by Jules Jones
What the hell had happened to him? Had some of it been real, the only delirium in the whole thing his conviction that the dolphins and the men were the same?
He found his thoughts drifting back to that day during odd moments at work -- when he was taking a break to stretch his legs, when he sat down with a cup of tea and the latest issue of New Scientist. After a couple of weeks of going over it, Martin put away the idea that it had all been a dream. Especially after the day that he went to collect sand samples at the local beach, and the smell of saltwater triggered a sudden flash of memory of warm male skin damp with seawater.
George and Patrick were real. They had been there with him. Maybe locals out swimming who’d taken refuge from the storm, as he had. And either he’d been delirious and they’d gone along with it, or they’d seen the dolphins and made up a story of their own.
He cringed with embarrassment at the memory of the things he’d said to them in the belief that he was talking to himself.
That was still better than the alternative -- that none of it, none at all, had been a product of his befuddled brain. That he had not imagined George repeating what Martin had said to the dolphins some days before, something that nobody else could have heard.
Accepting that possibility might be a little more difficult.
* * * * *
Martin avoided thinking about it at all for a while after that, but the end of the contract was rapidly approaching, and he’d had a phone call from Simon urging him to come down for a visit once he was free. He could have found some excuse, but saw no point. Better to go and face whatever there was to be faced. If he really had encountered a couple of locals, well, at least they’d seemed decent enough men. It might well be worth the embarrassment if he could find them again.
It was only on the train down that the other possibility insinuated itself into his mind again. What if ...
Martin pushed it away, recognising it as something he wanted to believe in spite of knowing that it couldn’t be true. But it was a seductive fantasy, whispering to him whenever he let it. The companions who’d given him so much pleasure that week weren’t just intelligent animals. They could give him other pleasures as well.
It really didn’t help that the first thing Simon said to him was, “Your friends have missed you.”
“What?”
“Those dolphins. If I go out in the boat at the weekend, they turn up to see if it’s you.”
“They’re still doing it?” Simon had told him about it after the first couple of times, which he now realised had contributed to the odd ideas he’d been having. “Have you talked to them?”
Simon grinned at him. “You were right about their liking for Gilbert and Sullivan, but they seem to prefer your taste in books to mine. They listen politely for five minutes or so, then bugger off again.”
The seductive whispering got a little louder. He forced it down, telling himself to be happy with what he clearly had -- a couple of dolphins that had decided to take him on as a friend. He focused on Simon. Solid, reliable Simon. Simon’s job occasionally required him to believe six impossible things before breakfast, but he expected hard evidence to follow along, or he’d disbelieve them the next day.
There was one way to get evidence, of course. But he’d have to persuade Simon that he was all right in the boat by himself.
* * * * *
They spent Saturday teaching Martin the subtle intricacies of Fixing The Engine, and sundry other details of how not to be an idiot in a boat. Martin did not bother to ask how and why Simon had come to learn these things. Simon’s job in technical support for TV news teams meant that Simon had been to many interestingly exciting places where such skills were useful. It also meant that Simon was liable to disappear at short notice. Martin was glad to hear the announcement on Sunday that Simon had to go away for the day, although he was also glad to know that it was only for the day.
“You will be all right, won’t you?” Simon asked.
“I’ll be fine.”
“Check the weather forecast.”
“That’s fine as well.”
Simon put his hands on Martin’s shoulders and sighed. “I’m sorry about this. First time in a couple of months you manage to get down here, and I have to go again.”
Martin hugged him. “Don’t worry. I can manage on my own for a day. I’ll only be annoyed if you phone this evening and tell me you’re somewhere in Eastern Europe. Going up to London for the day isn’t a problem.”
“Well, at least you shouldn’t be lonely. Not if your dolphins come looking for you.”
No, he wouldn’t be lonely in the dolphins’ company. Whatever happened.
* * * * *
Martin had to know, one way or the other, and he had a fairly good idea how to find out. He’d gone shopping after seeing Simon off at the station. Now there was a well-filled picnic basket waiting to be loaded into the boat.
He wasn’t surprised when the dolphins didn’t appear immediately. When Simon hadn’t appeared at the jetty on Friday afternoon or Saturday, they might have assumed nobody was around this weekend. But he knew where they might be.
He wasn’t quite sure whether he’d found the right spot, even when he got there. He couldn’t see the cave entrance. But then, he hadn’t seen it until they were nearly on it the last time, and he was sure that was one thing he hadn’t dreamed. But there was a very obvious way of getting their attention if they were anywhere nearby. He put on Pirates of Penzance.
A few minutes later, two grey shapes were speeding towards the boat. They reared up to look at him and whistled.
He turned down the volume on the stereo. “Simon insisted on spending yesterday making sure I knew how to fix the engine.”
One of them gave him that gurgling whistle that they used for laughing.
“George?”
The dolphins were suddenly silent and watchful.
It’s real. Christ, it’s real.
Even while buying the picnic, he hadn’t really believed it. This excursion had been for his own peace of mind, to show himself that he had dreamed it up out of longing and loneliness. Now, faced with the possibility that it was real, he wondered what he was getting himself into.
Fuck it. They were decent to me. I might have drowned without their help.
“I’ve brought a picnic. Lunch for three. Chocolate for dessert. We need to talk.”
One of them lifted up high enough to lean his head on the side of the boat, though he was careful not to lean hard enough to tip it. He gave Martin a long stare. It would have been a lot less disconcerting without that fixed, false smile that Martin was certain didn’t reflect the dolphin’s true emotion.
“George?” he whispered.
The dolphin slid off the boat, swam round to the front, and held his mouth open.
Martin tossed him the towline and was not in the least surprised when the dolphin grabbed it and started towing the boat. Knowing what to look for now, Martin spotted the cave entrance and ducked low enough to get through safely.
It was as he’d remembered, a large cavern hollowed into the headland that formed one side of the cove. This time the dolphin simply allowed the boat to come to a halt in the water, then brought the end of the towline back to Martin. He took the line, then moved the boat over to the steps in the shelf so he could tie it up. By the time he’d carried the picnic things to the beach, set them down, and turned back to look, there were two men walking towards him and no dolphins in the water.
He held out a towel each to them as they approached him. “I still owe you payment.”
Patrick took his towel and started rubbing himself dry, but George kept on looking at Martin. “I thought you’d decided that you were dreaming.”
“I knew it couldn’t be real. Things like that don’t happen outside stories.” He looked at Patrick, a handsome, well-built man, his shoulders outlined against the light from the cave entrance, the last few drops of water on his skin sparkling in that light. Then back a
t George, with his lovely face and a well-shaped body that owed nothing to a gym. “But I couldn’t take the risk that I was wrong. I had to be certain, or I’d have always regretted it.”
The bodies were good, but they weren’t enough. Martin rarely had trouble pulling for a one-night stand when he chose to. But he rarely chose to, because a one-night stand wasn’t what he wanted. “You don’t just want a one-off, do you?” He said it with certainty, sure that they didn’t. We’ll wait for you, George had said.
George shook his head. “We’ll take it if that’s what’s on offer.” He reached out and stroked Martin’s cheek with one finger. “But if you’re offering more ...”
“What you said ...” Patrick moved to stand behind him. “... we were what you wanted. You’re what we want.” Arms around him now, an erect cock pressing against his backside. “We want someone who does what he’s told because that’s what he likes, not because we have to make him.”
His gut clenched as for a moment he thought he’d made a mistake. Then he understood what Patrick was saying; they wanted a partner, not a plaything. An equal partner in a power exchange that pleased both sides.
“We can try, at least, can’t we?” George asked, moving forward to press up against him.
Hot body front and back. Naked flesh against his clothes, so that he wanted nothing more than to rip them out of the way. But there was one thing he needed to get clear before all three of them were too aroused to think. “I hope you two know about safe sex.”
George backed off slightly. “We won’t hurt you. Not unless you want us to.”
“That’s not what I meant.” What past did these two have, that they understood playing safely in the context of BDSM, but not simple medical precautions? “AIDS. And other nasty things.”
George looked blank for a few seconds, then said, “Oh. Those things.”
“Yes. Those things.” Martin reached up and quickly kissed George. “Though I’m glad you think about the other sense as well.”
“Condoms,” George said, pulling a face. “Yuk.”
“Do we have to?” Patrick asked. It sounded like a serious question and not a complaint.
“We’d be very silly not to. I’ve brought some with me.”
Patrick nuzzled at his neck, and said, “All right. You know best about that sort of thing.”
It surprised him that they deferred to him so readily. Surprised him, but pleased him. Doms who understood the difference between fantasy and practical matters were exactly what he wanted.
“Anything else?” George asked.
Safe word? No, George had implied that they’d ask before going far enough to need one. “Just take it easy. It’s been a couple of months since I had sex with anyone but myself.” Since before he’d met these two, in fact.
George smiled at that. “Miss us?”
“I’ve spent the last few weeks thinking I dreamt it and wishing I hadn’t.”
“Good.” George stepped forward again, pressing up against him, mouth pressing down on his. Confident, but not aggressive the way Barry had been.
He pushed Barry out of his mind and welcomed George into his mouth. God, but it was good to have a man against him again. Two men, George in front, Patrick behind. He was surrounded, with a hard cock thrusting gently against his backside and another against his own cock, and two pairs of arms around him. And George at least liked foreplay; that was obvious from the way he just went on kissing Martin.
Someone’s hand was on his nipple, rubbing at it through his shirt. Had to be Patrick’s hand. Another hand was exploring the curve of his arse. George, probably. But George never stopped exploring his mouth, and neither of them seemed in any hurry to get his clothes off. They took their time, exploring how he responded to a stroke here, a firm grip there. Each touch left a trail of fire along his skin. Some of it was just from having gone too long without. Some of it was the thrill of having two men at once, two pairs of hands to touch him everywhere. And some of it was the shock of finding that his fantasies of the last few weeks were all true. He’d dreamed of this, in the midnight hours when he’d woken alone with his cock in his hand, and wondered if he was going crazy.
“Pity he’s not wearing any of those really nice fabrics,” he heard Patrick say. “Though I like his trousers. Just the right amount of roughness.” Patrick gave a good hard thrust along the denim covering his arse.
George let go of his mouth long enough to say, “Bring us some nice clothes to fuck next time.” Then George kissed him again, but this time brought one hand down to press hard against his cock through his jeans.
Martin could almost have come from that alone, it had been so long since he’d felt anyone’s hand but his own. But as he thrust against George’s hand, George pulled back a little.
“Naughty,” Patrick murmured into his ear. “Wait until we tell you that you may.”
He’d have begged, pleaded, but George was still kissing him.
“You have been saving it for us, haven’t you?” Patrick said, pushing George’s hand out of the way and taking his own turn in cupping Martin’s cock. “That must be getting a little uncomfortable in there.”
He whimpered and pressed Patrick’s hand with his own, trying to get more pressure. They wouldn’t hold him quite tightly enough, and he ached for a good hard grip right around his cock.
George finally stopped kissing him and laughed softly before saying, “All right, you can undo your trousers now.”
Patrick let go of him, and he dragged down the zip, sighing with relief. Then he tackled the button at the top and pulled his cock free.
“Better?” George asked.
“God, yes.”
“Don’t touch it just yet.” George put one hand under his chin and tilted his face up, forcing him to look into George’s eyes. What he saw there warmed his heart. And his cock. George said, “We’ve got plans for you, and we don’t want to wait while you get it up again.”
“George, please, it’s been too long ...”
“I know, I know,” George soothed. “It’s not fair to push you the first time and expect you to keep control. Go and get the blanket spread out.”
Patrick let go of him and backed up a step, giving him room to move. He hurried to do as George said, picking up the folded blanket and shaking it out to form a comfortable place for them to lie down.
“I think you should take your clothes off now,” he heard George say.
He hurried to obey and sparked a memory of the last time he’d been here. Once again his fingers felt as if they were made of rubber, leaving him struggling with his clothing. But this time it was for a pleasant reason. This time it was because he was too damned distracted by just how much he wanted to feel George and Patrick in him.
He freed himself from his clothes at last and knelt down to pile them to one side of the blanket. As he started to get up again, Patrick said, “No, stay there.” He dropped back down to his knees and waited for what came next.
They walked over to stand in front of him. He looked up at George and thought about how much better this was than last time.
George must have been thinking the same thing. He reached down, ruffled Martin’s hair, and said, “You’re all right now?”
“I’m fine.”
“Good. Go and get the condoms, then.”
He shuffled around so that he could reach the picnic basket and rummaged in it for the condoms and tube of K-Y. He tossed the latter onto the blanket and thought about how to handle the former so that he didn’t get sand anywhere important.
One condom out of the packet. The packet itself on the blanket where it would stay clean. He carefully extracted the condom from its foil wrapper, and Patrick stepped in front of him.
Big cock, in proportion with the rest of the man. And it was beautifully proportioned, too -- long, thick, but gracefully shaped. Just a little damp at the tip. He wanted to lean forward and take it in his mouth just as it was, taste Patrick’s naked flesh, but knew that he s
houldn’t teach them bad habits. Instead he carefully placed the condom over the tip and was pleased to hear Patrick’s sudden gasp. It was the first time he’d touched either of them so intimately, and he was glad to find that he wasn’t the only one who felt that sting of desire at the contact.
He rolled the condom down, enjoying the chance to take a firm grip on Patrick’s cock. It was a good size to hold, thick and hard. He leaned forward a little, taking the tip in his mouth, but heard George say, “No,” just as Patrick thrust into his mouth.
He pulled back and looked up at Patrick, who looked a little guilty.
“I’ll have him first,” George said.
Patrick stepped back and said, “Go and do George’s condom.”
That confirmed the impression Martin already had -- Patrick was a dom, but he deferred to George. No wonder they’d liked the idea of him liking the idea of two doms. He was the missing piece in their relationship.
He fished another condom out of the packet, and George stepped in front of him. Some inane part of his mind noted that George was indeed a natural blond, with his balls covered in dark blond curls. He focused his attention on George’s cock instead, carefully rolling on the condom and smoothing it into place. This time he waited for instructions before trying to take that tempting mouthful.
“All right,” George said, putting a hand behind his head to urge him forward.
He happily obeyed, first taking just the head to get a feel for it, then easing his mouth further onto the shaft. George was patient and let him size things up first. Satisfied that he could handle it, he sucked hard, and George thrust into him.
It felt wonderful to have cock filling his mouth. He grabbed at George’s hips, trying to get a little more traction. Hands seized his head and pulled him further onto George’s cock. He had almost more than he could handle as he sucked frantically.
He’d almost forgotten Patrick in the pleasure of George’s body. Then Patrick said, “You might share, you bastard.”