Page 2 of His First Time
My brain struggled to restart, to crawl out of my depraved fantasies. I had locked those away, I thought, for good. One bulked-up New Englander in white board shorts and I was right back there, horned up and desperate to suck dick. “Do I play?”
“Yeah.” New England grabbed the ball out of the sand. He tossed it one-handed. It spun in the air and he caught it effortlessly. “We’re down one. Wanna play?” He grinned.
I bit my lip hard. My eyes raked over his body, down and up again. Lingered on his bulge. On the trail of golden hair rising from his low-slung shorts up to his belly button. I swallowed again. “Sure.”
Forget the girls. Forget my teammates roughhousing in the waves or tanning on the beach. I pushed myself up, brushing myself off as a way to hide my boner. “Hey man, where you going?” I heard.
I didn’t answer. New England smiled at me, pulling down his aviators for a moment. His eyes were blue.
“I’m Michael.”
“Kevin.” My cock twitched.Down, boy. “I don’t really know how to play.” I chuckled.
“No problem. Just make sure the ball ends up in the sand on their side of the net.” Michael clapped me on the back and jogged into the sand court, barking back at the other team now heckling him about dragging some new guy off the beach to play. “We’re down one. Suck it up!” Michael said.
“Down one, but still up three!”
“Then you’ll have to do better, won’t ya?” Michael leaned over, dropping into that easy, effortless athletic stance all athletes have. His lats rippled. His triceps flexed. His pecs. I followed, dropping beside him. ‘Cept I wasn’t staring at the ball. I was staring at his hairless, sweaty chest.
I ended up not embarrassing myself too much. Michael and I fell into a rhythm. One of us would dive, knocking the ball up for the other, who’d send it sailing over the net. Eventually, the other members of our team faded away to grab beers and watch us, flirting with girls that came by before they grabbed their surf boards and headed for the waves.
For the last set, it was just Michael and I sliding past each other, slipping into the sand. Sweaty bodies pressed together, hands clasping, chests bumping as we celebrated. When we won, Michael threw his hands in the air and dragged me close for a bear hug.
I nearly collapsed against him, nearly slid to my knees and buried my face in his crotch. I clung to his shoulders, his muscles. Michael pulled back. His grin was brighter than the sun.
He looked over my shoulder. “Where’d your friends go?”
“Huh?” I looked back.
Everyone had left. The towels around me, the coolers, the umbrellas. All that was left was my lonely towel, my sandals, and my cell phone tucked away. Everyone had packed up and ditched me without even saying goodbye. Or if they had, I hadn’t heard. I’d been orbiting Michael for hours. “They left! Fuckers.”
“That sucks, man. You staying far?”
I mumbled the name of the motel down off the boardwalk and into Daytona a bit. We weren’t at one of the fancy properties on the beachfront. “I’ll call a Lyft or somethin’.”
“That’s hella far. Why don’t you come back with me to our hotel? We can chill for a bit. Get some drinks.” Michael smiled again. “I can give you a ride later.”
I’d follow him anywhere. My mouth went dry. Drinks sounded amazing. Liquid courage. Or maybe a shot from his cock. I wasn’t picky.
No! I wasn’t attracted to him! I wasn’t going to do anything! I’d sworn. I’d made avow. I had one fantasy,one. That was normal shit, normal growing up shit. It didn’t mean anything. Michael was just being a cool dude, anyway. Taking pity on me since I’d been ditched.
“Yeah, sure.” What the fuck was I doing? “Drinks sound great.”
Of course, Michael—and his groupies, a bunch of New England bros in Patriots ball caps and skinny chicks rocking barely-there bikinis—led me to one of those fancy beachfront hotels. Balconies overlooking the sand and the surf, towers with three-hundred-sixty-degree views of the ocean and city. My sandals squeaked through the marble lobby. At our motel, our trucks were parked outside our room doors, and the air conditioning units in the walls were so loud you could barely hear each other talk. Michael’s hotel had a live piano player and a wine bar.
We piled onto the elevator, and Michael pulled me back, scooting us into the corner to make room for everyone. “Tight fit,” he said in my ear. His hand landed on my hip as another blonde chick hopped onto the elevator. My back flattened against his chest. My ass pressed against his crotch.
I hissed. Lightning crashed through me, ten thousand volts of sheer feeling, every nerve in my body zeroing in on the parts of his body pressed against mine. His sweaty chest against my back. The sand that clung to him, the grit brushing my skin. His crotch, his bulge, the outline of his cock, finding its way between my ass cheeks. I felt him adjust, spread his legs.
His cock slid against my crack. His hand on my hip squeezed.
I shivered from my head to my toes. Every vertebra quivered. I tried to squeeze my ass cheeks around his cock as the elevator doors closed.
We rose, the group chatting, the girls talking about showering and straightening their hair and where they should go for the night. The guys, Michael included, were still going on about the volleyball game. One insisted Michael had cheated, pulling in a ringer. Me.
“Swear to God, I don’t know the guy.” Michael peered at me, over my shoulder. His aviators had dropped down his nose. He stared over the rims, those blue eyes searing into me. “Right?”
“I don’t know you, man,” I said breathlessly. “I don’t know you at all.”
