Adult-FanFiction.org : Marvel 'Verse

In the Beginning ...	By : KerwinLS Category: X-Men: (All Movies) > Slash - Male/Male > Logan/Kurt Views: 1298 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Men, nor do I own the characters from it. I make no money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
. . . GOD CREATED THE HEAVEN AND THE EARTH

Nine hours later, having been delayed in a traffic jam due to road construction on Route 95 and then by an accident further on, we finally approached our destination. By that time, I had had about enough motorcycle riding for one day and was feeling rather grumpy. I knew from the signs we had passed that we were in Massachusetts, on something quaintly called Cape Cod, and we appeared to be on Route 6 approaching a place called Provincetown.

As we crested the top of a hill, Logan pulled over to the side of the road so I could appreciate the view.

Appearing so suddenly and unexpectedly before us was the end of the Cape, as the land curved around and in upon itself, at first gently and then more sharply into a tightening spiral that ended in a long low spit of sand. Against the fading sunset, the lights of the town sparkled along the curve of the shoreline. The silhouette of a slender and strangely archaic-looking tower rose from what appeared to be the center of the town.

http://i1203.photobucket.com/albums/bb381/Karl-5/ViewfromRT6_zps77f596b8.jpg

For a good minute, we both just looked at the sight before us, quiet except for the idling of the motorcycle engine.

“Nice, huh?” Logan remarked at last.

“Ja. This is vhere ve are going?”

“Yep. Nowhere else to go from here. This is where the land ends and the ocean begins.”

“Sehr schön.”

“So, you up for looking around the town tonight, or would you rather just go to the campground and settle in? I know the first time on a motorcycle can be pretty exhausting, and that wasn’t exactly the most pleasant ride I’ve had either. Anyway, it’s up to you.”

“I think the campground vould be good. But I am hungry.”

“How about we go there first, I get everything up and running in the motor home, so we’ll have heat, hot water, electricity, and all that other good stuff, and then I ride into town and bring us back a pizza?”

“That vould be great!”

By the time Logan returned with our supper, I had familiarized myself with our temporary home. It was basically a smaller and older version of what are now called RV’s, rather like a bus, with two seats up front for when it was on the road, plus a third comfortable, if very faded and worn, upholstered chair.

Across from that was a dinette table with two benches, then the small but adequate kitchenette, complete with stove, refrigerator, and sink.

Behind and to the left, there was a bedroom that was barely bigger than the double bed it contained. And let’s not even mention the bathroom. If it were any smaller, I could not have turned around in it without smashing my tail into something. But overall it was sufficient for our needs, and certainly far superior to an ordinary tent.

“Hope you like mushrooms and extra cheese,” Logan remarked, as he came in the door. “Got some beer also.”

“Ja, that is fine.”

He watched me as I devoured my first slice and gave a short laugh. “Looks to me as if I could have gotten you one that was garnished with roadkill and you’d still have said the same thing.”

“Vell, if you didn’t tell me vhat it vas, I vould probably have eaten it.” I glanced with mock suspicion at the rest of the pizza. “I do not see any squashed squirrels or flat turtles on it, so I must assume it is safe to continue eating, nicht wahr?”

“Just drink your beer, smartass,” he replied, shaking his head. “So how do you like our home away from home?”

“Vell, actually, it feels very familiar. Ve lived in things rather like this, vhen the circus vas traveling. Usually they vere somevhat larger, but this is fine for just the two of us.”

“For me, it’s luxurious. I’m used to sleepin’ out on the ground, or maybe in a tent if it’s real cold.”

After we had finished eating, Logan stripped off his clothes and headed into the bathroom to shower, while I lay down on the bed, intending only to rest my eyes before I too got cleaned up. Instead, I was so exhausted that I fell asleep immediately.

I woke up once during the night to a brief flurry of panic, wondering where I was. As soon as that abated, I noticed I was alone in the bed, stark naked and with the covers tucked neatly around me. Where was Logan?

I got up to go to the bathroom and discovered him curled up in the chair in the other room. He didn’t look very comfortable, but he was sound asleep. I considered waking him and inviting him into the bed, but decided against it. Where he slept was his decision. Besides, I was still very tired and with him beside me, I doubted either of us would do much sleeping.

Since I did not usually sleep naked, I put on a pair of briefs and settled back down in the bed with a contented sigh.

I was still dead to the world when Logan charged into the bedroom and pulled the covers off me.

“Wake up, you lazy son-of-a-bitch,” he said gleefully. “Breakfast awaits you in our spacious dining room. If you lie around on that bed any longer, your bacon and egg biscuit will get cold.”

Protesting “I’m up, I’m up,” I struggled to my feet.

“Holy shit, buddy, what have you got on?”

He was clearly referring to the underwear in which I had slept, which was black with red designs and made of a satiny sort of material.

“Vhat?” I asked, still half asleep. “You do not think the little red devils vith pitchforks are cute?”

“Uh – yeah. Cute. I guess.” He closed his eyes and shook his head hopelessly. “Your fashion sense leaves much to be desired.”

“And I suppose yours does not, considering the classy vhite undershirt and vornout jeans vhich seem to make up the entire extent of your vardrobe?”

“Hey, at least I don’t wear baggy striped pants the way you used to.”

He laughed as I gave him a foul look and squeezed past him through the door, heading for the table that held our breakfast.

Later on, dressed and ready to go for a ride, which Logan assured me would be very short, I joined him outside.

“OK, since this bike isn’t equipped with a microphone, I can’t talk to you while we’re riding, so here’s the lecture first. Provincetown basically stretches along the shore of the harbor.” He handed me a small map and pointed to it as he spoke. “There are only two main streets, Commercial Street and Bradford Street, that run the length of the town, which is only about 3 miles. The other streets mostly run between those two streets.”

http://www.iamprovincetown.com/ptown_map.htm

“Ja, I see. It looks like a ladder.”

“Exactly. Behind the town is an area called the Province Lands. It’s all sand dunes and beaches and scrub pines. Part of the Cape Cod National Seashore. You’ll find out more about it when we get to the Visitor Center.”

He got onto the bike and I climbed up behind him. As we donned our helmets and drove out of the campground, I saw the sign I hadn’t noticed last night. Apparently, we were staying in a place called Coastal Acres.

Once out on Bradford Street, there wasn’t much to see except a lot of quaint old houses until we got clear of the town itself. I expected Logan to stop at Herring Cove Beach, but he didn’t. As promised, the Province Lands seemed to be all dunes, mostly grown over by small pine trees. The road wound up, over, and around these dunes for about 2 miles before we reached our destination.

The Visitors Center sat atop one of the higher dunes, which gave us a view of the surrounding area, including the nearby beach and ocean, from the outdoor decks. It was a type of landscape I had never seen before. I read all the information boards enthusiastically.

I discovered this was all just a small part of the Cape Cod National Seashore. In addition to what I had noticed on our bike ride already, there were many small ponds and bogs, plus areas that were primarily composed of huge sand dunes. There were walking trails, bike trails, and even horse trails throughout the dunes.

Then I found out some information that I did not like at all.

“Logan, look! This sign says there are lots of ticks out here!” I shuddered. “Just the thought of such creatures crawling across my skin gives me the creeps.”

“Yeah,” he agreed genially, “and they’d be hard to find, since you’re a rather dark color. But don’t worry. That’s mostly if you go off the cleared trails and into the brush.” He grinned at me, with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I’ll be glad to check you for ticks when we get back to the campground though. I’ll search every square inch of your body very thoroughly, I promise.”

I laughed. “I vill consider it.”

”OK, next stop is really exciting: food shopping at the local A & P. But on the way we’ll ride through the town center, so you can see what makes this place so special.”

“You are not going to tell me about it first?”

“Nope. You’ll see for yourself.”

Through a small stretch of woods, a mile or so down Route 6, then down a cross street to Commercial Street, which turned out to be one way from east to west, barely wide enough for one lane of traffic to get past all the parked cars. Of course, we had no trouble, being on a motorcycle, except that the closer we got to the middle of the town, the slower the traffic moved, which makes it difficult to keep a bike upright. Several times we had to stop entirely, but that gave me more chance to look around.

The busiest part of town was about a mile long, where a multitude of shops, restaurants, art galleries, historical buildings and the occasional bar or restaurant jostled together to compete for the tourists who clogged the narrow street, wandering around as if bemused by this maze of opportunities to spend their money.

But it was the nature of this crowd that struck me. Plenty of ordinary folks, of course, but mixed in with them, unnoticed and unremarked, were mutants of all shapes and sizes, some as obvious as I am and others whose appearance was more subtle, but definitely there. Sometimes it was just a logo on a sweatshirt that proudly proclaimed their mutant status.

As we made our way slowly along the street, I marveled at the obvious lack of attention being paid to such a wide diversity of people.

I had just about gotten used to this when I realized there was another sort of diversity within this mass of humanity. There were women with crewcuts and overalls walking hand in hand with each other or perhaps with a very feminine partner by their sides. Men in leather pants and vests strode purposefully along, while other gaudily dressed men stood looking in the windows of some of the better shops. Less obviously, pairs of ordinary-looking men and women also strolled nonchalantly by together with their same-sex partners.

By the time I saw a flamboyantly rainbow-striped T shirt hanging in a store window that proclaimed, “Gay, mutant, and proud. Kiss me!” I was beyond surprise.

We happened to be at a dead stop, Logan holding us balanced with both feet on the ground. He turned around to me and said, “See what I meant?” just loudly enough for me to hear him over the sound of the idling engine.

I nodded enthusiastically, feeling my eyes glow with excitement.

Then we were past the busy center of town and out into the West End, where guesthouses and cottages crowded the roadside.

I won’t bore you with an account of our food shopping, but I will say it was just as astonishing to see all different kinds of folks doing something as ordinary as buying food, with no notice taken of who or what they were. No one gave me a second glance, but I caught more than one man eyeing Logan hungrily. I was not jealous. Rather, I was proud to be with a man as evidently desirable as he was.

As we unloaded the groceries, Logan gave me a quick rundown on Provincetown’s past and why it has learned to live with such a diverse population. It has long been a place for artists and writers to go, so it attracts people who don’t really fit in anywhere else. For many years, hippies and other freethinkers came here. Then gay folks discovered it, and in time became a large segment of the population. It was only a matter of more time before mutants also arrived, whether gay or straight.

“It vas so strange to have no one staring at me,” I remarked. “Or vorse, running avay screaming. I felt – vell – normal, if there is such a thing as normal.”

“I guess that’s pretty unusual for you, huh?” I nodded. “Most of the time,” he went on, “I can blend in fairly well.”

“Ja, I vould expect so, as long as you do not extend your claws.”

As I packed the food into our refrigerator, I seemed to hear a familiar voice echoing in my head. I froze with one hand still holding a six pack of beer, lost in memory.

Logan’s voice called me back to reality. “Kurt? Ya OK? You’re gonna freeze the few fingers you got if you don’t put that down soon.”

“Oh. Ja.” I stuffed the beer into the fridge . “Do you remember vhen ve vere camped vith Magneto and Mystique near Alkali Lake?”

“How could I forget?” He frowned slightly, as if something about that time bothered him.

“Vhen I could find Mystique by herself, I asked her if it vas true that she could take on any appearance that she vished. Vhen she assured me she could, I asked vhy she did not just stay disguised as a regular person. Her answer vas short and simple: ‘Because ve shouldn’t have to.’ Such a thought had never crossed my mind, since I have alvays seen myself as so very different from the rest of the vorld that I often vish I too could be normal.”

Logan nodded.

“Here in this town, I felt vhat it is like not to have to hide vhat I am beneath heavy clothing and make up, just in order to be accepted as human. It seems unreal, as if this is a dream.” I am sure I sounded as bemused as I had been during that conversation with Mystique.

“Ain’t no dream, buddy. It’s the way reality should be, but rarely is. That’s one of the reasons why I figured you’d like it here.”

“But you do not have that problem, so vhy is it that you know about this place and have clearly been here in the past? The obvious answer vould be because you are part of the other minority that lives here, but you have never said you vere gay or acted as if you vere.”

“I’m not.” The words were no sooner out of his mouth than he shook his head slightly and a puzzled look crossed his face. “Or at least I never quite thought of myself that way. But a lot of my memory is missing, so I can’t be sure.” He shrugged off the confusion. “As for P’town, I guess I just like how people are accepted for what they are.”

“Are you avare of the vay some of the men vere looking at you?”

“Oh, sure. Happens all the time.” Then he looked me directly in the eyes and went on, “Are you aware of how some of the men were looking at you?”

“Really? I did not notice.”

“Some guys have a thing for mutants.”

I froze. “I -- never thought – I – should have known.” Memories flooded through me. Men touching my child’s body. Hands holding me down as they used me for their desires. Herr Grüber’s voice -- Nein! I will not think of such things! Not now, not ever!

“Kurt? Hey, buddy, what is it? What’s wrong?” He was holding my shoulders, shaking me gently.

“Nothing. I’m fine. Just a ghost from my past.”

“I know all about those kinds of ghosts. Want to tell me about it?”

“No. Not now. It is not important.” I flashed him a toothy smile.

“I understand. There are too many things in my own head that I don’t want to show to anyone else. But if you ever wanna tell me, I’ll listen without judging you.”

I nodded, then promptly changed the subject. “Shall ve have some lunch, now that ve have all this food?”

“Yeah. Afterwards we’re going to climb the Pilgrim Monument.”

“Vhat’s that?”

“Remember the stone tower we saw in the center of town?”

“Ja.”

“The Pilgrims built it in order to find their way here.”

It only took me a second’s consideration to process that. “Uh – I do not think –”

He laughed. “I’m kiddin’ ya, Kurt.”

“Oh.”

After lunch, we walked into town along Bradford Street. It was perhaps a mile, if that.

“This street is not as crowded vith people as the other one vas,” I remarked.

“Yep. Commercial Street is the main drag, so to speak. That’s where most of the shops and tourist stuff are located.”

“Are there alvays so many people?”

“In the middle of summer, yeah, if not more. Before Memorial Day like this, mostly only on weekends. Today is Saturday, you know.”

“Ja. And tomorrow is Sunday. Is there a Catholic church around here?”

“Sure. The town has a fairly large Catholic population, mostly stemming from the Portuguese fisherman who were some of the earlier settlers, so there’s a good-sized church in town. As a matter of fact, it’s on our way to the Monument. We can go right by it, if you want.”

“Please. I can find out the times for Mass.” Then I thought of something. “They vould not throw me out, vould they?”

“In Provincetown? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Sehr gut. I vill go tomorrow and see vhat happens.”

“Here, we go left on Prince Street and up over the hill. The church is called St. Peter’s.”

“That makes sense. Peter vas, after all, a fisherman.”

http://www.stpeters-ptown.org/

“There ya go, buddy,” Logan said, waving his hand at the gray-shingled building just over the hill. “This is the new building. The last one burned down some years ago. The original church dated back to the late 1800’s, if I remember correctly.”

“It is simple, but very nice.” I looked around until I found the signboard. “Mass vill be at 8:30 AM. Perfect!”

“OK, if that’s all settled, let’s head over to the Monument. It’s only a block or so away.”

“It is not as if I could not see it sticking up right over there, Logan.”

He shrugged.

As we climbed the steep street leading to the entrance of the Monument, I looked up at the tall granite structure that now towered over us.

“It looks as if it should be in Europe, not here.”

“You’re not far from the truth. The design was based on a tower somewhere in Italy. The Monument was built in the early 1900’s to commemorate the fact that the Pilgrims landed here first, but then went on to Plymouth, where they settled down.”

“You sound like a guidebook.”

“Sorry. Me, I think they built it for the publicity and to bring tourists here. Judging by the number of cars in the parking lot, they were successful.”

I was still staring up in the air. Tall buildings always catch my interest. I want to perch on top of them.

“C’mon, buddy. Time to climb.”

“Ve must climb up on it?” I said, looking dubiously at the rocky stone surface and the steep sides of the tower. “Do all the tourists do that? It seems dangerous. Of course, ve could probably do it easily enough, but most other people –”

He cut me off, trying to stifle his amusement. “Relax. There are steps inside. You’ll see.”

And see I did. The Pilgrim Monument is 77 meters in height, which is about as high as a twenty-story building. A slanted ramp with a few steps at each corner runs along the inside of each wall, so you alternate between climbing and walking.

http://www.pilgrim-monument.org/

My first suggestion to Logan when we entered the base of the tower and I saw how things were laid out was, I admit, rather naïve. Since the ramps and steps had been built against the inside walls, there was a clear space all the way up the middle. As a result, I could see where we would end up.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/chloeprince/5114585572/

“Aha! Ve do not have to climb all the vay up there. I could teleport us to the top.”

“That would be cheating,” he chided me. “Sometimes you should do it the hard way, so you know what things are like for most other people.”

Chastened, I began trudging up the stairs.

There are granite blocks set into the walls here and there with the names of many New England towns. Some of them taxed my knowledge of English pronunciation, but I tried gamely to read each one aloud. Quaboac. Quansigamond. Petapawag. Ponkapoac.

“Give it up, buddy. Those are Native American words,” Logan finally told me.

When we finally reached the top of the stairs and stepped out onto the balcony that ran all the way around the tower, we were hit by a stiff and none too warm breeze. I pulled my sweatshirt tighter around me, wishing for a heavier jacket.

“Ya cold, buddy?”

I nodded.

“Here. You can wear my jacket. I’m Canadian, so cold doesn’t bother me much.”

“Danke.”

The view from the top was simply beautiful. From each side, the panorama was different. We looked down at the town, the harbor, the cemetery. I was especially interested in the harbor.

“Logan, look! Boats!”

“Yeah. That’s not unusual for a place surrounded by water, ya know.”

His sarcasm did nothing to dampen my enthusiasm. “There’s a schooner!”

He dutifully followed my pointing finger. “That’s the Bay Lady. Pretty, ain’t she?”

I gave a huge sigh. “I vish I could sail on something like that.”

“Ya can. It takes people out sailing every day during the tourist season.” He glanced at me, clearly amused by my excitement. “Let me take a wild guess: you wanna go?”

“Jawohl!”

“Kinda figured that out by now.” He glanced up at the sky, which was rapidly filling up with dark clouds, driven by the wind. “We can stop by their booth on the Wharf and make reservations for tomorrow. That is, if you don’t mind going on a Sunday?”

“There is no problem vith that. As long as we go later in the morning, or afternoon, so I can get to Mass.”

“Good, because it looks like there’s a good chance it’ll rain pretty soon, so they’re unlikely to have another trip planned for today. This time of year, they only sail on the weekends, and then only if they get enough passengers.” He looked up at the sky again. “In fact, I think we oughta head down and get back to the campground, or we’re going to get very damp very soon.”

“But I still vant to see the museum and the gift shop before ve leave.”

“Well then, let’s get going.”

So I grabbed him and took us down to the ground. “There. Now ve have some time.”

“Geez, I hate it when you do that.”

“Come on,” I said. “You vere the one who did not vant to get vet, remember?”

“Somehow, I have the feeling we’re going to get wet anyway,” he said resignedly, as I dragged him over to the museum, insisting that we had to visit every exhibit that had anything to do with ships.

“Listen, I’ve seen all this stuff. How about if I walk down to the Wharf and make our reservations for tomorrow, while you’re lookin’ around? I’ll meet you back here. Okay?”

“Ja, okay.”

By the time he returned, I had managed to get through most of the museum, but was still standing in front of the exhibit that showed the interior of a typical captain’s cabin, peering through the glass and picking out all the details with delight. To see something for real that I had only seen before on the printed page always thrills me.

Poor Logan had to practically drag me to the exit, but by then it was too late.

“Look, it is already raining,” I pointed out as we approached the door.

“Yeah, I noticed that. Come on.”

“Nein! I vish to buy a souvenir in the gift shop. One of those purple glass hanging things, vith an image of the Monument.”

“What are you gonna do with that?”

“Hang it in my vindow. Vhat else vould I do vith such a thing? It makes me happy to see sunlight streaming through colored glass. Since ve vill get vet anyvay, there is no reason to rush anymore, is there?”

He was forced to yield to my impeccable logic.

By the time we walked back to the campground, we were both soaked to the skin and cold.

I was already peeling off my wet clothes when Logan pulled a plastic bag out from under his shirt. He dumped a bunch of slightly soggy papers in a damp pile onto the table. “Here ya go, pal. I picked up these brochures at the Chamber of Commerce while I was in town. Figured you might want to look through them. See if there’s anything that catches your interest.”

“I vill certainly do that, as soon as I get dried off.”

“By the way, we’ve got tickets for the one o’clock trip on the Bay Lady tomorrow, weather permitting. Rain’s supposed to stop by then.”

“Vonderful! I can hardly vait.”

“Why are you so interested in sailboats anyway?”

“Oh, I vas very interested in pirates as a teen-ager, so I read a lot about them, both fact and fiction. I found out they vere not as romantic as I had thought, but neither vere they all as vicious as they are often portrayed.”

“But the Bay Lady isn’t a pirate ship.”

“It is a sailing vessel, nicht wahr? That is vhat I vish to experience.”

“In that case, you’ll get your chance tomorrow.”

I could not stop myself. I went over and hugged him, planting a kiss on his cheek. He looked kind of embarrassed, but he didn’t let go real quickly either.

Later that evening, the rain was still pouring down, making a regular racket on the metal roof. It was kind of nice, since it reminded me of my teen-age years in the circus, when most of us lived in trailers not much bigger than this one and the sound of rain was a constant companion on lonely nights.

However, each time my treacherous memory threatened to stray back into my early childhood, I firmly redirected my attention to the almost-dry brochures scattered around me on the bed.

Logan peeked into the room and winced at the sight of the little red devils prancing around my hips with their pitchforks. “Geez, Kurt, can’t you just take those damned briefs off and sleep naked?”

“Vell, if that is vhat you vant –” I obliged him, then went back to my brochures. “Look! Here’s a pirate museum! Can ve go there? And a strange store called Marine Specialties! And a Glass Museum in Sandwich? How could they put a museum made of glass in a sandwich? And here is – ”

“Whoa! Enough already! We don’t haveta do all that right now, do we? There are other things about you that I’m more interested in.” His eyes traveled slowly down my now-naked body.

“Uh – no. Ve do not.”

“Good! I’m gonna go shower now, but it’ll only take me a minute. I’d sure like ta see ya still lyin’ there waitin’ for me when I’m done. Oh, and by the way, Sandwich is the name of a town at the other end of the Cape and the museum is full of glass stuff.”

He didn’t even give me a chance to reply before he ducked into our miniscule bathroom.

I went back to scrutinizing my pamphlets, trying to decide what I most wanted to do, since we clearly would not have time to do it all. So engrossed was I in what I was doing, I didn’t notice when Logan came into the room until he laid down behind me and his adamantium-reinforced weight tilted the mattress so steeply that I rolled back against him. He draped an arm around my waist.

“Ya wanna fuck, baby?” he growled, clearly half serious and half joking.

Without turning around, I exclaimed in mock indignation, “Oh my goodness! Get thee behind me, Satan!”

He laughed evilly. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m already behind you. And if there’s anyone around here who looks as if he might be Satan, it ain’t me.”

“Geh zum Hölle, Logan!“ I replied, laughing.

“If I go to hell, as you suggest, how could I do this?” He ran his hand over my chest teasingly, brushing one of my nipples as he did so.

I squirmed around so that we were face to face. As the evening slowly darkened into night and the rain kept on pounding down on the roof, we explored each other’s bodies with our fingers, touching here, caressing there, eventually searching out the sensitive places with lips and tongues, squirming against each other and managing to get fairly well tangled in arms, legs, and tail before we each ended up with a slippery grasp on a hard cock, working each other to an exquisite climax, then starting all over and doing it again before we had finally had enough.

Logan started to pull away. “Guess it’s about time we got some sleep, huh? I’ll go –”

I put a hand on his shoulder. “No. Stay.”

“Ya sure?”

“Ja.”

We drifted off to sleep, back to back.

Sometime later that night, I woke up to find Logan sound asleep and holding me from behind, one arm draped heavily over my waist.

I wasn’t sure I could get back to sleep that way, but then I decided it felt so good that I didn’t care if I laid there wide awake for the rest of the night.

Some part of me has always enjoyed being held, but another part found it somewhat distressing. I haven’t had much of that sort of contact as an adult, and I missed it when I was a child. Back then, it was always connected to sex, not just affection. That nice man who sometimes took me home with him was the only one who really let me sleep in his arms. Not that he didn’t want sex also, but there was more to it than just that.

Mein Gott, what am I thinking? I don’t want to remember this, especially not now and not here, with Logan. The past is over. Do I enjoy this now is the real question I should be asking myself. And the answer to that is easy; I love it. Only this time, I also love the idea that sex is part of it, even if I do feel somewhat guilty about that part. I want him with a passion I have never felt before, and I don’t even know exactly why, but neither can I help thinking that this is just the first step on a path that will lead me inevitably into temptation and sin. Maybe we are crossing the line between masturbation and true forbidden sex. Or, if we have not, perhaps we soon will be.

Oh, enough of this!! For once, just let me enjoy feeling the warmth and strength of someone pressed against me simply for sleep and, perhaps, affection, not just to make use of my body. Such a thing has been so rare in my life. Let me cherish it while I can, for I know it may not last.

I was almost asleep when Logan started thrashing around violently, cursing out loud at some nightmare enemy.

“Logan? What’s wrong—”

He sat up abruptly. I heard the sound his claws make as they slice through the skin between his knuckles. Before I took the time to even think, I had ported myself to the far end of the room. Granted, that was not very far in such a small room, but it did get me out of range of the blades.

He stared around, searching for the enemy. Then he sank back down, saying disgustedly, “Shit! I could have killed you!”

“Not to vorry. I can move very fast vhen I have to. You vere not even close.” For a moment, we just stared at each other. “Does this happen very often?”

“Too often for my liking.” He gave me a rather sheepish grin. “Guess I’m not a very good bedmate, am I? Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I’ll go back to the chair.”

Before he could get up, I leaped back into bed.

“No,” I said firmly, as I pulled him down beside me and snuggled against him, head on his shoulder.   “I understand about nightmares. You are not – the only one who has them, mein Freund.”

He threw one arm over his eyes. “They’ve been getting worse ever since we tangled with William Stryker.”

“He also haunts my dreams. I couldn’t remember much of vhat he did to me at first, but vhen Jean touched my mind at Alkali Lake, a torrent of images flooded into my awareness. Since then, I remember all too much of my captivity.”

He wiped his hand over his face, as if to wash away the dream. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Nein, I do not.”

“I’m not sure I want to talk about mine either, so don’t feel bad.”

After that uneasy resolution, we just lay there for a while in silence, until we fell asleep with my head still resting on his shoulder, and nightmares be damned.

Sunday dawned foggy and damp, but even as I walked into town to go to Mass, a warm wind began to blow, gently but insistently clearing away the fog. As always when I go to a new church, I was somewhat nervous about how I would be received. I deliberately arrived just a minute or so late, in order to be as unobtrusive as possible. As I came through the outside door, a man greeted me.   Although he seemed somewhat surprised, he did manage a smile. That was a good sign. I went on into the church and sat down in the last pew.

The first thing that struck me was the beautiful stained glass window behind the altar. It showed Jesus walking on the waves, his hand reaching out towards a sinking Peter. It seemed a most appropriate choice of scenes, considering that we were at the end of Cape Cod, surrounded by water.

http://www.stpeters-ptown.org/photos/view/id/44

There were several other nautically themed windows, but that first one was far and away the most impressive. Then the Mass began, and I stopped thinking about the windows. I’ll spare you the details of what happens during Mass, since I don’t think you’re Catholic. (If I’m wrong and you are, you already know.)

As I listened to the familiar liturgy, there were times when I felt a twinge of guilt about what Logan and I were doing. In fact, I didn’t even take Communion, since I had not been to confession recently and wasn’t at all sure I was worthy enough in God’s eyes to accept His Body and Blood.

Other than that, there were a few curious stares from the other congregants, mixed with tentative smiles if someone caught my eye, and only a few deliberately avoided gazes. Not bad, considering the way I have often been greeted in various other churches. As we dispersed after the service, there were even one or two young folks who wished me a good morning. I tried hard not to smile too enthusiastically, since I didn’t want to scare them off with the sight of my teeth.

Logan was supposed to meet me on the Town Wharf shortly after noon, so I got a quick bite to eat and headed in that direction. It was easy enough to find the ticket booth for the Bay Lady, but he hadn’t gotten there yet, so I continued out to the end of the wharf to see the Pirate Museum that I had read about in one of my brochures. I spent a few minutes browsing in their gift shop, determined to come back later and explore the museum itself.

As I returned to the ticket booth, I noticed that the wind had picked up even more and was now blowing fairly steadily from the southwest. Out in the harbor, I could see the occasional whitecap, as the waves began to build. Good! It’s much more exciting to be on a sailboat in a strong wind, especially if the boat is as large as the Bay Lady.

I could see two young crewmembers moving around on the deck, while an older man that I presumed to be the captain sat in a chair behind the ship’s wheel.

http://www.sailcapecod.com/

Meanwhile, Logan stood at the ticket booth, talking to the lady who sold tickets. As I came up beside him, the woman in the booth didn’t even give me a second look. A few other people stood around, as if they were waiting also.

Logan handed me one of the tickets. “Here ya go, Kurt. You owe me $25.”

As I reimbursed him, he glanced at his watch and remarked to the ticket seller, “It’s 12:45. Okay if we go onboard?”

“Be my guest,” she replied.

I could not restrain my excitement any longer. I teleported from the wharf over to the top section of the mainmast, which was the highest one and, in a schooner, the closest to the stern, clinging to it with hands and legs and glancing eagerly around at the view.

When I tired of that, I ported over to the foremast, then slid down the forestay, ending up in the bow of the schooner.

That was when I realized no one else had boarded the boat except Logan, since they were all too busy staring at me. Uh-oh, this couldn’t be good.

The captain waved one of his crew over to him, where they exchanged a few words. The mate nodded and headed purposefully in my direction.

I ducked my head as he approached, expecting him to order me to leave. “I am sorry. I did not know I –”

The young man laughed shortly. “Don’t worry. It’s OK right now, but I have to warn you that once we leave the dock, we have a rule that says all passengers must remain on the deck at all times.”

“But I was perfectly safe up there,” I couldn’t help objecting.

“I’m sure you were, but when we’re under way, it’s just too distracting for the captain and the crew. That could lead to accidents.”

“Entschuldigung. I mean, pardon me. I did not think of that. I vill be sure to remain on the deck from now on.”

“Good enough. How about just sitting down in the cockpit for now, so you don’t scare away any of our passengers by flitting around all over the place?”

He said it so good-naturedly that I could not possibly take offense, so I followed him back to the rows of seats that filled the center of the boat and sat down next to Logan.

http://www.sailcapecod.com/album.html

“Geez, buddy, I can’t take you anywhere, can I?” he said, poking a finger into my chest and grinning widely.

“Hmph! How far do you think you could get if you strolled around the boat with your claws extended, in the midst of all these lines?” I retorted, waving a hand at the ropes that ran up and down and all over the place.

“Yeah, but I have the sense not to do that. Speaking of sense --” He squirmed out of the knapsack he had on his back, then pulled out my sweat pants and jacket. “I thought you might need something other than just a dress shirt and trousers. If the wind keeps blowin’ like this, it’s gonna get wet. The wind may be warm, but the water is still very cold this time of year.”

I put the sweat suit on over my clothes, while Logan dug out two smallish plastic packages from his knapsack.

“I bought these on my way through town. Cheap plastic ponchos. Not exactly oilskins, but better than nothing if it gets rough.”

By then, it was sailing time. The captain gave us a short welcome and information about the weather forecast, then told us where the life jackets were stored and showed us how to put them on properly, in the event of an emergency. Then he started up the diesel engine, sounded the signal on his horn that indicated we were backing out of our slip, and we were on our way.

Once clear of the wharf and the rock breakwater that protected the floating docks, the crew hoisted the sails and the engine was turned off. We started out on a starboard tack. With the wind filling the sails, the schooner heeled over sharply to the opposite side.

I fear I may perhaps have bored Logan by enthusiastically telling him the names of all the sails and lines, what the crew was doing, what the captain’s orders meant in plain English, and so on. But all he did was listen patiently and nod his understanding now and then.

As the crew finished coiling down the lines, the captain announced, “Folks, you’re welcome to get up and walk around if you wish. It’s going to be pretty rough once we round Long Point, so be careful to hold on while you do so. For anyone who might be chilly, we have plenty of blankets belowdecks, and the crew will be happy to bring them up if you need them. Hope you enjoy the cruise!”

I was the first one to take him up on the offer of moving around, getting immediately to my feet.

The schooner pitched up and down rather dramatically as the waves lifted and dropped the bow. There was also some side to side rolling motion, but that was dampened by the pressure of the wind on the sails. A couple of our passengers appeared rather uneasy, so I hoped that no one would become seasick later on.

Of course, the unaccustomed motion was no problem to me, since I could balance easily.

“Come on, Logan. Let us go sit up in the bow.”

“Ya sure about that, buddy? We’ll get wet.”

“Then ve vill vear those plastic things, ja?”

“Okay. Here. Put it on.”

“It vill make me look like a landlubber,” I objected.

“You’d rather look like a drowned blue rat?”

“Vell, vhen you put it that vay –”

“If you take the belt from your trousers,” he suggested, “and fasten it around your waist over the poncho, it won’t flap so much in the wind.”

Now suitably dressed for heavy weather, we made our way up to the bow of the boat, holding onto the wire shrouds and staring forward at the oncoming waves.

Logan turned out to be right about the wet and cold. Once we passed Long Point, the waves became much higher, driven by the strong southwest wind. We started out sailing as close as we could into the wind, which meant the waves slapped against the windward side of the bow, often causing spray to fall onto the deck as far back as the wheel. And that water was indeed quite cold.

Very soon, the crew began bringing blankets up to the passengers, most of whom had remained in their seats and appeared to be enjoying themselves immensely, despite the soaking spray. Logan declined a blanket, but I took one willingly, fancying that I looked more like a pirate with the blanket thrown across my shoulders like a cloak. Now all I needed was a cutlass in my hand.

Logan looked at me and shook his head.   “I know you said you were interested in pirates when you were a kid, but how do you know all this stuff about sailing?”

“Vhile I vas reading, I learned a lot about the old time sailing ships themselves. I did not read only about pirates, but also about the ships they plundered. There are many excellent historical novels about the British Navy in those days also, vhich I enjoyed immensely. ‘The days of vooden ships and iron men’, you know.”

“Guess I’d have fit in pretty well with those ‘iron men’ of yours, considering all the adamantium I carry around.”

“As long as it does not rust, you vould have been fine.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but just then we were hit by a large wave and both of us got a faceful of flying water. By the end of the cruise, I would be glad he had thought about the ponchos, even though we got pretty wet anyway.

“Just do not fall overboard,” I said, after wiping the salt water out of my eyes. “You vould probably sink.” Then a thought struck me. “Could you drown?”

He considered that for a moment. “I think so. Never tried it though. Or, if I did, I don’t remember. Seems to me that most of the sailors on those old time ships of yours couldn’t swim. If they fell overboard, they usually drowned.”

I frowned. “How do you know that?”

“I’m – not sure. Feels like one of them told me that once, but that doesn’t make sense.” He shook his head, as if to bring his thoughts into clearer focus. “All this nautical stuff is starting to ring a bell. Maybe there was a time I’ve been on those ships, earlier in my life.”

“Do you know vhen you vere born?”

“No. There’s so much I just can’t remember, and I don’t even know why I don’t remember. It drives me crazy sometimes.”

“Vell, if you were alive before the American Civil Var, you may have been around before the great sailing ships vere made obsolete by steamships.”

He just shook his head, with a puzzled and frustrated expression on his face.

We were almost to the shoreline at the eastern end of the Bay when I heard the Captain order the crew, “Stand by to come about!”

“Ve are going to turn around now,” I dutifully informed Logan. “Vatch. They vill first turn directly into the direction of the vind, and then go on the other tack, vith the vind on the other side of the boat. All the sails vill flap around. It is quite dramatic. Ve should get down low now, or ve vill be in the vay of the sails.”

It was quite dramatic, with the captain shouting orders and the sails swinging over to the other side of the boat, the jib being hauled across, and all the lines being adjusted to our new heading, which was basically back the way we had come.

The motion of the boat changed on this new tack. The crew trimmed the sails so that the wind was no longer coming mostly from ahead of us, but more from the side. It was a slower and less abrupt motion now, but it was not as exciting as it had been on the way out.

Logan glanced around. “Kurt, I’m gonna go back to the seats in the cockpit and take it easy for a while. You gonna stay here?”

“Ja. Vill you take this blanket back vith you? There is not much spray now and it feels varmer going in this direction, so I vill not need it. Besides, the blanket is all vet, so it is not much help.”

“Well, okay, if you’re sure.”

When Logan had gone, I stood staring forward over the water, the silhouette of the town now visible up ahead of us and to the right, but mostly blocked by the large expanse of the jib.

Without thinking, I walked out on the bowsprit to the end, and leaned around the taut jib so that I could see the town better.

No sooner had I done that than I realized I was technically no longer on the deck, where I had promised to stay. I turned and glanced back along the length of the schooner at the captain, giving him a rather sheepish wave and expecting an angry gesture ordering me to come back. Instead, he only smiled and raised one hand in the thumbs up gesture that means okay. So I stayed perched out there until we were almost back to the breakwater and I had to go back to my seat so the crew could lower the sails.

After we had returned to the dock and were getting off the boat, the captain stood alongside, bidding his passengers farewell.

As I disembarked, I said apologetically, “I am sorry if I vas not supposed to be on the bowsprit.”

He smiled genially. “That’s all right. I could tell you knew what you were doing and wouldn’t fall off.”

He shook hands with us both and wished us, “Fair winds and following seas.”

“Danke, Herr Kapitän,” I replied, without thinking. He seemed unaccountably pleased to be addressed in German. Maybe he liked to watch the U-boat movies about the Second World War.

No sooner had we stepped off the gangway than I grabbed Logan’s arm and pointed toward the end of the wharf.

“Now ve must also visit the Pirate Museum, vhile ve are here. Come!”

Logan sighed resignedly. “I shoulda guessed you wanted to see that, huh?”

“Aber natürlich! Are you not interested in pirates?”

“It’s not that. I’ve seen just about every tourist attraction in town, including the Whydah Museum.”

By now, I had dragged him almost to the entrance, which was really not too far from where the Bay Lady docked. “You do not vish to see it again?”

“No, not really. But you go ahead. I’ll wait out here. Take your time, okay?”

My enthusiasm was not dampened by his own lack thereof. I paid my admission and went inside, as he wandered over to the far side of the wharf.

http://whydah.com/whydah-museum/

The museum itself is not very large, but it was certainly packed full of information and exhibits about Sam Bellamy, the pirate, and his ship, the Whydah, which had been wrecked just off Cape Cod in the early 1700’s. Everything on board went down with the ship, including most of its crew.

The founder of the Museum, Barry Clifford, had discovered the wreck in 1998 and since then has salvaged an incredible number of real pirate artifacts. His discovery contributed a lot to the knowledge about real pirates, who were not quite like the conventional stereotypes seen in movies and books.

I practically drooled over the treasure that was on display, not to mention the cannons and firearms. Of course, I had to read all of the descriptions and information that I could.

http://www.nationalgeographic.com/whydah/story.html

If only I had been able to see all this as a teen-ager! How it would have thrilled me back then! As it was, I had to remind myself sternly several times that poor Logan was outside waiting for me, probably bored to tears.

But before I left, I bought a book about the discovery of the Whydah written by Barry Clifford himself, so that I could find out more details later on at my leisure.

Imagine my surprise when I found Logan outside leaning against one of the pilings near the part of the wharf where a couple of commercial fishing boats were tied up. He was standing in the midst of a group of older men who certainly looked as if they belonged down on those boats, passing around a bottle and talking about what sounded like the good old days, when the Provincetown fishing fleet still brought in a huge catch and more than a few families made a good living from the sea.

I didn’t want to interrupt, so I just walked slowly towards them, until Logan noticed me and excused himself from the others, with much hand-shaking and comments about it being nice talking to him.

When he came over to me, we attracted a few somewhat surprised sideways glances from the nostalgic fishermen, but that was all.

“I did not know you had so many friends here, Logan,” I remarked as we started back down the wharf.

“I don’t. But it’s not hard to start a conversation with the local folks, if you ask them about the fishing fleet. Commercial fishing around here has been steadily going down the tubes in the last couple of decades, as the fish population keeps dwindling. I suppose it had to happen someday. I remember when there were over a dozen boats regularly docked here.” He waved a hand casually around at all the tourist boats now tied up to the floating docks. “Now there are only a few still in business. It just ain’t what it used to be, Kurt. Kind of a sad thing to see.”

Chastened, I could only agree.

By the time we walked back through town and out to the campground, it was getting on toward dark and we were both more than ready to get out of our damp clothes and have some dinner.

I was still drying myself off as I looked around the kitchen for something that would be quick and easy to put together.

“Logan, ve have a couple of cans of beef stew. How does that sound to you?”

“I guess that would be all right.”

“You do not sound very enthusiastic. Do you not like stew?”

“Not my favorite, but, like you said, it’s quick and easy.”

“One day vhile ve are here, I vill make a real dinner for us.”

“In this half-assed kitchen?”

I glanced around the kitchen, then investigated the available pots and pans in the cabinets above and below the sink.

“Ja, ve have everything that is needed. I am not, after all, a French chef. But to do that, I must make a trip to the grocery store again, so tonight it vill be this stew.”

As I heated up our dinner, I could not help talking about the good time I had had.

“I can still hardly believe I vas really sailing, instead of just reading about it!” I declared while buttering some rolls for us to have with the stew.

Logan was already sitting at the table, leaning on one elbow and drinking a bottle of bear. “You really never been on a boat before?”

“Not a sailboat, no. Of course, real pirate ships vere larger than the Bay Lady, but not by all that much.”

“What is it with you and pirates, anyway? What’s the attraction?”

“I guess it vas the idea of such freedom. To roam the seas vith your comrades, vith no rules you had not made for yourself.”

“But they were thieves and murderers.”

“Vell, yes, to an extent. But it looked so exciting in the movies. And real pirates vere not as bad as they have often been portrayed. Many of them vere outcasts from their society, even slaves that vere on ships the pirates had captured. The people no one else vanted. I suppose that appealed to me, back vhen I vas a young man.”

“Funny. There was once a time when kids thought it would be cool to run away and join the circus. You had that already, so maybe you just wanted someplace else to run off to, huh?”

“Hmm. That is possible, I suppose. Although I vas very happy vith the circus in those days, I vas still a freak and an outcast to the rest of the vorld, and I could not escape that no matter vhat I did.”

“I’m afraid you still are, to many people.”

“But not so much here, in this place,” I pointed out, getting the stew from the microwave and dishing it out onto our plates.
“The captain shook hands vith me and vished me vell vithout the slightest hesitation, as if I vere just like anyone else. And few people do anything more than stare at me for a moment, if even that. I vish I never had to leave here.”

Logan handed me a beer as I sat down to eat. “Sometimes I do too. But this is kind of like your circus, as in not exactly typical of the rest of that big world out there.”

“Ja. But maybe someday all the vorld vill be like this.”

“Maybe someday, but not now. And there are others out there who need us. Well, they need the X-Men, if not us specifically.”

“I am not an X-Man, you know.”

“Yeah. I know. I guess after Alcatraz, I just sorta thought of you as one of us. Sorry.”

It got silent then, both of us concentrating on eating dinner as if neither of us wished to bring up the question that hung in the air: Did I want to become an X-Man, or would I go back to Germany? I had not yet made up my mind, and probably neither had Logan, at least as far as whether he would prefer I go or stay.

Determined to break the uncomfortable silence, I once again launched myself into an enthusiastic description of the day’s events, this time focussed on the Whydah Museum. I’m afraid I went on about this for a rather long time, since I was still talking as Logan washed the dishes. The poor man had barely had a chance to get a word in sideways. Or is that edgewise?

As I stowed away the last of the silverware, Logan put a finger over my lips.

“Kurt, how about shutting up for awhile, so we can do something else that’s even more fun than sailing? Huh?”

I pushed his finger away. “Vhat could possibly be more fun than that?” I asked, being deliberately obtuse.

“This, for starters.”

So saying, he pulled me against him and kissed me for the first time, hard and long. I think you can guess where we went from there. Leaving a trail of clothing behind us, we made our way into the bedroom.

By the time we reached the bed, we were both totally naked, our hands and mouths greedily exploring as we lay side by side facing each other. Kisses and touches flowed together into a tightly-clenched squirming embrace, as we pressed ourselves together, the hair on Logan’s chest rubbing delightfully against my sensitive nipples, as I knew the raised scars on my chest had to be doing to him. Each panting breath enhanced the sensations.

As our cocks grew stiff, each seemed to automatically seek out the crevices between the other’s legs, pushing into the moist nest of pubic hair, pressing urgently against the side of a tight scrotum and forcing its way alongside a straining hard-muscled thigh. I had never done it this way before, but the full body contact was so wonderful that my tail automatically wound itself around our hips, holding us even more tightly together.

Hands clutched at back and shoulders, fingers and nails inflicting a sensation that verged on pain, and yet somehow only enhanced our desire.

It wasn’t long before we both came, but even then we didn’t want to separate immediately, just lying there entwined and satisfied in silence.

The niggling question my conscience insisted on asking intruded into my mind. Was what we had just done still nothing more than mutual masturbation? I silenced it quickly. After all, masturbation can include rubbing oneself against something, so the fact that we were rubbing against each other wasn’t really important.

I was still congratulating myself on my flawless logic after we rolled slightly apart, still breathless and exhausted, and I felt Logan’s hand on my chest, his fingers tracing the scars. I sighed softly to myself, knowing full well what was coming next. The only surprise was that he had not asked me sooner.

“You vant to know about them, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess I do. I haven’t asked you before, because I didn’t think we knew each other well enough, but I can’t help being curious. So what’s the deal with the scars?”

I hesitated just long enough for him to wonder if I was going to answer or not.

He continued a bit uncertainly, “I mean, they don’t look like the sort of thing that would come from a terrible injury, so I have to conclude they were done deliberately. That so?”

“You vould be right in thinking that. Vould you like to take a further guess?”

“Umm. OK. They’re so neat and detailed that I doubt anyone could have held you down hard enough and long enough to have done all that against your will, especially that one on the shaft of your cock. And that’s assuming that you couldn’t have simply ported away. So it might have been before you were old enough to gain the ability to teleport. Unless, of course, you were able to do that from birth?”

He was getting too close for comfort. I hadn’t figured on that. “You are correct in that I vas not able to teleport at birth, even though I was born looking like I do now. As is true for most mutant abilities, mine did not develop until puberty.”

He looked at me. I averted my eyes.

“I’m going to go even further out on a limb here: you did it to yourself.”

“Vhy vould you think that?”

“Because they’re all on parts of your body that you could reach and see without the aid of a mirror.”

“Um.”

“So am I right?”

“Ja.”

As I did not expand on that, he asked, “Why?”

“I have only been asked that question once since I encountered the X-Men. I vill give you the same answer I gave Storm and Jean. There is one for every sin.”

“That leads directly to the next question: do you mean every sin that can be committed, or every sin that you yourself have committed?”

“I – do not vish to answer that now. It is a very long and painful story. I may tell you about it someday.” Or maybe not, I finished to myself alone.

“That’s OK. I guess I can wait. Let’s get some sleep, huh?”

“Tomorrow vill be a busy day. Ve vill do some shopping, ja? I have many stores I vould like to visit.”

Logan groaned and turned over. I snuggled up against his broad back and settled down for the night.

GERMAN TRANSLATIONS

Sehr schön.        Very pretty.

nicht wahr?        Isn’t that right?

Sehr gut!             Very good!

Danke             Thanks

Jawohl!               Yes, indeed!

Geh zum Hölle!   Go to Hell!

Mein Gott!           My God!

Mein Freund       My friend

Danke, Herr Kapitän            Thank you, captain

Aber natürlich!             But of course!

Wunderbar!            Wonderful!
- 1
- 2
- 3
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

In the Beginning ...

http://www.flickr.com/photos/chloeprince/5114585572/

Danke Thanks