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People always say that with my brains I can do anything. What they really mean is I can do anything as long as it involves using my intellectual gifts. If I decided right now that I wanted to be an artist or repair cars for a living I wouldn’t get a moment’s peace. The same people also say that with my father’s money I can have anything. Again, they mean anything that can be bought. The problem is that UEO law says I’m too young to do one thing that I want to do. And I can’t buy it. Him. Whatever. Can you guess? I’m in love and lust and almost crazy with all the feelings tearing through my body. I love Ben Krieg and I want to feel him inside me. I want him to fuck me. Have I shocked you? It shocked the Hell out of my father when he found me on my back, my feet in the air and the gardener buried in my ass. That’s why I’m on SeaQuest. Why on Earth he would think that sending me to a boat full of fit young men in uniforms would ‘cure’ me I don’t know. They’ve all walked through my fantasies at one time or another: Miguel with his joyful lust for life, Tim with his grace and intellect, Commander Ford, who I can never think of as ‘Jon’, with his stunning looks. Even the captain has been in my head once or twice as I stroke myself in the dark, in the shower, anywhere private…my collection of baggy shirts aren’t just for fashion purposes: they cover the fact that I spend most of my time at least half hard. It’s Ben I always come back to though. He may be more than ten years older than me but it never seems like it. It feels like we’re the kids on board, we have something in common. Most nights I lull myself to sleep in a post-orgasmic glow with his name on my lips. What do I dream about after spending myself so? His lips on mine, his cock, hard and needy. Being fucked with bruising force in the moonpool. Gentle seduction in the storerooms. Every night there’s something different. I have a large internal world; inspiration is something I’m rarely short of. Does he ever think of me that way? Does he ever ache and touch himself with a vision of me in his mind? Does he ever picture himself parting my legs and thrusting his cock into my ass? Probably not. He was married, he has girlfriends. However friendly he’s been to me there’s never been a touch that’s been more than casual, never a look that lasted a moment too long. It tortures me. On shore leave I know where to go to find temporary relief. There’s a place just out of Cape Quest where men meet. Some spot me as jailbait and shy away, others draw nearer. Usually I can find someone who reminds me of Ben in some way: looks, sense of humour, mannerisms. I let them fuck me any way they want. Hard and fast, slow and gentle. With care and attention to my pleasure or painful and unsatisfying. Afterwards I feel elated, guilty, fulfilled, used…the list goes on. None of them are Ben though; none of them can ever be more than a furtive fuck in back of a car or a dingy motel room. What I want is love. But I can’t have that can I? The one thing I want, the one thing denied me for all the gifts and advantages I was born with. I suppose I’ll settle for the fantasies and casual sex. For now at least After all, I won’t be sixteen forever. The End
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