Chapter 1

June 8, 17--

Dearest Diarie,

I am most excited by our first day at sea. The Captain, dear Mr. Sutworth, seems a most responsible and capable man, and the men have been most kind in helping me carry my trunks, inquiring after the comfort of my cabin and bedding, and so forth. Aunt Agatha and Rev'd. Pinchwork cautioned me against too close an association with them, saying that sailors are rough in their character and lack a woman's refining touch; but I hope to touch as many sailors as I may, and do not agree that a young lady of beauty and breeding such as myself should avoid any intercourse or exposure to seamen. Indeed, I look forward to receiving seamen regularly at table, or wherever the occasion should present itself.

The dinner bell has rung; I shall return to sharing my confidences with you at the earliest convenience.

June 14, 17--

Oh my Dear Diarie,

Forgive me for failing in my duty to write to you but I have been greatly vexed by a recent series of events. Within a day of our voyage starting I was virtually confined to my quarters by Aunt Agatha (rest in peace) and that most cruel and unkind Rev'd. Pinchwork. The cause, which I may say was quite imaginary on their part, was what they took to be an excessive degree of contact with seamen. I grew most angry with them and said I would rather enjoy a whole load of seamen than their unfriendly company any day. Aunt Agatha seemed to have a kind of fit after I said that and took to her bed.

After four days of this most unspeakable confinement (during which I could not write to you, Dear Diarie, for fear that your existence would be discovered by my captors and all your Secrets bared) an even more dreadful sequence of events took place. We heard a great deal of shouting and commotion from the decks above, and Rev. Pinchwork took it upon himself to investigate; with Aunt Agatha still ill, however, he felt compelled to take me above board with him in safekeeping.

When we reached the upper deck we found it in utter commotion. When we asked the cause one of the sailors shouted at us, "It is the Sapphic Pirate Miranda and her temptation-drunk crew of fat hell-wenches!" I confess I scarcely understood what these words could mean but they appeared to reduce Rev'd. Pinchwork to a state of utter Terror.

A moment later the ship was shaken to its timbers by a tremendous crash; and it transpired that by the most dreadful luck, the pirates had fired a cannon blast which had gone directly through our cabin, killing poor Aunt Agatha instantly (as I would later learn). Though there is little enough for me to be thankful to Rev'd Pinchwork for, removing me from the cabin most assuredly saved my life, though as will be seen, his intention was hardly preservative. (Thankfully, I had hidden you, Dear Diarie, on my person these several days or you should have been lost as well!)

Within moments the pirates had boarded our ship and slain the poor dear captain and many of his crew, whereupon Rev'd Pinchwork conceived a most extraordinary notion. Maneuvering me to the side of the ship less disturbed by the pirates' depredations, he attempted to explain to me that the pirates and their mistress Miranda were known to be consumed by a most unnatural Lust for their own Sex, and that an attractive young person such as myself, possessed of a warm-blooded temperament (and in that the comparison with his own basilisk-like humour was apparent), could not help but put her eternal soul at risk by suffering the depraved admirations and affections of their type. Therefore, he implored me, if I chose to go to my Savior at that moment by leaping from the ship, he was most certain that no Blame for the sin of suicide could be attached to me, as I would have chosen it over the worse sin of Lesbianism.

When I protested that I had no desire to end my life at such an early age, he grew most angry with me and, calling me a troublesome, stubborn creature, attempted to wrestle me overboard. At that moment a most fearsome pirate rescued me, if that is the word, by splitting his skull with her cutlass. Six feet tall, broad in build, shaven-headed, dressed in leather breeches and boots and yet with both breasts and fat belly exposed for all to see, this "hell-wench" licked her lips as she looked at me, the late Rev'd's blood still dripping from her blade. "You're a fine specimen of an English rose," she said. "I daresay Miranda will find many pleasures to be had with your creamy skin-- if she chooses to save it."

Well, flattered though I am to realize in retrospect the honor that was being bestowed on me, at the time I had no intention of becoming the mistress of a pirate captain, Sapphic or otherwise. "How dare you speak to me that way, you fat cow," said I. "I am Miss Esme Winterblossom, and I demand that you take me to the nearest English port or I shall leap from this ship at once."

"Well blast me for a parson's virgin bride," said the pirate Wench, and she grabbed me around the waist and started to carry me off, pressing my face tightly into one of her enormous sweat-drenched breasts. Powerless to overcome her strength, I did the only suitable thing to one of my position: I fainted.

June 16, 17--

Dear Diarie, Lone Friend in All the World,

I was confined for a day to a tiny, filthy cabin on the pirate ship, with only the foulest swill for food, before the door was suddenly unlocked and I was dragged out and above decks by two more of these harridan pirate-wenches. Like nearly all the crew on this ship, they were fat and showed off their state proudly, allowing their large hanging mams and their bellies to be displayed unclothed, and many of them decorated with tattoos, jewelry which pierced their flesh, and other such uncouth and savage accoutrements. The ship itself was nothing like poor Capt. Sutworth's, which the men kept so neat; here cats roamed everywhere, there was chamomile tea spilled on near every surface, and at any moment impromptu games of Rugby might be breaking out on deck.

I was hauled upstairs to what I recognized was the captain's deck, and thrown at the feet of yet another tall, broad-shouldered woman with huge breasts, belly and behind, sitting in a high-backed chair while a similarly half-naked Nubian maid painted the toenails of one foot. Blonde curly hair cascaded from the captain's head, whilst one eye was covered with an eyepatch and an assortment of scars disfigured her face and body. An ivory decoration pierced one nipple, to my intense discomfort, and assorted tattoos of a savage design covered other places, including one that seemed to begin at her navel and continue toward her sex. For all that she seemed the very embodiment of degeneracy, however, there was a keen look in her one remaining eye which made it clear that, however Criminal, she was a person of considerable wit and cunning.

As she saw me, she leered and said, "Black pussycat, how would you like to lap up some Devonshire cream?" The Nubian looked at me with hatred. Heavens, it's not my fault I am most beautiful and have an alabaster complexion.

"She says she's Miss Esme Winterbottom," said another fat pirate Wench behind the chair, whom I would learn was the first mate, one Kate.

"Winterblossom," I said, trying not to appear too snobbish in correcting the mistake.

"How'd you like to win 'er blossom," another one behind the chair muttered, and there was laughter and the slapping of bottoms and other horse-play until Captain Miranda held up one hand.