The cabin really isn't.
We called it that. The family. Hell, I still call it that. But it isn't. It's sort of an apartment at best, on top of an old concrete garage. But I love it.
The cabin is an almost square box of boring grey concrete, with large, inappropriate multi-pane windows. Sets of nine green wooden frames that somehow fit with the industrial vibe outside. A small wooden deck sits at the back of the box, with outside stairs down to the real world.
Through the big windows you can see the whole of the interior. An old red sofa rescued from sure destruction and faded even more over the years. A big bed. Too big really, for the room. A tub, toilet and basin, missing the thin curtain that was used to pretend at privacy in the early days. A small kitchen bench and minimal storage, all genuinely distressed green, and none closing quite the way it should. An ancient cooker and a bulbous forties fridge provide a white contrast to the green and red almost-Christmas tones.
When I was a kid I played in here. I escaped from the stresses of childhood and the expectations of the family. I played with the furniture, such as it was. Played with the kitchen. Played with the possibilities, with my dreams, with the future. Okay, played with myself.
When my parents died the rest of the family wanted to sell the property. I was appalled, and they didn't understand. In the end, we managed a compromise. I sold the house and kept the garage. Lost the stress and kept the dream.
I've never lived in the cabin. It's not that liveable on its own. Yes, it has the necessaries. Plumbing and power, heating and drains. But it's not set up that way, and I don't want to change it.
So when the complications of life in the city become too much, and the relationships become too worn, and the weekend beckons, I escape. I leave the bustle and drive to my garage, and spend the weekend in the cabin.
Always quiet, the cabin enfolds me, and I can be at peace, listening to jazz and blues records on the old turntable, sipping wine in the armchair, masturbating peacefully in the big old fluffy bed, or even in the deep clawfoot tub that was evicted from the house decades ago.
So it's with some surprise that I find myself inviting Ethan to share my cabin for a few days.
"Oh, that's ... My God, Sandy, it's wonderful."
"No, really. I thought maybe you were overselling it ... but it's gorgeous."
"Thank God. No, just put those down there. There's nowhere else."
"Do we need anything more from the car?"
"Not now. What we need is a glass of wine, Ethan."
"I like the way you think. Can I help?"
"Yeah, plant yourself on the sofa. I've got it. Need to turn a few things on in the kitchen."
"Just here. This is the kitchen."
"So over there. That's the bathroom?"
"You need to go?"
"No, no. Just wondering about ... you know ... when I do."
"Just go. I warned you."
"Look, if you don't like it..." I trail off, watching his face.
"No, it's just..." He grins. "It's going to take a few minutes."
I close the fridge, having added some more wine to the random collection, and turn back to him. "I need to tell you something, Ethan."
He looks so comfortable on the old sofa that instead of taking my usual seat in the armchair I hand him a glass and pile in beside him, still chilly as the heating hasn't caught up yet. "I ... I've never brought anyone back here before."
"Nope. Not even when I was a kid."
"What, no teen fumblings?"
"Not here. Dad caught me a few times with a boy in the house, and once with a girl, but that's a different story."
"Were you a bad girl then?"
"So why not in here? It's clearly perfect."
"It's not. Zero privacy in here. There aren't even any drapes."
"Oh. Yeah, didn't notice that. Why not?"
"Never seemed to be a need when I was a kid, and now I hate to change anything."
"But ... what about - well, the bath for instance?"
"I just ignore it all. Carry on the same."
"Can't the neighbours see you?"
"Only the ones in the main house. It's been a while. I assume they just don't look."
"Of course they look, Sandy. You're gorgeous."
"You're just saying that," and I snuggle closer, "because you want to get into my panties."
"No, that's not it. I mean, I do, but it's just a little ... weird."
I hop up again. "Just a second."
"No, no. Sit down. I didn't mean..."
Grinning at him I wave my arm "Relax. Undo a few buttons. Chill." I head back to the kitchen.
"Now what are you doing?"
The drawer I'm searching through has some matches in it somewhere, and I scrabble around to find them before lighting a few random candles, flicking off the main lights, and standing in front of him. "Still worried?"
"Not so much..." The room has a warm glow from the candles I've lit, and it's romantic and cosy somehow.
"That thing about my panties..." He's looking up at me now, as I hoist my dress up to my waist, and wriggle out of the slinky black things. "These are city panties anyway. We don't need them."
Ethan gapes at me, and then speaks. "Is it the air, or what? You're not like this at my place. You climb into bed, and keep yourself covered up."
"It's different here. Can't you tell?" My newly bare ass lands beside him, nearly spilling both glasses of wine. "Whoops. Not even drunk."
"Give it here."
"Kiss me, then."
I snuggle down beside him, and bend towards his face. He plucks the wine glass from my hand without a word and puts both it and his own glass carefully on the floor, then turns and gives me his full attention.
I'm not sure exactly what it is that attracts me to Ethan. He's not tall, or sharp, or anything specific, but somehow we fit together in all the ways that matter, and I can relax with him like no one else. In fact, in a number of ways, this is the final test. If he can fit in with my hideaway, he's pretty much perfect.
The cabin's warming up nicely and I decide I don't want this to take forever, so I pull Ethan down so he's more or less on his back, with just his head up on the sofa arm. He had time to swing by his place on his way to pick me up tonight, so he's in his jeans, and I love to get him out of them.
He's an old-fashioned guy in this one thing, and I think I love him a little more for it. His jeans are all buttons. Nothing zips or slides around his package, and I like to open the brass buttons one by one, my hands all over the emerging snake. He likes to wear smallish briefs underneath, and his cock peeks from the top as it realises we're going to play.
Moving back for a moment on the sofa I peel the denim off his ass, and slide his jeans down his legs, throwing them to the floor - barely missing one of the wine glasses.
Giggling, I return to his thighs, my thumbs sliding up the sides of the obvious bulge before caressing him with my fingertips and eliciting a low groan from his throat.
He grabs my face and pulls me down for another kiss. "You can't keep doing that, you know. I'll make a mess on your dress."
"Just don't get the sofa. I might invite someone else here one day." I pull back from the kiss, and lift the pale cloth of his briefs down off his cock. "Oh, look at that. Maybe we should try not to make too much mess." I haul the briefs down his legs and throw them over the back of the sofa.
All Ethan can manage is a grunt as I take his cock in my hands. It's not overly large I don't think, but certainly adequate to the task, and there a slight bow that makes it just the right shape for me. I think I love Ethan. I know I love his cock.
I grin at him then, my thumb and forefinger encircling him and sliding gently back and forth. "Inside or out?"
"In," he whispers, his body strangely still. "Please".
Shuffling him a little on the big sofa, I straddle his hips, my knees bent. He knows I have no panties on, and as I push myself down to touch him I can feel his cock pressing against me. He's a friendly guy and a familiar fuck, but having him here is like it's a whole new thing, and I know I'm dripping wet as I rub myself against the underside of him.
I can tell I don't need to wait any longer, so I wriggle around to get in the right position. Leaning forward a little I can feel the solid tip of him against me, my moisture sliding over the surface of him. Sliding back a little I can feel I've captured him, his width spreading me gently, the meeting slippery and warm.
Just a little more pressure and he pops inside, his width delightful, his hardness a wonderful invasion. I slide down the length of him, enjoying his groan and the feeling of his skin sliding with a tight slipperiness against my own.
I sit up again then, with him deep inside me, and take a look at the silly grin on his face. "Wanna fuck?" I say to him. Our pet phrase that begins so many of our conversations.
He grins again and nods his head.
I lift myself up, loving the feeling of him sliding away, then push back down quickly, feeling full again immediately. Ethan's not moving at all just now. I know why that is too. If he has one fault it's that he's a little quick, but he does his very best to overcome it, and I love him for the effort.
.... There is more of this story ...