BarbarianSpy Bisexual Romp
Sometimes it is a distinct advantage to look and sound like a young Denzel Washington, even though you are an Indian from Goa. Especially if you want to do well as a bisexual gigolo and dining room waiter aboard the Quincy Queen on a seven-day cruise along the New England coast.
Freddie—not his real name, but one easily remembered by passengers at tip time—has a pimp, his dining room section head-waiter, Alphonse, who has a talent for loading up the table assignments in their section with an assortment of passengers with various sexual needs and proclivities.
In this somewhat tongue-in-cheek, but highly sexually charged, collection of stories, Freddie exhibits his talent for both fulfilling those needs and earning a good keep while leaving each of the passengers, both male and female, better off than they were before boarding the Quincy Queen.
Freddie stood near the elevators at the base of the central atrium, the Centrum, of the Quincy Queen cruise liner. Here he could spy the more experienced sea cruise travelers as they started their explorations at the heart of the ship, after coming on board Sunday morning and afternoon. The Quincy Queen was off for a seven-day trip up the Maine coast, across to the Canadian Maritimes, and then back to Boston.
He was there to see the possibilities for the next seven days, but he also was there to be seen. His stark white short shorts showed off his bicycler’s legs well, the white, sleeveless T-shirt fit his well-muscled chest closely and emphasized his biceps. The stark white of both contrasted well with the rich coffee color of his skin, and the aviator sunglasses perched on his head were something he learned on a recent cruise were an attention getter. He was always learning on these cruises.
“You do something like wear aviator glasses on your head, and they’ll notice and their eyes will continue down and take the rest of it in,” a man more experienced in this than Freddie had told him.
And it was working. He had a beautiful smile that he could put a bit of mischief in, and he’d become adept at gauging the smiles he got in return as either just “Hi, how are you?” friendliness or “Wonder how you are in bed” speculation. He, of course, was honing in on the latter ones.
He was wearing thin-soled, open-toed sandals too. He had very nice long and plump toes. The same guy who had told him about the glasses told him that, strange as it might seem, some of the more adventuresome men and women focused in on the toes—and the size of the hands and fingers. His were indicative of what the man told him the more openly seeking ones were looking for—a nicely plump cock—so there was no reason for him to hide either.
He couldn’t stay long. Alphonse had told him to be up at the pool in a Speedo as early as possible and for as long as possible while they were docked in Boston and taking on passengers—and he had to start his official duties at 4:30. He couldn’t just not do the work the cruise line was paying he for well enough to keep the job. It was going to be a busy day.