Despite the heat I was feeling from behind, a cooling February breeze was blowing in off the blue water below, sweeping across the condo balcony and entering through the open sliding-glass doors, disturbing, no doubt, the veil-like curtains flanking them. I looked mostly at the pillow below, its satiny case a kind of silver in color. Silver-grey. With each thrust I moaned, involuntarily, while beginning to wonder, as the pleasurable minutes ticked away, if my lover was growing tired of the endless vocalizing. Some guys, in my experience, the dominant type in particular, didn't like it.
"Shut up!"
"Yes. Yessir."
My new friend said nothing, however. He just fucked away, his tempo fast, relentless, though not overly forceful. He seemed to stop just shy of pounding into me each time—pounding me into the headboard—for which I was grateful. It made it more like love-making than a mere, desperate fuck. It was artful, his technique.
We'd met on the beach what seemed like minutes ago but was more like two hours. He'd complimented me on my colorful swimsuit which, I had to admit, perhaps blushing beneath my straw hat's wide brim, was actually a pair of panties. Women's panties. He claimed he'd suspected as much, as he reached out for a feel.
"Nice," he said, of my balls nested in the microfiber crotch. He asked me if I lived around here.
"No," I replied. "A ways away, in the next county."
"Too bad," he smiled, as he turned to walk with me, north. "I live in that condo hi-rise just before you reach the entrance to the park. It's within walking distance," he bragged, "though I drove today."
"Nice," I replied. What else was there to say?
"Seventeenth floor," he added. "Overlooking the waterway. Great view."
"You're lucky."
"Tell me about it," he grinned.
My new friend was about my height, though stockier in build, while in great shape. He was younger than me, I was sure, and I worried a bit, if one thing led to another, that once I'd removed my straw hat and dark shades he might decide I was too old for him. On the other hand, if it was just my slender, relatively youthful body he was attracted to, and the bulges in my panty...
A little further on he put his left arm around my waist, our hips occasionally bumping as a result. I began to get a hard on. Looking down, he noticed and laughed. He stopped—we stopped, abruptly.
"We need to do something about that," he offered.
"Sorry about that," I said.
"Why?"
I glanced around, nervously. "What if somebody sees?"
"Nobody cares here," he explained. "It's a gay beach. They'd probably be jealous."
We resumed our walk. He gave my ass a caress.
"Is that silk?"
"No. Just microfiber."
"It feels like silk."
"Not my strong point," I said, my voice once again edging into nervousness.
"What?"
"My ass. Too flat."
My new friend gave it a reassuring pat. "I bet it's just fine when you're on your hands and knees, balls hanging down."
I uttered an "Oh" for some insecure reason.
"At least I assume you're a bottom," the man went on, "wearing panties to the beach and all."
"I am," I hastened to agree. If it came to it I didn't want any confusion on that point. I might have an erection in my bikini briefs at this moment, but...
We stopped our forward progress again. Or rather, he stopped it.
"We could go back to my place," he said, "have a drinky-poo or two and put that sweet ass of yours to good use."
If I'd spoken immediately I would have stammered. Instead I took a breath and said, through a smile, "That would be nice."
"Good," he said, giving me another pat. "Let's turn around and go back. You can give me a ride..."
"Sure," I agreed, initially. Then I thought about it for a moment and said, "But you drove here, right, you said?"
"No. I said I walked."
"Oh. OK," I replied, giving my head a slight shake. We'd reversed course and now were headed south, the parking lot a good half-mile away. Once we left behind the gay half of the beach for the tourist half, I'd have to wrap a towel around my waist. Or do something to conceal the all-too obvious.
Less than an hour later we stood on his bedroom balcony sipping sweet drinks and looking down on the wide waterway, its deep blue dotted with evanescent whitecaps and, more permanently, white sailboats and pricey motorboats.
"Quite a view," I observed, already beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol on an empty stomach.
"Expensive," my friend said, between sips, "but the view makes it worth it. It never gets old."
"Of course not," I agreed.
One drink later, at his urging, my panties were off and I was in bed with him. He'd penetrated me with his bare cock, a long, medium-thick circumcised one. We'd never even discussed condoms and by now it was too late. Caught up in the ethereal pleasure it was too late for me to even care. Besides, my lover seemed to have great control. Maybe he'd pull out at the last minute, ejaculate on my backside.
He would not, as it turned out, and I was left, after pulling my panties back on and sharing another round of cocktails, feeling a great inner warmth knowing I carried a former part of him, a few spoonfuls of his semen, his putative love, deep inside me. Out on the balcony once again with him, a salty breezed blowing in our faces, I put my arm around my lover's naked waist and said, "You know, we could do this on a regular basis if you want."
"I'd like that," he said, though somewhat distantly. Like a verbal ship on a faraway horizon.
"I could drive out on weekends, like today, and..."
I wanted to say: I could come out on Saturday, we could go to the beach, come back for cocktails, fuck, fuck again later if you wanted. I could spend the night, we could spend most of Sunday together. You could fuck me in the morning (if you're up to it)...
Feeling that loving, glowing warmth inside me I wanted to say these things but—didn't want to go too far too fast. We barely knew each other, after all. Maybe he had a boyfriend who was away for the weekend. Maybe this, like so many of my sexual encounters, would prove to be just a one-time thing. A fling.
From that distant horizon my lover seemed to snap back to a closer reality. The two of us standing on a seventeenth-floor balcony.
"That would normally be great," he said, "but..."
But. I felt my heart and hopes sinking. Like the nearby potted plant tossed over the balcony.
He went on: "The condo's actually a share, and the actual owners are gonna be back next week. So I kind of have to be..."
