Weekend Storm
He'd called the night before, saying he needed to get out of the city, and just spend a quiet weekend on the coast. Work had been crazy, and he hadn't had a weekend away for almost a year.
It was time, he said, just to unwind.
I promised a big storm for him, knowing that he liked to hear the wind howl and the rain to come in sideways. We'd walk on the beach, letting the wind nearly blow us down, watching the high waves crash into the cliffs at the end of the beach. We'd come home drenched, the thick salty air sticky in our hair and against our skin. We'd sit by the fire, and sip whiskey, listening to the wind rage outside.
"I've got plenty of firewood, and I just got back from the store. We won't starve," I said.
"On my way," he said. "Of course, I've got to work until noon on Friday. Then, I'll be down."
We'd been friends for a couple of years, meeting at a mutual friend's house for dinner in the big city, one of the few times of the year I drove over the mountains and took advantage of what the city had to offer this simple country boy. I'm a commercial fisherman in the summer, and then I do some guiding on the rivers in the fall, when the big salmon runs come in on the Northwest coast.
I'd been wondering when we would get together. He made a big pass at me at John and Mary's, saying we really needed some quiet time to get to know each other a lot better. I'd felt the same way, finding the look of his ass in his tight jeans and the way his shirt was tight around his shoulders and big meaty chest a more than attractive item.
Winters are my quiet time. I putter around on my boat, fixing it up, mending nets, doing the thousand chores you need to do all the time, when you have a wooden boat and fishing gear out in the ocean.
I hadn't any big plans, other than work on my boat projects, this weekend, so Jim's call to invite himself over was a nice diversion.
We'd play cards, drink a little whiskey and champagne, and catch up with each other. He worked for some big business, and spent most of his days in meetings, and writing up proposals, meeting with tradesmen and clients, taking on some pretty big projects.
There's a hot tub on the deck, overlooking the river, and a big king sized bed, just big enough for two.
He was a darned good cook, I recalled, watching him at John and Mary's house, making a fabulous omelet for breakfast.
That Friday afternoon, there was a loud knock on the door. I'd just gotten out of the shower, and wrapped a towel around me, throwing the door open, watching his newly furred face break into a big grin.
"Great to be here," he said. "The traffic was awful, and, well, I'm here, finally."
I grabbed his hand and shook it, then pulled him into a big hug, the fabric of his dress shirt and polyester pants scratchy against the fur on my chest and my thighs.
"We better get you out of those business clothes right away," I laughed. "We have rules against those kind of clothes around here."
"Suits me," Jim chuckled. "Where do I change?"
"Oh, in the bedroom," I said. "Just strip down and we'll head to the hot tub. I got a bottle of bubbly chilling already out there."
He grinned, and started to unbutton his shirt, as I took his bag out of his hand and headed down the hallway.
"Here, let me help you with that," I said, once we got into the bedroom and I set his bag down on the luggage rack, next to the sliding glass door leading to the deck.
I quickly undid the rest of the buttons on his white shirt, admiring the thick pelt of curly hair covering his chest. He undid his belt, and we both slipped off his shirt, revealing a thick set of shoulder muscles, biceps, and a nicely muscled chest, with two erect nipples poking out of the curls covering his pecs, and leading down his tight stomach to his waist.
"The pants, too," I laughed. "We don't go much for clothes around here, especially when the champagne is needing to get popped open."
Jim laughed, quickly undoing his belt, and then slipping his pants off, kicking them into the corner by his bag. His shoes and socks, too, came off in a few seconds, leaving him standing there wearing just his boxers.
I moved close, wrapping my arms around him, drawing him into my chest. His skin felt warm, and my nose took in his musty, masculine odor. My hands ran up his arm, feeling the hardness of his shoulder. Then, my fingers ran across his new whiskers covering his cheek and jaw.
"Nice beard," I said. "About time you grew it out."
"Yeah," he said. "It's No Shave November, and time for me to get with it."
"Besides, I've been admiring your beard for a long time, and I thought I'd take a break from the razor."
He kissed me then, drawing my face close to him, his beefy arms pulling me close, his moustache bristly against my lips. I felt him grow hard against me, pushing against his boxers. My own cock was swelling, too, and I was starting to think about what it would be like to take him deep in my mouth, my fingers toying with his balls.
I'd thought about what that would be like, ever since he called and said he was coming down this weekend. I hadn't been with a man for a long, long time, and I was way overdue for a little romance, and a long weekend rolling in the hay with a big-cocked hairy stud of a man.
"You lose the towel, and I'll lose the boxers," Jim said.
He tugged at my towel, freeing my half swollen cock and balls, letting him take a good look at my fishing tackle.
"Nice," he said. "I'd heard you were a well equipped fisherman."
"I hope you brought all your tackle, too," I chuckled, reaching over to tug his boxers from around his hips.
I wasn't' disappointed. Jim was a big boy, and the thick bush around his cock and balls ran all the way up to cover his chest. There would be plenty of fur for me to play with, while I was taking my time to suck on his nips and give him a little hand action down below.
Both of us bare-assed, we paraded out onto the deck and flipped open the hot tub, the steam rising, and condensing into droplets across our furry chests, and our beards.
Jim had about four days worth of stubble across his jaw, his moustache neatly trimmed.
I reached over to run my hand across his whiskers. Jim was a hairy son of a gun, and in no time, he'd have a respectable thick beard that would be the pride of any man. Besides, I liked the feel of some stubble across my balls when a man was giving me a serious blow job.
I knew Jim was up to the task, too, from what I'd heard John say, when he was urging me to hook up with Jim and go on a date. He and Jim had gotten together a couple of times, when John was doing a little exploration of his sexuality, back before he and Mary started dating.
I popped the cork and we filled our glasses with the first of at least several glasses of the bubbly.
"To the weekend," Jim said, as we clinked our glasses and sipped the ice cold wine.
"And to good sex" I added.
"Yeah," Jim said, his face reddening, his chest flushed under that nice pelt of fur that splayed across his broad, muscular pecs.
"Is it that obvious?" he said. "I mean, uh, I'm not here just for the, uh, sex," he stammered.
"Sure you are," I said. "Me, too. That, and good food, some booze, and feeling that big storm move in and rattle the house."
He took a gulp of his champagne, and laid his head back against the seat in the tub. He closed his eyes, and then a big sigh came out of his chest.
"God, you're so open about everything, Bill," he said. "I'm just not used to someone being so upfront about ..."
"Screwing?" I said.
"Yeah," he said. "But, you mean more than just a ...a roll in the hay to me."
"I know", I said. "And, we'll work on that this weekend. But first, I want to suck your cock, and feel you cum deep and hard in my mouth, while I play with your balls and stick a wet finger up your ass."
Jim nodded, as I slid closer to him, my hand sliding up his thigh, until m fingers grasped his half hard shaft, my thumb sliding across the tip of his foreskin, until my thumb slowly circled his cockhead. He stiffened, and got even harder as I cupped his balls with my other hand, slowly caressing and rolling his ball sack, feeling his nuts start to rise.
He gasped, breathing hard, as I kept up my stroking and, then I moved down, making myself at home between his thighs, taking in the sight of his hard, uncut cock, throbbing softly to the beat of his heart.
I moved closer, smelling his manly odor, a mixture of clean sweat, precum, and the salt air blowing in from the ocean. I slipped my lips around his cock, and began sucking him, enjoying the start of the dance, the slow rolling of his balls in my hand, as his cock pulsed its rhythm against my tongue and hungry lips.
I looked up, watching his thick, hairy chest rise and fall. His thick reddish nipples were swollen, becoming hard. Drops of water from the hot tub clung to the tufts of dark, curly hair covering his chest. His new beard, too, glistened with drops of water, and a bead of sweat ran down his face, losing itself in the whiskers.
He had raised his muscular arms, his hands now clasped behind his head, as he gasped and panted, nearly ready to shoot his long ropey spurts of cum into my waiting mouth, and spray across my beard, again and again, until I had drained his nuts. His biceps flexed, a blue vein taut against the tight flesh of his arm.
His armpits were thickly forested with mats of dark hair, sweat and water dripping off. I could smell his sweat now, spicy and almost skunky, the sweat of his day at work, and now, mixed with the new sweat of lust, desire, and his exertions in thrusting his hips and his hard cock into my mouth, and the sensations of me fondling his balls, driving him slowly, relentless, towards his release.
He moaned, whispering my name, as my finger ran slowly up under his ball sack, along the crease behind his balls, to his hole, slowly moving in a circle, until it found its home. I slid it up inside of him, first to one knuckle, and then, two. Finding his prostate, tight with his seminal fluid, I moved my finger slowly, back and forth, massaging him, adding even more sensation to his groin.
He was almost on fire, lustful moans coming from his mouth, his chest and face glistening with the sheen of a man's lust and desire.
Already at the brink from the work of my mouth and hands on his cock and balls, he sucked a lungful of air between his gritted teeth, as every nerve next to his asshole was caressed and loved, almost now to the point of no return.
Again and again, I moved against him, with him, inside and out, flaming his lust, bringing him closer to his climax.
"Uh, uh, uh," he grunted. Now, too overwhelmed by my attentions to every ridge and surface of his cock, his balls now rising high in their sack, his load of spear poised on the edge to explode, he could find no words.
"Ah, oh, oh," he slurred, a stream of spit sliding out of his fur-edged mouth, soaking his chin and the new whiskers of his beard.
I looked up, along his now sweaty, heaving chest, his nipples newly hard and sweat-drenched, to watch his sweaty face and dripping armpits. His eyes were closed, his attention focusing only on what I was doing with him, and where I was taking him.
I slowed, then, my tongue still tasting every part of his cock, oozings of his precum salty against my tongue. A small rivelet of his juice was overflowing my lips, running down my beard, soaking my chin, and dripping onto my chest.
I hummed deep, my voice vibrating against his cock, now firmly thrusting to the back of my mouth, as I felt him harden even more, his balls now tight against the root of his cock. His seed began to shoot now, my fingers feeling the first spasms of his mating, his seed rising swiftly into his cock, a fire hose of semen filling my mouth with his salty, milky seed. His cock now greased by his release, he thrust even harder, even deeper into me.
The sweat soaked fur surrounding his cock and balls pounded against my beard and moustache, our sweat joining together, mixing with the slobber of my spit and his precum, and now, great wads of his cum.
He moaned again, calling my name, and words of that ancient litany of men throughout time, lovers crying out, telling the Universe that they are alive, they are lovers, and they are men, real men.
His balls felt hot and sweaty against my hand and fingers. His hole spasmed as he came, pushing my finger out, leaving me to again swirl my finger around and around his hole, expelling even yet another few spurts of his spunk out of his now-softening cock, until yet another glob of his seed dribbled out of my mouth, dripping slowly into the sweat-matted fur of my chest.
We lay there on the deck, covered with our sweat, and the white spurts of Jim's seed clotting in wet clumps across our chests and beards. His taste was strong in my mouth, as I kissed him deeply, giving him a taste of his own slippery, explosive spent cock and his manly juice.
I ran my hand across his chest, toying with his nipples, feeling their heat, feeling them harden, responding to my touch. His thick curls of hair across his chest caught in my beard, tugging and catching, as my tongue and lips found one nipple, and then another. Jim's moans told me when I was doing something right, giving him pleasure once again, as he slipped into a drowsy, semi-wakefulness.
The wind howled, roaring in the trees above the river, signaling the start of this stormy night, the rain, the wind, the rage and lust of the coming storm.
Jim and I would roar, too, shaking and moving the earth, lovers touching and fondling, stroking and sucking, and pounding, and crying out into the storm our own climbing of mountains, our own crescendos, until the dawn came, finding us spent, asleep in each other's arms, still soaked in the sweat and cum of the lovers we had become.