The Conversation 19

Upon the wall behind the bar is a portrait of a naked woman reposing upon a medieval chaise. Behind some bushes is depicted a peeping tom in an old Venetian poofy sort of hat. I have my drink and, like the peeping tom, I'm staring at her bare chest when this old man sits down next to me. There's some small talk, and he offers to buy a round. Fine by me.

He's well preserved. Groomed, fit, well dressed, and he orders what appears to be expensive scotch. Then he asks this stupid question in an accent I can't quite place, "When you fantasize about women, what do you think about?"

Oh, this is a fine question, just fine. No ironies at all; I'll just puke up all my shameful arousals onto the bar. From sheer disgust, they'll drag me out by the collar and toss me out of this dive. I can already imagine the humiliating fingers jabbed into my intoxicated face, "Pervert! Pervert! Pervert!" they all shout in chorus.

The old man stares at me. I think he's earnest. This is why I don't talk to people. What's he looking for anyway? Does he think he can vicariously relive his youth through my eyes? That's what old Playboys are for.

"You know," I start, but then just stammer and don't complete my sentence. I take a sip of my whiskey. We're drinking an eighteen-year-old scotch, and it's the best thing that's happened to me all month. This old man's presence is strangely disarming. But goddamn it, he's trying to get personal. These are my secrets! My fantasies! I don't even share them online despite all the anonymity. My fantasies have a home, and it's buried deep inside and covered over with Jesus and piety and your classic boy-scout self-righteousness and "tits!"

That sound came from my mouth! I just blurted it aloud. "Blowjobs!" Shut up, mouth! How much whiskey have I drunk? An uncomfortable flush of embarrassment washes over my face. It burns like a cheap bottle of bourbon down a miserly bastard's throat.

He sips the scotch and smiles. The scotch is old, and smooth, and doesn't burn at all. "I like to set the mood," he says. His voice is deep and a little raspy. He speaks slowly and, despite our drinking, enunciates all his syllables.

"We're on a beach, and there's no one around. We are completely alone. My girlfriend and I, we're laying down on some towels listening to the waves roll in, and she just," he says this with a wave of his hand, "removes her bikini."

He takes a sip, and over the rim of his drink, "The top, and the bottom. Both come off. Not that they were hiding much, but, now, this darling girl is nude, laying out in the sun, and she starts to get hot, you know? As if without that thin fabric of the bikini standing in the way, the almighty sun could reach out with its rays and work her over. It's warming her up, charging her, electrifying and awakening her."

Is this guy a poet? Fucking sun? And what did I say? Tits? Blowjobs? Do I have Tourette's syndrome or something? He's discussing the erotic power of the goddamn sun and...

"...and she can't stand it. She runs her finger across her chest and feels the illumination in her skin, how receptive to the touch it's becoming. She touches a nipple, but it's too much, so she skims her hand slowly down across her stomach, and the lower she goes, the more intense the heat becomes. When her finger reaches between her legs, she separates her lips, just the smallest amount, just enough to let her graze her bud. When she does this, it lets in so much sunlight that her body simply combusts. She can't even touch herself anymore on account of all the heat. She turns to me and says 'I want you in my mouth.'"

Do girls even say things like that? In the history of mankind, has that ever genuinely been declared by a woman? I can't hold my tongue. We're two guys shooting the shit in a shitty little San Franciscan bar, but some shit just goes too far. "Wait," I say. "Girls don't say things like that."

The old man stares back at me in surprise. "Yes, they do."

"No..."

"Dude." He says 'dude' like he's been saying it his entire life. It's the most natural word in the world for him, and he has complete mastery over its inflection. I could immediately tell everything he meant by it. He felt sorry for me. Sorry for my sheltered, inexperienced, naive existence.

He continued. "Look, I'm not saying every girl sits around fantasizing she has a dick in her mouth. But I am saying that when women are laying next to you, and feeling the heat, they can say some damn sexy things."

Wait. This old man's speaking from experience? Well, of course, he is! That damn bastard! I mean, of course, so suave, so cool, of course, he's lying on a beach next to a buck-naked lady and saying things like 'dude.' Of course, she wants to pull down his fucking European-styled designer trunks and suck his fat dick. Who could resist? I call the bartender over, but he completely ignores me.

"True story." The old man continues, "Craziest blowjob I ever received was on a plane. Everyone was asleep, myself included, and then I'm woken up with a hand on my lap. The girl I'm with looks up at me. She shooshes me with her finger, pulls her coat over her head, pretending to go back to sleep in my lap. I can feel what she's doing, so I put my arm around her and close my eyes. Wonderous! But when I'm about to cum I get nervous, right? Opening my eyes, I look around to check, and I lock gazes with this bosomy flight attendant. We just stare at each other. I can't tell if she knows what's going on or what, but I can't stop myself, I can't look away, and I just start cumming like a racehorse in my girlfriend's mouth. I'm trying to suppress the contortions in my face, trying to hide my orgasm. Still, our eyes are fixated, one upon the other, and I relax. I stop hiding, and then the stewardess smiles at me. You know? She knew! She knew all along. And when I relaxed, I suddenly felt her joy, as if she said to me, 'that's kinky, and for you, I am happy.'

"Shortly afterward, she brought us a round of drinks, complimentary. But other than that wry smile, when she handed me the glass, she kept her composure completely. Now I'll tell you what, that face of hers, the profound shape she made with her lips? That little smile has been at the center of my fantasies ever since. Whenever I need just a little inspiration to set me over the edge, there she is, in my mind's eye, looking, approving, smiling, inviting. I'd give up my left hand before I gave up that memory. Probably. Maybe."

He finished his drink and looked at his left hand. "Probably not. You get the picture."

He called the bartender over, and the bartender came right away. Had he done anything different than me? He didn't even wave his hand. He just looked, and, with a glance, the bartender came. He ordered another round for us both. Then he looked at me.

"Eye contact," he said, "you have to ask for what you want with your eyes."

"How?" I asked.

"Don't hide."

We stared at each other, and his gaze was intense. What do I want? I asked myself what I wanted, and I immediately panicked. This is an undesirable question, and I dislike posing it to myself. I never know what I want. The old man was demanding an answer, though, I could read that much from his eyes. Then it all flashed through my head, and I knew, at the very least, that I wanted to be like him. I wanted him to be true, real enough, anyway, that I could make progress towards the aspiration.

"You want me to finish my fantasy? The one on the beach?"

"Yes," I said, relieved and shocked to find that yes, this too, is what I wanted.

"You want to know if it was true?"

"Was it?"

"It happened just as I have said. All fantasies are true, you see."

I looked at him quizzically, but he continued with his story and enthralled me with the first line.

"She rolled on top of me and took my cock into her mouth. God, she was so good with her mouth. Lots of pressure. She sucked all the blood in my whole body straight into my cock. The rest of me shriveled up like a raisin, and I could not move. She had me all inside. Her breasts nestled into my legs, and she tickled my thighs with her nipples. You know, I don't think she even knew the sensations she was triggering with her tits. Women are so used to their own breasts; they don't realize what a magical force they are. Then she pulled her knees up under her body, and her ass rose straight up in salute to the sun. And when she looked up at me, darting her clever tongue along the underside of my penis, I began to cum. Oh, did I cum! But the strangest thing happened, she never let my dick fall from her mouth, and I never lost that enormous erection she had called forth from my body. No, we just rested there until after her spell, my dick still in her mouth, her ass to the sun; she looked up at me a second time. Do you know what her eyes said?"

He stared at me. It was a rhetorical question, I thought. I waited. No, I was wrong. I could see it now in his eyes; this wasn't rhetorical at all. He wanted me to say it. Like blurting out tits and blowjobs before, now he wanted me to blurt aloud, "will you fuck me?"

"Ha! Yes, exactly." The old man said. "She asked with her eyes, which is important, but then she moved her lips and said it aloud. 'Will you fuck me?' it was like the cocksuck all over again. Such beautiful lips transforming syllables into sex itself, the alternating vowels and consonants like a pump sucking up all my brains and bones. I was nothing but a desperately vibrating cock."

Then he looked at me seriously and whispered. "A man too must learn to speak in spells. Do you know what I said in return? I said, 'Oh yes, my dear, I will fuck you, and when the sun sets, it will not grow dark because of the brightness of our passion. We shall boil the tide."

"I slide out from beneath her, and she bent over, resting her head on her hands. My fingers trace the arch in her back. She is desperate to be mounted like a mare in heat. She is dripping wet, and when I press my cock against those moist lips, there is no resistance at all. She is hungry for me. Then I ran my hands along her back, her thighs, her ass, her waist, just searching for that perfect posture to support the forces about to be unleashed. When I found my stance, and my fingers deeply indented into her soft flesh, I began to pound against her sex like the waves upon the beach, steady, steady, steady..."

The old man repeatedly slapped the palm of his hand against the bar top. I interrupted this rhythm with a real question. "Have you ever had sex on the beach? For real?"

"I have, have you?" The old man answered.

"No," I said, staring down, "but I came across a couple once. They were fucking."

"Oh? What was that like?" The old man raised his eyebrows.

"I was surprised."

"Did you stay and watch?"

"No, I mean, not for more than a couple seconds or so."

"Why not?"

Why not? I had to think about this. I was crawling out on some rocks, below a seacliff during low tide. Now I'm just stumbling around, mind you, exploring, but, suddenly, I look down, and there's another beach, a hidden beach, and this woman on all fours. She's naked. A dude is fucking her from behind, and I just froze. Then, I panicked and ran back the way I'd come.

"Why not?" The old man repeated.

I blurted out the first bit of flotsam that passed before my tongue. "I didn't want to get caught."

"Get caught? They were the ones fucking."

"Yes, but I didn't want to embarrass them."

The old man laughed. "You are the one who sounds embarrassed." Then he leaned in close and whispered, "Perhaps they would have invited you to join?"

I frowned. I frowned deeper. I had run away once I saw the couples' nakedness. I didn't stay and watch them fuck. I didn't let them know they had been discovered. I was frightened to be in their presence.

"They were probably fulfilling a fantasy." I replied, "I wouldn't want to rob them of it."

"But you sabotaged your own fantasy instead?" The old man slammed his drink onto the bartop. "To peak at a couple having sex on the beach? To watch? What a great discovery you made! And if caught, 'Don't mind me' You might say, and maybe they wouldn't mind! Perhaps she would uncross her arms from her breasts and reveal them to you. Perhaps she'd bend over and let the fucking continue. Maybe she would lock eyes with you as she came, and she would smile at you, and you would have fulfilled their real fantasy: getting caught!"

"I'd never thought of it that way."

The old man shrugged and leaned back. "I don't believe your action right or wrong. But, for your sensitivity, I applaud you. No one likes a cockblock."

In my most pious voice, which is also my most self-righteous, I said, "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you."

"Don't cockblock yourself either, kid," the old man said. "For your cowardice, I condemn you. Will you look me in the eye and tell me you did not wish to watch?"

A heavy sigh bleeds past the downturned corners of my mouth, and I slump down over the bar. What an odd feeling. It's a nihilistic feeling. The death of karma, good deeds performed truly in vain. Still, I can imagine them content with their sexual adventure unspoiled. I must believe that's worth something to the universe.

The old man interrupted my pouting. "Back to my story on the beach, we're fucking away, in the open, under the sun, the whole world could see. There you come over the rocks, invading our private space, you can see us, but we don't see you-what do you do?"

What do I do? I go back into my own memory, climbing over the rocks, looking down behind the rugged peninsula to the secluded beach. I see that nude girl on all fours being pumped from behind by her equally naked partner in crime. I am just as shocked, just as frozen. Exactly as before, I run away, back where I came, careful not to make a sound, but then, no, there's the old man. I turn to run, but this time a hand is on my shoulder. I feel it. "Stay with it," the old man says, like a narrator in my own dream. I can't tell if he said it aloud or if I've just absorbed his voice into my own head.

"What do you feel?" He says.

What do I feel? Where am I? I look back at the fucking couple. I'm here, in my experience, in my memory, in my imagination. I'm reliving the event. There are butterflies in my stomach. This is exciting, but my dick is limp. An intense argument erupts in my head, like two devils, one on each shoulder.

"I should go and stand guard! Protect their privacy!"

"No! You can't be everyone's savior!"

"They haven't given me permission to watch!"

"Permission is implicit! They're having sex in the open for everyone to see!"

"They'll call you a pervert!"

"Is this about acceptance?"

"I am trying to be polite!"

"Polite boys do not get blowjobs! You must engage!"

Finally, I scream myself: "There is no right answer!"

And the devils shout back: "Then take what you want!"

"Hey, you! Up there on the rocks!" The man is calling up to me. His dick is buried inside the girl, and he does not stop his thrusting as he talks. "Stop struggling! Watch us! It turns us on!"

I am dumbfounded. "It does?"

"Don't be a cockblock!" He shouts at me, "come down here, take out your dick, and enjoy us!"

My butterflies flutter intensely, circling the pit of my latent sexuality.

"Don't be afraid," says either the man on the beach or the man in the bar. I've been drinking too much, and I can't tell them apart anymore. One is old, and one is young, but just then, they had the same voice.

On all fours, the girl looks at me. Her voice is husky and breaks as she talks, "don't be afraid!" she says.

The flies in my stomach burn, but I climb down, unsure.

"Come closer." She says.

"There, sit in front on that rock." He says.

"Are you hard?" she asks. "pull out your dick."

I am hard. I pull out cock and balls. I leave my hand on my cock, in part, to obscure it from view.

"I'm getting fucked," she says with a grin, "it feels delicious. I really like that you caught us. It's really turning me on."

"Yeah, you're such a nice dude for joining us like this...of all the people to have caught us, I'm glad it's you."

What a strange thing to say. But it helps. And I relax. Then I realize I'm really in it. I'm really engaged, I've transformed this memory into a fantasy, and my imagination is behaving kindly. I start pumping my dick. I'm pumping like I'm at home in private, but I'm doing it out here in the open before this girl and the dude fucking her. And the dude, where is he looking? He's looking up at the rocks, where I was hiding before. What does he see? Why it's the stewardess! Still in her uniform, except her pencil skirt is undone, and it suddenly falls around her ankles. She's masturbating too! Her tits are enormous, ready to burst out of her jacket. She has such a wry expression. She's watching all of us and enjoying herself. This brings me right up to the edge.

"Hey," says the girl on all fours between thrusts, "come closer." I pull my attention away from the stewardess, and I slowly inch forward, still stroking my penis. My pants slip down too and nearly trip me.

"Now, stop right there," she says. I'm two feet away from her. "if you can cum on me from there, I'll come and clean off your dick with my mouth.

The stewardess knocked a rock down the slope, which drew our attention. She was climbing down toward us. She wore no bottoms now, and her ass shone brightly in the sun.

The man called out to me, "come on, do it, man, cum right in her hair! She hates that!" The dude said.

"Yes," the girl said. "cum in my hair. I hate that." She used the word hate, but her eyes were filled with lust. "Cum on me, if you can."

The stewardess was approaching me. Her naked hips swung as she walked. She had removed her jacket and unbuttoned her blouse, and wore no brassiere. The breeze billowing her blouse behind her as she walked. How cinematic my fantasy has become! Those enormous knockers were right next to me. The dude's face, his jaw dropped. Those tits! I was so close to coming, I had to focus my aim.

"Do it!" The girl said, "cum on me, I want to see!" I locked eyes with that girl. Just then, the stewardess put her hand on my shoulder and leaned in close. Her breasts pressed into my arm and pushed me over the edge. My orgasm was in slow motion. My jizz squirted in powerful streams as my body contracted right down to my toes.

Yes. This. This old man, this is what I fantasize about. A long stream of jizz flying through the air, everyone watching. The money shot. Did I learn this from porn? Is this just juvenile debauchery? Perversion? Total lack of maturity? Does it have to be anything? Is it any different than the winning shot at the end of every sports film? The semen lands; it's in her hair and down her back. I do not say literary bullshit like boiling the tide. I'm just fascinated by my own body's accomplishments. The next two ropes land on her forehead and the curls of hair beside her ear. I got distance and aim. I got her good, I scored, my team wins the championship.

They all cheer, and I fall back into the sand. The stewardess sits next to me. She's now nude except for her little scarf perfectly tied around her neck. She's locking eyes with the dude, and they're going to cum together, staring into each other's eyes. The girl on all fours beats them to it. She screams in pleasure and collapses forward into the sand. Her partner maintains his hold upon her ass, thrusting into her shaking body until he, too, groans. When that well-fucked girl lifts her head up from its rest, sand has stuck to the cum on her face. She stands up, naked in all her glory, and turns to show the cum dripping down her back and down her thighs. She is still out of breath but takes off running for the ocean.