By Jay Lygon

Old Man River. The Gathering of Waters. Moon River. The Mississippi had a bunch of nicknames, but to my recollection, none of them warned me about the moldy basement and fish stink of the water. Seven days into my twenty-eight day shift on the tow Ginny Beam, I still hadn't gotten used to that smell, which had me thinking maybe life on the river wasn't for me. The other thing that had me convinced I'd made "a poor career choice," as my tech school guidance counselor would have put it, was a crewmember so massive it was hard to wrap my mind around the fact that his name was Billy.

Sure, there were grown men in my hometown who still went by the name Billy, but they were pasty white, with beer guts and mean eyes. I couldn't reconcile that with brown eyes always crinkled up in a smile, thick black chest hair so wild that it tried to climb out of a tight T-shirt, or faded jeans that showed the outline of a left hanging, mouth-watering package. So I kept mentally substituting names that I felt fit co-worker Billy better. The only nickname that seemed to suit him was Bear, and I wasn't about call him that until I got a better feel for how things stood between us.

It was bad enough that I was lusting after him, but to make matters worse, Billy was my cabin mate. At night, his breath never fell out of its regular deep cadence as I quietly jerked off, but it seemed like he had to know what I was doing. I sure heard it when he pumped away under his sheets, although I took pains to lie still and not let him know my cock was aching for his fist.

Daytime wasn't much better. Our quarters were so small you couldn't cuss at the proverbial cat without getting fur in your mouth, and there was no way to move around it without bumping against Billy's huge, hairy, solid, muscled, hot body. Ever since I'd come aboard, I hadn't been able to meet Billy's eyes, but it sure seemed as if every other part of me had rubbed against him, on account of our quarters being so close, and me not trying very hard to avoid him.

Other than the four of us deck hands, there was only the captain and mom--not my mother, but the cook--and the wheelman on board. Me and Billy worked the twelve-hour day shift. The two other deck hands worked the back watch at night. Considering that the fifteen-barge tow was as long as a football field, two deck hands could go all shift without being near enough to talk, which suited me just fine. When Billy was near, my gaze would drift to his big silver belt buckle and on down to the outline of his cock pressing against his tight jeans. My thoughts would turn to naked wrestling and I'd sort of lose track of the conversation. He probably thought I was a little retarded.

All day long, we'd been sueging the boat, which was river talk for swabbing the deck. That didn't mean just mops and pails. We also had to tend the lines that secured the fifteen barges to the tow that pushed them along the river. But mostly sueg meant scrubbing bird shit and doing general maintenance under an unforgiving sun in near hundred percent humidity.

Toward the end of shift, I picked up the pneumatic needle gun and went to work chipping a patch of rust on one of the barges. Even with my ear protectors on, the chipper made an awful racket. My bones rattled with the vibration. I had to clamp my jaw tight so my teeth wouldn't clack together. I'd seen Billy work a rust spot for twenty minutes straight, but after ten, I had to turn off the chipper. Dark patches of sweat circled under my pits and in a solid stripe down the center of my chest. As I wiped my brow with the hem of my T-shirt, Billy sauntered over, leaned against a container, and watched me with a smug smile. His lips moved.

I pulled off my ear protectors. "What?"

"Makes your titties bounce, don't it?"

Stupidly, I glanced down at my exposed pecs. My nips were hard and red from rubbing against my shirt. When I looked up, Billy had hold of his package. Oh, so it was like that. A world of worry slipped off my shoulders. Here I'd thought I'd have to suffer unrequited lust for days on end without relief, but instead, I was going to my hands, and mouth, onto Billy--the sooner, the better. I grinned and took my time lowering my shirt. He squeezed his cock.

"Save the chipping for tomorrow. Check the starboard lines. I'll check port. By the time we've finished, shift will be over," Billy said.

I figured that meant we'd get down to business as soon as we got off shift, so I lit out for our cabin the second the other shift came onto deck. Oh boy, oh boy, I was gonna get some. My cock about bust out of my jeans from the thought of it. But after pacing our quarters for about five minutes, it seemed I was wrong. Billy hadn't come back. What the hell was up with that? A little steamed, I headed for the galley, but hoped I'd bump into Billy along the way so we could head back and finish what I'd already started inside my head.

The smell of coffee, meat, and biscuits grew stronger as I walked down the gangway. Hunger hit my stomach and made it gurgle. Maybe eating first wasn't such a bad idea after all. Billy must have thought so, 'cause he was already at the table in his usual spot. I plopped down across from him. He smirked as his hand casually slid below the table. From the twinkle in his eye, it didn't take much imagination to guess he was rubbing his crotch. Already hard, I got a might bit uncomfortable and had to shift to free my balls from a pinch. He laughed and dug into his food.

Mom slapped a plate in front of me. I scooped a big helping of her western macaroni out of the casserole. Steam curled off the piping hot macaroni and cheese that was mixed with corn, green peppers, hamburger, and tomatoes. A pad of butter melted into a golden lake atop grits that filled the rest of my plate. I bowed my head, but I wasn't thanking Jesus for the chow. Instead, I was thanking him for creating such a hot hunk of man, and for being kind enough to have us sharing quarters.

When I got done with my prayer, I wrapped an arm around my plate and shoveled food into my mouth. It was the temperature of the sun, so I grabbed a glass of iced tea and washed down the scalding bite. A searing trail, followed by a cooler one, made its way down my chest. Billy chuckled as I pumped my fist against my ribs.

"Slow down, Kid. We got all night. Don't want you to choke." After a sip of his coffee, he whispered. "Leastways, not on Mom's cooking."

My face heated up. That made him laugh even more.

The galley door slammed open and the rest of the crew filed in. Since everything in the galley was bolted down, including the chairs, I couldn't scoot in to let them pass behind me. Bellies ruffled the hair on the back of my head as they went by. Plopping down at their usual places, the guys grabbed coffee and reached for serving spoons.

While everyone else got serious about eating, the wheelman leaned back in his seat and ran a hand over his high and tight mousey brown hair, a sure sign that he was building up a head of steam to deliver one of his rambling lectures. Like a preacher surveying the congregation from his pulpit, the wheelman eyed each of us with a measuring squint in his left eye. Maybe he passed on his wisdom for my benefit, but from the way the others glanced across the table and rolled their eyes, I had a feeling he delivered his sermons no matter who his audience was.

"We just passed St Louis. Upriver from here is shallower. More teeth--that means sandbars and tree stumps and rocks. We don't usually come upriver with a load, but since we got cargo, we're sitting lower in the water than usual so we gotta be more careful. It takes skill to read the river, to see what signals the old man's sending out and figure out what they mean."