by Neil Plakcy
The surfer caught another wave, a bigger one this time. Not nearly big enough for the guy to tuck himself inside the curl, but he did try. David added lithe to his mental checklist of the surfer’s admirable qualities.
Something happened, something David didn’t quite catch. One minute the surfer was crouched down on his board, the next he’d tumbled into the water, his board pounded by the surf at the bottom of the wave.
Okay, so the surfer wasn’t perfect. That didn’t mean he—
The surfer wasn’t coming up.
David had seen surfers wipe out before. The boards didn’t spin up in the air like they did in the movies, but surfboards were still damn big pieces of wood attached to the surfer by a line at the ankle. He’d seen more than one guy come out of the surf with his head bleeding after getting conked by his tethered board.
The surfer with the cast-iron balls still wasn’t coming up.
The couple and their dog had been walking in the wrong direction. They were even farther away now, too far to help. That made David the only person on the beach.
“Fuck!” David toed off his shoes at the same time he shucked his watch. He dropped his watch, wallet, and cell phone on top of his shoes, windbreaker on top of all that, and took off running for the water.
The cold of it nearly took his breath away. What the fuck was he thinking? He was no lifeguard. He wasn’t even all that strong a swimmer, not in open water, and his only experience with CPR was seeing it done in the movies.
He didn’t let any of that slow him down.
He caught a glimpse of the surfboard, a nice bright red, thank god, and started to stroke toward it. The water numbed his hands and feet, and he had to remind himself to breathe in between strokes. Seawater still got up his nose and stung his eyes, but he kept swimming.
By the time he reached the board, the surfer was floating face up on top of the water. He was breathing and his eyes were open, but he had a nasty gash on his forehead and his eyes had a vacant look.
“Hey,” David said. “Are you hurt? Can you swim?”
The surfer tried to focus on him. “Not sure. I don’t know where my….” He trailed off, looking confused. “I don’t know what happened to me.”
“Nothing good.” David’s jeans dragged at his legs, tiring him out faster than if he’d been in his trunks. Maybe he should have shucked them as well, but he wasn’t about to now. “We need to get back to shore.”
The surfer moved a little in the water, not really swimming, and David realized he was trying to untether his board. “Here,” David said. “Let me help.”
David had never felt more uncoordinated in his life, but between the two of them they managed to slip the ankle tie off the surfer’s foot.
They started swimming toward shore as soon as the surfer was free of his board. David tried to pace the guy, make sure he stayed awake and swimming, but he needn’t have worried. Once the guy got moving, David had to struggle to keep up.
That first moment when he stood up out of the water, when gravity hit him and made his body feel impossibly heavy, David wasn’t sure he’d be able to muster enough strength to walk to where he’d left his things. Apparently he wasn’t the only one,
The surfer collapsed on his back barely above the surf line.
“Well, that was spectacularly stupid,” the surfer said, then he cracked an eye open and looked at David. “Oh, hey man, I didn’t mean you. You were amazing. I meant me.”
David sat down on the sand next to the surfer. “Accidents happen.”
“I’m supposed to be doing this for fun. To relax. Not to get myself killed.”
The surfer’s jaw tightened, then he sighed deeply. David could almost see the physical effort the guy was making to relax.
“I’m Jerome, by the way,” the surfer said.
He held out his hand. David shook it and introduced himself, then shivered, from the top of his head to his half-frozen toes.
He reached for his windbreaker. Jerome stopped him with a hand on his wrist.
“Take your shirt off first, man, so you don’t get the jacket sopping wet on the inside,” Jerome said. “I’ve got spare clothes in the car you can change into, as long as you don’t mind wearing my gym sweats.”
At this point, David would have changed into drag just to get warm. “Dry sounds great.”
David stripped off his shirt and got his windbreaker on as quick as he could manage. He closed the zipper up to his neck, and caught Jerome watching him out of the corner of his eye.
Jerome’s expression was odd, unreadable, and not just because the cut on his head was still leaking blood. “You should put something on that.” David nodded at Jerome’s forehead.
“Why did you come in after me?” Jerome asked.
The question made David uncomfortable. He was no hero, and he certainly didn’t want Jerome to think he wanted anything from him in return.
“You were in trouble,” David said. “I was the only one here.”
“Most people wouldn’t bother. They might make a call on their cell, or stand around looking shocked and uncertain. They wouldn’t dive fully dressed into the water. For all you knew, a current could have snagged me. Could have snagged you, too.”
David hadn’t thought about currents and riptides and being carried out to sea. He didn’t want to think about it now, so he shrugged and tried to look nonchalant. “I couldn’t do that.”
Jerome studied him for a minute, then looked back toward the water. “My board finally made it.” The red surfboard had washed onshore a good thirty yards away. It looked lonely and out of place, a spot of bright color in the midst of the sullen ocean, gray sky, and wet sand.
David looked at Jerome. “Can I ask you a question?”
Jerome’s eyes flicked back toward David. They were dark brown, David noticed. Dark brown, and rimmed with the thickest lashes David had ever seen on a man. Delicate and strong. David felt the siren song of attraction, and knew that he could get lost in those eyes.
“Sure,” Jerome said.
“Why do you surf all alone? No lifeguard, no friends. Not the safest thing in the world.”
“Good question.” Jerome sat up, knees bent, and rested his chin on his folded arms. “I like the rush of it. I mean, I’ve always liked to surf, but it’s the alone time I enjoy. No expectations, no disappointments. No judge or jury. No one here but me and the sea, and it’s so big, man. Anything that’s bothering me feels insignificant in comparison.”
The sea. David had come here looking for inspiration. Jerome had come looking for solitude.
“Better than drugs,” David said softly.
Jerome gave him a squinty-eyed stare. “What makes you think it isn’t one?”
Apparently worried he’d said too much, Jerome made a “never mind” gesture with one hand and shook his head, then said “Ow!” in a tone that was more surprised than hurt.
David heaved himself to his feet, then put out his hand for Jerome, who needed his cut bandaged and something for what had to be a monster-sized headache. And they were discussing beachside philosophy. “I seem to remember you mentioning dry clothes.”
Jerome chuckled, took David’s hand, and pulled himself up. “Let me get my board. You can go on to the car. It’s the only one in the lot.”
“I’ll wait.”
David retrieved the rest of his stuff. He put his wallet, watch, and cell phone inside one of his shoes. He wasn’t about to put anything in his wet jeans pocket. He slung his wet shirt over his arm and waited for Jerome to get back with the board.
They fell into step, neither one racing to get to the car. David had an unpleasant flashback to walking this way with Bruce, but he pushed it out of his mind. Bruce was another lifetime ago.
They changed clothes in the shelter of the open doors of Jerome’s car. David managed to avert his eyes, for the most part, as Jerome stripped out of his wet suit and into dry jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. The sweat clothes Jerome gave David to change int
o fit a little snug—Jerome was leaner than David—and the legs were too long, but the clothes were dry and warm. And they smelled like Jerome, which was far from unpleasant.
David had walked to the beach. His house was a little less than a mile up the hill on the other side of the coastal road. Normally the walk back would have been an easy one, but after his unexpected swim in his jeans, his legs still felt wobbly.
“Mind giving me a ride back to my place?” David asked. “It’s not far. Then I can give you your clothes back.”
Jerome smiled at him. “Least I can do.”
They were quiet in the car. The only time David spoke was to give directions.
The more time he spent with Jerome, the less he felt like saying good-bye after he changed into his own clothes. He just wasn’t sure how to go about asking for a date. He’d saved the guy’s life. He didn’t want Jerome to think a date was payment for being a good Samaritan.
“Want to come inside?” he asked when they got to his house.
That unfathomable expression was back on Jerome’s face, but it disappeared beneath a friendly smile. “Sure,” he said. “Although I really need a shower, so it will have to be quick.”
David nodded. Quick was better than nothing.
David’s house was a small two-bedroom that was at least fifty years old. He slept in the smaller of the bedrooms and used what was supposed to be the master bedroom for his studio. The living room was cramped, barely enough room for two overstuffed chairs with a low, round table in between. The best feature of the house was the hardwood floors: easy maintenance for an artist who sometimes walked around in bare, paint-splattered feet. Even though David tried to keep it clean, the wood was dotted here and there with remnants of color.
Jerome took it all in as David walked back to the kitchen and dropped his wet clothes on the floor. “Can I get you anything to drink?” he asked.
“Water,” Jerome said. “And a bathroom. I need to see what kind of damage I’ve done to myself.” The skin around the gash was already starting to bruise.
“I’ve got some first aid stuff around here.” David rummaged around in a drawer next to the sink. He found gauze pads, medical tape, and antibiotic ointment. “Best I can do,” he said, handing the stuff over along with a bottle of water from the fridge. “There’s aspirin in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom.”
Jerome went into the tiny bathroom off the hall and shut the door.
David sighed. He had no idea how to turn the conversation personal without seeming crass. Bruce had always been the aggressor. In fact, the more David thought about it, he’d never initiated any relationship or even hookup he’d been in. Looked? Oh, my yes, he’d looked. He’d flirted. He’d outright stared until his intent was blatantly obvious. But he’d never made the first move. He’d feel like a jerk if he did now.
He went into his tiny bedroom to change clothes. He took off Jerome’s sweat clothes and folded them carefully on his bed. His skin felt odd from the salt water. He needed a shower as much as Jerome did. David had a quick mental image of the two of them in his shower, hot and wet and hard, but he made himself forget it before his body had a chance to react.
He turned around to get clothes out of his dresser and found Jerome in the doorway, staring at him.
David blinked. Surprise didn’t begin to describe what he was feeling, but he made no move to cover himself up.
“I may be reading this all wrong,” Jerome said. “If I am, I apologize, but I can’t think of one good reason why we both can’t rinse off now. Together.” He took a step into the room. “Can you?”
David gulped. He didn’t trust his voice, so he shook his head.
Jerome’s gaze slid down David’s body, then back up to his face. “I saw you watching me. On the beach.” He took another step toward David. “That’s how I screwed up. I was showing off for you. Hotdogging when the wave wasn’t right. And then you came and rescued me.”
A quick fuck as a thank-you. David wanted no part of that.
“That’s not why I did it,” he said. “So I could get you back here and guilt you into—”
“Guilt or gratitude has nothing to do with it,” Jerome said, interrupting him. “Am I grateful? I’d be an idiot not to be. I might have made it on my own, then again, I might not have.” He was close enough now to touch David, but he kept his hands at his sides. “Remember. I was showing off for you. If I saw you in a bar, I would have bought you a drink. If I met you at a party, I would ignore everyone else for a chance to talk to you.”
“Why?” David asked, his mouth suddenly gone dry. He was nothing special, just another lonely man trying to forget a lost lover.
Jerome grinned. “It’s a little early to be dissecting things. We haven’t even kissed yet.”
Half a heartbeat later, Jerome got that step out of the way.
David didn’t think he’d ever been kissed so tenderly in his life. Jerome’s lips were soft, and he kissed with just enough pressure to leave David aching for more. He made a little noise in the back of his throat, cupped Jerome’s face with both hands, and pressed up against him, and the kiss turned passionate.
Naked, David had no way to mask his body’s reactions to Jerome. His cock pressed against the rough fabric of Jerome’s jeans, and before long, David was hard and aching.
Jerome reached down between them and wrapped his hand around David. David’s knees felt like they were giving out. How long had it been since anyone had touched him? He couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter anyway. All that mattered was that Jerome held him, squeezed and stroked him, and he felt wanted.
“Where’s your shower?” Jerome asked, his voice rough.
David’s two bedrooms were connected by a common master bathroom. The bathroom had an old tub and shower combination, complete with tacky shower curtain decorated with cartoon fish swimming in an opaque plastic sea.
David led the way. His cock missed Jerome’s hand, but he’d soon have his own hand on Jerome; he just had to be patient.
Jerome stripped off his clothes while David got the shower running.
David only got glimpses of what Jerome looked like beneath his wet suit when they’d changed clothes at the beach. While the water in the shower got hot, David let himself luxuriate in the sight of Jerome’s naked body.
Jerome’s chest was broad and lightly muscled, his nipples large and dark. His cock was long and lean like the rest of him, and it jutted out hard from a bed of dark curls. David wanted to taste it. He wanted Jerome’s mouth on him. He wanted to fuck and be fucked. He wanted all the things Bruce said he never did.
Jerome backed David up against the tiled wall of the shower, grabbed his cock, and gave it a firm stroke while he plundered David’s mouth with his own, and all thoughts of Bruce and failed relationships washed away like the last of the seawater from David’s hair.
They did all the things David wanted them to. They stayed in the shower until the water ran cold, tasting every inch of each other’s body. They sucked and stroked and touched and kissed, and it wasn’t enough.
They were still wet when they fell on David’s bed, a tangle of slick limbs and bodies.
“I want to fuck you,” Jerome said. “I want you to come while I’m inside. I want to see your face when you do.”
David still had what they needed. He rolled the condom on Jerome while Jerome finger-fucked him to get him ready. David’s hands were shaking so hard with the pent-up need to come he could barely finish slathering lube over the condom.
Jerome pushed David’s knees toward his chest, opening him up. David used to feel exposed and weak, fucking like this, on his back with his cock hard against his belly, his legs spread. Weak and small.
Jerome made him feel special.
He kissed each of David’s legs as he pushed them back. He stroked the side of David’s face with one hand and ran his thumb over David’s lips. The touch of Jerome’s cock against him filled David with such an aching longing he almost couldn’t stand
it. His own cock, the head flushed deep with the need to come, leaked steadily on his belly.
“Fuck me,” he whispered to Jerome, afraid to speak any louder, afraid to break the spell Jerome seemed to have woven around the two of them.
Jerome did.
It had been too long for it not to hurt. David cried out—he couldn’t help it—and Jerome grabbed David’s cock and started to stroke.
David truly lost it then. His world boiled down to the two of them. Not even that. More like the world was made up of infinite sensation exploding outward from his groin, consuming him alive, and he wanted more.
He cried out for more when Jerome truly started to fuck him then. Hard, fast strokes inside his body matched with firm, fast strokes to his cock: heaven. David had found heaven and he never wanted to leave.
It had been too long, and even the warm-ups in the shower hadn’t taken enough of the edge off. David came hard and fast, and then lay there while the handsome surfer pounded into him until he found his own release.
The cut on Jerome’s forehead had stopped bleeding by the time they lay next to each other, sweaty and panting. “We still need to put something on that,” David said.
Jerome touched his forehead. “Yeah. We’re going to need another shower too. Think the water’s hot yet?”
David’s water heater was about as old as the house. “Maybe,” he said.
Jerome leaned up on one elbow and looked down at David’s face. “Just so you know,” he said. “I don’t do this kind of thing. I don’t go home with guys I don’t know and hijack their showers and fuck their brains out. I’m a nice, simple, uncomplicated hotel bookkeeper who likes to surf to blow off steam. I have a cat.”
“Are you upset you did this with me?” David asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.
Jerome took a deep breath. “Only if you throw me out and never want to see me again.”
