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This zany idea has been in my head for a while. Hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoy musing about it. Here's a starting sample. Let me know if I should go on.
Chapter 1: Meet the Crew
Tommy averted his gaze from the lounge singer and tried to focus on his plate, instead. Dinner was the one part of the day aboard the cruise ship he had to spend with his parents, and when this broad-shouldered hunk with a sexy short beard strode to the microphone, Tommy had found himself staring. He cast a furtive glance at his parents. His mother smiled openly at the singer, while his father cracked open another morsel of lobster. Neither seemed to have noticed him checking out the entertainment.
"Man, you do not get seafood like this back home. Right, Champ?"
Tommy smiled politely and said something he hoped sounded enthusiastic and grateful. He was appreciative. Their family had never been poor, but they had never been rolling in the dough, either. When his parents announced that they were going on a cruise to celebrate his graduation from high school and acceptance into Northwestern, he was stunned and thrilled. He didn't realize he'd be surrounded by so much eye candy. The sundeck, with all those guys in swimsuits; the sauna, where they wore even less; and now the mess hall, where this gorgeous guy sauntered around, filling the air with his rich, deep voice. God, his backside was even better than the front. The way that tight ass slid in his slacks with every step. He was staring again. Food. Focus on the food.
A server came around to refill their drinks, and when she left, Tommy's father grinned and winked at him. Tommy put on a smile and pretended to check her out, though he really didn't know what he was supposed to be looking at. He had never understood the appeal of the female form, but he had learned to go through the motions. A few dates, here and there, with girls who had cute brothers. A playboy under his mattress, and an airtight history scrubber on his computer. Prom. It was a matter of survival for public school in their conservative town. Content at his hetero display, his father turned back to his food.
The recollection of his closeted high school days brought Mr. Rickson to Tommy's mind. Rumors spread behind the English teacher's back--he was much too handsome to make it past thirty as a bachelor--but Tommy knew the truth behind them, had learned that truth on a Summer afternoon after graduation.
"Well, I think I'm about ready to turn in," Tommy's mother said, giving his father a significant look. Moments later, Tommy had the table to himself, but he still could not gather the courage to ogle the walking statue of manhood that had so many women in the room smiling. Instead, he poked at his food and thought about Mr. Rickson, and when the singer bowed out a couple minutes later, he made his way out of the mess hall. At least, he tried to.
He found his way blocked by an angry customer, a couple inches shorter than Tommy and slight of build, on a tirade about the quality of the food and the state of his cabin. Tommy listened to the tirade, fascinated not by its content, but by its delivery. The man spoke with a lilt and made flamboyant gestures. He was at once imperious and flaming. Nobody within earshot would think he was straight, but this guy didn't seem to care. He just carried his tirade to completion, then turned from the apologetic staff member and left. Tommy made out a well-groomed goatee and some fancy--and flashy--hairstyle he couldn't name, before the stranger was out of sight.
The deck was surprisingly empty this evening, so Tommy leaned on a rail and looked out across the ocean. What would it be like to be so open, like Mr. Goatee? He thought, for the umpteenth time, about coming out to his parents. How would they react? Would they be disappointed? Would they blame themselves? Would they cut him off? Force him into conversion therapy? He ruminated, but found no way to ease the news. It would have to wait. Maybe it would be easier when he was in college.
"Would you look at that? The moon on the ocean. Ain't nothing like it in the whole, wide world."
Tommy hadn't noticed the stranger approach. He was brawny like a lumberjack, with a mop of red-brown hair and a broad smile. He was also leaning on the rail, but his demeanor couldn't be further from rumination. He looked out at the scene and took it in, wide-eyed, enjoying the moment, the breeze, the company. He turned to Tommy and introduced himself.
"I'm Andy" he said, extending a rough hand the size of a waffle iron. Tommy shook hands and gave his name. He was reluctant at first to break his dark mood and make small talk, but Andy's eager, unassuming manner was infectious. By the time the man excused himself, his eyes trailing two twenty-something girls on the deck, Tommy's mood had lifted entirely. He made his way to the private cabin his parents had reserved for him and undressed.
For all the lumberjack had lifted Tommy's spirits, his secret recollection abided. Mr. Rickson. The English teacher ran a volunteer project every year, the weekend after graduation. Tommy had been one of the few to show up for this year's project, about a month ago. Landscaping around the community rec center. They planted and transplated, weeded and sprayed, mulched and mowed. Tommy didn't mind getting his hands dirty, but there was no denying his real reason for showing up.
Mr. Rickson didn't just supervise the former students; he worked alongside them. By noon, his shirt was sweat-soaked and clinging to his muscular body. Tommy stole glances whenever he thought nobody was looking. The pizza arrived, and Mr. Rickson called for a break and passed around bottles of water. The other alumni clustered under the shade of a tree, and Tommy found himself talking to Mr. Rickson.
"So, Northwestern, is that right?"
"Mm-hmm." Tommy made eye contact and fretted. Was he being polite, or was he staring into those ice-blue orbs? Mr. Rickson carried on as though nothing were out of the ordinary.
"That's a wonderful school. Congratulations. They have one of the best journalism programs in the world. But then, they have a lot of great programs. Any idea what you want to study?"
"I'm not too sure, but I am for sure going to take an intro journalism class my first semester."
Mr. Rickson had smiled at him, then. Was it the pride of a teacher, or something else? Remembering his doubt, his awkwardness, Tommy tossed his clothes into the hamper at the corner of his cabin and climbed into bed, naked.
After gathering the paper plates and plastic bottles, Mr. Rickson thanked everyone for coming and congratulated them on a job well done. The other former students piled into their cars and were soon gone, but Tommy's phone rang with a text. Mr. Rickson found him by a flower bed.
"Something the matter?"
"No. I mean, kinda. My mom's meeting with a client, and it looks like they're going later than planned. She won't be able to pick me up for a while."
"I see. Well, I live just around the corner. No sense standing in the sun all day. Why don't you help me put all these tools away and rest up a bit as she finishes that meeting?"
That smile again. The memory of it gave Tommy a semi, as he pulled the bedsheets over his naked body.
Mr. Rickson's house had a lived-in feel, without being messy. Bookcases lined his living room walls, with a comfortable-looking couch and armchair facing a flatscreen. The teacher poured a couple glasses of orange juice, then excused himself.
"Hope you don't mind. I enjoy working with my hands and getting dirty, but now I need to clean up."
Tommy peeked into the bedroom as the older man peeled the shirt off his athletic torso. He had left the bedroom door ajar. Did that mean something? Without pausing, the educator dropped his shorts and walked naked to the master bathroom. Every step set the length of his cock swinging.
In the cabin bed, Tommy closed his eyes and recalled the image of that schlong. His own was at full mast and tenting the bedsheets.
Mr. Rickson turned on the shower, and Tommy was drawn into the bedroom as though by chords, hoping that the bathroom door was also ajar. It was. He sneaked a peek at the hunk behind the frosted glass and realized he had a hand on his crotch, stroking the boner beneath his shorts. He told himself to leave the bedroom and go back to the orange juice, but his feet--and cock--wouldn't obey. He sneaked peek after peek, rubbing himself. He would leave when the shower turned off.
Except the shower didn't turn off. Next thing he knew, the bathroom door was swinging open, and Mr. Rickson was staring at him, full monty and dripping wet, with one eyebrow raised and the shower still running.
"Didn't your mother teach you it isn't polite to stare?"
Tommy stammered. He wanted to drop to his knees and suction Mr. Rickson's length into his watering mouth. His shorts did nothing to hide his rock-hard erection. He looked for the polite thing to say and came up short. His cheeks flared red with embarrassment. Mr. Rickson chuckled.
"You're not my student, anymore, Tommy. You're eighteen and graduated."
Tommy looked into Mr. Rickson's gorgeous eyes, confused. The teacher chuckled again, shaking his head.
"Did you think I invited you to my house so we could talk about Beowulf? There's room in there for two." He said, nodding toward the shower. He stepped across the bathroom and opened the shower door, then turned over his shoulder to shoot an expectant look at Tommy, who disrobed at record speed.
--to be continued--
Chapter 1: Meet the Crew
Tommy averted his gaze from the lounge singer and tried to focus on his plate, instead. Dinner was the one part of the day aboard the cruise ship he had to spend with his parents, and when this broad-shouldered hunk with a sexy short beard strode to the microphone, Tommy had found himself staring. He cast a furtive glance at his parents. His mother smiled openly at the singer, while his father cracked open another morsel of lobster. Neither seemed to have noticed him checking out the entertainment.
"Man, you do not get seafood like this back home. Right, Champ?"
Tommy smiled politely and said something he hoped sounded enthusiastic and grateful. He was appreciative. Their family had never been poor, but they had never been rolling in the dough, either. When his parents announced that they were going on a cruise to celebrate his graduation from high school and acceptance into Northwestern, he was stunned and thrilled. He didn't realize he'd be surrounded by so much eye candy. The sundeck, with all those guys in swimsuits; the sauna, where they wore even less; and now the mess hall, where this gorgeous guy sauntered around, filling the air with his rich, deep voice. God, his backside was even better than the front. The way that tight ass slid in his slacks with every step. He was staring again. Food. Focus on the food.
A server came around to refill their drinks, and when she left, Tommy's father grinned and winked at him. Tommy put on a smile and pretended to check her out, though he really didn't know what he was supposed to be looking at. He had never understood the appeal of the female form, but he had learned to go through the motions. A few dates, here and there, with girls who had cute brothers. A playboy under his mattress, and an airtight history scrubber on his computer. Prom. It was a matter of survival for public school in their conservative town. Content at his hetero display, his father turned back to his food.
The recollection of his closeted high school days brought Mr. Rickson to Tommy's mind. Rumors spread behind the English teacher's back--he was much too handsome to make it past thirty as a bachelor--but Tommy knew the truth behind them, had learned that truth on a Summer afternoon after graduation.
"Well, I think I'm about ready to turn in," Tommy's mother said, giving his father a significant look. Moments later, Tommy had the table to himself, but he still could not gather the courage to ogle the walking statue of manhood that had so many women in the room smiling. Instead, he poked at his food and thought about Mr. Rickson, and when the singer bowed out a couple minutes later, he made his way out of the mess hall. At least, he tried to.
He found his way blocked by an angry customer, a couple inches shorter than Tommy and slight of build, on a tirade about the quality of the food and the state of his cabin. Tommy listened to the tirade, fascinated not by its content, but by its delivery. The man spoke with a lilt and made flamboyant gestures. He was at once imperious and flaming. Nobody within earshot would think he was straight, but this guy didn't seem to care. He just carried his tirade to completion, then turned from the apologetic staff member and left. Tommy made out a well-groomed goatee and some fancy--and flashy--hairstyle he couldn't name, before the stranger was out of sight.
The deck was surprisingly empty this evening, so Tommy leaned on a rail and looked out across the ocean. What would it be like to be so open, like Mr. Goatee? He thought, for the umpteenth time, about coming out to his parents. How would they react? Would they be disappointed? Would they blame themselves? Would they cut him off? Force him into conversion therapy? He ruminated, but found no way to ease the news. It would have to wait. Maybe it would be easier when he was in college.
"Would you look at that? The moon on the ocean. Ain't nothing like it in the whole, wide world."
Tommy hadn't noticed the stranger approach. He was brawny like a lumberjack, with a mop of red-brown hair and a broad smile. He was also leaning on the rail, but his demeanor couldn't be further from rumination. He looked out at the scene and took it in, wide-eyed, enjoying the moment, the breeze, the company. He turned to Tommy and introduced himself.
"I'm Andy" he said, extending a rough hand the size of a waffle iron. Tommy shook hands and gave his name. He was reluctant at first to break his dark mood and make small talk, but Andy's eager, unassuming manner was infectious. By the time the man excused himself, his eyes trailing two twenty-something girls on the deck, Tommy's mood had lifted entirely. He made his way to the private cabin his parents had reserved for him and undressed.
For all the lumberjack had lifted Tommy's spirits, his secret recollection abided. Mr. Rickson. The English teacher ran a volunteer project every year, the weekend after graduation. Tommy had been one of the few to show up for this year's project, about a month ago. Landscaping around the community rec center. They planted and transplated, weeded and sprayed, mulched and mowed. Tommy didn't mind getting his hands dirty, but there was no denying his real reason for showing up.
Mr. Rickson didn't just supervise the former students; he worked alongside them. By noon, his shirt was sweat-soaked and clinging to his muscular body. Tommy stole glances whenever he thought nobody was looking. The pizza arrived, and Mr. Rickson called for a break and passed around bottles of water. The other alumni clustered under the shade of a tree, and Tommy found himself talking to Mr. Rickson.
"So, Northwestern, is that right?"
"Mm-hmm." Tommy made eye contact and fretted. Was he being polite, or was he staring into those ice-blue orbs? Mr. Rickson carried on as though nothing were out of the ordinary.
"That's a wonderful school. Congratulations. They have one of the best journalism programs in the world. But then, they have a lot of great programs. Any idea what you want to study?"
"I'm not too sure, but I am for sure going to take an intro journalism class my first semester."
Mr. Rickson had smiled at him, then. Was it the pride of a teacher, or something else? Remembering his doubt, his awkwardness, Tommy tossed his clothes into the hamper at the corner of his cabin and climbed into bed, naked.
After gathering the paper plates and plastic bottles, Mr. Rickson thanked everyone for coming and congratulated them on a job well done. The other former students piled into their cars and were soon gone, but Tommy's phone rang with a text. Mr. Rickson found him by a flower bed.
"Something the matter?"
"No. I mean, kinda. My mom's meeting with a client, and it looks like they're going later than planned. She won't be able to pick me up for a while."
"I see. Well, I live just around the corner. No sense standing in the sun all day. Why don't you help me put all these tools away and rest up a bit as she finishes that meeting?"
That smile again. The memory of it gave Tommy a semi, as he pulled the bedsheets over his naked body.
Mr. Rickson's house had a lived-in feel, without being messy. Bookcases lined his living room walls, with a comfortable-looking couch and armchair facing a flatscreen. The teacher poured a couple glasses of orange juice, then excused himself.
"Hope you don't mind. I enjoy working with my hands and getting dirty, but now I need to clean up."
Tommy peeked into the bedroom as the older man peeled the shirt off his athletic torso. He had left the bedroom door ajar. Did that mean something? Without pausing, the educator dropped his shorts and walked naked to the master bathroom. Every step set the length of his cock swinging.
In the cabin bed, Tommy closed his eyes and recalled the image of that schlong. His own was at full mast and tenting the bedsheets.
Mr. Rickson turned on the shower, and Tommy was drawn into the bedroom as though by chords, hoping that the bathroom door was also ajar. It was. He sneaked a peek at the hunk behind the frosted glass and realized he had a hand on his crotch, stroking the boner beneath his shorts. He told himself to leave the bedroom and go back to the orange juice, but his feet--and cock--wouldn't obey. He sneaked peek after peek, rubbing himself. He would leave when the shower turned off.
Except the shower didn't turn off. Next thing he knew, the bathroom door was swinging open, and Mr. Rickson was staring at him, full monty and dripping wet, with one eyebrow raised and the shower still running.
"Didn't your mother teach you it isn't polite to stare?"
Tommy stammered. He wanted to drop to his knees and suction Mr. Rickson's length into his watering mouth. His shorts did nothing to hide his rock-hard erection. He looked for the polite thing to say and came up short. His cheeks flared red with embarrassment. Mr. Rickson chuckled.
"You're not my student, anymore, Tommy. You're eighteen and graduated."
Tommy looked into Mr. Rickson's gorgeous eyes, confused. The teacher chuckled again, shaking his head.
"Did you think I invited you to my house so we could talk about Beowulf? There's room in there for two." He said, nodding toward the shower. He stepped across the bathroom and opened the shower door, then turned over his shoulder to shoot an expectant look at Tommy, who disrobed at record speed.
--to be continued--