Worse Things Happen at Sea - 3. Rum, Sodomy, and the Lash

At college, Tristian was a bright student, a quick thinker and a comfortable conversationalist. He worked hard and showed remarkable self-discipline, but his targets often seemed unattainable.

After meeting his father, I began to understand my boyfriend much better. The confidence he exuded at college seemed to desert him the moment his old man entered the room. The admiral was an imposing figure and, without doubt, a difficult act to follow. I felt sorry for Tristian, living in the shadow of such a powerful and successful man who clearly had impossible expectations of his eldest son.

I sensed a certain friction between them, no doubt exasperated by Tristian's perceived failings in the eyes of his father. One of these shortcomings, I suspected was my boyfriend's inability to successfully conceal his attraction to other men. I failed to see the necessity of hiding something, which I refused to see as a disadvantage, but to Tristian, revealing his sexuality wasn't even an option. It meant our relationship would always be a secret even if everyone in his family knew about us, and Tristian would be forced to live a life of perpetual denial. It was a farcical depiction of an outdated English aristocracy still living in the days of the empire, and their excuse, as always, was national security.

Tristian's apparent willingness to hide his sexuality to protect his father was, to me, a betrayal of our cause and an admission of guilt from a man who had done nothing wrong. He was probably the most law-abiding person I had ever met, but he was prepared to label himself a sexual deviant rather than challenge the establishment.

At least it offered an explanation for some of my boyfriend's more unusual sexual fetishes, including a somewhat disturbing penchant for bondage. It wasn't something that particularly appealed to me, and in the past, anyone who tried to tie me up was hastily shown the door. Tristian was different from those creeps. I trusted him not to try to rob or kill me, and I knew he would always stop if I ever felt uncomfortable, but at times, our sex was disturbingly reminiscent of a past I wanted to forget.

On this occasion, there wasn't much time to think about it. Tristian managed to channel all his anxieties into a brief rabbit-like assault on my prostrate before unloading his frustrations in a frenzied but mercifully premature ejaculation that seemed to last as long as the sex.

I was unable to move, pinned to the bed by the weight of my exhausted boyfriend. His heart was pounding furiously against my back as I buried my face in the crisp white bedsheets and prayed for his speedy recovery.

'Don't die on me, Tristian. At least not until you've untied me.'

The mere thought of being found by the creepy butler, naked and tied to the bed with the dead son of the First Sea Lord still penetrating my backside, was enough to give me a panic attack. I repeated my mantra while Tristian rather timidly untied my wrists and ankles and returned to his usual persona—the loving and caring boyfriend I knew so well. Then came the inevitable apologies followed by shame and self-loathing.

I found this more distressing than the sex. He had nothing to be sorry about except perhaps the one-sided nature of this particular episode, but it wasn't always like this, and at least now I could blame it all on his family.

He put his arms around me and offered me a tentative smile. "I’ll make it up to you; I promise.”

“It doesn’t matter, but sometimes you get a little carried away, that’s all.” I sat on the bed and rubbed the red marks around my wrists as he buttoned his shirt.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No, it’s nothing. No one will notice.” I flashed him a smile to ease his conscience, although I wasn’t sure why. Perhaps I felt sorry for him.

“I feel bad for being so selfish.” He sat next to me and started stroking my thigh. “I can make it up to you now. If you want.”

“It’s okay. You can owe me.” I pushed his hand away and grabbed my underwear from the top of the bedside lamp. I didn’t like the idea of being an afterthought, and I suspected his offer was driven mostly by the need to make himself feel better rather than to satisfy my needs. “We should get back before your family jump to the right conclusions.”

“They don’t know.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Tristian. They know we’re not friends. We come from completely different backgrounds and have absolutely nothing in common. You’re not fooling anyone. You know that.”

“They have no proof. As far as they’re concerned, I have a fiancé.”

“So, I hear. Are you going to introduce me at some point?”

“Yes, I think it’s necessary.”

That wasn’t the answer I expected, but there was little point arguing. I reminded myself that this charade was only for two days. Tomorrow, we could return to our normal, uncomplicated life.

“I know it’s not your fault. It can’t be easy for you. I just feel so out of place, that’s all.”

“Nonsense, you’re doing fine. They like you.”

“No, they don’t.”

He leaned forward to kiss me, something he hadn’t done when we were making love.

“Daddy likes you, and if he likes you, everyone else will. Mark my words. He’s the king of the castle.”

“And you’re the dirty rascal,” I chuckled and headed for the shower. “Oh, nice soap; I’m going to steal this, you know, and the towels. You’ll be sorry you invited me.”

Tristian’s room was situated in the family quarters close to the main staircase. He also needed to shower and dress for dinner, so he told me to meet him in the library on the ground floor by the entrance.

“It’s easy to find. There’s a lot of books and no one ever goes in there. Take your time; I don’t care if they jump to conclusions.”

It sounded like a good idea. I wasn’t looking forward to going back to the lion’s den. I needed some time alone to compose myself and reflect on a difficult and unlikely turn of events.

‘The First Bloody Sea Lord. My boyfriend’s father is the head of the fucking Royal Navy.’

No one in South London would have believed me, but I couldn’t tell anyone anyway. It made me wonder why Tristian had insisted on bringing me along in the first place. I was a loose cannon and prone to making mistakes. With so much for him to lose, it seemed like an unnecessary risk to take.

*     *     *

I spent a ridiculous amount of time scrubbing myself clean and studying myself in the mirror before finally taking the plunge and leaving the safety of my room. The hallway was empty, so I took my time stopping to admire some of the oil paintings that hung between every door. I was fascinated by the size and splendour of this house. The high ceilings and expansive halls made it appear even larger than it was, but there was nothing homely about it, and I wondered how anyone could live in such a place.

The library was a small, dark, musky room outside the main hall. It was easy to find, but Tristan wasn’t there. I assumed he was still getting himself ready and used the opportunity to browse through the collection of books. There were shelves halfway to the ceiling along three of the walls and a large bay window at the front that looked out to the car park. I grabbed a book about the Russian Revolution and took it to the window rather than looking for the light switch.

As I peered around the black drapes, a Land Rover pulled up behind my boyfriend’s mini, and a tall lady in a summer dress and straw hat got out and walked towards the house. She saw me watching and gave me a curious look as she approached the policeman. He must have recognised her and allowed her to pass with a polite nod.

I could hear her talking to Fritz as I replaced the book and searched for something less taxing. A history of space exploration grabbed my attention, so I pulled it from the shelf as the door opened, and the young lady marched in to confront me.

“Who are you?”

She was pretty, with dark brown hair and expensive jewellery. A tight-fitting, white, low-cut dress hugged her large breasts, which I couldn’t help staring at.

“I’m Tristian’s friend.”

She looked me up and down. “Hmm. Tristian hasn’t got any friends. Where do you know him from?”

“I go to college with him.”

“I don’t believe you. He never invites his friends from college. How do I know you're not a burglar?”

I chuckled. “Do I look like a burglar?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen one before, but I saw you watching me when I came in. What are you doing in the library on your own?”

“Well, I’m not a burglar; I’m a guest at the party, and I’m going back there now.”

I tried to step around her, but she moved across to block my path with folded arms. Her body language suggested she wasn’t to be messed with.

“No, you're not! You could be a spy for all I know. Are you working for the Russians?”

I laughed. “The Russians, really?”

“It’s not funny,” she said. “You’re not supposed to wander around the house on your own. It’s a security breach. I could have you arrested for espionage.” She took a step closer and stared into my eyes. “What college do you go to then? What’s the name of it?”

“St. Andrew’s”

She seemed to relax a little, but she still wasn’t convinced. “You don’t sound like you go to St. Andrew’s.”

“Oh, for goodness sake. I suppose I don’t talk posh enough, is that it?” I inched backwards until I felt the wall behind me, and she followed with a hint of a smile as she narrowed the gap between us.

“Maybe I should call the policeman.”

“Fine, call him. Do whatever you want. I don’t care.” I stood defiantly with my back against the wall and tried not to look at her as she studied my face.

“Wow, you're a real crybaby, aren’t you? Perhaps you are my brother’s friend, after all.”

“You're Tristian’s sister?”

She clapped me slowly. “Bravo! I can see a college education isn’t wasted on you.”

“You don’t look like his sister.”

She laughed. “And you don’t look like his friend. Are you sure you're not a burglar? Maybe you're here to kidnap me. If you are, then you're out of luck because Daddy will never pay the ransom.”

“Neither would I.”

That riled her, and she glared at me before pretending to laugh. “How amusing. I know you're not really a kidnapper. You're scared of me, aren’t you? What’s your name?”

“James.”

“James. Hmmm. I shall call you Bond. I like it. It’s sexy.”

Sexy wasn’t the word I expected from her glossy red lips, and I must have looked surprised. She found it amusing and smiled at my discomfort. I preferred it when she was being aggressive.

“It is?”

“Yes, and it almost suits you.”

“I’ve had it my entire life.”

“I bet you have. I’m lucky if I get it once a week.” She laughed and edged even closer until I felt her breath on my face.

“I really should be getting back to Tristian.”

“Don’t look so scared. I’m not going to hurt you. Not yet, anyway. How old are you?”

“Twenty-one.”

“You're just a pup. But I like you, Bond.” She put her hand on my shoulder and leaned forward to kiss me on the lips. It was just a peck, but it shocked me. She stood back and giggled. “You're funny. Was that the first time you’ve been kissed by a girl?”

“Yes.”

“So, you really are my brother’s friend. That’s a pity.”

I cleared my throat and shifted along the wall, knocking one of the books from the shelf. Then, as I crouched down to pick it up, she beat me to it, placing the heel of her stiletto on top of the cover and pinning it to the carpet. She thought it was funny and laughed at my predicament, forcing me to look up.

I slowly raised my head, following her long, bare legs to the bottom of her dress.

“What’s wrong, don’t you like girls?”

“No, of course I do. I mean, yes, I don’t.”

“Elizabeth, what are you doing in here?”

I jumped up, hitting my head on the bookshelf and making her laugh. The deep voice belonged to a large, square-jawed man standing in the doorway. He glared at me and looked agitated.

“I was just talking to young Bond here,” she said. “He’s my brother’s special friend. My husband gets jealous. Don’t you, dear?” He looked suspiciously at me as she crossed the room to link arms with him. “He doesn’t like me talking to other men, even queer ones like you.”

“Come on,” he said. “We’re already late.” The big man threw me another look, which I took as a warning, before leaving.”

His wife glanced back at me and waved. “See you around, Bond?”

‘Not if I can help it.’

When they were gone, I sat in a big armchair in the middle of the room and wiped my brow.

‘He didn’t tell me he had a sister. He didn’t tell me anything.’

*     *     *

Tristian didn’t show up, so I returned to the party on my own, and was hijacked by his mother.

“There you are. We were getting worried; I thought the hounds had got you.”

I was surprised to see her still standing and with a full glass of red in her hand. She held it aloft as she led me, rather theatrically, across the room to a table filled with appetisers and non-alcoholic beverages.

“Tristian’s a terrible host. He should be taking care of you, dear.”

“He just did.”

Standing in front of the table with a cocktail sausage protruding from his mouth was a rather plump teenage boy.

“Perhaps you can keep this young man company instead. This is Tristian’s brother, Alexander. He’s a bit of a lost soul, too, aren’t you, dear?” She pinched his red cheek and laughed as he pulled away from her. Then she slapped his hand as he reached for a cracker. “Dinner will be soon.”

He grumbled before reluctantly shaking my hand under the forceful gaze of his mother, but his body language made it clear he wasn’t interested in talking to me. I smiled mostly for Tristian's sake, but the boy rolled his eyes and looked bored with my presence.

“Alexander is fifteen. He’ll be going to St. Andrew’s when he leaves school, won't you, dear? Maybe you can give him some advice.”

Like his older brother, Alexander was dark-haired and good-looking, but several pounds heavier. I followed his mother’s suggestion by choosing possibly the only common ground that existed between us.

“So, you're going to St Andrews. It’s a good college.” It was a rhetorical question that made me feel stupid. His expression said much worse, and I cursed his mother for putting me in such a difficult situation. “It’s a big step. I know it can be quite daunting. You know, making new friends and stuff. It’s not easy.” He watched me while loading his mouth with cream cheese and salmon. “But I’m sure you’ll be okay.”

“Who are you anyway?” I was surprised he managed to find the time between mouthfuls to string a sentence together.

“I’m Tristian’s friend.”

“What are you doing here?”

I narrowed my eyes at the little jerk as I wrestled with the temptation to kick him in the nuts and throw him through the nearest window. It would have been a lot easier than talking to him.

“Your brother invited me,” I said, scanning the room for my boyfriend.

“If you're looking for him, he’s outside.”

“Outside?”

“Yes, with his girlfriend.”

I threw him a look, and he smiled, but I wasn’t going to be drawn into his stupid game.

“Whatever.”

“You didn’t know he had a girlfriend, did you?”

“Of course, I knew. Why would that bother me, anyway?”

He laughed and then changed the subject. “What accent do you have?”

“English,” I replied bluntly.

“I know that,” he smirked. “But what part of England?”

“None of your business.”

“You're rather evasive, aren’t you?”

“And you're rather nosey.”

“Are you a spy?”

I spun around to confront him, and he took a step back in surprise, spilling some of his drink down the front of his shirt.

“Yes, I am, actually.”

He laughed. “No, you're not.”

“Then don’t ask stupid questions.”

I smiled politely at a young couple who walked past me before accepting a drink from a rather handsome young waiter. He said it was rum, an acquired taste and not one I was at all comfortable with, but I badly needed a boost.

I shuddered as I swallowed the first drop, then almost choked on the second when I heard Alexander’s squeaky voice behind me.

“Are you his boyfriend?” He was smiling at me, almost daring me to take the bait, and when I hesitated, he took it as a yes. “I thought so,” he sneered.

“What kind of a question is that?”

“My brother’s a homosexual. I thought you would have known that. It’s the first time he’s brought anyone back here, though, so he must like you. Do you sleep together?”

For a moment, the repercussions of punching this kid on the nose seemed like a reasonable trade, but I breathed a sigh of relief when I noticed Tristian walking back into the room. On his arm was a young lady, and I could see his brother laughing at me from the corner of my eye.

“Told you,” he said.

“Fuck off.” I left him to join Tristian. “Where have you been?”

“Outside talking to Louise,” he said before introducing us. “This is James—my friend from St Andrews.” She smiled tentatively, and I began to calm down. “And this is Louise, my fiancée.” He winked at me. “It’s okay, she knows about us.”

Louise was a plain-looking girl, short and frumpy, with a round face and straight shoulder-length black hair. She greeted me enthusiastically with a kiss on each cheek.

“What’s up?” asked Tristian. “You look like you're in a bit of a tizzy.”

“I’ve just been talking to your wonderfully entertaining young brother.”

“Oops. Sorry. Perhaps I should have warned you.”

“Yes, you probably should have. You told me he was sweet.” Louise smirked, and Tristian cringed at the unlikely reference.

“He is in a kind of devilish way, I suppose.”

“He’s an annoying little fucker!”

“Yes, that too,” said Tristian. “And he’s standing right behind you.”

“Hello, Alexander,” said Louise.

He mumbled a reply and gave me an evil stare.

“Please be nice to my friend, Alexander,” said Tristian, but his instruction was ignored.

“No!” Alexander kept his eyes on me until Tristian retaliated by pressing hard on his younger brother’s foot, making him yelp.

“Run along, Alexander,” he said. “There’s a good boy.”

When he left, I turned to the happy couple. “So, when’s the big day? I hope I’m invited to the wedding.”

“Don’t be like that. It’s just a ruse to keep the wolves at bay. She’s not really my fiancée. Louise is my best friend.”

I feigned shock. “Really, what a cunning plan. I bet you’ve got them all fooled with that one—all except Alexander, that is. You're a genius. Why didn’t I think of that?”

He stared at my glass and tried to snatch it from me. “What are you drinking?”

“Rum. Do you want me to get you some?”

“No, thank you.”

“I thought you naval types liked a drop of rum.”

“I’m not in the Navy.”

“Well, you’re missing out. Wasn’t it Churchill who said, ‘The traditions of the Royal Navy are rum, sodomy, and the lash?’ It’s suits you down to the ground, Tristian.”

“You promised me you wouldn’t get drunk,” he hissed. “Please don’t cause a scene. Not here, not today.”

“I’m not drunk, and I’m not about to embarrass you. I’m just a little tipsy, that’s all.”

Tristian looked worried as the last drop of rum found the back of my throat, warming my insides. I decided to leave the lovebirds and search for more of the same, but I didn’t get far.

“And who are you, young man?” The wrinkled face belonged to an old lady who introduced herself as Tristian’s aunt, Lydia. She was small, with a pronounced hump on her back that I couldn’t help staring at.

“I’m Tristian’s friend.”

She smiled and shook my hand. “I thought I knew all his friends.”

“Evidently not. We attend the same college.”

“Oh, I see. You're not one of his real friends, then.”

I gave her a blank stare. “Not a real one, no. Does it matter? Do you think we can work around it?”

She looked me up and down and smiled awkwardly. “I suppose. I’ve never met any of his other friends before. You're the first one.”

“I doubt it.”

“Are you always this rude?”

“I’m sorry. I’m a little wound up.”

“Well, you need to unwind, my dear. Worse things happen at sea, you know. I’ve always felt terribly sorry for Tristian. It’s not his fault.”

“What isn’t his fault?”

“Well, he’s different from the others. You know what I mean.”

“I’m not sure I do. I think he’s fortunate.”

“Yes, but it’s a pity he couldn’t find himself a nice girl.”

“I don’t think there are any.”

“He’s supposed to be engaged to that odd-looking thing, but I haven’t heard of any wedding plans. I don’t think it’s going to happen, do you?”

“I’d put my house on it if I had one.”

“Of course, you would say that. You're one of them.”

“I am?”

“Don’t look so surprised. You're easy to spot, you know. I’m probably the only one around here who talks about it. It’s never bothered me. My uncle Bertie was a poof, too, but we weren’t allowed to mention it. It’s best that other people don’t find out. It’s not nice, is it?”

“Actually, Lydia. I’m quite happy being a poof.”

“Care for another drink, Sir?”

I was startled by the young waiter holding a silver tray. He smiled at me and pointed to the empty glass in my hand.

“Oh, err, yes, why not?” I placed it on the tray and returned his cute smile. Then eyed his butt as he walked away before going back to Aunt Lydia. “Where was I?”

“You're happy being a poof,” she said.

“Oh yes, I am, but I’d rather you didn’t broadcast it to the world.”

“I don’t blame you, dear. It’s not very nice, is it?”

“No, I don’t mind, but my boyfriend….” I stopped. Interrupted again by the nice-looking waiter. “Oh, thank you.”

He nodded as I took a full glass from his tray and smiled at me a little longer than necessary. He even looked over his shoulder as he walked away to see if I was still watching him, but my fantasy was rudely interrupted by an older male in a Navy officer’s uniform.

He was probably in his late forties, thin, with a toothy smile and square glasses, but I still chose him over Lydia.

“Hello mate, you’re looking well. You don’t remember me, do you?”

He looked familiar, and I recognised his voice, but the uniform threw me off. I didn’t know anyone in the Navy.

“You must have me mixed up with someone else.”

“I don’t think so. I never forget a pretty face.” He removed his glasses, and I felt my stomach turn. “How are you, Jimmy? Still selling that cute little arse of yours, or have you moved on to bigger things?”