HATE IT when my phone goes off while I'm at the gym. Even on Saturday afternoon, a heavy day in my business, work calls and texts just distract me from my goals. I reluctantly looked at the screen, midway through the lap around the gym's track, and saw a 206 number my phone didn't recognize.
 "Hi Scott......It's Pete in Seattle. Hope all is well and you are enjoying Wimbledon."

I was almost to my lap-point and flipped back to the stopwatch function a second or two late to record it accurately. I hated texts more than calls for just that reason: it would take two more laps to really see if I was maintaining pace, and that's only if I recorded the next lap at the right point.

Pete in Seattle. Oh, right. There was a text back in April from a "Pete @Seattle, WA", wasn't there I thought.  That was five months or more after I got the phone number, and the misdirected calls and texts had pretty much ended by now.  I thought they had anyway.

I thumbed back up and sure enough there was a LOAD EARLIER MESSAGES for this unrecognized number. Yup.
 "SCOTT.......are you OK? You have me concerned now. Pete Marks @Seattle WA USA."
And mine back.
 "Sorry you must have wrong number. This is not Scott but it is my phone number now."
Grammar notwithstanding, that should have been clear to Pete Marks in Seattle, WA.

SHIT! Passed the lap-point AGAIN without recording the lap on time. This time eight or nine seconds late by the time I flipped back to the stopwatch and got it thumbed to mark the lap.

Should I reply AGAIN that I'm not Scott or just ignore the text? Certainly the prior one over two months ago was more urgent based on the tone. This one was as if he never got my reply. Or maybe he was a typical idiot and either forgot or didn't grasp the communication when I told him succinctly I wasn't "Scott" and this was my phone number now. 

I rounded to my lap point side of the track and thumbed back to stopwatch so I was ready. But as I cleared the near end of the track and passed the wall that separated the machine area, there was a HOT young guy looking right at me, smiling, clearly having just exerted himself on the pullup bars next to the track by my lap point.  Looking RIGHT at me. And smiling.

YOUNG was tied for the second thought about his HOT appearance, the tie being with SWEATY, which on a hot male body is always an almost irresistible turn-on for me. Dark hair, tall and a body that I'd enjoy seeing more of and exploring thoroughly. MIND-READER crossed my mind, as the hot young sweaty guy took his shirt and pulled it up to wipe the sweat from his brow and face slowly, giving me a beautiful view of his perfectly-sculpted lower torso, abs rippling, hard and well-developed pecs. And his guns and tris were rippling, too, as he proceeded through the move.

I never took my eyes off him as I passed until I would have been running backwards. At that point I moved on, hoping it wasn't all a coincidence and his smile wasn't simply for a good set he'd just completed, hoping against hope that I hadn't just made a fool of myself with someone not too much older than my two grown children.

AND I missed the bleeping lap point again! This time I just laughed as I thumbed the lap-counter even later than the last time.

As I rounded the track to the other side of the machine area, I fixed my eyes on the sweaty stud across the area. As I neared the point directly across the area from him, he was again doing pullups, and the view from behind, despite his shirt being down, was impressive. Huge shoulders, guns and tris again in play as well, a v-shaped back that was a sea of ripples under his sweat-soaked shirt, muscular legs lightly dusted with dark hair and the piece de resistance, an ass to die for clenched tight inside perfectly-fitting workout shorts.

I looked back to the track barely in time to avoid knocking into an older guy walking it. I'd drifted toward the center by force of the draw to the stud I was gazing at. And then I was past the wall and had half the track to GET IT TOGETHER, SHANNON! To further that effort, I forced my mind back to the misdirected text and thumbed my phone to it, too, and began thumbing a reply.
 "I think you texted this number about a month ago for a Scott."
There, polite and non-judgmental about his lack of memory or lack of intelligence, hopefully he'd remember, and further elaboration wouldn't be required.

I was heading toward the part of the track that was open to the machine area, nearing my lap point, and I thumbed back to my stopwatch before I sent the text. And, as I passed the wall, there was the hot young sweaty stud again, again looking right at me, again smiling. This time I smiled back and gave him a manly mini-wave in the form of a multi-fingered salute from my temple, right as he again lifted his shirt to wipe sweat from his face, his smile broadening, his eyes never leaving mine.

Baseball. Yankee's less-than-stellar season. Things to think about to avoid boning right there on the track! STOPWATCH!

I hit that one right at the lap point, and I forced my attention to the display, trying to calculate the last several off-recorded laps back to the last one I'd hit at the right point to calculate the average lap time. And I forced myself to keep my eyes on the display, with my only furtive looks up to check the track in front of me at interval, as I passed the other side of the machine area. But that view of him again, of the dusting of fur on those perfect cobblestone abs, the heavier trail downward . . .

Made it to the wall and passed to the other side of the machine area, sweating more than my half-hard run alone would cause. Back to Pete in Seattle.
 "I think you texted this number about a month ago for a Scott."
was there when I thumbed back to my text screen. I picked it up and vowed to myself that I'd still be working on the text until I thumbed to the stopwatch and keep my attention on those through my lap point and leave the hot young hunk to his workout. Even better, I enlisted Siri's help and began to talk into my headset's mic. "This isn't his number any longer, at least for several months now I've had it.  I'm Patrick in Rumson, New Jersey. Thanks for the reminder to watch the tennis at Wimbleton tonight." And then I looked with disgust at what appeared on the screen after it processed my voice.
"This isn't his number a priest for level months gnome Patrick in pump's son's new jersey thanks for the reminder to watch the ten asset will be in town tonight."

I looked up with a deep sigh as I passed the wall and forced my eyes back to my phone. I thumbed back to my stopwatch and never looked left as I passed, maintaining my focus and hitting the lap counter at the right time again. Interesting: I was running harder, my time better, not slipping because of the distractions! I also noticed I was one lap from being done with the five miles I'd wanted to run. I really had been distracted to forget I was almost done.

I was apparently smiling widely at that when I came around, because the hot young stud had moved to the incline press that faced the side of the track where I was rounding, and with a broad grin me made a gesture to me pointing to his upturned smile and then at me and giving me an enthusiastic thumbs-up. And as I was processing that he did the shirt-lift sweat-wipe move again. As I ran by I smiled wider and nodded at him in appreciation. Flirting? Him, definitely. Me, with a guy as young as he, nah!

I corrected the text on the back lap.
"I think you texted this number about a month ago for a Scott. This isn't his number at least for several months now.  I'm Patrick in Rumson, New Jersey. Thanks for the reminder to watch the tennis at Wimbleton tonight."
My phone corrected my spelling to make it Wimbledon, not Wimbleton. At least that worked better than that bitch Siri!

I was back to stopwatch on my screen when I got to the wall again, but my eyes were searching out a view of the hot young flirt, thinking I'd be able to see him from behind without being seen by him because he was over on the other side at the incline press machine. NOPE! He was right there, again at the pullup bars.  This time I had the front view of his legs, arms, chest and straining face as I neared. And as I did he dropped down and gave a few stretches along with the expected shirt-raise sweat-wipe move. Damn his body rippled well, under that sweat-soaked shirt and even more so with his skin bared to me.

"Good work, man!" he said as I passed.

Wow, talking. Nice deep, manly voice. Mmmmmm. "Uh, you, too, definitely," I sputtered.

I marked the lap at the right point and slowed down to a walk. Right then my phone buzzed with a text again.
"LOL.......thanks. Sorry"
Pete in Seattle again, obviously.

Without any internal debate I thumbed
"No biggie and thanks for the tennis reminder, needed something to watch later."
and sent it to Pete with a smile.

When I rounded the end of the track, the hot young sweating flirt was now at a fly machine facing the track. And, you guessed it: BIG smile and another shirt-raise sweat-wipe move. This time, emboldened by our more intimate acquaintance by virtue of the seven words we'd exchanged, I just grinned and shook my head at him indulgently as I passed.

My ten walking cool-down laps were spent that way. Texts continuing unnecessarily from Pete in Seattle about who Scott was, who he was, how they knew each other; and in the real world of my now, flirting with the hot young stud who gave me a show that challenged my ability to maintain without boning in my workout shorts every time I saw him.

Pete asked if I'd survived Sandy without significant damage, which I suddenly realized showed he was a deeper person than I'd given him credit for. Sandy devastated the shore area of New Jersey, and it affected much of the rest of the state with power outages, gas shortages and other things for quite a while, too. So asking was a thoughtful gesture. I texted a simple yes, and was constructing a complimentary thanks, when I was distracted by the sweaty workout stud again.

"You're pretty popular it seems," he called with a smirk as I walked into his vicinity again, overtly glancing at my phone in my hands.

This time I couldn't control my cock and my semi was going to full at the sound of his deep rich clear voice and that sexy smirk.

"If I'm popular and you're included in my fans, then I'll take it!" I threw back at him, my own sexiest smile on my face.

"When you stop circling me, you can find out," he smirked.

WHY hadn't I worn one of my new jock straps that had more fight left in it to make some show of concealing the wood I was popping? Instead I'd worn a two-week-old jock. FUCK! That made me think of him, butt naked, my jock strap stuffed in his mouth to gag his screams as I fucked him mercilessly.

OK, THIS line of thought was NOT helping. Neither was trying NOT to think of sex on two legs there, since as I came around to the machine area on the track, he stripped his shirt clean off and wiped himself down good and slowly under the guise of checking his definition in the mirror, just when I walked between him and the mirrored walls. And that goddamn smirk!

FUCK THIS. I left the track and walked right to him, enjoying his smirk going to surprise. "Look, if what you want is to cock-tease a man old enough to be your father, you're obviously a master at it."

His surprise went to something serious and full of sex. "I'm a shit-ton of things, but a tease," he said, taking a step toward me so his bare chest was against my sopping t-shirt, "Is NOT one of them!" he matter-of-factly told me.

"I'm Patrick-"

He cut me off with a hand boldly on my abs . . . LOW on my abs. "I don't want or need your name, but thank you for being a gentleman. What I need is your cock," he growled, barely above a whisper.

"If you-"

Again he cut me off. "Where are MY manners now? I'm asking you to please take me somewhere - ANYwhere - and fuck my brains out. SOON!"

"I live about twenty minutes from here," I told him. No hesitation; my cock was controlling the action now.

"I'm about seven, so follow me there. I'll get my gear," he announced, brushing by my, his wrist knocking against my bulging running shorts. I just followed to get mine, too.

It was about eleven degrees outside - Fahrenheit, not Celsius - and the cold hit my like a hard slap. We'd both just thrown our coats over our workout clothes - him even still shirtless - so our legs were exposed and upper with sweat and, in my case, a sweaty t-shirt. "GODDAMN it's fucking COLD!" I growled as we walked into the parking.

As he split off to the left when I headed to the right, he threw back, "Before long you'll be overheated and sweating again. If I'm lucky it'll be intense!"

When I got in my Beamer I looked down and confirmed what I knew - noticeable wet spot on my running shorts that was NOT sweat.

He waited at the exit driveway for me to get behind him - hmmm, and wouldn't I be doing the same in a far more satisfying way before long! - and, true to his word, less than ten minutes later we were at a fairly nice apartment building. He motioned with his arm out the window to follow him, and I did, into the driveway and then, when some spaces were open to the side that I saw were marked for visitors, he motioned for me to park there and drove on.

My cock was raging, but my coat fell lower, so I had no worries about frightening the other residents and just got out like I knew where I was going. And then, just when I realized I had no clue - not even a first name, much less a last to track him down from a directory - there he was jogging up behind me and clamping an arm around my shoulders. "Come on," he urged, picking up his pace again, propelling me with him.

When we got to the courtyard area, I saw it was a very nice complex. Maybe condos, not apartments, from the look. He had me through a door and climbing stairs with a quick, "Faster than waiting for the elevator," as we ascended.

We got to the third floor and out into the hall, and his door was the second from the stairs. As he got his door unlocked I copped a feel of his ass and shivered with anticipation of that rock-hard set of mounds milking my cock.

The door closed behind us after he literally pulled me inside and through to his bedroom, him dropping his gym bag and throwing off his coat as we went. I did the same. Just through his bedroom door he turned abruptly, and we collided, which he turned into choreography by pulling me tight and shoving our lips together, grinding into me and huffing out a moan.

I hadn't really expected the kissing - after all he said he wanted to get fucked, and young guys who like older guys usually - My brain shut off as his hand went inside my shorts as my tongue dueled with his and invaded his mouth. All of me was firing with sensations - all of them HOT and exciting - but when he bypassed my hardon and took a firm grip of my nuts, they exploded in sparks inside me. "OH FUCK YES!" I heard myself gasping into his mouth.

In return I grabbed his bubble butt with both hands HARD and ground into him, pulling him at the same time, probably spraining his hand between us. What a fucking rush!

My head was spinning with random thoughts . . . about not even knowing his name . . . about a young, HOT stud like him wanting a man my age . . . about how long it had been and how FUCKING AWESOME it felt . . .

When he abruptly broke the kiss and fell to his knees, yanking my shorts down hard and sucked one of my overloaded nuts into his mouth I'm sure I yowled loud enough to disturb a few neighbors. I took my steel-like cock and pounded his head and face with it as he sucked that nut then angled to get the other one. "MMMMmmmmmrrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmm!" he moaned.

When I looked down and saw splatters of my precum in his hair and on his perfectly sculpted shoulders, I almost came just from the sight. Right about then he came off my nuts and swallowed three-quarters of my niner without any trouble whatsoever. I hissed in a long breath, grabbing his short hair and pulling him down farther on my cock, choking him with it. "GGGGGRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!" he moaned louder around my intruding shaft.

I felt his throat resist but pushed in anyway - something told me this young man was no novice, and I could tell by his appreciative moans that he wasn't minding - popping through and down his throat. "OH FUCKN AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" I shouted and began skull-fucking him.

He was sputtering and choking but had a deathgrip on my nuts, and every time I pulled out of his throat he yanked my nuts to show me he wanted me back buried inside him. We went on like that for a bit, but I really NEEDED to fuck him, so I finally pulled back. "Get on the fucking bed!" I ordered. "And where are your supplies?" I asked looking around at the two tables by the bed, neither of which had drawers.

Bounding to his feet he threw himself face first onto his bed and, on the far side of the bed, reached underneath. He got up on all fours, wagged his amazing, entrancing, HOT ass at me and tossed a small bottle of lube and a few condoms back at me.

But I wasn't going to pass up enjoying that hole more than one way, and before the lube and condoms had hit the bed, I had dove in, jammed my face into his smooth crack and was chewing on his rosebud. "OHFUCK OHFUCK!" he was yelling, shoving his cunt back onto my face as hard as he could, wanting more. When I shoved my tongue inside he howled out a cry of pleasure that was plaintiff. "OOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

He tasted salty and sweaty but clean and inviting, and I licked, sucked, chewed and tongue-fucked that hole. He was bucking and pushing back, wanting me deeper, wanting more, crying out and moaning and encouraging me with, "Yeah, get that ass ready for your big cock!" Then, as I continued my ass banquet it went to, "OH FUCK MAN - I want your fucking cock. I NEED your cock in me. NOW!"

As much as he begged to fuck me, he had one hand back, clamped on my head, and was grinding his ass into me HARD and continuously. So much so I had to cock my head up just to get my nose to where I could catch a breath. And each inhalation, full of his sweat and ass, fired me up, and I felt my precum running like a faucet.

Finally just by our wild gyrations on the bed I felt the lube bottle roll against my hand and took it as a sign. I got a bountiful glob of the slick and pushed into him with one finger and worked it around. He clenched on my finger, moaning, and moved back into me as I worked it around. Then a second finger, and he was moaning like a bitch - yowling, full of need - and when I scissored my fingers into him he started swearing and demanding my cock. I made him wait until I had three inside him, had him opened and ready.

I got the condom on FAST and got my sheathed head against his fuckpucker, and just as I was about to push forward, he pushed back HARD onto me. "OHGOD FUUUCCCCKKKKK!" he cried as he impaled himself on me roughly. And I'll admit I just SHOVED until my groin slammed into his bubble buttcheeks with a dull smack. "OH YEAH FUCK YEAH!" he cried out and was wriggling his ass around, begging for more.

I took hold of him at his waist, feeling his Adonis belt under my fingers as I held him and began thrusting into him. He was not being taken - he was an active participant and was fucking back as hard as I was fucking him, all the while swearing and crying out when I'd slam his prostate. THAT particular cry I knew well and loved it . . . particularly jackhammering his p-spot for several strokes then backing off and hearing his cry of expectant pleasure turn to a long, needy whine.

Edging him was easy - his cries, his body's jolts and bucking, it all was as readable as a headline. And, proud of myself, I held off my own nutblast despite his talented fuckmuscles that were milking me. I'd worked the edging to the point where I could feel him tensing and just so close to cumming that I wasn't sure I'd edge him off successfully . . . but I did . . . over and over, us rutting that way, LOUD and hard-fucking, the smacks of my groin to his ass now loud and wet-sounding for both our sweat.

When I edged him off one time when I'd really thought I'd fucked him over into climax, he pounded the bed and shouted, "FFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!" Then he surprised me and reached back, under us, and grabbed my half-pulled-up balls HARD and YANKED me forward and growled, "I FUCKING WANT YOUR NUT!"

Powerless to do anything other than hang on for the ride, my nuts and cock responded to that, slam-fucking his amazingly tight fuckchute, pummeling his prostate continuously as he tensed, broke, spasmed, bucked and shouted long and loud through an amazingly prolonged climax.  I felt every cumblast from DEEP inside him as I burst and blasted every bit of my nutload into the condom.

He had his face down flat on the bed, ass still up, still impaled on my still-hard cock. "Kevin," came his muffled voice.

"HUH?" I struggled to replay it in my very incoherent mind without succeeding in making sense of it.

"My name - it's Kevin," he elaborated.

That struck me as hysterical. Here we were, joined, fucked-out, and this was the way he introduced himself. I laughed loud and smacked his ass HARD, raising a welt in the shape of my hand and causing his head to buck up and glare back at me. But the glare didn't disguise a grin.

"Patrick," I told him, in case he'd forgotten.

His grin widened. "Oh, I didn't forget your name, sir!"

"Patrick is fine," I quickly told him. "I don't really get into that whole 'sir' thing much."

Kevin pulled off me slowly, with a wince and a cry when my big head breached his cunthole. "FUCK!" And then he rolled onto his back and reached for my hand and pulled me down next to him. "Believe me, Patrick; the way you took control of my ass - all of me - you're definitely 'sir' on some level. So you might be hearing that a lot if you choose to continue fucking me like THAT."

Then, as I asked "Is that an invitation?" with a nervous laugh, he took note of the condom on my cock and grabbed it.

"JESUS H! You shot a fucking TON!"

I hunched up and looked over him to where he'd dumped an amazing load that he'd maneuvered when he flopped back to avoid. "Said the pot," I smirked.

He was pulling off my condom and held it up reverently. "Seriously, dude! This is amazing." Then, as I watched in horror and delight both - good angel, bad angel - Kevin tipped up my condom and drained my load into his mouth, swallowing down every drop! With a loud, exaggerated smack of his lips he said, "OH FUCK that's GOOOOOOOOD!"

Then he was on me, kissing me, the taste of cum - mine! - shared between us in a long, passionate kiss. He was stroking my cock, slick with my cum, and moaning into me, his tongue in overdrive along with mine.

As suddenly as he guzzled my cumload, as he kissed me, he was off my mouth and on my cock, giving me an amazing suck and slurp job. He had my big nuts in one hand, and he was bobbing up and down the length of me, forcing me into his throat and then out again. His tongue was like a precision instrument of pleasure, working over my head and shaft, swirling and teasing, twitching in my piss slit.

A flash of pride when through me that at forty-six my cock was ROCK HARD again . . . or still. And Kevin was feasting on it, having turned himself around to be on his knees hunched over me, really working me. What could I do but put my hand on the back of his head and push him down harder and start thrusting up into his mouth and throat to assist his efforts.

"MMMMMMMMRRRRRRRRRMMMMMGGGGGGGGGGGGMMMMMMMMMMMRRRRRRR!" he was growling and moaning continuously between slurps at the point when he came off my cockhead before he dove back on. I reached over and got two fingers in him, eliciting a loud, "OOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMGGGGGGGGGYYYYYYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" and he started fucking himself back onto my fingers, sucking me with more gusto.

That he was so hot and hungry for it all ignited me, and I further amazed myself as I realized I was climbing again, not far from another climax. It had been what - all of ten or fifteen minutes? And Kevin could tell, because his efforts began concentrating his tongue on and around my head, sucking harder and licking faster and working my frenulum in a way that pulled me up and over the edge without any means of stopping myself.


Kevin gulped and choked and moaned and kept working my cock with his tongue until I was screaming from the oversensation, practically screaming like a little girl. I finally managed to shove him off me, and he raised up on his knees with his cock rock hard and waiving in front of me. I grabbed it and pulled him sideways and myself toward him and gave him back as good as he'd given me. He came in less than a minute - HARD and long shots into my mouth and down my throat as mid-blasting I throated him and caused him to shout, "OH HOLY FUCKN COCKSUCKING!" with delight.

I flopped back with a satisfied smirk. "Well, there. We're both very bad boys now! But for what it's worth, I'm clean. I haven't been with anyone since I was tested almost four months ago."

Kevin gasped. "FOUR MONTHS? I'd fucking DIE!"

I just laughed at him and pulled him down next to me, my arm around him. "You'll get old someday, too."

"You're NOT old, Patrick. You're what - thirty-four, thirty-five?"

"Yeah, SURE I am! Flatterer!"

He turned to look at me with a genuine look of surprise. "How old are you really? I'm twenty-six. I don't think you're ten years older. Are you?" I laughed . . . and laughed. "WHAT?" he demanded finally, after asking twice.

"Kevin, I have a son your age," I told him. "I love that you're stoking my ego, but seriously, I'm forty-six. And I suspect you knew that's more my age range."

He looked genuinely shocked. "WOW! You're my fucking DAD'S age!" Oh, THAT'S what I wanted to hear. I guess my face showed it because he quickly went on. "No, wait, I didn't mean it that way. What I meant was that you and my dad are the same age, and I swear you no way look that age, and you're about a thousand times hotter than my dad." I was about to say something when his look turned dark. "And a ton nicer."

With that I pulled him tight against me and guided his head to my shoulder. He felt good next to me - better as he relaxed into me. "Sorry," he mumbled into my neck. "I guess I fucked that all up, didn't I? Donny Downer, at your service."

"Hey, no. I'm just sorry it seems like you don't have a good relationship with your dad, that's all. And that's a shame."

"Can we talk about something else?" he asked quietly.

"We don't have to talk," I told him, holding him tight, feeling him snuggle into me when I said it.

"Just give me a little more of this, okay. This is soooooooooooooo nice," he trailed off. And then a sudden burst. "I'm clean, too. I wouldn't have let you eat my load if I wasn't sure of it, I swear."

"Thanks, Kevin. We're a lot alike," I told him, rubbing his back easily as I held him against me.

"That's so hot," he mumbled, drifting off.

His head on my shoulder, breath even on my pec, tightly in my hold, arm around him - I knew nothing about this guy, yet here I was holding him like a lover, not a trick. Hell, he could be napping before I cut me into tiny pieces and scattered them through freezers in storage units from here to Delaware!

Roaming with my eyes around his very reasonably tidy, sparsely-furnished bedroom I surveyed what I could. Oh, and don't forget the bed hadn't been made - serial killers are orderly, compulsively so, aren't they? I think I'd read that. No, clearly not that kind of order, I thought.

Kevin sighed in what I thought was his sleep, and it startled me when he spoke. "My parents disowned me when I was fourteen," he said quietly, into my left pec.

There was no self-pity, and only a hint of regret, which might be my inference, not his intent, as he'd said it. I'd first started very slightly, then my gut clenched in response to the horror of what he'd said. In response to one or the other Kevin brought his hand up and rubbed my abs very gently, which both calmed my tightened gut and also sent some sparks inappropriately, given the context, right to my cock.

He chuckled. "I like that," he told me, rubbing again, his hand brushing the top of my pubes in his gentle, slow swipe that time, no more.

My cock, of course, was growing, and he hummed a short moan of appreciation. I pulled him tighter against me and brought my own hand up to still his. "Talk to me. I've got plenty of time if you do." I reassured him with a kiss to his damp forehead, still damp from our sweat after his workout. The taste and smell of him was enough to spur my cock's continued growth.

Kevin had nuzzled into my kiss just momentarily with his head. "I don't know how I can ignore that missile you call a cock, Patrick, to tell you about me."

My turn to chuckle. "I don't want you to ignore it - oh hell no I don't want that! But it can be the next topic after we talk, that is IF you want to talk to me. I'm a great listener, and you're safe here Kev." I realized too late that I'd shortened his name to an endearment, maybe an unwelcome one like Pat to me. But it seemed I'd struck a chord, because Kev nuzzled his face into my shoulder and pec and kissed my pec with a slight murmur of contentment.

Then, I felt what I knew was a tear, not a bead of sweat, from his right eye on my pec. No sobbing, just the tear. "I was a kid - only mature enough to know that my head was full of boys not girls, desperate to make sense of it . . . and to hide it from the other kids at school, from the other boys on my team . . . in the shower after practice when a boner was a lightning rod for torture of the taunting kind.

"I know that sounds like a porn movie in the making, but it was terrifying. We were in middle school when I first got a boner in the locker room. I was looking at Hank Hildebrand, one of my teammates. He was taller, had grown faster . . . all over. At twelve he had a magnificent cock and balls, very hairy both there and on his chest. Also, already muscular - I think I knew he worked out with his older brothers or his dad or both.

"All of a sudden there I was with this stiff cock - I'd only ever thought I could get it stiff by playing with it, and there it was, for all to see. And they did. I got thrown against my locker, guys swatting my hardon, yelling taunts and jeers and calling me queer. Guys who were my friends - I'm embarrassed to say I was friends with them afterward, some of the ones who piled on."

All of it was coming in a steady drone, almost like he was dispassionately narrating some documentary or reading someone else's history. I held him tight and rubbed my hand gently on his hairy arm, still against my chest, letting him continue.

"Anyway, I was finally fourteen, my hormones were raging, I was growing like a weed - FINALLY! - my head was so muddled up with fear and confusion for what I knew was wrong with me but I didn't understand wasn't wrong at all. So I turned to my dad. My dad had always been there for me. WE WERE CLOSE!" he almost spat, even more emphatic than the first hint of emotion when he'd expressed his relief amid the confustion of his growth spurt. "HE had told me it was OK to masturbate - that all men did it. HE had taught me everything - from when I rode on his shoulders to his gentle criticism and enthusiastic encouragement after my games . . . and working with me on moves on the field and court and even on the mat when I'd started - and abruptly stopped! - wrestling." That last came with a bit of a chuckle, and I could imagine his uncontrollable boners in a singlet.

"I wrestled, too. Talk about the razor's edge there!" I softly commiserated with him.

"Yeah, goodtimes . . . the only place I could BE bone and not have the teasing be malicious. At least until-But it was just one of a bucket of precarious precipices I tiptoed along until my head was so fucked up that I finally KNEW I had to talk to my dad, the guy who was always there for me with the stuff I couldn't tell mom. So I did."

He went silent then, and I waited, continuing my gentle petting of his arm, holding him just as close. Were we strangers on a train? Was this his opportunity to tell a stranger something he'd held in but could now release because it was just a chance moment, never to be repeated? I found myself clenching my gut again, and I knew I was hoping that wasn't the case, despite all the reasons it should be.

"At first he said nothing. I'd broken down, crying almost hysterically like a little pussyboy fool, which I probably was. If I go back and analyze it, I realize that my father never moved a muscle. Not only did he not take me in his arms and get me through it before he propped me up and helped me get over it like the - albeit very little boyish tragedies before - but he was statue-still there as it all came gushing out. Oh my God did I spill my guts. I couldn't stop once I started, and I told him every sordid detail. And I didn't realize he wasn't responding, it just felt like such a damn release to let that roiling storm of worry, fear and uncertainty out of my insides for once.

"I don't remember how I realized that he wasn't responding, but I did. I don't know if it was sudden or just unknowing that my life transitioned to a reality I'd never known existed. But I know that when he spoke it was as he was getting up from the chair by my desk where one of us had sat - the other on my narrow bed - through so many father-son sessions that had led me to that false sense of security. He stood up and said, and I'll remember the vacant look in his eyes as he looked away from me toward the wall as he made his pronouncement, 'You're not my son - you couldn't be,' and walked out of my room."

For the first time he pushed hard into me and snaked his arm around and grasped my side, holding on tight. I brought my right arm over and hugged him tighter to me. All I said was, "It's then, Kev; this is now, and you're safe here now."

"That was a Friday night, after I'd fled after our game without even changing - it had gotten that bad in the locker room for me. 'Cocky Kevin.' 'Boner Boy.' 'Kevin-Queer.' Stupid and unoriginal, as I look back. Those numbnuts didn't even know what cocky meant!" he laughed ruefully. "Saturday I was forbidden to leave my room. I heard him and my mom, alternately debating and then shouting then crying, all the while I stayed prisoner in my room and felt little . . . except dread. And, finally, hours into the day, my parents came in and briskly told me to pack up like I was going to camp and then walked out. Stupid me, I did . . . without a so much as a whimper of resistance. The only smart thing I did was to take my bank book for the savings account both I and my parents had been so proud of. Good little sensible gayboy I was, saving all my Christmas and birthday money, never splurging on anything with it, encouraging them to give me more, to a kid obscene amounts, because they knew it would go to savings, not anything really FOR me, at least nothing we knew of then. I put the savings account passbook in the lining of my duffel where I'd once or twice put ripped out photographs of hot athletes or movie stars, torn out of magazines or catalogues, things I didn't want my parents to find.

"And then they took me to a church camp I'd never heard of - the church, that is; we weren't very churchy people - hours away over the border in freaking New Mexico. Like West Texas isn't bleak enough for a death camp?" He shivered at that point, but he didn't go on immediately. And when he did, it wasn't with any details.

"Four weeks in I began to plot a way out. And of course I was fourteen, so every hour was like a lifetime once I began thinking about how to escape, and I executed it very poorly, probably left a trail a mile wide and six hundred miles long."

Long pause. I waited. There was nothing about his body against mine, in my hold, that told me where he was - horror of recollection, emotional exhaustion, regret over having said too much. I reassured him by kissing the top of his head, again inhaling the sweaty scent of his scalp. "Mmmmmmm," he murmured and nuzzled into me.

"So, I ended up in Phoenix with a duffel of camp clothes, a passbook but no ID so no money, and no way to support myself other than," and with a huge big breath that was more like a sigh of resignation, "My body. So now you know what I am and what kind of man you just fucked and are holding," he told me in a monotone, but with some bitterness creeping in, or I was inferring it.

"I don't-"

"It's okay, I get it. You hooked up with a hunk from the gym who deceived you and teased you into it, and now you're laying with a piece of trash."

He was trying to get up, strong muscles straining against my hold. "RELAX!" I finally said, tired of almost wrestling with him, not yielding my grip on him. At the sharp tone of my command, he went completely slack with a sigh and a stifled sniff that I barely heard, barely felt in his chest against me. "Kev, you're not what you had to do to survive. You're what you are now."

"Yeah," he cut in ruefully. "A promiscuous gymrat who sees a HOT man and just pulls him in without warning."

"WOULD YOU FUCKING STOP IT?" I almost shouted, surprised at the depth of my reaction to his self-deprecation. "I'm here, Kev. I came here excited to be with a HOT young man. I enjoyed every single thing we did."

"You didn't bargain on psychobabble and catharsis, did you Patrick?" he burst in.

"What I didn't bargain on was the incredible enjoyment I've had. And I may just be a sentimental old fool, but holding you and talking to you after that INCREDIBLY AMAZING sex is like another entire episode of ten-level pleasure, Kev." I held him tight and felt him relaxing back into me again, not just slackly draped over me.

"You really mean it. I can feel it, feel you," he told me with a low tone of utter awe. "My God," he exclaimed almost inaudibly, clutching at me. And then I felt his body tense against a shudder and a buck and knew he was fighting to hold back sobs.

"Let it out, Kev. It's all the past, and it's time you left it behind you. You're safe here, safe with me," I said soothingly, kissing his head again, feeling him nuzzle into the kiss and burrow into my shoulder and neck.

"It's not," he started and then couldn't stifle a couple of wracks, but still no sobs really.

He just shook his head against me, and I enjoyed the feel of the rubbing of him against me in my heart as well as my groin. BAD PATRICK! I chided myself and squeezed him tighter to force myself back to HIM not to ME . . . as much as a fight as that was with my cock, which really wanted MORE.

"It's my reality, Patrick. It's my life to live with," he said sullenly.

"Was it your reality while we were just messing up your bed for the past hour plus?" I asked gently.

"NO, not at all. That was my break from it."

I wanted to ponder it, but instead I allowed my cock to do the talking . . . because that head was more right at this point. "Then I guess we need to do more of that," I told him, allowing my left hand to stray back over his arm where I'd been holding him to rub his amazing ass.

"MMmmmmmmmmmmmm, a plan emerges," he cooed, and then took his tongue and started flicking my left nipple.

I found his sweaty, lube-sticky crease and ran my finger down to his swollen fuckring, my cock bouncing on my abs and my drooling head against his hairy forearm that was across me. His tonguing of my nipple was sending electric shots through me from that nipple to my nuts and back up to my cock, and I had to force myself not to mount him again right then.

Instead, I pushed on his sticky hole and got a hiss. "Is that ssssssssssssssssssssso good or ssssssssssstop?" I asked, really not knowing which, since his hiss wasn't accompanied with any movement into my intrusion or away.

"It's a sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssshit you're fucking huge and tore me up sssssssssssssssssssssoooooooooooooooooooooooo goooooooooooooooooooooooood!" he said, bringing his hand to clamp around my throbbing fuckstick.

I laughed. "I THINK that's good . . . "

With his hand on my cock I really couldn't express more than that. My fingertip was just inside his puffy, swollen and apparently sore cuntring, suspended there, so I rubbed his buttcheek with my thumb. "You don't have to hold back, Patrick. Take me the way you want me. I almost came when you pushed your finger into me just then, knowing you want more of me."

AH, youth. "Kev, I DO want more of you . . . which means we have to make sure we keep all of us in good working order. Unless you don't, I've got time and patience . . . and can think of about a dozen other ways to pleasure each other while your pleasure portal recovers."

He guffawed and reared back at that, with the inadvertent effect of taking my finger to the second knuckle. "SHIT!" he exclaimed through a laugh and then growled. "GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR! YEAH!" he finished, forcing himself on my and moving around a bit.

"Okay, so is the next admission that you're a masochist?" I joked.

With that he jerked his head back and looked at me intensely. "I can be if you are into that!" he stated with seriousness, as if hoping to get my approval.

"Hey," I stopped him, and I eased my finger out of him, eliciting another hiss that ended in a moan of regret. "Hey," I said again, pulling him gently by his chin until our lips were pressing.

I had my hand wide and flat on his amazing, warm, HOT ass, holding him in place tight against me, and with my other hand I held him against my lips, kissing him gently. Of course that intent devolved into an escalated face-sucking session, both of us complicit in the transition from intimacy to manlust.

We rolled around a lot - him up on top of me, me throwing him and on top of him, side-to-side - all the while humping against each other and chewing lips and sparring with our tongues. At one point, after grinding into my painfully hard cock with his ass, lap-dancing me skin to skin, he tried to impale himself on me. "WHOA there buddy!" I stopped him, throwing him off me.

"But we're both clean," he argued, a bit of hurt in his voice.

I climbed over on top of him, and I took his handsome face in my hands. "We're better than that, Kev," I told him, kissing his lips gently. "We shouldn't be doing the cum ingestion thing, but we CAN'T do the bareback thing. We just met." I kissed him again, this time more than the first, a long, lingering kiss, that I broke as it started to get overheated.

"I just don't want this to end," he confessed. "I feel so . . . I don't know, Patrick. I feel - I'm FEELING - things. After my, well, after the past, I always just never thought I'd feel anything again about sex."

"I think I'm very flattered," I told him, adjusting myself over him to better look in his eyes.

"Stupid, I know. This is a hook-up I get it." He laughed ruefully. "I hit on you. I get it. This will be over when we're done . . . if we're not done already." He looked up at me pitifully. "I'm sure whoever the guy is you were texting with at the gym is a ton more-"

"WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAA!" I stopped him. I instantly suppressed the urge to cut and run in favor of another chance. After all, until it took that turn there, it had been almost magical. "I'm here, Kevin; here with you. That was my choice - to respond to your, uh-"

"Advances?" he offered. "To be honest, Patrick, you looked like you were totally into the guy you were texting with - at least I figured it was a guy the way you were grinning. I thought you were hot - I still do! - and I wished you'd grin like that and be that into me. Like I said before, just to take a break from . . . me."

"So you're saying you wanted me because you thought I wanted someone else?" I asked him, hoping I'd heard him wrong.

He hesitated, and I took that for my answer. I was on my knees then on my feet off the bed. "Patrick," he pleaded, and I heard him scrambling up after me. "Patrick, at least give me the chance to answer your question?"

I turned around at that, pissed off and ready to tell him off. Instead, we collided as I swung around, and my hand caught him right in the balls. "UMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" he grunted, doubling over.

"Oh shit, SORRY!" I apologized, putting my arm on his naked back ineffectually as he groaned.

He sat back on the bed with a thump, both hands still holding his goods. Then he looked up at me with a smirk. "I still want to answer your question. But I think I get a pass here for this," he suggested, gesturing down with his head. I couldn't help but laugh.

Plopping down next to him on the side of the bed, I leaned over, my arms on my knees. "I'm really sorry about that, man," I told him, and I meant it. Part of me wanted to offer to rub his nuts and cock . . . with my face . . . and make it all better. Another part of me wanted to get the fuck out of there before I heard something I didn't want to hear.

Almost too quiet to hear him, he said, "I really liked it when you called me Kev. Nobody has . . . " Then he was quiet for a bit before he spoke again, both of us just sitting there. "I wanted you to smile at me, because of me, like whoever he was who was texting you." I had to force my mind back to understand that was the answer to my question. Then I had to think about it. But he continued, and I listened. "I just wanted you . . . and I wanted to be wanted by you. You're so hot, I couldn't help myself."

"I'M so hot? Have you taken a look in a mirror? Believe me, I was the one fucking you with my eyes the entire time today."

"That wasn't all," he retorted.

"No, it sure as hell wasn't."

We were both silent then. For my part I had no idea where we were, where this was going, if now was a good point to thank him for an amazing time, get my clothes, kiss and hug him goodbye and leave on a decent note. I really had no idea where his head was.

As if sensing my inner voice, he addressed my thoughts. "Do you believe that two guys who unexpectedly connect when they're hooking up can make anything of it?"

I moved back and angled toward him, one thigh and knee sideways on the bed, so I could look at him. Kevin moved back, away, and got himself so his back was to the head of his bed, propped, with his long legs out, feet right to where I was at the end of the bed. I was sorry he'd moved farther away. And then I was surprised - and then not - that I felt that way, but I resisted the urge to reach out and touch his feet like I wanted to.

"I think things happen, and you get chances," I answered slowly. "Whether you take the chance, whether you even notice it, well that depends on where your head is at, how fast you're going, if you're paying attention." And then I went all-in, against the side of my head that was telling me not to for more than a few reasons. "I think this is a chance, Kev. And I don't think we've blown it; in fact, I think we may be taking it just by talking through this speed bump."

"I haven't had much experience with chances, Patrick," he confessed.

There were so many reasons I shouldn't do it, shouldn't FEEL anything for him, or if I did, that I shouldn't act on it. The top two were: he's got so much hurt, and this can't be a long-term thing for either one of us because of our ages and the likelihood that this would crash and burn, and he had enough burns already; and that part of me was reacting as a father to that horribly mistreated young teenager who had done nothing other than trust his father to help him and instead got sent away and ended up in hell for a while.

I moved closer to him, and he put his left leg down on the floor as I'd nudged against his left foot, so I could get in closer. I put my hand on his hairy thigh and looked him in the eye. "To be completely transparent, I haven't had many, and the ones I have I've not handled so well," I told him. "But I've always tried."

"Maybe we both, if we try and do it carefully, start out right and be mindful, can take this chance and see where it goes?"

I grinned at him. "Oh, I think this has been an excellent start. But just so we're closing the loop," I offered him my right hand, "I'm Patrick Shannon, and I've been your very well-satisfied top today."

His smile broke, and I felt my heart skip a little. Putting his own hand out and clasping mine he said, "Kevin Kane is my birth name. I go by Kevin Anderson now because Dave Anderson took me in in Phoenix, off the streets, and raised me, even though I thought I was an adult when I was almost sixteen then at the time and didn't need raising. But I really did - a ton of it."

"Was Dave one of your . . . ?" I couldn't bring myself to say even a gentrified word for it like 'client'.

"Nope. Never so much as a hint that he wanted anything in return. He found me rummaging through the garbage behind his restaurant, and he offered me a job helping clean up and then a place to sleep and then more and more. And when I TRIED to exchange my services for his kindness he sat me down and told me that if I chose to stay I had to promise never to do that type of thing again - not for him, not for anyone." And then he broke down. "He didn't really give me the chance to fuck it up; he just sort of took over my life and then taught me how to be . . . better."

I scooped Kevin into my arms and held him against me, and I knew I wasn't going to walk away from this chance. "I think Dave was an angel sent to you, Kevin. That's what he sounds like."

"Maybe," he said into my shoulder, slicked from his tears. "He's really important to me, but you have to believe there's nothing like that - nothing like this, what we've done today - between Dave and me. You believe me, don't you? I saw you and FELT something, even though I acted on it with some old skills. But with Dave what I felt was nothing like this, and we never did anything."

Holding him tighter I reassured Kevin that I did believe him and that he didn't have to explain anything to me. "So we just sort of got a thing or two out of sequence here, but who cares?"

"Well," he whispered into my ear, his breath hot, going straight to my cock . . . again! "So if we'd met the right way, which we just did now, sorta, we'd probably fuck our brains out afterward. So I'm thinking it's time for that now," he finished, nipping my neck behind my ear and sending a lightning bolt of desire to my nuts.

And then we were all ON each other all over again. And right before I entered him that second time, many minutes, many kisses, many gropes, grunts, moans and cries later, he looked up at me and said, "I'm sure glad whoever he was who was texting you made you smile."

"You've got that all wrong," I quickly corrected him. "The guy who texted me was annoying me. I was smiling because you were so fucking HOT."

"Well," he smirked, pulling on my hips to pull me into him, "I guess," and then he grunted LOUD as I stretched and penetrated his fuckring, "I don't owe him a thank - AAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! - you."



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