This story is mostly fiction. It contains sex between consulting adult men. If you are underage, and, depending upon where you live, are not of legal age to read stories with adult sexual content, you must close your browser immediately. This story has been written for adults but, if as an adult, sexual activity between men offends your sensibilities, you must likewise, close your browser immediately. Enough information has been provided for you to make an appropriate decision based upon your age. It is your responsibility to act accordingly. This story is my own original composition, please do not copy it. Comments and constructive criticism are welcome but flames will be ignored. I hope you enjoy the story.
MARTIN
It was a surprise to discover so many non-natives living in Northern New England. Several years ago, after spending a decade in Southern New England, I relocated to a northern town adjoining a small city. My East Coast ethnicity and urban speech seemed to reveal my origins immediately. It eliminated any chance of blending seamlessly into any part of New England. I found the characteristics of the northern populace were magnified when compared to their southern counterparts. Because I had been born in a big city, I felt like a foreigner and assumed everyone I met was a native. This was an error in judgment on my part.
About a year after I moved north, an acquaintance from church, who later became a friend, convinced me to join a local men's organization. Saying only that it would be fun, I think he knew it would mainstream me into local culture. And he was right. It did.
Early on, I met a fellow member named Martin. Other than brief exchanges, we did not associate very much. A short, taciturn man, he appeared rather stern. Sociable in a formal way, I had the feeling he did not care for small talk, at least not with me. I don't mean to imply he was unfriendly. Perhaps what I mean to say instead is he was reserved.
He did not appear to smile much but when he did, he transformed into the very good-looking older man he was. I was so taken with those rare glimpses, I pulled his leg at every opportunity, hoping he would smile again. My irreverent inner-city humor seemed to catch him off-guard. I don't think he knew what to make of me.
More than two years after we met, we accidentally collided quite forcefully in the meeting room. The physical contact startled both of us but Martin quickly grabbed ahold of me to prevent my falling over from the impact. When he chuckled good-naturedly at my apology it was unexpected. It was even more surprising when he went on to joke with me, revealing a dry sense of humor. I picked up on that and made an appropriate riposte. It deepened the grin on his handsome mature face. And in that instant, he was so appealing and appeared so charming, it was all I could do to keep from hugging him. Before I could stop myself, I gave him a manly clap on the back, which he accepted without flinching.
Our collision seemed to break the ice. We interacted more afterward, and maybe it was my imagination, but I thought I saw him smile at me more too. I remember missing a meeting. When I saw him at the following one, he reproached me in mock anger saying he had no one to kid because I had not been there.
He began to sit next to me during our assemblies. When he leaned in close to say something, his knee would press into mine. It seemed our hands touched too every time handouts were passed. While I would pretend to read, I lowered my eyes and shifted them in his direction. This allowed me to observe his hands. There was a dusting of fine hair on the knuckles and backs. While they were not overly large, the thumbs nonetheless were broad and thick.
Martin headed a business organization downtown. Once, when our group's usual venue was unavailable, the meeting was held in his suite of offices.
Although we did not see each other outside of our fraternal gatherings, that was about to change.
One spring afternoon, I came upon him putting coins into a parking meter on the street in front of his office. He said he was, regrettably, on the run. He wished there were a few minutes to spend but time was just too short. His parting shot was I should stop by the office anytime to say hello but then again, he could not guarantee exactly when he would be free. As he hurried off, he said wistfully there was even more work to be done that evening in lieu of dinner.
Never one to pass up an opportunity, I promptly went home and cooked a meal.
At a little past six o'clock, Martin was shocked to find me at his office door, dinner in hand. It only took a few seconds for him to smell the food and start salivating. I felt sorry for him because he appeared to be very hungry.
He lead the way to a conference room where I served dinner. Martin ate ravenously but quickly became self-conscious over his apparent lack of restraint. I on the other hand thought to myself, he is a sexy, confident guy who takes what he wants, when he wants, just like a real man. He went on to explain he had not eaten since breakfast which was why he was so voracious. An apology followed, for being impolite he said. I told him it was nothing at all. Rather, it was gratifying to see him enjoying the food I had prepared.
My comment put him at ease a bit but I could tell his loss of self-control offended his sense of propriety. Eventually, with a sigh of satisfaction, he stopped eating and sat back in his chair with a hand on his belly.
He eyed me thoughtfully and asked, "What prompted you to do this?"
It seemed he was looking right through me as if he was able to read my thoughts. And oh! What thoughts they were! Maybe he was reading me?
I considered his loaded question carefully before responding. He knows, I thought. I could make a move on him right now and I don't think he would rebuff me. But I didn't. I simply answered him, choosing my words carefully.
"I'm just helping a guy out."
He narrowed his eyes and nodded.
"I see," he said, "and thanks, it's appreciated."
Indeed! I thought. What do you see?
I leaned forward and asked if he felt better, then dared to pat his rounded belly a few times.
He did not react to my touch. With lips drawn into a line, he nodded in the affirmative, all the while meeting my eyes.
He's let himself go a bit, I thought, and grew a small potbelly. Then I decided, no, it's his age.
We had spoken of the nineteen-fifties only a week before.
"What do you know of the fifties?" he had said. "You're too young!"
"I grew up in the fifties," I replied. "I was born in the forties."
"When?"
"1948"
"I was born in the forties too but in the early forties."
So that put him in his late sixties. Well, that certainly entitles him to a potbelly, I thought.
The spring temperature in Northern New England can be fifty degrees one day then eighty the next. That's why it's called "new" England! And that's exactly what happened. It became summer overnight.
I was outside enjoying the sunshine and mulling over the previous evening's encounter with Martin. It turned out his wife, a professional woman engaged in public service, was out of town, and apparently, she traveled often. And it happened he lived in a nearby village which held a particular interest for me. As an amateur rock hound, it was a place I had been meaning to explore for geological specimens. He offered to show me around sometime but I had the impression he was merely being polite. Turned out I was on the wrong track!
When I returned home there was a message on my voicemail from Martin inviting me to lunch at his place the following Saturday. I returned the call to accept and get directions. He warned me about his limited cooking skills and said the plan was to grill some hotdogs and hamburger patties. That was agreeable to me and I offered to make some vegetable dishes and dessert.
For the next couple of days the weather cooperated and Saturday dawned bright and clear.
It was hot when I pulled into the dirt lane which lead to the rural property where the house stood. I saw Martin working near an aboveground pool. He was shirtless, barefoot and perspiring freely. Of course I was titillated but I was also greatly surprised. There was no reference for this. Mostly I had seen him wearing a tie and jacket. The least formal attire he sported was business casual. As I parked the car, he approached wearing a pair of short, old-fashioned boxer trunks.
It was immediately apparent his hairy legs were well-built. In fact, his nearly naked body gave the overall impression of a sturdiness unusual for a man of his age. This was probably explained by the chopping block and woodshed I saw in the yard. Yes, there was that small potbelly I had patted a few nights ago but the beer can he held accounted for that.
I was not prepared for the sight of him stripped like this, revealing so directly what his clothes ordinarily hid from view. And so, I drank him in, unabashedly, with no pretense as to what I was doing. I knew he could see the look on my face as I did so and frankly, I didn't care. The display of his scarcely clothed body held me spellbound and it filled me with longing.
Extending his hand with a smirk, he proceeded to give me a firm businesslike handshake along with the offer of a beer. Although I don't like beer, I accepted, to put us on an equal footing so to speak. But I think that was a delusion. Somehow I felt Martin already knew he held all the cards. I could not keep my eyes off his alluring body, glistening with sweat in the hot midday sun.
He lead me into the house where I stowed my prepared food in the fridge and collected my beer. Martin suggested I get comfortable and make myself at home.
It was obvious he had been busy setting up the pool in response to the unusual heat. I offered to help but he said we could eat first if I was hungry. I was hungry but not for lunch. So my response was for us to wait until we finished the job. He liked the idea because it meant we could have a dip beforehand.
The thought of cavorting with him in the water caused the crotch of my cargo shorts to fill out. The few sips of beer had gone straight to my head.
After stripping off my shirt, sneakers and socks, I followed him outside. We commenced work. I followed his orders carefully and sooner than expected: the cover was off, the cleaning was done, the water was treated and the filter was humming.
"Ready to jump in!" He announced.
"I didn't bring a bathing suit," I said in a moment of realization.
"Don't worry about that," he said chuckling.
"Easy for you to say, you're already wearing one," I replied full of doubt.
Clothed male, naked male, immediately came to mind.
He laughed. "Mine will come off just as easily as it went on."
Before I could protest, he added, "Come on! A big city boy like you. Don't tell me you're shy?"
With that, he bared his ass, grabbed a garden hose and held the spray over his head.
He turned and my eyes were riveted to his crotch. He was hung heavy.
In what seemed like slow motion, I stripped off and he directed the spray of water at me. I was shocked it was so cold and I let out a shout. In contrast, Martin had not made a sound, and again I thought, he's a real man.
He laughed heartily, enjoying my obvious discomfort.
Well at least the cold water caused my dick to shrink, I thought, as I followed him up the steps of the pool deck, enticed by the movement of his full, naked buttocks.
There was a marked difference in water temperature as we entered the pool. It felt absolutely tepid after the cold shower. Martin waded over to a cooler on the edge of the deck. He produced two beer bottles and offered me one with an outstretched hand.
"You trying to get me drunk?" I joked.
"Could be," he said with a twinkle in his eye.
He took a large swill of beer, licked his lips and smiled.
That did it for me! I needed to get hold of myself. Putting the bottle to my lips, I drank, hoping the alcohol would slow down the stirring between my legs. Right then though, it did no such thing. I was hard!