by A. J. Lucas
“Hey,” I said.
“…hi,” he answered, his voice deep and gravelly. He looked around the room, clearly trying to get his bearings, shifting his weight so the sheet would cover his cock again while he figured out what was happening.
“How’d you sleep?” I asked.
“Fine, I think?” he said, still hesitant.
I snuggled closer, wrapping one of my legs around his. I felt like a baby koala clinging to its parent. I’m tall, and I usually don’t get to feel like this. “I’m glad,” I said. “I slept great too.” Then I added, "I had fun last night.”
He softened, and I could see it start to come back to him, too. “Yeah,” he said. “I did too.”
We could both sense it: we’d reached the moment where things were either going to go one of two ways. Right now, in this instant, he’d either make an excuse, gather his clothes, and leave my apartment and my life forever… or else in this very split second, he’d decide that we were going to mess around some more, and we’d spend the morning wrapped up in each other's bodies, touching, kissing, licking, thrusting, moaning.
To my crushing disappointment, he took a deep breath and said, “Well, I think I’d probably better get going.”
To my crushing embarrassment, I found myself saying, “Are you sure you don’t want to… you know, stick around a while?” What a damn cliche, I thought. You sound pathetic.
He sat up, and I followed his lead. He grinned, sheepish, and I felt myself drawn to him even more, wishing I could take him in my mouth again, so I’d remember it better this time, so I could savor it.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I really gotta go.” He leaned in and kissed me then, his lips crushed hungrily against mine. I opened my mouth so he could slip his tongue in, and I shivered at how intimate it felt. I’m normally pretty dominant in bed, but every so often I like letting someone else take the lead, and this guy… this guy could lead me anywhere he wanted.
And then it was over. He stood up and pulled on his shorts, giving me one quick glimpse of his perfect, round ass before it was covered. His tank top went on next, clinging to his chest like a second layer of skin, his copious hair spilling out over the top. He looked just as good with it on, somehow.
I walked him to the front door in my boxers. He kissed me one more time, much more briefly, and then he was gone, and my hangover was back.
After I got out of the shower, my phone rang. Harrison Would Like To Video Chat, read the notification.
I swiped to launch the chat while I sat on the edge of the bed. I held the phone outstretched in one hand and toweled off my hair with the other. My hair which was getting a bit too shaggy and curly for my liking.
“Hey, Felix!” Harrison said. He looked weird in the small phone camera, kind of tired and distorted; he was a good-looking guy in person, but he was just one of those people who didn’t photograph well. “Guess what.”
“What?” I obliged.
“Guess who got laid last night.”
“…me?” I grinned, knowing it would annoy him.
He frowned. “No! I… wait… you too?”
“He just left! Are we still in college? Competing over who can score more?” I asked. We’d been roommates freshman year. He’d come home unexpectedly early one night and found me tangled up in my twin bed with my philosophy professor, and he’d thought the whole thing was so funny and impressive that we’d remained inseparable ever since. He had an apartment in Santa Monica, near Venice where I liked to surf. I often crashed at his place if I planned to catch waves the next morning. I only hadn’t last night because I knew he was looking for a hookup and I didn’t want to be a cock-block. So I’d gone hunting for some cock of my own. Virtually, that is.
“No, we’re not competing! I know you get laid more, just… ugh. Now my story is ruined.”
I laughed. “No, go ahead, I want to hear about it. Who was she? Was it that redhead?”
While he told me about his hookup the night before — we’d been out together, and I’d wingmanned him someone, but apparently that girl turned out to be an escort, and then the bartender bought him a drink and she took him home — I packed my knapsack for the beach. It would be too crowded to surf right now, but I wanted to catch some sun anyway. Bandana to tie my hair back. Sunscreen. A water bottle, filled with rum of course. Backup phone battery. Wallet. Towel to lay on.
“Hey,” I interrupted. “What are you up to? Wanna hit the beach?”
“Oh,” he said. “I don’t really feel like surfing today, man. Kinda worn out after last night. She wanted to go for three rounds! I’m fuckin dehydrated!”
I laughed. “I don’t really feel like surfing today either, just kinda relaxing, if you’re up for it.”
He didn’t even take a moment to consider. “Sure thing, man! I’ll meet you under the Venice sign at like, noon?”
The Uber dropped me off on the boardwalk around 10. I figured there was no sense in me sitting around my apartment frustrated and horny about the missed opportunity that morning; might as well get out into the sun and maybe take a dip in the ocean before meeting up with Harrison.
Venice was crowded today. There were the usual punks and skaters who looked like they walked straight out of a film set in the 90s, and there were the usual tourists who looked surprised at how grimy the infamous Venice Beach boardwalk looked in direct sunlight. But there were lots of happy people, too, people excited to be by the ocean, looking forward to surfing and drinking and just being around each other, soaking up the sun and the company.
That was the vibe of Venice I loved, that sense that everything around you was just humming with electricity and possibility, full of potential connections with people from all around the world, all looking for a communal experience together. I hadn’t bothered putting on a shirt, but I had one tucked into my bag just in case, along with my wetsuit in case I felt like renting a board later. The sun felt great on my back as I walked into the heart of the boardwalk, my flip-flops slapping the pavement as I went.
I was still mildly hungover from the night before, so I thought a cup of coffee might help clear my head. I could even add a dash of the rum from the water bottle in my bag. I walked towards a coffee shop I’d been to a few times, tucked around the corner from Small World Books. It had a fun, kind of grunge feel that I appreciated, like salt- and sweat-encrusted weirdos had been stopping by for a caffeine fix for decades. Which, for all I knew, was exactly the case.
Walking along the window that made up the front wall of the café, I was struck by a guy sitting at the bar with a cup of iced coffee and a paperback book in front of him. He had on a bright blue tank-top that hugged his body very well, showing off broad shoulders, toned arms, and a chest that swelled against the fabric in all the right ways. He had messy light-brown hair in a very fashionable haircut, and I liked the stubble that crept across his cheeks. And those lips…!
I realized he was staring at his phone, his eyes welling up with tears, and I suddenly felt protective. I couldn’t explain it, but I felt like this guy needed me, like I wanted to hug him and comfort him and kiss him and —
Fuck, he’s looking at me.
I smiled in a way that I hoped was reassuring, acknowledging that we’d been caught staring at each other, and then I walked to the door of the coffee shop. I pushed it open, grateful for the “No Shirt? No Shoes? No Problem!” sign, and debated whether I should wait in line for coffee or just walk right up to him.
I decided on coffee first. I could feel him on the other side of the room, staring at me, like we were being drawn to each other magnetically, and I perversely liked knowing that he was aware of my presence in the room just as much as I was his, and that he was as electrified by it as I was.
After getting my iced latte from the gorgeous black girl working at the counter, I casually turned around just in time to catch him bury his head in his paperback. He’d definitely been staring at me.
Like a sign from above, the person at the stool next to
him stood up at that exact moment, gathered their trash, and headed for the exit.
I slid into the seat. He didn’t look up. I could feel him consciously not looking up. I wasn’t sure if I was imagining it, if maybe I’d gotten slightly sunburned already on my walk to the café, but it felt like his body was radiating heat. Maybe he was radiating the same lust I already felt for him.
I took a sip of my iced latte, staring out the window at the passing crowd, and waited.
Sure enough: “Hi.”
I turned and met his gaze. He was even cuter without the glass separating us. “Hi,” I said, flashing that smile again, hoping it was conveying the right mixture of interest and support, saying Sure, I saw you crying, but I’m not here to make fun of you for it.
“So, um. About that,” he said, blushing the most adorable shade of pink.
“About what?”
“You know. You… about me. Um. Crying.” He looked down at his hands, which were tightly clasped.
I tried to sound reassuring. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He looked up at me quickly. Hopefully. “Really?”
“No, I mean, it was pretty clear you were crying,” I smiled. His face fell, and I felt awful. “But that’s okay. I’m Felix, by the way.”
I held out my hand, which he grasped. His handshake was strong despite the fact that he was a few inches shorter than me and a few pounds lighter. I like a strong handshake.
“Foster,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too,” I said, trying to play my cards right. Something about him was so compelling… I desperately wanted to know what he was crying about, looking so wounded and in need of someone to care for him, but I knew it wasn’t the right question to ask. “You don’t have to tell me what it was about.”
“Thanks,” he said. “It was nothing. I mean. That’s a lie, it was something. But.” He stared at me, searching my face for any hint that I was making fun of him. I wasn’t, so he found nothing. “…Thanks.”
“Of course! How’s the book?” I asked.
“What?” He looked confused, so I nodded toward the paperback he was holding. “Oh. I… haven’t really started yet.”
“Ah,” I said. “I’ll let you get back to it, then?”
“No, that’s okay,” he said quickly. Great answer. So he was interested.
I grinned and took a sip of my latte. “What are you doing in Venice?” I asked.
“I live here,” he said. “Well, my parents do. I mean, I grew up here, and I’m crashing at our beach house for a while.”
I perked up. “Really? That’s awesome. I’ve always wanted a beach house here. You surf?”
“No,” he said, “but I’m guessing you do?”
“How could you tell?”
He blushed again, and I felt myself hoping I could make him blush often. There was something very arousing about seeing his face flush with color. “Your… body. You look like a surfer.”
I looked down at my torso in mock surprise. “You can tell from the chest hair? I didn’t realize that was a thing!”
And now he grinned, and I felt relieved. He was as into this as I was, and he had an incredible, shining smile that put me right at ease. Recently-crying or not, the kid was hot. “You know what I mean,” he sad. “A body that would, you know. Look at home in a wetsuit.”
I held up my backpack. “I have one in here!”
“Thought you might!” he said, taking a deep sip of his iced coffee. I tried not to stare at the way his lips wrapped around the straw. I noticed him slip the paperback into a tote bag hanging below the bar. He was mine.
“Hey, this is crazy, but would you want to go, like, just lay out on the beach for a while? I don’t know if you have anything planned for today, or…” I asked.
He grinned again, and I vowed to myself that I’d make him smile as often as I made him blush. “No, that sounds great,” he said. “That was my plan anyway, but hanging out with you sounds far less… lonely.” For a second it was as though a dark cloud passed over his face, but then it was gone. “Let’s go!”
3 - FOSTER
As we left the coffee shop, I saw Cassie watching me carefully. I flashed her a grin on my way out, and she mouthed, “Nice!”
The boardwalk was even more crowded than it had been when I went into the café earlier. It was going to be a scorcher of a day, one of those late-June days that feels like the height of August, and the crowds had shown up in anticipation of the gorgeous, cloud-free sky that blanketed the town. We bobbed and weaved through the crowd, ducking breakdancers, close-up magicians, and jugglers trying to get a tip from the tourists.
I was nervous. The conversation had gone mostly quiet since we’d left the coffee shop, and I didn’t want to lose his interest. I really, really wanted him to be interested. “So, uh. Do you have a favorite part of the beach?”
Felix turned to me, amused by the question, and I was once more struck by the brilliant blue of his eyes. I adjusted my swim trunks and hoped he didn’t notice. There would be absolutely no hiding it if I got hard in these.
“You mean like, a favorite dune, a favorite grain of sand that always calls to me?”
I swung my tote bag at him playfully, and he dodged it, laughing. “No! I mean for surfing!”
“Oh!” he said. “No, not really. I like meeting the ocean where it is every day and finding the best place depending on the conditions.”
“Pretty sure I know where the ocean’s going to be every day.”
“Oh, so Foster’s got jokes!” he said. “I like that.”
I smiled. “Well, in that case, let’s head to my favorite place to sunbathe.”
He fell back, motioning for me to lead. As I walked through the crowd toward the sand, headed for Muscle Beach, I became very aware of the fact that he was likely watching my ass while I walked. I tried to put the tiniest bit of swish in my hips, hopefully giving him a show, hoping that my recent weight gain hadn’t made my ass lose its shape.
My phone rang in my pocket. I ignored it.
We broke through the crowd and walked out onto the beach. I reached down and slipped off my shoe, planning to take them off so I could feel the sand beneath my toes.
I yelped. The sand was blazing hot.
Felix cracked up as I hopped on one foot and slid the other one back in the shoe. I loved the way his face lit up when he laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his mouth open wide, unselfconsciously. The sight of such joyful, carefree laughter made me want him more, to get to know him, to hold him, to kiss him.
Once his laughter subsided, he said, “I’m sorry for laughing. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I grumbled, not really embarrassed but enjoying pretending like I was. “I do not recommend taking your shoes off.”
“Noted,” he said.
We walked to a clear spot of sand near the water and spread out our towels. Mine was a basic blue beach towel, but Felix’s was emblazoned with the Jaws poster design.
“That’s awesome,” I said, nodding to the towel as we knelt down on our towels without laying down just yet. “I love Jaws.”
“Oh, thanks!” he said. “Would you believe me if I said I’d never seen it?”
“What?!” I said, shocked.
“...cause, you shouldn’t. Of course I’ve seen Jaws! It made my mom terrified of the ocean, but it made me want to go swimming even more. Hey, did you bring sunscreen?”
“Yeah,” I said, thinking about what it must be like to be the kind of person who walked (swam?) into danger, because it was dangerous. “You need some?”
He looked at his knapsack, but didn’t open it. “I do, would you mind if I borrowed some?”
“Well, I don’t want it back!” I said, and he smiled just like I’d hoped he would. I reached into my tote bag and rooted around for the bottle of sunscreen; when I looked up to hand it to Felix, he had turned around and had his back to me. I felt my heart start to beat a faster.
&
nbsp; His back was broad and toned, a perfect inverted triangle leading down to the dimples above his shorts. I admired the curve of his shoulders and the ridge of the muscles along his spine, imagining tracing my fingers around the freckles that dotted his back, looking for patterns, memorizing them.
He looked over his shoulder and saw me staring. “You gonna help me out?”
“Oh,” I said. “Um.”
“C’mon,” he said, “And then I’ll do you.” His impish grin told me he knew just how sexual that sounded.
I felt my face blush. We’d just met, but already I could sense where this was headed. I could sense that, soon, I would be seeing him without those shorts. Would be kissing those dimples on his lower back. Would be running my hands along his chest while I did it. Would be hearing his breath quicken, would feel him stiffen in my hand.
I hoped I would, anyway. And I hoped it would indeed be soon.
I squirted some of the sunscreen into my palm and rubbed my hands together, and then I reached out and grasped Felix’s shoulders, hearing a small gasp as I did.
“That’s cold,” he breathed.
His shoulders were as firm as I’d imagined, his lean muscles rippling just under the skin, and yet he was still soft to the touch. I massaged the sunscreen into his shoulders and worked my way down his back, rubbing close to the top of his shorts, desperately wanting to work my hand down below the elastic but not wanting to freak him out.
When I’d covered his whole back, he sat up straighter and moved around to face me. “Thanks,” he said. “Your turn.”
I handed him the sunscreen bottle and turned away, peeling off my tank top as I did. A moment later, I felt his hands on my shoulders, and for a second my dream from that morning came fluttering back, but then it was gone. This was much more real, much more satisfying than that had been. Felix’s hands were strong and confident, and without meaning to, I leaned back into him, pushing my back against his kneading palms.
“You’re so tense,” he said. “Relax!”