The Doldrums: the Sailor and the Virgin Ch. 12

The dressmaker was initially confused at the sailor and young lad in her store --- and confused anew when Anya removed her cap. "Why miss, why are you garbed like a boy?!" she exclaimed. Liam chuckled. "I'm afraid the lady's luggage fell overboard, and we had to make do with what we could find." The woman shook her head. "Let's get you into a gown, miss. Take this off, let me see your figure." She took the coat from Anya and assessed her.

"Do ye have anything already sewn? We're only in port tonight."

"She's so petite...I have only a few possibilities." The woman drew Anya over to the rack. Liam went to stand by the window and tried reading his new book, pleasurably distracted he be though by his persistent thoughts on her spending in her sleep. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw them searching through the gowns, several times going in the back to try one on. By and by they emerged and approached him.

"Did ye find one?"

"We did, sir. The waist will need to be taken in, and the skirt shortened."

Liam drew out the bag of gold coins. "How soon can it be ready?"

Receiving the dressmaker's eager assurances of its completion by closing time, Liam paid a portion of the cost, and they left the shop.

The rest of the afternoon was occupied by a visit to a penny arcade, where they laughed and marveled at the weighing machine, the phonograph, and the kinetoscope. Liam showed off by besting three different strength testers. At the fortune telling machine they received a card for their coin that read: The planets foretell that the answer you seek will be found upon the wheel of fortune. Be that for her or himself, he wondered. 'Fortune?' Was that prophesizing her selling her ring and going her own way? He shook his head. Och, 'twas naught but a silly game!

After the arcade, they went into a general store to buy various sundries. Leaving Anya selecting stockings, Liam wandered along the counters checking for any items they might have forgotten. His steps slowed to a halt before a display of comb and brush sets. All at once an image filled his mind, an imaged glimpsed through her window as he stood upon a stone ledge --- Anya sitting before her mirror with her legs agape, staring at her bare, yearning cunny...her little white hands grasping the head of her hairbrush and thrusting the creamed silver handle in and out between her glowing pink lips...

Her sudden appearance beside him made him jump. He cleared his throat. "Uh...a brush and comb for ye, Anya? My little comb doesn't do your lovely hair justice."

He perceived her quick glance in his direction and the subtle pink in her cheeks. She shrugged and pointed to a simple set with slender wood handles. "This will do," she said.

As she was looking down, she didn't see the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. He picked up the brush of a tortoise shell set, this with a much thicker handle. "Are ye certain ye wouldn't fancy a more robust set? With this thick handle ye could get a more vigorous stroke."

A broad grin spread across his face at that, but when her eyes flew up, his expression was all innocence. She turned away rather abruptly, her face reddening. "Any of them will be fine," she mumbled. He selected the heftier set and added it to their pile of goods.

The next stop was a market for food provisions and a block of ice for the ice box. Finally, as the sun was setting, they returned to the dressmaker's shop and received the large soft package wrapped in brown paper. Back aboard the Selkie, after stowing their purchases, Liam turned to her with a grin. "Put on your new gown, love. Let's have ourselves a wee bit of a spree." While she repaired to the forward cabin with her package, he went to his cabin and washed, changed his shirt, and combed his unruly hair. He rubbed the stubble upon his jaw: there be not enough time to shave.

As he waited in the main cabin, he called out, "Do ye need help with the fastenings?" The door latch clicked and with a rustle of fabric she stepped out. His eyes warmed in appreciation of the delectable sight. The bodice of the gown was fashioned from a jaunty blue and green Scots plaid --- the dressmaker had done well, for it fitted her beautiful curves to perfection. Small black cord covered buttons ran up from the waist to a demure neckline. The long skirts were of midnight blue taffeta, gathered over her bottom to form a lush drape and fall. Her long dark hair was pinned up, sweetly haphazard with higgledy-piggledy, curly ends poking out. A black velvet band went round her head in front of the piled hair.

He swallowed hard. "You're lovely Anya, the most lovely lass I've ever seen, so ye are," he murmured. He gave her his hand as she ascended the companionway ladder, her other hand holding her skirts out of the way of her boots. His admiring eyes followed her up and noted that the dressmaker had furnished her with pretty white petticoats too --- no knickers though --- as he caught a brief glimpse of her pink. She held his arm and jumped lightly to the dock. Hand in hand they walked through the waterfront neighborhood lit by gas lamps.

To his recollection there be a jolly tavern nearby --- not rough like O'Leary's in Toronto. The crack be more convivial and there be no doxies openly plying their trade. 'Twas a place where a lad might bring his sweetheart. As they neared the establishment, he saw the people milling about outside and heard the lively music. The wooden plank walkway in front thumped with the beat of the drum coming from inside. Liam drew her closer to him and guided her through the door. There was a fair crowd, all working class folk --- the majority men, but a good number of ladies too. The band was playing up a storm of a jig and couples were dancing in an area cleared out from tables and chairs.

Zigzagging through the assembly, he led her to the bar. There be fewer ladies here, and the laughter and talk of the blokes could be heard over the music. The men politely made room for her, offering her a stool. Lifting her by her waist, Liam sat her upon it. "What will ye drink?" She looked at him in mute appeal, shrugging her shoulders. When the barkeep arrived, he ordered two bowls of fish stew, a pint of ale, and a half-gill of ale. As they waited, Anya turned upon the stool, surveying the scene, her eyes alight with excitement.

The fish stew proved to be delicious, but Anya's face when she tasted the ale was so comical that the men round them roared with laughter. Liam grinned. "Ye dinna fancy it?" He signaled the barkeep again. "Gie thon wee lass a milk and soda!" a voice called. Liam added her ale to his, and had a cup of mead brought to her instead.

When they be well fed and watered, Liam drew her out to the dance floor. "Just follow me," he shouted to her plea of ignorance of the steps. And follow she did --- through jigs and reels, her eager eyes followed him as she mimicked his steps, skipping and dipping heel and toe. 'Twas a joy to hold her lithe, prancing body in his arms, swinging her, twirling her, and above all seeing her happy, laughing face.

After several dances, they sat at a table, panting and red cheeked. He tried to draw her upon his lap, but she seemed shy of the other people, so they sat side by side. Liam ordered another pint and another mead from a serving maid. Presently a man approached and asked Anya for a dance; Liam saw her anxious expression and felt her hand squeeze his. "Sorry, mate," he said amiably. "I promised her da she'd dance only with me."

By and by, as they drank, another chap moved in and asked her for a jig. Liam repeated his deflection, but this one did not respond as genially. "I think the wench can damn well decide that for herself, you bloody bogtrotter," he sneered at Liam. He was a sturdy fellow near Liam's age, and by his garb, a sailor as well. His accent, slightly slurred with drink, sounded to be from London. Leaning close to Anya, he grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. "Let's take a turn, girlie."

In a beat Liam leapt to his feet, pulled her hand free, and put himself between her and the ganch. The man's half cut eyes took the measure of Liam's broad shoulders several inches above his own, but paradoxically he blustered on. In fury he cocked an arm back and drove his fist towards Liam's gut. A moment later he was spun round with his arm twisted up behind his back in the grip of Liam's hand. He yowled as Liam jerked his arm tighter and bent his head to enunciate in his ear: "The lass dinna want to dance with ye, if ye catch my drift." The man whimpered. Liam shoved him away --- several onlookers backing up to give him room. The lout threw back his shoulders in an attempt to recapture his dignity, glaring at the gawkers as he walked unsteadily away. Liam watched him till he lurched out the door.

He turned back to Anya and squeezed her hand. "Did he hurt ye, love?" She shook her head, her eyes wide. "Shall we dance, then?" Now she nodded, and they rejoined the revelers upon the floor.

The merry music quickly restored the happy mood. Another boisterous set was danced --- finished with Liam impulsively lifting Anya up by her waist and spinning round with his arms extended above his head, she holding his shoulders and laughing. This time when they stepped off the floor to refresh themselves, she resisted not as he pulled her onto his lap. He saw her eyes take in other couples similarly situated, and felt her relax. Another round of drinks was delivered. Drinking deeply, Liam's eyes moved warmly over her. Her face was rosy from the exertion and her bosom rose and fell as she caught her breath. Over the nape of her neck he saw the mist of perspiration --- he held his cold glass to her skin, then blew gently upon it. She giggled and squirmed.

The drum eased away, and the fiddle and pipes shifted into a haunting love ballad. She leaned back against him and her arm went round his neck. He watched her lips as she drank of her mead, and observed her eyes taking on a heady glow. Behind his back, he felt her fingers idly toying with a strap of his braces. Slightly lit himself, his heart ached as he remembered the night so many weeks ago when she had sat upon his lap --- the night he had taken her virginity and initiated her into the radiant mysteries of love. Now as they sat, he could feel her full breast pressed against his chest through her bodice. His arm round her back squeezed her gently. With the layers of her skirts he could not sense much of her lower body, but he savored the knowledge that her bottom and cunny be snug upon his lap.

He thought on her pretty little anus that he had ravished so thoroughly with his tongue earlier that morning...and in front of it, her darling pink trinket that yielded up the sweetest love cream he had ever tasted. As the poignant song flowed over them, he felt again how their bodies twined and undulated together, his cock deep up her cunny...heard again her moaning and gasping his name. Unabashedly his cock full expanded under her buttock. He simply sat in turgid happiness with his arm round her, drinking in her beauty and relishing the feel of her close upon him. Now her fingers were entwined in his hair at his nape. By and by their eyes met and held; he felt hypnotized by their luminous expression. After several moments of wordless exchange, her gaze shied away, and she tried to rise.

He held her back. "Dinna get up just yet, lass," he murmured in her ear. She looked at him confused; he shifted her upon his lap and he saw the sudden widening of her eyes as she felt his thick erection. She sat still, the curve of her dark lashes downcast, the blush suffusing her cheeks. Now that he ken that she be thinking on his cock too, 'twas nigh impossible to make the stubborn thing subside. Eventually, he forced himself to think about the threat of barnacles, now that the Selkie be in salt water, and that deflated his ardor long enough for them to stand up.

"Shall we go back to the boat?" he asked.

Her eyes lifted slowly to his and she nodded.

Through the dark streets they walked. Liam held fast to her hand, his heart hardly daring to hope. She bumped against him intermittently and he recognized that she be a little tipsy. He had lost track of how many cups of mead she had consumed...three, four? For one so petite, 'twas a goodly amount. When they arrived at the dock, he suddenly bent and hoisted her over his shoulder to step across the water to the deck. He heard her giggling against his back. Holding her legs through the soft froth of her bundled skirts, he stepped over the cockpit coaming and knelt upon the seat to unlock the companionway doors. Alas, she took the opportunity to stand up then.

He descended first and held her waist as she climbed down, facing the ladder. She stumbled upon the second to last step and he quickly lifted her down. The taffeta festoons over her bottom rustled as he pressed her back against his pelvis. His head bent and he nuzzled in her hair, breathing in her sweet scent. "Anya..." he murmured close by her ear.

"Meoooow!" came the reply. From the forward cabin, Orville came bounding over; he meowed again and raised his front paws to latch onto her skirt. "Orville!" she cried and crouched down, pulling out of Liam's embrace. "As-tu faim, cheri?"

Liam smiled ruefully. "I'll get water for your bath, love." While she prepared a bowl of food for Orville, he heated water and filled the basin in the forward cabin. In his own cabin he undressed and washed away the sweat from dancing. He put on his drawers and stood deep in thought. He was no longer certain that he could wait till Boston to ken his fate: was it to be with her, or without her? When she looked at him with those incandescent brown eyes, as she had done while upon his lap at the tavern, his heart ached something fierce for her. Should he address her upon the matter sooner?

After some time, Anya opened the door, wearing her nightgown. Unsteadily she made her way to the berth. Liam poured a cup of water and had her drink it. He tried to catch her eyes, but she was already drowsy. Sighing, he helped her climb in with his large hand boosting her by her bottom. In minutes she was gone in sleep. 'Twas just as well...he thought as he drank a cup of water himself...she was too blootered to have a serious conversation...or to make amorous advances upon her. He blew out the lantern and laid down.

*****

The next morning arrived sunny and brisk with wind. 'Twould be a long sail today, and 'twas best to get an early start, he decided. He let her sleep as he paid for a tow out of the harbor and raised the sails. He stood behind the wheel, thinking on her, impatient for her to rise. Today he would broach the subject of her plans for her future. But to his frustration, she did not appear. 'Twas well past her usual rising time... he tried to be sympathetic. It had been a full, exciting day yesterday, and she had been somewhat fluthered with mead. Indeed, he himself would have dearly loved to stay in bed longer...to be in bed with her now. Their day in Halifax had been so gratifying, for him there be only one thing that could have made it better...

The wind was strong and the Selkie was sailing close hauled, heeling and bounding through the waves to the sound of surging spray and creaking sheets. The exhilaration of the power and speed invoked a sympathetic tension in his body. Where the devil was she?

'Twas nigh noon when she finally appeared. In the open companionway, he saw her head and shoulders as she crossed the cabin, holding onto bulkheads, unsteady with the steep tilt of the boat. She stepped onto the bottom step of the ladder and looked up at him, blinking in the sunlight. "You started without me," she said, sounding forlorn.

"'Tis a long sail today. We needed to be on our way. 'Tis a good thing too, since ye turned out to be such a slugabed." He winked at her.

She pulled an offended face. "Did you eat breakfast?"

"'Twasn't time."

She stepped back down, saying, "Please warn me before we tack."

Apart from seeing her move across the cabin a couple of times, she was out of his view for some time. Eventually, she reappeared, climbing the ladder carrying two mugs. She was wearing her little brass buttoned coat over her nightgown. Her long dark hair blew in the wind. "Here's tea for you," she said softly.

"Ta." He smiled. She had found the mugs with the lids, smart lass, and had not filled them too full. He helped her place them in the wooden cup holder he had built upon the steering console. Stepping back onto the cockpit seat, she descended again below. Liam tried not to let the sight of her arse and cunny hair through the sunlit nightgown distract him from his intent to have a serious discourse with her. When she returned, she was carrying a small basket. "Are you hungry?" She unwrapped a cloth and produced boiled eggs, apple wedges, and bread and butter.

The food did succeed in distracting at least his mouth as he appreciatively ate, standing behind the wheel and holding it with one hand. She sat upon the lower cockpit seat facing outward as she ate, her legs curled up under her, looking out at the hazy coast of Nova Scotia. Presently he warned her 'twas time to tack; she set the basket of food upon the cockpit sole, and with one knee upon the seat, manned the staysail sheet as they came about, as he had taught her. The sails flapped, then snapped full of wind. "Is this the fastest we've ever gone?" she asked, her voice filled with excitement. She put the basket upon the leeward seat, but did not sit back down. She held onto the console, bracing herself upon the angled floor.

"Near enough," he agreed, smiling. She edged her way round the wheel and stood beside him --- he glanced at her --- she be looking at the compass, it seemed. Suddenly she ducked under his arm and stood up in front of him, between his body and the wheel, in the circle of his arms. He looked down at her quizzically --- unsure. Her eyes lifted to his, then dropped down. Then she took a small step closer to him, and closer again...his heart started to beat faster...in joyous disbelief he felt her fit her small body against his large one, snuggling her cheek to his chest. Her arms went round his waist and she pressed herself to him.

"Liam...," she murmured. He shivered at the sound of it, realizing that he had not heard his name from her lips in weeks. By Christ, what was happening? "Anya," he croaked, bending his head down to kiss the top of her head. Her head, with her cheek still pressed to him, tilted, and her beautiful face looked up at him, her eyes aglow.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Searching her face, he cleared his throat. "'Twas nothing...I just wanted to let ye sleep in..."

Her eyes shone. "Thank you for rescuing me."

He was lost in the intensity of her gaze. For a lass who was usually so guarded with her emotions, the profundity of her tawny-brown stare when she finally opened her heart made it hard for him to think rationally. He saw the pink bow of her lips part. His heart pounded. There was a pause in which were heard only the wind and rushing water. Then he bent his head and covered her mouth with his. The slow, heady kiss lasted but a moment before she was on her tiptoes, her arms round his neck, fiercely pressing against him. He abandoned all other thought. Pushing her back against the wheel, he enfolded her in his arms, while still trying to hold the course steady. His tongue thrust into her mouth and he greedily sucked upon her lips and tongue. "Anya..." he gasped between kisses. It had been so long! So, so long since he had held her thus, so long that he had been craving her touch!

Her slim body arched against him, molding against his rapidly standing cock. An arm slid down from his neck, and to his astonishment, the next thing he felt was her hand upon his bulging trousers. He groaned into her mouth as she palpated him, tracing the twisted shaft and the ridge of his crown. She tilted her head back and looked into his eyes. "What is this called?" she asked in a sweetly innocent voice. He was goggle eyed as she continued to rub him through his trousers, and he answered hoarsely, "'Tis me reef tackle fall, lass."