Shores of Tripoli Ch. 10

When he starts murmuring the names of the positions as we take them up, I suppose I must stop just thinking them myself, and murmur them as well.

He asked me once when we were contemplating a third fucking if the Arab prince fucked me seven times in a session—and the pirate chief twice that, and I put my fingers to his lips and said I was very much younger then and then replaced the fingers with my own lips—and that it, after all, was just a frequent change of positions. Neither of us came each time. But the positions were so exotic that both of us did come more frequently if there hadn't been the athletic variety of positions.

After that, he started changing positions with me more frequently and we were enjoying more frequent ejaculations.

I have no idea what my goal is in writing of these events. No reader would admit reading them; no printer would print them. My early lover, Henry Gawn, very well might, although he very likely would keep the book for himself—and, in any event, he passed while I was in the Mediterranean. I hear that his widow, Marianne, took his last apprentice as a lover and that the town is scandalized by that. I say more power to her—that she should feel free to take her pleasures when, where, and for as long as she is able.

Sam says that someday writings such as these will be read—and even that they will be offered for sale in shops. But I believe that the Harvard College he now teaches at has addled his brain a bit. Thank god his cock still works—very well. He has said I can leave the book in his keeping so that there's no way Jenny will accidentally find it, so as I finish each chapter, I take it to him. And then we fuck. I am content with that.

-FINI-