Pollination (tf musc fant)
by zulator
My two favorite subjects in college were Ancient History and Science. When spring break came along I decided to choose a place to go and unwind that was more suited to my beach boy body and also help me with a report I was working on in my History class.
On the eastern coast of southern Mexico, in a rugged coastal area, there was rumor of a secluded beach where an ancient civilization was formed. There was tell of a tribe called the Yuttsus that had an old tradition of sailing to different areas of the world to leave off newly married couples, so that they might form a new colony and spread the Yuttsus civilization. Leaving off just a few men and women to start a new colony, proved unsuccessful because of a tiny gene pool that was available. Soon the colonies would die off, leaving little or no record of their existence.
On the eastern coast of Mexico however, the colonization of the Yuttsus flourished despite the tiny gene pool, and they produced a city of over one million people. The success of the Yuttsus colony was described in ancient legend to be tied to this mysterious stretch of golden beach that stretched a mile between the rough rocky coastline of that region.
Legend had it that this mystical beach allowed the male population the ability to Pollinate and alter their genetic code so that continued breeding could be done and the population could grow and flourish. There was no evidence to show how this pollination process worked since all evidence of the Yuttsus people was destroyed when the Mayans conquered the region.
I had taken the subject of this lost Yuttsus civilization as my report topic and was going to visit this area of coastline and see if this golden beach really existed. Making plans to visit this area turned rather difficult and timely and trying to secure a helicopter after I got to the region was even trickier. The area around this supposed beach was thought to be uninhabitable and hardly any exploration was completed nor successful. How I thought I was going do what others had failed to do never occurred to me at the time, and at 21 years old, I couldn't be dissuaded from my goal.
I was a headstrong beach boy with a brain, but looking at me you would think I was nothing more than a drug-using surf bum. It was hard to get respect for sure, but when I flashed my American Dollars, I was treated like a diplomat.
So spring break came, and I started my journey by airplane to Mexico City, then a bus to a nearby region and finally by helicopter to find this ancient wonder. My pilot and guide was Juan Costello, a veteran pilot and a bit of a local legend himself. Juan professed to be related to the Mayan people who lived in this region thousands of years ago, and from his weathered face and aged body, he told a convincing story.
I arrived in Peotsu City on a bus in a very heavy down pour. The roads were just undeveloped dirt trails, and the clay composition of the dirt made travel slippery and slow. When I arrived at my hotel, I had to make my way through several yards of mud before I was inside, and luckily I had prepared for this by wearing long leather boots.
Inside the modest hotel, I was greeted warmly and treated like royalty since Americans were a rare sight. I took all the extra fuss willingly. It was late when I checked in, and as soon as I was shown my room, I undressed quickly and snacked on some of the food I brought along for the trip, then went to bed. The wicker-framed bed was covered in a thick soft mattress and when I got into it, my body seemed to conform nicely, and I fell asleep quickly.
Morning seemed to arrive before I knew it ,and I was awoken to the smell of the most delicious stuff I had ever inhaled. The morning was humid from the night's rain, and I dressed accordingly in a loose-fitting tank top, tan cargo shorts, my leather boots, and a blue bandana to keep my head covered.
I was delighted to partake of the breakfast delights that the hotel had available for me. There was an array of different taste-tempting choices as well as freshly-squeezed tropical juices. For a guy 5’10” tall and weighing 155, I put away a healthy portion of the marvelous cuisine and begrudgingly left to find the infamous Juan Costello.
A rusty old cab picked me up and took me out of town on a windy dirt road and finally to what was supposed to be an airport. It was more like open range with weeds, but soon we pulled up to a wooden building with a windsock mounted on top and parked next to it was the helicopter I would be riding in.
As the cab sped off in a cloud of dust, I wondered if I would ever find my way back to civilization. I knocked at the door of the wooden building and in few seconds, Juan greeted me with a warm smile.
Juan knew exactly the area I was interested in and for his small helicopter it would represent a point of no return had he not stashed all available space with extra fuel.
Besides the noise from the blades spinning around, the odor of petroleum was making me nauseous.
Juan was amazing for a man in his late 80s; he was so energetic and talkative. His classic Mexican features and deep-set eyes and wrinkles made him a dead ringer for some Mexican outlaw, and he would no doubt be successful in finding a part in a Hollywood south of the boarder thriller.
The heavy breakfast and the smell of gas made me sleepy and part of the trip I was fast asleep with my backpack as a pillow. What a professional investigative reporter I was cutting Z’s and unconsciously putting my life in the hands of a Mexican bandito.
Suddenly the helicopter took a sharp turn, and I awoke startled and scared.
"¡Señor, señor! Look, look!" he shouted, and in a dazed manner I looked in the direction where Juan was pointing, and shining like a golden treasure was the golden beach I was looking for.
Juan circled the area for what seemed like a long time and then put the helicopter down on the beach. Once the sand had settled down, Juan and I got out and began to explore the area. The beach did look like only a mile long till it hit the high rugged rocks on either side and it almost looked like the rock was carved out and a beach was purposely put there.
I was snapping pictures as Juan walked up into a palm tree infested area and seemed to vanish into the lush green vegetation. Wanting to create a historical record for both my report and the college I went to, I took digital pictures from every angle.
It was midday, and the tropical sun was beginning to have its effect on me. All I could think of was the awesome surf the beach had to offer, and I quickly undressed, having prepared for this also. Off came my tank top, cargo shorts and boots and socks to reveal my Hawaiian knee-length swimming trunks.
I ran into the surf like a little kid would, finding relief in the foamy waters and bringing my skin temperature down 30 degrees. For a tropical area of the world, the water temperature was unusually low compared to the air temperature, but it was nevertheless refreshing, and I didn’t want to leave.
As I played in the water, I could see Juan walking towards me smiling, with a handful of what looked like ripe tropical fruits.
"¡Señor, señor! A fiesta!"
I got up and slowly made my way towards him and was amazed at the variety of fruits he had gathered, and suddenly I was hungry.
Like two kids out for some fun, we sat on a beach towel under an umbrella that Juan brought with him, and together we ate the deliciously sweet and seemingly wild tropical delights.
The more we ate, the more we wanted, and soon the sun was getting low to the west leaving the ocean to the east to get very dark, and were it not for the thick ceiling of stars, we would have been left in darkness completely.
I had some sleeping gear and so did Juan, and lying across from each other with a small fire going, we chatted most of the night.
Juan was definitely more than what he seemed as he spoke of his ancestors and the myths that had been passed down through generations about this area. I was lying on my side facing Juan as he spoke, still in my swim suit, and Juan finally took off his sweat stained white button down shirt to get comfortable in the warm night breeze. The old Mexican’s chest was a forest of salt and pepper hair, and although he wasn’t a chubby man, his body was typical for a man his age.
At some point Juan said goodnight and quickly began snoring. I was intoxicated with the beach and location and just rolled over on my back to gaze up at the billions of stars above me.
Even at 21 years old, I finally had to give in, and I drifted off to sleep before I knew it.
All night long I was tossing and turning as my dreams were filled with the sexual sensations of receiving oral sex and if there wasn’t any evidence of a wet dream in the morning, I sure dreamt of having one climax after another.
Little did I realize was the fact that Juan was having the same identical dreams and between his snoring, he was moaning with that familiar moan that a man getting off would have.
More than the sensations of oral sex, I think the homosexual nature of the dreams had more importance. In my dream it was Juan and I in a powerful 69 position, pumping our sperm into one another.
I always thought of myself as a heterosexual, and I for sure didn’t believe that I could have any sexual desires for my Mexican pilot and guide. But the dreams were vivid, and I was transfixed on my Mexican guide in a way that was almost religious and spiritual. It was uncanny that I could actually feel a flow coming into my body through my rock hard penis, and it was very erotic, making me unbelievably vulnerable to this 80-something Mexican guide.
An early morning thunderstorm began to take form and soon the wind off the ocean was making the waves crash hard and sand was blowing as well. At that point I was lying on my stomach and my cock was planted in my blanket and I didn’t want to move a muscle.
Rain began to fall hard and the umbrella flew off into the trees west of us, and through the downpour and lightning, I forced myself to my feet. Juan was also standing, but it was hard to make him out through the sheets of rain coming down.
We both tried to make our way to the shelter of the thick palm trees, but for some reason something was tugging at my penis from under the material of my swim trunks and apparently Juan was also tied up somehow.
We both tugged and tugged as the storm brought on gale strength winds and then finally I felt something slide off my cock and I was free to move. Soon Juan also got himself free and we both ran as fast as we could to shelter.
By the time I got under the cover of the trees, I found that I was breathing hard and couldn’t seem to recover from the short run. I sat down as soon as I could against one of the palm trees till my I could begin to breathe normally. It was the strangest sensation as I held my expanding and contracting chest as I caught my breath- my skin just felt different, not as taught and my nipples felt more pronounced.
I tried to call out to Juan as best I could, the sound of heavy rain hitting the palm branches and the whistling of the wind was deafening.
I was crawling around in the hopes that I could find Juan and see if he was ok. I got scared that I would become lost and have no way back to America.
Luckily, Juan was only a few yards from me and when I found him I grabbed him tight and the two of us tried to weather out the storm. As we gripped each other, I could sense that his body was different, much more lean and defined in some why, although his chest was still covered in hair and he still had that scent that older men seem to have. It was of course the smell of pungent sweat that I was sensing, but I gave Juan the benefit of doubt since some men cannot tolerate deodorants.
I would have expected the possibility that my deodorant might fail in all this excitement and heavy weather, but even in my sweatiest moments I could not remember myself smelling so potent.
As the sun broke threw and the misty fog had cleared, both Juan and I discovered that our night of wild dreams were not for just our personal male pleasures. Something on the beach had caused us to pollinate, and our genetic make-up and features were permanently altered.
A close examination of my body showed that I was no longer a Caucasian male anymore nor was I sporting that beach boy physique. My body was now dark brown and although I wasn’t chubby, I had no muscle tone and my taut stomach now had spread a bit and hung over my swim trunks.
Juan too had changed and was no longer carrying any more Mexican genes. Juan was a white man in his 80s now, with a hairy chest and stomach, but he was toned and defined with tight pectoral muscles and a slim taut waist with tight abs.
We both were speechless at the transformations we had experienced from sleeping on the beach, but numbed as I was at who I had become. I realized now what the ancient settlers must have experienced to diversify their genes.
We had both taken from each other to reshape and remake us and created new DNA and completely different genetic codes.
Confused and wanting answers, we both made our way back to the area of the beach where we had slept.
Even with the winds that had blown up the sand and the waves that had over taken our camp, we managed to find a strange tubular wine like plant that had attached itself to our penises.
This miraculous plant had taken the sperm from Juan and I and processed it and changed our DNA to create a different version of ourselves using the available possibilities in each of our genetic codes.
I was still a nice looking 21 year old but now of Mexican descent with traits that didn’t promote increased muscle production. It was as if I had been born with this genetic make up from birth.
Juan was both delighted but sad he no longer had the appearance of his Mexican heritage. He was a Caucasian version of who he was and had the genes that promoted muscle growth and longevity.
Juan would now call himself John and be able to pass as an American Caucasian, however he had no documents to prove it.
I had the same problem in reverse, I would no longer be called Joe but have to answer to Jose from now on since my features and genetics were 100% Mexican.
I managed to sneak out of the country and return to the United States, but I would have to forgo my college education for now and take a job picking oranges in the Rio Grande area of south Texas.
John would do fine where he was. He could still fly ambitious customers where they wanted to go. It was just that his stories would have to change. Still a wrinkled faced man in his 80s and a different styled body, he just might find some cute young Mexican boy to make some of his dreams on the beach come true.
From all indications, John’s tight toned body will give any young 20-something kid a run for his money and an endurance level not found in men his age.
END