Right after my fortieth birthday, as winter was setting in and things were turning gray, my wife Jane filed for divorce. The following weekend, I found myself moving into a dumpy, overpriced apartment. Alone.

Not a great start to middle age, but then it got worse: I lost my longtime job the following week. Suddenly I was grateful for the apartment.

The holiday season was gloomy and lonely, but January ended my losing streak: I found another job, better than the last, with higher pay. It was in another city, and one with lower rents to boot. Since Jane and I hadn’t had kids there wasn't anything keeping me, so I took it.

I didn't know anyone in my new town except for my college friend Rick and his wife Emily. They had older kids, their daughter off to college and their high-school son rarely home, so they were nearly empty-nesters.

RIck and Emily were there to help when I arrived with my rental truck, crocuses popping out of the ground as we lugged my limited possessions into the new apartment. I took the crocuses, the first sign of spring, as an omen of my own rebirth.

And what great friends Rick and Emily turned out to be. Especially Rick, whose friendship with me immediately reignited. By the time the daffodils were out, I found myself at their house a couple times a week.

By the time the tulips opened, Rick and I were spending most of our (ample) spare time together.

Emily had adapted well to her recently diminished responsibilities. She spent the bulk of her free time with her friend Jackie, even sleeping over at Jackie's place many weekends, and going off on golf and beach vacations with her. Since they were in the same industry, they even went to trade shows and conferences together. I wondered if they were more than friends, actually.

Emily intimated that Rick, on the other hand, had been having more trouble adapting. She said he seemed aimless, not sure what to do on the evenings and weekends, just rattling around a lonely house. He wasn't even engaging that much in his favorite spare-time activities, which included running, pickleball and handyman projects.

Rick's malaise was never evident when I was around, though. My own interests aligned so closely with his that I quickly turned into the new best friend he had needed. It’s not that he didn’t have plenty of friends, but they all seemed too busy to really spend much time with anyone but their families.

So I became Rick's running pal, getting him back on the pavement again. I also found myself helping him finish "honey-do" projects that he'd been putting off, joining in enthusiastically because living in an apartment gave me few outlets for my own fix-it interests. And although I'd been more of a tennis and racquetball guy, I found the switch to pickleball easy enough. Rick and I were well-matched, and played some really intense, competitive games, always leaving me a sweaty, endorphin-saturated mess afterward.

Rick seemed grateful enough for my company that he always gave me a long hug when he greeted me, often tapping my elbow or placing a hand on my shoulder when we were talking, that kind of thing. Not completely out of the normal range for two guys, but definitely on the touchy-feely side. I didn't really mind, being equally grateful for his company as he was for mine, having suddenly lost daily physical contact with a human being with my divorce. I didn't initially interpret it as sexual in any way.

One weekend, as summer started heating up, we sketched out a plan for a building project he had in mind. Rick wanted to build a new deck behind the house to replace (or, more accurately, hide) a small crumbling patio. We got ready by spending a weekend buying all the supplies we figured we needed. We even managed to sink the pier posts, so that the following weekend we could quickly cut boards and bang the deck together. "Deck weekend" promised to go quickly, leaving plenty of time to drink beer and do whatever.

We got pretty dirty and sweaty placing the posts that Sunday afternoon of the prep weekend. Because Rick and Emily’s main shower wasn't working (another project we would work on later), we'd always had to use their owner's suite bathroom to clean up. As we'd done quite a few times by now after running or pickleball, we headed upstairs, stripped in their bedroom and took turns showering.

When I say “we stripped”, what that usually meant was that even though I would shower first, he would take his clothes off at the same time as me, waiting around naked while I cleaned up. As with his more casual touching, I hadn't read anything sexual into his unnecessary nakedness. I'd spent enough time in locker rooms that it barely registered with me.

But this time I noticed him glancing at my cock as I was about to step in the shower. Since I am circumcised and he is not, I might have written it off as natural curiosity. But our eyes locked for a second, then he gave a shy smile and looked away.

I'd had no prior sexual feelings towards Rick, but the way he looked at me just now triggered something that had been lying dormant. Maybe the endorphins from his frequent casual touches were bonding me to him on a more primal level. Maybe the regular viewings of his cock were stirring up sexual curiosity. Whatever the cause, I suddenly had the same jittery, horny feeling that I had once gotten when I was in a blossoming relationship with a woman.

I found myself fully erect in Rick's shower, imagining myself touching him. I stopped myself when I felt my hand about to stroke my own soapy schlong. What the fuck was I doing? Was I really about to jack off in his shower? While he was standing naked in the next room?

“Everything okay in there?” I heard him call jovially from the other room.

“Sure. Just had a lot of dirt to clean off,” I replied, reflecting that I needed to clean my dirty mind too. Fortunately the shock of being called out deflated my erection just enough to keep it out of view under my towel as I stepped out.

“Can’t blame you,” Rick replied, entering the bathroom while I toweled off, facing away from him as best I could. “I’m pretty dirty myself,” he added with a wink, placing a hand on the back of my shoulder as he squeezed by to enter the shower. Good thing he couldn’t see my dick, because it instantly sprang back to hardness at his touch.

I became aware that he'd been dropping subtle sexual hints like this for a while. And of course he'd been touching me and exhibiting his penis more than most guys would. So maybe he was too scared to directly proposition me, but it was now clear he been making himself available. As these puzzle pieces fell into place in my head, I found myself turned on, not at all repelled, by his flirtations.

And yet I panicked. I could have just slipped into the shower with him right then, taking his slick, soapy cock in my hands and seeing where it led. Instead, I yelled an excuse in the direction of the shower and bailed for home.

I couldn't get thoughts of Rick and his body out of my mind, though. As soon as I got inside my front door I pulled down my shorts and jerked off into my hand, slurping the cum out of my palm right there in the foyer. Even after coming, I was still worked up and wanted more. I ran to my bedroom and lay naked, still hard, lusting for Rick and stroking myself.

It wasn't the first time I’d had sexual thoughts about other men, but they'd always been fleeting fantasies that would pop into my head when I was jerking off. These feelings would always evaporate as soon as I orgasmed.

This time they didn't. Even after coming, I still found myself fondly pondering fondling his fuzzy dad-bod. He'd displayed his dick to me enough times that I couldn't help noticing it looked bigger than average: more firehose than garden hose.

I had questions. How much bigger it get? Did the head start poking out of the foreskin when he got hard, as I’d sometimes seen in porn, or did it stay tucked just underneath? How much extra skin was there?

Also: what would it feel like in my hand?

This was quite a contrast to my usual fantasies. Usually I thought of soft, nubile women, with their smooth skin, round hips, supple tits, gumdrop nipples and juicy pussies. Even at forty, I could still get hard at any time just picturing a random woman on the street naked; but tonight, all I could think about was Rick's very un-feminine body.

Soon I was spurting onto myself again, this time sensually massaging my own cum all over my (unlike Rick's, mostly hairless) chest.

Calming down, I pondered Rick's marriage - and the complications that could ensue if we got together. His mutual love and respect with Emily, and their lifelong commitment, were unquestionable. But I rarely saw much physical affection between them. Had their marriage involved into something platonic because they were both more attracted to the same sex? I was pretty sure at this point that Emily liked women. Maybe Rick liked men too. Was he wishing and fishing for a similar relationship with me to what Emily had with Jackie? Could I handle that? Boy, did I have a lot of questions that night!

I found myself surprisingly warm to the idea. Not that I didn’t like - and, generally, prefer - women. But while I wouldn't call it romantic, I realized I had developed a strong attraction to Rick. Maybe our mutual affinity was more important than what he was packing between his legs.

Then again, in this moment what he was packing between his legs mattered to me very much. I couldn't stop thinking about that big cock. I'd certainly had plenty of exposure to it. I pictured myself kneeling down in front of my deprived friend. I vividly imagined my mouth filled with his man-meat, looking up into his green eyes, and bringing him pleasure he hadn't known in years, possibly ever. I doubted he got many blowjobs from Emily. As with his need for a running and pickleball buddy, that was a problem I could solve.

I imagined rubbing my hands all over his body as I licked and sucked his cock and balls, taking him as deep in my mouth as I could, as he arched his back and pumped me with the pent-up cum he'd been storing up for too long. At the same time, I erupted all over my own belly and chest, some stray drops staining the sheet. It was one of the most intense orgasms I'd had in years. And even after it subsided I still wanted to give Rick what Jackie was giving Emily.

I hoped I hadn't been reading him wrong. I didn't think I could un-feel what I was feeling for him now.

To be continued…