Short Shorts

In my 20s I wore short shorts, and showed off the tattoo of the rose and thorns on my left thigh and the triangle on my right.

I would saunter down the boardwalk and sometimes to the beach and strip off my light plaid button down to tan my taught pale torso under the blond peach fuzz on my chest.

It was a beach day when he found me, that slightly graying cub-cum-bear who led me into the dunes and fed me his thick delicious sausage behind the screen of sand and marsh grass.

We would meet on the weekends, at first coincidently, although it was early summer and we each always made our way down to the beach on weekends so the pleasant surprise soon turned into a hungry anticipation. I sucked him those first few times, too quick for both of us, and he would shoot on my chest, and then in my mouth when I decided to hold him there between my lips, coating my throat as I let my own load fall onto the sand, having freed myself to jerk under the the fraying hem of my shorts.

After those first few times, he held me off from bringing him to completion and began to return the oral favors. He'd slip me out of my short shorts so his tongue could slide from my long thin shaft to juggle my balls in his cheeks before finding my hole and exercising his tongue, drawing the pleasure from me as I ejaculated all over his graying chest. And then it was his turn to seed the sand, or my throat again if he held off long enough for me to return to my original work under him, worshiping him. Those feedings brought me an electric pleasure like none I've felt before or since. All was right in those moments.

It was a Monday holiday when we ran into each other on the boardwalk, fully unanticipated, and things quickly escalated beyond our mutual oral explorations to the next level. He was in his speedo and nothing more, and I was in my short denim shorts, frayed and nearly threadbare, with my thin button down shirt tied in the front to show off my midriff.

We ducked behind an ice cream shop and knowing we only had a few minutes, we began to furiously make out.

His tongue was in me and his hand cupped my ass. I drew my hands down through his coarse gray chest hair, following his treasure trail to the bulge he had pressing against my leg. I felt him stiffen in his speedo as we made out, and after a few moments I released his tongue and dropped to my knees.

I spent a few moments savoring the shape of his excitement confined in his speedo - licking him through the lycra before freeing him into my mouth. That taste brought me back to the ecstasies we had already shared that summer but this time it didn't take long before he wanted more. He stood me up and spun me around, pausing hungrily for my consent.

I said "do it."

He tore at a frayed spot on my left ass cheek and opened a hole in my shorts big enough and close enough to my hole to pull the opening in the fabric a bit to the right and slip a wet finger into me.

I did my best not to moan. Strangers walked by on the other side of the shop and if anyone on the beach was looking in this direction they could have made us out through the openings in the sand fence that separated the boardwalk from the beach-goers below. For all I knew we may have had an audience. And if I moaned we would definitely have an audience. The thought thrilled me, but it would also most likely bring our encounter to a sudden end so I kept as quiet as I could.

One finger quickly became two, and then three. I was so ready.

"Do it," I said again, more of a pant than a sentence.

He withdrew his fingers, turned my head gently to slip his tongue in my mouth again and slowly slid his thick shaft in me. It was my first time with the real deal in me and the sensation was indescribable. The shooting warmth from my sphincter, the fullness, the motion in and out - it was all part of the pleasure but there was so much more - being outside, the tear in my shorts, the people just out of sight... I might as well have been dreaming, but this was actually happening. I was being fucked in the ass in public by the sexiest man I knew. He hit my g spot after a few thrusts and I didn't fully hold back the moan that time. That's when he started to pick up the pace.

I reached down to unzip my fly and his hand found mine and stopped me. He held me there, in my shorts, fly half down, and began to stroke me with his still-wet hand through a thin spot in the fabric. This almost sent me over the edge - I was trapped in my shorts with his dick finding deeper parts of me than I knew existed, brushing my prostate with each thrust in and out, as he had me pressed up against the wall. I was completely in his control, and he had even restricted my own release.

We reached our plateau, breathing in synchrony, in and out, opening and closing... He fully pulled out a few times and then drove back in, letting my sphincter absorb more of the pleasure and giving my prostate a rest... And then he would stay in, pushing as deep as he could go and staying there, biting my neck and stroking me deliberately right under the head of my dick, bringing me to the brink.

He was edging me, right on the cusp of erupting, almost erupting himself. I could have surfed those waves forever. Those thrusts and strokes were an eternity of bliss, but even eternities eventually come to an end.

He was stroking me in time to his own thrusts, faster, then slower, then faster again. His breathing changed, got hungrier and more urgent, and I knew we were coming to a point of no return. In and out, gaping and closing, sphincter and prostate...faster...faster... the eternity of pure pleasure crescendoed and we both let loose at the same time - jet after jet of hot cum... mine into my shorts and through the thin fabric down onto my rose tattoo, and his inside me - again and again and again.

We stayed there for a few moments, riding those last waves, breathing it all in. It was one of those few peak moments we get in this life, washed ashore on the isles of ecstasy before the tide brought us back down to earth.

Even as it was over, the high carried us on. He withdrew and repositioned himself in his speedo, staining it with the residual cum covering his entire cock. He spun me around and his spunk leaked from my hole down my leg, just as my own leaked from my shorts down my other leg. He kissed me deeply and untied my shirt.

I sucked his tongue and he sucked back as he slipped my shirt down over my shoulders and tied it around my waist. We broke apart as he repositioned me inside my shorts, zipping me up from the half-open fly I had tried to free myself from. He held my bulge and cupped my ass again, and we dwelt on one last kiss. Our eyes met and that's how I remember him - satisfied, undressing me and redressing me at the same time, having filled me, sending me back into the world dripping and smelling of him

I rode the bus home that afternoon in a happy daze, shirtless and with my hole still lightly pulsing with the gift of my cub-bear soaking into my shirt as I realized my own cum stain had darkened my shorts. The bulge grew again in my pants at the memory of the day's encounter, freely visible to anyone who cared to look.