by HJ Bellus
Not Iris’s style. She has to have the best of the best, so the twelve shower heads jetting water out in every direction with intricate settings on temperature is no surprise. My frustration level simply cannot get any higher after internally beating myself up today, Raylan, and now needing a dummy guide to start a shower.
My phone rings with Iris’s ringtone right when I have it all figured out. She can wait. I need to wash away the memories tonight before they eat me alive. The water is perfect and different streams are refreshing as hell. I'm already turning into a lovesick pussy and now a diva. Great!
I squeeze a palm full of the body wash into my cupped hand. A delicious, sweet scent of tropical fruit fills the shower. It's not the cherry vanilla, but it still brings me right back to Raylan and her emerald eyes staring up at me. Her cheeks painted with a hue of pink embarrassment. Her laughter then her frantic state when she realized her tit was on display.
There’s no way she was wearing a bra under that flimsy sundress. That one thought sends all the blood straight to my dick. He stands at attention like a good boy.
“Fuck,” I growl, fighting to ignore my throbbing cock.
I know I should be saving up for the next two weeks. But her plump and natural tit with a perked up nipple ready for the taking does something to me. I lick my lips and end up biting down on the bottom one. I’m a simple man. I love sex, a good steak, and my goldfish, Brutus. But this girl is complicating everything in my fucked-up head.
I squeeze my dick. The soap slipping between my fingers causes me to throw back my head and groan. The spray of the shower is relaxing the rest of my body. I find a steady stroke from base to tip, twisting my hand over the head. The assault of the body wash scent is creating the perfect vision of Raylan laid out naked before me with her flushed cheeks and hair splayed in a halo around her.
My cock pulses once hungry for a release. I drop my chin to my chest, eyes closed, dreaming about sinking into Raylan. A tingle at the base of my spine begins creeping up. I’m close, so damn close. My is jaw clenched, my fist is moving faster up and down my throbbing dick. I growl when the release hits me. My head is spinning, my heart is pounding, and my whole body relaxes.
It didn’t work. Visions of Raylan are still intriguing me. The girl has plagued me. Iris won’t be here for another day. She’ll never know. Hell, I’ll never know if I don’t find her to see what curse she cast on me. That’s the only explanation there is; she’s a witch with evil powers. There’s no way else to explain Titty Palooza version 2.0 that changed my life.
Three
Memphis
The security guard sends me a sideways glare as I enter the elevator. I'm certain the entire staff here at the resort have reported me to the local police. I tore this hotel apart searching for Raylan. I didn’t leave one corner unturned. Not one single sighting. Hell, and not even a Raylan checked into the resort. After stalking, I slipped a young woman a hundred dollar bill along with my signature smirk. I had her in the palm of my hand. She searched all the reservations and spa appointments to come up empty handed.
I consumed all three meals at the same restaurant and nothing. Chalking it up to the universe punishing me for all my sins, I hit the gym early this morning before boarding the ship. I send the security guard a head nod as the doors creep shut. Sweat pours off every part of my body. I use my workout tank to wipe the moisture from my face. The gym back in high school was my form of therapy. It’s my safe place where I can work out all my frustrations and let go. The place I always push my body to its limits.
I push open the door to my hotel room. My bag is already packed and ready to go. I down a protein shake then hop in the shower, which is now my bitch. I can play her like a well-tuned instrument. There’s something to say about the perfect pressure and temperature. Like the other three times, I indulge in the memory of Raylan.
I take one final glance around the resort before leaving, coming up empty-handed in the end. The check-in process to board the cruise-liner goes as planned. It’s no coincidence that I’m in line early. Iris let me know her and the girls would be boarding later. I’m relishing every single last minute of my off duty time.
Cabin number ten becomes my home for the next two weeks. Even though all the activities happen in Iris’s suite, she always books me a suite as well. It’s more than enough for what I need, but I ain’t about to complain. I mean it’s the best of the best cabins. Iris’s cabin won’t be too far off the beaten path.
I waste no time gearing up to go lounge in the sun and knock back a few stiff Jack and Cokes. God knows my head needs that reassurance right now. I don’t miss all the gawking stares sent my direction. Wearing a striped Speedo, I stride down the deck toward the bar. Shit, I wear less on the stage, so it doesn’t bother me one bit. And the bonus is that there is no helicoptering of the peen involved.
People watching is always the best on cruises. The other men brave enough to wear similar swimming wear are men that shouldn’t be. But kudos for them letting it all hang out.
I find a lounger dead center on the deck and close enough to the bar. The sun is already beating down on my skin, creating relaxation in an instant. I stretch out, throwing my hands behind my head, closing my eyes behind my Ray-Bans, and let the current stress of my life float away like the boat will be later today. The low roar of the fellow cruisers lulls me into a light sleep.
I left my phone back in the cabin on purpose, knowing Iris would be blowing it up all day until she leaps in my arms later. It wasn’t by accident that I didn’t charge it last night. When she throws her little hissy fit about me not answering it, I’ll blame it on the dead battery.
A crying baby pulls me out of my light sleep. I stretch my arms above my head, sitting up slowly and figure I may as well use my drink card to its full potential. The bar is busier than it was before, a sign the ship is beginning to fill up.
I order two double Jack and Cokes, carrying one in each hand on the way back to my lounger. Hell, I drained one on the way. Next time I should order three, tip one back at the bar, and then take two back to my spot. Yeah, yeah all you church goers, law abiding folk, I know the bar serves two, one for each hand. But when you have the Dr. Love smolder patented and this package tucked under a tiny striped Speedo not many say no. Not even women who don’t like men. They all appreciate rare talent.
I set the second drink down on the table next to my lounger and then my empty glass. It takes everything inside of me not to slam back the second one, but being a natural ginger and all, it’s all about that sunscreen. I’ve perfected the art of tanning well. Tips would be shit dancing on that damn stage pale. So, yeah, another talent listed on my resume is to discreetly apply a light layer of sunblock. Not my sexiest trait, but hey, it’s all part of the process.
I lie back in the lounger, finding the perfect snooze zone again while soaking up the rays. Then I hear it. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Every single inch of my body is on alert. I sit right back up, pulling down my Ray-Bans on the bridge of my nose.
I smile.
I smile like the victor of Titty Mania 2017. Give me the belt, bitches. Hand it right over. She didn’t fall into my lap this time. Nope, it’s so much sweeter because I spot her before she attacks.
Raylan. She's standing at the bar fifty feet away. Her head is thrown back in laughter. A damn fruity drink is in her hand. Her girls at her side are making her laugh at something. It’s a lingering suspicion, but I know Raylan is never this carefree. The edge of a hot tub is feet away. It’s not her clumsiness I’m studying, but what she’s wearing.
Or should I say what she’s not wearing? That scrappy piece is a poor excuse for a damn top. I know what’s under it or at least half of it. She has one of those fancy, see through skirts tied around her lower half. The knot is settled nicely on her hip.
It would take one nip of my teeth to undo it. Fuck, I wouldn’t have to take her bikini bottoms off to taste her. I bet she’s as sweet as those damn drinks
she loves.
“Daddy, antennae.”
I peer over to the voice ready to glare at the bastard interrupting my daydream, hot shower research supplying spank bank material. But it’s a little boy pointing right at me.
“That man has Wi-Fi.”
I squint my eyes trying to put together what the hell is going. He begins racing over to me chanting Wi-Fi.
I peer down to see if the little bandit is planning to nab any of my personal items. Kids these damn days are too smart for their good. It’s then I see the Wi-Fi. Spandex and a raging cock are not the right combination and a clear signal for Wi-Fi according to young children. The size of my engorged dick could guide astronauts home from Jupiter.
What has this clumsy girl done to me? I’m a global threat at this point. Draining my remaining drink, I find the perfect excuse to stride right over to the bar where the group of girls are still chatting it up. Hell, Raylan doesn’t notice all the men checking her out. Her friend, Brenna, has at least double Ds and I’d bet my left nut they’re fake. She’s the type the majority of men magnetize to, but not with Raylan next to her. Josi, I’m pretty sure that was her name, is also a knockout with fake assets and plump injected lips. But it’s none of that which attracts me.
The fuck? I don’t remember any female names, and here I’m studying Raylan and her friends like a first rate stalker. I saddle up to the bar, blocking the group of dickheads drinking in Raylan. My size and width get the job done.
“Another, hun?” the busty bartender asks.
I keep up the smolder showdown giving it to her smooth. “Please, darlin’.”
That does the trick. I hear one of the girls squeal. I know it’s not Raylan but not sure which one it is.
“Raylan.” I hear a loud skin slap, but I don’t look, pretending to eye down the bartender. “It’s him.”
Another voice joins. “It is Raylan. Holy shit, he’s on the cruise.”
Hook, line, and sinker.
“Who?” Raylan asks. Hell, her voice erects the Eiffel Tower in a matter of seconds.
“I’d say nipple gate 2017, but it was more of Tit Show Gate 2017 live and in action.”
There’s an audible gasp. I can feel her gaze soaking up the front view leaning on the bar. My elbow is propped on the smooth wood and my face is in the direction of the back shelf with my legs crossed at the ankles. Most men would flex their muscles right now, putting them in the douche category permanently. I remain calm, playing to ignore the conversation.
I’m betting today they’ve had a few to drink since their voices are not a whisper when they think they are.
“You were right about his wiener. It was not your imagination.”
I stifle laughter at that one.
“Don’t say wiener; we aren’t ten years old anymore.”
“I told you it was huge.”
And there’s my cue. I stand slowly, paying attention to each move of my body, grab my drink from the bar, and make eye contact. They react as suspected, ducking their heads and blushing like fools.
“Do you think he heard us?” Raylan hisses.
“Raylan, is that you?” I close the distance.
She’s frozen in embarrassment, so I repeat my question, walking right into their circle. Long beats of time pass before she raises her head and offers me a weak smile. The apples of her cheeks are dappled with a pink blush. Damn, this girl.
“Hey.” She raises her drink, sloshing some of it over the side. It goes right between her tits. I watch the trails of the sweet liquid run down until they disappear. I growl. I growl like a damn juvenile teen boy about to blow his load.
“Hi,” I clear my throat.
“Ray, Ray, we’re going to go check out spa times. We will be right back.”
Raylan goes to protest, but her friends are long gone.
“You disappeared on me.” I break the silence.
This grabs her attention, her head whipping back to me. The chocolate locks mixed with caramel highlights flow over her face. She brushes them away with her free hand.
“Excuse me?”
This woman is all genuine honesty. She has no clue what I’m talking about. So, I take it upon myself to clear it up for her, taking a step closer to her.
“I ate every meal at the same table, waiting for a gorgeous woman to fall in my lap.”
She snorts and slaps her palm over her mouth, talking through it. “Does that cheesy-ass pick-up line work on all the girls?”
“I didn't get my nickname Dr. Love for nothing.” I shrug.
“Are you kidding me?” Her hand falls from her mouth.
I have no idea why I put my damn stage name out there. I lose my shit whenever I’m around her. No idea why.
“Nope.” I take a long swallow from my drink, not missing the fact Raylan’s staring at my lips wrapped around the edge of the glass.
Her eyes pop open when she realizes she’s busted. She takes a hurried step back, but her flip-flop catches on something. Her body is free-falling backward. Those perfect and so perky C cup tits are ready for a double encore. I react fast, grabbing her by the hip, pulling her body up to mine. Our chests collide while both of our drinks slosh over the side. The liquid is running down our fronts. Our glasses clink in their own cheers. That damn natural force is between us.
“What are we toasting to?” I growl into her, refusing to let go of her. My palm splays on the small of her back. It fits perfectly. My dick is giving this embrace a full salute like the well-trained soldier he is.
“I-uh-I- don’t know.” Each one of her words come out raspy, letting me know I’m getting to her.
“To a new friendship,” I suggest. It's not the first thing that came to mind, but I'm not wanting her to back up. I’d cry losing the connection. I'd sob like a crybaby.
“Okay.” She nods, clinking her glass to mine, causing more of her drink to spill over.
I bend down. My face right is in the glory land. I lick my lips while testing my self-discipline. In the end, the discipline strengthens when I go for her drink. My lips are wrapped around the brim of her glass as they would to her nipple. I’m ready to fuck this drink with my mouth. That’s how wound up Raylan has me. I take a long pull from it. When Raylan tips back the drink, I drain it, analyzing each taste that runs over my tongue, wanting to know her poison of choice.
When the ice clinks on my teeth, I pull back. It takes all of my self-control to do so and not lap up the bit of sticky drink between tits.
“Mmmm.” I lick my lips clean. “Pineapple, orange, and a fresh strawberry.”
“I like sweet.” She tilts her head.
“You’re making me like sweet, so do tell me the name of your poison.” I crook up an eyebrow.
“That should be illegal.” Raylan cringes, letting me know she didn’t want those words to slip from her lips.
“The name of the drink,” I push.
Her light blush turns into a fiery inferno, making her impossibly gorgeous. She mumbles something, but I don’t get one word of it. I drop my chin insisting on a clear answer.
“This is so dumb.” She shakes her head. “It’s called Lick Her Right.”
I clear my throat, feeling man’s best friend is fighting to punch through my Speedo. “Excuse me?”
“Lick Her Right,” she blurts out in a loud voice.
I throw my head back, laughing my ass off. It’s a fatal mistake giving her the chance to shove me back. Unlike her, I have the reflexes of a cat moving with grace in any position. Damn, the positions I could show her my grace and finesse.
“People are staring at me,” she hisses. “They think I was asking you to lick me.”
“By all means.” I waggle my eyebrows, dip my head, and this time lap up the sugary sweet nectar on her chest.
I have to pull away before my dick punches a hole straight through this damn Speedo.
Raylan exhales loudly when her friends return. I step back, completing the circle, keeping my glass hovering over my crotch
to halfway conceal my raging pony. He’s dying for a good riding. The girls are chattering on about their spa day and plans to explore off the ship.
I focus on the time Rhett slapped me in the forehead with his dick. That resulted in a dick print to my forehead. The worse part was that I laughed and pointed it out to everyone because I was drunk off my ass. That does the trick taming the monster to a mid-chub.
“Baby boy, surprise!” The voice sends chills up my spine, making my dick curl into its shell. The girls’ attention goes to the squealing, obnoxious voice.
“What the fuck?” I hiss.
Three sets of eyes narrow in on me. I didn’t mean for it to slip, but I’m thankful it took the attention off the former.
“Excuse me, girls. I’ve gotta jet.” I narrow my vision in on Raylan. “Until next time. Drinks on me.”
They’re confused. I’m confused. And I feel like the biggest asshole in the history of all assholery. This was a no-fly zone, yet I nose-dived right into it. It’s not a game, but a way of life and I’m screwing with it. And toying with a woman who is off limits in my world.
End goal. End goal. Focus on the end goal I chant to myself over and over while turning my back on Raylan and striding to my boss.
“Memphis,” Iris squeals in delight, similar to a reunion of long lost lovers.
I realize Raylan has no clue what my first name was until now. And she hears it from the woman who pays me to fuck her and her friends. I thought I’ve been at rock bottom before, but I was dead wrong. I know better. There’s no way I can be the man that Memphis Love truly is until I kick this job for good. The end game is always money. It’s the one thing I need to escape this lifestyle, hometown, and stigma following me.
With each step toward Iris and her friends, Sophia and Margaret., it slices me wide open knowing how much I’ve sacrificed to live out my dream. Here’s to the sacrifice not making me a fool.
My view of Iris has flipped three hundred and sixty degrees since the first time I knocked on her massive, carved door. Her sleek, long raven black hair no longer taunts my fists to wind up in it and tug. She’s as plastic and Botoxed as they come. Don’t get me wrong, she’s fucking gorgeous on the outside and there’s no denying Iris is easy on the eyes. It’s what’s inside that’s disgusting.
