A shrill trademark cell phone ringtone woke us from a beautiful beachside slumber. “Yours or mine?” Ryan asked as we both scrambled from our shared sleeping bag bed, ignoring the fact that we were naked as each of us searched for our phones.

“Definitely yours,” I replied, “mostly because I don’t want it to be mine.”

“That’s because they’re expecting an answer, and you don’t have one.” I hated it when Ryan was right.

Three high-pitched frantic rings later, I found my phone amongst the pile of my clothes that we’d hastily peeled off and discarded just a few hours earlier. “Hah! Not mine,” I said triumphantly as he fished his out of the back pocket of the jeans he’d been wearing.

“Hello?” he said, slightly winded from the scramble. I poked him in the ribs, as he tried to be serious on the phone. His serious tone on the phone was such a contrast from our playful morning on the beach and the sexual romp we’d just had. “Yeah, Johnnie, yeah, it’s me. What’s up?” Teasing him and keeping playful embers burning in him was fun. I ran my fingers along his bare skin and delighted as his body responded, goose bumps rose, and he tensed and released his cock, making it jump. I loved seeing his body respond. Smiling, I took his still soft cock into my hand and began to stroke it, teasing him specifically because he was on the phone, but also hoping to continue the playful theme of the day. “What!?” He jerked away from me and waved me off with his arm. Turning back to our sleeping bags, I laid back pouting and feigning hurt feelings, folding my arms across my chest. “What hospital?!” He frantically pulled on his boxer shorts and reached for his shirt.

I threw on a pair of comfortable old jean shorts and a soft cotton T-shirt before rolling up the sleeping bags and beginning to pack up the contents of the tent.  Whatever this phone call was about, it wasn’t going to be good. It was ten minutes before he clicked off his cell, and then he set to help me pack up the rest of the tent in silent fury.

“Do you want to tell me?” I ventured.

The golden rims that lined his brown irises was nearly glowing as his eyes met mine, and when he spoke, the words that shot out of his mouth were tight compact statements of fact, “It’s Chris. He might be paralyzed.”


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