My Summer Job, Chapter Eleven
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. The following story is complete fantasy, and is not meant to imply anything about the sexual orientation of any professional athlete. If you have any feedback, please drop me a line at niftyguy_30307@yahoo.com
Thanks a lot to all of the guys who have written. I appreciate the encouragement.
Note: Each new chapter in this series assumes the reader has read the preceding chapters.
When I was young boy, I loved jigsaw puzzles. A particular favorite from my collection was an exotic jungle scene, densely populated with all of the tigers and monkeys and crocodiles that a child could imagine. Unfortunately, that particular puzzle was missing one piece, from right in the middle. No matter how many times I put it together, no matter how carefully I joined the pieces, there was always one spot that I just could not fill. Something unknown, something unknowable, stared out at me, forever hidden in plain view.
I thought about that puzzle a few days after my encounter in the stable, while I was cleaning guest rooms. I was definitely missing some of the pieces that I needed to understand what was really going on at the Idlewild Lodge. There was something out there that people were not willing to talk about, but I had the feeling that it was all around. This secrecy only piqued my curiosity, and I guess my concern. I had the strong sense that Sam was mixed up in something that wasn't quite right, and that worried me, because I cared about him. It was just that simple. I felt like he needed someone to protect him, and I needed to figure out what was going on in order to do that. I needed to find the missing pieces of the puzzle, and I knew that I was going to have to do it on my own.
I frankly didn't expect to find any of these pieces in the broom closet, while rooting around for cleaning supplies. And I might not have, had the single light bulb not burned out when I was just about to grab a new sponge. A pitch-black blanket of shadows seemed to fall on me, and I froze, trying to remember the route back to the door, through the maze of boxes and buckets. Slowly my eyes adjusted to the darkness. Except that it wasn't total darkness. Right in front of me, where seconds before all I could see was a wall of white-painted shelving, floated a pattern of luminous dots in the shape of an arrow. I reached out my hand and traced the ghostly image. Underneath my index finger, I could feel the individual dots of paint that made up the pattern. At the very tip of the arrow, I touched a knot in the wood, gingerly pressed it, and, with a sighing sound, the wall swung open, revealing a dimly lit, narrow corridor on the other side.
"What the fuck," I whispered to myself. Cautiously I stepped through the opening. Immediately on my left was a shelf that held a couple of flashlights, and about fifteen feet in front of me was what looked like an exterior door. A few steps ahead hung a pair of curtains, one on each side of the corridor. I crept forward and carefully opened the curtain on my left, exposing a window. Except that it wasn't exactly a window. Looking through, I saw one of the lodge's guest rooms. Immediately in front of me was a wide, low dresser, and the king-sized bed stood on the opposite wall. I was clearly looking through the mirror that hung on the room's wall, above the dresser and across from the bed. Someone, for some reason, had installed a one-way mirror in this room, enabling him - and me - to peek through the looking glass. But why?
I quickly confirmed that the other curtain, on the other side of the corridor, covered the same sort of mirror. This room, however, was not empty. My suitemate Tim happened to be cleaning it at that very moment. I had to smile as I watched him straighten up the room. I guess people just act silly when they think that they aren't being watched. Tim was never terribly serious, but I never would have imagined that he clowned around quite so much in private, singing and dancing while he vacuumed and dusted with gleeful abandon.
The whirl of activity on the other side of the glass didn't stop until Tim picked up the laundry bag that the occupant of the room had left for pick-up. I watched as my friend dumped the contents out on the bed and picked through them, nabbing a jockstrap and a pair of briefs. The expression on Tim's face told the whole story as he lifted the jock up to his nose and breathed deeply. It must have been an intense and heady aroma, because he closed his eyes and sank back on the bed, as though his lean runner's legs could no longer support his weight. I watched as he alternated between sniffing the jock and breathing deeply through the pouch of the briefs. He clearly loved his ripe discovery, and in no time at all he began to rub his cock through the fabric of his khaki shorts. Tim had sprung a very noticeable hard-on almost from the first whiff, and he began to methodically rub and stroke, alternately teasing his head and milking the length of his shaft, as he savored the aroma of the raunchy fabric.
I started getting a little excited myself as I watched Tim. On more than one occasion, I had swiped a jock or a pair of sweaty shorts from the gym, only to go home and jack off while I smelled and touched the fabric that had just been in contact with some horny guy's cock and balls. Sometimes I came right in the pouch of the contraband jock, depositing my load where I imagined the original owner had cum himself, maybe after an especially intense workout, or with the help of some coach's hand. All of these thoughts and memories were going through my mind as I vicariously experienced Tim's clandestine activity.
I wasn't very surprised when Tim slipped off his shorts and underwear and pushed up his T-shirt, revealing his lean runner's body and his large, erect cock. I thought back to my very first night at Idlewild, when I had surreptitiously watched him jacking off, and I was very excited to think that I was going to have the same opportunity again. I started stroking myself through my shorts as he continued to fondle his hard-on while sniffing the underwear he had swiped. We both messed around with our respective erections for a few minutes, until Tim paused. I thought that maybe he was starting to get nervous that someone was going to walk in on him, and he would wait to finish himself off until later. He may have been nervous, but he seemed to have no intention of waiting to get off. Instead, he slipped his tanned legs into the white briefs, pulled the underwear up, and began stroking himself through the thin cotton fabric. Tim was clearly getting into this scene, using some stranger's underwear to get off. As I played with my own erection, which was starting to leak some serious precum, he sank back onto the bed, draped the jock over his nose, and began to run one hand over his chest and belly as he kept stroking his cock through the white briefs with the other hand. My guess was that his ultimate plan was to shoot his load right in the white briefs, and just thinking about that made me want to cum in my boxers.
Suddenly, completely without warning, Tim jerked his head to one side, in the direction of the door, so fast that his baseball cap fell off, revealing his short, blond hair. Busted! The occupant of the room moved into my field of vision in a flash, as he strode over to the bed and grabbed the soiled jock from Tim. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but he was doing most of the talking, not exactly angrily, but rather more "mock stern." Looking at the two of them, I realized that the dark-haired guest was Mike Weir, the young Canadian guy who had just won the Masters. I had heard that the rich old farts that ran the place had invited him for a few days to give them golf pointers in exchange for help arranging some lucrative endorsements. A lot of the guys had been talking about him after he showed up, in part because he was pretty good looking, in a regular guy sort of way, and they were wondering which way he swung, so to speak.
That question was quickly answered. While Tim lay on the bed, Weir began to grind his groin onto Tim's crotch while dragging the jock back and forth across my roomie's face. It was somewhat difficult for me to get a clear view, but I had a pretty good idea what was going on. Cocks were rubbing against each other, separated only by thin cotton fabric. I resumed my own jacking, alternating between light, teasing strokes and more insistent rubbing, but always careful to keep it under control so I wouldn't shoot. Before long, the golfer took his shirt off. He was very trim, but also very nicely muscled, powerful like a coiled spring. His khaki trousers followed pretty quickly, leaving him dressed only in a pair of boxer briefs. Tim started to explore the body in front of him, twisting his companion's tits and frigging his cock through the white underwear, but Weir didn't seem to be in the mood for any long, romantic lovemaking. The older guy abruptly got up, pulled off his underwear, and reached into the pocket of his pants, which lay on the floor next to the bed.
I was puzzled when Weir pulled a pocketknife out of his pants. I think that Tim was more than puzzled; he looked a little worried, especially when his partner put the tip of the knife against the fabric of the briefs, close to Tim's hole. Slowly, carefully, the knife cut through the white fabric, opening up a slit that gave direct access to Tim's ass. Mission accomplished, the golfer reached into the briefs Tim was wearing, extracted some slick precum from his cock and used it to lube up. Weir had a very handsome dick, totally hard and with a perfectly formed, compact head, more like the tip of a missile than a fat mushroom cap. Even with my limited experience, I couldn't help thinking how nice and easy it would feel going in. I was a little jealous that Tim was going to get to find out first-hand. Without even pausing, the golfer sank his cock into Tim's ass as easily as a birdie putt on the eighteenth hole.
It was totally hot to watch that beautiful dick pistoning in and out of the hole in the white cotton fabric. Both Tim and Weir were obviously as horny as hell, and I was close to getting off thinking about what my roommate must be feeling, the combination of the smell of the jock, the feeling of the now slick-soaked cotton fabric clinging to his hard cock, and the rhythmic ass-pounding. If I had been assigned to clean that room, it might have been me who was spread out on the bed under this sexy athlete. It might have been me wrapping my legs around this guy's butt as he pounded mine. I was getting more and more excited as I visualized what might have been.
Things came to a climax very quickly. As Weir's orgasm approached, the golfer began to pull almost all of the way out before pile-driving back in, burying himself to the hilt. Once inside, he paused only a second before doing it all over again. When the older man came, lodged deep inside Tim's ass, I could hear him yell, even though we were separated by the thick glass that I was looking through. Tim took that as his cue to increase the tempo of his own stroking. Even though his thick cock was still encased in the white cotton of the briefs, I could clearly see its outline in the soaked fabric. After only a few more strokes Tim's body stiffened as he clearly shot an enormous load of cum into the white briefs.
I was tempted to go for broke myself, right then and there, and maybe even shoot in my own underwear. The two guys on the other side of the glass were, to say the very least, stimulating masturbation material. I decided, however, that I would save it for later. I quietly pulled the curtain back over the mirror/window and padded down to the door at the end of the corridor. I needed to see where it led. The door opened out on the backside of the lodge, right by a path that I recognized as leading out to the stable, and the small house in the woods that Eric, the club's groom, had warned me to avoid. Clearly, someone could slip out of the lodge this way, completely unseen, and make his way out to the woods. Very curious.
My mind was whirling as I finished cleaning my rooms and made my way back to the staff quarters. The questions were piling up. I was also more than a little horny; images of the scene on the other side of the glass were still fresh in my mind. I was brought back to the here and now when I opened the door to my suite and there was Tim, coming out of his room, stark naked and holding a towel. Clearly, he was going to take a shower.
Tim broke into a grin when he saw me. "Hey Mike, how's it hanging?"
"Oh, hopefully soon about the same as you," I said, gesturing down to his cock, which still glistened. Gobs of semen clearly matted his public hair, and I could smell the distinct aroma of sex coming off of his body. "You going to the shower? " Tim nodded. "I might join you," I said.
"No law against that," he said as he left the room.
I quickly skinned off my clothes and grabbed a towel. Tim was already lathering up by the time I got there, and I quickly followed suit. Images of what I had seen through the secret window started flashing through my brain, and my cock quickly started to harden. I didn't even try to hide my growing erection. In fact, using soap as a lubricant, I started to openly stroke it.
"Jeez, Mike, looks like you've got a big problem there," Tim said.
"Yeah, for some reason I'm horny as a toad. You ever get that way?"
Tim chuckled. "Yeah, I think I'm as big a horndog as the next guy. Allow me to help out a buddy in need." He sank to his knees and promptly began to slurp on my thick organ.
Tim's mouth felt amazing. Finally I could lean back and let myself go. Eyes rolling back in their sockets, I started to groove on the blowjob I was getting. Water rained down on me, coursing down my body, streaming down my cock, flowing across Tim's face and down his lithe body, pouring off of the tip of his own growing erection, which hung thickly between his legs. The individual drops and rivulets felt like tiny fingers caressing my ripe, clean flesh. The contrast between the cool water and the warm mouth just made me want more of each, and I greedily pumped Tim's mouth as I turned up the spray of water. Looking down at my roomie, images of him and his golfing buddy going at it kept flashing in my mind's eye. I could smell the jock, feel the slick fabric, touch the hard muscles, clamp down on that fucking amazing dick. I was going to shoot my load in his underwear, just hose it the fuck down with my sperm, and he was going to feel it on his cock and balls next time he put these shorts on.
"Jesus fucking Christ, I'm gonna fucking cum big," I groaned as my cock started to spasm, and I pulled out and sprayed all over Tim's face. It took me a second to realize that he was jerking himself, and I looked down just in time to see him blow another load.
"Whew," Tim said, smiling up at me. "You were hot as a fucking firecracker, Mikey. What got you so worked up?"
I laughed. "Oh, you know, you start thinking about sex, and you're gonna have to get off, whether you want to or not. You just can't always predict exactly how."
"You can say that again," Tim replied. "I could tell you quite a story, but I promised someone I can keep a secret."
"No problem, Tim. You know I'd never ask you to rat anybody out."
Tim gave my cock a playful tug. "Mikey, you're a good man. Could you scrub my back?"
And that's exactly what I did.