Counter Clockwise By Alex Matthews

I was out getting in my 10-15 miles on my mountain bike and the morning was cool, crisp, a little damp. It reminded me of how I woke that morning, horny and fever-broken from one those dream you deny but can’t dismiss. You’re straight, horny as hell, but straight.

I’ve always gone against the grain, modestly, subtly, and this early morning ride was going to be counterclockwise against the regular flow of traffic. But since it Sunday morning in the Bible-belt I’d be lucky to see some deer and brake for a box turtle. Just pay attention damnit, I tell myself, you need the workout, let go, but keep your head up.

I get a good pace, breathing deep in and out with alternating strokes as Miles, AC/DC, Superchunk and Coltrane shuffle through my ears. Crossing over the abandoned dirt road that I drop in by the “new” old mill cabin and drop down onto the trail that follows the stream up to the dairy barn pasture where I’ll take my break, hydrate, pop a butterscotch candy in my mouth, let the world go by for a few minutes BAM!

I’m over the bars but manage to unclip and roll into the fall. Stand up straight suddenly, shake my eyes clear and hear “What the fuck do you think you’re doing!?!” from the lush green foliage along the inside of the single-track. Males and pissed off. Well so much for that fantasy of meeting a sweaty, fit woman on the ride. Oh shit…

“Sorry dude, all my fault,” I apologize helplessly, meekly, ashamed. I help him up and notice a strong grip in my hand as I help him up to full, lean, posture covered in kudzu and grime. Instinctively I brush dirt of his smooth spandex top of his shoulder, then off his chest, brush a nipple, was that a piercing? From the look in his eyes I’m going to say yes.

“Jesus Christ!” he seethes, “Don’t you know which way to go?”

“Both ways I guess,” and for the first time in my life I have a rap, a pick-up line, that comes to me right then and there at the moment and not five hours later as I stroke my cock. And I deliver it staring into the smirk of a tall, in-shape mountain biker, about my age, ahem late 40’s, alone in the woods, with my hand still on his chest and my shorts getting tighter.

Our bikes aren’t wrecked, my front rim is bent, and the derailleur is wonky, but only his front tire is flat. Otherwise, the bikes are good, but we’re both filthy with sweat, trail muck and a little short of breath. “We should go to the cabin across the bridge, catch our breath, assess the damage,” I suggest, going with the vibe of a morning and day changing radically before my eyes.

“Good idea,” he says and tries brushing the clay off my shoulder, then squeezing it, “How’s your collarbone? If you have broken it yet riding you will.”

“It’s good but first time for everything I guess.”

The walk to the cabin takes some time. Not sure if it’s our “injuries” or just being outside. Turns out we share that appreciation for the outdoors and he apologize for his behavior earlier. “No worries, dude, it was my fault entirely,” and he winces, and I limp along. We have more in common than at first blush. We’re both divorced and horny rather than interested in a relationship. “Fuck buddies is what you mean?” I ask trying to be flirtatious, “Nah, fuck babes,” and winks. I can’t tell if he’s coy or checking me out.

The cabin is open but inside accommodations are sparse, a table, a bench, an empty hearth. It’s a nice aroma, musty, solitary. “No bed,” one of us jokes, the other tests the table, “We could put up here for the night, till the storm blows over…”

We sit side by the side on the table in silence. I doze off and awake to find him asleep on the face down on the bench. I take stock of his body, his taut thighs, the salt and pepper of his beard. “Hey,” I shake him, “You ok?”

He moans lowly, I start to trail his calf with my finger. His eye opens, “My name is Jeff,” he says. “Mike,” I reply, “Nice to meet you. Do you get some rest?” He stands up and stretches.

His sweat tastes clean with a faint, gritty hint of dirt. I run my hands over his ass teasing myself as much as him. He grunts faintly. I moan warmly. I put my finger in the elastic band of his shorts and our crotches push forward to meet.

I’m was unsure of what to do. Some things don’t matter when lust and desire are involved, especially things that once seemed to mean so much like gender and orientation. Desire overrides them. But fear of opening up on a passionate level can stop us dead in our trucks no matter how fast our heart beats or how heavily our cock throbs. I thrust my crotch against his and the texture of the spandex on spandex sends shivers along the lengths of our dicks like two firm branches rubbing together to start a fire. My cock feels two feet long.

I put my hand on his ear, his breath warms my neck, God I want his cock and him! The realization makes my thoughts swirl like I’m being thrown off my bike again.

I always carry a condom – it’s a weird damsel in distress on the bike trail fantasy – but now I starting to think, maybe today, here, now, with him? He sucks my finger and then slides it under his warm moist balls and squats a little as I probe. I turned him around and massage his brown eye and prostate with my knuckle. By the way, yes to the question above. Thankfully.

I move us over to the old wooden table in the center of the cabin. Two curtain-less windows let in the daylight. The sweat glistens on his back. I lick him clean. Then slipping the condom on to my cock I say, “Baby, my cock wants you, do you want my cock?” and he insinuates his tight ass into my rod and purrs “Fuck yes.”

I lay him on his back on the table, hook his legs under my arms and stroke his firm staff while grinding my bulging dick into his taint. I lick the pre-cum off my hands then go to my knees and take him in my mouth. So warm, so thick, his cock’s aroma fills my head as I slobber the length of its shaft. His balls taste sweaty and sweet, ivory soap turns me on, and I struggle to keep him in my mouth and when he says “Oh baaaaaby!” and I raise off him to watch his prick spasm spunk into the half light of the late morning. I grab his legs in my arms and entered.

He’s on fire as his muscles contract to meet my surprising aggressiveness with a teasing dalliance like he was just isn’t going to give it up so easily. I close my eyes and run my nose along his instep and plead, “Please give me that ass, I need it” and he relents. I go balls-deep and stream cum into the condom then collapse, unaware of the world, out of it, never to return to it again.

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