Picture that. Picture that exact same image in your mind. A man you’ve held esteem for that has such charisma and swagger. He’s right there, in front of you, each Tuesday and Thursday of each week. Fashioned in attire that relates as the rustic every man, yet still seems pressed firm against his body. So much so that it makes it seem like the material it’s made up of is nothing more than mere shadows that present what could be just beneath. And he always leaves the first few buttons undone. His ruggedly silver chest hair whispering of so much more, if you could just undo a few more of those buttons and…. get a closer look.

Now, imagine that you actually did. Imagine that you not only got to see a little more. You got to see everything.

I was out with some friends last week who suddenly decided that they were carrying too much in the car and decided to get rid of some extra cargo that was no longer necessary… me. We didn’t even get into an argument. It was more of a disagreement. That’s not the important part, though. After they kicked me out and I was wandering around, aimlessly, for a few hours, I found a wooded area. Thinking that a young college student in the middle of nowhere while being alone in the woods wasn’t the safest plan, I high-tailed it through there. Eventually, I found that the twigs and broken branches and leaves on the ground were fading into soft sand. Beach sand, to be exact. I didn’t know that there were any beaches around here, but I continued.

It still didn’t make me feel all that safe, because this place was not very populated. In fact, I seemed to be the only one around for miles. The ocean water was placid that day. Calmly rolling up and back as if the water was a dream that seemed to drift against this side of forever.

That’s when I saw what I could have sworn was a mirage. He had his back turned to me. And what a backside it was. I could even see from here that that mane of manly silver hair washed over his shoulders and down his back.

And… he was naked. Not a stitch of clothing on him. From where I was standing, I could see he had a firm behind. You could tell there was some age on it. But there was this half-sided roundness to his buttocks. The bottom of his cheeks had this subtle bounce that moved up through his buns in robust salt-water waves kissed with glints of that silver hair.

Then… he turned around. The front was even more impressive. That silvery hair clasped his shoulders and as it trailed in thick layers all the way down his chest and stomach, one could see that it was outlined in the whispered shadow of darker territory. The hair on his stomach appeared to be the whitest, which dipped into the luscious earth of dusk as it reached down into his pubic region just above his dick. It wasn’t big, but it didn’t matter. The way the cylinder skin bounced freely in the condensed shape of flesh popped open with that red tear-shaped dot that was the circumcised head perfectly balanced the rest of his physique. His figure was lean which had a tenuously firm uplift that spoke to how active he was at this stage in his life. How his mostly gray beard caressed his rugged face drawn in with these handsome brows perfectly aligned with how his completely exposed body moved. Like a ruggedly domineering creature that didn’t stalk the forest grounding it claimed, it dominated it. With a natural kindness that etched a softness to his movements and all that hair I so badly wanted to run my fingers through.

It was then that I finally noticed a sign sitting so plainly at the top of the sand dune behind me.

——PRIVATE BEACH—–

I remember ducking out of the way just as he looked my way. But, honestly, the rest of that whole incident has become kind of fuzzy. The edges of the memory have been burnt up by the sheer sultriness of that fucking body hair I’ve been wanting pressed against me.

And who am I? Well, my name is Holt. And I’m one of Professor Galfred’s students. I’m 24 years old, blonde, and lean. I could give you further details on what I look like, but my mind’s not focused on that right now. What I can tell you is that I my lean build has a solid frame. The clothes I wear always fitting close to a second skin and shows off the work I’ve put into my body. That my hair is often styled in such a way that it extends from my head in this yellow wave which melds in the suggestive curves of a fire. I’ve got a slightly bulbous nose that I’ve actually gotten a lot of compliments on several times, being told that it centers my angular face and, paired with my sloped darkly yellow brows, gives me this boyish charm.

Currently, I’m sitting in the Professor’s class. Thankfully, I’m dead center and it’s one of those rather big classrooms where there are quite literally a few hundred seats placed on this diagonal platform. It’s lucky because I’m trying hard to hide, well, that I’m quite hard, at the moment. I’m trying to take notes, but the keys have gotten all slick with the beads of sweat that are secreting from my finger tips. Some people look at me strangely as I sit there looking like I have to pee so bad I’m a fire hydrant ready to burst. I mean, I am ready to explode, but not in that way.

I am actually listening to every word the professor is saying. I am comprehending the way his baritone voice is shaping the words that are escaping those lips of his. But that’s just it. I’m listening too hard on how his tongue slips and curves from inside his mouth. Seductively stroking the shuddering edge of those husky consonants and cream-laced vowels. How he speaks like he is wanting to talk directly to you. Look to you as he’s secluding this spotlight that embraces the warmth of your skin. I don’t realize that my breath is starting to lose control. I gather myself before anyone else notices. But I’m crossing my legs more. God, I don’t know how much more the center of my pants can take.

I flinch as, suddenly, everyone in the class gets up and starts filing out. I guess class is dismissed.

I continue to sit, pretending like I’m taking notes, when in actuality, I’m just waiting for the moment where my pants don’t look like they’ve gone camping should I get up.

“Mr. Holt,” I hear Professor Galfred’s voice boom.

I look up to him as he has his back turned towards me. He’s currently erasing the board. I take this moment to move my eyes down to his pants. Concentrating on how his underwear must be hugging his butt in place and the way that rounded flesh delicately heaves beneath those dark-gray slacks. Although, concentrating so intently on my professor’s behind is doing nothing for my raging boner.

“Please stay,” the professor says, putting the eraser down and then turns around and looks at me. His eyes look both wanting and stern at the same time. “I want to have a word with you,” he adds in a voice that is slightly foreboding. Despite the fact that I could be in trouble for sneaking a peak at quite a delicious specimen working for the faculty, I think to myself, it’ll be worth whatever punishment may be heading my way.

I nod and curve my mouth up to the right, nervously. My cheek dimpling into my lips. I want to say okay or something to acknowledge what he said. But my voice has been snatched right up from my breath that the professor is taking away. The way he’s leaning against the chalk board, his arms crossed, giving off this authoritarian stance is suggesting more silver stud staring into you rather than a leader that’s wanting to show his commanding presence. He continues to look at me, not moving his eyes. Just focused directly at me. The rims of his glasses lining up the bottoms of his dark, dark eyes.

I look around a few times while I side-eye him in moments of weakness. He’s still looking at me.

We listen as the last few footsteps make it up the stairs, gradually dissipating into echoes as they become more elusive, wavering down the hallways.

I watch as the professor drops his arms to his sides and gets up from the board. Watch at how his pants swish around his strong calves as he makes it up the steps. I listen to his footsteps as they ascend. Decisively tapping against the ground with an intention that I’m still questioning. I don’t even look behind me. I’m just so very focused forward, my hands still on my keyboard, the fingers hovering above them.

I hear the door close. The finalized sound of the click as he locks the door erupts a chill through me. It feels both fearful and exhilarating.

Then, as he walks down those steps smoothly and with a pliable machismo, he says something that actually causes the base of my dick to twitch: “Uncross your legs.”

My mouth pops open. My head slowly turns towards him, my voice merely fumbles. “Wh-what?”

I see him from the side. Then, he steps closer. A shadow is cascaded over me as I’m feeling the warmth of his body leaning into me. A gasp escapes through the back of my throat as I first feel the tips of his fingers on my top leg. I look down, my eyes making their way to his hand while I’m thinking to myself, Is this really happening?

His hand is definitely there. And my pants are deepening beneath his touch as he moves his fingers over my leg and starts pulling. And I could swear, those fingers are ever so slightly moving up my leg as he says with that gravely and captivating voice of his, sending signals all the way down my cock, starting to make it throb beneath my pants: “I said… un…cross.. your legs.”