Born in Port Elizabeth? Well, hell, I drove the Garden Route from Capetown to P.E. 20 years before you were born! Gliding past the Twelve Apostles and hillsides studded with protea and through towns weeping jacaranda blossoms in the streets. Oh!

Say, I used to cruise out to Muizenberg near Capetown and meet the finest of South African studs, but a better son&daddy beach in those day was at Clifton. I was a son at that time myself, and I remember there was a public changing house (cabana) near a rocky cliffside well along the beach. I changed from shorts to bathing costume in a stall and walked off and left my small portable radio on a bench.

When I came back from a swim, it dawned on me that I had no radio tucked beneath my towel hidden in the rocks, so I went back to the bathhouse and realized it had doubtless been stolen. I went out to the beach feeling rather desolate because the radio was a new, very small model from the States, which had no counterpart in South Africa at that time.

I looked around outside but knew in my heart that it had to be a lost cause, so I sat down on the rocks to gnash my teeth. Directly, I heard someone shouting high above, and there was this really hot daddy standing atop the cliff waving my little radio in his hand.

"You the chappie who left this in there?" he shouted, pointing with his free hand to the cabana.

I nodded and jumped up from my seat on the rocks, looking for a way up the cliff.

"On the far side of that projection you'll find the stairs," he called down, and when I walked around the boulders, I saw a series of wooden steps leading to the top.

There were beach houses up there, quite nice and cozy some were, and he stood near one with windows facing the sea.

"How do you come to have my radio?" I asked.

He smiled. "Well, I sometimes go down there to sort of sniff around." He had a look in his eyes that made me wait to hear what more he had to say. "Sniff's not the right word perhaps," he grinned, "but I do meet some nice chaps that way."

He cleared his throat as I stared intently into those large brown eyes of his that seemed to bore a hole into me. "Saw the radio on the bench and figured some clod had walked off and left it there."

He said "clod" so good-naturedly I took no offense.

"Saw you swimming out there all alone, and no one else was on the beach, so....."

I laughed and knicked him lightly on a bicep with my fist. "So you figured I had to be the clod! Rotten name to call a good bloke like me!"

He set my radio on a rock and parried my thrust with a bit of sparring of his own. We squared off with grins and wasted no more words while we danced around in mock fisticuffs until I stepped an inch too near the cliff and the fellow snatched me away from the edge.

"You should be more careful, you clod," he said when I wound up breathless in his arms. "We've worked up a sweat. Reckon we need a swim."

That close to his handsome self I got a whiff of heady man smell that went up my nose and made me hard.

"I've had a swim," I said. "A shower would do. You live in this house?"

"That I do," he grinned, with a playful poke in my gut.

He led me indoors right to the shower room, which was exactly that -- a large, tiled room with no tub, only a hand shower suspended from the wall featuring a railing along two sides, and a drain in the floor.

"Sometimes I give swim parties," he said. "and this serves as a bath house for me and my friends. Maybe one of these days you will join us. How long will you be in Capetown?"

"It depends on several factors," I answered while he sprayed me down with warm water. "I'm going on the road with a stage troupe touring round the country, but we won't leave until the run is finished here, and that depends on when Capetowners stop buying tickets for the local performance"

He was soaping me down with a fragrant lotion that lathered nicely and smelt like lemons with a rosy overtone..

"Nice," I said, "feels like satin. What is it?"

"I make it myself," he said, "from a recipe developed by my Danish grandmother. No lye in it at all. It's based on lemon oil and rosewater and glycerin and a secret ingredient I never tell to anyone. Everyone wants me to bottle it commercially, but I like to keep it for my use alone. Maybe you'll come back for more."

He had scrubbed me all over and, on his knees, was by then licking my buns without rinsing them off. My skin felt fantastic. His tongue was warm.

"I don't taste like soap?" I asked.

"I could feel his lips wrinkle in a grin against my buttocks. "You taste like a aweet lemon tart, and now I'm going for the rosebud."

His tongue lapped into the deep crevice between the bubble buns of my butt, while his thumb rubbed the lotion into the object of his desire. His tongue followed soon after, probing the orifice and driving me wild. I bent from the waist and leaned my head against the wall, getting a little shaky on my legs.

He pulled back his head. I could hear him panting as heavily as I was. He was shifting his position.

"Hang on to the railing and lower yourself down to my face," he instructed me. "Don't put your full weight on me. Just suspend yourself a short way above me. I will tell you where."

I did as he asked.

"That's it," he said, "right there."

I was in an ideal spot for him to lift his head slightly and lick my asshole with my balls resting on his forehead. He grooved on that, and I grooved on the passionate pleasure he took in it. His hands, made silky smooth by his mysterious lotion, felt wonderful as they caressed my nether cheeks while he kissed and licked my nether mouth as if they adorned the face of love.

"I never saw an ass like yours," he choked out between licks and gasps of pleasure. "It's like marble, but warm and soft. Give me some more of your weight now. Sit on me gently, baby. Oh. I love this! I love it so much!"

He really did. His explored me everywhere down there, reaching up to play with my dick which was alrrady so hard anf dripping pre-cum I had to ask him to stop or I would cum.

"No, I want you to cum," he protested. "I've got my nose on the cum tube in your crotch. I want to feel it pumping semen. I never got this close to it before. I never found anybody who likes this as much as you do. Oh, baby, let it go!"

I felt his thumb and forefinger wrapped lovingly around the head of my dick, caressing it with just the right pressure to send a cum message to my gland. Softened by the lotion, his hand felt like a satin pillow moving arund the shaft. It was so erotic, I gave myself over completely to the pleasure of his touch. I lay my head against the wall and closed my eyes. My breathing quickend as I clenched my lips and teeath and breathed hard through my nose. My chest and belly heaved. Few things had ever felt so good.

Suddenly, he cried out, "I feel the semen pumping in your crotch! Oh! Oh! I'm cumming, too!"

Just as my juices erupted in a boiling spray, hot shots of semen shot out of his cock and struck my back. Several drops even hit the back of my neck. He must have had a monumental orgasm, even more than mine.

I let go of the railing, a cramp begiining to attack my bent knees, and swung my leg over him and crumpled up in a seated position with my back resting against the wall. With his belly heaving from the after-effect of his massive blow-out, he stood up and took the shower head in his hand, turning on the water at the same time.

"Sorry," he said, "got to take a piss."

Aiming his member at the drain, his piss hit it in a straight line while water from the shower head rushed it out of sight, followed by a rinse away of cum from his body and mine. It was such an erotic few moments, watching that beautiful cock performing the other operation for which is was intended, that my whole being seemed tied to this man with sensual ribbons of desire. I was hard again and asked him to sit on it facing me. He rubbed my dick with the lotion and settled over me with a dreamy smile on his face and leaned foward to stroke my face and chest and belly with more lotion till the shower room had the scent of a garden. He rose up and down on me slowly until I came again.

That was only the beginning of a memorable afternoon spent on the shower room floor, doing each other until our wells finally ran dry.

At sunset, we took a swim in the ocean. The water was cold and bracing. As the sun fell over the horizon, we waded into the shallows behind a curtain of rocks and embraced with hot kisses. The warmth of our bodies provided fresh inspiration. Pulling our shorts to our knees, we rubbed our dicks against our bellies and came small loads with our toes braced in the sand and the surf washing gently. There was just enough cum to make warm little squirts that were sweet and friendly.

Back at the house, we slept wrapped in each other's arms the whole night through. I went back into town the next morning as I had to participate in a matinee charity performance that afternoon, but I saw him several times more before I left Capetown and managed to attend one of his swimming parties with an older set of his friends. That, however, is a story for another time.

THE END