Free Heres to You Mr Robinson by Barry Lowe

 
    What’s a boy to do when confronted with his real live wet dream?
     

     
     
    HERE’S TO YOU, MR. ROBINSON

    B loody tease!
    How was I supposed to concentrate on my uni reading list if he persisted in washing his car every Saturday in a pair of hip hugging overalls peeled down to the waist to reveal his gorgeous pecs, abs and biceps? I’m a muscle queen – I love the male body. Love to rub my hands across a smooth, or hairy, muscular male body. I’m an equal opportunity man lover. Hairy, smooth, doesn’t matter. What does matter is that I like my men with a certain amount of maturity. A few laugh lines around the eyes, a little earthy experience, plus an ability to plough my ass for hours on end. Maybe even return the favour sometimes and let me jab my dick up their anal chute every once in a while.
    The ‘He’ in question was Mr. Robinson. He had moved in just across the street and down two from my family’s home. The house had been vacant for about a year when I went off to university in the summer. I didn’t return home for the first two-week semester break, much to my family’s dismay. I used that old excuse that I was falling behind with my work and needed to concentrate to keep my assignments up to scratch. What I was really doing was socialising. Most kids who go on to higher education, especially those who are living away from home for the first time, discover a parallel world they scarcely dreamed existed. A world of sucking and fucking, of falling in love, of experimenting with their sexuality.
    I was experimenting every spare moment. I had a fair idea I was ‘otherly inclined’ before I left home and I was determined to prove it one way or the other to my own satisfaction, if to nobody’s else’s, before the year was out. I guess I believed my family loved me enough to be supportive of where my proclivities lay. I knew it wasn’t a ‘choice,’ it was the way I was programmed in the womb.
    Sure, I’d had loads of girl friends in high school but no girlfriends. I’m sure my family must have noticed. My best mate, Troy, and I stuck together like the proverbial glue. We had lots of interests in common, from Japanese manga through old Steve Reeves and Gordon Scott sword and sandal movies of the 1960s to, we discovered later on, a deep and abiding sexual interest in men.
    Neither of us had done much through high school. While our straight mates were busy nailing cheer leaders and erstwhile girlfriends they’d promised to marry when their economic ship came in, we were busy discussing which jocks we’d heard played around under the bleachers after football practice.
    Troy and I had made a few fumbled attempts at experimentation together but we’d ended up giggling a lot, too embarrassed to touch each other and ending with a half-hearted wank. We swore it would remain our secret and we’d never try it again. We very successfully stuck to our pledge for years and it didn’t look like being broken any time soon. Besides, Troy had a great new relationship that was going gangbusters and he was happier than he’d ever been, eager to introduce his mate to me, and just as eager to see me partnered.
    It was a long-term goal of mine as well. I just couldn’t see it occurring in my insular home town. I’d need a big city to find my heart’s desire. I was convinced of that.
    Mum picked me up at the airport, handing me the keys to her small car, telling me it was mine for the duration of the break. She only used it to do the shopping and to visit friends and I was more than happy for her to borrow it back when the occasion arose. I had no need of a vehicle at uni as I lived on campus and just about everything I needed was within walking distance. Occasionally, if a pick-up lived on the edge of town, I would resort to a taxi to get home but my technique was good enough he usually asked me to stay the night in order that we could repeat the exercise the following morning. If it was a weekend, we would