Silver Heat Ch. 02

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Widowers prove love doesn't die.
7.5k words
4.72
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Part 2 of the 4 part series

Updated 09/22/2022
Created 06/18/2013
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robertreams
robertreams
158 Followers

"Whatdya say now?, Neal chuckles, "ready to go fishin?"

"Right this minute?"

Neal chuckled, "Well, no, not until morning."

a

"Really?"

"If you want."

"Can we catch really big fish?"

"How big?"

"Well, I've caught a forty-two inch northern. That's long, but not heavy. "

"Well a forty two-inch ocean fish is gonna be a whole lot heavier, at least what we catch around here. You understand that nobody guarantees a catch any more. Anyway if you are interested we would have to leave here about six or six thirty in the morning, drive up to St Augustine, and take an eight A.M. Charter. I figure we don't want to be out there all day. So eight to noon would be he best I guess. Cost seniors like us sixty bucks apiece, maybe plus a gas fee, these days ya never know. Anyway, if ya really wanna go, I can set it all up. You take a nap. I'll set it all up, wake you in a few hours, and we'll go out for dinner, get a good night's sleep and go out in the morning. That okay?"

"Sure, fine I guess."

"Now really, you okay?"

"Argggh. Are you back to askin' me that again? Yeah, I'm fine now, mostly cuz of you. Thanks for takin' care of me by the way."

"No sweat, anytime you feel like being 'not okay' I'll take care of you. So are we a go for fishin'?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Okay. Here take this sleeping pill and I'll wake you about five and we'll go down to the Golden Lion. Okay?"

"You gonna tuck me in?"

"Behave!"

*** *** ***

"Lance, Lance, wake up."

"Huh? Wha?" Lance glanced around the room, uncertain at first of his surroundings. "Oh. Hi Neal. Is it morning?"

Chuckling, Neal responds, "No, it's not morning. Take a sec to wake up. How are you feeling? Well enough to go out?"

"Seriously, what time is it?"

"It's about four fifteen. Remember, I said I'd wake you for dinner?"

"Oh yeah, well, uh. . ."

"No sweat. I'll leave you now. Take your time, relax, clean up, I called the Golden Lion. Mitch, the bartender, will make sure we have a couple of places to sit, whenever we get there. So take your time, get woke up, I've got coffee brewing. Want me to bring ya a cup?"

"Naw. I'll come out."

"Okay, see ya in a bit." Neal lays his hand on Lance's cheek with obvious affection. "Lance? Look at me." His deep dark eyes send a caring message. "You will let me know if you need anything. Anything at all? It's, uh. . . safe here for you to say, do, anything you want. Okay?"

"Okay, good buddy." The familiar sobriquet causes both men to smile broadly.

Later, as Neal drives them both to the Golden Lion in his four-year-old silver Buick Park Avenue, the topic of conversation turns to fishing. Neither man has made further mention of Neal's impulsive blow job of the previous night.

"Well, buddy, I've got it all set up. A good friend from St. Augustine has got us two places on a forty-footer The Love Life II that belongs to a friend of his. Chairs, tackle, bait, the works. I hate to ask this, but can you afford a hundred bucks?"

"Not only can I afford it, but I can and will easily and gladly pick up the tab for both of us."

"Naw, you don't have ta do that."

"Listen, you don't know me that well. If I thought I had to, I probably wouldn't. Now I ain't rich, but my last two novels did incredibly well. So lemme pay, okay, it's no big deal."

"Okay, buddy, you got it."

"Yet, I should have said yet."

"Whatdya mean? Yet what?"

"You don't know me that well, yet!"

"Yup, uh huh, you got it. Yet. And Lance?"

"Huh?"

"I'm hopin' there's a lot of yet, yet to come."

"Me too, good buddy."

Neal takes his hand from the wheel for a moment to lightly touch the back of Lance's hand where it rests on the seat beside him.

"Well, here we are, the good old Golden Lion."

Inside, it is cool and dry, a welcome contrast to the hot damp Florida air. The two settle in on side-by-side bar stools, elbows bumping, just as they had the night they met. "You must be hungry, you haven't eaten all day," Neal says. "How about a huge bucket of crab legs?"

"Sounds good. You're right, I'm starved. My stomach thinks my throat's cut."

"Mitch!" Neal called out, "couple a buckets of crab, some of those great bleu cheese fries and a couple a mai tais."

"Uh, diet Dew for me,' Lance asserts, "if you've got it. No booze. And thank you Mitch. Uh. . . Neal, I'll tell ya all about it later, OK?"

They eat mostly in silence, enjoying their repast, but Neal fills in the details of the next day's excursion. About forty minutes later, Lance leans back on the bar stool, satiated, and pats his somewhat rounded tummy. "Now that's what I call a meal! It's a good thing I don't have to walk home, I'd hafta do a crab crawl."

"Yeah, me too," Neal says. "Want some coffee?"

"That would be good."

The two men sit and drank coffee. Lance tells Neal about the other Neal, including their sexual attraction for one another and their nude, alcohol induced romps on the beach. "So you see, Lance says, "The more we met, the more we talked, the more I learned about you, the more it seemed like some not so simple twist of fate. And that's another thing: the old jazz, Bob Dylan, Florida, it was all freakin' me out for a while there. But a few days ago, when I started drivin' that convertible down the A1A, I made a vow to myself to go with the flow, seize the day. Within five minutes of meetin' you you said "carpe diem", reminding me of that vow."

"That's kinda freaky."

"You're tellin' me?"

"Kinda cool in a way, though, too." Neal is about to speak further, but notices that Lance is hesitating, searching for the right words. He waits.

Finally Lance breaks the silence. "Listen, Neal, I, that is. . . I don't want to sound creepy or come off way gay or anything, but I hafta tell you. I sorta don't believe in fate, but something, call it luck or intuition or kismet, led me here to you. And. . . w, well. You are the best thing that's happened to me since my Martha died."

"I don't want to sound maudlin or anything either, but you know. I am mighty glad I met you too Lance, I needed someone to care about again, and here you are, needing someone to care for you. It was, er. . .is, a nice fit."

No invitation is offered and none accepted; both men assume Lance will be staying in Neal's guest room, at least for the near future. Back at Neal's place, they sit and talk and listen to progressive jazz and old Bob Dylan recordings. Eventually, inevitably, Lance comes to the subject of Neal's act of the previous night. Interrupting Neal in the middle of a comment about Coltraine's dissonance, Lance suddenly says: "Before this goes on too long, before it gets away, slips away, I need to tell you. I really, er l, l appreciate last night. I. . . I was, am tremendously moved by, by what you did for me. . . "

"Wait, stop!" Neal almost screams "Really, stop. You are over-thinking things. It wasn't from some altruistic motive. I wasn't feeling pity. I wasn't in love. I . . . Jeez, let's just say it: I sucked your cock, at least sort of. I saw it. There it was. Stickin' up there. Huge. I was interested, excited. Who gives a shit what my motives were? I liked it too, ya know."

"Okay I'll let it go. But methinks thou dost protest too much."

Talk about jazz and the poetry of Dylan seemed inconsequential after talk about blow jobs, so conversation wound down to a standstill. "Well. I'll tell ya what, good buddy, I'm beat," Neal said. "Five thirty comes awful early in the morning, and if we are still going out after those big ones, I better get my beauty sleep."

They trundled off to bed. As Lance turned right toward the guest room, Neal tapped him on the shoulder. He turned. Neal kissed him quickly, lightly on the lips. "Good night, buddy. Sleep well," he said, "Call me if you need me. I mean it."

"Good night, my friend," Lance replied.

Neal drops off to sleep almost at once; Lance hears him snoring at the other end of the short hallway. Lance's mind is so full it takes him somewhat longer, but he too is snoring before long.

The little beach house is quiet beyond silence. It seems to Lance that he can hear his own heartbeat. He has awakened in the middle of the night with the first spontaneous nocturnal hard-on he can remember in years. With one single, simple, unselfish act, Neal has given him, perhaps inadvertently, a rebirth of sexual feeling. He grasps his aching penis with both hands, in the oh so familiar way he has learned to pleasure himself through six decades of practice. In his mind's eye, he sees Neal's gentle, caring face, cheeks and throat bulging around his massive cock. He remembers times when he, too has enjoyed a cock. Suddenly a huge grin comes to his face. He has an idea.

It is not from a sense of gratitude or indebtedness that he steals softly down the hall to Neal's room, but of curiosity. It has been over thirty years since he has held a cock other than his own; three decades since he has enjoyed the savory smell and taste of a hot man. He wonders to himself if he still likes it as much as he had before giving it all up for Martha. The thought of Martha causes a sharp pain, he waivers, clears his mind. Cautiously, quietly, he creeps into Neal's room and slides beneath the sheets, grinning madly. The ocean-side room is filed with the pewter light of a full moon and its refection off the sea. Slowly, quietly, carefully, he draws down the sheet to reveal Neal's sleeping form. Normally, sex is a serious thing for him, (Martha had patiently taught him over the years that laughter was an acceptable part of intercourse) but tonight he cannot stop smiling. Neal is neat and trim and surprisingly muscular for a man his age. The cock curled softly on his thigh reminds Lance of the small but perfectly formed penis on Michelangelo's David. And also of that other Lance, so many years ago. Its foreskin, though long enough to cover the head completely, is smooth and pink and unwrinkled, just as was the penis of that other Neal.

Captivated, Lance reaches out gently to lay his open palm over Neal's genitals. With effort he restrains himself, for the time being, from burying his face there. His other palm settles lightly on Neal's cheek. With a great deal of trepidation, he leans, tentatively brushing Neal's lips softly with his. Neal's eyes pop open. For a moment his face holds confusion, uncertainty. Then, smiling, he puts his hand at the back of Lance's head, pulling his face down, deepening the kiss. This is no peck of friendship, but a real lover's kiss. Though dry and tongueless, it is deep and heartfelt and passionate. Both men respond. Neal's other arm clutches Lance's waist, urging him closer. Lance curls his fingers, enclosing Neal's penis tightly. The head of his own cock stretches across the bed to touch Neal's thigh.

Lance breaks the kiss first, moving back a few inches to more clearly see the face of his friend. Neal looks back at him, in his eyes a burning question. Lance gazes back, passion, need, love answering. They kiss again, longingly, lovingly, tongues searching, twining. The stubble on Neal's face feels rough and strange against Lance's face, but achingly exciting, forbidden. Their kiss becomes rougher, harder, more insistent. Lance releases Neal's cock and rolls to kneel astride him, still holding the feverish kiss. They break for air, aging lungs not all they had once been. Lance scoots down, his kisses lowering. Neal throws his head back, offering his sensitive neck as if to a vampire's bite. Lance responds, covering his neck with nips and kisses and tiny bites. Neal shrugs his shoulder, involuntarily, tightening his neck and reducing access. Lance bores in, forcing his lips and teeth deeper. Neal squirms on the bed beneath him, his body covered with goose-bumps. His small cock jumps up, stiffening against Lance's lower back, the top of his buttocks. Lance's now hardening cock lays heavy along Neal's chest, its dripping head touching the collarbone. As Lance moves farther down, Neal's engorged manhood drags along his ass crack, pokes at his balls and pops free to nestle alongside the larger cock.

For a long moment, everything stops. The light of the full moon, mirrored off the sea, casts a soft diffused, platinum light over Neal's body. Its delicate beauty belies time and age. Something in his shinning beauty makes Lance's heart and cock go thump. Lance thinks Neal's body looks as if it might be a computer-enhanced run-up of Michelangelo's David, fifty years later.

Neal groans with pleasure, fighting to maintain control, nearly losing. He manages enough coherence to reach Lance's hip, clawing with his fingertips, struggling to bring Lance's body within reach. Finally Lance gets the message. He turns his body, keeping contact with Neal's cock, but placing his knees on either side of Neal's head. When Lance kneels on all fours, his long cock hangs down the side of Neal's face, touching the bed covers. Neal turns his head to the side, to take the shaft of Lance's cock between his lips. His upper lip encloses the fat pulsing vein on the underside; his lower lip makes it barely half way around the top. In their present position, Neal can only move his head from left to right and back, sucking the side of Lance's massive dick, balls hanging just above his nose. He pushes hard on Lance's hips, turning them both on their sides, allowing him more freedom of motion and easier access to Lance's huge cock.

Lance's penis, is of truly immense proportions, the largest Neal has ever seen or heard of, dark brown and covered from its base to well past its tip with a very loose, wrinkled foreskin. Dense dark red hair, streaked with gray surrounds this massive organ and grows nearly half way up its shaft. To deal with it in any fashion, Neal has to place at least one hand around its base. It does not grow larger or longer as it becomes erect, but only hardens, becoming like a granite rod covered in wrinkled brown velvet. The balls that puddle below this massive organ are small by comparison, but also deep brown and covered by a curly mass of dense red fur mottled with gray.

Neal takes the bulbous head in his mouth like a big round cock-flavored jaw breaker, swirling his tongue around the fluted corona. Sean moans, taking all of Neal's cock into his mouth and throat, licking, sucking, moving his head slowly on and off its slender length, working his lips and tongue and throat. Knowing nothing of Neal's sexual preferences. He decides to experiment by running the fingertips of both hands lightly up and down between the cheeks of Neal's firm white ass while he sucks him.

"Oh god," Neal thinks at once. The fingertips teasing at his crack excite him, bring back memories of the one and only time in his sixty plus years he has been fucked. Oddly, though it had been somewhat painful, he had enjoyed it, being particularly excited by the feeling of being filled by part of another person's body, the taking of another into himself. But, given the size of Lance, he isn't sure he wants to encourage such invasion. He places one hand around the base of Lance's cock and pushes the rest into his throat, gagging almost immediately. He practices breathing through his nose and swallowing as he begins to move his head up and down in a slow teasing rhythm.

Lance lifts his mouth off Neal's cock, uses three fingers to push back the foreskin and flicks his tongue rapidly in and around the tiny cock lips. Encouraged by the lack of resistance, he furthers his efforts on Neal's ass, continuing to tease his fingertips up and down the crack, but inserting the tip of his index finger slightly each time it passes the tender pink opening.

"Uh," Neal grunts softly around Lance's cock each time the fingertip slips inside him.

Lance, placing both hands on Neal's chest, asks. "Are you all right? I mean. Okay with this, with all of, this. Are you sure you want to go through with this?"

"No, I mean yes, I mean. . . I am not sure of, of anything, but if you, if we, er. . . that is. . ." Neal pauses to get it right. "I'd rather regret doing, something with you, er, making love with you, than regret not. . . not loving you."

"If I. If, we. Er. Jeez, I sound like a stupid schoolgirl. I want. . . uh, very much, to, er do this, do everything, with you, but I want to still be your friend. Okay?"

"You got it buddy. Nothing you can do here, that is, nothing we do here is gonna change that." Neal reaches to lay his palm on Lance's face. "I am your friend."

Lance slides farther down. He takes Neal's dick between his fingers, sliding back the loose foreskin. He leans to sniff Neal's exposed glans. "God how I've missed that savory aroma. He licks tentatively, as one might test the flavor of a new ice-cream. "Um, nice. If I might say so, Neal, you have one beautiful penis. I love the shape and feel of it, so neat and trim and smooth." He laughs. "And the smell and taste. Funky, hot, divine." He uncovers the head of Neal's cock by pushing the foreskin down with his lips, then licks round and round the sensitive ridge. Finally, he reaches with his fingers to pull the foreskin forward over his tongue, to lick around inside, between the glans and foreskin where the masculine musk is strongest. "Um," he mumbles again.

"Uh," Neal grunts softly around Lance's cock. The tight rim of his ass tingles and contracts sharply each time a fingertip slips inside him. Doubtful, he pulls his ass sharply away from Lance's fingers, only to force his cock deep in Lance's throat. He pulls away from that sudden pleasure, yanking his hips back sharply, only to impale himself on Lance's driving finger. He almost loses himself in the conflicting whirl of pleasures, ass and cock, but recovers enough to redouble his efforts on Lance's dick. Intentionally, he begins to move his head sharply up and down, swallowing on the down stroke and licking and nibbling as he moves up to the bulbous head. Simultaneously he grips the base more tightly in his fist and pushes down on Lance's groin, putting pressure on his prostate.

More encouraged than ever, Lance, on the verge of cumming himself, slips his middle finger deep in Neal, flicking and twisting it against the prostate he can clearly feel.

Neal cries out loudly, spurting his seed in Lance's throat so forcibly some seeps out of Lance's nose, his gagging snorting reaction only increases Neal's stimulation. More cum spurts.

Now Lance loses it. It is Neal's turn to be surprised. Adjusting quickly he increases the downward pressure of his fist on Lance's groin, and simultaneously sucking hard, draws out Lance's cum in a long continuous flow.

The aging lovers both run quickly out of breath, panting and pulling their faces away. However, one highly sensitive penis remains tightly clasped in a fist; one finger remains deeply imbedded in a tender ass.

They lay like that for a time, panting and grinning. Lance moves first, turning to press his cum filled lips against Neal's. They kiss softly, tenderly, savoring the funky, bleachy flavor and aroma of each other.

"You know what?" Neal says into Lance's mouth.

"No, what?"

"I've done uh, other things," chuckling, "with a few men, but you are the first ever that I have kissed on the lips." Kissing him. Kissing him again. "It seems so much more intimate than all the rest.

"Me, too. Somehow I always thought kissing another guy was gross, even if I did do, 'other things' as you described them. But you are different, something is different. I like kissing you, Neal" He kisses him softly, then more deeply, tongues swapping cum.

They lie there a bit longer. Lance pushes up on the bed and rises.

"Where you going?"

"Back to my bed. I'll leave you alone now."

"The hell you say! Get back in here and sleep with me. What do you think I am, some cheap whore/ In that case you forgot to pay me."

"But I. . .It's your bed."

robertreams
robertreams
158 Followers