They were all set. No one would even miss them.
They rented a posh room in the Hotel Vancouver, but spent their
gay nude last night very quietly. There was too much to think about – consider, predict, anticipate, fear. Offering one another support in their introspection simply by their presence and their non-sexual intercourse, Matt and Jenn finally descended into a surprisingly calm sleep, holding on together.
XXXIII.
The Celestial Concubine
gay nude, arrived, unheralded in the early morning, anchoring in Vancouvers outer harbour. It was a beautifully sleek, futuristic cruise ship with a water line length of about four hundred fifty feet, although its raked bow projected spear-like, far beyond that. Even at anchor, the
gay nude swept back superstructure gave
gay nude an illusion of speed and a suggestive mien. With its white sides and gold tone accents glistening in the morning light, it was subtly salacious
gay nude in its allure. Ostensibly on an exclusive Billionaires World Tour, it was in town for only a brief one-day stop. Details of the cruise – an exclusive floating bawdy house, purveying a stable of innocents, subverted and perverted – were
gay nude most certainly contrary to prevailing morality. If the city’s populace had known what Jenn and Matt – and who knew how many others onboard – had contractually agreed to they would be at first horrified then outraged. Hence, whether the operation was actually illegal or not, the organizers considered it politic to simply and surreptitiously spirit the newcomers aboard.
That evening, Matt and
gay nude Jenn accompanied Roland to dinner at the Jericho site of the Royal Vancouver Yacht Club. Roland, it seemed, was somehow associated with the cruise although he remained
gay nude very vague about it, deflecting most questions. His heartiness during the meal became conspicuously forced, and Matt wondered what he knew that he wasn willing to share. Jenn figured that he was simply trying to hide his disappointment at losing a friend and slave
gay nude for the coming year. While trying to remain jocund, he commented, wiping away imaginary tears, that he was losing his only true prodigy.
After a late meal that stretched well into dusk, after the lights on the Celestial Concubine had flickered on and danced across the water like golden fairy-dust from the sandman’s pouch, the three of them, Matt and Roland flanking Jenn like bodyguards, quietly strolled down the
gay nude ramp onto the floats, to the soothing sounds
gay nude of the sea – slapping, lapping. They boarded a twenty-five or thirty foot motor launch called A Kind of Freedom, where Jenn and Matt collapsed onto the
gay nude settee, consumed by their own thoughts and apprehensions. Roland prepared a couple stout drinks – a very tall single malt, neat, for Matt and an ice-cold vodka straight up for Jenn. There was no one else on board. They watched the clock and the
gay nude colour of the sky, sipping and talking trivia – watching the clock. The ...Concubine was departing at midnight; they would board during the half-hour before.
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