Sometime in his life every guy deserves a good blowjob. I know that you’re going to say that there’s no such thing as a bad one but I’m talking about world class here. Not the chipped tooth fumbling of some teenybopper trying to learn a new trick, nor the dutiful wife on the rag reluctantly servicing her husband. I mean the long drawn out pleasure that rolls a guy’s eyes back and makes him moan and come like a volcano then leaves him so drained and exhausted that he’s light in the head. Only two types of people can deliver that perfection: Expert, well-paid hookers like the ones I have experienced are one type. Gay males, who absolutely love to suck cock and who put their hearts in it are the absolute best. Like what I could have been had I came out of the closet.

Moreover, every guy, before he dies, should at least have the opportunity to consummate his inner perversions, provided that his partner is willing and that no harm comes to anyone but himself. I explained all of this to the guy sitting across from me, and although initially reluctant he finally agreed with me. After all, we were both figuratively and literally in the same boat. He was a fourteen-year-old boy, virgin to all but his own hand, and I was a forty-year-old man with issues and we were both in a sinking boat and would almost certainly die.

His dad bought the sailboat but couldn’t handle it alone so I had hired on to help bring the boat back from New Zealand. David was kind of wimpy and his dad thought the trip would toughen him up and make a man out of him. The kid had little enthusiasm for the project and turned out to be just about useless, but once out to sea we were all committed to the voyage.

David and I had been sacked out down below and the owner had the helm the night the squall hit. We were over on our side in an instant and by the time I got topside the situation was hopeless. A sailboat’s heavy keel should automatically bring her upright, but this old bitch was rotten and she split apart. The boat sank fast and I only had time enough to pop the raft and grab the panicked boy. The squall passed and we searched for the boy’s dad but never found him. I activated the rescue transmitter that all rafts are required to carry and soon discovered that the batteries were hopelessly corroded and completely dead. We had adequate emergency food and water on board and the raft had a tent to screen the sun and rain, so I felt that we might eventually drift either to an island or into the busy sea-lanes. There were neither charts nor navigational equipment in the raft; they had been looted along with everything else except the emergency food and water and a folding knife, but it became obvious after a day or two that we were moving away from traffic and towards the open sea well away from any island.

Ten days later I knew for sure that we were in deep shit. Rescue services depend on radio communication. A SOS or MAYDAY commands immediate attention, as does the satellite based emergency beacon that all boats and life rafts carry. There had been no time for the owner to send out a distress signal and by now I was pretty sure that the emergency beacon on the boat had also been faulty. A boat at sea is on its own and unless a distress signal is sent no search will be initiated unless it is a huge vessel with a lot of paying passengers. Besides that, no one knew where to look. Radios crap out all of the time and we weren’t even overdue yet, so it would be another month before anyone figured out something was wrong and by then they wouldn’t have a clue where to even begin to search, and by that time David and I would be stone cold dead.

I didn’t tell this to the boy, at least not right away. We passed the time by casually talking, sometimes about women, and it was during one of those chats that I brought up the subject of blowjobs and how great they were, and told him to never pass one up. David blushed and acted embarrassed, but there was no hiding the tent in his skivvies as I described the ultimate orgasm.

Four days later the raft started leaking. We awoke to find one of the four tubes flat and the others low on air. The raft had been inflated with a CO2 cartridge, which was now expended, but there was also a hand pump. It took all day to inflate the tubes and the next morning they were low again, so I removed the tent top to keep it from trapping us if we sank. The third morning the handle on the pump broke.

“We’re going to die out here. You realize that, don’t you?” I asked the boy, but the look in his eyes conveyed the hopelessness that he felt. “It’s a real shame,” I lamented. “Not for me, I’ve been married twice and have fucked every hole in a woman’s body, but for you. A healthy young stud in the prime of his life who’s never had a chance to screw a girl or even get a blowjob before he dies.” The young stud part was an exaggeration. He hadn’t shaved since we left New Zealand, and all he had to show for it was a shadow of peach fuzz on his chin and upper lip. His chest and belly were also smooth and hairless with only fuzz on his legs announcing his adolescence. And the size of his nuts and the hair on his crotch, which I could occasionally glimpse through the legs of his loose skivvies. “I can’t help you get laid,” I finally said, “but I could give you a blowjob. It might make, uh, passing, a little easier.”

He seemed repulsed by the idea of sex with another guy and he sat there, seeming resigned to his fate, for a long time before finally saying, “All right, I guess. Do it.” I slid forward onto my knees before he had a chance to change his mind and eased his skivvies down and off. It was the moment I’d been waiting for all of my adult life. The dainty yet clearly functional circumcised penis hung from a luxurious forest of soft downy hair. The balls bulged with youth and promise and hung low in a nearly hairless sack. I gingerly licked the very end of his soft dick a couple of times then inhaled the full length into my mouth to where my nose was buried in the soft hair and his magnificent balls slapped my chin. He gradually filled my mouth as he became erect, and I slid back off, fondled his balls with my tongue for a few seconds, then shifted my tongue to his glans as if to try and pry the slit apart. I repeated this whole cycle several times and finally reached up and gently grasped each of his nuts between my fingers. He immediately exploded into my mouth with a force and volume that nearly choked me. It had lasted less than a minute. I swallowed his salty sweetness, then looked up at the boy. He had sagged backwards against the tube of the raft and his eyes were still wide open but completely unfocused. I paused only a second before taking his rapidly deflating dick into my mouth and repeating the whole procedure. This time his hands found the back of my head and his hips joined the rhythm and he became a willing participant instead of just an inert sperm donor, and he managed what I estimate was a full four minutes before climaxing in another, slightly lesser eruption.

He was still slumped back on the tube, staring up into space as if he were in a trance when I stepped out of my own shorts to free my erection. He came back to life when he saw my boner and couldn’t take his eyes off of it as he shrank backwards as if trying to seek refuge. “No!” He cried out.

I had been buttfucked as a youngster and I had no intention of inflicting the pain and humiliation on a young boy, nor would I abase him by even suggesting that he blow me. Instead I removed the folding stainless steel knife from the raft’s supply bag, opened it, and handed it to him handle first. I then lay down on the floor of the raft and spread my legs. “Castrate me,” I commanded.

“Huh?” The boy said looking first at me then the knife.

“I want you to castrate me,” I repeated. “You know, cut my balls off.”

“Why?”

“Look, David. We’re both as good as dead already and I want to pick the way I die. You’re still young. Go with the flow. But I’ve had a long time to think about how I want to die. You cut my balls off and I’ll slip over the side and just bleed out or drown. End of the story.”

“How?” He finally asked.

“Easy,” I said, reaching around my erection to grab my testicles. “Just pull them, hard, and slice them off.” I pulled them out from my body with one hand and mimicked the slicing motion right below my cock. “Now do it!”

I spread my legs even farther apart and reached back over my head to take a firm grasp on the safety line that girdled the raft. The boy turned the knife over a few times, looking at it, and finally reached out and gently grasped my scrotum, then tightened his grip and began pulling. I clenched my teeth against the inevitable pain and closed my eyes. And ejaculated. It was one of the most powerful and intense orgasms I’d ever experienced and had been eclipsed only by my first professional blowjob. I felt the edge of the knife touch the thin skin of my scrotum and both felt and heard the blood pounding in my ears, and then a sudden flood of pain as the tugging ceased.

I kept my eyes closed for a few seconds, practically feeling my life flow from between my legs, but the roaring in my ears continued. I opened my eyes to the sight of an approaching helicopter bearing the markings of the New Zealand Navy. I quickly grabbed both my shorts and those of the boy and held them as tightly as I could against the wound in my crotch. The helio entered a hover and a basket was lowered and the naked boy climbed in. The basket returned a few minutes later and I ascended, not to heaven as I had intended but to salvation instead.

“Lucky for you we saw your mirror, Mate!” The crewman shouted as he swung the basket into the door. We didn’t have a mirror! What he saw was the reflection of the stainless steel knife. “Good Christ, man! What happened?” He said as soon as he saw the bloody shorts and my wound.

“I’m fine now, I answered calmly, and I was too.