The Sailor Who Initiated Me Before We Sailed

I woke a little before dawn with the sheet stuck to my body and an erection that wouldn’t let me think. I reached to the other side of the mattress out of habit, looking for Damián, but all I found was the cold fabric. For weeks I’d gotten used to waking before him and lying still, feeling his breathing on the back of my neck, his chest rising and falling against my back.

But that morning I was alone in that port city I didn’t know, in a room that stank of damp. I dressed quickly, left the key on the only little table, and went downstairs.

—The Old Anchor tavern? —I asked.

The owner was keeping watch in the doorway, sunk into a busted armchair. She took a long drag from the cigarette held between her lips and let the smoke out slowly, glancing at me sideways.

—It’s a sailors’ inn —she said—. If what you want is to get the hell out of this pigsty of a city, there’s no better place to start.

I left the hostel and two streets down came out onto the promenade. The sea reflected the first rays of sunlight, a blue sheet moving slowly. I headed straight for the harbor.

The Old Anchor occupied the ground floor of one of those centuries-old buildings raised in front of the old stone wall, the one they would tear down years later to modernize the coast. The waves broke so close that the salty breeze dampened my shirt. The place was a dive; you could tell from the street. You could smell it. A dirty, sticky dive and…

—It’s closed, boy —said a rasping voice behind me.

I turned. It was a lanky man with a gray beard that reached halfway down his chest and a drinker’s belly peeking out between his worn-out clothes. He looked me up and down and down and up, unhurried.

—They should’ve opened a while ago —he went on—. I sent a kid to wake up the owner’s drunk ass. And who are you?

It took me an extra second to answer, because I’d been staring at him like an idiot.

—Marcelo —I said at last—. I’m looking for work. On a ship.

The man studied me again, like someone weighing livestock at the market.

—You look strong. And willing. But the sea is treacherous. Being a sailor is hard; it isn’t for just anyone.

—I worked the fields all my life, sir. Hard work doesn’t scare me —I answered. It was a line I’d learned by heart since I’d run away from the village.

—I see… —he smiled, and he was missing teeth—. As it happens, I know the first mate of La Bella Lucía.

He must have read on my face that I wasn’t following.

—The first mate is the captain’s right hand, and La Bella Lucía is a schooner sailing tomorrow. The first mate does the hiring. I’ve got a meeting with him right here. Follow me, we’ll go in through the back and wait for him inside. Don’t worry, the owner’s an old friend of mine.

He winked at me and threw an arm over my shoulders. His armpit ended up right by my face. He smelled of sweat and stale wine. It didn’t disgust me. On the contrary, something in that smell stirred me from the inside.

—Come on!

A few meters farther on, a narrow alley opened between two buildings. He went in front.

—This way… —he stopped short in front of a half-open window—. But look at that. I was saying it was weird that it was still closed. Take a look, boy. Have a peek.

Before I even got there, I heard a murmur slipping through the crack.

—Slowly… —a voice said.

I leaned in and froze in place.

On the other side of the glass, a blond boy, barely older than me, was leaning against a filthy counter. He had his pants around his ankles and, with both hands, was holding the bald, shiny head of a man twice his age.

The tingling hit me. Wild, unruly. I got hard in an instant.

—That one there is Bruno —my guide whispered—. He loses his mind over boys.

Bruno was on his knees, choking on the blond’s cock. He sucked it with an anxious violence, like he wanted to tear it off and swallow it whole. My eyes darted from the man to the boy, and then our gazes met through the glass. My heart stopped. But the blond wasn’t scared: he barely smiled, turned his face back toward the man kneeling there, and, without the slightest trace of annoyance, gave him a sharp slap on the cheek.

—Careful —he said.

The old man was taking the boy’s cock down his throat with such eagerness, such hunger, that I felt like I was going to end up standing there myself, with nobody touching me. The sensation in my gut had become unbearable. And from what I could see out of the corner of my eye, my companion felt the same. He had his cock out, thick, pointing upward. I didn’t know when he’d pulled it out, but I liked seeing it.

He put his arm back over my shoulders, only this time he didn’t leave it there. His hand slid down slowly, to the middle of my back.

—You know something? —he said without looking at me, eyes fixed on the window—. I could speak very highly of you to the first mate.

I didn’t answer with words. The tingling spun inside me, dropping toward a place I’d never named out loud. I reached out and grabbed his cock, squeezing it between my fingers. Almost immediately, his rough hand found the waistband of my pants and started kneading my ass. I lifted my butt a little, offering myself, and a finger found the way in.

By instinct, as if the body remembered something the head didn’t know, I relaxed. The finger slid all the way in without him having to force it.

—Jesus, boy! —he muttered—. What a surprise.

I couldn’t help smiling when he locked eyes with me. I was jerking him off at the same rhythm he was pumping his finger in and out of me, and soon I felt the pressure of a second one.

On the other side of the glass, the blond started panting. As if it were a signal, my body opened wider, and the second finger slid in without effort.

—I can’t hold it… I’m gonna cum —the blond moaned.

—Me too —the man whispered in my ear.

My ass wanted more. Not two fingers. It wanted a cock, a shaft, something real. I want more, I thought, and the idea made me dizzy. Not one. All of them. In the middle of that delirium I felt capable of swallowing the whole world through that hole, and I didn’t care.

Then the blond exploded. I knew it by watching the old man’s throat rise and fall as he swallowed.

—Open your mouth —the boy ordered.

With the last of it still half-swallowed, the man obeyed. The blond spat inside, and while he did, he looked for me again through the glass. The old man swallowed once more and kept sucking.

—That’s it, nice and clean —the blond said.

My companion started panting softly, holding back, his face tight with effort. In a matter of seconds he came against the wall, under the window. Part of it landed on my hand. I wiped my fingers by running them over my tongue, never taking my eyes off him.

—Life, sometimes, surprises me —he said, still breathless.

He pulled his pants up and gave my ass a soft pat. He never took his eyes off me.

—I lied to you, boy —he whispered—. I don’t know the first mate of La Bella Lucía.

—What?

My stomach dropped. Had he used me? Had he gotten me to open up for that man in exchange for a lousy promise of work, and had it all just been an excuse to put his hands on me?

—Easy… —he cut me off before I could blow up—. My name’s Crispín. And, would you look at that, I’m the first mate of La Bella Lucía.

He smiled when he saw my bewildered face.

—At dawn, at berth six —he slipped the same fingers he’d had inside me under his nose and sniffed them with obvious pleasure—. Welcome aboard, boy.

***

I went back to the hostel with my body burning. That afternoon, I finally masturbated. With my ass still stinging, I shoved my fingers in while I jerked my cock with the other hand, and came in seconds over the rumpled bed. And even so, I was still left empty. Something was still throbbing in there, asking to get out. I wanted more. A lot more.

***

At dawn I was waiting on the dock. Berth six. A ship too small for the voyage it was supposedly going to make floated on the still water. It was a splendid day. The sun was coming up and the harbor was already a boiling mess of shouts, ropes, and crates.

—This is the boy, captain —said Crispín.

The captain was a much younger man than I’d expected, barely in his thirties, with a weathered face and sunburned skin.

—A bit soft, no muscle —he said, looking me over—. You take responsibility if he fucks up, Crispín.

—He won’t fuck up. He has hidden talents —he replied, holding my gaze a second too long.

The two of them climbed the gangway and disappeared onto the deck. I didn’t have time to ask what I was supposed to do, so I stood there on the dock like a post.

—You must be… the new one.

I turned. Behind me, tall and skinny as a rail, stood the blond boy from the alley. Beside him was a guy a few inches shorter but solid, with brown skin and a thin mustache.

—Marcelo. My name’s Marcelo.

—My name’s Tobías, but everybody calls me Blondie —he said, giving my belly a slap—. And this one here is Nico. Crispín told me you’re green. Don’t worry, we’ll teach you everything. That’s what we’re here for, right, little brother?

Little brother?

***

Plaf. Plaf. Plaf.

—Nico, faster, my love. Faster!

Plaf, plaf. Plaf, plaf.

—Ah! More! Don’t stop!

—Shut up, slut.

***

It was them! I had no doubt: they were the neighbors in the room who had kept me awake half the night at the hostel, the ones on the other side of the wall. A shiver ran through me from top to bottom and I felt my cock tighten against my clothes. And Tobías knew it. He read it on my face before I said anything.

I knew, right there, standing on the dock with my heart hammering, that that ship was going to change my whole life. That what those two had to teach me wasn’t something you learned in any village.

—Ah! And welcome to La Bella Lucía, Marcelo —said Blondie, with a crooked smile.

Shortly after, we sailed.