This story contains graphic descriptions of consensual adult male to male sex. If you are offended by the nature of this content, or it is illegal for you to read this, please leave.
A Day At The Lake, Part 4
Our fishing trip started out as a way to take some time off, to relax, and both Jim and I had come here to unwind, and to celebrate our friendship. Yet, this afternoon, an early thunderstorm, and a cold beer on the porch had ended up costing me my pants and my gay virginity.
It was fully dark now, the moon not yet up, and we were starved, as we stumbled out of the bed, and tossed on some clothes.
Jim fried up the trout in butter, and a bit of corn meal, as I put together a salad and sliced up the last of our crusty French bread. Soon, the spattering of the butter and the freshly-caught trout on the stove filled the kitchen, and I put a couple of plates down on the rough, wooden table by the window.
We were both suddenly starved, and we attacked the six trout and the rest of the meal with wild abandon, slathering the bread into the buttery, cornmeally drippings from the fish, and stuffing the mixture into our bearded mouths.
Jim had cracked open more cold ale and we chased down the trout with cool slurps of foamy liquid gold.
It had cooled off a bit and we had dressed for dinner in our usual formal attire, jeans and flannel shirts, half unbuttoned. A bit of the butter had dripped down Jim's beard and onto his chest hair, giving that matt a touch of a golden pearl of melted butter and cornmeal. It looked good enough to lick, as did the rest of Jim.
As we pushed ourselves away from the table, and took the last of the ale into our still thirsty throats, I noticed how the light from the oil lamp played in Jim's moustache and beard, picking up the strands of gray, and causing some of the hairs to shine. Perhaps it was a bit of the butter and cornmeal from the trout, but there was a glow in his beard.
"It's been one helluva day, partner," Jim said. It was the first sentence either one of us had spoken since we started dinner.
"How about we retire to the porch and have ourselves a little sippin' whiskey," Jim added. We'd done the very same thing every night this week, and I needed a serious drink tonight. My first night no longer a virgin with a man.
I piled our plates in the sink, as Jim took the whiskey bottle down from the shelf, and headed for the porch. I got some ice and club soda out of the fridge, and sat down next to Jim, on the big bench against the outer cabin wall, where we had made love just an hour ago, my hand fondly remembering the silky hardness of Jim's large cock, and the tight furriness of his balls.
I put down the ice and soda, and moved to his side, as he put one of his big, muscular arms around my shoulders, and began to gently rub my hairy cheeks and jaw with his big thumb.
The lake was calm now, after the storm, and the quarter moon started rising over the mountain. The sky was dark, cloudless, and a lot of stars were out. The breeze had died down, and it was still, not yet chilly. I could still smell the rain-dampened earth and the freshness of the pine trees. Weak moonlight played on the ripples of the lake.
I'd thought a lot at dinner about what I'd done with Jim this evening. Every touch, every pleasure felt so comfortable, so right. I felt so relaxed, so "at home" touching him, having him touch me, our fondling and stroking, our sucking and caressing bringing us both to sexual ecstasy, time and time again.
It seemed like one big erotic dream, but my now empty balls and well-fondled cock told me otherwise. I felt so alive, so satisfied.
"A penny for your thoughts, Mike," Jim growled, as he handed me a glass of whiskey, with a bit of club soda, and ice, just the way I like it.
"I'm not sure I have any, Jim. Just a lot of feelings, and a bunch of happiness and, well, contentment inside," I replied.
"If there was a real thought in my brain, it'd be that you, my friend, are an amazing lover. You're so kind, so knowing on how to pleasure me, "I added. " I've done so many incredible things in the last few hours that I've only fantasized about, and things I never even knew two men could do with each other. "
"The word grateful comes to mind, Jim. You are a true friend," I said.
Jim was silent, and we sipped our whiskey. It was a comfortable silence, and I knew Jim was mulling over what words to say. He's a sensitive guy, deep down, underneath his big beard and heavy muscles, and I knew he was moving gently into this conversation.
"You did a lot for me tonight, too, Mike. It wasn't just a one way street, you know. I was teaching you a few things, but you held your own," Jim finally said. "I'd never had that kind of experience before, and, well, I just felt such a powerful connection with you."
Jim fell silent again, and it was not the time to interrupt his thoughts.
"I guess, I guess it boils down to trust. When you trust someone, someone who really cares for you and is looking out for your best interests, then, ...well, then there's real love," Jim said. "I've never known that with anyone before, Mike. You're the first lover I've ever had where I've felt I'm really making love."
I looked over at Jim, and saw a big tear roll down from his eye, down his cheek and into his beard. I reached over and rubbed it into his fur, and kissed his lips softly.
"Thanks, Jim," I said.
We sipped our drinks for a while, and then Jim asked me, "Is there anything we can do tonight that you want to try? I'm still the teacher here, and I don't want to stifle your education."
I chuckled. Jim didn't quite fit the image of the stuffy school teacher, with his tousled wild hair, his windblown beard, and bushy moustache, and his half buttoned, faded and torn plaid shirt, stained with a bit of cornmeal and butter. Images of Jim moaning, shooting his cum into my mouth, as I fondled his big balls, came to mind. No, he's not a typical teacher of mine.
His hand reached over to the top of my thigh, and his thumb gently outlined my cock through my jeans. I fell silent, enjoying his touch, and the calm evening on the lake.
"It's your call on what game we play. It's your deal," Jim said.
"Well, I lost the last game pretty badly, but then, I guess I can't complain about losing that hand," I laughed.
We chuckled a bit, and I moved my hand to his chest, stroking his pelt of salt and pepper wiry hairs, and rubbing my finger against his hard nipples.
"There IS one thing I'd like to try," I said, and I stood up and grabbed both of his hands, and pulled him into the bedroom.
Slowly, I repeated much of what he had done for me that evening, and we soon found ourselves bare assed on the bed, Jim underneath me. I rolled a condom over my now hard cock, and began to lube up his hole, caressing his balls and jacking his hard cock.
In a few minutes, I found myself inside of Jim's hole, moving my manhood gently back and forth, feeling my cockhead grasped by his chute, and caressing the hard fiber of his prostate with each movement of my buttocks, thrusting my groin against him, brushing his balls with my coarse pubes. My chest and stiff nipples rubbed against his hairy, hard chest, and my belly hairs rubbed his hard cock below me, as I rocked slowly back and forth above my lover, watching the stars in his eyes.
We moved slowly, not with the lust of our late afternoon together, but with the slow-cooked passion of trusted lovers, simply wanting to be together, to enjoy each other as the moon rose higher over the lake, its silver light dancing over our thrusting bodies.
Copyright 2008. Oregon Bear