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A Mess
In the fullness of time everything boils down to how hard you are. So that when I go down I'm thinking of him - his body, the things he said. Like how we were on a boat and he looked so strong, competent. I was trying to help, but always thinking "fk me fk me fk me... when do we fk?" Several times I gave away my train of thought. Did he find it annoying or did he like to know I was completely obsessed? Like when I stood at the side of the boat and pissed into the sea - why not? Suddenly he touched my shoulder and laughed - I had no idea he was so near. I was constantly hard so I was finding it difficult to produce anything. He must have seen. "What's the problem?" he said when he saw my face kinda shocked. Then he looked down in the direction of my dick and smirked some more but he didn't say anything and turned away. That night when he fkd me (the cabin was tiny so I had my legs propped up and all he had to do was shove it in and kiss me) I wanted to tell him he was all I was thinking about but I didn't dare.
That was a silly time. No need to remember the details, all I want is a wank and the smell of his crotch in my face, that when he was into me he didn't stop to ask where it hurt but just went on hurting until he was satisfied. Oh god I liked that. I'm hard now. That sea salt un-washed scratchy feel of life on a boat. Constantly had to rub against each other in the confines of the narrow spaces and I had to hold myself back away from him, holding myself in and back so that my buttocks flattened against the hull so that he wouldn't feel my constant begging erection insisting itself at him. If he saw it he'd flip it with his hand. There was a smell of me everyywhere too, my shit; he'd dipped himself into it so many times we didn't much notice. I'd drop into the sea and clean myself out but it didn't make much difference. Shit is shit and I wasn't embarrassed. When he pulled out he'd say "euggh" and grin and tell me to wipe it off a bit. We lay in a hot sleep with strange reflections from the ocean light all around and I'd have my hand on his cock and he'd be fast asleep and I'd not be asleep. I was staring at the strange light and looking at my memories just formed and forming new fantasies and thinking of his dick.
Then he got annoyed. We were coming in to dock and I forgot some procedure or other - some rope - and dizzying about. It can happen. He started shouting and suddenly it was all too much and he just couldn't stand me. That wasn't fair. The prow bumped stiffly into the harbour side and we both fell forward. He hit his leg and it must have hurt. He got cut and a scrape of skin. He was mightily pissed off and started shouting. I was thinking "are you going to fk me tonight?" He could see my tent. "That's all you're interested in!" Could he blame me? I'm normal: I want something and that means that I want it, not something else, and I think about it, not something else. "You don't care about anything" he accused me. Well, that's as maybe, but it's only because I do care about something, one thing, and nothing else. My balls ache. I'm constantly pushing against my trousers. If I feel his breath as he snorts past me, secures the moorings and leaps onto the quay, concentrating on the task at hand, planning what we need to do today, I feel his breath burn into me like a dragon has exhaled a gush of flaming cum onto my skin. Suddenly he's shouting. I'm not concentrating. I'm not thinking. I'm thinking. I'm thinking of his dick. I'm not concentrating. I'm concentrating. I'm concentrating on his erection. Suddenly he's shouting and I'm not thinking and I'm not concentrating and he's out of the boat and why am I still in the boat? Why am I not on the wall tying up?
It's important to stay hard - that's how I want to be. Later we are walking through the streets of this strange little town and he holds my hand. Everyone can see my erection. Are you proud of me? He's relaxed. Will you fk me tonight? There's a public garden and we lay there kissing, pushing our groins together. I desperately want it now. "Suck me off" "What here?" "Do it now, baby" so I slide down and release him into my gob. He pushes a few times and pumps big wads into my throat. That's my shit I can smell on his hair. I just need to rub my leaking head against the grass a few times to dump my load too. We breath in silence. "You're a mess," he says. "Sorry...Captain." "Who cares?" That was good. Nobody cares how we do our thing.
That's interesting. He's taken his trousers off to wash them and the blood has dried in a long mark down one leg. His leg is really cut bad, I can see that now. He wouldn't let me near so I couldn't tell. He's rubbing at the fabric in suds to try and shift it. I could offer to help. And the strange light coming in the porthole is reflecting off his skin and I can see the veins and the structures beneath, all illuminated like little sea creatures frozen in a golden syrup and blood ocean. Everything's so tiny. It's fantastic. "What are you looking at?" Did I stare? "You're always a million miles away." Yes. It's like that.
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