Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407
My obsession with sailors and “sea men” began, as all great historical follies do, with a documentary about the Age of Exploration. I found myself utterly mesmerized not by the intrepid captains or the promise of new worlds, but by the burly, salt-crusted men swabbing decks in the background.
There was something about the coiled energy in their forearms and the way their necks met the rough wool of their pea coats. As I’ve always believed, a man who can tie a bowline knot under pressure is a man who could, you know, do a lot of “other” things with equal, competent grace.
sea men
I developed a particular fondness for the scowling, morally ambiguous sailor in that one 1940s noir. I found him devastatingly erotic and once spent an entire rainy afternoon writing a fictional love letter from the perspective of a lighthouse keeper’s daughter. Complete with metaphors about tides and unmoored hearts. My definition of “ handsome” clearly involved a certain amount of rope burn and a profound relationship with nautical jargon.
The dream, of course, was a real, live “sea man.” Not a modern yachter in deck shoes, oh no. I wanted the genuine article. A man whose hands smelled of old rope, who could look at a horizon and not just see a sunset, but a coming squall. I imagined conversations that began with “Aye, aye” and ended with…well, a swollen clit and a cream pie. Perhaps also a little rope bondage, all things considered.
The one time I actually met a working fisherman at a dockside bar, my brain short-circuited. He was perfect. Wind-chapped cheeks, a beard, and a permanent squint that said “I’ve stared into the sun and won.” I opened my mouth to deploy my best, “So, does the sea call to you, or…?” but nothing came out! Not a single word! He just grunted, nodded at my drink and said, “The sea’s a cruel mistress and she’s not the only one.” I took it as a compliment. If only he knew.
Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407
https://phonesexcandy.com/cory