I've come to the conclusion that I'm a body worshipper and a shirt freak. I've always liked guys with muscles and bare chests and whether I'm on a beach or in front of a movie screen my dick begins to stir the moment they touch that top button and start to undo their shirts. I suppose it has a lot to do with sexual conditioning as I was weaned on Colt magazines and other gay erotica. You see I had a gay uncle and when he wasn't in the vicinity I'd thumb through his collection of magazines and postcards and sneak a look at his Jeff Stryker videos.

My uncle was great and he used to classify movies by just how many bare chests he saw. Whenever a friend told him about a new film he always asked, "Do they take their shirts off?" So I suppose I got my passion for the male torso from him. The two of us got quite a thrill out of one of those homoerotic Batman movies where both Batman and Robin had pronounced nipples on their black leather gear. But from what I remember, neither of them took their shirts off which was somewhat disappointing. Maybe if they make a movie of the real relationship between those two guys we might get to see a little flesh. But I don't suppose they ever will.

So now you know. All you have to do to make my heart beat faster is to undo the top button of your shirt. If you're well stacked that is. My uncle, by the way, was only nine years older than me, so when I got to be eighteen he was only twenty-seven and everybody thought he was my brother. He'd take me around with him and once or twice we went cruising, although at the time I didn't know that's what we were doing. He's pretty good looking too. I'm sure if they put us in black leather we'd be dead ringers for Batman and Robin.

The first time I was seduced it was by one of his tricks. I was afraid to say anything but he must have known because he was never the same to me afterwards. I went round to visit him one morning and found this guy there. He was still in bed and the sheet barely covered him. He was so beautiful. For a while I stood there watching him. The sun was streaming through the window and dancing off his blonde curly hair. It was doing a bit of dancing on his blonde curly armpits as well. Come to think of it my dick was doing a bit of dancing too.

Technically, I was still a virgin. I mean I'd done all the usual adolescent things like kissing, jerking off, and all that, but I'd never had what you might call a relationship. Of course, I'd haunted shower rooms and gloated over the gorgeous naked bodies and studied the enormous variety of dicks and butts that seemed to be on display, but I'd never really taken the proverbial bull by the horns so to speak.

This guy had muscles to die for and I didn't have to wait for him to take his shirt off either, just to turn over so I could watch the sheet slip slowly down over one nifty nipple and then fully expose his full chest. He had his hand over his dick as he obviously had an early morning hard on. He opened his eyes and saw me looking at him. He reacted quite naturally as if he was used to finding a young buck gawping at him when he woke up. He took his hand off his dream of a dick and held it out to me. The hand I mean.

"Want some breakfast?" he said. I stood rooted to the spot as one mesmerized. "Cat got your tongue?" he asked. "If not come over here and give me some."

I'd never heard anyone talk like that outside a porn movie and approached him as if I was one of the Lost Boys walking the plank in Peter Pan. I sank down onto the bed, giving silent thanks to Jeff Stryker for showing me what to do, and got my first taste of male meat. Got myself quite a mouthful in fact. I was reminded of my mother's wise words: "Never bite off more than you can chew." I was also reminded of what a very camp friend of mine told me after the boy behind the coffee bar had shoved his dick in his mouth: "I didn't get much coffee but I sure got a whole lot of cream!"

And I surely did get a whole lot of cream. It was fairly oozing out of my mouth. Instinctively, I swallowed. Jeff Stryker had never advocated that. But it came kind of naturally so to speak. Then I heard my uncle coming back. He'd gone out to buy breakfast. The golden boy and me acted as if nothing had happened. I slipped into the bathroom and adjusted my dignity. I also jerked off. I had to. Golden boy had given me such a boner.

Trouble with sex is you can smell it as soon as you walk in the room. My uncle looked at me rather quizzically. "You came earlier than I expected. This is Paul, by the way, but I suppose you two have already met," is all he said and kissed me full on the mouth. Thank God I'd remembered to gargle. But I suppose the strong whiff of spearmint on my breath didn't exactly allay his suspicions. Anyway, I'd cleaned Paul up real nice so he really didn't have a leg to stand on.

Well now you know all about my background and my brief initiation to oral sex. So, let's get to the title of this story. I'm sure it will be worth the wait as it contains all three elements of my sexual fantasies: chests, dicks and butts. Between blowjobs and one thing and another I forgot to tell you I became quite a successful writer. Unfortunately, this often means you are given a time limit by your editor and have to produce something wonderful even when your creative juices threaten to dry up. So I took myself away from all distractions and rented a little cabin in the hills. Mount Hood, to be exact, in Oregon.

It was like something out of Snow White. It was very quaint and very cold. I'd rented it through an agency and they'd assured me that heating was provided, but this seemed to entail splitting logs and chopping wood. Not exactly my forte. I called to complain and the agency told me that the old guy who looked after that sort of thing was sick so they would be sending someone else. They duly did and he duly arrived and wasn't at all what I expected.

Talk about, 'some day my Prince will come.' Wow! It's useless to try and describe him. Just get hold of a Colt magazine or the centrefold of Playgirl and you'll know what I mean. Only he was better. He was much, much better. His name was Deane and he was the woodcutter's son. He didn't have much to say for himself, just chopped away all day.

Although it was late October, the days were quite warm. It was at night when you froze your buns off. And of course Deane began to perspire, and of course he began to undo his heavy flannel shirt and take it off. And of course I'd positioned my desk so I could see all this clearly.

He wasn't exactly bare-chested as he was wearing a tank top. I sure hope they never go out of fashion as they do flatter the male torso so. I was able to see tantalising glimpses of his pectorals and got myself some luscious views of his massive arms as he chopped away. I wanted to get a closer look and also a whiff of his masculinity, so I ventured outdoors and asked him if he'd like a beer or something.

He accepted gratefully and came into the kitchen. He was curious about what I was writing so I entertained him with an account of that while he entertained me with the riveting sight of his spectacular frame. He told me he was nearly through. Heavy thud of my heart sinking. He also said I should have enough wood for a week or more. Twang of broken heartstrings.

I had to think fast and come up with an excuse to make him stay. The first attempt wasn't very original. I told him to come back and wash up before he left. He did. He pulled off his tank top and I sat and ogled his armpits and his pictorial pecs. I handed him a towel and watched as he threw water all over his front and back and quite a bit over me too. He raised my temperature and doused my hot dick at the same time. I suppose I should have just reached out and touched him but I wasn't nearly so bold. Still he must have felt all the sexual energy that was flapping round that tiny cabin.

Eventually he rolled his sweaty tank top into a ball and put his flannel shirt back on. It was just like watching a movie in reverse as, button by button, his chest disappeared before my eyes. He was just about to leave my life forever when I said, "Is there anywhere I can go fishing round here?" He looked me right in the eye and said, "I'll take you tomorrow." And with that, he was gone.

'O, what a tangled web we weave when first we practise to deceive.' Ourselves that is. Why did he say, "I'll take you?" Why did he use that particular verb and why did he look me straight in the eye when he said it? I tossed and tossed off all night at the thought of him and at the thought of getting my hands on him. Came the dawn and he was at my doorstep again complete with fishing tackle.

I offered him some coffee and we set off in his Land Rover. It was a glorious day and I started to hum the opening bars of 'Oh, what a beautiful morning' from Oklahoma. I'm such a Broadway musicals freak. He didn't know it of course but was suitably impressed when I told him Hugh Jackman played Curly in the London production. Seems he was quite a fan of X-Men.

I'd brought a small picnic basket and part of what I'd written in case we ran out of conversation. We sat in the sun and cast off. I was looking forward to the sun getting warm again so he'd cast off a few of his clothes too. Not to be. There was quite a cold wind actually. Still it was just great standing, and eventually sitting, next to him as we were getting to know each other. Cue for another Rodgers and Hammerstein song? Better not. He wasn't the type.

I wondered what type he was and asked him. He said he was studying hotel management in Portland. That was something of a surprise out here in the wilds. Any minute now he's going to start telling me about his girl friend, I thought. But instead he started asking me about my writing and then everything happened at once. A fish bit the line, the wind took off with some of my papers and we both fell in the river trying to retrieve them. Cue for another song? Yes, the strip number in Gypsy!

We raced back home. He quickly threw some logs on the dying fire and before you could say Gypsy Rose Lee, or Hallelujah in my case, he was naked before me and I before him and we were rubbing each other down. Then to quote the old cliche 'one thing led to another' but it was new to me and I think new to him, and we fucked like ferrets in front of the fire and I'd never had it so good.

"I've been working up to this all night," he confessed to me as he literally drove his chunky chopper into me and splintered my wood real good. "You got me so hot yesterday, undressing me with your eyes." Cue for another song. 'All of a sudden my heart sings,' this time. Don't remember who wrote that. I opened my ass as far as I could and he must have hit a valve that had never been hit before because my butt began to sing the Hallelujah chorus, and at a terrifying speed like an HMV record about to spin off the phonograph.

In fact the picture I conjured up of needle, horn and record seemed more than appropriate as he made sweet music with my butt and I trumpeted like a demented duck. "Why didn't you do something?" I managed to say when I could breathe again. "I'm doing it now," was his prompt reply. "Anyway I was your guest. It was up to you to make me feel at home."

I wiggled my ass and managed to get myself in a position where I could see him. I wrapped my legs tightly round his neck, opened my butt wide and said, "Be my guest. Make yourself at home." And of course he did and in no way outstayed his welcome. He had the biggest chopper I'd ever been fortunate enough to accommodate. I opened my butt even wider and let him plunder me. Sweat seemed to pour from his every pore and rained down on me in a salty shower. I shot out my tongue like an upside-down umbrella gathering as much as I could knowing that soon the sweet juice of him would be joined by a fountain of his creamy cum.

"Don't cum inside me," I begged. "I want to drink it!"

He waited till the last possible moment but my ass clamped down on him. It still hadn't had its fill of him and was loath to let him go. "You're never going to get out of there alive," I threatened. But true to his promise he wrenched his dick out of my writhing ass and erupted all over me.

It was just as if the Snows of Kilimanjaro, or in our case Mount Hood, were descending in an avalanche of hot cum over my head, my hair, my face, my chest, my belly. Everywhere. He didn't miss a single bit of me and of course I did the rest licking his chest, licking his dick, smearing his cum all over me and then licking the residue from my hands. Then back to his dick again to lap up the jizz that continued to spill out. This time directly into my mouth.

There was no real bathroom in the cabin just a makeshift shower in the coldest part of the room so I decided to wash him the old fashioned way in a big tin tub that took up all the water in the boiler. In the end we got in there together and washed each other. We dried in front of the fire that he built up with more of his logs.

As we lay on a fur rug in front of it, I had a mental image of my first sight of him hacking away at the tree. This image then morphed into him hacking away at me. Soon I was hard again and so was he. I decided to try something new and nuzzled my way into his ass crack and found there was still some soap there so I licked it off. Once again one thing led to another and my tongue was inside him and then my dick was inside him.

I began to use it as a kind of sexual stethoscope to plumb his most sensitive depths. His butt bulged as I burrowed deeper. He gave a tremor of absolute pleasure and reared like a bucking bronco. I rode him by holding on to his dick with one hand and his beautiful bare chest with the other. Heaven opened its portals as we came gloriously together.

I felt so good, so utterly at peace, that l fell asleep inside him. Chest, dick and butt united. Never did finish that book on time though.