Rhys felt the warm Caribbean breeze against alabaster ass cheeks, exposed westerly as Abel knelt also westerly with Rhys’ knob betwixt his lips. Things were going well for the lovebirds. Rhys moaned contentedly; Abel hummed and drooled. The sun indigoed the sky and dyed the waves. Gulls and terns called to each other. Riding a sea so uniformly blue it looked like construction paper, a large white ship silently made its way to the island to disgorge itself of its cargo, small islands of flesh, parasitic floral-clad fat fucks. One of them, disgorged a week ago, a chubby middle-aged white woman currently holed up in the villa next door to Rhys and Abel’s was getting fucked real deep by a chiseled black guy, “Fuck me, boy, fuck me!’ she screamed though it was came through the glass a muffled loud soft moan, “I’m a mature slut gagging for cock.” On her patio, a room service table presented an empty bottle of rosé and an unfinished plate of yellowfin sashimi. The deep pink of the fish glistened unseemly and obscene in the tropical sun
Rhys and Abel disregarded the fish, the ship, the terns, the boobies, the couple and all the troubling socioeconomic and racial issues such a coupling raised. They had only 15 minutes before their dinner reservation at Barefoot by Ricardo and Giselle, one of the nine restaurants at Sandals Grande Antigua. The reservation had been hard to get even though the resort literature Rhys had received promised unlimited and all-inclusive dining. Despite the resorts anti-gay history (see here) Rhys had chosen to take Abel here to mark their six week anniversary.
[“Is four days away too long?” Rhys had asked his coworker.
“Nah or, alternatively, yes,” the unhelpful friend had answered.]
Now Rhys moaned and dug his slender fingers into Abel’s back fat. He reached his climax, unleashing stream of sperm deep into the throat of Abel, simultaneously as the white woman in the room across climaxed. She yelled, or so Rhys would claim later, “Fuck me, nigger!” Abel, though admittedly the cum in his throat and dribbling down onto his chin affected his ability to hear, claimed she had instead yelled, “Fuck me bigger!” which, though less sensical, was a great deal less upsetting. Rhys shrugged on a pair of loose khakis and a teal polo shirt. Abel wrapped himself in a kimono and they went barefoot to Barefoot.
On the way, Rhys dragged Abel from the straight and narrow path and behind the large leaves of a taro plant, opened his kimono and forcefully sucked from the young Abel the fellow’s sperm. The rough stucco of the wall tore the silk of Abel’s kimono which he found annoying and it also left angry red scratches in his back fat. But he was getting sucked off and soon he would be eating smoked mahi mahi over plantains. He moaned, thinking of the plaintains and the thought pushed him over the edge. Extracting himself from Rhys’ small mouth, Abel came on the taro leaf. Rhys stood up and the two watched the glistening unguent slide down the spine of the leaf. And as it fell, the setting Caribbean sun was caught in a globule of cum before it fell, with a tiny rustle, onto the ground below.
Submitted by male fashion editor, Manhattan
