The Sand & the Keyhole Ch. 01

"Awake on my airplane, awake on my airplane
My skin is bare, my skin is theirs."
- Filter

Chapter I:

He was like the child that refused to color within the lines, no matter what contours his teacher gave him. His body lumbered from one side to the other of the long straight gravel path. A random bird caught his attention on one side of the trail and a chipmunk on the other as we walked between two high walls of old maple trees. I might say he dragged me to this mosquito infested backwoods, on one of the hottest days of the summer, to walk a mile and watch him indulge in one of his libertine escapades, but I'd be lying. As much as I found the idea of the beach repulsive, I followed him because I wanted an excuse to see his naked body. I had seen it before in passing, but never sprawled out on a river bank, absorbing the blistering sun. I wore dark sunglasses so I could lay on the dunes and study him without being conspicuous. He probably wanted to come here to indulge in one of his lurid perversions, but strangely he seemed more interested with the ecology of the Wisconsin pines than with the young college kids, holding their beach towels with beer logos on them and inflated inner tubes. A handsome pair of young men meandered on the path in front of us. They walked slower than us, smiling and laughing, though I couldn't make out their conversation. He seemed not to notice them. He probably wouldn't notice me either, even after I had taken off my clothes. My sculpted body seemed to him strangely invisible, no matter how many years I worked my ass off to make him attracted to me.

He gently swiped an inquisitive bee from his coarse brown beard with his thick hand, like an annoyed bear invading a hive for honey. His obliviousness to his own attractiveness annoyed me, but I knew it was part of the reason I lusted after him. As a lawyer, I always got what I want. I had him as my hot friend. Guys stared at us as we walked. But he would never look at me, with his piercing hazel eyes, like I always wished he would. He would never lust after me and moan as he used my willing body. Instead, I would sit on the sidelines with a mix of titillation and anger as he'd fuck any poor yokel that fell prey to his innate charms. The locals were so easily disarmed by his seemingly childish innocence, though it was mixed with a dangerous intelligence. Sometimes I wished I was just a simple local, and then maybe he'd use me, but no. I was just the Platonic friend.

Passing a weathered wooden sign, I turned to read its simple message on the back. "No nudity beyond this point. The Friends of Mazo thank you." I had never felt like such a good person for having clothes on at that moment. But now we had passed the invisible line of discretion, and I imagined I would be forced to take off my clothes as we approached the sunny shore. And he would shed his clothes as well. The disgust at my misplaced attraction excited my body. In the distance I could hear the sound of a small crowd splashing, surely bare in the shallow river. As my body became aroused, I felt more disgust, and thought of civilized sex in the comfort of my condo in a bed with sheets back in the city.

A good half-mile from the gravel parking lot, we were now out of view from any confused cars on the closest road. I left my doctor-friend to continue to his silent communion with nature, while my attention turned in front of us, where the straight gravel path sloped downward toward Mazo beach. The beach was hidden through the small dunes and the birch trees that seems to be at home along the sandier soil. Several hundred feet in front of us, I could see the shapely backsides of the two young men in front of us. I imagined they were recently out of school and looking forward to male bonding, by exposing their young dicks to the women, topless and waist-deep, in the cool waters of the Wisconsin river. It wasn't an unpleasant thought.

Their round ass cheeks seemed to move slightly back and forth in unison as they led us down to the waterfront. They were naturally thin and muscular, as many guys were at that prime age. With hardly a thought, the one with the broader shoulders reached down and pulled his black mesh shorts off in a single gesture. There were no underwear beneath.

He stepped his sandaled feet through his shorts and removed them without missing a step, as if he were some bird exploding out of a now useless shell and flying off in the breeze to enjoy its new found freedom. The ass was well-defined and had a small amount of dark ginger hair covering its generous curve. After a few steps I could see beneath his perfect butt and noticed that the head of his cock swung considerably with each footstep. It hung well past his balls and smacked one thigh after another as he walked. I was happy with my own size, but I smiled at the thought of having a dick like his, a dick that would turn heads the moment he left the forest trail and walked onto the degenerate beach.

His faded t-shirt remained on, so my attention couldn't help but be pulled back to his bare lower half. He was joking with his friend as he looked down at his own penis, shaking it jokingly with his hand. The two laughed randomly but I still couldn't hear any words. My now aroused mind filled in their conversation with all types of possibilities. When their faces were in profile, I could see their patchy stubble and unrefined smiles. They were just simple locals, probably out of class for the summer, with nothing better to do than lay naked on the bank of a river. The one on the left had short ginger stubble and a shaved head. With his pants removed it was clear he had hardly any fat on his body, as if puberty had catapulted him to a new height. His muscles were not huge, but perfectly defined, almost chiseled from his skinny mold. He had a spider-web tattoo that covered the back of his hand, extending over the thumb. His ears were pierced and the holes were stretched. Right above the line of his beard-stubble was another tattoo of a tear.

His friend was shorter, but had the same skinny adolescent, slightly clunky frame. His features were gentler, with buzzed black hair, and soft lips. As he pulled his shirt over his head, I saw his skin was darker, perhaps Mediterranean or Hispanic. Following the length of his spine and the imaginary line connecting his triceps was an enormous tattoo of an ornate Gothic cross with a rose wrapped around it. He wore the tattoo without irony. He was a redneck who worshiped Jesus by injecting ink into his back. Still, I wanted to reach out and touch his skin to feel the texture of the crucifix.

As they talked and joked, the ginger turned toward his friend, swinging his long cock in the process. He rubbed it jokingly against his friend's bathing suit as he gleefully swung it back and forth. His tanned friend pushed him back firmly with the palms of his hand and said through a smile, "Cut it out Kasey, you faggot." They turned the corner at the end of the long path to descend the last dune toward the beach. "Takes one to know one, Jay," Kasey replied as the trail curved and descended and they moved out of sight. I smiled as they seemed oblivious to the two real faggots following them, with, at least one of them, enjoying every moment of their homoerotic, frat-boy exchange.

Sweat covered my polo shirt by the time we made it to the end of the gravel at a small handicapped parking-lot. More experienced beach-goers had parked their bikes here on the rocks above the beach. I moaned internally at the idea of taking my clothes off in the backwoods of Wisconsin. I walked out through the small break in the trees, over the small sand dune, and down towards the shore of the river. The river traversed a deep ravine. We were surrounded by walls of greenery on both sides of the slow, wide current. I followed my friend, who eagerly set up his towel on the side of the beach where most of the single men laid out. I didn't like the concept of undressing, but I wasn't walking the mile back to the car without getting what I wanted.

I sat down on a towel as Murad undressed, standing, a few feet from me. Sometimes I wondered if he felt an evil pleasure out of teasing me with his body. Surely he knew how much I lusted after him. He said without a care, "Do you have suntan lotion for my balls?" as he pulled off his Timberwolves t-shirt. I looked up to give him an answer, trying to hold back my discomfort and trying to prevent getting an erection on the beach before having to undress.

"No, I thought your kind didn't need..." I tried to finish my politically-incorrect sentence, but as he was talking he pulled down his khaki short and underwear in one gesture. He had a thick cock that seemed to always be half-erect no matter what situation he was in. It bounced slightly in front of my face as he stepped out of his shorts. His smile didn't change. I didn't know if he was having fun with me or truly oblivious. A small drop of precum had formed on the tip of his dick, and I wanted to reach my tongue out and taste it for the first time. "...any. sun. tan. lotion."

He looked down at his dick with large hazel eyes. They had the same green and brown mix of the forest behind him. He seemed so much in his element here, like he was returned to his home planet, where apparently they found all sexual modesty a painful nuisance of less-enlightened Puritan society. "Oops," he said as he casually wiped off the drop of precum from the thick head and wiped it on his hairy thighs. He laughed as he sat cross-legged on his large beach towel. "Apparently I was thinking too much about those young boys' asses in front of us."

He smiled ear to ear as a sensation of relaxation rushed over him. He loved it here. I groaned internally. It was so typical of him to put his bare cock in front of my face and then immediately tell me about with his lust for other guys. Part of me wanted to punch him, but it was always drowned out by the deeper part of me that wanted him to fuck my asshole. I was ashamed that I lusted after someone who treated me like a throwaway friend. I knew one day he'd show some vulnerability, and I'd be beside him, waiting for him to let me relieve his stress, and he'd realize how right we were for each other.

He laid naked facing down on his towel as he rummaged through his canvas bike bag. The bag was stuffed full of random garbage that crinkled and clunked as he reached past all his pill bottles and crumpled books. The bag was a good representation of his brain; it was probably full of professorial brilliance somewhere, but strangely devoid of the tact and acculturation typical of his income level. I could hear zippers open and Velcro detaching and reattaching. His ass, which was inordinately wide and hairy, distracted my attention. It wiggled from side to side as he focused intently on his mission to find whatever it was he was looking for. He had a strong tan lines just above the crack and below the midline of his thighs as if he had worn the same pair of shorts all spring. He had a bit of coarse dark hair, similar to his beard, coating the large cheeks. The hair clustered more densely around the crack. I wanted to feel its softness against my beard.

An irony of existence is the fact that anger and disgust can be powerful aphrodisiacs. As I looked at his thick masculine body, my dick twitched beneath my thin bathing suit. Before anyone could notice, I rolled onto my chest to hold my dick in the down position. I slid off my shorts clumsily without revealing my front side to the beach. Now I stared up at the forest from which we emerged and felt the strange sensation of refreshing wind along my naked bottom.

I worked hard for a nice body. I wanted to be his muscled lover. I never ate carbs after eight pm and went to the gym four times a week. I wanted to be desirable, or at least, just once, for him to notice me. I was moderately wealthy and successful. I had six pack abs and an ass that had muscled dimples. I even grew a small beard against my best judgement because I knew how much he stared at a beautiful bearded face. I deserved his attention, but still nothing. It would only take time for him to realize what he wanted was right in front of him.

I took my shirt off and laid flat with my head to the side facing away from him. I spread my legs slightly so that he might be turned on by seeing into my muscled ass. I even held it slightly in the air so that I could feel the breeze against my hole. And there I just waited, imagining his eyes might glance at my body. One day I might feel his thick dick rubbing up against its eager curves.

"I found it," Murad declared after what seemed like an hour of rummaging. I could hear the distinctive sound of a flip-top opening on a bottle of suntan lotion and the soft sound of fluid being dispensed on his hand. I thought of the sound of the Wisconsin river with its gentle flow and the wind through the massive trees around us. At that moment, I was just another tree in the Upper Midwestern forest.

Murad was never mean to me. He spoke with respect and honesty. He just saw everything through the eyes of a child, like the smallest bug was a wondrous glory. It made me feel so insignificant. I felt so small lying in that ravine that day. I laid like a naked ape, with no lawyer clothes to distinguish me from the poor farmers and rednecks splashing around me in the waters.

My head jerked up as I was startled by the feeling of a cool, wet splash of fluid on my buttocks. I turned my head in confusion and saw Murad, naked and laughing under the cloudless sunshine. His body was glistening from the thick layer of suntan lotion he had applied all over his dark olive skin. He was dispensing more suntan lotion from the tube and rubbing it vigorously on his large, hairy balls. He stared at me with a mischievous grin and wide green eyes. I had seen that smile so many time, and it did lighten my heart, despite my constant frustration. I turned my head as close to 180 degrees as my neck would allow and saw a generous amount of suntan lotion shot onto my butt cheeks.

"You definitely need some protection there," he said with a child-like laugh. "Your ass is so white, I'm going to go blind looking at it."

His humor reminded me of the two college fraternity boys we had seen earlier. It was more fitting for someone of their age than a doctor. But part of me flushed inside knowing that he had looked at the ass I had worked so hard for him to notice. I allowed myself to imagine for a moment that he finally realized how much he wanted me. I imagined the suntan lotion was his cum and he was standing over me smiling and satisfied. I imagined he had finished fucking me in his unrefined and aggressive manner. He was always so full of oblivious confidence and unquestioning persistence to finish whatever his unique mind started. I imagined that my body had totally satisfied his every desire and he had pulled out of me, just to enjoy watching his thick ejaculate spray all over my grateful asshole.

I was used to playing games in the courtroom, and I rarely lost a case. If he was determined to get his ego-stoked by being a cock-tease, I could play at that game. I reached my hand back with a false grunt. "Sorry, this is silly," I said facetiously, "but my right shoulder is bugging me, I can't actually rub that lotion in, and I don't want people seeing a huge wad of white lotion on my behind."

"Oh sorry," he said and with no concern reached over palmed both of my cheeks. His hands were rough and firm, and fingers were short and thick. He was as graceful as a bear pawing honey from a hive as he rubbed the thick fluid into the skin of my ass. "I'll take care of it." I loved his touch as he took care of it, enjoying the rare moment his skin brushed against mine. I spread my cheeks a little further hoping he would take the bait and rub the lotion inside my crack. His fingers did reach inside but I could only feel a slight breeze on my hole as his strong hands circled it. A slightly cool drop of fluid did fall on my hole, and my whole body shook internally at the intensity of the interaction. I could feel my hole stretch and tighten as he made wide circles on my skin with both hands firmly pressed against my glutes. I wanted to open for him. I wanted to feel his finger graze against me. I wanted him to touch me everywhere like a sex object wanting to be used. My body felt as if it were designed to receive him and please him; if only he would.

I faced away from Murad so he couldn't see a hidden smile as I enjoyed the feel of his meaty fingers touching me in public. As he finished the rub job with a friendly slap on one cheek, I rolled onto my side and closed my eyes. I could feel the slight sting of his handprint on my skin where he had slapped. The pain consumed and quieted my busy mind. Focusing on the innocent pain of the slap, I dozed off quickly as I placed my bare ass at an angle clear for him to see as I slept. I wanted him so bad, and I hated myself for it.

A texture of light sand grains grazed my face. The wind from the north section of the ravine, from the ancient glaciers that dug this valley, blew a steady cool stream that I could feel working its way through the winding paths in the stubble of my face. Young students laughed in the water, probably some topless, some bottomless, enjoying the exhilarating freedom of the summer months.

As I was dozing off, I opened my eyes only a sliver to keep the grains of sand from blowing past my eyelashes. I imagined I was looking through a keyhole, secretly, into a stranger's bedroom. There were about 50 people on the beach. Some were gay. Some were straight. Some were happily ambiguous. Some were young. Some were old. The only commonality among their separate worlds were the fact that they were happy. Here, on the other side of the keyhole, they could allow themselves to be vulnerable. Here they could experience the same freedom that they felt in the sanctity of their own bedroom. Shared vulnerability meant that they could open themselves up to be one with the people and the sand and the wind and the trees. I could feel sand grains sticking on my skin where there were still wet patches of suntan lotion. Where I slept, the sand dunes were always shifting on the impermanent shoreline.

*****

My gently exfoliated skin was warm and red with beaded drops of sweat when I woke up. The sun hung slightly further down toward the hilly horizon than when my eyes fell asleep. I spit the tiny dry grains of sand from my mouth and brushed it from my face. As my senses returned, I noticed an unusual situation I had rarely experienced since my early 20s; I awoke with a full erection. The pressure of the blood in my penis almost hurt from the intensity. The view of my privates was luckily hidden. I had rolled fully onto my chest while I was sleeping. Murad had fallen asleep with his head propped up on his canvas bag, probably while gazing luridly at the diverse crowd splashing in the water. He also was covered in sweat and suntan lotion and a thick coat of Middle-Eastern fur. The Wisconsin river was shallow enough to walk several hundred meters out without ever having to touch nipples to cool water. Now the stream was a dark blue with patches of tan sandbars and other small islands covered in lush green foliage.

I awoke in a contemplative mood, resigned to the fact that I was exposing myself in the boondocks of western Wisconsin. I had spent hundreds of thousands of dollars building my cabin on a rocky mountain nearly, but instead of enjoying it, I was laying out like a homeless and hairless mammal with no protection against the wrath of nature.

I faced the problem that all men face at some point in their lives-I had the uncontrollable urge to urinate in spite of my raging boner. Leaving Murad to sleep, I grabbed the sandy beach towel I had been lying on, held it my hand, and covered my genitals as I headed back to the maple and pine forest on the east bank of the river. The dunes were hot so that each step on the sand brought my attention to my burning soles. There were random rocks and pieces of driftwood that I tiptoed around to avoid any more pain to the bottom of my feet. The rolling dunes had a number of crests covered with sparse and fibrous green grass. The dunes looked like the surface of a vast ocean, where the waves were massive but moved at imperceptible speed. The patches of stubborn plants had managed to plant their shallow roots down on an unstable soil. The dunes were several feet high so that I fell out of sight of the swimmers as I passed the low points between the long crests of sand. At the moments when I was at the lowest point, I felt as if I were no longer in Wisconsin, but on a dry, barely inhabitable planet, or the sandy wastes outside of Dubai, only more primitive.