Surfer Boys Page 14

  “More what?” Julien growled between two modest thrusts.

  “More cock…much more cock…” was all I could say before he suddenly rammed the whole length of his hard dick inside me.

  Then he let go of me. He sank back on his knees and parted my legs as far apart as possible. He made room for himself, grabbed my ass, and spread my cheeks so that he could concentrate on fucking. Long, deep thrusts filled me up, and I could sense how Julien’s body became harder and wetter.

  Sweat gathered at his tummy and his arms, dripped from there on my back, gathered again and ran slowly down my spine, downward between my spread asscheeks to burn my stretched hole. I was sweating, too, and I could feel how the sand stuck to my body.

  Julien’s sweat smelled intense like musk, like salt water and wood. Without stopping his thrusts he sank down on me and wrapped his arm tightly around my chest and shoulders again. Harder and harder he fucked me, pushing me deeper into the sand and making sounds that reminded me of how determined his face was when he swam out into the open water to conquer the next wave.

  He rode me like he rode his board, spread me harder and wider, just as he parted the salty water by day, and burned my shoulders with the heat of his breath. From behind he shoved his fingers into my mouth and I started to suck them. Waves crashed in on the shore and for a brief moment I felt like I was out there on the ocean.

  Suddenly I felt a strong rush of pleasure like thunder going through my body. It was as if everything around me had lit up and begun to spin and melt. The beach turned around me and I felt like I was drowning. I gasped for air, bit on Julien’s fingers, and saw stars sparkle behind my closed eyelids. Red heat waves exploded inside me, rolled pitilessly over me, spun me around, and made me shiver in Julien’s embrace.

  His breath was running fast too and in the rhythm of his hard thrusts I bit harder and harder on his fingers and poured myself into the sand. I came like the ocean that Julien had tasted in me earlier. Julien pushed hard one or two more times into me, then pulled out. Quickly he pulled me around and kneeled down on my chest and shoulders. His dick was right in front of my face as his fist slammed up and down his huge cock, wild and out of control.

  “Open up,” Julien hissed at me, and I greedily opened my maltreated mouth and stuck my tongue out to the salty rain that went down on my face and my chest like the breakers go down on the shore. Thick splashes and drops hit my face, fell into my hair, and ran in hot streams down my chest.

  My whole upper body was dipped into the salt of our cum and sweat, and when the last drop fell from Julien’s cock he sank down beside me. Lazily and with slow moves he snuggled himself against me, shoving me on my side so that he could clasp his chest to my back. I felt his wet face lying moistly into the curve of my shoulder as he whispered something I didn’t understand.

  “Hm…what did you say?” I asked with closed eyes.

  “Looks like Gaspard was right with what he said about you and me,” Julien whispered, and he laughed silently while the wind dried our juices and we fell asleep where we were…at the beach.

  CALIFORNIA DREAMING

  Rob Rosen

  I sped along the Pacific Coast Highway, my Mustang hugging the razor-sharp curves as the early morning sun cranked up the volume in the dark blue sky above, shooting out streams of orange and red through the cottony clouds that wafted in across the mist-shrouded ocean. My window, already rolled down, allowed in the crisp breeze, sending goose bumps across my arms. I smiled widely, staring at the day that stretched out endlessly in front of me.

  The head of my cock, straining along the length of my shorts for the last several miles, worked its way out, pulsing as the air ran across the precum-slick mushroom head. An index finger ran loops around my pissslit, then came up to my mouth for a suck.

  I spotted the vista point up ahead, looming over the cliff that ended in boulders down below, rocks smooth as glass from ages of surf-pounding. I pulled in, stared down, and breathed the sea air into my lungs; cold and fresh, it coursed through my body. Standing in front of my car, I pulled on my prick, already jutting out of my shorts, seven steely inches of thickening flesh.

  It was just me, alone on the road, equally alone in the lot, too early for most travelers, but never too early to let one rip. My cock bounced; I slapped it, sending the beast flinging from side to side. A warm flush rode my spine like a roller coaster. My balls tightened with each quickening stroke, the cum working its way up, eager for release.

  My knees buckled. Close. So fucking close.

  And then a car pulled up and in, loud, the engines revving: an old station wagon, the kind my dad might’ve driven, had he been cool enough to bother with all that shiny chrome and waxy-slick wood paneling. A longboard rode shotgun on the roof, glinting in the newly risen sun. The recorded twang of a guitar broke though the roar of the ocean below as a waft of acrid pot smoke eddied in my nostrils.

  The music flicked off and the window rolled farther down. A blond head poked out, with eyes as blue as sapphires, sparkling as they stared out at me. White teeth, broad smile, a last exhale. “Good day for it,” came the greeting.

  My cock had quickly been stuffed back in. A red flush rose up my neck. “Um, huh?”

  “Boss waves down below. Primo A.M. stuff. You heading down, dude?”

  “What? Oh, down below?” I stared over the side of the railing. “No, um, just enjoying the view. I don’t surf.”

  He frowned. “Bummer, dude. Didn’t figure you for a hodad. You had that gleam in your eye. Praying to Kahuna for some killer waves.” He craned his neck out of the car window. “Righteous sets down there, man; shame to waste ’em.”

  I smiled and shrugged. “Sorry, I’m only getting about every third word,” I told him. “I skipped Surf Lingo One-O-One. You got a Webster’s handy?”

  He laughed and opened the door, then stood and stretched. Guy was crazy tall, lean, and scruffy. With just his sandals and a richly colored pair of baggies on, he left little to the imagination. Needless to say, my eyes devoured him like the breakfast I’d yet to consume. His arms reached for the heavens as he inhaled, his chest filling, expanding, the fine tufts of blond hairs that ran down his torso shimmering in the rays of the new light, which added a brilliant gold to his natural bronze. My cock throbbed in my shorts. Good day for it, just like he said.

  He looked at my overstuffed car and grinned. “Ah, moving in, huh?”

  “Yep. All the way from Minnesota. Staying with a friend down the coast for now.”

  “Rad,” he said, with a bob of his thick-maned head. “That explains the no surfing thing then, I s’pose.”

  I nodded. “But I make a mean brick of cheese.”

  He laughed, long and deep, his muscle-ripped body quaking as he did so. Then he turned and retrieved the gear from his trunk. “Come along and watch then, dude,” he offered, setting his stuff down and unhooking his board. “Can’t live along the coast if you don’t surf, you know.” He looked up, his eyes locking on to mine, laser intense, boring into me; and then he winked, and added, “Better than sex. Almost.”

  “Almost?” I nearly panted.

  “Depends.” He tilted his neck, lifted the giant board above his head, and then he finished his train of thought with, “On who the sex is with. Now grab my gear and let’s go. Save me two trips. My lucky day.”

  My thought exactly. “But what about our cars, and my, well, everything I own in the entire world?”

  Again he laughed as he balanced the board on top of his head and then reached back inside his wagon. A sheet of paper, already with a wide strip of tape across it, got pulled out and stuck to the rear window. Back in five minutes, taking a leak, it read. “Works every time,” he explained. “Besides, it’s too early for cops or car thieves. Everyone’s still asleep. No cows to milk out here, dude. Now hurry up. The waves are a-callin’.”

  Fuck, I’d thought that was just the sound of my heart exploding in my chest; but I quickly acquiesced, grabbing his stuff as I
followed him along a well-concealed path. Down, down, down we went, the trail steep and winding, littered with dense brush and large rocks. I looked ahead, staring hungrily at his ass as it swayed inside his shorts and at the myriad of muscles that ran up the length of his chiseled body. “Name’s Chad,” he hollered over his shoulder.

  “Steve,” I shouted back.

  “Nice view, huh, Steve?”

  The guy was a mind reader. “Not like Minnesota, that’s for sure.” A gross understatement if ever there was one.

  We reached the bottom. A thin strip of sand hugged the cliff. He set the board down and I handed him his gear. He pulled out a wet suit, gray and dull, thick as sealskin, or so I imagined. I gulped, knowing what would come next.

  He kicked off his sandals and slipped out of his trunks; and then he was standing before me, naked, beautiful, and hung like a prize pony. I looked away as he maneuvered his perfect body into all that tight rubber.

  “Ta da!” he exclaimed.

  I glanced back up. He was grinning at me, his teeth white as the ocean foam. “Break a leg,” I offered.

  “Um, that’s what you say to actors, not surfers.” The smile widened. “And Hollywood’s not for another hundred miles or so.”

  I echoed the grin, and amended my sendoff with, “Banzai!”

  “Close, but the surfer says that.”

  I snapped my fingers. “Watch out for sharks?” I tried.

  He laughed. His head bent down, sheepishly. “Okay, that one works. But what I was hoping for was, um, how about a kiss for good luck?”

  The smile wavered and my eye twitched nervously. “Oh, um, okay then,” I squeaked out as I stepped toward him, happily surprised at this newfound option. “How about a kiss for good luck?”

  His hand reached up and he caressed my cheek before pulling me into him. “Now you’re talking, dude,” he whispered as his lips brushed mine, soft and warm, his stubble tickling my chin. His mouth pressed down hard on my own, and then his tongue snaked out and slithered inside. His eyes stayed open, locked, watching, waiting for what was to come next. “Cowabunga, dude,” he finally said as he ran his hands up and down the small of my back.

  I laughed. “Do surfers really say that?”

  His eyes twinkled. “Probably not, but it sounded appropriate.” He pulled away and pointed at the obvious lump in my shorts. “A present for me?”

  I nodded. “Yep. Go ahead and open it.”

  His hands darted out, unbuttoned my shorts, and then slid them down, lickety-split, like a kid at Christmas. My cock sprung out, slick in anticipation. “Just my size,” he quipped. “Extra-large.” He stroked it, sending an eddy of adrenaline out from my crotch and through my limbs, short-circuiting every nerve-ending in my body. “Awesome,” he quickly added, and then stared momentarily, and longingly, from my prick to his board.

  Again I laughed, keenly aware of what he was thinking. “I’ll be here when you get back. But hurry.”

  His grin grew brighter than the sun overhead. “Cool,” he exclaimed, again leaning in to kiss me, hard, harder still, trying to suck my face whole. “Fucking yum.”

  “Ditto, now go.” I kicked off my shorts and got on my back, sinking into the warm sand as I lifted my legs in the air. I winked my asshole at him. “Cowabunghole,” I said.

  He knelt down and ran his hand up the length of my crack. With a moan, he rasped, “Gonna shoot the tube out there, and then shoot this tube right here, dude.”

  I smiled and blew him a kiss. “Hey, I like that one. How about pound the surf and then pound me? Surf’s up and so’s my cock?”

  “Fuckin-A,” he sighed, backing up and grabbing his board before he shouted over his shoulder, “Welcome to California, dude!”

  And with that he was running the short distance into the surf, his gray-cased body disappearing into the deep blue and foamy green before reemerging twenty feet out. I spit into my palm and gave my cock a slow stroke, watching as he paddled farther out, riding the waves as they lifted him up and then dropped him back down. I teased my hole with a spit-slick finger, eagerly anticipating his return but enjoying the show he was giving me just the same.

  And then the water rose and crested, scooping him up even higher. In a heartbeat, he was up on his board, his hands extended out, and his magnificent body crouched down low. Lightning fast, he soared through the water, the plank held vise-tight in the grip of the wave, which pulled him in, enveloped him, and wrapped him in a watery blanket. I jumped up and clapped, my rock-solid cock ricocheting up and down, smacking against my belly.

  Through the curtain of water, I could just barely make out his form. And then, especially for me, he reached his hand through and waved. “Go, dude!” I shouted, raising my fists up in a victory stance. But then the wave came crashing down, breaking apart like a house of cards before scattering in a white, foamy torrent. When the sea returned to glass, he was gone.

  My heart beat furiously in my chest. I waited. Soon enough, the board popped up and glided forward. But no Chad. “Fuck,” I groaned, and went running toward the water, diving in head-first and swimming dolphin fast. “Chad!” I yelled. “Chad, where the fuck are you?” My lungs began to burn and my ears were deafened by the pounding of the nearby surf.

  But then there was a new sound: a tinkle of laughter.

  “Dude, chill. I’m right here.”

  I turned my body around, and there he was, his blond head bobbing behind me, those blue eyes of his sparkling like stars. “You okay?” I asked.

  “Shaken but not stirred, dude,” he replied, swimming toward me, his board trailing behind, still leashed to his ankle. “Bitchin’ green room in there.” He grabbed on and held me tight in his rubbery embrace. “That wipeout have you worried?”

  I nodded and kissed him long and hard, tasting the stinging salt on his lips. Then I realized I was in the Pacific, butt-naked. “Cold fucking water,” I chattered into his mouth.

  He pulled the surfboard in and pushed me on it. I straddled it, grabbing on to the sides as he swam behind. “Man,” he hollered, “that asshole of yours looks good enough to eat.”

  I began to paddle as the beach grew nearer. “Takes a lickin’ and keeps on tickin’,” I yelled back, just as the board made land, gliding in and coming to an abrupt sandy stop.

  “Let’s test that theory,” he said, slapping my ass and then diving in, wriggling his tongue in my ring, shoving it inside of me, sending a warm flush through my crotch. I grabbed the board and got on all fours, giving him easier access as the cool Pacific flowed gently in and all around us. He licked at my hole while he pulled on my swaying balls with one hand and stroked my prick with the other. “Damn, you taste good,” he moaned.

  “Damn, you feel good,” I replied.

  “Speaking of which, time to feel the rest of me.” He jumped up, removed the leash, and strode back to the beach. Tearing at the wet suit, he was naked in seconds, his cock jutting out at least eight fat inches, with two plum-sized balls that swayed as he quickly returned to retrieve both me and the board. “Dude,” he exhaled, low and deep, as he pulled me down on top of him.

  “Dude,” I groaned back, grinding my crotch into his waist as my hands freely roamed his body, gliding over the satiny down of him, across his solid hills and soft valleys. I took an eraser-tipped nipple in between my fingers and gave a tug and a tweak. His back arched and his mouth mashed harder onto my own. I broke loose and my lips traveled south, sucking on his neck, his shoulder, and taking the same nipple in for a suck and a bite, a twirl around my tongue.

  “Oh, fuck,” he breathed out.

  I continued downward, my mouth traversing his long torso, rife with muscle, tasting the salty sweetness of him, licking my way across ab after clenched ab. I rubbed my chin through his dirty blond bush and slapped his rod against my face. Thwap. And then I downed the meaty head, tasting the precum that dripped over and around. He pushed gently on the back of my head, coaxing his tool in deep, sending a gagging tear down my cheek. I gla
nced up. He was grinning down. “Dude,” he said. “I take it back. Surfing is so not better than sex.”

  I popped his cock out of my mouth. “Having never surfed, I’ll have to take your word on it.” Though, quite honestly, I found it hard to believe that anything was better than sex—with him, especially.

  His legs rose up on either side of me as my body stretched out, my feet digging into the warm blanket of sand. As he placed his heels along my upper back, his crotch lay before me like a veritable buffet. Starving, I eagerly dug in and chowed down, sucking and slurping on his hefty schlong before I made my way to his heavy balls, popping each one in my mouth and back out again. It was then that I noticed his lone tattoo. Nestled between his nuts and his blond, hair-rimmed hole sat a small round yin and yang, inked in black and red, two opposing teardrops hugging each other in eternal unity.

  Which gave me an idea.

  I hopped up and flipped my body around, placing my knees on either side of his head before sliding my prick in his warm, waiting mouth, and then my mouth down and around his massive tool, creating our own version of yin and yang. He tickled my asshole with an outstretched finger as he expertly sucked on my rod. I upped the ante and raised his legs up and out, baring his hole to the now-burning sun. My mouth quickly found the target, lapping at it like the waves at the shoreline in front of us, and then gliding my tongue inside of him. I could hear the muffled moans from behind me as he echoed my actions, sucking on my ass as I sucked on his.

  Circling my index finger around his pink, crinkled hole, I was soon enough delving inside of him, feeling the smooth muscled interior as I worked my digit in and up and back. At that same moment, he entered me and I felt the familiar burn, quickly turning to warmth and bliss.

  “I’ll try two if you will,” he announced.

  “Fill ’er up.” I was eager to have as much of him inside of me as he wanted to give.

  I worked two spit-slick fingers up his ass; he did the same with mine. Now we were two hands pumping inside two holes as two hands stroked two cocks, slowly, evenly matching each other’s rhythm. Sweat cascaded down my face and dripped on his taut belly. The tide was slowly coming in, the waves crashing ever closer as the cool ocean breeze flowed over our overheated bodies. “Three’s the charm, dude,” he soon informed me, practically gasping by that point.