by Jake Christie

a story.

The wind blew through his hair like a meth addict blows through $17.23. It flew out behind him in blonde waves like a field of grain or wig store in a tornado. His chest glistened in the sunlight. A bird flew into it and died.

He strode off of his ship and onto the dock. He breathed the air of the fresh port in deeply. His cabin boy, Randolpho, ran after him.

“Captain!” he yelled. The Captain turned and stopped Randolpho with a piercing gaze. Despite his staunch heterosexuality, Randolpho melted a little inside.

“Yes, Randolpho?” he said. His voice was quiet and smooth, like buttered velvet. His words resonated over the waves.

“The men want to know why we've stopped in this port,” he said. “Also, you seem to have forgotten your shirt.”

The Captain placed a hand on Randolpho's shoulder, which made him melt even more. His insides were reaching the consistency of sour cream. “Last night,” said the Captain, a distant message came to me by carrier pigeon. It was from a beautiful maiden in yon castle.” He pointed yon, to a distant castle. “She is betrothed to a man whom she does not want to marry. We have come to rescue her.”

“Is she in danger?” asked Randolpho. “Does he disrespect her? Take advantage of her?” He reached for his flintlock, overcome with anger. Parts of him regained their stiffness. “Does he beat her?”

“No,” said the Captain, shaking his head. A seagull saw his hair glide on the wind and considered leaving her mate. “No, nothing like that. But he is flabby and weak, and lacks the stamina to satisfy her.”

“Is there some kind of reward?” asked Randolpho.

“Alas, poor Randolpho, we may not receive any payment,” said the Captain. “Such is the lot of a Sex Pirate. Sometimes the work must be its own reward.”

Share on Facebook | back to