I would perhaps not have been quite so enthusiastic about accepting Klaus Gehler's invitation for a temporary appointment if I had known that his retreat was on a remote island of the Cape Verde chain, off the coast of east Africa and well within the tropical zone. The saving grace was that before we were going there, we were making a stop in Malta. That island had always intrigued me. Little did I know, however, that I'd see nothing of that island but the harbor of its capital, Valletta, from the railing of Gehler's yacht.
My second guessing of coming on this adventure all started from the time we boarded the launch in France's Nice harbor to motor out to Gehler's quite large yacht. It was just the two of us, Gehler and me, in the launch other than a silent and somewhat sullen Spaniard who, Gehler told me, was in charge of the crew of the larger yacht. He was dark to the point of being swarthy, with jet-black curly hair in profusion on his chest, arms, and legs in addition to his head. He was perhaps something around thirty and what I would call sinewy. Not hulking, but tall and so muscle hard that the veins popped out on the surface of his arms and torso because they had no fat to travel through. He had large, strong, long-fingered hands. He was brown as a berry and moved in the rigging of the yacht with the grace and dexterity of a monkey. He must have been a brawler, because he had perpetual bruises and stripe marks on his torso and arms and legs. I later found that the other crew members seemed anxious to stay clear of him, although there was no question that they jumped when he said to jump.
Thus it was with some trepidation when, the yacht moored off the entrance to the harbor of Malta's Valletta, I watched Gehler being motored into the island's capital city for what he said was an afternoon business meeting. Gehler took several of the crew members with him, leaving me with the brawny Spaniard, who I now knew was named Estaban, and with a few of the older crew members who stayed well away from me—and from Estaban, for that matter. Estaban hadn't been staying well away from me, however. Whenever he could he brushed by me in the corridor, or leaned down and whispered suggestive things in my ear while serving Gehler and me at meals, or performed spectacular athletic stunts in the rigging where I could watch. And I did watch. I have to admit that I found him arousing in a curious, dangerous sort of way.
Gehler must have noticed with those piercing, assessing blue eyes of his, as the evening before we reached Malta and were taking brandy in the fantail of the yacht, he leaned over and said, "So, you fancy Estaban, do you?"
"No, of course not," I shot back, shocked that he would have gotten that impression, and immediately starting to review my encounters with Estaban while Gehler was present to determine how he could have gotten that idea.
"I rather think you do," Gehler said, with a smile. "And I know he fancies you. It's quite all right, of course . . . whatever would bring you pleasure. I'm quite sure that Stefan told you that I would have no trouble with one man having a sexual attraction to another one. And Estaban does have a brutish sensuality, doesn't he? Many young men would seek that out—young men who wanted to be controlled and used by a demanding man such as Estaban."
"I'm sure I don't know what you could mean," I responded, blushing. But it already was past twilight, so I felt safe that Gehler couldn't see the blush. I actually was surprised that Gehler hadn't made any moves on me himself. I'd already decided that I would just go with it if he did. But thus far, although the attentive employer—because I already was spending a couple of hours a day taking dictation from him—Gehler was also being the perfect hands-off host. I did know, though, that he was fucking some of the younger sailors—the ones he later took into Valletta with him for the afternoon. I was wondering what sort of balance of business and pleasure Gehler had in mind for the Malta stop.
So, when Estaban did what he did with me while Gehler was ashore in Valletta and said it would not come as either a surprise or an outrage to Gehler, I believed him.
Having a premonition of what Estaban had in mind because of the looks he gave me while Gehler and the young sailors were climbing down into the launch, I tried to make myself scarce. It wasn't just that I was afraid of Estaban and what he might be planning but also because I was afraid of my own arousal for Estaban.
He found me in the radio room off the bridge and fucked me first there.
