Fresh Start Chapter 1 by Jay Love aka Jim
Hi Everyone,
This is the story of a male/male relationship. I don't know where the story is going now, for it is just forming. However, I do want to offer a caution: If you are not of legal age to be reading this material where you live, please leave now. And if you are offended by the subject matter, get over yourself. Gay love has, is, and will be here until the end of time. Respect it!
If by chance you see yourself, or someone you know, in the storyline, it is merely a coincidence. These characters are a mixture of fiction and reality: fiction in that they are not real; reality in that this situation might be familiar to someone.
Anyhow, I hope that you enjoy what I've written, and I encourage comments, positive and negative, as they help me to be a better writer. You may contact me at jimmy7@comcast.net mailto:jimmy7@comcast.net I look forward to hearing from you.
The year is 1998.
I'm two blocks away from the entrance to the apartment development where I am moving when I see a moving van make a right into the entrance.
Recognizing the logo that is painted on the side as the company I had hired, I am glad to see they were not too far ahead of my schedule.
As I make the next red traffic light, I observe another van, from the same company I had hired, pull into the complex entrance.
I wonder if someone was else is moving in, or maybe someone was moving out. After all, this is the first of the month, so either scenario is possible.
I pull around to my unit, building 21, Unit A. The apartments are actually designed as duplexes. There were only two apartments to a building. Mine, Unit A, on the left, and unit B, to the right. And we share a common entry with the door leading to a foyer with opposing doors that lead to the units at the back of a short hall.
Upon entering the apartment, one arrives at the living room/dining room combination, and a kitchen/laundry area is at the rear. Doors lead from the kitchen onto the back patio, which is enclosed in a brick fence. A wall separates the backyards of the two units, and encloses the property.
What I like most are the highly polished, light oak stairs that lead to the second floor where there are two bedrooms. There are also two baths, one for the master bedroom, and another full bath for guests. The same light oak adorn all the floors of the house, except the kitchen and baths, which are tiled in a deep cranberry, a compliment to the stainless appliances.
By the time I make it to the unit, I notice that both vans are stopped at the same unit, and the movers have begun to unload boxes of things from the vans onto the little lawn out front. I hadn't even realized the right side was unoccupied.
I park my car, and, I see what could only be described as an Adonis, walk out of the door. He's directing the crew of men as they remove items from the vans.
I walk up just as he's sending a workman into my unit with a box.
"Hi, I'm Stan, Stanley Davis," I say, extending my hand to the Adonis, "and you are?"
"Rich. Richard Young. It looks like we're neighbors," he says, gripping my hand with his big paw. He has a firm handshake, and I notice the muscles flex in his hairy arms as he grips me. I like how square and wide his shoulders are, and I have to keep myself from going off on a tangent imagining me holding on to those shoulders as he plows into my ass.
Up close, I see just how handsome Rich really is. Seeing as I stand six-four, he stands about my height, maybe an inch or two taller. Blonde hair covers his head, and I can see tuffs of it spill over the collar of his polo shirt. He also has the deepest pools of blue for eyes that I have ever seen. I realize I can easily get lost swimming in those eyes.
The square line of his jaw is set firmly, and his chin is cleft, adding character to his face. And when he smiles I see gleaming white teeth, and the hint of dimples in his jowls.
Rich has broad shoulders (back to those shoulders again), which taper down to a trim waist, and strong hairy thighs and legs protrude from the cuffs of the shorts he is wearing.
I smile to myself. Richard has big feet, too. You know the old adage, big hands, and big feet equal big . . . ? Well, you know what I'm getting at. And I bet he's nice and fat, sort of the Roto-Rooter type.
Rich is smiling brightly, displaying a set of dimples on his cheeks, and a 100-watt smile that immediately puts me at ease. I also realize that he is going to become a good friend^×maybe more, I hope. But I'll settle for friends.
Working in harmony with him, it takes the movers about three hours to finally unload our things, and get them in the right apartment. It also gave us the opportunity to get to know each other better. Conversation only affirmed my earlier conclusion that he and I are destined to become friends.
They struggle to get my king-sized waterbed frame up the stairs, but they finally make it. They also struggle with the armoire, and they manage to do the tasks without scratching up the floor or the walls.
Thankfully, the guys are able to place my furniture as I wish, so by the time early evening arrives, I am almost set up, having unpacked most of the boxes.
I set about to load the tubes of the waterbed into place and get them filled. After all, I do need a place to sleep tonight, and although the couch is comfortable, I always prefer my bed unless I can get a better offer.
I am just getting the last tube at the right consistency when I hear a `Stan?' from the lower level. Realizing that it is Rich, I call to him telling him that I'm upstairs.
Before I can seal the tube and come downstairs, Rich is standing at my bedroom door with a box in his arms. I can't help but notice how his muscles bulge from the exertion, and I find myself speechless until he breaks the silence.
"I think this is your box. I don't recognize any of this stuff inside. I don't have any of this stuff. I think I might need it, but I don't have it," he rambles on.
"What are you talking about?" I ask, snapping from my trance and taking the box from him, opening it. Inside are an assortment of kitchen towels and oven mitts, along with a few small kitchen appliances.
"Oh man, a waterbed. I always wanted one of those, but my ex didn't like the idea. Kept saying that everything would get ruined if it sprung a leak. How does it sleep?"
"Great!" I croak, as the combination of his work and deodorant reach my nostrils. It's not offensive, but ^Ö manly ^Ö like Rich. "And you don't have to worry about spillage, they self-seal if punctured." Even I can hear the catch in my voice, so I'm not surprised by the look that he gives me. But he says nothing.
Rich moves to the other side of the bed as I begin to spread the sheets on it, helping me to make the bed.
"So, I take it you're married?" I fish. I try to put some life back into my voice. Even the straightest of straights know when someone is disappointed sexually. And that's me, at the moment. I still would like for him to be my friend.
"I said my ex. I'm divorced. What about you?"
"Me too. A little over a year now." That's right. I finally admitted that I was gay. It cost me quite a bit to get out of the marriage, but to be happy it was worth it. I'm lucky because there is no animosity between my ex-wife and I. Just a friendly parting of the ways. Luckily, the majority of my assets were protected from the proceedings, or I'd still be living a miserable life. (laugh)
"Any kids?"
"Nah. You?"
"Nah, for which I'm grateful. The ex and I are not on good terms," he chuckles. He has a nice laugh.
"Say, I'm about to take a break. Do you wanna grab something to eat? I'm starving," I say.
"I really should finish unpacking, but what the hell. I've signed a two-year lease on this place, so I guess I have until then to get unpacked. Just let me run home and change."
"No need to change. I was thinking Mickey D's or BK. How does that sound?
"That's good by me, but I do need to shower. I'm a little ripe."
"So, that's what that smell is," I joke.
"I wouldn't brag if I were you," Rich says, heading down the stairs. "Give me about fifteen?"
"Ya got ten!" I smile.
That was the beginning. As I predicted, Rich and I became the very best of friends, and over the next two years, we managed to co-exist happily as neighbors. As we signed our second lease, the manager indicated that there might be some changes in the future, but he wasn't sure what they would be. He told us not to worry, though. It wouldn't affect our lease.
Rich, like me, was an avid sports fan. We played tennis, found pick-up games of basketball in the park, had a group that we joined to play some tag-football on Sundays, and even found ourselves on the local softball team during the spring and summer.
It was sometime during our togetherness that I realized I thought of Rich as more than a friend. At first, the realization was disturbing. Rich, after all, had been a married, straight man. He'd date on occasion, but he was basically a homebody, like me.
But the more time that I spent with Rich, the more I thought of what it would be like to be with him . . . sexually! Thoughts that I tried to put aside. But many a night I'd find myself thinking of Rich as I satisfied the pressure in my balls.
Being around all those men should have been enough to satisfy any fantasy that I had, and give me quite a bit more material to work with. A few of them even managed to slyly hit on me, or make overt gestures. I was flattered, but Rich is the one that I want, and they don't stand a chance. Besides, for them it would have been just sex. The ones who hit on me were married, and I wasn't about to get caught up in their hetero/homo games. Please, I played that game. Besides, I found it offensive because to all known, everyone was straight. I guess horniness, even among married men, exists. Boys will be boys, I guess. Rich also confessed that he had received similar suggestions when we discussed it over beers one night after the season ended.
I was lucky enough to get tickets to the Yankee/Red Sox Playoff Game through my job, and naturally I thought of Rich. So, he and I left for the Big Apple the Friday morning before the game. Our plan was to make it a "boys weekend" in New York.
We are both big Yankee fans, and celebrated their victory over Boston late into the New York nightlife. So, it is with some challenging maneuvering that we arrive back at our hotel room, drunk, and clinging onto each other all the way.
"I really had a good time tonight," Rich slurred, falling face first across one of the beds. I still don't know how we got the door open.
"Yeah, I did too," I answer.
"You shouldn't have let me drink so much. If I have a hangover in the morning, it's your fault."
"My fault? How is it going to be my fault? Besides, you let me drink too much, and I have to drive home."
"Because, babe, you're suppose to look after me." Those were the last words that he spoke before sleep overcame him.
Did he call me babe? Sober moment, Stan. Could he be having feelings for me? I know my feelings for him have gotten stronger, and each day found me wanting him more. I look at his prone form across the bed. The pleasure I could make you feel, I think.
I tug at my clothing, removing them. I also manage to remove Rich's before I pour myself into bed. I leave him in his boxers. Tempting, but I know I don' t want him that way. My dick is raging, hearing him call me babe, so, while feasting on his prone body, I satisfy some of the need that I was experiencing. Rich can't hear me. He's out to the world.
The next morning, I kept looking for signs of his `slip', but things were back to normal, or what we were considering normal.
The trip back home is uneventful, with Rich still sleeping off his hangover. Thankfully, my head is pretty clear so I can drive. But I can't get past the `babe'. I didn't imagine or dream it. He actually called me babe. That gives me some hope, and that hope sustains me on the five-hour trip back to Virginia.
"I was in the management office the other day to drop off my check," Rich began one Saturday after we came home from the gym. I realized that it had been about two and a half years since we had moved into our units. "Did you know we can buy these units instead of leasing them?"
"No," I answer, not knowing where this conversation was heading.
"Well, I decided to buy, so I guess I'm a homeowner now."
"You mean you're my landlord?"
"No, I'm only purchasing my half. This half still belongs to the management company. It's a good deal, too. I still get all the maintenance and services that you get, for a nominal yearly fee, but it's not that much. The agent said that a lot of people are doing that these days."
"Really? Are the units expensive?"
"Not really. This unit was only $65K I pay just fifty dollars more than my rent, and I was able to secure a fixed loan, so I don't have to worry about a balloon payment down the line. They'll even pay half the closing cost for me."
"That's all?"
"Yep."
"That sounds like a really good deal. I think I might look into doing the same. Do you think you could stomach me as a permanent neighbor? Or until some woman comes along and snatches you up?" I sneak a peek at him to see his reaction.
"Don't have to worry about the woman. I'm not going down that road again. But, I don't know," he says grasping his chin in his long fingers. "You do have some bad habits that I really think we should address before you make this your permanent home," he teases.
"Ah, fuck you!" I retort.
"Not right now^×maybe later." I see a glint in his eyes that I had never noticed before. But I couldn't tell if he was serious or not. We often tease each other with sexual innuendo. "Hey, you want to hit the local watering hole tonight? I feel like celebrating my new status."
"I don't know^ÅI'm not really into the bar scene," I say.
"Aw, come on! You haven't really gone out in a while, and you've got to be tired of pulling your little weenie by now. Besides, we need to celebrate! We're going to be homeowners now," he chuckles.
"Been checking me out, huh? I thought I saw you looking a little long at me in the shower today." He punches me in the arm. "Ow!" I feign hurt. "Okay, what time?"
Ignoring my remark, he continues, "ten good for you?"
"Alright, then get the fuck out so that I can get some rest. Wake me about eight so that I can get dressed."
"Fuck you," he smiles. "You should be waking me."
"Not now^×maybe later," I tease, tossing his words back at him.
"Just set your alarm." He grabs his gear, and heads out the door.
Despite my apprehension, I can say that I am having a good time tonight. The club is really nice, and there is a good crowd. Rich seems to be having a good time as well, and with his good looks, the women are mercilessly throwing themselves at him. He gets a few glances from some men as well, I notice. He smiles and flirts, but didn't really take anyone up on their offers, and some of the women are very obvious. I secretly smile to myself at their brazenness.
It's karaoke night at the club. And I have the good fortune to run into Allison, one of my co-workers. Despite my protests, she bullies me into singing, bragging about my voice, saying that I am always singing at the office, and Rich joins her as an ally, encourage me to give the crowd a class act.
"Aw, come on Stan. Pretty please?" Allison says, batting her eyes.
"Aw, please?" Rich adds, batting his eyes also. Then he does the ultimate man-thing. He challenges me. "Or are you chicken. C-H-I-C-K-E-N!"
I take the bait, and Rich insists on picking out the song for me. The thought of Rich doing this has me really, really nervous, but he promises that I will like the song he going to select. Allison had already gotten a list of the songs from the guy in the corner who runs the music, and they are busy pouring over the list.
"Oh yeah," Allison says. "His voice is made for this song."
"What song?" I ask, not really trusting the two of them as they sit there with their heads together. Allison is definitely flirting with Rich, and I can tell he's pretending not to notice.
"You said you will let us do this," Rich says. "Trust us." I roll my eyes at them. He gets up and dashes over to the DJ.
"Here are the words," he says, coming back to the table handing me a sheet of music.
"Run To You as sung by Whitney Houston?" I read aloud.
"Do you know it?" Allison asks.
"I've heard it," I admit. I read through the words, trying to familiarize myself with them, and what I imagine the notes sound like. It's a pretty song, if I remember correctly. A very soulful ballad.
"The words will be on the teleprompter," Rich says snatching the music from my hand. Before I can react, I hear my name called. That was quick.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen, our last performer of the evening . . . er . . . Stan Davis!" Such enthusiasm. Of course, Rich and Allison are on their feet applauding the loudest, and I blush at their enthusiasm.
I hesitantly make my way to the stage. The last time I'd did this I was in college, and drunk!
"Good . . . good evening, everyone. Wow! I'm a headliner," I say nervously. "My friends have persuaded me to make a fool of myself tonight," I continue drawing a little laughter, "so, if you'll kindly indulge them and me, I'd like to sing Run To You as once performed by Whitney Houston. I know, I know, they should have selected a male singer, but they seem to think I'll do adequately with this song, or make a complete fool of myself.
Please, if you don't like it, please don't throw food or hard objects at me as I bruise easily. Money, paper money, will do just fine." This time more laughter as the music cues . . .
Oooh, I know that when you look at me, There's so much that you just don't see. But if you would only take the time, I know in my heart you'd find, Oh a boy that's scared sometimes who isn't always strong, Can't you see the hurt in me? I feel so all alone.
I wanna run to you, ooo, I wanna run to you, ooo. Won't you hold me in your arms, And keep me safe from harm?
I wanna run to you, ooo, But if I come to you, ooo. Tell me will you stay or Will you run away?
My eyes focus in on Rich. He is sitting, staring intently at me as I bellow the words coming across the video monitor. There is such intensity in his eyes, and I suddenly feel very weak in the knees as a hot flash envelopes my body.
Each day, each day I play the role, Of someone always in control. But at night I come home and turn the key There's nobody there . . . No one cares for me.
Oh, what's the sense of trying hard to find your dreams? Without someone to share it with, tell me what does it mean?
I wanna run to you, ooo, I wanna run to you, ooo. Won't you hold me in your arms, And keep me safe from harm?
I wanna run to you, ooo, But if I come to you, ooo. Tell me will you stay? Will you run away? Run away?
Oh, I need you here. I need you here to wipe away my tears. To kiss away my fears . . . Oh, if you only knew how much
I wanna run to you, ooo, I wanna run to you, ooo. Would you hold me in your arms, And keep me safe from harm?
I run to you, ooo, But if I come to you, ooo. Tell me will you stay or Will you run away?
I sang that song to Rich, and only Rich. The room had become a vacuum, with only he and I there to hear the words of love that I felt the songwriters meant me to sing.
Rich was staring at me. I couldn't see what his eyes were saying as the room was dimly lit. But he was leaning forward in his seat, his stare upon me. I think he knew that that song had been for him.
I didn't even know how the song had been received. There was absolute silence in the bar. Suddenly, there is the sound of thunderous applause as I am catapulted into reality. I look to see people clapping and cheering, but my eyes are drawn back to Rich, hoping for his approval. After what seems like an eternity, I see a smile flash across his face, and he, too, stands to clap. For the first time in a great while, I smile a smile of recognition, of love.
The song really brought people to the table to offer their appreciation at my offering. A few of the women were checking Rich out. I really could have decked them. He was very polite, but let them know he wasn't looking to hook up this evening.
I wasn't left out in the cold myself. I was hit upon by many of the clientele there. There were quite a few fresh meat looks passed my way during the night. To say they made me a little uncomfortable is an understatement, and after the song, I was really the center stage.
Soon, the DJ was pumping the tunes again, and Rich and I were soon hauled out onto the floor, but when I looked in his direction, his eyes were on me.
There was this blonde there that was really cute, and we danced a few dances together. She had some pretty good moves on the dance floor. As we left the floor, she reached into her cleavage, producing a business card giving me her phone number and encouraging me to call her. She had been grinding herself against me for the last two songs. I guess she liked what she felt below.
Shortly after she left, Rich told me that he was ready to leave, surprising both me and the young lady that he had entertained most of the evening. I could tell that she had already made other plans that included him waking up in her bed tomorrow, or visa versa.
"How about a nightcap?" Rich asks as we opened the door.
"Sure." I follow him into his place, by now very familiar to me, as he heads to his wet bar. He pours us each a tall glass of Scotch, and tossed in a few cubes of ice.
"Trying to get me drunk?" I ask. "Think that's gonna make me easy?" I tease. There had been a ^Ö comfortable? ^Ö silence on the way home; kind of like the tension when someone wants to say something, but doesn't know how to begin.
"Is that all it takes? A glass of Scotch?" His back is turned to me as he says the last remark, so I can't see his eyes. "Cheers!" he says, raising his glass to his delectable pink lips.
"You were fantastic tonight" he continues. "There was so much ^Ö wow ^Ö in that song. Just when I think I know all about you, you still manage to come up with a few surprises. To you, my friend," he says raising his glass.
I address his toast as I take a sip of the pungent liquor. "That's very kind," I answer. "Ya know, that girl you were dancing with wanted to take you home tonight. You could have had her stroking your teeny weenie right now instead of sitting here with me."
"She was cute and all," he says, "but she's not my type. Besides, I' m hoping for something that might be a hell of a lot better." I see a glint of something spark in his blue eyes.
"Oh yeah? You've been holding out on me?"
"Not at all. I'll let you know in due time. It's just that right now the timing isn't right, and^Å" he hesitates, "since this is something that's new, I'd like to wait until things are a little more sure."
"You're being mighty cryptic this evening," I add, hoping I'm hiding the disappointment in my voice.
"What about you? That young pumpkin that you were with was all over you. Why aren't you letting her try to find your dick with her magnifying glass? I'm sure she'd have taken pity and Run To You, he sings."
"Ha-ha! I guess the timing isn't right. Besides, things are just a little too new for me^×still. Besides, like you, I think I want something different this time around. I think there might be a possibility, but not quite sure how it's gonna play out. Kind of afraid to get started, know what I mean?"
Looking at me thoughtfully, Rich replies softly, "yeah, I do."
I finish my drink, and head off to my apartment, thanking Rich for getting me out tonight. I close my door behind me, not bothering to lock it. Rich and I haven't locked our door since we moved into our apartments. I lean against the door, as the words escape my mouth, "if you only knew Rich^×if you only knew!"
I climb the stairs to my bedroom, and start to undress. Just as I'm laying down, the telephone rings.
"Just wanted to say, again, thanks for going out with me tonight. I had a really good time."
"Me too," I answer Rich.
"Oh, and for the record? I'd stay." He hangs up before I can respond. I debate whether to call him back, but I slowly replace the phone in its receiver.
One Friday during the next month, I decided to take the day off from work, and when Rich learns that I had done that, he managed to get the day off also. The weather was still beautiful, and I really wanted to get a few small errands done that I had been putting off before the winter months set upon us.
But Rich has other ideas, and lures me to golf with him, and we played 18 holes early that morning, then went to the beach that afternoon. We got into a volleyball game with a few other fellows, and had a really enjoyable time.
By the time we arrive back home, we are two tired and sore fellows. It hurts even to get out of the car. Thank God, he drove!
"I'm going to have a shower, and then a nice, long soak in the hot tub," I say. We had already ate, having stopped by a nice Italian restaurant on the way home.
"Yeah, that sounds good. Mind if I joined you?"
"Where? The shower or the hot tub," I ask, batting my eyes at him.
"You'd love to get me naked in the shower with you," he teases back. "I know you're perving the bod. The hot tub, you dufuss!"
"Oh, don't tease me, big boy," I camp. "If I said `yeah, I mind', would that stop you?"
"No."
"Then make sure you don't come empty handed. A couple of tall delicious drinks are warranted after the hell you put me through today."
"I even may have something else that you'd like," he says coyly.
I give him one of my quizzical looks while thinking that he does have something that I would like. Instead I say, "hurry your tired ass up!"
For a gag gift, one of my friends gave me a yellow thong with the words `Happy Divorce' ballooned from a Happy Face as a present. I decided to put that on, since I had yet to do laundry. The happy face is right over the pouch. I chuckled, and slipped it up my hips. It fits really well, I think, admiring myself in the mirror.
I pause to take stock in my reflection. Not bad. The constant exercise that I get helps to keep me trim. No love handles, and no paunch in my flat stomach. I am proud to say that I still have the same body I had when I graduated college, just a little bulkier now that I work out more.
"I couldn't find anything to wear," Rich says, coming from his kitchen onto the patio, tray in hand. Since we had both decided to buy our units, we had the wall taken down between our properties, and purchased an in-ground hot tub together. We'd talked about getting an above ground pool too. I noticed he had a towel around his waist. He places the tray on the built-in shelf. I also see that in addition to a pitcher of Margaritas, there are a couple of fat joints rolled.
"Counselor!" I admonish pointing at the joints.
"Don't act like you've never . . . "
"Let's just say I've been known to inhale on occasion. So, what's with the towel?"
"I figured what the hell? Let me satisfy your curiosity^×and give you something to dream about." With that said, he removes his towel, and stands before me in all his glory. We really have privacy since our unit is at the end of a cul-de-sac backing up against a lake. No one can see into our property unless they are directly behind our units on the lake.
I'd seen Rich naked on more than one occasion now, since we had become gym rats together. But this ^Ö this is up close, and personal. "I guess I have to re-evaluate my appraisal of you," I say, whistling my approval. Rich had to hang at least five inches soft. His fat, pink serpent was crowned with a forest of wiry, blonde hair, and two large pink lemon-size balls were snuggled in a hairy sack underneath.
"So, do I get an apology?" he asks, striking a superman pose.
"Just get your ass in here."
"So, it's my ass you like better?" he chuckles, turning around.
"Fuck you, bitch," I counter.
He laughs it off, and climbs in, and I get a quick glimpse of his pink pucker as he sits directly beside me. It seemed to me as if the water has gotten fifty-degrees hotter. He gives me a drink from the tray, and then offers a toast.
"To you, Stan. Thanks for making this a great day, and for being my friend. You mean a lot to me, more than you know." He clinks my glass, leaving me speechless. Rich smiles one of those 100-watt smiles, melting my heart.
I want to lean over and kiss him so badly, but I don't, still afraid to let him know how I feel, although I'm sure that he has been giving me clues for a while now.
"You haven't slipped me a `roofie', have you?"
"You'd love it if I did," he retorts.
He reaches over and grabs one of the joints he's rolled, placing it in a clip, and lighting it. He takes a couple of tokes before passing it to me.
Soon, with a combination of the drinks and the pot, neither of us is feeling any pain, and we start to get kind of silly.
"What's this?" Rich asks, fingering my trunks. "Stand up!" His touch is electric. "Here I am sitting here in all my glory, and you're here covered up, and with a damn happy face, too. How pathetic?"
"What? I had nothing else to wear," I slur.
"If you have nothing to wear, wear nothing," that's my motto. "Besides, I showed you mine. Now show me yours," he answers. "It's only fair."
"You really want me neked? Need a little fantasy material?" I ask, using his earlier dialect.
"Yeah, get neked," he says. I watch as he unconsciously wets his lips. "Besides, you haven't lived until you feel the jets blowing water on your dick and balls. Probably what you need to make it grow." I look at him, and he looks at me. I think the recognition of what he just said caught up with us as we both howl in laughter.
Almost as if in a trance, I hook my thumbs into the waist of my thong, and begin to lower them down my hips. They get stuck in the crack of my ass, causing us both to laugh at the situation.
"I always knew you were a tight ass," he remarks.
"And you want it," I return.
"Yeah, baby," he swoons, simulating, I think, stroking his cock below the water.
I finally free myself, and step out of the thong. My own cock is dangling in front of me, a little fatter due to the situation.
"Impressive," he says, as he whistles. "Is that thing legal?" I sit back next to him.
We sit in the tub for another half hour, soaking and laughing, and having that final joint. Rich looks at me, noticing my prune-like appearance. We both start laughing, noticing the wrinkles of our skin, and decide we had better get out before we get any more wrinkled.
"I'm still sore," Rich says, as he dries off.
"Yeah, me too. What we really need is a good massage."
"Ooh, that sounds good. Tell you what, you do me and I'll do you. Okay?"
"Huh?"
"You do me, and I'll do you. The massage?"
"I don't know. Do you even know how to give a massage?"
"I give the best massages in the world. Try me!" Rich bats his eyelashes at me. "Of course, if you don't trust yourself?"
I bend over to retrieve the towel I dropped when a sharp pain strikes me in my lower back, and I cry out as he slaps me on the ass.
"Come on," Rich says, grabbing me around the waist. "Let's go upstairs."
Even in my pained condition, I couldn't help my hormones from racing as Rich gripped me firmly around the waist dragging me along.
I could feel the blood flowing from my body to the `little head' as I felt myself enveloped in his hairy arms.
At first, I struggled, wanting to reassure myself, and Rich, that this spasm wasn't that serious. Then I asked myself why was I fighting what I really wanted? To be in his arms, even if this was not the way I wanted it. And I decided to go along to see how this was going to play out.
"Sit down on the bed," Rich instructs. He goes into my bath, and returns with some towels and a bottle of coconut oil body lotion that I had in there. He lays the towels out on the bed, and I am then instructed to lie down on my stomach.
"Me first?"
"You first," he says.
"Suppose your massage relaxes me enough to fall asleep?" I ask.
"Then you might be a little tender in places when you awaken," he giggles.
Once I am in position, I hear the cap being snapped on the bottle as Rich pours some of the lotion into his hand. He rubs his big paws together to warm the liquid, and then attacks my shoulders and neck.
It feels so good having his hands on me in this fashion. Rich is still naked, and I can feel the heat of his strong, hairy legs against me, and occasionally, his fat dick will graze my skin. A soft moan of pleasure escapes my lips as my muscles begin to relax under Rich's manipulations.
His hands begin to drift lower on my back as he kneads the flesh. "You know, you've really got a great body," he almost whispers.
"Oh," I moan, as his thumb glides across the small of the back.
"Did I hurt you?" Rich quickly asks, concern evident in his voice.
"No, this feels sooo good. Don't stop," I encourage. I can feel my body responding as his hands continue downward. Just as I am anticipating him grabbing my ass, he stops. I feel him move, shifting positions.
He pours some more oil in his palms, warms it, and proceeds to massage my left foot, rolling the flesh in his hands. It's a good thing I'm not ticklish, or I'd be in serious trouble now.
He moves over to the right foot, giving it the same treatment. Then, adding more oil, he begins to slip his hands up my calf, and onto the lower portion of my thigh, just above the knee. He repeats the process on the other leg.
Suddenly, I feel him straddle my left leg, his hairier ones separating my own, and my now exposed dick goes mega-hard under me. His hands have not stopped their progression, and soon he brushes my ass and balls with his fingertips. I don't react, and he does it again.
He applies more oil to his hand, and begins to push and pull the globes of my ass.
"Is this okay?" he asks.
"Uh-huh," I answer as I gulp for air.
His fingers begin to play tag with my balls. I can tell that his breathing has changed, and when he shifts positions so that he can reach again to my back, I can feel his arousal.
I gasp as his thumbs stroke down the crevice of my ass, parting the cheeks, and exposing my most private area to him. Involuntarily, my hips launch off the bed and my legs spread in support of the teasing appendages.
"Stan?" Rich says, sitting up.
"Yeah, I think it's time we talk," I answer.
"Let me go lock up, and I'll be right back." He still hasn't lost his hard-on, and neither have I, I notice, as he pads naked out the room...
"Promise?"
"Oh, I promise," he says, and heads down the stairs. I watch his tight ass as he goes through the door, and wonder if tonight I am going to know the charms of Mr. Richard Young. My dick gets harder and I start to leak.