Date: Sun, 23 Nov 2014 11:02:27 -0600
From: bixmeister57@gmail.com
Subject: A Year In The Life, Snowplow Pt. 1

A Year In The Life

Snowplow Pt. 1

By Bix Meister

This is a story featuring gay men, and gay sex, intended for Adults, not
Minors.  It is fiction, and as such is not based on any actual people or
events.  It is a fantasy intended purely as a catalyst for pleasure.  No
attempts have been made to portray safe sex, but the author encourages you
to practice it.

Early November 1999

I really hadn't expected this, I have been through my share of Winter
storms, and I thought I could outsmart the weather.  In fact I was certain
this wouldn't be a true Winter storm.  After moving back to the north
country, the Winters had been milder than I remembered when I lived in this
region.  Huge storms would be predicted, and would move south of us.  Two
out of three years since I moved back we experienced a not-so-White
Christmas, something I had never had when I lived here before.  However
here I was at work, trying to hammer out the last detail of a project I was
working on, and I was oblivious to the hammering we were getting outside.

Let me backtrack for a minute.  My name is Kyle Hansen I was 42 years old,
and after 20 years of following my career around from city to city, I found
myself downsized.  I had done well investing my earnings, so I was somewhat
comfortable.  I took that Summer off, closed down my condo, and pointed my
car northward.  The lakes of Minnesota had their usual charm and I traveled
visiting friends and relatives.  By Summer's end I was sure of my future,
and reenergized to start my own graphics business.  I settled on living in
Duluth, thinking that the mix of city life, and nature would work for me.
Plus it was near enough to family, without being too close, providing me
the room to breathe.

So here I am at work on a Friday afternoon.  My staff had left earlier,
more sense than me obviously.  I was finally to a point where I could leave
the project, saved my work, and looked outside.  Damn, there was at least a
foot of the white stuff out there and it was still coming down.  I quickly
sent out an email to my team, closed down the computer and office and got
into my car.  A normal drive home down the hill would take me about 15-20
minutes, but I was sure it would take double in this snow.  The last few
years had softened me when it came to driving in blizzard conditions, but
suddenly my previous experiences came back to me.  It soon became evident
that slow and steady was the best way to get home.  Some asshole in a SUV
went barreling by me, causing a momentary white-out.  I followed in their
ruts, giving them some headway.  It was less than a mile later that I saw
headlights in the ditch, aimed towards me.  From the tracks I knew it was
the guy from before.  I kept the mantra, slow and steady.  I knew my
vehicle, and it's limitations, and I was driving within them.

About an hour into my fifteen minute commute, I finally was on the home
stretch.  My house was about a half a mile into a country road on the south
western edge of town.  There were two houses on our road, a 1970's chalet
type house, and my turn of the century farmhouse.  The way the snow was
moving around I knew it was Lake Effect snow, and by this time there had to
be 20 inches on the ground.  Our road had no tracks on it, and I was snow
plowing instead of driving.  I came around the bend by the `70's chalet,
and had no control as my car literally parked itself off to the side of the
road , just a few feet short of the driveway. There was a newer Dodge Ram
parked in the driveway, covered in a blanket of snow. In case I forgot to
mention it, I had scoffed at the weather report earlier, and was dressed
more for a fall day, than winter blizzard.  I got out in my jeans, flannel
shirt, and shoes and tried to assess my chances of getting back on the
road.  Snow was falling fast, virtually obliterating the usefulness of my
headlights.  After clearing off what I could, I got back into my car and
started rocking the car back and forth between forward and reverse, and
only entrenched myself further.

Remembering that I had left my shovel in the trunk, I girded myself for the
falling cold, and snow, and tried to dig a pathway to back up.  I didn't
want to waste anymore gas, so I turned my car off and started shoveling.  I
did this for about five minutes, determined to make it home.  Out of
nowhere I was startled by a hand on my shoulder.  The howling of the wind
and the sound of the wet snow as I tried to shovel, masked the footsteps of
the homeowner of that Chalet.  He was the smart one, wrapped up in a parka
with fur trim, chopper mittens and Sorel boots.  He caught me off guard and
said "I don't think you are going anywhere further tonight, let's go
inside" Once inside I was suddenly aware of how cold and wet I was.  I was
standing there, teeth chattering like in the cartoons, and Mr. Parka took
me over by the fireplace in the living room and said "Let's get you warm".
I was quick to plop down on a leather chair by the fireplace and removed my
soaked shoes.  Still in a parka, he was busying himself in the kitchen and
yelled "What do you prefer, hot chocolate or coffee?"

Teeth still chattering, I replied "c-c-c-cof-ffeee."  The warmth from the
fireplace helped my feet and hands warm up but my jeans were soaked, as
well as the sleeves of my flannel shirt.  Mr. Parka returned with the
coffee, hot and strong.  While I was shivering away, he had removed the
parka and was down to a grey sweatshirt, jeans and his boots.

Without the parka, he suddenly looked a bit more imposing.  I hadn't caught
his shaved head before, and only got a glimpse of his beard.  He said
"looks like I will need to find something to help you with your wet
clothes" as he left the living room, down the stairs to the back of the
house.  I finally felt comfortable enough to look around at the house of my
rescuer.  It looked like a `70's time capsule, something that might have
been up to date, maybe even chic back then.  The few nods to the present
day were a new TV, and a few appliances in the kitchen.  I looked for
pictures, something to tell me a bit more about the guy who brought me in
out of the cold, but I found nothing.  I was intrigued by this house, and
the man who owned it and more than a bit embarrassed that I had lived so
close to him, and this was the first time we met.

He returned in a few minutes with a fluffy robe, some sweatpants and said
"get out of that wet stuff, this should help you," "By the way, I have the
sure-fire way to warm those bones, I just stoked up the sauna down in the
rec. room."  "By the way my name is Pete Ravinka, looks like we'll be
bunking together for the next 24 at least, might as well get acquainted" He
offered his handshake, the strong grip felt comforting, and also
electrifying for some reason.  I also had a feeling I knew him from
somewhere.  He had the look of some of the Eastern European immigrants who
had mined the Iron Range of Northern Minnesota.  The name certainly fit,
and as I was becoming more aware of him, his body fit the mold.  I suddenly
noticed his broad shoulders which the parka had hidden.  Fur curled out of
the collar of his sweatshirt and out of his sleeves onto his broad hands
and thick fingers.  He was the archetype of masculinity from my childhood.
I was mainly of Scandinavian stock, a late bloomer, but remember the sports
teams we would play from "The Range" Their players would sport a thick five
o'clock shadow at fifteen and their supporters looked like brutes.

As I shook his hand I started to introduce myself "My name is ---"

He said "no need for introduction, you're Kyle Hansen, the fella that lives
down the road, I recognized your car.  When you live out here in the sticks
it is important to know who your neighbors are, even if they haven't made
and attempt to be neighborly yet"

His smirk was evident, and so was the wink so I came back with "the road
goes both ways Pete"

"Point taken" he replied "welcome to my little slice of heaven such as it
is.  It ain't much but at least it will keep you warm and dry, `cept in the
sauna of course. Speaking of which, it will take a few more minutes for it
to warm up, why don't you head down to the rec.-room and wait while I take
care of some things up here."  I took a moment to pull out my cell phone,
and called my assistant Jean with the last bit of power my phone had.  I
didn't even plan for that, an almost dead phone, and my power cord at home.
I relayed that I would be unreachable for a bit, but I was safe, and asked
her to send off an email to the usual suspects who would want to know my
whereabouts.

As Pete left I took off my remaining clothes and pulled on the sweats and
robe.  I draped my clothes on the back of the chair in front of the
fireplace, hoping that would help them dry.  I followed his instructions,
headed downstairs and found myself in a most unique rec.-room.  Off to the
left I saw the door to the sauna, a large tiled shower, and a small gym
type room with a weight set, and floor covered in blue mats.  Off to the
right was your typical 70's basement lounge with furniture that hadn't been
updated since.  It looked out onto a backyard covered in snow, still coming
down heavily.  I turned to the right of another fireplace and saw a whole
wall of photographs, most black and white, but some faded color ones.  It
was then that I realized who Pete was, he was the local Pro Wrestler "Ivan
The Mad Russian" Half of the pictures were of Ivan the Mad Russian in his
famous pose, hunched forward, arms flexed in a muscleman pose, and right
eyebrow arched, mouth snarling.  A few pictures were Ivan The Mad Russian
with local sportscasters, Ivan the Mad Russian with Barry "The Bod"
Brunswick, Another was Ivan face to face with "The Roamin, Roman, Giorgio
Galenti, and right in the center, a newer picture of Ivan the Mad Russian
with former wrestler and Minnesota Governor Jesse "The Body Ventura..

Looking at those pictures of Ivan brought me back to my teenage years and
my dick started tenting up the front of my sweats.  You see Ivan was my
first crush.  I made fun of my friends who liked wrestling until I was over
at one friends house watching one weekend.  He was a fan, and had wrestling
on so I watched mainly for amusement.  Then Ivan appeared, all six feet,
210 pounds of muscle, shoulders, beard and fur contained in red Hammer and
Sickle wrestling trunks.  He posed, growled and strutted on stage and at
that moment I was convinced it was just for me.  I was young, naïve,
uncertain, but somewhat sure I was gay, but that single moment removed all
doubt.  Like I have said, I was a late bloomer but that image of Ivan
strutting on the screen caused a shot of adrenaline and my dick grew like I
never experienced before.  I grabbed a crocheted throw pillow from my
friends couch to hide my hard on.  I quietly squirmed on the sofa watching
the match.  I made it through the bout with only a slight discharge in my
shorts, and then finally was able leave my friends house without showing
hard.  Ivan lost, but they announced a grudge match for next Saturdays
broadcast.  I was hooked, so much so that when I had a chance to go
shopping in Grand Rapids, I begged to stay home while the rest of the
family went shopping.

On Saturday I found myself home alone, ready for the match.  The first two
bouts meant nothing to me.  This was second rate wrestling in a third tier
market so they were probably longshoremen or laborers making extra money to
make ends meet.  In our small market there were only a handful who could
make their living off of Pro Wrestling, and they did the Main event each
week.  Finally the grudge match between Barry the Bod, and Ivan The Mad
Russian was introduced.  Barry the Bod was supposed to be heart throb.  He
was the epitome of 70's macho, but for some reason did nothing to me.  Ivan
came out and I was hard instantly.  I started fondling myself while
watching the bout.  Ivan prowled and growled, Barry primped and posed.

They started some well rehearsed moves, throwing each other down.  The
grainy signal captured the rug that fanned up from Ivan's trunks, over his
shoulders and down the blades of his broad back.  I swear I could see hair
curling out of the back of his trunks, trunks that contained my new
favorite thing, Ivan`s ass, but the blurry camera work obscured it.  I
approached our console TV to get a better view, pulled my dick out and
started to pound away.  Ivan and Barry wrestled through the first two
rounds evenly, while I jerked my dick.  The third round found Ivan flipping
Barry onto his back.  Ivan caught Barry in his signature move, the
Hammerin' Headlock.  The cameraman focused in on a close up of Ivan's
trunks as he captured Barry in his crotch.  My fifteen year old eyes swore
they saw a meaty dick and balls right at Barry's chin, and my fifteen year
old dick responded by coating the television with four pumps of my young
cum.  The rest landed on my hand, which I promptly brought to my mouth.
Although I had jerked off many times before, something told me I needed to
finally taste it.  Instantly I was hooked on cum, well cum and ass.  I
slipped my cock back into my pants, zipped up, and cleaned the TV screen to
remove the evidence.

This flood of horny memories was brought to an abrupt halt when two meaty
hands grasped my shoulders.  "I see you found my Wall of Shame" Pete said.

I quickly adjusted the head of my dick into the waistband of the sweats and
turned around and said "So you're Ivan The Mad Russian".

"Guilty" he said and assumed the pose.  He then laughed and said "I used to
be. I owe this spread to that name, but since then I have been Pete the
Electrician, and more recently "Pete the Retiree"" I looked him over, he
had a towel wrapped around his waist, and nothing else.  I did the math in
my head, and figured he was in his late 50's to my early 40's.  The decades
added some padding to his mid section, and grey to his beard and fur.  The
only thing I saw diminished was the hair on his head, which he shaved bald.
If memories gave me a hard on, his presence only made it pulse harder.  He
padded over to a linen closet allowing me to look at his ass, "that ass"
There he grabbed a towel, threw it at me and said "here, this is the dress
code for the sauna, towel or nothing"

I wrapped the towel around my waist, tucking my hard on once again, and
dropped the sweats on the plaid sectional.  Before I took off the robe I
checked to see if my dick was too obvious in the towel.  Luckily the
tightness of the tuck, and draping hid my erection, no matter how strong it
was.  From a scrawny 15 year old late bloomer, I had matured somewhere
along the way.  My carpeting was not as dense as Pete's, and I was nowhere
near as muscular, but at 6'2", 230 pounds sporting seven thick inches I
held my own.  But being with Ivan brought that young kid out in me.

Pete unwrapped his towel, threw it over his shoulder and motioned for me to
follow him into the sauna.  My dick would follow that ass anywhere, but I
was almost afraid to join him in the sauna.  We got in there, he nodded for
me to sit on one of the upper wooden tiers and ladled some water onto the
stone.  The view of "that ass" again shot another bit of life into my cock.
I readjusted tightened the towel, and hoped Pete wouldn't notice.  He
bounded up the steps, his heavy uncut cock and balls bouncing from side to
side. We sat side by side, feeling the warmth and Pete looked at me out of
the corner of his eye and said "it's better than being stuck out in the
cold isn't it?"

I said "thanks again for coming to my rescue, I am not sure what I would
have done".

"Just being neighborly, neighbor" Pete winked at me.  Damn that wink,
another shot of energy went right to my dick causing it to move a bit,
tenting the towel off to the left.  Whether he saw it or not, Pete made no
mention, however after a few seconds of silence Pete said "You know the
sauna is more comfortable without the towel."

The silence hung in the air, punctuated by a sharp swallow.  Pete noticed
"Cat's got your tongue?  Or are you ashamed of what that towel is hiding?"

With that he pulled the towel where I had tucked it, and my dick sprung up,
all seven inches of it, no make that seven and a half thick inches of it.
I was amazed at the power he had over my dick, fleshing it out like it
never had been before.  "Nothing to be ashamed of there" Looks like you
have a case of hero worship, a crush on Pete, or is it Ivan?" he chuckled
arching his eyebrow in that signature way. Boy he had figured me out, and
quickly, and just as quickly he deflated my cock, leaving a trail of slime
on my left thigh.

Almost as quickly we both figured out that we crossed a line.  My
infatuation with him, and his good hearted put down of me sapped the energy
from the room. The stone cold silence in the room counterbalanced the heat
generated by the sauna stove.  I developed a certain tunnel vision which
blocked out the nearness of this hunk of masculinity.  The dry heat had
long since eliminated the last of chill from my bones and was now coating
us in a sheen of sweat.  Pete got up to ladle another round of water onto
the stones of the sauna.  I lost my tunnel vision to watch him perform this
task as if it were a spiritual rite.  I have often thought that a great ass
was a combination of great butt muscles in relationship to broad meaty
shoulders.  Watching Pete perform this rite made me realize that his ass
"that ass" was writing a doctoral thesis on my ass theory.  His shoulders
flexed and his cheeks undulated doing this simple task.  The shift of
weight from one leg to the other created the tension found in sculptural
masterpieces.  My dick responded the only way it knew how, reaching launch
stage in seconds.  He turned around, saw my reaction, smirked, winked and
then whispered "nothing to be ashamed of"

Somehow the shame was still there, and my tunnel vision came back.  At
least we broke the ice, the cards were on the table, and half a dozen other
clichés were left unspoken, but we started to communicate again.  My
dick was there, we didn't talk about it, but we did talk about his career.
He shared how he was able to buy this house in the 70's because the builder
was a bit star struck and made him a deal to help promote his business.  He
told me about his fellow wrestlers, who he got along with, (Barry, Giorgio,
and a few others) and who he didn't ( The Cruncher, mainly) I asked him
about The Cruncher and he said "It was the seventies, I had a new state of
the art house, and a beautiful wife, but I lost her because of Cruncher and
a key party" I had heard about key parties, I had even heard they happened
in my small town.  There would be an adult house party where all of the
men's keys were thrown in a bowl, and the women would head off with whoever
owned the keys they drew from the bowl.  I asked Pete how that happened,
and he said "I hosted the party, proud of my house and my wife, sure I was
the cock of the walk, and yet she left me for The Cruncher" I still can't
believe that, I know Cruncher had a bigger career, but he sure couldn't
measure up to me in the dick department."

I smiled and said "I am sure you have nothing to be ashamed of, but I've
seen bigger"

Again the air in the sauna was still.  My cock would flex, on its own
accord, but I had turned on the tunnel vision again.  The sheen of clean
sweat covered my body and what I allowed myself to see of Pete's thigh.  We
were silent for a few more minutes when I felt Pete's thick fingers caress
my thigh.  He whispered "you know I did more than key parties in the
seventies, it was the seventies after all.  We didn't make much money
wrestling around the local circuit, we shared rooms, and beds to keep costs
low.  With a few of the guys it became obvious the sleeping arrangements
weren't only to save money" With that he grabbed my right hand and placed
it on his dick "Still think you have seen bigger?"

I am sure I have seen bigger, but never felt bigger.  I broke the tunnel
vision, looked down at the dick in my hand, then at the twinkle in his
eye. "Nothing to be ashamed of" I smiled.

 He chuckled, let out a guttural growl, arched his eyebrow and said" wanna
wrestle with Ivan?" "try out a few moves"

I said "I remember a move called The Hammerin' Headlock that might work"

I moved down one level and set my ass down on the bench between his
powerful legs.  I grabbed his dick, suckled a bit on his foreskin, and
swallowed it in one motion.  His thighs wrapped around my head in a classic
Headlock, and he started hammerin'.  His right hand held the back of my
head, as if I could or would let go.  He leaned over me with his dick
stuffed down my throat and a single bead of sweat fell off his forehead to
mine.  His left hand gently wiped it off my brow as he winked at me. I
moved up and down on his dick, as much as his thighs would allow.  His dick
was juicing up my mouth and throat with his honey, straight from the tap.
A large seepage of juice made me swallow and my throat clasped at the
thickness of his dick. I think that moment was all too much and Pete said
"Damn son, that is neighborly, but I am getting a bit over heated"

Now if you know saunas, and the winter, we would be following up with the
sauna with a plunge into the fresh snow outside.  The shock to the system
closes the pores opened by the sauna, and is the perfect end to the rite.
However snow had drifted around the door to the back patio, effectively
closing the doors.  Besides both of us wanted to cool down, but not to the
point of shrinkage, we wanted our party to continue.  Pete took me to the
shower next door, turned on one of the showers to a temperature that would
work for the both of us.  He then grabbed me close, tilted my head down to
his and started kissing me.  Nothing in what he had done previously lead me
to think that would happen, but I didn't fight it.  His hand grabbed my
ass, pulling me in tighter as the water cascaded over us.  I was bigger, he
was stronger, but we were equals.

The taste of him was shared between us, but suddenly I wanted another
taste, "that ass".  I sunk down to my knees and turned him around.  He
looked over his shoulders, "those shoulders" and smiled, he knew what I
wanted.  He rested his elbows on the tiled wall, spread his legs and said
"Be my guest" As water flowed over his back, I put a paw on each cheek,
spread his ass, and dove in.  The flavor of man, sweat, ass, heat and
hair. was overwhelming and intoxicating. I think I enjoyed it as much for
holding that ass, as well as eating it.  My thumb would wander over to
slightly tug by the hole, opening him up for my tongue.  The more my hands
pulled, the wider his stance became, allowing me to dart my tongue in
further.  His ass opened enough that I no longer needed to pry him open
with my hands.  My hands wandered up his back, that back.  I followed the
path that flowing water created in his back hair.  I grasped his shoulders
while licking the groove of his ass. Twice earlier tonight his grasp on my
shoulder shocked me, but I did it simply as a way for my tongue to gain
traction in his ass.  I let a hand wander around, worried that my focus on
his ass would diminish his erection.  Instead I found it pulsing possibly
harder then it was when I was in his hold.

I had discovered a direct link between licking his hole and the pulsations
in his dick.  I knew he was getting close which was fine since I was
getting water-logged..  I spun him around and swallowed his dick.  He
looked down at me, his thick hands found each side of my jaw, and held me
there while he unloaded in my mouth..  What I tasted earlier in the sauna,
was heightened in the shower.  I let the taste roll on my tongue while he
shoved his thickness down my throat.  The constriction of my throat caused
him to unload some more, and stumble in the shower.  His hands landed on my
back in an attempt to keep himself upright.

I slowly got up to standing, and lost my footing for a minute, falling into
his arms.  I was winded from the actions of the night and easily collapsed
there.  His tongue found mine again, and I could almost feel him smile as
he tasted himself there.  He reached over, turned off the shower and we
spent the next few moments discovering each other as we came down from our
high.  We slowly made our way out into the hall and air dried ourselves
while we walked up to the living room.  The road was worse than when I
happened to get stuck, no one was going to travel down it any time soon, so
neither of us were concerned about being naked.  The fire was still going,
he sat down on the wood and leather chair by the fireplace, pulled me onto
his lap, and said "welcome to the neighborhood, neighbor."  I felt his
heavy dick spasm at the crack of my ass and knew I had found the right
place to call home.