Hang On Sloop-E
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 tree trunk thighs.
Upon turning around, his swinging meats were ample. His foreskin hung practically as far as his low swinging rocks in the saggy warm sac.
His pecs were still fully developed, but, not defined, or should I say, pumped-up in recent years, and his flat stomach was more Eastern Block Olympic Weightlifter than abs display.
Apparently, years of body building public weigh-ins, and gym locker rooms he had no issue being observed nude.
He carried his bulky swimsuit, up on deck, still untangling it in his hands.
"Well! There you are!"
He was standing in the gentle breeze, on the aft deck shaded and cool, stark naked, and toying with his swinging pair. "Man, this feels much nicer."
His nuts sagged, like an inclinometer, to the list of the boat as it was undersail.
"I sure don't want to get get all girded up and sweaty again."
He cracked a beer from the cooler.
"Now, just so you know," I confessed. "I don't care if whole families shed their clothes, but, I draw the line at people shedding their skin!"
He appropriately chuckled. "So, you get a few nude charters?" He stopped feigning prepping the trunks for wearing, and slung the trunks through the hatch, below.
"Had my share. ...After I advertised in a Naturist magazine, sure got my fill!
"Had to stop advertising, everybody kept over-tipping when I got nekkid, too. Practically knocked me up two tax brackets!" I joked.
"Well, I don't mind if you take off your cap, chauffeur..." He coyly intimated.
I reached into the gear locker, and pulled out two towels folded one for him, then me.
Dropped my speedo, and sat on my Hatch,
He hung one gorilla arm up on the boom, exposing a beautifully formed armpit.
We're only minutes from the swimming area.
Wasn't long before I cranked up the centerboard, dropped the Danforth, and lowered the sails.
I know he's not gonna show that pics to everybody, but, I wonder how many farmers will be glad to have seen it.
I cautioned, "Don't dive head first, its only about 5 feet deep."
I lowered a ladder over the side, and with a foot-first leap, skinnydipping commenced. (Sometimes, I'm amazed people pay me, and tip so well, when I have this much fun.
I stood up on bottom, "Only this deep."
He took a flying rodeo leap, knees lifted wide, ass-first, heels high, into the crystal salty brine."
He popped up, "damn! ...we don't get to do much of this in November, back in Southern Idaho."
The weathered old dad-bod bodybuilder, suddenly had the infectious demeanor of a young teen, skinnydipping at a pond, with a puppy-love crush on a schoolmate.
Handstanding on the sandy bottom, lifting his hips up and out of the water, sometimes showing dick...sometimes, ass. Holding them out of the water as long as he could. ...knowing I was looking at them.
It wasn't long,before the dick appeared from the water hard and heavy.
I was turned on by the near-geezer's change in behavior. From casually nude, to having found a playmate.
Soon, enough he got frisky with me.
Phrases like,
"Cut it out!"
"Watch this."
"I think that fish nipped at my worm."
"I have a raging boner!"
passed between us.
Not long after that, our shafts were tapping at each other.
At the end of swim-time, in true schoolboy fashion, we tested how much sperm floats, or sinks, in saltwater.
After the refreshing dip, I tried helping him climb up, pushing on his firm ass-cheeks, as the rinky-dink ladder hung precariously off the gunwhale, around the curved hull.
"I hope I don't fart, right now."
(I swatted a cheek, as he pulled himself on up, and turned around, offering a hand.)
We then sailed to Dry Tortugas, and anchored. With plastic freezer bags of a shirt, wallet, and shorts each, we again, slipped nude over the side. Wandered up the beach to a tree in a hammock,
(the bunch of seaside brush, not the Hatteras kind on a home deck in Arkansas,) and quickly slipped on our gear, to tour the all but inaccessible National Park.
They normally don't say anything about nudity, as long as it's brief, and not in the face of visiting families...and of course, during the prison's tour.
After the tour, we shoved our clothes back, into the bags, swam out to the boat. Tossed in the baggies, and climbed aboard.
There was about 5 hours of daylight left, and the wind had picked up, we sailed to within eye-sight of Cuba, and back.
We were back in the key's water, anchored. We barbecued a flounder we caught, as we had our Sundowner.
We slept aboard that night, and tho' separate berths, comfortably nude. The balmy breeze, rocking of the boat, skeeter protection, and stars visible through portholes gave the Potato Plucker a night he'll always remember.
I know Boat Charters ain't cheap. But, I was surprised by the more than generous tip the tourist added.
He looked sorta like a popular jock cartoon, as he paid a tip, and gathered his bags, then, he strolled ashore, and my last charter for the season had come to a close.
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This that boat you bought in Norfolk?
ReplyDeleteYeah Chez Nous
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