Good Neighbors



“Hey!  Can I ask you a favor?” A voice calls to me as I round the corner from the steps onto my street.   My neighbor, Chris, is trotting across toward me.  “I did something really stupid.”  He shakes his head. “I locked myself out.”

“The baby isn’t inside, is he?”

“No, thankfully, they are both away in Connecticut. Do you mind if I make a call?”

“Of course, come on in.”  I move past him and up my front steps, turning back toward him. “Do you guys have a spare, or do you have to call the land lord?”

“Dee knows where the spare is.  I can’t seem to find the damn thing.  But I’m not great at finding shit as it is.” He flashes this big grin at me and shrugs. His hand gestures are fun to watch, he could wreck anything with those fists when they get balled up.  He generally has to squat at least once, when I see him with his dog, allowing me to imagine a few of the things I could do to him while in that position.

We get inside and I find him my phone.  He stands in my dining room admiring the generous amount of plants we have on hand and the fish tank.  He crinkles his nose and I watch his head shift as he surveys the room, approvingly.

He moves over to the fresh water fish tank. “Hey guys, how’s it going?”  The fish are aflutter at the sound of his low purring voice.  Turning back to me, he asks. “Now, who takes care of the fish?”

“John does all the maintenance, I keep them fed.”

When Chris stands, he twists toward the living room, seeing the other tank.

“Wow!  That one is really incredible too!” He strides toward the salt water tank. Leaning in, hands on his hips, I see the waist band of his underwear, gray band and green underneath.

“John worked really hard to get these tanks in a good spot.”

Chris nods and comes back to the dining room with trepidation when he sees my phone.

“Oh, you’ve got a fancy phone, haven’t quite gotten used to the idea of these.  I hope I don’t break it.”  He and I are most likely a similar age, certainly same bracket.  Mid to late thirties seems about right.  However Chris is showing he is a true Mainer, suspicious at first; but not entirely adverse to new things.  His calloused paws gingerly hold my phone, and I show him the number keypad.  He dials, finger pecking.  His nails are uneven in places, but impeccably clean.  Chris is average height, about my height, maybe an inch taller.  His body is not gym built, instead, distribution warehouse built.  I believe he is some sort of supervisor at a frozen foods place; working second shift.  He could certainly tell me what to do in the walk in.  Even now it is difficult not to ogle at the way he is standing.  Bow legged, casual, but purposeful stance, he shifts bulging thighs and ample crotch inside worked in denim.  Now he is on the move as he gets information from his out of state lady.  I try to busy myself with looking busy, but am too distracted by the pacing from one end of the dining room to the other.  If I did not know any better I would think he was strutting.  Showing off?  His measured steps across the hard wood floor accentuate his wide hips, long trunk legs, shoulders pushed back, chest up and out.  At the threshold of the kitchen, Chris stops, stretches, tightening his perfectly symmetrical ass globes. I see that underwear again and his pale skin.

Witnessing this display of casual sexiness reminds me how he also says things that just kill me.  Once in reference to dogs getting public attention he says, “I wish someone would come along and scratch my butt.”  I know it is just harmless straight guy talk, but seriously. I am watching him and although he is still talking into the phone, he looks hungry. For something, I am not sure what, yet.  To me that can mean many things.  He shakes his head and puts his hands in his pockets.  He seems to be obtaining more than just information for the spare key.  I hear a lot of “yeps” ‘you’re right” I also notice he quickly scratches his zipper, and a discernable ridge seems to be forming off to the right.

He smiles, not a broad one, but a smaller, amused one.  Shortly thereafter saying good bye to Dee on the other end he stands in place with his legs still spread arms folded across his ample chest.  He is sizing me up, I think.  His eyes are trained on me now, considering his words.

“Were you checking me out?” He gestures up and down the length of his torso.  I still cannot tell if this is going to become awkward, but at least he came immediately to the point.  I really hope I did not just cross the line.  He is so nice, and a great dad, and all of that, I certainly would not want anything to jeopardize that. Dee told me he is clueless when it comes to gays wanting to get a piece of him.

“I didn’t make you uncomfortable, did I?”

“Well, actually no, you didn’t.”  He steps closer to me.  “I’ve got a small confession to make.”  He looks away.  Is he blushing now?

“You didn’t lock yourself out.”

“No, I didn’t, but I didn’t know how to get inside otherwise.”

“You could have just asked me. Was that really Dee?”

“No, I just called my voicemail.”

“Are they are actually in Connecticut?”

“Yes, at her folks for a few days.” He pauses, running his thumb over his bottom lip and shifting.  “We’re going through some stuff.”  He puffs out his cheeks, and bounces on his feet slightly.  “Can I tell you something?”  His brow furrows slightly, he consults his boots for help, then back to me, gorgeous chips held in by black framed glasses.  I study his face as he moves even closer.

“Sure.” I am getting a little nervous.  This could go any number of ways.

“Well, see the thing is….” He searches the ceiling to see if words will materialize to guide him like a karaoke machine.  Chris shoves his hands in his back pockets and I am now really noticing how nervous he is.  He starts again.  “I got to tell you that…” the words finally form “I think your beard is so hot.”  The best part of his compliment being that the word “hot” comes out of his mouth in a husky whisper, prompts my cock to stir.  Chris is being courageous and my suspicions tell me this is not the only thing that he wishes to confess to me today.

“I know I got one too.”  He casually strokes his own silver streaked beard, and keeps going.  “But, you’ve got the best beard man. I’m wicked jealous.”

“I enjoy the compliment. I am blessed I got to have this beard.”

We both chuckle and fall silent.  He is within striking distance.  I take a deep breath.

“Do you want to touch it?” As the words drop, his ‘thought you’d never ask’ fingers grab some of my beard, tugging it playfully before changing to a gentle caress.  Left and right he runs his fingers from my chin up toward my ear.  Tilting his head, he smiles.  I am hard pressed not to moan, and I know if he keeps this up, this will not be the only rubbing that goes on.

“It’s wicked soft.”  He pauses, reconsidering.  “Mine isn’t.”  He picks up my hand, placing it on his cheek.  His is scraggly and rough, and I love it.  I let him know,

“Thanks for the invitation, man.”

“Thanks for accepting.”  Our noses are nearly touching; his breath is dank with coffee and cigarettes.  I still find this arousing, somehow, even though I have not smoked in years. Instead of the kiss I believe will be the next event, Chris turns his face so we are cheek to cheek and his coarse dark blond and gray hair mingles in my soft auburn hair. A mutual sigh escapes, as we rub beards.  He takes the lead, holding the back of my head as his rough hair grinds from my left ear down to my chin and back.  He pulls away when he reaches my chin. We look each other squarely in the eye barely veiled lust throbbing just under our surfaces.  He steps back, and exhales.

“Whoa, wasn’t expecting that!”

“What?  For that to feel as good as you thought it would?”

He does not answer that.

“I don’t know what I am doing here, man.”

He knows exactly what he is doing.  He just needs a guide.  Maybe this afternoon we can start his tour.

“Do you actually have to go to work, Chris?”

His eyes find the floor.

“No, I actually took today off to do shit around the house while they are gone.”  Instead, my curious hot daddy neighbor has fibbed his way into my apartment for beard rubbing and possibly more?  That confusion strain creases his face again, somehow still making him even more like an eager pupil.

I motion and he takes a seat at the table.  He leans on the table, supporting himself with his elbows. I sit down as well.

“You can say anything you want here, Chris.”

“I thought it was just beard envy.” He licks his upper lip.  “I get turned on by you and your man, and other guys, sometimes. I like to fuck, women, I love Dee. I love HER!”  He looks down at the floor, ashamed. “I used to think it would leave me, you know, but I just get more turned on every time I see guys with beards. Do you think I’m gay?”

“That is a question only you can answer.  I personally do not think you are.  You have a lady, and a son. You are deeply connected to them.  However I believe you are an open human. That alone, can have gifts and struggles. You don’t have to feel any shame for desire and curiosity.” I lean in placing a hand on his shoulder.  “Desire is complicated.” I am playing with fire, but this at least brings a smile to my conflicted neighbor’s face.

“Did you always know?”

“Yes, I knew I liked guys from a young age, couldn’t understand it at first, thought I would grow out of it. But, I didn’t. Accepting and loving me took some time, but I got there.”

“I have these dreams.” His gaze is fixated on the fish tank.  “You know the kind I mean?”            I nod.

“Sometimes there are women.  Sometimes there are men. We start wrestling and just playing around, you know, but then I see them naked and I freeze, but admire their body.   Sometimes there are men and women both. They burn away, most of the time, upon waking.  But, sometimes it’s a really long one and when I do wake up with my hard cock in my hand I have to finish myself off, you know?”

“I think you are tapping into your flexibility, which is a gift and a curse, like many gifts.”

He shakes his head, and covers his head with his hand.

“I can’t even fucking believe I’m telling you this.”

“People tell me things.”

My pulse has just risen, my cock is getting uncomfortable, but I make no move.  I cannot wait to finish myself off, but something is telling me I may have some help.  He puts his face in his hands, and mumbles something.

“What’s that, Chris?”

“I’m sorry.” He removes his hands from his face.  “I know I’ve said it, but I can’t believe I am telling you all this crap. You must think I’m a freak, or something? You must have to be somewhere.” He begins rising, and I stop him, placing a hand on his hairy forearm.

“Chris, stop.  It’s ok.  I don’t have anywhere to be, and I am good listener, as I said, I am not going to judge you.” He sinks back into the chair.

His frowns, but then a thin grin starts to form.

“You were in my dream today.”

“Did you finish yourself off when you woke up?”

“Actually, no, I didn’t.”

The room reeks with our mutual lust.

“I like you.” Chris reaches for my shoulder now, pulling me closer, smelling my beard. His left hand massages my neck, I give zero resistance.  “I have no idea what any of this means, and I am fucking confused, and I think I need some help.”  He lets go and I see him bite his bottom lip.

“You are safe here, Chris.” I lean in stroking his chin.

“Damn, you are sexy!” He blurts out.  I think his candor, even for him, has taken him aback. He doesn’t move, and I stand and move behind him, taking his shoulders in my hands.  He does not stop me.  So much tension, poor man, pent up with no release.

I feel the heat on the back of his neck, my thumbs running from his hair line to his shoulders and back. “Honestly, I think John would wish he were here. We both know you are an attractive man.”

“Wow! That really blows my mind, man! You mean you both think I’m hot, I’m just a guy—“

“Yes, you are a real, genuine, person. That is always a draw for any one, male or female.” I was not quite prepared to tell him his nickname in our house was “Hot Daddy Chris”.

“Well, I guess I’ll take that as a compliment too.” Chris is a man of humble qualities keeping his innocence so fresh I can see his cheeks redden slightly under the graying strands of beard. He does like the ego stroking, and I enjoy doing the stroking.  I must go slowly, though. Opening Chris’s body and mind up will only be satisfying if done in stages.

I sit back down reaching for one of his hands hanging limply at his side running my fingers between his. Thick digits, calloused palms, they could crush my delicate fingers.  They could fill me, if I let them, and I would.  His bulge is still there and he has done nothing to push it down this time.

“Chris, do you know what frottage is?”

“Isn’t it some French sex thing? I’m not into kinky shit at all.”  He starts to rise, and I halt him.

“It is far from kinky, but I think it can be arousing and fun.  It is basically dry humping.”

“Oh, shit, ok, I know what that is.” He smiles, knowingly. “I haven’t done that in years. I used to do that by myself, sometimes still do in my underwear, with a pillow.”

“Unless you’ve got somewhere to be, why I don’t I be your pillow?”

He rises and looks at me suspicious, but willing.

“Sounds like a plan, I’m in your hands now.”

Remember, stages, open him up slowly, in stages.

He follows me to the spare room.  Removing his hat I can see his head is nearly bald, a sight rarely seen as he always wears a hat.  We remove our glasses; I place them in two neat parallel rows on the night stand.  We both have a mutual laugh about this, as it is our first unspoken agreement.  Without any instruction or prompting he is on his back kicking his boots off. I climb him planting my hungry ass against the ridge of his cock.  My taint tingles with the sensation.  I work his chest and biceps with my hands, kneading and rubbing his muscles.  He does not know quite what to do, so he remains still, watching me.  I turn around to face his feet sitting like a cowboy.  I push down against his raging hard-on prompting Chris to buck up, thrusting his pelvis following my lead.  We play bucking bronco for a few minutes.  I grind in circles, holding on to his bent knees for leverage.  He leans back, steadying himself with his elbows.  The noises and curses that he hisses and spits out drive me crazy.

“Holy shit, fuck, feels good, man.”  He needs this so badly, hungry for something different.  I need to show him what pleasure can be like.  I slow my grinding for a moment and reposition myself.  On my knees, facing the footboard, and he gets my plan right away.

His hands on my shoulders, Chris rubs his giant cock still contained inside his jeans against my horny ass, also still contained inside my jeans.  Pushing my ass against him, I reach back to rub his thighs as his thrusts get more urgent.  He takes a hold of my hips to keep me in place as he tries to hold back the waves of climax.  His movements stop, he pushes me away.  He lets out a deep breath.

“Not yet.”

Legs spread still on his knees I swing around to face him. Cupping the back of his neck we rub beards again. This time I take the lead, paying special attention to his chin beard, keeping our lips close, but not kissing.  My free hand finds his hip, and I pull him to me, crotch to crotch, hip to hip.  Beards rubbing starts up again  and we slowly build momentum, this time swinging from side to side, rolling our denim clad crotches over each other.  The stuffy room and our activities have us both panting and sweat starts to form in beads then drips in rivulets down my back.  I make a move up his shirt and he does not stop me.  His chest mounds are slick and rank with his scent, a crop of hair damp between his pecs is all that grows.  Further down a wispy trail from his belly button forms a sparse trail into his jeans.

Chris’s pale skin is also punctuated with old injuries and some fresh ones. Bruises yellowed, fresh marks here and there, smudges that could be an old bruise or burns here and there.  Some veins show, pushed up toward the surface like critical routes on a three dimensional flesh map.  My hands are taking inventory of the toll taken on his landscape.  Despite the scattering of damage his skin holds a silky quality, undamaged by sun, just machines and himself.  I am working toward his dark brown nipples, almost half dollar I would say.  Both of them are already puckered and pert.  I place just the tip between my thumb and forefinger, turning it like a radio knob to illicit different noises and curse words.

“Fuck! Oh buddy!  Give me some more of that!” He yanks his shirt off and I have a range of chest to cover with my mouth and tongue.  I land on his right nipple tonguing its surface, sucking it, biting it a little.  Chests are an important draw for me.  My hands and mouth enjoy traveling over torsos more than anywhere else on the human body.

He also rolls us over so he is on top of me; I sense his club cock against my thigh.  He spreads my legs further and higher so he can rub his junk against my taint and asshole as well as my eager cock and balls. I encourage him with my body as I rub his long thighs with mine.  Faster and faster we go round and round and this time we are both nearly over the edge again.  Before the convulsions of ecstasy have a chance to start we quell them slowing ourselves down.  We are just two panting bodies flush against one another.  My hairy chest heaves against his nearly bare chest as short breaths burst through my dry lips; our hearts piston inside each other’s chests.

Chris starts us up again by rolling just his chest back and forth over mine, giving special attention to make sure our nipples slide against each other.  Our sweat slick makes it easy gliding for him.  It is now his turn to go exploring.  He licks my tiny nipples.  His hands find themselves making passes over my upper body, his fascination over my flesh fuels my pent up cock.  His forearms and shoulders have different injury stories to tell.  I seek to memorize every textural differential of this man’s frame.  He flexes his bicep for me; I squeeze and kiss the hardened meat.  He allows my mouth safe passage to his neck; I lick his salty Adam’s apple.  He raises his arms above me, holding onto the head board.  The stink of his pits lures me away from his salty neck.  I have to shove my face into one.  He actually giggles at the sensation at first, almost shying away.  I tell him he might like it and he accepts my mouth and tongue immediately, moaning as I sniff and chew his hair.  No deodorant.  Pine, and grass in autumn is what Chris smells like.  I wonder if his crotch smells anything like this.  I hope I get to find out.

“No shower yet today.”  He says as I transition to his other pit, making sure to briefly pleasure his now rock hard nipples on the way.

“You taste amazing.” As I feast on Chris’s delicious stink, my hands keep on schedule with the mental cartography of his warehouse worker body.  I cannot seem to find an ounce of fat on him.  All muscle, but lean in the right places and meaty in the right places.  I traverse his shoulder blades, down into the small of his back and then further to feel the heat of his ass at my fingertips.  He has a small patch of hair just at the top of his ass like I do.  When he and I meet on the street he seems to manage to revel what he wears for underwear.  Colored, always, often green.  I run a finger over the waist band, tracing from back to front.  I search his face for permission, and I am returned a smile of mischief.  He pulls us up together on our knees pole tents facing each other.  Before I can get to his zipper, he has his hand my crotch.  The boulder fist easily could cup twice my size.  He rubs up and down my zipper, pushes further through my legs, rubbing my taint and back to my zipper.  Squeezing my ridge of cock I am almost ready to blow now, so I push his hand away.  He nods; unspoken understanding is such a turn on.  He opts to study me.

I let him study my shape, my angles and imperfections, eyes flickering over me again and again.  I like the silent objectification, he is not holding as much back anymore.  My hand reaches for his rigid cock stuck to his thigh.  He does not stop me.  The heat between Chris’s legs from the friction makes the throbbing meat underneath hot in my palm.  Gently, I stroke the denim covered shaft, reluctantly moving south to rub his balls as well.  I want more, so much more, but it is Chris’s move next.  He does not disappoint.  Pushing our pants off now Chris shows his cock can barely stay in the confines of his briefs, but he keeps it at bay.

We roll back and forth on the mattress.  Clinging to the iron posts of the head board, or foot board, legs in the air, legs sliding in tandem, backs arching.  Sticking to each other and pulling each other apart to leer at each other, voices straining not to cry out, grunts and moans escape anyway.  Our bodies lock into a position where my legs are on his shoulders his dick and balls are smacking and rubbing my asshole and we both want to get that big finish. We are ready to give in to the loads waiting to burst.  His body shakes I can tell he is getting close.  I quicken my motions, and we are both rock hard as the bursts slug me with each punch of his ecstasy.  I grasp him, holding his meaty bicep as he explodes against me.  He stops first, and I arch one last time before I too lay silent.  He shudders against my heaving chest.   I cannot tell at first if Chris is crying or laughing.  He rises, rolling over on to his back.  His cock is still half hard, a huge wet stain can be seen, and a trail of gray snaking out the legs of his green briefs.  He is not crying, but he is not laughing either.

He wipes his brow.

“That was wicked crazy.  You’re a horny, fuck, you know that?”

“You’re a horny fuck, buddy.”

More astonishment, I love it, soak it up, but as the flood of lust recedes I sit upright and feel the dreaded arrival of possible aftershocks from our frottage fest.  Chris is staring at the ceiling, eyes narrowing and widening, searching for something to say, but failing.  I feel more exposed now.  I do not even know if I should touch him.  I do not.  Instead I stare at his out stretched frame. Rivulets of sweat still run down his stomach into his stinky cum soaked briefs. His legs go on for days. I usually like a long torso, but this body is amazing in its construction regardless of proportion.

“Also, based on this, I would say you aren’t a slouch in the bedroom either.”

“But, you’re different.” Chris rolls over onto this side, bending his knee.  “You’ve been thinking about this for a long time, haven’t you?”  I cannot start lying now.

“Yes, I have.” What’s the point in throwing out stupid excuses, or fabrications?  Chris rises and without warning kisses me, the first to occur during the course of our afternoon.  His lips are dry, and I accept his hungry tongue, then he mine, my fingers cling to his neck as we tumble back on the bed. We tongue fuck each of other’s mouths, suck on each other’s lips.  His taste gets me rigid again.  I roll us over spreading his legs so I can rub myself against his sweaty hole.  My cock finds his ass; hard and meaty ass.  I can see the stain of sweat and load; I have trouble resisting shoving my face in that crack.  He accepts my urging to get better access, lifting his legs to my shoulders he pushes his asshole and taint up so I have a surface for my cock to gyrate against. I am not slow and gentle so in no time at all a load shoots in my briefs against his already wet green cotton.

“I don’t even know what to say.” Chris covers his face with his wide fingers and palms. Then removes them, shaking his sweaty beard and bald head, a breach he cannot reseal.

“Don’t say anything. Just enjoy this pleasure.”

I move off him.

I look down at his chest, thighs, calves, beard, forehead, even the bridge of his nose, memorizing every inch as neither of us may get this kind of pleasure again.  I did not need his cock in my hand, mouth, or ass, not that I would have said no, but the memory of his body is stored in the file.




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