Songs of Seduction - Water

I have always been drawn to the ocean, the distant horizon, the long beach, seven miles long, with its high dunes and wide sands.

For some men it's the lakes, placid and smooth; for others slow moving rivers driving irresistibly down to the sea. Some men return to high tumbling streams, cold and swift; and for others it's waterfalls, long falling and spumes of spray, white threading foam against black, wet rock.

For all men, it's irresistible. The pull of water on their soul, always pulling them back every year, once a year at the same time, the same day, to the same place.

For me, it's the base of a high dune, where two curving lines of high piled sand, held firm by succulent roots and delicate, red-tipped flowers, split; opening wide to the beach. From the sheltered place between the clefted dunes I can see the breaking waves of the ocean. Sometimes the surf thumps high up on the beach, pushing runs of water nearly to the foot of the dunes. Other times, if the winter storms have moved massive sands onto the beach, and the tide is low, the shore can be distant a hundred yards, maybe more.

When I was small my father would carry me there, tiny in his arms at first, then riding on his shoulders, then the next years running along beside his long stride. As I grew older and became a tall boy, my father would wave me away from the house, pointing the way but by then I knew it, and I would stay longer there. Never the night, but sometimes late into it, sitting by a fire made up of drift from the ocean and branch from the low trees further back on the land. I would drop my clothes in the summer heat and run naked to the beach, and later anoint the sand with my juice.

Now, as an older youth, a young man I suppose, the expectation of my annual return would grow upon me, even when I lived in a distant place and made my way there over the years in a succession of different cars. Such a long distance, driving for hours, leaving early and arriving late. For the whole month before, my waking dreams would be marked by a rigid cock tight against my gut in the morning, long in my hand at night. On the long drives, the exhilaration of wind against my face and the rush of speed on sweeping downhill curves would be too much, and I'd thicken and stop; arching my back from the seat and spattering come against the dashboard, against the leather rim of the steering wheel.

I've spoken to many men, and we're all the same. Wherever we go, whatever is the water of our dreams, there's always a primal, comforting place. All of us were first taken there by our fathers, and when we all tell of our first spill of seed, our first teenage heat, it's always there in our safest place by our water. The water surrounds us, and its restless motion always pulls up our pulsing jets, our furthest spurts, our thickest, aching cocks.

This year is no different. I'm a year older, becoming established and set in my ways. Perhaps the annual trips to the beach might end soon, but not this year. My father is getting older, and it might be as much him I come to see as it is to lie on my back in the dunes.

My age doesn't concern me. I suppose it should, as some of my childhood friends have already gone, and before they went some of them called me on the phone, saying they had seen a Watcher. Both John and Jeremiah saw a Watcher the previous year, a year before they went. But I don't know what to make of that, so I don't let it concern me. There's nothing can be done if a Watcher comes, anyway, but wait.

To give myself more time at the base of the dune and in the ocean, I'd bought myself a second-hand bicycle, and kept it in the shed at my father's house. My father would get it out when I called him to say, "Dad, it's me, I'm arriving on Monday," and pump the tyres, oil the chain. It had an old three-speed hub - the ride along the beach to my dune was flat and only a couple of miles - but I could put food and drink in the panniers, and a big towel to lie on, and the speed put wind in my face. I'd arrive fast and breathless, pull clothes from my body, run naked to the sea.

I cycle along the track running parallel to the line of the beach, and there they are still, the three rows of dunes, the highest furthest away from the beach. The familiar track climbs up over the high dune, and winds through to the sand. As always, there's no sign of any human presence, only animal trails criss-crossing, and once I saw the slither of a snake. Today there's a low thrum of wind, and the bare sand has blown into clean ripples. Nobody has been here for days, the only footprints are my own. I make two runs, leaving the bike back by the parallel track. I turn the bike, so it faces back down the way I've come.

Down where the dune splits, by my sheltered spot with its blackened circle of last year's fire, the wind drops and the air is still and warm. I lay another small fire ready for the evening, and spread my wide towel on the ground, angled so I can see the breakers. Out beyond the break line, some three or four hundred yards, I see the shimmering heat of the small granite islands, there off the shore. I've never swum out to them, even though I easily could. I've stayed near the land, all these years.

The glorious ocean! That first splashing run, ah fuck that's cold! and the first sideways shoulder to the wave, diving under the break and learning the shuddering, shrinking cold. Swimming out further with a steady stroke, my cock loose against the water in a constant float and drag of sensation, firming now and pulling more, glorious hard, my balls tightening up to the base of my body. That first deep sensation between my balls and the hot tightness of my asshole, caressed by cold water. I've craved it all year, and here it is.

Beyond the break with its shattering white foam and tumbling sand, the water is warmer and I lie on my back, pushing my body up to the sun, my cock rigid against my gut, my nipples tight and firm. I pull on them, lying there floating, my breath deep in my lungs to float myself in the warmer water. I'm all body, all sensation, my whole flesh tightening in the salty crust of the waves and the heat of the sun. My cock remains hard, the constant caress of the moving water far better than any hand, any thrusting rub. It's a wet place, alive all around me, better than dreams, better than life itself.

I lie on my back in the sea, lulled by the rocking water and the sound of my heart in my ears, beating with my pulse and the occasional stop start of my heart I know so well. My cock remains rigid, aching tight against my gut, but I don't touch it, not out here. The lull of the waves is enough, gliding my flesh back and forth with a liquid sensation.

I roll onto my front and look around, and I've drifted a long way down the beach on a slow current, and a little out to sea. I swim towards the shore, a steady stroke, enjoying the pull of the water on my prick. I swim for several minutes until I'm nearer the beach, where the surf rises up and breaks. I ride in on a tumultuous wave, speeding down its front, my body held tight and straight, pushed on by the force of the water. My shaft is rigid and hard, the sensation of the sliding water fast and sweet; and at the end of the ride my body tumbles and I stagger to my feet, knocked about by the force of the water.

I've a huge grin on my face as I stride tall and magnificent from the surf, my cock thick in front of me. I'm so hard and tight, the head of my cock is plum red against my gut, I'm long and proud. I arch my back and thrust my arms above my head, and fuck the sky. So alive!

I hurry back to the nest between the dunes, to my place, and I'm stroking my prick now. I can't wait, I'm already into that first thickening thrill, where my whole body feels like an extension of my cock. I'm all shaft, my palms against my chest, my nipples, it's the same sensation as my palm running over the head of my cock. I'm all one long throb of sensation as I lie on my back and stroke myself faster, one hand rubbing up and down my shaft, the other cupping my high balls.

The breeze caresses my body like finger tips, cooling its soft sensation, bringing goose bumps up on my skin. My eyes are closed against the brightness of the sun, and there's red and violet and a lustrous pink on the back of my eyelids. My hands are faster on my cock now, and I begin to moan and cry out, my voice catching on the wind, calling like a bird. I'm vocalising inarticulate words and there's a rhythm and a beat in time with my stroke.

"Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," I cry out, and I'm calling for someone, beseeching some miraculous presence, but I don't know who or what it is, just that my soul aches for something, some perfect, impossible thing. I want it to suck my soul from my skin, this hot ache from my heart, this pumping jet of white come on my chest, hot on my flesh, my spine erupting with pleasure, sweet fuck, and I've never come this hard before. It's glorious, and I lie spread-eagled under the sun, my heart beating fast.

Ah yes, come take me. I'm ready. But I don't know what it means. Who is it I'm ready for? I don't know.

My cock softens and cools, and my come dries and crusts on my skin like the salt from the sea. I lick my fingers, savouring the different salty tastes. I want a tongue on my flesh, tasting me.

* * * *

I startle awake from a calling day-dream, high voices crying out my name; but how can that be? Nobody knows me here but my father. It must be the wind. It's picked up and cools my skin, wrapping its soft hand around my flesh. I look down to the coil of my cock, and cup it and my balls in the palms of both hands. My balls are cool, but my cock is still warm.

I look out to the ocean. Out past the rock islands I see a great flock of gulls circle and drop, their white darts hitting the water over and over. A hundred or more birds swirl and weave above the islands. There must be a school of a myriad tiny fish out there, disturbed up from the deep by a bigger thing, and the gulls croak and screech as they feed. I watch, amazed. I've not seen birds circle like this before, at least not here.

The sun has warmed my body again, and there's a tight crust of semen on my belly. I stand, and begin a walk to the sea, a slower walk. Coming has left me languid and lazy, but I know the surf will invigorate me. The waves are high, curling drops. The tide has shifted, pushing the waves higher up the sand, and they're perfect for body surfing, rushing me in and I'll swim back out. I swim quickly to the breaking line, where I pause and count the beat of the waves - every ninth wave is a bigger one, perfect for the speeding rush and swoop, like the birds.

I watch the flow and swell of the sea, floating in it and still counting, and I catch the first wave, rushing towards the shore. As I curve diagonally across the wave, I see a dark shadow to my left, matching my speed and sharing my water. I momentarily wonder if it's my own shadow, somehow mirrored on the wave, but then it changes direction and disappears. My first thought is, 'Shark' and muscles clench in my gut. When the thrusting water stops, I stand, and it's just over my waist. I look back out to the ocean, but see nothing. I think it's been a trick of the light.

I swim back to the breaking line, and wait again for the ninth wave, catching my breath. I feel my cock swaying in the water, and know that later I'll again walk hard on the sand. As I wait for the big one, I see a shimmer of silver flickering about ten yards away. I realise it's a school of tiny fish, just ruffling the surface of the water. That explains the birds, but my presence deters them, and it's as if the fish know that. The school comes closer, swirls around me once, and they're gone.

But here's the wave!

I accelerate onto it, and start a long fall down the front curve of the breaking water, angling fast towards the shore. This time I see it clearly, a shape my own length maybe ten feet from my side, but it's far more sleek and sinuous than I'll ever be. It's fast but somehow I know it's safe, not hostile, no shark jaws to terror and snap. The sea is exhilarating, and I'm so alive.

As I surf in and swim out, the gliding shape comes closer each time until it's right beside me.

And on one long, hurtling, swooping ride its arms are around me and my back is arched, my head held high to breathe and my cock is rigid, thick and hard, pressed against soft flesh; and the creature's body is under mine, sleek and silver, and oh fuck, I'm held in embracing arms and I never knew the sea would press back against me so much.

This time, when the churning white water runs flat and my legs would usually drop to the sandy bottom and I'd stand, this time I cannot. There's a tightness around my legs and they're held together, and I'm still held by strong arms.

"Breathe," a voice says in my ear, and I don't question it. I gulp in a breath and fill my lungs. Suddenly there's swift movement and my legs are released, and I'm moving fast through the water, still held in this thing's arms. I'm taken swiftly out beyond the breaking surf, and the creature is naturally one with the sea. I'm taken farther out than I've ever been before, then I'm released and I float.

Sweet goodness, beside me is something of such fine, delicate beauty that I look at my own clumsy form and I'm lumps of clay thrown together by some errant potter, or carven from a coarse lump of wood.

The creature glides around me, circling some ten feet away, as if to show me its form. It's sinuous and sleek, all curves. It rolls from one side to another, displaying itself for my eyes so I see. What a beautiful thing for dull eyes, they've never seen anything like this before.

I see its front and its back, and a long sleek body ending in a long tail, flaring out into two broad fans. Wide hips curving in to a tiny waist on a human torso, but not flat chested like men. When she rolls on her back small peaks almost flatten away, and when she rolls on her side, there's weight making soft curves, and her body floats, breasts high.

I know now this creature is a female thing, who calls to all landed men to come to their sea, their lakes, their long slow rivers. I didn't know what grace was, growing up male, plodding on land; but this feminine thing, sweet god, is this why men always return to the water? I didn't know these things existed, not truly. I'd heard tell, but how could I ever believe, never seeing a woman with my own eyes before?

She looks at me with big, slow lidded eyes, and her face is so much like mine but so different. I see a small nose with nostrils slowly expanding and contracting, and on her long neck small slits keeping time, and I see that she can breathe both water and air. Her lips are a rich coral pink, her mouth with darker gums and small white teeth. A little red point of a tongue, and she's looking at me. I imagine her eyes are taking in my oddity and strangeness too, but I must be somehow familiar, surely?

We stay still in the water, our heads above the waves. My legs are slowly moving, keeping me upright so I can hold my head up to breathe. I feel a slow coil around my thighs, and it's her tail looping around me, drawing me closer, and then our hands and fingers entwine and her fingers are longer than mine, folds of flesh between each finger. We pull each other close, and then our mouths are together in a salty, beautiful kiss.

"Ohhh..." I hear her call out, and her body quivers. Instinctively my arms go around her back to hold her, and her arms go under mine to hold me up, and we kiss, a beautiful, salty kiss. I've never tasted such delight. My fingers in my own juices could never compare to the salty tang of her kiss, and her little tongue touches mine. It's a delightful, delicate touch, as her mouth covers mine and her tongue darts and probes. She sucks on my lips, and I gently bite hers.

My cock rises hard, and she places it between us, and even in the water I feel the heat of her belly. Her tail tightens around my legs, pulling my body closer to hers. She nuzzles her mouth onto my neck, and I feel a tiny bite there, a sharp little nip. I gasp, a quick intake of breath, and she replies with a low sibilant sigh.

"Let me taake you," she says, and her voice is like a liquid song, a long ululation as she sings out the words.

"Where?" I reply, and how can two species share words? I wonder at it, but it's even more wondrous that she's here.

"To the islaands of roock," she replies, pointing with her slender arm, and there's a translucent membrane of skin between her upper body and her upper arm, and I remember her effortless glide through the water. I follow her gesture, and see that I'm close to the rocks. I look the other way, and I'm a long way from shore, further than I've ever been. I feel a momentary grip of fear in my chest, and she must sense it, for she strokes my hair so gently, it soothes me.

I see what I've not seen before, that her head is hairless. Her head is shaped like my head, a longer, more streamlined skull perhaps, but it glistens silver with tiny scales, shimmering as droplets of water slide from it. We are in many ways so similar, but in others so unutterably different.

But I can't think long about it, as again she whispers, "Breathe," and I take in a big gulp of air. This time she rolls me onto my back, and she too swims backwards. She embraces me in her arms, my back against the tight mounds of her breasts, one of her hands upon my chest, the other pressing my half thick cock against my gut. I feel the strong rhythm of her tail as she propels us fast through the water. I'm facing backwards, looking back at the land, and as we swiftly move, I see a tall figure appear on the crown of my dune, stopping at the top, silhouetted there. My heart pounds, as I realise it must be a Watcher, and I must be going.

"Why me?" I ask.

"Sshhh, not yeet. Get to the roock, my hoome, and I'll teell."

I feel an urgency in the sinuous thrust of her body and tail, as if she is eager to make land and talk. And in a minute we're in amongst the island rocks, and I see there's a small lagoon facing the sea. It's a sheltered place hidden from the land, and I'm in her world. She stops swimming, and releases me. I put my feet on the bottom of the lagoon, and walk from the water.

She leads me, swimming ahead as I walk, and disappears into a small cave. I follow, and find that the water ends, and there's a ledge upon which she slides, propelled by a last flick of her powerful tail. Droplets slide away from her silvery skin.

The rock ledge is covered by soft cloths, and I realise they're woven from seagrass and seaweeds, fronded and flowing sea plants, cleverly woven with sinuous, decorated patterns. Such beautiful cloth, and so soft. She lies on her side, and for the first time I see her clearly. It's the first time she's seen me too, and I see the glance of her eyes, up and down my body as she gazes back at me.

"Let me seee youuu," and it's not a question. I don't mind her gaze, it can be no different to mine, soaking the vision of her all in, as she looks back at me.

I lie on the covers beside her, and we're perhaps four feet apart, not touching, but stretched out so we each can see the other. I'm long and angular, and my prick is thick and long against my gut.

She's all curves and sinuous shapes, and now I can see all of her. The curves of her breasts are lovely crescents, a champagne glass would be perfectly filled. Thick, golden nipples stand high on her breasts, with tiny sparkles of fluid crystal on their tips. What taste, those tiny diamonds and miniscule pearls?

Her belly is flat and her waist narrow, my two hands would span it. At the base of her belly, where on me my cock grows, there's a slit, as long as my finger, with coral red lips and small folds of skin like a butterfly has landed but not closed its wings. Below those lips there's a hollowed place, and it's like the gap between my thighs where my cock and balls drop when they're soft; and of course, it's where my soft sacs will rest when my length is inside her. Sweet creation, could two creatures be made better for each other, a solid dry man and a sinuous wet woman? Are we the same species, after all?