The summer job riding a lifeguard chair on the Ocean City beach in Delaware didn’t pay as much as Max could make almost anywhere else, but he did it for the boy tail--for boys happy to ride a lifeguard’s cock. He liked breaking in boys that were on the cusp of developing into men--so fourteen-year-olds, mostly--and they came to him on the beach in droves. He didn’t even have to strip them much; most of them pranced around in skimpy Speedos. And enough of them were so taken with hunky lifeguards and the interest in summer adventure that they would lay down and open their legs on a sand dune at night to one who asked them nicely to do so that the effort of seduction was worthwhile.
It was thus with Amir, so was Max’s last conquest of several for the summer season, and who proved not to be quite as innocent as Max thought--but every bit as enjoyable as the hunky lifeguard could want. Yeah, he was too young to pursue, but the risk was a lot of why pursuing, catching, and spiking him was so satisfying.
“Shit,” Max exclaimed, as he shucked his athletic T, slithered down the ladder of the lifeguard stand, raced to the water, and dove into the breakers. When had the little fuck gone into the water? ran through his mind as he knifed through the ocean toward the flailing arms.
He couldn’t watch the guy all day. Or, he certainly could have, but he wouldn’t be doing his job if he did--and he’d pretty obviously be showing his interest.
The young guy had come with a family in the early afternoon. Max didn’t know if they were Jewish or Arab, but what he did know was that they all were strikingly good looking. Well, except for the ones who appeared to be granddad and grandma. But granddad wasn’t too bad looking. A little chunky, but more solid than fat, and with a prodigious bush of salt and pepper hair on his chest. Grandma was short and rotund, but ever smiling, and even with her, Max could tell there had been beauty passed on from there. The father was imposing and the mother looked like a model. So did the rest of the brood--three young men and a young woman, who was so obviously the pride of the family that there always was one senior member of the family or other nearby, ever watchful.
They didn’t know enough about beaches, though, not to trust the lifeguard.
Even though she was a raven-haired beauty with a great figure, the daughter wasn’t the one who had held Max’s attention. It was the middle son, who looked to be about fourteen--so, just right. The older one, though handsome, was swarthy and looked world wise. Too old for Max, for certain--and wary and no evidence that he was approachable. If he was approachable, he’d probably already been approached and laid. He probably was eighteen or nineteen, but that definitely made him too old for Max. Max liked them fresh and young, and in his role as a lifeguard on the Ocean City ten-mile stretch of beach, he pretty much had his pick of the fresh ones.
Max didn’t absolutely have to be the first, but he wanted to be near enough and got a high out of initiating. He did want them willing, though--certainly at first and reluctant only when they realized what they faced. Eventually yielding and then going with the rhythm.
And he definitely wanted them satisfied with him enough not to make trouble for him afterward. That was trickier than it might seem.
The younger son was much too young. preteen, certainly, but he was beautiful, with a berry-brown, lithe body; a mop of dark curls; a generous, smiling mouth; and stark-blue eyes. In a couple of years, if the family came back to the beach. ... and Max certainly hoped they would, he maybe pluck that one off the cherry tree. Something to look forward to and anticipate. He’d had one or two of those. Three summers of ripening for him as he teased and joked with them on the beach, the jests becoming increasingly intimate, and then just falling off the tree and into his lap--and onto his cock.
The middle son had all of the attributes of the younger one, with the exception that he had a more mature body and was forming a well-defined musculature. And he was ripe for it, obviously becoming aware that he was a sexual being--looking around, his eyes so often lingering on Max. In Max’s experienced eyes, it seemed likely that the boy wanted it. Just about to fall out of the cherry tree and into someone’s lap. Max didn’t know why it shouldn’t be him.
Whenever Max could manage to turn an eye on the family grouping, which had taken over a section of the beach not more than forty feet from his stand and just a bit closer to the water, Max caught the middle son eying the men walking parallel to the surf. He watched the well-built ones more closely than any of the others. Shapely women in bikinis didn’t seem to have any effect on his interest. Men in bikinis who wore them well--which was almost impossible to do--held his attention the longest.
This was twenty-four-year-old Max’s sixth year on the beach as a lifeguard. He’d learned to gauge the signs. The question was whether the young man realized what he was interested in getting. That and how experienced he was. Max liked them fresh.
There didn’t seem much question that the middle son was interested in Max too, and Max did what he could to milk that. When he caught, out of the corner of his eye, the young man looking up at his stand, he suddenly had the urge to stretch and stood on the stand, flexing his muscles and working out the kinks.
Most of the family packed up and left before 4:00 p.m., and Max was disappointed to see them go. But when the hustle and bustle cleared of picking up all of the gear and struggling through the loose sand on the path across the dunes to a tall condo opposite the ocean, the middle son was still there, sitting on his towel, and looking out to sea. Max could have been convinced that the boy was posing. He was wearing an electric-blue Speedo. He could have worn a bikini and brought it off well--even a micro pouch. Max could wear a micro pouch and bring it off well, to his pride--and sometimes did in the privacy of his home when he entertained a boy he’d snared. But other than that the boy was all young, sleek, bronzed body and a black, curly mop of head hair.
Max wanted to believe that the boy had remained to make a connection with him, but there was no move to do so--unless having swum out beyond the surf and quickly exhausted himself so that all he could do was flail his arms in a call for help was his way of making a connection.
And maybe it was, Max later thought, when he was trying to justify having taken advantage of him and possibly wrecking him for any other choices in life.
He reached the boy man easily, and held him close, dog paddling, until the lad calmed down a bit. They both were breathing hard, possibly neither wholly from the exertion of the swim, and Max made no effort to hide in that close hold that he was hard. If the boy realized that, he certainly didn’t seem to shrink from it, which Max saw as a favorable sign.
When they got back to the beach, though, with the boy draped on Max’s back and hanging on tight--and was that an erection he was sporting too, Max wondered--the boy thanked him for the assist, with great embarrassment, but he didn’t linger. He grabbed up his towel, raced up the beach on slender legs, and disappeared over the top of the dune and into an entrance into the nearest condo building.
“He’ll be back tomorrow,” Max muttered, trying to assure himself that the boy’s embarrassment was a sign of inexperience rather than rejection.
Max didn’t have to wait as long as for the next day on the beach.
He went out cruising on the Ocean City boardwalk that evening. There wasn’t much action in Ocean City--the powers that be discouraged it, wanting this to be a family beach--but what cruising action there was would congregate on the boardwalk down near the inlet and would only subtly signal interest and availability.
Max was horny following the ocean rescue of that young Middle Eastern guy and was on the prowl. He hit pay dirt when he glanced into one of the penny arcades fronting on the boardwalk and saw the very same luscious boy man playing a pinball machine. Not one to miss his chances, he sauntered up to the lad. “Having any luck?”
“I think these machines are rigged,” the boy guy said.
It was all Max could do to keep from rolling his eyes. Could a guy get more naïve, he wondered. But he couldn’t deny that the boy’s naiveté turned him on, and he felt himself go hard. He was determined to make a try on this sweet piece of tail. It could be that the boy was putting him on, but if he was flirting with him, that must mean he was interested.
“You might not remember me,” he said. “My name is Max. I was on the lifeguard stand out on the beach today.”
“Of course I remember you,” the boy said quickly. “How could I forget you? You saved my life. Uh, my name is Amir.”
“Amir? Where does that name come from? You from Israel? When was that name popular to give a guy?”
“Hardly from Israel,” Amir said, with a little laugh. “I’m from the Bronx. But my family’s originally from Lebanon. Second-generation American, though. I was born in the Bronx.”
“Born in the Bronx? Before the Bronx zoo was renovated?” Max was asking a different question, and Amir seemed to be aware he was.
“Yeah, fourteen years ago.”
Satisfied with that answer, and even more satisfied that the boy man seemed savvy enough to be going willingly with the pitch, Max doubled back. “Lebanon? But from the Bronx?”
.... There is more of this story ...