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“I promise if I ever get back to Sand Beach, I’ll bring a bathing suit.”

  “If you insist, Aaron.”

  He picked up his backpack and headed toward the door.

  “I should let you get back to work. I’ve got a trip to finish.”

  “Safe travels, Aaron.”

  “Try not to get eaten by a bear, Jared.”

  He gave me one last kiss and walked out the door, disappearing down the path to the parking lot.

  A few weeks later, I got a postcard from Aaron, with a beautiful picture of a San Diego beach on the front. On the back it said: How’s the water?

  MUSCLE BEACH

  Troy Storm

  Hey, dork! Come spot me.”

  I looked around. DJ couldn’t have been yelling to me. But there was nobody else around. Well, there were hundreds of people around, of course—it was Muscle Beach, after all, Venice, California. People come from all over the word just to see the place. But at that particular moment, nobody was hanging around the concrete seats overlooking the outdoor weight pen. Nobody but me.

  DJ was spread out on a padded workout bench, hands on the bar parked over his magnificent chest, glaring at me. “Are you fucking coming in to give me a hand? Or are you gonna sit there with your chin down to your dick looking at me like I’m a freak of nature? I do not like being looked at like I’m a freak of nature.”

  “I’m coming in!” I leaped off the seat, ran toward the pen, and started to hop the low fence surrounding the workout platform.

  His head waggled back and forth disgustedly. “What a dipstick. Get your ass off the wire, walk around to the front like a human being, and tell whoever’s at the desk I said it’s okay.” He plopped his head back, eyes rolling, and lifted the bar off the stanchion. His biceps bulged, his chest bulged, his thighs bulged—and so did his skimpy workout shorts.

  I raced around to the desk underneath the giant concrete barbell-shaped entrance and shot through, huffing, “DJsaiditwa sokayI’mgonnagospothim!” I tore out into the outdoor workout area.

  Chest pounding, grinning like an idiot, I stood over him, watching him glower. He was perfect. A piece of living sculpture. A bronzed, magnificently shaped male. No drugs. Natural. And handsome as hell. He was thirty-two years, eight months and sixteen days old. According to Wikipedia. Nine years, two months, three days older than me.

  And, finally, I was right next to him. I could hardly believe it.

  With effort, he pushed the heavily weighted bar off the hooks and raised it. His eyes never left mine. He carefully lowered the bar back onto the hooks.

  “You have no fucking idea what to do, do you? Dork? Dingbat? What do you call yourself?”

  “I, uh, I…Daniel.”

  “Well, Danny my fucking dipstick boy, you’ve been watching me every day for, what, two, three weeks? Watching me work out, seeing how I train with the other guys, seeing how they work with me, and you’ve learned not one fucking thing about anything we do here.” He sat up and looked me up and down. “I find that surprising, since you’re in damn good shape yourself, and I don’t think you got that way just by sitting on that hot concrete watching me sweat my balls in this lovely California sunshine.”

  “I... I’ll do anything you want. Just tell me and I’ll do it. Anything.”

  “You wanna suck my dick, Daniel?”

  “Oh, god, yes! And you can fuck me till I can’t stand up straight. Anything. Anything you want.”

  He snorted. “Well, at least we got that out of the way.” He lay back down. But at least he wasn’t glaring.

  I was covered in sweat. Don’t let him send me away. Not now. Please. He said I looked good. David Johanssen Messinger, Mr. Everything-There-Was-To-Be-Mr.-Of that didn’t require gigantic muscles, but just required being a living work of art, tightened his perfectly proportioned hands around the bar and prepared to lift it.

  “Straddle my head,” he instructed, puffs of air shooting out of his pursed lips. His lush, manly lips. My mouth went totally dry. “Keep an eye,” he huffed, “on my face and on my arms. If I look like... I’m gonna lose it, grab the bar.”

  “Grab the bar?”

  “That’s all I’ll need. Just a little help to hang it back up. Okay. Ready. I’m going for it.”

  I could have passed out. The most magnificent human male specimen on the face of the earth was expecting me to save him from something that he was going to go for—was already going for! If he dropped that bar… If I dropped that bar!

  “I’m not going to… fucking drop the damned… bar, dork… Daniel.” He smirked, his mouth still puckered, his face contorted. It was a weird look. “Don’t look so panicked… it’s just a little help I might need. I’m going for more reps than I… usually can pump out… showing off for the dorky kid who’s been slathering over my bod for two… maybe three… fucking weeks.” He stopped talking and focused inward, concentrating.

  Then he came back, refocusing as the bar with the massive weights rose and fell rhythmically as though powered by some gigantic machine and not by a mere perfect human being. “Okay…” he confessed, puffing, “it’s not… just for you. I think my left pec needs… a bit more sculpting… but I can’t just lift this damn thing… with one hand, now can I?”

  He was pulling my leg. Obviously that lopsided-pec thing didn’t make sense. Not to me, but then, half of what the guys had been doing in the weight pen for the last two and a half weeks didn’t make that much sense. I used a few weights back home, but I was a rep guy, not a power lifter.

  DJ pumped away. By now a couple of the other guys in the pen had noticed, and they came over.

  “How many, D?”

  “Thirty-five.”

  “No fucking way, man!”

  “Going for fifty.”

  His face was really red by now, but the huffs of breath were as even and under control as the astonishing arms that raised and lowered the bar.

  “Trying to impress my new spotter here. Say hi to the guys, kid.”

  I turned toward the other men. “I…” I had never been so surrounded by so much muscle mass.

  “Keep your eyes on him, kid,” one of the guys snapped at me, then slammed me on the shoulder as I immediately turned back to DJ. “He’s just trying to throw you off,” he chuckled.

  “Holy shit, D! Forty-five? Is that it? You’re gonna make it, man.”

  DJ was really working. All of a sudden the machine began to falter. All the guys moved in closer.

  “I… I might need some help,” I said.

  “We got your back, kid.” Massive amounts of perfectly chiseled meat moved to press up against me, hands ready to grab. I couldn’t believe it. I was hard as a rock and DJ was staring right up my crotch.

  His eyes shifted away and then inward again.

  A huge cheer went up. Arms shot out to grab the bar and take it from DJ. He lay on the bench with his eyes closed for a moment or two, his face serene, his huge chest rising and falling as the guys yelled congratulations, the excess blood flowing from his golden face. His eyes opened to check my crotch. A quick smirk, then he sat up as the guys around continued to slap him on the back and high-five him.

  He grinned, basking in the adulation, shrugging nonchalantly as if it was nothing while his fellow athletes nodded proudly. They slowly drifted away, giving him thumbs up.

  “Impressed?” he asked.

  “I… I…” I was speechless. Why the fuck would he even care what I thought?

  He stood, sucking in and expelling huge drafts of air, rolling his shoulders. “Let’s go to my pad. I need to shower. You can… soap my back…or something. Got anything better to do?”

  “No.”

  We started out, DJ strutting ahead.

  “Don’t worry, kid,” one of the guys hit me on the rump as I passed his bench. “I hear he goes pretty easy on his new spotters.”

  “If there’s a problem, come see me. I could use somebody straddling my face,” his buddy chortled.

  Outside, DJ turned and
headed toward the beach. I hurried to catch up as he returned greetings to various buddies and admirers who recognized him. A couple of cute girls came up to ask for his autograph. He signed their bikinis.

  Nearing the water, we turned north, toward Santa Monica. The gay section was more subdued there. The guys just stared, some definitely checking out the new kid. Me! A couple raised their hands in greeting. DJ waved back.

  “I just broke fifty.” He yelled, pumping a perfectly proportioned arm in the air.

  “You can break me anytime you want, DJ,” one of the guys yelled back, his partner agreeing with a double thumbs-up.

  He chuckled. “I love this beach, man. Not only is it amazing looking”—he swept his arm in a wide arc, embracing the peaceful Pacific flooding and then retreating from the white sand—“but it’s got some of the hottest bods in the universe just laid out for you to roll your eyeballs over. You been having a good time, Danny?”

  “Oh, jeez, yeah!”

  “Not just staring at me all day and then beating your nuts raw all night, right?”

  “No… not all night.”

  He smirked and grabbed me around the neck to pull me against his massive chest, knuckling my head. “Smart mouth. I may have to teach that mouth some respect.”

  “Oh, god, yes. Please, sir.”

  He pushed me away.

  “You’re not serious? You don’t go in for that punish-me punish-me shit, do you?” He backed away, suddenly embarrassed. “I didn’t….” Now it was his time to stammer. “You gotta stand up for yourself, man, don’t ever let anybody pull you down.” He clapped me hard on the shoulder. “Be a man, okay? Always be a man.”

  I nodded fiercely. “It was a joke, DJ! No. No. I’m cool.”

  He stared at me. After a moment he seemed mollified and we continued up the beach. “I got a couple of buddies who’re into that BD stuff, SM, whatever. Creeps me out.” We trudged through the warm sand at the water’s edge.

  “But if you really get a kick out of that shit, it’s okay,” he said, looking over at me and smiling. “Whatever it takes. We’ve all got our needs. I’ve got some pretty weird kinks myself. Just don’t let me know about it.” He rubbed his neck. “Deal?”

  I wanted to photograph him doing that. His beautifully shaped hand on his beautifully shaped neck. In the warm, caressing sunlight. On a perfect beach. With the gentle waves whispering at our feet. “Deal.”

  And thousands of people all over the place.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  He stopped and looked closer.

  I frowned: a manly frown. “It’ll never be this perfect again, will it?” My eyes stung. He had no idea what was going through my head. I wasn’t even sure I…

  “Nah. So hold on to it.” He looked around at the cerulean sky, the soaring cumulus clouds, the distant sailboats, the squawking seagulls. “You got a camera?”

  I shook my head. I had carried all my gear the first week. Then I just got tired and only took me. Seeing was enough.

  “I got one at the house. We’ll take pictures. That’ll help.”

  He held his magnificent arms wide and without hesitation I buried myself in his manly hug. David Johanssen Messinger, Mr. Perfect, hugged me hard to his chest. Only a sweaty singlet, almost dry from the warm wind, was between my heart and his. His big arms squeezed as his hands slapped me solidly on the back. It seemed a waste to die at that moment. So I didn’t.

  “I thought you might be different.” He clipped me gently under the chin, then laughed and started back up the beach. “You should have seen the look on your face when you were trying to hop the fence. Like a kid on Christmas fucking morning running toward the presents.” He gave me a thumbs-up. “Thanks. I needed that.”

  His apartment was tiny. Somewhere between Venice and Santa Monica, not right on the beach. He stripped to shower. “I own one of those fancy jobs. On the beach. But I can make more money renting it out and staying here. This was my first. Since the nineties, man, a long fucking time ago. Keeps me grounded.” He spread his arms, presenting himself. “This beauty ain’t gonna last forever. Come on,” he grinned, and suddenly yanked my shorts down. “Show me what you’re bringing to the table.”

  I stripped out of my jock. He gave me an appraising look. “You are one cute guy, Danny. You must have to beat ’em off with,” he eyed my crotch, “a big stick.”

  I blushed. Thank god I was hung. At least there was some area in which I felt halfway adequate in DJ’s presence.

  Until he got hard in the shower.

  “Having someone soap my ass really turns me on.” He blushed slightly, though it was hard to tell underneath his all-over, water-streaked, perfect tan. “You wanna soap my dick and nuts?”

  I leaned in and started sucking on his tit. DJ sighed, stretching his arms up to stroke his near-bald head. “That’s fucking beautiful, man.” He tickled my tight balls. “I’ve got a talented tongue, too,” he told the top of my head. “It’ll be worth waiting for.” I sucked harder.

  In DJ’s bed, I felt like I was being initiated into Valhalla. His dick was as much a work of art as the rest of him. His balls were exquisite. I tongued them and nuzzled them and gnawed on them, sending him into paroxysms of laughter.

  “You’re a fucking nut,” he chuckled underneath me, my face in his pubes, his head at my crotch. “When are you gonna just get to sucking my dick?”

  “When I get to you begging me to.” I shoved my head down between his award-winning thighs, wormed my face between his butt-cheeks, and ripple-tongued his asshole. Diddled the pucker with my lips and tugged at the surrounding circle of delicate hairs with my fingernails before trailing them over the perfect rolling hills and valleys of his ass.

  He shivered and shook. “Jeez, man, you are phenomenal. Most guys, most kids…. But it looks like you’re not like most guys. I fucking knew it,” he muttered. “I just fucking could tell.” He gave an annoyed sigh. “’Bout fucking time.”

  I arched to drag my head back up and explore his belly button. An inny. I button-dived with my nose while rubbing my forehead in his pubes.

  Oh, jeez! A volcano enveloped my midsection. He was sucking me off! The perfect pressure. The perfect suction.

  “Sorry,” he snickered, between setting off explosions in my groin that ricocheted all the way to my skull. “I’m more gross than you. I can’t wait, man. I want meat down my gut. And a very tasty gutful it is, too,” he nodded approvingly. “Not too choky, not too piddly. Just right. I might be working away here all afternoon. And into the night. If that’s okay with...”

  “DJ, I’m gonna blow!”

  “I was kinda counting on that.” He was instantly on me again, swallowing me whole.

  My whole body shook. I hung onto his ass, my face buried between his legs, his big nuts knocking against my chin, his big dick throbbing against my chest. My crotch exploded, my whole ass erupted, my entire body instantly morphed into white hot cream and spiraled through my dick to coat his insides. From the tips of his perfectly shaped toes to the ends of his perfectly cropped buzz cut. Over and over the blasts came. Emulsifying me through my dick to be injected into DJ’s broiling interior.

  Slowly the aftershocks subsided. Oxygen found its way back into my chest. My dick was still buried in DJ’s throat. His mouth was still applying pressure, his lips pressed tight against the root of my meat. I felt like I had melded into his flesh, an extension of Mr. Perfect’s perfection.

  We stayed meshed for a few minutes, a few hours, a couple of days. Slowly the atoms reassembled themselves into separate bodies.

  I could have stayed buried between DJ’s legs forever, but it was beginning to get a little hard to breathe.

  “Holy cumshots.” He took his time pulling his lips up the length of my dick, keeping just enough of the head in his mouth to let him enunciate. That was incredibly sexy: talking with my dick in his mouth. I started to unload again, but there was nothing left to unload. “Holy fucking cumshots,” D
J snickered again, his nose nuzzling through my crotch fur. “I came, too.”

  He was right. Our midsections were glued together with his viscous, gooey stuff.

  He laughed, lapping at my dickhead at the same time. “I fucking came from rubbing my dick between us and you blowing a load like I’ve never had to suck down before.” With a whoop, he hopped up from the 69 and flipped around, shaking the bed like a 5.7, and ended up facing me an inch away from my face. He was beaming. He was gorgeous.

  “Where the fuck did you come from? Do your folks know you’re here? Where the hell have you been all my life? Can we do this, like, a lot?” His grin was insane. “I know you’re just a kid and I’m practically an old guy, but I cannot believe we are so perfectly tuned, man. I have never shot my load by just rubbing up against another guy, not even a hot little stud like you, who I was sucking at the same time and all you were doing was nuzzling my nuts. We must be like a really fucking special team. You wanna move in?”

  I checked my breathing and various parts of my body to be sure I hadn’t morphed over to the other side. DJ’s handsome mug crammed right in my face didn’t exactly help me keep my head on straight. Having a staggeringly sexy godhead angel breathing hot and heavy on my eyelids and asking me…

  “DJ, you don’t even know me. I mean, I’ve hung around for a couple of weeks, but… but… we haven’t even fucked, I haven’t even sucked you off. Or…” My eyes dropped to his lush lips.

  He pushed his mouth against mine and we tangled tongues for the next week or so.

  That worked. I emerged panting into the charged air. “You want to fuck me silly?” I begged hoarsely.

  “You go first,” he hoarsed back, throwing his legs over his head and spreading them wide with the grace of a racehorse sailing over the finish line.

  It took a while. I had to eat him out first, his asshole was so beautiful, so needing my mouth. And then his big heavy nuts were right there. Just begging.

  I fucked him; then he fucked me.

  We were a well-oiled love machine.

  It was bliss.