Beach Boys (10 page)

“Oooooh, look, somebody’s been watching us,” Henry cooed laughingly.

Lance looked up from his diligent cocksucking. “It’s that neighbor kid. Maybe we should teach him a lesson.”

Yes
, I thought deliriously.
Teach me. Teach me
.

I put a knee up onto the mattress and reached out a shaking hand. I wanted it so bad.

They drew me up between them, and suddenly I was surrounded by that beautiful male flesh. Hard cocks pressed me on either side, and their strong arms folded themselves over me.

Lance licked a bead of sweat off my forehead. Henry’s tongue probed at my earlobe. Tentatively I laid a quick peck of a kiss on top of Henry’s tattoo. It was not a mermaid, as I’d thought at first glance, but a mer
man
.

“He’s so young,” Lance murmured.

“I’ll bet he’s tasty too.” Henry started kissing his way downward, mouth traveling leisurely over my chest and stomach. I turned toward Lance and abruptly found my mouth filled with his tongue. It was like an electric eel, wriggling and sending bolts of wild energy through my flesh. My first man/man kiss.

Then Henry’s mouth swallowed my cock, and I was receiving something even more exciting. Lance rubbed, then lightly pinched my aroused nipples. I moaned into his mouth. Henry’s lips had wrapped my burning cock tightly, and his tongue danced recklessly over my sensitive cockhead and along my straining staff.

My cock was being sucked. By a
man
. The thought doubled the excitement of the already overwrought scene.

As he had with Lance, Henry detoured to devour my balls. It felt wonderfully vulnerable to have my tender sacks slurped into his mouth and rolled on his tongue. I continued to tongue-fence with Lance. My hand groped, again seemingly of its own will, toward his cock. Finding it, I gave him a firm squeeze, which brought a gratifying groan from him.

Lance shifted, breaking our prolonged kiss and coming up onto his knees, facing me. My eyes widened as his gorgeous cock came into view, twitching. When he straddled my chest, I felt a hysterical thrill of anticipation.
Yes. Yes! Let me suck it...

Lance helpfully wedged a pillow under my neck as I opened my mouth. My tongue came out, and my body trembled even more violently. I licked the swollen purplish cockhead, tasting the salty dewdrop of pre-come that seeped from the slit. With Henry sucking away at my cock, I almost came right there, nearly overwhelmed by my first taste of man-meat.

I managed to hold on, not wanting this to end prematurely—or ever. Under better control now, I put my lips around Lance’s impressive staff. He was quite a mouthful. The texture of his cock-skin on my tongue was silken. As I sucked him rapturously into my mouth, I quickly encountered my gag reflex, with several inches of him still left to swallow. Determined, I swallowed further, learning in the space of a few seconds how to control the reflex. Soon Lance’s delicious cockhead was sliding into my throat.

Henry started fingering my asshole with a spit-wet finger. I wriggled pleasurably, and he added another finger, widening my grasping virgin hole.

Lance’s weight felt good across my chest as I sucked him furiously, relishing every inch, fiercely proud that I could now take him right down to the base of his staff. He obligingly fucked at my face, his balls slapping my chin.

Then we were shifting positions again, and I thought back on all the variations I’d so keenly watched during my spying days whenever Henry and Lance were entertaining a third party. I knew what I wanted to do.

Henry came up onto his knees, and I dived toward his rampant cock, thrusting my well-fingered ass toward Lance. They got the idea quickly.

Lance treated me first to a luscious rimming. I moaned around Henry’s cock, which I found no trouble swallowing, as Lance’s tongue worked around my tingling hole, then slithered inside. I now wholly understood the pleasures of a rim job. I was already humping my ass back toward him when he rose up on his knees.

His muscular thighs pressed against the backs of mine. He guided his cockhead against my hole, rolling it around the entryway, then gently let it sink inside. My puckered hole resisted at first, but once I’d accommodated that fat head, sharp thunderbolts of pleasure ignited in me.

Henry’s cock tasted as delectable as Lance’s had. I sucked at him eagerly. His fingers wound themselves through my hair, and his hips thrust toward my willing mouth.

Lance slid slowly into me. Whenever my muscles clenched too tightly, he paused to allow me to adjust. It got easier to acclimate myself as more of him filled me. My channel burned wonderfully around his intruding pulsing meat. I realized I’d taken every inch of that big cock into me when I felt his pelvis settle against my ass. Then his fingers gripped my hips firmly, and away he went.

He fucked me gently at first, but when I started back-thrusting violently against him, he got the message and went at me full-tilt. The sounds of his flesh smacking hard and loud into mine were awesome. Every impalement brought a new blast of pleasure.

I continued to suck Henry, feeling him shivering with an impending come. I was gratified by the pleasure I was bringing him. I wanted to do all this right. I wanted my first time to be flawless.

And it was. Lance fucked away at my eager hole, slamming me now, grunting wildly, strong fingers digging into my hips. Henry’s cock was quivering in my mouth. His grip on my hair tightened.

They emptied their come into me at the same time, which was almost
too
perfect. Henry’s cock erupted at the same instant Lance’s thick liquid heat gushed deep inside my ass. I didn’t flinch from the spunk that filled my mouth, swallowing the strange and glorious juice hungrily.

They stayed attached to me until the last drops had oozed out. Then they gently disengaged. I flopped back onto the disarrayed sheets, dizzy, gazing dumbly down at my still-rampant cock. Warm come dribbled out of my hole, and the taste of Henry’s juice still tingled on my tongue.

They hunkered together between my thighs, spreading my legs wide. I watched, no longer a distant secret voyeur, as they both went down on me. Their able tongues raced and lapped and slurped up and down my staff. It was a beautiful sight, but I absolutely couldn’t hold back anymore.

My come boiled out of my balls, onto their tongues. They licked my juice off my throbbing cock, then kissed long and deep.

When they came up to snuggle against either side of me, wrapping me again in a cocoon of masculine flesh, Henry murmured, “I think it’s okay, after all, if you still want to watch from next door.”

“Or maybe you’ll want to come over again from time to time,” said Lance.

I grinned along with them, aglow.

“I think I like the view from here,” I said.

And so it went for the remainder of that summer, which I remember as a great gleaming gateway through which I stepped, finding my true carnal self on the other side.

by Randall Ivey

“And you are good-looking yourself, I take it?” the man asked Merriman and laughed sheepishly.

Merriman flinched on the phone, confused. After all, it was he seeking this man’s services, and he didn’t quite see why his own physical credentials should be at issue. “Why do you ask?”

The man laughed again nervously before answering. “Forgive me. It’s just…your voice…sounds handsome. I mean…suave, authoritative. I was just trying to fit face to voice. Well, I am a people person, you know, and just naturally interested in these things. Sorry if I offended you.”

Although his experiences with male escorts had been limited over the years, Merriman had never known one to inquire about the client’s looks. It unnerved him for some reason, and he came close to terminating the meeting then and there. But the man’s ad! What a description he had offered in the “social pages” of the glossy city guide. Just what Merriman needed at the moment, the promise of youthful good looks, “chiseled chest,” and “generous endowment.” There had been no accompanying photograph, but the verbal portrait, if accurate, was suggestive enough and almost too tempting to pass up. And he really had no interest in or energy to devote that night to barhopping, to the desperate search, to the animal crawl from face to face, physique to physique, looking for that one perfect man, that one possibility for fulfillment, however brief. This was so much easier!

“You haven’t offended me,” Merriman replied. After his initial surprise at being asked, in fact, he felt a certain pride in being able to say, “Yes, I’m good-looking. Good-looking enough to do what you do, probably.” He laughed to cover up his embarrassment at being so immodest. But the truth was the truth. No reason to deny it.

The other man did not laugh. He responded anxiously, “Oh, that’s good to hear. I mean, well, there are so many…undesirables I must put up with in my line of work. I think you know what I mean. The potbellies. The wrinkles. The white hair. Even the young ones aren’t always very…comely. So this is a treat, a bonus.” Then he allowed himself a laugh.

For the second time Merriman came close to ending the whole thing, out of a vague sense of unease, but Cole, as the man advertised himself, was already asking for a meeting time and for directions, and Merriman felt such elation at the possibility of sex that evening with a beautiful stranger that he went ahead and gave Cole the address of his midtown Atlanta apartment. They agreed to meet in an hour’s time.

After the conversation, Merriman sat back on his couch, feeling a mix of excitement and apprehension at the impending meeting. It was not his habit to use the services of escorts. He did it rarely. He was indeed, as he’d confessed to Cole, a good-looking man with a solid build and respectable equipment. Although he was in his late thirties, he could still attract the attention, even the ardent admiration, of younger men, men in their twenties and early thirties, seeking an experience with a “daddy” or an “older brother.”

So why resort to escort services now?

The convenience of it mainly, as he’d rationalized to himself earlier. The ease of it. The fact that each man, client and escort, knew what he wanted; there would be no mixed signals, no confusion, no emotional entanglement to sort out afterwards. It would be a smooth, clean
transaction. More and more, as he grew older he grew tired of the games men seemed to play with each other in the act of mating, those various dances of lust—the grand quadrilles of bait and switch, the intricate tarantellas of tease and withdrawal. He no longer had the time or patience for men who found more pleasure in the hunt than they did in the kill. And furthermore, he relished the mystery of the exchange: the appearance of a stranger at his door, ready to marshal all his physical bounties for Merriman’s pleasure.

He took further assurance and pleasure from the fact that buying the time of an escort no longer had the old stigmas attached to it. When he was younger, it seemed the only men who solicited such company were the old, the shy, the ugly. “Trolls.” That was the word for such sexual unfortunates. Now, according to an article he’d read in a national monthly, handsome young professional men were using them as well, since their crowded work schedules and social calendars did not allow them opportunity for normal mating rituals. It made Merriman happy to be part of a trend. He felt in control of things and “up to date.”

He got so absorbed in his reflections, and his self-satisfaction, that he almost didn’t hear the door buzzer sound.

He checked the peephole first and saw, with some distortion, the hair and general features of a young man. Then he opened the door onto a smiling face.

“Cole?” he asked. The man nodded, and great relief flooded Merriman, the relief that Cole had lived up to the description in his ad. He had Italian features: black hair, great dark eyes, profligate red lips. He stood just under six feet; he was silk-skinned and smooth, broad-shouldered and small-waisted, and best of all, his pectorals stood square and majestic beneath his tight-fitting white T-shirt. He was a feast for the eyes; he would be a greater feast for the hand and tongue. But the initial pleasure provoked by such beauty vanished after a moment, like
sunspots from the eyes. Merriman felt another, stronger sensation. He stared again, and more deeply, at the boy and said, “I know you, don’t I?”

Cole betrayed discomfort only in the sudden shift of his eyes; otherwise he stood smiling at Merriman before easing past him into the apartment.

“Don’t I?” Merriman asked, following behind.

Cole turned. “Oh no. I’m new to Atlanta. I’ve been in town a couple of months. And I don’t know you. You’ve mistaken me for somebody else.”

True, Atlanta had become enough of a metropolis, enough of a Mecca to raise its own army of clones—in this case, the hairless, tanned, muscular young men who thronged bars and jogged city streets shirtless and lounged and played in city parks alone or with their equally handsome, equally pneumatic counterparts. It could be an honest mistake. But for some reason Merriman wasn’t satisfied with the explanation.

Cole was looking him up and down with genuine admiration. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you, however. You didn’t lie, Robert. You really are good-looking. Really nice body. This is going to be a treat for me, as much as I hope it will be for you.”

Merriman thanked him.

“You joked on the phone, but have you ever seriously thought about escorting yourself?”