Date: Sun, 19 Aug 2007 15:39:55 -0400
From: Tinnean <tinneantoo@embarqmail.com>
Subject: Stick With Me, Kid Part 1

Disclaimer: All things Kong belong to Universal, Edgar Wallace, Willis
O'Brien and Merian C. Cooper, (although Obie was reputed to be unhappy with
SoK.). Johnny Smith is mine.

Summary: Carl Denham's first visit to Skull Island resulted in unexpected
tragedy. Now, a return visit seems to be in the cards. Will things end any
better this time?

Warnings: m/m, spoilers for King Kong and Son of Kong

Notes: A massive amount for this story. The title comes from a line in Son
of Kong. Not as memorable as 'It was Beauty killed the Beast,' but hey,
we're talking a 71 minute movie. In the movie, Hilda Peterson was actually
an adult. Since I've already given Carl Denham a love interest, it just
worked better to make her a little girl. Apologies to the purists in the
house. Racial slurs and epithets are relevant to the time and do not
reflect the beliefs of The Management.  The Cocos (Keeling) Islands are
actually denoted in this manner, but since Johnny wouldn't hear the
parentheses, I left them out. The song Hildy sings, which Johnny and Carl
walk out on, is Love for Sale, from Cole Porter's 1930 show, The New
Yorkers. Aside from its general sexual connotation, in the Jazz age '
whoopee' also meant wild fun. Denham was being sarcastic. Two bits is
twenty-five cents.

This is for Alex, who's been gone six years, and who was taken from us much
too soon, for Athea and Gail, who waited so patiently, even when I was
positive I could never come up with a hook for a sequel, and for Otter who
expressed an interest in what became of Johnny and Carl. Thank you,
ladies. Thanks also to Tim, for the technical advice. You can never do
enough research. :) And just because, here's a 'hi' to Jake. Hi, Jake. *g*

Additional thanks to Gail for the beta. I could never do it without her.

Stick With Me, Kid
Part 1

I found it hard, at times, to believe I was actually sailing the South Seas
with Carl Denham. He'd gotten me aboard the SS Venture just before she'd
sailed out of New York harbor and showed me to a cabin. "This is *our*
cabin," he'd told me.

It wouldn't last. One day he'd grow tired of having a male lover, and he'd
go back to the skirts who'd offer to sleep with him in hopes he'd put them
in his moving pictures but who wouldn't love him the way I...

I *knew* it wouldn't last.

I wasn't the kind of mug happily ever after happened to.

****

"We're fortunate that we've got that hold full of weapons," Captain
Englehorn was telling Mr. Denham as I brought the lunch tray up from the
galley. I paused in the entryway to watch them, unobserved.

The Skipper was a tough old bird, in remarkable shape for his age. His hair
was salt and pepper, as was the walrus moustache that draped his upper
lip. He was a good captain, his only vice appearing to be the pipe he was
never without, and he had accepted my last minute inclusion aboard the
Venture good-naturedly.

"There's always a demand for guns!" Mr. Denham conceded.

Carl Denham was some twenty years younger than the Skipper. Until a couple
of years ago, he had made his living filming travelogues to be shown in the
moving picture palaces throughout the hinterlands of America, bringing the
wild, the unusual, the breathtaking to small town inhabitants who would
never have the opportunity to see them otherwise. Dark hair and eyes, of
average height, and physically fit, he was my lover. He was also the only
person that I truly loved.

"We were really lucky the ones we never got around to using on the last
trip weren't confiscated. We'll be able to use them as currency."

"Really lucky." But the Skipper didn't sound as if he believed that. A lot
of men he'd sailed with for years hadn't come back from that voyage. He
smiled sadly as he accepted a bowl of fish stew from me, and a slice of
week-old bread. "We should be sailing into Dakang within a couple of
hours." He peered at the bread and sighed. "It's a good thing we'll be
taking on fresh supplies. Charley's a good cook, but even he can't do
anything with weevily flour."

"It will be nice to have something other than fish," Mr. Denham agreed as
he took the bowl I handed him and speared a bit of fish onto his fork. He
studied it dispassionately before deciding to go ahead and put it in his
mouth.

"I thought you liked fish, Mr. Denham." I set the tray aside.

"Yeah, but not for breakfast, lunch and dinner!" My lover sent me a grin
that never failed to make me go weak in the knees. "How you doing, Johnny?"
He hooked his free arm around my waist, and pulled me close to his
side. Unseen by the Skipper, his hand drifted down and petted my backside.

"I'm good, Mr. Denham." I leaned discreetly into his caress.

"No more seasickness, kid?"

"Geez, Mr. Denham, I haven't been sick in months." The first few days out
of New York had been a nightmare. We'd been sailing into the tail end of
the hurricane season, and the Atlantic had been rough. I hadn't been able
to leave the cabin I shared with him, puking my guts up, and I knew for a
time he had been afraid I might not survive the week. Once we'd reached the
calmer waters of the Caribbean, though, and began our passage through the
locks of the Panama Canal, my stomach had had a chance to settle down. I'd
quickly acquired my sea legs, and I hadn't been sick since.

Captain Englehorn gave me a smile of approval. "You are doing well,
Mr. Smith." I always blushed at the measure of esteem his calling me that
gave me. "After lunch, I'd like you to try plotting a course from Dakang to
Kupang." He'd been teaching me how to navigate using charts and
instruments.

"That would be from Malaya to Dutch Timor. Yes, sir." I dropped onto the
seat beside my lover and began to eat. "Is that where we'll be going?"

"Yes. We'll take on more coal there, and whatever cargo we can, and then
we'll be heading for the Cocos Keeling Islands."

"Aren't they west of Sumatra?"

Before the Captain could answer, Jimmy, who operated the wireless, rushed
in. My age, although I felt centuries older, he was one of the few men who
had survived the Venture's last journey into the seas west of
Sumatra. "Here's the latest, Skipper." He handed Captain Englehorn a slip
of paper.

"Thank you, Jimmy," he murmured absently as he studied what was written on
the page.

"I don't like the looks of it, Skipper. If you don't mind my sayin' so."

"It does look nasty, doesn't it? Well, no need for us to worry, since we
won't be sailing into those waters."

"Phew! That makes *me* happy! I'll just leave you to your lunch then." The
young man went back to his station.

"Is something wrong, Skipper?" Mr. Denham tried to bite off a chunk of
bread, and his expression became irritated when it proved to be more of a
struggle than he'd anticipated. He banged it on the corner of the table,
where it made a solid 'thunking' sound, but he had no success in breaking
off a piece.

"Not really." Captain Englehorn's smile was rueful. "It seems there's been
some serious volcanic activity recorded in the region of..." He rattled off
coordinates that held no meaning to me, but obviously rang a bell with
Mr. Denham. He raised his head slowly, and there was a faraway look in his
eyes. "We aren't going back there, Carl!"

"No, of course not, Skipper."

"Back where?" I examined my bread carefully to make sure there were no
unwelcome additions in it.

"Back to Skull Island, Johnny."

"Kong's island? How far away is it?"

"It could never be far enough away," Captain Englehorn stated flatly. "We
left too many good men on that island. I'll never sail those waters again!"

Carl Denham and Captain Englehorn had returned from 'those waters' a little
more than a year ago with King Kong. The giant ape, billed as the Eighth
Wonder of the World, had broken free of his chrome steel chains and run
amok in Manhattan. He'd gone after Ann Darrow, the woman who had been taken
by the natives of Skull Island to be sacrificed to him, their god. Her fair
skin, so different from the dark-skinned women who were usually offered up
to him, attracted him as nothing else ever had.

He'd finally taken refuge on top of the Empire State Building, and the Army
Air Force had sent up planes to shoot him down.

King Kong had been destroyed by the machine guns mounted on the aircraft
that buzzed him, but Mr. Denham saw it differently. "It was Beauty killed
the Beast," he always insisted.

He'd been on the point of being sued by everyone and his brother when
Captain Englehorn tracked him down at Mrs. Hudson's rooming house. The
authorities were after the Skipper as well, since his ship had been used to
transport Kong to the States.

"She's mine, free and clear, Carl. I won't let them take her from me!" He
told Mr. Denham of his plan to sail the Venture back to the South Seas, and
invited him along to be his partner.

When Carl Denham left New York, he had taken me with him. I'd been a
down-on-his-luck kid who too often had to barter his ass for the price of a
meal. My winter coat was so threadbare that a good yank by Mr. Denham had
torn it in two. But that was after he'd gotten me out of a jam with a
saloon keeper who didn't like my looks, fed me at the Automat, and then
taken me back to his rooming house where he'd shown me the difference
between being fucked and making love.

I didn't care if he'd taken me along because he felt sorry for me, or if it
was because my curly blond hair and blue eyes reminded him of the woman who
had willingly gone into danger for him. All that mattered to me was that I
was with him.

****

I was taking the tray with the empty bowls back to the galley, when Red
waylaid me.

A wharf rat who'd gotten in dutch with a gang that ran bootleg hooch and
dealt in white slavery on the side, Red had been 'thisclose' to wearing
cement overshoes when he'd stowed away aboard the Venture just before she'd
set sail.

The way he looked at me always gave me the heebie-jeebies.

"C'mere, kid."

"Don't call me that."

"Why not? It's what the landlubber calls you."

"He's the only one who calls me that."

Red leered at me. "Yeah, an' I wonder why." He blocked the passage that led
down to the galley. "You two sleep in the same cabin. What else d' you do
in that cabin?"

"Look, I have to get this tray back to Charley, or he'll skin me."

"You a-scared of that Chink, *Johnny*?" His use of my first name was almost
as bad as him calling me 'kid'.

I wasn't afraid of the Chinese cook, who had always been nice to me, but I
was leery of Red. I'd known men like him back before I met Mr. Denham. "Get
out of my way. Please." I forced the last word out, trying to placate him.

"I bet you beg *real* good, Johnny." He took a step closer, and I backed
away, only to find the bulkhead preventing any further retreat. I used the
tray as a barrier between us, and he knocked it aside, leaning against
me. He pulled a lock of hair free of the tie I used to restrain it and
rubbed it between his fingers, making a hungry sound. His breath was sour
in my face, and his erection pushed insistently at the notch of my
thighs. I wondered wildly if his aim was to have me in plain sight of
everyone on the ship. I fumbled in my pocket, and my hand closed on the
shiv I'd started to carry early in the voyage.

"Red, ain't you got some work to do?" Dutch, the first mate, growled from
across the deck. Red recoiled as if he'd been jabbed with an electric wire.

Dutch kept order among his men with his fists and a truncheon, and Red
didn't dare disobey. The look he sent me promised vile things if he ever
caught me alone, and he had every intention of catching me alone. He
disappeared down the gangway.

"Thanks, Dutch." I let out a shaky breath. "He was getting a little pushy."

"Yeah, well, what can you expect when you shake that ass of yours around my
men. Stay away from 'em, Smith, or I ain't gonna be responsible for what
happens."

A hard flush crept up my cheeks. It wouldn't matter if I told him I hadn't
been shaking anything around any of the men. Red wasn't the only one who
believed I could be had for the taking. So far the only thing that kept
them in line was the fact that Mr. Denham had winged one of the crew when
he'd tried to jump me, and the Skipper had put the man off at the next
port.

Avoiding Dutch's contemptuous gaze, I gathered up the tray and broken bits
of crockery, then edged past him and went down to the galley.

"Johnny, where you been? I need you help me." Charley looked up from the
pan of mealy potatoes he'd been peeling and swore in Chinese when he caught
sight of the tension in my face. "You aw right? What happen?"

"I'm fine, Charley. Please don't tell Mr. Denham. Red just got a little too
enthusiastic." I dropped the broken bowls in the bin Charley used for the
trash, then tidied my hair.

"Stay 'way from him, Johnny. He bad man who hurt you just 'cause he can."

"I know. The world is full of men like that." I pushed the worry from my
mind. "We'll be sailing into Dakang soon, and I think the Skipper is giving
most of the men shore leave. You won't have to cook tonight, Charley."

His yellow face lit up with a grin. "That sound good to me, Johnny." He
took the pan of potatoes and tossed them out the porthole. "I gonna find
place with good Chinnee cooking, you bet! I got make list of supplies we
need, but then you want play Mah Jongg with me?"

"Thanks, Charley, another time, oke? Captain Englehorn wants me to practice
my navigation."

Charley nodded, but he was already poking through the larder, muttering to
himself.

I slid my hand into my pocket and idly caressed the handle of my shiv. I
went back up to the bridge.

****

The SS Venture drew quite a bit of water, and Dakang had one of the few
harbors where she could ride comfortably at anchor in port. She was tied up
at the dock, and the Skipper had assigned Dutch a skeleton crew to keep
watch on the cargo of tea and rubber that was being loaded in exchange for
a number of the crates of weapons the Venture still carried from her last,
ill-fated voyage.

Charley intended to make a bee line for the marketplace, a list in Chinese
clutched tight in his hand. Captain Englehorn was going along. "Charley
will wind up buying birds' nests for soup and hundred year old eggs if I
don't keep an eye on him," he murmured around the pipe in his mouth. His
hand rested on the cook's shoulder, and I saw the smile they shared.

I had to look away. It was so private, so personal. Why had I never seen
the abiding... friendship between the two men? I glanced up at
Mr. Denham. His dark eyes were on me, and they were alight with
satisfaction. He winked. "C'mon, kid. Let's go see the sights."

Away from the waterfront, where the breezes off the ocean kept it cool, the
air was like a wet blanket that threatened to suffocate us. The heat was
overwhelming, and sweat quickly stained the material under the arms of my
shirt and down my spine.

"I really oughta get my hair cut," I groused as I ran my hand under the
hair that grew almost to my shoulders.

"I like your hair, kid."

Which was why I wouldn't cut it. I sighed and pulled out a handkerchief,
and mopped at the dampness that gathered at the back of my neck.

There really wasn't much to see in Dakang beyond a couple of temples and
the local whore house, and as the sun set, we found our way to a bar that
served food as well as drinks that were guaranteed to eat the enamel off a
person's teeth.

"We'll stick with the local beer, kid. It's the safest thing to drink. And
you don't want to ask what this is," Mr. Denham told me as he carried the
dishes with an unnamed meat on them, grilled and buried under a mound of
vegetables, to an unoccupied table, and I brought our glasses of beer.

"I'm not fussy. I've eaten some pretty strange things, Mr. Denham." I set
the glasses on the table, then pulled up a chair and sat down.

Under the guise of passing me my dish, his fingers lingered on the back of
my hand, and my eyes rose to his in surprise. He didn't usually touch me in
public.

"Let's eat and then get back to the Venture. It's been too long since I've
had you."

"But Mr. Denham, what about this afternoon?" I kept my face serious, but my
eyes crinkled in silent delight. Shortly before we'd sailed into Dakang,
I'd gone down to our cabin for a quick wash and to change into shore
clothes. My lover had followed me and found me just pulling on my
trousers. He'd yanked them back down, scooped up some Vaseline from a jar
that he kept on hand, and while one hand was stroking me to full arousal,
the fingers of the other were stretching and preparing me for his
invasion. When he finally slid into me, it hadn't taken very long before I
was panting and trembling under him, and then pouring myself into his hands
as he climaxed with a groan.

"Like I said, too long." His eyes were hot as they leisurely traveled over
my body.

My prick quivered, and I licked my lips and peeked at him through my
lashes. "You promised me a night on the town," I teased.

"This is the sum of the nightlife in Dakang, Johnny." He gazed pointedly
around the scruffy bar, and I laughed. "I like when you laugh, kid. You
don't do it often enough. Say, it looks like the floor show is about to
start! I guess we're going to see some whoopee now!" he said dryly. "Come
sit beside me."

Tables had been moved from the center of the floor and equipment was
brought out to make it look like a miniature three-ring circus. A grizzled
old man in a shabby ringmaster's coat came staggering out with a pair of
monkeys riding the epaulets on his shoulders.

"Ladies," he bowed to the raddled whores who sat with their clients, "and
gentlemen, and children of all ages!"

Mr. Denham leaned toward me and whispered, "Any parent who allows his kid
in a place like this has no right being a parent!"

I nodded my agreement, although I didn't know much about that. My old man
had always been too busy to do more than acknowledge my presence with the
back of his hand. I went back to listening politely as the old man
continued.

"Welcome to the final, farewell tour of Maestro Peterson's World Famous
Acrobatic Simians!" He bowed expansively, almost falling on his face, and
even from where we sat, we could see he was drunk.

"The old fool been havin' a farewell tour for the last six months!" a voice
behind us slurred, and Mr. Denham stiffened.

"Well, I'll be a monkey's uncle," he said, slowly turning to face the
heckler. "If it isn't Nils Helstrom."

"Yah, I'm Nils Helstrom. Who... *Carl Denham*?" He was shocked into
sobriety.

"This is the man I won the map from, Johnny. The map that showed the way to
Skull Island."

I studied the Norwegian. It was hard to judge how tall he was with him
sitting, but I'd wager he was approximately the same height as my
lover. His Scandinavian heritage was obvious in his fair hair, although it
was greasy and unkempt, and in his pale blue eyes. He was rather gaunt, as
if he hadn't been eating on a regular basis. His clothes hung on him, and
they were shabby and none too clean. He needed a shave. Badly.

"What are you doin' in this part of the South Seas?" he asked.

"Let's just say that things got a little hot for me back in the States, and
I decided to leave."

"You ain't blamin' me for that, are ya? I coulda made a fortune on that map
if I'd'a had a chance to sell it. I still think you cheated."

"Mr. Denham doesn't cheat!" I snarled, whipping out my shiv and slapping it
down on the table.

He must have realized how serious I was, because he gave a sickly
smile. "No. 'Course not. No. I was just jokin'," he whined. "Don't your
friend got no sense of humor, Denham?"

Mr. Denham was enjoying his discomfort. "Doesn't look like it, does it,
Helstrom? This is my associate, John Smith." The Norwegian didn't offer his
hand, and neither did I. "What are you doing here? I thought you were run
out of every port from Taiohae to Fatu Hiva."

"I lost my ship." He wasn't going to tell us why. "I been in Dakang six
months now, lookin' for another one. I gotta get out of this hell hole!
Listen, Denham, maybe you got a spot for me on your ship?"

I waited tensely for my lover to say something. I had a bad feeling about
Nils Helstrom. I didn't like him, and I didn't want him on the Venture with
us.

"No."

"But..."

A scattering of applause indicated that the performance had come to an
end. I didn't much care that we'd missed the monkey riding a unicycle or
the one swinging on a trapeze. I took a last swallow of my beer and pushed
my chair back, about to suggest we leave.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, the highlight of my farewell tour. The
jewel of Dakang and all points east! The lovely, the talented: Mademoiselle
Helene!" The old man placed a stool in the center of the room with a
flourish and waved his hand.

The room became silent, all attention focused on the new
performer. Helstrom's face flushed an unhealthy shade, and he made a sound
deep in his throat. I turned to see what had caught his interest.

Mademoiselle Helene was beautiful.

The dress she wore was gauzy; it slipped off her shoulder, exposing a
fragile collarbone. Long, blonde ringlets were pulled from her piquant face
to cascade down her back. Her eyes, set off in a frame of unusually dark
lashes and brows, were a deep blue. They were calm under the scrutiny of
her audience.

She was beautiful. And she couldn't have been more than seven years old.

Several of the men sat forward, watching her avidly, and I could almost
hear them salivating.

She curtseyed, climbed onto the stool, and accepted the guitar the old man
gave her. Offering a sweet smile, she struck a chord and began to
sing. "'When the only sound in the empty street, Is the heavy tread of the
heavy feet That belong to a lonesome cop...I open shop...'"

Mme. Helene had a surprisingly strong voice for a child, but she was a
little girl. She shouldn't have been singing about whores. Out of the
corner of my eye, I could see Mr. Denham flinch. None of the other patrons
seemed to care, they were too busy staring at her. The old man watched her
perform with inordinate pride.

"Mr. Denham?" I whispered.

"Yeah, kid. Let's go. So long, Helstrom."

The Norwegian grunted absently, devouring the girl with his eyes. We got up
and left, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. I paused at the door,
glancing back at her. Mr. Denham squeezed my shoulder. "There's nothing we
can do, Johnny. It's not our business."

"I know, but..."

"Come on. I know of a little beach at the end of this road. What do you say
we go for a moonlight swim?" The road was deserted. He slung an arm over my
shoulders, and we strolled through the balmy night. "It should take us
about a quarter hour to get there."

"How did you find out about it, Mr. Denham?" Frangipani scented the warm
air.

"I gave one of the kids who swarm the dock two bits to tell me the best
spot to go swimming at night with someone you... like very much."

"So that means you... like me?"

"Yeah, kid, I guess it does." His arm tightened around me. "Very much."

I tucked those words away in my memory, for a time when they were all I
had. I knew there would come a day when he would no longer want me, but
that day hadn't come yet.

The beach was small, not more that a dozen yards from one end to the other,
and about half that to the water's edge. It was secluded, shielded by
native plants that grew densely around its periphery. Gentle waves lapped
at the shore, their soft rushing the only sound that disturbed the
night. We took off our shoes and socks and began to cross the sand, which
was silvered in the moonlight. It was cool beneath our feet.

I watched appreciatively as my lover shed his clothes and ran headlong into
the water to cut the surface neatly in a flat dive. He emerged, waist deep,
shaking his hair out of his eyes. "Come on in, Johnny! The water's fine!"

"Are you sure there's nothing in there that will eat me?" I was thinking of
the sharks that I'd seen over the Venture's railing from time to time, as
Charley would dispose of the bloody remains of the fish that had been
caught and cleaned for a meal.

"Only me, kid," he teased.

My blush went unseen in the dark of the night.

"C'mon, Johnny. Let me teach you what it's like to make love in the ocean!"

"Just don't let me drown, Mr. Denham." I stepped into the water
tentatively, but it was as warm as bathwater, and I took a deep breath and
dove into the oncoming waves. I'd been tossed into the East River too many
times not to have learned at least the rudiments of swimming.

I could tell from his movements that he had no idea where I was, and I swam
underwater toward his legs. They were like two muscular columns, bracing
his weight, rising up from the sandy bottom, and I itched to run my
fingertips over the hair that covered calves and thighs, and... higher. I
found I couldn't resist.

My lover's startled shout was muffled by the ebb and flow of the water I
was submerged in. His prick was quiescent but quickly swelled, as if he
knew I was watching, as if he knew I wanted to drag my tongue over the
crown, dip it into the slit, and suckle it until he climaxed in my mouth,
but he'd given me no indication that he wanted that.

I had to surface for air sooner than I liked.

"Rascal!" he growled playfully and pulled me into his embrace. I laughed
out loud. The last thing I expected was the kiss.

Although Carl Denham had been the first person, the only person, who had
ever kissed me, I could count on the fingers of one hand the number of
times he had done it. I knew that was one aspect of our lovemaking he
wasn't comfortable with, so whenever he chose to include that, I savored
it.

He licked my lips, tasting the salt drops that lingered on them, then
nudged them apart. His tongue didn't surge into my mouth, as I was
anticipating, but lingered just within, rubbing over the edges of my teeth,
lapping at my tongue. My breath hitched, and suddenly I was sucking on his
tongue frantically, on fire for him.

My lover's fingers squeezed my ass cheeks rhythmically, and I could tell he
was as hot for me. He backed me out of the surf, leaning me against a rock
that was hidden by the shadows of the palm trees surrounding the beach. It
had been worn smooth by the action of the waves over the long years, and
was cool against my back.

He worked my prick until I filled his hand with my seed. He coated himself
with it, and I lay back on the rock and pulled my legs against my chest,
opening myself to him. Knowledgeable fingers smeared semen over my hole,
into it to lubricate his way, and he buried himself balls deep in my back
passage with one smooth thrust.

Mr. Denham painted my torso with the remains of my climax, rubbing it onto
my nipples until they hardened to pinpoints of maddening sensation. His
hands encircled my throat, and his thumbs pushed my chin up. He murmured
something, but the blood was roaring in my ears, and I couldn't understand
his words. It didn't matter, because his mouth came down on mine, his lips
brushing back and forth until I parted my lips with a helpless moan. This
time his tongue took my mouth, filling it as surely as his prick filled my
ass. I sucked on it, the fingers of one hand digging into his hip so hard I
was sure to leave bruises, while the fingers of the other flexed in his
hair.

He pulled his mouth free, gasping for breath while he fucked me, pounded
into me, sweating, swearing, biting down on the side of my neck, until he
finally reached orgasm, pulsing against my sweet spot. My prick, trapped
between our bodies, attempted to rise to the occasion, and would have if it
hadn't already been satisfied.

I lay beneath him, boneless, sated, and willing to stay like that for the
rest of our lives, if that was what he wanted.

Finally he let out a contented sigh and murmured, "We'd better get back to
the ship, Johnny."

"Oke, Mr. Denham." I ran my fingertips along the curve of his jaw, the
stubble of his beard tantalizing under my fingers. I made no move to get
up.

"You planning to move any time soon, kid?" His prick was softening.

"In about ten or twelve years?"

He chuckled and slipped out of me. My inner muscles clamped down, trying
unsuccessfully to hold onto his prick. He pulled me to my feet, and we
staggered a bit, then went into the ocean to wash ourselves clean, propping
each other up. We used our BVDs to wipe off the excess moisture, dressed,
and started back to Dakang and the Venture.

tbc