Mountain Man: Part One

My wife and I had been married barely two years when we realized we were not nearly as well suited for each other as we had thought.

It wasn't that we fought a lot, or even strongly disagreed about anything important, but we never seemed to find much to talk about. Our sexual connection was still good, if not great, but outside the bedroom the silences between us got longer and longer. One night we looked at each other and said, almost in unison, "This isn't working, is it?"

Since we had no kids, few assets and no real bitterness against each other, the split was quick and almost painless.

I dated now and then, but not very enthusiastically. Having made one serious mistake already where women were concerned, I was cautious about making a second. Maybe I was too cautious, but I told myself that at 31, with decent looks and a promising career in finance, I could afford to be choosy.

Not long after the divorce my dad's sister died and, to my surprise, left me a fair amount of money. I reinvested most of it, but kept enough back to realize a lifelong dream of buying a cabin in the mountains.

It wasn't a big place, and it needed serious updating, but it was solidly built and it had a big stone fireplace I loved. There was a bit of land around it, thickly forested with spruce and pine, and the stream running through it brimmed with trout. Best of all, I had no close neighbors, aside from whoever lived in the place about half a mile upstream from mine.

From the moment I signed the purchase papers I spent almost all my free weekends at the cabin -- so much that my friends joked about my turning into a hermit.

I had bought the place in late winter, so while waiting for spring I did repair and remodeling work inside. Once it got warm enough to work outdoors, I cleared brush around the cabin and improved the path that led down the creek.

On Saturday nights I would get cleaned up and go into town for a burger and a beer at the local bar and grill. I got to know a few of the regulars, including a waitress who took me home a couple of times for an NSA fuck, but I didn't go out of my way to develop real attachments.

Simply put, I liked being by myself. I didn't even miss regular sex as much as I thought I would. If I masturbated even more than usual, so be it.

Speaking of which: Once it got really warm, my favorite thing to do was to lie naked in a lounge chair on my deck and edge myself for long periods, sometimes as much as an hour.

As I got more adventurous, I took to skinny-dipping in a deep pool upstream from the cabin, where my property bordered national forest land.

The water was bitingly cold -- so cold that made my dick shrivel and my balls cling tight to my body - but it was refreshing as well. After swimming I would lie on a big flat rock to let the sun warm me up again.

After lunch one unusually hot Saturday afternoon, I decided to eat one of the gummies I'd brought up from the city. Normally I stick close to the cabin when I get high, but as the dope did its thing I got the urge to go for a swim and bask in the sun. Throwing my towel over my shoulder, I headed down the path to the water.

When I got to the pool I stripped and dove in. After a few minutes I got out and lay on the rock.

Maybe the pot had something to do with it, but once I got warmed up -- and my shrunken dick had returned to normal size -- I felt an erection coming on. After looking around to make sure I was alone, I lay back, closed my eyes and began languidly stroking myself.

I was just getting into the serious rhythm when I heard a noise.

My eyes flew open. On the other side of the pool stood a guy in shorts and no shirt, holding a fishing rod. A slight smile played around his lips.

As I fumbled for my towel he said, "Sorry to interrupt. Don't let me stop you."

Then, after a beat, he added, "In fact, I could probably use a wank myself. Do you mind if I join you?"

Before I could answer he unbuttoned his shorts and let them fall to the ground. Then he hooked his thumbs in his briefs and shucked them off.

A very big dick flopped out.

What the fuck?

He dived in and resurfaced a moment later on my side of the creek. Standing up in the shallows, he shook the water out of his hair and gave me another smile.

I couldn't seem to think, move, or react in any way other than to stare at him.

The guy was a little over medium height, trim and athletic-looking, with dark eyes and dark hair. It was impossible not to look at his dick, though: it was not totally erect but was getting there fast. It was thick, too - thicker than mine anyway - and the shaft curved slightly upward.

What the hell is going on?

The guy sat down on the sunlit rock next to me and held out his hand.

"Mike," he said.

I took his hand, but a moment or two passed before I managed to say, "Jim."

"Nice to meet you."

It was weird sitting there next to this total stranger, with both our dicks sticking straight up in our laps.

Mike glanced at my cock, smiled a little, then lay back and wrapped a hand around his own cock and started stroking.

For a moment I watched him, mesmerized by the sight of his hand moving up and down his shaft. Finally, not knowing what else to do, I lay back down and resumed stroking my now painfully hard cock.

Somewhere in my head, a voice was saying how bizarre all this was.

But my dick was actually throbbing with excitement, and another, louder, voice was saying, "This is absolutely fucking hot."

For a minute or so, the only sounds were those of running water and of skin softly slapping against skin.

Soon Mike turned on his side, fixing his eyes on my cock. He seemed to enjoy watching me.

I turned on my side too, so that we faced each other. We were both stroking steadily now.

I can't believe I'm doing this.

I watched, rapt, as a drop of precum formed in his slit, grew larger and larger and finally dripped onto the rock between us.

Suddenly he made a grunting noise, shuddered two or three times and let out a groan. A huge wad of cum shot out the end of his dick and landed on the back of my hand.

That was all the trigger I needed. My body jerked and I launched a jet of cum that crossed the gap between us and landed on his stomach.

We traded shots after that, both of us grunting and groaning like animals.

When we were both spent I lay back and closed my eyes. Neither of us said anything.

Several minutes passed before Mike sat up.

"Gotta go," he said.

He stood up and waded into the water. When it reached his thighs he paused long enough to splash water on his chest and stomach.

As he stood there I got a long look at his backside: broad shoulders, narrow hips, strong calves and hamstrings. Even his butt looked muscular, I noticed.

When he was done rinsing the cum off his body he swam to the other side and waded ashore.

I watched as he dressed, noting that his erection had not entirely gone away. Neither had mine.

Mike stepped into his shoes, picked up the fishing rod and looked over at me.

Giving me a sly smile, he said, "Same time next week?"

For a moment I was unable to answer, but finally I said, "Okay?"

He flashed me a thumbs-up, turned and walked off into the woods.

I sat there for a long time, still high, listening to the soft sound of the water running into the pool and the fainter sound of a breeze stirring the pines.

What the fuck had just happened?

After a while I got up, waded into the water and rinsed myself free of sweat and cum. Then I moved into shoulder-deep water and stood there long enough for my head to clear. Finally I went back to shore and got dressed.

The spot where Mike and I had lain was dotted with puddles of cum, already drying in the mountain air.

As I walked back up the hill to my cabin, I thought about what a reckless thing I'd done. It would have been a major embarrassment if somebody had happened along while we were beating off on that rock.

I couldn't stop thinking, though, that I had just had one of the most erotic experiences of my life.