From: jocktime@hotmail.com
Subject:  New Story: Rococo Beach (High School) t/t/t/t
Date: December 26, 1997

[Note: The events in this story take place shortly after the events in
"Buck Naked."  Some of the same characters from there appear in this story
also.]


		Rococo Beach
		(Part 1: The Trip)

   Well, you know me, I never seem to see the train that's heading my
way with its whistle screaming.  What I mean is, I should have been on
my guard when Danny told me to wear the oldest clothes I had, for the
trip down to Rococo Beach.  "Ones that won't matter if they get lost or
something," is how he put it.

   Well, when I heard that, I should have known to be careful.  My 
caution light ought to have come on.  But it didn't.  See, I was so 
happy to be going to Rococo Beach. It's kind of like my idea of the 
perfect place to be.  It's like the center of everything down here.
College guys go there, and rich people, and everybody.  I had only
been there a few times, and then it was just to spend the day.  But now
it was different. 

   See, Coach Barkley had invited me to go along when he took a bunch 
of the guys from school, mostly ones running track and some from 
football.  I only got invited in the spring, after a bunch of stuff 
happened that brought me and Coach Barkley together.  But that's 
another story.

   Now school was out for the summer, and when you're young and horny
and jacking off, there doesn't seem to be a care in the world.  I was
finally going to "belong."  I was going to go with Coach and some great
guys, and have fun down at the beach for a few days.  And after
everything I had been through this spring, I was in the mood to just 
have fun.

   We met at school Saturday morning.  Coach was taking his car, and
Danny was taking his.  Danny's 17 and will start his senior year in the
fall.  He helped me out of some difficult spots this spring.  Coach did
too.

   So here at school we all stood around eagerly, a pile of our 
sleeping bags with our clothes and stuff rolled up inside them waiting 
to be loaded.  I was wearing the oldest shorts and torn sneakers and 
T-shirt that I had.  I wasn't sure who all was going to go there, but I
figured I would know at least a couple of them.  We had been given the 
final plans just two weeks before school was out.

   Coach had told us what to bring, and we all had money for food as
well.  Danny had given me my other instructions.  He told me about
wearing stuff that was old.  He also said, "...and don't jack off for
the last week before going down."

   I started to laugh and back away.  "Hey, man, what's with that 
stuff?"  I know my face was turning red and I was embarrassed.  "Man, 
you know me and my habit.  I ain't never missed a day of doing it ever
since I first started.  There's no way I could go seven days if I can't
even go one day."

   "That's what the rule is," Danny said quietly but firmly.  "If you
want to join us, you gotta put some effort into it."

   "I don't mind putting in effort, but what you're asking is like
torture.  Man, you don't know how I miss it when I try to go without 
it.  Hey, I've tried it before, Danny.  I can't get to sleep at night
if I haven't whipped off at least once.  I mean it."

   "Well, if you want to go with us, then I guess you will just have to
learn how to get to sleep without jacking off."

   He didn't know that I would lie there in bed, the times I had tried 
to quit jacking off, and how my dick would be half hard and it would be
wanting my hand, and I would be wanting to work on it.  And then I
would say to myself that if I just touched it a little, maybe that
would give some relief.

   So I would reach down there, and maybe just take the tip of my
fingers and touch the head, and for just a moment there would be a
great feeling.  And then I would want to touch it again.  I would swear
to myself that I wasn't gonna beat off that night, and I would try to
think of other stuff, and instead I would get to thinking of dicks, and
guys at school, and hard bodies.

   And by that time, man, my soul would be moaning.  I mean like
something deep down inside kept saying "It's so good to do that.  Go
ahead and feel good tonight."  And when that happened I would already 
have lost the battle.  

   So I would throw back the covers and sit on the edge of the bed in
my boxers, and take out my dick.  And it wouldn't even be fully hard.
That was what really got me:  I was ready to shoot off and my dick
wasn't even up yet.

   My folks would usually be asleep, and my door was closed and so was
theirs, but my bed would make a lot of noise.  So I would sit on the
edge of the bed, trying to find a way to squeeze my legs together while
I massaged my dick.  But my dick would act like if I wasn't really
gonna pound the hell outta it, it wasn't gonna get hard on me.

   If I really whacked away on it, my bed springs would make enough
noise that my folks might hear it, and my mom was likely to come in to
see what was wrong.  But if I went to the bathroom and sat on the pot
and beat the hell out of my dick, then the next morning my mom was sure
to ask, "Were you sick last night, son?  I heard you get up in the
middle of the night and go to the bathroom.  You stayed so long I
almost came and knocked on the door."

   Oh, great!  That would really be the end of the world if my mom
walked in on me.  I would die!  My own mother.  It was too horrible to
even think of.

   See, that's why I try to beat off before I go to bed.  Like after
school, and when I get a shower at night, and I can even pretend after
dinner that I need to go take a crap.  But if I try to go without it
and then get in bed at night, it really gets to be hell.

   So that's how I came to work out what I called "The Plan" for how
to handle Danny's no-beating rule.  What it was, was that I would just
go ahead and try to beat off as much as possible until like just maybe
four days before going.  I figured I could stay awake four nights if I
had to, because going to Rococo Beach would be worth it.

   Well, I worked the hell outta my dick.  I figured if I practically 
wore it out, it might be too tired to bother me for four days.  It
might decide it could use a rest.  As it turns out, however, I thought 
wrong.  The first of the four nights, it bothered me so much, I finally 
sat on the edge of the bed and tried quietly working it.  But there
really wasn't a quiet way of doing it.

   The next thing I tried was stuffing a pillow between my legs, to see
if I could pretend I was fucking.  I figured if I was going to have to
finally marry a girl some day to keep my folks happy, I might as well
get in practice.  But that didn't work either.  I couldn't get excited
about doing it with some girl, so I ended up thinking about this guy
I saw in the bathroom the other day, who was taking a leak at the
urinal with a tremendous hard on.  Well that worked better, but I
couldn't get enough friction with the pillow.

   So I quietly got out of bed and went over to my desk.  Ever since I
had discovered straddling the wash basin, I had improvised on other 
places to beat off as well.  I had learned I could straddle my desk,
and although I didn't have as good an angle, I could beat off here
pretty well if I didn't get too excited.  Because I was sort of half
crouching since the desk was a little low for me, my legs would get
tired, and when I was starting to shoot off, sometimes my legs would
jump, making a sound on the floor like a dog scratching himself. It
was a sort of thump-thump sound.

   So what I did was to hump the edge of the desk and sort of hunch
forward, letting my dick slide across the desk.  I braced myself with
both hands, and let my dick and the desk do the work.  Now for a little
while it was great, even if the wooden desk top was rough on my dick.
I kept my mind busy.  I was thinking about guys from school, picturing
different guys and how they might jerk off, and while I was doing that
I was picking up speed.  But finally I knew I was going to have to grab
that dick and jerk the heck out of it if I wanted to really get off
good.

   One thing about shooting off is that I put my whole heart into it.
We had an old teacher last year who kept saying, "Put your whole heart
into what you do," and guys would grin at each other and squeeze their
crotch and say "Yes, sir!"  He never seemed to catch on to what the 
guys had in mind.

   I knew I was going to shoot any second, but I tried to hold back as
long as I could.  When I knew my legs were about to start shaking, I
beat the hell out of my dick and gave it the kind of strokes it really
loves.  Then I shot off all over the place.  It came out like a bunch of
shots: cum, jerk, cum, jerk, cum, spasm.  It took about six really
good shots before the spasm was over.  My desk was a mess. In the
darkness, I knew there was cum on the lamp base, on the calendar, on
the ball point pen.  Just about everything in my area had at least a 
little cum on it.  But I didn't care. I could clean it up in the 
morning.  For now I went on to bed, and didn't even bother to squeeze 
the last bit of cum out of my dick channel.

   I tried to console myself the next day with the thought that I still
had three days I could go without shooting off.  But then I felt real
guilty when I saw Danny.  Big old six foot five Danny, the giant with
a kind heart, he took me aside and looked in the eyes.  He had a horny
grin, and his tone was like we were sharing a special secret.

   "How's it going, doing without it this long?"

   My problem is I'm not too good at lying.  I mean, my heart really
isn't in it.

   He must have sensed something was bothering me.  "You have stopped
jacking off, haven't you?"

   I didn't want to lie.  But I sure didn't want to tell the truth, 
either.   "Well, I think I'm doing pretty good, for me."

   "Right, good buddy.  I know it's hard, man.  But a guy has to learn
to control himself sometime."  He tried to make a quick grab between my
legs, but I backed off too fast for him.  "Take a bow, man.  Come on." 
We both got to laughing, and my dick started getting up a real good 
bone.

   We were in the hallway of the gym area.  The dressing room was 
nearby, so I tried to get in there to lock the door if I could.  But he
caught me inside, pinned me down, and pulled something out of his
pocket that looked like a magic marker.

   "See this?"  With that, Danny reached down and unzipped my pants.
Reaching inside through my boxers, he pulled out my dick, which was
pretty hard by that time.  He uncapped the marker. "This is indelible
ink.  It's like a laundry marker.  It doesn't wash out.  The only way 
to get it out is through friction.  You would have to rub it off.  Now
I'm going to mark the underside of your dick's head, and I'm going to 
check it when we get to Rococo Beach.  The mark I put on it better 
still be there when we arrive."

   I just stood there, looking at my dick.  Danny laughed.  It was time
for class, so we both had to hurry away.  I looked at the bottom of my
dickhead as I pushed everything back in place.  The whole area there
was black.

                           ***


   When we met at school that Saturday morning, everybody was really
ready for a vacation, or at least to have some fun.  I was wearing my
oldest clothes, just like Danny had said.  I looked at our pile of gear
and sleeping bags, and I stood on one foot and then the other, waiting
to get started.

   Coach had a van and Danny had the old car he had fixed up himself.
Six guys were riding with coach, and four of us would ride with Danny.
One of the four was Dogwater.

   There really isn't any good way to explain Dogwater, unless you had
been around this spring when all sorts of stuff happened.  But lemme
just say that if ever there was anyone who seemed destined to make a
life's work out of studying dicks, Dogwater was the one.

   He and Ray were on the back seat with me.  I was in the middle, and
up front Danny drove with Martin riding shotgun.  Martin played
quarterback, having been on the football team for the past three years.
People said that even in Junior High, it was obvious that Martin's
ability in sports would make him a star.

   That's exactly what happened, too. He was kind of like a school 
hero, and there he sat on the front seat, all tanned and freckled and 
muscled.  In T-shirt and shorts, with hairy legs and a face that showed
he needed to shave regularly, he had a grin that made you smile back.
He used to boast that he jacked off just before every football game,
because he said it made him feel "so damn rugged."  When I started to 
think about that, my dick started to get hard.

   Now that's embarrassing.  Ray saw what was happening even before
Dogwater did.  I think that's the first time in history that Dogwater
missed seeing a dick on the rise.  Usually he seemed to have a radar 
sense for that kind of thing.

   "We got a bone back here!" Ray called out, as if he had spotted a
whale.  Dogwater looked over instantly.  He began to move his head down
toward the bulge.

   "Who's got the bone?" Danny asked from the front seat.  Martin had
turned around and was watching me with a grin.  My dick, in the old
shorts, was pushing against the nylon piece inside.  The piece was
torn already.  Don't ask me how it got torn.

   Dogwater leaned closer and began readjusting my shorts.  "Let me
give it some room in there."  When he reached down there, his fingers
probed my dick gently, coming to rest on the head.  His examination of
it with his fingers set it to throbbing, pulsing so that it wanted to
take off.

   "Ah yes, here it is.  It just needs a little more room."  With that,
he lifted the head and put it outside the nylon.  It was hard as a
rock, pointing straight ahead along my leg.

   "Hey," Martin said, "that thing is longer than his shorts. It's just
sitting there, big as life."

   Ray leaned forward toward the front seat, tapping Danny on the
shoulder.  "Let's see how horny he is."

   Danny glanced quickly to the back seat to see what was going on,
then returned to his driving as he said, "Check out the underside of
that head and see if the black magic marker spot I marked him with, is
still there.

   "Marked him?  You marked his dick?"  Dogwater was going wild with 
this, because any new thing to do to a dick always got his attention.  
He immediately leaned over, and taking his thumb and first finger, 
lifted my dick so he could see the underside.

   His face was down by my dick, and I thought I was going to shoot off
right there if he didn't get his face away and let go of my pole.  He
kept rubbing his thumb under my dickhead as he looked.  Then he said,
"I think some of it got rubbed off."

   Martin spun around on the front seat, so that he was almost falling
over into the back.  "Lemme see that thing!"  He grabbed my dick, and
then instantly instead began pulling off my shorts.  "Gimme those
shorts!"

   Dogwater and Ray held my arms, and Martin had my shorts off in a
second.  Then he grabbed my T-shirt, which tore and ripped off right 
away.  Danny picked up speed, and Martin said, "You won't be needing
these any more."  He tossed them out the window.

   There I sat with just my sneakers on, and my dick standing straight
up.  Ray and Dogwater were going wild.  Martin reached down from where
he leaned against the back of the front seat, and took hold of my dick.
"I'm gonna show you what happens to somebody who can't quit beating
off," he said.

   Well, like I said, I was about to shoot off.  Ray had started 
putting his hand along my thigh, and then stroking my balls.  Martin
was giving me the handjob of my life.  When I shot, it was so sudden
and so fast, it got on Martin's face, some hit the back of Danny's
head, and the rest cascaded down my dick onto Ray's hands.

   Fortunately, we were in the middle of nowhere, with just highway
and sand and scrub pines, so no one could see.  The others all got to
cussing me, all except Dogwater who just kept dabbing his finger in
my cum and tasting it.

   It was at that exact moment that the front tire on the car went 
flat.  Danny pulled off to the side of the road.  "There's a spare in
the trunk."

   He and Martin got out.  When they opened the trunk, I could hear
Danny start to cuss again.  "It's flat.  It's so old and rotten it's
just dead in the trunk."

   "Well, if we're going to have to walk to the nearest town, I will
need to put on my other clothes, out of my sleeping bag," I called.

   Danny replied.  "The sleeping bags are all in the van Coach is
driving."

   Dogwater was trying to squeeze the last bit of cum out of my dick
channel, going up it like someone with the last bit of toothpaste in
the tube.

   "What can we do?" Ray asked.

   Danny slammed the trunk shut and opened the door on Ray's side.  "I
don't know which way is shorter to get help.  Me and Martin will go
ahead and see what we can find.  Ray, you and Dogwater go back and see 
if you can find his shorts," he said, and then he pointed to me.  "And 
you stay in the car and keep your butt down.  You can get arrested for 
public nudity down here."

   This was the worst thing that could possibly happen.  Or at least I
thought so at that moment. But once they were out of sight, I changed
my mind about whether this was the worst.  What made me change my mind
was that I looked toward the wooded area about 50 yards from the road.
I saw a guy coming out of the woods.  I didn't like the looks of him.
And he was coming my way.


                  Part 2:  The Experience

   There I sat in the car, wearing only my sneakers, and I watched this
guy coming out of the woods and heading my way.  He had about 4 days'
growth of beard.  His build was wiry, and he had short, dark hair, that
he combed straight forward over his forehead.  Looking at him from a
distance, he seemed to be about my height, or maybe just a little bit 
shorter.

   Man, this was just my luck.  Nobody had come down the road since the
others left.  Not a car or a truck or anything.  And those guys who 
went for help were long gone and nowhere in sight.  I thought about 
rolling up the windows and locking the car doors, but it was so damn 
hot already, and besides if I looked like I was scared of him, things 
might go worse than if I just acted like this was a normal thing.

   As he came up to the car, he gave a wave, and then stopped by the
open window nearest me in the back seat.  He looked in, and seeing me 
buck naked, he leaned in the window with a happy grin.  "Do you
always sit in the back seat of a car with nothing on?" he asked.

   Damn!  I started to cross my legs or pull them close together or
something, but I was so embarrassed I couldn't really think of what to
do.  I decided to play it cool.  "Nothing on? I'm wearing my sneakers."

   He leaned inside.  "You look like you've got cum spilled all over
you.  Do you need help?"

   I looked down at myself.  My hairs down there were sticky looking.
Cum had gone everywhere.  I guess I did look a mess.  Not only that,
but with him leaning inside through the window and getting kind of
close to me, my dick was hanging long again.  It seems like any time 
anybody gets near me when I have no clothes on, my dick decides it's
time to start getting hard on me.

   "Thanks, but some friends went down the road for help.  One tire
went bad, and the spare is rotten."

   "Do you need some clothes?  I've got something you could wear, at my
camp."

   "Where is your camp?"

   "In the woods just back a little way.  You can see the road from 
there, so you will be able to tell when they come back.  I saw you all
stop and then watched them go down the road."

   I felt sort of undecided about that.  What kind of guy camps in the 
woods, and watches to see what's happening on the road?  And if his
beard growth is any indication as to how long he's been camped there,
then he must have spent five days watching the road.  That seemed kind
of weird.

   "What happened to your clothes, by the way?"  He began opening the
back door, and was getting in beside me.

   "Oh nothing, really.  Some guys took my shorts off as a joke."  As
he started to get in, I slid further over on the seat, away from him.
I wished someone would come along.  I didn't much like the way this
conversation was going, but at the same time, I wasn't really scared.
It was more like some annoying stranger than it was some guy who was
out for trouble.

   "It looks like they did more than that," he said.  I knew he was
looking at the cum that seemed to be everywhere.  But then he said,
"I have some shorts I could lend you, back at my camp.  Would you
like to come there with me?"

   "Naw, I better wait right here. But thanks anyway."

   "Oh.  Well, I'll go back and get them and bring them here.  You
ought to have something on. You never know when some strange person is
going to come up and start something."

   He was sure right about that.  But he didn't seem to think there was
anything odd about what he was doing.  He got out and shuffled off to
the woods.  When he was out of sight, I heaved a sigh of relief.

   It was at just that moment, that I heard a car coming down the road
heading in the same direction we had been.  Turning around to look back,
I was relieved to see it was Coach Barkley and the van.  Man, but that
was a good sight.

   When they pulled up behind me, I saw Dogwater and Andy get out,
carrying my sleeping bag with my clothes in it.  They came running 
over.

   "Here, put some clothes on, and we'll ride in the van and pick up
Martin and Danny.  They can get off at a service station and get a
tire and have someone drive them back to the car.  Coach says it isn't
really safe to be sitting out here along, but that no one will steal
this car with a flat tire."

   "OK, Dogwater," I said, pulling on my clothes.  It felt good to have
clothes again.  But before I could get my pants pulled up, Dogwater
reached over and touched my dick, right on the slit.  I jumped.

   "I was just checking," he said.

   "Checking what?"  My dick had started to get up again, just with his
touch.  I sort of figured that some day my dick might get me in a lot
of trouble that way.  But when you're young and horny and jacking off,
the future always seems a long way off.

   "I wanted to see if all the cum was out of it yet.  You didn't get
to squeeze the last bit out when you shot off."  With that, he began
fingering the channel of my dick, working up from the base.  I shook
myself away.

   "There's nothing left in it, Dogwater!  I ought to know, it's my
dick!"

   "Wait.  There is some left there.  See, it's coming out the end now.
Just lemme finish."

   He was probably right, but I pushed him away because I was getting
aroused again, and I didn't want to be riding with coach with a big
bone showing.  We hopped out of the car and went back to the van, where
coach and the others were waiting.

   "You boys better be glad we stopped for some groceries on the way," 
Coach Barkley said.  "Otherwise we would have already gotten to Rococo
Beach, and you guys could have been stalled here for hours."

  We climbed in the side panel door, and I ended up in the last seat,
squeezed next to Bobby Harper, with Dogwater almost sitting on my lap.

   Coach looked back at us as he started the engine.  "Everybody in OK?
I'm pulling out."  Then, seeing me, he asked, "Why did they have to
bring you your sleeping bag?  Weren't you already wearing clothes?"

   Dogwater snickered, and squirmed around on my knees.  I wasn't sure
what to say, so I evaded.  "It's a long story, coach."

   "Most of your experiences seem to be," he said, while a couple of
the guys exploded with laughter.  That really irked me, and what made
it worse was that Dogwater shook with laughter and at the same time
slid back against me, so that my dick was pushing against his back.
My dick had gotten hard, and as he leaned against me he could feel it.
So he would shake his back and squirm, and it kept making my dick
harder.

   Bobby Harper glanced over, and Dogwater leaned toward his ear and
whispered something that I couldn't hear.  Bobby turned and gave me
a knowing grin.  As the van picked up speed, and everyone seemed to be
talking at once, Bobby leaned over close and said, "I hear you got a
big black mark on that head."

   With that, he put his hand between Dogwater's back and my stomach,
and slid his hand down to where he grabbed my dick by the head.  When
he squeezed it, he really squeezed it hard.  It hurt and felt good all
at the same time.

   Dogwater continued to try and bounce up and down, leaning back 
against the shaft, while Bobby kept his hold on the head.  He would
tighten his grip, then loosen it, and then try to twist the head like
he was unscrewing the cap off a bottle.

   It was like they were playing a secret game, and it sure was getting
results.  After a few minutes, Bobby added one more thing: after the
twist, he would grab it hard and try to pull up on it.  That made it
rough on me, and I opened my mouth to start hollering or at least to
say something that would stop it, when Coach Buckley said:

   "There they are!  Up ahead.  Danny and Martin."  He honked, they
turned around, and then they climbed into the van, while he told them 
about going to the service station up ahead.

   They were hot and sweaty, and they crawled in next to us.  It didn't
take them a moment to figure what was going on.  As tired as they were,
they came alive again, crouching down low behind the back of the seats
ahead, and began pulling me down onto the floor.

   Coach couldn't see what was happening, but he must have seen 
Dogwater moving to make room for them to pull me down, because he 
called back, "Mathews, what's going on back there?"

   Although Bobby still held my dick head in his tight grip, Dogwater
actually jumped when coach called his name.  "Nothing, Coach, I'm
just trying to make a little more room back here."

   "Well, now I can't see Martin and Danny.  Are they still back there,
or did you lose them?"

   People laughed, Dogwater said no, and by that time Martin had his
hand over my mouth so I could holler.  As Bobby held my dick, Martin
used his other hand to unzip my pants, and expertly began to reach in
there for the rest of my dick.

   Bobby gave way to Martin, and with one final and very hard pinch, he
let go of the head.  I felt like my dick was going to have a dent in
it from his squeezing.

   "Look at that thing," Martin said as he pulled it out.  "I couldn't
really get a good look at it in the car.  Look at that sucker."

   Bobby leaned back close again.  And, crowded as we were on the van
floor, Danny was sticking his finger against my pants, ramming it up
my butt.  Martin almost had his crotch in my face as he worked my dick
with one hand, and clamped the other over my mouth.  But his crotch
was hard, that bone was trying to get out of his pants.

   I hated to think what the inside back of my trousers was going to
look like when I took them off, because I wasn't wearing any underwear
and Danny was frigging my butt with two fingers now.  That had been a
big thing at school a while back, jamming your fingers up somebody's
butt.  Better than a wedgie.  We called it "giving them a frig."

   Coach called back, "We're almost to the station.  Are you guys ready
to hop out?"

   Sure they were.  Martin's dick was like a pole against my forehead.
Getting one hand free from where the guys had been pinning it, I gave a
quick grab and got his pole in my hand.

   For just an instant, Martin started to flinch.  The car had begun to
slow, and he must have decided it was now or never, because he didn't
pull away as I began working his dick from outside his pants.  There
was enough looseness for me to give him a hand job without pulling it
out.  He picked up speed on my dick, and Danny was about to bust the
stitching in my pants trying to get his fingers up my butt.

   My timing was perfect.  As the van rolled to a stop, Martin shot.  I
looked up into the handsome, freckled face of football hero Martin, as
his eyes went out of focus, his lower lip twitched, his breath began to
come in gasps, and that dick was jumping around inside his pants.  Each
jump must have been a spurt, and after about the fifth one, things
quieted down inside his clothes.  I still hadn't shot.  I couldn't
help but grin at Martin, as coach called back, "OK you two, are you
going to get out here or did you want to stay all day back there."

   I looked up at Martin and said quietly, "I got you."

   Danny had gotten up, and my ass was grateful.  He and Martin crawled
over people and climbed out.  I didn't really get to see if the front
of Martin's pants was wet, but I sure hoped so.  I liked Martin, but I
wanted revenge because of the way he had embarrassed me back in the 
car when he reached back and jerked me off.  And besides, even if he
hadn't made me shoot off again now, I figured I could jerk off in the
shower when we got to Rococo Beach. 

                          *******

   The place that coach had for us was like a barracks, with a big main
room, and at one end a bathroom housing the basins, toilets, and 
showers.  At the other end was a small, single, private room.  As we
filed in, he told us right off that the private room was for him, and 
that we weren't to ever use it or try to come in without permission.  
He said he was glad to be here with us, and to spend time with us, but 
that when he went into that room, it meant he wanted to be alone.  
Everybody nodded.  One thing about Coach Barkley was that when he was 
serious, he really meant business.

   I picked an upper bed with the double deckers that the main room
was furnished with.  It could handle twelve guys, but I didn't know
for sure how many were coming.  I put my sleeping bag up on top, and
got out the rest of my clothes.  I hadn't brought much, but with a
gang of boys, it didn't really matter what we wore.

   Coach had some of the guys go to the building next door, which was
our kitchen and dining area.  Everybody seemed anxious to scatter.  

   Some of us decided to go for a quick swim in the Gulf.  Coach felt
obligated to give us the usual warnings about how treacherous the
undertow could be, and about not going out too far.  There had been
several deaths the previous summer from stuff like that.

    June is the best month on the Gulf.  Later in the summer, 
especially by late July and early August, the jellyfish and man-of-wars
and all the other things like what we call down here "sting-a-rees"
start coming in.  Whether it's storms in deeper waters that bring them
in, or just something nature tells them to do, it's not much fun to
swim with them around.  Their stings can be as bad as wasp stings.

   A bunch of us walked down to the beach as a group.  One thing about
us is that even when we play rough or mess around like we did in the
van, we don't really get mad or stuff.  Things pass on and nobody 
really carries grudges.  Sometimes we get revenge or get even, but it's
always just kidding around.  They are great guys.  We started into the
water together, and looked far out where the waves crashed.  High above
the white spray there, gulls circled and cried their anguished cry. 

   While we walked to deeper water, Danny asked me, "What ever became 
of your friend Paul?  Did he move away or something?"

   "Yep.  I sure miss him.  He moved to California.  That's so far away
that to me it's practically another country."

   "Another country?" Danny asked, sloshing some of the salt water on
his face to speed up his tan, "Damn, man, California's another 
century."

   I laughed and Martin did too.  We were all treading water and just
having a bull session. Those two and Andy were always swapping jerk-off
stories, and bragging about things.  But as they talked on, my thoughts
went back to Paul.  He was my best friend and now he was gone.  I
wondered if he was at a beach out there in California, just like I was
here.  I began to get a sort of lonesome feeling inside.

   The others continued talking.  Martin was telling some story about
going to sleep buck naked in the sun, and getting a sunburned dick.
Then Andy tried to go him one better, telling about a time when he put
his dick in the top of a bottle-necked jar, and when it got hard it
made a vacuum and he couldn't pull it back out.  He had to wait about 
an hour for it to go down.  He just had to sit there with the bottle
between his legs, hoping for the best.

   The conversation slowly got hornier.  Dogwater asked what the most
number of times was that anyone had beat off in one day.  I popped up
and said three was the most number, and then decided that it would be
better if I hadn't said anything.  I was thinking about the black spot
on my dick.

   The hot sun beat down, and I could tell that I was probably going to
burn if I didn't get some sun screen on again.  I wanted to hear how
the others answered the question, so I hung around a few minutes more.
Danny claimed five times, and Andy tried to claim six, but they got
into an argument.  Danny claimed Andy always lied about stuff like 
that, and never told the same story twice.  

   I noticed Dogwater hadn't answered the question yet, so I asked him
point blank, "What's the most number of times you've done it?"

   He got a funny look on his face, and sort of squirmed around in the
water when he answered.  "Five and a half."

   "What do you mean 'and a half'? You either shot off five times or
you shot off six times."

   A look of recognition dawned on Danny's face, and Dogwater continued
to squirm as we all treaded water.  "He means he's trying to shoot off
now!  He's been working himself off under the water while we've been
talking."

   He and Andy immediately tried to surround Dogwater, who was trying
to escape and still trying to get himself off under the water.  I
decided to join them.  As we closed in, Dogwater looked frantic.

   "Hey you guys, lemme alone.  Come on now, cut it out."

   He still had one hand shoved down inside the front of his bathing
suit, but we were so close that there was no escape.  Danny grabbed one
arm and the elbow of the hand that was inside his trunks, while Andy
grabbed one of his legs, and Martin grabbed the other.  They held him 
up on the surface, and the tide had gone out enough while we were 
talking that our feet could touch the bottom easily.

   Then Danny looked my way with a grin, and said the magic words.
"Get his bathing suit."  Man, that's the stuff that dreams are made of!
I went up beside Dogwater, and reached for his waist.  He had pulled
his hand out by now, but Danny had that under control.  I could see
that there wasn't a bulge in the bathing suit, but I knew that it was
really difficult to get a hard on under water.  At least none of us
were ever able to do it.

   I reached across his chest, and slowly moved my hand down to where
the string was that acted as a belt for the trunks.  I noticed that he
had no hair from his navel down to where the trunks were hanging on his
abdomen.

   "Aren't you gonna have any hairs down there?" I asked him.

   Suspended as he was on the surface of the water, he still scowled
and squirmed, as he denied it and cussed at me.  I began pulling on his
trunks, but they were hard to get.  Then I tried untying the belt cord,
but the water had made it hard to get the knot out.  My fingers were
moving around there, and it started tickling him, although I wasn't
trying to.  Anyhow, he looked like he was going into ecstasy as he
thrashed about, his eyes rolling and his laughter making him almost
lose his breath, as he tried to say "Cut it out."

   I didn't want to do anything to hurt him, and with the noise he was
making I could tell that people down the beach and down the way were 
beginning to look in our direction.  I knew I would have to let him go,
but I made one last grasp on the waist and shoved my hand down inside 
his trunks.  He almost came out of the water when I grabbed his dick.

   In a sense, I grabbed it the same way Bobby had grabbed mine that
afternoon: by the head.  I discovered I was right, Dogwater hadn't
been able to get it up in the water, even though he had obviously
wanted to.

   Danny and Martin were laughing at Dogwater's expression as he
frantically tried to get free.  I gave the head a good squeeze with my
thumb and first finger, and then pulled my hand out.

   "He couldn't be trying to shoot off," I said.  "There's nothing 
there to beat."

   "Liar!" Dogwater shouted.  "Liar!  Lemme get out of here and I'll
show you what I can do."

   They released him, but like so much in life, it was obvious that the
moment had already gone, had passed us by.  Nobody was going to do
anything to anybody right then.  Instead, we began to move back toward
shore.  Dogwater started some conversation with Martin, and Danny was
saying something to Andy.  I hoped we hadn't gotten sunburned yet. 

   We reached the shore.  They talked on.  But as I looked at the sun,
and the clouds, and heard the far-off sound of gulls crying, out where 
the waves broke, a voice deep inside seemed to keep whispering, "Paul.
Paul.  Paul."

____________________________________________________________________
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