I steered my Saab on to Exit 4, almost home now. I'd been on vacation on Cape Cod for a week now, alone. Gage had had to stay home due to work circumstances beyond his control, and I couldn't wait to see him. With every bump in the road, my cock rubbed against my underwear, making me harder with anticipation. It was as if a homing beacon called to me from the house, stimulating me into deeper and more profound states of horniness. I couldn't wait to walk in that door, kiss Gage, pull his pants down, and swallow his hard cock right there in the kitchen, pumping and sucking him until I worked the last drop of cum from his sweet balls. There are times when all I can think about is a nice, hot throatful of Gage, and times when nothing else will satiate my appetite.
I turned into the driveway and pulled my car into the garage. Seeing his big truck parked there served only to stiffen me further. That truck was synonymous with Gage: masculine, butch, in a word, hot. My suitcase could wait. I had to get inside and see him immediately. Entering the door, the house was preternaturally quiet, and he was not there in the kitchen to greet me. Perhaps he was upstairs napping. Quietly up the stairs I went, growing exponentially more fervent in my need of him. Gage's bed was made, but he wasn't in the room. On the pillow was a note. Curious. I unfolded the note, which read "I'm in the basement."
Practically running now, I descended the sets of stairs to the basement taking them two treads at a time, opening the door. There he was on the treadmill, shirtless, running on the speeding belt in a pair of royal blue athletic shorts. Sweat glistened over his body, running down his smooth chest. A light sheen of perspiration also sheathed the smooth skin of his face. He smiled, and as I moved forward, "I thought you'd never come home," he said, and he switched off the treadmill. He took me into his arms and held me, his masculine, sweaty aroma, mixed with his even more masculine natural scent almost pushed me over the edge, and I almost shot my wad right there, without so much as a touch to that certain tender flesh. As he held me, I could feel his cock growing harder and harder in his shorts, until it seemed that it would rip the very fabric that contained it.
I reached down, sliding my fingers beneath the shorts, beneath his briefs, and wrapped my hand around a massive hardon. "Wait..." he said. "I haven't taken a shower in two days, and I didn't expect you home quite this early. I put the note on the bed just in case. Let me clean up first, and then..." But I didn't let him finish.
"I want you just the way you are, right here, right now," I said. Sometimes only a dirty, sweaty man will do. I pulled his shorts and briefs down with one quick jerk. Falling to my knees, his aroma intoxicated me and taunted me forward. I parted my lips and took his big cock into my mouth, slowly sliding down its length until the fat head of it tested the limits of my throat, and my lips were wrapped snugly around the base. A soft moan escaped him and I could tell I was doing my job sufficiently well. A mix of sweat and pheromones and pure sex filled my nostrils and I became drunk on it.
Generally quite clean by nature, and usually fastidious about hygiene, Gage was out of character at this moment, but I loved every second and nuance of it. In the right time and place, there is just nothing quite as intoxicating and primal as a sweat covered man, ripe with evidence of his toils and labors. I pulled his cock out of my mouth, though in my current mood, I would have been more than happy to let him remain bobbing in my throat for all of eternity.