Editor's note: this story contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sex.
***
Maybe 13's an unlucky number. I don't know. But it sure was unlucky for me, my 11 buddies and a guide.
Chuck planned the trip. We met up in northern Canada, somewhere wild near Vancouver Island, in time for the Salmon run. It was early December. The skies were clear. The air was crisp. The nights were chilly.
We had a week to fish and camp with a few days on either side to get back to the States.
It was our third night. We had gotten there early, or the run was late. Either way there were no fish. We went to bed having dined only on bread and side dishes. We were supposed to be having Salmon for the main course.
The next morning we woke up to two very unfortunate surprises. The first was that there had been an unexpected ice storm which had covered absolutely everything in a layer of ice. The second was that someone had left all the food in two of the canoes then left them to float away.
None of us were used to going without eating, so by lunchtime there was a lot of grumbling. By dinner food was the constant topic of conversation, broken up only by occasional talk of pussy.
It took 14 famished days before the planes cane to rescue us. Each of us lost pounds and pounds. One of us died.
We learned a lot of "facts" from each other. I don't know how accurate these facts were but everybody had some to share. Arturo started, "You can go a week without food but only three fuckin' days without water."
Stu told us, "A grown man needs 2500 calories a day but every bit helps postpone the day he starves to death. That's why we gotta eat every shit, dried sap, rotting meat, whatever." I reflected that I was the leanest in the group, how was I gonna make it?
Our guide took charge right away organizing hunting and foraging parties, and manning the radio. The groups were expending a lot of energy traipsing off into the woods and bringing only a few hundred calories a day back. The biggest prize of all was a frozen vole.
We had tents, chairs, and while finding wood under the all encompassing ice was a challenge, we managed to keep a fire going.
Chuck and I were on an excursion alone one day. Our job was to look for anything edible, but specifically for anything that had been killed by the cold snap since the storm, these dead animals would be on top of the ice rather than under it.
Chuck was babbling on about how he missed sex with his wife: He was spouting off, "I could really use some sweet pussy. Even if it is only ever Missionary. That resentful wife of mine hasn't given me a blowjob in a year. Is it too much to ask? Two measly teaspoons of cum and she acts like it's gonna kill her. Surely she could swallow two teaspoons! And she never gives up the ass..."
What he really needed was to keep his mind off the maddening emptiness in the pit of his stomach. I have to admit, my thoughts were about food pretty much all day long.
When he was saying "teaspoons" and "swallowing" I only thought about what I would give to have teaspoons of anything to swallow. It could be bug juice for all I cared. But alas we couldn't even find bugs.
We had been walking around on the crunchy ice for about three hours when Chuck stopped dead in his tracks. He stood completely frozen for a time just staring absently into a tree.
I was worried he had spied a mountain lion. At the same time I was wondering, if we could catch and eat it?
Well, of course, it wasn't a lion. It was a tiny piece of heaven - or so I hoped. Looking where he pointed I could see the brown rectangular outline of a Hershey's chocolate bar, framed against the blue ice, maybe thirty impossible feet up the tree.
Could there be chocolate in it? More likely an empty wrapper was blown there. It didn't matter, we were going to get it! We just had to decide who was going to climb the giant pine tree.
Chuck said, "I climb the tree, I get two-thirds." Apparently we had already decided not to bring it back to share. I looked at that wrapper and the only thing I could think was that there were 210 calories in a Hershey bar. I knew this because my wife constantly counted calories in everything. Everything!
I didn't want to risk life and limb for the tiny chance there would be any calories in that ice trapped tree. Neither did Chuck.
First we debated. Then Chuck needed to piss. Then we debated while he was pissing. Lastly, Chuck looked over his shoulder and said, "If piss were beer I'd drink it."
I answered back pointing at his stream, "If piss were beer I'd drink that right now - straight from the tap."
As I was saying this something my wife once told me popped up in my mind: Semen had twenty-five calories per teaspoon. There were fifty calories right there in front of me right now. Surely it had to be better than bug juice.
Without thinking it through, in a shaky hesitant voice I said, "Chuck...if you climb that tree... and there's chocolate...I get it all...but before you climb that tree...you get...a blowjob.
Chuck looked up that tree at that wrapper then down at his penis. He didn't say a word. He turned toward me and started jacking himself. It grew hard as a rock in the cold wind. I estimated it to be about five inches and pretty thick.
I dropped to my knees saying, "Let's get this over with." Really, I wanted to get some 'food' into my stomach as fast as possible. I stopped him just before he started so I could move my scarf over my eyes. There was no reason I needed to watch it happen too.
The scarf was a great idea too 'cause It was a nasty looking thing. It curved to one side and downward too. It was pale pink with flecks of dried skin on it. None of us had had a shower or even changed our underwear in five days and it smelled like it.
I put my hands on Chuck's thighs to steady myself. Likewise he put his hands on my head. I opened wide, devouring, and pulling that little morsel into my unfed mouth as quickly as I could. Chuck moaned from the moment of first contact and kept moaning throughout.
I sucked hard and ravenously. I rocked back and forth at a steady rapid pace trying to extract his cream. It was only maybe five minutes when he warned me he was going to spurt. It seemed like he was going to pull out so I moved my hands to the back of his legs and held tight. It wouldn't do to go to all this disgusting effort and not be nourished.
I swear the man must not have cum in a month. The shots rocketed out with such force I could feel them gloriously hitting the back of my mouth. Worried I might miss some ejaculate, I moved my hand to his sausage squeezing and milking every savory drop.
