When Joe, an older man I had met on SilverDaddies, offered to rent me his beach cottage near Bullmoose, on the Coast Road north of San Francisco, for a song, I jumped at it. I had never met the man, but we had chatted and emailed back and forth for a couple of years now. He and his boyfriend were going to Europe for two months, and he wanted someone staying in the house, and for $100 US for the two months he had offered it to me. I'm not sure why he charged me anything at all, but I presume it was something to do with legality or insurance or something, because he did have me "sign" a PDF copy of a lease by email.

Once the formalities were out of the road we arranged that I would arrive the same day they were leaving. Because I didn't trust my older Dodge Caravan, I flew down to SF and took a bus north along the coast. Joe had told me to get off the bus at Bullmoose, then take a cab the rest of the way. The cottage was on Mile Eight Road, eight miles from Bullmoose, and the last of the three cottages on the road which ran down to and followed along the shoreline. The taxi driver knew exactly where it was. As planned, I arrived just in time to meet Joe and his boyfriend Tim (a young man about my age) before they left to drive to San Francisco for their own flight out. They were waiting at the car which was already packed.

As he handed over the key to the cottage, Joe told me: "I hope you won't find it too quiet way out here. As you saw, it's eight miles back to Bullmoose, but there's another village - Petrel - just three miles north. There's a nice, popular public beach there, too. Surfing of swimming. Enjoy yourself!" And just like that, they drove off up the hill to the Coast Road and away.

Although it had never been discussed, I had hoped that Joe would leave me his car to use, too, but now here I was, stuck out on the California coast, miles from anywhere. Hopefully, there would be people in the two neighbouring cottages, but there was no sign of anyone there now.

I use the term 'cottage' loosely, as rich people seem to do when they are referring to their home away from home. This 'cottage' and the neighbouring ones, were quite large by normal house standards. This one was the smaller of the three, and it had four bedrooms, a kitchen, a dining area, an upstairs and a downstairs lounging area, a games room, and two bathrooms, on two floors. The whole beach side of the house was picture windows and glass doors on the ground floor, opening out onto a cement slab patio , with a hot tub, and beyond that a skimpy lawn and beyond that beach sand and beyond that the ocean.

The 'cottage' next door, maybe 50 yards away, was even bigger, and had a reflective glass projection off the front which I presumed was an indoor pool, or maybe a greenhouse.

I spent that first afternoon exploring the 'cottage'. I found it was rather like Alice's Wonderland, in that it had sticky notes everywhere. On the loaded fridge: Eat Me First; On the door of the well-stocked pantry: "Help yourself to anything! Don't bother replacing!" On the TV: "We have satellite; press guide for programs!" On the hot-tub lid: "This automatically circulates, refills, filters, and disinfects itself. Replace lid after use!" There was even a mini-gym for me to work on my abs and pecs.

Done with the house, I wandered down to the beach. Here there was a long expanse of sand stretching out till it reached cliffs a mile or so to the south and a mile or so to the north. At a couple of spots in the distance I could see a few human figures, but there was no-one closer than about five-hundred yards.

Nor had I seen any sign of life from the two neighbouring cottages, so feeling brave, I stripped naked and plunged into the gentle surf. The water was colder than I expected, but not so cold to cause my pecker to shrivel up. In fact, the idea of swimming naked on "my own beach" rather turned me on, and I stood chest deep in the water and masturbated. I soon had a nice rigid hard-on.

It was still hard when I came out of the water, large and circumcised, waving before me like a totem pole with a purple hat. I was still soaking wet, of course, made worse because I am so very furry, with thick, black hair all over my chest, stomach, and legs. I hadn't brought a towel down to the water with me, and I didn't want to get my shorts, undies, and cotton shirt soaked, so I strode back to the house naked as I was, my waving pole leading the way proudly. There was not a sign of any other person, and when I reached the house, I stood in one of the picture windows of the upstairs sitting room looking out onto the ocean and had a great long wank, eventually shooting my cum all over the glass. I would wipe it up later.

The second day, I had still seen no sign of my neighbours, so I decided to walk up to the highway and hitchhike into Petrel and check out the shopping and the public beach. I had walked quite a ways north along the highway, thumb out, before a shiny black sports-car, roof down, eventually passed me, slowed down, stopped, and backed up almost to me. I jogged to reach it, my small pack bouncing on my back. I was wearing flip-flops, and I had to kick them off to reach the car.

A shirtless, red-haired young man wearing sunglasses was behind the wheel. He leaned over and swung the passenger door open for me.

"Jump in!" he grinned from behind his shades.

"Thanks," I cried, slipping my pack behind the seat before sliding in beside him. I am not a car buff, and I had never seen this model before. I did get the impression that it was an expensive little item, probably European, although I had seen no text ornamentation anywhere on it, and I did not recognize the circular emblem on the steering wheel. I didn't want to display my ignorance by asking about the car, however.

"Not from round here, are you?" the young man observed, as he moved through the gears into top and we zoomed away down the road at around eighty miles an hour.

"No," I confirmed. "I'm renting a cottage back down the road a bit." The young man just nodded.

"Where you headed?" he asked.

"Just into Petrel, to check it out," I told him.

"That should take you all of about five minutes," he chuckled.

"I sure like your car," I told him, hoping to find out what it was without asking outright.

"It's OK," he shrugged. "My dad bought it for me for my twenty-fifth birthday."

"Must be quite the chick-magnet," I observed, not that chick-magnets interested me, but I knew it was the kind of thing Macho straight guys said.

"Mmm, I guess so," he mused. "Anyway, I could get any chick I wanted."

So I learned a little more about my driver. He must be straight if he can get any chick he wants – even if he is just boasting. 'Too bad," I thought. 'He has a nice bod and a cute face. And that looks like quite the bulge in his shorts!"

"I'm Gary," he informed me. "I'm up here at my family's cottage sobering up after a mega-binge for my birthday last month. Being away from my drinking buddies and everyone else is the only way I'm gonna do it," he confided. "But here we are," he said, as the village of Petrel loomed ahead. "Maybe we'll meet again sometime."

He was already pulling into the curb outside the general store and liquor store. "The little street directly across the road leads right to the beach area," he told me, as I stepped out onto the sideway and grabbed my pack from behind the seat.

"Thanks for the ride," I called, but he was already pulling away from the curb, and soon disappeared up the highway.

I spent the rest of the morning checking out the classic general store, which had deliberately kept some of its early 20th century flavour, the sort of store our parents used to tell us about, stocking everything from groceries to car tires to farm supplies to beer and wine, including the post office. There were also a couple of clothing stores along the strip, and some little specialty shops and cafes. I ate at one of the small cafes, an excellent crab salad.

In the afternoon I tanned on the nice sandy beach and frolicked in the waves. Most of the other people there were teens on their summer break. They were not interested in me, and nor was I in them. The only people who took any interest in me were a couple of young mothers with their kids, but I was not interested in them at all. There was one young guy about who I thought was hot, but he was with his girlfriend, and by the bulge in his swim shorts hot to get into her pants. I would have rathered that he had been hot to get into mine!

I didn't have too much trouble hitch-hiking back to the beach cottage. Just as well, because I had bought a few groceries and a flat of two dozen imported Molson's Canadian beer. I really did not like American beer much.

I walked down the Eight Mile Road from the highway to the beach house after my ride had dropped me off. I noticed the door to one of the two bays of the garage in the house next door to me was open. I guess it was the movement that drew my eye, because as I watched, the door was closing. I got just a glimpse of the black car inside. Was it the sports car I had ridden in this morning? No, surely not. Just wishful thinking.

I spent the evening resigning myself to the fact that I was unlikely to see much excitement or action during my stay here, but that was OK with me. I needed to wind down a little, to consider what I was going to do with my life.

I also discovered a whole rack of gay porn DVDs beside the TV and DVD player in the upstairs lounging area. I stripped off, secure in the fact that no-one could see me, and beat off slowly while I watched one of the pornos, edging constantly for the full sixty minutes of the movie. With the final cumshot of the show, I also let my load shoot all over me as I lay back watching and feeling envious!

By next day, I realized that I really didn't have to worry about clothes at all while I was in the house, and not much while I was outside for that matter. I had still seen no sign of life in the other two nearby houses, except for the closing of the garage door yesterday.

So it was that I was stretched out stark naked on a mat on the floor in front of the downstairs glass doors on my second afternoon there, just vege-ing, and watching the distant waves and the glitter of sun on the water. Surprisingly, for the first time, I saw another person close by. A man in a red singlet, blue shorts, and thongs came into view from between this house and the next. He also had a blue windbreaker knotted around his waist. There was a cool breeze coming off the ocean, which was why I was sunbathing indoors. He crossed the edge of our patch of grass, and headed down the sandy trail which led from the house to the beach. The man had red hair! Just before he passed over the rise in the sandhill in front of the cabin and descended to the beach, the red-headed man looked back. Now I was certain it was Gary, the young guy who had given me a lift.

The sun was pouring in through the glass and lighting me quite well, but I wasn't sure whether he could see me or not. I though maybe there would be a lot of glare on the glass. I moved out of the area into the downstairs lounge, just in case. But I had no sooner settled on one of the sofa lounges when I heard tap-tap-tap on the glass doors. Shit! I had left all my clothes upstairs. I peeped round the doorway of the lounge to the glass entry doors from the patios. Sure enough, it was Gary!

What the fuck, I thought, he may be straight, but I'm sure he's seem naked men before, and so I answered the door just as I was – stark naked.

"Hey," he said when I opened the doors for him. "I thought it was you!" He never batted an eye-lid at my nudity, but I did notice that both eyes flickered down to appraise my sizeable cock.

"Sorry for the way I'm not dressed," I said. "I took my clothes off upstairs. I'll just pop upstairs and pull on some shorts."

"Hey, please don't," he protested. "I like the view as it is – as long as you don't mind me looking."

"You're gay?" I queried.

"Yep." he replied.

"But you said you get any chick you want," I pointed out.

"No," he explained, "I said I could get any chick I wanted. I don't want any of them. Give me a nice hairy guy any time. And you're nice and hairy. I sure hope you're gay, too!"

"Yep, homo and horny!" I laughed.

I led him back into the lounge area and seated myself again.

"Sit yourself down anywhere," I told him. The thought of having this handsome you gay man in the room with me was turning me on. I could not stop my cock from swelling and rising. Gary did not fail to notice.

"I'd like to sit myself down on that," he suggested, nodding toward my dick,"but first I want to run my hands all over your hairy body, if that's OK with you. As I said, I love hairy men."

"Go right ahead," I invited him. He took me up on the invitation immediately.

"Man, you're hairy!" he exclaimed as his hands ran all over my torso and eventually slid down to my cock, which he took in hand. "I think it's time to really get to know each other. Did I tell you my name before?" he asked.

"Yes – Gary," I assured him. "And I'm Greg. You going to suck that or just play with it?"

"Well, hi Greg. Good to meet you. Yes, I'm gonna suck it, but first I'm going to get it good and hard."

My cock by now was nearing its fullest. Gary had wrapped both hands around it, leaving my knob poking out of his upper hand. He was squeezing my dick rhythmically and it was getting fuller and harder each moment. Eventually my knob was a shiny purple plum, glowing with heat. Gary removed his hands, opened his mouth, and drove my rod right down his throat in one gulp. I couldn't believe it. He had deep-throated my eight-inch cock on one swift thrust! I felt muscles in his throat contract and tighten around me, making me even harder. Then he relaxed and slowly drew my cock from his throat, and concentrated on my knob, licking and sucking it, driving me crazy.

"Gotta take a breather here while I get my clothes off," he explained and he sat up and left my cock sticking up rigid and ready for anything. It didn't take him long to get naked. He had left his flip-flops and windbreaker at the door, and he quickly shed his shirt and shorts. He was dressed commando, so his nice, thick cut cock popped free immediately. I grasped it and leaned forth to suck it, but he objected.

"Not yet," he said. "I'm not finished with yours yet." He grasped my cock once more and directed it to his mouth. I lay back on the lounge cushions and just enjoyed his sucking, licking and bobbing on my manmeat. He was an expert cock-sucker and again and again took my whole rod right down his throat between bouts of concentrating on my bulbous dickhead. His administrations were delightful, and several times he had me ready to cum, but he seemed to sense that, and backed off each time to allow the pressures to subside.

When he began to dribble spittle onto my dick, I guessed what was coming next.

"I want you in my ass," he told me."I need a good fuck." I was happy to be able to fill his needs.

I was sitting on the edge of the sofa lounge, almost like a futon, and covered in cushions.

"Spread your legs and lean back," he told me. I did as instructed. He backed in between my legs and lowered his butt down onto my cock. "Guide me to your cock," he told me. His cheeks were spread invitingly, and his shaved asshole winked at me. I used my hand to place my hot knob on his rosebud hole. Gary sat back suddenly, and my dickhead disappeared inside him. As he pressed back, more and more of my cock was swallowed up by his hungry asshole. He part turned and put one arm round my neck, using this hold to brace himself while he lifted his feet off the floor and placed then on my thighs, forcing me back even more and at the same time driving his ass further down onto my thick dick. He used this hold on me to rock back and forth on my pole, and the leverage of his feet on my thighs to lift and lower himself up and down on my manhood, which slipped in and out of him like a piston.

"Oh, fuck!" he cried, part in pain, part in ecstasy. "This is so fucking good!" He pumped away up and down on my cock until I warned him I was about to cum. "Yes, do!" he cried. "Cum inside me!"

I was happy to oblige once more, and my juices surged up into him. When he lifted himself off me, I gave him a quick hand-and-mouth job until he shot a massive load all over my hairy chest.

I suggested taking a shower together, but Gary said, "Hey, no. Let's wash it off in the surf. There's nobody at all on the beach today." So together we ran naked down to the water and dived in, but the wind was too cold, so we just as quickly jogged balls naked back to the beach house.

By the time we reached the house, we were both puffing, but almost dry, through the combined effects of sun, wind, and our running.

"I bought some Canadian beer yesterday," I told him. "Would you like a cold one?"

"I'd love one," he replied regretfully, "but as I think I mentioned yesterday, I'm up here trying to dry out. Maybe I can even quit for good."

"Oops," I apologized. "That was thoughtless of me. It had slipped my mind. Maybe I can make it up to you by helping you stay off the booze. I'm sure we can find plenty of things to do to occupy your mind."

"As long as those things include plenty of sex," he grinned. "I'm here for the whole summer," he added.

"Me, too," I told him. "I was a little worried about being bored all alone here, but I think that problem's solved, don't you?"

"I sure do," Garry grinned back. "You can be my mentor – my sponsor, as the AA types call them."

"Fine by me," I agreed, "and I promise not to drink when I'm round you. Now, to keep you busy, let's go upstairs to my bedroom. I'm horny again already."

"So I see," he chuckled, nodding toward my stiffening dick. I drew his naked body to mine, wrapping him in my arms, and we kissed breathlessly.

For the next two months, Gary and I were rarely apart. We travelled up and down the coast in his little sports car, sucking and fucking whenever and wherever the urge took us. He never did take a drink in all that time, and even I, by the end of summer, had only drunk six of the 24 cans of Molson's I had bought.

We always returned to the two beach houses. Sometimes we slept in his bed, sometimes in mine, never apart.

Gary had to leave just before I did, but he promised he would meet me in B.C. in the coming February. His family owned a chalet near Whistler, and he knew he could get it for himself for at least a couple of weeks, if not a month. We were both quite teary when the time came for him to jump in his car and drive away.

When Joe and Tim arrived home the day after Gary left, Joe enquired about my stay.

"I hope you weren't too bored," he asked, "stuck way out here?"

"Not at all," I assured him. "I met the young man next door. We sort of became friends."

"Oh, Gary," he said. "Yes, quite a nice young chap, but pretty wild and undisciplined. Drinks far too much!"

"Not any more," I told them."He never touched a drop in the two months he was here. I kept him too busy for that." I added a broad 'If-you-get-what-I-mean" wink.

And Joe did get it.

"Hm, I never realized Gary was one of us. Well, good for you! Good for both of you!" Joe added, smiling broadly. "Maybe you'll want to house-sit for us again next summer?" he suggested.

"You bet I will!" I agreed enthusiastically.

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