Chapter 2

Paul Harris held the paint brush in midair, squinted from the sun, and studied the canvas in front of him. He was getting it, he thought. It was really quite a beautiful study. He'd captured the youth beautifully. His eyes scanned down the hill overlooking the motel. The naked boy hadn't stirred in over twenty minutes. If he would only remain still that way Paul thought for sure he could complete the painting today. What a stroke of luck having a subject enclosed in the motel's private patio that adjoined the guest room. It was rare that anyone used these patios. Most of the guys who came to Laguna Beach preferred the pool or the beach area where they could mingle freely with the crowd. But this Adonis, for some reason, chose seclusion.

Paul felt the blood rush to his cock. The boy was extremely handsome; thick jet black hair, broad shoulders, long graceful legs below an incredibly narrow waist. He was deeply tanned, but the color was a rust, a copper; he'd never seen a tan quite like this boy's. And those lips, he thought, those beautiful, full, sensuous lips, and that straight, strong, firm jaw. He'd caught all of that on canvas, and now he was working on the boy's thighs. His eyes locked between the boy's spread legs, at the dark, wiry thicket of hair. He could clearly see the thick, circumcised cock. It was nearly as big as his own. Of course, it was limp, and it was hard to tell what it would look like with an erection, but Paul was more than sure it would stretch to at least eight inches, perhaps more.

He touched the brush to the canvas, made a circle, then carefully filled it in with black paint. He made wide strokes of the oil, then jabbed the brush in. He smiled. Looks just like black, curly, pubic hair. Again he jabbed his brush into the canvas; each time he did the brush spread out and made curly designs. His eyes returned to the youthful body and scanned the boy's legs, stopping at his crotch. He paused and leaned back against the tree. "Good Christ," he whispered, eyeing the boy's testicles. They hung loosely between his spread thighs, warmed by the hot sun, the well-shaped, limp member lazily resting to the side against his muscular inner thigh. "Too much," he sighed, running his hand through his thick head of blond hair. "Too goddamn much!"

He put the brush aside and wiped his hands against his Levi's. With veiled eyes, he stared, thinking of what he'd like to do to the young boy.

First, of course, he'd get that young dick nice and hard-real hard by playing with it, feeling the head, outlining it with his fingers; all the time kissing him. Then he'd take those gorgeous lips and force his tongue past the hard teeth and into the warm wetness of his mouth. Then he'd bite down gently on his tongue and savor the kid's sweet taste. Then he'd push his own cock against the boy's belly and lean down and nip at those brown nipples. Man, I would drive that young kid crazy-and I'm just the guy to do it. Then he'd wash the kid's navel with his tongue and sink his lips into that black, curly forest. It probably smelled good, oily with a sweetly masculine scent. And that cock, it must smell only like a young dick could smell. Then he'd lick the big balls, run his tongue around the base of that gorgeous cock, swirl his tongue madly over and around the blood-filled head. ... Jezuz ... I can almost taste that young cock in my mouth right now.

Paul got to his feet feeling the tightness in his throat and chest. The stirring in his groins made his head spin. "Hell," he mumbled, "he's too fucking much!" He picked up the brush and was about to paint some more when he decided not to. He threw down the brush and returned to the house.

Paul Harris's place was a small, one-bedroom bungalow. The living room was the largest room and contained a fireplace and shelves stocked with books, most of them paperbacks. Paintings crowded the walls from top to bottom, mostly canvases Paul had painted. The furniture consisted of a long couch, which contained a hideaway bed, a coffee table, an early-American rocker, a wicker chair, and a milking stool. There was a color television set in the comer of the room, with huge rubber plants sitting in large earthen jars on either side of the set. The bedroom was tiny and housed a double bed, a bureau, a desk and chair. One entire wall was mirrored, as was the ceiling. Paul had done it himself. It was a bad job. Most of the gold-tinted squares of mirrors had been unevenly placed and much of the underceiling and wall showed through. A huge oil of a naked boy holding a bow and arrow dominated the wall facing the bed. The kitchen was narrow, small, dark, and even with just the refrigerator, stove, and sink it was overcrowded. He paid 95 dollars a month for this.

Paul poured himself a glass of beer and drank it down. He opened another can, then walked to the window and looked out. The boy was still there. Paul frowned, for suddenly the lad raised himself from the chaise lounge and turned over on his stomach. Was it Paul's imagination or did the boy look up without hesitation to the spot he'd just left? Paul continued to watch. Yes, the boy was staring up. Paul's breath caught in his throat. The boy had known all along that he was being watched, being used as a model.

Again the boy looked up, his eyes drifting to the easel, then to the house, looking for the painter. Suddenly he got to his feet and walked to the fence for a better look.

Paul swallowed hard. Okay, he thought, two can play at the same game. Obviously this kid was looking for it. Well, he'd found the right guy. Paul finished the beer, then quickly got out of his clothes and threw them down on top of the bed. He looked at his nakedness in the mirror. He knew he was good-looking and he knew he had a good body. Lately it'd been difficult getting the young ones, the tricks he liked. When there was the possibility of getting one, it made him so excited that he felt himself dripping. Naked, he returned outside to the easel under the tree. Without looking down at the boy he took a cigarette from the pack on the patio table, lit it, then leaned back against the tree, showing his body, all six feet of it, to good advantage.

From the comer of his eye he could see the boy looking up. Paul's heart pounded hard, and he found it difficult to breathe. He turned his head slightly and looked down the forty-foot drop to the boy. He could feel his cock, which hung far down his inner thighs, begin to spring to life. The passionate longing for the boy was almost unbearable.

The next instant, they turned full face to each other and frankly examined each other's body. The boy's cock thickened and rose in little jerks. It was a big one all right, thought Paul, his own cock beginning a convulsive rhythm of its own. Now there was no need to play games.

He walked closer to the edge of the hill, aware of his own throbbing cock standing out full and straight from his body. He looked down and ran his tongue over his lips, staring hard at the boy's massive erection. Their eyes met and held. Then quickly the boy turned and disappeared into the motel room. Moments later he reappeared wearing bathing trunks. He unlocked the wooden gate which led to the pool area, looked around, and, seeing he was not being watched, climbed over the wooden fence.

Paul watched him climb the hill inch by inch, his eyes glittering expectantly. In moments the boy had managed to come up to him, then, without a word, looked at the canvas. He studied it for a long while, then turned and said, "Pretty good."

Paul smiled. "Glad you like it," he said. "Think it resembles you?"

"I guess. But you haven't finished it, have you?" he said, looking at the canvas.

"No, I've not quite gotten your cock," he whispered. He felt the blood quickening in his loins; the boy's erection under the trunks was quite apparent. To hell with it, he thought, what've I got to lose. Then he said, "I'll bet that tastes as good as it looks," his eyes fastened to the boy's crotch.

The young man stared eagerly at Paul's erection. "I do that to you?" he asked.

"Hell, yeah," Paul quickly replied.

The boy's lips parted in a smile. "You really are one hot sonofagun, aren't ya?"

Paul made the first move. He went to the boy, leaned over, and brushed his lips across the boy's. "Yeah, kid, I'm hot, real hot-and you did it to me."

The boy swayed, then opened his mouth, asking to be kissed.

Paul's heart raced at the smell of the boy's maleness. Again he kissed him, this time with a firmer pressure, feeling the boy's lips part to make room for his tongue. He embraced the young man tightly, his great cock pushing into the boy's flat belly. He pulled back and smiled, took the kid's hand, and said, "Hey, my name's Paul."

"Rick," the boy whispered, his eyes glued to Paul's hardness.

Paul laughed. "What a time to stop for introductions," he said.

"Why stop," the other whispered, then suddenly sprang forward and fell to his knees. He opened his mouth and took Paul's cock.

Paul groaned and swayed at the feel of the warm mouth over his shaft, the smooth tongue swirling, the full lips wetly sliding up and down the length of his rod. He stared down with glazed eyes at the bobbing head. "Suck, baby, suck it good," he said, his hands shooting down to caress Rick's head. He heard the boy struggle for breath. "Oh, man, like that, yeah, like that," Paul cried out, falling back against the tree. His hips made a slight movement, and he shoved his dick deeper into the boy. He heard Rick gag, pull back, swallow hard, then continue his sucking. Paul felt himself being sucked further into Rick's mouth, he sighed, felt himself tremble. The boy was making a feast of his cock and he felt himself near-damn near. His fingers tightened around Rick's hair and he moaned, "No, Rick, don't-no more-I don't want to come yet!"

The boy stopped sucking, pulled away, and shot Paul a look.

"You, Rick," Paul whispered. "You now."

Rick lowered his trunks, revealing the texture of his thighs that was burnished from the sun. Paul stared hard, his heart wildly pounding as he saw more and more of Rick's huge erection. Finally the trunks fell to the boy's ankles and Paul saw the released cock spring forward. Up closer it was even more beautiful. God, thought Paul, it's the most perfectly shaped whang I've ever seen. I couldn't catch that on canvas if I tried. It was enormous, far bigger than his own. The head was a deep crimson, smooth and swollen and throbbing impatiently. Paul got to his knees, reached behind, and grasped Rick's small, firm buttocks, bringing him closer. The boy's gorgeous cock almost touched Paul's lips. Paul felt his hands trembling. He'd never held such a beautiful boy in his arms before. This lad was perfection, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. He tilted his head, leaned down, and took Rick's big balls in his mouth. Pounding waves of ecstasy shot through him at the feel of the young spheres on the heat of his anxious tongue. He tasted of them, feeling his own cock swell almost to bursting, then released his hold on them, anxious for Rick's penis. He brought the thick meat to his mouth and kissed the smooth head, then rolled the throbbing hot flesh over his face, feeling dizzy at the marvelous scent that hit his nostrils. Cock-young, clean, hot cock. There is absolutely nothing like it in the whole goddamn world. A drop of sticky clear fluid dripped from the penis to his lips. His tongue darted out and licked it clean.

He looked up at the boy, saw his eyes closed in ecstasy, then heard him say something. He didn't quite hear. "What, baby?" he asked.

The young Adonis said it again. "Fuck me. God, fuck me!"

Paul's hands reached behind the boy, his palms sliding over the smooth curves of the young buttocks. Not a blemish on that silky flesh, he thought, the smoothest, firmest, loveliest ass I've ever touched and he's asking me begging me to fuck it. "All right, baby. I'll fuck you," he whispered. Rising, he quickly disappeared into the house and came out with a jar. He unscrewed the top, dug his finger into the vaseline and applied it to the boy's tiny asshole, his finger running around it, then slowly making its way inside. He's tight, Paul thought, tight as a pencil sharpener!

"Out here?" the boy asked.

"Yeah. It's okay. Nobody will be able to see us when we get low on the ground. Besides, the bushes will hide us." He applied a bit of the vaseline to the head of the boy's cock then screwed the top back on and put it aside. He took hold of Rick's hand and led him to the bushes a few feet away. "You've got the nicest buns," he told him. "God, I love a good ass. You'll always have a nice one even when you're older. Some people are built like that."

"You're not bad yourself," Rick told him. "You've got a good body."

"Lie down on the grass," Paul directed. "On your stomach. I want to look at that cute butt."

Rick did as he was told.

Paul spread the boy's legs, then got down on his knees. He leaned forward and kissed the soft, firm flesh. "You like to be fucked?" he asked.

"I don't know. I-I never have before."

"Oh? Then what makes you think you're going to like it?"

"You!" the boy answered.

Paul smiled. "You'll like it. I'll be easy on you."

He fell heavily on top of Rick, feeling the rounded buttocks give against his belly. He ran his hand over the broad, hard-muscled back of the boy. Then he took his organ and guided it to the boy's buttocks.

"Maybe-maybe I better not," Rick said, suddenly pulling away.

"Shh!" Paul whispered. "Relax, handsome. You'll love my cock; it'll feel real good in you. Believe me you'll like it. You'll find it's the greatest thing that could ever happen to you." He put his cock to the boy's opening. Gently he guided it and sunk it in.

Rick reared back and Paul held himself still until he felt the boy relax; then with a powerful thrust he sent his cock forward between the twin mounds of white flesh. A rapture spread through Paul as he felt the tight-muscled ass against the throbbing head of his cock.

The boy screamed from the excruciating pain and tried to throw Paul off his back, but Paul thrust forward again, sending his unrelenting hardness even deeper into the boy's tight ass. The youth twisted his head to the side, and Paul could see the eyes pressed tightly closed, the teeth biting down on his lower lip. He stopped his movements long enough for the kid to get a grip on himself. When he saw Rick's face relax, he moved his hips again. Now his body began to writhe, his little ass moving busily under Paul's hips, his young cock rubbing hard against the green grass.

Paul kept a steady pace, rising and lowering, thrusting and pulling. The boy moaned in momentary pain. Another lunge by Paul, and the young man grunted and tried to match Paul's movements by throwing his ass high up into the air hard onto that driving, penetrating cock. Paul could feel his cock swell within the boy's tight hole; he thought he would go mad with the pleasure of it. Now Rick was slamming his buttocks hard against Paul's abdomen. He heard his cock make wet sucking sounds as it plunged deep and hard into Rick's ass. He began to whimper as he ground his hips hard against the moving ass and felt himself explode then pour endlessly into the boy. Quickly his hand disappeared under the youth. The moment he grasped the pulsating organ, he heard Rick groan, felt his cock jerk and his hot seed spurt in his hand.

With a groan of exhausted satisfaction, Paul fell to the side of the boy and rolled onto his back. He watched the kid, his face buried in the soft grass, the big shoulders moving as he sucked in big mouthfuls of air. Gently he reached for him and turned him over on his back. He leaned forward and ran his tongue over the heaving, sweaty chest as his hand fondled the thick black hair. He moved closer to the boy and wrapped his arms around him.

"Your ass will be sore, but not for long," he said.

The boy said nothing. He appeared disappointed that it was over. Paul didn't know why he asked the question, but he did. "Tell me," he whispered as he cradled the boy's head. "Was this really the first time you've been fucked?"

"Yes," the boy breathed.

"I see," Paul said quietly. "Where you from? "

"Los Angeles."

"Live at home?"

"With my mother." His voice was bitter. "How old are you?"

"Nineteen," he answered. "You?"

Paul coughed. "Twenty-five," he said hoping the boy didn't think he looked the thirty he was. "Why," Paul asked, "did you want me to fuck you?"

"Because," he replied, "I wanted to find out how it felt." He hesitated, then added, "I never sucked a cock before, either." Then, with a look of embarrassment, he reached over, took a cigarette from Paul's pack, and lit it.

"And mine was the very first?" Paul asked.

"Yes."

"Then you've-never had a man before-ever?"

"No," he answered, quietly exhaling a cloud of smoke, "never before."

Paul shivered. A thrilling wave of pleasure raced up and down his spine. He leaned on an elbow and stared into the young man's face. "You were wonderful," he whispered.

"You mean I know how to suck and take it up the ass?" the boy asked almost harshly.

"Well-uh-yeah," Paul said.

The dark-haired boy seemed undecided in his discovery of homosexual love. One moment he seemed relaxed and talkative, the next he grew sullen and morose with a bitter sound in his voice. Then, like now, there appeared a glint of a smile in his eyes.

Paul remained silent, studying the incredibly handsome face. There was the smell of the ocean in the cool, clean wind that passed, combined with the exciting scent of the boy and his wanting. He glanced down and saw that the boy was getting a new erection. Surprised, he looked into the young man's face. There was absolutely no mistaking the look of lustful desire he saw there.

"When I'm through with this cigarette," Rick said, "I want you to fuck me again!"

Maybe it was because he'd confessed so openly, had answered Paul's questions so frankly, or was there a deep sense of loneliness and isolation that seemed to possess him? Maybe it was the fierce urgency in the voice, or perhaps the strong, incessant physical need Paul instinctively felt from the boy. Whatever it was Paul suddenly felt sorry for him. He lay quietly on his side and watched Rick smoke, then reached up and placed his hand on the boy's shoulder and squeezed it gently in silent sympathy and understanding. The boy's eyes met his and held, and in that one split mini-second, Paul Harris knew that Rick was not merely a passing stranger who'd given him his body so readily and whom he'd never see again. No. There would be more with this beautiful boy ... much more!

Paul slipped his arm around Rick's waist, reached out with his other hand and ruffled the boy's hair. His eyes held affectionately to Rick's lips. "Okay, baby," Paul whispered, "I'll do anything you want if it'll make you happy."

Paul felt Rick's arms encircle him, and his cock began to swell as he heard the boy's urgent whisper, "Then fuck me, now!"