As Greg placed the pieces together, the rounded curves sliding into place seamlessly, the brown hair in the puzzle began to flutter, as if an ocean breeze had caught the visible strands. He watched for a few seconds, then sifted through the bulk of the pieces until he found the other portion of the man’s forehead. He attached it to the couple of pieces of cloud and sky and hair he’d already put together, then blinked when the forehead crinkled.
He glanced from the connected grouping of puzzle pieces to his condensating beer, then to the pile of freshly opened pieces. Bits of residue from the box decorated the table, calling attention to themselves when he sighed. He returned his gaze to the portion he’d just put together and shook his head because the hair no longer fluttered and the forehead had gone as smooth as it’d been when he’d first picked it up.
For a long time Greg worked quietly. Sorting the colors. Connecting the edges. Separating sky and ocean from beach and man.
The tight bathing suit, bright orange and black, easily went together. The legs extending down from it almost looked the same as the sunny piling above the pier that ran along the right side of the puzzle, but he found them as the pier grew longer. He thought, for just a moment, that he saw droplets sliding along the man’s knee after placed the pieces, but when he looked again, the telltale sparkle of sweat had disappeared.
The man’s eyes twinkled when Greg connected the man’s face to his torso, but no more than the glossy finish on the picture dictated they should. However, the shifting, curling ocean crashed against the surf when he finished the line of breakers. Silently. Constantly.
He took a moment after that. Finished his beer and read the label, thinking maybe he’d bought specially crafted beer, but no, nothing out of the ordinary there. Maybe he was simply tired. His eyes playing tricks on him.
So he went and got another beer and sat back down to finish the man and the shoreline since he didn’t relish tackling the mono-colored sky just yet. The sand and shells and driftwood slowly took on real shapes. A horseshoe crab appeared on the left side of the puzzle and a turtle grew out of the shadows under the pier. They moved, kicking up sand, but he gave them no heed, pretending not to see.
It wasn’t until he found the last piece of the man’s hand that Greg sat up straight, finally unable to deny what his eyes had been telling him for the past few hours. For, with the last edge of his palm put into place, the man finally lifted his hand to tuck his fluttering hair behind his ear, his teeth flashing in a smile before his hand fell to his side once more.
Greg stared, watching as the man seemed to be enjoying himself, his toes curling in the sand, his head cocking, his ass shaking when he turned around and strode toward the surf. He bent, getting his hands wet as the water rushed over his feet. Then he threw a cute smile over his shoulder, not quite toward Greg, and dove into the water.
Greg drank as he stared, the cold beer reminding him heavily of the snow outside and the winter wind that had chapped his lips the past month. In the unfinished puzzle, the man came up for air, shaking his head. Greg imagined the slap of that hair as it plastered against the side of the man’s face. Could almost taste the salt that likely clung to the man’s lips and coated his body.
When the man in the puzzle returned to shore his suit stuck to his body, the fabric outlining his ass and drawing attention to the shape swelling at his groin. Greg swallowed hard, taking air down with his beer as his own cock responded at the sight. The man seemed oblivious as he threw himself to the sand with a wink and a smile, again off to the side as if toward someone Greg couldn’t see. Then he gestured to the unfinished sky and laughed soundlessly, as if mocking Greg for his inability to finish the stripes of cerulean similarity.
Greg almost removed himself then, thinking to grab another beer and turn the television on for the rest of the evening. Yet, the man began to touch himself just as Greg shifted. And not in a casual way either, for his hand slipped underneath the dripping bathing suit and fisted his dick. His hips rose slightly in response, a fleeting expression of lust flashing across the man’s face.
So Greg remained, slowly pushing away the empty beer as the man in the puzzle jerked himself to the rhythm of the ocean only he could hear. The suit inched down, revealing the reddened top of his cock. The sand clung to his calves, his side and the back of his upper arm, creating a speckled, mottled appearance against his skin as he rocked and thrust into his own hand.
The room suddenly became confining. Too cold and dark and silent.
Greg shuddered and gripped the base of his own shaft as the man in the puzzle dug his heels into the sand and mouthed soundless words. Greg filled in the noises in his own mind. The grunts, the groans and the grating of sand-scraped flesh against the beach while the squelching of saltwater and pre-come on tender cock skin became faster. The echo of the roaring ocean wouldn’t be enough to drown out that sexy, beautiful noise.
Quickly, Greg tugged down his own pants and spat in his hand. He couldn’t hear the panting of the man in the puzzle, but he could watch as those hips canted higher off the beach, as his other hand came down to fondle those wet balls. Greg worked himself, matching the man’s rhythm instantly, the sound of his fist against his dick so loud in the quiet of the room, the creaking of his chair only a frail mimic of the pounding crashing of an ocean.
When the man’s mouth dropped in a soundless cry and white cream pulsed from his cock and splattered against his tanned, gloriously tight abs, Greg huffed and slapped a hand against the table, shaking the pieces and startling the man enough his eyes grew wide and he turned his head. Greg paid him no mind, intent on staring at that glistening cockhead and imagining what it would have felt like to have it slip inside of him, for the man to have been fucking Greg and not his own hand.
He shivered and gasped, then came, his body tensing, unable to continue the roughened pace he’d set moments ago. His muscles trembled as semen slicked his hand and spilled on his pants. The pleasure peeked quickly and harshly, racing through him at a breakneck sprint, demanding he relinquish his mind from all thought and just feel.
As he tumbled down from his orgasm, Greg fell against the table, nudging the puzzle and cracking part of the right edge. He stared at the crooked pieces, his breath heavy, his fist still wrapped around his cock and his spend dripping down his knuckles.
When he regained his breath, he lifted himself. Then he smiled slightly at the sight of the man in the puzzle snoozing on the beach, his palm resting against his stomach, the tip of his cock, red and visible, peeking out from beneath the waistband of his bathing suit. Sand coated the underside of his arm and the side of his cheek. His own spend sat pooled on his flat stomach.
Greg ran a finger along that stomach, wishing it was real, wishing he could feel hard, hot muscle under his palm. The man didn’t move but for his chest rising and falling with his breath and a couple drying strands of his hair catching in the wind. With a sigh, Greg stood and frowned at the mess he’d made, then went to clean up, making a note to buy puzzle glue so he could hang his masturbating man in his bedroom.
This one was actually going to be a story about a bathing suit. Something about not being able to take it off during some sexual encounter, leading to funny shenanigans. However, when I sat down to write about that cock-blocking bathing suit, I ended up writing something completely different. It happens.
Though, now I want even more to write a story titled ‘That Cock-Blocking Bathing Suit’ or something similar. We shall see, since I also want to write about when Greg finally brings a man home and that puzzle is still hanging in his bedroom…