Voyage of Self Discovery

Copyright © December 2020 by CiaoSteve

CiaoSteve reserves the right to be identified as the author of this work. This story cannot be published, as a whole or in part, without the express agreement of the author other than the use of brief extracts as part of a story review.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

Author's Notes

Foreword #1: All sexually active characters in this story are over 18.

Foreword #2: This is a story and intended purely for pleasure.

Foreword #3: This is a ninth chapter in the Voyage of Self Discovery series. Although there is a little recap at the start of the story, you may want to read the earlier parts to get up to speed with the journey so far.

Foreword #4: This story was inspired from a suggestion from a fellow reader, Bablee, whose name I have used in the story but for no other purpose than having a name for a character.

Foreword #5: For those who have not been following the series as a whole, you can find the sordid details of the narrated story in Chapters 1 (

https://www.literotica.com/beta/s/voyage-of-self-discovery

- the initial meeting with Paul as Bablee watched his wife getting fucked hard, up against a window) and 5 (

https://www.literotica.com/beta/s/voyage-of-self-discovery-ch-05

- when Bablee takes the position of his wife and Paul does the honours).

Foreword #6: Thank you so much to so100th for taking the time to read my story prior to it being published and giving very valuable feedback.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It was my darling husband who bought me this notebook, leather bound with gold trimmings, as an homage to my fifty years. It was my darling husband who also suggested I put it to good use. He even bought the pen that I have been using to write my memoirs. Sometimes I have to pinch myself to remember that it is a real story and one in which I was the centre of all attention.

So now my love life is better than it's ever been—okay, now that I am a little over fifty it is more about the quality than the quantity, but it is still better than ever. In my time away, I learnt much about myself and even more about my relationship with my darling husband. I just felt compelled to record what have been the best years of my life.

My introduction to this new world, at the ripe young age of forty-something, had been tentative to say the least. It started with a stranger on the top deck of a cruise ship. As I watched his wife getting ravaged by another's cock, he sat unperturbed and pleasured me past the point of no return.

It was just the start and left many a question to be answered. One by one they were, but for each which was answered another took its place. The more I found out, the more I wanted to discover, and so it was that I set embarked on my own pleasure cruise.

"You can go as fast or as slow as you want, everything is in your hands . . . mouth . . . pussy . . . and ass!" were the words of my wonderful teacher.

Given such a fantastic opportunity, I was going to make the most of every moment, and there were many. The only question now was which of the fantastic encounters would make it into my journal.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

With my first cruise over, it was time for all to disembark. It was a bit of a strange experience. There was a certain formality to our parting practices, shirts of all colours lining the upper deck as passengers mingled in readiness to return to dry land. It was my white top that I chose to wear, the one for my original day job looking after children, rather than my newly gotten black version.

Everyone was there, or so it seemed. My colleagues from the creche were equally smart, dressed in freshly ironed white tops. I caught sight of Tanya in her spa uniform and guessed that Anthony would be somewhere close. There was the guy from behind the bar, the one who insisted on calling me Babble, and a few others I knew by name only. One though, a certain blonde who had opened my mind to opportunity, was missing. I glanced up and down the lines for Melodee, but she was nowhere to be seen.

The first passengers were already disembarking when Melodee did finally appear. I glanced across and smiled, admiring the way her black top stretched tightly over her ample bust, my mind thinking back to those first days together. Oh yes, I had so much to thank Melodee for. She had given me the key, so now it was a case of which doors I wanted to open. From her dishevelled look, hair a bit out of place, shirt not as neatly ironed as it could have been with hard nubs straining at the fabric, and a flush in her skin, I guessed she had been opening her own doors to the very last minute. I smiled once more, but already Melodee was occupied with the disembarking passengers.

Where I would get the polite thank you, or a childish hug, I couldn't help but notice the more intimate nature of my teacher's farewells. It was discreet of course, but most definitely there. Don't think I didn't notice the more than friendly kisses, the free hands caressing her short skirt or even the hidden gifts passed from hand to hand. Was I envious? No, not at all. Melodee was fantastic and it was only fair that she got the appreciation she deserved. My mind did wander though, and I found myself imagining the next time we disembarked, hoping it would be me in her position.

Without warning, and taking me quite by surprise, came a peck on my cheek. I spun my head around and stared back at Lucy's husband.

"Thank you," he whispered, the warmth of his breath teasing at my ear as he passed a little something to me. "You made Luce's night."

With that, he was gone, Lucy now at his side. A warmth flooded through my body. Lucy had been different to the others. Don't get me wrong, they had all been good in their own ways. John was the perfect introduction to my new lifestyle, gentle and considerate, while Paul was the total opposite, his commanding passion taking me to another level. Lucy though... well, the sex was fantastic, but the connection made it all worthwhile. I just wished it was the start of their holiday and not the end. Had I really made her night, or had she made mine? She? I guess I meant they. I glanced down at the slip of folded paper and stared at the simple words.

'We'll be back, hope you will be too,' was signed with a red kiss.

My gaze returned towards Lucy and her husband. She glanced back over her shoulder, a smile on her face and a blown kiss as she reached the gangplank. Then I noticed, the exact same shade of scarlet lipstick adorned her puckered lips. I glanced back at the note. In a different hand, there was a postscript.

'If you're ever in Atlanta, give us a call,' followed by a phone number. I could only guess that this was his hand and not hers.

The note with its lipstick signature, and the blown kiss from my last lover, confirmed what I already knew. My mind hadn't changed. There was a bit of admin to do, to formally change roles—it had to be done as I couldn't go on looking after their children during the day and then their fantasies at night—but once that was done, it would be all in my hands.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Did I hear you right, Bablee?"

I was back where it all started, in the offices of Liberation Cruises. To be more precise I was in an office, on the third floor, floor to ceiling windows giving a clear view back to the ship I had spent the last two weeks aboard. As offices go, this one was plush. A large desk filled the window end of the space, an executive style leather chair facing inwards. The other end of the room had a leather sofa and smaller guest chairs arranged around a low glass table. The desk itself was empty, bar for a lightly filled paper folder and a laptop. My name, emblazoned on the front of the folder, was a giveaway as to what was inside and why I was here.

There was a sort of dominance in the way he perched on the edge of his desk, leaning forward slightly, hands clenched, gripping at the table-top, and legs spread apart. Was it the posture, or was it the height difference between the officious young manager and myself? Oh yes, I did notice how low I seemed to slump into the guest chair he had offered me, and how dismissive he was of the request I had just made.

I glanced back at him. James Bentley was the stereotypical office type—I didn't need to ask, as he wore his name badge like a medal of honour—dressed in smart grey trousers and a crisply ironed shirt, buttoned all the way up except for the very top one. The essential jacket, I had noticed earlier, was hung over a coat stand near the entrance. What struck me though was not his appearance, that I had expected, but his youthful age. I thought back to my own children, knowing that the time would be soon for them to fly the nest and start on their own lives. From his youthful look, I wondered if James had just done the same. Was he fresh out of college, embarking on his own journey of discovery? Whatever the answer, here he was, lording over me in the way I would expect of a senior executive, not a green behind the ears wannabe.

"Yes, Mr. Bentley—"

"Please, you can call me James. We're all on first names at Liberation Cruises."

"Yes, James. I want to join your entertainment team, to become—"

"A black shirt," James interrupted. "Yes, you said so, but that's... that's... well... I'm not sure you have the... how can I put it politely... you don't have the experience."

I looked deep into James' eyes. It was like he was struggling to give a suitable answer, when his instinct was to say something very different. I could almost read his mind. He wanted to bring age and motherhood into the equation, to say how this was a job for somebody younger, somebody prettier, somebody less conservative. It was only his professionalism which had him searching for politically correct words instead of coming right out with it. Well, if he wasn't going to be transparent, then I was.

"You mean, I'm a middle-aged mother and not what your clientele wants for entertainment, other than to keep an eye on their kids when they're off having fun. Well, even middle-aged mothers can have fun, you know?"

"Look, Bablee, I meant to say that you joined us as a childcare assistant, and being a... a mother... well, that's where you bring your value add, your years of experience. Every member of Liberation Cruises has a role to play, and all roles are equally important. Childcare is the role for you, Bablee. Let's say it's where you were meant to be. So, if you don't mind."

How dare he? How dare this presumptuous whippersnapper simply dash my dreams without a second thought. It was like I had a label on my forehead, predetermining my outcome in life. I hadn't come this far to have some junior manager decide what I could or couldn't do, at least not without getting a feel for the new Bablee. Yes, I had considered this possibility. It wasn't by accident that I had chosen a knee length loose fitting skirt and stretchy top, nor was it an oversight that I had forgotten to wear anything underneath. If I needed to go that far, I was prepared to do so. At the back of my mind though, I suspected there may be another way to convince the young Mr Bentley.

"But James..." I continued, pulling myself to the front of my low seated chair and craning my head upwards to keep eye contact. "... could you reconsider, maybe give me a chance?"

"Bablee, I just... just don't think it is for you. Think of your reputation. Most of these girls come from... well, let's say they have a more insalubrious background than yours."

"I know," I replied, leaning back a little more and easing my legs apart slightly. It was not enough to flash my bare snatch, but certainly had James glancing at my legs as the loose skirt rode up a little.

"What do you mean, you know?"

"Oh, no, not that," I laughed as I realised what he was thinking. "You are right that I come from a... what would you call it?... respectable background. There is what is expected of me, and there is what I want for myself. They don't have to be the same, do they James? Is this what you wanted, to sit here with a paper folder, dashing people's hopes?"

"Hmmm..." Once more he was lost for words, hesitating as he searched for the acceptable answer. "It's not like that. I don't want to dash your hopes, Bablee, but I also have a duty of care and don't want you making a big mistake. It would be a mistake Bablee, you have to understand that you're not like the others."

"But isn't that the thing, James? Life would be so boring if we were all the same, wouldn't it?"

"Normally I would agree, but not this time. You're just too—"

"—old," I interrupted. James didn't answer, but that simply confirmed what he was thinking. "I am older, but they say of wine that a good vintage gets better with age. I like to think it isn't only wine that improves over time. Isn't there anything I can do to make you reconsider?"

I saw him glance down at my skirt once more, as if expecting me to spread them further for him. Oh, yes, our officious Mr Bentley was a little interested, even if he didn't let on. I could have given him his idle pleasure, have sunk down to the levels he was expecting me to, or I could have a bit of fun first.

"I don't know. It is you I'm thinking of, Bablee."

"Do you think of me, or of who you think I am? I have an idea. How about I tell you my story, in my words. No harm in listening, is there Mr Bentley?"

He glanced at the clock on the wall, then back at me.

"Thirty minutes," was his answer. "I need to be somewhere else by quarter past."

"Thirty minutes is fine but do come and sit down here with me. It's straining my neck to keep looking up at you."

I pointed at the sofa, and slowly James took a seat. Instantly he had lost the dominance of height but, leaning forward in the middle of the sofa with his legs splayed, James still commanded an air of confidence. Oh, how I was going to enjoy knocking that down a peg or two.

"So, where should I start? The Bablee of old, the Bablee of new, or my little condition?"

"Condition?"

"Yes, it wouldn't be fair, would it, for there not to be some reward. I'm going to tell you how I found my inner self, tell you things which are very personal, which even I wouldn't have believed a few weeks back. You just get to sit back and listen, so isn't it fair I get something also? Don't worry, it is a very simple condition. The condition is... well... if you enjoy my story, then you will give me a chance to prove myself. Is that fair, James?"

There was a pause before he responded. I could almost imagine him holding back a chuckle, trying to be the total professional.

"I'll agree to your condition, but don't get your hopes up as I'm not one for stories, however fanciful you think they are. Oh, and you've already used three minutes, so I suggest you get a move on."

"Look out the window, James. What do you see?"

"A ship. Our ship. Your ship."

"That's what I thought. I was right, but also was wrong. It is much more than just a ship, it's a voyage... a voyage of discovery for all onboard. Have you been on your voyage, James?"

"You mean, have I been on one of those cruises? No, no... I'm... well, it's... not for us."

"That's the problem, James. All too often we say it's not for us, without ever having tried. I know, as I was the same. The first time, it was just a ship... a ship and a job. Don't get me wrong. I loved my job. It's what I signed up to do, and it's what I intended to put my heart and soul into."

"And Bablee, that's why I keep saying it is the job for you. You've got to—"

"It was the job for me. I was certain, it was. Each day I'd work long and hard, looking after the children, and each evening... well, have you ever sat out under the glass roof on the top deck, simply staring at a star filled sky?"

"Seven minutes, Bablee. You're really not convincing me."

"Shhh, James. I mean it. The way they twinkle, so far away yet so close. It was so relaxing after a hard day's work. Close your eyes, James."

"What?"

"Go on, do it for me. Close your eyes and imagine you are there, staring up at the star-filled sky. I would sit on a sofa just like this one, staring into the darkness of the night sky, watching the stars twinkle and wondering."

"Why would I?"

"I want you to feel it, the way I felt it, and you're not going to do that staring out at an office. You'll end up distracted by that clock instead of paying attention, and we all know that a good manager is one who pays attention. Close your eyes and listen. Imagine you're there with me, feel the story the way I did. That's all I ask of you, James."

"If you think I'll forget about the thirty minutes, with my eyes closed—"

"I don't, James. I'm sure you will remember the thirty minutes, but I want you to remember more than that. Promise me, James. Promise me you won't open them until I finish. Will you, James? Will you give me the chance to tell my story?"

I sat and watched, almost hearing the second hand on the clock tick time as he considered his response. I knew I had taken him out of his comfort zone by simply giving away control of the next twenty minutes or so, but I intended to take him so much further.

"Nine minutes," James responded, glancing up at the clock once more, and then slowly leaning back into the sofa and closing his eyes.

"Can you see them, James? Can you see the stars, so far in the distance, yet so close? Isn't it relaxing James?"

For a moment there was no response. I imagined my words falling on deaf ears, my efforts all to no avail. It was too early to give up though.

"Go on James, use your imagination and feel the story. It's just you, sitting on the top deck, staring out into the distance. So peaceful, so relaxing, so—"

James didn't say anything, but simply nodded his head. Inside I smiled, a realisation that this might not be a waste of time flooding through my mind. Slowly, taking every care not to make a sound, I moved from my chair and perched on the sofa at the side of him.

"Did you feel it, James? Did you feel the way the ship rolls ever so slightly? The ship rolls, but the stars stay static. Are you there with me, James?"

"Yes, I feel it Bablee."

"I felt it too. This was my escape. To sit under the stars, just me and my memories."

"Tell me, James. Who are you thinking of?"

There was no pause this time.

"Becky," came his response.

"Is Becky you're girlfriend?"

"Yes, yes. I wish I was with her."

"That's it, James. I would sit and dream of my Javed. I just loved the time alone, the time to reflect. I so wanted to be with Javed, but that was before another door opened right in front of me."

"Another door?"

"Yes, an open door started me on my journey. I never meant to, but I just found myself staring inside. She was beautiful. Is your Becky beautiful?"

"She is my everything."

"You have to believe me. I never meant to do it. It just sort of... well... it was presented on a plate... and... damn, why am I telling you this."

"What was on a plate for you?"

"Temptation. That's what it was. She stood there, dressed in nothing but an oversize shirt, and all I could do was stare. The more I stared, the more I felt it. Oh, yes, I can still close my eyes and see the excitement in hers as she moved back towards the window. I found myself an avid audience for this luscious beauty, her long blonde locks running over her shoulders as she waited in anticipation. That was only the start though. What happened next started me... well... you could say that she is the reason I am here."