Warning: the following story contains graphic descriptions of sex between consenting adult males. If you are underage or do not wish to read such materials, read no further.
If you have any feedback (in particular, your opinion about whether or not I should produce more chapters; this is the only one that I have written so far in this series), please drop me a line at niftyguy_30307@yahoo.com
As my junior year in college wound down, things were coming to a head. First of all, my dad got laid off from his job in the lumber mills, meaning that there wasn't going to be any parental financial help the next year. Second, the state was having a budget crisis, which they decided to solve by raising tuition by twenty percent. Third, my car's transmission decided to fall out, exhausting my savings. And fourth, I knew that I was finally going to have to deal with being gay, or I was going to fucking explode.
The first three problems were simple to deal with; I just needed to make some money. That wasn't necessarily easy, but it was simple. The fourth problem was not so straightforward, or at least it didn't seem to be. I had always known that I was gay, but I just couldn't figure out what to do about it. For as long as I had known, I had been attracted to guys, especially my teammates on the swimming and water polo teams at my high school and college. The locker room scenes and the team trips were excruciating for me. I felt desperate for contact but afraid of what would happen if I would reach out to one of my buddies. While I was always popular on the team, known for my wry wit and skill in the water, I inevitably wanted more, but I could never bring myself to ask for it.
All of these stresses were churning in my mind that April afternoon when, walking through the student union, I ran into Kirk, one of my friends on the water polo team. I poured out most of my tales of woe to him, leaving out only the parts that would make him suspect that I wanted to jump his bones (which I did).
When I was done unloading on him, he flashed his killer smile. "Dude, I've got the answer to all of your problems. You need a summer job."
"No shit," I replied. "But I don't think that they pay enough at Subway to cover my tuition, let alone rent. And I haven't had any corporate headhunters knocking down my door."
"Come on, dude, you need to have a little faith in your buddy. I can get you a job that'll give you free room and board all summer, plus at least $600 a week."
"And what would I be doing? Running a crackhouse?"
"No way. I'm talking about the sweetest, best kept, summer job secret on the West Coast."
And that was how I learned about the Idlewild Lodge, a private club and nature preserve owned by a group of rich, old farts who needed a place to get away from their trophy wives on the weekends. It had started seventy-five years ago as a rustic little cabin on a remote lake, but over time it had grown into a massive complex, complete with a forty-room lodge, impressive sports facilities (although most of the members were too old and feeble to use them), and an extensive network of trails. Along with the year-round staff of ten, a crew of forty college-age guys ran the whole complex in the summer, which was the peak season.
According to Kirk, almost all of the young guys got their jobs by knowing a "veteran" who had worked a previous summer. He playfully punched me in the arm and grinned. "So I'm taking a chance on you, Mike. I've got a feeling you'll fit right in with the rest of the crew, but you'd better not screw up, or I'm gonna look like an idiot."
It took a couple of days to arrange for an interview, which Kirk assured me would be pro forma. The drive out was fantastic, and the scenery got better and better as I neared my destination. After being cleared by the guy at the security gate, I drove for a further ten minutes before I pulled up to the main building, which was a rambling stone and timber structure. A tanned, athletic, blond guy about my age was hosing off the wide porch when I walked up the steps.
"Can I help you?" he asked.
"I have an appointment to speak with Richard Gray," I told him. "He should be expecting me, since we spoke this morning."
"No problem, I'll show you where his office is. My name is Tim," he said, extending his hand.
"Good to meet you. I'm Mike."
Tim led me through the front door and through the expansive reception area to a small office off to the side. Inside, at the desk, sat Richard Gray, General Manager, at least according to the sign. He immediately stood up when he say me, smiling broadly as he shook my hand, before directing me to have a seat.
As we talked, I felt like he was sizing me up, and I was also studying him. Rich, as he asked me to call him, was probably in his late thirties, though still in great physical shape. His wavy dark hair showed just a few hints of gray, and I kept noticing his muscular, somewhat hairy forearms.
After we had talked for maybe twenty minutes, during which he described the nature of the duties (basically everything from maintenance to cleaning to waiting on guests when they were there), he cut to the chase.
"Mike, Kirk has told me that he believes you would be an outstanding addition to the staff, but I just want to make sure that you know that you will be working with a large group of other guys, and if you don't think that you can get along and work well in that sort of environment, well, I think that we just shouldn't go forward. We value total commitment to the team here at Idlewild."
"I know that I would be completely committed to this job. You wouldn't have anything to worry about," I replied, looking Rich straight in the eye.
"Well, then, I am happy to welcome you aboard. Why don't I get Tim to show you around? I think that there is a room available in his suite, so you can just plan on bunking there."
The tour of the facilities was quite impressive. The lodge itself was like a rustic version of the Ritz, and, according to Tim, it was almost always empty except for Friday through Sunday, when the members could get away from their power jobs. Behind the main building was the athletic complex, which included a gymnasium, weight room, indoor and outdoor pools, sauna and whirlpool, and tennis and volleyball courts. The locker room must have had an acre of gleaming white tile. Best of all, the staff had exclusive access to the whole complex several hour per day.
The staff quarters were not that shabby, either, certainly better than where I was living at the time. Each suite included four compact bedrooms, a living room, and a big two-sink toilet that was sandwiched between two of the bedrooms, with an additional door opening onto the living room, giving the other rooms' occupants access. Tim was already installed in one of the rooms with direct access to the toilet, and he urged me to take the other one.
"You'll be glad that you did," he said. "When you wake up in the middle of the night and gotta piss, you don't want to walk any further than you need to."
"No kidding. So, where's the shower?" I asked.
"There's one shower room down the hall, with four heads, and another identical one upstairs. It's a little crazy in the morning when all the guys are trying to hit the shower at the same time, but we just squeeze in."
I was elated when I drove away. Judging from what I saw, Kirk had hooked me up with the perfect summer job. I couldn't wait for finals to end so that I could move in.
I had planned my class schedule so that I would only have one exam, on the first day of the exam period, so I was able to get away almost immediately after the end of the semester. When I got up to Idlewild, the place was still almost deserted. Tim told me that we were the only guys who had moved into the summer staff quarters, though more would be arriving over the next couple of days. He seemed to be a good guy, and he willingly helped me to unload the things that I had brought up with me. After we had stowed the gear in my room, he said that he was going to go for a run, and I decided to unpack and get my stuff organized.
I heard Tim return and go into his room about an hour later, just as I was finishing up. A few minutes later I heard a knock at the door.
"Come in," I called.
The door opened, and there stood my suitemate, carrying his toiletry case and a towel, standing there stark naked.
"Hey. I'm going to go take a shower, and then we can go grab some dinner in the staff dining room. Does that sound OK?"
I was a little flustered, but I managed to sputter something out. Tim smiled and left for the shower. I took a deep breath and tried to get my growing hardon under control. My suitemate was very sexy, and he clearly had no hang-ups about showing off his lean runner's body. Except for the pale shadow of his running shorts, his toned body glowed with a golden tan. The sparse hairs on his strong legs and his defined chest were like spun gold, and his plump cock dangled across a pair of very heavy balls. He came back ten minutes later, toweling his wet hair, and poked into my room to tell me that he would be ready to go as soon as he pulled on some clothes. I swear that his cock had lengthened and thickened during the time that he was in the shower. Had he been playing with it? I just knew that I would be in heaven if I could get my hands on it.
After dinner and a few games of pool in the main lodge, Tim announced that he was ready to turn in. We walked back to the staff quarters and went to our respective rooms. A few minutes later I heard him in the bathroom that we shared, and then he poked into my room, wearing only boxer shorts.
"So I'll see you in the morning, Mike. Rich told me that he was going to have us work on some landscaping, so be prepared to get your hands dirty."
"No problem," I replied. "Sleep well."
Tim walked back through the bathroom to his room, and I turned out the light. He hadn't closed the doors that separated my room from his, so I could hear him moving around before his light went out and he got into bed. I think that I drifted off for a few minutes, but a rhythmic squeaking noise woke me up. It only took a minute for me to figure out what it was; Tim was jerking off. I was immediately wide-awake. The noise wasn't loud, but it was unmistakable. I decided to go investigate. As quietly as possible, I crept over to the open bathroom door. Peering through the bathroom and the open door into Tim's room, I couldn't see Tim's face, but I had an unimpeded view of his body from the chest down, lying on his bed. He was brightly illuminated in a pool of moonlight.
My suitemate had kicked off his boxer shorts and was lying there naked, pulling on his thick and shiny erection. He had clearly used something to lube himself up, and that enabled his hand to glide easily over the hard flesh. To be honest, I had never seen another guy masturbate before, so I was somewhat mesmerized as I watched Tim pleasuring himself. At first he pumped the shaft with his whole hand, but after a few minutes he formed his thumb and forefinger into a tight ring and began to rotate it around the sensitive region under the fat head, which appeared to be leaking a steady stream of precum. Judging from his gyrating hips, that motion seemed to especially turn him on. Meanwhile, he formed a V out of the index and middle fingers of his other hand, which he used to brace the root of his cock, so that it would point straight up, despite its heavy weight. He had spread his legs wide, giving me an unimpeded view of his whole groin. The contrast between his lean runner's body and the enormous sexual equipment that hung there was eye-opening.
Tim was nothing if not thorough. He explored every square inch of his mouth-watering dick, from the plum-shaped head to the bottom of the veiny shaft. Rough, determined strokes were bringing him close to the brink, but then he cooled things down with gentle, focused frigging. This was no hasty jerk off session; Tim clearly wanted the fun to last. It appeared that, each time he encountered a particularly sensitive spot of flesh, he concentrated his attention there until he got close to shooting, before moving somewhere else on his hefty schlong.
At some point I realized that I was hard as a rock, and I began to pull on my own dick, which was sticking out of the leg of my boxer shorts. I tried to keep as quiet as possible; the last thing I wanted was to alert Tim that I was watching him, since I was afraid that would make him stop. As I stroked myself, Tim really got busy. Grasping his meat with both hands, he lustily pumped his cock in and out of his tight fists. On every upstroke his butt-cheeks came up off the bed and his swollen cockhead popped into view. On every downstroke I could hear him moan softly as his sensitive glans disappeared into his clenched fist. I wasn't sure that his bedsprings were going to be able to take it.
I easily recognized the signs of his impending orgasm; his balls began to noticeably tighten up and his jerking got a little more ragged. I was now matching him stroke for stroke, and I was about ready to shoot when he let loose a geyser of cum that arced across his torso, drenching the tanned flesh. That was more than I could take, and I struggled to suppress a groan as I pumped out my own monster load.
Not wanting to risk discovery, I quietly crept back to bed as Tim lay there, savoring the aftereffects of his orgasm. My mind was a whirl. If this first night was any indication, my sexual frustration, my need for contact, was going to rise to unbearable levels over the course of the summer. I was going to have to do something, or I was going to explode.