Jeff sat alone at the bar, nursing his bottle of water. He'd just come from the theater. He had gone alone. Again. Now, even though the bar was full, he still felt very alone. He felt like he was in the eye of a hurricane. Except instead of wind swirling around it was music and lights.



He had just been jilted after a short, but torrid romance. He knew it wasn’t his fault, but that didn’t make the pain go away. Bill had been everything he'd ever wanted in a man. Jeff’s “crime” had been that he had cared too much. 



Even worse, they both did volunteer work for the same organization. They saw each other every day. Jeff always kept everything professional. Bill was just as cold as a person could be towards another. He wouldn't even return Jeff’s calls or email. So, once again, Jeff found himself alone. Cursing himself for a fool to have let his guard down. Again.



“Hey, man,” someone said, “You OK?” 



Jeff turned and looked into the bearded face of the stranger. “Yeah. I’m OK. Thanks for asking.” He returned the stranger's gaze.



“You sure, bud?” He looked Jeff in the eye.



“You don’t want to know my problems,” Jeff replied. 



“Well, sometimes a different perspective is all you need,” the stranger said. “Besides, I’m a good listener.” Jeff didn’t respond. 



“Do you mind if I sit here?” the stranger asked.



“It's a free country,” Jeff said.

Some friends had asked me to house sit for a couple of weeks while they went on vacation. I quickly agreed as it got me out of my small apartment and into a better part of town, even if it was only for a short time. I was also doing some work around the house and had plenty to do while they were away. I was just preparing to hang a new bathroom door with the bell rang. “Who the fuck is this?” I muttered to myself as I went downstairs.



I opened the door to find a deliveryman standing there. And what a delivery man. He was over six feet tall and I estimated about two hundred pounds of solid bear. His reddish brown hair and beard were in need of a trim. The hair on his neck merged into the heavy pelt covering his chest, visible through the open front of his shirt. His shirt was dark with sweat. I could smell him on the hot July wind that blew in through the door. Jim, the name tag said. 



“Can I help you?” I asked, thinking, “I certainly hope so!” 



“I’ve got your water here,” He replied, in a voice deeper than my own low bass. 



“Excuse me?” I answered, “Water?”



“Yep,” he pointed to the bottles on the ground beside him. I had been to busy looking at him to notice much of anything else.

“Oh yeah. They go in the kitchen.” 



“Which way is that?” he asked, picking up the bottles as easily as if they were two quart bottles. “I’ve never been here before.” 

I led the way to the kitchen and watched as he replaced the empty on the cooler and gathered the empties. 



“Would you like something to drink? It's awfully hot today.” 



“Sure, thanks. This is my last stop for the day. I think I can take a break,” he smiled. 



“Juice, pop or a beer?” I asked. 



“A beer would taste good,” he smiled again. 

This guy was turning me on just standing there. I hoped I wouldn't get a hard on. The shorts I was wearing were tight and it would be pretty obvious. I had noticed his wide gold wedding band when he had picked up the bottles. I don't like to make a move on a married man unless I get some kind of signal that they're interested and I wasn't getting anything now.

Just about every tourist attraction has a place where you can go for a different type of R & R. At the local state park, the main attraction is Lookout Point, a scenic overview accessible only by hiking trail. And the reward for that long trek is an overhang several feet down from the observation deck that receives a good amount of the day's sun, making it ideal for sunbathers.

On this particular day, after separating from the crowd and making my way along the narrow path, I arrived at my destination.

 Makeout Point, as the locals call it. The view of the park from here was just as gorgeous, but more secluded. Some boulders, a scattering of wildflowers and--and--no one! I can't believe I trudged all the way up here to--oh, wait a minute. There by a large rock was a pair of feet sticking out; hope he wasn't dead.



Nervously, I stepped closer to see what was attached to those feet: muscular legs, a firmly packed ass and broad shoulders, topped off with auburn colored hair. The whole package was covered in a medium coat of fur that practically sizzled in a mixture of sweat and sunscreen from the mid-day sun. The guy had excellent hearing because he lifted his head and partially propped himself up on one arm to take a look at me, revealing a nice patch of chest hair. "Hey, how's it going?"



I suppose like a lot of guys, the iron bug bit me in high school. I started lifting as a means of getting bigger for football. Many an hour was logged in the weight room in the quest for strength and size. Even while trying to stay focused during all those hours and all that hard work, it was hard not to develop a fine appreciation for the male physique in all the various shapes and forms that were on display in that sweaty, musky chamber on a daily basis. 



My grades didn’t qualify me for college, but my competitive nature wouldn’t let me sit still. So, after dabbling in bodybuilding for a few years, I settled on power lifting and racked up enough trophies to fill two wall cases. Now closing in on thirty years since high school, my joints have forced me to retire from the contest arena, but I still keep active with regular workouts at Jake's Gym, an old school facility located in the rear of a building with the only access by way of an intimidating dead-end alley. The weights, benches and racks have a slightly rusted hue from the perpetual Pittsburgh humidity, and plenty of dents from the years of brutal and constant use.



As for the owner, Jake, I suppose he’s a lot like his gym, a little beat up but at his core, all power. At six foot two, with a salt and pepper beard, bald on top, and muscle upon muscle from years of experience in the iron game, he can be an imposing figure. About five years my senior, Jake has become a trusted confidant and mentor. And to me, he’s without a doubt the sexiest man alive. Hardly a night goes by that I don’t jack myself to sleep fantasizing about him and waking up with stained sheets. When I’m not at work, I try to spend as much of my free time in the gym, watching his every move out of the corner of my eye. If I could live there, I’d gladly take up residence just to be closer to him. Now, before you go thinking that I’m some sort of stalker, let me relate what happened last Friday night.



I had just finished an all-out balls-to-the-wall workout, looking forward to the upcoming weekend. Jake and I were the only ones left, and after locking up, he began to clean and straighten while I headed downstairs to shower up. Jake had converted a bathroom into a makeshift locker room with a fiberglass shower stall, a few chairs and a used bank of lockers that he had bought from an area high school that had recently upgraded its facilities. 



The smell. That’s what I remember best. Musty, heavy, moist - that’s the smell of the locker room of a professional football team. 



My only job was to watch and listen. I was a 19-year-old intern shadowing another wire reporter and was supposed to just watch and listen.



“Don't talk to anybody and don't touch anything,” he said as we walked in. 



“Yes, mom.” I thought. The scents were all around as I entered. It smelled like men. 



The security guard waved Mike, the seasoned reporter, right on in but he looked carefully at my press pass before letting me through. I had to rush to catch up to Mike who hadn't bothered to wait for me. He was a bit of a blowhard in the newsroom but as soon as we entered the sacred den he was all deference and respect. No wonder his articles read like a fawning review of a Texas women's auxiliary luncheon.

Vinnie stood with his arms folded across his muscular chest as he watched the mall walkers. There were more of them since Thanksgiving and the first snowfall. They were older men and women except for one man. 



Vinnie had seen him in the mall before when he had his wife and kids with him. He estimated the man was in his late thirties, tall and very nicely built, with a good-sized bulge in his sweat pants. His reddish blond hair was cut military style as was his mustache. 

The man winked at Vinnie as he passed by. 

Vinnie felt his cock twitch in his uniform pants.



A few minutes later the man passed by again as he continued his circuit of the mall. He winked again as he licked his lips. 

Vinnie's cock began to swell. 



“I think we’re going to be stuck here for a while,” Joe said, looking out the window at the snowstorm.



“Well, at least we have enough provisions to get by for a few days,” Jack answered. 



“We can always hunt for food,” Joe said. They laughed together. 



“What’s so funny?” Scott asked, as he came out of the bathroom. 



“Joe said we could hunt for food,” Jack replied, and he and Joe laughed again. 



Scott glanced at the table crowded with empty beer cans. “Uh, right.” 

When Joe and Jack had asked Scott to go with them on their annual hunting trip he had been flattered and excited. Other men at work had told him they had never asked anyone to go with them before. Scott felt special somehow. 



Scott was fresh out of school and new on the job. He was nervous and excited about his future. And, he was still a virgin. He had not told Joe and Jack that, but he figured they probably knew that. That was another reason he had wanted to go on the trip with them. "Plenty of pussy available,” Jack had told Scott at lunch one day. “lots of it.” 



“Lots of head, too,” Joe had added. Scott had gotten excited thinking about the trip and had gone to the john to jack-off. He’d never had sex with anyone before. 
Now, stuck in the cabin, it didn’t seem like he would have much of a chance of getting laid, or, getting a blow job either. 



Scott sank into one of the old over stuffed wing back chairs and looked at Joe and Jack. Joe was a typical Italian. Olive skinned with black hair and brown eyes, his hunting beard had only taken a week to grow in full and dark. Hair crawled up his neck from below his shirt collar. He was always bragging about all the pussy he got. Tall and muscular, Scott believed him. 



Jack was the opposite of Joe. Light skinned with blond hair and blue eyes, he was laid back and quiet. He never talked much about his live outside of work, but Scott thought he was married. His hunting beard had taken a lot longer to grow in than Joe’s and had a reddish tint to it. Jack was Joe’s workout buddy and it showed. 



Like many a young buck fresh out of college with a degree in his hand, I was ready to conquer the world. But with the world not exactly beating a path to my door, I was stuck biding my time at the local affiliate of a computer chain store. Not the greatest job, but at least I get to make house calls to the customers' PCs. And my most recent experience has made the work all the more enjoyable.



Max Parker was the store's most valuable customer, a local entrepreneur who bought thousands of dollars worth of software every month. I remember seeing him on a couple of occasions, but we never had the chance to meet. I was quite surprised to learn that he had specifically requested me for a service call to his home. When I arrived and rang the doorbell, I was not prepared for the way he greeted me.



Evenly matched in height, Max was a powerfully built man with light brown hair and a full, darker-shaded beard. And did I mention he answered the door in a thin but snugly fitting pair of running shorts and tennis shoes? Nothing else--just shorts and shoes. Flashing a brilliant smile, he shook my hand. "Hey, Ryan. Good to see you," he stated. "Sorry about my appearance. I was just going out for my afternoon run." I took a deep breath and tried to regain my composure. "Not a problem," I assured him. 



"The computer's in the den," he said, ushering me into the lavishly furnished room. "Make yourself comfortable. You may be here for a while.