It's summer of my 20th year, and I am experiencing a life-altering, sizzling, sexual awakening--and, so far, the best summer of my life. I just finished my junior year at California State Poly and came home a week ago.
I'm the second oldest of 4 athletic boys, and my parents are still together and happy, most of the time. I had been looking forward to spending some fun times with my old high school buddies, catching up on what girls they fucked in college, what classes they failed. We'd be sure to go out drinking at McBirdy's Tavern every night, raise some hell, laugh about old times, and the summer standard: lifeguarding while bikini watching at Pine Lake.
My first day home, after conning my folks into believing I got all A's, I called my old boss, but he informed me that he wouldn't be needing me this summer. "Budget cuts" were affecting even normally thriving summer businesses, he said.
"That blows," I told him. "I've been guarding here for 5 years."
"My hands are tied, Mike, I'm sorry." He almost sounded apologetic. I was so counting on this gig. My credit card debt was mounting, and I had already tapped out my parents for car insurance money.
I begrudgingly picked up a copy of the Star Ledger, a NJ daily, figuring I'd get a jump on any new classified jobs listed. I was actually hoping not to find anything in there; I wanted a fun summer, not one slaving for some asshole. I found one ad that immediately stirred me in the groin. "WANTED: Strong, Fit, College Man to Help U.S. Marine with Odd Jobs Around Yard."
"Now, that sounds like an awesome job," I mused. I had always fancied myself being a U.S. Marine, or at least being in the company of them. I used to get heartsick--and hard on--looking at this Marine who would visit our campus. I'd become paralyzed by the sight of his tight ass, unable to take my eyes off of the perfect backside as it filled out his crisp pants with military precision. After seeing him on campus, I'd rush to my dorm or a bathroom to assault my manhood and visualize being overpowered by this sexy soldier of stud. I wanted to be his soldier of cock.
I've always thought of myself as basically straight, but I knew that I'd do anything for the chance to just once push my face into another man's ass. When I would see that drill instructor's jaw-dropping, mouth-watering bum, I would imagine what the texture of his pants would feel like as I buried my face into the forbidden zone, kissing him and rotating my face.
I'd envision burrowing my face into this most personal pleasure zone and inhaling the taboo region as deeply as my homo-curious lungs would allow. I'd imagine my lips and nose right about where his asshole would be situated. I'd feel his balls on my chin. I'd feel his powerful thighs squeezing my head, holding my face captive, forcing me to breathe, exclusively, the intoxicating, dick-hardening maleness of his crotch.
I'd pucker my starved lips and push them into where no masculine straight man dare trod. I'd imagine him quietly groaning while saying, "Oh yeah, Mike, do it up. Do me good, tongue that hole, son." By the time I violently erupted, I'd try and forget about this "wrong" fantasy of "queers" and focus on finding a girl.
Girls were all over me, ever since the 8th grade, but I never could find one that I really wanted to be with. Being 20 now, it was time. I gotta settle for one, any one, I thought. I was afraid my buddies would be talking about me, questioning my life.
It was hard to motivate myself to pursue pussy. Each year, the thought of a man's ass and cock was becoming more and more overpowering. This Marine at college was making if very difficult to rationalize my homo feelings as just a phase. I had to seriously come to terms. Me, Mr. 6 ft., rock-hard-bodied, good-looking, clean-cut stud might be bisexual. I might be gay.
Because I had gotten to the paper early, I was the first one to call the guy. He seemed all business. "Get over here and meet with me, son. Can't hire ya over the fuckin' phone." He rattled off the address and hung up.
"Sounds like a macho asshole," I surmised. But, inasumuch as I was always a sucker for a military dude, out of curiosity I'd drive on over. And sometimes macho assholes are fucking hot.
I made my way to his street in anticipation, spinning through the narrow-winding, tree-lined roads of Kyle Lake, NJ in my 2000 Mazda. It was a 30 minute drive to 2 Pine Tree Lane, where I politely pulled into the sinuous, and descending, cobble-stoned driveway. At the end of the winding trail, I saw a secluded home.
"Sweet, and situated on a lake just like ours," I verbalized as I closed the car door and ambled up the granite, pine-needled front walk. If the car engine didn't announce my arrival, my feet crunching gravel and pinecones with each step certainly would. I heard dogs barking, breaking the overwhelming sense of gorgeous solitude.
On the phone, the guy had mentioned he was a veteran of the Gulf War. He had hurt his back and was temporarily unable to do any lifting or heavy exerting. My job would be landscaping and sundry chores. The property was impressive, had to be several acres easily, and the centerpiece being a modest-sized, yet attractive, cherry-wood log cabin. I hoped the man would not be some bitter old bastard, because this place seemed like one fucking perfect place to spend a summer. I wanted this gig bad!
When the inside door opened, I was met at the screen door by two friendly but imposing German Shepard dogs and one very rugged-looking man. A lot younger, maybe 35, and in better shape than I imagined, I thought. As he opened the screen door and invited me in, I could size him up better. He wasn't just rugged, he was undeniably handsome too.
He was outfitted in Desert Storm, khaki fatigue pants with a healthy bulge in the zipper and a tight gray t-shirt with fading dark blue letters spelling U.S. Marine Corps across his solid pecs. His face was handsome in a hockey player type way. His hair was thick, apparently allowed to grow out while being on leave. He had masculine looking, squared and neat, half-inch sideburns, that made him look even manlier when he smiled. I saw bright, piano key teeth, surprising for someone so rugged.
With the nice tan and lean muscular arms he was sporting, I thought he looked like a Marine poster boy. As he walked, his ass was even better looking than the drill instructor's at college. I thought, "If this was going to be my job, working with this stud in this gorgeous place, man oh man, I was going to be one happy recruit!"
"Hi, I'm Mike," I offered as he told the dogs, "Go on, get outta here, boys." The dogs ran outside, and he grasped my hand vice-grip tightly and nodded, appearing to size me up in a once-over glance, and then silently motioned me with a nod of his head to follow him.
He led me through the masculine, sparsely furnished interior which was adorned with Gulf War Hero photos of him and his buddies. My sex-starved eyes gravitated mostly to his photos, particularly the crotches in them: as he was climbing a rope, carrying an assault rifle, driving a tank, broadly smiling with 3 buddies and a beer, and showing off his medals. This dude was male as male ever was, and that fucking bulge was even better looking in person.
