I Know Knot prt 1

He stood o'er looking the turbulent sea, he had been a sailor long ago. Before age had taken its toll on his body and he could no longer scamper up the ratlines with the younger lads,he would lumber and clamber, but no longer scamper. His joints ached and his once bright blue eyes had grown weary and dim from years of reflected sun from the sails and sea. In the dusk his mind reflected upon his love of the feel of the hemp and tar beneath his fingers. Upon the morrow he would walk to the docks and scrounge some used ships ropes, always handy around the farm for a swift repair of a fence or to still the cows for milking, he even used it coiled to create small feeding spots for the chickens and geese. There was already plenty of rope at the farm. It was the feel and smell and the slight damp of dockside ropes fresh off the boat that was so exciting. It returned the excitement of youth, that feeling of immortality that leaves with the first creek of joints,and goes totally by the age of 25. He had made ships line an integral part of his house the stairs to the sleeping loft were banistered with it. the lanterns each had a foot of line attached. he still even slept in a rope hammock made with ships line. Just the way it caressed his flesh made him a young man each morning when he awoke with the hard cock of youth. Usually Sex was the farthest thing from his mind, he had his fair share of harlots and hores in his time he had even had the fortune to bed the occasional bar wench. but that was n days long past, these days he would wake proud and young and by the time he found his piss pot it was gone and the old man had returned. He always stood tall however now he was no longer bent by the deck beams below, when he had left the company's fleet his captain had told him to always stand proud as if an officer were on deck because he had earned the right to stand tall fighting with the Admiral's fleet upon the line at trafalgar. That day had indeed been a fine and exciting one that burned the feel of tar an hemp into his hands and heart forever changing the ship's rope from a necessity to a nicety for him he had watched ship mates fall from gun fire thru the smoke and flames that day but the ropes had held him safe, as safe as a lovers embrace.
His morning started of in its usual fashion the caress of hemp upon his flesh coxing a youthful hardon as the cock crowed, he fumbled in the dark for the piss pot and as usual felt the youth drain away from his man hood as the warm stream of morning piss came forth. It was always intriguing for him, the smell and sound of the piss hitting the porcelain piss pot. on ship morning ablutions where a more communal afair as men poked cockes out of every open part of the ship,and let flow the golden stream of morning.but since becoming a land lubber he found the sound almost erotic musical even like the sound of a ladies skirts upon the icy cobbles. he finished his morning toilet emptied the pot into the yard, and pulled on his ragged but loved britches,tied them upon his waist with a length of match cord he had pilfered from some passing powder monkeys a few days past.places his raged and torn neck cloth around his broad stubbled neck and shuffled on his old captains coat a parting gift of the officers aboard ship it was almost completely washed of colour and the frogging and epaulets were sunbleached and thread bare but it was his and it served him well to keep out the cold coastal winds. he made his way down the stairs hand over hand upon the rope banister as though he were still ship board in a gale moving across the decks to check rigging.as he reached the last step he was surprised to note that he had felt every fiber of the rope as he came down ,it was an unfamiliar sensation but exciting and arousing even though his hands had been calloused by years of climbing ratlines and maning line aboard ship,they were the loving kisses of his mistress the sea's minions the rope.