Scan-And-Dinavia!

by [email protected] 3 months ago in satire

How to Bang a Straight Guy

Scan-And-Dinavia!
Photo by Josué AS on Unsplash

Like most cut dancers, I began my career at a young age doing revue shows on cruise ships. It's a great job to have when you're young because at that age you don't realize that the rules of the ship basically strip you of your independence. Plus Royal Caribbean allows employees to drink in the crew bar at age 18 so its a great way to sew some oats and save some money before you decide to become a real adult. Although I tend to only have negative things to say about my cruise ship days because of their "always on the job" mentality, I actually had a shit load of fun, saw some amazing sights, and made a few life long friends who I still keep in touch with today.

It was my second contract with Royal Caribbean and aside from not having air conditioning in the dressing room of that archaic ship I was loving my cast and the shows. Halfway through our contract our ship got a massive refurbishment. Basically they picked it up out of the water and completely gut renovated the 91,000 ton chunk of metal that was just 3 years younger than myself. Because of the huge renovation happening in the theater, the production company saw this as an opportunity to put a brand new show on board (and by brand new, I mean sections from their other shows recycled into the same old shit you see on every cruise ship). So for the first two weeks of this refurbishment from hell, we were back in Hollywood, FL dancing for 6 hours a day and drinking 6 nights a week like usual. While in Hollywood I was constantly cock-teased by this beautiful Puerto Rican 18 year old boy that was in one of the other casts rehearsing at the same time. Oscar was so fucking hot I even drunkenly agreed to date the little whore in hopes of getting my hands on the giant piece of uncut brown gold he was stashing inside his dancebelt. Needless to say, all I got was some dirty talk in Spanish (which makes me more moist than you can even imagine) and a couple of make-out sessions before heading back to a half-built ship to dance on a half-built stage and try to "nap" in a room with no air conditioning and 103 degree sun beaming through the window with a giant set of blue balls.

One night while winding down in the crew bar, which had now been overtaken by contractors from around the world, I spotted the man I decided needed to become my husband. These contractors were gross to say the least. Most of them were from countries I'd never even heard of and wouldn't be able to point out to you on a map. They barely spoke English and the few teeth they had were a radioactive shade of yellow but the one thing I could give this bunch of unintentional Pirates of the Caribbean extras was that they were the only people on the ship who were always drunker than me. My husband, however, didn't seem to fit in with this band of Jerry's kids. He kept to himself, never had more than a couple of beers, and was STUNNINGLY gorgeous. Probably around 6'4" with piercing blue eyes, dark blond hair and matching goatee. His shirt had the name of his electrical company and read "Something Something Scandinavia" which prompted me to rename my thighs "scan" and "dinavia" in hopes that he'd like to take a trip back to the homeland. Obviously this renaming ceremony came with a three act play that I made sure the entirety of the crew bar could see and involved throwing each leg on a high table... cause I'm classy like that.

The very last night of this refurbishment from hell (which was a documentary on TLC for those of you who remember my 15 seconds of fame bitching about having to carry my own luggage up the world's steepest gangway) the only "passengers" onboard were members of the main office, travel agents, and press so Royal Caribbean did everything they could to keep them nice and trashed so they could make back the insane amount of money they just spent on this giant floating trash can. The cruise director (one of the coolest I've ever worked with) decided that we had worked our asses off with the new show and made the cast the only crew members on the ship who were allowed to drink in public that night because to the travel agents and press we were the "celebrities" of the ship and it makes them feel special to "mingle" with us. My favorite addition to the ship's new look was the dueling piano bar. Basically it was two singer/pianists who sing and play songs at the same time and make fun of the drunk audience who is singing along. As a drunk audience member, I quickly became the pianists favorite and would always request Sweet Caroline cause I was really good at the "bum bum bum's!" While partaking in some drunken sing-alongs with the dueling piano guys and the heads of the production office I spotted my husband walking through. One of my music directors from Stagedoor taught me at a young age that when you see a hot guy you wanna sleep with you have to "lock them eyes" (he's from Alabama) so that's exactly what I did to my husband and he obviously noticed because he looked at me and pointed up motioning towards the guest "disco" or fake dance club as I called it. Obviously that was all it took for me so I grabbed the rest of the cast and the drunk production managers and dragged them to the guest disco so I could start making my moves.

Every time I'd seen him around the ship he definitely seemed like a loner so when we got to the disco 2 drunken flights of stairs later I was surprised to see him hanging out with Smee and company. By this point I'm horny, irritable, and a force to be reckoned with for anyone or thing that tried to stand between me and cock, so it didn't take long for me to walk up and introduce myself. His English wasn't completely horrible, he could understand a lot more than he could speak but it definitely wasn't good enough to have a full conversation. It was kind of like someone who took the two required semesters of Spanish in high school and nothing else. The basics are there, but the comprehension is way off and its all being said with a really crappy accent. One of my first questions was "Do you fuck boys or girls?" to which he replied girls, but I sure as fuck wasn't about to let that stop me. The world's most difficult flirting continued until I realized that the lights were on and we were the only people left in the disco so I invited him back to my room for a "soda" knowing damn well that I didn't have any in my fridge. The first thing I see when I open the door is my straight Canadian roommate playing some godawful war video game and I knew I was gonna have to come up with a plan b. Moving forward with the soda charade, I asked the girls next door if they had any and the two of them seemed very concerned about my safety. I guess through the eyes of a skinny young straight girl this seemed to be the kind of guy that would beat the shit out of me if I tried to make a move on him (or what I like to call: my type).

Since there was no Sprite or Grape Fanta to be found (those were the only two drinks ever served in the staff vending machine) I suggested we head up to the staff mess (that's what they called the dining hall. cause you know, we're in the navy) for some OJ and coffee. By this point we were close enough to the coast to get cell phone reception and he started getting texts on his old school Nokia from various trampy sluts in Finland who were lucky enough to have sat on his big pink fishing pole. I took this as an opportunity to delve into the subject of homosexual relations and there seemed to be some comprehension issues because he just kept saying "I do not know to say in English." (A line that I will never forget for the rest of my life) Finally he invited me back to his room (I still can't remember what the premise for the invite was but I'm pretty sure it had something to do with Scandinavian beer) and just as he goes to put the key in the door he runs into one of his Finish coworkers and he invited the cockblock into the room.

After an hour or so of the two of them having a full conversation in Finish (felt like a fucking lifetime) the cockblocker (who spoke perfect English, but only used it when talking to me) looked across the room at me and asked "Are you a fagot?" I was so fed up with the situation that I just blurted out "Yes!" and we spent the next twenty minutes talking about why the word fagot doesn't offend me. I didn't really give a shit so I just kept trying to shake his hand and say "It was nice meeting you" not so subtly hint-dropping that I wanted him to get the hell out of there. To this day I have no idea what they were talking about but I'm sure it had something to do with me very obviously wanting to have sex with him. Once the cockblocker finally left he turned the lights off and the tv on and we started watching one of the same 3 episodes of Everybody Loves Raymond that I had seen everyday for the last year and a half and I knew that this was happening now or never. I grew nuts, went and sat on his bed beside him and flat-out asked "Are we gonna fuck, or what?" and there came that same line of "I do not know to say in English." Five minutes of that back and forth until I finally couldn't take it anymore so I pushed him back on the bed, grabbed his giant already in a half-chub cock through his cargo pants, and shoved my tongue down his throat. There was no resistance from his side whatsoever and after a good 30 seconds he turned aggressive and I just sat back and enjoyed the ride. There was no penetration, mostly because condoms and lube aren't exactly the first things you pack when leaving your Northern European country full of hot, tall blonde women to hang out on a ship full of drunk guys for a month, but also because at the time that was the biggest dick I had ever seen and I would liked to have not shit my pants the next day.

After an hour of what I like to call pure nirvana, we both came all over the place and I tried to get him to take a shower with me completely forgetting that he can barely fit in a ship shower by himself let alone with a 20 year old twink leach who won't stop licking every inch of him. Then we both put our clothes on and said our goodbyes. He got off the ship and flew home to Finland never to be seen or felt up by me again. I went back to my room and took a 20 minute nap before meeting my entire family at the gangway who were coming to visit me the week before Christmas. The family trip was supposed to be my Christmas present but much like that rich aunt who's always trying to upstage everyone else's gift at big family parties, their presence seemed pretty lackluster compared to the present I got the night before. I'll never forget Petri or that magical few hours we spent together. I've fucked a couple of guys who remind me of him since then, but nothing will ever compare to the original straight Scandinavian electrician that barely spoke English and the satisfaction I got from conquering him. :)

satire
Daniellynnevans@gmail.com
[email protected]
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