“Hello Brock! Any sharks last night? Rays?” Sadie asked.
“One shark, two rays” Brock returned.
Sadie and Roger, his English neighbors, had rented the boat slip across form his own. Their sailboat was almost identical to his twenty-seven foot Catalina. Brock didn’t much care for Roger. He once scolded young Brock about leaving the hooks in the fish’s mouths by cutting the line to release them.
A month earlier, Brock sailed his boat from Long Beach to Mission Harbor, near Sea World in San Diego. From San Francisco to Long Beach before that.
Brock was a slim, bleach-blonde twenty year old. Tan. Fine hairs on his legs and arms. Soft features, with a kind young beach-bum’s smile. Perfect teeth. Facial hair too thin to shave just yet. Soft blonde fuzz above and around his cock and scrotum.
Brock bid good day to Sadie, and went below. Before his chat with her, he’d already made plans to have some fun by himself in the bow of the boat – where the sleeping quarters were located. There, two coarse half-triangle mattresses came together on a wood platform to create a small bed. Brock had a single sheet, a blanket, and a pillow loosely thrown onto the bed. He never made the bed.
Dropping his board shorts on his way to the bow, Brock grabbed the towel which was lying on the bench seat of the galley table. Free from any clothing, he felt the swinging weight and strain of his swelling fuckstick as walked naked through the boat.
He threw the towel up onto the bed, with the end of the towel closest to him – landing and staying on his erect manhood for a moment. Brock adjusted the towel and hopped up onto the bed. He laid back. Directly above him, was an open hatch that allowed sunlight and cool salt air in. With his young dick bouncing to his heartbeat, Brock listened to the gulls and his sailing lines tapping the mast.
Would life ever be better? – he thought.
Reaching into a small cubbyhole to his right, Brock found the baby oil. He poured a long line of oil from his chest to his navel. Rubbing his body in oil with both hands, Brock raised his head to spy his pisshole. He did this every time – and like clockwork, his cock gave up it’s first pearl of sweet nectar. The precum pushed out in a single heavy drop, leaving a thin string between his cock and belly button in the hesitation – only to be followed by an even heavier flow.
Brock rubbed his fluid in with the oil. In the sunshine coming through the hatch, Brock appeared as a beautiful shiny Adonis – with a throbbing seven inch root. Grabbing his cock with his greasy hands, another gob of precum flowed out. He was fucking horny. Gently rolling his hand and fingers over his cockhead, he went into his past.
Brock wondered – “Why do rich gay men leave young tricks alone at their house after a one-night stand?” He thought it to be very strange. “They suck my dick. They beg me to fuck them in the ass. The next day – I wake up alone on a draped four-poster bed. They’ve gone to work leaving me with access to pretty much everything they own.”
With his other hand, Brock reached under his balls and started to massage his adorable asshole.
He continued with his line of thought, “I really believed it to be a one-off the first time, but it’s happened too many times, in different cities and different locations. Fine art, watch collections, cash and jewels – they just leave the house and go to work. The door closes, and then – silence. The silence of a stranger’s house.”
Sometimes Brock would shower or make breakfast in a kitchen boasting a Viking range. Other times, he’d just lay in a bed and watch gay porn or on a living room couch and watch gay porn. He’d cum up to eight times during a day in a silent house. Never less than twice.
Being already turned on by the oily stroking, the addition of pondering the Johns of his past aroused him further. Brock glimpsed the warm rush of orgasm approaching. Just then, he was brought back from the brink. His sailboat began to rock from the wake of a passing vessel.
Resetting, he slipped his middle finger into his tight hole and stroked his glistening cock in the sunlight of the hatch. It was glorious. Suddenly, Brock’s eyes went distant – almost blank. Toes locked in a stretch, his eyes slammed shut. It was here.
The first exploding jet of jism in his sailboat bedroom flew through the sunlight, end over end – landing above his head. The next four hit him in the face and mouth. Halfway through what would end up being a total of thirteen ropes – he saw someone two feet from his face, bent over and looking down through the open hatch. It was Roger. “Sadie! He’s wanking again!”
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/n7kz45/brocks_cock_brockm20_rogerm30_sadief29