His Woods (MxM)

16 Tyson Has a Theory

After our discussion the other night, I feel like a lot of the air has been cleared between Jack and me. We have gotten a lot done around the cabin and have talked deeply about the past few years. The best part has been how nice it feels laughing with him again. I guess I shouldn't be that surprised that part of me was almost sad to see him go this morning.

My warden popped his head into my room around five to tell me he was heading out. This was the first I heard of his trip, and he told me so casually. By no means am I his keeper, but I would have figured he would have been more thoughtful about telling me.

It turns out that a friend of his over in Tennessee needs some help putting the finishing touches on a remodeling job, and Jack promised he would help back before I became his prisoner.

He said he would only be gone a few days tops and warned me to behave myself. I knew he was only kinda kidding. I told him no promises, but then reassured him that I had no major plans of leaving the house. My biggest plan was to stain the back deck, now that it is complete, and cut some of the wood needed for the rest of the banister on the front porch.

Something weird started happening during the long hours of being alone in the cabin. No matter how deeply I threw myself into the projects around the house, I couldn't stop thinking about Jack.

At first, it was just our talk. The closeness we shared during the hug. The sheer emotion that both of us showed one another. But then my thoughts started changing. I started thinking about the times that I have seen him sweat-soaked and glistening during our housework. This always led to the recollection of him pulling his wet shirt off his hairy torso at the end of the workday, handing over his soup-covered clothes, and undressing the morning he threw me in the tub. Without fail, every cognitive path leads me to the night he was snoozing in the bathtub and the jerk session I had directly after.

Each time, my mind would wander to the vision of Jack naked and sleeping soaking in the water upstairs. And every time I would start to feel my cock harden at the vision of his masculine chest, hairy belly, and thick member resting undisturbed between his strong thighs. Before I would let anything else play out in my head, I would shake the naughty notions and try busying myself with something new. Seldom would this work, though. I would have to drop everything and take a few minutes to find release.

"What the hell, Tyson," I'd think to myself every time I would finish blowing my load. "You are one gross individual."

But the more that it happened, the more I realized that I wasn't that weird. I mean how could I be? Jack is sexy as hell, and we are both adults. There is really zero connection between the old versions of us. It's like we just met at the beginning of the summer. Furthermore, I know nothing sexual would ever happen between him and me. Jack isn't even gay. 

Right?

The next afternoon, I was daydreaming at the sink when I saw Claire come down from the wooded path. She waved to me when she saw me in the window, and I waved back while cussing her under my breath.

"Hey, Tyson," she greets, walking right in through the screen door.

"Hey, Claire," I say, reminding myself to be civil.

At this moment, I realize that my dislike for her has worsened now that I know she is getting physical with Jack and I will not be. I already didn't trust the bitch, now I am really gonna have to try not to be an asshole right to her face.

"Where is Jack?" she asks, pouring herself some sweet tea from the fridge.

"Tennessee. Helping a friend."

"Oh, so Kirk finally called him, eh? That guy told Jack he'd call him when they needed him, but that was almost three months ago."

Annoyed that Claire knows more about the situation than I do, I make my way out of the kitchen, to the front porch. Though I hadn't originally planned to do any more work today, I suddenly feel like these pieces of wood need cut.