Bryan from Byron

Bryan from Byron

-1-

“Hey, guys! Guys!” I yell out to the two men in my neighbor’s yard, they are going about the day’s work of heavy toil and labor.

The younger of the two looks at me and walks towards me with a guide rope dangling between the agile muscled fingers of his right hand. I am standing amid the trimmed and cutback azalea bushes next to a toppled longleaf pine tree sprawled about open armed like a human sacrifice across the neighbor’s front yard.

“I am Bryan, from Byron.” The man says in his introduction before I can even finish relating to them my intended sentence.

“I’m Bill.” I reply hurriedly. “When that pine tree fell, a coupla days ago. Minutes later, the gas line ruptured spewing gas everywhere. It coalesced underneath my carport before they could cap it off. I just thought I would tell y’all about it. I do not want anything bad happening to y’all.”

“Do you know where? The cap is?” he asks, as he looks about the pine needles and tree branches covering the ground looking for the cap to the gas. “Thanks for telling us. Appreciate it.”

“No. I do not know, where.”

“It’s probably near the street.” Bryan says, looking up at me from his dirty and scruffy goatee face. “Thanks for telling us. Also, do you know if there is power running into the house?”

“I think they have the lines ready to go but the meter was yanked clear off the house, as you can see.” I tell them. “I do not believe so. It was quite the hurricane, the first one here in over a hundred years to hit this part of Georgia. Category two. By-the-way, did y’all get any of it up there in Byron?”

“No. No.” Bryan says. “And none in Douglas either, where he is from.”

Bryan nods toward the other man. A short Santa Claus-looking man with a protruding round belly with spectacles to match and a bright red button nose. But minus the white wooly beard of the mythical gift bag carrying ole St. Nick. He is the complete opposite to the towering masculine, and apparently hairy man, named Bryan. Wisps of dark brownish blonde fur peeks out from underneath the man’s holey tee shirt he is wearing which also happens to be soaked to the skin in sweat as well as his well-worn work jeans.

“If y’all need anything, I am next door. Just knock on the carport door, I’ll come as quick as I can muster to answer,” I say as I let my left-hand drift down to my crotch, casually adjusting a growing erection there in my underwear-less and flimsy blue basketball shorts. Bryan is quite the man to cause such a stir in my shorts.

I see Bryan’s hand do the same (in an apparent mimic to mine) to his soiled and dirty jeans. There seems to be quite a bulge protruding in his sweat-soaked grimy jeans.

For the next few hours, the clanky-clank sound of the puttering Bobcat as it crushes the branches of the fallen tree and snatching at the dangling limbs on others with its extended arm-like claws as they clear the yard and topple the other pine that had lost its top half in the fierce gust of the now long-gone hurricane that had appeared exactly a week ago on a Wednesday. Intermingled among all these furious sounds was the random chainsaw and the yells between the two men as they did their assigned and hopefully well-paid for work.

I managed to shower and shave, grab a bite to eat of left-over fried chicken, and homemade potato salad, as the work went about in progress next door. I should mention I am seated naked in my favorite chair behind closed doors as I am a single gay man in my fifty’s, enjoying the occasional hard-on as I imagine the studly Bryan working next door on his task. My fingers massage my hard-on. And dapples of leaking cum-juice appear from my pee-hole.

Later, as I was standing at the washer and dryer near my carport door, I hear an anxious pounding of knock-knock-knock on my back door.

“Oh shit!” I muttered to myself as I stood, still naked, which I stay, daily, when I am in the confines of my private home.

“Bill are you there? It’s me. Bryan. The tree cutter working in the yard next door.”

It was Bryan. Obviously. And he was alone as I peeked out a side window curtain. Good. From what I could surmise.

“Bill, it is me, Bryan, from next door, one of the guys working on your neighbor’s trees. Can I borrow your john? Please. Please.”

I pause. I cannot say I am disappointed. I am not. But I never imagined a scenario where I would be caught with my pants down or non-existent, as in this case, with such an attractive man. Straight, I assume. At my door and just at my reach.

“Bryan!” I yell out. “Let me get a robe on. I am naked. Give me a sec.”

There is a momentary silence. Time appears to freeze. Remaining suspended motionless in the void as I await for him to respond. Hopefully for him to respond.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, Bill. I’ve seen plenty of naked men before, you do not have anything I have not seen before. Or have. I am sure.” Bryan says from the other side of my still closed door.

I pause a moment. Thinking. Pondering. His words are the same as what I have used before in conversation to other men of my generation.

I open the door. He sees my nakedness and walks over the threshold into my home. Good. Again.

“C’mon on in.” I tell him. “Please. Please.”

As he walks by me in the doorway, I can smell his sweat, and the dirt, and the scent of the felled pine trees upon him as the scents emanate from him on this hot September day. And I see patches of the pine tree sap stuck to both his shirt and jeans. He has worked hard.

“Can I borrow your bathroom? Please. Please.” He begs, as I feel his eyes roam over my somewhat older male naked body. “I really hafta go to beat the devil.”

I look around the open door. “Where’s your buddy?”

I see no hide nor hair of the little Santa Claus-looking man. Or the equipment that was used for the past several hours parked on the roadside where it had been.

“He’s gone. He took off with the Bobcat in tow. I am in my truck. Alone.”

“What doncha strip those clothes off and let me wash and dry them. I am sure you’d like to be in some fresh clean clothes on your back to where you are staying.” I offer as he hurriedly yanks his sweat-soaked tee shirt over his head. His camo baseball cap tumbles onto the kitchen floor in front of my fridge. He leaves it there.

His hair is frazzled. Unkempt. Dirty. But with waves like the ocean rolling across his head.

I am delighted. Surprised even. But I gladly welcome this younger visitor into my home.

His chest is hairy. Full. Waves upon waves of man-fur perfectly blanket this epitome of what I believe a man should look like. But it in no way deters you from the clearly defined muscles buried amidst this precious fur that lines those hard-earned blue-collar pecs. And there is a fresh pack of munchable abs amongst the blessed treasure trail that creeps ever so furiously under the waist band of those dirty jeans.

He kicks his work boots from his feet and rapidly scrolls down the worn white socks while balancing himself on one leg as he does this impossible maneuver that I would dare not venture to do at my age. I did it too when I could when I was younger.

Next comes the reveal I am relishing. Does he, or doesn’t he? He had already unsnapped his jeans before he slid off his boots, but I caught no glimpse of what lay beyond, or beneath, but now was the time. I mentally cross my fingers of what I am about to see. That I want to see. It has been to long since I’ve laid eyes upon another naked man, in person. Especially a younger one.

With his back towards me I can see the crack of his hairy-lined ass. It is round. And quite firm. And surprisingly dimpled. Hard-earned, I can only guess, from his years of tedious backbreaking work. With specks of fine little blondish-brown hairs upon it as I catch myself drooling all over my faux wood floor. He ‘goes commando’ like me. I feel my cock begin to stiffen but I am not worried. Again. If he is alright with nudity, I am sure he is equally okay with a man with a raging hard-on. A boner, as the younger men say nowadays.

I catch a glimpse of his dangling balls. They hang like two suspended pendulums on my grandmother’s old grandfather clock that she kept in the hallway of her long-gone Victorian home.

“I have a shower outside those double French double doors of my den if you’d prefer to shower outside.” I tell him. “It’s what I like to do.”

He steps from his jeans. They, like the rest of his filthy clothes lay abandoned in a heap on the faux wooden floor like some discarded aftereffects from a wearily fought battle.

“You have an outdoor shower?” he says as peers out the windows of the two doors.

“Yeah.”

It is then he faces me. His hand darts to his cock and balls. Among the thick nest of dense pubes. Is his cock. He is busy fondling it and freeing it from the sweat drenched locks. He is not hard, but it looks like he wants to be. Even quite soft, it is a beautiful piece of blessed manhood.

“Let me go to the john, I need some gawd-damned relief.”

“Sure thing. You want a beer or some water?” I ask as he prances off to the hallway bathroom. He did not need directions. Where else would it be.

“A beer would be nice. Whatever you’ve got. I like’em all.”

He closes the bathroom door as I gather up his dirty discarded clothes and toss them into the waiting washing machine along with his dirty baseball cap. They begin their wash. While my clothes are drying in the drier.

I fetch a beer for him from the fridge. And one for myself too.

“I’ll be out on the back deck. Join me when you finish.” I yell out to the man secreted away in my hallway bathroom.

“Sure thing, Bill.” He shouts back to me from behind the door. “Sure thing.”

-2-

About ten minutes later, Bryan joins me on the deck. He has emerged through the back French double doors with a noticeable happy smile across his lips. Relief, I can only guess. And a cock that seemed rigid at some moment before joining me.

“You have a nice set-up here.” He says as he eyes the cold beer on the sun-blocking umbrella table where I am seated with my legs manspread and my cock and balls dangling. “That mine?”

“Yeah.” I answer wanting him to take my cock, instead.

But he does not. He grabs the cold beer in his strong hand.

He grabs it, the beer, and lifts it at a slight tilt to his lips. His Adam’s apple rolls as he chugs down the cool liquid in a few swift gulps. Once he finishes, he lets out a sigh of pure exhilaration. “That was good.”

“Want another?”

“Nah, one is enough for now.” As he makes this comment, he surveys the back deck, “That the shower?”

“Yeah, everything you need is over there. Have at it.”

The shower is closed off on three of the four sides. The side open is the one facing the deck and where I sit, there are three steps which run the length of the deck down to the shower platform. He descends these few steps and turns on the shower. He finds the temperature he wants and steps under its sprawling revitalizing spray. He releases another moanfully happy sigh as he is drenched in the warmth of the cascading water.

I watch him. Why wouldn’t I? Does he want me too?

He lathers his head of wavy curls with the shampoo, as the remnants of white soap streams down his muscular body, I can see the definition of his chest, his hefty thighs, and his legs as his hairs have been matted down from the ongoing surge of the water. I feel a bolt of sexual electricity shoot through me. I know what it means. A hard-on will soon arise between my outspread legs. It will feel so damn good. And I want him to admire it.

When he soaps up his cock, balls, and pubes, he lets his fingers dance along his increasing length. He begins to stroke himself. Slower and then increasing in his momentum. Growing longer and thicker as his fingers coxes his manhood to life. He has found his rhythm on this beautiful shaft. I am hard now too. My hands never touch my erection as I watch him do his erotic display. Pre-cum leaking from the tiny pee-hole on my engorged and throbbing shaft onto the deck as I continue to leer at him.

I move from my chair down to the steps adjacent to him. I give my cock a gripping squeeze as my bare ass contacts with the solid wooden deck. I can feel my own juices building up in my hairy round receptacles as I continue to expel my seed.

“Let me help you with that.” I tell Bryan as he turns his body towards me. His swollen manhood, sounding like a ricocheting pole as it bounces from one side of his thigh to the other, it is perfectly aligned with my waiting face.

“I was in hopes you could relieve me of my burden. Or should I say, pleasure.”

“Glad too.” I happily reply.

My fingers dart to the underside of his balls. I squeeze them more than once, rolling them around in my agile fingers as I want to make sure I get all that his has been stored-up in these potent globules.

He lets out a gleeful moan.

“That’s right, daddy, you know what you are doing. Doncha?” Brian tells me.

The scent of the fresh soaped pubes wafts into my nostrils as I take the length of his cock down my gullet. I reckon it to be seven, maybe eight inches, of manly goodliness. I have managed to swallow it to its furry hilt.

Bryan lets out a boisterous sigh when his hardened shaft hits the back of my throat. I took him all. I knew I could. That I would.

I proceed to slide my mouth back and forth along his elongated shaft. His sighs increase in volume often competing with the distant sound of chainsaws echoing in the subdivision behind my house and all those men working there.

His eyes are closed as I worked my magic on his wand, he did not see my finger when I eased it up inside his hairy hole but once I did, he bellowed out an “oh fuck!” The volume of his voice hitting a high octave. I had found the right spot on the first try.

The shower still outpours its warmth onto him. But his cock has not lost any of its vigor.

“Oh fuck! Oh fuck!”

He repeated the two words several times as my lone digit slides in and out of his very tight hole. Touching the sensitive prostate as I jab it with my digit. He seemed to like this while he squeezes the inner ass muscles tightly around my probing finger. So, I increase my speed while I continued to gulp down his now pulsating shaft. I feel him buckle. He is near bursting. I want his seed. And will devour it all once he gives it up.

“OH FUCK! OH FUCK! OH FUCK!”

He shouts. I am sure the men gathered in the yards beyond mine hear his momentous outburst. He empties his two full balls into my mouth. It feels like gallons being emptied down my throat.

He shivers and shakes as his body as he releases this pent-up seed down my waiting gullet.

“Oh yeah, daddy, take it…take it all. You know you want it. And I want you to have it.” He said as he grabs the back of my head as he face-fucks the last drops of his cum out of his balls into my anxious and waiting mouth.

His seed quickly streams down my throat in a torrent. I take it all. Not daring to waste a single drop of his younger potency. I could taste the hard labors in this seed, it was well-earned, and I was happy to receive his abundant offering.

He finally moved his hand from the back of my head allowing me to ease my mouth off his still rock-hard shaft, he was far from spent.

“Tasty.” I said once I had wiped my mouth. “Real tasty.”

I pull my finger from his ass; he nearly collapses once I free my finger from its tight grasp.

“FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!”

I giggle. I am sure the neighbors heard him that time too.

This gets a smile on his face as he once again turns back to the still cascading and now cooling spray from the shower. And proceeds to re-soap up his balls and cock to get himself clean, again. My spittle ran down his groin like a waterfall as I sucked his momentous manhood.

I find my seat back in the chair, my cock bouncing in its rigidness in my short walk. I was not done. And I had hopes he was not either. I was ready and willing to do whatever he wanted to do to me. My ass was begging for his cock, but he did not know it. But I hope he does. I really do.

-3-

While he continued to shower, I excused myself and fetched each of us another beer. Although I dreaded washing away the sweet taste of his protein-laden spunk from my mouth. I could feel the man’s virile power surge through me from his blessed protein. I want some more of it which I am sure his body has an ample supply and was replenishing it as he re-soaped up that masculine form under the warming spray of the shower.

As he bathed, he enticingly ran his fingers across his hairy ass…he must know how I lovingly see this part of his anatomy, I am sure. As he is enticing me with it. I am an ass-man. A cock-man. A leg-man. I just love men. All parts of them. Enjoy them. It matters not their shape, age, or ever-changing shade of the rainbow. But I have the certain type that gets my cock, the hardest. And Brian is that type. Blue-collar. Blonde-brownish hair. Muscles earned from hard work and not from time spent in a loud gym. And bright blue eyes. I melt when I peer into a beautiful pair.

Brian smiles at me when I walk back out onto the deck when the two beers in hand. He then turns off the shower and just stood there a moment. Watching me. My still hard cock tingled with buried excitement. He did not dry himself with a towel, I reckon he means to air dry, naturally.

“I needed that.” He said as the water streams off him onto the wooden blanks of the shower floor.

“What? The shower or the blowjob?” I interjected.

“Both.” He answers.

He walks up the three steps from the shower and takes the beer from my hand. Popping the top.

“Thanks. Daddy.”

I feel my still hard cock twitch at the sound of his guttural deep course voice. His free hand goes to my ass, sweeping over the pronounced curve of my older form as I am standing near him.

“You look good, daddy. How old are you?”

I answer, meekly. “Fifty-six.”

“Don’t be ashamed that is the age of the guy who helped me out there today with the trees. I can tell you he ain’t got half of what you do.”

This made me smile causing another bolt of sexual energy to surge through me and more cum to join the other on the already stained deck floor.

He continued to rub my ass. Caress it like it were a most valuable piece of fine crystal Over and over again, as if he were lost on some unknown continent exploring its terrain. It was like he was trying to learn every nook and cranny of it. But he avoided my hole. I was ready for any sneak attack from one of his pesky fingers might make. But he stayed away from it. Damn.

He stops suddenly and finds one of the chairs close to me while I continue to stand, he drinks his beer conservatively and not as liberally as he had done so before.

“You are quite skillful with that finger of yours, daddy.” He tells me. “It felt wonderful in my ass.”

“Its one of the things I have mastered in my old age.”

We both laugh. But it was true. I am a masterfully talented man. And I am more than willing to show him what I mean.

“I am sure you are, Bill. Daddy.”

As he talks to me, his right hand has found his hard throbbing cock which is pointing out from his hairy groin like an arrow ready to be flung from its bow. Droplets of his juice begin to seep ever so slowly from his weepy pee-hole. I want to reach out and get this with my tongue, lap it up as if it were some rare vintage, but I do not. I admire his sustained hardness and the vigor of this outpouring of seed.

“C’mere daddy.” Brian orders me. “Bring that hot ass over to me.”

I go to him and place myself between his outspread legs.

“No.” he says. “Turn around, show me that glorious ass of yours. That’s what I want.”

I turn around. My ass to his face. I feel his strong finger part my cheeks and then his tongue begins to delve into my innermost depths.

“Daddy has a nice hairy ass.” Brian says as he probes me with his tongue. “And you taste good too.”

“Ah…ah…ah…ah,” I sigh as I am overtaken by the ventures of this man’s moist warm tongue. He does not stop; with each plunge of his tongue, he goes deeper. And deeper. And I am brought higher and higher upon the blessed plateau. It is ecstasy. Sheer blissful ecstasy.

Every swipe of his warm appendage into my nether environments sends a good-sized dollop of my milky white cream dripping onto my light-stained wooden deck. I swear I can hear it sizzle like hot butter on an iron skillet when my cum hits its surface.

He does one last glide across my taint and crack. I can feel the wetness from his tongue.

“Fuck me.” I say. “Please, fuck me.”

“I intent too. I had that intention when I first knocked on your door.” Bryan says. “And when you walked over and told us ‘bout the gas leak.”

“Since then?” I ask. “Since then?”

“Yes. I imagined your ass was clutching itself when you talked to me. You seemed agitated. Nervous. And your cock was hard too, wasn’t it I saw your bulge.”

I was but I did not tell him. That is my secret.

He is not gentle when he enters me. He is rough. I like it rough. It hurts but in a good way. A fantastic way. A glorious way. It is the fullest I have ever been stuffed by a man before. Or in quite a while to be completely honest.

His inches pound into me. He is bigger. Thicker. Than I had thought. More like nine inches than eight, that I had imagined, and just as much girth to match his impressive length.

I am bent over a chair. I need it for support. My ass positioned just right for him. Sweat running down my back and the repeated sounds of Brian fucking me in the ass; the sounds of his rampaging thrusts fills the space in my enclosed backyard. My squeals and his moans competing with the repetitive sounds of the gas run chainsaws all around us. He is relentless. Animalistic in his way. I relish each entry he makes into my hole.

“You are fucking tight daddy. So, fucking tight. It’s been a while since a man has been in your hole, huh?”

I let out a loud sigh. It is all I can manage. As he creeps another inch into my hole.

“Don’t worry, daddy, I’ll stretch you out, good and all…I do not want to waste such a fine ass, such as yours.”

He rams me harder. And harder. He feels so damn good. My cock is leaking so much pre-cum, I am taken back to my teenage years back when I played varsity football in high school and kept a perpetual hard-on just like my friends did. When we would jack-off in masse in the shower room after we had won a game with the cross-town rival. Those were the days of my wonderous youth.

I can only dream of Bryan’s fellow tree cutters dangling from highwires watching us as they cut the limbs and tops off the pine trees in all my neighbor’s backyards, him jackhammering my ass with such animalistic power with his steely hard nine inches. But it is only a dream. They are watching us. Cheering him on. I would let them into my hole too. One by one or two at once. I can take’em all.

His relentless pursuit of my ass does not stop. Sweat is pouring off us as if it were rain. I can feel his cock begin to swell, his proportions telling me of what is about to happen.

His moans. And my moans seem to be choreographed in masculine unison. We drown out the ongoing chainsaw chatter that has been a daily occurrence since the hurricane struck the previous week.

I feel him increase in size, just a wee bit more before he bellows in a gruff primaeval way.

“I am cummin’! I am cummin’!” He screams like a wild banshee. His deep voice consumes the volume of the echoing chainsaws.

With each thrust and his outburst, his thick rich spunk goes deep into my hole.

It hits the back of my ass with such force I am nearly toppled. But I am gripping the chair tightly with both hands as he unloads himself into me.

He does this several times. But he does not let up on his ramming thrust. He wants me to have all of him. And I take him. Gladly.

It is then, I scream. My words muddled as I say them but, in my head, they are clear. “I am cummin’ too.”

My load empties onto the deck. Joining what has been wrought before. It has been since my teens that I have dumped my loads handsfree.

He collapses onto my back. Him, still hard, and still buried up to the hilt in my ass.

I am spent. We are spent.

It has been a good day.

-4-

I watch him. He took his shirt off the moment I walked away from the pair. He is exactly like I had described. The muscles in his back are stronger as he twists and contorts when he has the chainsaw in his hands. His biceps swell under the weight of the chainsaw. On occasion, he hoists a huge cut chunk pine to his shoulder and lugs it to the side of the road. The Santa Claus man just gawks at the strength of his younger cohort. However, my hard-on pulses harder and harder as I stare out my carport window at him.

My fingers are gliding up and down my lubed six-and-a-half-inch shaft. I am furiously beating my meat to the rhythm of his actions. My invitation went unheeded, it was only in my daydreams he had knocked on my door to use the bathroom, but I had hoped. Prayed, even, but the universe did not see fit to grant me the request. It had only happened in my fantasy. But I have given in to his display of masculine power and prowess, so I use it to my advantage from afar. And I let myself stroke in intense fervor to his visage. And leave a deposit on the floor next to my small freezer.

 

THE END