Tristan

Tristan by Henry H. Hilliard

This work fully protected under The United States Copyright Laws 17 USC 101, 102(a), 302(a). All Rights Reserved. The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent.

If reading this story is not legal in your jurisdiction, stop it right now.

If you enjoy this story, please consider making a donation to Nifty to keep this platform alive.

Chapter 24

The three weeks following the weekend at the cabin were busy ones for the students in the lead up to Spring Break. There was work to submit and Colton had several exams. Tristan found that Colton was struggling with an essay where he had to compare and contrast two writers of the Beat Generation. Tristan privately thought it was pretty elementary stuff, but the English course that Colt was compelled to take catered for jocks.

Tristan had at least seen the film of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest but had not read the famous On the Road. He showed Colton how to set up an essay plan for this compare-and-contrast type of task and listened while Colton set forth what he thought connected the two writers. Tristan suggested that he should also consider what differences marked them apart and Colton leapt at this proffered branch.

"Now, have you read critiques of these writers?"

"Well, there's two critics with differin' views on the Beat writers." He looked at his notes. "Guy called Podhoretz and that Ginsberg dude."

"Well, the trick is to mention them early, then come back in your conclusion and say which one is right."

"But they both seem right when I read 'em."

"Even better! Say how they both reflect the truth of the subject."

"That's the trouble with Ainglish," bemoaned Colton. "No right answer."

"Tristan laughed, but was ready for this. "No, but there are good and interesting answers."

"Well, I'll aim for interestin' and jus' have t'hope that she thanks it is."

Tristan had to take time out from his own heavy load to attend to matters pertaining to his house renovations. The windows had at last arrived and were fitted into the loft above the old stable, which had once housed horses and carts for a dairyman, and whose upper floor would now house bedrooms for Tristan and Colton. They looked great and the spare but perfect detail of the design spoke of the architects' refined vision--a slightly Japanese look and very sophisticated. More blunt was the timber staircase that ran directly up from the middle of the back yard. The yard too showed the evidence of building, for there were now muddy holes sprouting concrete stumps for the new porch that would have windows and screens against the flies and mosquitoes of summer. Tristan also made the first of the promised payments to Ben and Ivy, the Architecture students whose project this was.

The weather was warming and Tristan enjoyed his morning runs with Colton, twice beating Colton in the closing sprint. The football jocks had taken to playing touch football on the lawn in front of Charles C. Selecman House and Tristan, keenly interested, always found he was rooting for The Skins.

At last Spring Break arrived and the campus was en fête. Tristan felt as if he'd just fallen across the line and the prospect of a week in Miami seemed very appealing.

A minibus took Tristan and his eight friends to Dallas-Fort Worth and there they caught a flight to Miami. Colt was now a seasoned traveller and was jovial and relaxed.

The first impression of their destination that struck Tristan was of bright light reflected off abundant concrete. Then there was the slightly fecund tropical growth that never quite softened the tawdry man-made aspects that were as a blight upon the place. However, the weather was hot and the air was alive with excitement.

Their hotel, The Lomax, was amazing. It was a narrow cement-rendered building of just three floors. The render was a faded green, the cement coming away in places, and the steel windows were rusty and disfigured by old-fashioned air-conditioners. The hotel's name was spelt out in stylized cement letters that tumbled down a vertical fin protruding over the canopy. Bands of neon must have once illuminated this feature, but the tubes were now broken and blackened. Thus the building was in marked contrast to its smart neighbours which had been tarted up to the nines by a new generation of owners, and some of which now had hip bars extended out to meet the sidewalk.

Inside, the signs of a failed enterprise were everywhere. At some point The Lomax must have been partially renovated--perhaps in the sixties or seventies--and some of this had been later undone but much remained. More recently, a few reproduction Art Deco light fittings had been added in the lobby and these spoke of the 1980s. A tiki bar from an indeterminate period had been partially restored, but was now shuttered and not likely to reopen.

The pretty girl at the small reception desk brightened at the influx of the owner's `special guests'. Tristan was just wondering if there were any real guests when a girl and a guy--obviously students like themselves--came down the terrazzo staircase on their way out to bustling Ocean Drive. They called a cheery greeting and this put everyone in a good mood.

The rooms were basic, with old-fashioned doors with keyed locks, chipped tiles in the cream-and-green bathrooms and no effective air-conditioning. "At least you can open the window," said Tristan brightly, but having to put his shoulder into it. At last it gave and the raucous sounds of life on Ocean Drive drifted in.

Colton came up and stood behind Tristan. He was looking out of the window and across Lummus Park to the beach and the line that separated sea and sky.

"Come on," said Tristan gently. "Unpack later, let's go and look at the ocean."

Colton smiled at him and they made their way back down to the lobby then across the street to the beach.

"I like the smell," said Colton, the gentle breeze caressing his face. He slipped off his flip-flops and stepped onto the sand. He wriggled his toes and turned to Tristan and grinned. The sand was hot and they made their way between the bodies to the water. Colt waded in, his eyes fixed on the line of breakers below the horizon. It was up to his knees and then a larger wave washed over him, a little gasp indicating that the water had lapped his groin. Then Colton surprised Tristan who was standing back in the shallow water by executing a neat little dive and under the waves. He came up gasping and turned to Tristan with a big grin and announced. "Yuck! It's salty."

Tristan laughed and Colton waded back, dripping. He pulled his saturated tee-shirt off and was now just in his shorts without underwear.

"How was it, Farmboy?"

"Fantastic! I want more of this. I knew what it would be like, but I also didn't quite know--know what I mean?"

Tristan did and told him so.

"I hope y'all don't think I'm a rube."

"Course not. Just take that straw out of your mouth."

"Don't tell Holly I ain't never saw the sea. He has a cousin down near Corpus Christie and I had no one."

"Well, you've seen the sea now. Hey, I never saw a prairie until I went to your place."

"That ain't prairie, dumbass. Where Holly's from out west is real short grass prairie."

Their journey back to The Lomax was diverted when Colton spotted some girls playing volleyball on the sand. They were pretty, although slightly more athletic that the ones in Bobbie Darin movies.

As if by design, the ball escaped and rolled in Colt's direction. In one swift move he threw his sopping tee-shirt at Tristan and jogged a few yards before scooping up the errant spheroid. The girls were looking expectantly at him and he did a faultless serve and the ball was returned. The game was halted while the girls--apparently from Bay Path University up north--drifted into Colton's radiant orbit. Tristan watched from a distance as Colton talked confidently to each of them, sometimes making a joke, sometimes demonstrating a football throw or volleyball serve. Then he pointed at Tristan, who lamely waved, and jogged back, giving the girls the full benefit of his muscular back and arse.

"They were nice," said Colton, looking sideways at Tristan. "Hey, they told me of some great bars along here and down Collins Avenue. We should check 'em out tonight."

Such a plan of action was already in the minds of the others who were gathered in Deshawn's room. He came out of bathroom wrapped in a hotel towel that had seen better days and was hunting through his bag for a pair of clean shorts. "Hey, man," said Colton. "The guys are not wearing underwear tonight."

"Fuck you, Colt. I don't want my boys hanging out the leg. Jockstrap for me," he said, discovering the item at the bottom of the bag.

"Hey!" said Rachel. "There's a room full of hot guys across the alley from our window. I got their attention..."

"How'd y'do that?" asked Carlos.

She gave him the finger. "They said they were all going to Ted's Hideaway tonight. It's on 2nd Street and it's divey but real cool. "

"They also said not to close our shade tonight," added Leesha.

"And will you?" Tristan asked.

"Of course not. It don't close properly anyhow."

Eventually they were all ready and headed out onto Ocean Drive.

The place was really buzzing, with college kids everywhere. Only occasionally were there elderly Jewish couples, the original inhabitants of this district from a time when they were restricted from other parts of the city.

They passed row upon row of bars, clubs and restaurants with tables and chairs blocking the sidewalk. Some of them were fronted by sleazy and insistent spruikers and all were pumping out music, which added to the exciting atmosphere of ozone and auto exhaust.

They selected a bar that advertised a convenient happy hour that lasted nearly all day. Margaritas came in miniature buckets and, although generously watered, they were elaborately garnished and seemed to suit the holiday mood.

The passing parade was entertaining. One good-looking college boy was parading shirtless through the throng. On his chest was written `Will fuck for $20'.

"I'd spend twenty," volunteered Leesha.

"Me too!" said Rachel and Alexinia together. Carlos made a playful swat at Alex's arse.

"Me three!" cried Tristan as the boy looked in their direction. Then: "Oh!"

The disappointment stemmed from what was written on his back: `Ladies Only'. There was cruel laughter.

"Lets you sluts out too," he said, earning beats from all three girls.

"Oh will you look at that!" cried Alexinia. She was pointing to a frail and elderly man who had a little dog on a trolley. The dog held a child's bucket in its mouth and would jump off the trolley and carefully place the bucket at the feet of strangers and wait for them to toss a bill on the sidewalk. The dog would then pick up the note, place it in the bucket and walk to the next table with the bucket handle it its mouth.

There were many such sights and the group eventually moved on to another bar and then a pizza restaurant with sidewalk tables. Later they passed a hotel similar to their own. Shouting made them look up. On the roof there was a party in full swing and drunken college students were leaning over the parapet, urging them to come up. It was all great fun.

Eventually they wound up at Ted's, the bar recommended by the voyeurs across the alley. They had a great time, Colton leading the others in engaging with strangers, knocking back shots and dancing.

The night ended, except for Rachel who had been picked up by a Law student from Vanderbilt University. They were reluctant to leave her and Colton took upon himself the duties of a big brother in grilling this Stratton Wilmot, as to his honourable intentions. Colton was a little aggressive, perhaps acting in Rachel's interest or perhaps because he was a little drunk, and Stratton quailed under his questioning.

"Leave him alone, Colt," pleaded Rachel.

"Look, he might have a gang of scum waiting for you back at his place."

"I'm here with my sister--at The Fontainebleau

"Who can vouch for you?"

"You can phone my daddy--he's a bishop."

Colton grunted and so they left Rachel and Wilmot who claimed they were going on to somewhere else, with Colton making sure Rachel had her phone and with a final warning that he would `fuck Wilmot up' if he hurt her.

Back at The Lomax they had a last round of drinks in Deshawn's room and then filtered back to their own, Carlos having to carry Alexinia who had fallen asleep.

"It was a good night," said Colton from his bed, hands clasped behind his head. He was naked under the sheet and his body was covered in a sheen of perspiration in the humid night air. "Even though I didn't score."

"Will Rachel be all right?"

"Yeah, he wouldn't bite a biscuit and there's no slack in her rope."

"Beach tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I loved it. I'm gonna work on m'tan and I reckon I need a new swimsuit."

"A pair of Speedos? They'd show off your assets."

"Yeah, but I was thinkin' of bitty shorts--you know, that Eur'pean look."

"I saw a hot guy in dusty pink ones."

"Yeah, that's what I was thinkin' too."

"You know, if you can't find a girl to put sunscreen on your back, I'll do it."

"You think I'll have trouble findin' volunteers?"

"Well, Colt, there's a lot of competition down here. You know big fish..."

"Well, Roomy, thar's disloyalty for ya!" He laughed. "Tris, we're down here on vacation and I think y'should put y'self out there. Pick up some hot guy and have some fun."

"You think so?"

"Yeah, y'nineteen and y'gotta live, man."

"I don't know if I'm ready for a relationship."

"Who's talkin' 'bout relationships? I'm talkin' about getting' y'dick wet, Roomy."

"Maybe I'll meet my future husband on the beach tomorrow."

"That's just what I don't mean."

"Yeah, I know. I'll just have to take a chance."

"Look for the signs. You'll see guys checkin' y'out. Y'a hot dude, Tris. I'm always tellin' yall that."

"Colt, I have had boyfriends before, or rather I've hooked up with guys when I was at School and when I was at home. It's just that...I don't know." He was silent for a while.

"It sure is sweaty," said Colton in the dark. "M'balls is hotter than a preacher's knee an' all stuck t'm'leg."

"So what do you want me to do about it,' said Tristan, smiling to himself.

"Well, y'all could come over hear an' suck on m'ball sack, if'n y'all had a mind to."

"Just your balls?"

"Well, m'piece could use some lovin' as it missed out tonight."

"Now who's getting their dick wet?"

Tristan left his bed and travelled the few feet to Colton's where the sheet was already thrown back. There was sufficient light from the riot of neon outside and Tristan thought that the buzz of traffic on Ocean Drive might well cover any noises of their own making.

Tristan ignored the adhered scrotum and was just about to pick up Colton's flaccid penis when he changed his mind. He moved up to the pillow and placed a gentle kiss on Colton's full lips that were slightly parted. He did not wait for a response but went straight back to that exciting region, Colton's groin.

Lifting the malleable member, Tristan sniffed the identifiable scent of the quarterback. The folds of skin were rouched at the tip, and the head of Colon's penis was some little way inside the blunt end. Tristan kissed that too.

"That's real sweet, Tris. Y'all treat me well. Better'n I deserve."

Tristan disagreed and thought that Colton was a god that demanded to be worshipped, but he confined this thought to action. He kissed some more and then extended his tongue to touch the slit, which in Colton was unusually wide and accounted for his pissing like the proverbial racehorse.

Colton moaned. "Skin me back and stick y'tongue right in there."

Tristan did so and Colton's cock started its slow inflation. Before it was fully hard, Tristan knew that it would be easier for him to swallow, so that is what he did. Then Colton got up from the bed and positioned Tristan on his back with his head and neck over the edge of the ratty mattress. After so many months of practice, Tristan was able to take all of him and hold his breath for minutes on end without choking (although he thought that Colton didn't object to his choking) and with his nose pressed deep into Colton's untrimmed bush.

"Oh fuck! Oh fuck!" cried Colton quietly, while Tristan was, naturally, quite mute.

He then pulled out, his pale jock cock drawing spittle and throat slime from Tristan's maw in the process. In lust and gratitude he bent low and kissed Tristan, Tristan considering the damage to his tonsils and larynx well worthwhile.

This was repeated a number of times and then Tristan remembered the adhered ball sack issue. It was happily now free, but Tristan had Colton lower himself into his gaping mouth anyway. Tristan knew how important attention to the balls was to guys like Colton--perhaps to all guys--because he heard it discussed sagely many times at Charles C. Selecman House and Tristan was determined not to be an unsatisfactory girlfriend.

"Please put it in me, Colt," said Tristan who was now sucking on Colton's bicep in an act of jock homage. "I need you in me tonight."

"Yeah? You need stretchin'? You need it deep? You need to feel your man?"

This was a trifle cheesy, thought Tristan who recalled these exact lines from Wrestling Coach at Rensselaer Tech, but was moved to say nothing except, "Give me ten minutes and I'll clean myself out."

Tristan hurried, thinking Colton might start without him. He sped back to find Colton looking at porn on his phone. "Keeping you in the mood?"

"Yeah, these native chicks have a college boy tied to a stake. Y' clean?"

"Comme un sifflet."

"Huh?"

"I'm good. Get it in me, Stud."

Tristan started on his hands and knees. Colton amused himself by slapping his cock on Tristan's butt cheeks and running it tantalisingly up and down his arse crack. Tristan thought he'd go mad. Then Colton spent ages looking for the lube and then applying it. "Hurry up and fuck me before it's morning!"

"Gotta do it right. This is for my benefit."

The inequality in Colton's joking remark was instantly forgotten when he slid it in. It was no longer a traumatic and painful struggle, just a sharp stab at first only then to be replaced by...well, Tristan couldn't describe it.

Colton tuned Tristan over and held his balls firmly while he continued to pump. Tristan came and still Colton pounded on, grunting with the exertion.

"Fuck! I'm cummin'," announced Colton.

He barely paused and continued to abuse Tristan's rectum, stopping only to apply more lubricant. He now held one of Tristan's legs high and was fucking him sideways. Tristan was trying to orgasm again, but couldn't. Colton could, and after about twenty minutes did so. He pulled out with an ugly slurp.

"Fuck that was fine!" he said, wiping the sweat down from his body. But you haven't cum again."

"No, I'm fine," said Tristan, breathlessly as he felt down below for damage.

"No, I want you to cum again. I want to see it. I want to see you get off with my cock in you." Colton was insistent, even unreasonable, and Tristan's protest's fell on deaf ears.

"No, Colt, it's too sore."

"Tris, when I'm with chicks they come more than once--unless they is fakin' it, of course--and it make me feel the man when they is just overwhelmed by sex--you know, in the zone. I'm the cause of it and I can take 'em places where maybe other dudes can't. Come for me, Baby," he added in a pleading voice.

Tristan tried.

"That's it! Keep agoin'." Colt put his half-hard cock back up Tristan's arse. When Tristan started to flag, Colt seized his prick and masturbated him, applying lube at intervals. He tried to angle his cock to press against Tristan's prostate gland.

When this seemed to be ineffective he said, "I'll just have to suck it out of you, Bro."

To Tristan's surprise, Colt went down on him and applied a very strong vacuum on the reluctant member. Tristan, when he could finally open his tightly-shut eyes, saw the odd sight of the top of Colton's blonde head bobbing away like the worst cocksucker. Colton shoved two, then three, fingers into the abused anus.

"Ah, ah, ah," gasped Tristan at last, his jaw tight with such concentration that he thought he'd have a stroke.

Colt knew what that meant and went back to using his hand and very shortly had the pleasure of seeing his friend's piss slit gape slightly and a chunky spurt of semen erupt onto his naval.

"Shit, I love that! It's so hot seein' a guy do what guys is built for doin'." He scooped up a gort and tasted it. "Fuckin' good stuff, Roomy."

Colton's own cock was hard again and he stroked it over the panting face of Tristan.

"Open!" he commanded and Tristan tried to muster the strength to do so. A big wad of cum went `splat' on his nose and ran down toward his open mouth. "Taste y'man."

"Oh fuck!" was all Tristan could weakly say after his breathing returned to normal.

"Was that good? Wasn't Colty right to make you stretch yourself?" Tristan, defeated, nodded. "When Colton Stone fucks you, you have the whole experience."

Tristan went to clean up and return to his own bed, but wasn't entirely surprised when Colton held him fast and insisted that he sleep, despite the heat and oblivious to the sticky mess, in the same narrow bed.

The next morning, Tristan was awoken by a knock on the hotel room door. He climbed out of Colton's bed--a tangle of sheets--and answered it naked, with just his head around the doorpost. It was Parker.

"Hi dude! Can I use your shower? There's somethin' wrong with ours an' I don't like the colour of the water." Tristan relaxed and bade him enter. "Stone still asleep?"

They looked across to the sleeping figure, a tent in the sheet telling of his morning wood that Tristan would now not get to taste.

"Yeah, probably hung over," he lied.

Parker muttered something about Colton being `a damn big fucker' and entered the bathroom where Tristan needlessly pointed out the nickel-plated shower over the stained, green-enamelled tub. Parker dropped his boxers and turned on the water and Tristan left him.

"Colt, it's late," Tristan said softly as he shook his shoulder. Colton stirred. "Parker's using our shower."

Colt was awake now and scratching his balls. "That was good last night?" Tristan nodded as Colton edged the sheet down. "Want to help me out?"

Tristan did but said the obvious. "Parker's using our bathroom."

"Yeah, but he'll be a while and we'll hear the water shut off." He waggled his erection to emphasise the offer.

Tristan's less cautious nature won over and he lowered his lips to the hard-worked organ. Colton held his head fast as he fucked his mouth. Tristan was alarmed because even if he heard the water cease, he doubted that Colton would let him go.

He needn't have worried, because Colton came in just five minutes and his grunt would not have been heard above the shower.

"Fuck that was good, Tris. Thanks. Now I'm going to have a shower. M'pits is ripe." He sniffed and invited Tristan do the same. Then he leapt out of bed, still half erect and oozing, and made for the bathroom.

"Comin' in Parks, move over, dude."

"Shit, Stone," he heard Parker curse, "I was just gettin' off. Ain't there no privacy?"

"Y'pervert!" said Colton and turned to grin at Tristan and then made a sign to indicate that Tristan should wipe the cum from his chin.

Colton apparently found room in the tub and Tristan could hear the deep sounds of their laughter. Then Tristan's name was called and he went in to find the two athletes washing each other's hair. It looked erotic--homoerotic, thought Tristan.

"Bring us some towels, would ya?"

Tristan found some with the insignia of The Hotel Lomas in the closet and took them in. The water had been shut off and, surprisingly, Tristan was allowed to dry both bodies.

"In't this rather gay?" asked Parker as Tristan made sure his buttocks were dry.

"Yeah, definitely," said Tristan. Parker just grunted, lost for words.

"All right," said Parker at last as Tristan finished up under his balls. "Both of you get out, 'cause I need to finish getting' off. No bustin' in to do your teeth or nothing'."

Colton and Tristan laughed and left him to his business.

A short time later, a more relaxed and relieved Parker was seated next to Colton on the bed. They were looking at stuff on each others phones. Predictably there was a knock at the door and Tristan opened it to the lean figure of Hollis who stood there grinning.

"Can I use y'shower dude. Ours is..."

"Yeah, Holly, Parks told us. Right this way to the Charles C. Selecman Florida Campus Shower Block."

Greetings were exchanged with the others--"S'up?" being the nearest translation and Hollis was shown the bathroom. "You'll have to share with Tris, Holly, but he'll wash your hair," called Colton. Parker stifled a guffaw.

This made no logical sense, but the linebacker accepted it and even allowed Tristan to climb into the tub first. He then dropped his own boxers and tried to get his share of the spray, ending up with his privates pressing in to the shorter Tristan's navel. Tristan was giggling and trying not to get hard. "Don't worry about it, dude," said Hollis with offhand kindness. "I'm not gonna freak at y'boner--seen it often enough."

Tristan resigned from the struggle and his penis rose until it was under Hollis' balls.

Hollis, to his credit, took little notice and was busy soaping himself and talking about the events of the previous evening. "Do m'hair an' I'll do yours."

They faced each other and had their extended arms crossed--Tristan having to reach up as Hollis was over six feet. Tristan gave the cowboy a fantastic head massage, pressing hard into his scalp with his soapy fingers and then sensuously making circles on his temples where the reddish hair was short.

"Man, that is soo nice!" cooed Hollis. He stared into Tristan's eyes as Tristan continued his ministrations and they drew closer and closer until their lips were just inches from touching. Suddenly: "No, y'don't, gay boy. Y'not turnin' this straight shooter, inta no faggot," said Hollis drawing back and laughing. "That's how it starts and next thang y'knows, y'agoin' t'see Phantom of the Oprey or some shit."

Tristan laughed too and called to the others in the next room: "It didn't work. He doesn't like musicals!"

"Why you...!" He grabbed the slippery Tristan and swatted his arse.

They calmed down and then Tristan said, "Do y'want to jack off like Parker did?"

"Reckon I could use it." Tristan made to get out of the tub. "Oh, ain't y'staying to jack too?"

"No, of course not. Parks did it with the door closed."

"Oh. I don't mind if'n y'stay, gayboy. Y'all can jack too--just keep it t'y'self--and I mean that in all senses."

"Fine with me. Here's the gel."

Hollis applied the gel generously to his cock and balls, getting it right underneath and surely anointing his arsehole. Tristan was staring. "What? Ain't I doing it right?"

"No, no," assured Tristan who merely wiped a smear on his own equipment without even looking down.

Hollis continued to massage his genitals for some minutes. He was now hard and his big white cock stood out from the trimmed reddish-gold triangle of pubic hair. There were even a few freckles on it, which Tristan thought amusing. "Every dude has their own way. This here is mine." Tristan nodded in agreement and grasped his own.

Soon Hollis was going at it furiously. Tristan enjoyed watching his muscles tense and flex. His green eyes were closed. His loose balls jiggled like stirrups on a bolting horse.

"Fuck!" he said at intervals. Then: "Here she blows!"

"On me, Holly."

"If'n y' wants it."

With that, Hollis squirted on Tristan's stomach and his Cayuse cum tricked downwards towards his groin, just as Tristan shot on the tiled wall. Hollis opened his eyes. "Ah, that's plumb nice, Tris. I needed that. Now I'll be fixed pretty till supper time."

"You footballers sure need it a lot."

"Yeah, we has full balls as a rule. What about our friend, y'roommate?"

"Oh, I wouldn't know about that."

"Don't give me no bull-shit," he said, drawing out the two syllables to their full value. "That stud practically leaks cum just walkin'. He's gotta be doin' it several times a day an' he sleeps buck nekkid in y'room."

"Then why do you want to know?"

"Well, I guess dudes is just plum curious 'bout other dudes, y'know."

"I'll leave you to guess, then."

They were drying themselves and Tristan dried Hollis back without being asked. "He's got a way of gettin' others to do stuff for him an' the guy's sex-on-a-stick, so I'm supposin' you're a good roommate."

Tristan said nothing, then: "We'll all be able to shower together in the new house. It'll be just like Charles C. Selecman, won't it?"

"Yeah," laughed Hollis. "It's a dump, but I've had the best time of m'life with y'all, shower time included."

They all met for breakfast, except for Rachel who was still not back from The Fontinebleau but had texted. They agreed to meet on the beach at 11:00, but first Colton wanted to go shopping and Tristan agreed to accompany him.

"You know, we didn't do our run this mornin', Tris. This would be a great spot for it an' you can do chins an' stuff at the equipment along here."

"Plenty of people to see you too."

Colton grinned. "That's the idea."

They inspected several stores. They each bought huge beach towels. None of the clothing stores seemed to have the sort of costume that Colton had in mind until the came to a final store that looked to be the most expensive.

"Fuck! Look at these prices," whispered Colt. There on the rack was exactly the one: dusky pink short shorts tied with a white string. They were tight and spoke of somewhere other than America. Colton turned over the tag and gulped. He showed it to Tristan, saying, "But I've gotta have 'em."

"Look at them as an investment."

The sales assistant saw they were not tyre-kickers, despite being students, and descended upon them. She emphasised the price to make sure she was not wasting her time. Then she flattered Colton shamelessly, saying how they would `suit him'. Colton lapped it up.

A problem arose when Colton's slim waist (it was 30 inches) did not allow enough room for his bulging thighs. The `extra-large' accommodated his legs, but the waist bagged, even when the string was drawn tight. A compromise was eventually affected, but the tight legs still tended to ride up, but this actually looked hotter than a roomy fit. The sales assistant agreed with Tristan. Colton's credit card was unleashed.

"What about you, Tris?"

"Oh, I'm happy with my old ones."

"Miss, what have we got to make my friend look hot?"

Tristan steeled himself for a cheap shot, but it never came. "Does he play football too?"

"No, I've been dropped," lied Tristan.

"Show us your most expensive range."

The little postage stamps of bright material were to the rear of the store. "I'm not wearing those," said Tristin, again and again. And, "That's a thong."

Colton hit upon something. "Here, Tris, look at these. I want you in one of these and no argument!" They were a short and when they were examined, there was a strange figure-eight of material inside the pouch. It was just dawning on Tristan what the purpose of this was when Colton called over the girl.

"Explain to m'friend how this here contraption works."

The girl showed no enthusiasm for Tristan, even at the prospect of a sale, and said, coarsely, "It goes around your junk to lift it up and out," and then marched back to the pile of tee-shirts she was restacking.

"No, no no!" cried Tristan under his breath.

"Yes, yes, yes, dude! It'll make your little one look impressive."

"It's average!" hissed Tristan, but the girl heard him and, without even turning around said, "It comes with an enhancer. They're on the shelf."

Tristan thought he'd die from embarrassment, but Colton dragged him over to the pile of things that looked like pappadams. "See, you just slide it in the front and it `enhances y'profile'," he said, reading from a card.

Colton grabbed one and the yellow-and-white costume and headed back to the foul shop assistant, without Tristan being able to stop him. "We'll take it."

It was paid for and Tristan's humiliation was just beginning. "I wouldn't recommend one of these for you, sir," she said to Colton as she begaun to wrap it.

"Leave it. We'll wear 'em and put our clothes in the bag."

"Very good, sir. The changing room is behind that curtain."

The curtain, if it could be called such, was irritatingly brief and gaped. Passers-by on Collins Avenue had a good view of Tristan changing. To be fair, Colton was changing too. With some difficulty, the tight loop passed behind Tristan's balls and around his shaft. He started to get hard as Colton roughly manipulated him. With the enhancer slid into its pocket, Tristan looked in the mirror and it appeared as if he'd stuffed a pair of socks into his shorts.

"I can't go out like this!"

"Y'can and y'will an' y'll be with me. Y'might get some glances this time."

Colton added their tee-shirts to the bag and left the store in just their new swimwear and their flipflops.

Colton looked terrific and relaxed, his superb body on full display. Tristan was rigid with fear. Eventually, however, he relaxed and finally he was able to admit in a whisper: "Shit, I'm actually enjoying this. At last I can compete with you, at least downstairs."

"That's the way, Tris. Us hung dudes is super confident. See those girls checking us out."

"They're nuns."

"No, the girls at the table."

It was true; a group of spring breakers was looking in their direction and whispering.

"They're looking at you, Colt."

"Well, yeah, but they is givin' you the glad eye too. Let's stop for a coffee."

They stopped. The coffee was terrible, but the same group of girls could conveniently continue to oogle them, if that is a word.

"Look, Colt. It feels kind of weird for me to the object of lust for some dumb chicks. Besides, I think my enhancer is slipping."

"Dudes will check you out too, dumbass. Man-up!" He was smiling at the table of girls and Tristan hoped they could not read lips.

They finished their coffee and headed towards the beach with their bags, Colton saying something smooth to the girls as they passed their table.

"Y'my apprentice today, Tris. This is what us big boys do. Watch and learn."

They reached the park along the beach--`the boardwalk' the boys called it, although it was a concrete path. Here Colton selected a spot by some formula known only to himself. There was a bar and various other pieces of exercise equipment. He jumped and grabbed the bar and then did a chin-up. Then another. "Come on Tris!" Tristan jumped but couldn't make the bar. He tried several times, unsuccessfully.

"I can't reach it, Colt," he lamented.

Colton let go and landed lightly. He grasped Tristan around his waist and lifted him up until he could grasp the hot metal rail. Tristan then struggled, but he couldn't lift himself more than a few inches. He fell to the ground, laughing.

"It's useless!"

"Look, just stand there looking at y'phone and think, `I'm hot'."

"I can't do that."

"All right. I want you to stand there and count for me--but start at fifty."

Colton jumped back up to the bar and quickly chinned it.

"Fifty," said Tristan. Colt chinned it again, his muscles bulging and his veins popping. "Fifty-one...fifty-two...fifty three..."

Quite quickly there was a group of young girls gathered a short way off. Tristan counted on. Two girls coming the other way were bolder and stopped and greeted Tristan. "He's in training for the football season--he's the quarterback for our university," Tristan could say truthfully.

"Your accent is so cute. Are you Irish?"

Tristan explained his origins and how he came to be here.

"Hey, you countin'?"

"Oh sorry, seventy-one..."

The girls giggled and moved on to be replaced by a trio of boys. These guys were hot looking, tanned to an unnaturally dark hue and they wore tight, brief costumes with pronounced bulges. Tristan wondered if they wore in enhancers, but dismissed the notion out of his feelings of inadequacy.

They stood around admiring Colton. "Look at the titties on her," said one in the straining green Speedo. Colton lifted on, as if oblivious.

The muscle-bound black dude tilted his reflective glasses onto his shaven head and said, "Mmm! Put my face between those buns and let me pig out."

Tristan wanted to laugh, but kept counting. "Eighty!"

"That Muscle Mary yours, Sugar?" said the third, a guy with overly developed pecs and a short beard.

"He's my husband of two years and we're down here to adopt a son," lied Tristan, thinking that Americans believed anything and gay Americans even more so.

Colton `bust up' laughing and dropped to the ground.

"Adopt me!" they squealed one after the other.

Colton became very masculine and serious and shook the hand of each. "Y'all buff, corn-fed boys n' no mistake." They returned the compliment and he allowed them to feel his muscles, which were popping after his exertion. "All Farm work n' football."

"And her?" said the one with the beard, looking at Tristan.

"Well, not so many muscles, but hung like a horse," whispered Colton with a nod to Tristan's deceitful groin and then made a face as if he were experiencing anal penetration.

The three queens laughed and moved on, expressing the hope that they'd see them at `Shake'--apparently a popular bar.

"See Tris, y'getting' attention with y' `out there' attitude and, y'know, y'piercing makes y'look kinda edgy."

They strolled on until they came across the others encamped near the lifeguard house.

Stratton Wilmot had come with Rachel and was presently applying sunscreen to her back, but casting a wary eye in Colton's direction. She had slipped the straps of her one-piece down. Leesha wore a boxy nineteen-fifties style two-piece, which was the fashion, while Alexinia's athletic limbs were barley covered by a skimpy bikini. Deshawn looked amazing, with his glossy, black muscles contrasting with a purple wet-look pair of Speedos. The other boys wore various board shorts and trunks, but none was as daring as Colt's--or Tristan's for that matter, with Hollis commenting, "Way to go, Tristan!" and making Tristan blush.

They were in an out of the water, then sometimes face down or face up on their towels in order to tan, and sometimes, when the sand became too hard, going for walks along the beach to see the sights.

On one of these walks it was just Tristan and Colton. Despite the attraction of dozens of gorgeous girls, it was the ocean itself that captivated Colton. He didn't say much as they trod the line of wet sand where the orderly smaller waves washed over their bare feet, effortlessly erasing their footprints that had once seemed so purposeful and indelible. Tristan knew Colton was captivated by this voluptuous expression of Nature.

"I love the sea when there's a great storm and the waves are really rough and roll in, crashing on the rocks," said Tristan, thinking of a holiday at Newquay where he'd once attempted to paint. "And the wind can whip up the salty spray and lash your face like a whip."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. And you can listen to it and wonder, `What are the Wild Waves Saying'?

"And what d'they say?"

"It is the voice of The Creator, according to an old song. I guess you listen to the waves like you do to the railway wheels--you know, they say, `Go back! Go back!"

"I know what y'all mean, Tris. We sometimes need to listen, but it is our own heart that's speakin' all the same."

"You're right."

"I sure am wantin' to go to someplace where I can ask the waves what their sayin'."

Tristan did not respond to this but then said, "And I love to listen to them more distantly through an open window when I'm in bed--that's a beautiful way to go to sleep."

"Yeah. That too. One day. Hey, we'd better turn back."

A game of touch football was organized on the sand. As expected, it drew a small crowd, mainly consisting of pretty college girls--or `co-eds' as Tristan read in story set in more sexist times.

Tristan was made to join in, although he did not know the rules, but thought it similar to the game called `British Bulldog' that he's played in the Scouts. Inevitably he was tackled and flung into the sand by the jocks with their overwhelming muscle power. Deshawn at one point grabbed him in a bear hug and they rolled down into the actual shallows, with De's Speedo-encased cock pressing hard into Tristan's buttocks in what was surely a foul in a supposedly non-contact sport.

The drinks had been exhausted but still many wanted to stay on the beach, but Colton said, "Tris has a headache and I'm takin' him back to the hotel to get him a Tylenol and some water."

They folded their towels and made their way back to Ocean Drive with their shopping bags. "Thanks, Colt, but I don't have a headache."

"I could instinctively feel y'a had one comin' on, Roomy, an' I'm feelin' mighty horny."

"Tylenol is no good for that."

"But Dr Isley might be," he said with a leer.

"Fuck, you look hot in that swimsuit," said Tristan when the door was safely locked.

"Y'don't think m'ass looks too big in it?" joked Colton, turning his head in a pose of trying to see it.

"Not big enough. You heard what that guy said."

"Y'd like to get down under me?"

"Fuck, yes! I don't care if I suffocate."

"Love it when y'cuss; it sounds so po-lite." He tried to imitate Tristan. "And y'don't need no enhancer no more." They both looked down.

"Do you think I'm getting bigger erections since knowing you?"

"I think it's pretty likely. I should write a paper for Scientific American. Now get on m'bed."

Tristan went to work, first mauling Colton through his new dusty-pink, European swim shorts and then, sliding them off with difficulty over his developed thighs, on his bare flesh.

"Oh fuck! Get your fuckin' tongue right up there. Eat out my filthy, fuckin' shitter!"

Colton went on in that vein until Tristan grew tired and Colton's cheeks were chafed from Tristan's whiskers--Tristan having taken to allowing his black beard to grow for a few days at a time.

Tristan moved on to Colton's urgent erection, which had been dripping jock juice over his balls the whole while. Tristan's mouth was covered in the clear nectar and he periodically ran his tongue around it to get the good.

Presently: "Cum on m'thighs, Tris! Cum on m'big, fuckin' jock thighs. I've been working on them suckers just for you. Show me how they turn y'on."

Tristan was masturbating furiously, trying hard not to cum, and his own piece had only been half-untangled from his complicated garment. He pulled off Colton to concentrate. His head was thrown back. Colton seized the figure-eight strap that was still encircling Tristan's cock and balls and pulled down on it steadily, putting painful pressure on his genitals and, at the same time, angling the pregnant penis towards Colton's meaty right thigh.

"Let me see it, Tris. Come for y'man!"

Tristan did and, following the script, the ejaculate lighted upon Colton's thighs. Tristan returned to the world and, gasping, used the tip of his own member to smear it in a pattern on the expanse of young flesh and wiry blonde hair. Colton flexed his muscles and directed the flow in different directions under the pull of gravity.

"Fuck!" heaved Tristan.

"Back on me, man, an' don't you pull off till I come. I'm not far away."

Soon they were lying on the bed, with the sea breeze blowing through the window to cool their sweaty bodies. "Afternoon sex is sure de-lightful."

"It was sex, not helping out?"

"If that ain't a fact, God's a possum, as m'daddy says."

They were silent for a spell, staring at the ceiling. Tristan was feeling he might fall asleep.

"That was interestin', what y'said about listening to the waves."

"Well, it was you who said it is really only listening to ourselves."

"Yeah, I did, didn't I? Listening to y'heart is somethin' we don't do often enough--most times only when it's too late. I reckon you need t'be alone to hear the voice."

"Well, that old song was a duet, I think--a dying brother and his sister disagreeing about what the waves said. Maybe you need someone else to hear the waves too."

Colton was pensive. He put his arm around Tristan in a friendly fashion and Tristan leaned into his chest. Colton's finger idly flicked the barbell piercing Tristan's right nipple. "Y'know, I've learned a heap o'stuff this year--you know, bein' away from home, n'Mom n'Dad, n'meeting you an' all--an' other folks too--folks I would never have met back on the farm."

"Stuff about yourself too?"

"Yeah, y'don't really know who you are until you have to control a team o'players--not just on the field, but--you know--like with Hetch Gleeson last year. I had to make the right decisions on the run."

"Yeah, and that worked out okay."

"Well, we didn't win the Bowl, but we held together."

"And you went to England."

"Would never have dreamed that just last summer."

"You're full of surprises--and you're a budding academic."

"Well, I wouldn't say that, Tris. Don't go blowin' up my ass."

Tristan laughed. "And how many conquests have you had?"

"Besides you--but y'all were way easy. Ow!" Tristan had pulled his nipple ring. "Well, I don't rightly remember. But they all taught me something'. Cause, I might have taught them a thang or two along the way--at least gave 'em somethin' to remember on a cold night."

"You're a conceited swine, Colton Stone."

"But y'ain't callin' me a liar." He stretched luxuriantly on the bed and clasped his hands behind his head, flexing his biceps and grinning at Tristan. "Pits is ripe with m'jock sweat and salt."

"Mmm!" said Tristan, now sure that Colt was no liar and that he was, indeed, easy.

"How 'bout a li'l tongue bath first and then clean y'quarterback in the shower?"

That night they hit the bars of Collins Avenue as a group. While Alexinia and Carlos were solid as a couple, there was some strain between Rachel and Wilmot and, by the time they moved to the third venue for the evening, Wilmot had peeled off into the crowd and Rachel had expressed her relief. "Too clingy!" she said.

Parker picked up a girl whom he knew from his hometown of Rome. She was hot- looking and funny in a highly theatrical way--this apparent from her sharp conversation, even though it was delivered with the same slow drawl that Parker had. She was at the University of Georgia doing Arts and laughed when she pointed out that she had had moved from Rome to Athens, `but only went but a hundred miles'.

"The girls all drooled over the lacrosse jocks--even me who was in the Shulamith Firestone Club," she said to Tristan while Parker had gone for a piss.

"You can still be a feminist but like men, can't you?"

"Well, with those ladies it would have helped if you hated 'em--called them out as privilege-mongers and rapists. But for a few like me, why we plum forgot all we should have and simply dis-graced ourselves when we found ourselves among the lacrosse team after a win against Marietta or Macon. I blush, t'think of it." She fanned herself theatrically like Scarlet O'Hara and Tristan laughed. "And I must say I had just the teensiest crush on young Parker. Him all hunky in his helmet and those loose shorts and those gorgeous legs! Why, sir, I do believe that I am becoming quite moist at the memory." She squirmed in her chair and grinned at Tristan.

"But you never dated?"

"Well, my parents kept us apart, you see. We were Blackshaws ..."

Just then Parker returned and the conversation was stillborn. They both looked at him.

"What is it? Is the stable door open and the mule's out?" He looked down to check the flies in his cargo shorts.

"No, I was just tellin' Christian here..."

"Tristan."

"I was jus' telling him about our school days."

"And lacrosse," put in Tristan.

"Tris, don't you pay no never mind to Simone here. I'll bet you she was sayin' how she comes from an old Georgia family that owned a plantation or somethin' an' how she was bought up to be a lady."

"Well, I never got to the plantation part," said Simone, unabashed. "Tristan is a visitor here and folks like to hear stories like that and expect us to drink juleps and have mammies." She said this in a wistful tone.

"Y'daddy owns a funeral home and mine's an accountant. I didn't go out with you because you hung around with all those sour-faced dykes."

"They weren't all dykes."

"Melba was--and she was sour faced. Looked like the dawg had bin keepin' her under the porch."

"She was my friend and she was beautiful on the inside." She gave a coquettish smile.

"You're beautiful on the outside," said Tristan, gallantly, for she was beautiful and he wondered if she would detect the double edge. She did, but pressed on.

"Have you got your uniform with you, Parks?"

"Of course I ain't. We're on Spring Break."

"Is your girlfriend down here?"

"He hasn't got one!" chimed in Tristan.

"Shut the fuck up, Tris. Do you think I want to go out with a girl that smells from formaldehyde?"

"That was an un-gentlemanly blow, Christian, wasn't it?"

"Tristan."

"I was just wondering if you were still keeping company with that Nevaeh."

"Damn it! I took her to the Homecoming dance when I was a junior--will you let it drop."

"I just thought you'd like to know her momma is out of jail now."

"She was not in jail. She was in a clinic for a breakdown."

"Road gang I heard," she drawled, looking at Tristan.

"Look, I didn't ask you to Homecoming, but it was you turned me down for the Senior Winter Dance."

"I didn't turn you down, I was jus' fixin' to accept your proposal when I heard that you had asked Neavah, whom you had been fuckin' up at the Myrtle Hill Cemetery all November and so naturally I had to turn to Chance Lumpkin whose daddy is a good friend of my daddy."

"Nice to know he knows some live ones."

"I will ignore that and go and talk to my friends who will be wondering who this strange boy is I'm visitin' with--Oh, I don't mean, you Winston," she said to Tristan. "And when I return, Parker Bryce, I expect you to have bought me a vodka lime--they wouldn't make juleps in a place like this, Tintin." She swept away.

"Wow!" cried Tristan.

"Yeah, wow," said Parker, but with less enthusiasm. "Y'can see what it would be like if'n she was y'girlfriend."

"She's hot!" said Hollis who had been sitting at the next table. "I'll fuck her if you don't want her."

"Who says I don't want her?"

"So, you would, Parks?" asked Tristan.

"Sure, Tris," he said, ruffling his hair as if he were his little brother. "She's supposed to be hot stuff in the sack and she should be all the hotter for bein' made to wait two years."

"And for watching you lacrosse jocks."

"That too. Of course she was right, I had been fucking Nevaeh Slater that fall and I even fucked her white trash mom once when she was full o'pills." Tristan gasped. "See, I can give your roommate a run for his money in the stud stakes."

Simone returned, like a hurricane when the eye had passed. She and Parker argued some more then disappeared, presumably, Tristan thought, to fuck each other's brains out--or at least to settle outstanding business.

The evening trailed nicely to a close and two-in-the morning found them drinking coffee in yet another joint, this time on Lincoln Road and seated underneath umbrellas by a moodily lit origami creation made of white concrete. Hollis and Deshawn had each scored with promising phone numbers and Leesha had brought her conquest--a bewildered Russian exchange student--with her. Only Tristan and Colton had failed to make progress. Tristan was not worried for himself, but Colton seemed out of sorts and less inclined to engage with the others, which was unusual for him.

The talk turned to the basketball game the following evening. Deshawn, Parker, Hollis, Carlos and Colton were going to a match between the Heat and the Boston Celtics. This had been much anticipated and De was a big Jimmy Butler fan. Tristan and the others did not mind missing it--Tristan not being a particular fan of the game, except for the dying minutes, which were usually the most tense and exciting. The noise and the hoopla were even more irritatingly American than at the football. Tristan kept such views to himself, however.

Back at The Lomax, Tristan and Colton were getting ready for bed--a fairly simple matter except for Colton's thorough work with the toothbrush and dental floss and other such things in front of the mirror, even at three in the morning.

"You seem out of sorts, Colt," ventured Tristan, trying to be careful. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, jus' thinkin' 'bout stuff--listenin' to the wild waves," he replied, still in front of the bathroom mirror.

"You didn't score tonight?"

"Who says I didn't? And I'm horny as fuck."

He came out of the bathroom naked and with his cock arching impressively out in front of him. He just pointed to his bed and Tristan obeyed.

"Put on a little show for y'man, Tris."

"All right, but I want a game: you're not to touch your cock."

"What's the game?"

"You have to get on the bed and to talk dirty to me and you can move your body, but you can't touch your cock or balls with your hands. You have to do it until you come or..."

"Or what?"

"If you can't come that way you have to pay me a dollar. I can touch myself, but if I come before you I have to pay you a dollar."

"Okay, I like a challenge, but you have to help me."

Colton was naked sitting up in bed. He began by looking straight at Tristan and telling him how horny he was--and that Tristan was making him horny. He rubbed his engorged nipples and ran his palms over his magnificent young chest and well-developed biceps. He kept a straight face when he insisted over and over `how fuckin' horny' he was.

His big, fat, swollen cock was straining flat against the wiry, blonde public hair that ran south from his naval. Using these exact words, he pointed this obvious state of affairs out to Tristan--more than once. Then Colton flexed his hips and arched his back, making his cock swing up then slap down hard on his stomach.

"Look, Tris, I'm leaking for you! Look at it coming out of m'skin, all bunched up for you. Wouldn't you like to dig under there with y'tongue an' make Colty feel real good?"

He went on in this vein for some time, writhing on the bed and feeling his body. Then he started thrusting upwards into some imaginary partner. The head of his penis was now proud of the foreskin and was an angry purple colour and shellacked with his pre-cum.

"Look at m'big jock cock, Tris. I bet you hungered after a quarterback's cock like this at school--dreamin', desirin', wanting to be held down an' made to take it again and again without mercy..."

"We didn't have American football at my school."

"Jesus, Tris. Y'ain't meant to take this literally. Now I'm losing m'hard."

Tristan was corrected and Colton replayed the scene until he was back to where he had been.

He then spread wide his legs, putting himself on full display for Tristan who wondered if Colton would explode like a boiler. He spread his meaty arse cheeks and rolled back. "See Tris? I'm rubbin' m'hot hole. Look at m'man cunt. It's twitching for y'all."

Tristan, who had been rubbing Colton's calves and thighs pushed his legs right back, exposing his anus for his complete and thorough inspection. "I don't see it twitching?"

"It's a game, Tris, get with it. Further, Tris, further!" Tristan angled his heavy legs back and back until he thought Colton's hamstrings would snap as the quarterback's twitching cock approached his own face.

"Open wide!" Colton extended his tongue and intercepted the stream of pre-cum. He coughed and Tristan eased off his legs.

"No, Tris, more!" He rolled further back on his buttocks and now Tristan had his ankles up near his ears.

"I don't want to hurt you!"

"You won't. God, I'm so fuckin' horny, just do it! You know what I want."

Tristan applied more pressure and, inch-by-inch Colton's dangling jock-sized member approached his mouth. His tongue flailed wildly trying to make contact. Tristan, without consulting the rulebook, grasped the tip and tried to guide it in but, in doing so, he had to let go of Colton's left leg, which rather undid matters. Tristan reapplied the leg pressure while Colton moaned in sexual heat. At last Colton's lips made contact and he licked and sucked himself ravenously, even managing to tease his foreskin painfully with his teeth.

At last he let his penis go. He still had not cum. Tristan slowly lowered his legs. "Fuck! Fuck! I need to come. Show me what y'got for me Tris!"

Tristan felt self-conscious, but after Colton's performance he could hardly refuse. He thrust out his erection in a manner he hoped was erotic. He sashayed his hips like a showgirl. He bent over and spread his arse cheeks and hoped that he wouldn't hear Colton burst into laughter. He wetted his index finger and rubbed it in small circles around the head of his prick. Then, in a burst of inspiration did the same thing, lewdly, on his sphincter.

"Look at me, Tris." Tristan turned around. Colton was still as hard as a rock and sitting up. "Look at m'pecs, Tris." He flexed them, his nipple ring bouncing. "See how hard m'nips are, Tris. They're jock man tits, they are. Y'can bite 'em and y'can chew on and I'll take it--beg for more. Look at m'thighs. Big, aren't they? Like me to hold y'head tight in 'em? All night? So y'can't breathe except through m'stink but you'd still love it because y'brething in what a real jock smells like after workin' out. Look at m'delts--they make me the man on the football field n' other guys know it." Tristan wasn't sure where the deltoids were, so just looked at Colton's upper body and hoped that was right. "Look at these big jock feet, Tris. God my feet make me hard! I wish I could suck on m'toes. Love them bein' like little penises."

There was a noise and Colton looked up from his pedal due amanti. Tristan had cum and had his eyes shut tightly. "Look up, Tris, I've been holding back on y'all."

Colton did something--Tristan knew not what--and made his cock spurt without touching it. It goes without saying it was a big load.

"Fuck that was good!" said Colton wiping himself down with a tee-shirt--one of Tristan's. "It's every guy's dream to suck his own cock but, y'know, it isn't as good as when someone else is suckin' it, is it, Tris?" Tristan just looked at him. "Oh, yeah. I forgot. You'll go t'your grave never knowin', will you, Tris?"

"Shut the fuck up, you big-dicked bastard," said Tristan laughing. "You might never feel my lips on it again."

"I very much doubt that."

It was four o'clock and time for sleep. Colton insisted on drifting off with just the tip of his cock inside Tristan's anus, which he opened with the butt plug. "Need to keep y' pluggd an' open," was his reasoning. Whether that made sense or not, Tristan felt it was very nice to be held tight in a spoon and the affectionate nature of the embrace was a pleasing other side of the coin to his friend's undoubted arrogant conceit, which like many faults, was also very attractive. He thought he could hear the voice of the wild waves, but it was only the blood roaring in his ears from the excitement and he already knew what its message was.

It was Colton who put his head around the door, answering the nine o'clock knock. It was Hollis, alone, and the shower had not been fixed. "Holly, man, let's not disturb Tristan. That boy is plumb tuckered out an' best to let him sleep."

It was a prudent move, for Tristan was still firmly ensconced in Colton's bed, his own still made up from when housekeeping had made it the previous morning.

"Still got a headache?"

"Yeah, but he'll be okay later I reckon. Let's go for a run an' we can shower when we come back." Hollis agreed and Colton swiped a pair of shorts from the floor without letting Hollis see into the room and then followed Hollis back to his own door so he could exchange his bath gear for his running gear.

"Parker ain't come back?"

"No, and not even a text. He's probably hard on the job."

"Yeah! Fuck that Simone bitch was a piece of work. Played Parker like a violin." Hollis chortled at the thought. "Hey man, lose the boxers. We is free-balling it. This is Miami."

"But my junk will flop around."

"Yeah, and that way the chicks can see what y'workin' with."

"I dunno Colt. I went t'Sunday school."

"Well, school's out, teammate, and I say no underwear." He pulled Hollis' plaid (or checked) boxers down to his ankles and Hollis had no choice but to step out of them and then into his shorts. "No tops. Show 'em that sexy farmer's tan."

"It's sexy having red arms and white pecs?"

"Yeah, of course. Don't you know nothin', man. Come on, before it gets too hot."

They went down the terrazzo stairs to the foyer. The pretty girl from the first day was there. "Tell her about the shower, man."

Hollis went up to the desk, his lean athletic footballer's torso on full display and his well-developed legs, with just a dusting of red hair, were scarcely covered by his shorts with their pronounced bulge where his large, flaccid, college-boy cock reposed for the moment.

Colton saw him in earnest discussion, his arm pointing up the stairs in the direction of the room he shared with Parker.

"Appasionata will come and have a look at the shower later this morning and will call the plumber who's her uncle."

"Good, dude," was all Colton said.

They crossed Ocean Drive and jogged along the concrete path that wound its way through the busy beachside park. They kept pace with each other and, to any one who knew them, it was clear they were adopting a style designed to show their bodies to the best affect, rather than strictly for fitness training. They did a sprint when they saw there was a group of girls in the distance. When they got closer to the group it suddenly became clear that this was a busload of elderly women gathering for bingo or something, rather than the college-age girls they had thought. Colton blamed himself and confessed to Hollis he needed to get his eyes tested, weakened as they were by bouts of self-abuse. Holly laughed.

Then they came to the same chin-up bar Colton had used with Tristan's counting. This time both athletes did a respectable number and a few people stopped to admire them, one man saying that he wished he was forty years younger.

"Must be too early for chicks," observed Hollis.

They jogged as far as South Pointe Beach and then turned for home.

"How's it feel t'free-ball, man?"

"Strange at first, then real good with the bouncing n'all and now I don't even notice it."

"Doesn't the breeze feel good caressing y'sweaty nuts?"

"Yeah it does. I hate it when m'junk is like a sauna."

"And doesn't the material feel great against y'big Holly-piece?"

"Yeah, now that y'mention it."

"Look at them over there." There was indeed a group of young girls, possibly school age still, who were giggling behind their hands--a bold one was filming on her phone. "They're hot for y'all, Holly."

"And you, Colt."

"Well, me, naturally." Hollis wanted to punch him, but feared breaking his stride. "But the one with the phone, I'm sure is sayin', `I'm wet between m'legs for that fine red-headed cowboy. I'd sure like him t'ride me until he's foamin' like a pony on a hot day'."

"Shut up, Colt, y'makin' me hard, man."

Colton laughed and ceased his teasing. They arrived back at The Lomax to find the desk unattended. They went upstairs to Colton's room. Colton opened the door carefully and poked his head in. Tristan was folding his clothes. "Mornin', Tris. Headache better?" He moved into the room with Hollis.

"Yeah, fine now, but you can't tell when it will come back. Must be sinus."

Hollis had sympathy for the sick.

"Come on Holly, let's grab that shower." They both disappeared into the bathroom and shut the door. Tristan continued his tidying and he could hear the low notes of the two jocks laughter. They were there for some time before emerging wrapped in Hotel Lomax towels.

"Shoulda come on our run this mornin' Tris. It sure felt good an' we Texas bros gave a good account of ourselves among all these beach-tan pretty boys."

"Yeah," said Hollis. "Those chicks were lookin' at us like we was a Christmas turkey."

"Well, Holly's big balls could trim the Christmas tree and he was free-ballin' it."

"Y'all a sick fuck, Stone. I'm goin' back to m'room and see if Parks is back. See you on the beach."

They did assemble on the beach, at `their' spot near the lifesavers' station. However Parker was still absent and so, strangely, was Hollis. Colton, however, was not so surprised and told Tristan about the girl on the desk. Leesha and Rachel were just applying sunscreen to Colton's blonde back when Hollis appeared in his swimshorts and carrying his towel. He was grinning.

"Just had a coffee with Appasionata. She's a great chick and she is practically a model. We've got a date tonight."

"Way to go!" said Colt and high-fived him.

"Yo da man!" said Deshawn.

"She got a sister?" asked Carlos and received a sharp rap on the balls from Alexinia.

Rachel and Leesha paused in their task and cast doubts on the girl's looks and morals, but this was as water off a duck's back as far as Hollis was concerned.

The afternoon was booked for an airboat tour of the Everglades. Colton was taking this very seriously from a naturalist's point of view while the others looked at it as a joy ride. He became quite annoyed when he made the mistake of trying to seriously explain the differing habitats to be found in the vast area, from mangroves to sawgrass sloughs and how certain species had adapted to them in particular ways. Parker was more intent on the thrill of the craft they would ride in and Leesha and Rachel couldn't stop talking about alligators. Tristan felt sorry for him and tried to ask intelligent questions.

It was fun and it was interesting. Their tour guide was a young girl in a sort of uniform that comprised no-nonsense khaki slacks and a military-type shirt with epaulets. Tristan noticed her undo an extra button when no one was watching--maybe it was simply the heat. Therefore, it was no surprise when she teamed up with Colton and by the end of the afternoon they had agreed to meet in a certain South Beach bar that she knew with a view to discussing the threat to the rare gopher tortoise caused by water pollution from encroaching urban development. Colt told Tristan not to wait up.

Just then, Hollis asked if he could use their room for a night of passion with Appasionata--who had, after all, done such a good job in seeing to it that the plumbing was fixed. Parker was going to entertain Simone in their room, but he promised to keep the shouting down. "Can't say the same for her moaning when I'm on the job, though."

This left Tristan without a bed and he was just about to voice this when Colton surprised him by announcing that he could sleep in Deshawn's room, as Deshawn had no date. Tristan was slightly shocked, not so much because he had not been consulted in the matter--merely passed around like an unwanted parcel--but more because he had always thought Colton was a little jealous of Deshawn and he remembered his anger when Deshawn had playfully kissed him some months before. De shrugged his shoulders and said, "Sure."

Thus Tristan found himself with his shower kit in Deshawn's room after they had come back from a bar.

"De, I don't like to point out the obvious, but your room only has a double bed."

"Yeah, bro, I know. We used to sleep three to a bed at home when I was a kid. I'm cool with it."

"But De, I'm gay and I'll be in the same bed as you and you're..."

"What, not gay?"

"No, I was going to say a smokin' hot footballer."

"Is the `smokin'' because I'm black or have I been standin' too close to the stove?"

"No, I'm serious. I don't want make you feel uncomfortable."

"Look, Tris man, I anticipated this and I have made 'rangements."

Tristan looked puzzled. Then Deshawn unfastend his shorts and let them drop. Tristan burst out laughing, for Deshawn was wearing a long pair of baggy boxers that appeared to be sewn from a deconstructed Union Jack. There was an image of Boris Johnson on the front. On the arse was an image of Nigel Farage.

"Oh my God where did you find those?"

"Just in that souvenir shop near The Joplin Bar. I didn't want you to see me buyin' them, so I got Leesha distract y'all." He stood there saluting and sang:

"God...save...our gracious...queen-ey," he began in a style somewhere between swing and rap, snapping the fingers of his left hand like Frank Sinatra. "Long...live...that noble baby...God save da Queen. Don't let no muthafucka fuck with de lady...No trash dat's white or shady..." and so it went on until Tristan's eyes were streaming.

"Very patriotic, De. I wish I could nominate you for a knighthood. You shouldn't have."

"Well, I was just bein' considerate, y'see I usually sleep in the raw."

"Well, so do I so if you want to..."

"Yeah, but what's Colt gwin' t'say when y'tell him?"

"What's Colt got to do with it?" said Tristan feeling annoyed.

"Well, I know he sorta protects you, Tris." Tristan wondered if he meant more.

"Suppose he does?"

"Well, I...we... all love Colt and look up to him as our leader--in football an' stuff..."

"He's the alpha male of the pack, you mean?"

"Well, ain't he?"

It was a good question. "But it was Colt who told me to sleep in your room," argued Tristan.

"Yeah, he told you--didn't ask. I can't help but think he was asorta testin' me."

`And me,' added Tristan silently. "Well, do you want me to sleep on the floor?"

"No, course not," he concluded. "Into bed nekkid jock-style, Tris. I was just wonderin' 'bout stuff."

Tristan took off his clothes and Deshawn slid down his Union Jack drawers. They had seen each other naked in the shower most mornings, therefore it was nothing new, but this was more intimate. Deshawn's body was a college footballer's body--a work of art. He had cock like a policeman's truncheon, but it was flaccid at the moment. He grinned a little guiltily. "Pee-wee they used to call me at home. M'bruthas is bigger--or they used t'be--and teased me a whole lot. Stopped when I started to play football at school. But size don't matter, do it?"

"It matters. It matters a hell of a lot to all guys, if not to girls."

"Glad y'all think so, Tris," said Deshawn with a grin as he got into bed on his side. "But gwin to stay way over here, man. G'night." The lamp was extinguished.

Tristan lay there, listening to Deshawn breathing. He could feel his presence; his massive body radiated warmth like Colton's. He puzzled on Colton's role in their group. He wondered if the others considered him as Colton's `bitch'--for that's what Deshawn had meant, but had been too nice to say so. Not for the first time, such confusing thoughts sent him off to sleep.

During the night Tristan was awakened from a dream--he couldn't remember what it was and felt annoyed that it had been interrupted. Then he felt the wetness. It suddenly became obvious what it was and Tristan was now wide-awake and aghast; he had not had a wet dream since he was fourteen--they had been an inconvenient occurrence when at boarding school. Then came the slow realization that it was the back of his legs and his buttocks that were warm and wet and that the warmth was rapidly being replaced by coolness. He felt a movement: Deshawn was awakening and pressing up against him.

"De," he said softly.

There was a series of grunts and mutterings. These transformed into a panicked scrabble under the sheet.

"Oh fuck!" cried Deshawn. "Oh fuck, I'm so sorry, Tris!" He snapped on the lamp. In the lamplight Tristan could see the naked Deshawn on his knees with a look of absolute mortification on his face. His mouth was opening and closing, but no sound was coming out. Tristan thought he needed to calm the footballer down.

"Don't freak, man. It's no big deal."

"The fuck it ain't. I've blown on m'good buddy like some horny teen at a sleepover."

"I don't care."

"But this hasn't happened to me for years. Please, please, Tris, don't tell the others--especially not Colt. Oh fuck, I feel so 'shamed."

"Of course I'm not going to tell anyone. Don't take me for a prick."

"Oh no, of course not, it's just..."

"Look, De, it was natural and no fault of yours--it isn't even a fault. It was actually quite hot. Were you dreaming about me?"

"No, sorry Tris--I don't think so."

"Oh. Some hot girl, no doubt."

"Actually it was football. I can't remember if there were any girls at all. Is that gay?"

"No, of course not."

"I'm so sorry," began Deshawn all over again and still kneeling on the bed. He inspected the cum that was spattered all over Tristan. "I cum a lot and you're really painted." There was a trace of boastfulness creeping into his voice and Tristan was reminded that De was a football jock as much as the others.

"Well, you'll just have to wipe it up," Tristan replied with a little firmness in his voice. De moved as if to get something. "No, you have to use your tongue." Tristan had a twinkle in his eye and Deshawn look aghast all over again.

"Oh man, that is so gay, makin' me eat m'own cum--and off your butt."

"Why, haven't you ever eaten your own?"

Deshawn may have blushed but, of course, Tristan had no way of knowing. "Yeah, I like to eat it when I jack. I like a chick who snowballs too."

"Very kinky. You know, your piece is still oozing."

"Yeah,' said Deshawn looking down at the arc of his deflating member from which cum was still bleeding onto the sheets.

"I think I might have to clean you up too."

"Isn't that gay?" asked Deshawn, but Tristan noticed he didn't move and his knees were splayed and his cock and balls remained on full display.

"Yeah--but only for me." Tristan lunged forward and nursed on the fat, flaccid sausage. Deshawn still seemed to be cumming and Tristan sucked greedily. Above him Deshawn moaned softly. His moans became more urgent and turned into cries of pain.

"Hey, ease off, man, it's sensitive and m'balls is achin'."

Tristan reluctantly pulled off and then presented his rump to Deshawn who was still kneeling, immobilized. "Start lickin' it off."

"Y'all a sick fuck, Tristan Isley an' y'makin' my black ass pay for somethin' y'said was not my fault." He did manage a half chuckle.

"Yep. Might be m'only chance."

"It will be y'only chance." Nevertheless, the footballer bent down and licked the cold cum from the back of Tristan's legs. It tickled. Then he moved on to the cheeks of his arse.

"How does my white arse taste?"

"Like roast beef, cocksucker."

"Oh? And a black arse?"

"Like fried chicken o'course. How the fuck do I know? This is the first dude's ass I've ever licked--and the last." The final puddle of it was vacuumed up.

"Well, that was very nice, arselicker, and now my lips are sealed. I promise. Sleepytime?"

Deshawn laughed. "Yeah. And no more incidents, I hope."

The light was tuned off and they settled down as before, except that Deshawn put his arm around Tristan in a friendly gesture. "Thanks, Tris, for not freakin' and I am sorry. We good?"

"Of course we're good."

However the night was not without further interruption. At 2:30 Tristan's phone pinged. It awakened them both.

"Who the fuck is it?" asked Deshawn, propping his big shoulders up on one elbow.

"Colt. He's been kicked out by MaryLynn and he wants to know if he can crash here."

"Shit, I suppose so. More crowded than in the projects."

"Where is he?"

"On his way back."

If Colton noticed the smell of cum when the door was opened to his soft rap, he said nothing. "Bitch threw me out. Her boyfriend was coming back early from a conference in Washington." He threw off his clothes with fury. "Trouble is I liked her and we shared an interest in something serious--you know--not just in shallow shit."

"I'm sorry, Colt," said Tristan.

"Thanks, man."

"You're too good for her cheating ass, man," added Deshawn.

"Thanks, De. I guess I've done some of that." For the first time he noticed that the other two were buck naked as well. "Hey, two naked studs--oh sorry, I forgot you were here, Tris."

Tristan gave him the finger and simply said, "You're in the middle."

The next day their beach position was unavailable. There was a photography shoot in progress and a cordon now fenced off their particular patch of sand. A large trailer had been towed along the boardwalk to accommodate makeup and wardrobe. The Spring Beakers took in a spidery temporary structure made from scaffolding with flapping nylon sails, evidently an attempt to break the wind. Cables snaked about the site and men and women held lights and those reflectors that looked like silver umbrellas.

The group was kept back and the exact nature of the undertaking was not immediately apparent. They had a Frisbee and threw it back and forth for a few minutes but not really concentrating on the game. Then a girl emerged from the trailer and it became quite clear it was a fashion shoot.

Her appearance had an electrifying affect on the boys and indeed on a great many other people on the beach who formed a crowd to watch. All thoughts of Frisbee were forgotten. The model was stunningly beautiful and exotic--a willowy black girl who must have been an extraordinary six feet tall. Her hair had perhaps been carefully straightened and was flawless in its lustrous texture and razor sharp in its cut. One half fell below her left shoulder, terminating just above a perfectly formed breast and the other half was swept up behind her neck, emphasising its slender beauty. Her full lips were the colour of raspberries and her soulful brown eyes conveyed a slight hint of sadness and were exotically highlighted in snakeskin green. The model's skin was the colour of cocoa and was also without blemish and it fairly begged to be caressed.

"Holy shit!" cried Deshawn, as the girl was manipulated into positioned by the photographer and his assistants.

"She's easy the hottest babe I've ever seen--in real life I mean," said Hollis, mouth agape.

"I love her shoes," said Rachel.

The girl was dressed in a brightly coloured beach outfit--but not the sort that was meant to get wet, although became clear that she was actually modelling a wristwatch, which glinted on her lustrous skin under the lights.

The shoot took a long time, but the girls could not get the boys to move. Like an artist's lay figure, the model was shifted about by the director and when he demanded an aggressive stance, with her long and sexy legs spread wide, and a fierce and challenging mien on her formerly disdainful visage, Hollis made a grab for his groin.

Just then Parker rocked up, looking none the worse for wear. "Fuck! That's Océane Sapion--she's one of the top ten and upping-coming new models."

"How do you know that, man?" asked Carlos

"Intagram."

"What else?"

"She's from down the Caribbean--Guadeloupe, I think, and speaks French n'stuff. Environmental activist and won't fly anywhere, so she has to go by boat. Won't wear clothes made from animal products and she joined a protest in France about child labour--that sort of stuff. Worked in Europe and did a shoot for Sylk.

"Gotta have a copy of that, man," said Hollis.

"It's online. I subscribe only for the photos, although there's articles I'm told." He grinned.

They continued to watch the beautiful girl until she went inside the trailer only to emerge a few minutes later in a white swimsuit. "I think I've just cum in m'shorts," said Hollis. A team of stylists crowded around her and she was lost from sight for a minute. The girls drifted off, Carlos being lead away, but turning his head back just in time to see Mlle Sapion have trouble with her breasts in the tight suit.

About half an hour later the shoot had moved down to the water's edge. Océane was made to toss her hair-- a seemingly simple move, but it seemed to have to be repeated a hundred times before they were satisfied and Tristan began to think how boring being a fabulously beautiful model would be. Then the sun went behind a dark cloud--a cloud that had been not bigger than a man's hand just half an hour before. There was consternation amongst the crew as the shoot had to be halted. Lights were `killed' and cables were being wound up to allow the public to once more walk safely across the sand. Océane was left standing by herself for a just a moment, looking a little weary and irritated.

Colton, who had said almost nothing in the last little while, suddenly left the group, Frisbee in hand, and marched across to the abandoned model. The others gasped and watched the advancing figure of the quarterback, whose meaty buttocks flexed in the tiny dusty-pink shorts. Nevertheless it was a relaxed gait--or more properly a jockish swagger.

Océane had not seen him approach as she had been calling to her hair or makeup artist. Then she must have heard him call her name and she turned. She was alarmed for just a moment and then relaxed, seeing he was unarmed--except for his barely concealed weapon. She called to tell a worried minder that it was all right.

They could see Colton grinning, his white teeth glinting in the sun, which had now re-emerged. He was then seen to be engaged in an animated conversation, his body held in an artlessly relaxed but sexually charged pose and, miraculously, Océane Sapion was answering him and smiling. Tristan even saw her laugh--her teeth equally white and handsome. Then he saw Colton pointing back to them, obviously explaining they were students or perhaps athletes. Océane was nodding and smiling. Then her hand became animated as she was apparently taking over the conversation. This went on for about five minutes and was cut short only by the photographer obviously announcing that they could film again and that Colton must go. He saw Colton just lift her hand--somewhere between a handshake and a European kiss. She laughed and waved. Colton turned his back, no doubt giving her a good view, and held up his arm in a casual valedictory gesture.

By the time Colton had recrossed the sand the photo shoot had resumed and Océane was now being made to kneel in the shallow water.

"Come on guys, let's move away. She doesn't want to look at your boners--sorry Tris."

They set up camp down nearer the fitness equipment but the only topic of conversation was Océane Sapion and what Colt had said to her and what Océane Sapion had said to him. Colton was irritatingly coy about the encounter and brushed off their salacious inquiries with an affectedly cool demeanour. "I just introduced myself and said that I admired her work in Sylk magazine.

"Hey! That was me who told you that!" complained Parker.

"Well you shoulda had the balls to talk to her. I suppose they were drained by that Simone chick."

"Pretty much. Y'know, she was right; I shoulda have taken her to the dance. She was a better fuck than m'other girl."

"The one you had sex with in a cemetery?" asked Tristan.

"It weren't like that. It was real pretty up there--more like a park--and I could visit m'grandmother afterwards. When I'd pulled on m'jeans again, that is."

"Y' real smooth, Parks," said Hollis sarcastically.

"Shut the fuck up!" replied Parker and he was just trying to think of a comeback line when Colton calmly said, "Well I'd better go and get ready. I'm meeting Océane for coffee at The Sagamore."

"Y'asked a supermodel on a date!" exclaimed Deshawn.

"It's just coffee. And she ain't quite a supermodel yet. Only twenty-two. And we've got the game tonight. I told her that I had done a shoot for Sports Illustrated--so we're sorta in the same business."

"That was just y'photo, Stone," said Hollis. "It were no modelling job."

"I had m'shirt off, didn't I?"

This was a point, but the definitions of model', supermodel' and `snapped by our photographer on the way to the showers' remained elusive.

"Come on, Tris, I may need y't'help me find somethin' fittin' to wear. She recognised the label on these here bitty shorts an' said they looked cool. She did a shoot for them in Sorrento--that's in Italy for you hayseeds."

"I heard of it, said Hollis. It's like Atlantic City but with garlic."

Colton gave him he finger. The others laughed, but couldn't help admiring Colton's boldness. He pulled Tristan up off his towel and sauntered back in the direction of The Lomax, leaving the others to `beat their gums' as Colton put it.

When they were out of sight, Colton's coolness evaporated. "Fuck, I'm as nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full o'rockin' chairs, Tris. She's so fucking gorgeous I didn't know where to rest m'eyes. What'll I wear?"

"It's just coffee. Let's walk past The Sagamore and see what other people are wearing in the cafe."

"She's young, Tris, but she's been around--you know what I mean."

"You don't just mean she's been to Sorrento and back?"

"No, I think you have to grow up fast if you want to be a model. You know, she became interested when I said we were all at college. She asked me what it was like and stuff. She never went to college, of course. She wasn't even 15 when she was spotted on Grande-Terre--that's her home island."

"You learnt a lot in ten minutes."

"I had to work quick and beat m'nerves down. I had to look the man in front of the others."

"You're not dating her just to piss them off?"

"No, she's fucking hot--m'balls is boiling, but it is nice to fuck with Holly and Parks, ain't it?"

They reached the hotel, which was one of those built in the 1940s but it had recently been renovated to a very luxurious standard. They dared to enter, pretending to be legitimate guests. It was on a deep but narrow allotment and there was a return drive from Collins Avenue surrounded by a tropical garden with palm trees. At the rear and surrounded by more rainforest was a large swimming pool and this gave directly on to the beach.

They scoped out what appeared to be a cafe between the lobby and the garden. It was nicely furnished and Tristan half expected Bette Davis to be sitting at a chrome-edged table or perhaps that was Joan Crawford at the vitrolite bar. But these ladies were long dead and the present day patrons were neatly dressed in casual gear--but no sportswear, noted Tristan.

"What d'y'all think?" asked Colton nervously.

"Let's get you some new shorts at that place." Colton knew the store he was referring to. "And I think a college tee-shirt. You said she had a thing for college boys."

"Brilliant," said Colt. "And my aqua Vans. She might like sexy feet." Tristan thought she might too.

They hit the stores. The lemon-coloured shorts they found were short, but not as indecent as the swimming ones. They came with a belt and the cuffs rolled up to show off Colton's developed thighs even more. They could find no shirts branded with college logos, but settled instead for a grey long-sleeved top that was form fitting. Colton tried it on and immediately pushed up the sleeves. He looked great.

"It feels real good on m'nips," he commented. An inspection of the tag proved that it was made of very fine wool, rather than the usual cotton, and so it kept its shape--but the price was commensurate.

"I'm not tryin' to compete with a model who sees great clothes day in, day out. I can't. I just wanna be Colton Stone."

"Look Colt, you're not going overboard. The clothes look hot on you, but they're actually classy rather than flashy. Lemon-and-grey, no logos or patterns."

"Supposin' coffee leads to a date--a proper date. Won't I need stuff for that?"

"What about your Wranglers?"

"Nah, not down here. Another pair of good shorts and maybe a shirt?"

They found a tan pair, slightly longer than the lemon ones. The shirt proved elusive, as Colton ruled out loud Hawaiian prints. Then they stumbled on a retro shop on Lincoln Avenue and there, spread before them, were the products of their grandparents' generation and the television age. Colton quickly found a finely knitted shirt, in ecru with a tan front panel.

"I have a sudden urge to go bowling and vote Republican and I like Ike!"

"Looks hot, stud," was all Tristan said.

Their purchases were paid for, Colton's underwear largesse having provided again, and they had a coffee and made for The Lomax.

"I don't know how chicks can love shoppin'. That was fuckin' drainin'. How long were we?"

Tristan looked at his phone. "Twenty-five minutes--that includes our coffee."

Colton locked the door. Tristan knew what was coming. "Tris, I need t get off. I can't meet Océane with m'piece all barred up and drippin' like a hound dog."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. This is a real important date. Isn't Océane the most beautiful babe we've seen down here? Perhaps she the most beautiful chick in the whole damn state."

"I suppose so."

"So this is m'big chance an' I can't fuck it up."

"Are you the hottest guy in Florida?"

"Course not!" Colton grinned. "I heared that there was a finer stud in a carwarsh up in Boca Raton--only a rumour, mind-- and a Marine with a purtier smile down in Key West or someplace."

"And another with a bigger cock disguised as a snake in the Okeechobee swamp."

"Mine would be a Cottonmouth and De's would be an Eastern Indigo."

"And Holly?"

"Copperhead, naturally."

"And me?"

"Pygmy Rattler"

"I know--it's small."

"But still venomous. I need some lovin' Tris."

"You mean relief. I'll get you off then I'll help you get ready."

Tristan, in the end, had very little to do but watch. Colton's prospective tryst with the twenty-two year-old Caribbean model had him so worked up that he masturbated himself with alacrity on the bed. Tristan always loved his action, with his muscles employed to their fullest--like in a football match, but put to a different purpose in this instance. Tristan did not have to guess at what he was thinking as he pleasured himself and had little time to take in the beauty of his face and tension in his neck in the throes of passion, for Colton came very quickly and was then ready for his bath.

Tristan had him relax on the bed. He licked the cooling cum from Colton's belly and chest. Colton pointed out a drop on his forehead and Tristan licked that too. Then he rubbed his tense muscles with baby oil while the bath was filling. Tristan had never really done massage but Colton's moans seemed to indicate that he was doing something right.

The bath was ready and Colton lowered himself into the warm water. He was chatty now and talked about Océane and what might happen. Tristan listened as he washed Colton's blonde hair--longer now than it had been three months before, but not yet down to his shoulders. "What are y'all fixin' to do tonight?"

"Well, the girls and I are going to The Fallen Idol and then I thought I would go down to Shake. I'm on the hunt tonight, Colt."

"Good for you, Roomy. But I want you to be careful. Don't get involved in no drug crime."

"You've been watching Burn Notice."

"I mean it. If you pick up, I want you to text me at the game."

"Yes, Mum."

"And if you fuck--wear a condom."

"I don't think it will get to that."

Colton was lost in thought as Tristan soaped his shoulders. Then it was time for Colton to get out. They laughed, as it seemed a cross between dealing with a child and a knight going into battle: Colton was dried. There was a debate over deodorant. Colton decided on Axe--the choice of students --and hadn't Océane said she liked students? He left his scruffy beard as he said it made him look older.

"Not commando?"

"No, not for a coffee and I don't trust m'self not to get a hardon. My lucky camo briefs. These were squeezed on. Colton's jock butt filled them out back and his cock and balls were packed into the front. Then the lemon-coloured shorts. Tristan rolled the little cuffs up and Colton's legs were admired in the mirror on the inside of the closet door. Then the grey top--Colton pushed up the sleeves while Tristan arranged it on Colton's shoulders. The high top Vans were pulled on--no socks and the laces were left untied. "Thanks for y'help, Tris, but leave me while I do m'teeth."

Colton was careful as to the timing, not wanting to arrive early, but leaving enough time to walk the few blocks. Tristan said goodbye.

Tristan was now by himself. He sat around fiddling with his phone. He turned his mind to the prospect of the evening. Colton's bold attitude had impressed him. He puts himself out there,' he thought to himself, and risks--risks what? Rejection? The unknown? New experiences? Loss of control?' Tristan wondered if he could turn his face so boldly to Life as Colton did.

Later that night Tristan found himself in the queue outside Shake. It was supposedly a gay club, but there were plenty of girls there and some of the men might have been straight. The black security guard eyed Tristan for just a moment and then let him pass.

Unlike the more polished and sophisticated clubs that Tristan knew in London, Shake was, like a lot of constructions in Florida, rather rudimentary but terribly large--as if it were hurriedly run up from an old garage or warehouse without employing skilled tradesmen. There were several bars and dance floors and Tristan bought a drink and wandered about to get his bearings. It was loud and lively. The bar staff and many of the patrons were shirtless. Some of the boys only wore tight white briefs--those with perfect bodies. He went for another drink, trying not to look conspicuous. He looked down at his change and then looked up at the bartender--one of the shirtless ones.

"He gave you a twenty," said someone in a firm voice. Tristan turned and there was a boy next to him.

"Yes, I gave you a twenty."

The bartender conveyed no expression, his face rigid, and added a ten to the change.

"Don't tip him. They do that here--some of them are cunts."

Tristan giggled.

"I'm Chasen," said the boy."

"I'm Tristan."

"I love your accent.'

"It's real cute," they said in unison.

"Suppose you've heard that before."

"A few times"

Chasen was a hot looking young dude--a definite twink. He was tight and muscular--`buff' being the best description for his compact body.

"You're not from Florida."

"Spring Break--from Texas. Are you in College?"

"No, I'm a local. Moved down here to get work."

"I hope you've had luck."

Chasen launched into a sing-song biography rather like a sales pitch. "Well, not until this week. I've been doin' a bit of stuff and helping out some people." Tristan thought this a rather vague cv. "But I've been getting my portfolio together and trying to get to meet the right people."

"That's for modelling?"

"Yeah, I'm a dancer and I want to broaden out into fashion."

"I saw a fashion shoot on the beach today. A model called Océane Sapion."

"Can't say I've heard of her. I've done a few shots for other stuff, but I'm really interested in fashion."

Chasen was wearing little denim sorts and an immaculately white wifebeater. His choices showed off his developed legs and bubble arse to advantage. He was unnaturally tanned (or `tan' as the Americans employ as the verb's past participle) and it was only a little while later that Tristan registered that this was the product of a spray gun.

Chasen was very conversational, although he asked not a single question about Tristan's background or tastes. He was constantly on his phone, sometimes showing Tristan pictures. He also had quite a few friends in the club and stopped several people--who were similar versions--to chat bitchily and he occasionally introduced Tristan. Although relentlessly cheerful and optimistic, it was clear that Chasen was troubled about his fiscal status. He allowed Tristan to buy him expensive drinks, apologising for not buying back, but promising that he very soon would be able to buy the very best. Apparently someone owed him some money, which he was hoping to collect. Whether this was to take place in Shake or elsewhere was not clear.

"I just need to get some new wheels, dude," he complained. "I've got this job interview--it's practically in the bag--but I can't rock up in the old piece of shit I've been drivin'. Wrong impression."

Tristan thought it shouldn't matter, but said nothing because this was America and superficial impressions ran deep. He congratulated himself on this clever paradox.

Chasen offered him some ecstasy--with the unspoken understanding that Tristan would have to pay for the tablet. Tristan thought of his London days.

"Thanks, but no thanks. Heart condition."

"Too bad," said Chasen.

They were dancing now and feeling each other's bodies--it was that sort of crowd.

"You're hot!" said Chasen before mashing into Tristan's face.

"You're getting me boned," said Tristan and had the sophistication to laugh at the predictability of the situation.

Then, all of a sudden, the floor was cleared for the club's Mistress of Ceremonies. Tralah Parke was about five foot ten and an unhealthy 210 pounds. Her hair added another two feet, as it was teased up into a blonde beehive with a fuchsia rinse. Her eyebrows were pencilled-in several inches above their natural line and her eyelashes, lipstick and glittering sequin ball gown might well be imagined. Perhaps her grey goatee was more singular.

`Miss Parke', as she insisted on being addressed, was bitchy and terribly funny. She picked on members of the audience, chiding regulars by name and accusing them of being desperate, disparaging their clothing choices, impugning their morals and dissing their partners.

Then she launced into a biographical monologue. "My husband can't satisfy me anymore. Says my old cunt looks like a bouncy castle with a puncture. I should never have married him of course. Fact was it was probably illegal, but the sheriff was our best man--course he had to be since Wilbur were in jail at the time. He had a whole heap of green stamps and one more punch on a card and he was entitled to a freebie at the tattoo parlour, so he was a good catch in my eyes. I didn't know then that they was all stolen. Of course I had a few surprises for him on our weddin' night, but he come round in the end, especially when he saw what a good mother I'd be t'his kids, when he was allowed to see 'em.

"I'm from Alabama. Are there any boys from Alabam here tonight?" There were a few shouts. "Wilbur's from old Alabama family too--their name is Trashe." She spelt it out. "They was all Trashe. Government rebuilt the whole damn town after Hurricane Katrina. Funny thing was that we wasn't hit by Katrina--town always looked like that, but we didn't tell no one that and we got a new double wide.

"Now that we are all in Florida I try to be a good mother to my kids--the six that the welfare haven't taken, that is. M'oldest is twelve--Skoala her name is. I remember the day she was born--had to clear the pool table in a right hurry. Anyway, I'm always sayin' to her, `Don't smoke at the dinner table. What sort of example is that to set your kids, Skoala?' But y'can't tell her nothin' nor keep her from the truck stop."

The show went on in that vein for some time and finished with Trayla Parke miming a Supremes' song. Then Chasen invited Tristan back to his place.

Tristan sent a text to Colton. He was probably home asleep as the basketball match would have been over--perhaps they had gone out afterwards. He added a few pictures, including one of the perky Chasen.

Chasen didn't live very far away but it was up a concrete alleyway off a side street. There were harsh security lights illuminating the warehouse and parking lot opposite and these also revealed an apartment block made of cement bricks. The lower portion contained garages with apartments above, indicated by rows of aluminium windows. Any free portions of wall seemed to be festooned with cabling and satellite dishes. Tristan followed Chasen up some outside stairs from the gate and along a narrow gallery with a wrought iron balustrade. This passed the windows and doors of the other flats until they came to number seven. Two keys were required and at last Chasen snapped on the light. He immediately sought to explain his circumstances. This was not his apartment, but that of a friend. He had been living in a much nicer place in Coral Gables. He failed to explain why he was not still there.

There was nowhere else to sit but the bed, so Tristan stretched out while Chasen brought his story to a close. "Bathroom" he said, then disappeared through a door. Tristan wondered if he was going to do coke--he had been sniffing on their walk. It did not take much detective work--merely a glance at an Ohio driver's licence to reveal that Chasen was actually Owen Gruen and that he was seventeen.

Presently Chasen returned to the room wearing a high fashion thong and nothing else.

"What d'ya think?" He bent over and snapped the string that was lodged in his anus then straightened and rubbed his hands sensuously over the florescent green material. He launched into a dance and mimed a pole with the aid of a floor lamp. "This is what I wore for my audition at Viper." It was quite erotic and Chasen (Tristan couldn't think of him as `Owen') worked hard to show off his gym-toned body. Tristan applauded and Chasen suddenly jumped on the bed next to him. "I didn't get the Viper but there was a guy there who got me some photo work in Liberty City."

"Yeah? Do you have the pictures?"

Chasen hesitated for a moment then leapt from the bed and opened a drawer from which he pulled an envelope. There was Chasen, naked and posing for the camera. They were not particularly good photographs and, of course, advertised no product.

"Yeah, I know they're a bit raunchy, but you have to do this sort of stuff before you move on to modelling for fashion houses--everyone does it." He went and got another envelope. "These are made right here in Miami." The underwear in the photo had a big hole in the seat and Colton had spread himself for the camera. "These ones are rubber--they squeaked."

Another showed Chasen sucking on a big black cock, his eyes watering and a look of terror on his face. The one below showed him being double penetrated by two black `thugs'. "It didn't hurt that much," he explained, pointing to the photo. "I was acting and the guys were actually quite nice." Tristan said nothing. "They wanted me to have sex with a Rottweiler. Or so they said. They might have been lying. I was pretty high at the time, but I said no. It wouldn't look too good on my c.v. would it?"

Tristan said that it was probably a good decision.

"You've got a nice cock," said Chasen as he fished it out of Tristan's shorts. "I shave all mine off," he said running his fingers through Tristan's cropped pubic bush, "because that's what you need to do in the modelling industry and it makes me look younger--that's real important. But yours suits you. Very macho."

Tristan was not used to being called `macho' and was thinking on this while he was getting his cocked sucked. Chasen was very good and it was something that Colton did not do as a rule.

Tristan was both relaxed and excited. He felt he was getting close and he had Chasen pull off. He was grinning and then he kissed Tristan. Tristan then noted the professional grooming that had been done to his eyebrows. They made the boy look constantly surprised and it unnerved Tristan. He was about to reciprocate the blow job when Chasen stopped him and dashed to the bathroom. Tristan wondered if he was going to take something more, but he returned in a flash wearing the shiny rubber shorts. "These were from the shoot." He must have seen a look on Tristan's face. "Doesn't do anything for you?" Tristan shook his head and laughed. Chasen peeled the garment off with difficulty and got himself hard before allowing Tristan to suck him, which he did, while at the same times as roaming his hands all over his tight, gym-toned little body.

It ended quite satisfactorily. There was no question of fucking. There was a kiss. Chasen got up from the bed and walked to the bathroom, once again. Tristan watched him. "He walks like a girl," Tristan said to himself with some disappointment. Tristan though of someone who walked like a man; that is what he desired.

Colton was asleep when Tristan returned home and he thought it best if he slept in his own bed. It was late when Tristan awoke and Colton was already up and had been for a run and was now coming from the shower.

"How was your night?" he asked, drying his hair.

"Okay, how was yours?"

"The Heat won 101 to 97."

"Yes, but how was your coffee date?"

"Oh that? You mean with Océane?"

"Of course I fucking mean with Océane!"

Colton grinned. "Yeah, pretty good. We talked and stuff. She asked about all of you. She told me about her home in Guadeloupe and how she was discovered while she was still at her convent school. Modelling isn't an easy job."

Tristan thought of Chasen and had to agree.

"Anyway, we're going on a proper date tonight."

"No way!"

"Yep. I'm meting her at this Asian place way up on Collins Avenue at 7:30. She's payin' she insisted. Do you think that's okay?" he asked with concern in his voice.

"Well, it's the Twenty-First Century, Colt. She's probably loaded and you're just a student who has to sell his underwear."

Colton seemed relieved. "I paid for our coffee and some wine yesterday."

"Well, there you are. You're taking it in turns. Is she nice?"

"Of course she nice--did you see how gorgeous she is? And so fuckin' tall--her legs just go on and on right up to heaven. Hey, how was this Chasen dude?"

"A little twink."

"What's that mean?

Tristan explained. "He's only seventeen and wants to be a model, but all he's done is some go-go dancing at gay clubs and some dodgy porn."

"You mean you were dating a porn star?"

"Nah, it was nothing like that. Life's pretty shitty down here when you scratch the surface."

"Did you fuck?"

"No, just, you know..."

"Good. I mean it's good that you won't need a blood test or nothing."

"I would have used a condom."

"Yeah, but it sounds like you're not real keen--not seein' him again?"

"I don't think so."

"Right. Now about my date: I reckon I need some better shoes for this restaurant. Can we go and look for some before we go to the beach?"

That evening Colton was made ready for his date with Océane Sapion, the most beautiful girl in all Miami as she was being billed by Colton and he met with little dissent from Parker, Hollis, De and Carlos. The girls were more grudging. However it was the whole group who launched him off in a taxi at 7:20.

Tristan heard nothing from Colton until midday the following day. He received a mysterious text: "Tris: cud u bring me clean clothes to Traymore? Pls don't tell others. Ask at desk for room+lift pass. C."

Tristan swung into action. He texted Alexinia and said that he wouldn't be going on the speedboat tour of Miami because he was feeling unwell and that he would message her later. He selected some clothes for Colton. Would he need shoes? He packed a pair of flip flops into his backpack and, making sure he was respectably dressed himself, set out the few blocks for The Traymore Hotel.

As promised, they were expecting him at the desk and the clerk used his pass to allow Tristan to access the lift.

Tristan found the room and knocked softly--he didn't know why. The door was opened by Colton and he was naked. This explained the clothes.

"Are you all right, Colt?" asked Tristan as soon as he was inside. He looked around and no one else seemed to be there.

"Yeah," began Colton. Then Tristan spied the bed.

"Fucking hell, Colt!" On the four corners of the bed there were Velcro tapes.

"Océane likes it a bit kinky. Took me ages to get loose."

"You mean, she tied you up and left you here? Where is she?" He looked around again, but six foot black models were not easily concealed.

"She's on a yacht heading for Cuba. Shoot there next week. Yeah, she tied me up for sex. Look." He reached to the floor ad picked up his yellow shorts--or what was left of them; they had been shredded with scissors.

"Shit! And you're sure you're all right?"

"Yeah, but look at these." He held up a thin leather thong. "Tied m'balls up to delay me coming." Then he retrieved a shiny metal device from under the bedcovers.

"What's that?" But Tristan knew the answer even as the words left his lips; it was an anal hook--he had seen them in porn.

"She pushed the ball end up my ass and tied the hook to a harness round m'neck. Every time I fucked her, it fucked me. I tell you, Tris, I've never cum so fuckin' hard in m'life. I thought m'insides would come out."

"Well..." said Tristan, but couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Come and sit on the bed. We've got the room until 3:00 and there's something else I gotta tell you--in confidence."

Tristan lay on the bed and Colton, now wearing a pair of boxers, lay next to him.

"The date was great. Hey, I really like Vietnamese food! Well, we were getting along like a house on fire and she's comin' on pretty strong an' I guess I was givin' off the Colty-wants-to fuck vibe. She's tellin' me all about her animal rights work and her save-the-environment stand--that's why she's goin' to Cuba by boat. All that was true I reckon."

"Other stuff wasn't?"

"Nope. She's not twenty-two. Younger, maybe eighteen. She weren't in no convent neither."

"It did sound a bit contrived."

"I think she was sellin' herself on the streets--but in Puerto Rico, not Guadeloupe. This guy took her up and this other guy--the photographer we saw on the beach--he took her after paying a hefty price for her. All the modelling stuff is real--the camera loves her and she's a natural, they told her."

"Well..." began Tristan again.

That's not all--not the big part. Y'can't tell a single soul, Tris."

"Okay, I promise," said Tristan cautiously.

"Océane Sapion is a guy--or she was born a guy..."

"No shit?"

"Yeah, no shit. She's--you know--transgender. Had the op and hormone injections and stuff. I mean you can't tell, can you?"

"No, I never dreamed--although she is unusually tall."

"Yeah, but that's all, I mean Tris, she acted like a female and her breasts...well, and, you know, she now has a vagina and a `neoclit' made from part of her prick--like she could still cum an' everythang. In fact she was a fantastic fuck..."

"Spare me the details."

"Oh, I thought you'd like them."

"Well..."

"There's nothing wrong with being transgender, is there, Tris?"

"No, of course not; it's just part of pan-sexuality--like being gay."

"But it's diff'rent. It's kinda personal and I feel kinda sorry for her--I mean after how she started out in life n'all an' now she's successful an' everythang'."

"Yeah. Well, you've had quite an experience! We'll just let history record that Colton Stone, college quarterback, dated Océane Sapion, the most beautiful girl in Miami."

"Not just Miami."

"Okay--in the whole world."

"Yeah. She's goin' to be hard to top."

"It's not a competition, Colt."

"Yeah it is. I'm not twenty, I'm allowed to sow m'wild oats."

"Well, these new shorts are ruined," said Tristan taking up the sad object.

"Yeah, and she ripped m'new shirt off t'get at my chest. It was hot an' I nearly came from just that." Colton put on the shredded garment and it hung in tatters, with his pecs and nipples exposed.

"Looks kind of hot, Colt."

"Yeah it does," said Colt admiring himself in the mirror. "Hey, wanna tie m'balls with the thong; I'll show y'how."

Tristan found that he did indeed. It was quite complicated and not something they taught in Scouts--or perhaps it was? In any case, Colton could recall with fidelity the intricate and rather uncomfortable arrangements. "Mustn't stay on for more than twenty minutes and put y'finger along here so it ain't too tight."

The ligature quickly made each of his distended and separated testicles swollen and purple. "They's real sensitive now--especially when she used her nails and the paddle."

"She hit you with a paddle?"

"Yeah. Spanked m'jock butt too. It's over there on the bureau. Tristan saw what he had thought was a table tennis bat. He should have been suspicious that Ocean Sapion and Colton were not playing ping-pong and he giggled. Colton's cock and balls were lewdly distended and his scrotum hung even lower than usual. "Look hot?"

"Yeah, it does, stud."

"Want to have a go? With the paddle I mean." Tristan thought for a moment then nodded. "Yeah, go ahead. Not too hard, cause they is still sore an' I had promised them a rest, but as y'all is here an' we got the room for a couple of hours, well, see if y'can make me cum."

It was an unusual request but he barely paused to consider what he was getting himself into. He picked up the paddle. "That's really for m'ass. She had a narrower one for my balls, but she must have taken it with her. Colton hung on to the doorframe and spread his legs wide. Tristan didn't know how hard to strike, so aimed for a Goldilocks' medium.

"Ugh fuck!" cried Colton. His balls swung, despite their binding. "Yeah, just like that."

Tristan repeated the blow a few times. Then, of his own volition, he soothed the purple balls with his tongue. "I can take some more. I'm nearly there."

On the fifth swat Colton came, his seed being broadcast across the carpet.

"Oh, fuck, get it off, Tris."

Tristan fumbled with the knots. When it became difficult he found Océane's scissors and cut the last one to free Colton's tortured gonads. He lay on the bed, panting and gently rubbing them to restore circulation.

Then they fell to talking. "Do you think Océane is into this stuff because she hates men--I mean after how she was brought up?" asked Tristan at one point.

"No, I don't think so, she likes men and she was real sweet to Colty. She said she really liked big guys."

"Well, being so tall herself..."

"That ain't what she meant, Tris," Colton said patiently. "She likes guys with big cocks. It takes one to get her to come, y'see, and she especially likes it up the ass, so y'all have somethin' in common."

"Huh," replied Tristan.

"I'm probably givin' you the wrong impression of her with all this stuff. She was actually a real nice person--just liked it a little kinky. Yeah, I reckon I did some o'm'best work. You feelin' frisky, Roomy?"

"Yeah, your story has got me hard, of course."

Colton went `he-he' and then said, "Would y' like it a bit kinky? Put that hook up m'butt and I'll see if I can blast 'cum right up through y'throat."

"You have a romantic way with words, Roomy," observed Tristan with some sarcasm.

"I don't have t'play games with y'all like I does with a chick. I can tell it straight."

Colton was already getting the hook and the lube. He bent over and inserted the metal ball with a grunt. His eyes watered. "Fuck! Fuck, that makes me feel full!" He caught his breath. Tristan fastened the length of cord to the other end and gave an experimental tug. Colton gasped.

"Where does the other end go?"

Colton searched the room until he found a harness that fastened around his chest and shoulders. There was a steel ring for the cord. "Fuck Colt! You look awesome in that leather."

"Do I?" asked Colton with genuine modesty. He turned to the mirror. "Yeah, I do. I could almost get m'self off by lookin' at me."

"I'm sure you could," said Tristan with more sarcasm.

The length of the cord was adjusted until there was just the correct amount of tug on the hook. Exertion from Colton's upper body would pull the hook in deeper, perhaps mashing his prostate gland.

Tristan confessed that he hadn't cleaned himself out, but thought it would be `okay'. Lube was applied and Colton slid into Tristan who was on his back. Tristan could see Colton's expression--both from fucking and being fucked by the devilish instrument. He felt quite thrilled.

Despite having only cum half an hour before, Colton was performing like a stud. He felt as hard as steel inside his rectum and Colton said as much. He leaned in for an ill-judged kiss and the curve of his back suddenly tightened the cord and drove the hook in so deep that Colton was sure he'd be ripped asunder. However he wasn't and in fact it `sent him over the edge' and he came hard inside Tristan.

"Oh, fuck, that was satisfying!"

"Good for you Tris?"

"Yeah, but just stand there in your gear. He watched Colton adopt an easy stance, the leather straps making a contrast to his sweat-soaked teen flesh. His deflating cock was still spilling cum through the foreskin and it was drooling on the carpet. Tristan made himself cum.

Colton was untied and he could kiss Tristan properly. They rested on the bed, Colton's arm around Tristan as was habitual and they drifted off to sleep.

It was nearing three when they woke and so they made busy straightening the room. Colton's new shoes were found. The torn clothes were binned. They looked at the fetish gear. "Yeah, lets take it, Tris. It might come in useful."

Please look for the next chapter. Henry would love to receive feedback and will endeavour to reply. Please email h.h.hilliard@hotmail.com and put Tristan in the subject line.