Green Eyes

His green eyes match the palm trees. Cum on, they say---or perhaps not. I've become a shy person, am easily discouraged, and I won't forget a sly. But I manage to hold his gaze, hold it long enough.

He turns his head briefly, then saunters towards the woods behind the beach. I stand there, not sure what to do. Should I follow? He's interrupting his gait, turns his head again, realizes my apprehension, disappointment on his face. A split second. I manage a nod --- just. He smiles, resumes his walk; I follow. The sand gives way to some earthbound ivy. He steps gingerly on the leaves, with me in cruisin' distance behind.

I sense an erection. The ivy stops bothering me. It's all about his butts now, which are slightly swiveling as he traipses over the ivy, the grass, the under wood. His back is defined, glistering, and irresistible. His shoulder. His biceps. His feet. His hair, shiny black . His entire being. My boner.

We are in the woods now. Would I care if anybody could see us as he lowers his pants, grabs my trunks, strips me, grabs my dick, pressing his body against mine?

No, I wouldn't. And he wouldn't either. Past the first big tree, a sycamore, he turns around, taking me in with the sly look of an experienced beach lover, and leans meaningfully against the big trunk. I feel honored. We've been here before --- at least he's been here before.

No more fuss. He drops his pants, I drops my trunks. We are naked, aroused, our thumping cocks telling the story. His dick is dazzling in the sunshine. I check on my own. We are OK.

I lean against his slender, muscular body. His left hand joins our boners, squeezing them as if we will always be together. His right hand embraces my neck, his lips touch mine. He wants something. A kiss, perhaps? Yes, he wants a kiss, a passionate, intimate, infinite, banal kiss.

Did I say that our cocks were joined in homosexual harmony? Now his left hand comes around, exploring my butt, my anus. No condoms? No gel? "How about safe sex?" I ask --- the first words spoken in this encounter. "Sex is always safe," he replies with a beach accent, "the virus is dangerous."

He releases my dick, retrieves his pants, and a searching movement in his pockets produces a pristine, super-size condom. Ever so gently, he retracts his foreskin, posits the rubber ring on top of his glans, balancing it, (quite funny, especially in retrospect, his dick slightly throbbing), holding the jonny with thumb and index finger, rolling it down the shaft, expunging air bubbles, straightening the rubber, then touching his balls like an airline captain might before departure, whipping his now-protected cock back and forth so as if to check on its functionality.

"How about a lubricant?" I ask. "I have no gel," he replies, "do you?" I don't. "You want sex or not?" he asks. I stare at his cock, share his thoughts. "Turn around," he says, " I'll see what I can do." My hands are against the tree trunk now, my white butt protruding into the Georgia sunshine.

"Get down," he says. I hunch forward, squatting, then resting my knees on the ground, exposing myself in the most pornographic ways. I feel his face close up between my buttocks. A spitting sound, followed by a sense of humidity between my legs. "What's your name?" I ask. He does not answer but spits some more. I feel something between my buttocks that can't be his dick, a pair of tender lips, perhaps. More spitting, sucking, his tongue is now involved heavily with my sphincter, sending shivers through my spine. His tongue must be as long as his cock, it's gorgeous.

Beach sex. Is it always like this? No, it's not.

He's on his knees now, exploring my rear with his hand, then with something slightly softer. Some days, your ass is tight. Some days, it's too tight, and you can't help it. Today my ass is very tight, and Green Eye's magnificent manhood is encumbered by my sphincter as he is seeking a way forward. With his hand he's pressing the tip of his member into service. Fail. Another try. Fail. A third try. He's in. Yes, he's in. It hurts. It hurts so much. I whip around. "I can't handle it," I yell. He shakes his dick, then his head. "It happens," he says. He relents, lies down, stretches his body, aligning his discouraged dick on his abdomen. He could say: 'Do you want to continue,' or something to that effect, but he doesn't. He just lies there. Yet, he seems to know what he is doing. He's not going to give in. He strokes his dick. He's either going to have me, or have himself.

My ass is aroused. My soul is aroused. "Try again," I say. "My dick is too large," he says, "it happens all the time." "No, no," I reply,"that's not it, OK, that's it, try again anyhow."

"Lie down on your back," he says, "spread your legs."

I lie down and spread my legs. He's all over me again, his dick seeking a way out of this crisis. He's exploring, touching, pressing (using his fingers). And he's kissing (using his lips). He's kissing my cheeks, my shoulders, my ears. We're just 100 yards away from the crowd. Anybody who cares? A blond, crew-cut guy walks by. He's taking notice (obviously). He doesn't care. He does care. Will he be calling for help, the life guard perhaps, or Beach Vice? No, he's watching, a tumescence evolving in his trunks.

There's a sound before I feel anything, a squishy sound, as Green Eyes' dick has pushed my sphincter muscles aside, inserting himself anew, the pain exploding anew, but now the hurt tells a different story. Something is right, just perfect. My man pushes his shaft down, four inches, five inches, six inches and more. I yell, I cry, I howl. He likes it; the blond guy likes it. too. Green Eyes retracts, enters, retracts, enters. A revolving sensation. Seven inches. Feel it?

A good cock up your ass. We know how it is. The blond guy who's watching knows, too. Rhythm. Sentiment. Sensuality. Sexuality. Softness. Future. Yesterday. Tomorrow. Rock-n-roll. Crime. Drugs. The blaring, unabashed screeming of my entire being has Green Eyes' full attention as his master cock is on the case. His rhythms accelerate, there is plurality to his efforts. He fucks, he fucks, he fucks. He fucks me, John, your eternal buddy, your primal lover. He fucks me more. Harder.

The blond guy has shed his trunks and is jerking his dick with ambitious gestures in our direction. We must be very inspiring.

"You want me to come over your face?" the green eyes ask. "Yes," I say. He exits for good, swipes the condom with a triumphant gesture, throws it to the lions (actually, he throws it in the direction of the blond guy), jerks his dick a few more times, and ejaculates his milky cream over my face, stroking, there it comes, stroking more, more cum, lots of it, stroking more, the cum squirting, spattering, flowing, spouting --- it's really sexy, if you like that sort of thing. Semen everywhere. I lick. I lick my lips as if we were live on the internet. He's on his knees now, sharing the fun, licking my face, my shoulders, my torso.

"You want to come," he asks? "Yes," I say, but we are interrupted by that blond crew-cut who is posited above us now, his legs wide apart, wanking like a sailor. And he's coming too, with accented spasms, the cum spouting from his dick all over the place, and in particular over my body.

"How about me," I complain to both men. "I'll help you," the green eyes say. He inserts his tongue squarely into my mouth, jerks my dick. I touch him, feel him with my finger tips, his pectoris, his washboard tummy, his surfer's back, his devilish dick down there, almost out of reach, searching, searching for a sense of direction that any good orgasm requires. And there it is. My crotch explodes, and I'm coming all over us, cum filling the ripples of his washboard tummy, dripping from my breast, my shoulders, my nose tip. It's also in my eyes, on my cheeks, my chin, my neck, my ears, his ears, everywhere. Who's semen is it?

"Good," Green Eyes say. He grabs his pants and disappears, while the blond guy is still stroking his softening dick, as if he's practicing after-play. "What are you doing tonight?" he asks.