Short Spurts 3

By Rob Rosen

Rob Rosen, editor and novelist with more than two hundred published short stories to his credit, brings twenty more erotic short stories from the past two decades, running the gamut from soft and tender to rough and tumble, humorous to emotional, sci-fi to contemporary, and all in his award-winning signature romantic style.

Whether it’s delivery men or frat boys, young men experimenting or older men setting out on new adventures, surfers or bartenders or dairy farmers, a randy yeti, a lion keeper, a leather daddy, a superhero, or a whole room full of vampires, not to mention a slew of other memorable characters who leap off the page, Short Spurts 3 delivers with unique settings, striking plot twists, and unabashed romance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: JMS Books LLC
• Release date: Nov 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9781685503031

Rob Rosen

Multi-award-winning and best-selling author/editor/anthologist Rob Rosen is the author of Sparkle: The Queerest Book You'll Ever Love, Divas Las Vegas, Hot Lava, Southern Fried, Queerwolf, Vamp, Queens of the Apocalypse, Creature Comfort, Fate, Midlife Crisis, Fierce, And God Belched, and Mary, Queen of Scotch. His short stories have appeared in more than 200 anthologies. You can find 20 of them in his erotic romance anthology Good & Hot. He is also the editor of Lust in Time: Erotic Romance Through the Ages, Men of the Manor, Best Gay Erotica 2015 and Best Gay Erotica of the Year, Volumes 1, 2, 3 and 4. Please visit him at www.therobrosen.com

Book preview

Foreword

Welcome to Short Spurts 3! If you read Short Spurts and/or Short Spurts 2 (preferably and), so glad you made it back for yet another round of my erotic short stories. And if not, just as glad you decided to give my latest steamy collection a read.

As some background on yours truly, I’ve written erotic short stories for more than twenty years now and have had well over two hundred of them published—which, of course, explains the ability to offer you a third collection of sizzling shorts. This one, I’d say, is the hottest one yet, with lots of down and dirty sex mixed with my usual comedic twists and lots and lots of romance. As an FYI, yep, it’s the comedy and romance that landed me all those publishing deals in the first place, what truly set me apart, because smut can be fun, and why not tickle a rib or two while your fingers are otherwise prodding and poking various other assorted bodily locations?

All that said, dear reader, enjoy! And here’s hoping to see you back for a Short Spurts 4 someday! I mean, you do have a lot more than just two ribs to tickle, right? And who doesn’t like some good, old prodding and poking from time to time?

Rob Rosen

San Francisco

* * * *

California Dreaming

I sped along the Pacific Coast Highway, my car hugging the razor-sharp curves as the early morning sun cranked up the volume in the dark blue sky above, shooting out streams of orange and red through the cottony clouds that wafted in across the mist-shrouded ocean. My window, already rolled down, allowed in the crisp breeze, sending goosebumps across my arms. I smiled widely, staring at the day that stretched out endlessly in front of me.

The head of my cock, straining along the length of my shorts for the last several miles, worked its way out, pulsing as the air ran across the precome-slick mushroom head. An index finger ran loops around my piss slit, then came up to my mouth for a suck.

I spotted the vista point up ahead, looming over the cliff that ended in boulders down below, rocks smooth as glass from ages of surf-pounding. I pulled in, stared down, breathed the sea air into my lungs; cold and fresh, it coursed through my body. Standing in front of my car, I pulled on my prick, which was already jutting out of my shorts, seven steely inches of thickening flesh.

It was just me alone on the road, equally alone in the lot, too early for most travelers, but never too early to let one rip. My cock bounced; I slapped it, sending the beast flinging from side to side. A warm flush rode my spine like a roller coaster. My balls tightened with each quickening stroke, the come working its way up, eager for release.

My knees buckled. Close. So fucking close.

And then a car pulled up and in, loud, the engine revving: an old station wagon, the kind my dad might’ve driven had he been cool enough to bother with all that shiny chrome and waxy-slick wood paneling. A longboard rode shotgun on the roof, glinting in the newly risen sun. The recorded twang of a guitar broke through the roar of the ocean below as a waft of acrid pot smoke eddied inside my nostrils.

The music flicked off and the window rolled further down. A blond head poked out with eyes as blue as sapphires, sparkling as they stared out at me. White teeth, broad smile, a last exhale. Good day for it, came the greeting.

My cock had quickly been stuffed back in. A red flush rose up my neck. Um, huh?

Boss waves down below. Primo A.M. stuff. You heading down, dude?

What? Oh, down below? I stared over the side of the railing. No, um, just enjoying the view. I don’t surf.

He frowned. Bummer, dude. Didn’t figure you for a hodad. You had that gleam in your eye. Praying to Kahuna for some killer waves. He craned his neck out of the car window. Righteous sets down there, man; shame to waste ‘em.

I smiled and shrugged. Sorry, I’m only getting about every third word, I told him. I skipped Surf Lingo 101. You got a Webster’s handy?

He laughed and opened the door, then stood and stretched. Guy was crazy tall, lean and scruffy. With just his sandals and a richly colored pair of baggies on, he left little to the imagination. Needless to say, my eyes devoured him like the breakfast I’d yet to consume. His arms reached for the heavens as he inhaled, his chest filling, expanding, the fine tufts of blond hairs that ran down his torso shimmering in the rays of the new light, which added a brilliant gold to his natural bronze. My cock throbbed in my shorts as I gazed longingly at the visible tuft of dark blond pubes that poked out just above his waistband. Good day for it, just like he said.

He looked at my over-stuffed car and grinned. Ah, moving in, huh?

Yep. All the way from Minnesota. Staying with a friend down the coast for now.

Rad, he said with a bob of his thickly maned head. That explains the no surfing thing then, I s’pose.

I nodded. But I make a mean brick of cheese.

He laughed long and deep, his muscle-ripped body quaking as he did so. Then he turned and retrieved the gear from his trunk. Come along and watch then, dude, he offered, setting his stuff down and unhooking his board. Can’t live along the coast if you don’t surf, you know. He looked up, his eyes locking on to mine, laser intense, boring into me. And then he winked, and added, Better than sex. Almost.

Almost? I nearly panted.

Depends. He tilted his neck, lifted the giant board above his head, and then finished his train of thought with, On who the sex is with. Now grab my gear and let’s go. Save me two trips. My lucky day.

My thought exactly. But what about our cars, and my, well, everything I own in the entire world?

Again, he laughed as he balanced the board on top of his head before reaching back inside his wagon. A sheet of paper, already with a wide strip of tape across it, got pulled out and stuck to the rear window. Back in five minutes, taking a leak, it read. Works every time, he explained. Besides, it’s too early for cops or car thieves. Everyone’s still asleep. No cows to milk out here, dude. Now hurry up; the waves are a-callin’

Fuck, I thought that was just the sound of my heart exploding in my chest, but I quickly acquiesced, grabbing his stuff as I followed him along a well-concealed path. Down, down, down we went, the trail steep and winding, littered with dense brush and large rocks. I looked ahead, staring hungrily at his ass as it swayed inside his shorts and at the myriad of muscles that ran up the length of his chiseled, tan body. Name’s Chad, he hollered over his shoulder.

Steve, I shouted back.

Nice view, huh, Steve?

The guy was a mind reader. Not like Minnesota, that’s for sure. A gross understatement if ever there was one.

We reached the bottom. A thin strip of sand hugged the cliff. He set the board down and I handed him his gear. He pulled out a wet suit, gray and dull, thick as seal skin, or so I imagined. I gulped, knowing what would come next.

He kicked off his sandals and slipped out of his trunks, and then he was standing before me, naked, beautiful, and hung like a prized pony. I looked away as he maneuvered his perfect body into all that tight rubber.

Ta da! he exclaimed.

I glanced back up. He was grinning at me, his teeth white as the ocean foam. Break a leg, I offered.

Um, that’s what you say to actors, not surfers. The smile widened. And Hollywood’s not for another hundred miles or so.

I echoed the grin, and amended with, Banzai!

Close, but the surfer says that.

I snapped my fingers. Watch out for sharks? I tried.

He laughed. His head bent down sheepishly. Okay, that one works. But what I was hoping for was, um, how about a kiss for good luck?

The smile wavered as my eye nervously twitched. Oh, um, okay then, I squeaked out as I stepped toward him, happily surprised at this newly found option. How about a kiss for good luck?

His hand reached up and he caressed my cheek before pulling me into him. Now you’re talking, dude, he whispered as his lips brushed mine, soft and warm, his stubble tickling my chin. His mouth pressed down hard on my own, and then his tongue snaked out and slithered inside. His eyes stayed open, locked, watching, waiting for what was to come next. Cowabunga, dude, he finally said as he ran his hands up and down the small of my back.

I laughed. Do surfers really say that?

His eyes twinkled. Probably not, but it sounded appropriate. He pulled away and pointed at the obvious lumpage in my shorts. A present for me?

I nodded. Yep. Go ahead and open it.

His hands darted out, unbuttoning my shorts and then sliding them down, lickety-split, like a kid at Christmas. My cock sprung out, slick in anticipation. Just my size, he quipped. Extra-large. He stroked it, sending an eddy of adrenalin out from my crotch and through my limbs, short-circuiting every nerve-ending in my body. Awesome, he quickly added, and then stared momentarily, and longingly, from my prick to his board.

Again, I laughed, keenly aware of what he was thinking. I’ll be here when you get back. But hurry.

His grin grew brighter than the sun overhead. Cool, he exclaimed, again leaning in to kiss me, hard, harder still, trying to suck my face whole. Fucking yum, dude.

Ditto, now go. I kicked off my shorts and got on my back, sinking into the warm sand as I lifted my legs in the air. I winked my asshole at him. Cowabunghole, I said.

He knelt down and ran his hand up the length of my crack. With a moan, he rasped, Gonna shoot the tube out there, and then shoot this tube right here, man.

I smiled and blew him a kiss. Hey, I like that one. How about pound the surf and then pound me? Surf’s up and so’s my cock?

Fuckin-A, he sighed, backing up and grabbing his board before he shouted over his shoulder, Welcome to California, dude!

And with that, he was running the short distance into the surf, his gray-cased body disappearing into the deep blue and foamy green before reemerging twenty feet out. I spit into my palm and gave my cock a slow stroke, watching as he paddled farther out, riding the waves as they lifted him up and then dropped him back down. I teased my hole with a spit-slick finger, eagerly anticipating his return, but enjoying the show he was giving me just the same.

And then the water rose and crested, scooping him up even higher. In a heartbeat, he was up on his board, his hands extended out as his magnificent body crouched down low. Lightning fast, he soared through the water, the plank held vise-tight in the grip of the wave, which pulled him in, enveloping him, wrapping him in a watery blanket. I jumped up and clapped, my rock-solid cock ricocheting up and down, smacking against my belly.

Through the curtain of water, I could just barely make out his form. And then, just for me, he reached his hand through and waved. Go, dude! I shouted, raising my fists up in a victory stance. But then the wave came crashing down, breaking apart like a house of cards before scattering in a white, foamy torrent. When the sea returned to glass, he was gone.

My heart beat furiously in my chest. I waited. Soon enough, the board popped up and glided forward. But no Chad. Fuck, I groaned and went running toward the water, diving in headfirst, swimming dolphin fast. Chad! I yelled. Chad, where the fuck are you? My lungs began to burn and my ears deafened from the pounding of the nearby surf.

But then a new sound. A tinkle. Laughter.

Dude, chill. I’m right here.

I turned my body around and there he was, his blond head bobbing behind me, those blue eyes of his twinkling like stars. You okay? I asked.

Shaken but not stirred, dude, he replied, swimming toward me, his board trailing behind, still leashed to his ankle. Bitchin’ green room in there. He grabbed on and held me tight in his rubbery embrace. That wipe-out have you worried?

I nodded and kissed him long and hard, tasting the stinging salt on his lips. Then I realized I was in the Pacific, butt-naked. Cold fucking water, I chattered into his mouth.

He pulled the surfboard in and pushed me on it. I straddled it, grabbing on to the sides as he swam behind. Man, he hollered, that asshole of yours looks good enough to eat.

I began to paddle as the beach grew nearer. Takes a lickin’ and keeps on tickin’, I yelled back, just as the board made land, gliding in and coming to an abrupt sandy stop.

Let’s test that theory, he said, slapping my ass and then diving in, wriggling his tongue in my ring, shoving it inside of me, sending a warm flush through my crotch. I grabbed the board and got on all fours, giving him easier access as the cool Pacific flowed gently in and all around us. He licked at my hole while he pulled on my swaying balls with one hand and stroked my prick with the other. Damn, you taste good, he moaned.

Damn, you feel good, I replied.

Speaking of which, time to feel the rest of me. He jumped up, removed the leash, and strode back to the beach. Tearing at the wet suit, he was naked in seconds, his cock jutting out at least eight fat inches, with two plumb-sized balls that swayed as he quickly returned to retrieve both me and the board. Dude, he exhaled, low and deep, as he pulled me down on top of him.

Dude, I groaned back, grinding my crotch into his waist as my hands freely roamed his body, gliding over the satiny down of him, across his solid hills and soft valleys. I took an eraser-tipped nipple in between my fingers and gave a tug and a tweak. His back arched and his mouth mashed harder onto my own. I broke loose, and my lips traveled south, sucking on his neck, his shoulder, before taking the same nipple in for a suck and a bite, a twirl around my tongue.

Oh fuck, he breathed out.

I continued downward, my mouth traversing his long torso, rife with muscle, tasting the salty sweetness of him, licking my way across ab after clenched ab. I rubbed my chin through his dirty blond bush and slapped his rod against my face. Thwap. And then downed the meaty head, tasting the precome that dripped over and around. He pushed gently on the back of my head, coaxing his tool in, deep, sending a gagging tear down my cheek. I glanced up. He was grinning down. Dude, he said. I take it back. Surfing is so not better than sex.

I popped his cock out of my mouth. Having never surfed, I’ll have to take your word on it. Though, quite honestly, I found it hard to believe that anything was better than sex—with him, especially.

His legs rose up on either side of me as my body stretched out, my feet digging into the warm blanket of sand. Placing his heels along my upper back, his crotch now lay before me like a veritable buffet. Starving, I eagerly dug in and chowed down, sucking and slurping on his hefty schlong before I made my way to his heavy balls, popping each one in my mouth and back out again. It was then that I noticed his lone tattoo. Nestled between his nuts and his blond, hair-rimmed hole sat a small, round yin and yang, inked in black and red, two opposing teardrops hugging one another in eternal unity.

Which gave me an idea.

I hopped up and flipped my body around, placing my knees on either side of his head before sliding my prick in his warm, waiting mouth, and then my mouth down and around on his massive tool, creating our own version of yin and yang. He tickled my asshole with an outstretched finger as he expertly sucked on my rod. I upped the ante and raised his legs up and out, baring his hole to the now-burning sun. My mouth quickly found the target, lapping at it like the waves at the shoreline in front of us before gliding my tongue inside of him. I could hear the muffled moans from behind me as he echoed my actions, sucking on my ass as I sucked on his.

Circling my index finger around his pink, crinkled hole, I was, soon enough, delving inside of him, feeling the smooth muscled interior as I worked my digit in and up and back. At that same moment, he entered me, and I felt the familiar burn, which quickly turned to warmth and bliss.

I’ll try two if you will, he shouted through the warm, wet breeze.

Fill ‘er up. I was eager to have as much of him inside of me as he wanted to give.

I worked two spit-slick fingers up his ass; he did the same with mine. Now we were two hands pumping inside two holes as two hands stroked two cocks, slowly, evenly matching each other’s rhythms. Sweat cascaded down my face and dripped on his taut belly. The tide was slowly coming in, the waves crashing ever closer as the cool ocean breeze flowed over our over-heated bodies. Three’s the charm, dude, he soon informed, practically gasping by that point.

And so three fingers went in, reaching deep inside, pumping away at his ever-hardening prostate as I quickened the pace on his massive cock. Stretched to its limit, my own asshole was now being pummeled as well, sending