Fuckless in Seattle
A travel diary
Waiting for the cruise to start under the noon sun makes me dream of an ice bath. That’s why I wear a pink cotton dress without bra; to avoid sweating like a sea lion.
Waiting in the shade would be better, but I don’t have a choice if I want the best seat at the front of the boat. I’m ready to run as soon as the gates open. If necessary, I will flash my competition for the win. That’s the other advantage of the cotton dress without bra.
Captain Greg greets us at the pier’s entrance, and I wonder if I should flash him too. Better to do it later; he needs to focus on his job right now.
After 45 minutes, the sea becomes agitated, and the clam chowder I had for lunch wants to make a comeback.
Like a glutton, I took the 32oz tanker.
It was delicious but too big for me; maybe I should offer Captain Greg the remainder for his afternoon snack. “Would you like a chowder pie, Captain?”
Good thing I took the white clam version. He might not be as willing to go down on the red one.
A quick stop at the bar for a glass of red put my stomach and ideas back into place. Let’s enjoy the view on the shoreline. Captain Greg is married anyway, with two kids and a dog. He looks too much like the perfect guy to be single.
It’s like this man at Starbucks yesterday morning. We ordered the same frappuccino and had a quick chat while he looked at my breast in a married guy way. It’s a specific vibe. A mix of lust, shame, and fear to be caught by the wifey. I unbuttoned my blouse a bit as a thank you for the shared laughs.
I’m usually generous with my breasts. It’s my way to give back to society for all the opportunities I had thanks to my boobies. They got me this extremely lucrative consulting job that paid for this trip after all.
Captain Greg fits his 26 feet wide vessel in the 27 feet-wide lock chamber without a bump. Promising for his wife, but not for me. Unfortunately. His description of the canal lock functioning leaves me wanting more “chamber filling,” and “slowly opening of valves.”
I mutter to myself, “oh yes, open my valves and fill them with your big ship, Captain Greg.”
Sadly, the cruise ends here, and I’m forced to disembark at south lake union. Time for a nap on the grass, half sleeping, half watching the paddle boarders showing off their abs. They aren’t as classy as Captain Greg and his uniform, but I’ll take it.
An hour later, rested and my memory filled with glistening bodies, I’m ready to head toward the space needle. I can’t help but smile at the dirty thoughts that come to mind. Captain Greg is now the pilot of a spaceship that will soon leave the solar system on a mission without return. It’s his last night on earth, and he decided to spend it with me.
Between my legs to be precise.
It explains why I don’t have time to stop at the museum of pop. I’m in a hurry and need to be on top of this needle as soon as possible. It’s a matter of lust and death.
To be continued …
