I woke up late.
The sun was already spilling hard through the cabin window, hot and golden, and for a few seconds I didn’t know where I was. Then I remembered: Bastien knocking at my door last night, the way he’d said my name, that quiet, infuriating warmth in his voice.
I checked my phone - 8:42.
Shit.
I pulled on the first pair of pants I could find, my hands clumsy as I tried to tie my boots. The rest of the group had probably been sanding wood for almost an hour by now, and here I was, hair a mess, face still flushed with dreams I couldn’t shake.
Hope Bastien will not kick my ass in front of everyone!
The workshop smelled of resin and coffee when I slipped inside. Everyone was already paired off, working silently with their blocks of wood. Bastien stood at the far table, arms folded, watching someone’s technique. His back was to me.
I braced myself for the inevitable glare or public humiliation.
But when he turned, his expression didn’t harden.
“Morning sunshine,” he said, almost amused. “Decided to join us?”
“I—yeah. Sorry. I overslept. Alarm didn't go off.”
He shrugged, like it wasn’t worth worrying about. “Get your tools. I saved your spot.”
He’d saved me a spot?
I found my block of wood exactly where I’d left it yesterday, a fresh chisel laid beside it. Someone had even sharpened it. The others glanced at me briefly, but no one said anything.
Why was this guy so nice to me? I just missed a chunk of work this morning and this was his reaction?
Was it favoritism?
After twenty minutes or so, Bastien crossed the workshop and stopped at my table and cleared his throat:
"Well bud, let's see what you have to do this morning."
He leaned one hand on the surface, the other resting lightly on my block of wood, close enough that I could feel his body heat.
“You’re holding it too stiff again,” he said.
I swallowed and tried to steady my hands. “Sorry. I’m still waking up.”
He bent closer, close enough for me to catch the smell of wood dust in his hair, and took the chisel to demonstrate, his arm brushing mine.
“You don’t need force. It’s about letting the wood guide you. Like this.”
His hand moved slow, precise, muscles shifting under his skin with every controlled stroke. I didn’t hear a single word he said after that. I just nodded like an idiot, too aware of the inches between us.
Why do you smell so good Bastien?
I was under some sort of lust spell. His strong body scent quickly got into my nostrils.
“You try,” he said, placing the chisel back in my hand. His fingers lingered for a moment, warm against mine.
I tried to imitate him, but the cut came out uneven. I muttered something under my breath.
Bastien chuckled. “You’re thinking too much. Stop thinking. Just feel.”
He moved behind me then, his chest lightly grazing my shoulder, his hand ghosting over mine as he corrected my angle. His presence filled the air — too close, too solid. My pulse skipped.
“That’s it,” he murmured, almost in my ear. “Better.”
Shit!
I felt his member rest against my right thigh again. It was already quite stiff and long, pressing a bit from time to time.
I tried to focus, but the contact burned through me.
“Also bud” he said suddenly, as if nothing about this closeness was unusual, “let's meet after dinner, gotta talk to you.”
"Sorry for being late sir."
"Sir?" his deep voice was seized by a burst of laughter, "call me Bastien you twig."
He tilted his head, studying me for a moment as I was carving some more.
“Don’t sweat it,” he said at last, stepping back. “Just don’t let the wood wait too long next time. It gets cranky.”
I felt pinned. Not in a cruel way. His package was pulsing all over me, in front of everyone. The other students were so close and yet he kept pressing against me.
It can't be a mistake. He knows what he's doing.
"Bast... Am I doing good?" I asked, shaking.
"You're doing just right hon', keep up the good work." He slapped my left shoulders. "Keep letting yourself be guided, you will do wonders."
His hand rested on my back for a while, until he withdrew and went to check on the other groups.
I laughed, despite myself, sweat falling from my forehead on the wood.
When the day endded, I had a sever case of sore hands and hard-on. Dinner was good but my mind was filled with Bastien, asking me if we could talk in private. Did he wanted me to catch up with the other students since I missed a couple of hours worth of work?
I stepped out into the cool evening air, planning to walk a bit before crashing into bed. I expected to find Bastien waiting near the edge of the clearing, leaning against the wooden fence, a cigarette unlit between his fingers, and he was exactly there. He was a man of habits for sure.
“Hey” he called, his voice cutting through the twilight.
I turned. “Yeah?”
“You busy?”
I laughed softly. “We're stuck in a forest workshop with, nearest city must be miles away.”
He smirked. “Fair. Come with me.”
I didn't hesitate. I followed him, me eyes glued to the black tank glued to his back muscles.
The air was heavy with the smell of grass and pine needles crushed under our boots. He didn’t speak for a while, just led me down a narrow path that curved between tall trees. The moon was rising, pale and sharp above the canopy.
“Almost there,” Bastien said, his voice low and steady, carrying a hint of nostalgia.
I nodded, though Bastien couldn’t see it, and quickened my pace slightly to close the gap. The forest was alive with the sounds of birds chirping and leaves rustling in the gentle breeze, but the silence between us was comfortable, almost expectant.
We came out to a small clearing with a fallen tree trunk, half covered in moss. Bastien sat on it like he’d been there a hundred times before. In front of him, a ditch which revealed a whole landscape of fragmented plains below.
“Our favorite spot with Amanda,” he said quietly. “We’d bring coffee in the mornings. Sit here and watch the deer.”
He looked off into the distance, his jaw tight.
“I’m sorry,” I said. It sounded inadequate but I had to fill the silence.
He shrugged, eyes still on the dark trees. “She used to sit close. She liked holding on to me, even when it was too warm for it. I didn’t realize how much I’d miss that. Just… someone being there. You know?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to — he wasn’t really asking.
"Ever got a wife?"
I didn't answer, too afraid of his reaction.
"Girlfriend then?" He tried, without much more success. "Ever dated?"
Then he turned, meeting my gaze. Something raw and unguarded flickered there.
“Can I—” He stopped, cleared his throat. “Can I… just hug you? Just for a bit.”
Wait, what?
It shouldn’t have meant anything. Just a hug. Just a man trying to fill the hollow where his wife used to be. But my stomach flipped, and I hated myself for it.
My breath caught. Every part of me screamed yes, but I forced myself to stay still, to not read too much into it.
“O... Okay,” I said, unsure of what was coming.
He stood quickly and stepped closer, his big arms wrapping around me in one smooth motion.
Shit. You're melting me.
He was warm and solid, my head got pressed into his furry chest, his beard brushing my head. The smell of sawdust and sweat clung to him.
I froze for a second, then let myself sink into it. His arms tightened, like he hadn’t realized how badly he needed this until now. Like he wasn’t ready to let go.
"Fuck. That's good." He grunted.
I could feel his heartbeat, steady, slower than mine, like he was carved from something older, calmer.
Don’t read into this, Luc. He’s not holding you. He’s holding a memory. Amanda. You’re just a placeholder.
We stood there, just breathing, his chin resting lightly on my hair. Time slowed. My heart was pounding so hard I was afraid he’d feel it.
“Thanks,” he murmured after a while, voice low, almost hoarse. But he didn’t move. His hands were still on my back, firm, warm, steady.
Part of me wanted to stay there forever.
It's Amanda. For what he’d lost. Not for me.
I tried to remind myself of that. But my arms were already moving, almost on instinct, circling his waist. I told myself I was just returning the gesture. Not clinging.
He exhaled against my hair. A quiet sound, somewhere between relief and longing. I felt his breath on my scalp and bit the inside of my cheek, forcing myself not to shiver.
But God, he was warm. And the way his hand spread across my back, fingers flexing slightly, like he didn’t want to let go…
I could have stayed like that for hours. Days. It had been so long since anyone held me like this. Not out of politeness. Just a raw need.
I wanted to ask. I wanted to tell him "You can hold me as long as you need. You can even pretend I’m her, if it helps."
But the words were stuck in my throat.
And then, without warning, he lifted me.
It was effortless. One second my shooes were on the ground, the next I was off my feet, cradled in his arms like I weighed nothing. He held me tight against him, his cheek brushing my temple, his biceps solid and warm around me. It wasn’t playful or mocking — just something instinctive, like he needed to hold someone close, someone real, to feel that connection again.
I froze, my breath stuck in my throat.
God, I could stay like this forever.
But my body betrayed me. I leaned into him, my head falling over his powerfull shoulder, feeling the strength in him — not just muscle, but something deeper, like he carried his whole life in his arms.
“Sorry,” he muttered softly, almost embarrassed. “Guess I… missed this. The holding part.”
As I began to slide down his massive body, I felt his massive dick place itself right under my bottom, holding me. It was hot, rigid as a rock, ready to plow.
"Stay with me hon." He said calmly.
His voice rumbled through me. I didn’t know what to say, so I just let him keep holding me. His arms didn’t loosen right away. If anything, he drew me a little closer, as if afraid I might vanish.
Don’t be an idiot, Luc. He’s straight. He’s hurting. You’re just… filling a gap. A temporary fix...
But when he finally set me back down, slowly, like I might break, my chest ached with something I couldn’t name. I wanted to say something — anything — but my throat stayed tight.
“You’re good to talk to,” he said quietly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “And to hold, apparently.”
I forced a laugh. “Anytime.”
"Really?" he asked, surprised.
I nodded, still shaken by the intimate moment we had just experienced.
As we walked back, I kept my hands jammed into my pockets, because all I wanted to do was reach out and touch him again — and I knew I couldn’t. I was also grabbing my own dick from tume to time, just to tease it a bit more.
My arms still remembered the weight of his. My body still hummed where he’d pressed against me. And the feeling of his manhood pocking at my ass...
Don’t fall for him, you idiot!
When I reached my cabin, he was still following me.
I gathered all my courage and tried to appear as empathetic as possible:
“If you ever need to talk about Amanda, or anything really, I'm here Bastien."
"Thanks for keeping me company, buddy. I owe you." he scratched his bulging chest, almost embarrassed, "We'll see about that tomorrow. Night!"
I could still feel his masculine embrace around me.
Never had an ex treated me like this, never had I felt so close to someone, to their fragility and their power at the same time. It was something beautiful, and unforgettable.
If you enjoyed this story, consider supporting the author on Patreon.
