joshslater
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Himbo Haze
🕑 Added 2022-03-12 06:54:19 +0000 UTCThis is a slight modification of Norsimo's Himbo Haze story published on GSS. It's similar enough that I can't publish it without his permission, and he didn't want it publicly published to confuse it with his writings. He was OK with me showing it in this more restrictive group though.
Frank groaned with effort as he set the box down on the floor. How could two people own this much stuff? His wife Kathleen had wanted to save money, so they had hoisted all of their belongings into a truck and drove themselves to the small, gated community. And by “themselves” Frank of course meant by his lonesome because once again Kathleen had been called away for work. Sure she was a cardiothoracic surgeon, highly skilled, and in high demand, but they had planned to have the weekend off to move into their new home. Still, it couldn’t be helped, and he struggled to not let the resentment bubbling away in his belly become something more than a temporary affliction. He’d just become a partner at the firm where he worked. They probably wouldn’t be seeing much of each other for the next few weeks, at least, and the one time they had set aside for each other had been snatched away. By someone in need. Frank felt a pang of guilt. Who could begrudge a sick kid? No one! And that made it worse, somehow. He had no one to blame. His feelings were left to fester.
The kid would grow up to live a full and happy life, and Frank had to be content with that. At least he had the weekend off. Their stuff wouldn’t just be piled on the lawn, begging to be stolen. Not that a gated community was meant to have much crime, or any crime whatsoever, except crimes against good taste. Garden gnomes and fluorescent pink flamingos? It seemed a bit much but the kind elderly woman at the end of the street had both, in spades. He wiped the sweat off of his brow. 10 boxes down, eight hundred million more to go. Was he supposed to be feeling like a decrepit old man already? He was only 40! 40 was the new 30. He heard that somewhere.
He steeled his resolve. He just had to get the boxes inside. The house came pre-furnished, so thankfully he’d been able to get most of the heaviest stuff taken away to Goodwill. Kathleen’s bespoke mattress with lumbar support was in storage, but that was a crisis for another day. The cable was already transferred to the new house, so it was only a matter of hoisting in his flat-screen and wrestling with the writhing mass of tendrils the manufacturers called wires. The sun was up, which sounded like a plus until one considered that any work done under the sweltering sun was automatically five times more difficult. It was just basic physics, really. Maybe he could convince Kathleen to take up minimalism. Did they really need knives and forks? What about clothes? He was pretty sure that last box was filled with nothing but bowling balls. His mind, for one, was content stewing in resentment. He headed back outside, staggering at the wave of sweltering heat that struck him. How could anywhere be this hot and not be filled with flowing, molten lava? Surely the shrubs would simply ignite from the sheer heat of the place?
He climbed back into the back of the truck, which, nightmarishly, was even hotter than the air outside. If the sliding door got stuck, he’d end up like a roast turkey before anyone found him. He grabbed a box labeled “fragile” and had to resist the urge to hurl it with all his might, and then stomp on the wreckage. He was so sticky and hot and it was really starting to piss him off. Why was moving so stressful? Nothing had worked out the way they had planned, and he and Kathleen hadn’t exactly parted on the best of terms. Work was stressful, and now home was stressful too. Wouldn’t it be nice if things were simpler? Complicated rarely meant better, in his experience anyway.
Frank hoisted the box up and began to awkward descent down the ramp. Maybe if he fell and broke his leg he’d actually get to see his wife at the hospital. He managed to safely make it to the ground and turned, only to stare into a wall of muscle wrapped in blue cotton. Unsteady under the load of the box he looked up from the chest and found the face of a young man. Younger than what the massive body suggested. Frank's gaze was caught by the young man’s warm, brown eyes, and he could swear feeling himself falling into their dark depths. Like he had been darted by a tranquilizer gun.
“Got it!” The man said, grabbing the box before it fell to the ground.
Frank focused back on the man as if he had just woken up, and stared dumbly for several more moments as if everything about the situation confused him before he returned to his senses. The scent of coconut and musk swirled around his head and alarm bells were ringing inside it, telling him something was wrong. Why? This was just a helpful neighbor coming to say hello. The lad seemed content to stand holding the box. It didn’t even seem heavy in his grip. Not that it would. The lad’s arms were enormous. So was his chest, and legs, and everywhere. Dear lord the kid was jacked. His smoothies had to be 90% steroids. He was bigger than a normal man, that was for sure, but the sheer size of his muscles suited him perfectly. Every part of him was in perfect proportion. Frank found himself staring at the lad’s massive pecs. He swallowed hard and shook away the idea that it would be perfectly ok to twist his nipples. The boy chuckled warmly and flashed his brilliantly white teeth. He was perfect. In every way Frank could imagine. Was that what the warning bells were banging on about? That he was married and this massive, cute, tanned, smooth, smiling boy was... what? Present? Helping? The boy turned and carried the box into the house, and Frank scurried back into the truck, relieved that the darkness concealed his erection.
The boy returned a short while later, and Frank got to see him in all his glory as he stood ready with another box in the opening of the truck. The boy wasn’t wearing a shirt but a tight crop-top squeezed over his chest and shoulders. Dear Lord, was that an 8-pack? His shorts clung tightly to his ass as he grabbed the box from Frank’s arms and headed back inside. How could an ass be so firm and muscular, yet jiggle like a bubble butt? From the angle Frank had passed the box, it would be impossible for anyone to fail to notice his erection. He didn’t even like men! He didn’t have a problem with gay people, live and let live, he had marched for gay marriage to be legalized, but he was well and truly straight. His cock had something else to say entirely. Fuck. How old was the kid anyway? Must be at least 20. Still, he couldn’t just grope the lad in broad daylight. There were rules about such things. At the minute he couldn’t remember any of them, but he was certain they existed. The lad was dressed so colorfully. Bright blue crop top, red shorts, pink baseball cap, facing backward. The lad would shield his eyes from the sun with a strong hand from time to time, the idea of turning the hat around not crossing his mind. Frank caught a hint of platinum blonde hair peeking out from under the cap as the boy grabbed yet another box from him. He could see the arm muscles bulge as they took the load. This close he could see the veins on the inside of the arms as the boy gripped the handles of the moving box. He would flash a smile and turn around, showing the grove of his spine running down into the red shorts. His ass moving from side to side as he carried the box away into the house. Frank turned around and stared at where the boxes should be in confusion. Where did they all go? He glanced down at his watch. How in the world had two hours passed? It was far too hot in the truck to think properly. He felt sticky all over from sweat. The van company would be by later that evening to pick up the keys to the truck, so Frank set about locking it all up securely. Had it gotten even warmer? As a politician on the news had said, who wouldn’t want the summers to be a few degrees hotter? Anyone with a brain.
The cold, air-conditioned air in the house felt wonderful against his sweat-damp body. Where was the boy hiding? "Hey! Want something to drink?" he called out. He dragged himself to the kitchen and pulled out a pitcher of lemonade. Thank you foresight. It was nice and tart, just the way he liked it. He cursed himself he only had one glass. He hadn’t exactly been expecting company. He frowned. That didn’t sound right. He looked in the cabinet again, no glasses to be found. He glanced down at the pile of boxes neatly stacked on the floor. All of them perfectly, pristinely sealed shut. Expertly, if he did say so himself. He didn’t remember ever having a glass with watermelons on it, but it had to be his, it was in his house after all. The fruit glinted in the light. He really was tired. How in the world could he forget his favorite glass? Every man had one. Perfect for a tall, cold lemonade, or any beverage really. He took a swig and pushed the glass across the counter to the boy, who smiled and turned it. When did he show up? Didn't matter. Frank was about to call out and say that the lad had turned it to the exact spot he’d taken a drink from, but by the time the thought reached his mouth, the lad had gulped down the entire contents of the glass in one swig.
“You make really great lemonade!” The boy said happily with that cute smile. Those brown eyes locked with his.
Frank felt his chest puff out with pride and a blush settle on his face. Bashfully he looked away.
“Do you want some more? It’s a scorcher out there,”
“Yes please!” the kid said.
Frank poured himself another glass and took another sip, more of a hearty draught, really. He wasn’t sure how, but he’d managed to drink at exactly the same place the boy did. There was a hint of coconut lip balm mixed with the lemon. He had made a conscious effort to turn the glass a full 180 degrees, but he must have turned it in the wrong direction. He chuckled to himself about the silly mistake. Again he pushed the half-full glass across the counter to the boy, and again he turned it around, pressing his lips to where Frank's had been just a moment before. This time the boy was emptying the glass in several shorter sips, and between each he was looking at Frank. What in the world was going on? He felt like a teenager again, like in high school when he had tried to speak to his crush. He had a million thoughts, all of them firing at once into a jumbled mess so not one of them was really clear. A warm blanket of thoughts, drowning out his internal voice. Ah, to be young again and trying to ask the love of his life to homecoming. What was the name again? He was too tired to care.
“The pool?” Frank asked, half aware of what the boy had just asked him. It had something to do with a pool.
“Yeah! I go there lots and it’s really fun!” the boy said happily.
Somewhere in the depth of his mind Frank managed to bring forth memories from their visit to the community from before the purchase. Inside the center ring of houses was a park with a tennis court, a boule court, and a swimming pool. He hadn't cared much for it at the time but now he wasn’t ashamed to say that it was the best idea he’d ever heard in his entire life. A nice way to cool off, get in a bit of exercise, and get to see the boy in something even skimpier. "I need a quick shower and a change. I'll be right back!" he said excitedly and sprinted up the stairs without waiting for a reply.
He practically tore his clothes off as he rushed to get into the shower. He turned the temperature down low and was surprised by just how cold it got. It was his first time ever using the shower and he had expected it to be warmer, with the water sitting in the tubes and all, but then the house had been chilled by the AC. He clasped a hand over his mouth to keep himself from screaming. Dear God, how could anything be this cold? At least it got his cock to behave itself a little bit. He grabbed the soap, thankful that he’d at least had the forethought to unpack it, and washed away the sweat and grime that had gathered on his body. A body that he for one, was pretty proud of. He’d spent quite a bit of time at the gym, time that Kathleen wanted him to spend with her, but the truth was that the gym was a time for him to decompress. He’d lift things, he’d punch things, work off all of his frustrations, and let the showers wash away all the negativities down the drain. Kathleen had her book club. It was vital to them that they don’t become one of those couples that do everything with each other, losing their own identities. They were Frank and Kathleen, not Frathleen. The name had stuck. All their couple friends called them that. He had to smile and pretend he didn’t hate it. He was pretty toned, although compared to ol’ Goliath downstairs he was practically a twink.
Fuck! The cold water had lost the war against his cock. Thinking about what was waiting downstairs had made him so hard again it almost hurt. The thing would probably break out of a stainless steel chastity cage at this point. Every time he closed his eyes he was bombarded with images of the boy. His strong, angular chin, the veins that moved like tiny snakes on his arms as he hoisted the boxes with ease. Even the back of his legs, the lad’s fucking calves were turning him on. And he smelled fucking amazing. He couldn’t even place what the smell was, it didn’t smell like a cologne or a deodorant. Or an aftershave. Coconut and musk. Manly and flippant at the same time. It was like the smell was coming from the lad’s skin. Dear lord all he wanted to do was squeeze the boy close and huff the smell forever.
He turned the shower off and watched the vortex swirl down the drain. If only it could take all his worries away too. If only. If only. Frank wiped himself dry with a towel, deciding it was perfectly suited to be reused at the pool. Reduce, reuse, recycle. Save the planet by wearing nothing at all. He giggled to himself. Had he poured vodka in that lemonade? His thoughts felt hazy, heavy yet bubbly, but everything still seemed clear. He couldn’t quite describe it. Like his head was filled with white noise. It was kind of relaxing, honestly. Like listening to a bottle of sparkling wine. He stepped out of the bathroom, into his bedroom, and ruffled through his drawers. He had a pair of swim trunks in there somewhere. Big, and long, Hawaiian print. Impossible to miss. He frowned. Where the fuck did they go? He closed the drawer and reopened it, hoping that somehow, his shorts would appear. He sighed and sat on the bed, chuckling to himself as he saw his tight speedos sitting on the bed. He really was tired. He must have gotten them out before he went for a shower. Kathleen wasn’t there to chastise him for showing too much skin. Telling him to act his age. Act his age! He was 40, not a pensioner. He’d more than worked hard enough at the gym to pull off the look. Let the housewives stare. Unfortunately for him the speedos did just about the worst job imaginable concealing his erection. He felt his chest puff up with pride. Let the men stare in envy too.
He heard a knock at the door and the boy came barreling in without waiting for a response. Frank couldn't form a coherent thought as he watched, mouth agape, the smooth, tanned, mountain of muscles move towards him. Everything was so... round. The shoulder muscles. The arm muscles. The chest muscles. They must have some complicated names in Latin or Greek or whatever, but couldn't be bothered with anything but moving his gaze down the body, as if he was licking it clean. Or dirty. Was that little fabric even legal? He really should say something, anything. Move his mouth, close his mouth, make any kind of noise, really, but he just stared. Stared at the tight, white speedos, contrasting against his hazel-tanned skin, and leaving no doubt exactly how well endowed he was. They were wearing the same thing! Their outfits, what little there was, fucking matched. At least he wasn’t drooling. From his mouth, anyway. He might not even need to get to the pool to soak his speedos at this rate. The kid’s speedos sat completely differently on him. While they hugged Frank’s hips, they were riding low, pulled below the waist of the lad. The elastic band bisected the boy’s Adonis belt, leaving him with the almost insurmountable urge to slide his fingers down into the lad’s groin. Fuck. Fucking fuck! The kid was just standing there. How could that be so sexual? So enticing? So perfect? No sign of a tan line. Frank had to steady his knees. He knew exactly what that meant.
"Have you oiled up already?" the boy asked.
"Oiled?"
"Yeah, it's afternoon, but the sun still burns if you're not careful."
"Oh. I don't know if I have any..."
"I got you. Just stand still."
The boy squeezed something white out of a tube into his hand. A tube Frank didn't see before. Too distracted he concluded. The boy began gently rubbing Frank's face with the cool cream. He stood still, eyes closed, feeling the soft hands rubbing him from the forehead down. Following the contours of his nose, his cheeks, his neck. It smelled of coconut and musk. The boy's almost naked body was radiating heat in front of Frank. Unconsciously Frank to a small step forward, towards the heat. The boy chuckled and slapped him lightly on the chest. "Stay still, pretty boy," and continued down his shoulders and back. He squeezed out a bit more cream and continued down Frank's back. "Pretty boy" echoed in Frank's mind. Once his massaging hands reached the speedo's Frank could feel the hands slipping into them and slowly rubbing his butt cheeks and then moving out to the sides. Frank never considered saying anything, but he opened his eyes, looking into the boy's clavicle. The boy took a step back and smiled. He squeezed out another dab of cream in his hand. "And the front," he said and nimbly took a step to position himself behind Frank. From behind he started to work the sunscreen - was it sunscreen? - the cream into Frank's chest and work his way down the abs. Again, as he reached the speedos, he slipped his hands into them and began to stroke Frank's very erect penis. Just as Frank thought the boy spent more time than needed for sunscreen the hands disappeared, only to reappear working their way down one of his legs. He was immediately angry with himself for thinking that way, until he remembered the boy couldn't hear his thoughts. But how could he know the boy thought he was pretty? Oh, right, he had said it out loud.
"There! All done!" Frank again felt like he had dozed through something. Was that really both legs? He looked down at his smooth, gleaming body. The outline of his dick was visible as if shrink-wrapped in white lycra. The boy was beaming with accomplishment. There was a pervasive and distracting smell of coconut and musk that made it impossible to focus on anything. The boy looked impatient. Right! The pool. They were both going to show off their bodies by the pool. They were out of the house in no time, almost like time had jumped forward, or perhaps Frank just couldn't remember such insignificant moments. What really mattered was walking next to him after all. Big glistening muscles. He held up his hand to shield his eyes from the sun. "I got you, bro" said the boy and handed over his pink ballcap. Frank accepted it and put it on his head, brim back, and then promptly held his hand back up against the sun. He was excited. Surely they could touch each other as much as they wanted in the water.
