The Sex and Cruisin’

The first time I went on a cruise ship, I was a college kid and we each paid approximately two-hundred dollars for our room. It was way too much. If you’ve seen Titanic, and of course you have, because even I’ve seen it, and I’ve seen like three movies, you saw the part of the ship where the rich people stayed. It was all fancy and nice and the rooms were made of teak and brass and solid gold and they were lovely and refined looking. THEN, the lady who got naked for Leonardo DiCaprio went down below to the servants quarters and they were all in this big, gigantic gross room, do you remember that part?

That was pretty much where we stayed. Minus the chickens, of course, because this was the twenty-first century. But the room was all but a closet, and if someone went to the bathroom, we had to all suck in our stomachs and pray that they wouldn’t be in there long so that we didn’t die of hypoxia. The room was also right next to the part of the ship that let the water inside so that we stayed stable, so all day and all night, we could hear water being let in and out, rocking against the sides of our room. It didn’t help that we hit some terrible weather, so that the water was constantly slapping against the walls of the room.

Taking  It In The Butt

We all got seasick. The entire floor got seasick, so much so that the crew passed out barf bags all along the hallway so that it looked like we were all participating in the Great Pie Eating Contest in Stand By Me. Barf-o-Rama. I actually got such a terrible migraine that I had to go down to the ship’s doctor and get a humiliating shot in the butt (humiliating because I had to spend my last dollars to bend over and take it), but once on board I felt much better. And once I was snugly tucked into my wee ship bed, I realized something. The rocking was kind of…hot.

Like, I could see taking a cruise with someone I was going to have The Sex with. Because that rocking could get a girl in the mood for some love.

The Boat Is a Rockin’

Of course, the next time I took a cruise, I went with my girlfriends without my husband, but I still hadn’t forgotten my earlier feelings that a cruise ship would be the perfect romantic get-away. I get why people think it’s a mindless boring vacation because it’s a boat in the middle of nowhere and it’s not exactly rife with culture or excitement. And it is sort of a traveling Days Inn of traveling companions, but to me, it’s awesome. Because you don’t have to think of a damn thing. You can eat, lay out to sunbathe, drink, go to lame shows, and nap. Rinse, repeat. It’s all taken care of. Plus, that rocking, baby.

Is That On The Lido or Libido Deck?

Now, I’m a little older, and I took a hard look at the first crew member we met on our cruise ship. He was a personal trainer from South Africa trying to get us to enter into some contest or another, and I would have followed him anywhere just to hear him talk. He was hot, yes, but his voice, I mean, holy shit. Call me slow to catch on, but I realized as the table of girls I was with lusted after him on the Lido deck, those cruise ship people must get so much action.

The Perfect Job!

It’s pretty much the perfect job if you want to have non-committal, several-day flings (I, of course, wondered how quickly I could change my name, drop some pounds, and get a job on a cruise line) with random strangers. It’s a nine-month contract, you live, breathe, and work on the cruise ship, no days off, and can have wild sex with plenty of hot strangers for that whole time on a rocking boat. I mean, sure, I suppose that there are drawbacks: sexually transmitted diseases, meaningless, superficial relationships, but so far, I wasn’t seeing much that I wasn’t totally willing to deal with. For nine months. On a freaking BOAT.

Sexual Conquests

I mean, sure, a good ninety-five percent of the people that I saw looked like they probably appeared regularly on the People of Walmart website, but the other five percent (which included me and my friends, naturally) weren’t too bad. Some of us were even dead sexy, I’d venture to say, and really with the drinks flowing and the boat rocking, I’m not sure I’d care that much if I were on board. Sure, I’d have to share my room with another fellow worker, and work upwards of fourteen hours a day, seven days a week, but Toy With Me-ers, imagine all the tail I’d get! The notches in my bunk would take up several walls. My sexual conquests would be the stuff of legends and pornos alike. Hot men, not-so-hot men, weird foreign men with dangly ball-sacks, chicks, chicks with dicks, I’d do them all.

Going  Overboard

I hadn’t exactly worked out what it was that I would DO on a cruise ship besides have sex, and I didn’t think that “have sex” would look good on any resume I’d send in for any reputable cruise line (and, let’s face it, I would have to work for somewhere reputable because that’s the kind of fussy bitch that I am), but I figured that a woman of my talents could do any number of things, up to and including: lounging about the pool lazily, letting other people do work for me, and napping. Pretty much, this gig was a no-brainer for me once I thought of a name for myself. I thought “Chesty McHoot” was a great pseudonym, but maybe a tad bit overboard on the boob stuff.

Goodbye Fantasy

Then, a couple of days into our cruise, I ended up talking with a cocktail waitress from some exotic country. She told us all about working on the cruise ship and how hard she worked and it was only then when I watched her scurry about, getting drinks for overweight tourists, when my fantasy began to deteriorate before my very eyes. The waitress didn’t even pause as she slung drinks while I could barely contain my rage when someone asked me to move my bag because my bag had every right to be there, dammit. I realized that I no longer had any place in the service industry, no matter how much of The Sex I’d be having because I’m too soft and spoiled now.

Aunt Becky’s Lovers Cruise

So my fantasies would have to be just that: fantasies. Peckers of the Caribbean would have to live on only in my sweet, sweet dreams, where Chesty McHoot would carefully hump everything she saw. Aunt Becky would simply have to go onto a cruise ship with her lovers sometime in March, 2011 and allow sexy men with foreign accents (and presumably dangly ball-bags) to bring her drinks.

Not a bad deal, really.

2010-05-25 11:01
14 Comments   |   Silly, Stories