As the sunset across the Australian horizon the hues of orange, red, and yellow beamed on Carol's face as she sat on a bronzed bench on the ship's side deck. This was always her favorite place to clear her mind, right before her night shift on the boat would begin. The entirety of the 180-meter yacht seemed minute in this instant; a minuscule object adrift, basking in the face of the glaring sun. The ocean was relatively calm today. The ship's owners, on the other hand, were a different story.
Carol knew that as soon as the clock hit 19:00 hours her night could go any which way; all depending on how much the owner's wife had to drink. The owner's wife, Alma, had taken a particular interest in Carol. Always asked about Carol's Brazilian background, begging her to stop her daily assigned duties to make her caipirinhas, and rub lotion on her back as others stared in discomfort. While Carol understood the root of this behavior lied in Alma's desire for attention from her neglectful husband, she still couldn't wrap her head around why her obsession with her never seemed to diminish.
In the two months, she had been working on the ship, Alma's special treatment of Carol made her a pariah amongst the crew members. One time, after a day spent training and stretching Alma, Carol went to her housing quarters where a single red rose rested on her pillow. Next to it, was a gold and white embossed letter that had Carol's full name spelled out in gorgeous calligraphy.
Inside the letter were $1000.00 AUD and a note that read "meet me in the theatre at midnight."
"What now?" Carol thought.
Carol's shipmate, Brandy, who witnessed her opening the letter, asked in disbelief "what does she want with you?"
Carol just shrugged her shoulders and said: "Who knows with these crazy rich white ladies, they think they can buy anything."
"Can't they though?" Said Brandy in a joking matter.
"Well, I'm not for sale," Carol said firmly. This would be her last week on this yacht and she would be making the journey from Australia to Palma de Mallorca. She wouldn't have to dodge the rich old housewife's advances for much longer, and the money was honestly a much-needed advance Carol would use to jump start her personal training business once she arrived in Spain.
"Just one more week." Carol thought.
Yet, as Carol went about her nightly duties, the message in the note loomed over her. Every time Alma appeared she found an excuse to dodge her and go into another room. As the night came to an end, Carol breathed a sigh of relief as she was able to get through her tasks without interruptions from Alma.
Just as she thought she was in the clear, Carol was interrupted by a very drunk Alma on her way to her housing quarters.
"Psssst….com her'" Slurred Alma.
Here we go…Carol thought."Just another middle-aged woman who hasn't cum in ages, looking to me. As if the ship's only lesbian would be the only one to be able to satisfy her crude intentions. She could've very easily asked Ethan, who even referred to her a ‘hot for an older lady.'"
Either way, Carol knew she couldn't escape her now.
"Hi Alma, what do you need?" Even as the words left her mouth Carol knew the answer.
"Youuuuuuu" slurred Alma again.
At that moment Carol knew, she had to make a choice. Was she about to give this old lady the orgasm of her life and get a payout or potentially lose her job, her only hope at starting a new life for herself?
Carol sighed out a reluctant "Okayy…" and followed Alma to the guest quarters.
Carol sighed out a reluctant "Okayy…" and followed Alma to the guest quarters.
As soon as they entered the guest room, Alma very loudly shushes Carol saying that she slipped her husband an extra Ambien in his drink, but that they still couldn't be loud. A hilarious notion to Carol, but she complied and pretended like she was the one knocking herself around the room leaving chaos in her wake; not Alma. Alma immediately reached over to the decanter that contained a dark liquor.
"More trouble", Carol thought.
"Do you want someee? Its Mezcal, MEJICANO Just like you! AY AY." Said Alma in the way only a white person can desecrate a culture in a matter of seconds.
"I'm actually Brazilian," Carol said, surprised as Alma knew where she was from. She must be really fucked up.
"OH, haha same difference, do you want a glass?" Said Alma.
"No, I'm okay, seems very strong." Carol was growing weary of this woman's intentions, could this just be over already?…
"Alma, why did you ask me to follow you here?" Said Carol, cutting straight to the point.
"Well…I was hoping we could spend some quality time together?" Alma's drunk wink was so obvious and sloppy that it was almost sad.
It wouldn't surprise Carol that even in her old age, this bitch was horny. Her husband, a much older man than her, probably didn't have much energy or stamina in the slightest.
"That envelope on the nightstand is for you… for when we finish." Alma followed that sentence with another sloppy wink, and she made her way to the California king bed. Carol's gaze followed her and as she took note of the envelope. She immediately realized that's one thick envelope; several inches thick in fact. Carol couldn't remember when the last time she was this excited over the thickness of anything.
"Money talks…" Carol whispered under her breath as she made her way to Alma, who was laying on her back, clearly ready to "receive."
Alma's glass of mezcal clumsily made its way to her mouth, spilling plenty in the process. Carol gestured to take off her underwear, and as she pulled it down Alma's shaved legs covered in varicose veins; she braced herself.
"Wow!" Carol said pleasantly surprised. She had expected Alma to be packing an untamed bush of gray pubes, that hid a 10-year-old rotten roast beef sandwich. But no, Alma's nether regions were pristine.
"I try to take care of her." Alma chuckled, knowing her shit was tight and perky.
Immediately Carol went to work, and she knew she was doing an incredible job because Alma's glass of mezcal was quickly flung across the room' scattering and staining the carpet. In a few minutes, Carol realized that Alma had gone limp, as is no movement or response at all. Carol looked up, and Alma was out cold.
"Poor Baby, couldn't even stay awake long enough to cum." Muttered Carol.
As she wiped her face, Carol swiftly made her way to the nightstand to inspect the envelope, and her jaw dropped to the floor once she opened it. It was jam-packed with $100 bills. The old woman's not cheap, Carol thought; pleased with herself.
Upon examination, Carol realized there had to be at least $7,000 AUD in this envelope, and that she would no longer need to work for Alma and her decrepit husband. She could even send some of it to help her family in Brazil. At that moment, Carol packed her bag of belongings and walked straight off the boat at 2 in the morning. She knew she would not look back.
As Carol strolled aimlessly throughout the streets, engulfed in the dark Australian night, she mulled over her future, with a sense of bravado she hadn't felt in a long time, and exclaimed: "Thank God for rich horny old ladies!"
