Errant
You worked hard, you deserve to let off a little steam. You meet up with Leo and the others in the bunkhouse for a few drinks. And then a few more until the familiar drunken sway mingles with the ships motion. And you're feeling good. Loud, smart, strong. And just in time for the betting to start. At first it's little things, who can do more pushups, spit the farthest, stupid shit like that. But then it changes, you're not sure who said it, but soon you and some of the men are comparing sizes, each of you boasting to have the superior mast.
But you know you have the equipment to put them all to shame. And in your stupor you have no shame whatsoever. You're not only one either. A man beside you seeks to put the argument to rest as he disrobes his lower half for the rest of you to marvel at, then another beats him out. Finally you overtake him, so certain of your superiority its barely a thought as you expose yourself. You fold your arms in pride as you let your audience take you in. Only to be outshone by the next contestant.
Embarrassed by your loss you stumble to get dressed and try to play it cool as you go up top "for some air" as you tell them. Your cheeks feel hot, so you welcome the cool nigh breeze against them. Luckily the alcohol helps keep your mind too fuddled to dwell on the feeling of loss.
"It's alright then," you hear Leo come up beside you. "Silly contest, that. Besides," he gives you a sidelong glance, "you're a grower, not a show-er."
"Oh come off it," you roll your eyes.
He chuckles, "No really, trust me that's much better." His hand starts to caress your thigh. "I could prove how much better it is, if you're up for more fun tonight."
Your voice catches as you look into his eyes. You could keep going, though things might go farther than they did last time. Are you ready for that?
But you know you have the equipment to put them all to shame. And in your stupor you have no shame whatsoever. You're not only one either. A man beside you seeks to put the argument to rest as he disrobes his lower half for the rest of you to marvel at, then another beats him out. Finally you overtake him, so certain of your superiority its barely a thought as you expose yourself. You fold your arms in pride as you let your audience take you in. Only to be outshone by the next contestant.
Embarrassed by your loss you stumble to get dressed and try to play it cool as you go up top "for some air" as you tell them. Your cheeks feel hot, so you welcome the cool nigh breeze against them. Luckily the alcohol helps keep your mind too fuddled to dwell on the feeling of loss.
"It's alright then," you hear Leo come up beside you. "Silly contest, that. Besides," he gives you a sidelong glance, "you're a grower, not a show-er."
"Oh come off it," you roll your eyes.
He chuckles, "No really, trust me that's much better." His hand starts to caress your thigh. "I could prove how much better it is, if you're up for more fun tonight."
Your voice catches as you look into his eyes. You could keep going, though things might go farther than they did last time. Are you ready for that?