Hi Everyone,

Here’s my flash with the Free Fiction Friday Group!



( IYLS )



David and Jesse are childhood friends who get separated in their teens but meet up again at university in Newcastle, Australia.

They soon find out that though some things remain the same, other change… oh boy, do they change.




“Are you still in contact with him?”

Though I was thankful for the disguise of darkness for myself, I wished for light so I could study Jeremy’s face as we spoke. He was so quiet and serious, not having teased me once, that I felt unsure of him. I certainly appreciated it, but it was out of character for him, and I felt like I was floundering in unfamiliar waters.

“Yes, we email and Skype a bit, but not as much as we used to,” I answered truthfully, biting my bottom lip.

“Do you think you’d still be with him if he hadn’t returned to Norway?”

God, I want to see Jere’s face. His voice, his questions, everything about the conversation had my nerves stretched to their limit. Panic simmered at the edges of my mind.

“Yes,” I replied reluctantly, knowing it was true.

It was the truth, but I didn’t add the rest of that truth—that I would have felt I was betraying Erik with my attraction to Jeremy. That I may even have ended our relationship because of it. It would have been wrong to continue a relationship with him, when I was having the reactions I was to Jeremy. I would not have been able to do to Erik what my father had done to my mother.

His softly spoken, “Okay,” barely registered as the realization really hit me, like a blow to the gut. My attraction to Jeremy was such that I would probably have broken up with Erik, Erik who I’d loved. Dismay burned in my veins like a whiskey shot to an empty stomach. No! Fucking no!



The sunrise was pale, muted, and mellow, summer having lost its battle to autumn. The ocean more closely resembled gunmetal gray in color in the watery light of dawn than the rich deep blue it would assume later in the day as the sun rose higher in the sky. Its temperature, thankfully, wasn’t too bad at about seventy-five degrees, but with the cool offshore breeze, I was glad I’d decided to put on my full steamer. Turning my head to the side, I caught a quick glimpse of Jeremy just before we both duck-dived beneath a wave on our paddle out beyond the breakers. It felt good to be on a board again, and I wondered why it had been so long since I’d last gone for a surf.

I was at one with my board, carving through the water, my hands automatically cupping, my fingers pressed closely together to stop any water seeping between them as my shoulders worked to alternate the pistoning of my arms. It was like riding a bicycle—my muscles remembering what was required of them. Vaguely, I was glad that even though I hadn’t surfed for a while, I’d kept up with my swimming, keeping my upper body strong and supple.

The saltwater clinging to my lashes stung slightly, but I didn’t care—it felt too good to be in the surf with Jere as my only company. The only sound other than that of my board slicing through the water was of the breaking waves and the gulls cawing as they scoured the sea for their morning feed.

Something deep within me welcomed the old, familiar rhythm of duck-diving, alternated with powerful strokes, to pull me and my board through the water, and it was almost with regret that I stopped as we both surfaced at the same time beyond the line of breakers.

Jeremy paddled over to me as I sat on my board, my knees lightly hugging its sides, a smile tugging at my lips to see a stubborn water-darkened lock falling over his forehead. In one fluid motion he placed his hands before him, pushing his body up at the same time as he spread his knees, his butt coming to rest on the waxed surface of his board. Never once was his balance or placement in question—his surfboard was as it had always been, a mere extension of himself.

“Nice to see you haven’t forgotten everything, Davie. I’m feeling better about asking you along on our Surfari now,” he grinned, looking up at me through his salt-crusted lashes, his gray eyes sparkling with humor.

“Fuck off, shit stirrer!” I laughed, flicking a handful of water in his face, pushing down the desire to lean over and lick the salt from his lashes, and maybe while I was at it, kiss the smile from his face. So much for your decision not to think about him that way, Sadler!

With a quick shake of his head and a chuckle, he glanced over his shoulder. “This baby’s mine,” he crowed, dropping down onto his board and paddling hard as a beautiful, ripable wave fast approached us.

I watched with growing respect as he took off, one moment prone on his board, the next on his feet in a semi-crouch, his arms spread wide, using his whole body to maneuver as he raced along the wall of the wave. Just as the wave began to close out he expertly cutback off the lip, his body sinking back to lie on his board as he began the paddle back in my direction.

Wresting my gaze from him, I peered over my shoulder. “You beauty! My turn!”

The second wave of the set was as good as the first, and I couldn’t help the hoot of pleasure that burst from me as the adrenaline rush of speeding along the face of the wave thundered through my veins.

We surfed for about an hour, joined by a few other guys, thankfully no snakers among them, before catching a smaller wave in.

My heart was pounding as we tied down our boards to the roof of the Lancer, grabbing our gear, and making our way to the change-rooms for a quick shower.

You can do this, Sadler. You’ve seen guys in showers, like a million times without cracking a fat. Yeah, but this is Jere’s arse and tool, and if the glimpse I got this morning is any indication, she’s a beauty. Not helping. Fuck, mind above navel, Davie. I will not look. I will not perve, and I most definitely will not get a fucking boner!

“Give us hand, will you, David?” he asked, turning his back to me and indicating his zipper.

Sweet Jesus, this is going to be even harder than I thought…

“Um, sure, Jere,” I croaked, clearing my throat. “Ruddy salt water has my throat as dry as a desert,” I explained, hoping he’d buy my little, white lie.

Standing behind him, swallowing nervously, I grabbed the rubber tassel attached to his zipper, carefully pulling it down, revealing the smooth, tanned skin of his back. I wanted to touch him. Man, how I wanted to touch him.

Having done what he asked of me, I stepped back, unable to drag my eyes from his form as he wriggled and squirmed his way out of the clinging rubber of his wetsuit, bending over to peel it down his muscled thighs. Having divested himself of his steamer, he bent over once more, removing his underwear and revealing the twin globes of his pale, toned ass to me, his tan-line clearly visible.

Biting on my lip so hard I almost drew blood, I made myself turn my back to him, contorting my upper body in an effort to reach the zipper of my wetsuit.

“Here, let me give you a hand,” he offered, coming up so closely behind me I could feel his breath on the damp hair at the nape of my neck. Knowing he was standing naked behind me made it hard to breathe. My heart pounded furiously against the confines of my ribcage. I longed with every fiber of my being to turn around and take him into my arms and kiss him senseless. Gritting my teeth, I willed myself to remain still while his fingers brushed ever so lightly against the flesh of my back; the buzz that zinged across my skin nearly undermining my resolve as I fought my body’s need to shiver in pleasure at his touch.

“Thanks,” I managed as I began the dance needed to peel the suit from my body while picturing my old Science teacher, Mrs. Booth—the woman was enough to deflate even a porn star’s cock—needing her to work her dick-shriveling magic on my all too excitable cock. Finally my suit was off and my rod was soft. Ah, success.

Keeping my gaze averted from his nakedness, I stepped up to the shower area beside him and got the flow going, relishing its warmth on my ocean-cooled flesh. With my head tilted back, and my fingers in my hair, aiding the stream of water through its thickness, I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to resist the temptation to take a peek at Jeremy. Christ, I want to look at him.

Having rinsed the saltwater from my hair, I turned, putting my face briefly into the stream of water before taking a half step back, letting it course down my chest. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Jeremy was busy doing his own rinsing, and with a small sigh of defeat, I yielded to my desire to check him out. My eyes travelled from his face, which was tilted back, exposing the long line of his throat, as his hands ran through his hair, helping rinse the seawater from his locks, down his defined torso to the water-darkened curls at the base of his cock. Even flaccid, nestling over his tight balls, it was a sight to behold. My gaze continued down his long legs to his feet, gliding back up to rest once more on his dick. Jeez, he’s perfect. Just fucking perfect! I found my bottom lip back in the grip of my teeth as I bit back a moan. Bloody hell, at this rate I’m going to give myself a fat lip.

With one final appreciative glance at him, I returned my gaze to the tiled wall in front of me, angling my body away from him and giving my groin a quick rub to rinse the salt from my small patch of pubic hair; cursing the semi I was now sporting again. Silently shaking my head at myself, I resorted to picturing Mrs. Booth for the second time, feeling relieved when my dick finally wilted. Jesus, that’s twice in less than fifteen minutes I’ve had to use her. Heaven help me on the Surfari—I’ll need a whole fucking movie length video of her!


“Do you know what I could really go for right now, Davie?” Jeremy asked as he exited the beach’s car park, flicking on his indicator.

“No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me,” I teased him.

He glanced at me briefly, chuckling and poking out his tongue. “A pie. I could really go a pie. How about you?”

“God, yes, with mushy peas and potato,” I agreed eagerly, my eyes on his hand as he turned the wheel using only the heel of his palm.

“Harry’s Café de Wheels,” we both said together, quickly followed by, “Snap!” And then we were both laughing.

Only a matter of minutes later we were pulling up at the famous Newcastle landmark, still chuckling as we exited Jere’s car.

Being early, the distinctive red and white seating out front of the old revamped tram had yet to be set up, the chairs still leaning on their axis against the edges of the tables. We strode to the counter together, shoulder-to-shoulder, neither of us even glancing at the menu or the myriad of signboards advertising the various pies on offer—we both knew what we wanted.

“Morning, Gents, what’ll be?” asked the guy behind the counter, wearing a white apron over his equally white t-shirt, and sporting an impressive handlebar moustache.

“Two Works Pies for me. Davie, you having your usual?” Jeremy asked, turning to me with a grin. I returned his smile, nodding as I dived into my pocket for my wallet. “And two Mushy Pea, Potato, and Gravy ones, please.”

“And two Iced Coffees as well, please,” I chimed in.

“Good thinking, I could do with some caffeine,” Jeremy agreed, his grin revealing his dimple.

God, I love that dimple.

In no time at all we had ourselves seated and were hoeing into our respective pies like we hadn’t seen food for a week. There was nothing like an early morning surf to stimulate appetite.

“This is so good,” I moaned, taking a sip of my flavored milk before heaping another forkful into my mouth. Looking across the table at Jeremy, I tried not to laugh as he nodded furiously, his cheeks bulging as he emitted a small grunt of agreement. The boy clearly loved his food.

About halfway through my second pie, I sighed regretfully, laying my fork down in defeat. I was full. No way could I fit in so much as one extra mouthful.

“You going to finish that, David?” Jeremy asked, licking the crumbs of pastry from his lips, his hand already reaching over for my plate.

I shook my head, hiding my knowing smile behind a paper napkin. “Where the hell do you put it all, man?”

“What? I’m a growing boy,” he laughed, pausing with the fork touching his lips and giving me another glimpse of his dimple. I watched, amazed as he polished off the remains of my pie. “Mmm, that was good. I might have to order one of them next time,” he commented, wiping his mouth with a serviette, a sly grin curving his lips. “But then again, I can always nick a bit of yours…”


Authors Note

I don’t know about you guys, but I’m hanging for the boys to go on their Surfari!

Two boys sharing a tent… what could possibly happen?


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