Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek behind doors left slightly ajar. This week: The Cruise-Ship Musician Pining for His New York Girlfriend; 28, male, Washington Heights/cruise ship, “straight as an arrow,” in a long-term relationship.
DAY ONE
2:45 p.m.: I’m alone in my cabin. No access to internet porn on the cruise, so I scroll through pictures of past sexual experiences with my actress girlfriend of three years, with whom I share an apartment in Washington Heights. She’s coming to visit me next week.
2:47 p.m.: Photos of us making love, photos of her with other women.
2:50 p.m.: Interrupted when a fellow ship-band musician enters my room, a petite, pretty Asian woman. I gaze at her pink-painted toenails and delicate feet while she tells me a meaningless story with a heavy Korean accent.
3 p.m.: She’s still talking. Employ a desperate attempt at ESP: Just … take … off … your … clothes.
11 p.m.: Mercilessly flirt with two masseuses at the crew bar, who tell me sexual-themed stories from their careers, including one in which a client attempted to lift a towel off himself with his erection.
11:15 p.m.: Both masseuses are attractive, but the Canadian one seems more apt to have group sex when my girlfriend visits. I don’t bring this up.
11:20 p.m.: A brief, ambiguous discussion about “happy endings” leads me to contemplate the best manner for requesting them.
DAY TWO
1 p.m.: Ashore at a pub. Overcome by suggestive nature of my sausage sandwich.
1:45 p.m.: Ride back to the ship with a cruise employee who strikes me as a blonde version of Minnie Driver. I don’t want to fuck her, just lie with her naked and have conversation.
5:30 p.m.: The blonde Minnie Driver appears on the ship TVs, lecturing about port shopping options. My pulse momentarily quickens.
7 p.m.: An Italian jazz singer is a guest performer on the ship. She has gorgeous curves and a sexy voice. Could I ask her to sing while we have sex?
11:45 p.m.: I reject repeated advances from a gay lounge singer, despite his flattering compliments about my package.
11:46 p.m.: Gay lounge singer asks if he can “just see it.”
11:47 p.m.: Gay lounge singer claims he will settle for a blurry camera-phone pic.
DAY THREE
10 a.m.: Upon waking, I’m brainstorming witty comments I could have made to the masseuses that would have led to instantaneous sex.
10:30 a.m.: At breakfast, a younger couple at the buffet. They radiate sex. I miss my girlfriend and a giggly morning-after breakfast in a New York diner.
Noon: In the shower, a brief fantasy about my girlfriend in a swimsuit yields a semi-erection. I only touch it for the sake of washing. I’m saving it for her.
1:30 p.m.: Lounging by the pool are countless fat, old tourists. I pass by one attractive woman in her thirties with devastatingly nice legs, and I want to lick her inner thigh.
1 a.m.: I exchange e-mails with my girlfriend.
DAY FOUR
11:45 a.m.: I notice the third mature passenger with fake breasts. This meets my approval.
Noon: Its been days since I’ve seen the attractive TV tech. She’s the leading candidate for a threesome next week. I worry that she’s no longer on the boat?
1 p.m.: Ashore in San Juan. Everybody in this city is beautiful. The only ugly people are the tourists.
1:15 p.m.: Right now in New York, my girlfriend briskly walks Seventh Avenue in her coat and boots. I want to warm her feet.
3 p.m.: Joy! TV tech walks into café alone! Lengthy conversation about our careers and ship life. I mention my girlfriend will definitely have a crush on her. She smiles and says “Girl crush, yay!” Is this promising?
6:30 p.m.: I jog for twenty minutes, replaying my conversation with the TV tech. I imagine how she would smell if we kissed.
6:55 p.m.: A masseuse enters the gym and we briefly flirt. She has exotic eye shadow.
11:45 p.m.: Two female show dancers make out at the crew bar, cheered on by their respective boyfriends. I briefly consider the idea of a foursome, but my cabin is probably too small … Or is it just the right size?
12:15 a.m.: I flirt incessantly with a leggy show dancer with whom I share definitive mutual attraction. She’s a step below the TV tech in threesome potential.
1 a.m.: Gay lounge singer encourages me to fuck the leggy show dancer.
2 a.m.: Difficulty falling asleep. I’m having a spectacular fantasy about the TV tech filming my girlfriend and me while we make love.
DAY FIVE
10 a.m.: The filming fantasy still lingers.
12:30 p.m.: I call the TV tech and invite her to go ashore and explore beaches. She agrees to meet me on the gangway in 45 minutes.
12:35 p.m.: I lift weights.
12:55 p.m.: Returning to my room, the cabin steward is still cleaning my bathroom. I lift more weights.
1:30 p.m.: We arrive at a beach, where the sand is covered in shells and several tall, topless, Norwegian women. My girlfriend would laugh.
1:05 p.m.: We strike up a conversation with an older American couple. They offer us a ride to a different beach. I’m convinced they are swingers, as they keep asking how late we can stay on the island.
1:30 p.m.: Second beach. The TV tech has great tits, nestled happily in her two-piece. TV tech mentions she’s been to several strip clubs, and mentions another casual story about how she once “accidentally” attended a swinger’s party. Her group-sex potential is skyrocketing.
2:15 p.m.: More cruise employees arrive. A leggy show dancer nonchalantly takes off her top and lies in front of us.
5 p.m.: I’m back on the ship and incredibly horny. I’m convinced if I masturbated, I’d climax within a minute.
5:01 p.m.: What if the TV tech kicked down my door and smashed her lips against mine? Done.
7 p.m.: After dinner. Still quite horny. I write my girlfriend a suggestive e-mail.
8 p.m.: Trying to practice music, missing my girlfriend terribly. I listen to some of her favorite songs, some that we sing together back in our cozy apartment.
DAY SIX
2:20 p.m.: Can’t read, can’t take a nap. I’m too distracted by fantasies of my girlfriend and the TV tech.
6:30 p.m.: It seems I’m not the only one with eyes for the TV tech. A lighting tech flirts with her at dinner. He’s a cool guy. I remain neutral.
6:45 p.m.: TV tech is not responding to my usual line of humor. Am I crushed or pissed?
9 p.m.: I call the gay lounge singer and ask him about a song. He invites me to watch him jack off while watching Short Bus. I decline.
11:30 p.m.: At the crew bar, the band loudly debates the relationship between attractiveness and lucrative careers in tennis.
11:45 p.m.: Loud band debate over the sexiness of Jessica Biel versus Jessica Alba. I prefer Biel.
12:45 a.m.: The leggy show dancer and I have a long, fun conversation about music and relationships. I speak frequently of my girlfriend. Leggy show dancer has not had many long-term relationships.
1:50 a.m.: I walk leggy show dancer back to her cabin. I ponder if we are too close as friends to engage in a threesome. We are.
2:05 a.m.: I fantasize about a four-hand nude massage that leads to steamy, oily sex.
DAY SEVEN
11:30 a.m.: I enter the gym and catch the gay lounge singer posing for the mirror. He tells me to “drop and give him twenty.”
10:30 p.m.: The Italian jazz singer is performing “New York, New York.” Momentarily lock eyes with a passenger. She’s maybe in her forties, fit, with a cougarlike sexuality. Her husband has a hand on her ass.
10:35 p.m.: In my fantasy world, the woman excuses herself from her husband and slips me a note saying “Five minutes. State Room 309.”
10:42 p.m.: I report to Room 309. The door is cracked, and I knock and enter. My back against the wall, she kisses me passionately.
10:46 p.m.: The passenger squats in front of me, hiking up her dress. She undoes my pants and administers an amazing blow job.
10:48 p.m.: I climax.
12:30 a.m.: I’m at the crew bar. The masseuse with exotic eye shadow arrives alone, and flirts with me. She will leave the ship tomorrow.
1:05 a.m.: Eye Shadow mentions that she has fake tits. They don’t look fake. She says I can feel them later, but not in this bar.
1:50 a.m.: A flood of people enter the crew bar, coming from a different party. TV tech approaches me and we begin talking. She’s tipsy.
2:05 a.m.: TV tech claims she’s not very attracted to many men onboard this ship.
2:20 a.m.: Eye Shadow is definitely drunk, and keeps pressing her fingers into my back. Her fake breasts are very lovely.
2:30 a.m.: I see the opportunity to exit with my dignity as a boyfriend intact. I say good-night to the TV tech and leave Eye Shadow in the capable hands of the guitarist.
2:35 a.m.: Back in my cabin, my mind wanders back to the TV tech. I worry that she might not have chemistry with my girlfriend when she visits next week. I grow frustrated that I might be overhyping the whole event. I’m not sure I’ll ever satiate this ridiculous craving for group sex.
3 a.m.: My cabin phone rings. It’s Eye Shadow. The massage offer is still on the table, but I think she really just wants to rock my boat.
TOTALS: Two acts of masturbation; zero acts of intercourse; one act of extended fellatio-fantasizing about passenger; two acts of dodging same-sex singer flirting.
