Inspired Photos 01 - Old-Fashioned Ice Cream

Inspired Photos

The stories in this series depict sexual acts among consenting adult men. (You're reading this from Nifty Archives, whatta ya think?) If any of these offend you or are illegal to view in your jurisdiction, or you are under the age of 18, read no further. Consider buying saline solution and washing your eyes?

The characters, locations, and incidents in this story are fictional. While public locales or business establishments may be mentioned, any resemblance to other actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Songs referenced herein are copyrighted by their respective owners and performers. I make no claim toward them...

Surfing the internet, one sees many stirring images that sometimes stirs the imagination. When lucky enough, the net surfer sometimes hears an account or fantasy first-hand from the original guy who posted the photo. In the course of the conversation, the surfer's and the poster's fantasies can meld into a shared fantasy.

I consider myself privileged to take part in this.

- John

Chapter 01 : Charlie

Old-Fashioned Ice Cream

John Bato (john.bato@gmail.com)

The sweltering heat continued to roast Metropolitan Boston and its unfortunate occupants. It was my third summer working at the funeral home. Despite only being in my mid-late 20's, my boss had just made me funeral director in cases where we had to arrange simultaneous events and one of us had to cross into another state.

Another one of his personnel changes that summer was his hiring of Peter, an 18 year old kid interning with us this summer. Possibly longer if he can work out his schedule at the prestigious local university he's about to enter.

Prevented by an injury he sustained playing varsity football, Peter still wanted to be involved in sports. Consequently, he now aimed to be and athletic trainer. I knew of him from my younger cousin Shrimp. Peter was the quintessential athlete that the guys wanted to be and the girls wanted to talk to (and neck with).

It was 1975 and Boston was still celebrating the Celtics' championship win. Peter was among them and his wardrobe that summer consisted almost entirely of dark hunter-green garter shorts, fashionable at the time but almost considered square trunk briefs by today's standards. This is what he'd pair with wife beaters and tank tops when he'd spend his overnights at the funeral home, ready to answer calls. Being the mid 70's, athletes were revered for their skill and prowess more so than today when they're revered for an almost equal mixture of prowess and physique. In this regard, Peter was well ahead of his time. Squeeze his football physique into a basketball jersey (with the short shorts) and it's no wonder girls wanted to snag him. Ed, our boss, let him get away for the most part since Peter was basically there for the overnight shifts just to answer the phone and call him at home when we were informed of a death.

Not really big on socializing, I chose a small, functional, studio apartment as my first residence after college. It was cheap and at the time and I continued living there as routine. After four days of an oppressive heat wave, however, I began to have second thoughts as I answered the ringing phone.

"Hello?"

"Hey Charlie. Pete here at the funeral home. What are you up to?"

"Nothing. Just finished having pizza and was gonna crash on the sofa. A little uncomfortable, but closer to the windows than my bed."

"How would you like some ice cream then? Just spent the afternoon churning a batch. Come on over. Big boss is spending the weekend at the Cape with the family. Would love some company. Too quiet here."

Couldn't blame him, it was only his second week on the job. I remembered when I fist had that duty. Long lonely nights surrounded by the sample caskets. My motivation now was more selfish, however, as the funeral home had A/C. "Sure. I'll hop on my bike and head over."

I was greeted at the employee entrance with a vision in a sleeveless goldenrod t-shirt and his uniform dark green gym shorts. His 36" chest tapered down to his slim 32" waist. For nipples, two pencil erasers seemed to have been glued to his chest. As a gay guy whose sexual energies was spent masturbating to slim basketball players such as Paul Westphal, his full muscular torso was different, refreshing even.

He greeted me enthusiastically. We get in and he directed me to one of the guest parlors that he spent the morning and most of the afternoon painting in an off-white cream with touches of navy blue that complemented our marketing brochures. His arm on my shoulders still gave off a mix of his fresh sweat and musk. Did he just playfully squeeze my delts?

"So do you like what I've done?"

The room or the teasing massage? "Yeah, it's great."

"Let's go upstairs. I got Bonanza on the tube."

He led the way upstairs. From the flexing of his legs and ass, not to mention his tight shorts, he obviously was going commando tonight. Midway on the stairway, he reached down to pick up a pair of discarded utility gloves. His feet planted on different levels gave me the opportunity to peek at his crotch. A brown hairy sac greeted me.

In the living area, he had the TV on. A young Michael Landon was saying his lines that to this day I wish I remembered. Peter sat a foot away to my right and placed his left ankle on his knee in a rather grandiose manner. I turn my head a little to catch both the TV and Peter in my vision. Well, the TV, Peter, and his crotch more like.

"Yeah. The ice cream should be ready in half an hour or so."

"No worries. It's good to get out of the heat."

The banter of conversation continued till the end of the show. Peter yawned and stood up. His shorts did little to hide an obviously plump, rounded crotch. "Lemme get the ice cream."

He came back and gave me a bowl. This time, he chose a position further away from me and fully stretched his leg. With his dick tenting the nylon shorts, I was now given a full, unobstructed view of his male goodies. The credits to the next show started in the background so I was free to focus my gaze on Peter. He scooped some ice cream but the dessert didn't make it to his tongue, instead it slipped off the spoon and landed onto his shorts.

"Oh shit." A few more choice words erupted from his mouth as only a Boston southie can. He took off his shirt, exposing his chest and six-pack abs and wiped the spill. Doing so positioned his now rock hard cock to the right and now peeked thru the top of his waistband and looked like it could also use a good wipe. He noticed me staring and winked. He proceeded to swipe his precum and brought his finger to his tongue. "Tastes just as nice."

I was fully tented myself. I raised my eyebrow and removed my own spoon from my mouth. "I'm sure it does."

"You like what you see, Charlie?"

I grabbed my rod and responded, "I'd be lying if I said I didn't."

"Join me in the bed. But loose the clothes." He dropped his shorts on the way and I see a pair of white buns sharply contrasting his tanned back and legs. I quickly followed him to the bedroom.

I laughed as I stripped my shirt and jean shorts. "Admit it, you just wanted to get me off my clothes."

"I won't deny that." He jumped onto the bed belly down. "Could you do me a favor though? Rub my neck and shoulders. They're killing me after the paint job and working the ice-cream machine." He pointed to the lotion conveniently placed on the nightstand.

I joined him in bed and sat on his meaty rump. He moaned as I massaged his truly knotted muscles.

"That feels great, Chuck."

"No problem. This is what you want to do, isn't it. Get a muscled athlete face down and running your hands all over his body."

"You got me pegged."

"You've done this before?"

"Yeah, when my football jock buddies would sprain something, I'd go to their homes and do what you're doing now. You're good."

"My dad taught me. He had me do this to him when he'd catch the flu or something. Claimed he felt better after I did this." At that point, I had gotten off his rump and started on his thighs.

"I bet he did. Yeah! That's the spot." He turned around and his eyes bore into mine. He must've also noticed my tenting briefs. "He also turned you on like this?"

"No. Didn't have your build. Or looks." I broke the connection and stared at his thighs. "Great legs. You really must've been reaching far with the ladder." His thick thighs were knotted, but solid, and sprinkled liberally with blond-ginger fur. His calves were as shapely as the rest of him, narrowing down to ankles that seemed small compared to his frame and size 12 feet.

"Yeah. Pain in the ass to move around so tried to move the least possible."

I slapped his thigh to indicate that I was done with his leg, waiting for him to lead. He flexed his calf upward and pointed his toes. Another gorgeous collaboration of lines and curves! I couldn't resist kissing the arch of his foot.

"Holy crap. No one's ever done that before."

Encouraged by this, I struck my tongue out and licked up the arch, around the ball, and sucked on his big toe. Thank goodness his feet were surprisingly fresh smelling.

"Yeah, baby," he responded, still facing me but with eyes closed.

I proceeded to sample each of his toes. His pinky toenail was flat and edgy, not rounded the others -- surprising contrast. I went on and mimicked my actions on the other leg, only starting with his toes this time.

Licking the back of his right thigh, I noticed a smell of Ivory soap emanating from his ass crack. No wonder he smelled fresh. He must've showered an hour before and worked up a fresh batch of sweat. This was the beginning of my sweat fascination.

Reaching his waist, I told him to turn around as I've done his back already. He obeyed, leaving a trail of precum across his left hip. Our eyes met and he smiled. He swiped a finger across his slit but this time he presented it to me. I raised my eyebrow and sucked his middle finger as I did his toes.

Moaning in appreciation, he spread and lifted his legs. On my knees, I walked closer to him and placed the heel of my palms on his sculpted abs. You really didn't see many v-shaped athletes with abs like this in the 70's even in football. I etched this vision for future use in my spank bank imagery. That done, my palms traveled north and encountered the cliffs of his pecs. There, my fingers tweaked his pencil eraser nipples. From the loud grunts elicited, I surmised that he enjoyed that, must file for later use.

I was made aware of his arms when he reached around mine and massaged my iron-hard cock. He spread my own pre around my own uncovered helmet. The first time he did that, I blanked out for a second or two. By the time I came back to my senses, I was supporting myself on his hands, pressing on his firm pectorals. He had the biggest grins.

He must've got the lotion with his other hand for now my entire rod was coated with it. He wrapped his legs around my waist and pulled me close. My cock buried itself onto his love tunnel and burped more natural lube in appreciation.

"Fuck me, Chuck. Ram that stick good and hard!"

While man on man play is not new to me, up to that time, hand jobs and dick sucking were the basic extent of my experience. This new experience was wonderful; his satin pre-lubed chute was luxurious.

"Harder, baby!"

After getting over the newness/novelty of the experience, I gladly stepped up my game. Gotta keep the man satisfied, right? Wasn't that what Simon & Garfunkle said?

This was the first time Charlie saw Peter not looking back at him. His eyes were shut, too busy rolling in their sockets. That drove me to thrust more viciously. Doing so, however, expedited my release. As I've mentioned, this was my first fuck. And his satin dick glove wasn't helping me slow down.

Evidently, he was near release as well. He opened his eyes. "Baby, you're sexy. Urrrrgh!" The combination of his stare, his explosive release, and his gripping ass ring did it for me. I opened my mouth, but no sound was forthcoming. The last of his ass grippings finished milking my cock. We just froze there, basking in the moment.

Peter, still catching his breath, pants, "Babe, like I said. You're sexy. Thanks."

"No thank you." I fell onto the bed to his right.

"Been wanting to get with you since seeing a picture of you on your cousin's dorm."

"Wow. Nice to hear." I pull out of him and collapse on the bed. He gets up and leaves the room, ass strutting in the wind. He returns with a large leather-bound book.

"Did Shrimp ever show you our yearbook?"

"Nope. Just told me that he had a blast being in the committee."

"Well, that he did. You can almost tell who he was crushing on by the number of photos he'd include of them."

"Lemme guess. Ryan?"

"Bingo! You know your cousin well."

"Now you gotta show me what he looks like."

We spent the next few minutes like this. I concluded that Peter was probably right. Shrimp had a particular type of guy he crushed on. Brown hair. Slender but solid. Wait, that sounds like me. Was Shrimp crushing on me too? As if reading my mind, the yearbook's next page included a picture of me, Shrimp, and Peter taken after their production of Hamlet.

I looked up and saw the sun setting. "Listen this was fun, but I gotta run. Father Benjie is gonna be making his rounds soon. If he don't see my light turning off around 10, I'll be his assistant again grading his students' Intro to Philosophy essays for a month."

"Good to know. Maybe I'll take the class and keep you here to make sure that happens. It'll have to be at the end of term, though. You'll mark my final. It'll be my Easy A."

"You wish."

"Seriously tho, stay the night. Ed's gone to the Cape. I could use someone around here."

"Can't, handsome. Let's do this again sometime. Isn't Ed scheduled to go to a convention next week? For now, you wanna join me in the shower before I leave?"

Author's Note

"Charlie" seemed pleased with the earlier drafts. He says that it seems like he can see his fiend, clear as yesterday. Thanks for sharing your memory, Sexy. Had fun filling in the color and other details. Can't wait to hear more of Chuck and Peter's exploits.

Special thanks to Stu who has been a phenomenal writing buddy, encouraging and critiquing appropriately. (You'll see him appear in future chapters.)

If you have any comments, please feel free to shoot an email. Best efforts to read all incoming email, good or bad. If bad, I don't mind reading it but please be civil. The story might not have been what you were looking for, okay, understandable. I will try to answer all correspondence, though, give me time. Aspiring author trying to "make it" in the world of "paid" writing gigs and writing these Nifty Archive editions on the side as a fun distraction.

That being said, please consider making a donation to Nifty to keep their work going. Many of us have been enjoying the site for a while. I'm sure there are many instances out there where we've turned here to console us after a breakup, etc. and went back to our "favorites" that brought back the hope in humanity (and romance). Or am I just projecting? J

- John B

john.bato@gmail.com