Chapter 54: Error

In Philadelphia life was pretty dull, generally, but I did have one narrow escape, my own randy fault, of course. You would think I could occasionally ignore trouble, but this was really unavoidable. One cold night, as I was leaving a river-front tavern, I heard squeals from an alleyway and turned to investigate. Except for Magda's knife, I was weaponless, but I had seldom run into armed men around the taverns except for sailors and the passing patrols. All I could see was a flurry of white petticoats and a pair of flailing arms in the grip of a dark-coated man nearly my size. I ran into him full tilt, putting my head and shoulder into his ample gut. I heard him oof out air and also heard cloth tearing as he spun away. We traded a few blows before he decided to flee and leave me with a furious young woman who was sadly examining what was left of the bodice of her homespun dress and the torn top of her linsey-woolsey shift.

"Look what ya done, ya big shit," she yelped at me, stamping her foot and glaring up with her lower lip stuck out. Under the paint and dirt, she was pretty enough and certainly too young to be in this place at this time, especially with her chest that bare. I took her by the still-clothed arm and dragged out to the street where we could see each other better.

"Are you hurt?" I asked her when she had settled down a bit and stopped cursing me.

"Go t'hell," she said. "Girl's gotta eat. Look what y'done." She held up the torn cloth and showed me a fine, high breast in doing so.

"Can be mended," I told her, pushing back some of the tousled hair falling across her face. She shook her head and tossed it back where it was.

"Kin y'sew?" she demanded, looking about as if expecting a crowd to gather any minute.

"Some," I told her, "like any soldier."

"You don' look like no soldier. What regiment?" she demanded.

"Hush," I said. "I'm in t'other army, Washington's."

"Lord a'mighty," she said. "You ain't!"

I nodded and got her started toward my basement hideaway where I lit a candle and found the landlady's meager sewing kit. She pulled off the top of her dress and wrapped herself in a thin quilt while I built up the fire. I sat and watched her sew up her bodice, admiring her young charms, determined face and rapid stitching.

"Your mother make that?" I asked her.

"None a'yer damn business," she said without looking up from her work.

"Look's homespun, very nice. She weave that cloth, too?" I tried.

"Put a cork in it," she blurted, trying to look mean.

"What was going on out there?"

"He didn' want t'pay for it," she said, sniffing. "An' I sucked 'im good."

"What do you get?"

"Two, three shillings. depends. You ain't got it, has you?"

"Might be," I told her. "But I ain't buying."

"Why not?"

"You're too dirty, for one thing."

"I ain't not," she squealed, and I hushed her since the folks above were not supposed to know I was sleeping in their basement although I was paying them a quid a month to ignore that fact, and they kept me supplied with firewood.

"I seen cleaner girls standing knee deep in mud puddles, slopping hogs," I said with a smile. "You can wash your face if you want. Basin's yonder." I nodded and she looked.

She finished her mending and yanked her clothes back on and smoothed down her dress as she stood and marched to the wash basin and splashed a handful of water on the face and the back of her neck.

We talked a while about my work, and she volunteered to help as best she could if I gave her a few shillings. She claimed to have heard interesting things from time to time and told me a few. I shared some bread, cheese and wine with her, and we got out of most of our clothes and into bed as my fire died down.

When I was convinced she was willing and ready, I mounted her, and she gave me all the huffing and puffing, jumping and humping, the cooing and groaning than any man could have wanted. I stopped and withdrew, disgusted.

"What in the world was that?" I asked, kneeling between her raised legs, my prod still eager for action.

"You don' know nothing," she said. "Thas' how Miss Emily taught me to do. Always works and never takes long."

"Well, stop it," I said, "or I'll not swive you at all."

"Suits me," she said. "I don' like it no how."

"Wonderful," I said, crawling off her. "Go to sleep."

She curled up at my back and did as she was told, and after a while I calmed down and joined her. In the morning I was halberd hard, aching with need and since there was an obviously willing woman at hand, I turned and slid my swollen shaft up between her thighs and rubbed her cunny until she moaned and helped me enter her. I think she was still half asleep.