Chapter 12: The Swede

Now Philadelphia I am sure had more whores than any other city in America at that time, but Georgetown housed a higher proportion of friskers, I believe, than any place in the world. I guess there might have been a thousand inhabitant of the small, busy port, with a lot more on Saturdays, but there must have been at least a hundred trollops among them. They served the merchant fleet, which was numerous, as well as the tobacco planters that visited regularly, nearly every weekend, the factors and their workers, the warehousemen and the inspectors, plus the butcher, baker and candle-stick maker, and filled many doorways and windows from the river on up to the hilltops, advertising their availability and charms. Most of them were not cheap either.

However, in this multitude, one stood out. Her fame had spread far and wide, and I had even heard whispered rumors and salacious tales of her up in Trenton, back in the spring of '77. She was called The Swede, or sometimes Joan Suede, or Joan the Swede, but whatever she was called, she was, by every measure, so the stories went, the absolute best as well as the most expensive fancy woman on the Atlantic Coast.

She was, they said, man sized, brazen, gorgeous and unnaturally hungry for cock. A visit to her chambers cost, I had been told, at a minimum, a pound sterling and for that you got one try and no more than an hour of the big harlot's time. The inn where she worked kept posted a scale of paper equivalents, and at the time I visited, the Continental as well as the currency of Maryland and Virginia had deteriorated to about a hundred to one in value and the place no longer accepted paper money from New York or the Carolinas.

Of course, I had to see this wonder, so went to the big, two-story inn where they told me she worked and ordered a beer. Then I asked and the bar tender laughed. But he looked at me again when I frowned, examined my dress and ratty boots, rubbed his chin and then said, "Forget it, man, she's way out'a yer class, out a'mine too."

"I've got a pound, hard money," I said.

"You might be able to get on her schedule, maybe nex' month some time, if she's willign to entertain you." He laughed and refilled my glass. "I think that's unlikely. The Swede's downright picky these days. Mainly she does them nabobs, the tobacco lords from up on the hill, especially them younger ones less'n one signs up fer all day."

"Well," I said, "can I see her, talk to her?"

"Not a chance," he said. "She don' never come down here."

I headed for the stairs, shrugged loose of his restraining hand after he ran to stop me, and walked up and into the empty dining room. It was impressive with its white napery, glistening sliver and sparkling glassware, and I was impressed. I left by the front door, convinced the man in the bar was right and this one was far out of my reach.

I found good company that evening, however. It would have been difficult not to do so, and the next day, I struck gold. As I struggled out of the tavern where I spent the night and found a raw egg in a glass of whisky for breakfast, squinting at the morning sun, along came a tall, blonde vision accompanied by a bandy-legged black girl and a mean-looking fellow who had all the marks of a constable or some such minion of the law. He wore a big pistol in his belt, a black hat and an unhappy look.

I stepped in front of the fast moving beauty, cleared my throat as she came to a stop and put her hands on her wide hips, giving me a crooked smile. I suppose you have seen those Roman statues of woman carrying urns and such, well, she could have been one of them. Big and beautiful.

"Joan," I said, knuckling my forehead, "how good to see you again." I stuck out my hand, and it was brushed aside by the stocky man with the tri-corned hat pulled well down his forehead.

"Move on," he growled, his hairy paw on the butt of his pistol.

"Wait," the luscious girl said, cocking her head to the side. "Jim, isn't it?" Her voice carried an odd sing-song that said English was not her native tongue.

"T'will do," I said, putting her arm in mine and patting her hand. "Where are you headed?"

"Butcher shop," she said. "Red meat I'm after, sick of chicken and pork. I need a big piece of meat."

"And how are you keeping?" I asked, glancing back at the unhappy man trailing us along with the skipping black girl. Since Joan and I were both long-legged people, we had no trouble setting a brisk pace.

'Tolerable," she said. "Where have you been?" The lilt of her speech was enjoyable as was the glow of her face. She was having fun, and I was enjoying the feel of her big boob bouncing on my arm.

"Frederick, Annapolis, a few other places recently." I patted her linked arm in a proprietary manner and rubbed our hips together.

"Don' too far go," she whispered leaning toward me and pressing her firm breast on my forearm.

She got her meat, five beef steaks about two inches thick, gave her basket to her servant and dismissed her guard. He started to protest, but surrendered to her raised eyebrow. We walked out to the end of the city pier and watched the old river flow past as several small ships were working their way upstream against the tide.

"Who t'hell are you?" she asked leaning back on the rail and shading her eyes. The rising sun glinted through her gold-colored hair. She wore a costume of some sort of twill, a dark-green jacket over a frilly shirt and a wide skirt of lighter green, both adorned by brass buttons and rolled cording.

"Just a soldier," I said, enjoying the stimulating view. "No more than that."

"A bold one."

I nodded. "That's how I've stayed alive."

"And you've got somethin' you want to give me, eh, something long and hard and mostly gristle?" She smiled a fine smile and I had to admire not only her beauty, which was nearly startling, but her cool demeanor. She was perhaps five ten or so in her high-heeled boots, maybe eleven or twelve well-organized stone, with a long neck, wide shoulders and a heart-stopping figure who wore her clothes as if they were an afterthought and walked with completely unconscious grace, like a big cat I decided. She was a living, breathing invitation to copulation, and my mind nearly froze while my member stirred and pulsed.

I shook my head at her frank, sexual suggestion. "Wouldn't you like to spend a day away from that drudgery?" I asked, holding her gray eyes steadily, her warm hand in mine, trying to ignore the size and shape of her, the length of her legs, the swell of her bosom, the soft belly puffed below her waist.

"Drudgery!" She laughed explosively. "How did you know? The same ting day after day; t'same noises; the same excuses; t'same begging, t'same sweat an' gruntin'." She took a deep breath that tested her brass buttons. "By damn," she said, "dat I would. Come along."

We hiked back to the City Tavern, hand in hand like a pair of school children, and she told the owner or manager, or whatever the morose man with the big belly was, that she was taking the day off. He sputtered and cursed and growled at me, claiming it would cost him a fortune and reminding the girl of who held her paper and that she had promised to serve faithfully and so on and so forth. But in the end, she patted his cheek, promised to make it up to him, suggested she might be ill for a month or more if she did not have an occasional holiday, and we pranced off, leaving the man goggle-eyed and mumbling to himself.

"He hold's your indenture?" I asked as we tripped happily down the steps to the High Street.

"Yes, yes," she said merrily, "bought me off a ship in Annapolis couple a'years past. Claims he paid a hundred pounds, but I doubt it."

"How long have you got?" I asked, watching her lush body bounce along beside me, my brain firing off lust-filled images of her writhing beneath me.

"I'll be twenty-one in just over a year. So then what?" she asked the air, shaking her head.

"Are you worried?" I asked as we approached the livery stable.

"Some, ya sure, some." She looked serious. "Come, let's hire a chair. T'ey know me."

"I expect most folks in this town do."

She laughed. "One way or t'other."

We rented a light, well-sprung, four-wheel rig drawn by a spirited and well-shod gray, drove back to the Inn where she quickly packed a basket with food and drink, and were off northward along the river until the road petered out into a squirrel trail after a few miles.