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He Came Over For a Beer, Part 1
It was a hot day, this last week of September, and I'd been cleaning up the yard, getting ready for fall. Most of the garden was harvested, and I'd picked the first of the corn that afternoon. I knew Tom always loved my corn, and he'd been asking me for the last week when I was going to starting picking the special sweet white corn that was the favorite of the neighborhood.
I called him up after I got back in the house, telling him I had a sack of corn on the counter and there was some cold beer in the fridge.
"Bring your guitar, too. I've got a few steaks and we've got the whole evening out on the deck," I said, hearing him laugh over the phone.
Tom was a frequent visitor now, usually coming over to play a little guitar with me in the late afternoon and have a few beers. He retired last year, and his wife had left him a couple of years ago, leaving him the house after she ran off with her old high school sweetheart. Tom hadn't been too broken up about the divorce, as she had been cheating on him most of their marriage.
In the last few months, Tom was over here a lot, and we'd ended up talking about everything in our lives, while we were picking out a few songs or killing off a beer. Last week, he'd finally mentioned he'd like to fool around with me, and we'd ended up in bed for most of the evening. I certainly wasn't his first man he'd ever fooled around with, and he'd given me one of the best blow jobs I'd ever had.
He'd fumbled, as he groped my cock through the cotton denim of my jeans. I'd put his hand on my fly, as we sat on the front porch steps that late afternoon. He'd taken a deep breath, and sighed deeply, when I took his hand and guided him to the outline of my hardening cock and my already needy, full balls. My other hand took his other hand on a tour of my shirt front, opening buttons and finding the coarse black curls of my chest hair, and my already hard nipples.
My lips had found his lips, and I soon was sucking and prodding his tongue to taste me, to explore my own tongue, and to join his wetness with mine, as we began to come together. I remembered his sweat, the horsey, dusty sweat of a rancher mixing a bit with a taste of beer and lust, and the drying sweat of a working man's hairy, muscled body on a hot late summer's day.
Soon, I slipped off his tank top, feeling the thick hairy crevices and curves of his muscled chest and belly, and the wet, dark nooks and crannies of his furry pits, and the tender, soft nipples of his chest, and the long trail of curls that led to his jeans, and the hardness of his belly.
He slid my now unbuttoned shirt off my shoulders, taking my own aching, hot nipples into his mouth, across the stubble of his upper lip, as he tasted me, suckled me, pulling and licking my nipples until I moaned and pulled his head closer into me, not wanting the moment to end.
Then, I took his hand to my belt, and together, we slowly undid the buckle, savoring each movement, unwrapping and stripping me, until, in a few minutes, my manhood was hard and wet inside of his fist, until his mouth touched the tip of my cockhead, until, at last, I was inside of him. With aching slowness, he took me, tasting me, sucking me, and soon, rising and falling on me, he pushed and sucked at me, until my cock could grow no more, until my balls ached with the rising of my cum, until I could climb the mountain no longer, until I filled his warm, wet mouth with my seed, in bursts of my jism, as I gasped and moaned and cried his name into the warm night air.
And, every day since that night, I dreamed of Tom and me, that night on the porch, that night we both had pleasured each other, that night we had finally found the joys that only two men can bring to each other.
I shook my head a bit, clearing my lust and my brain's images of his strong, muscular butt cheeks and hairy balls and strong, thick cock, thrusting up from his groin, naked and strong and wet, into my hungry lips as I sucked and pumped him, feeling his seed rise in his full, hairy balls, tasting his jism as he exploded in my wet, eager mouth, smelling his sweaty chest and pits, and the musty smells of his balls and the thick hair around the root of his manhood, as Tom moaned and cried out his climax.
My daydream faded, just a bit, and my eyes refocused on a new image, of this man in my kitchen, holding a couple of beers, talking about his horses and the first harvest of the corn.
Tom was a handsome man, and warm days always found him out in the yard or riding his horses with his strong, bare shoulders and beefy chest bursting out of a tank top, and his nice tight butt squeezed into a pair of boot cut jeans. I'd always enjoyed watching him, the thick fur of his chiseled chest pouring out of the top of his tank top, and the thick stubble along his jaws and cheeks dark, almost purple, growing darker as the day went along.
After that evening when he took my cock deep down his throat that first time, he'd run his fingers through my beard and handlebar moustache, wondering how I liked wearing a beard, and saying how I looked so good to him with my beard. I'd taken his fingers and had him run his fingers through my beard, letting him feel what his face would be like if he'd put away the razor for a while.
And, after that night, he'd let his whiskers grow, and now, the stubble had grown out a bit, and he was looking pretty rugged, even more handsome with his thick beard and 'stache, which was just starting to curl a bit. There was a bit of gray along his chin, and that just made him look a bit wiser, a bit more loveable.
We hadn't screwed since that night, and I'd wondered if his taste of my cock and my attentions to his balls weren't quite up to his standards, but he'd been as friendly as ever when he was out riding his horses or when we passed each other on the lane, on the way into or back from town. I'd been wondering if we'd ever get together again, but when I'd called him about the corn, he sounded eager to come over for the evening. Maybe it was the offer of fresh corn, cold beer, and grilled steaks, but I'd hoped it was also for a night of cuddling bare assed together, sucking out cum from our hard thick cocks.
I took a few bottles out of the back fridge and filled up a kettle, ready to boil about a half dozen of the dead ripe ears of the first corn of the season. I set out the butter on the counter, and got the steaks out, all ready for dinner. There was a rap on the screen door by the front porch, and a big "halloo".
"Door's open," I yelled back. I heard his big feet on the floor boards, and the clunk of his guitar case against the screen door, before it whacked back against the jamb.
I turned off the tap, now that the corn kettle was filled up, and turned around to see Tom padding into the kitchen, one big paw gripped around the handle of his guitar case, and his other big bare paw and arm wrapped around a paper sack and what looked like a cold six pack of brews.
"I picked up some special ale from the brew pub in town today. Thought they'd go good with that corn," he said.
"Beer from that brew pub is always welcome here," I said. "Best thing that's happened to this town in a long time."
He set the beer down on the counter, and I took a moment to admire his bare, muscular arms and the thick cords of muscles along his shoulders and back, his tank top stretching to keep his strong, tanned body under some sort of covering. My nostrils took in his manly scent, a bit of fresh sweat, and a hint of hay and horse, mixed with a bit of the dust from his garden.
His new beard was coming on nicely, and I moved over close to him, running my fingers along his now furry jaw and chin, feeling the still scratchy coarseness of new whiskers along my fingers, noticing how the hair was filling in nice and even across his cheeks and jaws, thicker over his chin. There was just a bit of skin still open under his lower lip, on either side of the thick patch of fur under the middle of his lip, and the tan of his face gave a nice contrast to the black, almost curl of his new beard.
"Lookin' pretty handsome there, with that beard," I said. "You're lookin' good."
"Yeah, I'm liking it a lot," Tom replied. "Rita never let me grow this out, and, well, I got set in my ways and just kept on shaving. But, I like this. It feels good on me, and I think I'm goin' to keep it."
We opened the first two bottles of the ales and went out on to the porch. We each took a rocking chair and sat down to watch the late September sunset, the sky turning into a thick, peaches and cream panorama, deepened by the smoke of a forest fire that was burning about a dozen miles down the valley.
The beer felt good and cold against my throat, and we caught up on the gossip of the neighborhood for the last week, and what we'd each been doing with our gardens and with Tom's horses, and my painting. Tom was excited about my new show in the big city in a couple of months, and even offered to help me crate up my paintings and take them to the gallery. He'd been a serious critic of my paintings, and didn't hesitate to make suggestions on what I should do with a painting, when I felt I was stuck and wasn't quite sure on what it needed. He had a good sense of art and I'd done well listening to his suggestions.
Tom went back in to the kitchen to get each of us a fresh bottle, and plopped down in his rocking chair, a look of deep thought crossing his face. The silence was a bit startling, and I wondered what was up with him.
"About the other night," he started. "I've needed some time to think about all that, and, well, I've been putting some distance between us this week."
"So I've noticed. I was hoping I hadn't chased you away, after having a real good sample of your tasty cock and your studly body. I was sure satisfied that night, and I thought you were, too. I just hoped you'd be back for seconds sooner than later."
"Well, I sure wanted to. You're the best man I've ever slept with," he said. "I just thought, well, I just thought that I wasn't good enough for you, that I wasn't up to your standards. I mean, well, I'm pretty new to all of this, and I'm no kid anymore. I've got a few gray hairs and I'm not in great shape.
"Hey, I was sure not complaining the other night, especially after I came the second time down your throat," I replied. "And, I've always had the hots for you, even since I moved here. You're a real good looking guy, Tom. In fact, I'm getting hard just sitting here looking at you. And, my cock doesn't lie."
"My cock was pretty happy that night, too," Tom chuckled. "I've been having the most amazing dreams about you this week. I've had to take a few cold showers, knowing that you were out there in your garden with your shirt off, every afternoon. I even got out my binoculars, to watch you out in the dirt, working up a sweat, watching you weed and hoe, watching your furry chest get soaked in sweat. I could almost taste you. God, I wanted you so bad."
"Every night this week, I've caught myself headed out the door to come over here. But, I've chickened out, every night. I just haven't thought I measured up to what you want, ..what you deserve ... in a man."
"And, what do you deserve, Tom?" I asked. "You have your needs, your desires. You deserve some happiness, too. You're a lonely man, Tom. But, you're a beautiful man, and it's OK if you get some happiness, too. It's OK if you get laid, you know."
"Oh, you're right. At least, my heart says you're right. But, there's part of me, and maybe it's what I still hear Rita telling me, in my head, that it's not what I deserve," he replied, looking down, his face a bit sad.
"Rita's gone, Tom. She was gone long before she left. You weren't happy with her and she wasn't happy with you. You didn't have a sex life with her for years, and you're pretty sad about that," I said. "Now, it's time, Tom. It's your time. Do what you want. Be the man. And, that's OK."
The quiet of the evening filled the porch, even the rockers falling silent as our words sank in. Tom looked deep in thought, and a tear fell from his eye, slowly wandering down his tanned cheek, before getting lost in the thickness of the whiskers. He sniffled, and shook his head, then nodded, engrossed in his own conversation, mulling over what we had each said.
Finally, he stood up, setting the now empty second beer on the porch rail. He turned to me, and took a few steps, until he held me in his hard, tanned arms, his thick, calloused hands pulling me close to him, until his new moustache tickled my neck, as he held me tight.
"You're right, Mike. "You're so right. It is time I did what I want to do. And, I want you to be my lover. You're everything I could hope for. I'm just amazed you want me. I've never felt so ... wanted before.
His beefy chest shook, a sob bursting out of his gut and up his throat, gathering strength as it spilled out of his mouth, filling the evening air with a moan and a noise of loneliness and anger and sorrow that resonated out of his chest, and out his lips, filling my ears and my heart with his sadness and his innermost emotion. Out of years of his darkness, of buried feelings, came his expression of his humanity, his manliness, as tears ran from his eyes and his breath came in ragged jerks and gasps.
He held me tight against him, until he was, at last, drained of all that he had held inside of him all these years, until the bitterness and fear and loneliness had been released. As he gripped me, and as I hugged him back, I could feel, at last, that he was released and he was free now, able to breathe on his own, that a great weight had lifted from his shoulders, that a gnawing emptiness inside of him had been flushed away, until he felt light and easy, against my chest.
I hugged him close, feeling his new lightness, feeling a new sense of joy, of peacefulness, flow across his chest, free of the nightmares and the prisons of the past. I looked into his eyes, seeing a new sparkle, a new light, sensing his newfound spirit of happiness and fullness, newly discovered.
We held each other in silence, time losing any meaning, until, at last, he cleared his throat.
"I'm ready, now, Mike. I'm ready to make love to you. And, I'm ready for you to love me, and for me to love me, for the first time."
Copyright 2009. Oregon Bear.