Wolves

by W. A. Hoffman

  As Gaston’s health improved, I happily settled into sailing and living off the land. The cares of two weeks before seemed a thousand miles away, and my Horse was happy to ignore them. I did not know where my Wolf had gone, but I found it difficult to remember the feel of Him in my heart. I deftly sidestepped thinking of the cloud of doom my Man knew hung all about us.

  All seemed well with our companions, too. Pete seemed pleased to be at sea, even without Striker. I occasionally saw him brooding, but his mood never seemed to stay long. Ash and Cudro thankfully began to teach Chris aspects of the buccaneer life: everything from how to select good fruit and find clean water to the basics of sailing. Chris appeared quite happy and took to everything she was taught with great seriousness and surprisingly little complaint.

  When I could spare attention to her, I became a little concerned about the real matter of presenting her as a young man to a bunch of uncouth buccaneers. She was far too shy about her bodily functions for even a noble youth her supposed age. We needed to fashion the funneling device Gaston had suggested and teach her to piss while standing. She needed to learn to squat over the gunwale and shit. And then I was sure there would be the matter of her female monthly inconvenience—which had apparently not occurred since we sailed. I did not know how she could ever truly rove; but as that was not our intent, I did not think it a matter of great concern. And Pete was already haranguing her about anything she did or said that might be deemed effeminate; such that I thought my comments would be unwelcome at this early juncture of our voyage.

  On the fifteenth day we finally beheld the amazing and welcome sight of hogs feeding atop a hill near the narrow beach. We quickly slipped ashore and Cudro and Pete went to scout the area and see if there was a swineherd present, or worse. The rest of us waited anxiously until we heard a pair of shots and saw one of the hearty beasts sag to the ground. Pete returned and reported there was no sign of men in the vicinity, and—leaving Gaston with the boat—Ash, Chris, and I followed him to the downed animal. Cudro instructed Chris on the gutting and butchering of the carcass—a task I was truly surprised she agreed to—and Pete and I set about dragging wood down to the rocky beach to make a fire while Ash and Gaston kept watch. My stomach was soon rumbling at the delicious aroma of roasting chunks of pork while Cudro taught Chris to salt some of the meat for later and lectured her on the making of boucan: a thing we did not wish to risk doing on this voyage as it would mean smoke from a large fire signaling our existence for leagues in every direction.

  Feeling the nakedness of being six people alone in a hostile land, we retreated to the sea once the meat was sufficiently cooked. The roast seemed a feast for a king and we gorged ourselves with glee and shared the bottle of Madeira they had found with our vessel. We sailed down the coast until we found anchorage in a shallow cove of sorts behind a sandbar as the sun began to set. We felt safe, drunk, and sated: life seemed very good indeed.

  Gaston was doing well, and the meat and Madeira seemed a fine tonic for him; though he only partook of small amounts of either. He wrapped himself around my back as I finished eating, and warned me not to bite him when he presented his fingers for me to lick clean. I was happy to oblige and present my digits in return. We took turns lapping and sucking with teasing amusement.

  I had not seen him playful since before his wound and illness, obviously; and further still… since our aborted attempt at play the day Chris arrived. That had not been satisfying to say the least. And before that… I was aghast to realize we had allowed several lust-free days to pass by my reckoning.

  My cock informed me it had indeed been a good three weeks since last I served any purpose in its estimation.

  My matelot’s attention had wandered from my mouth, and his hands were now under my tunic making it difficult for me to think of much beyond my nipples and his fingers whilst his tongue teased my ear.

  “Do you truly feel ready for such activity?” I whispered when my cock told me quite firmly the teasing of my nipples was a fine thing but it wanted much more.

  Gaston’s eyes glowed with the last rays of the setting sun and I could feel his smile in his voice. “Non, I do not feel I am ready to exert myself. You must do all the work.”

  “Well then, my love, lie back and allow me to spit myself on your member for a slow roasting,” I rumbled with amusement.

  “Non, non,” he chided playfully. “You misunderstand me. You must do all the work.”

  “Ahhh…” I breathed as my cock finished rising to a near-painful degree of turgidity. I turned and kissed him deeply.

  Night began to envelope us, and we were serenaded by the quiet lap of waves and the murmur of our companions’ conversation as we maneuvered so that he could lie on his side and I could mount him such that I could caress and kiss him. I wished for it to last; thus I stilled and held him after I entered until the lovely initial waves of sensation abated somewhat. He pushed my hand away when I attempted to fondle his semi-flaccid member.

  “You,” he murmured. “I only wish to feel you.”

  I complied, allowing us to feel one another in full measure with slow deep strokes. In time, we came to be panting shallowly with limbs twining, and I began to worry that he might be exerting himself too much. Then his hand pulled mine to his member and I found I would deny him nothing; even if it did lead to his having a coughing fit or another bout of fever. Thankfully, he was not racked with coughs but with pleasure when he came a short time later: though, he did slump to lie beneath me with limp muscles save a small smile as I finished.

  He was asleep before I completed cleaning myself and pulling our breeches back up. With a grin on my lips and my heart aching with love, and the sheer pleasure of being so loved, I curled around him and slept like a babe.

  I woke to a quiet ship at sea, and opened my eyes to the troubling sight of all four of our companions staring with undue intensity at different points on the horizon. I soon surmised it was not because they thought to perceive anything in particular, but because they did not wish to perceive one another—or me.

  “What have I missed?” I asked with sincere curiosity.

  Pete snorted. “YurNaMissin ’AThing.”

  I understood, and swore quietly. I was tempted to tell him that I was not the one who had struck my matelot and sent him off to be with his wife.

  At the rudder, Cudro met my gaze readily enough, and his helpless shrug was eloquent, as was his glance at his matelot. Ash sat near his man’s feet and whittled intensely on a chunk of wood in no particular pattern. I could make no sense of his apparent unease, and so I turned my attention to Chris. She was flushing and still studying the horizon as if it held the answer to every question ever posed by Socrates.

  I checked the wind and relieved myself. When I sat, I discovered my matelot was awake, and had apparently heard or witnessed some of what I had. He was looking past his feet down the craft at our friends with a concerned frown.

  I turned my attention back to Cudro.

  He met my gaze with a sigh and nodded thoughtfully before studying the clouds for a time. “There’s a woman aboard,” he finally said. “Women on ships are often found to be a troubling matter for sailors.”

  It was a thing I had oft heard, and I assumed it was because lonely men would be tempted to compete for the woman’s favor. I did not see how that might apply here.

  Cudro continued before I could find the proper words to phrase my question. “Those that take naturally to women find them troublesome. It reminds them of what they’re about.” He shrugged again.

  Then I understood Cudro’s dilemma all too well: Ash favored women.

  Ash swore and glared up at Cudro. “That is not the issue! She is a lady! That is the issue!”

  While the other aspects of the matter might be Cudro’s problem, that particular aspect was one I felt I must address. “He is not a lady,” I said strongly. “He is Gaston’s cousin. He is a gentleman; but even so, he is still a man, and had best be taking a man’s delight
in taking himself in hand when titillated by the antics of others—lest someone think he has no cock.”

  Chris gave a shrill bark of surprise, and Pete guffawed with laughter. Cudro and Gaston were soon chuckling, but Ash flushed as red as Chris and stared at the floor.

  “I realize men are crude and lustful creatures,” Chris said with poorly-feigned nonchalance.

  “My dear, you have no idea,” I said. “I am truly speaking in your interest when I say that if you do take a young lady’s issue with our antics, then you had best learn to hide it well. You will likely see much more and much cruder before this adventure is done. I daresay if Morgan is on Cow Island and they are gathering a fleet, we will not be able to walk beyond the glow of a fire without tripping on some pair in rut. And you can thank the Gods you are not going roving. Imagine this deck packed with three times the number of men. There is not a time of night when someone is not finding pleasure once you pack four-score men on a ship.”

  She was regarding me with incredulity.

  “I assure you, I do not jest, nor am I exaggerating. Ask Cudro,” I added.

  She turned to him and he nodded with a smile.

  “Usually,” he said with a telling glance at his still-flushing matelot, “one couple sees another at it and it gets them to thinking of it and they take up where the first finishes and so on.”

  “With no privacy?” Chris asked.

  “None,” he assured her. “And no going ashore, either.”

  “Aye,” I added. “You must learn to see to your bodily functions in the light and on the boat. It would be best if you learned it now, so that you do not raise questions once we reach our destination. We shall fashion some tool to enable you to piss standing.”

  “Should I also pretend to learn to pleasure myself?” she asked huffily.

  I chuckled. “Damn it, boy, you might as well do more than pretend, and I pray for your sake that you need not learn.”

  She flushed crimson again and returned to staring pointedly out to sea.

  “You cannot make her a man merely by saying so,” Ash said stubbornly.

  “Nay,” I said, “but we can do all we can conceive to insure that a man who does not know she is a woman does not suspect it. What about her reminds you that she is a woman? Let us discover it and correct it. Is it her attire?”

  She was dressed as he was, in tunic, breeches, and kerchief over roughly-shorn, short hair. Comparing the two of them, I rather thought I would know by the curve of her calf, her little feet, and fine, long-fingered hands. A buccaneer’s lack of clothing in the tropics would make the matter of disguising her far more difficult.

  “I just know,” he said doggedly.

  “Does she sound like a woman—her breathing perhaps? Or is it her smell?” I asked.

  Pete moved closer to her across the small craft and sniffed with curiosity. “Aye,” he grumbled. “SheNaSmellRight.”

  “Aye, I do not stink,” she told him.

  That was a problem. Clean or filthy, men truly do not smell like women, or vice versa. I wondered how we could make her smell like a man.

  I looked to Gaston. He shrugged helplessly.

  “When you must hunt from upwind, it helps to cover yourself in your quarry’s smell,” Cudro said thoughtfully. “You can’t make yourself smell like them, but you can hide your own smell with theirs.”

  “So we should rub a man all over her?” I asked with a laugh in anticipation of her outrage.

  She did not disappoint me. Her fury was an unseen thing that easily bridged the distance between us without her even turning her head to regard me.

  And beyond figuratively feeling her annoyance, I definitely felt Gaston’s chiding slap on my leg.

  I sobered somewhat and honestly gave thought to other times when circumstances had dictated some ruse about another’s identity. “Nay, truly and seriously, we are her best protection. As long as we insist she is a he, others will not be as prone to question. Does that not also work in hunting?” I asked Cudro. “If one stands amongst tame cattle or sheep while hunting deer, the deer will not assume you are anything other than an animal?”

  “Aye,” he agreed with a smile. “If the sheep aren’t alarmed, the deer will not be as easily alarmed. They will still see that you walk on two legs, though.”

  “Well, as she is already wearing what could be considered the sheep’s skin, and if we all profess her to be a sheep, then she merely needs to remember to crouch down. Which brings us to what I originally said: the lady needs to learn to act more like a sheep—or man. If she looks the part—to the best of our abilities—and acts the part, and we all vouch for her, then we should be able to pull the wool over their eyes.”

  Cudro rumbled with amusement.

  “SheStill SmellsWrong,” Pete grumped.

  “Then we must rally round her at all times and insure that no one is trying to take a whiff of her,” I said.

  “I am sure if you all stand close no one will be able to detect my delicate odour,” Chris said venomously.

  “I am actually not concerned about the matter of smell,” I said.

  “Aye, I must learn to piss while standing,” she sighed.

  “Nay,” I said to her and regarded Ash—who was studying the deck between his heels with a troubled frown. “I am concerned that one of us will betray you—by accident, most likely. That is always the weakness of a ruse involving many. To avoid that, I suggest we begin to think of you, and refer to you, in the masculine. We must school ourselves to not consider you a woman masquerading as a man, but as the youth we will claim you to be. To that end, we must police one another. I believe there will be trouble for all if this matter is uncovered.”

  “Aye,” Cudro said. “Most articles proscribe the smuggling aboard of women and boys.”

  “We will not have to sign any articles proscribing such things,” I said, “as we will not be roving; but, for the reason you spoke of earlier, I see how the matter will not be received gracefully if revealed.” I could well imagine the trouble we would face if several hundred buccaneers stopped cavorting with their matelots in order to come and stand about our camp trying to get a glimpse of creamy female skin—or worse.

  Ash sighed as he turned and found my gaze upon him. “You are correct. I might betray the endeavor. But… I cannot conceive of her as being male.”

  “Him,” I corrected. “Merely think of him as a very effete male. There are no women here: there is only Gaston’s oddly-effete cousin.” Who you are attracted to in a sexual manner, I thought, but did not add out of deference to Cudro. I dearly hoped they could resolve the matter. As for Ash’s purely normal male feelings for Chris, telling himself she was a he was not likely to help with any confusion he was suffering over being a sodomite in Cudro’s burly arms.

  “There’llBeMen EnuffCrawlin’ AllO’er Him,” Pete said as if it were a curiosity. “’Cause WeBeSayin’’EBeA BoyThat LooksLikeAGirl.”

  I looked to him and sighed in agreement. “Aye, he will be the object of many wandering eyes, as there are ever those men who are attracted to youths; and as for those who are attracted to women—their cocks will surely find appeal with him even if they truly believe him to be male. The only people we need not be concerned with are the true sodomites who prefer their men masculine in all ways. So, though we will provide the blind to disguise his true nature, we will be fighting an uphill battle, as he will attract more than the normal amount of attention a newcomer would.”

  “So you are worried I will be courted because they will think I am a man?” Chris asked with incredulity.

  I laughed. “Aye, why is that difficult to envision?”

  “Perhaps because I am not a sodomite,” she—nay, he —said archly.

  “It would be best if he had a matelot,” Gaston said.

  I was looking down the boat when he said it, and thus I saw Ash’s surprise and the hope briefly light his face. I looked above him to his matelot, and saw that Cudro had witnessed what I had. The pai
n on the big man’s face tore at my heart. I owed him much for forcing Chris into their lives. For a moment I was tempted to shoot her and toss her over the side and thus solve the entire problem.

  Then Cudro’s square face pursed with interest and amusement. I followed his gaze and found Pete.

  To my amusement, my matelot was also looking at Pete. The Golden One was aware of their scrutiny—and its reason—and he was staring at the sky with an injured frown.

  With a cruel chuckle, I told the Golden One. “You would only need to pretend.”

  He swore vehemently, and I laughed at his disparagement of my ancestry.

  “You must be jesting,” Chris said.

  “What else will you do?” I asked Pete. “Do you wish to be free to seek another?”

  “Nay!” he roared. “IGotAMatelot!”

  I was pleased for Striker’s eventual sake that Pete still thought thusly on that manner.

  “Believe me; I am not suggesting you dishonor that,” I said quickly. “I am merely saying it would serve a useful purpose for you to… keep anyone from smelling… him—or attempting to.”

  “Aye, but I do not see how it can work,” Cudro said seriously. “Though Pete is the only one of us free to do so…” He shrugged. “Everyone knows of him and Striker. They will not believe Pete will have taken up with some slender youth.”

  “Aye,” Pete said firmly. “’ENaBe TheKindISeek. NoOneWould BelieveIt.”

  There was a small hole in Pete’s logic, but Gaston spoke before I could.

  “Especially if they do not fuck,” Gaston said with sad amusement. “Aye, we will need to quickly locate another candidate once we are there.”