GAY SEX STORY
"Naked Outdoor Sex"
I needed to get away from the city.
So, eight months ago, I bought this old farm –
just a house, a small barn, plus 200 acres of trees.
Since I was raised in the country, cutting timber –
being a lumberjack – wasn’t a stretch, and
although I’d saved some money, I figured I could
make some extra bucks selling logs to local lumber mills.
It’s odd. Back in the city, at
the leather-and-bear bar, where I had an evening job
as a bouncer at a leather-and-bear bar, a few guys called
me “Logger.” I was never sure if that was
because I’m tall and have a big, beefy body, or
because of my big cock. I wonder what they’d call
me now? That “beef” has become 200 pounds
of solid muscle. But much good it does me, because there’s
a major drawback to my new “career”: no
sex. It’s thirty miles to the nearest town and,
trust me, there’s nothing there. Most days, I
jerk off just thinking about having raunchy, naked outdoor
sex with a horny bear – and I’m not talking
about the four-legged variety.
It’s now mid-May. Last night,
it poured rain, and today is hot and humid. I’m
heading back from the woods, hauling a huge tree to
the yard, when the cable snaps. I get off the tractor
to check why, and I see that the clamp for the hook
is fucked. The one-horse gas station, five miles away,
doesn’t have any hardware, and the thought of
driving thirty miles, and then back, is a bummer. My
nearest neighbour is a sloth, but I’m hoping he
knows someone in the area who can help.
Gritting my teeth, I head off in my
car. When I pull into his driveway, he’s sitting
on the steps, whittling a piece of wood. Typical. “Does
anyone around here have a tractor?” I ask, thinking
that a simple question might get me a simple answer.
“Not as I know,” he drawls.
My heart sinks. This does not look promising. Then he
adds, “Unless that fella down the road is around.
Can’t say as I know his name.”
“Where would I find this fella,”
I ask, clutching at straws.
He gives me directions that I vaguely
understand. I thank him, cross my fingers, and take
off. About two miles further, I see a turn-off into
a lane. I remember seeing it before, but I didn’t
figure anyone lived down there. However, I decide to
take a chance. When I finally see a house, it’s
small, but the place looks tidy. The best sight of all?
A tractor is sitting in an open shed.
I park, go to his front door, and knock.
No answer. Hmmm. I decide to look around, and as I walk
down a steep slope at the side of the house, I hear
the sound of running water. When I round the corner,
I’m greeted by a tantalizing sight. A well-built
guy is taking a shower. His back muscles, from his shoulders
to his calves, glisten in the sunlight. The most seductive
feature is his ass – a superb pair of taut globes.
As I stare, he turns and is suddenly
aware of my presence. He looks surprised and then just
says, “Hi there!” He’s got a black
brush-cut, plus a trim beard and moustache. I’m
wondering if he’s Bulgarian, Armenian, Ukrainian.
Whatever, my crotch swells at the sight of his hunky
body, especially his hairy chest and stomach –
and his king-size nipples invite trouble
“Steve Harris,” I say,
as calmly as possible.
“Rob Rowe,” he says. “What
brings you here?”
Several lewd replies leap to mind,
but I answer, “I’m hoping you can help me.”
“Depends on what you need,”
he replies, with a wicked grin, as he keeps lathering
his body with soap.
“I don’t mind waiting,”
I say, imagining my hands sliding between his hairy
thighs. “It gives me a chance to admire your ingenuity
– rain barrels, hose lines, propane.”
“I enjoy being inventive,”
he says, nonchalantly stroking his thick cock. “When
you’re on your own, pleasures are in short supply,
so I rigged this up for hot days like this. But a cold
beer works, too. Would you like one?”
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