by Neil Plakcy
“No,” I said miserably. “God, babe. I’m so sorry. I know how much you love being on the ocean, and I just suck at it. I kept hoping there’d be, I don’t know, a typhoon or the cruise would be overbooked or my reservation would be miraculously canceled. Pretty much anything so I wouldn’t have to tell you I get sick in a rowboat. Then we could keep going on like we were, with you going to work and having fun on your cruises and me going rock climbing and shit like that, then coming home and telling each other about what we’d done. And we could fuck and go dancing and cook together and do all the other fun stuff we do, and I wouldn’t have to go anywhere near the fucking water.”
“Or go on cruises with me,” he sighed. “You asshole.” He stood up and took his cell phone out of his pocket. “The first thing we need to do is get a different room, one with fresh air and more in the middle of the ship and lower down. That way you won’t feel the rise and fall of the ocean so much.”
The words “rise and fall” made me break out in another cold sweat. But I really was feeling better. Or at least I seemed to be done puking. I watched his crisp new khaki shorts hug his ass as he strode around the tiny room, making arrangements for a different room “amidships,” whatever the hell that meant. Then he pulled out his wallet and took out a credit card.
“Yeah, I know it’s one hell of an upgrade. Just get us there fast, okay? He’s finally quit puking, but I don’t know how much longer he’ll be awake now that the Compazine has kicked in.”
Shit, the drugs were going to put me to sleep? Even as I thought it, I yawned. Fuck, I was suddenly so tired I could barely keep my eyes open.
“Not yet!” Brendan said, suddenly squatting next to me. He slid his arm under my shoulders, the phone cricked in his ear. “Thanks, man. I owe you one.” He flipped the phone closed and eased me to my feet. “Come on, hot stuff. We’re relocating to a honeymoon suite. That should be a whole lot easier on your dainty equilibrium. But you have to get there under your own power.”
Twenty minutes later, I was ensconced naked on fresh, cool white sheets in a suite the size of a premier hotel room. My eyelids were so heavy I knew I was losing the battle to stay awake. But the ocean seemed to have calmed. At least the room wasn’t swaying as much as it had been before. A cool breeze blew in from the open door to the balcony. Brendan was seated in a chair across from me, playing with his e-book reader. Damn, he was so fucking gorgeous. And I was so in love with him. I couldn’t believe how much of an asshole I’d been.
“I’m so sorry, babe,” I said, stifling another gigantic yawn. The whole room was getting fuzzy. Then it was black.
I vaguely remembered getting up to use what Brendan called “the head” during the night. He’d steered me back to bed and spooned up in back of me, his dick poking me in the kidney as I drifted back to sleep. The next thing I knew, sunlight streamed in through the curtains billowing in front of the partly opened balcony door. I carefully rolled over. I was queasy, but it wasn’t too bad. On the nightstand, a note was propped next to a bottle of water, a couple packets of crackers, and my next dose of Compazine.
Compazine first. When your stomach is settled, nibble the crackers and take small sips of the water. I’ll be back in a couple hours. I have to cover for a friend. Love you—you asshole.
I smiled, just a little bit, and followed orders. When I woke up again, Brendan was sitting naked in the chair by the bed again, jerking off.
“Don’t move,” he said, breathing hard as his hand moved slick and leisurely over his long, slender dick. It was deep red, a pearl of precum leaking from the beautiful cut head as he squeezed. His other hand tugged on his balls. They were dark red and climbing his shaft. Fuck, he was close! His nipples poked up hard from the mat of blond hair on his deeply tanned chest. His thighs flexed as he lifted his hips, stroking faster.
“I get so horny on the ocean,” he panted. “I wanted to jerk off together with you, this first time. But I can’t wait. I’m so fucking h-hard.”
Despite the drugs fogging my system, I had a morning woody, too. I carefully eased the covers back with one foot and took my dick in my hand.
“Fuck,” he whispered, his hand flying over his shaft.
I stroked up once, running my thumb over the already slick head. I looked him in the eye and licked my lips.
His eyes glazed and cum spurted up onto his chest. Fuck, I love the sounds Brendan makes when he’s coming. He grunts and pants and fucks his dick up into his fist. Watching him come always makes me shoot. I shook, my eyes still locked on his as the most awesome fucking orgasm I’d felt in a long time rocked my entire body.
“I love you,” I whispered.
“I love you, too,” he panted, tipping his head back and closing his eyes, shuddering as he squeezed the last drops from his shaft. “And you’re still an asshole.”
I stroked my thoroughly spent cock, watching his breathing slow. When he opened his eyes again, he smiled and stood up, holding his hand out to me. “Let’s go take a shower. Then we’re going to have a light breakfast on the balcony and walk around the ship. The fresh air and moving will help acclimate you.”
I let him pull me gingerly to my feet. My stomach still wasn’t happy, but it was better than it had been the night before.
“Don’t worry,” Brendan said, squeezing my hand. “The Compazine should hold you for a while, and I’ve got some Sea-Bands for you. We’ll stop by Jeff’s office and see what other meds will work for you. Maybe you’ll feel well enough by tonight to fuck me.”
Jeff. The ship’s doctor. My face heated, but as I opened my mouth to speak, Brendan smiled and squeezed my ass.
“Or maybe I’ll just fuck you.”
That would work, too! I grinned back at him like an idiot. In the daylight, I could see the clear-walled shower was big enough for two. Brendan loved fucking in the shower. All I had to do was keep my stomach settled.
That turned out to be easier said than done. I slavishly followed Jeff’s directions, but I missed most of the first port call in Mexico. I was zonked out on meds that, thank god, I was finally able to swallow. Brendan was disappointed. He’d wanted to give me an anniversary blow job on a special lovers’ beach. But when I woke up enough to go down to the pier and walk on the beach, the sight of Brendan’s ass moving beneath his bright holiday board shorts had my dick swelling, which had the anticipated reciprocal hard-on-inducing effect on my apparently perpetually-horny-on-the-water lover.
The Sea-Bands helped as we got under way again. I still wasn’t up for dinner in any of the ship’s fancy restaurants, so Brendan ordered a surprisingly delicious chicken soup and breadsticks for dinner.
“It helps to know the cook.” He’d grinned, wiggling his fingers at me in a way that let me know exactly how well he knew the cook.
Then he took me out on the balcony to watch the moon on the water. The breeze was cool, so he brought a light cotton blanket from the closet to throw over us as we sat in our lounge chairs. The smell of the salt water was so much cleaner than it was on the beach, the sound of the waves and the quiet vibration of the ship’s engines totally relaxing. The room lights glowed behind us, the white floor-to-ceiling balcony dividers separating us from everyone else on the ship. In front of us, there was nothing but clear, waist-high glass panels between us and the water. It was like we were alone on the ocean.
Brendan turned out the lights behind us. Something plunked onto the white metal table beside me. Brendan knelt beside me and tunneled under the blanket. He unzipped my shorts. Then his breath was hot on my crotch as he pulled my dick free.
“Mmm. I love the taste of your cock.”
I gasped as he swallowed me, drawing me deep into his throat as my dick reached for his tonsils. He came up for air and I grabbed his head.
“What if somebody sees us!”
His fist stayed tight on my dick, jerking me off with his spit. He laughed and the tip of his tongue swiped my balls.
“Who the hell is going to see us? China is a lo
ng way off!”
He was right. There was nothing and no one in front of us. The only things in my world were the ocean and Brendan, who was once more busily sucking my cock. I bucked as he tickled his tongue into my piss slit.
“Fuck, I love how you give head!”
He laughed and tugged on my balls, working his tongue over my shaft and the hypersensitive V below the crown.
“I’d be even more enthusiastic,” he mumbled around my dick, “if you stuffed some of that lube on the table up my ass and fingered me while I jerk off. I am so fucking horny!”
I was not going to turn down an offer like that. I jerked his shorts down to his knees. His gorgeous naked butt cheeks stuck out from under the blanket, glowing in the moonlight. I grabbed the lube from the table and slathered it over my hand. I stoked down his crack, groaning as my fingers found the heat of his sphincter. It quivered against me, kissing my fingertip in as I pressed. One finger, two, three. Fuck, he was ready!
My other hand was still under the blanket, resting lightly on his hair. “Suck me!” I growled, and shoved his head down.
He took me all the way down his throat. He was still tugging my balls, but I could hear the slap, slap, slap of his other hand working his dick now. The drugs slowed my reactions. He came twice before I did, licking and sucking and swallowing my dick as he ground his ass into my hand. His asscheeks bucked against me in the moonlight, his asshole squeezing my glistening fingers like I was a living dildo. Each time he came, his throat worked my dick until eventually I saw stars, too.
By the next port of call, I’d adjusted enough to go on excursions with him. I’d never dreamed jungles could be so beautiful, or beaches so warm and pristine.
“Why do you ever come home?” I’d asked him, awestruck as a flock of parrots zoomed over our gondola above the rainforest.
“Because you’re there.” He’d smiled, love shining in his eyes as he bumped his knee into me. He was hard again. He was always hard when the ocean was near. And his addiction was starting to wear off on me.
I had to wear Sea-Bands most of the time we were at sea, and Jeff came up with a cocktail that kept me awake and my stomach mostly settled. Brendan taught me how to walk down the ship’s passageways and outside on the decks with the least upheaval to my equilibrium. I made it through the Panama Canal—which truly was one of the most astounding things I’d ever seen—and to the second formal dinner, where I did Brendan proud in my tuxedo when he introduced me to his captain.
From the look the captain gave me, I was pretty sure not much on the man’s ship escaped him, including my asinine behavior. I managed to hide my blush from Brendan, telling tasteful, witty stories and eventually leading a line dance that was one of the hits of the evening. When we finally retired, the captain nodded his approval to Brendan. As the last bit of tension left my lover’s shoulders, I realized how much it truly meant to him to have me on the cruise. I took him back to our room and this time I initiated the fucking, much to our mutual pleasure.
Eventually I was able to start hanging out in the on-board pools and Jacuzzis, and I got into the movies under the stars, the shows, and the massage cabanas. Hell, Brendan even taught me to play shuffleboard.
The last night at sea, we were once again on the balcony in the dark. This time, we were naked and he was the one lying on the lounge chair. I was on top of him, my back to his chest, my legs straddling his as my ass muscles milked the incredible shaft impaling me. He wouldn’t let me touch myself, so my hands gripped the top of the chair on either side of his head, helping me balance as I raised and lowered my hips, fucking my ass over his cock. One of his hands was wrapped around my dick, the other was pulling my balls. My nipples were stiff from the sea breeze blowing over us. Our skin was barely visible in a moonless sky as the quiet sound of the waves rushed past us.
“I’m so horny!” I panted, shuddering at the feel of his cock sliding through my asshole, of his hand stroking my dick. “I’m going to come so fucking hard!”
“I know, sweetie,” he whispered, sucking the back of my neck. “You set the pace. As fast or as slow as you want. I’m not going to come until you do.”
I arched above him. “Gonna come!” Oh, god! My balls were climbing my dick. Brendan was tugging on them, rolling them in his fingers as he jerked my cock. His shaft was hitting my prostate with each thrust, pressing the cum from me. I tightened my legs, pounding my ass onto him, clenching him, loving him.
“Whenever you want, sweetie,” he purred. “This one is all for you.”
“For you,” I gasped.
He tightened his grip and squeezed, his cock hitting my joy spot at just the perfect angle. I arched up, yelling, his hips following mine as hot fountains of cum spurted through my dick. They rained down onto my chest and abs, covering his still-stroking hand as his dick stretched my hole wider, wider. He jerked beneath me, his yell echoing in my ear as he came up my ass. I shook until my legs gave out, then fell back hard onto him.
Brendan was laughing, and fuck, that was a sound I so purely loved to hear. I stood up enough for him to throw the rubber onto the table. I’d been so loud, I’d been afraid somebody would have heard us and complained. But the sound was lost in the ocean, along with the rest of my fears. Damn, I’d been such an asshole. We lay there talking about the cruise and all the things we’d done until his legs started going to sleep.
When we finally went inside and climbed into the shower, I asked him when would be a good time for us to take our next cruise. He laughed for so long I thought he was going to choke. Tears were running down his face when he finally caught his breath enough to say he’d show me the links when we got home. For now, he was too damn tired to even think about it. So we crawled into bed and slept.
There’s a cruise to Alaska next summer. We’re going to go on that together, then maybe do an Aegean voyage with one of his sister ships. I have prescriptions and Sea-Bands on hand so I’ll be ready whenever the next family cruise opportunity comes up, too. In the meanwhile, I’m working double shifts, saving up for our next vacation. But I’m only doing it while he’s at sea now. And we’re only doing double payments on the condo four times a year. Our time together is just too important to fuck around with, unless we’re actually getting to fuck.
I’m one asshole who’s learned his lesson.
RIVER GUIDE
Lou Harper
Brian liked his summer job. To some people, standing on the deck of a small boat giving the same hour-long spiel along the same route on the river, day after day, would be dull. Brian didn’t think so. Sure, he knew his speech by heart, but that only made things easier. He still loved the ride from the Navy Pier up on the Chicago River, and he still loved the unique view it gave of the city.
The truth is, no two trips were the same. The time of day, the angle of the sun hitting the skyscrapers, and the weather made every trip different. Most of all it was the passengers. Putting nineteen strangers on a boat was like a chemical experiment. Even though all they were supposed to do was sit and listen, just by the virtue of being there and mixed together they created a distinct atmosphere. Brian liked observing people. Thanks to his practice, all he had to do was take a quick glance ashore to make sure none of the buildings had absconded overnight. Other than that he had plenty of opportunity to study the passengers. Every once in a while he would even have the chance to get to know one a little more intimately. Yeah, being a tour guide was a great gig.
People taking the Chicago Architectural River Tour came from all over the world. It was funny how often they fit the stereotypes. And then there were those who just didn’t seem to fit. Like that man on Brian’s 11:30 tour—he was like an island in a sea of people. A very enticing, elegant island. Brian estimated the man’s age as early- to mid-forties. He had a trim figure and handsome face of beautifully chiseled features—the kind of man who would only get more scrumptious with age. The wrinkles settling at the corner of his eyes indicated that he liked to laugh. That cloak of melanch
oly he wore was a poor fit on him, yet there it was.
When the boat reached the turning-around point, they took a short break, giving the passengers a chance to visit the bar. Melancholy Man stood by the railing, staring into the water like there was something deeply meaningful in its polluted depths. Brian chose the moment to make his move. He walked over and leaned on the rail next to the man, elbow to elbow. They were about the same height, but the other man had a much slimmer build than Brian.
“The river gets dyed bright green for St. Patrick’s Day every year, but it has a pronounced green tint year-round because of the algae,” Brian said, in way of breaking the ice.
The other man looked up with momentary confusion, but then arranged his expression into the semblance of a polite smile. “I didn’t know that.”
“You should see it; it’s the same color as the slime in Ghostbusters . I mean, when it’s dyed, not the algae. By the way, my name is Brian, Brian Ribeiro. It’s Portuguese for ‘little river.’” Brian offered his hand along with the self-introduction.
“Carl Erickson. It’s nice to meet you,” the man replied, taking Brian’s hand. His smile was a genuine one this time. He had sensuous lips, fit for kissing, Brian noticed.
“Erickson. What kind of name is that, Swedish?”
“Norwegian. There are a bunch of us up there in Wisconsin.”
So he was a tourist. Brian guessed as much. Good, he liked brief affairs with no entanglements.
“What is it like there?” he asked, to keep the conversation going. He knew he was sending out subtle signals of invitation with his whole body, even his voice.
“Do you ever listen to Garrison Keillor on NPR?” Carl was more relaxed now, but seemingly oblivious to Brian’s signals.
“Sometimes. Prairie Home Companion?”
He quoted the quirky radio show’s tag line: “Yes. It’s just like Lake Wobegon. ‘Where all the women are strong, all the men are good-looking, and all the children are above average.’”