A week or two ago I found this book on my shelf and figured I might as well reread it.
While I am not such a naïf as to be aware neither that the representation of the cadet of these two men might conceivably be thought to share a feature or two with me nor that the older could be considered to bear not a little resemblance to the man I dream of fucking me six ways to Sunday Christopher Meloni, it is nevertheless not the case that the only merits I find in this book are the sex scenes (though the sex scenes are, to be frank, pretty meritorious). There’s also a surprisingly compelling tale of international politics, piracy, and war in the age of Elizabeth.
I offer this as background information to this conversation I had with my fiancé.
E.S.: What’s that you’re reading?
FAUSTUS: It’s this gay romance novel set in Elizabethan England and on the high seas. It’s pretty hot.
E.S.: Oh, that’s so cute.
FAUSTUS: What do you mean?
E.S.: Well, in real life, by the time these two guys reached the ages they’re supposed to look like, they would actually be bowlegged, haggard and wrinkled from the hardship of daily life, toothless from scurvy, and probably yellow and vomiting from malaria.
FAUSTUS: I hate you.
E.S.: It’s my responsibility to see that you don’t take an unrealistic view of history.
FAUSTUS: Get away from me.
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