Date: Fri, 22 Jul 2005 00:19:27 EDT
From: Tommyhawk1@aol.com
Subject: Underneath the Dock

			    UNDERNEATH THE DOCK
			   By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
		      WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM
			WWW.TOMMYHAWKSROGUEMOON.COM

     Someone was underneath the dock, I realized as I woke up.
     This day was so hot that the sidewalks scalded your bare feet and so
did the sand on the beach, so that only grass and dry wood offered any
respite; I chose the latter. I ended up perched on the dock, sitting there
with nothing to do and nobody to talk to; for all the other cottages nearby
had been rented out by old people, who were all sitting indoors, watching
soap operas and sipping iced tea with their air conditioners going full
blast. I lay down with my head against a coil of rope and watched the
sailboats way out on the water. I bet it was nice and cool out there, it
looked cool. I drowsed and watched the boats, so far out that they seemed
to be barely moving, here and there a flicker of white on sky, seagulls,
invisible unless their wings caught the sun just right. It was a day for
feeling unattached, your fall-to-spring university schedule in abeyance,
your life on hold and not making demands, a time to do as you would when
you would, to rest and do little, little or nothing at all, wild and free
and untamed.... I slept.
     I woke up after a while and wondered what had awakened me. Someone was
underneath the dock. Murmurs, grunts, moans. I smiled. Somebody hadn't seen
I was there, they had crept out under the dock and were making out. I was
bored enough to wonder if I could get a peek at them. I inched quietly over
and leaned my head down over the edge.
     A yellow beach towel laid out, a sun-bronzed, blond-haired stud was
mouthing the face of a blue-bikini-clad nymph, running his hands all over
her body. She was doing most of the grunting, and it didn't sound that
happy. He was moaning, had one of her legs between his and was hunching up
at her. He got more urgent, more insistent, pulled her more roughly to
him...and she exploded a protest into his mouth and broke away from his
face.
     "God, let me go!" she screeched.
     "Aw, come on, Monica...." the guy said.
     "No." she said. "I don't know what people have told you about me, but
whatever you think I am, you're wrong!"
     "I don't think you're anything, Monica." the guy said. "Just really
pretty and I like you. Come on, Monica."
     "No!" she said, pulling away from him. I could see now that his red
Speedos were tented out alarmingly. Those too-brief swimtrunks are
sexy...until you get an erection as this guy had. Then they lose all
ability to cover you. I could see his balls peeking out from the bottom of
them and if he'd been turned right, I could have seen his cock through the
top of them.
     He cooed at her a little more, but she wasn't having any of it. She
got her purse and her small towel and took off in a virginal huff, toward
the group way down the beach where they'd obviously come from, where the
surf was better than this little eddy of bay where the waves were only
little whimpers of their former selves. But there was no surf anywhere
today, not enough to count; it takes wind to make surf, and there had been
none for days.
     The guy stayed behind, watching her. I watched her, too, her butt was
swaying like crazy, back and forth, like a pendulum. I don't think that was
the normal way a woman walked, she was doing it on purpose. As I'd
overheard some friends call it, the old come-closer-now-get-away.
     I heard a moan and looked back down at the guy. He had stuck a hand
down in his Speedos and had a hold on his cock. His hand was moving back
and forth, and his other hand came down to cup his balls.
     Sweat gave his body a golden glow even in the shade, cooly
shining. His muscles were paired orbs on his body, his shoulders, his
biceps, his pecs, his abs, his thighs, all of them identical mirrors of
each other, smoothly glowing, slickly shining. His face was where the
angles of his body lay, the sharp angle of his jaw, the near-peak of his
chin, the sharp jut of his cheekbone, the strong shelf of his eyebrows,
furrowed in his desire.
     He moaned and reached into his swimsuit and lifted it off from his
body and tucked it beneath his balls. God, beautiful! Thick and straight as
the tower of the city hall building, his pyramidal cockhead looked like it
should have four clocks on it at the four compass points, telling the time.
     I felt dizzy. I had been hanging upside down too long, my face must be
flushed and red from the trapped blood. I raised up, blinked my eyes. Maybe
I could carefully, stealthily slide off the dock and duck behind one of the
pillars, peer at this sun-and-surf-worshiper from there.
     I had a distance of a little over five feet to get down. Walking to
where the dock met the land wasn't feasible, the dock stretched some thirty
feet, the beach here was low and level, high tide reached far inland, and
storms made the rest of it untenable for a permanent structure.
     I didn't jump, but I levered myself down, legs dangling with the sharp
ends of the beams in my stomach, and then dropped onto the sand. I quickly
plastered myself up against a piling, and peered around it.
     Surf-boy was still stroking his pud. The way he was groaning, I was
surprised he hadn't shot his load yet. Or maybe he was killing some time
while all alone (or thought he was). He was making long, slow strokes on
his cock, running his hand up and down in long, languid motions, his
cockhead was purple around the edges. His chest was heaving up and down in
deep, long swells, like the swells of the waves, rising upwards and sinking
back to rise again in an unending, even cadence.
     The next piling was closer. I moved over to it, I was practically by
his head, he only had to look upwards and he'd see me. But he thought he
was alone, he expected to hear shoes on the dock, not my bare feet and soft
padding on dock-shaded sand. He was lost in his rapture, he didn't see me.
     I looked down the shore, his friends were still nearly a half mile
away. Nobody else was nearby, none at all. Just the two of us, alone on
this stretch of beach, under this dock.
     I dared to walk over to him. Only when I got close, very close, did he
hear my feet and the sand scrunching under them, a soft whf-whf-whf! sound.
     He raised up and looked at me, his eyes wide, his hand on his cock,
his cock throbbing.
     "It's all right." I said to him softly, rapidly. "It's okay. Nobody
else is around. Just you and me. Nobody has to know." I breathed to him
rather than whispered. In the stillness of the afternoon air, he heard me.
     I knelt down beside him as I said it, as I said, "Just let me do it
for you, just let me take it for you, I'll treat you right, you'll get off,
don't worry, nobody will know...."
     His eyes were wide, his mouth was open, his face was soft. Caught,
deep in his passion, immersed in his need, his body angry at the betrayal
of the woman and her refusal when she shouldn't have, all his buddies had
said she would, and she had left him, and he was ready and she left
him...and I was there. Me. I'd do.
     So he didn't move to stop me, or to help me. Just lay there as I took
his cock in my hand, and his hand fell away and it was warm, so warm, in my
hand. I gripped it tight and I milked it up and down and he watched my
hand, watched my face.
     "Don't worry," I sighed to him. "We're all alone here. Nobody is ever
going to know. You're safe, don't worry."
     And he breathed a sound of relief, of acquiescence, surrender, lay
back on the sun-yellow towel and let me pump his prick, let me please him.
     "Now, now I'll take care of you, you'll like it, don't worry." I said
to him as I leaned over. He watched me as my mouth moved into position, as
my lips rose over his cockhead, as I lowered them over his glans, as my
lips touched the smooth velvety skin, as they rolled over the warm bumps of
the flare of the glans, as they touched the tender, thin skin beneath, as
they conquered the tougher, leathery foreskin beneath that, soaking it all
in my saliva, wetting it, savoring the clean taste and satiny sleek shaft,
I caught it at the base, and I clung to it as I pulled it up, up, the
foreskin bunched over the glans, caught there, then surged over it like
waves crash over breakers, and he moaned.
     It was the sound of summer in that moan. The sound of the wind in the
trees full of green leaves, the sound of the pilings groaning under the
waves, the sound of feet in the hot sands, that was the moan that lifted
from his throat.
     It was like a benediction, that sound. I worshiped the worshiper of
the surf and the sand, of the sun and the sea, of the waves and the beach,
of the board and the foam. These things had formed his body into smooth
fluid shapes, the way driftwood is turned and polished into long, curving,
dull-tipped diamonds, graceful and sinuous. I moved my head and lips upon
his idol of flesh, upon this man-eel of turgid flesh, it was warm, it was
smooth, it was silken on my tongue and it was heady to my nostrils, and it
was pleasant to my eyes.
     He moaned, so softly, so quietly, as if he feared that others were
nearby as I had been, as if he didn't want to disrupt this dream, as if I
were a sun-inspired mirage crafted by his lust into corporeal form, and
like the sea-foam, the castle of my body would shatter if he moved, if he
uttered a single sound or cry.
     In his silent meditation of my sucking of his manhood, in the soft,
deep throaty sighs of pleasure from him and from me, this moment of sheer,
pure, untarnished joy was played out. His sighs were louder and closer
together now, his body was tensing like a panther for the kill, his hand
dared like a tarantula to come up and clasp my head, his upper body was
raised up to rest on one elbow, his eyes were closed in his pleasure, in
his dream, his lips were open, as vulnerable as a child, as delicate as a
rosebud, and from those lips issued the soft deep sighs of manly pleasure.
     He urged my body with his hand on my head to faster servicing of his
pleasure, I obeyed this divine command and suckled him the more fervently,
his pleasurable utterances flew from his lips like the birds of dawn burst
from the treetops of a sudden, his gasps were like a cluster of butterflies
dancing in the air all at once, mixing, stirring around in a
three-dimensional ballet, his ahs, his uhs, his oohs, his ohs, all of these
were there, intermingled and joined together in one brightly colored
explosion of sound, a low, stirring, heart-wrenching sound of joy,
"Ooohuhhhguhhhahhh!"
     In that sound, in that moment, his seed of life, his pearls of joy,
his nectar of immortality, poured from his shaft and into my mouth, a deep,
heady, heavy, musky, deep, raw, sensual, elementally brutal flood of power
and vitality, it strode like a confident giant onto my tongue and down my
throat, as if daring me not to swallow it all.
     I swallowed, and more poured into my mouth to replace it, not in one
gulp was I to be finished here, I suckled and drained this goblet of human
life, this flask of potency, I drank and drank deeply, until at last the
offering was done, the flow ceased, and he lay back to pant and gasp, his
beautiful chest bobbing up and down like a desperate fish stranded on the
shore.
     His motions eased, his urgency softened, and he looked up at me now,
spent and relaxed.
     I smiled at him, licked my lips. "That was good." I said to him.
     "It sure was." he agreed.
     "I won't tell anybody about this." I promised him again.
     "Okay." he said.
     I stood up, to leave him to his rest and well-earned recuperation from
his exertions. I started to leave, looked back at him. "I'll be here all
summer." I said to him.
     He smiled at me. "Tomorrow, the same time." he said.
     I smiled back at that promise. "Sounds good."
     "See you then." he said.
     "You bet." I agreed.
     And I left him there, underneath the dock.

				  THE END
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