Date: Fri, 04 Jun 2010 11:51:24 -0400
From: flatlander4722@aol.com
Subject: "Martin" Chapter 1

This story is mostly fiction. It contains sex between consulting adult
men. If you are underage, and, depending upon where you live, are not of
legal age to read stories with adult sexual content, you must close your
browser immediately. This story has been written for adults but, if as an
adult, sexual activity between men offends your sensibilities, you must
likewise, close your browser immediately. Enough information has been
provided for you to make an appropriate decision based upon your age. It is
your responsibility to act accordingly. This story is my own original
composition, please do not copy it. Comments and constructive criticism are
welcome but flames will be ignored. I hope you enjoy the story.


				  MARTIN


It was a surprise to discover so many non-natives living in Northern New
England. Several years ago, after spending a decade in Southern New
England, I relocated to a northern town adjoining a small city. My East
Coast ethnicity and urban speech seemed to reveal my origins
immediately. It eliminated any chance of blending seamlessly into any part
of New England. I found the characteristics of the northern populace were
magnified when compared to their southern counterparts. Because I had been
born in a big city, I felt like a foreigner and assumed everyone I met was
a native. This was an error in judgment on my part.

About a year after I moved north, an acquaintance from church, who later
became a friend, convinced me to join a local men's organization. Saying
only that it would be fun, I think he knew it would mainstream me into
local culture. And he was right. It did.

Early on, I met a fellow member named Martin. Other than brief exchanges,
we did not associate very much. A short, taciturn man, he appeared rather
stern. Sociable in a formal way, I had the feeling he did not care for
small talk, at least not with me. I don't mean to imply he was
unfriendly. Perhaps what I mean to say instead is he was reserved.

He did not appear to smile much but when he did, he transformed into the
very good-looking older man he was. I was so taken with those rare
glimpses, I pulled his leg at every opportunity, hoping he would smile
again. My irreverent inner-city humor seemed to catch him off-guard. I
don't think he knew what to make of me.

More than two years after we met, we accidentally collided quite forcefully
in the meeting room. The physical contact startled both of us but Martin
quickly grabbed ahold of me to prevent my falling over from the
impact. When he chuckled good-naturedly at my apology it was unexpected. It
was even more surprising when he went on to joke with me, revealing a dry
sense of humor. I picked up on that and made an appropriate riposte. It
deepened the grin on his handsome mature face. And in that instant, he was
so appealing and appeared so charming, it was all I could do to keep from
hugging him. Before I could stop myself, I gave him a manly clap on the
back, which he accepted without flinching.

Our collision seemed to break the ice. We interacted more afterward, and
maybe it was my imagination, but I thought I saw him smile at me more
too. I remember missing a meeting. When I saw him at the following one, he
reproached me in mock anger saying he had no one to kid because I had not
been there.

He began to sit next to me during our assemblies. When he leaned in close
to say something, his knee would press into mine. It seemed our hands
touched too every time handouts were passed. While I would pretend to read,
I lowered my eyes and shifted them in his direction. This allowed me to
observe his hands. There was a dusting of fine hair on the knuckles and
backs. While they were not overly large, the thumbs nonetheless were broad
and thick.

Martin headed a business organization downtown. Once, when our group's
usual venue was unavailable, the meeting was held in his suite of offices.

Although we did not see each other outside of our fraternal gatherings,
that was about to change.

One spring afternoon, I came upon him putting coins into a parking meter on
the street in front of his office. He said he was, regrettably, on the
run. He wished there were a few minutes to spend but time was just too
short. His parting shot was I should stop by the office anytime to say
hello but then again, he could not guarantee exactly when he would be
free. As he hurried off, he said wistfully there was even more work to be
done that evening in lieu of dinner.

Never one to pass up an opportunity, I promptly went home and cooked a
meal.

At a little past six o'clock, Martin was shocked to find me at his office
door, dinner in hand. It only took a few seconds for him to smell the food
and start salivating. I felt sorry for him because he appeared to be very
hungry.

He lead the way to a conference room where I served dinner. Martin ate
ravenously but quickly became self-conscious over his apparent lack of
restraint. I on the other hand thought to myself, he is a sexy, confident
guy who takes what he wants, when he wants, just like a real man. He went
on to explain he had not eaten since breakfast which was why he was so
voracious. An apology followed, for being impolite he said. I told him it
was nothing at all. Rather, it was gratifying to see him enjoying the food
I had prepared.

My comment put him at ease a bit but I could tell his loss of self-control
offended his sense of propriety. Eventually, with a sigh of satisfaction,
he stopped eating and sat back in his chair with a hand on his belly.

He eyed me thoughtfully and asked, "What prompted you to do this?"

It seemed he was looking right through me as if he was able to read my
thoughts. And oh! What thoughts they were! Maybe he was reading me?

I considered his loaded question carefully before responding. He knows, I
thought. I could make a move on him right now and I don't think he would
rebuff me. But I didn't. I simply answered him, choosing my words
carefully.

"I'm just helping a guy out."

He narrowed his eyes and nodded.

"I see," he said, "and thanks, it's appreciated."

Indeed! I thought. What do you see?

I leaned forward and asked if he felt better, then dared to pat his rounded
belly a few times.

He did not react to my touch. With lips drawn into a line, he nodded in the
affirmative, all the while meeting my eyes.

He's let himself go a bit, I thought, and grew a small potbelly. Then I
decided, no, it's his age.

We had spoken of the nineteen-fifties only a week before.

"What do you know of the fifties?" he had said. "You're too young!"

"I grew up in the fifties," I replied. "I was born in the forties."

"When?"

"1948"

"I was born in the forties too but in the early forties."

So that put him in his late sixties. Well, that certainly entitles him to a
potbelly, I thought.



The spring temperature in Northern New England can be fifty degrees one day
then eighty the next. That's why it's called "new" England! And that's
exactly what happened. It became summer overnight.

I was outside enjoying the sunshine and mulling over the previous evening's
encounter with Martin. It turned out his wife, a professional woman engaged
in public service, was out of town, and apparently, she traveled often. And
it happened he lived in a nearby village which held a particular interest
for me. As an amateur rock hound, it was a place I had been meaning to
explore for geological specimens. He offered to show me around sometime but
I had the impression he was merely being polite. Turned out I was on the
wrong track!

When I returned home there was a message on my voicemail from Martin
inviting me to lunch at his place the following Saturday. I returned the
call to accept and get directions. He warned me about his limited cooking
skills and said the plan was to grill some hotdogs and hamburger
patties. That was agreeable to me and I offered to make some vegetable
dishes and dessert.

For the next couple of days the weather cooperated and Saturday dawned
bright and clear.

It was hot when I pulled into the dirt lane which lead to the rural
property where the house stood. I saw Martin working near an aboveground
pool. He was shirtless, barefoot and perspiring freely. Of course I was
titillated but I was also greatly surprised. There was no reference for
this. Mostly I had seen him wearing a tie and jacket. The least formal
attire he sported was business casual. As I parked the car, he approached
wearing a pair of short, old-fashioned boxer trunks.

It was immediately apparent his hairy legs were well-built. In fact, his
nearly naked body gave the overall impression of a sturdiness unusual for a
man of his age. This was probably explained by the chopping block and
woodshed I saw in the yard. Yes, there was that small potbelly I had patted
a few nights ago but the beer can he held accounted for that.

I was not prepared for the sight of him stripped like this, revealing so
directly what his clothes ordinarily hid from view. And so, I drank him in,
unabashedly, with no pretense as to what I was doing. I knew he could see
the look on my face as I did so and frankly, I didn't care. The display of
his scarcely clothed body held me spellbound and it filled me with longing.

Extending his hand with a smirk, he proceeded to give me a firm
businesslike handshake along with the offer of a beer. Although I don't
like beer, I accepted, to put us on an equal footing so to speak. But I
think that was a delusion. Somehow I felt Martin already knew he held all
the cards. I could not keep my eyes off his alluring body, glistening with
sweat in the hot midday sun.

He lead me into the house where I stowed my prepared food in the fridge and
collected my beer. Martin suggested I get comfortable and make myself at
home.

It was obvious he had been busy setting up the pool in response to the
unusual heat. I offered to help but he said we could eat first if I was
hungry. I was hungry but not for lunch. So my response was for us to wait
until we finished the job. He liked the idea because it meant we could have
a dip beforehand.

The thought of cavorting with him in the water caused the crotch of my
cargo shorts to fill out. The few sips of beer had gone straight to my
head.

After stripping off my shirt, sneakers and socks, I followed him
outside. We commenced work. I followed his orders carefully and sooner than
expected: the cover was off, the cleaning was done, the water was treated
and the filter was humming.

"Ready to jump in!" He announced.

"I didn't bring a bathing suit," I said in a moment of realization.

"Don't worry about that," he said chuckling.

"Easy for you to say, you're already wearing one," I replied full of doubt.

Clothed male, naked male, immediately came to mind.

He laughed. "Mine will come off just as easily as it went on."

Before I could protest, he added, "Come on! A big city boy like you. Don't
tell me you're shy?"

With that, he bared his ass, grabbed a garden hose and held the spray over
his head.

He turned and my eyes were riveted to his crotch. He was hung heavy.

In what seemed like slow motion, I stripped off and he directed the spray
of water at me. I was shocked it was so cold and I let out a shout. In
contrast, Martin had not made a sound, and again I thought, he's a real
man.

He laughed heartily, enjoying my obvious discomfort.

Well at least the cold water caused my dick to shrink, I thought, as I
followed him up the steps of the pool deck, enticed by the movement of his
full, naked buttocks.

There was a marked difference in water temperature as we entered the
pool. It felt absolutely tepid after the cold shower. Martin waded over to
a cooler on the edge of the deck. He produced two beer bottles and offered
me one with an outstretched hand.

"You trying to get me drunk?" I joked.

"Could be," he said with a twinkle in his eye.

He took a large swill of beer, licked his lips and smiled.

That did it for me! I needed to get hold of myself. Putting the bottle to
my lips, I drank, hoping the alcohol would slow down the stirring between
my legs. Right then though, it did no such thing. I was hard!