In Search of
The Manly Travails
of the Masculinists
by Don Juan
Act Two, Scene Juan (oral)
The vessel was a not fine one but sturdy enough to see the buccaneers through to their goal. It was the first day of their voyage and all were still excited, if a little apprehensive as the ship rose and fell, rose and fell as did Jizelle. The wood creaked and the waves beat against the side of the vessel, rocking the ship from side to side as Jizelle slid her mouth up and down. Each had fully accepted their position on board, Falsestaff’s position was at the head of the ship, controlling all, Jizelle’s position was on her knees, the rest held an equal status on board – not having had the chance to win the captain’s favour.
Falsestaff slapped Arsebeard on his carpeted back and belted another pint of ale.
“Jizelle sure is useful, isn’t she!” Laughed Falsestaff
“. . . yarr god . . . yarr god yes . . . she sure is.” Managed Arsebeard, as he almost buckled under the pressure.
Taking another mouthful of Mavrodaphne trifle, Long Johnson cheered: “In Falsestaff we trust, in Jizelle we thrust.”
“Yarr to that my boys.”
“Yarr.”
“Mmm.” Managed Jizelle.
The loud sucking noise made it impossible for anyone nearby to concentrate on what they were doing. The sound seemed to change pitch at times to their astonishment and mild surprise; in fact they swore they could hear bits of grit rattle against the sides of Jizelle’s throat.
All the men, sans Thordequeer, were drinking merrily and loaded to the gunwales, while the women were oppositely merry and melancholy. Jizelle’s skill, her sense of cock, was quite remarkable especially considering what she told Falsestaff about having only been a prostitute for the past three days. She was nevertheless, the ship’s whore and would stay that way until told otherwise; faithful, subservient, big-titted, Jizelle was something to behold. ‘When you want a wank, who ya gonna thank?’ swiftly became Jizelle’s motto.
The men laughed and cheered and Thordequeer’s contribution ran so:
“Mouth opening.
Cock entering.
Lips closing.
Suction starting.
Tongue swirling.
Pupils widening.
Muscles relaxing.
Deep-throating.
Head bobbing.
Muscles tensing.
Jizz shooting.
Throat swallowing.
Cock shrinking.
Satisfaction achieved.”
This only caused more cheers, shouts and yells from the rabble. Winston was to be the next to enjoy Jizelle’s talent and feel the warmth and softness of her pillowy lips. He let loose his mighty schlong, letting his cannonball-like testicles swing free. The group were seated at a table and only Jizelle was able to see Winston do this.
“Suck my balls bitch. Suck my big black balls.” He shouted, as the rest laughed and cheered and Jizelle shuffled on her knees beneath the table to descend once more upon a column of flesh.
“Phwoar!” Roared his love cannon.
Winston tensed under the great strain of shooting into Jizelle, the chair creaked greatly as he did this and knees slammed painfully into the table. He then rose from the table with his trousers round his ankles and his tackle swinging slowly, majestically in full view. He pulled his trousers up once more and arranged his clothes, making himself look respectable.
“What the bloody hell is that?” Asked Falsestaff of Winston as he spotted writing scrawled delicately upon Winston’s lower torso.
“Oh that.” Winston’s reply ran. It was clear that he was weary of the tale and would have preferred if it were never brought into attention. He pulled his surrounding clothing up and over his head, including the trousers, to let shine the body art.
‘FUG LYF
FUG DEF
FUG YA MA’
Appeared, scored across his stomach; the number ‘69’ on his left arm; a heart emblazoned with ‘Mother’ and the shadow of a ribbon flying beneath, proudly bearing the vulgar statement ‘Fucker’; a flintlock appeared on his chest to complete the view from the front which did little to prepare the crew for what Winston was hiding upon his back. He turned around to let the crew feast their greedy eyes upon a monumental awesome sight of a Negro Christ with blood-matted dreadlocks suspended on a crucifix and bedecked with all of earth’s treasures in the form of platinum chains with padlocks hanging from his neck and all manner of jewels and diamonds decorating his lacerated living corpse.
It was Arsebeard who broke the stunned silence with: “All I’d have tattooed on me is my motto – live by the trifle, die by the trifle.”
“You’re missing the point entirely.” Said Winston as he dressed once more with a solemn expression. “These tattoos are tribal markings, they represent the history and culture of our tribe – once great, until the fucking tourists came with their Christian ideals of not eating each other’s flesh and brought me down from power. These tattoos represent who I once was. I was someone great. I was eventually sold into slavery after rising so high.” He finished.
“We were all someone once Winston, once. That is exactly why we are gathered here on this ship, to escape from what we once were and seek anew the pleasures of the flesh of the likes have been lost for many years. Like adventuring knights first travel we to seek and then to make love.” Was Falsestaff’s response, and though sobering and humbling for all to hear, it had to be said.
“I will be great once more, some day soon I will once more be king.”
“By the Lord, I’ll be a traitor then, when thou art king.”
“We will see Falsestaff, you have only to wait.”
“Birth, blood, and ancestors, are none of ours. You came from a tribe where you rose and then fell into slavery and escaped only to wind up cleaning toilets. The higher you claim the further it is possible to fall.”
“Let’s hear from Quickly. She’s not said a bloody word for a long time.” Long Johnson declared, deftly cutting through the tense atmosphere.
All turned their attention to Quickly who did not pale under the eyes, which began to wonder over her personable person. She sat quietly for a moment as the rest took in everything there was to see of her petite frame and soft features. She smiled and parted her lips, ran the tip of her tongue across her top lip before speaking, the dimple in her chin and the smile upon her lips brought the contours of her face into sharp focus.
“There is little to say of myself, I have to offer only my labour and my companionship. What I will say is that I am Mistress Quickly of Mistress Quickly’s establishment, I was once a prostitute but later managed to buy and run a small establishment only to lose it again. As I say, I was a prostitute once, but when I gave up that life I also gave up men.”
“Yarr, bollocks to that.”
“Fuck. Cunt. Shite”
“Yarr, you bitch”
“Yarr well,” Said Falsestaff, “it would have been nice if you had told us that before we set sail with only one whore on board. Are you sure we can’t use you? I mean say . . . when you’re asleep or not busy . . .”
“Absolutely not.”
“Fuck.”
The rabble continued to drink and curse and laugh until their debauchery carried them into the dark of night and each in turn returned to their cabins.