by Lou Cameron
The black bartender grinned knowingly as he proceeded to fill their orders, saying, “Ain’t that the truth, Mon? This sure has been a mightily quiet voyage this time. Sometimes we do get some fancy gals going up or down the coast, but the only gals aboard who ain’t got proper escorts be them two dried-up bitty gals in the corner behind you. We, ah, are talking about fancy gals, ain’t we?”
Captain Gringo chuckled easily, though he felt sort of tense, as he replied, “You noticed that swish that was in here awhile ago, eh? Where’d he go? I’m not sure I’m that desperate yet, but they say we won’t reach Limón for another three nights or so!”
The bartender laughed in the way most men laughed when discussing men like Romero and said, “He’s all yours, Mon. I’ve sailed me some high seas and I’ve been in some dry ports. But I ain’t never been that desperate yet!”
Then he slid the drinks across the mahogany as he spoiled it all by adding, “I did notice him trying to start up with you, Mr. Crawford. Tell the truth, I was a mite concerned when I saw him follow you out on deck before. I mean, that bitty fruit was really asking for it, picking on a rosy-cheeked boy as big as you!”
Captain Gringo took a sip of his drink before he asked with a thoughtful frown, “Really? Funny, I didn’t notice him on deck just now. I was, ah, looking to see if anything in a skirt was maybe out there in a lonesome deck chair.” The bartender shrugged, then moved down the long bar to take care of a pea-jacketed crewman who’d just come in. Captain Gringo muttered to Gaston, “This ain’t gonna work. They’ve made the connection, damn it!”
But Gaston soothed, “A conscience is not a thing for a man in our line of work to carry about with him, my guilty child. The observant bartender noticed the swish making the eyes of goo-goo at you. But what of it? You are here drinking with me and the rest of the boys right now, hein?”
“Yeah, and if he wonders why Romero never came back in—”
“Stop looking so tense, Dick. Why should we know or care where the sodomist is, avec whom, doing what, hein? Maybe we had better make the pass of gallantness at the adorable frumps in the comer, though, if we wish to establish our credentials more firmly as true men of the usual type, non?”
Captain Gringo could see the two frumps they were talking about in the mirror over the bar, so he said, “Non, they’re both old bags, and worse yet, they don’t look like they want to get picked up.”
“How do you know? It may simply be more difficult for such sad individuals to start a shipboard romance. But every woman who can read has read of shipboard romances, and they are up unusually late for two femmes who do not seem interested in serious drinking, hein?”
“Never mind about them, damn it. Tell me some more about this Mission Bay we may make it to just in time.”
Gaston shrugged and said, “I have never been there. Since it has an English name and lies along the Mosquito Coast like Bluefields or Greytown, it may be one of those trés tedious little coaling stations the British grabbed back in the forties when you Yankees were too wrapped up in the Mexican War to notice people ignoring your so-called Monroe Doctrine.”
He took a judicious sip of gin and tonic before he elaborated, “It’s probably a port seized from Nicaragua. Victoria grabbed a trés formidable bit of real estate in bits and pieces … oh, I think it was in forty-six. Oui, that was when the Royal Navy convinced Nicaragua they needed coaling stations for their busy little battleships more than Nicaragua really did and—”
“Damn it, I heard all about the Nicaraguan Wars that time we were stuck in Greytown, and in case you’ve forgotten, both the Brits and Nicaraguans, both sides, are mad at us right now!”
“True, but who is expecting us to disembark at Mission Bay, since we’ve never heard of the place before? While, on the other hand, the fruitcake we just threw to the sharks has friends who may be meeting this jolly boat further down the coast, hein?”
Captain Gringo swore under his breath and said, “Okay, we’d better get off sooner. But after we’re in Mission Bay, how the hell are we supposed to get out! It’s the dry season, so the Leonistos and Granaderos will be at it again in Nicaragua. We’ve found out the hard way we don’t want to join either side in that ongoing mess. But if we stay put in a British Crown Colony so small it’s not on the larger scale maps, we’ll be picked up in no time.”
“Picky, picky, picky. Was it not you, Dick, who introduced me to the droll Yankee observation a man can only eat an apple one bite at a time? Let us get out of this mess before we worry about the next one, hein? If Mission Bay is a seaport, other vessels must put in there. We got aboard this one easily enough. Let us simply get off before the skipper throws us in irons and … Heads up, our friend is coming back!” He waited until the bartender was closer before he added with a smile, “Where have you been, my long lost child? Can you not see our glasses have perished for their country?”
The Jamaican grinned back as he started building them new gin and tonics. He waited until he had before he leaned forward and muttered, “Can you believe it, that bitty Costa Rican fruit fly has hisself a lover in his stateroom!”
Captain Gringo shrugged and said, “No shit?”
Which made the bartender laugh like hell. He poured himself a drink as he winked and softly said, “That’s the truth. Deckhand I was just talking to down there say you can smell shit and perfume clean out on deck and, get this, the bodacious bugger has the Don’t Disturb sign out, like he means to make a night of it! Ain’t that disgusting?”
Captain Gringo shrugged and said, “Well, some guys collect stamps and some guys have other hobbies. Where’d that other crew member go just now? Back to ask for sloppy seconds?”
“I hope not! I showers regular with that boy! He just ducked in for a quick drink. Ain’t supposed to, but who’s to report him? He say he’ll keep an eye on the sissy boy’s quarters as he walks his deck watch. Skipper will want to know, do we have anyone else like that aboard. Ain’t much the owners will let us do about what passengers does in their own staterooms. But you gotta keep an eye on queers aboard ship. They causes more trouble than women, and you know how much trouble women cause at sea!”
Gaston turned his back to the bar to stare owlishly at the two spinsterly types in the far corner as he mused aloud, “Mais non, but it might be trés amuse to find out.”
Then, before Captain Gringo could stop him, the little Frenchman was on his way over as the two women, having spotted him coming, seemed to cower back in their seats like crayfish trying to back into holes that just weren’t there.
Captain Gringo didn’t follow. He didn’t want either dame screaming down at him from the ceiling. He looked wearily at the bartender and said, “What can I tell you? He’s French.”
The Jamaican laughed easily and said, “He sure ain’t no sissy Frenchman, then, Mon! You’d have to like gals a lot to start up with a pair as cold natured looking as them two!”
“Yeah, they do seem sort of snooty,” said Captain Gringo as Gaston sat down by them, uninvited, and began a line they couldn’t make out from the bar, which was probably just as well. Captain Gringo asked the Jamaican what the story was on the two severely dressed and obviously Hispanic broads.
The bartender shrugged and said, “They’s sisters, I think. Both widows with business in both Belize and Costa Rica. Don’t know what kind. They ain’t much for chatting with the hired help or, come to think of it, anyone else, Mon. This the first time I’ve ever seen another passenger start up with, either one and, Do Jesus, look at that Frenchy go! He got the older one grinning at him like a shit-eating dog!”
Captain Gringo had to chuckle. For it was true the older and, if possible, more formidable-looking of the two middle-aged, pure Spanish-looking dames was not only laughing openly at something Gaston had just said, but was poking at him with her folded fan as the other—having produced her own black lace fan from somewhere among her widow’s weeds—was looking away from the two of them as she fluttered her fan, and eyelashes, in
Captain Gringo’s general direction.
Not directly at him, of course; no well-brought up Hispanic woman or even a less-than-desperate whore ever looked directly at a man she hadn’t been introduced to. But as the bartender whispered, “Go, Mon! Don’t you know the Spanish come-on when you sees it?” He decided he’d better at least smile at her, lest the crew start wondering about his masculinity again.
She wasn’t looking at him, it seemed, when he smiled. But she sure blushed good for a straight-laced widow woman who wasn’t at all interested in anything or anybody in his direction. So he picked up his glass and drifted over. He still thought Gaston was nuts, even though he understood and approved the game the sly old Frenchman was playing. Gaston grinned up at him and said, “Ah, there you are, you reluctant seducer of shy virgins. Allow me to present the Señoras Margo and Pilar, Ricardo mio. Last names are unimportant out at sea away from priests and other pests, so let us stay on familiar first name terms, and Margo is with you.”
Captain Gringo pulled up a bentwood chair and sat down to join them as he asked the younger one called Margo if she’d had a thing to say about that. She didn’t answer. She just kept fluttering her fan like a sex-mad butterfly’s wing, and though the plain golden ring on her fan-hand finger was sort of discouraging, she looked a lot prettier, up close, blushing so rosy.
That still wasn’t saying a hell of a lot, however, since even flushed and smiling like Mona Lisa behind her black lace fan, old Margo had to be over forty; and from what he could see of her figure under the shapeless black gabardine two sizes too big for her, more than her face would have used a lift. But what the hell, they were no doubt just prick-teasing in the first place, and it would have hurt more had either one been worth drooling over.
Gaston was leaning close to the even older and uglier Pilar to whisper in her sort of withered ear as she gasped, giggled, and told him how awful he was. Captain Gringo didn’t say anything much to Margo. If the dame didn’t want to talk, she didn’t want to talk, and as long as the other guys in the saloon thought he was trying to get laid, who cared? He’d been down this blind alley before. Most men had. The two silly dames would tease them until they got too tired or drunk to go on with it, and then they’d all get to say goodnight, with a handshake, if he and Gaston were lucky. So he took out a claro, held it up for Margo to say yes or no, and when she shrugged and looked away, lit it. Gaston whispered something to Pilar, who gasped, slapped his elbow with her fan and said, “You should not say things like that, and besides, I have been married twice and know what you suggest is simply not at all possible!”
“Eh bien, how are you to know for certain unless we let me show you, mon cheri?”
“Oh, you terrible man! Do you know what he just told me, Margo?”
For the first time since he’d sat down with them, Captain Gringo heard Margo’s voice, not a bad voice, sort of sultry, as she said, “I don’t think I want to hear.” Pilar must have not believed her. She giggled and said, “He says his, ah, you know, is much longer than the cigar the one with you is smoking!”
Margo gasped and covered her face with her fan. Then she peered over the top of the black lace, thoughtfully, at the claro in Captain Gringo’s teeth. Her eyes weren’t bad. But then, what could be bad about bedroom eyes in almost any kind of a female face? He found himself blushing too, and this time he looked away. He noticed the guys across the saloon had stopped playing cards and were pretending not to watch as they watched with interest.
It got worse. The bartender came over with a tray of drinks—on the house, he said; and as he put them down by Captain Gringo, the jovial Jamaican whispered in English, “The boys are betting nine to five, Mon.”
“For or against?” Captain Gringo sighed. But the bartender had moved away, so he had to figure it for himself. He figured the house was betting against him. He knew he would have. So he decided to end the charade one way or the other. He didn’t give a damn, and it was getting silly. Whether the dames put out or slapped and ran was all the same to him, now that he and Gaston had established in front of plenty of witnesses that they were both normal sex maniacs. So he handed the drinks out, and then, as Margo took hers, he said, “Look, why don’t we take these drinks to bed with us, querida? It’s getting late and people are starting to stare at us, so—”
“Oh, señor! Whatever are you suggesting?” She gasped. So he said, “Look, it’s simple. You’re a woman. I’m a man. You’re concave where I’m convex and neither of us are kids. So do you want to go on playing kid games, or do you want to go to bed with me, your place or mine?”
“Señor! I am not in the custom of allowing men to speak that way to me! You are, in fact, the first man who has ever dared to come right out and, ask for it like that!”
“Somehow I believe you.” He grinned, starting to rise as he said, “Bueno, I can take a hint. I’ll, ah, see you around the campus Doll.”
The last phrase had been said in English, partly because he wasn’t sure if it made any sense in Spanish and partly because he didn’t care if she understood. He muttered, “Good hunting. See you in the morning, early,” to Gaston in the same language—as he made as graceful an exit as he could, wondering which of the guys across the room had just lost.
But as he stepped out on deck, Margo rose to follow him as, on the far side of the saloon, someone laughed and said, “Olé! That is fifty you owe me, Hernando!” Captain Gringo stopped just outside, staring down bemused at the short dumpy figure who’d followed him out there. She licked her lips and asked, “Por favor, what was that last remark you made just now, Ricardo?”
He said, “The point gets lost in the translation. Your place or mine?”
“Oh, I could never go to a strange man’s quarters. Only women of the lowest kind do that!”
“It’s not a quarters, it’s a stateroom. The rules are not the same in shipboard romances, see?”
“¿Es verdad? I confess I know little about such matters. Are you sure your neighbors … Oh, how silly of me, aboard a ship one has no neighbors, or at least no neighbors one is ever likely to meet in the marketplace, eh?”
“You’re catching on fast. Let’s go.”
“Wait, I am still confused, Ricardo. You have not told me exactly for why we are going to this stateroom of yours. I mean, for to finish these drinks should only take a moment and then—”
“Oh hell, forget it,” he growled, turning away as he added, “I’m going to bed. You can come with me or not. I don’t give a damn either way, no offense.”
He really didn’t care if she followed him or not, so naturally she did, asking him why he was so angry. He sighed and said, “Look, Margo, if a guy wants to play kid games, he picks up a kid. I didn’t just meet you hanging around a schoolyard with a brown paper bag in my hand, you know.”
“Oh, that was such a cruel thing for to say, Ricardo. Do I really look that old to you?”
He didn’t enjoy hurting women, even when they had it coming, so he stopped, turned to face her and said, “I never said you were too old, damn it. I just said we were both old enough to act like grownups. The names of the games is adultery, not infancy. If you’re not adult enough, go play infancy with the boys in the bar some more.”
He meant it. So of course she did no such thing. She told him he was horrid, and took his arm as they moved on to his own stateroom. He unlocked it and flipped the switch. Nothing happened. He muttered, “Bulb must be burned out. Make yourself at home while I replace it. They left some spares in this closet, if I can find this closet and … yeah, here we go.”
It only took him a few moments to reach up and replace the light bulb in the low ceiling fixture. So he was surprised but not at all upset to discover, when the bulb suddenly flashed on in his upraised fingers, that Margo had made herself at home indeed, and fast. She smiled up coyly from the bunk, still holding her dumb fan to her face instead of the more important features now exposed by her stark naked condition atop the bedcovers. She asked, coyly, if he was s
till interested in adult games. He said he sure was, and didn’t waste much time shucking his own duds. But as he rolled onto the bunk naked with her and took her surprisingly youthful body in his arms, she tapped his nose with her fan and protested, “Wait, you said we could make love in the most adult worldly way, Ricardo!”
His old organ grinder was stiff as a poker between them now, as it forgave her somewhat shopworn face and trembled to get inside her flawless torso, more so. He had to put it in her some damned where before he wasted a wad in midair; and, what the hell, he’d been the one who started the crap about sophisticated lovemaking. So to be a good sport, he asked her just what she had in mind, hoping she was as clean as she smelled and consoling himself with the thought that her snatch couldn’t be any older than her middle-aged face, if a guy really had to kiss either one.
She said firmly, “You must lie flat upon your back and let me enjoy it my way first, por favor. After you have allowed me for to climax, I do not care what you do to me for your own enjoyment. For it has been, oh, Madre de Dios, so long since I have last made love my way to a man!”
He shrugged and lay back, assuming she was going to want to go sixty-nine for openers, but, what the hell, once a guy got used to the smell he had it half licked; and he was so hot right now it seemed only common courtesy and … Jeee-zusss! How was she doing that? Had she taken her damned teeth out behind that fan?
She had. There was no other answer, because no woman could have given such a great blow job with even one tooth in her mouth! He stared at the overhead light, trying not to laugh as her head bobbed up and down. For in one way it seemed disgusting, or he knew it should have felt disgusting, to feel naked gums sliding up and down his moist erection, gripping tight as she rolled her wet tongue all over the head. But it didn’t feel disgusting. It felt the way a blow job was supposed to feel and often didn’t. It felt as though she had a real cunt in her face. So, without further ado, he came in her mouth with a hiss of pure animal pleasure. Then he groaned that he was sorry he’d lost control but that he’d make it up for her if only she’d stop sucking and let him do it right for Chrissake.
