Hi, I'm Jim, married to Susan. I'm 42, average guy. Five- eleven, I weigh a little more than I should and spend time at the gym keeping that at bay. Salt and pepper hair, blue eyes, and, oh yeah, about seven inches, cut and thick. Susan's 41, has a little weight from two kids but hits the gym with me. She's five-eight, a little bigger than thin, average on top, blond. We don't shave our bodies or do anything. Just mom and dad and two kids that aren't part of this story.
Twice a year, the company I work for has a team-building event. Roll your eyes, I know, but this one works. We tend to work in 'stovepipes.' Only dealing with the above and below management, never the other areas. So, the owner got this idea.
Ours is a little different. There's a lot of beer and wine. The company rents a summer camp for the day. Since the events are fall and spring, it works well. We all draw teams and do weird shit. But all the games are designed to get us working together and knowing everybody in the company. Hell, the cleaning staff is included. First time was weird till the booze kicked in. Now, we're all like a bunch of frat kids.
The games go on till three, then we all just hang out for the rest of the time and kinda filter off home. No spouses allowed.
The first time there I met Bob. He's in marketing, I'm in production. We're about the same age, married, kids, etc. He and Ellen, Susan, and I have become a group. Bob and I always manipulate the team selection to end up together. Nobody's noticed, or if they do, they don't care.
It was three-thirty. Today was the fifth time we've had this event. Bob and I were wearing the sort-of uniform for the day, loose athletic shorts, a tee-shirt, short socks, and runners. It was hot, and our shirts and shorts were a bit sweaty. We were standing next to one of the many kegs.
"Well, now what do we do?" Bob asked as he filled my cup.
"Too early to go home, and I'm not in the mood for a sit-around and complain session like last time."
"No shit. What is that guy's problem?"
Bob referred to Ralph, in sales, a misanthropic malcontent, "I think he needs to get laid." I answered.
Bob laughed, "Ralph couldn't get laid in a whorehouse with a fist full of hundreds."
That had us both laughing. Bob pointed off to the back of the camp, "Let's check this place out. The map board says there are trails."
At the extreme end of the camp property, there was a trailhead. A signpost had a map nailed to it, showing a two-mile loop. Black and yellow caution tape was strung across the opening in the woods with "danger" written on a crude sign.
"Well, that fucks that idea," I said.
Bob smiled, "Oh, why?"
Now I smiled. One of the reasons we get along so well is that both of us like to take risks. It helped get us promoted.
"We might get in trouble."
Bob looped a long leg over the tape, "One can only hope."
There were no crevices or washouts. No downed trees. The bad part must be further on. The trail was hard-packed dirt, free of sticks and leaves. We walked in silence, our shoes padding on the soft earth. The trail took a few curves, breaking up the sightlines. Bob spoke, "Not very dan..."
He stopped talking, and we stopped walking when we heard voices. Something didn't seem right. I felt it, and from Bob's expression, I knew he did too. We walked slowly towards the voices. I could make out words now.
"We good back here?"
I knew that voice.
"Yeah, we'll be fine. The trails blocked off, and those people are such goody good followers, nobody will go over the caution tape."
Bob and I shared a quizzical and then conspiratorial look. One of them was an area manager in marketing. I wasn't sure about the other. My first thought was that they are out here doing coke.
"Mmmmmm, you're really hard today." That was Vince, the manager. I looked at Bob. His eyes were wide, like mine. They were down a short side-trail that went to a bench. Thick brush shielded it from the trail, but we found a less dense spot. They hadn't seen us. Through the branches, we could see everything.
Vince is about thirty-five. He's tall, over six feet, and runner lean, tightly barbered brown hair. The other guy I recognized as a forklift operator, Jack. I would guess around twenty-eight or so, stocky, muscular, blond.
The gap in the brush was narrow. Bob and I were shoulder to shoulder as we watched in stunned silence. Vince and Jack were massaging each other's hard cock through their shorts. The sunlight through the tree canopy reflecting off the gold wedding rings. I was curious. Way back in college, I had an 'event.' I liked it but not as much as girls. I watch some porn, not much since Susan and I do well in the sex department, and never gay stuff. But this had me mesmerized. I didn't want to walk away, and I noticed that Bob made no move to leave either.
Vince had Jack's cock, still under his shorts, in his hand. Jack had his hand up Vince's shorts. Jack looked around, "You sure we're safe?"
