Karl-1

Timber

This is an adult gay story if you aren’t an adult or “gay” isn’t your thing, you’d better look for something else to entertain you. Cheers, Blake. 🔞

Hi Guys, Blake here. Just a quick word before you go ahead. Writing takes time, a lot of time, and it’s something I love doing so I’d like to thank all of those who are supporting me with their paid subscriptions. I know that option isn’t possible for everyone and I’m certainly not judging. Alternatively, the eBook of my Christmas at White Swallow story is available at $1.99 (I recommend the Smashwords option). Thank you! Blake.

We were in the midst of one of those mini heatwaves that from time to time descend over the town in the height of summer; periods of dry heat that seem to make the forest brittle with the sound of crushed tree needles or the snap of bone-dry branches underfoot and the deep cracks in the mud of empty puddles.

It was the beginning of my holiday; in a few days I’d be heading to Black Water Bay with some friends for a bit of swimming and fresh sea air, but I already wanted to make the most of my free time.

After lunch, I packed a small rucksack with some snacks, water, and a book, then I left the house. The hot wind hit me right away, blowing my skin dry, but I knew that once I reached the forest trail, I’d be comfortable in the shade of the evergreens. My plan was to follow the Yellow Creek trail up to the plateau, find a nice viewpoint, read my book, and maybe even take a nap.

I live on the edge of town, so from my home it was only a short walk to Smoky Pond, one of the many hot springs that make it famous. As inviting as they were in winter, or even on a summer night when temperatures are always rather fresh, on a day like that, at 1 p.m., their wispy steam seemed almost hellish. So it wasn’t surprising that no one was swimming or splashing around in the misty water. A small flock of birds circled the pond, hunting for insects—swallows, with their black-and-white plumage, it would be months before they’d moult into their snowy winter feathers, a unique subspecies that has given my town its name: White Swallow.

From there, the first section of the trail was the most strenuous of the hike, before reaching the plateau. The path followed a series of sharp bends on the mountainside, slaloming uphill between the tall pine trunks. It was the quickest way on foot to reach the top of the slope before it levelled off onto the plateau. Of course, there was another way to get there: a small road that led to a parking lot near a picnic area, making it ideal for seniors, families with children, and those with mobility issues.

It took me about half an hour to reach the summit. I’m reasonably fit: I hike, run, and ski, so the climb wasn’t necessarily challenging for me, though I must admit that in that heat, I was glad when the trail finally flattened out. I stopped to get some water out of my backpack and then continued walking toward the picnic area I could see in the distance. I was only wearing shorts, a tank top, and, of course, my backpack, yet it felt as if I was carrying too many layers of clothes. I felt sweat pooling under my armpits, and I raised my arms to let them breathe, it was refreshing; a little sweat musk hit my nostrils—not entirely unpleasant, to be honest.

As I approached the picnic tables, I noticed among the branches the outline of a white pickup truck parked nearby. The stillness of the forest was interrupted only by the occasional chirping of birds, my feet crunching the dry ground, and a few distinctively repetitive grunts coming from the direction of the picnic tables.

It was the grunts that stopped me: decidedly human, which was a relief, but also decidedly not what you’d expect to hear in the middle of a forest. I continued walking toward the source of the noise, slowly, careful where I stepped. Not far from the tables was a large boulder, one of many scattered throughout the forest, discarded there since the last ice age. I aimed at it and hid behind its mass. On one side, I could now clearly see the logo of the pickup truck, the only vehicle in the parking lot: three stylized pine trees, mountains in the background, and, in a semicircle, the words Powers Timber Enterprise.

So I assumed the noise came from one of the Powers twins, the owners of the town’s largest timber yard. I didn’t know them well, but my dad had used their company when he’d done some work on the house where I grew up. I knew their names though, Jeff and Arnold. They were quite a bit older than me: I was 34, and they must have been in their early fifties. I remember being fascinated by them as a kid: there aren’t many twins in White Swallow, and as far as I knew, the Powers were the only identical ones, so I had no idea which one was Jeff and which one was Arnold. Besides, the last time I’d run into one of them, I think it was Jeff, was a few years earlier, when he came to my notary office to sign some papers.

I thought the noise was due to one or both of the twins trying to cut down a tree or some branches, and I felt rather stupid for my stealthy way of hiding behind the boulder. I was about to step back onto the trail and continue my walk when I froze and quickly regained my vantage point, about 15 meters from where the action was taking place.

The two twins were standing each along one of the longer sides of a picnic table. Between them, a woman was lying on her stomach, her breasts spreading out on the side under the weight of her body. Both twins were bare chested, naked with their jeans, rolled down around their ankles. One was fucking the woman while the other was being blown by her.

It is well known that the woods are a place where people get up to any kind of things; I might have been guilty of that myself in the past…, but doing it at 2 PM on a summer day in a popular picnic area was a whole different story. Not that I was complaining; on the contrary, I was quite amused by it and, to be honest, turned on.

I didn’t really care for the woman; I just hoped she was enjoying herself, and judging by the way she was eating that cock, I concluded she was.

What turned me on, however, was seeing the naked twins facing each other in a mirror image. As I said, they were two men I was only vaguely aware of, and who fascinated me when I was a child, and they were in their late teens or early twenties; afterward, apart from bumping into them from time to time, a common occurrence in a small town, I’d never really thought about them again: I was a youngish, reasonably fit gay man in a town with plenty of youngish, reasonably fit gay men, which was exactly what I went for; so the idea of ​​finding two lumberyard workers in their fifties attractive had never even occurred to me.

How wrong could one be? The two men were both wearing caps, undoubtedly bearing their company logo, beneath which tufts of salt-and-pepper hair escaped in wavy curls. The care they must have taken in shaving hadn’t extended to their pecs, which were broad and covered in a thick, dark fur that thinned over their taut abs before spreading out again into a wild bush crowning two cocks perfectly matching their bodies. Their trade was timber, and they seemed made of wood: solid, strong, and hard. Both twins had a clear tan line that stopped around their necks and just below their shoulders, a workman’s tan.

Their grunts reminded me of the sound of an old-fashioned lumberjack saw, or a game of tennis: a series of urgh-ahs, urgh-ahs, rhythmically repeating itself. The twin who was fucking pulled out, the woman rolled over onto her back, and I recognized her for Mrs. Powers, Jeff Powers’ wife, if I’d got the twins’ names right. Okay, so they were keeping it in the family. I knew the brothers lived in the timber yard, each in his own wooden house, one with his wife of course, but maybe things weren’t that simple...

They switched positions; now, the twin who was fucking was going at it with growing enthusiasm, his cock sliding in and out like the classic piston, Mrs. Howell was sucking the other twin, whose cock was disappearing between her mouth and the hand wanking it. She began to let out suffocated cries, still rather high-pitched and shrill. A few moments later, the twin who was fucking her pushed deep between her legs, letting out a truly animal-like grunt, the kind that reaches the town in the autumn when the deer are lusting. He thrust in a few more times, then withdrew, leaning over the woman, kissing her belly, her nipples, and then her mouth. The other twin had withdrawn, he said something I didn’t get, apparently happy to finish off later or save it for another time.

Mrs. Powers got up from the table, her long blond hair falling disorderly over her face, and stood there naked. Even I could appreciate that she was an attractive woman, perhaps younger than the twins. Her body resembled theirs in the sense that there was a certain firmness, a supple solidity to it. Her large breasts were firm—not that I’m an expert, but rather than giving the impression of being fake, they seemed to be naturally able to fight against the force of gravity. The same tan lines were visible on her; I assumed she worked for the family business too. Her clothes lay on the table bench; she picked them up; they turned out to be just a loose, light summer dress and a canvas bag. Before putting on the dress, she took some tissue paper from the bag, wiped herself, and threw the crumpled paper back in the bag.

“Are you coming with us?” she asked the twin she had been sucking off a few minutes earlier. “Nah, I’ll just chill out here for a while, I got my beers...” I didn’t know why, but I was pretty sure he winked at her.

“Ok man, see you later.” That was his brother. “That was fun!”

“It was!” Mrs. Powers wrapped an arm around her husband waist and kissed him on the lips, then did the same with the other twin, who had pulled up what turned out to be jeans dungarees, without bothering with a T-shirt.

Her husband did the same, and the couple headed for the pickup. A few instants later, the engine started and they drove off down the small road.

Arnold, if I’d guessed their names correctly, grabbed a can of beer from a cooler bag on the ground, sat down on the bench with his back against the table, and pulled the ring on the can. I wondered what to do next; the best option was to wait a few minutes behind the boulder, return to the path, pretend I’d just arrived, and continue on my way.

I crouched down, careful not to make any noise, and waited.

“You can come out now!” At first, I didn’t realize those words were directed at me; it became obvious when Arnold added, “Yes, you behind the rock, come out; come here get a beer!”

I’m sure I turned as red as the cracked clay soil; I didn’t know what to do. My first instinct was to run away, but if he’d recognized me, it would have been even more embarrassing. Then I thought about it and came to the conclusion that if the twins had decided to have fun in a picnic area, they might also have been prepared to get caught doing it; maybe they’d even liked the idea. I stood up, grabbed my backpack, and checked my shorts. My hard-on was deflating, but the fabric was still stretched under the push from my cock. I hoped he wouldn’t notice it.

I stepped out of my hiding place, onto the path, and headed toward the table. When I was almost in front of him, I raised my arm in greeting, feeling incredibly stupid.

“Come here, come here, don’t worry.” His voice was deep, quite serious, but I could tell he was amused.

“I’m Arnie, by the way.” So I was right!

I sat down next to him on the bench. “Arnie Powers, and you are?”

He turned to look at me. His eyes were dark brown, a series of lines radiated from the corners as he smiled at me, creasing his skin and making him look even more like he’d been carved from a piece of wood. He was handsome and his smile friendly. It was as if having seen him naked had opened my eyes to the appreciation of a demographic that I had previously completely discounted.

“Karl, Karl Vidalez.” My voice sounded strange to me, hesitant, and my throat was dry.

“Ah, Vidalez, you must be Álvaro’s son,” he seemed pleased as he said it.

“Yep that’s me! Years ago, my dad bought a lot of planks from you for the house renovations.” I was glad I could tell him that: it gave me time before I had to justify my voyeurism.

“I remember, I know Álvaro well.” That was news to me, but like I said, in a small town, we all end up knowing each other. Still, I hoped he wouldn’t spill the beans to him.

“You must be thirsty. Fancy a beer? It’s nice and cold.” He had a strong local accent, stronger than mine anyway. He said “cold” pronouncing it caaald; my dad does the same.

I nodded and thanked him as he passed me a can. God, it felt good when the icy, fizzy liquid hit my throat.

We sat there in silence, side by side in the refreshing shade, the only sounds being those from our gulps followed by appreciative ahs. My eyes were fixed on the empty parking lot in front of me, which was actually quite pretty, consisting only of gravel bordered by small plane trees and some colourful informative panels.

Arnie, bent down to rummage through his rucksack and came back up with a pack of tobacco in his hand.

“Do you smoke?” he said smaaake and waved the pack in front of me.

“No thanks, but go ahead.” I’ve never smoked, so it wouldn’t have helped me to relax anyway.

“You’re right, nothing good comes out of it” he tossed the pack back. “Listen, I know you were watching us, it’s okay, we’re not shy,” he chuckled. The beer can was empty and he was now leaning on his elbows against the table. A waft of his sweat hit my nostrils, merging with the hoppy taste in my mouth. I didn’t say anything, but I felt my cock harden again pushing against my shorts.

“Claire’s a beautiful woman, isn’t she?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. “It was her idea. -Why don’t we go on a picnic?- We knew what she meant, our Claire!” He didn’t laugh this time, but I knew he was watching me, waiting for a reaction. He turned back to the cooler. “Want to share the last one?”

I nodded. He passed me the can, letting me take the first sip. I was starting to feel more relaxed. I handed him the can, and he brought it to his mouth, his lips touching where mine had been, almost ostentatiously.

“Or maybe it wasn’t Claire you were looking at? Is that it?”

I blushed, but he didn’t say it in a sneering way.

“Is it the twin thing? We’re used to it, people like the idea, you know... the double, the mirror, whatever.”

“No, it’s not that,” I lied. Well, at least it wasn’t just that.

“So you are into men? Fine, no problem with me.”

I wasn’t looking at him, but I was aware that he was staring at my legs, or rather, my shorts. My cock was solid, its outline clearly visible against the green fabric. I felt like a teenager who’d just come out to his dad, the only difference being that I was in my thirties, had just seen what my handsome daddy was capable of, and wanted him to do it to me.

To be continued…

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Be prepared, be safe.

Blake