From diagnosis to death, it took ovarian cancer about six weeks to kill my wife. I had six weeks to prepare, to deny, to accept and to mourn, but it didn't make it any easier than if Deidre had died a quick, accidental death.
That's why I joined a support group for people who had lost spouses. I'm 48, and our two adult children -- Adam, 23, and Jenna, 25 -- were starting careers and families. Both of them were far away. Adam was in a career-track, entry-level position at a big corporation in California, and Jenna was even farther away, newly married to a West Point grad at the start of a brilliant career with NATO in Europe.
So, a few days after the funeral, I was alone. The kids and other family there for support went back to their lives. I thought I would try to put mine back together, a new life. I started taking on more work at my job in the administration of a nearby school district. That earned me a promotion. It was a few months after that when I crashed through. Depression and grief had worn me down. I went to a bereavement counselor who recommended the group.
It helped, and I made new friends there, and that really helped even more. One guy in the group of 10 was younger than me. There were six widowers in the group including myself, and four widows. The other men were older than me, mid-to-late 50s and into their 60s.
Bruce Burton was one of those men. What I saw when we first met in the group was a well-built, middle-aged man of average height. His white hair was shaved closely and stylishly tight against his head, and he was bald on top.
I learned he was 60, retired military, had been in Misty Springs for a little over a year and his wife, Birgit, had died in hospice from ALS.
I hadn't had any strong bisexual urges or encounters since college, and yet I couldn't deny to myself I found Bruce attractive as soon as that first, firm handshake. That was another point in his favor.
My married sex life with Deidre had been conventional but satisfying. Beth liked giving me blowjobs, but she didn't love them. She viewed anything beyond lingerie as silly and childish. The fucking was good, and she would even let me fuck her ass on special occasions. Even the frequency was enough to keep me satisfied most of time until the last few years of our marriage.
Maybe that vanilla sex was why my thoughts of men had been only fleeting fantasy until around the time I hit 45. I had even toyed with cheating and taking out a personal ad. I did cruise those and fantasize, jerk off to gay and bi porn.
Over the next few weeks of knowing Bruce, I continued to wank to gay and bi porn, and even bought a couple of dildoes, a butt plug, a prostate massager and a Fleshlight. Getting to know those toys and play with them was fun and kept me satisfied for a while. I downloaded Grindr and started cruising personals. I toyed again with posting a profile, but instead I got off on the ads and imagining being with the guys there.
It was like the horny, kinky 20something me was back, and the distraction kept my mind off my wife's death and my loneliness. Eventually, those fantasies coalesced around Bruce, who was more and more my masturbatory focal point. I realize now that I avoided fantasizing about women because on an unconscious level I was afraid it would remind me of Deidre, or like I was cheating on her memory. Lusting after another man was new, different and a return to my youthful exploration.
Almost three months after my first meeting with the group, I had only seen Bruce and the other guys, Dave, Bob, Tony and Barry in the support group. It was after a session one day that the four of us were standing around grabbing a last cup of coffee before heading out and chatting as we drank up. Bruce invited us over to watch the Central City Dragons opening baseball game.
Clearly, he was lonely like several of us were. I didn't have the heart to say no, plus it would be good for me, too. At that moment, I honestly wasn't thinking with my dick, at least not consciously. No one else took him up on the offer. They had other commitments but took 'rain checks.' Despite a three-run lead, the Dragons managed to give it all up in the last two innings, losing by one run.
After that loss, we went outside. Bruce opened a minifridge that was part of one of those fancy outdoor kitchen and grill set-ups -- first class masonry, very high end. He poured us beers.
After the pour, the two of us clinked glasses and talked about the guys and women in the group sessions. Some of it was gossipy and venting about some interpersonal annoyances, but we both agreed we liked everyone in the group, more or less.
What followed started to become a routine, I would stop by two or three times a week and the conversations got lighter. The beer flowed, and my attraction to Bruce grew. We actually had a lot in common -- shared Star Wars fandom, a passion for the Central City Dragons baseball team, a fondness for craft beer. Even our political and religious views were similar, moderate to progressive and agnostic.
I can't say we fell in love. I'm not sure if same-sex romance is part of my make up, but it definitely became a bromance. It was early autumn and the air was cooling fast, as it does in the Cadron Mountains. Bruce had texted me that morning and invited me to grill and firepit, which sounded great.
After watching the Dragons narrowly lose, again, to the fucking Phillies, the drinking intensified and moved outside. The season was almost over. I was anxious that I would lose the excuse to hang out with Bruce. We did pause to drink water and start the grilling. The steaks and potatoes were delicious, and we broke out the whiskey to watch the sunset and shoot the shit.
Bruce lit and then clamped a big cigar between his lips and started puffing away.
"God damn, I wish I could get laid!" he confessed with a laugh.
"Me, too." I chimed in. We briefly assessed the women in the group and, unfairly, concluded they either were too bitchy, too old or unavailable.
"If I wasn't on the verge of a full drunk, I would drive into town, find a glory hole and a cocksucker."
To say the least, I was shocked, and inwardly delighted at the opening.
"Really? Are you kidding?"
Bruce said he was "half kidding." He explained that he had stayed faithful to his wife, but the intense mourning was starting to lift and his libido was recovering with a vengeance. Hooking up with a woman was appealing, but he admitted his dating skills were rusty, and the prospect intimidating. That left him open to a glory hole adventure.
"I have to admit that when I was a young officer, I risked going to an adult book store a few times and getting my dick sucked. That was back in the 'don't ask, don't tell' days. After I met Birgit, I didn't need the relief, and I got nervous about getting caught."
"Well, you could get on Grindr or go into Central City. I think Kinkster still has some booths with holes."
Bruce seemed ambivalent about my suggestions, objecting that it also seemed kind of emotionally sterile and cold.
"Maybe a friend with benefits then?" I was getting brave with some 'Dutch courage' to give me fortitude.
Bruce said he didn't have many friends really. Caregiving Birgit had taken most of his time after they had retired to Misty Springs and the friends he had were online or still in the military and/or far, far away.
"That's not true. You have friends. There's the guys in group, and I'm your friend, Bruce."
"Oh, I know and I'm glad about it, but you're straight. Besides a friend might expect me to reciprocate in some way. I am not sure I could go that far."
I took a big sip of whisky as he spoke. It was then I finally blurted it out.
"I'm bi, Bruce."
Bruce almost spit his own whiskey and looked at me with amused skepticism.
"I'm bisexual," I repeated to make it clear what I was saying. "I experimented in college and... and... I... I... liked it."
That's when the awkward silence seemed to freeze frame the scene. I couldn't take it for very long.
"Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make it weird. I am going to blame the booze, and you can forget I said anything. Please erase the last minute."
I already was starting to panic.
Bruce took a sip, and softly chuckled then said, "No need to apologize, Tom. I'm just trying to decide if it's private enough in my backyard for you to blow me right now out here."
It was my turn to be struck speechless. This was happening very fast, faster than maybe I was even comfortable with, but I decided to let it ride. I was very excited, already hard as a rock.
"Let's go in, cocksucker," he said playfully with a slap to my knee. I blushed. "It's starting to get cold out here, and I want to get naked for this."
I followed a couple of feet behind him. Bruce stripped just inside the sliding doors from the deck. I had seen every part of him except his cock and balls, but I'd never seen him completely naked and seen everything at once.
His face had a smile line and a wrinkle or two. Bruce's chest hair and body hair was mostly white, but his body was trim and muscular. There's was no six-pack or giant muscle bulges, just a very fit, middle-aged man of slightly above average height. Of course, what drew most of my attention was the straining bulge in his bikini briefs. That surprised me. I had expected boxers or tidy whiteys.
"Get naked and get on your knees if you want to see it, Tommy." I liked his commanding tone, and it made my own 5+ inches twitch. He also had never called me "Tommy" before, but I liked it. I felt diminished by such a boyish nickname at my age, and it was a turn-on.
It seems like everyone online has at least an 8-inch cock, but I'm not going to bullshit you. Bruce's was somewhere between 6 and 7 inches. His size actually varied more depending on how aroused he was, more than any other guy I have ever seen. What was notable was his manscaping, his uncut foreskin and his huge, handsome balls. His sac and shaft base were hairless, and his pubes were jet black, trimmed and thick. It was lust at first sight.
With a moan, I buried my face in his balls and scrotum, breathing in his scent. He'd showered but it had been since morning, and I found his smell intoxicating. I think I may have whimpered because he snorted and said, "Wow, you really want to suck my dick."
I looked up into his eyes and nodded. Bruce smiled back with a superior smirk. It was a new, edgy side of him I hadn't seen before. Although in retrospect, it had been there all along. Gently, I sucked and mouth-bathed his balls and skin. They were almost chicken egg sized, and I imagined, full of his cum. Until I was there on my knees, I didn't know how much I needed to do this. I knew my interest in men had been revived but I felt deep, mysterious emotions stir.
Bruce sighed deeply, put his hands over my ears and his fingers onto the back of my head and guided me ever so slightly higher. I kissed, licked and moaned into his flesh. A female friend of mine had once humorously called an ex-boyfriend's penis a "manroot" because it was so veiny. Bruce's cock reminded me of that remark as the tip of tongue traced each vein and artery. I loved it. It made his cock pulse and give an impression of barely contained power. My own cock was as rigid as blue steel but neglected at the moment.
The moment of truth finally arrived as I reached the head of Bruce's cock. I licked up a big drop of pre-cum and I moaned. Bruce snickered, and then I began my real work as his pole parted my lips, slid down the length of my tongue and pressed its insistent glans against the back of my mouth. I alternately sucked with my mouth and swirled with my tongue. He seemed to like that and his hands set the initially slow pace of my swallows. I gagged slightly more than once. When I thought I was ready, I went for it. Pushing passed the trigger spot for my gag reflex and summoning all my control, I deep throated him. All that practice with the dildoes and my old college skills came back, boosting my confidence.
"Oh, my God, Tommy. That's amazing."
