Chapter 3

"Nothing much to say for an ocean," the lady with the green and grey headscarf on her reddish hair said to Blair as she leaned over the deck railing, "except that it's wet."

"And that there's a lot of it," Blair said back to her.

Her eyes drifted off to the endless watery horizon as the cool ocean breeze blew her loose hair around. It was about the only thing so far on this trip that she really liked. And, she had to admit that she would be glad to get to Africa and the dense, thick jungle, closed-in spaces had always been more of a favorite to her than wide-open ones anyway.

She had always felt so protected and loved whenever she was surrounded with jungle growth. Even in the forests of North America, there had been that same peace and comfort... tranquillity.

That was it. The ocean unnerved her, made her edgy with apprehension. But the jungle soothed and calmed her, mellowed her out. There was just no place else like it.

She thought back to her last evening at home. It had been fun with Cathy and Harold. She wondered if they were still seeing each other. Probably they were.

If only there had been a man around like Harold, the voyage might pass more quickly. She looked around at the men strolling on deck. There weren't many of them. None at least that she found interesting. All so tame and white and clean and sterile looking. Maybe they were all doctors or dentists. Most of them looked like they could be.

"Hello, Miss Fortner," a pleasant voice sounded from behind her back.

She turned around to see the captain standing in front of her, his hands stuck dapperly in the pockets of his uniform jacket. "Captain Rigby," she said, looking at the tall, slender model of ocean-going official dignity. He was every inch a captain of an ocean vessel.

Probably the type to go down with the ship, Blair thought as he stood there smiling pleasantly at her.

"You look a mite bored with all this," the captain said, gesturing to the breeze.

"Oh, no," Blair lied, "I mean, yes, a little."

"Be glad to get into port, I take it," he said, nodding his captain's head.

"Can't wait," she said, leaning against the railing and sensing the chill in the air.

"Perhaps I could help amuse you for a bit," the dapper man said.

Blair smiled at him patiently. He wasn't exactly her type, but maybe he didn't have the same thing in mind she had just then.

"Ever seen the boiler room of a ship?" he said, "It's quite interesting. Perhaps you'd like to."

"Oh," Blair said, anxious to please the man, but finding the thought a bit dull. What the hell would anyone want to go below deck and watch a furnace burning for?

"That's where most of the real action takes place," the man said, bowing his head a bit and then staring up at her. "Everything up here is a bit dull by comparison I suppose. Whenever I feet a bit spaced out from all this ocean and sky stuff, I take a peek below myself. Care to join me now?"

Blair stepped up and locked arms with that tall, stately captain. He reminded her a touch of her father, who was busy with his books and papers just now. Had been since coming aboard actually.

"All right," she said, agreeably nodding her head and treading along the deck next to Captain Rigby.

"Watch your footing here," the man said as they descended the ladder leading below deck.

It was considerably darker below. And Blair could distinctly hear the hum of the engines. It was warm down there, too. Already, she liked the closed-in, comfy feeling down there better than the spacious, unending nothingness she felt above.

A red hot glow appeared in the darkness just ahead of where they stood.

"What's that?" Blair said, staring straight ahead.

"The furnace room," the captain said, "we're a coal-powered vessel. The men down here have a rough job."

"They feed the furnace?" Blair said as the two approached the boiler room.

"They shovel coal round the clock to keep this thing going forward," the captain said. "A whole crew of them do. They're called the black gang."

"Black gang?" Blair said, as the echo of their footsteps filled the dark chamber.

"An old term for furnace-stokers," Captain Rigby nodded, "these men do yeomen duty down here, and few passengers ever realize it."

"It's another world down here," Blair said, shading her eyes from the glaring overhead red light to peer into the dimly-lit furnace room.

"Hello, Mack," Captain Rigby said to one of the men shoveling coal.

Blair noticed him, too. Big, beefy, incredibly muscled. And with a dark, sooty covering on his face.

"Captain!" the man nodded, and then, he turned to fill his shovel once more.

As the captain exchanged shop talk with the gang members, Blair watched them work. Here were some men, indeed. Not those lily-white glasses of milk strolling above deck, but real men.

Hard working, brutally-strong and silent types. Her types. The kind of men she had always felt the most strongly drawn to. The fierce, brave look of determination showing on their faces in the firelighted glow. What a scene! She almost wished she were a photographer or an artist to capture it.

The smell of that coal mingled with the sweat of their fine, rippling bodies. The atmosphere was heady inside here. It was going to her head, and elsewhere. She stood with her legs a bit apart and felt a trickle of clear cunt honey escape out the curtain of her cunt lips.

She watched in growing excitation as the men continued their rhythmic shoveling motion. Blair would rather have watched those muscular, sweating bodies work than a corps de ballet go through Swan Lake.

What was it about the dark, shiny faces of those men. The faces so thick and gleaming with a sheen of coal dust and sweat? They were beautiful to her. And the smells their bodies produced were better than any ambrosia. The steamy interior took on a warming glow as the fire in the furnace increased and then subsided again.

"The men work in shifts," Captain Rigby continued, steering Blair around toward another section of the ship's interior. She didn't want to leave that section, but in order to be nice to the man who was showing her around, she conceded to his guidance.

He put a firm hand around her waist and addressed the men... "Keep up the good work, men," he said, barely audible above the grind of the machinery and the blast of the fiery furnace.

Blair looked in their faces once more and shuddered. They were so beautiful, heartbreakingly beautiful. She didn't want to go. Then, just as she turned to leave, one of them caught her eye.

He was a bit shorter and smaller than the rest. But, in proportion, he was enormous. With thick, powerful shoulders and long, massive arms. It looked like he had two bowling balls under his shirt.

His face was thick and fierce-looking with a protruding forehead and deeply-set dark eyes.

His legs were like stubby tree trunks. And she could see by the way his shirt was rolled up to his forearm, that he was covered with a layer of thick, dark curly hair.

That hair sent another set of shudders rushing along her spine and swirling in and out of her cunt crevice. What was it about that kind of primitive-looking man?

The associations of him to the earth, to nature were very strong, but she wasn't quite sure where she had gotten them. Cave men didn't turn her on! She had no wish to be dragged along the rocky ground by her hair and be hauled off to a cave and beaten with a club into sexual submission.

Still, the idea of a hairy, primitive-looking man, a man of the earth and soil, a man unafraid to get his hands dirty or his brow sweaty, a man of iron and grit, that kind of thing truly fascinated her. Fascinated her and turned her on to a boiling rage.

Her mind leaped madly ahead as the captain steered her around the huge, hot furnace and under the heavy, intertwining maze of pipes, tubes, and wires.

"There's much more below deck," the man said, "if you care to see it."

Blair wondered if he had picked up her fading interest the moment they left the furnace room. She didn't want to be unkind, but she wanted to explore it more. Especially those dark, gleaming faces and bodies. And especially that one face.

"Powerful men doing that sort of work," she said to the man guiding her along the narrow footpath between instruments and lighted panels of dials and digits.

"Yes," the captain said, "a good gang this trip.

"How young are those men, usually," she asked, trying to sound disinterested. She wondered how effective it was. She had never been much of an actress.

"Oh, all ages, really," the captain said, nonchalantly walking along, "Anywhere from twenty-one to close to retirement. Once a man builds up body strength and keeps to the work the job demands, it's not hard to stay in physical shape to do it."

"One of them seemed much younger than the rest," she said, feigning academic curiosity, "Is he?"

"You mean Potter," he said, "Yes, you must mean Potter. The short fellow with the long arms.

"I guess so," Blair said, hearing her unconvincing voice echo in the tight ship compartment.

"Potter's a good worker, but a sad case, actually."

"Oh?" she said, unable to stop the flow of questions from coming out her lips. "How so?"

"Abandoned at birth, beaten and abused in public schools, came to us from England, actually," the captain said, shuffling along.

"But he works well here?"

"Oh, yes, devoted to his job. Something of a social outcast though. Perhaps you noticed all that hair on his hands and arms. And elsewhere. Apparently he's covered with it. Parents took it rather hard. As though he were some kind of freak or something, so I understand."

"That's very cruel of them," Blair said, noting the defensive tone of her voice.

She gripped the captain's arm as he steered her through another maze of multicolored wires and dials. The whole place was starting to look like an endless sea of machinery.

"Well, at least the men below accept him," Captain Rigby said, "He's not judged down there for how he looks anyway."

"That's good," Blair said, feeling a little relieved.

The thought of that young man being mistreated because of the way he looked, because he was coated with a covering of natural, beautiful hair, really made her angry.

And thinking about him made her hot, too. Hot and jittery. She couldn't calm down. The man continued his guided tour of the underbelly of the ocean vessel, and in less than fifteen minutes, they were above deck again.

"Enjoy your visit below?" Dr. Fortner asked his daughter over dinner.

The two of them had been asked to join Captain Rigby at the captain's table in the dining room. It was a sumptuous dinner. Beautifully prepared and impeccably served. The company wasn't bad either. Blair had even gotten into a dress for the occasion. A longish blue chiffon thing with a rather low neckline. More than a plunge, and less than a deep sea dive. But she had felt like getting dressed up. Something. Anything to distract her mind from that haunting dark face of the young man shoveling coal below.

As the other guests at the table spoke, she found herself wondering if he was even now below shoveling coal into the furnace that kept the ship going. Working so diligently down there, so quiet and smooth, that nobody even thought about what was making this huge tub speed along as it was.

"Yes," Blair said, nodding to her father, "I enjoyed it. I thought it was quite interesting. There is an awfully lot of equipment down there nobody even has the chance to find out about. I was one of the lucky passengers today."

"Thank you, my dear," Captain Rigby said, "Your daughter seemed especially interested in the boiler room. That's one spot most people don't find entertaining."

"I don't understand why anyone would even want to go down there," a stuffy, high-born type said, nodding her head in the captain's direction.

Her name was June Balfours and Blair had only been introduced to her ten minutes ago and she couldn't stand the sight of her already. She was a gossipy nuisance.

"Not everybody likes riding along unaware of what's going on below," Blair snapped back. She hoped her voice didn't sound too harsh, but the woman was giving her a pain.

She moved her mashed potatoes around with her fork and thought of that sweet, dark haunting face below. She had to see him again. At least before the ship docked.

Later that night, Blair tossed and turned on her bed. There must have been some high waves outside, she could hear them knocking against the bow.

She thought of the engine room. That face. She wanted to be there... she drifted off into a sweet dream that had her and that Potter fellow paired up. But every time he tried to undress her, he would shove her against the hot furnace and she would damned near ignite her fanny.

She sat up with a start and looked out the porthole. The waves were high out there. She couldn't sleep. After trying another dozen positions, she grabbed her trench coat and wrapped it tightly around her naked body.

She stepped into her rain boots and grabbed a headscarf. She let herself quietly out the door of her cabin and made her way to the main deck.

A little stroll would do her good. A little stroll and a lung full of that salty sea air.

She rounded a corner of the deck and stared ahead of her. Two of the black gang were just coming up the steps. One was tall and erect. The other was short and stooped somewhat. She recognized him as Potter.

Probably getting off work, she thought. She found herself idly wondering what those men did in their off hours. Probably the things most working men do. She followed them along aimlessly a few moments, quietly stepping along behind.

After some minutes of this, she realized she was following them on purpose. She was curious. She had always been curious.

She saw the two of them heading for the lower deck. The lower deck lined with second class cabins. She watched as they knocked on the door of one of them and waited until someone opened it. Then, they disappeared inside.

Her curiosity had her now. Had her by the throat. There was nothing else she could do but stand there and wait to find out what it was they were doing inside there.

She leaned nonchalantly against the deck railing and stared out onto the water. The moon made a track of shimmering light along it, heading right toward her.

She fumbled in her trench coat pocket for a cigarette. She pulled one out and fumbled for a match.

"Shit," she heard herself whisper, "out of matches."

She turned toward the main lounge, where she knew the bar would still be open only to have someone tap her on the shoulder.

She turned around to look directly into the face of the darkest, fiercest human she had ever seen up close.

It was Potter's face.

"Can I help you?" the man said, knitting his heavy, full brow and letting his long arm fall gracefully off her shoulder.

"Oh," she said, startled too much to speak clearly, "I... I... I was just looking for a match."

"Strange place to find one," the young man said, sticking his long, hairy hand in his pocket and hunching his shoulders forward a bit.

"Yes," Blair apologized, "guess one doesn't usually come to the lower deck to look for a match."

"What are you looking for?" the man said, boldly facing her.

He was straightforward, all right. Blair liked that in a man. She had had enough civilized bullshit in her life to last her through the second one.

"I saw you go into that cabin just now," she said, her mind caught in a traffic jam. She couldn't decide how to get out of it, either.

"Well, I came out the back way," the scowling man said, leaning his right elbow on the rail and regarding her with complete hostility. "My friends saw you through the porthole and they sent me out to check on you."

"Why did they send you out?" Blair said, trying another approach.

"Because I'm their errand boy," Potter said, groping in his flannel shirt pocket for a cigarette. "Or hadn't you guessed."

"No," she said, shaking her head and feeling a cool chill penetrate her bones. It contrasted sharply with the heat rising up between the triangle between her legs.

"I'm also their gopher, their kid, their mascot and their chump," the young man, a note of sarcasm edging into his voice, "but that's all right."