Sexy Sailors

by Neil Plakcy

  “Where am I going to find someone to replace you?” I groused.

  “Try craigslist. There are all kinds of crazy ads online there.” Then he hung up, leaving me crewless.

  I’ve built a list of recreational sailors I can call on for part-time work—bartenders, substitute teachers, the able retired and so on. They have to be knowledgeable enough about boats to be trusted with a pricey yacht, as well as available for irregular work on short notice.

  I spent the next hour on the phone but came up with nothing. The trip up the Intracoastal to Hilton Head was going to take most of a week, and no one else could swing the scheduling. I was willing to try anything at that point, so I put together a quick ad for craigslist. Wanted: experienced sailor to assist with yacht transport from Ft. Lauderdale to Hilton Head. Salary plus return transport. I added the dates we’d be gone and my email address and chose the help wanted column. Just for grins, I also posted it under men seeking men.

  I was irritated about the short notice, and also about losing the benefits that came with sailing with Rob—watching his handsome tanned body at work, cranking sails or polishing teak wearing nothing more than a pair of deck shoes and a smile. And every once in a while, when he was horny and could forget that I was twenty-plus years older than he was, we had amazing, mind-blowing sex.

  It’s hard to be a single fifty-something gay man; you’re invisible in a bar until you open up your wallet and start stuffing bills into a dancer’s thong or buying drinks for a twink who’s always looking over your shoulder to see who else is coming in. I’ve tried dating guys my own age, but the ones who aren’t already partnered are usually single for a reason, either physical or emotional. Not that I’m picky, but I draw the line at morbidly obese, suicidally depressed and chronically unemployed.

  I was about to give up and call the client to reschedule or cancel when my computer pinged to announce a new email. It was from an address I didn’t recognize, FLguy52, and the subject line read craigslist ad.

  My heart skipped a beat. Was it someone looking for sex? Or a guy who could sail? At that point, I was hoping it was a sailor.

  Eddie wrote that he’d been sailing since he was a kid and had owned his own boat back in New Jersey. He was available when I needed him, but wanted to know more about the job. He ended with his cell phone number, and I called him immediately.

  We talked for a couple of minutes, then made plans to meet later that evening for coffee at the Panera Bread on Federal Highway in Fort Lauderdale. “How will I recognize you?” he asked.

  I was about to say that if he was under thirty he’d probably look right through me, but instead I said, “Fifty-four, dark hair and glasses. I’ll be wearing a baby blue polo shirt with Brooks Yacht Transport on it.”

  “Baby blue,” he said. “I can find that.”

  I picked him out as soon as he walked in the place. His dark hair was salted with gray and slicked back, showing off a receding hairline. He wore a Tiffany rubber choker with a titanium clasp, a Tommy Bahama Hawaiian shirt and white shorts. His face was round and friendly, and he was, like me, about twenty pounds over his optimum weight. But his skin was a ruddy tan, a good sign among sailors.

  “I’m Phil Brooks,” I said, standing up and sticking out my hand.

  “Eddie Kanter,” he said. “With a K.”

  We both got coffee and sat at a table by the window. “The boat’s a sixty-four-foot Offshore Voyager—a sportfisher. You know it?”

  He shook his head. “Mostly stuck to sailboats. The biggest I’ve ever had was a thirty-two-foot Pearson with a fifteen horsepower engine. But I’ve been on every kind of boat you can imagine, helped out with sails, tiller, even a little engine maintenance.”

  “You still have a boat?” I asked.

  “When I got divorced, my wife got the house, the kids and the IRAs, as well as my left testicle. I sold the Pearson when I moved down here.”

  That settled it. He’d seen the ad under the help wanted section. Too bad. “What kind of work do you do?”

  “I used to be an investment banker. Right now I’m treading that fine line between being retired and unemployed. A little consulting pays my bills. So I’m available for adventure.”

  “Won’t be very adventurous sailing up the Intracoastal,” I said. “But I can use somebody who’s emotionally stable, comfortable around boats and ready to take off tomorrow.”

  “According to my ex, I’m not a paragon of stability, but I can manage the last two.”

  “I want you and I need you, so two out of three ain’t bad. The job’s yours.”

  “Anyone who can quote a Meat Loaf song is all right in my book,” he said. “I’ll take it.”

  We went over the details and I had him sign a bunch of forms, and then we stood up and shook hands. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning at the dock,” I said.

  Our departure day dawned clear and sunny. Eddie arrived at the boatyard on the New River in downtown Fort Lauderdale by cab. “If I’d known you needed a ride, I’d have offered,” I said, taking one of his big L.L.Bean duffels.

  “I wasn’t sure what the parking would be like here. It’s no big deal.”

  He followed me down the dock, tugging his second duffel. “I brought too much with me,” he said. “But I like having my own boat crap.”

  “Good idea. Especially with these transportation jobs, you never know whether there will be the kind of wrench you need. I travel pretty heavy myself.”

  He whistled as we approached the Second Star. “This is it?” he asked.

  It was an impressive boat, and that’s saying something, considering everything I’ve driven. “712 horsepower Cat C12 engines,” I said. “40 horsepower bow and stern thrusters, three cabins with ensuite heads, and a four-sided flybridge enclosure with Lexan windows.”

  “I’ve been wasting my life with sailboats,” he said as we stepped over the railing onto the teak transom.

  “Stick with me, and you’ll be spending a lot of time on boats like this.” I led him below and we stowed his bags. After a tour of the boat we cast off and started east, moving slowly out past the finger islands of Las Olas Isles until we could turn into the waterway proper and start heading north.

  “People sure know how to live down here,” Eddie said as we passed one million-dollar home after another. We kept the speed down to between six and eight knots because of all the no-wake zones, passing the occasional sailboat or Jet Ski. The owner had specifically said we weren’t to take the boat out into the open ocean, so we were restricted to the Intracoastal, also called “the Ditch.”

  We kept going north, past the mansions and high-rises of Palm Beach. I was navigating from inside the Portuguese bridge when Eddie went out onto the foredeck to check the ropes coiled there. He was sweating pretty fast in the warm spring air, and he pulled off his T-shirt, giving me an up close and personal look at his upper body.

  It wasn’t a bad view. He was stocky, with a stomach that was more round than flat, but his arms were well-muscled. His skin was smooth, with a trail of hair from between his pecs that led down to his waistline, and I could just see a tantalizing line of white where his tan died. My dick popped up but I tried to ignore it. I was over lusting after straight guys.

  The rest of the day was a straightforward trip up the Ditch to Jensen Beach, where we stopped for the night at the Nettles Island Marina. I had stocked the fridge, so we fixed ourselves dinner and sat out on the deck to eat and drink.

  It was a gorgeous sunset, the kind just made for sharing with someone you love. Unfortunately I was with Eddie Kanter, and though I could see myself falling in lust with his smooth back, his tight ass and what I guessed was a sizable dick, it wasn’t going to happen. Just looking over at him made my own dick swell, and I had to shift my legs to cover it up.

  “You make a mean mojito,” Eddie said.

  “The secret is the fresh mint,” I said. “I grow it in my backyard, and I always pack some up whenever I travel.”

  “You
ever bring women along as crew?” he asked.

  “Sure. I know a bunch of women who can manage any kind of a boat.”

  “Seems like it would be hard to stay professional in a setting like this.”

  “Not a problem for me.” I looked over at him. I hated hiding, and if I’d spent more than a half hour with Eddie before we embarked on this trip I’d have come out to him long before we got on the water. “I’m gay, Eddie. I hope that isn’t a problem for you.”

  “You’re gay?” He started to laugh.

  The confusion must have shown on my face, because he stopped laughing. “Sorry. I’ve been trying so hard not to out myself all day because I thought you were straight and I was worried it would make you uncomfortable.”

  “But you were married,” I said.

  “I knew right away it was wrong, but I couldn’t find my way out.” He took a long drink of his mojito. “I did a lot of stupid things. Sex in men’s rooms, at truck stops. When I traveled for business I’d find a gay bar, spend some money and get laid.”

  “Your wife never knew?”

  “Not for a long time. Then a couple of years ago she started seeing a therapist to work out her issues. One of them was me, and the fact that I didn’t show her any physical attention. She dragged me to see the therapist after a year, and it took less than a month of sessions before I told them both I was gay and wanted out of the marriage.”

  “That must have been tough.”

  “By that point it was a relief more than anything else. Fortunately I was making a lot of money, and it was easy to buy her off. I got myself an apartment in Manhattan and tried to start over again.”

  Heat lightning crackled across the landscape. At first I thought we were due for another storm, but after a few flashes I saw the difference. Heat lightning lights up the whole sky for a long second, darts around quickly like a little kid waving a sparkler. No long, thin wand of light and no thunder.

  The sky flashed, electrifying the air around us. Or maybe that was sexual tension. I’ll bet Eddie felt it, too, because he swallowed the last of his drink and stood up. “I’m going to hit the hay. See you in the morning.”

  I stayed up on deck for a while longer, nursing my drink, thinking about Eddie. My dick stiffened and pressed against my shorts as I thought about him stripping down in his cabin, sliding that smooth, naked body beneath the sheets. I was tempted to whip my dick out right then and take care of myself, but I resisted.

  The next morning, the sky was streaked with red and heavy cumulus clouds hung over the barrier island that separated the Intracoastal from the Atlantic. “I figure we’ll get as far as we can today,” I said when Eddie and I began readying the boat to leave. “I’m not taking any chances, but I want to keep as close to the schedule as I can.”

  “Where are we headed?” he asked, as he untied the bow line.

  “I have a reservation at a marina near Cape Canaveral,” I said. “But if the storm gets heavy we’ll just find a protected harbor and wait it out.”

  Eddie and I talked and joked as we worked, alternating steering and navigating. He was a comfortable partner to have around. I kept an eye on the storm clouds, always checking the charts for a place we could stop if we had to.

  The storm came on us fast, when we were about halfway between safe harbors. We had no choice but to keep going, even though the rain was coming down in sheets and we had almost no visibility. Fortunately everyone else had enough sense to have already pulled into harbor. Eddie stayed out at the bow, making sure we stayed between the channel markers, and quickly he was soaked through.

  The Intracoastal had widened out just south of Sebastian, and I didn’t like being in the middle of so much open water when the rain was so heavy. I was relieved when I saw a harbor ahead of us and I was able to steer into shelter.

  Eddie threw out the anchor and then came inside, dripping water. “I’d better get out of these clothes before I get the whole damn boat soaked,” he said, pulling his polo shirt off over his head. I took it from him and began to wring it out in the kitchen sink. By the time I turned around again, he was naked, holding his shorts and boxers in one hand, his deck shoes in the other.

  “I can take care of these,” he said.

  I looked him up and down. I’d already admired the smooth chest with the treasure trail of hair between his pecs, but now I could see that it led to a bush of wiry hair surrounding a generously sized penis, hanging half-hard. As I watched, it began to stiffen.

  “How about that,” I said, nodding downward. “Can I take care of that for you?”

  He tossed the clothes and shoes into the sink and smiled, and I took that as an invitation. I got down on my knees on the stateroom carpet and slid my mouth over his dick. He tasted like salt water, sweat and male musk, and I loved it.

  He groaned with pleasure. I started suctioning up and down on his dick, reaching up with one hand to fondle his nuts, then stroke his perineum. Quickly, though, he backed away. “I don’t want to come so fast,” he said. “The storm’s still got a while to play out. How about if we go below and you get naked, too?”

  “I like the way you think,” I said, standing up. “My knees weren’t going to last in that position for long anyway.”

  I led him down to the owner’s cabin where I’d been sleeping, pulling off my shirt and kicking off my deck shoes as we went. When we got to the cabin he tugged me toward him and kissed me.

  His chest was cold and wet and I wrapped my arms around him to warm him up. He got busy undoing my shorts and pushing them and my boxer briefs down to the deck, and we were both standing there naked, our stiff dicks pressed together as we hugged.

  I backed away from him and took his hand. I lay down on the bed, him next to me, and we kissed again. It was nice to be with a guy who wanted to take things slow, and I explored his body with my fingers, looping one leg over his. He stroked and then pinched my nipples, and I arched my back with pleasure.

  Then he went down on me, first slurping his tongue up and down my dick, then taking me in his mouth. I pushed his shoulder to turn him around, and we lay mouth to dick, both of us sucking for all we were worth. The boat was rocking in the waves, sliding us together and apart, making it a wild ride.

  He came first; but then, I’d already warmed him up in the salon. I swallowed his load and then focused on my own pleasure. He kept on sucking me until I felt those shudders rising, and I squeezed my eyes closed and whimpered as I shot off in his mouth.

  We cuddled until the wind died down. Then I stretched and said, “We’d better get back to work. I’d like to try for Canaveral if we can still make it.”

  He went back to his cabin to clean up and find dry clothes, and I found my clothes scattered around and dressed. He lifted the anchor and we went back out into the Ditch.

  We worked quietly through the afternoon, neither of us saying anything more than necessary. I couldn’t stop thinking about him, though. Rob, the bartender who was supposed to have joined me, gave great head and had a sexy, athletic body. But I always had the feeling he was going through the motions when we had sex.

  Eddie, though, was a different story. I felt something from him I hadn’t felt in a long time, a longing and a passion. But was it for me, or just because he’d been starved for dick? I didn’t like not knowing.

  The skies cleared, and by the time we docked at a marina south of Titusville, the air was fresh and slightly cool. We sat up on the deck with more mojitos. “How’d you end up down here?” I asked Eddie.

  “I got tired of being invisible in New York. So I researched places where older gay men live. Provincetown’s too cold. Scottsdale’s too far from the ocean. So Wilton Manors won by default. I thought I’d move down here and there would be older guys lined up just looking for romance. My mistake. Turns out all the guys my age are partnered up, and the younger ones are just as shallow and self-obsessed as the ones in New York.”

  “Not all the guys your age,” I said.

  “What’s
your deal, then?” he asked. “You’re a good-looking, stable guy. Why hasn’t somebody snapped you up?”

  I shook my head. “I had a bunch of short-term things, but none of them worked out for the long term.”

  “Why not?”

  I wasn’t going to put the blame on the losers I’d dated because the fault was probably mine as much as theirs. “I like my independence,” I said. “And I’m not changing careers just so I can be somebody’s regular date.”

  We both finished our drinks about the same time. “You want another?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “I’ve got enough of a buzz. We should both probably get some sleep, anyway.”

  Was that going to be it? Or was he waiting for an invitation from me?

  “I don’t know how comfortable that crew bunk is,” I said. “The bed in the owner’s cabin is pretty choice, though.”

  “And it seemed big enough for the both of us earlier,” Eddie said.

  I stood up, and he followed me below. We were both kind of shy about stripping, though, now that the heat of passion was gone, and while he was in the head I got naked and slipped beneath the covers. I turned sideways to give him some privacy, and then he slid in beside me, naked, too. He put one arm over my shoulder and cuddled close, and we both fell asleep.

  We woke at first light, both of us shy, and we dressed quickly and got under way. I wondered if Eddie was going to be the kind of guy who had to analyze everything about a relationship, or if he’d look at what we were doing just as sex.

  But we quickly hit a lot of fishing traffic, and both of us had too much to do for idle chitchat. “They all come in bunches,” Eddie said, standing beside me at the helm as a line of big sport fishermen rushed past us on their way out to the cut north of Anastasia State Park, to fight for amberjack and dolphin at the drop-off. “Like children playing follow the leader.”