Viktor's story - part 1

Father, do you have a bucket list - you know, a list of things you want to do, experiences you want to have, places you want to go ... ?

The year I turned 40 was a transformative year for me. I didn't have a bucket list as such, but a lot of things - good things - happened for the first time, for me. I began to learn to play the classical guitar. I did some travel and I lost my virginity for the second time - I fucked a man.

It didn't begin as a New Year's resolution, rather, a few days after, I realised that this was the year I wanted/needed to make things happen. I was essentially alone in the world. My parents were dead, and my brother had no part of my life. I had friends, and, after taking stock, I realised that what I needed to do was to put together a family of my own choosing and allowing other to choose me.

I decided I would like to learn to play music, and it seemed to me that the least horrible sounds in those awkward learning stages come from a guitar. Dear God, imagine learning the bagpipes! Even at 40 I still had this fantasy about being a rock star guitarist. A faint, wispy fantasy, not a real fantasy.

I placed a card in the newsagents and at the supermarket for a guitar tutor. A number of people replied ranging from a Rod Stewart clone (complete with tartan and straw-man hair), an earnest woman in a porridge cardigan, and a West Indian gentleman who'd inhaled a great deal of sacred incense. I'd all but given up when I got a call from Viktor, a Russian émigré, and retired solicitor.

Viktor agreed to take me on as a new pupil. I liked him from our first meeting at a local café. He helped me pick out a guitar, and we scheduled the first lessons. 

Viktor's teaching method was something like ta'i chi. Very slow, methodical, accurate - then repeat until the speed came effortlessly and naturally. My fingers learned to find the strings, the fretboard; my hands learned to synchronise - best of all, the focus was just learning on how to do it right, rather than unlearn something wrong. I made a commitment to practising. Even secretly at work, "playing" the edge of the boardroom table during the endless, boring meetings. I overheard one of my assistants commenting that she could tell when a meeting had gone on too long because 'instead of drumming his fingers on the table when he's pissed off he drums them under the table...'

In a few months my efforts began to pay off. I moved from random notes and chords pulled out of the ether into recognisable tunes, and music followed. An expert would be repulsed, of course, but to me having music flow from my very own fingers was such a joy. I could see how far I'd progressed, and, happily, the road just continued onwards. Every time I mastered some tiny technique Viktor would beam, and I'd feel so proud. I could get better and better at this forever, and it'd still not be enough for me.

By the time winter rolled around my skills had improved enormously, and Viktor and I had become good friends. One of the things that took a while to dawn on me was that Viktor had only the barest trace of an accent. His accent was so good I simply didn't notice. His mother had been an English language teacher, his parents were Anglophiles, and he'd been raised on a steady diet of 'The Goon Show' and 'Hancock's Half Hour' radio shows broadcast by the BBC. He could do a terrific impersonation of Neddy Seagoon.

I turned up for my usual lesson early on Saturday afternoon. The weather was ugly, the weatherman was promising snow. I played my practise piece for Viktor, but his heart wasn't really in it. We talked and played and laughed. He was fun to be around, and the hours slipped past.

"Why don't you stay and have some dinner with me? It's very humble - beef casserole with cranberries. Should be reindeer with lingonberries, but, it's a price we have to pay for living here."

I looked out the window at the worsening weather and said, "Thank you, that'd be great."

"Good, good! Now I will get us some zakuskis and we can have a drink. I'm glad, I don't like to drink alone."

"Zakuskies?"

"Finger foods with drinks. Means you can drink more. Excuse me for a moment."

Viktor turned on his rather expensive looking stereo and the room filled guitar music.

"This is Russian guitars - they have seven strings."

He saw my arched eyebrow.

"No, really, traditional guitars had seven strings."

He lit some candles and placed them on the coffee table, smiled, and left me to get the drinks and snacks. I felt slightly anxious about what the extent of the drinking might be. It's one thing to have a pint or two, but vodka? Now that's another story entirely. An uncomfortable story from my student days and lessons learned from excessive vodka consumption.

I relaxed on the leather sofa and realised that I kind of missed Viktor when he wasn't around. I felt a bit stupid about that, he was only in the kitchen, and, what was this about anyway? Missing him. Ridiculous. I fell to musing about the nature and cause of the bulge in his pants - I'd been staring at his crotch while Viktor demonstrated playing techniques.

The door opened and Viktor returned with vodka, ice, and glasses jingling on a silver tray. He set the glasses down, and was gone again, and promptly returned with a large tray of interesting looking food.

Viktor poured the vodka and handed me a glass. I stood, and we touched glasses.

He looked me in the eye. "Good health!"

He downed the ice cold vodka, and I followed suit.

He passed me a little silver plate with slices of lemon. "Take a couple and suck the juice out."

I was thinking about tequila drinking games, and how ...

"Some pickled cucumbers..."

"Thank you," I found the contrast bite of the alcohol, acid juice, and then salty tang quite stimulating. "Is this part of the ritual?"

"Absolutely," he said, "And now salmon on the dark rye."

I nodded and smiled. It turned out zakuskis was a very delicious way to spend the afternoon.

Without delay Viktor poured a second glass, and, looking me in the eye, "To beautiful music!"

"Beautiful music indeed!"

I drained my glass, and reached for the lemon. This approach to drinking with deliberate food servings felt rather more civilised than my teenage binges. The room began to feel quite warm, and a cozy feeling was washing over me.

Viktor refilled the glasses.

"To sweet love!"

As I followed his lead I realised, admitted, call it what you will, I had fallen in love with him. I coughed and spluttered a little at the dawning realisation. The vodka burned in my mouth. Viktor looked concerned - I waved him away.

"Sorry, I was distracted. I'm fine."

I slurped lemon juice and reflected on the new world presented to me. I was helping myself to a salmon morsel when Viktor began to play a piece on his guitar. I'd never heard the piece before. It drew me in like a bee to honey. I looked at Viktor and I was suddenly moved when I really noticed his age for the first time. He seemed to be slumping - sagging - as he played, as though the weight of the guitar was too much. He finished the song, and he put the guitar aside hastily. He coughed and stood up, swaying a little as he did so.

I stood up too, reaching towards him. I noticed his eyes were brimming with tears.

"Viktor, what is it - what's wrong?"

He choked slightly.

"It's nothing." He sniffled. "It is a sad old song about a lost lover. We Russians are all about the tragedy. You people are all about the comedy. We have lost so much, great sadness comes naturally to us."

A delinquent tear edged away from the corner of his eye and glistened down his cheek.

I reached over to Viktor and hugged him. He hesitated and then hugged me back hard. I could feel the warmth of his breath on my shoulder, feel the whisk of his stubble on my skin, and smell his cologne.

I don't know what came over me, but when we released, I grabbed him again, and kissed him, on the lips.

"I'm, I'm sorry," I stuttered.

Viktor looked surprised, and then kissed me back. Slowly, deliberately.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I'm a foolish old man, it's been a very long time since anyone has touched me - held me, and I have been feeling lost today - this weather - it's enough to make a saint feel - " His voice tapered off into silence.

We pulled apart and I could see the obvious swelling in his crotch. He followed my glance, and without warning he looked down, awkward and embarrassed. I took his hand, and squeezed it. He held my grip. He looked up, sniffed, and swallowed. 

I knew we'd somehow crossed a line. I - we - could either take a subtle but bold step on a new path or - I don't know - maybe we could pretend it never happened and there'd be an unfinished business with us forever. I opted for the new path. I put my hand on Viktor's chest and gently moved him backwards, and downwards into his seat.

He opened his mouth to say something, but I pressed my finger against his lips. I knelt between his knees and I loosened his belt with a tug. Viktor took a deep breath and sighed it out slowly. I opened his pants and stroked his cock through the soft white fabric. His cock twitched, attentive to my delicate touches. Viktor's eyes were shut, I could hear him breathing through his open mouth. His lips were struck together in the corner and he licked his tongue over the dried skin.

I grabbed his belt and the top of his pants, and pulled them down. Viktor lifted up his weight so I could peel his clothes off, and I pulled his underpants down to release his fine cock and balls.

An involuntary moan fled from Viktor as I wrapped my fingers around his cock, and I took a tentative lick. I'd never held another man's cock before, and so any expertise in terms of giving a man pleasure was going to based on improvisation and guess work ... I was the 40 year old virgin but there was no going back now, and I might never get another opportunity.

I licked his cock head slowly and thoroughly. I could feel Viktor's cock throbbing and swelling each time my tongue charged the sensitive skin. He'd hold his breath whenever I licked the tip and underside edges, and I enjoyed making him squirm with pleasure. He began stroking my hair and breathing heavier.

I wrapped my fingers around his balls and stretched the skin tight, and began to lick them slowly. Viktor thrust his cock towards me, and his pre-cum jewelled up on his cock tip. I became intoxicated his fragrance - his personal signature of musky ... what was that ... vanilla, pipe tobacco, cinnamon? And something else, something almost animal that I couldn't define, but I wanted more of. I licked his balls over and over, releasing and luxuriating in the heady fragrances. He shivered when I blew on his balls, murmuring noises from deep inside him.

Viktor's legs pressed hard against my shoulders, his breathing was increasingly ragged. I took his cock head in my mouth, stroking the top along the roof, while working my tongue along the underside. I felt him begin to twitch and spasm as tried to hold back from cumming. I stretched his balls tighter and while he moaned quietly in protest, he kept thrusting into my mouth. I imagined having him trussed up and at my mercy - I'd tease him to the edge for hours, keeping him on the boil until - well - maybe, maybe not.

I pressed my thumb to separate his balls and pulled them down even more, while working my tongue faster on his cock, sucking his cock in with a grip as hard as I could mange. Viktor suddenly stiffened and I felt his cock pump, and I tasted the first flood of salty sweetness as his cum began to spill into my mouth.

Viktor flopped back on the sofa and surrendered to me. I sucked every last drop from his quivering cock as he lay back, gasping. I kissed his cock, licking him clean, holding his cock tightly to prolong his hardness.

Viktor's eyes flickered open.

"That - that was wonderful, thank you," he whispered.

We sat for a few moments, the silence only broken by the howling of the wind outside.

Viktor leaned forward and stood up, and unsteadily pulled his pants up. I caught a last glimpse of his cock before it vanished, tucked away again. He helped me on to the sofa, and, never taking his eyes off me, poured and offered me a drink.

|| >>> Viktor's story - part 2 >>>

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Viktor's story - part 2

In a way I didn't know what was happening, Father, but at the same time I know it was a deliberate act on my part, and on his. I was a mess of mixed emotions, and I wanted more of him. I felt so elated, so freed, and I wanted so much more of him.

There was a solemn silence after we stood, raised our glasses and saluted each other. I could still taste Viktor in my mouth despite the smooth burn of the vodka.

Call it virgin angst or post-blow job nervousness, or call it what you will, I wanted to know if my performance was ok. Everyone wants to believe they perform magic when they're making love, don't they? I think it's the last tiny Freudian gasp - I want to please mummy, or, in this case, please daddy. I rationalised it away thinking - well, it's the first blow job I've ever given, so, well, whatever, I can get better if I wasn't good enough.

I don't know how long we stood there, in silence, each of us lost in our thoughts. Viktor put his glass down with a clink. I looked up, feeling just a little lost.

He stepped towards me, and hugged me enthusiastically.

"Thank you, you have made me feel alive again.

I smiled, feeling a wave of shyness pass over me. Damn it, I'm 40 years old, and suddenly I feel like some goofy kid on his first date.

"So, that was ok then?"

Viktor choked and coughed, and recovered, laughing a little.

"Yes, ok, very ok," he said, "You are very kind to an old man. I hope ... we ... I hope we can do that again some time. If - if you want to, that is, of course. I don't want to pressure... "

His voice faded away. He looked down, nervous.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, "I didn't expect, at my age, anyone would ever ... you know..."

"Well," I whispered, "Someone would. Did. And would again."

Silence fell between us. I could hear him breathing. Outside the storm winds were whistling around the building. A log fell in the fire send sparks up the chimney.

Viktor sighed.

"And what for you?"

I reached over and stroked his cheek, gently scratching my finger tips on his stubble. He leaned into my hand and shut his eyes.

"I seem to remember an offer of beef and cranberries."

"Oh, God, yes, of course, dinner. And after dinner...?"

"Wouldn't Benny Hill suggest a hot sausage and a couple of kiwi fruit?"

I winked at him, and he suddenly giggled like a naughty boy. He bustled off to get the meal together. A few minutes later he was back with a glass of red wine.

"Julian Bream," he said, nodded towards a cd case, as the virtuoso's music filled the room. "I met him once, with Benjamin Britten. This is the Nocturnal Britten wrote for him. Please, make yourself at home, I need to excuse myself for a moment to freshen up before dinner. It'll be ready in about 30 minutes. Help yourself to more wine, it's in the kitchen."

I smiled and nodded.

After about 15 minutes I became a bored, and I resolved to refill my glass. I wandered into the cottage style kitchen - dinner smelled promising - found the wine and poured myself a welcome puddle. Returning to the lounge room I realised I hadn't been to a bathroom for some time, and I needed to have a pee before dinner. I'd never used the bathroom at Viktor's house, but after our afternoon intimacies - well, too late for issues of that kind.

I stepped through the door into the passageway in search of the bathroom. The floor was covered in thick Caucasian type carpets, and my footsteps were effectively silenced. I could see light coming from a room that I guessed was Viktor's bedroom. As I got closer I could hear noises coming from the room. Intrigued, I was even quieter, and I peeped through the keyhole.

I was nonplussed to see Viktor, naked, sitting on the edge of the bed, masturbating. I actually felt slightly annoyed, and jealous. If you were going to do this you could've invited me... I suddenly felt embarrassed, shy, frightened about what I'd say if I was found out. As much as I wanted to stay and watch, to join him, I didn't want to be discovered, not like this.

The phone rang. I jumped in fright. I heard Viktor give a disappointed grunt, and he answered the call. I took the opportunity to find the bathroom and then to return to the warmth and light of the lounge. I looked through his music collection for something a little more soothing than the repetitions of the Nocturnal. I went with Debussy, being particularly careful about how I handled the discs.

I was just taking a sip of wine when Viktor came in, apologising for the delay - his sister had called. He'd changed into a blue checked shirt and I noticed for the first time how his eyes were light blue around the pupil, darker blue towards the iris edges. For some reason they reminded me of the eyes of husky dogs.

We chatted and laughed over a leisurely dinner. Viktor's casserole, served with jacket potatoes, and a salad of red cabbage and beetroot with horseradish dressing, was delicious. He talked about his memories of his Russian childhood, of escaping in the depths of winter in a horse drawn sledge being pursued by some unknown militia. How they'd spent time in Norway before finally finding refuge here.

"Zaedkami?"

"I'm sorry, what?" 

Viktor chortled. "Sweet afters - dessert?"

I nodded, and Viktor presented an elegant baked apple, stuffed with fruit mince. He drizzled honey and cream over the fruit, and tucked in with gusto. 

"These are good for you," he said with a grin, "They make your blood run faster, makes your skin smooth, make you look good."

As much as I enjoyed the food and his company, I couldn't focus on much more than having sex with Viktor. It was as though the lid was finally off for me. I wanted him very much. I wanted to feel his warmth, the touch and taste of his skin. The lust for him was already making my cock uncomfortably hard, and I wasn't paying much attention to his chatty conversation.

We finished out dinner with coffee. Viktor left me in the lounge while he cleared up the dishes. When he returned we sat and talked for a few minutes and then I felt I had better go. I stood to go.

"No, I think you should stay here. You'll freeze to death waiting for buses in this snow."

He looked worried.

"Are you sure this isn't inconvenient?"

"No! I insist. Besides, you haven't had zaedkami."

"What? Not more dessert, I've eaten too much already."

"No, not that kind of dessert..."

He looked away, and I stared at the delicate skin under his ear. I had a momentary fantasy about if I was a vampire I would bite him right there, right now. Blood lust! My cock twitched appreciatively. I swallowed and permitted myself a glance at Viktor's crotch. The bulge of his cock and balls was clearly evident. The cd finished and in the deafening silence I could hear the clock ticking.

I cleared my throat. He looked back at me, flicking his eyes over the swelling in my pants before looking up to me. He took a breath as if to speak. I held my hand up to stop him. I looked him in the eye and deliberately undid the top button of my shirt. He stared, motionless. 

I undid the second button, and rubbed my fingers slowly over my chest. He swallowed and licked his lips. His eyes never left mine, he was captivated. I stood with my shirt undone.

"Now," I whispered.

He was out of his chair, and after a flicker of hesitation, he reached in and tentatively brushed his fingertips to my chest. I flinched from the shock of his touch, and saw the immediate hurt on his face. He jerked his hand away. I caught it, and pressed it back against my heart. He looked back at me, and I nodded. I reached around him, and hugged him to me, crushing his hand between us. He leaned in and rested his head on my shoulder.

"Yes?"

He nodded, his head rubbing my shoulder.

I released him a little, and I undid the buttons on his shirt, exposing his vulnerable skin to my touch. I pulled his head to me and kissed him, gently, on the lips. He suddenly pulled my to him and kissed me, and kissed me again, fiercely, holding me tightly in rush of passion.

We pulled apart and he looked at me, seemingly shocked at his emotional outburst. I stepped in and pulled his belt buckle open, and pulled his pants down a little, and then paused.  

"Yes," he said, in a determined voice.

I pulled his pants and underwear down, and he stepped out, his hardened cock swaying. I reached for his cock.

"Not here," he hissed, "Bedroom!" He hesitated. "Just a moment... "

He scampered out of the room, and returned a few minutes later. I thought I could smell - what was that - honey? 

"Please," he said, and motioned towards the hallway. I let him lead, not wanting to let him know I knew where his bedroom was or what was happening there a couple of hours ago. His bedroom smelled of honey from the bees wax candles Viktor had lit around the room. There was no other lighting save the glow from the streetlights. 

He drew me to him, and now, slowly and calmly, kissed me; stroking my shirt off me in soft, brushing strokes. He loosened my belt and eased my slacks and boxers off, his caressing hands felt so tender, so loving. He pulled back the bed covers and settled me down into their comfortable embrace, before taking up station between my legs, his shirt - loose - tickling my bare skin.

"Please?" 

I nodded. 

Viktor closed his eyes and slowly coaxed my cock to new hardness with his attentive licking and kissing. He was slow, God, the sensation as he licked my balls in waves of three - lightly, medium, and then heavier pressure was something I'd never imagined before, much less experienced. I writhed to his touches and I wanted to grab him, roll him over and fuck him hard and fast. I closed my eyes against the distraction - I wanted to hold back as long as I could to enjoy the maximum pleasure. 

He began licking around the side of my balls, under and up the middle seam and then down looping up to the other side, and then slowly working back again. I could hold back, and I started to tense up.

"No!" 

He pressed my cock tightly at the base and held me, trembling, while I fought off my orgasm. When I'd calmed down, he gently started again. He held my cock and licked me like my cock was an ice-cream. He sucked me while stretching and working the sensitive nerves to a frenzy. And whenever he felt my cock throb in response he'd hold me tight and blow on my cock gently as if to cool me off. 

I lost track of how long, or how many times he'd held me back from cumming. I was dripping with sweat, growling and moaning inside, wanting to release, but wanting the beautiful torture to continue. I began to imagine bright flashes of colour with each lick, each caress, each stroke of his lips across my skin. 

When he took me in his mouth again we both knew there would be no holding back. He circled my balls between his finger and thumb, and pulled down slowly; and licked around and around my cock head. I felt something like a coil of energy pound up my spine and I arched my back and thrust my cock into his mouth, pumping my cum into him in as wave after wave of electrified orgasm passed over me.

I flopped back in the bed, gasping for breath, and trembling as the nerves fired and re-fired along the the length of my body. I opened my eyes to see Viktor - his eyes blue and full of love - and my cum splashed around his lips.

"Thank you," he murmured, pausing to lick my cum off his lips, "Thank you for being here with me and sharing my bed with you."

I sat up and pulled his shirt off him.

"Come here, Russian bear. Take your glasses off and let me hold you."

We snuggled together under the blankets, kissing and cuddling.

Outside the snow stopped, but we didn't notice.

<<< Viktor's story - part 1 <<< |

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Leo's story - part 1

Some years ago I arrived in town and found work packing containers in a factory. Boring but it paid the bills. My workmates were a great bunch of guys to work with. Some days it felt like I was working in the city pound - I've never seen such a mish-mash of people working together in the one place. Guys with advanced degrees worked alongside guys who couldn't read and write; sad and lonely guys rubbed shoulders with madly happy guys. Guys who couldn't think straight after the drink peered blearily at the guys twitching from drugs. Guys short, tall, fat, thin, and all sizes in between. Some beautiful souls who were as ugly as a broken doll on the outside, and some who kept their ugly inside. War veterans, divorce veterans, change veterans - human flotsam and jetsam - every one had a story, and despite our differences, there was a genuine camaraderie amongst us all - we were all hanging out for pay day.

I worked in a team with one of the older guys, Leo, a natural leader if ever there was one. A man very much in control of himself. After a few months he invited me to go fishing with him. I jumped at the chance. A day out on the water, and, well, I might as well say it, Father, I was attracted to him. He kept his hair short and he was a bit pudgy, and a bit jowly, and like I say, I liked him a lot. 

I didn't have any fishing gear, but Leo chuckled and assured me he had tackle to spare. 

"Ha! Sure, but have you got what it takes to catch fish?"

"Don't you worry about that, son, your job is to get us plenty of cold beers, and some good fishing food. Oh, and can you grab some drinking water, and bags of ice, and then we're into it."

I offered him a couple of twenties to help pay for the gas, but he wouldn't hear of it. Generous. The weather report was good, I got my licence, and more than anything, I was looking forward to spending the day with him - just enjoying his company.

Leo had coolers ready when I turned up at his house early in the morning. As I expected, everything was spit-spot. The boat sat looking like a gleaming white swan behind the truck. I helped load the supplies, and we were on the way. 

I couldn't help sneaking a glance or two - staring whenever I could - at Leo's crotch. The outlines of his cock and balls were highlighted in the sunrise glow. I shaded my eyes with my hand and looked closer at Leo as he drove. His skin had bumps and textures - he hadn't shaved in 24 hours, and the white bristles glinted in the light as he talked. I can't remember what we talked about, but we laughed, and I just couldn't take my eyes off him. 

Leo effortlessly backed the boat down the slipway, and the boat all but launched itself. With the truck locked up we sat in the boat, drifting for a few moments before Leo started the engine and we puttered away from the shore. Once in the clear, Leo gunned the engine and we roared down the channel and out on to the bay.

Between the engine vibration and bouncing over the waves, Leo's baggy fishing shorts slipped down a little over his hips. He'd hitch them up, squeezing his cock to the fore, but, within a couple of minutes he'd have to do it again. He never seemed to notice the automatic routine, but believe me Father, those shorts were determined to give me a little flutter every time he hoisted them up. I noticed he wasn't wearing underwear.

I swallowed dryly.

"You ok, son?", Leo shouted over the engine roar.

I bent closer to hear him.

I knew what he'd said, I just wanted an excuse to be nearer. I could smell him - deodorant, sweat, the smell of man, heady with the fresh salt air.

"You ok?"

I nodded. Smiled. I imagined what it would be like licking him in the sensitive cup where his neck and shoulders joined. Nuzzling. Biting. Tasting. Feeling him, his sweetness, between my lips. I shut my eyes and swallowed again.

"Take a swig of water if you're feeling sick - we'll be there soon."

I offered him a water bottle, and took a sip from mine. I stared out at the horizon - there was no way I could say what was on my mind. I smiled at Leo. "I'm fine." I offered him a cinnamon mint. He flicked his eyebrows up and grinned back. "Not long now."

Leo cut the engine back and checked the fish finder screen.

"I normally fool around off this reef," Leo pointed out the contours at the bottom of the screen, "something always comes up. These marks mean fish - let's go!"

Leo pulled rods and reels out from under the seats, and in minutes our hooks were baited and on their way - hopefully - into shoals of eager fish.

The fish were not eager at all. Apart from a few nibbles, they seemed to have no interest in our bait. Despite the lack of fish, Leo and I were having a great time. We broke out the beer, and ate some of the salami, olives, cheese and crackers I'd brought. Leo approved of the antipasti brunch. The weather was good, the sun was heating up, good food, good drinks, good company - so where are all the fish?

Leo was well into his third beer when he pulled his shirt off, and rubbed his head and mopped his brow with his cap. He squinted up to the sun. "The problem is, we're not fishing with enough intention."

"Intention?"

"Sure," he said, "somehow the fish know if you're fishing intentionally. That's when they let you catch them."

"Ok, so how do we fish more intentionally?"

Leo hitched up his shorts and said, "Whoever lands the first take-home fish gets a blow job."

Bang! Just like that. So matter of fact. To say I was startled was an understatement. I looked Leo in the eye. 

"You heard me, that's the deal." He held his clenched fist out to me and I touched my knuckles to his - our sacred workplace seal of agreement.

I'd hardly had a moment to think about this new situation when my reel began to chatter, and then to squeal. My heart was pounding as I fought to grab the rod and get the fish under some sort of control.

The fish fought and struggled to escape, but I managed to bring it up to where we got the first flash of silver, and then the reel squealed and the fish was away fighting again. "I bet that's a sea trout", Leo said excitedly, "bring him in close..." He had the landing net ready.

I eased the fish back towards the boat, and Leo leaned over to land the trout. "Looks like a keeper alright." Leo grunted as he reached out. The fish saw the net and with a sudden lurch and a flick was off the hook and gone. 

I staggered back a step with the strain suddenly gone from the line. "Shit! Nearly had him!"

Leo made a sympathetic clucking noise, put the net aside and hitched up his shorts. Suddenly I realised it wasn't just the fish that I lost. I re-baited the hook with some fresh crab and dropped the line in. "Now I'm very intentional."

Leo was still laughing at me when his reel started to squeal and he was suddenly very serious. Whatever was on the line was doing its best to get free. Leo was like a machine - the rod worked the line, and he quickly began to put line back on the reel. "Get the net, son, we're taking this baby home."

The fish drew up near the boat, gave a few weak flicks, and I had it in the net. Once I'd pulled it on-board it flapped around until Leo gave it a quick measure and then dispatched it with an elegant iki jimi. "Drum, 18 inches, that's a keeper." Leo popped out the hook and dropped the fish into a cooler and pushed ice over it.

Suddenly something had taken my line and I lost track of what Leo was up to. We spent the next 30 minutes or so pulling fish, helping each other land them, releasing the ones that were too small or too large, and having a great time. 

"I've had enough," Leo said, straightening up from packing ice around the last fish. "I'm hot, and dry, and I need a piss more than anything else." He stepped up on the side of the boat, and, while holding on with one hand, pulled his shorts down under his balls and let flow. I followed his lead, and shouted from the other side of the boat, "Sorry, but I have to keep the ship on an even keel." 

The boat lurched and I heard a splash - I looked around and saw Leo swimming toward the stern of the boat. He climbed the ladder over the transom and shook the water off. "Time for a beer."

We sat on the deck, stretched out our legs, and leaned back against the hull. The sun was well overhead, we'd had some great fishing, the beer was cold, and life was good. I coughed awkwardly, and said, "I think I owe you something."

Leo looked at me sideways, raising an eyebrow.

"You landed the first keeper fish."

He blushed and looked down. "I was just kidding", he said quietly, "to call the fish - you heard ..."

"No," I said, "a deal's a deal." I reached over and stuck my fingers over and under the waistband. I paused, feeling the warmth of his belly against my knuckles. Leo didn't look up. I pulled his shorts down slowly, revealing his hairy groin, and the base of his cock.

I paused again, watching his breathing deepening. I could see his cock was getting hard. I began to pull his shorts down further, deliberately stroking the fabric over his cock head. Leo swallowed and shut his eyes; but lifted slightly so I could ease the fabric under his butt cheeks. I teased my fingers across the hairs on his lower belly - tickling, taunting, teasing near his cock, and then away. He shivered a little, and pushed his cock hard out, stretching the fabric. I wanted to bite his neck, he was so beautifully vulnerable. "Do you want me to stop?" I whispered in his ear.

"No," he rasped a little, "no, please..." He breathed in deeply, his eyes firmly closed. 

"Then put your hands away." Used to controlling himself, Leo put his hands behind his back.

I put a squab on the deck, and knelt between his knees. I lightly touched his cock with my right hand, and gently circled a nipple with my left finger tips. Leo's cock twitched at my touch, and his nipple stiffened. I tweaked it, gently pulling, popping it, stoking and caressing. I leaned forward and licked his left nipple, tasting the salt water. I moved back down his legs, and putting my hand on each side of his thighs, I pulled his shorts down further to reveal the base half of his hard cock, leaving the head outlined, straining against the fabric. 

I slipped my fingers down each side of his cock and slowly caressed the soft skin. He shivered again as I blew on the hair at the root of his cock. When I stroked from his firm nipples softly down through his chest hair toward his cock and then away at the last moment Leo squirmed in slow delightful agony and squeezed his legs against me. No, no, my friend, no pressing relief...

I pulled the right leg of his damp shorts open and slowly pushed my left hand up his leg, before forming a fist that I pushed in gently but firmly under Leo's balls. At my touch his eyes popped open in surprise. He was about to say something but I put my finger to his lips and hissed, "Shhhhh..." I began to slowly massage his prostate area with my knuckles, twisting, feeling his balls stroke across the back of my hand. Leo breathed out slowly and relaxed his eyes. I began to lightly stroke circles on his cock head with the flat of my palm, stroking lighter when he strained against the fabric, wanting more, towards me.

We built a slow rhythm - Leo straining slow thrusting squirming against my knuckles, his cock begging for the touch of skin on skin. "Shall I take your shorts?" Leo opened his mouth to speak, hesitated when I stopped mid circle, and then gently nodded. I completed the circle. And slowly, another; before slowly sliding his shorts free of his cock. It twitched in the sunlight and a droplet of dew formed on the cock tip before stringing slowly downward.

I stood, and slipped Leo's shorts off and tossed them into one of the compartments. I stripped down to my boxers, my own cock desperately craving attention. There'd be time for that later. I wanted give Leo my full attention. I opened the tin of mints and left it on the deck - from now on, whenever Leo smelled cinnamon I wanted it to remind him of today. I knelt down again between his knees. Feeling my bared skin Leo murmured a little and rubbed against me. I leaned over and stroked his bristly face, and then, holding his jaw I bent and kissed him a light brushing kiss on the lips. He jumped with surprise and leaned up to to me, silently urging for more. I held his jaw, and kissed him, and tweaked his nipple, caressing and stroking his breast, and as he arched toward me for more, I kissed him hard and pinched his nipple mercilessly. 

Leo squirmed like a fish on a hook, wanting more, in control, out of control, his legs squeezing against mine, his hands and arms wanting to be free, his inner orders them holding back. I saw a tear squeeze out of his left eye and spill like a jewel on the deck as he writhed. I kissed his nipple and licked it, as his breath gasps pushed his chest against me. He sniffed, and took a deep breath, held it, and sighed it out, quivering.

Father, your hear stories where people say their bodies explode, but of course, they really don't. Leo's cock, though, was as hard as if there was a bone in it. I'd never seen a cock so hard, much less have one in my hands. Clear strings of pre-cum seeped fresh from each throbbing twitch; it would take very little for Leo to go over the edge. And when that time came, I wanted him to remember it for a very long time.

I stroked my hands over his thighs - tickling with the lightest, deftest touch - before laying down to get close to his cock. Leo's balls were tight as I began to pluck at them - slowly and gently - stretching the skin, rolling it between my fingertips and thumb. Leo again began to move to a slow rhythm as his body engaged and enslaved itself to my touch.

I encircled the base of his cock with my index finger and thumb, and nestled his balls with my palm and other fingers. The skin on his cock shaft was stretched and shiny. I squeezed his balls gently and licked them, ensuring the underside of his cock stroked over my cheek. I felt it grazing the stubble as his pre-cum continued to ooze. I began kneading my fist in under his balls, making sure to press his balls between my palm above and fist below. His cock throbbed against my finger and thumb. I squeezed my grip tighter and licked up his shaft, stopping short of his cock head. Every time I got close I could feel Leo tense up, every time I stopped he would moan quietly, twitching his cock like the tail of an angry cat.

I paused, squeezing his cock in rhythm with the knuckle kneading. I leaned over and nipped the top of his thighs, making him suck in air at the tiny bursts of pain, each quickly forgotten as I moved to a new spot, and then another. 

I slowed down the kneading, and took away my hand. I held Leo firmly by his cock and balls. I could've led him anywhere.  With my free hand I grabbed out four of the cinnamon mints. Within seconds in my mouth was full of saliva, and I began slowly circumnavigating Leo's cock head with my tongue. He groaned and attempted to thrust his cock up to meet my touch. I held him back, stretching the skin ever tighter. Slowly, delicately, I wrote letters in saliva ink on his cock head, sometimes stroking down into and across the groove of his piss hole.

Suddenly I felt Leo lose control, and his cock began to throb. I squeezed his cock very tight, and stopped licking. "No you don't," I whispered, "not yet." From deep inside him, Leo made a little sound like a puppy whimper. He clenched his teeth and slowly swung his head from side to side, regaining  control.

My mouth, full of saliva, was burning from the mints. Leo's throbbing had slowed, and to further distract him I began rolling his balls between my palms. I gently tugged the skin, and using my thumb on the top and a couple of fingers underneath held his balls apart. I moved his cock in slow circles, and firmly pushed the tips of the fingers that separated his balls into the base of his cock. Leo's cock twitched as I began circling and then writing on his cock head. 

Leo was doing his best to hold back, to be in control, fearful that I'd stop again. His feet were writhing, and he was breathing in gasps. I heard him catch his breath and I knew this time there'd be no turning back. I licked the flat of his cock head and took as much of his cock in my mouth as I could, swirling the burning cinnamon saliva over his stretched and sensitive cock head. I tightened my grip on his ball sack, and pulled down as hard as I could. Leo tried to gasp but was cut short with the shock of the burn, and the stretching of his balls. He tried pull his cock away, to escape the burn; and then abandoned himself as he poured cum into my mouth. It was all I could do to hold on to him, I've never seen anyone cum so hard, so profusely. 

After the rush was over, I held him as he released aftershock spasms, reluctant to let him go. I slackened off my grip on his balls, and released my finger and thumb from around his cock. It was softening, but still pulsing slightly. I got up and straddled Leo, kneeling with a leg outside his thighs. I leaned over to his now peaceful face, and again took his jaw in my hand and kissed him. I fed his cinnamon flavoured cum back to him while I caressed his nipple. 

I gently pushed his chin up, and Leo slowly opened his eyes. Men have a special look deep in their eyes when they've just returned from the rush...

"How was that, Dad?"

Leo stared at me for a moment, before his eyes brimmed and tears overflowed down his cheeks. He covered his face with his hands and sobbed quietly. I got up off him and pulled a bottle of water out of the cooler. I sat beside him, put my arm around his shoulder, and cuddled him into my chest. When his weeping subsided I offered some water and waited for him to speak.

He pressed his finger tips to his eyes, blinked, and sniffed. "I'm sorry," he said. He took a sip of the water and cleared his throat.

"Leo, I'm sorry too, I didn't mean to upset you."

"You didn't. It's just no-one has ever done that before."

"Oh, you've never had a blow-job before? I didn't mean to upset you."

"No, not that. Well, yes, that too, I've never had a blow-job before ... at least not like that. What suddenly struck me is that I'm an old man and no-one has ever called me 'Dad' before." His eyes started to brim again. 

I hugged him to me tightly. "I'm sorry, it's just you've been calling me 'Son' all day, and I was just - you know..."

"No, it's ok. It's great, in fact, it feels really good. It was just like a stab right to the core, it really took me by surprise. I guess I've always wanted it and never got it. Until now." He smiled.

"Well, yes, a good blow-job is hard to find." 

Leo laughed. "Are you ok with me calling you 'Son'?"

"Are you sure you're ok with me calling you 'Dad'?"

Leo looked down, shyly, "That would be very nice." 

>>> Leo's story - part 2 >>>

 

curation: bigtodd53.tumblr.com