Sun, Sand, Sex
The sun sucked the sand dry as the tide went out. Beads of sweat popped out and ran into my ears, dripped off me into the terry cloth beach blanket. Just as quick as they had formed they evaporated leaving a cool spot under me. I lay on my back with one arm shading my eyes. The sun's warmth bore into me. It collected and turned to a near blistering heat in the black cut offs that had just minutes ago clung moistly. That was a heat as strong as any sexual fever. At least I was reacting as if it was. I always wore sloppy loose fitting jeans. My cut offs were all just worn out former long pants. Thus there was plenty of room for the slow swelling and lengthening inside that black denim as the temperature continued to rise.
There hadn't been a wisp of a cloud when I spread out and stuffed my watch in the black runners inside the bag with my CDs. Either the high winds had chased one of those random clouds from down south up here over the beach or something else was blocking the sun. Those fluffy clouds had been racing fast. I figured if one had been pushed up here it would soon be gone and closed my eyes. The fierce heat didn't return nor did the brightness that bounced off the sand and snuck under my arm. I lowered my arm and blinked up at a figure eclipsing the sun. A burnished edge of fire danced around the black form.
I started to rock up, crunching my abs to pull erect. As I moved whoever it was who had stopped, for whatever reason, also moved. By the time I was sitting with a hand shading my eyes I was watching a bronze back and equally tan legs wade directly out into the surf. The hair I glimpsed before he dove under the next breaker was sun streaked. I didn't have enough time to determine the original color or see enough to zero in on an age. My gut feeling was over twenty and under forty. He had a cute butt. That I'd seen clearly enough when the first wave wet his nylon shorts-swim suit and it pasted itself to his skin.
What I had seen was enough to get me off my ass and headed for the water. After all he'd been studying me. The conceit of that thought hit me as I hit the water. Hell, you ass, he could have stopped to watch a fishing boat or one of the wind surfers. Who says he, or anyone else on the beach, gives a shit about you and your sun induced hard on.
Out in the breakers in front of me I caught a flash of red as that nylon covered ass and then those tan legs dove beneath a high foaming wave. I sloshed on turning my back to the next big crashing wave. Soaked I continued moving out and south along the beach. I was keeping parallel with my objective as the waves he danced in and dove into slowly carried him south. A couple of times now I'd seen him glance my direction. Nothing special I could tell about that. He seemed to be watching everyone with no particular interest.
I was close enough now that I started playing and fighting with the waves imitating his actions. I had also got close enough to study his face. It was a pleasant face, nearly handsome except for a scar that ran from the edge of his mouth up to the top of his left ear. If he hadn't had such a deep tan the scar might not have been so noticeable. Obviously he didn't give a shit about it. What could you expect from a mad Irishman, I though. I'd made another assumption based on being able to clearly identify the base color of his hair. It was a dark red. Not a chestnut brown. Dark red. I jump to conclusions too frequently. Sometimes it gets me into trouble. Sometimes it doesn't. This time. Well, this time it didn't. He was Irish. He had been checking me out.
We spent almost a full hour frolicking in the surf. I'd introduced myself when we almost collided after diving through a giant eight foot swell. I'd angled my dive deliberately. He was laughing and spitting salt water when we surfaced almost side by side.
"You, Chris, are dangerous. I'm Robert, Robert McCowen. Call me Bob or Bobby. Isn't this fantastic? I just get a rush. Try to get out here when I can, weather and sea water temperature permitting. You local?" That was his response to my 'Hi, I'm Chris'.
Between challenge dives taking two waves at a time or attempts at body surfing we chatted. Bob was from near Brownsville. Had his own landscaping business. I didn't ask but had pegged him at early thirties. Turned out I was right again. Bob was thirty four. He was single. Admitted he came out to the beach almost weekly during the summer but couldn't stay away even now in late October.
Bob joined me for a soda and to dry in the sun when we agreed we were both becoming waterlogged. I'd picked up enough signals to be pretty sure about Mr. McCowen. Stretched out together, sipping we let the sun suck up the water from his red swim suit and my black cut offs. I studied Bob up close. And caught him doing a pretty careful inventory on me. He was lean and lanky but not skinny. At six foot three his frame was covered with sleek muscles that rippled under his tan skin. I commented on how it wasn't usual to see a red head that could tan as neatly as he did. He laid it off on the fact his mother was Mexican and flashed his sparkling smile.
The sun, and having Bob right there, warmed me. Once more the heat collected on the black denim that covered my pelvis. Without willing it I felt a stirring in my loins.
"You get aroused fairly easily don't you, Chris?" Bob's gaze had stopped at my crotch. He was watching with a grin as my cock began to stretch and swell.
"Just when I get hot."
We both chuckled. He rolled onto his stomach and spread his legs until one calf pressed lightly on mine. Resting his head on his hands he looked at me and asked, "And now? Are you hot or getting hot, Chris?"
"Could be. How about you? Could I take a guess why you are now facing the sand. Trying to hide something?"
"Guilty."
We kept up the banter including some pretty personal and probing questions. I never have understood that about guys like us. Somehow anymore it's acceptable to fairly quickly get to very open discussion of sexual preferences and questioning compatabilities. Like nothing else about him is really important as long as the look is one that turns you on or is within your range of acceptable. I end up turning guys off at times because I carry the conversation beyond the 'top', 'bottom', 'vanilla', 'domination' litany. It didn't dampen Bob's interest in me. At least he didn't make an excuse and split when I kept wandering off into discussions of other interests.
Already knew he was a semi-red neck like me. He'd commented favorably on the country western CD I had turned on when we got to my spot on the beach. He asked and I let him pick out the next one. There were appreciative sounds over what he found in the beach bag and a big smile from me over his selection.
We found other common interests and several interesting uniqueness. Bob loved his work and had a real green thumb to hear him tell it. I'd never been able to get anything inside or out to grow. Even hardy cacti shriveled and died when they found out the were in my apartment. The fact that I wrote, even if it was only gay porn, was intriguing to him. He told me he had problems even putting together words for his yellow pages advertisement, and dreaded every month when he had to compose the obligatory letter to his folks.
I liked the guy. He was comfortable and within minutes you just didn't see that scar anymore. It was my weekend off so I invited him to spend a wild Saturday night at my place. Offered pizza or Chinese. Suggested we rent a movie or two and just let the night take us where ever we felt like going. Bob flashed that fantastic smile at me again and told me I must be a mind reader as well as a bartender.
Since I'd walked lugging the player and beach bag, we used Bob's pick up to stop at the Video Shack and to get our take home meal. While Bob was exploring the combination living-dining-kitchen room I stepped into the bath and flipped on the shower. Sticking my head out the door I told him I was going to get rid of the salt and sand and asked if he wanted to join me.
I'd been a good boy while we were tooling through town in the pick up. Hadn't groped the driver but once. But from that feel I had a pretty good idea what was going to appear when Bob kicked out of the red nylon swim suit. I was already standing in the tub with the water busy rinsing over me. He stepped in and closed the shower curtain. We shifted back and forth taking turns being in front and getting the full brunt of the shower. It wasn't possible to do that or move to soap up or turn and rinse without a lot of bumping and rubbing against each other. Five minutes after I turned on the water we were standing, locked in each other's arms, water streaming down over us. Bob's tongue was exploring my back molars. He was humping my left thigh and I was doing the same to his right thigh.
Leaving a pile of damp towels on the floor we tumbled onto the bed. It was a tangle of tan legs, tan arms, tan torsos, flesh pink buns and blood pumped pricks. Out of the tangle emerged one arm grasping for the headboard and the handle on the sliding door. Bob was licking and kissing down my back and, based on our self revelations on the beach, I knew where he was going. He quickly had me pretzeled under him, ass in the air, with his face lost between my cheeks. When his tongue started running circles around my fuck hole I grabbed my buns and opened as wide as I could. Bob was no slouch at eating ass, sucking it, chewing on and around my pucker and turning that tongue into a prod that just kept working, finding it's way deeper and deeper.
Every time he came up for air I knew even more how talented this guy was. I missed his mouth. I wanted him feasting and tongue fucking on my ass. Usually he left me wet and let a finger or two continue playing, rubbing circles on and around or shoving into my man hole. It just wasn't the same. I told him so. I told him over and over. Shit, what he was doing to me was something that hadn't happened in all my twenty six years. I'd been rimmed before. But nothing like this. Even though I knew it would eventually move to action where we'd need the rubbers and lube I'd pulled out of the headboard cabinet I didn't want that. I wanted this guy to continue, to keep those absolutely deliriously sensual feelings radiating out from my ass hole. I wanted it to go on forever.
There is something so fucking intimate about a guy with his tongue up your ass, his teeth nibbling on the flesh that is the edge of such a private orifice. In the past what I had though of as being rimmed had been nothing but pre-fuck foreplay; a way to get me loose and wet. This . . . this was something totally different. My entire body was loving and reacting to every stroke of Bob's tongue, every penetration, every joyously painful nip from his teeth. My cock was rock hard. I could feel the dampness on my skin where the pre-cum was dribbling like from a broken faucet. Impossibly sensual waves of pleasure kept washing over me, radiating out from that core of my being where his face's lips met my ass's lips
I was frantic. My hands grappled on my buttocks, tugging them apart so he could work his magic. Moans and groans of pleasure and begging, pleading words kept rolling out from me. Suddenly I was yelling, my body thrashing as a climax so intense I felt I would explode gripped me. My hair, my fingers, my toes were on fire. Bob moved aside letting my body collapse in the middle of the bed as my cock began to erupt. Swooping down he took the first gush right on his nose. His lips clamped onto my throbbing meat as it continued to gush. He sucked and swallowed. By the time the final spurt came Bob had my cockhead in his throat. He used those muscles and his tongue to massage every drop out of me as a hand squeezed and tugged on my balls.
I lay gasping as Bob straddled my waist and quickly stroked himself. His cum, after one quick burst, just poured out of his cock like white steamy lava. It was a continuous pulsing stream that splattered down on me and pooled like tapioca pudding. With care I directed a hand across my ribs to poke a finger into it. Bob grinned at me and guided that finger to my mouth. It was thick, sweet with just a hint of citrus. I stuck out my tongue. He scrambled forward, touching his dickhead down on my extended tongue and letting the final drops gather there. I slurped it up, licking and probing, stroking a final offering out.
Not wasting time dressing we settled down on the couch to watch the movie with the cartons of Cantonese goodies heating in the microwave. Initially, after the ding of the timer, we just sampled out of the heated cartons spread across the coffee table. Bob was stretched out on the couch. I was leaning against it with my legs extended under the feast. As things cooled down I scooped rice and then sweet and sour shrimp onto his flat stomach. I'd lost interest in the movie. I stirred my meal with my finger. Picking up the soy sauce I dribbled it over the shrimp and rice and then down to wet his red pubic bush. A few drops fell on his dick as it lay half hard, resting on two plump gonads covered with red fuzz.
As I pigged out, literally eating like a pig from that trough of firm flesh, I watched Bob's cock swell and lift. I licked down to clean the sauce off his dick hairs and then up, removing the few remaining drops from that lumbering shaft as it jerked and stiffened. Finishing the shrimp and rice I looked up at him. His eyes were locked on the TV. I'd have though he was oblivious to what I was doing except for the hand he had placed lightly on my head. When I paused after a final lick into his navel that hand applied a gentle pressure guiding me down toward his now rampant male organ. Dessert? Why not?
I cuddled on his abs and with two fingers bend that rod down to meet my open mouth. His hips lifted and slid it in farther seconds after my lips closed around the wet slick knob. I lay quietly and played with my new toy, sucking and popping it in and out between my lips, letting the tip of my tongue tease around, over, under it. Bob pressed harder with that hand. From the other end of the couch I heard him moan. I sucked hard. He once again shifted his hips to drive his cock deeper.
"Fucking tease," he grunted. "Eat my dick, you fucking tease. Suck me and quite playing around."
I figured I'd let my mouth give him an answer without speaking a word. So, I did. Scrambling up on my knees I leaned down and sucked that cock in. I kept sucking until that snake was gone, every fucking inch, and all that was left were soft red hairs brushing against my lips. Never actually laid a ruler on Bob's cock. But based on those I did and how they filled my mouth, I'd say he was carrying a 7 inch weapon. The one thing I do know was he had one of the thickest damn cocks I'd ever sucked. But I handled it. Damn, I handled it. And Bob, Bob loved having me suck his cock.
I was humming and slurping, letting that Dick slide between my lips. Bob just lay there and moaned, louder and louder the longer I sucked. I'd perfected the technique of swallowing and letting a big cock drive through the back of my mouth into my throat clear back in high school. He admitted later that night that he'd never had anyone do that. Because I'd taken it in, thickness and all, right from the start I just kept swallowing it ever so often. Sucking and licking on his dickhead was fun. Listening to him carry on while I was working on his peter was fun. But the most fun with Bob was sucking hard and him shoving hard and taking that cock all the way in where his fat cock head was in my throat, pulsing, swelling, tasting good.
Every time I did that Bob went ape, body jerking, all kinds of cussing and dirty talk pouring out of his mouth. What I was aiming for was to get that other end to pour out some more of that thick sweet cream. Sucking hard, sucking fast, driving that cock, capturing that dickhead and spitting it out I worked up a sweat. I kept one hand lightly cradling his balls. When his cock started swelling, his body shaking and those balls drew up, I sucked harder, ramming that cock in and out of my mouth.
That first shot, which I learned was a signature action when Bob ejaculated, hit the back of my throat. I lunged to swallow that cock as the cum began to spew. I felt it hot in my throat, pumping, filling, running faster than I could swallow. It flowed back down that pulsing shaft into my mouth. I locked my lips and sucked, and sucked, and sucked, savoring that flavor as it filled my mouth. Bob's body was like a quaking board under me. He was talking loud and really dirty as he fed me, humping, trying to drive his cock deeper.
Resting with my head on Bob's chest I kept licking my lips. I let one hand rub gently on his stomach while he ruffled my hair. My jaw ached and my neck. I could hear his heart and the ebb and flow of his breathing. Somewhere in the midst of it all I'd spattered my own cum all over the front of the couch. I didn't remember jacking off while I was sucking him. But I guess I did.
The TV screen was blank. A low hum filled the room. I jerked awake. Bob's hand rested on my bare shoulder. His eyes were shut. The slow rise and fall of his chest told me he still slumbered, spent after dumping his second load of the evening. I smiled. Pretty good for an old guy. I still considered anyone over thirty as sliding into senility. I stood and then shook him awake.
"You'll sleep better in the bed," I offered.
Walking to the bedroom I let out a yelp when Bob gave me a hard slap on my naked rump.
"You really want to sleep?"
His reaction to my comment on a guy his age needing his rest was to wrestle me onto the bed and tell me just what he though we should be doing instead of sleeping. It sounded like a fine idea to me. I was rested and had reacted with healthy vigor to our little tussle. Bob twisted in my grip. A hand clasp firmly on my nearly fully engorged dick.
"Now that don't feel like a sleeping prick. Feels more like one that's needing a little more action."
"Think you can give it to me, gardener? Got some ideas on where to plant my flagpole?"
Bob's response was an even more vile string of cussing than he'd spouted when I'd been busy sucking his cock. He ended it with a very graphic description of where I could 'plant my flagpole' as I had put it. So he ended up hanging over the edge of the bed as I scrambled around finding the rubbers I'd let fall earlier. With both the necessary protection and lubrication applied I spread those inviting white buttocks and slammed into his waiting hole. He let out a long pleasurable moan and we commenced to fuck.
Bob knows my schedule at the bar now. He usually spends the weekend when I'm off. Some nights I look up and there he is at the bar or across the room. Other times he calls and we spend the afternoon in our favorite outdoor sport, wave diving, and then retire to the apartment for our favorite indoor sport.
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