Rod Barson’s skillful departure was unseen by Steffi and the four men, as they stood below decks, stunned and astonished at the sheer primal, animal rutting perversity of what had just happened. As if of one mind, the four men all dropped their cargo shorts and stood there, with their four rigid erections of such various sizes and shapes.

“It’s all of us now Steffi, all at once,” said Greg quietly but urgently. “If you aren’t ready now, you’ll never be.” She acquiesced and got on her hands and knees on the floor. Hank mounted her from behind, sliding his monstrously thick penis deep inside her in one smooth, assured motion. Greg stuck his long cock inside her mouth and began giving her a vigorous skull-fucking. Jeff and Brett stationed themselves to each side, and she began jacking their stiff cocks. They leaned across her back and began kissing each other. “Jesus kee-RIST you guys, give it a rest!” yelled Greg. After a few minutes, he exclaimed, “Rotate!” and they all shifted one position. Now he and Hank were getting jacked, and Jeff and Brett were getting sucked and fucked. They leaned forward with their hips, pushing their cocks as deep as possible inside her mouth and pussy. At the same time, they grabbed each other’s nipples and leaned their upper bodies backwards – pulling themselves away from each other. Greg let out a low grunt of disapproval but said nothing.

Then, a few minutes more and another rotation, and then another one so they all had been in each position once. In an earlier, more genteel time, Steffi would have been known as a courtesan. Sensing the approaching orgasms of these four hot studs, she expertly altered her pressure – a hand squeeze here, a nibble there, a hip roll there, to expertly bring all four of them to simultaneous orgasm. Within seconds of each other, all four of the men shot their loads in the air, almost of all of it landing on her back with wet splattering sounds. They wiped her back off, and she staggered forward into the cabin for some rest. But not before sending one text message and making two brief cell phone calls.

The men went on deck and spent the rest of the afternoon trying to compete at least half-heartedly in the race. But, with all inhibitions more or less gone, none of them bothered to get dressed again, oblivious to the glances and stares from others in the boats they passed. Greg finally fell asleep on the roof of the cabin.

Steffi came on deck and, realizing that she owed them one last fuck, got an idea. So, as Equus passed under Golden Gate Bridge and entered the bay, tourists up on the bridge and boats nearby were greeted with the sight of a big, athletic, hairy and extremely well-endowed man lying on the roof of a sailboat, as a pert, petite naked woman came out of the cabin, scrambled up on deck, and then impaled herself on his massive phallus.

But, then, she reached above her head and grabbed the boom with both hands, and then, amazingly, swung her legs up so she was hanging from the boom upside down like a monkey, but still with Greg’s rigid, 9” cock buried inside her. Applause, war whoops and wolf whistles erupted from the boats around them, and a few cheers could be heard drifting on the wind from observers high above them on the bridge. The sheer public vulgarity of this exotic sex act, between two incredibly sexual human beings, was mind-bending and breathtaking. Nobody who ever saw it would ever forget.

When they came and collapsed in each other’s arms, giggling, Hank said, “Ah, you two lovebirds might want to go get dressed. We’re less than 15 minutes from the finish line.” So they sailed on to a respectable mid-class position, and then returned to the marina. After they finished cleaning the boat, the five of them stood on the dock. “Well. . .” Greg said. “Greg, you’re a sweetheart, and I’ll always love you, but you’re never going to get another woman, particularly not as wonderful as Lia was, unless you cut the fratboy bullshit and grow up,” said Steffi. “You two, just admit your gay. Nobody cares anymore. Your exes will be relieved you aren’t going to hook up with women, and your kids won’t mind.” Jeff and Brett grinned at her. “Hank, it’s not your fault that your wife turned out to be a lez, and it isn’t the fault of the women of the world, either. Stop taking it out on us. I’ve got a friend, not a pro, who likes guys built like you. Here’s her number,” she said, scribbling a phone number on one of her business cards. “It was a great day, but I’ve gotta go.” The hired Town Car she had phoned from the boat sat idling in the parking lot at the top of the marina. She gave each of them a chaste kiss on the cheek, and then skipped up the dock, her hair glistening in the late afternoon sun.

There wasn’t much to say after that, so the four men shook hands, high-fived and bear-hugged each other, and then departed.

Three hours later . . .

After a long, hot bath and half a valium to relax, Greg sat alone on the edge of the bed in his apartment, and began kissing and licking the head of his penis. As it stiffened and lengthened he put it more fully in his mouth and began self-sucking, replaying the sights and sounds and tastes and touches and smells of the remarkable day.

Jeff hit the garage door opener and guided his BMW SUV into the narrow parking stall in his apartment. “Let me grab my duffel and you can let me out the door,” Brett said. Jeff hit the remote again and they were enveloped in gloom as the garage door closed. In a voice choked with emotion, he said, “No. Come upstairs. I want you to fuck me. I’m finally ready.”

There was a knock on the door of Room #850 at the Mark Hopkins. Rod Barson opened it. “Miss Stephanie, I was delighted to get your text. C’mon in, we’ve only just met and we have SO much more to find out about each other!”

In a small, candle-lit apartment far on the other side of town, Hank dropped his jockey shorts and Steffi’s friend Melinda King sank to the floor on her knees. “What do you want to do?” she whispered. “I want to fuck my way all the way inside you and never stop,” said Hank.

About thirty minutes later, five men and two women had explosive orgasms with their respective lovers, their cries, groans, shouts and screams echoing around the walls of their respective bedrooms, and out into the cold San Francisco night air.

The End. Or, perhaps, the beginning?