Plymouth Cock
by Yvette DiNal
It was many years ago now since I met Jonathan. But the passage of time has done nothing to erase the first memories I have of him. His dark eyes brimming with strength and passion. The muscles of his back shifting and flexing as he sat facing the fire to warm himself. His strong arms holding me to his chest so that I could feel his heart racing, and his deep breath on my neck...
It was June when he arrived in my small community. I was outside, watching some of my favorite lovers chopping wood for the cold season, topless under the beating sun. I could almost taste the sweat collecting at their clavicles and my hunger for them began to grow. I came to be here because an old gypsy woman foretold that countless men would devote themselves entirely to me if only I would give them the gift of my womanhood. And so, when I came of age, I set off to find the men who would become my willing companions and workers. Searching for somewhere to settle where the others around us would not drive us away, we caught wind of the greatest discovery of our lifetime. Columbus had just brought back the news of the world across the sea. Eagerly, we stocked up on supplies and began our journey to our new home. We docked on Roanoke Island in May and lived there happily, all of us making love in small groups in the middle of the day if we pleased. We survived our first year quite well, and then came the summer that would change my life.
As I sat under the impossibly warm midday sun and dug up weeds from my garden, there was a sudden ruckus. A few of the warrior-types of the community found a body washed up on the shore and rushed him to the center of our village. “Gabrielle!” they called out in a panic. I rushed towards them, ready to give orders, but when I laid eyes on this handsome man from the sea, for a moment I couldn't speak. Regaining my composure, I asked them to set him down in my cabin. I grabbed a bucket and towel from where they were sitting on a nearby fence post and ran to the creek to fill the bucket with fresh, cool water. After that, I gathered some healing herbs from the garden I had been working in and quickly returned to my cabin. The sun was beginning to set and since the night was bound to be cold, I built a fire to warm this dark and handsome stranger. I set to work removing his cold and soaked garments. “Cold sweat,” I mumbled to myself as my hand brushed against his forehead, “never a good sign...” I worked faster to tear the clothes from his body, revealing his taught, sun-browned skin. The body of a sailor, the face of a god. Fortune seemed to smile upon both of us for delivering him to me.
I knew what had to be done, and so I moved his body nearer to the fireplace, stripped myself naked, and covered us in a blanket. I ran my hands over his arms and chest rapidly to warm him up. I buried my face in the nook of his shoulder and neck, and smelled his musk. Even unconscious, he was irresistible. After a while, I became curious, and my hands slowly began to explore his sculpted abdomen, then his defined hip muscles...and his upper legs...
Suddenly he bolted upright with a start. He jumped away from me in shock, eyes wide with fear of not knowing where he was or how he came to be here.
“It's alright,” I assured him. “My name is Gabrielle. You're in the New World. Some men found you washed up on the shore and they brought you to me. I've been taking care of you.” He looked down at himself and, realized he was naked, scrambled to cover himself with the blanket. I couldn't help but laugh a bit. “You were breaking out in a cold sweat and had an unnatural fever, so of course I had to warm you.” After a moment of contemplation he seemed a bit more at ease, so I offered him a mug. “Here,” I said as I held the mug out, “drink this. It's a tea I've made of healing herbs and honey. It'll help ease the fever you have.” I smiled warmly. Slowly and a bit unsure, he reached out to take the drink from me. His fingers touched mine for a moment and electricity surged through my body as our eyes met and we saw the mutual desire in the other's soul.
“Thank you,” he said as he broke our contact and looked down into the mysterious liquid.
“It's good. I promise.” Tentatively he took a sip and grinned as it hit his stomach.
“The same as my mum used to make.”
Night descended upon us as we talked at great length about everything imaginable. Jonathan was an Italian-born adventurer and explorer, but he sailed under the British flag. He related to me the wonders he had witnessed as an explorer and even told me funny stories about the first mate getting drunk on a beach in China and the experiences he had had trying various local customs. He told me he had no wife, that a woman could never wrangle him into an understanding, but that he had had countless affairs and countless fathers, brothers, and husbands chasing after him in anger at the crack of dawn, pitchforks in hand. And then came the day when he set off to explore the New World and became shipwrecked. Thinking about it now, he assumed the rest of the crew had perished in the cruel storm from several nights before. He seemed distant for a moment, but quickly brushed it off with a smile.