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My nearly standard disclaimer: If you aren't supposed to be reading this because of your age, or where you live, then I don't want you to read this, either. It isn't that I believe 'minors' don't have prurient thoughts or engage in 'adult' activities. I know damned well that they do. It IS that there are laws which could get both of us (but mainly ME) in trouble.
Now for my completely non-standard disclaimer: If you are reading this story because you heard that it was an erotic alternate history story in which the Confederate States of America won the Civil War of 1861, so far, so good. If you expect depictions of slavery, bondage and discipline, sado-masochism, domination and submission, humiliation and interracial sex, then you haven't read anything I've ever written before. There's a saying, represented by an acronym: TNWWTKBINMK (or something like it), meaning: "There's Nothing Wrong With That Kink But It's Not My Kink."
I write romantic stories of consensual sex for the most part. The final codes on this story might stretch my writing muscles, but not very far in those directions.
As he accompanied the Executive Officer on this final pre-turnover inspection, the Captain's mind was not on finding fault or dirt. It rarely was on any inspection - the XO was too good at her job to let any remain hidden, and he'd already read the reports and approved and forwarded the final work package. Tomorrow, Friday morning, there would be a formal "Change of Command" and the CSS R.E.Lee would become the property of the yardmaster for four and a half weeks.
Instead, Commander Robert Edward Yarborough (Bobby) Lee reflected (not for the first time) that a whole slew of Public Affairs Officers and flacks in the War Department were still getting their jollies from having "Captain Robert E. Lee" commanding the "Robert E. Lee." And he wasn't a direct decendant - at best they were umpteenth cousins incredibly removed. Not that his branch of the Lees of Virginia wasn't prestigious in its own right... never mind. It was moot.
Bob did what good Captains do on inspections. He smiled, spoke familiarly to his crew, and let the XO steer him around. Everything that truly needed his attention, the XO had briefed him in private about. Some XOs might hide a thing or two, but he trusted Sam. Samantha Stuart-Forrest was the direct decendant of another hero, and married to yet another. She was driven by those expectations. She'd be a Commander and Captain of a ship younger than he had, and someday he'd be saluting her.
That was a primary reason he hadn't been tempted to break his policy of not dating within his command with Samantha. The fact that she had shown no interest in anything but a professional relationship was another.
Another reason snapped to attention to present the torpedo room as they enterred. Lieutenant (lower grade) Deborah Harboard presented her domain ready for inspection. Bob only wanted to inspect Deborah. Crisp and starched in her dress grays, his acting Weapons Officer (Weps was on emergency leave to bury his husband and comfort their wives), she was still a very feminine woman. Deborah was the only woman for whom he had ever broken his policy.
That their date hadn't worked out had been neither of their faults. Deborah's wife had shown an instant dislike for Bob, and you don't date one wife without the other. To do so was tantamount to adultery, and Bob would never push a woman to that extreme.
Deborah was also Duty Officer today, and would not be relieved until the Change of Command ceremony. Bob had been planning to go ashore tonight, and spend the evening at the Bachelor Officer's Quarters working on his hobby. Maybe that would wait.
Caroline Stuart-Forrest waited on the pier with the other Navy Spouses, knowing that Samantha would be one of the last to disembark. She always was. Even money she'd wait until after the Captain had left. That trait was both a source of pride in her wife and an irritation, though the irritation never started until her fellow spouses dwindled down to the last few, and then it was just her and their daughter, Tiffany.
There she was, emerging from the torpedo loading hatch. She waved. Today, the Captain was on her heals. They did some sort of "after you" dance at the head of the brow, until Captain Bob folded his arms. Samantha evidently lost, and departed first, saluting the Officer of the Deck and then the ensign. As Bob performed the ritual, Caroline could hear the announcement, "Robert E. Lee, departing."
Caroline hugged and kissed her wife, who picked up their daughter. Turning to Bob, she said, "Need a ride, sailor?"
Bob laughed. "Could you drop me at the BOQ? It'd save me waiting on the shuttle or for the duty driver to return."
"Don't the Skippers rate their own cars and drivers?" Caroline wasn't well versed in nautical customs, but she recalled that Colonel Stuart, Sam's Uncle, had a car and a driver.
Bob shook his head. "A boat rates only one vehicle, and one duty driver. I could commandeer them, but I would never interfere with my ship's routine that way. She's on a guard mail run."
Bob forestalled another possible attempt at over-courtesy by walking straight to the back door of the car and climbing in. Tiffany joined him, and Sam sat with Caroline in the front. Caroline hid how pleased she was at this while catching up on three weeks worth of inconsequentials. Tiffany monopolized Bob's attention in the back with a barrage of chatter.
"Cap'n Bob, an' you know what?" she'd ask then proceed without waiting for an answer, "I get to go to kiddiegarter this year! An you know what?"
Bob would occasionally get in a few words, always with a delighted if tolerant smile. "No! What, Tiffy"
"Mommy Caroline says I'm gonna have a new brother or sister! An you know what?"
Caroline felt the blush on her cheeks. A glance told her that her wife was staring at her open-mouthed while "Cap'n Bob" looked at them both with one eyebrow raised, still smiling and answering Tiffany's prattle. This was not how she'd meant to make the announcement. Tonight at dinner with Nathan and Samantha both present... too late now. She nodded.
In the back, Bob said, "Pull in ahead at the Base Exchange, and I'll treat you all to ice cream. Would you like that, Tiffy?"
"Yay!"
With Samantha's hand on her shoulder, she pulled off the road.
Chief Alberto Nunez had been home long enough for a very private welcome by his wives and husband. Now he was at the grill, guided flames to just the right height while his nine children cavorted about playing football. Jesus, the eldest, dribbled the ball with his foot in a nearly professional fashion. Alberto sighed for the many high school games his Naval career had caused him to miss.
Maria, his senior wife brought out a heaping platter of chicken parts slatherred in marinade, accompanied now by Seniorita Kylia O'Reilly. Kylia had become something of a fixture at their house the last several months. Alberto wondered which of his wives would propose her for marriage. Perhaps she would be forward enough to propose to them? Modern women, Alberto grinned, shaking his head.
Kylia was eight years younger than Maria, five younger than Madonna, his junior wife. That she had never married before was a story of some embarressment which she had haltingly shared with the Nunez family one night. Discussing it later, none of the Nunez's found it at all an impediment to continuing to see her.
Alberto was certain that Maria approved of Kylia, and that would make her inclusion certain. He fondly recalled the days when he was a young man of Guantanamo. He had met Maria in a trip to Havana, and courted her despite the long distance relationship. It was Maria who had convinced him to add his brother, Juan, to their marriage; it was she who introduced them to Madonna. He could not recall who invited Kylia to dinner the first time - she was, after all one of his husband's political volunteers.
And that was another thing. Juan was active in local politics wherever the Navy had stationed Alberto, had never complained about moving for Albertos career. They had all decided together that with the chief's retirement, the family would return to Guantanamo, and Juan had renewed his contacts in the political parties there. He had ambitions to be one of the Representatives from Cuba. And who could tell? Senator Castro would someday retire, and someone must fill his seat in the Confederacy's Senate.
Such thoughts always brought a smile to Alberto's face. If Kylia thought the smile was for her, no harm was done, sinse he had such smiles as well.
Wives to love, children to cherish, and a future to plan and build. What more could a man desire? Life is good.
Nancy glanced at the clock, something she did not intend to allow to become a habit. Hours left to go, anyway, until her 15:00 quitting time. There were plenty of invoices to prepare, manifests to examine until then. She glanced again.
Damn it. She was normally more patient than this. If she and Deborah hadn't had that fight the night before Deborah went to sea, she'd be her usual patient self. But they had, and then Deborah was gone. Nancy had time to think, and much to think about.
It was all the Dick's fault. That's was how they'd taken to referring to Richard, their ex-husband. Not Richard, not Dick - "the" Dick. He had been, a real prick if anyone was. Abusive, domineering, critical of everything and everything. The Dick.
Deborah had always been strong enough to stand up to him, but Deborah's career meant that she wasn't always there. Nancy wasn't that strong, not then, and she was always there. She'd borne the brunt of the Dick's abuse, been his whipping post when he needed to take out his frustrations from work.
When Deborah was home, things were tolerable, occasionally even pleasant. Nancy loved Deborah for that, as much as she had when they'd married the Dick together after college. But Deborah had been in NROTC, and wanted a military career. Nancy became a shipping manager at the Marine Terminal. The Dick tried to start a business as Contractor.
The first few years were good, at least for Deborah and Nancy. The Dick's business had a rocky start, but he'd landed a military contract, something about producing desalting equipment or distilling units, something every ship needed. Nancy moved up. Deborah got her first promotion and assignment to submarines, which she loved. But the Dick's contract was in jeopardy, something about failure to perform to specifications, and he turned sour.
Never mind. The Dick was gone, and although the divorce could have severed all bonds, Nancy and Deborah had decided to remain wives together. Nancy had needed that, still needed it. She loved Deborah, and found in her the strength and courage to move on.
They'd dated men since the divorce. It was always someone Deborah suggested. They'd never dated anyone twice, and that was Nancy's fault. And it had come to a head, just before the deployment.
"Damn it, Nancy, you can't keep doing this."
"I don't mean to," she'd replied, knowing it was only half true. The incipient tears were real enough.
"This one was important to me. I really like him," Deborah said. "Even if it doesn't go anywhere, I can't afford to alienate him - we'll be seeing him socially from time to time, whether you like him or not!"
"I said I was sorry," she'd cried. She had been.
"Are you?" Deborah'd asked. "After last night, he might not ask again. And I want him to."
On that note, Deborah had gone to the ship, and the ship had gone to sea.
Three weeks was more than enough time for Nancy to regret her behavior. She'd looked at herself, and realized that she'd been possessive and jealous. Their dates brought out hostility toward any potential future husband with whom she's have to share Deborah.
But Deborah's happiness was as impotant to her as her own. If it would make Deborah happy, Nancy would learn to contain her fears, to deal with them without driving anyone away - especially Deborah.
She could call her on the phone to apologize. But no, that wasn't their way. They'd argued face to face; they'd make up that way as well.
Perhaps she'd go to the ship. Deborah didn't encourage visits when she had duty to perform, but knowing that she was home, but not home, was hard on Nancy.
She glanced at the clock.
Lieutenant(lg) Deborah Harboard thanked the duty Yeoman and perused the Guard Mail. She signed, dated and timed the receipt, and the Yeoman went about the business of logging and distributing the mail. None of it was of immediate concern to the duty section.
In fact, there was little to concern the duty section. In another twenty hours, the entire ship would be turned over to the Bureau of Shipbuilding. The ship was clean, defueled, and disarmed. As far as the War Department was concerned, The CSS R. E. Lee (Deborah was careful never to let the nickname "Areolee" escape her lips aloud) was no longer a combatant asset.
Duty required that she see to her vessel, regardless. As the Captain's representative, she was responsible for the ship and all government property therein. She would make routine rounds to verify the continued integrity (watertightness) of the ship, for fire and security, and to maintain good order and discipline. She would carry out the Captain's standing and supplementary night orders, which tonight said only, "Continue preparations for turnover per SubShips Inst. 4790.4."
The only item of concern this evening was the stream of crewmembers in varying states of inebriation to finish removing personal effects to their homes or temporary quarters on base. So far, there had been no incidents (or none had been reported); it was a quiet duty day.
With so little of military discipline to occupy her, Deborah could allow her personal thoughts to intrude. She was in port, less than thirty miles from her home and hearth. Her wife would be at work, but Deborah had little doubt that when that civilian workday ended, she would shortly afterwards receive a phonecall. They had parted angry; neither would let that go on a moment longer than necessary.
For her part, the anger was gone but the cause still needed to be addressed. Deborah understood her wife's insecurities, worked hard to build her self-confidence back to its pre-marriage levels. She blamed herself for leading Nancy into marrying the Dick. Were her judgement, her character skills, always so poor? He had seemed so loving, kind, so chivalrous. Still, she had forgiven herself that mistake and corrected it. Why couldn't Nancy do the same?
Nancy hadn't forgiven herself, or hadn't forgiven Deborah, and that was a problem. Deborah loved Nancy, loved having her in her arms, loved waking up by her side, but... There's always a but. Deborah craved the kind of male companionship a husband could provide. Nancy had, too, and would again with the right man.
Nancy never actively objected to dating; she displayed her objections on the dates, with passive-aggressive behavior or overt hostility toward the gentleman caller. The overt behavior had all but subsided until Deborah had accepted a date with a man whom she truly liked and hoped to see more of. It didn't help that the man was her commanding officer.
Deborah had dreaded serving three weeks at sea with Captain Lee in the aftermath of that date. But he had continued to be the personable, professional officer he had been before the date, no more and no less cordial.
Her own embarrassment about the date might have abated had she not been approached by some of the other female officers. The Captain was discretion incarnate - the details of their date might as well have been stamped top-secret. Their inquisitiveness was how she had learned of the Captain's policy of not dating within his command - several had been politely turned down. They all wanted to know how she had changed his mind.
She honored his silence with her own, except to divulge that it was he who had asked her, and not the other way around. Even the Executive Officer had called Deborah to her stateroom to discuss it. As it turned out, the XO wanted no details, nor personal secrets. She only wanted to reiterate Naval policy regarding not letting personal relationships affect performance or preference. The XO said she agreed with the Skippers personal policy, but, "between us girls? He's one of the good ones. Sink your hooks in, and don't let go."
His behavior and attitude hadn't changed, but neither had he asked her and Nancy out again. When her leave started tomorrow, she planned to have a long talk with her wife. Then, perhaps, she could work up the nerve to ask him out herself.
None of which was pertinent to her duties of the moment, she reminded herslf. She left the wardroom for a tour of the ship.
Bob was utterly fascinated at the way Tiffany ate her ice cream cone. So far, despite the warmth of the first week of May, not a single drop of the chocolaty confection had dripped below the rim of the cone. Tiffany was an expert, keeping the cone in motion, her tongue nearly always in contact. His own nephews would have been covered by now, hands and shirts, and likely knees or pants.
Minding Tiffany gave Samantha and Caroline time to hug, and cry, and do feminine things he'd long suspected his XO capable of (but never seen displayed.) She'd asked the due date and Bob could tell she was picturing their projected deployment schedule with concern.
Caroline went straight to the heart of the matter. "Will you be able to take leave when the time comes?"
Samantha hemmed and hawed, until Bob pointed out a quiet place by some trees and said "Go over there and talk quietly. The spouses grapevine knows our schedule as well as we do." Bob knew his exec would be reluctant to speak of specific dates. She's more security conscious than even he.
They did, and Bob could tell from the frustration and disappointment on Caroline's face what her answer was. Not that he'd expected anything else from his career-oriented First Officer. The due date would fall toward the end of a joint international exercise lasting eight weeks - far too long for Bob to excuse a crewmember without replacement.
Caroline might argue that noone was indispensable, but Samantha would rightly argue that any replacement of a senior officer for that long a period would be permanent. After her absence, Samantha would be placed at another command, possibly still as an XO, but with an invisible mark next to her name. A command of her own would be much longer in arriving.
By the time they returned to the table, Tiffany's cone had accomplished what the scoop had not. Still without a drop on her sundress, Tiffany sported a chocolate smile twice as wide as her mouth, and sticky fingers held up and apart.
Caroline spat on a handkerchief and would have applied it had not Samantha harrumphed, and told Tiffany to go with her to the ladies'. Bob found himself alone with Caroline.
Bob watched them go. "She's a real cutie," he smiled.
"So's Tiffany," Caroline replied.
Bob turned to say he was talking about Tiffany, but the twinkling in Caroline's eyes told him he'd just been teased.
"I know all about your policy," she said. "For the record, Sam agrees with it and has embraced it as her own." Bob relaxed .
"Also for the record, Cap'n Bob," she continued, "I'm not a member of your crew, and I think you'd make a dandy addition to the family."
Startled only for a moment, Bob grinned back evilly. "Tell you what. I'll have Sam transferred so it won't be a problem, and we can see what develops."
Caroline blinked. "You wouldn't!" She watched Bob's face, concerned. Bob waggled his eyebrows. "You wouldn't," she laughed, reassured.
"Caroline, I'm not oblivious to Samantha's charms, Bob soothed. "Nor yours," he added, touching her hand lightly. "I'm also not unmindfull of the pressure Samantha feels to live up to her family name." He looked in the general direction Sam and Tiffy had taken. "She's more aware of the pressure than you or I. She'll be the youngest Submarine Commander and one of the youngest admirals if she keeps her present pace."
"So? Is ambition necessarily a bad thing?"
Bob shook his head. "Not necessarily. But will she take the time to carry on the family name, or will you provide all the Stuart-Forrests?"
Caroline didn't answer, a frown creasing her forehead.
"Do you have any idea what kind of pressure the children of a Stuart-Forrest-Lee union would suffer?"
"We're not putting any pressure on our kids!" Caroline was defensive.
"Of course not. The pressure comes from the expectations of others. Sam actually handles it quite well."
"Nat opted out completely. Went into business instead." The Lion defended her cubs.
Bob sighed. "You don't think he's driven to succeed in business? Nathan Bedford Forrest was one of our most famous tacticians. Everyone expects Nat to be a brilliant businessman, just like his great to the nth grandfather. Anything less is failure. Keep that in mind when Nat has a bad day."
"Fine," Caroline relented. "You've made your point." Still, she took Bob's hand. "Don't you think there is anyone out there for you, Bob?"
Bob laughed. "Yes, I do. Look, I've seen the stats from the 2000 Census. Average family, 2.4 husbands, 3.1 wives, 7.7 kids, a kennel of dogs and a passel of cats. I know I'm an anomoly, not even one spouse. That's pressure, too. But I have hopes."
Caroline perked up. "Do tell!"
"Can't. Too soon. Besides, "I wouldn't want to cheat Sam out of a chance to play gossipy woman for a change."
"Ah, it's like that, is it?" Caroline said, laughing. "Policy made to be broken?"
"My lips are sealed."
Deborah paused in the door to the crew's mess. One of her weaponeers was good-naturedly joking with one of the "nukes" from the engineering department. She listened and watched.
"Ever seen a Nuke wind-up toy, Roy?" asked TM1/SS (Torpedoman First-Class/Submarine Qualified) Douglas Whalen.
"No," replied MK2 (Mechanical Technician Second Class) Roy Ingalls. "I suppose you'll show me?"
Grinning, Doug extended his right hand, fingers together and thumb up, setting the edge on the table. He wrapped his left fist around the thumb and made "winding" motions clockwise, repeating six times. Then he used his left index finger to "push" the thumb down to meet the fingers.
Immediately, he flopped his right hand back and forth on the table top, palm down to palm up, beginning rapidly and then slowing down.
Laughter erupted all around Doug, including from Roy. Deborah smiled, knowing that the joke would be repeated all over the ship before the next duty section arrived. She hoped she could show it to the Chief Engineer and his assistants before they got it from someone else.
She resumed her tour of the ship.
Nancy glanced at the clock, thinking she might as well make a day of it. She wasn't getting anything productive done, anyway; hadn't the past hour.
Her intercom buzzed. She answered, "Yes Amy?"
"I have Robert E. Lee on line one, ma'am," her secretary said crisply. Will you take the call, or shall I give your regrets?"
Nancy's face lit up. "I've got it, Amy!" She depressed the numbered button on her phone. "Deborah, I'm so glad you called! I've wanted to apologize for screwing up the date with that guy you like so much for three weeks and I'm sorry and if he asks again you can say yes for us and I'm so sorry forgive me pl...
A masculine voice interrupted with, "Thank you, Nancy! Would you like the details of the date you just accepted?"
Nancy froze.
After an extended silence, Bob said, "Nancy? Are you still there?"
Nancy managed to squeek out, "My secretary said it was Robert E. Lee, and I thought... I thought..."
Bob's laughter was soft, somehow, rather than the nasty snickers she halfway expected. The Dick would have teased her unmercifully. He said, "It's my fault. I should have given my name as Bob Lee. Please don't be angry with your secretary."
He was apologizing? He was asking her not to blame Amy for her own error, and for making a fool of herself? He was apologizing? To her?
"Nancy?
"Mrs. Harboard? Will you please forgive me?" His tone was almost pleading.
Nancy managed to find her voice, "Of course." She coughed. "Of course, no harm was meant, no need to apologize. It was my assumptions that caused the misunderstanding." She calmed down, though her heart was still pounding. "Why were you... How may I help you, C-Captain."
"Mrs. Harboard... may I call you Nancy?" She assented. "Nancy, would you do me the honor of dining with me aboard my ship this evening? I realize this is short notice, and despite your impassioned opening speech, you might wish more time to consider, but nothing would please me more than if you accept."
Nancy's mind was reeling. What had she said? Oh Lord, she had said it to him. She had said it to him. She tried to recover. "H-have you asked Deborah?"
"No, ma'am. I will if you wish, but given your opinion that I am 'that guy she likes so much', might we let that be a surprise?"
"Captain lee..." "Bob," he interrupted. "Bob... I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage. I can scarcely refuse at this point, having blurted out my acceptance unasked."
"Most gracious of you, Nancy. Shall I call upon you, or would you prefer to meet us at the ship? I confess I have several preparations to make, if dinner isn't to be unduly delayed."
"I would be happy to meet you at the ship," she replied, fearing to be in his presence without Deborah. Will 18:00 be suitable?"
"Quite. And Nancy?" he hesitated. "Might I further ask you to stay aboard as my guest overnight?"
"I... I... I..."
"I mean nothing untoward, Nancy. I know Deborah would not consider asking, but you would stay with her, as my guest, and attend the Change of Command ceremony tommorrow."
"Put that way, sir, how could I refuse? I'll plan accordingly."
"Nancy? Thank you for the honor of your company."
Nancy hung up the phone. What had she gotten herself into?
She glanced at the clock. It was after 15:00. She closed her office, dismissed Amy for the weekend, and went home to pack... to prepare for her date.
"Robert E. Lee, arriving," the Internal announcing system blaired.
Deborah looked up from the seawater pump she was examining with the Engineering Duty Chief, frowning. She hadn't expected the Captain's return; he hadn't mentioned it in his night orders, nor to her personally. She excused herself. It might be important.
He wasn't in the control room when she reached it, the most logical place if there was an emergency regarding the ship. She tried the Captain's sea cabin, then his stateroom, unsuccessfully. She doubled back to the control room, and from there proceeded to the wardroom.
She made a cursory check of the wardroom, and was about to close the door when she heard his voice, coming from the pantry. He was apparently discussing something with the duty cook in there. She waited patiently, just out of earshot. He acknowledged her with a nod, and held up a single finger as if to say "Just a minute..."
Deborah saw the Captain clap the steward on his shoulder, grinning, before he turned to enter the wardroom.
"Good Afternoon, Lieutenant Deborah," he was smiling expansively. "How floats the boat?"
Deborah was more than a little startled by his informality, but began a formal report. He held up a hand. "Repeat after me: The boat's afloat."
"The boat's afloat," she said, confused. Given his behavior, Deborah wondered if he might be just a little bit inebriated. She stepped a little closer to try to detect alcohol on his breath.
He stepped closer as well, almost uncomfortably close. She was very, very aware of him. At this distance, he needn't speak in his normal voice; instead, he spoke in a lower, softer register. "I've taken the liberty of changing the time and menu for dinner this evening. Hors douvres will be served at 18:30, and dinner will begin shortly after evening colors. I shall be entertaining a date in the wardroom this evening. You will join me, won't you Lieutenant?"
Deborah was - devastated might not be too strong a word. Bad enough that he did not offer her a second chance, not that she could blame him, but to expect her to participate in entertaining his guest...
He wasn't quite done, though. "I've also asked the steward to make up my stateroom. Our guest will be spending the night."
Deborah felt the heat in her face. She didn't know if she was blushing or angry, or both. If he would just take a step backwards, she might slap his face. But if anything, he was even closer.
She fell back on Naval training. Stiffly, she asked, "May I inquire as to the name and description of our guest, so that she may be brought aboard without undue delay, sir?" And she did resent having her meal time pushed back. Deborah had eaten only a light lunch and had been looking forward to the evening meal.
"You may," he replied, grinning. "In fact, it might be nice, if the duty driver is otherwise unoccupied, to have her met in visitor parking and driven to the brow." Deborah was nearly at her boiling point. "Her name," he dragged the moment out interminably, "is Nancy Harboard. I believe you know her description."
Deborah found herself rendered speechless. Her mouth opened and closed repeatedly - nothing would come out.
Seeing her shock and incredulity, Bob feared he might have carried things too far. In his best command voice, he ordered, "Take... SEAT!"
As though back in "knife and fork" school, Deborah faced the table, withdrew a chair, stepped sideways in front of it and seated herself, moving the chair forward at the same time. She folded one hand over the other in her lap, back straight and eyes front.
Bob place a hand on the back of the chair. A fingertip just made contact with the short hairs on her neck, sending thrills up and down her spine.
From behind, Bob began again. "Lieutenant Harboard, may I call you Deborah?" She nodded. "Deborah, may I have the pleasure of your company, duty permitting, and that of your wife, for dinner as my guests this evening? I convey that your wife has conditionally accepted pending your approval; and that either way, I have invited her to spend the night in your company and to attend the change of command ceremony in the morning. To that end, I have made my stateroom available to you and your wife; I shall be sleeping in my sea cabin."
Deborah thought: the smug, conniving, insolent... "I would be honored, sir." I should marry him if for no other reason than to pay him back for the anguish he... "I accept on behalf of myself and my wife." ...put me through. "I thank you for the use of your cabin as well." You utterly sweet, thoughtful, rotten little boy. "You're a horrible tease." Was that last thought out loud? He was laughing! Oh, God, I said it aloud.
He moved away, rounding the table, to sit across from her. Should she be grateful that his finger no longer touched her hair?
"Yes," he said, his eyes meeting hers, "I am a horrible tease." She had said it aloud! "I have been in a teasing mood since I spoke to your wife. I'll let her relate the details of that conversation."
The following information is provided for Norfolk, Virginia
(longitude W76.3, latitude N36.9):
Friday
4 May 2001 Eastern Daylight Time
SUN
Begin civil twilight 5:40 a.m.
Sunrise 6:08 a.m.
Sun transit 1:02 p.m.
Sunset 7:57 p.m.
End civil twilight 8:25 p.m.
MOON
Moonrise 3:47 p.m. on preceding day
Moonset 4:43 a.m.
Moonrise 4:55 p.m.
Moon transit 11:09 p.m.
Moonset 5:15 a.m. on following day
Phase of the Moon on 4 May: waxing gibbous with 89% of the
Moon's visible disk illuminated.
Full Moon on 7 May 2001 at 9:54 a.m. Eastern Daylight Time.
David was a first generation immigrant from Connecticut. Unlike a European immigrant, he already spoke the language, sort of. After ten years, his accent had softened and his speach slowed from what he'd spoken as a child, but it would still rate a second look from a stranger.
Home from another long day at the shipyard, he kissed his wife, Melody, and then kissed his other wife, Marla. He even hugged his husband, Arthur. All the while, David felt a delightful thrill of wickedness. Being married to more than one woman, having a husband fo God's sake, was not how David was raised.
"Have I told you all lately how much I love you?" he asked. It was true. Arthur had been his best friend in high school, almost his only friend. Not many 'natives' wanted to get to know the new kid with the obvious Yankee accent and the embarrassing manners and weird beliefs. Arthur was the exception. Their friendship might have started from pure curiosity, but it had grown as they challenged each other, each learning to think beyond their boundaries.
At 13, David had no choice but to accompany his parents - and his father's mistress - when they left the narrow intolerant morality of United States for the equally narrow but completely different morality of the Confederacy. David had two mothers now, though it had taken until he had gotten engaged himself to reconcile with his father's second wife. He could even call her "Mom" now, without reservation. Throughout his teenaged years he had resented that other woman, whose presence had caused him to be uprooted from a known and comfortable existance.
Looking at his smiling spouses, he remembered his father's many attempts to explain that a person could love more than one other person. He understood that now, though his Roman Catholic roots still inspired a sence of thrilling wickedness in his current circumstance.
He followed his spouses to their bedroom. After a family council, Marla had thrown away her birth control and they were "all trying to become pregnant," as she put it. Dave had agreed that he and Arthur would do their best, and Melody would help, too.
Each of them carfully removed Marla's clothing, kissing and carressing the skin revealed. David reflected that this wasn't greatly different from any other night, except somehow slower - more deliberate. More emphasis on Marla. The rest would undress each other as usual, but Marla would be naked and waiting. Unlike other nights, Marla would be the depository of all sperm spent in their lovemaking.
Somehow David was the next to be nude. He decided to one-up his husband by preparing Marla for him, rather than taking that honor. He began to carress her, teasing her breasts and nuzzling the nape of her neck.
"Did he tell you how he tricked me into accepting this date?"
"I did not trick you..."
"With all due respect, Captain Lee, I was speaking to my wife."
"Pardon me, ma'am. By all means, proceed, but please call me Bob."
"Did he?"
"No, he said he would leave the explanation of this evening to you, and I can tell by your blush the story will be good."
"Yes, well, perhaps for some values of 'good.' It is certainly a tale of deceit and chicanery worthy of a cautionary fable."
"Mmmph."
"Do control yourself, sir. You shall have your own opportunity to explain your misdeeds. Where was I?"
"I believe it was, 'worthy of a cautionary fable.' Please continue. I've had my own dealings with the Captain's sense of propriety."
"Of that I have no doubt. First, he misrepresented himself in such a fashion that I thought I was receiving a call from you. As eager as I was to speak to you, I'm afraid I may have tendered an apology for... a disagreement we... we had before you left.
"An apology?"
"Yes, well... The apology was intended for your ears alone. It may have alluded to a certain willingness to enterain the posibility of...
"She said we could date."
"Please, this is difficult enough!"
"Sorry. I'll try to be quiet."
"Thank you."
"Did you really say that?"
"Worse."
"Worse?"
"Much. Oh, wipe that silly grin from your face, sir!" "Bob." "Hush! This is difficult enough without your smirks and grimaces and boyish smiles."
"I'll try to contain myself."
"I'm sure. As I was saying, much worse. In addition to indicating my willingness to accommodate your... interest... in another date with Bob..."
"Oh Lord!"
"...I may have inadvertantly indicated, or even exagerated the level of interest you might have in pursuing a relationship with him."
"Am I blushing as hard as you are? What did you say?"
"Oh, go ahead, Bob. I can see you're fit to burst. Tell her what I said."
"It wasn't really that bad, Nancy, honestly. Deborah, she merely used the words, 'that guy you like so much.' Now both of you stop blushing! That's hardly a proposal of marriage!"
"I should think not!" "No, not at all."
"I'll wait to do that until after dinner, ladies."
"Ladies?"
"Nancy... Deborah... Nancy, at least finish your fable while Deborah catches her breath. I'm certain you weren't done with the cautionary parts."
<Ahem> "Yes, well." <Ahem> "Deborah, is he always like this?"
<cough> "Nancy, I'm seeing a side of my Captain I don't recall ever having seen before."
"Perhaps the rest of my tale is redundant?"
"No, please. Continue. Unless, of, course, you feel it will contribute to that smug look on his face."
"I doubt that anything I could say could remove it. Suffice to say that once I realized to whom I spoke, I was at a decided disadvantage. And advantage is what he took, pressing me to be here."
"Nancy. He forced you to come?"
"Deborah, don't be angry. It wasn't exactly that way. Oh, look! That's wiped the expression from his face."
"Did he..."
"Oh, Deborah! No, I'm sorry I put it that way. He wasn't like the Dick at all, not at all! Please calm down."
"Perhaps you ladies need a moment alone. I'll just check on the hors douvres."
"Can he hear us?"
"Not if we keep our voices down. Now tell me - did he coerce you in any way to..."
"Nonono, nothing like that! In fact, he apologized! He was so... opposite of what The Dick would have been like that I was flustered. Oh, now you're going to wear the silly grin. Just don't tease. He does that more than enough."
"All right. But I did tell you I like him. Can you see why?"
"I suppose. He isn't what I expected."
"Just get to know him. That's all I ask."
"Was he serious about proposing, do you think?"
"Nancy, an hour ago I'd have said 'Don't be silly.' Now? Despite his teasing - and isn't he a tease? Despite that, I'm certain he's serious about courting us. Whether that'll lead to a proposal, I don't know."
"Deborah, I really am sorry for the way I've behaved. I love you. I need you. But I'm not ready for that."
"Don't worry, I'm not quite ready for that, either."
"You aren't?"
"No."
"That's such a relief. He's had you to himself for weeks. I was afraid..."
"He isn't like that. He was strictly professional... until today."
"He's been teasing you, too?"
"Yes, a lot! I thought for a moment he was drunk."
"I know how to get even."
"You do? How?"
"If the tease brings up marriage or a proposal again, we'll both say, "We accept.' That'll rock him back on his heels, and at least stop the teasing about that."
"Do you real - oh, he's coming back."
This story grows from a humorous post on the Usenet newsgroup Alt.Sex.Stories.D (ASSD), in which I, as the poster, posted as though I was the captain of a Confederate submarine shooting "torpeanuts" at a terrible pun. Throwing virtual peanuts (represented by an "8") at punsters is a longstanding Usenet custom.
In some Usenet newsgroups, posting in third person and using normal written dialog conventions is accepted as well. Before I knew it, I had an alternate newsgroup persona, useful on occasion for making or raking puns.
Then Stasya posted a call for a "Cosmic Orgasms, a challenge for the new year":
Turning points. They happen to individuals and cultures. Repeatedly.
Everyone is familiar with the idea that seemingly insignificant events can turn out to have far reaching consequences. The 'what if?' game can be irresistible at times. We humans excel at it. Second guessing is second nature to us.
As writers, many of us take the time to play the 'what if?' game with individuals or small groups of people. 'Sex with b instead of z changed this person's life from this to that.' That sort of exploration is routine for a lot of writers here.
There has been a lot of discussion wrt 'alternate worlds'. I know one person has said words to the effect 'looking back, I wish I'd written this instead of that.'
Combine those two threads and you get my challenge: Write something in which a seemingly insignificant event or attitude turns out to be the 'triggering event' for a global social change wrt sexual attitudes. Or, write something in which a sex act is the ultimate cause of a major shift in global history. Oh yes. The participants can't be deliberately trying to change things. It's only after the fact of the global change that someone looks back and says: "This is where it started."
Fex: What if Hitler had fallen in love with a Jew early in life and wound up feeling they should be fully integrated into German culture as equals? (This is only an example, not part of the challenge)
I took up the challenge immediately. I'd already written several parts or chapters of a rambling story - the challenge gave it a new twist. I replied:
It's in my hopper and growing, even before the challenge was issued.
1. Due to a missed communication, elements of the Confederate Army pursued the routed Federal Forces from the Battle of Bull Run and wound up capturing Washington, D.C. including the President (Lincoln). Articles of capitulation were prepared and signed, ending the First War of Northern Aggresion. (I believe something similar was used in a book titled "If The South Had Won The Civil War".)
2. During the Second War of Northern Aggresion, Utah was persuaded to secede by appealing to the polygamist factions by acknowledging polygamy as legal and recognized by the other Confederate States. After the war, various state legislatures legalized polygamy, because so many of its constituents were making the arduous trek to Utah to do it anyway.
3. By the 21st Century, polygamy is the law of the land throughout the Confederacy and has extended to include polyandry ever since women were given the vote. Slavery was ended in the latter 1800's and slaves were repatriated to Africa (the less said about the conditions in the "Freedom Ships", the better.) Race is not much of an issue. Many sexuality laws did not survive in the light of multiple males and/or females in married relationships. Feminism is a different creature - the military is fully integrated, gender-wise.
I was determined to withhold posting any part of this story until it was completed. At one point, I had many thousands of words committed to disk, in full-blown chapters. I was on a roll.
Then my hard drive died. I was contemplating a full back-up to my CD-R, and organizing for it...
Too late. I re-learned the oldest lesson in computer science (always, always, always back up your work)... again.
One might think that re-creating a story from memory would be a relatively simple thing to do. It has already been written once, right? The hard part is over, right?
<Sigh>
Would that it were so. No, the deadline for Stasya's Cosmic Orgasm Challenge is long past. My focus for the story has changed. My format for the story has changed. (Where there were chapters before, there are now scenes, and each scene is of flash length, 1,000 words or less.) I've started over, virtually from scratch, salvaging only the basic theme and some characters.