Chapter 90: May, Like the Month

This odd tale obviously belongs somewhere else, but I can't figure out where, so here it is. Enjoy, I did!

If the man she was with had not been such a fop, a fey macaroni, an obvious wastrel, I might not have bothered with her, despite the fact that she was a toothsome youngster with a body that would make a saint tremble. As it was I plunked myself down beside her, drank off half of my beer and offered her my hand and my name before the astonished boy could even squawk. "May," she said with a tiny smile, "like the month."

"And a beautiful May you are," I said knuckling my forehead and ignoring the sputtering from the other side of the table. "Is this boy bothering you, May? You certainly aren't very careful about the company you keep."

She put her beringed fingers to her mouth, and he yelped out a protest, but as far as I was concerned, that was aplenty. I reached across and grabbed him by his lapels and jabot and twisted. "Explain yourself, you turd," I demanded. "What are you doing to this fine young woman?"

"She's mine," he squeaked. "I paid for her, bought those clothes."

I looked slantwise and the girl nodded agreement. I twisted a bit harder bringing him up out of the seat. "So you own her?" I demanded. "That what you think?"

"Manner of speaking," he said. "By the month, well six months in fact."

"Indeed," said I, "well, that is the sort of thing we are fighting against, that sort of slavery. I'm shocked." I was enjoying myself thoroughly.

"She agreed," he whined as I eased the pressure on his neck, "she agreed."

Again the girl nodded, just once, looking sad, as much a phony as I was, but now we were in this playlet together.

"She has changed her mind," I said and then looked at her, hard-eyed, "haven't you."

She nodded several times, tossing curls and smiling.

"How much?" I asked the boy, brushing his clothes and fluffing his lace for him. Sweat had popped out on his face and his wig was crooked. He was very pale.

He inhaled, still wary, and rubbed his beardless chin. "Ten pounds, I suppose; quid a month, the dress, those rings, stays and so forth, oh and her shoes, yes, shoes and stockings; can't forget those."

"Give him back the rings," I said to the girl who unscrewed them reluctantly and put them on the table, all three of the gaudy things. "Want to give him your stays?"

She laughed out loud and then covered her mouth, and I fetched my purse and clanked out five pounds, hard money, worth perhaps a hundred or so in those days, fifty at least. Easy for me since it was dead men's money.

He scraped the money and rings into one of the oversized pockets of his long-tailed and puce colored coat, stood, bowed and scurried away, his ornate hanger banging his scrawny leg.

"Who was that?" I asked the girl after I finished my beer and waved for another.

"Bobby," she said, "Bobby, ah, Chester-something. His father's ever so rich."

"Tory?"

She nodded. I frowned.

"You don't like Tories?" she asked quietly.

"Nope," I said, "nor Redcoats, nor Hessians, nor any of that ilk."

"But I know lots and lots of them, just scads," she said, fingering her hair and lifting her pretty chin. "Some are very nice." I wondered if she was stupid or silly or playing a game. Her double-domed chest rose and fell a bit faster.

"And you sold yourself to that ass?"

She nodded. "Roof over my head and he was no bother, at least not in bed."

"No bother?"

She raised her thumb and wiggled it at me with a small giggle and a shy look which ill became her.

"How long have you been at this?" I asked, playing the paternal role. "What are you, eighteen, nineteen?"

She licked her lips and looked down at her swelling bosom which her tightly laced stays nearly pushed up free of her silk gown. "Sixteen," she said, "and almost three years. Isn't that awful?" She pouted nicely, and I thought about how those lips would feel, both on my mouth and my member.

"I think you might be useful," I said, feeling myself hardening and trying to look serious and patriotic.

"Lot's of men like me, give me things." She sniffed.

"Do you think, if I pointed out a man, you might bring him here, or to some other inn?"

"I suppose," she said, looking up at me with such innocent eyes, blinking. "And then what?"

"Well," I said, "some I'd fry, others boil, and a few, I'd roast on a spit."

"You wouldn't," she said. "you're only," she paused, "you're jesting."

I smiled and I'm sure it was not a very nice smile.

"Why should I help you?"

"For your country, for your state, for me, for General Washington. Take your pick."

"Poo," she said. "I mean for me, what do I get?"

"What do you want?"

She slumped back and put a finger tip in her mouth. "I heard," she said, "that there was a scale, a rate for trading prisoners; so much for a general and less for a captain; like that." She looked up.

I nodded.

"All right then, we'll make a list: a quid for a general, let's say, a crown for a colonel or major, two or three shillings for a lieutenant or ensign, something like that."

I barely kept from laughing. "Sounds fair," I said.

She stuck out her slim hand and I shook it, bobbling her boobies nicely.

"One other thing," she said. She took a deep breath, grabbed the edges of her bodice with her thumbs and yanked it an inch higher. "You might not like this. I've been with that boy you chased away for nearly a month." She scrunched her mouth. "And true to him, worse luck. I need a man." She licked her lips. "Something awful." She looked away, acting embarrassed I suppose.

"You've come to the right place, my dear," I said, petting her firm thigh. "I've got just the thing for you." I took her hand and put it on my swelling member.

"My," she said, "I think you do indeed." Her fingers measured its growing length and she batted her eyelashes at me.

I waved to the serving wench and asked if there was a room free. She offered her own, and I hustled the girl up the steps without hesitation.

When I had stripped to my shirt and turned to face her, she still stood with her shift and stays on her lush body. "You'll have to help me," she said quietly, gazing at my groin which was tented out rather grandly. She swallowed. "These things lace in the back."

I tossed her on the narrow, sway-backed bed, jumped between her legs, lifted her knees up toward her shoulders and ploughed her, stays and all. She squealed, shook, panted, moaned, gasped, whined, beat on me, kicked at me and then shook with passion, going absolutely as stiff as her boned corset, her back fully arched. I came before she did, but then she peaked three times, one right after the other, each with a gasp and a shudder, and collapsed beneath me, smiling and inert while my eager prod jumped deep within her.