Harold Lowe has managed to claw his way up the career ladder of the British merchant marines, rising from a ship's boy to a master mariner with one of the world's elite passenger lines. Along the way, he's learned to master not only his craft, but...
The first interlude established that many of Harry's actions are driven by his issues with his father. This father complex has also influenced his relationships with women - as we've seen from last week's short, he's become disillusioned with love. This pattern continues to the present day, as you will shortly see - and it's the main reason he's still single at 29 (well, that and he hadn't met Corrine yet ;)).
The second vignette is a glimpse into Harry's life pre-Corrine, and an answer to a question Corrine asked in 'Confessions' (how he ended up on Titanic). It's short, but packs a punch - and a helluva twist at the end. Important note: this is entirely fictional, and may be controversial. Mature content.
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March, 1912
Harold Lowe had almost reached his climax when the woman beneath him stiffened suddenly.
"I thought I heard something," she whispered.
"Nonsense," he replied, trying to hush her. At this point, he wouldn't have cared if a foghorn blew next to his head; he wanted to come. Now, where was he? Ah, yes... He found his rhythm again. Just a few more strokes, and he was sure-
This time, he heard it, too - the distinct sound of a slamming door. "It's him! My husband! He's back early!"
He groaned softly and swore under his breath at the second interruption. She was making this quite difficult. "I thought you said he wouldn't be done with his card game until four," he retorted, frustration lacing his voice.
"Well, clearly I was mistaken," she bit out. "You have to leave - now."
He looked down at her. "Well, do you want me to finish first?" he asked solicitously.
Her eyes grew heavy with desire once again. "How fast can you go?" she purred.
He smirked. "Quite fast," he whispered in her ear. And he proceeded to show her.
Whether it was the thrill of possibly being caught, or his skill (and he preferred to believe it was the latter), she soon reached her peak. He pulled out and finished on her stomach; he was taking no chances. Almost as soon as her body was done convulsing, she was shoving him off the bed.
"Get dressed and go!" she hissed at him, eyes wide with fear. She threw his clothes at him, whirled, and left the room. He heard the water turn on in the bathing room next door and shrugged. So be it, then. Wasn't the first time he was thrown out of a room, probably wouldn't be the last. It was not like he was ever going to settle down and find a wife, anyway. There was too much fun to be had in fucking around like this.
He had met this one on the docks, while he was chatting up crews looking for a new berth. He could tell by the way she sized him up, eying him up and down with that deliberate, entitled glance, that she was on the prowl - and used to getting what she wanted in life. She was middle-aged, and not particularly a looker, but he hardly cared. If an opportunity presented itself - particularly in the form of a nabob's wife - who was he to turn it down? She sauntered up to him and, after some meaningless small talk, got right to the point.
