COMING TO GRIEF
BY Billy Jay Dee
Did I ever tell you of my Ketchikan fantasy-come-true from when I worked there years ago?
Still in my early thirties, still tan from summers in the Southwest and sinewy from swinging a pjulaski on the fireline. Oh, and I was still carried just 185 pounds on my 6'1" frame. Grey strands graced my brown hair but just enough to be distinguished.
On my weekend, they flew me to Ketchikan from Prince of Wales Island and put me up in the Super 8. Didn't know a soul, so I didn't care much what anyone around there thought. I dragged a chair from my room. Wearing nothing but a pair of tan velour shorts and carrying a bottle of tequila, I intended to sit out back by the hannel and enjoy the sunshine.
I took along a paper, and between fanning myself, I studied it for action that weekend. Ain't much to doin Ketchikan, I surmised, and started getting bored quickly.
I guess the flapping of someone else's paper is what finally got my attention. The guy was mid-fortif ies, buzz cut, stocky and pot bellied, but he was big. And I like 'em big. I thought he'd been looking my way before, but wasn't paying attention. I retrospect I think he was probably looking at my crotch. The shorts were baggy and clingy.
The only way to keep my crotch cool was toif shake my shorts enough to shake out my bag and cock. My jewels could catch the breeze and may have been fully exposed to the air more than once. Like I said, I didn't know anyone there so I didn't care.
"Need help reading that?" I said, indicating the unfolded map he was holding. "I'm a professional navigator." I strolled over, naked chest puffed out.
"Nah, I'm studying for my pilot's license tomorrow," he responded, a pleasant smile on his craggy face.
Alaska requires a local skipper to pilot the big ships into harbor. He told me all about it. He seemed a little hesitant to expound upon the subject until his brown eyes fell upon my tanning torso and seemed to linger there unnecessarily long. He took a deep breath and suddenly warmed to his subject.
He stood closer as he spoke than men usually do for a casual chat. He had the smell of cigar smoke to him. When he opened his chart to show off his knowledge, the blond hair of his upper arm rubbed against my belly.
We ended up having beers and dinner at the neighboring bowling alley. As supper wound down, I tried to figure out what to say next that would get us naked rubbing nasties. I was new to the sport of picking up big boys on the street. (Yes, there's a story there but never mind.)
While I hummed and hawed, he drunkenly complained, "That test I got to take tomorrow is so stupid. You can't believe the stupid questions they ask. Do you know where Grief Island is? Why should anyone know that?"
His question was rhetorical. But the look of wonderment on my face must of given me away. His tirade rolled to a stop. "You know?"
"It's the south end of Duncan Canal. You use it as a landmark, so as not to confuse the mouth of the canal with Keku Straits.".
The look on his face! The sudden pallor followed by if the embarassed flush on his cheeks. The cocky twist of his lips fallen into a mute open mouth. The sudden emotion in his drunken blood shot eyes. That killed the mood and we staggered down the hall to our coincidentally adjoining hotel rooms.
I did chores, made calls, wrote in my journal and then crawled into bed with a good book. The phone rang.
"This is Ed," he said. "So, I got myself a bottle of whiskey and some of them 'good' videos. You like them, hmm, 'good' videos, Bill?"
"I'll say I do."
"Well, come on over."
"Okay. It'll take me a minute to get dressed I'm in bed."
"Don't bother, I ain't wearing nothing but easy access boxers."
"But, I gotta go out in the hall."
"Nah."
I heard a thump against the wall between our rooms and the rattling of a door knob. What I thought was a closet was a couple of dual doors between our rooms. When I unlocked mine he stood before me bottle in one hand, videos in the other, his cream colored boxers pushed low enough under his belly to reveal dark pubic hairs.
As we'd spoken, my six incher had started swelling. It wasn't hard, but about as thick and long as it would get. A brief glance revealed that Ed's pole was just starting to tent his saggy baggies.
He indicated I should sit on the bed then scooted me on across, turned on the VCR and then sat next tome, both of us leaning back against the wall. He handed me the bottle. I sat with my legs in front of me with my ankles crossed. As I went to sip the booze, his left hand pressed up against my lose balls. "Nice sack," he said while taking the bottle from me. "Thanks," I said looking at his crotch with a questioning look.
He whipped out the whole package with his left hand. "Nice." I assured him likewise.
"Looks a little bigger than yours," he grinned. Then he looked in my eye instead of my snake eye, and continued: "But it ain't big enough to hurt anyone."
He kept stroking it with his left hand, while he watched the movie. I started rubbing my sparsley haired balls and dick.
"Like this part?" he asked
I did -- two guys and a girl in a very hot three-way.
"Here," he started reaching his right hand over to me. "I'll do you, you do me."
He wrapped his big paw around my now solid member and began stroking before I could reply. I had to reach under his arm to return the favor. His dick was hard as a rock and rigid to the touch. Its thick veiny shaft rose to a large mushroom-shaped head, which was dark purple and glistening in the room's dim light.
He ended up twisting my shoulders and turning me so he could suck my sensitized organ, already oozing a good bit of precum. I was glad to return the favor. His soapy dry cock soon lubed up under my drooling tongue. Did I mention he was bigger than me?
He pushed himself off the mattress and turned me again. This time away from him. Then wrapped his hairy right forearm around my belly and pulled my ass up off the bed, as he grabbed my left ankle and pulled me on to all fours. As he wedged his cock head against my brown bunghole, I heard him say, "I'll show you where Grief is."
I looked over my shoulder. He was smiling. So was I. "Lead the way, skipper," I said.
And he began working his plump cock in with short strokes, grabbing my shoulders for better leverage. A few globs of spit and the sweat dripping from his balls and my crack provided a slick entrance. Once his larger head was past my sphincter with amazingly little pain, the shaft slid smoothly through the passageway. "Uggggh, damn, feels good," he grunted. He was soon pounding desperately at my ass while holding my hips in his strong hands. I was dripping precum like a lawn sprinkler as his rigid cock knob massaged my prostate. "OOooh, man, that's it. Yeah, right there...mmmmmmm." He managed to pull out before he came, and sprayed his milky love juice up over my balls and cock to mingle with my own orgasmic flood.
He slept soundly, but I aways wondered how he did on his pilot test. Did everything come to grief?