"Well, don't you think it would have been better if we went together?" She thought for a moment. "Me and a boatload of swinging cocks does sound fun." (We both laughed.) "No, l thought you were missing that." (Meaning male on male) And she was right. Not Gay, but every bit of Bisexual with a preference for Bottom. But to be honest, the idea both excited me and scared the shit out of me. A fish out of water of sorts, l guess. But six days later, she was dropping me off for who knows what.
When l was aboard, there was a sea of bald and greying guys like me, with a splattering of youngsters. This was a plus in my books, feeling out of sorts. After getting underway, little time was wasted before dinner was served; after that, l ponied up to the bar.
Right off the bat, a young guy approached me, offering me a drink. I think the confusion was what stood out the most. Thanks, but no thanks. Regret filled my mind; l mean, l came to this side later in life, same-sex play, having to put aside a bald head, hairy back, or hanging balls. I have one of those, two if my wife didn't shave my back for me. With regret, l looked across the room, and there he was, a vision of the star quarterback who was surely not suffering any of those things l mentioned. But then l watched him and another older guest make their way out of the bar area to one's room or the other, l imagine. Then, the bartender informed me it was a thing: young guys that like older guys lacking similar bodies.
After two hours of being too afraid to initiate and no more offers, l retreat to my room. l masturbated, but that did little to quench my thirst. Thoughts of that young buck and what could have been gave me little relief. So l dug into my bag to get the things to shower before bed. My wife packed my bag, and it seemed strange that she included a loop of rope, which we used from time to time, me tying her to our iron bed.
In the shower, l got a thought, one far scarier than everything combined so far. But when would l ever have a chance like this again? Never, l would guess. So l took my time shaving my cock and balls, which most likely didn't need it. Then, when I got out, l grabbed the Do Not Disturb sign you hang on the door. Turning it over, l wrote "Free use Bottom." Preparing the rope, using a knot learned while a Scout, once in, there would be no escape. (Maybe l should have thought that one out better.)
I hung the sign and flipped the lock, which kept the door ajar. Then I straddled the corner of the bed, ass up. A tug at the rope, and there I was, whatever happened next completely out of my control.
I have a good sense of timing, so about forty minutes felt like hours when the door opened, and the door again hit the ajar lock. I could hear heavy breathing, but the towel l wrapped around my head kept sight of me. Although l had left lube and wipes on the dresser, the mystery man chose to spit on my hole, and then he rushed his fat cock inside of me.
I could feel the weight of his big belly up in my lower back and his hairy legs as they brushed against mine, which is naturally hairless. I guess regret is the word that would sum it up best. But thankfully, it only lasted a few minutes, finding no joy in the experience or his hot load left deep inside of me.
