The story below is a work of fiction, set in the format of reality. Any resemblance to real people is entirely coincidental in nature. It is not meant to accurately reflect upon persons in towns, cities, or governmental areas, in which the story is staged. If a sexual scene involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age, in most state and countries, you are not allowed to read this story by law. Check with your local laws regarding such. Sexual safety matters. This is fiction. Use protection in real life. `Got condom?'
"The Tidelight Zone" 03 wriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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"So, what do you do around here for excitement, Jay?" Anthony inquires of his `Italian brother'.
Putting his fork down, with a wicked grin, he replies, "Get laid."
Suddenly, Marc has second thoughts about wanting to pal around with Jay Bontempo. However, Jay changes his tune, when he sees each of the guys looking for each other's reactions.
"Psych, guys! Just pulling your chain."
Marc wipes nonexistent sweat off his brow, with the back of his hand.
"Hee heee... had you going, didn't I?" Jay tells Marc, loud enough to key in the others.
"More than going. Like almost out of here."
"Oh? How does that go?"
Elton speaks up for the guys, "We're a tight group of buddies, Jay." Putting down his fork, he clicks into a more serious mode, asks, "Ever hear of safety in numbers?"
"Well, sure. Every time we hike out by the volcanos, that's what they tell us."
"Look," Anthony jumps in to explain, "what El is trying to convey here..."
"Whoa, that's a big word, Anthony!"
"Shut up, Marc. I'm a big boy. I can handle it... What I was trying to `convey', before I was so rudely interrupted..."
Marc interrupts again, "How big?"
"Shut up, Marc!" El warns this time.
"Like I was saying, Jay, we're a tight bunch of guys and..."
"Tight?" Jay now asks.
"Forget it," Anythony gives up, conceding, "You two are made for each other!"
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"Almost time for `Queer As Folk' to come on," Beach patrol officer, Jerry Galliano informs his colleague, Steve Blair.
"You go ahead, Jerry. I think I'll take a walk on the beach."
"What's this Steve? Chancing on missing a peek at the love of your life, Scott Lowell's hot bod?"
"I know. I'll catch it on DVD."
"Okay. But don't be too late, Steve. It's going to be a scorcher tomorrow. You know what that means?"
"Wall to wall people?"
"You've got it!"
Smiling, Steve thanks Jerry for the brotherly love, always showered upon him when it comes to the welfare bit. Clothed in jeans, gauze shirt and sandals, Steve leaves the porch, for the sandy beach. At the portal to the white grained area, he kicks off his footwear and holds them in one hand. The light breeze blows his shirttails behind him, across his hairy chest. He sighs at the nice feeling, almost like hands lightly grazing his pecs and stomach. In the distance, he picks up on the lights, dotting facings of the Fairmont Kea Lani Resort. By chance he figures he'll make his presence known, in case some special guy is out and about.
"Hey," a strange, yet attractive male greets Steve.
"Hey," Steve calls back, stopping for a moment, to be polite.
Unlike Steve, a beach patrol trooper, off duty, the guy standing before him seems to be the average, daily beachcomber. Steve knows all too well their' kind. Arrives at the beach early, sets up shop', dousing their hot body with tanning oil. By mid afternoon the guy's peddling his wares'. By now both sense a gay' attraction.
"Up for some hot action?"
Mulling over the options, Steve thinks quickly. It's not that the older teen is unattractive. On the contrary, more alluring.
"The evening breeze is kind of cool. With only that speedo on, could freeze your balls off!"
Knowing what he's doing, this only serves to open the `can of worms'.
Getting frazzled, the guy replies, "Hey, if you're not looking for sex, mister, then move on."
"Me? You're the one that confronted me, kid."
Experiencing a couple of months of the shenanigans guys try to pull off, on the beach, Steve figures he's got this kid more or less pegged.
"Yeah, I guess, but..."
Not exactly your run o'the mill panhandler, Steve figures this kid has a `legit' illegitimate reason for doing what he's doing. He also wonders why the teenager is shivering, with only a Speedo as clothing.
"Y'know, I don't look it without my uniform, bike and beach patrol helmet, but..."
"You're a cop?"
Suddenly the tanned beach peddler gets clammy.
"I'm not on duty right now, but..."
"I swear officer, sir, mister, that I was only doing it to get some change for the bus.. I..."
"Where's your belongings?"
Steve looks around on the ground. Looking up, he sees the teenager's shoulders slumping, his previous streak of confidence gone out of him, looking down at his own chest, as if his head is hung in shame. He most likely knows what the guy has been through, by now. It's happened dozens of times, if that's the reason.
"Let me guess," Steve begins to pour forth, "you figured a nice day at the beach. You go for a swim, come back and you're wiped out, except for what you've got on?"
"How'd you... know?"
A glint of excitement, at Steve's finding out, encompasses the youth's being. Then, his plight returning, sinks back down into his glum disposition.
Removing the gauge shirt, Steve bears his own back, for the kid.
"Here, take this."
Looking up, the teenager takes in the view of the shirt, hanging on the end of Steve's fingertips as if a hook on a wall.
As the guy takes the shirt, puts his arms into it, he replies, "Thanks. I was getting a little chilled, man."
"Yeah, I could tell," Steve slipped, noticing the guy's hard, perky nips.
Not picking up on it, the teen did make it obvious, after holding the gauze shirt shut around his chilled bod. Looking up at Steve, he took in the splendid physique, light covering of dark brown hair across his tanned pecs, the defined trail separating his abs. To make it totally obvious, eyes dropped to admire the dark treasure trail bridging Steve's navel to the waist of his jeans.
Instead of saying something cliched, something Steve wanted to say, like, `like what you see', he instead chose, "Tell me something, have you ever done this before?"
"Nope," he replied to Steve, more of an ashamed token in his voice.
"Steve Blair."
A hand accompanied his introduction.
First taking Steve's hand, but his attention more on what lay behind it, the teenager introduced himself, "Sean Nash and thanks for the shirt."
"You're welcome. So, what's your story, Sean?"
"Happened like you said, Steve. I go into the water, come out and I'm wiped out. My cooler, towel, my shorts that had my wallet in them, my keys... my keys... oh shit! My house keys."
"Calm down, Sean." Steve puts his hands on the shoulders of the gauze shirt.
"Nothing like this has happened to me before, Steve."
"I suppose you've never peddled sex before, either. Huh, Sean?"
"How could you tell?" Then another question flooded Sean's mind, "Hey, you're not going to arrest me, are you?"
"If I wasn't gay, I might have."
"You're gay?"
One strike for Steve, he was sure he picked up on some gay vibes.
"Um. Yeah, aren't you?"
Strike two. Making goof number two, not only thinking, but telling the teen to his face what he `was'.
"How could you tell?"
Steve sighed with relief, not outwardly.
"Just a whim. I mean, here you are a guy, offering a guy sex?"
"Does that make me a hustler? A trick? Oh man, you can have me arrested, if you wanted to, Steve!"
"Correction, Sean. I `could' arrest you."
"Oh shit, you're not going to are you, Steve. My mom would be pissed if..."
"Calm down, Sean. I think enough has happened to you for one day. C'mon, let's gets this thing straightened out and find you some clothes."
"But I told you Steve, I don't have any money. They..."
Deciding the best thing would be to break the theme, Steve asked, "So where did you get the idea that peddling your body, along the beach, would get you bus fare, Sean?"
"Oh, I wasn't the only one."
"Just what I figured."
"You know, Steve?"
"Part of the reason I like these evening walks. It doesn't happen everyday, but you wouldn't be the first guy in this predicament, Sean."
"I know. The guy that told me about this made his bus fare home."
"Not a great way to earn it Sean. You never know who you're going to pick up."
"He didn't do too bad."
Steve was all ears, as Sean rattled off the whole scenario.
"His name was Brad, only he wasn't any ole nineteen year old, like me."
"How old?" Steve prodded, knowing that Sean wanted to get the story out of his head.
Plus, it helped pass the time til they reached the Kea Lani Resort.
"Twenty-two. Brad says this isn't the first time this has happened to him."
"Poor guy."
"Yeah. `Said it happened to him twice before."
"Really? Has he reported it?"
"Hell no. Brad says it's not worth the hassle. After the first time, he packed lite, when coming to the beach. Anyway, after he found a guy that wanted to have sex with him, he took him back over there."
"Over where, Sean?"
"There. In that clump of bushes over there."
"I know the place," Steve said, adding, "I just wish I could find more condoms!"
Sean looked at Steve strangely.
"More protection used?"
"Oh, so guys don't bareback. Not for me, Steve. No way. I'm always careful."
"Good to hear, Sean. So, what happened?"
To Steve, his question wanted more of the facts, derived from Sean's theft, however he waited patiently to hear all the bare facts.
"Pretty hot I tell ya. Gave me a hard on."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, the guy that went with Brad, told me he wanted me to watch them. Told me he'd pay me to watch, that it would turn him on."
"I take it he didn't follow through on his end of the bargain?"
"Oh he did... after Brad sucked him, he turned and fucked Brad." Sean alluded to, "you find the condom. Anyway, the guy, we didn't get his name..."
"Usually the case."
"See this, Steve?"
Forgetting the rest of the details, Sean opens the gauze shirt. His fingertips point out a discolored area of his stomach.
"Looks to be a bruise."
"That lowdown scum, Brad worked me over, then stole what the other guy gave me, a twenty dollar bill."
"That sucks!" Steve agreed.
"Yeah. Punched me in the stomach, then when I tried to get up, my gut caught his foot."
"Bare foot?"
"No, he had these swim-shoes."
"Worse."
Not sexually, but out of concern, Steve's hand felt up the bruises.
"Owch!"
"Sorry `bout that Sean. I think you should have that looked at."
"But, Steve. I don't have any..."
"I know, Sean."
Then total frustration gave way to Sean's demeanor.
"Dammit! My first time at the beach and I screw everything up!"
With the shirt still open, Steve's front touches Sean, as he gives the teen a hug.
"It's not your fault Sean."
Temporary, a few seconds, is all Sean needed to feel somebody, aloof from his safe world, gather him up in comfort.
"Thanks, Steve."
"C'mon," Steve broke the hold, "I've got some friends that can help you out."
"Where?"
"Down the beach a ways, at the resort."
"That hifalutin' place?"
"Don't worry about things, Sean. Everything is going to work out."
With an arm over his shoulder, Sean felt a new sense of confidence.
For the second time, he said, "Thanks, Steve."
He felt led to put his arm around Steve's lower back, resting his palm on the opposite side of Steve's torso, his pinkie resting on the twenty-six year old's beltline.
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3 Continued....
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Copyright 2006 T. Chase McPhee This story may not be sold or made part of any collection without prior written permission.