." She was all out of ideas and looked at me hopefully.
"If you wish, Ma'am, I could personally bring a bottle to your cabin. That wouldn't involve steward service."
Her eyes shone. "That would be lovely, Steward!"
I'd saved enough tips to buy a bottle of whisky. She opened the door, closed it behind me and as I placed the bottle on the table, I heard the door lock click. She was still wearing her bikini. She'd set up two tall glasses. I sloshed whisky into them. She shouldered me on one side. "You've been working hard. Sit back and relax and let me wait upon you for a change!"
I relaxed in an easy chair while she added water to the whisky. She brought my glass to me, looked deep into my eyes when she handed me the glass and then sat opposite me. Her tits swelled out provocatively from her wispy bra. "My husband's no company!" she sighed. "He's always sloshed. I long for a quiet drink with somebody interesting."
"Has he got business worries?" I sympathized.
She sniffed. "He's never done a day's work! The fat dividends roll in every year." She scowled. "It's better he doesn't poke his nose into the office, Then we might have troubles!"
"May I risk causing offence?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Must you?"
"I think you're very lovely!"
Her tension melted away. "You are sweet. What a nice thing to say!"
"You're so lovely yet he just sits there and drinks and doesn't even see you! I can't help it. It makes me boil inside."
"You're a dear boy," she said tenderly. Concern showed in her eyes. "You must be hot in that stuffy jacket. Take it off and make yourself comfortable?"
I wore nothing under it. She admired my smooth-skinned torso. "You're beautifully muscled. Charles is all flabby flesh."
"That's because I have to work hard. I don't mind so long as I can earn the money for the operation."
"Operation?" Her eyebrows arched.
I invented a sister. "It's a spine injury. She can't walk. It means months of specialized hospital attention. So I save every penny. In a couple of years I'll be able to put her right,"