by: Tadpole – check him out on Squirt.org!
If I’m being honest, besides my heart jumping a beat and my breathing slowing, there was a rush of blood that began to stiffen my cock. I didn’t even know his name at first, he was just the guy moving in across the street. All I knew was his preference was expensive cars and expensive bikes. I watched him help the moving company unload and then hang three bikes from the rafters in his smaller third bay garage.
We’re a friendly group in our little neighborhood, a small gated enclave where everyone knows everyone and it’s common to share drinks on the front porch. Perhaps less commonly known was the bed I shared on a regular basis with a gay married couple around the looping road, or the solid fucking I took from my next door neighbor’s Brazilian friend/house sitter (oh hell, maybe sex between neighbors was rampant and just no one invited me). It is a great neighborhood. At any rate, as the empty moving van pulled away, I grabbed two beers and crossed the street to welcome him as he puttered with boxes in his garage.
He turned as I spoke from the front of the garage, and our eyes caught and held one another – for way longer than was probably ordinary. But his eyes captured me. They were bright green and radiated their clarity. They were literally emerald pools that invited me to dive in. And I did, I dove in and we didn’t break eye contact until we both suddenly realized that we were staring awkwardly. Quickly recovering I introduced myself and welcomed him to “the Grove”. His voice was deep but had a gentle Irish (I thought) lilt in his response, “It’s nice to meet you Tad, I’m Bryn.”
I felt like the world went quiet as I heard him say my name with the the gentle accent. He sounded so sweet and I just stared again at him – a fascinating blend of athleticism and masculinity with what seemed to be a tenderness and beauty. Yes, I know beautiful isn’t a word used much with men – but he was though! He and I both knew it – he was a beautiful creature.
I told you about his eyes – such brilliance, they shined against white, pure white skin. Wearing only gym shorts I could see his perfect skin was smooth – his face, his chest, and his arms and legs. It flashed in my mind that he shaved his body because he probably races those bikes. His grin was wide with perfect straight and white teeth. His nose was narrow and drew you to the high and distinct cheek bones. Perhaps most striking was the ginger of his hair. It was soft and wavy and seemingly the only place that he allowed his hair to have its own way because it was longish and he had to push it back from his forehead. The color was striking – not a harsh red that makes you think goofy kid, or the strawberry blonde color that ensures freckles would be part of the description. No, the color would be best described as ginger. He was gorgeous.
Again we caught ourselves staring and hastily extended to shake hands. As our right hands clasped, we realized that both of us were using our left hands to encircle the handshake; preserving the spark of electricity that I just know we both felt at that first touch. Grabbing the frosty beers that I’d set on a stack of boxes, we stepped out to the front porch to sit and get acquainted.
Through the usual chit chat I quickly discovered that there was no “Mrs Bryn” (Which did seem a little off given his obvious success and amazing good looks.) nor was he dating anyone which surprised me (same reasons). I honestly wasn’t sure if he was straight or gay or a discreet mix such as myself. The conversation shifted to his bikes and the discovery that we were both training for a triathlon. As I prepared to walk back across the street, we agreed it might be fun to train together some. He squeezed my shoulder as we shook hands causing my heart to pause (and my penis to stiffen). I crossed back to my house, feeling not just sexually attracted but feeling like I did years ago wondering about a first kiss.
Wondering if Bryn felt the way about me (if he didn’t, then those stares were weird) I was nervous as we made our first “date” to do a training run together. We agreed to meet between our houses and do an easy 6 miles on the community trail outside of the neighborhood gate. Still dark, I saw his brite-glo orange running shorts headed toward me before I saw him. The shorts were super short split-side running shorts and definitely showed his legs to great advantage. Totally smooth you could see the thickness of his quads, in fact every muscle defined by the cuts of a low body-fat guy. Since he was shirtless, the same was true of his abs and the narrowness of his waist. With shaved body hair his pink eraser-end nips were front and center. It was all I could do not to reach and touch them with reverence. All I got was a handshake and pulled into a chest bump against his rounded pecs. I couldn’t imagine that he didn’t feel my chest pounding with excitement when we touched.
Out and back we had a great run and had a cup of coffee on my porch before we headed in to clean up before work. My fingers were crossed that he would chest pump our bare sweaty chests together when we parted. My heart leapt with joy when he did, I felt weak as he held me there a minute tight to him. The smell of his sweaty neck was intoxicating to me. It was everything for me to resist nuzzling his neck and his sweaty wet ginger hair with my face. I was distracted all day at the office, mostly thinking about how he would look the next morning in Lycra bike shorts as he straddled his bike on the long ride we planned for the next morning.
His bike-riding shorts/shirt were white, against his pearly white skin they accentuated his power and athleticism with every movement he made. I could tell now that his crotch was shaved as smooth as the rest of his body – no hairy bush camouflaging his cock in the tight shorts. Clear to see 7 inches of perfectly-shaped cut meat. Got an amazing understanding of what his dick was like when he slid his hand in and shifted from dressed right to dressed left. I loved riding behind him, watching the pumping rhythmic action of his ass raised over his seat as he pedalled.
I couldn’t wait for our first training swim together. Tho over the weeks together running and riding I had a clear understanding of his magnificent body – the pure pearly white of his smooth skin stretched around his muscled athleticism. That seemed so pure but I was sure I wasn’t imagining the long looks at each other, the touches and squeezes men can get away with, and even the double entendres that would pop up in our conversation. I wanted to see him in his speedo.
It was stretched tight around his shaved ping pong sized balls. It was cut high over the concave glutes that I knew pinched a pink hole tightly closed. He looked amazing on the pool deck – almost like he was posing for me as he ran his fingers through his wavy ginger mane. Sitting on the edge of the pool I turned to see and then stare at him; I don’t think I even tried to hide my admiration, my interest, even my passion and lust as our looking at each other turned into locked eyes. I was sure he felt the same way even though he turned his eyes away first. He held and then squeezed my shoulder as he lowered himself to the edge and then into the water.
It was a couple of months of training together and me (perhaps him too) jerking off daily as I thought about our unconsummated dance. Race day came and we were each other’s biggest fan and cheerleader as we both did better than either one of us would have expected had we not trained together. Excited and tired from the triathlon, Bryn hung his bike in the garage. He turned slowly toward me, “Tad, I’m really glad we got to train” – and he leaned in for one of his famous (and at this point, unsatisfying) chest bumps. This time he didn’t pull back. In fact, he slipped both arms around me and held me tight. The fact that we were both soaked in sweat only made it better. I returned the hug, pulling in even tighter.
My face found the nape of his neck, my tongue found the salty flavor of his sweat drenching him. His full moist lips found mine lightly and tenderly and then our tongues found each other’s and the tenderness turned to passion. He pushed me against the Aston Martin manhandling and groping me. “The bed,” I gasped and he pulled me inside the house.
I knew one day and then for many days we would explore our bodies and make love in a thousand gentle expressions – now it was a race to passion and pent up release. What little clothes we had were on the floor in an instant. He grabbed both our hard cocks together and stroked them together forcefully. “ Forget that” I gasped, “fuck me.” He did fuck me with power force and stamina that I would expect from such a beautiful powerful man – and like someone that had imagined just what he would do to me if he ever had the opportunity. We shot our loads almost simultaneously, mine across my belly. His deep in my ass.
I know as we lay back on the bed, in each other’s arms that we were both thinking of the thousand looks, torches, chest bumps, squeezes that had consummated in such a powerful fuck that I doubted we would ever experience such feelings again. Though I was pretty sure we would give it try when his gentle Irish lilt asked if I “might be ready to make another go of it…”
