The Doldrums: the Sailor and the Virgin Ch. 04

A brush with mortality has a transformative effect (mf)

Liam awoke as dawn broke. He sat up in the berth, braced his elbows upon his knees, and held his head in his hands. His sleep had been uneasy, disturbed by nightmares in which he found himself brawling with shadowy adversaries. He smelt his own cold sweat.

Rising, he went quietly into the main cabin, lit the stove, and boiled a kettle of water. Back in his cabin he mixed hot and cold water in the basin and proceeded to wash himself head to toe. He confirmed the main cabin to be unoccupied before he ventured out, naked and covered in soap suds, carrying the blanket from his berth.

Upon deck, he found the calm and solitude of the lake unabated. He dove overboard into the mirror-like water. The cold water invigorated him. He swam round the boat inspecting the hull, then dipped his head under several times to rinse out the soap, before climbing back aboard using a knotted rope hanging over the side. Wrapping himself in the blanket, he returned to his cabin.

When Miss Novikov appeared for breakfast, her air of polite formality had reestablished itself. Liam found himself searching her face for some vestige of the intriguing intimacy he had sensed last night --- without success. While they were eating, she spoke up. "Mr. Thomas, how long do you suppose we shall be becalmed?"

"I canna rightly say, Miss. I have seen places upon the ocean, near the equator, where 'tis always becalmed. They call it the doldrums. But I've never seen the like of it upon the lake --- 'tis extraordinary, so it is." He took a drink from his cup, eying her over the rim. He tried to sound nonchalant. "Be ye in a rush to arrive in Toronto?"

She seemed to hesitate before replying. "I imagine my aunt must be terribly worried."

"Aye...so she must. I thought mayhap ye had a sweetheart there ye were anxious to see." He said the latter in a light, teasing manner, although he awaited her response apprehensively.

She looked down into the steam rising from her tea, before saying: "What a diverting notion."

After breakfasting they continued at their tasks upon the foredeck, she stitching the patch to the sail, he working upon the new shell for the block. He rubbed in a second coat of oil, then did the same to the anchor.

His thoughts were in turmoil. He was struggling for a detailed recollection of the expression he had seen upon her face, or thought he had seen, for that brief moment while he unbuttoned the coat in her cabin last night. What did it signify? Her current demeanor lent no credence to his memory of the incident.

By and by he began to be convinced that it had been merely an illusion fostered by the enchantment of the wine and stars. Or had he with his fairy tale conjured up a selkie that had cast a spell over him? He shook his head in frustration.

Clearing his throat, he ventured the observation that her aunt seemed, by her account, to be a sympathetic woman.

"Yes, very much so," she said.

"Will ye be staying in her home, then?"

"Yes... at least at the outset."

"She'll likely be less restrictive of your pursuits?"

"I expect so."

He was skirting round what he truly longed to ask, but knew not how. What should he say: May I call upon you? May I court you? Looking down at his grease stained nails, his calloused palms, and his coarse trousers, he felt the absurdity of his aspirations --- what could he offer her? He fell silent, feeling too muddled to think on the matter.

He was knackered. Three nights of restless sleep had taken a toll upon his customary self-assurance. He focused instead upon the anchor and the repetitive motion of his hand with the rag, the oily metal glinting in warm sun.

"Mr. Thomas."

His head snapped up; he had nodded off. "Sorry, Miss. Too much wine last night, so it was," he said.

"No apologies are necessary. I cannot fathom where you find all the vigor that you have, rising as early as you do. Indeed, I was about to suggest that you retire to your cabin to nap."

He shook his head. "I'm fine."

"Please Mr. Thomas, your struggles to stay awake are quite disconcerting. I shall be perfectly safe here alone. As you have indicated, we are miles from land with no wind, and no other boats near us."

He could not argue with her reasoning. In truth, the oiling was done and needed to dry, and her work upon the sail was progressing admirably unaided. A bit of a kip sounded irresistible.

"Well...ye wake me now should ye need anything, Miss. Or if the wind starts, or if ye spy a boat."

"I will," she assured him.

With a last look about the deck, Liam went below. He pulled off his clothes and climbed into the berth, fast asleep ere his head hit the pillow.

The dream he had was this: the lass had vanished --- he was desperately searching for her, calling 'Miss Novikov!' Her cabin was empty, as were the other three cabins. Then he saw that the forward passageway stretched endlessly on, with more and more cabin doors along the sides. As he ran forward, he stopped to open each one, but she was nowhere to be found. Suddenly the passageway ended with a ladder --- he went up --- the deck was empty.

The Selkie was tied to a pier, and he jumped ashore. It seemed that he was upon the riverfront in Glasgow, but everything was slightly different: the warehouses, the dockyards, the pubs. He zigzagged in and out of buildings calling her name.

'Twas in the sailmaker's loft that he found her at last. At the top of a flight of stairs was the large open room where sails in production were laid out upon the floor. She was there, lying under a sail --- the canvas had been sewn about her, trapping her, with only her head poking out.

Pulling out his jackknife, he knelt and began to cut a slit in the canvas, starting below her chin, taking care not to cut her. Across the floor, on the far side of the loft he spied two men in an enclosed, glass windowed office. They noticed him too and leapt to their feet, throwing open the office door. He cut frantically.

At last the slit was big enough --- she burst up through the cut fabric: she was naked. He pulled off his ulster and swung it round her shoulders. The men were shouting and running towards them.

Grabbing her hand he pulled her --- they ran down the stairs and into the street, the men in pursuit. Hundreds of people were swarming the streets; he shoved through the crowds, holding fast to her hand. They were hard put to make progress. He tried to recall the layout of the streets, but all seemed off kilter, the streets twisted and dark.

Suddenly they were in a part of the city he did not recognize; the men chasing them and the crowds had vanished. The streets and buildings appeared deserted and in odd disrepair. Hand in hand they ran, urgently seeking a place of shelter to be alone, but in every building that they entered, other people would mysteriously materialize.

Presently they happened upon what looked to be an abandoned inn. Inside they found themselves at last alone --- mercifully, blissfully alone. Beyond the common room, they stepped over fallen beams and pushed past torn drapes. He dragged open a lopsided door and found a guest chamber, sufficiently preserved.

Feverishly his fingers tugged at the ulster's buttons, but they would not release, the buttonholes bizarrely too small. He could not wait: he grabbed the front edges of the coat and simply jerked it open, sending the buttons flying. He pulled it off her. Then he had her down upon bed --- somehow his clothes were gone too, and their lips and naked bodies pressed together. He mounted her --- she hollered when he thrust into her --- and then they were fucking...oh glorious fucking. She was screaming in pleasure 'Mr. Thomas! Mr. Thomas!'

Liam started awake --- there it was again: "MR. THOMAS!!!" She was screaming, but in terror! He leapt from the berth and yanked his trousers over his subsiding erection, pulling the braces over his shoulders as he rushed up the ladder.

The deck was empty --- then he saw the commotion in the water. He jumped to the side deck and dove into the lake. In a few strokes he reached her, whereupon she flung herself at him, her flailing limbs nigh dragging him under. "Ease up!" he commanded "Stop kicking!"

He wrapped an arm about her torso, subduing her as he swam back to the boat. "Hold fast here." He guided her hand to the knotted rope hanging over the side. He held it too, his hand a few inches above hers.

She gasped for breath, seeming in a state of shock. "Can ye pull yourself up with this?" He shook the rope. "I'll give ye a shove to help ye." Numbly she nodded. As he instructed her how to climb the rope, he suddenly noticed that she was wearing naught but her white chemise, which soaked, was entirely transparent. Her ripe breasts bobbed in the water, almost touching him; her stiff pink nipples were clearly visible, straining against the filmy fabric.

He came back to his senses, endeavoring to not gape at her. "...upon the count of three then, pull yourself, and I'll push." With his free hand he reached down into the water to take ahold of her bottom, and found with alarm that the chemise had floated away from her body, and his hand clasped her bare buttock...oh how round and firm!...oh God...he was certain that the tip of his finger was just touching her cunny lip. She seemed oblivious in her fright.

In a strangled tone he counted. "One --- two --- three."

She pulled, he lifted. She got one hand to the second knot and he got a sudden face full of her wet, bouncing breasts --- a taut nipple nearly went into his mouth. The failure of her strength and loss of his concentration rendered the attempt unsuccessful. Her body slid down his, back into the water.

"Try this way," he said. "This do be how I get out." He demonstrated how he used his feet to walk up the side of the hull while climbing with his arms. "I'll give ye a shove." She twisted upon the rope to face the boat, her knees surfaced, then her small white feet were planted upon the hull. "Aye, upon three." He put a hand under her lower back, while his other hand held the rope below hers.

This time upon "three" her feet began to walk up the hull, he pushed upon her back, and she struggled to reach up the rope. Her lower body surged out of the water as her scrambling legs advanced higher than her shoulders. Heavy with water, the hem of her chemise hung straight down, exposing for a fleeting moment her bottom and a flash of pink, then she splashed back down into the water.

Bloody hell! He needed to get her out of the cold water. "I'll pull ye out," he announced. Swiftly he scaled the hull, then squatted upon the side deck to stretch his hand down to her, his other hand gripping a turnbuckle. She reached up and he got ahold of her wrist.

He pulled her out of the water, rising to his feet and he did so, the powerful muscles in his shoulders and legs flexing. When she was above the level of the gunwale, he swung her onto the side deck. She collapsed against him, her fists and cheek against his bare chest. He wrapped her in his arms, trying to warm her small, shaking body with his large frame.

"I'm s-s-sorry," she sobbed.

"What happened? Did ye fall in?"

"I s-s-saw you s-s-swimming earlier...it l-l-looked so r-r-refreshing...I w-w-wanted to try."

He realized that she must have seen him from her porthole.

"M-m-my l-l-leg cramped."

He pushed the wet hair from her face, smoothing it back above her ears. "I never would have forgiven myself if I'd lost ye, lass," he murmured, his lips unconsciously touching the top of her head.

He felt her head tilting up under his hands --- her wet spiked lashes lifted and her enthralling eyes --- her big brown eyes, glowing like tawny port, looked up at him. Without further thought, he bent his head and kissed her quivering lips.

She started --- but then to his rapture, her arms went round him and she raised upon her toes, pressing herself fiercely to him, returning his kiss. After a moment, their lips came apart. "Oh lass!" he breathed. Cradling her head in his hands, he covered her wet face --- her brow, her eyelids, her cheeks --- with hungry kisses, before reclaiming her lips.

His hands slid down to her back, over the drenched chemise, to enfold her in his embrace. With his arm round her lower back he pulled her hips tight against him, molding her lithe body to his as he bent her to his ardent kiss. He could feel the mounds of her breasts squeezed against his bare skin through the web of wet fabric.

She broke away, stumbling back with a distraught look upon her face, her fingertips covering her mouth. In the soaked, clinging white fabric, she was almost as good as naked before him --- her lush breasts, erect nipples, and dark cunny hair so superbly revealed. He stared at her, breathing hard, making no effort to disguise his raw yearning.

Her eyes dropped to his bulging trousers, then she suddenly bent and grabbed up the ulster from the deck, hugging it to her body. She scurried past him to the cockpit giving him a glimpse of the chemise cleaving intimately to her bottom cheeks before she disappeared down the companionway ladder.