The directions were letter-perfect. There before me was the big brown "FIELD 6" sign, just a little past the traffic circle surrounding the Jones Beach Tower. I had worked my ass off in some bullshit litigation that uprooted me from the comfort of my leather chair overlooking the Portland skyline. I don't know what that Green Acres lady saw in Manhattan [New York is where I'd rather stay, I get allergic smelling hay!], but suffice it to say that after 3 days of dealing with fucking obnoxious New York attorneys, I was ready for a break before flying back to the west coast. My hotel was paid through to checkout time on Wednesday, and I finished Monday night. A day sooner than expected. I was going to change my flight online, but a wild hair tempted me to go online and see what kind of sexual trouble I could get myself into. I found this cool site for guys who are cruising for sex, and there seemed to be all kinds of options, but the one about a beach grabbed my attention. Only an hour and a half from Manhattan. Hmmm..
Well, fuck. That sold me. The next morning I awoke at 8, and was so fucking excited about getting out of the sweat hole that is Manhattan that I literally rolled out of bed, took a piss, threw on some casual clothing, and was out the door in about 3 minutes. The rent-a-car joint was right across the street, $58 fucking dollars a day, but at this point I didn't care. The web site explained exactly how to get to this parkway then that expressway then another parkway called the Meadowbrook. Weird, what's with the Parkway thing? In the civilized west we have freeways. Whatever.
I pulled into the parking lot of Field 6, gave the kid [cute!] my $7 receipt [another rip-off but who's counting], and followed the web site instructions to park in the left side of the lot. Good thing there was a concession stand, and it was open. I could get a nice hot cuppa coffee. Well, in this case brown water, but no biggie. The caffeine gave me a nice rush as I began my long trudge through the sand in search of all the hot dudes this site promised I'd find.
But the beach was like empty. No surprise. Fucking New Yorkers are such workaholics; it figures they would all be working at 10 o'clock on a Tuesday morning. No matter. It was even better actually. I had the entire place to myself.
I could make out two shapes in the distance as I walked. The closer one was definitely a dude, but the farther one looked like a lady. With no shirt on. Hmmm... I guess I had found the nude beach finally.
So I'm getting closer to the dude, and he's looking better and better. Very nice when that happens.
So I think to myself, shit, what do I have to lose? If he's straight, fine, we'll just talk. So I walk up to him. He's even hotter up close. Damn. He's got that charm that only a REAL man has, not like those guys who tramp around Chelsea or the Castro in their pseudo work boots and fastidiously cropped hair sauntering like nelly queens. No, THIS dude's the real thing. Damn. He's fucking beautiful.
"Hey there," he says in a voice that certainly is not aware of how fucking HOT it sounds.
"Hi, um, er, nice day, eh?" Sometimes I feel like such a dork. But his warm smile is winning me over. So when he gestures for me to join him, I sit down next to him, and the conversation is like instantly comfortable and fun and flowing. Two guys. Guy talk. Nice.
We're just shooting the shit, talking about all sorts of things, like how the gal 500 feet away is looking pretty hot with her tits hanging out like that. He's about 6'4", naturally built [but not a gym freak, we're talking muscles earned from hard work installing roofs and building houses and shit]. He's Italian, and has that thick short black hair that runs down the back of his neck in a slick way that makes me want to put my hand on it and then maybe grab his head and pull it toward my dick. But that would be rushing things. Besides, he's probably into girls.
His eyes are a deep and intense brown and he's not afraid to look at me when he speaks. They kind of hypnotize me actually. I have to look away sometimes, so I don't look like a queer or something. He tells funny stories, and we keep laughing at the dumbest shit. It's all in the delivery I guess. So I'm like, "dude, you are fully dressed on a nude beach. What's the deal?"
Of course he replies, "well, DUDE, you are too. What's YOUR deal?"
"Shy I guess," I reply sheepishly. "Hey, you got a cigarette?" I ask him.
"Uh, yeah, is Marlboro Light OK?"
"Well shit, I'll take anything at this point."
He goes, "Funny you mention that-- I just happen to have something ELSE we could smoke..." --in his fuckin' sexy way. This guy is really turning me on, only problem is he probably doesn't have a clue that I sometimes get turned on by other guys; and if push came to shove, no doubt he'd go running for the gal down the beach.
Anyway, he whips out this fucking FAT joint, and the two of us are taking hits, passing the thing back and forth, when he says, "it's getting warm, I guess you're right dude."
"Right about what?"
And then and there he undoes his zipper on his jeans, pulls off his sneakers, peels off his jockey boxer briefs, then his shirt.
Shit.
He's like completely nude in about 40 seconds. And just sitting there smiling at me, kinda staring me down, the pot definitely taking effect. I stared back of course, feeling less and less inhibited, more and more lost in his incredible, powerful eyes. Damn, this guy was getting the best of me. And his body was fucking awesome. Well, not in the way most might think. I mean, he had broad shoulders, these unbelievably contoured arms, and two well-shaped bulbous pecs, but also this beer gut. Yet somehow, it was perfect on him. Made him even more attractive to me, actually. He had the perfect trail of hair running down the center of his belly, and then this relaxed, low hanging dick that just kind of filled the space in a way that only a real MAN's dick could.
"Brewski time!" His voice startled me. When I made sense of what he had said, I realized it was only 11 am. Shit, beer in the morning? Oh well, I had the day off, and dammit if I wasn't going to go along with whatever he said. "Are you OK?" he asked, and I realized I had been staring at him, lost in him, and quickly managed a somewhat confident-sounding, "yeah, sure. Beer sounds great."
He reached into his cooler and pulled out two Pilsner Urquells.
"Wow, beats But Lite!" I said playfully.
He said, "No, I HAVE Bud Lite!! In the CAN! But first let's get through this classy stuff from Prague to whet our whistle."
Whatever. This guy was SO fucking funny, I kept thinking. And SO FUCKING HOT.
So after he gets my bottle open with his pocket knife [who knows HOW he managed it, but he did] and hands me my beer, he takes his own and literally slugs down the entire beer in one gulp. Shit. How did he do that?
"Aaaaah! Dee-licious. Those Czechs sure know how to brew the good stuff. You know what buddy? In Prague it's considered fucking GREAT to have a big ole beer belly-guys take pride in them and shit!! Isn't that fuckin' funny? Damn, I wanna move to Prague, get out this Manhattan crap hole, yeah, where people will love me and my big belly!"
"It's not that big, really," I replied, quite honestly. It really was sort of cute, but I wasn't about to break up our man-to-man talk by saying his spare tire was... "cute."
It was so weird, the way he kept saying stuff like shit and crap. As if he were reading my mind. But I would never let on to him that the idea of watching him push out a big... well, you get the picture, I wouldn't say shit, I mean I wouldn't say ANYTHING like that to him.
An eternity seemed to pass [must have been the pot] when I realized I had been daydreaming. He was describing something about his work, something having to do with how those tar machines are always pissing people off because they smell so bad, when all the sudden he stops himself and says, "Whoa, hold on." I got scared for a second; was he hooking into my current mind walk, imagining him squatting in the woods or sitting on a public toilet without a stall? Uh-oh. But no..
There's this pregnant pause. He's just sitting there, not talking, bare-assed on the sand. All the sudden this incredible strong fat gushing waterfall of piss just flows out of his dick. "Aaaaaah!!" he says, and then laughs, as his gusher doesn't quit for like 2 minutes.
"You gotta love being on a beach, right dude? I mean, here we are in the midst of nature. We can just rip off all our clothes, hardly anyone is around [it's true, there wasn't hardly anybody except the gal 500 feet away and she was oblivious to us] and if we gotta go to the bathroom we can just let 'er rip!!"
He was right. It was a freeing feeling. Out of the blue, I pushed out a big fart. He laughed uncontrollably! Then he farted. Then he said, "You know, I think it's about time you got those stupid clothes off!"
Right again. There I was, sitting there wearing green khaki dungarees and a black sweatshirt. As he lit up another joint, I thought to myself it would be fucking crazy to take anymore... I was already high as a kite. Yet there I was taking the joint from him, sucking from the thing like a baby on a bottle. Naked! Yup, somehow between tokes I had clumsily gotten out of the khakis and sweatshirt.
"Dude, you work out or WHAT?" He was admiring my lean body.
"Yeah, I get to the gym a few times a week, I'm a personal trainer so I got a lot of pressure on me. My clients would drop me if I were a fat slob."
He laughed and laughed at this, too much I thought. But we were getting REALLY high, and just about anything was funny.
"You ever kiss a dude, dude?"
I was like, "WHAT??" This question came from out of nowhere. He just asked it, and those fucking eyes sliced through me like razors. I stopped resisting. I don't know quite what I was feeling, or why I felt so strong and weak all rolled into one, but the guy had me in his power. His eyes were like the spider that'd just bit its victim. I was his victim. I had nothing to say. Or do. He was coming towards me. His eyes never left mine. I bravely stared right back as his face got closer and closer.
Our lips came together, and we just held them there, pushing against each other. I pulled my face away a little, because my gaze into his eyes was getting all distorted. He pushed his lips back onto mine, and his tongue ever so gently grazed my upper lip. Shit did it feel HOT. Damn. I took my own tongue and, while continuing to stare back into his intense shiny eyes, brushed it against the inside of his lips. That's when my tongue made contact with his tongue. For about half a second. But enough to fuck me up completely. I didn't know which way was up.
The kisses slowly crescendoed into more intense ones, more tongue, more spit intermingling, more suction created as our lips formed a perfect seal, a perfect fit, and our eyes started to become accustomed to the proximity of our faces. This was one HOT fucking experience. Then I realized I had to piss.
"I have to take a leak," I murmured between delicious kisses.
"Yeah, so? I gotta take a shit."
As I heard his powerful self utter these words, my split second reaction was to be unbearably turned on, like this could not be true. My next reaction, a little more down-to-earth, considering the pot-induced, kissing-induced stupor I was in, was to laugh. I laughed out loud. Ha ha ha, that's really funny dude.
Except he wasn't laughing. At all. He was still staring me down in that fucking manly way. I was still his deer-in-headlights. And then, as we sat there side by side, making out, he simply lifted his haunches, and grunted a little. I did not even look down, although from the grunt I could tell exactly what he was doing. All the while his eyes did not waiver. Neither did mine. Except that as I began to smell the evidence, I suddenly got a powerful urge to shit too. Well, FUCK. He did it. Why shouldn't I? We kept kissing. And then I let out a grunt. Followed by the most satisfying, butt-stretching, perfect log of shit that ever slipped out of me.
The intensity of our eye contact had reached a point that we both sort of discovered that we had been jacking ourselves off all along. When I finished pushing out my big dump, I guess you could say we both reached that point of no return. And we had the most amazing mutual orgasm ever experienced by two human beings. Shot after shot of copious sperm kept shooting out of our dicks. Some got in our hair, some got in our faces, a powerful stream even jetted between our lips as we kissed. Pretty fucking hot.
We were sitting up, side by side, while all this happened. So after we came, we lay back in the sand and giggled, and held one another tight. It was a great moment. So great, so satisfied, so perfect, in fact, we lay there for quite a while. The beach was deserted. Finally I whispered, "I don't even know your name!"
"Keith. I'm Keith," he said, chuckling.
"I'm Justin. Nice ta meetcha!" I said rather hospitably.
"Justin, we have made QUITE a mess," Keith whispered into my ear as we lay there.
"Oh boy, no kidding," I replied.
We both sat up, and lo and behold, there between our respective legs lay some of the most beautiful thick healthy logs of shit we'd ever seen.
"Wow!"
"Yeah, WOW," I replied, laughing.
"Good thing we're in a place where we can dispose of all this!"
"Aaaww, do we have to?" I asked.
"Uh, Yeah, that would be a good idea.."
So we dug a nice big hole, buried the long firm turds, and spent the rest of the day drinking Bud Lite and laughing.
Oh, I forgot to point out that this all happened thirty-eight years ago. That's right. I'm writing from our summer cottage in the woods in Santa Cruz, California. Keith's fast asleep as I type all this, but I wanted to relay to someone how we met all those years ago. The "scene of the crime" is not far up the coast from where I'm sitting right now. The stories I could tell, about what we've been through ever since that fateful day, well, I could go on and on. But suffice it to say that love is a powerful thing. And to this day, well, the bathroom door never gets closed.