Untamable as the Sea

Chapter 1: Prologue

"Scissoque corde, ut dixi, anima mea fuit ab hac carne solute." The count spoke softly. He touched my eyelids with his tongue. I was surprised how easily and quick it was to sway Count Molina. A few afternoons, no more. Once each week a few hours stolen, and finally at night, by cover of darkness, each embrace made hot and holy by the risk we took in bedding each other when knowing the Countess was on board.

"Scissoque corde--'' I repeated. He put his hands over my lips. "No," he said. "Translate." His fingers smelled of incense. The man who taught me how to speak in his tongue, who licked words from my eyes and tore grammar from my throat, was a husband and father of two.

The thought of his bull like wife pouncing on us disturbed me. "Blow out the light." I said to him. At first he didn't. The blood must have pounded in his ears, drowning out the sound. "Please," I said. He snuffed the candle with his hand.

"Scissoque corde. William." I began to try to sort out the verb form. I spoke slowly but did not falter in my translation. "My heart, as I said, split open, and my soul was liberated from this flesh," I translated.

"Yes," he applauded. "Bonissimus. Very good." His lips breathed words into my palms. I could tell he was a big romantic by the way he paid more attention to rustling his fingers through my hair then undoing my breeches. If a cully cares more about your face you know you've hooked him deep. My mentor's so called proverbs have again been doddering in my head.

"Who said this?" he asked me.

"Saint Catherine of Siena."

"When did Saint Catherine die?"

"She did not die. She never died."

"When was she born?"

"1347."

"And when were you born, William Turner." His breath came in short gusts and broke up the words. Will i am. We were lying together on the Count's desk in his private quarters where just that afternoon, he and his children were praying from the bible and the accounts of Saint Catherine. Religious folk are the most surprising when you first bed them. All that strict codes staples their yard's down until you know how to unhook them. I shook my head from those vulgar words.

"I was never born." I answered.

"When were you born, William?"

"I have not yet been born."

Burning. Not the kind from the sting of the fires but the unearthly heat that melts all masks to make us show our true being. It finally awakens your senses that have long been hibernating. And of course flesh! Flesh learns everything and feels anything. The only truths worth knowing, the only ones we remember, are those we learn by the flesh.

We had no time to squander on modest kisses. The burning began wherever his tongue touched. Right there. Why would he not begin there, and right away? I did not hesitate to open my legs to his tongue. Besides, it mattered not where he began, it was as if he touched me everywhere. The soles of my feet blistered, and the flames licked between my fingers as they pierced his back.

I tried to remain still to the tutelage of his tongue. Its tickling followed a unidirectional teasing pattern. He was the clock that made a mockery of time. I could still see the sky reflecting on the mirror that bounced from the windows. Despite the late hour and the darkened room, on my back I looked up to a bright day, a day flooded with light. He touched me, and I saw bit of gold wink back at me heinously, laughing back. He pulled away from me. "When were you born?"

My notions came back to me. For a while I panicked of what to do next that would set him off. I then gasped feverously. "Now," I said. "I am...being born...now." He touched me, my stomach, my shoulders, my face. I touched him, too.

"Bonsissimus. Yes," he said. "You are being born now."

We cradled each other in the hot sticky net of sex that scooped us up within its grasp. Unlike Count Molina, my senses still subsisted. Her perfume raided my mind and body. Soon I was able to see her long nose poking out of the darkness attacked with two mousy eyes. Her repulsiveness only made me buck deeper into the Count, set him moaning louder. Its resonance weathered away her senses and sanity as if chipping away by a dull spoon. I could see the odium in her eyes as well as the gleam of her stiletto.

Coincidentally his pistol still positioned on the table as if its true providence was meant to pluck her life. As I waited for her to make the first move, I cursed her existence knowing her evident death will also end the Count's and perhaps his entire vessel who were so loyal to the bastard! If the Count was gone so was the money. The arithmetic would equal too many downfalls in my part, spitting back out from the beginning which I hated as I began.

Her absence of movement made me to think she didn't have it in her. Finally all life on this ship ended when the crazed wife charged into the room only to be given a block of lead through one of her dotty eyes. The domino affect began.

Now if you want to continue reading this story of mine that I have got going on here there is only one rule. You MUST review every chapter you have read no matter if good or bad. I can take it! This is my first POTC fanfic yet so tell me how good it's starting off.

That was only a prologue. My story hasn't revealed it's self yet. Jack will come about next chapter, which will be viewed now later then this weekend.