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[This is a historical and somewhat fictional story. The basic story was told to me over several days by an old man I met in England through his son. I met the son, Nigel, on a scuba diving trip in the Mediterranean. We became close friends, and I accepted an invitation to visit him in England. The story involves sex between men. So the usual disclaimers and copyright apply. The beginning of the story is that of the old man, John, told by him in the first person as he told it to me. Quote marks are avoided in the main since his tale is a rather long monologue.]
Enjoying some gin at the local pub while Nigel was out buying a pig for us to roast that evening, John loosened up and started talking as I ordered him another gin and a third pint for me:
Well Robert I know you and Nigel have become more than just friends. He never invites anyone to visit with him unless they are special to him, like you, and he certainly never brings them to visit with me. You must be particularly special to him since he has brought you from his home in Falmouth to visit me here in Southhampton. (Closted at the time, I was glad the barmaid brought his gin and my pint to our table just at that moment. I hoped this might distract him from a line of conversation that was making me uncomfortable already. However he continued although apparently noticing my discomfort.)
Oh don’t be a silly twit. You young men are just doing what comes natural. Nigel takes after his old man in more ways than our love for the sea. He enjoys the company of a man like you just as much as I did in my younger days. (I took a deep swallow of my beer as he sipped his gin – neat, no ice, vermouth or mix – and continued.)
Nigel has told me that you are a writer as well as a boater, scuba diver and explorer of antiquities. At my advanced age, I want to tell you my story. I have never told anyone else the full story, not even Nigel, and I swear you to secrecy with him right now. Perhaps you shall write about it. It should be told as it is a real survival miracle. (He clinked his glass of gin against my pint, and I nodded. He apparently took that as sealing the secrecy deal and perhaps even this writing.)
My father was a seaman from right here in Southhampton. He joined the merchant marine during WWI, and I was born in 1919 from his coupling with my mother, a Frenchwoman, whom he never married. I lived with him and saw many mates, most of them sailors like him, coming to share his bed as I grew to adulthood. Following in his footsteps I joined the merchant marine in 1940 at age 21 during WWII. I had worked on the docks and knew my way around ships, and the men who crewed them.
While in training with the merchant marine one of the older instructors took a fancy to me. I was a handsome, strapping young man, muscular, well-tanned, long hair and given to the pints, rum and gin. He invited me and I thought several of my mates to join him at the pub after the last class one Saturday. We had Sunday off from training.
When I arrived I was the only sea cadet with him. I asked him about the others. His answer was rather vague, but we proceeded to have a good old time quaffing down the drinks and sporting with the bar wench, him pinching her butt and even copping a feel of her ample breasts lifted up and showing much flesh at the top of her open blouse.
In no time I was more than a bit tipsy, practically pissed, and showing a hard crank in my sailor work pants. He took the conversation to the joys of boffing that wench, further exciting me. Then to my surprise he reached under our table and grasped my excited tool. In my beer, rum and gin-inspired state I opened my legs to give him more room. He moved his hand up and down on my hard, pulsing, soon leaking willy.
I wanted the wench, any wench, for that matter any warm, wet hole to relieve my balls so full of cum. I realized I was way past too drunk to make a play for the wench. I told him I had to go now, back to the barracks, intending to snag one of the street whores or go to one of the several houses where they catered to horny sailors like me. Matching words to action I stood up from my chair. More pissed than I knew, I reeled backwards, knocking over the chair and falling onto my arse on the floor.
My instructor, superior, leader, all blurry in my eyes now, was standing over me, bending down and helping me to my feet. The bartender was there with him, helping me stand unsteadily. You’re too drunk to go back to the barracks, my instructor told me. My flat is right here above the bar. Come, let’s go put you to bed there, let you sleep it off for the night.
Oh, I remember grinning at him sillily and protesting no. He and the barkeep were not taking no for an answer. The two of them guided me to the back of the pub, up the stairs and into my instructor’s flat. They undressed me completely and laid me naked on the sofa in the living room. The bartender left saying something about being back later with more of the gents.
I lolled on the couch Fındıkzade Escort my head swimming while the instructor covered me with a quilt against the wet chill of our typical, merry old England without sufficient heat in his little, upstairs apartment. The instructor walked away and left me alone. I heard water splashing as he washed himself, then me with a rather rough cloth on my bollocks, bum and still hard dick. Then everything went black.
I was asleep, I was sure, dreaming. Such a pleasant dream. The bar wench had my cock in her mouth. She was sucking it, bobbing her head up and down, drawing tightly on it with her lips. I stirred a bit, pushing my lower body up and down, sliding my rod in and out of her mouth. I felt her hands on my bollocks and her finger going in my back hole, her mouth still sucking on me. Her hands were so rough, calloused, finger so thick, suctioning mouth surrounded by a moustache and beard.
Despite those realizations in my stupor I was so close to spunking, I let it go. She swallowed, swallowed and swallowed. I was awakening even more by then and knew she had not swallowed all of my jism. I rolled onto my side, my face against the back of the sofa, then onto my stomach, my wet cock between me and the texture of the couch. I felt the wench leave, her covering me now face down with the quilt. I dozed off again.
Then she was back, the sofa sinking under her weight. She laid on top of me. Lor’ she’s so heavy, I thought, and hairy too. She swept my long hair to the side and kissed me on the back of my neck, on my shoulders, back. She twisted my head around and kissed my mouth, feeding some of my own cum that she had saved into my mouth for me to taste, feel and smell. She moved down, kissing down my spine, lifted me by my hips, kissed, licked and tongued my crack. She lifted my buttocks and spread my cheeks wider tonguing in my bung. I got hard again instantly and raised up holding my butt flesh open for her to tongue my hole.
She tongued it for awhile, then I felt a cold, slick, gelatinous mess smeared in my cleft and pushed with her fingers, yes fingers this time, up my hole. I turned my head to the right and saw a can of lard sitting on the floor. Her hairy, calloused, big hand dipped into the white cooking substance. I heard it squishing on what I did not know. Then a real thick lubed finger was presented to my lubed anal lense. It breached my sphincter and surged right up into me, her pubic hairs pressing into my crack.
“Aaaah, ooooh,” I squealed.
“Yeah, baby, yell,” a deep voice resounded into my ear, teeth bit down on my earlobe. A strong hand held me down.
“Oooooh,” I yelled, coming fully awake. It was not her. It had never been. It was my instructor driving his long, thick, lubed cock in my rectum.
“Yes, cadet, take it. Take my big cock,” my instructor said loudly into my ear. “I’m fucking you in your virgin bum. I’m gonna make you my manpussy.”
I was feeling so good as his hard rod slid back and forth, in and out of me, only the fat knob clamped by my ovaled hole as he pulled back and stroked hard back into me burying it to my depths. I started moving with him, raising and lowering my bum, fucking back and forth on his cock as he pummeled my man twat. His fat knob rode over my prostate, milking a steady stream of clear juice out the slit of my again hard cock. He reached around with that big, hairy, calloused hand and stroked me as he fucked me.
Soon I was cumming all over the sofa. My anal muscles flexed on his big tool as he pounded into me. I felt a touch on the back of my head and raised up to look. The bartender stood at the end of the sofa. He guided his cock to my mouth and pushed it past my lips over my tongue, to the back of my throat. Now being dicked fore and aft and still wanked I shot another load. My instructor filled my ass with his cum, his cock throbbing, lurching up and down inside my mancunt. Remember this was 1940, long before HIV/AIDs, but well within gonorrhea, syphillis, other diseases. I was worried some, but feeling so good. I wanted more cock, and more I was to get. Much more than I expected on this first manfucking.
My instructor got off me, pulling his cock out of my hole with a juicy slurp. “Get him, Len,” he said to the bartender. Get back here and fuck his pussy. I’ve busted his cherry. He’s ready for all of us now.”
Len, the barkeep, mounted and fucked me. He drove his cock right into my sloppy, cum-filled, splayed open hole. Another cock was presented to my mouth. I took it in and sucked it. This went on until the roosters were crowing, the sun rising. I have no idea how many loads I took in my mouth, how many up my no longer virgin ass. Aching, in my jaws, bum and head throbbing with a hangover I was finally let alone, covered with the quilt again. I slept the sleep of the dead.
When I awoke Sunday afternoon, my instructor was right there with a cup of coffee braced with brandy. I sipped it as he told me, I was his now for Fındıkzade Escort Bayan the rest of the training period. I was not only his. I was also the bartender’s and male fuck whore for other men, anyone the barkeep and my instructor wanted to use me. I did not object. I enjoyed all the hot sex.
At the end of the training I was turned over by my instructor to a boilers mate on the ship, a freighter it was, to which I was assigned. We shipped out carrying a load of war materials from England to North Africa, the Middle East, positioning supplies for the British forces. I was so far down the chain of command I was not exactly sure where we were going. I knew only that we were headed into the Mediterranean Sea.
[At that point Nigel returned from the pig buy. The pig would be delivered to John’s house in a few hours, and we would cook it. John, not near as drunk as I thought he might be stopped telling his story when Nigel arrived at the pub. John, Nigel and I had a few more rounds of drinks. We walked to John’s house, roasted the pig, prepared some accompaniments for the pork, enjoyed a delicious meal, finished it off with coffee and brandy, and went to bed – John in his room, Nigel in the spare room, and me on the sofa in the living room. As I lay there trying to go to sleep thinking about John’s story so far, especially since I was on the couch covered by a quilt, Nigel came to me. He kissed me on the lips, took me by the hand and led me naked, him the same, into his room, onto his bed, and we sucked and fucked for half the night. John started his story the next day where he had left off the afternoon before. Nigel was out this morning checking on a sailboat he was thinking about buying.]
First Time At Sea – 2
[John, Nigel’s father, has told me about his rather rough introduction to man-man sex while a cadet in training for the British merchant marine fleet as a sailor. He told me the beginning of his story while we drank in a pub as Nigel was off buying a pig for us to roast as dinner. Now John wanted his story told. He was sharing it with me because he knew Nigel and I were enjoying man-man sex together, and I was a writer, boater, scuba diver and explorer of antiquities. I had met Nigel on a scuba diving trip in the Mediterranean. He and I had become special friends. I had joined him at his invitation at his home in Falmouth, and gone to visit his father in Southhampton, England. Again, not a superfluous use of quotes since John tells his story in the first person. He picked up right where he had left off the day before. After cadet training for the merchant marine fleet where he had been introduced to man-man sex by one of his instructors and shared with the local pub keeper and many of their friends, John was turned over by the instructor to a boilers mate on a freighter. The freighter was carrying a load of war materials from England to North Africa, the Middle East through the Mediterranean Sea, positioning supplies for the British forces early in WWII. John was finally at sea as a merchant marine and being tended to by the boilers mate, a man much senior to him in both rank and age.]
Robert, John started right after a delicious and large English breakfast and Nigel’s departure to check on a sailboat he was thinking of buying, I am going to continue my story. I know you are interested. I don’t sleep much anymore at my age. I was awakened by you and Nigel in his bed last night. I got so excited listening to the two of you, my old cock even got hard. I tiptoed to the doorway of Nigel’s room and watched you through the door. It was so delicious watching you two 69 and fuck each other. I pulled my pud, wanked it, you know, and shot off just a little bit. No longer like the big loads I used to shoot. Just a bit of dribble.
So, we had shipped out carrying war materials from England to North Africa, the Middle East, positioning supplies for the British forces. I was not exactly sure where we were going. I knew only that we were headed into the Mediterranean Sea, me in the care of Henry, one of the ship’s boiler mates, to whom my instructor had turned me over after he, the pubkeeper and their buds had introduced me to their ways of sex. Henry and I coupled night and day, on shore and aboard ship as we prepared to depart and once we got under way.
He sucked me and fucked me, had me suck him, really treated me as his wife, at least his personal property. He did not share me with others on board although it was clear many of them wanted me. We bunked on the same deck, Henry above me in his bunk, and for that matter, on top of me in my bunk or his. Clearly the other men knew what we were doing. Using me still night and day, depending on our engine room watch schedules, he made sure I was never available to any of the other horny sailors. He arranged our schedules so we were always together, even at mess – meals in the galley, and certainly at “rest” times. Our rest times were seldom rest. His pud was always erect for me as was mine for Escort Fındıkzade him and my bum for his use.
To get to the meat of the story, so to speak, we were approaching the Strait of Gibraltar. That was to be a port of call for us, a break from sailing, at sea. Henry and I were on duty in the engine room, but we had been granted a 15-minute break. He took me straightway to a secluded compartment. He dropped his pants wearing no unders. His big throbber sprung up right in my face as he pushed me by my shoulders to kneel in front of him. I kissed, licked and sucked his knob, fondling his hairy, sweaty ball sack as I nursed on his cock, then kissed, licked, mouthed his nuts until he was drooling a steady stream of his clear, slick juice. Much as you and Nigel did last night, he smiled.
Then he turned me around, peeled down my pants and underwear, and bent me over an auxiliary water pump. My pecker, a mere minature of his, was up hard, jutting out from my hairy pubes. He reached to the deck, picked up a can of grease and swabbed it over his raging erection. “Open if for me, John,” he said. Leaning my chest on the warm water pump I reached back and spread by bum cheeks with both hands. Henry swiped the remnants of the black grease in my crack and pushed it up into my hole with his big middle finger first, then his middle and ring finger, followed by his index finger. With three fingers in me he opened me, always a gentle lover, sure to prepare me well for his massive meat.
His fingers squelched out of me, and he brought his cock helmet to my hole. Uncut, he peeled back the excess skin uncovering his mushroom crown. He pushed, flexed his hips, drove his staff right into my bum, all the way, until I felt his wiry pubes in my crack, his cock way up in me. Both of us eager, horned up, knowing our 15 minutes were ticking away, I rocked forward and back onto his shaft. He pushed thrusting into me hard, sliding his big thick meat in and out, both of us breathing hard and sweating in the heat of the compartment.
Despite our slick bodies, he lifted me off the deck with his superior strength. Clutching me my back against his hairy chest he ravaged my asshole mounted on his rod.
Now, Robert, this is where it gets interesting.
He was lifting me up and sliding me down on his dick, working it in my stretched hole, my feet clear of the deck, my body mounted on his.
His long thick cock slammed up into me, deeper than it had ever gone before. Daft, I squealed in ecstasy never penetrated so deep or forcefully before. Bolts of cum shot out of my throbbing, jumping cock. I turned my head to kiss him, but he fell back, away from me. His grip loosened on me and I fell to the deck his cock still in me spurting his cum deep into my bowels. His hard prod shooting cum plopped out of my hole as he fell further backwards.
Standing on the deck I felt it shudder. I heard a rush of water. I looked around, then turned around to look at Henry. He was writhing on the deck screaming. The big bones on both of his upper legs were protruding through the skin. His kneecaps were exposed peeled of their flesh. The smaller bones in the lower part of his legs were sticking through the skin also, akimbo, in different directions.
Seawater surged onto us. I jumped up onto the water pump and reached above me for some of the piping lifting myself up above the rising water. Steaming hot water apparently from the boiler room washed over Henry. I watched, aghast, as his skin reddened and bubbled in great blisters. He was being cooked alive.
I reached down and grabbed him by the wrists. His flesh slid off into my hands. I grabbed at him again, this time grasping the bones of his forearms.
The compartment tilted sideways. The ship was rolling onto its side. I looked over Henry back toward the engine room, still holding him tight in my grasp. The engine room and its accompanying boilers were a hell. Men, naked, in tatters of their sailor work clothes were floating and sinking back into the oily mess of the frothing, steamy hot water. Tongues lolled out of some mouths. Eyes bulged. Some empty vacant holes, no eyeballs at all, mouths gaped. They were dead. Broken by the blast, cooked in the oil of the engines and the steam of the boilers.
A great cloud of steam rolled toward Henry and me. I reeled, almost passed out. The heat was becoming unbearable. I felt the skin on my face burning.
I turned away, looking forward. The ship lurched, shook again and rolled further, now upside down, the deck above us, the overhead below us. A great bubble of air, then water blew Henry and me, still holding his wrists, further forward rapidly, and through a ragged hole in the steel side, or was it the top or bottom of the ship.
Henry and I rose to the surface of the sea. I looked down, watched the ship sink away from us, descending into the depths. A life vest rode on the waves washing over us. Still holding Henry now by one wrist, I grappled the vest around my shoulders. We floated just a bit higher in the water. Then I saw a lifeboat upright, floating a few yards away. I swam us to it, tied Henry by the exposed bones of one wrist to a dangling rope, clambered into the boat and hoisted Henry into it. Then I collapsed onto the wooden deck and faded into oblivion.
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