I joined the ship, the SS Iberia, in Fremantle, Western Australia, en route to Vancouver, Canada, to start a new life.

The Iberia was a luxury liner, but don't get me wrong. I could not afford luxury liners. However, the Iberia these days was being contracted by the Australian government on its Europe to Australia leg to transport immigrants, mostly British and Dutch, so for the part of its round-world voyage, from London to Sydney, it was more of a transport ship than a luxury liner.

Oh, yes, it still had its first class section, where we plebeians never ventured, but only about 300 of its passengers could afford that luxury. The rest of us, about 700 more, travelled second class.

Even within second class, there were divisions of "luxury" and I was in the bottom division. I had booked the cheapest possible cabin, way down on F Deck, close to the engine and the props. "Steerage,' I think they used to call it.

But the cabin was just a place to sleep. Even the lowest paying passengers got to share in all the second class amenities on the ship, and they were plentiful: a huge dining room, a movie theatre, a ball-room-cum-cabaret, a games room, a clinic, a gift store, several bars, deck games, and an outdoor swimming pool.

I didn't plan on spending too much time in the cabin. It was a dump - a narrow room with two bunk beds on each side, not enough room between then for two people to pass. I had one of the two bottom bunks. At the extreme end there was a chest of drawers with four drawers - one for each occupant. At the end by the door was a hand basin and a mirror, and beside that another slim door into the very cramped toilet and shower. There was no light from outside at all. In fact, we were below sea-level, so no port-holes.

I mostly came down here to sleep, shower, shit, or change my clothes. Even the shitting and showering I preferred to do in the public washrooms located on each of the lower decks. They were roomier and cleaner.

My cabin mates were no incentive to spend any time in the cabin, either. All three had boarded at Fremantle also.

The first was David, a hideously disfigured young man who had been badly burned in a fire. He was on his way to Europe to undergo plastic surgery. I only ever saw him briefly at night or in the morning. The rest of the day he hid himself away somewhere on the ship. I never did know where, but I never saw him in any of the public areas.

The second was Wolfgang, an aging German man who spoke no English. He had been to Australia to live with his son, but was homesick for Germany and was now returning by the cheapest possible method. I don't think he ever bathed. He smelled to high heaven.

The third member of our cabin, who had the bunk above mine, was Charlie, an English immigrant on his way back home. He was the type Australians call a "whinging Pommy." He was a young man who had come out under the immigrant program, paying only 10 English pounds for his passage to Australia, the equivalent these days of about fifty dollars. He had found nothing to like about Australia: the beaches were too crowded, the sun was too hot, the work was too strenuous, the beer was too cold, and the girls were too snobby. He had complained about everything for so long and so vehemently that the Australian immigration department had eventually agreed to pay his passage home. And now he was complaining that they didn't fly him home.

He and I took an instant dislike to each other, a dislike which was to turn physical within a few days.

The ship sailed out of Fremantle about 3:00 pm, and headed south, pulling up its stabilizers and going flat out to try to get round Cape Leeuwin and into the Great Australian Bight before an incoming storm from the west hit us.

Not long out of port, the gongs for first call to dinner were sounded through the corridors. Meals in second class were served in 3 sittings an hour apart. The dining room could only seat 200 or so at a time. I had been allotted first sitting. My cabin mates were all on third sitting.

It was at dinner that night that I first met Yanni. He was bus-boy for the waiter allotted to us for the journey. James, the waiter, took all our orders and handed out our meals, Yanni, his bus-boy, did things like clearing away used plates and cutlery, refilling water jugs, pouring coffee, and picking up dropped items for passengers.

Yanni was cute, dark, friendly, and Greek.

He also seemed to take an instant liking to me - as I did to him.

The young man looked to be about 19 or 20. I found out later that he was actually 20 in our way of counting age. Greeks often count age from day of birth, so that in your first year your are said to be one, in your second year, two, and so on, so that the day after the 20th year since your birth, you say you are 21. Yanni called himself 21.

When it was time for dessert, James let Yanni take the orders, and the boy made a great show of getting my name and writing it down just right when he took my order for a small banana split. He had me spell my name out for him: D-A-N-N-Y W-I-L-S-O-N.

Then he wanted to call me Mister Wilson, but I convinced him Danny would do, which put a big smile on his face.

The other members of my table, too - Andrew and Anne, a young American couple; Joyce and Ping, a pair of Chinese Canadian sisters,; and Dee, an American girl - all took a liking to Yanni. All of us were in our early twenties, like Yanni himself, while James was probably 35 or 40.

I left the dinner table feeling pleasantly full — and horny for the bus-boy.

Having been round small boats and the ocean and the river all my life, I thought I was immune to seasickness, but I have to admit that first night the rolling of the ship as it headed south soon began to bother me. I headed downstairs to the cabin, and soon was throwing up my delicious dinner. It didn't help. I still felt lousy, so went to bed. Sleep did the trick.

I woke up feeling great, even though the ship was still unsteady, pitching and rolling. I felt good enough to head up for breakfast. All my table-mates were already there, having been unaffected by the rough seas, mostly because all of them had been on board since the ship left Southampton three weeks earlier.

Yanni was also there, which made my breakfast even more enjoyable on my empty stomach. He made sure I got the best of everything and seconds if I wanted them. My table mates noticed the special attention. Andrew, the American guy, even commented on it:

"I think young Yanni has the hots for you. You'd better watch out. You know what they say about Greek men."

I did know what they said, but I wanted to tease Andrew. I feigned ignorance,

"No," I said. "What do they say?"

Andrew, a very nice guy, but a little naive, mumbled something which I didn't catch.

"What's that?" I asked, causing him to repeat it louder.

"They like to screw other men," he said, turning bright red.

All the girls laughed at his embarrassment.

"Hmm, I've never tried that," I lied. "It might be fun. I don't think I'd kick Yanni out of bed. He's way too cute."

Yanni overheard the last part of this conversation, and his usual bright smile grew even brighter.

After breakfast, and a stroll around the decks, which were wet and blustery, there was nothing on the ship's timetable until ten o'clock, so I decided to take a short nap in the cabin while I had it to myself.

I suppose it was an hour later I was awoken by the cabin door opening. I looked up to see Yanni entering with a bucket, mop, broom, and other cleaning implements.

"Oh! Mister Danny!" he exclaimed. "I didn't think anyone would be here."

"Just Danny. Not Mister," I chastened him. "What's going on? Are you working two jobs?" He had changed out of the white shirt and black bow tie he wore as a bus-boy and now was wearing the white jacket of a cabin steward,

"Not really," he told me, "but this is my first voyage, so they put me wherever I am needed. Your cabin steward is ill. They needed someone for cleaning this section. I had finished my breakfast shift, so I volunteered. It helps me to get a better job later," he explained.

Under his olive tan, he blushed a little as he admitted, "And I knew your cabin was in this section and I might see you."

"I see," I said, happy that he wanted to see me also.

"I will be cleaning your cabin in the mornings for two or three more days," he told me.

I considered this. Should I hit on him now? I really thought about it, but this was the first morning. I didn't know what time my cabin mates would be back.

It was just as well I didn't, because just then the cabin door opened once more, and in stepped Charlie, the whinging Pommy.

"Decided to skip brekkie," he said. "They didn't 'ave any kippers, and I sort of fancied kippers this a.m." He looked Yanni up and down.

"What's this bloke doin' 'ere? What you two up to?"

"Just talking," I said. "Yanni's our temporary cabin steward."

"You, then," he said to Yanni, "you get on about your work. None of this standing around yapping." And to me he added, "Don't do to get friendly with the 'elp. They forgets their place."

I wanted to leap up and smack this rude yob in the mouth, but I didn't.

Yanni cleaned the bathroom and the sink, emptied the trash basket, changed the towels, and made up all the bunk beds. Charlie and I had to stand outside for him to do the beds, there was so little room. Then he was gone, on to other cabins. I couldn't wait for lunch, to see him again.

That was the first morning Yanni did our cabin. It was much the same pattern the next two mornings, except that we weren't interrupted by Charlie, who didn't come back until around ten.

During those mornings, I learned a little about Yanni. He was from Athens. His older brother George was also on the ship. In fact, it was his older brother who got Yanni this job, and it was his older brother who was now "sick." In fact, Yanni had convinced him to take a rest for a few days so that Yanni could get to know me a little better. I was extremely flattered. I made sure I came back to the cabin after breakfast each day. But no, I didn't make a move on Yanni, much as I wanted to.

It was the fourth morning that things changed. We were due to berth at Port Melbourne later that morning and most of the passengers were getting ready for sight-seeing trips ashore. My cabin mates were all wolfing down breakfast. Yanni was cleaning the bathroom.

"Danny," he called. "I need to make a piss. Is that OK?"

"Sure," I told him. "Go right ahead."

I expected that he would close the door, but he did not. He unbuttoned the front of his linen jacket, turned to the toilet bowl, flipped his cock out of his pants, and started to piss. He was side on to me. Lying on my bunk I could see it all.

He had a large, dark-colored, uncut cock, and even as he pissed it grew larger. Finished, he stroked it obviously, draining it, and it grew even larger.

He turned his head sideways to see my reaction. When he saw that I was smiling, his eyes lit up. He turned fully toward me. His cock stood up in front of him.

"You like this, eh?" he asked, nodding toward his penis.

"I sure do," I agreed, getting up from my bunk as Yanni stepped back into the cabin, his pants and underwear hanging off his thighs. I went to my knees in front of it. I grasped his dick and fondled it. I licked its tip. I pressed it up against his stomach and licked his balls.

At that point the cabin door burst open once more. I leapt up and Yanni stepped back tucking his cock away and doing up his fly as he did so. But it was too late. Charlie had seen it all. He stepped into the cabin, closing the door behind him.

"What's this, eh?" he demanded. "Couple of faggots 'ere, 'ave we?"

And to me: "Right from the start I figured you for a poofter."

And to Yanni: "As for you, you little greasy Greek cock-sucker, I'm gonna report you to the purser I am, or the captain hisself. You're gonna wind up in the ship's brig, you are, and fired!"

Yanni looked absolutely terrified. He had told me he was relying on this job to pay his way to University after a couple of round-world trips.

I am not a big guy, nor am I much of a fighter, but this morning I turned into a tiger. I leapt at Charlie, grabbing him by the throat, throwing him back against the cabin door. Holding him there, I snarled into his face.

"You are not going to say anything to anyone, not the purser, not the captain, not anyone. If you do, I will personally break your face before I accidentally throw you overboard. They sharks will eat you before you can drown, and we'll be miles away before you are missed. Do you understand me?" I demanded.

Charlie's face went as white as a sheet. Apart from the fact that the Pommy bastard was a bully and a coward, I had hit on a couple of very tender spots: Charlie had mentioned in one of our few conversations that he was deathly afraid of sharks and that he couldn't swim.

"You wouldn't dare," he whispered.

"I certainly would dare," I assured him. "It would be so easy, some evening when you are not expecting it, when you've had a few drinks, just to bump you over the railing. No-one would ever know what happened to you."

"Okay, okay," he cried. "I promise. I won't say anything."

I let him go then, but Charlie got a little revenge by complaining to the purser that our cabin was not being properly cleaned, so Yanni was taken off the job. But in doing so, he had also made the impression on the purser that he was a troublemaker, which soon turned in my favour.

As for me, Charlie gave me dirty looks and mumbled "faggot!" or "poofter!" under his breath every time we met - which, luckily for him, wasn't often.

But the only time I got to see Yanni now was at meals. That is, until our waiter James delivered me an unusual message.

It was the morning we sailed after two-night stop in Sydney

While Yanni poured me an after-breakfast cup of coffee, James leaned down to my ear, and softly said, "The purser sends his regards and asks me to tell you he would like the pleasure of your company in his cabin after breakfast."

I was about to ask why, but I saw Yanni behind James shake his head "no," put a finger to his lips as if to say "shh!", and give me a broad wink and a smile. Obviously, Yanni had been up to something which involved me.

My first thought was that Charlie had reported my cock-sucking interlude with Yanni, but then it occurred to me that Yanni would not be smiling about this.

My table-mates were all curious about what was going on, but I assured them I had no more idea than they did.

The purser on this ship did far more than handle passengers money and valuables for them. He was also in charge of all matters financial for the ship, passengers' complaints, and the overall supervisor of staff.

After breakfast, I made my way to his administrative cabin which was accessed through the ship's gift store. The cashier at the store announced my presence and ushered me in.

The purser was seated at his desk when I entered but stood to greet me.

"Ah, Mister Wilson," he said, shaking my hand. "Please be seated. Let me assure you, I have spoken to the Captain about this matter and we are most sorry for your unpleasant situation and we wish to recompense you in some way."

What matter? What unpleasantness?

"When your steward informed us what had been happening we were mortified, especially when we learned you had been suffering through this indignity every night since we left Perth."

What indignity had I been suffering?

"Of course, your cabin mate on the upper bunk can not really be held to blame. It is not his fault that he has such a weakened bladder that he cannot control it at night. It it so unfortunate that you had to be below him and suffer it in such a way."

Aha! Apparently someone had told them that Charlie wet his bed and pissed on me every night. What a blatant lie, and what a little schemer Yanni was. It was all I could do not to crack a big grin, or even burst out laughing.

"To make up for this indignity, we have moved you into a cabin on C Deck," he told me. "It is a two-person cabin, and usually suited for married couples, but you will have it to yourself. It is not an outside cabin, however. I hope you do not mind?"

Mind? I was elated!

"There is only one slight problem. If this cabin should become needed for embarking passenger, we might have to change your accommodation again, but this is unlikely to happen. Sydney is our last major embarkation port before your destination."

I assured the purser that those conditions would be fine by me.

"Yes, I thought they would be," he told me, "and I have sent your cabin steward down to your current cabin to help you with moving your belongings. He will be waiting for you there now.

"Thank you for your understanding," he told me, shaking my hand once more as he escorted me to the door.

I went straight down to my dungeon on F Deck to find Yanni's brother George waiting there for me with a big grin on his face.

It didn't take me long to pack my few clothes and belongings into my suitcase, and George carried it as he led me upstairs again to C Deck.

He deposited my suitcase on the corridor floor at the door to the cabin on C Deck and handed me the key.

"I will not come in," he told me. "You might want to be alone in your new cabin," he added, with a straight face.

I picked up my suitcase, unlocked the cabin door, and stepped in. It was a paradise!

It was more like a modern hotel room than a ship's cabin. It was not huge, but compared to the cabin on F Deck it was enormous, and it was dominated by a huge King-size bed.

I was still taking in my new-found luxury when I heard a slight noise off to my side. I looked in that direction. There, sitting on the floor in the corner of the cabin, out of sight of the door, which I now closed hurriedly behind me, was Yanni, stark naked.

He had a huge smile on his face, but nothing else. It was, however, obvious that he was horny, because his cock was swollen, ready to rise to the occasion.

"Why are you hiding behind the door?" I asked.

"To surprise you," he said. "And in case the purser came with you. I knew George would keep him out, but I didn't want the purser to see me through the door."

"Does George know you are here naked?" I asked.

"I'm sure he would guess," Yanni told me. "He knows I like you. He knows I like men. He likes men, too."

"Do you and George ... ?" I began, but left it at that.

"Yes," Yanni replied, matter-of-factly. "We are brothers; we are homos; we fuck each other. It is very convenient at times.

"And you told the purser that Charlie was pissing on me?" Even while I was talking to Yanni, I was stripping my clothes off, and he had risen to come towards me.

"No, George did that. It was his idea. I told him about you and Charlie. He had the idea to tell the purser that story. George knew there are empty cabins. He wants me to be happy. It was his idea for me to be here to surprise you, too."

"Was it his idea for you to be naked, too?"

"No," Yanni admitted. "That was my own idea."

By now he had fallen back upon the huge bed and had propped himself up with one of the P&O decorated pillows, his now rock-hard cock in his hands. He had pulled back his foreskin, and his glistening plum of a dick-head beckoned me.

I could resist the invitation no longer. Now stark naked like Yanni, I clambered on to the bed with him. Without a pause, I lunged my mouth down onto his cock, driving it down my throat. I heard Yanni cry out something in Greek, but I knew it was a cry of delight of appreciation. I felt the knob of his rod hit the back of my throat, almost choking me. I held my breath and forced myself down upon the shaft even more. Then I gradually eased back up, allowing his pole to slip up and out of my mouth.

"That is so very good," he whispered. "Let me do it to you," he suggested. And while I knelt on the bed, he went down on me, taking my penis deep into his throat.

We played that game for quite a few minutes, taking turns to deep-throat each other, both getting harder and harder.

It soon became more intimate, rather than just straight sex games, when we found ourselves kneeling in the center of the bed, embracing each other and kissing hungrily, trying to find heaven in each other's mouths.

That moved on into fondling each other's bodies, touching, feeling, pinching. Is this real? Nipple play soon followed, pinching them or nibbling with teeth.

But soon we were at each other's cocks once more. Yanni flopped back on the bed, an olive-gold invitation for me to straddle him, which I did, kneeling on all fours over him, my cock dangling down toward his searching mouth, while his cock reached up toward my very-willing one. We gobbled at each other's cocks as if they were giant popsicles, sliding them in and out of our mouths. He used his tongue and teeth on my foreskin, sliding it back and forth over the ridge of my cock-head, thrilling me until I almost wanted to scream and spurt my cum down his throat.

But I knew that more than anything else, I wanted his long, thick cock to enter my asshole, to impale me on it. I wanted to be a peace of souvlaki meat on his shish-kabob stick. I told Yanni this, and he suggested I sit down on it, lowering myself at my own rate. He sat up on the bed, leaning back against the bed-head.

It was awkward, but I squatted over him, my back to him, and gradually lowered myself down on the the thick pillar he held erect to welcome my descending anus. I had not bothered with lube, so anxious was I to have Yanni in me, but a few drops of pre-cum had gathered on his ripe plum, and my own ass seemed to be exuding natural lubrication juices, for when I fingered my asshole with spit-moistened fingers, it was very wet already.

Whatever the reason, Yanni's stiff, thick cock slipped relatively easily into me. I had to stop a couple of times to get used to the pain and the stretching, but my asshole seemed to accommodate the alien invasion very rapidly. It was stretching, stretching, stretching, opening wider to take in the thick pillar that was Yanni's penis.

For a while, I bent and flexed my knees lifting myself up and down onto Yanni's pole. It was sliding in and out quite smoothly, and I felt it forcing tissues apart inside me. It was a wonderful feeling.

Occasionally we would pause in our gymnastics to find each other's mouths, and explore with our tongues, and swap spit, before resuming my frog squats on Yanni's cock.

But the strain on my knees, and on our necks from trying to kiss, became too much. I pulled up and off of his rod, and flopped on my back beside him. He didn't let me rest for long. He wanted his dick back inside my manhole, and spreading my legs, he squatted on his knees between then, lifted them up onto his shoulders, baring my manhole for a new assault. Leaning forward, he guided his rod to my welcoming man cave and pushed it forward and into me once more. I felt every inch of it entering me as he slowly pressed forward.

Fully inside me, he could lean even further forward, lowering his mouth down to meet mine. In this position we could easily kiss and fuck at the same time.

And when it was time, Yanni could easily go into power fuck mode, which he eventually did, pounding at my willing asshole rapidly, again and again and again, until I felt him quiver and shake and cry out, "Oh, Danny! Danny!" as he squirted glob after glob of his man juice way way up inside my colon.

When he was done, his dick didn't shrink right away. It remained swollen inside me, and somehow we managed to squirm around until we were laying with my back to him, and his cock still buried inside me.

We lay there for ages, him kissing me, and me reaching to kiss him, and occasionally squeezing on his dick with my anal muscles. Eventually, I could feel his cock hardening inside me once more, extending further into me. I clinched my muscles to encourage it more, until Yanni was ready to give me another fast fucking, still in that position, lubricated with his own cum from the first explosion.

By the time we finished then, it was time for Yanni to leave me to prepare for the first lunch sitting.

At lunch that day, I told my friends about my good fortune in being promoted to a better cabin. I even told them the reason, that I was supposedly being peed on nightly by my cabin mate. I did not tell them that Yanni's bother George had cooked to scheme up so his little brother and I could be together.

That morning was not the last time Yanni and I fucked on that voyage. Every day for the next three weeks we would would find some time to be together in that cabin, which was mine for the rest of my trip. I never did get shifted out of it.

Occasionally we also managed an all-nighter, Yanni sleeping with me until about five in the morning before slipping back to the crew's quarters to ready for work.

Usually, Yanni would come to my cabin in a steward's uniform. That way, if he got questioned by one of the officers about what he was doing in the corridors, he could say he was on a service call to me - which was true, in a way. He was servicing me - and I him.

But eventually the ship reached Vancouver, and it was time for me to disembark.

Yanni managed to stay with me all night on the night before we reached Vancouver, and we said very tearful - and very passionate - goodbyes. We promised to keep in touch, and I did meet up with him once again, about six months later when the Iberia was in port in Vancouver again for a two night stop-over. Yanni and I spent one of those nights in a hotel room together. But that was his last trip. He was returning to Athens to go to University. I never saw him again after that.

But I will never forget Yanni, nor that wonderful cabin on C Deck.

Of course, Charlie, the whinging Pom, eventually got wind of my good fortune in getting placed in a better cabin, and wanted to know how I did it. I refused to tell him.

Charlie wheedled and cajoled, hoping to pull whatever stunt I had pulled to get the cabin, but I just smiled at him smugly and told him:

"You don't really want to know!"

"Wot did yer do? Suck the Captain's cock or somethin'?"

I just shook my head, smiled, and started to walk away.

"Well, if yer not gonna tell me, piss on yer then!" he called after me.

Little did he know how close he was to the truth.

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