Skip gave me the biggest smile. I gave it right back to him.

"I just bought a surfboard," I said. "I've never been surfing. When I came out here, my intention was to learn how to surf. I haven't even seen the Pacific."

"You've certainly been deprived, Z. I take it, you don't have a car? Anyone who comes west, from back east, wouldn't stop until he was looking at the Pacific Ocean," Skip said. "What is the Z all about, Z?"

"My name is Zane," I said.

"Say no more. I thought there would be some long story behind people calling you Z, Z. I can see that Z would be a better option than Zane. Do you write by any chance?"

"I do, actually. Just a journal. Just personal stuff," I said, thinking I'd said too much.

"I bet that's a read that would steam up my glasses," Skip said.

"You wear glasses?" I asked.

"No, but if I did, I bet your journal would steam them up. Most writers start by keeping a journal. In my creative writing class, the professor recommends keeping a journal. Many writers take things from their own lives to fortify their fiction," Skip said. "You never know what tidbit in a story, might be right out of the author's experiences.

"That's good to know," I said. "I'm not planning to be a writer, but I do keep a journal, and I enjoy getting my thoughts out to see them on paper. It gives them a power they don't have, when they're only in my head," I said.

"And what does a boy, who is keeping a journal, fancy himself doing, as an occupation?" Skip asked.

"Right now, I'm a grocery clerk at Hitchcock's Market. Other than that, I've mowed lawns, delivered papers, and I did odd jobs for old people back east," I said.

"You sound smart enough to be in college," Skip said. "No aspirations in that direction? Plenty of good schools out here."

"Maybe later. I haven't lived enough to know what I want to do with the rest of my life, Skip. Once I've got a little experience, I might decide on something that requires college, maybe not. I'm not going to school just to go to school. It's way too expensive to not know why I'm there, or what courses I need," I said.

"That's smart. I had no idea what I might do, when I went to college. I took a liberal arts program. I took courses in anything I ever had an interest in. I'm graduating in a few weeks, and I still don't know what I want to do. With four years of college behind me, I should be able to make an educated guess, but I'm not in a hurry. About surfing," Skip said.

"What about surfing?" I asked.

"When do you want to go?" Skip asked.

"What time is it?" I asked.

Skip laughed.

"I came out here to look around for my friend. If you want to look around with me, for an hour or so, I'll be going surfing later on. How far do you live from here?" Skip asked.

"Two blocks down, hang a left, and it's one of the houses on that street."

"Cool enough. Let me satisfy my Mac attack, and we can ride around and look for Chet," Skip said.

"Cool!" I said. "You do know that I'll help you look, but I have no idea who Chet is, or what he looks like," I said.

"Our engagement to go surfing does not rest on your ability to pick Chet out of a crowd. If I don't have any luck locating him, or locating someone who can tell me where to look, we'll surf the rest of the afternoon away."

"I don't have a surfboard," Gordo said.

"No one asked you to go surfing," Skip said.

"No, but I do know Chet, and I could pick him out of a crowd, even if he's never spoken more than two words to me. I knew a God when I saw one," Gordo said.

"You can ride around with us. When we go to surf, you stay in El Cajon," Skip said.

"Exactly. I'll keep my eyes open for Chet. The next time you return to your roots, I might have gathered some information on the illusive Chet," Gordo said.

"Good plan, Watson. We'll go with that. I'll collect something to eat, and we can be on our way," Skip said. "Are either of you gentlemen hungry. I'm in possession of a couple of brand new twenty-dollar-bills, and they're burning a hole in my pocket.

"No," Gordo said. "I just ate three egg MacMuffines. I've got one left in the bag. If Z doesn't want it, it's all yours."

Two are plenty for me. I couldn't eat another one if you paid me," I said.

"A little late for Egg MacMuffins. It's almost noon," Skip said.

"He knows a guy," I said.

"Oh," Skip said. "I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere gorgeous."

"I won't," Gordo said.

"He's talking to me," I said.

Skip laughed.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

The sun was straight up in the sky, over our heads, as we bobbed in a fairly placid ocean. We rode the languid sea, waiting for surf that would not appear on a late in April day.

"It's the trouble with this time of year. Everything is perfect, and the ocean is rarely angry enough to furnish good waves. You can sit for hours and barely catch site of a wave fit to ride," Skip said.

He wore the same shorts to surf in, as he was wearing, when I met him a few hours before. There was a bathing suit, more like the typical shorts guys not wearing spandex wore. Skip stood in his open door, peeling off the spandex, before getting into his shorts. Completely naked for twenty seconds, Skip had perfect white skin. He was uncut, and while he soft, he had plenty to work with.

I hadn't been with anyone since Free. No one had even interested me enough to take a good look. I took a very good look at Skip. He was in search of a lover from three and a half years ago, and that meant we wouldn't get serious. That didn't mean we couldn't have fun. Skip looked like he'd be a lot of fun.

Skip was as smooth as the ocean had been that day. I came to surf. He was as charming as any seascape I'd seen. He was a fine companion, teacher, and boy of interest. I gathered from what he said, we'd do this again. He was finishing college, and I was finishing high school. In less than a month, we'd both be out of education mode, with a summer straight ahead. I'd make time for Skip, even if I never caught a wave. He said nothing to contradict that idea.

We'd spent an hour on the sand, as Skip showed me the method I'd use to have my best success as a new surfer. Other boys stopped to watch him give me instructions, someone called Skip, "Red." It was a casual conversation, and Skip seemed fine with red, but the color of his hair only served to remind me of the boy in the halfpipe who had different colored red hair.

Skip was a smaller version of the guy in the halfpipe, but it was a close enough match for me to think of the guy in the halfpipe, each time I discovered Skip a new, as he chatted up other surfers, and was generally a nice guy.

I'd heard stories of surfers being territorial, a little like pit bulls, who didn't want anyone who wasn't a local riding their surf, but I saw none of it. Most of the surfers out that day were as young as we were, and interested in nothing more than catching a wave on a day when surf didn't exist.

The sky, the sea, the boats sailing by, were all synchronized in a ballet of motion that went with the calm. No one was in a hurry, and surfers sat beside their friends, talking about better days, as they bobbed up and down in the ocean that wasn't about to produce what it was they were after.

I wanted to learn to surf, and that required surf, when there was none, and not knowing any better, I enjoyed bobbing up and down on rolling waves that pleased me just fine. Being there, being with surfers, was almost as good as surfing. I did not regret accepting Skip's offer to come to see the Pacific. I, unlike the other surfers, didn't know what I was missing. In fact, I was missing nothing. I watched blond Gods with bronzed skin, being playful on their boards, when they couldn't get down to business.

The sun had begun its long dip into the horizon, when Skip paddled close enough to hook his leg over top of mine, anchoring us together. I was on my stomach, and I looked at how his thigh covered mine and our faces came face to face in a most suggestive way. My immediate erection said it all. I'd have loved to have planted a big wet one on Skip, but I didn't want to get banned from surfing on my very first day. I kept my lips to myself.

"Z, I'm afraid we'll need to return another day," Skip said. "There isn't enough action for you to get the feel of a wave, and until you do that, you have no idea what the ocean can do and be for a surfer. I promise to bring you again, but this time of year, unless a storm kicks up, we're doomed to sit in a calm sea," he said.

"I loved it. I love all of it," I said, looking at our legs. "This is where I want to be, Skip. I want to learn to surf, and I want to surf with you."

Our lips did what lips do, and once he'd had a taste, he leaned to do it again. There was a whistle from one of the other surfers. Our eyes stayed lock together for a time. Like being in the curl, I can't say how long, but it wasn't long enough for me..

"When there's surf, it is the greatest show on earth, Z. This ocean is a power plant, and it generates the waves we ride, but from time to time, the ocean rests, waiting its time to release its force of nature. This is one of the days it's resting," Skip explained and predicted in the words he used.

As we carried our boards toward the car, I saw some people playing volleyball, a little ways from the parking lot. We stopped to watch, mainly because I stopped to watch.

The guys were hard bodies and so tan, they looked like they could be people of color, but most had long, very long, blond hair, blowing on what little bit of breeze there was late in the afternoon.

I'd never seen such tanned bodies back home, and each body came with broad shoulders, and waists so small, they hardly held up their shorts, and if not for their hips, they'd furnish a view it took me all my life to locate, thousands of miles from where I was born and raised.

Skip watched my eyes. He saw the guys I studied. They were all Gods. There wasn't a loser in the crowd, and I hadn't gone soft since he kissed me. As we eased along the top of the beach, Skip stopped at a spot where six boys were playing football. It was more like rough housing as they grabbed and pulled on one boy's shorts. They were older than me, bigger, and far more physical than guys back home.

As we sat in the car, pointing at the playing boys, one boy suddenly was naked. Another boy wrestled him to the ground, and then he was naked, with a taller boy triumphantly holding the second boys shorts. The wrestling didn't stop, and a third naked boy joined in, while the other boys watched.

I'd never seen anything like it. Other people on the beach watched as the three bodies slipped and slid over each other. One boy was clearly excited by the physical contact, and the other two were as close to having sex as you could get without penetration or some kind of oral stimulation. They yelled, and laughed, and a fourth boy became involved, but he had on his shorts.

"What do you think?" Skip asked.

"I don't know what to think. Don't they know what that looks like?"

"This is a gay section. Boys who are gay, and boys who don't mind gay guys, come here for exactly what you are seeing. There are a lot of fish in the sea, Z. All kinds of fish, liking all kinds of activity."

As I watched, Skip's hand found my erection. I'm sure he'd noticed before this, but this was the right place at the right time. No one was parked around us, and Skip put his head in my lap. I couldn't take my eyes off the boys who were wrestling on the beach. More people were standing around, watching.

To say I was primed and ready was an understatement. I'd seen porn. I can tell you that I don't mind porn at all, but seeing boys wrestling naked for real was better than any porn.

"Ah, Skip, if you keep doing that, I'm going to cum," I said, and I did.

Skip made no attempt to stop doing what he was doing, and I'd engaged in my first public sex act. It left me breathless and speechless.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"You were a little nervous?" Skip said, once we turned back onto the 5.

"It was kind of in the open," I said.

"No one was around the car. No one but you, and you know how terrific you are. Everything on you is just right. You even taste good," he said.

"Thank you. I should return the favor," I said.

"Not today, Z. I'm afraid that I followed you down the road of happy endings. I haven't been with anyone for so long, well. It has been a pleasure being with yo," he said.

"And Chet?" I asked. "He was a senior. I was a sophomore. His home life sucked, so he lived at my house for most of that year. Chet is a most amazing boys. I've never been with anyone as perfect as he was, and he was a perfect lover. He held me every night, right after we did the deed. Once wasn't always enough, and I could never get enough of him," Skip said.

"And what happened?"

"He graduated from high school. He was a pretty smart guy. One day he said he was going to L.A. That's been over four years ago, maybe five. Once I graduated from high school, my parents moved to Rancho Santa Fee, and I moved with them, started college, had a life there. Then I heard that Chet was back in El Cajon, maybe for a year or more. I've been trying to find him ever since."

"You think he'll want to pick up, where you left off?" I asked.

"Oh, I don't know. I just want to look at him. He hadn't become a man yet, and he'll make one hell of a beautiful man," Skip said.

"He's all that? You've never forgotten him?" I asked.

"First loves are a bitch," Skip said, looking at me.

"Tell me about it," I said.

"What's his name?" Skip asked.

"Free?" I said.

"Free?"

"They called him Freebee. The people who knew him, called him Free."

"Cool. I bet he was something," Skip said.

"He was everything," I said.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Even in El Cajon, few boys were ugly or lacked some feature that drew people to them. There were guys who were gruff and overpowering, like Ace, but most guys were somewhere between pleasant and nice. The hostility that was constantly close by us back east, seemed to be avoided in the places I'd been on the West Coast.

Maybe the warmer weather made for warmer people, or perhaps the cold of the Northeast, made for colder, more harsh people. I was no fool, and I was good at history. For reasons that I couldn't fathom, through the ages, man spent much of his time making war, but no one wanted to fight on Huntington Beach. Boys were being boys, but if there was a war to be fought, they'd probably start recruiting in the Northeast. Men were a lot more likely to fight you back home.

Since man claimed he had been civilized, much of the world had been destroyed many times over. Watching young men wrestle on a beach, and no one would hurt the other. What would be the reason. They were playing. They were having fun, and most people enjoyed playing and having fun, in the land of milk and honey. I liked having fun, and I did it with no hostility for anyone. You'd never get a good war going with California boys. They'd all go surfing.

We could afford surfboards, taking the afternoon off to have fun. We played near each other, without an unkind word. I wondered why so many men answered the call to go to war without a second thought. Maybe if young men were less willing to fight, it would be harder to get a good war going.

On Huntington Beach, the combat was hand to hand. The hostilities ended in laughter and invitations to go for beer. Not an unfriendly shot had been fired. Well, my shot was about as friendly as a shot gets, when you shoot, and I can assure you, I had nothing but kindness in my heart for Skip, and the boys who played on Huntington's Beach..

"It was fun," I said.

"Sorry about the surf," Skip said.

"I didn't mind it. I liked being there. I liked seeing all those guys. They're magnificent. Oh, we have gorgeous guys back east, don't get me wrong, but all of these guys seem to be designed with beauty in mind. All of them," I said.

"Now you've discovered the California boy's secret. We are descendants of the Gods. We were put here on purpose, to inhabit the land of fruit and nuts. None of us is any better looking, than another, and we all surf well," Skip said.

I laughed. I knew a tall tale, when I was hearing one.

He remembered where my house was, and he got out to unhook my board from the top of his car. His skin shined from being in the surf all day. His chest was no big deal, but it was cut well, and the rather red nipples were full and created a very nice effect.

As he handed me my board, his hand accidentally, on purpose, brushed me where my deepest feelings about a boy I didn't know, was apparent. He stood still using his hand to massage my best and hardest, part.

My eyes closed as a reflex to his indecent proposal. I'd remained dormant for some time. I'd been aroused, but there hadn't been a purpose to it, until now.

I had no trouble remembering Skip's lips on me. As I watched the wrestling naked boys, he did the rest, and I was ready to do it all over again.

"I'd like to take care of this problem for you," Skip said, letting my board lean against my left side. "If you like that sort of thing. I'm told I'm good at it."

"You were told right. My parents are home. I can't get away with sneaking you up to my room. I'm about to pass out with your hand there, and if you keep squeezing, I'm certain to have an accident."

"We can sit in the car. I can take care of it in a few minutes, and I'll be on my way, although I've got one just like yours now," he said, moving my hand onto the front of his expanded shorts. I returned his squeeze with one of my own, and I think he was about to kiss me, when I heard the front door open.

"Shit. Dinner's on," I said in my father's voice.

"Z, dinners on," my father said.

Skip began to laugh, easing up on his grip on my dick. I had more trouble letting go of his very nice presentation. Ten points for authenticity.

"I better go," Skip said. "I don't have the energy to do your father too."

I laughed.

"And my mother would get in the way," I said.

"There's enough for your friend," my father said. "It's Mexican. We got extra tacos and those packets of hot sauce you like."

"Oh my," Skip said. "We seem to have gotten ourselves caught between a rock and a hard place. This calls for a strategic withdrawal. We'll live to suck another day, sweet sweet Z"

"Coming, Dad."

"I wish," Skip said. "The taste of honey," he sang.

"Mostly hard," I said. "I'll be right there, Dad."

"Dinner is on the table, and I was hoping to eat you up, little boy. I better go before we reach the point of no return. Shouldn't give the neighbors too much to talk about on our first date," Skip said.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize it was so late. Maybe next time," I said.

"Next time we'll find a place at the beach, and I"ll do you again. Just like old times. Shouldn't want to get busted going at each other here," he said with a low sexy sound in his voice.

"When will you be coming back?" I asked.

"Soon, now that I have something to return for. You are something else, Z."

"You're something yourself, Skip. I'm glad I met you. Thanks for taking me surfing."

"Believe me, when I say, it's been my pleasure, Z. I'll leave now. I need to find a place to go jack-off a few times, and then I can drive home, but I won't forget you," he said, letting go of what was now an overflowing hardon.

I kept my board in front of me, and I watched him go. I didn't know if I'd see Skip again or not, but I'd seen him once, and for once, I'd met someone through Gordo that I was happy to know, although I didn't know if I hadn't seen the last of Skip. He had two reasons to come back to El Cajon now, and I didn't care which one brought him back, as long as he stopped at my house for a chat.


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"In Skater's Time" Copyright © 1 January 2003 OLYMPIA50. All rights reserved.
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