Pleasure at Last Read online

  Pleasure At Last

  What a glorious day. I had been backpacking for over seven hours. It was

  a hot and sunny Saturday in September. The climb up the mountains,

  carrying my camping gear - a pup tent, my sleeping bag and food supplies,

  was quite a work out - I loved it! The long hours of work at the hospital

  had been quite stressful of late and I was tired of the day-to-day

  pressures and demands of the job. This is just the break that I needed. My

  wife thought I was crazy to plan a week hiking in the mountains, carrying

  everything I needed on my back.

  "If you need a break, why don't you just rest at home, read, swim in the

  pool?" she asked.

  That wouldn't re-energize me, I need to get away", I told her.

  Even though I ran and exercised almost daily and loved my job, I felt that

  I was getting out of shape both mentally and physically and wanted to do

  something different to recharge my body and spirit. Maybe this was midlife

  crisis catching up to me but I just felt something was missing in my life

  of late. Whatever it was, I just knew this was the right thing for me to

  do. I extensively researched the mountains and their trails before picking

  a route that would provide me hard exercise, the beauty of nature, and the

  solitude I thought I craved. My chosen route would really take me away

  from everyone and everything. My wife worried that I would break a leg or

  get eaten by a bear. I laughed and told her not to worry. I'd be back in

  a week.

  But before I continue about my life changing adventure, let me tell you

  about myself. My name is Jack and I am 59 years old. I don't feel like I

  am almost 60 and most people say I look at least ten years younger. I am

  5' 10" in height, 160 pounds, with a relatively thin runner's body. I

  always swore I would not have a potbelly like my father had, and up to this

  point I am proud that I have kept my stomach flat and somewhat

  ripped. Although I certainly would not call myself muscular, the years of

  running and moderate weight lifting have kept my muscles defined especially

  in my legs, arms, chest, and stomach. I have a full head of salt and

  pepper hair, am clean-shaven, and have hazel eyes. I have been married 35

  years to a good woman and have five children and six grandchildren. I am

  liberal in nature and have a fairly easygoing manner. I have always had a

  lot of friends but not since high school would I say I have had a "best"

  friend. My kids are all on their own now. I love and am proud of them

  all. Although far from easy, life is pretty good. I tend to keep any

  strong feelings internalized and a piece of me has always been suppressed

  by choice - hey, life is full of choices.

  I finally reached the summit of the mountain I had been climbing where I

  planned on setting up my base camp. Sweating profusely I dropped my

  backpack under a tree and took off my shirt, socks, and hiking boots. A

  soft breeze began to cool my skin. Smiling to myself I thought, "Why stop

  there?" I have always been somewhat of a nudist at heart, which my wife

  does not like. My sleeping in the nude is fine but she doesn't think it is

  appropriate to be nude outside the bedroom. Only if she is away do I walk

  nude in the house or swim naked in the swimming pool. I love the freedom

  of being without clothes.

  "No one is within miles of here", I thought, "This is my chance for

  complete freedom."

  I took off my jeans and boxer shorts. I walked over to edge of the

  clearing and looked down the mountain. I felt so good, so alive. I spread

  my legs wide and stretched my arms to the sky. I felt like I was the king

  of the mountain! I knew what would happen once I shed my clothes. Let's

  be honest - that's why I did it. I had been planning and thinking about

  this moment for the last six hours, getting erections throughout the day as

  I thought what I would do when I reached my camp site. So I wasn't

  surprised that as I stood there that I felt my cock begin to stir. I

  closed my eyes and enjoyed the sun on my body, the breeze, and the

  sensuality of the moment. It had been a long climb, this was my planned

  reward. I reached down and took my cock in hand and began to slowly caress

  and stroke it. It quickly hardened to my full 7 inches and I spread a drop

  of pre-cum over my cock head. Uncut, I loved the feeling of my foreskin

  gliding back and forth along my shaft. My shaved testicles hung low from

  the heat of the day. I loved when they did that. Lost in the moment I

  continued to gently and slowly stroke my cock with one hand and with the

  other caress my chest, my nipples, my abs, and my balls. I wanted this to

  last as long as possible so I was taking my time, although my excitement

  was growing. Suddenly my thoughts were broken as I heard a noise to my

  left. I opened my eyes and saw another guy with a backpack staring at me

  not 20 yards away. We both froze for a long moment.

  He finally broke the spell by saying, "I am so sorry, I am just surprised

  to see someone here".

  Red faced, I stammered, "I didn't think there was anyone around either".

  Realizing that I still held my now rapidly wilting dick in my hand, I

  quickly dropped it and sprinted over to where my clothes were and put on my

  shorts and pants. This had to be the most awkward moment of my life. I

  could feel my face burn in embarrassment. No one but my wife had ever seen

  me masturbate before. "He must think I'm a pervert", I thought.

  But instead of going away as I had hoped, he walked over to where I was

  standing and simply introduced himself as "Tom, Tommy to my friends", he

  said, and reached out his hand. I automatically took it and suddenly

  realized he was shaking the hand that just a few minutes ago was stroking

  my dick. I dropped my hand and redden even more. Reading my thoughts he

  laughed and just started to make small talk about hiking, camping, and the

  weather. He told me that he had a cabin nearby and was just coming back

  from a long strenuous hike himself. He too was up here for a week of

  getting away from it all. Tom immediately put me at ease with his easy

  chatter. The more we talked the more I felt relieved that he wasn't going

  to comment on seeing me jacking off. Tom appeared to be in his late

  forties, or early fifties. He had thick dirty blond hair with some specks

  of gray in the temples, and was a couple of inches taller than me. He had

  a rugged face with a square jaw and high cheekbones. His intense blue eyes

  actually twinkled as he talked, further putting me at ease.

  As we recounted the trails we had hiked that day and the sights we'd seen,

  the skies suddenly got dark and thunder rolled over the mountains. There

  was lightening cracking in the distance and the storm clouds were rapidly

  moving towards where we were standing. I told him that I'd like to talk

  more but I had better set up my pup tent quickly so as not to get wet. He

  reminded me that h
e had a cabin nearby and offered me shelter; he could

  tell this was going to be a bad storm. I at first refused, but quickly

  came to my senses as the wind began to howl and the lightening got closer

  and closer. I grabbed my gear and we made a run for his cabin. As we ran,

  he hooted and hollered to "run like a bitch in heat", which made me

  laugh. We made it through the cabin door just in time as a torrential

  downpour started.

  The cabin was rustic but comfortable. It was warm and dry, and had the

  pleasant scent of pine. It was just one great room with large windows on

  all four sides that provided beautiful views and cross ventilation. I

  looked around. Tom told me that his grandfather built the cabin many years

  before out of logs he had hewed himself from trees he had chopped down from

  the forest. The kitchen area had a counter and cupboards, a table and four

  chairs, and propane stove. Tom explained that water was readily available

  from a mountain stream that ran behind the cabin. The living area had

  stuffed easy chairs and two side tables, each with a kerosene lamp. There

  was a double bed in the back with a quilt and many pillows on it. A

  bedside table and another kerosene lamp completed the room.

  "How did you ever get all of this furniture, lamps, and bedding way up here

  in the middle of nowhere?" I asked.

  "The tables and chairs were made by my grandfather right here," he told

  me. "They are so solidly built that they will last forever. Over the years

  the quilts, the sheets, the pillows, and pads for the easy chairs were

  brought up by backpack, as were the lights and kerosene. We simply replace

  things as needed. This cabin has been in my family for three generations

  and the men of the family have always considered it a sacred trust to keep

  it outfitted and in good shape. I myself come up here at least twice a

  year, as does one of my brothers. How about something to eat?" he asked.

  "I'm starving" I told him and went to my backpack to get out some dried

  meat and fruit.

  "Put that stuff away," he told me. "I'm going to make you a real mountain

  meal - rabbit stew".

  He pulled out of a bin under the counter some potatoes, carrots, and

  radishes. He began to peel them, chop them, and put them in a big pot.

  "I got these out of my garden that I planted in the spring", he said. "It's

  a bumper crop this year - more than I or my brother could possibly eat and

  smoke".

  "Did he say 'smoke'?" I asked myself. Puzzled, I let it go.

  When he was finished with the vegetables he went to his backpack and with

  much flourish pulled out a dead rabbit saying "Abracadabra!" We both burst

  out laughing.

  "I caught it for dinner just before I, uh, interrupted you", he smiled.

  Thinking of that moment I blushed.

  With that he began to skin the rabbit, cutting the meat in chunks of meat,

  and browning them on a skillet. He then added the rabbit meat, spices, and

  water to the pot and put it on the camp stove to cook.

  "It'll take about an hour or so", he said. "Let's sit and relax."

  "Well at least I can supply the cocktails", I said, and went to my backpack

  and pulled out one of my flasks of Jack Daniels and poured three fingers in

  each of two glasses.

  "This is the life!" we both said at the exact same time. We

  laughed. "Cheers!" we said again at the same time, as we clicked our

  glasses together.

  Over the next hour we told each other what we did for a living and provided

  each other details about our personal lives. He too was married, and to

  the same woman for 27 years. He had two daughters, a granddaughter and a

  grandson, and another one on the way. Over a most delicious and filling

  dinner we continued talking nonstop, getting into politics, religion, and

  sports. We were remarkably of the same mind on many topics. We both voted

  for Obama, neither was particularly religious, and both like college sports

  much better than the pros. Normally I am a fairly quiet person but that

  night I never ran out of something to say or a question to ask. Tom made me

  so at ease that I felt the freedom to give my honest opinion and deepest

  thoughts about everything we discussed. It was amazing how similar our

  lives were and how much we thought alike. After cleaning up the dishes and

  pans we sat down for more drinks and good conversation.

  "Tommy", I said, "I never had anyone I could talk so freely with before. I

  almost feel like I've known you all my life".

  "I feel the same way, Jack," he said. "In just a few hours you have

  become the confident I have always wanted and I am glad you finally are

  calling me "Tommy'".

  He jumped up and said, "Let's celebrate our new friendship!" With that he

  pried up a floorboard under one of the rugs, pulled out a tin box, opened

  the lid, and pulled out a couple of specially rolled cigarettes.

  "Besides vegetables I grow a little pot in the garden - for medicinal

  purposes only, of course", he joked.

  We both began giggling like two teenage boys doing something naughty as we

  lit our joints. The weed was good and relaxed us even more and prompted

  more conversation. The incident at the clearing had continued to nag me

  throughout the evening and I felt I just had to get it out in the open.

  Blushing, I said, "Tommy, about this afternoon when we first met, I hope

  you don't think I am some kind of pervert who can't control myself and just

  beats off all the time".

  He choked on his smoke. Recovering and laughing he said, "And why

  shouldn't you beat off when you want to, especially when you are in an

  isolated area with complete freedom to do what you want to do? Don't you

  think just about every man who is out in the woods jacks off? I come here

  as often as I can for the exercise and the beauty of this area but playing

  with my meat is just as important. Come to think of it, maybe it's my most

  important reason for coming up here. Why I have even jacked off right in

  the same spot you were standing when you were playing with yourself. That's

  why I was so stunned there for a few minutes - I thought for a moment I was

  looking at myself."

  Now it was my turn to cough on my smoke. I couldn't believe what I was

  hearing. Here was a really honest man who believed as I did in the joys of

  masturbation.

  "Wow", I said, "That really puts me at ease. It had been bothering me all

  night that you thought less of me for what you saw."

  With that we just naturally started to tell each other masturbation

  stories, relating how old we were when we started, how we first learned how

  to do it, and how often we did it. We both grew up in strict religious

  homes where the evils of sex before marriage and the horrors of touching

  oneself for pleasure were routinely preached. I related that I attended a

  catholic grade school, high school, and college where the sins of impure

  thoughts and deeds were frequently preached. It wasn't until my third year

  in college when I finally tired of going to church every Saturday to

  confess the sin of self-abuse and stopped feeling guilty about it. But

  even then it still was a subj
ect that was never discussed, even among

  friends. We chuckled as we both expressed how much we loved the pleasure

  our dicks brought us and both of us admitted that we never gave up

  masturbation even when we were getting frequent sex from our wives. I told

  him that I made a point to tell my sons as they reached puberty to enjoy

  masturbation and not feel guilty for doing it. I didn't want them to go

  through the guilt that I did.

  "Have you ever masturbated with someone else?" he suddenly asked with a

  wide grin on his face.

  I hesitated. "Just my wife", I told him.

  I related to him how for the first number of years of our marriage we had

  fairly frequent but relatively standard sex. She liked me to go down on

  her; I really liked that as well, but she did not like to return the favor,

  much to my chagrin. I would get her off with my tongue and then enter and

  have my orgasm in her. One night after climaxing I impulsively went down

  on her again, lapping up my cum. As I was doing this she started fingering

  herself and I got so excited by watching her and tasting my own seed that I

  vigorously stroked my dick and had an intense orgasm. After that I always

  encouraged her to flinger her clit as part of our lovemaking as I would

  stroke my cock. When she went into menopause she pretty much dried up, I

  related. Even with lubes she found intercourse painful so our sex

  consisted solely of masturbating together. I told him how she would bring

  herself to orgasm and I would cum on her body and lick it up.

  "That's so hot", he said.

  The pot really relaxed me from all inhibitions so I continued to bear my

  soul and told him that even that didn't last long, as my wife eventually

  lost all interest in sex. "So for the last 6 years my sole sex partner has