Mr. Mitchell's Neighbor Pt. 01

Trey, my 20 year old neighbor, was in his sophomore year at a downstate university. He and his family moved into the neighboring home when he was in his mid-teens. We'd developed a symbiotic relationship early on. Trey would come by to help the old man next door and I'd pay him. He attended to the landscaping in the summer, and assisted with home improvements. He was energetic, lithe and handsome, and I admit it thrilled me to watch him pushing the lawnmower on hot sunny days, his shirtless torso shiny with sweat. But I'm not a creepy old pederast. I respected the boundaries our ages set between us. He would come by and do a chore, and I'd pay him. Sometimes, as I said, I watched him as he worked.

I watched him grow from a skinny teen into a handsome young man. He swam on the high school team as part of the 4-man relay. He played basketball in his driveway. He ran. He had developed tight sinewy muscles and as he grew he would assist with more arduous tasks in my home, moving furniture, clearing out the attic and cellar. He helped me go through the painful process of parting with my late wife's belongings.

My wife had been dead a year when Trey and his family arrived, and it took time for me to let go of her presence, which haunted me with her collection of odd sewing machines and antique sewing tables. Trey helped me catalogue everything, take photos to show to local antique shops for quotes, and when a price was set, he helped me carry out the last remnants of her property and deliver them to the shops.

Trey had departed for university in the late summer after high school graduation, and he assured me he would return for every holiday break and come over to see if I needed his help with anything. During his spring break of sophomore year Trey was helping me move furniture from my room into an empty guest bedroom. He was going to help me paint the room after we cleared it. With luck we could clear the room, paint it, and then replace the furniture within the week of his visit. He was enthusiastic to help, and as always, entertained me with stories about his life at the university. He shared little about his studies, focusing on the girls he'd been dating or his one night stands with someone he met at a party. I enjoyed listening to his tales of youthful sexual conquests. While he was in high school Trey would occasionally mention girls he dated, but we usually talked about sports or politics. Once he adapted to campus life he returned home and spoke freely about his sex life.

That fine spring day we had moved all but the chest of drawers from my bedroom. Paintings and photos had been removed from the walls. Bed, box spring and other furniture were crammed into the guest bedroom. Trey suggested we remove the drawers from the chest to make it easier to manage. Before I could stop him he began pulling out drawers and carrying them into the other room. I told him we should be able to manage with the two bottom drawers still in the chest, but he said no, and leaned over and opened one of the drawers. My collection of gay porn videos and magazines stored inside stopped him cold. He straightened up, took a step back and said, "Uh, Mr. Mitchell um, what is this?"

I told him to close the drawer, but he squatted down and began taking out the magazines and VHS tapes. Under the magazines he found a lifelike 8" dildo and a squeeze bottle of lube. He didn't touch the dildo, but pointed and turned to face me from the floor. "Are you a..." he started the say homo, but corrected himself, "gay? Is this yours?"

I nodded, blushed and said, "I told you to leave that drawer in the chest."

He stood to face me. "You're gay?"

"Bisexual. I was married to a woman for thirty years."

"Where's your straight porn?" He asked, smirking. "Did your wife know about this? This is old stuff. I mean. Who even has a VHS player these days?"

"I do."

"Okay, hold on. Let me wrap my head around this." He walked across the room, away from me, and said, "You like guys. You like fucking guys."

"And women."

He returned to the magazines and leafed through a few quietly, perusing the glossy photos of muscular men with large penises sucking and fucking each other. Some guys were hairy, some smooth. Trey must have realized that most of the men in the photos were about his age, and he looked at me. "You like younger guys?"

Busted. "I like mature men. Men old enough to know what or who they want."

"These guys don't look mature. They look like me. Like they're 20 or 30 years old."

"Trey, what's your point?"

"Did you have me come around here so you could try and fuck me?"

"No! Have I ever made you uncomfortable? Have I ever made a move on you? Touched you?

"No." He looked a bit ashamed at his accusation, but pressed on with his interrogation. "But have you ever thought about it?"

"Thought about what?"

"Thought about fucking me?"

"No. I would never do anything to jeopardize our friendship."

He was silent. He returned the magazines and tapes to the drawer, removed it and carried it into the guest room. I removed the last drawer and put it on top of the one he'd just set on the floor, hiding the porn. We went back to the bedroom and carefully carried the chest into the guest room. We returned to my empty bedroom and spread a tarp on the floor. We checked the walls for cracks.

"I'll come back after lunch and start patching. Then we can tape off the trims. We can put the first coat of paint on tomorrow." Trey left the room and walked downstairs. I followed him.

"Trey," I called, "please stop."

"What?"

"I understand if you don't want to come back and finish the job."

"I'll be back. I need the cash."

"How about lunch? Let me fix you lunch. I have leftover pot roast I can heat up."

"I don't know, Mr. Mitchell. I need to sort out some shit."

"Like what, Trey? I'm right here. Ask and I will answer. Truthfully."

He was reluctant, but he accepted my offer for lunch. He set the table while I heated up the leftovers in the microwave. We sat at the kitchen table, ate our meal in near silence. He broke the silence to tell me that the food was delicious.

"It's my wife's recipe. She left me a treasure of recipe cards and sometimes I'll break one out and make something. It's never as good as when she prepared it, but it's like she's still here."

"You two were happy together?"

"Yeah. The final years were pretty awful as she declined. Cancer. But I took care of her until the end."

"Did she know about the porn in the drawer?"

"No. I didn't keep that stuff in the house when she was alive. It was locked up in the garage near my work bench. It was there until last year. I brought it in and watched a couple of the movies to see if I could get my blood flowing."

"What do you mean?" He started clearing the table as talked.

"I'm 66, Trey. The old guy doesn't always work like it used to." I smiled and glanced down. "Imagination and memories need a little visual help, if you know what I mean."

"I don't have that problem," he grinned.

"Ah, to be 20 again," I said.

"So, have you, uh, hooked up or met anyone since your wife passed away?" He leaned on the counter. I might have been mistaken, but I thought there was a bulge in his crotch. He wore jeans and a t-shirt with his school's emblem across the chest. The shirt fit snugly and I could see the outlines of his pecs. He crossed his arms across his chest and I thought he was aware I was staring.

"Yeah, a couple of times. Always left me feeling more alone than I felt before the meeting."

"What did you guys do together?"

"You really want to know?"

"I asked. You said I can ask anything and you'll tell me the truth."

"We usually sucked each other's cocks. Some guys like to kiss, but most of them just want to suck and/or be sucked."

"Wow."

"It's not unusual. You tell me stories about the girls at school. Same kind of thing. You need a release, she needs a release. Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"I know you like pussy. You like licking it?"

"Yes."

"Have you ever licked a girl after you fucked her?"

"No."

"So you shoot your load and then you're done? You ever think about going back down on her to make sure she cums, too?"

Trey was uncomfortable with the questions directed at him, but he answered. "I have never done that."

"You should. If you care about her and respect her, you should do whatever you can to make her as satisfied as you are. Take your time with her. Let her know it's not all about Trey."

"Sex advice from my old gay neighbor," he chuckled.

"Your old bisexual neighbor. And speaking of that, I hope we can keep this between us."

"Yeah, Mr. Mitchell. No doubt. You listened to me go on about the girls at school. Feel free to tell me anytime about your cocksucking friends." His answer was snarky and out of character for Trey. He had always been respectful, but now the rules had changed. The discovery of my sexuality and our frank discussion emboldened Trey. This was probably the manner in which he carried on with his peers.

I suggested we head back upstairs to patch the walls. He said he had one final question.

"Are you any good?"

"What do you mean," I asked in response.

"You a good cock sucker?" He grinned, and his eyes twinkled.

"Nobody has ever complained."

"You ever think about sucking me?"

"Trey," I shook my head.

"Truth." He said.

"Yes. I have. I look forward to every visit from you. But I have learned to separate lust and desire for the unattainable from the friendship I value. Also I need your help with the painting."

He nodded, and I saw his skepticism.

I said, "How many girls do you know that you've never kissed or screwed? How many have beautiful tits you dream about while you're stroking your young dick? How many fantasies have you had of fucking someone you see every day, but you don't let that desire interfere with your friendships or your work or class relationships?"

"But if the opportunity presented itself I'd grab those tits in a heartbeat," he countered.

I nodded.

"So if you had the opportunity to suck me, your helpful young neighbor, you wouldn't do it?"

Now I know he had a bulge in his pants, and I couldn't understand how the idea of me sucking his cock could be turning him on, but he was 20 and his dick was on autopilot.

"You want me, your 66 year old neighbor, to suck you?" I asked.

"Mr. Mitchell, I'm horny all the time."

"This shouldn't happen."

"It has to happen,' he said as he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly.

"Wait!" He stopped short of pulling his cock out of his pants. "Ground rules! 1) You have to finish painting the bedroom. 2) We can't let this ruin our friendship."

"Fine. I agree. How do we do this?"

"Is this your first blowjob," I asked.

"No, of course not! Just the first time from a guy."

I pulled a chair up in front of him and said, "Step number 1, show me your dick." I sat on the chair as Trey lowered his jeans and briefs exposing his erect penis. Average in size, maybe 6 inches long and not too much girth, it sprouted from the bush of curly brown pubic hair. His balls hung loosely between his legs. I stroked Trey's cock and massaged his balls. He tensed at my touch. "Step number 2: Relax. It's just skin on skin."

I stroked him and watched his face. He stared at me, eyes wide until I leaned forward and wrapped my lips around his glans. He closed his eyes as I took more of him into my mouth. His cock tasted like he'd been leaking precum while we were talking. The musk of his groin was a heady aroma that drove my desire and I felt my own cock growing. I began working him in and out of my mouth, my tongue caressing his cock head with each pass. Within minutes I could taste the precum secreting out of his dick. The salty mellow tang sent waves of desire through me and I increased the speed of my sucking.

I worked on his cock for several minutes and he stood motionless, arms at his sides. He didn't touch me, but moaned softly and then without warning he pulled out of my mouth and the first blast of his warm jizz hit my cheek and mouth. He held his cock, stroked and continued spraying my face. He let out a few grunts and gasped "Oh god." His body shook as he squeezed out the last few strings of cum which landed on my shirt.

He opened his eyes, stared at me as if in shock, and then smiled. "Shit, Mr. Mitchell, I made a real mess on you." He took a dish towel off the counter and handed it to me. I licked his cum on my lips and tasted his seed. It was salty and tangy. I wished he had shot into my mouth.

I wiped away the slick, sticky sperm while Trey pulled his pants up. "You didn't have to pull out" I told him. "I would have swallowed your load."

"Most girls don't like you to cum in their mouths," Trey said. "Some of them gag at the taste of it."

"I've grown to enjoy it. Some men taste bad, and you can tell before they ever shoot, so I avoid swallowing their spunk. But if their precum is okay, I'll swallow."

He smiled. "I taste okay?"

"Yes." I pushed the chair back to the table and said, "I have to change my shirt. Why don't you start patching the walls?" We returned upstairs, Trey headed into my room and I went to the guest bedroom and changed out of my soiled shirt. I held the cum-stained shirt up and fought the urge to lick the remnants of Trey's load from it.

We spent the next hour patching a few cracks and taping off the window and door trims. We worked in silence. Neither mentioned what had happened, but we avoided eye contact and Trey made sure he was working on the opposite side of the room from me. I hoped I hadn't frightened him or ruined our work arrangement. We finished patching and started organizing for the next day when we would begin painting the walls.

Trey broke the silence. "Hey, Mr. Mitchell, you think we can do this again?"

"Sure," I answered, "it's an old house. Lots of cracks we can seal."

Trey chuckled and said, "You're a funny guy. I didn't mean patching or painting. I meant this." He rubbed a hand on his crotch, and the familiar bulge was visible. "You think you want to suck my cock again?"

I let the question sit there between us, and watched Trey's expression change from a sly smile to a serious leer. "You want that, Trey? You want me to be your suck buddy?"

"I won't ever let you down," he said, smiling again. "I came too quick before. I was nervous. You know, my first time with a guy. I can usually go for an hour before I blow."

Now I smiled, thinking about the opportunity and the serious consequences if things didn't work out between us. But the desire for Trey's young cock won the battle. I was sure he would keep our arrangement a secret.

"Yeah, we can do that again. But I remind you that this must be kept between us. Your folks would kill me if they knew."

"I won't tell them. I don't tell them anything about sex."

"Yeah, I can be your secret cocksucker. But you have to promise to relax. Don't be afraid to touch me, encourage me, and talk to me while I'm sucking you."

"Okay, I'll try that. But I'm not gonna suck your cock," he said. "I'm not like that."

I frowned. "Not like what?"

"I'm not like you, I'm not a cocksucker. I don't mean there's anything wrong with it. You like sucking cock, and I like getting sucked. But that's where it ends. Okay?"

"Trey, I'm not trying to convert you. We'll have an arrangement. Write up a contract if you want. Create boundaries."

"A verbal agreement will work for me," he said, perhaps wondering if I seriously wanted a contract, signed and notarized. He extended his hand to shake, but I withheld my hand. "What?"

"I need something, too. This isn't a one-way street."

"I said I won't suck your cock."

"I'm not asking for that. I'll take care of myself, but I might want you to watch. I also want you to strip for me."

Trey looked confused. "You want me to watch you stroke?"

"Sometimes."

"You want me to strip? Get naked for you?"

"Is that wrong? I want to see your body. And I want to touch more than your cock."

"Like what?" He was nervous now. He thought he'd had the upper hand in our negotiation. He seemed uneasy about my requests. The bulge in his pants had disappeared.

"Have you ever been rimmed?"

"What's that?"

"Has anyone ever licked your bum hole?"

"No."

"I'd like to lick it. You'll enjoy it, trust me."

"What if we reduced the amount of cash you're paying me to help you and we just stick to you blowing me?"

"No. Agree with me or you can paint and collect your cash. I'll still hire you for other help around here, but I won't suck your cock again."

Trey walked to the door, leaned against the frame, his back to me. He was quiet for a few minutes then faced me and said, "Okay, I agree, but if I say stop, you stop. Okay? If I get uncomfortable or freak out with what you're doing? You'll stop?"

"I will not take advantage of you. I only want us to have some fun. I'll respect your limits." I smiled and extended my hand. Trey stepped over and we shook hands. He smiled and rubbed his crotch.

"One for the road?" he asked.

I considered his offer, looked into Trey's blue eyes, and found him hard to resist. It was a good time to test his limits. I didn't answer him, and he must have thought I was going to decline so he pulled his t-shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor. He had been working out while away. His chest muscles were firm and his stomach was tight. His shoulders and biceps were more muscular than I remembered. He had grown some chest hair that was thick between his pecs. But it was the trail of fine brown hair that started at his navel and disappeared at his waistband that caught my attention. I hadn't noticed it earlier while I was servicing his cock in my kitchen.

"Your pants, too," I said. He kicked off his shoes and removed his pants and socks without hesitation. He stood in his briefs, his erection straining to escape. I squatted in front of Trey, slipping my fingers under the elastic waistband and pulled the briefs to his ankles. He stepped out of them. As I had earlier I cupped his balls in one hand and his cock in the other. I kissed the tip of his cock. I ran my tongue along the shaft to the base. I buried my tongue in his pubic bush and let it trace the trail of hair to his belly. I stood and reached around to his back, held him firm while my mouth licked one nipple and then the other. His breathe came in short gasps as I continues licking his nipples and began stroking his cock.

"Oh, fuck, Mr. Mitchell, damn!"

My hand slipped down his back and cupped one of his firm butt cheeks. I stopped licking his nipple, put my mouth close to his ear and whispered, "You need a shower."

Trey's reverie was shattered. He backed away and looked confused. I took his hand and led him to the bathroom. He stood in silence while I ran the water until it was warm and turned on the showerhead. "Step in." He obeyed. "You're a bit funky down below and I want you clean and fresh for this." He nodded and stood under the warm shower. "I'll give you the choice of washing yourself or letting me attend to you."

Trey weighed his options and said, "I'll wash myself."

"Okay. But I'm going to watch. Make sure you scrub your ass. I want it clean." He took the bar of soap and began lathering his body. I stood in the doorway as he covered himself in lather. He didn't look nervous, which I had expected, but smiled deviously when he stroked his cock with his soapy hands. He reached under his balls and scrubbed. He turned away from me and rubbed the bar of soap between his buttocks.

He was covered with soapy foam and then rinsed it all away. Turning off the shower he asked me for a towel. I handed him a clean towel and he patted his body dry. His wavy brown hair hung down on his forehead with drops of water. His blue eyes gleamed and his perfect smile told me it was time for me to reward him for allowing me to watch him shower. I took the towel and dried his head. I wanted to hold him close and kiss him, but I knew Trey would object so I led him through the hall to the stairs and down 2 flights to the basement, beyond the laundry room and into the finished playroom. An old couch, a pair of easy chairs, a widescreen television, DVD player, the ancient VHS machine. The room was the perfect private place for my occasional guests. Now it was our playroom and I guided Trey to a chair. He sat and I stood before him.