"Captain, O' My Captain"

The Chief Engineer was a big man. He had red hair and a flaming red beard. He was a Scotsman of course. A huge lumbering red haired Scotsman. A Scotsman by birth, an American by Naturalization, and oddly a Jew by persuasion. He was also a drunk with the most prodigious thirst of any man on the planet. Best not to get in between the Chief and a tot o' Scotch.

Aboard ship he kept to himself. He read in his stateroom. He ate most of his meals in his stateroom. He owned an accordion, a strange model that looked like a set of very squeezable tits with buttons on it that looked like M&Ms for keys. Sometimes he would play it out on deck for the amusement of the crew. Mostly it amused him. He would be thinking "Tits, tits, tits tits" while playing a reeling tune.

He really liked the accordion because he loved tits. He had found a distinct lack of tits at sea where he lived and made his living. He loved the sea. Tits, the sea, music, A slice of heaven. All he needed was some Scotch. He wondered when they would construct ships that would run on Scotch. Then he could go to the engine room and open a tap and fill the jug. No fuss, no muss.

It wasn't like he was an unhappy man and dissatisfied, he just thought about things like that. He liked all things to be simple and functional. Life was better that way.

Now as it happened the rusty bucket of bolts that he happened to be the Chief Engineer of was due for a new Captain. What a pain in the ass this would be. What would the new asshoe be like? Would he be good enough to keep his ass on the bridge and concern himself with here and there or would he be sticking his nose into the Chief's engine room etc. He would find out.

Not long after musing on this subject he found himself at sea and there was a new Captain on the bridge and he was forced by tradition and requirement to meet his acquaintance. The first night out of port he made the long climb up the the engineer's ladder to the bridge. Almost 7 decks up. Four decks up there was a small platform, a break in the ladder and then it went up the rest of the way. One the bulkhead was a sign that read:

"Boatswain Rest Area

All Others Keep Moving"

The Chief put it there himself, he thought it was hilarious. In his opinion Boatswains tended to be fat slobs but he would never say so. There was an elevator but he had to keep his wind up.

Arriving in the passageway out side the pilothouse he requested permission to enter the holy of holies. It was granted and there was the Mate and the new Old Man. They were standing by the chart table having a mug up and looking over the navigation plot. The Chief did a double take in his mind. There was something wrong with that guy he thought. The man was short and trim and small. It was the mustache. Somehow it reminded him of Groucho Marks. The Captain had a very soft yet firm handshake but the hand was tiny almost lost in the Chief's bear like paw. Chief always expected the fox hunters on the bridge to be soft but this was crazy.

Another thing was the Chief's Gaydar system. It was going off so loud he could hardly hear himself think. Worse than the Klaxton for general quarters. After a bit of small talk the Chief retreated to his familiar haunts where he was the master. He was shaking and sweating on his way back to his engine room. The Chief was confused, he could swear the Captain had looked him over in a predatory and sexual way.

The Chief was not used to such things. It wasn't that he had anything against boys having fun. It was not his cup of tea or Scotch for that matter. It was the wrinkle such an idea made in simple and easy. He had had worked life out to squeezing fake tits while making music and drinking scotch. The new Captain didn't have tits. But he had something.

Yet there he was unable to get the idea out of his head of pulling the Captain's trousers off, bending him over, spreading his ass cheeks, and sticking his tongue in his puckered little rose bud.

Hours and a bottle of Scotch later Chief was less confused and took himself to bed. He felt fortunate that the little bastard was not trying to do the cha cha is his dreams all night

Waking up to a bleary morning the next day he sat drinking a pot of coffee the steward had delivered along with his breakfast. The steward was a chatty fellow and was rambling on about having to run hot water for the Captain's bubble bath and since when did Captain's take bubble baths. The Chief told the man to "shut the fuck up" and threw him out of his room. He was mildly satisfied that he was not the only person aboard confused buy the new Mandarin of the pilot house. Fuckery of some kind was a foot, he thought perhaps the the skipper was a fruit rabbit in which case he intended to steer clear of that. Trouble could only come of it. He had good berth and he wasn't going to fuck it up.

He went fourth in his day and did rounds of the ship and checked various logs and chatted with his first and second engineers and ignored the third engineer because he was jerk who gave the oilers and wipers a hard time. At last he got into tearing down a malfunctioning evaporator unit with one of the auxiliary gang. He enjoyed this kind of thing. It kept his mind in simple and easy territory and made time to go by.

Tomorrow they would have fire and flooding drills. This made he think of hoses. Hose A and Hose B. That made him think of his own hose which led to a thought of the Captain. This was troubling. So troubling he ate a huge steak in the officer's mess. He drank a few tumblers of wine. Argued some politics with the Mate and generally hung about the wardroom which almost never did. He dreaded going back to his cabin and facing his own thoughts. Finally he surrendered to his fatigue.

He slipped into his stateroom and headed for the shower, doffed his coveralls etc and got it all wet and steamy in there. He washed and kept his thoughts contained to the glorious power of hot water and the smooth taste of a tumbler full of good Scotch would have when he was done. Sweet oblivion awaited and be damned to hot little Captain bois!

He exited the shower feeling refreshed and hopeful. He stepped into the gloomy light of the stateroom and in the dimness he saw sitting behind his desk the small form of the Captain who said "Good evening Chief, I have been waiting for you". As his eye adjusted he could see the Captain appeared naked at least shirtless. His right arm was wrapped around a bottle of Scotch and in his left hand he held a pipe. Before the Chief could utter a word the Captain got up put down the pipe and booze and then sashayed around the desk and leaned over it. She looked back over her shoulder and pointed her bottom at him and stood on her toes. The Chief moved forward and knelt behind her, he took a long breath, spread her cheeks and stuck his tongue into her perfectly puckered asshole

This was going to get complicated.