The two men in the garage of the split level home in Colonie, a suburb of the capital of New York State, could not have been more different in most ways, and it wasn't the wide disparity in ages that set them apart.
The young man, Mark Willett, was a twenty year old college sophomore who played on the school's lacrosse team, and was a muscular lad who packed close to 200 pounds on his six foot frame. His hair was thick, jet black and long enough to wear in a ponytail.
The older man, Alan Murray was closer to seventy than 60, and while he too had been an athlete in his youth those days were long gone. Alan Murray's hair was now a thinning silver grey, and while his physique had once been impressive as well, with the passing of years it had been reduced to a pale frailness and while he was still trim he now looked the part of the typical little old man perfectly.
Mr. Murray, as Mark always called him, had begun to ask the young man to come over to do various odd jobs on the pretense that the student could use money for college, but if the truth would be known he longed for the company more than anything.
Mark, on the other hand, said he was glad to do the tasks without compensation, having grown quite fond of the aging widower over the years but the retired man insisted he take the money because he had plenty. More money than tasks to do, and recently the old man had taken to inventing things that needed to be done just to have the lad over.
And when you come over looking like this, the old-timer mused as he held the step ladder and his young helper's hip while Mark reached high to arrange things in the space above the garage false ceiling, I feel more and more like the perverted old coot praying on young people. 20 after all was still very young to him.
Wearing a tank top and rather skimpy shorts because of the warm weather, the bronzed and muscular lad's attire left little to the imagination and that was saying something considering that one of the things that still worked well for Alan Murray was his imagination.
The shorts, for example, left little to guess at because not only did they reveal much of Mark's muscular thighs, they were snug enough to show a very healthy bulge in front. The old man had noticed the bulge before but it seemed more prominent today than ever, threatening to snake out of the shorts as it wound down the inside of his thigh.
Mark's a big boy, Alan thought as he fantasized about reaching into the leg of the shorts and pulling what he suspected to be a whopper, not only seeming to be quite long but rather thick as well. Alan had savored a couple of lads since his wife's passing had left him single again, but while they were nice boys neither was particularly well hung which was always Alan's preference.
Not only was the Mark muscular and seemingly well-hung, he was also a hairy fellow. Not only were his sinewy legs furry, where the down on his robust thighs became much thicker on his calves, but it looked like young Mark was getting a healthy growth of hair on his chest from what the tank-top revealed.
Bushy armpits too, Alan Murray noticed as his hand squeezed Mark's hip lightly while he leaned closer to inhale the lad's manly aroma. As the old man watched a tiny drop of sweat trickled down from the black jungle he was tempted to lean even closer and catch the drop with his tongue to see if it tasted as sweet as the boy looked.
The elderly man hated himself at times like this, thinking these thoughts about a kid who he had watched grow up. The image of little Mark pedaling his bike or delivering papers being replaced by him staring at the bulge in the lad's shorts was not very wholesome but he couldn't help himself.
After all, Alan reasoned as the bulge got even closer to the hem of the shorts, he's not a kid and if that "friend" of Mark's that used to stop over was any indication, Mark was not adverse to attention from the same sex. The elderly man had, during his frequent looking across the street, caught a few subtle pats and other gestures between the two which led him to believe that maybe young Mark was at the very least open-minded.
The man visiting Mark hadn't been a withering senior citizen but was a gentleman at least twice Mark's own age, and while Mark was exceptionally friendly and kind to Alan, there was nothing to indicate he would take kindly to the advances of an old man like him even if Mark had said more than once that Mr. Murray reminded him of his grandfather.
So Alan Murray stood there, his heart pounding while looking up at the neighbor and fighting a losing battle in attempting to avoid looking at the ever growing bulge in those shorts, knowing that the minute the lad left he would take care of his lust in the way he had become used to doing.
***
On the ladder, Mark Willett was having trouble multitasking, and it wasn't because the job was difficult but because of the distractions that went along with the task.
Not only was the hand on his hip having an effect, but the way that the grandfatherly old fellow was looking at his crotch was making the bulge get more and more noticeable with each passing minute.
Mark had sensed the old fellow's interest in him in the past, but he thought that it might have been mostly his imagination because he had known the man for years and he had never so much as made an off-putting comment, let alone staring at the crotch, but there was no mistaking where his eyes went.
That was why Mark wore the shorts over there, because he had outgrown them and were not something he would even where anywhere in public, except perhaps for Provincetown. Mark thought that combined with the skimpy shorts, his not wearing underwear would confirm his suspicions. Either that or he would get a rebuke from the senior for dressing so inappropriately.
No criticisms were made however and judging by the way Mr. Murray was looking at him none were forthcoming either. Was there something stirring in those baggy trousers of his even at his advanced age, Mark wondered as he paused to wipe the sweat from his brow while contemplating his next move.
For years Mark had primarily been attracted to older gentleman, but none had been quite as old as Mr. Murray although his grandfather had been close. Was it the fact that Mr. Murray resembled his late grandfather that attracted him to the senior? Even now that he was long gone Mark still worshiped the memory of his Grandpa who had taught him so much and now he was beginning to realize that he would have to make the first move.
"You okay up there Markie?" Mr. Murray said, inadvertently calling the lad by the same moniker his late grandfather had.
"Yeah Mr. Murray," Mark replied as he looked down and contorted his shoulders a second before reaching back up. "This kinda gets to your shoulders after a while though."
"Plus it's so stifling in here," Alan added as he watched the sweat rolled down into the armholes of Mark's tank-top, but then his eyes went down and he saw it.
The boy's movement had somehow inched the shorts up a bit. Either that or his penis was getting longer because the very tip of his organ was peeking out. Not very much but enough for the old man to see the beige tip and to determine that Mark was either circumcised or the foreskin had peeled back a bit. Either way, there was no denying that the lad was well endowed.
"Uh - you can take a break if you would like," Alan mumbled as he started to sweat more than his worker, his gaze focused on the opening on the tip of the glans of the lad's monster.
"No - as a matter of fact I'm almost done - just have to get this last slat moved over."
More straining and contorting followed, and Alan was afraid that either he was going to pass out or become unable to control himself and find himself reaching over and grabbing that fat plum.
"You know, that offer still stands," Alan reminded him, referring to the suggestion he had made the last time the boy was there, something of a tip for his hard work. "I'd be happy to give you a rubdown."
"You know, I think I'll take you up on that," Mark replied as he looked down at saw the shock on the old fellow's face because while the offer had been made Mark had declined because he was nervous about all the ramifications involved.
"Really?" Mr. Murray responded.
"Sure, you were a trainer for State for how many years?" Mark asked.
"37," Alan answered, wistfully recalling his volunteer work for the school, a job that was clearly a labor of love because he got to work on so many fit young men, although he had always kept it professional despite the temptations.
