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Portuguese Man o’ War (Physalia physalis) marine invertebrate. Named for 16th century Portuguese warship with triangular sails. Floats at ocean surface, its float-sail above the water. Below dangle tentacles, sometimes 165 feet long. Stinging tentacles kill small fish and other prey. Stings cause severe pain to humans, occasionally serious effects: fever, shock, interference with heart and lung action. Sometimes death. Problem at beaches–attracts curious tourists, swimmers because of beautiful “sail.” The ignorant sometimes pick up Physalia physalis, suffering debilitating stings.

The USS Cormorant put in at Naples, Italy, for a public relations visit, and we had to run around the ship spiffying it up for civilian visitors. A few of us got passes to go ashore. I was the chaplain’s assistant, so I usually got one–I was never the type to get into trouble ashore, so for the brass, I was a safe bet.

I planned to go sightseeing with Wallingsford, visiting a few cathedrals and some art galleries, maybe even buy tickets to the opera. But the idiot got a bad tomato or something at mess and ended up spending the night puking in sick bay.

Since the plans were already made, I thought what the heck, I’ll rent a motorscooter and go alone. With my tourist guidebook, I took a taxi to a Vespa-rental shop. I’ll pretend I’m in that old movie, “Roman Holiday”–even if it is Naples.

The shop already had a busy day, though. After a flock of tourists, the store had only one scooter left. And at the second I stepped up to the counter, another guy appeared beside me.

The owner said, “I very sorry, signores. We have only one more scooter to rent.”

I looked at the guy. Dressed in a sailor suit. Didn’t recognize his uniform, though. Dark blue shirt and trousers. Blue beret. Didn’t recognize the insignia. Marinha da Guerra. What did that mean?

Big guy. Quite a bit taller, but then, I was only 5’3″. Heavy build. Muscular. Very handsome face. I held out my hand. “Hi, I’m a sailor, too. US Navy.”

He smiled and shook my hand. “I am Marinha da Guerra–Navy of Portugal. I am speak the English, too.” He looked at the scooter, then back at me. “It look like we go saw this Vespa in half.” He laughed, then, “Or we make the share it.”

Good-looking guy. Healthy, shiny, and very curly black hair. Tousled. Curls dipping over his forehead. Face like in shaving cream ads–broad forehead, mischievous dark eyes, powerful square jaw. And beautiful teeth–white, even, straight. Perfect. (A bit of a surprise, really. The US Navy had great dentists, but I often saw sailors from other countries with bad teeth.)

He hopped on the scooter. “Sim. This work. You pay, I drive.”

“Hey, wait a minute–“

“Is no problem; I pay food. You go now, give money.”

That kind of burned me; I mean, it wasn’t a lot of money–I planned to spend it, anyway–but somehow the Portuguese sailor had shouldered me off to the side, and suddenly I was a passenger on my own scooter.

Still, he was a friendly guy and as handsome as a model on an enlistment poster. Beautiful people have beautiful ways. And who couldn’t use another friend? Oh, what the heck. Maybe he would like to see the cathedrals, too. It’s not like I was picking up a prostitute.

The clerk filled out the paperwork and photocopied my ID. I hopped onto the back seat of the Vespa and held on.

To the big guy’s shoulders. Broad, muscular.

As we buzzed away, I yelled, “My name is Eric Ostend. My ship is the USS Cormorant out in the harbor.”

He looked back over his shoulder. “Meu name João Pereiro da Silva. O meu barco the Caporal.”

As we wound around through the streets, I held onto him with one hand while I read my guidebook with the other. The guidebook was interesting, but the other hand gave me some interesting sensations–moving gradually down from his shoulder to his rib cage over hard muscles, I found João’s wasn’t bony like mine; it was a sculpture in hard sinews.

I wanted to go to the Cathedral of Naples, the Church of San Gennaro, but halfway there, João pulled up at a sidewalk café. “We sit down now. I buy you glass wine.”

Many US sailors think wine is for faggots, and I’m more the beer type, but hey. We sat sipping for a while. Nice wine.

But he made a face. “This is not the good vino. Not like in Portugal. There the wine she is like you drink happiness.”

A few Italian babes strutted by, and we watched. “I am love the womans,” he muttered. “Already I have the marzapo duro.” He looked over at me. “How you say, the ‘hard cock’?”

I didn’t appreciate that sort of language and said nothing, hoping he would cut it out, but he went on. “I tell you, Eric, is simple find the womans and make the fun with her. Is all a job . . . a trick . . . how you say, the preliminares–ah, yes, the “foreplay”! You give her much kıbrıs escort foreplay, and zut! You find her in the bed.”

I was starting to regret sharing the scooter. I promised my mother when I enlisted that I would not succumb to the baser instincts–I would not be the lowlife type sailors often became. And this guy wasn’t even an American.

I wished I had his good looks, though. The Red Seas always seemed to part for guys who were handsome, even if I knew more about the problem than they did. Even if I was there first.

And he was big. I was little. Physical size is not what success in life is built on, of course–what do they say, Dynamite comes in small packages?–but all things being equal, it’s better to be big. And João was big, at least 6’2″, and I figured about 250 pounds.

He poured me another glass of wine. That, too, rubbed me the wrong way. I mean, heck, it was only 10:00 in the morning! I don’t like to drink so early. On the other hand, he was a friendly guy, and since he was driving the scooter I had paid for, it looked like I was stuck with him for the day. Anyway, I liked his smile.

He was still talking about preliminares. “I am telling you, Eric, is all a matter of the strategies, eh? The womans, she has her tricks, too. First she show you the skin, não? She show the leg, she show the shoulders.” He looked up from his glass and smiled. “With mans is same thing. You want the womans, you show the skin. I showing you.”

With that, he pulled open the buttons on his uniform shirt, baring the front of his chest. Dang. Hairy. More of that curly black stuff from his head.

Not too hairy, though. Not a thick rug like some of the gorillas in the showers on the Cormorant. João’s chest had a seductive dusting of black curls that didn’t cover up the big contours, they enhanced the big, seductive muscles.

Seductive? What was I thinking? Well, yes, I could see how a woman would definitely find João’s chest seductive. I gulped down the rest of my wine.

He stood up and walked over to the edge of the patio, looking out at the sea. Darn, look at his behind. His pants are too tight. Not good tailoring. Our uniforms are better. I was proud of the US Navy. He can’t be comfortable in those pants. The blue pants clung to his buttocks like groping hands–

–Groping hands?? What in heck am I thinking?

“Now we go.” João’s voice snapped me back to reality.

As we walked back to the Vespa, a couple of Italian girls gave him the once-over. They didn’t look at me. I should’ve worn my uniform. Girls always go for guys in uniform.

We hopped on the scooter and took off. As we rode along, I moved my face next to his ear so I wouldn’t have to yell. “I want to go to the Duomo, the Basilica of San Gennaro!” I tried to hold the guidebook out where he could see it.

He turned his head, speaking over his shoulder. “I am in Napoli before. I take you good place!”

“But wait, I want–“

“I take you special place. You like.” Darn. But it wasn’t too bad. We rode through some picturesque areas. Old Neapolitan buildings. Beautiful city parks. I just didn’t know what I was looking at.

We rode for quite a while, moving out of the city. “Hey, where are we going?”

“I take you Amalfi. You like.”

I looked up “Amalfi” in the book. The Amalfi coast, that’s the beach. “Hey, I don’t want to go to the beach, I want to look at cathedrals–“

“You see church any time. Now we swim”–

“But I don’t have a suit.”

“You are not worry. I handle.”

We left Naples, riding south through some of the most stunning scenery I ever saw. Steep cliffs, gorgeous mountains, and sea views that launched a thousand postcards.

We took a smaller road off the main highway and wound down a narrow ribbon to a small fishing village. Tiny streets only big enough for pedestrians–and a Vespa. Little shops with cheeses hanging from ropes. Big red sprays of peppers hanging from rafters. Luscious Italian girls with sultry eyes.

The sultry looks were for João. When they looked beyond him to whoever was behind, their eyes died. They looked away when they saw me. I have to give him credit. João really is a stud.

Finally we reached a small parking area, actually just a wide spot in the road with a few cars parked at the sides. How the cars got there I didn’t know–couldn’t have come through the streets we did. João stopped the scooter, and we got off. “Now we go the swimming.”

He walked into a small grove of trees nearby, and I followed. “But I don’t have a swimming suit.” Jeez, I sound like a whining kid.

I followed João out of the trees, and we were at a small beach, a strip of about 100 yards of sand bounded at either end by rocky outcroppings that marched from the cliffs behind us into the sea. A private beach.

Well, not so private. Dozens of people lay on the sand, cavorted konya escort in the water, tossed a beach ball–

Oh my heavens! None of them had any clothes on! I looked at João, “Hey this is a nud–“

But he was already stripped down to the waist. Dang! The full view of his upper body.

The seductive black hair I admired when he pulled open his shirt was just the start. He had big pecs. Like turrets on the Italian castles we rode by. Aureoles like big brown 50-cent pieces. Tawny, olive-brown skin.

I swallowed. I’d never really noticed nipples on men before, but his really stuck out.

How obscene. I don’t think he’s a very spiritual guy.

Below that armored chest, his belly reminded me of the cobblestone streets we had rattled over–big, rounded bricks of muscle–and the curly hair on his chest spread down, a trail of black mini-curls from his pecs to his belly button. And beyond.

Dang, I wish I was built like that. But if I had such a body, I would still be spiritual.

“So you see, Eric? Is always good. First you show the little bits of skin, and the womans she come running.”

“But I–but you–“

João had unbuckled his belt. He unbuttoned his pants and let them drop.

Jeez, look at that!

The US Navy had us in white boxer shorts at all times. Either the Portuguese Navy had some interesting supply sources, or João was out of uniform: his underwear was a jockstrap.

But something else: the size of the white pouch was amazing. Big. Danged big. Could’ve held a Delicious apple.

Delicious? Why did I think “delicious”?

A Delicious apple is a variety, the big red ones! I wasn’t thinking what’s inside there is delicious.

Yeah, right.

Then I got to see what was inside. João shucked the jockstrap down off his hips, and–

His penis took my breath away. The man was a bull! Darn, I bet that thing is a babe-magnet. Released from being curled up inside the white pouch, it uncoiled as he stood up straight–jeez, it falls halfway down his thigh! How can he walk with that thing?

He looked at me and smiled. “Is 165 millimeters.”

I gulped. That was 6.49 inches soft. And it was thick. Like the Vespa’s handlebar. Darker brown than the rest of his body. I wish I had a dick like that.

Looking out at the water and the naked women, João reached down absentmindedly to scratch the big thing, reaching under to adjust his balls. Those too, were pubic hand grenades. His nuts were easily twice–heck, three times–as big as mine. Big balls are probably what make him so sex-crazed.

I wish I had big balls.

He looked back at me. “Eric, come, let us go to the swimming. Take off the clothes. Is good. Nobody care. Is the nature beach.”

Doggone it, I don’t want to do this. But he stood watching me. Grumbling, I pulled off my clothes. If only he didn’t stand there staring! He was such a stud, my skinny, pimply, wimpy bod was embarrassing. I felt myself blushing. Finally, down to my US Navy boxers, I hesitated.

I can’t get naked with this guy! I’d be a Ken doll beside Arnold Schwarzenegger.

“Come, Eric, we go to the swimming!”

I sighed and shucked down my underwear. And instantly my face blazed hot. I was so damned embarrassed, I could’ve died.

I had a hardon!

My traitorous peter stood up hard as a nail. João chuckled. “Already you think of the womans, eh?” I was so humiliated–his magnificent body beside my feeble imitation. But my damned prick hardened even more. What in heck is wrong with me? A hardon because I’m embarrassed??

“Come. Now we go to show the womans the skin.”

He turned and walked away, giving me a view of his butt without the tight pants. I gulped. What an ass! Buttocks hard and rounded squeezed together as he walked, and the big muscles in his legs rippled and flexed. The big spread of his back, from his slim hips to the expanse of his shoulders was an erotic sight. No, not “erotic.” Just “handsome.” Women would like it.

I had been riding behind that physique all morning. I had felt it.

But I had other problems. Precum drooled from the tip of my dick. Oh, this is so embarrassing! This is what comes of drinking wine so early in the day!

Wishing I were anywhere else, I trudged after João onto the sand. I felt like a perverted exhibitionist caught by the police and forced to stand naked in public while the cop-car arrived. I knew I was blushing.

But when I forced myself to glance around, I saw no one looking at me. No one. Not a single person. I relaxed a little.

But João got looks. A lot of them. From men, too. A couple of them even sat up to get a better look, and many gave him sultry, come-hither expressions. What a stud! Why can’t I be like that?

Damn! My dick was still hard.

In desperation, I ran past him out onto the beach and into the water, diving into the waves. At kuşadası escort least I don’t have to walk around with the humiliation of a hard prick!

As I hoped, the cold water discouraged my erection. Finally it was safe to come out.

Not.

I had another problem–the cold water gave me such a shriveled-up little peanut, I was smaller than the little boys playing naked in the sand. João called out to me from nearby. He had been swimming, too.

I looked down. His cock is still a monster. No shrinkage. How does he do it?

He walked over to me through the water and threw his arm around my shoulders. “Now we go back to sand, Eric.”

He lowered his voice. “We show more of the skin to womans.”

His powerful, muscular arm gave me a strange sensation. It was warm to my skin, but I got chills. As we walked together out of the water, I glanced down. Dammit! I had another hardon!

It got worse. To my blushing, wished-I-was-dead shame, João noticed my erection. “Aha, my Eric. You are the horny mans. I say to you one mention of show the skin to womans, and so fast you get the big marzapo.” He clapped me on the back. “Maybe we get the horny cabra italiana, não? The horny Italy bitch?”

He brought his mouth close to my ear (and his warm breath gave me a thrill of goose-bumps) “Maybe you share her with me, yes?”

We walked back to where we had stashed our clothes on the sand, and–damn, I really must be drunk!–João’s arm on my shoulders had me so horny, I kept a hardon even while walking and was dripping precum by the time we finally sat down. What in hell is wrong with me?? Did I eat something bad? What is making me so horny?

It couldn’t be a man’s arm around me. That didn’t make sense.

We lay in the sun for a few minutes, then João rolled over to me and murmured, “Now, my Eric, we make again the preliminares for these womans.” His deep, foghorn voice in such soft tones was almost frightening: the sound of a hurricane in chains, a jet engine trying to whisper–the voice of Satan with an irresistible temptation. I trembled as he spoke.

“First thing we do is make the opposes.”

At that I blinked. “Opposes?”

“Is not ‘opposes’? Maybe word is ‘poses’? You look. I show.” He stood up, then sat back on a corner of a big square of concrete, something part of an old sea wall, perhaps.

With his right leg straight to the sand and his left draped over the stone, he leaned back slightly, one arm behind him, which thrust his chest forward. The other hand went palm-down beside him on the concrete, turned so the arm was broadside to passers-by, showing off his big biceps. God, what a pose. And what stud!

There was more: he lowered his chin and raised his eyes, looking up with an expression so sultry I felt my dick throbbing. I had never seen anything so seductive in my life. He smiled. “You see, Eric, the womans she cannot resist these look.”

Neither can I.

No! That’s not what I’m thinking!!

He chuckled. “Ah, is good. I get now the hard marzapo, myself!”

No! No, I can’t look! This is getting obscene! I should get out of here and leave the Portuguese trailer-trash to get a case of clap all by himself!

But I couldn’t help myself. I swear I fought against my neck muscles, but they turned my head. Automatically I looked into his lap. Damn.

My Portuguese friend had a cock I could only describe as mighty. A third leg! I couldn’t believe it–nothing about the man ever eased up!

Still rubbery (no throbbing veins, his foreskin not yet retracted), it stretched out to near ramming-speed length but was still “civilized”–a gentleman interested and mildly aroused by the passing chicks. Not a drug-crazed brute about to rape somebody.

And did it work! Nudist women passing by “dropped” things, which they had to pause and pick up, spreading their legs slightly as they bent over, flashing him an unmistakable invitation.

The same women walked by me, turning their faces away, shrugging the shoulder nearest me, which hid their tits from my sight.

I couldn’t stop looking back at João’s huge manhood. What a cock! He looked at me and smiled, giving me a hip-grind and an even bigger grin.

I looked away, my face hot with embarrassment.

“Come here, my Eric! I show you more the preliminares.”

I bit my lip. I didn’t want to go. This is getting gross and obscene! But I got up and walked over to his rock. He stood looking down the beach. Scoping the babes.

When I sat on the rock, he turned around and faced me. He lifted his right leg up onto the rock behind me, his knee passing behind my back–

Ohmigod! With his leg at my back, my shoulder and arm nudged against his belly. My heart pounded–his giant cock, still only at cruising speed, sagged over my lap. I licked my lips, suddenly dying of thirst.

The loose folds of his foreskin almost touched my own dick, and damn, was I hard, my cockhead tight purple. Cornered like an impala backed against a rock by a lion, I stared down at the Portuguese Navy torpedo.

“Eric, my Eric.” João’s hand dropped to the back of my head, and he tousled my hair playfully.

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