Surf God of Malibu Ch. 02

"That's me," I said, and gave Jacob a big smile. But I felt like utter shit. He just stared and took another swig of his beer. Just waiting me out. Finally I got up to pee a little ways along the beach, and when I came back, I sat just a little away from Janine, and regaled the group with some fine surfing tales, which of course they loved. I shook my fist at the sea at one point, and just as the sun set, I ran down the beach and flew into the surf, and everyone followed me, shouting.

"It's cold," yelled the girls.

"No, it's the ocean!" I yelled back.

At last the sun set.

"Hey Surf God," said Bonnie. "Want to join us for dinner up the hill at our place? Jacob, you're welcome too."

"No thanks, Bonnie," said Jacob. "I've got plans tonight."

"Hey, we're coming," said Vince and his two friends.

"Well, Peter?"

I hesitated.

"Sure," I heard myself saying. And after that I didn't catch Jacob's eye, and I got a ride in Bonnie's goddam Mercedes, and I had dinner at her fancy pad up in the canyons, paid for by some miserable divorced jerk. They had a pool and outdoor speakers and there were a lot of drinks. Vince and the boys made their moves, but I was strangely quiet, and didn't really drink. Personally, it turns me off when women drink, it just does. As it was, I just kind of stared out at the view and kept wondering if Jacob was still at my place or not. Or actually, I knew he must still be at my place and I started to feel real guilty about leaving him there alone. Bonnie asked me three times if I "felt okay" and I said "sure" and finally Janine got tired of coming on to me, and picked one of the lesser males in the room.

Finally I told Bonnie that in fact I did feel kind of sick -- maybe something I ate for lunch, and she right away offered to drive me back to my place. All the way she chatted about this and that, never mentioning Janine or Vince or the other boys and girls at all. Finally, she pulled over on the coast freeway above my shack. We could see that the lights were on, and there was a shadow moving around behind the curtains.

"It's that Jacob fellow, isn't it?"

I went cold all over. "Well, one of my friends, I guess. Someone's always crashing at my place." I said.

"You're not fooling me, Surf God. He seems like a very nice young man. Didn't get in your way at all this afternoon, but never got out of your sight, either. Be nice to him, I can see he's got it bad for you."

"Bonnie, you've got it wrong. I'm not gay, and I doubt if he is either."

"It's okay, Surf God. It'll be our secret." And she reached out and ruffled my thick, salt-bleached hair. "What a pity, though. You are so fucking handsome." Then she paused. "Would you mind if I...just touched your chest? Just for minute?"

Good Lord, I thought. "Just for a minute."

And she unbuttoned my Hawaiian shirt, and rubbed her hands over my pecs, and down across my flat belly, and sighed. And then she pushed forcefully me out of the car. "Goodbye, Surf God," she said, and threw the car into gear, and roared off.

It was strange climbing down to the shack—it felt, well, suddenly different. And in fact, when I got there, I saw that a big new lock had been installed on the door. The door was open, however, and I tried to saunter in with a casual air. There had been a few other changes. In the place of my old, torn, ratty, and sex-stained sofa there was a brand new brown leather couch. Some framed Picasso prints were up on the wall. Opposite the kitchen sat a fancy rolltop desk.

"Hey," I said the Jacob, who was sitting up in my bed reading some thick goddam novel.

"Hey," he said.

"What the fuck is that?" I asked, meaning the desk.

"It's a desk," he said. "I need to get work done from here. Just say the word, and it will all be gone within a day. I'll be gone too, and never bother you again."

A moment passed as I took that in.

"You missed a great party," I said. "Great food. Booze. Women. Pool."

"Sounds like it."

"If you want to learn to surf, you gotta learn to loosen up too. Go to parties with rich broads up in the canyons."

"You're home earlier than I expected, actually."

"I'm not sure I like Picasso."

"The prints weren't expensive. I can switch them out. Who do you like?"

"I have no idea. Not art. Sports, I like."

And another, even longer moment passed.

"If you like, I'll sleep on the floor. I brought a sleeping bag. Or I could leave now, even. I can get a room down the coast."

"I'm thinking about it," I said, and I laid down next to him on the bed. "I'm thinking hard."

"You laid down next to me," he said. "I'll take that as a good sign."

"Quiet, and let me think."

"Sure, Peter." And we just listened to the surf for a while.

"Tell me about yourself, Jacob."

"What would you like to know?"

"The usual. Where did you grow up? Did you dream of becoming a fireman?"

"I grew up in the Bronx. My father was a bookseller in Manhattan. I was one of three boys—the youngest....there's not a lot to tell."

"Tell it anyway."

"I was the smart one, and I went to Penn State, and then Northwestern Law. I never wanted to be a fireman, I wanted to save the world. I went to law school to save the world, but then I met Alison, and her father had a big entertainment practice out here in L.A. And well, one thing led to another."

"You like art? Picasso? Books? Music? That kind of thing?"

"Yes, I do. I like classical music, in fact."

"Put some on," I said, since I saw that he had a pile of CDs next to my boom box.

"Okay, Peter."

He went over and put on something very quiet and meditative, and stood there looking at me.

"I will tell you the honest truth, Jacob. It doesn't seem fair to lie. I had a miserable time at the party. I was thinking about you the entire fucking evening."

"Really," he said.

"Really," I said. "I thought about you the whole time. I thought how beautiful you were. And sweet."

He swallowed hard. And then he came back to the bed.

"Wait," I said. "Jacob, before you get back into bed, I'd like you to take off your clothes. I'd really appreciate it."

"Sure, Peter," he said, and immediately started stripping, and folding his clothes neatly on a new chair next to the bed. I watched carefully, noticing how aroused I became at the sight of his chest, and then his back, and then his legs, his butt, his loins. He made no effort of modesty.

"Should I get into bed?"

"Yes, please." I said, and he laid himself out next to me, on my left side.

I turned toward him, and with my right hand I began stroking his testicles gently.

"Yes," I said again, and turned and kissed him, and when he responded, I put the whole of my tongue very slowly into his mouth. He tasted good.

"Now just lie still a moment," I said, still holding his balls gently, enjoying watching his dick get hard, but not touching it, not just yet.

"Sure, Peter," he said. And I sat up and went to look more closely at him. I examined his hairy feet and his hairy legs. I opened his legs a little and smelled the smell of him and saw the sight of him. I opened his arms and looked at the hair under his arms and ran my hands up and down his chest and tweaked his nipples a little. When he tried to move I said, "No. I need to get to know you better." Now I turned my attention to his now completely stiff and tall dick and his lovely dark balls. I took his dick at last gently in my hands and moved it back and forth, fascinated again that I was touching a man's dick in this way—and deeply enjoying that he had given me the right to do that. I took his dark Middle Eastern balls again and cupped them in my big sunbleached hands and rolled them around a little. I ran my fingers through his thick black pubic hair and twisted it into little tufts. A little drop of precum formed at the tip of his penis, and I took it on my forefinger and touched it to my lips. I rubbed my hand on his balls and brought my hand to my nose to sniff. I was not ready to kiss him there. I did not want that yet.

"Turn over please." And he did, and I ran my hands along the muscles of his back and down across his ass, which he had to lift slightly to relieve the pressure on his dick. But I wanted to see his face and the little smile that had formed on his lips. I wouldn't take him that way again, not for a while. Not till we got to know each other properly this time.

"Now back again," I said, and he turned back over, and laid down next to him and took his head in the crook of my arm, and kissed him again, hard, and then threw my leg over him and pulled his naked body against my clothed body and enjoyed the pressure of his dick against my thigh. He reached down and tried to grasp my crotch, but I pushed his hand away and got on top of him and released my tongue deep into his mouth so that he groaned and then I put a little pressure of my weight down on his penis. He groaned again, but I was worried he was about to come, so I got off of him, and reached into the nightstand by the bed where I kept some condoms, and took one out and put it on the middle finger of my right hand, and then beckoned him close and he assented and drew himself close to me and raised his leg a little so I could put my hand flat against his ass and my covered finger against his asshole, and then I brought him even closer and I enjoyed the smell of his breath again and I put my big tongue back in his mouth where he sucked at it hungrily and I pressed my finger into his asshole and I withdrew my tongue and I said "look me in the eye, Jacob" and he did, and he kept his eyes open and we stared at one another as I penetrated him deeply with my finger.

"I'm gambling everything on you. Don't hurt me." Tears were coming into his eyes.

"I know that, beautiful Jacob. And now I know you better than you know me." I withdrew my finger then, and dropped the condom on the floor and reached up and grabbed his wonderful penis and began to work it as he lay next to me, staring into my eyes. "But it's okay."

"Is it?"

"I won't hurt you. I promise you are safe. Just please don't look away." I held his eye, and turned his face back to me when he tried to look away. And we stared and stared and stared as I pumped and pumped and pumped until suddenly, wonderfully, he came violently and hotly, all over my clothes and the bedsheets. I did not stop pumping, and I would not release his eye, and so he came twice more until he could come no more. And then I gently released his dick and laid him back and stood up and took off my soiled clothes and climbed back onto the bed and climbed over top of his exhausted body and knelt over his chest. And he reached up and drew me higher until my cock was on his very lips, and he took my cock firmly into his mouth, into the warmth and sweetness of his mouth, and he sucked hard, and hard, and on and on, and sweetly forever and ever and ever until I felt the heat rise from my hips into my groin and go forth into his mouth, filling his mouth, and him gasping to swallow while my entire body convulsed with electrical impulses like lightning passing from muscle to muscle from head to heart to loins.

We stayed in that position for a long time until I began to notice the classical music again, and I gently withdrew and went to find a towel and helped him clean himself up.

"What music is that?" I asked as I carefully wiped his face and his chest and his hands.

"Debussy. He was French."

"Ah."

I turned off the light then and we lay for a while listening to Debussy playing above the surf.

In the morning, the sun rose just the way it always did, but I was no longer alone.