He slowly moved his hand along the full length of his swollen seven inch sword as he turned the pages of the magazine he was reading. He paused, put his finger to his lips and moistened the head of his organ, and continued to stroke. I pushed the door open slowly and entered the dimly lit hotel room. He brazenly continued to stroke his oozing member as he patted the pillow beside him. As I slid the terry cloth robe off of my shoulders to expose my rock hard member I thought back.
My wife and I had moved to the small town nestled along the river bank. Quiet, peaceful, caught in a time warp of old values. We purchased an old three story house, built at the turn of the century, just a couple of blocks from Jeff and Joan. My wife had known Jeff and Joan from high school, so we stopped to say hello. Soon we were fast friends, going to church together, games with their teenaged boys. We spent most of our free time together. Jeff and I worked on the same floor of the General Office building, and occasionally spend lunch together. After work, we would sometimes go to the gym and play volley ball or basketball. Nothing like a good game of one on one, to get the sweat boiling, the blood racing. The hands on contact of blocking out, pushing sweaty body, against sweaty body, trying to impede his path to the basket. Some times his hands seem to caress my buttock, instead of push me, steer me away from the basket. That was the game though.
Jeff and I were about the same build, but Jeff was handsome, lean, and his golden locks made him nice to look at but he sometimes acted so effeminate, it made you wonder if he preferred boys to ladies. Jeff and Joan had been married for 12 years and had four boys of varying ages. Jeff constantly reminded me that all his wife liked to do was run the house like a drill sergeant, and make love all night long as they watched adult movies.
We would sometimes escape the endless banter our wives seemed to enjoy in Jeff's basement workshop. It was in a quiet corner of the basement next to the boys room. Small and cramped, really built for one. We would spend hours talking, while Jeff worked on a project, or showed me his latest accomplishments. Often moving around the shop he would brush against me as he slid by to get a hammer or screwdriver. Occasionally I swear his hand would accidentally slide across my ass, or he would rub his crotch across me as he squeezed by. It excited me, confused me. Yet I continued to play in his workshop.
One day while Jeff was upstairs answering the sarges call, I opened a drawer and found tucked in the back a men's magazine. Fifteen pages of not young, bare breasts and pussy but shiny, glossy pictures of young men. Men with there cocks being sucked, licked, and stroked. My heart raced, as I turned the pages. My cock leaped to life. I hurriedly replaced the books as I heard Jeff coming down the stairs. When he squeezed by and his hand lingered on my ass. I unconsciously pressed back to enjoy the contact a fraction longer. He smiled knowingly and went back to his project.
