Nursing: More A "Calling" Than A Career

Finally ... my editor has given me an assignment that combines human interest and technology and I think I'm just the right person to tackle it. I actually feel sorry for my editor. His wife just had a serious surgery and her recovery was not what they expected. She responded to the trauma and anesthesia very poorly and her kidneys have had a hell of a time bouncing back. He's missed a bunch of work and I swear his hair is much more gray in just a few weeks time. But the idea of doing a story on the prominence of kidney dialysis and kidney disease is inspired.

I just met with Darrell Kilgore. He's the information director for one of our local hospitals. Mr. Kilgore was kind of a "blah" on the manmeter ... just your average 40-year-old middle manager with mousy looks and a pleasant personality ... but, man, did he dig his heels in to help with this piece. He provided me with a fact sheet on national and state dialysis patient stats and some additional research that will save me tons of time. Then he took me to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee and introduced me to Brandon, a registered nurse who works exclusively in the hospital's dialysis unit.

I was in mid-sentence with Darrell when I noticed a sturdy young man in dark sweats approaching our table from the left. My breath caught in my throat as I realized he was going to be my "tour guide" for the remainder of the afternoon. For fuck's sake, I salivated in my brain, how am I gonna remember anything with this stud leading me around?

Darrell stood quickly and clapped Brandon on the shoulder. My eyes registered that the administrator's mouth was moving, but I just sat there in a sexual trance taking in all of Brandon's manly splendor. Guessing he was 26 or 27 and 5' 10" or 5' 11", Brandon had the build of a wrestler ... stocky and thick and extremely masculine. His hair was dirty blond ... my favorite ... and in a longish style. A goatee formed a reddish-blond frame around Brandon's succulent lips, growing in sparsely at the corners of his mouth. Like in a dream, I eventually stood and grasped his outstretched hand. My eyes darted around like those of an animal, taking in his icy blue eyes, the abundant darker hairs covering his exposed forearms and peeking out of his neckline, and the thick line of his cock lying beneath the tight scrub pants. No underwear, I surmised, my kind of dude for sure!!

I was still clinging to Brandon's warm mitt when Mr. Kilgore reminded me to call him with any additional questions and then exited the cafeteria. Brandon and I stood there for a few awkward seconds. "So I guess I'll be showing you the dialysis center," he commented with a velvety voice that hinted of mint juleps and Southern hospitality.

"Arkansas?" I guessed, watching as his eyes turned almost white in the harsh hospital lighting.

"Good try ... southern Georgia originally. Been up here for about two years. My friends say my accent is so much lighter than when I started work here." Brandon dipped his head as if embarrassed. His fringe of bangs fell over his forehead.

"I think it's sexy," I blurted, and then realized I'd meant to say youthful or attractive or something more complimentary and less I'd-like-to-jump-your-bones-ish. Brandon didn't respond, but one side of his mouth quirked up into a half smile. "Let's get going," he finally said and led me out the opposite side of the cafeteria deeper into the health care complex.

We passed a few people and Brandon nodded to each but kept up a focused dialogue with me. "Nationally, we're facing nearly 27 million people with chronic kidney disease. Almost 400,000 of those individuals are facing what we call End Stage Renal Disease where dialysis several times a week is all that's keeping them going while awaiting a kidney donor." I tried to keep a solemn look on my face while I occasionally jotted down a note as we walked briskly. But mostly, my eyes were glued to the ridge that told me that Brandon's cock was jostling around playfully as we traversed the hallways.

We arrived at the Dialysis Unit and he ushered me in. "Here in Ohio, we have about 13,700 documented dialysis patients, including post-surgical trauma victims, renal disease patients, and people with complications from diabetes, hypertension, and other urological disorders. Everyone from small children to someone's favorite grandma."

The unit looked very new and classy, almost chic. Muted colors and designer touches created an attractive outpatient ward but with a more "standard" looking in-patient section hidden toward a back elevator. A few nurses and technicians scurried about but Brandon quickly led me over to a heavyset, middle-aged woman hooked up to several machines and monitors. "Hey, Ms. Clara ... how's my favorite patient in the entire four-county metro area?" Brandon patted the woman's shoulders and I could feel the waves of genuine compassion and concern flowing off him.

"Oh, Brandon ... you know my diabetes is bad. Don't go hitting Clara with all that sugar all at once!! Hehe!!" One of Clara's hands grasped for Brandon; he leaned into her and rewarded her hand with a few playful squeezes. It seemed a very practiced but loving maneuver. He pivoted slightly to open up Clara's view to include me. "May I introduce Clara Harris, 61, hemodialysis needed due to diabetic complications. Clara, this is the reporter we discussed with you last week ... he's gonna ask you a few questions and snap a few photographs for a story about the clinic."

I almost corrected Brandon but figured his explanation was close enough. I shook Clara's hand and explained to her my need for her signature on a photo release. "And you're sure my head isn't gonna be in any of these pictures?" she asked as she scrawled a barely legible line of cursive.

"No ma'am ... I just want to get a decent shot of some of the equipment and how it is linked to a human body. Your face will not be featured."

Clara let out a loud laugh to which Brandon grinned widely. "Honey, my face is fine ... it's my hair that's a fright!" I chucked too as I snapped about 15 or 16 photos from various angles so I would have a selection from which to choose. I also used my moving about to "accidentally" bump into Brandon once or twice. Each time I apologized and he just gave me that half-smirk.

While I took my pictures, making sure that I captured as little of Clara and the female technician directly monitoring her as possible, I also got a brief background on Clara and her dealings with the dialysis center. "Been coming here for about a year, and let me tell you I was scared from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. But this one right here ..." she said, as she indicated Brandon, "he put me so at ease. Told me that while they figured out my medical situation, they needed to run my blood through a fancy kitchen strainer. He told me I would keep my 'noodles' all warm and delicious while getting rid of the stuff that would make me sick." Clara looked up and offered Brandon a very self-satisfied smile.

"Jeez, Clara ... you're making me look silly in front of the reporter." Brandon looked genuinely embarrassed as he gauged my reactions for Clara's retelling of their first encounter.

Swiveling her head, Clara fixed me with a knowing look. "I don't get the impression he," she started, thumbing her unencumbered hand in my direction, "thinks you're silly at all. In fact, well ... child, all this star attention has made me a little tired. I'm just gonna rest my eyes a bit. Be a dear and check back on me when you finish with your business." When Clara said the word "business," it was with a mix of playful accusation ... I know your game ... and a deep warning ... don't you dare hurt him. I smiled at her thankfully for not creating an embarrassing situation as Brandon nudged me away from the dialysis station and began explaining in a somewhat hushed voice some of the other monitoring and health data collection equipment.

Brandon was an excellent teacher ... he took me through a basic "history" of dialysis and used common analogies to explain the more technical aspects. Nothing as homespun as Miss Clara had shared, but I could tell immediately that this man was a gifted nurse. And throughout my crash course, his honeyed tones and peach blossom accent warmed me right down to my stirring crotch. I flirted when I could, but always in a manner where I could "back out" easily. I was being subtle ... at least I hoped so ... and Brandon seemed to be enjoying the game.

But I was at a distinct disadvantage because Nurse Brandon was like a magnetic force ... I wanted to be physically close to him. He was solid and comforting and seemed to fill the room with his masculine presence. He also possessed one of those smouldering personalities where you weren't always sure what a look or a touch mean. When he spoke, it was layered with meaning and emotion. And a facial expression from Brandon seemed to convey hundreds of pages of subtext in a millisecond.

After about 15 minutes of methodically working our way through the unit, the interview began to dwindle and suffer some awkward pauses. I found myself both overwhelmed and sad. I had so much information crammed into my brain that I felt like I could run my own "underground" dialysis boutique, but at the same time I didn't want Brandon to stop talking ... stop sharing. Our tour had come full circle and we were once again in the unit's reception and waiting area. Five people were waiting in various stages of nervousness for treatment. Looking around I tried desperately to manufacture some last-minute questions to stall my dismissal. In my head, though, each query seemed incredibly inane.

Brandon's voice cut through my mental panic. "If you have a few more moments, there IS one other thing I'd like to show you." He seemed slightly nervous, his steely blue eyes skidding off my hazel ones as if direct eye contact would give something away. "I'm not sure it will add much to the story, but it might offer a personal angle you weren't expecting."

I immediately agreed and, after telling the receptionist that he would be back once the "newspaper thing" was handled, Brandon escorted me out of the dialysis clinic and down a series of small corridors. We passed almost no one and arrived quickly at a dead end. Before us was a small door that read "Departmental Storage: Approved Personnel Only." Access required a keycard which Brandon swiftly produced as if by magic. One swipe and the lock clicked from red to green. Brandon pulled the door open and stepped into the darkness beyond. A soft click was followed by the room being bathed in bluish light. I took a few tentative steps inside the chamber. It was a simple storage area jammed with several padded "lounges" like from the dialysis unit and monitors similar to the ones I had just seen on my tour. Metal shelves along one wall housed a variety of boxes and bins containing who-knows-what medical miscellanea. As I was gawking at the room's assortment of supplies, the door closed behind me and the lock engaged.

"This was a real coup for the dialysis people ... dedicated storage." Brandon's voice sounded muffled in the small space. "Only a few of us have clearance to access this place, so it's pretty private."

"Real homey," I chuckled as I continued to look around and wondered what story details could be hidden here. "So this is where you ..." As I turned, Brandon rushed up to me and placed his moist lips over mine. After my initial surprise faded, my mouth parted and accepted ... no, welcomed ... the nurse's exploring tongue inside. God damn, I thought while an involuntary moan softly escaped my chest, this fucker can kiss!!

As our mouths melded and churned, my hands began to roam over the beefy contours of Brandon's torso. His flesh was strong, but yielding. Moving lower, my hands found the hem of his scrub top and began pulling it up. Our kiss broke momentarily ... long enough to work the garment over his head. Brandon eagerly leaned back in to resume the liplock, but I held him at bay. His hairy chest and large pinkish nipples were glorious. I also noticed that, like me, he had an intricate tattoo on his left shoulder ... his Celtic while mine bore a tribal design. "Fuck, you're beautiful," I whispered. Brandon's signature smirk surfaced and I took that as a "go" sign. I began licking the hair on his pecs into sticky whorls. The nurse responded with a quivering in his body and a catch in his breath. I zeroed in on one salmony nip and began to tug and chew lightly. Brandon's continued sighs urged me on.

While I stood there "nursing," Brandon worked open my belt and unzipped my pants. The sound of my descending zipper was unusually loud and sensual in the storage room. Suddenly I realized that Nurse Brandon and I were moving at full speed into serious sex territory and a case of unexpected nerves swept over me. I pushed away, panting slightly as I observed both my briefs-covered bulge peeking out of my pants and the wet spot on Brandon's scrub pants where his cockhead was leaking pre-cum. He IS freeballing, I thought briefly. Cool!!

"Dude," I exclaimed, "what if someone needs something and comes in here. Our jobs ..."

"Shhhhhh, sexy man. Like I said ... limited access. I'm the only one on duty this shift with a keycard ... except for the maintenance supervisor, and he's kind of cute." Brandon winked and continued, "and if there is an emergency, they'll page me." He pointed to the small beeper attached to his discarded top. "Plenty of warning."

"Well, you've thought of everything," I stated as I exhaled a deep breath I didn't even realize I was holding in. "You must do this a lot," I added as I began unbuttoning my shirt.

In a blur, Brandon used one hand to stop my actions and the other to lightly grab my jaw. His eyes were so clear and they bore into my own like tiny lasers. "No ... I ... don't," he said emphatically. "But I was really afraid to let you leave today without making a move. This is very unusual for me ... but I just got this feeling I couldn't shake. Almost a ..."

"Panic." We said the word together. I grinned and Brandon finally graced me with a full smile of his own. I pushed my slacks and briefs down past my knees, my uncut cock bouncing free. Brandon's eyes dropped to follow the motion of my phallus. Then, with the agility of a gymnast, the blond health care professional dropped to his knees and began lapping at the crown of my dick. Brandon rolled his neck, working my pecker seductively around his warm mouth. Then ... before I even registered the movement ... my rod was gone. Buried. Brandon's lips were clamped around the root of my stalk and his throat and tongue were working my entire shaft. Jesus Christ, I screamed in my head. Where the fuck did this dude learn to suck cock!!!

I stood there writhing until Brandon scooted forward, pushing me back against one of the spare dialysis cots. I sank slightly into the cushions but stayed at a good elevation for the blond cocksucking maestro to continue playing me like a piccolo. Brandon's lips kept a tight suction on my meat while his face rode my rod. Occasionally, he would peer up at me to get my attention. As soon as our gazes met, he would perform some sinister movement with his tongue that stretched and prodded my tight foreskin ... or hollow out his cheeks to squeeze my shaft even more tightly. Brandon's hands also kept busy, playing with the root of my cock as well as my carefully-shaved balls, his movements running the scales from short, staccato slurps and tweaks to lavish, legato licks. He hummed as he worked his magic, sending shivers radiating down my thighs and deep into my chest.

Brandon planted his hands on my hairless thighs to stabilize himself, his eagerness producing ghostly impressions on my flesh. His tongue continued to dance along the sensitive underside of my dick. My breath was coming in rasps and my body instinctively humped forward, trying to drive my cock even faster and further into Brandon's maul.

How is he doing this? kept running through my mind. In less than five minutes, I could feel my balls desperately wanting to detonate. I had never received head like this in my life ... it was definitely something I could get used to.

As I felt a definite contraction deep in my groin, I put on the brakes and pushed Brandon away by the shoulders. By the time he released my cock he had a wet grin on his face ... he most certainly knew the skills he possessed. "You look pretty happy," he said, his accent taking on a cockiness.

"You think so?" I replied, leaning back into the bed for support.

"What I think," he lewdly said, "is that I could use some similar attention from you."

Brandon rose to his feet and kissed me tenderly, using his tongue to offer me a taste of myself. As we necked, Brandon and I rotated positions so that he was standing against the dialysis lounger. His pre-cum stain had spread further along his tool, causing the fabric of his scrubs to become translucent. I knelt quickly and lapped at the stickiness. Brandon sighed and actually grabbed my head lightly, shoving my face firmly against his rock-hard cock. I sucked the sweet man-nectar through the fabric. I then turned my head and announced, "dude ... I may not have your deep-throating abilities, but I'm gonna do my best to rock your world!"

Brandon kicked off his shoes and deftly removed his socks. I grasped his pants and helped him shimmy out of them. He stood before me completely naked and I took a moment just to appreciate his beauty. Brandon's flesh was creamy and covered with patches of hair. A very light sheen of perspiration dotted his chest and tummy. His cheeks were reddened from his oral exertions. His blond hair was slightly damp, appearing darker and even more enticing.

But it was the spongy cock now displayed before me that held my attention most. Flushed with a healthy pink tint, Brandon's prick was contoured with heavy ridges and striations, many runnning the length of his 6 1/2-inch member. The base of his dick was crowned with lush ashy curls of pubic hair that peppered lightly down onto his ample scrotum. His shaft looked thick and moist and my jaws ached to get started sucking along the pronounced ridge along the top of the shaft.

"Shit, man," Brandon hissed as he drilled me with his blue orbs. "I need to feel some tongue on my cock!"

I batted playfully at his sturdy prong. "So you want me to taste it? Need me to lick that bitch cock?" With deliberate slowness, I ran my left index finger over the head and sloppily deposited a drop of drooling pre-cum into my mouth. Brandon reacted to my delicate touch with a raking shiver. My lips smacked noisily as I guzzled its sweetness.

"Fuck, dude ... stop teasing. Please ..."

Wasting no more time, I encircled Brandon's mushroom knob and applied gentle but steady pressure. The sexy nurse emitted a low moan as I relaxed my throat muscles and his prod pushed further inside. "Damn ... shit ... that feels great!! You're no fuckin' slouch, dude ... aggggghhhhh!!"

I gurgled a reply and continued to work my tongue as Brandon moved his pelvis ... thrust and retreat and thrust and retreat. His hands began to weave through my hair, distracting me from the thickness of his tool. My head bobbed on his meat and he offered quiet, urging words. After a few moments, I sort of lost myself and my nose met the surface of his stomach.

"Choke on it, bitch!" he hissed at me harshly. "Choke on my fucking cock!!"

The dirty talk fueled my libido and I continued sucking Brandon aggressively ... eating his cock to its base on every thrust ... for a dozen or so more plunges before a need for air snapped my brain back into focus. I slowly worked my way off his pecker and, after a few steadying breaths, I dropped my shoulders a few more inches and began to nuzzle Brandon's shaggy ballsac.

"OH FUCK," he howled. "Eat my balls, man ... chew me good! Yeah, like that ... God damn, suck those nuts!!"

I explored his gonads like a starving man. First I bathed the crinkled flesh in waves of spit. Moisture literally dripped from Brandon's scrotum as I gave each nut some individual attention, including popping each walnut-sized gland into my mouth where I could apply some pressure and stretch out the tiny cords and ducts hiding inside. Brandon, in turn, made noises like a large rutting animal. The sexual sounds just amped up my enthusiasm.

After what I deemed to be a sufficient amount of time, I released my hold on Brandon's balls. Working my hands to cup his fleshy ass, I prodded him away from the cot and onto his feet and manuevered him around 180 degrees. Guiding him so he slowly bent at the waist, I was presented with a dangling dick and Brandon's magnificently hirsute ass. The asscrack was a luscious forest of dark blond fur. A light musky scent met my nostrils as I leaned in and spread open his glutes.

And there ... ringed in a cluster of dense hairs ... was a dark tan asshole. The rim was delightfully crinkled and the flesh flexed and pulsed subtly as if Brandon was nervous about what was coming next. I moved to within inches of his rosebud, the hairs dancing from my warm breath. "Oh fuuuuccckkkkk," he moaned as I lightly trailed my fingers along his crack. As I continued to play with the satiny flesh, my tongue darted out and made physical contact with Brandon's anus. A jolt of sexual electricity shot through my head and on to my leaking dick. Brandon rocked softly on his knees as his rectal nerve clusters went out of control.

Brandon's moans quickly elevated to lusty growls as I continued to eat his velvety rump. With my plump tongue, I carefully swabbed all around the rim of his spasming pinch. Each contact produced a series of "oohs" and "aahs" that grew in volume as I zeroes in on his hole. I also used

my thumb to masage his taint to add to his pleasure. My lips smacked; his ass pushed back to envelop my face. "God damn, that feels sweet ... I love having my hole licked!" he exclaimed.

"Well I love your ass," I added between sucking strongly on his rectum, "I wanna own it!" And to accentuate my point, I spit on my index figer and roughly wormed it up his shitter.

"AGGGHHHH!!" he responded. "You fucker ... go deeper. DEEPER!!" I reached through Brandon's legs and milked out a thick squirt of pre-cum. In one fluid motion, I withdrew my index finger and plunged in two lubed ones from my other hand. "MOTHERFUCKER!!!" he practically screamed.

Using fingers from both hands, I poked and twisted around in Brandon's ass. Every time I grazed his prostate his cock dribbled a healthy dose of goo; every time I snagged or stretched his anal ring the nurse made a gargling noise deep in his throat like he was out of his mind with desire.

After a few minutes of working him over, Brandon's hole had relaxed enough so that my entire tongue was slipping deep inside. His hole had blossomed open before me, revealing the pink depths of his colon. The sensations of tasting and feeling the texture of his chute was amazing ... mindblowing. My entire tongue wiggled in the confines of his ass, lapping at his heated core. I felt connected to this man in a way that I had achieved with very few others. I was almost afraid to keep going for fear of breaking the spell. But my pecker needed some relief.

Using a reverent tone I broached a very simple question, hoping that my voice didn't sound like desperate begging ... "Can I fuck you?"

"I was thinking you'd never ask," he responded frantically. As I rose to retrieve a condom from my clothing, Brandon braced himself on his elbows and spread his ass even wilder. His gash was slightly reddened and shiny from my spit. Once the rubber was in place, I spit in my hand and applied a liberal amount of drool to my shaft. Brandon had lowered his head to rest on the dialysis bench; his legs flexed slightly as he lifted his ass and presented my with his molten pit.

"Stick that cock in me, baby," he urged. "Need that cock ..."

Stepping forward, I batted my hard dick against his sphincter ... teasing him with my swollen knob. "Feel that?" I asked.

His playful laughter rang out in the small space. "Yeah ... feels great, but fuck me already, dude ... I want to feel you inside me so damn bad!!" With a push of my hips as my only response, the head of my dick disappeared into heaven. "Ohhhhhhhh shhhhiiiiittttt!!"

Brandon continued to pant and swear; I rubbed his shoulders and stroked his back as I buried more of my prick up his backside. "Fuck ... you're soooooo big!" he slurred.

When my balls pressed into the flesh of Brandon's ass I stood perfectly still to allow my body to process all the fantastic feelings flooding my mind. I could feel the nurse's internal muscles squeezing, urging me to get the show on the road. Very slowly, I withdrew my dickhead to the edge of Brandon's hole and then slowly worked it back in to the hilt. After doing this five or six times, the resistance lessened and the ride became tight and steady. "Ooooooh, yeah ... fuck that ass," he hissed. "Like that ... ooooh, fuck me ... fuck me!"

I continued my long strokes, sweat rolling off my forehead and chest. My arms and lower back ... still covered by my opened shirt ... felt damp, as did the backs of my knees and the crack of my hairless ass. Brandon's channel was like silk ... hot, savagely contracting silk. He milked my cock as it drove deeper into his depths. On most of my thrusts, Brandon made a squeaking noise that is difficult to describe but it made the animal part of my brain just want to shove in with a ferocity I had seldom experienced. I was meeting Brandon's grunts with sexual sighs and moans of my own.

I was so lost in this man ... this fuck. I was mesmerized by his body and by the sight of my moist meat pummeling his posterior. In ... out ... in ... out. Suddenly, I was pulling my cock completely free from his anus. My eyes widened to see his sphincter remain gaping a bit, beckoning my prick to come back inside. And it did ... deliberately and wickedly with a painful force I could barely stand.

"Dude," I whispered with some urgency. "I'm soooooo fucking close. Your hot ass is pulling the cum right out of me!" I slapped his ass playfully and then palmed each cheek, watching the accumulated sweat cling to his hairs. "What do you want me to ..."

"I want you to come inside me, babe ... I wanna feel that dick of yours kick out all it's got!"

"SWEET!," I snorted and gripped him by that hips in a savage stance. My fucking at this point had no finesse. I was slamming into his hot hole and he was forcing himself back onto my bulging prick. I was barely able to utter a scream before some magical switch tripped and I started unloading my seed into the condom and Brandon's beauticious ass. I continued to pump into him as my meat swelled, spit, and began to soften. I fell onto his back, relishing the sticky contact and the feel of his rushing heart.

After who knows how much time had passed, I felt Brandon stir to reposition himself and I pushed off. He turned and hopped up a bit to sit on the padded cot. His cock and groin were covered in semen and dark spots dotted the fabric of the bed in several places. Pretty stains, I thought. It was then that I noticed a small puddle of off-white ooze on the store room floor. Fuck, that boy's a gusher!! Brandon smiled as if he read my mind. His eyes dropped as he reached out and extracted the prophylactic from my penis. He held a bloated balloon up to the light and eyed it lewdly. "Nice sample, chief!" he said with a wink.

It took a few moments for Brandon to locate some basic cleaning materials. We mopped up our bodies and his spillage and were dressed in record time. Back in the hospital corridors, we retraced our steps slowly. Again, stalling for time. At the hospital atrium he extended his arm and we shook hands. Even the connection between our fingers was difficult ... at least for me ... to terminate.

"Well," I said as my feet shuffled nervously. "It was very nice meeting you. The information you ..."

"What's your favorite flavor of ice cream?" His burst of interrogative startled me.

"Um, strawberry ... or mint chocolate chip. Yours?"

"Good strong vanilla or Rocky Road."

The awkward pause returned, but with an even deeper texture. "You know, I have about 10,000 more questions I wanna ask."

There was excitement in my reply. "Me too."

"I don't work this weekend and there's two things I really wanna do."

"Such as?"

"Well, for starters ... ask some of those questions."

"And the second thing." My heart felt like it was skipping beats waiting for the answer.

"Have my turn at fucking that sweet ass of yours!"

As we exchanged cell numbers and agreed on the "terms" of my butt's weekend surrender, I knew that Nurse Brandon was maybe gonna become a big part of my life. My own face broke inmto a smirk of its own.

HEADLINE: Nursing: More A "Calling" Than A Career

Remodeling Pays HUGE Dividends

OK ... I thought my editor was just fucking with me when he handed me a contact file and the basic concept for the story he wanted me to write. With the weather turning cold, he got the idea that people might be interested in tips for "winterizing" their homes. There were several of us working on different angles and I was being asked to research and write a short piece on replacement windows. Yep ... six years of college and several months of proving myself to finally get the "juicy" beats like home improvement! Maybe it was time to start sending out résumés.

Anyway, I had just talked to the owners of several remodeling and residential construction companies and my head was swimming with manufacturer names ... Andersen, Kohler, Champion, Jeld-Wen, Pella, etc. ... and energy cost savings and heat transfer efficiencies and R-values. But I did get the names of several customers who were eager to provide comments about their particular remodeling projects and the results.

While I was at the last interview, the manager had actually called a customer who was nearby and readily agreeable to a quick interview. This gentleman was working at homefor the day and was available immediately. He was even willing to let me take photos of his home ... he was totally pleased with the work.

I was semi-jazzed when I pulled up in front of a well-kept city home in a residential area that had recently seen a wave of urban renewal. It was a mixture of older brick and a nicely-clad room addition. Empty-for-now pots and window boxes lent the structure an earthy charm. And throughout, the clean casings of new windows gleamed in the winter sunlight. It was a very attractive home.

I turned off my vehicle's engine, quickly checked myself in the flip-down sun visor mirror ... damn, do I ever sleep? ... and exited my car with notepad and camera in tow. Even though some light snow had fallen earlier in the week, the path to the slightly-ornate door was clean and pristine. I mounted the small stoop and rang the bell. A soft chiming sound could be heard inside the domicile.

After the briefest wait, a latch slid open and standing before me was an incredibly attractive man ... early to mid 40s ... with short, maybe-thinning brown-black hair and a dazzling smile. "Can I help you?" he asked, his warm and friendly tone washing over me like the heat escaping from his home into the outdoors.

"Are you Jason?" I asked. "Tom from Sechmore Remodeling just spoke with you ... I'm from the ..."

The smile from the man I assumed was Jason switched from normal intensity to high-beams. "The reporter," he said with genuine enthusiasm. "I've been rushing around tidying up since Tom phoned. A little winded but delighted to meet you." Jason's hand shot out to engulf my just-raising limb. His body exuded the same warmth as his personality, and I immediately took notice of his strong fingers and hirsute forearm. Damn, I mused, what a hunk of man!

Jason ushered me in and promptly took my overcoat. After depositing it in a small side closet, he demurely asked me to remove my shoes because of the floors and delicate rugs. Only then did I notice that he was already barefoot, each toe carefully pedicured and adorned with prickly-looking dark hairs. After complying he walked me into a very comfortable rustic living room ... lots of tasteful accents and photographs but not overdone. Stylish and designy but masculine too. On the short journey, I managed to glimpse a dining alcove and an all-seasons room addition as well as get a good gander at Jason's studly form ... 5' 8" I guessed, with a beefy figure that teased of a sweet rump, burly chest, and more delicious man-fur.

We took facing positions on a small armless leather sofa and Jason immediately began extolling the many positive things he had experienced working with Tom from Sechmore and his team of installers. "I'm kind of a perfectionist and I really wanted to understand what work was being done. Tom dropped by himself twice to make sure we were happy with the progress. In fact, it was Tom's diligence in explaining our options that got us to dig deeper and go for triple-paned windows instead of the double-pane models we had originally selected. He never made us feel like our questions were silly."

I took lots of notes, trying to keep good eye contact ... damn, Jason's eyes modulated between warm honey and rich maple syrup ... while occasionally stealing a surreptitious glance at the lump in Jason's olive chinos. The shape of the bulge looked slightly different from time to time ... like maybe his cock was flexing or growing a bit as we chatted. I know mine was doing a little rumba in my boxer briefs.

"Everyone was so respectful of our needs ... even the fact that we had excitable pets," the hunky homeowner continued. "One of the installers even brought treats one day for our two dogs. Just a great, competent bunch of people."

I decided to go off my planned approach and ask a question that had been plaguing me for a few moments. I placed my pad in my lap, covertly pressing against my hard 8-inch pecker just to feel the sensation of physical contact with my needy dick jolt along the pathways of my nervous system. I made sure not to let my body display anything. "So, you've used a plural pronoun several times now ... so your wife and family are pleased with the work also?"

With a knowing smile, Jason popped to his feet and crossed to a small fireplace. After poking the logs a few times to encourage the meager-but-picturesque flames, he grabbed a small frame from the mantle and returned to the sofa. The cushion made a small, almost-sexy noise as his posterior settled and turned slightly. He handed me a silvered 8" X 10" frame with a very formal photograph of himself and another handsome, bespectacled man of the same approximate age ... both in matching tuxedos and smiling warmly. "That's Matt, my husband ... I inherited this home and we've been putting some finishing touches on it. It's been an exhausting process so we are extra appreciative for contractors and workers who take pride in doing their jobs well."

Jason was looking at me oddly, enjoying that maybe his declaration had shocked me or "socially educated" me or something. "I think Matt would enjoy talking with you too," he piped in. "Would that help with your story?"

"Well, that would be a great angle to pursue but I have two other homeowners that have also agreed to provide some comments." I didn't want to lose Jason's enthusiasm. And besides, they way he had said the word talking had made my cock jump. So I added, "but I'd love to have some contact information for you and Matt so I can follow up if the need arises. Would that be cool?"

Jason looked pleased with the compromise. "Certainly ... would you excuse me for a moment? I really need to check on something in the kitchen."

I started to rise. "You've been more than generous with your time ... I should be going ..."

"NO! It will just take me a moment. Look around and I'll be right back." Jason seemed very adamant as he waited to see that I had settled back onto the sofa before scurrying off to another part of his residence.

After admiring his departing ass, I set my pad and pen on the floor in a flap of my camera bag and walked over to the hearth to replace the photo. There were several other photos of the sexy pair ... with a larger group of friends, with their dogs in a lush park, on vacation, etc. They seemed very happy. Wonder who plays top dog? I fantasized as I adjusted my crotch to "de-puddle" the growing amount of sap I was leaking.

Leaving the fireplace behind, I sauntered over to a pair of French doors. Looking inside I spied a luxurious hot tub or soaking spa flanked by several windows tightly obscured by plantation shutters. There were wine glasses and towels sitting haphazardly near the tub while the water moiled about. Several plants seemed to be thriving in the lounge or solarium or whatever appellation the homeowners gave this space. I stealthily opened one of the doors and stuck in my head for a closer look. Sitting on a low side table just outside of my reach was an ornate glass bowl filled with condoms and assorted bottles of lube. I'd go with playroom, I thought with a devilish grin.

"That's one of our favorite rooms to relax in." At the sound of Jason's voice I pulled back guiltily and pulled the door closed so hard that the glass inserts rattled. He winced a bit at my rough treatment of his home but his playful smile never wavered. "Our friends like it too," he added as he moved a few steps closer. His right hand slowly reached out to make contact with my left bicep. "Do you wanna be our friend?"

I barely had time to register his intent before Jason dropped down to his knees and fumbled with my belt and zipper. Once sufficiently loosened, he reached around and worked my slacks and underwear down to around my knees. My cock was hard and moist and begging to be sucked and Jason readily accepted the invitation. Looking up, he engulfed just my knob, toying with me with his tongue mercilessly. The suction he generated became powerful and I hoped my knees would keep me upright.

"God damn ... that feels fucking awesome," I groaned lamely as I leaned back against the wall for support, "but, dude, this is so inappropriate. This is my job ... AGGGGGHHHHHH ... and you're married or ... OOOOOOOOH ... or whatever." Jason gurgled something in reply, sending ripples of pleasure down my cock shaft. I reached down and petted his head, encouraging him to take on more of my dick. Fuck it, I decided. This dude's mouth is so sweet I don't give a shit if there's a pink slip waiting for me when I get back!

Jason's one hand had formed a tight ring around the base of my tool. His other was tickling and squeezing my nuts just to the point of discomfort. Every ounce of blood trapped in my shaft screamed for sexual release. I continued to rifle through his wispy dark hair while he bobbed on my cock.

Very suddenly, Jason released my member and took a few deep inhalations. His mouth was wet, his lips smooth and plump like luscious berries. "Buddy, I wanted to get at you from the moment I opened the door. And my partner and I have an understanding when we let the other know what's going on." For emphasis, he grabbed my rod and tugged on the tight foreskin a few times, making my knob play "rabbit hole" a few times. Jason had a big smile on his face as he started to help me lift my legs to step out of my garments.

"How could Mike ..."

"Matt."

"Matt ... how could Matt know what you and that talented mouth are doing?"

The smile ... which I had seen at normal, intense, and mega-watt settings ... took on a mischievous "Cheshire" quality. "Because I called him earlier from the kitchen to get his OK, silly. So, are you still game?" Now free from my pants, I was pulled forward and Jason took a playful, languid lick along my tool.

"Try and stop me," I replied. With more aggression than planned, I pulled Jason to his feet and crushed his lips against mine. His mouth split apart almost instantly and I tasted his tongue and the familiar flavor of my own sex. I gasped from the intensity of this man's passion and the animal heat he emitted.

Without technically breaking the kiss, Jason lead me back to the leather sofa. We parted long enough for me to lose my oxford shirt and socks. Once naked, I leaned back against the couch back and watched admiringly as Jason removed his clothing. He had a bulky build, but strong and manly. And the dark hair that covered him was glorious. But as his pants and boxers hit the floor, all sound and sensation in the room stopped ... there was only Jason's dick.

Six thick inches of clipped, veiny meet curved away from Jason's thicket of feathery dark pubes. the head practically glowed with dark pink lust, a lovely contrast to the tracery of fine bluish capillaries that swirled around the towering column. I licked my lips absentmindedly

In a blur, Jason and I assumed a 69 position ... him on his back and me hovering over him hungrily. Jason resumed his friendship with my phallus, taking me nearly to the root while contracting his cheeks and throat to get me off.

"Shit ... oh shit ... ohhhhhh, SHIT!" I chanted before lowering my face closer to Jason's groin. I first sniffed his cock, loving the powerful musk it exuded. Then with careful licks, I bathed his knob and devoured every trace of sweet pre-cum. Jason tasted natural and dark and earthy like sugar cane. Every so slowly I swallowed about two-thirds of his girth and bobbed on his dick with all the skills I possessed.

My cocksucking met with approval. Jason moaned around my own prick and suctioned my member with renewed vigor. After a few moments, I felt the delightful tingle of one of Jason's fingers lightly circling my rectum. I gulped greedily as his pithy probing became more forceful. I bleated like a goat as I felt each knuckle of a not-so-slender finger penetrate my pucker. I abandoned Jason's cock to swing my head around and catch a glimpse of him sliding up to get better purchase on my own beefy butt. Soon a second finger joined the fray and he used a corkscrewing motion to repeatedly graze my prostate. All I could do was gasp and moan ... nonsense noises filled the room every time he twisted his delving digits. Can it get any better?, I thought as I noticed my breath had modulated into a rhythmic panting.

Stupid question because, almost like he read my querying thought, Jason affixed his lips over my sensitive hole. Between sucking, licking, and blowing hot air against my hairless anus, I found myself forcing my rump back against Jason's slightly-stubbled cheeks. The contrasting feelings were making me lightheaded. "Christ, man ... I'm gonna faint before this goes much further! Oooooh!! You're playing me like a banjo ... go deeper, dude ... I can take it!!"

I dropped my head and could see that Jason had scooted almost off the sofa. From that angle, his cock looked thicker and more amazing than ever. Now basically on my knees and elbows, I shuffled forward enough to break contact with Jason. His face was moist with a combination of spittle and my juices. He looked dazed from the sudden break in contact. "Wha'," he muttered, "shit, your hole tastes so wonderful. I could eat you all afternoon!" To accent his comment, Jason lewdly licked his lips.

"Dude," I giggled. "It feels fucking wonderful, but I'm dripping hard. I need something bigger in my hole and you seem to be swinging just what I need." Jason smiled and adroitly crawled off the end of the sofa. He disappeared but was back on the scene in seconds with a condom packet. While Jason tore open the wrapper and covered his exquisite rod with ultra-thin latex, I flipped onto my back and positioned my ass at the very edge of the leather loveseat. Jason hoisted my legs up and placed them around his midsection. I playfully rubbed his hairy ass with the rough heels of my feet, causing him to stare deeply into my eyes.

Trying to relax my hole for what would most definitely be a scrumptious entry, I closed my eyes and steadied my breathing. Jason noisily spit into his hand several times and I squirmed as he eagerly applied the lubricant to my needy sphincter. I felt him tease my hole with the very tip of his tool and I spread my thighs even wider. "Open your eyes," Jason said commandingly. "I want to see your face when I go in."

"Anything for you, baby," I cooed, "anything to ...AGGGHHHHHHH!!" Jason's knob and maybe two thick inches of meat slid in and I grimaced, eyes wide. He smirked a little, but waited for me to quiet before feeding me more.

"Jesus, you're a tight fucker," he said, perspiration beading his forehead. He grunted softly as a bit more cock entered me.

"And you're so fucking thick ... feels like a cucumber ... a bat."

"HAHA!!" he snorted. "That makes me feel good, buddy. Your imagination is stroking my ego and your hot ass is trying to crush my dick. It's magnificent ... AHHHHH!!!" And just like that, Jason was balls deep up my ass. My ring felt like it was burning ... like actual sparks were forming where I gripped his thick salami. I never wanted the sensation to end.

It might have been ten seconds or ten minutes ... my vision had blazed white when Jason withdrew the majority of his cock and then plunged back in fully. Now he was sawing into my ass with steady strokes and wet, slapping noises rudely filled the air. "Oh, Jason ... you're killing me. I feel like my whole body is on fire," I exclaimed as I used one hand to pinch my nipples and the other to work my rigid pole. "Feed me that cock! Deeper! Harder ... fuck my ass harder!! SHIT!! AGGGGGHHHHH!! OOOOOOOOOOH!!"

Jason laughed from his chest. "You're one noisy fucker ... I love it!!" He had a loving expression on his face and his gaze traveled from my chest to my crotch to a point somewhere behind me.

I was about to deliver a sexy retort when a second voice split the air and caused my breath to catch. "Maybe I can quiet him down a little." Suddenly, another man ... naked and hard with a slender and succulent stalk ... moved into my field of vision. He was stocky and quite a bit taller than Jason ... 6' or 6' 1" ... with lighter hair and a pinker skintone. He was also less hairy than the beast pounding my ass but just as sexy and appealing. It was Matt ... Jason's husband.

"What the hell?" I sputtered. "I thought you were at work ...thought you were okay with ..."

"Shhhhhhhhhh ... relax, man," Matt playfully chided. "Take a breath ... hahaha. When my man called to see if he could 'play,' I told him I was gonna fake a reason to leave work and come join you." Matt then eyed Jason, who smiled but averted his eyes from his partner's sexy glare. "But apparently," he continued, "someone couldn't keep it in his pants!"

"Well look at him, Matt! And he was soooooooo giving off all the signals of a hottie who needs fucked!"

Matt looked at me with a look like a mother with a precocious child. "It's true," I stated with a wink. Matt took just enough time to smile before he scooted closer. Without any further prompting, I swallowed his beautifully pale piece and Jason resumed his high-tempo thrusting into my pit. "Damn," Matt hissed after just a few seconds, "half a day's pay is nothing compared to this fucker's mouth.

Matt was an enthusiastic throat fucker ... his meat was banging my tonsils as fast as his hips could manage. And his prick tasted tangy, almost citrusy. It was like candy and sex combined. While I suckled on the tasty treat between his legs, I gripped and groped his round ass with one of my hands and even ran a few fingers in the sweaty crack. He responded with a deep groaning and tried to make me swallow his bag and balls too. My undulent hips were attempting to meet each of Jason's long strokes as well as force my own dick faster and faster into my other slick cupped hand.

Suddenly, my nads drew up tight and I teetered over a sexual precipice. "Ugggggghhhhhhhh!!" I gurgled loudly around Matt's prick while I shot my load of milky goodness all over my belly and well-trimmed pubes. I worked my dick for several minutes, cum leaking down my shaft and onto my bald balls.

The sight of my detonation rocked Jason, as did the convultions of my leg and hip and rectal muscles. He barely had time to announce "I'm gonna come!!" before he gripped my thighs angrily and forced his cock as deep as it would go. "God damn," he shrieked to the exposed beams as I felt his hard prong pulse and throb as it delivered its load into the prophylactic. "YEAH ... YEAH ... YEAH!!!"

My hole quivered from the exquisite girth of Jason's cock, but it knew it would soon be abandoned. Would be impolite to ask for Matt to step up to the plate, I wondered. But the late-to-the-party hottie had other plans. As Jason stood heaving ... his breath struggling to steady ... his husband pulled his cock from my sucking lips and, while grunting like a wild beast, delivered several scalding blasts of cum across my face. With each spurt, Matt's "aaaahs" became more and more pleasurable. With my eyes closed, I laid there relishing the feelings of having my skin lightly splattered with his jizz.

Once the action subsided, someone swabbed my face with a towel. My eyes opened to Jason and Matt engaged in a deep kiss. My empty balls ached, trying desparately to fill quickly. Surprisingly, Matt was the one that broke the liplock. He lowered his face to mine and kissed me so very tentatively. As I stretched my head to try to capture him, he slid to the side and whispered in my ear "see you in a few." Then he was gone.

Most of the cum pooled on my belly had been rubbed into my skin, but Jason blotted my still-overheated skin with a second towel and helped me to my feet. Then he carefully removed the bloated condom from his reduced rod, held it up to the light, and then nonchalantly deposited it and the cumrags on a nearby glasstop-stand. "Maybe we should go get cleaned up a bit ... a few minutes in the shower might feel nice." I took Jason's proffered hand and followed on bare feet. "What about Matt?" I asked as we headed down a small hallway I hadn't noticed before. Jason stopped and reversed direction, pulling me along like an aimless little kid. Soon we were standing at the doors to the spa/soaking tub area. He gestured for me to look inside.

The room was dim ... What the hell time was it? I thought ... but some ceiling "cans" illuminated the tiled area nearest the spa. Looking through the glass panes, I watched Matt as he crouched, using the pull bar connected to the tub's two small steps. As he balanced facing away from me, I saw him reach around and rub two fingers into his asscrack. The light glinted off something shiny ... lube, I figured. Once greased, Matt worked the pair of fingers into his hole a few times, the muscles in his back and shoulders flexing seductively from the invasion. I turned toward Jason; he had drawn extremely close without me noticing to watch his partner pleasure himself. After a few moments of preliminaries, Matt reached into a small teak box and withdrew a gorgeous flesh-toned dildo. It was only a matter of seconds before he was working the phallus into his oiled anus.

I could easily have watched more of this surprising "peep show" but Jason tugged me away from the door and back down the secluded hallway. At it's terminus was a small but elegant three-quarter bathroom. My host quickly turned on the water in the open-style shower and ducked his head beneath the spray. After turning in a few tight circles, he beckoned me to join him.

While Jason was soaping my back with some type of bath "mitt," I decided to ask him a pointed question. "Dude, does your husband usually need further, um, stimulation, after sex like that?" I dropped my eyes in mild embarrassment. "Do you think my blow job wasn't good enough?"

Jason shot water onto my neck with his laughter. "What a silly man!" he exclaimed as he planted a light kiss on my shoulder. "Matt's just stretching his hole a little ... he wants your cock. Wants it bad!! I could see it in his eyes!!"

I smiled and melted back against Jason and his thickening cock. "Is there anything you'd like to have happen this evening?" he inquired. "We're very 'accommodating!' " I tilted my head back a bit more; Jason turned his ear to meet my murmuring lips. As soon as I finished my suggestion, I felt the first spray of Jason's warm piss as it coated my trembling ass. My grin grew to epic proportions and my dick wasn't far behind!

HEADLINE: Remodeling Pays HUGE Dividends

Reporter's Cardiac Muscle Nearly Shattered

WARNING: This isn't like my usual posts ... this is not what I consider a "happy ending" on any level, but the event has been weighing heavily on me as of late and I thought "saying it out loud" might help.


He's been gone more than five weeks ... transferred to another newspaper in our "network" somewhere in Illinois. I skipped his going away party, maybe to make a point. He trumped me by not attending my father's funeral. Love sucks!!

When I started work at this paper, Mark Wilson ... sports editor, local hero, and everyone's friend ... was just a byline accompanied by a tiny, grainy photo. I wasn't included in many meetings those first few weeks, so I never actually saw him "in the flesh." I knew from office talk that he had been at the paper for more than four years and was well known in the community as a track and field superstar from a local high school. He also wrestled in college with distinction, so the "sports beat" was a natural place for his interests and charisma. Mark was married to his high school sweetheart and had two children ... a boy and a girl. Stable, admired ... he was living the American dream.

So the day when he walked through my wing of the main newspaper building and introduced himself ... complete with sparkling blue eyes, a blunt nose, and adorable freckles across his cheeks ... all I could do was take his hand in a rough shake and quietly inhale his masculine scent. I was even more surprised when he asked "So how would the 'new guy' like to go to lunch? ... my treat!" My workday was pretty light, but I would have left a potential Pulitzer on the burner to spend some time with this hottie!

We drove separately to a nearby greasy spoon and dined on incredibly spicy wings and a pile of onion rings drowning in ranch dressing. Mark also ordered beer. "One never hurt anyone," he chuckled innocently. But by "one" he meant one pitcher ... each. The brew hit me surprisingly hard. I was a bit woozy and overheated, so it was a good thing that lunch consisted of more than two hours of story-swapping and youthful comparisons between us. He was easily the sexiest, most earnest, and playful man I had met in months ... years maybe. Every story he told was raccous and meaningful at the same time. I spoke little, mesmerized by his voice and the way his whole face and body worked as he regaled me. I was also exquisitely hard the entire time. I had to adjust my dick below the table about every ten minutes ... I just hoped I didn't have any obvious pre-cum stains showing when I stood up.

Those 120+ minutes were the start of an awesome friendship. We were both the "babies" of multiple-sibling families so we compared "war stories" about growing up with aggressive, overbearing brothers and sisters. We also both attended large universities ... major rivals, actually ... so we tried to outdo each other with tales of collegiate mischief and chicanery.

Lunch for "Mark and me" quickly became a two- or three-time-a-week thing. I so looked forward to seeing him and learning more about him. Sometimes we brought our lunches from home and just sat outside and ate. We went back to the diner a bunch of times too ... when they saw us the order for "wings and rings" went straight to the kitchen. And our conversations acquired a deeper level of sharing. Mark and I both lost our mothers to illness at a young age and we talked about the traumas openly ... more so, I think, than with others in our lives. He was from a very strict Irish Catholic family and I think his "recovery" process was even more tortured than my own. The sporty guy also admitted to having occasional "weed phases," and we often met after work and shared a joint or two and just talked about the stresses of work. Other times, like on weekends, we would meet up and get baked at my apartment, talking and laughing about God knows what ... just enjoying the unfiltered ease of being with someone you trusted. The workday started to become a daily exercise in anxiety ... waiting for his phone calls and e-mails ... hoping to run into him in the halls ... sometimes thinking I caught his scent when in a meeting or passing an open office.

And I'll "fess up" ... I started fantasized ... just a little ... about our friendship morphing into something more. There was many a night that I jerked my meat thinking about throating Mark's gorgeous unclipped cock. Or when I pushed a finger or two deep inside my suctioning rectum, I had my eyes closed and was imagining the wonderful sensations were in actuality his rod thrusting into me without hesitation.

Mark was a very physical guy, never short on hi-fives and playful hugs. And each one usually caused a stiffening in my briefs ... at least on the days I was wearing underwear. Mark lived about 35 minutes outside the city, and lots of evenings he would stay in town and we would hit a bar to play pool or go bowling or go listen to really crappy local bands. I know he and his wife fought sometimes, and he stayed in town to avoid going home right away ... letting things cool down for a few hours before making the commute into suburbia. It didn't matter to me ... I just liked having a good buddy to do things with.

And like good friends, we attempted to embrace our differences. I forced Mark to attend an art opening at a local gallery. He hated it, saying the whole thing was pretentious and idiotic. He then, in turn, tried to get me to be his "workout buddy" at the gym on a semi-regular basis. I wasn't disciplined enough to make that little adventure work, plus I'm extremely insecure around "muscle gods" with massive chests and biceps as big around as my waist. Who isn't? Well, other over-built studs, I guess. Anyway, I went a few times to appease him and was rewarded by finally seeing my pal naked in the showers. His chest was heavily muscled, covered by a coppery pelt and sporting the most succulent nipples I'd ever seen. Mark was beautiful, wet and soapy and working his wide hands over his tree-trunk thighs and sinewy arms. He had a thick, uncut cock ... maybe seven inches in length ... and the fattest lowhangers I had seen in a long, long time. The same reddish-brown curls covered his balls and the base of his manhood. I could feel Mark's presence in the showers ... he was an alpha male and he knew I was checking him out. If nothing else, my raging hard-on was difficult to disguise. Once, he turned away and reached around to soap up his hair-entrenched crack. He spread his cheeks apart and really spent some time massaging his crevice with a handful of liquid soap. I almost fainted from the show he put on. But for most of our time together under the spray, I couldn't take my eyes off his feet. His feet are what drove me to casually jack my own eight-inch pecker, not caring who saw me. Mark had the feet of a serious runner ... six or seven miles every day when he could manage the time. They were cracked, calloused, and over-developed with horrible split and gnarled nails. In short, they were sexy as all fuck!!

After about three months of friendship, Mark begged me to sign up for a wilderness run hosted by a big state park in southern Ohio. The event included several levels, like a "junior run" ... a 14-mile course that lots of people of all ages walked, trotted, or jogged at a leisurely pace ... which is what he challenged me to do. He would be competing in a more advanced, timed 40-mile endurance event that followed some of the same route as the junior run but also utilized some trails that meandered deep into the parkland. Even with my bad knee and painful memories of the two years I ran high school cross country, I couldn't say "no" to my best bud. Before I could change my mind or think up a good excuse, Mark was online registering us both.

The event started early on a Saturday, so we drove down Friday after work and acquired a motel room ... two double beds ... through Sunday. The ride south was uneventful and we settled for a light supper and early bedtime because Mark had a 6 a.m. start time for his leg of the run ... my larger group didn't kick off their "run" until 8:30 a.m. It was autumn so the air was crisp and the foliage was beautiful. It took me close to six hours to transverse the course, but at the end of the race I was wobbly but proud. Seldom-used muscles continued to send hostile messages to my brain as I hobbled to the park's lodge to relax and wait for Mark. But even in my discomfort, I was riding a unique "high" ... three times during the race, Mark and I intersected out on the trails. Each time he startled me with a war cry and then playfully swatted my ass as he ran by. Immediately following each encounter, I briefly considered going "off road" to jack off ... my pecker was so stiff and throbbing in my jock strap and sky-blue basketball shorts ... but I figured that the event organizers and park officials probably frowned on that kind of "seeding" in their forest.

It was very late in the day when Mark finished up ... earning a solid "middle" time. Each of us received a certificate, t-shirt, and a bag of trinkets and freebie items. We grabbed a huge pizza with everything on it and a case of beer and retreated to our motel room to lick our wounds. Once inside, we dropped out gear and cranked up the AC. Mark grabbed a slice and devoured half of it with gusto, some grease dripping seductively down and around his stubbled chin. He ducked into the bathroom to shower first but left the door open so we could talk. As he heralded me with the difficulties he encountered in the park, I surreptitiously fondled my cock and balls thinking of Mark touching himself as he washed off a day of heavy exertion. He was just wrapping a towel around himself as he exited the bathroom and I got a great look at his fuzzy, pale posterior. Before I began cleaning up, Mark filled a big tub he'd brought with him full of hot water and mixed in some mineral salts. While he soaked his aching, sexy feet, I took my turn in the shower. I was already semi-hard when I stepped under the lukewarm jet, but when I noticed a few stray reddish hairs stuck to the small bar of complimentary motel soap, my bloated rod rose to its full glory and I rubbed and tugged to the point just shy of shooting. I'm not sure why I didn't nut to release my sexual tension ... for some reason I wanted to remain agitated and "squirrelly" and see how the evening progressed.

I dried off in the bathroom and donned a fresh pair of gray boxer briefs and a T-shirt. Mark had left me some pizza, so I put the box on my bed and ate hungrily. We had had the forethought to bring along a bottle of whiskey, so the conversation and the crappy cable TV we watched became

extremely funny. Eventually we shut the television and the lights off and laid down on our respective beds to continue drinking and talking. I tried to keep things light and NOT try to catch glimpses of Mark's naked flesh, but Mark, whose every other statement was "shit, I'm so buzzed," turned to some deeper topics.

His first big announcement was that the bickering between him and his wife, Linda, had escalated to the point where once or twice he had considered leaving her. Sometimes they fought about money, he explained. Other times the shouting was centered on his staying out and not being home enough to help with the kids. That made me feel a little guilty. "And it's been months since we've touched each other ... hell, you're probably getting more action than I am!" he proclaimed as he swilled his can of suds. I added nothing to illicit further discussion.

After a brief pause, Mark was off and running about the "good old days" of college when he and Linda were attending separate schools. He had all the benefits of having a "girlfriend at home" but still took full advantage of all the parties and drinking and indiscriminate sex he could find. This particular discussion thread had me rock hard as Mark recounted the first time he'd jerked off with his roommate snoring right above him in the top bunk ... his first threesome after crashing a fraternity kegger ... his first time with an older woman sitting alone at a local bar ... his first time with a dude ...

"WHAT?!" I practically shouted, almost spilling the shot of Wild Turkey poised at my lips.

I couldn't see his expression clearly ... the only sources of light were some weak beams sneaking through the room's only window and the crack of light emitted by the bathroom fixture through the mostly-closed door. I assumed his face was full of trepidation ... wondering what I'd say next. He didn't give me a chance. "Buddy, promise you won't breathe a word of this to anyone ... my junior year I moved off campus with a buddy from the wrestling team and his dorm mate. This other guy, Kip, was so much fun. It was like living with a stand-up comedian ... every word out of his mouth was fuckin' hilarious! And he could tell a joke or spin a story like no one I know ... well, maybe you. Yeah!! You remind me a lot of Kip! Anyway, one night me and Kip were kicking back watching basketball on ESPN and we're demolishing a case of Coors really fast. Well, I leaned over to get a fresh one and Kip just leans over too and kisses me! BAM!! ... plants one right on my lips!!"

"I was shocked," Mark continued from across a small gulf of darkness ... which was fortuitous because I was openly stroking my stick through my clinging undies. "But it felt good. Real good ... better and harder than with most chicks. Then Kip kind of pulled me out of my chair and down on top of him on the sofa and we really made out. His mouth was on fire and he bit my lips and sucked on my tongue like a crazy fucker. It was so noisy and sloppy. Fuck, dude ... it was so freakin' fun!! After a minute or two, this Kip guy reached down and grabbed my ass. It felt good ... him squeezing me like that ... so I worked my hands under him and worked his butt. It was small and all muscle. Then one of his hands let go and reached up and grabbed one of my nips. It felt awesome so I grabbed one of his and started twisting it. He moaned a little and kissed me even harder. Finally, he pulled his head back and whispered in my ear that he wanted to suck my cock." Mark took an audible breath and plunged ahead with his story. "So I let him. Just like that ... I was standing there with the TV blaring and my pants around my ankles and Kip was on his knees blowing me. He really worked my cock like a pro. Finally he looked up at me with this sexy little smirk and I got caught up in his scruffy goatee and watery green eyes and I just went off. And the fucker swallowed every drop of the best load I've ever nutted. And get this ... he wipes his mouth, gets back up into his seat on the sofa, and just starts watching the game again. Like nothing happened. And we never talked about it ... ever ... and nothing was ever any different for the rest of the school year we lived together."

Apparently the story was over because I suddenly noticed how deathly quiet the motel room had become. Then Mark's bed creaked as he shifted position, leaning toward me, and his face became a bit more distinct in the feeble light. His gaze was intense and pleading, challenging me for some type of response to his confession. I had a million questions ... and a million desires I wanted to share. But I took the coward's road and simply changed the subject and told him that my father's treatment for his colon cancer was not going well and that I was very scared. "I'm sorry about that," he whispered; I was sorry that I wasn't brave enough to seize the opportunity and do something about my feelings.

Noting the time, Mark suggested we get some shuteye. He got off of his bed and went to click off the bathroom light. Then he moved into a spot where a fairly strong shaft of light filtered into the room from the parking lot. He was facing me, almost waiting to see if he had my attention, when he peeled off his towel and tossed it to the floor.

His body was cast in sexy shades of silvery gray and umber. His fully-erect cock jutted provocatively away from his groin, and the helmet-shaped crown looked huge and inviting. Looking directly at me, Mark pumped his succulent prick for three or four languid strokes. Then he climbed under his covers and dissolved into sleep. My mind was filled with so many things ... images and emotions ... but my body was tired and responding to the somniferous effects of the alcohol. I too drifted off with a hard dick and unresolved feelings.

The next day, just like in his man-on-man college connection, Mark acted like nothing out of the ordinary had happened or been discussed the previous night. The ride home was strangely normal ... casual banter and small talk ... but I felt something coiled in my stomach that would not relax.

I'm sure some people would consider this "girly" or "queeny" or label it in some derogatory fashion, but the events following the wilderness run and Mark's disclosure forced me to start playing the "Maybe Game." In some small corner of my brain, I think I'd been playing the game for weeks. Maybe he's gay. Maybe he has feelings for me. Maybe he'd divorce his wife and ask me to move away with him and start a new, more progressive life ... Portland or Seattle or Boston, I fantasized. Maybe we'd never look at anyone else but each other. Maybe we'd spice things up with a "buddy" from time to time just to keep our sex life fresh and exciting. Maybe, I thought, he'd eventually use the "L Word" and make my heart melt. Maybe I'm an idiot!!

Around two weeks later, Mark and I were sitting in a bar ... shocking, I know. He had just called his wife and things turned tense. "I don't know how long this sports banquet is gonna last," he lied. "I'll try not to wake you when I come in." And after a short pause on his end, "Fine ... I'll sleep on the couch. Bye." His cell phone disappeared to be replaced by a beer mug as if by magic. Mark took a long drink; I watched his throat muscles flex and felt my crotch stir as naughty thoughts invaded my slightly-fuzzy brain.

We drank in silence for a few minutes, each of us glancing around at neighboring patrons and occasionally craning our necks to see what was on the TV located above the shelf of shiny liquor bottles a few feet to the right.

"Hell, I don't even wanna go home."

I took a hefty swig of liquid courage. "Well," I said conspiratorily, "we could do the motel thing again."

"Huh?" he muttered as he swiveled his stool toward me.

"You know ... get a room so we don't have to be out driving tonight. Maybe we could even take things a little further than last time." There ... it was on the table ... I'd taken the plunge. What's the worst that could happen? I lazily asked myself.

The color in Mark's cheeks went from a light carnation to deepest crimson in a flash of fury. "What are you getting ... are you ... dude, are you fagging out on me?!"

My reflection in the big bar mirror looked frightened and stricken, as if slapped across the face. He continued to stare and sputter his vitriol. "You can't be ... you can't seriously think I'd ... you're queer? A fag?" My eyes felt wet and wide and they whispered all my secrets. "You're a fucking cocksucker!! I can't believe this ... I can't believe I've been spending my ... I so don't need this shit!!" He stood up somewhat unsteadily, his mouth working to form more viscious barbs but nothing emerged. He looked like a trout gasping for breath. The legs on his bar stool screeched heavily on the dusty oak floor as he shoved away from the bar and walked directly out the door.

Several other people at the bar were looking at me, various opinions displayed on their sweaty faces. I didn't know what to do. So I drank. And drank. And drank some more.

The DUI I was charged with that night kept me home "sick" and out of the office for three days. I spent that time making legal arrangements and looking at a silly scrapbook I'd assembled to depict my friendship with Mark ... concert tickets, the program from the art show I dragged him to, some great photos of us just hanging out, the arrowhead necklace given out at the wilderness run, a lottery ticket stub from the time I'd won $50 and we spent it on a nice dinner, and a crumpled credit card receipt from a club where Mark unknowlingly flirted with a tranny.

When I returned to work, everything was eerily normal ... no sly looks or accusing glances or any catty gossip that I could discern. But also no Mark. He skipped meetings where he knew I would be attending, or sat stiffly avoiding any eye contact whatsoever. My phone messages went unanswered. Ditto with e-mails. I tried justifying the situation ad nauseum. He's embarrassed and doesn't know how to deal with me, I considered to myself. He's married and he has a family silently crossed my mind. He's afraid of his feelings, I gently mused. But finally, I settled on you're just not good enough ... not worth the risk!!

When it was announced at work that Mark Wilson was leaving to take a job at a bigger newspaper, I'm not sure if I felt more relieved or devastated. His final "two weeks" were horrible for me. I just walked through my days in a lugubrious stupor, going through the motions of living and working. A few friends and co-workers noticed the changes in me, but they atrributed my lethargy to my father's failing health. About a week after Mark was officially gone ... though I knew he and his family weren't moving for another few days ... my Dad lost his battle with cancer. My battle with a broken heart had just begun!

HEADLINE: Reporter's Cardiac Muscle Nearly Shattered

Fireman's Burning Desire To Help Pays Off

In the city where I live and work, firefighters are extremely well known for their dedication and willingness to help others. I'm sure it's not unique to this part of Ohio ... or even this part of the country ... but our firehouses and the men on duty in them have forged a proud history of coming to the aid of their communities, and not just to fight fires. Fires stations are focal points for community education and dozens of important charity programs. Right now, I'm finishing an interview with a local fire captain who is spearheading a food drive to help food banks "gear up" for the demands of the year-end holidays.

Very pleased with the words and images I'd captured, I thanked the older fire specialist ... an attractive, barrel-chested man in his late 50s ... enthusiastically for his input into my article and retreated to my car parked a few spaces down from the modern firehouse on a wide residential avenue. Once I had stowed my messenger bag and was belted in, I started my trusty Chevy only to be rewarded by a horrendous grinding noise. The motor had definitely engaged but it didn't sound healthy. Startled by the noise, I immediately turned the engine off. After about 30 tension-filled seconds, I mentally crossed my fingers and tried the ignition switch again. My vehicle roared to life, but the engine noise was even louder and more pronounced.

Several scenarios ... all of them expensive ... were flashing through my mind when a thunderous clap reigned down on the roof of my vehicle. I nearly shit my pants. The source of the noise was standing beside my car ... a tough-looking man in fireman's yellow "bibs" and a dirty athletic shirt that hugged his beefy, alluring torso. "Hey there, buddy," he bellowed over the engine noise. "Shut that fuckin' thing off before you kill it for sure!" My hand obeyed him robotically, turning off my car's motor, but my eyes were glued to the hunky body posed in a relaxed stance outside my vehicle.

Through my partially-open window, the good and gorgeous Samaritan ... from his mode of dress I assumed he was a fireman ... asked me in a more measured tone to pop the hood of my car so he could take a look. By the time I had extricated myself from the car, the hunk had my hood propped up. He looked intense as his eyes scanned my car's innards and he leaned in to twiddle with various handles and hatches.

"Any idea what the problem might be?" I offered as I stood beside the handsome figure. I could smell a mixture of sweat and soot emanating from his well-developed arms. Glimmers of perspiration showed in his dark, closely-cropped hair. Then I saw the wedding ring. Oh well, I mused, even in a crisis a boy can dream!

"Actually, bro, I don't know shit about cars. I just know that opening the hood prevents dangerous fumes from accumulating. My specialty is fires ... not motors." He looked at me with an endearing sadness, like a man trying to lighten the mood but also genuinely sorry that he can't make the situation better.

"Hey, I just appreciate you slapping my car and jolting me out of my indecision. I probably would have sat there and let the engine grind itself into dust." His intense gaze brightened slightly and the corners of his very-kissable mouth relocated into a subtle grin. "I'll just call AAA to help me get it to the dealership and then I'll figure out how to get home from there."

The fireman's seeds of a grin suddenly grew into a full-fledged smile, and his strong hand reached out to playfully pat my shoulder. "Now that I can help you with! I'm just about to go off-duty ... you make your arrangements while I get cleaned up, and I'll follow you and then drop you at home. Where you takin' it?"

"That's a nice offer, buddy, but I can't let you do that ... my dealership is like half an hour away at least. And then I live in the other direction. It's too much of an inconvenience ... maybe somebody at work can help me out." Then I nodded my head in the direction of the gold band on his left hand. "And besides, it looks like you have a wife keeping the home fires burning ... hopefully with a proper extinguisher nearby. I wouldn't want to make you late for dinner ... or whatever." I laughed and winked at my own lame way of turning down his kindness. I sincerely didn't want to take advantage of his generous nature, and I also DID NOT want to encourage the growing hardness in my briefs.

My excuses didn't hold water, though. He insisted on helping me out. In fact, his reply had another tinge of sadness to it. "Believe me, buddy ... THAT'S not a problem. I'd really like to help you out."

So the whole "plan" just fell into place. AAA sent a tow truck and, after a quick inspection, transported me and my car to my Chevy dealership about 25 minutes away ... it took more like 35 with late afternoon traffic. In the back of my mind, I had hoped I could get a rental car on the spot, but it was late in the day and I was lucky that anybody in the service department was still there. The manager signed in my vehicle and promised me a call by 10 a.m. the next day with a "preliminary diagnosis." He also told me that, since he couldn't hook me up with a rental that day, if they needed to keep my car he'd give me a "loaner" vehicle for up to three days at no charge. Sweet! screamed the inner cheapskate in me.

As I exited the service bay through a side door, I immediately noticed a shiny dark green Chevy Silverado idling in anticipation of my arrival. It's driver ... his name was Christopher, but "my friends call me Chris" ... smiled and honked his vehicle's shrill horn to assure he got my attention. I crossed the pavement and entered the manly vehicle. Chris had changed into a tight gray Henley and a pair of form-fitting jeans. His cologne was citrusy, mixing nicely with his natural masculine scent. I hoped I didn't swoon during the ride home ... or try to grab his junk!

"Thanks again, Christopher, for the ride ... most guys I know wouldn't drop what they were doing to help out a total stranger."

The firefighter looked at me sheepishly, dazzling blue eyes contrasting nicely against the tan flesh of his handsome face. As he put the truck in gear and pulled into traffic, I watched the muscles in his arms flex ... hopefully in a covert manner. "Not really a 'total' stranger," he confessed, "and please, call me Chris. I saw you a few times earlier in the day talking to the Chief and taking a tour of our house. You probably didn't notice me ... I was just finishing up some odds and ends before my shift ended. You and the Chief have a good conversation?"

"Yeah, he was very helpful. He seems like a really good guy ... he's sure as hell proud of all of you. He was tossing names and stories around so fast I told him I was sure I'd be phoning him to repeat a few details."

"That man is probably the most decent administrator I've ever worked with. He's very respectful and tries to get to know us as individuals. Plus he tries to keep up with all the shit happening in our lives." Then Chris smiled a little conspiratorially. "But don't let the man fool you ... he's a Class-A ballbuster when he has to be. He doesn't suffer fools and knows that keeping us in line means keeping us safe and effective."

We talked a bit more and I gave Chris directions to my neighborhood. We continued the standard small talk, exchanging bits and pieces and edited details of our lives. He was one of two children, I discovered ... both firefighters ... from a family in New Jersey. Chris had moved to Ohio when his wife was transferred here for work. He had been a firefighter for nearly 16 years ... he was 38 ... and had completed extensive EMT and dispatcher training. He made his professional life sound routine, but I was fascinated by the work. And the man. So I told him so.

His reply was very down to earth and humble. "You know, I'm not trying to downplay the importance of what I do, but it's 24 hour shifts of sleeping in a drafty firehouse with messy, smelly guys, sharing cooking and cleaning duties, filling out paperwork, making lots of needless bullshit fire runs that end up being nothing, and only occasionally getting to do the 'heroic' stuff we were trained to do." He paused to take a breath. "I wouldn't trade it for the world, but if I didn't have administrative access so I could sneak into the office and watch some computer porn, I'd go bat-shit crazy!!"

I looked over to judge if Chris was teasing me or not. He was facing dead forward, eyes locked on the road. But his mouth twitched in a barely restrained devilish smile. My cock jerked wickedly in my pants as I watched him fight the urge to laugh.

About 15 minutes into the drive, we hit an area of town dominated by restaurants and diners and cafes. Chris asked if I would care if we stopped and grabbed something to eat. I had a sexy remark on my tongue, but chose to keep it to myself. "I'm really craving a good burger and I hate to eat alone," he explained. Intrigued, I agreed to the "detour" and Chris promptly swung his vehicle into the parking lot of a run-down looking pub ... The Rookery. The lot was about half full.

"Have you been here before?" he asked as we locked up his truck and moved toward the door of the Tudor-styled establishment. "Never ... any good?"

"Hell yeah ... the best damn french fries in the whole city. Steak fries ... you know, big crispy planks of potato that you can smother the shit out of with ketchup. Fuck, I'm really starving!"

We entered the dimly-lit eatery both laughing at the intensity of Chris' appetite. About two-thirds of the tables and booths were filled with noisy patrons, but the bar was surprisingly deserted. We took two stools at the far end, nearest the door to the kitchen and farthest away from the other diners.

Just as I was about to comment on the place, a voice boomed its way down the bar. "Well, if it isn't Fireman Frank ... and a cute pal who doesn't strike me as a hose jockey!" If she only knew, I giggled inside my head. She was well into her 50s and dressed like a sloppy Bavarian barmaid. A goofy wreath of dried flowers sat askew on her graying hair and her eyes ... topped by smoky blue eye shadow ... had a worldly quality, like she'd seen more things than anyone could imagine. A cigarette dangled from her tangerine-tinted lips.

"How ya doin,' Gretta ... me and my buddy here are dying from starvation so I hope you got the frig all stocked!"

"Won't be anything but empty after you're done!" she quipped back as she moved closer and crushed her "cancer stick" into a nearby ashtray. Gretta leaned over the bar and exchanged a quick hug with Chris. Then she composed herself and took on a more business-like tone. "What'll it be, men?"

Chris turned to me expectantly. "Do you trust me, bro?" I nodded, not entirely understanding the profound query. He cracked another gorgeous smile and turned excitedly back to Gretta. "Two half-pound burgers ... aged cheddar, bacon, red onion, and some of that killer Wasabi mustard ... a BIG basket of fries, and ask Joey to please put the garlic salt on the spuds BEFORE he puts them in the fryer."

"Picky much?"

"And ... a pitcher of Molson and two mugs."

"You could have just said 'the usual.' " Gretta shared a wink with me and sauntered off to place our order.

I swiveled to the side to look at Chris. "I'm gonna make a guess and say that you come here a lot, 'Fireman Frank,' " I joked as I reached over for a few stale pretzels from a bowl beside Chris' elbow. I managed to casually graze his hairy forearm. As I chewed, a look of comfortable ease crossed the stud's face.

"A bunch of us guys come in here on nights we have off ... and Gretta is like our unofficial den mother," he explained while also capturing a pretzel and popping it into his mouth. "She has a special 'name' for just about all of us, except the Chief. She likes to flirt ... the guys love her to death!"

While we waited for our food, Gretta delivered our beer with minimal fanfare. I'm more of a martini guy, but the dark amber brew was surprisingly rich and very refreshing. As we drank, Chris shared more of his personal history. He had married young to the first girl he had ever dated seriously; it was a second marriage for his wife. She had a son and Chris had taken on the role of surrogate father for just over a decade. "I loved being there for him, making sure he stayed on the right side of things," he explained. "His real dad hasn't been in the picture much ... a good guy but he's had lots of problems."

I nodded as he bragged about his "son" and his academic accomplishments. I also patted his arm sympathetically when he told me how the kid had been pulling away from him in recent years. Our food arrived, and God damn if the fries weren't everything they'd been promised to be. Spicy and cooked to perfection ... we nearly killed the bottle of ketchup between us as we each slid potatoes onto separate platters. Gretta looked on from a distance with a motherly smile.

And the burgers were huge ... medium well ... with the slice of onion being exceptionally biting and delicious. Chris fell into a reverent silence as he demolished half his sandwich in about three bites. He suddenly sat up very straight, took a huge gulp of suds, and then let out a relaxed sigh as if a switch had been thrown. Fuck, he really was hungry!!

Conversation returned between bites, and Chris' dialogue took on moodier themes. "I really appreciate you sharing a meal with me, man. To be honest, the wife was probably not gonna be at home anyway and our frig stays pretty bare unless I hit the market. We've been living separate lives for a while now ... we're more like roommates than husband and wife." His confession made me a little uncomfortable, but I could tell he needed to say some things out loud. "It's been almost two years since we've done ... well, um ... been intimate."

I was in mid beer-swill and put my mug down with a loud "thunk." The surprise must have been easy to read on my face. "She's a good person ... really ... I just feel like more of a provider and a source of security and companionship than a man. Shit ... I can't believe I just told you that."

"Hey, don't be embarrassed about having feelings," I said. "And what you just described ... that's more than a lot of married people have."

Chris placed his hand on top of mine briefly, then suddenly seemed overly-conscious of his public surroundings. Gretta wandered by and Chris ordered a second pitcher. We talked some more and eventually played a few games of pool. Chris also majorly "schooled" me in darts at a board in the back of the pub. We were pretty much by ourselves, and a few times Chris moved up behind me ... very close ... and took my hands to help me improve my throwing technique. He was turning into a fairly "touchy-feely" guy. I felt warm and dizzy when I sensed his body pressed close behind mine. I swear his cock was hard and thick as he pressed into me. In response, my pecker was leaking steadily into my shorts. We sat down again and ordered postprandial coffee; we also split a piece of cheesecake. I feel like I'm on a date, I inwardly stammered as my pulse raced a bit. A really great date!!

It was close to 10 p.m. when Chris pulled up in front of my building and shut off his engine. I thanked him again for the ride and the meal ... he had insisted on picking up the check. Just as adamantly, I agreed to it only if I could leave the tip. I was extremely generous.

I shook Chris' hand in the cab of his truck. I got out and moved toward the stairs that lead to my second-floor unit. "Aaron," a deep voice called from behind me. Chris was standing on my side of his vehicle. I retraced my steps and stood a few feet in front of him. He looked deflated ... unsure. "I just wanted to say that I really appreciated you letting me talk your ear off. I just don't have any friends who I can share that shit with ... the guys at the station are great, but they'd bust my chops over and over and over again if I ever told them that stuff. You just seemed really nice and sympathetic ... and once I started spilling my guts it was hard to stop."

I slapped him playfully on the bicep. "I enjoyed listening, Chris. You're a great guy ... it makes me sad that you're in such a bad place right now. I wish I had some easy answers for you, but I ..."

Suddenly, I found myself in a tight hug. Chris' solid body molded against mine, so close I could feel the flutter of his racing heart. And again, his rod felt stiff and engorged as he squeezed me in a lengthy embrace. His breathing was deep and warm against my neck. After a few lingering moments, I decided to take a chance and moved my hands lower to cup and caress his muscular ass. A low whimper escaped his lips and vibrated against my shoulder and chest; his grip tightened even more.

"Would you like to come up for some coffee?" I stammered into the side of his head.

He pulled away from me, his eyes burning in the feeble light provided by nearby streetlamps. "We already had coffee, goofball," he responded, a definite chuckle layered beneath his sultry baritone voice.

I swallowed and pressed on. "Well, do you wanna come inside anyway?"

He whispered "yeah" directly in my ear and we proceeded to my narrow stairs at a brisk walk.

Once inside, I flipped on a few lights and made inane comments as I dropped my keys in a bowl and my messenger bag on a counter. I absentmindedly fluffed a couch pillow and rearranged a stack of unopened mail. Damn, why am I so nervous? I asked myself.

The answer was quick to come ... because he's a married man!

Chris still stood just inside the apartment door. He didn't look like he wanted to escape, but his body language was not that of a man at ease. His eyes were turned toward the floor as he spoke. "I've never done anything like this ... with a guy ... with anyone. I've thought about leaving her but this is ... this is ..." His voice quivered as he continued. "I've just been so lonely lately. I just want to feel like I matter to someone ... even if it's only for just one night."

Swiftly, I walked over to Chris and led the sturdy stud over to my sofa. I put a hand affectionately on his knee and gently squeezed. His still wouldn't look me in the eyes. "Chris," I started. "I've known you for less than five hours and I know ..." I gripped him with more force until he looked up. "I KNOW you're a great guy with a big heart. Hell, I'd kill to have a friend as kind and funny and respectful and fuckin' sexy as you. And I REALLY want to make you feel like a man right now, but I also don't want to make your situation at home more complicated than it already is. And I don't want you to do something out of feelings of appreciation or ..."

"Please stop," he muttered, taking my hand in his and moving it up to his crotch. His dick felt warm and very thick through his jeans. "I really want this ... want you. Please, I just want to stop thinking and start feeling!" Like a slow-motion effect in a movie, Chris leaned into me and placed his moist lips against mine. Initially tender, the kiss burst into a raging inferno. He sucked hungrily on my flexing tongue, demanding as much aggressive contact as possible. He explored my lips ... my teeth. His hands drew me to him, smoothing and ruffling my hair and then caressing my back in soft circular motions.

We broke apart ... me to catch my breath and him, I think, to gauge my response to his first man-on-man liplock. I quickly started unbuttoning my shirt, tossing it aside to reveal my very-average torso. Chris' eyes widened as he took in my hairless chest and bare tummy. Like a mirror with a time delay, he responded by removing his own shirt. While I was slightly taller, Chris had me by probably 40 lbs. of solid, plated muscle. His chest was broad and dusted with dark hair. His nipples were a succulent pair of pinkish nubs. A trail of fuzz followed the gentle contours of his toned abs. Chris had the body of a man who works his muscles everyday, but naturally ... not hours of vanity-induced gym work. Yummy!!

After his shirt fell to the floor, I dragged the flat of my right hand across his meaty pecs, moaning softly from the sensation of rubbing his fur and alert nipples. He shuddered from my touch, but his gaze never faltered. I rose to my feet. First, my shoes joined my shirt. I danced a bit to remove my socks as gracefully as possible. I probably looked silly, but Chris didn't crack the smallest of smiles ... he sat rapt, motionless. He did wet his lips which made me feel sexy and desirable. I stepped out of my pants and stood in only a tight black jock strap. I had no idea why I had chosen to wear it that morning when dressing, but as I closed the distance to where Chris still sat and he pressed his mouth into my groin, I was sure glad I did.

His hands circled around and kneaded my smooth, plump butt cheeks. He kept my body tight to his face, mashing his lips and darting tongue against the ribbed fabric covering my equipment. Up and down ... back and forth ... he trailed spittle across my crotch, making lewd noises as he traveled. Soon, my jock was wet and sticky. As he lavished attention on my genitals, I looked down to watch his buzz-cut head. He squirmed and writhed in pleasure, clearly enjoying being close to another person ... another man, I hoped. For the most part, his eyes remained closed as he prodded my encased member, but occcasionally he would raise his eyes and glare at me lustfully.

"Fuck, Chris," I moaned. "That feels sooooo fucking good! Just nuzzle me like you'd like to be ... oh, daaammmmnnnnn!!"

"I didn't know it would be like this," he huffed and stammered in between licks and gentle tugs with his teeth on the pouch of my garment. "I've thought about other guys before, but I never imagined it would feel so hot ... just sooooo natural!"

After a few more seconds, I stepped back, fearing I might come in my strap just from his sensual revelations. He looked up at me in disappointment, but I lovingly helped him to his feet. I moved in close to nuzzle his cheek ... his wide nose. I dotted his bowed lips with light kisses. And all the while, my hands were busy unfastening his pants. The zipper on Chris' jeans sounded thunderous in the quiet of my apartment as it descended. "Your turn," I whispered and then sank into the couch cushions to watch him undress.

Chris had to exert considerable force to peel off the thigh-hugging denim. Wiry hairs decorated his thick legs. In the center of his tanned limbs, a worn athletic supporter ... white with frayed edges ... hung packed with fireman dick. Unlike Chris, when I pulled him close I immediately pulled the pouch to one side; his thick tool and fuzzy balls dangled free. I licked along the full length of his bloated prick, tasting hints of floral soap and sweaty flesh. I rolled my tongue over the crimson head, catching a milky drop of goo before gravity pulled it away. I savored the salty taste and dug into his piss slit for more.

"Shit, dude," Chris hissed. "It's been years since anyone has sucked my dick. I almost forgot how fuckin' great it feels. You're amazing ... I've been missing sooooooo much. Hell yeah ... YEAH! AGGGGHHHH!!"

"Way too long," I gurgled around his piece of lumber ... about seven inches of chiseled, veined wood. And thick - a real assbuster! I could feel my hole winking with thoughts of being plundered by Chris' meat. My mouth closed over his sweet cock, taking more than half down my gullet. I squeezed the base, wanting every inch of his shaft to feel loved. While I kept up the vacuuming, I petted his shaggy nuts ... normal sized but throbbing with built-up sexual tension. My fingers explored his scrotum with tiny pinches and nips ... each illiciting a deep gasp or sigh from their owner. I even rubbed the area just shy of his furry hole, almost grazing the taut rim.

Drool was dripping off Chris' pole as I slurped another inch into my warm mouth. He was flexing his legs repeatedly, responding to my touch as my hands traced the straps of his jock as they dug into his globes of glorious ass flesh. After a few moments of working his rump, I worked his jock strap to the floor. He stepped out of it deftly. I let Chris slip from my mouth and rose to stand beside him. Using my hands, I guided him by the hips onto the couch ... on his knees facing into the back cushions.

"Are you going to ...?"

"Shhhhhhhhhhh!" I cooed. "I just want to show you another way to feel good." I touched his cheek lightly as I continued to move him into position. "But Chris, if something I do hurts you or feels bad ... or if you have second thoughts about what we're doing ... we stop. No arguments. No recriminations. This is about you, not me." He looked back over his shoulders, fixing me with moist eyes. He acted like he had something to add, but Chris remained silent and swung his head forward, breaking the connection.

Chris' ass and crack were magnificent ... tanned and chunky and speckled with dusky hair. His crack was deep. I dropped to my knees to get a closer look. Nudging his legs further apart, I became transfixed by the sight of his light brown knot of anal flesh. When I touched the rim of his rectum, Chris flinched and sucked in a massive breath. His asshole was pinched tight and surrounded by a downy circle of fur. I licked my right hand, leaving a slick trail on the back edge from wrist to the tip of my pinkie. Placing it at the top of his crevice, I worked my hand down his hair-lined canyon. "Oh shit," he moaned as seldom-sparked nerve endings sent signals of pleasure to his brain. "That feels sooooo ... I never ever imagined anyone would be chewing on my asshole ... fuck, that feels sweet!!"

I sawed my hand along his crack a few more times, pushing deeper and increasing the speed. Chris' body was really humming from the friction I was creating. I suddenly stopped the motion and used both my hands to spread him open wide. Chris jumped forward when the first wad of spit landed on his abraded hole. The second and third globs merely made him gasp. A long line of slime leaked toward his exposed balls. I thrust my face closer and lapped a wide swath all the way along his crack. Chris' "fuck yeah" gave me all the permission I needed to go crazy on his shitter. I poked my tongue against his tiny cunt, wiggling it until the tip sank into his molten core. Using my thumbs, I popped open his sphincter and attacked the blossoming hole with quick swipes and licks.

"Can I try a finger," I pleaded, surprised at the desperation in my voice.

"Just go slow."

I slicked up my middle finger and tickled Chris' rosebud, jiggling my digit until it started to disappear up his damp chute. Chris pushed his ass back, engulfing my extended finger in silky warmth. Excruciatingly slow, I withdrew the finger and then worked it back in. After only a few moments, Chris' ass turned all slutty and I was jamming three fingers deep in the married fireman's most private place. I twisted my attacking phalanges, causing squeals each time I grazed his prostate. Chris' hole was making tiny, squishy noises that had my cock going insane. With my spare hand, I worked myself out of my jock and began to jerk my glad-to-be-free pecker. Chris continued to emit the kind of glossolalia reserved for someone new to assplay. My cock throbbed and pulsed to each and every lewd sound.

I could see a sheen of sweat on Chris' lower back, small droplets threatening to trickle off his handsome flanks. I withdrew my fingers and gave each of his glutes a simple kiss. Chris' head lurched around to watch me climb to my feet. "Why are you stopping?" he asked, his mouth formed into a boyish pout. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Relax, buddy," I reassured Chris as best I could. "I just have to grab something."

I darted into my bedroom ... my rigid cock bouncing painfully as I went ... and returned with a condom and a small bottle of Astroglide. Now let's see what he can do with that cock of his! I thought with a leer to match my horniness.

Chris was sitting awkwardly on the sofa, his weight all on one hip and butt cheek. He's ready to resume "the position" so I can eat his ass more, I mused. So easy to please ... and so totally unaware how sexy he is!!

"Ready to play safe?" I asked, displaying the contents of my hands and dreaming of the feel of his thick shaft embedded in my steamy hole. Although his face was already flushed, Chris' cheeks turned even deeper, brighter red.

"Aaron," he began somewhat hesitantly, "I'm not sure how these things work, but I know how I'm feeling right this second. And Aaron ... I want you to fuck me! I want you to leave your mark on my ass and make me remember tonight as something special ... for me, anyway."

I walked further into the room and over to Chris. I sat the rubber and grease on the coffee table and took his face in my hands. Looking deeply into his crisp blue eyes, I said, "It means something to me too, Chris. If you doubt that, maybe we shouldn't do this."

His hands immediately clamped over mine. His nails painfully dug into my flesh. "I don't doubt any of this ... please, do me!"

Chris scooted to the end of the sofa and relaxed onto his back. I climbed between his legs and carefully dribbled a drop of lubricant on my cock before rolling the rubber firmly down my eight-inch prick. "This might feel a little cold, but it'll pass," I warned as I smeared some goo onto Chris' already moist anus. He didn't flinch; Chris' eyes rolled shut and fluttered as I worked some Astroglide an inch or so into his channel.

Chris raised his hairy haunches up toward his chest; I placed his feet slightly over my shoulders to make him more comfortable. Carefuly I placed the knob of my sheathed shank against his oiled pucker. "Just breath," I advised and pushed forward slowly. My dick met fierce resistance. I rubbed Chris' flanks and smiled down at him; he grinned back. And just like that, his muscles slackened and I fed him the bulbous head of my throbbing rod.

I stayed very still for a moment, then stroked Chris' cock a few times to keep him hard and happy. With my hand still working his pud, I pressed deeper and more of my dick disappeared into his ass oven. "Agghhh!," he said with a flinch. I immediately stopped my forward movement.

"Are you okay? ... I can take it out if you ..."

"NO! No ... just need to get used to it. I feel so packed full ... stuffed ... but awesome! Just take it easy."

I withdrew my cock a bit and then nudged it back in. Pull back ... nudge ... pull back ... nudge. After about a dozen thrusts, my cock was sliding freely into hot, seething ass. And Chris' head was thrashing from side to side. "Give it to me," he heartily demanded. "Feed me that big cock!!"

I flexed my knees and dug in, pumping his ass with maximum force. My face and chest were drowning in sweat, and my breath was beginning to sound labored. Thankfully Chris' eyes kept drooping closed as he moaned in ecstasy because I was mesmerized by the sight of my pale uncut meat puncturing the fireman's hairy, steamy butt pit.

"You're making my ass feel soooooo good!" Chris' statement jolted my head back up; he was staring at me, his face also awash in perspiration and bearing a look of satisfaction that only one man can give another. His furry chest was damp and a nice reek wafted up from his arm pits.

"You were built to be fucked, baby! I love the way your hole is milking my stick!!" He winked lewdly at me and, just to make a point, flexed his internal muscles to pinch my tool like a boa constrictor. Playfully I reached down and viciously twisted both of his tits in retaliation. "SHHHHHIIIIIIIITTTTTT!!," Chris screamed and shot a stream of thick cum up onto his hairy stomach.

I looked on in astonishment, never slowing my cock. "I didn't know you were so close," I said apologeticaslly.

He smiled, his body bouncing slightly from my continued penetrations. "I didn't know either!"

I wiped the sweat out of my eyes and smoothed my damp, clinging hair away from my forehead. "Doesn't matter," I huffed, " 'cause I'm not gonna last much longer anyway!"

I pounded Chris' ass, rabbit-punching his hole mercilessly. Each thrust made a little "blurp" of cum bubble out of the tip of his prick. Seductively, Chris ran his left index finger along the slimy crown of his cock and raised the gooey digit to his parted lips. "FUUUCCCKK!!" I bellowed and blew my condom-contained load up his ass in four or five violent jabs. I continued punching my dick along his chute as it softened.

After I withdrew, I tossed the condom into a small wastebasket and collapsed beside Chris on the sofa, planting a delicate kiss on his mouth and a few subtle pecks on the side of his neck and his shoulder. We laid there in utter silence as our breathing evened out and night and traffic noises started filtering into our perceptions. I like this, I though, being so physically close to another man ... his warm flesh starting where mine ended. I could get used to this.

Eventually, I got up and padded quietly into the bathroom. I took a quick piss and returned to the living room with two wet washclothes. Chris was fast asleep, looking very peaceful. I tossed the washclothes through my kitchen pass-thru onto my counter and then burrowed back in beside the slumbering stud. Once situated more-or-less comfortably, I too drifted into a light doze.

The clock read 2:15 when my consciousness swam to the surface. I was still on my sofa ... alone and tacky with dried jizz. I heard the soft murmur of conversation and noticed that the bathroom light was on. I focused on the sound and deciphered Chris' voice. "Just wanted to leave you a message so you knew I was alright ... I got caught up in some business and it ended up being more complicated than I thought it would be ... everything ran late so I just stayed over. Guess I'll see you when I see you." Succinct ... vague ... not an outright lie.

The light clicked off and Chris emerged, still naked with his thick, stubby dick nestled against his hairy sack. He immediately saw that I was awake and walked over to sit at the end of the couch. Chris' hands were clasped between his legs and he was staring at a point on the floor, eyes downturned. He looked pensive in the dim light streaming in through a window. "I can leave if you want me to ... go to the firehouse and crash. I know some guys have rules about letting 'dates' sleep over," he said flatly. I only hesitated a second before kicking him squarely in the ribs. He grunted slightly but did not look at me, so I started massaging his hip with my foot.

"I want you to stay ... how else am I gonna get to the dealership tomorrow?"

Chris' posture stiffened. I kicked him again. "Hey ... I do need a ride, but that's only after YOU fuck ME silly with that fat prick of yours. And we figure out how this 'friends who fuck' thing is gonna work!!"

Chris turned his head and, in the near darkness, his smile lit up my living room like a tropical sunrise.

HEADLINE: Fireman's Burning Desire To Help Pays Off