This story contains graphic descriptions of consensual adult male to male sex. If this content offends you or it is illegal for you to read, please leave this site.
The Song of the River Oregonbear9@gmail.com
I'd just sat down with my coffee and a cookie, and was scanning the front page of the paper, when he asked if he could share the table. The coffee shop was crowded this Sunday morning, and I felt lucky snagging the last open table, back in the corner.
"Sure," I said, glancing up at a bearded face split with a smile. One big hand held a cup of coffee and the other thick hand clutched a book. I could see a nice tuft of hair overflowing the top of his muscle shirt. A nice set of tanned delts and thick biceps curved from the sleeveless shirt, and my eyes followed the nice slabs of thick pecs under the tight fabric, spotting a perky thick nipple.
I hope my jaw didn't drop too far. I was getting a real eyeful of him as I watched him set his coffee and book on the small table and settle into the other chair.
"This place gets pretty crowded on a Saturday morning," he said.
"Sure does," I said, trying to think of how I could keep the conversation going. He was the best looking man I'd seen in a long time and this Saturday morning was definitely looking pretty good.
"Pretty busy in here. I guess people are getting fueled up for the big game," he said.
"Yeah, I guess they are. First day of football season and there's a lot of people in town for it," I replied.
Football wasn't my cup of tea, and I came to the coffee shop as a way of avoiding all the pre-game hype and the crowds that the local college drew on home game days. Most people came to drink at the tailgate parties, and the after game functions that lasted til three in the morning. The whole town went nuts during football season. The whole town, except me, I'd thought.
"I'm not that much of a fan, and I was looking for a quiet spot to enjoy my coffee and get into my book," he said.
"Yeah, I know what you mean. Peace and quiet and a good cup of coffee," I replied.
I offered him half a cookie, and caught myself staring at his face as he took a bite, mumbling his thanks, with his mouth half full of chocolate chip and oatmeal crumbs. A few crumbs got caught in the whiskers on his chin. I wanted to slip close to him, to lick off the crumbs, and feel the coarseness of his curly whiskers and slip my tongue into his mouth. My cock wanted to do a whole lot more to him, and it was pushing full and tight against the front of my jeans.
"Sorry," he said. "I didn't get breakfast this morning, and I guess my hunger got in the way of my manners."
"Well, I didn't either," I said. "There's a good omelet place up the street, but when I walked by there, there were several busses out in front and the place was packed. But, maybe they've headed off for the game now. Kickoff is in half an hour."
"Yeah, I know the place. One of my favorite hangouts," he replied. "Let's give it a try."
I nodded, feeling my stomach growl. How could I be thinking of food at a time like this, when this handsome hunk is sitting next to me, and we're having a conversation? My balls tightened a bit, just at the sight of him. It had been a long time since I'd been with a man, and I was getting pretty tired of the life of the solitary life, and the one handed midnight thrill.
"Jeb's my name. I'm pretty bad at manners sometime," the man of my wet dreams said, interrupting my reverie.
I introduced myself, stammering a bit, taken aback at the warmth and strength of his calloused hand he thrust at me. I grabbed his hand back, giving him a strong shake, and felt his strength and the years of hard work in his fingers. His touch sent a jolt up my arm and down my spine, landing in the tip of my half swollen cock. My Saturday was looking up.
We slipped out of the coffee shop and headed down the street. The breakfast place was about six blocks away, and we continued our conversation as we walked down the street. The traffic was thinning out some, as most of the town was already at the college stadium. We could hear the pep band and the rising roar of the crowd.
We fell into an easy conversation, and I learned that Jeb worked in construction, and was living by himself in a cabin up one of the nearby rivers. I hadn't noticed any ring on his finger, but a lot of construction guys don't wear a ring anyway. Still, no mention of a girlfriend, and I still had hopes that this handsome man would somehow end up in my bed in the next few weeks. A guy can dream, can't he?
The caf‚ was nearly empty when we got there, and my favorite waiter was taking a break, sitting at the counter, sipping a cup of joe. He waved at me, greeting both of us by name.
"About time you two met," he chuckled. Want your usual table?"
Jeb and I laughed, realizing we had a lot more in common than we'd thought a few minutes earlier. We kept chuckling at all the commonalities we had, including playing the guitar and the funky bookstore on the other side of the university.
We were lost in conversation, barely noticing the mugs of coffee the waiter brought, and our favorite omelets. We hadn't even ordered, but the waiter brought out our food anyway.
"You guys were lost in conversation, so I just went ahead and put in your usual orders," he laughed. "Take your time. Business is gonna be slow anyway, until the game ends. Besides, it looks like you two have a lot of catching up to do."
Jeb and I shut up enough to enjoy our omelets, and the fresh squeezed orange juice that was a staple at the caf‚. As always, the food was delicious, but I found myself more focused on watching Jeb fork him breakfast in between his lips. He had a thick moustache that curved down the side of his mouth, into the thick forest of his beard. There were a few strands of gray on his chin, and I could see some flecks of silver in the tufts of hair pushing out of the neck of his shirt. The top two buttons were open, and by the way the shirt clung to his pecs, he kept himself in shape.
Long after the platters were cleared and we had drained the third mug of joe, Jeb looked at his watch, and sighed.
"I probably need to go. There's a guitar jam that I go to every Saturday and it starts in about a half hour," he said. You said you played a bit. How about going with me? I think you'd like the music and the people who show up are really friendly."
"I'm pretty shy about my music, I guess," I replied. "I don't have much experience playing with others. But, well, I can give it a try."
Jeb grinned, promising me he'd buy me a beer after the jam. His eyes twinkled and he laughed out loud at the thought of taking me to the guitar jam.
He followed me to my apartment where I picked up my guitar. He needed to pee and I invited him in while I got my guitar and found my guitar case in the closet. It was a small place, and I hadn't been expecting company. I was glad I'd done my weekly cleanup the night before and had actually put away all of my laundry and run the dishwasher.
"I like your apartment. Nice and cozy," Jeb said. How long have you lived alone?"
I glanced away, the question taking me back a bit, with a memory of my old boyfriend, and how he ditched me a couple of years ago, moving in with the guy I found out he'd been sleeping with on the side for a couple of months.
I hadn't really gotten over that and I still couldn't get back into the bar scene or going out on a date. Some of my buddies had tried being the matchmaker, and even talked me into one of those on line sites. Still, I still felt pretty burned by the whole event, and I was still afraid of taking the risk of actually dating a guy.
Jeb got me talking about all that as he drove across town to the jam. It was in the back of a guitar store I'd heard about, but had never checked out. It felt good to tell Jeb about my ex and all that. He was a good listener, and didn't make fun of what I was saying. I felt pretty good about telling him the story, and he seemed to really know what I was telling him about how I felt. It was starting to feel like I'd known Jeb for a long time, and that he was going to be a good friend of mine. I sure hoped so. My ex had been my best friend, and I'd been good at building barriers with anyone else that had tried to get close to me these last couple of years. But, Jeb was different, somehow. Different in a good way.
The other folks at the jam were really friendly, and I was soon tuning up my guitar and joining in with almost all of the songs. Sometimes, we'd break into some singing, and Jeb had a really good bass voice, and knew all the words to all of the songs. The guy sitting on the other side of me showed me a couple of shortcuts and new chords, and I even got brave enough to play a solo during one of the songs.
We took a break and Jeb handed me a mug of coffee, a big grin on his face.
"I told you you'd have a good time," he said.
And, he was right. I was. I was kind of surprised, too. I only played in my apartment, except on a few nice days a month, when I'd drive down to the river and find a quiet place in the park, singing a few tunes to the birds that gathered along the shore. But, today, I realized I could play music with other people, who seemed to just accept me for who I was.
The second hour of the jam finished way too quickly, though my fingers were getting tired and a bit sore. We packed away our guitars, and one guy showed me his mandolin, saying that it wasn't that hard to learn how to play. Everyone invited me back next Saturday, and several folks told me they enjoyed my playing. I'd never heard those words before.
Jeb put my guitar behind the seat of his pickup next to his case, and shook my hand.
"You're a great player. You really did well today," he said. "Now, we have to go have that beer."
"And, I've got some good cold microbrews at my place, and we're not that far away," Jeb said. "Besides, I've seen your place and you should see mine."
I nodded, not able to find the words to speak. Today was just a dream for me, meeting this handsome guy, who was really turning into a really good friend. He was more than just a really good looking guy. But, I was dreaming we'd be falling in love and I'd get him into bed. After all, I was just dreaming he was gay and it was a far reach to think he'd like to sleep with me. Being friends was really enough for me, I thought. I'm a lucky guy today.
Jeb drove out past the end of town, and turned up a side road that led up the river. I'd always thought this was just a logging road, but there were a few houses. Jeb drove past the houses, and then turned onto a narrower road, one that didn't have a name, and down through the forest for about a half mile. We finally got to a clearing with a barn and a two story log house. The river was on the other side of the house, and there was a big deck overlooking the river.
"We're home," Jeb said, as he turned off the engine. "Bring your guitar in and we can play a bit. I'd like you to teach me that riff you soloed with at the jam."
We headed into the living room, and I got my guitar out of the case. He had several guitars on stands next to the big stone fireplace, and a couple of music stands and stools overlooking the river. About a dozen Canadian geese were sleeping on the lawn next to the deck, and there was an osprey nest right across the river. Jeb had a spotting scope pointed at the nest, and several large photos of birds and snowcapped mountains were hung on the wood paneling on either side of the fireplace.
"Make yourself at home," Jeb said. "I'll get the beer."
Jeb brought me a frosty beer, my favorite, and pulled off his boots.
"I can't stand to wear anything on my feet for very long," he said. "Around here, I always go barefoot. And, sometimes, I can't even stand clothes."
"I know what you mean," I said. "Shoes are the first thing that comes off when I get home."
As I sipped my beer, Jeb gave me a tour of the house, talking about his guitars and his music. He'd just figures out how to hook up his laptop with his keyboard and guitars and start doing some recording work.
"I guess music is pretty important to me," he said. "It's the only thing I have left from Ben."
He looked down, a shadow crossing his face, his shoulders slumping. I saw him look away, a tear forming in his eye. The only sound in the house now was the river and the quiet honking of the geese on the lawn.
"Who is Ben?" I asked quietly.
He kept looking away, snuffling a bit, and finally blowing his nose in his handkerchief.
"He was my....partner."
The silence deepened, strong enough to darken the afternoon sunlight that had filled the living room and the guitars on their stands with cheer. I let it hang there, for what seemed an hour. Jeb snuffled again, and blew his nose, longer this time.
I looked over at the fireplace, not able to stand seeing Jeb shaking there, a tear now running down his cheek and into his beard. He needed his space, and I wasn't going to pry.
On the mantle, a large framed photo of Jeb and another man leaned against the rough granite stone. They were dressed in tuxes, arms around each other, laughing and smiling. You could tell they were in love, and it was the happiest day of their lives. A silver candle holder stood next to the picture, its lone candle nearly burned down to the nub, next to a single red rose.
I felt the silence lift a bit, and Jeb hadn't cried for a bit. I gathered my courage, and began to speak.
"My lover left me two years ago. He left me for another man, and I still cry," I sobbed, choking on my words. "And I have a lot of tears to cry some more."
And, my pain filled the room and joined with Jeb's pain, and the afternoon light couldn't cut through it. Yet, my words somehow lightened me, and some of the anguish and loneliness of the last two years seemed to flow away.
Jeb still stood there, looking through the glass towards the river. But, he wasn't looking at the river. He was looking far beyond what others could have seen on this beautiful day.
I moved towards him, taking his broad shoulders in my hand, and moving close to him, my chest next to his back, and my arms taking him into me, holding him, feeling his sobs resonate deep in my chest. His hands reached up to my hands and he held onto me with all of his might, his sobs deepening, tears flowing freely down his cheeks, soaking his beard, and dripping onto our hands across his stomach.
We stood there for a long time, Jeb's chest heaving and gasping, tears flowing, in the silence.
"I loved him so much," he sobbed, the words catching in his throat, and resonating deep against me, filling my chest with his deep ragged voice.
"And you still do," I whispered. "You still do."
We stood there for a while longer, just holding on to each other, hands entwined across Jeb's stomach, his shoulders and back pushing back against my chest. His butt felt warm against my crotch, and a part of me felt a bit of lust. But, Jeb needed someone to just be with him right now, and he wasn't ready for the hardness of my cock, or my carnal interest in finding out what was inside of his jeans.
That would come later, and I think we both knew that, this day just the start of our relationship, and our ability to talk about what lay heavily on our hearts. That would come soon enough, and we'd have many an afternoon in his living room, playing our guitars, and enjoying a beer. And, when it was right, we'd light a fire in the fireplace, and then build the fire a lot higher and hotter as we slowly stripped each other of our shirts and our jeans and took ourselves on a slow tour of our hairy chests and the deep forest of fur around our aching cocks and full balls. We would cry out and moan each other's names, as long ropey spurts of cum splattered across our stomachs and chests, or deep inside of sweaty, hungry holes or through our bearded lips, and lusty sweat would soak our pits as we lay gasping in the glow of yet more love making, while the logs would crackle and glow against the dark granite, the river song meandering through it all.
It was enough just to be there, together, and be quiet, letting our hearts do their talking, and let our souls take in the sound of the river and the geese, and the soft, loving touch of a man who was starting to love me very much.
We finally finished that beer, though it has grown warm in the bottles on the granite slab of the fireplace. We didn't care. We drank it anyway, a toast to our new friendship, and being able to cry together, for the first time.
We talked then, sharing our stories, and our pain, and our anger. Sometimes, there were more tears, and sometimes, laughter, and sometimes, a few minutes of silence, in respect for what had just been said, and what had been lost by both of us. The afternoon sun started fading away, the western sky turning to bronze, and then gold and scarlet, until, finally, even the sparkles of light on the river faded into the blue ink of the evening.
Jeb's stomach growled, and we moved our conversation into the kitchen. He opened a bottle of what he called his favorite syrah. Soon, his knife was flying and the gas stove was ablaze with assorted dishes and sauces. I soon found out Jeb was an accomplished chef and worked at the most well known gourmet restaurant in the city's high rent district.
After dinner, we took our coffee out onto the deck and looked out at the river. The moon was just coming up and we could make out the trees along the riverbank. The river sang its song to us, and a slight warm breeze moved upriver, carrying the smells of the cottonwoods next to the river and the firs and cedars of the forest.
"I'd like you to stay the night," Jeb said.
We hadn't spoken for quite a while, just standing there against the railing of the deck, taking in the peace of the moonlit river and the smells of the evening. We'd talked about a lot of things over dinner, sharing some stories of our past relationships and loves, and where we wanted to be in our lives.
"I never thought I'd want to be with another man, after Bob," Jeb said, his voice almost cracking. "But, that was before I met you."
"I think I'm ready, too, Jeb," I replied. "But, I need you go slow with me. It's been a long time, and I'm not sure I'm ready to be the lover you want, the one you need. I don't want to hurt you."
"I know," he replied. "And, you won't. I know that. Your heart is too big to hurt me."
We hadn't looked at each other, and I kept looking at the light on the river, through the tears that had welled up when Jeb asked me to stay. I had wanted the same thing. Yet, part of me what thinking this was just a dream, and he'd take me home and never call me. I'd had a few of those experiences and they just brought back all my anger and self pity. I couldn't take any more of that.
But, it wasn't a dream. Jeb moved closer to me, taking my hand in his big, warm hand, and just touched me. It was comfortable, just standing there, hand in hand, sharing the evening and being with each other.
I let out a sigh, feeling the tension in my shoulders let go. And, when I did, Jeb moved behind me, touching my shoulder with his other hand, and brushed his lips against the back of my neck, his moustache bristly against my skin. His breath was soft and warm on my hair, and I felt my cock swell a bit against my jeans.
Jeb's hand moved over my shirt and across my chest. His warmth felt good and deep against the cloth, and I sighed again as he slowly undid the top button of my shirt, his fingers caressing the curls of hair he found.
He breathed deep, taking in my scent, and I felt the warmth of his breath again in my hair and against the nape of my neck, feeling him relax, too, and enjoy his touch and his presence. He moved a bit closer, and I could feel him, strong and muscular, against my back and my butt. The fabric of his jeans rubbed against my jeans, and I could sense the swelling of his cock against the crack of my butt.
Another button opened and his fingers moved down and across my chest, touching me again, his calloused fingers catching a bit in the curls. And, another button opened and his fingers found my nipple, its hardness and its ache surprising to me, as he slowly circled the nib with his fingers. Oh, so slowly.
Drops of sweat ran down from my pits, making a wet trail across my ribs, as my heart raced, anticipating where we were going. I moved my hand down a bit, behind me, feeling the heat from his jeans, and finally finding the growing hardness of Jeb. He gasped a bit, when ran my finger across the cloth covering his cockhead, feeling the dampness of his manhood, the heat of his passion.
We kissed then, for the first time, moving together in this dance, his coarse mustache against my lips and goatee, his furry cheeks and chin soft against my face, and then, my chest, as he slowly kissed and licked my neck and then my hardened, aching nipples. My shirt found its way to the deck, followed by Jeb's, and our muscled torsos pushed hard against each other, our sweat and our mats of chest and belly hair mingling in the steam of our dance.
Jeb took me down to the grass by the river, the moonlight soft on his skin, the hair on his chest black against the platinum of his skin in the light. He slowly undid the zipper on my jeans, pulling the cloth down across the tightness of my groin, and the now sweaty cheeks of my butt, until I stood hard and naked before him, before my lover. My balls rose high against my cock, and all of my lust these many lonely and angry months beat hard in my cock and my chest.
I wanted him, and yet, I wanted to wait, to take my time with this god, with this lover, not wanting the night to end. We kissed again, hugging each other tight, the sweat from our chests and my now exposed manhood slippery, and strong in my nose. The dampness of the grass, and the spice of the blades crushed by our furry, naked bodies mingled with the lusty juices of our pits and our now oozing cocks.
Jeb's jeans were somewhere else, now, too, as we touched and rolled over the grass, hands groping butt cheeks and fur covered muscles, and swollen ballsacs and hard cocks needing to be thrust and sucked, again and again. I tasted his salty, swollen nips and ran my tongue down the trail of fur to his thick, oozing cock, until its head traveled down my tongue and my moustache caught on the long fibers of the dark forest above his balls, which were held captive in my hand.
He moaned softly, in rhythm with my slurping and sucking of his cock, until he cried out my name when thick shots of his cum flowed out my mouth, drenching his already sweaty belly, his spent balls slick in my hand.
We both came home that night, finding along that riverbank the love we had needed, and joined, finally, in the song of the river.