I was in the Admiral's quarters when the call came, naked and bent over the map table. Cristóbal Colón, Admiral of the Open Sea by the grace of King Ferdinand of Spain, had spent the night poring over his sketches and calculations, unable to sleep since the day a huge cloud of birds passing over our three ships had promised land nearby. He was a great man, Admiral Columbus, strong of will and burning with vision, but even the greatest of men go crazy when they cannot sleep.

So he called me into his quarters, not for the first time. The look in his wide, reddened eyes told me all I needed to know. I stripped down and bent over, squinting at his notes while he undressed and the ship swayed under me. I never learned to read, but I loved the curls of his handwriting. Like the curls of his bush, dark and coarse, but not as ticklish when I buried my face in them.

Lard was precious on sea voyages, and more so on a voyage such as ours that had taken us further west than anyone had ever dared to go. But we had seen the birds, and Colón was the Admiral, so he took a big handful of lard out of his personal jar, pulled my buttocks apart, and spread it liberally around my twitching rose. His cock slid into me like a ship cuts through water in a strong tail breeze. It was long, slim and curved, and he handled it with all the care of a fencer handling his rapier.

And like a good fencer, he fought to win. I tried hard not to drool onto his maps as he pushed into me, but it was tough. His hands slid up along my back as if searching for something — perhaps a handhold, a strand of long hair like his wife or his mistress had back at home — then dug into the soft skin of my waist as he quickened his pace.

All of a sudden he stiffened. He straightened up behind me without letting go, his length trembling inside me. There — the shout rang out again, clear and crisp over the groaning of the ship and the soft sound of waves slapping against the hull.

"Land!"

Columbus came without warning. I had never been rocked by a bucking cock this hard; I am pretty sure I spoiled one of his navigation tables, as I tasted ink for hours afterward. It was a historic moment: we had come to India the back way, the new way, and I was right there with the Admiral himself when it happened. No one felt this discovery like I did, impaled on Columbus's own jubilating cock.

He slipped out and ran across the deck naked. I followed him into the night, dripping and shaking and erect, every hair on me catching the cool breeze that was pushing us further toward the shore. We stood next to each other at the railing, the Admiral and I, as the darkness ahead split into sea and sky and something in between. I saw a branch of wood bobbing on the waves right next to our hull, as wide as my arm and smooth as skin, and my heart and my butt both ached with a desire for the unknown place we were about to know. Looking down, I could not help but notice that the Admiral's cock hung limp, soiled and spent, while mine was still standing at attention, trembling as it pointed at the world that lay ahead.