I stirred. The sound of stentorian breathing, rhythmic and regular, sent seismic shudders throughout my whole body. It must have been what had disturbed me. My eyes flickered open and I found myself pressed up against a wall of flesh, solid and unyielding and reverberating with the subterranean echoes of a man snoring, the sound bouncing off his chest cavity. My right arm was flung over the man's hip, my hand resting  loosely against his lower belly, while the remainder of my torso seemed to have adhered itself to his. My face was buried against his back, my belly was resting against the warm swell of his buttocks, and my right leg was threaded between his strong thighs, my knee bent and making a soft contact with his genitals. In short I was wrapped around Jack Aubrey and feeling about as safe and warm as a girl can be.

My vision of the world was somewhat obscured by the gargantuan proportions of Jack's upper body but I had no wish to remove myself from its bulwark and instead burrowed myself even closer into his body's warmth. He grunted and his snoring stuttered slightly to resume a moment later as deep and sonorously impressive than ever. But I was awake now and feeling relaxed and playful. Now what could I find to play with?

My right hand reached over and down and found itself touching the scruff of the hair on his lower belly and then further down entangling in the thicker curls of his groin. I shivered with pleasure at the feel of the warm, hairy manliness. But I was after even more virile fare than this. My fingers traveled south and soon found their goal. Lying harmlessly curled up on my knee was his thick cock and heavy balls. Rapture. Jack au naturel and he was oblivious to my presence.

I had no eyes, only the sensation of touch and the aroma of early morning man to drive me on. I kissed along his spine, adoring little busses, as I adjusted my position lower and attempted to reach round his bulk to get a better grip on the large and fleshy target of my interest. And then with the soft shaft between my eager digits, I began to explore his feel.

I imagined what it must be like to be a man, reaching down on waking and absentmindedly stroking myself, hardly conscious of the instinctive sexuality because I would be so familiar with my own equipment. As good as a cock feels rigid, I can imagine how comforting it is to squeeze the softness and pull on its length, to push back the skin and roll it in my fingers. So I tried it out. It felt squidgy and delicious. No wonder little boys always have so much fun with themselves.

Jack is big by any of the Brothers standards, bigger in every way- he is taller and more imposing generally, fair where they are darker, weathered and scarred even more than Maximus or Bud. His body is like a road map, full of interesting textures and sensuous tactility- hard, soft, rough, puckered, calloused, coarse, smooth, hairy.... But nothing is as genuinely fascinating as his cock.

It is long and veiny and velvet soft- such a contrast to the coarser skin of his body. It is thick and cartilaginous, strong even when flaccid. It is heavy and warm and full of blood, the life force of this strong and formidable man pulsing through it. It hangs over a scrotum that is large and full, mighty balls of iron wrestling for prominence in their wrinkled hairy sac, beautiful and crude reminders of his masculinity and courage.  I gripped and relaxed, ran my thumb over the head, massaged the tiny hole and then eased back the thick loose skin to expose the naked shaft. The large ridge of his cock head felt hot as I ran my finger along it; it moved slightly towards my touch. All these playthings lay helpless as he slept on, while my curious fingers explored their mysteries.

Even sleeping, Jack is a man who is never far from arousal, his fiery nature and the ebb and flow of his heated blood ensures that. Already he was beginning to respond to my touch and I could feel his large prick growing more solid and its substance changing from flesh to steel as I gently rubbed and pulled and stroked and caressed.

He murmured something indistinct, eased his legs apart and more of him came available to my searching hand. Beneath his sac, I felt the tender flesh, manipulated the gland that lies there and he groaned- already his cock was hard and his body was stirring with sensation. When I ran my forefinger around the puckered ring of his anus, he jumped a little and automatically grabbed my hand, enclosing it in his around his shaft. As I returned to attending him, he sighed a low rumble and seemed to be drifting off again, as I eased his body's arousal. I knew if I carried on much longer he would simply come in his sleep, unable to exert his usual control in this vulnerable state.

The idea intrigued me. It is something I love to do to men. As much as I love their attentions, some times I have little interest in sex when I wake but long to indulge their fantasies, wondering what they dream about when their bodies are being so evidently manipulated without their conscious knowledge. Many mornings Terry wakes with a jolt to find himself coming in my mouth, waves of creamy ejaculate shuddering into my lips   and tongue as he tries to drag himself from erotic dream to erotic reality. He adores it and lies like a rampant lion afterwards, too satiated even to move, panting and lolling about, naked and magnificent in his weakness. "Out of the strong comes forth such sweetness..." One of my favourite Old Testament moments.

So, I return to Jack. Should I burrow under the clothes and take my lips to him and love him in that way? The idea of his warm moist genitals and their sweet musky smell made my breasts ache and brought a rush of moisture between my legs. But just as I was contemplating the taste and smell of him, he spoke, gruffly and hoarsely.

"Don't stop! Touch me..." I settled back to my task masturbating him with a firm hand, applying pressure to his head and sliding back his skin in a steady but rising rhythm. I felt his body relax and his groin tense. A man handing himself over to the sacrifice.

"What are you thinking, Jack?" I whispered.

At first, no answer and then, "I am thinking of many nights at sea when I was alone in my cot and had to recourse to such a practice. Onanism. I would have caned my reefers if they were caught in it and yet hardly a day passed when I did not take my own ease there. I used to lie between my sheets, a cloth to hand and imagine the hand of a woman easing me or her mouth drinking back my gift."

I continued to work him and he gently rolled onto his back while I adjusted, now with more access to his groin, his great prick rigid and standing proud, his balls heavy and hard. I smiled at him and he chuckled at me as we both watched what my hands were doing.

"Did you imagine any particular women?" I muttered as I reached down to kiss his swollen head and he gasped at the feel of my warm let lips and the sudden suction as I swallowed him down.

A groan and then: "Mercedes. She was always on my mind. I could picture her breasts, those ripe luscious melons and their brown nipples. Her full body- round bellied, thick dark sex curls, sweet and spicy smell of her fragrance and cunt. She would sit on me, my prick deep inside, and she would seem like a Botticelli Venus, all flesh and curves and womanhood. There is something about a fuller woman in the sex act that is most erotic."

I smiled as I tended to his cock, thinking of my body and the contrast with the voluptuous image before his mind.

"But sometimes I thought of Clarissa. As she was when I first saw her, dressed as a boy, her slender form in breeches and coat. I never touched her in life but in my dreams, she regularly came to my cabin. I would say "Remove those clothes- I must ascertain if you are man or woman." And she would slip off the shirt and ease off the breeches to stand naked before me.

"Come here. Your breasts are small. I must touch them to know for sure." And my hand would cup the small white mounds and squeeze the pink nipples until they hardened for me. It was not enough. My hand would travel to her curls, one finger slip beneath to sample her readiness. In my mind she was always ready, moist and creamy, and she stands silently but offering. "There is no evidence of male genitalia. You should not be here on my ship. Women cause trouble...." That is all I say...I throw her on the desk and part her legs, see the petals and the whorls of a woman and I fumble with my fastenings. It is never pretty in my dreams. I am hard and ready- I coat myself in her wetness and then shaft deep, she moans, it is enough to fire me and I fuck...fuck...fuck...... Jack leant back his eyes closed as I lapped and licked, rasped and nibbled. He was so close, but he was holding on, enjoying this delicious torture too much, belying his own words that a man simply wants release and nothing else.

"Some times I dreamed of Sophie- but it was a different Sophie. Not the timid Sophie of our marriage bed but my fantasy wife who glorified in my body as I did in hers. I would slip down her night shirt and her beautiful slender perfection would be displayed. She would beg me to love her, writhe and fall beneath my hands, kneel to fellate me while I tumbled her long blonde hair in my fingers. As we both came later, when I was deep within her body she would cry my name and tell me how much she loved my body, how much pleasure I gave her...my Sophie...how I wish she had known the joy I longed to give her..."

I pulled away at that moment, wishing to comfort him, but it was the wrong time entirely. Jack had worked himself up as much as I had and as he broke off speaking to roar his coming, he let fly a steady stream of semen that spattered over my face, in my hair, on the sheet, over himself, on my wrist- we even found some threads later hanging from the lamp shade on the bed side table.

For a stunned moment there was silence as Jack regained his composure and I reeled from his intense artillery blast. And then we began to laugh...and laugh...and laugh. I was dripping in the stuff. It was extremely un-erotic and very uncomfortable. That made us laugh even more. With a box of tissues, Jack attempted, in his rather rough and ready manner, to mop me up, only managing to smear me even more so. I observed"Where is Killick when you need him?" And that set us off even further as Jack took his cue:

"Light along a damp cloth there, you old fool. The lady is in a bad way. Make sure you get her ship shape. And what about my cock...come on, shake a leg there. It's damned uncomfortable. What d'ya mean, I've got stains on the brocade? Then get a lime on it or some soda crystals...do what you are good at, man. And I expect that you polish this knob up until it's gleaming. Family jewels. Need to make a good impression."

As we slipped out of bed, still laughing, and took ourselves off to the shower, we spent a very silly ten minutes re-enacting Killick and Jack in the scene.

"Which I am trying to do, sir, but the lady will not keep still. It appears she has not had satisfaction. Perhaps I could attend to that while you are taking your morning swim?"

"Keep your dick to yourself, man. That's my next move. I was only testing the gun out, clearing the barrels. Give some me some room and I'll light the main charge presently. Get below when the real action starts. Expect maximum fire power and deafening noise. She will go down with a bang!" And so on.

That early morning scene sort of set the tenor for the day, really. Jack had arrived the evening before in a disguise which was a crack up. He has about as much ability to disguise himself as I have to sail a frigate. He was wearing a blue track suit with a black gilet, a baseball cap, trainers and hadn't shaved. Guess who he looked a dead ringer for? Jack Aubrey? No way. Russell Crowe? Exactly. It was November in New York and everyone in the world had seen the publicity for the films, most had seen Leno and a good crowd had taken in the film itself. So Jack made discovery even more likely by going underground as Crowe. He's totally nuts- we make a great pair, don't we?

I don't know whether he escaped detection on the way in (he reckoned he had) but I have my doubts. No doubt the papers will have shots of him 'wigged up' and sneaking about. But that was as far as I was prepared to allow it to go. This wasn't really a joke. I have no wish to make life difficult for Russ- it is bad enough as it is to live in the goldfish bowl he inhabits without us making to worse. If Jack is seen in New York with a woman who isn't a small blonde and seven months' pregnant then Russ is in big, big trouble. Especially as he was once seen before with her- remember Lotta Lamarre and her restaurant incident? Newspapers have long memories.

Jack and I were going to have to be very circumspect indeed. In fact, I had more or less decided that we ought to spend the entire few days in the suite and find alternative methods of amusing ourselves. That should tax us both. Ha ha ha.

Well, after out early morning misfire, we showered, ate breakfast- well Jack did, I simply sipped herbal tea and tried not to heave at the amounts he was shifting. Ann must spend a fortune at the grocery store. Then I got wrapped up and went to the nearest department store to buy some games. Look- I mean it. We needed something to do to amuse us. So I bought Scrabble and Cluedo and chess and backgammon and a couple of packs of cards, figuring that Jack would be great fun to play board games with.

He was waiting for me when I got back, embroiled in a cricket match from India, and I had to leave him alone for a while so that he could shout. "Well done sir!" And "Howzat!" And "That is pure gamesmanship, you scrub, play the game like an Englishman!" He really doesn't get the modern professional game; he is much happier with the gentlemanly notions of conduct and long leisurely innings that go nowhere than the need for quick victory to please the sponsors.

Finally he was back in the world of the living rather the living dead (cricket is pretty boring if you're not a fan) and then he wanted lunch, so we had to order up half of the menu until he was satisfied. I nibbled round the edges and gave up trying to keep up with him. Once he was satisfied and loosened with a few glasses of Burgundy, I tried him on the games. His eyes lit up on the chess- so we started with that. He's good at chess. I am crap. It didn't last long but I had to put up with a long lecture about tactics and play which went right over my head. I am such a duffer at anything like that. But Jack was very sweet and kept going over it again and again until I retorted that I was only good at anything if there was sex in it -and he had to agree that was probably my forte.

So we moved onto Scrabble. I'm good with words and so is Jack, although he is not the world's best speller. He claims that "We spelt it in that way in my day!" if I tell him that he is wrong but I know he's lying. There has never been an alternative spelling of 'wash' to my knowledge. We did have a lot of discussions about that and he tried to pull Captain's privilege on me a few times but I wasn't having that. Not unless privilege involved the contents of his pants and my knickers. But he was in a serious mood and there was no shaking him from the fight. In the end I took the prizes so he was put out, Jack hates to lose, so he eyed up the rest of the parcels and settled on the cards, with an inscrutable look of determination on his face.

He lit a cigar, poured himself a brandy and set to work to skin me alive. As you are probably aware, Jack isn't the world's best card player- if Stephen or Terry had been here, they would probably have creamed him, but he wasn't exactly playing against The Cincinatti Kid, was he? I have probably mentioned before that cards muddle me up- I can never remember the rules of a game nor do I seem to pick up on the tactics involved. I am not allowed to either join in or watch if Terry is playing with the guys, as I usually inadvertently give the game away and Terry has a fit with me. I knew Jack would be more lenient,so I told him to teach me a card game that would have been popular in his day. I emptied my purse on the table and counted piles of small coins ready for some serious gambling. Jack grinned.

"If I play, I play for higher stakes than a few pennies. Name your price. What are we playing for?" He sat back, drew on his cigar and looked pleased with himself.

I had a think. Firstly, I was never, ever going to beat him at cards unless I tricked him and I don't think I know enough about the game to do that. So he was going to win. As a result I must make the prize one that he would accept and I would also like. As for what I demanded of him- it wasn't going to happen, was it, so I could have anything I liked, in theory.

"If you win, I will play cabin boys and captains with you... '.a naughty little reefer annoys the Captain by failing to correctly identify a signal from a passing ship. Captain orders said boy to his cabin for punishment. The boy nervously knocks on the door to the Great cabin and the Captain barks "Enter!" He standing there with his cat ready for the flogging, thumping it against his muscular thigh in warning. The boy trembles.

"Take your breeches off and be quick about it," shouts the captain, "I haven't got all day."

The lad lowers his worn breeches, his back turned in embarrassment. He is in his linens. 

"And the drawers! Must I strip you myself?"

Off come the linens and the boy stands shivering, his small buttocks quivering in fear. The Captain finds himself oddly attracted to the peach-like downy skin and mentally berates himself. He has been a long time at sea but there is no excuse for sodomy or bestial thoughts...

"Turn round! You think I've never seen a little prick before?" The boy swallows and turns, his hands covering his member. The boy has a very girlish shape, narrow-waisted and even small breasts...Again the Captain curses himself for his prurient gaze. The child is young yet, young boys often have the soft fleshiness of women until they begin to develop and go lean.

"Over here, boy. Bend over my knee." The boy bends over, tilting his little buttocks as he rests them on his master's muscular thighs. He is shaking with fear. His legs part slightly and he tenses himself for the first lick of the cat. As he raises his hand, the Captain notices something. Between the boy's legs, where he should not have been looking by rights, he notices a wisp of curly hair. Something strikes him as out of place. He looks more carefully. This boy has no balls. Realisation dawns on his as he thrusts the thighs apart and reveals the naked snatch of a tender young woman....'

"OK Jack...you win, we play Captain and cabin boy...you up for it?"

Jack grinned broadly, shaking his head in mock disapproval but clearly more than 'up for it'. "And if you win, Madame?" He asked his eyes glinting wickedly, in the unlikely event of such a turnabout occurring.

I pouted and preened. "If I win, you take me to Tiffany's and buy me a pair of pearl drop earrings in memory of your premature discharge this morning. It will be our little joke..."

He chuckled and the bet was set. Jack was ready for a rousing game of cards followed by a diverting afternoon of sex play. The chance of his having to fork out and remember his mis-cocked gun was slim.

You can guess the rest. He explained the rules of piquet. I got a rough idea and then he dealt me the million-to-one, once in a lifetime, can only happen to a novice, hand. Even allowing for my lack of realization of the actual weapon I had been given, I was still in the driving seat and couldn't have lost it if I had tried. So there we were. No sea games but a trip to the most high profile jewelers in town on the cards.

"I was only joking, Jack. Let's play the hand again," I tried feebly to escape.

"Never in life, ma'am. A gentleman's word is his bond. Let us get ready to cross the city and purchase your pearls."

OH MY GOD!

I sat Jack down and gave him a good talking to. He had to realize that if he was to travel around New York in my company then we were risking Russell's reputation mightily and it would not be seemly for us to do that to him. Jack agreed.

"So we need a disguise- and I do not mean that pathetic rig you came in last night, right?"

He nodded. "Bear suit?" 

I groaned. "Jack, this is serious, you have to see that."

"I am serious. I shall call the hotel barber and have my hair dyed- brown perhaps, something unremarkable. Perhaps I could have it cut short...it might be appropriate to wear a more modern style..."

"Jack! Are you mental? Firstly, Russell is now sporting short brown hair and a beard. Is that unremarkable enough for you? Secondly... the other Sisters would flay me alive, tear me limb from limb and throw the pieces in the Hudson River if I dared. I think I would do it to myself too if I allowed myself to damage a single hair of your golden head. And thirdly...Terry would be beside himself that you were all trying to look like him...you know what a pathetic sense of humour he has. We cannot feed him lines. No, Jack, your best disguise is to look like a man who looks a bit like Jack Aubrey but nothing like Russell Crowe. You got that?

We spent the next hour thinking. I went through his luggage and I pulled out a fairly innocuous pair of beige slacks and a navy ribbed sweater. Russ would never be seen dead in such standard casually elegant fare. So we decided to go for that. Then he pulled out a tailored sports jacket. It was quite smart but a bit like something my Dad would wear- fine, Jack, that will do nicely. Brown brogues and a white shirt beneath the jumper finished off the look. It screamed Upper West Side, old money. About as far away from Russell as it is possible to be.

But the hair! Guys like our grown up preppy never had long blond hair. So? Hide it. I ran down to the expensive outfitters in the foyer of the hotel, bought one of those tweedy caps that upper class twits wear to go hunting, shooting and fishing, and then raced back to the suite. Using a million hair grips and a small net- Jack nearly died when he saw what I was doing to him- I managed to pin up his hair, disguise its length, pull out enough to imply a fringe and something round his ears and then relied on the cap and his sideburns to do the rest. I made him shave really closely - Russell wouldn't even cross anyone's mind.

He looked at himself in the long mirror and pulled a most disgusted face. "I look like a buffoon," he muttered. Good, now let's just make sure he acts like one and then we are home free.

Taxi to Tiffany's- easy peasy- no one saw us really. Next we slipped quietly into the hallowed halls and browsed through some display cases, expecting any moment for the hand of fate to descend and some nosy assistant saying... "Can I help you, Mr Crowe?"

"Can I help you, Mr Crowe?" I nearly died. Jack's head shot up in horror as we both turned to the sound of the voice. But we had an even greater shock waiting for us. There at the next display case was Russell Crowe, smartly dressed and sporting brown unruly short hair and a light beard. I, of course, got it all wrong.

"Terry? What are you doing here?"

'Terry' ignored me while the guy next to him said "Do I know you?" Confusion reigned. Russell turned to follow the conversation, saw the sight before him, snorted and put his head in his hands trying not to laugh too much.

"Fuck me if it isn't Lotta and my old mate Jack! Watch her, mate, she packs a punch."

Let me explain. Russell and his brother, Terry, had decided to call into Tiffany's to buy gifts for the folks back home. You couldn't have made this up. Of course, Russ recognized Jack's pathetic disguise - and would he ever forget me after what I had done?

Once I got over my surprise, it worked fairly well. No one took a blind bit of notice of me and Jack, as Russell was the man of the hour. In fact he wasn't even shopping as it turned out- it was his brother who was buying something for his wife's birthday. However, he did pick up a little baby anklet in gold, with a tiny bell. He asked me what I thought. I thought it was perfect. He bought it.

Jack and I looked around for earrings but as you might imagine, I changed my mind. I saw something else that I wanted and he bought me that instead. What was it, do you ask? Mind your own business. But it won't remind Jack of his very untypical premature discharge. It will remind him of quite a different moment entirely.

As he was about to leave, Russ turned and winked over. He had been great, immediately aware that Jack needed him to draw the attention away and doing just that by being rather loud and a bit demanding. Nothing at all like Russ, of course. But the look that passed between us all as he took his leave said everything. I wondered quite how it had come to pass and then again was struck by the synchronicity of our world. And then I was disturbed from my reveries by a burly man walking up and addressing me.

"Mr. Crowe suggested these might help. He said they should be butt-ugly enough to do the trick." Jack and I looked at the proffered gift: a pair of hideous sun glasses with visor- like frames. I remember Russ wearing them on a picture I had seen last year. What a guy! I imagined him always having the last laugh on the hacks. Maybe he wasn't in such a goldfish bowl as I had thought. He might be on the outside looking in at them.

We didn't venture out together again. The rest of the short visit was spent in the confines of our suite. We still had games to play... Hadn't even opened the Cluedo yet....