Tuesday, March 18, 2008

Caribbean Cruise

This is another work in progress. The inspiration was a real life encounter on a small tropical island a few years ago while on a cruise -- only minus the hunk and the sex, I guess. Still it could have been different.

Caribbean Cruise

by Josef Howard

(c) 2008

It was an afternoon excursion, a few hours away from the small cruise ship. The ship’s crew was serving lunch on a private beach on a small island, and after lunch the crew had challenged the passengers to a game of volleyball -- winners to be served dinner that night by the losers.

I’d gone ashore to take some pictures of the island. Bored with my fellow passengers, I skipped lunch and wandered off into the trees to the side of the beach. The cruise had been a last minute decision I had come to regret. As far as I could tell, everyone but me was heterosexual. Most of them were over 50, except for a few twenty-somethings – the adult children of the ones over 50.

Photography was a hobby of mine. I carried my DSLR around my neck in hope that the picaresque island might be a good subject for landscapes.

A few yards away I discovered a cluster of thatch roofed concrete patios outfitted with hammocks and rough hewn furniture. The first few were empty, but in one of the hammocks a well-muscled shirtless man in shorts reclined, watching me like a cat staring out a window.

“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to snoop.” I held up the camera. “Just taking some vacation pictures.”

The reclining man brought a hand-rolled cigarette to his lips, sucked deeply and blew smoke into the air above his head. “You with the cruise ship?” he asked. I nodded. “Where you from?”

“California,” I said.

“I used to live there,” he volunteered. “Sold my houses, quit my job and traveled for a while before I bought this place. Wouldn’t go back for the world.”

As I walked closer to talk with him I noticed something else. It wasn’t just his muscles that were big, although even they were bigger than I first thought. The bunched up flesh in his crotch was obscenely distending his pants, and it was made all the more obvious by the way he let the thumb and forefinger of his free hand frame one side of the bulge.

Now, as intrusive as my behavior was, I couldn’t tear myself away from him. I couldn’t stop staring. I couldn’t stop myself from walking closer to get a better look. I tried to cover my intentions by asking if I could take his picture. He smiled and said I could.

He offered me a drag on his cigarette, ignoring my anxiety. I welcomed the excuse to get closer and took a puff, although I wasn’t a smoker. I expected it might be marijuana, but it wasn’t. Still it had similar effects: dilation of time, exaggerated sense of my own heartbeat, loss of self consciousness and in the presence of such a spectacular man, an instant and persistent erection. I lost track of the conversation and fell silent, but my eyes were still riveted on his crotch.

“You want to take a picture of that?” he laughed. “Why don’t you take it out and have a look at it?” he said as he laid a heavy hand on my shoulder.

I reached cautiously for the top button of his cut-off jeans, and fumbled a few seconds before he unbuttoned it for me and popped the other buttons open as he pulled his fly apart.

His cock lay draped over his enormous balls and down between his thighs. It was thick as a cobra and, exposed to the air, it started and came to life. He lifted it from between his legs and laid it across his hip. Even soft it was over a foot long. He combed his fingers through the short hair on my head, encouraging my fascination with his swiftly swelling cock. As it lifted itself from his thigh and rose into the air, I felt my own dick throbbing inside my loose shorts. I was mesmerized by its rise. I glanced briefly at his proud, grinning face, as he watched the two of us and nodded for me to go at it.

It was standing straight up from his crotch now, a foot and a half of flesh, even thicker at the base than it was around the blunt head. I bent it toward my salivating mouth and went down, wrestling half of it inside me on the first try, and squeezing most of the rest in my jerking fists. I couldn’t wait to taste it’s juice, but he kept a more leisurely pace. As I sucked him hard and buried more and more of it inside me, he unfastened my shorts and jerked my wet cock with his left hand. To a hand familiar with a cock as big as his, my ten inches must have felt small, but he was just as determined to bring me off as I was him. I felt the big ridge on the underside of his cock grow as thick as a pencil, get as hard as steel, and then both of us were rewarded for our efforts. Cum shot from him deep inside my throat like a fire hose and I came so hard we both heard it splatter on the cement floor.

His still jerking cock slid up my throat and I tasted the cum I was swallowing. He lifted my face to his and we shared a cum flavored kiss as he continued firing on himself.

When he stopped, he sat up, brushed the cum from his chest and legs with his hands, and stood. I was surprised he was shorter than I, though no less impressive. He pulled his loose shorts down his legs and stepped out of them.

I still couldn’t take my eyes off him, if not his dick, then the rest of his marvelous body. I worked out at Gold’s in Venice. I had seen big guys before, but he was bigger, and unlike the pros, he had still had a tight, svelte waist, albeit ridged with thick bifurcated rolls of abdominal muscle.

My fascination was obvious and he indulged me by flexing his arms and doing a most muscular. I shot a few more pictures, then he laid my hand on his chest and encouraged me to feel him.

“You like big guys?” He asked.

I nodded without taking my hands or my eyes from his body.

“Then I need to introduce you to some friends,” he said. He took me by my one of my wandering hands and led me away from the beach, deeper inland. We walked along a path through dense foliage.

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