A gay sex story: Hurricane Warning
This is an original fictional story. Any resemblance between persons or places to actuality is purely coincidental. All persons engaged in sex (male on male) are over 18 as should be any reader, as may be required by local law. Copyright, 2023. BD
This story, like many of mine, focuses on the possibilities for young gay men to deepen relationships and find commitment in a world of inter-personal possibilities and external societal temptations. Sometimes we need to lose before we realize what we have.
It was late August. Two recent Duke grads had decided to take a last minute, week-long vacation in Key West before beginning their new jobs as financial analyst trainees at Morgan Stanley in New York. Both of the guys, who had been friends since first year at Duke, were Economics majors and had been accepted into the two-year program at the New York headquarters. Only the best received such offers and they had graduated near the top of their class.
Key West seemed ideal–exotic, with plenty of water, easily reached from their homes in Durham by car, and with lots of action–their kind of action. Both of the guys were gay, athletic and good-looking, and ready to party. They found a B&B off Duval which they could afford–rates being lower during the doldrum/tropical storm months of August and September. The drive had taken about a day. And the B&B was a colorful Victorian remodel, exotic and acceptable. Upon arrival, they unpacked, showered and went in search of dinner and few drinks.
The next days were perfect–daily sunshine, warm temperatures moderated by the constant trade winds that almost always swept the Keys, afternoon thunder, sometimes with a downpour (providing an opportunity for a “quickie” in the king), and then humid nights spent in various gay-friendly clubs dancing and flirting.
The guys were apartment mates and occasional fuck-buddies, tending toward exclusivity in the last year. But each of them had an active sex life in his own right. Neither found it difficult to pick up or be picked up–even in conservative North Carolina. They each had separately concluded they were gay during their first year at Duke and met soon after. RTP was gay friendly, even if the rest of the state fulminated about the damnation that would result from same-sex encounters, let alone unions. But, those “extra-curricular” hooks had been tapering off in the last year as the guys drew closer together.
David was a top–although he had made a few exceptions when he was with Jean Marc. Jean Marc was a vers/ bottom. It was curious that they had become such close friends. Academically, they were both gifted–and econ majors. But, physically, they were exact opposites. David had a rugby physique with massive thighs and guns, deeply cut abs, steak-slab pecs, and a firm rounded butt. His dick was short/average (around 6 1/2), but very thick, uncut, and shaved (the proverbial fireplug). He was blond and blue eyed. He was an athlete, a gym rat and fiercely competitive on any field or court. He was the classic scholar athlete: a star player and an excellent student.
Jean Marc, on the other hand, was “Med man”–swarthy skin, black hair, mysterious, dark “bedroom” eyes, with a 5 o’clock shadow. He was tall–over 6-4–with lighter muscles, developed in competitive tennis. His dick was uncut, slim, but very long–in every respect resembling a long thin snake. He was definitely a grower–stretching to 9 inches when fully-aroused. He preferred one-on-one competitions and generally without violent impacts. He was the epitome of the matinee lover–even with the ability to put on a thick French accent at will.
Their mutual love of the water and particularly sailing had initially brought them together. They had both signed up for the Duke sailing club which had facilities on the Atlantic on a nearby barrier island. Many weekends, outside of rugby season, were spent on the water or in it since both were good and avid sailors and swimmers.
David had initially come on to JM–one hot afternoon after both had shed clothing while sailing in the heat on the calm intra-coastal waters. He was fascinated by JM’s long thin cock which swung from side to side as JM worked the lines of the small laser. JM’s delight in David’s strength, dominance, and fireplug cock and its ability to poke his prostate with precision while continuously stimulating and crowding his chute, had sealed the deal. David occasionally, but rarely, permitted JM’s long snake to slither easily into his lubed chute. They were more than friends, probably at the precipice of commitment. This trip had two purposes: a last fling before anticipated grueling long days in the New York financial scene and a chance to see on what terms their relationship might progress to the next level. They had talked about exclusivity once they were in New York, but neither was yet ready to commit.
From their arrival in Key West, the guys were alert to any possibility of getting out on the sea–as passengers, deck hands, mates or whatever–just so they could do so without significant expense. It was the end of the summer and funds were low until they each started to work in a few weeks. On their second day, they lucked out. They had left crewing offers at two of the yacht chartering facilities. One called. A young family (husband–an accomplished sailor, his wife and their two young–7 and 9–boys wanted a day sail charter)–and the father wisely asked for crew since he had chosen a 44′ Beneteau. Nice cat, but beyond the capability of one person unless superhuman–and certainly not with young children aboard. David and Jean Marc quickly changed into board shorts over Speedos with tees and boat shoes and drove to the yacht harbor. Introductions were made. The deal was struck, and the early departure was set for the following day.
Morning arrived and David and JM manned the lines as Peter Morris (“It’s Pete.”) steered them out of the crowded slips. It was a terrific sunny day with a bright blue cloudless sky. The young boys took immediately to their new-found older “brothers” and shadowed them throughout the day, asking questions about every maneuver they executed. Pete was a perfectionist and able captain. Sophia, a raven-haired lush beauty, who obviously tanned easily, immediately began a conversation in French with JM.
As soon as they left the harbor, Sophia lost her blouse (no bra or bikini top) and shorts, leaving only the bottom of a chrome green Brazilian bikini. Pete removed his shirt, displaying a mature but well-trained and cut body–probably a former football star. He had been a college athlete and refused to go to seed. He was about 6-2, with dark brown eyes, clean cut, shaved and tanned. At first the guys assumed he was alpha straight, and they hoped not homophobic. He soon tossed his shorts into the cockpit, remaining with a skimpy red thong that barely contained his monstrous sleeping giant, but clearly showcased his bulbous helmet and tight, rounded ass. No straight would wear such a bikini!