With apologies to Curtis, I have changed the title of this story from its working title, "Assisted Living".
The Spice of Life
Part 1 - "Brad"
The pretty blond stripped off his worn T-shirt and tossed it on the gnarled old rose bush. I'd seen him over the past several days and today I was prepared. I got as close as I could, crouching behind a large shrub in my front lawn so I couldn't be seen, focused my zoom lens and snapped away as he stretched his muscled arms toward the cloudless blue and breathed deeply of the clean June air. I wanted to add his picture to the growing gallery of scantily dressed and naked men on my den walls. He closed his eyes and faced the morning sun, twisting his magnificent torso before grabbing his shirt and sauntering into the long neglected mansion.
This new object of my desire was the youngest of the construction gang that was working across the street from my house. He couldn't have been more than two or three years out of high school which meant that I was almost twice his age; but his bearing and the way he moved indicated an assurance of a fully mature man. He and his crew were working to renovate the old mansion across the street into an assisted living facility. Each morning he parked his white Chevy pickup on the street that runs beside my property and ends at the road that both my house and the old mansion face.
I decided to be near his truck at quitting time. The shrubbery there needed pruning anyway. When I saw him emerge from the mansion I wiped the sweat from my brow with the back of my tanned hand and watched him cross the street.
"Hey," I said as he approached his truck.
"Hey," he replied. "How's it going?"
"Great," I said.
"Hope you don't mind my parking here," he said nodding in the direction of his truck.
"It's a public street," I said.
"Yeah," he grunted and half laughed.
"Are you making much progress over there?" I asked to prolong our contact.
"Yeah," he answered. "It's hot work though and I ran out of water a little while ago."
"Would you like something cold to drink?" I asked.
He gave me a puzzled look and then said, "Yeah. Yeah, I would."
He dropped his tool belt onto the bed of his truck and followed me around the house to my kitchen door.
Leaning against the counter, he took great gulps of the ice water I handed him. He had big hands. His forearms were muscled and nicely haired and his T fit tightly over his hard biceps and broad chest.
He told me that he was a carpenter's assistant and that he expected to be on this job for another month - and that I should call him Brad. He held the glass out to me indicating that he wanted a refill.
"Nice place you have here," he said, craning his neck to see down the hall.
"Thanks," I said. "Would you like the nickel tour?"
He said that that would be all right and I showed him the rooms on the first floor. In my den he studied the black and white photos on the walls.
"You take these?" he asked.
"Photography is one of my hobbies," I told him.
"They're good," he said. He didn't comment on the subject matter.
"Maybe I could photograph you," I suggested.
"Maybe," he said softly. "I gotta run. I promised Judy - she's my girlfriend - that I'd pick her up at five and Manchester's almost an hour away."
"Sure," I said. "If you decide to let me photograph you . . ."
"See you around," he interrupted and turned toward the door.
"Sure," I said. "See ya." I watched as he bounded off the deck.
* * *
I made sure that I was outside again the next day at quitting time. Brad, tugging on his tattered T, walked over to where I was working. After a few minutes of small talk I asked, "Been thinking about those pictures?"
"As a matter of fact," he said, "I have. I think it'll be OK."
"Great," I said. "I have some photo books that might give us some ideas about poses and settings and things if you have a minute."
"Sure," he said. "And a glass of water?"
Brad was seated at the shady end of the deck when I returned with the water, a book of male photography and my camera. He casually flipped the pages and occasionally pointed out a picture that he liked.
"Would you like to try a few now?" I asked.
"Can't today. Judy," he offered by way of explanation.
"How about a fast test roll?" I suggested. I wondered where "test roll" came from.
"If it's fast," he emphasized. "What should I do?"
"Look into the lens," I said and I took several shots of him where he sat. He was relaxed and I knew he would come across as natural
"How about going over by the hedge and taking off your T-shirt?" I asked.
He agreed. I took several shots from different angles as he twisted his torso, lifting his shirt over his head. I snapped some more as he ran his fingers through his auburn curls.
"Now the same with your jeans," I said, hoping he wouldn't refuse. "Nice and slow," I added.
"I don't think so," he said. "Not here."
"Look around," I said. "No one can see."
Brad checked the yard and realized that shrubbery and fencing made it completely private. "I don't know," he demurred, then half shrugged his shoulders and slowly opened his jeans. I continued shooting, moving around him to get him from every angle.
He wasn't wearing any underwear. His cock bobbed free from the confining denim and arched outward. It jerked involuntarily and lengthened a little. The glans began to peep out of the wrinkled foreskin. I finished the roll and Brad raised his jeans, jutting his ass outward as he stuffed his cock back and zipped up.
"I'll have these ready tomorrow," I said. "Will you be able to do some more then?"
"Tomorrow?" he said. "Sure. Why not?" and he left the yard without looking back.
* * *
Brad liked the pictures. He looked at each one carefully, then handed them back. "They're good," was all he said.
"What now?" he asked.
"More of the same to get started," I suggested. "Then we can try something different."
Brad stood in front of some heavy shrubbery and slowly took off first his shirt, and then his jeans as he had done the day before; and I snapped away capturing different sides and angles. His cock was thick and long, hanging limp in front of his heavy ball in their hairy sack.
I spread a blanket across a sunny patch of grass and asked him to lie on it face down. I photographed his back and perfect ass from differing directions and heights. Then I asked him to roll over.
His skin held impressions made by the blanket. I told him to relax a minute while they faded and I went into the house for water for both of us.
When we finished drinking, Brad stretched out on his back, his hands cradling his head. "Ready when you are," he said.
I knelt at his side, looking at him with more than a photographer's interest. "Spread your legs a little," I prompted. He did and I reached over and brushed my finger tips over his right thigh, grazing the hairy scrotum. He looked at me.
"Grass," I said.
"Get it all?" he asked.
"Perhaps not," I replied and wiped away more imaginary blades.
His cock, which had been draped over his left thigh, began to jerk and lift. I took it in my hand, the tip between my thumb and forefinger, and squeezed. It continued to lengthen in my hand. I held it at ninety degrees to his body and began to slide my fist over his shaft and distended glans.
Brad lifted his head and looked at me. "You want it?" he said. "Suck it."
"In time," I answered.
"Now," he barked.
I knelt between his spread thighs and lowered my lips to the engorged head. Precum oozed from the slit. I mingled it with my spit and laved it over his glans and shaft with my tongue. Then I resumed the stroking motion I had started earlier.
"I told you to suck it," he said forcefully. I knew where he was going with this and it excited the hell out of me.
"Yes, Sir," I said. I encircled the base of his cock with my hand and sucked the three inches that extended upward from my fist, flattening my tongue against the sensitive underside just below the head.
As Brad got into my sucking, he lifted his hips off the blanket to meet my downward moves. Suddenly, he grabbed my wrist and pulled my hand away from his cock.
"Do it right," he said. His voice was thick and commanding. "Take it all. Go all the way down."
"Yes, Sir," I repeated. I slid my lips down his shaft and buried my nose in the thick curly hair that grew at its base. I pivoted my head and flexed the back of my tongue against his glans.
"Take it, Bitch," he said. He put his hands on either side of my head and held it firmly as he fucked my face. "Take my hard cock." I wrapped the fingers of my left hand around his balls and tugged at them as he fucked.
Brad fucked my face with strong strokes. His long shaft forced the swollen head into my throat over and over. I relaxed my throat to allow him to penetrate as deeply as possible and he tried to keep his cock there as he ground his hips forcefully against me; but because I was on top I was able to lift off him when I felt the need to breathe.
Brad became impatient with this and rolled us over onto the grass; I on my back and he over me. He planted his knees on either side of my chest. Now he was on top and in complete control. He began to fuck my mouth. After a few thrusts, he lifted my head with his left hand to improve the angle. He fucked my mouth with long, smooth thrusts. Then he lowered my head and fell forward onto his elbows, his pelvis squarely over my face. His fucking became more forceful. He held his cock deeply in my throat with each downward push, grinding and gyrating his hips against my face.
Brad's breathing intensified and his long thrusts gradually segued into urgent jabs. His cock thickened and precum seeped into my mouth.
"Fuck," he cried. "I'm gonna come. Fuck!"
He gasped loudly and a strong jet blasted against the base of my tongue. I moved my head slightly so the next blast wouldn't be so deep and I could better savor its taste. He didn't disappoint. He pumped his load into my mouth in four more forceful bursts. I swallowed most of it and swirled the rest around his cock. His body twitched in little spasms as my tongue glided over his sensitive glans.
Brad kept his cock in my mouth as he gradually came down from his sexual high. He rolled back onto the blanket, smearing my cheek with cum as his cock grazed my face. I moved against him, put my palm on his chest and moved my mouth toward his.
Brad jerked his head away and pushed my hand off his chest. "No way," he said.
I moved away quickly. "Sorry, Sir," I said.
He turned toward me and spoke forcefully. "This was my idea," he said.
"Yes, Sir," I said.
"You didn't suck my cock. I fucked your face."
"Yes, Sir," I said. "I know you did."
"You're lucky," he said.
"I know I am, Sir. Thank you."
"Goddamn lucky. I never fed a queer before."
"Yes, Sir," I repeated. "Thank you."
"We'll do this again," he said. "You'll be here and ready any time I want to fuck your queer mouth."
"Yes, Sir," I said.
"Tomorrow," he said. "I'll be here tomorrow. You be ready at quitting time tomorrow. Don't be out front. Be back here on the deck. I'll come back here and you'll be ready to have your face fucked. You'd like that, wouldn't you, Faggot?" he added.
"Yes, Sir," I said. "I'd like that. Thank you, Sir."
"In fact," he said, "you be naked. I might want to fuck you up the ass. You take it up the ass, too?"
"Yes, Sir," I said.
"Figures." He spat the word.
"You hear me and hear me good," he said. "You be naked and ready tomorrow for whatever I want to do."
"Yes, Sir," I repeated. "I'll be ready for you, Sir."
Brad got up and dressed. He looked down on me as he zipped. For good measure he said, "Be ready, Fucker. Be naked and be ready." Then he turned and left the yard.
Brad did come by the next afternoon and, as I expected and hoped, he fucked me up the ass. Over the next several weeks his harsh sexual appetite tested my talents but he never left without telling me that he'd be back.
Part 2 - "Sean"
A couple of days after Brad left the job, I noticed that a dented and rusted red Nova was parked in his old spot. I had been painting my front porch and, as I worked, I kept a lookout for its owner. I watched as he crossed the street from the construction site.
I rested my brush on the rim of the paint can and walked toward the middle of my front yard. "Hey," I said when I caught his eye.
"Hey," he said.
"How's it going?" I asked, hoping to appear casual. He took off his cap and ran his hand across his thinning strawberry blond buzz.
"Hope you don't mind my parking here," he said as he approached his car. He smiled. Deep dimples magically appeared in his cheeks and his even white teeth gleamed.
"It's a public street," I answered. "Are you about finished over there?"
"No way," he said. "Off to a good start, though.
"Looks good," he said, nodding toward my porch. He walked toward where I stood to better appraise my work. "You a painter?"
"Teacher," I replied. "Off for the summer."
"You do good work," he said.
"I like to paint," I admitted. "It gives me a feeling of accomplishment. I've painted every room in my house. Just finished the kitchen over spring break."
"Yeah?" he asked. "How'd it go?"
"Pretty well, I think. Would you like to see?"
"I got time, he said, and I led the way around the house to the kitchen door.
"Nice place you got here," he said.
"Thanks," I replied. "Would you like something to drink?"
"Water's fine," he said and I poured two glasses.
He was tall, well over six feet, and muscular. He was older than I; early fifties I guessed. He rested his beautifully rounded ass against a counter and took leisurely sips from his glass. He confirmed that he was a painter, told me that he expected to be on this job for another month and said that I should call him Sean. He asked for a second glass of water.
"Your wife a teacher, too?" he asked.
"Not married," I said.
"My wife and kids are at the ocean," he volunteered. "They spend most of every summer at her parents' beach house."
"That must be hard on you," I suggested.
"Nah," he said. "I go down most every weekend. Besides," he said grinning, displaying again those dimples and gleaming teeth "it provides me with a little variety, if ya know what I mean. Always play safe, though. Always use a condom. Got one with me now. Don't want to take some disease home to the little woman."
I moved to rest my butt beside his at the counter's edge. "So, you like variety," I said.
"Spice of life, like they say."
"How much variety do you like?" I asked.
He turned his head and looked at me. "Got something in mind?" he asked.
"Yeah, I do," I said and I pushed off from the counter.
Sean followed me upstairs to my bedroom. At the foot of the bed I turned and faced him. Without talking and without breaking eye contact I unbuttoned his shirt front. He shucked it and dropped it to the floor. Then I opened his belt and unzipped his fly. His cock was already hard and pressing against the white cotton of his briefs. I knelt in front of him and playfully bit his shaft through the fabric before freeing it and taking it into my mouth. After a short time he stepped away from me and finished undressing. I stood and did the same.
We turned back the bedspread and Sean lay across the sheet on his back. His chest and stomach were covered with fine strawberry blond hair that was especially think around his quarter-sized nipples. He muscles were long and well formed. I lay beside him on my side and ran my fingertips through the hair on his gently undulating chest.
"Nice," he said and he took my head in his two big hands and pulled my mouth to his. His lips were full and warm and we kissed deeply and long. I moved on top of him and rested my long frame on top of his. I slid my fingers down his sides and groped for his cock. Sean spread his legs to make my search easier. I cupped his big balls before closing my fingers around his hard shaft. He groaned and raked his fingers across my back. I arched over him and kissed his neck and chest and abdomen, working my way slowly down his hard body until I finally reached my goal. His glans was engorged and red with blood. Taking it in my mouth, I laved my tongue around the rubbery corona and tried to open the slit with the tip of my tongue. Then I pursed my lips and ran them down the velvety surface of that veiny piston. Grinding my nose against his pelvis, I breathed deeply of his musky smell. He began to rock from side to side as I held him deeply in my throat.
Sensing that he was near orgasm, I stopped sucking, wedged my hands behind his knees, and lifted his ass into the air. His was the hairiest ass I'd ever seen and his hole was tightly puckered and intensely pink. When I kissed it his whimper was almost a sob. I put my palms on his cheeks and spread his hole wide and invaded it repeatedly with my tongue. With each insertion Sean gasped and whimpered his pleasure. I licked all around his pucker and tongue- fucked him. His pretty hole readily accepted my thumb when I slid it over the spit-slippery ass mound and pushed it in.
I lowered his ass to the mattress and wet two fingers by sticking them in Sean's mouth and sliding them over his tongue. Then I put them against his pucker and pushed them slowly in. I finger-fucked him, twisting my wrist slightly with each push. His pink hole hugged my fingers in its elastic grip.
As I played with his hole, I kept my gaze on his face. His eyes were closed and soft moans escaped from his slightly parted lips, and he turned his head and pressed it hard against the pillow each time I grazed his prostate with the balls of my fingers.
I opened his legs wider by moving my knees against his thighs. I opened the jar of jack-off lube I kept on my night table and spread some around his hole. I introduced some into him by fucking him with my long middle finger several times. "Ready?" I asked as I placed the head of my hard cock against his hole.
Sean took a foil packet that I hadn't seen on the night stand, bit it open and handed the disk to me. I sheathed my cock and repositioned it against his hole. "Ready?" I asked again.
Sean nodded once. "Slow," he said. "Go slow."
I exerted a slight pressure but Sean's asshole resisted penetration. I leaned forward and forced the head of my cock through. Sean grimaced in pain and his sphincter tightened defensively around my shaft. "Goddamn," he whispered.
I backed out some and held my glans just inside the opening. "Relax," I said. Sean's response was one small nod of his head.
I began with tiny fucking motions, in and out of the same spot to let him get used to the thickness of my shaft. When he was ready for more, he lifted and spread his legs. I responded by slowly increasing my fucking with steady, shallow motions.
As the tempo and depth of my fucking increased, Sean moaned louder and he began to writhe under me. He spread his legs even wider to allow me to penetrate him to the hilt of my lunging shaft. I lowered my body and rested my weight on him. His moaning in my ear excited me and I abandoned any sense of restraint I may have had. I lifted my hips and rammed him, forcing his ass to accept the length and thickness and hardness of my cock in increasingly deeper stabs. My staccato grunts punctuated Sean's loud whimpers with each jab. My balls began to tighten and I could feel the nascent climax tingle my engorged glans.
Our bodies were pressed tightly together and I felt Sean's trapped cock, hard and seeping precum. He pushed upward like he was trying to fuck my stomach and cried out. He convulsed and I felt his cock pulse repeatedly, spurting his warm emission between our abdomens.
Sean's orgasm triggered a response in me that I couldn't control. I tried to hold back - to prolong his pleasure and my own - but his continuing moaning and writhing made that impossible. Like it was happening in slow motion, the first blast coursed its way up through the big tube that outlines the underside of my cock and gushed out. The second followed the first with equal force. Then a third and fourth. I continued to fuck and was rewarded with two more jets that shot out and collected in the condom's tip.
Spent and sweaty with my exertion, I relaxed my weight on Sean's strong body.
When my erection began to soften, I pulled out, stripped off the condom and tossed it into the waste basket. I lay beside Sean and slid one arm under his neck.
When he rolled to face me his mouth was near my ear. "That was a surprise," he said.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Our sex," he said. "That didn't go the way I expected."
"What did you expect?" I asked.
"To fuck you," he said simply. "That was a first for me, you know. I always wondered what it would be like."
"Now that you know, will it be your last?"
"Probably not," he said. "I'm lucky."
"How's that?" I asked.
"You know . . . with you . . . for the first time and all."
"Thanks," I said. "You're a hot man, Sean, and a great fuck."
"Will we be able to do this again?" he asked.
"You know where to find me," I said. "I'll be here," and I kissed him softly on his warm lips.
"Tomorrow," he suggested. "How about quitting time tomorrow?" He reached down and took my cock in his rough hand. "I'd like to have this thing stuffed up my ass again."
"Sounds good to me," I said.
"What about you?" he asked. " Do you ever take it up the ass?"
"Oh, yes." I almost laughed when I said it.
"Maybe I'll roll you over and return the favor tomorrow."
"I'd like that," I said.
Sean did come by the next afternoon, and as promised, he opened himself to me before rolling me onto my stomach and entering me slowly for a long and gentle fuck. His soft love making was a revelation, and he never left without the promise to come back.
Part 3 - "Ricky"
Sean's was the last crew to leave the job. The newly completed assisted living facility held its grand opening on the last Sunday in August. "What next?" I wondered. "Geriatric grandfathers who can't get it up? You'll have to look further afield for fun and games," I told myself.
On Labor Day I noticed that a new baby blue Miata was parked at the corner. I wondered whose sporty car that could be. Certainly not a geriatric grandfather's. It was there again the next evening when I got home from school.
I gathered my evening paper and went out onto the porch to relax and read. Just after six I saw a man cross the street, headed for the car. His ebony face and arms contrasted sharply with the pristine white of his shirt and pants. He had a casual gait and the sun glinted off his jet black hair with each light step. He was short, probably five six, and had a husky build. I guessed that he was close to my own age, maybe a bit younger. He unlocked the car and blew minute particles of dust from its roof before getting in and driving away. I decided to be near the corner the next evening at six.
* * *
"Nice car," I said as he approached.
"Thanks," he said, keys in hand. "Hope you don't mind my parking here."
"It's a public street," I said. "I take it you're on the staff over there."
"Yeah," he said. "Physical therapy." He pocketed his keys and crossed the lawn to where I stood. His name tag said "Ricky," and he had a smile that took my breath away.