Peppertree Crossing Welcome

Gordon and Davey were still fucking. Gordon turned Davey on the cock to where the guy was facing away from Gordon, his torso folded down on his thighs, his head hanging down toward the patio tiles, and his fingers tracing the edges between the tiles. Gordon, grasping the guy's narrow waist between his hands, pulled the young man on and off the cock, with me being able to see the root of the shaft and several inches of it appearing and disappearing in the thrusting.

I was past controlling myself now. I leaned into the window, one hand palming the glass, my forehead pressed into the coolness of the window, and my other hand jerking myself off once more. I'd gone immediately hard again. I still had it, even into my fifties, the ability to recharge fast and to fire off again and again. Gordon tensed and jerked, tensed and jerked, and then the two just sort of collapsed. I came again in another splattering against the window. The dick came out of the hole, bringing cum with it. Then it pushed in again to drive the jism home.

Gordon had barebacked the guy. That's what I liked to see. That's what I liked to do. A creampie.

Jerking back into awareness, I pushed myself off from the window and marched off to the bathroom attached to the master bedroom. When I came back, they were gone. I told myself they'd been so taken up with the fuck that I'm sure they hadn't seen me at the window, watching them and jerking off. I was going hard again. I hadn't had it for so long, and this had been such a sexy surprise. I lay down on my back on the mattress, across the room from the unfinished frame, took myself in hand, and slow-stroked myself off a third time in that hour to the imagining of what the two of them--Gordon and his guy, Davey--were doing in the house now. Fucking in the bedroom just eight feet beyond the floor-to-ceiling window of my bedroom, where my jism was still dribbling down the glass. Maybe Gordon on his back and the guy riding him languidly in a cowboy, the white orbs of his buttocks shimmering as he rose and fell on the shaft.

Davey giving Gordon everything he wanted. Gordon barebacking the guy. Creampie time. Breeding the guy.

* * * *

"OK, OK, I'm coming," I called out. The knock on the door hadn't registered the first time and it had been repeated, louder. There was a bell. Why weren't they ringing that? Oh, yeah, that didn't work. Well, the one at the dean's house at Brown had worked.

We aren't in Rhode Island anymore, Jarvis.

I was in a foul mood. I'd worked at the bedframe for the last couple of hours with very little to show for it. I just wasn't mechanical. This wasn't college dean's work. Good thing I was sexy as hell--even at fifty-two.

I open the door and almost hyperventilated. Davey Jones was standing there, just in athletic shorts and sandals. He was deep-tanned and gorgeous.

"Yes?" I said, working hard to manage even that.

"I'm Davey Jones... from next door."

"Yes, yes, you are," I said, definitively this time. I'd seen him next door. I'd seen him get the shit fucked out of him next door. I'd watched him getting breeded. I'd seen the cream dribbling out of his asshole. I'd watched him show he enjoyed it. I wanted to fuck him too. "Yes, of course you are," I managed again. "What can I do for you?"

I knew exactly what I could do for him. He smiled at me like he knew what I could do for him too, and I melted on the spot. "What's that?" I asked. I'd jerked my gaze away from him, not being able to look at his beautiful young guy's body any longer without reaching out and touching him--and only now seeing that he was holding a pie pan with something fluffy white in it.

"It's a cream pie, a coconut cream pie. Mr. Montgomery sent it over for you. A house-warming gift. To welcome you to the neighborhood. Cream pie is his favorite. He said he thought it might be your favorite too. 'Go over and see if our new neighbor, Jarvis Connelly, would like some cream pie, Davey,' he'd said to me."

I about swallowed my tongue while the guy stood there, smiling, and looking oh so innocent, but also oh so fuckable too. But, from his grin, I didn't think he really was that innocent about the cream pie.

He was just wearing athletic shorts and sandals. I managed to find my voice, though. "Well, isn't that nice and neighborly of Gordon? Come in. Do come in and put it in the kitchen. Right through here." Now I did reach out and touch him--on the shoulder and then moving to a bare shoulder blade--which made me shudder in pleasure--to turn him toward the kitchen and bring him into the house.

"Mr. Montgomery said I should ask you if there's anything that I... that we... can do to help you move in."

Then I realized I wasn't just touching him on the shoulder blade. I was grasping his shoulder blade--not letting go. He didn't seem to mind.

I searched for a way to get him into the bedroom. "Are you mechanical, Davey?"

"I don't know," he said, as we moved to the kitchen. "Try me."

Oh, fuck did I want to try him. "Beds." He looked at me and smiled. I nearly melted again. "I mean putting bedframes together. I've got one that's giving me fits. Back in the bedroom. The master bedroom. You think you could--?" I stopped. He was smiling again.

"I can try," he said. "Show me where the bedroom is. And, uh, this pie. Where--?"

Gladly I'd show him to the bedroom. "Gladly," I said, adding, "Oh, the pie. Yes. The kitchen is through there."

After depositing the pie, I ushered him to the back of the house--to the room where there were two floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking his back yard, where I'd watched him cavorted in Gordon's pool, where Gordon had fucked him just a couple of hours ago.

Running through my mind was Gordon's old-man gnarled hands squeezing and separating those smooth, white, rounded, perfectly formed orbs, spreading that puckered hole open, sliding his hard dick up in there. Oolala.

"Hmm, this doesn't look too hard," he said, kneeling on the floor. Just the right height for me to unzip and feed him my cock. "You got a screwdriver?" he asked. Then he laughed. "'Screw.' 'Driver.' Funny words." He was on his knees inside the bedframe. When he said "screw" and "driver," he looked up at me and gave me a saucy look. He wanted it; he'd come here to get it.

Gordon was giving me a welcome-to-the-neighborhood present. There wasn't a doubt about that in my mind. Gordon was the guy's probation officer. He'd do anything Gordon told him to do. But would he only do it because Gordon told him too? Did I not arouse him? The way he looked at me told me he did. No, we were good to go here.

"Oh, there it is," he said, reaching for the screwdriver, and crouching over, peering at the inner rim of one side of the frame, holding a screw and looking at the holes where, presumably, one of the slats was supposed to be inserted.

"Look, a screw," he said, holding one up and grinning at me. "Nothing like a good screw. This looks like it will be a great screw. I think this screw will fit in this hole just fine."

God, yes, he was willing a ripe for it.

Bent over like that on his knees, the waistband of his shorts was pulled down onto his buttocks, showing his crack and the rise of his pert little white-flesh orbs, the tantalizing tan line clearly visible. His hips were narrow. He was brown as a berry except where his Speedo would cover him. The line between the brown of his back and the whiteness of his buttocks cried out to be touched.

So, I went down on my knees beside him and lay the palm of my hand on his lower back. He didn't shirk away from me.

"Can you make out where the screw goes into the hole?" I asked, acting like I was looking just like he was and putting my palm on his lower back was no big deal. "Do you know about screws needing to go tightly into holes?" I added, playing him to see whether he was going to act dumb about why we were on our knees so close together.

"I know about screwing and holes," he said.

"I just bet you do."

He was there on his knees, screwdriver in hand, threading the screw into the hole, then out again, and then in again, all the time giving me a big grin.

I moved my hand under his waistband and touched his puckered hole with my index finger. He was trembling, but he didn't shrink from me. Again, he kept his bent legs planted, spreading the thighs a bit as I rubbed my finger over his hole. He held steady, although I could feel his breathing to have become more rapid. The hole blossomed open at my touch. I leaned over him and kissed him on the neck. Point of no return.

"Gordon didn't send you over here to put my bedframe together, did he?"

"No, sir."

"Both of you saw me at the window here when Gordon was fucking you this afternoon, didn't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you're going to let me fuck you too? Gordon is OK with me screwing you, isn't he? And you'll do what Gordon tells you to do."

"Yes," he whispered. I had invaded his ass with my finger and he was rocking on it. He gasped as I added a finger and used them to spread the hole open.

"Are you OK with me fucking you, Davey? You don't mind taking an old man's cock?"

"I think you're younger than Mr. Montgomery," he answered. "I think you're a hunk compared to Mr. Montgomery--not that he isn't OK too."

"And you let Mr. Montgomery fuck you."

"Yes, I'm fine. It's great. You're a hunk... a stud."

"Well, then." I liked the guys tight. A tight hole to screw, just like this one in the bedframe. That's one reason I preferred eighteen or nineteen-year-old guys. I liked them just finished developing into a man--hard-bodied, virile, randy--but I liked the innocence of that age, their yielding nature, and I liked them tight. I liked to feel them shuddering under me as I stretch them and then use them. And I liked to bareback them. I like feeling them flinch and gasp when I release inside them. I like pulling to the surface as I start coming, to see the jism burble at the surface, and then to ram it home again, pushing my seed deep. Barebacking him. Breeding the guy.

Show me the creampie.

I pulled my shorts off and then pulled his down to his knees. I moved over him in a crouch, running one arm under his belly to hold him in place. He was quaking under me and panting lightly. I placed the bulb of my erection in position with the other hand.

"Yes?" I whispered. One last check. I don't know what I'd do if he said no.

"Yes," he said and then yelped and his knees nearly gave way, as I entered him--thick, long, hard, throbbing. But he groaned and I felt him stiffen to regain position and then relax as slowly, but relentlessly, I entered him, stretching him, possessing him. Making him mine, if only for the moment.

My cock in full possession now, I moved my free hand to cup his chin and to arch his torso back into my chest, pressing his blond curls into the hollow of my shoulder. The hand I had under him grasped his cock and I milked him.

I fucked him and fucked him and fucked him. He took it like a champion.

I looked up while I fucked him to see that Gordon was at one of the floor-to-ceiling bedroom windows, on the other side of the glass, clouded now in two splatter shots of the cum I'd spouted there earlier in the day. It was his turn to lean into the glass with the palm of one hand and his forehead pressed to the glass while he jerked himself off--and watched me fuck his willing, pliable, luscious juvenile delinquent. My cul-de-sac neighbors, Harry and Trevor, were at the other window, Harry leaning into the window, palms and forehead against glass, stroking off his cock, but his rear jutted back, and Trevor mounted on his tail, fucking him. No dog being walked this time.

Gordon must have phoned the neighborhood welcoming committee that a cream pie was being delivered to the new neighbor.

When I felt myself releasing, I pulled my shaft back to the surface and creamed Davey at his entrance. He was gasping and moaning. I thrust my cock home again to finish deep in his core and he groaned for me and released in my stroking hand.

Later I fucked Davey on the mattress languishing on the floor of the bedroom, putting him on his back, crouching between his thighs, holding his legs raised and spread in my hands--invading and thrusting, thrusting, thrusting as he writhed under me, arching his back, throwing his arms straight out from his body, clawing at the mattress pad, arching his neck back, crying out to the ceiling his passion and surrender.

The sacrificial lamb. All the more satisfying when they were just eighteen or nineteen.

He was so sweet and yielding. He denied me nothing. I took everything. Gordon, Harry, and Trevor watched from beyond the glass, no doubt enjoying every stroke of it.

At the door we kissed and he agreed to come back again when I wished and as long as he was "visiting" Gordon Montgomery.

"And, oh yeah," he said, turning back to me at the door. "Mr. Montgomery wonders if you'd like to contribute to the Peppertree Crossing Welcome Committee fund."

"The what?" I asked.

"The program he runs of letting guys like me who are good come to his house to get ready for being out in public again. You know, the half-way house program."

"Oh, that." OK, I got it. "Did he name a suggested amount?"

"He thought $300."

Gordon, Harry, and Trevor. I got it. Maybe when Roger sold the next house on the cul-de-sac, the contribution would be $400--and that I'd then be included on the welcoming committee "And I could contribute again, I suppose, the next time you came over?"

"Sure."

"Gladly," I answered, going for my wallet. When I returned, I gave him eight fifty-dollar bills, whispering to him, "And a hundred for you." I didn't know whether Gordon bothered to pay the talent or not in these arrangements.

I didn't get the bedframe together for another month and half, finding the mattress on the floor sufficient for my sleep needs--and Davey never complained when he visited. Neither did Christopher, the guy who came to Gordon after Davey left. Eventually, I branched up to picking up young guys in the bars and bringing them back to the house. We seemed, thanks to Roger's sales talents, to have an enclave of revolving amenable men on the Larkspur Lane cul-de-sac who were like minded, shared, and didn't talk to community management. After sex, one of the young guys put my bedframe together for me and helped me move the box springs and mattress onto it. It only took him about a half hour. We fucked for longer than that on the bed afterward. So, there are mechanical men in the world--even gay ones. I paid him double.

The guys older than eighteen or nineteen were OK. But there's something special about an eighteen or nineteen-year-old guy hooking his knees on your hips--and letting you bareback him for the creampie effect.