Mountain Man

This story is a work of fiction, and all the characters are products of my own overactive imagination. This story contains descriptions of gay sex, so if that's not your thing move on. Thanks to my editor William B. for all the help. I love hearing from my readers, so please feel free to comment or send me a note.

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I slid off my heavy backpack in the shade of a stand of Lodgepole Pine. It was 1980, the summer after I graduated from college. I had put life on hold to hike the Colorado Trail. I had no attachments, no appointments to keep, no place I had to be but on the trail and in the moment.

I unzipped the big outside pocket on my back pack that held my map and compass. I had to remove a paperback book that was also tightly wedged in the pocket. I looked at the cover and grinned. The title of the book was "Stories of Men Loving Men" and there was a cheesy illustration of two men embracing. Little did I know this book would change my outlook on sex, love and my life.

The book made me chuckle, as I thought of the day I left on my trip. My friends John and Dan had brought me to the trail head. We said our good byes and they handed me a package wrapped in old Christmas wrapping paper.

"Now don't open it until Christmas." said Dan as he opened my pack, and stuffed it in.

"Got anything else you want me to carry around for the next month?" I said sarcastically as I walked up the trail.

Dan waved and John yelled, "Send us a smoke signal if you need anything."

My first night in the wilderness I opened the package by the campfire. Tossing the wrapping paper into the fire, the burst in illumination revealed two books, "Adventures of an International Prostitute" and "Stories of Men Loving Men." There was also a note that said, "We hope you like these thought provoking readings. We got you one of each flavor because we've never been too sure about you. Sincerely, Your Buddies John and Dan"

I quickly read the "International Prostitute." A predictable read, I finished it in a couple of days then to save weight I promptly used it to start a fire in camp. On about day 5, I was taking a break from a strenuous uphill stretch, I settled next to a stream and began going through my pack in search of something or the other when I pulled out the second paperback. I decided to give it a look strictly for entertainment value.

The writing wasn't half bad and I found myself transfixed by the story I was reading. It was about two college roommates. One gay, "homosexual" was the term used in books in the 1980s, and the other straight. The story was all about a seduction ending with the gay student performing oral sex on his "straight" roommate and then convincing him to have anal sex.

By the time I had finished the story I was squeezing my hard cock through the sheer fabric of the nylon running shorts. Since I had seen no one on the trail since the day before, I released my throbbing cock and began to stroke in earnest. My head back, and my eyes closed, I imagined having sex with another man. I could feel my heart pound and my cock throb as the idea of man on man sex brought me to an elevated level of arousal. Fantasizing that a big thick cock was pounding away in my ass, sent me over the edge and I shot a huge load all over my hand and thigh.

After a bit of clean up, I hiked to my destination for the night, an isolated mountain valley. After setting up camp, I ate a quick dinner, made a small fire, and eagerly read the rest of the book. I shot my load twice more that night and in the next couple of days I would re-read the stories and jack myself off at least twice a day to thoughts of sex with another man.

Often I stripped naked for these masturbation sessions. My 5'10" frame was muscular and lean from all the hard hiking. I had taken to hiking in just my skimpy running shorts and my body was tan all over. Shaking my mane of long blond hair I felt like a sex crazed wood nymph. I would lay down on a rock in the sun and stroke my hard 7" cock. Imagining an orgy of male bodies, I would day dream of cock filling my mouth and ass, while a handsome lover would ride my erect dick. I would let the thick sticky cum splash on my chest and stomach. At first out of curiosity, then out of sheer animal lust, I would often lick the cum off my hand fantasizing it belonged to my imaginary lovers.

These frequent stroke sessions left me feeling a little confused but mostly free, wild, and hornier than ever. Several times I had wet dreams in which a male friend would feed me his seed or fuck me in the ass. I didn't know what was happening to me, I just knew that the cheap homoerotic novel had lit a fire inside me. The idea of making love to a man excited me like no other fantasy I had before.

Toward the end of my second week on the trail I had only run into a dozen other hikers. I was a little lonely, and my food was almost gone. I brought a fly rod and reel that I borrowed from my grandfather, and I had expected to catch lots of fish to supplement my dry food along the way. Having never fly fished before, and having little idea how or what to use in the fly box, I had only caught one 4" trout. I threw the little guy back, being unable to commit infanticide on the tiny fish.

That fateful day my destination was a high mountain lake, which on my map had a "fish" icon next to it. It was at 10,658 feet and I estimated the elevation gain to be at least a thousand feet to get there. I told myself that this would be my chance to catch a bunch of fish and replenish my hungry body. I broke camp shortly after dawn and by noon I was scrambling over large flat rocks to where the lake was indicated on my map.

The lake was nestled in a cirque at the base of a ring of snow spotted peaks. It was a turquoise blue and it shimmered in the midday sun. I was so taken by this beautiful landscape that I took off my pack and quickly retrieved my camera. As I framed the shot in the viewfinder I noticed that I was not alone. On the other side of the lake, perhaps a half mile away was a figure rhythmically casting a fly onto the surface of the water.

Part of me was disappointed that I didn't have the lake to myself, the other part of me was happy to see another fisherman that might be willing to give me some tips. I snapped my picture and put the camera back in my pack next to my maps and my now precious novel. I assembled the fly rod, added the reel and fed the line through the guides. The leader attached to the line was a bit of a mess but I carried on. I looked in the fly box and almost randomly picked out a fly and began to cast.

I was standing on a rock that was high above the water and my fly was falling just a few feet from the shore. I removed my boots and socks. The hike had left me sweating and hot so I decided that the cool mountain water would feel good. I removed my shirt so I was only wearing my shear and revealing running shorts. I waded into the clear water...damn it was cold. Stepping on a sharp rock, I slid, going into the lake up to my waist. Now my shorts were wet and see-through.

To add insult to injury, the wind picked up just enough to thrown my line into a hopeless tangle. Frustrated I looked across the lake to see how my fellow fisherman was doing. He was landing an energetic trout, the fish leaving the water many times before he secured it in his net.

"Damn!" I muttered under my breath as I scrambled up onto the rock to untangle the mess I had made. The leader and fly line were a giant tangled puzzle. I focused intently to remedy the situation as I only had two leaders with me. For what seemed like an eternity I untwisted, unknotted, and worked the jumble of line.

So intent on my task, I didn't notice that my fellow fisherman had left his spot on opposite side of the lake and was walking toward me.

"That looks like quiet a project you have going there." said the fisherman.

I looked up in a start. The man in from of me was about 6' tall with broad shoulders and an athletic build. He was wearing a tattered straw cowboy hat, and from my low vantage point I was looking up at his large muscular thighs. He was wearing a pair of cut-off jeans that would be considered very short, Daisy Dukes, by today's standard. His distinct package made a grapefruit sized bulge. Tearing my gaze away from his crotch I looked up to see a bright smile, rugged features and blue eyes, I estimated he was in his late thirties or early forties.

"Oh hi, um yeah, wow..." I stammered, "I've been on the trail a couple of days without talking so this is weird..." I was sounding like an idiot. "I mean, YES..ha.. what a mess."

"Sometimes all anyone needs is a little helping hand, if you don't mind I think I see your problem with that leader..." said the fisherman extending his hand "name's Mike."

I shook his hand, replying "Chris." He pulled on a couple of loops then instructed me to pull here and tug there and in a couple of minutes the tangle was undone.

"Mike I really need to catch some fish today. My supplies are running low and a fish dinner would help me make it through to the next town to pick up more supplies. I don't really know much about fly fishing, can you give me a few tips?"

"Sure thing partner!" came Mike's quick reply.

He examined my rig. He cut off the fly I had on and handed it back to me. He reached into the pocket of his vest and produced a spool of line. He tied on about three feet of a very fine fishing line to my leader which I discovered was called tippet and attached a small greenish brown fly.

"Try that." he said.

As I cast out into the lake we chatted. Mike told me that he had a camp near the lake and he spent a good part of his summer up in the mountains. I forgot how nice it was to talk with another human. I think Mike felt that way too. He helped me with my casting technique and when I softly landed the fly about 25' from shore it was instantly engulfed with a splash.

"I got one!" I yelled in excitement. My fight with the trout was guided by the steadying instructions of Mike. He told me to keep tension on the fine line but to let the trout run to wear him down. The trout was a big fat cut throat, and luckily Mike had a net. With the fish close to shore he waded in and scooped it up with his net.

"I'd say that's a good 3 pounder." said Mike as he grinned at me.

"Wow...hey would you mind taking my picture. My camera is in the front pocket of my pack."

Mike scrambled up the rock. I was amazed at the fact that he was bare foot, and I could almost see his ass cheeks, his jean shorts were cut so high. I felt a twinge in my crotch and thought damn I needed some sex.

What Mike would tell me later was that while he looked into my pack for the camera he discovered my paperback, "Stories of Men Loving Men." He could see that the book was well worn and he knew that the door was open for his advances. He returned with my little compact camera in hand and took a couple of pictures of me with my prize fish.

I had the bug now. With Mike as my expert guide, we fished until late afternoon adding another nice specimen to the two that Mike already caught, and catching and releasing a dozen smaller trout.

Mike shared his lunch with me and we talked about our backgrounds. Mike was a Veteran who was obviously disillusioned by the Vietnam War. He later joined the Peace Corp and travel extensively in Asia. He had a lot of knowledge of eastern philosophy and he was smart and easy to talk to.

At one point he said, "Yeah I did a lot of drugs, and developed a taste for kinky sex. You can find anything you want in Thailand, Singapore and Saigon. When you're high and horny you do it with women, men, men that look like women..." he laughed.

I laughed too, but I started to check him out in earnest after that comment. Could he be my handsome "homosexual daddy" as they called them in my paperback? Perhaps the woods would be where I got to experiment with my own "homosexual lust." I noticed that he too was checking me out. Thinking back I must have looked pretty slutty. It was a Warm day and I was just wearing my skimpy nylon shorts, that were damp most of the time, and little else but a puka shell necklace. I'm sure he could see the outline of my junk and my round ass easily through the sheer wet fabric.

"So Chris, if you want to spend the night at my camp, we could cook up these trout, I could make some rice, hot tea, what do ya say?"

I agreed without hesitation and we headed down the trail. We entered the tall pine forest and it felt like a cool dark cathedral. We walked and talked for about 20 minutes when we stopped at a rock outcropping. Mike scrambled up the rock and into the woods as I followed.

Mike told me he made the turn off to his camp start at the outcropping so there would be no trail for other hikers to follow. "It's nice and private, you can walk around naked in camp if you like and no one would ever know. To tell the truth sometimes I don't even get dressed, it feels good to be completely without inhibition. That's the best thing about being up here in the woods, just letting go, just doing what feels good, no on e to judge you , no society to tell you what's right or wrong."

I was thinking that this was a thinly veiled invitation. I answered, "Sure, after being the good son, the good student, following all the rules I took this trip to reconnect with myself. So if I want to get naked, I'll get naked, if something feels good I'll do it, no hang ups, no inhibitions."

Mike turn to me and smiled. We hiked along for another 20 minutes. We crossed a stream on a couple of logs, and turning a corner came to Mike's camp. There was a large stone fire ring, a couple of logs being used as chairs, a large canvas tent supported by a lashed log frame. It was tidy and inviting, nestled in the giant pines.

"I thought that I'd wash up before dinner. There is a nice pool in the stream nearby. Do you want to join me...you kinda look like you could use a good washing." said Mike.

"Oh man that would be great. Honestly I only brought a small bar of soap with me and that's long gone. Rookie mistake."

A short walk from the camp was a small waterfall that dropped into a clear pool. A large flat rock over hung the edge of the pool, and it was illuminated by bright shaft of golden afternoon light. On a nearby tree were attached several sticks to make a crude shelf on which sat a small mirror a razor, tooth brush and a big bottle of Dr. Bronner's liquid soap.

"Nice set up," I said.

"Gets the job done. A clean mountain man is a happy mountain man." said Mike with a laugh and wink.

Facing me, he removed his shirt revealing a muscular chest and impressive pecs. He had a trail of sun bleached brown hair that started on his chest and lead down his torso. Without hesitation, he unbuttoned his shorts and shimmied out of them releasing his grapefruit sized package. I finally got to see what I had been stealing glances at all day and I was not disappointed. He was wearing no underwear and above a large pair of nicely hanging balls, flopped a sizable uncut cock.

Standing totally naked in front of me, and with unmistakable swagger, he asked, "Are you just going to stare or are you going to get undressed?"

The situation was feeling sexual, and as Mike stood there he casually gave his cock a tug. His penis was beginning to swell. Pushing aside my initial fear, I thought that the situation was like my paperback. It was time to make my wet dreams a reality.

"Well I am enjoying the view but I guess I won't be able to clean up for dinner if I just stand here staring."

I first removed my hiking boots and socks. I then slowly, making sure I had Mike's full attention, I turned my back to Mike and slid off my running shorts giving him a good view of my smooth round ass.

"Okay now we are both naked. What's next?" I said provocatively as I turned around to face him.

Now the tables were turned and Mike was a little flustered. I could see he was hungrily looking over my 5'10" frame. I had virtually no hair on my body except a tuft of pubic hair. It was 1980 and no one even thought of manscaping.

Before I left on the trip I weighed 160, but now I was sure I weighed less. Being a soccer player I had great legs, a flat stomach, and my long sandy hair was kind of a natural page boy. I didn't hide my cut 7" cock which was now 3/4 hard as I unashamedly posed for Mike. It felt sexy to be ogled by a man, to be his object of desire. I shifted my weight to one leg and put my hands on my hips and gave him a wink.

I could see Mike swallow as he said, "Hmmmm wow...damn...yes well...what next...well first you jump in like this, yahooooo!" yelled Mike as he bounded off the rock and splashed into the pool.

He came up and spit a fountain of water out of his mouth. You couldn't help but smile around this guy. He climbed up the rocks, his body wet and glistening he said, "That's step one. All right Chris, your turn. You can swim right?"

"Of course I can swim. Watch this!" I had my back turned to Mike giving him another good view of my tight round ass as I arched my back. I looked over my shoulder at him and winked. I took off, doing a perfect forward flip into the pool.

What Mike had failed to mention was that the stream was fed by the snow fields that remained all summer long on the peaks above. The water was colder than any I had ever experienced. I came to the surface gasping for breath and hustling to get out of the pool.

Mike was doubled over laughing and I laughed too.

"Oh did I tell you it was cold?" chuckled Mike.

"I think you failed to mention that...shit that water's fucking freezing!" I spat shivering as I stepped on the Warm rock next to Mike who was soaping up his body.

"Come here and get some soap, that's step two. You have to jump in at least one more time, but don't worry it gets warmer."

I had anticipated that he would squeeze some of the peppermint Dr. Bronner's soap in my hand but he squeezed it into his own. Stepping toWard me, he rubbed the soap on my chest and shoulders. Telling me to turn around, he continued to soap up my back. His Warm strong hands felt great and my arousal returned.

I turned around to face him. Looking down at his big cock I could see that it was also getting hard. I put my hands on his chest and began to lather him up, one good turn deserves another. I lingered on his tawny pink nipples, which had the desired effect as his now fully erect cock grazed my leg.

"Is this step 3?" I said as we groped each other.

We looked into each other's eyes and moved closer. Mike slipped his arms around my waist and pulling me against him, we kissed. At first the kiss was tentative, then I opened my mouth to invite his tongue in to play. Our soapy, wet bodies slid against each other as our embrace became more passionate. I had never kissed a man before. Probably because of Mike's larger size and age I felt almost feminine. Kissing Mike made me melt into a pool of submissive lust. With women I would take the dominant role but with Mike I just wanted him to have his way with me.

His big soapy hands moved to my ass, and pulling our hips together. I gasped as our hard cocks slid over one another. I mimicked Mike's actions and grabbed his ass as well. We stopped kissing and just stared into each other's eyes as we ground our hips and cocks together. Unconsciously I let out a little gasp. It was odd to me that I was feeling "cute and sexy" for lack of a better description, but Mike's masculine desire made me crave more.

Mike broke into a big smile and said, "No, this is step 3 where I rub your hot sexy body against me. Are you okay with this?"

My response was to plant another forceful and passionate lip lock on his full lips and mouth and moan, "Yes, this is good, so good, mmmmmm. This is just what I want."