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Steamy Passages

“Don’t forget to forget to pack your bathing suit!”

Sunday morning, I was still in bed trying to keep as warm as humanly possible in a bloody freezing London flat. I was reading Thursday’s paper, catching up with old news. Actually, I was not looking for news — I was looking for travel ads. I’d had it with the constant damp and the darkness and the dreary short daylight hours of another long English winter.

It was obvious that I would fall for the first travel-to-warmer-climates sales pitch that caught my eye. And here it was, a small ad in the corner of the travel section.

 

STEAMY PASSAGES!

 

Cruise with us to seven Caribbean Islands.

 

Bask in balmy breezes, seven days, seven nights.

 

I skimmed through the small print of the ad, found the phone number and dialled.

“Steamy Passages. Good morning!”

“When’s your next cruise?”

“Ah, I’m sorry, sir, our final cruise of the season left Miami last night.  It gets to Jamaica this afternoon.”

The agent said nothing while I cursed my luck, growling like Chewbacca.

As soon as he got a chance to speak again, I heard him say something about a late cancellation and it sounded like I could actually join the cruise. I’d missed most of the details, so I used my usual bargaining technique, grunting at him and sounding unconvinced. He went on with his sales pitch.

“You’d still have six nights and I’m willing to lower the fee by 50%. You have to agree that’s a very good deal.”

Throwing caution to the wind, not checking reviews on their website or anything, I signed up with him on the spot, booked the flight to Kingston, packed a few things, found my passport and rushed out to catch the tube. It was a long ride from East Finchley, but only one change to make at Leicester Square before Hammersmith and finally the airport at Heathrow.

For the whole trip on the Underground, I was wondering why the booking agent ended our conversation by saying, “Don’t forget to forget to pack your bathing suit!”

Seemed odd.

 


  * *

At last, we touched down in Kingston. When the plane’s door opened, a furnace blast of humid air rushed in — the promised balmy breezes! No wonder they called it the Steamy Passages!

As promised, after customs I was met by the cruise rep. She was holding a large card with my name on it, but I have to admit, it could have been anyone’s name because I was trying to look through the card at the young woman behind it.

Well, you’re a Lush reader — I don’t really have to describe every body part of this gorgeous creature, but I’ll just tell you that every part was perfection, and the entire package worked brilliantly as a unit.

I do, however, have to mention her smile. Some of us more senior Englishmen are not that proud of our teeth, and I knew at once that she was not one of us. She was American, and her teeth showed it. But it wasn’t just her teeth; it was the smile in her eyes that gave me a welcome that said, “I’m happy you’re home, lover!”

She reached out a sleek hand.

“I’m Loretta. I work for the cruise line. And you’re —”  She looked at the card she was holding and carefully sounded out my name. “Dariush Backshamer?”

“Well done! You got it right, but please call me Mr B. That’s so much easier.”

The ride to Ocho Rios was hair-raising. Driving American left-hand drive cars in a drive-on-the-left-side country is bad enough, but add the potholes and the speed  — wow, it’s surprising there are any Jamaican pedestrians left!

I made an executive decision; DO NOT watch the road. That’s too scary. Watch the driver! When she’s not looking at you, watch her chest. Watch how her flimsy little top billows every now and then and reveals more and more of her sweating voluminous cleavage. Every time she hit one of those potholes, I bounced up in the air, and did my best to land in a better position to look down her front. I’d already spotted one fine nipple, now I was trying to go for two!

She caught me looking a couple of times, but I also caught her taking a peek at my crotch where some action was stirring. I began to worry if there were rules for no cohabiting between staff and customers.

We chatted lightly until she suddenly shocked me with a very blunt question.

“Are you gay?”

“Ah… no… I thought you had noticed…” My voice trailed away into silence.

“Yes, I did spot the beginnings of some movement in your pants.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, my apologies…”

“And,” she went on relentlessly, “I could feel your eyes willing my top to blow open.”

“I am so embarrassed. A true gentleman should never—”

”No problem,” she interrupted. “I just wanted to make sure you’d appreciate this.”

Before I could add another word, she took both hands off the wheel, grabbed her little spaghetti straps and pulled them off her shoulders revealing her perfectly shaped tits.  Her nipples were set in small, dark brown areolae, and there were cute little bobbles in the skin around them. The design of the bra top she usually wore when tanning was starkly evident, the untanned parts of her chest being so white and contrasting. Her tits were simply stunning!

“Ahh,” she sighed, “that feels better. Much cooler. I hope you don’t mind.”

Glancing again at my crotch, she added, “Mmm, I can see that you don’t mind at all!”

I had nothing to add to this conversation. I was just happy to see that she had both hands back on the wheel, and I was free to stare at her jiggling boobies as much as I wanted. I matched her, taking off my shirt, cooling myself in the rush of air streaming in through the windows.

“Now, don’t get too excited,” she explained. “This is just part of my job.”

“You’re kidding — they can’t ask you to do this!”

“Yup, you’re right. I was just kidding. But I’m really doing you a favour.”

“You sure are! I’m loving this vacation already!”

“It’s not what you think. I’m just breaking you in slowly. You’ve arrived late for the cruise. You’ll be seeing a lot of titties as soon as we get to the ship.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“Yes! Didn’t they tell you?”

“No! What?”

“This is a clothing optional cruise.”

“You’re joking!”

“No, I’m dead serious. If I didn’t warn you and get you used to seeing a tit or two, you’d probably cum right in your pants before you even walk up the gangplank.”

I didn’t know how to respond to this news. I sat there, open-mouthed, ogling her free-swinging, two-toned knockers, and trying to adjust my swelling down below.

“I’d better fill you in about the extravaganza tonight. It’s our signature event which we call our Steamy Passages night. The captain explained all the rules last night, but since you missed it…”

“Great! What’s it all about?”

“Well, first at seven o’clock everyone has dinner. You’re on C deck so you’ll be sitting at my table. And in case you’re wondering — everyone dresses for dinner. Then at 8:30 we meet in the theatre, and the fun begins.”

She smiled wickedly, then stunned me with another of her questions.

“Are you a voyeur or an exhibitionist?”

I had to think about that one because I was really both.

“Do you have a third choice? Could I be a participant?”

“No,” she laughed, “you have to be one or the other.”

“OK then; in spite of what I’m doing right now, I am more of an exhibitionist than a voyeur.”

“Perfect,” she responded. “I’ll surprise you too. I’m more of a voyeur. I only show off my tits on rare occasions.”

“I’m honoured,” I exclaimed as I bowed from the waist. “So, that explains the dark tan but the very white honkers!”

She laughed again, then gave me one last bit of advice. “When the Captain asks you if you want to be an X-man tonight, say yes!”

“Sounds like fun,” I said as she pulled up her top and we arrived at the Turtle Bay dock where the cruise ship was moored.

On board, just as predicted, I began to see people, young and old, coming and going, wearing whatever they felt like wearing — or not wearing — and they all seemed to be very comfortable with it.

I made my way to the purser’s office, got my key, found my cabin, took a shower and was just drying off when the dinner gong sounded. I put on my best shirt and trousers and headed for the dining room.

Loretta saw me coming and waved me over to her table. She’d saved the seat next to her, and during dinner, we got to know each other a lot better. She was the one who took my hand under the tablecloth and placed it on her thigh. I left it there and managed to eat my entire meal one-handed, never spreading butter on my roll or cutting any smaller pieces off a breast of chicken — just spiking it with my fork and gnawing bits off.

No one stared at my table manners. They all seemed more intent on complimenting each other on their seldom-seen clothing. The Captain looked pleased when I told him I’d be happy to be an X-man, although I still had no idea what that meant.

Then we all moved to the theatre, and the seven of us X-men were led backstage. The Captain spoke into the microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to a night of Steamy Passages. I hope you were all able to find LushStories online and enter the password I gave you last night. We should have plenty of fine readers lined up for you tonight, and I know their chosen passages will all be good and steamy! We have seven virile young X-men backstage, and here in the front row we have our lovely panel of judges, led by the stunning Loretta!”

Cheers broke out from the audience.

I turned to my neighbour backstage and whispered, “What are the judges judging?”

“Who’s got the stiffest cock!” he whispered back.

“And lady judges,” went on the captain, “don’t forget the cardinal rule — you must recuse yourself from the panel if you have any kind of relationship with any of the X-men.”

Turning to face us men standing in the wings, he informed us of our single rule — our hands had to remain behind our backs at all times!

“OK, X-men? It’s time. Drop trous!”

'What the hell?' I thought.

I looked at the other six guys who were all stepping out of their trousers. Every single one of them had been going commando! Six cocks were swinging free and only some long shirt tails were hiding them in any way.

“Shirts off!” the Captain barked.

I quickly started to put things together. In short order I had learned a few things:

The seven of us were going to stand naked on stage with our hands behind our backs, exposing ourselves to the audience. Sounded good to me!  Audience members were going to read passages they had selected from the stories they’d read on LushStories.

We were supposed to listen to these erotic extracts, and without using our hands, get our cocks to stiffen up. The panel of female judges would decide which one of us would be first to reach a full, rigid erection.

“Is there a prize for the winner?” I whispered to my neighbour as I gingerly removed my trousers and underwear.

“Oh yes!” he grinned. “You get to pick any willing woman from the audience, take her to your cabin for a complimentary champagne dinner, and the rest is up to you! Plus you get a free ticket for another cruise.”

My thoughts turned to Loretta at once, and I felt a stirring between my legs. Looking round I could see that no one else had started the process at all. OK! I was in the lead!

“X-men! Line up. Mr B, you’re the new man here. Follow the others. They’ll show you the ropes. On stage!”

Bright lights greeted us as we filed out in line, and the audience gasped at first, then cheered and laughed, some of them calling to us by name.

One woman shouted out, “Roger! Get it up, boy! Mama wants a champagne dinner!” The audience roared.

Another one called out to her man, “Willy! Did you take your little blue pilly?” Again, a roar of laughter from the crowd.

My cock was not used to reactions like these, and noticeably softened. I looked down at the front row, and there, seated right opposite me was Loretta. God, was she gorgeous! She had on another little flimsy top with spaghetti straps, and a skirt so short I could almost see her knickers.

But she wasn’t looking at me! No, she was checking out all the packages on us guys! And there was quite a selection. One body-builder dude had a pair of very low-hanging balls but a short, stubby cock; it could only have been about three inches long. “Gee,” I thought, “that’s cheating. It so easy for a short one to get up stiff; mine has to work so much harder.”

I was pretty proud of the fact that my phallus — about five inches when flaccid — grew to 8 1/2 inches when fully erect. But that took a lot of encouragement and stimulation, plus pints of blood that could probably be of more service to me in my brain! But tonight, I sent out orders to my body:

Send blood directly to my pecker! Do not send blood to my brain; I don’t need to be smart tonight, just sexy!

Before I had a chance to check out the rest of my X-men competitors, the Captain started the proceedings.

“Who would like to read the first passage?”

Dozens of hands shot into the air, and the Captain picked a blonde who was jumping up and down in the third row with her tits doing their best to break through her lacy blouse.

“Name?”

“I’m Georgette. My steamy passage is from a story written by Mama’s_Boy called Craving Mother’s Milk.

The room fell silent as we all strained to hear her soft voice as she read from her iPhone. I tried hard to pay attention to every word she spoke, but my eyes were resting on Loretta, and she was still scanning the row of dickheads on display in front of her.

The story was about the writer having sex with all his family members, and I guess I’m just not that much interested in incest because my cock was not reacting positively. Just so you know, my cock makes all the major decisions in life for me, and especially on things like this. I don’t have a problem with incest  —  it’s just not my thing.

“Time!” the Captain called out. “Judges? Anything to report?”

“Not yet,” shouted back Loretta. “Calm waters in Ochi tonight!” She gave him a very limp hand signal to tell him that not one of the lifeless danglers she was eyeing on stage had stirred one iota.

“Next reader?”

Hands shot up again. “Yes, you in the pink see-through blouse. Name?”

“It’s Audrey, Captain. And thank you! I’m glad you like my party attire. Soooo sorry, I forgot to put on my bra tonight,” she teased, and the men in the audience all hummed their approval.

Audrey began to read her chosen passage. “This is from the First Time category. It’s a story by wankometer called Pussy on Parade.”

“Hold on a minute, Audrey,” interrupted the Captain. “I’m not sure a First Time story is relevant to our X-men. Can any of you guys on stage even remember your first time?”

No one responded.

“Audrey, do you have another story in a different category?”

“Yes, I do. It’s a Watersports story written by Aquaman called Out Damp Spot!”

“Ah... Audrey... we have a swimming pool on the top deck here. I don’t think we want any funny stuff in there.”

“Captain!” It was Loretta who spoke up. “Let’s get on to the good stuff. All the X-men are outdoorsy people and exhibitionists. Let’s give them something they can relate to.”

“Thank you, Loretta. Good idea. Who’s got a steamy passage from Lush’s Exhibitionism category?”

“I do, I do!” called out several young women eagerly, jumping out of their seats and waving their hands at the Captain. One of them must have had her high heels on the hem of her long dress, and when she stood up suddenly, she broke right out of her top.

The Captain picked her immediately.

“Topless lady, what is your name?”

“Gretchen,” she replied. “My steamy passage was written by Googly_Eyes and it’s called Hotel Curtains.”

“Here,” said the Captain, “take the mike; I want everyone to hear this.”

Gretchen began reading, and the story unfolded slowly. It was about this exhibitionist man whose passion was having other people watch him fucking his girlfriend. She wasn’t so comfy with his ideas, so he had to trick her into believing that when he pulled the sheer curtains closed and turned the lights up full, no one outside could see into the room. Of course, she was a dumb blonde and fell for his fake science.

It was a corny story, but I began to concentrate on listening, and soon I was able to identify with the guy. In place of his girlfriend I substituted Loretta, and as soon as that idea clicked in my head, I felt my cock lurch.

This could work! I looked down at Loretta, and she was staring at my cock, smiling widely and clapping her hands.

“That’s it, Mr B! Now you’ve got the hang of it!”

It was true; I was putting the elements together: identifying with the man in the story and replacing his girlfriend with Loretta. That was my secret weapon! Plus I had her right in front of me, willing me to win. She caught my eye and gave me the same smile she’d laid on me at the airport; the smile that said, “Lie down — I want to talk to you! Welcome home, lover!”

In spite of keeping my hands firmly behind my back, I could tell that my cock was at about a two or a three on my erection scale of one to ten. It was a good start.

At least I thought so, until I took a look down the column of us X men and saw number three in line with his huge, uncircumcised member at what looked like a number five already.

I turned back to look at Loretta, and now she was staring into my eyes, pursing her lips into an obvious cock sucking shape and pushing her head blatantly back and forth.

At once I moved up to a four on my scale, but looking down the row I could see that Mr Skinhead was way ahead of me at about a 6. He probably had someone in the audience coaching him too.

I concentrated hard on the story again. By this time, Gretchen’s voice was sounding gravelly; she was getting into the story herself. “Come on Sweetheart, no one can see us,” went the story. “Take that stupid bra off, woman, I wanna see your naked nanas.”

Loretta heard the “naked nanas” line, took the hint and expertly slipped her spaghetti straps down over her shoulders again, revealing her amazing boobies with their untanned, white skin on her best parts almost shining in the reflected light from the stage. I moved up to a five!

“Of course, Sweetheart. That’s how lace curtains work. That’s why hotels always hang them in the rooms. When it’s dark outside, people can’t see into the room so long as we keep the lights bright in here. That’s just plain physics! Now get over here; I’m gonna suck your luscious nanas til you cum.”

I was starting to enjoy the story, and at last, I was getting into my own exhibitionism. I badly wanted to show the whole theatre how my cock would thicken up, and how long it would stretch to when it got to level 8 or above.

It was the Captain again. “OK, Gretchen. That was good! Let’s give someone else a chance. Who’s got a Voyeur category story?”

The Captain scanned the eagerly waving hands and picked a middle-aged woman in the second row.

“Aha! Voyeurism! I can see why you’re sitting so close in the second row!”

“No, that’s not why,” the woman objected. “I’m not much of a voyeur. It’s because I left my glasses in the cabin!”

Another burst of laughter came from the audience, and the Captain went on.

“Well, my dear, in case you can’t see too clearly, I’m the Captain, and I’m the one on the stage who is NOT flashing his pecker!”

More laughs, but all the visible cocks on stage sagged a little as the attention moved away from them. The Captain spotted the problem and quickly got on with the job in hand.

“Enough of that! What’s your name and what’s the story you found on Lush?”

“I’m Edna, and this is a story called See No Evil and it’s written by Devil’s-Righthand-Man.”

She began, speaking far too softly into the microphone, holding it nervously as if it were a stranger’s penis. But with a little help from the guy next to her, she soon had the whole audience paying rapt attention to her breathy, sensual voice.

“Gloria lay there, pretending to be asleep so she could not have noticed the pool man approaching with his long poled scooper. She was well oiled, but completely naked except for her dark glasses. She had a hard time controlling it, but her heavy chest rose and fell smoothly in spite of her excitement. Through her half-closed eyes, she could see the pool man stop and check her out. Slowly, silently, he lowered his equipment to the crazy paving and tiptoed forward to see if she was truly asleep.”

I glanced over at Loretta. She was mimicking the woman in the story, raising and lowering her chest, pushing her wonderful tatas way out. She must have pinched her nipples because they were now standing up enthusiastically. When she saw me looking at her, she cupped her left breast and held it out towards me.

My cock responded obediently.

“He pushed both sides of his skimpy little, plaid shorts down, and his huge, young erection — suddenly released from its confines — sprung upwards and outwards towards her. The boy grabbed it with one fist and started pumping.”

This was my kind of story! In fact, I had done the very same thing when I had worked as a pool boy my last summer in high school! Beating off to naked, or near-naked ladies... the old memories flooded in. I responded and my cock-o-meter rose to a seven.

“She lay as still as she could, giving the boy the thrill of his life. His willy must have been at least eight inches long, and she doubted if her mouth was big enough to handle it.”

I looked back at Loretta, and  — what a woman!  — she had her mouth wide open, showing me that she could handle my cock even at its best. I rose to an eight. But then I saw her eyes shift to the line of X-men, and a worried expression crossed her face. I looked down the line and saw my competition. Oh no! Two of them were at an eight as well, and one was practically vertical!

“She kept up her pretence as well as she could, grunted a little in her feigned sleep and shifted her torso on her chaise lounges. Spreading her legs a teeny bit more, she gave him a perfect view of her shining wet pussy.”

The whole audience held its breath. I didn’t dare look back at Loretta. 'Would she mimic the story now?' I checked my competition. Two of them were very definitely at a none.

I had no alternative; I was desperate! I turned to Loretta, and — bless her heart  — she had both hands on the hem of her mini skirt, lifting it slowly, slowly upwards. I knew I’d soon be seeing her knickers and I went to a nine myself.

“The boy’s fist sped up, pumping at lightning speed, and his legs began to buckle. How long could either of them hold out?”

I badly wanted to grab myself and beat off as I watched for Loretta’s knickers. She was flushed in the face and panting hard as she lifted the hem higher and higher and finally revealed — nothing! No knickers! She’d been going commando all the time! And no bush either! She was shaved clean.

She spread her legs, and shoving her cunt forwards on her seat showed me her dripping, wonderful, puffy red lips, and I felt myself go to my maximum limit.

Suddenly Loretta stood up and shouted, “I recuse myself!”

I knew what that meant. She — a judge in this contest  — could no longer officiate as a judge because she wanted a relationship with me.

Ecstasy! All at once I felt it coming — that whole body tingling sensation. Before I could bring my hands around to control its direction, I sent a stream of jism flying into the audience, and the Captain yelled out,

“Geyser! We have a winner!”

He came over to me, raised my hand in the air while my cock was still pulsating, and handed me a certificate while the audience clapped vigorously and breathed again.

 

 

 

  * *


And that’s how I met Loretta, the mother of our three little brats, and why we live in Jamaica in a little house with bright lights and lace curtains.

 

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