Canadian Sailor #2

Canadian Sailor

By Lee Mariner

This is a gay fantasy depicting homosexual acts involving young men, and it is intended for ADULT READERS ONLY. If you are not of legal age in your locality to be reading this material or should you not approve of such material, please leave.

This work is copyrighted by the author, and may not be copied, reproduced or displayed on any web site without the author's written permission.

This work has been edited by Scottie MacGregor.

Comments and/or suggestions may be sent to, mariner23502@hotmail.com

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Preface

As Andy was driving, I asked if he was from Halifax. His response was, "not me, I'm from a little town in British Columbia, south southwest of Victoria."

"I've never been out that way, I said, moving closer to him, and sliding my arm over the seat back behind his broad shoulders. Blowing gently in his ear, he slowed the car as he turned and looking into my eyes, saying, "It took you long enough."

Moving my hand over his hard muscled chest, and down into his crotch, he inhaled deeply, shuddering as he exhaled; and nibbling on his ear lobe, I whispered huskily, "I told you I wasn't forward."

"You can make up for it after we get inside," he growled as he swung off the street, switching the engine off as the car glided to a stop in a covered parking area. "My flat is up one flight if you can wait that long."

* * * * * * * * * *

Andy bound up the steps to his flat two at a time, and I followed. Opening the double locks on the door, he flipped a wall switch just inside the door turning on a low voltage table lamp. The room was spartan, containing only two chairs, a coffee table with matching end tables with lamps, and an uncomfortable looking couch covered in what may, at one time, have been an attractive tartan fabric. The floor covering was a dark colorless swag type carpet, and from its rumpled appearance it appeared to have no backing or non-skid material. Two darkened doorways were on opposite walls, and I assumed that one led to the bedroom and the other, possibly, the kitchen. If first impressions mean anything at all, the sparseness of furnishings, the musky unclean odor combined with a faint smell of urine led me to feel a little apprehensive.

"This is your flat, Andy?" I asked, a little incredulous, straining my eyes to see in the murky interior.

"Yeah," he answered. "It ain't much but; I don't use it that often. I'm not much for living alone, but when I meet someone, and we want to make a go of it, I can't very well take'em on base," he said, starting to strip as he was talking.

"I thought you lived on base?" I asked, a feeling of intense trepidation settling in the pit of my stomach.

I was not feeling good about the sudden lack of hospitality or the change in his demeanor. There seemed to be a gruffness that I had either overlooked or failed to detect when we met earlier, and I didn't like it. Rough foreplay or sex were totally out of character for me, and I didn't like it.

While I was thinking, and feeling more apprehensive, Andy turned around facing me, and threw his shirt onto the couch. Flicking the snap on his trousers with his thumb, he pulled the zipper down, and they fell around his ankles, revealing the enormous uncircumcised endowment swinging in his crotch. Kicking his clothing and shoes to the side his eyes gleamed, as he spread his legs, and folded his arms over the muscles of his hair covered chest. He stood naked and unmoving, like a statue of Mars waiting to meet his opponent in mortal combat. I had the immediate thought that, we were pretty evenly matched if it came to a confrontation. From the aggressive stance he had taken when he had stripped naked and faced me, I had the feeling that he might have masochistic tendencies. I was assessing my chances when he said, "Want me to help you out of your uniform, Pete? I really get off on undressing sailors."

"I don't know, Andy," I replied, attempting to suppress the nervousness in my voice. "It is rather late, and I'm scheduled for duty in the morning, so...maybe I should take a rain check."

His arms fell to his sides, and he stood staring at me, with a dumbfounded look on his face. I turned quickly to unlock the door, not even thinking about how I was going to get back to the base. At that moment, all that I was thinking of was getting out of that room, and away from the behemoth that had looked so sexy earlier in the day.

Flinging the door open, I stumbled, almost falling down the stairs. Behind me, I heard, "You fucking cock teasing son-of-a-bitch."

I didn't look back as I trotted in the general direction of the roadway, but I could hear him shouting loud, uncomplimentary epithets after me as to what he would do with various parts of my anatomy if we should ever meet at some later date.

* * * * * * * * * *

I was thankful that Andy's flat was located on the same highway that led back to the base. It would be easier to hitch a ride or perhaps catch a bus if they were going that way. A few cars passed, one tapped his brakes, and then sped on. The streetlights were fairly far apart. The distance between was pretty dark, and I decided it would be better if I stood under one of the lights instead of walking. The next car stopped, and through the partially open passenger door window the driver asked, "Need a lift, Yank?"

"Yes, Sir," I answered. "I'm headed for the Canadian Forces Base."

"Going right by it," my unknown benefactor replied. "Hop in."

"Yes, Sir," I replied, quickly opening the car door.

"You must be one of the Yanks on the ships what came in with the Vancouver," the driver stated more as a fact than a question, as I settled into the seat, and glanced in his direction.

"Yes, Sir, we operated with her," I replied. He was a middle aged man with a cigarette dangling from his lips, and from what I could see in the light from his instrument panel, he appeared to be dressed as a workman wearing dark green or black coveralls with his shirt collar turned out, and a nondescript baseball cap.

"We worked on her a few years back when she was in the yards," he offered. "Installed some type of new fire-control radar. Pretty effective from what I hear," he said, glancing over at me. The ash of his cigarette was in eminent danger of soiling his clothes.

I couldn't tell if he was being unduly curious or conversational, so I decided to err on the side of caution, and I remained noncommittal; talking in general terms about the weather, ice-bergs we had seen, and the pods of whales and porpoise.

"There must be a smart of them floating around out there, but I'm a sworn landlubber myself," he said, chuckling as he pulled onto the roads shoulder across from the gate that I had gone through earlier. "Here ya are, Yank, safe and sound."

'Yeah, safe and sound,' I thought as I got out and closed the door, thanking my benefactor for the ride.

I stood for a moment watching his taillights fade in the darkness as he sped away. As I crossed the roadway, I glanced at my wristwatch in the lights around the base gate; it was almost three o'clock in the morning.

The procedure was the same as when I had left, except for the rank comments about not being able to find any. I had the desire to put the young canadian puppy in his place, but in the interests of international relations, I refrained and only commented as most sailor do, lamenting on the lack of time to really hook up with some damsel of the evening that wasn't hustling two buck a shot grape juice or ice tea.

'Yeah, Yank, I hear what your saying, it's hard to get a decent blow-job anymore, much less a decent piece of ass," the young puppy exclaimed softly, reflectively groping his crotch as I was putting my identification card in my wallet, before leaving him in a frustrated state of rut.

Waving over my shoulder as I walked away, the thought occurred to me that he probably would be jerking off in the security of the guard shack before I was out of sight.

Locating my ship was not difficult, as the red air warning lights on her mast were clearly visible above the trees and a few non-descript buildings. It was about a fifteen-minute walk before I passed the bus stop where Andy had picked me up, and another few minutes before I was onboard.

Gorham was assuming the quarter-deck watch as I checked in, and I wasn't in any mood to hear his snide, suggestive innuendoes about my efficiency in the procurement of suitable female companionship for the weekend, or I would not be checking in early. He made a few lecherous comments about his abilities in the art of female conquest, and graphically demonstrated his prowess by clutching and squeezing his crotch.

"Yeah, Gorham, you are the king of the pussy hounds, and to hear you tell it, there isn't a cunt that you can't get," I said sarcastically.

"You don't see me coming back early," he called out, getting his last lick in as I walked away.

Opening the watertight door into the berthing compartment, and stepping inside, I closed the door hand tight. I waited for a moment while my eyes adjusted to the red passageway lights. The pungent male odor assailed my nostrils, and my cock jerked as if remembering it had not been satisfied, and was still waiting to perform its primary function.

The compartment was only partially occupied since most of my crew had been awarded a full weekend liberty, and several of them had obviously taken advantage of it. While I was undressing and putting my uniform away, I glanced around the darkened berthing compartment. Almost half of the compliment was empty, but several bunks held sleeping men huddled under sheets or light blankets. I was surprised when I saw that Marty Hobard's bunk was empty.

Removing a clean towel and my shower clogs from my locker, I flip flopped to the head, intent on showering, and hopeful that I would be able to satisfy the strong urges still creating havoc in my balls.

I was crestfallen when I opened the door to see two of Gorham's men in their briefs, leaning against the washbasins with one of the port holes open - smoking. Smoking was not permitted on board the ship except in designated spaces, and the berthing compartment heads were designated smoking areas.

"Hey, Boats, you're back early!" They exclaimed as they saw me enter.

"Yeah," I replied, trying to sound properly disconsolate. "I didn't see anything to be paying a room for, when I've got a perfectly good bunk that's free."

Both of the sailors were eighteen or nineteen years old, and well built from hard work on board, along with the required daily physical exercises; plus whatever attributes their parents and ancestors had genetically endowed them with.

Doug Blaszkowski, a solidly muscled, blond haired, blue eyed young man of Polish ancestry was the better looking of the two, and from the prominently displayed bulge in his briefs, he was well endowed. Ron Snyder was not as well built, but not that unattractive. His hair was a dishwater blond and his eyes were haze gray. The bulge in his briefs was not as prominent as Blaszkowski, but it appeared to be quite respectable. He was firm, and his lean muscles belied a hidden strength that I had observed on one occasion, when the shank of a five-hundred pound mushroom anchor had fallen on the foot of one of his shipmates. He didn't hesitate to physically lift the anchor's shank while the corpsman pulled the injured man out from under it.

I was still experiencing the after shock of having mis-judged Andy, but I was horny enough to know that either one would have made a good lay.

"Are you guys coming or going?" I asked as I dropped my ditty-bag on the bench, and hung my towel on one of the several hooks over the smooth wooden bench that had been installed on the inboard steel bulkhead.

"Neither," Blaszkowski answered cockily, as he drew on his cigarette, and suspiciously emphasized the size of his endowment by crossing his legs at the ankles.

"We just finished the mid-watch, and though we'd have a smoke before turning in," Snyder chimed in.

The showers and the face basins with mirrors were separated by a steel bulkhead in one compartment. Urinals and toilet stalls were in a connecting compartment, with old fashioned aluminum swinging saloon doors in the doorway. The steel bulkhead gave people taking a shower a modicum of privacy from men who were only washing up or shaving. Toilets or shower stalls had no curtains for privacy, and some of the bolder men would come through the swinging doors jokingly waving their cocks and blurting out, "Stick-em up, this is a hold up."

"Nothing wrong with that," I said, while removing my briefs. "Don't sleep in late, unless you want to miss chow. The in-port plan of the day said there would be VIP's on board for breakfast, and that means the cooks will be fixing an extra special chow."

"Wouldn't miss it, Boats," they both answered in unison as they extinguished their cigarettes.

I heard the door shut while I was adjusting the water temperature. Wetting down under the hot water and soaping up brought my cock to a roaring hard, and only a few strokes later, my muscles tightened as my cock erupted, spewing thick streams of sperm on the clinically white walls of the shower. "Jesus," I groused, while milking the remaining droplets of sperm from my softening cock. "After all the expectations and anticipating that I'd have sex with a hot Canadian Sailor I wind up jerking off, alone in the shower."

After briskly drying off, I combed my hair before brushing my teeth. While leaning over the wash basin, I heard the door to the other section of the head open and close, and then the silence was broken by a strong stream splashing into one of the urinals.

I was gathering my toilet articles when the swinging doors opened, and I glanced up to see Marty Hobard wearing briefs, with a towel over his shoulder, and his ditty bag dangling from the fingers of one hand.

"Hi, Pete," he said with a surprised look on his face. "I thought you would be staying ashore for the weekend."

"I changed my mind, Marty," I replied, inhaling deeply as I knotted my towel around my waist. "There wasn't very much going on, and I couldn't see paying for a room when there was a perfectly good bunk here on the ship."

"That makes sense," he said in his soft mid-western drawl, as he put his ditty bag on the bench and hung his towel up. "I thought you were going to hook up with the Canadian Sailor you were talking with, and he was going to show you the town."

"Got stood up," I blithely fibbed, a feeling of suppressed lust surging in my loins as I watched Marty slowly remove his briefs. His tantalizing tight bubble butt teasingly came into view, his muscles rippling as he stood on one foot and than the other to remove them. "He was supposed to pick me up at the bus stop, and we were going to hit a few bars. I wound up taking a bus." I said, quickly covering my swelling cock with my ditty bag.

"That's a bummer," Marty said as he turned around facing me, his blue eyes twinkling impishly, his semi-flaccid cock swaying as he move. "Petersen and I went to an on base movie, shared a pizza, and walked around the base. It's not much different than our's are," he said as he raked his fingers through the silky light brown hair surrounding the thick base of his steadily hardening cock.

"That shouldn't have taken until this time of the morning, Marty," I responded.

"We were on the fantail talking," he said, inhaling deeply as his hand moved over his cock, squeezing its impressive length, and pressing it against the smooth skin of his thigh/hip joint.

"That's a lot of talking," I said, throwing caution to the winds as I pulled my towel from around my waist, allowing Marty a full view of my burgeoning cock.

Marty's muscles tightened and I saw his cock jump when my cock swung into view. Sucking air between his teeth, he croaked, "Are you going to take a shower?"

"I was thinking about it," I replied recklessly, following the young Adonis to the showers.

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