In stark contrast to Carter’s glee was Stash’s response. It didn’t take long for Carter to discover that Stash, the bold world traveler and adventurer, had a dirty little secret. He was a terrible sailor!
“Wait for it,” Bill warned Carter, at one point, when both of them happened to be standing in the bow.
“Wait for what?”
“You’ll see. The onboard entertainment should start any minute now,” Bill predicted.
He was correct.
“Is the boat rocking?” The question came from a pale, perspiring, anxious-looking Stash, who emerged from below and then clung to the railing beside where Carter and Bill stood on the deck.
“Well, yeah, it is rocking a little,” Carter confirmed—which was merely stating what was, to him, the obvious. “But that’s only natural. We’re under full sail, with a tail wind driving us, and we’re going along at a really good clip. Plowing right through these waves,” he added, with relish. “Isn’t it great?”
Stash winced. “What if we capsize?”
“Highly unlikely.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
Stash wasn’t convinced. “The mast keeps swaying back and forth. It’s getting worse. This damn boat keeps moving under us.”
“Of course it’s moving. What did you expect? That it’d stay put, dead in the water?” Carter stared at the other man. “Are you seasick?”
“Yes. I have my pills for it. I took one of them, but it doesn’t seem to be working.”
“Jesus, Stash! If this is how you react when we’re skimming right along, then I’d hate to see what happens when we run into some really rough conditions. Which we’re sure to do, sooner or later.”
This was not the most reassuring thing Carter could have said.
“Oh, this is awful,” Stash moaned.
“Maybe you’d better go back below and lie down until you feel better,” Carter advised.
“I don’t want to risk getting trapped down there when the boat rolls over and sinks.”
“It’s not going to sink,” Carter insisted.
“It will if we hit those rocks over there. We’re steering too close to them.”
“What rocks?”
“Those, right there! We’re practically on top of them!”
The rocks in question, which Carter now spotted, were on the distant shoreline to the east, quite far away.
“The odds of us hitting those rocks,” Carter said, in an attempt to lighten the mood, “are about the same as us hitting an iceberg.”
This was a big mistake. “What? Are there icebergs here?” Stash wailed. “In the summertime? Oh, my God! We’re all going to die, any minute now!”
Carter caught Bill smirking, behind Stash’s back.
“Chill, boss,” Bill advised, perhaps a bit cynically. “Close your eyes and think happy thoughts. About fluffy little kittens, maybe. That always works for me.”
“How many people does that thing hold?” The panicked Stash was referring to the Rock Dove’s dinghy, which was slung from davits farther down the deck. “Why haven’t we had a lifeboat drill? Are there enough lifejackets on this tub for everybody?”
“Jesus,” Carter muttered, under his breath.
“Fluffy little kittens,” Bill repeated. “Picture them, bobbing up and down in their little lifejackets, mewing away, while they wait for the Coast Guard to come rescue them,” he added, maliciously. “Assuming there is a Coast Guard, here in Scotland. If there isn’t, then I guess those furballs are shit out of luck.”
“I’m going to puke!” Stash groaned. Leaning over the railing, he did just that.
Still, Stash was a pro. He pulled himself together long enough to pose in the bow, where he and Carter filmed a brief sequence in which Stash waxed enthusiastic about delightful it was to enjoy “such smooth sailing” on such a beautiful day.
“Our island adventure seems to be off to a good start,” he declared, brightly. “What could be more exciting than sailing through these waters on this beautiful boat?”
The moment they stopped filming, though, Stash collapsed again, telling anyone within earshot that they were all going to drown. Carter could barely keep a straight face.
Duncan and his crew found Stash’s poor seamanship amusing, at least at first. Then it began to get on their nerves.
“I don’t suppose we can just toss him overboard and be done with it?” Duncan asked Carter.
Carter shook his head. “He’s the only reason we’re all here, remember. It’d be kind of hard to do the show without its host. Losing Stash would bring the whole voyage to a premature halt.”
“Pity,” was the captain’s pithy response.
Stash skipped lunch—a shame, because Niall turned out to be an excellent cook, serving up a thick, hearty homemade chicken vegetable soup, along with salad and multi-layered grilled meat and cheese sandwiches, the latter made to order, with such embellishments as tomatoes, onions, and lettuce added as requested.
During the afternoon, Stash’s medication began to kick in, and his panic subsided somewhat.
Once again joining Carter on deck, Stash gave him a searching look.
“You’re actually enjoying this, aren’t you?” he accused his cameraman.
“Sorry,” Carter replied. “But what’s not to enjoy? It’s great. I love being out here on the water.”
“You’re insane. But I suppose there’s no accounting for taste. So,” Stash said. “This is your first visit to the United Kingdom, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“And you are enjoying yourself, so far? I mean being here in general, not just on this Boat Ride from Hell.”
“Of course. It’s been a fantastic experience, so far. I’m only sorry it’s started out less than pleasantly for you.”
“Oh, I’ll be all right, once I get thoroughly self-medicated and used to this constant motion. You’ve been here, what? All of forty-eight hours? Maybe a little longer?”
“I haven’t exactly been keeping track,” Carter said, uneasily. He wondered why Stash had asked. “But yeah, that sounds about right.”
“And already you’ve nailed a guy? Impressive.”
“If you’re talking about Liam—”
“What, there’ve been others? Damn. Talk about a fast worker.”
“Of course there haven’t been others. Just Liam. Who was not just a casual trick to me, I’ll have you know. I do like him. A lot. Fuck,” Carter mumbled, fumbling for words. “No offense, Stash, but what damn business is it of yours, anyway? I was with Liam on my own time.”
“It’s none of my business whatsoever,” Stash assured him. “I don’t care whom or what you fuck, as long as it doesn’t interfere with our work.”
“Liam won’t be in any position to interfere, unfortunately. After all, by now he’s off traveling to his archaeological dig.”
Stash grinned. “Was he a good lay?”
“I don’t feel comfortable discussing such things with you, Stash.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Carter! We’re both gay. Two gay men. Why shouldn’t we talk about our tricks?”
“It seems inappropriate, somehow. After all, you’re my boss.”
“No, I’m not. Technically, we both work for the network. As equals.”
“Ha! We take our orders from you, don’t we? And if I were to compare my paycheck to yours, it probably wouldn’t look all that equal,” Carter protested.
“Don’t hate me because I’m successful. I got where I am because of a combination of perseverance and sheer dumb luck, not necessarily talent,” Stash admitted. “I’m not afraid to admit it.”
“Good for you. That you got there, and also that you’re so modest about it. Modesty’s damn rare in this business.”
“Tell me about it! Sometimes it seems as though we’re surrounded by people suffering from delusions of adequacy. Present company excepted, of course. I like working with you, Carter. I’d also like us to be friends.”
> “I’d like that, too. Still—there are certain boundaries which it isn’t wise to cross, in the workplace.”
“I wouldn’t dream of doing anything which might make you feel uncomfortable,” Stash said. “Keep your love affairs to yourself, then, if you wish. I can still fantasize about them. And I can still envy the other guy. Vicarious thrills are better than none. No harm done. Not as long as it’s all taking place inside my head. Come down below,” Stash coaxed. “It’s just about time for evening chow. I’m starved.”
“No wonder, since you didn’t have any lunch. I’m coming.”
Preoccupied as he was with his thoughts of Liam, it took Carter a moment for what had just transpired between him and Stash to sink in.
Shit! he realized. I kind of mouthed off to Stash, didn’t I? Telling him my sex life was none of his business. Not a smart move. I opened my mouth without thinking. Not that he really seemed to mind. More important—Stash has just admitted to me that he’s gay! He sure came right out and said it, casually, as though it’s no big deal. Which it isn’t, of course. But still—! Holy fuck! So the gossip’s true, and Liam was right about him.
Why’d Stash choose to tell me, now? So soon in our working relationship?
He guessed that I’m gay, too. That sure came right out of thin air. And I was caught off guard, so I didn’t deny it. Damn! Am I that obvious?
Now what the fuck is going to happen? After all—I’m going to have to sleep in the same cabin with the dude!
Fuck! Motherfuck! Just what have I gotten myself into?
This could get complicated—!
Later, in the cabin which they shared, Stash and Carter got ready for bed. They took turns going to the head. Then, somewhat to Carter’s surprise, Stash wanted him to use his small camera. They’d shoot a brief sequence in which Stash summarized the day’s activities—while he undressed and got into his bunk.
“No rest for the weary, I’m afraid. The viewers expect it,” Stash explained.
To Carter, it looked like an excuse to titillate the viewers with some softcore porn shots of Stash’s bare bubble butt—which, the cameraman had to admit, was well worth scrutinizing through his viewfinder.
Nice ass, he couldn’t help thinking. Kind of cheeky, like its owner!
“Okay, now that that’s done, you can finally take the rest of the night off,” Stash said.
“Thanks. Very generous, considering that we started filming at the first light of dawn.”
“Better get used to the long hours,” Stash warned. “It’s all part of the job. I’m going to sit up for a while and do my homework.”
“Your homework?”
“Yeah.” Nude on his bunk, with the covers pulled up to his waist and his torso bared. Stash was using his laptop, with a notepad and pen nearby. “I have to bone up on the first few places we’ll be stopping at. Double check my facts, and get my spiels camera-ready, and so forth.”
Carter debated whether he too should sleep in the nude, as he customarily did. But, even with the porthole closed, now that the sun had set there was a slight chill in the air inside the cabin. He pulled on a pair of sweatpants. Sitting on his bunk, he brushed his long hair.
“I thought only women did that,” Stash teased him.
“Hair is hair. It needs maintenance.”
“You don’t strike me as the narcissistic type who fusses too much about his appearance.”
“Neither do you. Although I see you’ve brought along a makeup case. Which you haven’t used so far. That surprises me.”
“I usually try to do without it whenever possible,” Stash said. “It’s a necessary evil sometimes, though. I resort to it when the lighting’s harsh and it makes me look washed out—and when I’m hungover.”
“Or when you’re seasick?”
“Don’t rub it in.” Stash watched Carter pull his hair back and fasten it, so it’d be out of his face while he slept. “Don’t you look pretty? I’ve got some moisturizer, if you want to borrow it, Mr. Intrepid Macho Sailor Boy.”
Carter laughed. “Now who’s rubbing it in?”
“Sorry. You seem to bring out the wit in me. Feeble though that wit may be, by this time of night. But still, better that than bringing out the twit in me. Don’t think you have to stay up to keep me company, Carter. Go to sleep, if you want to.”
“I think I will turn in.”
“The light from this computer screen shouldn’t bother you.”
“It won’t.”
“Turn out the other lights, then, whenever you’re ready. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” Carter replied. He doused the cabin’s lights. “Ah—Stash?”
“Yeah?” The other guy’s face and torso were now only dimly visible, in the light thrown onto him by the laptop’s glowing screen.
“How’d you know I’m gay?”
“I didn’t know. I entertained it as a possibility. Maybe I was doing some projecting. Bill and Alonzo, in case you haven’t already observed, are hopelessly straight. So was your predecessor—a nice guy, but obsessed with that fiancée of his. I always thought it might be nice to have a gay guy tagging along on these trips, for moral support. Amoral support, maybe. What’s the matter? Are you afraid you ping?”
“Now that the possibility’s occurred to me, it’s started to worry me.”
Stash chuckled. “Relax. Don’t lose any sleep over it. Your butchness is intact, stud. Oh, sure, you and that kid Liam seemed to have a hot little bromance going on between you. But that can happen quite innocently when travelers run into each other and bond. No, this is what gave you away. A little souvenir.”
“A souvenir?”
“I found it here in the cabin this afternoon, while I was lying down and fighting the impulse to puke my guts out. Here, catch.” Stash tossed a small object onto Carter’s bunk.
Groping for the missile, Carter’s hand closed around it. Even in the darkness he could identify it by touch. It was a torn-open, empty condom wrapper, crumpled up into a little ball.
“Shit,” Carter mumbled.
“Careless of you to have left that evidence behind.”
“Who says I did? This could’ve been used by a previous passenger, and with a female sex partner, you know,” Carter pointed out.
“Unlikely, under the circumstances.” There was a smugness to Stash’s tone of voice. “First, Duncan and the other guys keep this boat of theirs very tidy, I see. Second, there’s still a trace of the manufacturer’s pre-lube inside that wrapper. It hasn’t had time to dry out yet. Circumstantial evidence, to be sure, but still suggesting that the rubber was used recently, and by you. And third, as to the gender of the party of the second part—in a small town like Portree, you’d have had to do some searching last night to find a respectable local girl who’d be willing to hook up with a stranger on such short notice. Yes, even with a handsome American stud like you.”
“You’re quite the Sherlock Holmes.”
“Secondary, my dear Watson.”
“Secondary?”
“I didn’t want to say elementary. Too much of a cliché.”
“So—you find me handsome, do you, Stash?”
“Don’t push your luck. That just slipped out. You’re not exactly ugly.”
“Thanks. You might do me a favor. Don’t tell Captain Munro I borrowed his boat for sex. He might not approve.”
“Oh, I suspect Duncan’s a lot more worldly than you give him credit for. And last night can’t have been the first time this boat’s been rocked by more than the waves. Well—now that we’ve solved the crime—the Mystery of the Gloved Gay Dick, or Who Fucked the Sexy English Boy?—goodnight again, stud.”
Carter had to laugh—at his own expense. “Goodnight.”
Chapter Eight: An Amateur Pirate
The Hebrides was indeed a maritime culture.
Everywhere the Rock Dove docked, there were businesses supporting the boating industry—purveyors of fuel and of marine equipment and supplies. Carter also saw someth
ing which he’d never noticed at seaports back in the United States. Every anchorage, no matter how isolated or small, seemed to have a depository where ships’ trash could be left for recycling or other disposal. Biodegradable garbage was processed for compost, which local farmers or gardeners could purchase at a nominal price.
Being on board a small sailboat did encourage a certain degree of intimacy. It was, Carter thought, somewhat like living in a college dormitory.
Carter soon made friends with the Rock Dove’s crew.
Hamish, in particular, seemed to go out of his way to ingratiate himself with the Americans.
“So,” Hamish said to Carter, one evening when the two of them happened to be on deck together, watching the sun set in a succession of glorious colors over the sea. “Stash, this boss of yours—?”
“Yes? What about him?”
“Is he really queer?” Hamish asked.
“I honestly don’t know,” Carter lied, in order to protect Stash’s reputation.
“What, he hasn’t put the make on you, yet?”
“No, not yet.”
“I’ve heard he’s a gay slut. That he likes to get a group of men together who share his proclivities, and they all take turns shagging him. Supposedly, the bitch can’t get enough.”
“Guess the jury is still out on that,” Carter suggested. “In my experience, though, what people say about celebrities is usually exaggerated, when it’s not downright fabricated.” He was having difficulty visualizing Stash as the object of a gangbang. Me, on the other hand, Carter thought, ruefully. Yeah! I’d go for it, big time! Bring them on!
“And you?”
“What about me?”
“Do you like to have your cock sucked?”
“Who doesn’t? Why do you ask?”
“Don’t get me wrong,” Hamish insisted. “I’m straight. But that man whore Martin—he loves cock. He can’t get enough. He’ll suck you off, if you want him to.”
“Your buddy Martin? No kidding?”
“Not at all. In our cabin at night—he’s always pestering Niall and me, offering to blow us. When we’re horny, we give in and we let the bitch have what he wants. You may as well get in on it, if you want to.”
Desire in the Isles Page 8
