by Neil Plakcy
“Whatcha doin’ back there, laddie?” he asked, grinning, once he came up for air.
“Little trick I done learned back East,” I replied with a wink. “Care to see it?”
My wink got volleyed back. “I’m game.” He backed an inch away and we looked down at our rock-hard cocks, which were dripping something fierce by then. “Looks like they’re game, as well.”
He walked me over to his bunk and hopped on in, body prone, splayed out before me. Was a beautiful sight to see, too. “You’re a fine-looking man, Jack,” I managed, getting in there with him, my body again on his, lips pressed up so snug it was impossible to tell where I ended and he began. “Bet you taste just as good,” I added, soon enough.
“Only one way to tell, laddie,” he whispered in my ear before taking a gnash on a tender lobe.
I moaned and eagerly began my move down him, my chin making its way through a field of red chest hair, across his peaks and valleys, kissing and nibbling my way to his prick, which stood at rapt attention, waiting patiently for me in the center of it all. See, I might not have kissed a man before, but I sure as hell sucked me some cock in my day. Only, maybe none quite as big as Jack’s.
Over and down my mouth went, spunk hitting the back of my throat like a bullet as I managed as much of his meat as I could, a gagging tear dripping down my cheek. For his part, Jack moaned and groaned and pushed down on my head with his mighty grip. “Aye, laddie, suck that log of mine.”
And so I did, sucking and jacking it, all the while yanking and twisting his heavy, hairy nuts, until I had his back arched up and off the cot, his groans bouncing around all that wood that surrounded us. Then my mouth went south, licking its way down the length of his massive tool, lapping its way across and around his balls, which I sucked on with abandon.
Only, I wasn’t done just yet. Not by a mile, I wasn’t. I done lifted his legs up and out, his puckered hole coming into view, haloed in a ring of fire-red hair, winking out at me all come-hither like. The rain had washed him out clean as a whistle, with my tongue happily finishing the job. Eagerly, I dove on in, sucking that pretty asshole of his for all it was worth, licking and lapping at it before I glided my tongue inside, all while he jacked his cock, balls banging my forehead, his body thrashing atop the creaking cot.
“Better fill her up, laddie,” he grunted, “before I blow.”
Seeing as my own cock was getting jacked to just before blowing, I jumped up onto my knees, spat on his hole and my prick, and then teased my head inside him. All of a sudden, my body sizzled, a spark riding up my spine as I slid it on home. My face tilted back, mouth in a pant, as his asshole gripped at my cock, sucking it in deeper, until my balls were banging up against his rump.
I stared down at him, him up at me, his fist working fast on that giant club of his, muscles so tense you could see them etched across his body. “Aye now, laddie, fuck me hard,” he rasped.
“Gladly, Jack,” I groaned, ramming my cock deep inside his ass before yanking it out and then shoving it in again, out and in, out and in, pummeling his hole but good, my bones no longer cold and aching but on fire now, sweat pouring down my body in a mighty stream. Then I was so deep up in him that I nearly cracked him in two.
“Fuuuck,” he groaned, the sound traveling down his body and up into mine, just as that giant pecker of his shot and shot and shot, one thick band of come after the next, rising high up in the air before it came splashing down on his chest and belly.
“Fuuuck,” I echoed, a giant wad of come filling him up before seeping out his hole and dripping down to the cot below, my body twitching, butt grinding as I came and came and came some more.
Panting now, I popped my prick out of his ass and collapsed on top of him, our mouths again finding each other, tongues snaking and coiling, hands roaming, all with that sticky man-sap of his covering us both. Exhausted, I soon rolled off and spooned him from the side, my cheek on his shoulder, finger plucking at one of his thick nipples, my body fully relaxed at long last.
Guess I fell asleep like that, too, because when I woke up, he was gone. It was just me and the cot, both of us sticky with dried come. I started to rise, but heard a voice up above, then two. It was Jack and another man. I waited, realizing we weren’t moving anymore, just rocking in place. My heart started to beat fast all of a sudden. This was it, I realized. Time for the swap. Me for the coins; my life never the same again.
“Where is he?” asked the stranger.
“Gone,” said Jack as I sucked in my breath. “Lost in the storm.”
The other man laughed. “Guess you came up here for nothing then, Jack.”
Jack laughed, too. I pictured his head titled back, wild mess of hair flying in the breeze. “Well now, I wouldn’t say that.”
I sat up as they walked above me, until only one of the men was left. Then I listened as the feet came charging down. “What are you doing just lounging there, laddie? Be quick about you.”
I sat up, legs dangling off the side of the cot, and stared at him, unsure of what to do next. Had I been sold or not? “Quick about what, Jack?” I asked, voice nearly catching in my throat.
He moved in and crouched in front of me, hands on my thighs, green eyes sparkling like emeralds. “First-mate duties, laddie,” he said, with a wink. “Gotta teach you how to work this old girl, so that the next storm won’t be as bad for us.”
“The next one, huh?” I said, bending down to brush my lips against his, his beard now dry and tickling my chin.
He gripped my cock, which was already rising and growing thick. “Aye,” he said, leaning in to slap it against his mouth. “The next one, and the one after that and the one after that.” He looked up at me, his tongue licking off the sticky jizz from the tip of my prick. “Guess I’ve been out here alone long enough. I s’pose I could use me some help.”
I chuckled and slid my steely cock inside his opened mouth. “Looks like I struck gold, after all, Jack,” I moaned, hands running through that fiery mane of his. “And a mighty thick vein of it, too.”
SAILING LESSONS
Aaron Michaels
The boat was going to capsize.
T.J. kicked his feet to keep his head above water. The life jacket did a good enough job, just like it was supposed to, but the late-afternoon wind made the water on the lake choppy. He didn’t mind playing the helpless man overboard—it was all part of Uncle Raymond’s sailing lesson and T.J. was a pretty good swimmer—but he was sure the lesson wasn’t supposed to include capsizing the damn sailboat. All his uncle was supposed to do was turn the boat around and bring it back to pick up T.J. He wasn’t supposed to turn it so sharply that the wind caught the sail wrong and blew the whole thing over.
I’m never going to hear the end of this, T.J. thought as he watched Raymond slide into the water as the boat rolled over on its side. At least the float on top of the single mast would keep the boat from turning completely upside down, and the instructor was on board to help Raymond right the thing, but the look of pure horror on Raymond’s face said volumes. The lesson was over.
All T.J. had wanted to do was give his uncle a nice birthday present. Raymond had always said he’d wanted to learn how to sail. Ever since Aunt Gladdie had taken up with a man half her (and Raymond’s) age, T.J.’s uncle had done little except sit around the house. Fifty-two was too young to crawl into a cave and mope, so T.J. had purchased—at no small expense, mind you—sailing lessons for his uncle. Raymond had insisted that the only proper way to thank T.J. was to bring him along on what was supposed to be the last lesson in the series, since Raymond needed a volunteer to pretend to fall off the boat. T.J. figured he’d have an easy afternoon at the lake. An added bonus was discovering the sailboat instructor was pretty easy on the eyes.
The safety boat motored up next to T.J. “You need a hand?” yelled the young woman at the rail.
“Give me a minute,” T.J. yelled back.
He really wanted to give his uncle a chance to finish the lesson
, but it didn’t look like that was going to happen. The sailboat was small enough that one person could right it, but Raymond wasn’t even trying. He knew how—that had been the subject of an earlier lesson, the instructor had said, one T.J. hadn’t come along for—but now Raymond was just hanging on to the stern while the instructor worked to bring the boat upright.
Once the sail was out of the water, it was just a matter of counterbalance. The instructor climbed over the side and into the boat as the sail straightened, and the boat suddenly looked like a sailboat again instead of the victim of a tropical storm.
Of course, the instructor no doubt had tons of practice rescuing sailboats. He was a long, lean man in his late twenties, just like T.J., only where T.J. was fair, the instructor, whose name was Rick, was olive-skinned and dark-haired with an easy smile, a face that could have graced a fashion catalog, and a body that looked great in a cut-off wetsuit. He had the kind of natural athleticism that some guys were just born with. T.J. wasn’t in bad shape himself, but he had to work at it. Rick made righting the boat look easy. T.J. wondered what else Rick might make look easy, just like he’d spent half the lesson wondering what Rick would look like with his wetsuit off.
Even with the instructor on board, T.J.’s uncle still was making no move to hoist himself back on board and come rescue T.J.
Yup, the lesson was over.
“Guess I do need rescuing,” T.J. yelled at the young woman waiting at the rail.
The safety boat was the only motored boat allowed on the lake. Technically, it wasn’t really a lake, only a man-made marina created at the site of a former rock quarry. Small enough for an easy walk around the circumference but large enough to get a sailboat going a decent speed in the right wind, it was the only place in town to get sailing lessons. When T.J. had called for information, the staff at the marina had assured him that the lessons were perfectly safe, right down to the motorboat that shadowed the sailboats.
The man piloting the safety boat pulled it in front of T.J. so he could reach the float at the back. T.J. pulled himself out of the water and climbed aboard. The man looked over his shoulder. “Need a towel?” he asked.
T.J. shook his head. It was August and hot. The cold lake water had felt good.
“I don’t think your friend’s having a good time,” the woman said, nodding at where Rick, the instructor, was hauling Raymond out of the water.
“My uncle,” T.J. said automatically. “And you’re right, he isn’t.” So much for Raymond’s dream of being a sailor. “I thought this would be fun for him.”
“It still might be. This is his last lesson, right?”
T.J. nodded.
“Look at it this way.” She nodded at the sailboat. Raymond was sitting in the stern, his shoulders slumped, while Rick worked the sail. “Your uncle made it this far. A lot of people think sailing looks like fun. They take a lesson, realize it can be hard work, and they quit. He didn’t. Give him some credit. He’s not as young or in as good shape as you are.”
She said the last with a smile, and T.J. realized she was flirting with him. Why couldn’t it be the sexy sailing instructor doing the flirting? Then again, the guy was probably straight. T.J. hadn’t done any serious dating in so long, he was bound to have fantasies about any reasonably hot guy in a wetsuit, straight or not.
And now it looked like he wouldn’t even have the opportunity to watch Rick up close for the rest of the lesson. Instead of piloting the sailboat over so that T.J. could get back on board, the sailboat was heading back for the docks.
Leaving T.J. behind.
“Wow,” he said. “Guess I really do need rescuing. Can you give me a lift back to my car?”
The woman’s smile got bigger. “We have to stay on the lake until everyone’s headed back, but sure, you can hang out with us.”
Three other sailboats were on the lake. T.J. caught the guy at the wheel giving him a sympathetic look. Either the guy knew T.J. was gay, or more likely the woman was a serial flirter.
“You know what?” T.J. said to her. “I could really use a towel after all.”
He sat down on a bench seat while the woman retrieved a towel from a cabinet beneath the wheel.
It was going to be a long afternoon.
Uncle Raymond was nowhere to be found when T.J. finally made it back to the dock. Raymond hadn’t been waiting on the dock, so T.J. thought he might be drowning his sorrows at the bar in the dockside restaurant that overlooked the water, but he was gone.
And so was T.J.’s car.
What the hell?
They’d left their street clothes along with wallets, keys and cell phones in the same locker in the gym in a little row of shops next to the marina office. Raymond’s clothes—both street and wet boating clothes—and his phone were gone, along with T.J.’s car keys.
T.J. dialed Raymond’s cell phone. The call went right to voice mail.
“You took my car?” T.J. said. “It’s one thing to leave me stranded on the lake, but to take my car? I can’t believe you did that!” He made himself take a deep breath. “Look, call me, okay?” He disconnected the call. He probably shouldn’t talk to his uncle that way, but really. What kind of uncle swipes his nephew’s car?
“Having problems?”
T.J. turned around. Rick, the sailboat instructor, was standing behind him. He’d changed out of his wetsuit into cream-colored linen pants and a Hawaiian shirt. His hair was wet, but he smelled like shampoo, not lake water.
T.J. was suddenly aware that he hadn’t showered yet and probably didn’t smell all that good. “Uh, yeah.” He nodded toward the parking lot in front of the gym. “My uncle left me stranded.”
Rick’s eyes widened. “That was your car?” He shook his head. “Man, that takes balls.”
“Tell me about it.” T.J. had the money for a cab ride, but nobody who owned a car liked taking a cab. Not in their own hometown, especially not sober. Cab rides were for getting your drunken, bar-crawling butt home after a night out with friends.
“I saw him head out to the car,” Rick said, “but I figured you just met up here. If I’d have known…” He shrugged.
“Don’t worry about it. Shit happens.”
T.J. really needed to shower off, but this was the longest conversation he’d had with Rick without his uncle around, and if he hadn’t been so annoyed about his car, he might actually be enjoying himself.
Ah, well. Probably for the best. The guy no doubt had a gorgeous girlfriend at home.
“Let me buy you a drink,” Rick said.
T.J. blinked. Had he heard that right?
“You really look like you could use one, and if you’re taking a cab anyway…” Rick nodded toward the restaurant. “It’s the end of my day, and I usually hit happy hour before I go home. They have pretty good fried clams if you’re into that sort of thing.”
The restaurant had a seafood theme, so the fried clams weren’t all that surprising. The invitation for a drink was.
“Okay,” T.J. said, still wondering if this was just a let’s-be-chums drink.
Rick’s eyes drifted lower for a moment, then back up to T.J.’s face. Well, hello. T.J. guessed he had his answer.
“You might want to shower first, though. You’d be more comfortable,” Rick said.
T.J. grinned, his uncle’s behavior pretty much forgotten. “Won’t take me long,” he said.
“See you soon,” Rick said, grinning back.
The water in the shower was hot. T.J. had a momentary vision of Rick stripping off and joining him, but of course, that didn’t happen. Those type of things only happened in movies, and bad ones at that. The men’s locker room at the gym was too public. All the sailing lessons might be done for the day, but there were a few guys still working out in the gym. The shower stalls weren’t all that private.
After T.J. finished off his shower with a blast of cold water and changed into his street clothes, he called his uncle one more time. The call went to voice mail. Again. This time he did
n’t leave a message.
T.J. was surprised to find Rick was waiting for him in the gym. He’d thought they were going to meet up at the bar. He’d planned on using the short walk from the gym to the bar to think up conversation starters. He hadn’t been on a date in a long time. All he knew about Rick was that the guy gave sailing lessons. What else would they talk about?
He needn’t have worried. It turned out that conversation came as easy to Rick as his smile.
“Your uncle’s a pretty cool guy,” Rick said. “Well, when he’s not driving off in a car that doesn’t belong to him, but otherwise, from what I saw, he’s not bad for a guy whose life’s turned upside down.”
“You know about that?” T.J. didn’t think his uncle talked to anyone about what Aunt Gladdie had done.
“Guys his age, they come out for lessons for a couple of reasons. One—they’re having a delayed midlife crisis, and it’s a sailboat instead of a red convertible.”
T.J. couldn’t imagine his uncle in a convertible. The man drove a ten-year-old Lincoln.
“Two,” Rick said. “They’re retired and want something to do with their time besides gardening and golf.”
Raymond had never shown any interest in golf.
“Or three—someone gave them a present because they thought the guy could use some cheering up.”
T.J. felt his cheeks flush. “That would be me, and he did. But I only did it because when I was little, he always told me that someday he wanted to sail.”
“He told me about that, too,” Rick said. “Let’s see if I’ve got this straight. He used to take you to the park so you could play with toy boats on this little pond. One day this bigger kid and his dad came along with one of those remote-controlled motorized boats, and the wake knocked your sailboat over. Your uncle told you not to worry.”
“That a sailboat was more elegant,” T.J. said, repeating what his uncle had told him back then. He’d almost forgotten about that day, it had been so long ago. After T.J.’s dad had left, Uncle Raymond had become like a dad to T.J., at least until T.J.’s mother had remarried. “He said if he ever wanted to be on the water, it would be on a sailboat.” He looked at Rick. “I can’t believe he told you that.”