Hi! My name is Wyatt, and I'm a pretty normal, straight, 27 year old American male. At least, I always thought I was. Straight, that is. Now I'm not so sure.
Anyway, my best friend Connor and I decided to have an adventure. We rented a 30-foot sailboat out of the Bahamas and planned to sail it to Turks and Caicos. That's only about 400 miles, and we figured at 8 knots, traveling twelve hours a day, we should be able to do it in well under a week. We provisioned our boat with plenty of food, water, and especially beer, and took off on our adventure!
Things went very well. At first. The water was calm, the skies were beautiful, and the sun was shining all day long. Then the weather turned against us with massive storms and waves, and our boat was dashed to pieces. I won't go into too much detail, but suffice to say, after clinging to a large chuck of flotsam for several days, we managed to wash up on a beach on a tiny little island in the middle of nowhere.
We lay on that beach for an hour, resting from our exertions, and thanking our lucky stars that we were still alive. Then Connor struggled to his feet and raised his fists to the sky.
"Wyatt! We're alive! By god in heaven, we are alive!"
I struggled to my feet as well. Indeed, we were alive. We hugged and wept. Then we got hold of ourselves and started taking stock of the situation.
The island was small, maybe half a mile long and a quarter mile wide. There was no other land visible in any direction. Fortunately, our island was extremely lush! There were palm trees galore, and pineapple plants, and coconuts, and lime and lemon trees, and even bananas. Better yet, there was even a fresh water spring. We had all the sustenance we needed. All that we lacked was a way to leave.
We searched the island from end to end, but couldn't find any indication that anyone had ever been here before. We weren't all that far from the international shipping lanes, but the tiny island was so insignificant that it is unlikely anyone would ever bother to come here.
All we could do, for now, was survive. We built a little shelter out of palm fronds and vines, in case the rain returned. Basically just a lean-to with two beds, made of leaves and branches, so we could sleep somewhat sheltered. We gathered up some food. We even caught a few fish, by hand, in the shallow waters of the lagoon. Our main enemies were despair, and boredom.
We passed the time by talking. There were two big rocks on the beach, where we could sit and talk and stare out at the endless ocean. We talked about sports, mostly. And movies. Then about all the foods that we really wished we could get (mine was pizza; his was tacos). Then we talked about our girlfriends back home. That's when the trouble started.
We were sitting on the rocks at the beach, staring out to sea. Connor was telling me about his girlfriend, Cassie. He kept saying how beautiful she was, and how much he loved her. He spoke at length about the way she kissed. And about the softness of her breasts, and how wet her pussy gets when he fingers her. And how tight she is when he fucks her. He told me about her blowjobs: slow and deep and very sloppy, and how she plays with his balls while sucking him, and how she always swallows his cum when he pumps it into her mouth. He told me how they had recently started getting into anal.
I told him about my girlfriend, Wendy. I told him about her nice round ass, her beautiful soulful eyes, and the way her butt wiggles when she walks. I told him about how she likes to talk dirty when we are having sex, calling me "daddy" and begging for me to cum all over her nasty little face. About how she likes to ride me cowgirl style, while reaching behind her ass to fondle my balls. And how she gives me long, romantic massages with oil, which always end with an awesome handjob.
At the end of this discussion, as you can imagine, we were both totally horned up! Connor said, "Dude, we shouldn't have talked about all this stuff. Now I've got a throbbing hardon and nothing to do with it."
"Me too," I said. I looked around, right and left. "There's nobody here but us, Bro. I'm just going to go take care of it myself." I got up and walked over to a grove of palm trees to have some privacy. Then I dropped my trousers and started stroking. I closed my eyes and pictured Wendy's round ass, imagining I was sliding my cock between her butt cheeks. Then I imagined my hand was her hand, giving me a slow, romantic handjob. I imagined her whispering in my ear, "Give me all your cum, you nasty boy! Give me a big load out of that gigantic cock of yours!" Before long, I was launching rope after rope of pearly white cum into the palm fronds.
I felt better already. I went back out to our rocks on the beach. Conner wasn't there, but after a few minutes he reappeared, coming out of another grove of trees.
"Feel better?" I asked him.
He looked sheepish. "Yeah, I guess so. I suppose there will be a lot of this in our future."
We went back to talking about sports, movies, pizza, and tacos.
Time passed, day after day and week after week. We got better at catching fish, and managed to start a small fire to cook them over. Our clothes were getting pretty tattered, but we still wore them. Our beards were getting very scruffy looking. And several times a week, we would sit on the rocks and talk about our girlfriends, and then go to our separate groves to whack off.
We didn't bother to keep track of the days or weeks, so I'm not really sure when it happened. Maybe after we'd been on the island for eight or nine weeks, I'm guessing. We had just finished a steamy discussion about our girlfriends and their sexual talents, and I was in my private grove with a massive boner. I was stroking for all I was worth, but I couldn't cum. I had a painfully hard erection, but I just couldn't seal the deal. My own hand was no longer enough for my cock. Damnit!
I went back out to the rocks, and Connor was sitting there, looking very glum.
"What's the matter, pal?"
"I couldn't cum! My cock is so desensitized to my hand that I just couldn't get myself off! Man, I really need some release."
I sat down on my rock. "Same thing happened to me." Then there was a long silence.
You can probably guess what happened next. After several awkward minutes of silence, with occasional brief glances at each other, he cleared his throat.
"Uhumm, Wyatt? We could, uh, you know, like, do each other?"
Of course, I had been thinking the same thing. I just didn't have the balls to say it out loud. "Do you think we could? It would be really weird."
"It's not so weird. Guys do it all the time."
"Yeah, gay guys."
"Okay, maybe, but I really need to cum. And so do you."
He was right. We discussed the logistics of it for a bit, strictly as an intellectual exercise, I told myself. Should we take turns doing each other? Or both do it at the same time? Should we be standing, sitting, or lying on the ground? We eventually decided that if we were to do it, just theoretically, we should be standing facing each other and do it simultaneously.
Connor was staring at the ground. Without lifting his head, he said, "Okay, let's do it. Before I lose my nerve." Then he started ripping off his clothes.
