2. Ford
Ford
I still couldn’t believe it. Dylan was here, and based on what he was wearing when he arrived last night, a fan of crop tops.
Despite the passing years, he was easily recognizable, a grown man now. And the fact that he was now the one to walk in on me pleasuring myself was a lovely twist of fate. Never in a million years would I have seen that coming.
Thankfully, he hadn’t seen me cumming either.
I was pretty close, but hadn’t gone over the edge before the interruption.
I laughed, remembering he thought I had someone up there with me.
I certainly wasn’t about to tell him I was fucking one of those real-feel rubber asses.
Like the advertising said—“he doesn't care about cock size or what you look like, he just wants his tight ass pounded all night.”
Sounds perfect.
I wiped the sweat off my brow and kept running. It was still early, but it looked like today was going to be a warm one.
Based on his reaction after I had put some clothes on, I could tell that Dylan wasn’t thrilled that I was at the cabin, but I was happy that he was okay with me staying. For the night anyway.
The truth was that despite my revelation years ago that I was more interested in men than women, I had yet to find anyone even remotely worth spending the rest of my life with. I was beginning to think it wasn’t in the cards.
I wasn’t quite sure how Melissa forgot about me staying at the cabin either. After all, it was kind of her idea. It was a sabbatical of sorts. She suggested I take the time to relax and come up with a better plan than hookup apps.
I wasn’t sure what that meant though. Where was a thirty-eight year old minimally experienced bisexual man supposed to meet potential husbands? It didn’t seem like many men were interested in husbands lately. They all wanted my body. Hell, some of them just wanted my cock.
And while it was fun the first few years. A lot of fun.
It had lost its appeal in recent years.
Going to the gym for a workout became an exercise in how to creatively tell men to fuck off. That’s part of why I had started running more…and not on the treadmill. Men can't bother you on a treadmill if you’re not using one. Plus, it was much nicer to run outside.
A lot of my former Olympians were out and proud now, and in serious relationships. Cam and Luke were still together. Orion and Colton had both come out and were with serious boyfriends, and Tyler was married now. It was hard not to feel like I was missing out.
I was one Mazda Miata away from a mid-life crisis. Well…pre-mid-life crisis.
I wasn't forty just yet.
I knew it was unlikely I’d run into Dylan while leaving the house this morning—he was always a late sleeper—but I couldn’t help but wonder if he still felt the same as last night. Did he change his mind or was he still okay with me sticking around for the summer?
I knew why I was here—not that I had told him. But why was he here? And alone too.
He wasn’t on the couch when I left, so at some point in the night, he had moved to his room because his truck was still parked in the drive.
Maybe he’d be awake by now?
I slowed to a walk to start my cooldown.
The sunlight glinting off the lake sparkled through the trees every few steps or so.
Most of today’s trail threaded through the woods though there were a few gaps in the treeline that gave a nice view of the water.
There was plenty of time for sightseeing though.
For now, I was ready for some breakfast.
As quiet as I could, I entered the house, hoping to not disturb Dylan if he was still asleep. Wiping the sweat off my brow with my shirt, I headed to the kitchen.
“Jesus!”
I stopped in my tracks, catching Dylan’s gaze, and let my shirt drop. It didn’t take an ophthalmologist to figure out what he was staring at.
“Morning!” I said, trying to play it off.
“Cheez-Its,” he said, glancing around to grab the box sitting on the counter. “I said Cheez-Its.” He held the box up.
Was he still into me after all these years? Surely not.
“How was your run?” he asked, turning away from me to put the box in one of the cupboards.
“Great. Plenty of trails around here, but you know that. You eat breakfast yet?”
He shook his head, finally making eye contact with me again. “I forgot to buy yogurt.”
“I’ve got plenty. I don’t mind sharing.”
“Really?”
I chuckled. “This isn’t a college dorm where we have to label our food. You can have anything of mine that you want.”
Shit. That sounded like a pickup line, but a quick glance told me he hadn’t reacted that way to it.
“I can make us omelettes too,” Dylan offered.
“Sounds great. I’ll start the coffee.”
“I made some iced coffee already if you want that. It’s in a pitcher in the fridge.”
That sounded good. “Iced coffee? Fancy.”
“Well, it’s warm out and?—”
“I didn’t mean that to sound like I was teasing. I love iced coffee.”
“Oh. Okay.”
We had definitely been out of contact for too long. It was never this awkward before, but Dylan had always been sensitive. Yes, time had passed, and there was the whole seeing each other masturbating thing. But I really hoped it wasn’t going to be like this the entire summer.
If he was okay with that.
“Plans for the rest of the day?”
We had eaten breakfast in relative silence and then I had gone upstairs to shower. When I came back down, Dylan was still sitting at the kitchen table, but reading a book.
“Not sure. Unpack, I guess.”
I didn’t want to wait any longer. I had to know. “Are you good with me staying here for the summer? With us being here, together?”
“Together?” His head practically whipped up.
“Yeah, here at the cabin. I can still leave.”
He shook his head. “No, no, no, of course you can stay. You’re here for a reason and there’s plenty of space for both of us.”
I wanted so desperately to ask what his reason for being here was—and what he thought mine was—but whatever relationship we were going to have moving forward had to happen organically. I couldn’t force it. Especially if we were going to be living together for a few months.
So much had happened in my life; I could only imagine what Dylan had been through. Of course I had heard some stuff from Melissa, but it’s not like sons shared everything with their mothers.
“What are you going to do?” he asked. “You went for a run already. Is the afternoon reserved for crunches or push-ups?”
“Is that what you think I do all day? Exercise?”
“You’re still a personal trainer, right?”
“I still coach too.”
“Yeah, but your bod—you clearly still work out a lot.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
He mumbled something unintelligible, then smiled and said, “Not at all.”
“I can work out less if it bothers you.”
“What? No! That’s not—forget it.”
I was about to ask him another question, but then it hit me again. He might still be attracted to me. As tempted as I was to experiment with an intentional shirt-lift to find out, I grabbed a banana and sat down across from him instead. “What are you reading?” I asked.
“Oh, um.” He attempted to hide the cover with outstretched fingers, but it was easy to see the mostly naked guy on the front. “It’s a gay romance.”
I was curious. “What’s it about?”
“You really care?”
“The cover looks…interesting.”
Dylan laughed a little bit but relaxed and moved his hand, holding the book up to show me.
Camp Jackwood?
“It’s about two camp counselors, uh, flirting a lot and?—”
“Having endless amounts of kinky outdoor sex?”
Dylan’s cheeks reddened and he glanced down at the table before he said, “It looks like it’s headed that way.”
“Do you read a lot of that genre?”
He nodded, still not meeting my eyes with his. “It’s all I read.”
As I considered his response, I caught myself staring at his chest. From what I could see—with his deep V-neck—his chest had no hair. He was always shorter than me, and while he had filled out, he wasn't ripped or anything. But he was the type I liked.
And that was a problem.
“What do you read?” Dylan asked, putting the book down.
“Uh, honestly? Not much of anything. I…guess that makes me kind of boring.”
“It's okay. Not everyone reads stuff.”
“You don't have to make me feel better about it. I should probably read more.”
“I have other books here. If you want. Or you can take this one?”
I didn't want him to feel weird about it, so I said, “Sure.”
“To this one, or another one?”
“Uh…another?”
Dylan smiled. “Okay.”
He pushed his chair back and stood up.
“Oh, you don't have to get it”—I immediately noticed he was wearing another crop top and the tiniest shorts I'd ever seen—“now.”
He ignored me and as he left the room, my eyes went straight to his ass. It was the most perfect fucking bubble butt which only meant one thing for me.
Trouble.
“Here you go.” Dylan handed me a book.
Pop Star?
“I haven't read it yet, but the reviews are good.”
“Thanks.” I took the book and turned it over to read the blurb. It took me a minute, then I said, “Interesting.”
“It was a silly idea. I can take it back?—”
“No, it looks good. I'll read it.”
“You're not just saying that?”
“No. I'll start right now.”
“I didn't mean?—”
“Can't hear you! I'm reading this amazing book!”
For the first time since he discovered me plowing a rubber ass, Dylan laughed. His reaction made me smile instantaneously and then I realized I was supposed to be reading, so I turned to page one and started.
“I'm guessing you like it.”
Startled, I dropped the book down to cover my achingly hard cock and found Dylan leaning against the archway into the living room. I was sprawled on the couch, legs dangling over one arm, looking at him upside down.
“It's"—I cleared my throat—”good.”
“I hope it's more than that, you've been reading for more than an hour.”
“Has it been that long?” I swung my legs around so I sat upright, book still a cock-shield.
The book was more than good. I didn't quite identify with the larger man wanting to be dominated, but the building tension between the two main characters was hot.
Plus, the pop star was my type and needed comforting.
I always liked providing that to people, whether they be athletes, friends, or… more than friends.
“Almost time for lunch. I was going to pack some food and hike down to the lake. You wanna come?” Dylan asked.
“Sure.”
We didn’t even make it halfway to the lake.
I watched as Dylan stumbled, swore, and dove head first off the trail. Immediately, I dropped the picnic basket and rushed over to him.
“Are you okay?” I asked, stepping off the path to try to help him up.
Pushing back a fern, I was greeted with an immediate and up-close view of his left buttcheek, hugged by a black strap.
His shorts had torn almost clean off, revealing half his ass and a jockstrap.
It also looked like he had a small gash.
“No, I fucking twisted my ankle.”
“Let me help you.” I offered him my hand, which he took, and helped him back?—
“Whoa!” Dylan dropped towards me and I caught him in my arms before he fell again. “My ankle hurts too much. I can’t put weight on it.”
“I think you cut yourself too,” I said.
One of his hands went to his face. “Where?”
There was no other way to say it. “Your butt.”
“My butt?”
I continued to hold him steady as he craned his neck—a futile gesture—and reached back there.
“God damn it. These are like my favorite shorts.”
“Maybe someone can sew them back up, or you can add a patch?” I said, trying to be positive.
“I can try to buy another pair. They feel pretty destroyed to me.”
I agreed, but didn’t say that. “The picnic can wait. We should get some antiseptic on that,” I suggested.
“And new shorts,” Dylan added.
“Those too.”
“Two days in the wilderness and two bare asses. Great start to my sexless summer.”
Say what now? “Sexless summer?”