Date: Tue, 11 Mar 2008 01:36:50 -0400
From: keybedder@aol.com
Subject: One Hot Day in July

ONE HOT DAY IN JULY by K. Nitsua. Copyright 2008 by the author.

Author's note: As with "A Lot in Common Underneath," this story is based on
an anonymous reminiscence I found posted to the Net. Although the situation
is borrowed, 99% of the words and details are mine.

This is a true story that happened many years ago.

It was an extremely hot July day in Texas, and I was off work. My other
half didn't have the same privilege, so I had the house all to myself. I
puttered around and ran some errands. After lunch I decided to take an
early afternoon walk. Now, a lot of people wouldn't dream of going out in
the middle of a Texas summer with the temperature in the mid-90s, but I've
always loved hot weather. Of course, I dressed lightly - a plain white
T-shirt, black walking shorts, white athletic socks, and white sneakers,
dark baseball cap and sunglasses. Oh and underneath, a Bike jockstrap, to
keep my butt cool and hold my goods in place. I hadn't started wearing
jocks every day then, even though I was already into them--had been ever
since high school gym class.

Instead of heading out my own front door, though, I decided to walk in a
neighborhood about five miles from my own home. I'd always liked walking in
different parts of the city, especially subdivisions you never usually saw
on foot. I was already somewhat familiar with this one, because some good
friends of ours lived there.

My partner Bob and I are pretty successful guys and, like many gay couples,
patrons of the arts. We'd given enough money to the local symphony that we
were on their patrons list and got invited to a lot of their functions.

At one of these, a pre-concert reception in a posh reserved lounge in the
concert hall, we'd struck up a conversation with a big, friendly, bearded
gentleman, and really hit it off. I was thinking we'd like to invite him to
one of our all-male pool parties when he raised his hand and waved to
someone behind us. We noticed the gold ring on his finger at the same
moment he said, "Dear, I'd like you to meet Bob and Bill." A minute later
we'd found ourselves shaking hands with an impeccably dressed, perfectly
coiffed woman. "This is my wife Deanna."

So our new friend Hank Bendix was a married man. Bob and I swallowed our
disappointment and made small talk. As it turned out Deanna was as charming
as her husband and we ended up hanging out together for the rest of the
evening. Hank and Bob had a lot in common, as they had both made their
money in technology. Deanna and I found out we liked the same composers,
and disliked the symphony conductor, whom we thought was cold and
standoffish. There's nothing I like better than a music lover who'll dish,
and by the end of the evening, our inhibitions loosened by some good wine,
Deanna and I were laughing so uproariously that Hank made some joke about
my stealing his wife. Little did he know that Bob and I would rather have
stolen him!

After that we not only continued to see each other at symphony functions,
but went out to dinner and the theater a few times, always having a great
time. Hank and Deanna never gave one hint that they cared that we were two
men together, which is not an attitude you can always count on among people
in certain social circles. Looking back now I can see that what happened on
that hot July day shouldn't have been a total surprise.

I wasn't planning on seeing them that day, of course. I simply parked the
car somewhere near where Hank and Deanna lived, got out and started
walking, carrying a water bottle I'd brought along to avoid
dehydration. I'd put on plenty of sunscreen so I was protected in that
department.

About an hour later I had made my way back to where I had parked, drenched
in sweat, walking quite a bit slower than when I'd started out. My T-shirt
had become practically transparent with perspiration, half-revealing my
furry chest beneath. As I neared my car, I noticed the sound of a lawn
mower some distance down the block. Now who the hell would be mowing the
grass in the middle of a hot day like this?

I followed the sound of the mower and, much to my surprise, it seemed to be
coming from the back yard of Hank and Deanna's house. Out of sheer
curiosity, I made my way around behind their home and there was Hank,
pushing a lawnmower. He was bare-chested, dressed in khaki shorts and
sturdy work boots.

Since we had never socialized with Hank and Deanna except at indoor events,
I had never up to that point seen him without a shirt on. It was a very
pleasant sight. Hank, as I said before, was a big broad-shouldered man, and
I saw now that his chest was thickly coated with dark hair. His stomach
stuck out a little bit but there was no way you could call him fat. In fact
he was in really good shape. Not for the first time since we'd met them I
found myself idly wondering what if things were different--if I was single,
or Hank was gay, or...

By this time Hank had noticed me standing watching him. With a look of
surprise he shut off his mower and came over toward me, his hand
outstretched to shake mine. "Bill," he boomed out, "it's great to see you!
You off work today?"

"Yeah," I said, as I shook his hand. I couldn't help saying, "Don't you use
a lawn service?" I knew Hank was home because he didn't have to work full
time any more. The Bendixes were definitely one notch above us in the
income department. Why was he doing his own mowing?

He scratched his head and grinned. "I know it's crazy, but I kind of like
doing it myself. So what brings you to our neck of the woods?"

I explained to him about liking to walk on really hot days. Hank shook his
head. "I guess we're two of a kind--a bit tetched." He led me over to a
pair of nearby lawn chairs sitting on a shaded deck that projected from the
back of the house. He motioned for me to have a seat. "Can I get you
anything to drink?"

"Well, now that you mention it," I responded, "I am pretty thirsty."

"How about some iced tea?"

"Sounds good."

Hank smiled broadly. "I could use some myself - be right back!" He spun
around and headed for his back door. It was then that I noticed a strip of
elastic material peeking out above the back of the khakis he was wearing. I
knew what it was at once--the waistband of a jockstrap.

Suddenly I started sweating again, even though we were in the shade and I
was sitting still. I told myself this was crazy--Hank was married and off
limits. I was married. Still, he was my friend, he was big and built, and
he was wearing a jockstrap. My breath was coming fast and my heart was
pounding. I felt excited and guilty all at the same time. Half of me wanted
to get up and leave right now, although I knew that would be rude. The
other half wanted to see what would happen--to somehow let him know that I
was wearing one too.

Hardly more than a minute passed before Hank reappeared carrying two large
glasses of iced tea, one of which he handed to me as he took the other lawn
chair.

"So Deanna's out shopping?" I guessed.

"She's up at our ranch," Hank replied. I knew they owned hundreds of acres
somewhere in West Texas, family property that Deanna had inherited. "I came
back early to take care of some business today. She'll be here day after
tomorrow. Till then, I'm batching it."

I smiled at the old-fashioned phrase. "Sounds like fun."

Hank grimaced. "It isn't, actually. I get pretty bored by myself. End up
doing crazy things like mowing the lawn in ninety-five degree heat." He
smiled, his teeth white and even through his beard.

We sat and drank our iced teas. I kept thinking, so he's alone, and wearing
a jockstrap. I don't remember most of our conversation but I remember
listening hard, looking for some opening to broach the subject. Finally it
came when Hank started talking about his college days, when he had played
football.

 "So I guess you still wear football gear."

Hank frowned, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

I took the plunge. "Looks like you're wearing a jock right now, Hank." I
pointed at his middle, where a narrow white strip was still visible above
his belted khakis.

His face cleared. "Oh, yeah." He seemed to take it totally in stride that a
gay guy had been checking him out, which only increased my liking for
him. By now my cock was stirring in my own jock pouch. There was no use
kidding myself-I wanted this man.

"I suppose it's good when you're exercising or doing things like mowing the
grass."

Hank said, "Not just when I mow the grass. I wear them all the time."

"Really?" I said, surprised. "I had no idea. You know, I wear jocks pretty
often, especially when the weather's hot like this."

"You wearing one now?" Hank asked.

"Well, yeah, sure."

"What kind?"

I grinned. "I still stick with the old-fashioned kind. Bike all the way."

There was a long pause. We each took a swallow of tea, looking out at the
lawn. The air was hot and still and the sun was shining with dazzling
brightness.

"I'd love to see yours."

At first I thought I hadn't heard him properly. "What?" I said, like an
idiot.

I saw his eyes through the dark glasses he was wearing. They were staring
right into mine. "I said, I'd love to see your Bike jock."

I swallowed once, then said, "Only if I can see yours too."

He grinned. "It's not a Bike."

I shrugged with elaborate casualness. "That's okay."

"We can't do this outside. Want to come on in?"

His house was expensively furnished, neatly kept. The interior was dark and
cool after the blazing sun outside. We climbed the stairs and entered a
small bedroom. The summer sun filtered in through the drawn curtain.

Hank took off his sunglasses and laid them on the end table. We faced each
other in the semidarkness. A small, expectant smile played across his face.

Now that I had Hank where I wanted him, though, I found myself getting cold
feet. I shrugged with a casualness I didn't feel. "Should we be doing
this?"

Hank said, "What do you mean?"

"We're both in relationships. With other people."

Hank nodded. "Nothing's going to change, Bill. You're a good friend, but
I'm not in love with you. I'm in love with Deanna, and you're in love with
Bob."

"Yes."

"And that's not going to change, either, right?"

I swallowed hard. "If we do this, Hank, it's going to be just a one-time
thing. And your wife and my partner can never know about it."

"Agreed."

"And we've got to play it safe."

"Absolutely. I've got condoms in the bottom drawer in the guest bathroom."

He raised his eyebrows and grinned with naughty glee, like a little boy. I
couldn't help laughing.

"Now take that t-shirt off." Hank's voice was suddenly low and husky. I
obeyed, and suddenly he was in front of me, unbuckling my belt and pinching
one of my nipples, making me gasp. "You have a great body," he said, and
pressed his lips to mine.

I thought I would remember every detail of the next couple of hours
forever, and it makes me sad that so much time has passed that I can't
relive the whole thing. What I do recall is enough, though.

I remember that our shorts and shoes came off very quickly but we kept our
jocks on for quite a while. Hank buried his nose in the pouch of my Bike,
taking a long whiff, before he began to lick my cock through the elastic
material, slowly, thoroughly, until the cloth was soaking. Only then did he
pull aside the pouch and take my aching erection into his mouth. It only
took me a short time after that to blast my load down his throat. To my
surprise, Hank took it all, swallowing every drop.

"I though we were going to play it safe," I said. Hank smiled up at me.

"I trust you, Bill."

In fact I was clean. Hank had raised the stakes and I had to reciprocate. I
knew just how to do it. Soon I had him on his stomach on the bed, moaning,
as I soaked the fur between his ass cheeks with my spit, before aiming for
his tight little hole with my tongue. I grabbed and twisted the leg straps
on his jock (I forget what kind it was) as I rimmed him. Hank groaned and
thrashed and humped the bed.

"Fuck me, Bill," he said.

I pulled him to his feet, bent over with his elbows resting on the bed, and
slid into him from behind with my bare cock. I can still see it plain as
day, my hard shaft poking into the dark fur of his ass crack, sliding in
and out of his hole just above where the leg straps of his jock, pale
streaks above his tanned, hairy legs, met at the bottom of his meaty
buttocks.

I finally got his jock off soon after that. (I'd peeled mine off a while
before.) I stuffed it into his mouth as he lay on his back on the bed,
holding his legs apart with his hands as I slid back into him. After that I
just fucked his brains out-I couldn't hold back, and it wasn't long before
I blasted my load deep into his gut, shouting so loud any neighbors who
were home had to have heard. Bob was shaking with laughter as he pulled his
jockstrap out of his mouth. He pressed it against mine in an attempt to gag
my cries, hissing "Shh!" while holding a finger to his lips.

He had me stay inside him then as he stroked himself to his own climax,
ropes of cum spraying across and matting the fur on his heaving chest as he
gasped in delight. I licked his spunk off and fed it to him, our lips and
tongues tangling.

After that we lay in each other's arms, completely spent, talking
quietly. Hank told me that Deanna knew of his bisexual tendencies and
understood, but that he hadn't acted on them for a long time. He wasn't
into quickies with strangers and it was hard to meet people who might be
interested in him.

"You want to know the truth, Bill?" he said. "I'd kind of had my eye on you
for a while, but I didn't think anything could ever happen. When you showed
up out of the blue this afternoon it was like the answer to my prayers."

That made me think of Bob for some reason, and I started to feel sad and
guilty. Hank sensed this and nodded. "Bill, if you want to not spend time
with us for a while, I understand."

I shook my head. "If we suddenly stop being friends both Bob and Deanna
will want to know why. It's better if we act like nothing's happened."

Hank said, "As far as I'm concerned nothing's happened. This'll be our own
little secret. You have my word."

It's so easy to act on impulse, so hard to live with the consequences. No,
nothing terrible happened, and no one found out. I found out how hard it
was to live with a secret. I was racked with guilt for a while, and Bob
started asking if something was wrong. I told him no, work was just getting
me down.

I am evil, I guess. Eventually it passed. The four of us continued just as
before, seeing each other at social events, being good friends.

Hank and I never did it again together after that afternoon. A job
relocation forced Bob and me to move to another city a few years after
that. Aside from a postcard and a couple e-mails shortly after the move, we
didn't keep in touch. For me it was easier not to.

Then one day we got a call from another old friend from the symphony
patrons' circle. Hank had collapsed in the lobby during the intermission of
a concert. It was a massive heart attack. He died on the way to the
hospital, his wife at his side.

We flew back for the funeral. As I embraced Deanna, pale and thin, after
the service, we were both weeping. Of course I was grieving for her and her
loss. But I was also grieving for mine.

I had never gotten a chance to hold Hank in my arms again, or feel his
great burly body next to mine.

Still, time heals, as they say. I still think of Hank with sad affection,
but the thought of him doesn't make me tear up any more. Thinking of Bob
does, though; he only passed on a year and a half ago. We'd been together
over thirty years.

So now I'm alone. It's not too bad, most of the time-I still live in the
house we shared. I'm in good health and can take care of myself, knock on
wood.

But often in the evenings I sit in front of the silent, dark TV and think
about people I've known who are gone. The memories are happy and sad, so
mixed together I don't know which is which. All I know is that I usually
end up wanting to cry.

Of course most of the time I think about Bob. After all we had a lifetime
of love for each other and I miss him every day.

Every so often, though, I think back to a hot July day long ago, and taking
a crazy walk in the sun, and stopping by a friend's house for ice tea, a
friend who just happened to be by himself that day, and who was mowing the
lawn wearing a jock.

Wherever it is we're all going, I hope there are hot sunny days there, and
jockstraps.

END