THE BOYS ON THE BEACH
PART ONE
It was an unusually hot day, even for August, but I ventured outdoors anyway. I had promised myself that I would explore a Nature Preserve because it would merge two of my favorite hobbies: hiking and photography. I stumbled upon the information about the preserve on a web site and it sounded too good to be true: wild, pristine, full of flora and fauna but rarely visited by people. The web site warned that there were no trails but that only increased my wanting to discover what the area was like. I wasn't at all sure that it would offer many opportunities for photographs but it was Saturday, I had nothing else to do, and the chance to explore the outdoors was irresistible.
I'm an early riser so by seven I had showered, put on my hiking clothes, eaten a big breakfast, and was on my way. An hour's drive put me into a gravel parking lot at the edge of the Nature Preserve. There were no other cars in the lot; I would have the place all to myself. I retrieved my backpack from the trunk of my car. I had packed it with my camera, tripod, a couple of extra lenses, a fresh set of batteries, a couple of energy bars, and several bottles of water. I had also downloaded and printed a satellite photo of the area, on which I had marked what I thought would be a good route to follow. It would take me through a meadow, past a creek, and up a hill to the top of a cliff that overlooked the ocean and miles of shoreline.
Two hours and several dozen photographs later, I approached the cliff. It was a long climb up the hill to the top but not tiring because I stopped periodically to take pictures and catch my breath. The effort was certainly worth it. When I reached the top, I looked down about 100 feet to see the surf exploding against the rocky shoreline and the huge expanse of the ocean extending to the horizon. I knew then that I would have to come back frequently, perhaps at sunset, camp overnight, and return home the next morning.
I walked along the top of the cliff through the dense forest in search of different perspectives to photograph. Soon, I noticed something different. The shoreline below me was not rocky. A small cove with a sandy beach was surrounded on three sides with steep cliffs; the fourth side was open to the water. I would have loved to have gone down there, swim in the relatively calm water to cool off, and possibly get a few more pictures. But the rocky cliffs allowed no way down. I took a few pictures and then sat down for a snack and to enjoy the comparatively cool breeze coming in from the ocean.
I had finished an energy bar and drained a bottle of water when I noticed two people in a small boat with an outboard motor enter the cove. They beached the boat and spread a blanket on the sand. Not a particularly photogenic scene from my vantage point but I snapped a few pictures with my telephoto lens. I checked the pictures on the display of my digital camera and noticed that the two people were young men. One of the teens looked familiar. After several moments of thought, I realized why. The tall blond was Levi Mathews who lived in my neighborhood. His father was the pastor of a church just one block from my house. I had frequently admired his good looks, especially as he cut the grass or played basketball in his driveway in cut-off jeans and no shirt. He was the image of a virile young man. I'd had only one brief conversation with him on one of my morning walks but it was enough to convince me that he was articulate, polite, and intelligent.
As I watched, I saw them strip off their clothes and run, totally naked, to the water where they cavorted and were obviously having a great time. I took a few more photos of them frolicking about in the water and was about to head back to my car when I saw them embrace and kiss each other. I was stunned. Not because they were two males kissing--I'm gay and understand the attraction to men--but because the son of a virulently homophobic pastor was gay. I reasoned that he had to be deep in the closet to his family and his father's parishioners. They would not tolerate such "sinful" behavior.
I could empathize completely with the poor boy. I was in a similar situation when I was his age, just a few short years ago. My family's religion and politics abhorred homosexuality. My parents frequently joined protests of gay marriage and abortion. How could I tell them I was gay? It would devastate them. I escaped the suffocating environment by moving across country to settle in California. That disappointed them but it would allow me to be the person I am.
Levi and his friend left the water and walked to the blanket just 50 feet from the water's edge where they stood and resumed their kissing. Even from a great distance, I could tell they were grinding their pelvises together. When Levi dropped to his knees and took his boyfriend's cock into his mouth I felt my own cock stirring. Without conscious thought, I started to fondle myself. The sight of the two naked teens embracing was so erotic that I was no longer interested in the scenic setting. A short time later, they were lying on the blanket in a 69 position pleasuring each other. My arousal increased; I was unable to take my eyes off the sensual drama unfolding below. It wasn't long before I had a raging hard-on. Powerless to deny the urging of my throbbing cock, I lowered my pants and briefs to my ankles and stroked myself to orgasm.
Levi and his friend must have been exercising remarkable control because they were still sucking each other as I pulled up my pants. In a similar situation, I would do the same, prolonging the pleasure as much as possible. For what seemed an unusually long time, their only movement was bobbing heads and roaming hands. It was a beautiful sight. Two young men locked in an intimate expression of ... would it be too much to call it love? Impulsively, I snapped a few photos of their coupling. Believe it or not, my motivation was artistic: the blue water rolling up the beach with each wave, the golden sand sparkling in the sunlight, and two virile teens sharing their bodies.
Eventually, I saw first one and moments later the other suddenly go motionless. Clearly, they had filled each other's mouth with creamy nectar. They didn't move for a short time, no doubt savoring the gift they had taken into their mouths. Soon, however, they changed positions, reclining side-by-side with full body contact from chest to crotch. They hugged and kissed. Were they blending their cum in their mouths? I hoped so. It would symbolize their emotional bond. Or was I being too much of a romantic? They might be simply enjoying the physical sex without an emotional bond.
They lay with arms and legs intertwined and, once in a while, kissing. How I envied them! I had not been with a man since my Junior year in college and my yearning for a meaningful relationship had grown steadily since.
I snapped a few more pictures of them cuddling and caressing. At that point, I realized that I was being a voyeur and that I had invaded their privacy. I felt guilty for intruding on two teens' intimate experience. Feeling a little dirty, I hastily put away camera in my backpack and started walking back to my car.
As I drove home, what I had witnessed on the beach monopolized my thoughts. I relished the memories of the naked bodies making love. (Somehow I couldn't let myself think that it was just sex.) But there was a dark side to my thinking. Levi and possibly his boyfriend had to conceal their nature, sneak off to fully enjoy each other, and live in fear that their relationship would become known. I knew all too well what that was like: the pain of knowing you would be an outcast and probably persecuted as a deviant. I could cry for them.
I arrived home in late afternoon, hot, tired, and hungry. I showered, put on fresh clothes, and decided to go out to eat. There's a sports bar near my neighborhood that serves the best spare ribs you'd ever want to eat. That, with a mug or two of cold beer was far better than anything in my refrigerator. I walked the half-mile or so to the bar just in case I lingered over more than two beers and couldn't drive home. I met a co-worker at the sports bar and we had a long conversation about nothing in particular but it served to get my mind off what I had seen on the beach. It was almost nine when we made our separate ways home. It's a good thing I didn't have to drive because I had a buzz from too many beers. Home at last, I stripped and fell into bed. I was asleep almost immediately.
The next morning, Sunday, as I was eating breakfast, my thoughts returned to Levi. I wondered what he might be thinking as he listened to his father's sermon. Would it be another strident condemnation of homosexuality? If so, how might it affect the relationship between father and son? How might his father's bigotry torment the teen? Would he feel guilty for his behavior (as I did for a painfully long time) or would he feel animosity toward an otherwise loving parent? Could I--should I--intervene to help an admirable young man cope with his dilemma? He was an athletic, personable, and very bright young man who didn't deserve to suffer society's hatred and discrimination. Yes, I decided, I would try to help Levi. But how?
That afternoon, I uploaded the images from my camera to my computer. As I reviewed them, I found 15 that were worth saving; the rejects were moved to a file I called "also ran." The last several, however, presented me with a dilemma. Two or three were "keepers." The exposure and composition (with a little judicious cropping) were excellent--nearly museum quality. They conveyed the impression of young love being expressed. They evoked the sense of exquisite emotional bonding in a tranquil setting. Regrettably, they could never be seen. Museum directors might possibly want to display them but wouldn't because the public would condemn them as pornographic. The condemnation would be especially vicious since the two lovers were homosexual.
I debated whether to keep them. I had taken the pictures without consent but, I rationalized, I could keep them for my own enjoyment and never to be shown to anyone else. I could delete them to prevent the possibility, however remote, that someone else would see them. My decision was simple but painful. I deleted them. I could not risk others seeing them and recognizing Levi or his lover; that could bring tragedy to them both.
I thought frequently about Levi throughout the following week. Most of my thinking revolved around whether and how I could help him cope with his sexuality in a toxic social environment. To be brutally candid, I must confess that the visual memory of his muscular body and the sex act I observed triggered arousal and eventual ejaculation as I lay in bed at night.
By Friday, my concern for Levi had gradually grown into a resolve to help him ... if I could ... and if he wanted my assistance. I formulated a plan and weighed the potential risks and benefits.
On Saturday morning, I timed my walk to coincide with his regular schedule of cutting his grass. I passed by his house as he was trimming around the bushes by the front door.
"Excuse the interruption," I began. "But I just wanted to compliment you on the work you do on your yard."
"Thanks," he replied as he gave me a heart-melting smile.
"I'm Mark Hutchins and I live around the corner at 337 Beechwood," I said, pointing In the direction of my house.
"Levi Wilson," he replied as he extended his hand. His grip was firm but not forceful, indicating, I thought, an admirable self-confidence.
"Besides complimenting you on your work, I wanted to ask you whether you'd be interested in doing some yard work for me ... for, say ... twenty dollars an hour. Would you have the time and would you be interested?"
"What kind of yard work?" he inquired. His immediate question didn't answer my question but, rather, demonstrated a keen mind that wants information before making a commitment.
"Simple stuff," I said. "Mowing the grass, trimming some bushes, maybe weeding the flower beds once in a while. I've been trying to do it but I don't always have the time and certainly can't do it as well as you do."
"Twenty dollars an hour!" he said. "Isn't that a bit much?"
"Not at all. When one lacks both time and skill, it's worth it to keep the place looking nice."
He grinned. "That's an offer I can't refuse. When would you like me to start?"
I grinned back at him. "I'm flexible. Today. Some time next week. Whatever fits your schedule."
"Give me an hour to finish up here. I'll come over and you can show me what you want done."
My plan was working. So far. Hiring him was not completely devious. I could do the yard work. It's just that I didn't like doing it and was grateful for his help. The success of the rest of my plan was uncertain.
He arrived, as promised, an hour later and I took him on a tour of the yard to explain what I wanted done. I showed him the mower and tools in the garage. From there, we went inside and sat at the kitchen table. He asked when I wanted him to start and I deferred to his schedule. "How about right now?" he asked. "The grass is a little long and I've got nothing planned this afternoon."
His willingness to start right away caused me to wonder. It was the previous Saturday afternoon that I watched him and his boyfriend on the beach. But, of course, I was not ready to inquire about that.
When he had finished mowing and trimming the front yard, he went into the back yard. I watched him from inside the house remove his tee shirt. Perspiration on his broad shoulders, impressive chest, and flat abdomen caused his skin to glisten in the afternoon sun. "Oh my gawd," I thought. "He has a magnificent body." For a brief moment, I allowed myself to imagine that he did not have a boyfriend, that he might be the one I'd been looking for since arriving in California. With his personality, intelligence, maturity, and body, I could easily fall in love with him. I could devote my life to making him happy.
I continued watching him, admiring his diligent and seemingly effortless movements and, of course, his physique.
He put away the mower and trimmer and rang the door bell. I invited him in for a cold glass of ice tea. Thankfully, he accepted my offer. I suggested we sit in the living room but he declined, saying, "No thanks. I'm all sweaty and I don't want to stain your furniture." Was there anything not to like in this young man?
We sat at the kitchen table and talked. I learned that he would be a senior in High school in a few weeks and played wide receiver on the football team. (That explained his musculature.) He would turn 18 in a few months and had a younger brother, 14, and sister, 11. I asked about his future plans; he said he wanted to go to college and study architecture although his father wanted him to attend divinity school and become a pastor. He groped for words as he explained that his faith was important to him but admitted that he didn't want to spend his life as an impoverished pastor.
We chatted for the better part of an hour as we exchanged information about ourselves and there seemed to be a rapport developing between us. I'd planned on waiting before carefully bringing up the subject of sex but the free flow of information between us gave me the confidence to subtly steer the conversation. "You must do something just for fun," I began. "Movies? Hobbies? Hang out with friends? Maybe enjoy hiking, surfing, or boating?"
"Not a lot of time for that," he said. "Especially during the school year, what with football, homework, and all that."
"I understand," I said with what I hoped was a thoughtful expression. "I just thought that--since I saw you last weekend at the Nature Preserve--you might enjoy the outdoors."
His reaction was delayed but pronounced. His eyes widened. His brow wrinkled. He fidgeted. "You saw me there?" he asked urgently.
"Yes," I replied with a slight smile to relieve his concern. "I was hiking--something I do whenever I get the chance. I was at the top of the cliff when you and your friend were swimming."
"That's all you saw?" he asked, unwittingly implying that he had done more than swim.
"Before I answer," I began. "Let me tell you a story. Just hear me out, Levi because it's important that you understand where I'm coming from. When I entered High School back in Missouri, I felt like I was sick. Not physically. Mentally. I was attracted to boys. Girls just didn't turn me on like they did for other guys at school. I went through a period of anxiety that I was somehow deficient or abnormal. I was afraid to talk to anyone about it because, you see, in my small community and especially within my family, same sex attraction was either a mental illness or a sin against God. I suffered through my freshman year with guilt that I was not normal. The torment was almost unbearable, especially when friends asked me why I didn't date girls. By the middle of my sophomore year, I accepted the fact that I was homosexual. It was a painful admission to make to myself but I couldn't deny the truth. Of course, I concealed my secret. I didn't want to hurt my parents and certainly didn't want to be persecuted as a queer by my friends. Now, skip ahead a few years to make the story shorter. I went away to college in Massachusetts. In my junior year there, I became friends with a senior. Very good friends! Hell! Let me be plain. We had a gay relationship. It was the happiest period of my life. It ended when he graduated and took a job in Japan. I was heart-broken. And very lonely throughout my senior year. After graduation, I came here to California, hoping to be myself and not live a lie. I've been looking--unfortunately without any luck--for a man to share my life with. Now, with that out of the way, let me say that I saw more than you and your friend swimming. And let me be very honest. It was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Two young men, obviously fond of each other, expressing their affection in the most intimate way in an idyllic setting. At least that's my interpretation of what I saw. Bottom line, Levi ... my hunch is that you have to sneak away to be with your boyfriend, that you're possibly afraid that your family will find out. I know those feelings all too well. I also know the joy of being with a man. I suspect we're very much alike in that regard. Well, I've rambled on perhaps too long. Let me conclude by giving you my solemn promise that I'll never mention what I saw to another soul."
Levi sat wordlessly, staring at me, for what seemed to be a very long time. I feared that I was seriously premature in telling him what I saw and relating my experience. I didn't mean to confront him but he may have perceived it that way. I hoped that he would understand my empathy but my hope was diminishing quickly. I was about to apologize when he spoke.
"So you must know how I feel," he said as he dropped his head and stared at the table top. Looking up, he continued. "And I'm grateful that you won't out me."
"Believe me, Levi. I would never out you. Because I understand your situation. Been there. Done that. It's a burden for you to bear but I'm confident you have the strength and maturity to cope. And let me add one more thing. If there's ever a time you want someone to talk to that understands, I'm willing to listen. I may even be able to give you some advice ... if that's what you want. So please ... feel free to talk to me at any time."
Levi's eyes began to tear up. He stood and said, "Thanks, Mr. Hutchins. For keeping my secret. And for your understanding."
I stood and said, "I just have a favor to ask. All my friends call me Mark. I'd like to be your friend. Forget the Mr. and call me Mark. Okay?"
A slight grin crossed his face. He took two steps toward me, gave me a hug, and said, "Thanks again, friend."
The following Thursday night, Levi telephoned. "Hi, Mr. Hutch-- ... ah ... Mark. This is Levi. Would you mind if I stopped by for a little while?"
"Not at all," I said. "You're always welcome."
He declined my offer of refreshments when he arrived and I ushered him into the living room. "What's up?" I asked.
"I told Gary--that's my boyfriend--about your seeing us on the beach. He panicked because he's still in the closet, too. His parents are members of Dad's congregation and hate gays. He didn't settle down until I told him about our conversation. At first, he didn't believe you would keep the secret. He was afraid our lives would be trashed. But I think ... I hope ... I convinced him that we're safe. That is, as long as we don't go to the beach anymore. Somebody else might see us. We agreed that the only safe thing to do was not to see each other. At least not for ... well ... you know. Neither of us can do anything at home; that's asking for trouble. So it looks like we're breaking up ... at least temporarily. So here's my question. You said that when your lover went to Japan, it broke your heart. How did you cope? What can we do if we can't get together? I don't want to lose him but I can't risk being with him. Sure, we can see each other. We can talk on the phone. But ... well ... you know what I mean."
"I understand the difficulty," I said. "You love each other but can't make love to each other. That's got to be worse than my losing a lover permanently. . It would be easy to say it's not a permanent separation and you could wait it out but we both know that's not the best answer. I'm sure we can think of something. In the meantime, why don't you tell me about Gary? Is he just a boyfriend? Pardon the term but is he just a fuck-buddy? Or is he the one you want to devote your life to?"
"The best answer to your questions, I suppose, is a long one. We started out, as children, as playmates. Even went with each other's families on picnics and stuff. In Middle School, we went through puberty and, as I suppose most kids do, compared notes about our development. That progressed into showing each other our growing penises and hair. One night, at a sleepover at his house, he taught me how to masturbate. It wasn't long before we did it together every chance we got. When we were sophomores in high school, on a dare, we sucked each other. I avoided him for a long time because I felt dirty for what we had done. But I missed him. Not because of the sex. He was fun to be with. He has a delicious sense of humor. He's quite adventurous and creative. He's no athlete but he's consistently on the honor roll at school. I guess what I'm saying is that I was very fond of him. And was unhappy that, by my choice, we didn't spend much time together. About this same time, I realized that I was more interested in boys than girls. I fought that for a while but eventually realized that I was homosexual. Not only homosexual but I was probably in love with Gary. That was a bigger problem. I was gay but I was sure Gary was straight. Sure, he had instigated the dare when we sucked each other but I was convinced that was just juvenile experimentation. I didn't know what to do. Gary invited me to go with his family down to San Diego to visit his grandmother. Of course, I accepted. My parents approved because Gary's family were `good Christians.' Gary's grandmother had a very small apartment so we stayed in a motel--Gary and I had our own room. The first night, Gary told me how much he liked me. As I said, he's the more adventuresome and so he had the courage to say what I was only thinking. I said how much I missed seeing him. I won't go into details but that was the first time we kissed. And the first time we had real sex--the kind that is more than just physical sex. Since then, we've committed to each other. Does that answer your question?"
"So you love each other?" I asked.
"Yes. Well ... I'm pretty sure we do. If wanting to be with someone, if being miserable without him, if wanting to make him happy is love then yes, we love each other."
"That's wonderful!" I exclaimed. "You're very lucky to have found someone to love."
"Not so lucky," Levi corrected me. "It's not lucky that we can't be together to ... well ... do stuff."
"True." I agreed. "Let me think out loud for a minute. You're going to be here Saturday to cut my grass. Suppose Gary comes with you. I'd like to meet him. And he probably wants to meet me. After lunch, you and he can do the yard work. I've got some errands to run so I'll leave you two here to finish the work ... and whatever else you want to do. I'm having dinner with friends so I won't be home until seven or so. Just lock up the house when you're finished with whatever you're doing."
"You'd do that for us?" he asked incredulously.
"Let me put it this way. If Gary was just a fuck-buddy, I'd say no way. Wait `till you find someone who deserves you. But it's abundantly clear that you and he have something precious, something too precious to be destroyed or allowed to wither away."
"I came to get some advice, Mark. But you've give me ... given US ... so much more. I can't thank you enough."
"Your smile is all the thanks I need, Levi."
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For the next few months, I always had somewhere to be on Saturday afternoon. When the weather turned cold, I would find something inside the house for which I needed the help of two young men. They both worked hard and, I was sure, played hard before I returned home. By January, their lovemaking included occasional weekday evenings. Whatever excuses they made to their parents for spending so much time at my house was not my concern. I was confident, however, that they were inventive enough to create plausible explanations. They even grew comfortable "doing their thing" in the guest room while I was downstairs reading or watching television. That was bitter-sweet for me. I was very pleased that the two lovers could enjoy private time but I was also envious. They enrolled in the same college and were roommates where they could express their love whenever they wanted. My delight in having played a role in their happiness was mixed with frustration that I had not been able to achieve what they enjoyed--a life companion to love. But I'm still looking and hoping.
to be continued