Jason's First Workout Ð Chapter VIII: The Mountain Man
Dear Readers: Sorry for the typo's I found in Chapter VII today. That is not who I seek to be as a writer and I'll make sure this chapter is edited more thoroughly before I send it to the publishers at Nifty. Thanks for all of the emails and the encouragement to keep these going. Dozens of you have asked for my inspiration pics of the characters and I'm happy to keep sharing. Just email and ask. The latest batch includes a head shot of Dr. Joe D. Green, Wildlife Biologist/researcher and the feature of most of this chapter.
Please keep reading, and if you enjoy this story, and the site, remember to give what you can back to Nifty so that we can all continue to get off here!
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(New chapters (5 and up) updated to present day: Luke age 56, Brock 48, Jason 34, Joe 40, Chase 28, Sam 26).
Jason:
At some point, I was aware of the breeze from the two open windows across my body, the sound of the creek down below the cabin, and the warmth of the large, hairy man who still lay beside me. I wiped the sweat from my brow and then wiped from my pecs down, feeling the sweat and cum pooling in my abdominals. I couldn't remember when I'd been so thoroughly fucked. Well, a few nights ago with the Dads, but I'd given as well as taken that night. But truly, in the last 3 or 4 years with Butch, had I felt this good? Was my memory being clouded by all the shit he'd made me put up with? The bed shuddered and I felt the man extricate himself gently from my shoulders, sitting up and reaching for his boxers.
"Hey, let me get you a washcloth or something," I offered, rising and heading toward the hall closet and the shared bathroom. Grabbing one, I turned on the faucet and realized I hadn't turned on the water pump yet. Then I heard his voice.
"That Mr. Goodman turned on the water pump last spring when I met him up here. He told me I could have water out on the deck," I heard deep voice rumble. "You should be able to get it if you're wondering." The faucet gurgled with air in the pipes then a low rumble as cold water rushed forth. I wiped myself down, shivering, then rinsed the cloth and hurried back into my bedroom. He still sat on the edge of the bed, boxers pulled up to his thighs, a vision in dark furry skin and muscle. I handed him the cloth.
"It's cold as hell," I offered. "We have water, but I will have to turn on the propane at the buried tank and then get everything moving again to have hot."
"Gas is a smart move up here," He offered as he wiped himself. I blushed at the size of his hand holding the wash cloth. This man was big all over. Was my cock chubbing again? Shit, self-control, Jason!
"I didn't realize because I've never noticed the tank," he continued. Were we really going to talk about natural gas? He reached for his jeans and started dressing. I continued to stand there naked, watching him, and then realized maybe I should throw on my clothes too. I headed into the outer room to find my Christian Andrew's. Was this how casual fucking ended these days? I was definitely out of practice.
"When the Dad's started helping me years ago, they convinced me to put in a buried tank out by the drive so the truck could service it easily but not get stuck. The line comes in at the kitchen." I rambled on. " They helped me install the gas stove, a tankless water heater and the gas logs in the fireplace. If there was an ice or snow storm where someone got stuck up here, at least we could have heat and cook. I've got a generator for the water pump and main power to the water heater too," I said.
He was dressed and sat back down to pull on his socks (looked like some heavy hiker brand) and then his Timberlands. How long had it been since I'd done this random hookup thing? Why was I so tongue-tied. "Um, look," I began.
"Hey man, no worries," he said holding up one huge paw. "It was great for me, but I don't want you to think I just hook up with guys I meet like this. And I really hope it doesn't fuck up my use of your land and porch for my research. If you don't mind, I'll go gather up my latest downloads, my laptop, and some other stuff, and then I've got to head into the station and get some of this uploaded and analyzed today."
"Absolutely," I stammered, "I mean. No, no problem. I'm happy to continue to help with your research, or, uh access, or whatever." Shit, why was I sounding like an imbecile? I stood there watching, my shorts still loose about my waist, my t-shirt in hand as I watched him rise up. God, he really was a massive man. He grabbed me with his left arm around my waist and pulled me into him for a slow, lingering kiss and I thought my legs would turn to jelly.
"Thanks again," he murmured into my ear, the feel of that scratchy beard against my cheek sending signals directly to the head of my chubbing cock. "Could we possibly do that again if the time is right? I mean, maybe the next time you could reciprocate?"
I was weak against him and faltered. Did this stud just ask if I could fuck him next time? Was he versatile? "Hell yeah," I stated affirmatively with much more confidence than I had. "I'm going to be here most of the day cleaning out and settling back in. I may go back and forth to Greenville for a few days to bring my belongings back and forth." I hadn't planned on staying overnight here but maybe I could call the Dads and tell them I was staying. He released me slowly, gazing up and down my body again like an auctioneer sizing up a prized steer, from my bare feet up over my unbuttoned cargo shorts up my bare midriff to my face. He stared intently into my eyes and said, "It really was a pleasure, Stud. I don't know when I've felt so good."
And with that, he stepped back out into the great room, through the French doors and to his equipment on the end of the rear deck. I attempted to pull myself together, pulling on my t-shirt, buttoning up my shorts and ignoring the outline of my chubbed cock, and searching for my old tennis shoes. Having some semblance of togetherness, I stepped out onto the deck, realizing I didn't even know this guy's name. He was packing some instruments into a case and moving some things back under the rear eve of the house for protection.
"We didn't properly introduce ourselves. I'm sorry, I'm Jason Perry," I said, reaching out my hand.
He stood away from his equipment and grasped my hand in his large right paw. Damn, this man had a grip.
"I'm Joe," he said. Then letting my hand fall, he reached back into a backpack, rummaged through it, and pulled out a card which he handed me. I read,
Joseph Daniel Green, Ph.D. NC Department of Parks, Recreation, and Wildlife Management Senior Research Fellow District Biologist
"Wow!" I said, thinking to myself am I the only man I know who does not have a terminal degree? This big, muscle bound man was a senior researcher! "That's some title."
"It's all bullshit, really. It's a government job. If I didn't have a sizeable grant from NSF and the Park Service, I couldn't eat. Anyway, I gotta run," he grumbled, hoisting the packs and cases onto both bulging shoulders like they weighed nothing. He started down the back deck stairs and around the side of the cabin.
"It was nice meeting you," I yelled lamely, raising a hand even though he was out of my line of site. I stood there momentarily, then stepped back into the house. Looking out through the front window, I saw him marching down the long drive back toward the gate and his truck, and staring in awe at the shape of his back and his ass. FUCK! I thought to myself. Get your head in the game, Jay. We've got work to do. I grabbed my keys and started out the front door. I needed to unlock the gate, drive the jeep up, and unload the rest of my supplies. When I reached the gate, the green forest service trucked had been backed around and was pulling out onto the highway. I waived, wondering if he saw me in the rear view, then pulled the gate back. I jumped in the Jeep, started it and drove up the drive to the cabin. Maybe this was my new life now. I could figure out how to live my life alone, but still play when I encountered a hot man with a hot cock who got me going. Did I really want to go back to the fuck-bud circuit and Grindr? I had much too much to do to start down that rabbit hole. I parked, looking up at the expanse of the old cabin before me. It needed some serious work, cleaning, and sweat to get it back into shape. I needed to check out the roof repairs from last spring. I needed to start by cleaning the inside first. I shook my head, clearing the thoughts of the Mountain Man and his hard cock from my thoughts, and getting out of the Jeep. Shaking my head alone would not remove the memory of the day's sex from my mind and imagination. Maybe some sweaty labor would.
By 1:30 PM, the relatively small cabin was spick and span on the inside. From the blades of the ceiling fans to the hardwood baseboards, every hard surface and counter had been swept, wiped down, or scrubbed. The interior of the oven and the fridge were also spotless but I realized as I reached for a bottle of diet Peak Tea that I was limited on the groceries I'd brought up. Actually, I had only brought some drinks and lunch supplies thinking this would be a day-trip to get the lay of the land. I brought the tea to my lips, wiping the sweat from my brow as I stood in my wood and tile lined kitchen, shirtless, in just my shorts and tennis shoes. I devised a plan and started a list. Like Doc, I liked to work linearly, and starting with a To Do List always made me feel good and productive. I'd head into Hendersonville and pick up more cleaning supplies for the outside Ð the siding, windows, front porch and back deck would all need cleaning and I'd used almost all of my supplies on the interior. I could also pick up some groceries for the next few days while in town and then call the Dads while I had cell service and let them know I'd planned to stay overnight for the next few days. I felt a sense of purpose I hadn't had since I hit the road from San Jose more than a week ago. Dennis didn't expect me to check in with the office online until sometime next week. How would I work virtually if I was in a cabin with no service? I'd leave that plan for another day. I switched out the second load of linens and towels from the stackable washer and dryer in the kitchen closet, made both beds, then pulled my t-shirt back on and grabbed my keys to the Jeep. I could make this work. I would make this work. I was going to be okay! Butch Daley would not fuck me over forever. I had my house. I had my Dads and my family. I was good.
It felt like a knife was plunged into my gut and I bent over next to the fireplace. The sob came up from deep inside me, surprising me with its ferocity. What the fuck, I thought, as I cried over the emptiness of eight plus wasted years. How could I still love that asshole this much? I stood alone in the sparkling great room of my rural cabin and cried until I couldn't cry anymore.
Joe:
I turned the truck off of Highway 25 and headed back to the rural lane and the cabin. I wasn't sure what the fuck I was doing but clearly my dick knew what it wanted. Or did it? I'm a reasonable man, I thought to myself. I'm just asking a guy out for dinner. Actually, I was taking a guy dinner and presuming he'd still be there. What would I do if I found the gate locked and Jason gone, I wondered? It was a chance worth taking, I decided. Despite a mountain of computer work to complete when I'd gotten back to the office, I'd been off and distracted most of the day. When most of the office staff had headed out at 5 o'clock, I'd stayed, trying to save the last of my field data into the lengthening spreadsheet, but I just couldn't concentrate. I kept picturing that square jaw beneath me, those clear blue eyes, and the hint of light blonde fur across his chest and abs. And then I Googled him. Holy Shit! How had I not realized this Jason Perry was the same guy? He'd been in TMZ. Did I know anyone else in my life remotely who'd been in TMZ. He and his husband, Butch Daley, had been on the cover of The Advocate, for God's sake. The first "out" college baseball player and coach. An athlete story. It had been years ago, and Jason looked, well hell, he looked hot. Why in the hell was I thinking I had a chance? Was it a booty call? Hell, my dick still felt the after effects of this morning's fuck, but what was I looking for? Was this guy really, truly available?
I left the office and headed to the gym, determined to lift out my sexual frustrations and the thought of this guy, but I couldn't get him out of my head despite the sweat I'd worked up. I'd showered and decided to pick up two kinds of take-out, formulating a plan as I drove. Thinking back on it now, how had I worked up the courage to reach out and touch his dick like that? He probably thought I was some kind of man-whore or slut! I mean, how many months had it been since I'd even touched another man? Maybe taking him dinner, introducing myself properly, asking him out on a real date - did I really have a chance with this guy? I mean, he had to be rich right? A software guy. And he was famous. I hid in the mountains most of time. Did I want a chance with this guy? I mean, what the hell did I have to offer? This guy clearly was younger, more attractive, definitely a `city guy' with a gay vibe and gay dads. And sophisticated. Hell, even his underwear looked gay. I pulled the truck over on a wide-out near a park service picnic spot on Little Bear Creek. I looked in the rearview mirror at my reflection.
What the hell was I doing? When I'd moved back to the mountains six years ago, I had given up on any form of long-term relationship. I knew there'd be fewer guys like me back home in these mountains. I had my work. I had my Gran. It'd worked out so far, right? I asked myself in reflection. I'd let the beard go this summer. It was hot as fuck and sweaty but who had the time for grooming when I was in the field or always in the office working on my research. And why did I care about grooming anyway? This was why I didn't need another man in my life. If I was trying to convince myself, it wasn't working. I kept thinking about the hot blonde at the cabin. The way his ass moved underneath me. The sound of his voice when he told me toÉ Stop! I was getting hard just sitting in the truck. Shit, or go home, I thought. I took one last look in the mirror. I had showered at the gym. A clean t-shirt, shorts, and my same socks and boots were all I had in my pack. Better than the work uniform, I guess. It'll have to do. Hell, he may not even be there. What if he's gone, I asked sadly? Calm the fuck down.
I turned the truck back out onto the state road, headed up the 2.5 miles, hit the turn off, then put on my blinker and turned right onto the dirt and gravel drive. Well, the gate was still open. That was a win at least. I drove slowly down the drive, trying not to displace too much gravel. I'd never driven my truck directly to the house before and I was surprised by how short the drive in was. Much shorter than walking it. When I pulled up to the house, I was stunned to see Jason, on a ladder at the end of the cabin, bare-chested in only a pair of shorts, power-washing the exterior windows and siding. The sounds of the pump and spray must have masked my truck's arrival. I killed the engine and just watched him. The muscles in his back were tight and fluid as he moved the spray, his blonde head glistened in the lengthening light through the tree canopy. The cargo shorts just hugged his ass, dark ringed at the top with sweat and wet from the sprayer, barely revealing this luscious ass-crack beneath. I fumbled to keep my growing cock in my pants, reached over onto the passenger side and grabbed the two large bags of takeout. Getting out of the truck, I grabbed the large cooler out of the bed with my left hand and headed up to the cabin. At the foot of the steps, I yelled out, "Hey!"
He startled, and for a minute I thought he might tumble from the ladder OR spray me with the hose, but he got himself under control quickly grasping the ladder with his left hand. He smiled at me and I thought my cock would spring to life immediately. Then he started down the ladder, reached the base and found the switch on the pump. It ground out its spray slowly and he stepped over to turn off the water.
"I thought you might be hungry, out here all by yourself, so I brought you some supper," I said, cheerily. "I can leave it for you, or join you, if that's okay." Leave it for him. Did I really just say that?
"Hey," he said breathlessly, walking up in a graceful, catlike movement. Damn, I thought, he moves like a big cat, all muscles moving seamlessly. "I've been working non-stop since I got back from the store about 2:30 or so. I had no idea it had gotten so late," he looked at his watch. "I called my Dads earlier when I was in town to let them know I was making good progress and that I wasn't coming back tonight. I hadn't even thought about dinner! That sounds great."
"I didn't know what you might like, not being from around here and all, so I got two things. I could tell you were very healthy, well, I mean you look so good, I mean you look like you eat healthy, so I got Sushi Ð three different kinds; and I went by Sophies and got two different salads with two different proteins, just in case," I said, trying not to sound as idiotic as I felt.
"Sounds perfect," he said smiling right into my eyes with those perfect baby blues of his. But they were also red-rimmed. Was it sweat or allergies? Wait, had this guy been crying while he was also out here working and sweating? He spoke again while I was lost in the echoes of his face.
"What's that in the cooler?" He asked.
"Well, I hoped you drank beer. But in case you didn't, I also got two kinds of bottled water, a red wine and a white." I proffered.
"Damn," he joked, "you must've been a Boy Scout."
"Yeah, I was," I said, confused.
"Always prepared!" he laughed, and I thought, I could listen to this man laugh all day but the laugh didn't quite reach his eyes. He took the cooler from my left arm. "Here let me help with that," and started up the steps. I followed like a sick puppy, gaping at the sight of the soaked shorts hanging off his muscled ass. He pulled back the screen and held it for me to step in ahead of him. I could swear he sniffed me as I walked by! Sitting the cooler down at the entrance to the kitchen, he said, "Do you mind unpacking everything in here while I go take a quick shower. I wasn't expecting company," and sniffing his right pit, he offered, "I stink and I'm dripping. I won't be but a second, I promise."
"Sure, no problem," I said, setting both food bags down on the hand-hewn pine table. He sauntered off into the bathroom and I heard the shower starting. Wait, was that an invitation? Should I join him in the shower? Shit! I was over-thinking this. I started unpacking the food and then opening and closing cabinets. I found plates, silver ware, and other utensils and set the table. Looking around I realized the cabin had been transformed since I saw it this morning. Everything sparkled. This guy had really cleaned up the place. I unpacked the cooler contents into the fridge Ð damn, I'd never seen a refrigerator that clean before. Remind myself to clean out my own fridge soon. I looked over the top of the fridge in some cabinets and found candles and two candlesticks. Why the fuck not, I thought? I put them on the table, found some matches and lit them. Was that too over the top? I wondered.
"Man, you are full of surprises!" I heard Jason say from behind me and I jumped!
"I didn't hear you," I exclaimed, turning and gasping at the sight of him. He stood there, a clean white towel low-slung around his hips. I couldn't mask the hunger in my eyes when I looked at him.
"I'm sorry. I threw my overnight bag in this closet when I started my burst of cleaning this morning and I guess I forgot to get it out later and put my stuff away. It's my only clean underwear," he said stepping toward me and I guess the cupboard on my right. Without thinking, I forgot the food on the table and stepped toward him. He smelled clean and fresh from the shower. He was ruddy and his skin shown pink from the heat of the shower. He face was also scrubbed by the eyes, those clear aquiline blue pools were still red rimmed. Before I knew what I was doing, my hands were around his waist, pulling him to me and my mouth was on his. He did not hesitate but opened to me and thrust his tongue into mine, meeting me, urging me on. At some point, I felt the towel drop and he ground his crotch into me as I gasped his firm ass, pulling him into me. He tasted even better than he felt, minty and fresh (he clearly had just brushed) and I devoured him with my mouth, grinding my cock into his hard abs beneath me.
He pulled back from our kiss, placing his warm hands upon my chest and said, "Sir, I think you have me at a disadvantage." I must've looked confused because he went on, "I'm naked and you're still dressed." He pulled my t-shirt from my shorts and started to lift it over my head but he couldn't clear my biceps and shoulders. I grasped the hem and pulled it over my head.
"I'm sorry," I said, looking back at the table.
"Candles," he smiled sadly. "I don't know when anyone's made the effort to make me a romantic dinnerÉ", and then he grasped the button of my shorts. He made quick work of them and once again, his head was in my hands and his mouth was on my hard cock. Man, I loved the way this man sucked my dick. He chewed my foreskin first, ringing my tingling head with his tongue before licking the underside of my shaft. He took one hand around me base, tickling my full bush, and used the other to retract my hood, and then taking in the exposed head fully into his mouth, sucking and tonguing me like a lollipop. He had me moaning and squirming in no time and I was getting too close too quickly. I pulled him up by his armpits, and sank to my knees. I looked up and smiled in that handsome face. Brad Fucking Pitt had nothing on this guy.
Grasping the his perfectly shaped cock at the base, I said, "I've been thinking about this all afternoon." I hinged my jaw and opened for the 7 or 8 inches, lapping the cut head with my tongue as I sucked up and down. Soaking it with spit, I sucked and licked and began working the shaft with my left hand while my right pulled on his hefty, shaved nut-sack. Squeezing his balls, I sank under them and licked up, from perineum to cock head, over and over again, bathing his clean junk in my spit. He moaned encouragement and rubbed his hands through my thick curls, ran his fingers through my beard, and rubbed his dick in my face. His balls tightened in his sack, and I let his cock fall from my mouth, rubbing my beard across his nuts and the sensitive head before he could shoot. I knew where I wanted him.
I stood up and leaned over a chair at the kitchen table. He didn't need any explicit instructions. He fell into my hairy hole, licking and sucking and it felt like my ass was on fire in no time. He licked and began fingering me to open me up, first with one finger and then two. "Holy shit, bud," I growled. "Open up that hole for your big cock."
"Hmm," he kept licking, "You want this cock, stud?" he teased never stopping his fingering or sucking. "You have a fucking beautiful ass!" he exclaimed, slapping me on one cheek and then the other. He knicked my right cheek with his teeth! "Damn, I want to fuck you."
"Do it stud, I need it," I begged. "Take me raw. I want you to breed me!"
He pulled me upright, running his hard cock up against my hairy crack.
"Lube is in the bedroom, Mountain Man," he growled, "let's get you in there." I managed to free my booted feet from my drawers and shorts and followed him into the bedroom, hop stepping as I tried to undo my laces. I managed to kick them off as we entered his bedroom, and he stood there, grasping his hard cock and shaking it at me. Damn, that smiling muscle stud had my ass dripping for him! "Assume the position," he joked. No sure, I climbed on the bed on all fours. He climbed up behind me, the lube in his hand and slowly, tauntingly teased one, then two, and then three lube-slicked fingers in and out of my gasping, hairy anus.
"Stud," I growled, "put it in me. Fuck me, Bud," I begged. He complied and sank his long, hard cock into me in one thrust. I must've yelped because he sank onto my back, asking at my cheek, "You okay, Stud? I couldn't hold back."
"Yeah," I gasped, "just give me a second. It's been a while." Fuck, it'd been years since I'd bottomed, but I wasn't telling this stud that. I wanted him to see I was man enough to take it as well as give it. I wanted this stud in my ass, filling me with his strong cock. Frankly, I was so lust-filled, I wanted anything this man would give me. Just the thought of it, and him, soon had my hole warming, filling, and I found myself starting to push back into him. I could feel my own hard cock dripping and bouncing up against my hairy abs. I reached my left hand for the headboard and my right for my cock, squeezing the foreskin across my head. "Fuck me, Jason," I whispered and he complied.
He started slow, but built with steady thrusts until he was long-dicking my ass, then adding quick rabbit-thrusts into my hole. When I thought he would pound me into oblivion, he backed off and slowly long-dicked me again, working me up `til I thought I would shoot and then backing off again. Damn! This guy was a talented top. He pressed me face down into the pillows and lay on top of me, starting a slow grind into my ass as he provided the sexiest fuck-talk I'd ever had into my ears.
"You like this hard cock, Mountain Man?" he began. "Came back for this cock, didn't you stud?" he teased.
"Fuck yeah," I growled. "Plow my hole, Stud. Make it yours," I answered encouragingly.
"Riding a big, strong muscle man. Giving you the dick you wanted," he grunted into my neck. Was he biting me? Fuck, he was driving me crazy! His long, hard cock was touching places I hadn't felt in years and he was sucking and biting on my neck! I could hear myself growling and moaning expletives I hadn't said or thought in ages as if I had no control over myself.
Suddenly, he pulled out leaving me feeling empty and cold. I turned my head, asking with a look and he said, "Get on your back! Pull those legs up. I need to see that strong handsome face when I seed your hole." I did as he commanded without thought or question, and within seconds he was balls deep in my ass again. I grabbed my ankles and spread my hairy hips wide and he gasped.
"Holy fuck, that is one hot, muscle ass. Damn, it feels so good on my cock," he was almost muttering gibberish now, and I lost myself in the feel of his cock in me, and the look of him sweating above me. We locked eyes, his hands gripping my legs, working his hips and his cock in and out of me, and I swear I could see the orgasm building in his look. He gripped me harder at the top of my biceps, squeezing them in a death grip, and then he cried out, shooting his load deep into my yearning rectum over and over again before he finally fell into me, covering my mouth with his, moaning, and kissing me in ecstasy. I could feel the heat of him burning through my guts, and I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him farther into me with my legs.
"Stay right there!" I gruffly demanded, and I kept his cock buried in my ass as I began to rub my achingly wet dick against my hairy abs and his. He sucked my tongue out of my mouth as I used the friction of our hot bodies again and again on my slick head. "I'm close," I growled.
"Cum for me," he begged into my mouth, kissing and sucking my tongue, my lips, my beard. The feel and the taste of him, and his still-hard cock in me, sent me over the edge.
"Ugh," I growled and began to shoot. He quickly pulled back, doubled over, and engulfed my cock-head with his lips, sucking my cum into his mouth and making me squirm with delight. I shot six or seven strong volleys, and when he was satisfied I could produce no more, he leaned back up and kissed me, sharing my load between the two of us. It was a hot as fuck moment I had seen in porn many times, but never experienced with a lover. If I had been able, I would've shot again right then! We kissed and kissed, and I realized his cock still felt hot, and HARD inside me.
"Damn," I moaned into him. "You're still hard. And that was the best fuck I've ever had."
"I think you're sexy as fuck too," he offered. "I don't know when I've been so hot to fuck. Not for a while, anyway." He slowly withdrew his cock from my now-dripping hole and I groaned at his absence. He moved to my left and wrapped a strong arm across my hairy chest and lightly played with my nipples. "You're the sexiest take-out man I've ever fucked, by the way."
We both laughed at loud. I thought for a minute.
"Where'd that `Mountain Man' come from? It really got me going," I asked.
"Hmm," he leaned in, licking one nipple. "I'm not sure. When I've thought about you today, since you left, I just thought about all of this muscle," he said rubbing my biceps, my shoulders, my pecs, "and this fur. It was like, I found a fantasy of a man on my deck here in the mountains. Mountain Man." He stated proudly.
"I'm really not all that," I tried to deflect, feeling proud and somewhat embarrassed at the same time. What I wouldn't give to be this man's Mountain Man if he'd let me. "I almost turned around up by Little Bear Creek, not sure I even had the guts to go through with it."
He planted that sexy face just above mine and I breathed in the sight and smell of him, lingering on the blonde eyelashes that were lighter on the ends and darkened as they approached the lids; the deep blue of his perfectly shaped eyes, the straight, aquiline nose, the high and tight sides of his stylish haircut, so different from my unkempt curls and beard. I lost myself in the sight of him and waited until he slowly lowered his lips into mine. He kissed me hard and deep and pressed himself into me. I could feel his muscle, all of it, against me, including his still-hard cock. He spoke softly into me, "Don't ever hesitate to come back to me again." I pulled him back on top of me, burying my mouth within his and feeling the sleek muscle of him against every hard, hot part of my body. "I won't." I answered.
Jason: My watch said it was just after ten as we sat in the growing moonlight through the bedroom windows, cross-legged on the bed, drinking Sierra Nevada Pale Ale and eating our late, microwaved warm dinners. Well, my protein was warmed up on my salad. He was eating California Rolls with chopsticks. I watched an occasional drip into the beard and lost myself for a minute imagining licking the rice from his beard and his lips. I shook my head and kept chewing. By the time I'd come in Joe the second time, he'd flipped me and planted his seed in my ass for his second cum. Of course, that one had taken a bit longer and it was sincerely the longest, slowest, sweatiest and sexiest fuck I'd had since I could remember. If I never saw this guy again, the memory of his massive hairy chest above me as he swiveled his hips and maneuvered his large, uncut cock in and out of my hole over and over again will never leave me. HE had braced himself with those meaty forearms, his massive biceps and shoulders popping, and never seemed to get tired. He just looked at me with that amazingly handsome face and I swear he could read my mind as he kept asking, "Feel good? Right there? You like this cock, right there?" I mean, the guy could probably call me on the cell phone next week from Egypt and ask me those same questions and I would shoot in my pants! It was that hot of a long, slow fuck.
We'd finally gotten up, showered, (though that had involved lots of tongue swapping and soaping up) and then our grumbling stomachs had demanded attention.
I was thinking again of the shower, silently chewing when he asked, "So, you were on the cover of The Advocate?" I almost choked! Fuck. The guy had found me on the internet. Was he some celebrity whore?
"What?" I looked at him.
"Today, when I was trying to work unsuccessfully and couldn't get you out of my mind. I looked you up. Your boyfriend, your Husband, was that famous ballplayer who came out. You were both on the cover of the Advocate," he said flatly.
"Well, yeah, I guess. But that was more than a decade ago. And I told you, I left my husband. I'm filing for divorce."
"Did you tell me that?" he asked. I didn't remember what I'd told him. This had been a hell of a first date 15 hours or so. "I don't think we even exchanged names until after we'd fucked the first time this morning. I mean, how do I know if you just go all over the country seducing strange men and then go home and laugh to your boyfriend about it." He asked.
I put down my plate. "Look, I really like you I began," I tried to calm my breathing, "But it's not like that. My husband and I've been growing apart for years. I caught him cheating. I came home to visit my dads Ð end of story. I didn't plan on finding an over-sexed Mountain Man jerking his cock off my back deck!" I retorted.
"Hey," he said slowly, placing his huge, swarthy right hand on my left arm. "Hey, I was just slightly teasing. I wasn't trying to be a dick." He looked at me calmly, those blue eyes and ruddy cheeks peering into my soul. "I could tell you'd been crying earlier. I knew you were having a hard time. I'd hoped to take you to dinner, sort of. I didn't know we'd fuck for another two or three hours. That was not my plan!" He ended.
"Oh, you had a plan?" I laughed.
"Well, I mean, I haven't `dated' a whole lot of guys. I told you I almost turned around on the way here. I found out you're sort of famous. And probably rich too. And I'm just this nerd who tracks animals in the woods. I work out to keep in shape and keep my mind off of other stuff. We don't seem to have much in common," he said and then let out one long breath. There it was.
"I don't think we know each other well enough to decide what we have in common," I said flatly. "Obviously, we find each other sexually attractive," I grinned. "But I've learned the hard way, there's more than just sexual attraction in a relationship."
"You're probably right," he said. "Though, I'd like to keep trying to test that theory." He laughed huskily and nudged my shoulder. I shoulder bumped him back. We were just two naked bros, eating supper in bed, shooting the shit!
"Why don't you tell me all about yourself, since you seem to know my life story, and I know nothing about you except Park Service, your titles, and your wildcat!" I asked.
"Panther," he corrected. "Technically, she's not a wildcat. That's a misnomer. And, honestly, I'm not really comfortable talking about myself that much."
I looked him straight in the eye. He was hot as fuck, but I was done with swarthy, silent men who couldn't express their feelings, had Daddy issues, or weren't comfortable enough with themselves to have a conversation! I'd been down this path. I put my plate on the bedside table and moved to get up. "Well thenÉ" I began.
"No wait!" He said, grabbing my arm. "It's justÉ Damn. You know you're intimidating, right?" He asked ,holding me by the hand and looking into my eyes levelly. That rich bass of his was melodic, soothing and what? Tender?
Intimidating? Me?
"I'm intimidating? Have you seen yourself in a mirror, Joe? You look like a biker dude minus the tattoos and the bike. You've got this wild hair and beard and you're just so fucking, I don't know, LARGE. I mean, if I'd met you on a trail somewhere, I'd swear you'd stepped out of another time. And you think I'm intimidating? I'm a mess, actually." I argued.
"I'm sorry. It's notÉ I just read about you. You're famous. I swear, other than some scientific publications in obscure journals, you'd find nothing on Google. I'm a nobody. I only adjunct teach at UNC-A because they really needed someone to cover a couple of intro courses that I mostly teach in the Woods. The actual thought of speaking in front of dozens of students actually makes my palms sweat and my throat close up. The idea of being in a tenure track position scares the shit out of me. So traditional academia was out of the question. I'm only really comfortable in the woods, well, or maybe on a basketball court, and the gym. I have a grandmother, that I still live with by the way, and a best friend in the park service, who is married with two little kids that call me Uncle Joe, and that's it. That's my life for the last six years. And my panther research," he cut off abruptly, acting like he'd said too much already.
I leaned my head into his shoulder. Wrapping up next to him. ALL of that sounded intriguing. All of it. "That's a lot, Mountain Man," I grinned into his chest. "Tell me more. Tell me about your Grandmother," I whispered. He put his plate on his bedside table, took a swig from his beer, and pulled me tighter into his right side.
"My Gran raised me. In a little cabin not much bigger than these two rooms over these ridges in SC. Up in Pickens County near Rocky Bottom," He began. "You know it?"
"Yeah, one of my Dads used to work near there," I said.
He continued, "Well my Mom was about 18 when she had me, dropped out of her senior year, and didn't go back. By then, my grandpop, who was a lineman for the Blue Ridge Coop had been electrocuted in a freak accident. My Gran was what they called a "root doctor", she made home remedies for mountain folks and had a small check she got from the Coop for my Grandpop. Not sure who my Daddy was. Gran never knew, and my Mom wasn't sure. By then let's just say she wasn't making very good life choices. I was born in the cabin and my Gran delivered me, though I have an official birth certificate and everything now. My Mom tried being with me for a while, but by the time I started public school when I was six, she hit the road. Gran had managed to get her into re-hab twice (crack, I think it was) by then, but I haven't seen or heard from her since I was in first grade. We got a post-card that year at Christmas from Hollywood, California but no forwarding address. I tried to track her through the internet and some agencies over the years but without much luck. Gran decided years ago that she probably OD'd somewhere as a Jane Doe. I quit looking sometime when I was in college. I decided Gran was enough family for me," He croaked. I rubbed his chest.
"Sounds pretty rough for a young kid," I murmured.
"Gran was my grandmother and mother. It was pretty cool. I had the mountains and trails. We had one rifle and she taught me to hunt, skin, to fish. I never knew much different until I started school. Then, I realized most of the other kids had nicer clothes, two parents, all of that suburban stuff. That was hard for a while. Having no dad was probably the hardest," He said.
"Yeah, it sucks," I concurred. "This was my Dad's parent's homeplace. They died before I was born. My Dad died when I was ten. Massive heart attack, right out front working on that porch. He was trying to fix it up as a family getaway. We lived down in Greenville. Mom and Dad met at Furman and were CPAs. Part of me still grieves every time I walk out on the porch," I said.
"I'm sorry," He whispered, rubbing the hair back from my face and palming my cheek roughly. "At least you knew him. Had him for a while. When I was about 10, my Gran couldn't stand me asking questions about who my Daddy was. She finally told me she thought Mama had been seeing one of the boys on the basketball team. (She later confessed most of this was made up but that my Mom probably had slept with half the basketball team when she was in high school). Anyway, I then became obsessed with basketball. She found an old hoop somewhere and put it up on the side of the barn and found me a used basketball at a swap meet. Dirt court. I taught myself to shoot and dribble watching Michael Jordan on our old, black and white TV when we could pick up games on the local channels. By the time I got to middle school, they had a black top and if you got there early you could play games before school started. At lunch, you could eat, or have `recess' on that blacktop playing basketball. I never ate except on the way to and from class. I played with anybody who would play with me, trying to learn as much as I could from all the boys who had played on recreational teams or gone to basketball camps. By sixth grade, I was pretty good, though not the best in my grade. But I worked at it, thinking my Daddy had been a ball player and I could be too."
I hugged him tighter. "What is it about us gay men and our Dads?" I asked. "Do you think we all just want a man to love us? Or is it deeper than that?"
"What do you mean?" He questioned me somberly.
"My ex. He has major daddy issues." I said.
"The ball player?"
"Yeah. His dad was a major leaguer. Never was happy that his son didn't make the majors. And that he fucked other boys."
"Ouch!" he said. "Maybe I got off easy not having a Dad to judge me?"
"May be," I sighed easily. "But go on. I'm loving this young, Michael Jordan story!"
"Well, that's sort of how it was actually. By the time I was in middle school, Gran got a job in Pickens so she could work while I was in school. Cashiering at a little grocery stop and shop. Even bought this old, used pickup but it was almost 12 miles down the mountain to town for us. I wanted to play on the "C" team but she got off work at 3:30. The bus would've been gone by then and I had no ride to take me back and forth, so I couldn't try out. By the time I got to the high school in 9th grade, I tried out for varsity. They practiced right after school and we had arrangements where Gran would wait and then drive me home."
"Sounds great." I said. "What happened?"
"I didn't make the team. Just like M.J." He laughed. "Well it's funny now, but not then. I worked really hard. Went to the conditioning drills and everything but not playing in middle school really hurt my chances. He took the top 12 guys and I was probably 13th. I would've started JV but because of the Coach's schedule, the JV practiced AFTER the varsity, not starting until 5 PM. That would have meant Gran had to stay for 3 hours after her shift ended before she could pick me up and take me home. I knew I could never ask her to do that. So, I didn't play."
"You didn't play at all? Or ask your Grandmother?" I said surprised. "That just seems really harsh. There had to be more to it than that."
"Well, I guess there was," he said lowly. "It seemed so complicated at the time. I mean, I was a country boy, raised in the woods, but I didn't say much. I made really good grades, well except sometimes in English. My grammar wasn't that great, but my Math and Science scores were the tops in my class. I loved playing basketball with my buddies at breaks and some of them were nice about my not being on their teams. I mean, I had one friend who offered me his old pair of Air Jordan's one time, and they were hardly used."
"Wow. Did he look down on you because you were poor?" I asked, stunned.
"No, I think he really thought he was being a good friend to me, even if it did make me feel like shit. And I wore those damned shoes out! I wasn't that proud," he stated. "But anyway, I loved my buds. I thought of them almost like brothers. That was why I wanted to be on the team so much. But then when we started with PE, and we had to shower together, well, you knowÉ" he trailed off.
"You started to think about the boys, sexually?" I guessed.
"Not exactly. My uncut cock was a bit of an oddity for the other boys in Pickens, most of whom were circumsized. And comparatively, I was a shower, not a grower. Let's just say I got a lot of comments such as Long Dong Joe or Joe and the Hood. Not exactly what a 14 year old who wants to stay anonymous was shooting for," he chuckled.
I Laughed, sitting up and putting my arm around his shoulder. "Sounds like a pretty good life though, Bud, despite not having parents. You had friends and a Gran who loved you right?"
"Oh, hell yeah. She's my everything. Still. But not making that team really hurt. And the biggest deal was because I'd fallen head over heels in love," he said.
"Yeah?" I asked. "A cheerleader? A teammate?"
"Nah," he growled, "The boys' head basketball coach!"
I started laughing, "No shit?"
"I shit you not," he went on. "I told you. I stayed for conditioning and drills every day. This guy was the greatest coach ever. I mean, the Hollywood version right. He was a teacher AND a dad. Built like the proverbial power guy. Not fat. Trim, lean waist. Broad shoulders. Muscled arms, veiny. Dark hair and mustache. Glasses. Wore those tight coach's pants at practice. And he was just so NICE. And remember, I was a kid without a Dad. I mean, looking back on it now, I must have seemed really pathetic. This hick mountain kid. I was a skinny stick with too-big hands and feet. But Coach was always so nice and patient with me. He would help me with extra drills on my foot work or shooting. Stuff the other guys had probably had in camps or teams before me. One day, Gran had to head home early and I didn't have a ride. HE even drove me all the way up the mountain after practice. We had to stop and pick up his sons from day care. I think they were probably 4 or 5 years old at the time. I mean, I thought it weird that one of them was still in a car seat. But driving up the mountain, I was just afraid that he'd see where I lived and know how really poor I was. I mean, my stomach was hurting. And then at some point, I closed my eyes and I just fantasized about, what if he was my dad? And these guys in the back seat were my brothers? I could've been a big brother."
"Yeah. I know exactly what that feels like," I whispered. "To want a family. A Dad and brothers. I get it man."
"You do?" he looked at me questioningly. "Well, that was how I felt at first. And then, I just started having these dreams and they were all about coach. His face, or his hands on my back as he was showing me something, and I'd get hard. I started waking up in the mornings with dry jizz on me. Now, I realize, I'd had wet dreams about my coach. Pretty pathetic huh."
"No, not really. Probably the same experience as most gay guys I've met over the years, although maybe less traumatic," I offered.
"Well, tryouts and cuts were pretty traumatic!" He exclaimed. "I cried like a baby. And honestly, Coach looked at me like it was really hard on him to cut me. But I wasn't ready. He handed me a napkin, told me to wipe my face, and then work hard all year in the weight room and the court and to try out the next year."
"And did you?" I asked.
"Yeah, I did." He said. "And I made the team my sophomore year. And it was awesome. By then I was as tall as I am now, and had finally started gaining some weight and muscle so I wasn't so awkward anymore. And one night, after a game, I actually saw Coach naked in the showers after he thought the team had all gone home. That fueled my jerk off fantasies all the way into College." He laughed.
"Yeah?" I asked.
"Oh hell yeah. He was that hot," He growled. "But then he left. He got an administrative job somewhere else and left after my sophomore year. It happened over the summer so I never really got to say goodbye to him. Our JV coach Morris became our coach my last two years. He was a good guy. But it wasn't the same."
"Damn," I said, "that's too bad. Wait, did you get a basketball scholarship to college?"
"Oh, hell no!" He laughed. "I was big and slow. But I was still smart. I was my class valedictorian. I got a scholarship to Furman in Biology."
"Furman?" I shouted. "I went to Furman."
"Yeah, I read that," he said. "But I graduated in 2002. A full six years before you did, Junior." We both laughed.
"it's just a really small world sometimes," I mumbled. Man, I really liked this guy. He felt just so good stretched out next to me. I really wanted to learn everything about him. His likes and his dislikes. What made him go on to do what he was doing now. And I wanted him to know everything about me. Could I just move on so quickly? Was this a rebound thing?
He sighed and rolled into me. "Well, now you know a lot about me. That's probably the most I've said about myself to one person in one sitting in, I don't know, a decade or more." I reached for my beer as he went on. "And you can blackmail me, now that you know I started jerking off to my high school coach, Coach Luke Smith, when I was barely old enough to get hard."
I blew out my gulp of beer all over the bedspread. "Wait, who?" I stammered.
"Coach Luke Smith. My high school basketball coach. I thought you were following along," he chuckled.
"Yeah. But okay. You went to Mountain High School? In Pickens?" I asked incredulously.
"Yes," he drew it out.
"And that was what year?"
"Well, I graduated class of '98, so It would have been my Freshman/Sophomore seasons. I guess 1995, 96?" He answered.
"Man," I exclaimed. "it is one fucking small world."
"What?" he asked.
"Nothing," I said, leaning into him and kissing him. And then, "You'll see. You'll see."