I clearly had an itch that needed scratching.
Like most mornings, I was sitting on the padded window seat of my kitchen’s bay window; feet up, an accent pillow behind my back. I held a cup of Caribou Mahogany dark roast halfway up to my mouth with one hand and my iPhone in the other.
Each morning I scanned the cruising/hookup app, more out of boredom, than anything else. One profile caught my eye, “Bi-curious, fifty-six-year-old daddy, 6’ 4”, 190#, clean and healthy.”
Lanky. Did that translate to a long schlong?
We messaged back and forth, ultimately deciding a face-to-face meeting over a cup of coffee might be a good way to meet. We set it up for the next morning at the Oak Hill Marina cafe. He suggested he had planned on taking his boat out anyway, so the plan killed two birds with one stone.
The location was fine with me, since the facility was less than ten minutes from my cottage.
Mike turned out to be a nice guy, both in terms of looks and personality. We actually had a lot in common. Much like me, Mike simply hadn’t been getting enough (or anything) at home. He didn’t want to cheat on his wife with another woman; plus he figured out from a minimal time online, that there was always a guy out there ready to suck a cock on a moment’s notice.
I asked Mike point-blank what he was hoping to find. It boiled down to a FWB, someone clean and healthy and who was into plain vanilla, mutual gratification. I asked if he truly was interested in the “mutual” part, given his virgin status. He assured me that was the case.
Mike pulled the Sea Ray 230 into the secluded cove he had discussed a half-hour earlier over coffee. As it turned out, he and his wife used to spend a lot of time together on the water. He liked to fish and she liked to sunbathe topless. His wife would nurse a canned wine spritzer or two, read a paperback and air out what he described as 38DDs. He’d try to catch two or three crappie for dinner.
About half the time, they’d make out; with him eating her pussy and her sucking his cock. He discussed this with significant melancholy. He claimed their last time together on the lake was almost eighteen months prior to our meeting.
Mike handed me a canned Bloody Mary out of the Yeti cooler. We cheered to good times.
He asked the logical question. “So, how do we do this?”
“How ‘bout we just go with the flow and let nature take its course,” I answered. “No pressure.”
I pulled my tee off, leaned back on a bow cushion and closed my eyes.
I was awakened by a hand rubbing sunblock onto my chest. I opened my eyes to find Mike kneeling on the deck beside me.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. You were getting red,” he whispered.
“Hey, no foul. I’m sorry I nodded off.”
For some reason, I reached up and placed my hand behind his neck. I pulled his face closer to mine. He didn’t resist. In fact, he narrowed the distance and gently pressed his lips to mine. I once again closed my eyes, but parted my lips and allowed his tongue to explore my mouth.
In concert, we began to moan and exchange spittle.
Mike ran his warm hand over my upper chest, lightly pinching each nipple. It felt fantastic, but I wanted more. With my left hand, I encircled his wrist and directed his roaming fingers downward and under the waistband of my shorts. With my right hand, I prepared to release what I hoped would be his Kraken. As it turned out, that wasn’t necessary. His man-monster was so long and so erect, that at least four inches were already sneaking out below the hem of his cargo shorts.
I used my index finger to harvest a large drop of precum dangling down from his slit. While locking eyes with him, I licked the digit, then sucked it into my mouth.
Mike took the hint. He extracted his hand from inside my shorts and stood. He shimmied out of his pants and kicked them aside.
I leaned to the right and placed my hand on his left ass cheek and drew him closer to my face.
Mike’s cock was beyond beautiful. It was at least nine inches long, still semi-flaccid. Although its girth was commensurate with its length, it wasn’t “I can’t fit it in my mouth” wide. Mike had manscaped the base of his behemoth, scrotum and taint; leaving a two-inch circle of curly brown pubes as a landing strip (or more rightly, helipad).
I pivoted my legs around so I could face directly Mike’s meat and so that I could use both hands to maximal advantage.
I cupped my left hand into the shape of a hotdog bun and held its contents horizontally. There were two inches of wiener exposed on either end.
Mike clearly needed servicing. He inched forward and placed his right hand on the back of my head. I responded to his non-verbal communication by allowing his purple plum to slip through my lips and into my hungry mouth.
I bobbed my head and ran my tongue in small circles on the sensitive area just below his flair. He began to moan. I could have brought him to orgasm in one or two minutes; but I wanted more, much more of his cock.
I kept my tongue in contact with the underside of his shaft, but pulled his fruit from my mouth. Holding his cock vertically against his belly, I ran my tongue ultra slowly up and down the shaft from his flair to the front of his ball sack. By tilting my head slightly, I could see his closed eyes and his teeth biting his lower lip.
I licked farther down onto his scrotum and tried to suck one of his kiwi-sized nuts into my mouth. There was no way I could open my mouth wide enough.
I went on to plan B. I pulled his ball sack up and ran my tongue into his taint and back. He moaned, so I repeated his taint stimulation.
I was getting a crick in my neck, so I shifted back to his pecker. I licked my way across his stones to the base of his cock, then up the shaft. When I got to the head, I welcomed it back into my warm mouth once again.
I knew Mike needed to shoot and I coveted his spew; so I got to work. I gripped his organ about three inches below the head to function as a drill-stop. There was no way I wanted him to face fuck me with all nine inches. I used my free hand to jack his rod.
As anticipated, Mike put more pressure on the back of my head, now with both hands. He began to buck his pelvis forward, sliding his meat in and partially out of my mouth. I could feel the very tip of his weapon touching my uvula, thankfully just short of gagging me.
It was odd, but an image of Mike face-fucking his wife in this very boat, in this very cove came to mind. I didn’t have time to dwell on this, however, as Mike announced he was getting close to cumming.
Mike and I both picked up the pace. I was jerking the daylights out of his dick and he humped like a lap pet.
… and then he stopped: a count of one, two, three, four. Abruptly he uttered an “Oh, G*d” and something like “Shit, fuck, oh fuck, look out.”
He bucked violently forward and filled my mouth with hot salty-sweet jizz. I swallowed as fast as I could, but there was no way to keep up with the volume of his loads. I gave up and let his seed spill out of my mouth, drooling down my chin and dripping onto my shorts.
Mike recovered pretty quickly. He still held onto my head, but he unceremoniously extracted his softening dong from my mouth. Once he had broken our tether, he dug into the cooler and pulled out two Coors Banquets. He popped the caps and handed one to me.
He toasted, “Here’s to boats and blow jobs!”