Caribbean Cruise Ch. 02: Chet Gets Laid

Chet almost laughed. Pat picked me because I'm safe for what he does and I picked him because he's safe for what I want, Chet thought. Under the shower he luxuriated in calling back to mind every liberating and educating stroke of pain and passion and unfettered giving and taking he had engaged in with the Brazilian man. Maybe Julio picked him because he saw something in Chet he wanted for a longer time than just a casual fuck.

He still had his frat brothers to worry about, though. Somewhere along the line during this cruise he was going to have to do something to satisfy them.

* * * *

Chet had to leave the next morning—late the next morning—as quietly as he had tried to come into the cabin earlier that morning. The blond, moaning deeply, was on her back, her hands over her head, gripping the top of the headboard of Pat's bed, with one of her ankles hooked on the small of the young black stud's back, as he fucked her in a slow, deep mining. Chet knew how hung Pat was, and he somewhat envied the girl having such a big, thick dick inside her. Overnight Chet had learned how glorious it was to be fucked by a man. And Pat, the football halfback, was one hung man.

But Chet would never even hint at doing it with Pat. He was a fraternity brother. Chet's preferences could never be revealed in the fraternity.

After hitting the ship's buffet restaurant and wolfing down everything in sight to refuel after the exercise he'd gotten the previous night, Chet moved on to the swimming pool. He staked out a lounge bed among the fraternity brothers—or several of them—on the pool level, stripped down to his Speedo, dove into the pool, and did laps until the pool area began to fill up and there no longer was lap room in the pool.

When he pulled out of the pool and went to his lounge bed, he saw that Julio was reclining on the bed directly across from his. The older man smiled an indulgent smile at him, and the strawberry blood did a total body blush, complete with a noticeable filling out of his Speedo pouch.

He was barely down on his back on his lounge bed, with his legs bent and working on his arousal by looking down the line of his body and the hump of his basket to a view of Julio framed by the bent legs when his frat brother, Steve, moved into the frame and glared down at him.

"It's time to get with the program, Jackass. Time for you to get laid. We've got two willing girls down in Darnell's cabin. It's time you joined the gang."

"I just got out of the pool, Steve. I'll be down there when I dry off."

"You'd better be there and join in. It's all for one and one for all in this fraternity, you know, and It's embarrassing to have a virgin in our midst into his sophomore year."

"Who said I was a virgin, Steve? I'm more like Pat than like you guys, though."

"You're not enough like Pat where it counts," Steve said, with a laugh. "I've seen you. We can't live together like we do without all the guys knowing how all the rest are equipped. You're hung, dude, but you're not horse hung like Pat is. Come on, guys. Duty calls down in Darnell's cabin. The ladies are getting restless." The frat brothers around Chet rose off their lounge beds and started milling around, ready to leave, anxious to be getting into the young ladies. When they'd done so, Julio sat up on his lounge bed, ready to come over and join Chet, when his plans were short circuited.

"Are these lounges taken, young man?"

Chet looked up as two women materialized at the foot of his lounge bed. Two women so redone that it was difficult to tell their ages, but they weren't young or even middle aged, he didn't think. Two women bulging out of their bikinis, but bulging in all the right places, thanks to their expensive plastic surgeons. The one who had asked him the question introduced herself as Margaret. The other, somewhat younger and more attractive one—but still more than double, or maybe triple, Chet's age—was introduced by the first as Sheila. But she didn't speak at that point. She was too busy eating Chet up with her eyes.

"Certainly, the lounge beds are free," Chet choked out the words. "I'll move over one, so the two of you can be side by side."

"Oh, that isn't necessary, doll," the one named Sheila now spoke. "We'll take the ones bookending that hunky body of yours."

As they moved into place and began to put the make on Chet from either side, Chet managed to look over to Julio, who was giving him a wicked grin.

Luckily, by the time Chet was dry from his swim, Margaret had toddled off for a drink and Sheila had conveniently broken the strap on her bikini top, which had the planned effect of flashing her ample breasts at Chet, but also gave her the problem of what to do to fix the problem. For a brief moment that they were gone, Julio rose off his lounge bed and handed Chet a cabin key as he walked off, saying only, "It's on Deck 3, it's arranged, and the arrangement includes a new experience for you, unless you don't want to experience it all."

Chet quickly gathered up his shorts and athletic T and followed Julio down eight flights of stairs to the bowels of the ship.

It was another interior cabin reached off an interior corridor. A black, substantially sized room steward, Chet was told was Nigerian, was waiting at the door. He had a big grin on his face. Julio was already in the room, naked. He told Chet the cabin was an unassigned one. He didn't tell Chet why they couldn't meet in Julio's cabin. Chet knew, though, that they couldn't meet in his cabin.

He fucked Julio from behind, bent over the bed, while the Nigerian fucked him from behind.

It was a whole new experience. Chet had gotten laid again in a whole new way.

He spent the rest of the afternoon avoiding his frat brothers.

At dinner that night, he was passing through the dining room, suddenly energized to size up all of the men in the room. Two aroused him as he passed by them and made eye contact. One was in his thirties and was sitting with a much older, toad-like man. Knowing what Chet knew now about the attraction of men to other men, he could have sworn that these two were a couple—that the younger man, was taking care of a richer, older man in exchange for financial security and some of the finer things in life, like this cruise.

That's what Chet's cousin had and it was what Chet was coming to believe he wanted as well.

The younger man was staring at someone at another table. Chet followed his gaze and saw another man, sitting between two older women. The man was in his forties, but he was strikingly good looking. It was just that sort of man Chet was looking for. And maybe the man with the old toad was thinking the same thing. Maybe the toad was on his last legs, and the man sitting between the two women was being cultivated to replace the toad.

There were the two women, though, who the good-looking man was sitting with. He probably was with one. . . . Wait, he thought, the two women. He focused on them. Margaret and Sheila from the pool. He covered the side of his face pointed toward the women and hurried on.

Steve tracked Chet down at dinner.

"You didn't show this afternoon," he said sternly.

"I had a show of my own," Chet replied, deciding a little deception was in order. "You don't have to worry about me. I'm not a virgin anymore. Mission accomplished. We all can relax." Basically Chet wasn't lying. He didn't see the need for details. He had been gloriously laid on the cruise, thank you very much. More than once.

Steve did. "Where's the proof?"

"The proof?"

"Used condoms. Photos."

Shit, Chet thought. He could have supplied used condoms. A photo was another can of worms, though.

"I'm tired of supplying the babes, dude. You find one on your own now. You seem to think you have. And supply used condoms and photos."

"I'm not interested in college girls," Chet said, as a means of retreat. "I like a sex partner with experience." That was true too. Chet could say that with a straight face. Julio had all the experience Chet needed. Even the Nigerian room steward had sent him over the rainbow. He was as hung as Pat was.

"So, pick out an old broad. Just get the proof, or we'll keep razzing you. Some of the guys are beginning to wonder about you. They're not sure they want to share a head with you when we get back to Tallahassee."

"They don't have trouble with Pat's preferences," Chet fired back. "He doesn't go for any of your gang bangs either."

"Yeah, well, Pat supplied the proof. And you need to also."

Chet was still contemplating that when Julio passed by and said, "Up for a quickie on Deck 3 again?"

He certainly was. He sat on the side of the bed, and Julio sat on his cock, facing away from him, and used Chet's cock like a gearshift. Chet wanted to be fucked after Julio was finished in that position, but Julio said he had other plans for the evening.

"Why this cabin, though?" Chet was brave enough to ask. "Don't you have a cabin?"

"I have a very nice cabin. My wife likes it too, though, and when she isn't playing cards in the game room—which she doesn't incessantly, she likes to relax in our cabin."

Ah, shit, Chet thought. He should have known that there were impediments with Julio. And that put paid too to any thoughts of there being a future with Julio. Even if he wanted to leave his wife for Chet—and he'd shown no indication that he wanted to do anything more than fuck Chet silly and be fucked in turn—Chet wasn't about to get in the middle of a hetero arrangement.

Chet was careful to save the condom he'd used and slipped into his shorts pocket. He had no idea how he'd get photos, but at least he had this. Steve wouldn't know the condom was from sex with a man rather than a woman.

Julio departing early didn't mean that Chet went unfucked. The Nigerian room steward was willing and anxious to take care of that. In addition to being as hung as Pat, the Nigerian had the stamina of Julio. He also had no interest in using the bed. He pushed Chet up against a wall and insinuated his knees between Chet's thighs and spread them. He slid Chet's torso up the wall and brought his channel down on his huge cock. Chet cried out in pain and ecstasy. The Nigerian took time out to stuff Chet's underwear in his mouth again to cut down on the noise, and then put Chet in the same position—sliding his back up the wall and then pulling him back down on the cock.

Chet began to pant heavily. He screamed silently into the cotton of his briefs as the big black pulled him down on the cock again. Then again . . . and again . . . and again. Faster and harder. The cock was long and thick. Chet hooked his legs on the big Nigerian's hips and held on for dear life, as the Nigerian slammed him up and down on the cock. Chet came sometime before the Nigerian did—his mind substituted Pat for the black room steward—and was as limp as a rag when the Nigerian let him sink to the floor.

But, like Julio, the Nigerian didn't go soft. He merely discarded the spent condom and pulled on another. He hauled Chet off the floor and flung him, belly down, over the back of a club chair, and fucked him again doggy style.

Chet was walking bowlegged and hitting both walls of the corridor as he lurched down the hallway and then down the stairs to his own cabin on the deck below. If anyone had seen him, they just would have assumed he was drunk. Nearly all of the college students on the ship were drunk by this time of day.

Pat and a brunette were fucking when Chet reached his room. He was getting back earlier tonight than last. Pat was on his back, and the brunette was riding his cock. Pat had his eyes closed and a little smile on his face when Chet came in. Without losing the rhythm of her pattern of revolving on and rising and falling on the big, black cock, the brunette looked at Chet through slitted eyes. Chet got the impression she wouldn't have minded if he joined the fuck. She sat back on Pat's pelvis and the fingers of one hand went to working her clit. She was leaning far enough back for Chet to see that Pat's cock was in her ass. Her look was a clear invitation to Chet to fill her elsewhere with his cock.

He briefly entertained the idea of doing so, and taking photos. Pat would have to verify to Steve and the rest of the frat brothers that Chet had carried through with the initiation. But Pat also would be pissed. And no one wanted to piss off Pat, especially Chet.

Chet stripped back down—he had showered in the other cabin after the Nigerian had left him draped over the back of the club chair and moaning softly—and turned full frontal to the brunette.

"Oh, sweet jezuzz," she exclaimed. "Come to Momma, you red-haired stud. I have a free glove for that luscious cock."

But Chet just shrugged, pointed to Pat, and murmured, "He wouldn't like it. And then you wouldn't like it either."

She put on a pout, but she hadn't stopped riding the cock. Chet climbed into his own bed, turned his head to the wall, and pretend he didn't hear the sounds of sex. Pat had come alive, obviously having been listening to the brunette's offer and Chet's demur. And he was punishing the brunette. He was on top of her now and pounding her in alternate holes mercilessly. And by everything Chet could hear, the brunette was loving every stroke of it.

* * * *

When Chet woke up in the morning—with the ship's arrival in the Cayman Islands, where Chet and most of the other fraternity guys had signed up for a snorkeling and beach excursion, Pat was still fucking the brunette—or had started again. She was spread-eagled on the bed, with pillows under her belly. Her head was hanging over the end of the bed, her eyes were glazed over, and her mouth was hanging out, as was her tongue. She was humming softly.

Pat knelt between her spread legs, and he was holding her wide hips in his big hands and slow-fucking her ass. Pulling out all the way and then gliding in to the hilt. And then repeating. There were at least four spent condoms on the floor by the bed.

Chet had the impression Pat was doing this for his sake—not angry, with him, at least, for being propositioned to join them earlier in the morning, since Chet had refused. But letting his friend know, in no uncertain terms, that what was his was his alone.

Chet got the message. He'd already figured that out.

Considering how Chet had left Pat, he was surprised to find his cabin mate lined up for the excursion on Grand Cayman in the morning to catch the tender to the island to snorkel the wreck of the USS Kittiwake off Kittiwake Beach and to enjoy some beach time. Several of the other fraternity brothers, including Steve, were taking the tour. Chet was both surprised and happy to see that both of the men he'd seen at dinner and had been aroused by—the guy with the toad at one table and the older man who had been bookended by the two cougars at the other table—were on the excursion.

As they were getting on the tender from the ship, Steve leaned into Chet and hissed in his ear, "Proof or we'll do a forced set-up on you that you can't wriggle out of. You are going to get laid on this cruise, little brother."

"I've probably already been laid more than you have on this cruise, big brother," Chet shot back and then moved to where Pat had found a place. Chet was amazed that Pat looked so fresh after a long night of vigorous sex.

"Didn't expect to see you here, bro," he whispered to Pat when he'd taken his place in the tender and it set off for the Grand Cayman pier. "The way you were going at it with that young brunette, I thought you'd have to sleep the rest of the day off."

"Young?" Pat said with a chuckle. "I admit she didn't look old, but the piece was easily forty."

"Forty? You're right. She didn't look like it. And the blonde the night before?"

"Maybe thirty-five."

"You could get any of the college girls on board you wanted. Why . . .?"

"I can get any college girls I want at FSU. The cruise is an opportunity for some variety. And didn't Benjamin Franklin say something about young men doing best to fuck older women—because older woman had more experience than younger women and would be all the more grateful for the fuck?"

"Seems I've heard that, yes," Chet answered. "Although I don't think he said it in those words. Thought you were literally going to fuck the shit out of that brunette, though."

"She loved it. Begged me to do her again tonight. Have my eyes on another woman, though."

"So, older women," Chet said.

"Yeah, you should try it. They know how to please and are pleased to have young muscle studs like us doing 'em. I've been offered money. I take it sometime back in Tallahassee. But I'm on vacation here. Just want to plow my way through as many of them as I can."

Even as he said it, he was making eye contact with an auburn-haired woman in her late forties, probably, but well preserved, who was sitting facing them a couple of rows away in the tender. Chet expected to see the two of them going at it in the bushes before the tour was over. And, indeed, when the bus stopped at Kittiwake Beach, Pat was off before Chet was and was in pursuit of the woman he'd been eyeing. Chet didn't have the slightest doubt that Pat would land and spike her.

The assistants of the tour guide busied themselves staking out a section of the beach for the participants, while the latter were being issued snorkeling gear. They were all going to swim out no more than fifty feet into the water, where a derelict ship, the USS Kittiwake, had been sunk a couple of decades earlier to provide the foundation for formation of a coral reef. This already was progressing well and all sorts of sea life had moved in. Now it was a destination for cruise ship passengers wanting to do some snorkeling.

Chet had trouble getting his snorkel gear untangled, and before he knew it someone was saying, "Here, let me help." He looked up into a pair of light-gray eyes and a friendly smile—and almost hyperventilated. It was the man who had been with the toad guy at the dining room table the previous night. And he was holding Chet's hands in his. Chet couldn't control his trembling, and the other man surely noticed that he was.

"There, I think that's got it. Are you one of the gagillion college students aboard the cruise ship?"

"Yep, that would be me. I'm cruising on spring break with my fraternity brothers."

"I've seen you around, but not with a rowdy bunch."

"I go separate ways from my fraternity brothers on some things," Chet said, only now taking his hand away from the man's. They were both in skimpy Speedos, and neither could miss that the other one was aroused.

Chet knew he looked good in a Speedo. Sports were his life, he was movie-star handsome, and he was well endowed. He was impressed, though, that he held nothing over this older man. The man moved with the grace of an athlete or dancer and, though muscled, he wasn't heavily so. He was lithe, smooth-bodied and without an ounce of fat on him. Most important, as the Speedo revealed, he was horse hung. And at the moment he was at least half hard. Chet hoped that the arousal was for him, although the older hunk who had been sitting between Margaret and Sheila also was on this tour—and looking great for any age—and the gray-eyed guy was sneaking glances at him even while he was talking with Chet.

"Meaning you have different sexual preferences from most of your buddies?"

"Excuse me?" Chet said after he was able to catch his breath.

"I've seen you with the Brazilian who haunts the bar at the top of the ship. I know what he likes to do. Tell me, do you fuck men or do they fuck you? I'm really interested."

Chet gulped. "I guess some of both," he managed to squeak out.

The man took his hand again. "My name is Travis, and I would like to get to know you better. Maybe drinks after dinner tonight for starters?" And then when Chet didn't answer right away, being flustered by the man's brashness. "I'm sorry if I'm being too direct, but I don't waste time pursuing what I want. I've been watching you. I want a hook up, unless you're not interested—or are too scared."