Love Infection

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.

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.

“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.”

“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?”

“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.

“I’ve tried and tried and tried to get over this and let it go, on my own and with help, including psychotherapy for a spell. Has not ever worked. I’m well aware of the availability of implants and related surgical options. At times I’ve considered them, always backing away due to their unnatural nature, possibility of complications, and cost. Part of me feels I’m defective because of how readily I fatten out in pear shape—which as we know is a synonym for deterioration and losing desirability—but never gain up top.”

“At all?”

“It’s such a teeny bit, Neen, it hardly counts.”

“Some other day and time I’ll want to ask you about your fat gain patterns, but obviously not now. Please tell me more.”

“I’m genuinely obsessed with big boobs, almost as much as the stereotype of the most extreme boob-loving man. Seriously: I have been known to look at big-boob porn. Not to get off, but to rage.”

“Why would you do that to yourself? Makes no sense.”

“There’s a lot of things we humans do that make no sense. Such as, oh say, falling madly and hopelessly in love with someone I’m still getting to know, before I know them well.”

“That’s where I am” he admitted, his voice slightly choked by emotions beyond his understanding.

They shared a long, tender kiss instigated by her.

“OK, I’m so close to finishing, I gotta do this. Women with big boobs fascinate and threaten me in general. BBW with big boobs do so in particular, in part because that’s considered standard equipment.”

“I’m going to start playing with yours, you know.”

“I want that more than you have any idea, but not now, please. After dinner works for me.”

“I like where this is going” he grinned. “Apologies for the interruption; please go on.”

“Seeing you heading off with Beryl was a good news/bad news situation for me: good news because it made clear to me that you truly are an FA and truly do like fat women, and weren’t being mean to me back at MatCon as I’d concluded at that time. Bad news ’cause she’s quite busty and big all over, and I’m not.

“So then I saw you going off with the woman I now know is named Rebecca, nearly apoplectic over what she has that I don’t. This is mostly about me, but it’s about you too, given that we’re currently again nude together and at least I’m so lost to love with you that I can barely see.”

“I’m there.”

“I need to know what you’re into, in terms of your lover’s body. ’Cause if it’s boobs, we need to please work together to wind this thing down before either of us gets hurt.”

“How can we do that when we fell into this deep well without knowing?”

“Let’s start with whether there’s a need to get out or not. Total truth, no spin: are you a boob man, Neener?”

“I’m an everything man, when it comes to fat. 3Bs, hips, thighs, lower legs, arms, back—if it’s soft fat on a passionate woman’s body who’s into me and consents for me to feel her, I’m there.”

“3Bs?”

“Boobs, belly, butt. This is news?”

“No, I just ripped a brain fart. Back is a B, so you might want to update that to 4Bs.”

“With the next maintenance release I shall” he snickered.

“But what is your preference, amongst those, Mister Everything?”

“I have between 2 and 4, depending how one counts body parts. One of those, as a pair usually, is boobs. Love big boobs! Since you’re name-dropping my prior cruise dates, so shall I: Beryl was sublime up top. Rebecca was transcendental.”

She tightened up and pulled inside, obviously hurt.

“Hey—don’t make me teethe your nipples before dinner—those are for dessert!”

“Why would you even bother with mine?”

“Because I love you, and you want to be loved there, and… boobs! Seriously Chonk, you look to me to be in the 34 to 36C range, which ain’t no mosquito bites.”

“34C. But that’s dinky on a 202 pound fat pear!”

“You’ve got all this”–he grabbed her hips–“and you only weigh two hundred two pounds?!”

“Yes. Does that disappoint you further?”

“I’m not disappointed at all, just surprised. My innate desire beyond my mind’s control lusts by volume, not weight. I believe it’s better for everyone to carry less dense fat: easier on you because it weighs less, thus less joint wear, with all the exciting, sensual space-consuming volume. Easier on me because when you’re lying atop me in the throes of intimacy, both of us enjoying your vast dimensions and spread, the pressure on me is less, so it’s more comfortable and we can do it longer.

“34C is average, not dinky! 34A is dinky. 34B is marginal. And here’s the thing you didn’t let me get to: the other 1 to 3 preferences of mine. It/those are what you have: fat hips, fat buns, fat thighs. At least the first 2 of those tend to blend into unitary smoothly well-rounded objects on the women to whom I can’t help feeling most attracted, such as yourself.

“More is always better, and in a perfect world my USBBW lover would be profoundly fat all over in a sexy shape, details of sexy shape being difficult to define, because unlike my work, it’s not something which can be rationally predicted by modeling, measured, drawn to scale, then created at full size with final materials. When And is not the best option, Or is great!”

He stared deep into her eyes, startling her with his intensity, “Let me put this another way: a sufficiently super wobbly fat pear-shaped woman does not need boobs, at all! Because what she’s got going on down below for soft luscious fat is so compelling, the boobs don’t matter.”

“What’s sufficient in terms of super wobbly mid-body fat to you?”

“You truly want to know?”

“Yes.”

He retrieved his handheld, swiping to a near-empty app screen so she could see his home screen picture. “This” he said as he held it up for her to see.

It was a headless photo of a hips-for-days huge-thighed USBBW with a generous belly and relatively small breasts. Nude.

“Oh not even!” she ranted. “I’m not gonna be a quarter ton 3 seat hippo hipper!”

“You think she’s a quarter tonner?”

“Yes” she indignantly replied, pushing his device and hand away, “Get that away from me, please.”

“Sure thing; you asked. To be clear, the woman in the photo is beyond sufficient, but is the closest example at my fingertips from my pear-shaped collection. The point is: when one’s as big as her, she has so much mid-body stuff going on, I’m unconcerned about what she has for boobs. I’ll assuredly pay attention to them or not as she prefers, but I won’t be lacking in any way.”

“But you are with me, at my current size.”

“I’m thoroughly enjoying the great gift you’re giving me letting us be here like this at all in the first place! Your body to make into what you most want it to be, for those of us out here with whom you care to share enjoying it as it is, as you want it to be.”

“It’s not rational, Neener—none of this is! I wouldn’t be caring what you think if I wasn’t madly in love with you, which isn’t rational. My boob obsession isn’t in any way rational, as we’ve established. I love that you are rational, and I prefer being in that space myself. My concern is that I’m investing too much energy in our love for you to quickly wander off to your next lover, as has been your pattern so far this cruise.”

“Beryl does one-offs—that was not my choice. Had it been otherwise, I’d likely have not made it to Rebecca… at least not yet, per historic short-term loving patterns not necessarily at all of my choosing. Rebecca is a whole other story and a private matter due to my needing to respect her privacy in terms of what I share with other people. For our purposes it’s a one-and-done, as with Beryl. Chances Rebecca will want to be near me on the rest of this cruise if ever anywhere are slim.”

“Unlike her and me and Beryl” she quipped.

“Yep. When it comes to us, we have that same pattern from MatCon. Things seem different now, so maybe this time will be different. If I’m with someone and things are going decently well or there’s a strong enough bond and the expectation that problems can and will be worked through, I’m with that person—especially for a brand-new searing hot love. I don’t know what we’re doing here, other than we already have pet names for one another and the feelings I feel for you feel strong enough to crush my chest—brand new to me! If or when we blow up or fall apart or calmly agree to move on, I’ll actively be looking for others to intimately love. Until then, and especially with all this insane love power I’m feeling, you own me, Chonk!”

The extremely strong passionate feelings within her triggered by his ending comment ensured that Leigh’s appetizer course was one of her favorites: Clark’s mouth. Her hands once again roamed over areas of his sexy body within reach, as did his on hers.

Freshly-bathed formally dressed Clark Barr gently clasped the hand of his freshly-bathed and done-up dinner date Leigh Down, atop their pink cloth-covered table at Glissando. “Please do not ever again let me hear you say that you’re plain-looking, Chonk. You…”–he began to get choked up, his eyes growing moist–“are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever dated.”

The shimmer in her cosmetized eyes was at least as bright as the 3 tall white candles in the silver candelabra adorning their table, possibly at least in part because of them. The angelic live harp music in the background seemed to her the perfect soundtrack for the handsome living angel seated across from her, his generous wavy salt-and-pepper hair shining in the candlelight, his own purely natural eyes and all his face owning her romantic soul with the loving beauty it—he!—exuded, especially his endearing smile. For the longest time all she managed was repeatedly gently squeezing and releasing his held hand.

Eventually a few words came to her. “I am at a loss for words, Neen. This—all of this—is magical to me. You look better than I’ve ever seen you, and this whole cruise you’ve looked good to me.”

“Even when I was the last person you wanted to see?”

“Even then” she blushed, briefly averting her eyes. “I’m very glad to be seeing you now, in several senses of that phrase.”

“More wine?”

“Yes please.”

Waiter Andrés was back with their entrees.

Leigh’s eyes had a new reason to glisten, seeing the startlingly large proportions of the night’s Sapphire Special: Steak ’n’ Bake. Whilst Chef Lindgren’s very basic alliteration adequately described the general nature of the steak and baked potato main course, in no way could it convey the nuances of taste, texture, and presentation. Clark could see on his date’s blissed-out expression without having to ask that the steak was an outlying delight. The baked potato’s aroma was so impressive that it snaked through his currently-waning anosmia. As well its boisterous colors and textures were so eye-catching, he knew before she took her first bite that she was going to love it.

“How’s your Finger Snapper?” she asked during an eating pause.

“Quite nice. I’d never thought of red snapper as finger food, nor that there was any left out there that wasn’t all contaminated to hell and gone. Mmmm… thhrs… sorry, this is nice!”

This very special dinner date upon which they’d agreed and arranged prior to parting ways for their individual cleanup and dressing up was proving entirely worthwhile, and especially in Clark’s case not partaking of the Pampered Gem package, worth the extra money.

In this moment, she was his dream date: the only woman he wanted to be with. The only woman existing in his mind!

Similarly, he was her dream date: loved, trusted, known, super-easy on the eyes. Her lover and most intimate confidant, knowing some of her deepest secrets of great import. Possibly most of all: fully on-board with her personal cruise goals, rather than as she’d originally feared an impediment to them.

For Clark and Leigh this leisurely 2 hour multi-course feast was something more: foreplay.

It went without saying they’d remain together, wherever they happened to agree to go. Immediately post-dinner that was to her stateroom. On this walk, arms around one another supplanted handholding.

“You sure you want to go dancing so soon after eating?”

“Why do you ask? Is my fat hip grinding against your firm one with every step too enticing? Or the lordosis from my high heels?”

“Both are incredibly enticing, but no, that’s not why I ask. For the same reason I’m surprised you want to go out dancing straightaway, I’d be being gentle with you in or on bed, or wherever else we might wind up, in deference to your clothes-torturing fullness.”

“Your awareness of my need to digest before heavy exercise is noted and greatly appreciated, though you do overstate my mild garment distress” she replied as she cuddled into him deeper, slowing their walk a little more. “I don’t want to dance all that long.”

“What’s the point of going tonight then, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I don’t mind your asking. It’s important to my self-esteem to be seen dancing with you and walking off the dance floor with you, as… has happened with you and others.”

“Do I need to pretend I don’t know you, like I didn’t know them?”

“Nooo.”

“Alright, alright! Just trying to understand, and properly fulfill my role beyond what my nature dictates.”

“Go with your nature and love me true, and my goals will be met.”

All-smiles DJ Swash Buckle and her on-shoulder turquoise-breasted mostly-green parrot once again held court at Club Troposphere.

Neither Clark nor Leigh knew the current medium tempo beat-heavy dance track to which they were dancing (nor did either feel motivated to have their handheld query SoundHound, Shazam, nor any other music look-up service). Beyond Leigh’s ongoing breathtaking extra-special made-up beauty the unexpected amount of fat jiggle and wobble he could see on her after such a big meal that he felt sure would arrest her gelatinous quiver had him fixated on her and her alone. Leigh nearly forgot about showing off her date to others in her focus of being with her date, thrilled that it was virtually guaranteed that she’d have her hands all over him all the rest of the waking night and be cuddled intimately and cozily into him throughout the sleeping night.

Plans often change, and theirs did: at Leigh’s behest, they wound up dancing longer than she’d estimated, losing track of time under the stars to the rhythmic tunes.

The sudden appearance of someone vaguely familiar to Leigh urgently seeking Clark’s attention interrupted their gently gyrating groove.

“Question, Clark.”

“Hey Per! Have you met Leigh yet?”

{The FA guy he was talking about Beryl with!} she realized.

“No. Hi Leigh, I’m Per Haugen.”

“Nice to meet you, Per. I’m Leigh Down.”

“Great name” he grinned, first towards her then Clark.

“I like yours too.”

“So what’s up friend?” asked Clark.

“It’s kinda… can we go to a quieter place, please?”

Leigh joined in, holding hands with her honey as the 3 of them rushed off the dance floor to a quiet enough private space behind a support pillar.

Per’s gaze was intense, stressed, and rushed, “I don’t know that this is– do you want to be talking about your other lovers in front of your current one?”

“Leigh is very special to me. Anything you can possibly say to me or ask of me is something she should be able to hear too.”

“Alright” he sighed, remaining uncomfortable, yet plunging ahead, “Tell me about Rebecca Davidson—please.”

Clark briefly let go of Leigh’s hand so he could plant both of his atop his FA friend’s shoulders, staring into his eyes, “Go slow with her, Per. Very slow. Be hyper-aware of tension in her body, and if you feel her tense up, walk it back—whatever’s going on.”

“Trauma victim?”

He looked down, pursing his lips. A moment later he nodded, ever-so-slightly. His eyes jumped back up to his, “She needs each of our very best.”

“I’ll be a good M&M, I promise. Thanks!” he ended with a smile and shoulder pat, adding “Great to meet you, Leigh!” as he rushed off.

“You too, Per!” she shouted over the ever-growing distance between them.

“What’s next for us?” asked Clark.

“One more song’s-worth dance on the dance floor, then back to my stateroom.”

“What’s the point of that? The one-song dance?”

“Right now it might have looked to some like I left with both of you. I want to be seen leaving with you alone.”

The fact that neither Clark nor Leigh were striving to have sex upon their return to her stateroom and instead were happy doing anything involving intimate closeness ironically made for smoother sailing to another round of very satisfying scintillating slow sex. Technically outercourse humping her fattened inner thighs wholly outside her vagina (and indeed all of her vulva), Leigh didn’t know whether it was more exciting the way he was attacking her small breasts like giant treasure chests with his boob-hungry boob-skilled mouth, or feeling him get all the way off with absolutely no messy goo… at least his.

They had another shower, together this time, immediately before (sleeping in) bed, because they could, because it was sensual, and because it made it easier for Leigh to remove her cosmetics.