By John V. O. Yager

The following story is a work of gay erotic fiction depicting sexual acts between consenting adults.   If such stories are not to your liking or if you are not of legal age to read such stores in your jurisdiction, please exit now.

This is a work of fiction and in no way draws on the lives or any specific person or persons.   Any similarity to actual persons or events is entirely coincidental.

This work is copyrighted by the author and my not be reproduced in any form without specific written permission of the author.   It is assigned to the Nifty Archives under the terms of their submission agreement but it may not be copied or archived on any other site without the written permission of the author.


Two winters ago I was able to fulfill a life long dream. My wife and I spent a couple of weeks in the American Virgin Islands, were I took sailing instruction and then passed my exams for a license to sail a private yacht.  The first license qualified me for coastal navigation.  Last winter we again spent two weeks there and during that second visit, I took navigation training and passed my exams for open-sea sailing. I have sailed since I was a kid, but it has been inland lake sailing, and I had longed for a chance to try my hand on the open sea.

This adventure had begun when I finally, and perhaps a little slowly, realized that I had reached a point in my life when I could afford to do some of the things I had always dreamed of doing. Furthermore, my business interests had grown and matured and I knew I had dependable staff who could keep things running smoothly while I was away.  I had  writing assignments coming up but no pressing deadlines and could easly take time off.

When I suggested to Laura, my wife of 23 years, that I would love to take such a vacation, she was all for it. She had no interest in sailing. In fact, on the few occasions when I had managed to coax her out on a sailboat, she was violently seasick. But when we thought through the logistics of my dream vacation it was clear that we could rent a cottage near a good sailing center and she could spend her days enjoying sea views, great food and a stack of books she had been too busy to get to.

I got on the Internet and began investigating. After a few false starts, I settled on Captain L. R. Bradley, who offered private sailing lessons aboard his yacht, the Seaspray. He worked from Annapolis, Maryland from May to September and from Cruz Bay, American Virgin Islands, from October to April. I got off an e-mail inquiry to him and had a response the following day. Bradley told me that one advantage of his services, which I had already gathered from his web site, was that unlike the larger more structured sailing schools, he could offer training which was tailored to the needs of individual clients. He was expensive, but because of his intense training methods and the individualized attention he offered, a beginner could expect to get through the required training and be prepared for the exams within a much shorter period of time. In the long run, when you took into account the cost of staying in expensive Caribbean resort accommodations, Bradley's services worked out to be no more expensive than longer group training programs.

Bradley gave us suggestions on accommodations and within a week we had a villa reserved for a two week stay in January, just three months away. The photographs of the place looked great. Not only did it contain all the amenities we wanted, but also came with a resident cook.

Once I had made the commitment and paid the deposits for the villa and the sailing course, Bradley sent along a packed of books and manuals for me to study prior to our arrival in the Virgin Islands. All things considered, our vacation was shaping up to be a rewarding experience for me and a restful one for my wife.

There is no airport on St. John's, so we flew into St. Thomas, took a taxi from the airport to Downtown Ferry and then relaxed for the 45 minute trip to Cruz Bay. When we got off the ferry, the promised driver was there to take us on to the villa. When we got to the place we could not have been more pleased. The place was as beautiful as the photos in the brochures had suggested. Betty, who was going to be our cook, was there to meet us. She had stocked the kitchen as we had asked and even brought in fresh flowers to brighten the already lovely rooms. Laura was ecstatic. "You go off and do your sailing," she said. "Just leave me to rest and read and enjoy that beautiful view." And she was right, the views from the verandah were spectacular. From the villa we looked west, down a green and wooded slope to the sea, then across the straits which separated St. John's from St. Thomas. In daylight the view was of a tropical paradise. At night, with millions of lights on both shores, the scene looked like some exotic Christmas card.

In addition to the lovely villa and its spectacular views, the complex contained a great fresh water swimming pool, which pleased Laura, who does not like to swim in salt water, and me, who saw it as a perfect way to end the days I anticipated spending on Seaspray and swimming in the remote coves Bradley had promised.

The morning after our arrival, I left my wife to spend a leisurely day on her own and walked down to the marina were the Seaspray was anchored. Bradley had told me to book a car and driver for the trip each morning and afternoon, and after that first morning, I did. But my excitement was too high that first day. I was up at the break of dawn and decided to walk down the hilly road at least once. I found my way along the curving drive, down into the town and then to the sea. Bradley's directions were perfect and in no time I was at the marina. As I approached the beautiful forty-four foot sloop, I saw a very good looking guy lying on the roof of the cabin. He looked too young to be Bradley, or at least too young for the image I had constructed of him. Maybe the guy works for Bradley, I thought. I walked slowly by him, took a closer look and circled back to look at the name plate on the stern of the yacht, wondering if this really was the Seaspray. One thing was very obvious, this guy was very cute. He was lying down on his back with nothing on but a pair of white shorts. A white polo shirt was rolled up under his head and a cap and a pair of deck shoes lay beside him. He was also wearing a pair of dark sun glasses, the type which curve back around the sided of the face and look a little like aviator's goggles.

He appeared to be in his late twenties and I guessed he was a little shorter then me. I'm exactly six feet and, as it turned out, he's about five-nine. He was very blond, golden blond, with the color of hair which is probably light brown in the US winter, but quickly bleaches out to gold in the Caribbean sun. It's the color of hair I had as a kid, even as a young man when I had enough hair to count, except mine tended to be rather straight, where as his was curly - relaxed, easy curls, not tight, or kinky. I guess you could call it wavy, but it was a little more curly than that.

The guy had an beautiful body, a very well developed physique, but not the kind you associate with gyms, more the product of hard manual labor. And he had a great tan, typical of anyone spending much time in Caribbean. And did I say, a very cute and rather boyish face? I also couldn't help noticing that his shorts were stretched tightly over what could only be called a very well stocked tool box. I obviously looked him over fairly closely as I walked slowly by, but wasn't sure if he was even aware of my presence. He seemed to be asleep, but I couldn't tell. Maybe his eyes were open a bit behind his dark sun glasses. If nothing else, I thought, a nice bit of eye candy.

When I reached the stern and looked at the name plate, I saw that the yacht was indeed the Seaspray. I circled back again and called over, "Hello, I'm looking for Captain Bradley."

"Hi," he called back, "you must be Bill Cartright, come on aboard."

"You're Bradley?"

"Yep, that's me. But please just call me Bradley, okay?" He smiled and it was electric.

"Sure. And I guess then you should call me Bill."

"Great, Bill, let's get going."

"Bradley, huh? What's the "L. R." for?"

He smiled again as he began throwing off lines. "You don't want to know. Just Bradley, okay? I use it as a first name and last."

"Okay, Bradley, you sort of caught me off guard. I expected you to be older."

"Yeah, every one does. That's why I don't put any pictures of me on my web site or in my brochures. I suspect most of my clients think a sailing instructor has to be some really old gnarly kind of guy." As he spoke he flashed another beautiful smile and any doubts I might have had about his youthfulness disappeared.

But for all his good looks and youthful exuberance, Bradley proved to be an efficient and demanding teacher. Over the next two weeks he lectured, cajoled, scolded and congratulated. And when he was through with me I was ready to face the captain's exams with confidence. Bradley, I soon realized, was a natural teacher. He was also in love with sailing and the sea. And his enthusiasm was contagious.

By noon that first day I was exhausted. All the studying I had been doing suddenly became reality as charts and tidal graphs were replaced by the undulating sea and tangible forces at work on the beautiful vessel. Bradley took over and steered us into a calm cove. Once there, he gave me orders to lower the main sail while he lowered the anchor.

"Would you like to take a swim before we eat?" Bradley asked and the idea of diving into the clear water had instant appeal.

"Will you come in, too?"

"No," he said, "maybe later. But you get in and cool off while I get lunch ready."

I hadn't brought a suit but figured my shorts would be dry by the time we got back to port. I peeled off my shirt and started for the rear.

"Lose the shorts if you want," Bradley called from the little galley, "I always swim nude here when there aren't any other boats around."


"Oh, yeah. How do you think I keep my tan?"

Taking him at his word, I slid out of my shorts and dove into the incredible water. The cove was not deep and the white sand of the distant beach seemed to extend beyond us, well out into the open sea. Schools of small fish darted by, colorful enough for any aquarium.

When I pulled myself back up onto the deck, Bradley tossed me a towel and beckoned me over to the curving bench in the stern cockpit were he had served up sandwiches and cold beer. Just for a second, I thought he was looking me over rather closely. I wrapped the towel around my bare body, tucked it in and joined him for lunch. During my brief swim, Bradley had also pulled off his polo shirt, and as we ate, I also feasted on the sight of his incredible body.

Even over lunch, Bradley talked about sailing. He explained how the currents in the cove had turned the yacht and how his placement of the anchor had been critical to keeping us out of an area of dangerous rocks. It was clear that Bradley took his promise of speedy training very seriously and was not going to let a moment be wasted. I listened as we ate and several times while he was talking, he reached out to touch my hand or arm, as if to make a point, but also to establish contact. The Island natives do that a lot when they are talking, and I thought perhaps Bradley had picked up the habit from them. It did seem, though, that as we talked and got to know one another a little, his touches became more prolonged. After we'd eaten I asked him about his life in the Virgin Islands and his routine of moving from Maryland to the Caribbean with the seasons.

"I need an affluent clientele to make this operation work," he explained. I can get plenty of work in the States during the summers but, of course, mostly high paid attorneys and lobbyists from Washington. Most of them just want sailing instruction for a few hours each week, not the prolonged training I can offer when people like you come down here on vacations and can really concentrate. But things come to a screeching halt around Annapolis and Washington, DC, once it starts cooling off in the fall."

"Why not just stay here all year 'round?"

"Well, the Islands attract the clients I need when it is cold in the States. Summers here are hot and rates drop. A lot of less affluent tourists come then, lots of families with bunches of kids, but not too many of the kind who can afford me." He grinned again as he downed the last of his beer and put the empty bottle back on the serving tray he'd carried up from the galley. "Besides, I have family in Maryland and I need to spend some time with them."

"Just family?" I asked.

"Yeah, just my folks and my kid sister." He looked up into the wooded hills above the distant beach and then added, "I was with somebody through college and then on and off for another couple of years, but that's over now."


By the end of that first day I was hooked. Not only was Bradley a very good looking guy, but he is also a type I find very attractive. I am very attracted to good looking, muscular, blond guys. He is also very masculine and seemed to have a very nice, outgoing personality. I have never been attracted to effeminate men; in fact, I tend to be rather repulsed by them. A man should be a man, in my book. I love women and if I want a relationship with one, I want a real one, not some annoying counterfeit. Happily, there is nothing at all effeminate about Bradley.

When I had first seen him lying on roof of the cabin, he had been wearing his sun glasses. But as he was talking he had removed them and I saw that his eyes were of an incredible deep blue, almost a violet blue. They were truly amazing and, as it turned out, one of several characteristics which make Bradley such a memorable guy.

Bradley went on to explain that his father is a successful business man, who had always loved sailing. Bradley had grown up around boats and knew from an early age that more than anything else he wanted to sail. He said his folks were determined that once Bradley had "sown his wild oats," he would come home and go into business with his father. His dad had gone so far as to start a new venture with Bradley in mind.

"They expect me to come home, marry Pan Johnson and have a bunch of kids." He gave me a rather shy grin and added, "It's not going to happen."

After doing the required business degree, Bradley had gotten a job with a big yacht sales company in Annapolis, about thirty miles from his family home. Within two years he had saved enough for a down payment on Seaspray, the yacht of his dreams. "She's big enough for the open seas," he said, "but with a sloop rig, she's small enough to sail alone."

That afternoon we sailed a different course back to Cruz Bay, forcing me to use the navigational skills I had been studying in the books Bradley had put on my "required reading list."

That evening I returned to the cottage to find that Laura had also had a wonderful day. Betty had brought her cold soup and bread for lunch and replenished the huge basket of fresh fruit which was in the cottage when we arrived.

"Supper is at eight, Bill," Laura told me, "and expect a feast."

She had been right. Betty insisted on serving us on the verandah so we could watch the sunset over the sea as we ate. It was an incredible meal: a salad of fresh island greens and fruit, fresh grilled fish, plantain, and a local specialty, a kind of baked custard for dessert. I had insisted on bringing along several bottles of rather good wine and one of the Red Zinfandels went beautifully with the spicy island dishes.

That night as I lay in bed, I thought about Bradley. In our conversations up to that point, no mention had been made of anything sexual, but obviously, there were a lot of clues, the physical touching, the references to his relationship which had ended, no mention being made of whether it was with a woman or a man. Most straight guys I've known make that very clear right up front. "I broke up with my girl friend," or something to that effect. There was also Bradley's emphatic comment that marriage and kids with Pan Johnson was not going to happen. I suspected that Bradley was gay but beyond that I had no idea where our relationship might be heading. After all, I reminded myself, I may be in good shape for a guy my age, but I had to be at least twenty years older then this hunk.

At any rate, always the Boy Scout, and always wanting to be prepared, I threw a few extra things in my beach bag the next morning. I again pulled on shorts and a polo shirt and deck shoes, and was at the marina at eight as planned. Bradley was waiting, his dress almost identical to mine. I soon learned it was his usual garb for just about every occasion.

When Bradley saw my bag he suggested I stow it below and then followed me down the steps. We passed the little galley area. I was pleased to find that he had made a pot of coffee. Beyond the galley, we came into the main cabin. There was a settee against the starboard side which could be used for dining or converted for use as an extra bed. Forward from the main cabin was Bradley's sleeping area with a generous bed built into the snug bow of the yacht.

"Is this were you sleep?" I asked, looking at the neatly made bed.

"Yeah, home sweet home," Bradley grinned. "You can just toss your bag over there."

"This is great, Bradley," I said, looking around at the well fitted cabin and the comfortable bed. "I didn't even see this part of the yacht yesterday."

"Well, you know, once we get down here, we might be awhile," he said with a grin.

"Yeah, could be," I agreed.

Once back on deck, we made a few last minute adjustments to the rigging and we were prepared to go. As Bradley began to throw off the lines, a man came down the marina and stopped to visit for a moment. Bradley introduced me to the guy, who seemed to be about Bradley's age, maybe a year or two older. His name was Charles and he was one of the marina managers, a very good looking black Virgin Islander.

Even with that slight delay, we were underway within minutes of my arrival. The day was ideal, clear blue skies with just a few white clouds along the horizon and good westerly wind. Bradley let me take the Seaspray out of the harbor and into the open sea.

Once we were clear of the harbor and the congestion of other craft, Bradley left me in charge momentarily while he went below, emerging moments later with steaming mugs of his excellent coffee.

The morning past quickly as Bradley ran me through more of the points I needed to master for the captain's test. By noon we had almost finished the list of topics he had outlined for that day, which was lucky, because by eleven the low clouds along the horizon had blown in to form a rather threatening front.

"We'll put into a cove I know," Bradley said, "and sit this out. I know from this morning's weather reports that it won't last long, but we may get some heavy seas for a couple of hours, three at the most."

Bradley fired up the engine and took the wheel. Within twenty minutes we were anchored in a snug little cove, protected from the fast approaching storm.

"Today we eat below," he smiled. Heavy rain began to pelt us, drenching our minimal clothes in seconds. We dove into the cozy cabin and battened down the hatch. Without comment, we both pulled off our soaking shirts. Bradley went through into the bedroom space. When he returned he was wearing dry shorts but no shirt. He handed me a dry pair of shorts and a towel. "Get into these and give me your wet ones. I'll put all this stuff in the dryer before we eat." While he went over to the little galley to get lunch ready, I stepped into the bedroom and changed into the dry shorts, remaining shirtless, as Bradley had done.

"I didn't know you could have laundry equipment on a yacht this size," I said as I rejoined him. He took my wet clothes and towel, added them to the pile of his own stuff and handed me a tray of sandwiches and said, "it's both a washer and dryer, made just for yachts with limited space."

He went into a little room just beside the bedroom door and was back within a few seconds. I asked if that was a toilet and if I could use it.

"Sure, just remember not to call it a toilet around us salty old seafarers."

"Yeah, a 'head,' right?"

"Yep," he grinned as I went in.

When I came back Bradley was sitting on the settee trying to look relaxed and not succeeding. Our lunch was spread out on the table waiting for our attention.

We ate in silence, which was not like Bradley. He had not let a moment go by up to that point when he could be talking about sailing and what I needed to master to be ready for my exams. The air in the small cabin seemed electric. As we finished our lunch it was looking more and more as if Bradley wasn't going to deal with the obvious, so I decided I'd just jump in.

"Is this were we talk about how we spend a few hours waiting out a storm?" I asked. I have learned it is best to get the ground rules established early in the game.

"Yeah, I guess so," Bradley said with a shy grin. "I'm not very good at this."

"Sure, it can be awkward." I said and reached out for his hand. "You seemed okay with a little touching yesterday."

"Yeah. When I first came down here with my folks as a kid, I was a little surprised at how much the Islanders touch you when you're just talking. I first thought it might mean more than it does, and then I thought maybe it was just a part of their culture, you know, just the way they communicated."

"It's common all over the Caribbean, with both men and women."

"Yeah, I finally figured that out."

"Tell me about the guy you broke up with in Maryland," I said, while still holding his hand.

"You figured that out. That it was a guy, I mean."

"I guessed. Did you guys live together?"

"We were roommates in college and continued to get together afterward. I guess I thought of Mike as my boy friend, but he didn't ever really see me that way. He dated other guys, I mean."

"So breaking up was really your term for getting smart."

"I guess."

"Did you always know you were gay?"

"I guess I always knew I liked guys, but I'd never done anything about it. I dated, in high school and college. It was expected."

"Did you ever have sex with a girl?"

"I messed around a little, but it didn't do much for me and the couple of times it went far enough that she caught on how big I am, she panicked."

"I kind of figured you were big."

"Yeah," he grinned and looked down at his lap. "I got the donkey and pony jokes all through school."

"But you're okay with it now?"

When I was a kid, even into college, it bothered me a lot. I got a lot of kidding. Now I more or less just say, "Fuck it."

"Well," I teased, "that does seem to be the thing to do!"

"You don't know how big I am, Bill. Most guys just run for dear life."

"Maybe we ought to have a look. I never saw one you couldn't have a lot of fun with."

"You don't exactly move slow, do you?"

"No, at my age I figure it's either on or it's off and you just as well figure out which as quickly as possible. If it's on, great, if not, talk about friendship."

Bradley laughed. "Can't it be both?"

"Sure, I insist on it. But if it isn't about sex, figure that out and go on to whatever it is without a lot of fencing and embarrassment."

"Man, you do move quick."

"Do you mind?"

"No, I kind of like it."

He got up and went into the bedroom with me close behind. The heavy rain was more audible here. It pelted down on the deck above, charging the tight space with an almost electric energy. The space was very tight with the large bed taking up almost all the room there was. Also, the ceiling was so low that I could just barely stand up straight. Being about three inches shorter, Bradley didn't have that problem, but he did look a little ill at ease.

"I don't want you to think I do this with all my clients," he said. "I don't."

"I'm ever more honored then," I said, reaching out to hug him, "to think I am among the honored few."

Our bare chests met and pressed together. Then he pulled back a little and looked at me.

"Not even a few, Bill. You're the first client I've ever done this with."

"Well, then I really am honored. In fact, I'm overwhelmed."

I looked at him and wondered what I had done to deserve this. I'm in fair shape for a guy my age, but I'm no match for Bradley. He really does have a beautiful body. His arms are a lot bigger and more defined than mine and his chest muscles are big and hard, the kind of pectoral muscles which are rather cushion like. A lot of guys have buttocks which are compared to melons, and in fact, I later discovered that Bradley definitely qualifies on that count. I have never heard a guy's chest compared to melons but it is an apt way do describe Bradley's. He had huge, mounded pectoral muscles which were very hard, not at all soft, although, in form, they almost resembled cushions. They were surmounted by small pink nipples. He was beautifully tanned for a blond guy and was completely smooth. In fact, he had virtually no body hair except for a very minimal amount in his arm pits and, I soon discovered, a small blond bush above his really prodigious cock.

"Can I keep going?" I asked and he nodded. He seemed to have lost his voice but I took his nod as all the permission I needed. I loosened his belt and then unbuttoned and unzipped his shorts. I let them fall and he stepped out of them and his sandals, leaving him in only white jockey shorts stretched over what was now very clearly a really huge dick. The Jockey shorts he was wearing were the low rise kind, which I also prefer. They did wonders showing off the obvious size of his cock and made me all the more curious about it. They were so brilliantly white that they obviously had to be new, which I found rather touching and very flattering. Bradley had clearly dressed with sex in mind, and sex with me, to boot. Their brilliance also showed off his beautiful tan, which showed no signs of a break. It was clear that this guy liked the sun as much as I do and, if I was not mistaken, I would find no patch of white skin when the briefs did come off.

I pulled off the loaner shorts I was wearing and was completely naked with him still standing there in his white jockey shorts. I was hard and his shorts were swelling like they had been inflated by a hot air balloon. My just average cock was pointing north and his was putting on quite a show, just waiting for the curtain to open.

"It really is big, Bill," he said, then added, "just warning you."

"I can tell, and I'm glad you got your voice back." I smiled and drew him into an embrace. His head came down and rested on my shoulder. "Are you into kissing?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah," he said, lifting his face to mine. I bent forward and placed my lips softly against his. A lot of guys say they like kissing then sort of panic when they really are kissed. I've learned to take it slow and see what is acceptable. But in Bradley's case, I didn't have to worry. His warm lips slowly opened and his tongue began to run over my lips, then between them, then into my mouth, then deeply into my mouth, probing, seeking, exploring.

His cock was hard and pulsing against me, even thought he was still in his shorts. We stood there kissing for several minutes and then I broke away and said, "can we get on the bed."

Bradley didn't answer, he just got on the bed and rolled over making room for me. I sat on the edge near me and stroked his beautiful chest. I found as our friendship developed that touching Bradley, exploring his beautiful body, was a tremendous thrill for me and a real turn on.

"Okay if I pull these off?" I asked, hooking my fingers into the waist band of his jockey shorts.

"Yeah, but don't say I didn't warn you."

"Bradley, lay off."

"I know," he said as I slowly slid the waist band of his briefs down a little. Well, I was right about one thing. There was no tan line in sight. I got them down a little lower and discovered the beautiful patch of hair, as blond as he hair on his head and a lot more curly. It too, seemed to have been lightened by the Caribbean sun. The top of his cock came into view and I couldn't help gasping. It's diameter exceeded any cock I had ever, to that day, seen. The length of it was still somewhat hidden as it was tucked down and held in place by his tight briefs. I lowered the waist band of his jockey shorts inch by inch and as I did so, revealed a piece of male equipment which would have made even the most studly porn star proud. Lower still, down over his balls, which were big, but not as impressive as his cock, still lower and I realized the head of this beauty was curled down under his balls, back between his legs, aiming its heavy head into his ass crack, reaching even to his rear door itself. When the last inch of the waist band of his shorts slipped over the confined scepter, it spearing up from its captivity, vaulting against his hard belly and pulsing there.

"I told you so," Bradley said. His voice was soft, almost a whisper, apologetic in tone.

I've read many stories about prodigious cocks. I have seen a few which were bigger than the usual, but never one like this. It was a thing of fantasies, a mythic cock, a Jungian cock, an archetypal cock. "Bradley, babe," I whispered, "no way should you apologize for that."

He moved back into my embrace and again lowered his head to my shoulder. "Thank you," he said, his voice almost a sob.

I held him, feeling the mass of his cock and the much smaller mass of my own move and pulse between us. I felt as if there was a dialog going on between them. If, like pack animals, some sort of pecking order was being established here, Bradley's clearly won.

I rocked him back and forth in my arms as we lay together on the bed. The air in the little cabin was being sucked out by some hidden mechanism and replaced by the cooler, even more moist air brought in with the storm. I was grateful for the cooler air streaming over our bodies.

Bradley pulled his head back from my shoulder a little and with what was now clearly a catch in his voice, again said, "Thank you."

"What for?"

"For not laughing, or gasping, or making some bad joke."

"I guess you've heard them all."

"Yeah." There was a little noise deep in his chest, half sob, half chuckle. "Donkey Dick, Pony Penis, The Log, The Phone Pole." He stopped and I thought he was through. "Then you get the really cruel ones like, Cunt Killer, Death by Bradley, The Ripper, The Sledge." Again he paused and I felt his chest tremble a little against mine. "And then by the time I got to college, I ran into the intellectual types, Equine Assassin, Moby Dick, Apollo Thirteen."

"Stop, Bradley."

"The ones I hated most weren't even verbal. You know, the gasps, the twitters, the looks of absolute horror."

"Kids can be very unkind."

"Yeah, little kids and high school kids and college kids and a whole lot of so called adults."

"You know, you have a piece of equipment there most men could only dream about. It's like the things fantasies are made from, Bradley. You should flaunt it, not be ashamed of it."

"Oh, sure. You know I mentioned all the names guys call it. I haven't even gotten to the jokes. 'For a short guy, you sure sit a long way back from the steering wheel.' I kind of liked that one. 'Do you have to back into a phone booth?' Or how about, 'do you use the handicapped toilet for the extra space?' And then the guys who can't resist calling me by so-called friendly nick names, you know, the kind every kid in school including girls understands. So everyone knows I'm a freak. The all time worst nick names were Horse and Pile Driver. One guy at college always called across about half the length of the campus whenever he'd see me, 'Hey, Bradley, how's it hanging?' or 'Hey, Bradley, how's the Boa Constrictor?' It really is for shit."

'Stop, Bradley," I whispered in his ear and he just sobbed against my chest.

"You know, I actually went to a doctor about three years ago to see if there was any surgical procedure for penis reduction. You know what he wanted to do?"


"Take pictures of it. He wanted to fucking publish a paper in a medical journal. I would have died."

I held him and felt our bodies move instinctively against each other. My own sexual arousal was growing and I knew his must be as well. His massive cock was moving slowly back and forth along my belly, keeping time with my own. "You know, if we don't stop this and get to real sex, we're both going to come just from moving against each other like this."

"For me this is real sex, Bill. I haven't ever found a guy who could suck it and certainly not one who'd let me fuck him."

"You've got to be kidding."

"I'm not. Mike, the guy I lived with through college, the guy I split up with a year and a half ago, he fucked me and I blew him, but all he ever did to me was jack me off or lick it a little."

"You are kidding me, Bradley. There's no reason why a guy with any experience at all couldn't take your cock up the ass and love it."

"Come on. You telling me you could?"

"Sure. I've been fucked by bigger things than that."

"You into fisting or something really weird?"

"Not really. I have friends who are and I've been to a few of their parties. Yeah, I've tried it a little. Toys, too."

"Dildos and butt plugs?"

"Yes, Bradley. It isn't nearly as kinky as the tone of your voice suggests."

"I've thought of checking out one of those leather bars just to see if I could find a guy who would let me rape him. That's what I've always felt like it would be, rape."

"Not necessarily."

"You know, Mike told me he'd never try to take it for fear it would rip him apart. He wasn't kidding, he really meant it."

I rolled him over onto his back and gave him a soft, gentle kiss. Then I pushed myself up into a kneeling position between his legs and leaned forward to kiss the head of his huge cock. He smelled and tasted clean and fresh and I hated to admit it, but he was right, at least about me giving him head. There was no way I could spread my jaw wide enough to even get the head of his cock into my mouth. I ran my tongue along it, leaving it wet with my saliva and began to jack him off a little with one hand while I continued to stroke his hard belly with the other.

"Umm, that feels so good," he moaned.

"How long has it been since you got off?"

He opened his incredible blue eyes, looked up at me and smiled. "I beat off last night thinking about you."

"Well, that's very flattering. Do you have condoms and lube?"

He laughed. His eyes twinkled, "Oh, I've got lube, but no condoms. What's the point? They aren't big enough for me."

"Come on, fellow, don't get boastful on me. You may be big, but latex does stretch, you know."

"I bust the ring, Bill. You know, the rubber band thing at the bottom of a rubber. If I can get it on at all it just about kills me and then the band pops. I know, I've tried them all. See, what we have here is everybody else's fantasy and my nightmare."

"I'm a fanatic for safe sex. I just don't do unprotected sex, Bradley, but I did come prepared."

"I was tested after I broke up with Mike and again before I started coming down here. I was negative both times with enough time in between to catch any delayed reactions. So in theory, it should be okay but I understand where you're coming from."

"So no unsafe sex since you were tested?"

"No sex since, except solo."

"I don't know about you, fellow, you tell me you only like guys and here you're living in the fast and loose Caribbean. And from what I saw this morning, at least one pretty hot local guy was taking some long looks at you."

"You mean Charles?"

"Yeah. No interest?"

"No." He rolled his eyes back and looked up at the ceiling. "It's too complicated." He paused again and then brought his eyes back into contact with mine. "I guess I should just admit to you that I have another problem there."

"Let me guess. Race, right?"

"Yeah, and I hate it. I don't want to be prejudiced but I grew up in a very small town in what really is a very southern state. There were a lot of stereotypes I got saddled with before I was old enough to even know what was going on."

"So you don't think you could have sex with a black man, even a very good looking black man?"

"Probably not in this lifetime."

"Well, all I can say, Captain Bradley, is that you certainly made a strange choice of countries to come to for eight or ten months a year if you feel like that."

"I know, it's crazy. I really am fighting it all the time. Like I said, I hate it, the prejudice, I mean, but so far, it's still there."

"But for sure, having unprotected sex with the local people here is probably not such a good idea."

"Yeah, that scares me too. I hear all those stories about the percentages of people here with AIDS and it makes me want to crawl in a hole."

I had continued to stroke his brick hard dick and I knew if I kept it up much longer he was going to come. "Let's see if we can't think of a better way of getting off than this," I said.

"This is great, Bill. I love what you're doing."

"Look," I said, "consider it a kind of challenge, but I want you to fuck me."

"You got to be kidding. Besides, you said yourself, you don't do unsafe sex."

"I also said I came prepared." I got off the bed and grabbed my beach bag. From it I pulled a box of Magnum condoms, the ones advertised 'For Real Men.' "You can't imagine what a kick it was buying these."

"Yeah? I'd be embarrassed as hell."

"Well, if you saw the look of respect on the pharmacist's face, you might change your mind."

"You didn't get those here."

"No, I brought them from the States. You never know when you might get lucky."

"Do you think they will fit?"

"I think so but the only way we'll find out is to try. Where's the lube?"

Bradley reached into the drawer of the bedside table and withdrew a big tube. I smiled when I say how large it was and lifted my eyebrows questioningly.

"Like I said, I play solo a lot."

"Well, I'm just glad you're well stocked. Now come here and lie down on your back."

He did as he was told, a look of uncertainty on his cute face.

"Think you could open me up?"


"Sure, if that's the best you can do." I knelt over him, my ass toward his head, my face toward his feet. He took the lube and began to work a little into my ass. "More," I said, "don't mess around, get me really greased up." He did as he was told and within a few minutes he had worked three and then four fingers into me.

"You know this scares the hell out of me."

"Shut up and fuck," I grinned, looking back at him. "Hand me the lube."

When I thought I was as open as he was going to get me, I squeezed a big dollop of the clear, water based lubricant onto the head of his cock, tore open the three inch square foil packet and extracted the large condom. I rolled it over the head of his greased cock and then on down his shaft. The generous amount of lubricant I'd squeezed onto his cock head, spread under the latex as I unrolled the condom. I put another generous amount on his now condom covered cock and turned around.

"How does it feel?"

"Tight, but not bad."

"Good. Maybe those condom makers really had you in mind."

"Yeah, right. They didn't call for measurements."

"Poor baby." I squatted over his massive pole, aimed it at my ass and moved down. I felt the muscles of my ass begin to spread until the full width of his cock head hit my sphincter. It screamed in protest but I continued to press down. I knew I could do it. As I had told Bradley, I had taken bigger, although it had been a very long time.

I applied more pressure and felt him slip in a little more. His eyes were open wide and his mouth was gaping. There was a slight sense of pain as the head of his cock slipped past my sphincter ring and then he was in.

"Oh, my god!" he moaned. I leaned forward and put my hands on the hard mounds of his chest, giving myself more control over my decent. Inch by inch, I slid down his cock, slowly impaling myself on it. It was a slow process and not an easy one. But I was determined and I knew victory was in sight.

At last I felt his blond pubic hair brushing against my balls and then against my ass, and I knew we were there. I settled down on him, giving him my entire weight and then held very still.

"Don't move," I ordered. "Give me time to adjust."

"I can't believe this," Bradley whispered as his eyes looked up into mine. 'You know you're the first person I ever fucked." I nodded. At the moment I wanted to concentrate on getting used to his huge cock, not on any exchange of banter. It took a few more minutes before my body accepted the invasion but once my ass had come to terms with it, it welcomed it.

I began to move, slowly at first, lifting myself up a little, then sliding back down.

"Oh, yes," Bradley hissed and his own body began to lift to meet my strokes. "Yes."

The boy was too far along from our earlier frontal snuggling, but I kept him this side of the edge as long as possible. When I realized he was nearly there, I began to perform my famous kegal dance and within seconds, he lost it. Need I add, I lost it, too?

When we came up on deck the storm front had moved on and we stood, still naked, on the rear deck, looking across the cove at the wet, forest sparkling in the now brilliant sun.

"Come on," Bradley said, "let's go for a short swim and then get back on track again."

As we swam and played like a pair of young dolphins in the warm water, I realized just how much Bradley was at home here.

"You do this often?"

"Yeah, every chance I get," he called from twenty or thirty feet away. "I love being naked in the sea."

"Yeah, me too. Actually, I just love being naked. Do you ever go to the nude beaches?"

"No way. I'd feel like a freak."

"Well, you'd certainly be a star attraction."

"I'll just stick to secluded coves like this and do my bare ass sunbathing on the rear deck of the Seaspray when nobody is around."

"Is that how you keep that great all over tan?"

"Yep, baking my butt whenever I get a chance."

We swam back to the yacht and pulled ourselves out of the warm water onto the deck, where we sat naked drinking one more beer before heading out again.

So that was the beginning of our affair. Bradley still insists that I took him to heights he hadn't known existed. Over the next two weeks, I introduced him to other sexual experiences which were also new to him. The very next day we were blessed by another storm and held up in another cove. He insisted I fuck him. It was a service I was pleased to perform.

Before I put my cock in his ass, I opened him up in grand style. It wasn't that his ass needed the limbering up just to take my very average dick. It certainly didn't need the attention mine needed to welcome his really majestic member. It was more an excuse to show him how to open a guy properly in the hopes that he'd be the quick learner I suspected he'd be and give me the same attention the next time around.

When we'd eaten and then retreated to his bedroom the next day, I undressed him again, insisting on the honor. He has such an incredibly beautiful body that it is a real high for me to strip him. Once we were both naked, I marched him into the shower, which was very tight, but it did get the job done. I washed him and myself, reveling in the feel of his hard body, loving the sensual pleasure of running my hands over every inch of him. I made sure his ass was completely clean. I worked a couple of soapy fingers into him, rinsed, and did it again with three.

"You gonna fuck me here?"

"No, babe, in bed, but I want my boy clean."

He didn't argue and I soon had him the way I wanted him. I don't think he had any idea what I was planning, but as soon as we were dry and I got him on the bed, I rolled him onto his back, got his knees up against his chest and went down on his ass.

Bradley practically screamed at the sensation. When I came up for air and looked up at him he was almost in a swoon.

"I can't believe that," he whispered. "I can't believe you're doing that."

"Enjoy," I said and went back to my work.

By the time I fucked him, his ass was so relaxed and so wet with my saliva that I slipped into him with complete ease and no pain on his part. Later when we snuggled in the afterglow, he asked me about it.

"That's rimming, isn't it? he asked.

"Well, I guess I started out rimming but I moved on pretty quick to just eating your ass."

"Oh, man, I couldn't believe it. I've read about guys doing that but never expected to experience it. It was really awesome."

"Glad you enjoyed it."

"Did you enjoy it, too?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Man, I don't know if I could do that or not. It kind of freaks me out."

"Well, I bet if you ever did it, you'd find you enjoy it."

He was silent for a long time and I knew he was thinking about it.

The next day there was no storm necessitating time at anchor, but when Bradley steered the Seaspray into a remote cove, we both knew why. Bradley suggested a swim before lunch and we both stripped and dove off the stern into the amazingly clear water. We swam together toward a small strip of beach and then back toward the Seaspray. Bradley called and then did a sleek surface dive and came up next to me. As I treaded water he ran his hands down my chest and gave me a light kiss. Then his hands explored my body and his fingers ran along the crack of my buttocks, feeling for the bud of my ass. Once found, he fingered me a little, smiling as we bobbed in the water. I guessed this was his substitute for the careful cleaning I had given his ass in the tight shower the day before.

"Nice," I said, trying to talk without getting a mouthful of water.

"You like that, huh?"

"Yeah, you can play with my ass all day."

"Not all day, mister, you have a lot of sailing instruction to get through."

"Spoil sport."

"You're not going to damage my record by failing to pass that exam."

"Oh, now it all comes down to professional pride," I teased as he ran a second finger deep into my ass. The salt water felt slick. It was an odd feeling lubricant.

"Well, sort of. I think we can afford to take off a little time after lunch."

"What do you have in mind?"

"You'll see. Come on, sandwiches and beer first."

Back on the Seaspray, we had lunch on the rear deck and then instead of leading me back through to the bedroom as I had expected, Bradley unrolled a mat on the rear deck and pulled me down onto it.

"You really do like the sun, don't you?" I asked.

"Yeah, do you mind?"

"Not at all, nobody is around."

"The idea of fucking you out here in the open really turns me on."

"Well then, Captain, let's go for it."

I hadn't noticed that Bradley had brought out a towel, which turned out to be rolled around the tube of lubricant and a supply of the extra large condoms I had brought with me two days earlier. He spread me out on the mat to his liking and then dove for my ass.

"You taste like the sea," he grinned up at me soon after attacking my ass with his mouth.

"I'm not surprised, you practically gave me a sea water enema."

Once he got into it, he was like a puppy with a new toy. I must say he was very good. He had no inhibitions and soon had me so open that I could take his huge cock with pleasure.

"I guess, for a guy with a dick like mine," he later said, "I should have learned that stuff a long time ago."

"Yeah, but you just didn't have the right teacher."

"Well, I do now."

Bradley and I made good use of time at sea. Every day we managed to take a break from his excellent sailing instruction to revel in our sexual games. We fell into a pattern which held for all the time I was there. We would work hard all morning, break for lunch and then take an hour or two to fuck, one day him topping me, the next me being the dominant one. I must say that Bradley was very conscientious about his responsibilities as my instructor.  


When we left Cruz Bay, Bradley and I promised to stay in touch. It is the kind of promise which, in my experience, is often made and rarely kept. But with Bradley, it was serious. By the time we got home I found no fewer than five e-mail messages waiting. Over the next year I heard from him often and always made a point of responding promptly. During the summer he was back in Maryland, but we had no chance to get together. In October I e-mailed him to ask if I could book the advanced open sea training he offered for the first two weeks in January. Within a few days we had all the arrangements made. Laura and I would arrive in Cruz Bay just a few days into the new year.

Bradley was back in Maryland with his family for a few days over the Christmas holidays and we talked by phone. He lost no time in calling as soon as he arrived in the States. The calls were ostensibly to confirm arrangements, but Bradley and I knew better. He told me that his parents were pressuring him to return to the States full time His father was upset that Bradley did not want to come home and go into business with him, as his father had envisioned. Bradley was unsure what he should say to his parents about his reasons. The main reason he wanted to distance himself was because of his sexual orientation. On one level he thought it would be easier to just come out to his folks and tell them that he felt he needed his independence in order to live the life he knew he wanted. On the other hand, he realized that it would come as a complete shock to them and be very hard for them to understand, and probably impossible for them to accept. His entire family lived in the one area, grandparents, uncles and aunts and a very large extended family. He told me that they were very conservative, politically, socially and religiously. The church in which Bradley had grown up and in which his entire family was very active, condemned homosexuality in the strongest terms and insisted that anyone who lived such a life style was damned.

Bradley is so masculine in his appearance and behavior that none of his family or long term friends had any idea that he is gay. In the end, he felt that for the time being at least he would not deal with the issue. He would just make his pattern of spending seven or eight months each year in the Virgin Islands and three or four months in Annapolis, were he continued to have a loyal following of clients.

We talked several times while he was in the States. He left to go back just three days before my wife and I planned to arrive in Cruz Bay. In out last phone conversation before he went back he asked me to try to figure out how I could join him on the Seaspray for a while the evening we arrived. I didn't see how I could do that, but in the end it was no problem at all.

Laura was a little air sick on the way down and her stomach was even more queasy after a very rough ferry ride on from St. Thomas to Cruz Bay. By the time we got to the villa, the same one we had rented the year before, by the way, she wanted nothing more than a couple of pills and bed. I told her I would be gone for a while but would try to be quiet when I came in. "Please don't wake me. I just want to sleep through till morning," she had said.

Betty, our cook from the year before was also back with us and had come to the villa to be sure all the arrangements were to our liking. When I left the bedroom after seeing Laura tucked in, she was waiting and said, "Tomorrow, we going to get you and your misses on Island time," meaning a light breakfast, a light lunch for Laura while I was out sailing, and then one of her sumptuous feasts about eight in the evening. "Now," she grinned, "you get down to the marina. They's that boy waiting for you. He been a calling every hour all afternoon asking if you here. He wore me out. Why, he been a nervous wreck since he got back from the States, Man, and you got to calm him down."

Well, I thought, Betty certainly keeps her eyes open. I realized that she had probably figured out the nature of my relationship with Bradley the previous January. It was clear she knew what was going on, but I also sensed that in Betty, Bradley and I had a real ally. And as it turned out, I was right.

"Now you get, mister. I be here if your misses needs anything," she said with a smile and sent me on my way.

I forced myself to climb the stairs calmly and knock on the door in a deliberate manner. Who knows, I thought, Bradley's bosses or some of his volunteers might be around.

When I reached the Seaspray, Bradley was standing lookout on the rear deck. He waved as I came into view and then came jogging along the dock to meat me. Once on board, he drug me down into the bedroom and practically ripping my few clothes off.

I must say, he certainly made me feel welcomed.

But we did have a real problem. It certainly wasn't with Bradley's welcome or his enthusiasm. Well, maybe it was with his enthusiasm. He was just too horny and too anxious to pick up were we had left off the year before. I was certainly willing and I was anxious to please him. My ass, however, had not experienced anything like Bradley's cock for the last year and it simply balked at the prospect of entry. Bradley knew we didn't have much time and that didn't help. All told, he was not too patient. The bottom line was that he was in a big hurry and simply wanted to fuck. I had to stop him and insist that he give me more time. By that point he had worked my ass with his fingers, going from one to four. But at each increase in the number of digits, my sphincter recoiled, not at all happy to move on to the next stage.

After about an hour of frustration on his part and some real pain on mine, I insisted that we call a halt. I got him to lie back and relax and I gradually brought him to an explosive climax using my mouth and my hands. We snuggled, which given the sheer masculine beauty of the guy, was always a real pleasure for me. I couldn't get enough of his body, just touching, stroking, kissing him was enough to fulfill a lot of my own fantasies. I also noticed that Bradley's skills at kissing had greatly improved. His enjoyment of kissing also seemed to have increased. Any slight reticence I had felt in him a year earlier was now completely gone. I asked him about it and got a big grin.

"Glad you noticed, I've been practicing," he said.

"I'm impressed. Who have you been practicing with?"

"Not with who," he grinned, "with what."

"Oh? They make kissing dolls or something now?"

"No, mangos."

"You're kidding me."

"No, Bill, I'm serious. I buy the ripest ones the vendors have, but you know how messy they are to eat."


"Well, I discovered that if they are really ripe, the way I like them, I could just make a slit in the tough skin and go after them with my lips and tongue. I realized it was a lot like kissing. It is even more like eating ass. I could get so turned on eating a ripe mango that I'd usually be holding it with my left hand and beating off with my right."

"That really is a hot picture."

"Well, now you get the benefit of all that practice."

"I'll have to find a way to express my appreciation to mangos."

"Why don't you just express your appreciation to me?"

I did so.

The next morning I was back on the Seaspray for the start of my two weeks training. We immediately fell back into the pattern we had established the year before. When we pulled into a remote cove for lunch, I more or less knew what was coming. What I didn't anticipate was Bradley's new skills. I knew from our time together the previous evening that he had turned into quite a kisser. He had also turned into quite an ass eater! The guy was opening me up in no time at all. Again I realized that any reticence he had felt the year before was now completely gone. It was clear from the way he worked his tongue into me that he was intent on opening me up. But even thought that was his objective, it was also clear that he was enjoying every moment of the process.  

"I was rushing things yesterday," he said as he began to kiss me. "Now, let's relax and not worry about it. If it happens, great, if it doesn't, we'll find another way." By the time he started to enter me, I felt like I was being taken a Jersey bull. I guess Bradley might not be all that much smaller than a Jersey bull, but you get the idea.

Of course by then I took his wonderful cock in good order. I would like to say I took it with no problems and no pain, but that would not be exactly true. I loved the sensation of having him in me, but the process was never easy. Once in, it always took me a little while to adjust. But once my body had accepted his mass, it was an incredible experience.

We also fell into the pattern we had established the year before, of him fucking me one day, me fucking him the next. It was a good system and I really doubt if I my ass could have taken him every day without becoming too sore to fuck at all. I never did get Bradley to go to one of the nude beaches for some swimming and sunbathing. I would have loved to see the reaction of the people there, but understood. Bradley is just not ready to face that kind of public scrutiny and he probably never will be. Let's face it, human beings really can be very cruel.

Bradley has continued to divide his time between the Virgin Islands and Maryland. He has been dating a little, but hasn't yet found that special guy who can accept and love him for the wonderful man he is. He jokingly tells me that what he's looking for is a younger, single version of me. What I would hope for him is a really nice guy his own age with a great personality, killer looks and a really big dick.

The End.