by Donna Callea
This is where we’ll spend the night.
“Welcome to Rosie’s charging station and campground,” Nick tells us after we’ve dismounted.
The sun-cycles all have extra battery packs. But even so, they can only go so far without a charge. I should have realized that. We’re about halfway to Winnipeg.
Everyone gets busy setting up camp, while the captain goes to the house to make arrangements.
Then David follows the others as they line up their cycles for charges, and I help Cal, who’s brought along enough rations for an evening meal.
When David comes back, he’s all excited about Rosie’s set-up for generating power.
“It’s really impressive the way they rigged things up here,” he says. “There’s a medium sized creek out back with a 20-foot waterfall. Next to the falls are parallel sets of feed pipes for a dozen small hydro-turbine generators.”
I listen attentively, because he’s been trained in engineering, after all, and is naturally fascinated by mechanical things. Me, not so much. But the least I can do is feign interest.
“You’ve got to admire the ingenuity of the home-made piping arrangement,” he continues. “There are two supplies—one’s for house current, and the other feeds the chargers. Ten sun-cycles can be charged simultaneously at any time of day. Or two rovers.”
“Wow,” I say. It’s all I can think of to say.
Rosie and her four husbands and their various children don’t come out to greet us. No reason why they should. The campfire is kind of nice, though. And sleeping under the stars with David’s bedroll next to mine will be a welcome change from our cramped berths on the swaying Lady May.
But before we stretch out, as far away from the others as we reasonably can, the captain comes over to us.
“I need to speak with you two. Privately,” he says.
The others probably figure he’s going to give us an evaluation and let us know if we can continue to sail with him. So they don’t pay much attention.
We walk over to the charging station, where there’s light coming from Rosie’s windows.
“We’ll be in Winnipeg by tomorrow night,” the captain says.
“But not us. Not David and me,” I point out.
“When will we get to the settlements?” asks David.
“I’ve given this a lot of thought,” says the captain, “and I can’t just point you in the direction of a settlement, any settlement, and let you sink or swim. In any case, no one knows exactly where these places are except the miscreants who live there. And even if I did, it wouldn’t be right. I can’t believe I let Elizabeth get me into this.”
“What? What do you mean it wouldn’t be right? That’s what you promised to do. We have to get to a settlement,” I say, panic rising in my bound-up chest.
“And you will. But these monogamist settlements are not all alike. I don’t know much about them. I’ve told you that. But I do know that some are no doubt better, and safer for you, than others. I really don’t thing any of them castrate boys or kill babies. That’s just what the Coalition wants folks to think. But strange things probably do go on—strange practices you may not like. And what makes you think they’d all welcome you? Some might be thrilled to have you. Others might turn you away without a second glance. There are maybe five or six farming communes run by the monogamist out here. From what I’ve heard, each one is like a little town. Each one is different. Do you want to end up in the wrong town?”
“So what do we do?”
“You come to Winnipeg with the rest of us. There’s a woman I know there who’s had dealings with some of the so-called monogamists. She runs the place where we’ll be staying. I’ll get her to talk to you two. She’ll at least know which settlements you should avoid. And I can find out how to get you to one that’s probably okay. You’ve waited this long, you can wait until we’re ready to head back to Thunder Bay. Now get some sleep.”
What choice do we have?
“The captain is probably right,” whispers David after we crawl into our bedrolls.
“Yeah. And we’ll get to see Winnipeg. Maybe you can go to one of those places where they give you a pill and attach something to your penis and you can have the best wet dream of your life.”
“What do you know about wet dreams?”
“You forget that I’ve received a very comprehensive pre-marital education regarding male anatomical quirks.”
“And what kind of quirks do you have?”
“Only one. Of all the men in the world—or at least in the Coalition—there’s only one I love. And his is the only penis I ever want inside me.”
“I think that can be arranged.”
“And if anyone in Winnipeg offers you a pill, you better just say no.”
“Awww,” he says. “Really?”
I punch him in the ribs, and he grabs my hand.
We’re both scared, I think. But it helps to pretend we’re not.
The binding around my breasts is really starting to hurt. My head itches. My feet are freezing. My bottom is sore from being on the cycle all day. I haven’t bathed, really bathed, in way too long. And if I don’t fall asleep soon, I’ll probably start to cry.
I look up at the sky, dotted with a million stars. Then I turn and look at David, who’s looking at me.
“I love you,” he whispers.
“Me too.”
I close my eyes and dream that I can fly.
Chapter 23
David
The Birch and Bay
Winnipeg is all lit up. We can see the glow from miles away, as we approach on our sun-cycles, riding silently in the pitch dark. Then, as we get closer, the glow turns into twinkling lights that look like a thousands stars, all packed tight in one place.
It’s not a big city. Not bigger than Buffalo or Pittsburgh or Grand Rapids, from what the boys have said. But it’s certainly well powered. And from the looks of it, people here don’t go to bed early.
Before we enter the city, our convoy of sun-cycles pulls over, and the captain distributes pay envelopes filled with Coalition bills. Winnipeg doesn’t have its own currency. Coalition money is good there, we’re told. And it’s needed to pay, in advance, for lodging. I’m surprised when Rebekah and I are also handed envelopes. But I suppose it would look odd if we were left out.
The Birch and Bay, where the captain and his crew always stay, is a solid, three-story building with a lobby and dining hall on the first floor. Not fancy or plush. But it seems well-kept and comfortable.
Rebekah looks hopeful.
If I’m not mistaken, all during the last leg of the trip here, she’s been praying to The Designer for a hot bath and a clean bed. We’ve been told in advance that everyone doubles up here, since rooms are limited. So that was good news.
There’s a wide stone hearth in front of a fireplace, and some men, dressed ruggedly, are lounging in overstuffed chairs.
“Waiting for their appointments,” Billy tells me with a nudge and wink, as we line up to register, even though I didn’t ask.
Rebekah and I sign in as Rob Fine and David Fine, pay for two nights, and are given a room on the second floor. Then the clerk, an older man who looks kind of bored, asks us if we want to schedule any other services.
“Like what?” asks Rebekah before I can elbow her.
“New to Winnipeg, huh?” he says. Then he gives us each a paper, listing what’s available on the third floor and how much it costs in Coalition dollars.
“Don’t wait too long,” he says, “or you won’t be able to get an appointment.”
The boys from The Lady May evidently aren’t taking any chances. They look giddy with anticipation as we all take the stairs to our rooms. Most have scheduled appointments for later tonight or the next day. And they compare notes about who or what they’re getting, and when.
Rebekah’s getting a bath as soon as we get to our room. That’s all she cares about right now. She was delighted to learn that each room has a private bathro
om with hot running water. And, like our shipmates, she’s giddy with anticipation. Me too, I have to admit.
I want to take her to bed as soon as she strips off all her clothes. It’s been forever since we’ve had sex. But she’s having none of that, not right now. She wriggles out of my arms.
“Look at me,” she says, as if I could look at anything else. “I haven’t been clean since Kitchener. You either, David. We’re both going to be thoroughly bathed before we do anything at all.”
Okay. There’s no way I can win this discussion. And the bathtub looks big enough for two.
Once we get in, we shower off first with a hand-held nozzle, soaping up head to toe and rinsing off two or three times each, until Rebekah declares us thoroughly sanitized. I’m harder than a rock now, and I poke her in the back a few times. But she’s not taking the hint. Not yet. She has an agenda. She’s been planning how this is going to go for miles and miles on the road to Winnipeg.
After rinsing out the tub, she begins to fill it with water that’s still pleasingly hot. Then she instructs me to sit down, and she straddles me.
Ahh.
It’s over too quick. But then she sits between my legs, leans her back against my chest, and I put my arms around her as we soak.
“I’m glad the captain said we had to come here first. It wouldn’t have been good to show up at a settlement all grungy from the road,” she says.
“You think the monogamists will like us better clean?” I tease her. “What if they themselves are grungy all the time? Grungier than we were? What if that’s their lifestyle? You’ll have to adapt to having sex when we’re not quite so pristine. Who knows? Maybe they don’t take baths at all.”
“Very funny.” But then I can tell she’s thinking that just might be a possibility. There’s so much we don’t know.
When the water cools and we start to wrinkle, we get out and dry off with nice big towels. Rebekah throws our dirty underwear and socks in the tub, scrubs them a bit, and hangs them over the tub. No way they’ll be dry by morning. But at least they’ll be semi-clean, she says.
We go to bed naked. The clean sheets are evidently an aphrodisiac for Rebekah, because she’s energized and anxious to try out all sorts of positions.
When we’re both thoroughly spent, she asks me to rub her back and breasts.
The bindings have left indentations that, despite everything we’ve done tonight, have still not gone away.
Poor Rebekah. It must hurt to be wrapped up so tight all the time. To have to pretend you’re a boy when you’re actually a beautiful girl with full, lovely breasts.
I kiss her skin, flushed and sweet smelling, and then gently massage her, front and back.
“Mmmm. Feels so good, David. You make me feel so good.
I don’t stop until she falls asleep.
Look at me, I think to myself, as I settle next to her, my fingers on her hip, kneading of their own accord.
I’ve become a massage therapist after all. Grandma Gardener would be proud.
Chapter 24
David
A Chance Encounter
We look for the captain in the morning, but he’s not around.
“Doing business,” says Cal, the cook, between mouthfuls in the dining hall. Breakfast is included with the room rate, and he seems to be enjoying every minute of having someone else cook.
“We need to find him,” I say, after Rebekah and I sit down with him, our plates loaded with food from the buffet. Cal is the only Lost Boy in the dining hall. There’s a man sitting alone at another table. He looks to be about the age of my fathers, and smiles at us. But otherwise the place is empty. Two Birch and Bay workers—both elderly males—are starting to sweep up and put things away. I don’t know what time it is, but it seems we’re the last wave of the breakfast crowd.
“Why do you need to find him?” asks Cal. “The captain’s got things to do, you know. Places to go. Business to conduct. Transactions to make. That’s why we’re here. Well, that’s why he’s here, anyway.”
“We need to ask him something,” says Rebekah. “When do you think he’ll be back?”
“Hey, you look different this morning, Red,” says Cal, ignoring her question. He looks her up and down while sipping his coffee. “All shiny and bright. You too, Davey. Already had a little fun last night? What did you two get on such short notice? A quickie hand job on the third floor?”
I nod. I figure it can’t hurt to let him think that. I looked at the list of services, just out of curiosity. What Cal’s talking about is one of the cheapest services: “Five-minutes of pleasuring by expert female hands.”
I wonder what happens if it takes more than five-minutes. But I doubt that happens much.
Cal proceeds to tell us that most of the others have signed up for “full-immersions” today.
“Not me. Did it once a while back, and that was enough,” he says. But then he goes on to describe what his own, personal full-immersion was like.
“I always had this fantasy, you know, about two beautiful women, very young, pleasuring me every which way, pleasuring each other, then pleasuring me again. And that’s just what happened.
“Shit. I never had so much fun. Except it wasn’t real. Must have come about three times before the drug wore off. Maybe more. That was real enough. I can still remember some of the details. Helps to remember when you’re alone, you know? Everyone should try it at least once. You boys should try it while you’re here. But I prefer the real thing. Nothing beats the real thing, if you ask me.”
Cal can’t seem to stop talking.
“I got an appointment this afternoon with a living, breathing, flesh and blood woman on the third floor,” he says.
“Young, too. Not a gray hair on her head or anywhere else. The desk clerk gave me his word. It’s not like back home where you have to do it in the dark to disguise the fact that the pleasure lady is older than your grandma. And you have to take a bath and shave first. It’s required here. This place is known for that. At other places they don’t care. But here, they won’t do anything with you or to you unless you’re sparkling clean. One of the owners, Miss D., is a stickler about that, even though she doesn’t personally doesn’t provide any services. It’s her rule, the ladies say, when they check you. Go figure.”
I smile to myself, thinking Rebekah has something in common with Miss D.
Cal pauses in his recitation just long enough to gulp down some more food. He’s chattier now than he ever was on the ship. Wants to give us all the details of his last “real lady” encounter here. Then he proceeds to describe some of the other places in Winnipeg that provide sexual services.
Although there aren’t more women in Winnipeg than there are anywhere else, they tend to band together instead of living with multiple husbands, according to Cal. Some of them run establishments like the Birch and Bay, only smaller, and without offering lodging to travelers. Some have jobs at factories or do other things for a living. If they feel like having sex or getting pregnant, there’s no shortage of men to choose from. They can get “courted,” he says, by as many as they want, whenever they want. But the men don’t live with them. It’s a very informal way of doing things, and totally up to the whims of the women. Not like in the Coalition.
It occurs to me that Miss D. has to be the woman the captain wants us to talk to. So I ask Cal—just out of curiosity, I say—where Miss D. lives.
“Oh, Miss D. lives in that big house behind the Birch and Bay,” he says, “along with the four or five women who work here. They have kids, too. Mostly boys, of course. Boys have to go off on their own when they reach a certain age. But that house is totally off limits to customers. Men can’t just go knocking on Miss D.’s door unless they want their heads bashed in.”
Since it’s clear we can’t just go over and question Miss D. ourselves, and since the captain’s not likely to show up anytime soon, Rebekah and I decide to go for a walk.
Not many people are out and about, and there’s
hardly any traffic on the main road through town. But there are various shops open for business, and when we see one that sells sundries, we go in.
After we pick out few items—a new razor for me, toothbrushes, that sort of thing— Rebekah looks around for sea sponges. Her supply is running low, and she doesn’t want to run out after we get to where we’re going. Wherever or whenever that might be.
Finally, she asks the clerk. She also asks him if he’s got any of the herbs she needs. He doesn’t raise an eyebrow, just gets them from the back and wraps our purchases in brown paper and string.
Strolling through the town, we pass by a few factories, a brewery, a school for boys, a couple of bars and restaurants, and a Church of the Designer. We also notice several establishments that, according to their signs, offer some of the same kinds of services as the Birch and Bay.
When we come to a store called the Ready to Wear Emporium, I suggest to Rebekah that we go in and spend some of our money on dry clothes.
“I don’t know about your shorts and socks,” I complain, “but mine are still damp. Body heat didn’t do the trick, like you said. Washing them in the tub last night was not a good idea, in my opinion. We would have been better off wearing them dirty.”
She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t object to more shopping.
We’re the only customers in the store until a man comes in who looks familiar. He’s the same man we saw at breakfast in the dining hall. While Rebekah is examining items on a table at the back, he walks over and starts talking to us. It’s not as if he’s a complete stranger, and he seems friendly enough.
“You two with the captain?” he asks.
“Do you know him?” Rebekah pipes up.
“Well, I know of him. Everyone does around here. Winnipeg’s economy is dependent to some extent on the smugglers, and he’s one of the most persistent. They bring in lots of Coalition money. Me, I can do without it. My people rely on trade and bartering to get what’s needed.”
“Your people?” I ask.