"Spring Break" is a sequel to "The Lighthouse," published previously on literotica. Both stories are distantly related to three earlier short stories: "Lake Encounters, Part 1," "Lake Encounters, Part 2," and "My Barista." All can be found on literotica.
Spring Break
By Jack Lynch
Toby threw his backpack up onto the counter. "What's up?"
Karla glanced up from her computer and glared at him.
"Just the usual shit."
Having just returned to Tybee Island from classes at Savannah Tech, Toby reported for his part-time internship at Sav-Hil Vacation Rentals. He'd gotten the job as part of the hospitality management program he was enrolled in.
Just turned 19 years old, still cute in a boyish way. A late growth spurt had stretched him out to nearly 5'8." Slender, narrow hips, with a 29-inch waist. Painfully pale, the whitest of white skin, in contrast to the long black hair covering his ears and neck. Light blue eyes, tiny black moles here and there on his face. Pink lips. When he was a little kid, his grandmother called him the Irish Ghost.
Picking up the bank bag sitting on the corner of Karla's desk he said, "I'll go to the bank."
"No ya won't. I'm gonna go. You can go verify 112."
"Why?" Toby whined.
"Because I've had to register and verify four properties today. I'm sick and tired of taking shit from smart ass kids."
This was the first of three weeks making up spring break for colleges up and down the East coast. Even though Tybee Island was pretty far from the real action in Daytona, the island still got its fair share of spring breakers, hell bent for partying and all kinds of misbehavior.
There was a two part process to occupying a vacation home. For good reason. Smashed windows, holes punched in walls, furniture thrown over balconies. Toby's favorite was when they found a full sized upholstered sofa at the bottom of a swimming pool. Alcohol had a funny way of distorting a young person's judgment.
The first part, registration, was simply picking up keys at the office and signing a long form outlining liabilities and penalties. Prior to occupancy, the names of everyone staying at the house, even small children, had to be listed on the reservation. Verification involved a visit to the property by a Sav-Hil employee to confirm who was actually there and collect ID information. Regardless of who pointed the finger at whom, if and when damage occurred to a property, blame and costs could be assigned.
Tapping away on the keyboard with her left hand while she stared at the computer monitor, Karla grabbed a clip board with her right hand and shoved it at Toby.
"Here ya go. Have a nice time," she said with more than a hint of sarcasm.
Taking the steps two at a time, Toby ran down the stairway on the side of the building to the ground level. He was in no particular hurry but sometimes a guy just needed to run.
Pulling onto US 80, he glanced back at the two-story clapboard building, home to Sav-Hil's Tybee Island office. The majority of Sav-Hil's properties were in Savannah and on nearby Hilton Head Island. At those locations, the company had splendidly luxurious offices in handsome buildings. Not so, on Tybee Island. Their office resembled more of an outpost. A couple of desks and file cabinets, computers, faded pictures of properties no longer offered for rent, and a weathered wooden sign on a post next to the street.
Rounding the curve in the road, Toby drove along Butler Avenue, Tybee's main drag. The business district, if you could call it that, resembled similar strips like many other coastal areas along the Eastern seaboard. Aging motels, a plentiful number of t-shirt shops, gift shops, and seafood restaurants. When you walked along the street near the center of town, the unmistakable smell of booze and beer wafted out from the open doors of several local joints.
Just past Nickie's 1971 and Benny's Tybee Tavern, Toby took a slight right onto Inlet Avenue. One short block further, broken concrete becoming crumbling asphalt, and he pulled up in front of 112. Sav-Hil staff referred to their properties simply by number rather than by the full address. Hence, "112" meant "112 Inlet Avenue."
By all standards, this was one of their more modest rentals. Two bedrooms, two baths, in decent condition, no swimming pool, but good access to the beach. Like most of the houses on the island, this one was built on stilts. Periodically, high seas from storms washed across the entire island. As a result, living quarters usually started on the second level, a long flight of stairs from the ground. A Nissan Sentra sat in the sandy driveway, Florida plates. Probably a rental.
Standing on the front porch, Toby rapped on the door. It was only then that he glanced down at the clip board. Three names. Carey Sterling on the first line. Second line: Campbell...his eyes widened. Just then, the door bumped open.
It was him.
"Uh...!" A sharp intake of breath as Toby stepped back in surprise.
"Well, lookee here!" Bell said, a humorous smile on his face.
Campbell Maine. Still looking gorgeous, pretty much the same as the last time Toby saw him. Slightly built and fine boned. Slender, about 5'8." Olive toned skin; perpetual soft tan. Medium brown hair, natural highlights, straight and parted down the middle. Long, it fell just past his shoulders. Almond shaped brown eyes, long nose, high cheek bones, thin lips, and full eye brows.
His shirt unbuttoned revealing his velvety smooth chest and stomach, brown nipples, a soft indentation in the middle of his chest. Christ! Didn't he know how to button a shirt?
Toby could hardly feel his face. His chest muscles tightened, lips suddenly dry.
"Ahem," he tried to clear his throat. "I'm supposed to get ID's for everyone who is staying here."
With a sweeping motion and a slight bow at the waist like a maitre d, Bell welcomed him into the house. Walking to the dining room table, Toby set the clipboard down and pulled the pen out of the clip.
"Ok." Trying to concentrate on business. Three names. "Who is Carey Sterling?"
Standing next to Toby, a little too close, Bell turned his head. "Carey!"
A guy came out of one of the bedrooms. Skinny. Maybe 5'10." Sandy colored hair, neatly cut, slightly over his ears. Fine features, narrow square jaw. A slightly detached look in his brown eyes. Wicked cute. Of course, Toby thought to himself with more than a hint of disdain.
Walking over to Toby with a slight limp, "What do ya need?"
"Drivers license will do."
Toby copied the number down next to his name. A quick look told him Carey was 21 years old.
"Campbell?"
Bell held his drivers license out to Toby. When he took hold of it, Bell kept his grip on it. Toby pulled harder. Bell held firm. Their eyes locked. With a sharp tug, Toby pulled it away with a disgusted grimace. Bell smirked. Toby looked at the license. Yep. Still 18 years old. He'd be turning 19 in a few weeks.
As he finished copying the numbers down, Toby looked up. He hadn't noticed the girl walk into the room. Tall, leggy. Booty shorts that barely covered the bottom of her ass. T-shirt short enough to reveal part of her tummy. Apparently flat chested. Under age? Long dark hair, triangular face, pale blue eyes.
This was gonna be a problem, Toby thought, as he looked at the clipboard. The third name on the list was a guy's name. An unregistered occupant in a vacation home caused all kinds of complications. The other problem was that this undoubtedly meant Bell was switch hitting. That thought hit with a thud. But, why should he be surprised or even disappointed? When they were last together, Bell had refused to identify with any kind of label like, "gay."
Well, he'd have to address the presence of the chick in a minute.
In the meantime, "Where's Micah Jones?" Toby asked as he read the third name off of the verification form.
"That's me," she said turning to him. Wait a minute! That was a guy's voice! Toby blinked hard. Fuck me, he thought. She was a he! Toby's face felt hot.
"You ok?" Bell asked.
Clearing his throat, "Ya fine. Fine!"
Bell chuckled. "Micah has that effect on people."
Micah grabbed his drivers license out of a bag on the kitchen counter, brought it over, and handed it to him. At that moment, Toby realized his mouth had been hanging open. Micah didn't act overtly feminine. Ok, he was obviously a guy. Toby realized that now. But, there was something oblique in his movements and the way he spoke. He carried with him an intoxicating vibe of boy and girl that was incredibly erotic.
Quickly copying his drivers license number down Toby took note of Micah's birth date. 21 years old. Toby excused himself and walked to the door.
Following him, Bell said, "Hey! We're gonna be here for a few days. Let's hang out."
"Ya," Toby mumbled. He ran down the steps, jumped in the car and fled.
He pulled out of the driveway, drove a block and slammed on the brakes. He banged his head into the steering wheel three times. Hard. This couldn't be happening, he thought. Not like this.
Just then, the car behind him honked. Looking in the rear view mirror, he drove on.
***
That night Toby lay naked in bed, his cock painfully hard, a small pool of cum at the tip. Memories from last summer came rushing back. It was, in a sense, ironic that he should feel this way after seeing Bell today. Truthfully, it wouldn't have mattered anyway. He relived those fleeting moments with Bell almost every night, just like now. The fact that he had actually been in his presence this very day made him shudder.
Turning over onto his side, he opened the nightstand next to his bed. Reaching far to the back, he pulled the rubber dildo out. He'd found it on a web site called thesmittenkitten. After perusing an amazing assortment of dildos and vibrators he found the one that most closely approximately Bell's cock. Large. 7 inches to the base. Thick. Perfectly extruded head. Same curve.
After lubing himself up and gripping the dildo to make it slippery, he brought his knees up into his chest. Rubbing it along the crack of his ass until it scratched against his asshole, he held it there for a moment. Toby imagined Bell's serious, almost vacant eyes, looking at him. Softly groaning, he pushed the dildo steadily in.