Warning: the following story contains graphic descriptions of sex between consenting adult males. If you are underage or do not wish to read such materials, or if reading this sort of material is illegal in your jurisdiction, then read no further. If you have any feedback or encouragement, feel free to drop me a line at niftyguy_30307@yahoo.com.
I slept late the next morning. By the time I woke up, sunlight was streaming through the windows, causing the stained glass panels in the top panes to cast a mosaic of colored shadows onto the old, thick rugs that covered the wide planks of the floor. I just lay there for a few minutes after my eyelids fluttered open, savoring the soft firmness of the mattress that was suspended between the carved mahogany posts. Thanks to the ceiling fan and the air conditioning (a modern convenience that Uncle Ed had felt very guilty about installing just five years before), a cool breeze blew softly through the room, enabling me to enjoy my burrow under the antique quilt despite the fact that summer had already arrived.
Eventually, reluctantly, I roused myself and padded downstairs to make some coffee and what turned out to be a real sausage and eggs breakfast. I couldn't help but smile at the irony of my uncle dying from a stroke suffered in the aisles of the local Piggly Wiggly; his refrigerator and freezer were already filled to the brim with unhealthy food, so I really couldn't fathom why he would have needed more. Just so that I wouldn't feel completely guilty, I sliced two of the nearly overripe peaches from the bowl of fruit on the kitchen counter.
Once breakfast was finished and the dishes were done, I opened the one door that I hadn't yet breached, the one that led into my uncle's study. It was a grand old room, one I knew well from family visits when I was a boy, when it was still my grandfather's lair. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases that groaned under the weight of dusty, leather-bound books. A pair of overstuffed couches flanked the fireplace, and at the center stood the giant desk, which, according to family legend, was fabricated from the remains of a mammoth old oak tree that had once stood about a hundred yards behind the house. Piles of books, letters, and assorted papers covered the surface of the desk, and before long I was lost in sorting through the accumulated debris of one man's life.
Eventually, after the hall clock chimed first eleven, then twelve, then one, and then finally two times, I realized that I had been sitting there for four hours. I thought briefly about making some lunch, but opted for a run instead, to counteract the effects of the late (and decadent) breakfast. I had visited Uncle Ed a number of times over the years, so I had several favorite runs to choose from. As soon as I could put on shorts and shoes (no need to bother with a t-shirt in the afternoon heat), I was on my way out of the little town and into the surrounding countryside. Everything was as I remembered, from the pastures and orchards to the creeks and barns. By the time I finally looped back around to the outskirts of Dumont and Uncle Ed's particular tree-lined street, I felt positively at peace, like I belonged there. Slowing down to walk the last block, it was almost like I was going home.
Just as I was turning to go up the driveway, a battered old pickup sputtered up the street, slowed down, pulled across the road, and stopped right in front of me. The driver, a sandy haired young man, maybe a year or two older than my neighbor across the street, leaned out and waved at me.
"Afternoon," he called, flashing a smile.
"Good afternoon to you," I replied, walking over to the truck, which was idling noisily.
"Name's Randy Brinker. You a relation to Mr. Edward?"
"Yes, I'm his nephew. Jeff MacNeil." I reached my hand out to meet his, all the while sizing him up. He was wearing a pair of overalls without any shirt, and I immediately noticed the brown, quarter-sized nipple that peeked out from behind the left side of the bib, just asking to be tweaked. His arms and chest were strong and tan, evidence of time spent working outside, and the hairs on his rippling forearms had turned into spun gold.
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. MacNeil."
"If it's all the same, you can call me Jeff."
Randy broke into a grin, causing his pale blue eyes to light up. "If you say so. I don't go so much on manners, anyway. My mama always says I got shortchanged in that department. I guess I got more than my fair share of other things, though."
I smiled. "Manners wouldn't necessarily be at the top of the list of what I'd want an extra helping of."
Randy looked like he was about to say something, but he just smirked and let it pass.
"If you don't mind me excusing myself, I think I'd better go shower," I said, looking down at my sweaty torso. The thatch of dark hairs scattered across my pecs was wet with perspiration, and a rivulet followed the trail of hairs that led from my sternum down to my navel. "I just got back from a run."
"I sure don't mean to keep you, sir. But there was something I wanted to ask you, if you don't mind. I talked to your uncle just about a week ago about me storing my equipment for my lawn business in an old shed on his land out on Timberjack Road. You know the place?"
I thought for a moment. "You know, I think I was out there once, years ago, but I'm really not sure. Have you already put your stuff out there?"
"No sir. I was just fixin' to take it out when I heard your uncle had passed, and I didn't know what to do. I don't know if you can say right now, but do you think there's any way I could still use that shed, at least for this summer? Is it gonna be yours now? It's just some mowers and other stuff, but my mama's been telling me that she wants it out of our yard, and I can't find another place to put it."
"Well, it seems like we should be able to work something out, at least while I'm settling my uncle's estate, but I probably should go take a look at the property before I give you the A-OK."
Randy broke into a broad smile. "If you like, I could come by tomorrow and we could go out together. I'll have my equipment on the truck so you can see how much it is. The deal Mr. Edward and I had was that I'd mow his lawn for free as rent, and I'd do the same for you."
I looked around at the enormous lawn that surrounded the rambling house and laughed. "I'd probably be getting the better end of that deal. Of course, at my age, I suppose I could use all the exercise I can get, too." I winked at him. "I'm trying to outrun middle age, and I think it's gaining on me."
"I don't know, Mr. Jeff. It looks to me like you're in pretty good shape."
I felt my face flush in response to this small validation. "That's nice of you to say. It sure takes more work the older you get. But you'll find that out soon enough." I winked at him once more, almost as a test this time. "Maybe I should come to work under you."
Randy looked a little puzzled, causing me to laugh.
"I was just kidding. What time will you be over tomorrow?"
"How about 10:00? I have to do the Whitehouse sisters' lawn early, but I should be done by then."
"Sounds good. I'll see you then."
Randy waved as he drove away, leaving a cloud of belching exhaust fumes in his wake. When he disappeared around the corner, I bounded the last yards up to the porch, through the front door, and up the wide staircase to the second floor. After I kicked off my shoes and skinned off my shorts, I paused momentarily in front of the full-length mirror in the hall, taking stock. Not bad, though I was either going to have to be careful about all of the deep-fried Southern cooking or ratchet up my daily mileage. Raking my hand through my thatch of dark pubic hair and grasping the base of my heavy cock, I reflected that there was at least one muscle that I needed to exercise more often, but it wasn't clear that I'd have much opportunity down here. Not that I'd done that much recently in New York. Just the thought of sex was enough to set things in motion, and an erection immediately began to spring to life. As my fat head started to poke through the moist folds of my foreskin, I briefly contemplated detouring to the bedroom for a little self-inflicted fun, but the tall downstairs clock rang four chimes. Just enough time to hop in the shower and make it downtown for a quick haircut before things closed up at 5:00. My fun would have to wait.
My watch read 4:45 as I walked up to the Main Street barber shop, freshly showered and clad in shorts, sandals, and a clean polo shirt. To my dismay, the barber was pulling down the shades right as I reached the door.
"Sorry Mister," the red-headed proprietor of the shop said as I entered. "I'm just closing up shop now. You'll have to come back tomorrow."
"Are you sure? No way I could change your mind? Even just for a little trim? It's too hot down here for this shaggy mane."
"Can't argue with that. Where you from?"
"Well, I'd tell you, but that might not help me get a haircut."
The young barber smiled, crinkling his green eyes. "You must be a Yankee then. But I reckon I could tell that from your accent."
"I've always had family here, but I'm from New York City."
"New York City? Well, by God, I should run you off." The barber laughed and extended his hand. "Robert Wilkinson, but everyone calls me Robbie."
He had a very strong grip, causing his sturdy, freckled forearm, covered with reddish fuzz, to flex when he shook. Thick, ropy veins stood out in sharp relief. "Jeff MacNeil, pleased to meet you. I'm Ed Mayhew's nephew."
Robbie shook his head. "I was really sorry to hear Mr. Edward had passed. He was the very first haircut I did, six years ago. I've cut his hair every two weeks ever since." He pulled down the last shade, on the door. "Since you're a relation of his, I'll make an exception and cut your hair. Just don't tell anyone around town about it."
He guided me over to a chair. "You want to take that shirt off before I put the sheet on? Even with the air on, you're goin' to sweat under there. No need to spoil your shirt."
"I suppose that's a good idea."
I removed my shirt, sat down in the old-fashioned barber chair, and Robbie the barber spread the striped covering over my naked torso and began to trim my unruly locks. We chit-chatted about this and that, my family connections to Dumont, my mother's marriage to a damn Yankee, what New York was like, and the fact that he played first base for a local semi-pro baseball team.
"If I do say so myself, we're the best entertainment in town. Maybe even the only entertainment that's not behind closed doors, if you know what I mean. You should check out a game, even if it's not the Yankees."
I was very close to dozing, but I managed to grunt an assent. Sitting there in the warm and humid air, listening to my very sexy barber talk about his heroics on the baseball diamond, hearing the buzz of the clipper, feeling his strong hands roam across my scalp and through my hair, I started to get very mellow, and not a little turned on. Despite the hard-on that I had sprung, which required me to shift in the seat to relieve some of the pressure on my dick, I found myself drifting hazily between sleep and wakefulness. Finally, Robbie moved to my side to clean up a few stray hairs in front, and I could feel him press his crotch against my forearm. I didn't give an inch, and neither did he. Pretty soon it became very clear that I wasn't the only one who was sporting wood.
I decided to play it cool, but I couldn't resist pushing back just a little bit, putting some very subtle pressure on the substantial and growing package that was still encased in Robbie's jeans. I couldn't be sure that I was contending with a true dick of death, but it was clear that he was hung more than well enough to finish any job that needed to be done.
Finally, my haircut was complete. Robbie pulled the striped cloth off of me, exposing my naked torso. As I watched him in the mirror, he reached back and grabbed a powdered, bristle-hair brush, and used it to sweep the stray hairs off of the back of my neck, all the while staring openly at the enormous bulge tenting my shorts. Very slowly and deliberately, he ran his free hand over my stubbled chin and cheeks.
"Looks like you could use a shave, too."
"You think so?"
"Yeah, how `bout I throw one in, on the house?"
Who was I to argue? Before I could whistle five bars of "Dixie," I was flat on my back in the chair with a hot towel covering my face. I could hear him first assembling what he needed to give me a shave, and then a long zipper being pulled down, which I realized must be his blue barber's coat.
"Gettin' kind of hot in here," he almost whispered.
"No kidding," I said, becoming even more turned on as he moved the towel off of my face and began to spread lather across my cheeks and chin. As I had guessed, he had unzipped his smock, allowing me to feast my eyes on his naked chest and belly as he moved into position behind my head and produced a straight razor. As he began to methodically scrape my skin, my eyes scanned every square inch of exposed, freckled skin, from the ripped abdominal muscles to the wisps of reddish blond hairs in the cleft between his beefy pectorals to the pale nipples that protruded at least half an inch from the hard, muscled expanse of his chest.
Shave complete, he grabbed the damp towel that had covered my face and wiped the remaining stray spots of lather. He leaned down to my ear.
"Maybe I can find another spot to shave. You ready for some really personal service?"
I nodded wordlessly, and he moved around to my side, where he ran one hand down my torso, stopping only when he reached the waistband of my shorts. He winked at me before unbuttoning the waistband and lowering the zipper. Since I was getting a little low on clean clothes, I hadn't put on any underwear when I got dressed, so I was grateful that he took care as he opened my fly. Now freed from all restraints, my cock bounced into view, and Robbie grabbed the veiny shaft in his big paw.
"Fuck yeah, that is one hot piece of uncut meat," Robbie drawled as he leaned down. Very deliberately, he used his moist tongue to probe under my foreskin, which still partially covered my plum-shaped head. All I could muster was a deep groan as my eyes rolled back in my head. The feel of his raspy tongue on the sensitive, normally hidden flesh was pure delicious torture, and I started squirming around in the old leather chair, desperate to release some of the erotic energy that was radiating through my body.
After teasing me with his tongue for a couple of minutes, Robbie apparently decided to get down to business. As soon as he had pulled my shorts off, leaving me completely naked in the chair, he spread my legs wide open and began to fondle my swollen balls, which were suspended in a light cloud of dark hairs.
"Oh yeah," he said, talking more to himself than to me. "We're gonna take care of these fuckers."
Before getting down to business, Robbie paused long enough to unzip his jeans and extract his fat, fireplug dick. As he slipped off his barber's coat, I reached out and grasped the bobbing cock that floated at my side. I swear that the thick vein that ran along the top of his shaft, from his groin all the way to his blunt head, transmitted the rhythm of his pulse into my hand, and the tempo seemed to speed up as I slowly jacked the full length of his cock, squeezing a fat pearl of clear, slick precum out of the gaping slit at the tip.
"Fuckin' sweet, you Yankee bastard, but I've got some other business before we really get down to business."
In a flash, he had my legs hooked back over the chair handles, my nuts lathered up and his straight razor at the ready. I was so unbelievably hard that the skin of my ballsac was pulled taut, enabling him to easily scrape the sparse hairs that covered it and the base of my dick. Nothing if not thorough, as soon as he was done, Robbie ran his thick index finger across the slippery, lathered skin, searching out stray hairs that had escaped the attention of his sharp razor and ratcheting up my level of excitement to an almost unbearable level. Finally satisfied with his handiwork, he grabbed a damp towel and wiped my groin clean.
"You wanna see your haircut in the mirror?"
"Ooh, yeah, show it to me."
Robbie reached over to the counter behind him and grabbed a small hand mirror. As he jacked my cock with one hand, with the other he showed me my now-hairless nuts from every possible angle. I let out a low whistle.
"Mmm, very nice. I can see that you're gonna get a big tip today."
Robbie squeezed the base of my cock and grinned. "I think I've got that tip already, Yankee man. But I'm gonna have to taste it to make sure."
With that, he squatted down and began to nuzzle around my smooth balls. The very first contact between his tongue and the naked flesh was electric, and it only intensified as he took first one and then the other shaved nut between his lips and into his warm mouth. It was as though his razor had somehow exposed nerve endings that had long been hidden, and they were now transmitting unbelievably horny messages to every fiber of my body and soul.
His tongue and lips were relentless as they thoroughly explored every square inch of naked flesh. On more than one occasion I thought that I was just going to lose it and hose him down with at least a gallon of sperm, but somehow I managed to hold it together. There was a brief lull in the activity when my horny barber stood up, kicked off his shoes, and stepped out of his jeans. Stepping quickly back in front of the chair, he straddled the footrest, enabling him to position his hard dick right up against mine. We were both leaking like crazy, guaranteeing that our shafts would slide across each other with only the slightest friction, just enough to stoke a growing fire. In a flash he had both of our hard dicks gripped in his big, meaty paw, and he started to jack them together like there was no tomorrow, almost as though he wanted to fuse them together and form one giant prick that we shared between us. Reaching down, I inserted just one finger into the mix, enabling me to frig a couple of choice spots that demanded a little bit of extra attention. By now he was positively grinding against me, going for broke, and I could feel his own shaved balls rubbing against mine. Our temperature was rising, our sap was flowing, our cocks were at full mast, and then I pulled my finger out, allowing full contact between flesh that had been tormented for just too damn long, and I was on my way. All I managed by way of warning was a grunted "oh fuck," but that was enough to get his attention. His eyes were absolutely glued to the junction of our bodies as I began to shoot a geyser of cum straight up. Droplets rained down on me and dribbled over his darkening prick. He suddenly had a very determined look on his face, and his fist needed to pump only three or four more times before all hell broke loose. Squirting wildly, he literally hosed me down.
Lying there in post-orgasmic bliss, I truly think I lost track of where my dick left off and his started. The rich smell of our mixed semen penetrated my nostrils, and I savored the slippery touch of his hand as I rocked back and forth ever so slightly. I think I even started to drift off a little bit . . .
"Mr. MacNeil, Mr. MacNeil, your haircut's done."
"Mmmm, what?" I shook my head as I jerked awake. Opening my eyes, I saw Robbie standing there, fully dressed, in the process of putting combs, scissors, and clippers back where they belonged on the neat, marble counter under the mirror.
"I said I'm done with your haircut. You done gone and fell asleep on me. From where I stood, looked like you were having one helluva dream, too."
Trying to be unobtrusive, I slipped one hand under the sheet that was still covering me and checked out the status of my equipment. Still pretty damn hard, but it did not feel like I had creamed in my pants. At least I wouldn't have a big stain to explain. Very matter-of-factly, Robbie pulled the sheet off of me and brushed away a few stray hairs that scattered across my arms. I thought that I caught him checking out my crotch, very briefly, but I couldn't be sure. If he did, he no doubt could make out the remnants of what had been a monster erection.
After I had put my shirt back on and was settling up, he reminded me once more to check out the Dumont Devils, his baseball team. "Anybody you'd want to see would be there, and maybe a few you wouldn't."
"I'm not sure how long I'm going to stay down here, but I'll be sure to check it out before I go."
With that, I bid him goodbye and emerged into the sticky heat of the late afternoon. Temporarily disoriented, I wasn't sure which way to go, but I quickly remembered the way home. Slowly but surely, I was getting my bearings.