Date: Wed, 31 May 2017 11:36:24 -0400
From: Orson Cadell <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: Shark Reef 6

Please see original story
(www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-friends/shark-reef/) for warnings and
copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Includes sex
between adult men. Go away if any of that is against your local
rules. Practice safer sex than my characters. Write if you like, but
flamers end up in the nasty bits of future stories. Donate to Nifty
**TODAY** at donate.nifty.org/donate.html to keep the cum coming.

*****

"Why didn't I just roll over and go to sleep and leave you to sort yourself
out? Because, Ian, while I *have* a prick, I'm not one. You gave me a
really -- I mean fucking mind-blowing -- gift; not returning the favor
would be, well, just plain wrong. I could be mistaken, but I think you
might even have enjoyed it?" He launched himself up at me and shocked me to
my soul. His kiss was innocent and exploratory, but one of the most intense
and feverish I've ever experienced. Some small but insistent voice in the
back of my head whispered, 'We could really get used to this...'

*****

Shark Reef 6: Unfair Play

By Bear Pup

*****

So the eternal question returned, who has to sleep on the wet spot?

Since my back was coated with cum and Ian was still kissing me, there was
little chance it wouldn't be me. I sighed. Worse things could happen. Ian
finally backed away from the kiss itself and turned it more into a
snuggle. I eventually turned and pulled him into my bristly chest. His deep
sigh of contentment lit a spark inside me and my ego purred in delight.

I knew that it really *should* disturb me, the fact that I was absolutely
crowing inside that I made this kid, this *male* kid so happy... but it
didn't. I fell asleep to those thoughts and gradually began to dream. As
per normal with a dream, confused jumbles of shapes and sensations slowly
resolved. I was in Faultline Park, just downhill from our house. The
central area has huge, smooth boulder-piles that make for great ad hoc
chairs and tables for a picnic. The only minor difference between the real
Faultline in Salt Lake City was that where the park had grass, our little
bounder-picnic was surrounded by shark-infested water.

We were staying on the rocks because the sharks, as sharks were wont to do,
kept thrashing their way up onto the pavement to try to eat us. Hey, no
park is perfect! Abigail and all six girls were screaming at me to do
something. I knew if we could get to 400 South where the cars were roaring
by, we'd be fine. But the narrow sidewalk was impassable as the sharks kept
jumping back and forth across it. That was, apparently, entirely my fault.

I kept telling them to shut up and let me think, but every time I did the
din redoubled. Nothing I did was ever good enough. I turned to find my boss
giving me that 'what's wrong with you' look that always made me want to rip
his face off. On the other side stood the Rector from St Paul's shaking his
head in disapproval. What? I was supposed to pray the fucking sharks away?
Fuck you people!

I awoke suddenly to a very loud noise. Actually, a very small noise way too
close to my eardrum. I jumped up and shook my head until the buzzing horror
flew off. Part of the Lunk-Lunk came with me, glued to my back, tumbling
Ian out of slumber as well. I just muttered, "Nightmare," and stepped off a
way sot take a much-needed piss. I near screamed as I forced myself to stop
midstream and went back to the tent and grabbed the water filter. Hey, it
was worth a shot. Ian just looked at me appalled.

It's damned hard to piss into the funnel of a filter that you have to hold
with one hand while aiming with the other. Eventually, I filled it and
pissed the rest onto the ground while the filter worked. I tentatively took
a sip. Well, so much for that theory. It still tasted like, well, piss! I
shrugged though; I'd had South African beers that were much worse... and
roughly the same color. Hmm.

It was very late in the day so I set about the ritual of fishing. It took
longer yet again, and the sun was halfway sunk in the western ocean before
I got a good, strong bite. This one was feistier than the others, but I
could tell it was smaller. I was right. What came up was a bit over two
feet long and thinner. Based on my thorough (utterly-non-existent)
knowledge of the aquatic fauna of the Pacific, I guessed it was some sort
of jack or mackerel, but with fewer teeth.

Scaling was suddenly a breeze with the new multi-tool and I sent another
prayer to the soldier's personal saints to keep him safe. Ian was
industriously working away as I fished and cleaned, and I was shocked with
what he'd rigged up.

Using a few of the metal bars that made up the pull-behind handles of some
of the luggage plus two of the smaller Ninja Knitting Needles, he'd
constructed what seemed a perfectly-serviceable grill! I looked close and
saw he'd stripped another of the ruined Cat-5 strands down to the copper to
connect the cross-pieces. He'd also found four coconuts to support it over
a shallow fire-pit he'd scooped out.

Impulsively, I gave him a huge hug and pounded his back in
congratulations. when I pulled away he was blushing and smiling shyly. As
it turned out, his contraption had one flaw. The black paint on the handles
emitted a foul, horrid stench when heated. Ian was crestfallen and nearly
in tears. I gave him an elbow nudge and a smile. I let the rack cool and
had he-of-the-agile-fingers unwind the bindings. I sent him off to find
more wood and scraped a second hole a few yards downwind from the
first. Using the second-longest pair of knitting needles like a pair of
chopsticks, I moved a half-dozen of the large coals there. When he
returned, I laid half the wood over the coals in the new pit, then the
various parts of the grill and then the rest of the wood.

We quickly retreated well upwind as the wood caught fire and the paint
began to spit noxious smoke into the air. I emptied the slop-bucket into
the frothing mass of fish that magically appeared, then returned to find
Ian sitting against a palm, frowning and deep in obviously-unpleasant
thoughts. His face was a study in melancholy and I decided to try and
bolster his mood a bit. I went to the nest and rummaged through Drug Dealer
until I found two bottles of Chopin Vodka.

"Ian, if you're not busy tonight, would you like to go on a dinner date?"
His eyes boinged and forehead scrunched. "I know a nice little seafood
place. The service sucks as bad as the food but," I pulled out the two
vodka bottles, "they have a great martini. Vodka, neat."

Ian beamed at me and stood. "I was going to stay home and wash my hair," he
smirked in that adorable accent, "but since you asked so nicely, sure."

The hissing and spitting billows of smoke had mostly faded, but we sat
upwind of the first fire to be sure. I leaned over and pulled him to me,
giving him a closed-lip but passionate kiss. He pulled back, "Mr Cantrell!
On a first date? What kind of boy do you think I am?"

I chuckled but leaned forward to whisper, purring right in his ear, "We'll
find that out later..." My blood sang as I saw him shiver.

I pulled back and went to other fire, carefully extracting the blazing-hot
lengths of metal and leaving them on the sand to cool. It took very little
time before they were merely warm, and I used the screwdriver on the
multitool to scrape away stubborn flakes and patches. I carried the result
to Ian who proceeded to retie his copper bindings and the fish was soon
cooking on the grill over the wonderfully-settled coals.

I sat and curled him onto me. "Now, where were we?" Ian sighed deeply and
allowed me to reinitiate the kiss. I kept to the Frist Date style, a kiss
of promise and tenderness, and feeling of passion-in-check. I leaned and
began to kiss his neck and shoulder, then returned to his ear, "So do you
still think I'm just toying with you? Using you to get off and nothing
more?"

Ian rocked back in shock. "How? How did you? I never said!" I kissed him
again but he pushed at me.

I sank into his eyes and let me see the sincerity in my own. "I thought so
last night. I didn't really know, though, until I found you brooding under
that palm. I'm just not really a use-em-and-lose-em kinda guy." I leaned
forward and Ian moaned softly as I resumed the slow, not-exactly-chaste
kiss of his cheeks, face and finally his lips. I could feel his nipples
harden under the long-sleeved shirt and felt him shift repeatedly trying to
accommodate the rising need in his groin. When he started to breath short
and shallow, I pulled back and exulted in the hooded, glazed look of his
eyes.

"Our waiter is impatient to serve us."

"O, fuckem..." Ian tried to recapture my lips but I was already out of
reach and moving to the nest.

I went into Rag Bag and got some thick cotton that might work as
potholders. Back at the fireside, I told Ian to dig a shallow pit so the
fish wouldn't end up with sand in it as I gingerly balanced the
highly-unsteady contraption to lift it with fish to the 'table'. While
there were way too many little bones, the fish was delicious. I got an idea
and started to alternate between feeding Ian little morsels and myself.

He was actually shaking when we were done and curled into me. It was so
comfortable and natural, but so utterly unlike the same positions with a
girl. This was a not a soft, curvaceous body, but a whipcord-strong young
man in the prime of life. He kissed me this time, and I let him, but kept
it in the (relatively) chaste style.

Eventually, I pulled away and we policed the fire and the
fish-parts. Rather than try to wash the stuck-on fish, I decided to use a
little cannibalistic ingenuity. I tied the whole contraption to the leader
and dropped it on the watery slope on the lagoon side where rocky coral
kept the water to a mere six or eight inches. Even in the moonlight, I
could start to see disturbances as the fishy night-feeders found the
makeshift feast. I knew that the metal could not last long between the heat
and saltwater before crumbling with rust. I also knew that Ian and I would
either be rescued or dead long before that could happen.

It was very late when we finally went to the nest again. I insisted on
changing the 'sheets', extracting a pair of chinos and two massive cotton
shirts (top and bottom sheets) and bundling the previous bedding off to the
side. I stepped out to relieve myself and came back to find Ian already in
'bed', smiling seductively. I decided to teach the kid a lesson in coy.

I snuggled in behind him and his hands instantly went to my cock. I pulled
his hands up and kissed them. "First Date, remember?"

"B-BUT!?" I silenced him with a deep powerful kiss, still no tongue,
pulling his body into mine. He moaned low and urgently after a minute and
began to wriggle and hunch against my belly and rock-hard cock. I deftly
flipped him, complete with an adorable squeak of surprise and pulled his
back to me. I knew he could feel my rampant cock at the small of his back
and smiled. I never came near to his crotch, but I methodically petted his
belly and chest, nuzzling and nibbling into his neck and ear. I kept that
slow burn going until his breathing became fast and desperate "J'J'J'JB?
Uh. JB? Can we...?"

I let my voice go into a sexy growl puffed right across his ear,
"Mmmmmmm. No, Ian. First Date, Rememberrrrrrrrrrrr?" He moaned now in
serious frustration instead of pleasure as I kept petting. Eventually we
fell asleep, but I held him in a way that I would wake quickly if he tried
to extricate himself. Whenever I woke and was sure he was firmly in
dreamland, I reached down and stroked his cock until he started to hunch in
his sleep, then went back to the regular position.

I woke slowly and luxuriantly to a lovely, sensuous feeling. Ian was
rocking back and forth against my manhood and I felt his cock slimily
pushing against the back of my hand. Ian was having a VERY special dream. I
let him continue for a minute, but as soon as his pace changed, I shook him
awake. He groaned piteously as he came back from erotic-dreamland. He
rolled to me and tried to reach both me and himself. "Still First Date,
Ian, even if you did sleep over at my place?" I smirked and he scowled.

We got up and around in the morning cool, each of us dressing, him
reluctantly wanting to play instead. I saw him get a furtive look and he
moved off to the tangle of trees. I gave him about three minutes then
followed quietly. As expected, Ian was spanking to beat the band, hunching
into his fist so hard he looked like a question mark. I patted him on the
shoulder in a bro-friendly way and he nearly shat himself.

"Actually, I had the same Idea. I need a piss, too." His look was stunned
and intensely frustrated. "That's was you were doing, right? Unzipped in
the trees and all? Pissing?"

He stuttered and blanched and finally said yes and tried desperately to
piss through his hardon. Oddly, that had never been a problem for me. Plus,
my older brother had taught me and my younger bro a secret when were we all
teens ourselves.

"Having trouble?" Ian blushed vividly. "Here, let me show you a trick. He
gasped then moaned as I grabbed his dick at the base with one hand. He
threw his head back and I could hear him mutter his thanks to a variety of
saints. I brought my soft middle finger to the frenulum. If I'd stroked
that spot lovingly and repeatedly, I'd have given Ian the (sexual) release
he so desperately needed -- and obviously expected. With five or six
stronger stokes, all from the shaft toward the tip, though, I gave his
bladder relief instead. He moaned low and deep as his stream arched high
above the bushy vegetation in front of him.

"There, feel better now?" I let the hand at the base drag slowly up the
shaft and Ian groaned as his stream became sporadic before returning to
full flow. I waited until he was done and mutinously zipped up without
moving or turning away, giving him no chance whatsoever to bring himself
off. There was absolutely nothing whatever to do, so we raided Teeny Bob.

There turned out to be four nice e-readers, Kindles renown for insane
battery life and readable in the bright sun. Ian also grabbed an iPod and
headphones and started to bob his head to some rhythm I couldn't hear. I
started go through the indexes of the Kindles. One, unsurprisingly since
the cover had a unicorn with a purple-and-pink background, was packed with
'young adult fiction for girls' which basically were bodice-rippers for
those yet to develop a bodice. The titles were nauseating. Even Ian was
revolted. That one was instantly relegated to Teeny Bop Hell.

Another had to have been Beach Bimbo's or someone like her. The tasteful
suede cover hid a macro-library with seventy-gillion self-help and
'relationship' books, along with some Woman Power authors. I actually liked
a few of those, especially in the Sci-Fi/Fantasy realms, including Margaret
Atwood, Ursua K Le Guin, Octavia Butler and Sherry Tepper. I handed it to
Ian who flipped through and shrugged, handing it back. I set it as my
tentative.

Next was probably Hulme's. Packed with Greg Herron and, from the cover art,
a wide array of other gay-themed stories. He also had a serious collection
of business books, especially in the areas where business and mathematics
converge. Good bedtime reading, perhaps. I handed that one to Ian and I saw
his eyes light up at all the gay titles. I smiled.

The last one I mentally dubbed Psycho. Everything ever written, apparently,
by Terry Pratchett swam alongside Lewis Carrol, the Tao Te Ching, Alistair
Cook anthologies, Canterbury Tales (in Middle English no less), a massive
tome (like two rows of Kindle dots) on Amerind Myths and Legend, Zen and
the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, Psychiatry texts, Amelia Peabody
mysteries and Hard-Sci SF like Brin and Stephenson. Who the hell was this
person? I set Psycho aside for the comfort of Beach Bimbo and quickly
floated off into the vivid world of The Parable of the Sower.

I felt a hard, icy chill when the book's demagogic villain incited his
followers to atrocities under the slogan of 'Make America Great Again'. I
went to the title page. As I remembered, it had been written in 1993,
nearly a quarter-century before those words took a candidate into office. I
noticed that Ian was obviously enjoying his book as his hand kept creeping
to adjust his raging wood.

I nudged his knee and he looked up, somewhat startled, and pulled out the
earbuds. "Huh?"

"I thought me might talk a bit, you know. Get to know each other." He
*almost* suppressed an eye-roll before he smiled indulgently.

"Sure."

"Let's trade questions?"

"Okay, you first."

"Well, let's start with the fact that I'm from a part of the US where there
really aren't a lot of openly gay people, so I don't mean to be
offensive. If I am, please tell me. When did you first know, I mean, that
you might be... that way?"

His smile was far older than his years. "When I was 14. I realized that my
fantasies were never about me with a girl. It was either guys by themselves
or me watching guys with girls, and I always focused on the guys. So, my
turn." He mimicked my voice quite well, including what he would think as a
flat and featureless accent, "When did you first know, I mean, that you
might be... straight?" His cheeky grin and the aplomb with which he lobbed
that back rocked me. A second later, so did the question.

"Wow. I, um, I guess I never really considered any other alternative! I
guess I never 'realized' that I was straight, it's was sort of a baked-in
assumption in our family. The church I go to is theoretically pro-gay, but,
well, it was never an option! Now that I think about it, your question to
me was a lot tougher then mine was to you. You probably had to think about
that a lot, where I never even consider it. Okay: What do you find
attractive in a man?"

Ian blushed hard and looked away instantly. I almost regretted the question
until he answered, still not looking at me. "Men, older than me. Strong,
gentle. H-H-Hairy..." His voice trailed off.

I chuckled. "I remember summer camp -- do they have those in Ireland, where
a group of kids goes to a sleep-over camp for a couple weeks? -- anyway I
was, oh, maybe 12? The showers were a fucking eye-opener. One of the camp
counsellors was this huge bear of a man. We called him Yogi. Mine was not
the only jaw to smack the floor when he stepped into the open showers. I
hadn't spouted *A* hair and this guy had hair, I mean, fucking
*everywhere*!" I could tell I had Ian's attention and decided to play with
the truth a little... a lot!

"Thinking back, he was showing off. I think he was probably trying to get
some of the guys interested in, well, extracurricular activities? It never
occurred to me then, but he spent a looooooong time soaping and rinsing his
cock and balls, and bending over to thoroughly rinse his big ole hairy ass
and crack." Ian's eyes were large and he was absentmindedly groping himself
through the shorts.

"I guess there had to be guys there who, you know, were looking with a
whole different set of eyes than I was! I was just mortified to be so small
and hairless. Luckily, most of the other guys my age were about the same so
I stopped being so worried. Yeah... now that I think on it, I wonder how
many of those campers got a much more practical 'education' in camp living,
if you see where I'm going." I chuckled lecherously. I faked contrition
quickly. "Oh, God. Sorry. It was your turn to ask a question."

Ian swallowed several times and his voice was creaky when he
continued. "Um, so, uh, did you ever...? When you were, you know, a teen?"

I smiled slowly but was crowing inside. Damn, this was even better than I'd
hoped! "Welllllll, yeah." I managed to force a blush. In point of fact,
Darren at that mission was the only time I'd actually touched a guy's cock
before. I had jacked off next to my buddy, Aaron, over a stolen playboy
once, but that was it. That didn't mean I couldn't drive Ian nuts for a
while, inventing wildly.

"I guess I was 14. My best bud, Aaron, was all het up over a girl at
school. Betty. He wanted to date her and was terrified she'd laugh at him
for not knowing, well, you know, how to kiss and such." Ian was hanging on
every word, hand still touching himself frequently, subconsciously. "He
whined and wheedled and called in favors right and left and I finally
agreed to be a temporary Betty as long as he did the same for me.

"We kissed and it, well, didn't do much for either of us. We talked about
it and decided that maybe we needed more to make a kiss work, so we started
touching and hugging, too. That was better so we kept escalating until we
were groping and humping madly, finally making it to full tongue-battle. I
swear he sounded like a jet taking off his voice went so high when he
unloaded in his jean-shorts. So, yeah, I did a little as a teen" I
chuckled.

"Um, and... and then?"

"Nope, my turn for a question, remember?" Ian nodded spastically. "So, who
taught you to jack off?" Ian's jaw dropped like a rock. He started to
mumble. "Hey, now, none of that. I came clean about Aaron."

"M-m-m-my brother, Michael?"

"No, now, you got to give more than that. You do and I'll tell you what
happened later with Aaron."

"When I, um, well... We shared a bedroom, all three boys. The four girls
were next door. Sean was sleeping over someplace and Michael saw I was, um,
hard when I got up. I was t-t-twelve? He was fourteen. He asked if I'd got
hair yet and I said I didn't know. Of course, I knew. Duh. I had four that
I could see." When he wasn't looking, I glanced down. A wet spot was
widening at the head of his dick and Ian was gripping it like a little boy
trying not to wee.

"Michael, well, he pantsed me when I wouldn't say and said he counted
six. I rushed to the mirror. The two I couldn't see were underneath. He
pulled my balls up out of the way to show me and I, well, I moaned. He
asked if I was wanking yet. Wanking is what we call it. I shook my head and
he, well, he kept hold of me and showed me how. He spat into his hand a few
times and showed me how to make the foreskin work right. It took maybe six
seconds?" Ian laughed. "It was also the first time I made sperm, just a
dribble, but he congratulated me and called me stallion and th-th-that was
it."

"So it was only the once?"

"Oi! You finish Aaron first, mate!"

I laughed hard and replied, "Actually, I cheated. There really wasn't much
more to tell. Aaron barely looked at me for a week. He goes out with Betty
Friday and comes to the house the next morning with four tiny half-circle
cuts on his cheek. Apparently, he tried our practice session on her and she
slapped him so hard her nails cut in, then kicked him, hard, right in the
nuts. He came by to warn me." Ian laughed with me this time. "He did make
hints for several weeks about me taking 'my turn' but then he found out
that I was going out with Betty just without the battle scars. We were
friends again after she dumped me for a rich kid, but nothing else ever
happened -- at least not with Aaron.

"So, *was* it only the once with Michael?"

"Yeah." Ian sighed deeply. "When I asked, Michael said it was a brother's
job, just as I'd have to teach Sean when he got hair and got hard. I did,
you know, teach him. But I didn't have the guts to do what Michael did, so
I just talked him through it and he did it himself. He was terribly
embarrassed and so was I.

"So, uh, did you get a blowjob before, from a guy?" Now this I didn't have
to make up at all.

"Several. The first was at college. I was a Sophomore. I was out with buds,
all of us lamenting the fact that Salt Lake City was not exactly pussy
central. Mormon girls just didn't give it up, you know? So we were all
driving each other nuts with stories of what we had gotten, hand- or
blow-jobs mostly, and not many of those. I got up to use the can and
another guy who'd been at the bar came in behind me just as I started to
piss. I heard the latch slide and looked over my shoulder.

"The guy was taller than me, thin, bookish. Smiling like a tiger. 'I heard
you in the bar. Hard up, huh?' I turned back to the urinal and said, 'Fuck,
you have no idea. Don't talk about it, though, or I'll never be able to
finish.' He moved next to me and said, bold as brass, 'I wasn't planning on
*talking* about it. You're a hunk. You want me to.... help you out?' I
wanted to turn and punch the guy, but my stream had stopped like a knife
cut it off I railed so quick.

"I ran through options. Slug him. Run out. Report him. All those options
had one flaw in common -- I would still be horny afterwards. I scowled at
him for a second and turned. 'Get to it then.'" Ian's face was very, very
red. "Yep, right there in the bar's bathroom, this guy drops to his knees
and hoovers me up. Best fucking blowjob of my life up to then. He took his
time, teasing the head then bobbing on the shaft, hands tickling and
massaging my balls. I was biting the inside of my cheek so hard in an
effort not to scream and moan that I tasted blood. He was driving me wild
and knew it.

"Then another first -- he *swallowed*. When I realized that he wasn't
spitting it out, it was actually like my orgasm started all over. I came so
hard and long that my balls ached the next day. He stood up, thanked me,
checked the mirror and was gone.

"I finally caught my breath just as one of my buds came in. I was, luckily,
pissing again by then. 'Christ, JB, how long it take you to piss?' I
chuckled and made a comment about the beer. He sneered, 'The beer or the
conversation? I bet you yanked one out, you perv. Is that what took so
long?' I just smiled widely and contentedly as I finished. He frowned at me
while I washed and zipped. He pestered me about it until I left that
night."  Ian was frankly shaking now with need.

"Well, it's getting hot. Let's hit the nest, Ian, for the afternoon nap."
He moved so fast to strip and get into the bed I almost laughed, but knew
that would ruin the evening's surprise. I slipped in behind him and foiled
his attempt to turn and start some loving. I wrapped my arms around him,
firmly locking his own in place. I was careful; he couldn't reach either of
our dicks, and I could tell the frustration was beginning to undo the
kid. Well that was just fiiiiiiine. I smiled wickedly as Ian fidgeted and
finally dozed. This was going to be a hell of a night.

<eof>

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Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay...
Canvas Hell: 27 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/
Beaux Thibodaux: 18 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/
The Heathens: 20 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/
Off the Magic Carpet: 13 chapters .../military/off-the-magic-carpet/
Lake Desolation: 12 chapters .../rural/lake-desolation/
Dear John Letter: 3 chapter .../military/dear-john-letter/
Shark Reef: 6 chapters .../adult-youth/shark-reef/
Culberhouse Rules: 3 chapters .../incest/culberhouse-rules/

Special collaboration with Brad Borris: In God's Love (5 installments)
.../incest/in-gods-love/