Chapter 7
FIRST ATTEMPT
I was dreaming of Oriental countries, with their perpetually blue skies, bright sun, heady voluptuous perfumes and exotic atmosphere.
When a young and pretty woman travels by herself, she is generally besieged with propositions from men of all ages and sizes.
It's funny to see that the majority of men who, in other circumstances, are intelligent, and even often cunning in business, become naive and act like fools whenever they are alone with an attractive woman in the compartment of a train or the cabin of a liner.
And when she reveals a little bit of leg, or a plunging valley between her titties, then they practically drool at the mouth.
Not all, of course, but I must say that those who pretend not to care in the least are often the most dangerous. But, dear me, how many silly sentences have I heard, and how often have I seen their silly languid looks or on the contrary their conquering airs.
I held those "make-out" artists in contempt.
I was quite willing to experiment according to the methods of Doctor Luftmann, but I really had no intention to fuck with the first man who would look at me with a wolf-look or a leer.
In Marseilles, I took a luxury liner because I certainly couldn't find a lover and get laid in a plane.
I was attracted by that region, with its eternally blue sky, its bright sunshine, and the romanticism that was linked to that dreamlike land where some minarets cast their shadows on the golden sand of the Middle East.
I wanted to spend a few days in that home of virile men and voluptuous women.
As soon as we lost sight of the French shores I felt a new sensation.
I had already traveled a lot with my father. I had been to Belgium, France, the Baltic, the Scandinavian countries, England, besides my native Switzerland, but I had never before set foot in a southern clime.
Suddenly I was finding myself far from the fog and mists and all the general greyness of the northern countries, far from the dreary and agitated seas of the north.
The elegant white hulk of the luxury liner sailed smoothly on the blue sea. The sky was also blue, but paler the sea was darker, nearly greenish.
Above us shone the sun, casting its rays regally upon us, unhindered by any cloud.
From all that we derived a sensation of joy and exhilaration.
I felt like a new woman, as if I'd been born again.
Then, after I had beheld the scene outside, I cast my looks inside the ship.
On board a luxury liner one has no time to feel bored.
We had hardly left shore when already there were some pleasures organized for us. On the first evening there was a ball. I went to it with a little apprehension. I was afraid, being an unaccompanied woman, to be a wall-flower.
But I shouldn't have worried.
Nearly as soon as I came into the ballroom, a man bowed and asked me politely for a dance.
He could have been thirty-five or forty and his hair was very fair. He wore a white tuxedo and looked like a "live penis" for my purposes.
I smiled my best screen star-like smile. The orchestra had started playing the "Blue Tango."
After a while, I realized that my partner was trying to speak to me but could not find his words. So I helped him.
"Are you by any chance English?" I asked him.
He beamed with pleasure.
"Yes, that's right," he answered. "I'm so glad you speak English, for I'm afraid my French isn't very good."
After a while, he amended his statement slightly.
"That is," he said, "to tell you the truth, I'm not English, but Dutch, but I speak English well enough.
He paused for a moment, then said:
"You're wonderful."
It was so candidly said that I'm sure he spoke sincerely, and I liked the sound of his voice.
He was a very good dancer. I wished the dance would never end. I wondered if he guessed I enjoyed dancing with him.
The pressure of his hand on my bare back intensified itself a little and, gradually, he held me closer and closer to him.
He had a nice odor of tobacco and shaving soap and I could feel the half hard-on of a good-sized prick between his legs.
I wondered if he would be my first fuck experiment, according to the new plan.
Why not? Since I had to do it, he would be quite a good choice. He was handsome and looked correct and distinguished. But I could make him understand it later. For the moment, I concentrated on my dancing, and, sooner than I expected, the tango came to an end but his hard-on didn't.
He accompanied me politely to my table, bowed low and said:
"Thank you."
I, too, thanked him, and smiled at him in a way that a Hollywood producer would have applauded in a leading actress.
I had hardly had time to sit down when the orchestra struck up the famous tune "April in Portugal," and a man bowed before me.
He was young and swarthy and his hair was very dark.
Rolling his "r" he said:
"I rrreally would be charrrmed if you danced this rrrumba with me."
And he flashed white teeth at me.
Without thinking, I got up, and, at once, he seized me and held his body close to mine.
He was not a bad dancer, although he had a funny hopping style, and, anyway, one should not dance the rumba with bodies in contact with each other, he got a hard-on and my pussy got wet.
He started talking without losing any time.
"Signorina, I'm verry, verry happy."
I looked interrogatingly at him.
"Si, signorina. I'm holding you in my arms and you're so bella, bella."
And he wiggled his hard-on and rolled his eyes (which were good looking and very dark) with enthusiasm.
He was beginning to get very fresh.
It would have been all right if he had only spoken with his mouth, but he did it with his hands too.
His right hand was riding up and down my bare back, practically down to my ass-cheeks.
But I knew the southern character and so I let him, at first, act according to his warm temperament.
But I had to draw the line somewhere.
For, suddenly I felt something pressing against me distinctly, through his trousers and my dress, and you can guess what I mean. His hard-on was right between my legs.
A little more, and he'd be fucking me on the dance floor.
So, with a brisk movement, I drew apart from him and said rather angrily:
"Sir, I'm used to dancing with gentlemen, not with cads."
He answered, in a shocked tone:
"But, signorina, I'm not a cad. I'm Signor Guido owner of the Guido Factories."
"I don't care who you are," I answered, "but please control yourself while dancing, or else I'll slap your face in front of everybody."
"Slap my face?" he repeated in a tone that meant it would be an outrage.
"Certainly, I wouldn't hesitate," I assured him.
My preceding partner, the Netherlander, had also used his hands to good advantage, but at least he had put some discretion in it and hadn't tried to shove his cock in me while dancing.
He had been delicate about it. He just let me feel it.
But this guy, ugh. He really got on my nerves. His high-pitched voice and his perpetual "feeling up" annoyed me.
Anyhow, my irate words had made him angry and I saw his eyes flash.
He did not answer at once, probably weighing the pros and cons.
At last, he decided he would try to soothe me.
"I'm sorry, signorina, but you're so bella, so . . . " I am near you and burrrning with desirrre."
"Hey. Don't burn too much or your pants will catch fire."
"Yes, signorina, I'm burrning, burrrning, you're so prrretty."
I shouldn't have laughed, but he was so funny in his exaggerated ways that I'm afraid I did.
From my laugh, he understood that I had forgiven him.
"Oh, I'm so happy that you're no longer angry with me," he said, adding after a short pause:
"You're adorrrable."
And, so saying, he drew me close to him again, and I felt his stiff shaft.
"O, no," I cried, "Don't do it again, or else you'll get slapped for sure."
"No, but r" he protested feebly.
"Yes, I know, you adore me."
But, thank God, the dance was now over and he accompanied me to my table. I was embarrassed because he was walking with an obvious hard-on.
The lady announcer of the orchestra spoke into the microphone:
"Ladies and Gentlemen, the orchestra will now have the pleasure to play for you the famous waltz "Gold and Silver" which has been requested by many of you."
She smiled and went away with a swirl of her ass while the audience clapped.
The violins began softly and were soon joined by the whole orchestra.
I knew the romantic words of that song very well, and started humming them.
I was pulled out of my sweet reverie by the Netherlander with whom I had danced at first, and who was coming to invite me again.
I didn't hesitate and welcomed him with open arms even literally speaking.
Some frown on the tango, calling it a lascivious dance in which the partners rub bodies and squeeze each other chest against breasts, legs against legs.
But the Reverend Fathers have probably never seen a waltz being danced.
Whereas the tango is almost brutally lascivious, the waltz is just as lascivious, but in a more subtle manner, insidiously. Of course, it has to be executed by a real waltzer who can give you what I call a "dry-fuck."
Latin races excel in tangos, but, for waltzes, give me the Anglo-Saxon.
My present partner was in his element in the slow waltz.
Intoxicated by the rhythm, I held myself close to him, and he understood that gesture without my having to speak, for he, too, pressed me closer to him and we were now one body, as it were.
I can assure you that he was feeling my taut breasts against his chest, as well as I was feeling something of him, well.. .his hard-on was completely stiff and I could feel the head of his cock practically between my pussy-lips.
The moment was delicious. I let myself go and abandoned myself to him and his hard-on.
A girl singer on the stage was singing the romantic chorus, and her voice was very pleasant.
The wonderful thing about my partner was his apparent calmness. He remained absolutely unruffled and his beautiful smile uncovered his very white teeth. His jaw was set and his eyes shining, but he didn't say a word.
Yet, the waltz and I had a real effect upon him, I can assure you.
I had the proof of that, an undeniable proof, as his eager cock-head strove to get through the thin material of my dress.
In spite of that, he never made a false step. It would have been a catastrophe if he had, for, at the rate we were whirling, it would have meant his prick jumping right out of his fly. This man was a perfect waltzer and, besides, he possessed exceptional self-control.
I liked those qualities of his and felt so comfortable in his arms.
I decided there and then that I would choose him as my first experimental fucker, and thought that perhaps he would be the first to trigger off in me the so desired orgasm. Judging from the feel of his huge cock-head, the rest of his dong would fill my pussy to capacity.
When the dance was over, he bowed like the real gentleman he was and said politely:
"Since you're alone, would you honor me with your presence at my table and have a drink with me?"
I put on my most bewitching smile, looked him straight in the eye, and accepted.
He beamed and there was a flash in his pale blue eyes.
He squeezed my arm affectionately and said: "I'm happy."
He had said that in the right tone, like an accomplished actor.
Only he was not acting, his hard-on was for real.
He was an educated and pleasant man, I reflected.
So, we had our conversation half in English, half in French. In order that I should understand better, he pronounced his words slowly and distinctly.
I learned that he was a business-man and his father owned a factory of chemical products at Utrecht, and he was going to the Far East.
There was no point in discussing anything but the subject that really interested us at the moment, and that was love, of course. So I started talking about it, indirectly at first:
"Are you engaged or married?" I asked.
"Oh, I see I haven't introduced myself properly," he said with a handsome smile that softened the hard features of his broad face, "my name is Willem I'm married and I have an adorable little girl, and you?"
"Yvonne, married, with no child."
We smiled at each other.
Then I risked another more daring question:
"Are you faithful to your wife?" may I ask.
"Sometimes, though not always, like everybody," he answered frankly. "Anyway, I would be delighted to hump on my wife with a woman such as you."
"You're rather blunt, aren't you?"
"I'm used to it," he said.
"Aren't you a bit conceited?" I asked, smiling.
"Not at all, I assure you."
"But, tell me, do you really know women so well?"
"Yes, physically speaking, at least."
His voice changed and became more rasping.
He squeezed my thigh and said in a breath:
"I'm really longing to see you naked, completely naked."
He looked at me and I already felt naked under his searching eyes.
"You're a beautiful woman, I can guess. I wish I could take off your dress, see your breasts, your belly, your thighs, your pussy."
"Hey." I broke in, "aren't you going just a little too quickly?"
"Why play a comedy? I'm telling you all that because I know you're an intelligent woman and we'd better get down to brass tacks and hump. And, anyway, I can see that you too feel like making love."
"Oh, dear, you don't know anything of the kind."
"Yes, I do," he insisted, "I can see it in your shining eyes. And while we were dancing, I felt your bush against my cock, your breasts pointing up, your legs open up."
"Well, at least, one can't say you aren't precise." I exclaimed.
At that moment, a shadow passed in front of us.
It was the Italian. He was as excited as ever.
"Allow me, signor," he said to Willem. And, to me:
"Signorina, may I have the pleasurre of this dance?"
Willem had nodded but I on the contrary answered curtly:
"No, thanks, I'm tired."
A flash passed in the eyes of the Italian.
"But " he started to insist.
Willem cut him short:
"The signora said "no."
I could see the man's cheeks become red.
His eyes flashed, and if they been pistols, I and Willem would have been shot dead.
He stood there, hesitating, for a moment, then went away, still sporting a hard-on that stuck out a full nine inches. Embarrassing.
It was now three a.m.
There were only a few couples dancing.
Willem and I finished our bottle while the orchestra was playing one of its last dances.
He looked at me with his electric blue eyes and asked simply:
"It must be fine on the deck. Let's have a little walk before turning in, shall we?"
He helped me put my scarf round my neck and, holding me softly by the arm, drew me towards the deck.
We leaned on the rail and looked admiringly at the wonderful night.
There was not a cloud in sight.
The ship left behind her a silver wake and far, far away above us there twinkled the stars.
Then we saw something else twinkle in the distance.
"The Sicilian coast." Willem announced.
Then he put an arm round me, with no haste, sure of himself.
He knew he would eventually screw me, and there was no hurry.
We had said no word about it, but we both knew it would happen. That's why his words and gestures were calm.
The situation was not without charm.
Sailors say that the sea air is a powerful sex-stimulant.
If only it were true.
Anyhow, when he kissed me on the mouth, and when he caressed my right breast softly, I had a pleasant thrill.
He felt that I reacted as he wished, so he accentuated his gesture and then started caressing my buttons.
Why wait, now? I felt a warm flush.
He wanted me, and I wanted to make my first experiment.
I drew away from him, whispering:
"Come."
And we walked together to my cabin.
He was the perfect male fuck-artist.
Without any haste, he accepted the traditional whisky while we talked amiably, and, only after about half an hour's conversation, he suddenly got up and took me in his arms, whispering tenderly:
"You're very pretty."
And, so saying, he put his two hands on my bare shoulders. Then he let them slide slowly down, and I don't even realize how my evening gown was suddenly undone and soon my bare breasts pointed aggressively forward.
He caressed them softly and still without any haste he undid my slip without my even noticing it, even as he rubbed my nipples.
That one really knew how to undress women quickly and well.
I was now wearing only my panties and a wristwatch, and it was then that he took me in his arms and carried me over to the bed, my tits waving in the air, nipples jutting.
A prolonged kiss joined our mouths.
With his left hand, he went on squeezing titties while with his right hand he undid my panties.
I repeat it a real ace for undressing a girl.
Besides, he was not only skillful in undressing his partners.
He was just as deft getting undressed himself, without my getting aware of it.
I was surprised when I saw his naked body before me, bending towards me in a harmonious movement of rippling muscles, and, I was right about the size of his cock. It jutted out from his bush in a virile curving arc. The head was circumcised and tremendous.
Then I felt his prick head thrust into the lips of my vagina and scorch its way up into my very womb.
Alas, it was still the same pleasant, but no more.
He took his time, seeking to satisfy my pleasure rather than his own, shoving his huge prong slowly and rhythmically in and out of my wet pussy. In spite of that, I felt nothing more with him than I had done with my husband and the two lovers that had preceded him.
It could have gone on for a long time. But I worked my cunt with a faster and faster rhythm about his big shaft until he finally groaned and spurted a huge accumulation of creamy hot come-juice into my pussy.
He was correct and nice to me. I behaved kindly towards him.
I made several undulations with my tummy, rather briskly, so that he, at least, should obtain his full orgasm pleasure.
He disengaged himself satisfied and convinced that I too, had reached the pinnacle of happiness, he wiped the sperm and cunt-juice gracefully from his limp dick.
Softly reclining on my bed, with a cigarette between my lips, I really enjoyed the company of this healthy, correct man.
I had felt the heat of his squirting come and I had to be content with it.
We fell asleep in each other's arms, after I had sucked him off as a good-night gesture.
We woke up very late it must have been about 10 a.m.
The Mediterranean sunshine flowed into the cabin from the port-hole, casting golden specks on our naked bodies.
As soon as we were awake, Willem had a handsome smile and kissed me on the lips, saying:
"Good day."
I answered him "good morning."
We got up, and he spoke romantically to me, thanking me for the wonderful night he had had. Then without much ado he simply put his big cock-head in my mouth again, and I obliged with a before-breakfast blow job.
Then I accompanied him to the door of my cabin after we had washed and dressed.
My cabin was on deck number 2, and it was number 7.
I learned later that cabin number ll on the same deck, consequently pretty near mine, was inhabited by a very undesirable creature.
In fact, while he took his leave, Willem took me in his arms and kissed me on the mouth, even though his semen was still on my lips.
At that precise moment a man came out of cabin number ll. It was none other than "my" Italian Guido.
He stared at us dumbfounded. His eyes flashed with anger and spite.
Feverishly, he strode before us and hissed in a low but audible voice, looking at me:
"Putana."
That happened to be one of the few Italian words I knew. As it was very near to the French equivalent "putain," it was easily understandable anyway for me.
It meant "whore."
I felt my blood become hotter in sudden anger.
And "bang" when my hand slapped the boorish bastard's face.
He had the reflex of raising his hand at me.
It had lasted at the most a few seconds. Then I saw his wrist seized in the iron grip of Willem who said between his clenched teeth:
"Louse."
And the inevitable fight started.
The Italian, quick and lithe, struck quickly with his fists.
But Willem, calm as a rock, contented himself for awhile with warding off the blows, but his face was dangerously pale.
The next moment, I got afraid.
I saw his hand go to his pocket and I feared he was going to take out of it a weapon.
I shouted:
"No, Willem."
I saw his arm shoot out and reach his opponent on the temple and, as if struck by lightning, he sank to the floor.
I remained as if paralyzed.
I had heard nothing no crack, no shot from a firearm, only the dull sound of the fist connecting with the Italian's temple. And that was hardly audible.
I looked at the hand that had just struck.
The fist was still closed. That was all.
As for the signor Guido, he had been really stunned and a little blood was trickling from the corner of his mouth.
My shout of alarm had raised the passengers' attention, as well as that of the steward and three sailors.
One of them fetched an officer.
The latter immediately ordered two sailors to stand guard over Willem.
"Search him." he order curtly.
A search revealed nothing amiss.
He kept smiling serenely, as if he had been alone on a pleasure jaunt, or walking in his native Holland.
The officer, examining the prostrate form of the Italian, asked him:
"What did you strike this man with?"
I interrupted:
"Please speak in German, this gentleman understands French with great difficulty."
The officer translated what he had just said.
"With my fist," Willem answered unruffled. The officer had an admiring whistle. "Well, you can really hit hard," he said. Then he asked:
"Why did you hit him?"
"He insulted this lady and then raised his hand to her." he explained
I assented with a nod.
The officer became more amiable.
"I'm sorry, but I shall have to take you to the captain."
We went with him and the two sailors to the captain's stateroom.
Meanwhile, two male orderlies and a nurse had taken Guido on a stretcher to the infirmary.
When we arrived in the waiting-room, still with a sailor on each side of us, the officer told us:
"Please be seated. I'll report matters to the captain who will receive you in a few moments."
He reappeared a few minutes later, leaving the captain's door open for us to enter, saluted and left us.
The captain was a handsome man with silver-white hair. Gold braid decorated his white uniform. He stood behind his desk, and, on his right, stood a severe-looking officer.
He greeted us affably and motioned us to sit down.
When we had sat down, he started talking at once:
"I'm very sorry to have had to let you come here with two of my men. I know you're not criminals, but maritime rules are very strict. In case of a brawl we (he turned his head towards the strict-looking officer) have to make an inquest and I apologize for it."
As he said those words, he smiled and one could see from the aristocratic features of his face that he was undoubtedly an educated gentleman.
He went on:
"Lieutenant Duplair made his report to me. It says that you, madam, were insulted by signor Guido in very abusive terms. You slapped his face and he was about to hit you in return when this gentleman interposed himself and the two men fought each other, is that right, madam?"
"Absolutely so, Sir," I said.
"Thank you, madam."
He then spoke to Willem:
"Do you recognize as right the facts such as I presented them just now?"
"Perfectly."
"Good. I'll question the injured man as soon as possible and take disciplinary action only if strictly necessary. Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you."
He rose to signify to us that the interview was over.
But, at the same moment the officer standing by his side spoke:
"Excuse me, Sir, but I would like to ask Mr. Willem Vanders a question."
"Go ahead," said the captain. "Mr. Vanders, you are registered on our records as a business man. Is that right."
"Of course."
"Good. But, aren't you at the same time a boxer?"
"Me, a boxer?" Willem burst out laughing.
"The reason I'm asking you that, Sir," the officer went on imperturbably (he did look stern and unflinching, that man.) "is because signor Guido was struck at the temple with such force that it seems abnormal coming from only a bare fist. You're rather well built, I admit it, but, just the same, the violence of your blow appears somewhat suspicious to me."
The captain interrupted:
"Mr. Vanders was searched immediately after the fight and he had no weapons about him."
"I know that, Sir, and that is just what I'm finding rather odd."
"Well, let's say that Mr. Vanders is a very strong man," concluded the captain. Then, to us:
"Ladies and Gentlemen, you may go now. I may call you again to my office as soon as I have questioned signor Guido."
We went out of the state-room and our last vision was the smile of the fine captain and the officer's ugly scowl.
Willem, smiling more than ever, took me to the bar.
"Let's have a drink after all that, what."
"OK."
When we were sitting on bar-stools, I took his hand and, looking him straight in the eye, told him:
"You look as if you were having secret fun. Why?"
"Ah, you'll have to guess."
"Guess what."
"Ah, there.. . "
"You're a human riddle. I give up. But I'm going to ask you a question."
"I'm listening."
"There. I must confess that I was scared during the fight. I saw you put your hand to your pocket and I feared you were going to slip out a gun."
He became serious and, holding me tenderly, said in a low voice:
"Darling you know how serious it is for a man to use a weapon in any circumstance. I admit that in self-defense one may do so, or to satisfy a grudge."
He stopped talking for a while and his eyes took on a far-away look, then he went on:
"When I was eighteen years old I was called up in the Draft. There, I was taught to play with various toys: pistols, rifles, machine-guns, etc. I was a soldier and serving my fatherland, the Netherlands. I was in the war and would probably have killed, since I was there for it. But not out of feeling, only out of reason. I think one must not kill anybody in a simple brawl where chances are equal between the two opponents."
He was silent again for a few moments and smiled again.
"But an agitated man like that Italian, who insults and menaces a woman has to be severely punished. Fists are not enough. One must mark him. And I've done so."
"But you had no weapon. They found nothing when they searched you."
"I had this." he exclaimed, taking a key out of his pocket.
"What? A key."
"Yes, darling. In 1943, when I was in the service I was taught, between other things, that a man with average strength can stun a man if he hits him with his fist in which he holds a key tightly. Moreover, I have a heavy ring on the ring-finger of my right hand, and I can assure you it leaves its mark. The insulter will always remember that he once raised his hand to a woman. Just looking at his face in the mirror will remind him of the fact."
"I understand, now."
"What makes me laugh is the officer asking me if I was not a boxer."
"Beware of that one, darling. I don't like his face," I warned him.
"I don't give a damn. A key is not considered as a weapon, is it? I'm perfectly authorized to have even several in my pocket."
"You're right. Cruel but logical, my dear Willem, I said.
"Well, kiss me, then."
"What, here?"
"Nobody's looking and it's more exciting."
I gave him my mouth and soul-kissed him. That very evening, Willem received me in his cabin.
When I was naked, I convinced myself that this handsome sinewy man was going to make me vibrate intensely and his huge, hard cock would give me an orgasm.
I was for him a lascivious courtesan, ready to fuck him any way he wanted.
And, where that was concerned, I can tell you that Willem knew all about the worst perversions.
Besides, he did not keep them for himself, but gave them to his partners too.
That man was really scientific in his art of the complete screw.
His hand, his mouth, all his limbs participated in the amorous hump.
I felt myself kissed, kneaded and caressed, besides sucked and tickled and other things. My tits, my stomach, my thighs, my cunt felt the caresses of his light fingers and his warm lips all over me.
It was only a long time afterwards that he took me in a thrust, slow at first, then becoming jerky until it led him to a delirious spasm. He groaned as he came.
As for me, I had a slight spasm but nothing but a pleasant sensation, nothing more.
And yet, what a superb fucker.
I liked that man, and yet, with him as with my husband and my two previous lovers, I had to act the part of a satisfied and happy woman. He did his best and so did I. He opened my legs and put his face between them and began to suck my twat with thrilling skill. He didn't stop there, but sucked my asshole, and then topped things off by ramming his dong right up my rectum. This was the first time I had ever had a cock in my anus. I was embarrassed when I saw his limp cock afterwards with brownish flecks on its head.
I left him about four a.m., went to my cabin and slept.
I was strong enough to prevent myself from crying.
A woman is ugly when she has cried.
And since I shouldn't have what I wanted, I might as well keep my beauty intact.
I was awakened up by three discreet taps on my door.
I cast a look on my little clock.
It showed 9 o'clock.
I slipped on a pajama (when sailing near the hot African coast, one sleeps naked) and said:
"Come in."
An officer saluted and said, after having lowered his eyes to take in the sight of my breasts showing above my wide neckline:
"Madam, would you please, as soon as you're ready, come into the captain's office. He will be expecting you."
"All right, Sir."
"Thank you, madam."
He bowed and went out not without another glance at my knockers. The officer didn't know it, but I would have let him shove it up me right then and there.
I got dressed rapidly. Half an hour later, I was in the captain's office. Willem was already there. We exchanged a friendly "good morning" and a smile. The captain, still friendly, after having told me "good morning," spoke to us:
"Madame, Sir, I've asked you to come back to my office in order to clear this affair."
He was interrupted by the entrance of the same officer as the day before, the one who looked as if he had just eaten too much mustard.
He saluted us but without smiling.
The captain continued:
"Mr. Guido is now recovered from the blow delivered by your fist, Sir, (he paused and smiled ironically at Willem), and he will soon be here and I hope the affair will end up with the reconciliation of the two parties."
He made a sign to the sailor.
The latter went out and soon came back accompanied by Guido.
I checked with difficulty an impulse to laugh.
He wasn't precisely handsome, my rumba dancer.
A bandage circled his head and his cheek had acquired different hues that reminded me of a miniature rainbow. One of his eyes was half-closed.
Handsome man that he was, he had now become a kind of motley-faced clown.
The captain was mistaken if he thought the two parties would shake hands.
As soon as he came in, Guido flashed a baleful eye at us and howled in the direction of Willem.
"Ah. Here he is, the sneaky hump-artist." The captain interrupted him brutally (and he did not look affable any longer):
"Sir, please be silent and don't express your thoughts aloud, or else I shall have to take sanctions. You may express yourself calmly and with reserve, otherwise I shall have to "
But the man disregarded the captain's advice completely. Enraged, he went on:
"Sir. You know what I'm going to do I'll kill them both, kill them both, I tell you, both, both."
The captain had risen from his seat, and so had Willem.
Nearly foaming at the mouth, the Italian continued:
"This whore slapped me. This man hit me. I'm going to kill them." He leapt at Willem. But he didn't go far.
On a sign from the captain, the sentry had seized him from behind and was restraining him forcibly in his iron grip.
In spite of it, he tried to wriggle free, howled and went on spouting insults.
The captain rang on a buzzer.
Another sailor came in.
"Get two armed men at once."
"Aye aye, Sir."
The officer, who had not yet said a word, came near Guido, still held from behind by the waist. He was still voicing insults:
"Putana.. .etc, etc."
I can't remember exactly what they were, and it doesn't matter. I wouldn't like repeating them anyway.
The officer, after having warded off a kick in the balls meant for him, took and twisted one of his wrists and told him dryly:
"Silence, or I'll knock you unconscious, d'you understand?"
The captain cut him short:
"Stop. I don't want any brutality against this man aboard this ship.
At that moment, two marines came in, armed with pistols and a belt full of cartridges round their waists.
"Arrest this man," the captain ordered, pointing at Guido.
The two marines placed themselves on either side of the enraged man.
The captain, very calm, but now the indisputable master aboard, spoke in an authoritative voice:
"Mr. Guido we're not used to having passengers like you on board. It's the first time I've been placed in such a position, and yet I've been in charge of luxury liners for 25 years.
You've behaved like a cad and uneducated man. You insulted a woman, struck a passenger "
"But "
"Don't interrupt me or I'll have you imprisoned. You have contravened the regulations of this ship, or of any ship. We shall be stopping at Malta in two hours. There, I shall put you into the hands of the British police of the port. Until then, you'll be confined to your cabin."
"I'll complain to my consul."
"Do as you like. This ship is French and I apply the regulations of my country, which, by the way are international agreements prescribed by Interpol. They are very strict: grave insults, brawls, fights, attacks, all are punished by disembarking the culprit at the first port of call and putting him into the hands of the local police.
"Guards, accompany this man to his cabin and lock him in. One of you shall stand guard outside his door until we reach the Island of Malta."
"I shall complain.. .You're nothing but a "
"One more word out of you and I'll have you put in irons."
The two armed marines seized him by the shoulders and took him out of the cabin.
The captain smiled again and said:
"Madam, Sir, the incident is closed. All my apologies for the trouble, and I hope you will soon forget this unhappy event."
"Certainly, Sir, and, may I add, you've been perfect," I said.
"Yes, indeed" said Willem.
"Thank you, madam," the captain said and shook hands with us.
The officer, his assistant, bowed to me and said ironically to Willem:
"Congratulations, Sir, for the strength of your fist. Considering your physical aspect, you hit like a professional boxer."
"You said so already," snapped Willem in an ice-cold voice.
A few minutes later we were both on the deck.
A sailor ran up to us. "Mrs. Peters?" he inquired. "That's right."
"A cable for you, madam." He gave me a telegram. "Thank you," I said.
Willem out of discretion, walked a few paces away. I opened the radio-wire. I read:
"Thinking of you stop Come back cured stop Wishing you excellent voyage stop Tenderly. Rodney.
I stayed a moment without moving, with the wire still in my hand.
In my thoughts I was no longer on board the ship, nor by the side of the man who had just been my lover; I was no longer under the bright rays of the tropical sun.
Instead, I was there, in London, the town of fog. But in that town there was my husband, and, still in my thoughts, I was there beside him in our studio.
Quickly, I brushed away that vision.
Willem came near me.
"Bad news, Rochelle?"
"No.. .But may I ask you an indiscreet question, Willem? If you answer it, please do so frankly. Are you in love with your wife?"
"Very much."
He had answered without a moment's hesitation.
I liked him still better for his frankness.
I put my hand into his and told him:
"Willem, you're a very nice guy. This telegram is from my husband, and I.. .I love him very, very much."
He put an arm around me and whispered:
"Rochelle, we are both above average. Our comprehension is far superior to the level of the majority of other men and women.
As you know, I'm getting off at Malta.
We shall have to say good bye, and we shall probably never see each other again.
I've had many adventures, and, no doubt, you too. But I want you to believe me when I say that with you our sex relationship was very, very, beautiful."
"I think the same as you, Willem, you have one of the most magnificent penises I've ever seen and I loved every centimeter of it as it rammed my pussy. And you did take my virginity in my asshole, that is. I'll always remember that.
He bowed and kissed my hand for a long time, almost religiously.
A dull boom rang out.
"That was from a big gun, loaded with a blank shell, fortunately," Willem remarked.
We saw the other passengers come running on to the deck.
An officer gave us the information we all wanted:
"That is the British fleet in maneuvers," he explained, pointing at a row of cruisers in the distance.
Soon, we could make out a few of the crew.
A bugle call rang out on board our ship.
The French flag was lowered and hoisted three times.
It was our salute to the British fleet.
The British admiral ship did the same in answer.
I looked at my companion.
He was standing very stiff, with his heels close together.
Willem's dick had been as big as a bull's, with virile balls to match. And he had had me three-ways, pussy, asshole and mouth. Yet still I had no orgasm. Did I have to get fucked by a bull actually? I had read of women coming after being screwed by big dogs' cocks. Was I so neurotic that I would require a real weird humping to finally make me come?