The all-male-all twenty-year-old crew of the Giggly Roger had met at Captain Roger's Bar and Massage Parlor the night before the sailing. Ten of the men had drunk too much and the other ten had fucked too much, but they bonded as fast as a case and a half of Elmo's Glue (and don't ask where exactly Elmo manufactured his special creamy paste-only the voyeur across the alley from his parent's home on Biltmore Alley knew the horrible truth that held the Flying Penis Flag flying up and rampant on the ship's mast.

And after spending the entire night wandering up and down the halls and romping naked in the showers and measuring each other's penises with the yard stick by the bathhouse door they all signed the three-year indenture that would shackle them (figuratively, not literally) on board the 120-foot-long yacht.

So, they stumbled aboard; naked, of course, because their clothes had been ripped apart by each other's sweaty paws the night before, where they were met by transgendered Andi McCauliff, the Giggly Roger's chief medical officer, nail designer, coloratura soprano and flag-bearer.

"Line up here," Andi yelled through her two-foot-long megaphone in the shape of a penis. "It's time to separate the great from the near great." She whipped out her tape measure and began going down the line: "Eight or more inches and you stay in cabins. Less than that you're sleeping in the scullery so if you want to get it throbbing and moving, do so now." Andi loved her job but was also a coloratura soprano and began singing her favorite Methodist Hymnal Song (#69, of course) "Oh come, come, come, come to the church in the wildwood, oh, come, come, come." And oh holy fuck how she laughed her cute petite virgin ass off as man after man did exactly that! Thank the gods in heaven - they'll all end up sleeping in the scullery!

As much as Andi giggled, however, she (and the crew) all knew how his/her penis had ended up on the cutting room floor of the Hollywood Hospice and Hospital for Sex Reassignment (next door to the now defunct Ronald Reagan Screening Room-where, if tales be believed, more than screening was performed)-and she learned (through subsequent secret messages with other patients) that her particular penis ended up on the re-enhanced body of Bobby Sinclair, a trans who had gone the other way . . . and she often wondered about those strange nights she had when she woke with a start and felt as if her equipment was hard at work in another trans's body, doing his husbandly duties.

Down she went (no pun intended) as she sucked each of the men-waiting for her morning cream and hoping there would be very few scullery maids on this cruise. The last cruise, she thought, was a regular bitch. Sure, we ate good-but it was food, vapidly insipid, tasteless fodder for the hogs, but food nonetheless, when all he/she really needed was cum. Miles and Miles of cum-nothing but cum, so help me God!

Andi continued her siren song as she devoured man after man, swallowing slowly, savoring, savoring then continuing on down the line - as the head nurse, working her tired kneecaps down the wooden planks from penis to penis, singing, Oh cum, oh cum, Emanuel.


Chapter Two
Cumming soon!
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