This story takes place a long time ago, when people got their news from a printed newspaper delivered to their doorstep each morning by a neighborhood kid, and when not many people had access to video porn. Public sentiment towards gay and lesbian relationships was not favorable making people hesitant to explore same-sex relationships.
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A couple of days into summer vacation after my junior year in high school, my little brother had a serious bicycling accident. As he was riding downhill at full speed, a driver who wasn't paying attention backed out of a driveway right into his path. My brother hit the side of his car, flew over his handlebars, bounced off the roof of the car and landed on the curb on the other side. His injuries include a fractured cervical spine that left him partially paralyzed. Back then, neurosurgery and physical therapy were much less advanced than they are today, but the doctors were able to relieve the pressure on his spinal cord. They were hopeful he'd regain full function, but they said he'd probably have to relearn how to do everything. They expected his recovery to take up to a year.
Kit was always ambitious and had signed up for a paper route as soon as he was old enough. He'd been delivering the morning paper for a year and was proud of earning a steady paycheck at only thirteen years old. My parents wanted to be sure he had that paper route to look forward to when he recovered, so they talked me into taking it over. And that's how, a couple of months after my eighteenth birthday, I found myself getting up at five a.m. on my summer vacation to do a job that junior high school kids usually did.
After a few days I came to like the peace and quiet of the early morning as I made my rounds. I could usually get another hour or so of sleep before I had to be at my regular summer job, working at the front counter of the municipal swimming pool.
What I didn't like was Thursday evenings when I had to go collect payment for the papers from my customers. Ring the doorbell, hope someone answers, remind them how much they owe, wait for them to go get their wallet or purse, make change, record the payment, move on to the next house. Repeat for about a hundred customers. By the end of the summer, I could get it done in a little over two hours on a good night.
However, on my first day making collections, as I approached the final customer, I was thinking about how sore my legs were from three hours of walking and dreading the thought of the mile and a half walk home. I rang the doorbell, and when it opened the man behind the door looked puzzled, just like everyone else that night.
I said, "Hi, I'm Ian, Kit's brother," and I explained about his accident. The guy said he was sorry to hear about the accident, said he and his wife liked Kit, and said that they'd keep him in their thoughts and prayers. He said I looked a little old to be a paperboy and I admitted I was a senior in high school and had recently turned eighteen. As we talked, I was absentmindedly rubbing my back. He noticed and said, "You look tired and it's hot out here. Why don't you come in and have a beer while we finish talking."
The drinking age in our state was still eighteen back then, so I was legal to drink but hadn't had many opportunities other than the occasional beer my father let me have. Being a typical eighteen-year-old boy, I wasn't going to turn down a beer, so I said, "Sure," and he led me to his living room which was off a small entry hall.
As he walked down a short hallway, I sat down and glanced at the TV which was on, tuned to a sitcom that my parents liked to watch.
The man returned a minute later with two cans of beer. He handed me a can and sat down on the sofa as he said, "By the way, I'm Roy," before we picked up our conversation about Kit again.
As we talked and drank our beers it seemed to me that he was looking me up and down in a way that made me a little uncomfortable. He must have sensed this because he said, "Excuse me if I'm staring at you. I'm not one of those guys who ogles the neighborhood kids. I'm just a little envious of what good shape you're in. I've been working out trying to put on some muscle, but as you can see, my results aren't as good as yours."
I laughed and said, "My football coach would love to hear you say that. He's a fanatic about weightlifting and he's had the whole team in the weight room four or five days a week since we were playing freshman football." Taking a closer look at him I added, "You look strong, even though you aren't really pumped. I wouldn't be surprised if you were an athlete in school."
Roy told me that he wanted to play football in high school, but he'd been too small. He looked to be about five foot ten, but he said he hadn't gotten his growth spurt until the end of his senior year. Before that, he stood five foot four and competed in gymnastics. He'd hoped to continue in college, but once his weight started going up, he couldn't get strong enough to compete.
I said he still looked fit, and we started talking about our workout routines. That led to both of us taking off our shirts to compare where we were having success and where we were having problems. And I think we both wanted to show off a little.
Just then Roy's wife came through the front door. As she turned into the living room and saw us she stopped in her tracks. Roy made the introductions and told Lisa we were comparing notes on our weightlifting routines. Lisa made an exaggerated leering face and said, "I'd be glad to help with any comparisons you need."
We put our shirts back on and Lisa joined us as we finished our beers. That day we talked about how long they'd been in the neighborhood, where they came from, and what they did for a living, and I told them a little about my family and my college plans.
The next couple of weeks were similar with Roy and I having beers together and talking each time I came to collect. Roy worked as an engineer, which is what I wanted to study in college, so a lot of our conversations centered around college choices, different engineering majors and careers in engineering.
Then came the week when I knocked, and Roy answered the door in a light bathrobe that fell just to the middle of his thighs. He said, "Oh, it's later than I thought," as he let me in. When I walked into the living room, he didn't invite me to sit or offer me a beer as he had the past two weeks, and he looked distracted as walked out saying he was going to get my money.
I looked around the room as I was waiting for him and as I glanced at the TV, I was shocked to see an image of a naked woman bent over a desk with a guy in a business suit behind her lining his cock up with her pussy. The woman was a knockout with a tight ass and perfect cone shaped tits hanging down, and the guy's cock put mine to shame. I'd never seen a porn video before, or even live sex, so my dick was instantly tenting my shorts.
Roy walked back in and seeing where I was looking, he said, "Oh, crap. I thought I'd turned that off."
With all the blood having gone to my dick, my brain wasn't fully functioning, so all I could think of the say was, "You've got a home video player!" VHS and Betamax players were fairly new back then and they were expensive, which made them rare. Porn tapes were even more rare, and they were generally of greater interest to teenage boys. To this day I don't know why that wasn't the first thing I commented on.
After a few moments of silence I did say, "Wow! A sex video! I've never seen one before. That looks really hot!"
I think Roy was embarrassed and wanted to get me out the door as quickly as possible, but he wasn't thinking any more clearly than I was. He muttered something like, "Here's your money, have a good night," but then he added, "Uh, you can have a beer with me and watch a little if you want to."
I said, "Oh! Uh, sure. Yeah!" and Roy left the room again to get some beers. I used that opportunity to adjust my cock, trying to make it less conspicuous as I sat down on the sofa.
When Roy came back, he sat in an armchair next to the sofa. The way he was positioned, he was almost facing me and had to turn his head to see the TV. He explained unnecessarily that the guy was the girl's boss and she'd just agreed to have sex with him to earn a raise. Then he hit play.
As we watched, my cock got harder and harder, and I could feel precum soaking through my underwear. I was glad I'd worn a long T-shirt because I knew there was going to be a visible wet spot in my faded denim shorts.
I could see Roy sneaking glances at me as I was sneaking glances at him. His cock was getting hard too, and he was struggling to keep it under wraps beneath the thin material of his bathrobe. His dick kept making an obvious tent, and he was trying to make it less obvious without actually grabbing it. He flashed me a couple of times when he made a wrong move adjusting his robe, giving me my first ever view of another guy's fully erect dick. I also realized his robe was so short that his balls were always hanging in sight unless he squeezed legs together.
I was torn between sipping my beer slowly so I could see more of the video and slamming it down so I could go home and do something about the painful hardon in my pants. By the time the boss pulled out of the woman's pussy and sprayed his cum all over her back, I was sure one or two tugs on my cock would set me off. I stayed through one more scene where two other women gave the boss a blowjob and he coated their faces with an impressive amount of cum.
After that, I left quickly and speed-walked home. When I got there, I was sweaty, and my cock had only softened a little. I was breathing hard and blood was pounding in my ears as much from the memory of that video as from the exertion of racing home.
Everyone in my family was busy with something as I arrived home, so I was able to walk in unnoticed and make my way to the bathroom. Once there, I quickly stripped, jumped in the shower, and grabbed my dick. Almost as soon as I touched myself, I was painting the walls with cum.
