Date: Sun, 19 Sep 2010 11:41:57 -0700
From: Oregon Bear <oregonbear9@gmail.com>
Subject: The Song of the River

This story contains graphic descriptions of consensual adult male to male
sex.  If this content offends you or it is illegal for you to read, please
leave this site.

The Song of the River
Oregonbear9@gmail.com
					1.
	I'd just sat down with my coffee and a cookie, and was scanning the
front page of the paper, when he asked if he could share the table.  The
coffee shop was crowded this Sunday morning, and I felt lucky snagging the
last open table, back in the corner.
	"Sure," I said, glancing up at a bearded face split with a smile.
One big hand held a cup of coffee and the other thick hand clutched a book.
I could see a nice tuft of hair overflowing the top of his muscle shirt.  A
nice set of tanned delts and thick biceps curved from the sleeveless shirt,
and my eyes followed the nice slabs of thick pecs under the tight fabric,
spotting a perky thick nipple.
	I hope my jaw didn't drop too far.  I was getting a real eyeful of
him as I watched him set his coffee and book on the small table and settle
into the other chair.
	"This place gets pretty crowded on a Saturday morning," he said.
	"Sure does," I said, trying to think of how I could keep the
conversation going.  He was the best looking man I'd seen in a long time
and this Saturday morning was definitely looking pretty good.
	"Pretty busy in here.  I guess people are getting fueled up for the
big game," he said.
	"Yeah, I guess they are.  First day of football season and there's
a lot of people in town for it," I replied.
	Football wasn't my cup of tea, and I came to the coffee shop as a
way of avoiding all the pre-game hype and the crowds that the local college
drew on home game days.  Most people came to drink at the tailgate parties,
and the after game functions that lasted til three in the morning.  The
whole town went nuts during football season.  The whole town, except me,
I'd thought.
	"I'm not that much of a fan, and I was looking for a quiet spot to
enjoy my coffee and get into my book," he said.
	"Yeah, I know what you mean.  Peace and quiet and a good cup of
coffee," I replied.
	I offered him half a cookie, and caught myself staring at his face
as he took a bite, mumbling his thanks, with his mouth half full of
chocolate chip and oatmeal crumbs.  A few crumbs got caught in the whiskers
on his chin.  I wanted to slip close to him, to lick off the crumbs, and
feel the coarseness of his curly whiskers and slip my tongue into his
mouth.  My cock wanted to do a whole lot more to him, and it was pushing
full and tight against the front of my jeans.
	"Sorry," he said.  "I didn't get breakfast this morning, and I
guess my hunger got in the way of my manners."
	"Well, I didn't either," I said. "There's a good omelet place up
the street, but when I walked by there, there were several busses out in
front and the place was packed.  But, maybe they've headed off for the game
now.  Kickoff is in half an hour."
	"Yeah, I know the place. One of my favorite hangouts," he replied.
"Let's give it a try."
	I nodded, feeling my stomach growl.  How could I be thinking of
food at a time like this, when this handsome hunk is sitting next to me,
and we're having a conversation?  My balls tightened a bit, just at the
sight of him.  It had been a long time since I'd been with a man, and I was
getting pretty tired of the life of the solitary life, and the one handed
midnight thrill.
	"Jeb's my name.  I'm pretty bad at manners sometime," the man of my
wet dreams said, interrupting my reverie.
	I introduced myself, stammering a bit, taken aback at the warmth
and strength of his calloused hand he thrust at me.  I grabbed his hand
back, giving him a strong shake, and felt his strength and the years of
hard work in his fingers.  His touch sent a jolt up my arm and down my
spine, landing in the tip of my half swollen cock.  My Saturday was looking
up.
	We slipped out of the coffee shop and headed down the street.  The
breakfast place was about six blocks away, and we continued our
conversation as we walked down the street.  The traffic was thinning out
some, as most of the town was already at the college stadium.  We could
hear the pep band and the rising roar of the crowd.
	We fell into an easy conversation, and I learned that Jeb worked in
construction, and was living by himself in a cabin up one of the nearby
rivers.  I hadn't noticed any ring on his finger, but a lot of construction
guys don't wear a ring anyway.  Still, no mention of a girlfriend, and I
still had hopes that this handsome man would somehow end up in my bed in
the next few weeks.  A guy can dream, can't he?
	The caf‚ was nearly empty when we got there, and my favorite
waiter was taking a break, sitting at the counter, sipping a cup of joe.
He waved at me, greeting both of us by name.
	"About time you two met," he chuckled.  Want your usual table?"
	Jeb and I laughed, realizing we had a lot more in common than we'd
thought a few minutes earlier.  We kept chuckling at all the commonalities
we had, including playing the guitar and the funky bookstore on the other
side of the university.
	We were lost in conversation, barely noticing the mugs of coffee
the waiter brought, and our favorite omelets.  We hadn't even ordered, but
the waiter brought out our food anyway.
	"You guys were lost in conversation, so I just went ahead and put
in your usual orders," he laughed.  "Take your time.  Business is gonna be
slow anyway, until the game ends.  Besides, it looks like you two have a
lot of catching up to do."
	Jeb and I shut up enough to enjoy our omelets, and the fresh
squeezed orange juice that was a staple at the caf‚.  As always, the
food was delicious, but I found myself more focused on watching Jeb fork
him breakfast in between his lips.  He had a thick moustache that curved
down the side of his mouth, into the thick forest of his beard.  There were
a few strands of gray on his chin, and I could see some flecks of silver in
the tufts of hair pushing out of the neck of his shirt.  The top two
buttons were open, and by the way the shirt clung to his pecs, he kept
himself in shape.
	Long after the platters were cleared and we had drained the third
mug of joe, Jeb looked at his watch, and sighed.
	"I probably need to go.  There's a guitar jam that I go to every
Saturday and it starts in about a half hour," he said.  You said you played
a bit.  How about going with me?  I think you'd like the music and the
people who show up are really friendly."
	"I'm pretty shy about my music, I guess," I replied.  "I don't have
much experience playing with others.  But, well, I can give it a try."
	Jeb grinned, promising me he'd buy me a beer after the jam.  His
eyes twinkled and he laughed out loud at the thought of taking me to the
guitar jam.
					2.
	He followed me to my apartment where I picked up my guitar.  He
needed to pee and I invited him in while I got my guitar and found my
guitar case in the closet.  It was a small place, and I hadn't been
expecting company.  I was glad I'd done my weekly cleanup the night before
and had actually put away all of my laundry and run the dishwasher.
	"I like your apartment.  Nice and cozy," Jeb said.  How long have
you lived alone?"
	I glanced away, the question taking me back a bit, with a memory of
my old boyfriend, and how he ditched me a couple of years ago, moving in
with the guy I found out he'd been sleeping with on the side for a couple
of months.
	I hadn't really gotten over that and I still couldn't get back into
the bar scene or going out on a date.  Some of my buddies had tried being
the matchmaker, and even talked me into one of those on line sites.  Still,
I still felt pretty burned by the whole event, and I was still afraid of
taking the risk of actually dating a guy.
	Jeb got me talking about all that as he drove across town to the
jam.  It was in the back of a guitar store I'd heard about, but had never
checked out.  It felt good to tell Jeb about my ex and all that.  He was a
good listener, and didn't make fun of what I was saying.  I felt pretty
good about telling him the story, and he seemed to really know what I was
telling him about how I felt.  It was starting to feel like I'd known Jeb
for a long time, and that he was going to be a good friend of mine.  I sure
hoped so.  My ex had been my best friend, and I'd been good at building
barriers with anyone else that had tried to get close to me these last
couple of years.  But, Jeb was different, somehow.  Different in a good
way.
	The other folks at the jam were really friendly, and I was soon
tuning up my guitar and joining in with almost all of the songs.
Sometimes, we'd break into some singing, and Jeb had a really good bass
voice, and knew all the words to all of the songs.  The guy sitting on the
other side of me showed me a couple of shortcuts and new chords, and I even
got brave enough to play a solo during one of the songs.
	We took a break and Jeb handed me a mug of coffee, a big grin on
his face.
	"I told you you'd have a good time," he said.
      And, he was right.  I was.  I was kind of surprised, too.  I only
played in my apartment, except on a few nice days a month, when I'd drive
down to the river and find a quiet place in the park, singing a few tunes
to the birds that gathered along the shore.  But, today, I realized I could
play music with other people, who seemed to just accept me for who I was.
	The second hour of the jam finished way too quickly, though my
fingers were getting tired and a bit sore.  We packed away our guitars, and
one guy showed me his mandolin, saying that it wasn't that hard to learn
how to play. Everyone invited me back next Saturday, and several folks told
me they enjoyed my playing.  I'd never heard those words before.
	Jeb put my guitar behind the seat of his pickup next to his case,
and shook my hand.
	"You're a great player.  You really did well today," he said.
"Now, we have to go have that beer."
	"And, I've got some good cold microbrews at my place, and we're not
that far away," Jeb said.  "Besides, I've seen your place and you should
see mine."
	I nodded, not able to find the words to speak.  Today was just a
dream for me, meeting this handsome guy, who was really turning into a
really good friend.  He was more than just a really good looking guy.  But,
I was dreaming we'd be falling in love and I'd get him into bed.  After
all, I was just dreaming he was gay and it was a far reach to think he'd
like to sleep with me.  Being friends was really enough for me, I thought.
I'm a lucky guy today.
	Jeb drove out past the end of town, and turned up a side road that
led up the river.  I'd always thought this was just a logging road, but
there were a few houses.  Jeb drove past the houses, and then turned onto a
narrower road, one that didn't have a name, and down through the forest for
about a half mile.  We finally got to a clearing with a barn and a two
story log house.  The river was on the other side of the house, and there
was a big deck overlooking the river.
	"We're home," Jeb said, as he turned off the engine.  "Bring your
guitar in and we can play a bit.  I'd like you to teach me that riff you
soloed with at the jam."
	We headed into the living room, and I got my guitar out of the
case.  He had several guitars on stands next to the big stone fireplace,
and a couple of music stands and stools overlooking the river.  About a
dozen Canadian geese were sleeping on the lawn next to the deck, and there
was an osprey nest right across the river.  Jeb had a spotting scope
pointed at the nest, and several large photos of birds and snowcapped
mountains were hung on the wood paneling on either side of the fireplace.
	"Make yourself at home," Jeb said.  "I'll get the beer."
	Jeb brought me a frosty beer, my favorite, and pulled off his
boots.
	"I can't stand to wear anything on my feet for very long," he said.
"Around here, I always go barefoot.  And, sometimes, I can't even stand
clothes."
	"I know what you mean," I said.  "Shoes are the first thing that
comes off when I get home."
	As I sipped my beer, Jeb gave me a tour of the house, talking about
his guitars and his music.  He'd just figures out how to hook up his laptop
with his keyboard and guitars and start doing some recording work.
	"I guess music is pretty important to me," he said.  "It's the only
thing I have left from Ben."
	He looked down, a shadow crossing his face, his shoulders slumping.
I saw him look away, a tear forming in his eye.  The only sound in the
house now was the river and the quiet honking of the geese on the lawn.
	"Who is Ben?" I asked quietly.
	He kept looking away, snuffling a bit, and finally blowing his nose
in his handkerchief.
	"He was my....partner."
	The silence deepened, strong enough to darken the afternoon
sunlight that had filled the living room and the guitars on their stands
with cheer.  I let it hang there, for what seemed an hour.  Jeb snuffled
again, and blew his nose, longer this time.
	I looked over at the fireplace, not able to stand seeing Jeb
shaking there, a tear now running down his cheek and into his beard.  He
needed his space, and I wasn't going to pry.
	On the mantle, a large framed photo of Jeb and another man leaned
against the rough granite stone.  They were dressed in tuxes, arms around
each other, laughing and smiling.  You could tell they were in love, and it
was the happiest day of their lives.  A silver candle holder stood next to
the picture, its lone candle nearly burned down to the nub, next to a
single red rose.
	I felt the silence lift a bit, and Jeb hadn't cried for a bit.  I
gathered my courage, and began to speak.
	"My lover left me two years ago.  He left me for another man, and I
still cry," I sobbed, choking on my words.  "And I have a lot of tears to
cry some more."
	And, my pain filled the room and joined with Jeb's pain, and the
afternoon light couldn't cut through it.  Yet, my words somehow lightened
me, and some of the anguish and loneliness of the last two years seemed to
flow away.
	Jeb still stood there, looking through the glass towards the
river. But, he wasn't looking at the river.  He was looking far beyond what
others could have seen on this beautiful day.
	I moved towards him, taking his broad shoulders in my hand, and
moving close to him, my chest next to his back, and my arms taking him into
me, holding him, feeling his sobs resonate deep in my chest.  His hands
reached up to my hands and he held onto me with all of his might, his sobs
deepening, tears flowing freely down his cheeks, soaking his beard, and
dripping onto our hands across his stomach.
	We stood there for a long time, Jeb's chest heaving and gasping,
tears flowing, in the silence.
	"I loved him so much," he sobbed, the words catching in his throat,
and resonating deep against me, filling my chest with his deep ragged
voice.
	"And you still do," I whispered.  "You still do."
					3.
	We stood there for a while longer, just holding on to each other,
hands entwined across Jeb's stomach, his shoulders and back pushing back
against my chest.  His butt felt warm against my crotch, and a part of me
felt a bit of lust.  But, Jeb needed someone to just be with him right now,
and he wasn't ready for the hardness of my cock, or my carnal interest in
finding out what was inside of his jeans.
	That would come later, and I think we both knew that, this day just
the start of our relationship, and our ability to talk about what lay
heavily on our hearts.  That would come soon enough, and we'd have many an
afternoon in his living room, playing our guitars, and enjoying a beer.
And, when it was right, we'd light a fire in the fireplace, and then build
the fire a lot higher and hotter as we slowly stripped each other of our
shirts and our jeans and took ourselves on a slow tour of our hairy chests
and the deep forest of fur around our aching cocks and full balls. We would
cry out and moan each other's names, as long ropey spurts of cum splattered
across our stomachs and chests, or deep inside of sweaty, hungry holes or
through our bearded lips, and lusty sweat would soak our pits as we lay
gasping in the glow of yet more love making, while the logs would crackle
and glow against the dark granite, the river song meandering through it
all.
	It was enough just to be there, together, and be quiet, letting our
hearts do their talking, and let our souls take in the sound of the river
and the geese, and the soft, loving touch of a man who was starting to love
me very much.
						4.
	We finally finished that beer, though it has grown warm in the
bottles on the granite slab of the fireplace.  We didn't care.  We drank it
anyway, a toast to our new friendship, and being able to cry together, for
the first time.
	We talked then, sharing our stories, and our pain, and our anger.
Sometimes, there were more tears, and sometimes, laughter, and sometimes, a
few minutes of silence, in respect for what had just been said, and what
had been lost by both of us.  The afternoon sun started fading away, the
western sky turning to bronze, and then gold and scarlet, until, finally,
even the sparkles of light on the river faded into the blue ink of the
evening.
	Jeb's stomach growled, and we moved our conversation into the
kitchen. He opened a bottle of what he called his favorite syrah.  Soon,
his knife was flying and the gas stove was ablaze with assorted dishes and
sauces.  I soon found out Jeb was an accomplished chef and worked at the
most well known gourmet restaurant in the city's high rent district.
	After dinner, we took our coffee out onto the deck and looked out
at the river.  The moon was just coming up and we could make out the trees
along the riverbank.  The river sang its song to us, and a slight warm
breeze moved upriver, carrying the smells of the cottonwoods next to the
river and the firs and cedars of the forest.
	"I'd like you to stay the night," Jeb said.
	We hadn't spoken for quite a while, just standing there against the
railing of the deck, taking in the peace of the moonlit river and the
smells of the evening.  We'd talked about a lot of things over dinner,
sharing some stories of our past relationships and loves, and where we
wanted to be in our lives.
	"I never thought I'd want to be with another man, after Bob," Jeb
said, his voice almost cracking.  "But, that was before I met you."
	"I think I'm ready, too, Jeb," I replied.  "But, I need you go slow
with me.  It's been a long time, and I'm not sure I'm ready to be the lover
you want, the one you need.  I don't want to hurt you."
	"I know," he replied.  "And, you won't.  I know that.  Your heart
is too big to hurt me."
					5.
	We hadn't looked at each other, and I kept looking at the light on
the river, through the tears that had welled up when Jeb asked me to stay.
I had wanted the same thing.  Yet, part of me what thinking this was just a
dream, and he'd take me home and never call me.  I'd had a few of those
experiences and they just brought back all my anger and self pity.  I
couldn't take any more of that.
	But, it wasn't a dream.  Jeb moved closer to me, taking my hand in
his big, warm hand, and just touched me.  It was comfortable, just standing
there, hand in hand, sharing the evening and being with each other.
	I let out a sigh, feeling the tension in my shoulders let go.  And,
when I did, Jeb moved behind me, touching my shoulder with his other hand,
and brushed his lips against the back of my neck, his moustache bristly
against my skin.  His breath was soft and warm on my hair, and I felt my
cock swell a bit against my jeans.
	Jeb's hand moved over my shirt and across my chest.  His warmth
felt good and deep against the cloth, and I sighed again as he slowly undid
the top button of my shirt, his fingers caressing the curls of hair he
found.
	He breathed deep, taking in my scent, and I felt the warmth of his
breath again in my hair and against the nape of my neck, feeling him relax,
too, and enjoy his touch and his presence.  He moved a bit closer, and I
could feel him, strong and muscular, against my back and my butt.  The
fabric of his jeans rubbed against my jeans, and I could sense the swelling
of his cock against the crack of my butt.
	Another button opened and his fingers moved down and across my
chest, touching me again, his calloused fingers catching a bit in the
curls.  And, another button opened and his fingers found my nipple, its
hardness and its ache surprising to me, as he slowly circled the nib with
his fingers.  Oh, so slowly.
	Drops of sweat ran down from my pits, making a wet trail across my
ribs, as my heart raced, anticipating where we were going.  I moved my hand
down a bit, behind me, feeling the heat from his jeans, and finally finding
the growing hardness of Jeb.  He gasped a bit, when ran my finger across
the cloth covering his cockhead, feeling the dampness of his manhood, the
heat of his passion.
	We kissed then, for the first time, moving together in this dance,
his coarse mustache against my lips and goatee, his furry cheeks and chin
soft against my face, and then, my chest, as he slowly kissed and licked my
neck and then my hardened, aching nipples.  My shirt found its way to the
deck, followed by Jeb's, and our muscled torsos pushed hard against each
other, our sweat and our mats of chest and belly hair mingling in the steam
of our dance.
					6.
	Jeb took me down to the grass by the river, the moonlight soft on
his skin, the hair on his chest black against the platinum of his skin in
the light.  He slowly undid the zipper on my jeans, pulling the cloth down
across the tightness of my groin, and the now sweaty cheeks of my butt,
until I stood hard and naked before him, before my lover.  My balls rose
high against my cock, and all of my lust these many lonely and angry months
beat hard in my cock and my chest.
	I wanted him, and yet, I wanted to wait, to take my time with this
god, with this lover, not wanting the night to end.  We kissed again,
hugging each other tight, the sweat from our chests and my now exposed
manhood slippery, and strong in my nose.  The dampness of the grass, and
the spice of the blades crushed by our furry, naked bodies mingled with the
lusty juices of our pits and our now oozing cocks.
	Jeb's jeans were somewhere else, now, too, as we touched and rolled
over the grass, hands groping butt cheeks and fur covered muscles, and
swollen ballsacs and hard cocks needing to be thrust and sucked, again and
again.  I tasted his salty, swollen nips and ran my tongue down the trail
of fur to his thick, oozing cock, until its head traveled down my tongue
and my moustache caught on the long fibers of the dark forest above his
balls, which were held captive in my hand.
	He moaned softly, in rhythm with my slurping and sucking of his
cock, until he cried out my name when thick shots of his cum flowed out my
mouth, drenching his already sweaty belly, his spent balls slick in my
hand.
	We both came home that night, finding along that riverbank the love
we had needed, and joined, finally, in the song of the river.