Chapter 4
After the traditional cruise ship farewells, the playing of a band, the hooting of the ship's horn and the brassy bellowing of tugs, and streamers of confetti, some of which had gotten caught in the pillbox hat, Jennifer felt a little baffled.
Behavior in the ship's corridor was sedate enough, even a bit on the prim side, with just a suggestion of suppressed and feverish gaiety. No one tried to drag Jennifer into a stateroom and offer to violate her.
And the dining salon was positively decorous.
Jennifer shared a table with three other girls, two of whom knew each other and discussed the merits-or lack of them-of the various men abroad. Some were labeled "cute" and others rated on down to "drip." To Jennifer's amazement this did not seem to apply to the men's sexual prowess at all, just to their all-around desirability as shipboard companions.
Elsie, the jolly, small bouncy one, and Anna, the tall slender ash-blonde, worked in the same office (doing what not yet specified) and saved all year for this annual bash. Not always this cruise but some intriguing "tour" that promised a supply of men. Object, of course, matrimony. And four years of negative results hadn't discouraged them. Carol, the fourth girl, wasn't, on closer inspection, quite such a girl. Jennifer guessed her as thirty and was being unconsciously cruel. Carol was only twenty-eight and admitted to twenty-five. She, she said, also liked traveling. Yes, she preferred cruises. Yes, she felt commercial airlines were a bore. Got you there, of course, but no fun on the way, and Carol had smiled warmly at Jennifer.
"I suppose that's why you came. For the fun?" She made it a question, and Jennifer, her attention momentarily distracted by the young officer who had spoken to her on the dock, nodded. Carol prodded further, leaving Elsie and Anna to the comparing of notes on the prospects among the men passengers. "Is this your first cruise? I noticed your luggage as you came aboard. So new and fresh. And that charming Italian number. Quite chic and the very latest. And that smoky silk you're wearing tonight. A Bellanciaga?"
Jennifer pulled herself back from an absorbed study of the young officer to blink at Carol. "Bellanciaga? No. I'm afraid this is pure Lerner at $29.50." Jennifer ducked her head to inspect the smoky gray silk that could be mistaken for a Bellanciaga. It did look nice, as she had decided the moment she saw it in the window. Just the thing for a cruise dinner or high tea-or didn't they serve high tea on Dutch boats? But not Bellanciaga. Still, it was nice of Carl to notice.
Carol smiled at Jennifer's disclaimer on the Bellanciaga. "I'm sure you have some lovely things. How about a private fashion show? Just us girls." Carol looked around the table, smiling.
Elsie and Anna shook their heads. "There's dancing. And the first dance is the time to weed out the duds and select the real swingers."
Jennifer nodded, as if she knew all about weeding out the duds and selecting the swingers. "I think I'll just watch. I'm not up to dancing just yet." It had an intriguing sound, like a mildly debilitating but popular illness, interesting and a bit languid. Jennifer would have been hard put to answer if anyone had asked just what she was recovering from. Of course, the paleness of long confinement with Mother Dear did aid the illusion. Otherwise, Jennifer felt fine. She simply didn't know how to dance.
Elsie and Anna whisked off from the dinner table to be in the ballroom for the early and closer inspection of male potential.
Jennifer lingered on at the dinner table, sipping very excellent Dutch chocolate and watching, a trifle disappointed. The dining salon was positively sedate, except for one mildly noisy group in the corner who were toasting each other, the captain, the first, second and third mates, and the purser, and were working their way toward stewards and the line's board of directors individually when the young man who had spoken to Jennifer somehow cut off their water and efficiently and effectively herded them toward the deck and fresh air and the eventual exercise of dancing.
Carol tapped Jennifer on the arm for attention. "Don't go gaga for him just because he's kind to you. That's his job. He's cruise director. Nice to everyone, even drunks."
"Oh!" Jennifer hadn't realized her interest in the young man was so obvious. "It isn't that. He just reminds me of someone. And I can't think who."
Carol chuckled. "My dear, he reminds every woman of-someone. If she's eighty, it's a favorite grandson; if eight, a favorite uncle. And to those in between, he reminds you of-someone. That's his special charm. It's what cruise directors are hired for. Shall we stroll or watch the dancing for a while?"
Jennifer hadn't intended to let herself be monopolized. She wanted things open and loose, for any opportunity that came along-at least enough to find out if she really was some sort of a freak, a cold woman who could get very, very warm inside. Still, Carol did seem to know the ropes. She might provide some direction to Jennifer's private search.
"I think I'll watch the dancing..."
Jennifer wasn't even aware of the names, but the dancing did look wild. Rather frenzied, and it had a disorganized look to it. Partners didn't even hold hands, much less clutch and glide hands over bare flesh. And there was plenty of bare flesh. Maybe, as the papers said, the miniskirt was dead, but it was a very lively corpse out on the dance floor. Jennifer blinked at how much was revealed as the girls swirled, twitched, lifted arms and swayed. And at the variety and diversity of very brief panties, some of them little more than holes tied together with thread-net mesh, Carol informed her- with a small patch to cover the very special area.
There were other costumes out there, pants suits in intense pink and what Jennifer privately dubbed "dishwater green," and awning stripes that accentuated the rippling movement of pelves and buttocks, and mumus-or were these granny dresses-that revealed as much in the superstructure, breasts that were obviously unfettered by a bra-and bouncing distractingly.
The men were more conservative and more uniform in dress. Slacks and open-throated shirts or slacks and turtleneck shirts, with considerable latitude in colors. The slacks, Jennifer noted, beginning to feel warm, were very tight, revealing bulges right where bulges were interesting.
Not having any experience, Jennifer couldn't judge whether the bulges were outsized or normal. In either case, they looked enormous-and formidable.
And they made Jennifer realize she was getting unaccountably warm, right down where warmth counted most. Or maybe that was just Carol's hand stroking her arm.
Still there wasn't any orgy, as she had confidently expected. Girls were not lying around being debauched in public, as the phrase "swinging singles" had implied. Or as Jennifer thought it implied. She was getting exactly what the brochure had offered, a fine stateroom, excellent meals, and an opportunity for fun and relaxation. And, she gathered from the comments around her, some very good music, though it sounded-well-primitive, and could very easily get into your blood. Which it was probably meant to.
Occasionally some man would stroll over to ask Jennifer or Carol to dance, but Carol's careful smile and firm shake of her head broke that off rather quickly, even though Jennifer would have been willing to try. It looked easy. You simply got up and did things in time to the music. It didn't, apparently, matter much what you did, since you were almost entirely independent of your partner. Yes, she would have liked to try, but Carol's "No" was very decisive.
One young man quirked an eyebrow at them and turned away, muttering, "So that's how it is."
In a noisy, bouncy sort of way the dancing was sedate enough. Any orgies, Jennifer decided, were going to be private. So private, Jennifer wouldn't even see them, much less participate.
"Shall we stroll? The night is lovely." Carol was prodding Jennifer up, holding her arm, even sliding an arm around her waist, as if she were an invalid who needed help. Well, Jennifer told herself, that's what I pretend to be.
The stroll on the deck was not as cozy as predicted. There weren't any warm tropic breezes yet. And even Southern California nights can be chilly, especially out on the water. Carol kept an arm around Jennifer's waist, chatting gaily about the other tours she had been on, the amusing people she had met, some dear, dear friend she had made.
And her hand was sliding across Jennifer's slim, unfettered behind caressingly. "I think we should go in now. My place for a warm sweater or yours for a fashion show." She laughed lightly. "I'd adore to see your things..."
So there was Jennifer, slipping out of the smoky gray, standing there with nothing on but her shoes and pantyhose, reaching for one of her new dresses. Carol came up behind her, putting both arms around her, cupping her bared breasts in either hand. "You have such young, firm breasts. So-alluring. So-kissable."
Carol had turned her around and pressed her mouth against one of Jennifer's small, firm breasts, her tongue teasing at the amber-pink of the nipple, until Jennifer felt once again the hardening of her nipples, the swelling of her breasts and the urgent excitement in her pussy. Even if she didn't understand why Carol was interested, the touch of her hands on Jennifer's buttocks sent new waves of heat and excitement through Jennifer.
On her buttocks! The pantyhose... Somehow Carol had slid them down and was caressing Jennifer's buttocks. Carol slid one hand around, touching at the edge of her pussy, starting up waves of heat and a tightening in her chest.
Jennifer found she was being urged backward, onto the berth already thoughtfully turned down by a stewardess, while Carol sucked at one breast and then ran her tongue over the other, teasing the hardening nipples, bringing new flashes of heat to Jennifer's loins.
It was bewildering to Jennifer. Why should Carol be interested in a girl's breasts, in the slimness and roundness of her buttocks and the softness and warmth of her cunt? One of Carol's hands was gliding over her pelvis, smoothing and parting the soft, still downy hair of her pussy.
It can't be happening. That was how Jennifer felt. It can't be happening. Yet it is. And I have no way to stop it, except to fight, to struggle. And actually, she didn't want to struggle. The excitement was just what she had been seeking, excitement that began as heat in her pussy and extended upward to a warm glow in her chest, sending hot flashes through her pelvis and up through her stomach.
Only a man could thrill you like that, could bring your body to life, to wanting and excitement.
Yet Carol was bringing just that wonderful stimulus of excited pussy to Jennifer. And Jennifer, more in bewilderment than active participation, let herself be stretched out on the berth while Carol knelt beside it, bending over Jennifer's breasts, sucking at them, while her hands played over her thighs, touched lightly on her pussy and slid between her legs, gently wedging them apart.
Carol's tongue played over Jennifer's slim, flat stomach, teasing slowly down toward her pussy. It raced out the fine creases between leg and stomach and worked its tantalizing way down to her pussy.
And I'm not fighting it! I don't even know what is happening, but I'm not fighting it, because it is thrilling, it does stir me. Almost as much as Cass did. Though I don't understand why a girl would want to suck on another girl's pussy, as Carol is starting to do. But it does give me a thrill.
Carol's hand had slid around one of Jennifer's buttocks and was working daintily at her vulva, spreading the deep pink lips while her tongue touched the outer edges and then slid softly inside.
Jennifer bucked, feeling that penetration, and Carol calmed her with a soothing hand caressing one breast, murmuring endearments.
Jennifer could feel her pussy opening freely, feel the juices start-and the tentative, tender touch of Carol's tongue that started new fires inside.
She wasn't horrified. It was too new to Jennifer, too overwhelming. The excitement kept building, just as it had with Cass, and Jennifer's little pussy responded. Her pelvis worked up and down, trying to get more of Carol's tongue. And she was moaning. She hadn't realized it until, in a sudden silence, she heard herself.
Carol raised her head, leaving Jennifer's cunt momentarily free, and started on a string of endearments before ducking once more between Jennifer's legs.
Jennifer arched her body with the exquisite agony of tension, and then dropped back on the berth just as there was a knock on the cabin door and a steward called out, "Miss Carol Clark, an important message for you at the purser's desk. Will you..."
Carol rolled over, glaring at the door. "I got the message. Okay... Be right there." She stood up, glaring down at Jennifer. "So you've got protection. What is it? A conspiracy?" She laughed harshly. "If you were set up for me, you've learned something, kid. The Mod Squad arrived too late."
And Carol twitched herself to the small private bath and came out a moment later, glaring at Jennifer. "And I'd have sworn you didn't spot it. Whoever set you up sure let you down this time." She laughed wickedly. "And I've put my mark on you. You like it, kid. You love it." And Carol stalked out, slamming the door.