Haitian Carvings

I decided that if I was going to add Haiti to my list of countries visited, disembarking for a day's frolic in the fenced and well-guarded Disneyesque pleasure enclave of Labadee was the way to go. I was trying to push my collection over the hundred-country list, and, thanks to Henry Goslan the Third's money and patronage, I was well on my way.

Henry was pushing seventy, but he still wanted a companion to help him get around, to take care of all of the little chores he couldn't be bothered with, and to keep him warm at night. He was an elegant old man—quite a looker when he was younger, I was sure—and was generous and not too demanding. But there were times when I craved younger flesh. In the city that wasn't a problem. Henry was somewhat sympathetic to my needs and didn't shorten my leash—too much. But we'd been on the seas for a week now, and I was getting a little antsy.

I suggested several times how nice it would be to get out in Labadee and enjoy the day in the full-amenities resort enclave there—but even the descriptions of how easy they made wheel-chair conveyance there didn't move Henry.

"I think a light lunch, a massage and perhaps a little fuck, and then you can certainly explore Labadee if you wish—for an hour or two. I can take a little nap."

An hour, two hours at the most, I thought. Just that long on my own. But I was grateful for that much time.

I picked up the phone and ordered Henry's lunch, and then half fed it to him, as he had little appetite but needed to keep his strength up. Then, after room service had cleared the lunch trays away I undressed Henry and laid him down gently in the middle of the bed we shared. I opened the cabinet and paused, wondering what he'd like me to be today. The cowboy costume won the day, because it was about the easiest to put on and I wouldn't have to make many adjustments along the way. Just low-rider jeans, a red bandana, and a cowboy hat. No boots. They would be too clunky in the bed.

Henry sighed as I gently rubbed his back and arms and legs with the special oil he liked. As I stood beside the bed, he reached over and slowly unbuttoned the fly of my jeans and pulled my cock out and leaned over and ran his tongue over it before closing his lips over the head and helping me be ready for him.

I climbed over him and straddled his hips, being careful not to put too much weight on him, and moved my dick up and down between his butt cheeks and across his rim while I gently ran my fingers through the oil on his back and shoulder blades and lubed up my dick and his ass well with the special oil.

When I gauged his sighing was at the pitch where he wanted it, I slowly worked my cock into his hole and fucked him in slow, shallow rhythm. When I felt him tense, I took a long stroke deep into him, pulled back slightly and then drove in all the way one, two, three times, and he gave a little snuffly cry and jerked, dribbling his cum on the sheet under him. And then he promptly went to sleep.

I stood and cleaned my dick, still hard and not satisfied, stuffed it back in my jeans, without bothering to take them off to put briefs on, grabbed a tight T-shirt and my sea pass, slipped on a pair of loafers without socks, stuffed my wallet in my jeans' back pocket, and was out the cabin door and headed down the stairs for the gangway as quickly as I could. I wanted as much alone time as I could manage.

I was sitting in the Dragon bar looking out to the El Tortue island, where they'd filmed part of the

Pirates of the Caribbean

movies, when the young Turk who was one of the ones who cleaned our suite on the ship stopped and asked me if he could join me.

I said OK, even though I suspected where this was heading, and I knew it couldn't go anywhere.

"I'm on furlough today—well for a few hours," Selchek said. He turned those dark, dreamy eyes he had on me and the big, all-teeth smile. "You been to Labadee before?"

"No, you?"

"Yes. And although it looks like every square inch is taken with recreational stuff and all landscaped and neat, I know of a trail or two that leads to small, private beaches—turned away from the tourist beaches. No one to see. No one to know what is happening."

He had the fingers of one hand playing in the hair on one of my forearms and the other on my knee under the table. His eyes told me everything he was offering. He cleaned our suite on the ship. He changed our sheets. He knew Henry and I were sleeping together—and it was pretty obvious what happened when we did.

"It's tempting, Selchek, but just not possible."

What I had with Henry was too good a thing. He didn't mind me going off in New York for an hour or two now and then. But he made quite clear he didn't want to know specifically what I was doing—and most certainly who I was doing it with. It was just too volatile for me to get anything on with someone from the ship.

The Turk looked glum and was about to say something else.

"It's not you, Selchek. It's the man I'm with. I can't. That's just the way it is. Besides there are rules about anything going on between crew and passengers. We could both get kicked off the ship."

"Ah, that is regrettable," was all he said, and he stood and slowly walked away.

But he left me with a hard on.

I walked the beach until I had my body under control and then I walked over to the artisan's village, which was a string—a long string—of open-air shanty stalls, opening out onto a walking deck—all made to look primitive and haphazard, but of course it wasn't. There was little variety in the goods being offered. One shop was more or less like the next. Textiles or wood carving. Painted metal art and art on canvas that would look original and colorful when you got it back to the States, but here looking like there was maybe a dozen designs, painted over and over and over again.

And vendors all around, pulling at the tourists off the ship, wheedling them to look at their wares. "Just a look, sir, madam, no obligation. Special price just for you."

I did want to buy something, to help get some money in the economy of a superpoor country that recently had been hit by a devastating earthquake. But it all looked just too touristy.

It all became a jumble, everything looking the same—until my eyes were arrested for some reason by carvings in a stall that looked different from the others. The vendor there caught my hesitation—as no doubt they all quickly learned to do—and was up from his hammock and out onto the deck in a flash. He was a tasty little morsel. Short but slim and great muscle tone in his arms. He was wearing the pink shirt and tan trousers that they all wore in this overly planned false paradise. But his shirt was open down to one button at his waist. His chest muscles bulged despite his size and gleamed nearly black as the sunlight filtering through the exotic trees struck him. I sort of wondered if he'd oiled himself up and was offering more than wooden souvenirs.

He tapered down into a tiny waist, but I could tell by the way that his thighs worried the legs of the tan trousers that he probably was a soccer player. He wore a gold necklace with some sort of religious pendant resting at his clavicle, nestled between the swells of his pectorals.

A handsome face. Dark brown, the almost European features of the Caribbean mulatto and dark, flashing eyes.

"Special carvings. Just for you sir. You not find anything like them anywhere else here."

I almost believed him. What had arrested my attention was that the carvings were slightly erotic. It was subtle. I probably only caught on to the suggestive themes because I had an eye for erotic art. Henry collected it—he had masses of it in his New York penthouse.

This wasn't quite what Henry collected—what I could see was hetero, although there were enlarged penis images discernible in the curves of the carvings—in ebony and mahogany mostly, although some stone carvings too.

I had been trailing my eyes along the shelves, and the vendor had followed the focus of my gaze, all the time pointing this and that out and yammering on in repeated phrases of "This very nice. None like it anywhere here. You like? You buy? I wrap it for you."

He caught the dulling in my eyes as I didn't see anything that would be appropriate for Henry's collection. I wanted to please Henry, and I knew he'd like a nice piece of erotic art—if it was appropriate to his collection.

"I have more. More not right to show here. Come, come, sir, through curtain here. I have more behind."

I followed him into another shanty room immediately behind the first. There indeed were more wood carvings here—and more erotic. But still male on female (or female kneeling before male). A cacophony of fucking and huge penises. Nice and erotic. But not quite right.

"Yes, very nice," I said. "But not for me, thanks." I turned and started to pull the curtain aside to leave, but the young man grinned wide at me and winked.

"I understand. More. The same but different. You look, you see. I have more you will like. Beyond curtain there. You take look. you like. Good prices. Best in Labadee. No one else has these."

He shuffled me toward the back of the room and through a curtain into yet another room. And jackpot. He'd figured out exactly what I might be interested in. Carvings of men on men, in a huge variety of fucking poses. And carved penises. Huge dildos, their bulbous heads painted in bright red, or green, or yellow, or white.

I reached over and picked up one of the dildos with a red cock bulb on it. I ran my hand up and down it. Smooth ebony.

The vendor was watching me like a hawk. "Very nice. You take. Special price. Just today. Just for you."

I walked slowly around the small shanty room, taking in all that was on offer. I saw what I thought Henry would like almost immediately, but I was careful to pick up one or two others—never letting go of the ebony dildo with the red-painted head and a pair of plump balls at the base. We haggled and I slowly zeroed in on the piece I wanted.

"Oh, very, very, nice. Only $120 U.S."

"Maybe $40, I said—if you throw in this too." I raised the dildo. He, of course, knew I'd never let go of it.

He grimaced. "Oh no, no. Far too little. You can't get this art anywhere here. Anywhere in the world."

"Oh, maybe $60 for the two. Maybe more, but I don't think this really works." I held up the dildo again.

The vendor stood there, looking hard at me. "$100. Best price." He was sporting a beleaguered expression that I didn't believe for a moment.

I put the dildo back from where I had picked it up—which seemed to distress the vendor greatly—and turned to leave, giving him a smile and a shrug.

"$90 U.S. for both and I show you that red-headed penis work," he said in a strangled voice.

I smiled, seeing that there was yet another curtain at the back of this shanty room.

I played his asshole with the greased dildo in the small room at the back. A narrow table was set against the back wall, and he was perched on this, facing me, his trousers off, his hips rolled up, and his hands wrapped around his widely spread and elevated legs.

I worked him expertly, and when he started to enjoy it, I stood back, unbuttoned my jeans and let my hardening cock free. I dug into my pocket and extracted a condom and held it up for him to see.

His eyes were wide and buggy and his lips were trembling, but he wasn't making a break for it.

"$40," he squeaked with a whimper.

"20," I countered with, as I rolled the condom on my cock.

"$30," he croaked in a hoarse voice.

But now I was already at his entrance. "$20," I sternly said as I plunged my cock inside him, and he settled into concentrating on taking me all in without further haggling.

I took him long and hard—and with exuberance. I hadn't had young, fresh ass in so long that I fucked with abandon. Henry would have no cause for complaint. He'd get his titillating Haitian carved art for his collection. But for now, I needed this release.

And the young vendor was enjoying himself too. After he'd gotten me off well enough that I threw in another $10, he gave me a second toy, a string of graduated mahogany balls he took out from underneath the counter as I was leaving, helping him hobble along now on slightly bowed legs.

Back on the board that evening, I costumed as the gladiator, I delighted Henry so much with my purchases that I was afraid he might stroke out on me. He enjoyed the erotic carving I'd bought him immensely. And he enjoyed the work I did with the red-bulbed dildo within his channel just as much. He quickly went off in sleepabye land after he'd dribbled his cum in the sheets a second time for the day—an exhausted but very happy man.

I was still feeling my oats and devil-may-care—not carrying now if I was caught playing with the cruise staff or not—so Selchek was immensely surprised and pleased when I found him wandering down the corridor and I swung my free gift of the graduated string of beads in front of his face and asked him if there were any really private areas up on a deck with a beach lounger this time of night—and which was the largest ball he thought he could accommodate.

We discovered he could take the biggest in the wake of playing hide the red-painted ebony cock head. And then my cock afterward for nearly an hour as the waves of the Atlantic rolled on by beneath us.