Gay Mansion - Michael Hunt - Bog

The footsteps shuffled with a gritty echo over the cold cement and came to rest before the tile edged porcelain trough. The heavy hands with stubby fingers mechanically eased the metal buttons out of their holes, and reached in to pull it out... balls and all. As the yellow stream cascaded forth from that fountain and splashed into the long trough, the youthful owner rubbed his hands up a bronzed belly, caressed his navel, more firmly stroked the pectoral muscles. Then, with hands gripped behind his neck, the tapered back arched forth with a slight undulating action to coax the last trickle of moisture from his male spigot. The stubby hands took the return trip back down that sensual muscular structure, firm skin, leaves of tiny hair, till one hand softly fingered that area just beneath the navel, while the other hand gripped about IT to make certain all the liquid was drained. Then those fingers scratched at the sac beneath that now seemed a bit irritated from the mixture of sand, salt air and the returned flow of blood after being so tightly bound in the form fitting tightness of the faded levis. The men's room was uninhabited, so the youth leisurely stretched again as his bountiful appendage hung freely from its cloth cage. The sun had reflected glass-like off the water, off the sand. It took a few moments for the vivid blue eyes to adjust to the briefly lit cement block building. At length those same eyes were able to focus on the hieroglyphic scrawls eye level above the porcelain trough. Some of the inscriptions were just plain vulgar, others quaint, still others down right clever... a few pathetically sad... but one invitation practically leaped off the wall into the immediate consciousness of the beholder: "Fun for young men of pleasure... two miles south down the beach." The shuffling sound of sandy footsteps heralded the approach of an intruder. Jock returned his dangling part into the confines of his jeans, placing IT into position. As a shadow blotted daylight from the doorway, the last button snapped into place. Jock felt self-conscious at the intruder's presence, and quickly left the shadowed area to return to the late afternoon sun. There was a chill in the mid March air. Jock's skin tightened with a prickly salting of sand. He shielded his eyes and surveyed the naked beach as far as he could see in either direction of the California coast line. He strolled out toward the water, then started to jog south. A thunderous roar penetrated the distance. Jock shaded his eyes as he instinctively looked up for a low flying plane. The crisp blue sky revealed no foreign objects... not even a cloud. The roar crescendoed with a spurt of violent power, then vanished into a far distant whisper and into nothing. Jock removed his sandals and bounced down the beach like a playful pup on an exploratory quest.