Not a Love Story

I'm impressed and amazed at the imaginations of many authors here—able to write from multiple perspectives, inventing complex scenarios, developing characters through multiple chapters of evolving stories.

I am not one of those authors. My background is in science, specifically biology. I deal with questions, observations, data, hypotheses, analysis. I rarely read works of fiction, and I find the idea of writing one myself nearly impossible to even contemplate.

The following story is an account of actual events, slightly altered to preserve the anonymity of participants and for purposes of continuity.

*

The California coast is beautiful and varied, from wide sugar-sand beaches to rocky cliffs, desert-like dunes to the mouths of rushing rivers. The flora and fauna in the narrow zone at the ecotone of land and sea have long captivated me. I have walked nearly every accessible mile of the California coast, in some areas many times over. My wife, Lydia, shared my appreciation of the coast in some ways. When we married, it was only natural that our honeymoon consisted of a three-week driving trip from one end of California to the other, mostly along the coast, with only a few detours inland to visit friends or to purchase provisions.

It was late September, and the throngs of tourists with their obscenely large motorhomes, travel trailers and condominium-size tents were gone. Everything we needed fit easily into the back seat of our VW Beetle. Our trajectory had led us to a state park on the central coast, near the small farming town of Guadelupe in San Luis Obispo County. We had stayed in a local motel the preceding night, since there was no camping at Oso Flaco (skinny bear) Lake State Park.

As I've mentioned, both Lydia and I enjoyed the coast, but the ways in which we each enjoyed it differed markedly. I could spend hours walking along the shore, scaling the cliffs and meandering around the estuaries, mentally cataloging the plants and animals. If I wasn't walking, I was either surfing or fishing from shore. If I am a walker, my wife would be considered a sitter. She could happily spend the day in her beach chair, nose buried in a book—interspersed with occasional naps, stretched out on our beach blanket.

I should point out that my wife (at the time) was strikingly beautiful; tall (5'9") slender, long blond hair, with a perky ass, just right, ample tits and a killer smile. She attracted attention from the men wherever she went, nowhere more than when walking along the beach in her skimpy bikini. I was no slouch myself at six feet, 170lbs and virtually fat-free. We were both still in college, her preparing for medical school and I was looking to make a career out of my love for biology and the outdoors. At the time, we were both in our 28

th

year.

This particular morning, we made our way to the beach via the raised boardwalk that skirts the lake. We wandered south along the empty beach for a ways and laid out our blanket and chairs, tucking our small cooler into the shade behind a driftwood stump. Although it was 10:30 in the morning, we decided to break into the bottle of sparkling wine (Schramsberg blanc de noirs) that we'd brought along, a wedding gift. We enjoyed it with an excellent brie on crackers and fresh strawberries from a farm stand we'd passed on the way to the beach.

It's funny how alcohol early in the day can affect you differently. I was slightly, but pleasantly buzzed by the bubbles combined with the clean salt air. I decided to lie down for a bit to enjoy that buzz as did my wife. Just being close got me excited. Lying on my side facing here, I reached over and laid my arm across her slim torso, my hand cupping her bikini-clad, ample left breast. She complained that I would leave an outline on her well-tanned body and casually flipped my arm off. My hardening cock had been making a divot in the sand under the blanket, but soon softened with her mild rejection. I mentioned to her that there was absolutely no on else on the beach, and in return I got a simple "unh uh," and she rolled onto her stomach. I lay there for a while, slightly frustrated, but enjoying the gentle breeze and the sounds of the surf.

However, my "walker" nature soon had me up and headed along the beach. I gave her a kiss, put on a shirt, adjusted myself in my cutoff jeans and began walking toward the dunes in the north, water bottle and bird book in my shoulder bag, binoculars around my neck, over my blue chambray shirt.

I found plenty to interest me as I walked along the deserted beach. There were harbor seals hauled out on the beach barking in conversation with each other. I saw snowy plover (an endangered seabird species) parents, enticing their fledgling young to leave their beach nests and head out to sea with them, dangling small fish in their bills as enticements. Dolphins came in close to shore. Turkey vultures teetered in their unsteady flight, seeking the updrafts and seeming to hate the idea of having to flap their wings. A V-formation of brown pelicans came by, barely a foot off the water. Gulls laughed overhead. Sandpipers drilled into the sand following the waterline as it advanced and receded.

A mile or so up the beach from the lake and boardwalk, I came upon a small lagoon, the terminus of a minor stream that only makes it to the ocean during winter storms. The land near the water's edge was a nearly continuous band of stinging nettles, surrounded by a band of shrubby willows. I wandered along, just outside the band of willows, watching for birds—late nesters and early migrants. I heard the rattling, raspy call of a kingfisher, and looked around to find him sitting high on a dead branch of a cottonwood tree just upstream. Songbirds flitted among the willow branches. Those I could not see clearly, I identified by their calls.

I found a shallow place to cross where the stream coming in from the east started to widen at the head of the lagoon—only about five feet wide. I started to sink in the mud, but hustled across, managing to keep my flip flops from vanishing in the muck, and I successfully dodged the nettles. I continued my circumnavigation of the lagoon, mentally noting the towhees, warblers, yellowthroats and flycatchers. I would check them against the Audubon list for the area later.

Active dunes crept into the willows on the north side of the lagoon, burying some of the plants, which didn't seem to mind. I meandered my way back toward the beach.

As I emerged around the last of the willows, I noticed a man walking up from the surf—the only person I'd seen there other than Lydia. I'd decided it was about time to head back for lunch, so I turned southward on the narrow spit between the lagoon and the surf. As I did, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that the other man had altered his course to intercept me. I noticed something hanging around his neck, across his chest, which turned out to be a camera. I didn't think too much of it until he got within about twenty-five feet of me, at which point he waved at me. I waved back. He was wearing corduroy shorts, no shirt. The hair of his chest matched that of his head—reddish brown, in the typical male pattern, but not overly hairy. He walked up within six feet of me and I noticed his pale blue eyes. He was an inch or two shorter than me, but nicely built. He said: "I just took your picture I hope that's all right with you." I was a little puzzled, but replied "Sure, why not?" He said: "It struck me as I saw you walk out from around those plants how you looked like you belong here. Have you seen anything interesting?" I answered that it was all interesting to me, since biology is my focus. He responded: "That's intriguing. By the way, you are very handsome."

We stood there chatting for a while. I wasn't sure quite what to think (I have no gaydar), let alone how to respond to his last statement He seemed to know a little about the natural history of the area. He told me he was from southern California—Orange County—and introduced himself as Kevin. I gave him my name (Martin) and told him a little about where I lived east of Los Angeles, where I was going to school and what I was studying for my Master's degree. We agreed that trips up the coast were a good way to escape the oppressive hustle and bustle of the Los Angeles Basin.

As we continued to chat, he moved a little closer, commenting on how the sights and sounds were both relaxing and exhilarating, quietly adding: "it makes me really horny." That was unexpected.

I froze there for a moment, not knowing what to say or do. Then, I think my pansexual nature kicked in, spiced up a little by a bit of pent-up frustration at not getting into Lydia's lovely pussy earlier in the day. I glanced at Kevin, and could easily see the outline of his cock, making its way from the zipper toward his left front pocket. It looked fairly impressive behind the fabric. I replied to him: "I can see that. What do you think we should do about that?" We looked at each other and simultaneously reached to out to feel each other's love muscles cloaked by denim and corduroy. I suggested that we walk up a little farther north into the dunes , which would afford us some privacy, should someone wander along.

A little aside about me, and how I relate to things of a sexual nature. I find most things sexual to be a turn on. I was just another typical horny kid, in spite of a Catholic upbringing. I got awards from the school every year for excelling in religion, although my interest was more about challenging the regimentally imposed dogma than accepting it. When it came to sex, I figured if God gave us dicks and pussies, he intended for us to use them for our enjoyment.

I enjoyed a lot of sex with women in college, but most of these ladies had fairly narrow views about sexual matters. Consequently, I focused more on sex with women, setting my interest in males aside except for occasional jack off sessions, alone with my fantasies in the shower. My new wife was also fairly conservative, but would occasionally consent to anal sex, which was fun and different.

Back to the beach. I found a sheltered spot behind a sand dune, that seemed invisible to passers by. We stood looking stupidly at each other for just a moment, then camera, shoulder bag and binoculars were dropped, and we each reached to unfasten the buttons on the other's shorts. I unzipped him, he unbuttoned me and our shorts fell to the sand. We were both commando.

I gazed upon his cock. It was about the same length as mine, just shy of seven inches, but he was uncircumcised. He was fully erect, but the head of his dick was still hidden, with nearly an inch of loose foreskin draping downward in front of it. But what really got my attention was the difference in the shape our cocks: mine is thick and uniform in circumference from top to bottom; the head of his cock was much narrower than mine, but his cock got much wider toward the base. It was so thick at the bottom that my large hand couldn't get around it. I was fascinated by this man's dick. It was like an upside down ice cream cone. I knew I would have to have a taste.

He appeared equally interested in mine. His touch was light, almost furtive, but I noticed his breathing had become quicker. He gently ran a finger over the head, smearing the crystal clear fluid that had formed there. He proceeded to lightly touch and fondle me from tip to base, then the sensitive area next to my root, around and under my balls. He returned to my slit, harvesting the next pearl of pre-cum, capturing it between finger and thumb and raising it to his lips. His tongue darted out to retrieve the fluid from his fingers.

To match his nakedness, I unbuttoned my shirt. He then slid it off my shoulders and arms, letting it fall behind me. He placed his hands on my shoulders, rubbing gently, then brought them over and began to rub my hard pecs, grazing my nipples. "Damn, you have a beautiful body" Kevin whispered in a hoarse voice. I reached out, pulling him toward me, tucking my nose into the hollow between neck and shoulder. His scent was intoxicating, masculine and natural, bringing my cock to full attention. Our hips met and ground together, and our cocks seemed to duel for a few moments.

Without any warning, Kevin dropped to his knees on the sand and took my cock into his mouth, all the way to my pubic hair, in one gulp. I could feel him swallow as I entered his throat. He paused there for a moment, then he slowly withdrew, his tongue appearing to map every vein and ridge as he did. He then dove down again . . . and again . . . and again. I looked down to see that he had one hand under my balls, the other leisurely stroking his own rigid tool. Even when he pulled his hand all the way back toward his body, the head of his cock was covered. Seeing his cockhead slide under his foreskin was mesmerizing.

I could feel my balls stop swaying between my legs and drawing up tightly on either side of my cock. His hand went up to my left nipple and he gently tweaked it, rolling it between thumb and forefinger.

That did it for me. I told him "I'm gonna cum any second!" to give him a chance to withdraw, but he kept at it, pistoning up and down on my cock with his hot mouth and soft lips. He was on the upstroke when I blasted my first volley with enough force that I heard him gag a little as the stream hit the back of his throat. A rivulet of my cum trickled out of his nose! I continued to erupt, my knees almost buckling, while I growled unintelligibly through my ecstasy. He placed a hand on each of my ass cheeks to steady me. He held me in his mouth until the spasms subsided.

He started to stand, still stroking his cock. He wiped the cum from his upper lip and delicately sucked it off his fingers.

I reached down and displaced his hand with my own. The incredible sensations of touch and sight accompanied by a slightly musky smell, as his well-lubricated foreskin slid up and down kept my cock from even starting to soften. It was my turn to drop to my knees.

I held his throbbing cock for inspection, then without hesitation drove my tongue into his foreskin, lapping up the pool of pre-cum, then circling his cockhead with my tongue. His head went back and he groaned. While still narrower than my tip, his grew wider under the touch of my tongue. I proceeded to engulf as much of his cock as I could. I couldn't open my mouth wide enough to take in the last two inches, but I was still deep enough that I could feel him touch the back of my throat. I willed my gag reflex away. I slowly withdrew, replicating the tongue action that he had done to me, applying suction as I retreated. I heard a pop as the suction broke and I was off of him. I nibbled at his amazing foreskin between cycles.

As he had done to me, I massaged his hairless balls with one hand and stroked my impossibly hard cock with the other, still slick from his saliva. Pre-cum continued to flow from both of our dicks, His had a salty, slightly musty taste, but not unpleasant. I was so entranced with Kevin's cock that I was starting to feel the tingling of an approaching orgasm after only five or six minutes of sucking and exploring his cock. I stopped stroking myself and placed that hand around the base of Kevin's cock. I proceeded to work the loose skin back until his cockhead was fully exposed. I encircled it with my tongue as delicately as I could. I could feel him start to tremble at the stimulation. I pursed my lips and engulfed the head, going about half way down, then up, playing my tongue along the ridge of his head, then circling to the underside. I did this maybe five times, until I felt his body stiffen and sway a little. I looked up to see his eyes closed his lips drawn tight, sweat beading on his upper lip. "I'm about to . . . " he rasped through clenched teeth, and the pulsing began. I ran a finger along his perineum and could feel the spasms that were milking his prostate. My mouth filled with his output and I swallowed it as quickly as I could. It was warm and minerally, with a sweet, tangy aftertaste. His orgasm and my first taste of another man's cum pushed me over the edge, no hands, and I shot a sizable load onto his legs and onto the sand. My hand returned to my rod and it coaxed out the last pearlescent beads of cum.

I released my hand from the root of Kevin's cock and his foreskin returned to its protective position, more than covering the head of his cock.. I drove my tongue into that space to catch any last dribbles. Kevin twitched and moaned from his post-climax sensitivity. I stood up. Kevin took my hand and erotically licked the fraction of my load that had dribbled onto my fingers.

We stood there together catching our breath, feeling the sense of awkwardness grow. "Do you think I might see you again?" Kevin asked. I replied: "That doesn't seem too likely, but I guess you never know."

We started to dress. Kevin reached in his pocket and pulled out a card with his name and number on it. "I work at home, so no problem calling" Kevin mentioned. I slipped the card in my back pocket, saying:"Thanks."

I said "I need to be moving along now." "OK" was all he said. I continued my walk up along the shore for a few more miles replaying the event in my head, before my hunger returned and I turned around. As I passed the lagoon where Kevin and I met, I found him sitting at the shoreline with a harbor seal not three feet from him. I nodded at him. He nodded back and I continued on my way.

I made it back to where Lydia was reading her book at around 2:45. She looked up and smiled. "You were gone quite a while! Did you have a good time?" I responded: "Interesting stuff up the beach—it was fun." She told me she'd gone back to the car for some snacks and had seen a couple guys "going at it" in the dunes farther up the beach, adding: "one of them looked a little like you, but I was too far away to tell, and I didn't want to disturb the festivities." I asked her for details. She told me that one of the guys was on his knees, looking like his dick was buried in the first guy's mouth. She said she only caught a brief glimpse, as a couple with two children were walking the other way on the boardwalk, and she didn't want to draw attention to the scene with the little kids there. She said when she returned from the car, she didn't see anyone. I replied that I was sorry to have missed the show.

We ate and lounged for a couple more hours, then packed up and headed north to another park with a campground. We checked in. I put up the tent and grilled burgers for dinner. I was still energized by the day's events—stimulated rather than drained. That night in the tent I alternated between eating Lydia's delicious pussy to orgasm and fucking her silly until she told me she couldn't take any more.

It wasn't until about a year later that I tried calling Kevin. Alas, the number was no longer in service and there was no forwarding number. It's probably just as well. It was the one and only time I ever did anything behind the back of someone I was in a relationship with. I regretted it, but occasionally I've relived it while jerking off in the shower or off on a solo coastal hike.

The event described here happened in the days before HIV and AIDS. I would certainly not engage in such spontaneous sexual activity now, nor recommend anyone doing so.