Ginger Fantasy

During my final year of attending a boy’s boarding school, I met Gerhard during one of my quarterly visits home. My mother had developed a great friendship with his parents who I had never previously met.

Gerhard arrived at our home that evening to inform my mother that his dad, Gerhard Snr had sadly passed away. Naturally, having never met his Gerhard Snr I merely sat watching my mother and Gerhard’s tearful interaction. Gerhard Jnr, who was several years older than me, was one of the most beautiful men I had ever seen. He had dark russet red hair, and I really felt guilty ogling him as he and my mother hugged in mutual sorrow.

For the next decade, however, I always dreamed of an encounter with a man that looked like him.

***

Ten years on, as I was sitting at a gay bar one evening while on a business trip, I observed a guy entering the place who reminded me incredibly of Gerhard. The thing that struck me about this guy was how out of place he looked in this pub.

Robert, as I would soon learn, was rather scruffy looking and his jeans and denim shirt looked extremely well-worn. The trainers on his feet had definitely paid their dues and the beanie on his head looked like something a fisherman would wear. He also had a duffel bag over his shoulder that appeared to belong to a manual labourer. I estimated him to be around six-foot-tall and be in his late twenties.

I was overjoyed when he moved in my direction and sat on the stool next to mine. As he ordered his beer, I looked at his hands. They were rough, large, and beautifully masculine. The tuffs of curly long hair that stuck out from under his beanie were dark ginger, as was the two-day-old stubble on his face. He had a handsome face and once again, I simply could not believe how much he reminded me of Gerhard. Shortly after his beer was placed before him, he struck up a conversation with me.

After introductions, he asked me what I did. I gave him my brief synopsis before turning the tables on him.

“So, what do you do, Robert?” I asked.

“Fuck, you name it, anything and everything,” he answered.

Robert then went on to tell me that he was an odd-jobber and lived with a buddy of his. His friend was apparently away from home for three weeks of every month and allowed Robert to stay with him for free, because Robert looked after the place in his absence. When his buddy was home, however, Robert said that he went out on trawlers to give his friend some space.

“Is your buddy straight?” I asked.

“Fuck yeah, totally straight,” he answered.

“And you?” I tentatively questioned.

“Don’t really do labels,” he replied, before continuing, “For me the only criteria is; whether a fuck is good or bad. Gender doesn’t really come into it.”

After a brief pause, he then surprised me by asking, “Do you like being massaged?”

“Sure,” I answered, somewhat perplexed.

“Well, I give an unbelievable massage. I don’t do any of the fancy named stuff, but just a good old fashioned hard massage. My hands are very strong, and I can assure you that you won’t have any stress left in you once I’m finished,” he concluded, matter-of-factly.

My hope for a quickie upstairs had just evaporated. I nevertheless, concluded that a comfortable session with my gingerbread man in the hotel room might not be that bad after all. I asked Robert what he charged and was surprised by how low his hourly fee was. At his rates, an entire night would be affordable.

“What does the massage include?” I asked, with a naughty grin.

“The hour belongs to you, Clive. You get to decide how it should be spent,” he answered, with a wry smile.

“Can I get you another beer before we leave,” I offered.

“Sure,” he replied.

There was a brief silence as we and sipped our beers. A silly thought crossed my mind and before I could stop myself, I asked, “Are you cut or uncut, Robert?”

Robert let out a laugh before he answered, “I’m like you, bro, and I’m also cut.”

I was astonished and intrigued by his reply because he was absolutely correct.

“How did you know that?” I challenged.

“On every occasion that I have been asked about my dick, all the guys that pose that question have always been cut. No uncut person has ever asked me that question,” he replied, with a self-satisfied grin. Then, with a serious look, he asked, “Is the missing foreskin a deal breaker?”

“No,” I hastily replied, “I was just curious.”

“I promise you that you won’t be disappointed with my equipment,” he concluded, self-assuredly.

When we arrived in my hotel room I asked, “So, what do you want me to do?”

With a guffaw, he answered, “Strip, bro. I can’t massage you with your clothes on.”

As I started to undress, Robert also began disrobing. As he did so, he just became more magnificent by the second. Robert had the most beautiful natural physique. He wasn’t a gym bunny but most men would’ve given their eyeteeth to have a natural build like him. A further plus was that he was slightly bowlegged. Bandy men had always driven me crazy and this added plus definitely met with my approval. He was fair skinned and slightly hairy, and the bronze fluff on his body almost made me salivate with lust. Robert had also not lied about his dick. It was large, meaty, and his magnificent low hanging balls and ginger bush made it one of the most beautiful packages I had ever seen.

“So, are you still worried about the missing foreskin?” he joked.

“No. You are totally perfect,” I answered.

“Now get on your stomach, boy,” he then commanded, with a playful grin.

The duffel bag now revealed its true purpose as he retrieved a tub of aqueous cream. When his hands began their circular journey on my body I also realised that he was as good as he had prophesied. The strength of his fingers was mesmerising and I groaned like a bitch in heat, as his hands tantalised my flesh.

‘Fuck me,’ I thought, ‘I have just hit a hole in one.’

On and on his powerful digits ground into my flesh, wringing ever last bit of tension out of my body. Every fibre of tautness was extracted as those magnificent hands worked me over. In addition to my physical pleasure, the odour of his body almost had me convulsing with lust. Some men just exude a masculine smell that transports your olfactory sense into a higher dimension, and Robert had that in spades. In all my life, I had never been more turned-on as at that moment.

When my shoulders finally began to receive their share of the spoils, I began panting with excitement. As his workman’s hands kneaded me, I was afraid that I was about to choke on the horny gasps gushing from my mouth. When Robert took hold of my neck, his fat knob lodged itself between my butt cheeks simultaneously as his legs moved between mine.

With my legs now open as wide as I could manage, I twitched my eager backside in anticipation. I wanted his cock so badly that I now began begging him to fuck me. When his heavenly nudging began at my portal, I implored him to fuck the hell out of me.

After wedging his shlong in my manhole, Robert’s entry was measured, yet firm. With my sphincter gulping at its intruder, my ravenous arse gobbled upward encouraging his occupation. Twice thereafter, Robert had to tell me to take it easy and allow him to control the pace.

Ten years, ten fuckin’ years I had waited for this ginger fantasy to become a reality. I was almost hyperventilating when Robert got into stride and his low hangers began slapping against my perineum. Robert was not in any hurry and his thrusting was sustained and measured, as he savoured his enjoyment.

On and on Robert’s gratification ensued as he pummelled into me, gradually upping his intensity. By the time he had finally cum, I had been rubbing the bed so vigorously that I arrived at my destination a minute before him. By the time his torso ultimately settled on top of me, I was cooing like a pigeon.

We lay like that for short while before he rolled off me and rested beside my body. As we faced one another I asked him if I could finally remove his beanie. After I did so I was amazed by the thickness of his hair. As I ran my fingers through his hair I was astounded to find that his locks were much coarser than normal hair. It wasn’t off-putting, but the texture was rougher than any hair that I had ever encountered.

Leaning in, Robert surprised me as he began kissing me. Again, he seemed to be in no hurry and his oral skills totally met with my approval. As our lips broke apart I asked if I could hire him for the night.

“Oh, so my cut knob meets with your consent,” he jested.

“Big time,” I answered.

“Tell you what… If you buy me breakfast in the morning, I’ll stay on for free,” he answered.

Robert did stay the night and we had sex twice more. In the morning, I paid him treble the fee we had discussed the night before, which delighted him. At breakfast, we exchanged numbers and I contacted him on all future visits.

Six months later, I accepted a job in his city and we continued to see each other on a very regular basis.

One evening when he visited me, he seemed slightly down in the mouth. When I asked him why, Robert told me that he had been given his marching orders by his buddy. His friend had finally met the girl of his dreams and she would be moving in shortly. Robert had thus become the odd man out.

I was totally nuts about him and immediately replied, “So, why don’t you move in with me?”

“Are you serious?” he asked, surprised.

“Totally!” I answered.

Robert did move in and it worked out extremely well. Robert was then able to spend more time on the trawlers, which worked out very well for two reasons: Firstly, he earned more money and secondly, it gave us away time from one another. Of course, this made his returns unbelievably exciting and we fucked like rabbits when he did.