[This is a completed nine-chapter work that will be posted in four segments by 30 November 2018]
*****
Chapter One: Sweet Spot in Beaufort
"Now you just stay there, like that, little darlin', and someone will be along in a minute to give you more comfort."
More comfort, Gordy thought, turning his face to the side and suppressing a sob, as Josh Cardwell slid his knees back from under Gordy's buttocks, rose off the cramped bench bed inserted into the curve of the sailboat's cabin, zipped up his shorts, and turned and climbed up the ladder to the deck above.
Gordy remained there, on his back, his legs bent and spread, the soles of his sneakers—all that he was wearing—flat on the red vinyl surface of the bed as much because he was numb except for the soreness in his ass as because Cardwell had told him not to move.
At the sound from the top of the ladder at the hatch out onto deck, Gordy turned glazed eyes toward the roofline of the cabin. The rectangle of blinding light from the sun over South Carolina's St. Helena Sound was blocked by the massive body of the Marine drill sergeant from nearby Parris Island. Cardwell, with Gordy functioning as the deckhand, had brought the Marine out of Beaufort, South Carolina, for a fishing trip.
Gordy hadn't had an inkling before they cast off from the Beaufort yacht basin that he was the fish being snagged.
The Marine, probably in his forties, had the muscular body of a much younger man. A very fit man, as would be required of a "show them rather than tell them" Marine drill sergeant.
"You ready for a real man?" he growled, the stern gravel in his voice belying the big grin on his face, as he stood at the end of the bench, looking down on Gordy's vulnerable open stance, unzipped his hip-hugging cut-off jeans shorts, and flopped out a whopping, hard cock. He fished a condom packet out of his shorts pocket before pushing the shorts off his legs, kicking them to the side, and starting to roll the Trojan Magnum on his cock.
Gordy moaned and threw an arm over his eyes, trying to make this go away. He'd have expected his first time would occur on this sailing, but he'd thought it would just be him and Josh Cardwell.
It was his fault, he knew. He had teased Josh Cardwell. He'd even wanted to do it. But it had mainly been a fantasy of doing it up until now. He'd gone to work for Cardwell in his Beaufort harbor bar straight out of high school. He couldn't serve drinks yet, of course, but Cardwell had found other things for him to do and had slowly worked up to what he'd done today.
Gordy had used knowing Cardwell was gay and aggressive to get the job. He had dressed provocatively, curled and lightened his hair, scrupulously shaved his pits and chest, and even trimmed his pubes. He worked to show he was in good shape and didn't look away as Cardwell's looks increasingly showed his interest. He did a bit of posing in the light from the front windows of the bar and let a hand stray to his crotch to "make adjustments" when it seemed nobody was watching but he knew that Cardwell was watching.
Gordy Johnson needed a job coming out of high school. He had zero support for what he did from there. That's when any state support for him in foster care with the Johnson family ended. And when the support ended, the Johnson's interest in him had ended. That had not come as a surprise to Gordy. How quickly they had told him to move on to somewhere else had surprised him, though. Johnson wasn't really his last name. No one claimed to know what Gordy's last name really was. So, he'd taken Johnson, the surname of just the last family to foster him—during his high school years. Now he used it as rarely as possible.
He'd picked Cardwell because he figured that if he strung the man along, it would be the easiest way for him to get a job in a town where jobs were pretty scarce. But that was only one reason. Gordy had developed a realization that he liked men—and older, muscular men. But that had mostly been a "maybe" fantasy. Until today.
He'd had no idea he'd fall apart and give into being fucked by a man—actually show such welcome to it—and he couldn't blame Cardwell for assuming that he wanted it—and bad. And now it wasn't just one man; it was two. Gordy hadn't figured on losing control, but he had.
They had rounded north of Parris Island and were safely into St. Helene Sound, when Cardwell lashed the wheel and came to the stern of the sailboat, where Gordy was bent over, coiling rope. Gordy had felt self-conscious for some time, wondering if the tiny Speedo, all basket in front and showing butt cleavage in back, he was wearing was too much. He had jumped at Cardwell's invitation to go out fishing today and even had some notion that maybe he'd let Cardwell fool around with him if he made advances. Gordy wanted a raise at work and had connected that to giving Cardwell a rise—and, eventually, what he wanted. But he hadn't realized that Cardwell was taking someone else out on the boat to fish. The Marine had sat there, as they wove through the channels north from Beaufort into the broader channel emptying into the sound, drinking beer and giving Gordy the eye.
The Marine was arousing and frightening at the same time. A massive chest. His head was shaved in a crew cut, but the thatch of hair on his chest was thick, black, curly, trailing down into his low-slung cut-off jeans shorts. His body was deeply tanned and heavily muscled, with veins popping out on his arms and thighs and a thick one running down from his pecs into his groin that Gordy found fascinating, kept looking at, and was frequently caught looking at by the Marine, who gave him a knowing little smile.
Cardwell approached Gordy from the rear, startling him as he put his hands on Gordy's waist. The young man straightened up, surprised at the sudden intimate touch. Despite the shock of the familiarity, a jolt of electricity went through his body. He felt himself going immediately erect, and a long, low moan emitted from Gordy's lips.
He had no idea why he was reacting this way, completely giving in at a touch—he felt a charge of arousal coursing through him at the touch of Cardwell's fingers up his sides at his hips. On the left side in particular. In fact, all sensation seemed to rush to focus on that one spot to the lower left of his navel.
He pushed his buttocks into Cardwell's groin, feeling the man's insistent hardness, and turned his face to the side, allowing Cardwell to take his mouth in a brutal kiss. Cardwell's right hand moved down under the waistband of the Speedo, and he fisted Gordy's cock and began to stroke it. The man's left hand remained on Gordy's waist, his middle finger stroking the very spot that was making Gordy collapse against him and whine for attention.
Gordy came quickly. Cardwell moved his mouth to Gordy's ear and whispered, "Let's go down to the cabin and get more comfortable."
"Yes, oh god, yes," Gordy murmured, having no idea why he was giving in this easily or fully, only knowing that if the man didn't stop rubbing that spot on his lower abdomen, he was going to come again.
Cardwell hadn't stopped fisting his cock inside the pouch of the Speedo, either, and Gordy did ejaculate again.
