"Turn around."
Jack did.
Barbossa laughed. He tasted his grog, the moonshine mix. "Do it again."
Jack frowned. He wasn't talking about the nice little pirouettes he'd been preforming for the past five minutes. This had happened before. He sighed, and placed his thumb and three fingers (excluding the pinky) on a wet spot below his own bellybutton. It felt sticky, reluctant, and embarrassed.
"Rub."
Jack did.
Barbossa laughed.