Second-class accommodations were significantly better still, occupying the second and third decks down from the top of the dirigible. A ballroom for dancing, a theatre for plays or symphonies, and four-piece orchestras or vocal quartets were provided to entertain the passengers from seven in the morning until ten at night. The restaurant fare and alcohol were free of charge and were of better quality than that available to the third-class passengers. Staterooms were more spacious, and the furniture was of nicer quality. Where the nightstands of the crew were of pine, those of second class were of mahogany. Where the beds for the crew were single-sized and frequently too small for the taller men, the beds of second class were double beds with nice linens. The second class also had running water, which was a luxury not provided to the third class or crew.
But by far the finest of the finery was reserved for the first class occupying the topmost deck on the HMS Rapturion. The floors were finely carpeted in crimson velvet; the walls were adorned with silks, tapestries, fine paintings, and even statues. The orchestra that made occasional trips down to second class had a permanent position in a large atrium at the front of the ship. Champagne and hors’ d’oeuvres made their way on silver platters around the entire floor at all hours. The restaurant provided seven-course meals throughout the day. Running water was available in all the staterooms, which had their own baths and even showers. A large communal Turkish bath was a favorite of many of the passengers, who could eat, drink, and smoke fine cigars provided by the cruise while enjoying either dry or steamed air and a sauna. Massages were provided free of charge. But amid all these luxuries, the very best reason to travel first class was the breathtaking view of the sky provided by a single monolithic window that provided those privileged few a view of the entire sky at once.
All of the floors from first class through the engine room halted before the forward end of the ship at a balcony. From there, passengers could view the ship’s bridge, which jutted off the fifth floor into a wide-open atrium that provided an uninterrupted view of the world in front of the airship through a window that covered the ship’s nose. From the first floor, the five-story drop to the bridge deck must have been dizzying, and the ten-story drop to the bottom of the enormous window must have been worse still.
Edwin had never been to those finer floors; this was as good as he got, but it was still a nice change for him. With his report in hand, he turned to his right and made his way to the bridge. A marble arch labeled “Bridge” engraved into it provided the demarcation between passengers and flight crew. The passengers could see beyond the arch onto the bridge with its polished wood consoles, brass dials, and levers as the flight crew piloted the ship, but ushers stood at the arch, preventing the passengers from interfering with the day-to-day operations. Edwin nodded to the ushers, who let him pass.
The captain was a tall, slender man, gray-haired and balding beneath his captain’s cap. He had been facing forward at parade rest when Edwin came behind him and tapped his shoulder. He turned and nodded to Edwin.
“Last week’s report, Sir,” Edwin said, handing it to him.
“Thank you, Master Propulsionsman,” the captain said, smiling. He glanced over the list. “Nightgood, eh?”
Edwin nodded gravely. “Yes, sir. When I finish here, I’m going to light a fire under him. I don’t know how, yet, but it’s got to be done. He needs this place, but this place needs him to pull his weight.”
The captain nodded. “I have confidence that if it can be done, you’re the one to do it. Anything else?”
“No, sir.”
“Dismissed. Light a fire.”
“Yes, sir.” Edwin bowed, turned, and left. The captain returned to watching the world drifting towards them.
Edwin returned to the propulsion deck and set out in search of Clarence. He found him where he expected to: lying in bed in his quarters, reading. He looked up when Edwin entered, a look of defeat splashing across his features as he did so.
“Step into my quarters,” Edwin said gently but firmly. Clarence roused himself, putting the book neatly on his bed as he followed Edwin to his quarters. They took up seats opposite each other.
“Am I fired?” Clarence asked, his nose quivering above a trimmed, yet scraggly-looking mustache. He was a mousy man in his late 20s. Premature balding had left him with patches of light brown hair on either side of his head, but none on top, and his eyes were a mix of chronic exhaustion and stress and acute fear.
Edwin sighed. “No, Clarence, you’re not fired, but this is it: I’ve gotten word that this is your last chance. If you can’t get your numbers up by the end of the voyage, they’re going to let you go,” he said gravely. Edwin’s posture sagged in his chair.
“I know it’s not for laziness, Clarence,” Edwin said gently, “but the numbers are what they are, and you’ve been consistently the lowest performer your entire tenure with Air Cruise Co. I’ve tried to help you, but I’ve wracked my brain, Clarence, and I don’t know what to do. We’re going to brainstorm and see what we can come up with, even if it takes all night.”
Clarence’s heart sank. He knew the problem: he had the wrong kind of stimulation. What he needed was the right stimulation, but he dared not ask for it; the others would think him unsavory, worse than they already did, if that was possible. It was unfair, he contended, that the men were always expected to take charge, to arouse the feelings in the women. Of course, in this day and age, the notion of men taking the lead was almost universally expected. But he secretly yearned not to be the aggressor, to have someone else take control. Edwin wouldn’t understand. None of them would.
“…all ears,” Edwin was saying. Clarence started; he’d been lost in his thoughts.
“I’m sorry, Edwin. What was that?” Clarence asked, embarrassed.
Edwin looked keenly at Clarence, his experienced eyes narrowed in contemplation. “I said that if anything came to mind, I’m all ears.” Clarence looked relieved. “And if I’m not mistaken, something has come to mind, hasn’t it?”
Clarence subconsciously tightened his grip on his chair. “No, sir. Nothing at all,” he said innocently, concealing his nerves under a gloomy countenance. “I’m as frustrated as you are,” he said sorrowfully. “Worse, even; it’s my job at stake, not yours.”
Edwin wasn’t fooled. “Are you really willing to sacrifice your job over it, Clarence?” he asked keenly. “Are you really going to doom yourself to the streets, the cold, and a life of starvation over it?”
Clarence’s facade flickered, then fell, and he cried out desperately, “What else can I do, Edwin? Society’s got roles we’re supposed to fill, and he who can’t fill his role is an outcast!”
Edwin was puzzled, and he replied slowly, “Oy, Clarence, it’s not all that bad! So your libido’s not all that great. Society won’t crucify you for that.”
Clarence’s eyes darted left, then right. Edwin hadn’t picked up on his slip-up. Time to deflect the conversation; he’d done it many times before. “But what is a man who isn’t out sowing his oats, Edwin? Why, he’s not a man at all! He might as well be a woman if he can’t bring himself to spread his seed to the four corners of the world!” That should do it: invent some sexism, take an indefensible, ludicrous position, receive chastisement for it, and hang his head as he took his leave. It had worked a hundred times.
Edwin gave him a quizzical smirk. He had just recognized the pattern himself. “I’m not biting, Clarence.”
Clarence bit his lip. “Bugger,” he said by way of frustrated confession, a hint of a rueful smile on his lips.
Edwin leaned forward encouragingly, hopeful that they’d make progress, that all this time, Clarence had just been holding out for fear of some secret evil. “What’s going on, Clarence?” he asked earnestly. “Whatever it is, it can’t be as bad as death by the elements. Oy, even death by stoning would at least be faster!”
Clarence huffed, beaten. Edwin was right: pride spared a wounding would not keep him warm or feed his belly. The t
rouble now was that he didn’t know how to express it. “I–”
“Yes, go on,” Edwin urged encouragingly.
“I–” Clarence sighed in frustration. “I don’t want to train the women,” he said at length.
Edwin frowned, puzzled. “But, Clarence, we tried putting you in with the men, and it was an utter disaster.”
Clarence shook his head vigorously. He did not want to go in with the men again. “No, what I mean is, why can’t they train me?” Having finally gotten it out, he felt a passing sense of relief, followed by dread.
Edwin said nothing, trying to understand what Clarence was getting at. He was already trained; he knew how to have sex. He’d even done it — a few times. Fewer than most, but he’d done it.
Edwin’s silence only intensified Clarence’s dread, and he jumped to his feet, wailing, “I knew it would be awful! I knew it!” He turned for the door. Edwin caught his wrist.
“Just lower your sails, there,” Edwin said calmly, gesturing to the chair. “It’s not bad; I just don’t understand, is all. Clarence, your numbers are low, not zero! Clearly you know how to have sex; why do you need a woman to train you?”
Clarence shook his head emphatically, sitting down and gesticulating with his hands. “No, no, I know I don’t need to be trained,” he said impatiently. “What I mean is, why do I always have to take the lead? Why do I have to be the one who leads them to their orgasms? Why can’t they…” he paused, fishing for the words, “…take charge?” As the words came out, he felt a sense of relief. Yes, that’s what he wanted them to do: take charge of the act.
Edwin nodded thoughtfully, pointing at Clarence’s chair to keep Clarence still while he mulled it over. Clarence fidgeted but remained seated.
“So,” Edwin began slowly, “you want a woman to come on to you, is that it?” Clarence nodded, embarrassed. Edwin gave another thoughtful nod.
He mentally went through the women in his crew. Agatha could probably do it, but it would be out of character for her. Eleanor was still very new to sex and seemed pretty demure. His thoughts fell on Harriet. It was a shame she was married to her work! What a dominating personality! She’d probably take so much charge of Clarence, there’d be nothing left of him! He grinned inwardly; he’d love to see that, if it wouldn’t result in Clarence’s painful demise. His eyes lit up as an idea suddenly came to him: what about Scarlett?
Scarlett spent most of her time in the female energy collection room, but unlike most of the crew, whose sexual proclivities rendered them useful for only one kind of energy harvesting, she spent a fair bit of time in the bipolar collection room as well. In the female-collection room, she inevitably took charge of the encounter and was even worse about breaking her brass socks than Agatha was, and sometimes, she broke her partners’ socks as well. In the bipolar collection room, she was a fierce lover, but she never took charge, as it was not fit for a lady to do so, and her performance suffered as a result.
Edwin’s head reeled back minutely at the realization. That’s what Clarence had meant by the roles society was meant to fill. It all made sense now. Scarlett had hidden her personality in the presence of a man because that’s what society told her to do. She’d been more successful than Clarence had been. What a golden opportunity for both to be themselves! Edwin’s face beamed with excitement, but he quickly recomposed himself. He didn’t want to tip his hand before he was sure she’d be up for it.
“That may be doable,” he said at length. Clarence’s eyes widened slightly, and his breath stuck in his chest in hope. “Let me see what I can work out,” Edwin said, rising. “I’ll find you later.”
Clarence swallowed hard, hopefully. “Thank you, sir,” he said softly; the desire and hope had robbed him of his voice. He stood and followed Edwin out of his stateroom.
Edwin’s mind was whirling. It was an unheard-of prospect that a woman could command a man in the bedroom, but in this age when Victoria ruled England, why should it be unheard-of? Anything was possible, and if this happened to improve the output of two of his crewmen and maybe made the act of fornication more fun for them, he was all for it. He hastened to find Scarlett. He finally found her in the aft common area, tensely reading an article clipped from a newspaper, the Oneida Whig. On the table under her arm was a small book, Report of the Woman’s Rights Convention. Her jaw was firm, and she slammed the article down onto the table as Edwin approached. Seeing him, she composed herself.
“Good day, Edwin!” she greeted him, pulling a blond lock behind her ear and smiling warmly, her blue eyes flashing in pleasant recognition.
“Oy, Scarlett, I’ve been looking all over for you!” Edwin said breathlessly. He looked curiously at the article she’d just mistreated. “What’ve you got there?”
Scarlett blushed and smiled embarrassedly. “Oh, it’s nothing; just an article, is all.” She lowered her eyes, avoiding eye contact.
The article was not new to the library; Edwin had read it a few days earlier, and he knew what it was about, and if this was her reaction to it, she was absolutely perfect for the task he had for her. He decided to make his proposition.
“Scarlett,” he said slyly, “I have a…proposition for you. I think you’ll like it, but it’s going to be a bit different from what you’re used to.”
“Edwin, what are you up to?” she asked, her eyes lighting up, half in suspicion, half in anticipation. She didn’t know where this was going, but knowing Edwin, if he said it was something she’d like, she almost undoubtedly would.
“What if I told you that there was a man onboard this very ship who needed a controlling woman to direct his actions?”
Scarlett recoiled, taken aback. She brought her hand to her lips. Could such a thing be? Surely not! She bit her lip, frowning disbelievingly at Edwin. His expression remained earnest.
“Who’s put you up to his?” she asked softly, guardedly. “Was it Harriet? That’s not a nice joke to tell a lady,” she chided.
“The man himself,” Edwin said in self-satisfied amusement. He knew she’d love it. “And he’s not putting me up to anything. I’ve resolved myself to save this man’s job at all costs, and it seems the road to his salvation takes a heavy hand from the fairer sex.”
Scarlett frowned in thought, the words “save this man’s job” playing silently over her lips. “Clarence?” she asked, surprised.
“Bingo,” Edwin said with a wink. Scarlett’s eyes widened as the realization hit her: it made such good sense! Her expression quickly turned crafty: this was a unique opportunity for her, something she’d fantasized about her whole adult life, something she thought she’d never see. Now the opportunity was here! What would she do with him? Would she be kind, or would she boss him around like the dog he was? Would she hold his hand and lead him gently to his place as her sexual servant, or would she cast him there harshly, making demands and following them with cruel punishment?
Edwin read her face. “Don’t get too carried away,” he warned, interrupting her reverie. “In case you haven’t noticed, he’s not the boldest of men to start with, and it’s taken all these months to drag it out of him. He’s very ashamed of it. Be gentle,” he urged, “and go at his pace. You’d expect that of a man taking your virginity; afford him the same courtesy.”
Scarlett nodded: Edwin was right. But maybe after the first time, she contented herself, she could step it up. A wicked grin traced its way across her beautiful face. Edwin shook his head slowly, grinning in amusement.
“You in?” he asked.
“Um, yeah!” Scarlett said incredulously, and then checked herself. “Erm, that is, ‘yes,’ you have my interest,” she said politely.
Edwin rolled his eyes, then remembered: “Not a word to anybody,” he warned. “We can’t afford to have him losing his nerve. His salvation lies in this going well.” He paused. “But no pressure or anything,” he grinned. Scarlett smiled, and he turned to leave. She grabbed his wrist.
“When?” she asked.
“In ab
out two hours,” he replied. “I want to set up some privacy for you two. Baby steps.” She nodded, and he departed.
I wonder if I can borrow some of Harriet’s chalkboards, he thought to himself as he walked briskly to the aft stairwell. He hoped she was still in the machine shop; he did not want to have to go find her again. He made his way up the stairs and walked abruptly into the machine shop. There was a light pinging sound as her work piece shot across the room, and Harriet let out an exasperated sigh, her shoulders sagging over the lathe. She paused a moment, reached over, and turned it off.
“You know you have the worst possible timing,” she said dully without looking up or turning around. “What now?”
“Are you not working on the afterglow discovery?” he asked, surprised.
“I was, until you walked in and sent my work flying across the room,” she replied, turning slowly to face him. “Not every tiny piece of brass I turn is a coition transconductor, you know,” she said. He said nothing; as far as he was concerned, they were tiny metal filings, albeit carefully crafted tiny metal filings, but they all looked the same to him. “What do you want?” she asked with mock patience.
Steampunk Desires: An Erotic Romance (The Complete Collection) Page 4
