Beach Boys (9 page)

“Are you going on vacation anywhere next weekend?”

“No. In fact, I have to stay in town.”

“Why?” Chaun prodded.

“I have a date already.”

Chaun rolled his eyes back in his head and groaned. “A date? You’ve got to be kidding me. With who?”

Dylan reached over and curled his fingers around Chaun’s chin. “With the most beautiful man I’ve ever met.”

Chaun’s smile was lost to Dylan’s kiss almost as soon as it formed, but he didn’t mind. He sighed into his mouth as he savored his lover’s kiss.

“But tell me one thing,” Dylan asked, as he pulled away. “Who the hell was that guy who fingered me in the jungle? Did you even know him?”

Chaun shrugged. “Just a finger fucker I hired to loosen you up, that’s all.” He smirked at Dylan’s pout. “It’s good to keep finger fuckers employed.” He let his fingers splay over Dylan’s chest. “They need money too, you know.”

* * * *

On their way to check out, the couple passed a bulletin board in the hallway. On it hung two pairs of black silk shorts. A note was pinned above them:

“Found in jungle: two pairs of black silk shorts. Heavily used. Please claim at office.”

Both men snickered at the sight, then walked on past with their hands on each other’s asses.

“Maybe they’ll bring good luck to somebody else,” Chaun observed.

“I sure hope so, because you are coming home with me.” He pressed his lips against Chaun’s ear. “Forever,” he whispered.

by Eric Del Carlo

Nervous
wasn’t the word. Henry and Lance had finally caught me. I’d had a sweet thing going for almost two months of this post-high school summer vacation, my own private live peepshow.

My parents were renting a house in a sleepy—hell, nearly comatose—little burg in the California wine country. Acres and acres of vines growing in regimented rows, wineries everywhere you turn, and no adult who could talk for long about
any
thing but the local industry. It was all useless to me: too young to drink, not mature enough yet to feign interest in all things oenological. It had started as a sullen, unwelcome sojourn, my very last days of post-adolescent irresponsibility. At least, that was how my parents—high-flown intellectuals both, and not too adept with friendly sarcasm—had put it to me more than once. They were researching another joint academic tome, something about bird migrations or Robert Louis Stevenson or some other subject I was consciously apathetic toward.

It was a hotter summer than the more northerly latitudes of home had prepared me for. The local young adult population apparently saw summertime as their cue to evacuate the town, leaving me among skateboarding kids I was too old to hang out with.

I was slated for college in the autumn, uncertain whether I or my parents had decided which hallowed hall of learning I would be committing myself to for the next several years. I didn’t have good cause for the bitterness softly gnawing at me, and I think I even knew that at the time, but that didn’t keep it off. I was resentful and showed I was with long dull pauses before responding to parental questions. Yeah, real rebellious stuff, but I hardly knew what else to do.

One other thing I did do was to slip quietly out my bedroom window at night, onto the gravel roof of the house’s long garage, and duck-walk out to the far end. Hunkering here and poking my head over the rain gutter, I was rewarded with a perfect view down into our nearest neighbors’ bedroom. From this steep angle, a gap opened above the room’s drape that let me see their king-sized bed—and everything that went on there at least four nights a week.

This routine had started as more useless rebellion, since I would smoke forbidden cigarettes out on that roof. I was old enough for
that
empty gesture, anyway. But the third or fourth time, I had discovered that intimate view, and the act of creeping out onto the roof became something else entirely.

There they were. Henry and Lance, both in their thirties. They had paid a neighborly call at our rented house the week we arrived. They were mystery novelists writing under a shared pseudonym. I’d heard they were fairly successful. But I wasn’t thinking of their literary abilities that first night I spotted them, as my eyes widened and my jaw dropped.

Henry and Lance were naked, unknowingly showing off bodies hardened by dutiful morning jogs and healthy diets. Lance, the taller blond one, was lying back into the pillows of the bed, legs spread. Henry, more darkly complexioned, a tattoo marking his thick biceps, was kneeling between Lance’s thighs. He was sucking intently on Lance’s big cock, kneading his balls with one hand.

Henry, sporting a large hard-on of his own, was obviously relishing the procedure. Lance’s head was whipping faster and faster across the pillows. I watched, stunned and enthralled at this first sight of live naked males.

I’d had a feverish and closeted adolescence, and had often tried to imagine the practical physical mechanics of man/man lovemaking. I would comb through books, reading and
rereading oblique references to gay male sex. I would’ve given anything in those years for a queer sex magazine to stroke off over. In school I’d festered through pointless crushes on other males, but had never received even the vaguest coded hint from any that they might be interested. I’d never had any luck with or interest in females. My parents said I was just
shy
and would meet the right one someday. I didn’t have the nerve to tell them the truth about myself, and didn’t really want to. I couldn’t see what business it was of theirs.

Henry turned Lance over onto his stomach. Mesmerized, I figured now I would get to see some actual anal sex. Upon first sight of those two beautiful bare male bodies, I’d immediately grown a wicked hard-on of my own, sitting there on the garage’s gravely roof, with the warm black caress of the night on me. Now, helplessly, I slipped my mahogany-hard cock out of my jeans, into my slowly pumping fist.

Instead of thrusting his cock into Lance, Henry put his wet mouth to Lance’s ass. Incredible! I’d heard the vaguely defined term “rim job” before and was uncertain about it, but both men were plainly enjoying the act. I bit through the filter of my forgotten cigarette as I stifled an excited moan.

After several long minutes of ass-eating, they got down to business. Henry mounted Lance, sliding his cock into the moistened hole, and proceeded to fuck him. I watched their bodies moving in muscled tandem. It was a beautiful procedure. They were like glistening mechanisms. The sublime grace of male/male fucking. I was amazed at how natural it looked, how structurally uncomplicated, as if nature had designed the cock specifically to fit the male ass. A thousand fantasies and wonderings were justified by that gorgeous display for me that night.

I jerked off frantically and came when Henry did. Then I watched from my spying perch in the sensual afterglow as Henry finished blowing Lance, taking his load in his mouth and swallowing.

The following weeks were quite an education for me. I witnessed every sexual combo possible between two men. On several occasions—and these were my favorites—a third man was thrown into the mix, and I would watch the carnal frenzy with great excitement and envy, imagining myself as the third lover, taking cock into my mouth and ass at once. Didn’t I wish!

It was, however, one of these friends/lovers that spotted me in my secret rooftop nest, looking up at just the same second when I was straining too far out over the edge of the garage roof, eyes goggling, my jeans in a denim pool around my ankles, jerking my cock to the fabulous rhythms of that three-way. I pulled back and went scrambling back through my window, heart hammering. I dived into bed, yanked up the covers, and waited for the police to arrive. They never did.

Henry and Lance didn’t even fink me out to my parents, for which I was hugely grateful. Instead, they paid me a call at my house one afternoon while my parents were out on a research excursion, and told me about their guest catching me in the act. Sitting around our kitchen table, I was one big white knuckle of fear. Caught! I was shivering and almost in tears. I started blubbering apologies, trying to explain that I hadn’t been able to help myself, I wouldn’t do it again, I was so sorry sorry sorry—

“Look,” Lance said gently. “You’re—what? Nineteen, eighteen? That’s an age to be curious.”

“I used to spy on guys screwing in bus station toilets when I was your age,” Henry reassured. “No matter what anyone might tell you, it’s natural. Don’t feel bad.”

I couldn’t believe how nice they were being to some Peeping Tom neighbor kid and said so, still sniveling.

Lance patted my shoulder with a strong warm hand, smiling. “Well, we don’t like having our privacy violated without our knowing, but as for being watched...”

“We like being watched,” Henry finished. “We even like participation, which if you’ve been watching as long as you’ve admitted, you must know.”

And there in the midst of my trembling fear and repentance, I felt a surge of heat from my crotch.

“We don’t want you watching us anymore from on top of your garage,” Lance said.

Henry fixed me with a steady smile. “If you want to see, come over tonight, ’round nine. See it live and up close. If not, then this is our little secret.”

They left, and I gaped at their empty chairs. This couldn’t be happening.

I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening in a trance, barely eating the dinner my mother cooked. My head was brimming with sweaty fantasies. I thought of everything I’d seen, at a distance, in Henry and Lance’s bedroom. But to be there in the same room while they made love.? How could I resist?

I didn’t. A few minutes before nine I excused myself, telling my parents I was going down to the town’s single-screen movie theater. Instead, of course, I crept around to our neighbors’ back door and quietly knocked. I was trembling again. The blend of excitement, anticipation and fear was powerful.

Lance answered, wearing a terrycloth bathrobe. My eyes flickered anxiously away from the bulge below the knotted belt. I felt my mouth go dry.

”Well, the audience is here,” Henry said, coming up behind and pausing to kiss the side of Lance’s neck. “Let the games commence.”

I followed the two men through their tastefully decorated home and upstairs.

Then I was in the bedroom I’d been spying on for two months. Henry closed the door behind me. With a smile in my direction, he shed the bathrobe he was wearing. Lance shucked his too. My heart was beating so hard, I thought it would punch its way out of my chest. They were naked. They looked beautiful. My eyes swept over the fine details of their muscles. I didn’t glance nervously away from their hard-ons this time. Now I stared, riveted.

“We’ve got a captive audience,” Lance said. “Enjoy the show.”

They slid onto the wide sumptuous bed, embracing. They kissed, softly at first, then their tongues emerged and entangled. I stayed standing back near the door, paralyzed, sensations of hot and cold running wildly over my body. I watched their big hard cocks rubbing together. By now I was of course fiercely erect, my cock trapped in my jeans, aching to be released. But I was afraid to make any move, afraid anything I did might make this utterly magical scene vanish before my gawking eyes.

They took their cocks in hand. Lance was now sucking and nipping at Henry’s nipples, which were ringed with fine dark hairs. Henry moaned. His cock twitched and throbbed in Lance’s hand. Henry started licking his way down Lance’s solidly molded chest, through the dusting of blond hair. His head moved lower and lower till his tongue was flashing over Lance’s navel.

When his tongue tip flickered out snakelike to give Lance’s cockhead a swirl, I realized my hand had broken the paralysis that gripped the rest of my body. I was rubbing at the painful
bulge in my jeans, which only made matters worse. Would they mind if I jerked off while they made love? How could I stop myself?

Without deliberate thought I allowed my fingers to undo my fly and free my yearning cock. A silent powerful moan of pleasure went through me as I slowly worked myself.

No more than six feet from where I stood rooted, Henry was now wrapping his lips around Lance’s staff. I hadn’t realized before just how thick his meat was. I watched Henry’s mouth distend itself as he sucked in inch after inch between his lips.
What did it taste like?
I asked myself feverishly.
How did it feel throbbing in one’s mouth like that?

Henry’s head bobbed up and down now, leaving Lance’s heavy cock glistening with spit. Lance thrust his hips toward Henry. Henry paused to suck delicately on Lance’s dangling balls.

I didn’t realize I was stripping away my clothes until I discovered myself stooping to untie my sneakers. A moment later I found myself standing naked, my breaths coming in short hard pants, my hand still pumping my cock. The sweat of a hot California night dribbled into my eyes, and I blinked it furiously away, not wanting to miss an instant of the action.

They reversed, and Lance was now going down on Henry, sucking with gusto, taking every inch of Henry’s generously sized cock. He started fingering Henry’s hole with two stiff fingers, which caused Henry to buck wildly on the kitschy leopard-print sheets.

The foot of the bed suddenly knocked against my bare knees, and I realized dumbly that I’d finally stepped forward. I was suddenly terrified my intrusion might bring everything to a stop.