Ancestral

Captain C. and the Hathaway

This harbor was a busy one.  There were multiple wharves and they all seemed to be bustling with traffic.  There were also a couple of military ships docked in front of what appeared to be a small naval Academy.  The more sailors the better, I thought, they don’t usually care where they stick their dicks as long as they can get off.  I had tried the big cities, but there was too much violence, and someone like me could become a statistic way to easily.  No, I needed a town that was small enough to be fairly safe, but big enough that I could ply my trade without being noticed.  This place might do just fine. 

As I disembarked, I scanned the crowd for likely prospects.  I knew there would be inns and boarding houses, but I wanted to keep those as last resorts, much better to find a sugar daddy or a lonely widower with an extra room to let.  If all else failed I could simply troll the bars this evening, follow some lush home, and climb into bed with him once he passes out.  By morning he won’t be able to remember how I got there, and it would take nothing to convince him that he picked me up.  I might even be able to get a little blackmail out of it if he was worried about his reputation.

I was usually pretty good at reading people and I began to get discouraged.  There were way too many “fine upstanding Christian” folk out today, but I knew there had to be others.  There always were.  I had already spotted a couple of prospects when I noticed the old man sitting alone on the wharf.  He was quietly watching the passersby, and I noticed that he stared at me just a little to long whenever he looked in my direction.  That was always a good sign.  I sauntered from storefront to storefront and found reasons to cross his line of sight more than a few times, drawing closer and closer so he could get a good look.  he gave no outward indication of particular interest, but his eyes kept finding their way back to me and lingering longer and longer.  Finally, I went to one of the food stalls and bought a warm sandwich and two beverages.  I walked over and sat next to him on the bench.  “You looked like you could use a drink,” and I handed him one.  He nodded his thanks but said nothing.  We sat in silence for a moment more, and as I picked up one half of the sandwich, I looked at him and offered him the other half.  Again, he accepted it without a word.  I began to wonder if this old salt was going to be a tough nut to crack when he final spoke. 

“How long you staying?”

“Don’t know yet, a while probably.”

“Could use some company...and you got a nice ass.”

“Thanks.”  We both stared straight ahead as we spoke.  We finished our sandwiches in silence, never once looking at each other, then we sat for a while watching everyone hurry past us.

Finally, he said, “Might as well show you your room, come on.”

I ended up staying with Captain Carleton for about three years.  I quickly became known as his companion, but that title was always followed with a knowing look or a wink.  I had made a good choice with him, though.  Many of the men I had been associated with before could become violent or possessive, trying to force me to be something I wasn’t.  Captain C. didn’t do any of those things.  He gave me all the freedom I wanted, only requiring that I not bring clients back to his house and that I exercise a reasonable amount of discretion. 

He was also a much better lover than I expected.  He always made sure I got pleasure from our time together even if he didn’t.  Despite his age he was still quite fit and could get it up at will.  He didn’t have the stamina of younger men, but he was a tender lover, always gentle.  While we rarely made eye contact in public, when we were in bed, he spent much of his time looking deep into my eyes or gently kissing my face.  He was a great kisser, taking his time and enjoying the sensuality of the moment.  I spent most nights in his bed, being held and fondled, but never in a kinky or creepy way.  There was an innocence about him, a purity.  I could almost believe he loved me after a while, but that couldn’t be.  No one could love me.  I was damaged goods, good for only one thing, and everyone I had ever met had thrown me away eventually when they were done using me.  Love was a nice fairy tale for respectable people.  But people like me could never be loved.  We weren’t worthy of such high ideals.

Eventually, he began to fail.  His children returned to make sure all his affairs were in order, and I was given one week to vacate the premises.  From the moment his eldest son arrived I was not allowed to see or speak to him at all.  Once I heard his son calling me all sorts of nasty names while trying to force him to kick me out instantly.  But Captain C. wouldn’t budge.  He was being forced to push me out, but he insisted that I be given a little time to find other accommodations.  He couldn’t do much for me, but what he could do he did.  When the day finally came for me to leave, I was allowed to take nothing but the clothes on my back, none of his gifts, not even the clothes I had bought with my own money.  They even tried to seize my meager savings, but since it was in my name alone and it was only a small amount, they decided it wasn’t worth the expense or trouble to bring in their lawyers.

During the time I spent with Captain Carleton, I gained a bit of a reputation within the town.  Everyone knew the nature of our relationship, and most of those “fine upstanding Christian” folk disapproved.  Still, they could see that I treated him with nothing but respect and apparent love, and that I had made his final days happy.  When he died a few weeks later, the family would not allow me to attend his funeral or burial, but once they had all left, the minister sought me out and accompanied me to the grave to offer my last respects.  “He would have wanted you here,” he said, “And I’m going to honor that.”

When I was forced out, I couldn’t bring myself to find a replacement for him.  I decided to take a different strategy.  I had gotten to know the town by then and was familiar with both the respectable layer of society and the less respectable layer.  I had continued to entertain clients, but I was becoming more selective.  There were a number of inns in town, and a few of them offered a fuller range of services than others.  The newest inn had just opened on the other side of town.  It was in the home of old Captain Foster and was being run by his daughter.  He had died a few years ago and she needed something to keep her busy.  She wasn’t a savvy businesswoman, but she still had plenty of money from her father and thought it would be fun to run an inn.  I didn’t expect it to last long.  She was too frivolous and too naive.  I could already see the con artists moving in, but there was nothing I could do. 

Plus. the Foster Inn was too respectable.  I needed a place that offered more opportunity for the occasional side hustle.  My new semi-respectability from my time with Captain C. stopped me from approaching the most seedy inns, the ones that charged by the hour.  Instead I targeted Hathaway House.  On the surface it was a respectable inn and restaurant, with weekly dances or parties.  The clientele were wealthy travelers and tourists, some of whom were buying up land in the area to build summer homes.  The girls who worked there were immaculate and discreet.  While everyone knew what went on there after hours, no one could know if your visit was legitimate or less than innocent. 

A few days after being evicted from Captain Carleton’s home, I entered the three-story brick structure and asked to speak to the proprietor.  I was ushered into a small side room and asked to wait.  I rose when she entered, and she signaled for me to sit as she stepped behind a small desk.  “I wondered when we were going to see you,” she began.  “It’s shameful the way they’ve treated you, especially after all the happiness you brought to that kindhearted old man.  I was devastated to hear about it.  Now, what can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if you had any…positions open.”  I knew that discretion was the number one quality they looked for here, and that the real interview depended on my ability to tap dance around the truth and be clear without actually stating it outright.

She smiled at me, asking, “And what sort of position are you looking for?”

“Nothing too high,” I said.  “I fully expect to start at the bottom of the ladder.  I don’t mind having a manager over me telling me what to do.  That way I can know when I’m fulfilling his expectations.”

She nodded in approval.  How do you feel about working under a manager who’s a woman?”

I shook my head and said, “I’ve never tried, and I’m not really interested in trying.  I suppose I could if I had to.”

“No need” she said, jotting down some notes, “There are plenty of male managers for you to work under.  I think I could offer you a position as a bell hop, would that be to your liking?”  I nodded so she continued, “the wage is low, but includes room and board.  You are expected to turn in fifty percent of every tip you receive at the end of every day.  When could you start?”

I enjoyed working at Hathaway House.  For the first time in my life I had something that resembled a family.  Miss Beal treated all her charges well as long as they gave her the respect she felt she deserved, and more importantly, fifty percent of the “tips” she felt they owed her.  I was the only man on the resident staff, so I represented an expansion of available services.  This increased business and since I was not perceived as competition by the girls, they sort of adopted me as a little brother.  It was funny.  At first, they all tried to seduce me.  I think they thought of me as a challenge, but once they found I really didn’t like girls, they just accepted me as an equal. 

For the most part I was usually sent to a guest’s room when they needed a “valet” or some “assistance with a personal matter”.  The encounters were usually short and routine.  There was never any violence, and if it looked like there might be, I had been instructed to remove myself as quickly and quietly as possible and inform Miss Beal.  She would handle it. It was a stable job, and while it offered a form of community, it did not offer the level of connection I had had with Captain C.  I still missed him, and sometimes I would talk about him with some of the girls. 

“He loved you, that was obvious.”  Maggie was one of my confidants.  “And it’s clear that you loved him too.  You just didn’t realize it.”

“I’ve never loved anyone,” I said flatly.  “I don’t think I can.”

“Of course you can,” she countered.  “You love me.”

“What?”

“What would you do if one of those guys at the dances tried to hurt me?”

“I’d stop him, of course.”

“See,” she smiled, “You love me.”

“That doesn’t mean…”

“Nope, you love me, just admit it.

“This is silly, I’m not going to...”

“You love me.  You love me.  You love me.”  She poked me each time she said it.  “Tell me you love me.”  When I refused to answer she got in my face and insisted, “Say it!”

“Fine!  I love you.  There, you happy?”

“Say it again.”  This time she looked me in the eyes and her voice was gentle.  “Say it for real.”

“I love.…”  I couldn’t finish.  I had never actually said those words before.  I broke down and allowed all the pain and anger of a lifetime to pour out of me.

She gathered my sobbing frame in her arms and quietly said, “I love you too, homey.  I love you too.”