BBW Unforgettable Cruise (~BBW, SSBBW, ~~WG, Romance, ~Sex)

Dimensions Magazine

Help Support Dimensions Magazine:

Sonic Purity

Grateful
***
Joined
Apr 9, 2006
Messages
421
Location
Pasadena, California, U.S.A.
Voyaging on a cruise ship in March 2020? What could possibly go wrong? 😟



Unforgettable Cruise
by Sonic Purity


Boarding a Floating City

🎼 So be my guest
You’ve got nothing to lose
Won’t you let me take you on a
Sea Cruse? 🎼

The spectacularly-appointed Sapphire Prince assuredly dwarfed whatever cruise ship about which Huey “Piano” Smith and His Clowns sang in 1958, or for that matter the vastly more familiar 1959 major hit single with Frankie Ford doing the vocal over the identical instrumental and sound effect track. It was the latter version singing to about-to-be vacationing Leigh Down through her earbuds as she boarded the ship at her home port of San Diego, California. Adrenalin pumping from high excitement, she continued her way up the gangway.

The ship looked ever-more impressive the closer to, and finally onto, it she got. 1370 cabins holding up to Two-Thousand-Beast-Number passengers as Leigh sillily thought of it (2666 to the rest of us) plus well over one thousand crew and staff members, more decks than many lesser hotels had floors, redundant on-board water treatment each fit for supplying the needs of a small town, redundant high-tech propulsion, state-of-the-art facilities and accoutrements too numerous to enumerate—this was some serious maritime hardware!


Her pleasure with her chosen pleasure craft grew further upon meeting her Upper Promenade Deck stateroom. Plushly, beautifully, and tastefully appointed (especially since the ship’s most recent refresh just a year prior), the light, optically bright pastel wall finish and complimentarily-contrasting medium dark wood trim, panels, and accents—and indeed the entire stateroom—were well- and evenly-lit by lines and rings of energy-efficient soft white dimmable LED lighting. Shaped vaguely like neon tubing and unlike rope LED designs with their individual light dots, these LED tubes produced smooth, continuous, often indirect light, blending into the room well enough to become one with it, rather than discrete fixtures.

On the small side of medium in size, while able to sleep 3 by design, it was perfect for one person wanting some space without requiring extravagant amounts. She happily stowed her well-packed suitcases in the closet, then made a beeline to the one area of concern she’d had: how big was the shower door? {Big enough} she thought as she tried it, smiling from a combination of relief and the shower’s (and indeed the bathroom’s) innate glass with gold structural members and fittings beauty. While fitting through the shower door wasn’t any issue now, given how her life usually went and what she had in mind for this vacation cruise, it could have been later. The sink in the gray terrazzo countertop and toilet were equally well-appointed. Some of the fanciest staterooms had those newfangled bidet seats, with all kinds of cleaning and warming and other functions. Leigh was just as glad to have a conventional “dumb” toilet seat and toilet paper for their own sake, beyond saving money. No question: the bathroom would be fully up to the task for this leisurely-paced leisure cruise.

Upon finishing making use of the latter two bathroom fixtures, her next beeline was over to the bed, near the full wall-height exterior window/sliding door. She expected to be spending most of her time when in this stateroom on or in the bed, whether sleeping, enjoying the view, reading, or possibly even getting into some pleasure writing she’d long neglected. Gloriously sensually soft, plush, and welcoming, its materials gave it a slightly warm feel of the nature of some cloth materials, others of which can feel cold to the touch despite both being measurably at the same ambient temperature. Laying fully down atop it she thought, {This really is like floating on a cloud}.

The view out the full-wall picture window/door was gloriously free from visual restrictions, and with the day being a nice sunny San Diego late afternoon, glorious in general. Royal Prince Cruise Lines was very proud of the innovation they’d introduced on this series of ocean liners during the most recent extensive refresh: a small balcony-like area just outside each of these staterooms with a waist-height metal-side glass-front wall with its own door out onto the main Upper Promenade deck area ringing this deck level. The metal sides were equipped with sliding opaque privacy partitions (initially retracted) able to be adjusted by either of the visually adjoining staterooms, when one wanted a more traditional private balcony experience. Called the Balconette by Royal Prince, the name reminded her of a bra style for which she barely had enough boob flesh to justify. Leigh made sure to test the electric self-locking picture window glass door, both from its pushbutton opener on the inside and the key card mechanism on the outside. She was just as glad to have overhead cover at that moment, given the flock of seagulls noisily chirping as they flew by (definitely not singing any early 1980s Hair Band/Neuromantic songs, by any band).

The ship was still in port and would so remain for awhile as other cruisers continued to board, and Leigh had more of her stateroom to check out! Back inside, she found the couch entirely serviceable. Even if not as nice as hers at home in terms of plush comfort, it was undeniably cleaner! The nearby comfy chair was on the verge of claustrophobically snug, and of no matter to her given the couch and bed options. It was comfortable, and if a guest wound up visiting, they could likely sit there with no issue. The small desk and its chair were indeed several notches above motel perfunctory, even if not quite up to the level of the rest of the room in terms of elegance and comfort. Not a place she expected to spend any time, so no matter.


She spent some time reading a good bit of the voluminous information Royal Prince Cruise Lines provided regarding the many activities, amenities, services, and so on from which she could partake. {Ten restaurants?! Mmmmmm… thank goodness it’s dinner time soon. Four swimming pools?! Yikes!… Eight lounges doesn’t surprise me. Well} “hhhhhh” she sighed aloud, {might as well fine-tune myself and get ready for the muster drill, then after that head directly out to dinner}.


* *
Experiencing the escalator ride after the reasonably brief and pleasantly painless muster drill down to the lower level of the expansive multi-deck-height Grand Promenade area looked and felt in every way to Leigh like a mash-up of going down a land-based upscale shopping mall escalator near the prime stores from its upper to lower level with descending into the main lobby of a well-appointed luxury hotel: open, spacious, vast, opulent.

The many disparate languages being spoken by those moving every which way around her—quite like a busy mall or hotel lobby, or even transit terminal—along with details of physical build and appearance caught her attention. {It’s like a mini-UN here} she mentally mused.


She made her way to Glissando, one of the higher-end restaurants on the ship. As part of the Pampered Gem package into which she’d bought, eating there was no extra charge for her, as it would be for those opting for standard fares. Thankfully, she was able to be seated right away.

Excellent acoustic treatments integral to the tasteful dark wood-forward decor made for a peaceful relatively quiet space for private at-table conversation, as well as dispersing the mellifluous notes of the beautiful and beautifully-dressed harpist’s large gold-colored harp evenly throughout the restaurant space such that it could be easily heard without being overbearing. Yes, this lithe brown-haired maiden in her white sequined full-length dress was running glissandos lovely enough to make angels weep.

{Goodness, I’m in one of my nicer outfits and I’m almost underdressed!} she thought on the walk over to her table, following the hostess’s tight, small ass, the likes of which she hadn’t had since she was 11, if then.


The young woman’s gracious smile and waving hand motion towards the linen-covered table exuded welcoming sincerity.

“Thank you” said Leigh, thinking as the woman left, {You’d be about the age of the daughter I’m glad I never had}.
 
Last edited by a moderator:

Sonic Purity

Grateful
***
Joined
Apr 9, 2006
Messages
421
Location
Pasadena, California, U.S.A.
“Good evening, Ms. Down” a tall square-jawed young man not much older than the hostess greeted her, his light brown eyes glittering from his toreador-like face framed by long jet black hair. His uniform informed her that he was her waiter, named Andrés per his black text on shiny gold name tag. “How are you this evening?” he asked as he set down a generously-large glass of water and basket of fresh, warm bread.

“Well, thank you. And you?”

“Delighted to be here, and to be of service. Tonight’s Sapphire Special is Braised Veal Bonavente. Our Explorer Special this evening is Sardine Poutine.”

Leigh couldn’t help grimacing slightly at the thought.

“Chef Lindgren assures me that its name was chosen more for purposes of alliteration than literal representation of its composition, other than it assuredly contains fresh premium sardines. He promises it will delight the palate, and few of us who’ve ever had the honor and privilege of partaking of his creations have ever found them less than delightful.”

“Seems like an unusual choice of fish.”

“Chef claims that sardines’ position low in the food chain makes it a far more healthful option in our modern world than nearly any other seafood outside of wild-caught Alaskan salmon, which we prefer to source once we’re much farther up the coast.”

“Fair enough. Being new on-board tonight, I’m going to need some time to peruse the menu before making my selection” {and hope that you’re on the menu}.

“Of course; please take your time” he smiled, just missing patting her hand with his gentle table touch before departing.


An inveterate foodie, Leigh was already feeling food lust arousal before even making it out of the appetizer listings. {Uuoooohh, I’m gonna love this cruise!}

* *
Leigh was rarin’ to go the moment Andrés next returned to her table. “I’ll please start with the Tempura Wands and Crab Rangoon Moons, then look forward to the Porcine Suprema, and a side of Buffalo Coins.”

“Very good” he smiled, thinking {Your generous hips suggest to me I needn’t say anything about our generous portions.} “Beverage this evening?”

“A bottle of the 2017 Pearly Night merlot, please.”

“Excellent. Wine with the meal?”

“I’m ready now” she grinned.


Millions of people in the world, millions of opinions of all sorts. What to Andrés was Leigh’s generous right hip (the only one of hers he could see as she sat) tended to be little more than pleasantly curvaceous in the fatlovesex world, a.k.a. the fatosphere. Naturally even there opinions differed, with some in the community likely to apply the plumper label to her physique, others disagreeing that she’d reached that level of plushness.


* *
{This is why I’m doing this cruise!} blissed-out Leigh thought, as she savored her current Crab Rangoon Moon moon-shaped dumpling, feeling wholly in the moment and mostly (apart from the dressy formality) in her element. {No one knows me, no one’s looking at me, no one’s judging me.}


Throughout the entirety of the meal, every bite of every dish made love to her taste buds, with every sip of wine caressing them.


* *
Well over an hour later, vanquished plates, platters, and bowls disappeared into the hands of the busser, then into his pre-rinse/transport bucket.

The moment he rolled away, Andrés reappeared. “Dessert this evening?”

“Yes please. Please kindly explain why even a chef prone to alliteration would name a dessert Persnickety Snickerdoodles?”

“We do generally tend to think of the definition of persnickety as fussing over trivial, minor, possibly irrelevant details, I admit. There is however the definition of substances, materials, or ingredients requiring the utmost precision and care, which is how Chef Lindgren describes this dish’s titling.”

“I’ve made snickerdoodles at home before. The ingredients aren’t that fussy!” she objected.

“Ah, but the many nuanced ingredients setting Persnickety Snickerdoodles apart from those you and I and others we know have made put them in a separate category necessitating precise execution.”


Her very full stomach told Leigh to proceed with caution, perhaps even opt out of dessert. Her lusty taste buds told her otherwise. “I must know for myself what sets these Persnickety Snickerdoodles apart from the many good ones I’ve had and occasionally made over the years.”

“Very good.”

“Is a small pot of mint tea an option?”

“Absolutely. We have spearmint, peppermint, and blended mint non-caffeinated herbal infusions.”

“Spearmint please.”


* *
{Nutmeg… candied lavender… honey… wowwww!}

Her mouth figuratively danced a jig at the joys of these amazing cookies, complimented exquisitely by the spearmint tea.


Very mildly disappointed that Andrés wasn’t on the menu in any capacity, Leigh bid him and Glissando goodnight. Her bright below-knee floral extravaganza-on-white dress had its work cut out for it containing her maxed-out belly. Other than tightness around that region from the 100% cotton dress’s lack of give, she felt comfortable on her way out of the restaurant.


* *
On her way back through the still-busy Grand Promenade, Leigh played a solo game of identifying as many different languages as she could recognize. Monolingual herself, she nevertheless had sufficient familiarity with the characteristics of several of the world’s major languages to be able to identify them on sound, even if she could rarely understand more than an occasional word and not ever speak even that much.

Italian from the large group of about 23 apparently-Italians standing near the lobby seating area of the Grand Promenade was easy. One friendly gentleman amongst them briefly smiled and waved at her over the distance as she passed, upon seeing her apparently studying him/them.

German from a passing likely-German couple in a deep conversation with one another and seemingly in somewhat of a hurry was easy.

A group of 4 individuals sounding to her to be speaking Chinese on the brief occasions they spoke as they stood and looked between one another (possibly figuring something out together) incremented her count by one.

Gliding down the down escalator as she glid up the up escalator, Leigh thought she heard a couple looking to her like parents speaking to 4 younger people with them in an Asian language of which she was not certain. Hearing “kimchee” she guessed Korean.

A few steps away from the top of the escalators near the main elevators the characteristic serial monosyllabic staccato of Japanese caught her ear, confirmed with several repeated “Hi”s (themselves confirmations).


Hearing Spanish came as no surprise whatsoever, for a ship which most recently boarded no more than 15 miles from the Mexican border. Thing was, to Leigh’s ears the couple riding with her in the elevator seemed to be speaking another Spanish dialect. Which one, she had no idea.

“Beeauuutiful ship, yes?” the gentleman of the pair said to her.

Much as she was tempted to reply “Si. Muy linda”, her better wisdom kept her on the much safer path of sticking with “Yes, very much so.”

Each of Ernesto and Gloria Albiol introduced themselves to Leigh (and vice-versa) with hearty handshakes just before exiting the elevator on the Vista deck—one amongst the primarily-stateroom decks.
 
Last edited by a moderator:

Sonic Purity

Grateful
***
Joined
Apr 9, 2006
Messages
421
Location
Pasadena, California, U.S.A.
* *
Leigh’s destination was the Sports deck. It was prime time for her to introduce herself to the Fitness Center: her essential travel companion on this journey. After all, it was her gym activity which routinely kept the flabbergasting flab off her body in her home life, along with occasional nature and/or beach walks when she could fit either of those into her schedule and away from crowds.


Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, it appeared well-equipped, with higher-end versions of the typical gear she knew so well from her local gyms over the years. Plenty of busy bodies dressed in a range of “please don’t look at me” through “please look at me” activewear were making good use of the facilities.

As acceptable as the Fitness Center was, and as much as she knew she really ought to return to her stateroom, change, and come back up and get in motion, the potent spell of the adjacent spa called to her. It wasn’t so much its very light, delicate, pleasant aroma as the promises which lay within which drew her longing attention. Beautifully appointed in well-lit shades of whites and pinks with subtle yellow and sky blue embellishments, it drew her in like a magnet.

{I’m goin’ in!}


* *
“Good evening” the smiling woman of the two white-coated spa employees currently standing near the counter greeted her, with the gasp-worthy hunky gentleman next to her asking, “How may we benefit you tonight?”

{Friends With Benefits might work for me, once we get to know one another} Leigh brashly thought as she looked him over. “I’mmm… freshly boarded this afternoon and familiarizing myself with the ship’s amenities. I’m a Pampered Gem, uh, member, so I’m highly likely to want to partake of your services here.”


The range of services on display and enumerated by Gabi and Raphael (per their name tags) dazzled her.


“Middays, mid-afternoons, and evenings tend to be our busiest times,” noted Gabi near her presentation conclusion, “during which reservations are recommended.”

“We currently have one sauna and one massage table open” Raphael added.

“Who does the massages?”

As they’d been doing throughout their explanatory presentation, Gabi and Raphael took tag-team turns speaking. It was again Gabi’s turn, “At all times we’re open there is at least one female and one male massage therapist.”

“More during busier times, as now, with Humberto and Lydia currently assisting other cruisers.”

“So I could get a Thai massage from you right now, Raphael?”

“Absolutely” he smiled. “Soon as you’re signed in, we can get you going.”


* *
The sensual delights of Raphael’s big, strong, skilled hands working her energy meridians from foot to head and, well away from her erogenous zones and societally-sanctioned private areas, skin to skin had what felt like buckets of stress and tension dissolving and melting away out of Leigh’s body.

Busy professional woman that she was, Leigh’s primary reason for the lack of loving, sensual hands at her ready beck and call in her life was a lack of time and inclination to date. Parts of her mind minimized or suppressed thoughts of additional factors in play. In a society warped to apparently agree that a woman’s value as an intimate lover rapidly declines with age, being 3 years shy of the most common retirement age benchmark put her so far out on the asymptote near zero value that the exact positioning wasn’t worth a moment’s quibble. She thought the “skunk” shock of brilliant white hair visible amongst her still-predominantly and still-naturally medium brown hair made her look more interesting and younger—which in a way, it did. Lines and other wear and tear elsewhere told a different story she’d rather not be told. What had always been with her was her plain appearance, especially her face. Neither ugly nor beautiful enough to draw attention, it had often been a beneficial attribute when she wanted to be ignored and left alone to enjoy her solitude, as at dinner this very night. It had historically proven less beneficial during the times she wished to draw positive, and especially amorous, attention to herself.

Counting back the number of years to the last time a man had intimately had his hands on her for any meaningful length of time made her feel queasy.


Raphael felt her body tensing up. “Doing alright, Ms. Down?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“I may have found a spot with some tension. Permission for me to ease back down then resume working up, to narrow in on it?”

“Gladly!”

“Stay in the moment and feel all there is to feel of the experience to the best of your ability, to get the most out of this.”

“Mmmmm… alright” she happily sighed.


From his training and experience, Raphael had a strong sense of what Ms. Down most needed: midsection tension release, especially between her lower buttocks and the small of her back. The time, place, and society within which they existed precluded his directly addressing this region with the necessary rigor. To a degree, so too did his lack of amorous interest in her, much as the professional in him wanted to help her body release what needed freeing.

Deeply skilled as he was, he worked around the limitations with aplomb.


Leigh Down left the massage session a satisfied, refreshed, deeply relaxed woman, all ready for a great night’s sleep in her amply-sized pillowy cloud-soft stateroom bed. So far on this first night, this pricey cruise left nothing to be desired.
 

Sonic Purity

Grateful
***
Joined
Apr 9, 2006
Messages
421
Location
Pasadena, California, U.S.A.
Home Port

The Sapphire Prince was docked in its home Port of Los Angeles and on shore power and other utilities well before Leigh was ready to get out of bed. {I’m living my life all wrong, not feeling refreshed like this nearly every morning of every day} she thought as she drew the dark drapes, leaving the sheer white curtains closed to let in the sunny morning’s light as well as give her a passable gauzy view outside without putting her on full, clear display to the many early morning walkers traversing the Upper Promenade deck.


Contrary to the way many other cruise lines handled their ships’ times in their home ports, Royal Prince Cruise Lines flipped tradition on its head, having home port stopovers of shorter duration than at many destination ports along the route. Shore leave, boarding, and deboarding at the home port on this voyage were limited to the hours of 0800 to 1100, barely allowing time to see much of anything not immediately adjacent to the Port’s location sandwiched between the City of Los Angeles district of San Pedro to the west and Terminal Island to the east. Royal Prince Cruise Lines’ logic was that there was so much to experience in the greater metropolitan Los Angeles region that even a 3 day layover could easily prove insufficient, thus keep it short for those who live there and/or are disinterested in seeing L.A., and have those with local touring interest pick up another cruise once they’ve had their fill—or even the next loop of the Sapphire Prince, if they’d be touring locally for weeks.

Currently, Sapphire Prince’s loop had the ship meandering up the coast from Los Angeles to Monterey, a longer layover in compact, walkable San Francisco, on to Eureka, then Portland Oregon, and finally Seattle Washington for the northbound leg. The faster southbound leg of the loop voyage returns from Seattle to Eureka California, then San Francisco as much for the many who prefer to board or exit in that city as touring, then Santa Catalina Island for variety and fun, then San Diego, then ending with the again-northbound San Diego to Los Angeles overnight. This bus-style routing made it possible for passengers to embark and eventually disembark at any port along the way, if they were interested in and able to take the 16 day voyage for the whole loop.


Having grown up in the Los Angeles area-adjacent Inland Empire, Leigh had seen enough of the western part of the metropolis to have no interest in getting off the ship—especially with her first-of-voyage brunch beckoning! For now, the leisurely, slow, restful early-ish morning in her plush, cozy stateroom suited her well. The light hazy mixed morning clouds and sunshine put the very nearby Vincent Thomas Bridge through a series of different lighting effects, providing her light entertainment as she gradually went through her morning routine and selected her start-of-day wardrobe.


**
{Dressing down on the start of my first full day on the cruise because my nicer things are already edge of too snug is decidedly suboptimal} Leigh mused on her way to brunch. {Better plan on some gym time after brunch, especially since I’m basically dressed for it already.}


This passing thought drifted to the back of her mind as the siren aromas emanating from Bunch’s Bistro captivated her senses. A self-serve buffet-style dining facility available to all on the base fares (and of course above), Bunch’s was doing brisk business this latter half of the 9 AM hour, no doubt in part from the acceptably pleasant weather and its outdoor Sun Deck location.

Once Leigh was in sight of the long row of chafing dishes and related serving platforms, captivating visuals united with the existing olfactory joys, making the wide range of offerings that much more compelling.

{Mmmm… some of theeese, a little of this… oh yes I will do a green tortilla mini breakfast burrito! Ya know what? Since I’m going to the gym soon after brunch and this is brunch and not breakfast plus lunch for me today, I’ll do two of these very special mini burritos. Wonder if the green is more avocado-based, or pesto, or what?}


Once through the line, Leigh made her way with her heavily-loaded dinner-size plate towards open seating. She nearly spat out the cannolo held in her mouth (due to the lack of free space on her plate) upon seeing someone she knew making a beeline straight towards her, eyes tractor-beam locked on her. Formerly hoping to find an unoccupied table, she now sought one with no readily-available space for this fast-approaching interloper.

Unfortunately soon as she sat down, the others around the table got up and left, having concluded their meal and ready for their next adventure. The only good news about this was that the unwanted arrival remained standing rather than taking a seat.

“Nice look” was his near-smirky greeting, with his eyes focused on the cannolo still in her mouth.

With no readily-available good place to set it down, she took a big bite then held the remainder in her hand. The failure of her glare to drive him away eventually (once she’d chewed and swallowed) led her to reply, “Anything you might possibly say will get you nowhere, Clark.”

All smirk vanished, his demeanor instantly turning serious and apologetic, “I’m truly sorry for what happened at MatCon!”

{He seems serious, for once.}

“That is the real reason I came directly over here soon as I saw you.” His sigh hinted of letting go of a burden. “You know I got whupped with the nerd stick in childhood enough times to struggle with social interactions like this. Hence my apparently tone-deaf greeting just now. I won’t belabor things because even I can sense that you want me to go away. I’ve never been perfect, nor ever shall be, yet I do strive to learn from my errors. Hence my having undertaken a fair whack of personal work in the aftermath of MatCon, and apologizing to you now. Here’s hoping you have a great cruise, Leigh. I’m very much looking forward to it… to mine.”


Clark’s tall frame with long legs had already moved the entirety of him including his ears out of earshot well before Leigh could get another word out beyond her singular sentence. He might already be fading towards the deck’s visual horizon, though his emotional wake continued to rock her emotional boat enough that she was almost taking on water.

It wasn’t that she disliked Clark Barr. Far from it: she felt all wobbly wiggly when he was near, including just now. Irrational as it was to her, something about this engineer who worked at a company who used her company’s composite materials as key elements of their products floated her boat higher than a dinghy riding a wave at high tide. Nerdy though he might be in terms of behavior, the nerd stick apparently missed or glanced off him when it came to appearance: he was closer to stage and screen handsome than geek-nerd gangly—at least to her.

She’d always gone for the nerdy smart ones the few times in her life she’d bothered with love, identifying as a member of a broader form of this archetype herself. Many if not most engineers couldn’t communicate clearly to lay people to save their lives—hence her solid career as a tech writer, bridging the sometimes-cavernous gap between the engineers and those who had to understand, market, and use their products.

As a writing professional, Clark’s solid command of spoken and written English further woggled her toggle—and bedeviled her. At times he was breathtakingly eloquent. Other times—sometimes mere minutes later, maddeningly obtuse. She was convinced some neuroscientist would have a field day researching what it was about Clark’s mind that had him moving between these realms with seamless chameleon-like ease, subtlety, and rapidity.

Fun to be with when things were going well, he’d several times over the years they’d occasionally crossed paths charmed the pants off her—literally, after-hours at the most recent MatCon (Materials Convention) trade show they’d both attended, over a year back now. What seemed like a great idea in the moment quickly went pear-shaped for her when she felt he flipped to suddenly emotionally abusing her, pretending to go after her actual mild pear shape, faux-pervily amplifying it beyond all reason in some fictional parallel universe in his head where having chair-overfilling hips and buns was a good thing. How a seemingly otherwise nice man could be so mean and insensitive regarding a woman’s unwanted soft, wobbly weight mystified her—especially how quickly he shifted into that mode. {There’s that chameleon thing again} she mused, tapping her fork tines against the lovely green shell of one of her two mini burritos.


Feeling and thinking about all this sapped a good bit of her appetite. Halfheartedly and armed with a refreshed again-hot mug of nice Kona coffee, she nibbled her way through about half of her over-generous brunch plate before calling it a meal.

{Fuck, he’s going to be on this whole cruise!} she suddenly clearly realized as she packed away the many leftovers for later hopefully-enjoyment in the privacy of her stateroom. {At least this is a damn huge ship, so maybe I won’t see that much of him.}
 

Sonic Purity

Grateful
***
Joined
Apr 9, 2006
Messages
421
Location
Pasadena, California, U.S.A.
Merging Universes

Productive as her midday gym session had been, between grazing on her brunch leftovers most of the afternoon then overdoing it with the many delights offered in one of the Sapphire Prince’s numerous other restaurants, getting onto the dance floor was as much about burning off some more calories as mingling. On-ship wedding chapel notwithstanding, this wasn’t the Love Boat as far as Leigh was concerned, nor was she explicitly roaming for romance. Sure, if chance circumstances brought someone special into her orbit and vice-versa, she’d keep an open mind. Seeking or working at it? Nope, not so much.


The sight of Clark Barr in the distance soon as she stepped onto the open-air outdoor dance floor of Club Troposphere (up on the top level Sky Deck) almost made her walk directly back off it. {Of course you’re at the same dance club I am! Grrrrr.}


Rationally, Leigh had no reason to be surprised. Of the ship’s 4 1/2 dance venues (one was mixed-use, hence the 1/2), Club Troposphere was the largest, meant as the main event for the majority of cruisers seeking live DJ dancing. Only 2 of the others were nighttime operations along with this one, one of them focusing on country & western line dancing, the other rotating through various niche genres, tonight’s being ballroom dancing to 18th. century (and thereabouts) classical music.

Several hundreds of other cruisers were on the dance floor along with her and Clark, making it entirely easy to maintain distance and mostly forget about the other’s presence.


DJ Swash Buckle looked as hot as the tunes she spun, in her sexy pirate outfit complete with a real, live, apparently very well-trained parrot on her shoulder (most of the time) and her trademark wide black belt with its shiny and outrageously large buckle. No one but her knew that her dark black pencil mustache (matching her head hair color) was her own totally real facial hair.

{Damn your incessant beauty and mad DJ skills} Leigh briefly caught her mind thinking, {but seriously, glad you’re up there doing what you’re doing}.

Part of Leigh’s issue was indeed Swash Buckle’s youthful beauty and bounteous cascading wavy curly locks combined with her outstanding talent for merging vastly disparate danceable musical genres spanning the majority of the history of recorded music with smooth organic flow, beat-matched to boot. Most of it was one specific physical focus: breast envy. Swash Buckle had a nice (and very much on display) pair of well-formed orbs in the 32F or G neighborhood, whereas Leigh barely made 32B on a good day.

There were plenty of other ample bosoms for Leigh to envy in Club Troposphere, the largest pair within her sight of which belonged to a doe-eyed huge-boobed blonde haired breast-predominant BBW with a strikingly outsized-large nose. Neither beak nor schnoz, hers was closer to pig-rounded, but without the highly visible pointing-outward piggish nostrils.

The current part of the set lended itself to free-form singular dancing as well as mingle-minded dancing up to someone (or -ones) to get some couples or group action going. Leigh finally let her body get fully into the move of the groove (though DJ Swash Buckle was mostly playing files from SSD, thus not jockeying any form of disc nor disk, nor records with anything close to grooves), making her way through ever-shifting openings on the dance floor she sought to explore.


{Holy Cannoli Guacamole!}

Leigh’s ability to forget about the presence of Clark Barr proved short-lived, despite the distance between them remaining beyond ample. Beyond ample barely began to describe Clark’s current dance partner. She stared at him and this hugest-of-all people she’d yet seen on the ship, much less just in Club Troposphere, putting nearly all the vastness she had into grand motion.


Having already lost the beat, she walked off the floor to a shadowy spot along the outside wall, fixated on Clark’s and Beluga’s (her mind had arbitrarily and harshly decided) ongoing rhythmic interaction.

{He’s doing his sexy smile.… They’re butt bumping.… They’re chest and belly bumping, over and over! He actually likes her… like that. Like… oh my. Oh my goodness: he’s grabbing her butt and she’s smiling! He actually did lust after my fat! It wasn’t an asshat put-down!}


Leigh’s reality spun more than the big well-lit disco mirror ball suspended above the center of the crowd, whose colorful beams of light lit the way for Clark and Beluga (along with several other couples) to joyously walk hand-in-hand together out of Club Troposphere off to other (presumed) adventures, in C & B’s case loudly conversing and laughing, apparently having a grand old time.


Before her wildly inscrutable, nonsensical feelings could mess with her cruise experience any further, she heard a stranger’s voice quite near her say, “Come shine in the light”.

At first she thought the man (judging by voice pitch, initially) must have been speaking to someone else. Only once she looked up did she see his smiling, friendly face on his round, lightly hair-challenged head gazing directly at her.

Tentatively, he reached out his hand towards her, “I’m Shawn, and I would love to have the honor of dancing with you, even briefly.”


The disco mirror ball now had a new smile to illuminate on the Club Troposphere dance floor, as Leigh joined Shawn for some hand-holding arms-outstretched moderately vigorous dancing, amongst the ongoing hundreds of their dance-minded fellow cruisers.


**
Leigh’s and Shawn’s interactions remained more about dancing than romancing, notwithstanding a pleasant restful seated conversation they briefly shared at the conclusion of their dancing together fun. Pleasant enough as they found one another, there wasn’t a spark to take anything further. They left on good terms, Shawn heading back to his stateroom and Leigh back to the dance floor, for another roughly half hour of mostly solo dancing before she too called it a night and headed for her superbly comfy bed.


**
Peals of tickle- and joy-induced laughter echoed off the walls of the stateroom of one Beryl Beech, making an entirely different use of her equally-comfy bed with one Clark Barr. Nude since not long after she’d invited him in, they remained in the throes of broad-definition sex. For Beryl, this was a great way to start off her cruise! For Clark, this was hands-on the best sex he’d ever enjoyed in his life, directly related to doing so with far and away the fattest woman with whom he’d had the honor to get sexually intimate in his life.

Beryl had quite a bit of everything, most predominantly a huge belly. This, and truly all of her, had Clark wound up tight. The conversation they were about to share took care of springing him.

“Are you a feeder?” she asked, during a moment when both their mouths were free.

“The opportunity’s never presented itself. Why?”

“I love being fat and I very much want to get fatter, ideally teamed up with feeder as driven as I am towards my goal.”

HHHAAAAANNNNNGGG!” he exclaimed during his sudden, powerful orgasm.
 

Sonic Purity

Grateful
***
Joined
Apr 9, 2006
Messages
421
Location
Pasadena, California, U.S.A.
A Whale(bone) of a Long Monterey Day

The daytime layover in Monterey, California was one of which Leigh Down chose to take off the ship, on Day 3 of her cruise voyage: she’d not spent much time in Monterey, and figured this was a good opportunity.

Disembarking onto an intermediary tender boat around 10 AM upon concluding her leisurely morning start, Leigh enjoyed the short ride on the little boat over to land disembarkation on Fisherman’s Wharf, where sea lions, seals, pelicans, and sea otters sounded off and otherwise entertained her, and everyone else watching. She looked forward to walking off much of the hearty breakfast she’d already enjoyed—not to mention remnants of her joyous consumption the preceding 2 days.


Walking the Path of History in historic downtown Monterey State Historic Park was an easy first choice: it was barely 250m from the wharf! The characteristic Monterey Colonial architecture of the Mexican-era historic buildings left a strong positive impression with her, especially their full-length second story porches, looking out onto Monterey Bay for several of the buildings.

Very nearby to the north and slightly west was the Old Whaling Station. She enjoyed walking on the whalebone sidewalk in front of it. {I’m a whale-tail wiggle walking on what might be one of the last whalebone sidewalks in the U.S.} she thought, exaggerating her hindquarter proportions somewhat.


The easy walk back over towards the bay swiftly put her on the Monterey Bay Coastal Trail, her pedestrian highway further northwest to famous Cannery Row. Frugal by nature and more into Experiences than Things, she eschewed the many shops and restaurants, the latter not only from having paid so much to eat grandly on the Sapphire Prince, but also to spend more time outdoors on land burning calories versus usually-indoors consuming them. For this same reason of frugality and wanting to remain outside, she took a pass on the Monterey Bay Aquarium.


Continuing her northwesterly walk along the Monterey Bay Coastal Trail, she passed no fewer than 4 parks and into the adjacent town of Pacific Grove before reaching the park she sought: Lovers’ (or Lover’s or Lovers depending on the source. The apostrophe is dead, folks) Point Park, at the Point of the same name.

Leigh spent a good bit of time here, feeling the wind blowing across her as she took in the sights, including a pair of gamboling dolphins. Catching some migrating whales off in the distance was an especially pleasant surprise.

The Point’s (and park’s) name triggered brief moments of melancholy in her. Standing on her own enjoying the moment, she was a singular lover at Lover’s Point. Thinking about waiter Andrés, massage therapist Raphael, and maybe even vaguely about someone else momentarily made her wish she was sharing this moment with someone she loved, so they could be plural lovers at Lovers’ Point.


The roughly 2 mile one way walk she’d undertaken so far was about as much as Leigh was up to doing. Once she’d had her fill of her solo Lover’s Point, she headed inland to get a different view, walking along Central Avenue, becoming Lighthouse Avenue once she was back in Monterey, on her way back to Fisherman’s Wharf and the tender boat which would take her back out to her ship.


* *
It was only mid afternoon by the time Leigh was back on board the Sapphire Prince, with the ship not set to sail until around 5 PM. All that walking plus the all-day foggy chill in the air motivated her to head back to her stateroom for a nice hot beverage and a nap.


The hot chocolate soothed more than wired her, conspiring with her cloud-comfort bed to ensure she remained restfully horizontal for quite some time.

{Mmmm, this is the life} she thought, resting (but not sleeping nor napping) atop her bed, gazing out the window at the bay view. {I wonder if it would ever get boring, living like this every day. Nnn, probably so. Might be an interesting experiment to find out how long that would take.}


* *
Freshly rested and again ready to be out and about, Leigh enjoyed a nice hot shower and change into fresh clothes. Once again she needed to put out of her mind how she’d already expanded past the anticipated girth point for this early stage of the voyage. {Minor tightness. It’ll be fine, especially since I’ll make more of an effort to take stairs rather than escalators and elevators.}


* *
Her currently-aimless meandering had Leigh taking the wide carpeted stairs from the Upper Promenade deck down onto the Grand Promenade deck. {View’s less openly expansive than from the escalator, though the tit bounce is a bonus. Too bad I have so little of that and so much else bouncing down below.}

Suddenly hearing a familiar voice close by yet out of sight interrupted Leigh’s mental musings.


“I had the fortune of the Beryl Beech experience last night. Took me to and into her stateroom and everything.”


She was on the generously-sized rectangular landing midway down (or up) the staircase, where it made a half circle turn. Adjacent (and attached) to one of the many structural cylindrical pillars holding the Sapphire Prince together, all she had to do was lean over the railing near the pillar and look down to find the source of the voice.

There, down below on the main lobby floor, seated in an overstuffed comfy chair in a lounge area was Clark, speaking with a younger middle-aged man she didn’t know, himself also seated in an overstuffed comfy chair nearby.


“How much ‘and everything’?” the other man asked.

“All the way.”

“You did Beryl Beech?!”


All Leigh had to do to successfully continue eavesdropping without their knowledge was to cease leaning over the railing and again stand upright, then pull out her handheld and feign looking at something on it as occasional other cruisers passed by on the stairs.


“Past tense, yes.”

“Why only past tense?”

“She had her sample of me, and that’s all she wants. Your mileage may vary.”

“Hopefully, if things go that way. How was she?”

“Epic. Everything I’ve ever dreamt about, for fatsex.”

“Specifics?”

“Be glad it’s noisy enough here that no one else can hear us! Heh heh heh heh.”

His compatriot joined in with his ending laugh.

“Succulent, pillowy boobs—easily the biggest I’ve ever had the pleasure of handling and/or getting my mouth on.”


Leigh scowled, unintentionally doing an excellent job appearing to passers-by like she was looking at something unpleasant on her device.


“Her upper arms are equally pillowy, and conveniently adjacent, of course. Beaucoup hips and ass to get lost in, especially the latter.”


At this point, Leigh’s ears were getting a touch hot.


“Thighs aren’t as soft as I’d imagined, though after no more than 5 seconds of thinking through the physics, I figuratively and virtually slapped my forehead over how obvious it is that carrying all that fat means she’ll have leg muscles for weeks to go with her fat for weeks.”

“Fat for months, it seems to me!”

“You said it, Per!”

Clink!


She didn’t know what was in the glasses she’d just heard clink, having failed to note that detail during her earlier look-over.


“Then there’s her legendary belly, where we’re getting into fat for years.”

“That’s what it felt like” Clark ended with a telling sigh, just barely audible from Leigh’s position.

“Hey, thanks man.”

“Gladly.”

“I appreciate the candor. It’s so hard for us in the FA community to begin with, very different from yet not entirely unlike the struggles our BBW lovers and hopefully-someday lovers endure.”

“Struggles maybe for both categories, but I don’t think it’s the same at all.”

“Why not? Seems to me other than this special moment—and I don’t mean that in a weird way!—that we’re sharing, we’re all lone wolves out here, more inclined to cutthroat competition than camaraderie.”

“I totally know what you mean. You’re the first male FA with whom I’ve ever personally had a face-to-face conversation on fatsex.”

“And again, I totally appreciate it.”

Clink.
 

Sonic Purity

Grateful
***
Joined
Apr 9, 2006
Messages
421
Location
Pasadena, California, U.S.A.
“I just don’t see the point in being cutthroat, myself. In my field we work better on teams, for sure each doing our own thing yet in concert for a common goal. I’ve worked at cutthroat places where it was every man or woman for themselves. No real teamwork, throwing each other under the bus—all that. Stressful, shitty work environment, and the company’s deliverables sucked, in part because so many were larding the barely- or inscrutably-documented code with land mines to blow up each other’s careers, or backdoors for remote nefarious access if they got booted.”

“I don’t see how team building translates to sex, unless we’re getting into gang-bangs or other forms of orgies.”

“I’m playing for Team FA, Male Het division, building up the team by my individual efforts, or at least trying. When we’re cutthroat lone wolves attacking each other, I believe that vitriol all too easily spreads over to the women we’re supposed to be loving. Their humanity gets diluted in the heat of competition, which drives our lone wolf kind to need to treat the BBW we love more as property we aim on possessing than free-will humans gifting us their time, attention, bodies, and minds for whatever long or brief duration they deign, I assume based upon what they’re getting from us. You know the M&M bowl analogy, right?”

“Oh yeah.”

“The more cutthroat competitive dehumanizing lone wolves there are amongst us fighting what some apparently must believe is the good fight, the more bad M&Ms in the bowl. At least that’s what I imagine, trying to put myself in their place. Is it any surprise that so many choose to avoid the male FA bowl entirely, going for the safer and apparently awesome route of testosterone lite by loving another woman, often another BBW? I think not.”

“Deep… everything you’ve said these last few minutes. I still don’t understand why you’re not going back after Beryl, having tried and liked her, and why you’re so open to boosting my chances.”

“Those things are related. While not by my own definition cutthroat, I’d likely not be sharing so much with you if I intended to keep after her. I’m a pragmatist, striving to remain reality-based. She made it clear at the end of last night that she and I are done. To her credit she clue-by-4’d this to me in an entirely pleasant manner, not any sort of screaming yelling bitch-out rage rant. Nice and calm and clear, from her position of power knowing her awesomeness, and what she wants out of life.”

“So you just went back to your stateroom all happy, having lost her?”

“I wouldn’t say brimming with joy, but neither was I sad. She gifted me with a life-changing experience I might never otherwise have had, especially at my age and with the lifetime countdown clock ever-closer to Game Over.”

“Better level up and earn another life!” Per laughed.

“Oh yeah, if it worked that way I’d be all over that” Clark laughed in return. “You can’t lose something you never had. I never ‘had’ her—no one does… so far, and likely for all time as that seems to be her strong preference. I went back to my stateroom pleasantly drained, partly numb from the intensity and bliss. Yes with a sense of loss in terms of wanting to feel those kinds of feelings over and over and over, not knowing how to make that happen or if it’s even possible.

“So anyway back to the point. I’m out, there’s no question, no debate, no argument, and most of all no effort on my part to get back in where for me there’s no in to get back into. I therefore have nothing to lose and everything to gain by making this minuscule contribution to your forthcoming efforts as part of both of us being on Team FA, Male Het division. To the degree you succeed, or at least don’t piss her off or worse, the M&M bowl gets a little cleaner. Someday, even if not in my lifetime, maybe it’ll be clean enough for more BBW to dip their delightfully soft, squishy, fat hands in for a heaping helping of prongy man meat or whatever else they’re most into, without getting poisoned. My actions are as trivial as a single grain of sand on the beach near this harbor we should now be in the process of leaving. Yet like one ant amongst a colony, if we all work together as a team, we can change and move things far, far bigger than any of us individually. Good luck, Per” Clink! “You may be the one to level us all up. If not that, here’s hoping your time with Beryl is at least as memorably epic as mine.”

Clink!


“Everything good, Ms. Down?”

The sudden unexpected voice of concierge Akom (per his name tag) speaking to her nearly made Leigh drop her handheld when she sharply jump-jerked. “Yes, I just… like standing here. The airflow’s nice” she replied on the soft side, hoping not to be overheard down below as easily as she’d been eavesdropping up above.

“Very good. Let me or anyone on the staff know if there’s anything we can do to make your cruise better.”

“I shall. Thank you.”


The next time she looked over the railing (once Akom departed), the overstuffed comfy chairs were empty, all glasses, cocktail napkins, and everything else gone, almost as if no one had been sitting there. Looking around the Main Lobby as she could from her vantage point, Clark was nowhere in sight. Given her need to mentally process all she’d overheard, she was glad. She continued the rest of the way down the stairs, onward with her meandering adventure.


* *
{A chocolate mousse flight with triple-shot espresso at 7:30 at night is not a good idea if one wants to sleep} thought Leigh, wired and wide awake around 9 PM with nothing on her agenda. She decided she might as well change into suitable evening wear and survey all the ship had to offer in the way of nighttime entertainment.


* *
Neither dressed for a hoedown nor truly in the mood to be part of one, Leigh’s time in the dance venue currently running under the name Hootenanny Hall was comparatively brief, at a little over 7 minutes. She did enjoy watching, and the friendly people already on the floor encouraged her to join in despite her other-realm attire.


The pool table at nearby Card Shark’s Card and Game Room did entice her, were there anyone else with whom to play who looked less competitive shark-like. Deeper into the venue in a lighter, brighter area the unoccupied ping pong table called her even harder: she’d once been quite decently skilled at table tennis. {Gosh that was a long time ago} she sighed, lamenting both the passage of so much life time and the lack of a suitable playmate.

Video games had never floated Leigh’s boat, whether vintage arcade-style or more modern (and Card Shark’s had quite a range of generations and types).

BAAHaah! Dingy Dinghy!” she laughed aloud, seeing the very clean, well-maintained, brightly lit apparently-vintage pinball machine near the far end of the line of the video arcade games, tucked into a quiet corner. For clarification, its back glass presented its title thus:


🔔 Dingy Dinghy ⛵


All about ringing bells, not drab gloominess. She gave the machine a go, scoring well and filling that area of Card Shark’s Card and Game Room with plentiful actual mechanical bell ringing (no electronic synthesis/sampling).

Two long rounds being a pinball wizard off on her own in this secluded corner was enough for Leigh; she was ready to move on.


* *
She gave both the stage and big screen theaters a pass, somewhat surprised how many people were gathered in the latter.


The painfully bad and loud singing of “DAAAAY-oh!, DAY-ay-ay-ay-Ohh!” let her know she was passing the karaoke venue, whose name she didn’t even bother checking in her rush to get away from it.


One particular conversation between a pair of what appeared to be young-ish (or at least far younger than her) mothers caught her ear:

“Are you sure hampster doesn’t have a P in it?”

“No, you’re thinking of that animated Hampster Dance meme, with the sped-up sample of Roger Miller. The name of the animal has no P in it. The animal itself, that’s another matter: my son’s hamster has all kinds of pee in it!”
 

Sonic Purity

Grateful
***
Joined
Apr 9, 2006
Messages
421
Location
Pasadena, California, U.S.A.
* *
Her long, meandering path led her back to the happening scene up on the Sky deck at Club Troposphere. Tonight’s DJ Alien Groove looked weird in their scaled-too-large alien head, complete with slanty alien eyes. Looks aside, Alien Groove’s ungrooved grooves were as solid as Swash Buckle’s the night before, even if far more tightly focused on EDM than spanning the decades of recorded musical history.

With slight difficulty, she pushed herself out of her wary, aloof comfort zone, easing onto the dance floor and letting her body move to Groove’s current groove. Once she let her mind and its {Why must I be so rhythm-challenged?} nagging go, her in-the-present-moment instincts did her well.


It came as less of a surprise to her having surveyed the other nighttime entertainment alternatives to again see Clark in the distance on the Club Troposphere under-the-stars open-air dance floor, where in some ways the sky truly did seem to be the limit, given what she’d seen of the other venue options. Completely not understanding why she cared even slightly, she felt a very brief surge of upset course through her upon seeing him dancing with the doe-eyed huge-boobed blonde BBW with the oversized rounded nose. After that momentary feels surge, her focused attention on them returned to her usual analytical self, even if not wholly detached.

The music did not lend itself to contact dancing, and indeed she saw no contact between them. The glittery, affectionate smiles they were sharing—obvious to her over the distance—triggered feelings of jealousy.

A generously wrinkly man of limited head hair who had been and continued to dance right in front of her caught Leigh’s attention the moment she looked away from her voyeuristic targets. His friendly, urbane smile drew out her own friendly smile, as well as giving her a much nicer, nearby, and immediate visual focus. She’d not likely want to date him and would never bed him, but in this moment he did make an excellent, friendly non-contact dance partner.


The only further notice Leigh took of Clark was about 1/3 hour later when he and Boobacious Bulb-Nose exited the dance floor together, holding hands. {Looks like he’s laid out his lay for the night} she briefly thought with a sigh wholly inaudible even to her over the beat-heavy dance music. She returned her attention to her dance partner, who was in the process of easing away so another younger and less wrinkled gent could ease in.

This one didn’t stay dancing with her all that long, but long enough for her to completely forget about Clark.


* *
“Fun as it is, Club Troposphere doesn’t lend itself to even brief conversation” Clark smiled towards the lovely busty BBW/edge of SSBBW with whom he was currently walking, still holding hands.

“No it does not. I didn’t even clearly get your name.”

“Clark Barr. B-A-R-R.”

“Thanks for the clarification. Otherwise I would’ve been expecting a peanut butter and spun taffy core, ideally with caramel, coated in milk chocolate, if I ever wound up eating you.”

Daah! Woah ho ho!” he laughed, her to-him heavily flirty comment taking him by surprise.

“Hee hee!” she laughed along with him at the same time. “I’m Rebecca Davidson, eyeing the couch seating in that lounge area over there as being a good place to sit and continue the introductions we couldn’t make to each other earlier.”

Delighted to officially meet you, Rebecca, and I concur on your peaceful sitting and resting thoughts.


There was sufficient space on the 2m long mustard gold velour fabric couch for Clark and Rebecca to sit angled facing near one another without being in contact, a comfortably socially-polite distance between them.

{Eyes up eyes up eyes up to mine or I’m leaving. There ya go, just in time.} “How far are you on the cruise loop?” she asked.

“Just starting. I got on yesterday in L.A. You?”

“Me too.”

“You live in metropolitan Los Angeles?!”

“Yes. That surprises you for some reason?”

“Hopefully no offense, but you sound like you’re from the east. Maybe New York?”

“Yeaaaah, I guess my accent’s still that obvious. Nice Jewish girl originally from Bed-Stuy.”

“Sorry, where?”

“You don’t know New York City, do you?”

“Hardly. Whenever I get into a book or movie or whatever where they’re name-dropping 42nd. Street or Hell’s Kitchen or whatever like everyone on the planet’s supposed to know what those are and what they’re all about, I tend to lose interest. With all due respect to NYC as a vibrant place able to produce amazing people such as yourself and more, it’s not the center of the universe.”

Her eyebrows went up.

“At least not to a California native such as myself.”

“Huh! There are actual natives here? I mean, other than the indigenous actual natives.”

“Second-generation metro Angeleno here, meaning second generation born in the county and region, not necessarily the City of Los Angeles, which neither of my parents nor myself were. Which isn’t even on the same scale as descendants of the Tongva, nor those whose Mexican ancestry hails to the pre-U.S. statehood rancho era, possibly earlier. Still, in comparison to so many who came later and continue to move into the area, grandparents who immigrated to California in the early 20th. century is a comparatively long history.”

“Yeah” she slightly sighed. “And here I thought my 20 years in L.A. made me a de-facto Cali girl. What’s the statute of limitations on that?”

“There is none. Welcome” he smiled, easing into her for a brief sitting hug she seemed eager to end.

“Thanks. So whereabouts in or around L.A. do you live?”

“I don’t, in any recent years. My mother still does in the South Bay where I grew up. Knew I wanted to do this cruise and would be visiting her anyway, so ticketed to board there and get back off in SuhFrisco on the way back south.”

“Where?”

“SuhFrisco is my weak attempt to abbreviate San Francisco in a manner possibly less annoying to those who live there who chafe at Frisco, which is a city or town in Texas anyway. Closest port to where I’ve been living and working in recent years, in Silicon Valley.”

“You’re in tech?”

“Yeah. Engineer at a small package design slash fabrication firm, which operates on a consulting and/or prototype outsourcing basis, mostly.”

“Mechanical?”

“That’s my degree, though almost everything in modern times seems to lead to virtualization and coding, so I sometimes do bits of that. More coding for production line fabrication systems, not anything an end-user would ever encounter.”

“OK, so I won’t bug you about the latest annoyance I’m having with iOS.”

“Oh don’t get me started on that! Apple torques me, Microsoft torques me, Google torques me.”

“What do you run?”

“At work, whatever I have to run, which all too often is Winblows. At least XP SP 3 is decent and stable, as long as it’s nowhere near the public Internet, which the manufacturing and design systems I have to use are not. Officially getting near the grampy generation by chronological age, I’m acting that way in terms of my tech: I prefer keeping my venerable Dells going with Slackware Linux and spending my quality time there. Much as I hate the whole handtech realm, Apple sucks less than Google, so I carry an iPhone of necessity.”

Now you’re talking a language I understand.” She briefly pulled her iPhone 11 Pro Max out of her bra enough for him to see it before putting it back, unknowingly over-exciting him as she did so. “I don’t even know of Linux—too geeky for this girl! All those different kinds with the different names, like yours and, what?, Cinnamon Swirl?”

“Mint Cinnamon.”

“See?” she laughed. “Much as Apple ruins my day far too often, this girl needs someone looking out for my security, making things I can turn on and use without getting my geek-I-don’t-have on.”

“What do you choose to do in life, for work, pleasure, or otherwise?”

“Script writer, on shows you’ve never heard of and get cancelled” she replied with an obvious tone of bitterness “is what I do for work.”

He nodded, interested.

“Occasional costume work, leveraging off years of sewing my own clothes, so I have decent things to wear which actually fit and flatter rather than flummox.”

He couldn’t help momentarily snickering at her flummox comment. “What you’ve got on now is dazzling, as well as you yourself inside it of course.”

{Eyes off the orbs. Back up here, back up here} her mind attempted to telepath to him as he continued speaking.

Fortunately he did resume direct eye contact as he finished, “Did you make it?”

“Not this one. This is from a small-output designer named Minerva Pyle, who’s a big girl herself and focuses on the underserved market of large sizes. She custom-tailors, which is why it shows off all my curves so well.”

Ohhh yeah!” he lecherously agreed with a knowing nod. “So” he clapped his hands loudly, “What next? Your stateroom or mine, perhaps?”

The waves of rage rapidly emanating from Rebecca as she stiffened, sat more upright, and pulled back were palpable. “I don’t know what the hell you’re about, dude, but I am a woman of worth who is not desperate and is not an easy lay!” she rebuked him in no uncertain terms as she stood up.

“Rebecca–”


Too late: she was already walking away at a decent tight-dress-induced short-stride clip, not looking back.


Staring at her ever-more-distant wobbly ass as he remained seated he thought, {At least you can’t keep me from getting off to visualizing you in the privacy of my stateroom}.


* *
All of Rebecca, Clark, and Leigh turned in to their individual staterooms alone for the night, 2 of the 3 of them being wholly good with this situation, the other passably good with it.
 

Sonic Purity

Grateful
***
Joined
Apr 9, 2006
Messages
421
Location
Pasadena, California, U.S.A.
San Franciskee

The Sapphire Prince eased into Pier 27 in San Francisco right on time, the morning of Leigh Down’s 4th. cruise day. A roughly day-and-a-half port stop from 0800 (once again on Pacific Daylight Time) Sunday 8 March to 1800 Monday 9 March gave passengers plenty of time to explore the city, possibly even other parts of the greater Bay Area which might be of interest to specific individuals.

Per, Leigh, and Rebecca were amongst the many who disembarked from the ship at varying times in the morning hours.


* *
First off (amongst these 3, not of everyone leaving the ship) Per was a man on a mission: enhancing online business connections via face-to-face meet-ups, all the way down the San Francisco peninsula. For him it was a rare and necessary opportunity: his entire focus for this extended port stop. In some senses it would be more difficult starting on a non-business day. Yet countering this, several of his connections showed greater interest in meeting up on one of their days off without their immediate work pressure, even if business-related.


* *
Leigh had visited S.F. and the Bay Area years ago, but never spent much time there, much less lived there. She was off the ship a little over an hour after it docked, on a mission to the quirky Mission District, about whose eclectic food culture she’d read so much over the years.

Her mission to the Mission District encountered plentiful delays and side-tours, most notably Chinatown, whose aromas hypnotized her! {Mmmm, I’ll be walking enough, I can have a light brunch here, then lunch or lunner in the Mission} she convinced herself.

What wound up happening was Leigh having her first dim sum experience in over a decade. Far and away the best one of the few she’d ever had, all too many dishes whose names she did not know and the majority of whose servers failed to communicate to her in a way she understood tantalized her enough to compel her inner foodie to get them on her table, then into her mouth.


* *
In the late morning during Leigh’s unexpected (and unexpectedly in-depth) dim sum brunch, Rebecca was off the ship, touring nearby in the Embarcadero and North Beach districts. San Francisco had long been on her bucket list, and now it was happening!


{I belong here} she thought, feeling a strong inner sense of connection to the people and the place as she made her way around.


Not in the best of shape, the walk up Telegraph Hill to Coit Tower proved arduous, compelling her to take a long rest break to catch her breath.

Downhill heading inland wasn’t much better, making the leveling-off near Columbus Ave. a great relief. Even better was encountering the Powell-Mason cable car line at Filbert St. and climbing aboard.

She couldn’t help grinning, living this classic, stereotypical San Francisco experience. {This is the life!}


* *
{Get walking, girl} Leigh chided herself, struggling to put the excessive snugness of her waistband out of her mind as she left the dim sum restaurant.

All the homeless people along Market St. proved more depressing than the sights proved uplifting. She figuratively fell onto Fell St., finding the environs more to her liking.

The uphill walk to Alamo Square to view the picturesque Painted Ladies row houses from up high proved worthwhile, and made her feel good about getting in some solid exercise, to hopefully bring her consistency a little more back towards solid. Buried deep within her mind on her way up the hill, the same naughty part that urged her on at the dim sum restaurant made her subconsciously enjoy the jiggle of her hips and rear, even if not the bit on her belly.

Back down Steiner back onto Fell, her destination (having looked at Maps on her iPhone) was the Panhandle of Golden Gate Park, with her eventual goal being the park itself.


* *
Less geographically adventurous Rebecca enjoyed a nice lunch at an Italian restaurant on Columbus Ave. which caught her fancy. What they could possibly do to make basic spaghetti with meat sauce and the house red wine taste so magical she did not know. The only moment of displeasure was needing to retrieve some wayward noodles and sauce from her cleavage, thinking during the after-cleaning about how all her eating was only going to make her boobs bigger, thus an even greater target for such mishaps. Thankfully she had full privacy: no one was in sight lines of her.


* *
Clark remained on the Sapphire Prince, having spent more than enough time all over the Bay Area in his years living there—at least the major parts of it for which he would have had time to reach.

Lunch in the Sip And A Wink Pub suited him well, especially taking a whiskey flight therein.


An hour after lunch and changed into his swimming trunks, he couldn’t help hearing a decades-old Boz Skaggs song in his head as he made his way to the big open-air swimming pool on the Lido deck.


* *
Hhhh, hhhh {Doing great} Leigh panted and thought, proud of how she’d been walking all over Golden Gate Park hither and yon, all the way to her current location near a historic windmill, in view of the Pacific Ocean. {Thank goodness I’m wearing my walking shoes!}


She was in for more up and downhill walking than she’d anticipated, on her mission to the Mission. Stanyan to 17th. had her feeling like a true athlete, even with the actual athletic locals jogging or running by her now and then, at her leisurely walking pace.

Once in the Mission District proper, she found a nice, and, judging from its line, well-liked taqueria. The steak taco proved worth the wait, and eminently affordable. She enjoyed it on-the-go, staying eastbound on 17th. St.

The steak taco was history before she turned northbound onto Harrison St., figuring it was as good a way as any to meander back towards the ship whilst staying off Market St.


{Oh noooo! Food trucks!} was her thought on sight of them, at what Maps told her was SOMA Streat (sic) Food Park, just north of the U.S. 101 freeway she’d walked under. {I’ve been good! I’ve exercised a lot today! Must have the San Francisco food truck experience!}

Lines were short at this early-mid-afternoon hour, making it easier for her to sample all of Korean fried chicken with garlic fries, a slider called the Screwball featuring buffalo chicken and blue cheese, ending with a porchetta sandwich to die for!

{I’m out of control, and I love it! Wish I could eat this way all the time.} Hhhhhh, {Thankfully I have a-ways to walk back to the ship.}


* *
Rebecca was already back on the ship, resting in her stateroom.

Per was already in Santa Clara county, making more business connections.

Clark was shooting some hoops, playing a for-fun pick-up game with some new friends on the Sports deck.

Beryl was using the bed in her stateroom for sex with her second man (so far) of the day.


* *
The to-the-ship walk Leigh promised herself she’d make didn’t happen. Feeling more lethargic and lazy than she cared to admit, she climbed onto the northbound Muni 47 bus at 11th. St. and Harrison. The view along busy Van Ness Ave. gave her plenty to keep her mind off her unexpected weariness, especially the stately City Hall and all the car dealerships. {Who needs a car in San Francisco?} she mused.

On a spur-of-the-moment whim she got off at Van Ness & Clay, backtracking 2 blocks to the end of the California cable car line. Taking that line to its eastern terminus at the Embarcadero, she felt just barely refreshed enough to solider on along the basically flat terrain north on Drumm St. then along the waterfront back to the welcome sight of the Sapphire Prince at Pier 27.


Upon re-boarding the ship, she returned directly to her stateroom, for a refreshing shower and a nice nap, re-living in her mind the many adventures she’d just enjoyed.


* *
The only one of our so-far-named day adventurers not back on the Sapphire Prince for the night was Per, staying overnight with a friend in Sunnyvale.


On the ship, Leigh was assembling a light evening meal at one of the self-serve buffet restaurants, when someone who kept occasionally briefly worming unbidden into her mind startled her with his sudden corporeal presence.

“Looking good” he sleazily grinned, holding his plate with its overstuffed self-assembled custom burger, plus fries. “Gotta say, I’m down with your wiggly wobbly shimmers, Ms. Down.”

She knew what he meant from all she knew of him, parts of this knowledge quite recently learned. Still, she couldn’t believe after their past interactions and his apology that he’d say such a thing out loud, especially right there in public where others were likely to overhear. “My what?

“Your fat.”

She blinked twice, struggling to believe what she’d just heard. Not even the sparkle in his eyes nor his sweet smile that often softened her romantic heart more than she wished could take the edge off his to-her harsh words. “Dear mister Martian: here on Earth in our culture, it is considered rude to refer to people as ‘fat’.”

“Not in my world, Venus” he defiantly and annoyingly flirtily glared at her, taking his leave.
 

Sonic Purity

Grateful
***
Joined
Apr 9, 2006
Messages
421
Location
Pasadena, California, U.S.A.
Upset enough at being called out as fat after her hearty day of fine walking exercise to nearly toss her singular hot dog and small green salad with fury into the nearest trash bin, her emotions drove her the opposite direction: she loaded up her plate with taquitos, spring rolls, and a second hot dog! {I took this cruise to eat freely and without shame, and dammit, I’m going to eat freely and without shame!} Grabbing a bag to hold some fries then filing up a large cup of soft-serve vanilla milkshake, she had everything she felt she needed.

Emotionally hurting and not wanting to allow anyone else to call her out for any reason, Leigh rushed back to her stateroom and closed the drapes for full privacy, so she could enjoy every single bite and sip. She had no idea what drove her to take her clothes off and doodle herself to orgasm whilst she ate, binning it as temporary insanity and focusing on the sensual pleasure rather than the mental Why.


* *
Clark found himself back at the Sip And A Wink Pub, alone at a table in the corner, sighing as he struggled to enjoy his craft brew. Hhhhhhhh. {Why do I keep messing up so badly with every potential love interest that I need to apologize?!} Hhhhhhh. {If I haven’t figured out how to date by age 61, it’s likely not gonna happen.}

His pulse jumped, spotting one of those to whom he felt the need to apologize taking a seat at the bar, the unabashed sexiness of her magnificent width and spreading rear making her look better than ever, thus him that much more upset. Thankfully, she hadn’t looked around much and hadn’t seen him.


“Anything else for you at the moment, sir?”


The sweet high-pitched voice of the somewhat scantily-dressed all-too-twiggy young barmaid startled Clark anew. “Yes please, if you’re willing.”

Taking full advantage of a situation better than he could have hoped, he pulled a beautiful baby blue small card envelope out of his pocket, laying it on the table with its back side and the shiny gold circle seal face-up. From his wallet he pulled out a pair of $20s, setting those atop the card.

“One of these 20s is your gratuity, if you’ll be so kind as to deliver this card to the lovely large blonde woman in the mauve dress sitting across two stools at the bar. The other is my payment for buying her whatever drink she may wish to order that 20 dollars will cover. Is this acceptable to you?”

The pleading look in the expression of this man, older than her father, tugged at the barmaid’s heartstrings. “Yes, I can do that for you. Nothing else to drink, for you?”

“I’m good with what I have, thank you.”


He pounded the remainder of the craft beer he had and was already out the door whilst the barmaid was on her way to deliver the card.


“Ma’am?”

“Yes?”

“The gentlemen in the corner over there wanted me to give this to you, and has paid for whatever you wish to drink, totaling no more than 20 dollars on his tab.”

Rebecca couldn’t imagine what this was about. “Who?” she asked, whipping her head around to look where the barmaid was pointing.


They both saw the empty booth at about the same time.


“He was the one over in the far corner booth.”

“Didn’t see him. Thank you, luv.”


She studied the envelope before opening it. Unable to pick up any meaningful scent when sniffing it apart from a vague floweriness, all she could tell on the outside was that the handwriting in which she saw her given name appeared to have been an attempt by someone who didn’t normally write longhand to do so in flowing, rounded cursive. She unsealed the envelope with care.

The message on the card inside was written in the same lopsided, halting longhand. Thankfully, she had little trouble reading it.

[Author’s note (that’s usually what’s happening when i use square brackets): Dimensions’ font face choices are pretty decent, yet they lack a messy handwriting font. To see my story’s presentation with optimal formatting, consider viewing it on my new stories site, specifically for this story at: Jiggle Junkie! stories: Unforgettable Cruise. Direct link to this section of Chapter 5 on my site. Otherwise, keep reading here and please visualize messy handwriting:]

Esteemed Acquaintance Rebecca,

I sincerely apologize for my in-hindsight vastly inappropriate come-on, regarding going to either of our rooms. Lifelong nerds like me never learned the requisite social skills to civilly flirt, much less date, or even to make new friends.

Sorry I blew my opportunity to get to know you better. Knowing so little about New York City and intrigued by what I read on Wikipedia about Bedford–Stuyvesant, I’m curious to know more from someone who lived there what it’s like living amongst the brownstones and row houses—or maybe those are the same thing? If, during the course of this voyage, you find you’re in a mood for a flirt-free platonic conversation on this or most any other subject, I will appreciate the opportunity to have that conversation with you.


Respectfully and Fondly,

Clark Barr





Rebecca didn’t know whether she felt more touched or confused. Having been hurt so many times in her past, she had to also consider that this could be the clever ploy of a seasoned womanizer. She slowly read it over and over, as though struggling to find something between the lines able to explain the true meaning of this apology card.


“Thought about how you’d like to use your drink credit?” asked the bartender, as he dried a glass.

“Yes” she replied with a faraway look, and somewhat of that tone, “I’d like a Manhattan, please.”

“Coming right up” he smiled.


Further studying the missive through the mind alterations of the cocktail for which Clark had paid, thinking back amongst the various nerds and geeks who’d gotten with her (or tried) over the course of her life, she concluded that this was not the work of a philanderer: it was an honest, surprisingly literate admission from a man forthrightly admitting his limited social skills. She decided that taking Clark’s message at face value was far and away the most reasonable interpretation.


* *
While Clark Barr might not be a womanizer, he certainly had some perv in him. Since leaving the Sip And A Wink, he’d taken up residence in the Main Lobby’s spacious lounge area on a fancy upholstered exposed wood large loveseat or small couch: an older style which surely had a name he didn’t know, the kind with the big ornate mushroom-shaped tack heads all the way around the fabric rim. It was about as good a spot as any during the chilly night hours to people watch. In his case as an ardent male het FA, he was on the lookout for women cruisers who may already have visibly fattened up since he’d last seen them. No plans to actually approach anyone, given his recent track record of offense, but looking was free 😜.


{How and where might I approach him? Should I even? It never seems to work out} Rebecca mused in her mind, starting to pass through the Main Lobby. {There he is!}

She managed to duck behind a pillar before he spotted her, making her way out of his sight to the nearest women’s room for some touch-up work.


* *
Clark had trouble believing whom he was seeing walking directly towards him, smiling. Rebecca’s sexy sway and hot pink lipstick (freshly applied, though he didn’t know this) sent his lust into overdrive. Thankfully with a face as easy on the eyes as hers (despite, or possibly because of, her eye-catching big nose), it proved somewhat easier to keep his gaze there rather than farther below.


In moments, she stood directly in front of him, tantalizingly close and smelling great. “Is now a good time for you, for a conversation?”

“Absolutely” he couldn’t help smiling back.

She sat down surprisingly intimately close, flustering him. “I do have one condition, about the discussion we’re about to undertake.”

{Of course you do.} “Alright.”

“I reject the notion of this being a flirt-free conversation. I want another chance with you too, moving at a more gradual pace so we can better know one another before considering moving past platonic.”

“I’m delighted! But I don’t want to wreck things again, nor leave hard feelings between us. On that basis, I’m now distracting myself from your luscious body so I can ask you about life in Bedford–Stuyvesant, about which I’m genuinely interested. As I mentioned in the card I looked it up, so I know where it is in Brooklyn in New York City and should be able to find it on a map, but nothing beyond what Wikipedia has to say about it. What was it like?”

“Well, my earliest memories as a little girl in the 1960s are of living in a brownstone—one of the rowhouses—on Throop Ave., between Lexington and Greene. Where I’m from ‘brownstone’ and ‘rowhouse’ are synonymous, even though we both know one’s a building material and the other’s all about houses with shared side walls regardless of what they’re made of.”

She noticed him looking lost.

“I’m going too New Yorker fast for a Cali boy like you, aren’t I?”

“A little bit” he smiled endearingly. “I’ll try and remember the street names and look them up.”

“Throop is T-H-R-O–”

“–O-P. Apologies for interrupting, but that one I know from the original name of Caltech: Throop Polytechnic Institute, spelled the same way. Sorry!”

“That’s alright, but let’s please try not to interrupt one another. That’s a New York thing I’d rather leave behind, to help me slow down and get more into your laid-back Cali ways. Did not know that about Caltech.”

“Is it rowhouses all one word? Or two words row houses? I ask ’cause I’ve seen it both ways online.”
 

Sonic Purity

Grateful
***
Joined
Apr 9, 2006
Messages
421
Location
Pasadena, California, U.S.A.
Rebecca momentarily snort-chuckled. “We’re New Yorkers, we talk fast, so we run it together as one word. We never had time for row… houses. Come to think of it I’m surprised it’s not already smash-contracted to rohos. What?” she asked with a smile, regarding his latest look.

“Nothing” he weak-voice responded.

“Yeah nothing right” she couldn’t help affectionately smiling back, unconsciously aping his expression.

“Feeling strong feelings toward you. Tender, affectionate ones.”

Brief, fluttery, mutually-frightened passions swelled within each of them at different exact moments, quickly scampering at least a bit away in each case.

“I admit I used to be bigoted against New Yorkers. Irrationally, based upon likely-unfounded stereotypes and select personal interactions with a very few individuals, like two.”

She dared to tentatively lightly rest her hand atop his, “What you needed all along was an encounter like this with a nice Jewish girl from the City.”

“Careful: San Francisco also considers itself the capital-C City. Is Judaism important to you?” he asked in earnest.

“Nah. It’s my heritage and ancestry, but not my religion. This nice Jewish girl’s all secular.”

“Secular humanist? Atheist?”

“Jayzo, Clark; I’m me! I’m not into the labels. Don’t believe in God, nor any other divine power of that ilk. Gaia/Mother Nature almost, but not really as a matter of fact and science. But I’m not a scientist, nor a doctor, lawyer, indigenous chief, nor an engineer” she briefly squeezed his hand. “None of that. Just trying to be rational and smart and open-minded as I go through life, learning every day.”


This was only the start of a very long discussion roaming over many topics. They became so absorbed in each other’s stories—and each other’s immediate presence!—nothing and no one distracted them… not even a cute guy who’d several times caught Rebecca’s eye and passed right by them, nor several BBW on Clark’s radar who’d already visibly thickened up a little in his mere days on this cruise.


* *
“I didn’t mind growing up as a White Jewish girl in a heavily-Black neighborhood, nor did my parents mind, that I’ve ever known. What?”

“Nothing.”

“Stop it with the ‘nothing’, bae.” Rebecca couldn’t help smiling despite her annoyance, feeling so many positive things for this handsome, alluring man so obviously over-the-top for her—and for once, not just her top. “You’ve already ‘nothing’ed me over half a dozen times already this conversation, and every single time it’s something important, and usually something I’m glad you finally shared.” Needing to stretch, she unintentionally distracted him of necessity sticking out her chest(s). “Out with it.”

“I don’t consider this”—he pointed towards his then her skin—“to be anything near white in color, the way this piece of paper” which he quickly pulled from his pocket “is. Nor are the many wonderful and usually beautiful shades of brown on people who get called Black all that close to the true color black… not even some of the real dark brown-skinned people I’ve sometimes seen in photos, more often in Africa though elsewhere too.”

“Brown is its own other thing, m’ friend: mixed race.”

“Which makes no sense.”

“It makes total sense!” she stridently countered (still with a smile). “There’s only so much time in a day, NYC’s a busy place with busy people who have places to go and things to do. We’ve already established and you’ve agreed that the tendency in our society and at least in American English is to go for the fewest number of syllables, so we can speak faster and get on with life.”

They had indeed agreed on that, so he had to nod to confirm his ongoing agreement with her point.

“White, Black, and Brown are each one syllable—monosyllabic, but that’s 5 syllables and one syllable is 4, hence the way I first said it. Caucasian is 3, or maybe to some people 4. Euro-Caucasian is even worse at 5 or 6, so White wins. African-American is a whopping 7 syllables, and not all our dark-skinned peeps are recently out of Africa anyway. Black avoids pissing people off by getting their ancestry wrong, and is one syllable, so it’s a double winner. Not only is Brown the syllabic winner compared to mixed race or that strange phrase mulatto, but the former of those two makes it sound like we’re putting people in a blender or mixing them like a cocktail with a swizzle stick or that they’re mixed up or something, and the latter sounds like some kind of mule lottery. Play Mule Lotto and win the mule of your dreams!” she suddenly loudly exclaimed like an excited advertising announcer, with an equally exuberant zesty playful (and a touch impish) expression.

Clark’s explosive all-out laughter got Rebecca laughing to the point of tears too.


Several elsewhere around and passing through the lobby clearly heard her sudden dramatic explanation. Some smiled and/or laughed. Others looked on quizzically.


“Oyee. So where were we?”

“You were describing what it was like to grow up as what you prefer to call a White girl in a Black neighborhood.”

“Yeah right yeah. It wasn’t all Black, with others besides us in the Davidson household, but mostly it was. Stayed that way from my birth through my youth and is still kinda like that, less so with the gentrification in recent years.”

“How long did you live in that house?”

Looooonnnng time. All the way ’til I moved to L.A. 20 years ago. Went to college super duper locally at Pratt Institute, literally within walking distance 9 blocks away, right there in the ’hood.

“So anyway, my experience of race is different. Everyone around us was Black, or some Browns now that I think about it. Whatever. Point is it was normal and how it always was to me. Wouldn’t say I’m a bleached-out Black girl or anything, but I could hold my own doing the dozens and bustin’ the occasional rhyme on time on the line, boyeee. It was intercultural exchange from birth, so normal I would have thought that term weird, had I understood it as a young child.”

“When was that?”

“Ohhh, sneaky, Mister Barr! Trying to entice my age outta me!”

“A general decade will satisfy my curiosity.”

“I’m a child of the ’60s. And if you suggest 1860s, I’m layin’ a beatin’ on ya.”

He suddenly pulled back.

Kidding!” she assured him, rapidly repeatedly rub-caressing his hand. “By ‘child’ I mean born then. Not like the 40s-50s-born Hippie children of the ’60s.”

“Yeah, I’m end of the decade before, so we’re not that far apart.”

Whew! I thought you might be younger, and I’d be too old for you.”

“Too old to be friends?”

Tellingly, Rebecca suddenly and sharply turned away. “Moving on…” she started once she turned back, “’60s and ’70s it was normal and natural for Mrs. Franklin next door to be showing my mom how to prep and cook collard greens, and other times Mom would show her how to make Latkes. Nowadays everyone prob’ly looks on the Internet rather than be sociable and visit their neighbors, but that’s how we rolled back in the day. We learned to make what weirdly gets called soul food and other Black culture cuisines plural specialties; they learned how to make Jewish staples. I remember my first boyfriend Jamal from 3 houses down and I would sit on the front stoop of either of our houses and share matzos with an onion-okra-corn meal spread that was pretty rad, as you westies say… or at least I see and hear that since moving to this coast.”

“I’ve heard that first loves are memorable. Mine was, but not necessarily in a great way.”

“Nah nah: this was high school puppy love—training wheels training bra love. Not that I’d ever worn a training bra, having grown right into an adult woman’s 36C in under a month from when the hormones turned on and I first started developing. Two weeks later 36D, then on up from there.”

“I’ll not ask you what age that was.”

“Eleven. Start of 5th. grade.”

“Oh” he winced.

“Yeah, it was rough. But I was and am a tough cookie, and boobs are power. So far no breast cancer knock wood”—Knock knock she did on the couch’s wood frame—“so apart from social issues, it’s all good.”

“No back pain?”

“Everyone always asks that” she wanly smiled. “Yes back pain, but not debilitating. There are moments on occasional days where my back hurts and demanding privileged asshats may be dogging me more than usual when I ask myself why the hell I’m carrying these huge flesh torpedoes around. But the same thing’s true other times or once in awhile the same time carrying around all this belly fat, butt fat, hip fat, and so on. It’s how I’m made—all of it I just mentioned. Surgeries can be dangerous as well as expensive, with no promises that things removed won’t grow back.”


Lost in thought listening to what she was sharing, Clark’s eyes had drifted down on her breasts and had been there longer than he knew. Even though he’d not been focusing there (nor anywhere), he quickly snapped them back up to hers.


“Y’know, here’s the thing—and I don’t wanna confuse you: I’m not good with strangers staring at my boobs. Yeah they’re huge, yeah they’re eye magnets, yeah you’re all programmed to go for them—you men into women plus some women into women. It’s not that I don’t like having them most of the time, because if I didn’t, I’d more proactively do something about it. They’re awesome and I love ’em myself.

“The problem is Privilege: too many men—and sorry hun, but it’s so far all men—freely staring as long as they want as though it’s their innate right, regardless of how I whose body parts they are may feel about that kind of attention. Worse are the ones feeling so entitled that they go for a grope, though those idiots get the hardest, fastest kick or punch to the groin I can give them—no holding back, going for permanent damage so they won’t reproduce and make more of themselves.”
 

Sonic Purity

Grateful
***
Joined
Apr 9, 2006
Messages
421
Location
Pasadena, California, U.S.A.
She squeezed his hand to focus his attention before continuing, “Now in a separate category are men to whom I’m attracted, and whom I’ve gotten to know and with whom I’ve reached an acceptable or better level of comfort. Love to my LGBTQI peeps, but I’m attracted to men—no apologies.”


She squeezed his hand again, gazing less-than-subtly at his crotch. To Clark it looked like she was initially pleased at his moderate turgidity he could not hide, then nauseous, leaving him confused.


“When there’s a strong enough attraction, when I’ve reached a sufficient level of comfort with a specific man I know and feel safe with them as well as into them and vice-versa, then I like having them checking out my bodacious rack, as long as there’s still some appropriate eye contact now and then.”

“The longer I’m with you gazing into your face, the more drawn in I am by its—your!—loveliness, making it ever-more easier to keep my eyes looking into, or nearly into, yours.”

The powerful shot of pure affection Rebecca felt nearly knocked her off balance. “Even with my big schnoz?”

“To me, schnozes are big angular pointy beaks, not the admittedly big cute roundness decorating your face. Durante had a schnoz. I have closer to a schnoz than you do.”

“Nah, you’ve no schnoz. I like your nose.”

She smiled more than Clark had yet seen her smile, melting his romantic heart further. “Maybe sometime someday we’ll decide to share nose-rub kisses.”

“Hhmmh” she peep-squeaked, holding back the instant appearance of her inner race horse of passionate desire, chomping at the bit to attack him and make out right then and there!

“Everything about your face is so wonderful to gaze onto… or is it into? Mouth, nose, eyes… oh your eyes! Is it OK for me to refer to you as doe-eyed? Or is that offensive?”

“Given that my middle name is Ayala, which is Hebrew for doe, my parents would be offended if I took offense at someone respectfully referring to me that way.”

“They’re the center of your look of sweet innocence.”

“I’m not as innocent as I look” she salaciously and flirtily gazed his way, with a touch of defiance.


It was another opportunity for her to take a big stretch, this time with a yawn. This time she clearly knew that doing so was working him up. She was good with this.


“Thirsty?” she asked, “For anything non-alcoholic?”

“Are you alcoholic?”

What?!

“Not an alcoholic!” he quickly backtracked. “I was wondering–… never mind.”

Stop.” She squeeze-massaged his hand. “Say it.”

“It was a bad start of an attempt at a joke, using language I don’t fully understand, hence none of my business to utilize. I’ve read the word ‘thirsty’ being used in recent years as some sort of synonym for desperately horny, or something like that. I was trying to find a non-offensive way to flirt with you and show more of my desire of you/for you without being a boorish ass nor privileged dick nor any other bad M&M in the Man Bowl. So please allow me to start apologizing right now, because you’re a wonderful person and I’m truly enjoying this long conversation we’re having on its own merits, with the flirting and the ability to hopefully respectfully and tastefully check out the rest of your body below your head being wonderful unanticipated bonuses.”

“Am I misinterpreting where your eyes have been, or are you physically attracted to me below boob level?”

“I’m a Fat Admirer. Do you wish me to candidly speak further on this topic?”

“Yes, but not here, please. If I invite you to my stateroom, will you take it the wrong way?”

“I’ll take it the way you tell me to take it, as long as you explicitly and clearly tell me.”

“I want to be private with you, so we can freely talk about anything in any depth like we’ve been doing, and take our conversation further than I feel comfortable doing here. I also want some tea—herbal infusion, actually. Some I brought rather than what Royal Prince Cruise Lines provides, nice as several of theirs are. I promise nothing about taking things further towards intimacy than what we’re doing here, but I do want that option.”

“My intent is that all that happens between us—me and anyone, actually—whether here, in your stateroom, or anywhere else, will always be fully consensual and as informed as we imperfect humans are capable of communicating successfully.”

“You’ve got a way with words, mister engineer” she brightly smiled. “Let’s go.”


The hip-rubbing hand-holding stroll was scintillating to Clark (and Rebecca) from the moment they started across the Main Lobby towards the stairs from which Leigh had eavesdropped on him (wider than the escalator, hence Rebecca’s choice). Once she moved in closer and put her arm around him, encouraging him to do the same, the stroll became magical!


* *
Far from being offended as he trembled, fighting to hold back his lusty desire staring at her boobs bouncing mightily up and down with each step on the staircase they ascended, Rebecca was pleased. {Can’t have anything less than a boob man I’m into. Not worth my time.}


Some corridors were wide enough for them to continue walking side-by-side, others narrower. As an experiment she had him walk behind her along one of these narrower sections.

{Hmmm, I feel the burn. He’s an ass and hips man too—even better!}

She reached her arms out behind her, pulling him into her, specifically her butt, soon as his hands clasped hers.

He had no idea what was happening, putting all he had into staying in the current moment, to optimally experience all of it.


* *
Passions and moods mercurially cycled in and out and back and forth in a swirly mess, once Clark and Rebecca were inside her pleasant ocean view stateroom on the Vista deck. Rebecca in charge and him struggling to stay on the same page with her as well as manage his own instinctual desires had them repeatedly jerking jackrabbit forward then slamming to a stop, quite like a new driver learning how to drive a manual transmission automobile struggling to master the clutch.

Somewhat like that new driver learning to drive that automobile and possibly having trouble restarting it after a stall, despite several repeated attempts many minutes apart, neither Rebecca nor Clark succeeded in restarting their conversation, whether where they’d been or on any other subject.

The lavender-lemon-chamomile tea was sublime, and soothing. The very soft Brazilian jazz music she’d put on in the background to ease the tension absolutely succeeded. The main issue seemed to be that the sexual tension between them felt thick enough to cut with a knife, on both their part: a passion fog so deep and so blinding, Clark several times tried to wipe what was not there out of his eyes. Rebecca kept waiting to hear a fog horn sound, eventually hearing a real one somewhere on the San Francisco Bay.


One particular jackrabbit start blasted further forward than others so far: Rebecca led Clark by the hand over to her stateroom’s couch, sitting down very intimately with him, each of them holding their tea mug in their free hand.

With her own slight trembling and a frightened, pleading look, Rebecca announced, “I’ve gotta tell you something, and I’ve just got to blurt it out.”

“Please do!”

“Set your tea mug down, please” she asked of him as she did so herself.


She claimed and held each of his hands tightly, melting him further with that frightened, innocent, pleading doe-eyed look she in part could not help projecting. “I’m powerfully into you… romantically, passionately. But it’s complicated, and I don’t want either of us to get hurt.”

With nothing to say, he continued giving her his own intense undivided attention.

“I’ve been abused in my past, sexually and otherwise. My trust issues are deep. Many things trigger me, including some things of which I may not be aware, therefore can’t explain nor warn anyone about. I have a literal love-hate relationship with men’s genitals. I desire them more than I can tell you, yet they’ve so often been used as supremely hurtful weapons against me, that it takes a very very long time with a man, continually building up trust, before I even consider going there.”

{The poisonous M&Ms} Clark couldn’t help thinking, maintaining his full eye contact and other than this thought, his attentive focus.

“You may have the best penis and scrotum in the world, and from what I’ve been seeing so far, what you have is extremely appealing to me. I cannot go there—with you or anyone I’ve not known a long time—at least a year of frequent dating in many cases, if not longer, and it’s case-by-case as so many things in life are.

“So what I want to do is have what I call up-top sex with you. Specifically what that means is you and I get to the point of being topless, but no further. I’ll have a skirt I’ll change into on and we’ll discuss those details in a moment. You’ll keep your pants on.”

“Shoes and socks?”

“Off please, when the time comes” she smiled, relieved that so far he seemed genuinely willing to go along with her requirements, which had not always been the case in the past, despite what her on-deck lover of the moment told her. “We’re free and encouraged to get into any consensual sexy loving things we can do with one another with our hands and mouths, and after we please discuss the details, maybe feet, other than playing footsie is a go, I’ll tell you right now. Hands and mouths mostly, above the waist. Nothing below the waist. Well OK that’s not quite true” she blurted out, working out the details in her mind as she spoke. “You may feel my butt and my hips through the outside of my skirt and panties, and as long as you keep your pants fully on and zipper closed, I’m even good with you pressed into my butt and rubbing if you want, like a sexed-up version of the fun we had walking.”
 

Sonic Purity

Grateful
***
Joined
Apr 9, 2006
Messages
421
Location
Pasadena, California, U.S.A.
He raised his hand and was acknowledged by her. “Did you have fun with that?”

Her eyes widened with surprise, “Yes! I’m into you, Clark—sexually! It’s just hard for me, as I’m explaining.”

“Thank you and apologies for the interruption. Please go on.”

“We’re good, I think. You get what I’m saying?”

“I think so. As long as we agree beforehand on what’s happening, my hands and mouth can experience you from the waist up per what we agree, as yours can on me. Other than footsie, feet are more complicated and will likely require more careful discussion. With all pants and skirt and stuff on, you’ve told me it’s OK for me to rub against your clothed hips and buns. Correct?”

He could see the tension in her body melting away. “Yes.”

“My only question is where you’re defining your waist.”

She tensed up again, sensing him trying to push a limit, more stridently replying, “Where my waistband is, after I change.”

A few tears snuck unbidden out of his eyes as he explained, “Your deliciously fat belly looks so wonderful, I would love to caress and kiss and rub it! I was trying to figure out whether it was off-limits or not.”

Her cheeks glowed brighter red as a fresh burst of lust blasted through her. “I’ll have my belly out. It’s fair game for everything you just described, no additional consent-seeking needed for that. Unless you have other questions or comments, as far as I’m concerned we can get into the logistics, then the fun!


* *
Logistics amounted to his asking to please be able to go to the bathroom before they got started, and that they each wanted the pleasure of taking the other’s top (and bra, in Clark’s case with Rebecca) off gradually, as the mood felt proper.


The tantalizing touch of his index finger tracing around her default new low-cut top-on exposed boob flesh unleashed her lust enough to have her panting and her chest heaving moments after they started. Her hands needed to feel his very slightly scruffy face, easing down onto his shoulders, then his upper arms.

“It looks like you need a little more room in here. I may need to unbutton a button.”

“I do!” she breathily sighed, tantalized by every little bit of finger skin she could feel gracing any part of her vast bosoms as he slowly and tantalizingly unleashed them. She snuck a finger between his shirt plackets, needing to caress more freely there. Her voice remained lust-addled breathy, “Your chest is getting hot.”

“Hot for you!”

“I’m going to have to unbutton all your buttons and let you out!”


Apparently more eager than he, or at least wanting to move things along faster, she not only fully unbuttoned his shirt in short order, but with his unspoken cooperation following her lead, eased it off of him, setting it carefully aside.


“I’m swelling up for you! Seriously, for realz: my boobs are getting bigger from arousal. Let me out, Clark! Pleeease!”

His eyebrows shot up and his eyes grew wide feeling and seeing the suddenly measurably (and he was qualified to measure it, had he the necessary equipment with him) greater difficulty unbuttoning her top’s remaining buttons (not already unbuttoned as some had been all night) from her visible swelling. “Holy granola! You are bigger!”

Yes! All women’s breasts swell up when they’re aroused. Did you not know this?”

“I’ve read about it and very rarely experienced subtle versions of it, but I’ve never experienced anything like this—you!” he said as he finished unbuttoning her top, which only had buttons halfway down and was otherwise a pull-over.

Her beautifully soft, fat arms were already “reach for the sky” up in the air as she urged him, “♫ Frrreeee-eeee Bec-ca Day-vid-son! ♫” sung like the opening line of an early 1980s The Special A.K.A. song.

He had her top off straightaway, yet she obviously still wasn’t free. “I can’t believe how much you’re swelling out of your bra every which way!”

“I am so turned on! Squeeze them as necessary to reduce the tension to unhook them, as I know your boob-loving engineering mind knows how.”


Hhhhhhhh” she gasped from a combination of great relief and great pleasure once the last hook was undone and her bodacious breasts eased her bra to the sides as they regained freedom.

He barely managed to finish slipping her bra off, in shock with how massive she was—and how aroused!

Rebecca herself was somewhat shocked: it had been too long since the last man she trusted enough to get to this point, and a long time since she’d been this extremely aroused. {Ohhh I love being huge-boobed!} she couldn’t help thinking during her shock. {This is why I do what I do!}

As she kept thinking about it, she realized that while she’d been this fat or even fatter in the past, she’d not been like that and this fully aroused at the same time. {Wow!}


Thankfully (as far as Rebecca was concerned) Clark couldn’t hold back: his hands and mouth were deep on/into the biggest breasts he had ever felt by far, and some of the biggest of which he’d ever even seen pictures! All in his hands and mouth, the mind of the woman part and parcel of them surprisingly (to him) thrilled to be sharing herself this way with him! Not only were hers the biggest in sheer volume, she also had the biggest areolae and biggest, hardest nips he’d ever experienced—far and away so!

Uuaaaggghhh, AAAAAAUUUGGGH YES!

Even he, sometimes amazingly clueless about such things, knew she’d just experienced a likely-powerful orgasm. Her expression of bliss rather than pain strongly suggested she enjoyed it.

“Oh please more and don’t make me beg!”

“Really?”

Yes! It’s not fair but we women get more, and I want more! Please.”

So did Clark, and at this moment, not of her breasts. His deep passionate mouth-to-mouth sudden kissing attack leveled her, making her weak enough that together they rushed over to her king-sized bed and crashed down atop it.

The flexing and creaking noises pulled Clark nearly all the way out of his passions and into his rational mechanical engineering mind.


She felt the sudden disappearance of his lust immediately. “What?”

“Noth–”

No” she punctuated with a potent, deep kiss. “I need to know.”

“Mentally analyzing the structural integrity of this bed, based upon the impact we just now imposed upon it.”

Slightly frustrated, she grabbed her boobs, gently smashing them into his cheeks, “Wouldn’t you rather be calculating the angle of these danglers of mine? Or, better, getting back to full passion?”

Yes. Thank you. My preference for doing that is some slow, affectionate kissing with sexy and affectionate caressing. Is that agreeable to you?”

“Yes.”


She was the one actually in charge immediately after her response, super-deep face-eating + french kissing as her hands wantonly grabbed his upper arms, now deliciously skin-to-skin.


This night of passion continued for several hours, basically every moment of which was at least pleasurable to both of them, more often enthralling, occasionally blissfully sublime. Highlights in the latter category over the hours included 2 other breast-centric orgasms for her at unexpected moments well apart from one another, Clark enjoying more than one orgasmic release of his own within the confines of his pants, and both of them being surprised when the biggest orgasm of the night happened unexpectedly with no explicit intention of such a thing during the extended time he was kissing, licking, lipping, and hand handling her belly. His brief offhand comment that big fat bellies could be like a third boob resonated within her more deeply than he could ever have imagined.
 

Sonic Purity

Grateful
***
Joined
Apr 9, 2006
Messages
421
Location
Pasadena, California, U.S.A.
A Very Ferry Day

{Mmmm! This cheese-leek croissant is good!} Leigh thought in the midst of her taste buds being lit up by this savory breakfast delight she’d selected from yet another of the ship’s self-serve buffet-style restaurants she’d yet to try. This was an open air one up on the Sky deck, less crowded than sometimes on account of the Lite edition of classic San Francisco morning low clouds. Yes, the clouds to a degree did act like a blanket, yet there was still enough of a chill in the air to keep some people away—especially those who seemed to be sneezing and coughing. Like they had… {No! Can’t even think of that! It’s– it’s not here… yet. Hopefully}.

A shot of adrenalin and significantly mixed feelings upon once again seeing notorious Clark Barr heading directly towards her successfully sidelined this scary thought line. Once again, he’d caught her with a big ol’ hunk of food stuffed part-way into her mouth.


Unintentionally leaning in and nearly over her menacingly close (he was clueless about how threatening this stance can be), with a pained and sleep-deprived expression his first words were “I’m sorry, Leigh! That’s all I’m going to say, so I won’t get into any more trouble.” He’d already turned to leave and was taking his first step along that line as he finished speaking.

“Wait wait, please! Come back for a moment.”

“What? Did I screw up my apology just now?”

“Tourist girl Wiggle Wobble Shimmer wishes to ask locally-living friend Chunk Casanova what she might want to consider doing off the ship around the area today. Suggestions, please?”

“Everything and nothing.”


She blinked expectantly, obviously waiting for more.

“It’s one of the world’s major metro areas, Leigh, just like San Diego and L.A. in that sense. They have shopping, so does SD. They have museums, so does SD. They’re different, and that’s why people go, I guess.”

“Where do you go around here on your weekends, holidays, or other spare time?”

“Honestly, most of the time I don’t go anywhere interesting. Usually doing chores and grocery shopping, or lying around the house exhausted from the work week.”

“You don’t go anywhere around here ever?

“OK—Santa Cruz is kinda fun. You won’t make it there and back unless you rent a car and jam straight down there, play, and come back—and hope you don’t get stuck in traffic, in this area where there’s a lot of water and hills precluding much road gridding and alternate routes.

“Muir Woods and Muir Beach—2 separate places—are each very nice, as is most of Marin County away from the bigger cities like San Rafael and Sausalito. Actually come to think of it, Sausalito’s OK, and you ought to be able to take a ferry there from very near here.

“There are pockets of interesting things in the East Bay, but it takes knowing where most of the worthwhile ones are. You could take Richmond or Concord BART to the MacArthur station then walk east a mile or so towards Oakland’s Piedmont district, which is nice but all you’re getting is somewhat upscale old neighborhoods and a ride on BART.”

“Simpson?”

“Pfffft!—you know what it is.”

His half-smile plus proximity made her feel far too melty wiggly wobbly more than any form of shimmer, with or without wiggly wobbles. {How can somebody who annoys the crap outta me make me so wet?! Arousal, you are a strange beast.}

“Bay Area Rapid Transit.”

“OK, yeah, right, I knew that. Anything else?”

“Can you please give me even a hint what you’re into? For example, if you tell me you’re all over physical media for music, I’ll suggest you head to Amoeba. I prefer the original one in Berkeley, but the S.F. store is alright, and closer.”

“Passed right by the S.F. store yesterday.”

“Well alright, you’ve been there done that, or passed on that.” Now it was his turn to blink expectantly, in his case with words, “Hint, please?”

“I really don’t need more stuff in my life, so not especially into shopping. Walked all over the city yesterday, so while I don’t mind walking, I’m not seeking out anything involving extensive walking on its own merits, nor to see a nice neighborhood.”

“Which city?”

“San Franciskee” she replied in her attempt at a grizzled miner’s voice. “The one they seem to think around here is The City.” Hungry, she took another bite of her croissant.

“Provincial arrogance abounds. And now you’re making a funny face like I just ripped a fart, but I know I didn’t and I don’t smell anything.”

She gazed blankly past him, smacking her lips like a dog who’d just tasted something strange, or encountered a strange texture. “That is weird!

“What is?”

Her direct eye contact returned, “All the flavor disappeared from this croissant! Here, taste this, please.”

“There’s hardly any left.”

“Take it. It’s no longer doing anything for me.”


He went ahead and ate all of what little was left.


“Tastes alright to me. A nice oniony flavor with some tang from the cheese, and I can taste the butter.”

“That’s what my first bites were like! That last one tasted like nothing!”

“Maybe you’re getting a cold. You might consider getting some zinc in you soon.”

“What if it’s the coronavirus?!”

“Which one?”

The one from Wuhan!

“Settle! That’s the novel coronavirus, or another set of letters of insufficient interest to me as a non-medical person to commit to memory. I always thought a cold was a rhinovirus, but somewhere recently they were writing that the common cold or maybe some forms of it are a different coronavirus. Want me to feel your forehead, to see if you might have a fever?”

“Yes please.”


{How can I be excited and soothed at the same time with the back of his hand against my forehead?!}


“Nope, don’t think so. You’re barely warmer than ambient up there. Feel off any other way besides the sudden-onset anosmia?”

“The what?”

“Loss of sense of smell, which we know is tightly related to taste.”

She sniffed her coffee. “I can smell this.”

“That’s good. So any other symptoms of un-health?”

“Not really. Sinuses seem clear. A touch achey, but that’s likely due to the walking I did yesterday, and the day before in Monterey and Pacific Grove.”

“How far?”

“At this port it was to and through Golden Gate Park, back through the Mission District, then on the California St. cable car back here.”

“That is a damn good walk! I didn’t know you–… never mind.”

“I like moderate walking just fine.” Her mildly miffed expression quickly morphed back to friendly, “Care to go with? Maybe show me around?”

“I’m really wiped from last night. Gonna stay on-ship and rest.”

“Went to sleep late?”

Oh yeah.”

“But probably not in or on bed so late” she smirked.

“What else do you want to know about my private life?”

“Sorry. I know we’re not–hhhhhh–any more than casual friends or business acquaintances or whatever, but we do have a history beyond that.”

“We do.” He didn’t look happy being reminded of this fact. “And I’d better go. Have a great Bay Area day, whatever you wind up doing.”


Leigh had no idea why she felt a very slight sense of loss watching him walk away, nor why her gaze remained fixated on him until he vanished from view.
 

Sonic Purity

Grateful
***
Joined
Apr 9, 2006
Messages
421
Location
Pasadena, California, U.S.A.
* *
The salt water and sea breeze aboard the San Francisco to Tiburon ferry joined the sound of seagulls and many sights in every direction to fill Leigh Down with vibrant in-the-moment life!

The stopover at Angel Island gave her as much of a look of the island as she wished. Her original goal was Sausalito, as it looked more interesting. Upon learning that the Sausalito ferry stopped at Angel Island then Tiburon first anyway, she added the latter to her itinerary.


Historic Main St. Tiburon was pleasant, even if none of its shops drew her in. The Hippie Tree and seeing a statue of a deceased horse who’d stood at the same place in his pasture for 28 years both sounded interesting, but required more walking than Leigh was willing to undertake, after yesterday’s trek.


Once she had her fill of Main St. and immediately adjacent areas on Corinthian Island, it was a short walk to Shoreline Park, to admire the San Francisco Bay from its north side.

{Damn, I’m spreading a lot} she couldn’t help noticing as she sat and filled more of her chosen bay-facing park bench than she’d expected. No matter: it was a weekday and she had the park almost all to herself.


She found it soothing to restfully sit pretty and slightly wide for a long time, taking in the view. {This is much better than walking all over creation, especially since I’ll likely be walking around Sausalito more.}


* *
It wasn’t quite 2 hours from when she’d stepped off the ferry when the next one arrived for her to board for the short 10 minute ride over to Sausalito.

Downtown Sausalito proved far less interesting than Leigh had hoped. She reversed course, walking along the waterfront to what the map told her was Old Town. The older architecture, much of it dating from around the turn of the previous century, affirmed this designation.


Usually her nose led her to appealing, satisfying comestibles. With nothing having caught her fancy and it being well into the lunch hour, she resorted to some online searching. {Indian-Mexican fusion? Gotta try that!}

Her chosen restaurant was far enough away that she opted to ride a local bus.


* *
{This is alright} she thought of her Curried Rock Shrimp Punjabi Enchilada. {Not as spicy nor as flavorful as I would have thought.}

The meal was pleasant enough, and did have some flavor. The warm, soothing heat of the Masala Chai did her well.


* *
A pleasant stroll from the fusion restaurant back to the ferry terminal filled the remainder of Leigh’s Sausalito time. The return ferry trip directly from Sausalito to San Francisco’s Pier 41 had her back on the Sapphire Prince in plenty of time prior to its departure at 6 PM local time.


A big yawn soon after returning to her comfy stateroom along with feeling worn down had Leigh choose taking a shower then slipping into the soft, luxurious, and decidedly comfy ship-provided bathrobe for a restful nap on her “cloud” bed.
 

Sonic Purity

Grateful
***
Joined
Apr 9, 2006
Messages
421
Location
Pasadena, California, U.S.A.
Love Infection

🎼 Big ship sailing on the o-ceannn 🎼

Freddie MacGregor’s soothing singing atop the restful reggae beat absolutely was apropos for the smooth cruise Leigh was currently enjoying the following morning. One of the few reggae tracks in her personal music collection and possibly her favorite in that genre, it sounded really good played by her handheld (currently on a table) through the stateroom’s Bluetooth-capable barely-visible (other than the video screen) built-in audio/video infotainment system. It was a perfect background for the moment, out at sea, refreshed from her overnight sleep, picking out her outfit for the day.


In terms of covering ground, modern cruise ships could easily sail right on up from Los Angeles to the lowest part of Alaska in 4 days, with no intermediate stops. More commonly, U.S. west coast cruises stopping in multiple ports might run the same 4 days, from southern California to Seattle, or more often Vancouver if they needed to go to a non-U.S. port for regulatory reasons related to whose flag under which they sailed. For this itinerary and others in their system, Royal Prince Cruise Lines chose to mash up a cruise to nowhere—a cruise solely for being on a cruise ship’s sake—with port visits. This mash-up led to the leisurely pace of an entire 11 days up to the northernmost port for a two-day stay as in S.F., then a quicker 4 day southerly return trip with far fewer port stops, and at least one new one, before returning to San Diego then again to the L.A. home port and continuing the loop.

Leigh and all other cruisers on board were currently experiencing, and presumably enjoying, one of these restful interludes: an overnight on the ocean—2 days between departing from San Francisco and arriving in Eureka, California.


With no need to be thinking about land-based sightseeing or other land-based activities, it fell to Leigh to figure out what she’d most enjoy doing on the Sapphire Prince. The most immediate choice she already knew: breakfast!


* *
Seating was scarce in Home Comfort, one of the ship’s many restaurants. Specializing in general cuisine leaning towards various cultures’ comfort foods (with a heavy traditional American emphasis), many other cruisers besides Leigh apparently decided that today was a good morning for more basic, familiar fare.

Far more disconcerting than the seating situation were the several soft-spoken conversations she heard as she roamed around deciding where to sit.

A pair of late middle-aged women:

Three more!

Confirmed cases?

No: dead!


A balding well-fed man around her age, speaking with what on surface appearances may have been his wife:

We’re on a fucking floating petri dish. This was a bad idea.

Should we disembark in Eureka and rent a car or something?

May have to. At least maybe the virus isn’t there yet.


An arguing middle-aged couple:

Says right here the risk increases linearly with age—there’s your answer!

Yes, but what does that mean?! It’s not like the novel coronavirus has a built-in date function that pulls up your or my or anyone’s public records that the AARP amongst others uses to check our birth dates!

If you’ve got this all worked out, why don’t you do us all a favor and get with the CDC and lay your ‘brilliant insights’ on them!


Anyone coughing earned several to many steely-eyed glares aimed their way.


Contrary to her prior experiences on this cruise, seeing an open seat at a table across from Clark Barr in this moment was a welcome sight indeed! She didn’t consciously put on a slight additional sexy sway as she headed directly towards him with a smile: that was her subconscious putting out that order from her brain bridge to the engine room of her body’s muscles.

For reasons she couldn’t fathom, he didn’t appear pleased to see her.


“Is this seat taken?”

“No. Have at it.”


Once Leigh figured out what she wanted, waitress Mackenzie dropped by and cheerily took her order.


Clark’s demeanor remained subdued, “Are you as hungry as you look?”

She could feel her face flushing ever-so-slightly. “Yes.”

“Anything I have that you’d like?”

{Yes, and we can’t possibly get into that here in any way that won’t get us thrown into the brig—or at least me.} “You don’t want all you have?”

“I’m not really into it this morning, like I thought I’d be when I ordered. Prolly should’ve gone for something with more flavor than bland comfort food. Seriously: anything you want.”

“Rest of your muffin, please?”


He almost smiled mildly as he passed it over. Seeing her eagerly bite into it right away briefly lit him up ever-so-slightly, before quickly dimming back down.


“How was your tour yesterday?”

“It was alright” munch, munch. “I took your suggestion to take the ferry to Sausalito, discovering that it stops first at Angel Island then Tiburon” munch.

“How’d you like Angel Island?”

“Didn’t get off there. No especial interest in the Ellis Island of the West.”

“There’s a lot more to it than that! It can be very pretty for a nature walk, especially in springtime as we are.”

“Yeah, maybe I blew it” she sighed.


Mackenzie was back, bringing her smile to the table. “Heeeerrree ya go!: Tex-Mex omelette, toast, and bacon! Refill on your coffee?”

“Yes please.”


Eating took priority to conversation for Leigh, happy to dig right in to her breakfast.

Clark had nothing he wished to say, losing himself to wistfulness from the living art masterpiece in live motion in front of him. He certainly wasn’t eating much of his own meal.


A couple of minutes later, curiosity overcame her, “You like watching me eat?”

He nodded.

“Why?”

His voice sounded especially wistful as he replied, “You look so happy when you’re eating.”

“I like eating” she smiled, resuming. Her comment apparently triggered a momentary flicker of something along the lines of energy within him, then back to his dim, distant grey.


“What’s up, Clark?”

“Nothing.”

{Alright. I tried} she thought as she continued enjoying her omelette, other than its to-her unexpected blandness.


“Did you explore Tiburon? Or skip that too and go to your actual destination?”

“No, I did Tiburon. Explored Tiburon.”

{Figures you’d be possibly lust-minded when I’m at a nadir of interest in that with anyone.}

“A couple of things like the horse statue and the Hippie swing seemed worth checking out and weren’t that far away in the greater scheme of things, but farther than I wanted to walk after all the walking I did day before yesterday in S.F., plus day before that in Monterey.”


She went on to describe what she did do and see, both there and in Sausalito.


“What about you? What did you do yesterday?”

“Slept in my stateroom—by myself, lounged in the sun. That’s about it. Exciting stuff.”

“Figured out what you’re doing today?”

He slowly half-shook his head, maintaining eye contact. Half a minute later he said, “You’re a very curious one, aren’t you?”

“I’m trying to figure out how I’m going to spend my day. Thought you might have some good ideas.”

“Nothing that Royal Prince hasn’t already suggested in their literature. I may well just rest again.”

“You’re not going to go to the sports bar and bro it up?”

{Where did that come from?!} “What?

“You know” she wiggled in her seat. “Talk about guy stuff and sports and all that.”

With a look of shock he told her, “You do not know me well at all” as he got up and left.


She again watched him the entire time he walked away, until he was out of sight.


Hunger quickly overcame both the brief emotional wake and less-than-exciting flavor profile.
 

Sonic Purity

Grateful
***
Joined
Apr 9, 2006
Messages
421
Location
Pasadena, California, U.S.A.
* *
Leigh finding Clark soon after noon was no accident: she’d sought him out.

It was a complete turning of the tables when she walked up to him seated at one in the Sip And A Wink Pub, nursing a pint. “Clark, I’m very sorry about this morning… what I said.”

“It’s fine” he replied in the same tired, dispassionate tone and overall demeanor as at breakfast.

{Doesn’t sound fine.} “Can I buy you a drink or anything?”

“I’ve got what I need, thank you.”

“I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you truly want.”

“What do you truly want?”

“To sit with you and have lunch. You can watch me eat again” she smiled.

Once more, she saw an upswell in vitality. “Alright.”

“This is my first time. Have you been here before? Maybe had food?”

“I have. Both of those.”

“Any suggestions for a hearty, hopefully flavorful meal?”

More signs of life, and interest. “You want a hearty meal so soon after breakfast?”

“I told you I like to eat. If you want to hear more, please tell me you’ll stay, let me place my order, then come rejoin you.”

“I’ll be here, sipping this. In terms of food here, I can vouch for the lamb pastie as flavorful and filling. Have not had the ploughman’s lunch, though as with pasties traditionally those were meant for hungry workingmen, so it ought to be at least filling.”

“Beer suggestions?”

“Whatever you’re into. Every one of the several I’ve had here has been good.”


* *
A sweeping range of feelings crashed over Clark like an ocean swell, seeing Leigh’s body in sinuous, rippling wave motion (especially her middle body) on her return to his-now-their table.

She didn’t notice, being busy carrying her plate and too preoccupied thinking about how great her lunch would likely taste. The barmaid-du-jour delivered her glistening golden pint seconds after she sat down, again across from Clark. This time it was their own private rectangular table booth as opposed to the more family-style open large table seating at Home Comfort.


Without either of them trying, they wound up making eyes at each other as she tucked into her pastie and he watched, occasionally quaffing from his gradually-dwindling pint.

“Mmmm (munch, munch, swallow), I went non-traditional with the pastie, going for the curried lamb to get more spice.”

“It might be traditional somewhere. Spice success?”

“Not really, which amazes me.” She slid her plate over towards him, “Second opinion, please?”


He took a reasonably generous bite around the thicker middle, to ensure he got a full sample of everything inside. Chewing with focus and contemplating what he was tasting studiously, he slid her plate back over to her.


“I taste the curry for sure, but it’s in no danger of overwhelming me. Yet now I’m feeling some tongue burn.”

That’s what I’m having! Nor am I smelling other food aromas, nor the salt air.”

“That’s what I’ve got: anosmia, as we discussed yesterday over breakfast.”

“What if it’s the start of the novel corona?!”

“That would be a new beer from Mexico, or a novel about it” he teased. “Or a new royal crown, maybe for a Sapphire Prince.”

“Coronavirus. Better?”

“Yes better. And no, not likely COVID-19 unless you have a fever.”

“Feel me, please?” she asked, standing part-way up to enable her to lean over closer to him.


{Don’t tempt me} he thought during the process of doing another coarse body temperature guesstimate. “Same as this morning.”

“Whew!” She sat back down, relieved.

“Now if you stress on it too much, that’ll depress your immune system, and then you may have reason for concern. Dry cough?”

“No.”

“Then this non-medical professional thinks you’re fine.”

“Thank you.”

Her sincere smile touched him deeper than he wanted to be touched.

“Aren’t you worried about it?”

“COVID-19?”

“What else?!”

“Oh, the world economy tanking, Die-Ann Feinstein and other idiots trying to eviscerate encryption ‘for the children’, stuff I’ve read about shipboard crime on cruise ships—there’s no shortage of stuff to worry about, if one goes that way.”

“But people are dying on this ship!”

“Yeah, and that happens anyway throughout life, including on cruise ships, with or without this novel coronavirus! Why do you think they have a morgue on here?”

Hhhhhhhh!

“They didn’t just install it for present circumstances and worries! People die. It happens. And if it happens when a cruise ship is out to sea, sucks for the other 99.9% of the passengers if one croaker requires immediate emergency handling which throws the ship off-course.”

“They have medivac helicopters! I’ve heard them!”

“Yes, and they want cruisers alive and healthy, and they’ll get people the medical attention they need when it goes beyond the on-ship infirmary. To answer your question and hopefully get this depressing topic behind us, I am rationally concerned about COVID-19, but not worried about it.”

“Wow.”

“Worry depresses the immune system as I just noted, making it more likely a person will fall ill and/or that their illness will be a more severe variant that might lead to pneumonia and possibly death. May we please change the subject now?”

“Yeah, we better. This is nearly making me lose my appetite. Any suggestions?”

“I’d love to hear more about how you like to eat. At suitably convenient points between bites, of course.”

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but when I first saw you on board, I felt like my entire vacation was ruined.”

“Jeez Leigh! I know I’m tact-challenged and have to keep apologizing for it, but my mere presence is trashing your vacation?!”

“Lemme explain, lemme explain. I like to eat, more than my body needs. Can’t help it; have always been this way, as far back as I can remember. In my normal life, it’s important to me to be amongst the average-sized part of humanity, hence I have to carefully moderate my food intake. For me this cruise is all about no one knowing me, and likely no one else ever crossing paths with me again in the future, so I can feel free eating freely and plentifully. Spending time in the gym and walking on shore and so on to stay in shape and burn off some of the excess, sure, but we both know by looking at me that there’s more gain from the eating than loss from the exercise.”

{Not much evidence on your upper half where I can see you now, but yeah.}

“So at first it upset me that you would be here as a witness, given our past and what I thought I knew of you. But… I’ve been getting the sense that you don’t mind my thickening, and might not judge me harshly.”

“I’m truly sorry if you feel I’ve been judging you harshly, no matter what I do or do not think. I strive not to be that sort of asshole… or any other sort of asshole, for that matter. It’s absolutely none of my business, and I hope you’ll please resume doing what you want same as if I wasn’t here.”

“Hmmm, but….”

“Yes, you have a nice one.”

{Finally a full smile!} “Thank you! Will I be wrecking your viewing if I park it next to you?”

“No.” {Wish I knew why the hell you’re so flirty all of a sudden.}


She slid her plate and pint glass over first, then moved herself out and back in on his side. Her generous seated soft fat hip spread along with the size of the booth’s bench seat(s) required her to sit intimately next to, and slightly on top of, him.

“That’s very dangerous, what you’re doing.”

“How so?”

“Stirring my desires, after my having so mindfully shut that part of me down, to avoid more romance fails.”

“What romance fails? Seems to me I’m always seeing you leaving Club Troposphere holding hands with someone of the squishy feminine persuasion.”

“If always equals twice by your definition, then that’s correct. And it doesn’t last. And it doesn’t end well. Remind you of anything?”

“We were at a trade show and passions flared and there may have been misunderstandings and things didn’t work out” she ended with a sigh.

“No they didn’t. For me with you then, and on this cruise with two other amazing women.”

“Third one has the charms” she flirted.

“How do you people turn your eye sparkles on and off like that?”

“Which ‘you people’? Chunky women?”

“With all due respect, I don’t go for the half-hearted chunksters. Needs to be an all-out chonky woman to make it worth my while.”

Leigh’s eyebrows went up. So did her left thigh lifted by her leg muscles plus her left hip fat lifted by her left hand, towards the goal of scooting slightly closer to him. “Is a chonky woman anything like a fat woman?” she asked with a cheeky grin, dropping her left hip and thigh fat atop his right thigh.

“Yes” he replied with a sultry half-smile, studying her expression and her farther below. “How would you feel about my arm around you?”

“Favorably.”


The mutual passions neither could fully suppress reignited.

Leigh couldn’t help leaning into him and nuzzling him affectionately. “Am I chonky enough for you?”

“I’ll have to feel you to answer that question.”

“Let’s plan on that, a little later. Right now I want to chonk up with the rest of this lunch and my ale.”


Neither of them wanted to fight losing themselves to loving one another. It was too delicious and comforting a feeling, even if being with the other didn’t truly make sense to either of them on most rational levels.
 

Sonic Purity

Grateful
***
Joined
Apr 9, 2006
Messages
421
Location
Pasadena, California, U.S.A.
* *
“Here it is, such as it is” said Clark, flipping on the lights in his inner-ship stateroom.


He and Leigh agreed they wanted to share a mini stateroom tour, showing each other their own. The heady, intense passions on their stroll from the Sip And A Wink Pub to his stateroom wherein they kept almost holding hands before individually or sometimes together silently deciding it was too much too soon hinted that they might well be spending some long quality time together.


“A little small” she noted. “Doesn’t it bother you, having no outside view at all?”

He turned on the A/V system, its screen displaying an exterior camera view as its startup default.

“It’s not the same as unfiltered reality.”

“Agreed; it’s not. It’s also hecka cheaper than the staterooms with views. With so many other places to be on-ship that are nice and spacious and beautiful, and with the Promenade and other decks I can walk or take a seat upon with wholly unrestricted views for no extra charge, why would I pay more for a stateroom with a view?”

“To spend cozy comfy private time in it with a nice view. It’s getting chillier out the farther north we go, you know.”

“That’s how it usually works, depending on the weather pattern.”


Adrenalin blasted through him as she wordlessly took him by the hand and led him over to his own bed, then down with her atop it, into a front-to-front cuddle. “Chrysler Dodge Jeep you move fast!”

“I’m studying dimensions, Chumley!” she chided. “Trying to figure out why you’d not get a larger room to better bed the superchonkers you seem to prefer.”

The fire within him faded. “Oh. Alright.”

“Come check out mine. Not saying this is bad, nor that I’d mind taking things further with you in here. I do like my view, and I did pay for the privilege.”

“Yes, let’s do that. Paying for it and not using it would be wasteful.”

She couldn’t help grinning as they got up. {I like that you’re frugal. Hope you’re not a tightwad.}


* *
On the between deck stroll over to her stateroom they outright held hands the whole way, no longer pretending there was any reason to try and minimize PDAs that others likely could obviously see, whether they held hands or not. Passion coursing through and between them electrified the walk.


* *
“OK, this is very nice” rolled right out of Clark’s mouth first thing, soon as Leigh opened the door to her stateroom and invited him inside, preceding her.


Once she’d closed and locked the door he asked, “Worth it to you, paying the differential?”

“Absolutely! I mean look!” She motioned with her hands every which way around the room during a slow full-circle spin.


He absolutely did look with every morsel of attention he had: at her.

She knew. She could feel the passions flaring up as well as see them in his expression. “Come check out the bathroom.”


“Yeahhh, this is posh. Do you truly spend enough time in here to justify all the space and glitz?”

“A: Yes. B: This is a better value and less extreme in poshness and glitz than the suites and larger view staterooms.


He allowed her to lead him by the hand back out into the main room, over to and onto the couch.

Each felt their own version of very intense, confusing, somewhat murky feelings when their gazes suddenly directly met as they sat part-turned towards one another, as might be a couple having a restful discussion.

“This couch makes more sense with double or greater occupancy” he couldn’t help commenting, smiling.

“Maybe so” she smiled back, very much wanting a kiss (at least). “Not the reason I selected this cabin class and no extra charge, so why not? It’s a nice change of pace at night when it’s dark, if I tire of being on or in the bed. Of which, come check mine out.”


He sat himself down along its inner-room side. “Feels like mine, only slightly bigger.”

She joined him, intentionally sitting part-way atop him again, this time to his left. “Isn’t it great, having a cloud-like bed?”

“We’re absolutely paying for top-notch bedding when we cruise, otherwise there’d be far more unhappy, poorly-rested cruisers.”

Her eyes absolutely lit up all the way in full shimmering glitteriness as she suggested, “Let’s study dimensions!”, gently guiding him down onto the bed along with herself.


Seeing Leigh’s lusty look along with hearing her shoes drop to the floor suggested to Clark that any tour of her balconette she might consider giving him was going to happen later, if it happened at all. He followed her lead: using his feet to slip each of his shoes off, as she had.

Further slipping included each of them slipping their arms around one another for renewed front-to-front lying down cuddling, as well as slipping deeper into lusty desire.


“What do you conclude, Ms. Measurement?”

“I measure very carefully, thank you” she teased, struggling to hold back from attacking him with her lips. “Roomier on this bed. More than sufficient for as much as I’ll fatten up on this voyage.”

“You intend to fatten up further?!” he panted.

Exciting as his words were, his suddenly-bigger hot bulge pressed deeper into the lower belly she’d not much had at the start of the cruise excited her far more. She couldn’t help pushing into him further there. “I intend to enjoy eating the remainder of this cruise. Fattening is a side effect, which you are welcome to enjoy.”

“Careful, Leigh: I can’t hold back much more.”

“I won’t hold back any more!”


She launched them into a mutual all-out passion kiss attack, their mouths devouring each other, their hands roaming: caressing, squeezing, grabbing.


Am I chonky enough for you?” she breathlessly gasp-whispered.

“Feels like it. (huff)” he panted back. “I’ll know better when your clothes are off.”


She smashed her mouth against his for the very deepest, most passionate kiss they’d yet shared (since MatCon).


He could barely string a sentence together when she came up for air. “What’s that for?”

“You saying when my clothes are off, not if” she grinned, immediately thereafter resuming passionate kissing.


Without a word, they made a game out of undressing each other with the absolute minimum of pauses or breaks in their kissy touchy-feely lovemaking. It proved surprisingly easy and very fun!

Damn Leigh, you’ve chonked up so beautifully!

“Is that why you’re so—hhhhhhh!—much bigger than you were last time?!”

“Partly. Let’s not get into that now, please” he got out between pants, kissing her anew because he couldn’t hold back.


Please please slip that thang in me!” she seemed to nearly beg at their next breath break.

“I didn’t bring a condom.”

“Did you use one with Beryl and Boobacious Bulb-Nose?”

“Her name’s Rebecca, and she and I did things not requiring a condom. How do you know Beryl’s name and not hers?”

{Uh-oh!} “Overheard it, as I was going about my business” {and trying to learn yours}. She planted his ceiling-nearest hand back onto her hip fat, generating the full re-rising she sought. It amazed and pleased her that he hadn’t shot off yet. “How many have you been with since me at MatCon and besides those two, and did you use protection with them?”

“Only one other—Alyssa, long before this cruise—and yes on protection.”

“Let’s go on a cruise adventure and do it bareback! I’ll do a Morning After.”

“Alright, if that’s what you want.”

“That’s what I want!”


AaaaaAAAAaaaahhhh! Oh yesss!” she gasped in pleasure as they mated.

Passion filled the room, heating up the walls such that they almost seemed to be blushing.

“Push all the way into me and hold, pretty please!”


He gladly obliged, doing so slowly in case she changed her mind. Once all the way in he realized his hands were embedded deep within her hip fat. He removed them, and softened slightly.


“What’s going on?”

“I don’t want this to end like MatCon.”

“Clark, it’s different now! Back then I thought that you were being mean to me, putting me down for being fat. I didn’t know! Obviously from seeing you get with Beryl and Rebecca plus the shipboard discussions we’ve shared, I get that you’re an FA, and know enough about what that’s about to be more than OK getting with you like this. You have my consent to feel me any loving, lusting way on any part of the exterior of my body.”

“You’re going to get all your fat fondled.”

“Sounds good to me!”


She launched back into kissing, feeling what she wanted of him. He gave back in to his desires, reconnecting to them in full and re-hardening in full accordingly.


* *
Another not-quite quarter hour of eye-crossing arousal slow-intercourse bliss seemed like a natural pinnacle point.

You feel like you’re ready to blow” she whispered.

I am. You’re… very stimulating!

Tingly arousal dialed her back up to full volume, “So are youuu!”

He panted louder and harder, “Your… your fat is so… EXCITINNNNG!


She fully and totally gave herself in to the imminent explosion within her depths.

It never came. Literally.


She assuredly felt him cease humping, dropping in arousal a notch or two, otherwise remaining hard. “Your control is amazing!

“That’s not what it is.”

Now she could feel him gradually softening within her. “What’s happening?”

“I had my orgasm.”

“But… nothing came out.”

His face grew more ashen than she’d ever seen it, by magnitudes. “I know.” A river of tears rolled forth from his eyes, as if a dam bypass channel had just been opened. “Believe me, I know!”

Confused and lost, she gently said, “I don’t understand.”
 

Sonic Purity

Grateful
***
Joined
Apr 9, 2006
Messages
421
Location
Pasadena, California, U.S.A.
“There was a surgery… to save my life, indirectly. Prostate enlarged severely enough to cut off my ability to urinate, entirely and suddenly. I’ve been peeing slow for years, as you remember from MatCon and my several overnight trips to the bathroom. Going along same as always, ’til early in the dark hours one morning, nothing came out. At all.

“Did all the things I usually do, which I’ve learned over the years: relaxation, hot water—all that. Nothing helped. Hardly even one tiny drop came out, with the pressure on my bladder building and building.”

Too shocked and still confused to say anything, Leigh continued listening intently, feeling a degree of compassion as well as passion for him beyond what she understood.

“I had no idea what was going on at that point. Had to go to the emergency room, where they put in an in-dwelling catheter. About a liter of urine flowed out—more than an entire standard-sized wine bottle’s worth. As it did, pressure on my bladder reduced to normal: basically nothing. They strapped on a so-called walking catheter—a joke if there ever was one—and sent me home. This of course was late on a Friday after my urologist’s office was closed, so I had to have that fucking catheter in me and on me all weekend. Just stop for a moment and imagine what it would feel like to have a plastic tube shoved into a hole in your clitoris.”

She winced and writhed.

Exactly. Then every time you move even slightly, it’s rubbing and twisting inside you and out at the tip where all the nerve endings are, and not in any sense in an arousing way!”

Ulllaaagggh!” she shuddered.

“You’re getting it. Monday morning my urologist told me through his office intermediaries that I had to have that fucking torture device in me for an additional three days, so that my bladder would recover enough from the distention it had undergone for him to be able to examine me.

“Suffered through that, somehow made it in to my appointment. My expectation was that he could fix the problem then and there, and I would have considered many procedures at other times I’d avoid or eliminate from consideration, to get this behind me. Oh no, that’s not how it works. He put me on Tamsulosin, which is a targeted muscle relaxant, hoping—hoping!—that I’d be able to keep the urine flowing for another couple of weeks until they could get me in for a sonogram, then at another appointment for a cystoscopy.”

“I’m not familiar with the latter.”

“That’s the joy of someone sticking a flexible scope through that very sensitive hole in one’s sex organ, gleefully running it all the way inside for a look-see. So fast-scanning ahead, yes the drug worked to get me to those appointments. Sonogram, no big deal. Cystoscopy was yet another foreign object being pushed inside of me where things aren’t meant to be pushed inside.

“There’s I-don’t-know-how-many drugs and something like six different techniques for dealing with benign prostate hyperplasty to resolve this sort of issue. My urologist, a shining star in his field who’s skilled with all those procedures and even has placards for most of them advertising them around his office, told me in no uncertain terms that my case was severe enough that we had to skip right over all the pharmaceuticals and the less-invasive surgeries and go all the way to the ultimate end-game, which he called the ‘gold standard’: the Button TURP. Do you even want to hear any of this, Leigh?”

“Yes, please. It matters to you, and I want to understand.”

“I think the abbreviation expands to Trans Urethral Resection of the Prostate, and ‘button’ means it’s a newer device with that shape which offers the surgeon greater control. More important is the general concept. The surgeon goes in with this device, which via controlled laser power blasts away parts of the prostate to open things back up so the urethra’s no longer crushed, and the person can again urinate normally. Like nearly anything else in our medical system, there’s collateral damage. In my case, there was no way to avoid destroying a valve back up near my bladder, whose name I’ve not bothered looking up. Under normal circumstances as a genetic male goes into his ejaculatory process, this valve closes, so the semen jets or flows or dribbles out the tip of the penis, rather than flowing back into the bladder. Well, since the surgery I no longer have that valve, so my cum takes the path of least resistance, mostly or entirely going back into my bladder, where it comes out with the urine next time I pee.” He began to tremble from emotions, renewed tears again flowing, “So… I… am no longer able to fill anyone’s insides, who might want that experience.”

Not even knowing why, instinctively she pulled them together into a tighter embrace. “I don’t mind not feeling stuff spray into me. I just didn’t know what was going on. But obviously it means a lot to you.”

“I’m sorry, Leigh! I’m treating you like you’re my therapist or my wife or girlfriend or something, dumping all this on you.”

“I care, you know! Willing to tell me more about what this change means to you?”

“It has a name: retrograde ejaculation. Drugs like the one I was on can cause it too, though that’s a temporary effect, unlike the surgeries, which are… permanent.

“I don’t know what to think, honestly. Had I been planning to have children, it’d be close to a death sentence. I don’t even like my cum—it’s messy and gross! So in that sense, this is better: no mess.”

“So when I put you in my mouth and you cum, I won’t gag?”


Overwhelmed with gratitude that she’d even be thinking of anything involving him as an ongoing lover, he again kissed her repeatedly, this time tenderly and with tears rather than lusty potently. “Correct. And if on some future occasion when we’re mutually in a sexy mood and you want to be super-nice to me, if you let me get off in your butt crack between your buns, there’s no mess to clean up afterwards. Though… I can’t glue us together with my Love Hot Glue any longer… because my hot glue gun no longer works.”

“Seems like it works really really well for getting all big and hard and rubbing my sensitive formerly-reproductive insides the right way.”

“Formerly?”

“I’m not dropping eggs, Clark. I’dve taken a morning after just to be on the safe side, and if via some miracle I get pregnant I’ll take care of it, as in terminate it early. But I rrrrreeeeally doubt that would happen, even with a strapping big-balled 20-something semen-blaster.”

He turned away.

“Hey.” She gently eased him back looking towards her, caressing his face. “I’m not a cougar. I prefer men my own age, or at least a hork of a lot closer.”

“Hork?”

“I didn’t feel like saying hell or heck.”

“How convenient… I prefer women close to me in age.” He chose to punctuate his sentence with a long loving + lusting kiss.


She came out of the extended kiss deeply dazed, needing time to recover.


Caressing his hair she asked, “Is there no upside for you whatsoever, related to the surgery?”

“I can go all night without having to go to the bathroom many nights, which wasn’t even true generally when I was a teenager.”

“I’m thinking sexually.”

“Initially, it was hell: I felt like I was perpetually edging, unable to ever get off. That’s fun when one wants to do that, but one eventually needs release! One person who had this surgery was so distraught and ruined and likely over-wound from being unable to get off that he shot his urologist.”

Hhhhhh!

“I’m not going to shoot mine, Leigh! Nor anyone else not immediately and credibly threatening me. That did happen, and I present it to make the point that the surgery side-effects can be highly problematic. In my case, remembering that sex happens as much or more in the mind than the genitals, I knew I had to reprogram my mind. I cannot tell you how I did it, but somehow, with solo practice, I managed to find my way back to emotional and at least some biochemical release, even while lacking sensations to which I’ve been accustomed for decades. Worked for me with Beryl for what that was worth, worked wholly inside my pants with Rebecca and didn’t make a mess I had to clean up, and at my end worked with you now… until I let you down.”

“You didn’t let me down, Clark! I’m great with having you all hard inside me and making me all happy and getting off with nothing coming out of you. To be honest, the whole thing about you being able to cum anywhere on or in me without the sticky gooeyness I find highly appealing. Not that I have nor will have the kinds of surfaces Beryl and Rebecca have, but it’s rather hot to me that if I did, you’d be able to poke into a fold or create one by grabbing a hunk of me and rub and get harder and bigger and get off pretty much spur-of-the-moment without either of us having to fret about whether there was time and resources for cleanup. And given how you’re already getting hard again, apparently you find it hot too.”

“I do.”

“What is your refractive period anyway?”

“Being recalculated. In recent years it could range from half an hour to half a day. Since this surgery, it’s faster. Possibly related to the lack of full release, my body seems to want to have another go sooner.”

This very much excited Leigh! “Another question, if I may?”
 

Sonic Purity

Grateful
***
Joined
Apr 9, 2006
Messages
421
Location
Pasadena, California, U.S.A.
“Of course.”

“Did the surgery have some effect on your, um, hardness and size?”

“Apparently it did, though my urologist said nothing about it and I’ve read nothing about it online. At first I didn’t know what to think when I’d wake up in the morning and be harder and feel bigger than ever before, morning after morning. Not every morning, but the majority of them. I knew it wasn’t my imagination, because for years I’ve been able to wrap my closed fists around my shaft and have the length of my paired closed fists closely match the distance from my body past my scrotum to the penis tip. Post-surgery and a lengthy several months of recovery where all kinds of blood was coming out of my penis and I wasn’t allowed to lift things nor have any form of sex, had to try to avoid intentional arousal, and the urine flow remained bad, once I went through the whole discovery of the orgasm change and getting over that, consistently morning after morning I’d wake up with these raging boners whereby when I did the in-bed hand measurement the way I always had, my penis was longer, by one to several centimeters. Feels thicker too, but I’ve never had a way to accurately measure that.

“Common wisdom is that genitals like this stop growing at or near the end of adolescence. I think that’s probably true. As this kept happening and I kept thinking about it, I realized I had been this big and hard in the past, on rare occasion. Not seemingly related to arousal, though maybe it would have been had I been with someone sufficiently arousing.” He smiled at her and very clearly groped and kissed her at the same time to strongly hint that she was in that category. “I think the deal is that whatever happened with the surgery is stimulating or irritating something inside me which causes this effect. It feels heavy enough that it’s more comfortable to get my hands around it to support its greater weight, which is likely the mass of additional blood in there. Because the cause is unknown—at least to me—I have no clue whether it’s permanent or will diminish over time as my body heals, or aging continues.”

“Thank you for explaining all that, and trusting me enough to share.”

“Thank you for listening! If there’s ever anything like that which you want to get off your chest now or in the future whenever we’re in a situation where you feel comfortable sharing, I’ll do all I can to return the favor you’ve just given me.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“Even right here and now, while we’re still in afterglow?”

“Are we both in it? You didn’t cum, did you?”

“Breaking news: orgasms aren’t necessary for great, enjoyable sex. For me at least. But I did have a really quick one when you were in me and before your climax. I call those super-fast ones lightning orgasms, because of how they’re there in a flash then gone.”

“Was that when you suddenly went wide-eyed ever-so-briefly and momentarily twitched?”

“That was it. So truly, you’re ready for me to jump right into my too-small big issue?”

“With a title like that, how can I not be?”

“OK. I’ll need you to hold me and let me know I’m OK.”

“I want to and intend to be here for you, like you’ve been for me.”

“Stay with me on this: there may be twists and turns.”

“You mean like these?” he asked, caressing her sinuous curves as he adjusted into optimal supportive holding position.

She couldn’t help smiling as she restfully cuddled into him a little more. “Here we go…. I feel worthless as a woman.”


Silence filled the room as Clark strove to keep listening, supportively and gently gazing at her with full attention.


“You’re supposed to ask why.”

“Oh! Why? Why would you feel worthless as a woman, or for that matter in any other way?”

“Multiple reasons. Society tells us that women age out past 30, and I’m past double that age.”

“Pffft! That’s ridiculous!”

She glared at him, thinking he was contradicting her heartfelt confession.

“Humans aren’t even fully formed adults until they’re around 27! I read about this recently: yes, we’re mostly there by 18, more so by 21, and heading well out onto the long tail of the asymptote after that. The brain and I forgot what all else is still developing into its final form through the late 20s, which makes things like binge drinking more harmful as a 20-something than as a 30-something or later, though obviously binge drinking is harmful at any age. Sorry; go on.”

“What you say may be true, and likely is. So is what I’m telling you. That standard applies to every woman, and we already discussed age a little bit and I’d like to discuss it more in the future. Right now it’s a foundation for discussing my overall sense of worth—part and parcel, yet not the entirety.

“At every adult age, I’ve suffered from being plain. Not dazzling like Beryl and so many other women. Nor adorably cute, like Rebecca and so many other women.”

“If that’s true, then why do I feel this nearly overpowering desire to nose-rub kiss you?”

“Because you’re wonderful” she smiled, starting up the soon-mutual nose-rub kissing between them. The pure affection felt so good, her smile couldn’t resist turning into a grin.


The nose rub kissing morphed to cheek-to-cheek nuzzling and related exceedingly affectionate canoodling, filling the room with love hearts one could almost see and feel.


Mmmmm” she softly sighed, “Let’s please continue this later.”

“You don’t want to keep doing this while you continue sharing your big issue with me?” nuzzle nuzzle nuzzle

“I can’t think clearly when we’re being all deliciously romantic like this. Mmmmmh.

“Just trying to do my part to help you feel your worth as a woman.”

“Oh forget whatever I was talking about and let’s do this instead all the rest of the day and all night long, or until we can’t stand it any more.”


The passions and physical love were too strong: conversation ceased as Leigh and Clark lavished affection upon one another.

Within the hour as part and parcel of their affection immersion, sexual arousal drove them to again couple up, with him again being very hard for and in her. Seamless with the affection, it was true lovemaking at its most romantic.


* *
Slow, sensual lovemaking and restful romance continued well into the late afternoon. Neither Leigh nor Clark tried to fight what was happening at all: it was too wonderful and had been simmering for far too long—from prior to MatCon those several years back, actually. They bonded deeper and deeper into a murky, confusing love which they knew to be more than just physical, but not how much more.


“Will you hate me if I change my mind and ask to be held and listened-to again, so I may share my worrisome issue?”

“I’ll have trouble hating you at all for nearly any reason (kiss). Tell me or guide me into the supportive embracing position you prefer. I’m all yours.”

{Oh how I wish it was that easy!} she thought, snuggling into him and making minor adjustments to where his arms and hands were. “OK. I briefly discussed age, and still want to get into that later, but not now and maybe not today or even soon. As you were saying about asymptotes and human maturation, I’m so vastly far out on the tail of societal undesirability that I’m for all intents and purposes invisible. Then there’s the whole being plain rather than pretty thing we discussed, which has been true my whole life and I’m thrilled beyond words that you got the deluxe rose-colored glasses such that you find me appealing.”

“I find you fetching without any optical distortions.”

“If it wasn’t getting towards dinner time and I wasn’t feeling a deep need to share with you before we hopefully pretty please go to dinner together, I would be sucking your face again now. Most of the world finds me plain, and that’s the important point for you to hopefully maybe understand what’s up with my self-image and body image issues.

“This next is the difficult part for me, and in many ways the crux of the matter. Not the only thing, not the whole thing. Should not matter at all and should not be important at all, to me or anyone else. But it is, both to society and assuredly to me. Hold me close, Neener.”

“What?”

She caressed his face, projecting the most love-worthy affectionate expression possible, “It’s my pet name for you: my equivalent of your Chonky for me.”

“What does it mean?”

{Really?! You don’t know?!} She reached down and wantonly grabbed his penis, deep-caressing him there. “You’ve got a big flesh banana that I love having in me and against me and around me. Bananas in silly-talk are baneners or neeners, so you’re my Neener!” she ended with a passionate wet mouth-to-mouth kiss, her hand remaining clamped onto his “ripening” neener, with no sign of letting go any time soon.

“My too-small big issue is boobs. Boobs are power. Boobs are a symbol of womanhood, and desirability. Society tells us these things, over and over relentlessly ad nauseam. I’ve had wicked-strong big boob envy and small boob shame since the end of adolescence, when it became clear that mine were done growing, and this is all I was going to get.”

He extricated his arm so he could raise his hand.

“Yes, go ahead.”

“Is it time for me to render an opinion yet? Or maybe I ought not to at all.”

“You definitely should, because if you don’t offer it, I’ll request it. But not now, please. I’ll let you know.”

He nodded, fine-tuning his replaced arm and hand in supportive holding position.
 
Top