This story contains graphic descriptions of adult male gay sex and relationships. If it it illegal for you to read this material, please stop reading and delete this story.
A Day At The Lake, Part 1
We'd spent the day fishing out in the lake. It was the end of summer, and we had taken the whole work week off, away from work and family and our many obligations. Jim and I had both needed some time off, and some time at the lake, fishing and being together, was sorely needed.
The afternoon was hot and muggy, and thunderclouds began to form and build as the afternoon wore on. The heat was intense, and I soon shucked my shirt, as I kept casting out from the boat, trying to entice the trout to take the bait. Sweat rolled down my chest, and onto my belly, and started to soak my camo fishing pants. Soon, I tied my hankie around my forehead, to keep the sweat out of my eyes, and to cool my head. Several times an hour, I dunked the cloth into the lake water, and let the improvised sweat band cool my head and keep my eyes from getting stung by the sweat.
Jim soon shucked his shirt, too, and his beefy, hairy chest glowed from his sweat in the afternoon sun . His large, brown nipples stuck out from his chest hair, and I saw beads of water pool in his soaked armpit hair as he reached out to cast his line in the opposite direction from my casts.
We fished in near silence for several hours, occasionally changing lures, or refreshing our bait, and, once, unraveling a nasty snarl of fishing line from my reel after a bad cast. Jim's back and shoulders began to turn red, and I grabbed the sunscreen, slathering it on him. My rough hands rubbed the cream into his chest hair, and over his muscular shoulders and back. Then, I rubbed some more over his face, and up to the edges of his moustache and beard line.
After I was done, he grabbed the tube from me and slathered more lotion on my back and shoulders, over my face. He gently rubbed the cream around the edges of my moustache and into my three day salt and pepper stubble. The burning from the sun on my skin eased a bit, and we got back to our fishing. He took another glob from the tube and rubbed it onto my furry chest and belly, coating me down to my beltline.
Jim always teased me every fishing trip about growing a beard, as he knew I hated shaving. Every year, he bet me a fifth of whiskey that I keep my beard over the winter, but, a few days after getting back home, I'd succumb to the comments at work, and shave the new beard off.
"Your beard's looking pretty good this week, Mike," Jim said. "It looks good on you; brings out the man in you. It's not so bristly today, and feels soft in my fingers. You ought to keep that beard."
I liked it, too, and it felt good not to shave this week, and just relax. I loved wearing my old fishing clothes, and my soft flannel plaid shirt felt good in the cool mornings and around the campfire at night.
I didn't wear underwear up here, either, and I liked the comfort of "going commando", with the soft feel of my camo jeans against my butt and cock.
Jim never did wear underwear, and he couldn't understand why I made such a big deal about not wearing many clothes up here. He slept in the nude, and finally talked me into it last night, saying I was missing out on a great experience. I had to agree with him, as I hated getting bunched up in my shorts in my sleeping bag. No one else was around, and Jim was certainly no fashion critic.
This week was good for me. No responsibilities. No rules. Just doing what I wanted and enjoying myself. Just hanging out with my buddy, and enjoying myself.
We'd packed our lunch that morning, and we had eaten our sandwiches, and most of the chips by the time the heat of the afternoon came on. Jim dug out the cold pieces of pie he had packed that morning, and we washed them down with the last of the cold milk in the ice chest. He burped a big sigh of contentment after he drained the last of the milk, as a white dribble ran down his hairy chin and got lost in the thicket of his chest hair. I gazed at the drop for quite a while, and focused on its perilous journey in that forest of black and gray, covering his muscles and tanned skin. Jim had been an athlete in his youth, and still pumped iron and ran several miles three times a week.
His shoulders were deep and muscled, and his belly was flat, disciplined by his hundred sit-ups every morning. Jim worked in a lumber mill, and was always the first guy in line when lumber needed to be restacked, or a belt line needed to be cleared.
Today, when I watched him cast out, his arms and chest would work as a well-oiled machine, muscle groups moving in sync, as he flicked the line out into the green water of the lake. I'd always enjoyed looking at his body, and the way the hair moved when he flexed and turned.
"Want a beer?" he asked, cracking open a big can of his favorite ale and handing me a second cold one, without waiting for my obvious response. The cold beer tasted good on my tongue, and cooled me down. I rubbed the cold can against my chest, and chilled my right nipple with the beaded aluminum can. I loved the contrast of the heat and the cold against my chest, and the electric zing of stimulating my nipple. My tits had always been sensitive, and I loved to touch them and rub them with ice and cold beer cans.
Jim looked at me rubbing the beer can on my chest, and grinned. We had few secrets and we had had many discussions about different parts of our anatomy and what felt good. Our love lives were pretty much an open book with each other, and we had talked a lot about his sex life with his now ex-wife, and my girlfriend, who had left me a month ago, telling me she no longer loved me and I no longer satisfied her in bed.
I had gone over to Jim's apartment, to tell him we'd broken up, and Jim had mentioned we needed to plan our annual fishing trip to the lake. The idea got my mind off the bitterness of our breakup, and Jim knew this trip was just what I'd needed.
He was a good friend, and our talks on the way up in the pickup, and around the campfire had gotten the pain out of my system. Today was the first day in a long time that I'd felt like my old self, and that life was to be enjoyed.
"You're getting yourself in good shape, Mike," Jim said. "I can see some real definition in your chest and biceps now, and you've lost some of that flab around your gut. You must be serious about getting to the gym this month."
I had to agree, finding myself sleeping better and not being so depressed, since I had taken Jim's advice and joined his gym last month. He'd offered to write down a training plan for me, and showed me the right way to pump iron and work the machines. Once again, he was a man who had good advice for me.
The clouds thickened a bit, and started turning black, and we heard a distant rumble. The wind picked up a notch, and Jim started up the motor, and turned us towards the dock.
"Time to head for the barn. We don't want to be out here when the lightning comes," he said. He jerked the starter cord on the motor and off we went. The speed of the boat freshened the sticky air of the lake, and the cool breeze felt good on my sweaty chest and armpits. I cleaned off our hooks, and stowed our poles, as Jim expertly steered us to the dock.
Twenty minutes later, we were sitting on the porch of our cabin, drinking our second cold beers of the afternoon, when the rumblings grew louder and a large bolt of lightning struck the nearby peak overlooking the south end of the lake.
"No more fishing today, it seems," Jim said. "We have six trout for dinner, but I'm not hungry yet. How about a hand of poker?"
I agreed, and reached under the table to pull out a deck of cards. We began a friendly game, and soon we were drawing cards and throwing chips onto the table, as the storm moved in with a bang.
It was still too hot to put on our shirts and the breeze that came with the lightning and the heavy rain felt good against my skin. Soon, my chest was dry, and my chest hairs were moving gently in the breeze. My stubble had dried off, and as I rubbed my face, I felt the softness of my new beard and my bushy mustache. Jim was right, my whiskers were starting to really become a beard, and it was feeling good to be a bearded man.
I looked over at Jim, and the redness of the afternoon sun on his skin had faded away, and his body glowed bronze and tanned under his pelt of hair. His tanned face was a nice contrast against his salt and pepper beard, and the beard flowed down and blended into his chest. He had never been a man who shaved his neck, preferring his whiskers to just run their course. And, in his case, that meant that his beard and chest hair had no boundary.
Jim raised his arm to scratch his head and reach for his beer, and his thick patch of underarm hair glistened in the late afternoon light. His wide nipple stood out against the tan chest and thick hair, and I caught myself admiring his strength and manliness. Jim was a guy who was always comfortable with himself. No pretensions. He was just Jim.
Jim won one hand and I won the next. He reached down into the cooler and pulled out another two beers.
"Let's make the next hand interesting. The loser shucks his pants", Jim said.
"Well, neither of us are wearing underwear and that would make the loser the guy sitting bare assed on the porch," I replied.
"Yep. And, no one else is around here. We're the last cabin along the beach. My balls could stand the airing, and I suspect yours could, too," he replied. "Anyway, I'd like to take a look at your butt, anyway, and see if your workouts have taken any lard out of that office butt."
Jim had always teased me about my soft life in the office, and that I only got any physical exercise when I went to the gym. He knew I was pretty shy about my body, even when we were alone together at the lake, and this bet was just his way of messing with me.
I dealt the hand and we played a hard game. Jim had the better hand, and when he showed his cards, he just looked at me and grinned.
"Lose `em," he said. "I want to see what you've got," and he chuckled.
I blushed, and stood up to loosen my belt. I started to turn away, as the belt came undone.
"Hold on. I paid for front row seats, and I want to see all the action here. This is the only show in town this afternoon, and I just won the hand," he said.
I quickly undid the belt, and then fumbled open the buttons down the front. The pants opened up and slowly slid off my hips and down my butt, as my cock flopped out into the afternoon breeze. I started to kick off one pant leg, but caught my big toe in the cuff seam, and started to stumble. Jim reached out to grab my shoulder, and I spun around, landing bare assed on his lap. His big arms kept me from falling to the floor, and he steadied me as my feet finally came free of the pants.
We both laughed at my lack of grace, and the absurdity of my dance, and looked at each other with glee.
"You dance, well, too, big guy. Your butt looks pretty good, and it feels nice and firm, too," Jim said, as he took one of his rough, big hands and grabbed on to one of my butt cheeks. His other hand moved to my thigh, and his fingers touched the hairs above my knee. His chest rubbed against my arm and into my back, as he pulled me deeper into his lap. One hand moved my leg open a bit, and then moved up my thigh.
"You're getting some good muscle tone in your legs, too," he said
His fingers were gentle, slowly massaging the thigh muscles and smoothing the smoother skin on the inside of my leg.
"Yes, you are in good shape," Jim whispered. His hand moved higher, and soon was rubbing the thick hair around my balls and cockroot. His finger touched my sac, and I flinched.
"Easy, partner. I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm just having a good time with you, seeing how you are down there," he said. "I'm liking what I'm finding."
His other arm had now firmly pinned me against his solid, furry chest, and his fingers moved around my shoulder and onto my pecs. Soon, his thumb and forefinger had found my nipple and began to dance around its point and the hair circling the areole. His attentions soon had my nipple at stiff attention, and I had lost my will to escape.
Jim's left hand soon cupped my ball sac, and gently rubbed my balls, one at a time, and then together, and then, back to one at a time. He caressed the hairs on my sac and fondled the skin, and then began to circle the base of my hardening cock with his thumb and forefinger.
He rubbed his beard against the skin of my shoulder and the nape of my neck, and breathed softly into my scalp and ear. His tongue nuzzled my earlobe, as his mustache tickled my ear.
"I want you, Mike. I want you right now. And, your cock wants me, too. Its hard and its lovin' what I'm doing to it," Jim whispered. Jim's arms around me told me he meant it, and I made no effort to move. His hands were playing my song, and so was my stiffening cock, and I had to agree.
Jim moved up to fist my cock, gently moving up and down, and pushing my foreskin away from the emerging cockhead. He licked his finger and began rubbing the piss slit and head, causing my cock to grow to its full height. He pumped me again, and again, gently pulling my hair and lifting my balls as he moved.
I took a deep breath, and put my hand on his thigh. His jeans felt coarse against my hand, and I wanted the cloth out of my way, so I could touch his skin.
"Do we need to play another hand, or can I talk you out of your pants, too?" I asked.
Copyright 2008. Oregonbear9