Sorry once again for the lack of updates. I've been put under a lot of pressure by an unfortunate situation that I may or may not talk about in a different blog post (do you even want to hear me complain?). That being said, I have not forgotten my readers or the blogs that I read, even if I may have disappeared from the internet for a while. To be honest, last week I think I went on my computer maybe twice, and not for very long. The rest of my online time was using my cell phone. I guess when I pull away, I really pull away.
Anyway, before I go into full-on complain mode, I figured I'd wet your lips with a little something from very early in my childhood years...
His name, as far as I had been concerned, was Captain Craig. I knew his last name, of course, though even if I was willing to divulge it online, it was complex and I'm not really sure how you would spell it. I don't think I ever saw it written down.
I first met Captain Craig when I was very young. My dad and I would go out on the water in Captain Craig's boat, either to just tour the harbor, or on special days, go looking for wales in the deep ocean. Captain Craig and my father seemed to know each other relatively well from frequenting a local restaurant-slash-bar and chatting while there. I'm not sure how long they had known each other before I met him, but I was very young when I first went out on Captain Craig's boat, and it may even have been my first time out in the ocean.
The thing I remember the most about Captain Craig was how nice he always was to me. He would let me come in to the bridge and talk to him while he piloted the ship. He was somewhat of an idol to me when I was very young, though I don't mean that I wanted to be a captain or anything. When I was younger, however, I did always imagine that I would have a boat of my own one day. My father used to talk to me about getting one. A small schooner, or maybe a single sail ship with enough room for the two of us to have a fun sea adventure down the Atlantic coast. I loved the idea of being able to travel the open sea in the way that some children love the idea of flying.
One day when I was still very young, maybe six or seven at the most, I got the thrill of a lifetime. Captain Craig brought me up onto his lap and let me steer the ship while he controlled everything else (let's face it, I was never really in control). He showed me all the dials and equipment. Helped me learn to navigate with the compass, avoid land with a guidance too, check the barometer, note the direction of the wind and swell of the waves. For me, as a young boy, that was all I could ever want. He put his captain's hat on my head, almost covering my face as it slid down my much smaller skull, and my father took a few pictures of us.
That became a new thing every time I boarded the ship. My father and I would stay with the rest of the passengers until we were out over clear water and then walk up to the bridge and knock on the door. Captain Craig would smile at me and beckon me in, often with an apathetic crew member making the small cabin a tight fit. But nothing else really mattered to me as I rode the waves in his lap.
It was a sad day for me when I learned that Captain Craig was no longer the captain of that particular ship. In fact, he had gotten a job doing barge trips transporting various things like trash. It was hard to imagine the man I had admired so much in his crisp, white uniform, his tan face, and his coffee-stained smile as the captain of a ship loaded with trash. It was honestly a hard reality moment for me. The sea wasn't full of smiling captains all the time. Sometimes those captains get replaced by grumpy men with thick mustaches who don't appreciate young, adventurous boys looking in the door to the bridge. That's certainly what happened with Captain Craig.
I wouldn't see him again until years later as a teen, when I was having dinner at that same restaurant-slash-bar with my father, and who should walk in but a slightly tipsy Captain Craig. He sat down at the bar and ordered what I could only imagine was one on top of a previous pile of beers, and didn't recognize us at first. Then my dad went up to him and reintroduced himself. My father, who had not changed much beyond going grey and getting fatter, was easily recognized by the drunk captain. It took him a moment or two more to realize who I was.
"My god, you've grown so big!" he said in a comically breathless voice, his eyes open wide. I recall being unimpressed, as I had decided to always be when facing adults who had known me as a child and then dropped out of my life. The number of people by that point who had marveled at my growth had cooled me to the experience, and I honestly just wanted to eat my food and go home.
But then Captain Craig, even in his drunken state, did something none of my previous acquainted had managed: he turned on his old charm and actually brought back some of the happy, admiring boy that I had once been. I felt the same old stirrings inside of me as he told my father and I what he had been up to, though I managed to keep my goofy grin at bay as much as possible. I had a sullen reputation to keep, after all.
Captain Craig, apparently, also had some old stirrings going on, only in his intoxicated state, he was less able to keep them hidden. "You still look so great, just like when you were young," he told me.
"I remember when you were just a boy," he said, looking at me with a smile on his face. And in that moment I felt like a boy again. I felt like he was tall enough to still pull me up on his lap and have me steer the ship.
"I remember the first time your father brought you into the bridge and let me hold you in my lap. It was one of the best moments of my life." He was getting a little too excited, and I was having trouble matching his enthusiasm. "I had to keep myself in check, with you sitting there. I was having trouble not getting too aroused, worried you'd notice."
Wait. What? Did Captain Craig just tell me that he had been turned on by my young body sitting on top of him? Did Captain Craig just say out loud that he had been getting hard all those times I had been in my happy world of piloting the ship? I felt like my memories of those times had been tainted in some way. I didn't know how to react. And neither did my father. I could tell that he was asking himself the same questions, though I think he was also deciding to file it under misunderstood drunken ramblings. Still, my father ended the conversation quite abruptly, and I found myself thinking about Captain Craig, the man I remembered, and Captain Craig, the drunk man.
I knew that there were people who liked young boys. I was still fourteen or fifteen and I had given my young hole to enough men to understand that drive in them. But when I thought about just how young I had been when he felt turned on by me, and I wasn't sure I was entirely comfortable with him anymore. What had happened to this man I had once admired? Where did the white captain go?
But what may have bothered me even more, was that I started thinking about what might have happened if he had tried something with me. Would I have let him? Would I have been a victim? Would I have liked it? I started wondering what would have happened if he had never fallen out of my life, if he had seen me grow. I wondered if he would have been the one to take my virginity. Would my idol have been my first in other circumstances?
And then, when my father went to the bathroom before we left, I did something that I could hardly believe I was doing. I walked up to him and asked him for his number...