Waiting for a Prince (3 page)

shoreline, his bare feet leaving indentations in the moist sand. The tide was out and the sun

sparkled on the sea. The only sounds were the waves rolling over the pebbles and the cries of

seagulls as they rode the currents of air along the cliffs. Dressed in a T-shirt, a pair of shorts, his flip-flops shoved into a side pocket of the rucksack, Mark felt the heat on his skin and let out a happy sigh. He loved living on the Isle of Wight, always had. While most people his age

couldn’t wait to get off the island, Mark had no such yearnings. He loved the place all year

round. Yeah, so it was tough living in a tourist spot where the population doubled in the

summer, but that was only a small percentage of the year. Mark hated those BMWs—Bitchers,

Moaners and Whiners—who were forever complaining about how the level of traffic on the

eastern side of the island was a bitch in summer time, how difficult it was to get around with all the tourists everywhere, blah blah blah.
If you don’t like living here, the ferry’s thattaway…

Mark headed for the far end of the beach where the crumbling red rock gave way to

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Mark headed for the far end of the beach where the crumbling red rock gave way to

white chalk cliffs, a leisurely twenty minute stroll away from the car park. It was an unofficial nudist beach and Mark’s guilty little secret. Even in the height of summer, few tourists ventured this far along the shore, preferring to stay closer to the car park with its cute, environmentally-friendly sanitation block, complete with wind turbine to generate its required electricity, and the café with outdoor seating, hot and cold food and beach supplies. At this hour, there was no one this far along, which suited Mark just fine.

Scratch that last thought
. Mark spotted a solitary figure sitting on the rocks at the base of the cliffs. From this distance he could see it was a guy, sporting long beach shorts and a

hoodie. Mark kept his eyes on him as he drew closer. All he could discern at this point was that the guy had long, tanned legs.
Yum
. Mark was a sucker for tall guys. He found himself thinking about the hunk in the salon on Saturday. What was his name? Yeah, Sam. Now that had been

one hot as fuck guy. Too bad he didn’t like dick.

As he got closer, the seated figure glanced in Mark’s direction and then stared out to sea

once more. Mark caught his breath. What were the fucking odds…? It was Mr Gorgeous

himself. No.Way. Mark thought quickly. What the hell was Sam doing sitting alone on

Yaverland beach at this hour of the morning?
Should I acknowledge him? Say something
? Mark was not a gregarious kind of guy. He kept to himself at work, save for the odd chat with Sonia

when the opportunity presented itself. There was a reason his cheeks flamed bright red as often as they did. Mark was very shy. And as for his social life, well, that was…. crap, basically.

He kept his eyes fixed on the white cliffs up ahead, making up his mind not to let on to

Sam. He felt guilty about it. He knew how much he liked it when he was walking around the

island and fellow walkers, complete strangers to him, would greet him with a brisk nod and

cheery hello. Mark always responded with a smile and a similar greeting. He’d never do that

himself: the most he’d do was greet everyone with a polite smile. And he hated it when some

sullen bastard would stare back coldly at him. Civility didn’t cost anything, did it?

As he drew nearer, Mark took a good look at Sam. He sat on a towel, knees bent, leaning

back on his hands and looking out to sea. The light early morning breeze played with his hair.

What struck Mark most was Sam’s expression. Despite the loveliness of his surroundings, he

looked sad. Mark got to within a few feet before Sam became aware of him. He gave a brief nod

toward Mark.

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“Morning.”

Mark gave Sam a nod and a smile, then continued on his way.
Does he recognize me
? He

waited for Sam to say something else as he passed by, but there was silence. Mark pushed out a

breath and forged ahead up the beach. He wasn’t sure why, but the thought of talking to Sam

made him nervous. He deliberately kept his eyes forward, unwilling to draw attention to himself.

And he was definitely
not
thinking about that gorgeous face he’d just left behind. Face?

Everything
about Sam ticked Mark’s boxes. The guy was his fantasy brought to life. Yet a part of him wondered what on earth would make the guy so sad in the midst of such natural beauty.

The nudist beach was empty, so Mark had his pick of where to lay his towel. There were

flat sandy areas up on the ledge at the base of the cliff, or he could choose to lie in one of the pebbled dunes below the shelf which marked high tide. After a second or two of deliberation, he chose a wide sandy spot, sheltered from the breeze and a good vantage point from which to spot

any visitors who approached. Mark remembered all too clearly the time when he’d been freaked

out by a guy who strolled up the beach, gawking first at Mark, and then at a woman who’d been

there on her own. He’d watched as Creepy Guy walked up to the huge rocks at the end of the

beach, did a 180 degree turn and walked back, pausing to gawk once again. When he did yet

another
turn, Mark could tell that the woman was getting seriously pissed off by the unwelcome attention. He’d been about to say something when she had got up and had words with Creepy

Guy herself, sending him off with a flea in his ear. Mark had given her the thumbs up and she’d grinned at him.

Mark set his rucksack down on the sand and took out his large beach towel. He spread it

out, first pulling it flat and then weighting it down with a few of the larger pebbles. Next came a bottle of water and his sunscreen, and finally, his Kindle. With one last look around, Mark

stripped off his T-shirt and shorts and folded them into a small bundle on which to rest his head.

He stretched his arms up into the air, loving the feel of the sun on his nude body. He thought

briefly about going for a dip in the sea, but on reflection decided that he’d wait until it had had a chance to warm up a little.

He knelt on the towel and applied the sunscreen liberally, making sure it covered as

much skin as he could reach, before spreading himself out on his back, legs parted slightly.
God,
that feels good
. He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of the incoming waves as they 17

that feels good
. He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of the incoming waves as they crashed over the pebbles. Hearing it made Mark yearn once more to have a home right on a

beach. His idea of heaven would be to open the windows of his house and be able to hear the

sea. It was a sound he never grew tired of hearing. The crashing waves provided an almost

hypnotic soundtrack, lulling him into an extremely relaxed state where it was easy to slip in and out of a doze.

When he opened his eyes and glanced at his watch, Mark realized that he’d been asleep

in the sun for an hour. Time to turn over. He rolled onto his belly, wriggling contentedly as he got comfortable, and reached for his Kindle. He searched for the book he’d been reading on

Sunday night before going to sleep. It was a great story, despite containing one of the tropes

which most aggravated him—gay-for-you—and he soon became lost in the tale once more. His

annoyance with the plot was overlooked, however, once the main characters began fucking.

God, the sex was hot! Mark found himself humping the towel as he read the graphic scene. The

way things were going, this was as close as Mark was going to get to experiencing hot sex. Not

that he was a virgin—he’d lost his virginity at the age of seventeen—but opportunities for

hooking up were few and far between on the island. The boy who’d taken his virginity hadn’t

even been gay. He’d been the eager recipient of a blow-job who Mark had finally talked into

fucking him in Mark’s bed when his mother had gone out one cold winter’s afternoon.

As far as first times went, Mark’s had been painful and thankfully over fairly quickly.

Once was enough: Mark resolved never to bottom again. There was no way, however, that his

reluctant fuck-buddy would take a cock up his ass, so that was that. Mark had to content

himself with brief encounters in the bathrooms of gay bars, furtive blow-jobs and lightning

quick fucks in grubby little toilet stalls. And never on the island, always on the mainland. It was far from ideal, but it was the best he could do. It didn’t stop him from thinking every time, as he shot his load into yet another willing hole, that there had to be something better for him than this.

He slipped his hand under his body and gave his hardened cock a quick tug. Then it was

back to the story. His hips rocked as he slid his dick against the towel, becoming immersed in

the scene which was unfolding on his Kindle. Mark’s imagination took over. Sam lay spread out

beneath him, face down, arse tilted, and he was sliding into Sam’s tight virgin hole, Sam

mewling and moaning as Mark pushed his fat dick into him until he was balls deep.
Oh yeah,

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mewling and moaning as Mark pushed his fat dick into him until he was balls deep.
Oh yeah,

baby, ride my cock
…

The sound of feet on pebbles froze him. Someone cleared their throat.

Mark twisted to look over his shoulder, squinting into the sun. A tall figure stood a few

feet away, just below the pebbled shelf, the sun back-lighting him so brilliantly that Mark

couldn’t make out his features, in spite of his sunglasses. Without thinking, he scrambled to

stand up. His dick jutted out, twitching with a life of its own and Mark groaned inwardly.
Well,
this is fucking embarrassing
.

“I’m sorry to disturb you.”

That voice. Mark shielded his eyes from the sun and sure enough, it was Sam, his cheeks

flushed. The hoodie was now tied around his waist and his shades were balanced on top of his

head. He gave Mark a nervous half-smile, his eyes flicking only once below Mark’s waist.

“You’re the guy from the salon, right?”

Mark hadn’t got a clue how to proceed. Should he get dressed or what? He couldn’t

very well ignore the man, that was for certain.
Oh well
….

“Yeah, that’s right. The name’s Mark Horrocks.” He held out his hand and Sam stumbled

up over the pebbles to shake it. The whole situation felt so surreal.

“I know.”

That stopped him dead in his tracks. How in the hell could Sam know his name?

Sam’s smile widened. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

Oh, trust me, hon, there’s no
way
I’d forget meeting
you. The words flitted through his brain but Mark had the sense to keep his lips zipped. He tilted his head. “I’m sorry, I think you might have me confused with someone else. I don’t think we’ve ever met.” He was desperately

trying to ignore the fact that his dick was waving in the morning breeze. Apparently, it wanted to shake Sam’s hand, too.

Sam’s expression grew more confident. “Okay, yeah, strictly speaking? We’ve never

spoken. But I remember you. Ryde High School. You were in Year 10 when I was in Year 13.”

No. Fucking. Way. “Really?” Mark racked his brains. “I don’t remember, sorry.” He

rubbed at his jaw, his nudity momentarily forgotten.

Sam shrugged. “No reason why you should.” He cleared his throat again. “Look, would

it be all right if I joined you? I could use the company right now.” There was a flash of that

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it be all right if I joined you? I could use the company right now.” There was a flash of that

earlier expression which had struck Mark so forcefully. That look of sadness tugged at him.

Mark came to a quick decision.

“Sure.”

Sam beamed and clambered up onto the sandy shelf. He spread out his towel and

dropped his backpack onto it. He hesitated. “Er, this is my first time on a nudist beach. Do I

have to take my clothes off, too?”

Mark couldn’t resist. “Oh, I’m afraid so,” he said solemnly, his face straight. “It’s kind

of a rule.” And then he grinned.

Sam’s grin mirrored his. “Oh, well, I wouldn’t want to break the rules.” He pulled at his

T-shirt, lifting it up and off, and then undid his shorts, sliding them down over his hips,

wriggling out of them. Mark tried hard not to look, but
oh my God
, the man was freaking gorgeous.

Silver rings glinted in the sun where they hung from Sam’s tight little nipples. His chest

was smooth: Mark liked that. Dark, chaotic swirls adorned his upper arms, spreading out over

his torso, thinning out until they reached his groin where they coiled delicately around the base of his cock. And then Mark had to stare. Sam had a Prince Albert. Just looking at the thick ring with its little ball made Mark’s mouth water. Sam was cut, and from the look of him, he was a

nice size. Perfect, in fact. Mark drank in the lean, ripped body and came to the conclusion that somewhere, God was having a really good chuckle.
Would it have been
so
bad to make him gay,
huh
?

“Do you like tats?” Sam asked.

Yeah, tats, riiiiight
…..Mark dragged his thoughts away from the man’s droolworthy

body. “Yeah, I do. I’ve done a design and there’s a tattoo place in Shanklin that’s going to do it for me, probably in the next month or so.”

“Sweet.” Sam sat down on his towel and reclined back on his elbows, those long legs

stretched out. He turned his face up toward the sun and expelled a sigh. “This is nice. Do you do this often?”