This story contains graphic descriptions of adult consensual male to male gay sex. If this topic offends you or it illegal for you to read this or be on this site, please leave.
Copyright 2010. Oregon Bear. Oregonbear9@gmail.com
Chapter 1
I'd stopped in at the hair salon at the mall. It was the only decent place in town for a haircut, and I'd liked the one male stylist in the place. He was good, and quick, and did a decent job. He was busy when I walked in, so I thumbed through the stack of hair styling and women's magazines on the coffee table. I hope I didn't have to wait too long.
"Nothing there for us, is there?" a deep manly voice said to my right.
"No. There sure isn't," I replied, taking in a well built young stud, his face recently nicely furred up with a new beard. About a week's worth of stubble, which was turning into a nice black beard, high up on his cheeks, and already nice and thick across his strong jaw, and around his thick lips.
It was one of those rare breaks in the wet January weather, and I'd left my coat in the pickup. This tasty looking young bear had also taken advantage of the few hours of spring like weather to wear a tight sleeveless T shirt and a pair of cutoffs. Nice swirls of thick black hair adorned his meaty calves and arms, and there were nice thick patches of curly black hair peaking out of his armpits. When he bent his arm to pick up a magazine, his bicep flexed nicely and the rough outline of a fat nipple pushed against his shirt.
"Nice day," I said, but really wanting to say nice body. My cock stirred a bit in my jeans, and I thought I was lucky just to take in the sight of this hard muscled hairy hunk.
We jawed for a bit, talking about last night's high school basketball game and the weather. He had a big smile and we seemed to be hitting it off. His finger didn't have a ring, and I was wondering how I could get to know him a bit better, but my barber came over and told me he was ready for me. I quickly introduced myself to this young buck.
"Will's my name. I'll see you around. It's a small town, you know," he said.
I nodded, and went off for my haircut. Yeah, see you around. Yeah. In my dreams, my really good dreams.
My barber made quick work on the wild bush of hair on my head. He trimmed up my beard nicely, and we had our usual discussion about his kids and his remodeling project. As I went back to the counter to pay up, Will was there, settling up with his stylist. I decided to roll the dice.
"Hey, Will. Nice haircut," I said.
"Yeah, yours, too. They're quick around here. I'm going to the auction tonight for the Chamber, but now I've run out of errands."
"Well, how about a beer or a cup of coffee. I'd like to get to know you" I said, still feeling like I was pressing all of my luck. Still, I wasn't going to let this prize get out of my sight without a struggle.
"Sure. How about the brew pub, in about 15? I need to fill up my pickup first.
"OK," I said, my heart racing a bit at my success.
Oh, it's not like he announced he's gay and I'm the man of his dreams, I thought. He's just a guy who wants to have a cold beer on a Saturday afternoon, and I'm just a good excuse for that. This is, after all, a small town, and gay men really don't go out and pick up other guys at the hair salon at the mall on a Saturday afternoon.
I chuckled at my fantasy, but I was glad for the company, and it was good for me to get to know other people in town anyway. I'd moved here a couple of months ago, after my company gave me a nice promotion and offered to pay my moving costs if I was willing to relocate. And, the brew pub had great microbrews.
Will was waiting in a back booth for me when I wandered in. He was looking over their menu of brews.
"I'm kinda hungry. I think I'll order a burger. How about you?" he said, his beefy hands holding the menu. His hands looked rough, calloused, with the stains of dirt or oil. The hands of working man, hands that you can never quite get clean.
"Yeah, I could go for some grub myself," I said.
We ordered a couple of pints and burgers, and Will leaned back against the booth, raising his burly arms, clasping his hands behind his head. His furry armpits were damp, and I caught a nice whiff of his clean, spicy sweat. I could tell his pecs were hard and strong, and he didn't have that soft, pudgy chest and belly, like a lot of men, the men who drank too much and didn't exercise much, and sat around on the sofa watching TV on the weekends.
"Been a long week," Will said. I'm kinda beat. I work for the highway department and we've been finishing that new highway bridge east of town. We put in a bunch of overtime this week, but we got it done."
"Well, that's quite a project," I said. "Time to celebrate, then."
The waiter brought us our pints, and we raised our glasses, toasting to the completion of Will's project.
"Cheers," we said, together.
The beer tasted good, and we talked about our work. Will was interested in my company's work around town and what I did, and where I'd come from. He talked about his job and what he did for fun. I didn't hear any mention of wives or girlfriends or kids. I let it slip that I was single and unattached, and didn't think much of the prospects for dating around town. Will agreed.
A lot of men go on to making some crass comments about the lack of available women for sex, but Will didn't do that. He let the conversation turn a bit, and mentioned he spent a lot of his spare time playing his guitar. I play too, and had been in a garage band for a couple of years before I moved here, so we talked a lot about music and playing with other musicians.
The beer went down pretty fast and we asked the waiter to bring us a refill when he brought us our burgers. In between bites, we talked about songs, and chords and different guitar players. We were joking and laughing and carrying on like old friends by the time the second glass of beer and the burgers were gone.
I liked Will's smile. Big white teeth, splitting the newly sprouted fur on his upper lip and his chin. The stubble was long enough now that some of his whiskers were starting to curl a bit, and his chin and cheeks were now nicely filled in with what was going to be a handsome, thick beard.
"Your new beard looks good on you, Will," I said, during a lull in our conversation.
"Yeah, I'm liking it. One of my presents to myself for New Year's," he said. "I've always wanted to grow a beard, and I hate shaving. My brother gives me grief about it, but it's my face and I'm gonna keep it."
"I've been admiring your beard, Dave," Will said. "Looks like you trim it a bit around the neck and shave a bit on your cheeks. I'm wondering if I should do that. Any advice for me?"
We talked about beard grooming, conditioners and various beard trimmers. I told Will I hated to shave, too. It made my skin break out and my skin gets dry. He nodded his agreement, and asked my advice for which brand of trimmer to buy.
The waiter came by again, asking us if we wanted another round. We turned him down, and Will said he needed to get going.
"I need to put in an appearance at the auction. My sister is the manager there, and I promised I'd show up. They have a couple of fly fishing poles up for sale. A guy up the river makes them by hand, and they are really special. I've been wanting a chance to get one of his poles for a couple of years," Will said.
"Yeah, I need to show up, too. My company surplused a crew cab pickup and we're donating it to the auction. So, I need to be there when they sell it," I said.
"Well, good. Why don't we go together, and then, we can leave early. Why don't you come over to my house, and bring your guitar. We can play a bit, and I'd love to see your Gibson 12 string," Will said.
" I need to go home and put on a nice shirt, at least. My sister would give me an earful if I came strolling in to the big fancy charity auction wearing my favorite sleeveless T shirt, showing off my bare arms and hairy pits," Will laughed. "At least, the beard's grown out enough I can call it a beard now, rather than have people think I'm just too lazy to shave for a few days."
Chapter 2
We met up at the auction, and Will showed me the fly fishing poles that were up on the block. They were truly a work of art and you could tell they were expertly made. Will told me how he loved fly fishing and there were some great streams around here. He offered to show me his favorite spots and teach me to fly fish, come opening day. I'd wanted to fly fish for quite a while and I took him up on the offer.
When the fishing poles came up for bid, we both got into the action and ended up getting new poles for a good price. Will was happy I'd bought my own pole, saying that we got a really good deal for the handmade poles.
"I'll take you over to the guy's house sometime, and introduce you. He's a heck of a nice guy, and takes real pride in these poles. Each one takes him a couple of weeks to make. He's a real meticulous craftsman," Will said.
"I'd like that," I said. "I'd also like a fishing buddy. I've wanted to learn fly fishing for quite a while now, and I'd appreciate some lessons from someone who knew what they were doing."
"You're on. We'll go out sometime, before opening day, and just practice casting. It's an art, and takes patience. But, once you get into the rhythm, it's just as natural as making love."
Oh, yeah. I could get into that with Will. I'd like to do some natural things with him. His button down shirt looked good on him, and when he flexed his arms, his shoulders pushed tight against the cloth, and I could see his hard pecs flexing under the cloth. A nice tuft of chest hair spilled out of his open collar. He still had on his jeans from this afternoon, and I could see he didn't have much room in the crotch for what I thought would be a real nice pole for fishing. At least, the fishing I'd wanted to be doing tonight.
The auction was winding down, and my company's pickup sold for a nice price. Will had introduced me to his sister, and she thanked me for my company's generosity. I could tell she loved her brother, but also that she was worried about him.
"I'm so glad you found a friend, Will. Dave is a nice guy and I hope you two hit it off," she said.
I was puzzled, a bit, in how she said that. The tone of her voice almost made it sound as if she was glad her brother brought me as a date. But, maybe my own horniness was turning her comment into something I really wanted to hear.
Will gave me his address, and asked if I needed to go home to get my guitar.
"No. Don't need to, " I said. "I got my guitar in my pickup, and I'm ready to do some serious picking and playing with you."
I followed Will over to his house. He lived in a small house out of town a couple of miles, next to a creek. He was at the end of a dead end road, and a golden lab came out to greet us as we drove up. The dog got pretty excited, but calmed down after Will spoke to him.
"He's my roommate," Will chuckled. No one else will have me, so Sam Dog here keeps me company. He's not used to guests. You're the first person we've had here in a couple of years, except for the meter reader and the UPS guy."
"I doubt that no one else will have you, Will. From what I've seen, you're a heck of a nice guy. And, if you can play the guitar, you should have plenty of friends," I said.
"It's hard to have friends in a small town when you're like me," he replied, quickly turning to the door so I didn't respond.
I wondered what he meant, but what he said was a lot like I was thinking, about my own life, for a couple of years now. My wife had divorced me, about five years ago, after I'd told her I was pretty mixed up about my life, and wasn't sure I wanted to be married. She'd told me she'd been seeing another guy anyway, and she knew our marriage was over.
I went into a deep tailspin after that. I'd slept with a couple of women, gals I'd picked up in bars after drinking too much. But, that wasn't for me, and part of me kept feeling a hunger, for something missing in my life. I'd fantasized a lot about men, finding myself daydreaming, and jerking off to the idea of being with a guy. At first, I'd felt ashamed, and confused. My upbringing in a fundamentalist church was telling me I was a sinner and would burn in hell.
Yet, I kept lusting for men, and being with a guy. My cock was leading me to some pretty exciting fantasies. The first time I slept with a guy, he'd picked me up in a bar when I was at a conference. I'd worked a long day at the conference, and made a big presentation. It went well and I'd made some sales. I celebrated a bit too much, and this guy, an airline pilot, invited me up to his room for a nightcap.
I think I knew he was coming on to me, and when he handed me the drink in his room, he groped me, feeling my half hard cock pushing against my slacks. I was lonely, depressed, and pretty drunk. And, he was the first person who'd touched me with affection in a really long time. And, so I didn't mind. Didn't mind at all.
I stuffed my fundamentalist background and my father's disapproval down real deep that night, and reached out to feel his thick cock in his pants. I wasn't a very good lover that night, but the pilot was. He took his time with me, slowly rubbing his hand against me, until I was hard, throbbing. He slowly unbuttoned my shirt, and ran his fingers through the hair on my chest, and slowly stripped me of my shirt, then my pants, and finally, my shorts.
I'd never been naked with another man before, except in the locker room in high school, when I was on the basketball team. I'd gotten hardons in the locker room, with all that young, hot meat around, but I blamed that on my teenage hormones. Yet, I always kept looking for pictures of men, naked men with big, hard cocks, and hairy balls, and hairy chests. And, I knew that was wrong, for so many years, until I finally realized that I enjoyed hairy, naked men, and that was just who I was.
Still, that night, tears of guilt and tears of shame ran down my face, as the pilot took my hand and helped me strip off his shirt, and unbuckle his pants. He led me to his bed, and gently laid me down, running his hand down my back, and over my butt, and finally, to my balls.
He taught me a lot that night, what a man's hands feel like on another man's balls and another man's cock. And, he taught me that a whiskery kiss on my nipples can light my fire, and that a man's lips around another man's cock can feel so good, so sweet. And, when I came that night, hard and sweaty, deep into his mouth, crying out his name as I spurted, again and again, I felt his strong, warm arms around me, and felt, for the first time, the love of one man for another.
Chapter 3
Will called my name.
"Dave. Dave. You can come in now," he said.
I slipped out of my memory, my remembering of that first night with the airline pilot, in that otherwise forgotten city and that forgotten conference.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Will. I was just thinking about something, something that happened quite a while ago," I said.
"Well, it must have been pretty exciting. You're all sweaty and, well, hard," he laughed.
He looked down at the crotch of my pants, and it was pretty obvious I was hard. There was even a bit of a wet spot on the cloth by my cockhead.
I blushed, feeling a bit, well, exposed. I'd only known Will a couple of hours, and already I was showing my horniness and embarrassing myself.
"No need to blush on my account," Will said. "Its always good to have a hardon, and you're with friends. Sam Dog and I don't mind a good hardon. For me, it's the only thing that reminds me that I'm a horny guy myself and I haven't had any lovers for too long of a time."
I nodded, my hardon subsiding a bit, as Will held the door open for me, and I brought my guitar into his house. It was a two story house, with large windows overlooking the creek, and a big stone fireplace in the living room. Will had several guitars set up on stands near the fireplace, a music stand, and a couple of amps. There was a small bar in the corner, stocked with what looked like a good selection of Scotches, and a nicely filled wine rack lay against the wall.
A large oil painting of Will hung from the wall next to the kitchen. He was stripped to the waist, holding a fly pole in one hand. A trout net was in his other hand, and he was leaning over in the middle of a sun-dappled creek, netting a large trout. The painting showed his strong shoulders and hairy, firm chest. He wore hip boots, and just the crotch of his jeans was exposed against the top of the hip boots. Will wore a big smile in the painting, and was clearly enjoying the day.
"Nice painting, Will. Someone really captured you doing what you love," I said.
"Yeah, I like that painting. Good times. It's the only thing I have around here to remind me of ... of a good friend," Will replied, his face getting dark, sad. "He's gone now, been a couple of years. We were really good friends."
"Fishing buddies, then?" I asked. As the words slipped out of my mouth, I realized I'd messed up. Will's face told me they were more than fishing buddies.
"Yeah. Fishing buddies," Will said, quietly.
"Now, I have a good choice of aged, single malt Scotch, or wine. I've got a pretty varied selection of wine, too, my friend," he said, quickly turning the conversation.
Chapter 4
We tuned up our guitars, and I let Will take a look at my Gibson 12 string guitar. It was my grandfather's and I inherited it from him. My dad wanted the guitar, and always thought he'd get it when Grandpa died. But, Grandpa had been adamant that I was the one to get his guitar, even mentioning the gift in his will. Dad and I never really got along, and Grandpa knew that. Grandpa knew a lot about me, more than I'd known about myself even. He knew I was a good musician and he knew the joy that music could give to me.
That night, Will and I played for a long time. We knew the same songs and we had admired the same singers. We took turns playing the lead and accompanying. After a few songs, Will began to sing, and his deep bass was sweet and powerful, filling the house with his rich, sweet voice and the mellow sounds of our guitars.
We took a break to refill our glasses, and then began to play again. We played for probably another hour, until a string broke on Will's guitar, and we stopped. While Will was finding a new string, I looked outside on the deck, and noticed the snow. A blizzard had swept into the valley while we were playing, and there was about four inches of fresh snow on the ground. It was coming down hard and the wind was howling, hard against the house.
"Looks like you're staying the night, Dave," Will said. He'd moved up behind me when I was watching the snow pour down, mesmerizing me in the dance of the snowflakes in the wind.
"And, I'd like that. I'd like that a lot," he whispered, his hands on my shoulders. I could feel his heat, flowing out of the calloused, rough hands of his work, out of the deft, quickness of the fingers that had just filled my heart with his music for the last couple of hours.
He held me against him, the heat of his chest hot against the back of my shirt. I felt the beat of his heart, rhythmically beating, and the soft regularity of his breath, warm against the back of my neck.
"I'm glad you're here, Dave. Real glad."
"Yeah, me, too, Will. I've been wanting something like this for a really long time," I replied, the beating of my heart tight in my throat.
His hand moved around to my chest, lingering there against the cloth, warm against me, against my heart. His fingers moved slowly, slowly over to the top button of my shirt. A finger probed softly under the cloth, finding a curl of my hair, stroking me.
I closed my eyes, taking in all that was here now. The fire crackling in the fireplace, the harsh wind outside, filled with the crystals of white falling from the sky, the only light coming from the fireplace and the oil lamps Will had lit when we first started playing. The guitars were quiet now, but I could still hear the echo of the strings against the walls and the floor of this place, Will's place.
I breathed deeply, taking in the clean air of this place, a bit of wood smoke, a bit of lamp oil, a bit of the hint of twelve year old single malt Scotch on Will's breath, the sweet spiciness of his sweat.
I turned around, taking him into my arms, holding him tight against me, the heat of his chest, and the hardness of his muscles next to me. I grabbed his butt cheeks, feeling the softness of the jeans against my hands, my fingertips now tender after the hours of playing. The hardness of his cock met the hardness of my own swelling cock, as our lips found each other, as our whiskers caught in each other's beards.