It has been six weeks. A mere hop and skip compared to the voyages I once navigated which might last for a year or more - if chance and accident did not befall us. I was always known for my desire to 'Lose not a minute' but that has to be seen in context. Everything took longer then and we were experts at the games of Patience and Solitaire.

I wonder when I lost that facility?

There is no doubt that I enjoyed the sail. It was sheer joy to have the command of a swift sailer under my hand again, this beautiful tall ship with its stately progress and solid heart. No modern craft can equal a sailing ship when it is handled by a man who knows his trade.

There is no better than I in this world. That is not in any doubt. And my prestige is becoming known in the circles that matter to me. The best captain of a rigged ship alive. The commissions are coming in and I am now at liberty to take my pick. Film and television crews, scientific expeditions, historical re-creations, navigational experiments, rich men with hobbies, adventure racers, Outward Bound quests - the people who contact me are from very diverse walks of life. The conversation in my Great Cabin is often fascinating and enlightening. I have found a way to be a man again in this strange modern era.

But I miss her so.

I wonder sometimes at nights lying in my berth why I cannot simply adjust to loneliness and the absence of a woman as I once did. How did I do it then? Well, I was not a faithful husband by any stretch of the imagination and regularly took my pleasure with doxies or ladies of easy virtue whenever we made shore. I cannot pretend I kept my marriage vows so assiduously as all that. But at sea there were often months on end when there was no question of a woman to ease my lonely heart or my aching prick. I resorted to the usual - ice cold dips in the sea, drinking myself into oblivion, consenting to one of Stephen's infernal enemas or when I could not tolerate my importunate prick any longer - then a touch of onanism. I never liked the latter method for it is unmanly and weak - but what man can say he hasn't resorted to it in the dark of the night when sleep will not come?

Now I just moon about and think of her. 

What is she doing? Is she lonely? How does she pass her days? Has she enough money? Does she ever think of me? Reason tells me she must feel much as I do but a part of me fears that out of sight, I may be out of her mind. I don't mean to imply she is faithless or shallow but she is a woman who has known many men and is used to their company. She is a social butterfly never happier than when in a crowd, dressed to kill and holding the attention of all and sundry. How will she live in that quiet cottage far away from her natural habitat? It would be like taking Jack Aubrey and placing him at court. How long would that folly last before it became obvious that he was misplaced and uncomfortable?

Someone once said 'Love Conquers All' - the Bard perhaps? I forget. I wonder if it ever can. My life has been one of absolutes and realities, not the declarations of poets. Nothing conquers all. Life is life. It meanders like a river from tumbling waterfall down a mountain slope, to stagnant pond, to fast flowing waterway, to lazy delta - not to mention the myriad of streams that trickle away to disappear underground or end in a stinking drain or foetid marsh. What lies ahead for me, I cannot say. Nor can she. All we really have is hope and spirit and the sweat of our brows.

Does a modern woman think like that? Can she be patient? It is not a word I would associate with that lady. Am I guilty of a disservice in that I do not trust her enough? My mind seethes with possibilities - both good and bad - and I wonder at where my certitude has gone. When we were together I never doubted her - now I am shamefully distrustful. What seed of doubt, what insecurity lurks in my breast? How separation makes one look into oneself and strips bare the essence of love!

I could travel the seas and never find a one such as her. But can I believe that I am such a man for her?

 

Late night and I leave the ship, handing it over to the company who own it all, ledgers complete and documents approved. My bank manager will breathe a sigh of relief at the decent sum this jaunt has earned. Saying my farewells, I wander along the portside, a kit bag slung across my shoulders. I am hungry and thirsty and before me stands the welcome lights of a hostelry. It is an old building and may well be the original inn that stood here in my day - it is hard to correctly assess my bearings as the landscape is so changed in Portsmouth - as much as everywhere else.

Wandering in, I order a pint of home brewed ale and a game pie before taking a seat by the wall, idly watching the news on the TV screen above me. It is a mid-week night and only the regulars are out and about, apart from the occasional sailor or merchant sea man who has ventured in. My food arrives and I eat quickly as is my usual fashion. The waitress brings across a fresh pint of beer.

"Mind if I sit down?"

A woman slides in next to me, placing her drink on the table next to mine. I look up and continue eating. I know what she is. She knows what I am.

"Been away long, lovie?"

I shrug. "Long enough."

"Sounds like you could do with a bit of comfort. Eat up and I'll show you a good time." She was young and pretty in a pale, unhealthy way; too many late nights, too many cigarettes, pills, drinks, men - whatever is the poison of this day. It hasn't really changed much.

"I am well, thank you. I need nothing." I returned to my plate and paid her no mind.

She remained seated. I carried on eating and when my plate was empty, I drained back the glass of beer and observed her again. For a slim woman she had full and heavy breasts, displayed in a tight blouse, and despite my lack of real interest, my nature made my eyes slide over the straining fabric and the image of her naked flesh in my hands darted across my mind. I am not a man given to denial or much troubled by conscience where sins of the flesh are concerned. It always strikes me that it is an exchange like any other, and as long as both parties understand the term of the engagement then what is the point in false morality? To slake one's need on a willing whore is of no more significance in the grander scheme of things than for a hungry man to break fast with a crust of bread. It never spoils the appetite for the real feast waiting ahead.

I glanced at her again, my interest awoken and now openly considering her. Her pretty wan face was made up with too much kohl on her eyes and too little rouge on her lips; it made her look consumptive, but that is a fashion these days. She brushed a few strands of her thin blonde hair from her cheeks; she was wearing her locks in one of those untidy topknots. My eyes wandered down; she crossed her legs, baring more of her upper thighs under the short leather skirt, her slender ankle circling as the toe of her high heeled shoe stroked against my leg.

Sitting back, pushing my plate away and regarding her thoughtfully, I took a drink while she lit up a cigarette and waited on my response, her manner confident of business almost secured, a slight smile on her thin lips as she gave me an open appraisal.

"May I buy you another drink?

"Yeah...Rum and coke..." I eased from the seat and went to the bar, ordering the round, the waiter giving me the eye.

"She bothering you? It's a cold night. The boss'd chase her out but he's not around tonight..."

I shook my head. "It's quite all right..." he grinned and made a crude gesture with his fist.

"Been a while, eh? Ya must be desperate..."

I ignored his comment and carried back the drinks. She accepted hers without comment, waited until I had sat down again and then slipped into the bench next to me, running her hand along my thigh. "Made your mind up yet, handsome?"

I took a long drink and thought about the long drive ahead. It would make sense to wait until morning. Stay here and get some rest, then an early start when it was light. Tonight was bitterly cold and rainy. What was the point in setting out when I was tired?

The point was this; that I would reach her side before another dawn and could set my fears at rest. And feel her hands in mine and watch her eyes sparkle and hold her to me and remember why I am doing all this. There was never really any choice. I drained my glass and stood up. "Thank you for your company, my dear. Make your drink last...it's a cold night out." I threw down a note and pushed it across to her. She rested her hand over mine.

"That buys you a lot more company than you've had already, mister..."

"No, that buys you a little more time alone..." I smiled gently and withdrew my hand.

"She must be special," the woman muttered. "The one you can't wait to get home to..."

I nodded. "She is."

I hoisted my bag and strode out to brave the stormy mid-December night, put on my woolen cap and pulled my collar round my face as I trudged towards the car hire centre. The sleepy young attendant gave me a cursory glance as I filled in the forms. I could deliver it to Plymouth. It made no difference to him. He tossed a set of keys at me and pointed it out in the parking bay outside. Moments later, I was stowing my bag and gratefully easing myself behind the wheel, engine on and heater already warming my cold body as I pulled out and began the long ride home.

 

I played with the radio, found a news channel, listened until it irritated me, voices droning with nothing but ill tidings, turned to the classical music and let it wash over me. It was fairly modern, the Romantic era that I am just attuning my ear to; I believe some ballet music...Tchaikovsky, perhaps? It is almost Christmas time and this was the Nutcracker, which is set on a Christmas Eve according to the introduction. I made a mental note to try and find the sheet music. It might be something Uma would like at Christmas time if I played her a selection from this seasonal piece.

I smiled at myself. Everything comes back to her. I seem incapable of planning ahead without reference to her. Once I was a man who rarely put my home life into the equation when I made decisions. Of course, everything I did was for them in one sense - it was my duty, my privilege as a husband and father...but I cannot say I ever considered them when I stayed away for years and left them to the vagaries of life. It was their lot in life and that was that. But now, I have grown softer and I remember all those months when we were inseparable, every night lying in each other's arms, every day beginning with her soft touch. I have learnt companionship with a woman. I never knew that in my former existence. I only ever experienced that with men.

With the right woman it is the perfect balance. Love, friendship, support and laughter - with a healthy dose of temper, stubbornness, honesty and that singular logic that women possess to leaven the whole and prevent me from ever becoming too complaisant or sure of myself. That was the one limitation of command. I was above censure for most of the time and thus was ever in danger of believing my own infallibility. There is no danger of that with a woman like Uma.

The music was almost too lulling, the heater blasting out too much warmth; I found myself drifting dangerously close to sleep. Winding down the window, I let the chill night in and the sharp whip of cold wind swirling round to waken me up. I changed the channel and leaned my head against the rim of the window as I drove on into the night. The music was modern, late night easy listening, ballads and love songs and the usual fare. I rather like a lot of this. These short little songs tell a story much like the folk songs of my day.

 

The road stretched out ahead, endless and dark, lit only by the beam of my headlights and blurred by the rain that beat down relentlessly as I covered mile after mile. I wondered at how she had coped while I had been away. It occurred to me that it was easier for me to be away than for her. She is all alone in that lonely cottage with few friends and trying to revive her career without much support. The worry of bills and debts were left to her to face on a daily basis while I was at least surrounded by others and constantly occupied, even if at the cost of separation. I had never thought such things  about Sophie when I had similarly deserted her, often with greater financial woes, heavily pregnant or with children and an ailing mother to contend with. But times were different then and such was the life all wives of sailors expected, such were the responsibilities of women; their world was quite interior and apart from that of a man.

Uma has other expectations of life and from her man; in that sense she resembles Diana more than Sophie. Uma is a woman of the world, used to male company, taking her pleasures freely by choice, uninhibited where Sophie was prudish and shy, given to whim and that mercurial mood swing that makes her dangerous when bored or frustrated. I never really had much fear that Sophie would not be there waiting faithfully for my return, apart from an occasional fit of jealousy when her letters mentioned male acquaintances or we had been suffering a period of conflict- I have to admit, mostly caused by some infidelity of mine own. But what man can abandon a spirited beauty like Uma to her own devices and not entertain the possible consequences should some buck set his eyes on her and she have her head turned in her lonely vigil?

A song came over the radio. It appeared to have been written with me in mind, or by someone whose life had fallen into a similar pattern over the years. A rueful smile came to my lips as I listened to the plaintive voice sing the lyrics.

 

 

A dozen names. More like two dozen. I can't believe they have all cast her from their minds. I doubt if any of them have. Whilst we were away communications were limited but now, back on the land, she no doubt spends hours of her evening with little else to do that make phone calls or send emails or chat online. I can't imagine she won't have been in touch to find out how they are; it is impossible that they would have refused to speak with her, no matter their other allegiances.

Has she received any visitors? Would she go back to that lifestyle? In one sense I cannot believe she would - and yet...would it be any more of a betrayal than if I had taken that whore to bed? Morally she would have no problem with it. Historically she has known them before. Realistically wouldn't she just crave the contact and protection? Why should I care? I have to accept that in this world anything I can do must be open to her as well.

But I can't and never will. The thought of her in another man's arms makes me physically sick. It makes ire rise in my belly and threaten to engulf me. It makes my head ache and my body seek action to cloud the images that taunt me. I have suffered these waking nightmares now for six weeks and the nearer I am to her, the worse the nagging dread becomes. I should trust her. I do trust her.

But I know life. I know frailty. I know the limitations of every man and woman. I should know them. No man - or woman- is as weak as I when self-denial is required.

 

 

Then there is the other factor. He is back in UK now. Uma has been in London- one of her emails said as much. She said she was seeing some old friends. She even mentioned his name. '...Terry took me to lunch the other day. He's in love. Head over heels. I adore him like this. He doesn't know if he's coming or going...'

She didn't mention the woman. I wonder if that lady felt as I did at the thought of those two ex-lovers together? I cannot pretend to no sense of unease at imagining them together. What would they talk about? The past? Old memories? Shared experiences? The present? Their new partners? Surely they would not reveal intimacies? But they know each other so well and must be used to speaking freely. The future? Does their new-found friendship hold the possibility of reigniting past passions? It might - no matter that they love others or may never have expected to find themselves there. But the heart is an unpredictable organ at the best of times - and they once loved deeply. I have no doubt of that. Nor can I find it in my heart to resent their bond. He was there first. I have other memories I would not relinquish. We are the sum total of whom we have loved and how they have loved us. That is how we grow. Our hearts are never virgin when we give ourselves to some new lover.

But man is by his nature competitive and sees other men as his rivals. I fear what I cannot control. I do not easily hand over governance of my life to others. Of my heart even less. But it occurs to me that she may have a different outlook. What does a woman feel like when she sees her life decided for her by the fate of the man she has washed up with? Is there ever a desire to be her own commander again?

 

 

I pulled in at a service stop to answer a call of nature and stretch my legs. It was deserted, two a.m. on a foul night. What good Christian would be out at such an hour but someone up to no good? I touched my own cock as I let forth a stream of piss and felt a passing lust. My thoughts of her were not all to do with love. I also missed her body and her attentions. Few women have offered me such freedom with their bodies - except for those who had demanded payment and allowed the invasion with an eye to the candle burning. I have grown used of late to unbridled passion and my urges were un-reined. My mind conjures up wild, crude abandon in the dark of the night and my body responds with its usual surge of blood.

I ran cold water over my face and stared at my reflection. My eyes looked haunted, dark rimmed and weary. In the small cafeteria, I bought a coffee that tasted like bilge water but it would have to do. Stirring sugar into it, I watched the swirling black beverage and saw myself sucked down into her in the vortex of the spoon. I wanted to be part of her again. Buried deep inside, my body pressed against hers covering her with my bulk and strength and feeling her surge and moan helpless in my arms. Why is it that a man needs to know he can make his woman weak and weep with his touch? What secret comfort is that to his pride, what bulwark to his frailty? It is as wondrous as the need she has to behold my size and strength and rough-hewn body pressed against her delicate ivory.

The visions stirred my lust and as I drank down the bitter cup, I struggled with my passion until it drove me to stand out in the cruel night and take a few deep breaths of air. My heart rate began to slow down and I forced the sense of unease away from me. She was waiting for me fast asleep and soon I would be home. There was nothing to fear. But the night is full of shadows and dark things and once a spectre of foreboding rears its ugly menace before a susceptible mind, it is not an easy thing to thrust the nighttime fear back in the cave where it belongs.

I stiffened my jaw and strode forth back to my car. There is ever only one way to look one's fear. In the eye.

The last miles dragged even more than the earlier ones; it was as if the nearer I came my heart both surged and yet my legs grew heavy at the same time. I knew much of it was simply exhaustion and loneliness, the wearied ramblings of a feverish brain.

I tried to think of something else, let my mind roam around the events of the past few weeks since I had been away. I had flown to California to meet the owners of the ship and receive my briefing before traveling to the eastern seaboard where she was berthed. I had made several visits to a few old friends before I had flown on to Boston and the memory of that did bring some consolation to my melancholy. I even found myself smiling wickedly at the recollection and humming an old ditty almost absentmindedly; it took the tension from the final weary drive.

Every journey ends no matter how far away the road began. Shortly after four a.m. I eased the car along the dirt track off the tiny country lane and down into the dense blackness that led to my cottage on the headland. Only the stark pinpoint lights of my main beam guided me.

Not so.

As I rounded the corner to enter at the back of the cottage I saw a light burning in the room upstairs, its soft glow spilling out to the pebbled yard below. She was not asleep. Why would a woman be awake at this time of the morning?

The fear seized me again. Dear God, not a lover. Not another man keeping her from sleep in the depth of this cruel night? I should have called her and informed her of my arrival. Did I have the right to sneak up on her as if I did not trust her? I cursed softly when I touched the latch of the kitchen door. Open. She is so careless about such things. Perhaps she is in danger even now? I suspect her fidelity while she is in the hands of some foul intruder? My heart beat to quarters in my chest as I mounted the stairs, dropping my coat and bag noiselessly in the tiny hallway.

The door of our room was open. I could hear the soft distant strains of  a Bruch's Violin Concerto. She is introducing me to the Romantic era and this is a favourite of hers. She once said that it is like musical tears for a lonely heart. I have played it for her many times and she always silently weeps until the crescendo when she would say "He has come home to her! Can't you hear the sun rise and fall upon his face as she catches sight of him and races to his arms?" She has such a vivid imagination. She enables me to see her dreams.

I stopped and listened to the soaring strings but then a voice cut through the sweetness. A man's voice, muted and low, impossible to hear clearly what he was saying. I felt my body freeze, my legs leaden and forced them to climb the remaining steps, drove myself to face the nemesis waiting for me.

The door was open. On a high backed wing tipped chair she lay, her head thrown back and her leg raised over the arm. She was naked but wrapped loosely in a vivid emerald silk Japanese wrap which shimmered and picked up the glow of the lamp. The TV flickered: the man's voice was mine. Her pale slender hand stroked between her parted legs as she whimpered softly and then I heard the soft whisper of my name as her body bucked and she found the pleasure she had been seeking: "JACK!!!! OH, JACK!!!!"

Relief and joy rolled from me like a tight skin shed. All I had in life was before me. All I wanted. That I had ever doubted her!  Here she was sleepless and fretful, trying to conjure me up with music and film and memory to find peace in her lonely vigil. At first I could do no more than watch as her body rose and fell, her eyelids fluttered, a flush stole over her pale skin and I observed the intimate stages of her descent from heaven back to the cold reality of her room. I watched like a hungry wolf, eyes piercing and tongue already salivating at the scent of her arousal in the air. My prick hardened, my heart sang and my eyes grew misty at the privilege of what I had witnessed.

Her eyes must have opened for she let out a little gasp as she saw me standing there leaning heavily against the door frame. Again she said my name but almost no sound emitted from her lips this time.

Then she moved. Rising slowly from the chair, she tried a tentative smile. "Are you real? Did I imagine you, like a phantasm?"

I responded with a gentle smile. "I am here. No ghost but a solid man, flesh and blood...."

Her face broke into a wide grin and she bounded across the room. I caught her in my arms and embraced her, crushing her against my body, inhaling her unique scent.

"Oh Jack, I didn't want you to see that," she gasped hiding her face against my shoulder. "I am so sorry...I couldn't sleep...I needed to....I was so alone...missing you so much....couldn't sleep...didn't know where you were...longed to feel you again...why didn't you call me?"

Her thoughts tumbled out in a breathless rush as she clung onto me. I swung her up and carried her to the chair, sitting down and pulling her face from my neck where she was still embarrassed at the state I had witnessed. "There, there! What is all this? There is nothing that shames you before me! I am your love, your own Jack. Think you that any man, world weary and low, would not rejoice to know that waiting for him was an incomparable woman who loved him so much that she lay awake at night dreaming of his return. That she lies touching herself in sleepy languor in imitation of his touch, imagining his voice, hearing him play his music for her, filling her senses with his memory alone. Uma...it is how I wish to dream you when I lie awake in restless fever for need of you. What I just saw told me more than any words could convey...."

I kissed her sweet lips, slipped deep within her mouth and felt the warm familiar comfort that only her embrace now brings me. She was naked; I was clothed. The rough textures of my heavy winter wear were rough against her tender skin but she appeared to give it no mind as she let me touch and caress her neck, her breasts, her silken thighs, the warm haven between her legs.

She was already aroused and languid with self induced passion; I was heady with desire. Standing up, I stumbled to the bed where we both tumbled; she helped me divest myself of my clothes with gentle movements, removing each and tossing it aside as I lay back on the bed and watched her. The robe hung from her shoulders, carelessly arrayed, her now longer and tangled hair fell about her shoulders; I thought I had never seen such a perfect sight in all my life.

Finally I was naked as she and we smiled at each other so displayed, our intimate selves laid bare, all the coverings of the world gone and just the bodies that we had been given to love each other with.  She knelt before me and stroked my manhood, giggled as it bobbed about, as hypnotised by her nearness as I was, its eye fixed on her as she bent and placed her own lips on my engorged head.

"I cannot stand it!" I whispered as I lay her back and parted her thighs, inhaled and then kissed, tasted and drank from her well. My clumsy fingers parted the delicate flesh, the swollen petals like a fragile bloom. How wonderful a woman is! What a thing of beauty nestles there, hidden to all but the most favoured lover! She was sensitive and open to me, moist and moaning, even before my fingers penetrated and stimulated her to writhe before me; I was burning to be joined with her. Tonight was not the time for lengthy love games.

"Jack! Don't wait! Now! Take me....deep....deep...deep...."

I rose and found her rich woman-scented secret. Down I slid, my mind already losing what little grip it had on sanity at the impossible beauty of the tight warm wet sheath. She held me as I rose and fell, muttered sweet things, stray thoughts, wrapped herself about me as soft and sensuous as the silk that lay beneath us. Her lean hip bones ground against me as we joined as deep as a man and woman can be, my cock battering her womb, demanding entrance in that primal urge a man has to board, take, enter and possess. But it was matched by her own feverish desire to surround me within herself, to nurture, love and hold. I felt as though my entire body was being drawn into some cloud of peace and safety as I let myself go, almost beyond thought or imagination, just sensation and the mellifluous comfort of her well-loved voice. And with a sigh, much as a child finds comfort at his mother's breast, I shuddered and spent, helpless and gasping, my frailty offered to her.

She did not come. I know that. I doubt she cared and in that moment, much as I adore to bring her to that wonderful release, I realized how little it mattered in the greater scheme of things. This moment, she was giving her tenderest care to her lonely sailor home from the sea. It was love not passion she was bestowing, a healing act to restore me and bring me back under her wing. Time enough in the days to come for adventure and play and passionate games. I would make up for my failure a hundred times when my strength and vigour were regained.

"Jack....I was so afraid. I thought that out there in the world you would meet women who might suit you more than I do. I want you to be happy but the thought that another woman might claim you and turn you from me almost drove me mad. Never leave me, Jack! I swear that I will never make you regret your affection for me....how I have ached for your touch! How I have feared that you might....!"

Her frantic words pierced through my passion soaked brain. What fools are we men and women! That both of us had burned in equal measure - ardour and doubt alike, longing and insecurity, and all the time neither of us had anything before our eyes but each other.

I pulled her to my chest and enfolded her in my arms, my lips finding her ear and kissing as I muttered, my hand cupping her tender little nipple and rolling the peaked flesh tenderly. "No fears. No doubt. Never again. There is only you for me. And only I for you. Nothing else really exists for me anymore, wherever I am or wherever I go."

Tears bubbled up from her eyes and again she buried herself against my chest. My spent cock drooped moist and wrinkled, no more the proud weapon of my driving desire; she wriggled until it lay snug against her thigh, I lay on my side and hushed her to quiet.  Her sobs subsided to sighs and then the deep calm breathing of slumber took her in its gentle embrace. My hand caressed her slender form and my body covered her from the chill as I pulled the blankets around us. Cupping her sex in my hand, feeling the ooze of our mingled fluids, I sank back and let rest claim me too. Home.

 

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