Disclaimer
This story is complete in itself, but it is about the characters from the first Surfing USA story. Although you should be able to make perfect sense of this story without reading that one, it will set the scene for this story. Sam is modeled after a Sam I once knew. The bastard was full of himself, but you couldn't help liking him. Lived with Sam for a while when I was fifteen. What happened between us I'll leave to your imagination. Zach is somewhat modeled after me. I had a van and I did surf in Santa Cruz.
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If you like the story and wish to comment or have any story ideas you'd like to see me write about, my email is zach.lucas@anonymousspeech.com
Surfing USA II - Zach's Story
Will you quit moping around?" I say.
Since Sam dumped him, and he came back to me, Logan has been as morose as all get out. About the only time he isn't is when we are having sex. The kid is an eleven-year-old sex fiend, not that I'm complaining about that, but you can't fuck and suck all the time. Hell, he hasn't been out on the new board Sam bought him in days. Even though I can understand, having once been dumped by Sam myself, it doesn't mean I have to put up with it. I'm not fucking married to the kid. I'm just letting him sleep in my van with me since he has no other place to go. At least, when Sam kicked him out, Sam gave him some money, so I'm not having to feed him every day. I can barely feed myself on the trust fund my dad left me when he died.
Fucking Sam. He has a short attention span when it comes to lovers. By the time a week is up, he's got another one lined up. I didn't last a week with him. Logan lasted perhaps a little longer, beat me by a day or two, but Sam is older now. Maybe, he's finally slowing down.
I still see Sam around, and he even fucks me from time to time. Four fucking years, and I'm still not over him. He invites me over to his place: he always has a stash of weed and coke and boys, of course. Sam never runs out of boys, lovely boys, boys to fuck, to suck, and to be sucked by. Even at nineteen, I have trouble handling all the drugs and sex that goes on during a night at Sam's place. He's twenty-eight, and he can outlast me.
I will admit that I've fucked some nice boy pussy at Sam's. He always supplies his friends with the best, and I should know. I was once one of those boys.
My dad and I lived in Santa Cruz next to Charlie Grant, his wife, Elsie, and their son, Jeremy, or Jere as everyone called him.
I am of the camp that believes one is born gay, straight, or somewhere on the spectrum in-between. I was born way toward the gay end. Jere, who was my age, gave me a hard-on by the time I was six when I had no idea my dick had a purpose beyond pissing. I realize now that I was in love with him then. When we'd spend the night together, I couldn't keep my hands off his dick. It was a little bigger than mine was, and I was fascinated with it. Hell, I was sucking it by the time I was eight. I don't know where I got the idea to do it, but it seemed a most natural thing to do. He liked for me to do it, and I loved sucking it. I think he even had climaxes, although neither of us at the time knew was a climax was.
When we were eleven, he surprised me by ejaculating into my mouth. It was six months before I had my first climax, but I had been sucking him all that time, and he had spurted into my mouth innumerable times. He was jacking me off when I spurted for the first time. By then, we both knew the ropes and knew a little bit about what sex was about, getting most of our information watching porn on the Internet and talking to our friends.
Hell, after watching some hot gay porn, I wanted Jere to fuck me, but he never would. He'd damn sure let me suck him, and he would jack me off, but he would never fuck or blow me. "That's fucking gross," he would tell me."
I would say, "If sucking cock is so gross, why do you let me blow you?"
"You're the queer not me," he would say.
It wasn't meant as an insult. Both us accepted that I was queer, and he had no problem with it -- probably liked that I was, since it always got him blown, and he did like to have his dick sucked.
My dad died when I fifteen, and the house was sold, and the money from the sale of it, along with the money from my dad's life insurance, was put into a trust fund from which I would start getting paid when I was eighteen. Other than my dad, I didn't have any relatives. My mom had died when I was a baby, and I had no recollection of her. Both she and my dad had been only children so I had no uncles or aunts. I supposed I had cousins somewhere, but only distant ones whom I'd never met so I was turned over to Child Protective Services. Charlie and Elsie Grant wanted to take me in they said, but Elsie had cancer and they were having enough trouble dealing with that without taking in a new kid even if my trust fund would pay them for taking care of me, so CPS put me in a foster home in which I lasted about a week before running away and living with the other street kids in Santa Cruz.
Soon after that, I got my dick sucked for the first time:
I was panhandling on the streets of Santa Cruz. "Got any spare change?" I asked a guy in a business suit -- he looked about forty.
"I got twenty bucks if you let me blow you," he said.
Well, even though he seemed ancient to fifteen-year-old me, twenty bucks was a fortune to a kid living on the streets, and he wasn't asking me to blow him, was he? I let him blow me, and collected my twenty bucks; not a bad day's work I thought.
About then is when I met Sam.
Of course, I knew who he was, a surfing god, Mr. Surfing USA himself. EVERYONE knew who Sam Stevens was, and like me, most of them idolized him. Boys gathered around him in droves anytime he was in town.
He was signing autographs for kids. I was too far away to get one, way back on the fringes of the crowd. He looked up after signing a boy's cap and somehow, saw me.
"You," he beckoned, "the kid in the back, come here. Let him through, folks."
Disbelieving he could me talking to me, I mouthed, pointing to my own chest, "Me?"
"Yeah, you. Come're. Let him through, Guys," and the crowd of boys gathered round him parted and let me through -- if Sam Stevens asks someone to do something, they do it. "What's your name?" he asked me when I got up to the front.
I was shaking, a mortal in the presence of a god: "Z-Z-Zach."
"Well, Z-Z-Zach, how would you like to come over to my place to a party tonight?"
My mouth dropped open, my jaw bouncing off the sidewalk it seemed. "Sure -- yeah -- I'd love to come."
I was so excited and turned on by being that close to him that I ejaculated. sperming my jeans since I'd given up wearing underwear. I felt my face burn, certain he knew it. Didn't gods know everything?
"You don't have to ask Mommy or Daddy, do you?"
"No, I don't have to ask anyone. I do what I want."
"I thought not," he said. "You living on the street?"
"Yes, Sir," I said, showing what I thought was the proper deference.
He peeled a hundred-dollar bill off a huge roll of them he pulled out of a pocket, handed it to me, saying. "Buy yourself some clothes and get yourself cleaned up. The party starts at midnight. Think you can stay up for it?"
"Yes, Sir," I said, so nervous I was about to pee in my pants.
"Don't call me Sir. I'm Sam."
"Yes, Sir -- I mean, Sam."
"The party starts at midnight, but be there by eleven-thirty. You got anyplace to clean up?"
"Not really."
"Well, we'll have to see what you look at cleaned up. Get there by eleven so you can take a shower and clean up. It will give you and me some time to get to know each other. Here's another couple hundred. Looks like you could use some new shoes."
"Gosh. Thanks, Sam," I said, taking it and putting it in my pocket along with the other hundred.
"Eleven. Be there," he said., and he wrote down his address on a piece of paper.
Taking it, I said, "I'll be there, Sam," and he went back to signing autographs, seemingly having forgotten I existed.
I went to the mall, washed up the best I could in their restroom and bought some new clothes, including some new shoes that would probably get me mugged back on the street, but I wanted to look good that night. Right then, that was all that mattered.
I discovered his address was for a condominium on the beach. He lived on the tenth floor, the top floor. I gave the doorman my name and told him I was there to see Sam, and he let me right in. I was outside his door at ten to eleven, but I waited until eleven to knock. When some people say something like eleven sharp, they mean eleven sharp, not 10:55 or 11:05.
A few minutes after I rang the doorbell, he opened the door. "My, you cleaned up nicely. Did you take a shower?"
"No, I washed up in the restroom at the mall though."
"Not good enough. Off with those clothes. Let's get you cleaned up."
When I hesitated, he said, "Well, off with those clothes."
"Now?"
"We're both men. It's not like I haven't see a naked boy."
"But..." I was hesitating because of the hard-on I was sporting. I tried to will it down but without success.
"Off with them. You're pissing me off," so hard-on or no hard-on, I took them off. Grinning when he saw it, he reached for it, and as soon as he touched it, I ejaculated. Sam was having that effect on me. "Quick on the trigger, aren't you?"
I felt my face burn and could only imagine how red it must be. "Sorry," I said. My spunk had landed on his carpet.
"Don't worry about it," he said. "It cleans up. God knows it's had enough land on it, and picking up my clothes and tossing them on a easy chair, he added, "Now, go get cleaned up."
Still embarrassed, wondering what he might be thinking about me after I squirted on his carpet, I went in to take a shower. Finding some deodorant in the cabinet after my shower, I used it, the first time I'd used deodorant since I'd been living on the street. When I came out of the bathroom, I was surprised to find him at the bar fixing something. His back was to me, and he was naked.
I cleared my throat, and he turned around. His dick wasn't hard, but still, it was the biggest soft dick I'd ever seen, bigger than mine was hard. "Thought you'd be more comfortable if neither of us were wearing clothes.
What seeing him without clothes did was to get me hard again, and if anything, that made me more uncomfortable. I looked around for my clothes, but they were nowhere in sight.
"This is our buffet," he said, pointing out the drugs he's laid out on the bar, weed, what I assumed was coke, maybe smack even, and shrooms. He had fucking psychedelic mushrooms. A guy had showed me some once. I'd tried acid before, but I'd never tried shrooms. Are those psychedelic mushrooms?" I asked.
"Sure are," he said, "from Mexico, the best money can buy. Want to try some?"
"Do I?" I said, having always wanted to try them, hearing they gave you a better trip than acid did, and I sure loved acid.
He picked up the biggest one, handed it to me, and said, "Have a good trip." I popped the shroom into my mouth, chewed it up, and swallowed it. "Want a drink while you're waiting for the Jefferson Airplane?"
I shrugged and said, "Sure."
He fixed me a Margarita. I'd only had one before, but I liked them. "I'll join you," he said, popping a shroom into his mouth and washing it down with a sip of Margarita. After we'd both finished those Margaritas, and he'd fixed us another, I was feeling no pain. The shrooms were also kicking in, but as little as I had drunk up until then, the Margaritas would have been enough, so when he said, "Come here, sweet boy," I went to him.
Picking me up, he carried me into the bedroom and put me on his bed. Getting some K-Y out of his bedside table, he smeared it on his dick and on my butthole. By then, his dick was hard, and laughing, I said, "That thing's gonna split me apart. That it would, was funny to my stoned and inebriated brain.
Crawling between my leg, he raised my legs and began his assault on my hole. It resisted his assault mightily, but it had no chance. Soon, his dick fought its way past my sphincter and was inside of me, and with the aid of the shrooms, I had the best orgasm of my young life. It was as if every cell in my body was having its own orgasm. I thought I'd died because I no longer existed. All that existed was the orgasm -- and his dick, of course. God! What a dick. It filled me and was so long I thought sure I'd taste his cum when he squirted.
I had already squirted two more times before he did.
I don't know how many times he fucked me, but we went at it most of the night. After that time in the living room, he never again touched my dick, and neither did I, but neither of us needed to. His dick up my hole was enough to make me squirt, and I thought, as long as he will fuck me, I'll never need to jack off again. It was so much better than jacking off, better even than getting my dick sucked by that guy who gave me the twenty bucks to let him do it.
Under the influence of the shrooms, we were awake most of the night, and we spent most of it fucking. I don't know when, probably from exhaustion, I fell asleep, nor do I know how many times I squirted, but it was a lot. The night seemed to devolve into one long orgasm.
It was dark again before I woke up.
"Did I miss the party?" I asked.
"You were the party," he said. "While you were in the shower, I called the others and told them not to come. Hope you enjoyed it."
I had, but it was a week after Sam dumped me before my butthole would close properly.
I stayed with Sam for almost a week, but one day, he said, "Time for you to go."
"Huh? What did I do?" I had thought I'd spend the rest of my life with him.
"Nothing," he said. "This is about me, not about you. I just don't have that long an attention span. I get bored easily and need some fresh stuff. I met another boy today, and he'll move in tomorrow." He chuckled: "He doesn't know it yet, but he will. Get your stuff, and I'll drop you off. I know some people who will look after you for now."
He had bought me new clothes, a surfboard and a wetsuit. I loved that surfboard, but I said, crying, "Keep your fucking shit," but I took his `fucking shit' and the five hundred he gave me beside.
Sam took me to one of his friends' house, and I lived with him for the next three years, him becoming sort of an unofficial foster father to me until my trust fund kicked in. He fucked me of course, but I wanted him to. I fucked my first kid while I lived there, a thirteen-year-old castoff of Sam's that Jack, our caretaker, also took in. I think Sam paid Jack to look after us, and Jack fucked us, which, in my mind was a win-win. My time with Sam had introduced me to being fucked, and I loved it.
When my trust fund kicked in, besides my monthly stipend, I got a one-time cash payment which gave me enough money to buy my van.
The boy who replaced me didn't last as long as I had. Sometimes, when Sam was between boys, he'd invite me over and we'd do shrooms and fuck like we had that first night. I'm the only one of his boys that I know of he ever invited back for seconds. Of course, when he invited me, I went. I was still in love with him.
I still am.