Man of My Dreams Pt. 01 by JJAX95,JJAX95 My name is Neil. I’ve been living alone since my wife lost her three year battle with cancer, four years ago. My two daughters and four grandchildren visit often, as well as my half-brother, Todd, so I’m never lonely. When the worst of the grief left me, I realized I wasn’t missing out on dating, with all of my family around to fulfill me. So I put my focus on them and on the farm I own.
Years later, however, my mind and body yearn for a romantic partner. While my family gives me all the love I could ever need, I also realize I need someone to hold in the long nights, someone to be around the house to fill the quiet hours with warmth and laughter, and someone to open my heart to. My wife was the only woman I had ever loved, and will ever love. I can’t see myself with another.
Naturally, I think about the possibility of pursuing a man. Since I was young, I’ve had a certain curiosity towards men. I found myself looking at their rear ends or their crotches out in public, I would touch myself to the underwear models in those old clothing store catalogs, and the few times I’ve been to a gym I’d sneak glances at all of the naked men around me. I found it exhilarating and naughty, but during that time, being gay was a big taboo, so I tamped the feelings down and started a traditional family. While I was always faithful to my wife, I couldn’t help but continue to sneak looks.
But times are different now, and being attracted to the opposite gender is more accepted than ever. I make up my mind and resolve to try and find a partner. I don’t have the slightest clue how to meet another man, short of gay bars, but I’m not comfortable with that yet. Feeling a little foolish, I research “how to meet gay guys” into my desktop computer. I find all sorts of things about cruising and dark rooms and the like, but I want more of a connection. I want to actually date. Then I see the dating apps, the most popular one being called “Grindr”.
I download it on my phone and create an account. I fill out the demographics page; 61 years old, 6’2″ tall, 185 lbs, I guess an athletic body, though a little softer in age. Caucasian. Dick size? I actually have measured before, when I was much, much younger and I’m 7.5″ and circumcised.
I’m stumped on the position. Am I a top, bottom, or verse? I don’t know what those terms mean, so back on Google I go, feeling very thankful I’m trying this in the age of free information on the web. Once I read up a bit, realize that I’m a top. I couldn’t imagine another man putting his dick in me, though I’m curious about oral.
I choose a picture of myself leaning on a fence post here on the farm. I’m in a cowboy hat, white button down, snugly fit jeans, and my big belt buckle. I have a wide smile and my whole, slightly weathered face and my trim grey beard are clearly visible. Then I browse. My hopes are dampened slightly when it seems most of the men on here are looking for no strings hookups. I get a slew of messages the first couple of days, but they were all young guys looking for a “daddy”, so I reply to each and say I’m not interested.
—
After a few weeks, with no prospects to speak of, I think about deleting the stupid app and trying another method, or giving up entirely, but I don’t, not yet. I’ll give it one more week. On the last day I get on, my is patience already thin from the long and tiring day. I tell myself that if I don’t get a message from anyone looking for anything other than sex tonight, I’ll delete the app. But lo and behold, I see a conversation that was started late last night, by an account I haven’t seen before. FlOwen58. It says, “Good evening, O’Neil61. How are you? I know its late, so there’s no rush to respond. Hope to hear from you soon!” I click to his profile and see a man of average height with a stocky build, wearing a purple polo and dark grey slacks. He has a clean shaven, soft, and kins face that’s still very manly, with light brown, medium-short hair that’s graying at the temples and into his grown out sideburns. His torso looks soft with a round gut hanging over his belt, but not excessively. He looks like a corporate man.
I look at his demographics. He’s 5’10”, 250 lbs, and Caucasian. His dick size is 6 inches and cut. I move to the position and see he is a bottom and that he’s looking for dates and a long term relationship. Jackpot. I move back to the messaging page and reply, “I’m doing great, thanks. I just got home from the store and will cook dinner soon. How about you?”
He must be online because his reply is almost instantaneous, “Sounds excellent, what are you cooking? And I’m great! Though I’m not doing anything worthy of note, just sitting on the couch watching a new TV show.”
“That sounds lovely. I’m just going to cook some steaks with some fries. I’m only seasoning the steak with salt and pepper, so nothing interesting there either, ha.”
“Sounds like a plan, Stan, haha. Where are you located? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Northeast side of town, out in the country. Yourself?”
“Northwest in the suburbs. I work at that big bank on Sanderson St.”
So he is a corporate man. He looks every bit a banker. “What do you do there?”
It takes a little longer for his reply, “A CPA, I’ve been there for about three years. I transferred here from the branch in my hometown after my wife died.” Oh, so he’s widower too, perhaps exploring a repressed side of him, like myself. Interesting.
As I put the steaks on, he asks me what I do for work, and I tell him I own a farm with cows, pigs, horses, chickens, and different crops. He responds with, “Wow, sounds like a full time job. How do you have time to do anything else? A handsome man like you must have to beat the men off with a stick, haha.”
I smile at the compliment, having gone many a year without hearing someone call me handsome. “Ha, thanks, but I don’t have much time for anything else. I did hire some extra farm hands recently, so my workload has gone down a bit, and I’m hoping for more free time to explore my interests. As for dating, I haven’t had so much as the promise of a kiss since my wife died four years ago.”
He replies with, “I see. We are in similar circumstances. Well hopefully you do have more free time, I would love to get to know you. I’m looking to find a close friend, and if it moves past that, then all the better.”
“Seems our interests align.”
He then formally introduces himself as Owen Stanley, and I introduce myself as Neil Danford. He asks me if I would want to get coffee downtown at a locally owned café on Saturday, and I leap at the opportunity and accept the invite. I tell him I can be free as early as 7:30 am, as I get up early to feed the animals. We plan to meet at 8:15 am at the café.
We spend the rest of the night talking intermittently, establishing a baseline knowledge of each other and our interests. Turns out we both share a love of sci-fi movies, walking and hiking, and gourmet coffees to name a few. The only difference is that Owen is a beach person, and I prefer lakes and mountains.
—
Its only Wednesday and I now have two whole days to think about this new, possible connection, and to get nervous about it. I hadn’t had a first date since my wife, almost 40 years ago, and I feel butterflies like I’m a teenager with a schoolboy’s crush. Thinking of my wife now, I can’t help but feel a little guilty about trying to find another partner, but I think of a conversation we had late in her illness. She told me she wished I could find love again after she passed, as her cancer had long been terminal and those were her final days. I had cried and said she was the only one for me, but she shushed me in her brusque way and said that people could fall in love twice and all she wanted was for me to be happy again.
So, I put away the guilt and try to find a suitable outfit, I want a little dressy but not like I’m trying too hard. My daughters did a whole wardrobe makeover about two years after I buried my wife, and they bought me all new jeans and shirts. Long sleeved button downs are my favorite style shirt to wear, so they got me a bunch of different ones in all kinds of colors and even a few patterned ones. For the meeting with Owen, I choose dark blue, starched jeans that fit snuggly, a pale yellow button down, dark brown cowboy boots, and an off white cowboy hat.
—
Saturday comes and I start to get ready around 7 am, showering, trimming my already close cropped beard, and add a bit of my favorite cologne. After, I stand in front of the mirror in my plaid boxers, examining my body. I’m lean as I’ve always been, and the years of farm work has toned my arms, legs, and butt. I did have a toned abdomen in my youth, but old age has made it soft. I run my hands through the smattering of salt and pepper chest hair, down my smooth belly, before touching my flaccid dick and low hanging balls. This thing hadn’t seen action in almost ten years, but I know it still works. I get hard all the time thinking about the naked men I used to see and all the fantasies I still have, and masturbating helped give me a good release during the really bad times. Should I trim the thick black bush and hair from around my balls? No, it was too early to be thinking of sex, and I’ve never felt the urge to trim down there, it always seemed too feminine.
At 7:45 am, I get in my truck and drive the 25 minutes to town, getting to the café five minutes early. I get out and walk up. I see him standing near the door with his back turned, hands in his pockets. His body, since I memorized it that first night, is easily recognizable. But now, I’m getting the view from behind. He has a thin spot right at the crown of his head, and I see his forearms are covered in a thick fluff of light brown hair. And his butt, covered in pastel yellow trousers, is large, round, and has a perky look to it. I get an urge to run up and grope it, to massage it and revel in its delightful plumpness but suppress it. I can even see the faint diagonal lines under each cheek from the briefs he’s wearing. I’ve always been an ass man. Both men’s and women’s.
I call out and we greet with a handshake and tentative hug. Owen comments how our outfits match, only inverted, as he’s wearing a dark blue polo to match my dark blue jeans, too. We go in and grab a table away from the crowd. Owen orders a latte, and I a cappuccino. As we talk, both of our nerves plain as day, I notice how soft and sweet his voice is. It’s not as deep as mine, and his southern accent isn’t as strong. It matches his soft and sweet face.
After warming to each other, we speak of how our weeks were, about our jobs, and our hobbies. I tell him about my love of carpentry and leather-working. Owen says he loves fishing and cooking, and that maybe he could invite me to his house and cook for me if I’d like.
Then the conversation turns to family. We start with our wives, telling each other how we lost them, to go ahead and get it out there. Owen’s died in a car wreck three years ago. He chokes up suddenly and apologizes. I just reach my hand out to rest on his forearm and I try to comfort him. It helps when I change the subject to our children and then our grandchildren. I have two girls with a teenage grandson and granddaughter. Owen has three boys and five grandchildren who are all still babies and toddlers.
We each have three cups of coffee and split a honeyed croissant. When we leave around 11:30, I say, “I’m enjoying talking with you so much, and I don’t really feel like going home yet. You want to get lunch?”
“Absolutely,” Owen says. “There’s a great deli a few blocks down with the best sandwiches.”
I know the place and agree. When we sit down with our food, I ask about his job. “I’ve been with the bank for over 20 years,” he says. He has to pause to chew. “But, after my wife died, I couldn’t stand to stay in that town, so I moved here. I just picked it randomly. Before the bank, I was in the Navy for 10 years working the books and accounting. What about you? How did you get into the farming business?”
“I inherited it from my daddy, and him from his daddy. My girls aren’t much for it, but my grandson seems interested, so I hope to pass it on to him.”
“Here’s to hoping,” he says with a chuckle, tipping his sandwich to me in a mock cheers. I laugh and do the same.
After lunch, I say I need to get back to the farm and check on things, and we exchange numbers, planning to meet up next Saturday. We share another hug, less tentative this time, a bit longer, and part ways. When I get home I text him, “I had such a great time with you today, and it was probably the best day I’ve had in a long time.”
A few seconds later I read, “Why thank you! And I likewise had an amazing time. I can’t wait to see you again.” And he even adds a sideways smiley face that makes me smile like an idiot.
—
We message on and off throughout the week, both of us busy with our respective jobs and lives. Then, it’s Saturday again, and we meet at the same café at the same time. I’m wearing a grey t-shirt, light blue jeans, and white sneakers. Owen has on black jeans, black shoes, and a green t-shirt that’s tucked. We greet and share a more confident hug before walking in.
As I hold the door for him, I can’t help but look at his butt. Those jeans, slightly faded, were hugging his bottom nicely, creating a slight creasing in the seat where the jeans were just barely riding between his cheeks. It’s doing everything for me and it’s a wonder my mouth isn’t watering.
I ask him as we stand in line, “Why don’t we get our coffee to go today and walk around for a bit? I’d love to show you the finer points of the city if you’d like.”
“That sounds great. I have to admit I haven’t gotten out much since I moved here, only been to a couple of the restaurants.”
We get our coffee and wander the city. I show him points of interest and personal history of certain ones. Then, we walk to the large park in the middle of town with its gardens and duck filled ponds. I notice as we walk and talk, Owen will lightly place his hand on my arm when he finds something particularly funny, and it leaves me with goosebumps and butterflies. It’s getting harder not to jump his bones with all the signals he’s giving me. But, I’m a gentleman, and I want to take things slow. We wrap up the day with a late lunch at a salad place. When we part, our hug lasts a little longer, a little tighter, and Owen even gives me a light rub on my back with one hand, making me relax into him and sigh.
—
Over the next few months, we see each other more often. For the first couple weeks, we just meet on Saturdays and spent the day together. Then, we start seeing each other Saturday and Sunday, all day. We go to the movies, have coffee together in the mornings, and dinner together at night. After the first month or so, we started to meet at the beach after he gets off work to walk together. Roll up our pants legs and take off our shoes to enjoy the cool water and stroll along the wet sand.
My feelings for Owen only grow with each passing week, but we’re both taking it slow, as we had discussed around our 5th date. We both agreed to begin as friends, build a bond, and see where it takes us. But now, I want more, and I think I’ve wanted more since that very first date. The question is, how to take this to the next level? Is it different than with a woman? Is Owen supposed to make the next move? Or, should I?
—
I get my answer one night, about two months into our dating, when we’re walking under one of the boardwalks. There’s no one else around this time of day. One minute he’s by my side, looking at me with a small smile as I tell him a story about the time I was stung by a jellyfish, the next, he’s in front of me with his arms around my neck, lips planted firmly on mine.
This is my first kiss with a man, and I’m stunned. I tense by instinct, but it doesn’t last long and right as I start to relax into his smooth lips and soft body, he pulls back, looking alarmed. “I’m sorry!” He looks worried. “I just thought, you know, we were getting along so well. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have sprung that on y-.”
I cut him off by grabbing his waist and pulling him back into me, pressing my own kiss on his lips. Owen’s arms are around my neck again and he leans into me. We kiss once, twice, three times. Each time we break, we’re smiling at each other. Now, we kiss hello and goodbye in addition to our hug, but only when no one else can see. We even hold hands every now and then if we ride together or when we’re sitting in a less crowded movie theater.
—
With our newly evolving relationship, and all of its connected feelings, I realize that I’ve been deeply depressed all these years since my wife died, and I’ve been just going through the motions on autopilot. I also realize Owen is pulling me out of it, slowly, bit by bit. Since meeting him, I feel myself having more energy and a more positive outlook than I’ve had in a while. I can only wonder if I’m doing the same for him. My daughters notice the change too, and ask me about it.
“I met a guy in town and we struck up a friendship,” I tell them one night on a video call. They both live in town, but this is how we speak most of the time instead of calling or texting. “We’ve hung out a few times, just coffee mostly, but it’s been nice having someone my age to talk to and connect with.” I intentionally play down the relationship to that of two platonic friends, not two men having romantic outings and kissing. I just can’t bring myself to tell them about it yet. We aren’t even official, and I’m afraid of how they’ll react.
They both say, “That’s great, daddy! I hope we can meet him sometime.”
—
Its Saturday night, and Owen invites me over to treat me to his “world-famous” cooking, his words. I knock on his front door and when he answers, I’m rendered speechless as he opens the door and is framed in a soft golden light coming from inside the house. He’s wearing a pale blue polo with white, fitted linen pants. His polo is made of a thin material and I can see the impressions of his nipples through the fabric, and I also see a patch of darker brown hair poking up from the collar of his shirt.
He has a wide, warm smile when he greets me. “Hello there, handsome!” He looks me over and he takes in my light green button down, my dark gray slacks, and my shiny black shoes. “You look great!” I return his compliment earnestly. He welcomes me in and gives me a lingering kiss with those soft lips of his, and guides me to the kitchen.
His home is only two bedrooms, one of which is a hybrid guest room and office space. The interior is decorated with modern, neutral colored fixtures. The subdued appearance is overshadowed by the hundreds of frame photos all throughout his house, showing what I assume is his family. We get to the modern kitchen and I smell garlic and tomatoes, and wonder if he’s miking something Italian. As if reading my mind, Owen says, “I’m making lasagna, mind helping?”
“I’m, uh, not the best with cooking to be honest. If it’s not on a grill or in the microwave, I don’t eat it.” I feel a bit embarrassed.
Owen laughs at my look and says, “That’s not a problem, I’m sure we can find a place for you.” He assigns me to watch the sauce while he preps the other ingredients, both of us sipping wine and chatting. When it’s time for the lasagna and bread to come out of the oven, Owen directs my to toss the salad while he plates everything.
I have a naughty intrinsic thought when he says it, “I’d like to toss your salad.” Using the lingo he had learned on the internet. But I don’t say it aloud.
We eat at a candlelit table in the dining room that’s attached to the kitchen. I shower him with praise each time I try a different part of the meal, with in utter truth is delicious, some of the best pasta I’ve ever had. Throughout dinner, my eyes keep drifting down to his chest. I can’t take my eyes off of that tuft of hair sticking out, contrasting his smooth face perfectly. His thin polo shirt is tucked slightly under his pecs, and I can feel myself getting hard under the table as I imagine what they must feel like to be squeezed and played with. I swear if this man doesn’t initiate sex soon, I’m going to die of anticipation. Or, I can initiate myself.
Thanks for reading pls vote or comment —-
After dinner, and after I’ve “calmed down”, we sit on the couch an inch or so away from each other. Owen puts on a sappy, feel good movie and we keep sipping wine. After a while, he reaches over and grabs my hand, interlacing his thick fingers with my longer ones. It’s so soft, just like the rest of him. But, I don’t think of him as feminine or less manly, he’s just more subtle in his masculinity, but it’s definitely still there. I look over to him and he to me, a small smile on his lips.
He scoots closer, so our thighs are touching and turns his attention back to the movie. It’s been a while since I held hands with anyone, but it’s really nice, and Owen’s hand seems to fit mine well. I caress his hand gently with my thumb a while before something just connects between us and we turn our heads to look at each other again, and we kiss. But this kiss doesn’t end quickly. It lingers between us, and when I reach my hand up to cup the side of his face, my tongue slips inside of his mouth, and his comes out to greet it.
He turns slightly and puts his outside hand on my thigh, halfway up. I feel a tingling jolt jump from his hand to my crotch, and my dick twitches. We make out with the gusto of two horny teenagers, all open mouths and swiping tongues. His hand creeps up my thigh as I caress his cheek, getting closer and closer to my erection.
Just then, Owen pulls back to look me in the eyes. “I don’t mean to kill the mood but, how are you feeling about this? I just wanted to check in before we go any further.” He says it softly, almost a whisper as he stares into my eyes with the most loving expression I’ve seen directed my way in many years.
Just as quietly I say, “It’s different for sure, but it feels right.” My smile gets bigger and I add in a more sultry voice, “If you want to know how right it feels, you should feel what’s between my legs.”
“Oh yea? Well let’s take a look.” He looks down and mocks surprise. “Oh! I see what you mean! Well let’s take care of that.” He reaches down and grabs me with his full hand on the outside of the fabric. I moan. This is the first external stimulation my ol’ dick has had in years and years. The slippery fabric of my boxers feels heavenly sliding over my skin. Whatever happens, I won’t last long.
Owen then reaches for my belt buckle and skillfully unclasps it with one hand, then my slacks button is undone. In a heartbeat, his hand is past the zipper and diving into the waistline of my boxers. When his hand first wraps around me with that thick, meaty, soft hand, I grunt loudly, which turns into a deep moan. He pulls me out of my boxers and lightly strokes the entire length once, twice, three times, making me moan into his mouth with each pass. Then, he breaks the kiss, scoots back slightly, and leans down to swallow the whole thing. All the way to where his nose is buried in my salt and pepper bush, before slowly pulling up, clenching his lips more and flicking his tongue along the underside of it. It takes every single ounce of strength and willpower I have to not orgasm instantly. His mouth is the warmest, wettest, silkiest thing I’ve ever had the pleasure of feeling. No woman, even my wife, had ever been able to take the whole thing, and she had never even liked giving oral much, so I’d forgotten just how good it feels.
“Dang, Owen,” I say through the panting. “I thought you’d never been with a man before. You seem much too good at this for that to be true.” I add a chuckle at the end.
“Oh no, baby. When I was in the navy, before I met my wife, I was known around my ship for being a source of relief for the other seamen. If you take my meaning.” He winks, stoking the flames of my desire.
“Oh I see,” is all I can think to say.
“Trust, you will.” With those three words, his mouth was back around me, sliding up and down while one of his hands played with my balls. I’ve never had anyone ever do what Owen is doing, and it just elevates the pleasure that the warmth and wetness of his mouth and tongue is giving me. I massage his broad back and shoulders.
I feel the unmistakable crescendo of pleasure, and gently lift Owen off of my dick. “Don’t want to go too quickly, I don’t know if this ol’ pistol of mine has more than one shot a day.” We both laugh as I get down on my knees and position myself between his legs, facing him. I let my pants fall to my ankles and kick them off, leaving my boxers still partially on. My arms go around his waist to his back as his go around my neck to run his fingers through my close cropped, gray hair. I run my hands all up and down his shoulders and back. I stop at his belt, wanting to wait to touch the long awaited prize until I have better access to it.
Now he’s unbuttoning my shirt, and I untuck his at the same time. We’re both so eager to get the other’s off. We pause our kissing long enough to admire each other’s bodies. His broad chest with delectably beefy pecs is covered in that fluffy, brown hair I saw peeking out earlier. It thins considerably on his belly, but he has a thick happy trail than curves along his round belly and disappears into his waistline. I run my fingers through his fur, cupping his breasts and giving a light squeeze before exploring his stomach and the hair free, more toned regions sides. Owen likewise runs his hands over my chest, then down to my stomach, before wrapping his hand around my dick again, but just holding on as he kisses me again. His other hand travels to cup my face now, and he strokes my beard.
It’s my turn to give some oral pleasure, but I’ve never once done this and I’m nervous. I push him back into the couch gently and rub his thighs. I feel silly when I say, “I’ve never done this before, so I hope you enjoy it.” Full disclosure and all that.
His smile is warm and comforting when he replies, “That’s more than fine, being here with you is already giving me so much pleasure, I’m afraid I’ll burst at the seams from it. Whatever else happens is just bonus points.” He’s a smooth talker for sure, and that voice of his is as sweet as honey to my ears. I know I’ll never tire of it.
I get his belt buckle undone, then the zipper, then I tell him to lift his butt up so I can slide his pants and underwear down. And there it is. It’s much shorter than mine, but it looks like it’s a bit thicker. It’s cut like mine. His head is beautifully rounded and proportional to the shaft. That happy trail leads to a thick, fluffy bush. But his balls are shaved smooth as glass. They seem objectively larger and they sag a bit lower than my own.
“Well, no time like the present,” I think before leaning down and wrapping my lips around the head, just to test the waters. I feel a rush of blood swell into it in my mouth. It’s so good, and I move my tongue a bit across the underside, making Owen moan. “Good, he likes it so far.” It tastes good, unlike anything I’ve ever tasted before. The faint smell of a good, masculine musk wafts up and almost makes me faint in ecstasy, and it drives me to take more of him into my mouth, my nose trying to get closer to the source of the aroma. I can only take half, he really is thicker than average, but I bob up and down a while, rubbing his thighs before moving to play with his pecs and nipples. He rubs my arms and shoulders and neck while his head is lolled back against the couch.
His voice breaks the silence and he asks, “We should move this to the bedroom, don’t you think?”
I pull my lips off of his dick, and smile as I look into his eyes and say, “I’d love that.”
I stand up with a bit of creaking and cursing of my joints, but I laugh it off as I help Owen up and out of his pants the rest of the way. As he leads the way to the bedroom, I get my first full look at his bare bottom. It’s pale and just as round, plump, and juicy as I’d always pictured it. The hair on his upper and lower back taper off completely when it reaches his butt, then restarts a few inches down his thighs. It takes even more strength and willpower to not knock him to the floor right this second, right in the hallway, and fuck him senseless. My flame burns hotter.
Once inside, I let my boxers fall to the floor, and I pull Owen into an embrace. Our fully bare bodies, along with both of our dicks, are pressed tightly into each other. We kiss for a long time, lost in the moment, each of us savoring the feel of the other as we hold on tight. I feel myself being tethered more tightly to him, not sexually, but in my mind. My feelings are turning quickly into what I’m thinking is love. But, I’ll process that later. Now I want to focus on the physical pleasures.
We go to the bed and I lie down in the middle, head propped on some pillows, as Owen gets between my legs on his belly. He strokes me lightly at first, from root to tip, then adds light caresses across my balls. Our eyes are locked the whole time. He moves to lightly lick each side, then the underside, before opening his mouth and taking the whole thing again. More warm, wet silk. My fingers tangle in his hair, but they don’t guide him or push him down, just lightly rest on top, along for the ride. Up and down, up and down Owen goes, adding more saliva with each pass, tugging my balls more firmly now. I can’t help it. Without warning, my pleasure overtakes me and I’m grunting and spasming with the largest, most intense orgasm I’ve ever had. Owen has to use a hand to grab my dick to steady it as he swallows nearly ten years’ worth of pent up sexual energy.
Through the many and frequent “aftershocks” I hear Owen say, “Damn baby, I almost couldn’t swallow it all.” And that right there, hearing those words coming from a man’s mouth, directed at me, after having his mouth on my dick, makes me instantly horny again. A true miracle. My already softening erection jumps back to attention just as quickly. “And damn again,” he says through disbelieving laughter. “The mighty python wants more.”
“Seems it does, though I’ve also never had this happen before.” I’m more stunned than anything.
“Well we’d better not let it go to waist, yeah? I think I know another perfect place we can put this.”
The whole sight of this man, this father and grandfather that’s hairy as a bear, gripping my dick and giving a look of pure lust is enough to throw me into overdrive. I sit up and pull his head towards mine into a kiss before guiding him up to the head of the bed onto his back. I flip on top of him and slip between his legs, pressing my dick to his again.
In this position, with my arms on either side of his head, and him caressing my chest and back, it hits me that all the lovemaking skills I perfected with my wife can be applied here, too. This position is no different than the one I’d have a woman in, even if it is a man under me now. Same technique, different equipment. So I start with another kiss, before moving to kiss up and down each side of his neck, eliciting soft moans from him. Then, I move down to his chest where I kiss and lick around his nipples before sucking them, first the left, then the right. I move down his round belly, kissing down his happy trail before rubbing my face through his pubes. They’re fluffy and soft. I’ve always enjoyed the natural look compared to clean shaven, even with women.
When I get to his dick, I suck it a few times before moving to his balls. I can almost fit one of them in my mouth, but they’re a bit too big, so I content myself with licking them all over and sucking on them before he grabs his legs and pulls them to his chest, exposing his asshole. My mouth waters as I feast my eyes on a slightly furry, perfectly pink, virgin hole. All the years of ogling guys at the gym, I’d never seen a single asshole, but I always wanted to. Now, I have one all to myself, being so graciously presented to me.
Instinct takes over and I dive in. One of the best parts of sex to me is giving oral, and eating an ass isn’t that different than a vagina, at least in my opinion. So, I use the same technique now, and it must be working, because Owen pulls his legs tighter, giving me even better access as I run my tongue every which way over his hole and up and down his crack. That manly musk from earlier is more concentrated here and my dick feels like it might shatter from how hard it is.
I come up to lock my lips with his as my dick rubs against his asshole, teasing it with the whole length. “I want to make love to you, Owen.” I give him a gentle peck on the lips. “I want to be inside of you so badly.” Another peck. “I want to feel myself sliding home into that soft, sweet ass of yours.” And another.
“Oh Neil, it’s yours for the taking. I want to feel that long, hard dick of yours so deep in me.” His expression is pleading, he needs it just as badly as I do. “There’s lube in the bedside table, I bought it recently hoping we’d be doing this soon.”
“Naughty, naughty boy,” I say. “Condoms?”
“No, baby, I want us to feel each other completely. I trust you, and I hope you can trust me. I’m clean.”
“Okay, all the better,” I say as I lean back and take in the whole picture of Owen still holding his legs back, desire written all over his face, and his pink hole just begging to be filled. I have the foresight to lube him up and finger him first. My long fingers cause him to squirm and moan as I put another one inside of him, reveling in the warmth and velvety softness. Then I lube myself and line up with his hole. “Ready?”
“Oh yes baby, give it to me.” He’s practically begging, but adds, “Go slow at first though, I’ve never been penetrated.”
“Of course,” I say as I push inside, first the head, giving him a moment to adjust. Then I slide in inch after inch, slowly, gently, until I bottom out, Owen’s face goes from being pinched in discomfort to slack jawed and moaning in pleasure. Though the feeling is somewhat similar to being inside of a woman, Owen is definitely tighter than any vagina. Much tighter. He’s nearly catatonic at this point, with all seven and a half inches of my dick buried in his virgin ass. I lean down and take control of his legs from him, and revive him with a soft kiss on the lips.
He wraps his arms around my waist, his hands finding my toned cheeks, and he holds onto me firmly as I pull out. Only the tip is in when I give him another kiss and push back inside, a little for forcefully this time. Then again. And again. In and out I thrust, giving him every bit of me before pulling all of it out. And again and again. Owen is moaning and whimpering, begging for more, begging me fuck him harder, harder and faster.
I pull back and we stare into each other’s eyes as I find a good pace and really start giving it to him. The only sounds are our combined grunts alongside the slapping of my hips against his ass. Even after just having an orgasm minutes ago, I could feel another one quickly building.
“I’m gonna cum soon baby, want me to pull out?”
Though the moaning, Owen says, “Don’t you dare. Please, give it to me, give me your cum, baby!”
That’s all I need to hear. I pick up the pace, pushing his legs back even more as I lean back a bit for better leverage, looking down at his face as he yells in pleasure. Right when my orgasm swells and peaks, I hold my self still and let loose inside of him. At the same time, he whines and spasms with his own orgasm, and I see him cum on his belly and chest, hands free. We lay there for several minutes, kissing and holding each other while our bodies are both wracked with those aftershocks, and then still until my dick completely goes soft.
We lie side by side until we catch our breath and Owen suggests a shower. We clean up and he invites me to spend the night. I almost say no, as this is another big leap and I’m not sure I’m ready. But that feeling quickly goes away as I look into those warm, brown eyes and I say yes. We sleep naked under the covers, me spooning him.
—-
In the morning, I realize that I slept through the night, a first. Then, I look to the alarm clock by the bed and see that it’s well past 8 am. I never sleep this late, ever. I wake up every morning at 5:30, and have for the past several decades. I remember we went to sleep around 10pm last night, so that means I slept for over ten hours, another first.
Once I sit up on the edge of the bed, I turn and notice Owen isn’t beside me, though I do smell something cooking and I hear pots rattling in the kitchen. I put my boxers back on since all my other clothes are still in the living room and walk out to greet Owen. He’s standing at the kitchen wearing a bathrobe made of a thin cotton, facing the stove, and doesn’t hear me come in. I walk behind him and wrap my arms around his body from behind, resting on the underside of his belly as I say, “Good morning, handsome.” I give him a few light kisses on his neck.
“Mmmmm, and right back at you, cowboy.” He leans his head away from my kisses, offering his neck for more. “Mm, you sure threw it on me last night. That was a once in a lifetime feeling,”
I push my body more firmly against his as I say, “You’re preaching to the choir all right.” I give a little chuckle and continue, “What’re you cooking?” I step back and he turns around to face me.
“Eggs, bacon, grits. Toast in the toaster and I have some apple jam in the fridge. There’s a pot of fresh coffee over there. I have some creamer in the fridge.”
Owen brings me a bathrobe of my own as I make a cup of coffee, then we sit down to eat. I can’t stop smiling this morning as I bask in the afterglow of sex, and Owen is all smiles too as we chat. It’s so easy to talk to him, I feel we would talk non-stop for the next 20 years and never run out of things to say.
When we finish eating Owen asks, “There’s a spot downtown that has good music and even better food that a coworker introduced me to last year. Would you want to go there tonight with me? It has a bit of a dress code, so we’d need to get dressed up a bit.”
I say yes and we plan to meet at 6. I have to go home and tend to the farm first, though, so I dress and we spend at least 30 minutes kissing goodbye by the door. Seems both of us don’t want me to go. But, I break first, telling him with a final, small peck and an exasperated laugh that I’ll see him tonight before walking to the door, excited about going out tonight.
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