The Doldrums: the Sailor and the Virgin Ch. 07

Anya through the looking glass (mf)

They lay wordlessly upon the sail for some time, side by side, their shoulders touching. Liam had pulled a fold of the canvas over them for a blanket. Anya's long thick hair was spread over his chest, and his fingers dreamily stroked and twined in the soft locks. He gazed up at the mast: the pure, soaring lines of the rigging perfectly mirrored his present state of mind. Turning his head to look at her, he was lost in the beatific glow of her face.

At length his thoughts became more focused and he was reminded that he needed to get the repaired block up to the mast top. He sighed.

"Will ye help me climb the mast again Anya?" he asked. "'Tis time to put the block back up afore the sun sets."

"Mmmm hmmm."

He rose and re-tucked the canvas tenderly over her. "Wait here lass." Looking about he found his discarded trousers upon the staysail boom. He dressed and went below to fetch the jar of salve. Back upon deck, he uncovered her, murmuring, "Let's put some more of the magic potion on ye."

She let him open her legs without resistance. With a dollop of salve upon his finger he bent close to examine her naked vulva...and was confronted with the splendid sight of his thick liquor of love oozing from her buttered scone and running down onto the little pink star between her bottom cheeks. His cock roused again; but he forced himself to stay on task; he applied the salve to her cunny, helped her sit up, and retrieved her clothes from the deck.

Just as he had done four days prior, he scaled the mast with Anya tending the safety line. He installed the block and ran the jib halyard through it. Returning to the deck he reattached the repaired jib to the forestay, showing her how the hanks worked. Together they neatly furled the sail.

"Well," said he, "'Twill be ready to sail once the wind returns."

"Mmmm." She said. They both stared at the sail, the silence heavy between them.

Liam broke the spell, suddenly turning to the mast. "Let's test this contraption." He cleated one end of the newly run jib halyard and tied a knotted loop in the other end. This he carried to the bow. "Stand clear," he waved his arm.

Grasping the halyard, he ran down the foredeck and jumped overboard hanging from the line. He swung out over the water in a long arc before alighting upon the deck aft. Anya looked delighted, smiling and clapping her hands. He repeated the swing, now from stern to bow. "Oh Liam, do let me try," she begged, dancing about.

He gave her the halyard. "Hold fast ye little goose --- I dinna want to fetch ye out of the drink again." She gripped the rope and ran, mimicking his actions and squealing with joy as she swung free of the deck, her knees squeezing the rope, her long hair fanning out. When she landed aft, she stumbled a little, but undaunted, she ran forward and swung back to the bow where he caught her in his arms and hugged her close. "Again!" she laughed. They took turns upon the rope, laughing and clowning, till the sun set.

Back below decks, Anya excused herself to bathe while Liam hunted through the lockers in the galley for supper. The stores were running low he knew; he did quick calculations in his head to stem his sudden anxiety.

When she returned --- in her evening attire of nightgown and ulster --- she asked if she might cook something for them.

"I didn't ken that fine young ladies could cook," he teased, setting food tins upon the counter.

"My mother wanted me to know how to instruct a cook one day. I think she would have been unhappy to know that I spent more time than necessary in the kitchen learning how to actually prepare dishes myself. I would hardly consider myself a proficient...but I thought I could make a dessert with a few items you have." She reached past him for two apples and held them up.

"Dessert? By all means, indulge whatever fancy ye have. I haven't had a sweet since... I ate the most delicious cunny this afternoon." He winked at her. "I've always wondered why they call Rochester the 'Flower City'...now I ken why...'tis named after your sweet flower --- the most lovely I've ever put my nose in, so it is." Her cheeks turned pink and she fumbled at peeling the apple.

They worked side by side in the galley, he at preparing supper, she at dessert. Not accustomed to such treats, he watched curiously as she fried sliced apples in butter, sugar and cinnamon. Usually she explained, it would be baked in an oven; she hoped it would still be good in a pan.

'Twas dark when they returned to the cockpit with their plates. The moonless sky was overrun with stars that continued seamlessly into the reflection in the mirror-like lake, so that it seemed the Selkie floated not in water but in the heavens. They sat upon the seats in the corner, Liam facing forward, she facing port, their knees almost touching. In the cool night air, only the occasional sounds of their forks upon the plates broke the serenity of Nature's beauty.

"Liam," Anya eventually spoke up. "Liam, are you as most men as far as....?" In the darkness he could make out the shine of her eyes shifting down as her words trailed off.

"Ye mean my being circumcised, I take it?"

"Circumcised?" She repeated slowly, sounding bewildered.

"Why I have no foreskin upon my cock, be that what you're asking?"

"I don't understand."

He took a draught of from his cup and explained. "All males are born with a foreskin...'tis like a sleeve of flesh that covers the cock. You've seen a stallion or a male dog, have ye not?" She nodded. "'Tis the same for men, unless they be Hebrew. Hebrews remove the foreskin from their boy babes as a sign of their covenant with God."

"Then that is what is meant in the Bible," she said.

"Aye, so it is. And that be why I have none."

"Then... most men have a foreskin," she concluded slowly.

He nodded. She set her plate aside and asked. "You are a Hebrew? I did not know that there were Hebrews in Ireland."

"There aren't many, lass. My mother was Hebrew, my father Irish. Her family moved to Belfast from Russia before she was born."

"And your father grew up upon the farm? How came your parents to meet?"

"My mother's father was a shoykhet --- a kosher butcher for the Hebrew community in Belfast. He procured lambs from my father, his being the only ones in the vicinity that met the strict guidelines of their laws. He first saw my mother when he came to the city to deliver animals at the house. 'Twas love at first sight, so he always said."

"How did her family regard the match?"

"Not kindly at all. 'Twas forbidden to marry outside the religion. They had to elope, I suppose ye'd call it. Her family subsequently disowned her."

There was a pause for some time, then Anya said, "Did she ever regret her decision?"

"Not she, I warrant. She and my father were happy every day of their lives that they shared. Aside from insisting that my brother and I be circumcised she sought no other connection with her upbringing."

Silence fell again. Anya seemed deep in thought, holding her cup and staring into the sky. He picked up the bowl of apple dessert and tasted it. 'Twas indeed delicious, and he expressed his appreciation. "'Tis a delight. A rare treat, Anya."

She tasted hers as well. "I wanted to make something for you," she murmured.

"Ta." He smiled.

As they continued eating he spoke up. "I gather 'twas not circumcision ye were meaning to ask me about?" She shook her head. "What were ye wanting to ask then, love?"

"Are all men...as...accomplished as you at...what we did? Is it a skill men are born with?"

He chuckled. "Alas no, certainly not born with it. 'Tis a skill, if ye call it such, that must be learned. If I be accomplished at it, I must lay the credit to having had an excellent teacher."

"Oh." She turned the spoon in her fingers, the metal glinting in the dim light. "Have you had many 'teachers'?"

"Nay, not so many as some. If ye speak of copulation proper, I've had three...before ye. There have been a few other dalliances of lesser degrees."

"How old were you when you had your first?"

"Fifteen. She was a serving maid upon the manor down the road from our farm. She was my age, but already knew what she was about. Of course, growing up upon a farm, I knew the mechanics of the exercise from having observed the animals. I was raring for a poke, randy lad that I was --- she let me, but 'twas only the once --- I think she had set her cap for a lad of better prospects."

He paused and took another spoonful of apples. "'Twas not long after that that my father died. I suppose that put me off of such pursuits for a long time."

Anya's knee touched his briefly.

"The second was during my apprenticeship in Glasgow. She was the secretary in my uncle's office. We had always had an easy friendship, she being the sweetheart of another apprentice who was my mate. They broke when he finished his term and moved to London. 'Twas not long after that that she asked me to walk her home after work. She invited me up to her room to fix her heater. So I did, then we had some whisky to warm me for my walk home. Well --- I didn't make it home. The next morning, she started to weep and confessed that she was already with child and that her sweetheart --- my mate --- had abandoned her; she was alone in the world. She had thought to trick me into thinking I be the father, but could not go through with it. I felt sorry for her, and young romantic hero that I thought myself, I offered to marry her anyway. So we married."

Anya's hands went still. "You are married?"

"No longer. We lived as husband and wife for nigh six months. Then the babe came early and the midwife could do naught. Both she and the babe died."

"Liam...I'm sorry, you must have loved her," she said softly.

He shook his head. "'Twas six years ago. In truth, I was too young to ken what love is. I found her bonnie and kind and thought we were content. What with her passing and in short order being skipped over for the advancement in my apprenticeship, I was soured upon life and was convinced Glasgow be a cursed place. 'Twas a long time before I again sought a serious attachment to a woman."

"Your third?"

"Aye. She was an older woman, twice widowed, Helen her name was. She had a son a few years younger than me, who had just gone to New York for his bookkeeping apprenticeship." He paused to take another bite.

"How came you to meet her?"

"She was one of my first customers when I restarted chartering the boat. Her sister had come to Rochester from Colorado to visit her; she wished to take her and her niece and nephew upon a sailing excursion and hired me for the day. I found her a handsome woman and imagined I detected some particular warmth in her expression when she spoke to me. After they disembarked, I found a handkerchief in the cabin she had used. I knew her name from the log book, and deduced from the conversation I had overheard during the sail that she owned a millinery shop in town. 'Twas no great task to find her again and present myself under the pretext of returning the handkerchief. Our...association...started that day. 'Twas she who schooled me in the arts of Eros, so it was."

It suddenly occurred to Liam that he might have encountered Anya at Helen's millinery shop, as her clientele were primarily the elegant ladies of the city...'twas an eerie possibility to contemplate.

"How long was your 'association' with her?"

"Nigh a year...then she moved to Colorado to keep house with her sister who had just lost her husband. That was a little over a year ago now. I've been a veritable monk since then." He smiled.

"It must have been a...most affectionate connection," Anya ventured, her voice a little hesitant.

"Of a kind. There was much esteem, but no profound love between us. After two husbands she was done with tender emotions. She was a woman at ease with her bawdy desires, and lonely and randy that I was, I was happy to be her pupil." He laughed ruefully and set aside the empty bowl.

"Well now ye ken my history --- no Casanova I be. What of ye, Anya? Have there been any lads ye fancied?"

"No." She shook her head.

"No holding hands in the parlor, or how do ye Yankees call it --- games of post office?" he teased.

"No --- although there was a time that I was playing hide and seek with Lucas and his school mates. One of them was hiding with me...and he kissed me."

"Where?"

"In the closet under the stairs."

"No, lass. What spot did he kiss? Not your cunny I hope."

Her knee bumped indignantly against his. "Of course not! It was upon my cheek." She pointed next to her mouth.

"Did ye ever have bawdy feelings that ye knew?"

There was a pause. "Well...Lucas had some French postcards he kept hidden in his room. I looked at them sometimes...I didn't quite know what they were about, but I would have a strange feeling when I thought about them."

"Did ye ever frig yourself Anya?"

"What is that?"

"Touch your cunny to give yourself pleasure?" His voice was low and thick. In the darkness he could not make out her expression. The starlight touched dimly blue upon the highlights of her face --- her cheekbones, her nose, her full lips. 'Twas nigh a minute before she answered, almost in a whisper. "I sometimes...touched myself with a candle."

His breath caught, thinking on the image. "What did ye do with the candle? Did ye put it inside your cunny?"

"No...I did not know about the inside until last night...I used to rub it against the outside."

"Did ye spend from it?"

"I felt a pleasure...but if spending is what happened last night and today, then no. I did not realize that there was so much more to follow."

"Then was last night your first spend?" His heart swelled.

She nodded, looking at him, the thousands of stars reflected in her pupils.

He cleared his throat and said huskily: "Would ye care to accompany me to my cabin, love?"

*****

They lay naked together in his berth --- skin against skin --- their heated bodies pressing and twisting together. She was so wondrously fashioned --- surely Nature's crowning achievement. Her agile, willowy body was accentuated so erotically by the luscious roundness of her breasts and buttocks...his hands roamed wildly over her, wanting to touch everything at once. He molded her body from head to toe against him. Never before had he felt such a hunger for a lass... he wanted to possess her on every plane: from her warm resilient skin to her sweet wild soul --- by every means possible: his eyes, his hands, his skin, his mouth, his cock.

For her part, her eagerness seemed to be overcoming her shyness; her hands moved over his torso, followed by her mouth --- covering his chest and neck with soft kisses. He heard her hot whisper "I love you" as her lips grazed his ear. Her hands even ventured to his thighs and buttocks, feeling the firm muscles there.

All of a sudden Liam rolled her to her back and raised up upon his side. He took her hand from his neck and brought it down to the junction of her thighs. Looking into her eyes he said in a low voice, "Show me how ye frig, Anya."

She looked embarrassed. "I-I did it with a candle," she said haltingly.

He straightened her fore finger and held it up. "Pretend your finger is the candle." He drew her hand gently to her cunny. When he let go, she approached her mons with her finger stiffly extended, hesitating as the tip contacted her skin. Averting her eyes, she snuggled her finger between her outer lips, just at the top of the notch, her thighs close together. Awkwardly she began to move it back and forth.

Sitting up for a closer view of her finger exploring herself, Liam saw that she was rubbing it lengthwise along her clitoris. He exhaled slowly...was there ever a more captivating sight than a bonnie lass playing with her cunny? Entranced he saw her muscles tense and her thighs begin to part.

Of a sudden she stopped and sat up, bending her knees and hugging them --- hiding her cunny and breasts from his view. She was blushing furiously. Over the tops of her knees her eyes met his. "What of men? Do they frig?" Her voice was a little defensive.

"There be two kinds of men: those that frig...and liars." He chuckled.

"And what of a man who has no hands?"

"He would learn to do it with his feet," he said solemnly. She looked at him skeptically, but he kept his face straight.

"Then show me how you frig," she challenged.

"As my lady commands." He grinned wickedly and shifted position, sitting with his legs stretched out in front of him. As she observed him, he spat in his palm and quickly smeared it over his cockhead. Then he reached out and, before she could react, grabbed her hand and wrapped it round his staff. She started as if burned, but his own hand covered hers and squeezed, forestalling her attempt to withdraw it. Her eyes flew up to meet his fiery gaze.

Deliberately he began to guide her fist up and down over the turgid crown...then lengthened the stroke to include the shaft. Soon she acclimated to the motion...and when he removed his hand from hers, she did not let go, but continued as he had demonstrated. He leaned back upon his hands to watch.

Her hand was so delicate and white upon his ruddy organ --- she could not encompass its girth. So different from his own work-hardened skin, her soft warm palm was heavenly stroking up and down --- so much more like a cunny. He sighed, his breathing heavy. "That be the way...aye...squeeze firm...oh God Anya..." Her wide eyes focused intently upon his cock in her fist, looking occasionally to his face to confirm his pleasure. Her breasts jiggled prettily with the movement of her arm.

Though initially shy about touching him, now that the scepter of love was in her hand, her fascination seemed boundless. Her fingers caressed the hot skin, then she squeezed the shaft --- the intriguing juxtaposition of smoothness over rigidity. In wonder, she palpated the thick, pulsing ridge along the underside, tracing over the tense veins. She felt all about the head, brushing over the firm rubbery rim, touching her fingertip to the opening on top. While her motions were no longer quite as purposeful, Liam was thrilled to be the subject upon whom she indulged her curiosity.

Suddenly to his shock and delight, she bent and kissed the head of his cock. It throbbed in her hand. Her lashes raised and her luminous brown eyes met his.

She spoke softly. "What you did to me upon deck earlier...would that be a pleasure to a man?"

Realizing her meaning, he groaned, "Aye!"

Her gaze shifted back to his organ, the tip of her tongue peeking out between her lips as she bent lower... unsure how to proceed. Gripping the shaft in her hand, her tongue came out and tentatively swabbed the side of his crown. His sharp intake of breath told her she was embarking upon the proper path...he thrilled as he watched her press forward, her pink tongue licking over the head as if it were a candy stick, coating it with her spittle. The small warm wet muscle tickled and rubbed upon his exquisitely sensitive flesh. His breathing uneven, he sighed, "Aye love...aye."

With one hand he pushed back her tumbled locks of hair to keep an unobstructed view of her eager tongue moving upon his organ; he gently held her head as it bobbed about. "Anya...put it in your mouth and suck it," he urged.

She stopped, her mouth falling open, seeming astonished. She stared at his shiny cockhead before her, her eyes crossing a little. For a moment she opened her mouth even wider...then she shut it and looked up at him, saying with alarm, "Oh Liam, do you jest? It would surely choke me to death!"

Reaching down he grasped her under the arms and drew her up to kiss her. He murmured, "Ye little darling! How much ye have to learn..." He lay back and pulled her over him so that she lay atop him --- her breasts upon his chest, her legs balanced along his, his enflamed rod sandwiched between their bellies. Her hands moved through his hair, and he lifted his head to feed upon her mouth, his own hands roving over her back, pert backside, and lean thighs.