Sexy Sailors

by Neil Plakcy

  Then just like that the world snapped back into focus for both of us, and our eyes met just as my “Empty bladder now” signal started to roar again. Talk about that catch-22! Do I stand and stare like a drooling fool at the hot guy I have been lusting after and piss my pants, or go take care of business? I opted for the latter even though the former would have been so much more fun. As I dashed across the room I turned to grab another look (which was amazing, his muscular form lean and ripped) as he turned slightly back toward the television, then Jacob leaned down to make a grab for the comforter to try and cover his nakedness.

  There was some kind of dark shadow on his chest and right shoulder, but I couldn’t tell what they were despite staring at Jacob like I was an x-ray scanner. But my eye did catch the TV screen for a split second. Jacob Miller, blond, conservative, hot (and nicely hung, I’d just learned…) had not only been playing a porn, but it was a gay porn.

  Unable to process all of that without wetting the rug, I literally made a leap of the last step into the bathroom, where I drained my half-stiff snake and washed up, rubbers, lube and hot couple forgotten as my cock fully thickened back up post piss at the thought of Jacob’s naked body and hard cock. And that the movie making it hard was gay.

  Taking a deep breath, I stepped back into the bedroom after scooping a strip of condoms and tube of lube from my shaving kit. There was no shame in my game. The television had been turned to another channel and Jacob’s smooth muscular chest was again covered with one of those stark white T-shirts. He was sitting up in bed, hands around the remote instead of his hard cock, lower body covered by the bedding. The room was now lit by two sources, the soft glow of the television and the bright shade of red that had crept up Jacob’s neck and flushed his face all the way to his ears.

  “Hey, sorry, just had to get some stuff. On my way back out…” I trailed off as casually as I could.

  “You won’t tell anybody,” the blond whispered, head hanging down.

  “Dude,” I said as casually as I could while dropping the sex tools I had in my hand to the nightstand on my side of the bed, “we all beat it. I was starting to think you were a robot!”

  Jacob raised his head and gave me enough of a smile for me to know he was good, my cock twitching at his sexy grin.

  “Yeah, but about the movie I was watching…”

  “Yeah, about that. Why the fuck did you turn it off?”

  “Well, I…”

  “You do want to finish, right?” Okay, so I was leading and invasive, but what would you have done if you walked in and caught your wet dream going at it to a gay porn because he thought you were out tramping the night away in a strip club with your shipmates? Well there you go then, save the judgment.

  I also knew that if the night was going to go where I wanted it to, I had to be careful and cautious.

  When you offer a squirrel a peanut, you don’t try to pet it. You don’t chase a deer at a salt lick or, as I’d learned the hard way, disco dance at a trout stream. Luckily my pop had seen me do far more flamboyant things, so he just urged me to leave the river and go make mermen in the sand, which he knew I would be much better at than fishing. Not a stoop, my old man. Leaning across the bed, I grabbed the remote and punched in codes until the movie restarted.

  “No!” Jacob yelped in a horrified way as I pulled the image of two guys fucking back up onto the screen. “It’s not just a dirty movie, it’s guys!”

  “I’m not Stevie Wonder.” I smirked. Like smirking was going to help me get what I wanted, but my dick was already hard and I was all but ready to leap back to the other side of the bed and use Jacob as a landing strip. I’d show him some hooking like he’d never seen before!

  “They’re hot!”

  “You like that kind of thing?”

  There was a pause, long enough for me to know that Jacob was processing my response.

  “Of course. A whole lotta guys like this stuff.”

  There was a moment of puzzled silence as Jacob let his eyes cut from me to the television and back.

  I’d dropped the remote onto the pillow between us.

  “Well, I gotta take off,” I said, cock fully hard. At least I had a hot date lined up, but no matter how hot they were or what we did, I knew I’d be coming to the image burned into my brain of Jacob naked and jerking himself.

  “You can stay.” Jacob’s voice had a tremble in it and there was a pause as he looked at me, this time with no blush, then sat up and crossed his arms over his chest and hooked the edge of the T-shirt up over the flat muscles of his stomach and on up over his head. He let the soft material drop to the floor next to his side of the bed and smiled at me. Jacob Miller may have fallen off the same hay truck I had, but the look he gave me told me I had way, way underestimated him.

  “Wow! Nice ink!” I finally said, date forgotten as I slid down onto the bed after quickly unlacing and kicking out of my shoes and hoping to fuck I wasn’t having some kind of 3-D wet dream. I peeled my sweaty tee up over my head and let it fall to the floor as well, forming a matched set of undergear on each side of the bed.

  Jacob pulled the naked lower half of his body out from under the bedclothes, and while normally I would have been staring at his crotch, I was so taken with what I had thought to be dark spots on Jacob’s chest and shoulder that I couldn’t take my eyes off them. They were tattoos, a big one scrawled across his chest with the initials RB in the middle of it. The scroll/floral ink on his shoulder surrounded the name Robby.

  Boldly reaching over, I traced my fingers over the initials, giving my sexy buddy a quizzical look.

  “My kid…,” he said, blush back in full form.

  The mystery of keeping covered up was solved.

  “Lives with his mom and I don’t get to see him much.” There was a story, a big good story involving innocent-looking Jacob as an unmarried father with his kid’s friggin’ name tattooed on him, but all it meant to me was Game on!

  While debating which way to go, north to his lips or south to his throbbing dick, I paused, wanting to hear the story but knowing we’d need something to talk about afterward. But before I could make that decision the hot blond reached down; smoothing his fingers under my chin, he lifted my face to his and pulled me upward, bringing my lips to his.

  Fuck!

  Explosions! Rainbows! Rockets! All that crappy movie montage stuff, but I swear to Jupiter it was true and worked as he kissed me, his lips as soft and full as I always thought they would be. Falling fully onto the bed I slowly let my body slide against his, our bodies writhing together as we made out.

  Jacob slipped a hand between us and wrapped his fingers around my throbbing dick—made me so fucking hot I thought I would blow right there! Gritting my teeth, I held back, though, and let him pump me as we kissed. Breaking my mouth from his I skimmed my kiss-damp lips down over the length of his body, stopping at the quarter-size dark rings of his nipples. I ran my mouth back and forth between the two, licking and sucking on them as Jacob moaned and grunted, holding my head in place on each one until I broke free and continued to lick my way on down the length of his body until reaching the head of his thick shaft and licking it a few times to his moans before plunging my mouth down over the wide head.

  “Oh fuck yeah!” Jacob sighed, pumping his hips up to shove his cock farther up into my throat as he splayed his hands over the back of my head. “Suck that cock!”

  Hmm, with all this verbal it was pretty clear this was not the first sex rodeo Jacob had been in. While my mouth was still buried down over the full length of Jacob’s shaft, ringed with his soft blond pubic hair, he slid wildly around, pumping and sinking his mouth down over my throbbing piece. Movie forgotten, we fell into the sixty-nine of all sixty-nines, both of us running our hands over each other’s asses. Jacob sucked like a pro, easing his mouth up and down over my dick while squeezing my cheeks and pulling me in against him.

  Moving my mouth free of his shaft I pulled us back against the bed, our heads falling
onto the crumpled pillows in another long hot kiss. Jacob pushed his tongue deep into my mouth with me following suit as we slashed our mouth-slick dicks together, bodies clammy with sweat. Pulling my mouth from Jacob’s, I swept a hand over his short hair, grinning down at him at the same time. Fuckin’ wet dream come true…

  “Wanna fuck? Saw some stuff in your kit.” He grinned.

  “Long as you do me, man.” I smiled back, darting down for a kiss before rolling off my buddy and grabbing the rubbers and lube from the bedside table.

  I dabbed some of the clear jelly into one of the condoms, then slicked it down over Jacob’s throbbing shaft, squeezing the wide head as he crossed his muscular arms behind his head. He smiled up at me as I swung a leg over his body and reached back to fit the wide head of his shaft up against the puckering hole of my ass and eased down onto it.

  “Fuck!” he hissed, eyes closed as he reached up and grabbed my hips, holding me as I pushed down onto his dick. Falling forward I grabbed the pillow on the left and right of Jacob’s head as he lifted his muscular thighs and pulled me up against his body, holding me tight up against himself while pounding his thick cock up into me. I started to move my arms just as Jacob moved his, wrapping them around my back to pull me down against him, our mouths pressing together, tongues slowly going in and out between our lips while his dick slid deep into my asshole. Time seemed to stand still as he moved in and out of me.

  Pushing myself back onto the bed, I rolled Jacob over on top of me, his cock never leaving my hole as he continued fucking me, my arms wrapped around his back, and held him tight. We continued kissing until Jacob finally broke our mouths apart and lifted me higher until he was pile-driving his dick into me. Long, ragged streaks of his sweat tracked down over his body and rained down on me, my hard cock pushed up into the flat muscles of my stomach as he braced himself on my legs.

  “Gonna go, man, here it comes,” Jacob moaned while slamming himself into me. I could feel the throb of his dick in the tight, slick muscles of my ass. “Yeah, man, gonna go…”

  “Come on me,” I groaned as he stroked in and out. I grabbed the base of Jacob’s dick and held it in a circle of fingers until I felt him begin to blow, his cock throbbing sexily against my fingers as I slowly skinned the rubber up over the end of his cock until only the tip was pushing in and out. When he began to yelp I yanked the rubber off and squeezed the head until he shot, face scrunched up in concentration. I held his dick until his hot come slashed out over me, covering my cock with his thick white-hot slime.

  “Oh yeah, fuckin shoot, man!” I encouraged, “Fuckin yeah…”

  As I was covered with hot, slick come I grabbed my own cock and gave a few strokes, shooting my own hot load over my body. Jacob collapsed onto the bed next to me, panting choppily. We lay quietly for a moment, sweat and come dripping down over the side of my stomach, after the most amazing s-e-x I’d ever had!

  “That was fun. Gotta smoke in that bag of tricks of yours?” innocent Jacob Miller turned his head and asked.

  “Man, how deep is that quiet well of you?”

  Shrugging, he traced a broad finger through the pool of come on my stomach and smiled, his high beam that I could have seen through the filtered light of the porn (gay porn…) playing on the television opposite the bed.

  “Let’s get high and talk about it.”

  Fuck. It was going to be a long hot weekend, and I doubted that we’d even leave the room, blowing off the wedding just like I’d blown off the couple.

  But it would be so worth our buddies’ anger, I thought as my cock started to get hard again and I rolled off the bed to get the smokes, both kinds, out of my shaving kit.

  LET US GO DOWN TO THE SEA

  Michael Bracken

  I worked behind the bar at McGinty’s, pouring drafts and opening bottles for hardworking men fresh off the boats and for tourists seeking authentic dockside experiences. The place had been in continuous operation since the late 1800s, with modern conveniences such as electricity, indoor plumbing and pressurized beer dispensers added over the years. The years had been good to me as well, but though I’d matured from delicate to wiry, I remained too short to look most men in the eye.

  There were a few rooms on the second floor, but the only one still furnished was a one-room efficiency where Peg-Leg Pete had lived before his daughters moved him to a nursing home. When one of our regulars had too much to drink, I would walk him upstairs to Pete’s room and let him sleep it off. Sometimes I even crashed there myself, remembering the nights when we were young that I had spent in Pete’s arms.

  At the front of the building, over the entrance to the bar, Pete’s room faced the harbor, and anyone standing at the window could watch the fishing boats leave each morning and return each evening. Pete had often done just that, and he never failed to keep me apprised of the comings and goings of all the vessels in the harbor, from the working craft for which it was their home port to the pleasure craft that occasionally visited. We often joked that Pete was waiting for his ship to come in, but little did I know that he wouldn’t be watching the harbor when it did.

  The Veterans Administration would probably have helped Pete obtain a prosthetic limb, but he would have none of it and pshawed anyone who made the suggestion. His wooden leg, the eye patch he sometimes wore over his left eye and sometimes wore over his right, his grizzled mug with its permanent three-day growth of gray stubble, and his oft-told tale of losing the bottom half of his left leg to a great white shark that rivaled anything Peter Benchley ever created had tourists lining up to buy his beer. The fact that he could see perfectly well out of both eyes and that he’d actually lost his leg when it caught in a cable being drawn in by a purse-line winch while working on an American seiner in 1951 didn’t slow him down any. His tale of battling the shark just grew as the years passed.

  I missed Pete after his daughters had him taken to the home, and I visited when I could. I sat with him, held his hand and shared whatever dockside gossip I had heard in the bar that week. I didn’t know if he heard me or even knew I was there, but it comforted me to know that he might. He had been the only man I ever loved in a community where one could never express that love in public.

  Afterward, I would return to my home, uphill and six blocks inland from McGinty’s, open a Sam Adams and sit in the living room staring at the harbor and the Atlantic Ocean beyond, remembering those carefree days before the navy took Pete away to search for Nazi U-boats, when we spent days in his skiff, skinny-dipping in a secluded cove we discovered and cooking fresh-caught fish over open fires on the beach. After the war, Pete did what every red-blooded American boy did back then: married and produced a new generation of Americans. His marriage was over long before he lost his leg, but he and his wife kept up appearances for years, she turning a blind eye to my relationship with Pete.

  When his youngest daughter graduated from high school, Pete left his wife and took a room on the second floor of McGinty’s, where I had been working—first as a busboy and later as a bartender—ever since my 4-F status prevented me from joining Pete on the front lines.

  I often cadged two beers from the cooler and carried them upstairs to Pete’s room. Some nights we would just sit and drink and talk and stare out at the harbor. Other nights we were more physical, and we made love until the wee hours of the morning when I had to slip out and return to my own home before the town awoke.

  Late one fall afternoon, a few months after Pete had moved out, I saw a thirty-five-foot Beneteau First 35 motoring into the harbor, its sail down and a burly, dark-haired man at the wheel. I was headed in to work and I paused on the cobblestone street outside McGinty’s to watch the sailboat dock and its lone occupant disembark. Somehow, I knew I would see him again later that day.

  Had Pete still been around, he would have known everything there was to know about the stranger, and he would have shared that information with me before the man walked into McGinty’s late that night and straddled the stool at the end of
the bar under the neon Sam Adams sign, the same stool Pete had preferred during his days of beer drinking and tale spinning.

  The stranger’s black hair hung in ringlets to his broad shoulders and his beard brushed his thick chest whenever he moved his head. His skin, what was visible of it through the tattoo sleeves and the mask of hair, had been tanned the color of aged leather. He ordered dark rum, and the tumbler in which I served it disappeared when he wrapped one meaty fist around the glass. Business was slow, with only locals occupying the place until the stranger’s arrival, so I tried to engage him in conversation between orders. When I asked his name, he said, “People call me the Captain.”

  I said, “I’ve not seen you here before.”

  “I don’t usually sail this far north.”

  “So where you from?”

  “It’s not where I’m from that’s important,” the captain said, “it’s where I’m going.”

  I bit. “So, where are you going?”

  He smiled through his beard. “We’re all going the same place, John,” he said, “eventually.”

  I replaced his empty tumbler with a fresh one and moved down the bar to wait on two brothers who were busy trying to drink each other under the table. Not until sometime later did I realize I hadn’t told the captain my name and, unlike bartenders at hotels and chain restaurants, wasn’t required to wear any form of name badge. I puzzled on that while I poured beer, freshened bar snacks and swapped gossip with the sea-salted fishermen who found McGinty’s a dark, wood-paneled purgatory between the hell of their homes and the heaven of the open sea.

  When I finally returned to his end of the bar, the captain had finished his second tumbler of rum and was ready for a third. As I slid it across the worn wood of the bar, I asked, “Do we know each other from somewhere?”