Randy moves ahead with plans to upend his life. Kent joins him and more mysterious happenings ensue. And some sex, sex ensues as well. I mean it is supposed to be an erotic story.
Thanks, as always to LarryInSeattle.
I hope you enjoy.
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If Kent's idea had been for me to get a good night's sleep and then send me on my way home in the morning fully rested, that idea went badly astray. He had collapsed beside me and I had managed to get my legs down. I'd been covered in cum. He'd leaned over me, propped up on one elbow. Our bodies, slick with sweat and cum, had slid over each other as we kissed. We dozed a little after that.
I'm not sure how long we slept but Kent's mouth on my cock was what woke me sometime during the night. We spent the rest of the night fondling each other, talking, sucking each other, talking, playing with each other's nipples, talking. Eventually, we slept but it couldn't have been for very long. I'd woken to Kent cursing. He'd overslept. He offered to let me stay but I declined. We showered quickly, each of us staying at our end of the shower. We barely had enough time for a quick tug and kiss before I found myself hurrying after him down the hallway.
I don't recall much of the drive home, not because I'd been too sleepy but because I'd been so excited. I had so many ideas pinballing off each other inside my skull. I took the time to walk to the curb and collect the papers that had lain yellowing in the sun under sweaty plastic. They went straight into the garbage can. The mail, I tossed onto the kitchen counter. Then, I shucked off my clothes and collapsed, naked, atop the mattress that still took up most of the floor space in my kitchen.
That had been four days ago now. In the interim, I've managed to finish the floors. I've also repainted the kitchen cabinets and installed new appliances. Truth be told, my kitchen is old school, just big enough to get the job done and the job is cooking for a family not making a gourmet meal for a bunch of craft beer ass wipes. The place is coming together. I need to paint, inside and out. The roof is only four years old -- thank you hail storm and insurance. The yard, I'm simply going to sod and leave the rest to whoever buys the place.
I'd decided that no matter what Glenna decides, I'm selling the place. After that, beats me. If Glenna and Leon take me up on my offer, great. If not, I have marketable skills. I live cheap. I've heard of people who make their money for the year working the holiday season at any of several big warehouses, be they brick and mortar or e-commerce. I can do that in my sleep. I can work a grill. I can do yard work. In short, I expect to be free as a fucking bird.
I refuse to let myself imagine doing any of this in, or around, Pittsburgh, however. That seems like pushing it a bit. Kent has called twice. He'll finish his four-day week today and be up tonight. I'm excited and happy but the idea of moving down to Pittsburgh sounds too much like moving in together. That's ridiculous but it's the way I feel. I don't think he's ready for that.
I've heard from Liam. And by 'heard' I mean I've heard his voice and been told everything is fine and that's about it. Glenna, after talking with me, has hired him and Matt for the summer. I have no idea what's she's gonna pay them. Liam will cover the gift shop, grill, and dock. Matt will help with maintenance and other odd jobs. What he'll really be doing is swimming, with Liam and Leon's help, and rehabilitating his back. It appears Leon was worked out a way of helping Matt with the cost of school, short of simply handing him some cash.
I drain my coffee cup, stand up, stretch, and head outside. I've got a lot to do before Kent gets here. The sod I ordered is coming tomorrow and I need to get the yard ready.
I take a break at noon. Sweat turns the dust and dirt on my body into rivulets of mud. My hands are numb and my shoulders ache. The tiller I've rented is big and heavy but I still need to help it dig into the weeds and patches of grass. It vibrates so much I'm sure I've lost a couple of fillings. I've got the back yard done, though. The front is smaller.
It's smaller but I'm also tired and hot. It's almost four o'clock before I turn the kill switch on that fucking beast of a tiller. I can tell, despite the leather gloves, that I have a crop of new blisters to deal with.
I'm standing at the side of the carport, letting the hose run cold water over my head when I hear the soft bleat of a car horn, the sort of quick beep that tells you, politely, to wake the fuck up and go because the light has turned green. That's all well and good but I'm not spacing off behind the wheel. I'm standing with cold water running over my head.
I look up and Kent is standing there. He'd pulled into the drive without me hearing, not that I'm growing deaf in my dotage mind you, I had my head under the hose and my ears are still ringing from the sound of the tiller. Yes, mom, I wore ear protection but my ears are still ringing. He's standing beside the car, hand through the open driver's side window.
I feel my face break into a grin. What the fuck is he doing here this early? I 'shut off' the water by kinking the hose in my fist.
"What are you doing here? I thought you weren't coming until after supper?"
"They were over-staffed. It was quiet. They asked if anyone wanted to leave early. Here I am." His smile widens. "Do you have any idea how fucking hot you look? Shirtless, sweaty, water running off your hair and getting your faded jeans wet, and in work boots. What the fuck, Randy. You posing for online porn or something?"
I look down at myself. I feel hot but heat stroke hot, not sexy hot. I look up. I must look totally confused because Kent laughs.
He crosses the short distance between us, puts a hand on my arm and kisses me. I don't care if the neighbors are watching. I kiss him back. In my excitement, my grip on the hose loosens. Most of the spray goes on me but Kent gets a smattering.
He steps back laughing. I'm awe-struck at how glad I am to see him.
"What can I do to help?" He asks. "Unless you want to go inside and fuck," he snickers.
I smile. "That's it for the day. Sod comes tomorrow. So, yeah let's go inside and fuck."
"Let me grab my stuff. Is my car okay here?"
I nod. He flashes me a thumbs up and pops the trunk. He only has a small bag. He closes the trunk with his free hand and crosses back to stand beside me.
"I've missed you," he tells me, seemingly surprised at the admission.
"Yeah, me too." I hold the side door to the kitchen open. "Make yourself at home. I'm going to finish hosing off the worst of the dust."
He leans inside the kitchen and drops his bag on the floor but doesn't go inside.
"Let me help."
I can't think of a reason to say no. I move to stand in front of my truck, blocking the neighbors' view. I tug off my boots and set them atop the hood. I peel off my gross socks and lay them on the hood as well. My jeans follow. Kent's eyes have made me hard.
I spread my arms. He picks up the hose. The water is cold but it can't quench my boner or my joy.
I had thrown an old thread-bare beach towel over the clothesline earlier, for just this purpose. Kent drops the hose and follows it around the corner of the house. I hear the spigot wail in protest as he turns the water off. I pat my body dry, then toss the towel over my head and dry my hair. I do so with great vigor and in great hope that doing so will make by cock dance for him.
It seems to have worked since he jerks the towel away and pulls me close. His hand finds my cock as his tongue pushes past my lips. I enjoy the feel of him for a moment and then pull away.
"I don't care too much what my neighbors think but I don't want the cops out here though," I tell him. "Let's go inside."
***
We barely make it inside before Kent is on his knees, grabbing for my cock.
"I wanna taste your cum. I haven't tasted your cum," he pants.
"Sure, you have. It was in my mouth but you tasted it."
"Not the same," he insists. He doesn't say anything more because my cock is buried in his throat.
I've always been secretly proud of my ability to suck dick but Kent makes me feel like an amateur. He deep throats me, seemingly without effort.
"Let me take a shower first," I protest. "I must stink, dude. I've been working outside all day."
He answers me by holding my entire cock in his throat and shaking his head 'no', tickling my pubic hair with his nose. He moves his mouth up and down my cock, making my cock slick with his spit. He adds his hands. I use my hands blowing a guy, too, but not with the finesse Kent is displaying. He moves his hands in opposite directions, more of a twisting motion than a stroking one. His hands follow his mouth up and down my cock.
His tongue swirls around the crown, then flicks over the 'V' and over my slit. He milks my precum and uses it to make his hand slick. The more I ooze, the slicker is my cock and the faster his hands move.
I grip the sides of his head, urging him to slow down but it's no use. If anything, he kicks the tempo up a notch. My fingers pull at his hair as I cum.
His lips seal around my cock as I unload stream after stream of jizz. I purposely haven't jerked off for the past four days. Not that I hadn't played with my cock. I had. I stopped before I came. I knew from experience that trick would ensure a massive load, for those times when you felt the need to impress.
He doesn't miss a fucking drop. I'm the one who's impressed. I'm trying to catch my breath when he stands. I reach out for him, thinking he wants to snoball but he shakes his head. He jerks his jeans open and shoves them half-way down his thighs. His dick looks as glorious as I remember. He holds his hand to his mouth and lets some of my jizz leak out on his hand. He spreads the jizz over his cock. He moves his head in a quick half circle. I'm confused for a moment. He repeats the gesture, raising his eyebrows and adding a little shoulder English to the movement. I understand and turn around.
A hand on my lower back pushes me forward. I rest my hand on the counter top. I'm expecting the head of his cock to touch my ass but it's his mouth. I start to protest. I know my ass crack must be a sweaty mess after working outside all day. The hand on my back urges me to lean farther forward. I feel his tongue and then warm liquid flows over my asshole and starts to run down my legs and ball sack. His hand reaches between my legs and wipes them off my nut sack as well. The mouth leaves my ass.
His cock presses against my asshole, barely slowing as it penetrates me. He's using my own cum as lube. Fuck.
It's like we're back in his shower. The same deep thrusts. The same teasing cockhead popping in and out of my sphincter. But this time, I'm more involved. I clench at his dick with my ass, slowing him down, trapping him. I reach behind and hold him deep inside while I move my ass in circles, not letting him escape. I'm rewarded by the feel of him growing every more frantic. I let my head fall between my outstretched arms and watch the silvery thread of cum hanging from my cock, as it sways.
I brace myself with my arms and push back with my hips.
"Fuck me, Kent. Plow my ass," I beg.
He begins to slam his body into mine, grunting. Each impact drives a fevered 'uh-huh' past my lips.
His hands clutch at my hips, hips that still bear the finger-shaped bruises from four days ago. He slams into me so hard that my hand slips. I fly forward and my head connects with the cabinet. I see stars.
Behind me, Kent is pressed tight to my ass, jiggling. "Goddamn, fuck, fuck, Jesus," are the only coherent words I can make out.
