A Cabin in the Woods 3 By Bald Hairy Man
This is a story for adult men. It depicts gay sex. If this offends or bothers you, DO NOT READ IT. It is a fantasy and is not a sex manual, or a discussion of safe sex. If you have comments send them to winarch47@yahoo.com
The waterfall in the photographs the elder Judge Williams liked was un-named, and the younger Judge Williams didn't know where it was. I needed to see the falls, so I contacted the members of the Lake Johns' Fishing Club for advice as to the location.
Frog knew where it was. He tended to wander the woods looking for hiding places. I never found out what he was hiding from. It would take a psychiatrist to get that information from him. Jody, Frog, Chet, and I had little expedition to find it. Jody and Chet carried my igloo. I carried my artist supplies.
I was a worried that Frog wouldn't remember the location. Frog was the sort of man that an affectionate Aunt might describe as being distinctive or not conventionally handsome. He had strengths and weaknesses. I had discovered two of his strengths, he has an incredibly receptive ass, and he thought sperm was a food group.
On our hike I discovered a new skill, he remembered the exact location of the falls. Frog had unusual interests and tastes. In town they were odd. In the woods they were necessary. Frog would have made a good scout in the 18th or 19th Century America. We set up camp. Chet and I started sketching and painting.
Jody and Frog went exploring with a camera. They were helpful when they were near the falls you could tell the scale. It was bigger when you saw a six-foot man next it. Jody and Frog went fishing and were successful. It was a good day. I was able to catch the sky's look at noon and at sunset. After eating we were surprised when Bubba joined us. He said he didn't like to think of us at night in an isolated spot.
I sat back and fell asleep after eating. I woke up with Chet next to me and Bubba alternating fucking Jody and Frog. Frog looked happy skewered on Bubba's cock. Jody and Bubba were talking about Frog's ability to take a cock in the ass.
"Now Frog, Jody and I could spend the night fucking you," Bubba said. "If you want that it's fine, but it's also fine if you need to rest. I wouldn't mind it if you want to leave a token of your affection up my ass. I'm okay with that too. Jody has already sampled you cum. He says it's real tasty."
Chet got closer to men and began to suck me. I got involved, and I assume Bubba, Jody and Frog worked things out. I fell asleep again as Chet worked his cock into me. I woke before dawn and painted the first glimmer of dawn as the sun rose. Because of the mountains to the east, the sky was bright pink while the falls were still in shade. Chet went off to draw details of the flora for the foreground of the murals. His drawings combined botanical precision with a good sense of composition.
We had fresh caught fish for lunch, and we got ready to go home. Our little expedition to the falls had been a success. It was a success for Frog too. Somehow, Bubba's cock found more than a warm place to deposit his sperm in Frog's ass. Bubba found a friend, and Frog found an affectionate older man who liked him as a man and not just as a cum dump.
Back home I looked over my sketches and was pleased. When you are drawing or painting you are a foot or two from the paper of canvas. When I stood back, my paintings caught the spirit of the place and were beautiful. Chet's drawings were excellent.
Judge Williams came by my studio a few days later and he loved the sketches He didn't see them as sketches or studies. They were art. He was deeply interested in the mural project. Erasmus told me that his wife died of cancer two years earlier after twenty-five years of marriage. She was older then he was, and an heiress. She was a lovely woman, an only child who wanted to have children. They had two boys and two girls. She was a wonderful mother who focused on her children exclusively. William focused on his career.
Williams would never consider cheating on his wife, so his life was almost sexless after the birth of the last child. He has a few modest interludes at the fishing camp once or twice a year. Erasmus said it was all oral, and tasteful. I was his first venture into more intense sex.
Williams wanted to create a memorial to his father. I could provide both the mural and a sexual outlet. This sounds cold and calculating, but as soon as saw my preliminary sketches he loved them. Art did not play a role in his life. He saw my work and loved it. He was a middle age man discovered art for the first time. That coincided with his discovery of more intense gay sex.
I hired Chet as an assistant. The painting was going to be fifteen by ten feet, so I needed a helper. Williams knew Chet when he was painting his house. He was the good painter who was neat and polite. Williams was surprised when he discovered Chet was partially deaf.
I did a half size mock-up of the mural and presented it to the Board of Supervisors. That was just a technicality since they did whatever the Judge wanted, but they were pleased to be asked. Chet helped to load and carry the paintings. Since they were sketches, I brought a completed painting to show my finished works.
I was with the judge who was waiting for his children to join us. Chet was with the Supervisors, and he explained the painting and sold two of the preliminary works. A Supervisor bought one, as did the Director of Public works. Chet was wearing his new hearing aid, and the men were shocked by the transformation.
We had a good meeting and got full approval. William's children were grown, attractive and affable. No one had seen them since their mother's funeral, so it was very friendly. One of his daughter's told me her father's life had seemed to be dreary, but the memorial project seemed to have cheered him up. That night as I got in bed, I wondered if it was the painting or the anal therapy that improved his attitude.
Since William had a demanding schedule, and I was teaching, it was complicated connecting. He had experience with oral sex with Erasmus. He and I realized that when my cock massaged his rectum, he went to new and exciting places. He lost all of his judicial reserve and surrendered to my cock. When I thought it couldn't get any better, and I would shoot off. He could feel my ejaculations tickling untouched places. That was almost too much.
When he calmed down. I would suck his cock and take his sperm. Some men dump their loads. You are just their sperm receptacle. Others feed you as if you are a baby taking Daddy's milk. For Williams when I took his load it was communion. He was sharing his essence with me.
There was an unusual aspect to our relationship. He knew I was sexually active with the fishing club. I told him that Chet and I were getting close, both professionally and sexually. The Judge had no problem with that.
William tended to be obsessive. Once he was working on a major case, he focused on that alone. That had been problem with his wife. He neglected her when he was involved in major judicial decision. He knew I had a sexual alternative with Chet. He could be a guilt free obsessive.
Aaron, Jody, Bubba, Frog, and Erasmus share the same sexual interests. William knew the Lake Johns' Fishing Club was a "one-for-all and all-for-one," approach. William had shared, but never with much enthusiasm. Remarkably the club members had kept their secrets for a century.
William walked in on Chet and me as Chet was ejaculating deep in my ass. I saw him.
"Sorry, I'll leave," he said.
Chet looked at him. "No need to do that, I've shot my wad. Hank hasn't cum yet," Chet said. He pulled his cock out of my ass. "You should sample Hank's ass. I shot a huge load in him, and it should be smooth as silk."
William surprised me. He stripped and came over to me. "Are you okay with this?" he asked.
"I've been waiting for this. Of course, I'm okay," I said.
"I've never fucked a man before," William said.
"You are longer and thicker than I am. He will love it," Chet said. Chet knew more about me than I thought. William's cock was a perfect fit for my ass. It was beautiful.
Anal sex and beauty aren't aways associated. Chet was a first-rate fucker, but it wasn't beautiful. William was a beautiful fucker. I had seen and sucked his cock, but I hadn't guessed it was the perfect shape for a rectal probe of my ass. At first, I sensed he was nervous and uneasy. As he pushed deeper, he relaxed. As his mind relaxed, his cock became more excited.
I knew he had deeply rational mind. I was afraid he would stop and pull out. I know that some people think gay men let their cocks do their thinking. That is what I wanted for William. I wanted him to let loose and wallow in sexual ecstasy; to enjoy, not think.
As his cock probed deeper into me, I gave up thinking, and let his cock take control. It was beautiful. The next thing I noticed was his cock ejaculating the entire contents of his balls deep in my ass. Oddly, I seem to think that William's cock merged with Chet's load to party. It was beautiful. William shot off. dressed and left.
"Was that better than when I fucked you?" Chet asked.
"I'm not sure about that," I said. "If you are up to it, maybe you could fuck me again?"
"Have I ever said no?" Chet asked. He laughed as he slipped his cock back I to me.
"You do know that you could say no at any time?" I said.
"Somehow, fucking you while using another man's cum of lubricant makes it better," Chet said. "It tingles. Do you think that's possible?"
I smiled. "I do. Your cock and your brain are connected. When you see something that excites you sexually, that information comes from your brain. Cocks are complex organs, but they can't see." I said. "Once you are on the dark side of the sphincter, it's all feeling."
Chet smiled. "Was I feeing William's orgasm or your reaction to the orgasm?"
"The first time you fucked me, it was good. It gets better every time you fill me up." I said. "An orgasm lasts for seconds. I get hard just thinking about your climaxes."
When I was at art school, some of my classmates carefully considered every brushstroke of paint on a canvas. I was not one of those. I fill the canvas quickly. After an hour or so I stand back and take a look. If something isn't right, I correct it and then get back to painting.
When you are working on a fifteen-foot by ten-foot canvas, speed is a desirable trait. Some of my teachers thought I was slap-dash, or overly facile. The chair of the department, Roscoe Montrose, thought I was spontaneous.
I was at the half-way point in the project when I got a call from Dr. Montrose. He was retired now and hard heard of the mural project. He asked if he could visit and see it. That was fine with me.
Officially, Roscoe was a sculptor. His actual specialty was as critic. He was a constructive critic. If you were smart enough, you would take his comments seriously and improve your work. Roscoe looked with a thoughtful artist's sensitivity.
He used granite and marble for his works. He was bald and bearded, solid and muscular. Since he was forty, he had been Santa for local charities. That was twenty years earlier. He was ageless if you consider a man is ageless because he had always looked older.
I knew him but had rarely personally encountered him. He did appear at important times in my school career. He drove up to my studio in his beautifully maintained elderly Volvo station wagon.
"Is that the same car you had back then, Dr. Montrose?" I asked.
"You can call me Monty. Roscoe makes me think my parents are mad at me. My Volvo was reaching the Nora Desmond stage, so I had some work done. More of my car is new than original," he said. We talked and went to see the partial complete painting.
Monty stared at in for a minute or so. "I knew you could paint, but I was afraid you would have a problem doing a huge mural after doing what they call, "sofa sized" paintings. You had no problem at all. It's difficult to do a huge painting and keep it lively. Is the client happy?" he asked.
"Oh yes. It's a memorial for his father. I don't think he had a clue what it would be like. It's more than he expected," I said. We had a long, helpful discussion. Monty had lunch with him in the car. It was from what had been my favorite restaurant from my college days. I had no idea how he knew that.
I asked him how retirement was treating him. he said it was fine, but his friend Alonzo Delgado died. Alonzo was the man who rented the upstairs apartment in his house. I said I was sorry. I had met him a few times.
"He would love to have been here. Alonzo had the hots for you," Monty said. "You were his type. He liked young men with potential."
"I had no idea he ever saw my work," I replied.
He laughed and said, "He had no interest in your work at all. Alonzo had an uncanny ability to guess cock size through jeans. He liked well hung, young men. He loved me too, but as I got older, he could dream. Alonzo knew he would destroy my career if he made a false move with a student. Hiding his passions was not his strong suit, but he managed it."
"I have a warm spot for older men. It amazes me that when you are a student, you are so self-absorbed that you have no idea what is happening around you," I said. "I thought I was a sensitive, aware man."
Monty laughed. "I thought that I had overcome my interests in well hung men. Alonzo was just short of museum quality cock size. When he died my interest rekindled," he said. "It turns out the number of horny old men is at its peak. The number of young men who want a daddy is small."
"What age do you classify as a young man?" I asked.
"How old are you?" he asked. I told him I was forty.
"You might not believe the coincidence, but the cut off age is forty," Monty replied.
Now you might think I'm not the sort of guy who would fall for a line like that. At school one of my friends went swimming in the early morning at the same time Monty was swimming. He just happened to mention that he had a world's fair exhibit hanging between his legs. He later clarified that the exhibit was the Eiffel Tower.
At that time, I rarely saw Montrose. I had no personal interaction with him at all. I know that hunting for big cocks is superficial and trashy. After lunch Monty and I visited my bedroom. For some reason, he began to strip, and I followed suit.
Monty was old, muscular, and fit. He was a Polar Bear covered in white hair. He mentioned that my cock was similar to Alonzo's organ, adding, "It was the prefect size for my ass. I miss it."
"We are both uneasy about this, but we're going to fuck like rabbits anyway. Let's get at it!" I said. I often observed that lust could overcome many obstacles.
We sixty-nined for a while and then I sucked him. When I fucked him, my cock evoked memories of his late partner. Providing a ghost cock was odd at first, but Monty got into it, so it was good for me too.
We took a break. "I haven't shot off in an ass for two years. Is there any chance you could help me out?" He asked. His cock was big, but big cocks attract me. I said yes.
"Are you okay if I fuck you like you are a guy I just met, not a former student?" he asked.
"Well, I never got an A in an art class. I will give up that opportunity, and pretend you are a plain old, horse hung, horny old man," I said. "You're big. I have lube and poppers."
"I have the same, but my poppers are medical grade. My doc tells me it will open your ass as far as possible.
He squirted some lube in my ass. I positioned my ass on his cock, broke the capsule, and took a sniff. A few seconds later his cock was in me, and my ass was shrink wrapped on his cock. It was all I expected in an oversized cock attached to an enthusiastic man. Roscoe stopped being the chairman of the art department as his knob pushed past my sphincter. I was squirming. Monty became a sex crazed older man.
Ten minutes later his cock became even harder, he twitched and cum flooded my ass. I began to shoot. Monty tried to reenact Noah's flood in my ass. His mouth caught two of my sperm volleys. We both collapsed after the orgasm.
Monty became a regular house guest.