"I found out something I didn't know until today. They're nymphomaniacs. They can't be satisfied. They're wolves. They eat me alive. I've been fucked, sucked, tossed off and milked dry of spunk every way they know. And they're still ravenous. They've been at me non-stop all afternoon and evening. They've only just let me go. They'd kill a healthy man in a week."
"Why worry," I said. "You fucked 'em. Now you can leave them."
He sat on the bed beside me moodily, pulling on his prick to see if he could get a response. "I'm trapped, Mike," he said in a voice of doom.
"Balls. You're sitting pretty. It's me who's in the shit."
"You don't know the worst," he gloomed. He dropped like a lily over a grave.
"I'll swap with you!"
He looked up quickly "Would you?"
"Like a shot. Four girls I'm supposed to marry this month, and a husband citing me as a Correspondent."
"I'm even worse off," he said. He threw up his hands in despair. "You can't trust women! We were merely having fun, the four of us fucking and sucking gloriously. That's all there was to it. Now they've plunged me into the shit and are holding my head under." I stared.
"Two of them have clicked!" he said bitterly. "They've got it all neatly recorded, and are witnesses for each other. It happened on my last leave."
"Didn't they take the pill?" I asked, aghast.
"They said they had. I fell into the trap. Now | they've got me. They've presented an ultimatum. I'm to marry one, but live with all three! The one I don't marry will apply for a paternity order to keep me legally tied up." His eyes glazed. "Think what it means, Mike! I've got to support three women, and their kids! Moreover, now I'm in the bag, they've shown me their true colours. There's no satisfying them. They're nymphos! Every leave they'll devour me like cannibals. I'll be carried aboard ship on a stretcher. They destroy all the fun in screwing. They'll drain me dry of wages and spunk."
"And you warned me not to get involved!"
"I was only screwing around," he moaned. "How does all this marriage business come into it?"
"It steals up on you," I sighed. I had gloomy knowledge of it all.
"I was merely happily screwing. Now… there's all this marriage trouble! I can't take it, Mike. I'll blow my brains out."
"I'm in the same shit," I said.
"There's one way out," his eyes gleamed.
"There is?" I asked hopefully.
"I'll stay aboard. I'll never set foot ashore! I'll be a shuttlecock, batted from port to port." His eyes glowed happily. "That'll fool them."
"Lucky bastard!" I said enviously.
"I was smart," he said. "I didn't tell them I'm shipping out tomorrow. They're cooking lunch for me. But I'll be down river on the high tide when they wonder why I haven't turned up. They'll never get their claws into me!"
I eyed him with admiration. Then I thought of my own problems. "Dave," I said. "About that gun to blow your brains out?"
He frowned. "I haven't a gun."
"Then what do I do?" I wailed.
He studied me thoughtfully. Then a slow grin spread across his face. Having become involved himself he now understood how easily I'd become involved. "Mike," he said. "Can you carry a tray loaded with glasses?"
"Eh?"
"Ship out with me, Mike!" he said enthusiastically. "We'll both go down river on the high tide. I'll fix it with the Purser. You'll be a steward on my ship!"
My eyes were misty. "Dave. You're a true friend!" I was a coward. I was running away. But I could start a new way of life!
Yet, even while I arranged details with Dave, my traitorous prick tried to obstruct me.
What about Georgette? it kept screaming.
The ship was a luxury cruiser. When it cast off from Greenwich, nosed out of the Thames Estuary and butted into the Channel chop, the sun was shining in a cloudless sky. I was beginning a new life. The sea air was bracing, and the rolling of the ship a sensuous lullaby. The Captain was Dave's friend and I'd been given a cabin of my own, half-a-dozen white jackets with brass buttons and three pairs of black trousers. I had four duty spells of three hours with an hour's break between. But my working hours were staggered so that I found myself working around the clock. The work was easy. I walked the decks taking the passengers' orders, and collected drinks from the bar. I usually earned a tip, which was useful because I wasn't paid wages. I wasn't even on the ship's crew list. The Captain was turning a blind eye to my existence.
Dave wised me up on handling pussy. "Be selective," he urged. "Don't snap at the first piece of tail flourished under your nose. There's so much pussy aboard you can pick and choose. Keep away from the rich old bags. They're the most aggressive. They have their hand in your fly and your prick out before you know it. But you can't believe a word they say. I've been through it all. They suck your cock with diamond necklaces dripping over their bare tits and tangling up in your short-and-curlies. And between sucks they'll tell you that in port they'll set you up in a penthouse, with a chauffeur to drive you around. That's crap. The sea air makes them cock-hungry. They'll promise anything to ensure hot cock throughout the voyage. But once they're ashore it's different. They may invite you around for a quiet session but you'll have to pay your own taxi fare."
My ears pricked. I'd burned my boats behind me. My only money was the tips. I needed capital. "Can't I ask the rich old bags for cash?"
"A waste of time," said Dave. "If you ask bluntly they're offended. Then you have to soothe their tears, and they vaguely promise a present you never get. If you ask for a loan they're eager to help you. But they've only two pence in their purse because the Purser looks after their valuables. And somehow, they never do find time to ask the Purser to open up his safe. The richer they are, the tighter they are. The sea air does it. They're twenty times as generous with their cunt but a hundred times tighter with their dough."
"Who wants an old bag, anyway?" I said glumly.
"But just once in a while you find an old bag with a gold-lined pussy and a little gold rubs off onto your prick every time you screw her. There're no hard and fast rules. You have to play it by ear. If it's only pussy you want, some of the old bags are the best. But if you want to pick up a little scratch too, you've got to use your wits."
"I need some money behind me, Dave."
"Then nympho, married women are best, those wives with an insatiable crotch and a husband who's a slosh. They've worn out their husbands, who in pure self-defense keep themselves pissed so they can't get it up every time their wives want. Those wives are ravenous for cock, and their husbands are so pissed they can easily wheedle money out of them."
"That sounds interesting," I decided.
"But watch it. Don't play the field openly. You know how monogamous women are. They talk and then gang up on you. The word goes around that you're a ponce and for the rest of the voyage not one woman will let you near her."
"You said pussy was easy aboard?"
"Only when you know the ropes. Paying pussy is easy too. But you have to use your head as well as your prick. Single girls are best. They're not getting it regularly and are screaming for hot prick. But they've got more pride than married women and won't make a loan unless you give a really convincing story. And whatever you do, keep away from the Beauty Queens."
"Beauty Queens?"
"The prettiest half-a-dozen, single girls. Men swarm around them, setting up deck-chairs, pulling them up out of the swimming pool, buying them drinks and queuing to dance with them. Those girls are besieged by pricks, I don't know why, but it's always that way. The Beauty Queens are deluged by pricks while the rest of the women prowl the decks like hungry leopards. The only time to tangle with a Beauty Queen is if you're so hot for her, you can't live without it. And then you have to work hard proving you're better than the competition."