I was looking for a cold beer. I'd been driving for a couple of hours, and taken care of the business I needed to take care of for the day. Things had gone faster than I'd thought, and I had a few hours to kill.

Yeah, I could have gone back to the office, but is was nearly five anyway. No one was expecting me back, anyway, and I was pretty caught up with the paperwork that usually consumed my life at the office.

It was one of those spring days on the Oregon Coast, where yesterday's bright sun and warm temperatures gave way to yet another squall moving in, dark clouds, and a flurry of rain.

The street in front of the tavern was empty, not even the usual couple of pickups parked on the side of the street, when the contractors or the loggers came by for a brew at the end of a long day. The sign in the window said "open", but when I walked in, I was the only one in the room. Another sign said "seat yourself" and so I did, finding a booth against the wall. I lived about five blocks away, but I was too lazy to drive home and then walk back. The cold beer called my name.

The wood stove was blazing, and I could smell the familiar, good smell of beer, and wood smoke, and the faint smell of the spruce and cedar that lined the walls and the floor of the old bar.

"Bill's" had been here for years, an institution in the village. It was a place where you went for a cold beer, a burger, and, if you were in the mood, a bowl of chowder. This was the place where a lot of relationships started out, as there wasn't anywhere else around for miles where you could meet someone, and have a conversation.

There was a pool table in the back room, but most folks just had a pint, or maybe a pitcher, and talked away the evening. A lot of stories had been told around the bar, or the booths lining the side wall of the only bar around.

The rich folks from the big city filled the place up during the summer and on the big weekends during the winter, showing up in their designer jeans and high end sweat shirts from Nordstrom's. But, the real folks, the villagers that ran the motels and the curio shops on the main street, and showed up at the weekly fire department drill, well, they showed up on Monday nights, or Wednesday night after the fire department drill, and had a few beers.

It was my kind of place, this Monday afternoon, quiet and deserted, and a good dark beer on tap. I found my way to a booth and settled in, and got out my writing tablet. I was working on a story, and I needed a beer and some peace and quiet to get some writing done.

A few minutes later, the bartender showed up. He'd been wrestling with the new kegs of beer that the beer truck had delivered out back.

"Sorry. Been unloading beer," he said, as he brought me a glass of their stout.

I'd been here long enough that I was a regular, I guess, and he knew what I liked to drink. And, maybe I looked like a dark beer drinker, wearing my jeans and my cheap sweat shirt, my goatee and two days worth of stubble on my face.

"Don't worry about it. I'm not in a hurry," I said, as I checked him out.

Jake was his name. He'd been working here about a month, moving down here from Portland. I'd heard he was getting over a relationship, and just wanted out of the big city. That's the usual story around here, anyway. People getting away, and wanting to be by themselves, hoping their problems will get washed away by the winter's rain.

He was kind of cute, too. His ass filled out his jeans in a nice way, and he kept his moustache and goatee nicely trimmed, too. He kept himself shaved, too. I appreciated that, in a working man. Didn't let himself go to seed around here, at least when he was working. Not that a lot of guys did. It seems like the scruffy, three day beard was the thing do have around here.

Not me. I liked a man who either shaved every day, or grew an honest to God beard. I'd tried a beard, but the full ZZ Top look escaped me. I never could get the jaws and cheek to grow enough hair to look like an honest beard. So, I trimmed it up enough so the goatee looked respectable.

Jake had let his sideburns grow down a bit, to just below his ear. He looked good, good enough to strip down to nothing, and have my way with him. I'd be willing to work on his relationship issues, if he'd let me get him in the sack and get down to business. Nothing like a good wet mouth sucking on a hard cock to cure those relationship issues. At least, that's my philosophy, especially on these long rainy days when the storms are pounding on the roof and you've got a hard on that won't quit.

I sipped my beer, and worked on my story, getting about five pages of my writing tablet filled up with my story, an older man looking for love in a small town. It might be a memoir, I thought, thinking of the gray in my beard, and the cold, empty bed back at my cabin, down the street a bit. I'd be willing to teach Jake a thing or two, and maybe he could teach me something, as well.

He wiped down a table on the other side of the bar, leaning over the table with his rag. He leaned over far enough that I got a good look at about two inches of his butt crack, the pearly white tops of his pretty ass standing out above his nice and tight jeans gripping the rest of his ass. I didn't see any underwear, like a lot of young guys whose pants droop a little too low. Maybe he was going commando today. The thought of that put a little fiber in my own cock, and my balls ached a bit. It has been a long time since I'd dumped a load of cum. Watching him working over the table made me think of what I'd like to be doing to him today. And, it wasn't anything close to a writing lesson.

No one else came in that afternoon, and Jake soon had all the glassware from the weekend all washed and put away. He swept the floor twice, and stoked the fire. He came by to put another pint of beer on the table.

I told him he ought to just put up the "closed" sign and I'd buy him a beer, too. He thought that was a good idea, and he locked the door, changed the sign and turned off the outside lights and the other lights over the bar. The only light left was from the stove and the couple of thick candles that burned on the ledge next to the beer taps.

"What about the liquor inspector?" Jake said.

I laughed, and then Jake laughed, too. The nearest liquor inspector was in Portland, and only came to town about once every two months. The local cop was off tonight, it being a Monday. And, besides, the cop liked a good cold draft porter, and the last thing he wanted to do was cut himself off from the only good cold draft beer in town.

Jake poured himself a pint and scooted in the booth, taking a sip of the beer before setting it down between us on the lacquered pine wood table. A big of the foam caught in his moustache and he licked it off, sending a jolt of electricity into my cock, my little head imagining what it would be like to have Jake sucking on my hard on. I'd like to add my own load of foam to his ‘stache and watch him lick it clean with his wet, agile tongue.

"Lord, that tastes good," he said, a smile crossing his face and spreading the whiskers across his upper lip. "Nothing like a cold beer at the end of the day."

We sipped our beers in silence for a few minutes, listening to the crackling of the wood in the stove, and the wind kicking up outside. It was dark now, and the wind was building up enough that it seemed another storm was moving in.

I knew Jake didn't live in town. Like a lot of other working folks here, he had to commute to another town, about twenty miles away. Rent was a lot cheaper there, and the rich second home owners around here had driven up land prices enough that finding a cheap apartment was almost impossible.

A couple of gusts blew through, and the street light flickered and then went out. The electrical system wasn't worth much when a storm decided to come on shore, and we all had our candles, kerosene lamps, and flashlights at the ready during the winter.

"Looks like we're in for a good one," I said, taking another sip of my beer.

"Yeah," Jake said. "Guess I have to drive home again through another God damn storm in the pitch black."

I let that ride for a bit, thinking I could get Jake to spend the night with me. I was enough of a regular that he knew I had an apartment a few blocks away, and that I was a pretty harmless guy. Safe enough to ask me to spend the night on my couch.

Oh, I had other plans, well, fantasies, I guess. Watching him wipe down that table with his jeans slipping down far enough I could see the top of his butt had got me stirred up a bit. And, I knew Jake didn't have a girlfriend. And, I'd seen him the other night, eyeing a logger as he left the bar. I'd been thinking that Jake liked to play the field a bit, and wasn't against sucking a little cock or taking it up the ass once in a while, just for the fun of it. After all, this was a lonely little town, most nights, and it was a challenge to go home with someone who could make a man smile and laugh a bit, and get his rocks off, all at the same time.

Jake had sucked down his beer pretty quickly, and when he offered me a refill, I didn't say no. I'd be walking home anyway, and having another beer with this good looking young man was the best idea I'd had all day. And, well, maybe I could play my hand well enough to get him to spend the night with me, and maybe check out the rest of that well shaped young ass. It had been a long dry spell for me in the romance department, and the alcohol had taken the edge off of my inhibitions. The old lust was building up a bit, and I could feel a bit of sweat building up in my armpits.

"What are you writing?" he asked.

I most always didn't let on to folks what I did write. Most of it was gay porn anyway, and the local literary society probably wouldn't invite me over for a reading anytime soon. Besides, coming out in this town was risky business.

Most of us were pretty liberal, but there was enough of the town that believed what the local Bible thumping minister said about "them queers" that we never got around to having Gay Pride Day. Though, the minister would be amazed at how many of his Sunday morning congregants enjoyed a good tumble in the hay with a person of their own sex. In fact, the lead soprano in the church choir was the town's most notorious lesbian.

What the heck, I thought. In for a penny, in for a pound. Jake should know I'm gay anyway, and I've got nothing to lose.

"Here, take a read. You might enjoy it. Or not." I said, turning the yellow tablet around so he could read it.

I sipped my beer, watching him read. He got into it, slowly moving his eyes down the page, and then flipping over the tablet for the next page. He took a sip of his beer, his eyes not moving off the pages. My heart raced a bit, wondering if he'd toss the tablet back to me, disgust rolling off his lips, and then watch him slip out of the booth and throw me out of the darkened bar.

But, he didn't. He kept reading, taking it all in.

It was a story of a young man growing up here, the son of a fundamentalist minister, and finding his love and losing his virginity to the new school teacher who came to town one fall. When he sat down, I was just starting to write their first sex scene, where the young man starts unbuttoning the teacher's shirt, after a walk on the beach at sunset.

He read slowly, and took another sip of his beer, forgetting to lick off the suds on his moustache.

When he got to the end, he flipped the pages back, and looked down at the yellow paper, not making eye contact.

"Nice story," he said, at last. "You're a good writer, Michael."

We both took another sip of our beers, and let that comment reverberate around the room, the silence louder than the gusts of wind that hammered at the roof, and the crackling of the fire.

"Thanks," I said, finally. "I try to write what I feel, and what I know about."

"Yeah, I can tell. You put a lot of real feeling into it. It's so real," Jake said, still not meeting my eyes. "You have a lot of sensitivity for people, .... for lonely people."

"Thanks, Jake," I said, letting his words sink in to the silence of the tavern.

"I don't like being lonely, and life's too short to get through without sharing some of the good times with someone else," I added.

"I've never had that, .... love, I mean," Jake said. I could see him blush a bit, his cheeks turning red against the darkness of his goatee. Even in the candlelight, I could sense the hotness of his face, him being embarrassed at his revealing comment.

We'd never talked much before, just small talk about beers and clam tides, and the weather. Its the stuff guys talk about at the bar, without really getting close to each other. Part of that macho armor we still seem to carry around, even in these days where folks can live a little more openly, a little more honestly, about who they really are.

I let his comment just sit there, and we sat there, nursing our beers, listening to the wind pick up another notch, the town still pitch black.

"Looks like the power company is going to wait til morning to try to power us up," I said. "It'll be a long dark drive home for you tonight."

"Yeah," Jake said, looking away from me, the candlelight turning his moustache and goatee into a soft, nearly brown glint.

"I got a nice big couch, and bacon and eggs for breakfast," I said. How about coming over to Michael's Bed and Breakfast for the night?"

We both chuckled at the bed and breakfast thing. Seems like half the cabins in town were bed and breakfasts these days. Anything to milk some money out of the tourists, and rake in some much needed cash during the summers. We all needed something to make it through the winters, which were pretty wet and poor around here.

"Besides, I have some other stories I think you'd like," I said. This town gives me a pretty good collection of characters and yarns to tell. Almost as good as the ones you hear across the bar."

Jake nodded. He looked at me then, his dark brown eyes shining in the dim candlelight. I could see that a big tear had rolled down his cheek, into the day old stubble of his jaw. My story must have touched a chord with him.

"And, I have some nice twelve year old Scotch that I've been saving to share with someone. A night like tonight is a good time to have a snort of the good stuff," I added, hoping to set the hook on my fishing expedition here.

Heck, it wouldn't be the end of the world if I didn't get the pleasure of slowly unbuttoning his shirt on my couch, and fingering the stiffness of his nipples, rubbing my hand and arm against the thick tufts of his chest hair. Just having another person in my cabin tonight would take the chill off the stormy evening, and make life seem just a bit easier to bear.

"Sure," he said. "I'd like that. I'd like to have a taste of that Scotch. And, read some of your stories. You got a way with words, Michael."

We sucked down the last of our beers and Jake washed up our glasses as I wiped down our table and the bar. We closed the place down and headed out into the storm. The rain was moving sideways and we were nearly soaked by the time we got to my place.

I hung up our coats, and kicked off my boots. And, I poured the Scotch and fired up my woodstove, and lit an oil kerosene lamp. The rain had soaked part of our shirts and our jeans, too, and so I got Jake to strip off his shirt and his jeans and hang them up by the stove, next to his coat to dry.

I threw him a blanket and we sat on the couch, bare chested and wearing only our shorts, sipping the old Scotch. The wind whistled outside, and rattled the window a bit, making us glad we were inside tonight with nowhere to go. Jake unfolded the blanket and pulled it around our shoulders. He moved a big closer to me, close enough that our shoulders touched and our bare thighs rubbed against each other.

He sighed, sipping his Scotch, and looked into the fire of the wood stove.

"Nice," he said. "Real nice place you got here, Michael."

"Yeah, thanks," I said. "Especially with company on a stormy night."

I moved my hand down and over to his bare thigh, under the blanket. He wasn't acting nervous, and didn't seem bothered by the fact we were sitting next to each other, bare skin to bare skin, with the whole night ahead of us. I could smell the mustiness of his sweat, mingling with the wood smoke and the hint of peat in the 12 year old Scotch. And, a bit of my own lust, having this nearly naked man next to me in my cabin, on a stormy night, with nothing but a thin layer of cotton between me and his young, hairy balls and thickening cock.

Jake hadn't hesitated in getting out of his wet jeans and shirt, stripping down to his shorts and getting on the couch, while I fired up the stove and poured ourselves the first round of a decent whiskey. He had seemed to lose all of the little bit of shyness he'd had at the bar. But, then, he was the bartender there, and had decided to come home with the older guy, the customer who had invited him home on a dark, rainy night.

So, I wasn't surprised when he didn't flinch a bit when my hand started to explore the coarse hairs of his muscular thigh, or when I moved up a bit, and moved my fingers across the warm cloth across his balls and his half hard cock, and rested there a bit, feeling the heat rising from his manhood.

I leaned against him then, my naked shoulder pushing against the muscles of his shoulder, and wrapped my other arm around his other shoulder, my other hand wandering down to finger the tufts of his thick fur that splayed across his hard chest, and found his hardening nipple with my fingers. A moan escaped from his lips as I tweaked his tit a bit, feeling the hot blood running through his nipple, and the damp sweat of the furry muscles of my new lover.

My other hand got closer to his manhood, fingers finding their way under the waistband, and down into the thick bush guarding the root of his cock. His pubes and the skin of his groin were a bit sweaty, under his shorts, as I dove deeper underneath the last bit of clothing clinging to his cock. He was thickening up more, becoming hard, and I grasped his shaft with my fingers, running up and down and feeling the silky smooth skin of his masculinity.

I knew then that we'd be spending a lot of time with each other, and would ride out the storm with our own moans and cries, as the wind whistled around the corners of the cabin. Our own downpour of our own seed would match the cascade of storm-driven rain, time and time again that night, until the first morning light found us once again pounding deep into a wet, hungry mouth, or the cum-slickened hole and butt cheeks of first one and then the other of us, as we cried each other's names out loud as the last gust of the storm rattled the shingles.

Now that I had a nice grip on his cock, though, I felt him tense up a bit. He gulped loud enough for me to hear, and when I looked at his face, I saw him blush a bright red. Sweat had broken out on his brow, and he took a big breath.

"It's OK, Jake," I whispered. "We're gonna have a good time, and have some fun."

He nodded, but looked away. It crossed my mind that he hadn't done this before, with a man, and was having some serious second thoughts. My cock wanted him badly, and there's not much more I could imagine I'd want to do on a rainy, windy night than play around with a naked man.

Still, Jake wasn't buying in to this 100% and I needed to pull back a bit, and make sure he was comfortable with getting laid tonight with another guy. One thing I've learned over the years is that making love, really making love, requires everyone involved to really be into what's going on in the bedroom. Or the beach, or the quiet little spot in the woods, or wherever else you've thrown off your clothes and are getting it on.

I slipped my hand out of his shorts, and moved my arm around his bare shoulder, and held him close to me. I could feel his sweaty heat rise, and noticed that even his shoulders were a bit sweaty, that cold fear sweat that a guy gets when he's not in familiar territory.

"Hey, Jake," I said quietly. "Let's slow this down, and talk about it. How are you feeling about this?"

The silence filled the room, and Jake gulped down another lungful of air, his chest filling out nicely. He looked down at his hands, not saying a word.

I wasn't in a rush now, and I waited for him to gather his thoughts, find his words. Besides, it gave me time to take a look at him. His goatee was nicely trimmed, and the day's worth of stubble was thick and even across his cheeks and jaws. He was one of those guys that could have a good looking full beard just by leaving the razor parked for a week. His whiskers were a dark brown and there was some reddish tint to the hair, which glinted nicely in the soft light of the candlelight and the flickers coming from the stove.

The room was warming up and the blanket around us had fallen off of our shoulders, giving me a nice closeup view of Jake's chest and belly. Broad, fat nipples pushed out above a nice thicket of curly reddish brown chest hair that sworled around his nipples, thickening into a bushy forest in the center. I could tell he kept himself in shape, his pecs nicely developed and taut.

The hair grew down from his chest, too, making a thick treasure trail across his abs to his belly button, before widening into a nice patch of curls just above the waistband of his shorts. My fingers remembered the thick forest of his bush, and the dampness of his substantial cock.

Yeah, this was a guy I could really get into, taking my time exploring his muscles and all of his fur, my tongue making some long, fine work on his nipples. Yeah, I could be doing some serious work here, bringing this man to a long, slow orgasm, just with my tongue and some slow, easy hand work.

Jake coughed a bit, choking on a word. A long roll of sweat moved down alongside his face from his brow, and my nose caught a good whiff of nervous sweat rising from his nicely hairy pits.

I held him closer to me, drawing him against my own naked chest, and felt the heat rising from his body. And, I waited, waited for him to find the words, and sort out the emotions he was dealing with.

"I'd like to ... to do this. But, I don't know how," he stammered, choking on the last word, a tear joining the bead of sweat that had rolled down his cheek into the stubble that grew so nicely on the bottom half of his face.

I didn't say a word, for a while, just letting his words hang there, in the space of my cabin. My arm around his shoulder and holding him next to my skin doing the talking for me, giving him my support, my compassion, my understanding of what he was saying.

Guys are pretty bad about listening to each other, especially when it comes to stuff we have a hard time talking about. Sex being the hardest, especially sex with other guys. So, I was giving him his space, letting him find his words, and work through what he was feeling. This wasn't about what a guy's cock was saying, it was finding what his heart was saying, and giving him the space to really listen to himself, his needs, and his desires.

"I can teach you, but I bet you already know most everything you'd want to do with me tonight," I whispered.

"And, we don't have to do anything, either. Just enjoy the Scotch and the fire, and get a good night's sleep," I added.

Jake nodded, lost again in thought, his mind sorting it all out.

I reached over and picked up my glass of Scotch, the ice cubes clinking a bit. I sipped the amber liquid, watching the alcohol swirl a bit in the glass, in the soft firelight, just enjoying the warmth and the feel of Jake's shoulder and chest on my skin, just enjoying the company of another guy on a stormy night.

Jake reached over, too, and picked up his glass, and sipped his Scotch. A burst of heavy rain beat down on the roof for a minute or two, making conversation difficult. We sipped our Scotch and waited for the next lull in the storm.

"I'm used to drinking the cheap stuff," he said. "You're making me appreciate the high end. I might have to change my habits."

"Yeah, older is better, for a lot of things," I said.

Jake chuckled, and a lot of the tension in the room and in his shoulders eased away.

"I'm figuring that out," Jake said, bursting into a laugh and make me laugh, too.

The elephant in the room had a name now, I thought. We can talk about this, about not being sure about going to bed with someone, and figuring out what a guy wants out of sex, and whether or not sex can mean making it with another guy.

"I'm not sure what all this means," Jake said. "I mean, here I am in your cabin, with most of my clothes off, enjoying what you were doing to my cock a few minutes ago. But, part of me isn't sure that's good, but part of me really wants you to do that some more."

"And, I'm enjoying you," I said. "Its good to have a handsome, naked man in my cabin on a stormy winter's night, sharing some Scotch, and getting ready for some serious fucking. Life is good."

Jake nodded. I could tell the wheels were turning, and he was trying to sort all of this out. I think he was liking what was going on. At least he hadn't thrown his clothes back on and wasn't running out the door into the night.

"Michael, be patient with me. This...this is hard stuff," Jake said, after another sip from his glass. "I left the big city to come down here and sort some things out. I've been thinking I've figured it out, but now, I'm not so sure."

"I'd met a man in Portland. We'd gotten serious. We dated a few times and then, he asked me to sleep with him," Jake said.

We ... well, I ... we made love a couple of times, and I liked it a lot. But, then, I wasn't sure. I kept hearing my old man's voice in my head, calling me a worthless fag. I... I just didn't know what to do," Jake added, another big tear rolling down his face, catching on the stubble of his cheek, shining a bit in the firelight.

"So, I ran. I ran away, and came here, hoping to figure it all out. I thought if I didn't have him around to.... to tempt me... I'd find myself, and be a man," Jake added, his words pouring out of his lips in spurts.

He sighed, letting a chestful of air out, letting his shoulders move down another notch or two. The lust in me took a nice look at his sculpted chest and the thick mat of hair between his tempting reddish nipples. I had to swallow a big gulp of saliva, just thinking about what I'd wanted to do to him right now.

I let the silence back in to the monologue, letting Jake catch his breath, my mind trying to sort out all the pain that he carried with him down to the beach, down to the bar in the center of the village, down to the guy that was letting me stroke his cock with my eager hands a few minutes ago.

"Hey, its OK for real men to like getting their cock stroked, and they like getting laid on a dark and stormy night, drinking good booze with their lover," I said.

I grinned a bit, trying to get Jake to find the humor in all of this, to find a bit of joy in a guy finding some pleasure in getting naked and enjoying some sex and bare skin, and working up to a session of fooling around with someone, and shooting a couple of ropes of cum out of a hard, well fondled cock. It was, after all, a manly thing to be wanting.

Jake chuckled, finding some humor in all of this serious talk. He was getting pretty comfortable with me, talking about his lover, and his life, and what was on his mind. He'd come a long ways in the last hour, from his bartender role to the mostly naked guy on my couch, talking about making love with another guy, right after I'd run my hand up and down his stiff manhood a few times.

"Well, I have to admit, I'm enjoying the Scotch and the fire, and the company," he said. "And, getting some nice stroking on my cock has given me hope that I might even get laid in this town sometime."

We laughed, Jake's baritone voice rumbling off of the rafters and the windows now streaked with rain, his chest shaking a bit.

"All things are possible," I said, bringing another good belly laugh out of Jake.

We sipped another taste of the Scotch, and I got up to throw another log into the stove. Turning my back to him, I wiggled my ass a bit, and started to slowly pull my shorts down, an inch at a time, doing a little stripper action for my house guest. Quietly, I hummed the stripper song, and I could hear Jake laughing behind me.

My shorts soon hit the floor, and I caught them in my toe and tossed them up into my hand, and twirled them over my head, turning around slowly, doing a slow bump and grind, still humming my stripper song.

My flaccid cock danced above my balls, my hips moving from side to side, as I waved my shorts above my head, dancing to the music. Jake was getting a good look at my bare ass, covered with a pretty good coating of hair, my hairy legs and my back. I'd kept myself in pretty good shape. I walked the beach every day and worked out at the local gym three or four times a week. I bet he was getting a good glimpse of my balls, too, as I danced around.

I turned slowly towards Jake, giving him a good show of my furry chest, my thick forested pits, and my cock and hairy balls. I did another bump and grind routine, and watched Jake's grin across his goateed face. There was a nice bulge in his shorts, and I could see the tip of his cockhead poking out of the flap of his shorts, which were getting a bit tight.

He caught my eye, and blushed, knowing that I knew my dance routine was turning him on a bit. I moved closer to him, feeling the now warmer air of the cabin against the dampness of my chest and my armpits, and my crotch.

I'd wanted Jake, for quite a while. And, he wanted me, coming over to my cabin tonight after he closed down the tavern, and laughing now at my little strip tease. His swelling cock told me he liked what he saw, or at least the idea of a naked man dancing for him.

I pulled him off of the couch, taking him in my arms, feeling his damp, furry chest, and his half hard cock. He wrapped his muscular arms around my bare back, and we hugged. I could feel his heart beating strong against my chest, his hard manhood pushing against the cloth of his shorts, next to my own hardening cock.

He kissed me then, a soft, tender kiss. His whiskers caught in mine, and I could smell the whiskey on his breath, warm against my skin. His hand lay against my shoulder, and then moved down to my butt cheek. He ran his fingers over the coarse hair on my ass, pulling me closer to him.

A long sigh escaped his lips and he looked into my eyes.

"Yeah, I want you," Jake whispered. "I want all of this."

We kissed again, the tension gone from his face. His other hand moved down my chest, stopping to stroke my hardening nipples, and the thick fur. He moved down, feeling the fur on my belly and the thicker bush above my cock, until his fingers found my hard shaft, and pushed my foreskin down a bit, baring my wet cockhead to his fingertips.

A moan escaped from my chest, my armpits now wet with anticipation, with lust for this new lover. It had been a while for me, too long, I thought, and I'd like to feel his damp beard run along my cock, and take my balls, one at a time, into his wet, hungry mouth.

My hands found the band of his shorts, and I slowly eased them down his fine young ass, my fingers now knowing what I had seen at the bar, the little crack of his butt and the firm white tops of his butt cheeks. I slipped his shorts off his butt, feeling all of the bare skin of his ass, and the fine downy fur that grew there. I'd b coming back to this, later on, after I'd sucked his balls and his cock to his first climax, and take a long, slow tour of his ass and his hole, getting to know him better.

We had all night, and the next day. I knew he had Tuesdays off, and well, I needed to do some research on my dirty little story I was working on. Field work always takes so much time, but good research is essential to any project. And, Jake wasn't going anywhere anyway. The storm had knocked the power out and probably blown over a few trees on the highway. So, he was stranded, and I was willing to be the Red Cross shelter for those in need, especially the good looking naked men in need of a good blow job.

His shorts soon hit the floor and I eased Jake into the bedroom, pulling him onto the sheets and getting him comfortable with my lips wrapped around his hard cock. His hands gripped my head, and his fingers explored my moustache and goatee, and the stubble on my cheeks, as I worked my way down the full length of his slippery cock, until my nose was buried in the thick wiry hair above his cock.

One hand played with his butt and my other hand cupped his hot, sweaty ball sack, as my mouth slid back and forth over his steel hard cock. His balls rose in their furry sack, as I fondled them, feeling their fullness and their weight. He was a big lad, in all the right ways, and my hole twitched in anticipation of him taking me, deep and hard, later on tonight. I wanted him buried balls deep in me, his strong arms on each side of me, as his furry chest rubbed against mine, and his lustful gasps flowed in and out of his lungs as he took me, hard and eager.

He'd call my name that night, as he came for the third time, deep in my ass, my thighs tight around his hips, his balls slamming against my ass, his thick bush rubbing fast and furious against my balls and cock, as his seed spurted deep into my ass and dripped down across my sweaty skin.

I took him to new places that night, spending a lot of time on his furry chest and his hard, aching nipples, slurping and sucking, and running my mouth through the wet forest of his pits, and everywhere else on his strong, muscular body. A long string of his cum dripped off my goatee, onto his face, and I rubbed his seed into his beard, as he chuckled and told me I was the craziest man he'd ever met.

The next morning, I woke up to his hairy chest a few inches away, rising slowly with each breath. His arm was over his eyes, his furry armpit nearly in my nose. I could smell him, a a little sweaty, mixed with a bit of last night's Scotch, and the odor of dried cum. He'd pushed the blanket and the sheet off of him, and I followed the trail of fur down his torso to his morning wood, pulsing a bit with each beat of his heart. His foreskin had slid down a bit, nearly exposing the rim of his cock head, the purplish red of the meat shiny in the early light of the new day.

Bits of dried cum shined white against the dark hair of his groin, and on his stomach, making me hard at the thought of what we did last night. My balls ached a bit at the memory, of how he drained me, again and again, with his mouth, his fingers, and his tight ass.

He was sound asleep, and I moved down a bit, getting closer to his hard on, taking time now to study it, in the light of day, and without him pushing his cock deeper into my mouth, urging me to love him again. The veins stood out against the thin, silky skin of his shaft, and I noticed how his dark hair began about a third of the way up his shaft, curling and even now, damp with the last of the drying cum from our night together.

I slipped over his cockhead then, my lips surrounding his cockhead, and sliding down his foreskin, soaking him with my saliva, and tasting his manhood again, his strength, and his yeasty, salty cum, feeling the heat of his blood against my eager tongue.

Slowly, I moved up and down on him, taking my time, and feeling his pulse on my lips and on my tongue. I wasn't in a hurry, not like last night when he first came in my mouth, a few minutes after we'd found the bedroom, his hips pounding against my face, so much cum flying out of him that half of it slid out of my mouth and dripped across my chest.

I explored him now, feeling the hardness of the rim of his cockhead, and the little spot underneath his head, the place where the foreskin is attached to the place just under the cock head, and there's all those interesting little folds of skin to touch. And the piss slit, its edges all red and shiny, in the center of his little head.

His balls felt heavy in my fingers, his hairy sack soft against my skin. His heat warmed me, my nose filled with his scent, his newly aroused horniness, as I continued to suck on him, moving up and down in my slow, early morning rhythm.

I could hear his breathing deepen, and then a moan from his throat, a deep, baritone moan, of a man in heat, a man making love and not ashamed to give his lust a voice.

Jake's hand moved down, gripping my shoulder, his fingers hot against my skin, as he gripped my muscle.

"Oh, God," he moaned, telling me he was awake now, and probably didn't want me to stop and make some coffee.

The grip on my shoulder got tighter, and he held my on his cock, not letting me go. Not that I wanted to. The taste of his hard cock on my tongue was a great way to start my day, and knowing Jake was more than enjoying my efforts was spurring me on to bring him to a slow, intense climax. It was the least I could do after all he'd done with me last night. My balls were well drained and my cock was a happy camper, and I'd slept deep and tight the rest of the night, next to my new lover.

Jake's breath now was matched with little cries and moans of pleasure, spits of air and yips escaping from his bearded lips, as I kept pumping away around his manhood, his hips tensing and thrusting a bit, as I slid up and down him, again and again.

I could smell new, lusty sweat rise in his armpits and in his groin, as I continued my morning's work, until he tensed, and took in a deep breath, and spurted. He spurt long and hard, and then spurted again, as I held him tight in my mouth, running my tongue once again around his bared cock head, holding his tightened balls firmly in my hand.

He collapsed, all tension gone now from his muscled body, laying still in our bed. My lips and tongue still held him in my cum-drenched mouth, me tasting his seed, and feeling the hardness drain from his now spent cock.

I took a deep breath and swallowed him, enjoying his taste again on my tongue, feeling the heat of his seed again. Finally, I eased myself away from the now fully spent cock, letting it fall, wet and slippery, against his thigh.

The morning was ours now, my lover and me.