Dean sharpe was rolling. His usual reluctance to talk sex with strangers was fading away with the daylight…I ramble as explicit as possible to see what might happen, like bending the switch of oak to breaking point…and finally I was called on my cunning by the gymnast who deftly dared me to run the length of the dock in nothing but my skin with a very public audience of those present plus the boys at the bar who watched with Marlon our every move...having a certain tenacity and tendency towards drunk and disorderly conduct, I ,without thought of injury, peeled down to nada and bared my half hard cock & peeled down the dock at full sprint laughing laughing laughing…a merry sprint and damn if I wasn’t fast too, all drunk and nekkid, with that unfortunate piece of ham slashing back and forth on the thighs…and that had everyone in glee stitches and laughter, accumulating this quite rare experience, not remembering that pain is inherent in the process of accumulation…quite really all I was giving them in long-hand was later pain for these moments of inebriated slippage…I got back and re-clothed and we spit our drinks in merriment…
Not ten minutes later Sharpe humming “whatsoever thy hand findeth to do” was up and walking off with le gymnaste down the beach on a slow jog, arm around and head tucked in like old Santa Monica birds towing a fifties evening stroll and Candy staring at me with those big eyes…We know so little of each other but the ease of my rum tongue so fantastic in its hinges up and down and stuck out with gesture and fodder talk...god damn it was time for the language of courtly love and time to bring myself closer to Candy which she must’ve felt too and we slid into our own opposite direction saunter arm in arm...and be pleased it was only a few steps into it and she had made for my mouth with hers, skin pretty as snow, and we made solid the inevitability of tomorrow night’s fucking…Sharpe was back from his saunter, and it was clear we had a plan for the morrow night…we wandered back to the bar at Mata Chica as we had reached the curfew of our 10 year jun¬ior little virgins...so we fled after feeling up the girls a little during farewell like seven and sevens and two great streaks in craps. Dean guided us safely back to the compound where we swapped stories and dreamed of top brass before going to bed sloshed and all grinned up...
-Michael Price
