The streets were empty, the lawns perfectly manicured and after living in the city for so long the quiet suburb seemed blissfully peaceful. It was such a novelty to be able to drive more that fifty yards without having to stop at a traffic light or swerve to avoid hitting an oblivious pedestrian or an idiot on a bicycle.
Michael pulled into the driveway and rolled up the window. The summer day was blisteringly hot and the back of his t-shirt was soaked through with sweat. He climbed out of the van and shut the door behind him. The barest of breezes cooled the sweat on his arms and face and carried the homely scent of freshly cut grass.
As he gazed up at his new home, a modest two story house with a quaint little front porch and shuttered windows, he recalled how his city friends had protested the move. However, once he had showed them around the place they had been falling over themselves to visit, it seemed that he would not have a free weekend for the rest of the year.
He walked to the back of the van and popped open the doors. The last few boxes of stuff from his tiny old apartment were piled in the back, mostly a jumble of worthless bits and pieces that he would probably end up throwing out anyway. He hefted one of the boxes, propping it on one hip and headed across the lawn while awkwardly trying to remove the house keys from his jeans pocket.
"Afternoon Neighbour" came a voice, and Michael looked up to see a man standing at the low picket fence that separated his property from next door.
The man looked to be in his forties. Handsome in a school teacher sort of way and immaculately dressed in pressed slacks, a smart white shirt and a thin woolen cardigan. Despite the unsuitableness of his attire and the soaring temperature, not a drop of sweat beaded his brow.
"Hello." Michael replied, abandoning his search for his keys and instead extending his hand to his new neighbour. The man introduced himself as Mister Sanders, his tone was formal but friendly, his handshake firm.
"Welcome." Mr Sanders said. "I'm sorry we've not spoken to you previously but we've only just returned from vacation."
"Oh thats quite alright." Michael replied marveling at the fact that not a single hair on the mans neatly combed hair was out of place. Thick and straight it looked a shade or two too dark to be natural.
"Its a pleasure to meet you."
"Much left to move in?" Sanders asked, nodding towards the van.
"Nah. Last few boxes. And still barely enough stuff to even begin filling up this place."
"Oh?" Sanders said.
"All this junk seemed a lot when I lived in three rooms."
Sanders face seemed to narrow with disapproval. "You've moved from the city I take it?"
"Correct." Michael replied, getting sweatier by the second with the weight of the box under his arm.
"You'll find we have a much quieter way of life out here."
Michael nodded, shifting the box to the other hip. "I hope so." He said
A door slammed somewhere on Mr Sanders property. He glanced over to the house and without looking at Michael said. "We'll give you a hand with those boxes."
"No, no thats fine," Michael said, "I'll manage"
"Not at all." Sanders said flatly. "Thomas!" he shouted. "THOMAS!"
A young man appeared from the rear yard of the house. Michael guessed that he was Sanders son, probably seventeen or eighteen years old. With unkempt brown hair and an oversized t-shirt and jeans he carried himself in the manner of a boy who had not quite grown into his body.
Glancing only briefly at Michael he shambled over to his father. "Sir?" he said, peering at the older man through a curtain of tangled hair.
"Tom this is our new neighbour ..."
"Michael." Sanders repeated, rolling the name on his tongue as if it were a bitter pill. "You can give him a hand carrying some boxes into the house."
"Oh no, really," Michael said, "thats not necessary."
"I insist." Sanders replied, in a tone that suggested that resistance was futile.
Michael nodded, duly defeated. "Okay." He said, "just grab a box out of the van and I'll get the front door open."
He crossed the yard and mounted the front steps, relieved to be out of the chilly vicinity of his distinctly odd neighbour. He fumbled the keys out of his pocket and opened the front door before crossing the threshold to deposit the box at the bottom of the stairs. He lifted the bottom of his t-shirt and used it to dab the sweat from his brow, he was beginning to smell less than fresh.
Thomas appeared in the doorway, hovering as if wary of entering.
"Come on in, Thomas." Michael said. "Or is it Tom."
The boy smiled at him shyly. "Tom is good."
"Well thanks Tom." Michael said, continuing to mop his glowing face. "Just dump that box down here and I'll let you get back home."
"Can't." Tom said, rolling his eyes. "Father will be watching and won't be happy until I've helped you get all the boxes in."
Michael made a little grimace of sympathy. "Yikes." He said. "Well at least there are only a couple more boxes. Lets get on with it'
He followed Tom out onto the lawn, expecting to see Sanders still hovering by the fence. However, the man was nowhere to be seen.
"Looks like you're off the hook buddy." Michael said.
Tom shook his head in reply and nodded on the subtly to the large groundfloor window that overlooked the yard. The curtains were drawn but held open by just a chink, a pale face was just distinguishable behind the glass. Creepy, Michael thought.
They each took a box from the van and Michael closed the doors with a bump of his hips. He followed Tom back into the house.
"Carry that on through to the kitchen." He said, assuming that layout of rooms was similar in his own home.
They placed the boxes on the empty countertop."Thanks for that Tom." Michael said. "Can I get you a drink?"
"Beer?" Tom replied, his blue eyes bright with hope.
"Of course." Michael replied, opening the fridge and grabbing a can of root beer for each of them.
The boy rolled his eyes and sighed, but politely took the can and popped the tab.
Standing in awkward silence for a minute or two sipping their drinks Tom glanced to the floor behind Michael and said. "Cool pictures."
Michael followed his gaze. "Oh yeah." He said. "Thats the beach near where my parents come from in England."
"Yeah, a place called Cornwall."
The boy crossed to where the series of framed beach photographs sat stacked against the cupboards on the tiled floor. He crouched down to look through them exposing the smooth pale skin at the bottom of his back and the white band of his underwear.
"You took these?" he said.
"Yeah," Michael replied "I'm a photographer."
"Cool." Tom replied, a man of many words like his father. He stood again and the awkward silence retuned with a vengeance. He downed the last of his root beer.
"Anyway Tom." Michael said. "Thanks again for your help. But I really need to jump in the shower before I start attracting flies."
Tom laughed, pushing the hair away from his face with a sweep of his hand. He was a good looking kid beneath that tangled mop.
"Sure." He said, and then in a chillingly accurate impression of his father. "Nice to meet you neighbour."
It was Michaels turn to laugh. "You too." He said. "Neighbour"
After the boy had left, Michael located a clean towel in one of the boxes stacked in the lounge and went upstairs to the small ensuite bathroom. He stripped off his sneakers, sodden t-shirt, jeans and underwear and climbed into the shower. He let the water run cold for a few minutes until his skin tingled and then gradually increased it to a warm soothing temperature. He squirted some mint scented shower gel onto his hands and began to scrub what felt like an inch of grime from his skin.
As he washed he thought of his new neighbours, Tom and Mr Sanders. The kid reminded him of himself at that age, and even though there was probably less than ten years age difference between them they seemed like worlds apart. Michael's own father had been a taciturn man and a strict disciplinarian, but with considerably less of the Stepford Husbands vibe that Mr Sanders radiated.
As his mind wondered he recalled the moment in the kitchen when Tom and bent down to look at the landscape shots, how the waistband of his underwear had been exposed. Michael was surprised to find that his cock had grown hard at the thought. Lazily he stroked at his erection, lathering it up with the slick shower gel. He laughed to himself, thinking he really must be getting old of he was lusting after the neighbours teenage son. His friends would think it was hilarious. One day away from the plentitudes of cock that the city provided and ready to bang the first cute guy that crossed his path.
Nevertheless Michael was not the sort to withhold on a spot of fantasy. He imagined lifting Toms t-shirt over his head, pressing him back against the countertop, kissing him powerfully on his mouth, the flavour of root beer on his tongue.
As his imaginings progressed Michael's hand moved faster and faster on his throbbing cock. His other hand moved between the mounds of his buttocks, fingers caressing his soapy asshole, pressing tentatively into the tight crevice. He came in a sudden and powerful orgasm, great spurts of semen splattering the shower door before being almost immediately washed away by powerful streams of hot water.
After a few moments to compose himself Michael stepped out of the shower and went into the master bedroom toweling his hair dry as he went. The shutters over the huge window were open and bright summer sunshine poured into the room. The window overlooked the Sanders property and as he stood there, naked as a baby, he saw the curtains of the adjacent window twitching.
Sanders, he thought and immediately wrapped the towel around his waist. He crossed the room with the intention of closing the shutters but stopped halfway. Why the hell should he worry about the weirdo next door? He had every right to be naked in his own home and he certainly had nothing to be ashamed of. His body was broad and toned, not as a result of regular visits to the gym but by the grace of good genes and an active lifestyle. He also had, as an ex-boyfriend had said when describing his cock, more meat than most.
Michael whipped the towel from around his waist and stood in full view of the window, pretending to be unaware of the voyeur and simply enjoying the view of the yard and the kiss of the sun.
Michael's companion belched daintily with a hand held over his mouth.
"Sorry about that." Jack said, "too many hoer-d'eurves."
Michael smiled and laid a hand on Jack's knee. He would have guessed that it was more to do with the copious amounts of Guinness that they had consumed but wasn't going to argue. He was simply grateful that neither of them had thrown up in the cab yet.
Michael was retuning from a farewell party at his favourite Irish bar that was situated on the same block as his old apartment. Jack was an old client, an interior designer for whom Michael had done a magazine shoot, something to do with celebrity boudoir's. He had been in Seamas O'Donells quite by coincidence and had quickly been absorbed into the festivities. He was slim and dark haired, always dressed to perfection and delightfully nutty. Michael had asked him out at the the time of the shoot but had been rebuffed because Jack was engaged. Apparently Jack's fiancee had since retreated back into the closet and was, as Jack put it, guilt-fucking a girl that his parents approved of.
The taxi pulled up outside the house and Michael paid the extortionately expensive fare, definitely a major draw back of living in the suburbs.
Despite the lateness of the hour the temperature was still high enough to slow cook an egg on the sidewalk. Michael's palms were clammy as he took a giggling Jack by the hand and led him across the lawn and into the house.
When Michael flicked on the hall light Jack gasped as if he'd seen a headless corpse slumped at the foot of the stairs. His hands flew dramatically to his face and he peered out between the gaps in his fingers.
"What is it?" Michael said.
"Its just so awful." Jack whispered, sounding uncannily like the kid from The Sixth Sense.
"The bare walls." He said. "That awful green carpet on the stairs. And, my God, a dado rail!"
Michael laughed. "Give me a break, I only moved in a week ago!"
Jack shuddered. "The whole think makes me feel nauseous."
"Nah, that'll be the hoer-d'eurves. Anyway, you should see the bedroom, the decor in there is astounding."
"Michael!" Jack exclaimed, slapping him on the shoulder. "Are you not even going to offer me a drink first?"
"I think you've had enough. Now its time to give me that farewell present you promised"
"Men." Jack muttered, but did not resist as Michael led him upstairs.
They did not have the opportunity to enjoy the bedroom decor - a wall hanging from India that Michael had nailed above the bed - for as soon as the door shut behind them Jack had leapt on Michael like a sex starved fiend.
In what seemed like a matter of seconds, Michael was naked, backed up against the bedroom door while a fully clothed Jack dropped to his knee's. He sucked voraciously at Michael's cock, teasing it into a thick quivering erection. His tongue was warm and nimble, dancing along the shaft, the bulbous end and probing at the salty juices that dribbled from the tip. Michael groaned, resting his hands on the top of Jacks head and rocking his hips gently backwards and fowards.
"Jiow di li yim perset?" Jack said, the words lost around a mouthful of cock.
"What?" Michael gasped, as Jack gently cupped his balls and stroked them with his thumb.
He disengaged from Michael's cock. "I said - how do you like your present?"
Michael smiled down at him. He gripped him by his tie - Yves St Laurent apparently - and lifted him to his feet. "I don't know." He said, "I haven't unwrapped it yet."
A minute later Jack was naked too, reclining on the bed while Michael stood over him marveling at his cock, traced in silver by the pale moonlight. Jack was soccer player slim, toned and lithe, and probably as wide around the middle as Michael's thigh. But his cock, his cock was wonderfully disproportionate, long but as thick as a beer can.
"Wow." Michael said simply.
Jack was not one to feign modesty and he replied without shame. "I know right?"
Much to Michael's relief Jack demonstrated his preference by rolling onto his stomach and wiggling his pert, hairless bottom in an unimaginably provocative fashion. Michael crouched by the bedside and buried his face in the centre of those pert mounds. Jack pushed his hips back and cooed contentedly as Michael lapped his tongue along his crack. The tip of his tongue was drawn like a magnet to Jack's hot hole and he probed hungrily at it eliciting blissful shivers from his partner as he delved deeper and deeper.
When it became apparent that his tongue would no longer suffice, Michael moistened his finger with spit and inserted it gently into Jack's ass. Jack hummed with pleasure, almost like a cats purr, and pushed back, swallowing Michael's finger to his knuckles. He rocked backwards and forwards and as Michael's felt his ring loosening he inserted another finger.
Michael's cock was throbbing almost painfully and leaking a glistening pool of pre-cum on the polished wooden floor. In an impressive display of dexterity he opened the drawer of the bedside cabinet and removed a condom and tube of lube while continuing his finger fucking. Jack cried out in disappointment when Michael briefly withdrew his fingers, but the complaint died on his lips when he plunged back in with his gloved and lubed cock.
Michael held Jack by his slim hips, sliding his moist cock in and out of his ass in slow and teasing movements. Jack's face was buried in the sheets and he mumbled incoherently against the fabric. Just as Michael reached around to grasp Jack's mammoth cock in his hand a movement beyond the bedroom window caught his eye. A telltale twitch of the curtain across the yard, Sanders was at it again
Spurred on - and perhaps even a little turned on - at the thought of being watched, Michael began fucking harder and faster, He pounded Jack's hole mercilessly and much to his credit he took it like a man, positively growling with pleasure as Michael also pumped away on his cock.With a strangled cry Jack came, shooting a stream of cum across the bedclothes, looking like a pool of mercury in the moonlight. Michael was not far behind, the contracting of Jack's ass as he orgasmed was enough to bring forth his own and he filled the rubber with his hot seed.
As they collapsed onto the bed into a sweaty heap Jack whispered, "Wow"
Michael smiled and kissed Jack's neck. "I know, right?"
A few days after Jack's visit, Michael had come home to find find a pile of religious pamphlets in his letter box, a gift from Mr Sanders no doubt. More amused than angry he flicked through them as he entered the house, laughing at a particularly pertinent one called 'Pray the Gay Away.". He kept that one to show his friends and dropped the rest in the trash.
There were a million things that needed to be done around the house, walls to be stripped and doors to be painted, but Michael had just had the day from hell and wanted nothing more than to sit in the yard in the sunshine reading a novel and drinking some beers.
He took a six-pack of beer from the fridge and put it in a cooler with some ice. He carried the cooler into the backyard, along with a paperback novel and his ipod and speakers. He stretched out in a sun lounger among the overlong grass of the lawn, popped a beer and selected a summer playlist on the ipod.
After dozing for about ten minutes Michael was woken from his snooze by a metallic snip-snip coming from nearby. Michael looked over to see Mr Sanders trimming away aggressively at a bush that grew along the edge of the fence that separated their two properties. The garden sheers he used could do with some oil. Tom appeared from the back door of the Sanders house a moment later dressed in his usual uniform of baggy shirt and jeans and carrying a handful of trash bags.
"Afternoon Mr Sanders." Michael called cheerfully. "Hi Tom."
Tom smiled and lifted his hand in greeting but the elder Sanders responded only with an icy glare.
Maybe it was the can of beer or just a rarely seen mischievous streak but suddenly Michael came over all silly. He flicked through his ipod and selected the new Kylie Minogue album - the campest thing in his library - and turned up the volume. He stood up from the sun lounger and stripped out of his t-shirt, using it to dab methodically at the damp fur of his chest and stomach, flexing his muscles just so. For a moment he considered removing his shorts too but thought that might be taking things a bit far.
After barely one track from Ms Minogue, Sanders threw down his sheers and stormed into the house slamming the door behind him. Tom grinned at Michael from across the yard and after gathering up the cuttings from the grass followed his father inside.
Feeling a tad guilty about his little performance, Michael decided it would be best to to retreat indoors. He tucked his t-shirt into his waistband, gathered up his things and headed inside. Returning the unopened beers to the fridge he headed upstairs to the bedroom and took off the rest of his clothes, intending to have a quick shower.
Michael nearly jumped out of his - naked - skin as he heard footsteps approaching from behind, along the landing leading to his room. He whirled around, expecting to see Mr Sanders with his rusty garden sheers determined that homicide would prevail where prayer had failed. Instead he found Tom standing in the doorway, a most peculiar look on his face.