I broke up with my boyfriend after nearly twenty years of monogamy, and happily moved back to our hometown, where both sets of our parents still lived and worked at the town’s only bank. Anthony preferred the restless, even chaotic energy of New York City over the gentle predictability of our small town in Oklahoma, this fundamental difference in our temperaments creating a greater gulf between us than our dawning comprehension I could no longer endure the staid domesticity of coupledom so many of our gay friends espoused to with a fervor I found downright suffocating.
I first saw Kevin Adler buying apples at the fruit stalls lining the dusty state road outside of town, and knew right away he was Trey’s son, as I’d gotten to know Trey and his wife pretty well during the years after high school when he and I had worked the rodeo circuit together.
I’m not sure what Anthony would make of Kevin, who’s about twenty years our junior.
Nor do I give a damn, truth be told.
The second time I saw Kevin, he was swimming in the Glass Pond. I was delighted to discover he was wearing nothing but a huge grin and a Cherokee arrowhead on a black cord around his neck.
“Kevin!” I called, tilting my broad-brimmed hat down my brow to shade my eyes, as I reined Sadie to a stop. I twisted a little in the saddle to better look at the dark-haired man’s long, lean frame, as he slowly straightened up in the shallows. “What’re you doing down here? Trying to give Missus Glass a stroke?”
“No, she never comes here. Too long a walk for such an old lady,” he said, closing one eye against the sun to look up at me on the filly. “I’m takin’ a break. It’s gotta be at least ninety degrees already. I gotta drive both of Mister White’s tractors up to my granddad’s garage this mornin,’ so they can get worked on.”
My heart was hammering wildly in my chest. I hardly heard a word he said, as I eagerly memorized every detail of his nakedness shimmering in the morning sunlight.
He was well over six feet tall, with long, long arms and legs, relatively narrow shoulders, and a flat chest dominated by huge, deep red nipples. He had an impressively lean midriff bisected by a dense line of hair that curled past his navel and thickened before it met the surprisingly small triangle of dark pubes fanning over his pale lower groin.
I marveled at his muscular, white ass, while he turned a quick circle, wordlessly scanning the horizon for anyone else on horseback.
I had a hard time swallowing, as I eyed his flaccid dick and plump, hairless scrotum made taut by the cold pond water. His dick was circumcised like mine, his plump dickhead the shiny, fiery red of young men subject to frequent, unbidden erections.
“You down here a lot?” I asked, hoping my voice didn’t betray my arousal, as my cock fully erected in the tight confines of my blue jeans.
This is the first 500 or so words of my short story, “The Glass Pond,” which appears in my collection of six gay erotic stories available here on Amazon. It's free with Kindle Unlimited.
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