Message-ID: <155336Z04071995@anon.penet.fi>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.masturbation.penet.fi
From: an272878@anon.penet.fi (Erostos)
X-Anonymously-To: alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.masturbation.penet.fi
Organization: Anonymous forwarding service
Reply-To: an272878@anon.penet.fi
Date: Tue, 4 Jul 1995 15:49:16 UTC
Subject: "Island in Winter" m/m (Repost)
Lines: 462
"Island in Winter" m/m
Winter lay over the runways of Martha's Vineyard Airport
with the same hostility to human bones that nature visits upon
those who troll her waters this time of year.
My charter customers at least had things to do in Martha's
Vineyard, and warmer places there in which to do them.
My anticipation of relief from these horrific conditions built
inversely to the minutes remaining for our planned return flight to
Bangor at 8:30 that evening. We'd passed the date on which even
the FAA abandoned this island off Massachusetts' south coast,
taking their "tower" with them, and leaving the airport as an
"uncontrolled field" for those of us who had to come anyway.
Once Fall had marched this close to the gates of Winter, the
weather and economic desolateness of the island conspired to turn
one of Summer's busiest fields into the lonely exile I found myself
in tonight.
The field had been hovering near minimums and the freezing
level all day and from the look of it, and according to Flight
Service, was going to remain that way till noon the next day. Except
for the boy manning - or would it be more correct to say "man
boying?" - the coffee shop, I was alone and certain to remain that
way for another hour until my sheep returned from town and we
could leave the island. Bangor was reporting 1200 ceilings and 3
miles visibility, so I had no doubt of our ability to return despite
takeoff weather.
On a bench in the corridor outside the coffee shop, and in a
posture mother told me never to adopt, I was stirred from these
half-awake musings on today's dose of fate by a soft touch on my
thigh.
"Sir, I'm closing now." My eyes opened, and focused on the
well mounded button-fly of a pair of faded 501's. The occupant of
this stimulating garment was without doubt connected to the hand
that had just touched my thigh.
"I have to lock up the building, now," continued the boy from
the coffee shop, who was trying to tell me that it was eight o-clock
and what that entailed for my remaining in the posture mother told
me never to adopt. With the tower gone, and commercial desks
shut down for the season, this little building offered the only
sustenance and company the airport could offer; and now, it would
seem, that offer was to be temporarily withdrawn.
"Oh, hi there," I reacted loosely. "I guess I dropped off for a
minute."
"Look," I continued, "I'm expecting my charter group to be
here in about a half hour. I'll freeze in the plane, and can't run my
air cooled engine for heat that long either. Any chance to staying
here, and locking up after myself?"
I could tell from his response that he saw nothing but trouble
for himself by granting my request. "Gee, that's really going to be
impossible," he said. "I did it once, and don't want to go through
that again." I chose not to ask him what that meant.
He was interrupted by the coffee shop phone, which turned
out to be for me and from which I learned that my charter group
was forced to remain in Edgartown till morning. Great. My choices:
return now to Bangor and come back tomorrow? Stay in town, if I
could get there? I took down the telephone number and said I'd
get back to them when I figured out what I was going to do.
"You have another option," the boy said, having heard the
general tenor of at least my part of the last conversation, and
whose name he informed me was Kim.
"I stay here at the field. Got me some heated space in a small
hangar at the end of the flight line, and you're welcome to put up
with me till morning when the coffee shop reopens."
There was something indefinably arousing about my doubling
up with the boy for the night which led me to consider my other
known options as rather poor second choices. With only a
moment's hesitation - secretly hoping his imagination played with
the same images mine did - I said: "Done. It's a deal I can't pass
up. Thanks, Kim."
As Kim went on to ask that I excuse the condition of his digs
and such, my senses again took in the maleness that emanated from
his young body. Young meaning early twenties, hardly a boy though
in features and manner very much a boy. Apart from his age and
tentatively presumed innocence, we were both about 5'9", 160
pounds, 32" waist, brown hair. Only time would tell (and I dearly
hoped it would) whether my "6-1/2" uncut" specs compared
favorably with those of my young host.
After the required telephone call to my customer, I rose from
the posture my mother said I should never adopt, and followed Kim
as he shut out the lights and locked the door.
The icy wind was 20 knots and gusting from the Sound to our
south, making quite light indeed of our deficient clothing. We
proceeded to walk the distance which this time of year was - as if a
geophysical quirk of nature - longer than the same walk in summer.
The wind almost made my eyes close; but with my head down I
followed eyes-open the swaying the boy's tight butt-cheeks, packed
firmly into his retreating 501's.
By the time we got halfway there, Kim yelled over the sound
of the wind: "My balls have just about shrunk to peas in this cold."
I did not answer right away, wondering if what I'd just heard was
innocence or invitation. Assuming that nothing would be lost in
assuming the latter...
"That I'd really like to see," I responded in calculated
ambiguity but with iniquitous ulterior intent.
He half turned to me and smiled, his boyish features now
thinly masking a raw sexuality that I now imagined as pulsing just
below the surface of his jeans.
"You just might," he replied, turning and heading off in the
direction of his quarters at a renewed pace.
I followed, my chilled eyes still fixating on the tight
buttcheeks flexing in his Levi's. We stormed the unlocked hangar
door and burst quickly inside to its welcome wave of warmth.
His quarters consisted of a single large space, insulated and
snug but indecorous. A minimal assortment of furnishings had
commandeered about half the space in the old hangar; all the
"hangar-type" stuff had piled up in disorganized piles in other
portions of the hangar space. A small room without door housed a
small shower, itself without door, plus a sink and hopper - a
veritable model of bare essentials.
"Humble, but home," Kim said, turning and grinning. "But
mine for the winter." "Very humble," I agreed. He chuckled in a
cute little boy way, and said: "Make yourself at home anyway."
"Do you really want me to act like I'm at home, Kim?" is
asked. "If I did, I just might take you up on your offer."
"What offer?," he said quizzically. I did not respond, but
sauntered off as if to perform an inspection of my quarters for the
night.
"I have some beer in the fridge, but tonight tea would hit the
spot for me," he said. "Want some?"
"Exactly what spot did you have in mind, Kim?," I retorted
enigmatically. Catching on now to my humorous reference to his
freeze-dried gonads, he laughed loudly, and said: "Oh yeah, I get it.
Thaw my balls out in a cup of hot tea? Very good."
"If so, I'll join you for sure," I laughed.
As Kim proceeded to get tea, I sauntered about his tiny digs,
then looked out over the frozen field. A light snow had begun to
fall, and the field took on the appearance of the arctic. It was a
good night to be inside and not airborne.
"As you can see, my accommodations are spartan. You can
have the couch, which I don't really recommend; or you can share
the mattress on the floor back there," as he pointed out the only
obvious place of repose. In fact the "couch" looked like it had been
had used - or abused - by many others before me, some of whom
could (from its appearance) well have been members of the insect
or rodent kingdoms.
"The mattress, please," I answered.
"Good choice," my young host replied, with the satisfied grin
of one who'd predicted a response.
As he went about the business of putting some crackers,
peanut butter, and tea on the small table, he said: "I have to get up
disgustingly early on this job to open the coffee shop for the early
arrivals, so I hope you don't mind if I retire early. You don't have
to, though. I have some books and magazines over there," he said
pointing to an indeterminate piece of furniture in the corner
covered by a motley array of magazines. "And there's a radio. No
TV, I'm afraid."
As I was rummaging through his "library," I blinked with
enormous delight at coming upon a fairly recent copy of "Jock,"
which had all the earmarks of having served as my young host's
most frequent reference material.
This is more like it, I thought. Perhaps my
suspicions/desires were more grounded in fact than I had solid
reasons to believe. I left the copy on top of the pile, calculating
that he would notice my selection from his supply.
Water from the shower brought me back to the present, and
turning I saw a pair of empty Levi's draped over one of the
"kitchen" chairs. On top of the Levi's was a pair of white cotton
briefs that he must have been wearing.
"You're welcome to take a shower too, if you want," he said.
"There's plenty of hot water." I moved to a more favorable vantage
point before answering. "Sure, sounds great. I could use one.
Thanks." His body twisted clearly in the steam in the little room,
but offering little to obstruct my view of his back and butt, now
lathered in soap. I could feel the familiar quickening in my loins as
I contemplated his taut male body, his buttocks like ripe melons.
"What did you say," he called, turning as he did, offering me
now a full frontal view of his scrumptious 7"+ member. The scrotal
sac from which it flaccidly protruded contained the very two objects
of my affection which without doubt were larger than the peas to
which he'd analogized them earlier.
"I said I'd love to take a shower before turning in. Thank
you." I stood facing him transfixed by the view. Shutting off the
water, he emerged unselfconsciously toweling his wavy brown hair,
but leaving the full impact of his nakedness for me to savor.
Doffing my duds to follow him in the shower, I could not take
my eyes off his 7+" cumtower wagging alluringly somewhere
between flaccid and hard, causing my own member to stir.
When I emerged, I found Kim standing in a pair of clean
white cotton briefs, his tumescent malemeat flaunting their design
capacity. He had taken the copy of "Jock" and put it next the side
of the mattress that I correctly interpreted to be his.
Another clean pair of briefs lay on the opposite site of the
mattress. "I knew you didn't come prepared for an overnight, so I
left you a change of underwear for after your shower," he said.
With a grunt of appreciation and a casualness which betrayed the
reality of my arousal, I quickly slipped the boy's white cotton
cock-pit over my enlarged cock and balls. From the corner of my
eye, the boy lying on the mattress watched as I adjusted my cock,
which was still barely at the point where it could bend down into
the pouch.
"I like your choice of bedtime reading," I mumbled.
"It gets lonely here this time of year," he mildly responded.
"Sometimes this is all I have to, you know, get off as the need
arises." He was lying down now, the front of his briefs tented
beneath the open magazine that he held in his right hand, in
apparent testimony that more just the need had now arisen for the
boy.
"I might need it too before long," I said suggestively, "if I
keep getting stranded at deserted airports by my sheep too often."
And after the briefest of pauses, I continued: "But it's not often I
get to share a young man's bed and underpants."
The conversation wound uneasily down, and while my young
host studied Jock's print and pricks, my eyes did a further review of
my immediate surroundings. His place was the very model of
clutter, with supplies and clothes strewn about in no obvious order.
Closer to my position on the mattress, and just a bit behind it
on the floor, I saw a pair of discarded briefs. On closer inspection
- something I always have the urge to do with boys' briefs filled or
otherwise - I saw something that pushed my nascent erection to full
flower. Lying carelessly within the folds of the briefs was a used
condom, draped indecorously over the waistband.
The boy was now engrossed in "Jock," and by turning on my
side, back to him, I was able to reach over inconspicuously and pull
both briefs and cumbag close to the edge of the mattress. Judging
from the enlarged mound on the front of his briefs "Jock" had
efficiently served its intended purpose of getting the boy up.
With a fluid move of my right hand, I smoothly reached out
and pulled the cumbag in. It had been knotted after its use, and
captured inside was what for all the world looked like a week's
supply of the boy's semen, presumable a tangible token of "Jock's"
earlier success. Without too much trouble I unknotted it, exposing
its creamy contents to my waiting senses.
Holding the now open condom close to my nose, I was
intoxicated by the musky odor of the boy's spunk, which had to have
been recently produced. I slipped a finger into his boycream,
withdrawing enough to rub between two fingers before inserting my
fingers into my waiting mouth for the full taste test.
My mind was convulsing with desire for more of this
wonderful substance, and more of the hot young male body that
produced and ejaculated it. From all surface appearances his
semen supply was now in rapid-rebuild mode, the boy's hand now
unconsciously resting on the pubic ridge beneath his cock, his
fingers gently flexing his mons pubis.
Regrettably my fantasies outdistanced my young host's
capacity for remaining awake, and by the time I was about to
explore further conversation of our body parts and their
operational parameters, he'd fallen asleep.
"Jock" lay on the floor next to him; and though sleeping his
erection continued unabated. I was free, at least, to turn for a
more direct inspection of the boy's body.
His torso displayed the muscle tightness of youth, his brief's
32" waistband clinging snugly to his firm abdomen. His legs had a
light growth of hair, but were sinewy and lean. His face and mop of
wavy brown hair were carryovers from his teens, and the overall
impact of his body was electrifying and erotic.
I shut the light off, but the glow of a field light coming
through the window offered enough illumination for me to lean
over the boy's body and squeeze out the contents of the latex
reservoir onto the fly of his briefs.
I could see that he was still erect, and covered with his own
sperm now gave off the appearance and odor of a guy that just
ejaculated. He did not wake, however.
I slipped my left hand to where it rested on his cum-wet
bulge, and my fingers began slowly and softly massaging his balls
and cock.
Still asleep, he stirred involuntarily with the pleasure this
must have caused, and as his own right hand moved up to his crotch
I delicately withdrew mine in order to leave the honors to him. He
writhed a bit under his own hand, as I prepared myself for the
delicacy of watching this hot boy masturbate on the other side of
consciousness.
His limbs jerked, and he suddenly awoke with a start.
"You OK, I asked? After a slight pause,...
"What? Oh yeah, I'm...I'm OK." Pause. "Must have... have
fallen off, huh?" "Yup," I concurred. I could see his hands
exploring in front.
"Geeze," he said, "I think I had an accident," still fondling the
wetness in his crotch.
"From what I saw, Kim, I wouldn't say it was an accident.
Looked to my like you really knew what you were doing. And
frankly I enjoyed every minute of it. My only regret is that you
didn't make better use of your second hand," I said fondling my
own cock-pit.
"You saw me?" he said.
"Hard not to, guy. Hey, when you gotta shoot you gotta
shoot, right? You had a full load and it wanted out. Perfectly
natural. Don't feel bad." I kept on stroking myself, as if to reassure
him that masturbating is as natural as eating, breathing, and
sleeping.
"I don't understand this at all," he went on. "I never felt
myself cumming, and even now I'm hard as a rock like I still have a
full load."
"Maybe there's more down there where that came from, and
you need a second shot. I might even be able to help you out in
that department," as I reached over and cupped the pouch of his
semen saturated underpants.
It was a move that risked all, but proved to timed just right.
He lay there, letting me softly massage the front of his briefs and
his capacious body parts beneath, and began to moan as my fingers
did the walking over and around his moist crotch.
While my hand pleasured his aroused young male body, my
imagination was masturbating myself. Moving closer to him, I
slipped my had down to the inside of his thighs, and my lips to the
front of his briefs, hungry now for the taste of his boycream.
His moaned louder, his penis throbbing between my lips as I
took the top of his cotton covered dickhead into my mouth. His
cock and my mouth waltzed in a tantalizing sexual duet, his breath
and chest now pulsating in sync with his approaching climax.
From somewhere deep within that part of the human male
from which sexual pleasure spreads, I could feel the boy's body
begin to quiver at the very edge of ecstacy. His first, but cumless,
convulsive jerk was soon following by a series of trembling wet
thrusts of his cock, ejaculating his body's full supply of male sexual
fluids to my still sucking mouth. The flow of his semen seemed
endless, but slowly stopped as his quickened breathing subsided.
I continued to suck the sweet musky wetness from the front
of his underpants, and he continued to let me. At such times I
found effective communications to be tacit and tactile, and that
words bring too much logic into play.
We lay there for only a short time, my face still resting on his
wetness.
"That was awesome," he said. "I haven't been serviced like
that for a very long time, and it felt real good. Thanks."
"My pleasure," I retorted, meaning both words.
There was a brief moment of stillness and quiet, then his
hand migrated to my own bulging crotch, and he said: "How do my
briefs fit you? Are they comfortable?" He moved the palm of his
right hand in sensual circles over the white cotton covering my
erection.
"Fit me like a glove," I responded, now resting my own hand
on top of his as he continued the tour of his briefs on my body.
We kept this up for as long as I could restrain the forces
which would bring me to a convulsive climax. Lifting my body, I
turned over facing and straddling Kim, positioning my penis
directly above the fly of his saturated briefs. I pulled my cock out
through the fly of my (his) briefs, and into the boy's own wet fly.
So coupled, I began to hump his torso, while his hands wrapped
around my buttcheeks to support me in my efforts. Our two briefs
were one now. My engorged penis rode through two flys for the
glory that was promised inside the boy's underpants, seeking the
friction of his moist pubic ridge.
His own hardness returned, and our two penises gyrated as
one inside his briefs as we held our release till we both knew the
edge had been reached.
Almost intuitively we leaped forward together over the edge
of ecstacy in perfect unison, our cocks ejaculating our malemilk
into the musky cotton cavern housing the boy's magnificent
genitals.
Spent, we lay there in a moment of dreamlike repose. My
briefs were still dry, the boy's dripping from three separate
injections of boy cream, two of them his own.
"Are you always able to cum three times?" I asked.
"Only when I have company," he responded, "that knows how
to follow the clues." he said, "and then knows what to do when
those clues lead him to forbidden fruit."
He turned and smiled, first looking at "Jock," then at the
empty condom lying on the floor next where I lay, then at me.
I felt like a mouse drawn by cheese, but instead of finding a
trap was instead invited to the feast.
Our sexual energies were spent. Our bodies at last
succumbed the their need for rest and retreated to explore our
separate dreamscapes alone. And as is so often the case, those who
share our conscious lives make sudden and exciting appearances in
our land of dreams.
When I awoke, I was vaguely aware that the winter chill lay
still heavily over the field; but he had gotten up and out early as he
said. I rubbed my eyes, and rose from the posture that mother said
was all right for me to adopt, only to notice as I twisted that my
cockhead felt cold and wet.
Looking down, I saw the front of my (the boy's) briefs I was
wearing saturated in what was unquestionably cum. The only
question remaining - whose?
- Erostos:062995
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