So Here I Am

I sat back on my heels, wiped the sweat dripping down into my eyes, and surveyed my work. My floors look good. In need of varnish and buffing, but good.

A few weeks ago, I started pulling up the carpet. It was new, the previous homeowners installed it to help sell the house. But it was cheap and beige (neutral colors sell houses don't you know) I'm not one to throw money away so I threw all the carpet downstairs, I figured it would work well in the basement, adding warmth and sound suppression for the media room I had planned.

After the carpet removal, I set about refurbishing the boards; filling in nail holes, replacing broken, rotting planks, sanding, and stuff like that; then I began my hunt for the perfect color stain. Considering the wood type and the floors' age, the right color combination was not easy to discover. Its patina didn't take well to golden hues, so I worked with dusky oak colors.

I am not necessarily a handy guy. I know how to do most of this type of work, I simply Do. Not. Like. It. But, it is what it is. It's my new home, and work needs to be done to make it feel like mine, I'm not so filthy rich that I can afford to pay someone to do everything that needs to be done.

It wasn't only financial concerns, that had me crawling around on my hands and knees, applying a stain, rubbing it in, and wiping it down. Three coats in case you wanted to keep score. Honestly, I was trying to distract myself from my darkening mood. Trying not to dwell on the depression and flitting thoughts of self-destruction.

I hadn't spoken to Shawna much since I bought my house. Granted, she and Jack are living their best life, in fact, the last time I spoke to her she talked about a trip that would be kind of a honeymoon for them. Not a word since then. I'm happy for them, truly I am. But she was someone to talk to when I needed it. I thought about Paul so I stopped by the tavern one afternoon, Paul wasn't there, and the truth is; that I cannot see myself driving 20 miles into town once or twice a week to have a drink and chat with an acquaintance.

The hardest part for me was the silence from my online friend. The last I messaged her was during one of my darker moods. I was drunk, a little surly, and a little too forward. After a silent week, I reached out to her and learned that I somehow missed a message from her to which I had failed to reply.

My mind chewed on the idea that while I had not upset her, she only reached out once, and my demons explained to me in detail how little I mattered to her in the grand scheme of life. Not talking to her hurts. It hurts entirely too much for a relationship borne of a smartphone app. So, in the throes of my spiraling depression, I decided that I was pathetic, and I had what I longed for; solitude, a comfortable home (or soon to be comfortable), and peace. Sucks to be me.

Consequently, I began work on my house to fill the void. I spruced up the bathroom in the master bedroom; tiled the shower enclosure, new paint, a new toilet, and a vanity. Pretty much just a facelift, but it looks sooooo good. Then I considered the main bath and decided the old farmhouse look would suffice for now (honesty, the tile work in

my

bathroom was such a fucking pain in the ass I decided that I could live with something short of perfection, for now).

I took a similar approach to the kitchen. The cabinets were sufficient so I left them alone, but I replaced the sink, dishwasher, refrigerator, range, and countertops. I'm in debt up to my balls, but my kitchen looks good.

So here I am, sitting back on my haunches, sweat in my eyes, deciding how I will go about varnishing my newly stained floors. I step out to the porch with a bottle of water and notice the light dusting of snow on the ground. The weather here is mercurial, snow pops up unexpectedly and goes away just as quickly.

I sit down and realize just how tired I am. At almost 60 I should not have spent so much time doing my floors by hand. My brain seems to think I'm in my 20s but my body tells a different story. My improperly matured brain also begins to realize the complete ridiculousness of the thoughts that brought me to this point.

The ache and exhaustion in my body seem to give me more clarity of thought. I've been completely unfair to those people in my new life. While not necessarily unfair to them physically, I've been unfair in my thoughts and my feelings. No one has been unkind to me, no one has rejected me, nor have they done anything to hurt me, other than what I've conjured in my own, depression-influenced mind. Chiding myself for my stupidity, I send a text to Shawna, sending my love and hopes that she and Jack are doing well. I text Paul and tell him I miss seeing him regularly and that I will make a point of coming in to have my usual.

The hardest message is to my online friend. I'm not sure if I've said something hurtful to her or not. In the past when I was in a similar state, I had difficulty remembering things I had said and done. I hope I didn't do anything hurtful, but regardless I know I pretty much disappeared on her. I message her to explain what has been going on in my mind, express my regret that I haven't written in a long while, and apologize for thinking and feeling things I had no right, or reason, to feel.

With amends made, hopefully, I decide to find a professional to finish the floors. I don't have the equipment to properly apply polyurethane evenly, I would have to rent it, haul it out here, etc., etc., etc. It just makes sense to let a professional do this last piece, and I realize that finally, my mind is clear enough to recognize good sense. Resolved and satisfied, I step out on the porch, sit in my chair and pull out my phone to start looking for a flooring contractor.

Pulling up to the house I see the flooring guy hasn't arrived yet, thank God. I made the 'consultation' appointment for as late in the day as I could, but I still had issues leaving work behind and making it home. I'm just glad that I didn't keep anyone waiting. I hate it when it happens to me and I hate it even more if I do it to someone else.

No sooner than I got out of my car I see a truck making its way up my drive, and I watch the two guys get out and make their way toward me. Now is the time I would like to tell you that these guys were hot, swarthy, muscular young men, oozing sex and confidence. Yeah.... Not so much.

"Howdy, I'm Dan and this is my son Mark." He smiled and stuck out his hand. I shook it and nearly had to force myself to smile. (Okay. I'm the one that was hoping for hot, swarthy, muscular young men, oozing sex, and confidence). Dan looked to be my age, a bit shorter than me and while not fat, he was thick (guys like me are not my thing). His son, Mark, was about the same height and while not fat, he was dumpy. He had a very narrow face, prominent nose, and unfortunate ears, which clashed outrageously with his shorter, wider body. I feel bad for thinking these guys were unattractive, but they were, and my 'seducing the contractor' fantasy went down in spectacular flames.

"Hello, I'm JP, nice to meet you," I said after shaking his hand and doing the same with his son. "Let me show you what you're up against" I turned to the house and led the way to the back door.

When I had finished staining the floors and started looking for someone to varnish them, I found that no flooring contractor capable of doing the job was available. Luck helped when I found Dan under ads for 'handyman'. He was experienced, had the equipment, and was available in two weeks rather than two months. So, I booked him, laid floor coverings from the back door to the basement stairs, and moved all my stuff down there. I was not about to do anything to mar the floors that I practically killed myself staining. Two weeks allowed me time to work on the basement, install the carpet I threw down there and, against my early judgment, upgrade the bathroom a bit.

Dan stepped in the door and looked around. "Who was... You told me on the phone that you redid the floors and needed them finished. You did all of this?" He knelt and looked at the floor a little closer. "What color is this stain? I haven't seen anything quite like it before?"

I admit that I puffed up a bit at his comment. "It's a custom color. I tried a few combinations before I came across the shade that I liked."

He stood up and looked around. "Well, if you have the recipe for that color, I would not be opposed to getting it from you. I probably could use that on future jobs and charge a bit more." He turned around and looked at his son "Get our slippers so we can get a walk-through." Mark nodded and headed for the truck, came back with some booties and he and Dan took off their shoes, put on the booties, and looked at me, "Can we walk through and take a look?

I nodded, kicked off my shoes, and walked them through the house.

The walkthrough was quick since the house was empty. Dan didn't notice any areas of concern and since he had no prep work to do, he said he was sure he could have the entire house varnished in a single day. "It'll be a day to lay the varnish, at least 24 hours to let it dry, which means you could walk on it if you had to. I would prefer to give it 72 hours to cure completely."

So, 4 days out of my house? A small price to pay I suppose to have the perfect floors. I shook his hand, signed the contract (because yeah, this is the real world and no one makes deals on a handshake), gave him a key, and saw them on their way. I went downstairs, packed up a bag and anything I might need for nearly a week away, locked the basement door, and took off into town.

So here I am, sitting on the bed in my hotel room, watching something, nothing, on the TV, and bored out of my flipping mind. I looked at my phone and debated with myself, and finally, after a vigorous discussion, I decided to take the plunge. Downloading Grindr, I signed in, changed my profile message to include 'looking for rn', and went back to the TV and waited for someone to tap me or message me.

My online friend had helped me understand that looking for hookups on Grindr was not what I wanted. We talked about the 'empty' feeling I would get after meeting some anonymous guy somewhere and letting him suck me off. Just to zip up and return to my daily life. So far, I've held to that truth and have not perused the app. Tonight though, I figured why the hell not?

It was about 5 minutes before the first messages and taps came in. The usual "hey", "how r u?", blah blah blah. I took the time to look at every profile, ignored those with no profile information, and send back a 'hello' or a 'good evening' to those that seemed interesting.

Here's the thing with me; if you cannot carry on a conversation via text, using actual words, then you do not interest me. Hell, I read erotic literature for sexual stimulation. A cock pic and a 'hey', are not going to pique my interest. I certainly do not think I'm all that and a bag of chips, but I have standards. If I'm not drawn to you mentally, or emotionally, I'm not that interested in being naked with you.

After an hour of chatting with various guys, I found my time being gently taken over by a conversation with one young man. He was literate, nice, and just the right amount of slutty to get my interest. It was when he started sending me pictures that I decided that I wanted to pursue an encounter with him. He was cute as hell. Probably 20, dark blond hair, cute face (not model handsome, but attractive nonetheless) sweet twink body with a cute ass which looked unbelievable in the Calvin jock he was wearing. He told me he was a bottom, but did switch occasionally and had a thing for mature men. We did the usual vetting process of expectations and desires and I decided to take the plunge and sent him my location.

I jumped in the shower, washed quickly, got out, and just slipped on my briefs (boxer briefs, not tighty whitey's, I have some pride) when heard the knock on the door. Peeping through the peephole I saw him standing there, nervously looking up and down the hallway. Opening the door I smiled, stepped aside, and waved him in.

Closing the door behind him I leaned against it and took a moment to study him. Jeans and a tee shirt, vans, nothing special, nothing unusual except for the wide-eyed stare. I thought I was nervous but this kid looked like he was about to piss himself. I smiled gently, said hello, and introduced myself. He nodded and told me his name was Carter and looked around the room.

"I'm a little nervous. I've never actually done this before."

I looked at him closer, "Are you saying you're a virgin?"

"Oh! No! God no. I meant that I'd never met a guy in a hotel room before."

I breathed out a bit, one thing wasn't prepared for, and honestly have never had a desire to do, is to break into a virgin. Not interested, at all.

"You told me you were 20, but honestly you look like you could be 16. I hate to do it, but I'd like to see your ID to make sure you're over 18."

He looked at me, nodded, pulled his wallet out, and showed me his ID. Confident that I wasn't about to get arrested for statutory rape or something like that I leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, right next to his ear, "you don't need to be nervous, nothing will happen here that you don't want to happen. You want to stop, say so and we'll stop."

I leaned back and looked in his eyes, his incredibly sexy green eyes, and smiled as he stepped into me and wrapped his arms around me. "Do you think we can sit and cuddle a bit, and get more comfortable with each other?" I agreed and walked over to the bed, pulling back the covers I asked if that was okay and we settled in, up against the headboard, my arm around him and his head on my shoulder, and talked for a while. He told me that he had been with a few guys, mostly a few years older than him, but never had an opportunity to try what he wanted; a mature man. He never really got the whole 'Daddy' thing, but he always wanted to be with a more experienced man.

As we talked, I slowly caressed his bicep. With my arm around his shoulder, it was the only body part I could reach. He leaned his head back, met my eyes, and leaned forward. The kiss was soft, and gentle and made me start to stiffen up. I breathed in deep, smelling his hair, kissed the side of his face, and nuzzled into the nape of his neck. Another inhale and I was filled with the smell of oak, musk, and a floral hint that made my head swim. I gently pushed on my shoulder, laying me back on the bed. Sitting up he pulled off his tee shirt and looked down at me.

"I need to get comfortable if we're going to continue."

"Would you like a drink first? I have bourbon and vodka, probably some club soda or something to mix if you want it."

"I could go for one drink. I'll have whatever you're drinking."

I got up and went to the little table, unwrapped a glass, and put a few cubes in, looking over my shoulder I was caught by the vision of Carter slowly peeling down his jeans and revealing a burgundy jock strap. I poured our drinks and studied him more closely; toned rather than muscular, but defined. If I had to compare, I would say he reminded me a lot of Billy Idol. Hard body with a boyish face, and God help me, a very prominent bulge in his burgundy jock.

I handed him his drink and he smiled and placed his hand on my belly, running it up to my chest. Running his fingers through the hair that covered me from neck to crotch. "Oh. My. God. You are so sexy."

I took him in, the dirty blonde hair, the, oh my fucking god, sexy green eyes, the cute mouth, hard little nipples, tight little body.

He was perfect. But he was young, too young. From our talks I know he has been little more than a willing, albeit, enthusiastic bottom, for a few other older men. He liked to get fucked, he like to get fucked by guys my age and he wasn't shy about putting his face down and his ass up to take a mature, happy-to-be-hard cock.

4 seconds. That was probably the amount of time I thought about all of this. It did not take me more than that to decide that he probably would not be the one to grace my future endeavors, but he definitely would be the one to grace my night, tonight.

Resolved I leaned down and kissed his sweet mouth. Our lips pressed, retreating and repositioning until I felt his tongue swipe my lower lip. Opening my lips, a bit, he slid in. Our tongues battled a bit, but I was no match. 38 years of marriage with little of this type of kissing left me completely overmatched. I stopped trying to take control and followed his lead. Fortunately for me, he was an excellent kisser. It is funny. I've read, hundreds of stories on LitE and read about great kissing, awesome kissers, and toe-curling kisses... never, ever, had I considered a kiss anything more than a prelude to real sex.

This boy was teaching me something new. I swear to all that is holy that I could have kissed him all night and would be more than satisfied with the encounter. I cannot describe all the things he did that made it hot; It simply was. I would have died a happy man for the 10 minutes of sweet, glorious, kissing he gave me, but he brought me back to reality.

"I need your cock." was the simple, quiet, little phrase that brought me out of my reverie. I looked at him, smiled, and led him to the bed. Laying back I pulled him on top of me and resumed kissing that sexy mouth. His lean, defined chest was irresistible, so I didn't resist. I immediately latched on to one of his hard little buds and sucked. I swear to God he growled. Grinding himself onto my cock he held my head to his chest and whimpered as I attacked his hard little nipple.

Pulling back, he reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the lube. He squirted some on his hand and reached under himself and worked himself, He squirted some on my cock and firmly, but gently rubbed in all over my length. He grabbed the poppers and took a couple of heavy sniffs, handed them to me and I did the same. Leaning down, he attacked my mouth, reached down and grabbed my cock, and held it up against his lubed hole, and in one steady motion, he engulfed my entire length.

My eyes rolled back in my head as his tight, hot, greedy ass took my cock. Staring up at him I smiled. His eyes were closed, his mouth open, his hips moving back and forth, not lifting up and down on my cock, but grinding on it, trying to work it as deep as it could possibly go. I swear I changed my mind about him gracing my future endeavors. He was so beautifully sexy; riding me like it was the only cock he wanted.

This night was one for the books. After a few rounds, which stretched the limits of the blue pill I took, I convinced him to stay over. I slept with his head on my chest, my hand caressing his back and round little ass. Morning brought life to my equipment and Carter took full advantage, laying his face on the bed and pointing that magnificent ass up, allowing me to fuck him with every ounce of force I could muster. I honestly believe that the sounds he made through the night and the morning will be fapping material enough to last me the rest of my life.

We showered, made out, and promised that we would get together again sometime in the future, and I sent him on his way.

Closing the door, I thought about going back to bed, but the state of the bed was nothing I wanted to lay in. I'm not sure how many times he came, but there were cum stains everywhere. I had the fortune of cumming deep in his ass every time. Shaking my head, I put my shoes on, grabbed my keys and wallet, put the dangly thing requesting full-service housekeeping on the doorknob, and left in search of coffee and breakfast.