Sixty-five, But Who’s Counting (Ch 4) - Sex Stories

Sixty-five, But Who’s Counting (Ch 4)

I thought about asking Barb if she wanted to ride the Bronco the next afternoon, but she volunteered that she and her husband were getting a couples’ massage and then heading out on a sunset dinner cruise. I can’t say I was all that disappointed. That buckaroo stuff had gotten pretty old.

The next day at work was uneventful. The crew finished planting the back property line and headed to the front after lunch. I didn’t see much talent around the pool. The boys and I ate lunch in a dingy side alley. Apparently we were deemed undesirable by the resort front desk.

Three hours later we had cut down and disposed of three dead palmetto palms and trimmed back a hedge of cold-stunted bougainvillea. We were whipped. As soon as I thought about that, Barb came to mind. I snorted out a laugh and slapped my quads.

“A good one?” Joaquin asked.

The crew boarded the pickup and pulled out of the alley. I looked at my bike leaning against the dumpster. I thought about just peddling home, taking a hot shower, and cracking a cold frosty one; but then I thought about Trish.

Would she be waiting at the poolside bar next door? Would she want to fuck? If so, would she be any good?

I decided to go for it.

I grabbed my bike and walked it out to the street and then back down the service entrance of the Holiday Inn. I locked the bike at the edge of the employee parking lot and walked toward the beach. My plan was to skirt the pool, avoid the security staff, and find a shower. ...

... Two days before I’d seen several stone shower grottos at the edge of the sand and the turf.

I avoided eye contact and walked directly down a shady dirt path to the sand. Not more than twenty feet away were three stone enclosures, camouflaged by plantings of bougainvillea. A portly sunburned gentleman exited the closest shower, a towel draped over his shoulders and his water shoes in his hands.

I said hello and ducked into the grotto. I pulled off my Danners and heavy socks, setting them out on the sand. I figured it was now or never. I pulled my muscle shirt over my head and undid my cargo shorts. I stuck my head out for a last check. There seemed to be no one in sight.

I placed my tee and shorts on the top of my boots. Because I had gone commando, my pale white ass and junk were there for all to see.

I’m not sure what I was expecting, but there was only a single faucet. I turned on the water and got the shock of my life. The water was freezing. I could feel my scrotum retract and my manhood shrink to the size of a small toad.

I chanced a peek around the corner. I’m not vain, but I didn’t want anyone seeing me at a “disadvantage”. I turned back toward the stream to wash my face.

Then I heard an “uh-hum”.

I looked over my shoulder and spied two blushing grandma sorts. One smiled and queried, “Need a towel?”

I stowed my work clothes, wrapped the large towel around my waist and headed to the poolside bar. I was maybe ten minutes early. There sitting on a ...