Date: Mon, 31 Mar 2003 16:11:33 -0800 (PST)
From: Niftyguy <niftyguy_30307@yahoo.com>
Subject: My Summer Job, chapter one

Warning: the following story contains graphic descriptions of sex between
consenting adult males. If you are underage or do not wish to read such
materials, read no further.

If you have any feedback (in particular, your opinion about whether or not
I should produce more chapters; this is the only one that I have written so
far in this series), please drop me a line at niftyguy_30307@yahoo.com

------------------------------------------------------------------------

As my junior year in college wound down, things were coming to a head.
First of all, my dad got laid off from his job in the lumber mills, meaning
that there wasn't going to be any parental financial help the next year.
Second, the state was having a budget crisis, which they decided to solve
by raising tuition by twenty percent.  Third, my car's transmission decided
to fall out, exhausting my savings.  And fourth, I knew that I was finally
going to have to deal with being gay, or I was going to fucking explode.

The first three problems were simple to deal with; I just needed to make
some money.  That wasn't necessarily easy, but it was simple.  The fourth
problem was not so straightforward, or at least it didn't seem to be.  I
had always known that I was gay, but I just couldn't figure out what to do
about it.  For as long as I had known, I had been attracted to guys,
especially my teammates on the swimming and water polo teams at my high
school and college.  The locker room scenes and the team trips were
excruciating for me.  I felt desperate for contact but afraid of what would
happen if I would reach out to one of my buddies.  While I was always
popular on the team, known for my wry wit and skill in the water, I
inevitably wanted more, but I could never bring myself to ask for it.

All of these stresses were churning in my mind that April afternoon when,
walking through the student union, I ran into Kirk, one of my friends on
the water polo team.  I poured out most of my tales of woe to him, leaving
out only the parts that would make him suspect that I wanted to jump his
bones (which I did).

When I was done unloading on him, he flashed his killer smile.  "Dude, I've
got the answer to all of your problems.  You need a summer job."

"No shit," I replied.  "But I don't think that they pay enough at Subway to
cover my tuition, let alone rent.  And I haven't had any corporate
headhunters knocking down my door."

"Come on, dude, you need to have a little faith in your buddy.  I can get
you a job that'll give you free room and board all summer, plus at least
$600 a week."

"And what would I be doing?  Running a crackhouse?"

"No way.  I'm talking about the sweetest, best kept, summer job secret on
the West Coast."

And that was how I learned about the Idlewild Lodge, a private club and
nature preserve owned by a group of rich, old farts who needed a place to
get away from their trophy wives on the weekends.  It had started
seventy-five years ago as a rustic little cabin on a remote lake, but over
time it had grown into a massive complex, complete with a forty-room lodge,
impressive sports facilities (although most of the members were too old and
feeble to use them), and an extensive network of trails.  Along with the
year-round staff of ten, a crew of forty college-age guys ran the whole
complex in the summer, which was the peak season.

According to Kirk, almost all of the young guys got their jobs by knowing a
"veteran" who had worked a previous summer.  He playfully punched me in the
arm and grinned.  "So I'm taking a chance on you, Mike.  I've got a feeling
you'll fit right in with the rest of the crew, but you'd better not screw
up, or I'm gonna look like an idiot."

It took a couple of days to arrange for an interview, which Kirk assured me
would be pro forma.  The drive out was fantastic, and the scenery got
better and better as I neared my destination.  After being cleared by the
guy at the security gate, I drove for a further ten minutes before I pulled
up to the main building, which was a rambling stone and timber structure.
A tanned, athletic, blond guy about my age was hosing off the wide porch
when I walked up the steps.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"I have an appointment to speak with Richard Gray," I told him.  "He should
be expecting me, since we spoke this morning."

"No problem, I'll show you where his office is.  My name is Tim," he said,
extending his hand.

"Good to meet you. I'm Mike."

Tim led me through the front door and through the expansive reception area
to a small office off to the side.  Inside, at the desk, sat Richard Gray,
General Manager, at least according to the sign.  He immediately stood up
when he say me, smiling broadly as he shook my hand, before directing me to
have a seat.

As we talked, I felt like he was sizing me up, and I was also studying him.
Rich, as he asked me to call him, was probably in his late thirties, though
still in great physical shape.  His wavy dark hair showed just a few hints
of gray, and I kept noticing his muscular, somewhat hairy forearms.

After we had talked for maybe twenty minutes, during which he described the
nature of the duties (basically everything from maintenance to cleaning to
waiting on guests when they were there), he cut to the chase.

"Mike, Kirk has told me that he believes you would be an outstanding
addition to the staff, but I just want to make sure that you know that you
will be working with a large group of other guys, and if you don't think
that you can get along and work well in that sort of environment, well, I
think that we just shouldn't go forward.  We value total commitment to the
team here at Idlewild."

"I know that I would be completely committed to this job.  You wouldn't
have anything to worry about," I replied, looking Rich straight in the eye.

"Well, then, I am happy to welcome you aboard.  Why don't I get Tim to show
you around?  I think that there is a room available in his suite, so you
can just plan on bunking there."

The tour of the facilities was quite impressive.  The lodge itself was like
a rustic version of the Ritz, and, according to Tim, it was almost always
empty except for Friday through Sunday, when the members could get away
from their power jobs.  Behind the main building was the athletic complex,
which included a gymnasium, weight room, indoor and outdoor pools, sauna
and whirlpool, and tennis and volleyball courts.  The locker room must have
had an acre of gleaming white tile.  Best of all, the staff had exclusive
access to the whole complex several hour per day.

The staff quarters were not that shabby, either, certainly better than
where I was living at the time.  Each suite included four compact bedrooms,
a living room, and a big two-sink toilet that was sandwiched between two of
the bedrooms, with an additional door opening onto the living room, giving
the other rooms' occupants access.  Tim was already installed in one of the
rooms with direct access to the toilet, and he urged me to take the other
one.

"You'll be glad that you did," he said.  "When you wake up in the middle of
the night and gotta piss, you don't want to walk any further than you need
to."

"No kidding.  So, where's the shower?" I asked.

"There's one shower room down the hall, with four heads, and another
identical one upstairs.  It's a little crazy in the morning when all the
guys are trying to hit the shower at the same time, but we just squeeze
in."

I was elated when I drove away.  Judging from what I saw, Kirk had hooked
me up with the perfect summer job.  I couldn't wait for finals to end so
that I could move in.

I had planned my class schedule so that I would only have one exam, on the
first day of the exam period, so I was able to get away almost immediately
after the end of the semester.  When I got up to Idlewild, the place was
still almost deserted.  Tim told me that we were the only guys who had
moved into the summer staff quarters, though more would be arriving over
the next couple of days.  He seemed to be a good guy, and he willingly
helped me to unload the things that I had brought up with me.  After we had
stowed the gear in my room, he said that he was going to go for a run, and
I decided to unpack and get my stuff organized.

I heard Tim return and go into his room about an hour later, just as I was
finishing up.  A few minutes later I heard a knock at the door.

"Come in," I called.

The door opened, and there stood my suitemate, carrying his toiletry case
and a towel, standing there stark naked.

"Hey.  I'm going to go take a shower, and then we can go grab some dinner
in the staff dining room.  Does that sound OK?"

I was a little flustered, but I managed to sputter something out.  Tim
smiled and left for the shower.  I took a deep breath and tried to get my
growing hardon under control.  My suitemate was very sexy, and he clearly
had no hang-ups about showing off his lean runner's body.  Except for the
pale shadow of his running shorts, his toned body glowed with a golden tan.
The sparse hairs on his strong legs and his defined chest were like spun
gold, and his plump cock dangled across a pair of very heavy balls.  He
came back ten minutes later, toweling his wet hair, and poked into my room
to tell me that he would be ready to go as soon as he pulled on some
clothes.  I swear that his cock had lengthened and thickened during the
time that he was in the shower.  Had he been playing with it?  I just knew
that I would be in heaven if I could get my hands on it.

After dinner and a few games of pool in the main lodge, Tim announced that
he was ready to turn in.  We walked back to the staff quarters and went to
our respective rooms.  A few minutes later I heard him in the bathroom that
we shared, and then he poked into my room, wearing only boxer shorts.

"So I'll see you in the morning, Mike.  Rich told me that he was going to
have us work on some landscaping, so be prepared to get your hands dirty."

"No problem," I replied.  "Sleep well."

Tim walked back through the bathroom to his room, and I turned out the
light.  He hadn't closed the doors that separated my room from his, so I
could hear him moving around before his light went out and he got into bed.
I think that I drifted off for a few minutes, but a rhythmic squeaking
noise woke me up.  It only took a minute for me to figure out what it was;
Tim was jerking off.  I was immediately wide-awake.  The noise wasn't loud,
but it was unmistakable.  I decided to go investigate.  As quietly as
possible, I crept over to the open bathroom door.  Peering through the
bathroom and the open door into Tim's room, I couldn't see Tim's face, but
I had an unimpeded view of his body from the chest down, lying on his bed.
He was brightly illuminated in a pool of moonlight.

My suitemate had kicked off his boxer shorts and was lying there naked,
pulling on his thick and shiny erection.  He had clearly used something to
lube himself up, and that enabled his hand to glide easily over the hard
flesh.  To be honest, I had never seen another guy masturbate before, so I
was somewhat mesmerized as I watched Tim pleasuring himself.  At first he
pumped the shaft with his whole hand, but after a few minutes he formed his
thumb and forefinger into a tight ring and began to rotate it around the
sensitive region under the fat head, which appeared to be leaking a steady
stream of precum.  Judging from his gyrating hips, that motion seemed to
especially turn him on. Meanwhile, he formed a V out of the index and
middle fingers of his other hand, which he used to brace the root of his
cock, so that it would point straight up, despite its heavy weight.  He had
spread his legs wide, giving me an unimpeded view of his whole groin.  The
contrast between his lean runner's body and the enormous sexual equipment
that hung there was eye-opening.

Tim was nothing if not thorough.  He explored every square inch of his
mouth-watering dick, from the plum-shaped head to the bottom of the veiny
shaft.  Rough, determined strokes were bringing him close to the brink, but
then he cooled things down with gentle, focused frigging.  This was no
hasty jerk off session; Tim clearly wanted the fun to last.  It appeared
that, each time he encountered a particularly sensitive spot of flesh, he
concentrated his attention there until he got close to shooting, before
moving somewhere else on his hefty schlong.

At some point I realized that I was hard as a rock, and I began to pull on
my own dick, which was sticking out of the leg of my boxer shorts.  I tried
to keep as quiet as possible; the last thing I wanted was to alert Tim that
I was watching him, since I was afraid that would make him stop. As I
stroked myself, Tim really got busy.  Grasping his meat with both hands, he
lustily pumped his cock in and out of his tight fists.  On every upstroke
his butt-cheeks came up off the bed and his swollen cockhead popped into
view.  On every downstroke I could hear him moan softly as his sensitive
glans disappeared into his clenched fist.  I wasn't sure that his
bedsprings were going to be able to take it.

I easily recognized the signs of his impending orgasm; his balls began to
noticeably tighten up and his jerking got a little more ragged.  I was now
matching him stroke for stroke, and I was about ready to shoot when he let
loose a geyser of cum that arced across his torso, drenching the tanned
flesh.  That was more than I could take, and I struggled to suppress a
groan as I pumped out my own monster load.

Not wanting to risk discovery, I quietly crept back to bed as Tim lay
there, savoring the aftereffects of his orgasm.  My mind was a whirl.  If
this first night was any indication, my sexual frustration, my need for
contact, was going to rise to unbearable levels over the course of the
summer.  I was going to have to do something, or I was going to explode.