Sexy Stranger

on the Beach

A spicy m/m love story

By James Talbot

C2021

Part 1

   The sexy man on the beach was a mystery, he still is a mystery in many ways…but now, he’s my mystery and I have a lifetime to solve him…or maybe to strip him naked, lick his sweet flesh all over then work out my deepest sexual fantasies with him over and over again -- dreaming of taking him every which way over and over until…

   I woke up that morning with my cock hot and hard in my hand — begging me to stoke it, aching for a big release of joy-juice...I had dreams of the man on the beach again...dreamed of his tall strong body naked,  his giant dick pumping in my mouth…the knuckles on my hand clenched around his fleshy girth squeezing and stroking, my spit slicking the man’s demanding fiery rod…until he came in a giant spurting on my lips - just as my own burgeoning sex tool in my franticly jerking hand shot and spilled sticky and wet  cum in my palm...that’s what the dream man did to me.

* * *

   The first time I saw him, he was just a dim figure in the distance. He was walking on the sparkling white sand of the Great Lake. A tall stranger strolling thoughtfully along the blue waters edge on a summer July afternoon. He seemed in no hurry as lake breeze stroked his lean body and the gentle surf washed in and out on the beach tickling his naked toes. The sun was behind him and he was a dark intriguing silhouette, that caught my gaze like a momentary mirage.

     I glanced down to work on my drawing, I was perched on a shady rock up on a dune, where the shore and forest meet. Stretched out in panorama before me; bright hot sun, azure sky and white clouds — transitioning to blue lake and white sand. Behind me nestled the cool greens of leafy shade trees, mossy paths and shadowed trails leading away through the parkland.

    I had been distracted from the stranger, my pencil making quick dark marks delineating him. Then rapidly sketching details of driftwood on the shore. When I looked up moments later he had already passed, so I only saw him from the back walking away.           

    Even at a distance of a dozen yards, seen only moving off down the shoreline, the slinky magnetism of his slow sexy walk drew my eyes along. Following his nearly naked body, the loose fabric of his swimming trunks tantalizing as it clung and shifted over his curvaceous rear and strong thighs.

     I had missed seeing his face, but glimpsed the edge of his strong jaw line. That was more than enough to set me daydreaming.

    The mysterious stranger seemed to be daydreaming too as he wandered casually along staring out to the distant horizon.

    When I met up later in the afternoon for coffee with my best friend at the Blue Willow cafe in the village, he leafed through my sketchbook as we sipped our caffeinated beverages. He stopped at the quick sketch of the man walking down the beach, asking about it curiously. I shyly explained my intriguing man sighting.

    “A mysterious stranger,” my friend sighed dreamily into his foaming latte, watching the cinnamon heart design disintegrate in its foam.

    My friend Grayson is a writer of sorts. He and I more or less grew up together, because our parents were old friends.

   How can I accurately describe Gray? He is my age twenty-three, he’s shorter than I am and not as thin as me. His dark hair is straight and in a Beatle cut dyed black fringed bangs tickle his chocolate brown eyes. His looks contrast my blond and slightly wavy hair and blue jay blue eyes. Gray is compact and lightly muscled and I am wiry and taller, through I stoop a bit from my artists lean and/or shyness. I tend to be introverted, with a slow burning sarcastic humor — Gray is outgoing, lively and dramatic with a love of the gothic, which shows in the graphic novels he writes. He is a huge fanboy of the Bronte sisters, so much so, he adopted Bronte as his pen name, which paired with his real first name sounds like he should be their lost brother: Grayson Bronte (hopefully a better one then poor Bramwell)  So Gray is like an extroverted, happy-go-lucky Bronte — which seems inconsistent, but maybe they were much jollier girls then I imagine them from their books.

    How Grayson’s gothic romantic imagination affected our conversation that afternoon was that he immediately decided this dark vanishing stranger was my Mr. Rochester and that I was in love with him.

    I protested, “That’s ridiculous! I will probably never see him again.”

    “All the better,” he chuckled, “That’s the kind of guy you pine for.”

   “What invisible?” I scoffed.

   “Unattainable,” he answered with a smirk, “and preferably fictional.”

   I should have been insulted, but Grayson knew me too well. My love life was more imaginary then real up-until now, with my few brief involvements ending in a let down.

   But in the mean time, my boyhood pal Gray has always been there for me -- in more ways than one, Grayson and I had our afternoon ritual, we jerked each other off since we were hot horny teenagers. We like to have a contest to see who is masturbation fantasy is the best. As I said Grayson is a Brontë freak and his fantasies usually and involve characters from their books since the male characters were dark sexy and dangerous...Heathcliff for example - Gray often seemed to have a large dildo wedged deep inside him  as he lay naked up on a windy moor. I think he deserved it.In the book he is a  nasty character but sexy as hell... Other times Grayson liked me to pretend to be Steerforth the older schoolboy from David Copperfield and spank him - I’d put on a British accent, pull down his pants and smack his bare butt cheeks till they were a good rosy color his cock would throb and bob against my leg... If he didn’t come right then we’d lay back on the big Victorian velvet daybed and jerk each other off...we’d grown up making each other come, that’s what friends are for right, to help each other out? That’s what Grayson had said when we had been horny fumbling kids...a little fun, experimenting and release - working out we called it. Buddy sex, it had become a nice healthy habit - like cooling down after a work out. We both wanted relationships with other people, lovers and partners in life which was a different separate thing...

   Gray had Mark and loved him very much. Mark was cool with our long standing friendship...which was cool. Gray could be a lot to handle. Both Mark and Gray wanted me to find a special someone, Mark was always trying to fix me up with guys he met - he was a tour guide so he met a lot of men...I went on some first dates but no seconds...I didn’t know exactly what I wanted but I knew what I didn’t want…

   ...that is until I met the sexy stranger on the beach.

* * *

   As far as this random stranger, well, I had no conscious plan, or realistic goal in mind. I was just winging it, as I was drawn back to the lakeside over and over to see if my new phantom crush passed by. Which he in fact, did.

   Each day I moved closer to the beach and the waterline, closer to the path the man walked each day for the following week. I did see him from the front and he did not disappoint. While not a model or movie star, he was attractive, with a slightly chiseled kind of handsomeness, which his six foot something height and taut, tan, lean muscularity enhanced.

    Each day I imagined him a slightly different romantic character, Heathcliff, Max De Winter, even Sherlock Holmes — with me as a young willing Watson wanting Holmes to solve my puzzle and unwrap my mystery.

   I kind of knew I was building things up in a way that was bound to lead to disappointment. But it had become a game in a way, as I would meet up with Grayson for our afternoon coffee and report the latest developments — meaning my latest daydreaming fantasy, and Gray would elaborate on them with his gothic imagination. I suspected he was somehow incorporating my love dreams into his latest gay graphic novel. (I was not wrong)

   Grayson wondered,“In your drawings the man is getting larger and larger. Is he getting closer, or are you? Or are you using Binoculars?”

   Sheepishly I admitted I was moving my set up closer to the lake each morning.

   “For the view of course,” my friend chuckled.

    “Certainly for the view,” I said.

  “Well, the view is getting better and better. I want to see him in color,” Gray insisted.

    “I’m planning to start with watercolors tomorrow,” I said.

   “Does he walk by everyday?”

   “So far...”

   “Maybe I should come and hold your brushes.”

    “Don’t you dare.”

   “Don’t you think he knows your stalking him?” Gray asked.

    “I’m not stalking him. I was there first, that’s always been my beach - Elm Point, you know that. He’s the interloper...” I responded tersely.

   “Well, I wish he would interlope you and soon,” he laughed at his own humor, “interlope you deep and long!” Grayson melted into giggles and I admit, I soon joined in.

    “Maybe I’ll interlope him!” I added, with a raised brow. Gray didn’t know everything thing about me.

* * *

   It all came to an abrupt climax.

   Eventually we met. Finally we met.

   As I hoped - but not how I imagined…

   I thought we’d meet by chance, maybe I drop a paintbrush — he picks it up and our eyes meet in magical moment… Or, his swimming trunks would suddenly blow off and I would heroically retrieve them for him…Although, I would probably be too busy gawking at his hot nakedness to chase after a runaway swimsuit, if anything I’d be frantically sketching him.

    Reality struck like lightning. One fine day, the passing stranger walked by, then abruptly just turned around, walked back to where I sat, smiled at me and asked if I wanted to have a drink with him? Very straightforward, he wasn’t even glowing, looking stormy or despondent like a Bronte hero.

   He just introduced himself, “Hi I’m Peter. Would you like to have a drink sometime?” My stranger was upfront, no mystery, and yet…it was very romantic and mysterious to me, shocking even. It took my breath away, as this was sudden reality crashing into my romantic fictions. Gulp!

  The handsome stranger said, “I am renting a house just down past the point over there.”

    “Oh,” I said with clever wit. Followed by, “Yes, I’ve seen you walking. I see you walking back this way.”

   “Yes, I go out early down the shore to see the morning and visit a friend who lives way down at the other end of the beach. She and I have coffee then I walk back,” I realized his deep voice had a syrupy slightly southern drawl, not a Bronte British accent, but charming enough.

   “Oh, I have coffee with a friend too, but in the afternoon, after I’m done drawing and painting,” I murmured.

    His eyes skimmed my current watercolor with seeming approval, “Very nice.”

   His eyes continued to move from taking in my artwork to taking in me, also with seeming approval.

  My stranger, who was becoming less strange, was older up close. I had imagined him thirty, but the slight lines at the edges of his eyes and mouth made me recalculate upwards, so maybe making him possibly forty something I guessed, which in a way made him more attractive, maybe.

   “Why don’t you just come along with me now, there’s a nice view from the deck, and white wine, maybe even nuts and nibbles,” again his lyrical Southern vowels entranced me.  I think I was smiling as I responded, “How can I say no to a view? And possible nuts and nibbles.” It crossed my mind that nuts and nibbles might be some Southern code for something else…I thought. 

   “And, your name is?” he asked with obvious amusement in his eyes, which I could see were green. I was so fasciated by the emerald hue of his eyes, and the disconcerting look of interest they were giving me, I had trouble remembering my name.

   In my awkward pause, the man who I now knew was named Peter softly chuckled, “What about that drink? The sun will be setting in a little while and you should have a reward after your creative labor, and maybe your name will come back to you.” We bother chuckled then and I nodded.

     I was hesitating to accept his invitation, yet I was already packing my watercolor painting things, and he was eagerly helping.

Part 2

     The sexy stranger, Peter’s nearly naked body in his bathing suit was driving me a bit crazy, well my dick crazy, as I twice had to excuse myself to retreat to his bathroom to stroke my member to release and subdue my sexual urges that were trying to overwhelm me, but I wanted to be strong and not just get off with a stranger. I wanted to control myself until there was a chance for something more, even if I was rubbing my self raw. But, once I spurted my tension out, I was able to relax again in the man’s handsome presance, at least for a while.

    Soon, hours had drifted by like a dream as I had been watching the gorgeous orange-ruby sunset from the deck of Peter’s rather vast summer house, sipping white wine and nibbling the nibbles…while I listened to Peter expound.  This older sophisticated man had a way with words, and by the white gleam of his smile and the charming glitter in his eyes — I suspected he wanted to have his way with me, and maybe I wanted him to too…

    But then again, I wanted to be in love and be loved.

    Well, as they say; be careful — very careful — what you wish for.

    I didn’t spend that first night with him. Peter was patient in our getting to know each other, mostly. He and I watched a lot of sunsets from his deck before the two of us watched the sunrise together, but a few weeks later we did.

   Yes, one night I found our heated kissing had heated my prick to boiling and Peter’s too. Our hands freed our members, suddenly his mouth was on me sucking hard and his fingers tickled my tight balls.

   I shivered and tingled and as I gazed up at the stars over the water and the waves caressed the night shore, I came hard and fast in Peter’s warm mouth.

   When I moved my hand down stroking his manly cock, he whispered, “I came with you,” And as he kissed me I tasted myself salty and sweet on his lips. His eyes glowed with satisfaction, as if, now he had made me come, he had moved the goal post, but I felt there was more I wanted, emotional connection. Peter I know, felt sexual intimacy created that connection. But I felt for me, it was closeness first that made me feel comfortable enough for sex to mean something.

   We were getting there, but still I was missing something… Be careful what you wish for…I was wishing to shift our dynamic somehow…and maybe it would shift my feelings to more certainty.

   There were things yet to discover.

  What I discovered was, this: his surname was Smithson - Peter Addison Smithson and he is a very successful businessman. Just what exactly his business was a I wasn’t sure, some kind of public relations, I’m not sure I even understood what that was, to be honest I still don’t get it all. But, he seems very successful at it. Over our time together I also learned — and would continue to learn, this fine Southern gentleman was a drinker. But fortunately drink made him gregarious, amusing and eventually horny, unless he fell asleep first.

   I would come to learn that Peter could be bossy and emotionally excessive yet also withholding.

  However, he would come to fall in love with me — or so he would soon come to exclaim — often.

    Over the next weeks the deck with the stunning lake view became like a new home…in a way. Certainly, soon Peter wanted it to become my home. He was not a person who like too much alone time. He liked companionship, especially if it was cute, smart and witty (who me?)

   Yes, it seemed it was me he wanted, very much.

   It was so much, so fast — Head-spinning.

Fiction and reality blurring the lines as I was living out parts of my daydreams.

   My Southern romantic stranger, seemed so deep in love and so fast! And Peter seemed intent on convincing me this love was real — for both of us.

   Admittedly, I enjoyed the thrill of it all, but, was a bit slow to be convinced.

   Apparently I do not know my own charms. Well, that’s what Peter told me as he held me in his arms.

   “You don’t know how beautiful and wonderful you are, do you?” Peter said, sounding as though it surprised him that I didn’t know this about myself — it certainly surprised me, because I certainly didn’t.

   However Peter’s strong reactions to me were awakening me to the possibility, that maybe, I wasn’t an ugly duckling after all.

    I didn’t think I was a swan, but I thought perhaps I might just be a hummingbird or a robin or a goldfinch.

   The fact that I wasn’t impressed by all the things Peter usually impressed people and lovers with puzzled him, and maybe fascinated him. The seduction formula that had always worked in the past, wasn’t getting the usual results from me, yet he could tell I was interested him, but able to resist getting physical with him beyond a certain point. Which challenged him and sparked a sense of romance that had been dormant. He was someone who like to get what he wanted and usually did, sensing this I felt somewhat resistant.   

Despite the glitches as we went along, we went along day by day spending time together. We grew closer and more comfortable with each other, but I still held back a bit, observing...considering...indecisive as ever. Getting what I wished for was unsettling - because it never seems to be quite how you imagined it, as it is reality with details (like snoring and not putting the cap back on the toothpaste) that you hadn’t thought about.

   In a way he frightened me — his big, studly body - his big commanding personality. When I say frightened, I think I mean, I was sometimes afraid of being overwhelmed by him, by the same dynamic energy of his that strongly attract ed me.

    This might be an odd way to try to explain how I was with Peter, but here goes; I think I was very cat like…feline.

   I mean, I enjoyed letting Peter think he was in control arranging our dates and dinners like a cat will accept food and petting but a feline will always give you the sense they are allowing you this privilege.

    Peter was perhaps used to the gratitude and sense of ownership of dogs needy affection .

   I have always thought cats seem like aliens from another planet, maybe I was an alien visiting Peter’s world. I didn’t want to sit at his feet and wait for him to take me for a walk, I enjoyed being stroked then finding my own warm patch of sunny windowsill to dream on.

    I am a dreamer, maybe reality scares me when its too real. Maybe that’s why I escape into my art and my creative imagination. I am constantly questioning my talent. Admittedly, I do crave other people appreciation of my talent -- which Peter did, he wanted to appreciate talents I hadn’t unveiled yet!

   Yes, I was insecure as my best friend Gray always chides me.

  Grayson is so sure of himself and his talent but thinks more business like…He has a different perspective on life, maybe better, I’m not sure, but he is directed.  For example; Gray met his partner two years ago, he saw him in a bar -- bang, he knew Mark was it! He approached him, took him home that night and they’ve been together ever since. He was very decisive and determined, maybe that’s why my timid indecisive nature amuses him and gives him inspiration for some of his characters comical dilemmas.

   In Grayson’s view I am a male version of the gothic ladies of literature…searching for love, but struggling, often with themselves.

   I admit Gray was right in a way, I was like a timid governess -- my stranger, did have a secret - not a mad spouse locked in a tower, Peter had locked away clawing insecurities behind his nonchalant confident facade, but don’t we all have insecurities?

    Grayson enjoyed spinning various dramatic theories of my stranger romance, even after I had met Peter and later after he had met him too.

    Gray had been dying to meet my mystery man, and see the beach house the he claimed I was always talking about lately. (I wasn’t - not always) While on his first visit, Gray was on his best behavior, at first, but when Peter was inside retrieving more refreshments, Grayson fueled with a few drinks, persisted in his wild imaginings as he suggested Peter might, despite his charm, still be a Bloodthirsty Bluebeard with numerous boyfriends bodies in cupboards and trunks...or buried in the basement...

   “I’ve seen in all the cupboards and closets there are just expensive clothes  and shoes (though Peter does have an odd quirk about buying too many of the same thing if he likes something, its not a deadly trait) and there is no basement,” I informed Gray.

    “What about secret panels or chained in the attic?” he suggested.

    “Gray, look around you this is a contemporary house, built in the last ten years, Hi-tech, no attic, cobwebs or gothic towers,” I snickered.

    “Well, he could be a Hi-tech Bluebeard, beaming them into space,” Gray sulked.

   “You’re right, Grayson,” Peter announced as he suddenly appeared behind Gray opening a fresh bottle of wine. “I do have a hidden wine cellar behind the garage,” his drawl was amused and pretending to be sinister, “I’m happy to show it too you and introduce you to the ghosts of lovers-past -- the ones I haven’t chopped up and stuffed into dumplings for dinner. You do like chicken and dumplings don’t you? More wine Grayson?” he grinned.

    “No thank you, er, yes please,” Grayson responded, holding out his glass. “Do you at least, maybe have a haunted mansion back in North Carolina?” he asked hopefully.

    Peter just smiled and winked, “Ya’ll will just have to mosie on down sometime and see for yourself.”

   Gray soon fell under Peter’s expansive charm, listening raptly as Peter spun spooky tales of family ghosts and legends, and the stars came out to listen too.

* * *

     As good romances do — after a time, Peter’s and my love, became a mutual thing, to me a kind of teeter-toter -- a shifting scale, where who loves more and how goes up an down, and in and out… Take that as you will!

   As far as the bedroom goes, when we finally got there...well there were surprises there too.

   You have heard of a power bottom — Well, I’m a meek top! Meek but intense! Maybe not so meek anymore, as Peter and I - after a lot of romantic kissing and many glasses of wine had a break though…a sexual adventure leading to new horizons for both of us….

  With Peters huge naked body spread out face down beneath me, my knees wedged between his thick thighs, his smooth landscape of skin for me to explore, I felt I was a miner about to stake my claim with my iron hard pickax...the deep dark goldmine of pleasure in the dark crevasse between his butt cheeks was waiting. I stuck my index finger in my mouth to wet it, then slowly brought it to Peters quivering opening then carefully inched it inside the hot tightness of his hole. He let out a deep moan, which increased the deeper I delved into his ass.

   As my finger went in and out gaining rhythmic momentum Peter’s moan found a rhythm too, “Ah-ah-ah-aaaah,” his low bass moans of pleasure vibrated as my fingers throbbed in and out...When I made it two fingers, thicker, stiffer, stuffing in his opening. His fine strong ass bucked and his moaning increased.

    “Oooooh gawd,” Peter gasped.

   “You act like you’ve never been fucked before...” I whispered out loud wonderingly. He was much older I assumed he’d done much more then me.

   His broad shoulders, narrow hips and long legs beckoned me to possess every inch of him, to conquer this man mountain. I was suddenly overtaken by a dark sensuality suddenly I was the master!

   In my mind I became the strong handsome Steerforth about to teach young worshipful David Copperfield something wonderful - young Copperfield had wanted to give himself up to masterful Steerforth!

   And beneath me, my lover Peter was giving himself up to me, surrendering his resistance to submission... Within me I felt I was finally finding my greatest pleasure - my truest role as I now topped my man, feeling I was truly making him mine, joining us as one as my thrusting prick eased in the incredible tightness, penetrating deep into the resisting flesh, feeling him begin to relax and give in and give it up as my thrusting increased! My rigid cock throttled and tantalized Peter’s increasingly willing ass…

   “Breathe, breethe deep and relax,” I urged, as I tried to hold back my pace.

    “Ooooh Lover, you feel so big inside me! I can’t take it... I don’t think I can take it...” he whimpered beneath me, as I pounded hard and furiously.

    I slowed, pulled out slowly, the began to ease gently back into him again, encouraging. “Yes, you can, there you go lover, take it. Take it all, take it deep, that’s it....Go with it.”

    Even as he began to moan again I could feel he was relaxing into it, as my top sparked his prostate sparking it alight over and over Peter’s voice filled with pleasurable groans.

    Soon I was pounding in penetrating ever deeper harder faster!  Under me he was calling out begging me to ride him! My prick galloped inside him, as I coursed down the sexual racetrack of big gorgeous body until we both splashed across the finish line spurting hot wet and exhausted. I felt like I’d won the derby and Peters curvaceous bottom was my stallions prize. I certainly had made Pete whiney, buck and snort! And I could hardly wait to ride him again now that my naked steed was broken in!

    “You are amazing,” my lover gasped astonished, “I’m glad I waited until now for you to be the one to take my ass,” Peter was glassy eyed and had a stunned grin on his face, and I intend to keep it there!

  Miraculously, I no longer felt like a meek gothic governesses on the moor - I was now Heathcliff !

* * *

    My stranger from the beach is still a mystery to me, as is waking up in this big beautiful beach house Peter insisted on buying got us.

   I still don’t know all his secrets, but I know these truths; that Peter needs me, that he loves me…

    At the end of Jane Eyre she shows her abiding strength and Rochester allows himself to be cared for... 

    People assume because I can appear quiet and shy that I am more submissive, (probably a bottom…) whereas people might be surprised to learn, for all Peter’s big outward manly show and need for control to the outside world…Behind closed doors, he needs a few drinks, then he relaxes out of his masterful persona — wanting me to take control of our private lives.

   Secretly I am thrilled to rock his world at night, as our roles reverse when alone...

  Peter Smithson is my gay stud stallion to mount and ride, his sexy thoroughbred ass and fine foxy mouth are mine to pleasure us both. There are those time when we go end to end - head to toe - top to bottom in a sixty-nine and suck each other at the same time, completing a circle of pleasuring each other! And there will be more possibilities…

   Sometime maybe Gray and Mark might even join us in some new love games. Anything seems possible to me now…

   I do love him now, my mysterious stranger, and I love that in private Peter allows his sun to set…he whispers to me that I am his moonlight, his quietly masterful moonlight.

    Now, we walk on the beach together.

Copyright © 2021 by James Talbot

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Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

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Cover Design: Guy Veryzer

Photos: Pixabay.com