San Francisco
Part 12

I'd always liked the rich, invigorating smell of freshly mown grass. Obviously, Bugsy did too 'cause he was rolling on his back; with his front paws dangling, and his rear paws stabbing the air as he frantically swiveled his butt. There was also another smell... the crisp, salty smell of the ocean on the other side of nearby sand dunes. Spencer's house reminded me of Kyle's place... the beach, the sun, the sound of the surf. Actually, Spencer and Kyle had a lot in common. I'd noticed a couple of Clive Cussler novels on Spencer's bookshelf, and both guys were into fitness and riding boards even though they were different styles.

After emptying the grass-catcher, and putting the mower away, I removed the old pair of sneakers Spencer had lent me, and hosed them clean. Then I went inside the house.

"All done," I announced, but there was no sign of the guys. I figured they had to be upstairs. Sure enough, as I arrived at the open doorway of Spencer's bedroom, I saw an energetic Willie humping his bud. Spencer was on his back, with his legs draped over Willie's shoulders. Hmmm. What to do? Stand there and jack off at the sight of Willie's balls thumping the hell outa Spencer's ass or...? "Uh... Sorry guys, didn't mean to interrupt. I'll wait downstairs."

"It's cool, Daniel," Spencer groaned between stabs. "C'mon in."

As I approached the bed, I focused on Willie's dimpled, spread cheeks and pink rosebud. Mmmm! Damn, that thing looked so fucking inviting! My boner was rock solid, and I began to imagine sliding the whole seven inches into Willie's tight hole as his ass muscles gripped my shaft. Woohoo!

Then I noticed Spencer's face. He was grimacing a little with each of his bud's aggro thrusts, but his eyes were smiling at me. "You wanna gimme a taste of your juice, Daniel?"

"My juice? Hey, no prob!"

It was a bit of a difficult maneuver, but I managed to throw one leg over Spencer's chest, then, with my back to Willie, straddle him. When I was in position, I moved my crotch forward until my nads were dangling just above Spencer's face. "You wanna lick 'em first?"

I didn't have to ask twice. The dude's wet, pink tongue began to balance my hangers like soccer balls on a player's foot. Cool! Then I moved a little further forward until his tongue found my asshole. Fucking awesome! I would've been quite happy to jack off while his tongue was buried between my ass cheeks, but I had something else planned for my thick, sticky juice.

As I reversed my ass down his heaving chest, I felt a finger enter my rosebud. Whose? Didn't matter. It felt good anyway. Whoa! Two fingers! Then I bent my throbber down until it was level with Spencer's mouth, and watched his sweet lips envelope the fullness of my swollen cockhead.

To help Spencer swallow as much of my seven inches as poss, I placed both my hands around the back of his head, and gently pulled his face toward my blonde patch of pubes. Yes! He must've had a fair bit of practice at blowing dudes 'cause my shaft had all but disappeared between his stretched, red lips, and my balls were resting on his chin. Outasight! Then I relaxed my grip on his head and watched my shiny, spit-covered shaft slowly reappear as his lips returned to the ridge of my knob. At that point, I pulled his face toward my pubes again, then repeated the whole process over and over.

Meantime, Spencer's tongue was doing totally magic things to my cockhead; setting my whole fucking groin on fire with the most incredibly intense bolts of electrically-charged thrills. Woohoo! At the same time, Spencer's ass must've been doing pretty awesome things to Willie's throbber as well 'cause Willie was gasping and groaning behind me like a dude possessed.

"I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum!" I yelled as I felt the rush begin its indescribably pleasurable journey from my nads, and my asshole squeezed whoever's fingers were massaging my prostate. Then Willie let out a wild scream of ecstasy behind me.

"Aaaaaaagggggggghhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!"

I was watching the pained expression on Spencer's cock-filled face, and hearing his gagging, but my exploding teenmeat was beyond caring about anything except emptying my balls of every last drop of boy juice. I could see Spencer's Adam's apple bouncing up and down with each noisy gulp, trying desperately to force my thick jets of jizz down his throat as my pisshole kept firing wad after wad after wad.

"It's a pity we can't walk along the beach naked," I lamented as I watched the white, foamy remnants of a breaker swirl around my feet, then rush back to mother ocean.

"If you had your way, everybody would be naked... twenty four hours a day!" Spencer laughed.

"But the beach is such a natural place," I argued. "Clothes don't belong here."

"What about wetties and boardies?"

"Hmmm. OK.. wetties and boardies. But I still think people should be allowed to be naked on the beach if they wanna be."

"Everybody?" Willie asked. "Are you including people who don't look so good? Like overweight, underweight, old, or whatever?"

"Just 'cause they're naked doesn't mean you've gotta gawk at 'em. You gawk at who you wanna gawk at. Anyway, nudist clubs have all kinds of people there... young, old, whatever... nudity is totally natural to them."

"True... that's why they don't get boners. Did you see that movie "The Genesis Children", with Peter thingy?"

"Glawson."

"Yeah... Glawson. Anyway, he was one of a whole bunch of teens running around naked, and he never got a boner."

"Jeez, I would've. I get a skin-splitter everytime I see Peter Glawson's pics. So how come he didn't get a boner?"

"Don't ask me. Maybe he did, and the footage ended up on the cutting room floor. Or maybe he didn't have a perpetual hardon like you do. I mean, if you dropped your shorts right here and now on this beach, what do you think would happen? Instant boner, right?"

"That's 'cause you and Willie are here." Just then, a stick washed ashore. I grabbed it, threw it as far as I could along the beach, and watched Bugsy dash after it like I'd thrown away a million bucks. "How come he retrieves stuff?"

"Saves you having to do it."

"Yeah, right. What would I want with an old stick?"

"He doesn't know that."

"But he brings it back so I can throw it again. If I keep it, he looks at me like I'm a fucking party pooper. I don't get it."

"What's there to get? He's a dog."

"Guess so," I shrugged before throwing the stick a second time. "So you really think I'm oversexed?"

"You? Nah. Not at all. You blow two dicks at once, piss all over Willie, then fill my face with your whopper while Willie's screwing me... all in the space of a couple of hours. Doesn't seem excessive to me."

"Yeah, right," I cracked, and stumbled a few paces. "Anyway, I still think people should be able to be naked on the beach if they wanna. And if they don't wanna be naked, they can choose to wear clothes. Simple."

"What about people who are offended by nudity?" Willie asked as he took a turn at throwing the stick, which was barely outpacing Bugsy's four busy legs.

"How can nudity be offensive? That sucks. There's nothing offensive about nudity. It's cool. And even boners are cool. I don't see what the big deal is."

"There isn't a big deal," Willie grinned. "People have turned it into a big deal. Actually, the beach is a great leveler in many ways. Dudes can't come down here dressed in business suits or evening gowns. They'd look ridiculous."

"I think you'd look pretty hot in an evening gown," I giggled, then found myself flat on my ass in the water. "Hey!"

"Besides, clothes are a status symbol," he continued as I emptied half the fucking Pacific outa my shorts. "They define who you are. Have you checked out Castro Street? You get the odd nude dude on Halloween, New Year's, or Gay Pride day, but most people are into dressing up."

"And you're not gonna be a horny teen forever," Spencer added with a chuckle.

"That's not the point, Spencer! I'm a horny teen now! Least I was before Willie tried to drown me. That water's fucking freezing! Anyway, I'm not talking about Gay Pride or being older or whatever. I'm talking about now! Fucking hell, there's a whole bunch of stuff I won't be doing when I'm older... like blading or wrestling with my buds or getting around naked. Does that mean I shouldn't be doing them now?"

"He's got a point, Spencer."

"Try telling that to society, man. Public nudity is a no-no, at least it is on this beach."

"Hmmm. Maybe that's just as well," I reasoned after a bit of thought. "It's more fun when you're breaking the rules."

Later that afternoon, we joined Motor Mouth's mom to visit her son in hospital. He had some pretty severe facial bruising, and was being held overnight for observation, but he seemed to be OK and in good spirits. "Somebody moved the light pole while I wasn't looking," he grinned, then immediately realized that his ready smile was causing pain. "Ouch! Jeez! Hey, I'm really sorry for letting you guys down and causing you to worry."

Spencer roughed up his little bud's blonde hair and told him it was OK. "Just don't put us through that again. Promise?"

"Promise."

We spent about an hour with MM talking about a whole bunch of stuff. He wanted to know what I thought of San Francisco and what I'd been doing that day with Spencer and Willie. Yeah, right.

It was about 6pm when we arrived back at the beach house. I asked Spencer if I could phone my mom to let her know I was OK.

"Sure, no problem, Daniel. But I thought you were gonna call her in the morning?"

"I will. But when I saw MM and his mom... well... y'know. Moms worry."

"Tell me about," he grinned. "Mine's still convinced that I can't look after myself."

It was cool to hear my mom's voice again, and it made me kinda homesick. She told me that everybody was fine, and that Paul couldn't wait 'til I got home. "And what's that music in the background?"

"That's Spencer. He's playing the piano. It's an antique. It's one of those humungous grand thingies shaped like a swimming pool."

"It's the other way around, Daniel."

"What is?"

"Pools are shaped like grand pianos."

"Isn't that what I said?"

"Anyway, it sounds lovely. He must be a very talented young man."

"He is, mom. He rules. So does his Willie."

"His what?"

"His bud, Willie. He's a windsurfer, too. He's here now. Anyway, mom, I'll tell you all about it when I get home. Don't wanna run up a huge phone bill. Call you again in the morning. OK? Loveya, mom."

For about half an hour, Willie and I sat on the couch listening to Spencer's playing. How his lightning-fast fingers found the right keys at precisely the right moment, I would never fucking know. He was as good as any pianist I'd ever heard, and he made it look so damn easy. Yet there he was; a bare-chested and bare-footed teen dressed in baggy shorts, playing music like a maestro. How totally cool it would've been to be sitting in a famous concert hall, surrounded by all the gliterati and famous socialites, as Spencer walked onto the stage in his boardies and bare feet, took a bow, then proceeded to enthrall the audience with his musical magic.

"Bravo! Bravo! Bravo!"

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