“Can you add extra to my breasts?” I asked.
“Ah, so you are modest,” Guy said.
“No, I always wanted bigger breasts.”
“Of course, madam. Consider it done.”
I loved the way they were so customer-service oriented on this ship.
Guy decorated my edible underpinnings with marzipan lace, pink and red roses made from sugar frosting, thin stripes of icing applied in artistic swirls, and strategically placed swathes of fresh whipped cream. He drew chocolate fishnet stockings on my legs and for the final touch, filled the empty parts of the tray with piles of freshly cut strawberries and bananas. After inserting a single peeled grape into my navel, Guy dusted his creation with powdered sugar. Two waiters carefully lowered a vast silver cover over me.
I couldn’t stop giggling when I felt the tray being lifted by the four waiters assigned to carry me to the dining room. As the platter moved through the kitchen doors and into the dining room, my heart pounded madly. It was pitch-black and stuffy inside the serving dish.
The tray came to a halt and was placed on top of a table. I heard the muffled voice of Chef Saint Martin saying, “Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we bring you a very special dessert made possible for your dining pleasure by the lovely Holly Ross, who will be lecturing tomorrow morning at eleven in the Galaxy Lounge. Her talk is called A Peek Inside Panties from Past to Present. She invites you all to attend. But tonight she wished to give you a peek at what you would see should you decide to join her. And voilà!” The cover was whisked off and there I was in my naughty chocolate corset glory.
There were gasps and shrieks and giggles and half-open mouths all around. Four waiters lifted the tray and paraded me through the dining room so that everyone could take a closer look or a photograph.
After visiting all the passengers, I was placed on top of a table in the center of the room. The chef spoke. “And now, my dear friends, you are all invited to partake in Holly’s delectable unmentionable confection.” Every man in the room (including Denis) made a beeline toward me, lining up to dip a strawberry or banana or bare finger in my corset. A few curious women even joined the fray and asked if the tasty undergarment was sold in the gift shop.
“So, will I see you tomorrow?” I’d purr, as each guest partook in the thick, rich sweetness slathered over my body. Every single person said “yes” (married people did too). Surrounded by so many chocolate lovers dipping fruit into my corset until little was left but my sticky bare skin, I felt like a star. Tonight, I was the Sting of the Tiffany Star! And I didn’t even need a Trudie Styler. The entire ship had fallen under my spell. It was a new and heady feeling, one I enjoyed shamelessly and desired to feel again.
Puttin’ on the Ritz
THE NEXT DAY WE were at sea, and what a breathtaking day it was. As far as the eye could take in, there was nothing but ocean, miles and miles of azure water that melted into the crisp cobalt-blue sky. Every once in a while, a school of flying fish could be seen swimming along with us.
As eleven approached, the ship was buzzing with activities. By popular demand, my talk had to be moved to the Emerald Auditorium, the largest lecture space on the ship. It seemed that everyone, even those who hadn’t attended dinner last night, had heard about my bold stunt. Gossip travels through this ship faster than a gastrointestinal virus. There was not a soul on board who didn’t want to know what I would do next.
Naturally, I could not disappoint them. As I made my entrance, the crowd giggled and hooted. I took the mic and gestured to my costume, a pair of the giant silk underpants pulled all the way up to cover my breasts. “Like my bloomers? Cute, huh? Can you believe these are the only panties they sell on this ship? It’s true. Frankly, ladies, I think this calls for a mutiny. Wouldn’t you rather go commando than wear these?” As I stripped off the underwear and tossed them aside, the audience gasped.
Beneath the clown underpants, I revealed my secret weapon. Assistant Chef Dubois had picked up some large fresh fig leaves at the spice market in Istanbul, which I had sewn into a pair of G-string panties and a bra. Being as skinny and daintily proportioned as I was, it didn’t take much to cover my girly bits.
“In spite of last night, let me assure you, I’m not an exhibitionist,” I explained. “No, this is an example of the first pair of underwear ever created, straight from the Garden of Eden.” Never in the history of the Tiffany Cruise Line had a lecturer presented to so packed an audience wearing so little clothing (the speaker, not the audience). It was a pivotal moment in the life and times of Holly Ross.
At my request, Assistant Chef Dubois had created two hundred pairs of mouth-watering panties by sculpting pink and blue cotton candy into the shape of bowls and punching out leg holes. The pants were so thick that they resembled edible adult diapers, but that made them all the more attractive to this crowd. Pops had two pairs in his hands and Carleen had three. I didn’t want to think about how they would put them to use. The important thing was, the talk was standing-room only. Even Captain Paul came for a while. Denis accompanied Lucille. Sydney wasn’t there, probably honing her heinie at the gym.
The audience was surprised
