bench for sale, sex for free
I turned 30 without any fanfare or party. Just a friendly night of lovemaking with my (now) ex-girlfriend. The weekend after was depressing, but I got through it by clearing out my garage and storage shed.
One thing I found was an old weight bench, nothing fancy, just one of those K-Mart kits from the mid-80's with basic square pads on the bench and only adjustments for the leg weights. Two boxes of dumbbells had collected enough dust to lose their distinction, but when I took the bells out they seemed fine.
I hadn't worked out in a decade, and I wasn't about to start now. I had reached a good weight through diet and daily walks, but I didn't have the discipline to "weight train" or "bodybuild."
I listed the weights and bench on a few local classified advertising websites, Recycler and stuff like that. $50 for the whole thing, though I'd take just about anything.
One guy called. He sounded young, but he said he was a college student with a small room in a shared apartment. "I need something I can use in my room, and I'd rather not have to get rid of the bed to fit something in." He measured his room while I measured the bench, and we compared them on the phone.
"Mine's five feet by one and a half across." The bench.
He chuckled and said, "Oh, yeah? Well, mine's seven by five." We both laughed at the unspoken innuendo. Comparing measurements with another guy? "I think I can make it fit," he added, "so when can I come by?"
"I don't know. When can you come by?"
"How about now? Where do you live?" I gave him directions and he promised to call if he wasn't going to make it. "I should be there in about twenty minutes." We hung up.
I was still dirty from another day of garage cleaning (nothing good to sell this time, just a stack of old disco 45's) and I decided to shower before having a guest over. I had also been smoking a joint (best way to clean house) and wanted to clear the scent.
He was early, and I was still drying my hair when I walked into the living room and saw him standing outside the screen door. I was wearing shorts, nothing under or above.
"Hello?" he called through the screen.
"Hey! Hang on," I said, running to open the screen. He stepped in and I stepped back. He was about six feet tall, a little taller than me, with shoulder-length blonde hair and a big, crooked grin. He offered his hand. "Greg."
I shook his hand, noticing his firm grip and his soft, smooth skin. "I'm Ken," I said, nodding toward the garage. He followed me through the kitchen, and I stopped and asked, "Would you like something to drink?"
"Water would be great." I grabbed two bottles and we each sipped water as we walked into the garage. I reached for the button to open the big door, but then I remembered that I had boxes stacked against both sides of the door.
"Sorry, I can't open the door. There's stuff against it. I can go clear it--" He shook his head and pulled his T-shirt off, grinning that crooked smirk and gesturing at me.
"You look cool enough. Now we're on the same team!" I laughed, remembering a hundred games of "shirts and skins" back in school. But I had never noticed the skin so much before.
Greg walked around the bench, looking it over carefully while I stood my ground and looked Greg over. His hair wasn't fluffy or limp, but clean and "hippie" looking. Without his shirt, Greg's chest drew my attention. His chest and shoulders had nice definition, not ripped but nicely toned.
"You look like you work out?" I left it as a question, worried that it might sound like a come-on.
"Not much. Just push-ups and isometrics." I frowned, and he explained as he demonstrated. "Exercises based on flexing and releasing muscle groups without using weights or resistance. Just--flexing." He stood there in his jeans and flexed his arms and hands, looking like a mime pretending to box in slow motion. But his shoulders and biceps swelled and shifted, not huge but right for his body. His stomach was flat, but no six-pack--close to it, though, from the look of his hip where it disappeared into his jeans--
He nodded at the bench. "May I try it?" He stretched out on his back and lifted the leg weights. Through his jeans, his legs looked lean and strong, and I found myself admiring his physique.
I think Greg noticed, but he just smiled and stood up. "Can I ask you something, man?" he asked.
"Shoot."
"I thought I smelled weed in the kitchen. Do you blaze?"
I'm sure I blushed. "I had a joint from a while back."
"Any chance you still have some of it?"
I lead him back inside, and we leaned against opposite kitchen counters while I lit the joint. I hesitated, a little paranoid for a moment. "You're not a cop, are you?"
He didn't laugh. "No, Ken. I'm just a guy."
"Are you old enough to smoke?"
"This would still be illegal. But, yes."
"Can I see your license?"
"Man, that's weird. Come on--"
"I'll show you mind if you shoe me yours."
We both froze at that. I laughed first, and he laughed so hard that I started laughing again. He showed me his license; he was 22 and needed contacts.
I handed him the joint and he puffed a few times. I waved him off when he tried to hand it over, but after his next turn I took a hit. I left the joint in the sink and took him back into the garage.
He reached for his license and I handed it over. "You should lose that. Get a new photo. That one doesn't do you justice."
He blushed! "Uh--thanks." He laughed and looked away, then he looked at me and stared into my eyes. "So, show me and I'll show you?"
I pointed toward the house. "My license is inside--"
He unsnapped his jeans. "We already compared measurements," he said through half-closed lips. I actually wanted to kiss him just then! I've never imagined that, ever--sure, I've jerked off imagining playing around with another guy's cock, but just sex. Not kissing.
Greg waited until I made a move. I untied my shorts and loosened the drawstring. He unzipped his fly and tugged his jeans onto his hips.
I dropped my shorts, blushing because I was rock hard and pointing straight at him. My dick, that is. Erect and ready for action. Greg stared, then he slid his jeans down his legs and stepped out of them.
His dick was just as hard, a little longer and a little thinner, and perfectly shaped. A model dick!
"That's not seven feet!" I said. The length of his room and my weight bench meant nothing anymore.
"Oh, and that's five?" He nodded toward my crotch. "I'm pretty buzzed, I think."
I looked at the scene before me. A stoned young man, naked and erect, joking around about sex with me and standing next to my weight bench. "Sit down," I croaked, my mouth suddenly dry. He sat, his dick proudly saluting the room as he leaned back on the bench.
I knelt in front of him and reached toward his dick. I wrapped my hands around him, overlapping and squeezing rather than pulling. He was hot, hard and smooth, and my hands seemed to do their own thing as they stroked and squeezed and cupped him.
"That feels great," he mumbled.
I took that compliment to heart. His dick was starting to get slick with seeping fluid, and my hands were starting to slip and then stick as he became partly lubricated. I spit into my hand and wrapped it around the head of his cock. My other hand made a ring around his shaft and I stroked steadily, only changing the movements on the tip.
Greg start thrusting into my hand and his hands grabbed mine and followed their movements. He was moaning and smiling, his hair tumbled around his head, and I suddenly realized the reality of this.
I was jerking a guy off. It was fun, a little dirty--fuck that, a lot dirty! I was terrified someone would find out, what would they think, how could I do this?
My hands never missed a stroke. Greg kept thrusting, his hips clenching and his firm legs squeezing the bench, and my hands seemed to get used to doing to Greg what they usually did to me. That is, I was getting the hang of jerking him off, and his swollen erection was proof enough.
If that wasn't proof enough, what happened next settles it.
Greg moaned, "I'm cumming soon," then he started lifting off the bench to feed his cock into my mouth. I tried to hold still and let him fuck my mouth and throat, but my tongue kept getting in the way and I'd gag.
I pushed him to the floor, where he sat on his ass with his legs sprawled out. I shifted to my side and stretched out on the floor, face-first in his crotch. His dick slid across my cheek, slippery with precum.
I wrapped both of my hands around him and jerked him slowly, leaned on my elbows, and settled into a steady hand job on this hot young stranger. His dick kept flinching, little spasms of excitement like foreshocks to the big earthquake that was building. I couldn't tell if Greg was fighting to hold back or something else.
I knew how to test his resolve--and mine.
I had my hands wrapped one above the other, stroking the length of his dick in their combined length. I leaned close and lined up my open mouth with the opening of my upper fist. My hands moved down, pressing down on his nuts and extending his erection.
Greg saw this and gasped. "Fuck!" was all he could say as he started thrusting toward my mouth, my hands sliding back and forth like tightly ribbed pussy walls, and I felt the tip of his dick pass my lips and retreat, then return.
I sucked on the head the next time it entered my mouth, and Greg shoved harder toward me. I sucked hard, holding his dick in my hands. He groaned and his dick spasmed and a hot glob of cum splashed onto the back of my tongue.
I started jerking him, hard and fast, while sucking the tip of his dick constantly between my lips, swallowing that bittersweet cum and trying to memorize every sensation--his hard dick, slipping between my hands and fucking my mouth, so soft and velvety but hard, harsh, hammering at me--
Greg shoved me up and off him, onto my back on the floor, and he came up and over with me, his cock still twitching and spitting ribbons of cum onto my chest, my stomach, my own hard dick. He slid along my body, his erection jabbing at my nuts or at my ass, and I parted my legs in case he wanted to try something--else. But he slid back down and swallowed my dick, rocking his entire body up and down mine to make his mouth dive onto my dick. I grabbed his head and held on, letting him do the work--he knew what he was doing, I didn't feel the urge to thrust or to guide his head. Greg was fucking the floor with his still-hard dick while his mouth made love to my dick, long sucks that were fast and toothy one time, and slow and velvety the next.
Then Greg came up onto his knees and wrapped the thumbs and forefingers of both hands around my dick, one above the other--two little finger-rings, and with his spit lubing them he started jerking me off in two directions, always changing and sometimes bumping, but sending me through a million different little spasms and moans.
Then his mouth surrounded my dick again, and he swallowed repeatedly while rolling his tongue under my dick. The convulsions of his throat pulled his tongue back each time, tugging at my dick.
I didn't even know I was going to cum until my body went limp and my dick throbbed, hard and straight, and a long squirt of hot cum shot into Greg's mouth, and another as I grabbed his hair and dug my hands in, pulling him up and down on my dick while he swallowed. Some cum spilled and smeared on my pubes and his chin, but most of it never left Greg's mouth.
He pulled off while I was still cumming and the last few squirts covered his hands as he rested his hands on my stomach.
I gasped for breath and lay there, waiting, resting.
Time passed. My spasms calmed, my breath became normal.
Just when I felt my dick start to soften, Greg wrapped his slick hands around the shaft and started stroking. I was still sensitive, but he had waited long enough that I wasn't painfully sensitive. His hands felt good, slow and lovingly stroking my cock.
But he wasn't done with me. He slid along to my side and put his cheek against my stomach so his mouth was inches from my dick. The sight of this long-haired man like this made me get a little harder, and he squeezed me to show that he noticed.
Then he started whipping his hand up and down my cock as he slid his mouth onto the head and sucked hard. I mean HARD! I winced, but he kept sucking as he pounded my meat, jerking and jerking, and I was getting aroused faster than ever. He kept stroking, but he suddenly let his tight suction take over and pull his mouth onto my dick. Like soda up a straw, my dick slid into his tight-sealed mouth fast and smooth, deep into his cheek, then into his throat as he shifted to angle his throat better.
His hands jerked the last two inches of my dick, and I suddenly cried out in surprise as my dick spasmed and I came again, harder, longer, and he pulled off and jerked my dick while the cum puddled on my stomach.
Greg came by to look at the weight bench again the next weekend. After that it was to look at my old car, then to borrow some tools, then--
Well, by then there were other stories to tell…
