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Surf God of Malibu

By: jamesonx



When I was in my late Twenties, surfing was not just my life, but my religion. Half the week I'd surf, and half the week I'd give lessons—tourists, bored housewives, ambitious entertainment types who thought surfing should be part of their L.A. lifestyle. I lived in a shack right on the beach in Malibu. It was cheap because it was out behind a filling station on a crappy little bluff. One room with one tiny salt-encrusted window looking out to the ocean, a shower, a sink, a bed, a toilet, a Coleman and four boards leaned up against the wall.

What else did a guy need? 

I lived alone, but I was blond, 6'2", ripped, with a slightly Norwegian look that drove the girls wild—so I never had a problem getting laid. My chest was huge and flat, my six pack shone, my blue eyes killed. My blond hair was long and usually tangled. I had a hand-made sign above the door that read "Surf God." Every now and then I'd gather up some of the other surf bums along Malibu and we'd throw beach parties with torches and rum, and the girls would flock in. I'm not exactly sure where they all came from. L.A. Girls with sun-bleached faces. Girls who spread their legs wide. They kissed my pecs, but somehow, we never connected. They'd suck my dick dry, but in the morning, well, I was disappointed that they'd spent the night.

Was I gay? I wondered all the time. For it was true that all my dreams and wildest imaginings were not about the girls, but about the other surfers. Their powerful legs. Their hairy chests. Their bleached eyes. I'd imagine pulling down their baggy suits and pushing them down gently onto the sand and having at their muscular behinds...but of course, I never did anything about it. "Dang, Peter," I'd say to myself. "That's weird thinking." 

Into this life came Jacob Townsend. Sweet Jacob of the curly black hair and soulful eyes. He was a young businessman, 32, with a silver Porsche Boxster and an eager smile. Some kind of finance guy, I was given to understand. Like everybody, Jacob wanted to learn to surf, and I was ready to take his $50 an hour. Normally, I only charged $35, but when I saw the Boxster, well—I wasn't a fool.

The first day he showed up it was late December. He came with a brand-new wetsuit he'd bought himself for Christmas, a thermos of hot coffee, and a ridiculously short board that some hotshot had sold him at a sporting goods store. He was so cheerful, so clean cut, so fucking motivated, and so perfectly coiffed, that I had to laugh. 

"Sorry amigo, can't learn on a short one." I said.

"What?"

"The board, Amigo. It's barely taller than you."

"Is that bad?"

"Fuck, Amigo."

He smiled uncertainly, and because I was a Surf God, and he was a business dweeb, I slapped him across the back. He went sprawling. I mean, he wasn't any kind of wimp—he worked out and all—but he was kind of a little guy, maybe 5'8", nervous around me, and besides I liked to give little guys a hard time.

"Sure," he said. "Long is good. I get that."

The lessons went slowly. Jacob was no born surfer—no feel for the water, just fighting it all the goddam time, not able to relax and go with the waves. But what the hell, he was paying good money, and I had to admit I enjoyed the way he admired me and my freedom and my tan. I mean, he had such a boring fucking existence—the wife, the stock options, the incredibly clean car. For several days we just did a hold-and-push. You know, he'd lay on the board, and I'd give him a push into white rollers, and he'd try to stand up. Hours passed without any progress, but I didn't mind. He seemed to appreciate the whole thing so damn much. At the end of each lesson, he'd give me this little shrug, and shake my goddam hand, and go off perfectly happy, even though he'd missed most every wave, and fallen after two seconds on little rollers. I have to admit I'd sort of play it up for him, you know, the tough, buff, Surf God thing. 

And yeah, I started thinking about his ass. Holding the board as he tried to stand, I'd imagine grabbing that ass and shoving a finger up it. Or more.

This went on for a couple of months. We didn't talk a lot—which Jacob seemed to appreciate. I gathered that the other people in his life talked plenty. I got the feeling that he was under a lot of pressure all the time, to keep up the Boxster payments, and to please his Beverly Hills born and bred wife...who he said he hardly ever saw, and with whom he always argued. She didn't want kids, he said, a sore point that had driven them apart. 

I started feeling what? Affectionate about him. Protective. 

Then came that fateful morning in March. It was an unusually cold morning—full wetsuits. I'd had him come early, and after we finished our ritual coffee, we paddled out into a heavy mist. The ocean was gray and uncertain—a little bit blown out with a shifting wind; not a good day, at all, but shit, it was Jacob's Wednesday if he wanted it. By now, I was pretty dependent on that three hours of reliable pay, and I didn't want to call it off. We did the easy stuff for a while, but he said he was bored with the foam and begged me to go out to where the waves were actually curling—so against my better judgment, and to keep him happy (and I enjoyed keeping him happy), I at last agreed to take him out there.

Jacob struggled to paddle through the surf, hell both of us struggled, and when we found ourselves a ways out, the wind suddenly picked up into a kind of whirl—like it was coming from all directions. The chop increased, and I turned back to Jacob to call it a day...but he wasn't there. My training longboard was there, all right, getting tossed around, but no Jacob. The mist was bad, so I called out...but no response. I started to panic. Finally, I caught sight of his black suited body way out beyond the breakers, thrashing around. How the hell? Like an idiot, he must have let the leash come off, then he'd fallen off his board, and some wild rip had caught him—all in the space of a couple minutes. I paddled out after him like a maniac, but he seemed to keep being pulled out further, and I lost sight of him again and again. When I finally found him, he was completely exhausted and panicked, and I as I hauled him up on my board, he gave me this desperate, animal-like look. Me, I went around back to propel the board from behind, high-tailing it for shore. It was rough getting back against the rip and the wind—it seemed to take forever and every ounce of strength I had, especially with Jacob laid out on my board, heaving water and flopping around. He was confused, and thrashing around, and he kept kicking me in face.

Finally, I actually spun the board around and slapped his face.

"Stop that, Jacob! Don't thrash around, and don't kick me!"

He looked at me, surprised and uncomprehending at first.

"What do you want me to do, Peter?"

"Just lie still and I'll get us the fuck out of this."

"Okay, Peter," he said, "I get it it" he said, as if I might not decide to save him at all. 

Finally, I got us to shore, where the wind was really whipping the surf, and the fog had really moved in. You couldn't see five feet in any direction. I hauled Jacob up out of the water and just laid back on the sand in my wetsuit, next to him, totally exhausted. After a while, he said:

"You saved my life."

"Never, never get separated from your board."

"Got it."

"Never, never let your leash get undone."

"Got it, Peter."

"Look, Jacob," I said, exhausted. "I'm just going to lie here for two more minutes, then we'll drag our sorry asses up to my shack to get cleaned up.. Just give me two minutes."

And that's when it happened. There on the beach, hidden in the dense fog, Jacob moved close to me and rested his head on my chest. Just like that. A grown man, resting his head on my chest. I was too tired to do anything about it. And after what we'd just been through, it seemed almost natural. Plus I was goddam cold. I put my arm around him, to comfort him. We lay there for a time like that, just breathing to recover.

Then I felt his hand slide down my chest, and come to rest on the crotch of my wetsuit. It stayed there for a few moments on my package, and when I did not object, the hand slid up back up along my torso to my chest, and stayed there again for a time, and then slid back to my crotch...and squeezed me gently. 

"Look, Jacob..." I began

"No, Peter, please. Just lie still. You just saved my life, and....and I don't know...I just...let me, please you."

And for some reason, I just lay still. Maybe it was the draining of the adrenaline from my body. Maybe it was just the nice warm feeling of his hand on the crotch of my wetsuit. It all seemed strangely right. Why didn't I push him off me and stomp back to the shack? I couldn't explain it.

Again he squeezed my crotch gently, and rubbed gently, and curled closer into my body. He was trembling slightly. To my surprise, despite the cold and my exhaustion, I started to get a hard-on inside my suit. And it felt, what? Just natural. 

Finally, without a word, I got up, and grabbed my board, and started up toward the shack. Rain started moving in even before we got there, and the day grew darker and darker. I had a shower head outside, and as usual, I helped him unzip his wetsuit to rinse it off in the cold water—but even though we were freezing, there was a powerful sexual tension between us now. When I stripped off my own suit and ran under the shower, I could feel his eyes all over me, my muscles, my chest, my arms, my baggy surfer bathing suit. The rain was coming in hard, and the wind was rising, and we were both starting to shiver. I thought, what the hell? Why not?

'You better come in for a hot shower, Jacob. I need one too. We'll make some more coffee."

He started to kneel on the ground in front of me, and I moved forward and let him nuzzle my wet bathing suit, out there in the rain just for a minute. Then I put my hand on his wet, curly black hair and turned his face up to me. He gave me a pleading look and I nodded to him and indicated the door, and he nodded, and we went inside, where it was warm. I knew what was about to happen.

Once inside, I let him kneel in front of me and pull down my wet bathing suit, but I didn't let him suck my dick. Not yet. Instead, I pulled his head gently back. 

"I'm cold, Jacob. I stink from the wetsuit. Let's go in the shower."

Again he only nodded, unable apparently to speak, and he followed me into the shower—me naked, him still in his bathing suit. I told him to wait outside the shower, but I left the shower door open so he could watch. Then I turned on the hot water and let it wash over me, my long hair, my muscular body, down my legs. Again he tried to approach but I gestured him to wait. I wanted to enjoy this moment, draw it out. I was getting a serious hard-on now, and I played with it for a while, stroked it for his benefit, till it lifted high, then I turned around and washed my ass, letting him watch. Again he knelt there on the bathroom floor.

"Can I take off my suit, Peter?"

"Not yet, Jacob. You'll enjoy it more if you have to wait a little."

"I'd like to wash you."

So I turned around and walked out of the shower, and put my hands behind my head, facing him, and smiled. He tried to suck my dick again, but I raised him up, and led him into the shower. Then I stood and put my arms behind my head again and smiled. And he, standing, took the soap and washed me under my arms, where I was blond and strong. I let him nuzzle me there, under each arm, and l let him move his face down and suck on my nipples for a long time, still keeping my hands behind my head. 

"Do you enjoy that, Jacob?"

"Yes, Peter."

"I'm happy that you enjoy it."

"Can I take my suit off now?"

I could see he had a wicked hard-on.

"Sure, Jacob," I said, and I put my hands on his shoulders and drew his face up to mine, and put my tongue in his mouth as he pulled down his suit and dropped it in the floor of the shower. Then I raised my left knee and put it up between his legs forcefully, up against his balls, and pushed him against the wet tile wall of the shower, and he gasped. Then I grasped his dick with my good right hand and pushed my tongue into his mouth harder, and pushed with my knee, and the water was all around us, and neither of us could breath very well as I held his dick and pushed my whole massive body against him. And without letting go of his dick with my right hand, I put my left hand behind his curly blackhaired head and pushed his face against mine, pushed his mouth over my tongue, and still my right hand grasped his dick and now his balls hard, so I had him completely, all of him. And then I released his mouth and his dick and spun him around so that he was facing the slick wet tiled wall and pushed him against it, and ran my own huge pulsating dick up between the cheeks of his ass, not penetrating him yet, but letting his ass grasp my proud upraised member and forcing him against the wall so that he again gasped. And my left arm was crossed across his back now, pressing him harder against the wall, and I pushed again and again and again, thinking how his dick was being pushed against the tile...just enjoying that thought. And I reached around front of him to grab his dick again, so I could feel how it felt, and it was good to have him in my right hand as I pressed, and I liked to hear the sound of his gasping. 

Then I pulled back and spread his legs with my right hand while still pressing him against the wall with my left. And then I pushed my right index finger into his ass and just holding him there like that for a long time. It was what I had only imagined doing before.

"Does that feel good?"

"Yes, Peter, it feels good," he managed to say.

"Wait here a minute," I said, and he nodded, and I removed my finger, and he remained standing, obediently, against the wet tile, with the shower running down his back.

I went to fetch some lube, and when I came back he had not moved. So I spread the lube on my dick, being careful not to let it wash off. Then I crouched down a little and forced my lubed dickhead up against his butthole.

"Relax and let me in," I said, and again he nodded.

And I felt my hot hard member penetrate his asshole and it felt good. Very very good. 

"I don't want to hurt you," I said.

"It does hurt, a little," said Jacob. 

Then I pushed in a little farther and he let out a little cry, and I felt the tight hot clutch of him around my dick and we just stayed like that for a time, not speaking or moving. It was so intense and so personal that I had to stop.

"Okay, Jacob. Don't worry. That's enough of that for today," I said. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay, really." 

Then I pulled out and I turned him around to face me again and kissed his forehead with the loving kiss as if of a husband and he sank down on his knees and I held him back again while I carefully washed off my dickhead before his face. Then I finally I allowed him to take my big thick straining dick in his mouth slowly, holding him back yet a bit and penetrating his lips ever so slowly with the head of my dick, at first just the head, just for a moment, then pulled out again.

"Slow," I said, "just the head at first." And he was breathing hard, desperate like an animal.

"Please, Peter."

"Shhh. Don't talk." And I was holding his hair again, holding him back with my left hand, and now I lifted my dick to his lips with my right hand, and brushed it gently against them. "Shhh," I said, and again, "Shhh."

And he kissed the helmet gently, and touched it lightly with his tongue. Shyly, really.

And then I penetrated his lips again just a little, him sucking eagerly. Then the helmet. "Slow, not so hard. I want it slow and gentle at first." Then something made me forcefully pull him forward under the shower, so that the water ran down my body and his face, and there I pushed myself all the way into his mouth, so that he gasped, almost choked, but took my whole huge dick thick and joyous in his mouth.

Then I couldn't stand it, and I grabbed the back of his head hard again and thrust into his very throat. And our eyes met, and we both understood that we had achieved some new understanding of ourselves.

"I'm going to come, Jacob," I said. "Is that all right?"

And he nodded as best he could. And I pulled him forward again so that now my own back was against the wet tiled wall of the shower, and I braced myself against it and again raised my left leg hard up against his balls and pulled his head over my dick so that I penetrated his mouth as deeply, deeply, as possible, and I could feel his sucking, sucking, sucking, and then everything went black and crimson and I came, I came, I came, I came into his mouth, and I could hear him choking, just a little, just a little. And then the world returned and I released him and he fell back onto the floor of the shower. And I slid down to sit on the floor of the shower, and we both just let the warm water wash over us. And when I recovered just a little, I put my arm around his shoulders and sat next to him and we both thought about what had just happened. And again I kissed him on the forehead.

"It's okay," I said. "Your life is okay."

And he took my hand and kissed it, and I laughed and tousled his hair. And kissed him on the lips. And he smiled and bent over and buried his face in my crotch, licking my big bush of blond pubic hair, which I knew to be both all wet and a little sticky and he licked my spent dick and my balls until at last I laughed, and raised him up.

"How would you like to come this first time?" I asked.

"I don't know, Peter, I've never done this before. Would you like to enter my ass again first?"

"Next time, Jacob. Even surf gods need a little time to recover."

And we both laughed, and I got up to kneeling on the hard wet tile, and pulled him up to kneeling, and moved around behind him so my spent dick was against his backside, and I reached around his slick body with my strong right hand and grabbed his wet hard dick and started pumping, and he gasped and grabbed my hand, but I pushed his arm away and told him to relax and keep his arms straight down on the floor, and he obeyed and the water was coming down warm over both of us, and I bit his right ear a little and he gasped and laughed again, and I kept pumping, pumping, pumping his dick with my hand until he came against the tile wall, came wild and white and sticky with a loud cry, and I enjoyed for the first time feeling that hot mad pulse in another man's dick. And his cry of release.

"Oh, oh, oh," was all he could say.

And then I felt his dick grow softer and I released it, and released him, and again we both just collapsed on the shower floor; both of us happy, happy, happier than we had either of us ever been.

And that was the beginning of the rest of my life.

(Stay tuned for Part II)

Surf God of Malibu Ch. 02



Dear readers, I am humbled that literally thousands of you read "Surf God of Malibu" and I am very sorry that it has taken me so long to record part 2 of this reminiscence. It follows immediately on the first tale, and you really must them in order--JamesonX

I awoke three times that night. The first time I was strangely conscious that I was all alone in my little beach shack, and I thought about the way Jacob had left so quickly after our wild hour —the ecstasy gone and him looking rather sheepish and clearly feeling a little foolish. I thought a little guiltily about how he had got all suddenly modest and how he had gone to dress behind the couch. He acted almost apologetic, as if it had all been his doing, even though I was the one who took it so far.

Beyond the embarrassment, he was no doubt feeling a little afraid of me. I mean, I had acted like an animal. Clearly he'd wanted it, but did that give me the right to take things to the limit? All that pushing him up against the wall of the shower? Good Lord...It probably wasn't right to take advantage of a moment like that, a relationship like that...and hey, maybe there was some responsibility in being a teacher, even a goddam surf teacher. If you were a teacher of any kind, you probably weren't supposed to fuck your students in the ass, even if they were grown men and wanted it. Even if there had been an inestimable joy in it. Even if it had been a sweet and necessary moment. Maybe it was against professional ethics or something.

I'd also just pulled him out of the surf like a wet puppy...and as I tossed and turned, I thought how maybe you probably weren't supposed to, well, let someone who's life you just saved suck your cock.

The whole thing had felt wicked good, that much was sure. As far as the gay thing went, I wasn't much concerned. I was not, after all, actually gay. And so what if I had a good time fucking a man in the ass? I fucked a man! Laying there in the dark, I had to smile. I remembered again the complete abandon I felt as I held his tight little hips and pumped his ass. Damn! That was good. Then I remembered how I'd kissed him on the forehead and on the lips, even. Why did that part happen? It just seemed like the right thing to do, our being so close in that moment and all. It wasn't like I was in love with the little guy. "Am I gay?" I thought. And then I shrugged, and tried saying "whatever." And I fell back asleep.

The second time I woke, I was in a strange panic. It was about 1 a.m. The wind had picked up off the ocean, and the rain had returned, and a couple surfboards I'd laid against the wall outside were creaking against one another. There was a bang as one fell, and I called out "Jacob? Is that you?" It was silly. How could that be Jacob? Now I was worried about him driving back home to his bitchy little wife and no-doubt huge pristine house in fucking Bel Air. Would he succumb to the absurd irony of it all? Have some dark moment? Do something stupid?

"Honey, how was your day?" I imagined him saying to the bitchy wife. "Oh, glad to hear you had a nice lunch with your yoga instructor. That's funny, I had a special event with my surf instructor today. After he saved my life out on a wild ocean in the fog, I knelt in the rain and sucked his dick, and then I let him take me into the shower and fuck me in the ass. Don't worry, he didn't charge me any extra."

After that conversation, maybe Jacob would shoot himself. I actually obsessed with that for a while: You know the thoughts that run through your head in the middle of the night. I thought about calling him, just to make sure he was okay, but it was 1 a.m., and he was with the wife.

And then I felt stupid for worrying about him at all. I mean, wasn't I the Surf God? Wasn't "crazy" what I did every day? Even if I usually did it with women? "Better he should get out of here fast," I said to myself. "Better he should just go, after all that." But I have to admit it took me a little longer to fall asleep. For a while, I thought about hunting down some wine or something, but it seemed like too much trouble, and then I was out.

The third time I awoke, it was probably going on four, and I was immediately conscious of two things. First, the wind had died and the moon had come out. Second, I was not alone in my bed anymore. A warm body was close by under the covers, and there was the distinct sound of another person breathing. Strange. Was this a dream? Or was it still Tuesday night, and was that Cindy breathing next to me? Had the whole intervening day been a dream? I reached out a tentative hand, and found an arm. It didn't seem like Cindy's arm at all.

Then I sat up and pulled back the covers a little to see in the moonlight. The hair on the pillow was black, and I was pretty sure Cindy was a blond. Still, it was a familiar form curled up, facing away from me. It also seemed to be nude.

"Mmmm," said a voice which was clearly not Cindy's voice, either.

"Jacob?"

"Shhh. Just sleep. Please," came the reply.

"No shit?"

"Shhhh."

"Well goddam," I said, and got back under the covers, and turned the other way, and felt strangely relaxed, and fell right back to sleep.

I didn't wake up until about 10 in the morning, and I could see through the window that all the clouds had blown past and it was bright outside. I could hear the surf, so I knew that the universe had not completely done a backflip. Still, there was another sound in the shack that did not belong. Someone was humming. And there was an unfamiliar smell—someone was cooking.

"Shitfire," I said, but there was no reply.

I looked around the one room of my little shack and there was a man, almost certainly Jacob, with his back turned to me, and he was cooking something on the stove, probably eggs. He was wearing a white dress shirt and apparently nothing else. The shirt was long, and expensive, but the tail of it barely covered his ass.

"Good Lord," I said. "You really are here."

"I decided to make breakfast," was all he said.

"So...Jacob. Aren't you supposed to be at work or something? The law firm? Suing people or something?"

"I told them I'd be working from home today." He turned then and looked at me with a kind of neutral and expectant look, and there was a long moment. You could see he was wondering if I would throw him out or maybe hit him. When I didn't do anything, he turned back to the eggs. The whole next speech was made with his back to me, probably because it was so intense. I stayed in the bed and listened.

"This is the most dangerous thing I've ever done in my life, but I'm doing it."

"Okay," I said. "Is there coffee?"

"In a minute. I drove all the way home last night, and I walked into my house around ten. Alison was asleep upstairs but the house wasn't quiet, because of the storm. I stood there a long time and I realized that I didn't live there anymore. I just didn't fucking live there anymore. Okay, I knew that if I stayed and went to work the next day and the day after that—well, I could re-adapt. I could become that Jacob again and probably forget all about this Jacob, and be miserable again. I could do that. But then I remembered that yesterday, when you made love to me, when you took me in the shower...well, that was the only real joy I ever felt in my life. The only complete joy I ever felt. And I knew I had to try coming back here. I knew I had to try and see how long you would let me stay. Even if you only let me stay for a day or an hour. And if you threw me out, then, okay, I would go back. I would go back and become the old Jacob again. But it was worth the chance. It was worth the bare chance of you letting me stay for a while. So around one I left Alison a note saying I'd been called out of town for a deposition. Then I started driving back and I got here around two. The door was unlocked. I don't think the lock even works."

"Jacob, you're not wearing any pants."

"That's true. I thought you might enjoy that. It was a kind of ploy, I suppose. To entice you."

"You don't know if I'm a complete jerk or what. You hardly know me."

"That's true, too."

"It could be that I'd beat you up or something. Regret that I lost control, etc., etc."

"You could. But I don't think you'd do that. Last night you kissed me. On the forehead several times, and on the lips at least once. Even in the midst of all that wild fucking."

"Did I really?" He turned and we looked at each other again. He raised his eyebrows and shrugged, waiting for me to make the next move. So I rolled out of bed and found my jeans, and pulled them on.

I thought I'd better say it: "I'm really not gay, you know. I like fucking women a lot. I always have. The whole Surf God sign over the door—that's about me and women. And it works. I sleep with women probably three times a week. Sometimes three different women."

"No doubt." I noticed he hadn't shaved. I noticed his eyes were red from lack of sleep. We just looked at each other for a while, until I had to say something.

I said, "Jacob, at eleven o'clock this lady Bonnie something is coming with her daughter and a couple of her girlfriends for a surfing lesson. You have to put some clothes on before that, and act normal."

"Okay. I'll just stay inside. I have work I can do on my laptop. Do you have internet here?"

"No."

And then he served out the eggs and bacon on my only two plates, along with toast he'd made over the gas fire since I don't own a toaster. And there was coffee, too. And he sat opposite me at my little table in his white lawyer shirt, and it seemed almost natural.

"No one ever made me breakfast, before," was all I said as I ate. "I appreciate that. It's really good, in fact. How do you keep the eggs from getting all dry?"

"Not a problem," said Jacob, and started telling me about how to cook the goddam eggs, as if I were really interested in the question.

Finally I said, "you know it's not normal to not wear pants when another person is eating breakfast with you."

"I explained that part already," he said. "I want to entice you. Maybe you'll fuck me again."

"Good grand gracious almighty," I said, and leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms across my chest. "What am I going to do here?" Then, "Jesus," I said, "My dick is getting hard."

He didn't say anything.

"Stand up for a second, will you?" I said.

"Sure." And he stood up. I looked at his dangling dick, hanging out beneath the white shirt. I noticed that he had a lot of dark hair on his thighs, running up into his pubic hair.

"Turn around."

And he turned around. I looked at his tight little ass, half-hidden, but also a little on the hairy side.

"Let me just think a minute," I said. But a powerful sensation gripped my whole body.

"Don't think about it," he said. "Just do it."

So I stood up and pushed back my chair, and the creaking of it sounded like a gunshot. Then I walked over and reached around and grabbed his dick with my left hand and with my right hand I scooped up some margarine that he was going to use to butter the toast, and I reached into his butt crack and smeared it all over the back of his ass, way up in there, pushing a couple fingers into his asshole. I tried not to be rough, but he gasped.

"You sure you want this?" I asked.

"Are you ever going to stop talking?" he said huskily. "I thought you were the Surf God."

So I turned him a little, and gently pushed him over the table, where he laid his hands flat. He planted his legs firmly on the floor and lifted his butt up for me. Then I unzipped my jeans, and pulled my big cock out of my fly, and smeared more of the margarine on myself—hardening much more now, and quickly, even fisting myself to make it harden quicker.

Then I paused. Or tried to pause. "I feel like a goddam animal," I said, barely able to talk. "Maybe it's not right to feel this way."

"It's right. Just do it," he said. "Please do it." In my left hand, his dick was hardening, hardening, hardening, like some kind of miracle.

"I don't want to hurt you, Jacob. I need to think about this."

"Don't think," he said.

And I pressed the helmet of my dick against his asshole, just a tiny bit, feeling the warmth and the butter and the pressure.

"I need to be gentle," I said, "or I'll hurt you."

"Don't worry," he said again. "Don't think. I'm sick of thinking. I've been thinking my whole life. And don't be gentle. I'm sick of gentle, too. That's why I came back, because you weren't gentle at all last night. Because you completely—"

And then I eased my dick in a little. And then suddenly and maybe a little roughly, I pushed in further, further, further. And he shouted out something I couldn't understand, and in my left hand I felt his own, now thick dick begin to pulse and tremble and he suddenly came and came, all over the table, the plates, everything, bracing himself with his hands. I stopped thrusting as he came, and I let him come without me moving, really, just holding his dick till he was done. Something inarticulate came out of his mouth, and I think something inarticulate came from my own mouth. And I might have kissed him on the neck.

"Holy shit," I said, and I took just a couple gentle movements with my hips and just like that I came too, spurting hard and fast into his ass, feeling it fill and tighten around me. And I wrapped both my arms around his chest, enjoying how damp it was with sweat, and I bear-hugged him, and I said "fuck, fuck, fuck" until I subsided. I kind of wanted to apologize for it all happening so fast again. But I could not say anything else. And I was breathing so hard.

"Peter—" he began, but at that very moment, just as I felt I was slipping into some kind of waking dream, there came a knock on the door. I looked at the clock, and it was 11:10. Shit, it must be Bonnie Something and her crew. Could they see in through the window in the door? Maybe, if they tried hard enough. But probably not, it being all bright and sunny outside.

"Hey there! Is that Bonnie" I called in a strange, strangled voice. Then I controlled myself so I could use my regular voice. "Just a second. Be there in a second" croaked the Surf God. And I disengaged, and shoved my still-engorged cock a little painfully down into my jeans, and I became aware that Jacob was panting loud and fast, still leaning over the table on his hands, with his butt sticking out of his white shirt, leaking my cum. "Can you sort of disappear behind the bed? Would you do that, Jacob? I'd really appreciate it. I'm sorry. But it's..."

"I don't know if I can move," he said.

"You really need to move. Otherwise, I think they'll know we just fucked, and they'll think I'm gay and it will ruin my whole business. Try for me, okay?"

"Okay, okay," said the young and normally articulate lawyer, and dragged himself up and off and laughed a little laugh, and laid down on the floor behind the bed so he could not be seen from the front door in my little one room surf shack on the beach.

"I'm sorry," I said again.

"It's okay," he replied.

"Fuck," I said, and remembered who I was. Actually it took me another minute. I had to stretch myself out like a tiger, and run my fingers through my hair, and put a smile on my face, and rub my magnificent pecs. At last I walked over to the door, and flung it wide open, and stretched again in the sunlight, all shirtless, buff, 6'3" of me, just to give them the whole Surfing/Sex God effect.

"Hey Ladies. Ready to surf?"

Bonnie Kramer was about 50, tanned with leathery skin and sun-bleached hair. She still looked good in a white bikini. Behind her stood three women in their early twenties, boobs barely contained by their own bikinis, and gaping at me. No doubt they had dressed carefully for this moment. No doubt they had registered the hand-painted "Surf God" sign over the door—and now here I was, in the flesh. Probably the very smell of sex wafted right out into the salt air, as well. For all they knew, I had just banged a female surfing student, and not a young male lawyer at all. This gave me comfort.

I squinted up into the sun. "Nice day," I said.

Bonnie looked me up and down. Probably I looked like shit. My hair was probably a mess, and my own eyes were probably red from lack of sleep, and I probably had margarine on my jeans, etc. "Maybe we should give you a few minutes," she said dryly.

"No. I'm ready to roll. The water's been super warm, so no suits needed. Let's get wet, women."

"Good Lord," said the one who looked just like Bonnie and was no doubt the 21-year-old daughter. Her name was Jeanine.

"Have you surfed before?" I asked Jeanine.

"No," she said, and I could see she was trying to look past me into the shack. "My first time, I'm afraid. Your kitchen's a mess."

"Always good to start with a big one, the first time. The surfboard, I mean. Easier to handle. Always know where it is underneath you."

"Right," she said. And her friends laughed, and I gave them a big Surf God smile.

Malibu! I thought. What a great place to be alive.

-------

The lesson went fine. An easy, well-shaped surf. A lot of flirting with the well-boobed, early-twenties womenfolk, seemingly encouraged by Bonnie. Every now and then I would glance back at the shack to see if Jacob would appear, but he did not. I knew he hadn't snuck off, because the Boxster was still parked up on the highway.

Around three, Vince and two of the other guys from the surf school showed up with beers. I remembered that I had actually invited them, since I knew I'd have three or four women on hand. We set up in the shade of some rocks to while away the afternoon until the sunset. Jeanine plopped down next to me and asked if she could feel the muscles on my arms (which were indeed pretty mighty). I smiled a shaggy blonde, unshaven Surf God smile at her and let her feel my muscles and then I felt her muscles, etc., and everyone laughed, and I felt like all was pretty much back to normal in the world. It was a little cool out, but none of us put on any clothes over our bathing suits.

Around four, when I shot a nervous look up toward the shack, I saw a truck from a cable company pull up and start unloading some spools of wire. Shit, what was that about? Jacob appeared once or twice to talk to them. A little later, a truck from a furniture company came, and some big piece of furniture got unloaded. I decided to ignore the situation and focus on Janine. Vince, who knows how to focus in on any potential source of income, focused his attention on middle-aged Bonnie. His buddy Al produced a guitar, as he usually does in situations like this.

Finally, at seven, just as the sun was getting low on the horizon, Jacob ambled down to the beach carrying a beer. By now I was pretty toasted and nestled comfortably in Janine's skinny little arms. I gave Jacob a big smug smile.

"Hey everybody, meet Jacob. He's one of my students. He's trying to prove that lawyers can be taught to surf."

Everyone laughed, and Jacob smiled a weak smile and sat directly across from me in the circle, just looking at me. He took off his shirt, even though as I mentioned, it was getting a might chilly out. I noticed again that he also had a lot of black hair around his taut little pecs. A kind of Middle Eastern chin that he had just shaved. The conversation continued—some stupidity about how to fend off sharks. Jacob even joined in, but the most important dialogue was the unspoken one between just the two of us—like, whole volumes of unspoken dialog. Shit. I started to feel uncomfortable in Janine's arms, but just to make a point I pulled her down for a little kiss, right there in front of both her mother and my would-be gay lover.

"You are a little bold, Surf God," laughed Bonnie.




Surf God of Malibu Ch. 02



"That's me," I said, and gave Jacob a big smile. But I felt like utter shit. He just stared and took another swig of his beer. Just waiting me out. Finally I got up to pee a little ways along the beach, and when I came back, I sat just a little away from Janine, and regaled the group with some fine surfing tales, which of course they loved. I shook my fist at the sea at one point, and just as the sun set, I ran down the beach and flew into the surf, and everyone followed me, shouting.

"It's cold," yelled the girls.

"No, it's the ocean!" I yelled back.

At last the sun set.

"Hey Surf God," said Bonnie. "Want to join us for dinner up the hill at our place? Jacob, you're welcome too."

"No thanks, Bonnie," said Jacob. "I've got plans tonight."

"Hey, we're coming," said Vince and his two friends.

"Well, Peter?"

I hesitated.

"Sure," I heard myself saying. And after that I didn't catch Jacob's eye, and I got a ride in Bonnie's goddam Mercedes, and I had dinner at her fancy pad up in the canyons, paid for by some miserable divorced jerk. They had a pool and outdoor speakers and there were a lot of drinks. Vince and the boys made their moves, but I was strangely quiet, and didn't really drink. Personally, it turns me off when women drink, it just does. As it was, I just kind of stared out at the view and kept wondering if Jacob was still at my place or not. Or actually, I knew he must still be at my place and I started to feel real guilty about leaving him there alone. Bonnie asked me three times if I "felt okay" and I said "sure" and finally Janine got tired of coming on to me, and picked one of the lesser males in the room.

Finally I told Bonnie that in fact I did feel kind of sick -- maybe something I ate for lunch, and she right away offered to drive me back to my place. All the way she chatted about this and that, never mentioning Janine or Vince or the other boys and girls at all. Finally, she pulled over on the coast freeway above my shack. We could see that the lights were on, and there was a shadow moving around behind the curtains.

"It's that Jacob fellow, isn't it?"

I went cold all over. "Well, one of my friends, I guess. Someone's always crashing at my place." I said.

"You're not fooling me, Surf God. He seems like a very nice young man. Didn't get in your way at all this afternoon, but never got out of your sight, either. Be nice to him, I can see he's got it bad for you."

"Bonnie, you've got it wrong. I'm not gay, and I doubt if he is either."

"It's okay, Surf God. It'll be our secret." And she reached out and ruffled my thick, salt-bleached hair. "What a pity, though. You are so fucking handsome." Then she paused. "Would you mind if I...just touched your chest? Just for minute?"

Good Lord, I thought. "Just for a minute."

And she unbuttoned my Hawaiian shirt, and rubbed her hands over my pecs, and down across my flat belly, and sighed. And then she pushed forcefully me out of the car. "Goodbye, Surf God," she said, and threw the car into gear, and roared off.

It was strange climbing down to the shack—it felt, well, suddenly different. And in fact, when I got there, I saw that a big new lock had been installed on the door. The door was open, however, and I tried to saunter in with a casual air. There had been a few other changes. In the place of my old, torn, ratty, and sex-stained sofa there was a brand new brown leather couch. Some framed Picasso prints were up on the wall. Opposite the kitchen sat a fancy rolltop desk.

"Hey," I said the Jacob, who was sitting up in my bed reading some thick goddam novel.

"Hey," he said.

"What the fuck is that?" I asked, meaning the desk.

"It's a desk," he said. "I need to get work done from here. Just say the word, and it will all be gone within a day. I'll be gone too, and never bother you again."

A moment passed as I took that in.

"You missed a great party," I said. "Great food. Booze. Women. Pool."

"Sounds like it."

"If you want to learn to surf, you gotta learn to loosen up too. Go to parties with rich broads up in the canyons."

"You're home earlier than I expected, actually."

"I'm not sure I like Picasso."

"The prints weren't expensive. I can switch them out. Who do you like?"

"I have no idea. Not art. Sports, I like."

And another, even longer moment passed.

"If you like, I'll sleep on the floor. I brought a sleeping bag. Or I could leave now, even. I can get a room down the coast."

"I'm thinking about it," I said, and I laid down next to him on the bed. "I'm thinking hard."

"You laid down next to me," he said. "I'll take that as a good sign."

"Quiet, and let me think."

"Sure, Peter." And we just listened to the surf for a while.

"Tell me about yourself, Jacob."

"What would you like to know?"

"The usual. Where did you grow up? Did you dream of becoming a fireman?"

"I grew up in the Bronx. My father was a bookseller in Manhattan. I was one of three boys—the youngest....there's not a lot to tell."

"Tell it anyway."

"I was the smart one, and I went to Penn State, and then Northwestern Law. I never wanted to be a fireman, I wanted to save the world. I went to law school to save the world, but then I met Alison, and her father had a big entertainment practice out here in L.A. And well, one thing led to another."

"You like art? Picasso? Books? Music? That kind of thing?"

"Yes, I do. I like classical music, in fact."

"Put some on," I said, since I saw that he had a pile of CDs next to my boom box.

"Okay, Peter."

He went over and put on something very quiet and meditative, and stood there looking at me.

"I will tell you the honest truth, Jacob. It doesn't seem fair to lie. I had a miserable time at the party. I was thinking about you the entire fucking evening."

"Really," he said.

"Really," I said. "I thought about you the whole time. I thought how beautiful you were. And sweet."

He swallowed hard. And then he came back to the bed.

"Wait," I said. "Jacob, before you get back into bed, I'd like you to take off your clothes. I'd really appreciate it."

"Sure, Peter," he said, and immediately started stripping, and folding his clothes neatly on a new chair next to the bed. I watched carefully, noticing how aroused I became at the sight of his chest, and then his back, and then his legs, his butt, his loins. He made no effort of modesty.

"Should I get into bed?"

"Yes, please." I said, and he laid himself out next to me, on my left side.

I turned toward him, and with my right hand I began stroking his testicles gently.

"Yes," I said again, and turned and kissed him, and when he responded, I put the whole of my tongue very slowly into his mouth. He tasted good.

"Now just lie still a moment," I said, still holding his balls gently, enjoying watching his dick get hard, but not touching it, not just yet.

"Sure, Peter," he said. And I sat up and went to look more closely at him. I examined his hairy feet and his hairy legs. I opened his legs a little and smelled the smell of him and saw the sight of him. I opened his arms and looked at the hair under his arms and ran my hands up and down his chest and tweaked his nipples a little. When he tried to move I said, "No. I need to get to know you better." Now I turned my attention to his now completely stiff and tall dick and his lovely dark balls. I took his dick at last gently in my hands and moved it back and forth, fascinated again that I was touching a man's dick in this way—and deeply enjoying that he had given me the right to do that. I took his dark Middle Eastern balls again and cupped them in my big sunbleached hands and rolled them around a little. I ran my fingers through his thick black pubic hair and twisted it into little tufts. A little drop of precum formed at the tip of his penis, and I took it on my forefinger and touched it to my lips. I rubbed my hand on his balls and brought my hand to my nose to sniff. I was not ready to kiss him there. I did not want that yet.

"Turn over please." And he did, and I ran my hands along the muscles of his back and down across his ass, which he had to lift slightly to relieve the pressure on his dick. But I wanted to see his face and the little smile that had formed on his lips. I wouldn't take him that way again, not for a while. Not till we got to know each other properly this time.

"Now back again," I said, and he turned back over, and laid down next to him and took his head in the crook of my arm, and kissed him again, hard, and then threw my leg over him and pulled his naked body against my clothed body and enjoyed the pressure of his dick against my thigh. He reached down and tried to grasp my crotch, but I pushed his hand away and got on top of him and released my tongue deep into his mouth so that he groaned and then I put a little pressure of my weight down on his penis. He groaned again, but I was worried he was about to come, so I got off of him, and reached into the nightstand by the bed where I kept some condoms, and took one out and put it on the middle finger of my right hand, and then beckoned him close and he assented and drew himself close to me and raised his leg a little so I could put my hand flat against his ass and my covered finger against his asshole, and then I brought him even closer and I enjoyed the smell of his breath again and I put my big tongue back in his mouth where he sucked at it hungrily and I pressed my finger into his asshole and I withdrew my tongue and I said "look me in the eye, Jacob" and he did, and he kept his eyes open and we stared at one another as I penetrated him deeply with my finger.

"I'm gambling everything on you. Don't hurt me." Tears were coming into his eyes.

"I know that, beautiful Jacob. And now I know you better than you know me." I withdrew my finger then, and dropped the condom on the floor and reached up and grabbed his wonderful penis and began to work it as he lay next to me, staring into my eyes. "But it's okay."

"Is it?"

"I won't hurt you. I promise you are safe. Just please don't look away." I held his eye, and turned his face back to me when he tried to look away. And we stared and stared and stared as I pumped and pumped and pumped until suddenly, wonderfully, he came violently and hotly, all over my clothes and the bedsheets. I did not stop pumping, and I would not release his eye, and so he came twice more until he could come no more. And then I gently released his dick and laid him back and stood up and took off my soiled clothes and climbed back onto the bed and climbed over top of his exhausted body and knelt over his chest. And he reached up and drew me higher until my cock was on his very lips, and he took my cock firmly into his mouth, into the warmth and sweetness of his mouth, and he sucked hard, and hard, and on and on, and sweetly forever and ever and ever until I felt the heat rise from my hips into my groin and go forth into his mouth, filling his mouth, and him gasping to swallow while my entire body convulsed with electrical impulses like lightning passing from muscle to muscle from head to heart to loins.

We stayed in that position for a long time until I began to notice the classical music again, and I gently withdrew and went to find a towel and helped him clean himself up.

"What music is that?" I asked as I carefully wiped his face and his chest and his hands.

"Debussy. He was French."

"Ah."

I turned off the light then and we lay for a while listening to Debussy playing above the surf.

In the morning, the sun rose just the way it always did, but I was no longer alone.



Surf God of Malibu Ch. 03



Dear Readers: Herein concludes my reminiscence. But trust me, it's really impossible to read this 3rd chapter without the context of the first two. --JamesonX



I may have awoken that second morning with the sweet sense of no longer being entirely alone in the world, but I awoke with plenty of anxiety, too. As I looked over at the sleeping face of Jacob: his olive skin and rough morning beard, his tangle of black curls on the pillow, I tried to think hard—not always my strong suit. Was there some kind of a future here? Did any of this make any goddam sense at all? 

Sure, we'd had a great moment. In fact, three great moments—and again the individual scenes tumbled into my brain like Old Master paintings—rich and dark and fleshy—each magnificent peak surging again in my loins. Sure, I'd fulfilled that longtime fantasy. I'd fucked a man. I'd stroked his balls. Bent him over. And it was good. But now what? Jacob here wanted to move in with me. He was, like, talking about staking his goddam life on me. He'd put up pictures and brought in his shit. Surely, he was nuts. And surely, the whole situation was headed for big trouble, or worse. Would I ever, ever, ever tell anyone I knew that I had had sex with a man? That I now had a boyfriend? Like...tell Vince and the guys down at the surf school? My little brother Pete in Phoenix, who practically worshipped me? My Mother...well she already hated me, but still, it seemed impossible. Good thing my father was dead, as they say, or it would kill him.

And there seemed to be no way that Jacob, however much he wanted to be "the new Jacob," and probably (unlike me), really was gay, would actually give up his wife and his fancy life in Bel Air, when the shit hit the fan. Didn't he say he worked for his wife's father's fucking law firm? How could that ever play out in the real world, except in disaster?

"You are the Surf God," I told myself as I stared at the ceiling, using the words that always made me happy. "You are free as the wind and the waves. You are the troubler of women's dreams and master of lesser men." I took a deep breath, but the words did not make me feel the way they always had. They seemed somehow...absurdly youthful. Though I was only 27, I had the sudden and profound sense of being too old for those words. 

I would make him breakfast. That's what I would do. I would let him know that I was not the demanding brute who took and took both in bed and out of bed and never gave anything in return. Yesterday he'd made me breakfast and then he'd let me lean him over the kitchen table and fuck him in the ass. Today, I'd make him breakfast, and...well, then we would part. Like gentlemen. Like grownups. One last kiss, perhaps.

Carefully, carefully, I crept out of bed, and went into the "kitchen" part of the one-room shack. In the refrigerator, I was surprised to find a full haul of food: milk, eggs, cheese, meat, those little long green onions. On the counter was a loaf of that unsliced bread you get at actual bakeries. The shack had never had it so good. Gamely, I turned on the burner and pulled a pan out as quietly as I could. I'd never actually cooked anything for another person, but shit, how hard was it to scramble some eggs? You just broke 'em in the pan and then fished out the shells, right? Then I could slice some cheese on top while it was cooking—cheese was always a good thing. I opened a tiny box of what looked like fancy cheese, but it had some kind of weird white fungus growing all over it—so I threw it out. Waste of money there.

Just when the eggs were done, and I was trying hard to scrape them off the pan and get out the last of the shell, an alarm went off, and Jacob shot out of bed, naked as a jay bird. 

"Shit, shit, shit," he shouted. " I thought I set this thing for seven. I'm going to be late."

"Morning, Jacob. I'm making breakfast."

"That is so sweet, lover. But it's eight, I have a client meeting at nine, and it's easily 40 minutes from here."

That word lover entered the room like an uninvited guest—the kind that makes you awkward and unsure of yourself. Really not okay to use that word.

"Jacob—" I glowered.

"Look, I'll call you," he said with a smile, and ran into the shower. I just stood there with a spatula in my hand, looking very unlike a surf god.

Soon he was out of the shower, drying himself off, and I just watched as, still naked, he threw a suitcase on the bed and pulled out a fancy-ass slate-gray suit and a little brush to get the lint off of it. He turned his back on me as he unpacked, no doubt to give me a view of his hairy balls wagging between his legs. I watched him pull on his little jockey shorts and button his monogrammed white lawyer shirt and conservative fucking lawyer tie, and then pull on the suit and sparkling shoes. All in all, an effective strategy on his part. 

"How do I look?"

"Not at all like someone who just fucked a surf instructor in a beach shack." The words sound joking, but I said them kind of slow and serious, and he understood what I was trying to say.

Our eyes met, and he tried to laugh it off. "I guess not. But life is like that. Unpredictable."

"Jacob, you know that there's a lot of crazy—"

"I'll call you, okay?" he said with a desperate smile. "But if you don't take my call, and I find my shit out on the beach when I get back this evening, it's still okay. It really is. I said I was taking that gamble."

"I'm not that kind of a jerk. Another kind, maybe, but not that kind. I was going to make you breakfast."

"So you were," he said and met my eyes again.

At that, I walked over and kissed him hard, on the mouth, grabbing his junk through his fancy suit, but not putting my tongue in—I was trying to be good. "None of this makes any goddam sense," I said when I released him. "But you go to work and we'll both think about it." I hung onto his junk for a second before I let go. What was I doing? I didn't know. Letting the dice roll across the table, I guess.

He just gave me a long look and grabbed his laptop and shot out the door, leaving it open. I watched him struggle up through the sand to his silver fucking Boxster, which had surprisingly not been stolen overnight. 

When I want to think, I always clean my boards—leaving 'em out in the sun to warm up, and then carefully scraping off all the old wax. It's good for the soul. Later, I'd do some solo surfing. Then, late afternoon, I'd walk into town for some beer—did I mention that I didn't own a car or even have a license in those days?

By the time Jacob came back that evening, it would all be clear. And I would be ever so proud of myself for my mature and philosophic attitude about the whole thing. In fact, by noon, I had a beautiful scenario worked out, in which he would move back out on the best of terms, but keep on with the surfing lessons once a month as a way to meet for some secret man sex. We'd be, like, lifelong friends having secret rendezvous. He'd tell me about his life and complain about his wife in Bel Air, and I would still be the hetero Sex God, growing leathery but handsome with age. Just a little bi, on the side, for fun. And I'd tell him tales of the beach and we'd get drunk together afterwards.

You know, every month. Secretly.

Around one o'clock, a little emerald green Civic pulled over on the highway, and I watched a small redhead walk down the path between the rocks, and purposefully across the sand to my beach shack. When she got close, she shaded her eyes to read my wonderful, hand-painted "Surf God" sign over the door. Then she shaded her eyes to look at me, shirtless and magnificent, sitting on an overturned bucket and scraping a longboard.

"Are you Peter?" she asked.

"Can't deny it."

"I might be interested in surf lessons. I hear you give surf lessons?"

"Beginner. Intermediate. Advanced. And very advanced," I smiled pointedly.

"How lovely," she smiled. "How much do you charge?"

"Sixty dollars an hour," I said, raising the price just a might on account of her nice shoes. "My boards, your wetsuit."

"Got it." She said. "Do you surf right here?" And she took an interested stare out at the waves. 

"Right here," I said.

"And look at this wonderful little shack! It's like, right out of a movie." And she pulled out a tiny camera and took a quick shot. "I just have to look inside!"

And before I could get up, she'd walked in the open front door and was shooting pictures all over the place.

"Hey," I said, "Please don't do that." But by the time I got inside, she ran out past me, back onto the beach, and stood about 30 feet away, in the direction of the highway, where people could see us if they cared to look.

"I have a deal for you, Peter."

"What is this about, lady?" Though I was already getting a sinking feeling that I knew what it was about.

"On your table in there, I just left an envelope with ten one-hundred dollar bills. A thousand dollars earnest money, just to show I'm serious."

"What? Serious about what?"

"Here's my proposition. You lay off my husband and I'll deliver another nine thousand. I don't know what he's paying you, but that's got to be a good deal, even for a handsome son of a bitch like you."

"Holy shit, lady. I don't know what you are talking about."

"Yes you do. I saw his suitcase in there, and some of his clothes thrown all over your goddam bed. The bed where he...he probably... I've always known this might happen. I've seen those magazines he hides. It was all I could do not to laugh when he talked about 'surf lessons' a few months ago. I've had him watched, and--"

"You must be Alison. And you're wrong about Jacob."

"Oh my god, he told you my name! What is wrong with him? You don't tell a whore your real name and your wife's name! He's really lost it."

That made me really, really pissed, but now that I was so mature, I controlled myself. "I think you better leave now. And take your money. You're not understanding this at all. He simply needed a little time away, and I offered my place."

At that, she backed up another 10 feet, and shouted: "Think about the deal, Peter. My word is good on the money." She trembled: "Look, since he told you his name and all that, I'll make it fifteen grand. I have your number from the surf school. I'll call you for your answer. I'm not threatening you, you understand. I don't want to insult you, either. I get it. Everyone has to earn a living, and this is a flat-out deal, okay? Don't ruin our lives, please!"

And with that, she turned and ran back up the beach, and up the little path, and into her Civic, and threw it into gear. And though a Civic isn't real good at roaring off, she did her best to roar off down the road.

I just stood there for a while, an idiot staring up at the road. Feeling like utter shit. 

Sure enough, the envelope on the table contained a grand and a little note, in case she didn't get a chance to talk to me, offering the deal. 

I left the envelope on the table, and went out for a long session on the waves. It was a good low tide, with a big, well-formed curl, and I let the sea calm my spirit. It seemed obvious that the right thing to do was both turn down the money, and send Jacob back home. There would be no secret monthly "surf lessons," now that Alison knew. The Surf God would again be the Surf God, and that was that.

When six o'clock rolled around, I saw the silver Boxster pull up along the highway, and I saw Jacob lurch down toward the shack. He would find the envelope there, and save me the trouble of telling the tale. Maybe he would just leave. I mean, what more was there to say?

A good long time passed, but at last Jacob emerged from the shack. I was surprised to see he was wearing a wetsuit, and he grabbed a board. I let a couple of perfectly good swells pass me by as I waited for him to paddle out. 

"Hey," I said.

"Hey," he replied. "Looks good out here."

"It is. I must have had twenty good rides this afternoon." 

"When the tide comes in, it'll probably flatten out, though."

"Yeah, somehow the tide always comes in," I said. "Shit if it don't." He turned his board to face the sunset, and I turned with him, ready for that grownup parting I'd imagined. Instead, he said this:

"When I don't go home tonight, Alison will tell her daddy. By tomorrow this time, I won't have a job. In fact, I can probably kiss the whole entertainment industry goodbye, because her daddy will put out some kind of shit on me. He's smart, he'll figure out something really wicked. Something way worse than cheating on his daughter with a guy."

"But you are going home, right?"

"No fucking way."

I was astonished. "What the fuck, Jacob? You're really prepared to go that far? Divorce? Unemployment?"

"I said that all along."

Now the sunset wasn't beautiful...it was panic-inducing.

"Look, Jacob. I need to be fucking honest here. You're a nice guy. Shitty surfer, but a nice guy. We had some good times the last couple of days, I won't deny that. I enjoyed everything. But...sex isn't everything in life. You can't..." At that, I saw a stricken look cross his face, and I amended it. "Okay, it was more than sex. It was, like, spiritual or something. But still. We don't hardly know each other beyond the sex. And I'm not ready to...not prepared to...you just can't count on me like that. You can't fuck up your life for...your goddam surf instructor. It's ridiculous."

"Of course not, Peter. But you don't understand. I am not asking for any kind of commitment whatsoever. Except maybe for more surfing lessons," he grinned. "I'll probably have the time, now. And it's so beautiful out here. This is not your fault and not your responsibility—though you are the catalyst."

"What's 'catalyst'? I'm not a goddam surf professor, just the surf god, remember?"

"Oh, fuck," he laughed. "It's like the thing that causes everything else to happen."

"Okay."

"Anyway, Peter, I would not have had the courage to do this without the wonder of the last couple of days with you. Nevertheless, if you send me back to shore right now and you never speak to me again, I will still not go home tonight, because I have stepped through the door, and I am on the other side already."

"Shit, Jacob," was all I could say, never being that great with words, and getting worse by the minute.

He turned then and fixed me with a powerful look, and made a much longer speech, one that I will never forget. It's a really long speech to record in an erotic tale, but what the hell. It was a speech made as we sat up on our boards and steadied ourselves to watch the sunset, so it had a little extra poignancy.

"And let me say something about sex," continued Jacob, the lawyer, "since you're so worried that I'm obsessed with the topic. Sex may not be the most important thing in the world, but it is rightly among the most important. When you go surfing, you leave the civilized country of rules and expectations and limits and enter what I might call the 'unknown country' of the ocean. The ocean's poetry and its wonder lie in a danger and a wildness which you cannot fully understand or control. Out here, life doesn't just feel boundless and infinite, it is boundless and infinite.

"Let me tell you that great poets and great musicians and great artists experience much the same thing when they create. They go into a wilderness of dangerous and uncontrollable beauty – a place greater than themselves, and they give themselves up to it. They experience the unknown country as a fearsome place. Great athletes, I suppose, feel much the same way—and enter into the uncontrolled arena of a race or a competition. But a man or a woman must practice for years to become a truly good surfer, or a lifetime to become a truly great artist. And their career may be very brief. But God gave every man and woman a way to visit the unknown country almost every day of their adult lives, if they so choose. Truly, for most of us, the only way we will ever get to that wild place is through the terrifying intimacy and dangerous beauty of sex with another human being.

"People talk about feeling like they are dying during sex. Or flying. Or merging with the universe. Shakespeare called death "the undiscovered country," and that phrase has always held a strange beauty, at least for me. I do not seek death, but I do seek to sometimes disappear into the lesser, never completely known country of sex. Shakespeare or Debussy or a great athlete may have experienced greater poetry than us, but this is the greatest poetry most of us will ever feel. Why do people dress up in crazy leather outfits and do kinky things during sex? Is it because they want to be better at making babies? Or because they are desperate to visit the infinite unknowable and know no other way to get there? Why do people spend hours and hours looking at pictures of naked others or reading erotic literature? Even scary erotic literature? Only so they can get as close as possible to that unknown country when they have no lover to hold their hand and take them there in the bedroom."

"Shitfire," I said.

"Sex is dangerous. Get used to that. It's probably better to 'sublimate it' and write poetry or music instead, but in its true and raw form it is dangerous. But so is being alive. Peter, over the last two days, you held my hand and took me to the unknown country. What happens after that is up to me, but I will be ever grateful to you. You say you and I don't really know each other beyond the sex, but in truth I know you far better than anyone I've ever known—including Alison. I may not know who you are in the civilized country, but I know who you are in the unknown country. I know who you are out here. Without your help, I never would have gotten here. I would have lived my life in the box constructed for me by Alison and her father – no, that's not fair, I constructed the box myself, out of my fears and conventions and stupidity. If Alison only...if she could have...but no, that was impossible. No woman could have... For most men, yes, but not for me. Let me just say that if, at this very moment, a giant wave came and crushed me out here on the ocean, I would die happy. Why? Because I am out on the fucking ocean."

"Shitfire squared," I said.

What did I feel? I felt again strangely older. As if I suddenly lived in a world of meaning and consequence, where before I had been just a clown. For maybe the first time in my life, it mattered what I did next. Certainly, for the first time, I wanted what I did next to matter.

"There's a good set coming," I said. "We might just catch a curl before it gets too dark."

"I never get the jump right, up onto my feet."

"The secret to the jump is to really commit," I said. "To not fucking care if you make it or not, but completely believe that you are going to make it. Once you really feel that, you'll do it right every time—even if you fall into the drink. Even that's doing it right. The secret is to know that even falling is doing it right."

We turned our boards then, and waited, and we caught a good swell, and for a couple seconds we rode side by side—until of course, Jacob fell. You don't get good at surfing just through somebody's advice, even if it's damn good advice.

When we left the ocean, it was getting dark and chilly. In my memory, that night burned with a thousand stars, though of course that's impossible, it being so close to L.A. Probably the night burned with a thousand shore lights and a hundred crazy beams of headlights up on the highway.

Three figures were coming down the beach with boards, and even in the growing dark I could tell it was Vince and Al and Randy from the school. Vince's perpetual six pack of beer hung from his free hand, or what was left of a six pack.




Surf God of Malibu Ch. 03



"Peter!" cried Vince, and we stopped just above the wet sand. "A late lesson! I thought Jacob was Wednesday mornings. If this goes on, folks are going to talk."

"Talk about what, Vince?" I said, with a smile.

"Nothing. Nothing." Then he paused for effect. "Jacob, you been getting any sleep in that shack?"

And they all laughed.

"Don't worry, we won't tell Cindy," said Al. "—or I forget, is it Amy these days?"

For the life of me I don't know what possessed me in that moment. It's not like I made a decision, exactly. I just heard the words leave my mouth.

"It wasn't working out with Cindy or Amy," I said. "I'm hoping it will work out better with Jacob."

This, of course, sent them into gales of laughter. "Jezuz, surf god," cried Vince. "Don't make me shit in my suit."

"Boys, boys. Let me ask you a question," I smiled. "Am I not the best goddam surfer on this beach?"

"Well..." said Vince.

"Admit it."

"Okay, okay. You're the best, Surf God."

"And why am I the best?"

"Well..."

"I'm the best because I'll try anything. I'll try goddam anything. I'm the best because I have no fear."

"Fuck yes!" cried Randy, who was clearly the most drunk of the three. Randy always admired the shit out of me. "Yes! Yes! The Surf God has no fear."

"Well, I tried women. I tried really hard. But I could never make it fucking work. The one thing I could never make work. Fortunately, I am fearless. So I'm trying men now. I'll let you know how it works out." 

And with that I reached out and pulled Jacob to me, and kissed him hard on the lips. When I pulled away, I left my arm on his shoulder. Then he and I just stared the boys down.

"Whoa," said Randy.

"Shitfire," said Al.

"No shit," said Vince.

And then a little silence fell.

"You boys look like you could use a drink," I said. "Meanwhile, we want to get inside and man-fuck."

"Sure, Peter," said Vince, uncertainly. "Sure. We'll see you around."

The others mumbled something similar, and they continued on their way, shooting looks back at us, and once a little ways down the beach, giggling.

We walked up to the shack in silence, then, and turned on the warm outdoor shower. I kept my wetsuit on, but unzipped the back of Jacob's, and pulled it down over his arms to his waist. He tried to help, but I said "No, let me." Then I knelt down and peeled it off his legs, one at a time. 

"Peter, I—"

"Shhh," I said, "it's enough talking." Then I stood up and embraced his lean, wet, naked body with my slick, salty, wetsuited body, placing one hand on his buttocks and one on his shoulder. We kissed right under the showerhead. Not me kissing him hard, like before, but the two of us just kissing. Even through the wetsuit, I felt his dick growing hard. But I didn't touch it, not yet. "You'll want to get all the salt off," I said, stepping back and turning him around under the stream. The light was off, but I saw him in the occasional flash of headlights from the highway. There was a bit of old soap there, in a can, and when his back was turned, I reached my left arm around his chest and pulled him close. Then I took the bit of soap in my right hand and eased it up into his ass crack, washing him. "Spread your legs a little for me," I said, and he did, and I washed his inner thighs and his hairy balls, and pushed the soap gently up into him, so that he sighed a little. "Lift up your arms for me." Then I moved my hand up the side of his body, to wash him first under one arm, really soaping up the hair under his arm, and then I switched sides and washed him under the other arm. And then I returned my right hand to his ass crack and washed until the soap was gone and there was nothing in the entire world but the warm water and the cold night and his slick flesh and my wetsuit pressed against his backside. At last I reached around him and grabbed his dick, which was wonderfully hard and hairy and erect. And I squeezed it gently, just enjoying the feel of it in the warm water. And he turned his face and I knew he wanted my tongue, and so I gave it to him. 

"Let's go inside," I said at last, and we moved indoors, me still in my wetsuit, getting the floor all wet and sandy. "Sit," I said, and he sat naked on a kitchen chair, and I knelt there, on the floor, and took his hard wet hairy dick in my mouth, for the first time a man's dick in my mouth while with my big right hand I cradled his balls, and with my left I held his body close. I loved the taste of his dick and the feel of it in my mouth, not because it was "man" but because it was "Jacob" and I now loved Jacob. I now wanted him in my mouth. I swallowed it deep, deep, deep. And he put both his hands in my wet hair and bent over and kissed me on the top of my head. And I allowed myself to lose myself in that moment. To forget "surf god" and all loneliness and all pride and all distance from other human beings in the closeness to this one human being. And then I stood, and lifted him up to me, and pulled him against my wetsuit and said, "put your tongue in my mouth and see if you can taste yourself there." And he did, and all he said was "mmmm." Then I pushed his tongue out with my tongue and plunged it deep into his mouth. And I pulled his head against it and pushed it in and out, in and out, in and out until he was gasping. 

When I pulled my tongue out, I said: "Do you want me to fuck you, Jacob?"

"Yes, Peter."

"When I fuck you this time, though, you'll know that I love you, right?"

"Really?"

"Yes. Even when I fuck you really hard. Even when I let myself go, it's because I want to take you with me to where I am going."

"I understand, Peter. And you know I want you to fuck me hard."

"It's because I want to go there together."

"Yes."

He walked around behind me then and pulled on the zipper on the back of my wetsuit, so that I felt my muscles released into the cool air of the cabin. And I let him peel the suit off first my right arm, then my left arm. I felt powerful. I felt alive. I felt more alive than ever in my life. And then he peeled the suit down my waist, and he knelt on the floor as I had knelt on the floor to remove one leg after the other from the wet rubber. My dick was rock hard, almost painfully hard, wanting him. But I just stood there, waiting while he finished with the wetsuit, and then my trunks. And I just stood there as he licked first my right and then my left nipple. And I just stood there as he went around behind me and kissed my shoulder blades and then the middle of my back, and then my buttocks, first the right and then the left. Precum formed at the end of my dick and dripped on the floor. And still I didn't move. He knelt behind me and suddenly I felt his tongue playing with my balls from behind. Just licking them gently. And I felt his breath on my balls and on the inside of my thighs. I opened my legs a little, to give him better access, but still I just stood there, taking it in. Not wanting to rush anything. 

"I need to wash," I said. "Let's go in the shower." 

"Mmmm," he said. But we didn't move. And again I felt his tongue on my sack and my balls. My dick was like steel. Like a steel rod. Like a huge steel rod. I longed to touch it. I longed for him to touch it. But still I didn't move.

"I'll lead you into the shower," he said, and stood up and came around front, where I longed to take him in my arms, but did not. He grasped my huge steel rod of a dick with his left hand and pulled. I gasped, but did not move. "Come this way," he said, and what could I do but follow? I felt sweat breaking out on my forehead and my buttocks. I was more turned on than I think I had ever been in my life. To be led like that by the dick, was for the moment, heaven.

"Jacob," I said. 

"Yes, Peter."

"Fuck but that feels good."

"Yes, Peter."

"Don't let go."

"I won't."

"Promise you won't let go."

And he held it much tighter, pulling me into the bathroom where we first had sex just 48 hours ago. But it seemed like we had been having sex together forever, for an entire epoch of history. Without letting go of my dick, he turned on the shower and pulled me under it. And still without letting go, he grabbed some soap, and just as I had washed him, he washed me with his right hand. First under the arms. Then my bristly face. Then the inside of my thighs. Then reaching around to my ass crack. All the while keeping a firm grip on my dick with his left. Every now and then we made eye contact and smiled. 

"Oh shit, Peter," he said at last and dropped down to suck my dick, there with the water pouring over his head. His mouth was warm and good. I grasped his hair with both hands. But I did not want to come this way.

"I want to fuck you now," I said.

"Mmmm."

And I drew him up, and put my huge tongue in his mouth and let him nurse on it a while.

"Mmmm," he said again. 

"Let me fuck you."

"Yes, Peter. Please fuck me."

"Say it again."

"Please fuck me."

Now it was my turn to grab his dick and lead him out of the bathroom, dripping wet, toward the bed. 

"Just stand there a second," I said, and went to get a towel. And as he stood there, unmoving, I dried him from head to foot, savoring the moment. Still, despite my overwhelming need, not wanting to rush it. Sometimes, when the towel touched the head of my dick, or it brushed against his body, it was all I could do not to come, right there. I recalled a deep fantasy I had had. In this fantasy, I stood on a chair and jacked off all over a man, throwing huge coils of cum over him. In this fantasy, we both shouted for joy. In my delirium, I thought about trying to do that now, but I restrained myself. 

"Please, Peter. Please fuck me," repeated Jacob.

All logic had fled, and we were both in a kind of dream state. 

"Fuck you?"

"Yes, fuck me."

I could hardly speak, but I said, "Do something for me, okay?"

"Okay, Peter."

"Get on the bed on all fours for me."

"Yes, Peter."

And he did. 

"I love you Jacob. We are equals and I love you. Remember that as I fuck you."

"Yes, Peter."

At that, he put his head down against the pillow and opened his ass out to me, inviting me to penetrate him.

For a moment I just looked at him. At his beautiful ass. At his beautiful pink opening. I ran my hand over his buttocks and down his thighs. Gently, gently, I touched his asshole, ran my finger around the pinkness of it. Played with the black hairs. Leaned over and kissed the insides of his thighs, feeling him first tense up, and then relax.

Slowly I disengaged, and I walked over to the nightstand and found the bottle of lubricant. I was in no hurry. I poured some on my hand and stood behind him, and reached out and gently rubbed it on his ass cheeks and his balls and around front on his hard, hard dick. Then I poured some more and smeared it up into his asshole. Then I poured some more on my own iron-hard rod of a dick, surely larger than it had ever been before. I was breathing hard. I was breathing very hard as I climbed onto the bed behind him. I was breathing very hard and I made an animal sound like a growl. Then I placed the helmet of my dick up against his asshole and penetrated just a little

He moaned. I moaned. 

"Oh fuck," I said, and shoved it in, and shoved it in, and shoved it in. He pushed back and pushed back, but I could feel him collapsing onto the bed, so I wrapped my arms around his torso to hold him against me, and I pushed and pushed and pushed and pushed deeply deeply deeply.

"Oh," I cried, and the fire rose up again out of my loins and overcame my whole body and my mind, too. I felt my dick surge. I came and I came and I came. There was a kind of tremendous heat. And he cried out. Then we were both crying out as I came a second time almost immediately, and violently inside him. Our cries merged with the sound of the waves. It was a cry together for the end of all loneliness of all people always and forever.

I held him a long time as my orgasm subsided. As I became again human.

"Now you," I said, barely able to speak. "Do something for me. Mark me." 

"What?" he said, confused. 

At that, I pulled out my softening member, and lay beside him on the bed, face up. "Come, kneel on top of me." And he did. He put one leg on either side of me, just above my muscular waist, so that his butt was just pressing against my pelvis, on my pubic hair.

"I want you to come all over me," I said. "All over my chest and my face and everything. I want you to mark me as your own. Your husband. Your mate. But please, look me in the eye. Don't forget to look me in the eye, my loved one. Take the leap."

He leaned over and kissed me on the lips, and as he did so, I felt his hard hard dick press against my abdomen.

"I want you to come all over me," I repeated. "Mark me."

"I love you Peter," he said, and took his cock in his right hand. "You are mine." After that, it only took a few strokes of his olive dark hand on his olive dark hairy dick. "Look me in the eye!" I shouted as he began to come. And lo, his dick flung white jism all over my blond hairy chest and my face and my arms. And I cried out too. I cried out too. I cried out too. And just like that, we were mated. Mated forever.

-----

That was almost fifteen years ago. Fifteen years, and we are still together. Jacob's divorce from Allison was spectacular, brutal. And yes, he lost his job practically the next day. I still remember the look on Allison's face when I accompanied him to the divorce lawyer's office. When I gave her back her thousand dollars, and gave him a hug for support. I felt sorry for her, I really did. It wasn't her fault. Though I got pretty pissed when she took the Porsche.

I had to quit the surf school—it was too uncomfortable to be out in that kind of environment. I tried to give private lessons for a while, but without referrals from the school, it just didn't happen. We had a couple tough years, but our love never faltered. Our joy in each other's company, each other's bodies. 

In time, Jacob found a new gig at a small firm where he was completely out. And little by little, the world changed. It did. It amazingly did. I got a job at a surf shop, and by the time I was a partner, people mostly stopped caring that I was gay. Didn't quite stop noticing, but mostly stopped worrying about it. 

Last year, to my astonishment, the law changed, and we actually married. Husband and husband. Two tuxedos at the courthouse. Now we wear rings.

Jacob has gotten me nice clothes, and he sometimes talks me into going to the symphony and art galleries and shit—but I've never really felt at home anywhere but the beach. I'm sorry to report that the shack was bulldozed more than ten years ago, and now we live in a nice condo, with a fifth story view of the waves. The "surf god" sign, however, still hangs over our bedroom door. Jacob's never learned to be that great a surfer, but his skill in bed has never faltered. Not to mention his skill on the balcony, where we often go out after dark, and hope the neighbors don't hear. We lay out blankets and fuck to the sound of the waves. He always likes to start by saying "Fuck me, Peter." It's always beautiful. Always and miraculously beautiful to kiss. To touch. To enter. To go to the unknown country together.

END