Authors: Patricia Watters
After changing
into a pair of white slacks and a tee shirt with a gold and multicolored dragon
stretched across the front, Andrea put on a pair of white sandals, grabbed her
sunglasses and her
Frommer's Guide to the
Bahamas
the girls had given them, and headed for the deck. She found Val
reclining in a lounge chair, her long bronze legs stretched out for all male
eyes to appreciate, sunglasses covering her eyes so she could check out the
crop unnoticed.
Andrea settled
in the lounge chair beside Val, opened her
Frommer's
Guide
, and started reading about the places the cruise would be taking
them. Oddly, she began to have a kind of bizarre sense of excitement to snorkel
in turquoise waters, and stroll on pristine beaches, and eat conch chowder. But
there was also a downside.
Don't walk
alone at night
, it warned, and
never
accept a package from a stranger with instructions to deliver it to someone on
the island
. Purse snatching was common, the book warned, and drug smuggling
rampant.
She had just
finished reading about a zoological garden in Nassau, where trained pink
flamingos marched on command, when Val nudged her, and said, while pointing,
"That older black guy over there in the Hawaiian shirt. He's one hot hunk.
And he's available."
Andrea followed
the direction of Val's finger, and to her shock, saw that the man was Jerry.
Wearing wrap-around sunglasses, khaki Bermuda shorts, and a tropical print
shirt unbuttoned to display the length of his chest, he was acting like God's
gift to women, with one woman gazing up at him from her lounge chair, and
another leaning into him while peering over his shoulder at what looked to be a
tourist flyer in his hand. Although the sight of him was comical—his looking
for all the world like a middle-aged man going through a kind of male
menopause—she couldn't help noticing his abs. She knew he'd set up a fitness
center at the company, but she hadn't realized he'd been using the machines.
She also noticed that the matt of chest hair that used to drive her to
distraction was gone. Obviously a last-minute defoliating in preparation for
the cruise. It came to her that Jerry had fashioned himself after the male
models on the covers of the novels she read, covers he'd poked fun at in their
earlier years, but now ridiculed with condescension. "He's not my
type," she volunteered, assuming Val pegged Jerry for her.
"I wasn't
thinking of him for you," Val said. "I can see he's not your type.
But he'll do for me. He's a spitting image of Denzel Washington, and look at
that beefy chest."
Andrea couldn't
dispute that Jerry resembled Denzel Washington, more so as he got older, and
her women friends had been quick to point that out. But she could dispute his
lack of chest hair. "It's been waxed," she pointed out. "Gigolos
do that, sort of a sign of the trade."
Val laughed.
"I know for a fact he's not a gigolo. I was talking to him on deck right
after the life-boat drill. He and his wife are getting a divorce. She's a real
bitch."
Andrea, ready
to leave a trail of claw marks down Jerry's recently waxed chest, said in a
tightly-controlled voice, "He told you that?"
"Well, not
in so many words," Val admitted. "But she treats him like shit. And
from the way he talked, she's one cold fish in bed." Val propped her
sunglasses on top of her head and smiled at Jerry, who was looking their way.
He caught Andrea's eye, held it momentarily, then winked at Val and gave her a
thumbs up. Val leaned forward, giving him an unobstructed view of her ample
cleavage, and said, "He also looks like a man who likes to get it on. No
wonder he's dumping the mannequin."
Andrea stared
at Val. "Mannequin?"
"His
wife," she clarified. "Cold fish. Mannequin. Those society women are
all alike. Which is why their husbands find sugar babies. But the guy looks
really hot. I bet he'd be one satisfying stud in bed."
Andrea almost
laughed out loud. Jerry might have been a stud at one time, but their long-ago
romps in bed had lost their appeal. Slipping into bed before Jerry and feigning
sleep had been her ploy to get around it. "Looks can be deceiving,"
she said. "I've heard that some of the hottest-looking men can't function
below the waist. If you're looking for action in bed, he might not be the one
for you. He looks well past his prime, got to be in his late forties if he's a
day."
"Well,
frankly, I don't care whether he can get it up or not," Val said. "He
has money, so his performance in bed is irrelevant. Besides, that's what sugar
babies are for, to take men's minds off everything that keeps them from
functioning as a man. My last sugar daddy couldn't do it at all without Viagra,
but after one week, he was back in business. A twice-a-nighter in fact. He was
one happy guy, I can tell you that."
Andrea glared
at Jerry, incensed that he'd shared what went on in their bedroom with this
woman, someone he'd never met before today. "What makes you think he has
money?" she asked, wondering if he'd spilled their finances to her as
well.
"I spotted
him when he was coming aboard," Val replied. "His clothes were
definitely high end. He also told me he owns his own company, something to do
with cleaning up oil spills. And he has several helicopters and a fleet of
boats, and over two hundred employees."
Andrea eyed
Jerry in disgust. He'd warbled like a nightingale to this woman while singing
his own praises. Couldn't he recognize a fortune hunter when he saw one? Ha!
Maybe he deserved the women. "He told you all that?" she asked.
"Not
exactly," Val admitted. "I pretty much had to pump it out of him. But
once you start flattering the older guys they tell all, just to keep the
compliments coming." She gave Andrea, a discerning smile. "You really
are new at this, aren't you?"
"At
what?"
"The
single scene, shipboard flings."
"Well
yes," Andrea admitted. "It's been twenty-five years since I dated,
and that was with my husband. Umm... ex-husband. Actually, I wouldn't mind a
shipboard romance though. But then I'd want it to be over. Just a short-term
romance to make the cruise memorable."
"I suppose
I can understand your feeling that way at your age," Val said. "For
me, I'm looking long term and lucrative. They're called sugar daddies. I'd say
that hunky guy definitely has the makings of one. And I'd bet my last dollar he
has no problem getting it up either. In fact, from the looks of things, he's
got it up right now."
Andrea lifted
her sunglasses and stared at Jerry's crotch and saw that Val was right. "He's
still married," she said, somewhat illogically, considering the fact that
he was soon to be unmarried. And before long, he'd no doubt be in bed with one
of the bimbos hanging onto him. But she refused to let that bother her. Jerry
was free to do as he pleased. They'd agreed as much.
Val shrugged,
and said, "The married ones make the best sugar daddies. They have to be
discrete and clever about slipping away, so they treasure every moment they
spend with their sugar babies. And once the gifts start coming, you feel like a
queen."
At that instant
Jerry looked their way and Andrea saw Val give him a finger-tip wave. He smiled
and winked again. Yes, Andrea decided, he deserved this scheming sugar baby,
but not until after the marital asset pie had been divided. This woman could
siphon off a sizable amount of money before that time. "He doesn't look
the type to shower a woman with gifts," she said, though there had been a
time when Jerry brought flowers at unexpected times, and surprised her with
expensive jewelry, and teased her with sexy lingerie from Victoria's Secret.
Lingerie she'd packed for the cruise...
"Trust me.
He's the type," Val said. "He's got that look on his face right now,
imagining me sitting nude and brushing my hair after we'd had sex, and him
coming up behind me at my dressing table and kissing me on the side of the neck
before draping a diamond pendant over my head and positioning the thing between
my breasts, and bingo. I have a diamond pendant."
Andrea looked
at Val, stunned. That was precisely the way it had been when Jerry gave her the
emerald and diamond pendant on their twentieth wedding anniversary. She looked
over at Jerry, and there was no question. He had that look on his face. But he
was looking at Val.
Peeved that Val
seemed intent on cutting into her half of the marital assets, Andrea said,
"With two-hundred employees to take care of, I doubt he'd be willing to
spend money on expensive gifts for a woman."
"Honey,
any man with disposable income and a working cock is willing to spend it on the
right woman, and two-thousand a month isn't a big chunk for a man with his own
company, considering what he gets in return. I just have to convince that horny
hunk he needs a sugar baby."
"I presume
you mean keeping him happy in bed."
"Of course
keeping him happy in bed," Val said. "But that's only part of it. You
also become his companion and his confidante, and you provide excitement and
renewed enthusiasm for life, and for sex. It's a win-win working relationship
for both parties for as long as it lasts."
"But I
don't see how the sugar daddy wins," Andrea said, trying to grasp this new
single-scene concept. "He's putting up money for something his friends get
for free."
"Well,
think of it this way," Val explained. "While the rest of his buddies
are buying drinks for hit-and-miss women during Happy Hour, your sugar daddy
knows he can come to you any time, day or night, and be treated like a king.
But the sugar bowl isn't just for men. Powerful, self-made women and wealthy
divorcees can have fun too. Sugar mommies write the checks and set the rules
for the arrangement, and in return they have their sugar pups—younger,
good-looking, male companions in top shape who treat them like queens and keep
them happy in bed."
Andrea glanced
at Jerry, who was slurping up the attention like a big stupid lapdog. The woman
who'd been peering over his shoulder now had one hand curved around his arm,
and the woman who'd been sitting on the lounge stood on the other side of him,
her highball glass raised while poking the straw between his lips...
"Don't
even think about it," Val said, when she saw that Andrea's attention was
focused on Jerry. "I saw him first. No disrespect intended, but he clearly
likes the younger women. Not those two with him, though. I know, because he
keeps looking this way. And they know it too. Just watch. As soon as I start
toward them they'll take their cue and leave." She stood in her tight
shorts and snug tank top, and giving a little hip wiggle, sashayed over to
where Jerry stood. Just as Val predicted, the two women who'd been fawning over
Jerry eyed Val with uncertainty, gave Jerry an affectionate hug, and strolled
off...
"Excuse
me,
signora
. Is this seat available
now?" a deep male voice said in a soft, incredibly appealing Italian accent.
Andrea looked up to see a tall, dark-haired man, handsome as the devil and
looking ten years younger than she, peering down at her. If there was anything
to the term, bedroom eyes, this man had them. A man in his prime, his broad
chest was clad in a navy turtle neck, and his tight white pants defined his
maleness. The term sugar pup came to mind. But she'd be damned if she'd pay for
his company...
"
Signora
?"
"Oh...
yes, umm... please sit down," Andrea said, feeling a little giddy in the
man's presence, wondering why Val hadn't gone after him instead of Jerry.
"My friend seems to have lost interest in my company," she added.
"Which is
her loss, and my gain." The man's voice was as smooth as thick cream. He
settled his large frame into the lounge chair, turned those sleepy hooded eyes
on her, and said, "Please allow me to introduce myself, signora. I am
Alessandro Cavallaro."
Andrea offered
her hand. "Andrea Porter," she said, knowing her last name was common
enough that she wouldn't be pegged with Jerry.
To her
surprise, Alessandro Cavallaro bent over her hand and kissed it, then held it
sandwiched between his palms. "My pleasure, Signora Porter. I noticed you
when you first boarded the ship," he said in that smooth, deep voice while
peering into her eyes. "And you appear to be travelling alone. Am I
right?"
Andrea glanced
at Jerry, who was staring at her. But a moment later, Val cut off his view by
moving in front of him and shoving a straw hat on his head. "Yes, I'm
travelling alone," she said, watching Val trail her finger down the length
of Jerry's waxed chest and up again.
Alessandro
Cavallaro leaned toward her and said in a soft, low tone that suggested pillow
talk, "Then I assume you are also unattached, correct?"
Andrea glanced
at Jerry, who was smiling at Val. But, then, Val was a swinger with a body that
would catch the eye of any hot-blooded male. Jerry was no exception. Although
she didn't want to share a bed with Jerry ever again, for some unexplainable
reason, she didn't want Val in his bed either. But that was only because of the
newness of their situation. During their twenty-five years of marriage it had
never occurred to her that they would ever share a bed with anyone but each
other. But it was where they were now.
"Yes,"
she said, at last. "I'm unattached."
Alessandro
Cavallaro smiled, displaying perfect white teeth, and said, "Well,
Signora
Porter, we have at least two
hours before the first call for dinner, so perhaps you'll do me the honor of
telling me everything there is to know about you..."
***
Jerry stood at
the wide viewing window of the fitness room while watching Andrea making a
complete fool of
herself
. The same man he'd seen her
with earlier was hovering over her like the cougar-hunter he was. And she was
soaking it up, smiling and batting her eyelashes, and flirting like a woman
half her age. He let out a little grunt of amusement. The man was in for a rude
awakening if he managed to get her in bed. Sex was definitely not her thing anymore.
But since he and Andrea were going their separate ways, what she did or did not
do in bed was no longer his concern...