In the following story, all of the characters are totally fictive and the setting is real. For whomever it would be illegal, immoral or prohibited for any other reason whatsoever to read a story about love between two teenage lads is kindly requested to refrain from continuing. A free picture album illustrating this story (pdf) is available upon request at marin.giustinian@laposte.net. This being said, I hope you enjoy the tale.
SHACKLEFORD SUMMER (part one)
by Marin Giustinian
Shackleford Banks, North Carolina, 1968 - 1970
Mark Gray was a rising senior in the New Bern High School. Always lost in his dreams and books, he was the loner of his class. Outside of school, his world was limited to the First Baptist Church where his father was Senior Pastor. Since his older brother was off studying to become a preacher himself, Mark was the only child left.
His only outdoor activity was sailing and camping out on the river. An elderly gentleman and deacon in the church had donated a little cat boat to Reverend Gray for his boys. Now that his brother was gone, Mark finally enjoyed it alone.
He didn't go out for sports, nor glee club nor any other organized pastime. He dreamed of solitary adventures on faraway islands, devoid of churches, schools, shopping malls and country clubs. Being a preacher's son didn't help making friends. The other kids always considered him and his brother sort of special.
He deeply desired to spend his summer, always by himself, on the Southern Outer Banks. They were now protected by having been declared the Cape Lookout National Shore, a kind of federal park. He focused on Shackleford Banks (or Shackleford Island -- both names are used) . Shackleford was only four miles from Harkers Island and just on the other side of Barden Inlet, where throned the Cape Lookout lighthouse and offices of the parkd.
Shackleford's only inhabitants are the wild horses surviving a Spanish shipwreck some five hundreds years ago. Their descendants still roam free along the strand and in the scarce woods and grassy dunes. Their saga deeply impressed Mark, forcing his respect. The idea of camping among them kindled even more his crave to escape. So one evening at dinner, just before the summer holidays, he told his parents his intention to go.
"Mom, Dad, I feel like I need to go on a spiritual retreat alone to think about my future and pray for God's enlightenment. I'll be graduating next year and I really haven't a clue about what I'd like to do with my life. I need time to prepare myself and wait for our Lord's answer."
"That's very interesting, Son. Your brother was much less complicated finding his path, but I understand. What do you think, Martha?"
"I think our boy is growing into a fine young man and I admire his courage to undertake such an ordeal."
His father pursued, "Do you have an idea about where you would like to take your solitary retreat?"
"Shakleford Island, Dad. It's like a national park now. I've studied everything about it. I can camp there in certain places. It's real close to Harkers Island. With my sailboat, I can go back and forth and stay in contact with you. All I'll need is to hitch the boat trailer and drive down to Harkers Island with somebody to take the car back. From there, I can handle myself alone."
"We must tell the coast guard and the National Seashore authorities to keep an eye on you while you're there, darling!" piped in Mark's mother.
"Well, it sounds like your mother has already given you her permission. I'll have to pray on that. You must wait until tomorrow to have my answer."
The following morning at breakfast Mark's father agreed to let him go on his retreat -- but just for this one time and for no more than two weeks. He reminded Mark that he had church duties as the son of the Senior Pastor and that he wanted him to assist their new youth minister, Reverend Reginald Pierce, in the boys' section of the church's Summer Bible School.
"Mind you, boy, it's a full time job and we count on your total Christian dedication. Be careful and behave during your island thing and come back to us in perfect shape, ready to assume your share of responsibility in our holy mission."
"Oh! you'll just love Reginald, Mark! He's so well mannered and barely older than your brother Todd. He's absolutely charming!" exclaimed Mark's mother praising the newcomer.
"I'm sure I'll be very happy to assist him in every way I can, Mom..."
Mark walked on air! In only one month he would finally trod the beaches of his OWN island, free at last on Shackleford!
The day of departure dawned. Mark was already up, going through his bags, checking and double-checking his list of equipment. He paid special attention to his camera, taking along a dozen rolls of black and white film and a spiral bound notebook in which he had sworn to write down the entire account of his life as a volunteer castaway!
The morning of July 10,1968, he showered, dressed and waited in his room until breakfast time, staring out the window. At 9:00 on the dot, Mark said good-bye to his father and the other staff members gathered in his office. He and his mother loaded the car and drove away. On their way, they stopped to buy the food he would need to begin his stay and put it in a cooler. They crossed the Harkers Island bridge and backed the sharpie into the water at the public boat ramp. Mark hugged his Mom asking her to be back there between noon and 2:00 PM on the 25th to take him home -- and that was that!
Now, I turn the story over to Mark as he noted it in the secret journal he kept of his Shackleford experience, along with some carbons of several letters he wrote and some of those he received, stashed in the back of his notebook.
July 10, 1968
Today, I finally stepped on Shackleford, beginning my long, hoped for, solitary adventure. I sailed away from Harkers Island with my mother waving at me as if I were leaving for Tasmania or something.
After a joyous, uneventful crossing, an hour and a half later I entered a tidal creek next to Barden Inlet where I could camp by a freshwater spring. The spot was great. It was shady, secluded and the water still deep enough in the creek to sail away even at low tide. What else do I need?
I unpacked everything, trying to stay as tidy as possible. I set up my fire stand under the tripod and hanging stewpot. I gathered a big pile of firewood, laughed when I saw the spring, gushing its water into a little pool by intermittence. I made supper, lit my lantern, undressed and crawled into my tent. I'm happy beginning my secret journal -- before I fall dead asleep!
July 12, 1968
In fact time flies! Yesterday and today, I must have walked barefoot at least ten to twelve miles. The island is wonderful! I'm tanning by the minute. Yesterday morning, I stayed on the north side exploring the coves and beaches along the sound, admiring the horses. It's wonderful how the keep their distance and stay composed at the same time. I caught and cleaned two fish for lunch. Delicious!
I then decided to go over to the ocean. Hearing the waves, especially at night and not seeing them was driving me mad. After crossing the dunes, I discovered the vast, deserted ocean strand extending beyond the endless horizon!
That's when a gigantic, mind-blowing esthetic shock hit me flat in the face! Something unimaginable! I was standing on top of the last dune, admiring the surf when I spotted, coming through the dunes on my left, this god-like, absolutely gorgeous Adonis of a young guy, totally nude, galloping bareback on a silver-grey horse. At first I thought I was hallucinating. Not at all. He and his horse stopped in the seagrass a moment before easing down the slope onto the beach. I took a picture of that vision. If it turns out the way I want, I'll make a blow-up.
I was awestruck by the beauty of that instant. Once the horse was in the shallows of the surf, his rider jumped off and ran, splashing into the waves. He dove, disappeared and surfaced again shaking his hair, slinging drops of ocean into the sun. His steed seemed to understand he should wait, but seemed impatient, prancing around in the sand. Then my Adonis, emerging from the waves, slowly walked forward, displaying all his beauty. He stood, legs apart in a sturdy, steadfast stance, wiping his hands over his chest, his sex, his face. Then he stretched, lifting his arms to the sky, his head rolled back, maybe chanting something I couldn't hear. Suddenly leaping on his horse, he bolted like a strike of lightening, speeding away, in the hard wet sand, slowly disappearing in the blazing afternoon haze.
July 13, 1968
This morning, while I was finishing breakfast, the guy I saw on the beach yesterday, simply walked up. This time he had on some very faded cut-offs and that's all.
"Hi there! I saw the smoke and decided to come by and say hello! Glad to see someone around. Plan on staying some?"
I think my mouth was open. He was even better looking up close! There was something about him, something fresh and wild, like the island. I tried to get my wits back together the best I could and replied, "I plan to stay until the 25th! Thanks for calling in."
He stood like he did yesterday, tall on his two legs. Now that I could see his eyes, they eyes were dark, friendly and warm.
"Could it be you I saw then sailing over in a neat little sailboat the other day?"
"Probably it was. She's over in the channel of the creek back there. And you? Are you camping too?" inquired Mark, "By the way -- I'm Mark Gray from New Bern."
"And I'm Sandy Meherrin, from the lighthouse over there on Cape Lookout and Smithfield."
"Both at the same time?"
"Well, one then the other, back and forth. Yeah, my folks are divorced," he said looking at his feet... "During the school year, I live with my mother. She's white like her new husband. They run a barbecue place in Smithfield, out on highway 70. For the rest of the year, I'm over here with my Dad, Indian stock from Hertford County. He works at the lighthouse."
"And so you come over often?"
"Yes I sure do! As much as I can! I really love the horses! I've sort of tamed two of them. I love to ride them when they feel like allowing me to. Over here, they're the boss! I love to see them run without anything on them, no saddle, no bridle. I've managed to ride them just like they are, free and wild in the sun!"
"I saw that you do like running free and wild in the sun yourself yesterday and admired the fact that -- that you're really well tanned all over."
"Shit, you saw me naked?" he laughed and blushed some, "Sorry! No offense I hope! I love going naked over here. It's sort of in my blood as my Dad says. The horses and me, we're both alike! Sea and sand and nothing between us and the sun! Gotta avoid jock-rot, keep the balls aired out, don't we? You should try it while you're here too!"
"Maybe with time... So do you have a boat and motor to get over here?"
"I row. I fixed up an old rowboat. It gets me here fine!"
"But the charts say that the tides in the inlet can be dangerous."
"There ain't any problem, if you feel the current and know what you're doing. It's not that far across after all. A little more than half a mile. I figure my coming and going with the tides. When it's coming in, I come over and when it's going out, I go back. Like I said, no problem."
He looked even better when he felt proud of himself.
I felt like some kind of stuck-up fart-head with my questions and the way I was behaving...
"Would you like a mug of coffee? I'm going to brew some more. Wanna share it with me?"
"Thanks"
While I tossed some wood on the fire under the kettle, I thought about what Sandy said using the tide. Life is like the tides. It comes in then it goes out and the ocean is always there! We're born, then we die and life is always there. We're just timed like the tide -- so where's the problem?
When I handed him a mug, he was staring at the book laying at the entrance of my tent.
"You really reading a thick book like that? Is it a school assignment or something?" inquired Sandy, seemingly astonished that I read even on vacation.
"Nothing to do with school. I love to read. In fact, it's one of my books that inspired me to come here by myself."
Puzzled, Sandy tilted his head and asked, "How's that?"
I picked up Thoreau's 'Walden', stating, "This book is my key to freedom! It tells about how the author left town, church, family, well just about everything and built himself a little cabin by a pond in the wood and decided to live with just a strict minimum of possessions, as close to nature as possible. Listen to what he wrote amongst other things, 'A man is rich in proportion to the number of things which he can afford to let alone.' I thoroughly agree."
"Sounds like hippy stuff to me, man. You really do make your head work, don't you! I could never wrap my mind around all that. How old are you anyway? Already in college?"
"Just turned seventeen. Still in high school. I'll be a senior this year? Why?"
"Just wondering. I'm your age too and a senior like you, but if I've read more than three books from cover to cover, it's because the school made me do it. You say this Thoreau fellow writes about nature -- Nature, I understand. But you see, I need to live in nature instead of reading about it. I'm a full fledged nature boy. In school, I feel like I'm shriveling up, slowly decaying. It gives me the creeps, having them make me see the world, sitting down, cramped at a desk, staring at a blackboard or slumping over a textbook. The only things I like in school are sports! I hate the rest..."
Sandy was pacing around, somewhat nervous, while he spoke.
"Even the proms and dating and all that, I hate. It's a waste of time playing the courting game when you see where it ends up! My Mom's already going through a second husband and my Dad's lonely as a stray dog! When I'm by myself over here or down by the river, back in Smithfield, I find that I'm in damn good company just by myself!"
"I'm just like you! except for sports... I like being by myself too and dating is really not my thing."
I stood, starting to clean up, saying, "But if ever you'd like to talk some more and if the tide is right, I'd be glad to enjoy your company, Sandy. You're really cool!" I stated.
"Well, thanks, Mark! You know, we don't have to talk all the time. If you need any help for anything just tell me. I don't have too many chores to do over there on Lookout anyhow," he insisted.
"That's awfully nice of you, Sandy. Right now, I was planning on going over to Harkers Island for supplies. How would you like to sail over and back with me? Do you sail?"
His eyes twinkled!
"I'd be damn glad to come along! No, I've never sailed a blow-boat, but I'm eager to learn! When do we go?"
"Just let me wash up some and we'll get underway. You see, you showed up just at the right time!"
"Guess I did! I'll have to be back before the end of low tide though. Is that okay? I'll call Dad so he won't worry when we get to a phone on Harkers. While you wash up, I gotta go secure my boat."
"Cool! Be right back."
I went over to the spring to freshen up before dressing. As I undressed, I noticed how pale my butt was. I thought about my new guest. Nature boy, he says! Sandy really struck me in a real good way. In fact, I like him a lot! Yet he's so much the opposite. Maybe that's why... For me, befriending other guys is always complicated. And now, this really fine fellow, Sandy, walked into my life -- Oh! Good God! I don't want him to walk out!
I was lost in my thoughts, still washing my cock, when I felt Sandy just standing there with a big grin across his face.
"You washing it or playing with it?" he jested, looking straight down at my crotch.
You talk about being embarrassed! I turned beet red and quipped back, shaking my half-hard cock at him like a wand, "Both! I've got the right, don't I?"
"Like we all do! Any fun is good to get us turned on!"
Laughing, I simply stated, "Just give me another minute to get dressed and we'll be under way."
"Whenever you want. You're the captain!"
As we sailed across the sound, I explained to Sandy the basics of sailing. He soaked it all in, asking the right questions, making the the right comments. Once back to civilization, so to speak, we had fun, indulging in hotdogs, ice-cold coke and a pint of ice cream together before doing groceries and stopping over at the post office.
As we were entering the grocery store, I sort of suggested, "Why don't stay overnight sometimes when you come? We can make a fire and..."
"Wow! Sure, I can! We can party hard, man! Cut up all night. I love having camp-out fun! I can bring my toothbrush, cover and stuff to drink..."
"Great! I'll stock a little more food for us both then!"
After shopping, I went by the post office. While I was doing my thing, Sandy called his father from the phone booth. Mom had sent two letters and was dying for news! I jotted a few lines on a nickle postcard for her, saying I'm fine and then met up with Sandy outside.
Returning to the boat, loaded with all kinds of goodies, I said, "Why don't you to take the tiller to sail us back?"
"I'm dying to!" exclaimed Sandy, "by the way, Dad told me he's really glad we met. I told him about you seeing me naked and all. He laughed! He said I could come over tomorrow for the day, but can't spend the night until day after tomorrow. Granddad's coming over for a visit."
I felt like I was in a dream coming true. The late afternoon sun shed its haze of gold on the sound. It gleamed on the skin of my new nature-boy friend, perched on the gunwale, manning the tiller. The waters quivered as time slid by, hasting to climax, as usual, in a luscious sunset.
Watching Sandy, I realized that if you're a friend the wind like him, if you sense its moods, its force and detect without thinking its direction, if you're aware of its scent and love the feel of it passing on your face, be it a caress or a slap, then sailing comes easy to you. The rest is just a question of pulling or releasing lines on the boat, tying some knots and using toh tiller to go where you want to go. Sailing is a dance with the waves, sometimes frenetic and wet, sometimes slow and dry, always involving both flesh and soul more than knowhow, strategy and fancy devices.
In just over an hour, we were tossing out the anchor, wading ashore with the grocery bags in arms. Sandy darted off to row back to Lookout on the falling tide, shouting over his shoulder, "See you tomorrow, Mark! I had a great, great time today! Have a good evening!"
What a day!
July 14, 1968
When Sandy came back this morning, I was still at breakfast, having slept like a fat, fed fox in his den.
"Just in time for coffee, I see." he said, sitting down beside me by the fire.
"Glad you got over this early!"
"Early? It's almost nine o'clock, lazy bones!" he chuckled, "Sleep well?"
"Too well! And you?"
"Thought a lot about you, Mark."
I handed over his mug. It felt so good just being there together looking at the morning sunlight glittering on the sound between the trees.
"And what did you think?"
"I thought about how really glad I am you came," Sandy stated in a plain, matter-of-a-fact way, looking into nothing.
"Me too, Sandy. I came over here, looking for myself. I had to get away from my Dad and his church for a while and think for myself. You see, I imagined that what I was looking for could be found in books, all by myself in the wilderness, but now since you've showed up, I realize I was just dreaming even more in a make-believe fantasy -- and now, with you, I feel, how can I say?" I was stuttering, then I blurted out, "You make me feel REAL -- if you see what I mean."
"I'm not sure I see, but I feel you, Mark. Maybe that's enough."
He was right! That was enough... We still hadn't looked at each other. We just bumped shoulders and smiled at our coffee. .
"Can I ask you a question, Mark?"
"Sure, what do you want to know?"
"Well, you said you had to get away from your Dad and his church. Is your Dad a preacher or something?"
I sort of panicked.
"Yes, I'm a preacher's son... Southern Baptist to be exact. But I'm normal -- or at least I think I am! Ha!"
"Shit man! You must be randy as hell then! If it's true what they say about the preacher's daughter, then for a preacher's son, you must be somewhat of a wicked stud!" he exclaimed, laughing out loud, nudging me on the shoulder, then after a passing thought, he continued, "but it must be complicated sometimes when I think about it though. Yeah, tough! But, damn it! With all your good looks, I'm sure you're a real lady killer!" he affirmed, winking at me...
I was relieved and happy. That was the first time a guy said I was good looking! Well, the first time anybody said I was good looking!
"If you say so, Sandy... but I haven't killed any yet!"
We laughed! I didn't know I could be that witty! Then completely changing subjects, he asked, "Tell me, what're you reading again this morning?"
"The Symposium by Plato."
"The WHAT?"
I told Sandy about Plato's Symposium. I told him that it's a discussion that some ancient Greek thinkers were having, drinking their wine, arguing about the origins and realities of love. I tried to tell Sandy that it was about men and boys falling in love with each other and that the Greeks back then had no problem about it. He didn't look shocked.
"Today, those guys would get the shit knocked out of them..." was all he said.
"Yeah, sick that people don't just mind their own business, isn't it," I added.
"Yeah, sick's the word."
"Wanna go for a walk on the strand?"
"Sure do! Let's get going!"
I poured water on the fire, stuck my camera in my backpack with two rolls of film and some sun lotion to boot. We crossed through the dunes and from the top of the last one, there, where I spotted Sandy for the first time, the ocean danced in the sun! The land breeze put a mane on the wave crests as they pounded the strand, hissing in the receding surf, making the shells and sand tremble in the burning sun. The waves were really high! I started taking pictures.
"Don't shoot my picture cause I'm gonna get naked!" exclaimed Sandy as he stripped off his shorts.
He didn't have any underwear on and his sex just plopped out already plump, uncut and slim, slightly curved. It was perfect!
"That's how you were the first time I saw you here! Ha!"
"So what? Come on, man! Get naked and come run with me!" he shouted as he darted off, running towards the shallows of the surf.
I hesitated -- but not much! I stripped, stuffed my things in my backpack with my camera, dropped it down beside Sandy's shorts and flew off. Fantastic! For the first time in my life, I was totally nude in the wind, running like mad to join Sandy. I must admit, free balling and running at the same time wasn't very comfortable, but in less than a minute, things tightened up and the flailing of my cock made me hard as a dagger. I had never felt so ALIVE in my life!
Sandy turned his head, saw me, slowed down a little. Pacing our rhythm we ran, side by side, making the water fly, sparkle and foam under our splashing feet.
Suddenly Sandy flashed me a playful smile and tackled me, making us both tumble and fall in the rolling surf. I wrestled back, laughing like mad. We froze. He gave me a funny look and then he got up off me, standing, his cock even stiffer than mine. I just laid there, grinning like a moron, my eyes closed as the water swished around me. I was simply very, very happy!
"You all right?"
"I've never been better in my life!"
"Really?"
"Yes! Really!" I affirmed. I squinted as my eyes opened.
Sandy had his hand stretching out to me. I grabbed his wrist as he gripped mine. In one strong tug, he pulled me to my feet. We didn't release hands. We walking back to where we discarded our stuff, glancing at each other, giggling every now and then. He picked up his shorts, not bothering to put them back on and I just slung my sack over my shoulder. Once we were back at the spring pool, we splashed each other all over, rinsing off the sand, but not our smiles.
We made sandwiches, sat around, still naked and talked some, about everything and nothing. I told him what it was like being a preacher's son. He told me what it was like working in a barbecue joint or doing chores around a lighthouse. We talked some about school and graduating. He said he was going to start up a business of his own and not go to college. I said I didn't know what I wanted to do -- I mean, not at ALL! We talked about boats. I said, "Let's go for another sail. I want to teach you how to tack upwind."
"What's that?"
"Come on, I'll show you!"
He caught on immediately. He had a way of concentrating himself in a flash. He didn't wonder about how to do things. He did them! And it worked! When I complimented him, he said, "Tomorrow, I'll show you how to ride bareback! My other horse, Slim, was born for you to ride! He's sharp, high strung and beautiful like you."
Beautiful like me, he said. Wow! I couldn't refuse! He looked so happy telling me how he wanted to teach me something in exchange. I just replied what jumped up in my mind, "I'm yours to do what you want, Sandy!"
For tomorrow, I'm a bit scared about riding and enthralled about the sleepover. I hope I'll be able to go to sleep now!
July 16, 1968
Yesterday, Sandy showed up again really early. He unzipped the tent, leaned in and almost shouted, "Get up lazy-head! We've go some riding to do!"
He had it stuck in his mind that I had to ride a horse like he did!
I yawned, stretched and uttered, "So, give me hug, you horrible, rude thug!"
He fell down on me, tickling me like mad.
"Stop it! I said a HUG! That's torture!" I squealed.
He released me and backed out of the tent. I crawled out on all fours, stood and looked at him as he flaunted around with a bottle in his hand, whistling 'Dixie'.
"I brought my stuff for the sleepover," he laughed, "We're really going to party tonight, man!"
"And what's that?" I asked, stretching as I yawned.
"A bottle, dumbhead! And it's full of devilish good, homemade scuppernong wine my granddaddy makes. Wicked stuff! He aways brings a few bottles when he comes. He gave me one saying we should enjoy it at our little beach party tonight."
I can't believe it! His grandfather gave him a bottle of wine and said we should enjoy it tonight -- partying! I dumbfounded! Wicked wine for an underaged, naif, tenderfoot Baptist preacher's boy! It was a deliciously shocking thing to expect! Oh, Good God! Was I in heaven or was Sandy simply a devil disguised with an angel-face? Oh! What the hell! Who cares? I'm going to have a big day of firsts! Riding a wild horse, a fire on the beach, wine in carefree, recklessly fellowship! That changes me from riding a bike and church proms with punch and brownies! I thought I'd really love the change -- and that I did! Little did I know how much a change was in store!
Sandy put his cover and the bottle in the tent, saying, "I'll be back in a minute. Fix your breakfast. I'm going to go call Silver!"
When I was just finishing up, he rode up, looking royal on his steed!
"Ready?" he asked.
I sighed and replied, "As much as I'll ever be."
He held out a hand to pull me up on Silver's rump and snugging up behind him, I held onto his waist for dear life. I felt secure like that, yet still scared to death, hoping it didn't show -- It did!
Sandy must have sensed me all tense, holding on to him. He pulled to a stop and looked over his shoulder back at me. I let go and slumped a little.
"Don't be so scared, Mark. You'll see, if you just relax, riding's like sailing. It's easy if you don't get all worked up in your head about it. Slim's a great horse. He's really smart and high strung, just like you. He'll feel you if you're open and he'll refuse you if you're all closed up inside your fear. Relax, man! I'm sure he'll warm up to you and love you real fast. Just open your heart and love him to begin with! Trust me! Now hold on!"
In a flash we galloped away, going from spot to spot where the horses gather. I was feeling better on Silver's bouncing rump, pounding me up against Sandy. His neck smelled so good! After a little while, he spotted Slim.
We slid off Silver. Sandy whistled and Slim pranced up, nodding, all perky and bright-eyed. There in front of me was the most beautiful horse in the world. He was lithe. He was elegant. He deserved the name of Slim! His coat was chestnut brown and his eyes glinted gold. If a horse could smile, he did when he saw us. It felt the same way as it did when Sandy smiled at me for the first time, almost fainting at first sight! He was already half-tamed so I went up to pet him. He shied away, just a little. Sandy moved in real quiet like and spoke to him as if he were human.
"Slim, we're going to teach this fellow here how to ride together and play like we do. His name's Mark and he's a really dear friend of mine. I'd like for you to help us. I'm sure you'll like playing with him. He's real beautiful like you. You'll love him and we'll have fun all together, Silver and me, you and Mark."
As he spoke in Slim's ear, almost in a whisper, he stroked Slim's neck and mane. The horse nodded from time to time with flared nostrils, lifting his front hoof slightly and then putting it back in the sand, like a dancer would do.
"There, come and give him a big hug on his neck, Mark."
I did. He let me do it. I felt something almost electric going straight to my heart, even deeper. Slim and I were now bonded!
Me, riding was another matter! Of course, I fell, even several times, but with Sandy's advice and Slim's patience, I was able to relax and by mid-afternoon, even before I realized it, we were flying together, galloping along the beach, me holding on to his mane, my legs dangling. Sandy had the magic touch with me -- with Slim too. I felt Slim was happy to have me on his back and in fact he was! He was just as happy as me!
"Let's ride naked, Sandy!" I shouted when he caught up with me.
"Wow!!! It's about time!"
We hopped off our mounts, stripped, climbed back on and fled, speeding away like dolphins, pure and free as a song of glee, laughing our youth to the wind!
After a little while, we eased to a stop. I was elated and totally exhausted, worn out, ready to collapse! We slid to the ground and stood side by side, victorious, looking at the waves crashing on the sand.
"You caught on fast, Mark!"
"Cause I had a great teacher and a great steed who loves me naked!"
"I do too!"
"You love me naked?"
"Yes..."
He grabbed my head between his hands, looked at me with an urgent smile in his eyes and kissed me. Not just a cute little peck on the cheek but a real, genuine, mouth to mouth, yummy kiss.
Instinct and nature made me kiss him back. Moaning, sighing, we seized each in a kind of desperate clinch, making out like fiends -- our tongues, struggled to thrust deeper into both our mouths. We were both oblivious to everything except each other and didn't feel Silver nudging in. We sprang apart laughing, our eyes aglow and our cocks straining, all moist and shining in the sun.
"Wow! That was damn hot, Sandy! And if I'm not mistaken, Silver's really jealous!" exclaimed Sandy.
We hugged and kissed again.
In my wildest dreams, I never imagined such a fabulously unreal moment happening to me -- for real! The ocean licked our feet. I gently touched Sandy's cheek and murmured, "It's going to be great sleeping together tonight."
"Who's sleeping?" he croaked, blushing.
We got back to the campsite just before sunset. We packed our snacks, rolled up our covers and with the wine safely stashed in my backpack, we hiked over to the beach. The sun was flirting with the horizon, leaving behind a vast pastel sky. "It's too bad I don't have color film."
"Just look at it and take the picture with your heart, like I do!"
He amazes me!
We gathered a big pile of driftwood and lit the fire. The wind was blowing in from the ocean. No mosquito bites tonight.
"Wanna sleep under the stars? They make you go crazy! We can keep each other warm wrapped up, cuddling in the covers!"
"It will be my first night with only the sky for shelter!"
"I'll be there to shelter you too!" quipped back Sandy with a foxy grin on his face.
"First gallop, soon first wine, first time together all night long and outdoors to boot! That's a lot of firsts for me, Sandy!"
"Relax and let it happen!" he replied with a radiant smile.
His facial expressions change so fast. He looks very serious when he's thinking, working on something, almost austere, just like the image we have of our native Americans, but when he smiles it's like an explosion!
We ate like guys our age do -- a lot! We tended the fire some more and then got down to drinking the wine. The first swig made me cough a little but after it was delicious. Little by little, I felt myself feeling real funny, light and giggly. Sandy was high too. We joked, sang, laughed, looked at the stars guessing the constellations. We told each other how little it makes us feel.
Then the horizon began to pale as we waited for the moon to creep up out of the ocean. The sight was spectacular. Just a little slither to begin with, then little by little the silver disc emerged. He stood, inviting me to stand by him. The moon traced its path of light, shimmering on the water, big and fat-faced, almost touchable. The beach was milky white and the waves sounded like distant thunder. I tossed the last pieces of wood on the fire at our feet. Sparks soared and swirled in the night.
Sandy eased up behind me and pulled my back against him in a warm hug.
He murmured in my ear, "That's all so beautiful, Mark! I feel all warm inside."
"Me too, Sandy. Me too..."
His hand wandered over my belly, then a little lower. I laid my head back on his shoulder and shivered a little. He started to undo my jeans. I understood that we should be just as pure and nude as the rest of the world surrounding us.
I felt his hard-on pressing up against my buttocks. I was hard too. I gently turned around in his arms and nudged my cock against his. He nudged me back. We leaned in towards each other, our foreheads touching. We sought each others neck, then pulled back. He looked at me with an urgent smile in his eyes and I softly closed in with a very tender kiss, without hesitation, without shame. I nearly swooned. More meaningful, deeper, loving than our first kiss, we were now humming, holding on to each other in a kind of inseparable clinch. We inched over to the covers and simply shed the rest of our clothes.
In my wildest dreams, I never imagined such bliss! A rising tide of lust began to flood my senses. We clawed each other. I licked him, panting. He kissed my pits, my tits. Life thickened and surged between us. I softly slid down his body, quavering on the edge of famished abandon.
Nude in the turmoil of our covers, our hands roamed everywhere, electric, setting our skin afire. I dove and swallowed his cock. He gasped, swiveled around and took mine in his. The circle of our merging was buckled. We sucked one another in a whirlpool of lust. We were spinning, soaring as Sandy growled, my cock in his throat and he spewed in mine, over and over again, filling me with his most intimate essence, grunting, quenching me with all the semen his youth could muster. I relished his acrid taste ; it set me even more aflame. Panting, he rose. I trembled, reaching out to him. He kneeled, straddling me and spat several times in his hand. He milked my precum into his saliva filled hand. Slathering my sex with the viscous mixture, he looked at me wild-eyed as I laid there shivering on my back, my legs, tense, straining, my arms reaching out to grab the hand of some invisible angel. My cock was a torch of impatience. I was sweating, my mouth gasping as he slowly placed the tip of my penis in his anus and eased down on me. I bucked, instinctively thrusting myself in him, losing myself, finding myself.
Sandy whimpered only once, gasped then moaned, smiling. My virginity vanished as I was slowly churning inside my lover. His buttocks rolled, trembling, riding my cock and then, a white, blinding flash! I jerked, screaming to the stars, to the sea, to the wind! In a riptide of joy and semen, I was finally me -- flooding all of myself in him.
Other miracles were shared during that magical night. I welcomed him in me too. All of my senses sang in silence as his love came and went, gliding deep inside my flesh, even deeper in my soul.
Sunrise came like the first morning of creation. An orgy of light set the clouds afire, scattered hither and yon, out of sight, kindling again our fathomless lust as we laughed and made love over and over. Henceforth, we both knew that our fevered nights and our moist mornings were just beginning.
Woe to he who is serious at seventeen!
Sandy's returned to Lookout to fetch some more of his things at his father's house. I feel a bit stunned writing all of these marvels. The joy of what I'm living demolishes everything I've lived before. It's scary and it's fabulous! I feel like I'm the first boy on earth to have ever fallen madly in love!
July 24, 1968
The week simply flew by! I'm writing just a few lines before we live our last night on Shackleford. Since our first night of love, I've had no time for writing. Our days overflowed with playing and swimming in the surf, riding, sailing to Harkers Island again, fishing and eating, taking pictures and doing nothing. We talked and thought together, changing the world. But above all, we never ceased making insatiable love, be it day or night, living the adventure of discovering and inventing pleasures to no end!
Sandy rowed me over to have lunch with his father. Theodore Meherrin welcomed me with a strong, heartfelt hug. He was so gentle with his son, jesting, saying to me now that Sandy had a buddy to hang out with, he was less of a burden in the house.
"What? Me, a burden? Who does the dishes, half the cooking and who sweeps the sand out twice a day? ME! Burden, you say? Burden my..."
"Hold on there, boy! Just joking!" interrupted Theodore before his son spat out something really nasty.
I thought I'd die laughing. God did I wish I could be so free with a father that loving, that cool!
I told Mr. Meherrin how glad I was for him letting Sandy spend so much time with me.
"You guys need to let your youth find its own way to grow. Dads are good for many things, but not for that! Remember, I was seventeen too! I see your need for each other. So, as long as your needs are satisfied, without hurt or guilt, it's all fine with me!"
Fabulous man!
We returned to Shackleford for the night -- and every night up to the last. As the hours, fleeting into days, fled, our bonds became fundamental, visceral, vital. Our souls blended together flowing into the soul of nature. We were an alloy, forged by fate and angels. We drank each other with ravenous thirst, penetrating each other, sometimes with infinite tenderness, sometimes with impatient frenzy. Nothing could hinder our loving, driven by an unexplainable urge to merge, to touch the ultimate horizon of each other, of ourselves. There would be moments of attentive solemnity but mostly moments full of laughter and bliss. To be honest, we weren't serious at all! We were simply two thoughtless, inviolable young men madly in love.
Sandy's out rounding up Silver and Slim to bring them over for me to hug and tell them that I must leave. All I want to say to finish writing in this journal here on Shackleford and pack away my notebook is this : I came to live my Shackleford summer, sincerely striving to heed God's call. I heard it indeed. All God said was 'Sandy!' and now I understand!
Mark was now back in his room in New Bern. For their last night on Shackleford together, they were both tense. They laughed, then wept a little. They made love, a love to remember, a love breaching the distance they were having to face. At dawn, they made their campsite disappear.
They promised to write, hoping even to visit, if ever Mark got permission to go up to Smithfield or even have Sandy as a house guest in New Bern.
Mark's mother was coming to pick him up at noon. Sandy helped him load the boat, stating, "The day after you graduate, Mark, I'll find a way to meet up with you and we'll make it back to Lookout together and from there to Shackleford, to Silver and Slim, to where we really belong!"
Mark's unique answer was, "Whatever happens, Sandy, you know I stand by you!"
They hurried because of the receding tide. The wind was good and in the right direction for Mark to be on time. Sandy helped him push off into the channel and hopped onboard. They kissed, choking back the tears as they drifted. Then Sandy jumped back into the water and waded backwards to the shore, waving with both arms, shouting, "Love ya! Mark! Love ya!"
Mark hoisted the sail and cut through the choppy waters, under an overcast sky, to Harkers Island and to the new life of hopes and strife that loomed ahead. He felt like vomiting as tears flooded his face. He dared not turn around for fear he could still see Sandy. When he finally got himself together again, he saw, standing at the end of the pier... his father!
End of part one.
A free picture album illustrating this story (pdf) is available upon request at marin.giustinian@laposte.net.