Beach Boys (15 page)

Gerry’s beach ball rolled alongside of where Phil was laying, and Phil raised his head and regarded the intrusive object through tinted glasses. Gerry bounded up the beach, doing his best Mitch Buchanan impression, only he was a lot more ripped than the Hoff had ever been.

“Sorry,” he said to Phil, then, “Man, you’re starting to burn.”

“Why don’t you put some lotion on me?” asked Phil.

Gerry didn’t need to be asked twice. He picked up the tube of suntan lotion and squeezed a generous dollop onto the palm of his other hand, the phallic subtext of the action not lost on the camera.

He smoothed the white cream onto Phil’s bronzed torso, taking care to circle the nipples and run his fingers over Phil’s washboard-hard stomach, the gesture intimate, almost a caress. The camera panned down Phil’s body, revealing a suggestive bulge in his trunks. Gerry hesitated for a moment, teasing the camera, making it seem as if he was going to grab Phil’s cock, but then his hand moved further down, working the lotion into Phil’s muscular thighs, making the skin shine.

“That feels good,” said Phil. His arms were raised and his head rested on his hands. Seeing the camera on his face, he flared his nostrils and licked his lips suggestively.

Gerry leaned over, tongue protruding slightly. He flicked Phil’s left nipple with the tip, then his right one, took it into his mouth and sucked. His hand lay flat on Phil’s stomach, just above the waistband of Phil’s Speedos.

Phil sighed. “Touch me.”

Gerry grinned broadly and rubbed the palm of his hand against the lump in Phil’s Speedos, moving his head up to kiss Phil on the lips. As their tongues entwined, Gerry eased his fingers under the waistband of the Speedos, then slid his whole hand inside the trunks. For a moment the camera focused on Gerry’s hand wriggling beneath the black material, and then he pried back the Speedos to expose Phil’s substantial cock to the eye of the lens.

Phil was semi-erect and Gerry took a firm grip of him, working the cock from its root to the tip, easing back the foreskin and caressing the whole length of him. With every stroke, Phil seemed to grow bigger and harder: it was like watching a flower blossom with time-lapse photography.

When Phil was fully erect, Gerry bent down and went to work with his mouth, at first licking up and down his length, then using the tip of his tongue to tease the purple bulb of Phil’s
glans, which was already gleaming with pre-come, and finally taking him into his mouth, lips peeled back to cushion the teeth, the muscles in his neck working as he sucked on Phil’s cock. He went at it for a good five minutes, every so often slipping the cock free to give the camera a shot of its saliva-covered head, gripping Phil firmly by the root.

When he sensed Phil was about to pop, Gerry released him. Phil sat up and wrestled his companion to the ground, tearing Gerry’s Speedos off and letting the camera see his cock for the first time, flopping free from his body and every bit as large and gorged with blood as Phil’s organ. Phil had Gerry crouching on all fours. He peeled apart the younger man’s buttocks and rimmed his asshole, teasing Gerry with his fat, pink tongue, gently nipping the meat of his buttocks with his teeth. One of his hands slipped between Gerry’s thighs and affectionately squeezed his scrotum, feeling how the sack was close to bursting with come, and then he circled Gerry’s cock and began to stroke it, gently at first but gathering speed, going harder and faster.

“Fuck me!” hissed Gerry through clenched teeth, his breath coming in short bursts. “Fuck me!”

Phil reached for a tube of Astro-Glide I’d placed on the blanket while the camera was pointed elsewhere, and shot some over Gerry’s asshole, and his fingers went to work, making the pink knot of flesh gleam, smoothing the opaque lube inside Gerry’s rectum, reaming him while the younger man sighed with pleasure. Satisfied that Gerry was sufficiently lubricated, Phil took his own cock in his hand, lathered its length with lube and maneuvered the head into the waiting orifice, using his fingers for positioning and support until the tip was gripped tight by Gerry’s anus, then holding him firmly by the hips and pushing forward, gently easing his cock inside until it was fully engulfed, the camera capturing every second of the penetration, after which he began to fuck Gerry with abandon.

For five minutes or more the only sounds were the animal grunts of the two men and the meaty slap of Phil’s belly as it smacked against Gerry’s buttocks. Phil’s hands caressed Gerry as he fucked him, running over the younger man’s broad back and digging into his hips so hard the fingers left red marks, curling round to grasp Gerry’s rock hard cock and give it a reassuring stroke or two, tugging at his mat of thick bleached blond pubic hair and squeezing his ball sack.

“I’m going to come,” snarled Phil. “Oh fuck, I’m gonna come!”

He pulled free before the moment of crisis arrived, the camera zooming in on his bloated cock, the purple head slick with lube and pre-come. Gerry flipped over onto his back and got his face in position for when Phil shot his load, mouth open to take as much of the thick, creamy spunk as he could manage. Phil furiously pummeled his cock with his fist, his face and chest both bright red. He threw back his head and screamed as he came, the white ejaculate spraying over Gerry’s face, and the younger man eagerly gulped it down, laughing and smiling at the camera as his features were coated.

Gerry’s own orgasm was close. Phil leaned over and tongued Gerry’s cock. He bent his head at an angle and kissed the underside, paused for a moment to suck the scrotum, and then ran his tongue up the length and round the glans. He opened his mouth wide and slipped it over the engorged cock, sucking hard and rolling his eyes. His head bobbed up and down, and Gerry tried to seize hold of him but his hands fluttered uselessly, unable to get a grip. Phil waited until the last second, then pulled away. He grabbed hold of Gerry’s ball sack and squeezed, rolled it around between his fingers like he was manipulating a vacuum pump, and Gerry came hard, discharging his come in white streamers over Phil’s chest and smiling face, spurting over and over again until I thought he’d never stop.

“Fuck, that tastes good,” said Phil, his long tongue stretching out and licking come off his wet, gleaming chops. He reached up and jerked Gerry’s cock some more, milking him of every single last drop, catching the gouts of come in his open mouth.

“And that’s a wrap,” I said.

Grinning, the two men got to their feet and cleaned themselves off with some wet wipes Janice handed them. They pulled up their Speedos and put on more clothes, matching tees and denim shorts, flip-flops, and shades.

“You want me to drop the film off at the office, or will you do it?” asked Janice.

“You can,” I said. “I thought I’d stay here for a while.”

“Nice day for it,” said Phil. “You could do with a tan. You’re looking really pasty.”

“Thanks,” I said, trying not to sound offended, because I knew the comment was on target and Phil had intended nothing mean by it.

The three of them gathered up their things and took off, nobody bothering to look back, which was pretty much par for the course.

While Hollywood might pay lip service to the cult of the director as
auteur,
there was no denying that in the world of gay porn we were little more than glorified go-fers at the mercy of the stars’ every whim. I’d had dreams of being a leading man in my younger days, but an average cock and inability to get wood on demand had dashed those hopes, and so I had drifted into writing and directing instead, a way to stay part of the industry I loved and meet lots of hot guys. In the years since, I had put on weight and lost hair, as well as becoming thoroughly disillusioned with the life, and nowadays the only chance of action I had with guys like Phil and Gerry was if I jerked off while watching my own films.

Stop feeling sorry for yourself,
commanded some inner voice, but although I tried my best, it wasn’t easy. Nothing had worked out as I’d planned.

I laid out my own beach blanket and, after looking round to check nobody was about, I stripped off and slipped into my swimwear of choice, a pair of baggy khaki shorts-style trunks that did nothing to flatter my slightly obese figure. I’d got turned on watching Phil and Gerry do their stuff and was still semi-stiff, but even so my cock didn’t measure up to Phil’s spectacular organ, which was over four inches flaccid, and twice that when fully erect.

Don’t be so negative
, came that inner voice again, only this time it seemed to have an exterior source. I looked all around me, but there was nobody close by, and even if there had been, how could they know what I was thinking?

I can read your mind, idiot
.

I shook my head. Something strange was going on. Had things got me down so much that I was finally losing my senses? Or perhaps one of the others was playing a stupid trick on me: it was just the sort of shitty thing Gerry would do.

Feeling slightly dizzy, I sat down on the blanket and looked all around again, but there was still nobody nearby. The voice was gone, leaving only the squawking of the seagulls perched in niches on the cliff face overhead to disturb the silence, and the soporific sound made by the inrushing sea as it stirred the pebbles on the shoreline. Off to the right, the sands were starting to fill up, brightly colored beach umbrellas blossoming in profusion as the newcomers staked out their places in the sun. The weathermen had forecast the hottest day of the year so far, and the sun seemed to be doing its level best to live up to those expectations. As yet, nobody had wandered down this end of the beach, but that wouldn’t last.

I burned easily, much to my chagrin. I would dearly have liked to be as mahogany brown as Phil and Gerry, but the better part of wisdom dictated that I slather myself with Factor 40 suntan lotion, and so I reached inside my duffel bag for the tube of cream I had brought with me, but when my hand emerged it was holding the bottle I had picked up down on the shoreline.

“What the fuck?” I said, certain that it was a tube of suntan lotion my fingers had gripped and not this piece of junk.

Why don’t you let me out?

This time I was sure that I heard a voice, and that it came from the bottle, impossible as that seemed.

“Who are you?” I asked, feeling foolish. This had to be a gag of some kind: the others had set me up for one of those hidden-camera-style programs popular with the general public. That was the only thing that made sense, and if so, then I could be a good sport and play along.

I’m a genie said the voice and I’ve been stuck in this bottle for more than forty years
.

“Wow,” I said, “you must need to visit the loo really bad.”

Don’t be ridiculous
, said the voice.
I’m a genie. I don’t have to pee. But there are other things I really do need, such as a bloody good fuck and a porterhouse steak
.

I laughed, suddenly realizing where this was all coming from. It was part of the script of
The Genie With the Lump
, a feature I’d directed about three years ago starring Phil. He’d found an old lamp in an antique shop and released the genie who’d granted him three wishes, and, of course, as this was targeted at the gay market, all of those wishes had involved Phil fucking hot men. I still considered the climactic scene in the sauna to be one of my best moments in gay porn, the sort of thing that would have scooped up awards by the truckload if I’d worked in a more respectable field of endeavor.

“And if I let you out, do I get three wishes?” I asked, still playing along.

Typical mortal. Just thinking about yourself. No consideration for me. Forty years I’ve been in here, and so bloody cramped there’s not even room to jerk myself off
.

“You have my sympathy,” I said, trying hard not to laugh as I repeated the barely remembered lines from my script. “But if you want to get out…”

All right, all right, have it your own way. Three wishes it is. You’ll only muck them up. Your kind always do
.

The end of the cork stood up from the neck of the bottle. Smiling for the camera I felt sure was hidden nearby, I gripped it between my forefinger and thumb. It resisted at first and then gave with a loud plop of escaping air. Startled, I let go of the bottle and scooted backwards. Suddenly there were gulls swooping down and giving voice to minatory screams; the waves sounded much louder and for a second I felt certain that I’d made a terrible mistake, done something I shouldn’t. The bottle lay on its side, thick black smoke billowing out of the neck.

It was the
gotcha
moment, the moment when the others should have rushed out from wherever they were hiding and mocked my gullibility, but something else entirely happened.

The smoke drifted skyward and then back down, coalescing in the shape of a man…

…and it was the most gorgeous man I had ever seen.

Like Johnny Depp when he’d starred in
What’s Eating Gilbert Grape?
, only with straight teeth and beefed up. The same finely sculpted features though, and piercing blue eyes, and shoulder-length hair that shone black as the midnight sun, and his manly chest and his stomach rippling with muscle, the dimple of his navel like a jewel in that ornate setting, and skin that gleamed like alabaster, and those arms and those hands, and—

—and he was naked. I let my eyes stray down his body, my mouth so dry it felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool. Nestled there amid jet-black pubic hair was the most beautiful cock I had ever seen; not as big as Phil’s, perhaps, but more finely proportioned and with an ivory complexion against which the thick veins stood out like cords of rope, the foreskin just slightly tugged back from the head to expose the red bulb of his glans.