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xxbimbobunnyxx · 5 months

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Butterfly Fantasies (Older!Rafe Cameron x Reader)

Summary: You’ve been teasing Rafe for months and when he sees you flirting with another man, it’s his final straw. Wk: 3.4k

This is a prompt from me & @babygorewhore’s writing game!! Feel free to click the link and come play with us✨

Warnings: Rafe is your dad’s best friend, age gap (Rafe is late 30s Reader is early 20s), daddy kink, choking, spanking, pussy slapping, breeding kink, hair pulling, degradation 18+MDNI!!

You know it’s wrong, parading yourself around like this for your dad’s best friend. You had just finished your final year of college so you were home staying with your dad for the summer. But every single time you saw Rafe it was like your body was on fire. Him and your dad have been friends and business partners for years now. But you had only ever met Rafe once before, a few years ago at your dad’s wedding. You thought he was sexy then and somehow he’s even sexier now. He’s always coming over for drinks, or to go out on the boat, sometimes he and your dad talk business in his office.

But it felt like he was just always around. Wearing those expensive business suits with his hair slicked back perfectly. On days when he and your dad went out on the boat he would come over in shorts that were just a tad bit too short and those tight t-shirts or button ups, his thick biceps on display. When you’d run into him at the country club he always looked so fucking delicious in his golf outfit. That tight polo taunt against his shoulders, the way his large hands dwarfed the handles of the clubs. His hair was messier on those days, the ends of it sticking out from the cap on his head. You wanted to tear it off, lace your fingers through his hair and tug on it when it was void of its usual product.

It didn’t help that he was always looking at you. His eyes roaming your figure with a smug smirk on his face for just a little too long. The way he would send you little winks when your dad wasn’t looking. Resting his hand on the small of your back when he walks past you in the kitchen or in the hall. He was always calling you little nicknames like “doll” and “sweetheart. He even called you “princess” once and you thought you were going to cum untouched. You wanted to be his little princess so bad. So you started playing dirty.

Whenever you saw him you made sure to walk around in your skimpiest outfits. You’d lounge by the pool in your tiniest little micro bikinis, rubbing sunscreen on your skin causing it to glisten. You would wear your shortest dresses with thongs so small they might as well not even be there, bending over under the guise of “grabbing something out of the fridge” when he was standing behind you in the kitchen. Once you learned that he went to the country club every Sunday for brunch and golf, you signed up for Sunday tennis lessons.

Those days just might be your favorite. Your tennis outfit consisted of a tiny little white tennis skirt that barely covered your ass and an even tinier white sports bra that showed off your cleavage perfectly. It was just a bonus that your tennis instructor was hot and your age. It also didn’t hurt that Rafe could see the tennis court perfectly from the brunch table he always sat at. You’d make eye contact with him over your instructor's shoulder from afar while you grasped onto his bicep and giggled. If you weren’t mistaken you could just make out a slight switch in his jaw. He might be nineteen years older than you but you aren’t stupid, you can tell when a man wants you.

Rafe wants you bad. He’s been trying really fucking hard to restrain himself but it’s almost impossible when you’re constantly walking around in those little fucking outfits. Giving him that little smirk with that glint in your eye like you know you’re torturing him. He can’t stop thinking about you. When he’s working, when he’s golfing, when his hand is wrapped around his thick cock at night. Even when he’s buried balls deep in some bored housewife. All he can think about is you.

The way those little bikinis hardly cover anything but your nipples, and bottoms sitting so high on your ass they’re practically being swallowed. Those tiny little sun dresses that you seemed to always be bending over in, flashing him those pretty barely there panties that show the outline of your pussy. That fucking tennis outfit and that little douche bag tennis instructor whose hands he wants to cut off each time he has to watch him touch you.

But there’s one specific instance that won’t leave his mind, playing like a movie on repeat in his head. You were wearing these tiny little jean shorts with a little tiny crop top. You were sitting at the bar in the kitchen, eating a fucking banana of all things. But the way you were bent over to rest your elbows on the counter made your shorts ride down just enough to show off your thong and the little butterfly tramp stamp you had right above your ass. He stood there with his mouth agape for what could’ve been minutes or hours, he doesn’t know. He was stuck, completely enthralled by the sight of you. He felt himself starting to get hard when you looked over your shoulder at him, a smug smile painted across your glossed lips.

“Why don’t you take a picture? It’ll last longer.” You held eye contact with him while you finished off the last of your banana before standing up, winking at him, and walking away without another word. Leaving him so fucking hard and incredibly frustrated.

His final straw though? Your dad was throwing a celebration party for the company because they closed a huge deal and you were parading around in yet another barely there dress with all his coworkers and their sons ogling you. Currently Rafe was watching you with his jaw clenched so hard he feels like his teeth might break and he’s surprised the thin glass in his hand is still intact with the grip he has on it. You’re standing across the yard from him, that little white backless dress hugging every inch of your body so perfectly, showing off the expanse of your back and ending right at the top of your ass, flashing that little tiny tattoo to every single person here. When he’s the only one that should know about it.

The son of one of his employees rests his hands on your hips, leaning in to whisper something in your ear all while you maintain eye contact with him from across the yard, he has to physically stop himself from going over there and slamming the guy’s head into the bar. When you smirk at him, sending him a little wink before dragging the guy inside the house? He’s absolutely had it.

You had Rafe right where you wanted him, there was no doubting it now. The way he was staring daggers at every man that even glanced your way and the way his eyes hungrily drank you in as they followed your every move said it all. You wanted to know how far you could push him, if he would really snap and finally make a move. So you took it upon yourself to flirt with the cutest guy your age there. You really laid it on thick, giggling at all his jokes, running your hands down his chest, letting him grip your hips and whisper in your ear. All while Rafe watched with a death glare. You didn’t have to keep your eyes on him to know he was looking, but sending him little smirks and glances over the guy's shoulder was just too good to resist. Especially when you decided to drag the guy into the house with you, making sure Rafe watched you walk away.

“Do you want a drink? My dad keeps all the best shit in here.” You smile at him, you don’t even remember his name, it doesn’t matter anyways, he’s nothing but a means to an end.

“Yeah, I’ll take a drink, but I think I’d like to taste you more.” You internally gag at his cheesy line but still offer him a suggestive smile as you jump up on the counter with your legs spread just enough for him to get a glance at your panties.

“Come here then.” You beckon him with your finger and he comes to stand between your legs, resting his hands on your hips again.

“You’re really hot, you know that?” You snort, thanking him for his base level fuck boy compliment as he leans in for a kiss. Before his lips can even graze yours he’s being pulled backwards back the collar of his dress shirt. An extremely pissed looking Rafe glaring down at the smaller man.

“Get lost.” He practically growls, shoving the guy backwards by the grip he had on his collar.

“Hey man, what’s your fucking problem?”

“I said to get fuckin’ lost, fuck off before I break your fuckin’ legs.” The dude scoffs and rolls his eyes as he walks off. The minute you and Rafe are alone his hands are resting on the counter on either side of your hips, his face inches from yours. “You think this is funny, little girl? You wanna play games? I suggest you don’t start something you can’t fuckin’ finish.”

“Games? What games? I’m not play any games. I think I was being pretty straight forward with that guy.” Rafe exhales through his nose, grabbing onto your jaw with his large hand, squeezing your cheeks together.

“That guy?” He scoffs, shaking your head back and forth. “You know I’m not fuckin’ talking about him, doll. Don’t play dumb with me. Get up.”

“I’m not a dog, I don’t bark on command.” He laughs at that, actually laughs.

“Oh, baby, we’ll fuckin’ see about that. Up.” He releases his grip on your jaw and backs up as he looks at you expectantly. You mull over your options for about two seconds before sliding off the counter. The minute the heels of your boots hit the expensive linoleum, Rafe's large ringed hand grasps onto your forearm, pulling you into the nearest room. He shuts the door behind you, pushing you up against it and trapping you between him and the wood. “You’ve been driving me crazy, you know that?”

“Yeah? That’s exactly what I was hoping for…” You smirk at him, looking up at him through your lashes.

“You really think this is a fuckin’ joke, huh?” Rafe chuckles darkly, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. He grabs onto your throat, squeezing just enough to cut off your airflow. “You trying to get me in trouble? You know how fucking pissed your dad would be if he found out about this?”

“Mmm… I figure if he disowns me you could just be my daddy instead.” He groans, using his grip on your throat to manhandle you over to the desk. Your dad’s desk to be exact. You were so worked up you didn’t even process that he pulled you into his office.

“You’re a fuckin’ brat. Looks like someone needs to teach you some manners, little girl.” Rafe presses your face against the desk, using his other hand to pull your hips up so your ass is in the air. The same hand hikes your dress above your ass before landing a harsh smack on it. The sound echoes through the room, accompanied by the loud moan that rips through you. “Bet your spoiled ass has never been spanked a day in your life. Bet you get whatever you want, whenever you want. But not with me, daddy’s gonna make you beg for it.”

He lands another smack on your bare ass, your tiny thong covering absolutely nothing. Then another. And another. He keeps you in place by his hand pressing onto the side of your head causing your cheek to press against the cold wood of the desk. Little whimpers and moans fall from your lips as

your writhe underneath him.

“Gonna leave this ass covered in my hand prints, then when you walk around in those tiny little bikinis you’ll either think twice about teasing me or you’ll have to explain it to anyone who sees.” Both of his large hands come down on your cheeks at once before one comes from below, landing a harsh smack on your cunt.

“Oh fuck, daddy.” Your eyes roll back and drool starts to drip down your chin when he smacks your pussy again before pulling your panties to the side, the cool air of the room hitting your wet folds.

“Yeah, that’s right, slut, I’m your fucking daddy. Look at this pussy, you’re so wet. Just from this? You like getting treated like a whore?” Rafe smacks your bare pussy, the metal of his rings adding a delicious sting. “You sure as hell like acting like one. Parading around in those skimpy little outfits, trying to seduce a man twice your age.”

“I fucking love it daddy, want you so bad, just wanted your attention.” You whine, wiggling your hips. “Please touch me.”

“Please touch me.” He mocks you as he smacks your clit three times in succession. “I am touching you, doll. You’re gonna have to do a lot better than that.”

“Please daddy, please, I’ll do anything you want. You can fuck my pussy till it’s sore, fuck my ass, cum inside me, breed me, anything. Just please.”

The next thing you feel is two thick fingers being inserted knuckle deep in your pussy. Rafe curls them against your sweet spot before thrusting them in and out of you at a quick pace.

“Fuckin’ listen to that shit, you’re so wet for me. You’re dirty. You want me to fuck your ass and breed you? That what you sit around thinking about all day?” You’re about to respond but the feeling of his thumb on your clit has you moaning and pushing back against his hand. He grabs onto your hair, pulling your head back so he can lean over you with his lips pressed to your ear. “Answer the fuckin’ question, princess. Know you can’t be fucked dumb from just my fingers.”

“Yes! Yes, I think about you fucking me on every inch of this house. I think about you filling me with your cum until I’m knocked up. About being your little barefoot and pregnant wife. Want to shove the fact that I’m the one that gets you in all those old country club bitches faces.” Well he wasn’t expecting all of that, but he’s not complaining. Now that he’s thinking about it, it doesn’t sound so bad. He picks up the speed of his fingers, applying harder pressure to your clit just as he yanks on your hair, exposing your neck so he can lick across the expanse of it, sending you over the edge.

“That’s it, baby girl, cum for me, cum for daddy.” He pulls his fingers out and you can’t see but you hear the sound of him sucking them clean, accompanied by a groan. “Look at you, you don’t have any idea what you do to me, do you?”

He runs his large hand down your back, stopping just above your ass to trace his fingertips across your tattoo.

“What do I do to you daddy? Tell me.” He spanks your ass again, earning a little yelp from you.

“Don’t start getting sassy on me again. I’m calling the shots. But you drive me insane. Prancing around in those little bikinis, flashing me your slutty panties, this god damn tattoo.”

Rafe leans down, placing a kiss on it before licking across it. He hooks his fingers in the bands of your thong, pushing it down your legs. You try to kick your boots off to get it off your ankles but Rafe stops you, pulling them off himself.

“Keep the boots on.” Rafe grabs onto your ass, spreading you open for him before leaning down to spit on your asshole, watching it drip down onto your already soaked cunt. You feel his thumb rub down your slit right before he shoves his tongue as deep as it can go inside your pussy.

“Oh fuuuuuck, daddy that’s so good, thank you thank you.” Rafe eats you out like a man starved, nearly drunk off the sound of your moans and the taste of your sweet cunt. He leans down to suck your clit between his plump lips and you feel yourself getting close, clenching around nothing. And it’s like he reads your mind because seconds later he’s thrusting his fingers inside you, rubbing them up against your g-spot and sending you into an orgasm that makes your entire body shake. “Shit daddy, yesyesyes, I’m cumming, I’m cumming.”

He leans up, grips onto your hips, and flips you over with ease, propping you up on the desk. He grabs onto your face and connects your lips in a filthy kiss. His tongue intangles with yours, flooding your mouth with the taste of yourself mixed with him and it makes your head spin.

“Take this fuckin’ dress off.” He grabs onto the straps, pushing them off your shoulders so he can yank it down your legs. “No bra? God damn, princess, look at these perfect tits, shit.” He yanks off his shirt before undoing his pants, pushing them down his hips. Your eyes nearly pop out of your head at the sight of his cock. “Yeah baby, this isn’t some twenty something loser cock, this is what a real man’s dick looks like. Beg for it.”

“Daddy, please fuck me, please, I want you to fill me up. Put a baby in me so everyone on the island knows you I belong to.” You push your hips forward, spreading your legs further. Rafe decides that’s enough for him, roughly grabbing onto your hip with one hand and using the other to line his cock up with your entrance. He pushes inside you with one thrust, your tight wet pussy practically sucking him in.

“Ah, shit, you’re so fucking tight.” Rafe grabs onto your ankles, throwing them over his shoulders so he can fuck you even deeper. “Been dreaming about this pussy for months. Been dreaming about this sexy little body. Look at these perfect tits. Perfect legs. So fucking soft. Such a good little slut for daddy.”

He grabs onto your throat as he continues to split you open on his cock, his other hand finds your clit and it has you clenching around him. The desk is slamming against the ground and you’re both moaning so loud you wouldn’t be surprised if the entire party heard you outside through the music and all the walls. But you didn’t care, especially not as you gushed around Rafe’s cock.

“Yeah that’s right, fuckin’ give it to me, cum all over my cock. Gonna fill you up, gonna give you a baby just like you want, don’t even give a fuck what anybody thinks. I’m not ever quitting this pussy.” Rafe lets go of your throat to so he can wrap your legs around his hips, grabbing onto your ass as he fucks into you at a brutal pace, chasing his own high.

“Yeah daddy, fucking give it to me, fill me up, want it so bad.” You run your perfectly manicured nails down his back and it does him in. He presses his hips flush against yours as his cock twitches inside of you, filling you with ropes of his cum. The moans leaving him are your never favorite song that you want to listen to on repeat for the rest of your life. When he comes down from his high he lets his cock slip out of you before gathering the bit of cum that leaked out on his fingers, shoving it back inside.

“Can’t waste any, can we?” He brings his slick fingers to your lips and you happily suck them clean. He pulls them from your mouth before leaning in to place a much gentler kiss on your lips.

“I’m sorry about all that stuff I said I totally understand if you wanna forget this ever happened I-“ he shushes you, kissing you again.

“I’m not forgetting shit, princess. You’re mine now. Gonna fuck you full until it takes and then make you my pretty little housewife. I don’t give a damn what anyone thinks.”

Your dad was going to be so fucking pissed, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Not when you finally got exactly what you wanted.

Taglist: @voyeurmunson @oceandriveab @munson-mjstan @rafesthroatbaby 🖤

#rafe Cameron #rafe #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x you #outerbanks rafe #older!Rafe Cameron #rafe Cameron smut #Dolly writes #divider by me

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paranoia0612 · 4 months

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country club lookbook with Anna

look 1: dress | bottom | glasses | golf stick

look 2: sweater | skirt | ball and racket

look 3: t-shirt | skirt | chanel tennis set

look 4: polo shirt & tied sweater | pants

credits: @kurimas, @gorillax3-cc, @platinumaspiration, @astya96cc, @lindasims2, @pralinesims, @lantsovsims, @strawberrikhunnie-deactivated20, @nikaonishko, @mel-bennett, @serenity-cc, @mmsims, @edra, @4w25-cc, @dream-girl, @trishasimma, @platinumluxesims, @boonstoww, @kestrelteens, @serenity-cc

#ts2 #simblr #ts2 lookbook #dl cc

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obxone · 2 years

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Assumptions (Part 4)

Rewritten/Edited. ~2.3k words

Master Page

The Island Club is your destination for the day as you fill in for a friend that is out sick with strep throat, likely caught by one of the kids you are overseeing on the beach. Shading the sun from your eyes with your hand, you giggle as the preteen boys play a fierce game of volleyball, nearly taking each other out while trying to show off for the cluster of girls watching them.

“Well, look who it is,” Rafe’s voice calls from behind you, and you turn to see him walking toward you. Kelce and Topper stand on the golf course a few meters back. Both smirking at you as Rafe gets closer and closer. You look him over, white and blue striped polo, pressed khaki shorts, white cap, and golf shoes that probably cost more than your car. His golf club rests up against his shoulder as he strolls toward you.

“I’m working,” you respond once he is close enough, and you turn back to watch the kids. “Something you might try.”

“Right,” he scoffs before looking at you. His gaze drags over you in your Island Club summer camp uniform that consists of tempo shorts and a t-shirt that reads Summer Haven. His eyebrows scrunch together. “Working?”

You crack a smile before looking at the sand beneath your feet. “Summer Haven.”

“You work at Summer Haven too?”

“As a fill-in when they are short-staffed.”

He chuckles. “Didn’t see that coming.”

You shrug. “I like kids, and it lets me hang out in air conditioning or on the beach while getting paid.” You turn your face to look at him. “You should join the staff.”

“Right,” he snorts. “I don’t like kids.”

“Not surprised in the least.”

He shakes his head at you while trying to hide his smile. “That is an insult I know it.”

“Oh, it is,” you agree. “You probably barely tolerated Wheezie when she was younger.”

He shakes his head before knocking his elbow against yours. “Why are you being mean to me?”

“You started it,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your waist.

“How?”

“By existing.”

“You are so funny,” he mocks before his hand is on your waist, guiding you closer. Your shoulder brushes his chest as he stares down at you. His expensive cologne masks the scent of sunscreen that still lingers on you. The heat of his touch burns through the cotton of your t-shirt, and you are aware of how this could look. You open your mouth, but he beats you to it. “When we were kids, they said when someone was mean to you it meant they had a crush on you.”

You roll your eyes. “So you crush on all the pogues?”

“Touché,” he mutters, a smile toying at his lips. His fingers squeeze against you like you are his lifeline.

“Is that your boyfriend?!” One of the twelve old girls asks loudly, smirking at you and Rafe.

“Breezy has a boyfriend!” Her companion cheers.

You laugh, shaking your head and pressing your hand against Rafe’s chest to create space between you.

“Who the hell is Breezy?” Rafe questions.

You laugh more, resting your hand on his arm as you try to calm yourself. He shakes his head, fighting a smile at your amusement.

“I’m Breezy, it is my summer camp name,” you offer before squeezing his arm. “Because I make their days easy breezy.”

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbles, shaking his head as he looks down at his shoes. “You are so corny.”

You sigh before shoving him away from you playfully. “I didn’t pick it, Mr. Cameron. They did.” You gesture to your group of kids, all gaping at you and Rafe now. A few make kissing motions and noises while some stare. “You should go before they start posting us on Instagram.”

“All right,” he says, his hand skimming your back. “Find you later?”

“Maybe,” you tease. “Bye, Rafe.”

“Bye, Baby.”

The growing cluster of girls all share a high-pitched shriek, and you blush before shaking your head at him and mouthing asshole at him. He laughs, you smile a little before he goes back to playing golf, and you try to distract the others.

— — — —

Day camp ends, and you are ready to change into regular clothes after signing the last kid out. You close the now-empty event room where the staff and children camp out during pickup hours to see Rafe coming down the hall.

“Rafe Cameron,” you smile at him, leaning back against the door.

“Beautiful.”

“Oh my god,” you mutter, and he laughs before his hands rest against the door on either side of you, effectively caging you.

“Ready for our date?”

“Will you ever let that go?” You ask.

He shakes his head. “No.”

You frown at him before patting his chest. “I have to go.”

“The Wreck?”

“No. Meeting my mom for dinner.”

He lowers his arm to let you pass, but as soon as you try, he snags you by your waist, dragging you back. “Can I come, Breezy?”

“Rafe…”

He smirks before pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ll behave.”

“I bet you would,” you whisper while pushing your hands to his chest. “But no, I have not seen my mom all week, and she is not exactly your biggest fan with all the fighting and beating the crap out of my friends.”

He frowns. “Your mom knows about that?”

“Who do you think patches JJ up half the time?”

“Fuck,” he exhales, and you smile weakly.

“Thank you for offering,” you whisper before pressing your lips to his cheek. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

He lets you go, and you walk away, only glancing back once to see him observing you. His hand raked through his hair, a small smile on his face.

— — — —

It has been a week of no Rafe sighting. Part of you wishes he has gotten the message and moved on to some pretty kook girl, but another part of you is disappointed at the thought of him being deterred so easily. That part of you causes you a little anxiety. You could not possibly be falling for Rafe Cameron's charm. There is no possibility of it happening.

Tonight is a pogue night at the Boneyard. Another kegger. You laugh as Peeler tells you a story about another pogue and a fishing net incident at the docks. She animates his face, and you can not help but laugh a little louder. However, that fades out when her face shifts to one of annoyance after her gaze drifts to something over your shoulder.

You turn to see the Death Squad together, solo cups in hand and near the fire. Kelce and Topper’s attention is elsewhere, but Rafe is staring at you. His gaze flickers to Peeler and then back to you. Your heart races a little, and your hand tightens around your cup. He is here, and his attention is still on you. Good or bad? You are not sure yet.

“What does the Kook Prince want?” She asks.

“No clue,” you respond before touching her arm. “I should find the others. Thanks for the story. That was great.”

“Anytime.” She grins before giving you a hug. “I miss hanging out with you.”

“We’ll do it again soon,” you promise before leaving her to go in the opposite direction of Rafe. You spot Kie and Pope in the distance, along with JJ and a tourist making out by the water. John B is nowhere in sight.

“Hey,” Rafe calls, you stop and turn to look at him as he advances through the clusters of people to get to you. His free hand locates yours. His touch is a whisper across your wrist and forearm. “I’ve missed you. How are you?”

“I’m good,” you respond, looking around to see if anyone has noticed the kook and pogue together. “You?”

He shrugs. “I’m glad I came. It’s been a week since Summer Haven.”

“I know.”

He purses his lips. “Why?”

“I told you I was busy.”

He frowns, shifting on his feet a little. “Are you avoiding me again?”

“No.” You whisper before meeting his gaze again. “I worked a few extra shifts at The Wreck to cover my car repair, and then I found a new book series.”

Humor lights up his eyes, his bottom lip caught between his teeth for a moment before exhaling. “Can we go talk somewhere?”

“I don’t think so, Rafe.”

“Why not?”

You frown. The desire to touch Rafe consumes you, but you reframe even though he has not stopped touching you. His fingers brush over your wrist and forearm consistently.

“You know why.”

The annoyance surfaces on his face before he leans in. His lips are next to your ear. “Is this because of your friends?”

You inhale sharply when his lips brush against your jaw before going back to your ear. Your mind clouds from his touch and cologne as it seems to wrap around you like a blanket.

“Because I can keep a secret.”

“Rafe,” your voice quivers, and your hand presses to his chest, trying to push him back a few inches so you can think. “That…”

“Please.”

Your eyes flutter close as his hand moves from your arm to your waist. His touch burns through the linen dress you are wearing. You tip your face towards his. Your body betrays you as it attempts to give in to him.

“I can’t,” you hear yourself say before you pull away from him and take a step back. His touch falls away, and he groans. “Sorry, Rafe.”

You leave him where he stands before pushing through the crowd towards the parking lot after you hand your still half-full beer to an already tipsy tourist who takes it with glee. You do not notice that he has followed. His legs are longer than yours as he closes the distance between you within seconds. He pulls you to a stop with his hand on your wrist, and you turn to look at him. Eyes wide in surprise.

“What are you-?”

But your words are silenced by him and his soft lips on yours. His hands cup your face as he kisses you. You stand frozen for a moment, your brain short-circuiting before you snap to attention and kiss him back. Your hands trail up his arms and down to his abdomen. Your fingers tangle in the cotton material when his tongue brushes against your lip. The kiss deepens, and he groans, his fingers intertwining through your hair, and the other hand remains on your face. His thumb brushes back and forth over your cheek, and it sends sparks of heat across your face.

Once the kiss ends, you step back, your chest rising and falling rapidly for air, and from the electricity in the kiss. Rafe's eyes cloud with desire as he stares at you. His arms are down by his side as he waits for a verbal reprimand or a request for more.

You shake your head, trying to clear your mind as you brace your hands against your stomach to quiet the butterflies from within.

“Please tell me this is some sick joke!”

You turn to see Kie, Pope, and JJ all gawking at you. Kie looks on in anger, but the other two watch with eyes wide from shock. Your swollen lips part in surprise before you turn back to Rafe, whose demeanor has pivoted to the one you know all too well.

“He kissed me.”

“She kissed me back,” he says simply. “She was not exactly pushing me away was she?”

“Rafe!” You scold, and he chuckles.

“What Baby?”

“Baby?!” JJ asks, his face screwing up in disdain. “What the hell is that?”

“Nothing,” you say as you shift closer to them. The awareness of how this looks sets in. They had seen you on the beach with him, they saw you walk away, and Rafe had followed, and now you are in a dimly lit parking lot, hidden amongst the vehicles kissing. “Kie, he followed me out here, and he kissed me.”

“I saw him follow you, which is why we came after you,” she says glancing at Pope and JJ, who both nod in unison. "We were worried."

“She asked me to kiss her,” Rafe’s tone is casual, and you turn to glare at him. His hands are in his pockets as he leans back against an SUV. “I wanted to in front of everyone, but she asked me to meet her here to keep the secret.”

“He’s lying,” you whisper, turning back to your friends. “I swear.”

JJ looks at you as Pope and Kie seem to share a silent conversation.

“J,” you say. “Please believe me.”

“I do,” he responds, shifting to stand between you and Rafe. His blue eyes are like fire as he glares at Rafe, his jaw clenched in anger before his next words rock your world. “I heard him a few weeks ago at the Island Club, he made a bet with Kelce and Topper.”

“A bet?!” Kiara's attention snaps to the current conversation shift.

He looks away from you to Rafe. “He bet them that he could get her to fuck him by the end of the summer for $5k. $10k if she did before the Midsummer party."

“Holy shit,” Pope mumbles. Kiara's jaw drops in shock at JJ's confession.

“Are you kidding me?” You question, your voice hollow, and look at Rafe. His face is expressionless as he stares back at you. Your hands ball into fists so tight, your nails dig into the soft skin of your palms. “A fucking bet!”

He shrugs. Cold emotionless kook prince Rafe Cameron emerges and it makes your heart ache. “So?”

“Oh my god, I’m going to be sick.” You try to focus on your breathing as Kie touches your back in comfort. “Get me out of here, now, please?”

“Come on,” she urges you towards her car. “We’ll go to my house.”

You nod, closing your eyes for a moment. Rafe calls your name, but you ignore him knowing that JJ will not let him near you. You do not meet his gaze again or even have the urge to look at him as the butterflies that had previously fluttered in your stomach evaporate. Your stomach twists as you leave the Boneyard behind, and you try to concentrate on your surroundings instead of the turmoil raging inside you at the idea of being played by Rafe Cameron.

Part V

#outer banks #obx #rafe cameron #outer banks rafe cameron #obx rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader

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verdemoun · 2 months

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I have a few headcanons about the VDL gang’s fashion tastes in the modern era:

Kieran wears a lot of green, not only because he likes the colour but also because he felt scared to wear it back in 1899 because he felt that if he did, the gang would think he was still an O’Driscoll and kick him out or kill him.

Bill still wears pretty much the same thing and has plaid shirts in every colour except pink (because internalised homophobia). He yelled at someone in the street after they “looked at him funny” the first time he went out in public because he was wearing a leather duster coat.

Hosea rocks the classic suburban dad fit and looks great in it. Striped short-sleeve shirt, navy or beige slacks, brown loafers, the works. Also, he started wearing a string on his glasses because he kept losing them (they were on his head 90% of the time).

John wears those galaxy wolf t-shirts and everyone hates them. Once paired it with a leather jacket and Arthur laughed at him for at least 20 minutes.

Molly wears the most beautiful cottagecore outfits you’ve ever seen and Dutch cried himself to sleep when he saw her post a picture of it on social media.

Abigail wears pastel coloured knit sweaters over white button-ups with mom jeans and white trainers. She is the embodiment of “live laugh love”.

Ooooh i love these!!

Kieran would take ages to get used to the idea of wearing green and the color itself. He takes months for him to accept that the O'Driscolls are not in timewarp and strangers wearing green on the street are not a threat to his life. But especially once he starts exploring clothing that supports his sensory needs single favorite piece of clothing is a dark green festive blanket hoodie that says 'let's get baked'. The one day a month he isn't wearing it is when someone manages to wash it.

Bill's outfit is virtually unchanged except he relies on baseball caps to hide his bald spot because slouch hat is very distinct. Absolutely does not own pink but eventually graduates to a 'salmon' dress shirt for special occasions and will throw punches over anyone calling it pink.

Yes yes yes Hosea is either golf dad with the polos and loafers with dress socks or sweater weather old man he has the coziest ugly knit cardigans that make him look infinitely older.

This is rdr1 John so the whole wolf attack seems very far away and not something he thinks about often but someone absolutely bought him one as a joke (probably Arthur they are still children together) and he wears it unironically. But leather jacket Marston era!!

Molly makes everyone weep she is stunning. She also goes through a mid-life crisis and cuts her hair into the iconic bisexual bob Dutch very nearly becoming an incel in reinforcing gender roles 'that isn't very ladylike' to avoid admitting he very much fumbled a baddie.

Abigail looks like a studio ghibli mom like baggy pants the wearing plain soft tone generic t-shirts and looking so stunning doing it she breaks hearts everywhere. Sweetest supportive live laugh love mom but a shovel for hiding the bodies of her enemies would just as much in place as she merrily sweeps like a mother hen fussing over making sure the house is perfect now that she has her whole family back.

#rdr2 timewarp au

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croszukis · 5 months

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Nick 38 🤲

38. Multiverse/meeting alternate version of self (send me a guy and a situation)

well, naturally it must be local boy nick right?

“You’re late,” Nick grumbled to Nanea when she finally breezed through the front doors as always, she never fucking used the staff entrance in the back side either.

“Sorry, ah. My car is shit, wouldn’t start this morning and I had to call Kawika for one jump.” She was obviously lying—she grinning when she said this, twisting her hair up into a titah bun or whatever on her head. It was good thing they didn’t have a dress code or bosses (aka Nick’s parents) who cared because Nanea always showed up in cut off jean shorts, slippers on her feet, and Suzuki Shave Ice t-shirts with the neckline cut or the bottom twisted up with a hair tie on her back.

“Whatever, it’s fine. You owe me though, I hate taking orders.” He’d much rather be working the machine, hands almost painfully cold from moving ice blocks and forming mounds of shaved ice into neat little spheres. He was good at it, after years of working in his parent’s shop, making perfect cones every time. “Some dumb fucken’ haoles spent an extra ten minutes bugging me for hiking recommendations because they wanna know where the real locals go. As if I’d tell ‘em. Like try stick to Koko Head, brah?”

Nick moved aside to let Nanea take over the cash register so he could shift over to the ice station, rows of bottles of syrups in every possible color imaginable lined up in front of him. She was better at dealing with customers than him, her fake smile to endless tourists more believable. She flirted, let sunburnt haole boys with crew cuts believe she might be into them or whatever party they try to invite her to. As if she didn’t have a hot surfer boyfriend with tons of family in Waialua that could beat them up. It got tips though, so Nick could only admire her.

It was hours later, deep into the afternoon post-beach rush, when Nanea hissed at him, “Eh, Nick. Try look at this guy.”

He was busy trying to remember all four flavors this little girl had ordered, a weird combination she’d definitely regret but Nick didn’t say anything and just pulled out all the bottles to set on the ledge in front of him. “What? Is it another guy trying to steal a t-shirt?”

“No. He looks just like you. Like, it’s freaky weird.”

He wiped the sides of the plastic holder on the cone of spilled syrup and handed it to the mom before glancing to where Nanea was gesturing. “What are you talking about?” She nudged him in the direction of a group of guys—a bunch of haoles he’d guess were from the mainland, probably. But in the middle of them was an asian guy.

“Woah.”

“I told you! Totally looks like you. Shoots, we found your doppelgänger!”

Nick had to admit that the guy did look like him, if he grew up on the mainland he guesses. If he were the type to cut his hair like that, or wear golf polo shirts and never see the sun. The group made it to the front of the line and Nanea was doing all of her normal routine, flirting a little, gesturing with her hands as she talked in a way that made the tahitian pearl bangles she wore jingle.

She kept glancing back at the asian guy, Nick could see even from over at his station, and he watched them notice it too. The guy didn’t seem weirded out or like he thought she was interested in him and he was interested back. Actually he seemed to brace himself, like he was expecting something he wasn’t going to enjoy much.

“Hockey fan?” He mumbled, Nick could barely make out the words over the buzzing of the shave ice machine.

“No?” Nanea responded with a laugh. “I don’t think you’ll find anyone here who is.”

The guy looked embarrassed now, glancing at his friends, “We’re hockey players. I thought maybe you recognized us and didn’t know how to tell us.”

“Oh, no.” She didn’t even seem at all fazed to have been caught staring at him. In fact she looked excited and Nick groaned internally. Nanea owed him much more than sweeping the floors at closing now, this was like, some of her mom’s homemade kulolo territory. “It’s just—you look like one of our workers. This is his family's shop actually.” She was pointing to Nick now, who was trying to start on their order actually.

Nick didn’t move any closer, staying by the safety of the machine, but gave a close-lipped smile to the group who were all staring at him now.

“Nick, isn’t it funny your doppelgänger plays hockey apparently? Do you even know how to ice skate?”

“I do,” he grumbled, feeling insulted. He spent one summer in junior high with a group friends who were obsessed with Ice Palace and went almost every week. He used to be able to skate backwards, even.

“Wait, your name is Nick too?” One of his friends popped up, he was the shortest of them all. Nick only noticed because the other guys were all pretty tall.

“We came here because it’s named Suzuki’s. Like him.” He had an arm around well, Nick, apparently. “So you’re both Nick Suzuki. That’s crazy.”

Nick thought the guy had way too much energy for someone who hadn’t even eaten a large shave ice yet. The tops of his cheeks were red and he was grinning like it didn’t hurt to do that when Nick knew it must’ve.

He looked back at Other Nick to see him staring back at him intently, observing him or something. It was unnerving, they looked so alike but they were so different—the way he dressed, the way he talked with his vowels sounding all weird—there was almost nothing else similar about them.

“Yeah, crazy.”

#*writing #local boy nick suzuki

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marketing2011 · 23 days

Text

Buy Stylish Men's Golf T-Shirts | 3BELOW

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kiaracross1 · 6 months

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⛳ Primarily designed for playing golf, providing the players with comfort and breathability during the game, polo t-shirts are nowadays worn by fashion enthusiasts and all those men who like to look casual but sophisticated. 👕 It’s the essential piece of clothing that every stylish man has in his capsule wardrobe. 👖 And, since it’s one of the most versatile upper pieces of clothing it can be paired with almost everything and anything that comes to your mind. 🏌🏻

#Men #Polo #Shirt #T-Shirt #Golf #Style

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billthedrake · 2 years

Text

(This is a story I started a while ago but put to the back burner before getting very far. We'll see if I pick it up again.)

FIFTY SHADES OF DADBOD

PART ONE: THE PROTOTYPE

Sexual attraction's a mystery. At least it is to me. I just know what turns me on and it's deep seated. Yeah, my tastes are particular, weird even. It took me years to own up to them completely.

I don't know if Mr. Carson was responsible for my love of dad bods. Maybe he tapped into something already there, deeper in me. But I had an important milestone watching him mow the lawn, shirtless in the summer heat. Puberty had hit me like a hormonal train and I was spending the summer days with a boner, rubbing it, enjoying the new sensations. I was doing it a lot, too, particularly since I had the free time of my summer days. I don't even think I fully registered that I was attracted to men and men only.

But that day I realized. I looked out my window and watched my neighbor. I got excited and had the naughty urge to rub myself to the vision of the guy, so I unzipped and pulled out my boner.

Jeff Carson was about as typical, even stereotypical a suburban man you could picture. Early 30s, married with a kid, had a corporate job similar to my dad's. Handsome looks, receding blond hair, masculine in that laid-back ex-frat way. Had about 5, maybe 10 extra pounds clinging to his mid section.

I watched that fateful day as the sweat trickled down his back and into the waistband of his beat-up Nantucket red chino shorts. Then as he turned the mower and walked toward my house, that beautiful torso came into view. Strong but not huge pecs, a dusting of golden hair, then just a hint of a gut.

I felt an unfamiliar sensation. Pleasure, but mostly sensations that surprised me. Like I was going to piss. I was having my first orgasm. I cleaned up, ashamed, but about fifteen minutes later I was back in the same spot, doing the same thing as Mr. Carson did his last turns around the lawn. I was hooked.

Mr. Carson wasn't my only JO fodder for my teen years but he was always the biggest star in my fantasies. He fit my ideal of a perfect man and even defined it. To this day, guys measure up to him.

The crazy thing was he got even hotter for me. Around sophomore year, the Carsons had a second baby, and I saw work and domestic life put more padding on his body. Almost all of it went to his midsection. For a good year straight, I observed how the love handles and incipient beer belly filled out Mr. C's dress shirts and polos, as well as the casual T-shirts he'd sometimes wear on the weekend.

And then there were his golf shirts. My dad bod attraction may have been already there, but I'll credit Mr. C for turning me onto golf attire. He was an avid golfer and the way that poly-knit fabric would hug his body would send me wild. Besides the amazing gentle girth of his stomach, the man had perfect tits. Nice thick nipples with a pointy tip that would show through in his golf shirts or polo shirts, even his dress shirts. I developed a real fetish for shirts and the men who filled them out well.

I even knicked a couple of my dad's old ones from a pile he'd set aside for Goodwill. No, I don't perv on the old man, but I perved on those shirts. Big time. Load after load, pumping them out after school as I slipped on a polo shirt and JO-ed in front of my bedroom mirror. The shirts were big on me, of course. I wasn't an athletic teenager and still had a very slender frame. But I'd stroke my dick and imagine what I'd look like bigger, grown up. I imagined being about to fuck a man wearing his golf or polo shirt. One day I even snuck a pair of dad's golf shoes and put them on for my session. Was the biggest cum I'd had.

If Jeff Carson was hot in a snug shirt, it was a different kind of pleasure seeing him shirtless in his backyard when the warmer weather came. Unaware that he was showing off his new-daddy weight to me. I took a ton of pictures which still don't fail to get me off. And eventually, the man took up jogging to lose some of his excess pounds. I wanted to tell him he was fucking perfect and he shouldn't ever change, but I did enjoy the glimpses of him running down the street, the modest swell of his belly jiggling with each stride. Fuck, I shot so much spunk to that mental image.

I worried I was forming an unhealthy obsession, but Mr. C opened me to a new world of men. I started noticing teachers and coaches and men around town who fit the type. These were men I'd never see in a porn video, except for a few of the amateur vids I was curating into a personal collection. Though I didn't have a term yet for their body types, I began to appreciate the sheer variety of dadbods.

It felt bittersweet moving off to college. On one hand I was itching for the freedom to discover myself and to come out. On the other hand I was losing my regular sightings of my neighbor. Not only did I lust after him in a big way, I was growing a little crush on Mr. C.

PART TWO: THE EX-JOCK

It was second semester of college before I discovered the gym. I learned the basics for weight lifting from whatever internet sources I could find and hit it hard.

I made a workout buddy who saw I didn't really know proper form lifting and offered me some tips. Sam was a total bro type, but like me had a leaner genetic build. I think we got along so well because we were serious about lifting but weren't meatheads like a lot of other guys in the gym. We had a standing gym session together four times a week. We didn't hang out too much otherwise, but we spent so much time together we became good friends.

Sam didn't seemed too fazed when I told him I was gay, but he did act a little weird for a while, making nervous jokes about his ass being off limits after I watched his set of squats. Finally, I just said, "Dude you're not my fucking type so don't worry."

That seemed to clear the air. "Sorry man I guess I was being a dick." He racked an extra 20 on for my set. "I bet you go for those pretty boys." It was a small liberal arts college and the few visible gay gays on campus fit a certain type.

I got into place. "Nah," I admitted. "I like older dudes."

He laughed and had a smirk still when I finished my set.

"What?" I asked.

"Me, too," he said. "I don't mean dudes, but I prefer older women. My buddies make fun of me sometimes... I don't think I've lived down the Cougar Boy nickname," he laughed.

"Fuck 'em," I said. "Life's too short not to go after what you want."

Me and Sam were solid after that day.

Thing was, I could talk a big game, but I still hadn't had much sexual experience. Some fumbling hookups with some guys on campus, but I was craving an older man to have sex with. A man like Jeff Carson.

I didn't find him. At least not at first and not exactly. But I set up a profile on an app and after a bit of nervousness added, "looking for older guys. Masculine preferred, don't need a perfect body."

I got a few hits. Some guys were fun to chat with but didn't push my buttons physically. Others looked hot but seemed rude and short. Maybe I was too hesitant and was feeling them out too much.

Finally, I was horny one Saturday night and set something up. The guy I didn't think was that attractive but he offered to suck me off, no recip, and that sounded pretty good to me right then. I went to his place, and yeah, he wasn't better looking in person. But he had a nice head of salt and pepper hair that I looked down on as he shucked my shorts and started to lick my dick, getting it firmed up to hardness. And when he took me in his mouth, I realized what I'd been missing out on. This was a great blow job. Not rushed but definitely working me up to greater and greater pleasure. After a couple of minutes I blurted out that I was going to cum if he kept it up. He did, and I shot. Afterwards, the man was grateful, and I was in a good mood.

It was later that week when I hit the jackpot. The man's profile read 49, 6'2" (two inches taller than me), 220 pounds. We had some flirtatious chat and he unlocked his pics for me... a very handsome, almost ruggedly handsome face, with brown eyes, medium-short dark hair showing a lot of gray... and a nice thick-ish cock the pubic hair trimmed but not too much. Best of all was his body. Strong, bulky, a little padding around the middle. A true ex-jock build.

He seemed into what I was offering, too. Lean, six pack, nice round ass, a bit of muscle that I'd put on in the last year.

"It's gotta be discreet," he wrote.

"That's cool," I replied. "Don't have any one I could tell," I wrote. I was out and had gay friends, but none that I'd confessed my attraction to older men to.

He offered to pick me up on campus. I was nervous about that idea, but some gut instinct told me I could trust him. I'm glad I did. The man was even hotter in person and the smile he greeted me with as I got into his car told me he was pleased with me as well.

"Jason...? good to meet you," he said, offering his thick mitt of a hand.

"You, too, Pat," I smiled back, my heart beating. This guy was so frickin' hot. Thick-set muscle and just big, you know. I knew he was a coach from the get go. I didn't know where or what he coached, but I knew it was possible he was a coach at my college.

"You OK going back to my place?" he asked, checking in.

"Oh yeah," I said.

There's a cliche that younger guys often hold to about older men. That they're all experienced and great lovers. Sometimes that's just not true. I've come to learn that an older guy can be lousy in the sack, or maybe just not click with you for some reason.

But Pat lived up to the fantasy I had. Dude was an amazing kisser. He took his time, making out with me on the couch, talking some between the kisses. Not too much, but feeling me out, letting me talking about my desires, and complimenting me in the process. He didn't rush things, and he'd actually slow me down when I tried to. It was a simple correction, but it made the kissing feel so good. Him teaching me how to enjoy being with a man.

He ran his hand underneath the hem of my T-shirt, tracing along the ridges of my abs. "Nice," he purred, gnawing at the spot under my ear.

"OK if I undo your shirt?" I asked. He was wearing a button down, almost preppy looking. It was silly to ask I suppose, but I'd felt silently admonished for rushing things earlier.

Pat grinned. "Have at it, buddy."

Excitedly I reached up and undid his next to top button, then another. I stopped there, wanting to take my time. I eased my fingers beneath the opening and felt the warm hairy chest, firm and muscular but in a middle-aged kind of way. "So hot," I growled. "Perfect."

Pat's hand wandered up higher on my belly, sending goosebumps along my flesh. He knew what he was doing and he made it seem effortless. "Just so you know, I'm getting out of a messy divorce. So just looking for a little fun. Is that OK with you buddy?"

I nodded. I guess he could read my intense attraction and was concerned I was going to crush out on him. "Um, yeah," I replied. We kissed softly. He had a grin on his face. "This feels amazing," I said.

"It's not your first time is it?"

"No," I replied deciding to undo another button. His stomach was hairier than his chest, which excited me. "But you make the other guys seem like amateurs."

Pat liked that response, a lot. "Arms up, buddy," he ordered and I did so he could peel my T-shirt off. I quickly undid the rest of his buttons, watching excitedly as the shirt flaps opened to show off his mid-section padding. He had a fuller stomach than his online picture and I was very excited by the rounder girth. His muscle was solid, for sure, but his advertised 220 was probably closer to 230, with that extra 10 forming a nice combination of soft-firm beneath my touch as I explored his midsection.

"God you're perfect," I repeated. I finally removed my hand from his furry gut as he started to lean forward.

Pat removed his shoes and socks and undid his belt. "Mind if I get more comfortable?" he asked.

"I'd be upset if you didn't," I breathed. I was feeling nervous but weirdly confident too, if that makes sense. Being with an older man, particularly one with a body like Pat's, made me feel like I was truly having sex for the first time.

I watched excitedly as the jeans and then the briefs came down. Pat's genitals were exactly as advertised, and the pictures didn't lie. The man wasn't hung very long, but his cock was thick, thicker than average and the chunky tool just somehow looked right on his ex-jock frame. The prick stood up rigid like a railroad spike. The divorced man was turned on.

I followed suit and though I felt my body paled in comparison to his, I got off on the way he looked at me. I don't know if Pat had a thing for college guys or just younger guys in general, but I felt a wave of confidence as I stood before him naked and erect and stepped up to meet him in a kiss. His hard muscle and softer bulk both felt amazing against my trimmer body as we made out and rubbed cocks.

With a grin, Pat broke the kiss and started walking me backward. "Why don't we take this to the bedroom, buddy?" he asked.

I nodded excitedly.

Pat had a nice place, but it had a new, not-yet-lived in feel of a house of a divorced guy. But his king bed felt incredibly soft and comfortable compared to my dorm mattress, and it was a thrill to be in this coach's bedroom as he climbed onto the bed after me and climbed right on top of my reclining body.

That next kiss felt even more electric than the ones before. I didn't even know Pat's last name or really anything about him, but his body and masculine presence on top of me excited me beyond belief. Whether he was the romantic type or not, he seemed to love kissing and making out and taking the slow approach to sex. That worked for me, only his slow writhing against my body was starting to get me off, far too quickly.

I tried to stop my orgasm, but as I clenched Pat's hips urgently to signal him to stop thrusting against me, the man took that as a signal of desire and he writhed more steadily against me. That did it. I came. My fooling-around handjobs and BJs up to that point didn't compare to the incredible cum I had, spurting my warm seed between our naked bodies.

It took Pat by surprise and he broke the kiss suddenly and leaned up, looking down at me. "Whoa... you must have been pretty worked up, buddy," he said.

I felt embarrassed to have no self-control around this man. "Yeah, sorry Pat," I muttered feeling even younger and more inexperienced than I was.

The ex-jock kind of rolled off to the side so he could examine my sperm. It coated both of our stomachs, and I loved seeing how the white liquid matted down his belly fur, but the brunt of my load was on my body.

Pat took in the sight and then leaned down and started licking off my cum with long wide swipes of his tongue. He muttered excitedly at my flavor then it was my turn to moan as Pat came up and kissed me deeply, sharing my sperm as our tongues passed back and forth. It was an incredibly hot experience.

Pat thought so too and was now getting worked up. He looked up at me as he started stroking his dick. "I gotta get off too, Jase..." he announced.

I touched his forearm, not stopping his stroking but signaling him to pause. "I can go again," I said. "I'm pretty turned on right now." It was true, my erection hadn't gone down in the slightest and I felt like I could go again, only without that out-of-control urgency as before.

He liked that response. His expression curled into a smile. "Yeah, buddy? I forget what it's like to be 19," he chuckled. I watched his magnificent bulky body twist as he reached back to grab some lube. Pat popped the cap and squirted a good deal on his fingers.

He met me in another kiss just as his hand reached down to start applying the liquid to my hole. He'd mentioned in our chat that he loved fucking, and while I'd replied "that's hot," we hadn't discussed the specifics of how our hookup was going to go down. I had a pretty good idea now.

I was cherry when it came to anal, but very eager for that to change. Pat seemed appreciative of my tight hole as he worked it open with one, two, and then three fingers as we made out. He damn well knew what he was doing. Those fingers prodding me slowly and steadily, working me open.... it felt intense but in a wonderful way.

Finally he knelt up and got into place, putting my legs on his strong shoulders. Looking up I remarked how from the sternum up his muscle was big and well-defined, a total ex-jock build. I was starting to think football, he was that big and strong, and my guess was that Pat was a college football player who'd kept up dedicated time in the gym in the 25 plus years since graduation.

Below his chest, Pat had the gut of a man who'd let himself go to seed, or at least let his body do what men's bodies naturally want to do with age. And I was completely turned on by the result. Just looking down at that ex-jock belly made my virgin hole open up and allowed Pat's thick, wet prick to push in.

I was getting my cherry popped in a big way. Maybe it wasn't Jeff Carson doing the honors, but in every other way Pat, whose last name I didn't know, was my fantasy first. He bored in ever so slowly and about two inches in, I winced, feeling my innards tightening up.

The man paused, concerned. "You've done this before right?"

I shook my head no.

"But you said..." He'd misunderstood me before.

"I've had sex a few times, but you're the first to fuck me," I explained.

He looked down a little contrite and ran his hands up and down my smoother body. "We don't gotta buddy."

I held on to his midsection. "I want this," I said. "Bad. Just go slow."

He nodded. "You got it," he smiled. "Only I may fire off any time. Your ass is so tight." And with that he leaned down and met me in a soft kiss that made my body come alive.

If Pat was skilled before, he got even better. Patient in working me open as we made out and I felt up his bigger body. Then, something clicked and I just wanted him. I wanted every fat inch of that magnificent coach cock. I didn't have to wait. As my ass unclenched, Pat fed it to me, in a slow, steady push. Right all the way in, balls deep.

He grunted into my mouth, then broke the kiss.

"Popped your cherry, kid," he growled with a grin.

"Oh fuck!" I hissed, from both the physical sensation and the emotional intensity.

"You like that?" the man grinned, turned on by how excited I was. He gave a slow, shallow pump into me, then again. Not a hard fuck, but I felt it.

"Yes... fuck me Pat," I grunted, feeling all the pleasurable sensations in my body focused in my asshole. His hips pulled out more with each stroke now, and my prostate was singing. "Jesus... this feels so incredible," I said. My hands were back at his body now, every inch I could touch and feel as this man delivered an incredible virgin-busting fuck.

He nodded. "Your ass is incredible too, Jase... tightest I've ever been in."

His words made my hole clench and flutter against his pistoning dick. I wasn't even trying to do anything special, it was just my body's involuntary response. But it egged the coach on.

"Oh FUCK yeah! Milk my cock, buddy... just like that!" He humped more urgently into me, carried away by the sensations on his dick and given the green light now.

For the next minute, I lay there and took it. A master cocking that was fast and hard. I thought of touching my dick, but I didn't want to fire out too soon again. Pat deserved to get off in my ass, and I wasn't going to cut off his opportunity.

Turns out, I didn't have to worry. As the man leaned forward and claimed another deep kiss, the shift in angle mashed my dick right against his heaving thickset belly. That began to trigger my orgasm, right in synch with Pat's own deep cum. Together, on his king sized bed, we gave it up, spurting our loads.

The gruff man had a goofy grin as he dismounted and our bodies parted. He looked down at his spent, slick cock and the renewed frothy wetness on his stomach. "I was gonna ask if it was OK for you, but I guess I got my answer already," he said.

I lay back, feeling fully and completely satisfied and smiled up at him. "My only worry is that you spoiled me for other men. That was incredible," I said.

That gave him a proud, almost cocky expression. He gave my hip a gentle, affectionate pat and then got off the bed. "Here.... let's clean up." He grabbed my hand and helped pull me to my feet as well.

We showered together and Pat was especially affectionate as we slowly soaped each other's body and made out underneath the warm spray.

I did see a slightly concerned look as we toweled off.

"Don't worry," I said. "I know you're not looking to date. I'm just happy we did that. It's made my year."

That seemed to relax the big man, who took my towel from my and started drying me off. It was a simple, affectionate, yet very sexy action and gave me another boner.

"I can't believe you're getting hard again," Pat laughed.

"Can't help it," I said. "You're the sexiest man ever."

Pat grinned and gave me another peck. "Listen... you're right, I'm not looking to date. But if you want to stay over... maybe we can have a repeat when I recover a little."

"Sounds awesome," I said, taking my towel and using it to rub his body dry. I could never get enough of seeing the way the beefy mass looked against the white terry cloth.

My action made Pat smile. "You really were cherry just now, weren't you?"

That caught me by surprise. "Do guys lie about that?"

"You'd be surprised," Pat replied. "But you're the real deal... it was very hot breaking you in."

"It was hot for me, too," I assured him. "I couldn't have asked for a better first time." It was true. I later talked to some of my gay friends, who had very different first time experiences. I was lucky.

Pat and I snuggled in his bed and watched some dumb TV and talked some and eventually I felt his hardon come back to life as we made out. The man mounted me for a second time and while it lacked the sheer intensity of the first, we both relished the additional staying power that allowed for a solid 15 minute fuck. I'd be sore the next day for sure, but then I never wanted this to end.

After Pat dropped me off the next morning - after a mutual BJ session and some well-earned breakfast - I logged on immediately and tracked down the webpage for the football team.

Sure enough, Pat was the linebacker assistant coach at my college.

#drakestories

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