"Hello, Atid."
I turned, lifted my head, and brushed the hair out of my eyes with the back of my hand. "You remembered my name," I said.
"Sure I did," Buddy said in a low voice. "I remembered everything about you."
He was standing in the doorway of the inn's laundry room, next to the kitchen, his big, strong body backlit by the sunshine streaming in. I was washing table linen, stripped down to my shorts because of the heat rising from the rumbling washers and dryers. It was early afternoon. There wasn't any action on in the afternoon—usually. And Hoagie was away until the dinner hour. He had a chamber of commerce meeting in town.
"Hoagie . . . the owner . . . he isn't . . ." I stammered out.
"I know. I saw him in town," Buddy said. His voice was still low. "I'm taking you for a ride for an hour or so. There's something I want to show you."
"You saw Hoagie in town," I said. "You talked to him . . .?"
"It's all set. I'm taking you for a ride. You said you'd never seen the river. And it's just over yonder. You haven't been away from the inn, have you? Not at all. Not the whole time you've been here."
"No, I haven't," I answered, casting my head down, not wanting him to see my eyes. I hadn't even thought about leaving the inn—and Hoagie had never suggested it. There never would have been time for it anyway.
"Come here," he said. I looked up and he was holding a hand out to me.
I walked over to him and he ran an arm around my waist and turned me inside and beside the door, lifting me in front of him, and pinning me between his body and the wall. My legs were off the ground—he was a foot and a half or so taller than I was, and big-boned and heavily muscled. I felt like a rag doll in his grasp. But I felt safe and secure too. I knew he wouldn't drop me. I hooked my thighs on his hips. He was breathing heavily and I felt his manhood against my lower belly. Hard. A chill of thrill went up my spine. The other night, when we had just talked, I worried. I worried that he didn't like me—or that he wasn't turned on by me—or that maybe something was wrong with him, that he couldn't get it up. But he certainly felt like he could get it up now.
I gently moved my pelvis against his crotch and moaned softly and low, and I felt him shudder in response and his member hardening further against me.
He brought his face down close to mine and murmured. "The other night you asked me if I didn't want you. Do you still think I don't want you?"
"No, I can feel you want me," I whispered. "But Hoagie . . . does he . . .?"
"It's settled," he answered in a husky voice. And then he brought his lips down to mine, and we kissed. The kiss deepened. I opened my lips to him, and his tongue pushed inside. At the same time, his pelvis started to move against me, matching the rhythm I had set. I climbed his torso higher, so that his cock, still sheathed by the thin material of his trousers and jutting out now, pushed under my balls and I was riding it through two layers of material that might not even have been there.
I moaned for him—deeply—and he pulled away from the kiss and buried his lips in the hollow of my neck, without slackening the rhythm of the dry fuck motion.
I rarely took it this slow. It wasn't often that I had time to prepare for the fuck. I moved my hands down to his waistband and started to push his trousers down.
"No, not here, not yet," he lifted his head and whispered to me. "I want to show you the river."
He was right. The river was less than a fifteen-minute drive from the inn in his sports convertible. Not much more than a rapid stream, rushing over nearly exposed rocks, the river ran between a line of trees at the base of a narrow valley running between high, heavily forested mountains on either side, which showed bare sections here and there that looked like some giant had taken a bite of them but that were the remains of strip mining that Buddy told me had been banned a good decade earlier but that it would take many more decades for the mountains to recover from—if they ever would.
Buddy parked the car in a graveled lot, off the highway that ran parallel to the river through the narrow valley. He'd passed a couple of lots where cars were parked. There were none here.
"Here, you carry the blanket and I'll bring a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses," Buddy said as he exited the car.
We walked over to where a trail opened in the trees. We couldn't see the river, but I could hear it. I was exhilarated. This was an adventure for me. The air was clean, and although the trees had already started to change colors, the day was warm. I looked up before we entered the trees and I could see the sun up there, beaming down on me. I didn't know then what the pleasant feeling I was having was. Only later, much later, did I realize that it was the sensation of being free.
We followed the trial down to the river for only a few yards before Buddy veered off through the undergrowth until we came out at the edge of the river between two big boulders with a small patch of mossy ground between them.
My eyes went directly to the water, which was shallow and ran over small, rounded and smooth rocks with larger, nearly flat boulders hovering above the waterline and offering a series of stepping stones out almost to the middle of the river.
As he spread the blanket, Buddy looked over at me and smiled and said, "You want to go into the river, don't you? Well go ahead. Just don't try to walk on the wet rocks. You'll slip. It's too shallow to drown, but you might scrape yourself up."
I sat down on the moss and took off my sneakers and socks and then walked out into the river. I was alone in the world when I reached the center of the river. But then I was alone in the world anyway, and this was a very pleasant version of it—watching the water race around me on its way down the valley into some larger body of water someplace—with someplace to go. In contrast to me.
When I turned and worked my way back to the very private little dell between the boulders, I saw that Buddy was stretched out on the blanket. He'd stripped down to his briefs, which were tented out arrestingly, and already was sipping wine straight from the bottle—and watching me with a big smile on his face, vicariously enjoying what I was enjoying for the first time. I decided that this West Virginia was a beautiful place and that I was very lucky that Hoagie had brought me here.
"Come, lay down here beside me," Buddy said. He patted the blanket beside him and poured me a glass of wine as I approached and came down on the blanket. I didn't lay down, though. I folded my legs underneath me and sat beside him as he reclined back again, with one arm propping up his head and his other hand holding the wine bottle. I put the glass he'd handed to me to my lips and tasted the wine. It had a sharp, crisp taste to it. Hoagie didn't let me drink alcohol. But he also told me not to do anything to displease the customer, and Buddy had handed me the glass without asking me if I wanted it. So, I drank it. And as I drank it, I gazed out at the river, enjoying once again watching the freedom and abandon of the water racing down the trace.
I leaned toward him and put my hand on the front of his briefs, lightly grasping his member through the white cotton. He laid back and purred, letting me know this was just fine with him. We shared our first sex in that fashion—not an overpowering and frenetic jackhammering of me by him—but with me gently fondling his engorged cock through the cotton of his briefs and him moaning softly with his eyes closed. And then moaning more deeply and groaning as I pulled the waistband of his briefs to below his balls and leaned over and took his cock in my mouth. His hands went to my head, and he ran his fingers through my hair as his cock tightened and I took and swallowed his flow. He lay there afterward for the longest moment, savoring our first sex. Then he thanked me and dozed off. I sat there, watching him in repose, happy at how gentle and fulfilling our first time had been.
Buddy didn't doze for long, though. He woke with a start and opened his eyes and gave me a smile. He reached around me with an arm and I felt his hand on the small of my back. He began to run his free hand up and down my back and then he propped his torso up on his elbow very close to me and his hand came around and started to stroke my chest and play at my nipples. I looked down to see that his cock was already coming back to life. I wanted him to fuck me now. And he could take me hard; I didn't care. I was lost to him.
My wine glass drained, I put it down on a flat stone next to the blanket and turned to him and moved my lips to his.
When we'd kissed, I decided it was time to find out where this was to go, if any further. "What do we do . . . what did you pay Hoagie for me to do? Have I done what you expected . . . wanted so far," I asked.
I was half afraid that I had already used up what he had paid for, and even without Hoagie being here, I was so conditioned by him, that I naturally thought in terms of services contracted and no more.
"I have a confession," he said, in a voice somewhat muffled, because he'd dropped his lips to one of my nipples, while his encircling hand was playing with the other nipple. "There are no arrangements with Hoagie. He doesn't know we're out here. And he needn't know. He won't be back at the inn for a couple of hours."
"Hoagie doesn't know?" I went rigid with fear.
