Duke Alexandre Volkov of my "Sexiest Jewels," series, ---- tall, dark & handsome, charming, rich, romantic, all which is incredibly sexy......

   ...Every girl's dream, --- right?...  WRONG.  SO WRONG.  Duke Alexandre Volkov is also an international criminal, notorious in the southern part of Europe, on the Rivera, where the beautiful people play,. He disappears with their exquisite jewels over the rooftops, dressed entirely in black, agile and silent as a black panther...

   Theresa Ruhs, a legal secretary born in Buffalo, met him one magical night at the opera. Now, she's consented to go with him to his house. She just met him. This could change her life, of course.  ;)

On their way to ???... (6.)

   He looked over at me again, his beautiful dark eyes glittering like black glass, even in the dim interior of the big car. He had honestly asked me if I would spent the night with him. I paused so long he prompted me. "Theresa?" Such a voice, such a sincere man, the most attractive man I'd ever met, and charming, intelligent, cultured, --- okay, sure, and rich too! What were the chances I'd meet such a man again?  Ha, --- REALLY ZERO,,ZERO!   Ummm...  I'd had a great deal of champagne, the excellent stuff had gone down so easy! I'd always been a little timid, missed, I think, many chances because of it. For once in you life, Theresa, I thought, --- LEAP! I touched Great Grandma Lisel's pearls, --- the lucky pearls. 

   "Yes," I whispered. 

   Alexandre smiled gently, nodding. Whatever WAS I DOING?, I thought, wildly.  We'd been driving through downtown. Now, we were in the suburbs, --- University Heights... Then, we were in Shaker Heights... Alexandre pulled into a long lane, lit with soft light from lamp posts and covered by a natural arch of furry looking evergreen branches, hanging from gigantic trees. How well he drove the powerful car, masterfully, like he does everything, I supposed! He put the Brougham in a huge garage. I there were other well-cared for cars, but he didn't turn on the garage lights. Instead, he took my arm and led me into the house..

   Gilded wood was everywhere and high ceilings plastered with designs like the frosting of a wedding cake. We walked through a gold-veined marble entrance hall, --- period furniture in the living room,  paintings in fancy frames hung on burgundy linen covered walls; an especially big abstract one was done in blues, reds and greens. A cheery fire was in a stone fireplace so big an average size man could have walked into it without ducking.  Floor-to-ceiling windows were bordered with heavy gray velvet drapes and hung with immaculate lace sheers.

   A  middle aged woman with light brown silver streaked hair neatly contained in a bun, bowed to Alexandre. ."Did you enjoy the opera, Your Grace?"

   "Missus. Brighton," Alexandre smiled at her tolerantly, in a very kind way. "Please, no bowing, and I've asked you over and over not to call me 'Your Grace' here in America, --- or, please ANYWHERE. You know Americans have never had lords and ladies."

   Missus Brighton looked up at him. "Of course, Your..." She corrected herself. "Yes, Mister Volkov."

   "Much better." Alexandre smiled, handing her his top hat, walking stick, tux jacket and cape. She took them and looked at me, expectantly. Alexandre removed my cloak, handed it to her. He pulled the black satin ribbon from his ponytail, shook his head. His thick gorgeous mane of black hair settled around his neck and shoulders. I almost gulped, but not quite. I didn't want him to see the effect he had on me; --- his height, his strong muscular body, his beautiful face, his charm, his intelligence...  

   "Some tea, please, Missus Brighton," he said.

   He led me to easy chairs near the fire. I sat down. Alexandre surprised me by carefully, with the lightest of touches, taking off my tiara, taking out the pins in my hair. It fell around my shoulder and I shook my head to free it more. He kneeled. (A real Duke was kneeling at my feet!) He removed my high heeled satin shoes/ His warm hands moved over my ankles, my feet, massaging, very gently. I sighed. 

   "I've thought, high heels must be torture. They're unhealthy, forcing the foot into an unnatural position."

   I closed my eyes, slouched back into the comfort of the chair. "Ballerinas suffer with their feet too, much more, on their toes, dancing, dancing, dancing, in pain, pain, with blood soaked rags in their beautiful pink satin toe shoes, which are all handmade, their deformed toe nails cutting into their tender skin. But, they dance, regardless. It's expected. On the stage they look so serene. As soon as they get behind the curtain they collapse.."

   "That's just so awful," I whispered.

.

   "It is... Ballet is beautiful to watch, --- the reality.. The ballet world is brutal. My brother Nikolai told me. But, I knew, anyway. Men never dance on their toes, of course. My little ten year old sisters Ekaterina and Valentina are determined to become ballerinas, but my parents aren't so sure they want them to enter that life."

   "R-r-right," I whispered.

   The combination of a full stomach, the champagne and the foot rub, I was almost asleep. I shouldn't fall asleep! I SHOULDN'T!, Then, I felt the slight weight of an afghan placed over me and that was all I knew for a while.

   --- Copyright 2021, by Antoinette Beard.

Leaving the restaurant... (5.)

   Alexandre took a last swallow of his espresso. Our plates were almost empty.  I'd eaten a lot of the tender  steak. (Alexandre had poured juice from a little silver pitcher over it.) Then, salad, potatoes, several slices of the delicious warm five herb bread, lots and lots of champagne and some Mont Blanc, which was chestnuts whipped into meringue. 

  

  "Are you finished, Theresa?;" he gestured toward my dishes.

   "Yes, but, we could take the leftovers with us." Instantly, I felt embarrassed. Maybe, Alexandre didn't eat leftovers.

   He looked at the steak. "Chateaubriand is steak-for-two, but it's usually too much.  Of course, we'll take the rest with us. It'll be good for breakfast."

  What?... What did he mean by that? Did he think I'd be spending the night with him, or  was it just a casual remark?  Now, Alexandre was asking Jean-Henri to bring a box. He didn't ask for the check. I guessed they just put it on his bill. He helped me with my cloak, put on his jewelry, his tux jacket, and his cape, took his top hat from Jean-Henri and walking stick. We were out the door. The chilly air of the late Fall night felt very cold to me, through my thin gown and only an ornamental cloak. 

   I shivered and Alexandre, noticing it, put his arm around my shoulders, surprising me by pulling me into  the shelter of his tall warm body, his height making me feel very little..(He was actually about two inches taller because of the heels on the shiny black knee high boots he wore.) Then, he hunched his shoulders over me, as if to protect me. I found that touching, looked up gratefully. He gestured to the valet and soon we were in the Brougham, moving through Cleveland streets. Alexandre looked at me briefly, then returned his gaze to the road. An uneasy silence filled the car. Of course, I knew what was coming.

   His voice was soft and slow. "Would you consider coming to my house, Theresa?"

   --- Copyright 2021, by Antoinette Beard.

At the Cheval Noir... (4.)

"You're lovely, Theresa," the incredibly sexy deep voice. "You know that, don't you?... So fresh and natural, I smell rose, but I think it's not cologne, --- soap, very good soap...  Are you blushing?  I thought that was a lost art."

   I looked down into my lap. "Are you, Alexandre, you certainly look the part... Are you a count or a duke?" I felt stupid asking, but, I really did want to know.

   He laughed, throwing his head back, even wiping his eyes before he answered.  "You're so refreshing!  I mean that in the most complimentary way.  You're wonderful!"   His eyes told me that he was absolutely sincere.

   "Yes, I'm a Duke. My ancestor Rurik was knighted by Ivan The Terrible. I'm Russian, but I was born thirty three years ago in Poland while my family was visiting there. He laughed again. "I'm not that young!"

   "Thirty three isn't old," I said. "I'm twenty seven."

   "You look much younger. If your hair was  up in a ponytail and you were in a t-shirt and jeans you could pass for sixteen."

   I smiled.. "When I WAS a teen... Well, now I take that as a compliment."

   Alexandre grinned. "It was meant to be. I'm an importer, and you?"

   "Well... "   

   Jean-Henri was back with champagne. He popped the cork, showed the bottle's label to Alexandre who nodded. Jean-Henri poured some for him; Alexandre nodded again, the tip of his tongue licking his upper lip. Jean-Henri poured more for Alexandre, poured me a glass, put the bottle in a silver ice bucket and left. He returned soon with the salad.  

   I picked up my napkin. "...I'm a legal secretary.  I was born in Buffalo.  My Great Grandparents came to the United States right before the World War One to set up a jewelry store in Cleveland, on one hundred and twenty fourth street. My Great, Great Grandmother Grand Duchess Cassia Annamaria Elfrida Von Goele-Von Ruhs had a hissy fit when her only child, her precious son Klaus, wanted to marry the beautiful scandalous adventuress Lisel Bauer. She said, 'no-no-no-no-never!,' but he ignored her and did it anyway. On my father's side we're French Huguenots."

   "How interesting," Alexandre purred.   It almost came out, --- "Haow  intaresting-k."

   I was very aware that he ate in European style, not switching his fork to his right hand after cutting his meat. He took a big swallow of champagne, as I did, --- the delicious zippy tartness on my tongue again.  I was enjoying this evening, immensely.  It sure hadn't  turned out  like I thought!  I thought I'd see a great "Carmen" and go home to bed.

"What's your favorite opera?," he asked.

"Oh, "La Boheme," I said. "Mimi and Rudolpho are so poor, It's awful the way they have to live. They don't have anything. All they've got is their love, and it's a great love.  But, she's so sick and, ---and, then, she dies. By the end of it I'm dripping tears, --- but, somehow I feel just great."

   He smiled. "Intense operas are a purge for many of us. 'La Boheme' is a very sad story. Off hand, I can't think of a single opera that ends happily, but we go to them anyway."

   

   "I adore the singing. It stays with me for days. Especially, when I then play a CD of it, over and over. What's your favorite opera, Alexandre?"

   "Mmmm...  In spite of there being wonderful Russian operas, 'Boris Godunov,' and 'Prince Igor,'  my favorite's "Madame Butterfly'."  He sat back in his chair, entirely at ease. "The lovely geisha Butterfly is only fifteen when she meets Lieutenant Pinkerton. He agrees to marry her, although he never intends to. He leaves and she waits and waits and waits for him, so faithfully. Then, when he finally comes back he brings his wife Katie along! And, Butterfly, again, is so sweet to him. She even agrees give up the child he fathered. But, Lieutenant Pinkerton is a callous user, heartless... Butterfly uses her father's knife to commit sepukku."

   "That's the Japanese word for suicide?"

   Yes, most people think it's 'hara-kiri,' but that's wrong."

   "Oh."

   "Yes, hara-kiri is a crude form of killing, but sepukku is a ritual intended as a means of ending one's life with honor..." He sighed. "The whole thing of 'Madame Butterfly,' gets to me. The beautiful music wrings my heart. I'm usually crying by the end of it too." He shrugged his wide shoulders. I could see  the muscles of his chest move under the thin white silk shirt. He looked down at his big hunk of steak, cutting it again.

   I was moved by how upset he seemed to be by the injustice of the story. After a minute, I raised my champagne in a salute to him, smiling. "Most men wouldn't admit they cried."

  "They're silly," he stated, frankly. 

   I smiled. "I'm a beginner at opera, Alexandre. Do ANY of them have happy endings?"

   He raised an eyebrow. "The Marriage Of Figaro," and "The Magic Flute," both by Mozart do. Ummm... Do you like ballet, Theresa?"

  "I've never seen one."

  "What? That's a tragedy! I adore ballet. It's very big in Russia."

   "I know, the Bolshoi."

   "Indeed, 'Bolshoi' means 'supreme'. My brother Nikolai was a Premier Dancer with the Bolshoi."  

  

   "Wow!"

   "Yes... He was very gifted." Alexandre frowned. "So..."  He wiped his mouth, gestured with his fork to my throat and ears, "You like beautiful jewelry."

   That got me to tell him the story of my Great Grandma Lisel and the rope of pink pearls, her nude photo, --- especially, since we kept getting bottles and bottles of the exquisite champagne.  Alexandre kept pouring for me, and himself. I was really starting to feel it. He looked at me with great interest as I told the pink pearl story, his black eyes almost glowing.  When I finished he was quiet for a minute, considering me.

   "What a story, Theresa! Pearls are my favorite gem, even  though men can't today, really wear them.  Back in the time of King Henry the Eighth men wore them magnificently, but not now. The pearl's become a feminine gem. They flatter almost every woman, no matter what her complexion."

   He leaned far back in his chair, and I could tell that the champagne was effecting him too. "I admit I'm especially drawn to you partly because you're wearing such exquisite pearls, because you wear them so well, your simmering blond coloring, your cream-colored satin gown, so like the color of a pearl.  The string of pearls at your throat and your pearl ring with rubies are the only real jewels you have on, am I right?"  His deep voice had become dreamy. (Did I imagine it, that his tone got emphasized when he said, "ON"? Those warm feelings between my legs were making serious flicks now, and I could feel my heart pounding, pounding.)

  I touched my neck and the pearls, feeling the pulse beating there.  My voice trembled slightly as I spoke. "Yes, you're right, Alexandre." (I was pronouncing his name like he did, --- as 'Alex-ondre,' with a long 'a'.) His beautiful European name seemed to hang in the air between us.

   Alexandre fixed me with his penetrating eyes like a child eyeing a hot fudge sundae. It was a weird thing to think; he was a full grown man, but it flashed to my mind as he stared, unblinking, at me. All I wanted to do at the the moment was kiss him, kiss him, KISS HIM on that plush pink curving mouth!!!... And, then I imagined Alexandre as a vampire snacking on me. If he kissed my neck, and then my lips, deeply, passionately, I'd probably faint. Then, he could catch me. He was more than strong enough to hold me, almost forever, carry me unconscious in his arms to... Or, he could flip me over his broad shoulder and walk away with me... 

   Damn, the man could do ANYTHING, ANYTHING to me, --- and I knew I'd LET him! I WANTED HIM! GOD, I WANTED HIM! I wanted his lips, his hands all over me. I wondered what he'd feel like, --- REALLY, REALLY feel like... And, his skin, that smooth looking skin, if, if his body was stretched, trembling against me, that long sexy body, taut and straining, naked in my arms... He was so much bigger than me. I could jump at him; he'd catch my butt. I'd wrap my arms and legs around him, tight, oh, so tight. And, he'd love it; he'd love carrying me like that...

   I WAS wearing Great Grandma's necklace tonight, and her jewelry was lucky, especially since it was the ONLY piece that was real gems!!! I'm a hopeless romantic; I admit it. But, I KNOW that I'll find a great love SOMEDAY. I KNOW IT. And, maybe Alexandre was the one. Sure, I knew he wasn't perfect: nobody is. BUT, still... 

   I put my napkin to my mouth, giggling and giggling, --- the champagne, all that scrumptious champagne! It was a LOT of champagne.  Alexander's thick lashes swept his eyes again; this time when he looked up he swallowed. The Adam's apple in his muscular throat moved up, and then down. I watched fascinated, and I couldn't help wiggling a little on the seat of my chair.  

   

    "Are you alright, Theresa?." he asked. 

   "Yes," I said. "I'm, --- I'm a-alright, Alexandre. Really, I am."

   He looked at me strangely, raised an eyebrow. Then, he shrugged, and smiled, laughed. On top of everything, Alexandre has a delightful free-sounding laugh, as musical as his voice.

   --- Copyright 2021, by Antoinette Beard.

From "King Of Thieves, --- Alexandre & Theresa have a little supper at the Cheval Noir... (3.)

   Alexandre's favorite restaurant was the very, very expensive Cheval Noir.  Of course, I had never, ever been THERE!  He drove us to the entrance in his gleaming Cadillac.  He opened the passenger door for me.  Then went around to slide into the armchair soft driver's seat.  I relaxed back into my matching comfort.  "Ooo!  I love this car!"  I ran my hand over the dark blue velvet interior.

   Alexandre laughed. "A beauty, isn't she?  A 1985 Cotillion Blue Fleetwood Brougham, and, almost TOO  comfortable.  I love taking her on trips, but I've almost fallen asleep in the plush of her seats." He laughed.

   We were soon in front of Cheval Noir.  Through the car's window I stared up at the Art Nouveau black and silver horse's head over the restaurant's entrance. Alexandre gave the Brougham's keys to the valet.

   "I really like using valet parking when I drive the Brougham," he remarked.  "The 1985 Fleetwood Brougham was the longest  personal American car ever made, aside from limousines, a full foot longer than the mustang of that year. It's hard to find a spot big enough to parallel park!" His rich laugh again, he took my arm.   

   I looked up at him from under my lashes. "I think maybe you have a red Corvette."

   He chuckled. "I have a red  Shelby. It wasn't hard for you to figure I'd have a red sports car.  I have a 1970 black Challenger too. I'm crazy about muscle cars."

   Alexandre's walking stick beat a tattoo on the sidewalk as we walked to the restaurant door.  It was black and gold with a greyhound's head on top.

   "I like your walking stick."

   "It has a sword inside; completes the opera drag, good for rapping mugger's skulls."  I laughed with him, feeling very comfortable.

   Alexandre's greeted the host, who he called Charles. (He pronounced it the French way, --- "Charl".) He gave Charles his top hat and walking. Then, Charles showed us to a secluded table in the back.  Alexandre pulled out a black velvet upholstered chair for me.  (I noticed that the chairs back here were upholstered, but the ones in front were wood.) After seeing that I was comfortably seated and my cloak was, once again, well-placed over the back of my chair, he took off his cape and tux jacket. He took out his cuff links, gold ones, set with onyx', the big black faceted stones surrounded by diamonds.  He rolled up his sleeves, revealing hard looking forearms covered with sparse black hair.  I stared at the knobby wrist bones, his lean hands with their long squared off fingers, their neat, clean nails.  He wore a massive gold ring with a square-cut emerald, probably at least ten carats.  Even in the dim light of the restaurant's corner, the emerald ring, the cuff links on the table shined, wickedly.

   Alexandre saw me staring at his jewelry.  He leaned forward. In the dim light of the opera house I hadn't seen his earrings, --- tiny gold rings; hanging from each one was a little diamond, sparking like a star. "The shirt's tight. It's easier to cut meat with my cuff links out and sleeves rolled up. Yes, they're Imperial originals, designed by Peter Carl  Faberge.  He was French, but a naturalized Russian, the official court jeweler.  Faberge had hundreds of craftsmen to do his pieces.  There's a special look to Imperial jewelry, Theresa.  It's usually big stones, surrounded by smaller diamonds.  My family bought jewelry from some of the  Romanov's who survived the purge of their family in 1918. My cuff links and the ring were once worn by Grand Duke Cyril, first cousin of Nicholas the second.  Cyril was one of the Romanov's who fled to Europe.  Over fifty Romanovs were murdered. Thirty-five survived.  Foremost of the survivors was Nicholas' mother, Dowager Empress Marie Fedorovna, and the Czars sisters, Grand Duchesses Xenia Alexandrovna and Olga Alexandrovna."

   "You know a lot about this."

   A dazzling smile, "Sure, my family left Russia in 1918 with other emigres. They lived for a while in France, then in Switzerland. When the U.S.S.R. was finished in the 1990s many of the Volkovs went back to Russia, but some of my family still live in France, Switzerland and Germany."

   My eyes must have gone wide with this info.  I'd never met an Old World aristocrat.  He laughed again, that rumbling, manly sound and gave me another fabulous smile.  His black were sparkling; they were truly black, not brown. I couldn't see his pupils. There was a slight cleft in his chin. Those fun sexy darts kept zinging through me. A server had appeared  at our table, like he dropped out of the air. He didn't give us a menu, but bowed to Alexandre.

   "What do  you want, Theresa?"  The head chef here is Michel-Charmion Valade .  He'll make us anything."

   "Anything?"

   "Well, sure, --- even if you want roast duck. Although, you'll have to wait a while for that. I don't think you want to stay here that long." He winked. Then, his long  lashes swept his eyes, practically taking my breath away.

   "Uh," I stammered, "I don't know. What do you usually have?"  I'm an idiot, I thought, ducking my head, feeling a blush coming.

   But, Alexandre was talking to our server. "Chateaubriand, medium rare, Jean-Henri, and Salad Noisce, garlic roasted golden potatoes, lots of the five-herb bread. And, some very fine champagne, brut." He grinned. "Surprise me, Jean-Henri, and keep it coming. Oh, for desert, Mont Blanc, espresso too, please." Jean-Henri nodded and left.

  "I've never had espresso," I remarked.

   "If you like very strong black coffee, you'll probably like it. It's said good espresso is poured out of the pot and cut off with a scissors."

   Alexandre  took my hand and raised it to his lips, putting a soft kiss on it. The touch of his warm mouth seemed to be  trembling on my skin.  My hand looked very small and pale, even delicate, resting on his long lean palm.  (His skin was the rich medium beige my mom used to call rochelle.) He slowly turned my hand over, brought it to his lips again, put a kiss in the palm. His lips were  slightly open and he breathed on my skin. I was a little shocked that he bit the big mound under my thumb, the mound of Venus. Both of his hands were around my one.  He caressed it.

   "Your hand's cool, but it's getting warmer."

   I didn't say anything.

--- Copyright 2021, by Suzanne La Force.

From "King Of Thieves," --- Alexandre & Theresa watch the performance of "Carmen"... (Chapter 2.)

  

 "Theresa"... He made my very common first name sound so elegant when he said it! But, now the performance was starting. The curtain went up. The audience applauded. Carmen is a great opera, --- the gorgeous wild Carmen and jealous, murderous Don Jose... BUT, I was SO distracted, many times stealing sideways looks at Alexandre, sitting next to me. 

   His profile was perfect, manly, but beautiful, forehead and chin perfectly aligned . His jaw was square, nose straight, those spectacular deep-set eyes with that forest of lashes. His thick hair in it's ponytail, resting about three inches down his back, was very dark, blacker than his tux and it had a curve to it. His shoulders were broad, but sloping. It seemed as if his body under the tux was leanly muscular, as strong and perfect as his face. Something about him reminded me of a big cat, --- a leopard. Strange, I should think of that...   

   And, he was so charming!  During the intermission he reached under his chair, bringing out a big red and black satin box of chocolates.  He shared them with me as we talked about the singing, the set, and other things of the performance. The opera began again.  In spite of the stunningly handsome Alexandre, I became engrossed in the thrilling singing, dancing, the romantic and tragic story. Then, it was over, --- much applause...

Alexandre turned toward me, smiling, as the house lights came up. "Ah, that was outstanding!" He stood. bent gracefully, put his top hat on his head.  He swept his cape onto his shoulders exactly like an Old World  aristocrat should, the scarlet satin lining flashing.. He extended his forearm to me. I placed my fingers on it, stood. I could actually feel the strength in that hard warm arm! It felt so good.

   "It's a lovely night.  Would you go with me to my favorite restaurant for a little supper, Theresa?"

   Such a gentleman,... "Of course, Alexandre.  I'd be delighted."  We swept from the opera house like a duke and his duchess.

--- Copyright 2021, by Antoinette Beard.

Easy To Make Salmagundi, - Pirate Stew...

This is the wonderful and famous dish that pirates loved, and still do!  [I made this for the re-enactment pirate crew of the Nightshade, at the 2008 Great Lakes Medieval Faire.]  The name salmagundi probably comes from the French word "samine", which means highly seasoned.  Salmagundi can be made with many kinds of meat.  Pirates made it with sea turtle, which is, of course, endangered now, and wild boar or cattle, and fish. 

I made mine with chicken...  I used 2 packages of skinless, boneless chicken breasts, a package of jumbo cooked shrimp, a half dozen eggs, 2 cans of chicken broth, a large red onion, a big can of Chinese vegetables, a can of whole black olives, 2 cans mandarin oranges, and a can of chunk pineapple.  I also used season salt, black pepper and garlic powder, plus shredded coconut as a garnish...

Fry chicken breasts in corn oil till done, set aside.  Boil eggs, peel, set aside.  Wash shrimp, set aside.  In a large pot place the chicken broth, and other canned things with their juice.  Dice the onion, medium fine, add.  Add the shrimp, minus their tails.  Dice chicken, add.  Slice the eggs, add.  Heat it up, slowly, stir, stir, so it doesn't burn on the bottom.  You can thicken it with a little flour made into a paste in a cup of water, if you like, add this slowly to and, stir it as it thickens the juice.

Allow everything to simmer very low, till all the flavors are melded.  Serve over white rice and garnish with shredded coconut.     

St. Vincent & Dominica, - where "Pirates Of The Caribbean" was filmed...

Famous & Raucous Historical Pirating Places...

Tortuga - A turtle shaped island, north of Hispanola, or what is called today, Haiti, was a wild-and-wooly place that welcomed pirates of all nations in the seventeen and eighteenth centuries.  As adorable Jack Sparrow said, - "Ah, the sweet and prolifferous bouquet that is Tortuga!"

Port Royal, Jamaica - Set at the tip of a 13 mile long natural sandspit on the southern coast of Jamaica, Port Royal had one of the best natural harbors in the world.  The water there was 6 fantoms, or 30 feet deep, deep enough to accept the keels of galleons, a rarity in the tropics where many deep keeled ships had to settle for dropping anchor far off shore because of shallow tropical coves.  Port Royal, in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries was a lawless, rollicking, rowdy, yet, surprising elegant town, [once you got away from the notorious waterfront].  In Port Royal's shops could be found everything to set up easy, cosmopolitan living.  It was a most effluent place, thanks to pirate plunder.  Unfortunately, practically all of it sank under the tidal waves of the June 7, 1692 earthquake.  Thousands of lives were lost then and sanctimonious preachers said the disaster was God's punishment on what was called, "The Sodom Of The New World".  Captain Henry Morgan was buried on Port Royal's sandspit and divers off the coast of Kingston, Jamaica still hope to find his gravestone.

Madagascar -  the huge island in the southern hemisphere, off the coast of Africa, was fabled to be the spot where the legendary pirate kingdom of Libertalia was created.  There, it was said, raggedy pirates lived almost like sultans with harems of beautiful island women.  Did Libertalia really exist?...  Maybe, maybe not.  Anyway, on the isle of Mauritius, of the eastern coast of Madagascar, the dodo birds became extinct, after being clubbed to death many times by hungry sailors.

New Providence Island - It was once called Santa Catalina, and then, in the early eighteenth century, New Providence, then, it was re-named Nassau, after it's major town.  It, too, for a while, was a most lawless and swinging pirate place.

Okracoke Inlet, North Carolina - This was where the flamboyant pirate Blackbeard, Edward Teach, was killed.  His pirating career lasted only about 2 years.  I have been to the Maritime Museum in Beaufort, N. Carolina, and believe me, it is worth going.  They have the remnants of Blackbeard's ship "The Queen Anne's" revenge on display.  It is said that at the mouth of Bath Creek, if you are very, very lucky, you can still see, under the water, at times, an eerie yellow glow...  It's Captain Teach holding up a lantern, looking for his lost head.  Uh...  Some say that skull was made into a punch bowl.