Pat Ruger: Caribbean Shuffle

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Chapter 7

I shook off the cobwebs and went to open the cabin door. A couple of rooms down, an attractive woman was trying her keycard again and again.


I felt my pocket for my own card and let the door close behind me. “Can I help you with that?”

She turned and showed a smile of relief. “Would you?”

I took the card from her hand and tried it. Sure enough, it lit up red and didn’t unlock. “I’m sure it’s been erased. Let’s go call Guest Services; I’m sure they’ll bring one up to you.”

“That would be great, thanks.”

We returned to my cabin and the woman grabbed the desk phone. “Yes, my card won’t work and I need to get into my room, number 9645. Yes … yes, 9652 …” She looked up at me for reassurance and I nodded. “Yes, 9652 … I can wait … 3 o’clock? You can’t make it sooner? … I understand … thank you.”

While she made arrangements I sized her up — 5-7, 145, blond hair with an auburn tint, shapely but average … She turned slightly and against the sun in the balcony I could tell she was shapelier than she first appeared. She wore short red shorts and a thin white blouse, tall sandals and matching purse — definitely traveling alone. No ring, but well-manicured. But, something was off … I couldn’t put my finger on it. Was she playing me?

She hung up the phone and asked, “Do you mind if I wait here for my key? They said they might not be able to bring it up until three or so.”

No good deed ever goes unpunished, I said to myself. “Of course not.” I held my hand out to shake and she obliged. “I’m Pat.”

“Stephanie. Where are you from, Pat?”

“Denver … This is me getting out of the cold.”

“I’ll bet. I live in Kansas City. Five inches of snow yesterday …”

“I think I have something to drink here …” I looked in my bag and managed to retrieve a well-hidden bottle of tequila. I held it up to the light and smiled. “Good, they didn’t find it in Customs.”

“Tequila? Nice!” She went into the bathroom and found two glasses wrapped in plastic, apparently waiting for this opportunity. She peeled the wrapping off and held them out; I poured about two fingers in each. “No lime?” She laughed and downed it like a shot.

I followed suit and poured a second round. This time she sat on the edge of the bed and I sat in the loveseat. “You here with anyone?”

“No,” she answered. “I was supposed to be with a couple of friends, all of us are divorced … They flaked on me at the last minute. How about you?”

“Kinda the same thing. But I’m looking forward to some alone time.”

“Me, too. It’s been a rough couple of weeks …”

I didn’t bite. “Besides the crappy weather, how do you like K.C.?”

“It’s okay … to tell you the truth, I’m pretty sick of the Midwest. I was born and raised on the Oregon coast. I miss it.” She put the glass on the nightstand and stood up. ”Be right back.”

The bathroom door closed behind her and for some reason I took the opportunity to look in her purse. My instincts were telling me to avoid this woman. No pills … not much money ... I held up her driver’s license and focused on it with my cell phone camera. After a quick click, I put the cell in my pocket and took a quick glance at the license. The likeness was fair. ‘Stephanie Louise Moore,’ address ‘1254 Great Oaks Blvd., Kansas City, MO,’ birthdate ‘9/21/,’ but the year was fuzzy, like she had scraped that spot on the plastic cover. She looked about 35.

The toilet flushed with a roar and a chirp. I quickly placed her wallet back in her purse, and returned it to the bed where she had left it. I sat down and took another sip.

A minute later, she came back out, but she wasn’t wearing anything. Her lovely body scooted past me, picking up her drink, and she laid facing me on the bed. As they often do, her nipples were calling to me, but my suspicions were now on high alert. I stayed seated as if nothing had happened and took another sip. I reached out the bottle and asked if she wanted more, and she did.

“Wow,” she said. “I’m impressed.”

“What do you mean?”

“The last time I did this, I didn’t stay alone on the bed for 5 seconds …”

“Listen … Stephanie …” I thought about how to phrase it.

“Hey, Pat, I like you. I just want to show some appreciation. Besides, tequila makes me horny …”

“Oh … You look … great, but …”

Stephanie got up and came over to me. She turned around and settled in on my lap, her back facing me. I noticed then a tattoo across the back of her shoulders that read, “The past was practice,” in black ink and a fancy scroll font. She put her feet up on the desk chair and leaned back into me. “Don’t mind me, I’m just getting comfy …”

She took my drink and set it carefully on the nightstand next to me, then my hands, placing them on her breasts.

“This isn’t a good idea.”

“What? We’re not doing anything …”

Her right arm came up behind my neck and her left hand grabbed mine and applied a little more gusto in my grope. I decided to make the best of it and let myself enjoy the situation. I was getting hard and her turning her head and French kissing me didn’t alleviate that at all. I leaned forward and reached down with my free hand, finding her shaved and wet.

Her nipples became rock hard as she trembled silently but robustly, barely able to stay on top of me. Her breathing slowed as I released my hand, and she relaxed, but now I was uncomfortably stiff. Stephanie turned and slithered down my body until she was kneeling on the floor. She faced me and pulled my shorts down, releasing me from their bonds. Her mouth fully covered me, and it only took a couple of minutes for me to finish.

She laid back on the bed and helped herself, soon arching her back and shuddering, this time allowing a strained whimper to escape her lips. She dropped suddenly and sighed, then smiled. “That was … really good. You know what you’re doing.”

“Funny,” I said, laughingly. “I was going to say the same thing.”

Stephanie got up gingerly and opened the bathroom door. “I’ll just be a minute …” and closed the door behind her. She soon returned, her clothes in hand. “All yours.”

“I guess so,” I announced and got to my feet. I entered the tiny bathroom and also closed the door. I looked in the mirror and scolded my reflection. What are you thinking, I questioned myself. She’s going to be your first mate on this cruise? I knew better. But, maybe a shipboard romance was just what I needed.

I raised the seat and tried to use the toilet, but it was difficult. I needed more recovery time. I cleaned up and flushed the toilet, and was surprised by the deafening volume of the automated commode.

I opened the door and began to ask Stephanie about her plans, but found an empty room. My cell phone was in my pocket, but my wallet had been left out, and now was empty, except for my license. My fake Rolex was gone, too. Lesson learned, the hard way.

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