2

We had been almost exclusive companions for two thirds of our life. But that was by far our most intimate moment. We'd kissed, of course. But those were mild displays of affection. We both knew that tonight's event was something entirely different and neither of us was experienced enough to even know how to take the first step.

Faith was lying back, looking at me with a touch of fear in her eyes. I lowered my face to her lush lips. The spark was instantaneous. The closeness we 'd shared growing up unleashed a tidal-wave of passion.

Faith moaned loudly and her mouth opened. My tongue instinctively headed for hers. We held that kiss for what seemed like hours. Just getting prepared for the act to follow. She exhaled a series of rapid breaths. It was as if she was hyperventilating. Then she sat up and frantically pulled her nighty over her head. Her body was heart-stoppingly beautiful.

Faith's big boobs had been a topic of conversation for every teenage boy in New Bedford. Now, there they were!! They were even prouder and fuller than we'd all imagined, with wide pink circles on the tip and jutting nipples perfectly located in the middle.

Growing up, Faith had been a skinny little girl. Her waist and legs were still tiny. But her hips had broadened to a lushness that promised both strength and fertility and her flanks were as tight and powerful as a little filly's. I just gazed at my new wife in wonder.

Her tits jiggled and jogged as she threw her nighty aside. I reached over and hefted one, awestruck by its substantial weightiness. The size of the thing emphasized the disparity between Faith the girl, and Faith the woman.

I tweaked the rapidly growing nipple. That produced an unexpectedly violent reaction. The instant I squeezed it Faith uttered a loud, almost startled, cry. She might be a foot shorter and a hundred pounds lighter. But she dragged me between her legs like the crew manhandles a whale. I'd forgotten how naturally pugnacious she was.

Neither of us had any experience with the other's sexual equipment. So, there was an uncertain moment as we got accustomed to the terrain. Still, the concept is age-old, and the design is so intuitive, that we rapidly discovered how things fit. It was extremely hot and slippery down there, which was baffling. But we were bathed in a scent that made me crazy.

The human animal has a few basic instincts and one of those is the act of sex. So, I just acted. Faith gave a loud gasp as I slid up into her. There was a momentary obstruction and she gave a cry of pain, clutching me. Then she made a long groan of satisfaction. The continuation up her passage was just nature taking its course. It was pure reflex.

I could feel her arms around my neck and her feet braced against the bed, as she pounded back against me. I was totally out of control by that point. It was the culmination of a dozen years of intimate comradeship, and it had built itself into a tidal wave of need for this woman.

Faith was panting loudly, grimacing, mouth wide open in a rictus of sensation. Then she began making rhythmic "ahh-ahh-ahh" noises, like a person about to sneeze. In fact, what followed was exactly like a violent sneeze. Except, it was in her nether regions. Then my new wife proceeded to buck and writhe like she was suffering intense pain. It probably would have alarmed me if my balls weren't experiencing their own violent seizure.

After the moaning and shouting rumpus had died down, we lay there exhausted. I ultimately got enough of my sanity back to look at her sweet face. She was looking back at me with a mixture of wonderment and unease. I think she was worried that her animal behavior during our first nuptial voyage would somehow put me off.

I looked her squarely in the eye and said in a voice suffused with emotion, "We've loved each other since we were mucking around on the Acushnet. This just seals the deal. You're mine forever." Her face got a jubilant look as she said, "That's all I ever wanted, my love."

*****

For many years, I remembered the short period after our wedding as the best days of my life. Existence was a cozy haze of companionship, love and passion. But whaling was in my blood. So, I knew that I would eventually have to return to the sea.

Faith didn't want me to go. She kept urging me to take a landsman position in her father's office. Her dad, Jedediah Polk, had three ships and a thriving business in whale oil. I could have made more money as a broker and that would have kept me ashore. But that was never an option. I was young and the thrill of a Nantucket sleigh ride was too much to resist.

I would be away a couple of years. And so, my decision to go whaling caused some upset with my wife, which puzzled me. She'd grown up in New Bedford and she ought to know that it took to be married to a whaler.

I said, "Look Faith, your parents have been together for almost thirty years and they're happy; even though your dad has been away on three-year voyages that entire time."

She looked at me skeptically. So, I added, trying to comfort her, "You'll be well taken care of, and it won't be forever. I'm saving up to buy my own brig and we'll be able to live on the proceeds from other people's work. You just have to be patient for a few more years."

She stared at me pleadingly and said, "I want a husband, not a whaling skipper." I appreciated what she was saying. Faith had always been spirited and adventurous. But she needed intimacy, like a fish needs water.

I appealed to her practical side. I said, "We can travel together when I have my own ship. Then, we can see and do things that we always dreamed about. This is the start of a great adventure, the one we always wanted."

She said warily, "When will that be?" I said earnestly, "No more than three more voyages, if they're successful. Maybe six, to eight years."

Faith looked defeated, almost frightened. I should have understood. In some ways she loved me too much. That period of time must have seemed like a hopeless eternity; especially when she was so young.

Hunting a sixty-foot creature is a perilous undertaking. Nonetheless, we were both brought up in New Bedford and whaling voyages were as much a part of our world as eating, sleeping and going to church. So, there was no arguing about it. Faith just had to accept that I was going hunting because that's what men in whaling cultures did.

Thus, I signed on with the Ansel Gibbs as a boatsteerer. The offer of a boatsteerer's position was what helped me make the decision. I wanted to be a captain, just like my dad and that was a crucial leg up. I was only eighteen, which would make me by-far the youngest harpooner in the entire town and a rising star in the whaling trade.

The boys my age were pea-green jealous. I'd crewed with Jimmy Faulks on my first two voyages. He was signed-on as a hand on the Gibbs too. He was a pal when it came to shipboard routine. But he was lazy and born jaded. So, he was never going to be more than a deckhand.

He said, "We could be out a couple of years. What are you going to do about your pretty little wife?" I said, "What the hell are you talking about?"

He laughed and said, "She's the best-looking woman in the whole town. You don't seriously think that the other boys won't come calling once you're out of the picture?"

I gave him a hard stare and said, "It doesn't matter. Faith won't give them the time of day. She loves me. So just shut up or you'll get what I'd give any fellow who took a run at her."

He was right though. There were lots of slick landsmen in New Bedford, many of whom were Jimmy's and my age. I knew that any of them would give an eye tooth for a shot at Faith. But the insinuation that one of them might lead her astray made me angry. Wives waited for their husbands. It was their duty.

The hunt was in the area that lay between the Falklands and the South Sandwich Islands. We'd watered at Stanley on East Falkland, where we heard about a population in the open ocean. The Concord was in harbor when we pulled in, and they were loaded with oil from the hunt. So, based on their advice we bagged nine of the huge beasts in just a few months.

The hunts themselves were dangerous. You're in an open, thirty-foot rowboat and you need to get within twenty yards of the whale to put a harpoon into it. Then you have to fight a seventy-ton creature that doesn't particularly appreciate your trying to kill it. But we were skilled hands and we knew what it took to survive.

In fact, the only real threat was on the way out. We sailed into a hurricane while we were passing east of Hatteras. We didn't know it at the time. But the ferocity of that storm was the talk of the entire east coast. It was particularly violent, with killer winds. Many ships were lost. We would have been one of them if it wasn't for a little bit of luck.

We managed to dodge due west, leeward, and through the Inlet into Pamlico Sound. We'd have all drowned if we'd been a little farther north, off the shoals off Cape Hatteras. The wind was diminished behind the barrier islands and we were able to beat our way into Ocracoke.

*****

Most men would have insisted on rushing home to their bride, rather than following their mother. But the thought never crossed my mind. People did what Mother told them to do. She was a commanding presence. It was a silent trudge up the hill to County street. Mother was striding grimly along. Julia seemed to be crying. I was getting concerned. Where was Faith?