Caitlin has run away from her strict father to join the man she loves in America. Without help from her father she had no money to pay her fare so she decided to work her way across the ocean. There was, however, precious little work for twenty one year woman without references, none that she cared for anyway.
Caitlin hurried through the galley carrying the sack of flour she had been sent for. Life on the seas was not the adventure she had thought it would be.
Despite her attempt at speed she still received a clout across the ear for her tardiness. Mr Phelps was an impatient taskmaster and Caitlin tested that patience more than anyone else on board, or so it seemed. Though to the slap happy cook on the SS Good Morrow Caitlin was Craig; the cook's boy.
Caitlin had thought that working aboard a ship would be an easy way to make her way to the new world. She had cut her hair and strapped her breasts flat to her narrow ribs in the belief that there was little else to worry about. In six weeks she would be in New York and able to find Michael, her soon to be husband. But life on board ship was not that simple. With her shorn hair and her newly flattened body she looked like a boy despite her twenty one years; in the mirror she looked no more seventeen. The short hair, calling herself Craig and wearing men's clothing was not all there was to working in the galley below decks.
The hours were long; from dawn to long after dusk. The work was hard, she had thought her father to be a demanding man but he was almost placid in comparison. Caitlin's arms ached as though they might fall from her very shoulders, her back protested every movement and her head thumped with the tension from keeping her voice low and manly. If that wasn't bad enough she needed to pee and she couldn't do that until everyone else was asleep. How else would she explain the need to crouch and pee instead of standing at the rail and relieving herself like everyone else.
She longed for her hammock and the short nights sleep it offered. It had taken her awhile to be able to sleep in the quarters with the rest of the men. Their bawdy talk had made her blush deeply, it became even worse once some of the men had noticed her, or rather Craig's, reaction. Fortunately they simply thought her, or Craig, to be a virgin. Unfortunately, they had also decided to take her to the first cat house available on the next shore leave to relieve Craig of that burden.
With her ears still ringing Caitlin headed back to the stores to fetch a bowl of sugar for the apple pie Mr Phelps was making. The food was nearly ready; the officers had been served and the rest of the crew were tucking into their broth. There was only the washing up to be done before she could climb into that hammock and get a few hours sleep.
Caitlin wiped the last pan dry, hanging with the others over the vast stove. A noise behind made her jump and she dropped the huge pan. It clanged louder than Big Ben itself making her jump back with shock.
"Stupid boy." Cursed Mr Phelps.
He grabbed Caitlin by the upper arm and swung her back from the stove, hitching the large stockpot to its hook with only one hand.
"Give me one good reason for not whipping you boy." Hissed the cook.
Caitlin looked at the floor, her eyes wide with fear. She shook her head fiercely.
"I...I can't think of one sir. But please.."
"Please what?" The cook knocked the cap from her head in loose-fingered swipe. Caitlin could smell the rum on his breath as he loomed into her face. Mr Phelps was as wide as he was tall with a huge belly. He was a petty impatient man during the day but he was not so pleasant when he had a drink inside him. Caitlin had heard tales of how the last cooks boy had nearly died at his hands just for breaking one of the officers wine glasses.
"Well?" Phelps gave her arm a shake, it was like being held by a rabid dog. He looked down at her fearful expression and licked his lips in a manner that made Caitlin's stomach roll with fear.
"I...I am very sorry sir. I am trying really hard." She whispered, trying hard not to squeak.
Phelps looked down at the young boy, his eyes glittering with malice. He raised his hand, making Caitlin flinch for the blow to follow. She opened her eyes in shock when the hand that touched was not a blow but light fingers trailing her jaw.
Her breath caught in her throat as fear for more than the accustomed casual violence welled inside her. The fingers trailed lightly down her throat and slid along to cup the back of her neck.
"Such a pretty boy; how old are you Craig?." Phelps murmured his eyes looking Caitlin up and down. The strange expression on his face making her tremble with unknown terror. She had been warned many a time by her stern father about the uncontrollable urges of men around young women, but what could possibly happen to her when all around thought that she was a boy.
"Nineteen." She said quietly. When she had first signed up she had told the man her true age of twenty one but with her soft face and delicate bones the man had not believed her. He had rolled his eyes when she told him nineteen but he had not questioned her further.
The hand gripping her neck suddenly pushed her sideways against the large pastry table. Like the rest of the furniture on board ship it was firmly bolted to the floor and as such did not give way as she fell against it. She caught her ribs hard on its edge and felt the air fly from her lungs.
Before she could draw air into her burning chest Caitlin felt the large hand return to her neck. No longer stroking her gently, now it pressed down firmly holding her down against the table. Phelps ran his other huge hairy hand across her back. He stroked downwards until his free hand cupped her buttocks. He gripped and kneaded her soft flesh as though it was dough.
"Such a pretty boy." Phelps leant over her and muttered into her ear.
