Rebel in Boston Ch. 01

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Over the next few months, I managed to get into Boston a half a dozen times as a sort of bodyguard to one of the locals who ventured back into his home town to spy out what the Brits were up to. He was a fine, brave little man named Richard Backus, and although I could hardly understand him at first, we became reasonably good friends, as much as you can be friends with an well-educated officer. Colonel Backus had been involved in every action so far including the running fight from Concord and the debacle on Breed’s Hill, and he had the scars to show for it. He also knew many people in Boston and, I believe, had several mistresses there. I do not think he was married, but I am not sure.

The first time I rowed him across, he asked me, as we dragged our small boat up into some weeds, if I was interested in getting laid. I had to inquire twice before I was sure what he meant and by then he had run through his gaudy, Harvard vocabulary until he reached “foocked.”

“Oh,” I said brightly, feeling the fool, “of course, if we have the time.”

“We shaul maike the toime,” he said, slapping me on the back, and I will not try again to duplicate his speech.

I followed him as unobtrusively as I could, often on the other side of the street, covering his back as he visited several homes, businesses and, thankfully, taverns. The town was full of what he called “lobsterbacks,” but we both tried to ignore them as if they were not there and went about our business quietly. At about sunset, which came early as winter set in, he handed me a few shillings, pointed me toward a many-windowed tavern, and said he would join me in an hour or escort sincan so. “Ask for Roxy,” he said, as he slipped into an alley and disappeared.

When I ducked my head to enter the tavern, a kind of hush fell over the place. It was not very crowded, perhaps fifteen or twenty men were drinking and smoking, but I felt a lot of eyes on me as I ordered an ale and plunked down a shilling.

“An’ `oo moite you be?” asked a small man at my elbow. Wizened was the word for him and nearly toothless.

“Lord North,” I said, wiping the foam from my lips.

“Indeed,” he said, “delighted.” He stuck out his hand, and when I took it another man grabbed me from behind, pining my arms. I did not struggle. The little man searched me quickly, dumped my thin purse on the bar, and nodded to the unseen man behind me. I was released, flexed my shoulders and looked about. No one was there and almost all the eyes were looking away from us.

“Din’ oye see ye wif Backys, tidday, up town?” asked the little man.

“Who?” I pushed my tin toward the inn-keeper for another. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Gin,” said the little man, and a small glass of cloudy liquid appeared along with my beer.

“Is Roxy about?” I asked, making my face look pleasant.

“She is,” he said, “an’ `ow would ye be knowin’ aboot `er?”

“Friend told me,” I said.

He nodded and drank. Then he pushed my shilling back toward me. “Yer money’s nae good `ere,” he said. He twiddled with the end of his sharp nose. “A short visit is it?”

I nodded.

“Ah,” he said with a crooked smile, “`ere’s Roxy.” He grabbed a passing serving girl and pulled ankara escort her between us. “Big feller’s lookin’ for you,” he said, and the woman smiled at me and raised an eyebrow. “Knew yer name, `e did.”

The girl was probably about my age, a bit disheveled from her work, but strong bodied and dark haired. We stood a few inches apart, our chests touching, lips feeling each other’s breath in the narrow space. She tossed her head like a horse to get a long curl out of her eyes.

“Could use some comfort,” I said quietly.

“Couldn’t we all.” She smiled broadly.

“Got the time?”

“Perhaps. Who gave you my name?”

“Can’t say. He’ll be here shortly, and I’ll have to leave.” I held my hand out to indicate the colonel’s height.

“Well then, where y’goin’?”

I gestured with my thumb. “Dorchester, likely,” I said.

She nodded and smiled. “Come,” she said, and I followed her up the stairs that lay along one wall of the tavern. She closed the door behind us and stood against it. “Backus, eh?” she said as I sat and pulled off my boots.

I did not answer, and she came and knelt between my legs. She unbuttoned my foreflap, plucked out my tumescent member, stroked it a time or two and took it in her mouth, rolling her tongue about its trembling head. I stopped breathing altogether. She rested her hands on my thighs, raising and lowering herself as my shaft slid in and out of her soft mouth, bobbing her head, eyes closed. I put one hand in her thick and tangled hair and held myself upright with the other as she brought me near, eased me back, encouraged me up again, first faster and then much slower, etimesgut escort bayan sucked and licked the length of my heated lance, kneaded my ballocks steadily and again slowed to let the hard shaft escape her lips with a final lick of her long tongue.

Wordlessly, smiling, she mounted my thighs, tossed her dress over my wet and upright bowsprit, inched forward, put her hands about my neck, rose and impaled herself. She was as ready as I was and we came, almost together, in a minute or less and kept right on humping as if it did not matter.

I have no sense of how long it took or how many times either of us shook and spasmed, but when she was convinced we could do no more, and our groins were thoroughly sodden, she kissed me open mouth, whispered, “That was grand, big one, just grand,” and stood, her feet beside mine. “He’ll be downstairs by now. Get your boots on.”

I did as I was told and followed her back to the tavern, trying to get my heart to calm and my lungs to work. I had never been served so in such a short time. Colonel Backus was indeed at the bar, chatting with the short man who had accosted me. He smiled as we approached, greeted Roxy with a quick kiss and a hug and said, “Let’s go.”

I dug out the handful of shillings he had given me and held them out to the girl. She shook her head. “Maybe next time,” she said. The little man folded my fingers about my coins and nodded.

The colonel and I made out way back to our tiny boat, and I rowed us back to the other shore.

“Enjoy yourself?” he asked as I pulled on the oars.

“Yessir,” I said. “Indeed.”

“She’s awful good,” he said.

“Yessir,” I said.

“Ever have a woman do that for you before?”

“No sir,” I said, almost truthfully, still trying to remember the feeling, my ballocks throbbing.

“Now you owe her one,” he said. “Remember that next time.”

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