One Hot Day in July

K. Nitsua. Copyright 2008 by the author.

Author's note: As with "A Lot in Common Underneath," this story is based on an anonymous reminiscence I found posted to the Net. Again my thanks to the original author.

This is a true story that happened many years ago.

It was an extremely hot July day in Texas, and I was off work. My other half didn't have the same privilege, so I had the house all to myself. I puttered around and ran some errands. After lunch I decided to take an early afternoon walk. Now, a lot of people wouldn't dream of going out in the middle of a Texas summer with the temperature in the mid-90s, but I've always loved hot weather. Of course, I dressed lightly - a plain white T-shirt, black walking shorts, white athletic socks, and white sneakers, dark baseball cap and sunglasses. Oh and underneath, a Bike jockstrap, to keep my butt cool and hold my goods in place. I hadn't started wearing jocks every day then, even though I was already into them--had been ever since high school gym class.

Instead of heading out my own front door, though, I decided to walk in a neighborhood about five miles from my own home. I'd always liked walking in different parts of the city, especially subdivisions you never usually saw on foot. I was already somewhat familiar with this one, because some good friends of ours lived there.

My partner Bob and I are pretty successful guys and, like many gay couples, patrons of the arts. We'd given enough money to the local symphony that we were on their patrons list and got invited to a lot of their functions.

At one of these, a pre-concert reception in a posh reserved lounge in the concert hall, we'd struck up a conversation with a big, friendly, bearded gentleman, and really hit it off. I was thinking we'd like to invite him to one of our all-male pool parties when he raised his hand and waved to someone behind us. We noticed the gold ring on his finger at the same moment he said, "Dear, I'd like you to meet Bob and Bill." A minute later we'd found ourselves shaking hands with an impeccably dressed, perfectly coiffed woman. "This is my wife Deanna."

So our new friend Hank Bendix was a married man. Bob and I swallowed our disappointment and made small talk. As it turned out Deanna was as charming as her husband and we ended up hanging out together for the rest of the evening. Hank and Bob had a lot in common, as they had both made their money in technology. Deanna and I found out we liked the same composers, and disliked the symphony conductor, whom we thought was cold and standoffish. There's nothing I like better than a music lover who'll dish, and by the end of the evening, our inhibitions loosened by some good wine, Deanna and I were laughing so uproariously that Hank made some joke about my stealing his wife. Little did he know that Bob and I would rather have stolen him!

After that we not only continued to see each other at symphony functions, but went out to dinner and the theater a few times, always having a great time. Hank and Deanna never gave one hint that they cared that we were two men together, which is not an attitude you can always count on among people in certain social circles. Looking back now I can see that what happened on that hot July day shouldn't have been a total surprise.

I wasn't planning on seeing them that day, of course. I simply parked the car somewhere near where Hank and Deanna lived, got out and started walking, carrying a water bottle I'd brought along to avoid dehydration. I'd put on plenty of sunscreen so I was protected in that department.

About an hour later I had made my way back to where I had parked, drenched in sweat, walking quite a bit slower than when I'd started out. My T-shirt had become practically transparent with perspiration, half-revealing my furry chest beneath. As I neared my car, I noticed the sound of a lawn mower some distance down the block. Now who the hell would be mowing the grass in the middle of a hot day like this?

I followed the sound of the mower and, much to my surprise, it seemed to be coming from the back yard of Hank and Deanna's house. Out of sheer curiosity, I made my way around behind their home and there was Hank, pushing a lawnmower. He was bare-chested, dressed in khaki shorts and sturdy work boots.

Since we had never socialized with Hank and Deanna except at indoor events, I had never up to that point seen him without a shirt on. It was a very pleasant sight. Hank, as I said before, was a big broad-shouldered man, and I saw now that his chest was thickly coated with dark hair. His stomach stuck out a little bit but there was no way you could call him fat. In fact he was in really good shape. Not for the first time since we'd met them I found myself idly wondering what if things were different--if I was single, or Hank was gay, or...

By this time Hank had noticed me standing watching him. With a look of surprise he shut off his mower and came over toward me, his hand outstretched to shake mine. "Bill," he boomed out, "it's great to see you! You off work today?"

"Yeah," I said, as I shook his hand. I couldn't help saying, "Don't you use a lawn service?" I knew Hank was home because he didn't have to work full time any more. The Bendixes were definitely one notch above us in the income department. Why was he doing his own mowing?

He scratched his head and grinned. "I know it's crazy, but I kind of like doing it myself. So what brings you to our neck of the woods?"

I explained to him about liking to walk on really hot days. Hank shook his head. "I guess we're two of a kind--a bit tetched." He led me over to a pair of nearby lawn chairs sitting on a shaded deck that projected from the back of the house. He motioned for me to have a seat. "Can I get you anything to drink?"

"Well, now that you mention it," I responded, "I am pretty thirsty."

"How about some iced tea?"

"Sounds good."

Hank smiled broadly. "I could use some myself - be right back!" He spun around and headed for his back door. It was then that I noticed a strip of elastic material peeking out above the back of the khakis he was wearing. I knew what it was at once--the waistband of a jockstrap.

Suddenly I started sweating again, even though we were in the shade and I was sitting still. I told myself this was crazy--Hank was married and off limits. I was married. Still, he was my friend, he was big and built, and he was wearing a jockstrap. My breath was coming fast and my heart was pounding. I felt excited and guilty all at the same time. Half of me wanted to get up and leave right now, although I knew that would be rude. The other half wanted to see what would happen--to somehow let him know that I was wearing one too.

Hardly more than a minute passed before Hank reappeared carrying two large glasses of iced tea, one of which he handed to me as he took the other lawn chair.

"So Deanna's out shopping?" I guessed.

"She's up at our ranch," Hank replied. I knew they owned hundreds of acres somewhere in West Texas, family property that Deanna had inherited. "I came back early to take care of some business today. She'll be here day after tomorrow. Till then, I'm batching it."

I smiled at the old-fashioned phrase. "Sounds like fun."

Hank grimaced. "It isn't, actually. I get pretty bored by myself. End up doing crazy things like mowing the lawn in ninety-five degree heat." He smiled, his teeth white and even through his beard.

We sat and drank our iced teas. I kept thinking, so he's alone, and wearing a jockstrap. I don't remember most of our conversation but I remember listening hard, looking for some opening to broach the subject. Finally it came when Hank started talking about his college days, when he had played football.

"So I guess you still wear football gear."

Hank frowned, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

I took the plunge. "Looks like you're wearing a jock right now, Hank." I pointed at his middle, where a narrow white strip was still visible above his belted khakis.

His face cleared. "Oh, yeah." He seemed to take it totally in stride that a gay guy had been checking him out, which only increased my liking for him. By now my cock was stirring in my own jock pouch. There was no use kidding myself-I wanted this man.

"I suppose it's good when you're exercising or doing things like mowing the grass."

Hank said, "Not just when I mow the grass. I wear them all the time."

"Really?" I said, surprised. "I had no idea. You know, I wear jocks pretty often, especially when the weather's hot like this."

"You wearing one now?" Hank asked.

"Well, yeah, sure."

"What kind?"

I grinned. "I still stick with the old-fashioned kind. Bike all the way."

There was a long pause. We each took a swallow of tea, looking out at the lawn. The air was hot and still and the sun was shining with dazzling brightness.

"I'd love to see yours."

At first I thought I hadn't heard him properly. "What?" I said, like an idiot.

I saw his eyes through the dark glasses he was wearing. They were staring right into mine. "I said, I'd love to see your Bike jock."

I swallowed once, then said, "Only if I can see yours too."

He grinned. "It's not a Bike."

I shrugged with elaborate casualness. "That's okay."

"We can't do this outside. Want to come on in?"

His house was expensively furnished, neatly kept. The interior was dark and cool after the blazing sun outside. We climbed the stairs and entered a small bedroom. The summer sun filtered in through the drawn curtain.

Hank took off his sunglasses and laid them on the end table. We faced each other in the semidarkness. A small, expectant smile played across his face.

Now that I had Hank where I wanted him, though, I found myself getting cold feet. I shrugged with a casualness I didn't feel. "Should we be doing this?"

Hank said, "What do you mean?"

"We're both in relationships. With other people."

Hank nodded. "Nothing's going to change, Bill. You're a good friend, but I'm not in love with you. I'm in love with Deanna, and you're in love with Bob."

"Yes."

"And that's not going to change, either, right?"

I swallowed hard. "If we do this, Hank, it's going to be just a one-time thing. And your wife and my partner can never know about it."

"Agreed."

"And we've got to play it safe."

"Absolutely. I've got condoms in the bottom drawer in the guest bathroom."

He raised his eyebrows and grinned with naughty glee, like a little boy. I couldn't help laughing.

"Now take that t-shirt off." Hank's voice was suddenly low and husky. I obeyed, and suddenly he was in front of me, unbuckling my belt and pinching one of my nipples, making me gasp. "You have a great body," he said, and pressed his lips to mine.

I thought I would remember every detail of the next couple of hours forever, and it makes me sad that so much time has passed that I can't relive the whole thing. What I do recall is enough, though.

I remember that our shorts and shoes came off very quickly but we kept our jocks on for quite a while. Hank buried his nose in the pouch of my Bike, taking a long whiff, before he began to lick my cock through the elastic material, slowly, thoroughly, until the cloth was soaking. Only then did he pull aside the pouch and take my aching erection into his mouth. It only took me a short time after that to blast my load down his throat. To my surprise, Hank took it all, swallowing every drop.

"I though we were going to play it safe," I said. Hank smiled up at me.

"I trust you, Bill."

In fact I was clean. Hank had raised the stakes and I had to reciprocate. I knew just how to do it. Soon I had him on his stomach on the bed, moaning, as I soaked the fur between his ass cheeks with my spit, before aiming for his tight little hole with my tongue. I grabbed and twisted the leg straps on his jock (I forget what kind it was) as I rimmed him. Hank groaned and thrashed and humped the bed.

"Fuck me, Bill," he said.

I pulled him to his feet, bent over with his elbows resting on the bed, and slid into him from behind with my bare cock. I can still see it plain as day, my hard shaft poking into the dark fur of his ass crack, sliding in and out of his hole just above where the leg straps of his jock, pale streaks above his tanned, hairy legs, met at the bottom of his meaty buttocks.

I finally got his jock off soon after that. (I'd peeled mine off a while before.) I stuffed it into his mouth as he lay on his back on the bed, holding his legs apart with his hands as I slid back into him. After that I just fucked his brains out-I couldn't hold back, and it wasn't long before I blasted my load deep into his gut, shouting so loud any neighbors who were home had to have heard. Bob was shaking with laughter as he pulled his jockstrap out of his mouth. He pressed it against mine in an attempt to gag my cries, hissing "Shh!" while holding a finger to his lips.

He had me stay inside him then as he stroked himself to his own climax, ropes of cum spraying across and matting the fur on his heaving chest as he gasped in delight. I licked his spunk off and fed it to him, our lips and tongues tangling.

After that we lay in each other's arms, completely spent, talking quietly. Hank told me that Deanna knew of his bisexual tendencies and understood, but that he hadn't acted on them for a long time. He wasn't into quickies with strangers and it was hard to meet people who might be interested in him.

"You want to know the truth, Bill?" he said. "I'd kind of had my eye on you for a while, but I didn't think anything could ever happen. When you showed up out of the blue this afternoon it was like the answer to my prayers."

That made me think of Bob for some reason, and I started to feel sad and guilty. Hank sensed this and nodded. "Bill, if you want to not spend time with us for a while, I understand."

I shook my head. "If we suddenly stop being friends both Bob and Deanna will want to know why. It's better if we act like nothing's happened."

Hank said, "As far as I'm concerned nothing's happened. This'll be our own little secret. You have my word."

It's so easy to act on impulse, so hard to live with the consequences. No, nothing terrible happened, and no one found out. I found out how hard it was to live with a secret. I was racked with guilt for a while, and Bob started asking if something was wrong. I told him no, work was just getting me down.

I am evil, I guess. Eventually it passed. The four of us continued just as before, seeing each other at social events, being good friends.

Hank and I never did it again together after that afternoon. A job relocation forced Bob and me to move to another city a few years after that. Aside from a postcard and a couple of e-mails shortly after the move, we didn't keep in touch. For me it was easier not to.

Then one day we got a call from another old friend from the symphony patrons' circle. Hank had collapsed in the lobby during the intermission of a concert. It was a massive heart attack. He died on the way to the hospital, his wife at his side.

We flew back for the funeral. As I embraced Deanna, pale and thin, after the service, we were both weeping. Of course I was grieving for her and her loss. But I was also grieving for mine.

I had never gotten a chance to hold Hank in my arms again, or feel his great burly body next to mine.

Still, time heals, as they say. I still think of Hank with sad affection, but the thought of him doesn't make me tear up any more. Thinking of Bob does, though; he only passed on a year and a half ago. We'd been together over thirty years.

So now I'm alone. It's not too bad, most of the time-I still live in the house we shared. I'm in good health and can take care of myself, knock on wood.

But often in the evenings I sit in front of the silent, dark TV and think about people I've known who are gone. The memories are happy and sad, so mixed together I don't know which is which. All I know is that I usually end up wanting to cry.

Of course most of the time I think about Bob. After all we had a lifetime of love for each other and I miss him every day.

Every so often, though, I think back to a hot July day long ago, and taking a crazy walk in the sun, and stopping by a friend's house for ice tea, a friend who just happened to be by himself that day, and who was mowing the lawn wearing a jock.

Wherever it is we're all going, I hope there are hot sunny days there, and jockstraps.

END