To explain how I ended up on a dark beach in North Carolina with an aroused 18 year old boy's cock in my trembling grasp and my girlfriend sleeping oblivious and contented back up at the cottage, I have to first describe something that happened to me in a dorm bathroom.
I was just finishing my shower and stepping back into the steamy room when Brian came in. He was yawning. His hair was tussled. A sheet print ran down one side of his face. He nodded at me by way of greeting with his eyelids half shut. He shifted his weight from foot to foot while I dried myself, modestly turning my back to him while I moved the towel over myself. I turned back around and found him still in his robe, yawning and rubbing his eyes. I started to gather my things: my soap dish, the t-shirt and underwear I'd worn into the hall bathroom. As I pulled the shampoo bottle out of the shower stall, Brian took off his robe with a kind of shrug, put it on the hook, then turned toward the shower stall I'd just vacated.
His cock pointed the way, six inches, half hard, parallel to the floor. It was beautiful. I recall a conversation I heard on the bus to high school one morning: the two girls were talking about their boyfriends' dicks and saying how they would never call them beautiful like they'd heard on some porn movie or something. But this cock was beautiful. It was bright pink, smooth, soft looking and eminently touchable.
I'd never given Brian a second look. He was quiet. He didn't play sports with the rest of the guys on the hall, though he had at least two girls with him at all times. He once complained about his roommate's dime store portrait of Jesus and its strangely leering eyes. To the hearty laughter of me and the other guys he said he couldn't even contemplate doing anything acrobatic in bed with that picture looking at him. At the time I thought he was referring to those girls, but now, I imagined him with another guy. I even imagined him with me.
There was another reason I didn't give Brian another look: I'm straight.
So these thoughts about and inspired by Brian's cock were problematic for me.
But these dreams about Brian's cock and the things I might have done or said reverberated in my mind for years afterward. Sometimes I wondered if I might be bisexual. When a girl was giving me head and I had my hands all tangled up in her long blonde hair as I watched her pretty mouth on my decidedly unbeautiful cock, I started to wonder about what it would be like to have a guy suck me. And as I jerked off in the shower, I'd wonder what it would be like to touch another guy and maybe to suck him off, the softness of the skin on a hard dick, the hot cum in my mouth. Sometimes I'd throw my legs over my head and shoot into my own mouth for the salty thrill of it.
Years later, still obsessed by that fleshy pink, touchable, suckable, perfect cock just feet away, I related this story to an on-line friend. His response was to say: "You should've given it a couple pumps just to see what would happen."
I was horrified. "I couldn't do that!" I said. "I would've been too worried about him blabbing to all the other straight guys on the hall, losing my girlfriend, becoming a pariah..."
He said "In my experience, that's what everybody really wants. Just grab it-worry about consequences later. Besides, it would've been his word against yours if he didn't like it."
Years later I was laying on the beach napping. When I turned over onto my back my dick tented my swim trunks like it does when I relax. My girlfriend looked at it overtop her book and smiled a bit. I flipped back over, resting my chin on my crossed arms. My half hard dick got me to thinking about Brian's and how I never did anything about it, couldn't even manage to time my shower so that I might catch a glimpse of him again despite my best efforts.
A few yards down the beach there were some people fishing. When I'd gone to sleep there had just been a guy the age and shape of Santa Claus, but now there were two boys with him. One was probably about 23, denim hat pulled low over his head, dozing in the beach chair like a drunk. The other was about 18, smooth, bronzed all over with a slight, swimmers' build, loose fitting cargo shorts hanging so low you could see the elastic and about an inch and a half of his blue boxers. He stood on the beach a few yards away, grinding in the fishing lines, then effortlessly casting them far out past the breaking waves: A flash of armpit hair, a tightening of the tight stomach, a follow through in the form of a tight muscle on the leg just below the knee, and a flash of pink foot sole. Then he'd put the pole into the buried PVC pipe and go down the beach to the next pole.
I think he saw me watching him, despite my dark sunglasses. Every time he picked up a pole, cast it out, or reeled it back in he would shoot a glance at me. I'm not sure if he was showing off, hoping I'd catch him reel in a fish, if he thought maybe I was some kind of pervert or something, or if he was thinking about what I was thinking about... boy's hard cocks, tightening scrotums, and squirts of hot cum. I thought back on my on-line friend's advice and decided then and there that if I had a chance, I would not squander it.
I went back to sleep to images of River Phoenix in My Own Private Idaho. There's a scene where he's receiving fellatio. All you see is his perfect chest and the head of a guy moving up and down. After he cums the guy throws money at him, which lands on his lower abdomen. River zips up the bills in his pants (carefully presumably since there are no undies seen or implied) and the scene is cut in such a way that his pubic hair is just off the screen. Nevertheless, you can imagine that wet cock, shriveling up in his jeans. It's one of my favorite lullabies, this image.
Later on after a shower, a couple drinks and spaghetti, my girlfriend declared herself worn out and we went up to bed. All that napping, daydreaming, and dreaming on the beach left me unable to sleep, so I told her I was going out for a walk on the beach. She sort of grunted a sleepy "OK, love ya," and rolled over.
I took my flashlight, but the moon was so bright I didn't need it. Listening to the roaring of the surf, I walked straight out from the dunes towards the water. An occasional ghost crab startled me by scrabbling across by bare feet and I cursed when I stumbled over somebody's clam-shell-studded sand castle. Looking a short way down the beach, I could see a light and a shadow closer to the surf. I admit that my heart skipped a beat when I thought that it might be that fishing kid.
I walked down the beach towards the shadow. The tide was coming in and the waves were coming up higher now than they had been when I was sleeping on the beach. The firm sand under my feet dissolved when the foam slammed around my ankles. The mole crabs gurgled far down below as the water receded.
As I got closer I was sure my eyes were playing tricks on me. It looked like my fishing boy. If I moved my eyeballs so that I wasn't looking directly at him (astronomer's trick) it appeared that he was, nah, he couldn't really be... but his head was tilted way back and his hands looked really busy near the front of his shorts.
I pulled the flashlight out of my back pocket and switched it on. The beam danced in the water, on the sand, on his bare feet, his smooth bronze legs, the bottom of his wet shorts, his open fly and his hard pink cock peeking out from his open zipper and boxer fly and partly enclosed by his fingers. His whole body jerked as he tried to cram his hard dick back into his shorts.
The thought instantly came into my head that this was one of those opportunities my on-line friend had told me about.
The boy had turned and was rushing back up to his bait cooler and the flashlight laying in the sand pointed at it. I clicked my own flashlight off and followed him up the beach. "It's OK." I said. "Don't be scared," the whole way thinking about lightly tracing that cock with my fingers.
He grabbed up the flashlight and shone it directly in my eyes. Despite my squint and the bright red and purple image trails in my retina, I could see him relax a little as if he recognized me from earlier on the beach. "You startled me," he said.
"Sorry. Can I sit down?" I referred to the bait cooler, exhaling heavily and generally acting as if he startled me as much as I startled him.
In the light of his flashlight I could see that his face was flushed and he was looking at me as if trying to decide whether I'd seen as much as he feared and how embarrassed he should be about it all.
"Did you see her?" I asked in a stage whisper.
"Who?" he said.
"You don't know about the mermaid?"
"What?!" he asked with a little laugh.
"Legend is that there's a mermaid that comes upon fishermen in the night surf."
"Yeah?" he started to look interested and actually took a step closer to me. Was I really doing this? I felt almost like I was outside of my body watching myself seduce this kid. His perfect chest showed him to be still breathing heavily.
"She waits until they wade out into the waves to cast their lines and she starts it in the water."
"Starts what?"
"She grabs your pants like this," I said, grabbing his loose waistband. He was a little surprised, but he didn't pull away and my fingers were hooked over his button and my thumb was rubbing along the zipper. He was still hard. My head's shadow covered his crotch. I looked up at his face watching my hand.
"Yeah?" he breathed.
"Then she unzips your pants like this." Rubbing my knuckles lightly against the head of his cock, I reached my other hand up and unzipped his shorts.
He sort of hummed tunelessly. "Th-th-then?" He was shivering, despite the muggy night.
"She grabs a hold of your dick." I adeptly scrambled my hand into his pants and his boxers and grasped that hard warm cock.
We inhaled sharply and at the same time. It was my first cock besides my own. I suddenly became aware that it was his first hand besides his own.
Back in college I'd had a girlfriend with an overdeveloped gag reflex. She couldn't stand certain foods, not because of allergies, or their taste, but because of the way they felt in her mouth. I love blowjobs, and I cojolled her, threatened her, and begged her until one night she finally relented. I tugged my shorts and boxers down on her couch and waited for her to get to work on my already throbbing hard cock. I saw her hesitate, but I was a good boy. I kept my hands at my sides. She breathed on it. She brushed her lips against it. She let her hair tickle it. She kissed it lightly. She wet her lips and touched them to my burning skin. She looked worriedly at the precum which, was dripping dripping dripping from the head of my dick-more than I usually have since I was so turned on. She never did take it into her mouth fully; I came in her hand, saving her the worries about the feel of my cum in her mouth. Nonetheless it was the best blowjob I've ever had.
My fisher boy reminded me of that story. The tops of his boxers were soaked around the head of his cock from the precum oozing out. My own cock was standing at attention and twinged in sympathy every time I ran my thumb through his precum covered head. There was little small talk after that. He grunted a bit and clamped his eyes shut; I was watching his face.
I unsnapped his shorts and they dropped to the sand. I took my hand off his erection. His eyes opened in alarm. I tugged his boxers down and put my hand back where it was, reassuring him. Now I could watch my hand on his beautiful cock. I craddled his balls in my hand like fragile eggs. He groaned.
I thought back on all the opportunities I'd had and lost. All those boys I could've seduced. All those guys in bookstores, on buses and subways, in crowded office buildings who held my gaze for a moment too long. Those cute guys at urinals I thought might be looking at me. They too could've been seduced, or could have seduced if they were given a little encouragement. I thought of Brian's dick, that little thing that started all this, and how this beach action would fuel my after work and morning masturbation fantasies for weeks. Then I thought about taking the boy's hard dick into my mouth and the taste of cum and feel of semen in my mouth, but almost as if he read my mind, the boy gasped, and bucked his hips, his cock grinding against my hand, his balls bouncing a bit.
In the light of the flashlight I watched stream after stream of cum shooting out onto the sand. His eyes were clenched shut, his mouth opened and shut like a landed fish, images of buxom mermaids on the insides of his eyelids, no doubt. When the white semen finally stopped shooting, then stopped dribbling, he shuddered, pushed my hand away gently and pulled his boxers and shorts back on. Now it was my turn to shiver despite the humidity and the bright red ember of my erection tightening my pants.
Giving my first blow job would have to wait until the next opportunity I reach out and grab.
If you have comments, a similar story you would like to share, or if you have the imagination and creativity necessary to be my erotic pen pal, please drop me a line at sixty6@hotmail.com