SURFING BONEYARD
P. A. Brown
The first two waves closed out and dumped me in the rough surf of the Boneyard. It was a cool morning, with an early fog just beginning to burn off.
I had driven in from Monterey at daybreak, determined to catch the best waves before the tourist rush. With only the sea lions to watch, it was exhilarating to challenge the gnarly reef and not end up smeared all over it as another statistic for the Boneyard. The kind of statistic my pitiful sex life had been that summer, a boneyard of wasted effort. It was a lot easier to come to the shore and lose myself in the waves than try to activate a life beyond the beach.
I took my first fall in a comber that blew out and dumped me into mush you couldn’t ride. If it wasn’t for my rash guard I’d have been scratched up pretty bad. Boneyard wasn’t called that for nothing. It was almost as famous for the injuries and even deaths it caused as it was for the spectacular surf it offered.
I spotted him when I came in on my second set. He was lean and blond and scrambled gracefully down the rock bowl toward me, his hair tousled and framing an arresting face that riveted me. When he came closer I saw he had the most brilliant green eyes I’ve ever seen on anyone, and a lithe body I just knew was packed with hard muscles.
I’d never seen him around Monterey before. He definitely wasn’t a local. Fortunately he was tricked out in a supertight Hurley rash guard that didn’t leave anything to my overactive imagination and a pair of board shorts that hid way more than was cool. Woof, the guy was hot.
It wasn’t fair that someone so perfect could be at the beach instead of back in my room, spread out on my bed, with me doing unspeakable things to him; his cock in his hand, waxing himself up, those sexy half-lidded eyes watching me. He licked his lips and I almost came right then and there. I hid my massive hard-on by lying down on my gun board. Damn, I needed to get laid in the worst way. It had been what, six, seven days? Too long.
I paddled out farther, seeking out that mystical perfect wave. I was more into finessing the surf than hotdogging it. I treated each set like the waves were the greatest lays I ever had and I wanted each one to last forever, not that my reality was ever that good.
The next thing I knew my stud muffin was paddling alongside my board. I lay my head sideways and watched him glide into place, the smooth muscles of his arms moving effortlessly through the cool Pacific surf. Water glistened on his tanned face and I longed to lick the drops off. By then my cock was so hard, it was making a dent in my polystyrene board and it hurt like a bitch. But I couldn’t do anything about it without giving away that I was as hard as a rock. I’d come out to surf, not get my ass kicked by some pissed-off grunt.
I smiled at him and he grinned back.
“Hi. Clean day, isn’t it?” I asked.
He nodded—the strong, silent type; my favorite kind, unless they were in my bed, and then I wanted them to howl along with me. There was a light offshore breeze, so the wave faces were smooth and there was hardly any chop. The Boneyard was gnarly enough without having to fight strong winds, too.
Off to my left, a girl I’d seen around was cooking. She slithered up on her egg board, a smaller one used by beginners and for tricks. The curl she was trying to ride buckled under her and got messy. Before she could react she was over the falls, tumbling through the air, her stick, unleashed, flying in the opposite direction.
“Crazy bitch,” I muttered, totally unimpressed with amateurs who didn’t know their own limitations. The stranger must have heard me.
“She is your girlfriend?” he said, speaking with an odd accent.
“Fuck no,” I said forcefully, trying to place the accent. Not Spanish, that was for sure. I was pretty familiar with that, after a decade spent in L.A. Not French, either. And he sure wasn’t Asian. I studied him, liking what I saw more and more. I wanted to make it clear that I wasn’t into women. “Don’t know her at all.”
We were approaching the impact zone, and all my attention locked on the endlessly forming waves. Behind me I could sense more surfers entering the water. The day was unfolding into an awesome one, and soon the beach would be crowded with grommets and kooks along with the usual locals who gave all the out-of-towners the evil eye for occupying their waves.
I could see a nice set of swells building up ahead of us. I glanced at the stranger and knew he’d seen them too. We fell to paddling in earnest. I’d have loved to introduce myself, but this was too righteous to ignore. Talk could come later, if I got lucky.
I climbed to my feet as the first wave crested. Balancing on the board was second nature to me, and I always seemed to have a sixth sense about how a wave was going to act out. This time was no different. I rode it until it broke under me and dumped me in the seething foam near the stony shore.
My accented buddy came in close behind me. He took a flier and ended up at my feet, whipping water and sand out of his hair while he scrambled up beside me. He grinned at me and held out his hand.
“Ruslan Dimitri,” he said. “Everyone call me Russ.”
“Russ,” I said, swallowing past the sudden rush of saliva in my throat. God, he was gorgeous. Taller than me, blond, packed, and with that wicked accent. I had a hard-on that wouldn’t quit. Rather it wasn’t going to quit until I could get that delicious-looking dick up my ass. I smiled back at him, my most winning fuck-me smile.
It seemed to be working. He skimmed his eyes down my suited body and glided back up to stare into my eyes.
“You are often surfing here?”
“Every day in the summer,” I said dreamily, my imagination providing me with ample pictures of the two of us naked, rolling around on the mattress back at my summer pad. Oh, hell, why wait for that when I could fuck him right here, right now, in front of everyone and God. “You?”
“This is my first summer here. I emigrate in the winter. From Astrakhan, on the Volga River.”
Like I knew that from the Mississippi. I knew I was smiling dopily. Then I really did it. I said, “It must be full of beautiful men.”
He threw back his head and laughed. We were jostled by a couple of boarders on their way out to catch a new set. I ignored them, my gaze never leaving his tanned, high-cheekboned face.
“And what is your name?”
“Jason,” I said. “Jason Court. I’m from Los Angeles.”
“Ah, Hollywood. Are you famous, Jason Court?”
Only in my own mind. I kept that thought to myself. “No, not yet.”
“What do you do?”
“Play guitar. Me and some friends got a small band. We play gigs up and down the coast.”
“Ah, a musician.”
“That’s me. The next Kurt Cobain.”
“Who is Kurt Cobain?” he asked.
“You really are new, aren’t you?”
“Just off the, how you say it, the ship.”
Now if that wasn’t a golden opportunity, I wasn’t my father’s son. Dad could squeeze a dime out of a penny and have it begging to give him more. I put my arm around Russ’s shoulder. “Need a tourist guide? I could show you around, give you some pointers.”
“You would do this?”
“My pleasure.” I tried not to choke on the words. I wanted to do a lot more than show the guy a few tourist spots. But I couldn’t afford to rush it. I didn’t want to scare him off. I was getting some incredible vibes from Ruslan Dimitri, but if I was wrong…
But maybe, just maybe my summer luck was turning.
I jerked my head out into the building surf. “Ready to tackle some more Boneyard?”
“Da!”
We made our way back out, past jagged lines of black stone that ringed the outlying reef.
I practiced my cross stepping as we rode the next set in. I could see Russ was impressed, and I started taking advantage of his interest to show him some tricks. He caught on fast and we surfed for a couple of hours, before the water filled up with grommets and tourists.
I did one final cutback then glide
d into the mushy surf at the edge of the beach, and when I looked back at the water I saw him imitating my cross step, walking up and down his board just like I did. He came up to me, laughing, and clapped me on the back.
“You are good, Jason. You must show me how you do more.”
“Any time,” I said. “You here long?”
“All summer. Then I must go to Stanford for prelaw. My father insists I must be a lawyer.” He grimaced and I wondered how long that goal was going to last if Russ didn’t get behind it. “Do you go to school?”
“Not anymore,” I said, staring out as the girl I’d spotted earlier dropped in on a furious surfer twice her size. That girl was going to get her ass whupped if she didn’t watch it. “I used to. School and me, we don’t get along.” I met his gaze. “The waves are getting too crowded to have any fun. You want to go grab a bite? I know a great chili place up the coast.”
He nodded. “I would like that very much.”
We grabbed our boards and scrambled up to the parking lot. In the change room we hurried to get out of our wet things and into street clothes. I beat him into my jeans and turned in time to catch a glimpse of white muscled thigh struggling into a pair of skintight jeans. His chest was bare even longer and I stared hungrily at his broad pecs with their light smattering of pale hair. My gaze followed the line of hair that traced a path I wanted to follow down his stomach and vanishing into the top of his jeans.
Dressed and heading toward my car, we chatted as we walked along. He’d come to America on a student visa and hoped to intern here as well. I got the impression he really wanted to stay permanently. At the restaurant we got our chili piled high with sour cream, jalapeños, and cheese, and took it out to the desk outside. A weak sun was sinking behind the tattered cloud cover, and the local gulls swooped and called out for treats that neither of us threw them. He grabbed our empty takeout containers and carried them to the trash while I dug through my fanny pack for my car keys.
In companionable silence we headed across the tree-lined parking lot toward my car. We were walking close, our hips bumping and my hand occasionally brushing his ass. He wasn’t complaining. I was beginning to think this evening might turn out to be righteous.
In thirty minutes we pulled into the driveway of the small house I shared with two other surfers. I knew both Pete and Tommy were working until midnight, so we’d have the place to ourselves. “I’ve got a couple of beers in the fridge if you want one,” I said as we walked in.
“Da, is good,” he said. I snagged two Buds out of the fridge, opened them, and slid one across the table to him.
“Well,” I said softly.
Russ’s shrewd eyes saw more than I thought I was revealing. He moved his chair closer to mine, his denim-clad leg brushing my thigh. I leaned over and dropped an open-mouthed kiss on the side of his mouth. His tongue came out and teased my lips but when I opened them and tried to kiss him back he moved away, sliding his mouth alongside my cheek. He nuzzled my ear, nibbling on my diamond-studded earlobe, and heat pooled in my already rock-hard dick.
“This is good,” he whispered. He teased my sweatshirt up, exposing the brown skin of my belly to his hungry gaze. His lips moved down, exploring the salt-sweet skin. I groaned and curled my fingers through the layers of dirty blond hair, urging him down, wanting to bury my cock in his hot wet mouth.
But whatever Russ was doing it wasn’t giving me the blow job I so desperately needed. With excruciating slowness he pushed the sweatshirt up farther, all the while working over every inch of skin. Then he teased it up another inch, finally exposing my nipples. With the same deliberation he circled one nipple with his hungry mouth, sucking on the hard nub and rubbing it with his tongue. He scraped it lightly with his teeth and I nearly jumped off the chair, grinding my hips into empty air.
I groaned his name and he moved to the other nipple, giving it the same careful treatment. I was writhing on the chair now, threatening to spill us both onto the linoleum floor. My hands knotted into fists on his Stanford sweats, my surf-hardened muscles standing out like cords of exposed wires.
He eased my sweatshirt over my head. My cock was leaking precum so heavily the front of my jeans was soaked with it. I tried to reach for my own dick, unable to bear the pressure anymore. He grabbed my hands and held them at my side, while his mouth worked me over everywhere there was bare skin. I went back to clutching his shirt. He slipped the top button of my jeans open. I cried out.
My cock seemed to fly out of its own accord. I didn’t know if I’d ever been that hard, or that close to exploding with absolutely no stimulation at all.
Russ undid the last button on my jeans and in one move ripped them off me and threw them on the floor. I hadn’t bothered putting underwear on, and my seven-inch dick bounced off my stomach muscles, seeming to reach for Russ’s mouth.
Instead he opened my legs and knelt between them. I nearly screamed when he took one of my balls in his hot mouth. He sucked on it and rolled the sac around in his mouth, then went to work on the other one.
I was moaning his name by then, a regular mantra of need. In response he pulled me off the chair and laid me out on the kitchen floor. I never even felt the hard, unyielding floor under me. All I felt was the heat from his mouth and his still-clothed body covering me.
He ran his tongue, thick with saliva, up my uncut tool, tracing the web of veins that surrounded it, and circled the head, pushing back my foreskin. Then he swallowed me. My hips jerked and I plunged my dick down his throat. I could feel his muscles working as he swallowed me, suppressing his gag reflex as he took the whole thing into him in a single move.
I fucked his face savagely. I was beyond thought, beyond anything but raw lust. I shot my load so abruptly it burst out of his lips, dribbling down his chin even as he sucked and swallowed and lapped it up. It kept coming, a flood of white cream that I didn’t think would ever stop. I was drained, empty.
I vaguely remember Russ leading me into my bedroom, laying me out on my unmade bed and stretching his now naked body out beside me. Outside a car door slammed. The neighbors were back; I heard the high-pitched laughter of their two daughters and Roxy, the golden retriever. But that awareness vanished as Russ dragged my legs open and his hot, wet mouth pressed against my hole.
I had never been rimmed before. It was beyond pleasurable, Beyond lust, taking me into a dark realm that was almost painful. His tongue pushed and probed, digging into my hole with an enthusiasm I matched with my loud cries of lusty enjoyment.
Then he replaced his tongue with a greased finger and I opened my legs wider, wrapping them around his shoulders as he popped a second finger into me.
He leaned over me, his green eyes alight with passion. “Look what I have for you, Jason.”
I felt the thick lubed head of his latex-covered cock press against my now-ready hole. He eased in, pushing past the tight ring of muscle and rocking into my ass. I rose up to engulf him and he braced himself against my shoulders as he began to move, slowly at first, going in a little farther each time. Like riding the perfect wave, I found the rhythm and rode it in. Soon, Russ was sliding his marble-hard cock all the way in, using long measured strokes against my prostate to drive me into a frenzy. I pulled his head down to kiss him, my hands capturing his ass and trying to draw him in even farther.
The tempo increased and he began to ride me hard, his face a mask of lust and unbridled heat. I matched him stroke for stroke, urging him on with whimpers and moans of delight. He began to gasp and groan. The room was filled with our hot, musky smell and the sounds of his flesh slapping against mine. The bed rocked as his body slammed into me again and again. I couldn’t get enough. I wanted him, harder and faster.
The tide of inexorable passion rose within us. Unable to resist, Russ pounded into me, giving in to my hoarse demands: harder, faster, deeper, and deeper; his movements becoming more urgent, less coordinated. I matched his need with my own, gripping him, riding him like he was some great board on the world
’s wildest wave.
“Jason, Jason.” He buried his face against my throat, biting me there, tasting me; crying my name, again and again. His cock throbbed and he gasped, grabbing my hips in his big hands hard enough to leave bruises. I could feel his hot cum shooting out of him, filling the latex with hot pulsing loads of release.
Then I came, my cum splashing over my sweat-slicked stomach, over his chest and abdomen; real sex wax, greasing us up, smoothing out our ride. His mouth came down on mine, releasing a final gasp of need. He collapsed on top of me and I held him in trembling arms.
He rolled over, and my body released his dick reluctantly. I held him tight, arms and legs wrapped around his cum- and sweat-slicked body. He nuzzled my skin. Eyes half closed, his breath was hot on my flesh. I shivered.
“You’ll stay tonight?” I asked.
“Da.”
“And tomorrow?”
“Da.”
“Maybe for the rest of the summer?”
He raised himself up on one elbow and peered down at me. His green eyes were now alight with merriment. “Perhaps. We shall see what the summer brings.”
It had already brought me more than I’d ever expected. We had a long, hot summer to get through exploring waves and each other. After that, we’d see, wouldn’t we? Maybe I’d follow my surfer boy back to school and leave the failed boneyard of past relationships behind for something a whole lot more fulfilling.
CHANGING TIDES
Jonathan Treadway
Kiernan snapped his book shut, slammed it on the desk, and snorted out loud. “Yeah, right, they fall happily in love and agree to get married, all in two weeks.” He sighed. Of course, secretly, he wanted to believe that it could happen to him, but he was realistic and still feeling a little burned from his last relationship.
He looked across the floor of the small branch library on Cape Cod and saw that there still wasn’t anyone in sight. Since it was a late Thursday afternoon in the beginning of May, he didn’t expect a lot of people wanting books to read on the beaches yet. At least the trees were finally starting to turn green and the spring flowers were up. It had been a long and wet winter, and it had been quiet in the library.
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