The Beach Boy and His Cigarette Excuse

I have reconstructed the words of that conversation more or less as they happened; the events, on the other hand, remain intact in my memory.

I was alone on the beach, making the most of the last afternoon sun. There had been more people a while earlier, though not many; it was a secluded cove, the kind that doesn't appear in guidebooks. By then, all that remained was a young couple kissing a hundred yards away, two silhouettes outlined against the water, which was already beginning to darken.

A young man passed close to me and went into the sea. He swam for quite a while, with long, confident strokes, and when he came out he sat some distance away, on the damp sand. I stayed lying down, my eyes half closed, pretending to doze. I watched him without really watching him, the way one looks when one doesn't want to get caught looking.

Suddenly, a voice very close by startled me. It was him.

—Have you got a cigarette?

—Yes, but you shouldn't smoke—I replied, propping myself up on my elbows.

—Relax, I'm of age. I'm twenty-two.

—I didn't mean because of that, but because of your health. Here, take one; I'm not going to give you a sermon.

I held out the pack and the lighter. He lit the cigarette and took a long drag without coughing, with the ease of someone who had smoked for years. Even so, something about the way he held it made me think the question had been an excuse. He sat down beside me without asking permission. He was tall, over six feet, slim and wiry, with hair still dripping onto his shoulders.

—Do you come to this beach often?—he asked.

—No. I'm on vacation with my wife, in an apartment near here. It's my first time coming down. It seems peaceful.

—I'm on vacation with my family too. I come here some days; it's good for swimming.

—And what do you do, are you studying?

—Yes, second-year Engineering, in Valdoria.

—And how's that going?

—A pain in the ass—he laughed—. But that's how it is.

He spoke with that mixture of shyness and boldness belonging to someone who is still testing how far he can go. I played along, amused, without quite figuring out what he wanted.

—And a girlfriend, or anything like that?

—I'm seeing a girl in the city. But we're more friends than anything else, to be honest.

—Heh-heh, young people these days. You barely know each other and you're already getting down to business. In my day, you had to be going out for six months before anything happened—holding hands, and that was it. You had to negotiate for a kiss.

—No way, nothing with her yet. A few kisses and little else. We've been together a couple of weeks.

—But surely you've fucked someone else. I know your age.

—A few people—he admitted, lowering his voice slightly—. And an older woman too.

—Well, well. What's this about the older woman? Because who knows what you mean by older.

—She's forty-one, she told me.

—Forty-one—I repeated, laughing—. Don't tell me you've fucked her.

—Every now and then. She climbs on top of me, sits on my cock, and doesn't stop until she comes. But she's a real drag and we have nothing to talk about. At least I get it out of my system and empty my load inside her.

—Look at you.

—Hey, I'm not some kid anymore—he protested, pretending to be offended.

—Okay, okay. Don't get upset.

He had finished the cigarette. We were both looking out at the sea, at the sun dropping straight down onto the horizon and tinting the water a dirty orange. A few minutes of silence passed. I thought he would get up and leave, but there he remained, with his knees drawn up and his arms around his legs.

—And how are things with your wife?—he suddenly blurted out.

—Hey, man, that's very personal. Did I ask you about your older friend?

—You asked me about my girlfriend. If you want, I can tell you exactly how the other one sucks me off.

—No, no need—I said, although my curiosity was bothering me more than I was willing to admit.

Sitting on the sand, with his swim trunks still clinging to his body from the dampness, it was obvious that his cock was already awake—not completely hard, but pressing unmistakably against the fabric. I could see the long bulge crossing his thigh, and the swollen tip tugging at the Lycra. I saw it and looked away too late.

—Thinking about the older woman has gotten you hard—I said, to disguise the fact that I had been looking.

—I wasn't thinking about her—he replied calmly—. I was imagining you fucking your wife.

—Then don't imagine so much.

—I don't know why I imagined you with her, fucking her all the way to the hilt.

—The things you come up with. Must be your hormones.

—No—he said, and for the first time he didn't laugh—. I also felt like talking to you. I saw you earlier and felt like it.

—It won't be for any bad reason, I hope—I joked, although my heart had begun to beat faster—. Because if a forty-one-year-old woman is old to you, imagine me, over sixty.

—You look great for your age.

—Oh, come on.

—You do. And it looked to me as if you were getting hard too, earlier.

I fell silent. The audacity of the comment cut off my reply. It was true, and he knew it, and being caught out by him aroused me in a way I hadn't expected. I felt my cock pushing against the fabric of my trunks, and shifted a little to get comfortable without making it too obvious.

—What is this? Do you want to fuck me?—I finally asked.

—If you want to, yes. Have you been with men?

—A few times. And you?

—Me too.

—With friends?

—With a few. The occasional wank, the occasional blowjob in a car. But the serious thing was with an older guy, a professor at the university. He fucked me in his office, with the door closed, on top of the desk.

—You're something else. And don't tell me that when you saw me, you made up the cigarette thing just to get close.

—I did—he confessed, holding my gaze without blinking.

And with that, he reached toward my crotch and squeezed my cock through my trunks. He closed his fingers around the bulge, felt it from top to bottom, measuring it, and I felt the Lycra growing damp inside from the first little spurt of precum. I caught his wrist and moved it away, slowly, without roughness.

—You really don't want to?

—It's not that. You can see there are people around. That couple over there, and someone could come by.

—We could go behind there, into the pine grove. I'll suck you until you come in my mouth, and no one will know.

I looked at him calmly. His eyes were shining, and he ran his tongue along the corner of his lips, slowly, fully aware of the effect. That little bastard; he knows exactly what he's doing.

—Okay—I said—. All right.

We got up and walked toward the pines that enclosed the cove on the western side. The dry sand burned slightly under our feet. He walked ahead, and I followed, looking at his broad back, his shoulders still spattered with droplets, his trunks clinging to the long legs of a runner and to an upturned ass that showed with every step.

***

The pine grove was a narrow strip of old trees, the ground covered in dry needles and a cool shade that smelled of resin and salt. We went only a few yards in, until the beach was hidden by the undergrowth and all that could be heard was the murmur of the sea and an occasional lost cicada. He stopped beside a fallen trunk and turned toward me.

He said nothing. He came closer, placed one hand on my chest, and gently pushed me against the tree. I felt the rough bark against my back and his breath, still smelling of tobacco, very close to my face. For a moment I thought he was going to kiss me, but he didn't. He lowered his hand over my stomach, slipped it inside my trunks, and grabbed my cock directly, skin against skin. It was already rock-hard, and he smiled when he felt it pulsing in his palm.

—Fuck, you've got a big one—he murmured, squeezing it from base to tip—. And it's all wet on top.

He gathered the thick drop appearing at my tip with his thumb and brought it to his mouth, sucking his finger slowly without taking his eyes off me. Then he knelt on the pine needles and yanked down the waistband of my trunks. My cock sprang free, hard and swollen, pointing at his face.

—Wait—I murmured, looking back over my shoulder.

—No one's coming—he said—. Relax. I'll empty you now.

And before I could answer, he had taken me all the way into his mouth. I felt him swallow me down to his throat, until his nose disappeared into the hair at my crotch, and he stayed there for a few seconds, pressing his tongue against the underside of my glans. Then he began to move, raising and lowering his head at a slow, very wet rhythm, his mouth wide open, letting saliva run down his chin and drip over my balls. He did it with an ease that didn't fit his childish air, unhurried, playing with his tongue, closing his lips firmly around my head every time he came up, and deliberately stopping whenever he felt my breathing quicken.

—Fuck—I said through my teeth—. Where did you learn to suck it like that, you bastard?

He looked up without taking me out of his mouth and smiled with his eyes. He pulled me out with a wet pop and held me, dripping, in front of my face, moving it from side to side, rubbing it against my cheek and lips.

—I love the way it smells—he said, and licked it again, this time from bottom to top, following the thick vein underneath—. And the way your legs are trembling.

He sucked my balls one by one, took them into his mouth, tugged them down a little, then went back up to the tip and began working my cock with his hand while licking only the glans, very quickly, with his tongue held flat. I placed one hand on his wet hair and threw my head back against the trunk. Pleasure came over me in slow waves, mixed with the absurd fear that someone might appear, and that combination made everything more intense.

—Stop—I asked him, pulling his hair upward—. Stop or I'll come now, and I want to fuck you first.

He licked his lips, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and stood up. He yanked off his trunks and let them fall onto the needles. He stood completely naked in the green half-light, his cock hard and long, pointing slightly upward, shining at the tip. He took my hand and brought it first to his chest, then to his flat stomach, and finally closed my fingers around his shaft. It was hot and very hard, and he shuddered as soon as I wrapped my hand around it.

—Slowly—he pleaded, closing his eyes—. Like that, kill me slowly.

I worked his cock with my fist, sliding the foreskin up and down, pressing my thumb against the frenulum each time I reached the tip. He moved his hips, seeking my hand, and after a few strokes a thick drop began to spill from him, running over the head to my fingers. I spread it over his entire cock so my big hand would slide more easily, and he let out a low moan he couldn't control.

—Turn around—I whispered in his ear—. Lean against the trunk.

He obeyed without saying anything. He turned, spread his legs, and gripped the fallen trunk with both hands, raising his ass toward me. I ran my hand over his buttocks, round and still cool from the sea, and spread them to get a good look. A moan escaped me. His hole was small, pink, very clean, and it contracted slightly every time I brushed it with my thumb.

—Here?—I asked, pressing lightly.

—There—he replied, his voice hoarse—. Put it in there. But wet it first; it'll hurt less.

I crouched behind him, spread his buttocks well, and buried my tongue in his ass. I licked him slowly, circling the ring, pressing it with the tip, and he moaned and pushed his hips back, seeking my mouth. I pushed my tongue as far inside him as I could, wetting him thoroughly, then moved up, spat on his hole, and rubbed the saliva in with two fingers. I put one in first, halfway, and then the other. He writhed, squeezing my fingers with his ass, muttering through his teeth.

—Now, now—he panted—. Put it in already, I can't take it.

I spat into my palm, coated my cock thoroughly, and pressed the head against his hole. I pushed slowly, feeling him open little by little, feeling the crown pass through the tense ring until it swallowed me all at once. He let out a whimper through clenched teeth, and I stayed still for a few seconds, letting him adjust.

—Keep going—he whispered—. Put it all the way in.

I sank it into his ass little by little, all the way to the bottom, until I felt my balls knock against his. He was incredibly tight, burning inside, and every breath he took squeezed my cock like a fist. I began to move, slowly at first, pulling almost all the way out and then pushing back in to the hilt. He pressed his cheek against the bark and began moving his ass backward, synchronizing with my thrusts.

—Harder—he asked—. Fuck me harder, goddamn it.

I grabbed his hips and began driving into him deeply, with hard strokes that made the pine needles crackle beneath our feet. Every time I buried myself completely, a muffled growl escaped him, and his cock swung between his legs, hard and dripping. I reached underneath, gripped his shaft, and began jerking him off in the same rhythm as I fucked his ass.

—That's it, that's it—he panted—. Don't stop, you bastard, don't stop.

He leaned farther over the trunk, arching his back to offer me a better view of his ass, and I took advantage of it to drive my cock in at a deeper angle. His thighs began to tremble, and I felt his ass contracting in spasms around my shaft. He came without warning, shooting streams of cum against the trunk's bark, squeezing me so tightly inside that I could barely keep moving. I managed a few more strokes, watching his tense back and his hands gripping the trunk, until I couldn't take any more.

—I'm coming—I growled—. Inside or out.

—Inside—he panted—. Empty it all inside me.

I drove into him to the balls and held myself there, feeling my orgasm rise from deep below and shoot in hot streams into his ass. There were three, four, five spasms, each longer than the last, and he clenched his ass with every one, milking my cock and drawing out every last drop. I fell forward onto his back, my forehead pressed against the nape of his neck, panting, still inside him, feeling the semen beginning to run down the inside of his thigh.

—Fuck—he murmured, laughing under his breath—. What a load you gave me.

I pulled out slowly, and watched a white thread slide from his red, swollen hole to the back of his thigh. We held on to each other so we wouldn't fall, laughing quietly out of sheer surprise.

***

Afterward we stayed silent for a few minutes, catching our breath, while the light filtering through the pines grew increasingly red. He got dressed first. He picked up his trunks, shook them out, and put them on without the slightest embarrassment, as if we'd just gone for an ordinary swim, although I saw him squeeze his thighs together when he bent down, and a mischievous smile crossed his face when he noticed that my cum was still trickling down inside him.

—Are you coming tomorrow?—he asked, and for the first time he sounded like what he was: a boy waiting for an answer—. Tomorrow I want to find out what you taste like when you come in my mouth.

—I don't know—I said, and it was true—. My wife will be waiting for me.

—Just in case—he replied with a shrug—. Around this time is when I'm usually here.

He left the pine grove before me and went down toward the shore with his hands in his pockets, without looking back. I stayed among the trees for another moment, listening to the sea, my breathing still ragged and an idiotic smile I couldn't get rid of. When I finally came out onto the beach, the young couple was gone and the sun had completely sunk. Nothing remained of him but a trail of footprints in the sand, slowly being erased by each wave.

That night, over dinner, my wife asked me whether I'd had a good afternoon. I told her I had, that it had been peaceful, that I'd taken the opportunity to swim. I wasn't entirely lying. And the next day, at the same time, I found an excuse to return to the cove.