Busy old fool, unruly Sun, why dost thou thus through windows and through
curtains call on us? Must to thy motions lovers seasons run? –John Donne
The sun shone in through the small window, dancing over Jack's bronzed skin. Even though he was half-dressed and covered only by a flimsy sheet, a sheen of perspiration covered him from head to toe, evidence of the steamy dreams that kept him tossing and turning during the night.
It had been weeks since he had seen her last. The sea had claimed him again, owning him, controlling him. Although he'd like to call himself an independent man, he was a slave to her whims.
And now, of course, there was another woman claiming, owning and controlling him, if only his dreams. He had had these dreams before. This was not the first woman to stay stuck on his mind after he had shut his eyes and slipped into the oblivion of the dream world. But none had felt so real. He felt as if he was really slipping his rough hands over her impossibly smooth skin, kissing the column of her neck, his coarse beard burning her pale skin. He knew had to have actually been grasping her hips, trying to match the pace that she was constantly setting for him. He could feel himself pushing deeper inside of her, getting lost in her warmth, her scent filling his head. He could hear her soft delicate moans urging him, almost egging him on to get rougher, to get harder, to get faster...
And of course, he'd be so close, so unbearably close, and he'd awaken. Absolutely no release, figuratively or literally. This had to stop. All this distraction was wearing him thin. Why, just yesterday, he had been sitting with Anamaria, drinking some rum, yet completely silent. Yes, silent. He wasn't flirting with her, he wasn't ragging on her. They just sat. After a few minutes of this uncomfortable stillness, she spoke up.
"Are ye alright, cap'n?"
"Hmm?" He was staring at his boots; however his mind was elsewhere, obviously. At that moment, he was thinking of pinning the woman from his dreams to the wall and having his dirty way with her.
"You haven't touched yer rum at all, Sparrow. Are ye feelin' okay?"
"O' course I'm fine, lass," he spat, his irritation and exhaustion evident in his tone. "Can't a man sit in silence without sufferin' from the constant naggin' of a woman?" He stood abruptly, dropping his mug on the floor with a huff. "And it's Captain Sparrow, thank ye kindly, lass." And he stormed out and off to his cabin where he felt back to sleep to have more dreams about being betwixt the legs of that pretty lady.
"Enough is enough," he mumbled, throwing the sheet from his body and rising from his bed hastily. He grabbed his shirt from the chair and threw it on over his head with a few grumbles of irritation. He continued to dress himself, the mumbling growing in volume until he was shouting at the top of his lungs. He walked to the door in his long angry strides and through open the door.
"GIBBS!"
"Yes, Cap'n?" the corpulent man called from across the deck.
"Return to Tortuga immediately."
"But Cap'n, we just left a mere fortnight or so ago." Jack fixed him with an unsettling glare.
"I do believe that I am the captain of this wonderful ship we called the Black Pearl, thus I will be making the decision of which port we will be dockin' in next. Now alert the crew."
The sun shone in through the small window, dancing over Jack's bronzed skin. Even though he was half-dressed and covered only by a flimsy sheet, a sheen of perspiration covered him from head to toe, evidence of the steamy dreams that kept him tossing and turning during the night.
It had been weeks since he had seen her last. The sea had claimed him again, owning him, controlling him. Although he'd like to call himself an independent man, he was a slave to her whims.
And now, of course, there was another woman claiming, owning and controlling him, if only his dreams. He had had these dreams before. This was not the first woman to stay stuck on his mind after he had shut his eyes and slipped into the oblivion of the dream world. But none had felt so real. He felt as if he was really slipping his rough hands over her impossibly smooth skin, kissing the column of her neck, his coarse beard burning her pale skin. He knew had to have actually been grasping her hips, trying to match the pace that she was constantly setting for him. He could feel himself pushing deeper inside of her, getting lost in her warmth, her scent filling his head. He could hear her soft delicate moans urging him, almost egging him on to get rougher, to get harder, to get faster...
And of course, he'd be so close, so unbearably close, and he'd awaken. Absolutely no release, figuratively or literally. This had to stop. All this distraction was wearing him thin. Why, just yesterday, he had been sitting with Anamaria, drinking some rum, yet completely silent. Yes, silent. He wasn't flirting with her, he wasn't ragging on her. They just sat. After a few minutes of this uncomfortable stillness, she spoke up.
"Are ye alright, cap'n?"
"Hmm?" He was staring at his boots; however his mind was elsewhere, obviously. At that moment, he was thinking of pinning the woman from his dreams to the wall and having his dirty way with her.
"You haven't touched yer rum at all, Sparrow. Are ye feelin' okay?"
"O' course I'm fine, lass," he spat, his irritation and exhaustion evident in his tone. "Can't a man sit in silence without sufferin' from the constant naggin' of a woman?" He stood abruptly, dropping his mug on the floor with a huff. "And it's Captain Sparrow, thank ye kindly, lass." And he stormed out and off to his cabin where he felt back to sleep to have more dreams about being betwixt the legs of that pretty lady.
"Enough is enough," he mumbled, throwing the sheet from his body and rising from his bed hastily. He grabbed his shirt from the chair and threw it on over his head with a few grumbles of irritation. He continued to dress himself, the mumbling growing in volume until he was shouting at the top of his lungs. He walked to the door in his long angry strides and through open the door.
"GIBBS!"
"Yes, Cap'n?" the corpulent man called from across the deck.
"Return to Tortuga immediately."
"But Cap'n, we just left a mere fortnight or so ago." Jack fixed him with an unsettling glare.
"I do believe that I am the captain of this wonderful ship we called the Black Pearl, thus I will be making the decision of which port we will be dockin' in next. Now alert the crew."
