I could tell it was going to be a long, long summer.

The owner of my coffee shop, always on the lookout to expand his dinky little place into a massive, nationwide chain, met a guy who knew a guy that had a bar that needed a summer pop-up. In the North Fork of Long Island.

Maybe you don't know the Eastern End of Long Island: take the ugliest-souled people you know, give them tons and tons of generational wealth, and put them in one of the most beautiful places on Earth, and you have The Hamptons.

For three months, I was charged with running a small coffee stand at the end of a bar at a marina, 6am to 2pm every Monday through Friday. The bar didn't open until 4pm, so it was a giant vacant space and me, with a little a-frame sign out front, the bar's (sub-par) espresso machine, and the bar's (sub-par) drip coffee maker, at one end of the bar, by the doors. I'd come in every morning, pick up the box of pastries left at the door by the delivery driver, and get let in by George, the overnight cleaning guy.

I was given a small guest house in the back yard of a friend of a neighbor of someone that was golfing buddies with the bar owner. The folks who owned the property were very nice, but, being about ten tax brackets above mine, made sure they kept a polite distance.

I saw it as a little adventure: summer in the Hamptons? Oh hell yeah. A steady, easy gig. I sublet my place and looked forward to getting a tan. Living as someone else. Seeing how the rich folks lived.

But here I was, Day 1, already fed up with them.

Three mid-twenties kids came in, looking exactly like you would expect three mid-twenties with absolutely no responsibilities and no need to ever work in their lives to look. Backwards Titleist hats, Vineyard Vines tee-shirts, salmon-colored shorts. Boat shoes.

"Hey bro, lemme get a Grande Iced Vanilla Latte," the first one said without looking at me.

"'Grande?'" I asked.

"Yeah. Grande."

I shrugged. I didn't remember the Starbucks sizes, so I just went with large and started getting to work.

The second of the bunch looked like that generational wealth couldn't buy you a good complexion, as he looked like a spruced-up playground bully. All choppy red hair and a face pinched around his nose. "Yo, hey yo, you think you could slip some booze into my drink?"

I looked down the length of the empty bar. "I wish."

"Yeah yeah yeah, dude, no one's around," the first one said. "We'll give you a big tip."

I started the espresso machine for the latte, looked at Pinch-face. "What can I get you?"

"Whiskey," he laughed, and high-fived--he actually high-fived--the first one.

Oh, this was going to be a long, long summer.

Then I looked to the third one in the group, and that's when I fell in love.

He was dressed just like the other two, but looked a little shyer. He didn't have a hat on, but had short, dark, fussy hair. A sharp jawline, high cheekbones, sun-burnt cheeks. His lips were slim, feminine. His blue eyes were pale and shallow, like you could see the pool's lining underneath them. Tall, lanky, like a swimmer, fit. Oh, so fit.

He was a twink in rich bro's clothing.

Maybe it wouldn't be a long summer. Maybe it wouldn't be long enough.

"How about you, my friend?" I said, calling out to the dream boy lingering behind them.

"Get a whiskey, dude, get a whiskey," Pinch-face said.

"Nothing. I'm okay," he said.

The first one shrugged and turned back to me, leaned on the counter. "So what's up, homie, you gonna hook us up?"

My dreamy 20-something rolled his eyes, clearly irritated with his lot: stuck with two meatheads, both of whom were full of toxic brosculinity, both of whom probably didn't know their friend was most definitely above them, and most definitely gay.

I wanted him to come back. But that probably also meant I would have to deal with his two idiot friends.

"How about this: I don't want to get fired. You know how this owner is."

"No, dude--I don't."

"Well, he's a prick. Bottle counts every night after the shift. He doesn't trust anyone."

"For real?" Pinch-face said.

"Bottle...counts?" the first said, his face a dumb-dumb look.

I caught my dreamy boy looking up, curious.

I didn't even know if bottle counting was real. But I had a vague memory that it was a thing, someone told me once. Whatever the case, it was working. "For real. Bottle counting. He measures the bottles at the end of every shift so he can see if the cleaning guy is stealing. If he comes in and sees that the bottles have less in them...you get it?"

Pinch-face nodded. "Dead ass."

"Yes. Dead ass," I said, not having any idea what that meant, but I caught my dream boy smiling. He got it. He saw what was happening.

Oh, how I wanted him.

"I tell you what though," I said, sliding the coffees across the bar to them. "These are on the house." If I gave them free coffee, would they come back? Ugh. Probably, but it also meant they might come back with my heartthrob.

The first one looked at me suspiciously. "Dead ass?"

The shared lexicon between these boys was probably smaller than an advertisement for a hammer.

"Dead ass. You sure your friend doesn't want anything?"

My dream boy had a small knowing smile, and shook his head no.

"What are your names? I'm here all summer," I said.

"Tyler," said the first one. Of course.

"Whipple," said Pinch-face, and honestly I didn't know how to react to that one. What kind of name is Whipple?

"I'm Damon," the third said.

I want to fuck you, Damon.

"It's nice to meet you, Damon."

Tyler and Whipple took their drinks like they won something, and the three of them headed for the door.

I watched Damon all the way, already getting a semi at the thought of my jerk-off session later, thinking about my hands on those shoulders, on that back, in that ass.

And before he left, Damon turned around, and took one final look at me before heading out with his chuckle-headed friends.

My semi cranked to a full-on boner.

***

Tyler, Whipple, and Damon didn't take advantage of my free drink offer for the rest of the week, but I fell into the new routine of my temporary coffee shop. Up at 5:30am. Quick shower. Get to the shop just before open, sneak a pastry for breakfast, of course a little coffee, then open the doors when someone showed up. Some regulars were nice, some were pleasant, a few were the typical asshole you'd expect this far out in Long Island. So pretty much just like working anywhere else, really.

But the proximity to the water was the real winner: I could close down the coffee shop at 2pm, walk over to my little summer cottage, change for the beach, and get some sun. So my daily routine was really shaping up. Changing my coffee-smelling clothes for my swim trunks, grabbing a towel and a book I'd never actually read, finding a spot, and laying out to the sounds of the Atlantic Ocean's lapping waves tended to melt off the drudgery of making cappuccinos for rich assholes.

The fourth day of my stay I laid out my towel and then started to squirt baby oil into my hand, watching the sun sparkle over the water, watching the different shapes and sizes of the beach folks as they passed by, nodding to the one or two people who were already becoming regulars at the coffee shop.

Then I saw Damon.

He was with Tyler and Whipple, who were surprisingly slim and muscled, both in horrifically large board shorts, low-rise, flat tummies, thick arms, broad-shouldered.

Damon was, again, the odd man out: he was in sunglasses and a tiny teeny weeny bikini bottom that--Good Lord--was wrapped around a giant dick. His swimmer's body looked exactly like I hoped it would, broad shoulders, tapering down to to a tight little waist. Hairless. Toned. His thighs were thick, tight. And that bathing suit.

The three of them looked like a gangbang I'd like to slut myself out for: just kneel me in the center of that circle and let me take all three of them in my mouth. I could feel myself growing in my own shorts.

Damon saw me. I waved, casual, nothing too desperate, just a salute, then I picked up my bag to pull out that book I had promised to read this summer.

But out of the corner of my eye, I saw Damon stop, tell Tyler and Whipple something while jerking a thumb in my direction, and then he started to jog over to me. I watched his package bob in those shorts as he made his way across the sand; my heart leapt and my cock started to swell.

"Hey," I said, rubbing sun tan oil on my arms.

"Hey," Damon said.

"I don't have my coffee machine with me," I said.

He smiled, looked back over his shoulder towards Tyler and Whipple, already further down the beach, aiming towards a few beach towels' worth of women in bikinis.

"Thanks for the coffee the other day."

"You didn't get any."

"Yeah, well--no, I mean...for my friends."

I nodded. We stood there in the sunshine, seagulls squawking.

"Gotta be honest. They don't look your type," I said.

"What?" Damon said.

"I just mean, you're not like them."

"We went to school together. Swim team."

"Right. Swim team. That explains the trunks."

He looked down, up, smiled nervously. Oh my stars, he was embarrassed.

"I like them," I said.

"Oh--well, I...they're..."

I rubbed sun tan oil into my legs. "Are you wearing enough sunscreen?"

"Uh. Yeah."

I took a quick look down the beach for Tyler and Whipple. They had their backs to us, no doubt imparting their singular brand of genius on the bikinied women. I looked back at Damon, locking eyes. "Are you sure?"

Damon swallowed, held my gaze, then nervously broke off.

"I'm not gay," he said.

"Hey hey hey, I didn't say you were," I said, my heart racing, trying to keep cool. Nonchalant. "I just want to make sure you've got enough protection." I pointed at his chest while looking at those blue eyes again. "Looks like you missed a spot."

"I don't--" he looked back, looked around. "I--don't need any more."

I squirted some into my hand, rubbed it on my shoulders. "Okay. You don't need anymore, but..." I looked down at his crotch. "Do you want more?"

He looked down and realized that he had grown. Quite a bit.

"I--well, maybe..."

"Here. Let me..." I squirted some more oil into the cup of one hand, dropped the bottle onto my towel, then rubbed it into my two hands. Put my hands up for his permission.

"Yeah," he said. "Uh. Maybe--"

I reached out my right hand and wiped oil into his six-pack, casually. I watched his chest rise and fall, and then I let my fingers slide a tiny bit into the waist of his bottoms--

"Yo dude, Damon!"

Tyler and Whipple were jogging over to us, the little shits, and I went back to applying oil to my own legs. Damon whipped around, realized he was revealing his massive bikini-wrapped bulge, then turned back around, put his hands on his hips and "Yo"ed back at them.

I smiled at him.

He looked too nervous to smile back.

"What are you doing?" Whipple said. "Dude, check out those girls! They're coming to the party. You gotta come check them out."

"Party?" I asked.

Tyler and Whipple looked at me.

"How's it going?" I asked.

"The fuck are you?" Tyler asked.

"I work at the coffee shop."

Tyler's face looked as if I had introduced the concept of emotional intelligence to him.

"At Smithy's Bar?"

Whipple's pinch-face looked especially pinch-faced as he held a hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun. He looked as though I had introduced the idea of reading to him.

"I gave you free coffee on Monday?"

Whipple and Tyler looked at each other, then at Damon. "Dude, come on, let's go make sure these girls--look--over there--those girls, over there--look--they said they're coming to the party."

"Cool," Damon said. "Hey." He looked at me. "He should come too."

"Who?" Whipple asked.

Damon pointed at me.

"Dude," Tyler said, "This dude is like, what? 60?"

"I'm 35," I said.

Whipple pfft-ed. "Whatever. Sure. Just come on, my dudes, let's go and find more girls for the party."

"Okay, gimme a second," Damon said, as they trotted off.

"Thanks for inviting me. Where's it at?"

Damon pointed off in a direction, and I stopped him. "I'm bad with directions. Maybe you should give me your number so I can get directions from you."

"I'm not gay," he said.

"So touchy, buddy. Don't worry about it, then. I'm sure you'll have a good time with those girls."

Damon bit his lower lip, thinking. Then he said, "You got your phone?"

I reached down and took it out of my bag, unlocked it, handed it to him.

"I'll bring some snacks. What do you young people eat these days? Us 60-year-olds only like sticky candy."

Damon stopped typing his info into my phone, but didn't look up. He smiled, handed the phone back to me without looking at me. Then he trotted off, pleasantly, his perfect little muscled butt shivering with each step, and I had to sit to cover the boner that was wishing it could find its way into it.

***

The next day, I texted: Hey Damon thx for the invite to the party when and where is it

His reply was simple, and perfunctory. A place, a time. Of course I was hoping to see a giant, throbbing dick pic, or maybe a picture of his coil in those swim trunks, or maybe even a request for mine, but no. And I didn't push it. Keep it light, keep it simple. I gave it a thumbs-up emoji in reply.

And of course I must have checked my phone for a reply about 700 times.

***

The bottle-blonde woman that answered the door had the biggest tits I had ever seen, in the smallest red bikini I had ever seen. She held a red Solo cup to match.

"You're the coffee guy," she said.

"I--ammm," I said, smiling, but suspicious.

"Do you remember me?"

I tried to place her.

"I get the Red Eye? Espresso in coffee?"

I smiled and shook my head apologetically.

"I was with my dog?"

I faked a recognition. I had to: if things didn't work out with Damon, good lord, I would let her suffocate me with those tits as she rode my cock. "Of course. How are you? Sorry, it's the--" I looked down at her incredibly massive breasts, then corrected-- "The hair. It's--your hair is different. Right?"

She squealed and took a drink. "I just had two inches cut off. Good eye," she said, leeringly.

"Remind me: you arrre--"

"Lizzie," she said.

"Lizzie. Yes."

She leaned against the door frame, and her tits swung so hard against it that I thought they'd take out the whole house. "And what's your name?"

"Coffee Guy."

She squealed.

"Is this your magnificent beach house?"

"It is. I'm Tyler's mom."

I'm surprised my jaw didn't make a sound when it hit the floor. "You're--no. You're too--sorry. You're that...delightful little scamp's mother?"

"'Scamp?' What are you, 80? He's a little shit."

Oh, Lizzie was a-okay. I smiled, and bent towards her. "Here, Lizzie. I've brought some potato chips for my hostess."

She smiled as she took the bag of potato chips, and turned to walk inside. Thong. Ass. A little wonder.

The house was light and airy, definitely playing to the East Coast Rich Person Americana Decor, and the sunset was giving everything a warm glow as music bounced politely in the background. It was still early for the party, but there were bathing suits everywhere. I recognized a few of the women Tyler and Whipple had met on the beach. A splash in the distance caught my attention: a pool out back. Red Solo cups. Little groupings of three or four people here and there, all looking exactly as you'd expect: mid-20-somethings laughing and peacocking for each other, just waiting for the opportunity to hook up. I watched Lizzie drop off the potato chips at a table by three dudes in board shorts and backwards hats, and one girl in the pinkest-pink one-piece bathing suit I've ever seen. They chatted for a few moments, and then Lizzie went deeper into the house.

I went to the table and grabbed a beer out of a cooler, nodded to the dudes and Pink-Pink, and scanned for any signs of Damon.

"You must be Tyler's dad," one of the dudes in the board shorts said, extending his hand. He had a head of yellow curls under his hat, a pouty mouth, and a body that looked like he spent more time that I would want to at a gym.

"I'm 35," I said.

"Cool," he said, obviously bad at math, his hand still outstretched. "I'm Jake. I'm interning at Paladin. I hear you're a systems analyst at Action Systems."

Oh my god, he was trying to network for a job. I shook his hand out of politeness. "Have you seen Damon?" I responded.

He jerked a thumb towards the pool. "He's out back. Hey, I was wondering if I could possibly ask you a few questions, as I'm looking to move into systems analyzing myself--" I let his voice melt into the background. There was Damon. My heart skipped a beat. This time he was in loose-fitting shorts and a tank top, his musculature looking like a rock face I wanted to climb. And, of course, lick. And, of course, cum all over.

He was sitting with Tyler and a few other people around a table, Red Solo cups, beer bottles, the sunset cutting Damon in golden light, the Atlantic Ocean in the distance. A sailboat eased by. My game plan was to play it cool, catch his eye, and see what happened next. Let him come to me.

And it didn't take long. I nodded and smiled at Curly through the detailing of his entire resume, his entire philosophy of systems analytics, and while I smiled I occupied myself by wondering if he'd still be talking this much with my dick in his mouth. Just as the sun started to touch the horizon, the music got turned up a little more, more and more bathing-suited guests arrived, and I noticed, out of the corner of my eye, Damon making his way over to me, beer in hand.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," I said. I turned to Curly. He was still motor-mouthing, the poor thing, while I said, "Will you excuse us a minute?" and we stepped away.

Damon and I found a doorway.

"How are you?" I asked.

"Good," he said. Nervously.

"Nice party."

"Yeah, it's Tyler's place."

"Well," I said, "It's actually Lizzie's place."

"Have you met her?"

"Oh yes."

He laughed. "She's so cool."

"How old is she?" I asked.

Damon shrugged.

"Nice tits."

Damon jerked his head back. "I thought you--I thought you were gay--"

"Buddy, you gotta lose it with the labels. You're killing me."

He nodded sharply, looked around nervously. Smiled.

"I appreciate all kinds of people."

He nodded.

"Like you," I continued.

He straightened up, took a drink.

Lizzie appeared, gave Damon a hug. "How are you, honey?"

"I'm good, thank you."

"Are you friends with Coffee Guy?" Lizzie asked.

"Yes," Damon said.

Lizzie smiled deliciously, looked me in the eye while she said, "Tell your friend Coffee Guy that he's very very cute."

Damon looked at me, then back at her. "I...I will."

"Have you seem Tyler?" she asked.

"Out at the pool," Damon and I said, together.

She looked at me, looked back at Damon. Back at me, back at Damon. Squinted, nodded. Pointed at both of us. "Ohhh. Okay. I like this. I like this. Carry on," she said. She walked back into the party. Thong. Ass. Heaven.

"You're right," Damon said, watching her walk away and then turning to me. "Nice tits."

I laughed.

"Let's go walk on the beach," Damon said.

We snuck out the front door and down the street, the music dying in the distance, the sky turning to dusk as the sun finally dipped away, sending ripples of reds and pinks across the sky.

There was a public entrance to the beach that led us down to the water, where we could walk away from Tyler's (mom's) place, but there were still a lot of people. We walked closely together, so close we sometimes brushed hands, without acknowledgement. We chatted about the party, a few of the people there, some of the restaurants in the area, surface-level stuff, but there was an electricity between us. I didn't want us to talk things out of this opportunity. Someone had to make a move.

"Water looks nice," I said.

We stopped and watched the sunset for a moment.

"Let's go in," he said, and took off his shirt, exposing that textbook body. Then he took off his shorts, and was again in a tight fitting, low-rise bikini, his massive bulge boinging about as he maneuvered his legs out of the shorts.

"I didn't plan on swimming," I said, motioning to my own shorts.

He held my gaze nervously. "What were you planning on?"

I stepped to him, looked him right in the eye. I put my hand on his chest. "Sucking your cock. Or stroking it. Or letting you fuck me, if you want. Getting you to paint my face with your cum. Watching your cock bob while I fuck you. Fingering you while I listen to you beg me to let you cum. Or just jerking each other off. Honestly, Damon, you can do whatever you want to me."

His eyes were wide. There was a long pause, within which I saw him swallow. I saw him melt. I saw his guard down.

"That's...very direct," he said.

"I'm only here for the summer, Damon." I took a step closer and my hard-on had expanded enough that I glanced his with mine. "I'm yours to use, Damon. I can be your little cock-hungry whore while I'm here or I can make you into mine. But I want to be clear: I want to have lots..." I got closer, "...and lots..." I got closer, "...of sex with you." And I kissed him.

After a brief moment in that paradise, Damon pulled back and stepped back, with a few quick glances around us. He was from here, I wasn't. It wasn't that dark that we--he--couldn't be recognized. When his eyes finally came back to mine, he reached down for his shorts and flipflops.

"I know a place we can--we can go," he said. He walked out into the water, and I followed.

At ankle deep we started to make our way back towards Tyler's (mom's) house. Our hands bumped, and he took my hand into his, and I squeezed. The crowds were thinning, now, the random few people in the dusk watching the sunset or packing up their beach chairs, trying to get their brats out of the water, looking for their keys.

At one point, Damon surveyed the area, stopped us, and we kissed again. He pressed himself against me, I felt that bulge against mine, and I moved my hips to grind them together ever so gently. He pulled away, smiling, splashing out into knee-deep waters. His bulge, bouncing.

Now, I get it: the ocean, the beach, it's all very, very romantic, but water isn't the best lubricant, and sand's going to get everywhere. And don't tell me about the grassy parts of the dunes, because no way: bugs. I was ready to do whatever necessary, but I was also hoping he wasn't taking me into any of those spots.

We were at an arm's-length distance when we reached Tyler's (mom's) house, the music pumping, the happy sounds of cheery conversation. We ran into a few of the partygoers at the water's edge. Damon stopped and looked towards the house.

"Lizzie's got a guest bedroom in the ground floor. She doesn't let anyone into the ground floor for parties--it's the door over there--so she can wake up the next morning and not have to look at the mess until she's ready to make Tyler clean it up."

We went back into the party, doing the usual stop-and-chats, grabbing drinks for show. Damon reminded Tyler that I was the coffee shop guy, we listened to another five minutes of Curly telling me about his big plans for systems analyzing, this time somehow being more monotone but drunk, Damon reminded Whipple that I was the coffee shop guy, and soon enough, Damon pointed out the stairs to the basement. He went down; I followed shortly thereafter.

The party above us and outside was muted now, the laughter and the music blunted. Damon was waiting at the bottom of the steps, and he took hold of my arm the moment I was downstairs, led me to a small spare bedroom, and kissed me, like he was finally letting it all out. I pulled him close, felt his body against mine, grinding hard as made out. I felt his cock through those shorts. I nibbled his lower lip, I nibbled his ear, I nibbled his neck.

I ran my hands lightly up and down his sides, then traced the waistline of his shorts. His hands were clumsy and grabby, as if he were trying to get all his pent up lust at the same moment. He grabbed for my crotch, and I was only too happy to swivel my hips to offer it to him. He ran a hand up and down my shorts front, and I could have cum right there. I brought my hands up to hold his face while we continued kissing, and he continued to rub my front.

I pulled away.

"What do you want, baby?" I asked. "Tell me."

"I--I don't know. I just--"

"Here." I took a small step back. "Take off my shirt."

He was panting already, and in the low light of the party outside he stepped forward and slowly pulled my shirt up, and over, and off.

"Take off my shorts," I said. And he did, undoing the button, letting them slide to the floor, and I kicked them off, along with my sandals. He grabbed my bulge, lightly, nervously.

"Take it off," I said. And he came close to me, kissed me again, kissed my neck, then planted kisses down my front as he lowered himself to his knees. He buried his face in my bulge, and let out a small moan. Then he placed his thumbs in the waistline on both sides and took off my underwear, freeing my hard cock. He looked up at me, and we held a look together for a moment.

"Can I suck your cock?" Damon said.

"Go ahead, baby."

He put his hand around my cock, at the base, and then kissed the head, lightly. Then he took it in his mouth. Tentatively, nervously, cautiously. He bobbed up and down on it a few times. He lightly kissed my shaft a few times, and squeezed my base, lightly. He looked up, expectantly. "How's that?"

I put a hand under his chin, bent over. "It's wonderful, baby." And I kissed him.

"I've never--" he trailed off. "I've never done this before."

"Come here," I said, and got him off his knees to guide him towards the bed, where I sat him down. I spread his knees apart and kneeled down before him. I pulled down his Speedos and his gorgeous erect monster came out of his shorts, and it didn't disappoint. Standing straight up, straight as an arrow, it was at least 7 inches. Hairless. His balls couldn't have been more perfect. His thighs, good lord.

"I'm gonna suck your cock, Damon. You want to watch me suck your cock?"

He was panting, nodding.

I took hold of the base and gave him a quick hard squeeze. He let out a gasp.

"Tell me how you like it," I said.

"I haven't--no one's ever sucked me off," he said.

"Tell me how you like it," I repeated.

"I--lots of spit."

I immediately took it into my mouth and worked some spit around his head. I placed my hands on his thighs and rubbed the insides of them while I worked my tongue against the underside of his tip. I could taste his precum, and I worked more spit into things, so that, after about 30 seconds, I pulled off him with a string of spit and cum coming from his cock to my lips. Then I grabbed his shaft at the root and wiped it onto my cheek, all while keeping eye contact, pressing his full length against the side of my face, feeling that rod of heat.

"You've got such a nice fucking cock, baby. You know that, don't you?" And when he nodded, I curled my tongue on the underside of his shaft, down and up, down and up, and at the tip, I drooled more cum and spit all over it, and he reached out and put his hand on the side of my head, and I guided him through pushing my head up and down on his rod as I took him again in my mouth. His moans and groans were bringing me close myself, and as his thighs rocked back and forth, he brought his other hand to my head and started to fuck my mouth properly.

Seven inches is a lot, and soon enough I was gagging, pulling off and just slobbering all over his manhood as I gulped for air, then just squeezing the base of him to wipe all of that on my face.

"You like using me, Damon?"

"Yes," he gasped.

"You like fucking my mouth?"

"Fuck yes."

"Tell me you like fucking my mouth."

"I like--oh fuck I like fucking your mouth."

"I'm your little cock-hungry whore, Damon. Tell me."

"You're my little cock-hungry whore. I'm going to use you like the little cock-hungry whore you are."

I took in the sight for a moment. His monster dick in my hand, slick and wet and throbbing, his finely tuned, muscular body leaning back. The bump of the party above us. His face, pleading.

I rubbed a wet thumb on the underside of his tip.

"Oh fuck," Damon said, surprised. "I'm gonna cum. Please keep doing that."

"Do it, baby, come on, Damon, cum on me," I said. "Cum on your little whore."

"I'm gonna cum--I'm gonna cum I'm gonna cum oh fuck fuck oh fuuu--uuuck."

I aimed him right at me, and his body jerked as his first shot landed square on my face. "That's it, Damon. Cum on me." More. And more. "That's it, cum on me." I stuck out my tongue and he sat up, watching his ropes land all over me while he gasped for air. "Yeahhh baby, give me every last fucking drop." And there was more still. "Fuck yes." I could feel my own cock, so excited, so sensitive itself--

When he was finished, his massive chest heaving, his hands running through my hair, I slurped up everything from his dick, let it mix in my mouth, and then let it drool off the end of my outstretched tongue, down my chin, my chest, down to my own cock. He leaned down and we kissed.

"I'm so close. Damon, I'm so fucking ready to cum, myself."

"Do it. Please. Do it on my face," he said. "Cum on me."

I stood up, and he quickly put his hands on my hips and took me in his mouth, more assertive than earlier, but still new to it all.

Oh--

"Use your tongue, baby, on the--yes--oh--" He took in as much length as he could but it didn't matter, I had been so excited--"I'm gonna cum."

He pulled off me, and started to jerk me off, and aimed my cock at his gorgeous face. "Do it. Cum on my face."

I shot my load. I watched every moment as he jerked slightly with each shot he took. This gorgeous, gorgeous first-timer. Then he took my cock and wiped it all over his cheeks.

Panting, he pulled us together on the bed, me lying next to him, and we kissed and kissed and licked cum and spit off each other, and Damon grabbed and squeezed and slid his hands all over me. We used my tee-shirt to wipe ourselves, and then held each other, the sensation of his flaccid dick flopping against mine just a tiny spot of Heaven, until, sometime later, we fell asleep.

Lizzie was in the room. Lizzie was in a bathrobe.

She put a finger to her mouth in a shhh, holding two glasses of water. She put them down on the side table, smiled, playfully rubbed a hand in my hair like I was a good boy, and closed the door behind her.

It was morning. No more music, just the slow wash of quiet waves on the beach. I slowly, quietly slipped out of bed, pulled up my shorts, and took a drink from one of the waters Lizzie had left us. I looked down at Damon, still fast asleep, that incredible body turned away from me, the tight package of his buttocks, the muscles on his back. What a body.

Lizzie was on a couch in the next room.

"I didn't mean to come in, but I didn't know if you had to work today," she whispered.

"Not on Sundays," I whispered back. I sat down next to her.

"Hey, I didn't know you were my husband," she whispered, and handed me a business card. It was from Curly. He'd written "Happy to talk more call me please!" on the back.

"Well, I'm sorry honey," I said, jerking a thumb back towards the bedroom. "I just cheated on you."

She sipped coffee, smiled. "You sure did."

"Hey," Damon said, poking his head out from the bedroom, putting on his shorts out of sight. He looked nervous at seeing Lizzie.

She stood up, walked over to him, pulled him out of the room, and gave him a hug. "You boys want some coffee?" Lizzie asked.

We said yes, she went up, and Damon came and sat next to me on the couch.

"That was fun," he said.

"It was," I said.

"You don't have to work?"

"Not on Sundays."

Lizzie came down with two cups of hot, black coffee, and joined us, and we watched the sunrise. "This is gonna be a good summer," she said.

Yes, a good long summer.