How did they expect us to eat this crap at 0600? Jim, the Junior Chef, was brilliant at blowjobs but frying a fucking egg was beyond him. I offered him a seductive smile and scooped a couple of the limp and liquid cackleberries onto my plate. They looked about as appetising as Twiggy's tits. I sleepily led them to a table where a stocky butch stoker was scoffing a bowl of cornflakes.
The greasy rashers of bacon I'd collected en-route helped cheer the sorry sight. I arranged them into a happy face before slamming the lot between rounds of bread in an attempt to create something that looked edible. The stocky stoker's eyes never left his bowl but he was aware I was searching his every expression; searching for sexual clues. It was a must for me.
Sex on board a Royal Navy ship was usually hard to come by and you couldn't afford to be wrong if you were going to proposition someone. As far as I was concerned, everyone dropped their pants until proven otherwise.
Beneath the table, I let my leg brush against the stoker. He pulled quickly away and remained transfixed by his wheaty-pop breakfast. Shame really, because he was quite a wheaty-pop himself. Anyway, the day was just developing and he looked like he'd just come off watch and was heading for his bunk. I hung around until he'd finished eating, just to glimpse his bum and absorb the rest of his features as he left the Dining Room.
I liked stokers. They were a bit of a turn on for me and had the reputation of being 'goers' if you snared one. I reckoned it was their boiler suits, usually unbuttoned to the navel, and the inevitable line of sweat trickling down a smooth, bare chest. Also, knowing they were completely naked beneath the greasy blue material.
I'd been below decks into the Boiler Room many times - to deliver signals to the Commander of Engineering - and watched the young lads dipping oily rags beneath those boiler-suits and into their crotches; mopping up the liquid as they exuded sweat in the 100 degree temperatures. I often wondered how that would smell - steamy sweaty crotch and oil. I reckoned it would smell just fine, especially if the legs were parted over my feasting face. As yet, I had never poked a stoker.
I thanked Jim for his wonderful creation when I left, and gave him a wink signalling I'd see him during the week for one of his Haute Cuisine blowjobs.
The Communications Office was somewhat silent for a change, just a printer chattering away in the corner and the telephone buzzing. Tim was bent over the printer reading an incoming signal. We were alone, so I trotted over and pinched his bum.
Tim was a great fuck and a fun guy, and I was privileged to know he liked being screwed and obliged him whenever he was on heat. With his butch manner and manly voice, which didn't suit his young age and features, nobody knew of his tendency to swing - unless he was two timing me.
One peculiar aspect of Navy life, guys seldom told each other if they were having it off with other guys. It was added protection, the fewer the guys who knew of one's sexual leanings the better. The guys who usually got rumbled, for rumbling each other, were those who formed threesomes or more. Two was the safest number and there were ample hideouts in which to perform. Also, a couple of guys knocking around together were less suspicious.
Tim spun around and I grabbed his cock. It was semi-hard and protruded just enough to make it appetising. I grabbed his golden-haired head and planted my lips onto his, giving him a good morning kiss, good night in his case as he was going off watch. He pushed me away but managed half-a-smile. I guessed it had been a hectic night and he was tired.
He called me a 'Tart' in that masculine manner and I wondered how he could make such a feminine word sound so butch.
I wrapped my arms around his waist and squeezed his cock but he butted me away with his backside. Well, I had to try. I even offered to return to his mess-deck and tuck him in, but he grabbed his cock and muttered something about sitting on it. That's precisely what I had in mind but him sitting on mine. I guessed we didn't have a date.
I didn't know if it was just me but I was constantly thinking about sex. I didn't join the Navy with 'getting laid' in mind, but there were so many good-looking guys it was impossible not to constantly think about it. Also, there was so much groping or guys strutting around naked. And in the mornings, so many stiff cocks on parade it was difficult not to dribble and drool at the delight of them, many of which were still dribbling from an early morning handshake. Had there been a post of Early Morning Cocksucker, mine would have been the first application on the Captain's table. That said, not every guy was edible. Some were gross, grotty and even gut-heaving but a good few of the Skins possessed beautiful bouncy bollocks, buttocks and bonnie boners, all requiring a friend. By God, I was in the befriending business!
Tim went to bed - alone. I went to work on an incoming signal. Within half-an-hour, the office had filled with its complement of duty watch keepers so I shot off to my own office on the deck above.
My office was a real hush hush place and only two of us were allowed access, which was a real bonus as some of the things I did there were pretty hush hush as well. The thought that one day I'd be caught filled my mind many times, but when you have a mouthful of Marine, it's difficult to let it materialise into a real fear. In fact, often the size of the Marine's cock manifesting in my mouth was more frightening. No wonder they were such good fighters. No need to threaten the enemy with a bayonet, just show them your dick, darling!
It felt like it was going to be a dull day, no War Games, no enemy to investigate. Nothing much to do except fire up my equipment and check that it was in working order, which is what I did.
Well, what would you know, blank screens, not a green dot in sight. Just like the contents of East 17's underpants, or was it their heads!
Surprised? I'll say I was. For a million quid, you'd at least expect the batteries to work. It appeared my day wasn't going to be spent alone.
I needed an electrician. To be honest, I needed a shag but an Electrician would be a start.
My favourite Sparks answered the phone - one that I hadn't shagged - and informed me they were snowed under with problems and could only spare a Baby Sparks, a Sparkler, I suppose. Desperate, and I was, I agreed. In a flash, he was thumping my door.
To say 'my lights came on' when I opened the door? Christ, my hormones could have powered a concert at Wembley. And as they sped around my body, my Main Attraction was soon on show.
It was the sweetest voice that asked, 'Do you have a problem?'
Well, I did. But now I had an even bigger one. That was no one-and-a-half-volt-battery bulging in my briefs, but a pylon of power promising to protrude.
Skins could not be that beautiful. It was criminal. Cruel. And I cried, 'Come inside,' in a dribbling drool.
My super Sparkler set about stripping down the machinery whilst I set about doing a mental version of the same thing to him. Usually navy working clothes did little to enhance a body - even a beautiful one - but this Power Pack must have had a buddy or lustful admirer in the stores, because he'd set a pair of working trousers upon him, so tight, they might have been painted on.
Together we searched for the goblin in the works, but there was only one goblin I was interested in. My mind worked overtime thinking of a way I could use some paint-stripper on those pants.
'I think it's up,' he cheerfully chirped, giving me a grin the length of his fly. Did he mean what I thought he meant, or was he referring to my dick, which certainly was!
'Up?' I repeated, looking lustfully straight at his crotch, then at my own.
'Yes. The mast.'
'Oh!' I sighed, disappointed, and tried to produce a grin of similar length. He'd have to go aloft to sort it out but couldn't do it alone - safety and all that.
Now, when it came to heights, climbing over a locked toilet door was about my limit. But my mixed up mind told me that at some point, up there, there would come a moment when I might have to grab this little Sparkler, for safety reasons, you understand, so I agreed to assist. Trouble was, this Sparkler looked too hot to handle and I could see myself being burnt.
A fair swell rocked the mast back and forth, as we climbed the hollow centre. There was a ladder on the outside but even if he told me that I could fuck him when we reached the top, I don't think I could have climbed it.
Sparkler opened the hatch to the blue sky above. As I delighted in his buttocks when he climbed through, I somehow managed not to bite them. But when we stepped out onto the platform, the only thing I was biting was my lip. Sixty foot doesn't look high from ground level, but up there in the breeze and four-way sway of the mast, that notion soon vanished. So did my erection.
Sparkler soon found the offending aerial and the cable that had freed itself, but it was just beyond his reach. He was a brave, little bugger and without hesitation began to climb the guardrails in order to reach the broken cable.
Then it happened. My premonition came true. He asked me to hold onto him. I don't think I leapt on him over quickly but it was panther-like.
I stuffed my eager hand down the back of his pants so deep my fingers had delved between the crack of his buttock cheeks. He looked over his shoulder, quizzingly. I guessed I'd gone too deep. Reluctantly, I withdrew and grasped the back of his belt.
He gave me a 'That's better' look and resumed his climb.
It was no good; I was stopping him reaching the final inches.
'It's no use. You'll have to put your arms around my thighs and hold onto me tightly,' he ordered, rather masterfully for a youngster.
I don't recall saying, 'Oh, thank you. Yes please. Thank you, God.' But I sure as hell thought it.
He resumed his climb. When he reached the danger point, precariously balancing on the top guardrail, I threw my arms around his young muscles. With both arms wrapped tightly around my treasure, he eased himself the final inches.
Miraculously, he made it. His nimble fingers began their task of teasing wires together. However, my nasty little digits unexpectedly but delightedly had discovered his cock. I could just make out the shape of his bell-end against the tip of my index finger.
Gently I moved my dextrous digit from below the supple sausage and slid it over the top. My strokes were minuscule, microdot movements, making out the shape of the bell-end's ridge. Amazingly, it began to move. I continued to manipulate in miniature. Slowly a manifestation began to take shape. It felt magnificent and manly as it matured into a monster.
His pert little buttocks were in my face, so I daringly let my teeth take the slightest nip. His meat jarred beneath my fondling friend.
I was in fear of dropping him as my excitement increased. I was just about to strengthen my hold, when down he jumped. 'Finished,' he gleefully announced.
Well, I wasn't! I looked hard at the masterpiece I'd created with one finger. Like the tart that I was, I questioned, 'Don't you think you'd better make sure?'
He gave me another grin - the length of both our flies this time - and planted his sexy eyes right onto my stiff cock. He told me he'd have to pop down to my office and check if my equipment was working. He'd be right back.
Well, no lad looks at my cock like that and gets away with it! I watched him bolt down the hatch like some sexy rabbit, but what this bunny didn't know was that I had a plan.
I waited until I heard the clink clank of him ascending the inside of the mast. I popped down the hatch, pulling it shut above me. In total darkness, I waited to snare him. It was a gamble, I might be wrong.
The sounds became louder as he approached. My crotch expanded in sympathy. Perched on a rung, legs wide apart, feet pressed against the bulkhead for support, I continued to wait.
His head came between my thighs and into my crotch. He released a surprised yelp. Placing my palm on the back of his head, I gently teased his face into my bulging crotch. He didn't pull away but edged slightly higher, then simply told me my equipment was working. And he was right, it certainly was.
He sounded nervous. I wondered if I'd finally made that fatal mistake. I eased his head further onto my cock, then slipped my other hand between my crotch and his face. Sliding my fingers over his moist lips, I pushed them into his wet mouth. He didn't pull away or warn me off. Ejecting my erect dick, I pushed it against his mouth.
He began to move his head from side to side, as if trying to avoid contact. His movements were not convincing.
I persisted, not forcefully, just teasingly, indicating my cock was up for grabs if he wanted it. Moments later, his lips parted and his mouth carefully covered the head. It was sensationally hot and I wanted to push deep but knew he had not done this before. I let him work the head at his own pace. Slowly but surely, little by little, more of my meat began to penetrate his soft palate.
As I caressed his face with loving strokes, his movements became more eager, more lusting, deep. His pretty face began to work frantically, sucking my cock from the tip to the base. I lifted the hatch, allowing the light to shine down on his black hair. Excitedly I watched as he lavished my length.
Stopping him before I came, I raised his body until his boyish bulge was level with my face. Greedily, I pulled his shirt from his pants and lifted it to his pin-sized nipples. My tongue licked his soft flesh and firming studs, then around his navel.
Reaching inside his pants, I released his cock. An extremely consumable bud with a foreskin sprang into view. I rolled the loose flesh back and forth several times before consuming the whole length with the passion of a starving child.
Whilst we crazily kissed and darted tongues into mouths, we finished each other with our hands, him coming first, his white spunk splattering all over me, mine falling to the depths of the mast.
It was a brilliant start to my week. I couldn't say that I now belonged to the Mile High Club, but sixty foot was a start. One thing was certain I was a mile high all day.
I knew something big was going down, besides my erection. It wasn't often I was dragged from my bunk at 0300, at least not by a big butch Bootneck - unfortunately.
I felt the ship shudder as the Skipper rolled-on-the-revs, sticking 35 knots onto the speedometer. I climbed topside into the gale-force winds in an attempt to blast the cobwebs from my bewildered brain, before it was bombarded with ultrasonic sounds. Electronic Warfare was my game.
The stern churned a funnel of white foam. It shone in the moonlight like a train on a wedding dress as the props dug deep into the ocean, slicing our bows through the stormy sea. I thought of Wheaty-pop dipping his oily rag into his crotch as he beefed up the engines. Before I had time to let that voluptuous vision reach my cock, a mountain of Marine tugged at my arm, insisting I hurry.
When something like this happened, I was entrusted with an armed Marine as protector, who would guard me in my office whilst I worked. In these situations, everyone was the enemy.
We had half-a-dozen Marines on board, all straight except one who relished having his cock sucked. He was with me now as we ran to my office, me following him, naturally. I wouldn't have missed a view of that backside for anything.
Zak was my Marine's name. Well it would be wouldn't it? It was the kind of name you would give an android, and Zak fitted that description admirably. His muscles were like metal. And if you had any notion of parting his solid steel buttocks, forget it. You'd need a dick like a can-opener. Zak did not get fucked! But he did get sucked and had a pit bull in his pants. If everything went to plan, I would be parting my lips over it when things calmed down.
I got the gist of what was going down from the Communications Officer. No need to go into details, save to say one of our boys was in trouble.
Zak and I entered my office. I began firing up various pieces of electronic wizardry. Zak bolted the door and stood solid in its entrance. I told him there was no need; he could sit if he wished. I got the feeling he loved the butch pose - legs apart, arms behind his back, rigid as a post, pistol swinging from his hip.
Jesus. He looked gorgeous!
Soon the office was buzzing and lights were flashing, an ergonomist's paradise.
I sat before my console, headphones on head, miniature mike at my mouth, and began twiddling various knobs, scanning the relevant frequencies. Meanwhile, the jammers were warming up in case they were needed.
Zak stood like a chiselled, stone statue behind me. I could see his reflection in one of my screens and was able to distinguish the outline of his pit bull. I'm sure I saw it move, growing and growling in his pants. I glanced over my shoulder, giving him a brief smile. He acknowledged with one of his own but didn't speak. You'd have thought we were total strangers rather than suck-buddies, but duty was duty to this Marine.
'For Christ sake, Zak, take your bloody cap off!'� I suggested, giving him another smile.
He thought for a moment. It seemed like a big decision. I let him ponder it. I suppose it was more of a sexual request, really. Well, if I couldn't see his cock just yet, at least I could relish his shaven head. Jesus, I just loved running my hands over the sharp spikes. Thoughts of shaving it whilst he gave me a blowjob filled my mind many times. Alas, Zak didn't do that either. He only received sex - the bitch!
I made contact with our boy in trouble and set the tape deck rolling in case of cock-ups and to refer back to at a later date, then informed the Captain on the hotline.
I heard a clunk beside me and jumped. I suppose I was a little tense. These situations certainly sent the adrenaline surging. It was Zak's cap and not a terrorist attack. I shot a quick glance at his shaven head. Zak grinned. He knew what I was thinking and gave me a look that suggested I get on with my job.
I grinned back and muttered, 'You tormenting bitch.'
Zak shouldn't have distracted me so because I lost contact with our boy whilst playing with my hormones instead of my hardware. I had five minutes of pulse racing panic trying to regain it.
Concentration back on course, I resumed my job with the skill of an artist - delving into codebooks, decoding, recoding, switching frequencies, jamming and unjamming. It was frantic but I loved it. All the while, Zak stood silently watching. Sometimes I wondered whether he was overwhelmed by the technicality of it all.
Without warning two pieces of equipment went pop and their screens blanked. 'Fuck!' I screamed, thumping the console, frantically flying around the office desperately trying to regain contact and retain the information I already had.
'Zak!' I yelled. 'Get an Electrician.' Zak, pleased to be involved in a crisis, jumped to the task and was on the phone in a flash.
'He's coming.'� He grinned, excited by the trauma I found myself in.
'You slut, Zak!' I thought. 'Did you have to say 'coming' like that?'
Minutes later a couple of heavy thuds echoed through the door. Zak released his pistol, placing his meaty hand around the butt. I knew it wasn't a terrorist. Zak must have known too, but he had a job to do and was more than likely doing it to the best of his ability.
He threw the iron bolts, pulling his pistol from its leather holster, and opened the door. He was greeted by the smiling face of my Baby Sparkler.
Well, if you could have seen Zak's face, and mine to be honest, I reckon ten gallons of spunk filled his balls in that instant.
I was right; he was a slut. I wanted to slap him but simply asked if he was going to let Sparkler in. Then whispered, 'And whilst you're at it. Stop dribbling!'
Brad, that was Sparkler's name, gave me one of his fly-length grins, totally ignoring Zak. That pleased me immensely. I gave Zak a 'Serves you right, you bitch' glance. But Zak was totally besotted and began telling Brad my problem.
I was just about to say, 'Who's bloody office is this?' when Brad charged straight through Zak and asked about my predicament, which, at the moment, appeared to be Zak.
Speedily, Brad worked his nimble fingers at the wiring, temporarily regaining contact with our lost buddy. It was long enough for me to complete my task. Panic over, I made coffee whilst Brad began a more permanent job.
Zak had seated himself - at last! I think he was in a state of sexual shock. I had to ask him, several times, if he wanted a cup.
Zak and I drank our coffee in virtual silence, both observing Brad's tight backside as he bent forward soldering wires. It was an awesome sight and I began to bulge in my bell-bottoms. A quick glance between Zak's legs confirmed his thoughts were on a similar wavelength.
Remember what I told you about threesomes. Well, I could see that rule was just about to fly out the porthole. I wanted sex. Zak wanted sex. And Brad? I doubted if he'd refuse. My dilemma, should I have sex with Zak, or Brad, or both? Or should I let both go? In which case I was sure they would end up shagging together. And that thought didn't bare thought. I can be a jealous bitch!
Decision made, I delved into Zak's pants and pulled out his pit bull, parting my lips over the enormous head. Zak was speechless but was so engrossed with Brad's backside he didn't bat an eyelid and simply stood, releasing more of his manhood and enabling me to get most of his meat into my mouth.
As I moved down its length, I kept one eye on Brad, waiting for him to turn around. Brad spun to face us and was just about to inform me everything was back on line, when he saw what I was up too.
Brad's jaw dropped open and not a word left it. His eyes began to sparkle. I gazed between his thighs as he subconsciously caressed his cock, and watched as the volume between them increased in size.
I stopped sucking Zak and nodded for Brad to join us. Zak's dick gained an inch when Brad moved forward, unzipping his pants and pushing his terrific tool tantalisingly through the fly. Eagerly I went down on his mouth-watering morsel when he reached us.
Brad's was such a perfect cock. I pushed my mouth hard into the base, bringing it fully erect. All the while, my left hand rolled Zak's foreskin back and forth, keeping his cock firm, not that it needed keeping firm.
Bringing their cocks head to head, I licked along both then devoured each in turn, first Brad's and then Zak's. I continued the sequence whilst they kissed and tongued each other's throats.
In my lustful state, I wanted to lavish both cocks simultaneously and attempted to get both into my mouth. But Zak had enough dick for the three of us and I couldn't manage it. Pulling my cock from my pants, I began to work on myself.
Zak was awestruck by Brad's boyish body and began stripping clothes from his smooth skin. When Brad's trousers and briefs came down, I almost came at the sight of the black moustache above his cock and totally forgot about Zak.
I began to mouth greedily at Brad's uncut cock, my mouth consuming all of him, lips pushing hard against the soft black hair, eager to tease his teenage juices onto my lavishing tongue.
Standing up, I pushed Brad down. Instantly his young mouth began working on our cocks, repeating what I had been doing. He was a fast learner.
An ecstatic Zak sank his tongue deep into my throat. It was almost as big as his dick. I sucked on it with just as much passion. Meanwhile, Brad went so deep on me my balls had disappeared and I nearly shot my load.
A sudden urge to screw Brad surged through my groin. He was a virgin for sure so might not be ready for it. But, with my brain being bombarded by hormones and testosterone, I left Brad sucking on Zak's massive monster and went to my safe.
Excitedly I spun the combination, 69 69 69. Well, it was an easy number to remember. I returned with condoms and lube.
Standing behind Brad, I glanced briefly at Zak, who looked as if he were about to come, and watched them perform. I'd seen porn before but this was electrifying and exotic beyond belief. I could see how threesomes could easily become the norm for me.
Raising Brad's buttocks, I tore open a sachet of lube. My fingers trembling with excitement, I smeared the slippery liquid into his hairless hole. Slowly I began to tease my fingers into the tight opening. Brad moaned with pleasure and mouthed ever faster on Zak's cock.
I guessed I'd got the green light and teased a condom over my cock, then lubricated it with two sachets. I reckoned it was going to be painful for him.
Ever so gently, I eased myself between Brad's muscular, young buttocks. He released a yelp and they flexed tightly. Once he'd relaxed, I teased a little more of my cock into his tight hole. The head of my cock vanished.
I'd gone deep enough to make movement, and began to ride Brad more robustly. With each forward thrust, more and more of my cock sank into the dark depths of his trembling buttocks. Suddenly, I was all the way.
I began to thrust and withdraw. Brad responded by pushing hard against my pelvis. Soon we were in unison. Brad loved it!
Zak released a manly gasp. He cried out that he was about to shoot his load. Brad pulled away from his cock. A jet of creamy spunk sailed through the air in a single stream. It landed on Brad's bare back, sliding towards his parted cheeks and my thrusting cock. I guess the sight of me fucking Brad was too much for Zak to take.
To say I was shocked. I was absolutely stunned! It was unthinkable. Brad must have pushed some sexual button of Zak's because he raised Brad from the kneeling position - me still attached - and went down on him, sucking the teenager furiously and pumping himself hard. There was no doubt Zak could come again; he had an automatic weapon. There was always another round in his barrel.
Whilst Zak worked on Brad's delicious bone, I pushed deep and hard into his rear, Zak's spunk sliding between our naked bodies.
Moving my hands around Brad's waist, I grasped Zak's shaven head and rubbed the spiky hair. At the crucial moment, when Brad cried out that he too was coming, I pulled Zak's head deep onto Brad's cock, forcing him to swallow the whole length. With a trio of gasps, the three of us shot our whack.
I made another round of coffee. We sat silently drinking it, each pondering our own thoughts, me wondering if Zak and Brad would get it off at some later date, or if the three of us would repeat this, or if Brad would make out with me.
The telephone buzzed. Brad and Zak were called back to their respective departments. With a kiss for each, I reluctantly released them.
The afternoon dragged and I was bored. All I could think about was Brad. I fired up my equipment, giving it a final check before going below decks.
Opening one of the panels, I began to study the multicoloured wiring. Taking a pair of cutters, I selected a green one.
The telephone was in my hand. 'Hello, Brad. It's Matt. Yes, number two's gone on the blink again. Okay. See you in a few minutes.'
Tuesday finished on such a good note, I thought I must mention it. Brad returned to my office. I told him straightaway what I had done; pointing out the wire I had deliberately cut. He laughed, and played 'Pretend I don't know why you did it'. In no time, the foldaway bunk I had in my office was sprung open and we were humping furiously. We sucked and fucked, fucked and sucked until our balls were desert dry. I didn't ask whether he fancied Zak and if he was going to hump him. I'd rather not know.
Today, because we had all been good boys - if only the Captain knew - we had been granted a Make and Mend, in layman's language, time to repair our kit and catch up with washing clothes. To put it more bluntly, have a bloody good rest.
I wasn't feeling at all horny so cruised the canteen for some grub. Jim was there, slopping slop onto plates. He gave me one of his 'Do you want to play with my sausage?' looks. I tried desperately not to appear interested but somehow he got the opposite vibes, running his tongue and lips erotically over the wooden spoon he was using. So much for hygiene!
I walked beside the counter searching for something that resembled food, Jim cruising me on the other side, continuing to suck suggestively on his spoon. He could see I wasn't impressed by what was on offer - discounting him. Giving me a broad smile, he delved into a hot cupboard below the counter. The hugest of rump steaks was quickly plopped onto my plate, accompanied by a sexy smile and a wink from those swooning eyes. I returned his smile with a blown kiss. I guessed it was his dinner, the love.
Our brief bout of flirting was quickly halted by the appearance of the Head Chef. He was a horrible, fat bastard with a face that only a mother could love. I quickly shuffled away, tossing potatoes and veg around the steak, then soaked the lot with gruesome gooey gravy.
I chose Spotted Dick for sweet. Well, yes. I then searched for someone more edible to sit beside. My rump steak was prettier than most things filling their faces, so I took it to an empty table and began an attack on the beast, hoping it wouldn't fight back.
It was only then that I remembered something Jim had told me some time back and I wished I hadn't.
'It was not uncommon,' Jim had said, 'to get really horny in the early hours when preparing breakfasts. As most of the Chefs were big, fat, overfed farts, who he wouldn't stick my cock inside, let alone his, he needed a way of releasing his frustration.'
Now, a wank was fine, he had told me, but it was a long way down the line from a blowjob or a fuck. What was the next best thing? Well, he got his cock nice and hard, and, selecting a couple of juicy uncooked, red-raw steaks, wrapped them around the shaft and pumped away like hell.
'It was nearly as good as the real thing,' he had said.
With that thought fixed firmly in my head, rump steak took on a new dimension. If I could have been sure Jim was the only chef who had fucked my dinner, I reckoned I could have handled it. I expected he washed it afterwards. But the thought of the Head Chef sliding his meat around my meal was not a mouth-watering prospect.
The Spotted dick, I ate. It was scrumptious. But try as I did, I could not stop wondering what they stirred the mixture with and, indeed, if those little black bits were truly currants.
I had a real soft spot for Jim. Or should I say 'hard' spot. He was excellent sex. His main forte was blowjobs. As yet, he hadn't dropped his pants and let me screw that main course of a bum. I knew the time would come. I was in no hurry.
What I liked most about him was his sense of humour. It was wicked. One time, when we were trolling around a floral park, pissed as Penguins on pot, we came across a notice pinned to a tree.
It read - Lost duck. Blue and green. Family pet. Dearly loved and sorely missed.
Jim produced a pen and wrote - Thanks. It was delicious!
It was something only a Chef could write. Further along we came across a similar notice about a cat. I stopped him writing: Made a lovely pair of slippers. Well, I love cats.
I continued to sit in the Dining Room, drinking coffee, contemplating whether I really did want Jim's mouth around my meat, when in walked Wheaty-pop. I felt that unmistakable tingle in my todger. I observed him cruise the counter, placing grub on his plate, eventually having so much of the stuff, I thought he planned to climb it. Well, he was a growing lad. So was I!
Wheaty-pop's boiler suit was unbuttoned lower than before. I could make out a line of fine hair creeping from his navel to whatever treat lay hidden below, no doubt soaked in oil. I shot him a penetrating glance, which he held for a moment before averting his eyes. Yes, he knew what I was on.
Suddenly, the campest, slim-line, black number came rushing up to him and pinched his bum. Wheaty-pop gave him a wide grin and winked. So, Wheaty-pop was into Shirley Bassey look-a-likes. I made a mental note to buy some brown boot polish.
Jim caught my eye, distracting me from thoughts of Wheaty-pop with a big black cock sliding up his bum. Yes, I know I was stereotyping but all black youths appeared to have dicks as big as Dobermans these days. I nodded to Jim, confirming our session was on.
Deliberately walking past the Black and White Minstrels, I left the canteen, but not before I gave the pair a 'threesomes are fun' flirting glance, whereupon Shirley giggled hysterically, while Wheaty-pop changed colour.
It was definitely a possibility, I guessed.
I had a shower before venturing to the Cable Locker, which was where Jim and I had our humps. It was in the bows of the ship, deep in its depths and would only be busy when we were anchoring. Jim would always change into working clothes before coming there. It would look suspicious to see a Chef in his whites in that part of the ship.
Lifting the circular hatch, I descended into the dank smelling room with its huge rusting cables. It was the kind of place guys into a little slap and slap might love, with its various sized cables, ropes and wires hanging about. That wasn't really my scene but I expect I'd have a dabble with someone I could trust.
The familiar sound of someone descending an iron ladder echoed around the vast enclosure. My heart began to pound. It was always a nervous moment because if it happened to be a seaman, I had no reason to be there.
I recognised Jim's bum as it came into view and grabbed his hips, lifting his lightweight body from the rungs. Back in the canteen, I didn't think I was horny but the sight of that boy-bum and the smell of his young body soon had me fired up. In a flash, I was nibbling the nape of his neck and eating his ears.
Jim remained motionless, allowing me to work on his neck and forage beneath his fly, while fondling his furry forest. I found the fleshy feast and freed it from his pants. His was a cut cock, the only one I knew - intimately. I found that disappointing at first because I loved a foreskin - if it worked properly - but I soon got used to it. I mean, the cock was attached to a ravishable guy.
I released my own cock whilst his hands groped me from behind his back. He swiftly spun around, dropped to his knees and began sucking. In a flash, my pants were down and both my balls were rolling around his massive mouth. I cannot say I enjoyed having them sucked, it was far too sensitive, but I seldom stopped him. I also had huge nuts and marvelled how he managed to get my balls and my cock in there. I suspected he practised on a couple of new potatoes and a courgette.
Very little Jim did surprised me, so when he asked if he could tie me to the anchor cable, I simply said, 'Why not?'
Jim tied my hands and then my ankles against the metal links. Already I became excited by this new experience. But, hell, if someone should discover us, this was going to take some explaining.
The cable was bloody cold against my bare bum and my white cheeks were soon brown with rust. I prayed that the anchor wasn't suddenly released and I went shooting through the hole in the deck head and out onto the upper-deck.
Well, what can I say? Not having any control whatsoever whilst Jim did the business - like he'd done it all his life - soon had me begging him to finish the job. He teased me to coming, then stopped, then teased again. When I did come, it was with such force it nearly knocked his bloody head off. Being sucked and restrained was some experience I can tell you.
Jim had dropped his pants and had been tossing his own cock whilst he worked on mine, but hadn't come yet. He released me from my bondage. I was just about to return the favour when he unexpectedly said, 'Look what I've got!' He produced a massive carrot.
I looked at him quizzingly.
'Shove it up my bum,' he begged, handing me some lube.
Well this time he did surprise me. What with the bondage stuff and now this, I guessed he'd been reading some naughty books. Naturally, I obliged. I mean, if he were prepared to let a carrot fuck him, then at some stage he would let me.
I bent his beautiful buttocks before my face, pulling the cheeks wide apart, then sank my tongue deep into the hole. I reckoned he was stunned by how electrifying that was, because he yelped with pleasure as I worked his cock with one hand and tongued his rear. Soon he was writhing in ecstasy, begging for the vegetable.
I greased the edible dildo and began to ease it between his parted cheeks. He'd chosen rather a large one for a beginner, but I controlled the entry so as not to hurt him. Moments later, I was pumping it powerfully into his passage, fearful not to lose my grip and lose it. That would have taken even more explaining.
With squeals of pleasure, so loud I thought the whole ship must have heard his orgasm; he shot a wealth of spunk clean across the cables and through one of the links.
'Bull's-eye!' I praised with a laugh.
Our session over, the best we'd ever had, Jim left the Cable Locker. Watching his biteable bum bounce up the ladder, I thought, 'I'll soon be shagging that!'
Five minutes later, I followed, happily strolling along the main passage and humming a tune. When I reached Jim's galley, I stopped and suddenly thought, 'I must remember not to have carrots for supper.'
It was a pig of a day, gale force winds and high seas. The ship was going up and down more times than my knickers. I didn't mind the rough weather - rough anything, really! Perhaps the worst thing that could happen when it was rough was some sailor throw-up over your dinner, but even that could look more appetising than what was on your plate.
I'd never know a week like this. I was getting so much sex my dick was in danger of dropping off. I think my foreskin was wearing out fast, too. I thought of going to the Doc with my red raw knob but that would only have raised his eyebrows. Unless I told him, I'd been tossing every minute of the day. This wasn't far from the truth because after I'd had a session, I liked to run it through my mind again before I slept. God, my sheets were disgusting.
A good few of the sailors were heaving their hearts up - poor dears. I was one of the lucky ones. Not many things would make me heave. Well, seeing a couple of hetties humping probably would.
It was on days like this that I wouldn't have minded being a Medic myself; up in the Sick Bay nursing all those pretty Skins who hadn't found their sea legs. I looked crap in a nurse's outfit though. In fact, drag was something I never could get my head around. I mean, if you are a guy and you want to attract guy who like guys, then dressing as a bird defeats the object, doesn't it? It gets so complicated. Like, you're a guy who likes guys who likes birds but doesn't mind guys, so you dress as a bird so he can screw you, knowing you're really a guy. Give me a break. I mean, does it work the other way? Birds dress up as guys cos the guy fancies a guy who is really a bird. AAAAAAAH!
The weather was getting nasty now. We had more water inside the ship than out, and every few yards some spew to slide around on. The Captain ordered Nuclear State Zulu, which is a little tricky to explain but basically meant, 'Shut all the bloody doors, before we sink!'
Oh, I forgot to tell you. I'm living in a bathtub built from old Coke cans, Pollyfilla and discarded plastic bottles. It was a shagged out ship with a little gun on the front in case of air attacks. Tell the truth, we'd have had more success filling condoms with petrol and throwing them at the aircraft.
Molotov condoms. They sound like fun.
'Here darling, slip one of these on.'
'Wow. That was fantastic. Can you take my balls off the ceiling?'
But seriously. This foul weather was screwing up my screwing. All the trade was either mopping gallons of water from the decks or dying in some darkened corner. I did find a Cherub on the upper-deck having the contents of his stomach thrown back into his face as he bent his body - beautiful and beckoning - over the guardrails. I did the decent thing and left his bum alone, easing him below decks and into the Sick Bay. I helped undress him and put him to bed - well you would, wouldn't you? But even in his sickened state, he had enough wits about him to stop me nicking his knickers - polka-dot boxers. Not really my favourite, but they outlined his youthful leg muscles and love muscle pretty nicely.
I left the Sick Bay before the sailor was knocked up and I got locked up, then did a tour of the ship, searching for a shag. Tim was at work in the Communications Office. I departed swiftly before I was asked to help but managed a word, asking when he got off watch and if he was on heat. I think he muttered something about getting a vasectomy. I guessed we still didn't have a date.
Jim was in the Galley turning perfectly good food into crap. I noticed a pot of carrots bubbling away on the stove and wondered which one was his lover from yesterday. He glimpsed me and gave a girlish giggle, dangling a jumbo sausage from his fly.
'You haven't been practising with that?' I mouthed, but departed when he received a bollocking from the Head Chef. At least Jim was on the right track, using something closer to my dick. No, I'm not bragging. I meant the texture, not the length.
I thought of searching out Wheaty-pop in the Boiler Room but had no reason to go down there. Visions of embracing him tightly and sucking in that smell of sweat, grease and oil, whilst my tongue slid down his throat, and my hands dived inside his boiler suit and feasted on his youthful cock and firm buttocks were, quite frankly, disgusting, but oh for the opportunity.
After those disgusting thoughts, tossing looked more than a probability, so I made for the forward Heads.
About halfway through the ship, who should appear but Shirley Bassey. Jesus, she wasn't camp. She was CAMP! How the hell did she manage to be recruited?
Swish, swish, swish, she floated by, screeching, 'HI!' in a pitch any choirboy would have been proud.
Well, if she wasn't a shag, then I was a butch dyke. Watch it!
I watched her buttocks swing from side to side as she did her catwalk number down the Burma Way, each cheek almost striking both bulkheads in turn. She glanced over her shoulder, giving me a smile. If ever there was a look that said, 'I bet you would love to stick your cock right up here!' then that was certainly one. Adjusting my crotch, I increased my pace toward the Heads before I started tossing on the spot.
I had almost reached them when Zak popped up from the deck below. My eyes lit up. 'My shag!' I delighted.
Zak was in a hurry, and marched straight through my body, blurting something about the Boss looking for me. Reluctantly, I ventured to the Signal Office to enquire what was up.
Just my luck, the forward Heads were wrecked and I had become the chosen skivvy to clean them. What was a professional guy like me doing with his head down a toilet, you may well ask? Well, it wouldn't have been the first time my head had been in such a place.
It so happens that in this lovely Navy of ours, we were not only obliged to do our professional jobs but also mundane tasks like teasing turds around a U-bend. Thus detailed, Marigolds on hand, I began exploring the unsavoury contents of each bowl - unblocking and scrubbing. No doubt, a few bad-mouthers on board would say I was exactly where I belonged. But, joy! And I hummed happily away, ramming my rod into every orifice and sprinkling Vim and bleach with joyful abandon.
I had almost finished fist fucking the final bowl when the door burst open, almost pushing me down the pan. 'We're closed!' I yelled, not wanting another Baby Sailor bombarding me with bits of regurgitated carrot.
'Ooooops. Sorreeeeee!' screeched the triple soprano voice, which I recognised instantly.
I spun about. As suspected, there stood Shirley Bassey, panting, pouting, pinching her prick; looking brown, beautiful, and by God, I think my banana just burst!
What could I say? For once in my life, I was almost speechless but managed to mouth, 'Use the end urinal.'
Now then, I'm not a nosy bitch or a Cottage Queen but if the opportunity is there...
Shirley unzipped her fly and began pissing. In a flash, I was kneeling beside her, Marigold fist foraging around the adjoining urinal, head level with her line of fire. Her hand was cupped around her cock, hiding it from view. Don't you just hate that? What a tart!
Without warning, she pulled her hand away, turned toward me, grabbed my head and pulled my face onto her cock, spraying droplets of pee around my parted lips. What a bitch! Didn't she know I wasn't into yellow? YET!
Talk about Fast Black, this girl was well above the speed limit and by the look of it eager to take me on a ride of a lifetime.
In seconds, she was flinging her wardrobe across the deck and standing naked except for a skimpy, leather jock. Well, that wasn't Navy issue.
I managed to stick my sensible head on and reached for a notice warning the crew that this place was out-of-bounds - on Captain's orders - and hung it on the outer door. Sucking in a breath of bleachy air - part excitement, part relief that no one had entered whilst she did her strip - I moved toward her.
Protected by the notice, I allowed the panther to paw me. And what paws! She was... Well, what wasn't she?
I managed to erase the image of her dressed in a slinky outfit and wearing an Afro wig. But who was I to criticise? I still had my Marigolds on.
We chose Number 3 cubicle in which to perform - my lucky number. My mouth was soon biting into her leather pouch, tongue sliding between her brown thighs and into the expanding material. In an instant, the pouch was off and my second 'cut' cock sprang into view and slid into my palate. It was a delightfully delicate dick with smooth balls the size of grapes hanging beneath. Like a Roman Emperor, I devoured the succulent pair as they hung over me.
Shirley pulled me up and ripped my shirt clean from my back. Her nails began furrowing eight deep channels into my shoulders. I told her to stop, the silly girl. How the hell was I going to explain that to my mates? Yes, we did have a cat on board but I didn't want to be accused of shagging it.
Shirley knelt. Her large luscious tongue lassoed my cock and balls. She began devouring me to an unbelievable depth, her ravishing passion sending spunk pumping from my cock in uncontrollable bursts.
Shaking and exhausted, I plonked my bum onto the bowl. She straddled me in seconds, her rounded brown buttocks pressing onto my cock, her thighs gripping around my waist.
'Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me!' she begged and pleaded, rubbing her buttocks into my crotch, bringing me firm again.
'Calm down, dear,' I said. 'You only have to ask me once.'
Sadly, I had no condoms but this cat was looking for a taxidermist. My raunchy mind raced, desperately trying to think of an alternative. I glanced at my Marigolds. Yes, I could cut one of the rubber fingers off. But would it fit over my cock? Watch it! I'm not that small.
I resigned myself to the fact that I'd missed a shag - no protection, no poking - but worked hard and fast on Shirley's cock, after sucking on her miniature brown nipples and licking all over her skin. Finally, I shoved a couple of Marigold fingers deep into her bum.
'I love you. Marry me! Marry me!' she squealed, sucking a love bite the size of an orange onto my neck.
'Oh, you dizzy Queen,' I thought. Yes, we did have a cat on board but I was damn sure it didn't do love bites as well.
With an ear-splitting scream, as I shoved three fingers deep inside her hole, she came, sending spunk over my cheeks and cascading down my chest.
Shirley vanished as quickly as she had appeared. I knew I wouldn't have sex with her again. Well, she was the type of girl who would want my babies and I was no good with kids. I mean, after you've washed the little buggers do you hang them up to dry by their fingers or their toes?
Last evening we popped briefly into port to collect one of our Communications Staff who had married, then popped out again.
The weather had changed, to the relief of many a Baby Sailor, but the task of clearing up continued. It was one of the worst storms I'd known. Unfortunately, one poor Seaman had suffered a broken leg. We dropped him off when we were in port. Rumour had it, next week we were going to troll across to Amsterdam. It was only a rumour. We would most likely end up in Wales and I would be shagging sheep.
My Sparkler, Brad, hadn't ventured to my office since his last visit and Zak, too, had not been required, there being no traumatic incidents to investigate. I wondered if they'd managed to get together for a bonk, but doubted it. Although Zak was big and butch, he was a big girl's blouse when it came to propositioning guys. Brad, however, was a brash little bugger and wouldn't be backward in coming forward with his boner. I hadn't had sex since yesterday. What the heck, I wasn't trying for the Penis Book of Records. And my cock was still as sore as hell. Germolene really stings. I'll kill the sod who suggested it. It's like sticking your cock in a kettle of boiling water. One of my mates suggested Iodine. Right, walk around with a purple cock for a week.
I wondered why Tim had stopped spreading his legs. He used to be up for it at least once a month, but he did swing. Perhaps it was breasts and not balls at present. Wheaty-pop, too, was still a mystery. I'd bet a pound to a pinch of puff he was stuffing Shirley. Should I be lucky enough to get that boiler suit from his sexy skin, I bet his back would resemble a ploughed field. Mine was still painful.
We spent several hours of today scanning the sea for a sailor who was lost overboard from another ship. A good many of the crew were on the upper-deck looking out for him. We had no luck. It was a sad time but life went on. The sea, like sailors, can be a real bitch!
I'd nearly gone overboard once - in a mini-hurricane. Luckily, I managed to get my legs around something and save myself. Well, I'd had a lot of practice. After that incident, I'd learnt my lesson and stayed away from topside when it was too rough.
But the only place I was in danger of falling into now was some sailor's backside. I mean, a carrot was nothing to some sailors. You could get a fruit and veg stall up some arses! My arse? Passing a pip was painful. Hey, I'm one hundred per cent butch I'll have you know. Okay, that's a lie.
Well, on that occasion, I was in love, you see. When you get into that dizzy state, many self-made rules fly out the porthole.
He was a scrumptious Thai youth - about the same age as me. A civilian I'd met whilst ashore in Singapore. 'Beautiful' would not be a complement in his case.
I'd gotten well-bevvied ashore one night - sins of being a sailor - and had gotten chatting to him in a straight bar. Sometimes, in this strange life of ours, you can become besotted in a nanosecond. This happened to me.
I'd never seduced an Oriental lad before and my whole being tingled with excitement at the prospect. Back at his hotel, we entwined on his bed, fully clothed, kissing and caressing for what seemed an eternity before he finally allowed me to disrobe him.
In childlike wonderment, I removed each item of clothing from his satin smooth skin, kissing and licking every inch of his flesh before removing the next.
He lay before me in all his splendid nakedness, an adorable, edible brown beauty. He had the blackest hair I'd ever seen. Even his eyes were rich, dark and big, but so soft and gentle. I lost my soul into their depths. His name was Min. I would have done anything for him!
Min had been a virgin in every respect and I had been one, in one. Our bodies and souls meshed as he glided his body over mine - that oh so small body. Moving his head between my thighs, he slid his mouth so tenderly around my balls and over my cock, and sucked me like he was savouring his favourite fruit. Then, quite unexpectedly, he raised my legs, kneeling between them. His chest met mine as our tongues searched mouths. Without me realising, he had lubricated his short cock and entered my hole.
His movements were slow and sensational. My head swam in a sea of sublime bliss as he seduced me. Gripping his boy buttocks, I pulled him even deeper, pulled him into a part of my being I never knew existed.
When I then made love to him, it was even more meaningful. His youthful thighs gripped me like a vice, pulling every last centimetre of my young cock into the darkest depths of his body.
He came, not with squeals and screams but with a sigh of deep satisfaction, as if I had given him the universe. The sensation when I came was similar, none like I have ever experienced before, a zillion nerves erupting in ecstatic empathy.
To be honest, I doubt I could ever find the words to describe those hours. And, for that brief time we were together, I thought I'd gone to heaven. It was the only time I could honestly say I had truly made love.
The following day our ship sailed. I never saw or heard from him again.
At 0100, I was called to my office. It was routine stuff so Zak wasn't required. Shame. But I did need assistance and another Communicator was loaned me. It was Paul, the sailor who had just married. Silly boy!
Paul was a smashing lad, very quiet, and a good looker. Whilst working at my console next to him, I shot a few glances in his direction, but nothing sexual or seductive. Because Paul did have a decent packet, I couldn't resist running my eyes over the bulge every now and then. Whether or not he noticed, I wasn't sure. One thing I was sure about, and what Paul probably didn't know, I had watched him skylark with another sailor one afternoon. They were well into one another. What was apparent to me, and must have been to both, each had hard cocks as they grappled.
Now then, a stiff cock said to me that this kind of frolic had slightly more meaning than a friendly wrestle. Naturally, I began to wonder at the possibility of a wrestle of my own with Paul.
Can I first tell you about straight lads? They don't exist! Only if you have lived on a ship with two hundred sex-starved sailors will you be able to understand this. You see, when you have been at sea for months, and you're straight, and you need a shag, then 'hide the sausage in a female' becomes hide it in any hole that will accept it.
Now, I'm not saying that all straight sailors run around shagging all the gay sailors - dream on! But a good old face fuck is that grey area which straight lads are able to cope with without thinking they've turned queer. With this in mind, what was hidden inside Paul's pants looked a pleasing possibility. After all, he only had time to get married and so had no honeymoon, consequently, no shag. How sad.
Our mission accomplished, I set about my mission. First, I did some serious chat about his wife and sex. Then, in true navy skylark fashion, I began to arm-wrestle. This developed into a tickle and hug with this humpable hettie. As predicted, and as sure as there are no gay virgins in Brighton, up popped his pecker.
I allowed Paul to wrestle me to the deck and get his thighs around my head; the rough, surge material of his bell-bottoms rubbing my face. When I felt that he was beyond the fun stage, I bit hard into his erect cock. He made the slightest attempt to pull my head away, then giggled something that sounded like stop it. But I needed 'Stop it' in writing before I'd let go of a succulent, stiff dick.
Anyway, I did a quick anagram of 'Stop it'. It came out as 'Suck me'. I suffer from sexual dyslexia, you see. Dyslexic green light shining bright, I prized his cock from his pants.
Paul's was one of those strange cocks, about as thick as it was long. For a mini-second I was worried about stretch marks around my mouth. But, hell, I swallowed it anyway.
Sex starved or sex crazy, I don't know. Paul rammed away at my mouth, so powerfully, I hardly had time to breathe. All lights now definitely green, I popped out my own cock and offered it up for consumption. And consume he did!
For me, blowjobs were the best sex acts to perform. We had the rhythm in no time, a sexual metronome. There were no head movements, just buttock thrusting - him then me, him then me, him and him, me and me.
Together we created Symphony 69 - Mozart, eat your heart out - and with those sexual strings swimming in our heads, spunk went simultaneously from him to me and me to him.
I reckoned it was the best wedding present Paul received and I was really pleased for his wife. She'd obviously married a right little fuck bunny. I was delighted for her.
Paul left my office at 0300. I decided I would stay and crash for the night. I ventured to the forward Heads to bathe before turning in. At this time of day the ship was quiet, only sailors on watch floating about.
On reaching the Heads, I was baffled to see a notice saying they were out of bounds. I was just about to troll down aft, when I thought, 'Sod it.'
As I entered, I heard a shower running. I gently closed the door and tiptoed toward it.
Well, you could have knocked me out with a strawberry condom. The beauty getting shagged was unmistakable, but who was shagging him?
I moved closer, not wanting to disturb them but eager to gain a good vantage point. Brad was in total bliss - bless him. The butch boy who was bonking him was beyond the bounds of beauty. His white buttocks looked delicious against Brad as he bumped and ground, thrust and withdrew, all the while the lad pumping Brad's cock with one hand while stroking his balls with the other.
I was stiff in seconds. Withdrawing my cock I playfully pumped.
The beefy boy bounced vigorously against Brad's buttocks, pushing him hard into the wet bulkhead, his mouth eating eagerly on Brad's unblemished back and neck. A fine spray of water cascaded over them like confetti, Brad releasing gasps of delight as the youth's cock delved deep into his delicious flesh.
These two lads were in love. Of that, I was certain. I knew. I'd been there.
I continued my surveillance, mesmerised by the sheer pleasure passing between the lads. Delightedly, I watched as the lad pumped Brad's youthful prick, rolling his foreskin back and forth, filling his buttocks with what I guessed would be a mountain of meat.
I put my cock away. Somehow, it seemed wrong.
Brad caught my eye and moved forward, bringing all of the lad's body into view. I felt embarrassed, like I had intruded on some sacred ceremony. Brad was in his own blissful world and simply smiled, knowing he was in no danger.
His seducer spun around, able to notice Brad's every expression. He couldn't stop shafting because both were close to climax. I was right about Wheaty-pop's back. It resembled a ploughed field. Shirley had definitely been there.
So, it was Brad and Wheaty-pop. I felt slightly sad because I had now lost Brad. I also felt envious that he was the one to suck in that oily odour and wash the grease and grime from Wheaty-pop's crotch.
Both came in bursts of frenzied excitement, holding back the screams of delight they dearly wished to release. I closed the door silently and walked toward the aft Heads.
Come morning we were back in port. I had the weekend off. I thought I should give sex a miss for a couple of days and allow my cock to repair. Then again, I desperately need a haircut. I would have to pop ashore to Vince, a cute barber recommended me. I'd heard he was brilliant at Cut and Blowjobs.