• Franz Saint-Fleur

Sex On A Ship

I was twenty years old and serving in the US Navy.

Yes, the Navy of guided missiles, 50 caliber guns, and secret submarine missions. Dramatic, patriotic conflict on the high seas.

But that wasn't my life. I spent most of my first two years in the Navy as a janitor and the most exciting thing in my life was my girlfriend, Wanda. At ten years older than me, short, lightly tanned, and a very spicy attitude, she was some combination of intoxicating and infuriating. Her bold personality and disrespectful disses almost got me into many fistfights. She’d hurl insults at guys, disrespecting them and their girlfriends, and I’d have to talk things down. It became maddening to keep up with her sass—her constant drama and the tendency for starting fights made her all the wrong kinds of ghetto stereotypes.

But the sex was fantastic.

Ten years older than me, spicy as hell, and incredible in the sack. She was my teacher, and I was her willing sex ed student. At that time, I believed the dogma of sex being relegated to a relationship—after plenty of one-night-stands, I now know that philosophy is not true; great sex can happen anytime.

I met her at work on the ship; she was a contractor doing repair work. After we had started dating, we drove to work together and would see each other throughout the day. Most of our interactions were her bitching about some other woman or man. Negative. Bitter. Full of tension.

On this particular day, I was in a dark mood. I’d been given the 4-man job cleaning the forward boatswain locker—and had to do it solo. I was walking toward the boatswain locker and saw Wanda approaching. The sound of her voice grated on my ears like nails on a chalkboard and made me tense up even more.

“You know what this bitch Titi said to me?" she chattered caustically. Usually, I would humor her shit-talking, but today I didn't have the patience. I didn't know Titi, and I couldn't care less what she said—Wanda probably deserved it. I could feel anger building hot in my stomach and flash across my face.

My reply came coldly. “No, I don’t, and I don’t give a fuck.”

Wanda lashed back, “What the fuck is your problem?” I ignored her aggravating words, walking around her towards the room I had to clean. Wanda dogged behind me, ranting on about Titi like I’d never even spoken, in that selfish, angry tone of hers that drove me up the wall. She began to notice my lack of response and tried talking even louder. I got to the boatswain locker, my angry little woman barnacled to my reluctant side.

Wanda grabbed my arm. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but I know how to fix it.” She looked around the room. “Is this place empty?”

“Yes,” I retorted heatedly. “I was sent to clean this shithole all by myself. It’s going to take all afternoon. I had plans to see a local boxing match but this fucked up my whole day.”

Awareness dawned on her face. She moved some equipment, clearing a space, and locked the door. "What are you doing?" I asked as she sat me down. "We're going to fuck right here and now. You're all uptight, and I'm gonna help you bust a nut so you can relax.”

Nervous energy filled my body as I thought about getting caught by the military police but my fear was replaced by desire as she pulled my pants down and enveloped my manhood in her mouth. After a few strokes with her practiced lips I was hard as a rock. She grabbed me, sat me down and sat on my cock.

Wanda knew how to ride. Taking charge of her pleasure and mine, she was doing all the work, giving me the gift of laying back to enjoy the view. Her tiny body moved expertly. Her small breasts fit right in my hands. Her flat stomach tensed and flexed with her movement. Grabbing her small ass, I would know forever that a woman who knows how to use her body can be much more satisfying than just having the right curvy look.

In my sexual education with her crazy ass, she taught me a powerful lesson: “Always make her cum first. Even if it’s just a quickie. She cums first and she'll never complain." Wanda also showed me to control my ejaculations, making sex more of a dance and less of a race. At first, I would cum quickly, but with her instruction, I learned to last half an hour, and even longer, before I finished. During that time her orgasms would happen one after another—six, even seven times. I owe her thanks—it was her teaching that showed me how to make sex incredible. I may not be a master, but I know how to satisfy my women ☺

Wanda rode my dick for a few minutes until she came. She stood up and I followed as she bent over forward, grabbing her ankles. I had a beautiful picture of her open labia and slid inside her waiting pussy. Every stroke was harder and harder. We moved so much she grabbed some equipment to keep from losing her balance. I grabbed her hair, pulling it gently, and she looked back at me with hunger for more in her eyes. “Don’t be a bitch, pull that shit,” she instructed. Wanda loved it rough. She backed her tight little ass further onto my shaft and tensed the muscles of her pussy around me. I kept a hand on her hair, pulling hard as I came.

Wanda pulled her panties back up and asked with a sass much lighter than before, "Are you in a better mood now?" I grinned at her. "All the anger I had before just got released into you." We both laughed, and I walked her out of the locker. As I turned back to the room, eyeing the additions our sex made to the mess, I laughed. "Guess I'll start with the condom mess."