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The Beach


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"Y-yeah..." Zero simply replied, sitting down next to her.  The dark power that had been threatening to overwhelm him had gotten much weaker, to a point that all Zero needed to do was keep his emotions in check for a bit and the power would subside.  Once again, he couldn't help but stare at Nadia.  "I owe you one, Nadia," he quietly said.

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"Then let's make a deal," Nadia says, attempting to sit up, but her arms give out. She ends up with her ass in the air. "Uh... okay, just listen. I want to go out with you. We can have sex any time you need to let this energy out so you don't attempt to kill people. How's that for repaying me?"

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"Zero, you've fucked me basically three times already," Nadia states. "I can tell you like my body because you keep staring at it, despite it being shit. And I like you." Nadia again tries to sit up, and succeeds. "We can always go on dates to get to know each other better, right?"

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Summer was supposed to be a time of excitement and leisure, a time away from the hectic hassles of College courses and in-depth reading assignments. A summer spent at the beach, catching rays out on the sands, surfing the salty waves as the foamy spray cooled your bare sun-kissed flesh, strolling the boardwalk at night while reveling in the cool breeze off the ocean surface and the chromatic illumination of the Ferris Wheel blocked out the comparatively dim stars of the evening sky. Every day the beach was crowded with out-of-towners looking to celebrate the hottest time of year at the shore, and every weekend it became near impossible to escape the body-to-body crush of families and teenagers cluttering every board of the walk with their suburban stench.

Contrary to common opinion, Randy was not quite so enamored with beach season. He grew up by the shore. It was, for better or worse, a part of who he was. At the age of twenty, however, you started to get sick of the same thing every summer. The last exciting event he could recall was the grand reopening of the boardwalk arcade, and that was ten years back during the retro nostalgia boom. Sure, it's got some sweet new machines in that time as opposed to the clunky old likes of The Simpsons Arcade Game, Area 51, Time Crisis, Street Fighter III, or Smash TV. But he'd just about mastered every machine at this point. Even the skee ball machines were as easy to him as doing something as bland as a cartwheel.

Perhaps it was actually working on the boardwalk during summers that ruined the shore season for him, though. You could always tell the locals from the tourists, as the tourists came with a double-dose helping of obnoxious attitudes and repetitious jokes. There was nothing more soul crushing than having to fake a smile for some diabetes-ridden daddy that couldn't decide if he wanted the slice of pepperoni pizza or the slice of extra pepperoni.

Randy sighed heavily, the percussive beat of Blood Stain Child's Stargazer pumping through his ears as his roller blades bumped and clacked against the wooden panels of the boardwalk. He missed being back in the College dorms. He missed being squished together with his friends on a single bed, hollering and laughing as they fought against one another in Super Smash Bros. He blushed slightly as he recalled the slow, teasing handjob Melissa had given him beneath the blanket as they watched Nymphomaniac on Netflix with their friends.

He shook his head. Okay, maybe best not to think about that memory at the moment, what with the tight shorts he was wearing. He swerved between groups of families walking the boardwalk, reaching for the railing and halting his momentum. His eyes gazed out over the many tourists polluting the beach, many of their guts bouncing and jiggling as they wore way too few garments for their body type. Yup, that would certainly make sure he didn't embarrass himself. No way he'd have his cock poking against these shorts like some kind of divining rod hunting treasure in the sands with a sight like this.

Which led him to heave yet another sigh, crossing his arms upon the railing and cradling his chin against them. Just another disappointment of a summer at the shore. Television would tell you it was all blondes with fake tits and thongs sunbathing topless. In reality, it was a bunch of dads whose shoulders needed a serious shave and woman thighs scarred with cellulite.

"Summer sucks," he groaned, eyes scanning the crowd.

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