Date: Tue, 20 Jul 2010 06:10:33 -0400
From: sharper@inorbit.com
Subject: A Mess

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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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