On stranger tides and Angelica's childhood is ignored in this story.
Her eyes where like molten chocolate, delicious and tempting, framed with long, black as night eyelashes. Her brown hair was soft and long, reaching her lower back in gentle curls. Her honey skin was smooth as the finest silks of the Caribbean. Her pouty lips where delicate red.
Jack opened his eyes with a heavy sigh. She was beautiful, perfect, yet she was just a part of his imagination, his dream that he saw every night. He could not touch her, taste her lips, bury his hand in her soft hair, explore the curves of her body. She would disappear every time he would try to reach out for her.
He got out of bed lazily and bent down to pull his boots on. 'Tis ridiculous to want a woman that doesn't exist, Jack, his inner voice said. He placed his hat on his head with jerky movements and stomped down the stairs of the devious wench.
Once they docked Jack's crew scattered into different directions like a mass of rats, all eager to find rum and pleasurable company. But he just got himself a room and slumped onto the bed. He did not wish to push his manhood into anyone but her, someone who didn't exist. The wenches of Tortuga were simply not doing it for him.
Angry at this fact, Jack found himself a slim, blonde wench. He pulled his pants down and pushed her mouth to his arousal. As the blonde tended to his needs his mind went to the woman from his dreams. He clenched his fists so hard that his knuckles turned white, leaving red marks on his palms. He leaned his head against the door and closed his eyes. The beauty was driving him insane. He wanted to fall asleep and see her face again. Her wild, unruly hair and deep eyes...
"I demand my payment," a voice broke through his thoughts. He opened his eyes and realized that he was done.
"Eh?" He said dumbfounded, still in his reverie, he shook his head to get rid of it. "Aye, yer payment."
He pulled his pants up and produced three shillings onto the table, crashing her lips with his to taste himself.
"You can go," he said in a bare audible voice and sat onto his bed. What was wrong with him?! His lust and desire could not be quenched, not by all but one. God damn, he was mentally ripped apart.
"At first she was a beautiful dream... but she turned into a black-hearted nightmare. A nightmare that took over my mind and body," he mused distantly, running his hand over his goatee, not realizing the blonde was still there.
"Who?" She asked curiously.
She did not get her answer after a long time of silence and so left.
He sank his misery with rum, lots of rum. After none of the liquid could slip down his throat anymore he stumbled out of the tavern, too drunk to be aware of what he was actually doing. The same dream haunted him for four months, every night, driving him wild. He craved for that woman. She became part of his heart and he felt empty because his heart was not complete; she was missing. He felt stupid that he felt this way because of a foolish dream.
Jack was blinded by lust and he could not deny it. He fell for perfection and beauty, the vexation of all men. He got lost in his thoughts again, walking forward aimlessly.
He felt dizzy after a sudden collision, joining a woman on the ground that he has knocked off her feet because of his clumsiness.
"You drunk bastardo, watch where you're going!" She snapped angrily, rubbing her bum when she got up. Jack was too stunned to reply and looked at her as if he has seen death herself.
Honey colored skin... deep chocolate eyes... delicate red lips... brown hair reaching to her lower back in gentle curls. The woman from his dreams. It was the last thing he saw before his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he blacked out.
There is an opportunity to read why I have republished this story on the profile of blue rose 602 if you haven't done so already. I will post the next eleven chapters through out a week.