Final Cruise

I was on Facebook today to change my profile photo. St. Patrick’s Day is over (and the Dublin cruise is whole other story). This is the photo I chose. It made me grin wondering how many of my male Facebook friends might smile as well.

This may well be the sluttiest of all of my Navy photos. By the time this photo was taken, I had been on my ship for nearly three years. We were bringing her home to die. We were down to a (still sizable)  skeleton crew who had lived, worked, and played together during those years. We were a very close group. And of course, I was fucking many of them.

They never knew who else I was fucking. I loved that part. They each knew they weren’t the only one I was seeing because I made sure to tell them that first. None seemed to mind. Sure, every now and then a couple of them might figure out that they were both fucking me, but none could ever figure out how many or who all of them were. *grins* And the times when I was ‘busted’ by two always seemed to work out to my benefit. I do love being spit-roasted…

The problem on a ship, though is privacy. In port is easy, but underway crawling around pipes and heavy machinery in operation to fuck gets old. Kinda necessary though. Very few offices lock with an actual key, instead using padlocks or cipher locks. Also, I am sort of loud during sex for an average office space. (You may have seen/heard for yourself elsewhere on this blog already.)

What I needed was an office. An easily accessible, yet private, soundproofed, and lockable with a key I controlled. I also wanted to be able to sleep in there. I hated living in a shared space with all of the younger girls on the ship. So I would also need a ladies room of my own, with shower, and maybe a washer & dryer of my own. Not much to ask for, huh? With few exceptions, even the chiefs and officers above me had to share offices & living quarters.

Fat chance you’d think. But I am me. I knew that ship and every person on it. I knew exactly what office I wanted. It met ALL of the requirements above. It had two female toilets, two showers, and washer/dryer about 100 feet from the door. No one used them. The two female junior officers left on board had the same two decks up. They gave me their blessing to use that one. The position in that office was a collateral duty, and had just come open. I had already been fucking in that office and my friend had transferred.

I volunteered of course. I was overqualified. Except for some simple, messy work two hours each morning and afternoon, the space was mine. If the door was unlocked and I was in there, I would usually help during other times as well. If the door was locked, they could always call me. I was also the only person lower ranking than a chief that had my own ship’s cell phone. My number was 3069. I didn’t pick it. The man chuckling that programmed it did. The best part is that there were only three keys to the space. I had two of them, and the supply chief had the third locked up. He knew better than to come in without calling.

So I had my private office, bedroom, and bathroom. The hammock I had just needed rings to hang from. That took another friend to put in, just right, so the hammock was the perfect height from the floor with weight on it. And then he welded them in. We tested them quite successfully. I had music, movies, satellite television, telephone (ship and stateside), and internet. I had plenty of locker space for all of my stuff so I completely moved out of female berthing.

Now I was ready for my final cruise.

Of course I had my men. I adored them all, and seemed to keep acquiring more. To keep things simple, I only had one rule. If the door is unlocked, you can come in. Often others were there as well, working or hanging out. (Believe it or not, I had male friends I wasn’t fucking, and did not actually have cock inside me 24 hours a day.) If the door was locked, they didn’t knock. They just assumed I was not there or busy.

I would be working, relaxing, or even sleeping, and men would come in, see I was alone, lock the door, and use me. The soundproofing inside and machinery outside covered my screaming. Most often they would simply zip up and leave. And I would go back to what I was doing until the next one came. (Pun intended.)

Every now and then I would like to plan ahead for a special evening with one. Or two. In that case, I had the guest key, seen hanging below. The door stayed locked on those nights. Well, at least until they left. It was always unlocked while I slept, unless of course someone came in. There was always someone up on the ship. (Ok, now that was an unintended pun, and very corny. I will try to stop.)

I did love that office. I loved that ship. I loved the amazing places we went. And I did love the crew, or at least as many as possible. I will always treasure those memories. I did my best to serve my country, above and beyond what was required. I even got a medal for it.

I could have used the help of another slut or two though.

Ah memories… I think this had to be my favorite of all cruises. Me, my office with hammock, and all of those men… twitter.com/iSlut_/status/…
— @iSlut_™ (@iSlut_) April 2, 2013

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