The East Coast Road Trip

by Steve Deeks

  Salivating like a dog I decided it was best to try and calm Mark down, just like you would with an over excited puppy, “She was probably really grateful. No one had probably even looked at her in years until you snapped her up. You are a lucky man.”

  “Yeah well you don’t look at their face when you’re doing them doggy style do you?” He shrugged

  “You see their arse though,” Sam retorted cheekily, as if to point out her considerable size.

  Mark, though, shrugged his shoulders. “It’s good to have something to hang onto.”

  Never one to miss an opportunity to patronise, Simon continued the lashing, “Could you get your hands round her hips then?”

  “Could she even feel your cock?” Ben added sarcastically, before letting out a belly laugh.

  Unbelievably – as much as anything could be unbelievable when it involved Mark - there was more to the tale though. “Thanks to you,” he said with a hint of irritation while turning to me. “I had a situation with the bird’s mate being there. It turned out she fancied me too and was getting jealous when I was talking with the other one.”

  I smiled before dryly responding, “Sorry for leaving you in that predicament.”

  “Oh no mate don’t be sorry, it couldn’t have worked out better in the end. I won’t lie there was a bit of tension between the pair of them but we all left together and went back to their place and started having a few drinks. After a while the one I wasn’t interested in called it a night and then me and her mate started getting it on…”

  Snorting uncontrollably he continued, “Her mate was well out of it when I pounded the decent one. Then, early in the morning the other one came into the lounge where I was crashed on the sofa and - no bullshit - came over to me and flopped her tits out and started touching my cock. Next thing I know she was climbing on top of me and -”

  “- Shit that must have hurt,” I interjected.

  “-Yeah very funny. Anyway she didn’t know I had already drilled her mate a few hours before and I wasn’t about to tell her so I just let her carry on. Within a few seconds she was bouncing away. I couldn’t believe my luck.” He smiled uncontrollably. “Afterwards I thought it would be better if I left so made my excuses and got the hell out of there. Not bad though, two birds in the space of a few hours. And both who were mates, neither having a clue I had done the other one.”

  “I think,” Simon said, with a look of profoundness and a just a hint of sarcasm having digested the news. “We should get you a medal. Maybe your Queen will give you a Knighthood too. You are what the British Empire is all about.”

  “Rather than getting a medal maybe you’ll get Aids instead,” Sam laughed. Despite the well deserved jibes I got the feeling they didn’t matter a jot and that, in truth, he was bursting with pride over his achievements and couldn’t wait to tell anyone who had a pair of ears, unless he was trying to pull them, of course.

  Incredibly, with the sun out for a second consecutive day, which hadn’t happened for ages it seemed, we decided to make the most of it and went down the beach. With it already early afternoon it meant we only had a few hours before the shade from the skyscrapers ruined our sunbathing.

  I decided to go into the sea – not too deep, of course, in case there was a shark lurking near shore. Those in the water had to remain within a tight zone due to the rough nature of the ocean. Cautiously wandering out, with my manhood by now a shell of its former self due to the freezing cold sea, I struggled to keep my feet planted on the ground thanks to the fierce rip tides. And then, while caught momentarily off balance, I was sent flying by the sea with my trunks - unfortunately for once not tied up - slipping off my legs like a ring that is too big for a finger, leaving me rather exposed. Steadying myself, back in shallower water, I instinctively grabbed my dangly bits to cover up the unedifying sight and stood firm to prevent myself being launched any further.

  Still in a daze I hurriedly scrambled about looking for my shorts. I heard a piercing whistle. And again. It sounded like someone was at a rave such was the ferocity of the blow. I looked over one shoulder. Nothing. Then looked over the other. Sure enough, as I feared it maybe, the incessant noise was coming from the lips of a lifeguard. I realised I was outside of the swimming zone but it was hard to know if this was the reason he was screeching at me, or whether it was because my bottom being on full view for all the beach to see. I was not arrogant enough to assume everyone would enjoy the free show but with no clear defining signal of what the problem may be it was difficult for me to know for sure what was wanted of me. I took a guess and walked slowly back into the swimming zone, with my pale buttocks blinding all those poor people on the beach.

  Feeling a bit uneasy about being short-less on the beach and having the lifeguard on my case I upped the ante to find my pair. Parents with small children covered their little ones’ eyes as I roamed about in the vague hope I would be reacquainted with my trunks. Just as I was planning on throwing in the towel, as it were, and performing a series of star jumps facing the packed beach to manifest an angry rebellion at my misfortune, I heard a guy shouting at me. I looked round and to my delight the saviour was waving my shorts from the edge of the water. I had never been so relieved.

  I gesticulated for him to bring me the pair but for some reason he seemed reluctant. I ushered him into the sea once more to save me the pain and embarrassment of having to collect the pair off him, only a matter of feet from where sunbathers were laying, which of course would have resulted in me having to coyly put the shorts on in front of everyone. As you can imagine I was not overly keen to do this when I had lifeguards, small children and parents to contend with. Not to mention the police who arrest you for sneezing here. The fact the ferocious sea had pulled them from my body would not make the slightest difference to these power crazed fools and that I’d be banged up for a substantial stretch of my life over something that wasn’t my fault.

  With the pathetic male too frightened to meet me in the water – I know, it does sound bad - and myself needing to act quickly, I had no choice but to collect the pair, failing to hide my disappointment. “You silly wanker,” I muttered, ignoring the fact he had, at least, saved me walking through crowds of people naked. I marched over to him and quickly grabbed the pair. Well, at least what I had assumed were my shorts but on closer inspection, realising they were a different design, it was clear they actually belonged to someone else. I took them nonetheless, prepared to suffer the mental anguish of knowing that some strange man’s probing piece – a cheesy one at that, knowing my luck - had been rubbing against the worn cotton material, probably for many years by the look of it, and now I would be too.

  “You want to get yourself covered up mate,” the Australian announced helpfully.

  I looked at him like he was something from underneath my shoe before delivering a scathing sarcastic reply. “Really? Do I? No, I think what I want to do is go for a merry jog around this packed beach with my balls bouncing about in everyone’s face. Maybe I could do some squat thrusts in front of the public too.”

  He, perhaps understandably, looked somewhat shell shocked by my forthright outburst. “Alright mate, take it easy. No need to get sarco. Just saying that’s all…looks cold out there.”

  “I’ll have you know mate this is nothing compared to the size it normally is,” I replied defiantly, pointing with my eyes towards my groin, which was now covered by the shorts.

  “No, no mate, you got me all wrong. I wasn’t saying that at all, just that the sea’s fucking freezing and you’re in it with not so much as a tinnie to cover yourself up.”

  I felt slightly guilty that I had misunderstood the man in thinking he was making a cheap shot at my shrivelled area, after all, he had tried to help me, which was more than anyone else on the beach had done. Realising that I had been stood having a conversation naked with another man in front of a substantial number of people on the beach, with only a p
air of shorts between us, I offered him a handshake as a thank you-come-apology for my oversensitive behaviour, which he gladly accepted, before looking at his palm with a kind of delayed shock having only just realised what my hand had been covering up. I then strolled back into the sea, sat down in the cold water and put the shorts on. On standing it became clear that the shorts were several sizes too small and quite possibly belonged to a 15 year old girl. So tight were they, in fact, that the inside of my legs were virtually cut to shreds within minutes.

  Without any further delay and with my inability to move properly due to the painfully tight attire I was now wearing, I marched like a robot out of the water and meandered past the swarms of people – many of who offered quizzical or pitying looks - congregated on the beach before eventually finding the gang, who were naturally delighted to watch my suffering.

  “Nice shorts mate, where did you get them?” Ben asked, with a smile as broad as his butch German face.

  I gathered myself, looked them all in the eye before replying in that tone you do when you want people to feel disappointed in their actions, “Yeah thanks for the help there lads. I cold have been arrested or beaten up.”

  It didn’t work. “You seemed to be having the time of your life man,” Simon hit back.

  “Yeah we didn’t want to interrupt you,” added Sam.

  Mark, giggling like a five year old, finally managed to breathe and compose himself. “You seemed to be having such a good time talking to that bloke who gave you the shorts. I bet you had a hard one didn’t you, you little faggot?”

  “Yes that’s right, I had a stonking hard one while I was stood there naked on the beach. I don’t know maybe it was the sea or perhaps the sand or maybe it was just the feeling of freedom of wearing nothing that turned me on in front of all those people.”

  I shook my head disapprovingly before laying down on my towel to get what sun I could before the giant buildings overshadowed the beach.

  “You not getting your cock out then?” Mark enquired mischievously, referring to the fact I had a pair of shorts on.

  I cupped my balls and looked him in the eye, “Why do you want to see it batty boy?”

  “Be careful mate the pigs are about, not a good idea to get it out in public,” Mark replied. I could not be bothered to talk anymore and covered my face with a t-shirt before rolling over.

  After desperately trying to fend off the harrowing thoughts of losing my shorts and revealing all to the beach, we began to make our way back to the hostel when the sunbathing was ended by the shadows. I realised my unfortunate episode would not be quickly forgotten. I employed every known technique in the book to distract them and change the conversation but even if I succeeded it was short lived before I was on the receiving end of their jibes once more. Having a longer shower than usual to cleanse myself from the psychological scarring I had endured earlier, I went to the hostel bar and had a quiet beer of reflection by myself.

  That evening we strolled about aimlessly, stopping off at a couple of deserted bars before settling on a nearby Irish pub, which offered a laid back atmosphere where you could drink and talk without feeling like a pneumatic drill was being pounded into your ears. Sensing we were good customers after successfully completing three rounds of beer, the bar lady kindly offered us some free tasters of local but extremely poky cider. Naturally we gladly accepted, having eventually realised that she was just being friendly and hadn’t, as we had presumed, made some gross error of mistaken identity in offering us the drinks. “Der ya go lads,” she said winking, before walking off.

  It felt good to be treated like royalty, but our sense of special treatment was soon smashed when she went over to another table and did exactly the same. “The cheeky cow,” Mark said, indignation spewing from his mouth. In truth, though, we knew all they really wanted was for us to hand over us much cash as possible and this was a great way of buttering us up. Nonetheless, we seemed eternally grateful to them for providing us with three mouthwash cap-sized tasters of cider and stayed for a further two hours.

  Time just flies in those places. In many respects it’s like going to a human zoo where you can study an array of odd solitary, yet perfectly content, scruffy old individuals with wrinkles that reveal a thousand stories. The type who love nothing more than to slowly sip their ales and smoke enough cigarettes to be mistaken for an industrial factory, all while looking like they were in the depths of another world, as they sit looking into space or glossing over a newspaper to pass the time, no doubt reflecting on their less than glorious existence which they have come accustomed to or try and block out with as many beers as they can drink.

  There were a handful of such characters in the pub on this occasion. Three of whom were spread out across different sections of the place, while a couple were propping up the bar, in all likelihood to ensure they got a refill long before their glass could get alarmingly below halfway. This location offered the tantalising prospect of human interaction in the form of the bar staff when they were in-between serving customers. And in many cases the staff got to know the punters rather well, to the point they were considered as a kind of mascot of the establishment who was given special privileges, such as being allowed to outstay their welcome when they were pissed as a fart or, perhaps more worryingly, when they attempted to grope the female bar staff.

  On this occasion I could smell mischief in the air when one of the old men was getting as visibly off balance as he was crude with the woman, in her mid 50s, who had politely being putting up with his waffle for most of the evening. While not exactly an oil painting to look at the lady must have looked like Miss Universe to the dirty old pervert, especially as she was showing a hint of cheeky cleavage. I had been enjoying observing the man’s growing restlessness – I’m sure there was something else growing – as he couldn’t help but stare at her breasts and, on walking round the customer side of the bar, her backside. In the end it was all too much for the grey bearded man as he reached across and firmly grabbed her buttocks with both of his hands, offering a tight squeeze followed by a perverted husky giggle, as he attempted to pull the slightly startled bar woman onto his lap.

  “Wha ya tink ya doin der Paddy? Ya know ye can’t be touchin me like dat,” she said, pulling herself away from his seedy grasp, not for the first time judging by her response. The manager then walked over to help smooth things over. “I tink you’ve had enough now. Time to call it a night,” he said sympathetically.

  “But I’s not drunk,” Paddy protested, spraying beer like an erupted Volcano from his mouth. “Yous give me one more beer and I’ll be gone.” It seemed absurd that Paddy felt he was in a position to even bargain, especially considering he was clearly off his rocker and had just sexually assaulted a member of staff in front of the entire pub. But against all the odds it did the trick. “Ok Paddy, jus one more and den your off ok?”

  It was the same scene I had witnessed in numerous other Irish pubs, whether in England, on holiday in Europe or during my time in Australia, but it was always absorbing watching. Where else could a scruffy old drunk who molests any available woman he can get his hands on be fondly embraced and given iconic status but in an Irish pub? Amused by what I had seen I decided to end the night on a high and made my way home with Simon, while the rest stayed out drinking.

  The next day I felt pleased with myself that I had saved myself the pain of a double hangover by not staying out until all hours. Mark had decided the previous night that he was definitely hitting the road, which meant that should the rest of us stay we would have to start fiddling around and trying to book places on coaches to take us down the coast. This proved to be too much of an effort for us so we jumped in with Mark and said our goodbyes to Ben once again. However, this time we had his number and would be meeting him in Byron Bay, where after much heated debate we had decided to spend Christmas following several favourable reports.

  As we left Surfers Paradise it
was raining, which vindicated our decision to leave. But before hitting the open road we had to stop off at the flat where Mark had been staying with his friend. “Won’t be a minute,” Mark said, jumping out before going into the apartment. Fifteen minutes then passed without any sign of him. “I’ll go see,” Julie suddenly declared. A further fifteen minutes went by when Sam offered what seemed like a plausible explanation for the delay as we sat there bored out of our brains, desperate to leave rather than be stuck like sardines in a can.

  “We found out yesterday that Julie got with Mark’s friend on the first night and then again last night,” Sam revealed sensationally.

  “What she shagged him?” I enquired, keen to get the gossip.

  “Yeah think so, they even left before everyone else last night.”

  The penny suddenly dropped. “So basically you’re telling me she’s in there now holding us up so she can get a bit more sausage before we hit the road?” I scoffed rhetorically, the reality becoming bleeding obvious.

  “That girl should work in a brothel,” Simon remarked shaking his head in disgust.

  Sam, unimpressed by the hold up, made his feelings clear too. “I hope he gives her a good fisting.”

  With the keys in the car I decided to enact revenge. “Right you both hungry? We’re going for a little drive.” And with that I turned on the ignition and veered off down the road in search of the Hungry Jacks we had driven past earlier. “Let’s get some food. Oh and if either of them ring then just ignore it. Let’s see how they like being made to wait without knowing what’s going on.” Following a short drive down the road we found the place and jumped out salivating at the prospect of getting some salty food.