Silver heat - Sex Stories

Silver heat

... in the bow, when I was, er. . . in. . your arms, I felt so safe, so secure, but also extremely excited. The sea, the spray, the sunlight, well. . . you know. At that moment, I was not at all afraid of you, afraid of what you might do to me. I knew you wouldn't attack me, wouldn't hurt or **** me. But I was, er, uh. . . am afraid of what might happen next, because I never, you know, er.. have, uh, er, done anything at all. Also, I, er, well. I am afraid to, to take that step, any step. Remember what you said about not being defined. Well, I am kind of afraid of that, too. I don't think I want to be gay, don't even really know what that means. Am I deciding that today, I, uh, I. . . &#034Neal,&#034 Lance stopped me, grasping me on both biceps, &#034Everything is cool. Take it easy. I will take it as slow as you like. Meanwhile, let's just enjoy our little adventure.&#034 As he said these words, he placed his open hand on my face tenderly, the most intimate gesture I had felt up to then. &#034Can I get you some more champagne, or anything else?&#034 &#034Do you ave a pop, something non-alcoholic?&#034 &#034Of course, Coke, Pepsi, Limonada.&#034 &#034What's leemonahda?&#034 &#034It is the kind of soda that they drink in Greece. It tastes like lemonade, a little, but a bit resiny, like just about everything Greek, but it is carbonated. I picked up a few cases the last time I was over there.&#034 &#034Could I try that?&#034 &#034Commin' right up. Take the helm.&#034 &#034Aye, ...

... aye captain.&#034 At that we both laughed. &#034That's right, Lance said. I am the captain, the law at sea. You must obey me out here.&#034 &#034See I told you you brought me out her to take advantage of me. You can do anything you want and I have to say, 'aye,aye, captain'.&#034 More laughter. I absolutely loved the limonada , so tart, so unlike sicky-sweet American soft drinks, and so refreshing. After our drinks, Lance showed me more about guiding a ship, about having to keep her head into the wind, about 'tacking' to change direction, how to 'spill' wind from the sails. I was becoming more and more used to his hands on me, for as we moved about, they were ever present. A slight touch on the shoulder. A momentary pat on the knee or thigh. And that gesture. From time to time he would touch my face tenderly and look directly into my eyes, into the depth of me, and something hard inside me would melt a bit and turn to water. I knew what he was trying to do, I knew he was trying to get me used to his touch so he could. . .what? I didn't know, but was starting not to care. Each time his hands touched me, I longed for him to touch me again. I felt a strong urge to touch him back, touch him there, put my hand on that obvious bulge at the front of his white shorts, but there was no way I could do that. If I did, how would he respond? And where would it go from there. Would I find myself under his heavy body, panting and sweaty? The thought, the idea, the picture formed in my mind, ...