A choice, a trap, and a necklace. By HectorBidon. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. The next morning's sun found its way in through our porthole once again. We had sorted ourselves out somewhat during the night. I was on my side, tangled in a bit of sheet. She was on her side, tangled in a bit of blanket. I could just make out the pale tan lines on her bottom and her back. We'd become cabin buddies of a different order. At the Jack-and-Ciara level. That's probably what most people would have assumed all along, but I certainly hadn't, and I didn't think that she had either. And yet, here we were. I waited a while for her to wake up, but she didn't. So I finally got up myself. We'd just passed through the entrance in the seawall at Ensenada and were coming up to our docking site. The pilot, or maybe it was the captain himself, was standing on a little deck that jutted out from the side of the ship to joy-stick our massive vessel precisely up to the pier. Molly was still in bed when I got back. She smiled and went to the bathroom, a little embarrassed to be still naked while I was already dressed. Her pubic hair, I noticed, was trim and attractive. She came out wearing a towel and had her coffee. We checked the day's schedule. She was delighted to discover that they'd transferred Mrs. Pendergast's excursion ticket to me. A little later that morning we went ashore. It was a strange sensation, stepping off the gangway into a foreign country. Somehow I expected every little thing to be different and exotic, but the first thing we encountered, sprouting up through a crack in the pavement, was a little tuft of grass. Nothing exotic at all, just plain old grass. Our excursion van was heralded by a woman with a clipboard, a younger, more boisterous, Mexican Denise. There were three other couples in our group and a single unaccompanied woman about Ciara's age. I took a seat next to the window with Molly beside me with the unaccompanied woman next to her. Her name was Meryl. This was her first real vacation since her divorce. She was really excited to be having such an adventure. We drove through the streets of Ensenada, our guide giving us a bit of local color in her prettily accented English. The scene was at once familiar and strange: traffic and lane markings and stop lights just exactly like at home, but unintelligible store signs in unlikely colors painted directly on pastel stucco walls. Beyond the city were dusty, cactus-strewn hills not unlike the Catalina hinterland. Our destination was a site called the Bufadora, a cleft in the rocky sea cliff where ocean waves sent up enormous geyser-like sprays. The sprays were so high that we got wet even at our vantage point fifty feet above the water. The path back from the observation point was lined with gaudy souvenir shops, like the midway of a county fair. Meryl had tagged along with Molly and me. We stopped at one of the taco stands for lunch. "So how did you guys meet?" Molly didn't volunteer an answer. "Just here on the cruise, actually," I said. "Really? See, aren't cruises great?" Molly gushed. After lunch we went into one of the souvenir shops and Meryl asked our opinion about all the little nick-nacks she wanted to buy. When we got back to the van, I ended up sitting in the middle. "The nicest thing." she said. "is that every day you make new friends." We drove back through town, then out into the desert in a different direction to a picturesque winery. We sat around a table on a palm-shaded patio and sampled the different vintages. Meryl chatted on about Simi Valley and the cruise and her ex and the weather and the ship and the people she'd met. She got me to go into the little gift shop with her to help pick out a couple bottles. Molly was quiet at dinner. I had to remind her that we'd made plans to see the comedy show with Meryl. "I've got a bit of a headache," she said. "I think I'll go back to the room." Meryl was waiting in the forward theatre. She was sorry to hear about Molly's headache and put her hand on my arm to convey her concern. The show turned out to be pretty adult-rated, pretty raunchy in fact. Meryl yucked it up After the show she suggested we take a spin about the deck. The ship had set sail again and we were just passing the exposed wreck that lies up against the sea wall. Somehow Meryl managed to tuck herself inside my arm. "Wouldn't you just love to go dancing?" she cooed. "I, uh, Actually, I've kind of got to go now." "But the night is still young.” Meryl rebutted. “Let's at least stop by my room first." "I've got to check on Molly." I insisted "We can open one of the tequilas." "Thanks, but,” "It's just that, I was kind of hoping to get lucky tonight." Christ Almighty. A guy tries to be a gentleman. I didn't need an etiquette book for this one. I finally managed to pry myself away, When I got back to the room, Molly was in her pajamas, watching TV. "Is your headache any better?" I asked. She didn't look up ...
