As Jake jerked off for the third time in as many hours to his favorite DVD, "Barely Legal First Time Butt Babes", it occurred to him that he might soon have to purchase a new keyboard. This once had begun to exhibit sticky keys and it was inhibiting his ability to easily enter data.
Jake was finally coming to the realization that his favorite form of porn was just fantasy. Girls like those portrayed in the film just didn't exist. Sure, he knew and had dated young women every bit as attractive---more so---than the actresses in the movie. At twenty-nine, Jake was considered attractive, had a good job, a nice late model vehicle and an above average apartment within two minutes of the Pacific. He didn't smoke or drink to excess and had no manifest bad habits, other than beating off too much. Girls he had dated and slept with considered him a capable lover, probably in no small measure because he did pound his pud to excess.
Not one of them, however, exhibited either the aggressiveness or the abject nastiness of the women on the screen. Jake's erotic fantasy of meeting that special girl who: (a) sucked cock with true enthusiasm; (b) liked to engage in the occasional face fuck; (c) enjoyed having a guy cum on her face; (d) talked dirty in the sack;(e) had an exhibitionist streak and (f) occasionally liked to get boned in the butt was, he had come to realize, just unrealistic fantasy. Just once, he mused, I want to enjoy an absolutely disgustingly nasty fuck fest with some sweet little honey before I settle down.
Settling down sooner rather than later was a distinct probability. The girl he had dated off and on since college was the most likely prospect. She was a hot little blond with a great set of buns, nice tits and a generally sweet personality, well, sweet except when she was being bitchy and demanding. Bitchy and demanding were the traits that had ruled their yo-yo relationship of on again off again romance since his Senior year in college. While she had mellowed somewhat with maturity, there were still times when the only way he could improve her moodiness was to be almost subserviently attentive. Still he was pretty sure he loved her and after over five years they knew each other very well. She had finally elected to move to California from the East coast and move in with him as a prelude to nuptials. She had found a job in her field not far from where he lived; she would be on board in a few weeks.
He checked the surf report on the tube and decided what he would do this particular Saturday morning, which was what he did almost every Saturday morning. Jake was a natural athlete and had played several sports in high school and college. His normally lean, muscular body had bulked up at little when he had been in the military overseas and weight lifting was often the only physical fitness regiment available. Now he was back to a weight that he was more comfortable with and the bulky muscles had become lean and well defined. He had become addicted to surfing after moving to Southern California, often doing so in the early morning before driving to his office some twenty minutes away.
Donning his wet suit and grabbing his board out of the front hall he headed toward the beach a couple of minutes away. With his wet suit unzipped to the waist and his broad chest and strong shoulders displayed, Jake looked like a poster child for the Delmar surf scene. He was not, however, remotely as shallow and unserious as that stereotype generally indicated. He had a BS and an MBA and his reading tastes were both eclectic and extensive. His tastes in art and music were equally expansive. He was an excellent cook. He had good taste in clothes, libations, furnishings and in life in general. He was a thinker and a doer.
His military service had included a combat assignment during which his life had been threatened almost daily which had given him an even more mature visage. At his core he was sweet, caring, sincere and loyal; he was the pride and joy of his parents and a natural leader. If he could change only one aspect of his life it would be his growing obsession with bedding down a bad girl who would fulfill all of his porn driven fantasies.
As fate would have it he would have to share the early waves with only one other surfer who was just preparing to catch a wave in the distance. The surfer was up but he could not tell if it was a he or she. Good form, nice moves, oh yea! What a great ride! He or she, I'm thinking she, milked that baby for all it was worth. Uh, huh, that is definitely a she. Tall, damned near as tall as he was. Damned, long legs, obvious boobs and a nice turn to her hips. He was thinking blond, his weakness, as she drew closer. She smiled and he returned the gesture. Oh, wow! Killer smile, great eyes, blue and, yep, a blond.
"Nice ride." Jake said.
"Thank you. You've got to be pretty patient out there today but about every eighth wave is worth the trouble."
It was an easy exchange; surfers were surfers and respect for good form transcended gender or carnal interest. Jake paddled out and heeding her words was patient, finally catching a roller that seemed promising. While he was certain that he had not exhibited her near perfect form, he had not remotely embarrassed himself. Surfer girls were often an enigma. He had dated a couple and found them to be a tad vacant and vacuous. Girls who were really good surfers were too often obsessed with the next wave and interested in little else. After several runs, Jake plopped down on the beach to watch his partner take her next wave. As he had noted over the previous hour she nailed it once again. He was pleased when she walked toward him and plopped down next to him in the sand.
"Hi, I'm Jillian." She said extending her tanned hand. "Surf here often?"
And then they both laughed as they realized that her words came across as the quintessential pickup line.
"I think that's supposed to be my line." Jake quipped. "I live a short walk from here so I try to get down as often as possible, even during the week. How about you? I'm sure I would have remembered seeing you here before. You have astounding form and technique." He said, genuinely in admiration of her skills.
"Actually, I just moved here in the last week. I'm still in one of those extended stay places and plan to find something permanent as soon as possible---today I'll start seriously looking."
"Where did you learn to surf like that?"
"Hawaii. My dad was stationed there when I was in high school. I ended up staying and going to college for a couple of years in the islands. I was on the surfing team and we got to go on a world tour to all of the great surfing sites---even Australia. You're pretty good yourself, how about you?"
"I picked it up a few years ago when I was stationed here in the military."
"You've never had any formal training?" She said almost incredulously.
"Nope, just took advice from other people that seemed to know what they were doing and practiced. Surfing is not a competitive sport to me; it has really become the antithesis of competition. It's how I unwind and relax."
