My Jewels Are Stuck in a Vice Admiral (Book 4 of The Seamen Sexology)

By François le Foutre

François is at it again, this time tackling the CEMM Guzzler -- a big, important pinnace -- and going to Balls Green after the notorious filcher, A. Niall Pilfry. His quest: the King Key Sextant, legendary for its power to make men do unspeakable things.

He somehow makes inappropriate penis jokes seem somewhat eloquent and beautiful -- Actual Amazon Reviewer

I won't buy the book. But I will need therapy. -- Random Guy at a Comic Con

The only thing that disappoints me is the length. -- Someone Who Was Talking About the Book, not François, I Swear

• Language: English
• Publisher: François le Foutre
• Release date: Mar 2, 2020
• ISBN: 9781943344093

François le Foutre

François le Foutre was born in Fontenay sur Bois (the land of wood!) east of Paris. He entered the Navy upon finishing his studies and almost immediately rose up to the rank of Rear Admiral. With a reputation for dominating his friends and enemies alike, he earned the moniker The Most Fearsome Fruit in All of France.Five years ago he left the Navy to enter the private sector. He is a five-time champion of the Beat Them Off with Both Hands tournament in France, the two-time champion of Blunt Force Drama: International Combat Tournament, and author of the best-selling gay pirate romance adventure series The Seamen Sexology, including its banned first installment, There's Seamen on the Poop-Deck!

Book preview

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The Seamen Sexology

Book 1: There’s Seamen on the Poop-Deck!

Book 2: My Coxswain Is Bigger Than Yours

Book 3: Too Many Fingers in the Dyke

Book 4: My Jewels Are Stuck in a Vice Admiral

Book 5 (Coming March 2019)

Book 6 (Coming March 2020)

For books, exclusive content, merchandise, dates, and more,

enlist at www.seamensexology.com.

The Best Sextant I Ever Had

Sextants are one of life’s great joys.

If you are already familiar with their pleasures, please indulge me for a moment as I explain to the virgins the facts of seafaring life.

A sextant is a navigational instrument. By looking at a pair of giant bodies through a hole and making certain adjustments, the sextant gives us the angle between them. That angle could be great or slight, depending not on the flexibility of the user, but on the time of day and where we are in the world, which means that with the sextant, and a giant chart of celestial timetables, we can determine our latitude and longitude at any given time of day or night.

Of course, a sextant is best used with some kind of astrolabe, but that’s another matter entirely.

A man’s first experience with a sextant is typically long anticipated but awkward, though as with anything, the more experience you have with sextants, the better you become at using them. As well, the more experience you have, the more you’ll discover just how many different kinds of sextants there are. There are good sextants and bad sextants, sextants we love and sextants we hate. For dawn we have morning sextants and at dusk we have evening sextants. When leaving your lover for a time, you might give them a goodbye sextant, and for after you return home we have welcome home sextants. After an argument with your lover, you might present him with one decorated with paint, which we’d call a makeup sextant; one that you place casually on a hook in your chambers for anyone who happens by would be referred to as a casual hookup sextant. There are sextants you use in a public place, trying not to get caught, and there are sextants you know you’re not supposed to have, but you want them anyway. Some sextants talk—those are, of course, oral sextants—and those that are very particular and finicky are called anal sextants.

But the best sextant I ever had was none of those. The best sextant I ever had served another purpose entirely, and one most wouldn’t have expected. The best sextant I ever had was first made known to me by the man in charge of the whole of the French Navy, and it opened doors no other sextants would.

It was called the King Key Sextant. This is its tale.

A Big, Important Pinnace

"T here it is!"

Seaman Staines was up in the crow’s nest, searching for a pinnace. Not just any pinnace, but a fully rigged one called the CEMM Guzzler, which happened to be the personal vessel of the head of the French Navy, Chef d’État Major de la Marine Jacques Oviodique.

CEMM Oviodique had sent us in search of his full-rigged pinnace after it had mysteriously vanished from its home in Brest. It was a condition we could sympathize with—pinnaces were often known to retreat in cold waters, their forms visibly shrinking even as you watched. The fact that this particular pinnace spent most of its time in sight of Brest probably didn’t help. Though the climate near Brest is relatively warm, it’s a place few sailors want to visit, and thus pinnaces have a tendency to vanish when near its cove. Why the French military chose to place their naval headquarters in Brest in the first place is beyond me—Pornic always seemed more versatile, with regions convenient to both army and navy—but that’s another discussion for another time. CEMM Oviodique, for better or worse, had his headquarters in Brest; it was from there his pinnace had been purloined, and the onus had fallen on us to retrieve it.

It was more than just Oviodique’s pinnace at stake, however. Nestled underneath one of the junk rigs, inside the hull, was a set of drawers; and inside of those drawers he kept his prize collection of adult literature. It was a collection I was well familiar with. Though Jacques Oviodique felt it necessary to comport himself with rather more modesty than I—and for that reason he was rather less open with the world about the corporal vagaries with which he regularly indulged himself—he had a habit of frequenting parties only attended by society men, often with a chain around his neck and following the instructions of some ambitious shavetail good at suppressing his gag reflex. At these parties Oviodique always wore a mask made of rubber, and carried with him some highly rare, collectible piece of media that no layman could possibly have either encountered or afforded: for example, a signed copy of Anis Rhammer’s magnum opus, Arwa’s Innards; or an original letter from Philip II to Richard the Lionheart containing details of their last tryst and describing even further which body parts should go where upon their next. Once he brought with him an original page from Chaucer’s Miller’s Tale, containing the famous lines:

This will I give thee, if thou me kisse.

This Nicholas was risen for to piss,

And thoughte he woulde improve upon the jape [joke];

He shoulde kisse his arse ere that he ’scape.

And up the wyndowe did he hastily,

And out his arse he putteth prively

Over the buttock, to the thighe;

And therewith spake this clerk, this guye,

Speak, sweete byrd, I know not where thou art.

This Nicholas anon let flee a fart.

Also in his collection was a Diccolo painting, thought to have been a myth—a portrait of Madonna and child, the former wearing a pointy corset from which the latter suckled.

I originally met then Admiral Oviodique at one of these society parties, and soon became one of those lucky shavetails who got to benefit from his favors. As his position magnified, so too did he elevate mine, and as such he was responsible for my having France’s quickest rise to become rear admiral. He always came to me when he had a project requiring some degree of sensitivity (such as the kind found in the head of one’s britch bayonet), though as he rose to become the topmost man in the navy, and I rose to become the world’s most famous featherbed soldier, we found fewer and fewer opportunities to engage in so-called Bible study together. But since I happened to be at Brest visiting a Siamese friend recovering from surgery and was the most qualified sailor he knew who was also familiar with his secret drawers, he had called upon me to retrieve them.

CEMM Oviodique had sent five other vessels with us on this mission. As the CEMM’s personal transport, the lost ship was fully equipped to shoot off at us if the wind took it, and furthermore we didn’t know if it had an escort from a more virulent opponent. So Jacques Oviodique sent with us quite a task unit: One Peter Dash was the fastest to fire; Sixteen Going On Seventeen was quickest to reload; Fejack was known to surprise opponents; Eel Skin Tail Sheath was there for protection; and finally we had a larger, slower ship that was known worldwide for its massive firepower, the HMS Peter North.

Now, only a few hours out of harbor, Seaman Staines had spotted the CEMM Guzzler and directed us to it. Come about six-to-nine degrees starboard! he cried. Standing on my poop-deck, as I am wont to do, I nodded to my second mate, who began issuing orders. Petty Officer Pouchoutte was at the helm and adjusted our heading consistent with Seaman Staines’s directive. Our signalman, Seaman Poole, raised the Echo flag to direct the other ships in our flotilla to follow suit.

Fortunately for us, the CEMM Guzzler was alone, so we could proceed with the most peaceful version of our plan. Though she could be slippery, as