I was home from college for the summer, and my parents had gone to a convention a good 200 miles away for the weekend. They’d called when they got there, so I knew they were far away. And chance would have it that, for the first time since he’d gotten it, my neighbor, Mr. Ingles, had invited me for an evening in the hot tub he had put in. I couldn’t argue with the circumstances all falling into place. I’d heard Mr. Ingles over there the last couple of weeks with those guys in his hot tub, and it had really turned me on. I don’t know why it had, but for this whole last semester I’d been getting pretty curious, and I had been building up the courage to broaden my sex life. Here, obviously, was my chance.

Mr. Ingles was divorced and probably was in his early fifties, judging from his graying hair, but he had kept himself quite fit. He was a businessman, and I could tell he was doing well at that because of all of the money he must be spending on fixing his house up. His fitness probably was a result of the many hours he spent at the gym. He had a good gym in his basement, which he’d let me use through high school, but he still went to a big fitness center in town frequently. He said he went there for the people he met; he had already had a string of subtenants pass through in the two years he’d been here who he said he’d met at the gym. He said he could use the company and that it was always good to have someone at home to take care of his dog when he traveled.

I had deduced for myself, of course, what the real reason for the string of young, buffed male tenants was. For this reason, I had contemplated and planned over the past couple of weeks what I was going to say if he ever asked me to visit his hot tub. I had noticed him eyeing me when I was doing yard work with my shirt stripped off. And when he did ask me over, I was prepared, although I wondered if the minimalist Speedo I had bought and not yet worn would give too obvious of a signal to him. I’d never done this before and had little idea what was expected of me or how I should signal my interest.

It was dusk when I walked around my fence and into his yard, with both a T and some shorts on over my Speedo, so as not to arouse the other neighbors, and a big towel draped over my shoulder. Mr. Ingles, who quickly told me to call him Stan, was already in the tub, and his CD player was set on some music that had a real good steady beat to it and at a volume that would not impede discussion in the tub but would keep it to the near vicinity of the tub. The tub itself was quite large, more than eight feet in diameter—and a good thing too, because Stan wasn’t the only one in the tub. Across from him was his most recent tenant, Tyrone, I think his name was, a big, black handsome dude, with Mulatto features, a massive chest that I could see above the water line, and a blue, intricate tattoo following the curve of his left pec and wrapping up around his left bicep and down his arm to just above his elbow. I must admit that his presence was a little intimidating, but I’d waited for some time in anticipation of a new experience, so I gave him a friendly wave back in answer to the welcoming gestures from both of them.

“Come on in, neighbor,” Stan invited. “The water’s great and is bubbling up just fine. You’ve met Tyrone, haven’t you?”

“Hi, Tyrone,” I said. “We haven’t actually met yet,” I said, but I’ve seen you around.”

“And I’ve seen you gardening too,” Tyrone said with a big, friendly grin. “Strip down and come on in.”

I pulled my T over my head, glad just now that I’d put so much work into my own bod, pulled my shorts down, taking my loafers with them, and stepped down into the tub. The water was warm and swirled around my legs with a pretty forceful pressure.

“Here, over by me,” Stan said. “Here’s a beer.”

I pushed my way over near Stan and took the beer gratefully. I downed a swig to calm myself, hoping that neither Stan nor Tyrone could see my hand shaking, and settled down on the bench ringing the inside of the tub.

Stan spread his arms around the rim of the tub, and his left arm was draped loosely behind me. We chit chatted for a short while before I took the initiative that I had planned to take. We were talking about the placement of Stan’s hot tub, and I said, “You know, Stan, that I can see your whole tub from my bedroom window. I don’t think it can be seen from anywhere else, but I can see it.”

“Yes, I know,” Stan said. “I’ve sensed that you were up there looking down here on occasion.” There was a short silence, and Stan added, “And I’ll bet you know I don’t bring young men home from the gym because I need the rent money, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I said quietly and took another long swig of beer. “I figured that out some time ago.”

“And that doesn’t bother you, as a neighbor?” Stan asked.

I turned and looked into his baby blue eyes and said, “No, not particularly. Live and let live, I say.”

“So, and still you accepted my invitation to try out my hot tub while your parents are away? They are away, aren’t they? I did see them packing the car and leaving early this morning, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” I answered somewhat breathlessly. “They’re in Baltimore. For the entire weekend.”

“That’s great,” Stan said, giving me a big grin. “So, again, why did you accept my invitation?”

A long swig at the beer. “Curious, I guess,” I answered, “just curious.”

“Have you ever been . . . curious . . . before?”

“No, not actually. No, no . . . never before.” Another nervous swig at the beer. It was beginning to give me a buzz.

“But you’re . . . curious . . . now?”

“Yes, I guess so.”

“Just how curious?”

“Very curious, I guess. I’ve had a long time to think about it.”

With that, Stan moved in until we were touching sides, and the arm he had extended around me wrapped more snuggly and he draped his left hand over my shoulder. His fingers touched my chest lightly, but to me they felt heavy and to be marking a point of no return.

“Curious enough to try a kiss?” Stan asked.

“Yes, I guess so. But I won’t be good at it. As I’ve said, I’ve never done this before.”

His left hand lifted to the side of my head and he turned my face to his. He brought his lips to mine. First a light kiss on the lips, but the one that followed was more firm and he opened my lips with his. He tasted sweet and I hoped I did as well. His right hand went to my lower belly, and I gave a nervous twitch. But he held me there and I settled back down. He pulled his lips away and, in a low voice, said, “I thought that was nice. Are you OK?”

“Yes,” I whispered. “I thought that was nice too.” All of my attention was on that hand on my belly, however. He had moved his index finger to my naval and had pushed it in ever so slightly. He brought his lips back to mine; again a light kiss and then a deeper one. This time he took my lower lip between his and ran his tongue over my lip. My right arm was pretty much pinned against his side, but I instinctively raised my left hand up to cup his head and to hold him to me. His upper lip pushed up, opening my mouth to his tongue. I returned the pressure of the kiss for the first time. I liked this. I had had no idea whether I would, but I did, and I’m afraid that my cock liked it as well. I could feel myself grow. Stan must have known that this should be happening about now, because the hand that was on my belly moved downward and explored the basket of my Speedo until he was able to outline the bulge down there. I first felt him get the measure of my cock, which I was pleased gave him a little shudder, and then he outlined where my balls were. But he returned to my cock and was gently rubbing it.

He broke away from the kiss. “Ah, I can see that you are curious,” he said, “Very nice.”

“Thank you, I guess,” I answered, nervously.

“Yes, very nice, indeed,” he said. While stroking and rubbing below with his right hand, he gently encased his left hand in the hair at the back of my head and pulled my head back. He then buried his lips in my neck, finding an artery pumping blood there. His lips on that artery caused my cock to lurch. He squeezed with his right hand and kept nibbling at my neck, and my cock swelled further.

“Yes, very, very nice indeed,” he mewed. His kisses traveled around to the other side of my neck, and his right hand came back up onto my belly, but only long enough to push under the rim of my Speedo and to gently pull my cock free. I moaned and closed my eyes.

“Here’s where you can feel me too, if you’d like,” Stan instructed. I tentatively moved my free hand to his chest and ran it from nipple to nipple. He had a good chest. I then ran my hand down to his washboard stomach. Very nice shape for his age. Stan’s lips ran through my chest hair and went to my right nipple, where he applied suction. His right hand went down to cup my balls, pulling the Speedo down farther.

“Am I moving too fast for you?” he asked. “Everything still all right?”

“Yes, thanks. That feels nice.”

“Here, let’s get these off,” Stan said, and he raised himself and pushed the Speedo down and off my feet and then flipped it away from the tub. While he was doing this, I looked over at Tyrone. He had pulled himself up on the edge of the tub and had a beefy mitt wrapped around one of the fattest and blackest—far blacker than his own skin—pricks I’d ever seen. He had a look of languid pleasure in his eyes as he watched Stan perform at our side of the tub.

When Stan came back around, he twisted his torso so we were face to face, chest to chest, and gave me a deep kiss. My right arm went around his back, my hand at his waist, and my left hand slid back down his chest to his belly and then, tentatively on down. I gasped as I realized that he hadn’t been wearing any trunks at all. His pubic hair was thick, but not anywhere near as thick and long as the dong my hand found. I gave out little gasps again, and Stan registered his pleasure with his mouth, as I encased the root lightly in my hand and then slowly explored every inch of his tool.

Stan leaned over, fiddled with something on the rim of the hot tub and came back with a big gob of goo in his hand.

“Lubricant, a special kind,” he whispered in my ear, as his hand went under the water and he started lathering up my cock with it. “But we still have to be fairly quick,” he whispered again, “or the hot water would eventually dry it out and wash it away.” We kissed while he slowly hand pumped me up, the lubricant providing additional pleasurable friction. Within a few minutes I was pretty well pumped up. He swung up and around me, suspended over me with his knees on the bench facing me, my legs between his.

“Here, scoot out on the bench a bit,” Stan directed. I did so, beginning to understand what he had in mind, and feeling a little thrill running through my body. This was what I had been most curious about. Stan’s hand went to my cock, and I felt its head being positioned at his asshole.

“But, but, don’t you need something, too?” I asked.

“Oh, I’m well oiled down there already,” Stan said. “Tyrone and I got started before you arrived.”

I could feel my cock go into his ass up to the rim of the helmet. Anxiously, I started pushing up.

“Easy, there, big fellow,” Stan said. “And I do mean big fellow. Give us a minute.”

But in far less than that, I felt I was beyond the first tight area, and his sphincter muscle pulled me on in. Stan did a few up and down pumps while he was skewering himself on me, but, in large, it was a quick slide down my pole. It felt tight and bumpy, not at all what I had expected. Stan winked at me and asked, “How do you like my new sleeve? The first half of the channel you just went up has a sleeve with silicon bumps in it, both inside and out, to give your cock and my hole a ride I bet you haven’t gotten from your women. And with that he reached out and grabbed the rim of the hot tub with both hands and I grabbed his hips with both of my hands, and he began pumping up and down, short and long, slow and fast, until we were both panting and I felt like I was going to explode. He was right; I’d never gotten this kind of ride from a woman before, and I’ll have to admit that I’ve been up a few women’s asses. I was about to shoot, when Stan rose off me and plopped down beside me again. He took my cock in his hand and held it still. I tried to hand fuck him to completion, but he held me still until the urge subsided.

“Not yet, Son,” he whispered in my ear. “Too early for your first load.”

After I had calmed down, Stan took another glob of ointment in his right hand and slid it down my belly and along my upper thigh to my crotch. He put the heel of his hand under my balls, made me spread my legs with the pressure from his fingers, and found my asshole with his index finger. He held the tip of the finger on the rim for a moment, but then pushed it and some of the ointment ever slightly into the hole. I flinched and tightened up.

“No? Not yet? Too fast?” he whispered, as he came out of the kiss.

“No.” I said. “Yes, I mean too fast. In fact, I’m not sure . . .”

“Nothing you’re not sure about,” He whispered. “We won’t do anything you’re not sure about until you are sure. Don’t worry.” His hand came back up to my cock. He took the dick helmet in his fingers. I found I had been holding his the same way without quite knowing what else to do with it.

“Here, follow my lead,” he said. He wrapped his hand around my cock and slid it down to the root. I did the same. Applying pressure, he gently, but steady pumped my cock for about a dozen beats. I did the same in rhythm, and both of our cocks grew. He then slid back up to the helmet, and so did I. Taking that in his fingers, he ran his fingers lightly around the rim of the helmet. I did so as well, and we both gave a low moan, although mine perhaps was deeper and more surprised than his. He put his thumb on the slit at the top of the helmet, and I returned the favor. He brought another finger up and squeezed so that that hole opened more. I began to squirm, but Stan remained rock solid—and I mean rock solid. All the time, he had my lips in his and was deep kissing me. I looked at Tyrone. He was stroking himself with one hand and pinching at the nipples on his gigantic chest with the other.