Photo by GAN

Neptune’s Son

by John S. Lloyd

rawlingbros@gmail.com

The azure surf's color is disturbed by inky blotches of seaweed casting eerie shadows. The waves crash against the coral shelf right below our balcony at the Oyster Pond Resort in St. Maarten, French West Indies. The pounding, pounding, pounding of the frothy surf defines the life of this place. Naked in the French West Indies is easy. Being totally free of clothing is to be expected. No embarrassment, no harassment, just acceptance. It's French.

My snorkeling partner and I take a motorized fishing boat to a cluster of rocks that define the entrance of Grand Case bay. The high rock, which reaches forty feet into the sky, is buffeted from the north by the waves of the channel separating St. Maarten and Anguilla. The south side where we plan to snorkel is calmer.

Once anchored we strip off our swimming suits and dive off the side of the boat. I have both goggles and snorkel firmly clutched in my right hand. I take time to adjust the mask so fog will not cloud what I hope is going to be a spectacular view of colorful fish and coral in an underwater world. I leave my flippers behind and wear Tevas instead so I can walk onto a small rocky beach.

When I put my mask on, a shimmering underwater world invites me in. What had been cloudy opens. A clear mask allows the snorkeler to come inside a mysterious kingdom. Caution is required because your butt can become sunburned. Waterproof suntan must be slathered thickly on parts of your body that rarely see the sun. Caribbean sun is intense.

I swim looking down into the ten foot deep water to see purple fish, yellow fish and eels. These slippery creatures scurry in and out among the jagged rocks. Ahead of me is another diver who isn't my partner. I did not see him. He, like me is naked but unlike me, he is glistening bronze from the top of his shaved African head to his toes. I come up to clear my goggles because this is a creature I will follow. Quickly I have my face back in the water with this human creature leading me toward the rocks.

Rather than swimming off, he seems to wait for me. He slowly swims toward the rocky beach. I am mesmerized by the swaying of his massive cock and his sac. Even the hair on his sack is fun to watch as it floats effortlessly. His asshole, which is tight and dark, appears every now and then as he does a slow, methodical frog kick. I can feel my own cock stiffening. He swims and I follow. He slows and lets me get close but never close enough to touch. I see his Michangelo's David-sized hand stroke his uncut cock as if adjusting it. I smile at his enticement. He suddenly dives down to the bottom to snag a prize. I watch as he descends and ascends. He comes up close and puts a piece of red and white coral into my hand. He swims away with muscles flexing as he reaches to touch the smooth rocks in front of the tiny beach.

Barefoot he carefully steps onto the pebbles and treads until he finds a sandy patch. I step onto the shore but not nearly as gracefully as he does. I sit on a rock but keep my excited lower half below the water line. His bronzed body is elegant and is shining with the salty water. With me as audience he strokes his massive cock into excitement. He looks from side to side with our eyes locking only momentarily. His magnificent cock is totally erect. He plays and strokes. I don't move as he works himself to explosion. With a beautiful grimace he shoots a pure white line into the air. There is momentary calm before he steps past me and dives into the sea. He swims effortlessly toward his boat. He never speaks.

When I am back in our boat my partner asks what I was doing by the island. He did not see Neptune's son. I laughingly tell him about my gorgeous sea creature. He laughs unbelievingly as he turns the dinghy back toward our anchored sailboat.

I know what I saw was not a dream because later that night, in Marigot, FWI, I saw the swimmer again. Our eyes locked momentarily but he didn't recognize me.