Marco Island Summer Lovin’

Hank Hodges scanned the waiting room at the Sedgewick Clinic on Kendal Drive in northern Marco Island, Florida. There weren't many men who came to a gay men's clinic looking for what he wanted, but he had a good reason to. His eyes went to a young, blond, tanned guy in athletic shorts and a cut-off T-shirt who was standing at the reception desk talking with a nurse practitioner. She'd just taken a cotton swab sample from the well-built young man's mouth. She inserted it into a glass cylinder, motioned him back into the seating area, and disappeared into the back with the swab.

The young man looked around the waiting room as if unsure what to do. Hank, an exceedingly handsome and buff man in his early forties, caught the young man's attention as the young man scanned the room. Hank smiled and the young man returned his gaze and smile. They were the best-looking men in the waiting room. The young man went back to a seat where he had a backpack and sat down. His eyes kept wandering back to Hank, and Hank made sure that his attention—and his smile—was there for each visual connection.

Hank gave the young man a nod, stood, and walked deliberately to the men's room door and went in. He stood at a urinal, expensively and nattily dressed in tailored jeans, a sheer dress shirt that clearly showed his cut torso and the swirl of hair at his pecs and running in a line down to his belly, and a tailored jacket. The collar of his shirt was open to show curls of black hair at his throat. The hair on his head was also black, but it was gray at the temples. He looked like a professor or a rich businessman—one however who had plenty of time to spend in the gym and tanning on the golf course.

His fly was open and he was holding a thick, long cock in his hand and pissing an arc into the urinal when the young blond man entered the bathroom, saddled up to the adjoining urinal, tucked the waistband of his athletic shorts under his balls, and, holding a nice—but not nearly as nice a cock as Hank's—shaft in his fist, let loose of a stream of piss of his own.

Each man watched the cock of the other as they pissed—and afterward, when they each gave their own shaft a couple of shakes, and also each gave his cock a few extra strokes, causing their tools to start to harden. Hank was about to reach over to touch the young man's cock, when they heard the sound of the door from the waiting room open, and they both put their pride and joys home.

Hank fiddled with his zipper rather longer than he needed to, but did so to give the young man time to go to the sink and be replaced at the urinal by an older man, who hadn't seemed to have noticed anything untoward having happened.

When Hank left the men's room, he didn't return to where he had been sitting; he took the seat next to the young blond.

"I'm Hank," he said to the young man, who was pretending he wasn't noticing the presence of the older man until Hank spoke to him and then he turned his face to Hank, gave him a tentative smile, and said, "Hi. I'm Jeff."

"I'm just here for the summer," Hank said. "I'm an architect with a firm putting up a condominium on the south side of Marco, near the Shipps Landing Condo. Just here for the summer. In and out, and then back to Atlanta. No muss and no fuss. Just once and gone is all I'm looking for."

"I'm here just for the summer too, lifeguarding on Tigertail Beach on the northwest side of the island. I'm down from Philadelphia. U. Penn."

"Tigertail Beach. That's a gay hangout I've heard."

"It appears to be, yes," Jeff said, giving Hank a steady look.

"You in here for an HIV test?" Hank asked, and then, when that appeared to have disconcerted the young man, he added. "I saw the nurse giving you a swab test. That's what I had done too. They call it an OraQuick test. We should have the results back within twenty minutes or so."

"Yeah, I guess," Jeff said, showing some reserve at Hank's suggestive conversation. As he said it, the nurse was back and calling him to the desk. She handed him a piece of paper. The young man looked at it, and Hank could tell by his reaction that he was relieved.

He came back to the seats and started fiddling around with his backpack, squaring it away to put on his back. He seemed indecisive about what to do next. There was no reason why he shouldn't be going, but he might be in the middle of establishing a hookup with a hot guy.

"Your results negative?" Hank asked.

"Yes," Jeff answered, showing the discharge sheet to Hank obviously as just a nervous reaction.

"Mine was too," Hank said, showing the discharge he'd gotten forty minutes earlier, before the young man had walked into the clinic. "Congrats on officially being clean—at least for now, today."

"Thanks, man," Jeff said. Then, nervously, he said, "I gotta go back and take a piss before I leave—for real this time," he added with a bit of embarrassment. "So, it was . . . it was nice talking to you. Unless . . ."

"Yes it was," Hank answered.

Jeff stood there momentarily as if he expected Hank might suggest they hook up, that they go somewhere, but Hank just smiled at him. Giving the older man a nod, Jeff then hoisted the backpack on his back and went into the men's room. When he came out, he looked around, but Hank was gone.

Hank wasn't really gone, though. When Jeff walked out onto the street, there Hank was, leaning his ass nonchalantly on the fender of a flashy red Corvette.

"So, can I drive you somewhere?" Hank said.

"Tigertail Beach is just a couple of blocks west. I'll be on duty at 3:00—the last shift."

"It's only 9:45 now, Jeff. I have a condo at the Eagle's Nest Beach Resort south on Collier, on the ocean. I could do you twice or three times and have you back at the beach in plenty of time for your shift. Seems we both should celebrate a negative test—and take advantage of it. We're both clean for at least the next couple of hours and we both know it. I prefer barebacking myself. It's an opportunity for a good, risk-free time."

"I don't know . . ."

"You ever ridden in a red Corvette before, Jeff? Wouldn't you like to spend the rest of the morning riding and being ridden bareback with a big-cocked man? We checked out each other in the can in there. We're both hung good. Come on, get into the car and let me take you for a ride. Just a casual hookup. We're both just here for the summer from other lives that we'll be going back to."

* * * *

They stood there, in the middle of the living room of Hank Hodges's Eagles Nest condo, by the glass terrace doors out onto the view of the Gulf of Mexico beyond the line of condo balconies, and swayed against each other. They were naked, Hank's clothes folded neatly on a nearby chair and Jeff's puddled on floor on the carpet at their feet. They were kissing, Jeff's hands gliding between Hank's shoulder blades and his butt cheeks and Hank with one hand on the small of Jeff's back, holding him in close. Hank's the other hand was frotting their cocks together, rubbing Jeff's bulb on his stomach and his on Jeff's stomach. They were much the same height, but Jeff, the blond, was smooth and slender, while still well-muscled, and the dark, hirsute Hank was beefier, more heavily muscled.

Jeff had little idea where the coupling was to go from here—who did what with the other—but Hank, fully in control, knew. He was in control. He liked both to bareback, when he could, and to flip-flop. He knew each would do the other, if the trembling blond submitted to him fully. He showed his control now by taking his hand from the small of Jeff's back and moving it to the young man's shoulder and applying downward pressure, while disengaging from the kiss.

He smiled into Jeff's face and murmured, "Suck me."

Jeff dutifully sank slowly to his knees, running his tongue through Hank's chest hair, kissing him on each nipple and pausing briefly to such each, and then following the line of chair down Hank's torso and into his pubes with his tongue. He opened his mouth over Hank's cock, and the older man held his blond head between his hands and guided the suck, his long, thick cock adding hardness, length, and thickness under the attention of the younger man's tongue, inner cheeks, and throat. Hank hummed to the tune of Jeff's occasional gagging sound and cough as he brought his mouth off the cock, sucked in air, mumbled about the size of what he was handling, and then returned to the task at hand.

At length, the younger man took his mouth off the cock for the last time and said, "I want you to do me now. I want this big cock in my ass."

"Let's move to the bedroom," Hank said.

"OK, great . . . but I need to piss first."

Pulling away from Jeff, Hank said, "Come this way. There's a bathroom off the master bedroom. I'll help you find it."

Hank gave Jeff a special kind of help. Jeff leaned over the toilet, hands extended out to the mirror wall behind the toilet as Hank covered his body from behind, palmed his belly with one hand, and held the young man's cock with the other as Jeff pissed a stream into the toilet. Then, when he was done urinating, Jeff groaned and grimaced and writhed a bit as Hank continued gripping his cock and began to stroke it.

"You gonna do me now, man?" Jeff asked.

"Yes, Jeff, I'm going to do you now," the older man answered. His other hand went from Jeff's belly to behind him, snaking into the young man's crack; searching for his hole; penetrating it with, first, one finger and then two; and started opening him up.

The older man stroked the younger one off until he had come, arcing his spunk down into the toilet. Then, letting loose of Jeff's cock and grasping the young man's hips, Hank positioned himself behind the young man, mounted his ass, worked his unsheathed cock inside Jeff's passage, and pounded him hard and long, breeding him deep inside his channel, as the young man held, trembling but steady enough, and took the bareback pounding with groans and gasps and exclamations of how big and masterful Hank was.

Later, after they'd showered and toweled each other off, Hank had Jeff lay, stretched out, on his back on the bed and Hank saddled his ass on the younger man's pelvis, facing him, and lowered his passage on Jeff's unsheathed cock. Leaning back, arms extending to the mattress behind him, supporting the weight of his body, Hank rode Jeff's cock hard, while Jeff gripped the rungs of the headboard over his head and thrust his hips up to counterpunch Hank's wild ride. Hank's oversized cock flopped around on Jeff's belly until the younger man took control of it with a hand and stroked it while they bucked their bodies against each other. His own cock slid inside Hank's channel walls, was periodically gripped and squeezed by Hank's experience passage wall muscles, and was milked of ejaculate. The two men came almost simultaneously amid cries in harmony of "Fuck, I'm coming!"

"Shit, that was intense," Jeff murmured as they lay, stretched out against each other, on the bed, cooling down from their bedroom calisthenics. "Fuck, you're big."

"It's better because we could bareback, don't you think?" Hank said.

"Yeah, it is. Good thing we just happened to be in the clinic at the same time for HIV tests and knew the other had tested negative. Takes the risk out of it. We could fuck raw without worry."

"Yes, quite a coincidence," Hank agreed, knowing that it wasn't a coincidence at all—that this was how he got his bareback fucks—going to clinics, getting tested, and zeroing in on a desirable young man also getting tested negative. Then banging the hell out of him bareback, knowing they were both safe for at least that time. And that one time was enough for Hank. He didn't want any entanglements. It's why he liked short-term assignments like this. He could come, pick off the young men to come with once—hopefully bareback—and then leave. No long-term commitments.

It wasn't that he wouldn't like to have a long-term commitment. He just couldn't see getting there as being likely. He had had one arrangement he thought would be long-term, but it didn't work out that way, and it nearly broke his heart.

"Great condo you got here," Jeff murmured.

"The construction company I'm working with provided it."

"What is it? Two bedrooms?"

"Yes."

"And you're the only one living here?"

"Yes."

"They've got the lifeguards I'm working with housed in a dump over off Kendall, two or three guys to a bedroom. Eight guys and one bathroom. Real third world. The sex was real good here, though, wasn't it?"

It was obvious Jeff was fishing for a housing offer, one that Hank wasn't about to offer. "Yes, the sex was great, Jeff—is great—will be great one more time. I'm going to do you one more time, take you to lunch, drop you off at the beach, and we'll wave good-bye to each other. Great sex for the memory banks. Just summer lovin', though. Bang, bang and that's it. No clutchy ties."

While Jeff absorbed that, Hank rolled over on top of him, stuffing a pillow under the small of the young man's back in the smooth maneuver, coaxed Jeff's legs open, thrust inside him to the sound of Jeff's gasp and exclamation, and banged the hell out of him in a hard bareback missionary, ending in an eruption of cum deep inside the young man's channel.

* * * *

"This is Troy—Troy Reynolds, the supervisor of the lifeguards," Jeff said after a young man in his mid twenties approached and greeted Todd at the Tigertail Beach Café, where Hank had taken him for lunch after the fuck session in Hank's condo apartment.

Hank had seen the hunky redhead—not strawberry blond, more of a reddish gold—enter the café's patio area after picking up his food inside the restaurant and coming outside to look around for a seat. Their eyes had met and something had happened. Hank instantly knew the guy would be interested; he certainly was. Then it turned out that the guy recognized Jeff and came over, greeted him, and asked if he could sit with them.

Can you ever? Hank thought. The guy had the physique of a champion gymnast. He was wearing athletic shorts with a University of Miami logo on them and a white wrestler's T-shirt cut nearly down to the waist hem in the armholes. The neckline plunged too. The white contrasted nicely with his deep tan. The young man was movie star handsome. His eyes were an emerald green, his smile showed dazzling white, straight teeth.

Jeff did the introductions. "Hank here is an architect from Atlanta, on the island for the summer. Helping them build a big condo building at the other end of Marco Island, Troy. Troy here is the guy who comes around and makes sure all the lifeguards are on duty, have what they need, and are watching the water. That's sometimes hard considering the eye candy on the beach."

Which definitely includes Troy here, Hank thought. But what he said was, "You're a local resident then, Troy?"

Jeff piped up. "Naw, he's a summer hire too. He lives in the pit off Kendall with us other guys—the rundown house I was telling you about."

"I'm from California," Troy said, as he sat at the table. "I'm still in graduate school. And Jeff's right. The house we were given is a demolition ready to happen. But the price is right. Free."

"Grad school?" Hank said. "What are you studying. Phys Ed? Are you a gymnast? Great body."

Troy rewarded him with a smile for the great body comment. "Yes, I was on the Stanford gym team as an undergrad, but I'm studying fine arts." He said this almost apologetically, as if Hank wouldn't see that as a manly profession. Their bare calves had already come into contact as they sat at the table and they'd both flinched and pulled away. There had been electricity. Hank couldn't deny his attraction to the young man—dangerously so. His feelings were in another category than the one-night stand attitude he'd taken with Jeff. And anything deeper than that was beyond what he wanted in summer lovin' couplings. But he could sense that Troy was strongly attracted to him too.

"Art's a good area," he said. "An art sense and talent is basic to architecture too."

"Really?" Try said, perking up. Their calves came together again, and this time neither one of them pulled away.

The three of them chatted through their meal, with the only uncomfortable moment coming when Troy said, "So, where do the two of you know each other from?"

There was an embarrassed silence, which Hank broke by saying, "We were in a drugstore together, and Jeff saw my Corvette and said he liked it. I offered him a ride over here, because he said he worked over here and I wanted to try out this café anyway."

"So, you're just now hooking up, are you?" Troy asked. He obviously knew that Jeff was gay and he must have strongly suspected it about Hank as well, if for no other reason than the man was so obviously interested in him.

Jeff started to say something, but Hank spoke up. "Nothing like that. It was just the ride and him showing me how the café service was set up. I have a wife and kids back in Atlanta." He was pulling out his wallet and showing a couple of photos.

Jeff nearly gagged. He turned red and suddenly remembered he was due soon on his stand out on the beach. It seemed he couldn't make an exit fast enough then. When he was gone, Troy and Hank looked at each other and shared a wary smile.

"Jeff is gay—and active. I think you might want to know that," Troy said. "I think he was interested in you."

"Oh, do you think so?" Hank said, conjuring up a slightly concerned look, like he'd just escaped an embarrassing situation. "I just thought he was being friendly and helpful. So, the two of you . . .?"

"Me? Oh, no, I have a girlfriend to go back to after the summer. But it's OK with me if the guys I'm working with are gay—just so we keep our understandings."

Hank was sorry he did that to Jeff, but flashing a photo of a wife and kids in Atlanta had served a couple of purposes. He had an inkling that Jeff wouldn't be that easy to shake after they'd fit so well in the fuck. And all sorts of danger signs had been thrown up by the appearance of Troy. He'd gone hard immediately, and not just one-night-stand hard. He'd started thinking of something longer term. But he'd come here this summer just to play around; he wasn't looking for anything deeper.

It probably was a good thing to nip any possibility with Troy in the bud.

It seemed to have worked. They chatted for a few more minutes—about sports cars and Corvettes, in particular, and then both left, walking off in different directions. But Hank faded into some bushes and watched Troy's walk until the young man was out of sight.

* * * *

Hank was busy at work for the next couple of days, but then he had a day off. He was feeling horny, so he came back to Tigertail Beach in the late afternoon. He told himself that it was because he'd seen the beach when he'd come to the café and thought it would be a good one to check out—there had been a lot of male eye candy on the sand when he'd been here a couple of days earlier. He suppressed any thought that he might see Jeff—but really Troy—here.

He had a Speedo on under his shorts and T and staked a place out on a towel where he could watch a dozen built guys playing beach volleyball in skimpy swimsuits. He'd brought his camera with him and he fired off several shots of the guys. He could tell by the way they interacted that they were all gay and probably intermixed with their sex. He spent some time picking and choosing which one he'd go with if he had his pick. He moved on to thinking which ones he'd like in a threesome. There was a sultry, compact Hispanic guy, who was a real looker and had a pronounced bulge at the crotch of his Speedo. Hank took more shots of him than any of the others.

And then he saw Troy coming down the beach, moving from one lifeguard stand to the other and stopping to check with the lifeguard. He was just in his athletic shorts, his T-shirt hanging off the back of his waistband, and he was in great shape. Hank took a couple of photos of him while he was on the move, moving from north to south, and then a few more photos of him stretching up to talk to the guards on their stands.