:: Bare Ass Beach Raymond Masters

When the President first was Ike I'd walk or maybe bike With my ragged bunch of pals, Which included no gals, Two dusty miles through town, Past the old school, down The hill around Deadman's curve, To find who had the nerve To drop his pants at Bare Ass Beach. Showing cock and ass to each, We'd stash our togs in the brush. Hard-ons never made us blush As we cavorted in waist deep murk With no thought to hide or lurk. One day a vision showed what boys We were with our simple joys. Around the bend above the stream Upon a limb, what was no dream, An older lad, a black haired teen, Lounged to gracefully preen And pet his crotch which gleamed In the sun to me which seemed To shine on him a special golden ray. The vision took my breath away. He saw me see, but I shied and fled. I came to him in dreams instead. >>index >>info >>advertisers >>contact