Life Goes On

© 2007

BY: Gerry Young

[This chapter is totally new and has never been posted before.]

Gerry almost flew down the hill toward the dock where Michael had told him that The Jolly Roger was moored. Captain Lars and his crew always secured the boat at the same moorage when they weren't harvesting lobsters from the cages which they'd set just outside the harbor.

Michael … Michael … Gerry thought, while slowing his pace to a fast walk. … He'd said, "GO, darling boy! Your Destiny awaits you. You've only thirty minutes to get there … and it's all downhill!" Sure enough, it IS all downhill, he continued thinking, but what did he mean? The obvious? Or something else?

All of a sudden, Michael's last words were re-surfacing in Gerry's conscious mind, words which he had heard, but the meanings of which, he had not grasped in their entirety, and which at the present moment were creating questions -- serious questions, for which he had no answers.

Should I go after this job with Captain Lars? Or shouldn't I? He scratched his head. Something just doesn't feel right about it … but at least it's a job, and I could try to sign-on with another captain if…

His pacing slowed a little more, and again, Michael's words broke into his thoughts. "You've only thirty minutes …" "Straight down the hill and past the train station, and then about four blocks to the waterfront," he remembered being told. Well, I can already see the harbor. It doesn't look that far. I've got plenty of time.

"Your Destiny awaits you." -- more of Michael's words. What the hell did he mean? My destiny awaits me. Does he know something about me that I don't? He's a strange character, that one! Sometimes it seems he talks in riddles; but then, maybe that's just his British way. My destiny awaits me? All I want to do is get a job on a lobster boat -- The Jolly Roger or any other, for that matter -- and spend my time at sea, working each day until I'm dead tired. What kind of destiny is that? he wondered to himself.

And what did he call me, "… darling boy?" No. "… dear, darling boy," he said.

Gerry stopped his downhill trek, turned, and looked up the street toward The Widow's Walk, the yellow and green boarding house where Michael had taken him. Maybe I should go back and ask Michael to explain all those … cryptic … expressions.

But Gerry couldn't see the house; it was around a curve farther up the hill, and was blocked from view by other old but gaily painted Colonial and Victorian style houses; he hadn't noticed that before.

A train whistle blew, shocking him to awareness that he was standing in the middle of the tracks which crossed the street. Clang, clang … clang, clang … clang, clang, the conductor rang the brass bell which hung at the front of the steam engine as it began to pull its passenger cars out of the train depot, heading south.

He jumped out of the way of the oncoming train, and he and the conductor waved to each other. Then he just stood there, watching as the train went by. The 'little boy' in him had always found it exciting to stand near a passing train, titillating his sense of danger and of fear. He could feel the ground vibrate beneath his feet. He could hear the clickety-clacking of the wheels as they rolled from one length of the iron tracks to another. Clickety-clack … clickety-clack … clickety-clack … clickety-clack … clickety-clack. And he, certain that it would happen, but always surprised when it did, would uncontrollably jump when a blast of steam would be expelled -- not infrequently toward himself -- from beneath the carriage of the engine and other cars.

Clang, clang … clang, clang … clang, clang, he heard once again as the cars passed by, ever increasing in speed. Now THAT's a perfect example of … what did Miss Wainwright call it in senior English class? … he mused as his mind wandered through pleasant memories from two years prior. … Ah, yes … "tin-ti… , tin…" ??? He struggled, trying to remember; then as it popped into his head, said aloud, "TINTINABULATION -- the ringing, jingling, tinkling* sound of bells!" He pumped his fist in the air, and grinned like a little school boy who had just answered an almost impossible question.

The train passed. He glanced to the train station at his right, noticing the huge clock near the peak of the roof … "FIVE MINUTES TILL SEVEN O'CLOCK! OH, FUCK!" he exclaimed in full voice, drawing the disapproving attention of three ladies passing by on the sidewalk. He realized he'd wasted too much time, turned, and fled down the middle of the street toward the docks.

Excited about the first and only prospect of perhaps gaining employment as a lobsterman after less than twenty-four hours since his arrival in Rockland, Maine, Gerry didn't want to be late for his 0700 appointment time. He ran as fast as his Surgical Technician and Navy Corpsman's legs would carry him.

At about fifty more running paces to go, he saw Dirk cast off the last of the mooring lines and jump aboard as The Jolly Roger began to pull away from the dock.

"DIRK! DIRK! … WAIT UP! WAIT UP!" he yelled, as he ran an Olympian's dash.

A few seconds later, panting and using every ounce of strength remaining in his legs, Gerry leapt about eight feet across the churning water and grabbed hold of the port-side lashings on the boat, preventing himself from falling in the drink.

Only his right hand had secured a firm grasp; his left hand and arm were flailing about, trying to find something to grab. The wind had been knocked out of his lungs when his chest crashed into the side of the boat. His groin was in pain from having slammed into … something … beneath the lashings. And his shoes and feet were dangling in the water.

"Help me! Help me," he wheezed, still without the full capacity of air to aid his scream.

As his thrashing hand gripped a bit of the lashings, a blond fur-covered hand encircled his right wrist and hoisted him, without effort it seemed, up and over the railing to the security of the wooden deck.

Once released, Gerry collapsed at the feet of his savior. He looked about and saw that it was Sven, the First Mate, who had pulled him to safety, shirtless, and apparently wearing nothing other than his seaman's britches. Standing next to him was Captain Lars, with fists on his hips, and glaring down upon him. A quick glance about and he noticed Dirk was in the wheelhouse, navigating the boat through the harbor.

"Thank you. Thank you, Sven," he labored to say, not having recouped from the ordeal.

"Stand up, boy," the gruff-voiced captain ordered.

Still gasping for each breath, Gerry struggled to stand, and his shoes squished from the wetness within.

"It's 'bout fuckin' time ya got here, boy! Ya fucker; ya caused us t'be late gittin' a start this marnin'! Time is money!" he growled, as he drew his arm back to strike Gerry.

"I'm sorry, Sir. It won't hap…" The captain cut him off as Gerry drew his hand up to protect his own face.

"But I'll letcha be, this time, ya hear? I ain't payin' ya, yet, ya know." He had softened his growl to a more civilized tone, and said, "This here's jes a li'l ol' git acquainted cruise, ya know -- one fer ya to find out what-all lobster'n's 'bout, an' one fer us-all to see how you'll git along with our li'l ol' … happy … uhhh, family, here, ya see? You'll git to know us soon 'nough, boy; yeah, soon 'nough. An' we'll be gittin' to know ya real good-like, jes like ye was one of our own; won't we, Sven, m'lad?

Cap'n Lars and Sven glanced at each other, wriggled their eyebrows, grinned with sinister faces, and chuckled a few hardy ones.

Gerry watched the open exchange between the Captain and his First Mate, and sensing an inside joke, turned his head and gazed at the diminishing waterfront, almost wishing he'd never come aboard The Jolly Roger. Something's not right, he reasoned, but couldn't yet put his mental 'finger' on it.

"It'll be eventide afore ye'll be gittin' back, boy, so make yaself useful, now, by helpin' Sven dress the moorin' lines," the captain first said to Gerry, and then told Sven, "Show'im what to do, Mate."

"Aye, aye, Cap'n Lars, Sir!" Sven replied, and, with a sharp salute, he bowed slightly from his waist.

Gerry hadn't missed a pronounced beat of the overdone reply; he'd seen every little orchestrated movement, as if the same had been performed hundreds of times. What's going on, here? he wondered.

The captain smiled at his Mate, turned, and headed toward the wheelhouse.

"Cap'n Lars, Sir!" Gerry called after him, wanting to ask a question as he took three steps toward the captain. Squish. Squish. Squish. The boat had just begun to heave with more gusto from fore-to-aft, Gerry's dampened shoes slipped on the old wood deck, and he fell flat on his face -- mere inches from the captain's hairy, naked feet.

"What kinda seaman are ya, boy -- cain't even keep yer sea legs aboutcha, huh?" the captain chided.

Rising, he said, "I was in the … uhhh …"

"Well, com'on, boy; ain't got all day, now. Got things t'do. Ye wuz in the what?" the captain asked in a surly voice.

"In the Navy, Sir, but never out to sea. Been on Lake Pontchartrain, San Diego Bay, Lake Michigan, and The Thames River, New London. I'm just not used to the tossing of the boat."

"An' ya want to be a lobsterman? That be a sorry-assed joke, if I ever hear'd one. This 'tossin' o' the boat,' as ye call it, ain't nuttin's compared t'whatchu'll be seein' soon." He looked at Sven, and Gerry noticed a wink pass between them. "Ya see that red lighthouse over yonder, port-side, with the gulls an' pelicans flittin' 'bout?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Ya know wha' that is?"

"Uhhh … no, Sir," Gerry stammered, knowing it was a light house, but not knowing exactly what the captain wanted to hear.

"It's the Rockland Breakwater Light House, built at the end of the seawall t'stop the force o'the waves frum commin' ashore. Ya unnerstan' what that means?"

"I think I do, Sir."

"No thinkin' 'bout it, boy -- ya gotta know things at sea -- not jes think 'bout'em."

"Yes, Sir. I understand."

"That means that b'yond the breakwater, b'yond the seawall, the waves git bigger an' the boat begins to pitch an' roll an' heave more'n'more, an' ye gotta gitcher sea legs steady under ya."

For a change, the captain' tone seemed rather nice, almost like a father or a teacher, but Gerry felt the change wouldn't last.

"Yes, Sir, I understa…" Gerry answered just as the boat lurched. He almost fell, but reached out and grabbed hold of Sven's arm.

Sven jerked away, and then clobbered Gerry on the shoulder.

"OWWW!"

Grabbing Gerry by the shoulders with his fingers of iron, Captain Lars screamed in perfect, clear English, into Gerry's face -- their noses almost touching, "WHAT DID I TELL YOU AT THE CAFÉ EARLIER THIS MORNING, BOY?"

"I … I … I don't… " Gerry faltered, as the captain yelled again.

"I said, and I quote … 'No one, an' I mean, no one, touches my Sven without him making the first move' … No if's, an's, or but's 'bout it, boy! Nobody touches him! Got that clear?"

"Yes, sir, Cap'n, Sir," he answered, but wondered why Sven wouldn't want anyone to touch him.

As if reading Gerry's thoughts, the captain added, "An if yer wond'rin' why … not that it be any concern o' yor'n … it be because them's me own orders. He be my First Mate; he be my property, and, unless I give'im a nod, he's not to let anyone but me touch'im!

Things weren't turning out as Gerry had hoped; his stomach was in knots, and he was beginning to feel that if this were the way that all lobstermen acted, he wanted no part of it; indeed, no part of The Jolly Roger at all!

"Now, first thin's first. Take off them fuckin' leather-soled shoes -- they not be safe on a wood deck, 'specially a wet wood deck. " Daring not to hesitate, Gerry sat on the deck and pulled off one shoe without even untying the laces. "Socks, too," the captain ordered. Without a word, Gerry removed the sock, stuffed it in the shoe, and soon, the other foot was just as naked as the first. "Giv'em t'me," the captain ordered. Gerry obeyed, sort of expecting the captain to take them into the wheelhouse for safekeeping, but …

The water was churning more, and as the boat heaved on the next wave and then fell forward, sending spray everywhere including the deck, Captain Lars appeared to be falling, threw his arms up, and Gerry's shoes went flying into the sea.

"Captain!" Gerry screamed, "those were my only pair of shoes!"

With mock sincerity, the captain said, "Sorry, boy," and shrugged his shoulders; "accidents hap'n at sea. Ye'll git some others; we both know ye will." Then, without skipping a beat, he continued, "Sven! Show the lowly tadpole 'ow t'dress the moorin' lines, an' be quick 'bout it!"

"Aye, aye, Captain, Sir," the First Mate repeated his prior response as the captain turned toward the wheelhouse.

The sea still churned. Storm clouds were gathering on the eastern horizon, blocking the warmth of the summer's morning Sun. The boat continued to heave and fall, sending spray as high as, and even wider than, the boat itself. Gulls were squawking about and diving for fish and perhaps some 'throwaways' from the boat.

And Sven, the Nordic god, stood tall and straight; he seemed unaffected by the rise and fall and roll of the boat, instructing and ordering Gerry in the dressing of one of the two mooring lines. He moved to be in back of Gerry.

Gerry was on his knees, trying to coil the rope in the exact way Sven was describing, but with the rolling of the sea, he lost his balance again and tumbled backward, toward the feet of the blond god.

Sven jumped back, spreading wide his strong, muscled, hairy legs so that no part of Gerry would touch him. But feeling his own feet slipping on the now-wet-from-spray wooden deck, he fell forward, landing on top of Gerry -- crotch-to face, face-to-crotch. A shocked, stunned moment of absolute immovability for both men. Each inhaled deeply. Hearing Sven's slow breath and feeling his chest expand against his own, Gerry could only imagine that they were both enjoying the masculine odor emanating from the other.

Gerry moved his head not more than an inch, in order to feel the protruding shape with his cheeks and nose and lips. Without thinking, his lips puckered and he kissed the tight fabric covering the expanding organ behind it. His own began to expand and lengthen as Sven, himself, nibbled twice.

"AHEM," Captain Lars cleared his throat, standing not more than two feet from the entangled men. "So this is what ye be doin' when the cap'n's back is turned, is it?" he snarled, grabbing Sven's arm and then tossing him back against a large cask of fresh water, as if he were nothing more than a wet fish. "Well, well, well," he growled, looking from one to the other and noticing the tenting in the two pair of pants; "looks t'be a couple o' whorin' pansies aboard this marnin'. Havin' fun, were ye?"

"No, Cap'n, Sir," Sven lied; "I fell when my feet slipped, and…"

"Like hell, ye did! Ya never fall, not even in the roughest seas," he chided his First Mate. He held up his hand, quieting Sven from saying anything further. "An' you! Ya no-good piece o' shit!" he bellowed at Gerry. "Ya been nothing' but trouble since ya come aboard. What've ya got t'say fer yourself, huh? I'm of a mind t'throw ya in the deep to Davey Jones; I am! Answer me, boy!"

Still lying on the deck, in fear, Gerry tried to shrink away, curling into a ball, and covering his face with his crossed arms; he sensed he was about to experience the wrath of the irate captain. Looking up, he begged, "Cap'n, Sir, I fell when the boat lurched, and then Sven fell. He couldn't help it, Sir."

Sven had righted himself, yet remained sitting on the damp deck, arching his back, no doubt trying to relieve the pain from being thrown against the stationery cask, lashed to the back side of the wheelhouse, and watched, not just his captain, but his Master as well.

As Captain Lars stepped across the cowering ball of human flesh beneath him, Gerry cringed at what was to come. He reached down, again grabbed Gerry by the shoulders, and again dug his fingers deep into the flesh. He jerked him upright as Gerry groaned from the pain in his shoulders. "Git yer fuckin' ass up here, ya fuckin', lyin', pitiful faggot!"

They stared into each other's eyes -- Gerry's, tearing in fear; the captain's, throwing fiery daggers of hatred … and lust. He knocked Gerry's arms away, and wrapped him in a brutal bear-hug. Though clothed, they were … almost … in full-body contact, considering that the elder was about a foot taller than the younger -- chest to chest, stomach to stomach, thigh to thigh, feet to feet, and, yes, almost crotch to crotch.

Oh, yes, Gerry couldn't understand why it was happening, but he felt himself becoming aroused, excited even. He felt his own dick thickening and creeping down his leg, pulsing; not large; only average; but it still gave him pleasure at times. I'm not enjoying this, he thought; so why is this happening? Oh, God … make it stop! Please make it stop, he begged in silence. But somewhere deep within himself, the fear, the risk, the uncertainty, the … 'not knowing' … was exciting. Like standing at the very edge of the Grand Canyon with no railing for protection, he imagined.

A moment passed. Each breathed into the other's face -- the captain's, deep and steady; Gerry's, nervous and jerking; his heart, pounding. The captain cocked his head to one side, moving nearer and nearer to Gerry's. Gerry turned his head away and found the captain's hands clamped on either side of his face, pulling it back to his own.

With rough force, the captain's mouth covered Gerry's, rubbing his tongue back and forth, up and down across Gerry's lips, seeking entrance. Gerry clenched his teeth, not wanting to yield to the older man.

The captain drew his head back; his eyes, fierce with anger. He slapped Gerry's left cheek, whipping his head to the right. He gripped Gerry's chin with one hand and the nape of his neck with the other. With rough, painful contact, the two pair of lips came together again, but with such force that Gerry's upper lip began bleeding.

"Ummmmm," the captain moaned in pleasure, and then drew away and said, "Fresh blood -- I like that." In an instant, again with force, he was upon his target once more, sucking for all he was worth.

Gerry's muffled voice screamed into the captain's mouth, only to find the captain's tongue within his own mouth, probing, rubbing, sliding in and out, battling with his own tongue.

The captain withdrew his tongue and looked over at Sven. "Take'em off!" he ordered.

"Sir?" he asked. Sven looked perplexed.

"Take off your fuckin' britches, Mate!" he ordered again! "An' go tell Dirk t'do the same. It won't be long, now, Matey! It won't be long, now!"

As Sven stood and untied the knotted cotton cord at his waist, Gerry looked at the Nordic god. It was the first time that Gerry had been able to gaze, unfettered by fear, even for a moment, at the gorgeous, blond, blue-eyed hunk, and it was obvious that Sven kept himself fit, probably from the hard work required aboard the boat. His deep abdominal muscles tapered to a thin waist. His hairy arms were thick with muscle.

The tight blue seaman's britches dropped to the deck, exposing Sven's naked, masculine assets, denuded of any genital hair, though a trail of fine, pale blond fur inched its way up through the rippled muscles, and spread out to surround his tiny dark brown nipples which appeared to be standing erect in the cool mist and spray of the churning sea.

As he gazed upon the living god's nudity, Gerry's tumescence surged against the captain's growing erection, and the captain felt the tell-tale movement from his captive.

Looking deep into Gerry's eyes, the captain smiled, as a broad, evil grin spread across his stubbly face. Turning his head toward Sven, but with his coal black eyes glaring at Gerry's, the captain asked, "Where's yer cutter?"

Gerry stiffened and tried to draw back, but the captain tightened his 'hug'.

"In the wheelhouse, Cap'n, Sir!" the First Mate answered. He remained standing by until the captain gave a silent nod and a quick glance toward the wheelhouse.

"Don'tcha worry, boy," the captain said, returning his attention to Gerry. "We ain't about to hurtcha, ya hear? I seen the way ye looked at me Mate. Ye like this, don'tcha?" he asked, grinding his crotch into Gerry's. "Now, don't try t'fight us, an' we'll all be havin' a lotta fun. Ya hear?"

"Yes, Sir," Gerry replied, nodding his head. Can't fight'em -- they're bigger than me. Can't escape, unless I jump overboard, and I'd never make it, swimming. Nothing to do but give in, I guess. He said for me not to worry. Just surrender, and maybe, just maybe, I'll make it outta here, he thought. Disheartened and frightened, he felt defeated with no way to defend himself.

"There be Rockland Harbor South-West Light House, jes b'yond us on starboard," Captain Lars said to them both. "With the storm clouds commin' up, an' the sea as feisty as she be, there'll be no lobsterin' today. There be a safe cove jes past Light House Point. Then he said, "Sven … go tell Dirk t'take us 'round the point an' into Pirates' Cove an' drop anchor there. Then the fun begins."

"Aye, aye, Cap'n," he replied with a knowing grin.

As Sven hurried to deliver the order to Dirk, the captain released his hug by letting his left hand slide up Gerry's back to his neck, and then slid his right hand down and around to Gerry's crotch. He searched until he found a little something in hiding. "Well, well, well; what'n hell is that?" Gerry didn't answer. "Feels like ye might be a 'grower an' not a shower' … like me, m'boy … but ye'll find out about that, later! I promise ye."

Why didn't I wait to find another lobsterman to talk to about a job? Why? My first reaction when I met him at the café, was that I didn't care for him at all. Why didn't I wait, he asked himself, too afraid to say anything that might anger the captain more. Why?

Right now …" The captain turned Gerry around and pulled his backside against his own chest, after which he continued, "… Right now, yer ol' cap'n wan'sta see an' feel what he caught today," he laughed with a deep, guttural, poor imitation of a movie-time pirate.

His laugh was vulgar, but the odd touch of the captain's hands felt soft and tender and caressing as they slid under Gerry's arm pit. The gentleness continued as they progressed around and across his shirt-covered chest and nipples.

Relaxing a little from his fear, Gerry let his guard down in same measure, and the captain felt him lean back against his chest a little heavier. This was what the captain had hoped for. His gentle fingers worked their way inside the shirt between the buttons, and for a brief moment, toyed with the soft hair on Gerry's chest.

Then, in a quick change of attack, the captain yanked the front of the shirt open, and popped off the buttons. Gerry jerked forward a bit, yelling, "What the fu…?"

"Shut up, boy!" the captain yelled at him again, gripping Gerry in another bear-hug, this one being tighter than the first. Forcing Gerry's head back against his own shoulder, the captain blew in his ear, then ran his hot, moist tongue around the sensitive inside of his outer ear. With his eyes closed, Gerry shivered in response, the tension in his body escaping once more.

Again, the fingers began their magic. But with another change of demeanor, the captain tore the shirt-tail from inside Gerry's trousers, yanked the shirt back and down, and ripped it from the young man's body. As with Gerry's shoes, he 'accidentally on purpose' tossed the shirt over the port railing and into the briny deep.

"Captainnnnnnn!" Gerry wailed.

"Oops!" Captain Lars retorted, again shrugging his shoulders. "Ye won't be needin' that, neither, I suppose, now will ya, boy?" he whispered in Gerry's other ear.

Gerry was beside himself with pent up conflicting thoughts, emotions, and reactions to the captain's manhandling. He felt like he wanted to cower down on the deck and cry, but at the same time, he also felt that he wanted to jump up and fly away from the damned Jolly Roger and it's strange and sinister crew.

He couldn't determine whether the captain was teasing or playing with him. He'd never seen behavior such as this, much less, experienced it! And it's happening to me! he thought, as he began to feel those hands and fingers at play, yet again. But as the fingers and palms of the demon behind him began their sensual exploration over his naked, taut abdominal muscles, Gerry moaned in pleasure.

"Ohhhhh, ye like this, do ye, lad?" the captain asked with a wicked grin on his lips and an evil glint in his eyes; he rubbed his bristly beard against Gerry's cheek. Once again, Gerry moaned as the tent began to return to his trousers.

The captain breathed against the side of Gerry's face. With the proficiency of a skilled clothier, his fingers unbuckled the belt around his captive's waist, and unbuttoned the fly of the trousers. Gerry tensed.

"Don't fight me, boy! Ya can't win. Jes relax an' enjoy it, fer I know ya will," he chuckled, then added in a quieter tone, "I know I will." And once again, Gerry succumbed to the greater strength of the captain. He let his head fall back against the front of the older man's shoulder -- for the elder was a good six inches taller than then younger.

Unbeknownst to either of them, The Jolly Roger's engines had just been silenced and at that moment, the boat idled in much calmer waters. The dark clouds had reached their zenith and continued to move in a westerly direction. Gulls squawked as they seemed to remain motionless, bobbing up and down like fishing-line corks, their beaks pointing against the flow of invisible rivers of air.

As Gerry's trousers fell to the deck, the naked First Mate and the now-naked Second Mate came from the wheelhouse.

"Cap'n, Sir," Sven announced, "We're in Pirates' Cove."

Gerry's eyes flew open at hearing the voice; his head jerked forward. Seeing the two, he blushed crimson, realizing his own state of undress and erection. Captain Lars drew him closer yet. "As ye were, boy!" he commanded into Gerry's ear.

"Shall I cast off the anchor, Sir?"

"Aye, Mate, an' be quick about it! The fun's 'bout t'begin!" Sven grinned, then winked at his Master, and dashed toward the bow [front] of the boat, his slender cock lengthening as he went, and swinging in the breeze.

"An' now, Dirk …" he redirected his attention to the one member of the crew from whom Gerry had never heard a word spoken. "… Tell the boy, here, how we have our fun."

Dirk was the smallest of the three boat-mates. The captain was a balding dirty-blond, tall, fur-covered monster of a man, and the First Mate was a whitish-blond, well-developed Nordic god, covered with the finest of body-hair, except for his clean-shaven genitals, and about three inches taller than Gerry.

Dirk, the Second Mate, was something else! Not even five feet tall, maybe 4'10", he was perfection personified -- tiny waist, broad shoulders, tight build, the blackest jet-black hair Gerry had ever seen (pulled back and secured into a long ponytail, wisping like feathers in the breeze, and ending at the top of his perfect globular bubble-butt), and just-as-perfect muscles in all the other right places. All the other right places, that is, except for one -- his cock. Even though his body was as smooth as a baby's ass, being devoid of any hair below his neck, it only hung less than an inch … if one could call it, 'hung.'

Any other time, Gerry would have been drooling at the sight of the little stud-muffin … in every sense of the word. But not then. No. His fright was growing, second by second.

Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, Gerry watched as Sven hurried back amidships, presumably after dropping the anchor.

With hands together and under his chin as if in prayerful attitude, Dirk's eyes left Gerry's tented boxers and looked with passion into the captain's eyes, and bowed his head. It was only after that visual contact that he stepped to within inches of the captive wrapped in his Master's arms, placed the palms of his hands onto Gerry's naked chest, and allowed his fingers to explore the new flesh.

Gerry tingled wherever Dirk touched him. His hips thrust again and again toward his hunky torturer.

As Dirk's fingers touched the top of Gerry's ridiculous underwear, he knelt and pulled the waistband out and down to under Gerry's scrotum, then, kneeling, pushed them down to the deck.

At the captain's visual and head-nodding command, Sven, too, stepped near Gerry, and then kissed him. Gerry's eyes were big as saucers, not knowing what was going to happen, expecting the worst, seeing all the silent commands. He moaned as Sven's tongue entered his parted lips. His own tongue caressed and then, in a frenzy, dueled with the intruder. The captain chuckled, sending vibrations through Gerry's back. In his mind, Gerry was in turmoil, wanting to give in to the sexual goings-on at the moment, but fearful of where he suspected they were leading. Dirk had taken Gerry's small, uptight balls into his mouth and, from top to bottom and side to side, moistened them with his own saliva-covered tongue. Sven withdrew his tongue and traced it's wetness back and forth under Gerry's chin, then crisscrossed down Gerry's chest to his nipples. Dirk let Gerry's balls slip out of his mouth and licked, from base to crown, the full length of Gerry's cock -- one moment, at a particular sensation, it grew semi-hard; the next moment, it went limp again from Gerry's uncertainty. Gerry again threw his head back against the captain's shoulder, and moaned aloud as the captain waggled his very wet tongue around and inside Gerry's ear. Dirk was flicking his tongue around and around, under the sensitive corona of Gerry's per-cum-soaked cock. Sven had inched his own tongue down to Gerry's belly-button and was titillating it, sending him to levels of ticklish excitement he'd never known. The captain was giving Gerry a painful 'hicky' at the junction of neck and shoulder. Sven returned to Gerry's left nipple, and, as if on cue to all three attackers as his teeth clamped down on the tiny erection, the captain's teeth, likewise, clamped down on his neck/shoulder, leaving a very nasty bite-mark, and Dirk plunged, full length, onto Gerry's cock. He screamed at the ministration of opposites -- pain and pleasure, agony and ecstasy, from the sublime to the ridiculous. Never had he experienced anything like this. He exploded -- shot after shot after mighty shot of thick, white cum, deep into Dirk's hot, hungry, swallowing throat.

And as his body shook and quaked, every muscle tensed and relaxed, tensed and relaxed, again and again.

Just as he felt one of the captain's fingers probe against his asshole, and while yet in the final heavenly throes of orgasm, Gerry yelled, "NOOOOOO! I've never …"

OVERLOAD! All began to fade. He nearly lost consciousness, but not totally. He seemed to be floating just inches above his body. He could see; he could feel, but he couldn't cause his body to react.

And as his limp body collapsed toward the deck, the captain's finger plunged into the dark abyss in one fell swoop … causing a slight tear in some of the delicate intestinal tissue. He felt the pain, but couldn't scream.

"Dirk …" he heard the captain order, "remove the tarp. Sven … man the pump. This fucker's filled with shit!" The two went to work … no questions asked; they went about their business as if both knew what was coming. The captain wiped his shity finger on Gerry's ass cheeks.

Dirk went up onto the poop deck at the rear of the boat. He pulled away and folded the tarpaulin that had covered a leather-padded pommel horse-type contraption (without the handles on top), bolted to the deck. It was about four feet long and just a little lower than waist high.

From the wheelhouse, Sven retrieved an old hand pump that looked like a bicycle wheel with a handle on either side, and set it up near the pommel horse . He attached a black rubber hose to the pump and tossed the other end over the railing and into the water below. Then he attached another tube that had a brass fire-hose nozzle on its opposite end.

Their work finished, Sven and Dirk returned to their Master. Each took one of Gerry's arms, the captain took both his legs, and they carried him to the pommel and laid him across it, arms and hands hanging on one side, legs and feet hanging on the other, his body supported only by his stomach and abdominal muscles, his ass toward the sea.

"Sven … start the pump. Dirk … stand at his head an' spread'em," said the captain, looking at Gerry's limp body. Then he bent down, picked up the nozzle, and as the first bit of water gurgled through the rubber hose and came splashing out, he washed his shity finger. "Stop cranking," he ordered; in an instant, Sven obeyed.

The captain stepped behind Gerry, facing Dirk, who, in obedience, was spreading Gerry's ass cheeks. He placed the end of the brass nozzle against Gerry's anus, and then pushed; he didn't want to hurt the boy, but he was determined to do what he wanted to do, come hell or high water. Nothing; the tight sphincter prohibited entrance of anything.

Though Gerry's conscious mind had no control of his sphincter, his subconscious mind, the one which continues to maintain and protect life during sleep, continued its minimal protection of invasion by any foreign object.

"Start cranking again," he ordered, and Sven complied. "Not too fast -- we don't wanna hurt'im once we git inside the shitchute." Sven slowed the turning of the wheel. "Good," the captain said, and tried again, using much more force. With a bloody squish, it entered, and Gerry's unconscious body jerked in pain.

"Keep going," the captain said, turning his attention to Sven. The salty water continued pouring into Gerry's innermost regions, burning the torn tissues.

Gerry felt a sinking feeling as he returned to full consciousness and cried out in the most horrible pain he'd ever experienced. His upper body jerked, trying to rise, but Dirk stepped closer, using his naked, strong body and weight to keep Gerry from moving.

The captain used one hand to reach under, and gripped and massaged Gerry's abdominal muscles, helping the sea water to flow into higher and higher areas of Gerry's intestines.

Gerry was crying, screaming, kicking, thrashing about, wanting the pain to stop.

"That be enough," the captain told Sven, but Gerry thought that the captain was speaking to him. He stopped screaming, but his body jerked in spasms from his sobbing.

"A'right, boy; I'ma gonna pull this out, nice an' slow-like, but if'n ya lets one itsy-bitsy drop o' yer shit hit the deck, ye'll regret it; ye unnerstan'?" Gerry nodded his head, hanging between Dirk's knees. He understood it alright -- he'd seen the whole thing from a different vantage point.

"Hold it. Hold it. Keep holding it," the captain told Gerry, as, with care and concern, he removed the large brass nozzle. "Now, squeeze those pretty li'l ass cheeks tight."

Dirk moved back, giving Gerry room to stand. He reached down, under Gerry's arm pits, and helped him to stand. "Hold it; keep holdin' it tight!" he ordered again.

Gerry stood, bent a little, still sobbing, tight-assed and holding his protruding stomach. "It hurts," he moaned.

The captain on one side of him, Sven on the other, they walked him backwards to the rear railing, holding his arms. They lifted him up and sat him on the railing, his ass well beyond the wood and metal.

"Now then, boy," the captain began laughing, "poop yer poop off the poop deck." He roared in morbid mirth. "I love it when I say that! It's so fuckin' nasty." Sven joined the sick merriment, and Dirk, in silence of course, bent double at his Master's glee.

Twice more, the crew forced Gerry's internal cleansing until the expelled water was more or less clear. Each time, the pain became more agonizing. He couldn't stop crying. He had no more energy or desire to fight. He was on the very edge of giving up. He felt defeated and had no will to fight back.

After the third releasing, Sven and the captain hung his limp form over the pommel, with his head, rather than his ass, toward the sea.

"Shackle'im!" the captain ordered, with a wicked glint in his eyes.

As the captain applied pressure to Gerry's back, Sven went about tying Gerry's wrists to two legs of the pommel, and Dirk tied his ankles to the other two, each using lengths of coarse, scratchy hemp rope.

Gerry could well imagine that both Mates, probably knowing what was coming, had risen in excitement -- Sven to his maximum of eight hard inches, and Dirk's little nubbin of a cock to a full four-and-a-half firm inches.

Once secured, the captain smeared a dollop of crankcase grease around Gerry's shit-hole, and forced more inside. "Ya know what t'do, Dirk," he said. The Second Mate moved near Gerry's hanging head.

"Now, boy," the captain bellowed, "ya've been nuthin' but a fuckin' fuck-up since comin' aboard this marnin'; ye know that, don'tcha boy?" There was no response; Gerry was too weak to even reply. "Well, don'tcha, ya fuckin' faggot? Answer up, boy!" he demanded, slapping Gerry first on one ass cheek, then the other. <SMACK! SMACK!>

Gerry's body flinched, and as weak as he was, struggled to reply, "No, Sir."

"Well, lemme jes fill ya in," he said, and with great finesse, shoved two fingers through the greasy sphincter, twisted and probed around inside, and yanked yanked them out.

Gerry moaned.

"First, ya caused us t'be late getting' started. <SMACK!> Then, ya spoke to … called to … Dirk, against me orders, as we were pullin' 'way from the dock. <SMACK! SMACK!> Then, with jes a teeny-tiny bit o' the boat's rollin', ye jes couldn't keep yer fuckin' balance, an' ya fuckin' fell! An' d'ya remember whatcha did after that? <SMACK!> Ye grabbed hol' o' me First Mate's arm! Again, against me orders! <SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!> I don't take t'people disobeyin' me, boy! Ya 'ear me? <SMACK!>"

Each successive slap to Gerry's ass had been harder than the prior one. He moaned. "Yes, Sir."

"Now, listen closely, boy! We're gonna be havin' us sum fun, and yer gonna be providin' it, ya 'ear? I'm the master o' the boat, an' if … I say, "IF" ye git through it, I'll take ye on as an apprentice. Ye'll learn to like it, me boy; ye'll learn to like it." He grinned at his First Mate, and wriggled his eyebrows at his Second. The eyes of the three were ablaze with anticipation!

"Oh, yes … there be one more wee lit'l condition on me … generous … proposal."

The three sadists roared at his choice and tone of words, each in his own way, of course. Dirk, not being able to make any vocal sound at all, with machine gun rapidity, slapped Gerry's back, from his shoulders to his ass and back to his shoulders.

"An' that be," the captain continued with a deep, commanding voice, "that ye'll not utter a single word while we be enjoyin' ourselves; fer ya see … Ger-ry …"

Gerry's eyes widened. That was the first time that the captain had ever said his name. He tried to raise his head and look back at Captain Lars, but Dirk put his hands on either side of Gerry's face and pulled it upward, so that he could wipe the pre-cum from his hard little erection across Gerry's lips. Gerry offered no resistance, but kept his lips closed. Oh, God … help me, he prayed.

"… ya see," the captain repeated himself, "I know that ye've heard nary a word frum the one who's letting ye kiss his dick; an' ye'll be doin' more'n that, me lad; more'n that, fer sure! I'ma knowin' that if Dirk got through bein' our … inner-tainment …" all three chuckled again, "… ye can, too. But Dirk disobeyed me orders -- didn't ye, Mate?"

Dirk closed his eyes and bowed his head toward his Master, as he patted the left side of Gerry's face with the tenderest of fingers, as if he were remembering his own ordeal.

"Yes," the captain continued. "All the while me an' Sven was having our way with him, he be beggin' and pleadin' for us to stop; cryin' his li'l heart out. <Tsk Tsk Tsk> But you, boy! If ye git through this, without speakin' a word, mind ya … except for sounds, of course -- they're expected! … I won't have done t'ya what I had done to Dirk -- ye see … Ger-ry … I had a doctor … cut … his vocal cords!" So casual and matter-of-fact was the tone of his voice.

There was a brief moment of silence aboard The Jolly Roger -- each of the three, lost in his own thoughts; and a moment of ultimate fear for Gerry. Oh, God! Will this never end? he cringed.

The storm clouds were gathering. The sun had disappeared. The wind was blowing. Howling. Droplets of cold rain had begun to fall. The gulls had vanished, no doubt, to their own little havens of protection, perhaps not wanting to witness the on-coming rape. Nature, herself, seemed to be providing the perfect, heinous, backdrop for the scene.

" 'Now is the time of Thy mystery of nature,' the captain quoted a line from an obscure piece of writing** with unexpected eloquence.

In Gerry's twilight of consciousness, he heard the sharp, clear words, and although he understood them not, something immediate in them caused him to remember Michael's prediction -- 'Your Destiny awaits you.' What does all this mean? he struggled to reason.

And then, a name from the past filtered into his consciousness, and another painful thought hit him. Is this my Karma for 'outing' Zed? Oh, God, Zed, Zed, he cried in his soul. I know that I can get through this, if only we can meet again, someday, somewhere, just so that I can say, "I'm sorry." You know that I AM sorry … don't you, Zed? He was sobbing. Please know. Please.

Without thinking, and with some small, growing degree of love, he pressed the side of his face against the hand and fingers that had, only a brief moment before, patted it in gentle kindness, imagining that it was Zed's.

Not only was Gerry experiencing physical and emotional pain aboard The Jolly Roger, but he was living … existing! … in mental anguish. Does it end here? Or does this hell lead somewhere else?

<WHACK!>

"OWWW!"

The captain had just struck his bare ass with a knotted hemp rope. "I asked ye a question, boy! Now answer it!"

"What was that? <WHACK!> Speak up, boy! I didn't hear ya!" <WHACK!>

"OWWWW! … I said, 'I'm sorry, Sir; I didn't hear the question'."

"I asked if ye be ready to begin yer … final … TEST?" With unprecedented tenderness and care, the captain rubbed the palms of both of his hands over Gerry's red-striped buttocks, while at the same time, Sven had begun to insert a finger into Gerry's sore, bleeding anus. They were working in unison. "And remember," the captain added, "No words! Only sounds are permitted during the test. NOW ANSWER!"

In an instant, he knew the answer. "Ummmmm," Gerry moaned, and then, taking no conscious thought, he flexed his sphincter muscle at Sven's probing.

"He's winking, Master," Sven said, grinning up at Captain Lars, "and he sounds like he's enjoying it."

"Ye may begin, Second Mate," the captain said to Dirk. "Git'im wet, and don'tcha be lettin' 'im feel yer teeth, boy!" <WHACK!> The rough-fibered and knotted rope fell upon the backs of his thighs on one side of the pommel.

"OWW...UNGH!" Gerry cried out as his body jerked and his head flew back. That was when Dirk grabbed Gerry's head and thrust his little throbbing cock into Gerry's mouth! Again and again, he retreated and thrust, retreated and thrust.

Dirk winced, and the captain recognized the pain in his face. <WHACK!> to the backs of his lower legs. <WHACK!> to his thighs again.

"UNGH!" Gerry moaned at each attack; his mouth and bleeding lips, enveloping the thrusting member.

"I won't be telling' ye again, boy! <WHACK!> across his welting ass.

"UNGHHH!"

"Don'tcha be lettin' me Mate feel yer fuckin' teeth. Nowwww, ye wouldn' be wantin' me t'go an' git me pliers an' pull'em all out … slowwwwwly … would ya, me boy?" He laughed his deep-throated 'Har har hardy har har ' again, and then, with precise diction, added, "without any Novocain at all, Huhhhhhhh?" With a light touch, the captain leaned over and ran his own wet tongue over each of the welts on Gerry's soft, pink bottom.

If they weren't, before, Gerry's spirits then shattered into a million tiny molecules.

Then, with a mighty thrust, the captain again forced two fingers deep into Gerry's bowels, bringing more blood through the torn ass lips.

"That's wet enough, Mate," the captain told Dirk. As he pulled his little hard-on through Gerry's bleeding lips, he once again patted his cheeks.

Unbeknownst to Dirk, Captain Lars had witnessed the tender gesture. His blood boiled, and he flew to his Second Mate, swung his fist into Dirk's face, and sent him tumbling to the deck. "We'll be havin' none o' that girly tenderness aboard the Jolly Roger, Matey … not if ye want t'keep yer job. Now, git yer fuckin' little peter back there…" he screamed, "… an' be quick about it."

Dirked fumbled to aright himself, but as soon as he was standing, the captain saw his deflated NON-state of arousal. "Awww, fuck!" he said in disgust, looking around at nothing in particular.

Lightning danced above the eastern horizon; a mid-August thunderstorm was approaching, and the four men were dripping from the light rain.

"Can'tcha even keep it up?" He asked with sarcasm. "Well, git back there … and do whatcha kin. Use yer fuckin' fingers if ya hafta."

Then, changing his attention to Sven, he said, "Do wha'chure good at, Mate; make'im feel ya, good an' deep!" The captain chuckled and waggled his tongue across his upper lip and clicked his teeth together in erotic teasing. He knew how to get Sven excited.

Sure enough, Sven's eight hard inches rose to the occasion. He stepped over, and with a hand under Gerry's chin, lifted his head, and commanded, "Open up, faggot!"

They looked into each other's eyes, and, as if choreographed by an expert, Sven's excited cock, and Dirks itchy fingers plunged to the hilt at the same moment into Gerry's hot, moist depths. The fingers, though slipping through the black greasy slime, tore the anal tissue a bit more. The cock broke through the back of the throat.

Gerry tried to scream, but only a dull, muffled sound came forth. He tried to cough, but couldn't. Vomit poured from his nostrils. It burned. It stung. And he could do nothing to ease the pain. And yet, his body rebelled -- jerking, twisting, trying to turn, trying to escape. He felt consciousness fading once more.

Sven pulled all the way out, allowing him to gasp a deep breath, and plunged back in, again and again. Dirk followed his rhythm -- pulled out, plunged in, and spread his fingers. He twisted them; he turned them -- over and over again, stretching Gerry's sphincter. His own little cock had returned to attention, and on the very next pull-out, he moved in closer, and as he saw Sven begin his next plunge, Dirk also plunged in, to the hilt -- or what there was of it!

"That's the way t'do it, Mate; that's the way! Ya know, it's been said that a li'l cock like yer's kin give more pain than a big'un like Sven's or …" the captain began laughing, "… another'n I know of…" the laughter continued, "an' that's the name o' the game," he managed to say with his rollicking merriment.

Both attackers were presumably too caught-up in what they were doing, to respond to their Master in words.

"Breathe through your nose and keep your fucking throat open, ya cocksucker!" Sven ordered.

Gerry could do nothing but try to cough (which forced more burning stomach acid through his nose), or moan.

Dirk's movements became animalistic, like the rapid-fire fucking of rabbits. He dug his fingers and nails into Gerry's pelvic muscles, pulling back with his arms as he pushed forward with his cock until he could push no farther. He threw his head back, and began to quiver and shake during his orgasmic explosion, as deep as he could penetrate into Gerry's grease-laden bowels. From his silent, Nirvanic, jerking reactions, Gerry felt that he had shot six or seven or eight healthy loads into the hot interior; Gerry was too out-of-it to be concerned about the number.

He moaned long and hard. Tears streamed from his eyes. Never had anyone even attempted to enter him before, and whether his moan was from pleasure or regret or embarrassment, his body gave no indication. He was too weak. His energy, gone. Unable to fend for himself so long as he was tied to the damned contraption, he knew he was defeated. Broken. He moaned in pain, not enjoyment, from his cut lips (both, on his face and on his ass), from the swollen welts on his back and legs, from the abuse to his throat, and from the general over-all restrained position on the contraption.

But the ordeal was not yet finished.

With no more seed to expel into the new guy's ass, Dirk withdrew his shriveling cock, and sank to the deck, exhausted.

In an instant, First Mate Sven had pulled his pulsing eight-incher from Gerry's sore throat, straining jaws, and bleeding lips. He'd darted around the pommel, and stood ready to pummel into depths of the greasy chute that Gerry had never even envisioned.

The storm center was nearing. The howl of the wind, ever increasing. The rain was coming down harder, drenching everyone and everything exposed on the deck of the lobster boat-turned-torture chamber. And even in the protective cove, the boat was rolling and rocking as the whitecaps splashed against it's hull.

Gerry hung there, draped across that damned pommel-contraption, wishing, hoping, praying that the ordeal would soon be finished, even if it meant his own death. But that was not meant to release him from his pain.

"Dirk!" the captain raised his voice through the gusting wind. "Git yer lazy, fuckin' ass up, an' come over here. I still be the Cap'n on this here boat. Ya've had yer fun; and now it's time ye earned yer keep."

The Second Mate scrambled to his feet and hurried to the side of his Master. Once more, his hands went together beneath his chin, and he bowed his head. The captain patted him on the top of his rain-drenched hair, and said, "Good boy. Ya make yer Master proud."

Dirk looked up into the captain's eyes, and smiled.

"In a bit …" the captain continued, as he pointed toward the hanging body in front of him, "… boy's gonna jerk his head up, an' when he does …" Dirk looked down at Gerry, and then back up at the captain, "… I want ya t'do this!" he said, demonstrating on Dirk, himself. "An' don't let go till I be telling' ye to. Ya unnerstan'?"

From Gerry's hanging position, he could not know any of the silent responses any of the three were giving each other, and was too weak to even try to imagine such things.

It was then, that First Mate Sven placed his left hand atop the welted twin mounds of Gerry's ass, and with his right hand, aimed his twitching cock at the puffy, asshole in front of him.

"Watch this," the captain said.

Gerry didn't know whether the captain was speaking to him or to one or both of the other two; he struggled to raise his head a little.

Sven slammed his manhood into Gerry's interior.

"UNNNGGGHHH!" Gerry screamed, flexing every muscle in his body, to no avail. His head arched up and back, and as per the captain's demonstration, a hand grabbed a fistful of Gerry's hair and pulled his head back as far as it would go. Gerry's face contorted in pain; his eyes squinted closed; his breath frozen in agony; his mouth gaping open to the maximum.

"Open yer eyes, boy!" the captain yelled, slapping first, one side of his face and then the other.

Gerry obeyed, but all he could see was the captain's bulging crotch, tenting his worn fisherman's overalls, only inches from his face.

The captain stepped back as Sven pulled all the way out and slammed back in again. The pain was horrific. Gerry screamed again. He jerked. He moaned. He felt the head of his own cock touch the rain-wet padded leather beneath his hips -- his body was becoming sexually excited, though in his mind, he cursed his growing erection.

Sven withdrew and slammed back in again, and Gerry's reactions were even more intense, as Sven's downward-curving, hard cock slid over Gerry's prostate. Again and again. Why the hell is this happening to me? Gerry cried and screamed in his head.

After the captain had stepped back, he squatted in front of Gerry's tortured face. He ran his tongue over Gerry's eyelids, inside each nostril, in and around both ears, across his forehead, all around each cheek, and into his mouth. Gerry wanted to bite it off, but as Sven once more teased that hidden spot within his ass, he found himself sucking the captain's tongue, wanting to devour it. He moaned into the captain's mouth -- in passionate surrender and self-loathing.

It was then, at that sublime moment of conquest, that the captain withdrew from the attack. With the tenderness of a loving mother, he took the boy's face into his hands, kissed the tip of his nose, and said, "Now you'll see what a real man looks like, m'boy!"

He stood up, circled the air with his index finger (silently ordering Sven to speed things up!), took another couple of steps backward (he wanted Gerry to see all of his masculine glory!), and unhooked the brass button on each shoulder strap of his overalls. Then, throwing the straps back, his single-garment-work-clothes began to fall, but being rain-drenched, they clung to his body. Not taking his sight away from Gerry's eyes, he pushed them to the deck and stepped out of them. He was as naked as the others aboard the Jolly Roger.

For the next moment, Gerry was unaware of Sven's rapid attack, as painful as it was. The captain was nude … but not uncovered! Below his neck, every square inch of his huge body was covered with thick fur; he looked like a blond gorilla! And to all appearances, he did not have a penis! But that was at first glance.

Gerry looked closer … there was something there … but not like anything he'd ever seen!

Dirk was still gripping a fistful of his hair. His neck was killing him from the strained position in which Dirk had been forcing his head up and back. And Sven was jackhammering his ass. But he was riveted to the captain's crotch. The captain stepped closer. And closer, yet. Until his blond pubic fur enveloped Gerry's nose and mouth. Something flexed. Gerry tried but failed to draw back. It flexed again.

It was then that Gerry realized that it was the captain's cock -- small, but huge, at the same time.

"Lick it!" commanded the captain. "Lick it and git it good'n'hard fer me, 'cause yer gonna love what I got fer ya. I jes know ye will!"

Gerry stuck his tongue out, jerked it back, and started spitting.

"Got some loose short-hairs on yer tongue, do ya, boy?"

Gerry continued spitting.

"Well, I don't like'em, neither, so here, lemme help ya." The captain dug into the furry mound, pulling the hairs out of the way, and then said, "There ya go. Nice an' purdy fer ya. Lick it! An' suck it! It'll grow fer ya."

Sven had started to moan with each thrust. "Dirk, git over here an' finger me tain't an' play with me balls, Mate, but don't let go o' the boy's hair!" the captain said as he shoved the head of his cock against Gerry's sore lips.

As best he could, Gerry, stuck his tongue out and touched the soft, salty piss slit of the captains cock. It was normal size -- about an inch in diameter … and spongy. He circled the flange and, when not touching the captain's fingers, felt the engorged shaft, also covered in fur. It was enormous -- about three-and-a-half inches across, or about eleven inches in circumference! And it was growing … lengthwise! The folds of skin retreated but little as it grew to it's limit -- about five inches long … or short, depending on one's viewpoint!

Sven was pumping faster and faster; his erotic moans were getting louder and louder; the captain's bulky form began humping in rhythm with Sven -- both, pushing and pulling, together.

"ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRHHHHHHHHHHH," Sven yelled, throwing his head back as he brutally pistoned his ramrod one last time into Gerry's bleeding ass. Again and again and again he cried as he released his seed.

"Awwww FUCK!" screamed the captain, unable to achieve a hard erection. "This fucking rain is ruinin' it fer me! Keep yer mouth open an' … SWALLOW!" he yelled at Gerry. An acrid, dark yellow stream of piss began flowing into Gerry's mouth. He gagged. He choked. But swallow the bitter stuff, he did. And when he had finished, the captain knocked Dirks' hand away, and Gerry's head dropped forward, coughing.

The captain rushed to the other side of the evil contraption, grabbed Sven by the shoulders, and tossed him away, sending him sprawling across the wet, slippery deck. With his left hand, he spread open Gerry's ass cheeks. He put the tips of his right hand fingers together, put them all at the entrance of Gerry's bloody shit-hole … and shoved, with one fell swoop, with all of his angry might, into Gerry's colon, splitting, tearing, ripping the tissue around his somewhat loosened sphincter.

Gerry screamed for dear life! Never had he felt such pain! His consciousness began to fade yet again. Darkness enshrouded him.

The boat trembled from the roar of thunder as a bolt of lightning struck.

"Gerry …" a still small voice spoke. Gerry thought he'd only imagined the voice.

"Gerry …" the voice called again. He turned his head just a little, listening.

"Gerry …" a third time the voice called. He recognized the voice.

"Michael?" Gerry struggled to ask aloud.

"Give me your hand, Gerry," the voice urged with Love.

As Gerry lifted his head, he saw a radiant Being of Light begin to take form. "Michael?" he again asked.

Michael nodded his head. "Yes," he answered. He extended his right hand. A sense of Peace and Well Being flowed to and through Gerry's torn body.

Effortlessly, Gerry raised his left, and as their hands touched, he felt the rough hemp ropes fall away, and he rose, standing next to Michael. He cried … cried tears of Joy as he threw his arms around the 'Gentle Giant' he'd met only the day before.

There was no pain. There was no boat. No captain. No First or Second Mate. No damned contraption. No rain. No wind. No darkness. No storm. Nothing but Light … and Michael … dear, dear Michael.

He took no notice of whether he was yet naked, or clothed. But years later, when he would look back at that moment, while writing his own diary, he would think that it seemed to be that they both were in their normal, every-day clothes.

Soon, Michael broke the joyous reunion, turned and said, "Come with me, Gerry; there's nothing to fear."

With no effort at all, not even the putting of one foot in front of the other, they moved away and upward toward the Source of the radiant golden light surrounding them. Gerry started to turn his head back, but Michael said, "Never look back, Gerry; never look back on things that cause pain. Accept them as having been, and then release them."

For a short time, they continued moving. Then the sensation of moving stopped. There was nothing by which to make a real judgment -- no objects, no trees, no buildings, no one else -- only Light -- no top, no bottom, no sides.

"Where are we?" Gerry asked.

"We're not where you were -- in consciousness, dear, darling boy," Michael answered, using the endearing term he'd used when last they saw each other.

"Am I dead?"

"There's no such state, my friend, unless you believe in it -- in consciousness," he replied, and then he turned to face Gerry and said, "You have a decision to make, Gerry."

"A decision?"

"Yes. And that is … do you want to go on? Or do you want to go back?"

Gerry seemed to take a deep breath, but said nothing. Thinking.

"There are wonders for you, unimagined, whichever way you choose. But you must make the choice. We cannot make it for you."

"We? We? Who is 'we'?" Gerry asked.

"We are all those who are on the same path of Growth as you, dear heart."

There was no ticking of the clock to show the passage of time. No rising or setting of the sun.

Gerry thought … through an indeterminable amount of time … and when he answered he said, "I'll miss my family … my friends. Will you be there, Michael, if I decide to go back?"

"I was with you when you walked down the hill and were almost hit by the train, Gerry. I was with you when you jumped toward the boat and almost fell in the water. I was with you when your physical body was unconscious but you seemed to be floating above it. I was with you every moment of your ordeal. I am with you now, and I will be with you in all your tomorrows; just call my name … and I'll be there."

"Oh, Michael … I love you," Gerry cried, as once again he hugged his Protector. Then he pulled back and said, "If I go back, do I have to go back to the boat and those … those …"

Michael didn't let him finish, but instead, answered with, "Gerry … you'll never remember the boat. You'll never remember the men. You'll never remember the pain. I promise you. During your return, those memories will be erased from your consciousness."

"Are you sure I won't remember?"

"I'm absolutely positive. That's why I'm here with you right now. Namasté! My soul beats as your soul. I know you've decided to go back. So mote it be!"

They smiled at each other, and hugged once again.

"Now, lift your hands, close your eyes, and place your hands over them, Gerry, and be happy," Michael said.

Gerry obeyed, and the last thing he heard Michael say, was, "The Falcon spreads his Wings of Light, to enfold and bless you, with Love, with Light, and with Life."

<><><>

When Gerry opened his eyes, all he saw was the color white. He heard irritating, beeping noises. He heard people moving about and talking; wheels rolling along some hard surface; soft music coming from a radio somewhere.

"Well, well, well," came the all too familiar words, but rather than from an older, deep, gruff voice, they were said by a younger, kind tenor voice which continued, "Sooooo, you've fi-nally decided to join the land of the living, eh?"

Gerry looked toward the voice -- an attractive young man, no older than himself, and on his name tag, Gerry read, 'Mike.' "Where am I … errr … Mike?"

"In a hospital … St. Christopher's Hospital."

"Where?"

"Rockland, of course."

"Maine?"

"Yes, and before you ask any more silly questions, my dear, you've been here for three days."

"That's impossible! I only arrived here yesterday."

"Listen, good-lookin', you only arrived here…" he flipped his wrist at Gerry, "…three days ago, and you've been in a coma ever since! Now, don't argue with me, or I won't bring you a urinal or a bedpan when you need it."

"What… ? How… ? Where… ?"

"Hush up, now, or I'll have to …" he hesitated to say what would have come naturally, but with the raise of an eyebrow, he looked down his nose at Gerry and said, "… but you're in no condition for that … right now!" with a swish of his hips.

None of the other hospital staff would tell Gerry anything at all, but on his off-duty hours, Nurse Mike filled him in on all the details he knew.

First of all, there had been a fiery explosion on a lobster boat, and three bodies had been found, burned beyond recognition.

Soon after that, Gerry had been found, unconscious, lying on a gurney, naked, under a hospital sheet at the outside entrance to the emergency ward. No one knew how he got there, but there was an envelope which contained a note saying, 'Here lies Gerry Young, a victim of assault. Take care of him.' and it was unsigned, but there was also enough money included to cover whatever medical expenses were necessary, along with a certain sum to be given to Gerry just before he was to be released.

He learned that he had whip lashes across his back, buttocks, thighs and lower legs, and that his rectum and colon had been torn and damaged in what appeared to be a sexual assault, and had had to have seventeen stitches to repair the damage.

But Gerry could remember none of it.

Each day, the police came by, trying to get information about himself and whether or not he knew anything about the boating accident. But each day, good Nurse Mike would fend them off, telling them that Gerry was still drifting in and out of consciousness, and couldn't remember anything about a boat, nor even how he got to be at the hospital.

His sixth day in the hospital, Gerry was to be released. When Mike came on shift, Gerry asked him if he had any extra clothes that he could borrow until he could get a job and some money and replace them.

"Haven't you looked in the cupboard, silly? You have clothes in there."

Gerry couldn't believe it. He jumped out of bed and would have dashed to the cupboard, but he slumped to the floor, having lost considerable strength in his legs. Mike hurried to help him stand up, and once comfortable, Gerry eased his way to the cupboard, flung the door open, and there he found all new clothes in his size … shirt, trousers, socks, shoes, underwear, belt, handkerchief, even a light-weight Jacket.

In just his hospital gown and his 'footies', he went down the hall to the men's shower … Mike mincing along behind, enjoying the view, while attempting to keep the open back of the gown closed. (Yeah, right!)

Standing before a mirrored wall in the shower room, Gerry looked at himself. He looked healthy, rested and healed -- his lips were no longer sore or puffy, as they had been, when he first awoke; the welts on his back and legs were fading. He felt ready to leave the hospital; but where would he go? What would he do, he wondered.

Back in his room, Mike had a field-day watching and helping Gerry to don his new clothes … Gerry didn't seem to have any qualms at all about being naked in front of him.

Once dressed, Gerry shoved his hands into his pants pockets with his thumbs still sticking out, struck a pose, and with chin lowered and one eyebrow arched, said, "How do I look?"

"Scrumptious!" Mike replied, rearranging the bulge in the front of his white hospital uniform. "Good enough to eat! … Oops … Maybe I shouldn't've said that."

"No problem, Mike. Thanks for the compliment."

Gerry tucked his thumbs inside his pockets, along with his other fingers, and slid his hands to the bottoms of the pockets. In each, he felt something … something that felt familiar. Pulling his right hand out, he was holding a Zippo lighter with the U.S. Navy insignia on it. When he saw it, tears started flowing. "I never thought I'd see this again," he muttered through the tears as he clutched the lighter to his breast.

"What is it, Gerry?" Mike asked.

"My grandfather's cigarette lighter … but how did it get here? And where did the clothes come from? Who brought them in here?"

"I don't know. But the day after they brought you back from surgery, I noticed the clothes were already hanging in the cupboard. I just thought somebody must have brought them in when I wasn't on duty."

Gerry kissed the lighter and put it back in his right pocket. Then he reached into his left. "I wonder what's in here?" He froze, as his fingers touched something else. He pulled it out … money! Cash! Five hundred dollars! He couldn't believe it. Mike helped him to the only chair in the room, before he collapsed in shock. He gave him a glass of water to drink.

"You want anything else, Gerry?"

He only shook his head.

"I think you've got a Guardian Angel, Ger."

Gerry raised his head and looked at his nurse. "Mike? … Is that your real name? Or your nickname?"

"My nickname … but my sisters … errr … real friends, call me 'Michael'."

"Michael," Gerry whispered, smiling to himself, remembering his friend, his … 'Guardian Angel' for the first time since regaining consciousness. Many questions had been answered when he heard the sound of that name. But just as many remained unanswered. Perhaps some day … some day in his searching and in his wandering travels … he'd find those answers.

"I'm ready to go," Gerry said, standing, and retrieving the light-weight jacket from the cupboard. He slipped his arms in the sleeves and jerked the front together. A crinkly noise came from the inside pocket. He reached in and pulled out a small paper packet.

Opening it, he was shocked once more, to find another surprise … a train ticket … to San Francisco … paid in full!

(End of Chapter Three)

*****

*

THE BELLS

by Edgar Allan Poe, 1849

1st Verse

**

GREAT MAGNET! Thy hidden power
Draws us ever onward to spaces anew.
Secret in the earth Thy life-forces waken
Stirrings and whispers that the ear cannot hear;
Later will come birth in the fullness of Thy splendour -
Now is the time of Thy mystery of nature,
Now does the cycle in Thy great turning blend;
All that has been shall lend to what comes after,
All that will come lies hidden in Thy promise.
Foster all the good that was gleaned in the harvest,
In the days that are past, when the growing time was o'er;
High resolve let us make in the new awakened glory.
Radiant One! Radiant One! Ignite us with Thy fire!
Carry we our boughs of the symbol eternal,
Constant and verdant throughout the season's change;
Strew we our violets on all the stony places -
Symbol of the BLESSED ONES who trod this way before.
Onward we move in the cycle's nascent stirring,
Onward we tread following Thy course.

*****