Date: Sat, 8 Feb 2014 10:31:03 -0800
From: Frank Oliva <markjacker@gmail.com>
Subject: PCH Memories

Please continue to make Nifty available to all who want it CONTRIBUTE what
you can.  The rules still apply if you are not permitted this incendiary
stuff please leave.

PCH Memories

Recently I received an e-mail from a fan of "The Adventures of Mark the
Cock Hound."  He asked me when my next story would appear.  I responded
that my stories depended on inspiration and that I hadn't been inspired
lately.  After hitting the send key I realized that he had provided the
inspiration simply through his e-mail address.  It contains the letters
"PCH," and not being from California, he probably doesn't realize that
those letters also are the initials of my favorite cruising sections of
California's coastal Highway #1, more particularly, the portion from Santa
Barbara to San Diego, the location of some of the most exciting sexual
encounters I have had.  I won't tell this story in chronological order, but
rather, as these memories return to me.

Prior to going to graduate school at UCI in Orange County, I had had
relatively little experience of the beaches and bathrooms along
California's beautiful coast.  When I arrived in Orange County after a very
sexual summer in San Francisco attending ACT's Summer Training Congress I
was definitely ready for more action.  Shortly after finding my new home, I
headed for the sand and surf in South Laguna Beach.  One of my previous
stories, "Easter at West Street Beach," also takes place in South Laguna
Beach.

The day I arrived I knew as I parked my car I was in the right place.  West
Street Beach is obviously dedicated to hot young homosexual males.  Every
lad on the beach sported a bulging crotch in his very tight Speedo
swimsuit.  I established myself near the middle of the beach and scoped the
lay of the land.  I was very familiar with the nude beach on the Russian
River where bikinis were unnecessary and the action occurred mostly in the
wooded area behind the shore.  This was different, it was a public beach
run by Orange County, yet the cruising was intense.  Also, the bikinis were
only for the most public places.  Most of the guys. once they had entered
the water, removed their suits and wore them around their necks.  I knew I
was going to enjoy swimming in this surf.

Once I was in the water it did not take long for me to find my first sex
partner, he simply swam up to me and began stroking my hardening cock.  I
returned the favor to his erection.  We decided to swim to shore with our
hard-ons encased in our Speedos and headed for the Rock and brush at the
south end of the beach.  Needless to say, the suits were odd in no time and
we traded blow-jobs amidst the other boys who were doing the same.

Needless to say I was a frequent visitor to this beach.  In southern
California there I is a curious weather pattern called "Santa Anna."  It
refers to the hot wind that blows over the inland deserts in September and
October sending spectacular hot days to the beach towns.  It is also a
magnet for hot men and teens and I anxiously joined them as often as
possible.  I met a young man from Redondo Beach who provided me a wonderful
weekend of sex and fun.

On one of my visits to West Street Beach in South Laguna who gasped when he
saw my cock.  He had to have it.  I don't even remember his name but I do
remember what started on the path leading back to PCH ended up in a hotel
room with my engorged penis pistoning in and out of his sun drenched ass.
And this was not a one-time thing.  Each time we met on the beach we ended
up in one of his Laguna Beach motel rooms.  It was hot hot hot.

West Street Beach was not the only Gay magnet in Orange County.  Along
another portion of PCH in downtown Laguna Beach was a very cruisy park with
a pair of even cruisier bathrooms - one on the north end and one at the
south end.  In the evening when cruising at the beach was too cold and too
lonely Heisler Park provided many great blow jobs and the occasional fuck
in the restrooms, on the beach and in the bushes between each of these
restrooms.

While I was in southern California, I visited a friend in San Diego.  I
usually hitchhiked and on one of these occasions I was picked up by a
driver who liked what he saw and encouraged me to remove my shorts and
stroke my every ready cock in the front seat of his car.  I always enjoyed
bating in my car and this opportunity was even hotter than the solo
sessions I had had in my car.  I came copiously and once I shot my load I
was asked to get of the car.  I had had me fun, so had he, and he wanted
fresh meat.

I hitchhiked through Oceanside near Camp Pendleton and had a couple hot
experiences with some horny marines.  But I think the best experience I had
during my PCH adventures began at West Street Beach.  Against my usual
reluctance to visit the beach at night and in the winter, I decided why not
check it out.  I found a hot young man lurking along the path down to the
beach and started stroking my dick through my Levi's and the young man
started doing the same.  We approached each other pulling out our hardening
cocks, stroking and eventually giving each other some much needed head.
But he wanted more and so did I.  He was impressed with my meat and I
coveted his lovely shapely ass.

I invited him back to my house on Balboa Island which I shared with three
straight roommates.  I had to have this succulent butthole and he was just
as determined to ride my cock.  We had a great time.  We planned to meet
again.  We made a date to see a movie.  We enjoyed a number of great fucks
over the ensuing months, but then it was time for me to graduate and move
back to San Francisco to my new theatrical profession job.  I really
thought that would be the end of Rob.

But no - shortly after I arrived in San Francisco he tracked me down.  We
never became lovers.  We were just fuck buddies who enjoyed aggressive sex
together.  We were also like homing pigeons.  No matter how many times we
moved we always seemed to find each other.  I haven't seen in years but the
memories created on that night on PCH are still with me.  They still give
me a memorable hard-on.




Before I begin my tale of bate enjoyment, let me begin by saying how
grateful I am that a community of men who really celebrate and treasure
their rights as masturbators has come to the point of calling bators to
unite.

There was a time when we were despised and ridiculed, when masturbating,
jerking off, exhibitionistic bating were considered a baser sexuality, the
actions of depraved sick men and backward boys, but those of us who really
treasure the moments or hours we spend bating and edging, postponing those
exquisite orgasms has finally come out in the open.  Tumblr, Squirt,
Bateworld, and now Bators United give a place to be with like minded men
and boys and enjoy inspire and delight in the power of the very delayed
orgasm where gooning is that special mesmeric stupor where our engorged
cocks take over our entire minds and bodies.  Sadly it was not always that
way for me and I suspect neither was it for you.  And so it is my special
privilege to share my story with you.

Some might scoff at this but I was first introduced to penile pleasure when
I was at the tender age of three.  I was raised in a lily white upper
middle class section of San Francisco called West Portal.  Like most San
Francisco neighborhoods it was identified by most from the Catholic parish
in which it was located, St. Brendan's.  Most of our neighbors were
Catholic parishioners and so were we.

One sunny spring afternoon I was playing in an appliance box with some
older neighbor boys.  We were rolling down the hill while inside of the
box.  One of the boys told me to try and rub my "pee-pee" against the
rolling box and see how it made me feel.  Of course my tiny penis hardened
and I liked the feeling a lot.

A few nights later while lying in my bed I discovered that I could do the
same thing by letting my dick slide through the whole in my pajamas and
rubbing it on the sheet below me.  The same thing that had happened in the
box happened again.  I liked it even more on the softer sheet.  It didn't
take me long to figure out that I could slide me pillow between my legs and
increase the pleasure exponentially.  I can't remember when the first dry
orgasm happened but I do remember that when it did happen it was incredible
and from that time I always hoped that I would reach that Nirvana before I
was discovered.

This of course leads me to that first awful point of discovery.  We had an
old summer house built by my grandfather in Healdsburg on the Russian
River.  One day, still three years' old we had returned from swimming in
the late afternoon and as I changed out of my suit my dick was moist and
clammy.  I immediately climbed on my bed enjoying the shiny sun-warmed
bedcover.  The warmth felt fantastic as my dick immediately hardened as I
began to rub in my usually hidden night time pattern.  Stupid me, it didn't
occur to me that my father would see this, freak out and give me a third
degree lecture on the damning evil of masturbation.  Talk about fucking up
that most wonderful thing I had discovered at this very tender age.

From that point every masturbatory moment was fraught with the fear of
being caught and the irresistible desire to reach the delicious dry orgasm.
I tried so hard to masturbate quietly enough so my father would not catch
me, but once I had been identified as a guilty chronic bator it was a cat
and mouse battle that seemed irresolvable until I went to college.  These
fears didn't stop me but they were always interfering with me.

In the summer of my eleventh year my involuntary boners became so much
larger and obvious that I was no longer able to hide them.  Even though he
knew about my chronic bator status he decided it was time for the "Talk"
perhaps the second most awkward day of my life.

The next turning point for me came just before Christmas of that eleventh
year.  Since I wasn't able to masturbate as much as I needed, when I did
the experience was always incredibly intense.  I shot an incredible load
for the first time in my life but it was such a freakish experience I did
not know what had happened except that the feelings were fabulous and it
produced a real mess.

At this point I was off and running and could not get enough yet I was
still sneaking safe times to bate.  I tried to get some neighbor boys and
other friends to join me in this delicious secret rite but they always
fizzled.

I went to camp for a month and I loved showing off my boners in the cabin.
Once lights were out I fucked my pillow almost every night.

When it was time to go back home I was stuck once again with my parole
officer and sneaking was the only way of doing the deed, still I was always
getting caught either in the act or in the way my face looked.  I don't
know what visual the chronic masturbator reveals but I did.

We moved to Santa Rosa before I started high school and in the more bucolic
neighborhood where we now lived I discovered a small secluded reservoir
where I could strip naked, go skinny-dipping and then bate my engorged
cock.  Of course every orgasmic bate was followed by waves of guilt.

In my sophomore year I sent away for a catalog of the men's undergarment
mail-order company AhMen.  When the first catalog arrived in the mail
before any one else came home I ripped open the catalog and then had one of
the best bates I had had to that point of my life.  Immediately after I
came, guiltily I decided to destroy the catalog.  I threw it in the garbage
can and then an hour later rescued it and taped the whole thing back
together for another bate.

Several months' later disaster struck.  Another catalog arrived on my
father's day off and he discovered the catalog and immediately came to my
high school to confront me.  In the course of this terrifying discussion,
he actually said to me "Do you know what these models want?  They want you
to suck their dicks?"  I of course wanted to say "When? Where? How?  I am
so ready."  Nevertheless, I came up with the lamest most dishonest excuse
ever uttered.

The secret masturbation continued and it came time for college.  Now with a
roommate it was back to the secret hidden life of the chronic bator.  At
Thanksgiving when I had to return to college on the Greyhound Bus I had a
stopover in San Francisco and went into an adult bookstore.  While scanning
the Gay novels an older man started cruising me and I freaked and ran to
catch the bus.

Then on a day in April I was walking in a large park and walked into a
secluded Men's room.  I saw some action at the urinals but was too nervous
to investigate so I high-tailed it out of that restroom only to be followed
but one of the men at the urinals.  The excitement was so high that my cock
reached full erection in no time.  Urinal man caught up with me and led me
into a deserted field where he undid my jeans pulled down my pants and gave
me my first blow job.

Once it was over I fled totally freaked but totally jazzed by the orgasm.
When I got back to my dorm room I had to beat off again reliving the
ecstasy I had just experienced in the park.  This led to the discovery of
the cruisy Men's rooms on campus and these visits usually involved lots of
masturbation with the occasional blow jobs and eventually my giving as well
as getting.

I spent my junior year in Europe discovering fucking for the first time as
well as train station urinal banks where half the town's male population
gathered to masturbate.  I of course was delighted to join them.

When I came back home in spite of my chronic bator status I decided to
become a Jesuit.  I lied my way in but in the early days I realized that
life without masturbation was virtually impossible for me.  On my last day
in the Novitiate I wrote my letter of farewell and immediately went to a
urinal and had a very intense bate.

Since then I have discovered that while I like sex with other men a chronic
bator is what I am.  I like fucking sucking and anal stimulation but when
it comes right down to bras tacks bating is the best, there is nothing like
a very long edging session riding the goon wave stopping and starting,
working on achieving double and triple orgasms, something I have never been
able to do while engaging with some one else.

I am so glad to have found this blog and look forward to enjoying learning
and sharing with my fellow chronic bators.