A text message from a coward changed my life. I was sitting in my truck on my lunch break. My phone chimed with a text and my screen showed me his smiling face. What a fucking joke. The message read, “I don’t find you sexually attractive anymore.” I hate to admit it but those words broke me. I started crying. I hated myself. I kept crying until my lunch break was over. I walked back into the hospital and faked a smile until my shift was over.

At the end of my shift I went home, not remembering driving home. I was numb. My world revolved around him. I felt cast adrift with no one to care one way or another about me.

I was nearly thirty. Never married. No children. He was my first real relationship. I poured myself into being what he wanted, what he needed, always putting him above my wants and needs. Excepting the hurtful words about my weight and my age, he’d told me over and over again I never would find another man like him, that I was lucky he’d come into my life.

The weeks that followed were the hardest of my life. I managed to drive to work and home without emotions. I hated myself. I felt a desperate desire to get away. What was keeping me in Michigan? My job? It paid the bills but that's it. I didn't have any friends. No family. Just me. Not even a pet waited for me. I went to bed without any hope.

One night I woke up around 3:00 a.m. My heart was racing. I was sweating. My left shoulder was aching. I was having symptoms of a heart attack! With shaking fingers, I pressed nine-one-one and called an ambulance. I had never been so scared in my life. The EKG was okay but my blood pressure was through the roof. After some blood work and tests, the ER doctor told me I hadn’t had a heart attack. I had experienced a severe panic attack.

I was thankful, but I felt embarrassed. He was so gentle. He knew me. I was regularly in the ER department for my job.

“Wendy,” he said. “You can talk to me. What's going on?”

I put my head down and started sobbing. He walked over and shut the door. He took my hand in his. “Talk to me, Wendy,” he said so sincerely.

“My boyfriend said I'm fat and he broke up with me in a text message.”

He lifted my chin to meet his eyes. His voice changed. “Fuck him,” he said in a very angry tone. “Are you joking? What's his name? Give me the number. I want to talk to him.”

I started to laugh, for the first time in a very long time, but the doctor was serious.

“Don't be silly,” I said.

“I'm serious, Wendy.”

“I know, but I’ll be fine.”

He scowled at me. “Okay, but you need to take a few days off, no argument. I’ll write up the discharge paper and I'm calling your boss so you can't wiggle out of some days off.”

I took an Uber home five hours later. I sat at my kitchen table even more defeated and depressed. I turned on my TV and started watching a show called “Below Deck.” People worked on luxury yachts. Usually a job lasted around six to eight weeks and then they would find their next job. Maybe a new boat, or travel to another country. I binge-watched four seasons of the show. The gorgeous scenery and variety of the people working the charters caught my attention. I had a hospitality background. Could I do this? No. I'm too old. Too fat.

But I kept watching the show. I passed out on my couch with the show playing. I dreamed of open blue water, the cry from seabirds overhead, the smell of the ocean, and the easy rocking of the boat.

I woke up happy. I didn't talk myself out of it for a change. I started researching jobs. Hours passed. I started making plans. I filled out multiple job applications. I knew it wouldn't happen overnight but it would happen. I felt it. A warm breeze came through my window. I took it as a good sign. A wind of change.

Every day I filled out applications. Even for the big cruise ships. They had a lot of immediate positions to fill.

Three weeks later I had my first Zoom interview with a major cruise company. I was so excited. The interview was amazing. The woman asked if I could do an in-person interview in three days in Orlando. I said yes. They would email me my airline ticket and hotel information as soon as the Zoom meeting was over.

The next three days were filled with excitement. I bought a sharp new dress and new heels to wear for the interview.

And like a bad dream that keeps coming back, I woke up to a missed text from my ex-boyfriend. “I miss you, Wendy. Can we talk?”

I looked at it and laughed until I cried. I texted back, “I'm too fat remember?” I would have blocked him on all social media but I wanted him to see me now. See me happy and hopefully working in the Caribbean.

I flew out to Orlando the next day. I met with the head of hiring and then with different department managers including the doctor in charge of the ship’s infirmary. They were hiring for all departments. It felt like a huge job fair. I spent five hours with lunch in between.

After the first day, I was directed back to the first interviewer. She smiled and said, “Wendy, we would like to see you again tomorrow. Can you stay one more night? All expenses paid.”

I was beaming. “Yes, thank you.”

“Then I will see you in the morning at 9:00.” She smiled, gave me a piece of paper with the next day's schedule, and was on to the next applicant.

I glanced at the paper and saw “Uniform fitting.” My heart skipped a beat.

The next day changed my life forever. After a long day of interviews and filling out paperwork and uniform fittings, I was officially hired. My title was “Medical Assistant.” I had two weeks to get my life moved to Orlando.

Those two weeks flew by. I sold everything I could, donated what I couldn't. I cashed out my PTO from the hospital, packed two suitcases of clothes, and said goodbye to Saginaw. I boarded the plane and never looked back.

The ship was huge, the newest in the fleet of cruise ships. The new hires had to do five days of orientation and we were housed in a separate part of the ship until we started our new jobs.

After the orientation was over I was shown to the infirmary. My job was basic medical care under the supervision of a physician named Dr. Drake. I was instantly at ease with him.

He introduced himself. “Hi, Wendy. Nice to see you again.”

I smiled warmly. “You too.”

He showed me around the mini hospital ward. It had three separate bays for patients. I learned how to access the computer, and where the generic meds like aspirin, Tylenol, and the like were kept. He told me what I could expect, that we were on call 24/7. It was just us but if it got crazy we did have backup staff we could call on. He mentioned this was his second contract. He would be on for three months and then off for three months.

“Me, too,” I said. I had signed the longest contract I could.

Over the next few weeks, we settled in with each other. Every seven days new cruisers would come on board. Usually, a few people needed Zofran for seasickness, or IV fluids because of the free drinks.

As the days passed we started taking our dinners together. He would look at me with his sexy green eyes after he walked me back to my cabin. My heart would skip a beat, and my mouth would get dry. He would hug me and say, “See you in the morning, Wendy.” Then he was gone.

One night I felt so sexually frustrated, like my body was on fire. I wanted to fuck. I could go to the crew bar and have a drink and maybe flirt a bit to try and get laid. I had been to the crew bar a few times. There was never a shortage of pussy-starved crew members looking to release some stress.

I changed into a pair of shorts and a tank top, my big DD breasts proudly on display. I was so horny. I took a selfie and sent it to Instagram. Yep, fuck him I thought.

I went to the crew bar and got a beer and watched some football on TV and felt the most alive and free I had ever felt in my life. I was on my third beer with some guy named Ricky when I heard Dr. Drake in my ear.

“Let's go, Wendy,” he said.

I scowled at him. “No, I'm having fun with Ricky. I'm not on duty until 10:00 a.m. Go away.”

He stared at Ricky and Ricky picked up his beer and moved. Dr. Drake sat down and took my face in his hand and moved in close. “You’re drunk. Let's go. Now.”

I stuck out my tongue. And then I kissed him. My tongue slid inside his mouth. My cunt throbbed as he pulled me closer, the passion setting us both on fire. I broke the kiss.

“How did you know I was here?” I asked, panting with deep, unsteady breaths.

He smiled and held his phone up to show me my Instagram picture.

“Fuck,” I said.

He took my hand and we walked back to my cabin. I unlocked the door with my key card. He followed me in. We stood in the little cabin staring at each other. He was taller than me. I felt embarrassed.

He lifted my chin. “Kiss me again,” he said, his voice dripping with charm.

I kicked my shoes off. Standing on my tiptoes, I put my arms around his neck and opened my mouth to his. I felt his arms tighten around me. I felt his cock harden and press against me. His hand slid down to my ass as he held my mouth against his.

I heard his ragged breathing. He pulled away and said, “Tell me now to leave. I want you.”

I pulled him to my little bed. We undressed each other in a rushed way. He laid me down. I felt his mouth teasing my aching nipples. His fingers rubbed my hard clit until I was moaning. I felt the wetness he was pulling out of me. I was squirming.

“Fuck me. Now.” My voice was a pleading whisper.

He almost laughed. His voice was dark and sexy. “You’re a greedy vixen aren't you?”

“Yes, please. I'm begging. I need your cock.”

He plunged in deep. My eyes rolled back. He fucked me hard and fast. I came hard. He came after me. His hot seed spilled into me until his balls drained.

We slept together on the little bed. Then in the morning, he fucked me again before going to his room to shower.

Over the next three months, we worked together and slept together. We were inseparable.

After our contract was up we traveled around Europe. I posted pictures to Instagram every chance I could. We both signed up for another three months contract. We never needed a marriage license. We had all we needed. All we had was us.

Don't settle, ladies, for the frog.