Where it happened: Atlantic crossing
Langauge: English
Sex: Female
Rating: 3
Category: Straight
As my junior year abroad at the Sorbonne was drawing to a close, I was to return to Bryn Mawr and to my fiancee who had proposed to me by mail. Once I would let him place his ring on my finger, I knew his overtures would be more insistent but I was leery of the prospect of sex, especially the first time.
Therefore, I obtained some prophylactics before leaving Paris and resolved to have a shipboard affair. I needed an experienced man whom I would never see again and would be encumbered with no emotional attachment. I should have selected an older, married man but my scruples precluded that. I settled on a busboy in the cabin-class dining salon, passing him a note to meet me on deck.
Patrick was from Liverpool, was 28 then, having worked on Cunard ships since he was 14, the last 5 years on the Queen Elizabeth. He aspired to become a steward in the first-class dining salon. He wasn’t married though he had a number of girl friends. He was charming enough, in a unsophisticated way, so I invited him to my cabin.
He didn’t kiss well and I had to put his hands on my breasts. I ascribed this to his being abashed by my relative affluence. The truth was that he had even less experience than I. I emerged from the bathroom in my dressing gown and he was under the sheet, making a tent with his erection. When I dropped my gown, he ejaculated through the sheet. I lay with him and soon enough, he became erect again. I produced a prophylactic and rolled it onto him over his half-hearted objections. He wasn’t really in any position to make demands. Unfortunately, neither he nor I knew what we were doing. He tried to enter me too high and when I took hold of him to guide him into me, he ejaculated again.
Patrick was mortified and I did my best to reassure him as we dressed. The time my cabin mate agreed to stay away was drawing to a close. It was against my better judgment but, to encourage him to be on his way, I offered him a second chance the following night, the last night of the voyage.
Our next attempt, we undressed separately again without foreplay. There is no way to gracefully remove the girdle worn by all women in those days. Patrick had placed a prophylactic upon himself by the time I emerged. This time, he let me guide him into me. He entered with one forceful thrust. The pain was as bad as the worst stories I had been told. I wanted to scream but I made myself breathe hard, short pants. Patrick ejaculated with his second thrust but he kept thrusting and I felt the prophylactic break. His semen lubricated us and eased my pain somewhat. Since what was done was done, all I could do was to hope. Since the pulling of my hairs that were caught in the roll of the prophylactic wasn’t nearly so bad as the initial thrusts, I patiently waited for Patrick to finish.
When he finally withdrew, Patrick announced that it was his first time and how proud he was that his manliness not only brought me an to climax but broke the “mackintosh” as well. As there was little point in disabusing him of his conceits, I agreed that it was indeed spectacular for me. Since my cabin mate, a divorcee in her thirties, wanted the cabin for a tryst of her own, my time with Patrick was even more limited than the night before.
The hard part was out on deck, firmly telling Patrick that we had no future together. Somehow, he obtained my address and poured his heart out to me in two letters, the first of which returned the gratuity I had left for him. I started letters that I didn’t finish because I couldn’t find words that were both resolute and kind.
After finding I was not pregnant and assuming all was past, I was paid a surprise visit at college by my father. Patrick had written him, asking him for my hand in marriage. It was all there in the letter: the cabin steward had told Patrick about the blood on the mattress; I had admitted to being brought to rapture in the process of being made a woman; the “mackintosh” couldn’t contain his manliness so I probably was carrying his child; therefore I was properly Patrick’s woman. His letter bespoke sadly of his eighth-grade education. Papa chastised me for throwing myself away on a peasant, questioned my gratitude for all my life’s advantages, and made all the other recriminations of a father who holds ownership in his daughter’s virtue.
Papa went on to state that he had contacted the head offices of Cunard and that they report the matter settled. I feel more regret for Patrick than for myself. I have a fair certainty that Patrick’s career on the Queen Elizabeth was done and I have to live with that.
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