Scotty left the galley and headed for his room like an infantryman walking into a possible ambush. He was totally unsure of which emotion he felt the most, fear or excitement, as he hurried to his room. Each step he took he was reminded of the butt plug lodged deep in his ass channel. At last he arrived at his door. He waited a moment as if he could still reconsider, as if he had a choice in the matter. Resigned to his fate, he turned the handle and pushed his door open, expecting to see the man he knew only as the pilot.
The room was empty. There was no note, no sign that anyone had been here since he had left this afternoon.
Scotty stripped naked and sat on his bunk. Feeling like everything was okay and he was safe in his room, he still thought he should play it safe and do as the man had told him to do. Remembering the man's voice, remembering the hardness that had glittered in his eyes- no this man expected to be obeyed- he sat naked and waiting.
His eyes were drawn toward his image in the mirror above his chest of drawers where he looked back at himself. He thought he looked sexy. He had messed his Beatle styled sandy hair when he had stripped, but it made him look a little wild. His blue eyes were in shadow; he couldn't see their color, but the eye-shadow effect was very sexy. His lips looked full and were slightly parted. He moved the tip of his tongue to where he could just see it inside his mouth. He could see what he thought the pilot had seen in him.
He felt the plug as it pushed deeper into his ass. He wiggled his ass, liking the feel of it. Almost without thought he had his dick in his hand and was slow stroking it. He wondered what had happened with the pilot, wondered what the pilot would have done to him. What might have been demanded of him? Would he enjoy meeting those demands as much as he had enjoyed sucking the pilot's dick? And then a most surprising thought, a thought that made him doubt all that he knew about himself. Could accommodate these demands good enough to make the man happy? This was the point where he had to face the fact that a part of him wanted to be the slut the pilot said he was.
Scotty was fascinated by the man, but at the same time he was frightened by him, by the pilot's power over him. The man seemed to know where the boy's sexual buttons were and how to push them. He began to think maybe he couldn't let go like that again. He could feel the pull of his desire, the need he was feeling. Did a drug addict feel like this after his first taste of the needle, he wondered. Admitting to himself that he was scared, he thought his best bet might be to avoid contact with everyone until after the pilot's boat had gone back toward shore. As long as he stayed where he was, here in his room, he was a naked sacrifice sitting on the altar, waiting for the knife.
Forced by fear of the pilot's strength and his own weakness, Scotty decided to disobey the pilot's command and leave his room. Quickly slipping on his pants and shoes, he pulled the door closed behind him and walked rapidly down the empty passageway toward the stern. Once outside he slowed his pace, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness and then continued alone down the deck to the fantail of the ship. On the fantail he was far enough from the lights by the gangway that he could hide in the shadows and still see when the pilot went down to his boat.
The strong breeze coming in off the Pacific almost chilled him as it dried the sweat on his skin, but it also kept the stench from the nearby garbage drums bearable. Scotty was kneeling next to the rail hiding in the shadow of the aft locker, and watching the play of the lights from the boat below as it rose and fell with the large swells. Knowing that there was one pissed-off pilot looking for him somewhere made the young man grin but it was a rueful grin. There was a part of him that felt he was cheating himself out of a chance to find out what his life should be, maybe a chance to find out who he was. He remembered the sense of pride he had felt as he stared at his image in the mirror. He had looked like a hot, young, male prostitute, a sexual animal. He was learning a lot about sex, and so far he liked everything he was learning. It was hard to believe that less then thirty hours ago he had been a virgin.
In a very real sense he was hiding from his father's values, or at least from having to measure up to his father's expectations. He was hiding in the shadows waiting for the pilot to leave the ship because his dick was hard, his ass was working on the plug and he wanted to get off again. He was hiding from the man because he wanted to go to him. He wanted to feel his power, wanted to earn his approval, wanted to please him, and wanted to be his. That was why he was hiding, not from fear of what the pilot might do but rather a fear of what he, Scotty, might do. Fear of what he might become if he didn't get a grip on himself. Fear that his father might find out someday. So he hid and waited.
One deck below where Scotty hid, the boatswain and pilot were saying their good-byes over a cold beer. Scotty was the subject under discussion. The pilot had already told his friend what he had did to the boy, how the boy had responded, and what he had planned to do next if he could have gotten back with him again. Now he would have to let others go where he wanted to be the first to go.
"James, you guys have a safe trip. Go easy of the boy and it will be better for everybody." The pilot stood and shook hands with his friend and walked out onto the starboard passageway where he paused at the top of the gangplank had been rigged to let him go down the steps to the small harbor patrol boat below. Before he started down the steps he turned back to his friend. "I think he is a natural, it would be a shame to ruin him." And he was gone.
Scotty heard their voices as they bid each other farewell, the pilot walked down the gangplank and soon thereafter the small boat turned toward shore. What was done was done.
He had no ideal what the pilot may have done, who he might have told, he could only hope that he understood it was not Scotty's fault that he had to work late. One way or the other Scotty thought he had done the smart thing. He wanted nothing more now then to get to his room and get this plug out of his ass. While he held a fear that it would prove to be impossible, he wanted to do away with these new and frightening desires he was feeling. He wanted to get back to feeling like a man again.
Frenchy didn't walk the pilot to the gangplank with the Boatswain. Instead he followed the boatswain's orders and waited just inside the boatswain's darkened room, holding the door ajar, listening for any sounds that might be Scotty coming back from work. While he waited he let his mind go back to the memories of other men he had seen turned into fuck toys over the years. He had been surprised when he had first seen Scotty last night, but he supposed you could never tell what kind of man you might have locked inside of you. A man might never know unless the right man found you and forced you to look inside and recognize who you were. He had waited for better than ten minutes before he heard the soft steps. They stopped just out of his sight around the corner at Scotty's door. Silently, Frenchy stepped out into the passageway and eased his way down to the corner, where he waited to hear the door open.
Walking made the plug come alive in Scotty's ass. For one thing it was big -at least six inches long- and it churned inside him with every step. His dick had been semi-hard all evening as he worked with the cook. To start with it was a very cramped space and the moving around of all those crates and boxes off the shelves and then putting them back after the count involved twisting, awkward positions, and heavy lifting. More than once he felt that he was going to shit the plug out as he strained to hold a crate while the cook counted the contents and wrote it down. It was almost like being fucked for two hours.
