Rewritten Title

Story codes: (As now required by Anna.) (This is the ‘Fine print’). Cross Dressing story - The Cruise. Forced Feminization story - The Cruise. Public Exhibition story - The Cruise. Key Words: Breasts; Ham steak; Maitre D’; This narrative covers those subjects along with some quite gross and disgusting details. It might offend anyone or everyone, so don’t read it! - If you must, do so at your own risk. Many of my tales have a number before the title and often include a date. These show the order they were published. Although one story isn’t strictly a continuation of another, they sometimes refer back to events from earlier ones. I try to point out these references when they happen. Characters: Me:{Submissive}, {My wife: Mistress }, {Karen: Dominant} 27 – The Cruise. 09/27/09 It had really been quite a wedding. Karen served as my maid of honor and actually shed real tears at the ceremony. I know this because when I wiped them away they tasted mildly salty. It sounds crazy, but I won’t bother explaining because even though it’s true, the whole story is just too wild to believe. Let’s just say that I was the bride at my own wedding where I ended up marrying my wife who was posing as my husband. No! This wasn’t some sort of gay or lesbian thing. It was a little… Well, strange. I’m a perfectly normal completely straight guy. Well, at least I’m a straight guy anyway. I had let my mind wander back to several weeks ago. It was still difficult to understand, or even believe just what had happened to me back then. I guess maybe stranger things have happened, but I was hard pressed to even think of anything that came close to matching it. It was difficult to keep my mind on the road. Not only was it dark, it was late enough that the highway seemed almost deserted. Occasionally I passed a big truck, but then there are always big trucks on the road. For the most part though even most of the trucks had found a place to roost for the night. I reached up to push the hair out of my eyes. Gosh, this had become as natural a motion as scratching my balls. I hadn’t quite mastered that move that women do where they flick their head to rearrange their hair out of their face. Every time I tried it the hair just seemed to flop back where it had been, but I was mostly unconsciously working on that too. My natural hair was cut rather short, and in fact I was rather bald but I had been wearing a long wig so often that the shoulder length or longer hair was beginning to feel natural. Perhaps I should stop letting my mind wander so much and some of this might begin to make a little more sense to you. ‘A little’ seems to be the operative word here, but I’ll give it my best shot. It was now quite late at night. I was driving west on route I-70 on a trip from my home in Denver to Los Angeles. I had made the trip to Las Vegas many times before, and I had driven from Las Vegas to Los Angeles several times I don’t remember traveling this entire route as one trip before although I may have done it way back when. I had made my way through the Eisenhower tunnel, and over Vail pass. These were the two highest mountain peaks that would take me across the ‘Continental divide’. I then made my way toward Glenwood Springs on probably one of the most scenic sections of highway in the country. Of course, the darkness hid the view from me. I traveled past places with strange names like Silt, Gypsum, Rifle, and Parachute. I didn’t like driving with high heels on. The heels were wide and not really all that high, and they were comfortable enough that they didn’t hurt my feet. I wasn’t used to driving in high heels though and they forced my foot into an odd position. I couldn’t just slip them off because they were boots that came up nearly to my knees. Surely the women would find out if I tried to remove them. The heels weren’t really the worst part. Once again those two women had dressed me as a woman. Here on the dark road nobody could see me and there was no one to care. It had been ninety miles from Fruita on the west side of Grand Junction to Green River Utah, and there were no real fuel / rest stops between the two. I had to stop in Green river for fuel, because it was another 120 miles to Salina with absolutely no services between the two. I had started in Denver with a full tank of gas, but I wasn’t likely to make it to the dump of a town Salina, or 20 miles farther to the much-preferred Richfield without refueling. I had to get out at the truck stop to pump gas at the large brightly lit truck stop / gas station in Green River. It would have been a much easier stop if the women hadn’t confiscated my credit card. They knew if I had the card I could ‘Pay at the pump’ and wouldn’t have to go inside at all. Left only with cash I grabbed my purse, which contained my driver’s license, my passport, and my money and walked into the store to make my deposit. Karen was my most likely suspect as to who had prepared and packed my purse for me. There was a large vibrating dildo and a tampon or two on top. I had to remove these items to dig through what must have been a hundred packages of condoms to get to the cash. The crumpled bills mixed among the condoms were mostly one’s with a few fives interspersed between them. I had to un-crumple each bill to see what denomination it was. I then walked back out to pump the gas. The women had been sleeping, Karen in the back seat and Mistress in the front. When I walked back into the convenience store to collect my change the ladies joined me and we all enjoyed a much-needed trip to the ladies room. At this time of night the place wasn’t exactly crowded, but there were a number of truck drivers and other travelers up and about. Truck drivers had never bothered me before but tonight was different in many ways. I can’t say that I was comfortable, especially with all the truck drivers around, but I guess I was lucky because although I did get a few interested looks nobody bothered me. I knew that I had been in trouble when I arrived home from work this evening and my wife greeted me at the door. I experienced a fleeting hope that she had simply been excited about our upcoming vacation. I knew I was in seriously deep trouble when I heard the now familiar “Hello there big guy” emanating from behind the door as Karen stepped out into the open. The women hadn’t wasted any time, stripping me as soon as we made our way to the master bedroom. I was first dressed in a pair of rubber panties similar to the ones that they had found for the wedding. These forced my member into a sheath mounted within them, and down between my legs. I knew from experience that there would be a tube running from the sheath to an opening in front. Fortunately for me this garment omitted the but-plug that I had become intimately familiar with at the wedding. The but plug had in fact been replaced with a small opening in the panties. I could only guess at the purpose of this opening as I began to realize that I might never be allowed to remove this garment, which forced me into sitting to answer natures calls. The waist on these was higher too. The waist on these came well up over my stomach. A corset and false breasts had followed the panties. With the high waist of the panties and the rather low bottom of the corset the corset effectively locked the panties onto my body. When I say locked onto my body I do mean that I heard the unmistakable sound of several small padlocks closing just after the lacing was tucked inside the corset. Finally, panty hose, the boots, and a dress completed my outfit. The dress was short enough that I knew I wouldn’t dare bend over in public, but was long enough that I could maintain some modesty if I stood upright. The bust line was tight and far lower than I would have preferred. If I had really been a woman, or been a man seeing this dress on a woman, I might have admired the cle

avage that it displayed. All in all, it was a nice enough dress; I just didn’t want to be the one wearing it! The women did my wig and makeup. They were now becoming rather practiced at this. Even with the skill of the women I still looked like a man dressed as a woman. Unless they really worked on it my beard stubble showed through, especially after a number of hours without shaving. My body shape wasn’t quite right, and I had the mannerisms of a man. My look was good enough for a quick glance, but beyond that there was little doubt about the truth. I think the women actually liked that fact. In no time we had packed ourselves in the car and were off. I have always enjoyed driving on long trips thus I was elected to drive the first shift. It’s a twelve-hour trip to Las Vegas, and we had left around 7:Pm, so we should arrive there just in time for the morning rush hour. I was sure thrilled about that. The women had given me one of those gold colored name pendants. I’m not really into jewelry, and I really didn’t like this particular piece. The pendant was one of those stamped from brass that displays a girl’s name. This one, like most of its type was suspended around my neck on a thin gold colored chain. Rather than the letters of the name being in the usual fancy hard to read script, mine were in large easy to read block letters. The name was ‘Vagena’, with an ‘E’ replacing the ‘I’ in a half-hearted attempt to distinguish it as a proper name rather than a female body part. I guessed that maybe half of the people that saw it would not recognize this subtle difference. The other half would certainly make the association. Following the refueling stop in Green River the women went back to sleep as I headed into the desolate spaces that separated us from civilization. Even at night the scenery here was awesome. Millions of years ago oceans of water that had been trapped behind glacial ice dams had been released to carve out amazing colorful shapes in the rocks. I knew that we were headed to Los Angeles because that was the information that I had been entrusted with. I had no clue what would happen once we arrived there. I tried not to think about things like that. The next fuel stop came all to soon. I had picked up I-15 in the middle of nowhere and headed south. I-15 would take us all the way through Las Vegas into Los Angeles. By the time we had hit Saint George Utah the sun had begun to rise and the roads had become more crowded. You travel thirty miles through a corner of Arizona before reaching Nevada. The granite canyons in Arizona are an awesome sight unless the road is snow covered. Fortunately for me that is a rare event and the weather was still warm. I stopped for fuel in Mesquite. A large town only because it is on the Nevada border and the home to a number of casinos. Once again I was forced to display my dildo, tampons and condoms as I fished for the wadded dollar bills so deeply imbedded in the bottom of my purse. There are two casinos, The Eldorado, and the Virgin River, (Yes, there is a real river that runs through this area. It has been so named because its waters are almost always silted with dark red soil from up river. The casino is named after the river). Both of the casinos serve an awesome ham-steak breakfast 24 hours a day. The primary difference between the meals is the color of the plate they are served on. The breakfast consists of eggs, hash browns, toast, coffee, and the biggest ham steak I have ever been served in a restaurant. I have seldom driven past these places without stopping for breakfast. I parked the car and the three of us went in to the Eldorado for breakfast. All casinos have their restaurants in the far back of the establishment so that you have to walk past all of the gaming action to get to them. Much like all grocery stores put the milk and eggs in the back of the store. I was not thrilled about parading through a very public and brightly lit casino dressed as I was. Our first stop was a much-needed one in the ladies room. I looked longingly at the men’s room door but dressed as I was that wasn’t really an option. With the rubber panties on I had to sit to pee. The panties were high enough that their waistband was irremovably wedged under the corset. I knew that any attempt to remove them would undoubtedly result in bodily harm inflicted by the women so I banished any such thought from my mind. The restaurant wasn’t full but there were still a lot of people there for breakfast. This particular restaurant has several seating areas. One of the areas is made to look somewhat like a sidewalk café, and is open to the rest of the casino. To my disappointment the women specifically requested a table in that area. Of course, this meant that everyone in the casino could get a good look at me. I knew that in fact, most of the people were there to gamble, and were distracted by the loudly clinking machines. This knowledge didn’t make me feel any better about being on public display. As I have always done when I visited this place I did enjoy breakfast. I was thrilled when Karen offered to pay for breakfast. We all walked together the casher with the bill. As Karen handed her credit card to the lady she looked at me and said, “Do you have some money to leave for a tip?” I knew better than to object or say no. I also knew that this was not about leaving a tip but rather showing off my dildo, tampons and condoms. I dug in my purse for the money. I was quite stuffed by the time we made another stop in the ladies room and headed back to the car. I was informed that I was to drive us through Las Vegas. Once we had gotten through the city I could pull over and one of the women would drive us into Los Angeles. The road between Mesquite and Las Vegas is a long, hot hundred miles through the desert with nothing worth seeing along the way. Once you hit Las Vegas the traffic is miserable. I-15 is one of the main roads through the city and it is jammed most of the day. Of course, we had hit it at the height of rush hour, which didn’t help at all. It took what seemed to be hours getting through the city. Eventually we reached the town of Jean, which is a small, nothing of a town west of Las Vegas. I pulled the car over and surrendered the driver’s seat to Mistress. Karen climbed into the passenger seat. I was thrilled to be relegated to the back seat where I hoped to finally get some much-needed sleep. I don’t think we had crossed into California before I was sound asleep. Just after you enter California there is a small exit that leads off of I-15 to ‘ZZYZX’ Road. It’s a nothing of an unpaved road. I guess it’s the name of the road and the size of the exit sign that has always intrigued me. I have always wondered just where that road went. I was sound asleep by the time we passed it this time. The motion of the car stopping awakened me. I opened my eyes and was truly disappointed to find that we had arrived in the town of Baker. Baker is an armpit of a community whose only claim to fame is the world’s largest thermometer. The telephone pole height thermometer sits within view of I-15. If you go to see the thermometer don’t waste your time getting off the highway. Most of the times I have seen it the readings have been near a hundred degrees or more. The women assured me that we had only stopped to find a ladies room. I considered that a creosote bush on the side of the highway might be preferable to stopping in Baker, but held my tongue on that thought. We did find ladies room, and were soon back on the road again. I was once again sound asleep by the time we left the highway entrance ramp. When I awoke we were once again stalled in traffic. This time it was in Los Angeles. The women seemed to be more excited now. They also seemed to know generally where they were going. I noticed that Karen was holding both a map and a set of directions. The GPS had also been set to some destination and Karen seemed to be agreeing with its dire

The Mistress was driving the car. I noticed we were still heading southwest and couldn’t help wondering where exactly we were going.

Eventually it became clear that we weren’t traveling much farther west because an ocean blocked our path in that direction. Before long, a crazy idea struck me. As we headed toward some cruise ships ahead, I began earnestly trying to suppress a severe panic attack. The Mistress parked the car in a fairly large parking lot and popped open the trunk. We three gathered at the rear of the vehicle and looked over the suitcases inside.

Knowing someone would have to unload the bags from the trunk, I dug right in and lined them up on the pavement behind the car, trying not to let my short dress reveal too much as I leaned into the trunk. The Mistress quickly grabbed two bags, Karen took another two, leaving two bright pink suitcases at my feet while the women headed off toward their destination.

Not wanting to be left alone in the parking lot, I picked up the bright pink bags and followed them.

I was still trying to curb my panic and regain my senses when I found myself standing with the other two women before a man who seemed determined to check my identification before allowing—or perhaps merely permitting—us to board. Honestly, I didn’t want to get on this ship, or any other one for that matter; I wanted to go home!

Encouraged by Karen, I dug into a pocket of my purse and found my passport and driver’s license. I knew that dressed as I was, I looked nothing like the man in the photos on either document.

For some reason, it suddenly flashed through my memory that I had read somewhere that ships registered abroad must stop at a foreign port before returning to their final U.S. destination when leaving a U.S. port. For example, a ship departing Los Angeles could go to Hawaii but needed to stop in Mexico—as they all do—before coming back to L.A.

So this was customs! I handed both documents to the man standing there. He looked at my license, then opened the passport to examine the photo inside before re-examining the three tickets that the women had given him. Then he looked up at me and back down at the two photos on the papers. Once he had thoroughly examined them, he looked up again.

“Is that your name?” he asked, indicating my necklace with its easy-to-read block letters.

“It’s the one I use,” I stammered. “My friends call me Gena.”

I tried to give him a shy, sweet smile while involuntarily fidgeting uncomfortably.

“You three are traveling together?” he asked, looking back at the Mistress and Karen.

We all nodded affirmatively as the two women simultaneously burst into chatter about how much fun we were going to have and everything we planned on doing. As they continued jabbering, I simply looked at him and said in my deep manly voice—which didn’t seem to match my appearance at all—“Yes sire.”

After what felt like an eternity, he apparently decided that while we might be perverts, we likely weren’t terrorists. He just looked back at me, shook his head, and waived us through onto the gangplank.

By then, my legs were shaking so much they felt as though they wouldn’t support my weight. I gave him a little smile and a curtsy before following the women. Reminiscent of old pirate lore, I was sort of hoping that I could just walk straight through the ship and off the end of a plank into the water on the other side. I figured if I were really lucky, there would be sharks or alligators in the water below. Unfortunately, no such luck for me.

There was no open door on the far side of the ship.

As we boarded, crew members greeted us. The staff was there both to introduce themselves and to direct us toward our cabins. Of course, as with any group of strangers gathering in a new place, mass confusion seemed to abound. I have to admit that the crew did seem to be handling problems well and funneling newcomers off somewhere else. If they hadn’t done so, rather small area would have overflowed very quickly.

We girls headed off to find our cabin, which hopefully featured a ladies’ room.

Our cabin was indeed quite nice. There was a small but lovely verandah on the outside, accessible through sliding glass doors. Inside were two beds and other furniture similar to what one might expect in a hotel room. Our baggage hadn’t arrived yet, though we had been assured it would eventually find its way there all by itself.

Since I had no clue as to exactly what was packed in the bags that I had recently sworn to the customs agent were mine and hadn’t left my sight, I took the word of those with whom we’d left our luggage. After ‘Freshening up’—which apparently is the feminese term for what men call ‘taking a shit’—we decided to ‘explore the ship’. I was hoping this might also be the feminese way of saying finding the nearest bar and getting wasted, as any normal group of guys probably would have done. But again, no such luck.

Another manly activity might have been scowering the ship looking for single women. This was clearly not an option—or at least a pointless one—for me at this time.

When you think about it, boarding and departing on a cruise ship is truly a major undertaking. Nearly two thousand passengers are getting aboard in a short period of time. Many of these people—including the three of us—have never been on this ship before and have no idea where they are going. At the same time, everyone who has already boarded wants to wander around to see what it’s like. The few smart ones hole up in their cabins until after the ship sets sail.

There must be nearly a thousand crewmembers who do an amazing job of remaining unseen unless their duties require them to be publicly available. I, on the other hand, was trying not to be publicly visible as well. Aided by the women, however, I seemed to be failing miserably at this task.

We wandered aimlessly around the ship for a while. Eventually we found our way upward and stumbled upon the greatest prize of all… The shops! It seems every reasonable-sized cruise ship has a shopping area buried somewhere deep within its hull, and we had found it within the first few hours!

The women were really excited and must have spent hours browsing through the stores. I had little doubt that they were busy cataloging every item in each shop mentally for future reference. If only the shops themselves could match this efficiency and accuracy for their own inventory purposes.

We began to get annoyed by these incredibly annoying announcements about “All ashore that’s going ashore”. I tried to hurry the women along, hoping we would be part of the group heading back home. The women mostly ignored both the announcements and me.

After a while, the announcements stopped, and the ship seemed to take on a different sound as I assumed it pulled away from the dock, sealing our fates to the open sea.

The first official order of business was dragging all 2,000 passengers and most of the crew out onto the deck for a ‘lifeboat drill’. It seems we were all assigned to specific lifeboats according to our cabin numbers. I really had no fear of the ship sinking but had already decided that in this unlikely event, I would probably choose to go down with it.

The crew seemed very seriously determined that we should find our assigned lifeboats anyway. Apparently there is some sort of law requiring each passenger to participate in this exercise. They explained that if the ship sinks, we’re supposed to quickly locate our designated boat. The lifeboat itself looked very big and heavy. I also noted it appeared to be hundreds of feet above the water.

I couldn’t help but wonder how the crew was going to hoist that object and what fate awaited us, its passengers, when it plunged into the sea. Yep, sharing their doom seemed like a surprisingly good option! It just felt like my luck had been poor lately.

It turns out there were multiple dinner seatings. We’d been placed in the second seating, which I took to mean we’d be eating what was left over from the first round. This didn’t bother me too much as long as they fed us something edible; that’s all I expected. None of us had felt peckish after the massive breakfast we’d enjoyed during transit. We’d decided—actually, it was mostly the women who decided while I was asleep—that we would skip lunch entirely. Now evening was approaching and hunger was setting in once more. We were told that dinner attire for this evening was ‘Casual’. Despite this, the ladies declared that we needed to return to our cabin to change before dining. Foolishly, I hoped my pink suitcases held at least one shirt and a pair of trousers.

Upon returning to our room, we discovered that our luggage had indeed found its way to our stateroom and was waiting patiently for us. Soon after we settled in, someone knocked on the door. Mistress answered it. It turned out to be our cabin boy. They use much more formal-sounding titles these days, but I still prefer ‘Cabin boy’. As far as I can tell, their duties remain largely unchanged. This handsome young man stopped by primarily for introductions so that if we caught anyone rummaging through our underwear drawers, we’d know who it was. He seized the moment to try and boost his tip by offering any services we might need. I’m sure he didn’t really mean ‘that kind’ of service, but I appreciated the innuendo. It was obvious he liked the look of Mistress and Karen, yet he seemed to spend quite a bit of time looking at me as well. I hadn’t checked my bags yet, but instinctively I knew finding masculine clothes in them would be unlikely. So even though this fellow seemed friendly enough for now, I considered it wise not to let him find me alone back in the cabin.

When we reached the dining room, the maitre d’ escorted us to our table and introduced us to our waiter, who also greeted us. He appeared quite intrigued by our group. He gave me a thorough once-over, seemingly fascinated by what he saw, though he said nothing more than outlining the meal options and offering a few dinner suggestions. I did notice that everyone seemed to take note of my necklace name tag. Most probably had to look twice to read the actual name correctly. We certainly enjoyed our meal, and I must compliment the staff on their skill in hiding the fact that we were eating leftovers. By the time dinner was served, the ship was well out at sea. As expected with any vessel, there was a gentle rolling motion as it cut through the water. At first, both Mistress and Karen enthusiastically attacked their food. However, before long they set down their forks, deciding they had enough much earlier than usual. I, on the other hand, refused to let that slight rocking disturb my meal. Hungry as I was, I devoured everything on my plate with no ill effects.

I’ve read that gay and lesbian travelers are often depicted as affluent, which is why cruise lines embrace them so warmly. One only needs to google ‘Gay cruises’ to see this truth. Alternatively, perhaps the entire industry is owned by queer people—possible, though I doubt it. In reality, none of this truly applied to me or my situation. Since I am a thoroughly straight man and all that sits in my pink suitcase are dresses and other feminine garments, an uninformed outsider might easily misunderstand who I am. It was somewhat comforting to think that even if I were exposed as a pervert—and little did I doubt the cabin boy, waiters, and staff already knew—there was at least a good chance I was among understanding people. I tried using this reasoning as an excuse to feel better. It didn’t work.

I won’t dwell on my humiliation during breakfast with another family or the lunchtime debacle. We are now in the next day, the one following our departure. The women had decided we would attend the ‘Mixer’, a social event that turned out to be somewhat of an elevated high school dance. Of course, it was more sophisticated than a typical youth affair, but the similarities were clear to me. The three of us sat contentedly at our table sipping fancy drinks from oddly shaped glasses with tiny umbrellas when a man walked up and stood beside me.

“Good evening ladies,” he began. All I had to do is look at Mistress and Karen to know they are truly beautiful women, so I was certain this gentleman was pursuing one of them. I smiled and nodded at both. As the man looked my way, the two women returned a nod and a glance that instantly conveyed: ‘You’d better play along with him, or else.’ It didn’t escape me that I had been wearing the lace-covered collar since boarding. This specific collar featured silk flowers concealing the shocking mechanism and padlock securing it around my neck. I knew if I failed to please the ladies, I would soon be convulsing in pain.

As my mind processed these thoughts and returned to the present moment, I realized the man beside me was asking me to join him on the dance floor. He grabbed my hand and gently pulled as I shook my head no, urging me along. The other women also gave me encouraging looks; I saw Mistress fiddling with the small remote control known to activate my collar. Seeing this, I knew I had only seconds left to save myself by throwing into the danger of his arms. I didn’t know if he was gay or just another sort of eccentric, nor did I know what he wanted. But I knew what I wanted: to avoid the terrible torment the collar would deliver if I surrendered to whatever this weirdo desired. All along, I had been dreading public attention. Suddenly, I felt thrilled that others were around. At that moment, it seemed better for more people to witness us. I figured he might not try anything too wild in front of a crowd.

I rose from my chair, trying to steady myself on the rather high and narrow heels the women had insisted upon. The man led me well onto the dance floor before pulling me closer while still holding my hand firmly. “Is that your name?” he asked, pointing at my pendant as he struggled to pronounce it with several insincere attempts. “Yes,” I said, “It’s spelled with an ‘E’, not an ‘I’.” I answered. “My friends call me ‘Gena.’” He ignored my subtle hint that I didn’t consider him a friend and apparently decided to call me Gena as well. I raised my free hand to balance on the heels, and he took it with his other hand. Suddenly, to a casual observer, this looked almost exactly like presenting one’s hand before dancing. And so it happened. He slid his arm around my waist, pulling me tighter against him, and suddenly we were a happy couple dancing among the crowd of lovers.

My head rested on his shoulder when I tried to explain that I wasn’t who he thought I was, nor likely the girl he wanted.

I listened and gently squeezed the hand he was holding while he rubbed my back with his other. I tried again to explain how beautiful Mistress and Karen were, and how much I thought he would truly enjoy their charms. I didn’t exactly swoon when he gave a nudge-rubbing to my head. Then he slid his other hand down and grabbed my ass as he continued dancing. I knew that Mistress and Karen were keeping an eye on us and that I would be truly sorry if I left him abandoned on the dance floor, so I just kept dancing following his lead.

After about eight days the music stopped and he released the strangle hold he had maintained on my waist. I stepped back from him and immediately grabbed my chance as I headed back to our table with him still in tow. I was in such a rush that I had almost forgotten to sway my hips as I had been shown to do by the women. Trying to outwardly maintain some sort of feminine grace, I threw myself onto the chair as I looked at him and uttered a truly insincere ‘Thank you’, mostly to avoid a chastisement from my collar. He gave me a look that showed his disappointment that I hadn’t allowed him the opportunity to kiss me. Eew! What a gross thought that was. He gave me a wink and some sort of ‘Thumbs up’ hand gesture using both thumbs as he wandered off, hopefully to find a more willing victim.

“Oooh. It looks as though Gena has found herself a boyfriend!” Karen tormented. “It sure does look that way” Mistress agreed. “Gena found herself a real pervert,” I corrected. “Now, now be nice. He looked like a very nice guy, and cute too.” Karen chided. “Well you are more than welcome to him. I for one hope I never see him again” I said trying probably unsuccessfully to be somewhat catty about it. Men just don’t do a good job at being catty. Where was that iceberg hidden in the fog when you needed one?

The next morning we had gotten up early to go to breakfast. Two other young women who were traveling together joined us. They seemed to like Mistress and Karen, but it was clear that they weren’t too sure about me. If I had been a guy on a cruise… Well, under normal circumstances, if I had been on this cruise I would have probably tripped over my tongue as I did whatever was necessary to meet these two women. Here they were sitting at the breakfast table with me and all I could do was my feminine best to act like a woman around them. Life just isn’t fair! Mostly the four women talked among themselves. On the one or two occasions that I tried to say something, all four of them gave me what could only be described as a dirty look and then they resumed their conversations.

After breakfast we returned to our room. I had learned that in a few hours we were going to be pulling into port somewhere in Mexico and, as I understood it, we would be going ashore. Once we entered our cabin the two women started doing their thing. They each headed for a suitcase. Before I realized that this was not really normal and could figure out what was going on, they were both attacking me. Within seconds it seemed I was securely bound, hogtied, with a ball gag deeply imbedded within my mouth. Not only was I hogtied, but I was tied to one of the beds as well so that there was no way I could move off of the bed. Interestingly enough, I was still fully clothed and wearing my wig, although my struggles had probably smeared my lipstick and certainly had mussed my hair which now hung annoyingly over my face.

Once I had been securely tied, the women left the cabin. Within a short period of time my worst fears were realized as the cabin boy walked in. He gave me a look, and then walked over to my bed and gave me a much closer visual inspection. He seemed to be rather intrigued by this woman who was securely bound in her cabin and tied to the bed. After giving me a thorough once-over two or three times, he got busy cleaning the cabin. He seemed to thoroughly ignore my presence as he worked. He vacuumed the carpet and then ripped the sheets off the other bed, throwing the bedspread and blankets from it on top of me as he did so. Replacing the sheets, he re-made the bed. Then he dusted everything in the room and cleaned the bathroom. When he had finished he left the cabin locking the door behind him. He hadn’t said a word to me the whole time and other than his initial rather thorough visual inspection, he had for the most part completely ignored my presence.

I knew that the women had to have been involved in this somehow. Try as I might, I just couldn’t quite imagine how that conversation might have gone. The cabin boy spoke English well, but it was clearly a second language for him. ‘Um, excuse me, our friend is bound and gagged in our cabin, but we want you to go in and clean the cabin anyway.’ That must have been something like the way it went, but I clearly couldn’t see that quite working. The women are quite persuasive, and they usually get what they want, especially if it involves men or a man. Somehow I just wish that I knew how they had pulled this one off.

After a few hours the women returned to the cabin and untied me. They fixed my makeup and combed my hair. By then it was time to disembark and see the sights on shore. I was anxious to see the sights that Mexico had to offer, but somehow I also had this nagging feeling that there was safety on the ship that I would be leaving behind. We made our way from our cabin directly to the disembarkation point on the ship. I was surprised to see the two women that we had enjoyed breakfast with waiting for us near the gangplank. I was surprised that this time they greeted me with almost the same friendly attitude that they had for Mistress and Karen.

We made our way from the ship directly to the touristy shopping area on shore. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that the women seemed intent on spending the day shopping since this seems to be one of the things that women really love to do. We went from shop to shop looking at all kinds of things, but mostly women’s clothing. I had noticed that the two new women that we had met seemed to have taken on a somewhat different attitude toward me. It was a somewhat subtle change but they definitely seemed friendlier and did seem to accept me a little better than they had the day before. Eventually we got to one shop that seemed to specialize in what I would describe as traditional Mexican style clothing. Of course, this was not your normal every day clothing but the fancier blouses, skirts, and dresses that might be kept for a special occasion or a night out on the town. All four women seemed to pick up an excitement from the shop. Perhaps it was the vivid bright colors of the clothing, or the abundant ruffles and lace that adorned most of the apparel.

It was a few minutes later when Karen returned carrying a dress in her arms. I could tell from the way she was carrying it that it was a long full length one. The other women had caught the scent and appeared as if by magic. As the women surrounded me, I was whisked off into the dressing room. All five of us entered the changing area that would normally be crowded with a party of two. I was quickly stripped to my underwear and the new dress was plastered onto my body. This was not your normal ‘House dress’. In feminese it was ‘Form fitting’ which meant that it was tight by design, and hugged every curve of my body and may have even created a few new ones. It buttoned up the front with at least eighty-seven buttons, and as the women worked to button the dress closed I began to realize why I hated this garment. The main feature seemed to be that the body of the dress followed my body downward to two or three inches below my knees. Please understand that I’m not talking about the skirt part, I’m talking about the ‘Body’ of the garment. The skirt started below that. The skirt flared out sort of like a ballerinas tutu but like I said all of that started several inches below my knees and went down approximately to my ankles.

The dress’s tight fit made it very much like a restrictive hobble skirt. With my knees effectively bound together, walking was quite difficult. I had to keep them close and move only the lower part of my legs below the knee. The other women seemed pleased with it, though none rushed out to buy one for themselves.

After admiring the dress for a while, I was left alone in the dressing room still wearing it. I wanted to change back into the clothes I arrived in, but couldn’t find them. The ladies scoured the store until suddenly I spotted the two beauties from breakfast running toward Mistress and Karen. Each carried an item of clothing. Within seconds, I was surrounded by the women and ushered back into the dressing room. They quickly stripped me out of the current dress and replaced it with a new skirt and blouse they had found. It’s hard to describe this outfit; it looked more like a movie set costume than something you’d see on the street—though that could have been said about the first one too, perhaps because I was in a foreign country with different cultures and traditions. To me, it felt more Spanish than traditional Mexican, though what do I know? The colors were mostly black and white, but that doesn’t capture the whole look. There was even a comb-like device with a lacy small fan for my hair. I have no idea what the feminine term is for all this gear.

The styles were new and foreign to me, yet somehow fancy enough. I got the impression that if I met a guy while wearing it, we’d end up in a bar or on a street corner rather than a nightclub.

The women scattered back into the store but returned soon with another dress. Once again stripped down, they dressed me in this new outfit. It was far less formal—cotton material, striped and brightly colored in reds, greens, yellows, and other hues. Women seem to have so many more color names than we men do, but I hope you get the idea. The style was simpler, with low fluffy sleeves and neckline. Again, I don’t know all the feminine terms for it, but there were plenty of ruffles, and the dress did its best to show off my breasts. The skirt looked standard but long, reaching almost to my ankles, and huge because it contained what seemed like miles of fabric that allowed it to flow as I moved. It was probably cut from a large circular piece; if I could have spun fast enough, this thing would have flung out like a giant phonograph record attached at the waist. Since the material wasn’t light, spinning might have been fatal! The colors and style definitely made it pure Mexican—not that there’s anything wrong with that—but it sure makes me stand out back home.

The women loved it and insisted on buying all three outfits for me. Unfortunately, they also insisted I wear this colorful last one back to the ship, meaning I’d keep it on for many more hours while we continued shopping.

We spent the rest of the day browsing. The ladies never seemed tired of searching for whatever it was they were looking for. Honestly, I don’t think even they knew exactly what they sought, and I doubted they would recognize it if found. As for me, I had far more than I wanted (except maybe a few hours in a bar), but that didn’t seem likely. Dressed as I was in such a place, I felt sure those hours could be detrimental to my health. The only Spanish word I know is ‘Gringo’, and I doubted it would win me friends at the local pub.

After days—or perhaps a full week—of hopping from shop to shop, the women finally decided we should head back to the ship. We had missed our usual dining time. Fortunately, modern cruise ships serve meals almost anytime day or night. It might not be true 24-hour dining, but it seems you can always find good food when hungry. I hoped the ladies would let me change into something more suitable for dinner. Guess I’m not very good at this feminine thing because most of what I think is appropriate gets vetoed by them. Anyway, I wore my big bright Mexican dress to dinner. They did warn me that if even a speck of food landed on it, I’d be in trouble. I didn’t doubt their seriousness.

The five of us dined together again that evening. Dinner was enjoyable as always. The women talked constantly—mostly about the shopping trip they had just completed and everything they found. One might think there would be little to discuss since we shopped together, but a conversation between men who did similar things often goes like this: ‘Did you see that thing in the window at the third place?’ … ‘Yeah, cool.’ … ‘Yeah, real cool.’ The women talked for ninety minutes and didn’t come close to finishing.

After dinner, we returned to our cabins. Mistress immediately ordered me to strip down to my corset—the furthest I could go since it was still locked on. I cringed seeing Karen approach with the hobble dress. They put the dress on me; there seemed to be ninety-six buttons fastening from my exposed cleavage down past my knees. The skirt protruding below them looked almost obscene, like a strange flower with my body sticking out of its center, trying to attract some alien creature. I wasn’t sure if it would devour or be devoured by it.

The women fixed my hair, attaching the little lacy silk fan thing (attached to a large comb base) that reminded me of an old black friend who used one he called a ‘Frow pick’—or something similar. They spent time rearranging my hair so there was a lump behind the fan to make it stand out more. Then they did my makeup and spritzed perfume, adding false eyelashes that seemed foot-long. They felt funny weighing down my lids. Finally came high heels with thin pointed heals and straps to keep them on. The dress made walking hard; the shoes made it harder. Looking in the mirror, I realized I had a rather alluring look with definite Hispanic flair.

As soon as the women strapped on my shoes one by one, we headed off to the ballroom. In the hallway leading there, we met two other beauties.

It hadn’t been hard for them to spot us in the hallway since I could only shuffle along at a snail’s pace, weighed down by the shoes and dress. The other women kept complimenting my appearance, making me spin around so they could ‘see all of me’. That nearly proved disastrous, but those who laughed at my misfortune caught me before I hit the floor and steadied me. I bet you can’t guess who was waiting at the ballroom door. Maybe you would know him, but he’s certainly not my boyfriend! His face lit up as we made our slow approach. I fought to keep steady while creeping down the hall. He barely acknowledged the four lovely women with me and went straight for me, offering a broad smile. As he got close, he planted a kiss right on my lips. I wanted to retch, but that would have been unladylike. Besides, the shock collar hadn’t come off since we boarded. Having felt its sting before, I wasn’t messing around! I didn’t know where the women hid the keys for the padlock, but I knew both Mistress and Karen had their remote controls ready. I wouldn’t say I was whisked onto the dance floor; wearing these shoes and hobble dress, unless this man could lift me—which I doubted—he wasn’t moving that fast. Basically, I was dragged there. He reached around to grab my backside with one hand on each cheek, pulling me hard against him. My breasts hit his chest first, then our hips collided from the force of the pull. Clearly he was excited about something, and while part of me hoped it wasn’t me, deep down I knew it likely was. It didn’t sit well with me. I straightened up, using my arms to regain a shaky balance on my feet. We both realized that in his excitement, he had stepped on the front of my long skirt. This made standing properly impossible, and I crashed back down. My only option was falling into him or onto the floor. Admittedly, maybe I didn’t choose wisely, but at that moment, he seemed softer than the ground. As this happened, he instinctively lifted his foot off my dress. Seeing him move away, I reached up to steady myself and managed to wrap an arm around his neck. Looking back, it probably looked like two lovers embracing on the dance floor to anyone who didn’t know what was happening. Of course, I knew that wasn’t true at all. The women seemed pleased with my performance so far. With my skirt freed, I could stabilize myself again. Now came the challenge of moving enough to keep up with him while dancing. The ship’s band played slow music, which helped a bit but made it harder for me to escape his grasp. At some point, he took his hands off my backside and began holding me tightly against him. His grip was surprisingly firm and unyielding. He gently but firmly pushed my head down onto his shoulder. One hand rested on the nape of my neck, keeping my head in place, while the other lay over my bra strap on my back. This squeezed my breasts firmly against his chest. Supported by the tight skirt and high heels, I was kept physically off balance. In fact, I teetered on the brink of another fall, braced by him and relying entirely on his body for support, even though my feet bore most of my weight. He whispered something like ‘I’ve missed you; have longed for you’ into my ear. I didn’t catch every word, but the meaning was clear. Trying to speak loudly enough for him to hear while keeping our conversation private from the whole floor, and using a more masculine tone despite speaking softly: “I may not look it on the outside, but I am quite capable of defending myself,” I said, hoping he would take the hint. “And I’d love to demonstrate those abilities.” It was meant as a threat, and I sincerely hoped he’d back off. He didn’t seem smart enough for such subtlety and showed no sign of retreating. “I’ll bet you do,” he replied. “You’re feisty, aren’t you?” These were words I dreaded hearing. As the music neared its end, I tried another tactic: “My feet are really killing me.” “I’ve just got to sit down for a bit,” I complained. He gave in and attempted to drag me toward his table. But I wasn’t having it; I fought hard to keep my balance while resisting his gentle pull, aiming instead for where the girls were sitting earlier. As we struggled for control on the dance floor, the band started another song. He responded quickly, almost literally sweeping me off my feet again. Before I knew what was happening, we were back in dancing mode as I once more tried to keep from crashing down. If this wasn’t hell, it was at least purgatory. While I don’t really believe in either concept, I was getting a crash course and learning fast. After about three weeks of sorts, the music finally ended again. This time, I didn’t waste a second; fighting like a banshee, I caught him off guard and headed toward the girls’ table before the band hit its final note. He had no choice but to follow us there. The women gave me that look as if asking why I hadn’t stayed out longer. Throwing myself onto a chair—which was quite an achievement given how tight my dress was—I explained, “My feet are just killing me; I need to sit the next few songs out.” Before they could offer him a seat, I looked at him and said, “Why don’t you let me rest here? You can come back later for another try.” I tried to be ladylike, but my message of ‘Go away, pervert’ was clear. He wandered off reluctantly, promising to return soon. “That man has hands all over the place and never lets up,” I complained. Karen just looked at me with a sweet, innocent smile and dismissed it: “We girls have to put up with that kind of thing all the time.” It was obvious she wasn’t including me in her circle; she had banished me to the enemy ranks. “What do you mean ‘we girls’?” I complained again, patting my fake breasts from underneath and bouncing them at her. The four women gave me a look that screamed total agreement with Karen’s statement. Clearly, I was outvoted and outsized, not to mention an outlier. Suddenly, I felt like… well, a woman? A person without any side where I could truly identify myself.

The fresh air and the effort of shopping had exhausted us all. I knew better than suggesting we return to our cabin since that seemed far beyond my station. Before long, the women themselves decided it was time to retire for the evening. We agreed to meet in the dining room for breakfast tomorrow morning. As we slowly made our way out, he came running up. I thought he might tackle me again and steadied myself by bracing against Mistress’s shoulder.”

Preemptively bracing for the removal. If this play unfolded as I anticipated, we were both headed down together. At the last second, he decelerated and swerved away, ultimately catching my arm just above the wrist. As he came to a surprisingly graceful halt beside us, it seemed entirely natural, as if that had been his plan from the start.

“You’re not leaving yet?” he asked, looking slightly wounded. “The night is still young,” he pressed before I could utter a word.

“It’s been an incredibly long day for me,” I explained, “and I need my beauty sleep.”

“But when will I see you again?” he stammered.

I held back the thought of ‘Never, especially if I catch sight of you first,’ and instead offered a more ladylike, elusive reply: “Perhaps we shall cross paths sometime.”

I was mildly surprised that the ladies allowed such an answer to pass without issue. I had expected them to send me off to spend the night in this man’s cabin, but everyone was weary, and I certainly needed solid rest.

The night flew by, and morning brought us to our final day on board. We were required to pack and tag our luggage before heading down for breakfast. Fortunately, the women had included both the hobble dress from the previous evening and the colorful one worn during shopping. However, I wasn’t pleased to see they’d left behind the skirt and blouse that had been my first choice yesterday. That outfit definitely carried a Spanish flair in my view. It reminded me of bullfighting attire; it was what a conquistador’s lady might wear. Alternatively, you could picture such a dress on a woman standing at a street corner hailing down cars while turning away anything resembling a taxi or police vehicle… If I make myself clear.

Once more, they provided the shoes with high, pointed heels. The lacy fan and comb accessory was styled into my hair as well.

The other two women were already seated when we reached the dining room. They praised my dress and quickly slipped into their usual feminine chatter alongside Mistress and Karen. Dining with these four ladies was quite pleasant. I wasn’t fully part of the conversation, mostly because although they all spoke English, they used a distinct ‘feminese’ dialect while I stuck to typical male phrasing, making communication somewhat difficult at times. Still, I enjoyed the view.

We had secured seats by a window, but an even better sight was the eight beautiful breasts belonging to the four lovely women right there at our table. If only my member hadn’t been so deeply and tightly tucked between my legs, it surely would have risen stiffly, ready for action. As I sat enjoying the scenery, it suddenly occurred to me that five large sets of breasts were present at the table. Even though this particular pair didn’t quite match the quality of the others, I was positioned directly behind one of them. This detail clashed slightly with my fantasy, yet I decided not to let a minor point ruin the experience—proof, perhaps, that I am indeed a true pervert.

[Continues in part 2.]