There used to be a fairly large beach near my house. It was quite popular and was known for the large gay population that frequented it. There were many things to do at the beach, but my favorite, naturally, was people watching in the big locker room that was perched right at the edge of the sand. I particularly favored the handicapped stall for the sole reason that there was a small hole in the wall between the handicapped stall and the stall on the other side. When perched just so on the seat in the handicapped stall I realized it gave the perfect view of the crotch of anyone who might enter the other stall and remove their swimwear.
It was in that handicapped stall I found myself one particular day in the middle of June when someone walked into the other stall. Unseen, I gripped my penis and prepared for the big reveal. He stopped in front of the hole and I realized it was a lifeguard in his tight red speedo.
I leaned in so I could see his crotch clearly through the hole. He pulled down the front of his speedo and released his member. He hesitated and his fingers began to trace along the underside of his shaft. He began to grow hard.
I gasped. Could he be...? Here? Now? This was one of my greatest fantasies come to life. I gripped my own shaft and stared transfixed as his grew to a full eight inches. He began to work up and down along his member, his fingers dancing, chest heaving. I couldn't help myself--I let out a small moan. The tiniest of noises and yet...
He stopped. Instantly. There was a moment of tension--it las test maybe half a second--but for me it felt like years. And then he was at it again, working quickly--furiously--and I followed his lead. I got so caught up in my own pleasure that I didn't notice when he stopped. Only that I when I looked back through the hole there was a big brown eye meeting my gaze.
I jumped. And scrambled, trying to cover myself, trying to regain my dignity. But it was too late. The eye looked straight into mine, then jerked down at the penis I, petrified, was barely concealing behind scrawny arms, then back at my face, tracing along the bottom of my jaw line. With a sigh the eye was gone. His stall door banged open and in a moment so did mine.
There he stood in the doorway, a towering testament of manliness with a square jaw, gently tanned skin, and a perfectly-chiseled body. A crooked red speedo barely concealed an impressive tan line and a seven-inch fully-erect cock.
I was so dead.
There I sat, cowering, sporting a swim suit at my ankles and a penis that refused to surrender.
He cocked a half smirk and brushed a wave of hair out of his eyes. "Punk." He said. "Look at you--pathetic--think you can just spy on me and get away without getting attention?" I wanted to melt into the wall behind me. "I'll show you some attention--get up!"
I stood--it was my only option--and immediately tripped on the swimsuit still wrapped around my ankles. He caught me and for one glorious second I was pressed against his bulging pectorals. He lifted me up just enough so he could reach down and rip the swimsuit off my ankles. And I mean he literally ripped it off and threw the useless pile of rags into the toilet behind me.
He set me down again and held my arms against the wall. He pressed his toned body up against mine and suddenly I was overwhelmed with the scent of sea salt and sunscreen. He opened his mouth to speak and then I took the biggest risk of my life.
I kissed him. Right on the lips. He seemed stunned for a moment and then quickly warmed up to the kiss, contributing far more with his tongue than I would have expected. He released my arms and began to caress my body with his large hands. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled my body into his, grinding my dick into his crotch.
When we finally broke the kiss to come gasping up for air, his demeanor had changed. He smiled and ran his fingers through my hair. "This is going to be fun," he said.
He led me out into the center of the locker room where there were two rows of lockers and one long bench that ran down the middle. He had me lay on the bench and then opened one of the lockers. He slowly sifted through its contents and pulled out deodorant, tweezers, a comb, hair gel, a pack of condoms and one gigantic bottle of lube. He laid these out on the table in a row and went through them one at a time.
"So... what's your name?" He asked, applying the deodorant to his armpits.
"Seth," I said, trying not to sound impatient.
He picked up the tweezers and began to pluck his eyebrows. This was starting to get a little weird. I'd had a lot of random hook ups with gay men before this and had seen many strange habits yet this... this was new to me. "That's a sweet name," he said. "I go by Duke."
"Duke..." I tasted the name, trying it out. A little unusual, but I could work with it.
He smiled at me and grabbed the hair gel. He kept making small talk in a futile effort to fill the empty silence that choked the locker room. "You know why they call me Duke? I'm named after a surfer--the original Big Kahuna. Actually, they used to call me "The Big Kahuna," but that started to get too long--too overused anyway. Know why they'd give me a name like that?" My eyes wandered down to the bulge in his swimsuit. "Cheeseburgers. I really love cheeseburgers... and Tarantino..."