The Pirate Affair
Chapter Three
Copyright 1997
by AUTHOR22@aol.com

Jack noticed that someone had untied the string around his painting. 
He asked Jose if it had been him. After a little discussion they came 
to the conclusion that either the leading seaman, Mike, or the other 
one, Bobby had been examining the art piece. 

Rather than to have the cloth subjected to rolling and unrolling they 
decided to construct a frame, and mount it to the forward bulkhead in 
the focsle cabin.

Ever the  entrepreneur Jose nailed a tin cup into place directly under 
the picture. He then placed a small sign below the cup which read, "A 
coin will surely make your dreams come true."

While the crew of the Seagull was tight lipped about their cargo, the 
loading of supplies was observed by many, including spies who sold 
their information to Pirates along the notorious string of islands 
spanning from Jamaica to Cuba.

The information that Captain Frank of the Bloody Cutlass received was 
accurate although he wasn't given either the name of the ship nor her 
cargo.

He had been apprised of the fact that she was a fast ship, and specially 
rigged to out run a clumsy square sailer.

His ship was at rest, dead in the water 19 miles from an island. At 
rest wasn't exactly an accurate description as she had enough sail to 
pull hard on her anchor line. The idea was to surprise an on coming 
vessel with a sudden burst of speed. 

The crew had double lined the anchor, and they had actually been 
moving at a pretty good speed when the anchor was dropped off her 
stern.  That particular part of the Caribbean was relatively shallow, 
and the anchor had dug in so solidly that the Cutlass had jerked and 
then shuddered to a stop.

The Captain had chosen that particular location for several reasons. 
First, his ship would blend into the dark silhouette of the island if 
there was no moon. Then, the water was shallow enough that he could 
seat the anchor firmly in the ocean bottom.

Interesting things were happening on board the Seagull. It could not 
all together be attributed to the prankful doings of Jerry and Scotty.

While it was perfectly true that the six members of the ships crew 
could be expected to supply all of the energy needs the two spirits 
required the idea of simply eating and running left a great deal to be 
desired. In other words the two had decided to make dinning "Fun."

Jose and Jack had created a myriad of opportunities when they framed 
the painting, and then added the cup.

The girl and her ghostly companion had decided right then and there 
that they would see to it that anyone dropping a coin in the cup would 
have their wildest fantasy come true. Promoting this superstition 
could pay off. It would be like making certain that all the cows in a 
dairy had full udders in need of milking.

The sun had set. The night was dark. The Cutlass was pulling hard on 
her anchor. The sails had been raised till the tension on the stern 
anchor was so tight that it hummed in the wind. There 
were no lights. All hands were on deck, alert for any approaching 
prey. When the fast ship was directly in front of her the anchor line 
would be sharply chopped through with an axe, and hopefully the 
Cutlass's bow sprit would ram her. If they missed, they could bring their 
ship around broadside and shatter their quarries' starboard side with 
their cannon.

It was well past one in the morning. Jose was at the wheel, and Jack 
was at the point of the bow, his eyes trying to penetrate the blackness. 
There was nothing to see, so there was no perspective. It was 
like looking into a black bag, and just about as uncomfortable.

Jerry and Scott were sitting in the Crow's Nest making jokes about how 
much fun they could have with the crew; prankful fun.

Again, Jerry began to sense something different. Something important 
was about to happen. She stood and leaned out over the railing of 
their perch. That extra ability to see in total darkness allowed her 
to spot a four masted square rigged ship about six miles dead ahead. 
"Scott, get your butt up here. Look at that!"

The boy's eyes followed her pointing finger. "She's running no lights, 
and she seems to be dead in the water."

"What should we do."

Scott did not directly reply, instead he shouted a stern, "Ship 
running no lights dead ahead."

Below, the two men on duty thought it was the other that had sounded 
the alarm.

Jack's response was automatic. He raced to the main cabin shouting 
"Captain! Captain there is a ship with no lights ahead of us."

Both the Quarter Master and the Captain came a running. "Jack 
extinguish our running lights." He paused for just a moment, then added, 
"You'd better roust the rest of the crew. All Hands on Deck! Jose, 
take'r as close to 180 as ya can without loosing speed. Speed's more 
important than direction."

The Seagull was running with just three lights: a red lantern on the 
port side, a green one on starboard, and a white one a top the main.

Jack had extinguished the port and starboard lamps, and was heading 
for the ladder up the main when the white lamp went out. The failure 
of the top lantern surprised him as he had checked the wick, and seen 
that it was full of oil. 

He shouted into the focsle cabin, "Drop your cocks and grab yer socks. 
All hands on deck. We might have a fight on our hands. Get yer butts 
out here as fast as ye can."

There had been a lookout atop the main mast of the Cutlass. He had 
seen the white light, but it had been just a twinkle before it 
disappeared.  He chalked it up to being a star, but continued to stare into 
the darkness.

The Seagull sailed south for almost an hour before resuming her westward 
course. They couldn't go too far south or they would run into the 
chain of islands that projected eastward from the eastern shore of the 
new world. The distance between Cuba and those islands was less than a 
hundred miles. After an hour of running west, they changed to  a 
course of 290. This put the wind behind them.  

It was still two hours before sunrise when Mike and Bobby returned to 
the focsle cabin to continue their sleep. They had re-lit their 
running lights before retiring. Mike had entered first, lit a small 
lantern, and proceeded to undress.  

The painting drew his attention and he stood directly in front of it. 
It was not the lustful appearance of the man's face that had gathered 
his interest, but rather the detailed facial expression of the oriental 
woman whose lips were approaching the waiting rod. The artist had 
captured the essence of the eroticism. Then Mike smiled, picked up his 
pants, withdrew a coin, and placed it in the cup. 

It was while Mike was placing the coin in the cup that Bobby entered. 
His immediate assumption was that Mike was passing him a silent 
message that he wanted more of his young cock. 

Bobby was pleased by the thought of the leading seaman being hot for 
his pego. The memory of that last blow job immediately brought it to 
full attention.

Not hiding his arousal he joined Mike in front of the painting, and 
dropped a farthing into the cup.

The two looked at each other with a smile of mutual lust. Mike reached 
over and extinguished the lamp, as the two embraced, and then sank to 
the deck. Each was sure that this was a repeat of the earlier episode 
and thus proceeded with no inhibitions.

It was then that Jack started into the focsle cabin. He wanted to know 
when he should wake them for their turn at the wheel. As he descended  
the few steps he heard the unmistakable sounds of passion, and the 
slurping of cocks being sucked.

He smiled to himself and withdrew. He'd come back a little later. 
Knowing that the senior seaman was lustfully engaged with Bobby 
reinforced his acceptance of his growing appreciation of Jose.

Only the ghosts were unhappy. Their meal had just self destructed. 
Nevertheless they stood side by side, observing the two men laying 
side by side sucking each others cock. There was great passion, and 
the couple rolled from side to side, to Bobby being on top, then it 
was Mike on top. Neither men were practiced performers. The drive 
toward self gratification was so absorbing that they did not give 
their deed the attention it needed. And it wasn't till much later each 
discovered teeth marks and abrasions on their equipment.

They individually resolved that next time they would be less demanding, 
and more caring. While they each had reached their climax at the 
same time, the episode was not as good as had been the earlier one. 
But it was interesting that both did not doubt that there would be a 
next time.

The Captain and crew of the Bloody Cutlass had spent the night alert 
to any passing prey. But the night had been uneventful.

As the sun rose above the horizon the crew was already making ready to 
get underway.

Unseating their anchor had been quite a chore. They had let out all of 
the line that they could, then sailed as fast as possible in the 
opposite direction, hitting the anchor line so solidly that a piece of 
the Cutlass planking had broken loose. Eventually the anchor did come 
free.

Once the anchor had been secured, the Captain set course for el Havana. 
It was decided they would sell both their loot and the slaves. The 
market for field slaves should be good this time of year.

The Cutlass needed to be more on the prowl. They would be well rid of 
the English slaves. Captain Frank missed his more than he would admit. 

Once they were free of their booty they would be more alert for 
merchant ships; especially Spanish ones.

-----------------------------------

Both the Captain of the Bloody Cutlass and the Seagull were developing 
a sense that their crews were not as they should be.  The problem on 
the Cutlass was both the Captains preference for boys, and the lack of 
ships to attack. The Seagull was not yet a problem, but its Captain 
began to sense that things were changing amongst his crew.

Sailors getting it on with one another was nothing that either surprised 
him nor bothered him. It had always been, and would most likely 
always be.  

What he wanted to avoid were love affairs. If a crew drew together 
into coupled pairs, both jealousy, and dissension could be expected. 
It was to avoid exactly this that he always chose ports with many 
eligible women. He kept alert to the sexual or social needs of his 
crew. In that regard he strove to become a friend and father figure.

In the last few days he had noticed the sly looks that passed between 
the seaman. Jose and Jack had always worked together. The needs of the 
ship in obtaining supplies required that the two lads work as a team. 
That left the other two, Mike and Bobby whose assignments had been 
together.

The Captain began to realize his inattention to duty assignments at 
sea had been negligent. He needed to rotate assignments in an attempt 
to dissolve the bonding that had already begun.

It was almost daylight before the helmsman on the Seagull spun the 
wheel to a new course of 360 degrees. They were approximately mid way 
between landfall on Cuba's western tip, and the string of small islets 
projecting from the mainland of the new world. It would be a straight 
shot north to New Orleans. If the wind was good they would be there in 
four days.

Even though it would be hard on both he and his Quarter Master, he had 
decided that one of them must always be on deck. During the day just 
one of the four crewman would be on deck, at night it would be two. 

This new duty roster would rotate the crew, and hopefully break the 
bonding. 

But then, he didn't as yet know about the ghosts.

----------------------

The Seagull was well north of Cuba's western tip when the Bloody 
Cutlass entered the wide channel that separated Ensenada de Corrientes 
from the tiny sea coastal village of Puerto Juarez. Unlike the 
Seagull's journey, the Cutlass hoped to be moored before sunset within 
the protection of Havana's harbor.

Once past the point and within the lee of Cuba the Captain had brought 
his ship into the gentle wind, and removed all vestiges that would 
identify them as pirates. Then with the colorful trader sails in place 
they proceeded east toward Havana.

It wasn't that anyone in the port was fooled by the change in colors, 
it was just that the governor of the island nation could pretend that 
he knew nothing of the visitors.

Neither Frank nor his crew were looking forward to this visit. Unlike 
most port visits this one would not be booze and women; or at least 
not to the extent they usually enjoyed.

They would have little money to enjoy themselves.  The Cutlass had 
minuscule treasure, and the quantity of slaves they had for sale had 
been reduced by almost a third.  

The price of white slaves was not as good as for blacks.  The whites 
were less subservient, less likely to be skillful in the fields, and 
generally did not make good workers. In addition there was always the 
possibility that a white captive might have friends or relatives in 
the city that could cause trouble for the governor. 

Even white seaman that might have been captured represented another 
difficulty.  Seaman made up most of the visitors to the port city. 
More than once a past shipmate of a captured sailor had demanded, and 
obtained the release of a enslaved cohort.

However, captured seaman still were valuable, just not as slaves. Most 
ships offered a handsome finders fee for the recruitment of experienced 
crewman. 

One of the reasons the Seagull had accepted the commission to transport 
the chest to New Orleans was that none of the crew had been 
there. 

The city had a colorful reputation. In some ways it resembled those 
untamed ports in the Caribbean. Both were ruled by political appointees 
whose monarch was on the other side of the world. What little law 
that existed was driven by the needs of commerce.

In another aspect the cities were quite different. None of the ports 
that the Pirates found so hospitable had much of a barrier which might 
impede a fast departure. On the other hand access to New Orleans was 
via a long and winding river. The French government had placed two 
well armed war ships at the mouth. Then further upstream there were 
strategically placed cannon.

The economy of both were dependent upon sugar cane and slaves.

Along the river and inland a dispersed community had been formed with 
close ties to the city. 

Central to the city was the slave market. Only black or mulatto were 
traded. The source of the stock were either imported via the visiting 
ships, or bred locally.

The domestically produced herds commanded higher prices as they spoke 
the local language where the imported blacks required months of training 
before they would be at their best.

All along the wharf buildings were occupied by a mixture of merchants 
who sold supplies and those that sold pleasure.

The town was filled with young blacks. They were the backbone of the 
pleasure commerce. The girls were well titted, and had slim waists. 
Their gleaming white teeth were in sharp contrast to their deep 
bronzed skin. Having been raised on the nearby plantations they 
expected to be at the command of their white masters; in every way.

The girls were usually hidden away in the upstairs rooms of the bawdy 
houses. The more beautiful adorned the river side pubs. They served 
drinks, entertained customers, and fucked on demand.

Their male counterparts were usually found along the streets, or if 
they were musically inclined they would be the source of the pounding 
rhythms which flowed out of the bars and whore houses. 

All along the dock black males of every age could be seen from sun 
down to sun up. Their body's took up the beat expressing themselves in 
stringed instruments, dancing, or song.

Almost as though it were under the control of some invisible magician 
they disappeared as the morning sun lit the areas of debauchery. They 
returned to the plantation fields.

It was late at night on the Seagull's fourth day northward when the 
Captain eased off on their speed. He did not want to be close to land 
before daylight. 

Even if he had good charts, he would not have chosen to maneuver his 
ship up the river at night. If they were becalmed they would need 
either to drop anchor and wait for the wind, or everyone on board 
would be required ashore to manually haul the ship along the river 
bank.

It was rumored that there were gangs of blacks whose masters rented 
them for such haulings.  

Thus, it wasn't till day break of their fifth day that the look out 
first spotted land fall; dead ahead.

The charts had forewarned that the entrance to the river was not well 
marked. The river fragmented itself with hundreds of possible entrances. 
Not being sure of his course the Captain had elected to be well 
east of what ever entrance there was. He would then hold close to the 
shore while traveling west, and hopefully follow some more knowledgeable 
craft into and up the river.

Jerry and Scotty had had fun with the crew during those four days at 
sea.

Even though Jack owned the painting on their cabin wall, and had 
laughed with Jose about the tin cup. He had begun to believe there was 
magic in it. His right hand had become his best friend in the last few 
days, and the experiences had been incredible, almost beyond belief. 
Several times each day he would add a coin to the cup, then climb the 
mast to his favorite spot. Each time he was rewarded with an astonishing 
experience.

The Captain had suspected that the young seaman's appreciation of the 
Crow's Nest lay between the lad's legs. Then the other day when he had 
sited the little girl and had forgotten that his pego was still out of 
its cage the view of the lad had more or less confirmed his suspicions. 
But given a choice between this favorite pastime and the boys 
doing each other, he'd choose the lonely adventure in the Crow's Nest.

In the privacy of the Crow's Nest Jack skinned his tight cream colored 
trousers over his thighs. The pants were new and their cut was snug 
around his thighs and hips. The removal reduced the pressure as they 
moved down and way from the cock-and-ball-filled bulge. Next came his 
white and blue jersey. Now, completely unclothed his eyes settled on  
his exposed crotch.  

The boy was experiencing a freedom that was unique. He wore no 
clothes. His body was totally exposed to the warm ocean breeze. His 
bare buttocks reveled in the warmth of the sun bleached planking of 
the platform.

Reluctantly he opened his eyes. Seagulls were circling overhead, and 
behind them were white fluffy clouds on a back ground of light blue 
sky.

He closed his eyes and entered the fanciful room of the mysterious 
painting.

His body was transformed to that of the man whose lustful eyes rested 
on the oriental woman.

Imagining that his own hand was her's the exploration began.

Illogically the scene switched between the woman's lips about to 
engulf his waiting instrument, and one in which the lips were those of 
Jose.

The sounds from the focsle cabin of the previous night seemed to 
intermingle. He could imagine the two seaman grinding their pelvis 
together.

The day dream was having its effect, and his eyes settled on his bare 
body. A distinct tan line marked his genital area providing a stark 
contrast with his brown legs and upper body. 

His cock twitched, and a drop of jism oozed from the tip and slid down 
the rock hard shaft. The freedom of being exposed to the elements 
brought with it a total lack of concern about where he expected his 
load might go. As had happened many times in the last week, it simply 
disappeared.

He slouched down into the narrow space wallowing in the private 
warmth,  and rubbing himself all over.  Finally, he just lay there, 
serenely taking it all in.

Scotty had followed the young seaman up the ladder. As the sailor 
secretly undressed, the spirit had already decided what would be his 
contribution.

This would be a sexual journey this youth would long remember. The 
trick would be to become part of his fantasy, and then lead it beyond 
the boy's wildest imagination.

As Scott watched, Jack spread his legs apart, inviting the imaginary 
object of this sharing to partake.

The adolescent ghost knelt between Jack's legs. His head moved toward 
the towering rod. His lips were as close as he could put them with out 
actually touching.

Jack's hips suddenly moved upward and were enveloped by the spirits 
lips.

Even though the boy had hoped the previous fantasies would be repeated, 
he did not expect to be so rewarded. His eye's flicked open, and 
for just a moment the two sets of eyes met. 

Jack knew his mind was playing tricks on him.  But the eyes that had 
met his filled his heart with a warmth that went beyond description. 

He blinked. And there were no eyes meeting his. But the incredible 
feelings of real lips remained. He stared at his hand moving the full 
length of his shaft. It looked to him as though his pego was getting 
wetter. That was a change as in the past he had always had to spit 
into his palm to keep his shaft lubricated.

"Ahoy Jack." The unwelcome sound of the Captain's voice brought the 
episode to an early conclusion. 

The boy quickly pulled his pants over his legs as he remained hidden 
from view. His pego would not deflate. It's bulge made it difficult to 
re-lace the fly. Still laying flat on the deck he pulled his jumper 
over his head. Then slowly he sat up while lowering the garment. He 
was facing the bow of the Seagull as he stood, pulling the bottom of 
his jumper down over the top of his pants in an attempt to hide the 
obvious. He moved around to the other side and waved an acknowledgement 
to the Captain.

Off in the distance he could see the a marked difference in the ocean
where the muddy river water swirled with the clear ocean giving it the
appearance of one of his mothers chocolate creme puddings.
-------------------------

About the time that the Bloody Cutlass had moored off of the English 
coast and enslaved Scott and his family, another English ship was 
transporting a middle aged missionary and his wife to the new world.

While Scotty and Jerry were being exploited by Captain Frank, the 
missionary couple were attempting to spread the word of god to the 
crew of their ship.

The crew of the merchant vessel resisted, in good humor, the efforts 
of the couple. Nevertheless, as the days turned into weeks, and the 
ship slowly crossed the Atlantic, there developed a feeling of friendship. 
Being the only female on board, the crew focused their attention 
on her. They would then carry that memory to their hammocks. Then at 
night they relieved themselves of sexual tension.

The missionaries would have been distraught if they had been privy to 
those lustful thoughts.

The ship had traveled across the Atlantic, and was paralleling the 
eastern coast of the new world. The couple had been assigned to a tiny 
fishing village, Puerto Juarez. They knew little about the language, 
and nothing about the hardships ahead of them.

When they first had intercepted the eastern coast they saw only miles 
of dense forest, and shrubbery. Then the flora changed to more tropical 
vegetation; tall trees with leaves only at the top; grass that 
grew to the waters edge. Now even that plant life had all but disappeared. 
For several days there had only been tiny islands that were little more 
than exposed sand bars.

Their ship had again turned west, and their captain told them that 
they should reach Puerto Juarez within the next days.

Their view of land became smaller as the ship moved further west, and 
away from that great peninsula that we now call Florida.

The sea became choppier, and the wind stronger. The two passengers 
became sea sick. The woman attempted to comfort her husband even 
though she, herself, was equally indisposed.

The Captain had called all hands on deck. The severe wind was playing 
havoc with the small vessel. In an attempt to reduce the affect the 
storm was having upon them, he had ordered that the main sail be 
furled. The ships crew had the massive sheet of canvas about half way 
down when a mighty gust of wind had partially torn her from the mast. 
Then the explosive sound of the breaking of that main mast broadcast a 
message of doom.

Her husband had left her side to assist the crew. It was then that a 
massive wave had hit the ship broadside. She was drenched from head to 
toe. Water was pouring through her hair and down her face, blinding 
her. She tried to see what was happening, but the salt water stung her 
eyes. When at last she could see she was horrified. There was no sign 
of the mast, the sail, nor the crew that were attempting to save the 
ship. It seemed that only she and the Captain had survived the storm.

The woman knew her world had come to an end. If she had been more calm 
she probably would have considered taking her own life, or at least 
leaping into the sea in pursuit of her husband. But the basic need to 
survive in the face of such catastrophic events left no time for such 
self indulgent thoughts. 

She was more alive at that moment than she had ever been in her life, 
as she made her way across the deck to where the Captain stood behind 
the ships wheel. 

The man was in a state of shock. There was no color in his face. His 
hands were almost robotic as they wrestled with the ships wheel. His 
movements were instinctive. He had not as yet registered the fact that 
his ship was beyond peril. It was just a matter of time before they 
too joined the others.

The woman was a survivor. She had slapped the Captain once she realized 
he was not conscious of what was happening around him. Still 
there was no response from the man. Then, quite suddenly he let loose 
of the wheel and simply sat on the deck while the forces of winds and 
sea continued to abuse them. 

She couldn't believe that so much disaster could occur in so little 
time. She reached for the wheel as it spun. The sleeve of her dress 
had been caught by one of the spokes shredding the top of the garment. 

On the third attempt she had gained control over the wheel. She had no 
idea what to do with it, but regaining control seemed the only thing 
to do.

As she steadied the ship, the storm seemed to abate. 

This middle aged woman, who had never set foot on a ship before 
they had left England, was now standing behind the wheel of a storm 
ravaged vessel in the middle of a great ocean. Her dress was shredded, 
her breasts were exposed, the wind had her long black hair in a 
tangle. But she was alive.

The ship was afloat, but she had no sails. They drifted for what 
seemed to be an eternity. The Captain had regained his senses. It was 
on the morning of the second day that they spotted a vessel. She was a 
French frigate headed for New Orleans.

As was the custom of maritime law, the cargo of the damaged ship 
became the property of the rescuing vessel.

Neither the captain of the new vessel nor her crew considered, even 
for a moment, that that included the woman's possessions.

Thus, four days later she found herself sitting on the New Orleans 
wharf atop her three trunks wondering what was to be done.

As founding missionaries they had carried with them enough resources 
to sustain themselves once they commenced their teaching. 

She had asked one of the ships crew to keep an eye on her things while 
she tried to find a place to live. The man, who had been to New Orleans 
on numerous occasions had not only agreed, but had made suggestions 
as to where she might look.

The man had not been diplomatic in his words of warning to avoid the 
hotels along the dock as they were whore houses, and that she needed 
to avoid alleys and dark by ways lest she find a man's hand up her 
skirts.

Inwardly she smiled to herself. What woman didn't know the ways of a 
man; any man.

So it came to be, that on the 5th day of June in the year 1711, one 
Mrs. Nancy Hillman found her self starting a new life in the new 
world. She was strong willed, and certainly resourceful. She had 
chosen her husband because she had been sparked by similar traits as 
her own. Becoming a missionaries wife was not the reason she had 
married him. 

Now the mission was gone. Her husband was gone. And she was about to 
test her resourcefulness as she had neither friends nor relatives in 
this strange decadent sea port village.

In England her mother had been a seamstress and her father owned a 
small dry goods store.

If she were to survive she needed to work at what she knew best.

Those thoughts occupied her mind as she strolled along the dock side 
street. Even though it was early in the day there were clues to the 
businesses; empty beer kegs; second story rooms which were living 
quarters with curtains blowing outward. Then there was the smell of 
liquor that said "this is a man's street."

After walking the length of Dock Street she began to explore some of 
the side streets. Eventually she found a small house that had a "Room 
for Rent" sign by the front door. She had walked past the house before 
she had assimilated what that particular sign told her. First the sign 
was new, and neatly hand lettered. Second it was temporary. The sign 
maker was not in the "Business" of renting rooms. It's neatness 
suggested that a woman was the author.

She returned to the door and knocked on it several times, but there 
was no response. She had turned away when a voice from the street said 
"Miss Charlotte will be back shortly, if you want to wait." The voice 
had come from a young, but full figured black girl.

By late afternoon the ex-tobe-missionary had moved her three trunks 
into a tiny bedroom that faced upon the street. Her landlady was a 
portly woman who had been recently widowed; or at least she thought 
she was widowed. Her husband owned a small shop tucked away between 
the merchants of Dock Street. Then one night he never returned from 
work. The small shop was a brokerage office which arranged for the 
transportation of small lots of cargo.

It seemed unlikely that the man would have abandoned his profession, 
but high adventure was always the bait which destroyed marriages. And 
certainly high adventure was what every vessel brought with it into 
New Orleans.

Six months had gone by before the woman had put the space up for rent.

She had had several tenants, but none had prospered. The shop was too 
small for any business of pleasure, and too close to the business of 
pleasure to be successful in any other field.

Within a few months the two women had decided to open a clothing 
store. In as much as Charlotte owned the space on Dock Street there 
would be no overhead. 

Nancy had bolts of sturdy, practical cloth she had brought from 
England. The intent had been to cloth the naked Indians.

More exotic cloth was available from the many ships who came to the 
city. One had to be careful about what to buy and how much to pay for 
it. There was little doubt in anyone's mind that many such offerings 
had been pirated on the high seas. But, most reasoned, if they didn't 
buy the offerings someone else would. Buying or not, would have had no 
affect on such piracies.

Both women were of an independent nature, thus they had many disagreements.  
But, as women, they were experts in the art of compromise. 
Even the stores name had been a compromise. The sign across the front 
was to read: Nancy & Charlotte: Clothiers. That sign would be too 
large for the tiny shop, so they had settled on: "Nanette's".

------------------------------

The Captain of the Seagull did not have long to wait as his ship moved 
westward along the southern coast. There were several vessels; almost 
a queue waiting to travel up the river. 

Moving up the river would not be easy. They would be fighting the 
natural current. The river was a winding one. If there was a wind it 
would be unlikely to allow them to tack up stream. Should they encounter
fog they would not be able to see their way. Large vessels would 
not have the maneuverability of the Seagull, and they would clutter 
the water way.

It became obvious that the ship would require towing most of the way.

A small boat came alongside of the Seagull as she stood off of the 
mouth of the river. The craft was occupied by a white man wearing a 
Captains hat, and a strapping black man at the oars. "Ahoy there, Seagull. 
Permission to come aboard. You'll probably need a hand getting 
up the river. Capn' Jeramiha Slate at yer service."

At the strangers suggestion the Seagull dropped a small anchor and 
came to rest. The black remained in the boat which was tied to the 
anchor line, while Capn' Jeramiha came on board.

The two Captains entered into a spirited negotiation. The mentioned 
fee was totally out of the question. The Seagull was a smaller ship 
and wouldn't require the manpower a larger vessel would need. 

When the prospective pilot had brought to the Seagull's attention that 
the pilot fee was an extra expense paid by and at the destination, 
they then reached an agreement. The Seagull's only liability would be 
if the destination was unable to pay. The chest presumably was valuable. 
No pay the fee, no receive the chest. It seemed a safe risk.

The pilot remained on board, and took command of the ship. A small 
amount of sail was hoisted and the Seagull slowly moved up the river 
and closer to the right hand bank. The black man had tied the row boat 
to the stern of the ship, and swam the short distance to shore.

The ship was maneuvered into a position where she was close to land, 
and the wind and currents were in opposition; thus she remained still 
in the water.

In the meantime the black had reached shore, and was already swimming 
back to the Seagull with a long line tied to his back. When the line 
was secured to the ships bow, the black again returned to the shore. 

The shore end of the line was tied to a team of 4 mules. 

The pilot dropped and furled all sails, but remained at the wheel. The 
four animals took up the slack, and the sloop began its journey up the 
river.

For the first time since they had left el Havana the crew had nothing 
to do except to watch their ship being hauled.

Everyone seemed fascinated by what was going on. Someone had asked 
Capn' Jeramiha when they would get to New Orleans.

"Its about a hundred miles, so probably not before noon tomorrow."

The crew was disappointed. Unlike the time spent at sea, this trip up 
the river would deprive them of any privacy. With all four of the men 
in the tiny focsle cabin there would be little opportunity to partake 
of their frequent sexual forays into the fantasy dominated by the 
oriental woman in the painting. 

So for the next 24 hours the men talked amongst themselves about the 
pleasures they'd heard about in New Orleans. Wine, Women, and song. 
All the best that a lonely sailor could hope for.

The crew of the Seagull were not the only ones on board who were 
unhappy with this slow trek up the river. If none of the men would 
exercise their pego, there would be no energy giving Ectoplasm. 

Jack occupied himself in the galley, creating meals that went unappreciated. 
Even the Captain had been tempted to break out a ration of rum to belay 
the boredom.

The pilot stayed at the helm for the entire journey. Other than an 
occasional rest stop to feed and water the mules the Seagull followed 
in the wake of the larger vessel that had proceeded them.

The deprivation of everyone's daily fantasy during the overnight trip 
had the entire crew eager to explore the pleasures of New Orleans. 

Eventually the Seagull was tied dockside. The Quarter Master and young 
Bobby had been sent off to notify the recipient of the Cargo that they 
had arrived. Captain Slate and his black assistant had collected their 
fee, and were now heading down the river in their row boat.

Two people would be required to stay on board at all times. One of 
which would be a senior crewman.  The duty posting had put together: 
the Captain with Jose, The Quarter Master with Bobby, and Mike with 
Jack. The QM and Bobby were to be the first posting. In the meantime 
Jack was free to scout the village.

Scotty and Jerry had already left the ship and were exploring Dock 
Street. It was the girls attentive eye that had spotted the tiny 
"Nanette" sign. The feminine side of her nature surfaced. 

She had never worn a dress. She had been raised as a boy. Yet for some 
reason that she could not have explained the idea of a fancy frock had 
suddenly become a compulsion.

Jerry had grabbed Scott by the elbow and drug him to the window of the 
tiny shop. "We need to get some clothes if we are going to show 
ourselves."

They had been naked for so long that the idea of being clothed had 
never entered her companions mind. Neither had he considered making 
himself visible. In fact, other than Jerry no one had seen him since 
he had been eaten by that shark. Well, that wasn't quite true, there 
was that incident when Jack had opened his eyes.

The tiny shop was stuffed with merchandise, most of which was for 
women. Scott began looking around for pants, and maybe a shirt. But 
Jerry had found the object of her affection. The dress was hung on a 
wooden dummy. The face had been painted white, and a wig had been 
added. The gown was made of a sturdy gray tweed, and trimmed with a 
lighter colored cloth. There was a bustle which drew the eye to what 
could not be seen. In a word it was elegant with out being overly 
feminine.

Scotty had not been as fortunate, the only he had found he would not 
be caught dead in. He laughed out loud as that thought ricocheted 
through his brain.

Both the shop keeper and Jerry heard his laughter. This brought Charlotte 
to the front of her store, and Jerry to the boy's side. "Sh!".

The woman returned to the back room resuming her sewing, thinking that 
the laughter had come from the upstairs brothel which occupied the 
building next door.

Jerry liked the clothes Scotty had scoffed at. In fact the two suits 
may have been designed for a couple.  Both the trousers and jacket 
were made of the same cloth as the dress. But unlike the dress, the 
man's garment was designed snug. She could imagine how Scott would look 
in the pants. He wouldn't dare get an erection. That thought brought a 
smile to her lips. 

The jacket had been cut so that it buttoned at the waist, but swept 
away from the fly, with its lowest part being over the buttocks. The 
hat was a short stove pipe, and while not made of the same material it 
was the same color, and it too had been trimmed with a matching band.

"We've just got to have it," Jerry whispered.

"We can't.  We have no money, and look at the price tag. I doubt if 
there's that much money on our ship."

"Why can't we borrow the clothes. We can comeback after closing, wear 
them in town tonight, and have them back in the store before morning."

While the two ghosts were thus occupied, Jack had left the Seagull. 

The ship was tied up exactly where Nancy Hillman's rescuer had been, 
and Jack was sitting atop a small keg in about the same spot that the 
lady had sat atop her possessions.

He had put on his best clothes in anticipation of fun in this new 
city. The trousers were the new cream colored ones. They fit snugly. 
He had borrowed a set of black laces for the fly. It was a good 
choice. He looked handsome, sexy, and yet virginal. He had washed his 
white and blue jumper, and instead of wearing it on the outside as he 
usually did he tucked it within the waist of the pants. He had put on 
his best boots. He seldom wore them. They were originally black. The 
leather had been severely abused over the years. The lack of care was 
evidenced by the rough surface, and dull appearance. But even so, they 
were not out of character with that of a young seaman.

It was early afternoon. There were a few people on the street, but not 
many. 

The sound of a piano reached his ears from somewhere as the sun was on 
his back. He felt lazy and content. Unconsciously his foot had taken 
up the rhythm being broadcast by the piano.

A voice reached his ears. He was not quite certain what was said as 
the black boy now in front of him slurred his words. He could have 
said mister, or it might have been master. "You want's me to shine 
dem boots."

The youth was quite young, certainly younger than Jack. His hair was 
tightly curled against his black skull. There was little difference in 
shade between cheeks and lips, but the lips were distinctive in their shape. 
His smile showed brilliant white teeth. He was not well dressed, and 
he wore no shirt. His pants, which were even tighter than Jacks were 
worn through in several places. The cloth which at one time must have 
been blue, was now almost white. They also had rips and tears which 
allowed the contrasting dark skin to show.

The knees had been completely worn through, and just above the knee on 
the right leg, and just below where there was once a pocket was another 
tear. Above that was the unmistakable shape of what could only be 
described as a huge, and magnificent organ.

"I's good. Dose boot's ull look better than when they's new.  Guaranteed."

Jack looked at the boots, and then at the youth. His expression was 
one of skepticism mixed with humor.

"As I's said, Guaranteed. Man I'll even suck yo dick if they's not as 
good as I's say."

Jack's pego twitched in response to the boy's suggestion, and that 
twitch did not go unnoticed. If he failed and was forced to fulfill 
his promise he'd do so.  He'd had to suck a few white men's dicks as 
he'd grown up. It wasn't his favorite past time, but it wasn't much 
different than sucken on a cow teat, and he'd done that ever since he 
could remember. But in all the hundreds of times he made that guarantee 
there was never once when his boot shine was less than promised.

The black boy removed two rags and a jar of something greasy from a 
box he was carrying, sat the box in front of the Keg, and seated 
himself upon the box.

Jack had not as yet agreed. "As I said, you'se not gonna be disappointed. 
Guaranteed!"

"How much?"

"What ever's you think its worth." The boy's grin was from ear to ear, 
and his eyes were a sparkle. He knew he had a customer from the beginning, 
it had just been a matter of the customer knowing it. He reached 
out, and rolled up the cuff of Jack's left leg. His fingers moved 
upward till they touched the bare calf making certain the cloth was 
clear of the leather.

He smeared a gob of greasy stuff across the top of the boot. Using one 
of his rags he smeared it around to the back. Then stretching the 
cloth across the back, he began a whipping movement. The boy's body 
kept pace with the musical sounds of the distant piano. Slap, pop, 
slap, pop. The boys body was in total rhythm. Slap, pop, slap, pop. 
His arms followed his hands, his shoulders followed the arms. The boys 
buttocks was moving with the rhythm, and the magnificent organ also 
shook to the beat. The boy had moved down so that he was now shining 
the toe of the boot. It was bright but not gleaming.

Jack was not prepared for what this young boot black did next. He 
reached inside of his tight pants and adjusted his greatly enlarged 
member downward, toward that tear just below the right pocket. When he 
withdrew his hand it was covered with a wet, somewhat gooey substance 
that could only have been precum. He smeared the substance over the 
freshly polished leather, and then resumed his task, Slap, pop, slap, 
pop. When he was finished the boot gleamed in the afternoon sun. He 
rolled down the cuff, looked up in the eyes of his customers. "See I's 
told ya. As my mammy always told me it's dat special sauce that makes 
da difference."

The boy stood up, the magnificent rod had extended downward till just 
the tip of the head was exposed. His hand again entered the top of his 
pants as he adjusted the tool vertically toward the navel.

Jack handed him three farthings which were received with a smile of 
gratitude. The boy then turned, and walked down Dock Street, his firm 
black buttocks showing through several holes in the back of his well 
worn pants.

His mood was no longer lazy. The boot black had stirred his libido. It 
was to early for any "action" in the town. It was with the intent of a 
good half hour of self gratification that he returned to the Seagull. 

In the focsle cabin he added another coin to the cup in hopes of an 
adventure atop the main mast. But that was not to be, as Mike was 
adding a coat of paint. "What's you doin back aboard. I thought you'd 
be ashore hooking up with a little bit."

He returned to the cabin, striped down to his undershorts, and climbed 
in to his hammock for a short nap.

Nanette's hours of operation were irregular. Nancy was always an early 
bird, and usually was in the shop by eight thirty. Charlotte would 
arrive before noon, then after lunch Nancy would return to the shop 
for a short while, but Charlotte almost always closed the store.

On this particular day the spirits of Jerry and Scotty were granted 
their silent wish. Charlotte left the store earlier than usual. The 
two ghosts materialized within the building, and proceeded to remove 
the garments from the two store dummys. 

Jerry stepped into the skirt, and with scotty's help adjusted it 
around her waist, before adding the blouse and the jacket. 

The boy was quite surprised at what he saw before him. The naked girl 
had always seemed like a buddy. But what stood before him was a 
attractive female. 

"I'll take your clothes with me. You let me out of the front door, 
lock it, dematerialize, and join me out on the street. And for heaven 
sakes don't rematerialize till you've put some clothes on."

Jerry looked carefully before opening the door, making certain that 
she was not observed leaving the shop.

She walked to the wharf side of Dock Street, and waited for her 
companion. After just a short interval she felt a tug on the bundle. 
"Stop that. You don't want anyone seeing that bundle float across the 
street. I'll walk over there near those bushes, and then you can take 
them."

A casual observer would have noticed a handsome young lady walk to the 
edge of the street, apparently waiting for someone. A few minutes 
later the observers assumptions would have been confirmed as a handsome 
young man stepped from behind the bushes joining the young lady. 

Arm in arm they strolled away from the shops and bars. Within the next 
few minutes they noticed three open carriages passing them. Each was 
occupied by well dressed middle aged couples, and in each instance the 
driver was a liveried black.

The road turned, and just beyond the curve was a large plantation 
house. Every room was lit. Just inside of an iron gate were several 
carriages. The black drivers were talking among them selves. A sign 
read "Hotel d'Iberville".

The building had been the original home of a plantation land owner. He 
had been a prolific man. As the port city grew it began to encroach 
upon the privacy of his home. He had six children, two boys and four 
girls. The proximity of Dock Street greatly concerned him, so almost a 
decade ago he had another great home built further up the river. This 
house had gone unoccupied for several years, although that is not 
quite accurate as the family did stay overnight when business required 
there presence in the city.  Then as the boys grew older it became a 
safe haven should they partake of the pleasures of New Orleans.

The master of the house was a good business man, he realized that New 
Orleans did not have a decent hotel where people of worth could stay. 
With little modification their original home had become the "Hotel 
d'Iberville."

The Hotel had only four rooms so its success could not be attributed 
to the sleeping facilities. It was the restaurant that had brought 
fame and fortune to the family.

Long before the family had built the new home and moved from Dock 
Street, the master had been advised of an unusual offering at the 
slave market. The man in question was black, but claimed to be a 
citizen of France. Further he claimed to be one of the greatest chefs 
in Paris.

No one hearing the story believed it. But the plantation owner thought 
it worthy of his attention. 

The man had been arrested as a run-a-way slave. The prisoner claimed 
that he had been deported from France, and released in New Orleans. 
The ship that had carried him had left port, and there were none to 
confirm his story. Apparently the man had two great passions; food and 
its preparation, and carrying on affairs with married women. It was 
the latter that had brought disaster into his life. The wife he was 
diddling was married to a powerful politician with close connections 
to the king. After having been arrested and held in custody for months 
he was given a choice: The guillotine or deportation to the French 
colony in the new world.

In France he was a free man. There were many black Frenchmen. So it 
came as a shock when he discovered the only blacks in his chosen 
destination were slaves.

An agreement was reached between the governor, the owner of the 
plantation, and the black Frenchman. He would be considered as a freeman 
as long as he remained the employee of the plantation.

The man had indeed been a master of the kitchen. His other passion was 
always well met as the plantation had many available black women.

When the Hotel had opened and he served his first meals his reputation 
had rapidly spread across the territory. He used what ever produce was 
available as long as it was fresh. He gave his dishes names which were 
classical in nature. But it was his attention to the sauces that had 
secured his reputation as being the greatest chef in all of the 
territory.

As for the hotel it had only four rooms. They were large, and well 
decorated. They catered to the wealthy; plantation owners, politicians, 
and upper class passengers from the many ships which visited 
New Orleans.

The staff of the Hotel d'Iberville was divide by race. The administrative 
staff of which there were four, were white. Most of them found 
themselves seeking employment when businesses had failed, or heads of 
households who had gambled away the family fortune. The majority of the 
staff were black; maids, waiters, janitorial, and kitchen.

It was to this establishment that the well dressed couple, strolling 
down Dock Street had entered. The staff treated them with the deference 
that a well dressed couple whose tongue was a bit foreign, deserved.

They decided to take a room for the night. This would give them the 
privacy they hoped to need.

They were shown to their room. Even though the restaurant was crowded, 
there were no other residence. The management gave their new guests 
the best room in the house. They had never been in the presence of 
such opulence. The bed was immense. Its silken canopy hung gracefully 
adding luxury to what was already beyond their rural comprehension.

A fireplace faced the bed, and on both sides of the fireplace were two 
dressing rooms; one for the young gentleman, the other for his wife. 
Each dressing room had a special enclosure which contained the chamber 
pot. Again, one for each. But it was the room directly behind the 
fireplace that astonished them. It contained a tub in which one could 
bath. The water for the tub was contained in a tank embedded in the 
fireplace.

Jack had been awakened by the hubbub of the bars. He had overslept. He 
rolled out of the hammock, stretched, smiled at the painting, and 
tossed it a kiss. He slipped on his pants, and shirt. The image of the 
boot black flooded his mind as he pulled the boots over his feet. He 
wondered if the boy only used his pego as a supply of sauce for 
shining boots.

The river was at high tide, and he had to jump down to the dock. He 
too noticed the carriages being driven away from the noisy pleasure 
center of the city.

So it was that this lad of the sea also strolled down dock street 
toward the Hotel d'Iberville. 

He approached the structure in wonderment. It seemed out of place so 
close to the bars and brothels.

He passed the parked carriages and continued up the path. There were 
tables on the outside porch. There was only one empty one. He pulled 
out the chair and seated himself looking toward the other customers. 
He noticed that everyone on the porch was drinking; there was no food 
on any of the tables. The smell of food was coming from inside of the 
building. His stomach growled at him. A waiter stopped at his table 
asking what he would like. Jack said that he was hungry, but the 
waiter said if he wished to dine it would be at least an hour. He 
could bring the lad a sweet roll along with his drink. Jack ordered 
coffee. The waiter resisted the order suggesting he might prefer a 
specialty of the house which was coffee with chocolate and rum.

As he sat there waiting for his drink a young lady entered, looked 
around for an empty table, and frowned in disappointment when she 
realized there was none. She noticed that Jack was the only single. 
She came over, smiled at him, and asked if he would mind sharing.

Jack could not believe his good luck. She was beautiful. She was 
obviously a lady. But then, just maybe his goddess of the painting had 
granted his wish. His lips formed a slight grin as he felt his pego 
leapt to attention.

The lady asked him where he was from, and how long he expected to be 
in New Orleans. Her accent was not local. Yet there was something 
faintly familiar. He had been in many cities and had been exposed to 
many ways of speaking.

The waiter returned with his drink and roll. He asked the lady what 
she would have. The woman asked Jack if he liked the taste, and then 
said she would have one of the same.

They continued to talk, and his hopes continued to build. The waiter 
returned with the lady's drink. "Is madam's husband to join you?" 

Jacks face expressed great disappointment. A husband. "Fuck!".

After the waiter had left, she whispered "He's my brother, not my 
husband."

The boyish grin that spread across the boys face told the story of his 
hopes and dreams. 

The woman smiled to herself thinking the boy would never make a good 
gambler.

They had ordered another round of the hot rum drinks, when a masculine 
voice from behind him said, "Oh, there your are."

The man who joined them was tall and thin. His suit was a male version 
of what the lady was wearing. The trousers fit him like a glove. The 
jacket was well tailored. 

A waiter brought a third chair placing it next to the woman's.

The mans smile was pleasant. But it was the eyes that went beyond any 
rational description. It wasn't just the way they looked, it was what 
they said. Volumes of emotion passed between the two.

Jack's heart pounded in his chest. They hadn't even spoken, yet Jack 
knew he would follow that man to the ends of the earth. He had never 
been in love. He didn't even know what love was; or at least not 
before the last ten seconds.

The man extended his hand. But it was Jerry that interrupted the 
conversation. "Scott, I would like for you to meet Jack. His ship is 
in the harbor."