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Becoming a Philosopher 21
The sound of Martin's groans woke me up. Sven was on his side behind Martin, I was behind Sven in the bed and he was moving his hips vigorously. The bed was rocking and I rubbed Sven's back while he fucked. I moved closer and rubbed my aroused dick against Sven's arse. Sven signalled that he was coming, and his body shuddered as he filled Martin's arse. Martin exclaimed: "coming." It was such a sensual moment that I ejaculated against Sven's back. We wrestled on the bed kissing and playing with each other's dicks for a while longer.
The deluxe shower accommodated us comfortably as we continued fooling around. Martin was still hard, and Sven went down on his knees and wrapped his lips around his dick. Martin used his hips and fucked his mouth and pulled out and shot his cum onto the shower floor. We dried off and went down to breakfast. After breakfast, we put our Speedos on and applied sunscreen and walked down to the beach to launch the Flying Dutchman. I dropped the centreboard and tightened the main sail. Sven was at the tiller and steered us towards the opening of the lagoon. The wind was much stronger than the previous day and the boat lifted, and we had to lean out over the water to keep balance. The sound of the water knocking against the bottom of the hull gave a sense of speed.
Sven found a quiet beach and we pulled the boat onto the shore. Martin set up an umbrella and we laid our towels out. I opened the cooler and pulled out three Cokes. We lay on the beach for about an hour until the wind picked up and blew the umbrella into the lagoon, and Martin ran in to catch it. The clouds were building up and I asked the others to gather their stuff and to get into the boat as I pushed it into deeper water. The water was becoming rougher, and the icy water sprayed in our faces every time the boat hit waves. The wind blew harder, and the boat was leaning over.
Sven's hand slipped off the rope and he fell off the boat. He shouted as he slipped away, and I took the tiller from Martin and brought the boat around. Sven, wearing his life vest, was bopping up and down in the waves. I struggled to get the boat close to him, and Martin let the main sail down and we eventually were able to pull Sven on board. He was shivering violently from the icy water and Martin wrapped a towel around him. Sven was pale and in shock and he didn't talk. Martin hoisted the sail and I steered the boat through the beating rain towards the hotel. We were soaked and the wind made it feel even colder. It was a relief to finally reach the shore and we pulled the boat onto the beach and ran back to the hotel in the heavy rain.
I turned on the shower and we got Sven under the hot water to warm up. For a second my mind flushed back when I showered Sven to wake him up. The colour had returned to his face, and he wasn't shaking as much. We dried off and went into the room where Martin had turned up the air conditioner and warmed up the room. Sven put on some shorts, and we got him under the fluffed-up duvet. I opened the bottle of vodka that Sven had brought from Sweden and poured us each a generous splash.
Martin and I were sitting on the bed next to Sven, we had decided not to drive back to Cape Town that evening, but to stay an extra night. Martin and I climbed into bed on either side of Sven to keep him warm. Sven began to sob, and we held him tight. He said that he had just realised what a fright he got, and that he was grateful that we got him out of the cold water so quickly. We lay together quietly for an hour or so and then went down to enjoy another buffet meal. A WhatsApp came through from Mr Rossi from Verona wishing me a happy Sunday. I sent him two pictures from Langebaan to show him where we were, and he sent greetings to Martin.
The sky had cleared up and the sun appeared. The blues in the lagoon seemed bluer than blue and there was a crispness in the air. We debated driving up the coast to Velddrif and Laaiplek to search for spoonbills, pelicans, and flamingos; but we decided to stay in our room and to take things easy.
Martin lay on the side of Sven and I sat up against the wall next to him, Sven looked like his own self as he dozed. Martin had fallen asleep and I was reading the book Sven brought me. "The History of Violence" wasn't an easy read, the story is told in first-person narration, and the novel presents its events in a nonlinear format. The narrator, Édouard, recounts a sexual encounter in Paris on Christmas Eve. The encounter culminates in a violent rape and robbery. Édouard reports the crime to the police, which causes him more trauma.
My hand rested on Svens' shoulder. He stirred and woke up; he looked up at me and smiled. He moved his head to my dick and lightly bit on my dick which hardened quickly. He slipped my dick out of my boxers into his mouth. Shivers of pleasure ran through my body, as I put my book down as I gently placed my hands on his head ran my fingers through his hair.
Martin had also woken up and began licking Sven's hole which brought moans of pleasure from him. Martin used his lubed finger to explore the entrance to his friend's chute. He smeared the waiting hole with the lube spreading it with his tongue.
Martin began to rub the head of his dick along Sven's arse crack and the horny Swede eagerly pushed back to engage Martin's dick with his hole. Very slowly the rampant dick went inside bringing a moan of pleasure from Sven. When he was completely inside, Martin waited for a few seconds. He then moved rhythmically as Sven continued to suck me. Watching them made me incredibly randy and I quickly shot my load in Svens mouth.
Martin moaned as he released his load in Sven's arse. Martin's dick had been rubbing against Svens sweet spot and when he felt Martin's dick throbbing, he shot his load.
"Fuck, this is good, thanks Martin," Sven said.
Martin told us that it had been an incredible weekend and that he liked getting to know Sven. Sven was all teary again and told us that he hadn't been so happy in a long time. That night Martin told us another one of his stories:
"Grant was an excellent tennis player and he was on the courts every day of the holidays. He was in the eleventh grade, and he wouldn't crack. His athletic teen body moved quickly, and he knew just where to place a ball, and I couldn't beat him.
I hadn't seen Grant for a while. I was swimming in the warm Indian Ocean at a place called Scottburgh. It was midsummer and the sun was cruel, and the ocean waters provided some respite in the subtropical heat. The waves threw me from side to side so I went deeper, beyond the breakers. Next thing someone was holding me from behind; not knowing who it was I struggled free and turned around to see Grant's water-soaked face, and it was wonderful to see his blue eyes through the droplets of saltwater again.
He was on holiday with his family in a hotel and leaving the next day, and I was on holiday with my family in a caravan. We tried to remain buoyant in the swell as we slowly kicked. He held my hand and it felt great. He then moved closer and touched my body as we both kicked. I never expected that, and my dick grew hard.
We were sort of play wrestling in the sea, among the other bathers. We staid between the flags, s the surf lifesavers were on the beach keeping us in check. We caught a wave and body surfed towards shore. We were soon back in swell again and Grant was squeezing my erect dick. Signalling for more. I placed my hand on his dick which was also hard he was big. Treading water, we were feeling each other under the cover of the ocean. I got my hand into his black Speedo and tried to wank him. He pulled his costume down a bit to make it easier. Our faces were very close together, as we breathed more heavily because of the effort to stay afloat. Grant's long fingers found their way around my dick. It felt great to be doing something like this in the ocean. I moved his skin up and down and Grant said it felt good.
A wave that broke early pushed us towards the shore and broke our rhythm, but we swam back into the swell and resumed our wanking. Grant came first, I felt his dick stiffen and throb as he spewed cum. He wanked me faster and felt my dick harden and an incredible sensation as I came in the ocean.
We continued floating together. Grant held my hand. It was thrilling doing this in a crowd of other swimmers oblivious to what was going on. We slipped our dicks back into our costumes and body-surfed towards the shore, before returning to the swell, making sure that we stayed between the flags.
Grant hung around my neck as we wrestled again. We agreed to meet on the beach after dark, as he rubbed my hard dick. I returned the favour and wrapped my fingers around his. The resilience of youth!
Grant never came down to the beach that evening, and there was no way to get hold of him. I sat next to the uprooted lifeguard flags on my own and wanked in the moonlight."
I know I don't need to tell you what we did the rest of the night.