So the bladder alarm goes off. I awake with Chris in my arms. He's warm and he's soft and he's a boy and I have a boner and I'm in distress. I disengage myself and pull the covers back over him before I crawl out naked and go pee off the dock. They don't use Nightwind's head in the marina and it's easier to disembark than to get to a place where you can pee off the side without peeing on the boat at least a little. Back at the bunk, I crawl back in and wrap my arms back around Chris, enjoying the warmth and solidity of him. He snuggles back into me and hums approvingly, before fading out again. For a minute.
"Oh, God! Gotta pee! Gotta pee!" he frets, squirming frantically.
"Just run out and pee off the dock."
"Naked?" he asks, jumping up, his boner bouncing.
"Why not? Nobody's up at this hour but us crazy people."
He returned and crawled back into my arms. I gave us each a breath strip, and then kissed him good morning behind the ear, delighted to wake up next to somebody so cute that I like so much. My watch says we have to get up in 20 minutes. My bone commands my body to make firm contact with the warm boy butt touching the front of me. I press into the firm softness of him and have a delicious mini cum, then settle into deciding what to do about my deep lust for this sleeping angel. Or... not sleeping, I guess: he reaches to pull my hand around onto his own firming boy cock. Touching him is a delight to the heart. Hearts: the heart of my affection and the heart of my lust. I run my fingers to caress the head and then give his shaft a sudden squeeze, feeling him pulse. It does my hearts good.
"Mmm, that's yummy," he says, in a cute sleepy voice. I'm compelled to roll him on his back and have him, give him a good cum. Early morning cums are the best and a quickie first thing is the very bestest of all. I slide down and flip the foot of the covers up, so he can be warm, but I can still suck him. He smells warm and clean and his pretty boy dick is as hard as rock. I pull his boner up away from his body gently, careful to keep him from mini-cumming. I want this to be fast and sharp and cataclysmic and complete for him. I want to hear him. I kiss his soft dusky balls and lick once up his underside just to appreciate the boyness of him -- that act is for me -- then I carefully put him deep into my open mouth before I suddenly make contact, sliding wet and warm and soft from base to tip and back, softly at first, almost immediately speeding and increasing my pressure, as the first sweet groans escape from my sweet lover. Adding a little suction, then more, I speed up. I feel him thrusting, moaning, his voice going higher, then freezing, arched off the mattress, yelping as if in distress, and then a couple of hard fast shots, and it's all down hill from there, slowing and becoming gentle and then a whole bunch of throbs. I wait for his pulses to fade, then swallow his yummy cream, shivering a little at the queer joy of the act. At the joy of eating what this beautiful boy has given me. I pull the covers back down over him. I can tell from the way he arched and vibrated that it was a really sweet, hard cum. It leaves him wide awake, but a little disoriented. I crawl up and hover over him.
"Time to get up, cute sleepyhead." God, he's so cute!
"How about you?" he asked, sounding concerned.
"We'll figure out some way to be bad, later. Don't worry. Besides, I wanted to make you come way worse than I needed to. After all, you're a groin boy."
"That's what I am, a groin boy. A groaning boy."
"I love to hear you groan. D'joo sleep good?" I asked.
"I woke up and you were holding me." He said dreamily, like he was describing an ice cream cone.
"It was the best feeling -- well almost the best feeling -- I'm... " Chris grinned momentarily and then looked at me, serious. "I'm so... happy." He pulled me down and snuggled into me. His smell and his tenderness sent a bolt of lust through the core of me, the need to merge, to sink into him.
Before things could go any further, Zephyr was tapping on the door: "Rise and... uh... get up! You guys awake?"
"Cu-umming, Mother," I whined. It was our ruined orgasm joke that we'd gotten from somewhere.
"I'm gonna go take a shower. Can you get things going?" Zephyr asked, through the door.
"No problem. See you in a few. We're gonna leave Nightwind open, okay?" No answer. I could hear his flip-flops on deck, then on the dock.
"Shit!" I popped the porthole and called out, "Z, should we leave Nightwind open?" I could see the top of his hair; he was right below the porthole on the dock finger.
"Yeah, I need to come back and drop off my stuff."
"Why don't you... " I said to Chris, "Uh, if you need to hit the head right away, why don't you get dressed and take the keys now. Otherwise you can start the coffee, and then go up."
"I'm good as long as I can pee off the dock again, as light as it's getting."
"Should be okay. Do it here, right by Nightwind, just in case. I'll go unlock Pacifica."
"Damn, that was good," he grinned, giving me a peck on the mouth, "I owe you one, uhh... I think you owe me your big one."
Fuck, now I had a boner again. Bad. Not even 5:30, yet.
So I grab my pack and go take a leak off the dock. We just leave Nightwind open and head over to Pacifica. After a night aboard Nightwind, the contrast was striking: Pacifica was definitely a merchant vessel, not a sleek, elegant cruising yacht. Jaz and I dragged the boarding steps up to the side gate, boarded Pacifica and unlocked the galley and bunkroom. I threw all our stuff in one bunk in the crew area, the curtained-off forward section. Four of the six crew bunks were full of supplies. We might not be getting into a bunk at all, since we were both working, so it was mostly just a place for our stuff. Jaz showed me how to set up the big coffee urn and start it brewing. Hot coffee sounded kind of good, right now. I asked him how long it was going to take: forty-five minutes, no fair. Jaz told me how to turn on the hot water dispenser for cocoa. At least that would be good to go in 5 minutes.
Z was back from Nightwind, having secured her. "You guys want to go get a shower before things get busy?"
I took him up on it. Jaz stayed down to help. Z gave me the key, and told me to go ahead and brace the mesh door at the top of the gangway open, so the other two crewmen could come in. He reminded me not to lock his keys into the shower room. I grabbed my bathing suit and Jaz' and headed up into the marina for a quick hot shower.
In the warmth of the shower, my thoughts went to Jaz. As if they'd ever left. I had two strong feelings -- more than that, actually -- and I wondered how to... I don't know, Reconcile them? Did they even need to be reconciled? He was sexy as hell to me. Even right after I came, the physical sexuality of him just drew me. And he was sweet to me. Tender. Made me feel tender about him, too. It was new to me, two feelings this strong, one sweet and gentle and the other bold and rough and voracious. I'm not a sourpuss anyway, but I was so full of joy. Confused, yet certain; happy, yet in fear of loss. And so lucky, so very lucky for Jaz to be my first.
When I was done, I washed our suits in one of the sinks with some body wash, to get the dried salt off. As I washed Jaz' suit, I felt a wave of joy and devotion. Joy for the chance to do a little personal thing for him he'd hardly notice, a little thing that made the world a tiny bit better because I could comfort him a tiny bit. I got back as quickly as I could. Jaz showed me where the wetsuit clips were and I hung the bathing suits where they could start to dry, secured with the clips. He looked me in the eye and thanked me. Then he asked me what the tears were about. "I'm just happy."
The various prep tasks were new to me. By the time I got back from my shower, Jaz had finished hosing off the decks. There were quite a few black smudges. He squirted a little dish soap on the deck, then some Soft Scrub. He had a brush that looked like a small push broom. He scrubbed at one spot for a second.
"Here, run around and scrub off the worst of the black marks with this stuff. Don't use much soap and don't get too picky about it. Do whatever you can get done in 5 or 10 minutes, okay? Here's the stuff." He put the two bottles back in a small tote and held it out. "Start with the dive deck and then do the sides. And the bow, if you have time."
I was still doing that when Hans arrived. He took the extra trouble to come say "Hi" to me and then went to look for some coffee. I finished scrubbing and hosed off the soapy spots. Jaz put me in charge of filling the water tank, while he ran around replenishing paper towels and toilet paper. He also scrubbed the heads with bleach and came back for the hose, just as I was getting done with the water tank.
Hans seemed pleased with things. He asked me to get the tire pump out of the dock box and go up on the landing and pump up the tires on the 2 wheelbarrows good and firm: "Just don't pop them!" Then leave the wheelbarrows at the top of the ramp, for people to bring stuff down. I did, glad to make myself directly useful to the captain.
As I was doing that, Jaz went past, headed up the ramp. He let out a serious fart, then turned and smirked. "Ahhh! Like roses."
"Yeah, Jaz, they are truly... I never really lived 'till I heard the heavenly trumpets of your sphincter."
"The heavenly trumpets of my sphincter?" He asked in mock disbelief.
"Yeah. The Horns of Armageddon." He looked distracted.
"Armageddon ready to shit my pants. Be right back." He scurried up the ramp, looking distressed.
"Will you be wanting the keys?" I called up after him, dangling them in my fingers.
He looked even more distressed. I took pity on him and took them up to him, so he wouldn't... never mind. He scurried off, sort of walking from just the knees down. I think he was partly clowning.
Hans headed up, while I was pumping away. He smiled approvingly, then went up into the parking lot and returned with his dog. She was an older Shepherd, about 75 pounds, by my guess.
"Who is this?" I asked the dog. Hans replied in her behalf: "This is Baroness," accent on the "ness."
"What do you call her for short?"
"Nessie," he said. Nessie wagged her tail when she heard her name.
"Hi, Nessie!" I said, then made doggy baby talk while I rubbed her head.
"I'll be done here in a minute," I told Hans, "Whaddya want me to do next?"
"Just let Zephyr or Jaz know you are available."
A minute later, Jaz was back. "God, you have cute legs," he said, shaking his head a little.
I hooked my finger in one leg of my shorts and sort of hiked it up at him, showing him some leg and making an inviting face. Then I thought to pretend I was twirling something with the other hand. He leered at me, and went off down the ramp, shaking his head some more.
"You have a cute everything," I whisper-shouted after him. I could see him still smiling, as he rounded the corner onto the floating dock. My feelings were in a roil. Mostly delight, with a touch of torture. Torture that I had to go about the mundane tasks of the day while bathed in the delight of Jaz, while enduring the returning torture of having a boner about him.
The cook arrived and divers started showing up. I figured most of them were students, judging from their air of uncertainty and disorganization. And there was nobody cute like Jaz -- or even Z. Then the instructors arrived and started establishing order. By the time we left, the students' gear was mostly stowed, the papers were signed and the white slate was being completed by the instructor who had taken charge of the paperwork. Once it was done, he presented it to Z, to be crosschecked against the passenger manifest. Meanwhile, Zephyr called roll off the manifest. He handed it off to Jaz to be compared with the white board.
After crew introductions and just as Zephyr's intro speech was ending, the engines fired up. Jaz came over to Z with a look like something was urgent. He pointed out something on the manifest.
"Lukas?" Zephyr called out, "Lukas Stawi... Stawi... Kowski?"
"That's me," said one of the instructors, "a.k.a. Bob. As in, Bob's Dive Shack. What? Did I forget to sign the manifest?"
"Yep," smirked Z, handing it to him. "Did I pronounce it right?"
"Yes, actually. Stawikowski's easy though: it has vowels." Z looked pointedly at the manifest, until Bob signed it.
Z smiled. ″He's on the white board?" he asked Jaz.
Jaz nodded absently, looking around at people. Then he looked at Z. Z was looking back at Jaz, waiting. "Yes. Yes, right here."
Everything in order, Z went and fired up the compressors and Jaz showed me how to check a SCUBA cylinder for current visual and hydro inspections. He set me to doing that, then he and Zephyr cast off the mooring lines and Pacifica pulled out. All the inspections were current, so no excitement there. Jaz told me they never had cylinder problems with dive shop groups. Jaz had the top-offs done before we passed the breakwater and things got rougher. Honestly, it never got very rough, so I don't understand what the barfing was about, but two of the students looked pretty green, before they fed the fish. After that, they looked a little better.
It was getting chilly. The sky was still grey, like yesterday. I went below and put on my sweats and brought Jaz his sweatshirt, checking our bathing suits on the way past. Still totally wet.
"Thanks," he said, taking the sweatshirt, looking appreciative. That look gave me pleasure, someplace down deep. The comfort of that clashed with a little anxiety: were we boyfriends now? Is that what this was, or just some casual thing, for Jaz? I really liked him. I mean, apart from the sex. Well, not really apart, in addition to. I really liked waking up with him holding me. That was something I never knew I needed so badly.
"Can't have you catching a chill," I said. "Shrinkage is not an option." He looked up at me a little funny.
"Uh, not that you couldn't afford it," I smiled and licked my lips.
That little fucker. That pink tongue of his. Then he reaches down and hooks his sweat pants with his finger and lifts one leg a tiny bit. It's his new secret code for 'I have beautiful boy parts for you.' Fuck, now I have a boner again. Not even 7:30. Can't even see his cute body; I just know it's under there. Know it's sweet and pink and smooth and boy and the swell of his boy butt and his dusky treasures and his heavenly boy cream. I'm squirming: now I have a rager. Still not even 7:30. I try to make a stone face, but grin helplessly at his antics, in spite of myself.
He goes off and asks Z something. A few minutes later, he hands a cup of something to Z and comes up to me and presents me with a hot chocolate. With a marshmallow. Oh, god, his sweet soft bag! He takes a sip. His little pink tongue peeks out and licks those boy lips. Mine by rights, those lips. Fuck! Boner! My watch says 7:42.
"By lunch time, I think I'm going to have to seek medical attention for an erection lasting more than 4 hours," I told him.
"Hmm. We'll see if we can arrange... attention. It won't exactly be medical, but... "
Like yesterday, the marine fog layer started getting patchy about halfway across the channel, and it was sunny for the last half hour of the 2-hour crossing. Just as the sun was threatening to break through, I grabbed our suits and motioned Jaz to come below to change. I was mostly just horny, but I also wanted the touch of him.
We went forward and I carefully positioned the curtain, hoping to take care of Jaz before things got busy. He slipped off his jeans and his beautiful big, wide dick was right there, candy to my eyes. I reached to cup his big yummy balls with one hand, and had just wrapped my hand around the warm bigness his yummy boner when there was this commotion of ha-rumph-ing and bumping around on the other side of the curtain, as some guy got out of his bunk and stumbled around, disturbing the curtain. Jaz whirled around and pulled up the trunks. Nobody saw anything, but the mood was certainly shattered. I looked at Jaz with a crooked, apologetic expression, and gave his bulge a squeeze. He pulsed. Poor Jaz.
"Sorry," I commiserated. He smiled back, crookedly.
He stuck out his bottom lip for half a second and then smirked: "I have an idea for later," he said, pointing his boner straight up. There was no hiding the evidence. I handed him his sweatshirt and he pulled it down to cover things.
I petted his arm. "Dude, you only have 4 hours to get... attention. Like one of those fireworks poppers with the pull string. It'll explode and you'll have to spend the rest of your life sitting in a bathtub, just holding hands. Umm, should I get you some ice?"
"Naah, it'll... " he looked over my shoulder at the curtain and gestured with his chin, "recover. Shortly."
I looked at his bulge appreciatively. "Shortly? I doubt that." I leaned in close: "Thickly, maybe."
"Don't you have somewhere to be? Something to do?"
"Yeah, I need to get changed," I said, starting to pull down my sweats and my undies. My stiff pecker sprang out and Jaz grabbed it, whining: "Only 8:45!" Whatever that meant.
"In 4 hours, I'm a croaker. All your fault."
Nessie had mostly stayed up in the wheelhouse with Hans, where she had her food and water bowls, occasionally coming out to check on things, shake out her fur in the breeze, or see what the excitement was about when we saw some more dolphins. Eventually, the inevitable happened: she waddled about halfway down the right side and took a giant dump right in the middle of the walkway. We're talking a 70 pound Shepherd, here. I was assigned the task of taking the deck hose from the bow and washing the offending matter overboard with sea water. The way the deck was slanted, the poop refused to go out the scuppers, and instead ran merrily down to the right side gate, where it just sat, right in the opening.
The bow deck hose wouldn't reach that far, so I hustled to the stern and got that hose. I washed it overboard, where it proceeded to sit right in the way. Just sat there: didn't sink, didn't drift, nothing.
Jaz turns to the next diver -- Bob, as it happens -- and says, "Okay, who's next?" The turds are just floating there, big fat ones,right where you'd jump on them. Bob looks at Jaz. Jaz stands there with his white slate, smirking. "Are you next?" he asks Bob.
"I think you are," says Bob, stepping toward Jaz like he's going to crowd him out the gate. Since he isn't wearing, like, 100 pounds of SCUBA gear, Jaz is able to dodge Bob, laughing like mad.
Zephyr turns to me: "Okay Chris, go pick that up!"
"Here, I think I'll just throw this on it," I said, picking up Z's sweatshirt.
He starts laughing and says "How'd you like to swim back to port?"
"Oh, look," says Bob, "it's sinking." He signals his students and starts putting on his fins.
"Isn't that where Jim's supposed to be teaching his class?" asks Z. Bob just cackles.
"What kind of class is it?" I ask Bob.
"I dunno... the Fish Identification unit for Advanced Open Water, I think."
″I wonder if any of his students will be able to identify the species?" says Jaz.
"Species or feces," I ask.
Meanwhile, the culprit has skulked back to the wheelhouse, her master none the wiser.
With all the divers in for their second dive. Jaz put the white board by the boarding ladder and came up to me.
"So, is your yummy bag all sweet and soft?" he asked me, eyes heavy.
"Not anymore," I said, indignantly. "When you talk sexy to me like that, it gets all tight and fat."
"Oh, God!" he moaned. "Listen, after lunch, the last dive will be... Uh, the first dive is always the deepest. That makes it the shortest. Then the rest are supposed to get shallower and shallower. So the last one is the longest. Let's see if we can take the skiff and go out uhh... exploring."
Lunch was yummy and made me sort of warm and sleepy. We got the divers in for the last dive, and Z agreed to mind the store. Jaz stuffed our sweatshirts and a towel into a dry bag and threw it overboard, into the skiff, which was a 12-foot zodiac tied alongside, in front of the right side gate. We both jumped out the side gate, swam over and climbed the rubber side of the skiff, flopping aboard. Jaz fired up the outboard and we headed out, away from shore -- and any of our divers -- then turned down-current and went toward the little rocky point behind the boat. The wind came up. As we approached, the waves got bigger. Jaz turned the skiff at an angle and got over the worst wave, right at the headland, and continued around, turning back toward shore.
"Somewhere around here... " he said. "There, between the rocks." He pulled in to a little stretch of steep pebbly beach and ran the skiff aground. I hopped out and held it, while he killed the motor and came forward to hop out.
"Let's drag it up and tie it to that rock," he said.
We did. It was chilly. We got our sweatshirts on. I stood facing him, below him on the steep beach. He was my friend, had been my lover last night. Now my feelings were torn in several directions. I wanted to do the friend thing -- give my teenage friend his pleasure and relief -- and I wanted sweet intimacy with my lover -- and I wanted do the sexual thing I craved: suck his fat teen dick and eat his cum. And I wanted tenderness. Did I have to choose? I stepped forward and craned my face upward to kiss him. He bent down. His kiss was sweet and tender. I touched his lovely meat: already getting big and fat, despite the cold.
"I want to suck you," I said. "Give me your sweet fat dick to suck." There, I said it: Give me your sweet fat dick to suck. How delightfully queer! I almost squirmed, but my horniness had taken command.
He just groaned when I said that. I untied the board shorts and pulled them down to his knees. He hastily reached down to arrange his boy parts. I batted his hand away and reached to touch them myself. They were in delightful male disarray, stuck together all funny. I had to have them on my face. I had to smell him and press into his big hot meat, feel it on my face. Feel him hot on my face while his bag was still soft. I ran my face over his bag, the soft folds heavy and sensuous on my cheeks and lips.
I petted his right leg, his hip, feeling the solidity of him. Big teen male. Lover. Warmth radiating. I reached around to the small of his back and pulled him toward me. My hand was on his soft right buttock, as my tongue reached out to lick the broadening top of his dick. Lust quickly won out over the cold air, as his penis rose to press against my cheek, warm and firming. My fingers moved from cupping his tightening bag, up to surround the base of his penis and point it toward my lips. A clear drop adorned his tip.
My heart beat in my face, as I came closer, as my lips touched his pee hole, the essential place of his manhood, the place where he would give me his cream. My lips took the tip of him, sliding in his clear nectar, sliding off to savor the tender shape, the delightful danger of his teen cream hole, returning for more, to appreciate the swelling shape of the head, as it swept up toward his ridge. My own cock swelled against my suit, pressing into its confinement. My mind shut off and my lips took him from peehole to the valley behind the head. Intoxicated with dick, I felt pure, all cares swept away, my boy lips worshipping penis, worshipping penis, worshipping Jaz's penis. The intimacy of this act swept down upon me and my hand crept up to find his, to twine with his fingers, as I gave myself to licking the top of him, to the sucking, as I took him to the base and caressed his big teen shaft with the boy softness of my lips, confined him tenderly in my mouth.
He was bigger now, he was louder now; I needed the reedy sound of his voice, his rising joy. I needed the cream of him, I needed to bring it forth, to exult in receiving it. I sped up, sucking gently, speeding, sucking, intent on the tender firmness of him, feeling our hands twined together, intent on the growing dickhead passing from my lips to my throat, the sweet, gentle teen boy letting me pleasure him, my friend, sliding back, appreciating the head at my lips, the head between, filling my mouth, holding his hand, the big shaft sliding, sliding, the pillowy head arriving, greeting my throat, tender greeting, filling it. I swallowed, my throat caressing his soft bigness. His voice rising, desperate now, a rising rhythmic cry. Tender boy, surrendered to my sucking. Big cock. The sweetness, the purity inside me, the tender cock, big in the heart of me. His cries rose, piquant, as a deep comfort came upon me, certainty that he was about to give me cream, my mouth a joyous sex organ, cherishing the cock of him, the male thrusting of him.
His cream came to me, abrupt, authoritative, as the enthusiastic jet forced its way out of him, into me: his gift to me, his gift, his gift, filling me, commanding me, reassuring me, filling me with gratitude and sexual joy. He pulsed one final time and I pulled off, holding his load in my mouth, letting it run to the back of my mouth. It hit something that knew it was cum, knew it was his load. Receiving it, having it, a triumphant celebration of being gay, of having evoked this tribute. A festival of queer delight. I shuddered as my goosebumps burned in exultation, as I savored the big teen load of him.
I looked into his eyes, turned my attention inward, and swallowed his offering, accepting. Goosebumps of pleasure and gratitude. My emotions were deeply touched: I was inflamed, comforted, sated, needy. Tender and wild. Receptive and aggressive. Crazily glad to be.
I licked my lips and pressed my cheek against his thigh, my lips still touching the tube of him, as he ran his fingers, gentle, through my hair, tender.
I looked up and we gazed into each other's eyes. There was nothing to be said. I helped him with his bathing suit, kissing the top of his still chubby teen dick one last time before it disappeared. We turned toward the skiff, seagulls calling mournful in the breeze, the taste of him fresh in my mouth.