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It fell to me at my next port of call to seek employment as a barmaid in a tavern for while the boatman left me initially without need I found myself at a loose end when eventually he was forced to return to his own tribe.

He had commitments, as any man does, not only to his own wife and family but also to his trade and the business of his livelihood. And so he returned and was sorely missed, for a short day or two at least.

Such is the nature of all ports I have even visited, seaports on the continents of Earth in particular, that whilst serving a function they also supply and provide for certain needs, those being food and comfort for the traveller, the wayfarer, the sailor and, oft times the displaced and dispossessed.

The work was not unknown to me, indeed running a commercial spacecraft has its similarities at times. Sailing ships upon an ocean of water are closely akin to craft which move in the oceans of air and even closer to those which move in a vacuum, all drawing their courses upon vast oceans of stars.

She was called the Red House and she was my place, at least for the purposes of this tale. When the boatman left I found myself in charge of her. And she was red in colour and while also house to boot, some perhaps would say one of ill repute. But on this side of the river there are fewer laws to break and fewer law abiding souls to offend. There are still laws, strict ones and those strictly enforced but none which bear restraint on the tale I relate here.

The Red House then, so proclaimed her sign, a red square with smoke issuant clearly indicating that fires burned within. A Red House indeed and one with a score of bedrooms, some little more than narrow spaces tight under the roof while others, the principal half dozen, were large, well appointed and with magnificent beds.

Beds and bedrooms apart however the Red House's main income came, unsurprisingly from beer. A man's work is always a thirsty one whatever his trade, even it seemed if it was the brewing of it. And a close second to the beer the ladies came.

Why would you need twenty bedrooms when so few people actually stay all night there? An ordinary enough question you might think. Some do stay all night, if they have nowhere else to go or if it is where they prefer, but look at it this way just for a minute:

One of the girls took Captain James's breakfast up, two girls in fact for there were several trays. He was in the Blue bedroom which for ease of location and access is directly at the top of the stairs.

Two girls then, experienced in all aspects of looking after both men and women and catering for each and every one of their needs whatever in the worlds they might be. Two girls who were not even mildly surprised when, upon entering Captain James's bedroom with his breakfast, they found him sitting up in bed. With four other people in the bed with him, two men and two women. Not even mildly surprised when, after removing the covers from the trays of food they saw an extraordinarily startling amount of bacon and eggs.

There was an air of jollification in the room which was by now growing somewhat stale and tainted and a good deal of untidy chaos associated with displaced bedding and clothes permeated the few uncluttered areas of the room. In the hearth the remnants of a log fire smouldered while in one corner of the room, that furthest from the window the splintered remains of an armchair leaned loosely against the floor. Needless to say the occupants of the bed were all naked and the bedclothes themselves in no little disarray. All thankfully appeared to be in Apple Pie Order.
…………..

They laughed when they told me, did Amy and Sue.

"Hell all three men still had erections!" they said.

Well I knew Captain James of old, and the rest of his crew as well. I might add they were my best customers while their ship was in port. It isn't everyday a hotelier gets paid so handsomely for their services, in gold, and up front!

"Don't you worry!" Captain James had said to me on the occasion of our first meeting, now several years ago. "Don't you worry! You'll have no trouble from us or from anyone else either, while we are here"

I'd thanked him warmly, hugged and kissed him and taken his watch and sextant off him for security. Dangerous things those sextants can sometimes be! Sharp edged, with mirrors and springs and, well nobody wants to find one of them in their bed.

Two days they'd stayed at The Red House that time, two days in which two of my best bedrooms were awash with sex and drink. At the end of it, more or less insensible the Captain and his crew had stumbled down the stairs and, miraculously because no one who saw the state they were in knew how they did it, sailed their ship faultlessly away from the quay at the top of the tide and with several sets of brightly coloured underclothes streaming from the mizzen mast.
It became a standing joke after that, a rumour of comical peculiarity which went around all the quayside taverns like a dose of wildfire.

"Hey, James is on his way, his sail has been spotted!" one wag would begin.

"That's no sail!" another would counter "Spotted or striped, that'll be some poor woman's knickers!"

The theme would continue from there with variations on spots, on sails, on poor women and their knickers, so that by the time Captain James did sail into port he found the whole place in a state of high glee.

I can tell you now, without fear of contradiction, that there were many other ladies in addition to me who wore specially designed dresses for just such an occasion. Mine was typically barmaidish, if you must know. Voluminous skirts with several petticoats under, short sleeves, so as not to soak up too much spilled beer and a wide open front neckline which plunged almost to my knees.

Well everyone enjoys a bit of cleavage, don't they?

Even very shy blokes like Mr Clean, I should think.

I mean, if I felt pathologically randy where Captain Jones was concerned I felt equally motherly and protective towards poor Mr Clean.

He only drank half pints with a chaser of rum. He always sat in the same corner and in the same seat. He always, nearly always actually, played dominoes with a couple of other men. And at thirty three years old, near enough, he remained steadfastly unmarried.

Some swore he was Gay, but even if he was he had no male partner either. Some said he was religious but if he was nobody had ever seen or heard him either pray or preach. It was rumoured that he had been heard to utter the word 'fuck!' sharply and distinctly only once when he'd spilled some of his rum chaser inadvertently but it was only a rumour. It was also said, among other things, that he had lots of money, no money, five parents, no parents, two ears and none…..

Regardless of what I heard about him however it was in my interest to believe in none of it. I can't and won't take sides; not only can I not afford to but I won't lose valuable friends or make implacable enemies simply by not being impartial.

I did take him to bed once though. Mr Clean I mean. He took some persuading to begin with but I can tell you when he finally relented I got a wonderful surprise.

No he wasn't impressively hung if that's what you're thinking. Sometimes I think you've got a one track mind. No it was better than that, he wasn't hung at all, he was a woman. And I can tell you now his was a brilliant disguise.

Mr Clean was on the run you see. No not from the law, there wasn't any of that as I've already told you. None to speak of or worry about anyway. Simply put Mr Clean was on the run from himself.

Sadly, unless you are a ventriloquist, a contortionist or one or other of a very few bizarre other people, really and truly getting away from yourself is not as easy as all that.
……………

From our vantage point on the harbour wall Amy, Sue and I watched Captain James's ship sailing away. They'd caught the tide just right as always and now, as the ships sails caught the evening light they appeared to set the whole ship ablaze.

"Damn I shall miss 'em!" Sue declared tearfully.

Silly girl, she was in love with the ships carpenter again.

"What did he leave you this time?" Amy said.

Sue sniffed noisily. The carpenter was a bone of contention between them.

"Carved stool" Sue eventually said.

"Carved stool?" I asked "How man of them have you got now?"

"Twelve or thirteen!" Sue answered sniffily.

"Now all you want………" Amy began.

"Yes I know" Sue interrupted "Is a coven of witches to sit on 'em!"

We watched until our eyes hurt and the wind from the estuary blew our skirts up above our knees. Watched until eventually Captain James's ship disappeared over the horizon.

"I'd like a man who could make something more elaborate than a stool" Amy said spitefully.

"You'd like any man, full stop!" Sue said. "Or any woman!"

"Come on, stop arguing!" I scolded. "Lets go and talk to Mr Clean and perhaps we can be all girls together………."

Amy and Sue looked at me as if I was mad.

But we walked back into the Red House together and I went to fetch a full bottle of Mr Clean's own special rum from a stash behind the bar.

"This ones on the house!" I told them "So long as the pair of you can keep a secret. If not I'll take it out of your wages………"

They groaned dismally, having heard it all before. Fact is I don't pay them any wages, they get paid in kind, excessively, in sex and food and drink.
……………

We found Mr Clean in his usual place in the corner.

"Evenin'!" he said peering blearily at the bottle I carried.

"Saracen's Head Navy Rum" the label reads in case you are wondering. "One hundred and twenty five percent proof. As supplied to all the worlds navies"

And all the worlds navvies too if I knew anything about it.

"M….may we join you? Amy asked.

Mr Clean grinned "On'y if you're bringin' that bottle!"

By way of an answer I set it down on the table.

"Unop'ned b' gord!" Mr Clean hiccupped.

"Unopened!" I confirmed "Shall we take it upstairs?"

"Yer…….orlright……" he said.

He had trouble standing initially, let alone walking but we eventually got him upright between us.

"Pink bedroom I think" I said as we struggled upstairs.

The pink bedroom is the one I most often sleep in myself, especially on the rare occasions that I get to sleep on my own. Yes it makes a change sometimes, doesn't it?

Oh and the pink bedroom is the one with all the dildoes and strap ons in one of the drawers.
………………

Mr Clean attempted to grope me while we were still on the stairs. I wasn't surprised and I didn't try to stop him. He tried to grope Amy too, but she just laughed. In another five minutes or so I knew she was in for a shock.
……………

Eventually we sclumbreled in the bedroom and fell in two and threes onto the bed.

"Where am I?" Mr Clean asked as he stared at the ceiling.

"Who are you more like!" I said to him.

Any and Sue both gaped at me, then started to giggle.

"Oh no, not again!" Mr Clean said.
………………

It turned out he'd always wanted to be a transvestite but his mother wouldn't let him. When as a teenager he began borrowing her clothes to go to the pub in she got angry and threatened him with a fate worse than death. Personally I didn't think there was such a thing but if there is we are quite happy here in this bed and don't want any of it thank you very much.

Amy and Sue nearly wet themselves with astonishment when, still protesting feebly Mr Clean helped us to pull his trousers off. They were as pleased as Punch though, when they saw his tits, which were quite, well, tit like, so they took one each. Which all goes to show that not only can you not fool many of the people much of the time but most of the time you can't even fool yourself.

We sat on her face to begin with, one after the other because at first that was what she so desperately wanted. After that. each in turn we lit her sit upon us. We exercised our rights as free women to wear and use, disgustingly lewd strap ons on each other, and on Mr Clean too, to her unbounded delight. Flavours and favours became rather mixed up soon after that.

Aroused rigid Mr Clean dared not go home after that so the pink bedroom became his sort of shared home from home. His mother had a fit, screamed and accused him of living in sin then wrote a nasty letter to her MP complaining about us. Oddly enough the MP, who is a client of mine, wrote back all officially saying there was nothing he could do about it. I felt sorry for her so arranged for a collection to be made in the bar. After a week the total had reached the dizzy sum of seven Sdollars and sixteen cents, two of which were dud coins, euros or somesuch but it was enough to be able to purchase an economy sized tin of sin from the butcher.

I had it sent to her next morning, gift wrapped in the underpants Mr Clean had been wearing that evening before we enlightened him. That was the last anyone ever heard from her. It was also the time when, all too soon, I had to leave the Red House for good. Duty called as did a little off white, well hidden spaceship. Besides the taxman was catching up with me and there was a huge water rates bill due.

This morning, filled with nostalgia (it's a variety of advocaat) the four of us stood on the quayside together. Captain James was due back in a couple of days but when he arrived I wouldn't be here.

By then I'd be on my way to Pastures New.

© Aahlu. 171010.