She nodded.
“Should I remain with you?” I asked.
She nodded. “Please.” We both cast about uncomfortably. “So… tell me of your shipwreck.”
So I did. And I did not spare her the more gruesome or salacious details, though I did hold private the personal ones. She seemed truly amused by my tales, and she asked a good many questions. All trace of the emotional outburst had vanished by the time Striker and Theodore found us. She bid us goodnight, and retired inside to her hovering and curious father. I wondered if and when I would see her again, and more importantly, if it was a thing I even wished.
“So, you do favor women,” Theodore teased.
“She is far more pleasant to chat with than you,” I said with a grin. “And aye, though please bear in mind I am not chasing her father about begging for her hand.”
He smirked.
Striker had the marque of reprisal. He gave it to me to peruse. It granted the Mayflower the right to take by force any ship of any nation not judged to be on friendly terms with England, provided of course the Crown received a share of the booty and the prize was disposed of according to maritime law by the Admiralty Court. As we had what we came for, we bid Theodore good night. He wished us good fortune. He had chosen to remain at the party, and we would not see him again before we sailed on the morrow.
“That was the most beautiful girl I have ever seen,” Striker said once we were on our horses and out of the courtyard. “It’s the bosom I miss. I care not for the fleshy mounds on the whores. But on a young lady like that, you just know they are in there, soft and warm and nestled like two baby rabbits, resting on her corset and wiggling just slightly with every breath.”
I laughed so hard I almost unseated myself, and Diablo was not pleased with me.
“Good God man, how long has it been?” I finally gasped.
“Not since Pete,” he said with mock anger and a smile.
“You favor women,” I stated.
“I adore them.”
“Truly? I have not seen you gazing upon Rachel, and she is an attractive woman.”
“No one has seen me gazing upon Rachel, because I am a careful man. Pete would have quite the tantrum.”
“Striker, do you favor men?”
“Nay. I love Pete, do not misunderstand me, but I do not favor men.”
“How did you become matelots with Pete? I know you said you met in Newgate.”
He chuckled, and waited until we were on the moonlit road and no longer in town before speaking. “When our crew was brought there, I was sure I would hang; and my life had little value, so I took it upon myself to argue on behalf of the others. I was beaten for my trouble. Then they dumped me in a large cell away from my crewmates and friends. That is where I met Pete. He heard from others what I had done and decided he liked me. He cared for me. We became friends. When it was time for us to be shipped to Barbados, they chained us in pairs and Pete and I were manacled together at wrist and ankle for the voyage. I had no use for men. Since I was old enough to discover my cock I had kept a girl in every port, including the wife. I had never had call to resort to buggery. However, Pete had no use for women. And you may have noticed he is more stubborn than God.”
“Aye, I have,” I chuckled.
“Well, he gentled me down, as he called it. He would put his hand on my leg and I would tell him no and he would withdraw, and then a minute later it was back again. Eventually I was hoarse and found it not worth the effort to argue, and then he moved on to something else. Then I started enjoying his touch. By the end of the voyage, we had our cocks up each other’s arses. Recalling it, I think it kept both of us sane and gave us something to live for.”
“Have you ever regretted it?” I asked.
“Nay, not even tonight, truly.” He shook his head. “I cannot imagine a woman adoring me as Pete does, or caring for me the way he can, or fighting at my side, or watching my back, or any of the things he does for me. I don’t recall women being that strong. Pete is an extension of myself now. I think of us as two parts of a whole. I can rely on him as I do on myself. Women you leave in port, and they are generally frail, and they cannot fight or sail, though I am sure they can be taught. But they lack the strength. They are things one must care for, and here in the West Indies, I do not have time to care for another who is not my equal. A man needs a matelot and not a wife to survive. Women are luxuries, like fine clothes and sweetmeats.”
He grinned at me. “At the moment, though, I would gladly bed that one, in the name of nostalgia if nothing else.”
I laughed with him, though something stirred deep in my thoughts; and I was haunted by Miss Vines striking the column in anger at her own tears. For the most part, I agreed with his words, though I had met women who possessed a different kind of strength and power, subtle yet more resilient. But he was correct in that one did not go roving with them. One did not drink and party with them. One could not lie with them in wild abandon whenever one chose, without worry that they would become pregnant. In all, one could not live Striker’s life the way he chose to with a woman at one’s side.
Neither could I. They were rather like strange possessions that exerted control over you, and not friends and companions, as you could not share your life with one. They were the trappings of maturity, if not wealth. I still did not wish to be saddled with the trappings or the actuality of maturity or wealth.
Striker was watching me, and I realized I had become lost in thought.
“Would you lie with her?” he asked once I met his eyes.
“I favor both men and women, and she is truly a bewitching creature. If I had not met Gaston when I did, I would have liked to know her better.”
“Does Gaston favor women?” he asked quietly.
“Aye.”
“Yet he is with you, and neither of you are chained together.”
“Aye. We recognized a kinship when first we met. A poet would say we fell in love when we first laid eyes on one another. Others saw it, because we were confirmed as matelots a mere three days after we met,” I chided.
He stopped his horse and stared at me. “You jest.”
I reined in my mount. “Nay, we met the day before we robbed the King’s Hope, the ship I arrived on.”
He shook his head in consternation. “I know that. I do. But I cannot believe you two had only just met. You are correct, there is something betwixt you.”
We started our horses again, and he studied the stars for a moment. “May I ask something?”
I chuckled. “Aye.”
“Do the two of you…?”
“Not as you two do,” I said quickly.
He nodded. “So you are still gentling him down, then?”
“Aye, in a manner of speaking.” That was something I had no intention of ever mentioning to Gaston. In truth, I was leery of discussing most of the night’s activities with him, and this vexed me.
“We will be careful not to intrude on this voyage,” he said.
“We would appreciate it.”
It was quite late when we finally arrived home, but we found our matelots playing chess in the dining room. With my chess set, I was interested to note. I thought this highly unfair on the part of my matelot, until I saw the number of pieces Pete had captured and the intense concentration the Golden One was paying to the board. As Gaston was equally intense, I kissed his head and went upstairs to relieve myself of my finery.
I returned to the dining room in a pair of breeches. Striker had done likewise, and we sat and ate cheesecake and drank wine, and watched our matelots finish their game. Thankfully they were playing rather quickly, and not spending an hour considering each move. Every time Striker started to say something, Pete waved him off. I knew better and kept my mouth firmly closed.
While the battle was being waged, I watched Gaston, studying the familiar lines of his face in the lamplight. He was quite handsome in his way, made all the more so because he was mine.
He regarded me cur
iously a few times while Pete was considering his moves. “You are being distracting,” he whispered in French.
“I love you,” I whispered back. Then I grinned and asked. “And what possessed you?”
We were bored and I thought you might have a deck of cards. I found them, but I also found this and wondered if Pete would possess a talent for it.”
“Apparently,” I chuckled.
Pete was glaring at us. Gaston checked to see where he had moved, and then made his own. “Check.”
“Arg!” Pete said.
Gaston sat back and asked us in English how the party had gone. We told him of our various conversations with Morgan and Modyford and the like. We did not mention Miss Vines. Gaston was no more pleased than I at Morgan’s attitude towards the buccaneers.
To my amazement, after considering the board for a good half hour, Pete conceded, and quickly explained how he could see Gaston’s next moves. They discussed it, and Pete determined when he had made his mistake earlier in the game. I thought it unlikely I could defeat him.
“Will you tell me how it’s played now?” Striker asked when they were through. I chuckled, as I had thought his earlier attempts at comment had been advisory.
“We can take it with us,” I suggested.
This pleased Pete, and he restored it to its box and promised to teach Striker on the ship.
Gaston and I retired upstairs for one last night in our own room. Once alone, we lay facing one another on the hammock, and I told him of my conversations with Miss Vines and Striker. I did not mention the part about gentling down, but I did tell him all that Miss Vines had said and done.
He remained deep in thought after I finished and I waited patiently. “So she is intelligent, educated, and beautiful. Do you want her?”
“If you had never existed in my life, oui.”
“What does my existence have to do with whether or not you want something?”
It was a prickly question, and his lips quirked as he waited for my reply. I thought on it.
“If I admit I want her now, even to myself, then not having her becomes a disappointment, and I cannot have her while I am with you.”
“So I am an impediment to your potential happiness?”
“Non. Non. It is more like having eaten a full meal of roast pork and then seeing a beef brisket and saying, ah, I could have had that, but now I am full with this wonderful pork and my needs are sated and I have no use for the beef. It is more an intellectual curiosity of roads not taken or meals not eaten. And besides,” I added. “I could not love a woman as I do you.”
He studied me for a long while and I saw no anger or animosity in his eyes. “If they are two different things, could you love both a man and a woman?”
“I have done so. At the time I loved them, I loved Teresina as much as Alonso.”
“Could you share one you loved with another?”
“I shared Teresina with anyone she fancied, including Alonso, and likewise for him.”
“Could your love for them be considered the deepest feelings of your heart?”
I saw his point. “Non. Until I loved you, they were the best example of my love I can offer. My love for you is of a magnitude a hundredfold of what I felt for them.”
He nodded to himself. “I am pleased to hear it. I would rather not share you with a beef brisket. I do not think I could share you at all.”
“Nor I you.”
We kissed until I tugged at his clothes. He complied and we stripped. I fell upon him, and to my pleasure, he deigned to allow me to rub my manhood against his nakedness. When I reached for the oil, it was to ease my dissipation and not relax him.
Later as I lay there, drowsy and only mildly annoyed that one of us had to leave the comfort of the hammock to put out the lamp, he spoke.
“You became very tired of pork on the last voyage.”
It took several long moments before I could divine his meaning. “And you do not favor horses,” I jested.
He was silent. I rolled atop him again, now thankful that the lamp was still lit because it afforded me the light to read his eyes. He was serious and concerned.
“Gaston, my love, occasionally a metaphor is merely a play on words and it has no meaning other than what we ascribe to it. I will not grow tired of you.”
“How can you know that?”
“Do you feel I would lie to you?”
He looked away, and his eyes suffused with guilt. “Oui and non.”
He frowned. “I would say I trusted you implicitly, and I believe you would not lie to me on matters of import, but perhaps on small things. But in this matter, the lie that I think you might tell would be of grave import, to me. I am sorry. It is unworthy of me to think such a thing.”
“Do you feel I would…”
“Non,” his fingers covered my lips.
I pulled his hand away. “I wish you would not always do that.”
I was not angry, merely annoyed.
He surged under me and flipped me on my back before I could brace myself. He rolled atop me and his mouth covered mine. I fought the momentary panic it engendered, but I did not fight him. His kiss was ferocious, bruising even, and I must say I enjoyed it, as it was the closest thing to passion I had felt from him.
When he released me, his eyes were intense. “I do not feel you would ever betray me, or be untrue to me, in any way, other than to lie to save my pride.”
I studied him and thought of what possible response I could make to that, and realized there was none. “If you truly believe I would lie about such a matter, then there is nothing I can say to convince you otherwise. Thus your happiness or unhappiness with what you feel are my thoughts lies with you, as I can do nothing to sway you in any reasonable fashion. I can offer no proof other than words. And if they are not good enough, then I can offer no proof.”
He slumped to my chest. “You are correct. I am sorry. It is just….”
He rolled off me to lie staring at the ceiling. He did not speak.
“It is just that what?” I asked. I was not being entirely successful in holding my anger at bay.
“I cannot truly believe that you would favor me over her. And I do not want you to remain with me because…”
I stopped his words with my hand. I had not realized what a vast chasm lay between us on that matter. I turned his head to face me. His eyes were hard. I removed my hand from his mouth and grasped his manhood gently.
“She does not have one of these, and I happen to like these very much.”
“Will, for all intents and purposes, I do not have one of those.”
I swore and left the hammock to pace. It was as if we played chess and I was required to think two moves ahead of him, as he was surely a move ahead of me. I could not attack him and ask what proof of his love he could offer me. Since he did not favor men, his very presence naked in a bed we shared was proof enough. If I reminded him of Striker’s assessment that one could not live the life we chose with a woman, Gaston could say I was merely with him because I chose this life. And I surely could not say that I preferred men because I could understand them better. I had to determine what it was specifically about men, and more importantly him, that I preferred. Why did I favor men?
I recalled every man I had been with. What did they have in common that had beckoned me so? They were all handsome, smooth, and lean of body with pleasing features, yet so were the women. In two cases, and it was my hope someday three, if I did not strangle him first, there was a pronounced difference. I told myself that Gaston had already refuted that argument, in that he could not perform the function that men could and women could not toward my person. Yet it was not merely the act itself. It was the ability to perform the act, not in the basest sense of insertion, but in the grander sense of having the strength to… make me. And there was an added facet...
I found myself sitting on the floor, thinking of things I had sworn I would not think of ever again. I was there with Shane on my back, pressing me
down, pounding away at me. And under the pain, under the anger, there had been… triumph. He had lost the battle again. He had desired me so greatly that he had once again stooped to doing what he thought unconscionable. He wanted me despite his arguments against it. He wanted me. He proved it with every thrust.
I had thought that love. That someone would seek me out for the unthinkable, the unmentionable, when I was so wrong and repugnant to them. That had to be love for him to go against his nature so.
And Alonso, he had wanted me enough to be patient, to tolerate my protestations and fears and the conditions I placed upon our lovemaking. Had I loved him even more because he did not want me to touch him in front of others? Had I truly thought his hypocrisy proof of his love?
And what of Gaston? Was I not most pleased when he threw me on my back and plundered my mouth just minutes ago? He did not even favor men, and yet he was with me. Had I not just considered that the most valid proof of his love?
I was filled with self-loathing over the self-loathing my life was filled with. I could hear Shane’s snarled words, “You want this, you want this, you want this….” one repetition for every thrust. Alonso’s gentle chiding was a chilling counterpoint, “Uly, relax, you know you want this.” They were correct. I did want it.
And now I wanted it from Gaston. I wanted him to become so overcome with lust for me that his manhood would spring to life and he would be compelled to plunder my very soul. Because that was the thing a man could do that a woman never could.
The shame was bile I could not rid myself of fast enough. I was distantly aware of vomiting, and Gaston’s hands upon me and his whisper in my ear. “Will, I love you, please. What is wrong?”
I could not tell him. I did not want to possess the knowledge myself. I crawled into his lap and clung to him. The Gods had shown me something tonight, and I wanted none of it.
Twenty-Two
Wherein We Careen In Peril
I woke in the hammock under Gaston’s watchful eye. His hand was on my shoulder, and I realized he had shaken me awake. He did not look as if he had slept. I did not feel as if I had. The remembered ache in my heart had spread through my bones and head, until I felt as if I had been kicked for hours. His eyes were full of concern. I do not know what he saw in mine. I was afraid to give any emotion a foothold, lest it overtake me completely.
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