Surprised By A Bear - Part 3- free erotic gay stories on MaleDirectory
By seven-thirty I was waiting impatiently for Mick to arrive. I’d got everything ready--the steaks were seasoned, the wine opened and breathing, the table set. I had considered using the crystal wine glasses but decided that would be going too far. When I saw the special care Mick took with the ‘special dessert’ I was glad I had waited. I had ripped off a 20-minute upper body weights circuit so I’d look as pumped as possible for Mick, had a shower and dressed in my ‘plantation owner’s’ white gauze pants and loose white gauze shirt and was wearing classy flip flop sandals. The outfit really showed off my tan and my salt-and-pepper chest hairs spilled over the open top button of the shirt. I felt sexy.
Mick pulled into the yard at about quarter to eight. But he wasn’t in his truck, he had driven his motorcycle. And he was dressed in motorcycle leathers. He looked so incredibly macho that my breath caught in my throat and my dick stirred in the loose white cotton boxer shorts I was wearing under the gauze pants.
He turned to the cargo pod behind the passenger saddle and leaned over to pop it open and lift out a picnic hamper. His ample ass stretched the leather pants invitingly. My dick stirred again. Turning back to me smiling, he bounded up the steps, set the hamper down, and grabbed me in a bear hug. “God, you look sexy!” he breathed in my ear, then he kissed me long and hard. He smelled absolutely tantalizing, deliciously near to rank, of leather and sweat. Obviously he hadn’t showered after golfing. He went back to the cargo pod and hauled out a backpack. “I brought shower stuff and some clothes,” he announced matter-of-factly. I guess he was planning on staying the night!
“You effin’ stinky, sexy bastard!” I growled, “you’re turning me on big time. I’m gonna to be long and sloppy all evening, and I’m gonna to love it! Now let me get these sexy leathers off you and get you into the shower so I can perv you in the mirror while you clean up!”
He laughed and hugged me again, picking me up and swinging me around, kissing me hard on the lips, on the throat, back on the lips. “You’re so much fun, and so hot!” he breathed throatily.
It was almost too much for both of us, that shower. He sprayed and soaped and lathered himself as sensuously an exotic dancer, his cock straight out and bouncing the whole time. The spray head played his copious body hair into delicate patterns and swirls, the warm soapy water poured over his round belly and bounteous ass and off his heavy balls like Niagara Falls. My cock tented my pants so much I had to loosen the waist tie a bit. It was agony for both of us, but delicious agony that we wanted to prolong well into the evening, so we didn’t touch each other’s or our own pulsing meats.
Finally, Mick stepped out of the shower, dried himself, and opened his backpack to take out his clothes. He had long, loose, silky white boarder shorts which he put on commando. He pulled a big, loose. long red sleeveless satin jersey over his head. The deep v-neck showed off his dark, thick, curly chest hair. The armholes showed off his dark, thick, curly armpit hair, and the softness of both the shorts and shirt draped provocatively over his belly and accented his half-hard dick. My stomach was churning and my nuts were boiling at the sight of him. He didn’t even put on sandals so his elegant, slim feet and his legs, hairy from the toes to well above the cuffs of his shorts, were on full view. The hunger I was feeling for meat was not for barbequed steak, I’ll tell you!
Holding hands, we headed out to the deck where I already had the barbeque going and ready for the cooking. I poured us each a glass of excellent red wine and we took time to sit and savour it for a few minutes. “I’m glad you poured wine and not beer this time,” Mick grinned, “it’ll set us up better for dessert.” Damn! He was still teasing me about the ‘special dessert’! I had hoped it would be him, but he made it sound like there’d be something else first.
As I put the steaks on to cook, he brought out the salad and nuked the potatoes, which he then put onto the barbeque to finish cooking. In no time everything was ready, and we set to. We sat on a bench side-by-side, facing the sunset over the lake, our legs touching enticingly under the glass table, sending electric thrills back and forth as we lazily rubbed our legs against one another. The food was perfect, the wine was delicious, the company was all I could ever ask for. We chatted about the day. He had won the golf round so he was chuffed about that. Everything was wonderful. We finished eating and I got up to clear the plates. “No,” he said gently, touching my arm, “let me do that. I need a minute in the kitchen with the dessert.” What could I do? I let him carry on as I sipped my wine and reveled in these new erotic experiences.
In a couple of minutes, he brought out a plate piled high with--cream puffs!
How did he know that whipped cream was one of my most loved forbidden foods? “These aren’t the most special part of the dessert,” he grinned, “but I thought they said something about us right now.” I must have looked blank, because he guffawed and roared, “CREAM PUFFS! We’ve become a couple of cream puffs!” “And I’m loving it!” he added. What a card! God I was loving that man! We laughed and laughed over that, appreciating each other more and more.
When we had had all the cream puffs we wanted, till bedtime that is, Mick took the plate away and came back with a tray. On the tray were a bottle of Napolean brandy, two exquisite crystal brandy snifters, and a box of cigars. I was stunned speechless! He looked worriedly into my eyes. “I hope you like brandy and cigars . . . ?’
“Oh, Mick,” I breathed, “This is perfect! It’s like you know all my secret vices! I love brandy and cigars. Thank you, thank you beyond imagining!”
And so we ‘cream puffs’ became gentlemen for a while. Over this excellent finish to our excellent meal, we talked about ourselves. Mick told me about his post-high school years as a farm-team professional hockey player, and how he knew early that he was gay but absolutely could not act on it. Athletes simply were not gay at that time. He told of ruses he used to appear to be a ladies man, and how the easiest and most frequent way to avoid sex with the groupies was to get too drunk too fast. That accounted for his decidedly non-athletic physique. He told of his years at university, cautiously watching the gay scene but never venturing into it. He told me that his times with me were his very first gay sex experiences other than his years and years of solitary sex. He told me he was drawn to me the first time he had met me at school one day when I was subbing. He told me he knew then he could trust me with anything, and how he had watched and hoped for a sign that I might be noticing him, and how our frequent and prolonged chats at the staff party gave him the confidence to take a chance and stay behind when everyone else left, how he had taken more beers than he usually would in hopes I would suggest he was unfit to drive home. He told me how terrified he was, fondling and humping me this morning, but how he absolutely could not keep himself from doing it.
I told him about growing up gay and not even knowing it a generation before his, how I had just known from an early age that my destiny as the only grandson with the paternal family name was to marry and produce a boy, preferably more than one, to ensure the continuation of the name. So I never pictured myself in any other scenario, not that any other scenario was even imaginable in those days. I told of my stable, happy marriage of 30-plus years, a good family life raising a son and daughter, and final drifting apart from my wife after we both had retired and wanted different things for our “golden years.” I told him that I had only ever fantasized about doing things with a man that he and I had experienced over the past 24 hours, and how doing them had given me a whole new outlook on life. I told him how I’d been enchanted by his beautiful eyes, his infectious smile, his calm but unchallengeable way with kids at school and how I’d wondered if we’d ever have anything in common until we had chatted at the staff party, how I’d dreaded the possibility of his *not* staying the night last night, how I’d thrilled to wake up to his touch this morning.
We talked about our plans for the summer months. He’d be taking a long trip with some hockey buddies; I’d be visiting or entertaining family visitors all summer. He’d be leaving for his trip day after tomorrow. I told him I wanted him to stay with me until the last possible moment. He said he’d have to spend some time at home packing tomorrow, but that he wouldn’t be away from me for any longer than he absolutely had to for the next 36 hours. We both knew that the day after tomorrow would see the end of our growing bonding for a couple of months, after which he’d be back at work teaching and we’d be in a whole different world--the world of reality.
Knowing that, we were more tender than passionate in bed that night. We kissed and cuddled a lot, we stroked and played; we sucked and licked; we even came a couple of times each, once in each other’s mouth, once on each other’s belly, but we were lovers, not raging sexual animals like we’d been that morning.
Mick pulled into the yard at about quarter to eight. But he wasn’t in his truck, he had driven his motorcycle. And he was dressed in motorcycle leathers. He looked so incredibly macho that my breath caught in my throat and my dick stirred in the loose white cotton boxer shorts I was wearing under the gauze pants.
He turned to the cargo pod behind the passenger saddle and leaned over to pop it open and lift out a picnic hamper. His ample ass stretched the leather pants invitingly. My dick stirred again. Turning back to me smiling, he bounded up the steps, set the hamper down, and grabbed me in a bear hug. “God, you look sexy!” he breathed in my ear, then he kissed me long and hard. He smelled absolutely tantalizing, deliciously near to rank, of leather and sweat. Obviously he hadn’t showered after golfing. He went back to the cargo pod and hauled out a backpack. “I brought shower stuff and some clothes,” he announced matter-of-factly. I guess he was planning on staying the night!
“You effin’ stinky, sexy bastard!” I growled, “you’re turning me on big time. I’m gonna to be long and sloppy all evening, and I’m gonna to love it! Now let me get these sexy leathers off you and get you into the shower so I can perv you in the mirror while you clean up!”
He laughed and hugged me again, picking me up and swinging me around, kissing me hard on the lips, on the throat, back on the lips. “You’re so much fun, and so hot!” he breathed throatily.
It was almost too much for both of us, that shower. He sprayed and soaped and lathered himself as sensuously an exotic dancer, his cock straight out and bouncing the whole time. The spray head played his copious body hair into delicate patterns and swirls, the warm soapy water poured over his round belly and bounteous ass and off his heavy balls like Niagara Falls. My cock tented my pants so much I had to loosen the waist tie a bit. It was agony for both of us, but delicious agony that we wanted to prolong well into the evening, so we didn’t touch each other’s or our own pulsing meats.
Finally, Mick stepped out of the shower, dried himself, and opened his backpack to take out his clothes. He had long, loose, silky white boarder shorts which he put on commando. He pulled a big, loose. long red sleeveless satin jersey over his head. The deep v-neck showed off his dark, thick, curly chest hair. The armholes showed off his dark, thick, curly armpit hair, and the softness of both the shorts and shirt draped provocatively over his belly and accented his half-hard dick. My stomach was churning and my nuts were boiling at the sight of him. He didn’t even put on sandals so his elegant, slim feet and his legs, hairy from the toes to well above the cuffs of his shorts, were on full view. The hunger I was feeling for meat was not for barbequed steak, I’ll tell you!
Holding hands, we headed out to the deck where I already had the barbeque going and ready for the cooking. I poured us each a glass of excellent red wine and we took time to sit and savour it for a few minutes. “I’m glad you poured wine and not beer this time,” Mick grinned, “it’ll set us up better for dessert.” Damn! He was still teasing me about the ‘special dessert’! I had hoped it would be him, but he made it sound like there’d be something else first.
As I put the steaks on to cook, he brought out the salad and nuked the potatoes, which he then put onto the barbeque to finish cooking. In no time everything was ready, and we set to. We sat on a bench side-by-side, facing the sunset over the lake, our legs touching enticingly under the glass table, sending electric thrills back and forth as we lazily rubbed our legs against one another. The food was perfect, the wine was delicious, the company was all I could ever ask for. We chatted about the day. He had won the golf round so he was chuffed about that. Everything was wonderful. We finished eating and I got up to clear the plates. “No,” he said gently, touching my arm, “let me do that. I need a minute in the kitchen with the dessert.” What could I do? I let him carry on as I sipped my wine and reveled in these new erotic experiences.
In a couple of minutes, he brought out a plate piled high with--cream puffs!
How did he know that whipped cream was one of my most loved forbidden foods? “These aren’t the most special part of the dessert,” he grinned, “but I thought they said something about us right now.” I must have looked blank, because he guffawed and roared, “CREAM PUFFS! We’ve become a couple of cream puffs!” “And I’m loving it!” he added. What a card! God I was loving that man! We laughed and laughed over that, appreciating each other more and more.
When we had had all the cream puffs we wanted, till bedtime that is, Mick took the plate away and came back with a tray. On the tray were a bottle of Napolean brandy, two exquisite crystal brandy snifters, and a box of cigars. I was stunned speechless! He looked worriedly into my eyes. “I hope you like brandy and cigars . . . ?’
“Oh, Mick,” I breathed, “This is perfect! It’s like you know all my secret vices! I love brandy and cigars. Thank you, thank you beyond imagining!”
And so we ‘cream puffs’ became gentlemen for a while. Over this excellent finish to our excellent meal, we talked about ourselves. Mick told me about his post-high school years as a farm-team professional hockey player, and how he knew early that he was gay but absolutely could not act on it. Athletes simply were not gay at that time. He told of ruses he used to appear to be a ladies man, and how the easiest and most frequent way to avoid sex with the groupies was to get too drunk too fast. That accounted for his decidedly non-athletic physique. He told of his years at university, cautiously watching the gay scene but never venturing into it. He told me that his times with me were his very first gay sex experiences other than his years and years of solitary sex. He told me he was drawn to me the first time he had met me at school one day when I was subbing. He told me he knew then he could trust me with anything, and how he had watched and hoped for a sign that I might be noticing him, and how our frequent and prolonged chats at the staff party gave him the confidence to take a chance and stay behind when everyone else left, how he had taken more beers than he usually would in hopes I would suggest he was unfit to drive home. He told me how terrified he was, fondling and humping me this morning, but how he absolutely could not keep himself from doing it.
I told him about growing up gay and not even knowing it a generation before his, how I had just known from an early age that my destiny as the only grandson with the paternal family name was to marry and produce a boy, preferably more than one, to ensure the continuation of the name. So I never pictured myself in any other scenario, not that any other scenario was even imaginable in those days. I told of my stable, happy marriage of 30-plus years, a good family life raising a son and daughter, and final drifting apart from my wife after we both had retired and wanted different things for our “golden years.” I told him that I had only ever fantasized about doing things with a man that he and I had experienced over the past 24 hours, and how doing them had given me a whole new outlook on life. I told him how I’d been enchanted by his beautiful eyes, his infectious smile, his calm but unchallengeable way with kids at school and how I’d wondered if we’d ever have anything in common until we had chatted at the staff party, how I’d dreaded the possibility of his *not* staying the night last night, how I’d thrilled to wake up to his touch this morning.
We talked about our plans for the summer months. He’d be taking a long trip with some hockey buddies; I’d be visiting or entertaining family visitors all summer. He’d be leaving for his trip day after tomorrow. I told him I wanted him to stay with me until the last possible moment. He said he’d have to spend some time at home packing tomorrow, but that he wouldn’t be away from me for any longer than he absolutely had to for the next 36 hours. We both knew that the day after tomorrow would see the end of our growing bonding for a couple of months, after which he’d be back at work teaching and we’d be in a whole different world--the world of reality.
Knowing that, we were more tender than passionate in bed that night. We kissed and cuddled a lot, we stroked and played; we sucked and licked; we even came a couple of times each, once in each other’s mouth, once on each other’s belly, but we were lovers, not raging sexual animals like we’d been that morning.