Man of My Dreams

My name is Neil. I've been living alone since my wife lost her three year battle with cancer, four years ago. My two daughters and four grandchildren visit often, as well as my half-brother, Todd, so I'm never lonely. When the worst of the grief left me, I realized I wasn't missing out on dating, with all of my family around to fulfill me. So I put my focus on them and on the farm I own.

Years later, however, my mind and body yearn for a romantic partner. While my family gives me all the love I could ever need, I also realize I need someone to hold in the long nights, someone to be around the house to fill the quiet hours with warmth and laughter, and someone to open my heart to. My wife was the only woman I had ever loved, and will ever love. I can't see myself with another.

Naturally, I think about the possibility of pursuing a man. Since I was young, I've had a certain curiosity towards men. I found myself looking at their rear ends or their crotches out in public, I would touch myself to the underwear models in those old clothing store catalogs, and the few times I've been to a gym I'd sneak glances at all of the naked men around me. I found it exhilarating and naughty, but during that time, being gay was a big taboo, so I tamped the feelings down and started a traditional family. While I was always faithful to my wife, I couldn't help but continue to sneak looks.

But times are different now, and being attracted to the opposite gender is more accepted than ever. I make up my mind and resolve to try and find a partner. I don't have the slightest clue how to meet another man, short of gay bars, but I'm not comfortable with that yet. Feeling a little foolish, I research "how to meet gay guys" into my desktop computer. I find all sorts of things about cruising and dark rooms and the like, but I want more of a connection. I want to actually date. Then I see the dating apps, the most popular one being called "Grindr".

I download it on my phone and create an account. I fill out the demographics page; 61 years old, 6'2" tall, 185 lbs, I guess an athletic body, though a little softer in age. Caucasian. Dick size? I actually have measured before, when I was much, much younger and I'm 7.5" and circumcised.

I'm stumped on the position. Am I a top, bottom, or verse? I don't know what those terms mean, so back on Google I go, feeling very thankful I'm trying this in the age of free information on the web. Once I read up a bit, realize that I'm a top. I couldn't imagine another man putting his dick in me, though I'm curious about oral.

I choose a picture of myself leaning on a fence post here on the farm. I'm in a cowboy hat, white button down, snugly fit jeans, and my big belt buckle. I have a wide smile and my whole, slightly weathered face and my trim grey beard are clearly visible. Then I browse. My hopes are dampened slightly when it seems most of the men on here are looking for no strings hookups. I get a slew of messages the first couple of days, but they were all young guys looking for a "daddy", so I reply to each and say I'm not interested.

---

After a few weeks, with no prospects to speak of, I think about deleting the stupid app and trying another method, or giving up entirely, but I don't, not yet. I'll give it one more week. On the last day I get on, my is patience already thin from the long and tiring day. I tell myself that if I don't get a message from anyone looking for anything other than sex tonight, I'll delete the app. But lo and behold, I see a conversation that was started late last night, by an account I haven't seen before. FlOwen58. It says, "Good evening, O'Neil61. How are you? I know its late, so there's no rush to respond. Hope to hear from you soon!" I click to his profile and see a man of average height with a stocky build, wearing a purple polo and dark grey slacks. He has a clean shaven, soft, and kins face that's still very manly, with light brown, medium-short hair that's graying at the temples and into his grown out sideburns. His torso looks soft with a round gut hanging over his belt, but not excessively. He looks like a corporate man.

I look at his demographics. He's 5'10", 250 lbs, and Caucasian. His dick size is 6 inches and cut. I move to the position and see he is a bottom and that he's looking for dates and a long term relationship. Jackpot. I move back to the messaging page and reply, "I'm doing great, thanks. I just got home from the store and will cook dinner soon. How about you?"

He must be online because his reply is almost instantaneous, "Sounds excellent, what are you cooking? And I'm great! Though I'm not doing anything worthy of note, just sitting on the couch watching a new TV show."

"That sounds lovely. I'm just going to cook some steaks with some fries. I'm only seasoning the steak with salt and pepper, so nothing interesting there either, ha."

"Sounds like a plan, Stan, haha. Where are you located? If you don't mind me asking."

"Northeast side of town, out in the country. Yourself?"

"Northwest in the suburbs. I work at that big bank on Sanderson St."

So he is a corporate man. He looks every bit a banker. "What do you do there?"

It takes a little longer for his reply, "A CPA, I've been there for about three years. I transferred here from the branch in my hometown after my wife died." Oh, so he's widower too, perhaps exploring a repressed side of him, like myself. Interesting.

As I put the steaks on, he asks me what I do for work, and I tell him I own a farm with cows, pigs, horses, chickens, and different crops. He responds with, "Wow, sounds like a full time job. How do you have time to do anything else? A handsome man like you must have to beat the men off with a stick, haha."

I smile at the compliment, having gone many a year without hearing someone call me handsome. "Ha, thanks, but I don't have much time for anything else. I did hire some extra farm hands recently, so my workload has gone down a bit, and I'm hoping for more free time to explore my interests. As for dating, I haven't had so much as the promise of a kiss since my wife died four years ago."

He replies with, "I see. We are in similar circumstances. Well hopefully you do have more free time, I would love to get to know you. I'm looking to find a close friend, and if it moves past that, then all the better."

"Seems our interests align."

He then formally introduces himself as Owen Stanley, and I introduce myself as Neil Danford. He asks me if I would want to get coffee downtown at a locally owned café on Saturday, and I leap at the opportunity and accept the invite. I tell him I can be free as early as 7:30 am, as I get up early to feed the animals. We plan to meet at 8:15 am at the café.

We spend the rest of the night talking intermittently, establishing a baseline knowledge of each other and our interests. Turns out we both share a love of sci-fi movies, walking and hiking, and gourmet coffees to name a few. The only difference is that Owen is a beach person, and I prefer lakes and mountains.

---

Its only Wednesday and I now have two whole days to think about this new, possible connection, and to get nervous about it. I hadn't had a first date since my wife, almost 40 years ago, and I feel butterflies like I'm a teenager with a schoolboy's crush. Thinking of my wife now, I can't help but feel a little guilty about trying to find another partner, but I think of a conversation we had late in her illness. She told me she wished I could find love again after she passed, as her cancer had long been terminal and those were her final days. I had cried and said she was the only one for me, but she shushed me in her brusque way and said that people could fall in love twice and all she wanted was for me to be happy again.

So, I put away the guilt and try to find a suitable outfit, I want a little dressy but not like I'm trying too hard. My daughters did a whole wardrobe makeover about two years after I buried my wife, and they bought me all new jeans and shirts. Long sleeved button downs are my favorite style shirt to wear, so they got me a bunch of different ones in all kinds of colors and even a few patterned ones. For the meeting with Owen, I choose dark blue, starched jeans that fit snuggly, a pale yellow button down, dark brown cowboy boots, and an off white cowboy hat.

---

Saturday comes and I start to get ready around 7 am, showering, trimming my already close cropped beard, and add a bit of my favorite cologne. After, I stand in front of the mirror in my plaid boxers, examining my body. I'm lean as I've always been, and the years of farm work has toned my arms, legs, and butt. I did have a toned abdomen in my youth, but old age has made it soft. I run my hands through the smattering of salt and pepper chest hair, down my smooth belly, before touching my flaccid dick and low hanging balls. This thing hadn't seen action in almost ten years, but I know it still works. I get hard all the time thinking about the naked men I used to see and all the fantasies I still have, and masturbating helped give me a good release during the really bad times. Should I trim the thick black bush and hair from around my balls? No, it was too early to be thinking of sex, and I've never felt the urge to trim down there, it always seemed too feminine.

At 7:45 am, I get in my truck and drive the 25 minutes to town, getting to the café five minutes early. I get out and walk up. I see him standing near the door with his back turned, hands in his pockets. His body, since I memorized it that first night, is easily recognizable. But now, I'm getting the view from behind. He has a thin spot right at the crown of his head, and I see his forearms are covered in a thick fluff of light brown hair. And his butt, covered in pastel yellow trousers, is large, round, and has a perky look to it. I get an urge to run up and grope it, to massage it and revel in its delightful plumpness but suppress it. I can even see the faint diagonal lines under each cheek from the briefs he's wearing. I've always been an ass man. Both men's and women's.

I call out and we greet with a handshake and tentative hug. Owen comments how our outfits match, only inverted, as he's wearing a dark blue polo to match my dark blue jeans, too. We go in and grab a table away from the crowd. Owen orders a latte, and I a cappuccino. As we talk, both of our nerves plain as day, I notice how soft and sweet his voice is. It's not as deep as mine, and his southern accent isn't as strong. It matches his soft and sweet face.

After warming to each other, we speak of how our weeks were, about our jobs, and our hobbies. I tell him about my love of carpentry and leather-working. Owen says he loves fishing and cooking, and that maybe he could invite me to his house and cook for me if I'd like.

Then the conversation turns to family. We start with our wives, telling each other how we lost them, to go ahead and get it out there. Owen's died in a car wreck three years ago. He chokes up suddenly and apologizes. I just reach my hand out to rest on his forearm and I try to comfort him. It helps when I change the subject to our children and then our grandchildren. I have two girls with a teenage grandson and granddaughter. Owen has three boys and five grandchildren who are all still babies and toddlers.

We each have three cups of coffee and split a honeyed croissant. When we leave around 11:30, I say, "I'm enjoying talking with you so much, and I don't really feel like going home yet. You want to get lunch?"

"Absolutely," Owen says. "There's a great deli a few blocks down with the best sandwiches."

I know the place and agree. When we sit down with our food, I ask about his job. "I've been with the bank for over 20 years," he says. He has to pause to chew. "But, after my wife died, I couldn't stand to stay in that town, so I moved here. I just picked it randomly. Before the bank, I was in the Navy for 10 years working the books and accounting. What about you? How did you get into the farming business?"

"I inherited it from my daddy, and him from his daddy. My girls aren't much for it, but my grandson seems interested, so I hope to pass it on to him."

"Here's to hoping," he says with a chuckle, tipping his sandwich to me in a mock cheers. I laugh and do the same.

After lunch, I say I need to get back to the farm and check on things, and we exchange numbers, planning to meet up next Saturday. We share another hug, less tentative this time, a bit longer, and part ways. When I get home I text him, "I had such a great time with you today, and it was probably the best day I've had in a long time."

A few seconds later I read, "Why thank you! And I likewise had an amazing time. I can't wait to see you again." And he even adds a sideways smiley face that makes me smile like an idiot.

---

We message on and off throughout the week, both of us busy with our respective jobs and lives. Then, it's Saturday again, and we meet at the same café at the same time. I'm wearing a grey t-shirt, light blue jeans, and white sneakers. Owen has on black jeans, black shoes, and a green t-shirt that's tucked. We greet and share a more confident hug before walking in.

As I hold the door for him, I can't help but look at his butt. Those jeans, slightly faded, were hugging his bottom nicely, creating a slight creasing in the seat where the jeans were just barely riding between his cheeks. It's doing everything for me and it's a wonder my mouth isn't watering.

I ask him as we stand in line, "Why don't we get our coffee to go today and walk around for a bit? I'd love to show you the finer points of the city if you'd like."

"That sounds great. I have to admit I haven't gotten out much since I moved here, only been to a couple of the restaurants."

We get our coffee and wander the city. I show him points of interest and personal history of certain ones. Then, we walk to the large park in the middle of town with its gardens and duck filled ponds. I notice as we walk and talk, Owen will lightly place his hand on my arm when he finds something particularly funny, and it leaves me with goosebumps and butterflies. It's getting harder not to jump his bones with all the signals he's giving me. But, I'm a gentleman, and I want to take things slow. We wrap up the day with a late lunch at a salad place. When we part, our hug lasts a little longer, a little tighter, and Owen even gives me a light rub on my back with one hand, making me relax into him and sigh.

---

Over the next few months, we see each other more often. For the first couple weeks, we just meet on Saturdays and spent the day together. Then, we start seeing each other Saturday and Sunday, all day. We go to the movies, have coffee together in the mornings, and dinner together at night. After the first month or so, we started to meet at the beach after he gets off work to walk together. Roll up our pants legs and take off our shoes to enjoy the cool water and stroll along the wet sand.

My feelings for Owen only grow with each passing week, but we're both taking it slow, as we had discussed around our 5th date. We both agreed to begin as friends, build a bond, and see where it takes us. But now, I want more, and I think I've wanted more since that very first date. The question is, how to take this to the next level? Is it different than with a woman? Is Owen supposed to make the next move? Or, should I?

---

I get my answer one night, about two months into our dating, when we're walking under one of the boardwalks. There's no one else around this time of day. One minute he's by my side, looking at me with a small smile as I tell him a story about the time I was stung by a jellyfish, the next, he's in front of me with his arms around my neck, lips planted firmly on mine.

This is my first kiss with a man, and I'm stunned. I tense by instinct, but it doesn't last long and right as I start to relax into his smooth lips and soft body, he pulls back, looking alarmed. "I'm sorry!" He looks worried. "I just thought, you know, we were getting along so well. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have sprung that on y-."

I cut him off by grabbing his waist and pulling him back into me, pressing my own kiss on his lips. Owen's arms are around my neck again and he leans into me. We kiss once, twice, three times. Each time we break, we're smiling at each other. Now, we kiss hello and goodbye in addition to our hug, but only when no one else can see. We even hold hands every now and then if we ride together or when we're sitting in a less crowded movie theater.

---

With our newly evolving relationship, and all of its connected feelings, I realize that I've been deeply depressed all these years since my wife died, and I've been just going through the motions on autopilot. I also realize Owen is pulling me out of it, slowly, bit by bit. Since meeting him, I feel myself having more energy and a more positive outlook than I've had in a while. I can only wonder if I'm doing the same for him. My daughters notice the change too, and ask me about it.

"I met a guy in town and we struck up a friendship," I tell them one night on a video call. They both live in town, but this is how we speak most of the time instead of calling or texting. "We've hung out a few times, just coffee mostly, but it's been nice having someone my age to talk to and connect with." I intentionally play down the relationship to that of two platonic friends, not two men having romantic outings and kissing. I just can't bring myself to tell them about it yet. We aren't even official, and I'm afraid of how they'll react.

They both say, "That's great, daddy! I hope we can meet him sometime."

---

Its Saturday night, and Owen invites me over to treat me to his "world-famous" cooking, his words. I knock on his front door and when he answers, I'm rendered speechless as he opens the door and is framed in a soft golden light coming from inside the house. He's wearing a pale blue polo with white, fitted linen pants. His polo is made of a thin material and I can see the impressions of his nipples through the fabric, and I also see a patch of darker brown hair poking up from the collar of his shirt.

He has a wide, warm smile when he greets me. "Hello there, handsome!" He looks me over and he takes in my light green button down, my dark gray slacks, and my shiny black shoes. "You look great!" I return his compliment earnestly. He welcomes me in and gives me a lingering kiss with those soft lips of his, and guides me to the kitchen.

His home is only two bedrooms, one of which is a hybrid guest room and office space. The interior is decorated with modern, neutral colored fixtures. The subdued appearance is overshadowed by the hundreds of frame photos all throughout his house, showing what I assume is his family. We get to the modern kitchen and I smell garlic and tomatoes, and wonder if he's miking something Italian. As if reading my mind, Owen says, "I'm making lasagna, mind helping?"

"I'm, uh, not the best with cooking to be honest. If it's not on a grill or in the microwave, I don't eat it." I feel a bit embarrassed.

Owen laughs at my look and says, "That's not a problem, I'm sure we can find a place for you." He assigns me to watch the sauce while he preps the other ingredients, both of us sipping wine and chatting. When it's time for the lasagna and bread to come out of the oven, Owen directs my to toss the salad while he plates everything.

I have a naughty intrinsic thought when he says it, "I'd like to toss your salad." Using the lingo he had learned on the internet. But I don't say it aloud.

We eat at a candlelit table in the dining room that's attached to the kitchen. I shower him with praise each time I try a different part of the meal, with in utter truth is delicious, some of the best pasta I've ever had. Throughout dinner, my eyes keep drifting down to his chest. I can't take my eyes off of that tuft of hair sticking out, contrasting his smooth face perfectly. His thin polo shirt is tucked slightly under his pecs, and I can feel myself getting hard under the table as I imagine what they must feel like to be squeezed and played with. I swear if this man doesn't initiate sex soon, I'm going to die of anticipation. Or, I can initiate myself.