This is part 1 of a story that I'm working on atm. Feel free to comment - much appreciated.
I publish these stories first on my Substack and most of them are still works in progress. I hope you enjoy this!
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Imagine a clear summer day by the sea, with a beach stretching for miles, a sapphire-blue sky, and a soft breeze making the bright, sunny day feel perfect.
I was lying on a blanket with my eyes closed, listening to the seagulls and the waves doing their thing. The sun warmed my skin, and, yes — I probably should have put on some sunscreen. But hey, sweat works as a shield too, right?
The strangest part wasn’t that I hadn’t used sunscreen, but that my friend Mats used so little of it. I mean, I’m a medium-blond guy who tans easily and rarely burns, but Mats was more of a redhead. Not the super-pale, copper-haired kind—he had thick, rich brown hair, dark amber eyes, freckles, and an amazingly charming smile. Add to that an athletic surfer’s body paired with, let’s be honest, skin that wasn’t exactly sun-proof.
So — he burned easily.
Did that mean he used sunscreen like he should? Nope. Never had, probably never would.
At least today, I’d seen him put some on his shoulders. Those broad shoulders. And his chest, too. Those well-defined pecs. Not overly big, but, you know… strong. Precisely shaped, you might say.
That was the extent of his sunscreen effort. Maybe he’d have gotten burned if his restless mind hadn’t suddenly decided it was time to prepare dinner.
The girls were not having it.
– Whaaaat? What are you talking about? – they protested. – We just got here! No way we’re leaving for dinner now. The sun is still up, for God’s sake—it’s our first day here.
– But the sun won’t set for ages. I mean… c’mon…. Mats tried to argue, besides, I’m hungry.
– Well, if you’re hungry, go make some food – his girlfriend shot back. – Just do it. We’re not leaving.
Mats looked around, clearly weary, and turned to me.
– Wanna grab some food? We can prep dinner… have a drink on the terrace?
I recognized the look—he was bored. His body was practically itching for action, like he was hoping for a sudden storm to get him out on his board, or maybe a surprise beach volleyball tournament to pop up behind one of the dunes.
But none of that happened.
Two hours of lying still was about all he could handle—and to be fair, it was about all I could handle too. So, with a sigh, I said:
– Oki Doki, let’s go food prepping.
I grabbed my towel and kissed my girl, then noticed Mats was already halfway up the beach, heading for the house.
He hadn’t gone far, though. The path was narrow—just two parallel lines of planks laid on the sand leading up to the beach house—so it wasn’t exactly built for speed.
I watched him from behind. His thick, dark hair shimmered with a coppery shine, brought to life by the bright sunlight. The bath towel rested casually on those broad shoulders, draping over a strong back shaped by years of steering a sailboard through storms and hail. His lean waist and well-defined spine led down to a very, very tight ass, perfectly framed by his yellow swim briefs. Each step set his ass cheeks in motion, a smooth, flowing rhythm supported by broad, muscular thighs that moved like well-oiled machinery.
Honestly? The path could have been longer if you’d asked me.
I soon caught up with him, which he noticed. He gave me a quick smile and said:
– Thanks for joining me. I was hoping you would.
– Of course, I replied. Food prepping is fun, and tanning does get a bit boring. Besides, a drink is always nice.
– It sure is. Thoughts about dinner?
– Hmmm, not there yet. But there’s ham, melon… and some meat if we want to BBQ. We’ll think of something.
– You’ll think of something – he said with a broad smile toward me. – You always do.
The house we’d rented was big—quirky, too. Built in the late 1800s, it must have stood almost on the water back then. Now the beach had widened, and the building stood alone among the dunes, with only the tall beach grass for greenery.
The bedrooms were all on the ground floor, with brick walls and small windows facing the sea. But the real highlight was the top floor. It had a veranda that wrapped around the entire house and massive, tall windows that could be thrown open to make the line between land and sea feel almost nonexistent.
We walked up the wide stairs leading from the beach to the first floor. Mats casually tossed his towel over one of the banisters to dry, and I followed him into the kitchen, which was on the right, just past the large dining room. Even though the house was over a hundred years old, it had a modern, open-plan feel. The living room was more to the left, but the floor plan was ambiguous, blurring the lines between the spaces. All the rooms shared the same magnificent view of the beach, the sea, and that endless blue sky stretching over everything.
Mats went to the fridge, grabbed a chilled water bottle, and poured us each a glass. He handed me one, and we both drank like our lives depended on it.
– Boy, I needed that – I said, surprised. – Didn’t realize I was that thirsty.
Mats was still drinking, and a small stream of water dripped down his chest. It made its way through the cluster of dark hair between his pecs, then slowly trailed further down.
I took another gulp.
The kitchen felt narrow for such a large house. Work areas lined both sides, with an old iron stove on the left and the sink and fridge on the right. Cupboards were mounted high on the walls, and benches followed the room’s length on either side.
I leaned against one of the benches, trying to take in the scenery—the high ceilings with their ornamental plasterwork, the enormous old windows, and the polished wooden floors that gleamed with the patina of age. My best friend stood across from me, drying his mouth with his hand, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.
– What is it now? I asked.
– What? he said, feigning innocence.
– Yeah, what is it? There’s always something when you look like that.
– What look? I’m not looking any special way – he replied, grinning wider now.
I rolled my eyes.
– Okay, sure. You’re totally not looking like you’ve got something on your mind that you won’t tell me. Fine. I’ll make our drinks while you stand there ‘not looking’ anything at all.
I started toward the fridge.
– Nah, Erik, you know what I’m thinking of.
– Nah, Mats, I don’t, I said, shaking my head. There are a million things you could be thinking about, and I haven’t had enough wine to start guessing.
– Well, what I’m thinking is… His grin softened into that warm, caring smile of his. I’m really happy you’re here with me. Have I told you I’m happy to see you?
That phrase had been our thing for ages. It had become a sort of secret catchphrase between us: one of us would say, “Have I told you…”, and the other would reply in a mock-restless tone, “Yes, you have.” We’d joked about engraving it on our gravestones, which would stand side by side one day.
I stopped and turned to face him.
– Yeah, you have. But not today, so feel free to say it again.
He walked up to me and wrapped me in a big, strong hug.
– I’m really, really happy to see you. That we’re here together, he said.
I saw the warmth in his eyes, welling up like a tide. They got watery, and that made me feel all wobbly and warm inside too. So, I hugged him back just as tightly.
I inhaled his scent from the crook of his neck and let myself enjoy the feeling of his unshaved cheek against my skin. Mats must have liked it too because he stayed in the hug, tilting his head so I could get even closer. My hand slid down his warm, dry skin and held firmly to his strong, narrow waist. His swim briefs formed a clear boundary I didn’t cross.
There had always been something special between us, a magnetic pull I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I didn’t know where it came from or what purpose it served, but it was there. And it was strong. Unmistakably so.
I stayed in the moment for a while. It felt like ages—probably just a few seconds. But I was the first to try to let go. Mats’ arms still held me.
– What? I asked, looking into his eyes, only inches away.
– Nothing – he said softly. Just want to take a close look at you.
– Feel free, I replied with a small smile. I’m here. Not going anywhere. Except to get drinks.
My hands were still resting on his waist, closer to the edge of his swim briefs than they’d ever been. His hands stayed on my back, warm and steady.
Suddenly, he shifted, letting go of my back to grab my arms.
– Man, you’ve really been putting in work at the gym. These biceps are huge!
I felt a flicker of discomfort at the attention and took a step back, heading toward the fridge to make us drinks. Mats was never usually this outspoken.
– I’ve been going to the gym for ages, Mats, I said with a dismissive laugh. These are like the weakest results any living man has ever gotten from spending that much time working out. My body is in a constant battle against my will, and the body’s winning. As always.
– Naaah, Mats said, you’re really hitting it. I’d say you’re doing fine. Very fine.
His hands gently stroked my shoulders and biceps, his gaze fixed on them with an intensity that made my chest tighten. I, on the other hand, couldn’t help but notice his thick eyelashes and the sunburnt skin on his nose. The way the freckles on his cheeks spread in an utterly random yet perfectly charming pattern. How the muscles in his shoulders moved under his skin as he touched me. And then there was that scent again—that musky, salty, sea-dark freshness he carried with him everywhere. His breath brushed against my chest, sending shivers all over me.
I suddenly felt an urge, raw and undeniable, to get a real hold of him. To grab his sides, to run my hands over his skin, feeling his muscles tense as I pushed him back against the counter. To see his surprised smile melt into playful mischief as he realized exactly what I was after. Our swim briefs would press together, bulges touching, noses so close that the magnetic pull between us would have been visible.
But instead, I smiled and gently stepped back.
– Handsome, these biceps aren’t going anywhere, but the ice is melting. Let me do the voodoo I do so well and whip up some nice refreshments.
He let me go but followed me to the fridge. As I leaned in to grab the cranberry juice, I felt him lean in too, his presence warm and firm behind me.
– So, he said, resting one arm lightly on my back and holding my shoulder, what’s the plan?
– Anything with vodka is the plan, I replied. After all, it’s five o’clock somewhere. And first day of vacation rules? There are no rules.
It was tricky not to think about how he was touching me.
– Aaah, there’s the cranberry… and there are the limes. Yai! Cosmo time, here we come.
– Wow, cosmo shoshsmo time, is it? My maaaaan.
I turned to him with a grin.
– Yup, I am. And now I’m your man with benefits.
– Like?
– Booze, baby. In caps.
He gave me a mock-serious nod and turned to rummage through the cupboards for glasses. As I hadn’t found—or really looked for—a shaker, I grabbed a bright, handmade bowl sitting on one of the counters as décor. It had a playful lemon pattern around the rim and seemed like it wanted to be useful. I filled it with ice, opened the vodka, and poured what I thought was a reasonable amount. Then I poured a bit more. The cranberry juice was trickier to gauge, but hey—juice can always be added later. I squeezed the limes by hand, stirring everything together with a fork.
Mats handed me two margarita glasses he’d found and, once again, positioned himself close behind me.
– That’s an exciting shaker you’ve got there. Very... comment dire... chic?
– Vraiment chic, monsieur, I said with mock sophistication. That rural charm has a lot of... je ne sais quoi.
– You can je ne sais quoi me anytime with a bowl like that, mister.
– I can, can’t I? Well, who wouldn’t?
I lifted it to show him the lemon pattern around the edge. He hummed approvingly.
– Do you think it’ll be sad to have lime juice instead of lemon in it?
– Nah, it’s a happy bowl. I feel like this bowl wants to bring joy—no matter the juice.
– Is that so? He said, raising an eyebrow. Well, duly noted. Any kind of juice, you say.
I poured the drinks and turned to hand him his glass. He was as close as ever, his eyes gleaming with that golden-dark amber hue, sending shivers down my spine. His breath on my skin made me feel like autumn leaves caught in a Sunday breeze. I could feel his bulge against my thigh.
Somehow, I managed to slide his glass between us.
– Cheers, Mr. Mighty. May you live long and prosper.
– Cheers, Erik. I promise to do my best.
He took a sip and made an approving face, eyebrows raised at the strength of the drink.
– Oh dear. He said, with a shrug. No expenses spared here. Is that wise, considering the vast amounts of water we haven’t had today?
– Maybe not – I said with a grin. – But what the hell. A drink should taste like a drink. Not like… soda.
– So true – he said, taking another sip. – Well, this one definitely tastes like a drink, in that case.
To be continued…
I publish these stories first on my Substack and most of them are still works in progress. I hope you enjoy this!
---
Imagine a clear summer day by the sea, with a beach stretching for miles, a sapphire-blue sky, and a soft breeze making the bright, sunny day feel perfect.
I was lying on a blanket with my eyes closed, listening to the seagulls and the waves doing their thing. The sun warmed my skin, and, yes — I probably should have put on some sunscreen. But hey, sweat works as a shield too, right?
The strangest part wasn’t that I hadn’t used sunscreen, but that my friend Mats used so little of it. I mean, I’m a medium-blond guy who tans easily and rarely burns, but Mats was more of a redhead. Not the super-pale, copper-haired kind—he had thick, rich brown hair, dark amber eyes, freckles, and an amazingly charming smile. Add to that an athletic surfer’s body paired with, let’s be honest, skin that wasn’t exactly sun-proof.
So — he burned easily.
Did that mean he used sunscreen like he should? Nope. Never had, probably never would.
At least today, I’d seen him put some on his shoulders. Those broad shoulders. And his chest, too. Those well-defined pecs. Not overly big, but, you know… strong. Precisely shaped, you might say.
That was the extent of his sunscreen effort. Maybe he’d have gotten burned if his restless mind hadn’t suddenly decided it was time to prepare dinner.
The girls were not having it.
– Whaaaat? What are you talking about? – they protested. – We just got here! No way we’re leaving for dinner now. The sun is still up, for God’s sake—it’s our first day here.
– But the sun won’t set for ages. I mean… c’mon…. Mats tried to argue, besides, I’m hungry.
– Well, if you’re hungry, go make some food – his girlfriend shot back. – Just do it. We’re not leaving.
Mats looked around, clearly weary, and turned to me.
– Wanna grab some food? We can prep dinner… have a drink on the terrace?
I recognized the look—he was bored. His body was practically itching for action, like he was hoping for a sudden storm to get him out on his board, or maybe a surprise beach volleyball tournament to pop up behind one of the dunes.
But none of that happened.
Two hours of lying still was about all he could handle—and to be fair, it was about all I could handle too. So, with a sigh, I said:
– Oki Doki, let’s go food prepping.
I grabbed my towel and kissed my girl, then noticed Mats was already halfway up the beach, heading for the house.
He hadn’t gone far, though. The path was narrow—just two parallel lines of planks laid on the sand leading up to the beach house—so it wasn’t exactly built for speed.
I watched him from behind. His thick, dark hair shimmered with a coppery shine, brought to life by the bright sunlight. The bath towel rested casually on those broad shoulders, draping over a strong back shaped by years of steering a sailboard through storms and hail. His lean waist and well-defined spine led down to a very, very tight ass, perfectly framed by his yellow swim briefs. Each step set his ass cheeks in motion, a smooth, flowing rhythm supported by broad, muscular thighs that moved like well-oiled machinery.
Honestly? The path could have been longer if you’d asked me.
I soon caught up with him, which he noticed. He gave me a quick smile and said:
– Thanks for joining me. I was hoping you would.
– Of course, I replied. Food prepping is fun, and tanning does get a bit boring. Besides, a drink is always nice.
– It sure is. Thoughts about dinner?
– Hmmm, not there yet. But there’s ham, melon… and some meat if we want to BBQ. We’ll think of something.
– You’ll think of something – he said with a broad smile toward me. – You always do.
The house we’d rented was big—quirky, too. Built in the late 1800s, it must have stood almost on the water back then. Now the beach had widened, and the building stood alone among the dunes, with only the tall beach grass for greenery.
The bedrooms were all on the ground floor, with brick walls and small windows facing the sea. But the real highlight was the top floor. It had a veranda that wrapped around the entire house and massive, tall windows that could be thrown open to make the line between land and sea feel almost nonexistent.
We walked up the wide stairs leading from the beach to the first floor. Mats casually tossed his towel over one of the banisters to dry, and I followed him into the kitchen, which was on the right, just past the large dining room. Even though the house was over a hundred years old, it had a modern, open-plan feel. The living room was more to the left, but the floor plan was ambiguous, blurring the lines between the spaces. All the rooms shared the same magnificent view of the beach, the sea, and that endless blue sky stretching over everything.
Mats went to the fridge, grabbed a chilled water bottle, and poured us each a glass. He handed me one, and we both drank like our lives depended on it.
– Boy, I needed that – I said, surprised. – Didn’t realize I was that thirsty.
Mats was still drinking, and a small stream of water dripped down his chest. It made its way through the cluster of dark hair between his pecs, then slowly trailed further down.
I took another gulp.
The kitchen felt narrow for such a large house. Work areas lined both sides, with an old iron stove on the left and the sink and fridge on the right. Cupboards were mounted high on the walls, and benches followed the room’s length on either side.
I leaned against one of the benches, trying to take in the scenery—the high ceilings with their ornamental plasterwork, the enormous old windows, and the polished wooden floors that gleamed with the patina of age. My best friend stood across from me, drying his mouth with his hand, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.
– What is it now? I asked.
– What? he said, feigning innocence.
– Yeah, what is it? There’s always something when you look like that.
– What look? I’m not looking any special way – he replied, grinning wider now.
I rolled my eyes.
– Okay, sure. You’re totally not looking like you’ve got something on your mind that you won’t tell me. Fine. I’ll make our drinks while you stand there ‘not looking’ anything at all.
I started toward the fridge.
– Nah, Erik, you know what I’m thinking of.
– Nah, Mats, I don’t, I said, shaking my head. There are a million things you could be thinking about, and I haven’t had enough wine to start guessing.
– Well, what I’m thinking is… His grin softened into that warm, caring smile of his. I’m really happy you’re here with me. Have I told you I’m happy to see you?
That phrase had been our thing for ages. It had become a sort of secret catchphrase between us: one of us would say, “Have I told you…”, and the other would reply in a mock-restless tone, “Yes, you have.” We’d joked about engraving it on our gravestones, which would stand side by side one day.
I stopped and turned to face him.
– Yeah, you have. But not today, so feel free to say it again.
He walked up to me and wrapped me in a big, strong hug.
– I’m really, really happy to see you. That we’re here together, he said.
I saw the warmth in his eyes, welling up like a tide. They got watery, and that made me feel all wobbly and warm inside too. So, I hugged him back just as tightly.
I inhaled his scent from the crook of his neck and let myself enjoy the feeling of his unshaved cheek against my skin. Mats must have liked it too because he stayed in the hug, tilting his head so I could get even closer. My hand slid down his warm, dry skin and held firmly to his strong, narrow waist. His swim briefs formed a clear boundary I didn’t cross.
There had always been something special between us, a magnetic pull I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I didn’t know where it came from or what purpose it served, but it was there. And it was strong. Unmistakably so.
I stayed in the moment for a while. It felt like ages—probably just a few seconds. But I was the first to try to let go. Mats’ arms still held me.
– What? I asked, looking into his eyes, only inches away.
– Nothing – he said softly. Just want to take a close look at you.
– Feel free, I replied with a small smile. I’m here. Not going anywhere. Except to get drinks.
My hands were still resting on his waist, closer to the edge of his swim briefs than they’d ever been. His hands stayed on my back, warm and steady.
Suddenly, he shifted, letting go of my back to grab my arms.
– Man, you’ve really been putting in work at the gym. These biceps are huge!
I felt a flicker of discomfort at the attention and took a step back, heading toward the fridge to make us drinks. Mats was never usually this outspoken.
– I’ve been going to the gym for ages, Mats, I said with a dismissive laugh. These are like the weakest results any living man has ever gotten from spending that much time working out. My body is in a constant battle against my will, and the body’s winning. As always.
– Naaah, Mats said, you’re really hitting it. I’d say you’re doing fine. Very fine.
His hands gently stroked my shoulders and biceps, his gaze fixed on them with an intensity that made my chest tighten. I, on the other hand, couldn’t help but notice his thick eyelashes and the sunburnt skin on his nose. The way the freckles on his cheeks spread in an utterly random yet perfectly charming pattern. How the muscles in his shoulders moved under his skin as he touched me. And then there was that scent again—that musky, salty, sea-dark freshness he carried with him everywhere. His breath brushed against my chest, sending shivers all over me.
I suddenly felt an urge, raw and undeniable, to get a real hold of him. To grab his sides, to run my hands over his skin, feeling his muscles tense as I pushed him back against the counter. To see his surprised smile melt into playful mischief as he realized exactly what I was after. Our swim briefs would press together, bulges touching, noses so close that the magnetic pull between us would have been visible.
But instead, I smiled and gently stepped back.
– Handsome, these biceps aren’t going anywhere, but the ice is melting. Let me do the voodoo I do so well and whip up some nice refreshments.
He let me go but followed me to the fridge. As I leaned in to grab the cranberry juice, I felt him lean in too, his presence warm and firm behind me.
– So, he said, resting one arm lightly on my back and holding my shoulder, what’s the plan?
– Anything with vodka is the plan, I replied. After all, it’s five o’clock somewhere. And first day of vacation rules? There are no rules.
It was tricky not to think about how he was touching me.
– Aaah, there’s the cranberry… and there are the limes. Yai! Cosmo time, here we come.
– Wow, cosmo shoshsmo time, is it? My maaaaan.
I turned to him with a grin.
– Yup, I am. And now I’m your man with benefits.
– Like?
– Booze, baby. In caps.
He gave me a mock-serious nod and turned to rummage through the cupboards for glasses. As I hadn’t found—or really looked for—a shaker, I grabbed a bright, handmade bowl sitting on one of the counters as décor. It had a playful lemon pattern around the rim and seemed like it wanted to be useful. I filled it with ice, opened the vodka, and poured what I thought was a reasonable amount. Then I poured a bit more. The cranberry juice was trickier to gauge, but hey—juice can always be added later. I squeezed the limes by hand, stirring everything together with a fork.
Mats handed me two margarita glasses he’d found and, once again, positioned himself close behind me.
– That’s an exciting shaker you’ve got there. Very... comment dire... chic?
– Vraiment chic, monsieur, I said with mock sophistication. That rural charm has a lot of... je ne sais quoi.
– You can je ne sais quoi me anytime with a bowl like that, mister.
– I can, can’t I? Well, who wouldn’t?
I lifted it to show him the lemon pattern around the edge. He hummed approvingly.
– Do you think it’ll be sad to have lime juice instead of lemon in it?
– Nah, it’s a happy bowl. I feel like this bowl wants to bring joy—no matter the juice.
– Is that so? He said, raising an eyebrow. Well, duly noted. Any kind of juice, you say.
I poured the drinks and turned to hand him his glass. He was as close as ever, his eyes gleaming with that golden-dark amber hue, sending shivers down my spine. His breath on my skin made me feel like autumn leaves caught in a Sunday breeze. I could feel his bulge against my thigh.
Somehow, I managed to slide his glass between us.
– Cheers, Mr. Mighty. May you live long and prosper.
– Cheers, Erik. I promise to do my best.
He took a sip and made an approving face, eyebrows raised at the strength of the drink.
– Oh dear. He said, with a shrug. No expenses spared here. Is that wise, considering the vast amounts of water we haven’t had today?
– Maybe not – I said with a grin. – But what the hell. A drink should taste like a drink. Not like… soda.
– So true – he said, taking another sip. – Well, this one definitely tastes like a drink, in that case.
To be continued…
