Cruising

by Paula Mortenson

 

"Passport, please."

As I handed it over I realised I was not getting it back as it was stored behind the counter, amongst masses of others.

"You are travelling with Ms Jackson?"

I nodded in agreement.

"I need a credit card to activate your shipboard credit."

There was a moment of hesitation before Wendy, Ms Wendy Jackson with a minimum of words explained that my expenses on board were to be charged to her. I blushed but the clerk took little apparent notice and I consoled myself with the thought that when things were better I would repay her. Yes, Wendy had both paid for the cruise and was picking up my expenses but only because the holiday had already been booked in the expectation that her soon to be ex husband was accompanying her.

Wendy and I worked together in a large firm of solicitors in Manchester. She was senior to me but in our specialised area of corporate takeovers, seniority mattered little (except for money). What did matter was your capacity for work and when we were involved, we worked every hour of the day and maybe half the night. That sort of job was not conducive to long term personal relationships. I was just in the process of parting in a very financially stressful way from my wife and Wendy was disposing of husband number three.

We had been working on a big takeover when my wife had decided that the charms of another man were preferable to my occasional appearances at home. Wendy and I had talked and, I suppose, supported one another, though Wendy seemed little affected by her loss. I had bemoaned my lack of funds for a much-needed break and Wendy had mentioned, casually, that she had a vacancy for a male escort on her holiday. There had never been a hint of romance between us, she being some ten years older than my 30 years but rather we had become firm friends, so the offer was a mutually convenient arrangement.

We had been moving along in a stream of passengers to board the magnificent 90000+-ton super cruise liner and as we approached the gangplank, we could see a cluster of uniformed crewmembers, resplendent in crisp white. As we came to the front of the queue, we presented our boarding passes/credit cards/cabin keys and our photos were taken to match us for security.

"Welcome aboard, Ms Jackson and, er, Robin Jones."

The officer signalled to one of a dozen waiting crewmembers to escort us to our cabin.

Our journey emphasised the sheer size of the ship, as we travelled up escalators, elevators and down corridors, all seemingly lined with cabin doors, except when we were at the very heart of the ship. Here there were shops. Not just the usual ones you might expect but a whole shopping mall, offering clothes, jewellery, beauty salons and more mundane things. We must have appeared a strange sight, the tiny crew member, a waitress, followed by Wendy, an elegant 6 foot in her heels, despite the ravages of our journey to Florida, and me, some 6 inches shorter, bringing up the rear. The effects of the 24 hours of travelling, caused by delayed flights, showed in my bedraggled shoulder length hair, my stained shorts and T-shirt and my exhausted trudge along the corridor. Wendy constantly teased me about my hair, my refusal to leave behind my student days. .

Suddenly, we ushered into a doorway and the waitress sped off, to greet others, I presumed, and I looked around. A three-seater sofa against one wall faced the biggest television screen I had ever seen and a dining table with four chairs stood in the centre of the cabin. Floor to ceiling windows revealed a breathtaking view across the harbour. But this could not be our room, there was no bed. Of all the things on this holiday that was the one that I worried about the most. The sleeping arrangements. Wendy was dismissive of my concerns, constantly reminding me that neither of us had anything the other had not seen before.

There was a discreet cough and I spotted a butler, who proceeded to welcome us and then take us on a tour of what proved to be a suite. The butler was resplendent in tailcoat, waistcoat and striped trousers and was…..female!! Sonia explained she was the first female butler on the cruise line as she revealed the door to the bedroom, with a massive double bed, a "walk in closet" concealed behind sliding doors, providing wardrobe and dressing table space and then the bathroom, complete with shower, Jacuzzi and bath.

Sonia bade us farewell, promising to be back with afternoon tea later and I flopped exhausted on the sofa as Wendy explored the storage cupboards around the lounge.

"Now, no arguments. I had a good bonus and I had booked the holiday before, well, you know. Moreover, while we are about it, there will be no argument about sharing the bed. It is big enough and, " she said with a twinkle in her eye," I promise not to take advantage of you. All we need is a little understanding. We're both adult."

There's no arguing with your boss, when she's in that mood so I decided to take a shower. When I reappeared in one of the pair of white fluffy bathrobes that hung behind the door I helped Wendy move her suitcases, which had been delivered, into the bedroom and left her to unpack while I explored the ship on the interactive television. Unfortunately I had forgotten to pack in my hand luggage a hairbrush or anything I currently needed, so my long hair had to be covered by a hand towel, leaving me desperate for my cases to arrive.

Wendy had finished her unpacking before Sonia reappeared with tea, explaining we had now sailed. I glanced out of the windows to see the harbour fast disappearing. She was surprised that my luggage had not yet arrived and set about telephoning all and sundry, explaining very forcibly that this inconvenienced her passengers. The sheer decadence of having a butler deal with such a basic task told me that this holiday was going to be a very different experience. I little realised how prophetic that thought was going to be.

Each evening, Sonia explained, as she waited for a response to her enquiries had a different theme and as suite occupants, there were invitations to attend a whole variety of receptions, formal dinners and events. The absence of my luggage and consequently my clothes, though they would undoubtedly appear eventually, was currently an embarrassment. Wendy came to the rescue, offering jeans, clean T-shirt and trainers to allow us to dine informally that night and Sonia indicated a credit would be put on my card to allow me to buy extra clothes if my luggage had not appeared by the morning. With two thousand passengers and their associated baggage, cases occasionally went missing.

As we sat enjoying our well-earned tea, I blushed as I broached my lack of underwear. Wendy further increased my embarrassment by beginning to giggle.

"I'll have to lend you some. And a hairbrush by the look of it. Come on, if I leave you to get ready on your own we'll never get something to eat. Come and sit on the bed."

Having your hair brushed I discovered was very soothing, suddenly she stopped.

"I think we'd better get dressed but I need a shower. So, while I'm in there you can get dressed. There's one minor problem." There was a silly smirk on her face and I suspected I groaned. " I only wear thongs." I looked back at her in the dressing table mirror, blankly. "My underwear, panties, knickers. They're thongs, you know."

I puzzled over the flimsy underwear as Wendy showered, finding that I had to pull them tightly up to contain my manhood before I could slip on the jeans. Surprisingly, they were only slightly too long but I found it disconcerting that the waist, unlike men's trousers came to my true waist rather than laying on my hips. After I struggled to do them up however they improved my waist and I was twisting to get a better view of myself, front and rear in the mirror as Wendy appeared from the bathroom.

"Well, that's a neat little behind. And the front looks convincing as well. I presume you've managed to tuck yourself away?" My burning cheeks produced a giggle from Wendy," If you keep dressing like that you'll have to get used to the comments and compliments, as well. Though I'm not sure whether it'll be the women or the men."

Under other circumstances, I might have blown up but I was very dependent on Wendy for the coming two weeks as we visited five islands and spent nine days at sea. She placed a comforting hand on my bare arm, " I'm sorry. But you do look sweet, you know." Suddenly she became thoughtful. In the office, we were always wary when that look appeared, it normally signalled a brilliant idea, invariably involving masses of hard work. I stared at her, enquiringly.

"No. It was just a silly notion." Every time, those silly notions were the ones that were brilliant. I did admire Wendy and her ability and I suppose she knew it. Otherwise, she would never have dared to say what she did.

"On Monday night, there's a Fancy Dress reception, only optional, and with your things missing, why don't we both go in something really swish." I looked at her blankly, not understanding the implications of what she was saying.

"We're on holiday. Nobody knows us; we could go, as sisters and the cruise line will pay for your outfit. I had never realised exactly how slim you are, for a man and your hair is so fine that I bet you hardly need to shave. With a bit of help you could look super. And you've got all day tomorrow, that's Sunday and then Monday to get ready"

At this stage, I have to make a confession. I did not tell Wendy then but I have paid the odd visit to a certain shop in Manchester that provided very specialist services to men who enjoy being feminine. It was the first place I visited after my wife left; I found the day there so restful. Here I was, being offered a dream opportunity but I knew I must protest. Well, I did but I didn't want to close the door entirely and within ten minutes, the great negotiator and dealmaker, Wendy, had tied me up in knots and she was on the phone, asking Sonia to spare us a few minutes.

Sonia and Wendy giggled and whispered as I fumed on the sofa before Sonia regarded me with a serious gaze. "We take the Fancy Dress reception very seriously. Many passengers bring their own costumes and the winners get good prizes. It won't work if you don't help."

There were phone calls galore to the beauty salon, the hairstylists and other crewmembers, who seemed to bring the most surprising things on board. "There is one thing. A wig is such a give away. I think a nice pageboy cut would suit you and then you could go back the next day and have it cut into a more, er, masculine style. That is if you wanted to. It is time you got rid of that untidy mop and had something smarter. You know they've considered you for higher things at work but, well that hair always comes up." Wendy beamed one of her engaging smiles and I could hardly make a fuss in front of the servants, could I?

"She'll need a bit of help." Sonia nodded at my still bare chest. " There's a shop at our first port of call, you can go there tomorrow morning. I'll give them a ring." and she did, there and then. I puzzled how I was going to get on and off the ship without a passport. " No, you only need your boarding pass and I'll have a word with Security, they may want a new photo."

Wendy impatiently waited as I slipped the trainers and T Shirt on, in readiness to go down to dinner. The dining room was massive, capable of seating over a thousand, without really feeling crowded. Tables varied in size from the intimate, for two, through fours, sixes to tables for twelve. The room covered two decks with the upper one forming a balcony. We were downstairs on a table for eight but were the only two dining that night.

Our waiter seemed to know all about us as did most of the crew and the only consolation was the female crew were so friendly, after subjecting me to detailed examination. Our wine waiter served our wine and hovered around the table, engaging us, or more particularly me, in conversation. It was she that pointed out that my boarding pass should show my name as Robyn, rather than Robin. By the time we returned to our suite my new card was awaiting me.

Sonia handed my new card to me and then seemed to overstay her welcome, so I retired to our bedroom to ready myself for bed but not before I heard that the dining room staff thought I would do very well. Particularly since I swayed so provocatively as I walked. That was the problem with the thong; I was constantly wiggling to stop it cutting into me. Eventually, Sonia left and we got ourselves ready for bed. My luggage had still not appeared so I still had to rely on Wendy.

We fell easily, considering the circumstances into a routine that developed over the subsequent nights. One of us would use the bathroom while the other undressed. I cringed when I realised that the only nightwear available was Wendy's and she had a selection of the slinkiest, silkiest nighties imaginable. As Wendy read in bed that first night she glanced up from her book to comment, "All the worry about your wife has done wonders for your figure, you know. You must be down to less than ten stone." I hardly liked to say that in fact I was a good seven pounds lighter than that. The weight loss had been an advantage on my visit to that specialist shop in Manchester, when, with a little assistance I had got my waist down to less than 24 inches!

I slept like a log and as we breakfasted in our suite, we watched the ship manoeuvre into dock. My preparations for the day were as simple as the previous night, except that I now carried a tiny haversack to hold my belongings. It was not until we left the ship that I realised that half the women on board carried similar bags. It was the latest fashion in handbags!

There was a short cab ride to the shop and I was immediately ushered into a fitting room where science and art combined to establish colour, shape, size and exact position for the silicon breasts. I was on autopilot, with Wendy negotiating and then indicating that all was satisfactory. My only contribution was to lie back and allow the shop owner to glue them to my chest. Her only direct question to me consisted of, "Do you have a b..." Whereupon Wendy magicked something brightly coloured from her bag and slipped bra straps over my shoulders. I looked across at a nearby mirror to stare at a blond with untidy hair, wearing jeans and a bikini top.

"Come on, you haven't got all day to admire yourself. You have an appointment in the beauty salon at twelve. Don't forget to slip the T shirt back on." Our entry back onto the ship was as uneventful as our departure, only this time I felt the gangplank security guard's eyes staring at my new additions. Wendy rushed me through a quick snack, explaining that since we were in port the salon was going to be quiet. She also insisted I put on the bottom half of the bikini to protect my modesty while the beauticians treated me.

Wendy led me to the salon, which seemed to be staffed entirely by perfectly coiffured and made up 25 year olds, in white, business like, crisp knee length overalls revealing the minimum of underwear. There was the odd smile as I walked in but I was treated with the utmost professionalism throughout my stay. I listened bemused as Wendy confirmed my treatments. I was quickly whisked away to the rear of the salon and for the next six hours I was plucked, waxed, covered in cream, oil and fruit, wrapped in foil, scraped, massaged and in the final hour, finished off. Though my beard was light, that problem was tackled at the start with the latest cream, guaranteed to leave a gorilla hairless for at least seven days. The finishing off, included acrylic nails, pink toenails and light make up. Just as the senior beautician brought some order to my hair Wendy appeared .The look on her face was a picture and her amazement repeated as I caught sight of the finished product. There was little doubt a very attractive thirty something was gazing back at me, in T-shirt and jeans, with well-manicured feet and hands. The make up was so good that I looked as though I was wearing none, other than the lipstick.

I puzzled how I was going to dress this evening as apparently my luggage had now shown up but unfortunately still in Miami. Dinner was to be formal and somehow I thought a dinner jacket might be inappropriate. Wendy explained that she had been shopping ashore and, as she put it, "found one or two things that you might need and the fashion store on the ship is coming to our suite."

Despite the more than adequate space in our suite, we should have hired the Grand Ballroom to cope with everything that went on in the subsequent hour or so. Tracey and Amanda from the fashion store seemed to have brought their entire stock, Sonia was constantly in and out, Wendy was getting ready and showing me what she had bought, advising me on what I should wear as well as trying various things on herself. I was kept so busy that I barely had time for a quick shower before I walked, trembling into the Grand Dining Room. A "little black dress", with high neck and chiffon sleeves had been selected for me, and Wendy had produced the appropriate shoes (3" heels, open toed and strapped), a handbag and underwear (a black basque, stockings and a matching thong that combined an eye watering grip with a skimpiness that left little to the imagination).

Everything had happened so quickly but there had been no time to worry. Each step to my present state had been driven forward by everyone else's enthusiasm, I had little say. Understand me, I did enjoy wearing feminine attire, it was just that previously I had never gone to these lengths. My thoughts were interrupted as our table waiter held my chair to allow me to sit. I blushed as I felt him brush artfully against my arm, there was little doubt it was deliberate and that he was excited. The other six occupants of our table were present and Wendy protectively indicated that her friend, "Robyn" was unwell and was unlikely to be chatty. All through dinner I smiled (Wendy had told me if I smiled shyly the others would be sympathetic) and listened to the conversation, only occasionally answering a question. I was beginning to relax before we left and we smiled our goodbyes, before retreating to the safety of the cabin.

"Another busy day tomorrow," Wendy said as she opened our door that night," but we can lay in the morning and you can sunbath up on deck, if you like."

"How can I sunbath?"

"Well, you've been wearing a bikini all day, haven't you?" I could hardly argue as Wendy produced white cropped deck trousers, a striped loose top and deck shoes for me to wear the following morning. A little less daring than I had expected so there was no argument from me. Monday, the fateful day, dawned sunny and hot, as expected and we dozed on the sun beds, carefully shielding ourselves from the full power of the sun. I dared, during the morning to venture to the shops, on my own to buy sunglasses and mooch around the jewellery store. Since my ears had been pierced at the salon the day before it seemed natural to glance at the earrings and bingo, before I knew what had happened, silver dangled at my ears and another two pairs nestled in my bag. It was with some trepidation that I followed Wendy into the beauty salon in the early afternoon. Julie, the stylist, never consulted me about what needed doing, she just seemed to know. It was surprising the amount of hair that fell to the floor but when I was allowed to see the result, I was faced with someone who even I had difficulty imaging as a male. My hair was now several shades of golden blond in a neat pageboy style. So very different from the longer haired male I had so recently stared at in the mirror.

Though I was disappointed to find I was wearing the same outfit as the night before, now my underwear was a pristine white, which seemed to amuse Wendy but she had a dress similar to mine and Sonia swore, as she took a photo, that we could be mistaken for sisters. The reception was initially a disappointment. Fancy dress was prominent but somehow I felt I was not part of the competition. I was taken for Wendy's female companion, or she mine, and we were just two elegantly dressed thirty something's. We filed into the lounge, shaking hands with the captain before being handed champagne. As we sat at our little table we saw a collection of Supermen, Cowboys, ghosts, Regency Beaus not to mention Cinderellas, tarts, cowgirls, etc. Wendy glanced at me and I shook my head, indicating I did not want to take part in the parade. She just smiled and whispered that we should book a tour at the next port of call. Our conversation was interrupted by a deep voice asking whether we minded if they sat down.

There was no doubt they were related. Resplendent in tuxedos, as they insisted on calling them, George and Robert were handsome examples of their respective age groups. The younger, who must have stood at over six feet 3inches, must have been my age, or a little older. George, displaying a bushy shock of white hair, stood slightly shorter than his son and was 55 or so. In the easygoing way of Americans, and Texans in particular, we very quickly found out George was a virile 63, in the oil business and had been a widower for three years. Robert, his son, was 38, worked with his father and had never married. Well, he certainly didn't look the type and as our conversation developed it seemed there had nearly been weddings it was just they never happened.

Wendy was flashing messages to me but the men asking us to dance interrupted my thoughts. Once Wendy accepted I had little choice but to join Robert on the dance floor. There were too many there to allow anything other than a sociable shuffle, thus saving me too much embarrassment.

Having never been in such close proximity to a man before, particularly in such flimsy attire, I became flustered but Robert seemed to find my tongue-tied responses beguiling as we shuffled through five or six numbers. Finally, the captain wanted to make his speech and I liked the way that Robert took my hand and led me back to the table. It somehow felt natural, his strong hand enclosing mine. Wendy and George were engrossed in conversation and flashed us a smile as we joined them. I sensed a look between George and Robert, but did not understand what it meant nor did I understand Wendy's querying look. You could feel the chemistry between George and Wendy; it was an understatement to say they were getting on. As the Captain finished speaking Wendy flashed that, "it's time to go to the ladies" look and I had already learned enough to understand there was more than a need for the bathroom. It was strange to share a cubicle and even stranger when Wendy hissed, "Robert fancies you. You like him, don't you?" I had to admit I was enjoying the attention but, "I can't, we can't"

Wendy smiled wickedly, "I think George is great. You could end being my daughter in law, you know." It wasn't until we were making our way back to the table that I realised the significance of what she had said but now there was no opportunity to challenge her.

George and Robert were sharing a suite, one of the big ones with two bedrooms, far larger than ours, they invited us to dine with them there, and we were treated like princesses. Nothing was too much trouble and gradually I found I could not tear my eyes away from Robert's gaze. I hung on his every word, I laughed (in the most ladylike manner) at his jokes, I admired his physique and gradually I fell under his spell. I wanted to touch him and I longed for him to caress me. I thrilled at the memory of his massive hand around mine as he had led me from the dance floor. I suddenly giggled (fortunately covered by a witty remark from George) as I wondered whether big hands were a guide to the rest of his anatomy. That pulled me up short so I shot one of "those" looks at Wendy.

"A girl can say no, you know. I told George you were getting over the break up of your marriage. Well, it is true, isn't it?"

"But he thinks I'm a woman!"

"Robert adores you and you are flirting with him, aren't you?"

My admission about the fantasies I was having made Wendy laugh and she confessed she was having similar thoughts about George. It was strange, as we exchanged confidences, my brain operated on two levels. There was "Robin", failed male, who observed, frightened but intrigued by what was being said, thought and felt by "Robyn" a female sharing the same body in the process of discovering herself; afraid of committing herself and only too aware that her body did not match her aspirations. We decided that the suite was too dangerous, for me anyway, and as we returned to the table I had an advanced lesson in female wiles as Wendy smoothly mentioned the on board casino and within minutes we were there, playing roulette. The boys didn't, they stood behind us as we perched delicately on stools at the gaming table. I had never played before so there were many excuses for Robert's hands to touch me, showing where to place the chips. I even found myself deliberately half slipping from the stool to invite (and he accepted the invitation) Robert to lift me back into place. I noted, with pleasure, the look on his face as he felt the suspenders of my garter belt. I thrilled as those hands rested on my shoulders and gently moved to caress my neck, preventing either of us from concentrating. My mind and body were in an ecstatic whirl as my thoughts and desires denied my biological gender. I was disappointed and was later accused of pouting as Wendy firmly suggested that it was time to retire and that we would be very pleased to spend the day with them, tomorrow.

The four of us unenthusiastically strolled back towards our suite and finally, reluctantly we said our goodnights. Robert kissed my hand, which was so gallant but not really what I wanted. My arms, of their own accord, reached around his neck and suddenly I found myself swept into his arms and our lips touched and melted together.

The succeeding days I spent in a daze, incomplete when I was not with Robert, excited, giggly and happy when I was. Our only time apart was the increasing time I devoted to the beauty salon as I attempted to eradicate any trace of masculinity and the nights. It was the nights, together with all that implied that were the most difficult, for without doubt, I was a girl in love and Robert had professed reciprocal feelings. We were inseparable, going ashore together, dancing the nights away, eating together but always saying goodnight at the door of my suite. Sometimes we were there an hour or more, barely daring to leave one another.

Wendy and I shared our secrets and feelings on our return to our suite as any girlfriends might and it was apparent that she was contemplating her fourth husband. Without any warning, the night before we were due to visit St Martaan, "You know we are going to have to clear American Immigration when we dock in St Thomas."

"Only two days. Bob has been talking about the fabulous jewellery stores there. I just know he wants to buy me something."

In my dizzy state, I hoped that his gift might be a ring, to fit on a certain finger.

"Robyn. Think. Bob doesn't know, does he? And the way you look doesn't agree with your passport, does it? I never realised when I suggested the fancy dress how things would turn out. I wondered, in the office, how you might look but ..... I have to remember that you are not..." She couldn't finish but she went on, "Do you want to stay as you are?" No sooner had I nodded, enthusiastically, than Wendy disappeared for a moment to make a phone call and within minutes she answered the door to a very serious looking George.

 

"Passport, please. Mrs Robert Tandy?" I nodded and grinned stupidly at my husband. Since we had only been married a few hours previously I was still revelling in the change of name. I waved at Mrs George Tandy who was in a nearby queue of passengers waiting to get on the cruise liner. Fancy going on your honeymoon with your mother in law.

The past year had been so busy. George had realised there was a problem and was determined that his son was not going to be hurt. As an EU citizen it was not difficult to for me to stay in St Martaan, a half Dutch island and George arranged everything from a place to live, to lawyers and the doctors needed to bring my psychological and physical gender in line. Their oil business kept Robert dashing around the world while all the changes were made and we finally met again just after the essential operation. Now there was no need for any reservation on my part but strangely, we both agreed to wait for our wedding night.

This year Wendy and I are in separate suites, but then a girl wants some privacy on her honeymoon, doesn't she?

 

© Paula Mortenson 2002

  

  

  

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