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PCH Memories
Recently I received an e-mail from a fan of "The Adventures of Mark the Cock Hound." He asked me when my next story would appear. I responded that my stories depended on inspiration and that I hadn't been inspired lately. After hitting the send key I realized that he had provided the inspiration simply through his e-mail address. It contains the letters "PCH," and not being from California, he probably doesn't realize that those letters also are the initials of my favorite cruising sections of California's coastal Highway #1, more particularly, the portion from Santa Barbara to San Diego, the location of some of the most exciting sexual encounters I have had. I won't tell this story in chronological order, but rather, as these memories return to me.
Prior to going to graduate school at UCI in Orange County, I had had relatively little experience of the beaches and bathrooms along California's beautiful coast. When I arrived in Orange County after a very sexual summer in San Francisco attending ACT's Summer Training Congress I was definitely ready for more action. Shortly after finding my new home, I headed for the sand and surf in South Laguna Beach. One of my previous stories, "Easter at West Street Beach," also takes place in South Laguna Beach.
The day I arrived I knew as I parked my car I was in the right place. West Street Beach is obviously dedicated to hot young homosexual males. Every lad on the beach sported a bulging crotch in his very tight Speedo swimsuit. I established myself near the middle of the beach and scoped the lay of the land. I was very familiar with the nude beach on the Russian River where bikinis were unnecessary and the action occurred mostly in the wooded area behind the shore. This was different, it was a public beach run by Orange County, yet the cruising was intense. Also, the bikinis were only for the most public places. Most of the guys. once they had entered the water, removed their suits and wore them around their necks. I knew I was going to enjoy swimming in this surf.
Once I was in the water it did not take long for me to find my first sex partner, he simply swam up to me and began stroking my hardening cock. I returned the favor to his erection. We decided to swim to shore with our hard-ons encased in our Speedos and headed for the Rock and brush at the south end of the beach. Needless to say, the suits were odd in no time and we traded blow-jobs amidst the other boys who were doing the same.
Needless to say I was a frequent visitor to this beach. In southern California there I is a curious weather pattern called "Santa Anna." It refers to the hot wind that blows over the inland deserts in September and October sending spectacular hot days to the beach towns. It is also a magnet for hot men and teens and I anxiously joined them as often as possible. I met a young man from Redondo Beach who provided me a wonderful weekend of sex and fun.
On one of my visits to West Street Beach in South Laguna who gasped when he saw my cock. He had to have it. I don't even remember his name but I do remember what started on the path leading back to PCH ended up in a hotel room with my engorged penis pistoning in and out of his sun drenched ass. And this was not a one-time thing. Each time we met on the beach we ended up in one of his Laguna Beach motel rooms. It was hot hot hot.
West Street Beach was not the only Gay magnet in Orange County. Along another portion of PCH in downtown Laguna Beach was a very cruisy park with a pair of even cruisier bathrooms - one on the north end and one at the south end. In the evening when cruising at the beach was too cold and too lonely Heisler Park provided many great blow jobs and the occasional fuck in the restrooms, on the beach and in the bushes between each of these restrooms.
While I was in southern California, I visited a friend in San Diego. I usually hitchhiked and on one of these occasions I was picked up by a driver who liked what he saw and encouraged me to remove my shorts and stroke my every ready cock in the front seat of his car. I always enjoyed bating in my car and this opportunity was even hotter than the solo sessions I had had in my car. I came copiously and once I shot my load I was asked to get of the car. I had had me fun, so had he, and he wanted fresh meat.
I hitchhiked through Oceanside near Camp Pendleton and had a couple hot experiences with some horny marines. But I think the best experience I had during my PCH adventures began at West Street Beach. Against my usual reluctance to visit the beach at night and in the winter, I decided why not check it out. I found a hot young man lurking along the path down to the beach and started stroking my dick through my Levi's and the young man started doing the same. We approached each other pulling out our hardening cocks, stroking and eventually giving each other some much needed head. But he wanted more and so did I. He was impressed with my meat and I coveted his lovely shapely ass.
I invited him back to my house on Balboa Island which I shared with three straight roommates. I had to have this succulent butthole and he was just as determined to ride my cock. We had a great time. We planned to meet again. We made a date to see a movie. We enjoyed a number of great fucks over the ensuing months, but then it was time for me to graduate and move back to San Francisco to my new theatrical profession job. I really thought that would be the end of Rob.
But no - shortly after I arrived in San Francisco he tracked me down. We never became lovers. We were just fuck buddies who enjoyed aggressive sex together. We were also like homing pigeons. No matter how many times we moved we always seemed to find each other. I haven't seen in years but the memories created on that night on PCH are still with me. They still give me a memorable hard-on.
Before I begin my tale of bate enjoyment, let me begin by saying how grateful I am that a community of men who really celebrate and treasure their rights as masturbators has come to the point of calling bators to unite.
There was a time when we were despised and ridiculed, when masturbating, jerking off, exhibitionistic bating were considered a baser sexuality, the actions of depraved sick men and backward boys, but those of us who really treasure the moments or hours we spend bating and edging, postponing those exquisite orgasms has finally come out in the open. Tumblr, Squirt, Bateworld, and now Bators United give a place to be with like minded men and boys and enjoy inspire and delight in the power of the very delayed orgasm where gooning is that special mesmeric stupor where our engorged cocks take over our entire minds and bodies. Sadly it was not always that way for me and I suspect neither was it for you. And so it is my special privilege to share my story with you.
Some might scoff at this but I was first introduced to penile pleasure when I was at the tender age of three. I was raised in a lily white upper middle class section of San Francisco called West Portal. Like most San Francisco neighborhoods it was identified by most from the Catholic parish in which it was located, St. Brendan's. Most of our neighbors were Catholic parishioners and so were we.
One sunny spring afternoon I was playing in an appliance box with some older neighbor boys. We were rolling down the hill while inside of the box. One of the boys told me to try and rub my "pee-pee" against the rolling box and see how it made me feel. Of course my tiny penis hardened and I liked the feeling a lot.
A few nights later while lying in my bed I discovered that I could do the same thing by letting my dick slide through the whole in my pajamas and rubbing it on the sheet below me. The same thing that had happened in the box happened again. I liked it even more on the softer sheet. It didn't take me long to figure out that I could slide me pillow between my legs and increase the pleasure exponentially. I can't remember when the first dry orgasm happened but I do remember that when it did happen it was incredible and from that time I always hoped that I would reach that Nirvana before I was discovered.
This of course leads me to that first awful point of discovery. We had an old summer house built by my grandfather in Healdsburg on the Russian River. One day, still three years' old we had returned from swimming in the late afternoon and as I changed out of my suit my dick was moist and clammy. I immediately climbed on my bed enjoying the shiny sun-warmed bedcover. The warmth felt fantastic as my dick immediately hardened as I began to rub in my usually hidden night time pattern. Stupid me, it didn't occur to me that my father would see this, freak out and give me a third degree lecture on the damning evil of masturbation. Talk about fucking up that most wonderful thing I had discovered at this very tender age.
From that point every masturbatory moment was fraught with the fear of being caught and the irresistible desire to reach the delicious dry orgasm. I tried so hard to masturbate quietly enough so my father would not catch me, but once I had been identified as a guilty chronic bator it was a cat and mouse battle that seemed irresolvable until I went to college. These fears didn't stop me but they were always interfering with me.
In the summer of my eleventh year my involuntary boners became so much larger and obvious that I was no longer able to hide them. Even though he knew about my chronic bator status he decided it was time for the "Talk" perhaps the second most awkward day of my life.
The next turning point for me came just before Christmas of that eleventh year. Since I wasn't able to masturbate as much as I needed, when I did the experience was always incredibly intense. I shot an incredible load for the first time in my life but it was such a freakish experience I did not know what had happened except that the feelings were fabulous and it produced a real mess.
At this point I was off and running and could not get enough yet I was still sneaking safe times to bate. I tried to get some neighbor boys and other friends to join me in this delicious secret rite but they always fizzled.
I went to camp for a month and I loved showing off my boners in the cabin. Once lights were out I fucked my pillow almost every night.
When it was time to go back home I was stuck once again with my parole officer and sneaking was the only way of doing the deed, still I was always getting caught either in the act or in the way my face looked. I don't know what visual the chronic masturbator reveals but I did.
We moved to Santa Rosa before I started high school and in the more bucolic neighborhood where we now lived I discovered a small secluded reservoir where I could strip naked, go skinny-dipping and then bate my engorged cock. Of course every orgasmic bate was followed by waves of guilt.
In my sophomore year I sent away for a catalog of the men's undergarment mail-order company AhMen. When the first catalog arrived in the mail before any one else came home I ripped open the catalog and then had one of the best bates I had had to that point of my life. Immediately after I came, guiltily I decided to destroy the catalog. I threw it in the garbage can and then an hour later rescued it and taped the whole thing back together for another bate.
Several months' later disaster struck. Another catalog arrived on my father's day off and he discovered the catalog and immediately came to my high school to confront me. In the course of this terrifying discussion, he actually said to me "Do you know what these models want? They want you to suck their dicks?" I of course wanted to say "When? Where? How? I am so ready." Nevertheless, I came up with the lamest most dishonest excuse ever uttered.
The secret masturbation continued and it came time for college. Now with a roommate it was back to the secret hidden life of the chronic bator. At Thanksgiving when I had to return to college on the Greyhound Bus I had a stopover in San Francisco and went into an adult bookstore. While scanning the Gay novels an older man started cruising me and I freaked and ran to catch the bus.
Then on a day in April I was walking in a large park and walked into a secluded Men's room. I saw some action at the urinals but was too nervous to investigate so I high-tailed it out of that restroom only to be followed but one of the men at the urinals. The excitement was so high that my cock reached full erection in no time. Urinal man caught up with me and led me into a deserted field where he undid my jeans pulled down my pants and gave me my first blow job.
Once it was over I fled totally freaked but totally jazzed by the orgasm. When I got back to my dorm room I had to beat off again reliving the ecstasy I had just experienced in the park. This led to the discovery of the cruisy Men's rooms on campus and these visits usually involved lots of masturbation with the occasional blow jobs and eventually my giving as well as getting.
I spent my junior year in Europe discovering fucking for the first time as well as train station urinal banks where half the town's male population gathered to masturbate. I of course was delighted to join them.
When I came back home in spite of my chronic bator status I decided to become a Jesuit. I lied my way in but in the early days I realized that life without masturbation was virtually impossible for me. On my last day in the Novitiate I wrote my letter of farewell and immediately went to a urinal and had a very intense bate.
Since then I have discovered that while I like sex with other men a chronic bator is what I am. I like fucking sucking and anal stimulation but when it comes right down to bras tacks bating is the best, there is nothing like a very long edging session riding the goon wave stopping and starting, working on achieving double and triple orgasms, something I have never been able to do while engaging with some one else.
I am so glad to have found this blog and look forward to enjoying learning and sharing with my fellow chronic bators.