Copyright© 1992-2003

There was a pianist named Liszt
Who played with one hand while he pissed,
But as he grew older
His technique grew bolder,
And in concert jacked off with his fist.

I remember very little about the woman who rescued me and who is responsible for my recovery. If not for her gentle and caring ways, I would certainly be laying upon the rocks near Gibraltar, dead. I honestly cannot say what she looked like, nor her age. The whole time I was with her, I was feverish and mostly comatose. The battle, now known as Trafalgar, was a nightmare that could be described as Hell. Especially to those stuck on one of the gun decks of a first rate. I shall never sleep peacefully again, the images of my friends screaming out as the ship rocked with multiple cannon shot, both friend and foe, coming and going. The ship I was proud to be a crewman of, lost more men with the storm afterwards than the actual battle. I had lived through Hell, to fight again with an impossible foe, the weather. Yet that is a different tale.

The first moment that I knew I was out of the cold water and knife-like wind was a hazy and sickening encounter. It was also the first, and only time, I saw my rescuer. Perhaps it was the warm fire, or snugly blankets that encased my body, the smell of thick stew cooking over the open fire, or the large flea ridden dog laying next to my head sleeping. I have no recollection why, yet I opened my eyes and saw a small warm room and the back of my matron. She was bent over the table, cutting something unknown. She was a small woman, blond hair which is a rarity in these waters. Wearing a loose skirt and large blouse, yet I could still see she was young and in fine shape as any man could hope for.

The last previous recollection I have was trying to swim the impossible current off the coast of Spain, before being dragged under. And at that moment, I wanted to know what happened, where I was, and who was the woman. I tried to sit up. Well, that was it. The room spun dizzily, spots appeared before me, and I lost what little strength I had had. The last thing I saw before passing out, yet again, was the face of my rescuer as she spun surprised at the noise. I can still remember the round pretty face, the wide surprised eyes, and the look of concern she gave me before I was again gone.

Don't recall how long it was before I sensed another sensation, but I felt a warm wet rough cloth scrubbing by naked torso. I could feel a cool draft upon my exposed skin, proof that the thick blankets were pulled down to my knees. I was evidently naked. My consciousness kept drawing me back into darkness, but the coarse cloth pulled me back again and again. I had no strength, none to even talk. The woman had strong warm hands, the cloth a rough contrast. I returned from consciousness at one moment and noticed that a finger was gently sliding along the length of my penis. Up and down, and even in my condition it enlarged pleased with some kind of attention. I must admit I was surprised that he had more strength than I. My rescuer attempted to encircle me with her small hand but could not, yet did grasp it enough to point me towards the ceiling. Unfortunately that was when I again blacked out.

I awoke a few more more times, but I only remember being sick, her body holding me still as I puked my guts over the side of the straw bed. I lived a dizzy black existence for an undetermined amount of time.

The hardness of my penis again awoke me. A strange sensation, one every male learns to enjoy at a early age. There was a warm small body in the bed with me, laying with her back to me. My male hardness pressing into the crack of her bottom pushed her woolen nightdress between those soft globes. She moved only slightly, causing my cock to slide up the length of that soft enveloping crack before coming back down. The lady continued thus, going very slowly, her breath slow and even. She seemed asleep, yet I knew differently. I wished for the strength to reach out and lift that rough nightgown up past her hips, but could not. I fell asleep, my penis still hard.

Again I was being washed, this time I laying upon my front. A soapy slippery hand washed the crack of my bottom. A strange sensation, one I had never experienced before. I was wet from shoulders to mid thigh. She had saved my bottom for last. My rescuer was indeed an interesting woman! She felt around my small hard anus, trying to clean me or... ? Quickly she stopped and dried me off.

There was several forced feedings, a broth was forced into my mouth with a wooden spoon. Usually I regurgitate this back up, yet she seemed to want my strength to increase. A man can only go for so long without food.

Her body slept next to mine, curled up to my side, her leg thrown over mine, her head upon my chest. I knew immediately that she wore the same rough gown. A small hand was rubbing the head of my hard privates. She pressed her groin into my thigh again and again, her breathing laboured. Though both of us were covered with the rough blanket I could feel the warm blow of her breath. Her head was under the blanket, just above my navel. I realized this woman was presented with a disabled man, that she thought there would be no remembering of what she did. Doubtful she knew I had moments of consciousness, as few as they seemed to be to me. I could feel her heated moisture even through that ugly gown. The darkness enveloped me yet again.