Date: Sat, 10 Jul 1999 19:35:30 PDT
From: Barclay Ashworth <sixty6@hotmail.com>
Subject: Night Fishing

To explain how I ended up on a dark beach in North Carolina with an aroused 
18 year old boy's cock in my trembling grasp and my girlfriend sleeping 
oblivious and contented back up at the cottage, I have to first describe 
something that happened to me in a dorm bathroom.

I was just finishing my shower and stepping back into the steamy room when 
Brian came in. He was yawning. His hair was tussled. A sheet print ran down 
one side of his face. He nodded at me by way of greeting with his eyelids 
half shut. He shifted his weight from foot to foot while I dried  myself, 
modestly turning my back to him while I moved the towel over myself. I 
turned back around and found him still in his robe, yawning and rubbing his 
eyes. I started to gather my things: my soap dish, the t-shirt and underwear 
I'd worn into the hall bathroom. As I pulled the shampoo bottle out of the 
shower stall, Brian took off his robe with a kind of shrug, put it on the 
hook, then turned toward the shower stall I'd just vacated.

His cock pointed the way, six inches, half hard, parallel to the floor. It 
was beautiful. I recall a conversation I heard on the bus to high school one 
morning: the two girls were talking about their boyfriends' dicks and saying 
how they would never call them beautiful like they'd heard on some porn 
movie or something. But this cock was beautiful. It was bright pink, smooth, 
soft looking and eminently touchable.

I'd never given Brian a second look. He was quiet. He didn't play sports 
with the rest of the guys on the hall, though he had at least two girls with 
him at all times. He once complained about his roommate's dime store 
portrait of Jesus and its strangely leering eyes. To the hearty laughter of 
me and the other guys he said he couldn't even contemplate doing anything 
acrobatic in bed with that picture looking at him. At the time I thought he 
was referring to those girls, but now, I imagined him with another guy. I 
even imagined him with me.

There was another reason I didn't give Brian another look: I'm straight.

So these thoughts about and inspired by Brian's cock were problematic for 
me.

But these dreams about Brian's cock and the things I might have done or said 
reverberated in my mind for years afterward. Sometimes I wondered if I might 
be bisexual. When a girl was giving me head and I had my hands all tangled 
up in her long blonde hair as I watched her pretty mouth on my decidedly 
unbeautiful cock, I started to wonder about what it would be like to have a 
guy suck me. And as I jerked off in the shower, I'd wonder what it would be 
like to touch another guy and maybe to suck him off, the softness of the 
skin on a hard dick, the hot cum in my mouth. Sometimes I'd throw my legs 
over my head and shoot into my own mouth for the salty thrill of it.

Years later, still obsessed by that fleshy pink, touchable, suckable, 
perfect cock just feet away, I related this story to an on-line friend. His 
response was to say: "You should've given it a couple pumps just to see what 
would happen."

I was horrified. "I couldn't do that!" I said. "I would've been too worried 
about him blabbing to all the other straight guys on the hall, losing my 
girlfriend, becoming a pariah..."

He said "In my experience, that's what everybody really wants. Just grab 
it-worry about consequences later. Besides, it would've been his word 
against yours if he didn't like it."

Years later I was laying on the beach napping. When I turned over onto my 
back my dick tented my swim trunks like it does when I relax. My girlfriend 
looked at it overtop her book and smiled a bit. I flipped back over, resting 
my chin on my crossed arms. My half hard dick got me to thinking about 
Brian's and how I never did anything about it, couldn't even manage to time 
my shower so that I might catch a glimpse of him again despite my best 
efforts.

A few yards down the beach there were some people fishing. When I'd gone to 
sleep there had just been a guy the age and shape of Santa Claus, but now 
there were two boys with him. One was probably about 23, denim hat pulled 
low over his head, dozing in the beach chair like a drunk. The other was 
about 18, smooth, bronzed all over with a slight, swimmers' build, loose 
fitting cargo shorts hanging so low you could see the elastic and about an 
inch and a half of his blue boxers. He stood on the beach a few yards away, 
grinding in the fishing lines, then effortlessly casting them far out past 
the breaking waves: A flash of armpit hair, a tightening of the tight 
stomach, a follow through in the form of a tight muscle on the leg just 
below the knee, and a flash of pink foot sole. Then he'd put the pole into 
the buried PVC pipe and go down the beach to the next pole.

I think he saw me watching him, despite my dark sunglasses. Every time he 
picked up a pole, cast it out, or reeled it back in he would shoot a glance 
at me. I'm not sure if he was showing off, hoping I'd catch him reel in a 
fish, if he thought maybe I was some kind of pervert or something, or if he 
was thinking about what I was thinking about... boy's hard cocks, tightening 
scrotums, and squirts of hot cum. I thought back on my on-line friend's 
advice and decided then and there that if I had a chance, I would not 
squander it.

I went back to sleep to images of River Phoenix in My Own Private Idaho. 
There's a scene where he's receiving fellatio. All you see is his perfect 
chest and the head of a guy moving up and down. After he cums the guy throws 
money at him, which lands on his lower abdomen. River zips up the bills in 
his pants (carefully presumably since there are no undies seen or implied) 
and the scene is cut in such a way that his pubic hair is just off the 
screen. Nevertheless, you can imagine that wet cock, shriveling up in his 
jeans. It's one of my favorite lullabies, this image.

Later on after a shower, a couple drinks and spaghetti, my girlfriend 
declared herself worn out and we went up to bed. All that napping, 
daydreaming, and dreaming on the beach left me unable to sleep, so I told 
her I was going out for a walk on the beach. She sort of grunted a sleepy 
"OK, love ya," and rolled over.

I took my flashlight, but the moon was so bright I didn't need it. Listening 
to the roaring of the surf, I walked straight out from the dunes towards the 
water. An occasional ghost crab startled me by scrabbling across by bare 
feet and I cursed when I stumbled over somebody's clam-shell-studded sand 
castle. Looking a short way down the beach, I could see a light and a shadow 
closer to the surf. I admit that my heart skipped a beat when I thought that 
it might be that fishing kid.

I walked down the beach towards the shadow. The tide was coming in and the 
waves were coming up higher now than they had been when I was sleeping on 
the beach. The firm sand under my feet dissolved when the foam slammed 
around my ankles. The mole crabs gurgled far down below as the water 
receded.

As I got closer I was sure my eyes were playing tricks on me. It looked like 
my fishing boy. If I moved my eyeballs so that I wasn't looking directly at 
him (astronomer's trick) it appeared that he was, nah, he couldn't really be... 
but his head was tilted way back and his hands looked really busy near the 
front of his shorts.

I pulled the flashlight out of my back pocket and switched it on. The beam 
danced in the water, on the sand, on his bare feet, his smooth bronze legs, 
the bottom of his wet shorts, his open fly and his hard pink cock peeking 
out from his open zipper and boxer fly and partly enclosed by his fingers. 
His whole body jerked as he tried to cram his hard dick back into his 
shorts.

The thought instantly came into my head that this was one of those 
opportunities my on-line friend had told me about.

The boy had turned and was rushing back up to his bait cooler and the 
flashlight laying in the sand pointed at it. I clicked my own flashlight off 
and followed him up the beach. "It's OK." I said. "Don't be scared," the 
whole way thinking about lightly tracing that cock with my fingers.

He grabbed up the flashlight and shone it directly in my eyes. Despite my 
squint and the bright red and purple image trails in my retina, I could see 
him relax a little as if he recognized me from earlier on the beach. "You 
startled me," he said.

"Sorry. Can I sit down?" I referred to the bait cooler, exhaling heavily and 
generally acting as if he startled me as much as I startled him.

In the light of his flashlight I could see that his face was flushed and he 
was looking at me as if trying to decide whether I'd seen as much as he 
feared and how embarrassed he should be about it all.

"Did you see her?" I asked in a stage whisper.

"Who?" he said.

"You don't know about the mermaid?"

"What?!" he asked with a little laugh.

"Legend is that there's a mermaid that comes upon fishermen in the night 
surf."

"Yeah?" he started to look interested and actually took a step closer to me. 
Was I really doing this? I felt almost like I was outside of my body 
watching myself seduce this kid. His perfect chest showed him to be still 
breathing heavily.

"She waits until they wade out into the waves to cast their lines and she 
starts it in the water."

"Starts what?"

"She grabs your pants like this," I said, grabbing his loose waistband. He 
was a little surprised, but he didn't pull away and my fingers were hooked 
over his button and my thumb was rubbing along the zipper. He was still 
hard. My head's shadow covered his crotch. I looked up at his face watching 
my hand.

"Yeah?" he breathed.

"Then she unzips your pants like this." Rubbing my knuckles lightly against 
the head of his cock, I reached my other hand up and unzipped his shorts.

He sort of hummed tunelessly. "Th-th-then?" He was shivering, despite the 
muggy night.

"She grabs a hold of your dick." I adeptly scrambled my hand into his pants 
and his boxers and grasped that hard warm cock.

We inhaled sharply and at the same time. It was my first cock besides my 
own. I suddenly became aware that it was his first hand besides his own.

Back in college I'd had a girlfriend with an overdeveloped gag reflex. She 
couldn't stand certain foods, not because of allergies, or their taste, but 
because of the way they felt in her mouth. I love blowjobs, and I cojolled 
her, threatened her, and begged her until one night she finally relented. I 
tugged my shorts and  boxers down on her couch and waited for her to get to 
work on my already throbbing hard cock. I saw her hesitate, but I was a good 
boy. I kept my hands at my sides. She breathed on it. She brushed her lips 
against it. She let her hair tickle it. She kissed it lightly. She wet her 
lips and touched them to my burning skin. She looked worriedly at the precum 
which, was dripping dripping dripping from the head of my dick-more than I 
usually have since I was so turned on. She never did take it into her mouth 
fully; I came in her hand, saving her the worries about the feel of my cum 
in her mouth. Nonetheless it was the best blowjob I've ever had.

My fisher boy reminded me of that story. The tops of his boxers were soaked 
around the head of his cock from the precum oozing out. My own cock was 
standing at attention and twinged in sympathy every time I ran my thumb 
through his precum covered head. There was little small talk after that. He 
grunted a bit and clamped his eyes shut; I was watching his face.

I unsnapped his shorts and they dropped to the sand. I took my hand off his 
erection. His eyes opened in alarm. I tugged his boxers down and put my hand 
back where it was, reassuring him. Now I could watch my hand on his 
beautiful cock. I craddled his balls in my hand like fragile eggs. He 
groaned.

I thought back on all the opportunities I'd had and lost. All those boys I 
could've seduced. All those guys in bookstores, on buses and subways, in 
crowded office buildings who held my gaze for a moment too long. Those cute 
guys at urinals I thought might be looking at me. They too could've been 
seduced, or could have seduced if they were given a little encouragement. I 
thought of Brian's dick, that little thing that started all this, and how 
this beach action would fuel my after work and morning masturbation 
fantasies for weeks. Then I thought about taking the boy's hard dick into my 
mouth and the taste of cum and feel of semen in my mouth, but almost as if 
he read my mind, the boy gasped, and bucked his hips, his cock grinding 
against my hand, his balls bouncing a bit.

In the light of the flashlight I watched stream after stream of cum shooting 
out onto the sand. His eyes were clenched shut, his mouth opened and shut 
like a landed fish, images of buxom mermaids on the insides of his eyelids, 
no doubt. When the white semen finally stopped shooting, then stopped 
dribbling, he shuddered, pushed my hand away gently and pulled his boxers 
and shorts back on. Now it was my turn to shiver despite the humidity and 
the bright red ember of my erection tightening my pants.

Giving my first  blow job would have to wait until the next opportunity I 
reach out and grab.


If you have comments, a similar story you would like to share, or if you 
have the imagination and creativity necessary to be my erotic pen pal, 
please drop me a line at sixty6@hotmail.com