Come get me (Part 1)


This is a true story. To protect the main characters their names have been changed. For the same reason some of the geographic settings have been renamed, too.

Certain characters engage in sexual acts, which may or may not be legal in the state or country in which a reader may reside. Any reader with objections to graphic descriptions of sexual encounters between males and whose local, regional, state or national jurisprudence prohibits such descriptions should not read further.

English is not the author's mother tongue. Thus, the readers are asked to forgive the unavoidable flaws in both, style and syntax.

The story is posted for the exclusive enjoyment of readers of the Nifty Archive. While they are free to make a personal copy, no copy of this manuscript may be published, posted to another web site, or otherwise disseminated without express permission from the author.

Jérôme Meissner felt good. He was on his way to the beach on a nice early October afternoon. The surf was calm. There were almost no waves. And the sun was warm. Luckily, there was no fog either. A perfect setting to take a barefoot run along the beach, lie in the sand, soak in some sun, and unwind after a day of work.

Jérôme was a forty-five year old Austrian biologist spending a research year in a Marine Biology Institute in central California. His mother had given him his French first name. She was a native from Marseille on the Mediterranean Sea. She fell in love with Jérôme's father when studying the Arts in Vienna. Jérôme was a good-looking virile man. Tall with a nice body definition, there was not a gram of fat on him. His very short-cut dark brown hair started to turn salt-and-pepper. Expressive green-brown eyes lit a classic face. His complexion had the typically Latin olive shade -- a heritage from his southern French maternal family. His legs, butt, and forearms were covered in dark curly hair whereas the hair on his chest and abs was light and downy. A life-long practice of sports, a strict self-discipline, and a healthy living made him look younger than he actually was.

After two months spent in the United States, Jérôme had settled into a routine.

He was renting a house on top of one of the city's hillside. The setting and the view were breathtaking: The building stood amides pine trees and overlooked the sea and the city's rooftops. Jérôme had shipped some of his own furniture from Austria and -- being from a wealthy old-money family -- quite a few of these wonderful European objets d'art and antique household items: bibelots, family pieces, silverware, china, and table linen. The stuff in the house he didn't like ended in a self-storage and was replaced by some timeless modern furniture he bought after he moved in. Thus, Jérôme's home had become eclectic and elegant, yet masculine and inviting.

Jérôme used to be at work at the Institute early in the morning. He didn't take a break for lunchtime, trying to be done by 03:00 PM to spend the afternoons practicing sports, enjoying the beach, or taking short trips along the Central Coast. Jérôme was a smart, well-informed guy and an easygoing personality. Thus, it didn't take him long to become a highly appreciated colleague and to make some good friends at work.

Jérôme spent most of his spare time in the open. He was a passionate hiker, ran several kilometers every day, loved the beach and the surf, and -- being a biologist -- enjoyed nature in general.

On this particular afternoon, Jérôme left his research work early and decided to hit the city's main beach that stretched for several miles north of the pier. He had of course discovered quite a while ago the strip where gay men used to gather. Not that the place was anything special. But every once in a while there was the chance to spot a good-looking guy or even a hot student from the nearby college.

Jérôme hadn't met anybody particular since he arrived to the USA. Of course, there had been some eye contact and some flirtation either at the beach or at the "Blue Lagoon" gay bar. But none of these guys had really attracted him. One day, at the beach, Jérôme met a gorgeously built black -- Jérôme had a soft spot for blacks and for well-built men -- who sported an impressive speedo-concealed bulge. They chatted away for a couple of hours and horsed around in the water. Jérôme was aroused. But the hunk left abruptly saying he had to go to work.

Strolling down the sand dunes toward the seashore, Jérôme almost run into a man lying on a blanket in the hollow between two dunes. Some raised sand hit the man's ribs.

"Hey, what's up?"

"Sorry! I didn't see you" answered Jérôme and kept walking. Suddenly, he felt like a punch in his stomach. First, it was almost painful. Then, it dispersed into tingling butterflies and became very pleasant.

"What's going on with me?" thought Jérôme. "Is this guy doing this to me? I didn't even look at him. Intriguing!"

Making a big loop, Jérôme came slowly back toward the two dunes. He spread his beach towel at a reasonable distance from the other man, took off his Nikes, T-shirt and running shorts -- he had planned on starting the afternoon with a run on the beach and, thus, had changed at the Institute --, and lay down in his swimsuit.

"Really intriguing. Who's this guy to have such an impact on me?"

Flipping on his stomach, Jérôme glanced at the man through his sunglasses. The guy was slumbering. He was tall and muscular. Blond hair -- already balding? -- was kept very short whereas impressive curly sideburns framed strong jaws. The nose was somewhat fat and flat but not unpleasant. The lips were full, sensual, almost Negroid. The man wore funny checkered flannel boxers. His shoulders were broad and massive. His arms were strong and the forearms were covered in coarse, dense, and curly blond, almost white, hair. Slightly straddled muscular thighs rested on the blanket. The calves were nicely toned. The feet were big. A mat of hairs similar to those on the forearms covered the man's chest and abs. Though this fur hid somewhat the torso's forms, Jérôme saw that the pecs were well developed whereas a somewhat protruding but firm belly stuck out where one would have expected a nice six pack.

Jérôme turned over on his back and got lost in his thoughts.

"Nice specimen. Very manly. He's to be sure an American. A local? Funny attires these boxers. Is this a bathing suite or, rather, some underwear? Age? Hard to tell. 20-something. But the starting baldness and this belly -- too much beer? -- indicate that he could be older. I like the overall feature. This guy is not a gym rat. His body is naturally toned. Lots of sports or maybe just a lot of testosterone -- this would explain the baldness and the hairy body. Nice feet. I don't really like the sideburns. Too obtrusive. The lips are sexy. He must be a good kisser. Gay? Hard to tell. Maybe a visitor who doesn't know that this is a gay spot. I'd like to feel the hairs on his forearms."

The warmth of the sun created a pleasant feeling on the skin. The surf's regular rhythm was soporific. Some kids playing in the sand further up were giggling. Seagulls fighting over the carcass of a stranded sea lion added some more sounds to the scenery. Jérôme stretched. His thoughts kept wandering. For moments, they went back to his work at the Institute. There was this research paper he had to submit shortly. And there were those books he ordered the day before. When would he get them? And yes, he was invited for dinner at Ed's and Sheryl's place on Thursday. Slowly, he dozed off.

Sweat running down his forehead woke him up.

"Oh yes, this guy. Why am I still thinking of him? What is it that makes him so attractive?"

Jérôme flipped over once again. The young man was still there. He was sitting facing Jérôme and rubbing some oil into his shoulders. Jérôme took off his sunglasses. Their eyes met for a second. And then he knew: This guy had tremendous sex appeal. His eyes were pale brown, almost yellow. They had a provocative sparkling. The movements of the arms and hands oiling the shoulders were fluid and feline. Dark blond, dense hair tufts filled the man's armpits. Sweat beats glistened in his chest hair. There was definitely a lot of testosterone flushing through this body. Jérôme put back his glasses but kept looking.

"Amazing! This guy isn't really handsome. But he has charisma. Moreover, every pore of him is oozing a strong sexuality. He must not only be a good kisser but also an outstanding lover. Well, at least one with stamina. And yes, he's young."

The guy had finished oiling up. His eyes met Jérôme's once again. He flashed just the hint of a smile and fell back on his blanket. Brown leather sandals, cord shorts, and a yellow polo shirt were piled up next to the heavy covering.

"What's this blanket? It's more a comforter than a beach towel. Unconventional. I like that."

Jérôme decided to hit the surf. He put back on his shorts to cover his skimpy swimsuit, took off his sunglasses, stood up, and passed next to the young guy. The two men's eyes met again and locked for just a second. Jérôme run down to the water.

"He's responding. He's really hot. And I'm definitely attracted. What shall be my next move?"

The sea was totally calm. It almost looked like one of the many lakes in Jérôme's home country. The man entered the water up to the waistline. Then he turned around looking back to the sand dunes. The other guy was watching him. Jérôme didn't dare winking. There were too many other people on the beach. So he turned back toward the horizon, dove into the cold water, and swam for quite a while in perfectly regular laps. When he exited the water, the other man wasn't visible anymore.

"He's gone or he lay down again."

Jérôme slowly walked back to his towel.

"So how's the water? Cold?"

The young guy was talking to him. The voice was a pleasant warm baritone. And it had just a hint of sexy gruffness. Jérôme stopped in front of the blanket.

"Yes. Rather chilly but nicely refreshing. And totally calm. Almost like a lake. You should take a swim, too"

"Maybe" said the man in a rather curt way.

An awkward silence followed. Jérôme went back to his towel.

"Shy? He doesn't really look like. Maybe he noticed I'm a foreigner. Whatever! Let's warm up."

Jérôme took off his shorts again, lay down, and enjoyed the sun for a while. However, his thoughts kept revolving around the younger man. He was aroused and couldn't stop thinking of this guy. After a while he flipped over and glanced toward the blanket. It was empty. The guy was strolling along the water shore. Every now and then he looked back toward Jérôme's spot.

"That's just too dumb! Somebody has to make the first move."

Jérôme put back on his shorts and went down to the water. He stopped a couple of meters from the other guy.

"He looks really good. I like the strong legs and the massive build. But he definitely has a belly... Hi. I'm Antoine. I'm from Austria, Europe. I'm working here at the Marine Biology Institute." Jérôme introduced himself using his middle name while walking up to the other guy. He offered his hand.

"Hey. I'm Zack." answered the young man ignoring Jérôme's hand.


"Yeah. Zachary. But I go by Zack."

"Oh, I see. Nice meeting you. Where are you from?"

"Down south. Where are you from? And what's your name again?"

"Just as I said, I'm from Austria and ..."

"Austria? Where's that?"

"Europe. It's one of Europe's smaller countries. Next to Germany, Switzerland, and Italy. And my name is Antoine. It's French. It's the French form for Anthony."

"Austria? Never heard about that. So they speak French there?"

"No, German. But my mother was French. This explains my French first name. So, you're living here?"

"Naw, just visiting."

"How long are you going to be here? And where do you stay?"

"Don't know yet. Just a while. I'm staying at friends'."

"Gosh, this guy isn't too talkative. And not too knowledgeable either..."

While they were talking, the two men started walking. They were side by side treading the water. Jérôme could smell Zack's body odor. Rich, musky, manly. He noticed his nice even tan and decided that he definitely liked the sun-bleached hairs on the forearms.

"Wow, this scent is intoxicating. Nice hands, too. And the ring is just perfect." Zack was wearing a rather large ring having the form of a leaf and displaying three unpolished stones or gems. It almost covered the upper phalange of his right middle finger.

"I like your ring. It's very original."

"Yeah, you do? Me too. My uncle made it. It's unique. It's silver with jade, corral, and mother-of-pearl. It's my favorite. I like jewelry a lot. Look, on the other hand I wear a silver band on my pinky. Usually, I also wear a necklace and a nose ring. Do you like jewelry?"

"Not really. That is, I don't wear any. But I like seeing it on others. This ring is just great. And the band, too. They look well on you. Very manly."

Zack flashed a smile and -- for the first time since they started talking -- looked into Jérôme's eyes.

"You're very manly, too." Then he chuckled and added, "Even if you don't wear any jewelry."

"OK, he's finally warming up. Or is he just making fun of me? Gorgeous teeth ... You're up to a swim?"

"Naw, too cold. I'm used to the temperatures of Southern California. And anyway, I'm in my underwear."

The two men kept walking and talking. Jérôme was doing the main effort. He was very candid in giving away informations about himself. On the other hand, Zack was rather secretive. The young man avoided answering most of Jérôme's questions. By the time they reached the sand dunes again, Jérôme hadn't figured out much about Zack. But the guy already captivated him. His absolute manliness was overwhelming. The mix of slight conceitedness and remnants of -- feigned? -- boyish innocence was stimulating. And his obvious secretiveness was intriguing.

"So what are you up to?" asked Jérôme.

"Not much. I'll just stay for a while. I feel like watching the sunset. I'd have a Spanish class at six o'clock, though. But I may as well miss it. You?"

"Spanish class? Didn't he say he was just visiting? ... Well, I'll stay for a while, too. Do you by chance have anything to drink? I'm thirsty."

"No, I haven't got anything."

The two men had reached Zack's blanket. Zack sat down while Jérôme avoided stepping on the huge covering. He didn't want to intrude the young man's privacy.

"OK then, see you later," said Zack.

"Well, that pretty much dismisses me. Shit! But there is no way I'll insist. This guy didn't give me the slightest hint that he is attracted to me. I don't even know whether he's gay ... It was nice meeting you Zack."

Jérôme went back to his towel.

"I guess this is it. Shall I stay? Or am I just making a fool of myself? I better leave. But I will wait about ten minutes. Didn't I just tell him that I was going to stay a while?"

Though Jérôme was somewhat disappointed, he wasn't going to make a big story out of it. Hell, this was just an encounter like many others. Nothing more and nothing less. Or was it nevertheless more? Jérôme just couldn't stop thinking of the young man.

"Yes, I'm captivated. And I'm captivated in a way I haven't been for a long time. This guy is something special. It's more than just physical. I'd also like to get to know him as a person."

Jérôme soaked in some more sun. When he got hot, he decided to leave. He quickly dressed and shook out his towel.

"Let's give it a last try." He started walking toward his car making sure to pass Zack's spot.

"You're leaving?"

"Yes, I should work on some research paper the draft of which I have to submit next week. But first I'll have a beer. I'm totally dry."

"How do you say beer in German?"

Jérôme stopped and sat down into the sand next to Zack's blanket.

"It's the third time that this guy is the one who starts the talking. Maybe I just have to be blunter ... Oh, that's very simple. It's called Bier, B-I-E-R. The pronunciation is very similar to the English one: Bier, Bier. Got it?"

"I guess. I-E? That makes no sense to me."

"Oh, these Americans! ... Well, you have to know that the German I-E sounds almost like the English E."

"Does it? And what about beer in French? You speak French too, don't you?"

"Yes I do. Again, it's very similar. It's called bière, B-I-E-R-E. The pronunciation is different though: Bière, bière. Feel it?"

"Kind of. Anyway, a beer sounds good to me. I could need one, too. Where are you gonna have it?"

"I'm going back to my place. I have some nice Carmel Wheat in the fridge... It's now or never ... Do you feel like joining me and coming over for one?"

"Where's your place?"

"Right over the lighthouse. It's about a ten minute drive."

"You have your car?"

"Of course I do. You?"

"Yeah, me too. Well, then ... then let's go." While talking, Zack avoided looking at Jérôme.

"Finally! Now just let's keep cool ... OK, good. Let's hook up at the first traffic light before turning into Ocean Drive. I'm parked over there. I have a maroon BMW convertible."

"And I have a blue and white truck. It's a Ford. I'll follow you."

"OK. If we lose each other, turn left at the sixth traffic light after entering Ocean Drive. Go to the top of the hill, then make a right on East Juniper. It's the third house on the left. A blue building."

"Don't worry. I'll dog your footsteps!"

Jérôme stood up and started walking. His heart was pounding in his chest and sweat was wetting his armpits and torso.

"Wow! Just take it easy, old man. Don't rush anything. Let's take one step after the other. This guy is definitely worth it."

Jérôme turned around. Zack was already dressed and was putting on his sandals. Their eyes met briefly and both men flashed a smile.

(To be continued). (Comments can be sent to