Saving Seamen

My best friend and I were taking a well deserved holiday together on one of Croatia’s islands. We travelled by car all the way from the capital, Zagreb, and arrived on the island by ferry a few days earlier. The island was pretty small, only 8 square kilometres, and inhabited mainly by fishermen and sailors.

That day I packed my towel, a book, an orange and some water, hoped on my bicycle and followed the path leading away from the village on a mission to explore the natural pine forests, sandy beaches and coves. The Adriatic sun was beating down on my now golden brown body while I listened to Avril Lavigne on my iPod allowing my thoughts to drift back to my now ex-lover.


All I wanted was to forget that I ever met the guy who I courted for over a year, and the lyrics to her song, Black Star, were resonating in me.  How had I managed to let someone take hold of my heart and twist it so selfishly? This holiday was supposed to be our honeymoon. I really only had myself to blame. The signs were there right from the start and being the strong willed person that I am I couldn't accept that he was not the one for me.

The sudden crunch of the bike’s front tyre hitting a stone brought me back to reality with a jolt. The smooth path, earlier littered with pine needles, was replaced by sharp stones. Certainly no place for a bicycle. I looked down at the now deflated tyre wanting to kick myself for not concentrating on where I was going. I’d have to turn around and push the bike all the way back to the village.

It was still early in the afternoon though and I really didn’t want to head back without having completed my mission of exploring the island further and swimming in the warm Adriatic waters. So I left the bike where it lay and continued down the path appreciating the unspoilt beauty around me.

Rounding a bend I saw a small jetty that jutted out over the clear water and headed straight for it.  This would be the perfect spot to sun myself I thought. I dropped my bag, slipped out of my shorts and took a running dive into the warm clear sea. As my head broke the water I thrust my arms out and with powerful strokes swam out about fifty meters into the sea and rolled onto my back. The sun glittered off the water around me like a thousand paparazzi cameras flashing at a film premier. I felt like a movie star on the red carpet.

After treading water for a while I headed back to the jetty and stretched myself out on the towel allowing the sun to bake my naked salty skin. ‘Dobar dan!’ someone shouted. I spun around becoming aware of my nakedness. Although nudity is accepted on some of the beaches in Croatia, I wasn’t sure whether this tiny island with its 800 or so, somewhat conservative inhabitants would appreciate me flopping my manhood around. The greeting came from a muscled, sunburnt sailor on the bow of a small rusty freighter that was heading straight for the jetty. Hurriedly I pulled on my shorts and returned the greeting with a wave. As the vessel approached he threw a hawser out to me and I secured it to the bollard. ‘Only two minute!’ he shouted, ‘Only two minute’ while gesturing toward the aft.

There were three of them onboard. The two deckhands couldn’t have been older than twenty six or seven. They were all shirtless and their ripped bodies glistened with salty sea spray and sweat. The older one flashed a bright smile at me while letting his eyes wonder up and down my body. The skipper was closer to my age with a mop of thick curly locks framing his rugged face. A ships anchor was tattooed on his not insubstantial chest. In a series of hand gestures, and broken english he explained that something had become entangled in the rudder or propeller and they needed to free it.

The youngest deckhand stripped down to his underpants, revealing a promising bulge and the reason why I love men so much, and with a wink at me he jumped overboard, treaded water for a few seconds, took a deep breath and disappeared under the water.

I followed their progress from the chaste safety of the jetty for a while, but the fact that it had been more than two weeks since I had experienced the hot touch of a man, let alone three men, I hopped onboard that rusty freighter my head filled with thoughts of man-lust and desire.

[Now, homosexuality is not illegal in Croatia, in fact it was decriminalised in the early seventies. This said, it is also a very Catholic society and man-love is sort of frowned upon. They would rather you get married, have children and keep your man on the side, but that’s a topic for another time.]

The other two sailors were aft, leaning over the side directing the operation from there with more hand gestures and shouting. The poor deckhand wasn’t a very good swimmer and couldn’t stay down long enough to dislodge whatever was hindering the ships manoeuvrability.  Joining them, I asked if there was anything I could do to help. I was in the navy before and I know my way around a ship. The skipper looked up at me and with a mocking grin suggested that I jump in and give the now floundering guy a hand. I don’t know if he thought I wouldn’t do it, but throwing caution to the wind I climbed on the railing and executed a near perfect dive into the water.

A mooring line and buoy had gotten itself twisted around the propeller shaft. It would take more than a few dives to free the shaft of its encumbrance. Had I bitten off more than I could chew? Would my act of bravery end in embarrassment? With my lungs with bursting for air I headed to the surface, took a few deep breaths and headed back down on my mission of mercy.

It took about fifteen minutes and a lot more dives to eventually free the shaft. By then the young deckhand was back onboard cheering me on. He was still in his underpants and I could make out every contour of his package. Would that be my reward for saving these seamen? Would my saved semen at last be swimming free?

With renewed vigour and the hope of a seaman’s reward I ducked under the water and removed the last of the cumbersome obstacle. As I came to the surface for the last time I held up a triumphant fist clutching the offending buoy and line. The skipper roared with delight and slapped the older deckhand on the back. I did it. I saved the seamen. I was beaming with pride and grateful that my act of courage didn’t end in embarrassment. Now to free my semen.

Back onboard the young deckhand handed me a towel and an ice cold beer. He looked straight into my eyes and took a step closer to me. I could smell the sea on his leathery skin. His hair was swept back revealing a high forehead above deep blue eyes framed by thick dark eyebrows. He gave me another wink and whispered ‘hvala’, thank you. With that he turned around and headed toward the stern of the ship.

I took a long deep swallow of beer, dried myself off and joined him and his fellow shipmates at the stern. Congratulatory slaps on the back and more ‘hvala’s’ followed. The skipper then explained that they had just off-loaded some building material at the island and as they were leaving he had accidentally sailed over the buoy. If they had continued on without removing the obstacle they wouldn’t have been able to navigate the narrow channels around the Sibenik archipelago.

While I was standing on the jetty watching the ship getting underway and slipping into deeper water, the young deckhand was leaning on the gunwale waving me good-bye. As him and his ship disappeared over the horizon I thought how much better that whispered word of thanks was than being given a chance to free my saved semen.