Catalina Cherries
by Joe Butterman

 

Chapter 8: The Beach

Our trip to the beach had been postponed for a week because of the hospital. But the plan had then fallen nicely into place. Johnny and Gary would spend the night at Gary’s; Berto and I would spend the night at my house; we would meet at Gary’s at 8:00 am, his Mother would take us to the beach and drop us off, and then pick us up at the same place at 5:00 pm (if Gary or his Mother were present I would, of course, say “Oh eight hundred” or “seventeen hundred hours).

Berto had some work to do during the day so he did not come to my house until late in the afternoon. By now, Berto had been a frequent enough visitor that he had thoroughly charmed Grand Belle, and had even arrived at an uneasy truce with Bobbin on the subject of Roman Catholicism; they had agreed that Jesus Christ had died to save all sinners and that belief in this sacrifice was the crux of the whole matter, and to be sure, not much else: Berto maintained that Catholicism was the Mother Church and was therefore due a certain respect even if one did not accept all its dogma; he said an elegant grace when called upon to do so that touched on nothing but God’s bounty. He had even won a significant small victory when he had volunteered to attend church with us – this nonplussed my Grandfather because, of course, our church was a closed communion. Berto’s expression of innocent bewilderment as the mysteries of closed communion were explained to him, was priceless.

Grand Belle had baked fresh bread and a peach pie for dinner (sometimes referred to as “supper,” to the confusion of the unwary, as the notion of lunch and dinner were slowly taking hold, however with some things, there was complete inflexibility: the refrigerator remained forever frozen in standard usage as the “icebox”). We were also having lentil soup with ham hocks and dumplings. This had simmered all day in a cast iron kettle from which savory soups had emerged for several generations. I said a non-confrontational grace and dinner was a delicious and amiable success.

After dinner, Berto and I did the dishes, and then went outside and played catch through the balmy sunset and early evening until it got too dark; we then repaired inside where Grand Belle was knitting and Bobbin was reading the “Wall Street Journal”, we busied ourselves with “Life” magazine and The Book of Knowledge until it was time to get ready for bed. About five minutes before we would have received orders to prepare for bed, I announced that we would be taking a bath and then going to bed. Murmured assents accompanied by the rustle of newsprint and the click of needles acknowledged this announcement and Berto and I proceeded to my bedroom where we got two pair of cotton pajamas and then went to the bathroom.

The bathroom was the central room in a short hallway. My bedroom was to the front of the house; next to it was a small room doing duty as a storage closet, though it seemed unlikely that could have been the original intention as it was equipped with a full-size window. Next was the bathroom, and then my Grandparent’s bedroom at the end of the hall. In the bathroom, I began to fill the tub, one of those large tubs that sat on four feet and was equipped with a rubber stopper on the end of a long chain. There was no shower, my Grandparents having dismissed this technology as frivolous. While I was doing this, Berto exploded out of his clothes, and then stood over my shoulders. I leaned my head back and nuzzled his manhood with my flattop and he giggled and said I was tickling him. He stepped back a little, and I turned around on the floor, still on my knees, and began kissing and licking that same manhood I’d just been tickling with my haircut. I rose slowly, running my tongue over his lower stomach, into his belly button, and up to his nipples. While I was making this very pleasant exploration, Berto was opening the fly of my shorts and then pushing them down to my ankles so that I could step out of them. We then locked in a long embrace, rubbing our bodies together, particularly pushing and prodding with our boners, while our hands roamed over our backs and butts.

“The tubs almost full,” Berto observed. He stepped over and turned the faucets off while I shucked my t-shirt. He then stepped into the tub and sat down at the far end; I promptly joined him in the middle of the tub, and sat between his legs. Scrunching up against him so that I could feel his boner pressing on my lower back. He immediately reached around and started stroking me with one hand while running the other up and down my chest, pinching my nipples, or reaching down to fondle my balls in the warm water. We lay entwined in the waters warm embrace for several blissful moments, I had work to do, however, and grabbing the ubiquitous bar of Ivory soap I turned around to face Berto. I started applying soap, first to one leg, then the other. Where his legs came together, I had a lot of fun, soaping to raise a lather, then stroking his boner, rubbing the soap into his pubic hair to make more lather, and then washing his chest with that lather while continuing to attend, gently because we didn’t want to cum yet, to his balls and his glistening elegant hard on. He pretty much relaxed and let me wash him, and when I’d finished with his chest; I gently laved his face, careful to insure no soap got in his eyes. I rinsed him off with the bath water and made him get on his knees with his back to me so that I could really attend to his butt and his back. I got him really lathered-up, reaching every once in awhile, between his legs to insure that everything in front was okay too. Then I carefully rinsed him off being sure to get some water in his hair so that there would be no question about a thorough bath when we said good night.

Now it was my turn, and we reversed positions; I spread my legs as wide as the tub would allow and relaxed and let Berto do the work. The feel of his hands as he roamed over every inch of my body was like heaven must surely be. He soaped and rubbed, rinsed me and fondled me, kissed me and took me in his mouth; he tasted the bath water in my belly button. I wished that we could stay in the tub for hours, but bedtime was approaching, and that would be great too. So we stepped out of the tub and rubbed each other dry with towels while the bath water ran out. Having carefully dried my dick, Berto ran his tongue all over the tip and made it glisten again. I pulled him up and thrust a pair of pajamas into his hands. Both pair were a little small, as I’d had them for almost a year, and Berto was a little taller anyway. Our biggest problems however had nothing to do with the fit of the pajamas. We would have to make a short appearance in the living room to say good night; but both of us had ripe boners that were throbbing for release, so the front of our pajamas were tented like the big top at Ringling Brothers, Barnum & Bailey. I carefully adjusted Berto so that the waistband of his pajama bottoms crossed his boner with the tip just above the waistband. My boner had slopped through the fly of my bottoms, so I waggled it at Berto and he made the tip glisten again, and then arranged me so that I, too, was decent. We went into the living room and bade all a goodnight. Everything stayed in place.

As soon as I had closed the door to the bedroom, I started tugging Berto’s bottoms off. This accomplished, Berto flung himself onto the bed and lay on his back, arms and legs spread wide. Stepping out of my bottoms, I tossed both pair across the bed, so that they would not be readily apparent should someone open the door. Joining Berto, across the bed, we embraced and kissed deeply, our tongues darting and tasting; I unbuttoned his top slowly, as he did mine, our hands spending more time roaming, kneading, caressing and comforting, than the mere act of unbuttoning required. Berto’s nipples were erect and mine were tingly. We got under the covers, but then promptly kicked them off. Both of us had been erect and dripping since our bath; passion was rampant. In no time at all we had reversed ourselves on the bed; I was working on Berto’s boner and he was working on mine. We’d had lots of practice in this position and we moved quickly to a level of pleasure way beyond cosmic. With a part of me, I felt myself deep in Berto’s throat as he lavished me with love; and another part of me, loved the feeling of Berto in my mouth and throat, and I would concentrate on stroking and working on him: but all the time, in the background, I felt him returning this most passionate of embraces. I felt his finger slide up my crack and enter my hole, probing gently, so I stopped working on him long enough to moisten my finger, then I gave the same pleasure to Berto and resumed working on his dick. It did not take long. The pressure was steadily building in my balls, and I could sense, in Berto’s motion, that he was close to cuming too. We came almost at the same time; I may have been a second or two behind him, for I could taste him pulsing in my mouth and then it seemed like I was gushing down his throat – it would be hard to say for sure. It was great.

We maintained the position for some long relaxing moments, cradling one another’s cocks in our mouths, but not putting any pressure on the sensitive tip in that wonderful time after we had cum. As we grew soft, we licked each other for any stray drops, and then assumed the more traditional position in bed; we kept our pajama tops on, but unbuttoned and drew the covers over us. I turned on my side and Berto snuggled up behind me, I felt his soft wiener against my butt and wiggled comfortably. He reached over and cradled me in his hand, after carefully arranging my balls so that they were hanging free.

“Charlie. I love you,” he whispered in my ear, “I’ll really miss ya when you hafta go back to Nevada.” He kissed my ear and I wondered how I could make it through the winter without being with him, or any of my other Anaheim friends. But I’d also been aware that Berto was becoming more important to me than any other single thing; somehow I knew that it was possible to love more than one person at the same time. I mean, Johnny was very important to me, he was my first boy, and he would always have a special place in my heart. And Gary was simply great, a joy to be with and around. But somehow, Berto seemed to be the most important. I had recently read Robinson Crusoe and that had led me to the Desert Island Theory. In this theory, I would place myself on a desert island and then speculate: if, on this island, I were limited to only one of several things that I really liked, which one would I pick? In this case, obviously, the best situation would be if all four of us were marooned on the island. But if there could only be one, it would have to be Berto.

“I love you best and most,” I told him as I rolled a little for a goodnight kiss. I didn’t roll any further than I had to, because I didn’t want to break any of his grips on me. We slept

When I woke up, I glanced at the clock on the nightstand and noted that it wouldn’t go off for another half an hour. I had a hard on. So did Berto (I checked). I lay there luxuriating in the pleasure of it all: his warmth and closeness, our legs together, his arm over my stomach, the feel of his manhood in my hand. I kissed him and whispered that it was time to get up. I had heard some morning sounds from the kitchen and presumed that Grand Belle was already busy there. We should get up, I thought, without having to be called. Berto smiled, kissed me back, and said something that sounded like “okay” only it was definitely a first-thing-in-the-morning kind of “okay.” He fondled my boner. I started to get out of bed, but he held on and pulled me back for some more kissing. Then we got up and Berto tossed me a pair of pajama bottoms from his side of the bed. I tossed them right back, flapping my tops, so that he could see that I needed a matching pair of bottoms. Properly matched, with our boners camouflaged by our waistbands, we went into the bathroom and stood side-by-side for a morning piss. This took a lot more work than usual. Our close proximity, plus the fact that strange hands were holding them, led our boners to think that there was something else to be done than just relax and piss. We giggled some, but we eventually got the job done. It was the longest piss I’d ever had in the morning as well as being the most enjoyable.

We went back to the bedroom where we got into our beach outfits, cut offs over swimming suits, t-shirts and sneakers. We trooped into the kitchen for a traditional breakfast of bacon and eggs and pancakes with either maple syrup or home made grape jelly to put over them. Bobbin was in rare good humor over something that President Eisenhower had said or done, though precisely what that was, escaped my attention at the moment. Bobbin then held forth on the dangers of rip tides and of eating too much; we were instructed to stay close to the lifeguard tower and to keep an eye on one another. We were absolutely not to speak to “unseemly” strangers. It was easy to know who was “unseemly.” Basically, that would be just about anyone: certainly any non-Christian, and of course, those improperly attired, or scruffily attired, or anyone else that we didn’t already know. We were reminded, of course, to put our “trust in God.”

Grand Belle had prepared a large paper sack that contained four ham and cheese sandwiches, a bag of Fritos, a small jar of pickles, eight navel oranges, eight bottles of Coke, and four Three Musketeers bars. Re-warned about the perils of swimming too soon after eating, I pulled my Pocket Ben with the Caterpillar Tractor watch fob from my pocket, and demonstrated that the watch was actually wound-up, so there’d be no problem timing things. We grabbed our beach blanket and towels, stopped in the arbor long enough to add several bunches of grapes to our lunch bag, and were off to Gary’s.

At Gary’s, we deposited most of our stuff in the trunk of their Chevrolet, which was in the driveway with the trunk conveniently open. We hastened into the den where we bid the Commander a respectful good morning and discovered that Miss Jean, the night before, had prepared four bologna sandwiches, four peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, a bag of potato chips, eight navel oranges, and four packages of Hostess cupcakes. These were in a brown paper bag identical to the one that Grand Belle had provided. There was also a small ice chest that contained twelve Seven Ups, a liberal portion of ice cubes, and a bottle opener. Gravely I informed Miss Jean that I did not think that we would need sixteen oranges. I thought, though, that three sandwiches each ought to be just about right. Then I busied myself: I returned eight navel oranges to the fruit bowl on the table; then I put the Hostess cupcakes and the Three Musketeer bars on the ice so they’d not melt; then I put the bottle opener in my pocket so it wouldn’t rust. We ranch types are always worrying about stuff like this. As these supplies were being loaded in the car, I showed the Commander that I was equipped with a watch, and we solemnly discussed the amount of time that needed to elapse before swimming. I was surprised to discover that the Commander thought that thirty minutes was sufficient; she said that we were all used to swimming and were young and so burned energy quickly, thus thirty minutes ought to be enough. I assured her that this would be the very minimum between eating and swimming. She went on to suggest that I never argue about this with Miss Jean.

As we prepared to depart, the Commander assigned the shotgun position to Berto, and banished the rest of us to the back seat. On the drive to the beach, the Commander engaged Berto and learned a number of things about him: he had been born in Anaheim; his parents and grandparents were also native Californians, though from other cities; he had been raised with both English and Spanish as primary languages, he confided that his Spanish was Castillian unless he made a conscious effort to speak Border Spanish, I had not a clue what this meant, but it certainly seemed noteworthy to the Commander. She spoke of Spain and of the Mediterranean Sea. She then pressed Berto on his plans for the future; he had apparently passed some sort of muster as she spoke glowingly and at length about the advantages of a career in the Navy. Berto wasn’t too sure about that, but stated that he did want to go to college. I resolved at that moment, that we would both go to college together and be roommates, I thought it would be great to wake up every morning next to Berto. The Commander sailed on stating that Gary would be going to Annapolis to become a naval officer. This statement provoked an, “Aw Mom” from the backseat admiral. Then it was Johnny’s turn, and as I don’t think he had ever thought this far into his future, he was unable to provide an even faintly coherent plan for the future; he discussed playing baseball at some college, somewhere. I thought this was so much bullshit. He’d never talked to me about wanting to play baseball seriously, plus I didn’t think this would be possible given his physique – he’s beautiful to be sure, but his is a willowy elegance, I doubt he’ll ever possess the bulk to seriously play baseball. I was spared an interrogation. I’d already been grilled. I’d related to the Commander my Grandfather’s desire that I enter the ministry and I had done it in a manner that suggested I was seriously considering it. Actually, Bobbin had recently decided that I would be a missionary and go into the Amazon Basin. It seemed that there were these Indians there who never wore clothes and had never even seen a white man. As a result of this lapse in their education, they had not had the opportunity to accept Jesus Christ as their Savior and so were destined to spend eternity in a lake of hell’s fire and brimstone. I had thought this penalty rather extreme for a misdemeanor of the most innocent sort, and it was this concern that would start me away from the church. Not from God. Just the church. But in any event, the first part is the kind of ambition that parents like to hear about. Your friend’s parents like it a lot too.

I had thought that the Commander would drop us off at the closest beach, but she had decided on another beach altogether. I rather think that she, like Bobbin, was concerned about “unseemly” types that might interfere with our innocence. But she was a lot more direct, and referred to these people as “riff-raff” in a tone of voice, and with sufficient detail, that it became clear what we should beware of. I think, too, that she knew we liked to skinny dip, for she took us up the coast a few miles to a stretch of beach where dunes and scrub grass blocked a direct view of the beach from the highway, and stopped to unload us in a sandy parking area that contained only one elegant pre-war Buick. We were reminded, in no uncertain terms, that we were to be in this lot at “seventeen hundred hours sharp” to be picked-up, and that failure to comply would result in punishment the severity of which would cause Attila the Hun to “blench.” I showed her my watch. We each got a hug and a kiss. We were free.

Johnny went loping down to the beach with one blanket, leaving the rest of us to distribute an ice chest, two bags full of food, another blanket and an armful of towels; of necessity, we followed him down to the beach more sedately. On the way, we passed a lady who was painting a scene of dunes, scrub grass, and gulls. She was equipped with an easel, paint box, palette, and more brushes than she could ever possibly use. We bade her good morning as we passed and she returned the pleasantry. She was almost certainly the owner of the Buick and so, by definition, could not possibly be “riff-raff.” Johnny came charging back up the path to announce that he’d found the perfect spot.

“Here,” Gary said, thrusting the ice chest into his arms. He took the towels from Berto, “Show us!” We followed him down the slope through the dunes and grass to a spot where the tufts of grass ended and the beach began. We were well above the tide line, but only about fifty yards from the gently rolling surf. Johnny had already spread his blanket in a pocket between the dunes that was open to the beach but surrounded by the dunes with their crowns of grass. Johnny put the ice chest down by the blanket, wiggled out of his cut offs and swimming suit at the same time, and went sprinting gloriously down to the surf. Gary whooped approval; flung down his burden, erupted out of what little clothing he was wearing, and went storming after Johnny. Berto and I looked at each other. We just smiled, then turned our attention to proper organization. We spread the blankets adjacent to one another. I carefully recovered cut offs and swimming suits, shook the sand out of them, and placed them on the blanket. We put the lunch bags and the ice chest in a corner of the nook where there was a little shade, and put towels on the top for additional shade; I carefully placed the bottle opener on the ice chest where it would be readily to hand. Berto asked for a Coke and I got him one. He too, had shucked out of his cut offs and swimming suit and was sitting cross-legged on a blanket. “You’re beautiful,” I said as I gave him his coke. He smiled and his eyes were merry.

Of the four of us, I suppose I’d have to admit to being the most cautious. I dropped my cut offs on the blanket, but still wearing my swimming suit, I made a circuit of our nook and an examination of the immediate beach area to see where the nearest people might be located: there were none in sight, it was Thursday after all. When I returned, Berto said we should go swimming so I jumped out of my swimming suit and we ran, hand in hand, down the beach and into the surf. The surf was anything but “up” that day, but it was still fun to wait, knee deep in the water, until the wave was almost upon you, then dive into the wave to be gently pummeled by the water until emerging on the other side, standing waist, or even shoulder deep. Then the wave would recede and as it ran out it caressed your naked body divinely, as if the touch were from God Himself. Sometimes we would back into the wave and dive with it so that we were carried back onto the beach and the sand would scratch deliciously as we were delivered onto the beach, and the wave ran out again. I saw Johnny and Gary several times. Once they were shoulder deep in the water and were really kissing deep. I could just imagine where their hands were. Another time they were swimming along parallel to the beach about 100 yards out where their stroke would not be disturbed by the gentle surf. Berto and I were sitting in the sand where the waves would sometimes come up to us, and sometimes not reach us at all. We were getting thirsty because we’d been taking turns licking the salt off our wieners. Not sucking hard, or anything like that, yet. Just licking gently. Gary and Johnny came out of the water and started up the beach toward our nook. They were beautiful to behold with the water streaming off of them, their half hard cocks jutting and swaying, and their balls all but invisible from the cool of the ocean. They said they were hungry. My first impulse was to tell them we all knew what they were hungry for, but then I felt I should warn them that if they ate, they’d have to stay out of the water for a half hour. Berto saved me from displaying my excessive caution.

“We’ll be up in a minute,” he said. Berto took me in his arms and kissed me. It was a deep, beautiful, and lasting kiss. “I wish we could always be together,” he said.

“Me too. Why can’t we be?” The surf continued to grumble gently and a small wave tickled our feet, only to run swiftly away.

“Well,” Berto began.

“No,” I interrupted, “think about it. We’re young. We’re just fourteen. We’ve got time; we’ve got love. It’s only just begun. All we have to do is remember this summer. We’ll write letters. Maybe you can come visit the ranch this winter. We’ve got time. We can do it; we can be together. Then it’ll be summer again.” I was running out of steam; I was suddenly aware of the future’s unknown ghosts. There was only one thing to do: I kissed him. This was a long and passionate kiss, slightly salty, as we lay entwined on the beach in the sun and surf.

“You’re right. But we’re gonna have to think and plan and talk,” Berto observed as we broke this kiss. “For now, let’s eat.” We went back into the sea to rinse the sand off, and then strolled back to the nook, Berto’s hand caressed my butt the whole way.

In the nook, Gary was laying beside Johnny on their blanket. Johnny was lying on his stomach and Gary on his back. As we approached the nook, I started caressing Berto’s butt too. Gary lifted himself on his elbows and asked if we had any sun tan lotion. I hadn’t thought of it. How could I have forgotten that? On a trip to the beach? Furiously, I inventoried our supplies with my minds eye; I hadn’t seen it or thought of it.

“Do we really need it?” I temporized.

“Well no,” Gary replied, “but it wasn’t the sun that I wanted it for,” and he explained by running his hand over Johnny’s butt with emphasis on his crack. Johnny flexed his butt as if he wanted to keep Gary’s hand there, so Gary, always reasonable, complied. We asked if they wanted anything to eat, “an orange” one of them replied, so we tossed two to Gary who was now sitting up, though Johnny remained on his stomach beside him. Berto and I selected bologna sandwiches, Fritos, Cokes, and a bunch of grapes. We sat on our blanket and began to eat. Berto started eating grapes: he’d select, one, rub it on my semi-boner, and then eat it. “Mmm, salty,” he’d say, and then repeat the process. Gary had peeled one of the oranges and Johnny was now lying on his side. Gary would eat one section of orange, and then feed the next to Johnny. Johnny’s free had had reached under Gary’s leg and was fondling his sex. Gary would give him a section of orange and tell him to keep it up. He did.

At this moment, we were startled silent as a young man with a red swimming suit walked by in front of our nook, only a few feet away. He looked up and down the beach, and out to sea. He spread his towel on the beach and dropped a bottle of sun tan lotion onto the towel. It was only then, as he turned around, that he saw us and froze. There was a long silence as we looked at each other. I thought he was a few years older than us. You could tell he shaved because his sideburns were neatly squared just about even with his eyes; he had sandy blond hair that was trimmed close on the side, but was longer on top, there were some light blond streaks in his hair which made him more attractive; he had a tattoo high up on one shoulder, but I wasn’t close enough then to see what it was; he had some hair under his arms, but none on his chest, and his legs were sprinkled with golden hairs; he had a small silver cross and chain around his neck.

“Uh. Hi,” hesitantly.

“Hi,” one of us responded.

Silence again. His was a nicely shaped, straight nose, with a cute little cleft between his nose and his upper lip. His eyes seemed light, but like with the mystery of his tattoo, he was too far away to know for sure; there was a really cute mole on one cheek. He seemed to gather himself, “I came up this far so I can go naked. You guys do; I can see from your tans. Okay?” That said, he hooked his thumbs into his trunks and slid them slowly down and off. He stood naked before us. We looked at each other in silence. He was gorgeous. He was no where near as well tanned as us, had obvious tan lines, and was lots paler where his swimming suit normally was; like us, he was circumcised, but his dick was larger than any of us and hung tranquilly over his beautiful balls, both all relaxed in the warmth, one hanging slightly lower than the other. He had more pubic hair than Berto and it seemed to blend easily into the hair on his legs. It thinned, and trailed off quickly as it ran up toward his belly button. We were blasted.

He arched his back and stretched his arms over his head. This was really sexy.

“Do ya want sumthin’ to eat?” Gary hazarded.

“Why sure, thanks a lot,” he grinned through his answer and gathered up his towel and stuff and joined us in our nook. Spreading his towel alongside our blankets, he lay back on it resting on his elbows, his dick relaxing comfortably across his leg. I enumerated the choice of sandwiches available and he opted for ham and cheese; I got up and got him one, as well as the pickles and a Coke. I could now see that the tattoo was of an eagle and that his eyes were light gray-blue.

“What’s your name,” inquired Johnny as Berto handed the Fritos over.

“Dave. Dave Tolliver. Are you guys from around here?” He answered-asked around sandwich and Fritos.

“Yes,” I essayed, “we’re from Anaheim. You?” He’d all but inhaled his sandwich, so I got him another (he was gaining points with me, he’d called us “guys” twice, not boys).

“No. San Diego.” I was mystified. Why would anyone come clear up here to go to the beach when there were miles of beach all around San Diego?   So I asked. Well, he explained, he was in the Navy and his ship was home ported in San Diego (Gary looked sharply attentive) and he liked to get away from “Dago” every once in a while; he was originally from Iowa, but when he got out of the Navy in a few years, he wasn’t going back to Iowa, he was going to stay in California, so he wanted to look around and get a feel for wherever in California was going to be his new home. He’d taken a week of leave, with two-week end “liberties” on each end of the week; he’d spent a few days in L.A. and Hollywood, and had got here late last night. He elaborated for a few minutes on a failing of many of his fellow sailors: all a lot of his buddies wanted to do was get drunk and chase “bar sluts”. Sometimes, he liked to get away by himself. He finished his sandwich and took a swig of Coke.

“I’m Charlie Scott,” I picked up on the lull, “This is Roberto Celayo de Galves,” putting an arm on his shoulder. Pointing with the other hand, “lying there is Johnny MacCrimmon and sitting next to him is Gary van der Leyden. We’re pals.” The last was probably pretty obvious but it felt like the thing to say.

“Thanks for the food. I hadn’t eaten anything yet today. I’m goin’ to swim,” he stood up.

“Great,” Gary seconded and he and Johnny stood up and the three of them started down to the water. Berto stood up and held a hand down for me to come along. I grabbed it and heaved myself up.

“But he just ate. He’ll get cramps,” I worried quietly to Berto.

“That’s okay,” this response surprised the hell out of me, I was distressed that I’d not had the slightest clue that Berto disliked Dave, “Cuz then we’ll have to rescue him and we can pull him outta the water and give him that artificial respiration an stuff.” Berto smiled happily, “That’ll be neat.” I smiled at him with respect and admiration for a brilliant plan. We ran down the beach and plunged in.

We frolicked in the surf, much as we had before, only Berto and I kept within convenient rescue distance of Dave at all times, ever alert for pending disaster; we were vaguely distressed when Dave emerged, at length, from the water, glowing health unimpaired, and announced that he was going to get some sun. Johnny and Gary were out just beyond the breakers standing very close together. With a look, Berto and I decided to go with Dave; after all, there’s nothing says you can’t get cramps out of the water. Such an attack probably wouldn’t require artificial respiration, but the victim would probably need to be massaged back to health.

“Tell me about boot camp,” Berto asked. I looked back at the water and saw that Gary and Johnny were nearing the shore; they’d obviously seen that we were going back to the nook. Dave talked a little about his first week in the Navy as we walked up the beach. He carefully shook the sand off his towel before he started drying off. Berto and I stood next to our blanket and did the same. I checked the time and saw that it was only thirteen hundred hours (1:00 pm). Berto, deliciously daring I thought, suggested that Dave should put some sun tan lotion on as he wasn’t as tanned as we were.

“You’re right,” he agreed, and handing the bottle to Berto, suggested, “Will ya do my back?” He spread his towel as before and then stood with his feet slightly apart. Berto poured some lotion into his palm, then spread it across the top of Dave’s back and started languidly rubbing it in. From behind Dave, Berto gave me a huge grin. Pointing to Dave’s groin I observed, “you should put some there too, cuz ya don’t wanta get burned there.” Dave nodded and grinned. Berto was working on his lower back, but he was also rubbing lotion into Dave in areas that Dave could easily reach all by himself. Johnny and Gary joined us and dried themselves and each other on their blanket. Dave’s dick stirred and began to grow.

“That feels great,” he told Berto. Emboldened, I faced him and held my palm out to Berto for some lotion. This I smeared across his upper chest, holding the silver chain away from his chest with one hand, while I massaged the lotion in. His nipples were firm and pointy as the lotion went on. Gary plucked a couple of grapes from the bunch on the blanket and stepped up to Dave and put one to his lips. Dave took it in, and a few seconds later opened his mouth and stuck his tongue part way out for another, which Gary provided. Berto was now rubbing lotion over and into his butt cheeks. This had occasioned no complaint from Dave. Rather, he sighed comfortably.

“You’re getting a boner,” I pointed out helpfully.

“Course,” he replied, “How could I not? A beautiful day. A beautiful spot. And four beautiful guys. You guys do this don’cha?” He opened his twinkling gray-blue eyes. I didn’t say anything but there was some assentful murmuring from somewhere. He looked me in the eyes and put his hands on my shoulders; then he ran his hands down my arms, and then up under my arms and along my sides until his hands were in my arm pits where he held me for a second. Then he started sliding his hands back down my flanks as he slowly knelt down in front of me. I could see Berto now; he had a boner too, and was looking down at Dave. Gary and Johnny were both as hard as rocks too; they were stroking each other as they also stared at Dave. Dave’s hands now held me by the butt and he pulled me gently forward, as one hand came around and he grasped me with thumb and finger and gently milked my cock, he leaned forward and took me in his mouth with his eyes still open, looking up at me. He worked up and down my cock several times, tongue swirling, lips tight. I stroked his head, closed my eyes and threw my head back in bliss. Dave released me and sat back on his heels, he looked around at us.

“You guys are swell. Will ya do me a favor?” He looked at us and we looked back in silence. “I don’t get enough cock. There’s no chance on the ship – at least not with anyone I like. I wanna blow each of you all the way. One atta time.” We digested this request in silence. Johnny answered for the four of us, “Okay.” Dave stood up and walked me onto the blanket and pressured me gently down. I lied down on my back and spread my legs so he could get at me easily.

“Now remember,” he instructed us at large as if it were game rules he was explaining, “Ya hafta come in my mouth. No jackin’ each other off while I’m doin’ this. Okay?”

“Okay,” spokesman Johnny replied, “but don’t you jack off either. Cuz when you’re done, we wanna take turns blowing you. Okay?”

“Done!” Dave agreed as if it were the deal of the century. He knelt down between my legs. He ran his palms up and down the front of me, pausing to pinch and rub my nipples, both at the same time, then he went to work on my balls, first just licking and bouncing them with his tongue, then taking them into his mouth, again at the same time, rolling them all around and slurping away happily. But he really wanted my boner; he ran his tongue up and down several times and then he started swallowing me, slowly and completely. He held me in his mouth and throat, with his lips and nose right at the root of my cock, nestled in the little pubic hair that I had; I could feel him adjusting himself to fit me, then he pulled back until all he had in his mouth was the tip of my dick, then he engulfed me again, much faster than the first time. He picked-up the pace. I looked up at Berto who was watching entranced.

I stared pointedly at his hard on and then looked back at him and ran my tongue all around my lips. I wanted him. He knelt down beside me and we started French kissing. This wasn’t quite what I had in mind and he, who knew precisely what I wanted, whispered, “This is way too hot.” He sat back a little and watched Dave working on me. I closed my eyes and started humping Dave’s mouth timing my thrusts to meet his rhythm. Soon I was bucking under his mouth, all thoughts of rhythm forgotten. I came gloriously. Pulsing down his throat. He held me in his mouth and worked his tongue against the bottom of my dick until he had every drop of my load. He put no pressure with tongue or lips on the head of my boner, and only when I’d started to soften, did he release me with a little licking slurp.

While I was coming back down to Earth, Berto was insinuating himself into position to be next. He was lying beside me, hip to hip, and as Dave sat back from me, he put his leg over and between mine so that Dave had two legs on each side of him. Dave smiled at us. He bent back over me to run his tongue over my shaft, kissed the tip, and ran his tongue all over my sex and right onto Berto. He nuzzled Berto’s bush for a second or two, then started licking his balls. Berto was right: this was really hot. I propped my head on my elbow so that I could enjoy the view. In a few seconds, he took Berto into his mouth and Berto gasped with pleasure. I knew just what if felt like. I rubbed my soft dick against Berto’s leg as Dave started his first few up-and-down movements on Berto. I leaned over and French kissed Berto; his eyes were closed, but his tongue was wild. I was going to drop the kiss to look for Gary and Johnny, but Berto started sucking intensely on my tongue, so I couldn’t do anything but stick it as far into his mouth as I possibly could. But Berto started panting way too hard for kissing so I looked down to see Dave really working on him; I looked up and saw that Gary and Johnny were standing to one side, kissing intently. They were clutched tightly together, probably to avoid the temptation of doing each other – they wanted to give Dave his turn like Johnny’d said. I would have joined them, but I was pinned to the blanket by Berto and Dave. Berto was saying his little I’m cuming mantra: “Si. Yes. Si. Dios. Yes,” and he was thrusting as deeply as he could into Dave’s engulfing mouth. Then he shuddered and I knew he was cuming and I could see that Dave had stopped bobbing and was gulping eagerly. I hugged Berto and whispered in his ear, “You’re the greatest.” He kissed me gently with love. When Berto was drained and semi-hard, Dave released him and sat up. He disentangled himself from us. Still on his knees, he moved over and got himself between Gary and Johnny, separating them at their crotches. This was done with passion, but not roughly; we watched him tongue Gary’s dick, savoring the pre-cum that was there, and then taking his entire shaft deep into his mouth and throat while he held Johnny with one hand, close to his head. He went up and down on Gary a few times, and then switched to Johnny. Once again carefully licking any pre-cum that might be on the tip of his boner, and then taking him completely. Berto and I sat and watched this great show while feeding each other grapes.

I think that Dave sensed that both boys were ready and was taking no chances. We watched him switch back and forth between them. He was clearly loving this as much as we were. He let go of Johnny for a moment while he wet his finger and inserted it into Gary’s crack. Berto and I knew right were it was going. With his free hand, he reclaimed Johnny, but he was really working Gary. You could see the muscles in Gary’s flank flex as he thrust into Dave, his head flung back and his hands holding Dave’s head in place: then every muscle in his body seemed to shudder at once and he let out a long happy sigh as he pumped into Dave’s insatiable mouth. Dave released Gary and he sat back on the blanket with a dazed and happy expression on his face. Dave still had Johnny in hand, and as he positioned himself in front of Johnny, he was licking his finger. Berto and I giggled because we knew where it had been and where it was going. Seconds later, he had Johnny engulfed and was working him with the same enthusiasm that he’d lavished on each of us. His finger went where we knew it was going. We watched the play of passion across Johnny’s face as Dave made magic on his cock; we knew it wouldn’t take long given all of the sights, sounds. And foreplay that Johnny had been watching, hearing, and involved in. As their tempo picked up, Berto and I got on each side of Dave. Just as if we’d planned it, Berto started stroking Dave’s back from shoulder to cheek with one hand while working on a nipple with the other hand; I was doing exactly the same thing on the other side. We would also take turns stroking his boner and we could hear him murmuring enjoyment of that while he continued to slurp on Johnny. Dave had one hand in the crack of Johnny’s butt and I’d bet that his finger was working deep in Johnny; with his other hand he kept Johnny’s boner in just the right spot so that he could really work it. Johnny’s hands played through Dave’s hair and around his ears though he let Dave set the tempo and the pressure. Johnny came wondrously and when he did, he grabbed Dave’s head and held him tightly in place; Dave now had a hand on each of Johnny’s ass cheeks and was holding him just as firmly in place; Dave how had a hand on each of Johnny’s butt cheeks and was holding him just as firmly in place. Dave gulped; then he sipped. When he released Johnny, Johnny sat down like Gary had and when that happened, Berto and I half lifted Dave back onto the blankets so that he was lying on his back. We spread his legs and began to feast.

Berto took his formidable manhood into his mouth while I tongued his balls. We switched off. He was really big and I couldn’t get all of him into my mouth and throat like I could do with my friends, neither could Berto: I’d watched him trying. He was salty from the sea and sweet from Berto. I looked up to see Gary shaking Berto by the shoulder. I was also being shaken and voices were chorusing, “It’s our turn.” So I took one last sweep up and down and relinquished my spot to Johnny as Berto was doing for Gary.

Berto and I sat back on the blanket and enjoyed the scene. Johnny and Gary busy over his manhood. Dave moaning and wiggling on the blanket, eyes closed, smile open, legs working against the blanket as four hands and two mouths worked him over. When Dave came, it was both quick, and really neat. He was panting and going, “Yes, yes, yes, oh God!” His whole body arched above the blanket as he poured into Johnny’s mouth. He was like Robin Hood’s bow, but loosing a sweet arrow, and, when you think about it, a lot sexier than any bow. Then he just collapsed, moaning, onto the blanket and just completely relaxed. Gary sat up and smiled at us while Johnny kept Dave in his mouth to complete the experience, just like Dave had done to each of us.

I remembered the real world and scrambled for my watch. It was only quarter to four (I mean 1545 hours). We were still safe from the terror of Attila. Berto announced that we were going for a swim, and he and I jogged down to the beach and plunged in. We were relaxed and tired from sun and sex. So we just cooled off for a few minutes and then returned to the nook. Dave was eating again, and the three of them had been chatting about something. We stood drying in the sun and ate an orange. Gary said that Dave was going to go back to Long Beach for the night, but was going to see if he could catch a bus to Anaheim tomorrow so we could all go skinny dipping at his house. He’d given Dave his phone number. His was the best phone number to have, Johnny was seldom in the house and his Mother was almost never there; if he could have penetrated the party line that my Grandparents thought was perfectly satisfactory, he would have been in for a meticulous grilling from my Grandmother; and Berto’s number would probably have caused both suspicion and alarm – so far as Berto’s parents were aware, I was the only gringo of any consequence in his world. Dave gave us each a deep kiss and a full body hug goodbye; he put on his suit, and gathered up his towel and a brown paper bag with all of the leftover food, and started town the beach to town. Gary and Johnny went for a last swim. Berto and I drank a coke and a kiss. I then gathered-up all four swimming suits and took them down to the beach where I got them all wet and full of sand. Just in case authority might see them. We tidied our nook, put our cut offs on and started through the dunes to the parking lot, for it was time. The lady with the easel was gone. When we got to the parking lot, it too, was empty; but in a few moments, and right on time, the Commander came wheeling in and our adventure was officially over.

On the way home, we regaled the Commander with the glories of surf and sand, assured her the water had never been a danger, and that we had eaten only after a swim. Gary had been restored to the honor of the shotgun seat. The three of us in the back seat dozed.

When we got to their house, the Commander ordered us into the outdoor shower to get the salt off, and then we went home.

 

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