As I looked across the small sauna room at my new friend Grant, I was amused by the fact that I had moved into this senior citizen apartment complex only about 3 weeks ago and already I knew more about the gregarious silver haired fellow than I knew about people I have known all my life.
Since the outgoing gent had pretty much adopted me after he saw me move in a few apartments down from him last month - taking me under his wing so to speak - not only helping me settle in but cluing me in on the place and the people who lived there.
"Since you're the new kid on the block," was how he explained the reasoning behind his interest in me, "some of these gold diggers will try and sink their teeth into you."
Chuckling at being called a kid at my advanced age I had assured Grant that like most of the people in the modest complex, most of my gold was in my teeth so any vultures would find the pickings slim, but the sage shook his head and gave me some advice he considered crucial.
"Fuck them and forget them," Grant said. "Besides, some of these biddies haven't got both oars in the water so they probably forget soon enough anyway."
Grant Collier, as he told it, was a widower like me and was 67 chronologically but much younger both mentally and physically, and as he told it in the 4 years he had lived here at Garfield Manor there were 11 fellow residents who could attest that while there was indeed snow on the roof there was still a fire burning down below, if I knew what he meant.
I got it alright, and although many of his double-entendres were corny, I enjoyed his company and learned that perhaps he wasn't just an old timer who shot his mouth off when a woman who he had claimed was one of his conquests came up to Grant while we were shooting the breeze on a bench outside.
"Oh, who's your friend Grant? Is he new here?"
"Yes Ellen, this here is Tim," Grant said in introducing us. "Don't you try roping him into those Bingo games either because he isn't interested."
"Oh hush Grant," the sturdily built woman said as she extended her hand. "Nice to meet you Tim, and if you ever are so inclined we play on Wednesday afternoons in the rec room."
After I assured her I would consider it Ellen left, but not before reminding Grant that he promised he would help her hang a picture for her some day.
"You know what she wants, don't you Tim?" Grant said, and after he nodded down to his crotch he guffawed and slapped me on the shoulder.
"Guess I will go up and pay her a visit soon," Grant said. "If you saw those jugs you would think they belonged on a woman half her age, and to be honest out of the half dozen women I've had here, she's probably the best."
"Half dozen?" I asked as I watched Ellen's butt go behind the hedge and out of sight, figuring that I had caught Grant in a slip-up regarding his sexual resume. "I though you said there were 11 of your conquests here?"
"6 women," Grant said with a wink, and after he seemed to enjoy what was probably a shocked reaction he added. "I'm an open-minded guy, and something tells me that you know what I'm talking about there. Am I right?"
"I - uh," was about all I managed to get out before Grant let me off the hook, and that was a good thing because I didn't know that my past was showing on me, not after being a loyal husband for thirty years after living what Grant would have considered an open minded single life myself.
Was he just teasing or was he testing the waters, wondering if when I had told him my life story I had left out a few things? Were the occasional ribald conversations just talk? Were the frequent pats on the back and other physical contact he had made with me just innocent fun or was there something behind it.
That was last week, and now I was sitting on the narrow bench in the sauna looking across at Grant who was clad as I was, with only a towel tied around our waists after working out in the community center gym in our building.
I had felt Grant's eyes on me all afternoon and had heard his compliments about me being in such great condition and sucked them all in, being proud that while I wasn't as muscular as I had once been, my 5'9" frame still packed the same 140 pounds it usually had in recent years.
Grant was certainly in good shape for a 67 year old man. His 5'11 frame was rail thin and he was pretty agile as well, and as he looked over at me in the shower he proved that modesty was not part of his personality either.
"Nobody ever comes in here anyway," Grant said as he pulled the towel off and set it beside him, managing to raise the already warm surroundings even hotter and giving me another reason to sweat.
It was all very obvious now as Grant sat calmly with his ass perched on the narrow wooden ledge and his pale slender legs spread apart. Grant Collier was not modest and had no reason to be. He was practically begging me to look at him, and if I had turned my head or simply said I had to leave, that would have been the end of it, but I couldn't.
He wanted me to look. He wanted to know whether the new kid on the block was like him, an open minded man, and because I didn't look away and didn't run Grant got his answer.
Back in my teens Grant was the type of man I had been drawn to, and they in turn had been attracted to me. Grant was the dominant and physically superior man who I had usually sought out, and although I was now more than 40 years older than I had been I guessed I still had the look some men wanted.
Grant even closed his eyes after noticing that I was looking at him to make it easier for me, and while I found the cloud of silver hair on his chest compelling, my eyes were drawn down to what was swinging lazily between his thighs like a metronome winding down. While it had been decades since I looked at a man like this the tingle in my spine told me that some things didn't change.
I had seen men as well endowed as Grant over the years, but not many. Pointing straight down in front of a pair of balls that seemed to want to reach the floor, his penis emerged from the grey bush above it and hung down like a spear, the exceptionally long phallus uncut. His organ was also seemingly unfazed by the attention it was getting from me.
Not a pretty organ by any stretch of the imagination, and not overly thick except at the base, but the length - easily more than 6" completely flaccid - was breathtaking. The tapestry of veins that riddled the beige shaft faded as they neared the end, and then came the outline of the glans against the foreskin, a foreskin that seemed incredibly long as it puckered up at the end.
I don't know how long I stared at Grant's cock. I think it was both not long enough or too long, because while in a perfect world I could have just sat there and stared, the sight had an effect on me that made me glad I had a towel covering my excitement, for the moment.
"You know Tim," Grant said, his voice breaking me out of the trance I was in, and after my head jerked up to meet his eyes he continued. "There's really no need for that towel."
"I couldn't," I croaked, and as Grant's kind but piercing glare began to wilt me I tried to protest some more but only managed, "I can't..."
"It's okay," was Grant's reply. "You can."
