Here’s Looking at You, Kid

an accidental romance in fifteen parts

by Douglas

Chapter 8 – The Beach

The weekend after Thanksgiving, we had a warm spell.

I’d learned enough about the weather in Northern California, by then, not to be surprised. The same thing happened my first year; a warm, even hot, September and October; then it was like God turned on the water, and Berkeley was drenched in rain – cold rain from Alaska, inches and inches, more than we saw in months, down South –

Then the clouds would go, and there’d be a temporary warm spell, really warm, almost like being back home . . . almost like a miniature Spring. Before the whole cycle started over again.

I liked it; actually, I still do like it. Living in a place with rain, with actual seasons. Or more seasons than I’d grown up with, anyway.

Okay. I’ll admit, I’d learned not to say anything like that, to anybody at school who was from the East Coast. Or the Midwest. They’d either stare at me blankly, or say something sort of rude –

I still liked it.

But I could wish the warm spells would be just a little warmer.

“Ready?” I put my foot over the clutch, just lightly, as the tach needle moved up, and the engine revved.

“Ready,” from Cole.

“Okay . . . ” Down on the clutch, off the gas. “Shift!” Cole shifted us into second, and I let up the clutch, eased down the accelerator. It went about as smoothly as I could have done it, alone.

Cole’d decided it would be fun to wheedle me into teaching him how to drive, after all. And I was still insisting that he get a learner’s permit, and go to a driving school, first.

So letting Cole shift, when we went driving together, was the current compromise.

“Ready - ?”

“Uh-huh.”

I did the clutch-gas thing again. “Shift,” I said, and Cole popped us into third.

And I looked over at him, the brilliant blue ocean and the green artichoke fields in the background as we headed south, and his total delight at doing something so simple, so mundane, was just, so touching . . .

Yeah. We were headed south on Highway 1, south of San Francisco; headed towards the beach.

Like I’d promised. At last.

Me, with an agenda in mind. An important one.

“I have an idea,” Cole started, brightly.

“Ready?!” I interrupted.

“Yeah.”

“Shift.” We worked the pedals and gearshift, and we were in fourth. Still going uphill, a little; we had a minute before we needed to get into fifth.

“Your idea - ?”

“Yeah. Why don’t you let me steer and do the clutch thing, for awhile, and you can do the shifting - ?”

“Great idea!”, I said. Enthusiastically. Then: “But – oh, wait, we can’t. You don’t have a permit, yet. Too bad.”

The little brat just grinned at me, then looked forward again. We both knew he wasn’t going to give up.

Highway 1 isn’t much of a highway, really; it’s mostly a twisty, two-lane road – one in each direction – hugging the coast, passing through little town after little town, going all the way down to –

Well, most of the way down to San Diego, anyway; where I live. Where I grew up. It goes through Santa Cruz and Big Sur, and Santa Barbara, and then it turns into the Pacific Coast Highway and it goes through Malibu and Santa Monica . . . and then it kind of gets lost, turning into other freeways, like I-5 –

But.

If we just kept driving, we’d wind up back at my home in – less than a day, anyway. It was the road home – or one of them – for me.

And having that way home – knowing that all I had to do was get into my car, and drive south – just knowing that had been so, so important to me, my whole first year at Cal. When I was homesick, and missing my family, and missing Jesse so much it was like a sharp pain, even though I knew I shouldn’t – just knowing that all I had to do was walk across campus, get into my car, and drive, and I’d be home . . . Knowing that I had the option, was an emotional life preserver. I might not have lasted the year in Berkeley, without it.

The countryside that Highway 1 cuts through is so beautiful. Almost the entire way down the coast.

On our left, inland, there were hills, covered with grass just beginning to turn green from the start of the winter rains; and the sky was so, so blue, and to the right, houses mixed with flat farm fields, giving way to stark, steep cliffs and the glimpses of the beaches and breakers below, and then back to fields, and little roadside fruit stands . . .

And the sunroof was open – with the heat on, of course. And Cole was next to me, in shorts and flipflops and a sweatshirt, the pale sun on his bare legs . . .

“Ready?” We’d topped the hill, and a gorgeous stretch of coast and steep cliffs stretched down in front of us, and off to our right.

“Ready.”

“Shift.” And we were in fifth, and settled in, until the next light; or the next steep hill.

“You have to admit, I’m getting pretty good at it.” Cole flashed his grin at me, again. Stretching his bare legs in front of him, a little.

Deliberately. Knowing I’d see how the sunlight glinted on the soft, blondish down on his calves . . .

“Yeah. Cole, you know, I’ll still help you find a driving school, if you just get the learner’s permit. I’ll even take you to the DMV. You’ve got the driver’s handbook – ”

I’d actually downloaded the California Drivers Handbook from the internet. And burned it onto a CD. And given it to Cole.

His expression, then, was priceless. After he said ‘thank you’, anyway. His expression said, a CD? Do people still use this technology - ?

And we both knew it wasn’t about him taking the test, and getting the permit. It was about the test of wills; wheedling me into doing what he wanted. He was having fun, wheedling me.

I was having fun with it, too. But I didn’t admit it.

And I still wasn’t going to let him drive.

“You know, Trevor’s dad lets him do it, every once in awhile. They go out to someplace quiet, and Trevor drives around, a little.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Of course,” he went on, and his expression changed, “it’s about the only nice thing he’s ever done for Trevor. He’s a complete jerk. But he says he wants Trevor to know how to drive, in case he has to. Like, in an emergency, or something.”

“Well, that sounds like a good argument for going to driving school, to me.”

“Yeah; but. Driving school is expensive. And it takes a lot of time. It sure would be nice to get a little experience in, before I decide to go . . . I know!” He said it with that cheerful brightness, again.

“What?” I glanced over at him.

“When we get parked – maybe you could let me run through the gears, and do the clutch? As if we were really driving. Just so I can see what it’s like. That would be fun!”

“Okay.” I considered it. “Okay. But I keep the keys. And they’re going to be in my pocket.”

That Cole self-satisfied-grin, again, and he stretched up, and out, luxuriously, his arms over his head, his hands out the top of the sunroof – showing off a hint of his bare stomach, this time –

We were both so, so ready, for this.

After the thing with Rajiv, I hadn’t dared bring Cole back up into my room. And the tutoring arrangement – it turned out, I had to take a quick, three-week course before I qualified, and I’d done that, I burned through it in a week and half, actually, but the paperwork took time, all the same . . .

And then Thanksgiving, and flying home for a long weekend with my family back home in San Diego, and Cole and his mom staying in Berkeley, with his dad up visiting from Santa Monica –

We hadn’t had a chance to get physical with each other, in a long time.

And, no, I’m not just using ‘get physical’ as a euphemism for sex. I mean it literally; touching, holding, kissing – physical contact. FEELING.

Sex is what it all leads to, of course – it’s as natural as breathing, the way it happens. And that’s wonderful. But it wasn’t just the sex I wanted; it was the physical contact that I craved, just craved, with Cole, and except for some quick making out in my car, a couple of times, we’d gone without for WAY too long.

And Cole knew it, of course. And he’d been using that knowledge, been teasing me, all the way across the Bay Bridge, through the city, over the hill down to the coast . . .

And the fun thing – the really, deeply, THRILLING thing to me – was how it worked, going the other way. Cole would stretch, or flirt, or touch my arm – and I’d smile back, or just look at him a certain way, and his mask would so totally slip, and his own desire for me – his HUNGER for me – would slip out, and I’d see it there, naked on his face, in his expression, or, time after time, in the bulge in his shorts . . .

I loved that hunger.

We passed an intersection, and yet another little town – this one had a fishing harbor – and then, suddenly, Cole forgot about teasing me. “Oh, look – more surfers!”

“Yeah, it’s Half Moon Bay Beach.” I took a quick look; maybe twenty of them, all in – what looked to me – incredibly thick, black wetsuits, most with hoods and everything; sitting or lying on their boards, just bobbing on the almost non-existent swells.

 And, yeah – Cole saying that, ‘Oh look, more surfers!’ was another cute moment. To my San Diegan ears, about like saying, ‘Oh, look, more seagulls!’.

“I’d like to watch them, sometime,” he said. Just a little wistfully, maybe. I looked over at him.

“You really are interested in it, aren’t you? Surfing, I mean.”

“Yeah.” He looked just a little embarrassed. “Well – when I go visit my dad in Santa Monica, sometimes we go out on the pier and watch, and it just looks like so much fun . . . you know?”

“Does your dad surf?”

“My dad?” Cole gave a kind of cough of laughter. “You obviously don’t know my dad – ”

I just gave him a quick look. It wasn’t likely I was going to know his dad, anytime soon.

“Yeah. Sorry,” he said. “But, no, my dad doesn’t surf, except on the net. He isn’t exactly athletic.”

Then there was a silence, and I knew there was more about his dad that he wanted to say but didn’t, and I also knew it wasn’t the time for me to ask.

“Okay. Well, next time, maybe we’ll go all the way down to Santa Cruz. They’ve got a surfing museum there, and the pier – it’s kind of like Santa Monica Pier, you can walk out and get real close to surfers who know what they’re doing.” I motioned back at the beach with my head. “This is kind of a beginner’s beach. Easy waves.”

“Beginners?” Cole’s half-grin hooked up again.

“Oh, no. No way. Not without wetsuits from hell. Honest. You should wait ‘til I can get us down closer to home.” I looked over at him, again. “I mean it; you’ll like surfing LOTS better down there.”

And for some reason, that brought a bigger grin from Cole.

Highway 1 gets kind of busy, as it goes through the actual town of Half Moon Bay, a little south of the beach; there’s streets and intersections, lots of traffic and lots of businesses, and more traffic lights, which kept us busy, shifting.

But south of that, things get kind of rural, pretty quick. Oh, there are still houses, and some little streets, turning off; but they get fewer and fewer, punctuated by clusters of mailboxes on dirt roads, and more and more glowing, green fields – of whatever, I couldn’t tell – farm fields, on both sides of the highway.

And the hills started getting steeper, again; which meant, the tan, sandstone cliffs looming over the beaches were getting more and more spectacular.

It also meant we had to shift more often.

“Ready . . . ?” I was looking at a steep upslope, ahead. Then – “Shift.”

And after Cole shifted, he slowly, casually moved his hand off the gearshift, and into my lap.

Onto my dick, to be precise. And the warmth of it, the warmth of his hand through the fabric of my sweatpants, was almost enough to make me yelp –

Like I said – we were both really ready. I was really ready; so I was sensitive, down there.

“Oops,” went Cole; brightly. Innocently. “Did I get the wrong stick-shift?” I felt his warm fingers begin squeezing, just a little,  just lightly, which inflamed me down there, even worse –

“Cole! Stop it,” I said, and I pushed his hand away, and the brat grinned at me, cheerfully.

And then – well. Of course him having done that made me start springing a full-on boner, and of course, you know how it is when that happens, you have to adjust yourself, to make room . . . so I tried, keeping one hand on the wheel –

“Tsk. Here, let me help you with that,” from Cole, and he reached over and slid his hand down and into my pants, and it was shockingly soft and warm –

“Cole! I mean it, stop it! You’re going to get us into a wreck!”

I guess it was the tone of my voice; he looked at me, and pulled his hand away, and just kind of settled back in his seat, looking back ahead.

“I’m sorry,” I said, more mildly. “It’s just that I know myself, I can’t drive while you’re . . . playing with me, like that. I’d kill us for sure.” And I would, too; we were passing a lot of big rig trucks, coming at us from the other direction, just across the double yellow line.

“I was just trying to help.” His slight, sideways look, the hook of his half-smile. “The second time, anyway.”

“My dick couldn’t tell the difference,” I said, a little dryly, and Cole gave a short laugh. “Just save it; we’ll be there in a few more minutes. Well, maybe a half hour, anyway.”

“Cool. I can’t wait.” And there was just a hint of that smugness and self-confidence, in the way he said it.

We went down a long grade to a picturesque bridge, running above a creek that emptied itself out into the ocean, rippling water cutting through a beach littered with grey driftwood; then up another long slope. And as we did, we caught up to an old yellow truck, lumbering up the grade slowly, so I had to downshift to fourth – I just did it, Cole’s hands were still on his side of the car.

And we were going slower, and keeping a decent distance from the back of the truck, and I really, really was in a mood, like I’ve said – so I kept my hand on the stick, for just a second, before I just, casually, slid it over onto Cole’s lap.

Well, his crotch, to be exact. His warm crotch. His warm crotch, with the bulge of his beautiful penis and scrotum that I could feel, pretty easily.

“Hey!” His glance at me was amused.

“What?” Now it was my turn to act innocent – but as I said it, I squeezed him, a little, feeling out the outlines of his dick, and it made my heart beat faster, and it made my own erection throb, a little more.

And as I felt him, there, – yep. The little brat was hard, too. I could feel it, I could feel his dick firm under my hand. I tried to keep from grinning, as he shifted in his seat.

“I thought you said you’d get us into a wreck?” That half-smile, a lift in his eyebrow.

“Oh. Well, that’s only if you fool around with me,” I said, reasonably. “There’s no reason I can’t do it to you.” And as I said it, I kept gently feeling him, feeling his warm cock, running my fingers along it – his shorts were pretty thin . . .

Yeah. So I’m the responsible one; the adult. That’s the way it was settling down, between Cole and me.

But like I’ve said – that doesn’t mean I don’t like to be just a little surprising, sometimes, too. Maybe be a little outrageous, anyway. Sometimes.

“Okay. Right,” Cole said, still smiling; and he shifted in his seat some more, settling himself a little lower, and spreading his legs, his beautiful, bare legs, a  little more, to give me room; and I loved that, too, that simple action, giving me access . . .

And I kept it up; feeling him, just teasing him, gently, rhythmically, not trying to get him to orgasm or anything, just . . . getting him more into the mood. Making him feel good.

Sometimes it’s the little acts of physical affection, the simple, touch-me-down-there parts of sex, that are the most erotic.

“Hmmmmm,” from Cole, and his head was back against the headrest, now, and his eyes were half-closed, as I kept gently touching him, gently massaging his bulge with my fingertips . . .

We topped the grade, and started down a shallower slope, and the old truck shifted up – I could see the puff of black smoke from the stack – and started going faster, some, but not all that much faster. Still, I had to take my hand away for a second, to shift back up to fifth –

And Cole reached down and unbuttoned his shorts, and unzipped them, and that half-smile was back on his face again, as he settled back –

Okay. I see you, and raise you.

So, just as casually, as soon as I finished the upshift – I reached up and pressed the button to close the sunroof, leaving it open a crack, in back, for the sake of the fresh air –

And then, my hand was back in Cole’s lap, and his genitals were so open to me, now, just the fabric of his jockeys between my hand and him; and when my hand went there, and stayed there, Cole gave a stifled little, ‘mmmmmmm . . . . ’

And after a decent few heartbeats, as we followed the truck slowly down the slope, not too close, I slipped my hand under the waistband of his jockeys, and I was holding his dick in my hand, now, skin to skin, and it was so WARM, and the skin was so soft, over the hardness –

And there was some wet. Yeah; I could feel that, on the skin of my hand.

“Ummmmmmm . . . ” I glanced over at him, and met his own sideways look; and there was still delight on his face, but he also looked just a little bit glazed, right now . . .

And it wasn’t like I was really masturbating him – yet, anyway. I just held him, held his dick, I just FELT it – maybe moving my hand, just a little, but mostly just HOLDING him in my hand like that, just so, so happy to do that –

And Cole’s breathing was getting a little deeper; I could feel it, through my hand, and I heard it. But he didn’t move, he didn’t do anything, except sit, and let me feel him with my hand . . .

It was actually getting intense. Weirdly erotic. The sound of the engine, and the wind; Cole breathing, and the pounding of my pulse, in my own ears. Neither of us moving, much; both of us connected, connecting, sexually – and in other ways . . .

Ahead of us, the brake lights on the old truck flashed, and another puff of black smoke, and then the truck was slowly, slowly swinging off to the left, inland, towards one of the little coastal farming/fishing towns thereabouts. I braked, and had to take my hand back to downshift – but before I touched the gearshift, I licked Cole’s precum from my fingers, just loving the taste of him; and then we were back down to fourth, and starting up a slope again . . .

And as I licked my fingers, Cole breathed in, sharp; and I gave him a quick smile.

Okay; maybe my smile had a little smugness, in it. My own smugness. It was fun working Cole like this.

And Cole saw it – I could tell, in his expression – and I saw his own upcurled smile; and as I shifted, he did a little kicking motion, as the flipflops came off his feet, and then he was moving himself up, a little, off his seat, pushing against his seatbelt, and just as I was letting up on the clutch and accelerating again, his shorts and underwear came down, and then all the way off with another little kick of his feet –

It was another challenge; a dare. Of course.

But it was also so incredibly erotic – the sight of him, completely nude from the waist down, beautifully hard, with his soft, gray high-school sweatshirt on top –

I didn’t say anything, not a word, as I kept flashing my eyes, front to the road, down and over to his body, back to the road, back to his body –

“Jesus,” I breathed.

And I eased my hand down again, gently, softly, caressing the soft skin of the inside of his left thigh, high up, then over, running my fingers along the inside of his right thigh; exploring his whole crotch, exploring his groin, running my fingers through his soft pubes, then sniffing my fingers, then back to exploring him with my hand –

And then my fingers were on his scrotum, around his scrotum, and Cole hissed, and I felt his balls, his beautiful balls, so completely open to me, in my hand, as I fingered them, and Cole made a quiet noise and slouched down lower in his seat –

I really love Cole’s balls. They’re smaller than mine, a little; and his scrotum is smoother, pretty much hairless, and so SOFT –

I love his balls. I love to lick them; I love to get them wet, feel them, with my tongue and lips, I love to look at them, I love to hold them. I really do.

And I played with them, just a little, feeling them move around in my hand, very, very gently, and I wished I could do more . . . but I couldn’t, yet, and so I gently slid my hand up from his balls and wrapped it around his dick, very, very gently, feeling the hardness under his soft skin, just pulsing my fingers, just a little, to let him know I was there –

“Stop.” It came out as a whisper, and all at once his hand was on mine, holding it still. “I’m getting close . . . just hold me, okay?”

Glance at him, glance back at the road. No trace of cockiness, now; it wasn’t a game, it was just naked erotic intensity.

“Okay.”

So I held him, held his warm, hard dick in my hand, skin to skin, feeling the warmth and the moistness, feeling CONNECTED, again . . .

I really wasn’t trying to make him come. Not yet, anyway.

We went on like that, for one mile, three miles, five miles . . . not saying anything; but in the silence, the erotic tension just built, and built, and built . . . Cole still slouched down, some, in his seat; me, with my hand still wrapped around his cock. Not moving; just feeling. Wanting to do more, of course, but I thought if we could just wait ‘til we got to the beach –

Not saying anything; but feeling the road underneath us, feeling the car move, listening to the wind through the crack of the sunroof, listening to Cole’s breathing get a little faster, and a little faster, and a little faster . . .

“Oh, shit, Jeremy . . . I’m gonna cum, I’m sorry – ” it came out as a whimper, and then his pelvis was pushing up, pushing up against my hand, with jerky movements – “aaahhhhhHHH – ”

“Wait!”

I’m not sure exactly how I did it. All I know is, I slowed down, fast – there wasn’t any traffic around, on either side – and I got us off onto one of the dirt roads leading off the highway, up through some brush a few yards, to a closed gate in a cattle fence –

And then we were in neutral and the brake was on and my mouth was on Cole’s, wet, and one arm was around his neck and one hand was back on his dick, stroking, seriously now, gently, but meaning to make him come –

“Mmmmmmmmmpppphhhhhhh - !” He moaned it into my mouth; I could feel it, more than hear it, as he shuddered, and moaned some more, and I felt the warm wetness against my hand and probably everywhere else, and I didn’t care, I kept stoking, and kissing and licking his mouth and Cole whimpered, and shuddered, and whimpered . . .

*

I held him, for a long time, after.

Well, we held each other; his right arm around my neck, warm, as we kissed, gently, and he made more of his purring noises – Cole did that pretty often, I’d learned; after he comes, he makes contented little noises that are pure Cole, kind of a soundtrack of distilled satisfaction . . .

Very catlike. Which isn’t surprising; some people are like dogs, after all, all perky and clumsy and outgoing, and some people are much more like cats, all demanding and surprising and graceful, and there wasn’t any surprise where Cole fit, he’d demonstrated it time and again, now –

Anyway. We held each, for a long, warm time . . . until I felt his arm slowly slide away, and fumble for something, and then the engine was off, and his arm came back, warm around me.

“Oh . . . oops,” I whispered.

“Mmmm,” from Cole, as he kissed me, a flash of tongue between my lips. Then he pulled back. “Sorry,” he said, softly. Looking at me; looking a little sheepish. “I guess I got kind of carried away.”

“My fault.” I smiled down at him, gently, and brushed his lips with mine.

“I thought you’d tell me to get dressed again.” It was kind of an apology; but there was just that spark of cockiness, of challenge, back in his eyes as he looked at me.

“Nah. You’re safe enough to do that in this car. On this road, anyway.” The side panels on a Mini Cooper come up to your shoulders, basically; and there weren’t other lanes, going in our direction, for anybody to pull up beside us and peek in. “But – ” I looked up, and looked around us – “we should probably get moving, again, in case somebody thinks we’re stalled, or something.”

“What about you?”

It wasn’t like my own cock wasn’t hard, and drooling, and incredibly sensitive; and I had a wet patch on my sweatpants, cooling now against my dick. But – I knew what I wanted to do. At the beach; with Cole.

“I’ll wait. For a few minutes, anyway.” I reached into the back seat, and pulled out a towel – I’d brought a spare, for just this reason, for wiping up – and handed it to Cole. “Here . . . ”

He looked down mournfully at his sweatshirt, now streaked with his own cum. In the unmistakable, splatter pattern of cum. “Another stained shirt . . . ”

“You should let me wash it for you,” I said, as I helped him wipe up, as best I could. “I’m getting good at getting out cum stains . . . ”

*

I’m not going to say the name of the beach we went to, for some fairly obvious reasons.

One minor reason being – we snuck in. Without paying.

It’s a private beach, actually; which is pretty unusual, for Northern California. And it’s a specifically-nude private beach, and you pay to get in . . . and it’s really, really popular with gay people.

But we didn’t sneak in to save money. Honest.

To get to the beach the normal way, you go up this dirt road, which winds on for quite a ways before you reach the parking lot, where somebody takes your money –

And the dirt road is deeply rutted; or at least it was when I tried it, last year. And my poor little Mini Cooper has, like, basically no ground clearance, and I remember almost crying, too far along to back up, sure I was going to tear the bottom out of my car . . .

After that, I used the other way in. The one I found out about, online.

“We’re almost there; it’s right up at the top of this hill.” I nodded at it.

“Okay,” went Cole. Cheerfully.

He hadn’t put his shorts back on, after our . . . detour. He hadn’t put anything back on. Still naked, from the waist down.

Well, he WAS wearing a little smile. Kind of a self-satisfied one. He was obviously enjoying himself.

Actually, it could be he was enjoying the affect on me. I could still smell him, smell the scent of his cum on my hand . . .

Cole could see me shifting in my seat. And see me looking down at him, so beautifully bare, like that – the little brat.

The top of the next hill, and the place we were headed for, was on a cliff, overlooking the ocean, and the beach; and it was really, really wide dirt turnoff, the longest and widest one on Highway 1 south of Half Moon Bay that I’d seen – so far.

And the tipoff; there were at least twenty cars parked on it, along the brush, on the ocean side of the turnoff.

Anytime you see that many cars by the side of the road, on Highway 1 – and it isn’t a fruit stand, or a state beach – trust me. It’s a nude beach. Dead giveaway.

I pulled us in, relieved to finally be there, and started scanning for a good place to park; I’m always paranoid about my car getting dinged, or backed into. “You might want to think about getting those shorts on,” I said, to Cole. “We still have to get down to the water.” I couldn’t help looking back down at him, though. “Not that I really want you to.”

That got another grin from Cole. Then: “I was thinking – why bother?”

“Huh?”

“I mean – we’re going to a nude beach. I’m already mostly naked. Seems like a waste to put my clothes on, just so I can take them off again.” And he stretched out his legs, luxuriously.

“Cole – ”

“C’mon. There isn’t much traffic; nobody’ll see me. Unless they’re hiking back up from the beach, and then, why should they care?” His grin was wider, now.

More teasing; he knew what affect the idea was having on me. He could see it, below my seatbelt. Jesus . . .

But I was all geared up to argue with him, I even had my mouth open, when it struck me . . .

Why not? I mean, really, in the last analysis – why not?

Cole was sixteen. A kid; and kids do things like streaking. And anybody, anybody important like a cop, who might see us here, from the road, knew what this place was; a nude beach. A popular one.

Hell, Cole’d probably be far from the first high-school boy to do it. I’d done a few things like that, in high school.

And he was right about the traffic. There wasn’t that much, and we’d seen surfers getting out of their wetsuits all down the coast, already. Mostly under towels; but – still.

Ultimately; it wasn’t nearly as dangerous, as potentially disastrous, as what Cole and I had done at the pool party.

And besides – it was another challenge, from Cole. Another little push. And I really liked those little pushes; I was really liking them more and more, over time.

I closed my mouth, and looked around; and I spotted the right parking place, and headed us over there. “Okay,” I said, casually.

THAT got his attention. “What?”

I glanced over at him, innocently. “Okay. Makes sense. Go ahead.”

“Really?” His smile was extra-wide, now, and his eyes were lit up with delight.

Which immediately put me into panic mode. “Okay, IF you wait for me to give you the signal, when it’s clear to get out of the car; and IF you get over the bank fast, so nobody sees us . . . ”

“Oh, COOL!” he put his head back and hugged himself. “Totally cool!” He looked over at me, still with that wide grin. “Will you do it with me?”

“No way.” I finished fitting us into our space, as close to the trailhead as I could get; and I closed the sunroof, and turned off the engine, and dangled the keys in front of Cole. “I need pockets for these. And, I’m going to be carrying our stuff down. And, I’m getting out on my side of the car.”

“Oh, come on!”

“Nope; nope.” I wasn’t much tempted; we had a whole beach, below us, I could wait.

“Oh, I am SO looking forward to this – ” he looked out the window, towards the trail, then back at me. “Do I need sandals?”

I thought about it. “No . . . the trail’s really smooth, mostly sand.” I looked at him. “But . . . do you really want to wear that?” The cum stains on his sweatshirt were really obvious. To anybody who’s ever seen cum stains.

“I don’t want to get cold . . . ”

“I’ll bring it with me.” And Cole shrugged it off over his head, and handed it to me – and it was so soft, and warm with his body heat, and it smelled like Cole, and it smelled like cum, and I looked at Cole, totally nude, now, in my car, and he busted me totally, he knew exactly how much I was perving on him, and he smiled, almost glowing, in his new, open, vulnerable way, and he leaned over and we kissed, really fast –

It was actually pretty easy.

I got all my stuff – our towels, the old blanket we were going to lie on, the water –

And the lube –

I got it all into my gym bag, and zipped it shut, and then casually got out of my side of the car . . .

Well, I thought I was acting casual. Probably it would have looked pretty funny, if anybody was there to see it; me peering up and down the road, looking at the parked cars, seeing if anybody else was around . . . And then, I wandered over to the edge of the turnoff, the cliff side, where the trail started, a few feet away from my car, and I made a hand motion –

I expected Cole to come bolting out of the car, running my way. Instead he kind of carelessly climbed out, shut the door, and strolled my way, totally bare, a cocky smile on his face . . .

“Cole!” I made hurry-up motions with my hand, looking downhill, down the road, a little nervously. I could see a whole line of cars coming our way, in the distance.

“What?” He kept up his leisurely stroll. Totally enjoying himself.

“Cole!!” The cars were getting closer, now. A slow RV, with backed-up traffic behind it. I could see the figures behind the windshield.

“What?” He lifted his arms away from his sides in a kind of, what’s-the-problem? gesture; still walking slowly my way.

“Cole!!! Damn it, fuck!” I caught his wrist and pulled him – gently – behind some tall brush at the trailhead, just as the RV came churning noisily up, and past the turnoff.

“Do you really want us to get busted?” I asked him, his wrist still in my hand, and he turned to me, body to body, really close, and lifted up his smiling face.

“You worry too much.” And his arm was around my neck, and his body was against mine, his BARE body was against mine, and it was another of those times when I was lost . . .

And after the kiss, when we came up for air: “You need to lock the car.”

“Oh. Yeah, right.” And through my fog, I managed to press the right button on the key-thing, and heard the ‘beep-beep’ . . .

*  *  *

The actual beach, at this beach-I-won’t-name, is incredible.

It’s WIDE, for one thing; fairly flat, and hundreds of yards from the water to the sandstone cliffs. And the cliffs – except for two places, the part near the paid parking, and the part where we snuck down – except for those two places, the cliffs are like walls; brown, absolutely vertical walls, I swear a hundred feet high, in the sea-misty air.

And it goes on, and on, and on; about two miles long, I’d read, somewhere.

As soon as Cole got to the sand, he wanted to run. He wanted to explore it all; he actually did take off at a run, whooping in sheer joy, twirling around, looking up at the cliffs, the breakers, the sheer, overwhelming EXPANSE of the scene, stretching off north and south, almost farther than you can see –

Leaving me to trudge down the last of the trail, with the gym bag with all our stuff. And with the bottled water on top of the blanket and the towels and the suntan lotion and Cole’s sweatshirt – well, it was heavy.

I stopped to sit on a driftwood log, to get out of my shoes and socks; Cole’s whoops receding, as he ran towards the water.

And as it turned out, me doing that – taking off my shoes – brought him back, pretty fast. I guess.

I was just shaking out my shoes, before stashing them in my gym bag, and feeling the warm sand under my feet, when he came up, panting and grinning all over –

And more beautiful, right there, in those beautiful surroundings, than I’d ever seen him before.

I tried not to stare as he stood there, a second, breathing hard.

“Well - ?” he went, after a few more gasps.

I stuffed my sock in my left shoe, and put it into the bag. “Well, what?”

“Well,” he said; then another couple of deep pants. “So this is a nude beach. And you’re dressed.”

I’d prepared, for this. While he was running, I’d looked around; nobody was very close. I tried not to grin to myself.

I stood up, slowly – I hadn’t closed my gym bag – and I just kind of, looked at him, maybe smiling just a little –

Then, without saying anything, I slid my own sweatshirt off; and I folded it, carefully, and put it in my bag.

And then – I could feel Cole’s eyes on me – I hooked my thumbs in my sweatpants, and I pushed them and my boxers down together, and I stepped out of them in one movement, and I carefully shook them out, feeling the welcome breeze over my bare body, still not looking at Cole –

Okay. Yeah. Now I was the one, being a little bit of a shit.

See – for me, getting undressed at the beach was – ordinary. Nothing special. I’d done it hundreds of times, usually just relieved to get out of sticky clothes in hot weather.

But – I knew that this was Cole’s first-time-ever, naked at the beach.

And I knew what kind of impact I had on Cole. I KNEW it, and I loved having that kind of affect on him . . .

And I have to admit – deep down, when it comes to my own self-confidence, about my looks, my appearance – I’ve always been more comfortable, more secure, without clothes. I hadn’t been kidding, when I told Derrick that I looked better wet.

So. Maybe I was a little bit smug, as I folded my clothes, and put them away in the bag. Nude in front of Cole’s eyes. Maybe putting on a show for him. Figuring, he might just embarrass himself, a little . . .

“Oh, fuck,” I heard, and I looked up; Cole’s expression was priceless, open-mouthed, pained, and his hands were going down, over his crotch, over his erection, and then he was sinking to his knees, slowly . . .

And then – to my own mortification – of course his reaction, his boner, had the same impact on me.

Yeah; off-script. Not part of the plan. But, I challenge any gay male to see the boy he’s dating with a hard-on at the beach and NOT get one himself . . .

The law of unexpected consequences. I had time to reflect on that; as Cole and I crouched there, nude, hard, embarrassed; grinning at each other.

*

We stashed our stuff in one of the little driftwood-and-stone wind shelters that people build, up against the cliff, a few hundred yards south of the trailhead.

I buried my keys and my wallet and my cell under a rock – Cole was suitably unimpressed – and then we set off to explore. REALLY explore.

Of course, we roamed down to the water first, and splashed around a little – VERY little; I wouldn’t go much more than ankle deep, it was COLD, up north, and Cole laughed at me, and tried splashing me, until I chased him and got my wet hands on his bare skin, which make him yell, LOUD . . .

And we roamed around closer to the cliffs, poking our way slowly through driftwood, enjoying the reflected heat from the rocky walls . . .

Cole loved all of it. The water; the sand, exploring the shallow little caves in the sandstone cliffs, climbing around on a big driftwood log somebody had put up to span a crevice in the cliff, walking along the log completely bare, me worrying about him getting splinters in his feet –

I wasn’t surprised, that he was enjoying it; not at all.

Back home, I’ve turned on other friends, to Black’s Beach. I’ve learned, there’s a sort of typical pattern; a trajectory. First, shyness, and a certain amount of embarrassment . . . then a kind of growing delight, in the feelings, the sensations, the whole, sensual, mind-blowing FREEDOM of running around, bare at the beach . . .

It really is intoxicating. And some people, maybe – overreact. Act out, just a little. Get REALLY free; I’ve seen it before.

Cole was acting out; enjoying himself, totally.

Of course, he’d skipped the shy phase. Come to think of it, he hadn’t been all that shy at the pool party, either.

“Whoooo-oooo!” Standing on top of the log, maybe six feet up; waving his arms. “This is so fucking beautiful!”

“Yeah, you are,” I called up from the sand. That brought a grin. Then:

“And WHY didn’t we bring our cameras? I REALLY wish I had my camera. Think of what we could do!”

I looked at him, and shrugged. Enjoying the view.

Truth was – I’d thought about it; but it wasn’t part of my agenda, for the day.

Well, actually – I had several agendas for the day. But they all folded into that one, main agenda. The one thing I needed to do.

“Great,” went Cole; from one end of the log. Amusement on his face, as he looked at the steep slope, leading down. “I got up here; now how do I get back?”

“Here; I’ll help.” And I climbed up the easy part, and held out a hand, to help Cole over the trickiest stretch –

And as I pulled him over to my safe standing place, and then helped him down to the sand, I started in on my agenda. Or one part of it, anyway.

I touched him.

I stroked him, actually; very gently, very lightly; on his side. From his chest, down past his smooth, smooth hip. As sensually as I could manage.

Touching Cole was part of my agenda. Being sensuous with Cole; to make him feel good, to show him with my hands and my skin how sensuous, how SPECIAL being nude outdoors, in the sun and wind, could be. Showing him how to enjoy his body.

But even that was just part of it.

And when I stroked him, Cole made a noise, a soft noise, and he leaned into me, just briefly, and I just glowed.

We could do that – touch, I mean – because it was so, so quiet. Even with the warm spell, it was still November; the beach was almost deserted.

Almost. Not completely.

“Where IS everybody?” went Cole, on our way back to the water.

“They’re here. See down that way?” I pointed down the beach. A few pale, upright figures showed against the darker, wet sand; but they weren’t much more than dots, you couldn’t really tell if they were men or women.

“But there were so many cars, where we parked.” Cole looked over at me, sideways.

“Oh.” I looked around, at the cliffs. “Well . . . most everybody’s in those windbreak-things. Those little shelters; like ours. See where they put out towels, and shirts and things, to show they’re, like, occupied?”

“Yeah.” Cole shaded his eyes, as scanned the base of the cliffs. “I guess. So that’s why you left your sweatshirt hanging over the side of ours?”

“Uh-huh. Kind of means, Do Not Disturb. Except to the real pervs, when it means, Come Take A Look. But there aren’t that many of those, really.”

“If we had a camera, we could ask them to take a picture,” Cole went, with a little grin, and he put an arm around my waist, just briefly, as we walked –

I figured he was happy enough with the first part of my agenda, anyway.

*

After splashing around in the surf a little bit again, we ran.

Just for the fun of it. Just for the joy of it.

For quite a ways, actually; on the firmer, wet sand, sometimes in the shallowest water, the foam from the gentle waves, purely for the pleasure of it, not racing . . . not really. My legs are a lot longer than Cole’s.

If you’ve never tried it – yeah. You can run naked, and the flopping around doesn’t hurt. It’s how we evolved, after all; we’re a running species, we’re built to do it, it’s how we hunted, it’s how we survived. And as a species, we haven’t been wearing clothes, all that long.

It was good to run. Good to get winded, like that, with Cole.

And maybe, I thought – as I ran, as I got more winded – maybe I should get back to swimming, more; for the sake of the exercise, the aerobic exercise. What I used to get from swimming.

Swimming used to be what I did, back in high school, all four years of it, swimming was the way I moved my body; the way I trained, the way I learned HOW to train; the way I learned how my body worked, ultimately.

I’d gotten used to it, over time; and for all the effort involved, all the time I put into it, all the occasional pain – I realized, just then, as I ran, and as I got winded, and felt the burn – I realized I missed it.

Bicycling was fun, and practical, and it took me places – but I didn’t do enough of it; especially in winter, with all the rain. I could feel it coming, long weeks of rain when I wouldn’t relish wheeling through pools of dirty street puddles and clogged storm drains, and bad-tempered drivers who can’t see nearly as well I’d really prefer . . .

Running like that, like we were doing, just then, was a good thing to do, a REALLY good thing to do, almost as good as swimming, almost as much of a physical high . . . but. Not exactly the same. Not the full body workout I was used to, with swimming.

In the end, I missed swimming; I realized.

Maybe Cole and I . . . could swim together; sometimes. I thought. Maybe on campus. In one of the dozen-or-so pools, that I had access to . . .

We ran on.

And no, we weren’t hunting like our ancestors, as we ran. All we found, were a few more people, up close.

Running along the wet sand, we eventually came up to a group of three guys, maybe my age, or a little older; all of them bare, like us, except for baseball mitts, and they were THROWING, they were really throwing hard at each other, fastballs, and then throwing lobs high, high up, and then back to throwing fastballs, making each other run and dive to make the catch, and hooting when anybody missed and went sprawling on the sand –

It was beautiful to watch, and we stood, chests heaving, for a long couple of minutes, just admiring them, the way they moved; not admiring them in a sexual way, really – I still expected they were gay, it’s almost an all gay beach, after all, but . . . no. Just appreciating the view; ultimately. The very human beauty of it. The ancient Greeks would have made a painting out of the scene.

But the thing is – in the end, it’s not all that polite, to just stand there, watching strangers like that, at the beach. Even though they were ignoring us, and we weren’t all that close; still. There’s a beach etiquette, and we were getting close to the limit.

I touched Cole’s side, just gently, as a signal; and we went back to our run.

We passed a few people, here and there; an elderly couple, the guy with a beard and a broad-brimmed, Indiana-Jones type hat, holding hands with his wife, all gray hair and glasses, and comfortably plump –

And much further on, right at the water’s edge, a slender, dark-haired, beautiful boy, nude, carefully, carefully leaning over to gently kiss a smaller Asian boy on the lips, and from the bulge in the Asian boy’s speedos, and the body language between them, the slight awkwardness, I could just tell that they were just getting to know each other, and I smiled –

And we pretty much ran out of steam just as we came up on a group of girls, playing frisbee.

Which was a surprise. A fairly big one, actually; women of any kind are fairly rare at free beaches, I’ve found, and a group of younger girls alone like this – well, it’s really unusual.

We really did run out of steam. Even though it felt good; I stopped short, and my hands went down onto my knees, and I panted, and panted, and panted; and Cole actually went down to his knees, almost doubled over.

Not facing the girls, exactly; but we could hear the calls and the laughter, as they threw to each other.

I dropped down on the sand, next to Cole, and we watched.

“That really does look like fun,” went Cole. Still getting his breath back, his chest heaving. Sitting back down on his heels, in the sand; his half-smile on his lips, as he watched.

“Yeah.” I turned from looking at Cole to the girls, and I watched them, for a few beats. “I should have brought my own frisbee; it would have been fun.”

“You like it too?” Cole’s eyes turned to mine, smiling.

“Uh-huh. I really like it; it’s kind of cooperative, no scoring involved.” I flashed my eyes at him, and he smiled back. Neither one of us is all that big on team sports.

And then Cole was on his feet, brushing sand off his bare butt, and walking, smiling, up towards the frisbee girls. He came to a stop, his feet apart, hands by his sides. “Hi!” he called out, happily. Expectantly. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

“Cole!” I hissed out, as I pushed myself to my feet.

One of the frisbee girls glanced at him; ignored him, and threw the frisbee carefully to the next girl down the beach.

“Cole . . . you just don’t DO that,” I told him – under my breath – leaning down to him, at his side. “Girls – women – at the beach, like, they have guys hitting on them, way too much; you just DON’T – ” I tried to find the words.

It was true. Actually, it was such basic nude beach etiquette, it was so ingrained, it was hard to express. Properly.

“Really?” Cole looked at me, sideways; and I just looked back at him, letting my expression say it for me.

“Oh. Okay.” Then he put one arm around my waist, pulled us together, and waved his arm at the girls.

“Hey! Just so you know, I wasn’t, like, hitting on you, or anything. We’re both gay; this is Jeremy, and I’m Cole, and we’re on a date, and he’s going to take me back to the cliffs and fuck me, in a few minutes.”

“CO-LE!” I was horrified, and I started to turn away, but Cole held on tight.

“Well, it’s true, isn’t it?” he said to me, sideways. Logically.

“’That so?” went the closest girl, after pausing a second, to catch the frisbee. She grinned a tight, little grin at us.

“Uh-huh,” Cole called out; and he craned his head up and kissed me – I tried to pull away – and then, he felt me up – really quickly – with his free hand, running his hand over parts of me that a straight boy probably wouldn’t touch.

And while I jumped, and gasped, a little – I guess I didn’t exactly run away from it.

I guess I gave myself away.

All four girls were looking at us, now, all of them amused; the smile on the closest girl just got bigger, as she watched us. Then:

“Catch,” she said, and flipped the frisbee carefully, gently, and expertly, to Cole.

*

The walk back down the beach, back to where we left our stuff, was a lot slower; more relaxed.

Partly because we were a little winded from the running; and a lot because of the frisbee tossing – it’s HARD playing frisbee in sand, even packed, wet sand; you can’t move as fast, and every step takes about twice as much energy as it should –

It was huge fun; the second-best thing that happened to us, that day. Even if we didn’t play all that long, it was fun to meet other people around our age, fun that they were so utterly cool, and it also was fun to watch Cole be a little dorky and teenage-uncoordinated at frisbee (and getting mad at himself about it).

Okay. A little schadenfreude, there. Enjoying Cole’s very, very minor embarrassment. Just a little.

I figured I’d pay for that, later; I might as well enjoy it, while I could.

So we were just a little tired, as we made our way back down the beach.

And I had more time to work my agenda. Work it more seriously.

 I worked that one part of my agenda more, with my body.

As we moved, as we climbed around the base of the cliffs, exploring, I’d every once in a while – just casually – brush against him; with my body. Skin to skin; warm to warm, in the cool sea breeze. Knowing it would make him shiver, a little; knowing how it felt, knowing how sensual it would be for him. How new the experience would be, him nude at the beach for the first time, like this.

Knowing how it was breaking down the barriers of body space, between us.

Hoping it was working him, making him – anticipate – what we were going to do, next.

And the second time I did it, our feet in a little sheen of clear, cold water, seeping from a spring in the cliff above us, he DID shudder, and moved against me, and made another noise –

I worked another part of my agenda, with my mouth, and my hands.

It wasn’t just that I wanted to touch him, although that was part of it. It was HOW I wanted to touch him; I wanted . . . I wanted to show him how I felt; about him.

It was important to me, that I show him how I felt about him.

So for part of the way, along the cliffs, then back down by the foam at the water’s edge – I held his hand.

And that was all, at first; just, simply, holding his hand, feeling it warm in mine.

And it might not sound like much, it might sound like just a little thing – but for Cole and me, not daring to hold hands much in public, anyplace where we might get bashed, anyplace anyone might know us, might recognize us – it was wonderful beyond words.

Actually, the words slowed down, between us, as we went; as we touched. Listening to the surf; feeling our palms, pressing together.

And as we walked along, back towards our towels, our driftwood shelter – I began touching him in other ways; other place.

Back to stroking his bare side, from time to time. Caressing his beautiful, smooth neck, feeling the muscles work under my hand, massaging just a little, feeling and watching as Cole tilted his head back, in pleasure –

The words slowed, between us; but the feelings grew.

We wound up on the open beach, not far from our shelter. Cole sitting up in my arms, his back warm against my front.

My arms around him. My hands, gently roaming his body, as I lightly, lightly kissed his neck . . . and his smooth cheek . . . and then his lips, as he briefly turned his face back to me . . .

And as I tasted his skin, licked him, right under jawline, I found a nipple with my fingers, and I played with it, teasing it, gently, gently, making him feel it, as I smoothed my other hand over his chest, and down, slowly, and Cole shivered against me; once, and then again.

Yeah. It was the cool breeze, and the warm skin; the combination. And it was more.

It was about, well, sex; too. Sure. Partly. Just knowing that I could DO this with Cole, have this effect on him –

I’d never do this – be so open, so physical, so demonstrative – with anybody else. I’d never open up enough, be daring enough, to do anything like this, with anybody else. But I could, with Cole.

And still, it was more.

Much more, than sex.

I was showing him, now, without words, how I felt about him; not during sex – we were still out in the open, even if the beach was deserted – not during sex; but physically. Showing him all the tenderness and gratitude and love I felt; with my hands. With my body.

And Cole was running his own hands, slowly, along my thighs, as they pressed up against him; and back, once or twice, to my own bare butt, and just by the way he leaned back against me, actually PRESSED back against me, and by the small sounds he was making –

We were showing each other, how we felt.

It’s something I’ll remember, for the rest of my life.

And, we stayed like that, for awhile. Holding; feeling. Pressing. Communicating, without words. The waves pounding on the shore, in front of us.

Until, finally, my right hand went down lower in his lap, and I just lightly – but very deliberately – grazed his scrotum with a fingertip; as I teased his pubic hairs, with my thumb –

That made him stiffen up, in my arms; and press back harder, against me, and groan. He turned his head, and I could smell his breath as he whispered.

“Let’s go back to the blanket . . . ”

The driftwood windbreak shelter was crude, and had gaps; but it was away from the other shelters.

And as we moved together, finally, lying down in the weak sunshine – it was our sanctuary.

We could do this, here. We could do this; it was actually even safe. Because it was a private beach; no police, no sheriffs, no park rangers.

Oh, there was a ‘no sexual activity’ policy. But in practice, it meant someone would have to see, and be offended, and hike the mile and more back to the parking lot, and bring back the toll-taker . . . and even if all that happened, the worst penalty was getting thrown off the beach.

Everybody used the shelters for the same thing; gay, straight, whatever. And nobody – as far as I knew – ever complained. Most of the other people on the beach were doing exactly what we were doing . . .

It was our refuge.

*

 “Ooooohhhh . . . slow; slow . . . ”

Cole, gasping.

It was only the fourth time we’d fucked; but Cole could take me so much more easily, now.

Actually, he took me aggressively. Almost athletically, even. We were spooned back to front, on our sides, and he fucked himself back onto me, he moved himself around on my cock, penetrating himself on me, FUCKING himself on me, making noises, whispering what he wanted, moaning out his pleasure . . .

“Wait,” he gasped, in my arms, and I froze for a second; then – “Okay, slow . . . ”

And it was good, that he wanted it slow; because I was right on the edge, WAY too close to coming, as I held him tight, kissing and licking his neck and his cheek as I rocked my hips slowly, gasping at the