Clutch Chapter 1
Clutch
Part 1
Releasing Steam
By Bix Meister
After getting writers block on a few of my stories, I'm back with some shorter series inspired by men and locations I noticed on my drives and walks. My Tumblr page also features men that have inspired these tales. The stories feature gay and bi men, and gay sex, intended for adults, not minors. They are fiction, and not based on actual people or events. They are fantasy, intended as a catalyst for pleasure. Few attempts have been made to portray safe sex, but I encourage you to practice it.
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Clutch
Part 1
Letting Off Steam
Running has become second nature for me, almost to the point where I feel incomplete if I am not able to get in a run. It's part of many changes over the last few years that have reshaped my life, especially since last summer.
Why did I take up running? I have so many reasons, but the biggest is 40 happened. Yes, there are the benefits to running; heart-health, solitude, and stress relief for example. However, 40 happened, my work-life activity level bordered on sedentary, and parts of me started going south while my hairline went north.
It wasn't always that way. I've been active and athletic most of my life. In high school I played three sports: football, hockey, and baseball. I wasn't a star, but my stocky, muscular build, coupled with tenacity, meant that I was often a clutch player. I had my share of game winning goals, and I could be counted on to get that final out. By the time I was a senior, I had earned the nickname Clutch.
I graduated, became a firefighter, and married my high school girlfriend, then we had two kids. As a hockey parent, I'd get my workout out on the ice with the kids, but then would add calories when I would spike my hot chocolate for extra warmth rink-side. And let's not talk about what happens in hotel rooms after Pee Wee tournaments when you combine late night pizza, beer, and shots with other hockey parents. Similarly in summer I played softball, then followed it up with beer and bar food after the game.
When younger, I was able to keep off the pounds, then 40 happened. First, I got a promotion to Assistant Fire Chief. My job became less physical as I focused on community fire safety. With that came many meetings, and even more pastries. My doc pointed out that aging bodies don't have the metabolism of youth. It was easy to embrace going bald; I began to shave my head. Losing weight wasn't easy. Guys my age need exercise. I chose to run.
It wasn't that I was fat, I had a dad bod. However, my gut and butt weren't as firm as they used to be. My wife never complained. She'd come back with the old, "There's more to love," and often would be so turned on after I'd get home, sweaty from the run, that we'd be fucking moments after I got in the door.
As empty nesters we had a new lease on our sex life. I'd barely get into the door, and she'd push me to the bedroom, throw me on the bed, pull off my shorts and jock, climb aboard and start riding my dick. I was tired, she knew that, so she'd do the heavy work. I liked how she would twist my nipples, tug at my chest hair, and lean over, whispering "Fuck me, Clutch."
I guess I forgot to mention the other reason I run, the payoff usually meant I was horny the entire run. That's also why I would wear a jock; to control my dick as it chubbed up. Between my big balls and boned dick, the jock worked overtime to contain me. I enjoyed the feel of my goods bouncing as I ran. My doc also said that was a sign I had a healthy heart. I got boned up on the treadmill in the middle of a stress test. He noticed it and when we got back to the exam room he said, "If your heart can pump enough blood to fill that up while exercising, you're on the right track."
It's funny in a way. I was an Assistant Fire Chief, and my wife fought fires. However, she worked with the Forestry, and would find herself away for months at a time. This time we were two weeks in, with no end in sight. Running helped me through this. I'd get home from a stressful day and call Linda while I changed. Around here June can range from cool to scorching, but I always wore shorts and a tank top. When I first started running, the tank top would never come off, I was too self-conscious about my gut. But as that firmed up, and my body temp rose, my tank top would end up tucked into the waist of my shorts.
While running I got to know places on my route. It's mainly rural, with houses dotting the road. I found a couple of trails to take through the woods, allowing me to escape the sun when needed. My phone was always strapped to my arm, in case of emergency. At first, I'd listen to tunes, but soon discovered I liked the solitude of running. Often, the rustle of wind through the trees became meditative.
Due to my job, I'm observant, I knew everyone's address, especially noting their blue and white rural fire address signs. I noticed new cars, construction, and homeowners along my route. There was one small house, a little worse for wear, that always had a boat and newer Jeep parked out front. I saw that the Jeep wasn't there late at night, or early in the morning. I deduced that the owner must work the night shift, the shades were always drawn. There was an older guy who I'd see outside while I ran but hadn't seen for a while. One of my volunteer firefighters, a former Marine, solved my riddle when he told me that he was a color guard at a funeral for an ex-Marine who lived near me.
However, the chair remained. Recently it would be occupied by a younger, bearded version of the man. Even with the beard, and difference in age, family resemblance was strong. I'd always pass his house, just a few blocks before heading down the last small hill towards my house. He'd sit there, beer in hand and offer encouragement. "Keep it up, Bud," he'd say, or "Lookin' good." He'd raise his beer as if offering me a toast.
Last year, one mid-June day, one very hot Thursday, changed everything. There was a major fire in the city that required our help. As assistant chief, I wasn't involved in the firefighting itself, but the more tactical aspects, the coordination of various trucks, and media communications. It was more taxing mentally than physically. I was drained when I got home, and considered foregoing my run, but a call from Linda put me back on track. "Go out and run. Lose yourself babe. And I know how you get, if you need to blow off some steam, you have my permission. I trust you babe."
I might have forgotten to tell you one important bit. Linda and I have given each other permission to play on the side when we are apart from each other for a long time. We have two rules. Number one, no close friends, and two, our home is off limits. I've rarely used her permission beyond infrequent trips to an adult bookstore while away on business. She knows all about glory holes, and we even frequented one together a few years ago. Lately I've been a good boy, limiting myself to a long edging session after the run. I love the feel of my fat, over-heated dick in my hand as I prolong the sensation of shooting all over my furry gut and chest.
Her words made it hard to stuff my dick in my jock while I rummaged through my short's drawer. I grabbed a pair of loose shorts then thought, "Fuck it, no one will see," and selected a newer shorter pair I bought recently. My jock framed my chunky ass, and the shorts felt silky on my furry butt as I left the house. As usual I started by wearing a tank top as I jogged up the hill, stopping at the intersection before jogging past a cluster of homes. The bearded dude was there, shirtless, sitting on his dad's old chair. "Lookin' good bud," he said, raising his beer.
"Thanks," I said, waving as I jogged by.
I thought I could hear a muffled "Damn," as I continued down the road. I was getting over-heated, so I stopped, took off my tank top, took a swig from my water then headed for the cool of the trail. The solitude cleared my head, allowing me to focus. Momentarily I rested by a tree, and checked my tracker for steps, and heartbeat. Satisfied with my workout I leaned my forearm against the tree and yanked my dick out. A trickle became a torrent as I pissed through my semi-hard dick. I caught myself wondering if that bearded man really said what I thought he said.
Well, if he did, so what? I'm confident enough in who I am. I have close friends who are gay. The closest, Jeffrey, I've known since grade school. As I gained weight, got bald, started shaving my head and growing well-trimmed facial hair he called me Daddy Bear. "Clutch," he said. "If you ever play on our side of the fence, I got the perfect Cub for you. Or maybe you'd prefer an Otter?"
It's funny where my mind goes when I clear it. I was running towards home, and suddenly had a way to pigeonhole the guy who lived in the house with the Jeep and boat out front. He was an Otter. Jeffrey told me that Otters were furry like Bears, but slimmer though sometimes muscular. I wondered if my Otter would be out there and what he'd say as I passed by. I wondered if he would notice my chub, thinking about the situation made me bone up. I wondered if my jock would do its work and camouflage my situation. I wondered if it all was just my imagination.
As I rounded a gentle curve, I got part of my answer. Otter was still out front, slumped lower on the chair. He perked up and smiled when he saw me getting closer. He grabbed a beer from his cooler and rose. "It's hot out bud. Wanna join me for a beer?"
I slowed, rested for a second at the edge of his driveway, bent slightly, placed my hands on my knees and took a few deep breaths. I could be wrong, but I could swear I heard him whisper, "Woof," under his breath while I caught my own.
I could have said no thanks and continued; I was close to home. Instead, something made me stand, look at him, smile and say, "That sounds great." Something magnetic pulled me in, a pull I didn't understand.
He offered the beer as I walked towards him. If was from a local brewery, one of my favorites. "I can only have one," I said. I took a gulp, then wiped it across my brow, cooling me down. "Trying to watch the calories. Gotta firm up my butt and gut," I said, rubbing the beer can over my gut for emphasis.
"Now why'd ya want to do that?" the Otter said. "Dad bods are in, and you look hot." The last part trailed off, I wasn't even sure if he said it, or it was imagined.
"Say what?" I asked.
"Sorry, that's two beers talking bud," Otter said.
"No harm no foul," I responded. In my job I've learned that my smile can help smooth over tough situations and put people at ease. It worked on Otter, who I now knew was 100% an Otter, even if I didn't know his name. I offered my hand, "Collin," I said. "Nice to meet you."
"Hunter," he said as he shook my hand. "And sorry about that. It's just – it's just," he hesitated for a second to collect his thoughts. "It's just that I gotta be honest with you bud. You are about as hot as any man I've ever seen, and I finally get the nerve to talk to you, and you are shirtless, sweaty, and boned up."
I glanced down, and sure enough, no jock or shorts could ever camouflage my boned dick. "Fuck," I said as I adjusted myself, unable to hide my hard on. "Running does that to me. That and the heat."
"And here I hoped it was my half naked body, and my own boner," Hunter said as he slumped back into his chair. He looked up at me as he stroked the bulge that was showing in his cut-off jeans.
I smiled at him. "I don't know Hunter I don't know." Hunter smirked at my half-sighed reply. My smile was powerless when it came to his smirk. Something about him, his full beard, his bedhead tousled hair and I boned up even more. "Sure is hot out here," I said as I downed my beer.
"Sure is, Bud," Hunter said. "It's cooler inside, out of the sun. Why don't we grab another beer and head in?"
I don't know why I said, "Sure, Hunter," but I did. He grabbed two beers, gave one to me, opened the door, and swatted me on my ass as we went in. It was dark and cool as he put his hand on my butt and guided me through the kitchen, past the living room and into a bedroom in the back. Even in the dark I could tell that the house, though spartanly furnished, had been recently updated. It was in stark contrast to the shabby outside.
He put our two beers on a nightstand then pulled my sweaty body close to his. Though at about 5' 10" he was a few inches shorter than me, he looked up into my eyes and said, "Bud, we are only gonna do what you are ready for, so stop me if something's beyond your comfort level." Then as if to test the waters, he pulled me closer and kissed me.
The moment my close-cropped goatee mingled with his full beard, the moment when his lips met mine, I sensed I was ready for more than I might have guessed. One hand stroked my freshly shaved head, while the other reached into my shorts and kneaded my butt. I responded in a similar fashion, running my fingers through his hair, and slipping my hand into his cut offs. He was commando, so I had a hand full of hairy man-ass. The shorts were the only thing he was wearing, my hand slid around to the front and unzipped him before I shucked them down.
He stopped our kiss, broke away, stepped out of the shorts that puddled at his feet. He smirked, his dick, slightly longer than mine, angled up to the left and throbbed with every heartbeat. "Bud," he said. "I can tell we are gonna have some fun. Let's get you out of those shorts."
Hunter pushed me down on the bed, removed my running shoes and socks then yanked me to the edge of the bed where he made me lift my ass as he took off my running shorts which he threw by the shoes. Hunter then grabbed the waistband of my jock, stretching it over my ample ass. "Naw, let's keep that on," Hunter said before slowly pulling the pouch aside. My fat dick and full balls sprung free, causing precum to ooze as I hardened. Hunter took advantage of the dim light to look at me. "Give me your phone" he said. I undid my armband and handed it to him. He put it on the nightstand. "Do you mind? I like the light on when I play with someone sexy like you."
I nodded. I couldn't put my thoughts into words. Less than an hour before Linda had okayed a hypothetical scenario and there I was. I had just kissed a man, and I was about to, I didn't even know what I was about to do with a man, but I knew it was new to me and I was ready for it.
The lamp provided enough light to add a glow to our bodies. I sat back on the bed, resting on my elbows as Hunter walked towards me stroking his dick. I breathed slowly, regaining the calm I felt in the woods. I took this man at his words, I trusted him, but I almost didn't trust myself. I lost all self-trust as he climbed on the bed, straddle my waist, and said, "You ever suck a dick before, Bud?"
"Once, at a glory hole with my wife," I said, regretting my honesty.
"That's fuckin' hot, Bud. Here's your second." Hunter held the back of my shaved head as he fed me his dick slowly. Soon, I had a mouth full of cock, and it was nudging at my throat. Hunter held my head with both hands as he slowly ground his hips. I inhaled his scent, his musk, his essence. "This is much better than at a glory hole, isn't it?" he asked. But my mouth was full of dick so I couldn't answer I could only nod.
Hunter face-fucked me for a few strokes then slowly pulled out. His left hand held my head while the other stroked up the length of his dick, coaxing a pearl of precum to the slit. I knew what was coming, or more likely what I needed, I opened my mouth and stuck out my tongue. Hunter smeared the precum on my tongue then plunged his dick in, this time his entire length, filling my throat. "Oh fuck," he all but yelled. "We are gonna have so much fun, Bud."
Hunter yanked his dick from my mouth, slapping my face with it once it was free. As intense as it was, what followed was spirited. He joined me on the bed as we explored each other's bodies with hands, lips, tongues, and dicks. Not much was said beyond guttural asides, I know I was too busy licking the fur on his tight gut, sucking dick, and exploring a man to get any words out.
Hunter had a thing for my balls, that soon became apparent. At one point I laid back and let him have at it. I slowly stroked through his hair as he nursed one ball, then the other. He looked me in my eye as he licked, then inhaled my ball-scent. I mouthed "Oh fuck" as he switched to the other, then switched to my dick.
I scooted around so we could 69. His grunts grew chaotic and enthusiastic as we sucked each other. He started to play with my butt. One finger breached my hole as he greedily sucked my dick. Soon, one became two. Linda had fingered me before. However, Hunter's fingers were thicker, yet my ass welcomed them. Soon he pulled his fingers out, spat on his hand, and went back to my dick. My mouth was filled with his pistoning rod, so I almost missed when a third finger joined the other two.
Almost, I mean, almost. That third finger stopped me in my tracks. I pulled my mouth off his dick. He kept his fingers in me as he stopped sucking me. "Like that, Bud?" he asked as he frigged my butt. "Say hello to your prostate," he said as he pushed deeper into my ass.
Hunter was fully in control. I was like a puppet manipulated by the talented fingers inside me. I lifted my ass off the bed. I knew where this was heading, and I told myself I was ready for it. Hunter pulled out, got between my legs, and stroked his dick. The smirk was replaced by a look that bordered on a scowl. "I've been watching that ass for weeks, waiting for this moment. Are you still good with this, Bud?"
I nodded; words escaped me. That ended the moment he lifted my legs, ran his beard over my butt and plunged his tongue into my well-worked hole. "Oh, FLYING FUCK," I all but yelled.
He pulled his face from my butt. "That good, eh? Never have your ass ate before. Never been rimmed?"
"Not by someone with a beard," I admitted. "But don't let me stop you."
"Try and make me, Bud," Hunter said then went back to rimming. That isn't all he did. He rimmed, plunged fingers into me, tongued my balls and stroked my dick and coaxed even more precum out. The last part just kept on happening. As Hunter was snorting and licking and stroking, my dick kept on drooling. Precum made us messy, we didn't care.
He was ready, I was ready, my ass was ready. Hunter's intense look came back as he lifted my legs onto his shoulders and placed his knob against my hole. "Ready, Bud?" he asked.
I answered by pushing my butt forward. Hunter's smirk returned as he slowly fed his dick to my butt, my eyes rolling back when he bottomed out. Once, Linda tried to peg me with a strap-on, but it did nothing for me. But this furry Otter, with his flesh and blood dick was filling me balls-deep with a warmth and strength I knew I would forever need. That need grew with each stroke.
My hole responded by loosening up and gripping him tighter. At one point he reacted by going deep, then leaned in and whispered, "That brings a whole new meaning to your nickname, Clutch."
He laughed his ass off at his joke but continued to fuck me. In fact, his fucking became powerful, almost too intense, but like the clutch player I am, I rose to the occasion. I reached up and tweaked his nipples, I sensed he was into that. It drove him wild. He was hitting my prostate with every stroke. I pumped out precum as we fucked. Lately I had been into prolonged edging, holding back on cumming, but I needed to nut and soon, and I needed his nut in me.
"Fill me up Hunter," I yelled.
Hunter lifted my butt higher, hit my prostate three more times and roared as he filled my butt with cum. When his orgasm ended, he pulled out and scarfed down my dick and I filled his mouth.
He savored my load then laid next to me, swapping cum as we kissed.
"Clutch huh?" I laughed. "You knew who I was all this time?"
"Yeah, you were my first crush, Collin." Watching you made me realize I was Gay. I was a freshman, and you were a senior. I doubt you knew who I was. Five years of age was a big difference back then, but doesn't seem like much now, does it?"
"I guess being fucked is a great equalizer. How did you know I'd be open to all of this?" I asked.
"After 20-plus years I just willed it, Clutch. You don't know how many loads I've had because of you, but this one was the best."
My smile said it all. We laid there, stroked each other's fur then I pulled him close and cuddled. In a half hour, we learned much about each other. I found out that he had put sex on hold as he took care of his dad, and he learned about the open relationship that Linda and I had. He told me about a secluded lake cabin not too far away that he planned a week at. I let it slip that I had a week's vacation coming up.
For someone whose experience with men had involved a glory hole often with a partition between us, holding Hunter felt natural. The silent buzz of my phone took us out of our intimacy. "It's the wife," I said as I returned her text.
"Stopped by a friend's place for a beer."
"Great, letting off some steam?
"Uh huh."
I saw the rolling ... on my phone letting me know she was replying. I expected the response was going to either be lengthy or well thought out. Her reply was simple:
"I hope you had fun, and I hope I don't know her. Not sure I could deal with that."
"Well... about that, I know the rules. You don't know h..."
"Him?"
"About fucking time. I always thought you were Bi. Speaking of fucking time, don't let me interrupt that. And don't forget, our bed is off limits."
"Really?"
"Really. Take all the fucking time you need. Just know that when I'm back in a month, your beautiful ass is mine."
"So... if I told you he has a cabin, and we are going to spend a week there?"
"I trust you if the cabin has strong cell coverage. I expect updates, and pics.
"Really?"
"Fuck it, who knows??? Yeah, REALLY."
When I was done, I showed my phone to Hunter. He scrolled through the message while stroking his dick. I snuggled behind him; my own dick wedged against his ass crack. His stomach growled, so I grabbed my phone and opened an app. As Assistant Fire Chief I knew his address, like I knew everyone's in town. Quickly, I ordered dinner.
"We have 45 minutes `til food arrives, got any idea how we can spend it?" I asked.
"I don't know, but I'll come through in the clutch, Clutch."
"Well, here's my appetizer," I said as I scooted down and rimmed my first man-ass.
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