Boatman
Ben
by XMarineJoe
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“Hey Jerry,” called Ben, his voice bright and chirpy coming
through the phone line. “Wanna help me polish the boat today?
We can take her out for a bit afterwards if you like.”
“Sounds great! I’ll call you when I’m done studying,
about an hour.” Jerry hung up and went back to his Trigonometry
homework. He had never really been good at math throughout high school,
and simply being a freshman at FSU didn’t automatically improve
his skills. However, his attitude took a 180 after that phone call
and he suddenly found the equations a bit easier to solve.
You see, ever since running into him at the grocery late last year
Jerry couldn’t shake Ben from his mind. It probably had something
to do with Ben’s happy-go-lucky attitude and positive perspective
on life. Ben stands tall at 5’ 11”, is lean with moderate
amounts of hair throughout his body, and has that good-ole-boy handsome
face that puts everyone at ease with just a smile. Not unlike that
actor of the same name who has made a life with Alias alter ego Sidney
Bristow. The two men established a friendship based on many common
interests; athletics, action movies, and anything beach related. Jerry
was also intrigued by Ben’s sense of freedom and adventure.
He had never before met another married man that seemed to be able
to spend so much alone time with his friends, and Jerry was not complaining
by any means. That Laura was something special indeed. He wondered
if Mr. Affleck was as lucky.
Anyway, Jerry finished the last of his homework and headed down to
the dock in hopes of getting in a quick swim before Ben showed up.
“Jerry,” called a familiar voice. Punctuality was one
of Ben’s traits as well. “Come on up. We’ll go for
a swim later.” Jerry climbed aboard and greeted his buddy with
the normal horseplay to which both men were accustomed. He also threw
in a quick once-over that he was sure Ben never noticed. They were
both dressed in blue board shorts, and Jerry wore a tank top while
Ben wore a Hawaiian shirt. Ben was also clad in designer sunglasses,
flip flops, and a funny looking straw hat.
So Jerry went about helping his buddy with the chores. He really didn’t
mind at all because Ben was such good company and conversations came
easily. Today’s topic revolved around determining the age and
distance of certain astrological bodies. Two hours had passed before
Jerry could decide whether Pluto would ever again be confused as a
planet.
“Man, isn’t she beautiful?” remarked Ben.
“Sure is. I didn’t know fiberglass could sparkle.”
No more thoughts of the misunderstood star.
“OK, let’s take this baby for a spin,” suggested
Ben. A flick of the wrist and off they went. Jerry was enjoying very
much the bouncing motion and the look of sheer bliss on his buddy’s
face. The ocean breeze was exhilarating and a welcomed contrast to
the hot July sun. It wasn’t long before they came upon some
shallow water where Ben decided to drop anchor. “This is it,
Big Guy. Meet you back here in half an hour.” Within seconds
Ben’s colorful shirt, sandals, and European specs were tossed
in the corner and he dove off the side of the boat.
“All right, Aquaman,” replied Jerry, but his buddy was
already out of earshot.
They were both great swimmers and Jerry had always had something of
a spiritual connection with the ocean. It was as though it gave him
new energy, new purpose. And this time it was no different as he drifted
with the current. He was really going deep into his mind and feeling
at one with the world. Matter of fact, he was so entranced that he
lost all track of time. A shimmering angel fish roused him back to
reality. He glanced at his watch and panicked because an hour had
passed since his buddy had announced the rendezvous time.
“Holy shit! I hope Ben’s not pissed.” He double
timed and was back at the boat within 17 minutes flat. After collecting
his breath he climbed topside where he found his friend sprawled out
on the floor, his swim trunks already dried by the sun’s rays.
Most of his stuff remained in the corner where he’d tossed them
earlier. He had forsaken the fancy shades and opted instead on the
sombrero for eye protection. Giorgio Armani would have been disappointed.
By the soft humming sounds coming from under the hat Jerry concluded
that his buddy was in dreamland. There was another noise, unfamiliar,
and coming from somewhere close by but he couldn’t place it
at the moment.
Whatever! The most important thing right now was sipping on an ice
cold beer. There seemed to be a slight problem though. Ben’s
body was blocking the refrigerator door. Actually, not his entire
body, just his left foot. Jerry tried to kick his buddy’s foot
out of the way, but to no avail. So he decided that he’d just
pick it up and move it over a few inches.
He knelt down, but before he could pick it up, the foot made contact
with his hand. Strange electricity passed between the two men and
Jerry froze. Being a rather logical person, he remained in position
while trying to figure out why there was a stirring in his crotch
simply from making contact with his buddy’s foot. Sure he had
thought about Ben sexually, but not his feet. It was rather odd since
he’d never been into anything kinky in the past. And with all
the tussling they’ve engaged in over the months, surely he had
touched Ben’s foot before without experiencing these feelings
of lust. So, why was it happening now?
“Dude, what the hell?! You’re drooling all over my foot!”
These words bellowed from under the straw hat. It was only then that
Jerry realized the snoring had ceased and, more importantly, that
he was in a compromised position and still making contact with his
friend’s foot. And he didn’t understand why Ben just didn’t
move since he was obviously awake. The next words from Ben cleared
up any misunderstandings that were clouding Jerry’s mind. “Now
you’re gonna have to clean it off.”
This brought Jerry back from his musing. He closed his mouth and glanced
around for a towel.
“With your tongue, Fag!” With this demand Ben simultaneously
tossed his foot upwards, closer to Jerry’s face.
Jerry couldn’t believe or begin to explain what was happening.
It was like he had been hypnotized, because he obediently brought
forth his tongue and made contact with Ben’s toes. The sensation
was twice what he felt from the initial contact between hand and foot.
He was very surprised by the smooth texture, fresh smell, and slightly
salty taste, but more so that this simple action had caused his pulsating
member to grow a few inches. It was desperately trying to break free
of the Billa Bong board shorts.
“Yeah,” remarked Ben. “Lick it like a good little
bitch. I knew something was up ever since I caught you checking me
out at the store back in October. You kept looking down while we were
chatting. First I thought maybe you’d dropped something, but
then I saw your face when I wiggled my toes. I couldn’t believe
it. Laura said that you might be like one of those foot fags she had
heard of around the neighborhood. I’d never heard of such a
thing, but damn she was right! And every time we wrestle you manage
to get my feet near your face somehow. Then I saw that look again
today when you came on deck. I’m not as dense as you think,
Shit Head!” Senor Sombrero had slid off to the side of his face
now, revealing a strange grin that Jerry hadn’t seen before.
It wasn’t one of anger, but not overly friendly either.
Jerry’s mouth hung open with bewilderment as he tried to absorb
these remarks that caught him totally by surprise, because now he
realized that Ben seemed to know more about him that he did himself.
He was slightly disturbed that his “buddy” seemed to be
awaiting an opportunity to take advantage of a perceived weakness.
And he was even more disturbed knowing that this had been the topic
of conversation between husband and wife. This was certainly not the
way it should have turned out based on the movie that had played back
repeatedly inside Jerry’s head.
“Lick between my toes,” demanded Ben. “Get the heel
too, Asshole. Yeah, that’s right, Queer Boy. You are one special
Foot Fag!”
Jerry returned his attention to the mission at hand and obediently
licked, slurped, and sucked on Ben’s left foot as commanded.
His tent was now rigid and threatening to poke a hole through the
fragile fabric of his swim trunks. His left hand instinctively found
his dick and freed it for a quick stroke. By now he had abandoned
all thoughts of confusion as to why this was even exciting.
“No way, Perv!” Ben used his right foot to smack Jerry’s
hand away. “The action’s right here in front of your face.
Keep licking, you can jack yourself some other time, Foot Boy. This
one needs cleaning too.”
Although sure that his initial slobbering did not come near Ben’s
other foot, Jerry grabbed it anyway and brought it to his face for
a wash after returning his throbbing member to its polyester prison.
He commenced to giving it a thorough tongue bath, paying special attention
to the heel, arch, and in between the toes. He was smashed and it
was far superior to any intoxication produced by the best cannabis.
Suddenly, with one gulp he had half of Ben’s foot in his mouth,
drool running down his chin.
“Damn,” remarked Ben. “Hungry, aren’t you?”
Yes, Jerry was feeding a hunger that he hadn’t known he possessed.
He went from one foot to the other, licking, inhaling, and sucking
sloppily. He had never experienced anything quite like this before,
and was certain that he never would again. If there was a heaven,
then it was right here at the bottom of his buddy’s huge, delicious,
meaty, masculine feet.
“OK, Foot Licker,” sneered Ben. “Since you’re
doing such a good job I’ll let you get yourself off. But hurry
up; I’ve had enough of this shit.” Ben planted both of
his newly spit-shined feet squarely on his buddy’s face. Jerry
re-released his young soldier and gave it a few quick yanks. With
an ear-splitting scream he erupted hard, his cheeks moist with tears.
Most of the spunk landed on his chest but a few squirts hit his chin.
“Don’t get that shit on me, Fucker! And don’t mess
up my boat either, or else this time you’ll be cleaning it with
your tongue.” Ben pulled away, stood up and opened the refrigerator
door in search of a brew. Apparently, dominating his “friend”
made him dry. “You still thirsty, Faggot?”
Jerry couldn’t understand why Ben was still referring to him
in this domineering way. And how did he even know that Jerry was thirsty?
Ben had been asleep. Jerry used his tank top to wipe the goo from
his body. He was about to get up and put Ben in his place when he
noticed the return of the mischievous smirk. And Ben was holding only
one corona, while slowly closing the refrigerator door. What the hell?!
Was this some kind of joke? He knew the fridge was always packed with
beer. Ben loves the stuff more than water. He would never forget to
stock the fridge, would he? Highly unlikely. Oh well, they could always
get more upon returning to the beach.
The boat seemed to be rocking now and that strange clanking sound
resurfaced. It was probably present all along. Jerry just hadn’t
notice, being preoccupied with foot duty and all. He peered in the
direction of Ben’s things and the mystery began to unravel.
It was the sound of bottles banging against each other, a few empty
bottles… beer bottles. The notorious multi-colored shirt was
doing double duty as camouflage and cushion, though apparently not
very well. No doubt the beach shoes and overpriced Italian eyewear
were somewhere in the reckless bundle. Ben had evidently had time
to knock back a few while concocting his elaborate scheme.
It was all making sense now, and Jerry started to comprehend the level
of planning that went into this sadistic plot. Ben had apparently
chosen the chapeau to shield more than just the sun from his eyes.
It had done a fine job of concealing any facial expressions that might
have given away his intentions while “napping.” And it
had also provided him with a clear view outward that wasn’t
evident by anyone looking at his face.
A new sensation took hold and Jerry gasped. He tried to get up from
the kneeling position, but his muscles did not receive the command.
He found himself once again under that familiar spell.
“Here’s your beer, Bitch!” A naked Ben stood facing
Jerry, one hand helping to chug the last of the Mexican cerveza while
the other was holding his dick. It was an attractive piece; circumcised,
decently hairy, and with an equally proportioned ball sack. It was
sizeable, though flaccid and pointing at Jerry’s face. Ben positioned
himself so that he was standing over his buddy, just inches away from
his face. “Open wide!”
Jerry’s lips began to part as if the red sea receiving a command
from Moses. His brain must have confused the signals; rendering him
defenseless and at the mercy of Boatman Ben.
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