I fully acknowledge my weakness, but I think Janine has a share in the shattering of my vows to her. I'd only had that one fling back in college—with Phil. But Chet and Phil had had an affair after college, and now Chet was living in the next acreage to ours. Obviously Phil and Chet had talked about me, and Chet knew all about me before he moved here, because he had made quite clear to me that he wanted me and knew that I had an addiction to what he could provide. He was one hunk of a man, but I'd left that behind me—had convinced myself it was just youthful experimentation, and short-lived at that—and I was devoting my life to Janine.
I had done everything I could to avoid Chet, who had gotten quite direct in his approach, but it had been Janine herself who set up that fatal day. I had taken off from work to pull a couple of stumps out at the lower end of our yard. Janine was off that week for a visit to her mothers and had pressured me not to work out there alone. I had resisted her suggestions, and, unbeknownst to me, she had asked Chet if he could come down to help me. He obviously was delighted to help.
So there we were, standing next to each other in the driveway in our work clothes, waving gaily to Janine as she drove off, doing all we could to act like there was no nervous tension just under the surface, ready to explode.
I would still see the tail end of her car, and Chet was still waving when he said, in a husky voice, "Let's go into the house."
"God, no, Chet. We've been all over that. I'm going down to work on those stumps. You can go on home. I'll just tell Janine you were a great help."
"That's what I want, Rick. I want to be a great help to you."
"Help? God, Chet, how can you help? I've made a choice, and the only help you could be is just to stay the hell away from me."
"I've seen how you've looked at me," Chet replied. "I know you want it as much as I want you."
"I'm going in the house to get a couple of beers, Chet. It's a real hot day. When I come out, I'd like you to be walking back to your house. I have to get to those stumps."
"It looks like rain. And, you're right; it's hot as hell out here. Not really a day for this; a day to be relaxing in the house."
"Bye, Chet," I said, and I went back into the house and took four beers out of the fridge. Then I thought of the ax and being alone down there with the tree stumps and I put one back." I walked back out of the house, and Chet was gone. What a relief. He was right. No matter what I did to try to stay on the straight and narrow, I ached for him. I tried my best not to admit it, but there it was. I wished that Chet hadn't moved here at all. Everything was going fine until he showed up.
I walked down to the end of the yard, but I could hear the chopping noises before I even got to the garden shed down there. And I knew. Chet hadn't gone home.
He was stripped to the waist, down to his tight, low-slung jeans. He had a bandana covering his head and already was sweating. He was in great shape, bulging muscles of someone used to chopping all of his own wood, going down to a small waist and hips. He was darkly tanned and black hair curled around his forearms and down from his neck and across his chest and trailed down across his navel into his pants.
He already had chopped one corner out of the biggest stump.
"This isn't really a one-man stump, Rick," he said as he stopped chopping and leaned on the ax handle. "Come on over here and let me show you what a tree stump can be used for. Or an ax handle, for that matter," he said as he winked at me.
"Give it up, Chet," I answered acidly. "I'll just work on this stump over here."
"It's hot as a devil's asshole," Chet said. "At least give us a beer. What, you've only brought three? Let's go up to the house and get some more."
"I don't think so, Chet."
"Well, maybe later."
I turned and started chopping at a smaller stump with my hatchet. Chet was right. This really was heavy work. I heard a roll of thunder from some miles over but couldn't tell if it was just caused by the heat or was warning of a coming thunderstorm."
"Hey, it's too hot for that T-shirt, Buddy. I quickly found it's cooler without."
"I'll manage," I answered.
"Yeah, guess you're right," Chet answered and then chuckled. "I saw you in the gym—you know, before I told you about our mutual friend, Phil. I don't think I could control myself if you took off that T."
"I don't think you're controlling yourself very well now," I muttered under my breath.
"What's that? Couldn't hear you over the thunder."
"Oh, nothing, we'll have to work fast if we're going to beat the rain." But, of course, there was no way beating the rain. It started sprinkling then, but that didn't go long before it came more steadily. We both were immediately soaked to the skin.
"Holy Christ!" Chet yelled, as a lightning bolt hit a tree somewhere close in the forest. "We better get out of here right now; up to the house." And he dropped the ax and headed up the yard.
I just couldn't do it. Instead of following him, I headed for the garden shed, which was the size of a two-car garage, but which was stuffed with all sorts of gardening equipment and supplies. Dark clouds rolled in before I got to the shed, and it was pitch black inside when I got there. I knew we had lanterns around in there somewhere, and I was feeling around for one of them when I heard the shed door open and close, and I could hear Chet's heavy breathing.
"I'm over here, Chet," I said. "Looking for a lantern." I turned, and he was right there in front of me. I felt a hand on my crotch.
"That's me, Chet," I said. "I think the lantern's over there."
"I know that's you," Chet said heavily, and he pushed me up to the wall next to a window. His hand had found my cock through the fabric of my soaked jeans, and I involuntarily responded there, not having a prayer to control my response. "And that's a very nice you," Chet said.
"Chet, no," I said.
A flash of lightning brought light flooding into the shed through the window next to us. Chet was standing very close to me, rainwater flowing down his chest and into his wet jeans. The heaviness of the water in his jeans had pulled the waist down, and if he hadn't had a large, firm butt, they probably would have hit the floor. I could tell my own jeans were having about the same effect from the fast soaking they'd gotten. In that brief flash, I could see the urgency in Chet's eyes. And just before the shed went dark again, Chet leaned in and brought his lips to mine. His were searching, but I resisted him and turned my head.
