Little did I know when I accepted my good buddy’s invitation to spend a weekend at his picturesque hideaway in upstate New York that I would return home with a memorable experience to share with Variations.
Russ and I met in college and today, twelve years later, we’re still the best of friends. Unfortunately, we live in different states and are not able to get together as often as we’d like, but we stay in touch via the phone and e-mail. Russ is a talented and successful architect who loves playing by his own rules. By his own admission, he’s a little bit “crazy,” but that just adds to his charm, which more than a few women have succumbed to. I’m a moderately successful real estate broker with what Russ good-naturedly terms an “irritatingly conservative outlook on life and love.”
Anyway, my good buddy’s invitation brought a smile to my face and I packed for the trip envisioning a few days of blessed quiet in an idyllic setting. Not surprisingly, Russ designed his country house and had it built precisely to his specifications. Made of glass and stone, it features a wood-burning fireplace, sunken living room and a wraparound deck, and it sits atop a hill adjacent to a beautiful national park. Quite eye-catching, really.
I arrived late on a Friday afternoon to find Russ fuming. He had just received a call from his partner informing him of a major problem with a project at the Jersey Shore. It needed his immediate attention. “Shit, there goes the weekend,” he groaned. “What fuckin’ timing. And I was looking forward to us spending some time together, too.”
Although dismayed by this sudden turn of events, I told Russ not to worry, that we’d try again soon. “But there’s no reason for you to turn around and go home,” he said. “You stay here and enjoy the weekend. Make yourself at home.” And then he grinned, as if something had suddenly occurred to him. “Come with me, Ken. I want to show you my latest masterpiece.”
He led me out back behind his house and once there pointed upward. There, nestled quite comfortably in a gnarled, misshapen oak, was a tree house made of logs with windows on two sides, one facing the house and the other the national park. “What do you think?” Russ asked. “It’s got a bed and a portable stove, chairs and a desk. I work up there sometimes. Cool, huh?”
I told Russ it was more than cool it was downright amazing. This was as much removed from the tree house a father builds for his kid in the backyard as day is to night. This was a fully grown-up version, looking more like a cottage that had been blown into the oak than something built from scratch. I had never seen anything like it. “And the best thing about it is the view,” Russ was saying with a smile. “It’s, er, how shall I put it . . . very interesting. Spend some time up there this weekend and you’ll see what I mean.”
My friend took the time to grill some steaks, which we enjoyed on the deck, before packing a bag and climbing into his SUV for the trip to the Jersey Shore. I spent an hour or so on the deck savoring the quiet of a starlit night while downing a few beers, and then went to the guest bedroom where I slept peacefully until almost ten the next morning.
After breakfast I took a hike in the woods, returning to the house around one o’clock for a bite to eat. I was wondering what I might do next when I remembered the incredible tree house out back. Minutes later, feeling like a frisky pup, I was making my way up the ladder that stretched from the ground to the plastic sheet door of the tree house.
Hauling myself up into this grown up tree house, I looked around and saw that inside it resembled a den, a comfy, cozy place to work or simply relax. Spotting the binoculars on the desk near the window facing the park, I remembered my friend’s comment about the view. Through the binoculars I took in the woodland scene, glimpsing tall pines and lush green grass and areas dotted with picnic tables and benches. Very nice, I thought, but not especially interesting. I set the binoculars down and settled into the small armchair, forgetting that I was up in a tree and not on solid ground as I dozed off.
Waking up, I pulled a beer out of the cooler under the desk, took a swig and then reached for the binoculars. Again I scanned the park, and this time-bingo! In a clearing perhaps a hundred yards or so from a picnic area a couple was having sex. Both the man and woman were butt-aked, their clothes piled in a heap near the blanket they had spread on the grass. He was sprawled on his back while she knelt over him hungrily sucking on his cock. Man, I couldn’t believe it! Now the smarmy smile that had accompanied my friend’s comment about the view from the tree house being “very interesting” made complete sense.
Feeling my cock begin to swell in my pants, I adjusted the focus somewhat and my view of the action got even clearer. The binoculars made it seem like the couple were much closer than they actually were, and I could see now that the playful pair were in their early twenties. He was a muscular jock type while she was a pretty blonde with her hair in a ponytail. Had they been following one of the hiking trails when the urge the fool around struck? Had they sneaked away from friends in the picnic area to suck and fuck? Who cared, I thought. All that mattered was that I had the horny young couple in my sights.
“Oh, Russ, old buddy, you are something else,” I said to myself a few minutes later as I unzipped my pants and fished out my achingly hard cock while keeping my other hand firmly on the binoculars. The couple had maneuvered into a sixty-nine so he could eat her while she feasted on him. He seemed as eager to lick her pussy as she was to gorge herself on his cock. They stayed like this for a while and then disengaged, with the girl rolling over onto her back and the guy getting into position between her splayed legs. Moments later, he was pushing into her pussy and then quickly establishing a nice, steady fucking rhythm as she folded her arms around his neck and hooked her legs over the back of his.
She was asking for it hard and deep, I told myself, using my imagination to make the moment even hotter. She was begging for his cock, whispering dirty words into his ear, urging him on. My own cock was as hard as it had ever been, and I stroked it ever so carefully as I continued to view the sexy scene through the binoculars. I wondered how many hot couples Russ had caught in the act of passion, and if he ever got any real work done up here.
My thoughts were driven away by the action down there in the clearing, the couple having decided to fuck doggy-style. The blonde, positioned on all fours on the blanket, looked back at her hunky partner-yeah, she was asking for it, all right-and almost immediately he resumed fucking her from behind, his hands clasping her hips as he rammed into her pussy. I saw, or thought I saw, an expression of deep pleasure on the girl’s face.
“Yeah, give it to her,” I said in the quiet of the tree house. “Fuck her good. Make her feel it.” It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep my hand steady on the binoculars, and my eyes were getting tired, but I dared not turn away for even a second lest I miss something. I was on the verge of a major eruption, my cock counting down to takeoff, when, as if on cue, the couple in the clearing ended their passionate scene-and porno style, to boot, with the guy pulling out of the girl’s pussy and shooting his load into her wide open mouth.
That did it. My shaky hand put the binoculars down on the desk and cupped my balls as my other hand gripped the shaft. Arching my back, I moaned and sent my semen streaking from my throbbing cock out the open window to the ground below. Then, eyes still cloudy, I staggered back into the small armchair. I saw the box of man-size face tissues on the desk and smiled. Leave it to Russ to think of everything, I thought.
With my cleaned cock back in my pants, I picked up the binoculars and checked out the clearing. Not surprisingly, the couple was gone. I was wondering if I’d get lucky at least one more time this weekend when I happened to notice an open notepad on the desk. Picking it up, I saw that Russ had jotted down the time and date of each sexual encounter he’d witnessed from his tree house together with a brief description of the couple involved and what he’d seen them do. That particular safe and secluded clearing, it seemed, was very popular with lovers familiar with the area.
It bode well, I figured, and I figured correctly. By the time I left Sunday night I had witnessed three other couples sucking and fucking up a storm in that clearing. I added my voyeuristic adventures to those Russ had noted in his little book. And I promised to bring along a big box of tissues when next I visited him.–Mr. Kenneth S., Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
