Randy at the Beach

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Randy at the Beach: by Michael Turner



So, Randy Cobb. A long, tall stretch of gangle with California hair who could sink baskets from center court and stop anything kicked, flicked, or hit his way. He was amazing, this guy. Fluent in all sports. Quite the charmer, too. For the first week of school, all the girls had crushes on him – Nettie included – until a rumor started going around – which was probably started by Bobby, and which Randy didn’t deny – that Randy Cobb had a sixteen-year-old girlfriend in Malibu. Nettie suspected that the reason Bobby started the rumor was to put a cap on Randy’s popularity – and to keep Randy for himself. The first reasonably warm day of the year, Randy suggested that the three of us – him, me, and Bobby – plan that day to go on a “wildlife adventure.” He said there were all these trails around the University Endowment Lands and that we should be exploring them. Randy said he’d even heard rumors about the place being a last refuge for wild horses, and that this time of year would be a perfect time to go because “like, wow, man, these horses – they’re going to be fucking.” Bobby made a kind of turned up face when Randy mentioned the fucking horses, but feigned excitement anyway. I knew there weren’t any wild horses in the Endowment Lands, but I didn’t want to pass up a trip on Randy’s imagination. “I know a trail that leads down to the beach,” said Randy. “It’s really cool. There’s even an old gun tower we can check out.” And with that, he was off. We followed, weaving through the yellowing broom, down a narrow crack in the sand cliffs to where it opened onto a small ledge hidden from above.

I took it in: the way his muscles rippled under his olive skin, the thick brown hairs that sprung from his pits, his nipples plump and purple.

“That’s the real drop – there,” Randy said, pointing over the lip. Sure enough, a twenty-foot drop to a fan of sand, a fringe of bush, then the beach. But what was going on down there? Was I seeing right? Were those people naked? “That’s the unofficial border between Wreck Beach and Foreshores,” Randy said. “But it looks to me like the Wreck Beachers are takin’ over. Pretty cool, huh.” Bobby glared down at the nudes. He disapproved. Randy took off his Tretorns, tied the laces together, and threw them off the cliff. “The sand below’s super soft. It feel really cool on the toes when you hit,” Randy said, rubbing his hands together, all set to jump. I looked at Randy’s feet. They were tough and leathery, like they’d spent most of their life outdoors. “I’ll jump first just to show you how it’s done. Watch me now,” he said stepping back, closing his eyes, taking a breath. I couldn’t believe what he was about to do. The next thing I know Randy bolts. We watched astounded as he hovered in the air, then fell to earth like Apollo, exploding the fan into little black patches of wet, tumbling forward and stopping before a whooping horseshoe of dinks and boobs. Bobby was freaked, scared shitless. But I was loving it. The day was beginning to shape up like no other. I took off my Pumas, tied them together, and threw them towards the sun, just like Randy. My runners twirled like birds. Randy was now at sea level, waving okay, calling out, “The coast is clear.” I took a step back, took a breath. “You’re not,” said Bobby, horrified. “I am!” I said, though still not a hundred per cent sure. Bobby grabbed my arm. He was desperate. “I swear – if you jump, I will never be your friend again.” Now I was certain. And it was easy. Randy was right, the sand was super-soft. Bobby plunked himself down and stared at the tankers. Randy and I nudged each other. Then Bobby took off his shoes, placed them nicely beside him. A couple walked by. They were nude, gay, and beautiful. The sun had just gotten hotter. Randy stood up and announced that he was going to “get nekkid.” Bobby looked repulsed. “What the hell for?” Randy shrugged. “It’s boiling,” he replied, pulling off his T-shirt, revealing a body smooth and beautiful. I took it in: the way his muscles rippled under his olive skin, the thick brown hairs that sprung from his pits, his nipples plump and purple. He gave his shirt a couple of shakes, then tossed it over the log. I could tell he’d done this before. I realized I would have to move quickly, too, if I wanted to keep pace with Randy. So I stood up. Bobby looked at me – You’re not? I pulled off my shirt and laid it down. I took off my shorts and underwear together, adding them to the length of my shirt. Randy saw what I was doing and seemed to think it was a good idea. He made a blanket out of his clothes, too. It all happened so fast. And I’m glad it did. Because it would have been really uncomfortable any other way. Like sipping castor oil, or taking a long hard look at the sun. The next thing I knew I was lying on my stomach, the sun spreading out over the small of my back, the light breeze tickling the soles of my feet. I wondered what I could say next to Bobby, but nothing came to mind. He was no more than three feet away, yet it seemed like he didn’t exist. I would have to turn my whole body to see him. And right now that would require too much effort on my part. Like walking to the airport, or swimming to Seattle. Bobby would have to come to me now. I looked over at Randy, on his haunches, fiddling with the knot that bound his shoes. What a profile, I thought. And, what an amazing body. His skin a perfect fit. The lines his muscles made, how they worked so well with his bones. And in the shade he made beneath his squat: his genitals full and flaccid, hanging there, batlike, the hairs of his balls fizzing off, in silhouette. Randy the man, I thought, closing my eyes. Which was cool. He was, after all, a year older than us, having failed Grade Five. I could hear Bobby struggling with his clothes. I’d never seen him naked before, nor him me. I wondered: Would he look like Randy or would he look like me?

Randy reached between both girls’ legs and squeezed gently. Jenny moaned. Then Cindy moaned, too. A strange harmonic interval, Randy thought.

Man or boy? So I rolled over. Bobby had his back to us. He was all hunched over, down to his Stanfields. He looked back at me and I saw the face of his father, that angry Galt face you’d see at Sports Day, screaming at poor Bobby to run faster, faster. Then Bobby, with one leg out, all caught up and self-conscious, leaning away from his face, hopping on that one clothed leg, hoping to find his balance. The gaunch came off, but Bobby fell. I could see how he looked like me. Still a boy. Randy laughed, but it wasn’t so funny. So there we were, the three of us, naked, lying on our stomachs, when Randy, who was in the middle, turned over on his back and asked us if we wanted to hear about Cindy Carruthers. “You told us you didn’t even know who she was!” Bobby said, arms at his side, afraid to move. “I know I did,” Randy said. “But I only told you that because I didn’t want you guys to be my friend just because of what Cindy and I did together.” Bobby leaned up on his elbows. “Whaddaya mean what you guys did together? You said you were only at Churchill a week.” Randy held onto the moment, flicking some non-existent sand off his abs. “Four days, actually. I was enrolled on the Wednesday and expelled on the Monday. But I got there just in time to go to a party. Which was where I met Cindy,” he said, flicking at some more non-existence. His cock jiggled as he did this.

That’s when Bobby lost it. He told Randy to go ruck himself, told him he didn’t like being bullshitted. Then he put on his clothes and stormed off down the beach. He’d told us he was going home, but he ended up about ten logs down, on the clothed side of Foreshores, chucking rocks at the gun tower. In the meantime, Randy told me what really happened.

It was the Friday after Randy started at Churchill. He was on his way home from school when he decided to split from his usual route and take the alleyway. Three houses in, he heard somebody call his name. It was a girl’s voice. Randy stopped, looked around. Nothing. He took a step forward, then heard it again – this time with giggles. The voice was coming from a hole in a hedge. Randy poked his head through and saw Cindy Carruthers and another girl crouched behind a pool house, each of them holding pint glasses. They were drinking something orange. And they were drunk. “Hello, big boy,” said Cindy’s friend, cracking up. Randy shook his head and turned to leave. “No, don’t go!” Cindy shouted after him. Randy heard footsteps. The next thing he knew the girls were on him, their fingers hooked through his belt loops, pulling him backwards through the hedge. “No, no, no, no, no,” Cindy slurred. “You can’t go yet. You have to sit with us. We’re having a tea party.” So Randy thought, why not? They crawled through the hole and sat down behind the pool house, in the shape of a triangle. Cindy’s friend was a darker, more robust version of Cindy. As it turns out, she was Cindy’s neighbour, Jenny Wolf. Although two years older than Cindy, Jenny was Cindy’s best friend. A lot of what Cindy learned from life must have come from Jenny. Or that’s what I gathered from what Randy had to say. The girls watched Randy, Randy watched the girls. He was bemused by the way they’d turn to each other, giggle, then go back to sipping.

Cindy’s soft breasts filled his hands. Water balloons, he kept thinking.

Jenny handed Randy her glass. “Here,” she said. Randy took a sip. “A Harvey Wallbanger,” he said, handing it back. Cindy just sat there, her eyes glazed, grinning. “Maybe he’s the one,” Jenny said, nudging Cindy. More giggles. Then Randy said to Jenny, “The one for what?” Jenny nudged Cindy again. “Ask him,” Jenny said. “I dare you.” Then Cindy nodded. Going from crosslegs to all fours, Cindy crawled over to Randy, where she knelt before him and stuck out her chest. “Put your hands up my top.” So he did. He reached under Cindy’s T-shirt and explored. Cindy’s soft breasts filled his hands. Water balloons, he kept thinking. Nothing like the siliconed breast of his mother’s friend, the woman who had first introduced Randy to the female form. Cindy closed her eyes and began a slow rotation, pressing her breasts against Randy’s open palms. Jenny, in the meantime, had crawled over to join them. But instead of asking for Randy’s hands, she just lifted her top up and let her breasts plunge forth. They looked like crescent moons, Randy thought. He liked their curve, the way the nipples pointed up and out. He’d heard somewhere that the French had breasts like that. Now they were all pressed together. Everybody’s shirt was untucked and the breathing was heavy. Cindy sucked on Randy’s neck, while Jenny rubbed his crotch. Randy reached down and squeezed Cindy’s bum. Then he reached down and squeezed Jenny’s bum. Although both bums felt the same, Randy was sure that Jenny’s bum was bigger. It was certainly less bony. Jenny pushed her crotch into Randy’s hip and struggled with his button and fly. Randy reached between both girls’ legs and squeezed gently. Jenny moaned. Then Cindy moaned, too. A strange harmonic interval, Randy thought. How both moans made an overtone. How it sounded so much like music from a movie. Randy felt the cool air on his cock. He watched as Jenny pulled on it, letting it fall out of her pudgy hand, then grabbing it again, repeating the motion. Randy’s cock grew longer, harder. But now what was Cindy up to? Now she was kissing her way across Randy’s face, totally wrecking his view of Jenny’s hand. Not a problem, though. For Randy knew he could just as easily go the other way on Cindy. Which is what he did. Kissing. So now Randy was sucking on Cindy’s neck, where he could watch as both Jenny’s hands tugged down his Levi’s. Then Jenny did something that turned Randy on so much he almost shot off right then and there. Jenny took Cindy’s hand and wrapped it as far as it would go around Randy’s erection, giving it a quick lesson in grips. Randy was so turned on. He loved that these two girls could have that kind of friendship. Her lesson imparted, Jenny sat back and supervised. Randy watched Jenny watching. He thought, This is so cool. He liked it that Jenny was so professional, as if Cindy were being graded on her technique, as if there was a chance Cindy might blow this thing and have to be shown up by an expert. Randy also liked it that Jenny would occasionally reach over and squeeze his balls, jiggling them, if only to demo something for Cindy to pick up on, something she could do with her other hand once she felt comfortable with this first assignment. But as this went on, Randy felt troubled by the way Jenny became more and more detached from his pleasure, that her petting was really more for Cindy’s benefit rather than his own – just as Cindy’s hand job wasn’t really for him so much as it was for her instructor, Jenny. This is where Randy began to lose it. He sensed a softening. Which, of course, would only reflect poorly on Cindy.

Jenny looked up, quickly grabbed Randy’s cock out of Cindy’s mouth.

As Randy’s cock shrank, Cindy became more and more desperate. For now she was trying stuff; she wasn’t sure this would work. Of course, Randy found this out the hard way: at one point he jumped back, convinced that Cindy had cut him with one of her nails. Cindy threw Jenny a pleading look, and Jenny decided it was time for her to step back in. Randy thought this was an even worse idea. They were only doing this for each other; it had nothing to do with him. So now he wanted out. He was all set to hike his pants up when Jenny introduced something new. Because now she was using her mouth. And Jenny’s mouth felt warm and right over Randy’s cock. So now it was the combined efforts of hand and mouth that were bringing Randy around: the way they worked together, pumping and sucking…Randy felt he was ready to come. And Jenny sensed this, which turned on Randy even more. Now Jenny was motioning for Cindy to join her. And Cindy was into it. Jenny took Randy’s cock out of her mouth and pushed it into Cindy’s. Randy couldn’t believe this. He was reeling. But what was that? Did somebody say something? It was Jenny! She was giving Cindy oral instruction! “Don’t suck – blow,” she whispered, her hand on the back of Cindy’s bobbing head, as if to keep the beat. “Good. Now grab his nuts.” And sure enough Cindy’s free hand came up and lifted Randy’s testicles, rolling them in between her fingers, pulling them. The next time Randy looked over at Jenny she was smiling at him. She seemed really pleased that Randy was getting off, as if she were blowing him herself. Jenny continued her supervision. But this time she didn’t look so concerned. Her pupil was passing, and the only thing that seemed to be worrying Jenny was what to do with Randy’s come. At least that’s what Randy was thinking. Because Randy began to feel lightheaded, and all kinds of thoughts were going through his mind. Jenny seemed experienced enough to know this. Something about the way she looked at him just before he shut his eyes. One of the last things Randy noticed: Jenny’s hand was underneath Cindy’s ass, and it was active. This was all he needed. Everything after that was strobic. He felt something sharp pierce the dull hum in his body. Jenny looked up, quickly grabbed Randy’s cock out of Cindy’s mouth; she pumped it hard, pointing it earthwards. Cindy let go of Randy’s testicles, took in the show. Jenny was going a million miles per hour. The foreskin blurred. Randy let go with a moan as he fired his first shot, a dribble. Then a quick little spurt. Then a big one. Then one so big it caused Cindy to jump. Three or four shorter spurts followed. Then they stopped altogether. The three of them fell back on the grass. Cindy’s dog came around the corner and sniffed the sperm. Someone was home. Randy had to go. Fast. Like a house on fire.

If Randy’s story gave me an erection, the epilogue took it away. The combined effect was that I now had to pee. So I got up and went to the bushes. It took a while to find a good spot. As I was making my way around I began to replay not only Randy’s story but Randy lying there telling it. My mind lit up: the shine off his shoulders, his thick nipples, his bumpy abs. I closed my eyes and peed. I thought of him just as he was, lying there in the sun, the head of his cock peeking out of his foreskin, the sweat beading up on his balls. I thought of the shadowed depressions in the sides of his buttocks, and how they clenched when he moved. Then I imagined him with girls. All sorts of girls. Girls from movies, TV, the Sears catalogue. I saw hands tug on his shoulders, breasts pressing against his chest, pink tongues flicking at his nipples, the rise of an ass. But those images were fleeting. The sun had mushed my brain, so once they flashed off they were hard to replay. Plus Randy himself kept getting in the way. Because the only thing I knew for sure was Randy. He was so real. And I still wasn’t convinced Cindy Carruthers was anything more than a rumor. I stopped pissing just as Randy came, in my mind, a second time.  

Excerpted from The Pornographer’s Poem (Soft Skull Press). To buy this book, click here.

©2004 Michael Turner and