A/N: Everyone's had their ideas on where Jack's trinkets come from, so I decided to put in my own take on things. I must give credit to Supertramp for the line "My life is full of romance." I heard it and Jack's face just popped into my mind and this story erupted from it. I must also thank Julie for beta'ing. Greatly appreciated.

As for the rating – nothing is ever specific, but sexual situations are definitely implied. So if you are offended by adult situations, I would recommend you do not keep reading.

Next chapter is being written as you read. I will have it up soonsoonsoon!

------------------

"My life is full of romance…"

Jack knew that behind every woman there was a story. A story of how she got to where she was, why she was there, and how she planned to escape from it all. Every woman who graced Tortuga with her feminine gait had a tale waiting to be told and Jack was just waiting to hear it.

Throughout Jack's life, the women he'd met had wove many a good tale, each one captivating in its own way. All were told in desperation to explain why a woman was the way she was, but Jack didn't need a reason. So, in fascination he listened to their stories no matter where or how they spilled from their lips; some narrated in between bed sheets, recounted in a noisy tavern, those whispered or yelled, and those said with no words at all, recounted in a pair of troubled eyes. To the girls it didn't matter the way it was told, as long as it was told, as long as they found an escape. To them, Jack was their escape.

For one night they had someone who actually listened instead of the myriad of men who came only for themselves. And for this, he was well repaid. But when the morning came, Jack was nowhere to be found. But by no means were the girls and their stories forgotten. Some may call him a lover, or a romantic, but above 'em all I'll always be a pirate. So with peering eyes and straying hands a souvenir was found and the pirate was on his way.

"'Nother night, 'nother woman, 'nother tale." He smiled as he pocketed the trinket and slipped his shirt over a pair of lean, strong, and tan shoulders. His duty done, the damsel saved, for a night at least, he returned to his ship and his crew, his escape.

But Jack wasn't a brag, or at least, he put on a good act that he wasn't one. When asked by lovers about the trinkets and beads securely braided into his jet-black hair, for he figured that was the one secure place to keep such treasures, he never related their tales. He knew how to keep the integrity of a woman, well, as much integrity as a woman of Tortuga could have, at least. But men will be men, and Jack was as man as most of them, so if the topic was brought up in a noisy tavern somewhere, he was never shy to share.

And when he did tell the stories, he always started with her.