Page 95 - Stand by Your Man

Beach Blanket Surf-Boy Blues 83

My throat ached. I was wrapped in the arms and legs I had
seen so often along the beach working out on a surfboard. All that
strength! All that energy!
He was the ocean.
I was the shore.
He pounded into me with all the force of a strong riptide tear-
ing at the sand.
His hands pulled me in tighter. I could feel the thick veins
twined around his enormous dick swelling in size. The head of his
cock jammed the back of my throat. His sweet violent innocent
passion coiled up somewhere in the center of his head, traveled like
lightning down his strong spine, tightened his slender buttocks, and
rammed in one final huge thrust through his balls, down his dick,
exploding out of his bulbous head. Great gobs of sea-sweet cum
flooded my throat, filled my mouth, spilled out over my lips, as he
lunged again and again into my face.
Then he fell forward, burying me under his body; but only for
a moment, for only one glorious moment that I wish could have
frozen us together in time forever. Slowly he raised up over me,
leaving his still-hard dick in my mouth. I looked up at the glorious
vision of him, straddling me, tasting his cum in my mouth, feasting
on the vision of his juicy, sweaty body towering over me.
And then, ever the gentleman, this young man wiped some of
his cum off my checks and then spit into the palm of his cum-filled
hand, and then reached behind his back, found my hard cock, and
with three strokes topped off my load. My flying cum hit his back,
and playful again, like the watersport he was, he shouted, “You shot
me in the back, you dirty fucker!” Laughing, he slowly inched his
big, proud cock up and out of my mouth and fell in a rolling hug
on top of me. “One good load,” he whispered into my ear, “I guess
deserves another.”
I never saw him again. He said he never does stuff like that
much. But I guess when he does, maybe nobody does it better. At
any rate, now I have a deep and abiding respect for those bumper
stickers that say: “If this van’s rockin’, don’t bother knockin’!”

©Jack Fritscher, Ph.D., All Rights Reserved
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