by Neil Plakcy
Paul never mentioned girls or dating, as most guys would, and I thought, Hmm, maybe he’s…
Then I thought, No way. You’re dreaming.
That evening, well past midnight, I lay in my stateroom, bathed in moonlight. A breeze came through the ports. I was half-asleep when a knock sounded on my door.
“Andy, can I come in?”
Paul entered, wearing boxer shorts and nothing else. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know it’s late, but I can’t sleep for Zeke’s snoring. It’s driving me nuts.”
My scalp prickled. Go ahead, ask him…
“You want to sleep in here? There’s room for two.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Shit, no.”
Paul closed the door. I scooted over and he climbed between the sheets. I felt his body heat, smelled his skin and the toothpaste he’d used earlier. Already, my cock was stiff. Paul joined his hands behind his head; he stared at the ceiling. His lips parted and moonlight reflected off his central incisors.
“This is much better,” he said.
And I thought, It sure is…
Then I thought, Come on, test the waters.
I nudged Paul’s knee with mine.
He nudged me back. Then he rubbed his calf against mine and our leg hairs commingled.
Okay…that wasn’t subtle.
“Paul?”
“Yeah?”
“Did Zeke tell you I’m gay?”
He chuckled. “Why do you think I’m here?”
I shook my head. Then I chuckled, too.
Sex with Paul was better than good. I’d been to bed with eight or nine guys; some were okay, but nothing like this. Paul and I didn’t just fuck, we made love. He kissed like a dream. Our tongues dueled like a pair of writhing snakes while our chin whiskers rasped. He licked my armpits, ran his hands through my hair, sucked my balls while squeezing my cock in his fist. I was slim like Paul and our whippet bodies worked in unison. Everything seemed to fit just right.
I wasn’t a passive participant by any means. I explored every inch of Paul’s wiry body, using my hands and tongue. I licked between his toes, pinched his nipples till he groaned. I nuzzled his pubic hair while I teased his erection. His cock was built like the rest of him: slender and pretty, with a strawberry-shaped glans. It leaked precum—little salty-tasting pearls I lapped up and swallowed with delight.
Of course, I’d never had sex on a boat before, and I liked the way the Morgan rocked while we shared intimacies. Waves mumbled against the hull; they sounded romantic. There’s something to be said for water’s effect upon our five senses. It sharpens them, I think; I know it did mine. Paul’s skin smelled like sawdust, his crotch like damp earth. His skin was smooth and warm, and his hair felt silky. The sound of his breath in my ear drove me crazy with lust. His big teeth looked beautiful in moonlight.
Paul suggested a bout of sixty-nine, and we got ourselves positioned. When he took my cock into his mouth, a shiver ran up my spine. I swallowed his cock and felt the swollen glans nudge the back of my throat. Then we both slurped away, applying pressure with our tongues and lips, pleasuring each other as only two guys can do. I took Paul’s plump nuts into my mouth, one at a time, rolling them around on the surface of my tongue. I licked his taint, then his asshole.
Paul shuddered. “Got any lube, Andy?”
“In my bag. Why?”
He smooched the head of my cock. “I want you to fuck me with this big banana.”
Holy crap…
At Paul’s request, I took him doggie-style. When I entered him, he gasped. I felt his lungs pump, his hole flex.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, fine. Just give me a minute to relax.”
I kept my cock inside Paul. His gut felt warm and oh-so-sexy.
“Okay,” he said, moments later. “Fuck my ass.”
I rocked my hips and Paul groaned. His hole flexed against the shaft of my cock, a love muscle caressing me. My hipbones slapped Paul’s buttcheeks each time I thrust into him. We both sweated and our skin smacked every place our bodies made contact. Paul reached for the lube and squeezed some on his cock. Then he stroked himself while I kept thrusting.
“Jesus, Andy, this feels good.”
He came first, spewing the sheets with his sticky load. He cried out, so loud I wondered if Zeke heard it at the other end of the boat. What would he say if he knew I was fucking his cousin?
Paul’s lungs heaved while he caught his breath. I pulled my cock out of his hole. Then I jerked myself off, gripping Paul’s shoulder with my free hand, feeling the taut muscle there. It didn’t take long before my balls tingled and a shiver ran up my spine. I spewed Paul’s back, a series of shots that made my body jerk.
Holy shit!
I’d never experienced such an orgasm; I felt overwhelmed. My vision blurred and my chest heaved. I collapsed onto Paul’s back, and a mixture of sweat and semen glued us together. That may sound vulgar, but it wasn’t. I felt we were one person instead of two.
“Andy, that was…amazing.”
“It sure was.”
Paul shifted his weight. “I want to do this again…if you do.”
My pulse pounded in my temples. “I’d like that,” I said, “but tell me something.”
“What?”
“Does Zeke know you’re gay?”
Paul moved his shoulders.
“I’ve never told him—not directly—but I think he’s always suspected. Why?”
Next morning, Zeke was already above decks when we rose. He had brewed a pot of coffee; it simmered on the stove. Paul and I poured two mugs full. Then we both ascended, squinting at the sun’s brightness.
Zeke sat in the cockpit; he studied a nautical chart. Sunlight reflected in his red hair. When he heard us, he raised his chin. His gaze met mine and he gave me an impish smile.
“You girls have fun last night?”
I looked at Paul and Paul looked at me. Our faces turned as red as ripe tomatoes, but we grinned just the same, in spite of the awkward moment.
I turned to Zeke and flipped him the bird while he cackled like an idiot.
Oh, Zeke, I thought, everyone needs a friend like you.
LANDLOCKED SQUID
Tanner
I’m so fucking out, man,” Charlie sighed while tossing his hand on the table. My cock twitched as I looked at my tall redheaded shipmate. I’m hot and admit it—think smokin’ Jonas brother with shiny black hair, matching eyes with lashes so thick they make every butterfly that sees them come and a body as ripped and taut as any in the fleet after months at sea.
But hot as I am, I knew I wouldn’t be getting any closer to Charlie than the occasional glance at his brilliant red bush in the shower because the dude was straight as they come—besides, I’m not in the service to fuckin’ date, it’s my job. Of course, there are plenty of other gay service guys out there if I want to play, so why piss off the straight ones by hitting on them?
Besides, playing poker right then was my job, so I ripped my eyes off Charlie and put ’em back on my hand. I had nothing myself but wasn’t letting anyone know. Our two other buddies were already out and at a nearby bar, so me and Charlie were the last two dudes from the ship in the game. I’m no poker player, as any of them could have testified. But shipmates stick together, especially on land and in the company of civilians.
There was a long pause before the one other player at the table silently lowered his cards to the felt and gave a slight nod to me. The pot was mine. Charlie grinned while I reached out and hooked the chips toward me.
I never won our games on board.
Ever.
Knowing it was time to go, Charlie and I left the table and joined Rich and Brinkley at the bar, where I of course paid for a few rounds. The only one missing from our little group of sailors in the sand in Las Vegas was Jacob, a tall, shy blond with sparkling green eyes and soft-looking lips who had begged out of the late-night poker game to get some sack time. I’d spent months moon
ing over the guy with that crooked smile and corn-silk yellow hair he kept cut high and nearly tight as a marine. While the rest of us showed random ink, I had the feeling that Jacob’s skin was still a blank canvas; he was the kind of guy who kept up with modesty even in our cramped quarters.
I had never seen him naked in the shower (yeah, I’d kept an eye out for him lurking about with a towel, but no luck), and even on the hottest nights when we sat around in our skivvies shooting the shit, Jacob kept his T-shirt on. I’d never seen that broad chest bare, and yeah, I spent a lotta time trying to look up the leg hole of the (pristine!) breezy white boxers he wore. Hey, don’t wanna piss anyone off by staring, but I’m not dead either! Jacob never smoked or drank (even soda!), and the closest he would come to cursing was the occasional “Man!” said with emphasis when he had done something wrong or was frustrated.
Probably his clean-cut choirboy look of innocence drew me, but it always seemed like there was some bad bubbling away just below the surface of the guy, and I wanted to explore that more than I wanted Ricky Martin to call me into his dressing room after a concert. And I wanted that pretty fucking bad…but not as much as I was hot for Jacob Miller.
I was just as glad he was not among the other dudes from our flight deck group right then because I was on beersky number threesky and I could focus on bullshitting with them—not that they weren’t hot, I could just control my mouth around them and not have to work to keep from staring at Jacob. Or hitting on him or following him to the head and staring—y’know, the couple million things you can do or say wrong when you’ve had some oat soda. And no Jake for him, btw, he would correct with that sexy grin. Shit, even that worked my bead and all but made my dick hard.
It had taken all of us to convince Jacob to come to Las Vegas anyway. We knew he had strong religious beliefs but he never forced them on us—and that wasn’t even his biggest beef with the trip to Sin City. If he was going to take leave time, even an extra day, he wanted to use it to go home. On top of that we had only been ashore for three days before heading to Vegas. The couple married guys had gotten some fun time in, but the rest of us didn’t even have time to jack off on getting home. But we had bonded on the ten months out, a band of rowdy brothers who stuck together, and when Brink said he was going to take the marriage plunge and wanted us there, we all agreed that our version of the road trip was on.
Brinkley’s family is one of those rare breed who lives in Vegas, so he arranged places for everyone to stay. Well, almost everyone. I had other plans while I was there. I’d just broken up with a guy before we shipped out and had kept my hands to myself (literally!) for the voyage even though I knew where the dark corners and hidden rooms were on the ship after three cruises. My heart was nearly mended and I was ready for some action, so I arranged a room of my own on the Strip so I could manage to get away to some of the gay spots during the wedding weekend. And was pleasantly surprised when Jacob asked if he could split the room with me rather than sleep at a stranger’s.
Could he sleep in my room? Do ducks like to swim? Do dicks like to be sucked? Well, I’d managed to keep my hands to myself for a long time, so two nights sharing a room with Jacob shouldn’t make me too insane, and private time with him would give me more jack-off material. Since I hoped to be going out to other rooms with other guys, the money saving would just be a bonus for the weekend.
Despite the other guys calling me a wussy for not taking my winnings to the high-end strip club they were heading off to, I hosted a last round as I made my good nights and then hurried out of the casino to grab a cab, barking out the name of a gay club as soon as I tumbled into the seat. I could feel my dick start to thicken in anticipation. I’d been surrounded by cock for months, seen lots of it in the shower and certainly made good use of mine but was ready to touch another one—to kiss, suck, touch one attached to another guy.
The gay dance club I had scoped out was packed, as I had hoped; by the time I had gotten through to the bar I had been hit on twice so knew my lucky streak was going to continue. And yeah, I know I’m hot and my haircut alone screams “military,” which has guys comin’ in their tighty whities. All that free time after duty is put to good use by some of us. Once you have watched every movie every guy has downloaded and played poker until you owe each other a billion dollars, the small, crowded gym becomes the hot spot on board.
I’m also a “hooker.” No, not what you think, despite my brags about my looks. I work the cable to “catch” jets when they come in on the flight deck, often teaming up with Jacob on the other side. “Hookers” end up with huge muscles even if we don’t lift in our free time.
Even the bartender winked when he slid the beer over the counter to me, “On the house,” he said. “Wait for me by the door at last call and we’ll go back to my place and you can fuck me raw, stud,” is what he didn’t say, but the way he briefly stroked his finger over mine as I wrapped my hand around the sweat-beaded bottle let me know that was how he felt.
My cock thickened to about half as I smiled back. Target locked and loaded. I was going to take a few laps and scope the rest of the prey and could always come back to finalize his nonverbal offer.
A Las Vegas gay bar on a hot Saturday night is a horny gay sailor’s paradise. It wasn’t raining men from all of the country, but the place was sure packed with writhing men of all ages and sizes, and many of them had opted to be shirtless despite the blasting air-conditioning. I was fully hard by the time I made my way through the crowd to the packed dance floor, where in minutes I had been pulled into the fray and managed to slip the T-shirt I was wearing up over my head between gulps of beer and was shaking my ass (okay, okay, my high hard tight ass…) with the rest of the group. I was something of a star attraction, if I say so myself. I also knew if a gay marine happened in, I would be tossed aside as if I were in full face drag.
So I made hay while the sun was shining, bouncing between a guy named Matt from Baltimore, a hot off-duty blackjack dealer whose name I never caught, two Johns, a Jason, a Kyle and, well, you get the idea—I was having a good time. I’d been dancing (and drinking and making out…) and wasn’t settled on anyone in particular to leave the bar with (or go into the alley or to their car or a cab or even into a bathroom. Hey, I was young and horny, it happens) when I became the sailor meat in a couple sandwich.
Two hot guys about my age from Savannah? San Antonio? Salem? started grinding on me, and the next thing you know I was invited back to their hotel room. See? Wasn’t going to have to worry about grabbing Jacob Miller in the middle of the night after all. I mean, who am I not to accept hospitality like that? We were already grooming each other like cats right there on the dance floor. Which I am not against, btw, but I am still enlisted, and while I am not concerned about asking or telling anymore, I am concerned about public displays of affection going too far, being caught on cell phones or other devices and getting back to my superiors, which could affect future promotions.
So I pulled the hand that had snaked down my (now unbuttoned) jeans and we made our way out of the club.
Now let me assure you I do not have the moral standards of Jacob Miller, or even a wharf rat (I’m a sailor, for fuck’s sake!), but it did dawn on me as the guys and I slid into a cab and sent our arms crawling around each other like the tentacles of a (horny!) octopus that I had been in a relationship for a long time (I was young, a year is a long time…) before the voyage and was about to embark back on the sea of decadence with not one but two hot guys, guys who were in a relationship. Some information had been exchanged, and before even giving it much thought I hit them with “Um, you guys got lube ’n condoms?”
It was said much lower but it was heard, I could tell by the noncommittal muttering they both made.
As a couple they just hadn’t really thought about those things for a while.
“S’cool, I got ’em.” Hey, I was going to Las Vegas and hadn’t had sex in over ten months, of course I was ready! “Drop me at my hotel on the Strip! I’l
l grab ’em and come to your hotel.”
They offered to come to my room, but I said, “I got someone staying with me.” A quick shower couldn’t hurt for me, either.
There really was no need to explain anything, as we were still in the middle of our game of Admiral Perry in the Arc-Dick, meaning we went back to exploring each other’s bodies as soon as I shut my trapsky. I also felt the beer I had been downing catch up to me—my bladder was sending an “I’m full” signal. Another reason to have a quiet, personal moment before our carnal carnival began.
We smiled all around and I left them to stride into the lobby like I owned the place. Surprisingly few people were around at that hour; I had the elevator to myself and hummed as I hurried down the long hallway to distract myself. I was also stroking the flat of my palm up and down over my crotch as my dick pumped both in sexual anticipation and in readiness for the head. By the time I swiped my keycard down the slot in the door, I was doing a happy little pee dance.
Throwing the door open and expecting darkness, I was mentally mapping out my path to the head when I suddenly found myself as part of CSI Las Vegas. No crime had been committed, but the room was certainly not as I expected it.
The television was the source of light, and standing in front of it at the end of the bed as naked as the day he was born was my temporary roommate/full-time shipmate Jacob Miller, hard cock standing straight up against the flat muscles of his stomach as he stared intently at the screen. He was so fixed on what he was watching that he did not immediately register I was there. My own need-to-pee situation halted for a split second as I took in the visual. In near slow motion I watched as Jacob let his head turn toward me, twisting that lean torso, cock following his head. I could not have been more surprised if I’d walked in on Ann Coulter making out with k.d. lang.
Holy fuck!
On board we all whacked it in the privacy of our own bunks—quarters were tight and you could usually tell when guys were at it by the overwhelming smell, but I had never imagined Jacob doing it. Oh, I had a lot of other scenes of him in my head, but this was way above my thoughts.