"Hello," the voice was deep and husky, sort of how I remember Lauren Bacall in her 40s movies. It was the woman I'd met at the World Wine Tour in the Magic Carpet when it was on Deck 14. We'd sipped together, talked a bit about the cruise, laughed at each other's humorous travel anecdotes, exchanged a few double entendres and made what I had hoped was some meaningful eye contact before we drifted apart. drifted apart.
I had figured her to be in her early- to mid-50s, a good decade or more below my 65. Since 50 was the new 40, and I'd had a thing for 42-year-old women ever since I knew what sex was for, that made her almost the ideal age for me. She was not by any means beautiful, she was what you would call a handsome woman; good looking, tall, fit. Unlike many handsome women I'd met, this one broadcast an indefinable but unmistakable, powerful sexuality that somehow had nothing to do with looks. And she was wearing a sun dress. Nothing drives me to thoughts of sex like a sun dress; that short skirt so ready to be flipped up, revealing unencumbered thighs waiting to be parted, a body waiting to be laid down without the need for further undressing, or bent over and taken from behind.
"Hello yourself," I said from my lounge chair. "Would you care to join me?" It seemed like a stupid question. I'd intentionally wandered slowly from the wine tasting up a deck to the semi-privacy provided in the Rooftop Garden. With over 4000 people spread over 15 decks, the odds of her her showing up now at the same place by accident were incredible.
"Yes, I think I would," she said as she settled onto the deck chair next to mine. "You seemed interesting in there. Not to put too fine a point on it, you also seemed to be alone."
"Ah, thank you for that 'interesting.' Well, actually, I'm semi-alone. My wife -- her name is Sandra; definitely not Sandy, should you two meet -- doesn't drink. She's also a little short on stamina and touring Ajaccio wore her out, so she skipped the tasting in favor of turning in early." I chuckled, "This seems a bit bass-ackward. I've told you my wife's name, but haven't told you mine. I'm Steve."
"Hello Steve. I'm Gloria."
"I'm pleased to meet you. And is there a Mr. Gloria?"
"Oh, yes. He's Ronnie. He has nothing against drinking, but he likes to play blackjack even more. He's been holed up in the ship's casino all evening. He's there a lot, actually, but he can afford to lose, and sometimes he even wins. I know how to get him out of there when I need him, so life is good."
We were on the second night of an 8-night cruise out of Civitavecchia to Corsica, then up along the Italian, French and Spanish coasts to Barcelona and then back to Rome via Majorca. One of tonight's programs had been a tasting of several wines from each of many countries, no doubt intended to get some of the guests to buy overpriced bottles. The ship had provided buckets for spitting, but I had never gotten the finer points of wine tasting. I just drank and swallowed as much wine as they would give me, and after at least a couple dozen little glasses I was feeling pretty good. And horny. In my well-oiled state I made a point of keeping my eyes forward; otherwise I would have been undressing Gloria with them, and I didn't want to take the chance of scaring her off.
"So, what do you do, Steve?"
"I travel," I said, "I'm retired. I used to practice law, but now Sandra and I travel. And you, what do you do Gloria?"
"When we got married, I was a registered nurse. But about 10 years ago Ronnie made a lot of money as a venture capitalist, and ever since then I've split my time between entertaining his clients and getting away from them on cruises like this one."
She thought a moment then asked, "You're not one of those people who live their lives on cruise ships all the time are you?"
"No, we spend about half our time at our condo in New Orleans. I play a lot golf when we're at home," I added.
It was my turn to pause and think. I liked this woman. No, that's not right. I didn't know her well enough to like or dislike. But I liked the way she looked, and I liked the way she carried herself and I definitely lusted after her. I took another sip of my wine. It wasn't as good as most of the dozen or so we had been served in the ship's tasting event, but it was keeping the buzz going. I decided to throw caution to the winds and either move things in a sexual direction or out the door.
Looking her straight in the eyes I said, "And I write a little porn, just for fun."
Gloria did not get up and run away screaming. Instead she held my gaze and said, deadpan, "Are you any good at it?"
"Who am I to say. If you want, you can read my stuff on a site called literotica.com. If you go there and do an author search for oldhornywriter, you'll find my stories.. You're still here. May I take it that my writing porn doesn't put you off?"
"Why should it? I'm a woman of the world, Steve. Yours won't be the first porn I've read. The only things that would put me off are if the writing is bad, or if you came across as a male chauvinist pig who thinks that just because a woman likes sex, she's a slut. There are enough of those in the real world that I don't need to spend time with them while I'm reading."
"Then you'll read some of my stories?"
"Sure, I'll do that tonight?"
"And will you give me a critique"
"If you want. How about tomorrow after lunch in Portofino?"
"Sorry, that won't work for me. Sandra has the day planned out for us. How about tomorrow evening after dinner?"
"I can do that. Same time, same place then." With that, Gloria got up with no more than a backward glance and a little wave, leaving me to my increasingly erotic thoughts.
A full day in Portofino, with a side trip to Rapallo had Sandra worn out and in bed right after supper, and me at my appointed deck chair by 9pm. Shortly after, Gloria arrived, with a bottle of wine and two glasses.
Once she had filled them and handed me one I asked, "Well?"
"Well, you're not great, but you're not awful either. The writing is okay, the sex is good, and you show enough respect and care for the satisfaction of your female characters that nobody would ever call you a male chauvinist pig. Yeah, your guys tend to see women mainly as sex objects, but in my experience that's just guys being guys. And clearly you feel that just because a woman enjoys sex, of whatever flavor, that doesn't make her a slut. So, at least for my tastes, you'll do."
"Um, thanks. Is it too personal a question to ask if you found any of it arousing."