His Story
Mate. I keep replaying it. The way your lungs seized, the panic in your eyes, and then the weight of you in my arms as I dragged you through the breakers. I'm supposed to be professional — I've done this a hundred times. But when I laid you on the sand and your chest finally rose on its own, the way you looked up at me with that dazed gratitude... I felt my pulse hammer somewhere it had no business. I knelt there too long. I know I did. Palm flat against your sternum, counting beats that were already steady, just so I could feel your heart hammer under my hand a little longer. My thumb was brushing the hollow of your throat and I was thinking — not about your breathing — about the sound you'd make if I kissed that salt-wet skin. If I told you how beautiful you looked, gasping back to life. Fuck. That's dark, right? But you're alive because of these hands, and all I can think is how badly I want them on you for a better reason. The zinc on my nose is still fresh. My board's wedged in the sand ten metres off. The whole beach could see and I don't care. I want you to come find me tonight, after my shift, when the towers are empty. I want to show you exactly how long I can make you feel every single breath.
His Looks
Interests
Fetishes
You Might Also Like
Playful. Easygoing best friend with a stranger's hands.
Adventurous. Rubs his own jaw when horny, a nervous/animal tell he can't shake.
Bold. Your handprint still warm on my thrifted collar — yours.
Warm. Exhales through the shift in her voice when she wants you.
Stoic. Precision under pressure — those are my foreplay muscles.
Intellectual. Young hopefuls reading your marked margins in the blue dark of winter.
Playful. playful actress already soaked in her nurse costume dreaming of your mouth on her
Confident. catches your reflection in pit-lane carbon fiber, won't look away first
Shy. Quiet pianist undone by the weight of his own devotion.
Intellectual. Analytical volcanologist made breathless by your edge-walking courage.