North Sea Crossing

Simon was alone, in his bunk bed, wearing only his underpants. It was 7.45am and the sea swelling outside the porthole was oily-grey.

A banging at the door had awaked him - or was that the banging at the door last night? He remembered the previous evening's events with astonishing clarity, a mixture of shame sauced with sharp, deep pangs of excited pleasure. Was he really undressed by four beautiful young women, and did they really watch with such reverential silence as his member transformed itself before their eyes, from a little worm to a tall, elegant stem of flesh?

Yes, that really happened. He tried to relive the incredible feeling he'd experienced, that delicious tingling right at the core of his being that he had felt when he looked, one by one, deep into those four pairs of eyes, as those eyes stared greedily, transfixed by the vision of this ascendant member.

And how their eyes looked up and into his eyes, and then back down, and then back up, and how their lips quivered, how one by one they were licking their dry lips with just the tips of their tongues, still staring, shuffling closer on their knees towards this shaft, now swaying gently as if in a light breeze, now stiffening up again proudly, the tip now glistening. And then, and then...

And then the chubby oaf with half a moustache bashed at the door. Only Irma seemed to know what to do. She threw a shirt over Simon's now fast-collapsing erection, and bundled him into the bathroom. Meanwhile, Leila shouted at the door, "Just fuck off, idiot, I am going to bed right? I am being a good girl."

Not satisfied, the chubby young man with the half-moustache stuck his grinning face round the door and yelled some more insults at her. Then he said, "I know that screwy guy has been with you. If I see him around he'll regret ever talking to you. This is the last warning, and your bro not going to be at all happy when I tell him what you just said".

Which took SImon right back to the present. There had been a second banging, this time at his door. He notice a slip of paper on the coarse green carpet and instantly realised that it was going to be some sort of threat. It was even clumsier than he expected - scrawled on the back of some instructions for a replica pistol (a 9mm Luger) in red marker pen, it said, "TOUCH HER AGAIN = YOUR DEAD." Subtle, or what?

Next he remembered why he was here and that he had a job to do. It was his duty to try out every facility on this boat, and he had already decided to make full use of the saunas and steam rooms boasted about on the tour company's website.

It was still early, enough, he hoped, to get the best of the steam rooms to himself.

He pulled on a pair of swimming shorts, jeans and a t-shirt, grabbed a towel and made his way quietly down into the bowels of the ship where all the sauna facilities were located. As he passed the four girls' cabin, he put his ear to the door: not a sound.

Now, he imagined, they were sleeping it off, and would wake up with some big regrets about the previous evening. That's what he thought but the was completely wrong.

On the other side of the door, the four young women were very much awake. They were listening for his every move. None had slept well - least of all Leila, who, curled up in her chaste pale blue pyjamas, could think of nothing but this curious young man. Her ideas about men had been formed too young and too brutally, and this curious, delicate, alabaster figure with his girlish curves and his elegant limbs, and then his strange...but no, she could not think about that, she had to shut that out of her mind. Somewhere in her head lived an angry old man with a red right hand, and this old man prevented her thinking some things...or so had been the case until this long, torrid night.

Thalia, Francesca and Irma, and the other hand , had enjoyed whispering little reminders to each other. "It looked so much like a dagger, so sharp!" "Lucky you didn't let it get anywhere near you then, it might have hurt!"

"No, it would've been amazing, I am going to have him I tell you, I must."

"We've still got one night, and I want him too. I want to play with him a lot more, I want...I don't know what I want, I just want him here, now."

"We'll get him back. He liked us a lot. It will be. "

"Will be? You planning to get him for yourself tonight?" snapped Leila.

"Oh, er, no, just dreaming," laughed Thalia, "I think we just have to regard what happened as a bit of fun that we'll all remember. He was a bit weird, and he was much older than us and probably has some sad little wife back home, or maybe a big strapping boyfriend, just can't tell with his type."

Leila just sighed, and thought to herself, "Well no, he hasn't, and maybe - just maybe - I will find out more about this man child before very long."

*****

Simon was rather annoyed to see couple after couple of large middle-aged passengers in their white towelling robes and their white fluffy slippers padding around, most obviously heading to or returning from the saunas. This was clearly a popular early morning ritual. He headed for the last sauna at the bow-end of the ship, the smallest one which was also - he had been careful to note - the only designated mixed sex sauna on board.

His instincts proved right. The place seemed deserted as he entered the men's changing room. He removed his sandals, jeans, and t-shirt, grabbed the towel and headed for the steam room.

That wall of heavy, wet heat almost felled him immediately. He groped his way around the curved , tiled benches, chose a spot, rolled out the towel and lay frown on his tummy. He realised the bench's shape must reflect the prow of the ship, and liked to think of the ice-cold north sea just feet away from his now red and profusely sweating cheeks.

Then came voices, male, speaking what he imagined must be Danish. Two muscular men walked in, white towels around their waists. As one, they stopped, removed the towels, spread the towels onto the bench two tiers below Simon's, and stretched out on their backs, head to head. They were both stark naked and clearly very happy to display their two splendid packages.

Simon glanced at them swiftly then turned his head so they should not think he was watching them. But their conversation was getting louder and suddenly he felt a tap on his should blade. "Pardon, you must know wearing of shorts is forbidden in here?" one of the men said in an absurdly stern voice.

"Oh, god, no I hadn't realised," Simon blurted. "I thought it was optional. I'll go and change."

It was horrible going back to the changing room in what seemed like ice-cold air, and when he got there two more men were stripping off. They might have been Danish, about his age but much better built, and, he could not help noticing, much better hung - a least in the flaccid state.

Nevertheless he removed his swimming shorts. They were now looking at his pale, hairless body with what seemed to be a very tiny set of genitals, with great amusement and contempt. "Ya, you, miss, this is the men's changing room," one said, "You are in wrong place."

The other man was doubling up. "Shall we take her to where she needs to be?"

"Don't worry, we will not hurt you," one said. "Unless you struggle."

It flashed through SImon's mind that these might well be the same two men who'd been outside the room last night - chubby face's mates, in other words, here to teach him a lesson.

Poor Simon, he never had been much of a fighter. One twisted his arm behind his back, the other wrapped a towel around his middle, grabbed his other arm, and marched him out of the changing , down the corridor, stopping in from of the door of the female changing room.

WIth raised fist, one of the men banged heavily on this door, then without waiting for a reply, kicked it open. The scene was a scene out of some exotic harem-based erotic novel of the 19th century. At least a dozen young women were either standing naked or peeling off their underwear, but were sort of frozen in mid-peel.

"This one belongs to you," said the tougher of the two men, in remarkably good English. "Do what you like with her but don't let her out."

Mouths wide open, they stared disbelievingly as one of the heavies gave Simon a heavy push between the should blades, propelling him into the room. At the same time the second one snatched the towel from around his waist, and gave him a swift kick in the buttocks for good measure.

Then they slammed the door shut.

It seemed some of the young women in that changing room were expecting the new arrival, because in all the commotion and shrieking - mostly shrieks of laughter, it should be said - three of the half-dressed ones grabbed the sprawling figure and dragged him over the slippery tiles toward site showers at the back.

Just as he was getting to his feet, hands over his crotch, the stark naked Simon was floored again by a high pressure torrent of ice-cold water from the four shower heads. The girls - for some reason he though of them as viking girls - came under the showers, lifted him, and manoeuvred him towards a corner, where they been taunting him: "Oh, poor little boy, did the big men not want you? Was it your poor little pee-pee? Did they think you were a little lady-boy spying on them?"

At this one of them sort of flicked his penis with her fingers. It was so small and cold, nothing more really than a flap of skin on the neat tightly-packed little bag beneath.

"Oh, how cute! How teeny-weeny! Like a baby, like my little baby brother! Look, everyone, he was a teeny-weenie weeny!"

"What can we do with this? Nothing! Nothing!" one said, tugging at him with mock disgust.

Two girls took an arm each and eased him to his feet. The third went behind him, put her hand between his thighs and grabbed his genitals, tugging them back hard under his buttocks, so that it seemed, from a front view , there was nothing there at all.

"Take her back and show her to the others."

"Yeah! OK!"

As luck would have it another large group of women had come in for their saunas. It seemed the boat's entire complement of female students - except for his four friends - were early risers and liked to get their pores open to a routine.

Now Simon was shivering and angry but there was nothing he could do, these three girls were good and strong. For a a few deeply shaming minutes his apparently genderless naked body was displayed to a room full of 20 or more young women, most fully or partly-dressed. No-one seemed to be too worried, and certainly no-one tried to help him.

Some began whistling and shouting insults and giggling. Some were reaching into their lockers for their camera phones. The noise was overwhelming, but when his main tormentor let go of his genitals, they sprung back into place, and the aroused member began its upward progress all over again. As it did so, his captors looked down over his shoulders with a new and different intent. The mockery had gone: their eyes gleamed.

With a sharp intake of breath, a surprised "Oh!", one shoved a hand down between her own legs.

"Our girly boy is not such a girly boy it seems," said the one who had been holding him. "Maybe it was the magic effect of your hand," said another.

Then they shut up. The whole room fell silent, and then there was a rustling of hands in bags and curses and then the locust-like sound of a dozen phones taking photos. A truly 21st century scene, Simon thought, in his pompous and detached way.

After that wonderful display, the viking girls flopped down on the bench, they let him go, and at least one was composing a very sarcastic text message to her boyfriend.

"Come and sit on our laps," one said. So he did.

"Lie across us!" said another, and soon, with his head resting on the naked thighs of one girl, his bottom nestled into the lap of another, his feet in the warm crotch of a third, he was being well looked after.

Heads moved down, lips opened and closed, he felt the tip of his member gently brushing against teeth and tongues.

There were strange noises, soft cooing sounds, coming from one of these hard-fleshed viking girls, and they were beginning to turn him on. Especially when, looking up, he saw first the hard nipples of the girl he was lying on, quivering slightly on their firm, upward pointing breasts, and then turning saw the wide-open-eyes and mouths of the by now sizeable female audience.

Some of the girls wanted him to stay, some wanted his phone number, but he did not linger, and wrapping his towel around him, he went straight into the hot steam room to sweat it all out.

*****

The day went quickly, and the lights of the English coastline were already visible when he fell back into his cabin after a good dinner, alone, and more delightful flirting with the Latvian waitress (who now looked at him with a rather different eye, he thought, as though she'd been told).

He intended to start writing his article, but the memories of the previous evening came back to him with force. He was puzzled, he had not seen any of his four neighbours all day. Maybe they had stayed in one of the girls-only saunas, or maybe they had made a good job of avoiding him, out of embarrassment.

The ship, he knew, entered the estuary in the early hours and moored until daylight, when they would all disembark and go their separate ways. There were only six or seven hours left to do the thing he wished he had the nerve to do, to tap gently on their door.

In fact he did not need to. There was a tap at his door, and when he opened it there was no-one there, but an envelope on the floor. It contained a small, rather bad photo of his four friends, all staring at something, and on the back it said: "To be continued xxxx???"

A rush of joy, better than any drug, overtook him, and within minutes he was back on the bunk where he had already felt truly the luckiest man on the planet. Little did he know that he was about to get much luckier.

There was no time to waste. This time the girls had wine and snacks and music, as though they were going to have a house party. Simon did not realise that the music was on solely to drown out other sounds, sounds of extreme pleasure.

Those same hands started slowly, tentatively, to undress him, some starting at the top, others at the middle.

They left his white pants on, hoping for a repeat performance of last night's miracle.

"Where's my boy?" Leila asked, poking gently at the front of his knickers. "Is he home?"

This time Simon knew what to expect, and seemed better able to control himself - he could allow this phenomenon to occur in much slower motion, which made it even more strange and exciting.

When the knicker-elastic crisis point was reached, he let go, and the same pale penis shot upwards, just as it had before.

Having been so patient, so transfixed, all four girls now lost their cool. Three lifted him off the bed, removed his useless knickers, while Leila began kissing his body, first around the nipples, then on the nipples, and then down the ribcage, rib by rib. Simon stood there, in a daze. Leila rested her soft cheek against his white stomach, and stroked the gentle swell of his paunch.

"You drink too much, you will get beer bellies," she said.

"A beer belly," he corrected her. "But you are right, it isn't pretty."

"But it is all lovely," she said again, and oblivious of the six other eyes staring at her in amazement, she continued the downward blizzard of kisses, lingering over the navel for a while, and then nuzzling around the little ring of stubble at the base of his now much revived member.

In fact it looked like it might be going for another attempt at the record-book, but Leila did not touch it, either with lips or fingers.

She looked at it, as though it were a painting, and then said to the others, "Look, how it grows again!"

It was too much for Thalia, who was squeezing her knees together and looking up at the ceiling and laughing, and saying over and again, "Let's to bed, let's bed".

She pulled down her jeans, and Francesca said, "Yeah, let's to bed - but let's all get naked first!"

"I told you this would happen", laughter Irma, and three girls started undressing each other with much hilarity, until they were wearing just their t-shirts and panties. They started kissing each other's bodies, as if mocking what Leila had just been doing to SImon.

And then Thalia made a lunge for Francesca's panties, and for a while there was a three-way wrestling match on the opposite bunk. All the while, Leila was still at work, now kissing SImon's upper thighs. Although she was yet to touch his penis, she did kiss his tight little scrotum, lightly, once on each side.

This really did the trick: a new record was achieved. Looking down. SImon once more could not believe how this girl, these girls, had aroused him so much more than he had ever known before.

Now, again, his member was the focus of all four: and this time, knowing that time itself was short, they wasted not a second. Four hands went out, many more fingers wrapped around the shaft, moistened finger-pads touched the shiny glans, rubbed it a little, it was all short breaths, short exclamations, an "oh" and an "ooooh" and some "Oh-oh-ohs!"

And yet, with these little touches, gradually, they steered this flaming tip, now seemingly hard as recently-solidifed volcanic rock, they steered it towards their four now half open mouths, the small tips of their tongues now fleetingly visible.

Like the heads and beaks of birds feeding at table, they went down, those four heads, went down one after another, almost pecking at it, and then their moist lips surrounding the head, the top of the shaft, letting it pop out again, and then more of the shaft, up, out, on to the next one.

The head became even shinier, the glans with its own thick lip of skin, shining above the tight collar and tie of foreskin. But now they were passing it around, just like a spliff. It all became too much for Simon, and too much for all five of them. He was eased back onto the bunk. Various thighs were lifted over his torso, various abdomens passed in front of his gradually blurred vision, he felt softnesses landing on his forehead, dampness as well as softness on his chin, he noticed new scents, new smells, felt new moistness on his hair, again on his chin, on the bridge of his nose, as one by one the birds flew overhead, occasionally lowering themselves to his lips, his tongue.

And then it all went dark; he sensed two or three different bodies, all pressing down onto his head, his face, his chest, his loins.

He heard one of the reaching for something, and then he felt fingers rolling a condom over his penis, and rolling it all the way down, and then words: "He's too long, it doesn't reach!"

"It will be ok, I will be ok," came the unmistakable voice of Leila.

The movement of bodies on this bunk, the movement of the SS Toksvig on the heaving North Sea...then light returned, reflecting off the nut-brown buttocks of...who? It was her, this shy girl, working rhythmically high above his crotch, just catching the tip of his penis, easing it in, lifting off again, and then allowing the next pair of buttocks to arrive and go rather further in this strange exercise. He enjoyed hearing those gentle sounds of hard flesh entering soft flesh, entering soft, wet, confined spaces.

They were all so gentle, these girls, so considerate, so beautiful, he was so grateful, so incredibly, utterly and eternally grateful.

*****

The SS Toksvig's horn sounded the reveille. Simon stirred in his bunk, then again jolted awake. It was nearly 9am, it was half an hour before final disembarkation.

He had to pack - but before that, he thought, he should shower. There was a strange, unfamiliar smell under his bedcovers. Not being a fool, he quickly realised what it was and immediately developed a new erection. Those smells, that curious mixture of earth and animal aroma, honey and fox, almond and ammonia, were the only physical evidence of what had happened on the lower bunks of the next cabin.