Date: Tue, 19 Jan 2016 11:14:27 +0000 (UTC)
From: fernandobuddy <fernandobuddy@yahoo.com>
Subject: Loving a widower - Part 1 (Adult/Youth)

      Loving a widower - Part 1


Just to inform: this story is for those who like to read, with context, not
just sex.

English is not my native language (forgive my mistakes).
The story is real.


      At the time this happened I was 13, and to this day, I think that's
the reason why it has remained so vivid and so clear in my mind. Being so
young, it was like engraving it in soft wood, which later hardened and kept
it there forever.
      I had two friends that were almost like brothers to me. We spent a
lot of time together, went to the same school and we enjoyed being
together. Their father had a cattle ranch, a big one, and most of our
weekends we spent there.  On Fridays, a little after lunch, we would pack
our stuff and he would take us there in his truck. Sometimes the father and
the mother also stayed there with us, bus most of the time he simply dumped
us there and returned to pick us up late on Sunday. We liked it because
they had a caretaker, a young man in his mid-twenties with a wife and two
kids, and we didn't have to do anything but have fun and enjoy ourselves in
that vastness of woods, pastures, a river and lots of food.
      Since the ranch was so big, there was another person who lived five
miles away from the main house, who was responsible for tending the fences
and also for keeping an eye on furtive people who tried to hunt deer in the
property.
      And it's about this man I am going to write here. He is the man who's
been living in my mind ever since, and to whom I compared all the other men
who happened to cross my life. I can't say he is the one who shaped my
sexual life because when we met I already knew what I was and what I liked,
but he was my first man, and, in a way, he still is.
      Since he lived far from the main house, and he lived alone, because
he was a widower, his son, the main house caretaker, provided most of what
he needed, so that he seldom left his cabin to go anywhere. The first time
I went there I liked him instantly. He had a way that kind of pulled me
towards him, like a gravitational field. And besides, he was a very
attractive man. Not like a movie star, no! It was more like a good-looking
uncle, or a father, or a salesman... an ordinary man. What I mean is that,
in spite of living a hard life, hard work, and no comfort at all, he still
remained an attractive man, there was this masculinity all about him, from
head to toe.
      He wasn't very tall, but he wasn't short either, about 6 feet tall
with wide shoulders, weighting something like 220 pounds. He was well
muscled from working the ranch all his life but he also had a nice round
belly. He was just big and burly enough, had big hands and his chest was
coated in a fine mix of gray and dark hair. I learned later that he was 53
years old and that his wife had died five years earlier. Until then he kind
of lived a normal life, used to go to the small city 15 miles away every
Sunday because his wife enjoyed going to church, but since she died he had
become almost a hermit.
      Every day, he rises at 4am and spends three hours tending the
cows. After a strong mug of coffee and some eggs, he goes out to check the
area around and then returns to tend his vegetables, and later on, at 5pm,
he brings the cattle in before supper and an evening of listening to the
radio, his only company, besides the two dogs he keeps around. He told me
one night, while I was lying in his arms that he had long ago lost the
habit of marking time in months or years; in those five years, he had not
seen a doctor or taken any medicine. He mentioned that he had never once
been sick. `You have to have contact with other humans', he claimed, `in
order to get sick'.
      When I asked him if he didn't miss having other people around, he
told me that when you have people around you, you have to do what they
require of you, like his wife, who always wanted him to do this or that,
and now he did whatever he wanted with his life and time. `I don't have the
drama that relationships bring, I don't have to concern myself with
obligatory things like going to church, gift giving, visiting, listening to
annoying conversations, etc.'
      The first time I visited him we became friends almost instantly. I
remember my other friends treating him like an employee (and he was indeed
their employee) and so he kept his distance from them. But I didn't
consider myself in position of ordering around and rather chose to follow
him around while he busied himself. He treated me like a son and answered
all my silly questions. When we said goodbye that first time I told him I
would come back and he said that I would be always welcome.
      That night, and the whole weekend, I spent a lot of time thinking
about him and I felt sexually aroused at the idea of seeing him again. From
that day on, every time I had a chance I would come along when his son had
to visit him. One day, one of my friends suggested we spent the night there
so that we could go fishing in the river (because the kind of fish he
wanted only came out at night), and so we stayed over. The cabin had two
bedrooms, one of them was where senhor Joćo slept in an old double bed,
and the other one had two single beds. I shared one of the bed with one of
my friends while the other one took the other bed. I remember that when
night came it felt like we had been abducted from Earth and left in some
alien place. There were too much strange noises and my mind seemed to be
over creative, bringing to life monsters and creatures that I hadn't even
thought about during the day. So, sharing a narrow bed with another person
was not bad after all after being exposed to that vast darkness and
isolated place.
      Then, a few weeks after that, my two friends and I decided to go
there again to spend the whole weekend. I was too excited because senhor
Joćo and I had become good friends. When my friends weren't nearby, and
it was just the two of us, he treated me with the fondness that only two
persons who like each other can show. We felt comfortable when we were
together and in many occasions he told me I was a golden boy. I felt like
he was getting to like having me nearby, that I wasn't a nuisance, that he
felt just at ease with me as when he was by himself, that I didn't
compromise his hermit lifestyle.
      Since we're talking here about simple lifestyle, we didn't use to
warn the people at the ranch that we were coming. There was no cell phone
back then, but even if we had one, there was no way we would get any
bar. So we simply crashed there and that was that. But I can tell that
senhor Joćo didn't feel upset when he saw us coming; on the contrary, he
even smiled when we got close and gave one another bear hugs, like those
typically man thing. And I loved to touch him, to place my hand on his back
and let him hold me close even if it was for the briefest of time. He had
his own scent, like sweat, deodorant, something else, I don't know, but he
sure was good to hug.
    - So, tell me, you guys seem to like to waste your time with this old
man here!
    - Ah, come on, you ain't no old man – said my oldest friend. And
this time we're staying a little bit longer.
    - Oh, yeah?
    - Yeah! Tuesday will be a holiday so school now only next Wednesday.
Hallelujah! - My friend replied and went inside to drop his backpack,
followed by his brother.
    That day we spent in the woods hunting birds with our slings, swimming
in the river, and fussing around. When we went to bed we were exhausted and
in no time at all we were dead to the world.
    The next day, Saturday, happened to be the day my life changed
forever. Or, at least, the day my life started to change, because it didn't
happen all at once. Oh, no! It kept changing on Sunday, Monday, and all the
other many times we spent together.
    To make a long story short, what happened was: the younger brother,
Paulo, was running barefooted and stepped on a sharp piece of wood and he
bled a lot. And he cried a lot too, after all he was only eleven and he was
in pain and scared. My oldest friend asked senhor Joćo if he had any
medicine at home and he answered `no', so he decided to take his brother
back home. But he told me to stay because he would be back, that he had no
intention on ruining his whole weekend. I was worried and feeling sorry for
Paulo, but there was nothing I could really do. Pedro put his brother on
the cart and they left. Senhor Joćo and I stood watching them until they
disappeared in the woods. Then we shrugged and resumed what we were doing,
which was bringing the cattle in because it was getting dark and we had
lost a lot of time trying to help Paulo.
    When we finished it was already dark and time to have something to eat
and then bath and bed. The place was utterly isolated; therefore, there was
no electricity, no hot water and no electrical lights. Senhor Joćo used
another small room of the house as a bathroom, in the strict sense of the
word: no number one and no number two, only baths, where he used one of
those old bucket showers that I don't think can be found these days. It was
a shower attached to a bucket, which you filled with water, and it had a
valve, like a lever, that you moved down to open, to make the water run,
and up, to close it.
    This room didn't have a door because he lived alone and there was no
one there in order to make him to close the door when taking his
showers. The other times I visited him and I knew he was taking a shower I
longed to see him naked, but I had to control myself in front of my friends
because I didn't want them to call me a fag. But that night, being only the
two of us, I saw the opportunity I was seeking for. The house was dark, but
the bathroom was bright because he was using one of those oil lamps, and I
used that excuse to enter the room and ask where I could find another of
that lamp.
    He saw me enter the room, but did not try to hide himself or his
private parts. He simply kept soaping his body, running the soap from his
armpits to his belly, then his balls and cock. God almighty, he had a
wonderful body, the fur on his chest covered in white, going down his belly
until it joined the patch of hair below his cock, which was soft, but
dangled well below his balls. He had a beautiful cock, fat, long, and
uncut, only half of the head appearing.
    I stared at him for a while until he told me he was almost done and
then he would get me another oil lamp for my bedroom. I left the bathroom
feeling like my heart was going to jump out of my mouth. God, I wanted very
much to touch him, to help him soap his body; feel him under my hands... I
felt like I needed to masturbate, to cum, to fuck, whatever. I was only
thirteen, but I had already had some sexual contacts with a friend. Of
course this was something nobody else new about, and I considered it a
child play because this friend of mine was my own age and also because we
were both trying to cope with what was happening in our bodies.
    But with senhor Joćo that was something entirely different. He was
an adult; he could be my own father, and his cock was definitely way bigger
than mine or my friend's. In addition, maybe that was the reason why I felt
so disturbed after seeing it. I wanted to touch it, to feel it in my hands
and also in my mouth, the way I felt my friend's cock when we played. But
how could I get that? Senhor Joćo would never let me touch him. He had
never, ever, tried anything with sexual connotation with me. I was the one
who felt that way towards him; I was the one who wanted him to fuck me.
    Shit!

    We ate something for dinner and then he told me it was time to go to
bed because he'd have to wake up early in the morning. I took the oil lamp
and went to my bedroom, and after a while I started to hear the same noises
I had heard the other night. They probably were crickets, beetles, owls or
other birds and small animals wandering in the woods, but suddenly, I felt
too small and too vulnerable in that dark end of the world.  What if there
was a snake coiled under my bed? Oh, God, I was scared. I was in panic! I
could hear faintly the voices in the radio senhor Joćo was listening to
in his bedroom, so he was still awake, I wasn't going to be alone in my
bedroom another minute.
    I was wearing only my underwear, but I didn't care. I grabbed my oil
lamp and entered his bedroom and there he was, in his bed, wearing only his
loose boxer underwear, hands under his head, listening to an old country
song. When he saw me he raised his head and asked me if there was anything
wrong. I told him that I was scared and didn't want to sleep alone in my
bedroom. He smirked and said that there was nothing I could be afraid of,
that he had never seen any monster in all those years he was living there,
but I told him that I would certainly be awake the whole night if he didn't
let me sleep with him.
    - Do you want to sleep here with me? In my bed? – he asked. I said
yes and was already nesting myself close to him, making him open space for
me, our bodies coming in contact, my back to him, touching his side. He let
be and we remained there, silent, lying next to each other, listening to
music, and after a while, I felt he relaxed, overcoming the surprise of
having me in his bed, a half-naked boy closer than anybody had ever been in
a long time. He didn't tell me all this, but now I can see much clearer and
I can even guess what must have gone thru his head at that moment. I think
that something sexual did really cross his mind, but he quickly bashed it
away, feeling guilty and ashamed, but having me there, my butt touching his
side, must have awakened something dormant in his body.
      I don't know if people have felt this, but when you are in the dark,
when you can't see the other person, sometimes you say or do things you
ordinarily wouldn't if it were not for the darkness. And that was how I
felt that night. The oil lamps were still lit, but for me it was as if the
whole world had disappeared and it was only him and I and tomorrow was a
long time away. I knew I wanted him badly and it was then or never.  So I
made my move. I turned to him and asked if he could put his arm under my
head.  He took a moment, as if weighting my request, and then spread his
arm and I rested my head and my free hand on his chest, my nose burying in
his fur. I thanked him for letting me sleep with him and began running my
fingers slowly around, rubbing his nipple and I felt when he went rigid.
      His body tensed and I could see that he had stopped breathing. I
raised my head and kissed his nipple while my hand lowered a little more,
now caressing his belly, making circles around, my tongue circling his
nipple.
   - Nando... - he cleared his throat – I think we should go to sleep –
he said, but didn't do anything.
   - Ah, senhor Joćo, this is so good. Don't you like it? – I asked
while I licked his nipple and my hand lowered a little more and brushed his
underwear. There was a lump there, I was positive, but first I had to be
sure he wouldn't mind me going there. So, after a moment of silence, I
purposefully put my hand on the live lump in his underwear and squeezed
it. He groaned and I knew I could go on. Then I stuck my hand in his
underwear and grabbed his pulsing cock and I heard him sucking air thru his
clenched teeth. The feeling of having his hard cock in my hand was amazing;
it was hot, hard and velvet at the same time.
      I decided to throw away my shyness and I knelt on the bed, got rid of
his underwear, and placed myself between his legs. He was looking at me,
maybe a little confused, but also too horny to try to stop me. I think that
in that moment he might have thought "hell, what the fuck! If he wants it,
why not?" His cock was hard and resting on his belly, the head a little
above his belly pit. It was beautiful. I bent over him, grabbed it and
brought it to my mouth. The moment I engulfed the head he almost sat up,
and then fell on the bed again. As I sucked him I heard him moan and move
his head from side to side, and now his hands were in my head, caressing
it, his fingers running thru my hair while I sucked him like I used to suck
a lollypop.
      I knew what I should do to make him feel good, after all, just like
him I had a penis and I knew what should be done to make a person cum. His
cock, now fully hard, was really big and fat. I started to jack him off, my
hand rubbing him up and down quickly while I sucked the head.
   - Ah, Nando, son, you're gonna make me cum... pretty soon, son. Ahhh,
God, yeah, son, I'm about to cum. You want to stop and let me finish it? –
he asked. I said no, with my mouth full of his cock and he said that if I
didn't stop it he would cum in my mouth. I only shook my head up and down,
meaning that he could go ahead, and he got it.
   - Ok, then, if you want me to cum in your mouth, here it comes... - he
said that and held my head in his hands as he began to fuck my mouth, his
cock sliding thru my hand, smeared with saliva and precum, the head
touching the roof of my mouth every time he thrust, and began to cum. The
first spurt exploded in the back of my mouth and was soon followed by many
others that filled my mouth and I made an effort to swallow as soon as they
left that bloated head of his cock.
      For a few moments he simply remained frozen in the air, his crotch
firmly glued to my mouth as his cock leaked the last drops of creamy cum in
my tongue, which quickly scooped them and started licking around the
head. After a while I felt his cock beginning to go soft, and I let it slip
from my mouth. He spread his legs and let his body relax, totally spent.


More to cum
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