Surprised By A Bear - Part 4 - free erotic gay stories on MaleDirectory
It was a different story when we woke up the next morning, though. We woke up as we had the previous morning, me spooned back against his hairy torso and groin. Again, his hairy arm was curled over my ribs to cup my nipples through my curly chest hair, and he was tenderly kissing the nape of my neck and sliding his tumescent cock against my ass crack. This time, there were no layers of underwear separating his slickness from my hairy asscrack. His left hand moved from my nipples down my treasure trail to my full, straining meatus which was already churning out its own slick lube. He circled my pole with his meaty hand and began to stroke me there with the same rhythm that his meat stroked my ass.
Then, arching his hips well back, he slipped his cockhead lower, across the pucker of my asshole, forward to the tight space between my sack and my right thigh, poking it through so that the folds of my scrotum and the weight of my nuts surrounded and caressed it. He continued his stroking, now forward and back rather than up and down. His thighs tensed and relaxed against the backs of my thighs. His pelvis bumped and retreated from my asscheeks. And all the while his left hand slid up and down the length of my straining cockpole, his fingers loosening and reaching underneath to fondle my hairy sack and stroke my balls at the bottom of each down stroke. My own fingers grasped handsful of the bedding as my whole body responded to this new combination of sensations. Quicker and harder he stroked his cock through my groin valley, quicker and harder he stroked my cock with his left hand, then his right hand slid over my right shoulder and reached my nipples, rubbing, pinching and rolling them one after the other.
Suddenly, his right hand clenched a handful of my chest hair, he gave three or four jackrabbit stabs into my groin valley with his powerful cock, shuddered and spewed. Some of his spew slid under his stroking left palm, slicking my own cock deliciously and then I shuddered with equal intensity and I spewed. The acrid aroma of our combined essences permeated the room, our grunts and gasps filled each other’s ears, our bodies shivered and twitched and sweat poured from our foreheads, our armpits and all our pores. The manly perfume of our sweat heighted our delicious sensory experience. That early morning cumming was truly a full-body experience, and it took many minutes before we calmed from its intensity. We lay there, savouring everything--the crustiness of last night’s cummings in our belly hairs, the slickness of this morning’s cummings in our crotches, the flush of sexual release washing over our whole bodies like the lapping of warm ocean waves, ebbing and flowing.
Before long, though, the post-orgasmic urge to piss along with the night-fullness of our bladders drove us to roll out of bed and pad out the door onto the bedroom deck, down the steps to the grass, where, like yesterday, we saved a flush by watering the grass with our potent pisses. Today, though, instead of Mick pissing between my legs, he stood beside me and we played light sabres with our forceful streams. I hadn’t done that since my own son was pre-school and we played pee sword-fights when we would go camping. In fact I amazed myself be being able to piss in front Mick at all. Usually even the thought of a public piss clamps me up tight as a drum. Something about Mick made all my boundaries come tumbling down. We squeezed and shook our spigots dry, but they weren’t about to shrink back to dormancy. They were both red, both hung heavy and semi-thick, both were crusted with a combination of drying and dried cum and both were still dribbling occasional beads of clear pre-cum. I think they were telling us our lovemaking didn’t need to be over, but we knew there was a lot to accomplish on that last day we’d be together for weeks, if not forever.
This time Mick took my hand and led me to the shower. This time he held my hand while he adjusted the water temperature, getting it just right. Again he took the handheld and gently and lovingly sprayed me all over, giving extra play to my sticky crotch and cum-matted pubic hair. Again he tenderly and loving lathered me all over, head to toe, and again he lovingly shampooed and massaged my scalp and rinsed all the lather off me. I was in tactile heaven, but just long enough to savour the moment before performing all the same loving attention to his beary physique. But I did a little extra loving thing. I kissed his heavy, hanging, flushed cock. I kissed the cockhead, the soft cockshaft, and the pendulous hairy balls. Not to get him hard, just to let him know I was loving him. He gasped and pulled me up to hug me long and hard, the warm water flowing over both our hairy bodies. Then we stepped out of the shower and, drying our hair, padded over to the sink counter to shave. Another new, erotic experience, shaving side-by-side, naked, just the full tops of our pubic bushes showing above the countertop in the mirror. When we stepped back to dry ourselves completely, we paused for a moment. Mick put his right arm tenderly over my shoulders, I put my left arm tenderly around his waist, and we gazed at the picture we presented. We saw a pudgy, somewhat bulgy bear and a slim, even skinny, otter with lovehandles and a too-round belly. Each secretly decided that if we were to stand side-by-side in front of a mirror at the end of the summer, we’d make a different, sexier picture. Neither of us was sure we’d be standing side-by-side in front of a mirror at the end of the summer, though.
As we made the coffee and put the breakfast on the table, we worked together like an old married couple, anticipating what to do, anticipating how to keep out of each other’s way. And we were still naked. And our cocks were still half-length and half-girth, and they still dribbled out occasional slick clear drops, which usually landed on our thighs but sometimes landed on the top of a bare foot.
Carrying our breakfast and coffee out to the deck, we sat companionably beside each other on the bench as we had last night, our naked thighs softly rubbing against each other. Glancing through the glass tabletop, we would see our ruddy, puffy cocks resting against our full, loose-sacked balls. Every once in a while, one or the other of us would slip a hand under the table and gently massage the thigh next to us, or slip an arm up over the hairy shoulder beside us and caress the man we felt there. It was a delicious time, but too soon over. “Come with me while I pack?” Mick asked wistfully. My heart leaped. Of course I’d go with him!
We whisked the breakfast things into the kitchen and hurried to get dressed. Putting on his leathers, Mick ordered, “Wear jeans and your shitkicker boots,” “And wear a jean jacket. We’ll take the bike. I brought an extra helmet.” I hadn’t ridden as a passenger on a bike for decades. I was a little nervous, but for Mick, anything!
In no time we were straddling the big bike. I sat back a bit from him, holding his waist, the way I had sat as a passenger behind my teenaged son years ago when he had his first bike. That was then, this was now. “Scoot forward,” Mick suggested, “snug up to my back and my ass and wrap your arms around my chest.” I did so. My cock liked it, but I willed it to behave. With a throaty roar, the bike took off down my driveway. I really gripped Mick’s chest now! “Remember to lean with me when we take the corners!” Mick yelled. And we were off along the highway. Instead of turning in the direction of his place, Mick stayed on the highway. He was taking me for a real motorcycle ride. As he sped up the bike, the pitch of its roar intensified, its vibrations with it. The power of the engine surged upwards to my groin and my cock would no longer be willed into good behaviour but bulged and strained against my jeans and Mick’s ass. I knew he felt it because he arched his ass back against me even tighter. He released his left hand from the handlebar, placing it over my clenched hands and guiding them down, down to his crotch. Amazingly, I could feel his powerful erection through the soft leather of his pants. Whew! Riding with my son had never been anything like this!
Sensing to an urgency in me, and responding to an urgency of his own, Mick headed for his place. It was a quick, erotic ride, and as we pulled to a stop in his driveway, we both scrambled off the machine. Heedless of the possibility of nosy neighbours, Mick took my hand and we sprinted up the steps and into his apartment. He clicked the lock behind us and in a flash was undoing the button and zipper of my jeans. I was opening his leather pants just as quickly. Our pants around our knees, our dicks rampant and dripping, Mick pushed me to the floor and, his knees straddling my face, buried his own face in my exposed crotch, stabbing his dripping meat against my lips and inhaling my own dripping meat into his mouth. You’d never guess we were both bj beginners, the way we attacked each other’s delicious manhood. We couldn’t deepthroat and didn’t waste time trying, but we sucked, we licked, we hummed, we blew warm breaths across slick, wet cockheads. And we came, and we came, and we came. We swallowed cum, seemingly by the bucketful. I was breathless and lay gasping and weak on my back. Mick swiveled himself around so we were face-to-face and he kissed me and kissed me and kissed me. Then he collapsed with his head on my chest, his arms around my shoulders, his hands caressing my cheeks, my forehead, my lips. Wow! No wonder men liked motorcycles, I thought groggily as I drifted off into sated slumber.
I woke up to more kissing and opened my eyes to Mick’s gorgeous eyes and beautiful smile. “Wake up, Sex Fiend!” he grinned, “I didn’t bring you over here to sleep all day!” Sitting up, I attacked him, pushing him onto his back and returning his kisses with a fierceness and voraciousness I couldn’t believe I had. I mashed our lips together, I inhaled his tongue, I stabbed the back of his throat with my stiffened tongue, I sucked his spit out of his mouth, mixed it with mine, and fed it back to him. Then I became tender, nibbling his earlobes, gently kissing his eyelids, caressing his bruised lips with a tender tongue, whimpering like a puppy, whispering crazy, loving syllables into his ears, hugging him with a tender strength I scarcely knew was still in me. And then and only then did we struggle to our feet, tethered by our pants around our ankles, and put ourselves back together. Either we had to get completely naked, or get completely dressed. Sensibly, we opted for the latter.
“I don’t really have a lot to pack,” Mick told me, “my camping stuff is already in the cargo trailer. I just have to empty the fridge and pack some clothes and my shaving stuff. Why don’t you do the fridge while I pack? Take anything perishable you can use to your place and throw the rest in the garbage. And don’t let me forget to put the garbage out!” We made quick work of what had to be done and were ready to head back to my place by early afternoon.
“Let’s grab a deli lunch and take the canoe out to the island for a picnic when we get to my place.” I suggested. He agreed and we mounted the bike and headed for the deli. He drove slower now, with the cargo trailer on behind, but the vibrating power of the bike still stimulated my privates. I couldn’t believe how horny I was and how my cock and prostate could keep responding, but I sure liked it! We both walked like we had carrots up our ass as we went into the deli, and we exchanged knowing grins and winks as we watched each other waddle around. Back on the bike, we scootched close and took off again. God, it was erotic!
At my place, we exchanged jeans and leathers for shorts and flipflops, and throwing lifejackets, our lunch and a half-sack of beer into the canoe, we headed out. Let me tell you about the island. It’s about a 15-minute paddle from my dock, around a point and across the mouth of a secluded bay. There’s a pile of huge, flat rocks at water’s edge, facing south and west into the warm afternoon and evening sun. From the rocks there’s a deep drop-off. No one has dived deep enough to hit bottom or outcropping rocks, so it’s a perfect place for sunning, diving and swimming. Best of all, it faces a completely deserted shore across the bay. It’s delightfully private. Mick hadn’t been in the community long enough to know about it. He was enchanted. It was a calm afternoon so we just tied the canoe to a big rock rather than hauling it up on shore. We carried our lunch and beer to a flat rock the size of my king-sized bed and settled ourselves on the sun-warmed platform, took off our shorts and sandals, grabbed a beer each, and reveled in the heat. It was perfect. We sat close together, our shoulders touching, our legs spread-eagled and overlapping in front of us, the fingers of our free hands interlaced lovingly. For once, our cocks knew enough to relax too. They lolled fatly but sleepily over our sagging, wrinkled, hairy sacks. Happy to be together, took out our sandwiches and veggies and ate in companionable silence. God, I thought, I could live with this man.
Finishing our lunch and a beer each, we stood up, shook off the breadcrumbs from our hairy chests, and walked hand-in-hand across the hot rock to the water. I let go of his hand, raised my arms over my head, leaned over in the classic dive stance, and sliced into the water. It was glorious! I surfaced and stroked out of the way and watched as Mick did the same. We swam, frolicked and cavorted like water animals, loving every minute of it, then we climbed out to soak in more of the sun’s delicious life-giving rays. Sitting there, warming, we circled our arms around each other’s waist and soaked up the warmth of each other’s presence as much as we soaked up the warmth of the sun. We spent the whole afternoon like that--caressing, swimming, sunning, caressing. I had never passed so much time tingling with such a level of sensuous intensity, yet my cock stayed at half-mast all afternoon, as did Mick’s. Not in impotence, but in deference to the tenderness of our lovingness.
As the afternoon drew on and the shadows lengthened, we dove in for our last swim, and hauling ourselves out, stood face, chest to chest, belly to belly, groin to groin on the hot roc, slid our arms around each other and kissed long and slow and passionately. That was too much for our cocks! In an instant, both fattened and stretched to full size, inching their hardening way into each other’s groin valley, sliming thighs and ballsacks as they lengthened. They tried to stand up straight, but each was impeded by the crotch above it. Our thighs squeezed tight together. Our hips took over. They humped, sliding the slick cocks back and forth along the slick valley walls. It didn’t take long. That erotic afternoon spent at half-mast had had its effect. In just minutes of well-lubed stroking, both cocks spurted. The intensity of a third orgasm in so few hours sucked sharp cries and grunts and gasps from both of us and our knees buckled, lowering us too quickly to the hot rock below us. It was glorious! It was delicious! It was life-giving and life-draining. We lay on that warm rock, panting and shivering and twitching in post-orgasmic ecstasy. We even dozed off momentarily yet again, and woke to cuddle and hug and caress and kiss. Then, weakly, we packed the canoe, stowed the unopened beer, untied the canoe and pushed off. It was a peaceful, gentle paddle back to my dock, and a quiet, slow-paced, hand-in-hand walk up to my deck.
“Let me buy you supper,” Mick invited, “dress up. We’ll go somewhere nice.” Who was I to argue? He must have planned this all along as he had a set of good clothes in his pack. We showered--without all the sexy foreplay this time, but sensuously, tenderly, lovingly nevertheless. We dried each other off, combed our hair, splashed on a little subtle cologne, dressed, and headed out. God we looked good! We smelled good! We felt good. True to his word, Mick took me to the classiest restaurant in town, well actually I took him because we went in my car rather than on the bike. As we drove off, I looked wistfully at the bike, hoping I had not had my last ride on it. Dinner was classic. Mick’s travels as a professional hockey player had given him a sophisticated knowledge of food and wine and he pulled all the stops this evening. The food was perfect, the wine was perfect, the service was perfect, the company was perfect. And for dessert, we went back home to enjoy brandy and cigars and cream puffs on my deck.
Over our second brandy, Mick turned to me and looked deep into my eyes. “These days with you have been so perfect for me,” he whispered. “You are a perfect lover, a perfect love-maker.” And he looked a little sad and wistful. Where was this going? I wondered. He continued, “I want to give myself to you completely, and I want to take you completely too. But I’m not ready to do either just yet. Can you accept that? I do want to feel your cock inside me, and I want to feel mine inside you, but not yet, not tonight. I’m not ready. Can you forgive that?” His eyes filled with tears, his lower lip trembled.
I hadn’t known I was holding my breath in fear he was going to say he didn’t want to see me again, but I guess I was. Looking at him, I exhaled and gasped for air. “Mick! I wasn’t expecting that! I’m incredibly happy we have what we have, that we’ve done what we’ve done. This has been perfect for me. Anything else would be ’way beyond anything I’ve dreamed of. You’ve shown me ecstasy like I’ve never known before-with your lovemaking, with your lovingness, with the exciting things we’ve done together. Don’t think I’d demand more. I feel like I’ve been in heaven since the moment you climbed into my bed after the party!”
I reached over and wiped his tears with my thumb. I drew his face to mine. I kissed him tenderly, lovingly, reassuringly. Catching his breath with a little sob, he kissed back just as tenderly and lovingly. Then we hugged, our foreheads touching, then cheek-to-cheek, then lips-to-lips again. And we hugged and cuddled and snuggled till bedtime. And in bed we continued with the hugging and cuddling and snuggling. But our cocks and prostates were quiet, sated, drained. We slept deeply, comfortably, lovingly wrapped in each other’s arms.
In the morning we woke happy, still sated. We played light sabres with our morning pisses again. We showered, tenderly washing each other. We shaved, impishly bumping our naked hips together and wiggling our floppy cocks. But we didn’t get hard, we didn’t get slick. We dressed, we had a quiet, touchy-feely breakfast, we savoured our coffee on the deck, holding hands.
Then we walked to Mick’s bike, quietly and tearfully hugged each other tightly, kissed tenderly, and Mick mounted the bike. Through tears he smiled and mouthed good-bye, roared the bike to life, and sped down the driveway. Sad, I stood watching him disappear, waving weakly as he rounded the distant corner and the sound of his bike faded away. Then I sat down on my driveway and the tears poured down my cheeks. Six weeks! Maybe more! Maybe forever . . . .
I was bereft.
Then, arching his hips well back, he slipped his cockhead lower, across the pucker of my asshole, forward to the tight space between my sack and my right thigh, poking it through so that the folds of my scrotum and the weight of my nuts surrounded and caressed it. He continued his stroking, now forward and back rather than up and down. His thighs tensed and relaxed against the backs of my thighs. His pelvis bumped and retreated from my asscheeks. And all the while his left hand slid up and down the length of my straining cockpole, his fingers loosening and reaching underneath to fondle my hairy sack and stroke my balls at the bottom of each down stroke. My own fingers grasped handsful of the bedding as my whole body responded to this new combination of sensations. Quicker and harder he stroked his cock through my groin valley, quicker and harder he stroked my cock with his left hand, then his right hand slid over my right shoulder and reached my nipples, rubbing, pinching and rolling them one after the other.
Suddenly, his right hand clenched a handful of my chest hair, he gave three or four jackrabbit stabs into my groin valley with his powerful cock, shuddered and spewed. Some of his spew slid under his stroking left palm, slicking my own cock deliciously and then I shuddered with equal intensity and I spewed. The acrid aroma of our combined essences permeated the room, our grunts and gasps filled each other’s ears, our bodies shivered and twitched and sweat poured from our foreheads, our armpits and all our pores. The manly perfume of our sweat heighted our delicious sensory experience. That early morning cumming was truly a full-body experience, and it took many minutes before we calmed from its intensity. We lay there, savouring everything--the crustiness of last night’s cummings in our belly hairs, the slickness of this morning’s cummings in our crotches, the flush of sexual release washing over our whole bodies like the lapping of warm ocean waves, ebbing and flowing.
Before long, though, the post-orgasmic urge to piss along with the night-fullness of our bladders drove us to roll out of bed and pad out the door onto the bedroom deck, down the steps to the grass, where, like yesterday, we saved a flush by watering the grass with our potent pisses. Today, though, instead of Mick pissing between my legs, he stood beside me and we played light sabres with our forceful streams. I hadn’t done that since my own son was pre-school and we played pee sword-fights when we would go camping. In fact I amazed myself be being able to piss in front Mick at all. Usually even the thought of a public piss clamps me up tight as a drum. Something about Mick made all my boundaries come tumbling down. We squeezed and shook our spigots dry, but they weren’t about to shrink back to dormancy. They were both red, both hung heavy and semi-thick, both were crusted with a combination of drying and dried cum and both were still dribbling occasional beads of clear pre-cum. I think they were telling us our lovemaking didn’t need to be over, but we knew there was a lot to accomplish on that last day we’d be together for weeks, if not forever.
This time Mick took my hand and led me to the shower. This time he held my hand while he adjusted the water temperature, getting it just right. Again he took the handheld and gently and lovingly sprayed me all over, giving extra play to my sticky crotch and cum-matted pubic hair. Again he tenderly and loving lathered me all over, head to toe, and again he lovingly shampooed and massaged my scalp and rinsed all the lather off me. I was in tactile heaven, but just long enough to savour the moment before performing all the same loving attention to his beary physique. But I did a little extra loving thing. I kissed his heavy, hanging, flushed cock. I kissed the cockhead, the soft cockshaft, and the pendulous hairy balls. Not to get him hard, just to let him know I was loving him. He gasped and pulled me up to hug me long and hard, the warm water flowing over both our hairy bodies. Then we stepped out of the shower and, drying our hair, padded over to the sink counter to shave. Another new, erotic experience, shaving side-by-side, naked, just the full tops of our pubic bushes showing above the countertop in the mirror. When we stepped back to dry ourselves completely, we paused for a moment. Mick put his right arm tenderly over my shoulders, I put my left arm tenderly around his waist, and we gazed at the picture we presented. We saw a pudgy, somewhat bulgy bear and a slim, even skinny, otter with lovehandles and a too-round belly. Each secretly decided that if we were to stand side-by-side in front of a mirror at the end of the summer, we’d make a different, sexier picture. Neither of us was sure we’d be standing side-by-side in front of a mirror at the end of the summer, though.
As we made the coffee and put the breakfast on the table, we worked together like an old married couple, anticipating what to do, anticipating how to keep out of each other’s way. And we were still naked. And our cocks were still half-length and half-girth, and they still dribbled out occasional slick clear drops, which usually landed on our thighs but sometimes landed on the top of a bare foot.
Carrying our breakfast and coffee out to the deck, we sat companionably beside each other on the bench as we had last night, our naked thighs softly rubbing against each other. Glancing through the glass tabletop, we would see our ruddy, puffy cocks resting against our full, loose-sacked balls. Every once in a while, one or the other of us would slip a hand under the table and gently massage the thigh next to us, or slip an arm up over the hairy shoulder beside us and caress the man we felt there. It was a delicious time, but too soon over. “Come with me while I pack?” Mick asked wistfully. My heart leaped. Of course I’d go with him!
We whisked the breakfast things into the kitchen and hurried to get dressed. Putting on his leathers, Mick ordered, “Wear jeans and your shitkicker boots,” “And wear a jean jacket. We’ll take the bike. I brought an extra helmet.” I hadn’t ridden as a passenger on a bike for decades. I was a little nervous, but for Mick, anything!
In no time we were straddling the big bike. I sat back a bit from him, holding his waist, the way I had sat as a passenger behind my teenaged son years ago when he had his first bike. That was then, this was now. “Scoot forward,” Mick suggested, “snug up to my back and my ass and wrap your arms around my chest.” I did so. My cock liked it, but I willed it to behave. With a throaty roar, the bike took off down my driveway. I really gripped Mick’s chest now! “Remember to lean with me when we take the corners!” Mick yelled. And we were off along the highway. Instead of turning in the direction of his place, Mick stayed on the highway. He was taking me for a real motorcycle ride. As he sped up the bike, the pitch of its roar intensified, its vibrations with it. The power of the engine surged upwards to my groin and my cock would no longer be willed into good behaviour but bulged and strained against my jeans and Mick’s ass. I knew he felt it because he arched his ass back against me even tighter. He released his left hand from the handlebar, placing it over my clenched hands and guiding them down, down to his crotch. Amazingly, I could feel his powerful erection through the soft leather of his pants. Whew! Riding with my son had never been anything like this!
Sensing to an urgency in me, and responding to an urgency of his own, Mick headed for his place. It was a quick, erotic ride, and as we pulled to a stop in his driveway, we both scrambled off the machine. Heedless of the possibility of nosy neighbours, Mick took my hand and we sprinted up the steps and into his apartment. He clicked the lock behind us and in a flash was undoing the button and zipper of my jeans. I was opening his leather pants just as quickly. Our pants around our knees, our dicks rampant and dripping, Mick pushed me to the floor and, his knees straddling my face, buried his own face in my exposed crotch, stabbing his dripping meat against my lips and inhaling my own dripping meat into his mouth. You’d never guess we were both bj beginners, the way we attacked each other’s delicious manhood. We couldn’t deepthroat and didn’t waste time trying, but we sucked, we licked, we hummed, we blew warm breaths across slick, wet cockheads. And we came, and we came, and we came. We swallowed cum, seemingly by the bucketful. I was breathless and lay gasping and weak on my back. Mick swiveled himself around so we were face-to-face and he kissed me and kissed me and kissed me. Then he collapsed with his head on my chest, his arms around my shoulders, his hands caressing my cheeks, my forehead, my lips. Wow! No wonder men liked motorcycles, I thought groggily as I drifted off into sated slumber.
I woke up to more kissing and opened my eyes to Mick’s gorgeous eyes and beautiful smile. “Wake up, Sex Fiend!” he grinned, “I didn’t bring you over here to sleep all day!” Sitting up, I attacked him, pushing him onto his back and returning his kisses with a fierceness and voraciousness I couldn’t believe I had. I mashed our lips together, I inhaled his tongue, I stabbed the back of his throat with my stiffened tongue, I sucked his spit out of his mouth, mixed it with mine, and fed it back to him. Then I became tender, nibbling his earlobes, gently kissing his eyelids, caressing his bruised lips with a tender tongue, whimpering like a puppy, whispering crazy, loving syllables into his ears, hugging him with a tender strength I scarcely knew was still in me. And then and only then did we struggle to our feet, tethered by our pants around our ankles, and put ourselves back together. Either we had to get completely naked, or get completely dressed. Sensibly, we opted for the latter.
“I don’t really have a lot to pack,” Mick told me, “my camping stuff is already in the cargo trailer. I just have to empty the fridge and pack some clothes and my shaving stuff. Why don’t you do the fridge while I pack? Take anything perishable you can use to your place and throw the rest in the garbage. And don’t let me forget to put the garbage out!” We made quick work of what had to be done and were ready to head back to my place by early afternoon.
“Let’s grab a deli lunch and take the canoe out to the island for a picnic when we get to my place.” I suggested. He agreed and we mounted the bike and headed for the deli. He drove slower now, with the cargo trailer on behind, but the vibrating power of the bike still stimulated my privates. I couldn’t believe how horny I was and how my cock and prostate could keep responding, but I sure liked it! We both walked like we had carrots up our ass as we went into the deli, and we exchanged knowing grins and winks as we watched each other waddle around. Back on the bike, we scootched close and took off again. God, it was erotic!
At my place, we exchanged jeans and leathers for shorts and flipflops, and throwing lifejackets, our lunch and a half-sack of beer into the canoe, we headed out. Let me tell you about the island. It’s about a 15-minute paddle from my dock, around a point and across the mouth of a secluded bay. There’s a pile of huge, flat rocks at water’s edge, facing south and west into the warm afternoon and evening sun. From the rocks there’s a deep drop-off. No one has dived deep enough to hit bottom or outcropping rocks, so it’s a perfect place for sunning, diving and swimming. Best of all, it faces a completely deserted shore across the bay. It’s delightfully private. Mick hadn’t been in the community long enough to know about it. He was enchanted. It was a calm afternoon so we just tied the canoe to a big rock rather than hauling it up on shore. We carried our lunch and beer to a flat rock the size of my king-sized bed and settled ourselves on the sun-warmed platform, took off our shorts and sandals, grabbed a beer each, and reveled in the heat. It was perfect. We sat close together, our shoulders touching, our legs spread-eagled and overlapping in front of us, the fingers of our free hands interlaced lovingly. For once, our cocks knew enough to relax too. They lolled fatly but sleepily over our sagging, wrinkled, hairy sacks. Happy to be together, took out our sandwiches and veggies and ate in companionable silence. God, I thought, I could live with this man.
Finishing our lunch and a beer each, we stood up, shook off the breadcrumbs from our hairy chests, and walked hand-in-hand across the hot rock to the water. I let go of his hand, raised my arms over my head, leaned over in the classic dive stance, and sliced into the water. It was glorious! I surfaced and stroked out of the way and watched as Mick did the same. We swam, frolicked and cavorted like water animals, loving every minute of it, then we climbed out to soak in more of the sun’s delicious life-giving rays. Sitting there, warming, we circled our arms around each other’s waist and soaked up the warmth of each other’s presence as much as we soaked up the warmth of the sun. We spent the whole afternoon like that--caressing, swimming, sunning, caressing. I had never passed so much time tingling with such a level of sensuous intensity, yet my cock stayed at half-mast all afternoon, as did Mick’s. Not in impotence, but in deference to the tenderness of our lovingness.
As the afternoon drew on and the shadows lengthened, we dove in for our last swim, and hauling ourselves out, stood face, chest to chest, belly to belly, groin to groin on the hot roc, slid our arms around each other and kissed long and slow and passionately. That was too much for our cocks! In an instant, both fattened and stretched to full size, inching their hardening way into each other’s groin valley, sliming thighs and ballsacks as they lengthened. They tried to stand up straight, but each was impeded by the crotch above it. Our thighs squeezed tight together. Our hips took over. They humped, sliding the slick cocks back and forth along the slick valley walls. It didn’t take long. That erotic afternoon spent at half-mast had had its effect. In just minutes of well-lubed stroking, both cocks spurted. The intensity of a third orgasm in so few hours sucked sharp cries and grunts and gasps from both of us and our knees buckled, lowering us too quickly to the hot rock below us. It was glorious! It was delicious! It was life-giving and life-draining. We lay on that warm rock, panting and shivering and twitching in post-orgasmic ecstasy. We even dozed off momentarily yet again, and woke to cuddle and hug and caress and kiss. Then, weakly, we packed the canoe, stowed the unopened beer, untied the canoe and pushed off. It was a peaceful, gentle paddle back to my dock, and a quiet, slow-paced, hand-in-hand walk up to my deck.
“Let me buy you supper,” Mick invited, “dress up. We’ll go somewhere nice.” Who was I to argue? He must have planned this all along as he had a set of good clothes in his pack. We showered--without all the sexy foreplay this time, but sensuously, tenderly, lovingly nevertheless. We dried each other off, combed our hair, splashed on a little subtle cologne, dressed, and headed out. God we looked good! We smelled good! We felt good. True to his word, Mick took me to the classiest restaurant in town, well actually I took him because we went in my car rather than on the bike. As we drove off, I looked wistfully at the bike, hoping I had not had my last ride on it. Dinner was classic. Mick’s travels as a professional hockey player had given him a sophisticated knowledge of food and wine and he pulled all the stops this evening. The food was perfect, the wine was perfect, the service was perfect, the company was perfect. And for dessert, we went back home to enjoy brandy and cigars and cream puffs on my deck.
Over our second brandy, Mick turned to me and looked deep into my eyes. “These days with you have been so perfect for me,” he whispered. “You are a perfect lover, a perfect love-maker.” And he looked a little sad and wistful. Where was this going? I wondered. He continued, “I want to give myself to you completely, and I want to take you completely too. But I’m not ready to do either just yet. Can you accept that? I do want to feel your cock inside me, and I want to feel mine inside you, but not yet, not tonight. I’m not ready. Can you forgive that?” His eyes filled with tears, his lower lip trembled.
I hadn’t known I was holding my breath in fear he was going to say he didn’t want to see me again, but I guess I was. Looking at him, I exhaled and gasped for air. “Mick! I wasn’t expecting that! I’m incredibly happy we have what we have, that we’ve done what we’ve done. This has been perfect for me. Anything else would be ’way beyond anything I’ve dreamed of. You’ve shown me ecstasy like I’ve never known before-with your lovemaking, with your lovingness, with the exciting things we’ve done together. Don’t think I’d demand more. I feel like I’ve been in heaven since the moment you climbed into my bed after the party!”
I reached over and wiped his tears with my thumb. I drew his face to mine. I kissed him tenderly, lovingly, reassuringly. Catching his breath with a little sob, he kissed back just as tenderly and lovingly. Then we hugged, our foreheads touching, then cheek-to-cheek, then lips-to-lips again. And we hugged and cuddled and snuggled till bedtime. And in bed we continued with the hugging and cuddling and snuggling. But our cocks and prostates were quiet, sated, drained. We slept deeply, comfortably, lovingly wrapped in each other’s arms.
In the morning we woke happy, still sated. We played light sabres with our morning pisses again. We showered, tenderly washing each other. We shaved, impishly bumping our naked hips together and wiggling our floppy cocks. But we didn’t get hard, we didn’t get slick. We dressed, we had a quiet, touchy-feely breakfast, we savoured our coffee on the deck, holding hands.
Then we walked to Mick’s bike, quietly and tearfully hugged each other tightly, kissed tenderly, and Mick mounted the bike. Through tears he smiled and mouthed good-bye, roared the bike to life, and sped down the driveway. Sad, I stood watching him disappear, waving weakly as he rounded the distant corner and the sound of his bike faded away. Then I sat down on my driveway and the tears poured down my cheeks. Six weeks! Maybe more! Maybe forever . . . .
I was bereft.
The End