how-phil-got-his-groove-back

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Subject: How Phil Got His groove Back I’ve been writing dirty stories on my Tumblr � a4f101.tumblr � for a while now, and I’m sharing them here with you too. There’s more on my Tumblr � more stories, from me and my likeminded buds � so come check it out. You can see this story, and the pic that inspired it, here: http://a4f101.tumblr/post/110909002339/ This story is an original work of fiction, copyright me 2015. I own it, and all legal rights to it. If you’re not of legal age in your jurisdiction to be reading it, do us both a favor and come back to it when you are. This is strictly a work of fantasy. Love to hear from you guys. hoo. And hey � Nifty is an incredible, free resource. Changed my life, and probably did the same for you. If you can, please support them with a donation � even just a few bucks. Nobody pays for porn anymore, sure, and that’s why we keep losing resources like Handjobs Magazine. Don’t let the Nifty Archive be another. Somewhere out there, a kid is just discovering this site. Having his world rocked, and his dick raised. You and me, we were kids like that, once. Let’s keep it going, for them and for fty/donate.html ***** Marriage hadn’t exactly worked out for Phil, despite his best intentions. We all could tell how unhappy he was after a few years of it, the way he’d stacked on 20 pounds, working a job he hated in a town he didn’t like, living in a house they couldn’t really afford, his big shoulders buckling under the pressure of keeping her happy and their marriage going. When he’d confided to me over a few beers that their sex life had all but dried up, the look of bewilderment and just sadness on his face made my heart kind of ache for him. “Divorce her, dude,” I’d said, rubbing his big, meaty shoulder supportively. “You’re not happy, she’s not happy, so why persist with it?” “No way, man,” he’d said, shaking his head. “I know we can make it work, it’s just a rough patch. I hear what you’re saying, and I appreciate the advice, and I don’t want to sound rude, but I don’t think you understand.” I shrugged my shoulders. He’d always been stubborn at his core, and I wasn’t going to flog the dead horse here. When the divorce happened anyway, the chilly way she’d suddenly informed him that it was over and that she wanted out, it had set him back on his heels. It sucked to see the big, ordinarily happy goofball rocked like that. She wanted someone fitter, hunkier, better-looking, better able to gaziantep escort keep her in a BMW lease and nice clothes and foreign vacations. I’d always thought she was kind of a fucking idiot, but the way she treated him just confirmed it. So Phil moved back to our town, got a job he liked better, started hanging out again. We got into a good routine of working out, him slowly but steadily regaining the bulk and power he’d had from his college football days, and yeah, while he’d never be a Calvin Klein model or anything, he was looking damn good. The couch-potato padding he’d acquired was turning back into thick swells of beef, his big muscles reemerging, and he was starting to attract some attention again. But he’d gotten his fingers burned by women – and not for the first time, he always seemed to attract the type of girl who wanted to take advantage of his good, generous nature – and just wasn’t interested. So him and me would hit the bar for a couple rounds, me happily watching him slowly get his groove back, return to the big, happy, guy-next-door lunk with the powerful body that I remembered so well. The dude I’d always had a bit of a secret thing for. My big brother, and we’d never been closer than we were now, two grown-up single guys figuring shit out. “So how come you’re not all tied down, kid?” he asked with a beer-hazy grin. “Good-looking dude like you should have his choice of tail, out there living the single gay dude lifestyle, not hanging out with your sad-sack, divorced brother.” “Fuck that,” I snorted. “Too many flakes in this town. I’m happy to be off the market for a little while, while I sort my own shit out. And besides, I like hanging out with my bro. Seriously, it’s been great since you came back, man. We’re both in awesome shape, having a good time, fuck everybody else. We don’t need anybody else, right now, do we?” He grinned at me, I grinned back, and fuck if I didn’t feel that subtle electricity that I knew so well. When a dude is interested in another dude on that deeper level. I’d never expected to feel that with Phil, no matter how often I’d jacked off as a teenager imagining exploring the big, powerful swells of his lineman’s bod. And I guess it was the beers he’d sunk talking, but when he laid one big paw on my knee and gave it a subtle, but significant squeeze and leaned in closer to murmur to me, I got super fucking hard in my shorts. “You know, little bro, maybe you’re suriyeli escort onto something,” he rumbled in that deep, low voice. That surprisingly sexy, insinuating voice. “Maybe we don’t need anybody else.” I stared at him, mouth hanging open a little, not sure I was believing my ears. That I was picking up what he was laying down. That he was laying it down, for me, in the first place. He just kept grinning, our eyes connected. “I’m not stupid, kid,” he went on. “I used to notice how you’d look at me. How you still do, sometimes. Especially now that we’re hanging again, all the workouts. And I ain’t mad, trust me, baby brother. I don’t get why you’d be into a big fat ugly bastard like me… but I ain’t mad at all.” The cab ride back to my apartment wasn’t long, but that electricity crackled between us on the back seat, feeling his big, rounded knee brush mine, lightly at first, then more insistently. His big, meaty, powerful hand finding mine on the seat between us and taking hold of it. The way he stood close behind me at the top of the stairs as I unlocked my door, feeling his warm, beery breath on the back of my neck, feeling his eyes crawling over my back, my ass. And then, the surprisingly light touch of his hand on the swell of my ass as I fumbled the keys, then finally got the door open. Phil made the first move when we got inside, because I was still too vapor-locked to do it myself. Too intimidated. Too hungry, in a way. But he stepped in, took my smaller, tighter waist in his big hands, looked me in the eyes with a reassuring smile, and kissed me. Fuck, he was a good kisser. Soft, almost tentative at first, then growing steadily more assured, parting my lips with his big warm tongue, entering my mouth, pulling me closer as we both moaned together. Feeling the growing chub of that big lineman’s cock in his jeans, getting hard for this, for me, for us. My mind just kept getting blown, but I got over myself, and gave myself over to him. Kissed him back. Pushed his big beefy ass back onto my couch and climbed aboard. Those big, thick muscles of his felt incredible in my hands, just like I’d often imagined they would, exploring their revived power and heft as we kept kissing. His big hands stripping my shirt off, stroking my tighter, leaner body with an assurance I found really surprising, for what I had assumed was a big straight football lunk. When I kissed my way through rus escort the fur on the rounded, powerful swells of his body, he moaned, looking at me with a kind of amazement, that I would be into this, into him. A look of gratitude too. Of love. His hands kept caressing my body wherever they could, pulling me even deeper into him as we touched, kissed. Bonded. I pulled him to my bedroom, in front of the big mirror on my wall. Showed him, as I admired, worshiped, stroked and kissed his big, thick, powerfully sexy man’s body, how hot he was to me. How into him his little ex-jock brother was. How good I could make him feel. The epic bulge in his briefs told me he loved this, that I was making him feel on top of the world. And when we were naked, him on his back on my bed, and I was slowly, almost gingerly lowering myself down the thickness of his big brother cock, the look of gratitude, lust and love in his eyes made my heart thump for him, even as I filled myself with his big, bare dick. I rode Phil like that through his first orgasm, then had him fuck mine out of me on my back, feeling his sweat raining down on me, squeezing the big, powerful muscles that thrust out from his sexy padding as he fucked his second load into me, coming with me. And then, for good measure, even though it was like 3am and we were both absolutely beat, I sucked a third thick, creamy, salty load from him in the shower as he moaned my name and stroked my head. It was easy, warm, intimate, brotherly as hell the next morning, sprawled out naked together in my bed, talking deeper than ever before. Hearing about his occasional adventures with dudes in college. How he’d resorted to getting his rocks off with Craigslist hookups when Melody had basically stopped fucking him, cold-shouldered him right out of their marital bed. How amazing it felt to just be like this, the morning after, with someone you really liked, enjoying the contact, the intimacy, the moment with another man. “Could be like this every day, if you wanted, bro,” I said, surprising myself, surprising both of us. “Yeah, little brother?” he said, and the slow swell of his cock under the sheet over us made my mouth water a little. “You and me, shacking up?” I nodded at him, a little nervous. It was a crazy idea. Two brothers, doing that. Helping each other out that way. Becoming something… more with each other. A stupid fantasy. But then he smiled, big and slow and warm, and leaned in to kiss me. Soft, affectionate, a little playful. Loving and brotherly. Slowly rolled over so he was over me again, his big beefy thickness suspended over me, resting on his powerful arms. “You might be onto something there, kid,” he grinned, and kissed me hungrily.

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