I walked out of the marina provisions shop carrying a bag of ice with my left hand and a twelve-pack of Old Milwaukee with my right. I peeked in the windows of Bobbing Buoys, the marina restaurant. Sure enough, there was Nate, waiting tables. I developed a yearning sensation south of the border.
Mike was standing at the end of Dock C, gassing up his bowrider. He looked ready for an afternoon on the water: Cubs cap on backward, shirtless, shiny red basketball baggies and flip-flops.
After the teenage dock girl finished topping off Mike’s Sea Ray, we boarded, loaded the cooler, and idled out of the marina.
We were back to Mike’s secluded cove in less than fifteen minutes. Mike tossed out an anchor and pulled a rod out of a padded storage locker. He asked, “Change your mind about fishing?”
I confirmed that I was more of a cold beverage and chill-out kind of boater, as opposed to sportsman.
Mike laughed and told me to grab him a beer. He added bilateral AirPods.
The lake was super quiet given that it was midweek. I’m guessing Mike took that into consideration when he stripped off his shorts, revealing a black jockstrap. As one might anticipate, the pouch was XXL to handle his ten inches of manhood.
Just about the time I was ready to offer Mike a hummer, a boat idled into the cove. I figured he would quickly take a seat and pull on his shorts; but nope, he apparently was too engrossed in the fishing or more likely his playlist.
I stood, slapped him on the butt and pointed to the boat. Mike looked over his shoulder, grinned and waved. As the boat approached, I heard, “Lose your pants again, Mike?”
I noticed a uniform and a badge. Shit.
It turned out that the wildlife agent was Mike’s friend, having met two years previously. The agent then had idled quietly into the cove, much like today. He caught the couple buck naked; Mike on the receiving end of a blow job.
After introductions, Lieutenant Tom Baker pointed to my hand. “Got another one of those. I’m off duty as of one minute ago.”
I dug into the cooler, grabbed an Old Milwaukee and tossed it across the six-foot gap between the boats. Tom chugged the lager and crushed the can.
He tossed the mangled aluminum back across the gap and twirled his index finger for another round. I extracted three more brews, tossing one to Mike and one to Tom.
Tom finally said his goodbyes and motored out of the cove. Not long after the sound of his Tracker getting up on plane had faded, Mike queried, “How about being a good mate and helping me drain the dragon?”
Mike moved over to my side of the Sea Ray and knelt down on the padded lid of the rod locker. He gave me a quizzical look. “What are you waiting on?”
I scooted closer and freed his huge cock from the Spandex pouch of his jock.
Mike leaned over the gunnel and supported himself, hands on the rail. As soon as I pointed his long hose toward the water, Mike cut loose with a torrent like a racehorse.
As the flood of piss slowed, Mike bucked forward to push out the last few spurts of piss. I shook his monster two or three times, then lowered my grip to the base of his cock. I milked my fist toward his cockhead, squeezing out the last few drops of urine. I felt his cock hardening.
I released his hose and sat back on the padded seat, not knowing what he wanted. He made it pretty clear. He moved away from the gunnel and stood with his feet on the deck and his pelvis mere inches from my head. He ordered, “Lick it clean.”
I rotated ninety degrees toward him. His cock was near my lips. Before I could even extend my tongue to sample the residual drops of urine on his pee slit, he used his left hand to pull my head forward. With the right, he fisted his semi-erect prick and painted my lips with his piss and additional precum from his early arousable.
Strangely, I wasn’t upset. In fact, I was turned on beyond description. I wanted Mike to call the shots, to control me.
I locked eyes with Mike and parted my lips.
An hour later, we were back at the marina. I gave Mike a fist bump and carried the garbage bag of crumpled beer cans to the recycling bin outside the provisions mart. I took a peek into the marina restaurant. Sure enough, Todd was waiting tables. I developed a tingle in my nether region.
By the time I ordered a club sandwich, house-cut chips and Dr. Pepper; I had sprung a raging boner. Just seeing Todd wet his pouty lips as he took my food order had jump-started my arousal. I came close to losing all control when Todd asked, “Got it. Would you like extra mayo on the side? That’s the way I like it.”
Todd winked, did a one-eighty and headed to the kitchen. He looked beyond cute: pale blue Lacoste polo, khaki Bermudas and white tennies. His quarter-height white crew socks accentuated his tan and muscular legs. He looked good enough to eat.
I watched Todd service the other tables. All I could think about was Todd servicing my cock. I fantasized he would be on his knees back behind the counter with his pouty, pink lips locked around Mr. Johnson.
I’d finished my club and chips and was nursing the last of the Dr. Pepper, when Todd returned. He removed the empty plate and queried, “Anything else? How about a piece of pecan pie?”
I wasn’t ready to hit the road, so I answered, “Sure and a cup of coffee. Hey, where are the restrooms?”
Pointing, he answered, “Past the bar and hang a left.”
The men’s room was luxurious and could have been in a high-end hotel or restaurant. The heavy wooden door had a frosted glass insert and vintage brass hardware. Black subway tile extended half up the walls, with hunter-green faux bamboo wallpaper above. The sinks were copper and the countertop, soapstone. Best of all: three personal walled stalls with louvred doors.
I entered the third stall, turned on the dim overhead light and stood with the door cracked open an inch. I waited for three or four long minutes, hoping Todd had read my lascivious mind correctly. Sure enough, he entered the restroom and walked directly to my cubicle.
Todd wasted little time. He closed and locked the door; then placed both hands on my cheeks, drawing me into a passionate kiss. I instinctively parted my lips to allow his tongue to enter and explore my mouth. I couldn’t help but wonder whether the umami taste of Mike’s spew lingered.
Without a word, Todd lowered his hands to my pecs, lightly pinching my nipples for a few seconds. While still French kissing me hungrily, he slipped his searching fingers down to the waistband of my shorts.
Todd initially fumbled with my belt and zipper; but after a long sixty seconds, he fisted my cock and freed it from my cargos.
Breaking our kiss, Todd knelt before me and without pause, pulled the head of my prick into his mouth. Certainly, I missed his tongue penetrating my mouth, but his lips around my meat more than made up for it.
I resisted the urge to intertwine my fingers in his golden locks and face-fuck him, opting instead to just stand like the Vitruvian man: legs spread and hands on the cubicle walls. I closed my eyes, angled my pelvis seductively toward him and allowed Todd to work his magic.
I began panting, my chest heaving in and out. I encouraged Todd to finish me off. “That’s it, Baby. I’m getting close. Make me cum.”
I felt him nod. He answered as best he could with my meat in his mouth, “Uh, huh.”
He bobbed his head and jacked me faster.
I sensed an impending explosion deep in my taint. I held my breath and finally lowered my hands to his head. I held him firmly, but inched my cock gently forward, then back.
Without warning Todd and with a beastlike grunt, I shot an initial rope of hot jizz, paused, exclaimed an “Oh, fuck” and then released an additional three milky loads into his welcoming mouth.
I pushed Todd off my dripping sausage.
Todd pulled off my hose with a wet slurpy sound and stood up. He wiped his lips with the back of his right hand and smiled. “That was intense, man. Love your cock.”
“Thanks,” was the only thing that came to mind.
My boy toy pecked me on the cheek and exited the cubicle. I heard the water splash into the copper basin as he washed his hands, then the door open and close.
I wiped my cheek with the back of my own right hand.