My wife and I had been married barely two years when we realized we were not nearly as well suited for each other as we had thought.
It wasn't that we fought a lot, or even strongly disagreed about anything important, but we never seemed to find much to talk about. Our sexual connection was still good, if not great, but outside the bedroom the silences between us got longer and longer. One night we looked at each other and said, almost in unison, "This isn't working, is it?"
Since we had no kids, few assets and no real bitterness against each other, the split was quick and almost painless.
I dated now and then, but not very enthusiastically. Having made one serious mistake already where women were concerned, I was cautious about making a second. Maybe I was too cautious, but I told myself that at 31, with decent looks and a promising career in finance, I could afford to be choosy.
Not long after the divorce my dad's sister died and, to my surprise, left me a fair amount of money. I reinvested most of it, but kept enough back to realize a lifelong dream of buying a cabin in the mountains.
It wasn't a big place, and it needed serious updating, but it was solidly built and it had a big stone fireplace I loved. There was a bit of land around it, thickly forested with spruce and pine, and the stream running through it brimmed with trout. Best of all, I had no close neighbors, aside from whoever lived in the place about half a mile upstream from mine.
From the moment I signed the purchase papers I spent almost all my free weekends at the cabin -- so much that my friends joked about my turning into a hermit.
I had bought the place in late winter, so while waiting for spring I did repair and remodeling work inside. Once it got warm enough to work outdoors, I cleared brush around the cabin and improved the path that led down the creek.
On Saturday nights I would get cleaned up and go into town for a burger and a beer at the local bar and grill. I got to know a few of the regulars, including a waitress who took me home a couple of times for an NSA fuck, but I didn't go out of my way to develop real attachments.
Simply put, I liked being by myself. I didn't even miss regular sex as much as I thought I would. If I masturbated even more than usual, so be it.
Speaking of which: Once it got really warm, my favorite thing to do was to lie naked in a lounge chair on my deck and edge myself for long periods, sometimes as much as an hour.
As I got more adventurous, I took to skinny-dipping in a deep pool upstream from the cabin, where my property bordered national forest land.
The water was bitingly cold -- so cold that made my dick shrivel and my balls cling tight to my body - but it was refreshing as well. After swimming I would lie on a big flat rock to let the sun warm me up again.
After lunch one unusually hot Saturday afternoon, I decided to eat one of the gummies I'd brought up from the city. Normally I stick close to the cabin when I get high, but as the dope did its thing I got the urge to go for a swim and bask in the sun. Throwing my towel over my shoulder, I headed down the path to the water.
When I got to the pool I stripped and dove in. After a few minutes I got out and lay on the rock.
Maybe the pot had something to do with it, but once I got warmed up -- and my shrunken dick had returned to normal size -- I felt an erection coming on. After looking around to make sure I was alone, I lay back, closed my eyes and began languidly stroking myself.
I was just getting into the serious rhythm when I heard a noise.
My eyes flew open. On the other side of the pool stood a guy in shorts and no shirt, holding a fishing rod. A slight smile played around his lips.
As I fumbled for my towel he said, "Sorry to interrupt. Don't let me stop you."
Then, after a beat, he added, "In fact, I could probably use a wank myself. Do you mind if I join you?"
