Hang On Sloop-E
AUTHOR ABOARD HIS SAILBOAT I was on deck, as my boat's charter, offered "Ugh. It's too hot, even for sex. ...My eyelids are sweating." "We're on a sailboat, off shore, light winds," I offered, lifting a barefoot, dressed in only a light blue Speedo. "I see," the brawny potato planter, understood. "I'm getting out of this flannel shirt and jeans, and into my suit!" "You chartered the boat, I'm just the captain." He slid down the ladder into the salon. Our dodger was up for shade earlier, but it blocked too much wind, so we opted for a Bimini tarp. (Dang, I thought, as I watched him strip. This charter dude has a big firm beef-butt. Light back fur. Then, I saw his molten ball sac saggin' through his legs from behind!) "Dang! Fella." I slipped. Hatch wide open, he had changed out of his too-warm attire, into a "skin-only" suit. From behind his physique was classic, v-back, thick neck, and tre...