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felt up that perfect body.
    I finally came up for air and with a gasp asked, “What about your fiancé?”
    “We’re both bi,” he said and proceeded to remove my shirt and pull down my shorts.
    In the time it took for me to fully comprehend what he said, my jock was around my ankles, and my dick was in his mouth. He had pulled his shorts down and was stroking his cock while working mine, and I figured we didn’t have a lot of time, and he figured we didn’t have a lot of time, and he sucked me for points and knew I would blow any minute, and I tried to get him off my dick, so I could get at his, but he was insistent, and I just shot my load, and he swallowed every drop while jerking his and shooting between my legs and hitting the wall of the elevator. It all happened so fast, that I was still comprehending what happened when he stood up, pulled up his shorts, and I retrieved my shirt, jock and shorts, and he hit the button, and we stepped out of the elevator.
    “Have a good run,” I said as he took off.
    A few weeks later, his fiancé went to visit her parents, and he came over, and we did it again. This time, however, we took our time. He has since married Gina, and their wedding was beautiful. And on occasion, he stops by for a little pre-run work out.
     
     

CLOTHING OPTIONAL
    After a seven-hour drive through rural southwestern Virginia, a few miles across the Tennessee line, and down a very dusty country road, I arrived at the TimberBear Campground. I had read about it online and decided to try a different kind of vacation, but after being buzzed through the gate, if you want to call it a gate, and driving up to the main cabin, if you want to call it a cabin, I was beginning to rethink my idea of an alternative getaway.
    Between the geezer who checked me in and the one who pointed out my cabin, there were a total of seven teeth. I drove down the hill to the far side of the grounds past what I assumed was the pool and bath house, a couple of campers and trailers, and spotted little duplex-like cabins lined up in a row. Mine was number 6–6B to be exact since it was a duplex of sorts.
    It may have been late September, but the weather begged to differ, with temperatures in the nineties and not a cloud in sight. I heard they were suffering through a drought, and by the looks of the layer of dust on my 1975 AMC Matador Coupe, they weren’t kidding.
    What I didn’t see were very many people. I guessed it was late in the season, which was fine, since I am not fond of crowds. I parked around back and unpacked my car. Being this was a clothing optional campground, I didn’t have to pack a hundred outfits for a change the way I did for that miserable cruise my best friend talked me into taking.
    “Nice ride,” came a voice from behind me.
    “Thanks.”
    “1974?”
    I turned to face what appeared to be a post-op FTM transsexual wearing only cut-off shorts. “1975 AMC Matador Coupe Barcelona Edition … it was my grandmother’s.”
    He walked over to my car, and I hastily walked around front to 6B, opened the door and took in the décor. ‘Early trailer park’ would best describe the room, for the cabin was just that, a room. There was a bathroom with a shower stall, and that was about it.
    I unpacked what few things I had with me then changed into my swim trunks to take in what little daylight was left in the afternoon. I don’t know why I put on my swim trunks since they would be coming off as soon as I arrived at the pool.
    I am a former powerlifter and have continued to work out hard since ending my competition days in the late 80s, which enables me to maintain my thickly muscled physique. I am not what you would call bodybuilder cut, but at five-eleven and over 270 pounds, I am a lot of man, and I have a pretty thick cock and big balls that swing nicely if I do say so myself. I am not self- conscious about my body, but I am aware that there are those with a lot more ‘definition’ and much prettier