Sea, sun and surf

I’m a photographer living in LAX. I work for a magazine doing sports pics.
I’m the youngest at newsroom. Indeed, I’m 24. however, my editor assigned me stories that a veteran would.
Not only great pictures are my passion, but sea, sun and surf.
The first time I discovered Joseph Myska, I wondered myself if I could reach that kind of quality.
As I surf too, sometimes I went to Santa Monica or Malibu to get tubes, and bodies to shot. I could make some interesting photos with amateur surfers who wanted to be a little famous, and eventually I could publish some on the magazine.
It was a story about hidden talents, but the nuder I could print was pecs, backs and lower legs covered by long bermudas.
I continued working until I got stressed,
“You need vacation,” my editor said.
“You’re kidding. I’m OK”, I denied.
“Look. You’re one of my best hounds. Take some days off. When you get back, I Promise I’ll give you a cover story,” he replied.
Almost arguing, I went on vacation,but where?
Winter started even in the West Coast, so I took a NG map, pasted on the wall, and threw a little arrow.
I didn’t believe where it landed!

So here I am – Mancora, Peru.
For a while, I though it was a very bad idea to trust on my hand strength. But a Peruvian friend of mine, in West Hollywood, told me great things about this beach. Did I mention West Hollywood? Well, yes, I admit – I like men.
I don’t see nothing remarkable. It’s such as Kolkatta but very little.
Was my friend seeing a sucker face on me? I don’t hope so.
Okay, it’s almost midnight and I gotta get a place to sleep. Fortunately, I fell in a little hotel, not a luxury marvel, not the swamp house, but quite decento dream of heaven, and waking up with the waves music.
After leaving California almost twenty hours bfore, the miracle happened. I got deeply slept.

Five hours an half later, waves called me. I opened my window, and sky was painted in a strange combination of red-brown and light blue. Forecast for today: no clouds, buddies. This is good news.
I wore my speedo, took my camera, and went out to explore that place with nobody there.
Waves were pretty highh, and that was the bad news – my board is home, in the US!
OK, I got my camera and landscape is interesting, then I take photos.
I watch to the sea, and I realize that I was not the only who came to the ocean early on a Saturday morning. Inside the water, some surfers are riding right now.
One of them comes to me, well not for me but direct to my side.
He’s a young boy, my same age, I guess. His defined body calls my attention. He’s not the regular guy, the white one tanned by sun. He’s the typical Latino man, dark sking, black curly hair, no body hair, nice face.
For any unexplainable reason, I don’t shot at him.

I had breakfast at eight. Some sandwiches, coffee. A boy left a flyer on my hand. I understood a little because it was in Spanish, but I knew it was advertising something.
The hotel’s owner finished to explain me all this. So I got back my room, looked for my press ID, and went to it.
The surfing contest was almost to start. I could enter showing my press ID.
The only weird thing is I’m the only photographer in speedos. The other colleagues maybe thoutgh I was crazy. I didn’t mind about it, because next to me there was an African-Peruvian man with a bitty tanga. “He’s a famous model,” other guy told me.
Contestants started to surf. Competence after competence happened, but I got zero pics.
Suddenly, I saw him. The boy that atracted to me hours earlier was in there.
I didn’t lose time. First shots started to fill my memory stick.
He wore black bermudas, that defined his hunk body (a model body, actually), and ran over a white board with a rare blue strip.
Maybe it was my impression, but he noted I was pointing him out when he was resting, after a competence. He smiled gently. It was of my best shots.
Before two, the champion was awarded – not him.
I didn’t take photos of the winner. I followed capturing him, with an expression in his face, only when you realize you were defeated.

That night there was parties everywhere, and some tourists I knew invited me to them.
I preferred to turn on my lap-top, put my memory stick and downloaded images.
When all of them were at the computer, I started to run and select. That means see, analyse, and save or delete.
I was doing that, when somebody knocked my door.
As I was nude, I put a towel over my hips and went to open. “The party announcers,” I said.
The surfer was there.
“Hola,” he said.
“Hi,” I answered. Damn it! Why I didn’t do it in Spanish?... and naked! Well, I covered my private parts with the towel, but my ass was with nothing over. But remember I use to surf, so I got a hunk body too.
“Do you speak English, right?”
“Yes, and you?”
“A little.”
“Not problem.”
“Your are busy?”
“Busy? Me? Nah! Only seing pics. Do you want to enter?”
“What?”
“¿Quieres entrar?”.
“Sí, digo – yes!”

He was wearing a red t-shirt and a white bermuda , like the Peruvian flag.
“Pretty photos!”
“Nice photos?”
“Yes, nice.”
I skipedp many of landscapes and ocean, and displayed his.
“Look!”
He was on screen. Then I saw a new expression on his face, like a baby seeing himself on a mirror for the very first time.
“That’s you!”
He started to smile, and some tears appeared on his eyes. Then, he hughed me. Yes, a hugh!
And as nothing is totally perfect, the towel fell on the floor. I only responsed that hugh.
“What happens?”
“My photos are pretty,” he said sobbing.
“I can save them for you.”
“What?”
“Te las puedo grabar”.
“No. Tenlas tú”.
“What?”
“They’re yours.”
“But this is you!”
“Thank you.”
“You have many photos of you? ¿Tienes fotos tuyas?”
“No.”
“So?”
Then, he cared my face. I did the same on his. He cared my shoulder. I did on his… t-shirt. As I said, nothing is totally perfect.
“You’re naked.”
“Yes.”
“Do you go to the gym?”
“No. I surf.”
“You surrf?”
“Yes.”
“But I’m not naked like you.”
“So?”
He smiled again, stood up, and took his t-shirt and his bermuda off – he got as naked as me. If the black bermuda revealed a Greek God’s body, in that moment, I didn’t have any doubt – it was better that I though! His muscles were perfect from head to feet. Oh, and in the middle, a lovely and bold dick that started to grow.
He sat down next to me on the bed, cared me again, and me too.
Then, he kissed on my mouth – a warm and sincere kiss.
We rolled on the bed many times. When we stopped, I could feel our cocks so hard. Using his mouth, he got a way to mine. He reached my bush, and started to suck my 7,6 inches for a long time. I just opened my legs and used my ankles for caring his back. He left my dick and started to lick my balls and going under, so I lifted my legs up, because I wanted he assaulted my asshole. He understood that and rimmed me making that it got wider.
“I wanna fuck you,” he said.
“Do it!”
He got a condom and a lub sachet from his bermuda, and sat all up for action.
His cock penetrated me such as I didn’t feel any pain. The last time I had sex before that once was during a football match coverage in Anaheim, about six months before with a football player who left my ass so ached for a couple of days. What was happening now? When surfer’s cock was totally inside me, he moved quite strongly, making lusty sounds everytime his hips splatted my buttocks. He didn’t stop to kiss me on mouth and neck. I didn’t stop to care his back and hard gluteus, with my hands.
When it seemed an upcoming cumming, he stopped. He sat another condomup, and put it on my hard dick. Then the lub.
“Fuck me, gringo!”
He sat down over my stick and started to go down, until all it was inside him.
I couldn’t believe this!
He started to ride me, while he rubbed his perfect eight inches of hard meat. It was too much for one person, so I helped to care it fastly.
Saturday night. Two lovers of sea, sun and surf fucking in a modest Mancora hotel room, breathing deeply because of pleasure, feeling each part of our ripped bodies, something that my camera can’t catch easily. How did you do, Joseph Myska?
Suddenly, he tilt his head up and breathed deeplier than before, and sperm landed over my chest and abs (actually, some drops went until my neck).
As his asshole got narrow, my orgasm was matter of seconds.
He fell over me and hold me hard. Our bodies were plenty of sweat. We kissed again and again and again…

Sunday. Twenty before six in the morning. A surfer is resting his head over my shoulder while his hand is pushing one of my nipples. Waves are calling out there to surf.
“I like the sound of the ocean.”
“So do I.”
“What?”
“Yo también”.
“My English is bad.”
“You need practice.”
He left the bed, went to open the window. The softlight of that hour gave him a unique texture I only saw at Myska’s photos. I rolled a little, got my camera, and made some shots.
“What?”
“Wait.”
I downloaded the pics. A Greek, I mean, a Peruvian, Andean God painted in light blue, naked, seeing thru an opened window. Amazing!
“Do you like it?”
He saw the pics and reacted like the night before.
“This is me?”
“Yes. You’re as cute as any model.”
“Model?”
“Yeah! Un modelo.”
“Your model.”
“OK. My model.”
We went back to the bed to feel our bodies again until our sticky milk left us together until sun was raised up.

A week later I returned to job. I was reading my assignment board. When my editor came to me.
“My hound is back! How was your vacation?”
“Great. You took a fucking right decision on me.”
“Did I?”
“Yes. You did!”
“OK. Fella. Let’s go to work and kick some asses!”
I got back home at seven and turned on my computer. He’s online.
Nice week. I write.
Yes!, he says.
Are you ready?, I reply.
Yes!, he puts.
OK. Let’s proceed…
Next month, Los Angeles City, and especially beaches will be different for me. A sea, sun and surf lover is almost to conquer those sands and some adult magazine covers. Do you guess who’s the official photographer and agent? Yes! Me.

Do you have anything to tell and share? Write us at hunks.piura@gmail.com or drop us your comment.