Surfer Boys

by Neil Plakcy

  I nodded. Man, was he hot—still shirtless and wearing those knee-length board shorts, his body naturally bronzed from the sun.

  “I saw you with the cops, man—I guess your car got jacked?”

  Again I nodded, mouth full of cotton. He’d actually noticed me? Knew who I was? “What’s your name, bro?” he asked me.

  “Brian.”

  “Nice to meet you, Brian.” He leaned over farther, opening the passenger-side door for me. “Come on—I’ll give you a lift home.”

  I shook my head, holding up my hand. “Nah, that’s okay—I’m all the way in Koreatown, man. It’s kind of far.”

  Dorian smiled that perfect white smile, and that’s when I knew I was gonna get in that Hummer. “Well then shit, you really got no business taking a bus home. Come on, dude.”

  “Uh…okay.” I grabbed up my book bag, stomach suddenly full of lead, and got into the Hummer with Dorian. He pulled away from the curb, hitting the gas before I’d even gotten the door closed.

  “You ride?” he asked me after we were heading up Santa Monica Boulevard.

  “Ride?” I asked.

  “Surf,” Dorian replied. “Do you ride the waves, man?”

  I laughed. “Me? No. I wish. I—I’m not big on water.”

  “Really?” Dorian made a sharp right turn on Fairfax, so sharp it almost threw me into his lap, and then we were heading north toward Wilshire Boulevard. “Man, I got no idea how you can say that—I live for being in the water.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t even know how to swim,” I admitted, sounding stupid even to me. “Been kind of afraid of the water since I…since I almost drowned as a kid.”

  There—it was out now. I figured if he was going to think of me as a dork—a dumb-ass—that I might as well get it out in the open now.

  “For real?” Dorian asked, genuinely surprised. “Dude, you so do not know what you are missing!” His eyes, lit now by the dashboard lights, were gleaming. “The water—shit Brian, there’s nothing like it! And being on a board, riding the waves—caught in a curl—shit dude, there’s no rush in the world like it; not even sex!”

  He turned to me, grinning. “You’re not in a hurry, are you man?”

  “I—uhhh—no, I guess not.” His face was so alive, so expressive and cute; all I wanted to do was spend more time with him. “I’m pretty free—why?”

  Dorian’s grinned bumped up a notch as he turned onto Wilshire—right, though, instead of left toward my home. “’Cause bro, you’re about to get your first swimming lesson.”

  My stomach lurched again as Dorian hit the gas, speeding east again on Wilshire, dodging in and out of fairly heavy traffic as we headed back in the direction of the ocean.

  We drove for what seemed an eternity up PCH—the Pacific Coast Highway—and by the time Dorian turned off onto a deserted section of beach and killed the lights on his Hummer, the only light came from a full moon that turned the crashing waves before us a black and silver blue. Dorian parked behind an outcropping of rock so we couldn’t be seen from the road, killed the engine, and we got out—me staring with trepidation at the breaking surf. In this light—his face lit by the moon, but also from an inner peace I couldn’t put words to as he stared at the Pacific, Dorian had never looked more alive. Or more beautiful.

  He ran a hand through his shoulder-length hair, just staring at the waves. “Man, how fuckin’ sweet is that?” he yelled to no one in particular, gesturing at the water. “Look at it, Brian! God at his finest!”

  Then he was kicking off his expensive flip-flops and hiking down his board shorts—under which he wore nothing but a small Tasmanian Devil tattoo on the right side of his belly, just above his crotch. Standing nude before me now, his body toned and perfect—cock a good six inches in length, soft—Dorian turned and gestured for me to join him.

  “Come on, Brian,” he said loudly, over the crashing waves. “Get your clothes off and let’s go for a swim!” And without waiting for me, Dorian ran off toward the surf.

  His body was amazing, the muscles in his arms and legs working as he jogged into the ocean, dark hair flying in the wind. Even his ass was perfect—two firm, round globes that wiggled seductively as he trotted. Dorian hit the incoming surf at full speed, yelling, “Fuckin’-A!!” at the top of his lungs as his body collided with the cold ocean water. I was down to my BVDs by then, my body so skinny and pale compared to Dorian’s that I was kind of embarrassed to take everything off—especially as the sight of him running nude into the surf was starting to make my own dick hard—but I finally said fuck it and stripped off my underwear…chasing after my living, breathing wet dream toward the water.

  He pulled me into the surf, kicking and screaming and laughing, and for the next hour did his best to get me over my fear of the water. First came floating—me lying on Dorian’s back, arms around his neck, as he swam maybe twenty feet out into the sea. I fell off him a couple of times, at first, until Dorian finally talked me into trusting him…and then it felt amazing, pushing through the chilly water on his back, my flesh pressed to his. It was like hitching a ride on the back of a dolphin, Dorian cutting through the water with long, broad strokes as if he’d been born to it—and by the time he was standing more than waist-deep in the surf, his arms under me as I tried a few lopsided breast-strokes, I could finally understand why this amazing, beautiful man loved the water as he did.

  But I was unused to the workout on my arms and legs, and after an hour or so grew tired. Dorian seemed okay with taking a break, so we hurried back up the beach toward his Hummer and our scattered clothes. He retrieved a few blankets from the back of his truck, and we rubbed ourselves off with them to get the excess water from our chilly bodies before lying on them in the sand—doing nothing but enjoying the full moon and the sounds of the water breaking, our nude bodies drying naturally under the summer night sky.

  “I’m in love with you, you know,” I told him suddenly. He was lying next to me, both of us staring up at the stars, hands behind our heads as we stretched out on the damp towels. I didn’t dare look at him.

  “I know.” He rolled over to face me, as I cautiously turned my head to look at him. That was when I felt the first tear glide softly down my check, as my watery eyes came to meet his. Dorian caught the tear on his finger, his dark eyes staring into mine.

  “At first I thought you were watching me because you wanted to learn how to surf,” he told me, his voice soft. “But after a while…”

  He smiled. “After a while, I got it. And Brian—for real—I am so flattered, man.”

  “But you…you aren’t interested,” I replied. “Hey, I understand, man. I mean, we come from two different worlds…”

  And before I could finish, Dorian leaned over and kissed me—his mouth encircling mine as he drew my bottom lip into his, sucking gently. I gasped, my own lips puckering to meet his without thinking, as my tongue slid into his sweet, hungry mouth. He crawled on top of me then, our kisses intensifying, and I could feel the strength of his body as it stretched out on top of mine…as well as the length of his long, extrawide erection as his cock suddenly lay throbbing against my thigh. My own dick was quickly reaching its eight-inch peak, but in reality my brain was caving in; Dorian’s kisses were passionate and soft and warm, exactly as I’d fantasized, and I closed my eyes and pretended this was a dream that would never end, even as I felt his soft, damp hair fall down like a curtain around my face, our lips exploring each other as the heat in my groin grew into a full-fledged forest fire.

  I rolled Dorian over onto his back, crawling on top and raising his arms so I could taste and kiss the fine dark-brown hair of his armpits, my tongue pressing hard when I heard him sigh with pleasure at the attention. With slow, gentle kisses I worked my way down his lean, brown body…past dark nipples that turned to points beneath my sucking lips…down his belly, stopping to slurp at the navel in the flat center of his six-pack abs…past the Tasmanian Devil tattoo, to where his trimmed bush of dark pubic hair housed
a fat, nine-inch pink-brown cock that stood up hard against his belly at a sharp right angle.

  I bypassed his dick and went for the fuzz-covered, low-hanging balls below it instead, spreading his legs so I could inhale the fresh scent of his crotch first. Sucking first one of his nuts and then the other in between my soft lips, I heard Dorian inhale sharply through his teeth, a sigh of intense pleasure, and felt his hand on the back of my blond-brown hair, holding me to his sac so I could tease his nuts even more deeply with my lips, teeth, and tongue.

  “Suck me, Brian,” he whispered, his hoarse voice barely audible over the crashing surf behind us. “Suck my dick.”

  But I wanted more, so much more, and my mouth proved it as it left his balls and headed south instead, my hands grabbing Dorian’s ankles and raising his feet into the air as my tongue found the golden-brown, puckery hole of his ass…and forced its way in.

  “Oh, fuuuuucccckkk…” Dorian moaned, grinding his ass muscles around my tongue as I forced more of it up him. His legs were quivering in my hands now, rising higher and out of my grasp as his big hands spread his own asscheeks even wider for me. I flicked my tongue in rapid speed over his hole, sending Dorian into spasms of moaning and whimpering, before plunging it inside him again, driving my surfer dude insane with desire. I could see his spit-covered butthole spread wide in the summer moonlight—and it was so hot, he tasted so good, that I literally buried my face in his ass, rimming the hottest guy I’d ever known until I had to come up for air…my lungs heaving for even a single breath.

  He pulled me back up to him then, so that now both of us were lying side by side on the damp towels and making out again like long-term lovers. Dorian twisted around on the towel until his cock was in my face again. His face now down by my own eight-inch pecker, Dorian gently—almost tentatively—sucked my hard prick into his pretty lips, taking it halfway down his throat as I swallowed his own nine-inch pole into my more-than-willing mouth.

  It was the ideal sixty-nine, our mouths matching so perfectly that I almost felt like I was sucking my own dick; if I teased the head of his cock with my tongue, he was doing the same to mine. When Dorian swallowed me to the balls and I began fucking his face, he was already ramming his cock down my throat. We simply couldn’t get enough of each other, and it showed in the speed and passion with which we licked and sucked and caressed each other. The oral alone was mind-blowing, and never had I felt so alive as I did with him.

  Then, before I knew it, I felt my balls constrict and I shouted, “Oh, my god…oh, my god, I’m gonna come!”—and Dorian pulled my prick from his mouth, backing off just in time for me to nut, my cock squirting thick streamers of white cum all over my crotch, legs, and the towel I was lying on. Thankfully, Dorian had pulled away in time to miss most of my load…but I shot so hard the cream just flew and flew from my cockhead, and he did manage to catch a few blobs of white in his long hair.

  I had to stop sucking him—my orgasm was so intense, I was literally gasping for breath—and Dorian crawled back around on the towel, to gently kiss me on the face and lips as I came down from my sexual high. I had never nutted with such force before; even my brain felt like it had had an orgasm. When my heart had finally gotten back to a normal rhythm in my chest—my breath coming evenly again—Dorian kissed me on the neck and whispered something in my ear that I’d so often heard in my fantasies about him:

  “Could I fuck you, Brian?”

  I swallowed hard, at first unsure if I’d heard right; it was too much like my fantasy to seem 100 percent real. “Do you have condoms?” I asked.

  “In my bag in the car, sure,” Dorian whispered back, biting tenderly on my earlobe.

  My body gave him my answer. He got condoms and lube from his car, coming back to the towels with his hard-on bobbing up and down as he ran. Pushing me over onto my left side, Dorian lay down behind me and rolled a condom tightly onto his fat, nine-inch beef-stick. Applying a generous amount of lube to both his hard prick and my asshole—with two fingers that, at first, hurt me like hell—Dorian then rolled over on his side behind me in a spooning position, and lifted my right leg into the air, telling me to hold it there. Then, from behind, I felt his big dick press up against my tight, tiny asshole. Slowly, very slowly, Dorian forced the fat mushroom head of his hard prick into my ass.

  I moaned loudly, involuntarily pulling away, but Dorian’s arm slid under my neck and around my chest, holding me to him. I felt his cool, sweaty body press up against my back, and then with his other hand he shoved another inch or two of fat cock inside me.

  “Oh, shit, ” I hissed, feeling him fill my hole and stretch it wide as he forced his oversized pole more deeply into me. It didn’t hurt—thankfully, Dorian took his time, and knew what he was doing—and in fact by the time he was all the way in, all I could do was bury my face in his arm, lips kissing the crook of his elbow, as I moaned over and over again, “Fuck me, oh, man, yeah—fuck me.”

  I held my right leg up higher into the night air, the pounding of the surf seeming to surround us as Dorian pulled his cock from my asshole…almost all the way…and then thrust in again, hard, and began to rhythmically fuck my ass in long, sensual strokes. I started whimpering again, loudly now, and as he built up speed Dorian wrapped his other arm around my waist—holding me tightly to his body as his hips pounded faster and faster, forcing his big dick harder and harder up my ass as he gasped and blew in my ear, grunting like an animal.

  By then I was hard again, my own cock smacking hard off my belly and down again, every time Dorian thrust his cock inside me.

  “Oh, fuck man, you are so tight, Brian,” he hissed in my ear. “God damn you have such a fucking hot ass, man—it’s so tight around my big dick.”

  We were both making noises now, me the whimpering dog and Dorian the dominant tiger, his assault on my tight ass relentless as he picked up more and more speed—his cock jack-hammering my hole so hard I could hear the slap-slap-slapping of his crotch against my buttcheeks over the crashing waves of the sea. At one point he twisted my head around, pulling my mouth to his as he raised his head to meet mine, and we were kissing again—that passionate, lip-suckling lovers’ kissing that sent me over the edge. Then I was shooting again without even touching myself, my cock blowing a second huge load of cum, in thick cords of white cream, all over the towel and sand in front of me.

  “I’m gonna come!” Dorian gasped in my ear at last, just as his ramming had drained the last of the jizz from my balls—and then I felt it, as he slammed one last time up inside me. I felt the thick underside of his shaft as it released, and shot thick wads of cream from his balls, cum blasting up his cock like it was a firehose and filling the condom he’d stuffed up my ass.

  “FUCK!” he screamed into the night air, and grabbed me around the chest and waist so tightly, I could feel his nails scratch my belly. As he buried his face in my shoulder, I could hear and feel him almost weeping, his orgasm as intense as mine. Minutes later, I could still feel his dick unloading the last of his sweet cum inside me.

  I relaxed my right leg as soon as he slid from my ass, and rolled over to face him. Arms wrapped around each other, we kissed with what little energy we had left—our bodies chilled with sweat now in the salty air as we clung on to each other for warmth.

  “Wow,” I whispered, after planting yet another tender, open-mouthed kiss on his lips.

  “Jesus.” Dorian swiped back his sweat-soaked hair with one hand, his sleepy eyes smiling at me. “Man, was that hot,” he said softly.

  We cleaned up in the ocean, splashing and tossing each other around in the surf. I was comfortable in the shallow water, at least as long as Dorian was there. We dried off with a clean beach towel from his Hummer afterward, then dressed in our sandy clothes (Dorian pulling on a tie-dyed T-shirt he found crumpled on the back seat), and on the drive home I rested my left hand on his thigh—Dorian giving it a squeeze occasionally, to tell me he liked it there.

  It was after midnight when we neared my apa
rtment building, and I was already dreading saying good night. Was this just a one-night fuck? Had I really told him I loved him? I cringed at the memory.

  “You work tomorrow?” he asked, as I pointed out my building and we pulled to a stop.

  “Yeah. I got a class at ten, at Santa Monica College, then work at one.”

  He nodded, thinking. “Okay—I’ll be here around nine, nine-fifteen. But give me your number in case I’m running late, okay?”

  I turned to him. “You—you wanna come pick me up?”

  “Why not? Man, you got no car—and it’s too far for the bus.” He grinned. “Besides, it gives me a chance to get to know you better. And after you get off work, I figure we could have dinner, and maybe another swimming lesson.” He paused. “That is—if you still want to learn.”

  He kissed me good night, a long, slow smooch, and I got out of the Hummer. Dorian waited until I was inside my building before waving and pulling away.

  Though sleepy, I stayed up for a couple of hours that night—researching surfing terminology, and the history of the sport, online. Before going to bed, I took a shower to wash the salt and sand from my body—the spray of the water a poor substitute for the ocean I was growing to love as much as the guy who’d introduced me to it.

  MR. SURFER

  Neil Plakcy

  I wanted to show my boyfriend, Mike, some of my favorite breaks on the North Shore. Though he’s a Hawaii boy like me, he’d never really gotten into surfing; he’d been on a board a few times, but never in surf bigger than the baby breaks off Waikiki.

  So we had this great weekend planned—I’d rented a house near Haleiwa through a friend of mine, and strapped a selection of boards on the roof of my Jeep. I was about to head over to his house in Kamehameha Heights, a suburb of Honolulu, when he called.

  He’s an arson investigator for the Honolulu Fire Department, and though he was scheduled to be off, there’d been a suspicious fire he had to look into. “I’m sorry, Kimo,” he said. “With luck, I’ll get things worked out in a few hours. But you go ahead up to the North Shore, and I’ll drive up myself when I get finished.”