It’s Summer Somewhere...

You wake to the soft pitter patter of rain on your roof and the feeling of something wet on your cheek. Great, you think, ANOTHER leak.

This happens every winter. The rain comes, the roads plug up, and your house starts leaking like a faucet. The walls get soggy, and your mood plummets. “Why can’t it just be summer?” you say to yourself.

You lie in bed, fantasizing about the warmth of the sun and the deep roll of the waves. You imagine palm trees instead of soggy walls, a cool blue pool instead of a torrential downpour.

A smile creeps across your face. Just thinking about summer is making your drafty house just a little less chilly. A warmth creeps over your skin, and you reach underneath your shirt, feeling yourself up.

In this fantasy, you’re not a homely guy living in a house with three roommates: you’re a sexy model with a private jet. You don’t have to stay anywhere longer than a couple of months, so every time it starts to get cold, you’ll just fly somewhere warm. After all, it’s always summer somewhere…

Your body starts to rise to meet your hand. The muscles bellow your skin are warmer, harder, like baking lava rock. You feel the rough scratch of chest hair that wasn’t there before, and a soft moan escapes your throat.

You close your eyes. The warmth isn’t just coming from inside you; it’s coming from all around you. As if your house is suddenly a small oven, the walls made of sunlight. The bed begins to rock like a boat on the ocean, and you begin to suspect you are falling back asleep, lulled into a stupor by your increasingly vivid imagination.

But this all feels so real: the muscles, the sunlight, the waves. Suddenly, there isn’t a shirt over your hand. Suddenly, the water is coming from all around you, not from above. Suddenly, you aren’t just rubbing your chest…

You’re rubbing your cock.

Your soft moans are turning to guttural groans. The warmth is building inside you is turning to a raging heat. A powerful arousal that makes your muscles tense, your fingers numb. The soft pitter patter becomes the roar of the ocean and you slip your hand down into your pajama pants to stroke your meat.

Except, they aren’t pajama pants; you’re wearing a speedo, and the second your tingling fingers make contact with your sensitive cock head, you explode, painting the wet fabric with your cum.

You open your eyes. Sure enough, you’re not in your bedroom. You’re on a beach in Rio, soaking up the summer sun while admiring your perfectly sculpted body. I hope you’re enjoying it, because you’re in for a summer of a lifetime. With a private jet and a body everyone would kill to see, you won’t have to see a single drop of rain… ever again.