My First Night with the Ship’s Old Boatswain

At midnight I finished my watch. I was exhausted, more tired than I could remember ever being, with salt crusted on my skin and my arms heavy from hauling lines. Before going down to the lower deck, where I slept packed in with the rest of the crew, I decided to stop by the boatswain’s cabin. He himself had invited me a few hours earlier, in that low voice he used only with me, and I wasn’t about to let the opportunity pass.

We had been aboard the Centella for almost a month, a three-masted schooner plowing heavily toward the Antilles. All that time, the old Mendiola had been looking at me differently. It wasn’t contempt, nor the indifference he showed the others. It was something more patient, like someone waiting for a fruit to ripen on the branch.

I gave the wood a few soft knocks with my knuckles. A muffled come in reached me from the other side.

I pushed the door open. The boatswain was lying on his bunk, his back against the bulkhead. An oil lamp hung from the ceiling, swaying with the roll of the hull, so the light moved across his body from the side, appearing and disappearing. When my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I understood everything at once. My heart lurched and I froze in the doorway.

—Come in and shut the door, boy —the old man said.

I couldn’t have said why, and it had been happening since the day we were introduced, but that man could dominate me with a single word. So I did as he asked. I slid the latch and leaned against the door.

Mendiola was naked from the waist down. His broad belly, covered in gray hair, shone with sweat, and a half-awake erection rested held between the fingers of his right hand. He was stroking himself slowly, almost lazily, as if he feared any sudden movement might upset the ship’s balance.

—Don’t just stand there. Come closer.

I hesitated. I couldn’t take my eyes off his cock. It was thicker than mine, which wasn’t hard to manage. His skin tightened with every caress and the air in the cabin was heavy: the smell of weeks’ worth of sweat, the burned oil of the lamp, damp wood, and that thick intimacy of bodies that have spent too long shut away without fresh water to wash in. In the weeks I’d been aboard, I’d discovered that smell of men made me clumsy and easy to handle.

I took the few steps that separated me from the bunk and stopped in front of him.

—That’s better. You keep me company this way —he said, smiling and showing a broken set of teeth—. I’d gotten used to being alone, at least until you came aboard this schooner. And I have to admit doing this in good company is infinitely better. Don’t you think?

I felt my cock harden inside my trousers. And I think he noticed too, because his smile widened.

—Are you a virgin, boy?

I swallowed and lowered my gaze. It wasn’t true, but I knew that was the answer he wanted to hear, so I nodded slowly. The truth mattered very little to him; what he wanted was the game.

—I have no doubt —he said, letting out a hoarse laugh—. It shows a mile away. I lost my innocence on my first trip to the Americas. I was a little older than you, not much more.

—And… did you like it? —I asked, and my voice came out thinner than I expected.

The man watched me, never stopping the movement of his hand over his sex, and laughed again.

—It was a disaster! The woman was older and wrinkled as a thousand-year-old olive tree. It took me a while to realize there were other things I liked much more. —He paused and looked me up and down, shamelessly—. Things like you.

His free hand, the one not occupied with himself, rose and settled on my hip. He drew me toward him with calm firmness, unhurried, knowing I wasn’t going to resist. My erection was already obvious beneath the stiff salt-starched cloth, and my heartbeat was pounding in my ears.

—Come here —he murmured.

His fingers slipped under the waistband of my trousers. They were thick fingers, callused from years of rigging and ropes, and they scraped my skin as they went. They moved down the curve of my ass to the crease, and there they stopped. He parted the flesh just enough for the rough pad of his index finger to brush the entrance to my body.

And pressed. A moan slipped out of me before I could hold it back. That old man had me in his hands and I wanted him to do whatever he pleased with me. Heat rushed to my face and burned my cheeks. I lifted my hips a little, settling myself to make the way easier for him.

—Good boy —he said softly—. Take those off.

I obeyed. I pulled my damp drawers down and let them fall to my ankles. My cock was free, hard as a spar, pointing almost at his face. The old man stopped touching himself just long enough to lean forward, and then he took me all the way into his mouth.

I had to grab the edge of the bunk to keep from losing my balance. The schooner was pitching and he used that motion, letting the ship’s rocking set the rhythm. His mouth moved up and down, hungry, while his tongue worked the underside of my head. Every wave that slammed against the hull pushed him deeper, and I clenched my teeth so I wouldn’t shout and wake half the crew.

—Wait —I panted—. If you keep that up, I won’t last.

He let me go with a wet sound and looked up. His eyes gleamed in the dim light.

—Then turn around —he said—. Brace yourself against the bulkhead.

I did what he ordered. I turned and planted both hands against the wooden wall, spreading my feet in the open stance he expected. I heard the bunk creak as he got up behind me, and then the unexpected chill of oil. He had dipped his fingers into the lamp oil, and the first one entered without much resistance, slowly, working its way in.

—Ahhh… —I gasped.

—Breathe, boy. No hurry. The sea isn’t in a hurry either.

He withdrew it only slightly, just enough to add a second finger. My legs started to tremble. He moved them slowly, spreading me open inside, preparing me with a patience that was more maddening than any roughness. I pushed my hips back, seeking him, silently begging him to leave the fingers and move on to what I really wanted.

—Please —I said at last, barely recognizing my own voice.

—Please what? —His laugh rumbled in his chest—. Say it.

—Do it already. I want to feel it.

He pulled his fingers out. I felt his heavy body press against mine, his warm belly against my back, his cock forcing its way between my cheeks. He pushed in with deliberate slowness, stopping every so often so I could get used to him, until I had him all the way inside. I bit into my forearm to stifle the cry. It hurt and burned and, at the same time, it was exactly what I’d been wanting for weeks without daring to name.

—That’s it —he growled against my ear—. Hold on.

He began to move. At first with short, measured thrusts, and then to the rhythm of the ship, letting each wave drive him deeper into me. One hand gripped my hip hard and the other wrapped around my chest, keeping me pressed against him. I rested my forehead against the cold wood while pleasure rose through me in waves, just like the water slamming against the hull on the other side of the planking.

The bunk creaked, the lamp swayed casting shadows that came and went, and our breathing mingled with the constant murmur of the ocean. The old man didn’t say much; only now and then he let out a grunt of satisfaction, or a “good boy” that ran down my back like a current.

He brought his hand to my cock and started stroking me to the same rhythm as his thrusts. It was too much. I felt the climax gathering at the base of my belly, tightening my whole body, and when it finally burst I had to sink my teeth into my arm again so I wouldn’t wake the whole schooner. I emptied myself against the bulkhead, my legs shaking, while he kept moving inside me.

—That’s it, boy, that’s it —he panted.

A few more thrusts and I felt him tense behind me. He gripped my hips with both hands, drove in to the hilt, and let out a long, deep groan that he muffled by pressing his forehead to the back of my neck. We stayed like that for a moment, both of us panting, joined together, while the ship kept rocking us as if none of it mattered to her.

Then he slowly withdrew and fell back onto the bunk again, satisfied, his chest rising and falling.

—Get dressed before the watch changes —he said, but he was smiling—. And come back tomorrow. I still have a lot to teach you.

I pulled my drawers back up with clumsy hands. My legs were weak and my face was still burning. In the doorway I paused for a moment and looked at him: the old boatswain, broad and gray-haired, lying on his bunk with his eyes already half closed.

—Good night, sir —I said.

—Good night, boy.

I went out into the narrow passage and shut the door behind me. The lower deck slept, oblivious to everything, and from above came the snap of the sails and the helmsman’s voice singing the course. I let myself drop into my cot with my body aching and a smile I couldn’t wipe away. There were still many weeks of sailing left before land came in sight, and for the first time since we set out, I wished the voyage would be long.