When Jack was a young lad, still only a cabin boy on the very first pirate ship he ever crewed, one of the ships many victims had fought back more then expected. Jack had gotten involved, against his own will and the captain’s orders, and had ended up getting a knife driven into his right knee up to the hilt. At the time the pain had been horrendous and Jack had blacked out.
Three weeks of fever dreams, and night sweats later, his wound was as healed as it was going to get, leaving Jack with a nasty twisted scar and difficulty walking straight. Now, on land or sea, he walked with a swaying gait that made him ill at ease because of the stares it garnered. His awkwardness only enhanced the swaying and finally, Jack simply stopped leaving the ship unless it was absolutely necessary.
Eventually, the captain grew tired of Jack’s self-consciousness. He was, however a kind man, and rather then throw Jack off the ship at the next port, he set sail for Asia. He had seen how the women swayed delicately on their tiny feet and knew of a friend of a friend of a friend who would be able to teach Jack enough distraction tactics and flamboyant behavior that the last thing people would notice was how he walked.
The captain’s help changed the boy Jack into a confident young man who stunned the crew with his speedy transformation. A mere week at port and Jack was a new person, with kohl-rimmed eyes and beads carefully woven into his messy mane of dreadlocks.
However, even with this new confidence, Jack was still subject to the lingering pain and stiffness of his old wound. The gnarled and twisted looking scar was hideous in his eyes and he could tolerate no eyes but his own falling upon it.
Which was why, when Jack suddenly felt his new lover’s finger tips caress said scar, it was such a shock.
“Don’t touch that!”
Hurt chocolate eyes peered up at him through a curtain of silky hair.
“Why, Jack? How is this different from every other scar that you have?”
Jack paused and considered for a moment. Obviously his lover didn’t see the vast ugliness of the scar. The way it viciously mutilated the smooth bronze skin of his inner thigh in a harsh diagonal ridge of silvery flesh down to the top of his calf muscle. How could his love not see it?
“Because, those scars aren’t half as bad or ugly as this one is.”
As Will looked up from where he’d been softly stroking Jack’s bare inner thigh, he sighed.
“Jack, everything about you is beautiful. Even this.”
And as Will proceeded to do devilish and dirty things with his tongue all along said scar, Jack was forced into believing that maybe his oldest scar wasn’t so bad after all.