Date: Sat, 8 Sep 2012 22:47:19 -0400 (EDT)
From: DeanRogersFuller@aol.com
Subject: Mister Gilling and Me

I was born and raised in a small, conservative, and somewhat isolated
agricultural town.  The great changes that were taking place in American
society during the late 1960's and early 70's apparently bypassed our
community, or at least it appeared so on the surface.  The subject of
homosexuality was almost never discussed, and on the rare occasion when it
did come up, people at one extreme thought queers should either be shot or
locked up, while the more compassionate viewed homosexuals as mentally ill
and in need of "help."  Occasionally there would be a newspaper story about
an event in some far-off place like New York City or San Francisco, but as
far as most people were concerned it might as well have been on another
planet.

This was the world where I lived, but especially as I got older and entered
puberty I sensed I was different from most of the other guys, though it was
a rather vague feeling.  I knew that I liked to see naked guys, and the
chance to do so was the only good thing about Junior High PE class, in
which I really sucked (mostly due to very bad eyes), and consequently
detested.  There was actually one other good thing about the class which
happened to be the teacher, Mr. Gilling, who was also my math teacher.

He stood about six feet tall, had dark hair on rather light skin, broad
shoulders, and was quite handsome.  I hadn't yet progressed far enough in
my own sexual journey to judge when a man was sexy, but I was beginning to
get an idea.  If I recall correctly he had to contend with more than one
case of "schoolgirl crush," which at least indicated that I wasn't the only
student who found him attractive.  He was married and had one child.  He
probably wasn't older than his late twenties, but of course to a Junior
High student, that seemed to be an impossibly far-off age.

Despite the fact that I hated PE, Mr. Gilling knew that I could be depended
on, so one afternoon he sent me on an errand to another part of the big,
rambling school building, and I was more than happy to get away from the
usual P.E. activities.  I can't actually remember what he wanted, but I do
know that I needed keys to do it.  When I came back from my errand I headed
towards the coaches' office to return Mr. Gilling`s keys.  The office was
located at one end of the long, narrow locker room, and was glassed in.  It
also featured a private shower for the use of coaches and other faculty.
Little did I know that I was about to have one of the defining moments of
my very young life.

Mr. Gilling had just stepped out of the private shower area and was
standing in the middle of the office, stark naked except for a towel he was
holding in one hand without covering much of anything.  He almost took my
breath away, and I'm sure that I stared, but not at his face, as I handed
him the key case.  As I've already mentioned he had rather fair skin, but
dark hair, and the combination was stunning.  Hair fanned out across his
upper chest, then narrowed to a trail about five inches wide down his
stomach and into a jungle-like pubic bush.  The same color hair covered his
legs, but wasn't as heavy as it was on his chest.  He had big pink nipples,
and his cock and balls seemed enormous, hanging very low.  Mr. Gilling was
in good shape, but remember that this was a time when not even professional
athletes were expected to have the kind of mostly-for-show muscle
definition they do today.  He was filled out and trim, but not a
bodybuilder.

I couldn't think of any further reason to linger in the office area, so I
changed into my street clothes and left for my next class.  However, from
that point onward I was constantly on the lookout for any chance to get a
glimpse of Mr. Gilling without clothes.  I think I only managed to do so
twice, and neither time did I get as close of a look as the first time.
This was probably the point in my life that my appreciation for hairy guys
first defined and asserted itself.

At the time I'd managed to grow a fringe of hair on my pubes, and had only
recently discovered the pleasures of jacking off.  My memories of handsome,
hairy, and naked Mr. Gilling enhanced my jackoff sessions for a very long
time, though in a rather undefined way.

As anyone reading this has probably figured out by now, I was completely
hopeless at any sport, but I did volunteer to be team "manager" for the
junior high basketball team.  This meant that I took care of the balls,
towels, first aid equipment, team roster, and most anything else up to just
short of actually playing basketball.  It also meant spending more time
around Mr. Gilling, though the team practiced in a smaller, older gym that
had no facilities for coaches, so there was no chance of getting a look at
him in the buff.  However, there were some compensations.  I didn't need a
reason to wander in and out of the shower rooms, though I still had to be
discreet in looking around.  Though they couldn't compare with Mr. Gilling,
at least a few of the guys on the team were showing promise.  One guy in
particular named Duane was very hot-- young muscular body, wavy brown hair,
gorgeous eyes, and probably the hairiest pits and thickest bush on the
entire team.  Another guy, Tom, already had a hairy chest and additionally
was the only Non-Hispanic on the team with an uncut cock.  Most others now
had pubic bushes of varying thicknesses and colors.

As I've already mentioned, this meant spending more time with or at least
around Mr. Gilling.  Even though it was a small town and distances were
very short, he always gave me a ride home after practices in the old Jeep
pickup truck he usually drove.  This may have been because we only lived a
few blocks apart, or it may have been for other reasons I did not yet have
an inkling of.

Time moved on, and I finished Junior High and moved on to High School,
though the two schools were at opposite ends of the same sprawling
building.  I took an after-school job, and heard that Mr. Gilling had left
town, but I didn't know where he went.  It really didn't matter where; I
had no legitimate reason for any further contact with him.  I still hated
PE but now had the occasional glimpse of a naked senior, many of whom
seemed like fully grown men to my young teen eyes.  One in particular was
almost as hairy as Mr. Gilling, so I had one more mental image during my
late-night j/o sessions.

And so a couple or three years passed.  I managed to grow a good-sized and
rather thick bush around my average-sized cock, had hair starting to grow
on my legs, ass, around my nipples, and I was shaving my face every other
day.  My body began to fill out, and long bike rides on country roads plus
many hours working in an onion packing shed had taken some of the boyish
look off of my body.

Furthermore, at the beginning of a certain summer I experienced one of the
major rites of passage for most teenagers; I got my driver's license.
Early one summer afternoon I was driving down the street where Mr. Gilling
used to live when I noticed a familiar old dark green Jeep pickup truck
parked in front of the house.  I had to stop at an intersection, and while
waiting for the cross traffic to pass, I spotted him walking up to the
truck carrying two big plastic buckets.  What really got my blood pumping
was the fact that he was wearing just a pair of athletic shorts with no
shirt, and as far as I could tell, looked better than ever.

As my heart rate just about doubled and my cock twitched in my cutoffs, I
watched him dump the buckets into the truck bed.  I decided to at least say
hello, and pulled over about ten feet behind the truck.  He looked up with
a puzzled expression on his handsome face, but recognized me and smiled
when I stepped out of my car.  As I approached, he stepped towards me to
shake hands.  He immediately apologized for his dirty hands, but I said it
didn't matter to me as I stared directly at his big, pink nipples
surrounded by that pelt of dark hair..

When I asked what he was doing, he explained that he'd been re-hired at my
old school, and he and his wife still owned the house, which had been
rented out during their absence.  The tenants hadn't been much good at
upkeep, and he was now in the process of cleaning out the plugged and
overflowing rain gutters.  It was rather slow-going, as he had to climb the
ladder with a bucket in one hand, fill it with rotting leaves and muck,
climb down the ladder, get the other bucket, climb back up, fill it, then
climb down again, and carry the buckets to the truck.  His wife was staying
with her parents for a couple more weeks, and she expected certain chores
to be done by the time she arrived.  He was definitely concerned about the
fact that he was behind schedule.

Mr. Gilling was a good coach and a good math teacher, but wasn't always
very practical about other matters.  I suggested that he back the truck
over the curb and park it closer to the house, and the expression on his
face was slightly sheepish when he realized he hadn't thought of such a
simple action.  I stood by the house and guided him into place, then pulled
off my t-shirt and stood by to give him a hand.  At first he protested, but
I told him I didn't mind helping him out, especially since my parents were
gone for the weekend, my younger brother was staying with a friend, and my
older brother probably wouldn't even notice, let alone care, if I wasn't
around. I couldn't be sure, but did his eyes quickly trace the "trail"
running down my abdomen, then disappearing into my shorts?

The job progressed much more quickly with two of us working together,
basically meeting somewhere near the middle of the ladder to make a
tradeoff of buckets.  He went up the ladder to fill the empty bucket and I
went down to dump the full one, then we repeated the process.  We worked
our way around the house, moving the truck when necessary, and in about an
hour had all the rain gutters and downspouts completely cleared.

While this was happening, Mr. Gilling was still wearing just his athletic
shorts, old athletic shoes, and socks.  I tried extremely hard not to
stare, and the fact that we were working in such close proximity helped
somewhat.  Frequently, it wasn't a matter of staring; it was a matter of
just seeing what was in front of my face.  Several times as we were making
our handoffs on the ladder I brushed against his leg, and was intrigued to
learn that the thick hair on it was rather soft.  It took a lot of
concentration to keep my teenage cock under some kind of control,
especially when to my shock I realized he wasn`t wearing anything under his
shorts.  Fortunately the cutoffs I was wearing were on the baggy side and
helped conceal things.

On the back porch of the house sat an old worn-out brown enamel oil burning
heater, about the size of a washing machine.  Mr. Gilling asked if I'd mind
helping him load it into the truck, and I said not at all.  We got the
heater into the truck, added some more yard debris, then covered the entire
load with a tarp held down with yellow nylon rope.  I was a little
disappointed when he pulled on a t-shirt, but I put mine on also.

Shortly we were on a back road headed to the County Dump.  The drive gave
us a chance to chat and catch up a little.  I learned that he had left to
complete his master's degree, but spent the last year substitute teaching
in the northern part of one of the "Mountain States" because permanent
fulltime jobs were very hard to come by (there was a surplus of teachers in
the late 1960's and early 1970's).  He therefore jumped at the chance when
offered his old job, even though his wife wasn't thrilled at the idea of
moving back.

In fact, she set a number of conditions before she'd agree to it, and
improvements at the house were at the top of her list.  Mr. Gilling
explained that the oil heater had been the only source of heat in the house
before, and it was nearly worn out anyway.  Consequently, he had the attic
insulated and electric baseboard heaters installed in all rooms.  I agreed
that it would make the whole house a lot more comfortable, but I sensed
something in his facial expression that I couldn't quite define.  There
seemed to be traces of tension or worry, especially when he talked about
his wife.  Of course I didn't dare mention it or pry.

Before long we reached the dump and dropped our load.  On the way back into
town Mr. Gilling asked if I had to be home anytime soon, and I answered
that my parents were out of town and I was more or less on my own.  After I
said that, he made a detour to the grocery store and bought a couple of
frozen pizzas.  A few minutes later we were back at his house.

The summer heat and the kind of work we were doing left us both hot, dirty,
and sweaty.  Mr. Gilling put the pizzas on a kitchen counter and said
"maybe we should get cleaned up before we eat.  Want to come downstairs and
shower?"

I said "OK," not really sure what he had in mind as I followed him down the
basement stairs, but definitely noticing that he was pulling his shirt off
as he went.

Once in the basement, I understood.  There was a primitive shower setup
consisting of some pipes, taps, and a showerhead attached to a basement
wall near a standard floor drain.  Mr. Gilling said "the water heater
doesn't last long, so we'd better do this locker room style, and share."
He was already stripping out of his clothes, and my heart began to pound.
He noticed me looking when he dropped his shorts, and somewhat sheepishly
said "I kind of like to let things flop around sometimes.  My wife doesn't
like it, so I do it when I can."

I pulled off my own clothes, both excited and scared shitless.  I'd been
fighting my hard teenage cock all afternoon, and I was really worried I
wouldn't be able to control or hide it at all now.  Mr. Gilling was already
under the showerhead getting wet and soaping up his hairy body, which
looked better than ever.

As I approached, he moved aside and let me get wet.  I kept my back towards
him, and it came as a shock when I felt him soaping my back.  My resolve
collapsed completely, and my cock went hard as a rock. Automatically, I
reached for it, then stopped myself after a couple of strokes.  I knew I'd
have to turn around eventually, and I finally did so, hoping Mr. Gilling
would just ignore it.  I really don't know what I was expecting, but I was
NOT prepared for what I actually saw.

Mr. Gilling's big, hairy cock was as hard as mine, arching up against his
hairy pubes.  It was soaped up, along with his hairy chest and stomach.  To
this day, I don't know how I mustered the courage, but I wrapped my fingers
around his cock and slowly stroked.  Instead of slapping me or pushing my
hand away, he closed his eyes and let out a long, contented sigh.  I took
that as a sign of encouragement, and continued to jack him.

After a few moments he took my cock in his soapy hand and started to
stroke.  The feeling was incredible, and in almost no time my overworked
teenage glands caused me to shoot the biggest load of jizz I had ever seen.
Part of it landed on Mr. Gilling's hairy stomach, and part on his hand.  I
was embarrassed and started to apologize, but he just smiled and said
"don't worry about it."

We quickly rinsed off, then dried ourselves with towels from a nearby
shelf.  Despite the enormous load I had just shot, my cock stayed hard as a
rock, and Mr. Gilling's hadn't gone down much.  He put his hand on my
shoulder and guided me across the basement to a corner were a mattress and
box springs sat directly on the floor.  Then in one combined movement, he
laid down and pulled me with him so that I ended up with my face inches
from that beautiful furry chest.  I instinctively slipped one leg between
his and felt the amazing sensation created when two hairy legs brush
together.

Mr. Gilling moaned softly as I ran my fingers through his chest hair and
found one of his nipples.  I knew my own were sensitive, and was happy to
find that his were too.  My fingers continued to work one while my tongue
and lips went to work on the other.  After a few moments I felt my head
being gently pulled off his nipple.  I looked into his eyes, afraid I'd
done something wrong, but he just smiled and softly kissed me on the lips.

This was my first kiss in a sexual or romantic context, and I tentatively
kissed him back.  His arms pulled me close as our kiss intensified and I
thrilled in the sensation of another man's naked body against mine.
Mr. Gilling rolled me on my back, and his lips started a downward journey,
giving special attention to both my nipples, the following the faint "love
trail" to my light brown bush.  My cock was so hard I think I could have
hammered nails with it, and he held it up against my pubes with one hand
while his tongue flicked around my peach-fuzz covered balls.

He had me practically lurching on the mattress when I finally felt the
soft, wet warmth of his mouth envelop my cockhead.  The feeling was
incredible, especially after he started stroking and sucking with his
tongue working around my shaft and head.  Now I understood why he wasn't
concerned about me shooting my load in the shower.  With that load already
gone, I was able to take my time and really enjoy his attentions to my
cock.  Mr. Gilling probably worked on me a good ten minutes when I felt my
balls pull up and I knew it was too late.  He knew what was happening, and
sucked faster and harder.  Cum shot out of my cock like a cannon blast in
wave after wave, my head actually bucking off the pillow.  Mr. Gilling
didn't let a single drop spill, carefully licking my cock clean.  It
finally went soft for the first time in at least two hours.

He moved up and lay on top of me.  He was a big man, but he rested part of
his weight on his elbows so I could enjoy the sensation of his body on mine
without feeling like I was being crushed.  His fingers gently stroked my
hair back, and his lips pressed onto mine.  This time I accepted his kiss
greedily, my arms holding him tight.  Getting bolder, I put my tongue in
his mouth, tasting traces of my own cum.  I'm not sure how long we lay in
each other's arms, but finally he rolled on his back and took his beautiful
cock in hand.

It was fascinating and amazingly erotic to watch another guy jack off, but
I wanted to help him as well.  He moaned approval when my lips and tongue
worked his right nipple, and my fingers gently cradled his balls.  I raised
my face to his, and we kissed passionately as he continued to work his
cock.  My lips and tongue then followed that wonderful hairy train down his
stomach, and I couldn't resist rubbing my face in his thick bush.  It
smelled fresh and clean from the shower, which is probably where my
lifelong preference for the "just showered" scent originated.

As he continued to stroke, I licked his hairy balls carefully, and was
rewarded with a groan of pleasure.  It was at this point that I literally
came face to face with my first cock.  To this day, I don't know its exact
size, and it seems that everyone in these stories has at least eight
inches.  Possibly he had eight.  All I knew for sure was that it was bigger
than mine and I wanted it at that moment more than anything before in my
life.

Moving up from the base, my tongue licked up the length of that beautiful
cock, catching a drop of precum near the head.  I repeated this action
several times before I took hold of the base and worked my tongue around
the head.  Finally my mouth opened wide and I took Mr. Gilling's cock in my
mouth.  Almost immediately he flinched, causing me to immediately pull off.

"You have to watch the teeth," he said to me.  I apologized, and he said
"it's alright.  Almost nobody can suck me all the way off anyway."  His
fingers wrapped around his cock as if he was going to start jacking himself
again, but somehow I found the nerve to replace his hand with mine, and I
again took that beautiful cock in my mouth, this time being very careful of
my teeth.  I took it as far down as I was able, then slowly moved back up,
working my tongue on the underside.  A third repetition caused a groan of
deep pleasure, which prodded me to work harder, establishing a rhythm.

Before too long, Mr. Gilling's started breathing harder, his balls pulled
up tight, and he started to thrust into my mouth.  I increased my speed,
knowing what was about to happen.  Nearly simultaneously, the normally very
proper Mr. Gilling shouted "FUCK!" and his cum blasted into my mouth so
hard I almost couldn't swallow it all.  However, I was determined, and got
most of it, with only a small trickle down my lower lip.

Mr. Gilling took me by the shoulders and gently pulled me onto him.  The
sensation of snuggling into that soft furry body was exquisite, and his
kiss was slow, hot, and probing.  He held me in his arms as I rested my
head on his chest, and our heart rates slowed down.  His fingers gently
stroked my hair.

After a little while he said "I thought it would go away."

"What?" I answered, rather puzzled.

"I thought my desire for guys would go away after I got married."

Unsure of my response, I finally said "it sure SEEMS like your desire is
pretty strong."

He chuckled softly, saying "I think it's stronger than ever."

Slowly his story came out.  He grew up in a religious family where the
subject of sex was never mentioned, but his first sexual encounter happened
when he was 14, with a college student whose family lived next door.  They
carried on for most of the summer, and he learned a great deal about the
then very-closeted homosexual world.  One of the biggest shocks was that
the youth pastor of his church had some "special" boys.

When the time for him came for him to go off to college, he knew where and
how to find guys who liked other guys.  However, it was necessary for him
to date girls occasionally to deflect suspicion, and his religious
upbringing still created a certain amount of guilt.  He also felt pressured
to carry on the family name.

Finally, he went to his pastor and confessed his attraction to men (though
not the extent of his activities with them).  The pastor told him the best
thing to do would be to get married, and those feelings would go away.
Consequently, he married one of the girls he had dated casually shortly
after they both graduated.

Their wedding night was the biggest disappointment of his life, and his
wife got pregnant soon afterwards.  He found himself married with a wife
and child to support, and once their daughter was born, their very
unfulfilling sex life almost ceased completely.  Opportunities for him to
hook up with guys were also few and far between, and he always had to have
his guard up in locker rooms and showers.

However, he possessed a well developed sense of what is now known as
"gaydar," and he had picked up on me almost immediately.  I hadn't realized
I was so obvious when I caught him naked, but it pretty well erased any
doubts he had.  My sudden appearance three years later looking so grown up
came as an unexpected and very welcome surprise.  Even then, he remained
cautious, but he was very aware of how closely I was watching him as we
worked together.

We lay quietly for a few minutes, but I happened to glance across the room
and noticed a brand-new sixty-gallon water heater.  "So is THAT the water
heater you said wouldn't last long," I asked.  "That was quite smooth of
you!"

Mr. Gilling laughed softly and admitted "I guess you caught me on that one,
but I had to think of SOME way for us to get naked together.  Do you really
mind my little fib?"

I answered by planting a long, passionate kiss on his mouth.

END OF PART ONE


Comments, constructive criticism, and feedback are welcome:
DeanRogersFuller@aol.com