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Subject: Closer Than Most : Indian Summer – Chapter 1 Closer Than Most : Indian Summer – Chapter 1 by Jackson Man We all know the drill. Please donate to Nifty. This service is amazing AND free. Let’s keep it free. Learn more @ fty/donate.html. Let me know any comments at ail. I want to get better at editing stuff to get to the ~steamy~ parts right away but I love setting the mood too much. Please do not send me emails if you’re under legal age (18/21), want to “roleplay” as under legal age, will mention anything about anyone being under legal age. If you are under legal age do not read this. Obviously, this contains mlm action. The juicy part (why I added the story to this genre) will come in later chapters. My goal is to create an anthology called “Closer Than Most” that revolve around the same themes. This is chapter one from its first series – Indian Summer. I might add another chapter for Indian Summer, or add another series altogether, or maybe a stand-alone piece. But all of them would be under the “Closer Than Most” name. As always, this one is for Justin. Content notice (so you know what’s up)- bathhouse, cruising, wrestling. *** “Reasons for visiting?” The custom agent roared above the noise of the airport. He held my American passport, name reading Alex Brooks. His tight brown uniform from the New Delhi International airport complimented his wheat brown skin. “Sightseeing.” I said. “Is it your first time?” The man looked directly on my eyes, examining as if I did something wrong. The last time I was in India was almost a decade ago, when I was still with John. “I visited with my… roommate, once.” I knew better than to say `boyfriend’, but the pause gave me away. “Roommate, huh?” He said casually, as if placing quotation marks around the word. He checked my ID, passport and eyed me one last time. He seemed to ease up a bit and ran his blocky hands over his shiny short hair. “You’re a photographer.” He nodded at the Canon lenses that hung down my neck. “Landscapes or portraits?” “Sport photography. Mostly focusing on people in motion.” I shuffled my lenses, showing them off. “Wrestling, stuff like that.” The agent smiled and played with his goatee, thoughtful. “You think I’d make a good model?” He asked with a very low voice. “I’d love to have you in my studio,” I replied. Besides, with my frame it doesn’t take a lot of guessing to figure out I’m gay. He caught that and looked me in the eye again. “How many tattoos do you got?” He looked around before getting closer. He added, checking me out. “You know, this is purely protocol.” “I’ve got my sleeve, one in my right shoulder, as well as others in more private areas,” I ran my fingers through my fad, fixing my hair, showing off my sleeve. I was wearing a tank top that day, due to the heat. He stared, enjoying himself. “Enjoy India, Mr. Brooks. I’m sure you’d find it beautiful.” He said. He straightened himself again, his physique more fit for a security guard than a custom agent showing through the uniform. “I’m already impressed with what I’ve seen so far,” I said before stepping away. *** The pehlwan (wrestler) known as Mohan was thrown on moist dirt floor. His adversary was a much younger, much leaner 20-something year old named Vikas. I stood right outside the circle of rocks that marked the wrestling space, my camera on a tripod, recording. My bare knee scraping on the dirt, although by now my skin has grown thicker. It was an exciting to see Vikas jump on top of Mohan into summersault, forcing Mohan to support both of their weights at the same time. There were dozens of other men circling around to watch the match. They were all civilians – young boys, grown men, kids, and even the odd woman sprinkled about. The young generations were wearing jeans, sneakers and t-shirt while the old men wore clothes on their bodies. It was just to pehlwanon (wrestlers) that had their chest bare and wore nothing but the kaupinam loin cloth around their crotch. Some opted to wear knee caps, but not all. It was now late at night so all their bodies were covered in dirt they picked up while fighting (and losing). I, too, was sunburnt and covered in dirt from spending my afternoon here. It was dusk now and the yellow street lamps began turning on, giving their sweaty bodies a yellowy glare. I saw Vikas pin down Mohan. In Indian wrestling you win whenever you get the opponent’s shoulders and hips to hit the floor simultaneously. Vikas was able to do so in less than five minutes. The referee, an old man, declared him the winner. Mohan yelled for Vikas to get up off him. From on top Vikas smiled at the audience and cheered. Of course, he’d win nothing – this was just a regular night. He just loved the sport. He flexed his muscle and I could see his six packs stretch while pecs grew as he stroke an Arnold pose. He smiled wide again and looked at the audience, and began panning slowly until he caught the camera, then me. This wasn’t the first time he stared at me this afternoon. I thought he gave me a wink but I couldn’t really tell. Mohan yelled again and Vikas slapped the back of the bear’s head slightly before getting up. A signal of domination. That was the last match and people began going home. The noise of cars and bicycles started. I checked my camera and reviewed the footage, making sure everything was alright. I was beat, ready to go home. As I stood up I felt a hand on my shoulders. “Yo, Alex!” I turned around. It was Sanjay, a wrestler I met back in New Delhi. It was him who told me about coming up to Punjab to record the lively pehlwani culture they’ve got. “What’re you doing tonight?” He had short hair on the sides and longer hair on top. The tip that he styled to the side were dyed red, although it was now fading to its natural black. Needless to say, he was very American except for his accent. At 19 he was maybe half a foot shorter than me at 5’10. His body was sweaty and covered in dirt. “Wait, you’ve got some dirt on your face,” he said before getting closer to clean my cheekbone with his thumb. The kid’s got pretty eyes with eyelashes that grew upwards, izmit escort bayan making them look long. His eyebrows were full, with a messy start that eventually settled down as their arched. He sported not quite a full beard, but short yet voluminous sideburns that faded out just before hitting his strong jaw. “Thanks,” I said after he cleaned my face. He smiled wide and his dimples showed. “Jaan, abba wants to know what you’re doing later tonight?” He said again. He wore nothing but a beige cloth undergarment and kneecaps. Jaan was his endearing term for me – it meant favorite, dear. His abba, a man named Karan, was a the main trainer here who gave me permission to record matches as long as I uploaded the best ones to his dying YouTube channel. Of course I took on his deal – cheap housing, mostly free food, and I get to use my skills. I looked back and the crowd was dispersing. Vikas stood to the side talking to some random man, probably another friend of his. He wore a blue loin cloth which he was fixing. He was already staring at me by the time I faced him. He smiled mid-sentence before looking away. “I’ll join you guys for tea, Sanjay,” I said. “But later on. Is that okay?” I hung the bag with the tripod and my other lenses on my shoulder. “Yeah, Jaan. Dad wants to talk about the YouTube channel – but what did you think of my match? I won.” He picked up my camera bag and hung it on his shoulders, the strap falling between his defined pecs. The smallest stubbles of hair were sprinkled about. He has gone a few minutes before Vikas and Mohan. “You were great, dude.” He stumbled into me as a joke before putting his heavy arm around my shoulders. “You’ve got great moves.” He was not as lean as Vikas, but just as flexible. “You know I bet I could even take you, American,” he joked and faked an American accent. We kept walking through the dispersing crowd. His dad’s house was a short walk away. The dirt floor felt harsh against my thinning shoes. I made a mental note to remind myself to go shopping for new ones. No one paid any mind to Sanjay’s hand around me – in fact, male closeness was quite accepted. “Oh you definitely could beat me up,” I replied. He flexed his arm to hold me tighter. If he wanted he could probably put me in a chokehold with no issues. He was all protein, having been trained his whole life by his father. I was strong, sure, but he was stronger. “But you’d let me win, wouldn’t you? You’d want me to pin you.” He blushed slightly and cleared his throat. He removed his arm to fix my bag that was falling down. “I don’t know about that, Jaan.” He stuttered a bit through a smile before looking away. Now it was my turn to stumbled into him, making him almost lose his footing, but I picked him up just in time. I saw the town’s bathhouse just up to hill. It was late at night so it laid empty and quiet. I stopped and took down off the tripod bag. I tapped Sanjay on the shoulder. “Wanna go in?” “Why?” He shuffled on the spot. He looked at me then looked down. We were alone. He stretched his shoulders. “Abba’s waiting for us.” “Come on, Sanjay. I just want to dust off.” I hoped he caught my drift. Sanjay got closer and looked down at my lips. I looked him in the eye yet again, but he was evading mine. I took hold of his square chin. “It’ll be quick,” I told him quietly. His eyes met mine. Then he just picked up my tripod bag and stepped back. “Y’all Americans are crazy, yo.” His accent changed from Southern to New Yorker as he attempted to combined three lexicons in one sentence. It was quite endearing. “You sure?” I fanned my belly with my shirt. He shuffled again as he put the second bag up his shoulders. “I don’t know.” He whispered and looked down, but this time there was no playfulness in his voice. There was empty air. “I’ll see you back in the house, Jaan.” “I won’t take long, kiddo.” With that he looked back up at me, and eyed me from top to bottom. I saw Sanjay walk off with a smile on his face, his torso perfectly chiseled to form a V shape. *** Inside the bathhouse it was dark as the light only entered through the doorway. My shadow stretched into the quiet building. I joined the showers nearest to the doorway and turned the faucet. Cold water hit my skin – goosebumps grew everywhere. I washed my hands off, then I cleaned my face and remembered how Sanjay touched me. I didn’t lie – I did wanted to dust off. But I also had a growing boner inside my cargo shorts. We first met in New Delhi at a café where he spotted me – the only American there. He thought my hair was dyed, like his. He wanted to prove a point to his dad about how you could be successful and have dyed hair. His dad was an old-school man who didn’t approve. I’m a natural blond, I told him. We got talking about my photography business and I showcased my website. His dad asked me to come up here that same day. With my hands washed and my face cleaned I turned off the water and stepped back to dry myself. By that point I had been in Indian for almost two months and well-liked and I don’t want to fall out of favor with Karan. I still wasn’t sure how his dad would feel about his only son referring to an American man as `dear’. I knew Sanjay liked me, more than he’d admit, but I didn’t want to just use him. Although I did want to fuck, badly, as shown by the boners I’d get throughout the day. Then I heard someone stepping in. By the sound of the footsteps I knew it was a wrestler – the steps were hard, full, with force. He chose to come to the faucet next to me. “I love the feeling of cold water after a match,” he said, his voice low, as he turned the faucet. Water hit him hard. I turned and found Vikas. “You’re the American photographer,” he said more of a statement than a question. His accent was stronger than most, hinting at a Northern heritage. “Yeah,” I turned to see him. He was still sporting nothing but the tight loincloth. “You’re Vikas?” “I’m a winner, that’s what I am. You saw how I beat that old oaf tonight!” He splashed his face with water – the dirt and mud began dripping down his skin to the floor. “What’d you think? Sick moves izmit eve gelen escort huh?” He kept washing. ” You got everything?” “Captured everything, man. Loved seeing you manhandle him. Impressive.” I was gassing him – that’s what wrestlers like him want. He finally turned to face me as he washed – his kaupinam soaked, a thick soft dick showing as the cloth clung to his skin. His chest was smooth, like mine. He probably was a few years younger than me, though not quite as Sanjay. Abs made hills on his lower torso, his v-line pointing to his crotch, probably the only hairy area in his body apart from his head. “You wrestle?” He inquired as he wetted his hair. He saw me stare at his crotch. I stepped back as to not get my clothes wet. “No – well I used to, as a kid. But not like you guys do,” I chuckled. “So you just like photographing sweaty muscle men?” He laughed and I felt that he meant no harm. “Relax. I’m not going to hurt you. I just see things.” “Like what you’ve seen so far?” I ask, with my own bulge growing. Vikas looks at me with raised eyebrows and turns around to clear his back. “I’ve seen you talk to Karan’s son, that Sanjay kid.” “He’s friendly.” “He’s very friendly.” “I thought you weren’t going to judge.” “I said I wasn’t going to hurt you, but I will judge,” he laughed playfully. He kept moving so that the stream would hit his defined back just right. “He’s got potential, wrestling-wise. Bit immature though, don’t you think?” “Sounds like you’ve kept your eyes on him.” “Never thought a man like you would go for him, that’s all.” “Who should I go for?” He didn’t face me but I got an eye from the show he was giving me. “A real man.” He said. He kept trying to finish cleaning his back but there were portions he couldn’t reach. “American, can you…?” He faced me slightly. From this profile I could see that he had such high cheekbones. Bruises from places where he was tackled and scrapes from where he’s fallen, were on display now that the dirt was washed away. Red spots covered his lower back and his ass, which was barely contained by the transparent blue cloth. He waited, hoping I’d pick up where he left off. I took off my shirt, followed by my shorts and shoes. I left my socks on as I didn’t trust the bathhouse floor. As I stepped into the stream of water I could feel him relax. He let his shoulders fall. He twisted his neck left and right. The cold water slapped me, though, so I groaned. “Can you…” He whispered. The only sound in the night was the running water and our heavy breathing. I placed my hands on his shoulders first. He was warm to the touch. He exhaled as I began pushing down his muscles. He was hard like rocks, but even tough men turn to jelly when they get a message. “You’re stronger than you look,” he said. He placed his arms against the wall to give me more access to his sides. “I can surprise you.” I moved down to his shoulder blades. His hairy armpits were at full display. “You smell nice,” I caught myself saying. And he did. He chuckled. I noticed that there are some bruises by this side. As I touched them slightly he began to laugh more. “Bet these hurt.” “They do, but the pain is funny,” he said as he kept chuckling lowly to my massages. “You can’t be a wrestler if you don’t learn to enjoy the pain.” He ended the sentence with a big exhale. I moved on to cleaning his lower back until I reached his ass. “Are you enjoying yourself?” I asked. The cold water didn’t faze me anymore, so I got closer. I cupped my hand on his ass, which surprised him. “Careful now, American…” he said but his voice had no threat in it. I removed my hand so I could I rest my body on top of his. I caressed him, my whole chest on his back. “I thought you’d be hairy like all men from here.” “You’re not hairy yourself.” My hands slid into his front. I could feel the water flow down his abs. I felt his full pecs that hung. I felt his erect nipples. He was truly smooth. He was warm and smelled nice. I wish I could’ve seen him more clearly but it was so dark. My hands moved up and down slowly, I didn’t want him to freak out. His breathing got slower and deeper, as if he was falling asleep. He held us both up with his hand against the wall. “Are you enjoying yourself?” I whispered again right above his left ear. With that he took hold of my left hand and placed it on his crotch. His bulge was handful, barely confided by the cloth. I followed its sides until I found the knot that kept it in place and untied it. His dick sprung right up. “You tell me,” he said before grunting. I moved two fingers up and down his shaft. It was wider than it was longer. His foreskin moved along the head as well. With my other free hand I caressed his balls. They were big, despite the cold, and smooth. I didn’t take him for a man who shaved. I continued this for a while – me going up and down his shaft, playing with his ball, resting my body on his back. I was tall enough to grind into his upper thigh as well. “American, I’m close-” Vikas said. He was completely breathing from his mouth. Groans and moans echoed within the bathhouse. I started picking up my pace and tightened my grip a bit. “I needed this,” he said. I let go of his dick and held him by his hip. I started pushing harder and harder into his ass but I couldn’t actually get in. I thought he’d try to change position but found him arching his back instead. With one hand he held himself against the wall, with the other he began jerking himself. I did the same as I ran my hands up his back. His muscular back, full of nooks and crannies where muscles met and grew. This man and his smell drove me crazy. Perhaps with more strength than necessary I slapped his hand from the wall so that his whole body with mine on top hit it with force. I wanted to sandwich him between the wall and my body. He didn’t fight back or try to shake me off. I took him by the hips again as I pushed his face into the wall – not with actual force, I didn’t want to hurt him, but with enough strength so that he couldn’t push himself off from it. “I’m – I’m -” He grunted izmit otele gelen escort one last time as I furiously humped his ass. I heard his load hit the ground and then be washed away. I let go of him and took a few steps back and finished myself on him. My nut hit his back, his ass, his inner thigh. This was my first time with a man since I’ve arrived on this town. His breathing eventually stabled and he pushed himself off the wall. “Your back’s all clean,” I said to break the ice, and chuckled. I began to rinse myself as I thought I sweated through it all. Vikas turned to face me completely as he caressed the side of his face that hit the wall. “You are full of surprises,” he said. His gaze was full of venom and I got worried. Then he broke into a laugh. I guess part of wrestling is coping with defeat. I looked down and saw that some cum still hung from his cock. I took hold of his dick one last time and washed it off. “Should we do this again sometime?” He shook his head. “No planning. Let it be. Natural.” He said. I smiled at him, he smiled back. I stepped away from the stream to dry myself and he continued washing off. Just before I started getting dressed he called me to go to him. “Before you go -” he said as he closed the faucet. The water began to die off until it became a dripping that echoed in the silent night. “Before you go -” he repeated as he walked up to me. He pulled me in and I felt his lips meet mine as he went for a big french kiss, tongue included. It was a while since I kissed a man so I felt rusty. His tongue completely overpowered mine – like an unfair wrestling match. He grabbed my jaw and pulled me away. Half of his face felt warm and probably was turning red. I regretted being so rough with him. His eyes shone in the dark. We said goodbye one last time before I headed to Karan’s place. *** Karan was a big man. He usually wore the traditional chaadra garment that Hindi men use for pants. His white cotton shirt were always lose on front though so his short curly chest hair was in full display. The cane he needed to walk laid on lap. The heat of the night had dried me and I had begun sweating. I entered their living room after passing a bead doorway that hung from the roof. The beads clicked and clacked together like low wind chimes. Karan was sitting down and even then he took up a lot of space with his big shoulders and beefy legs, dwarfing the round crystal table in front of him. His hair had receded but that just showed more of his manliness. He looked directly as me the moment I entered and stood up despite my insistence of him not doing so. He was a respectful man. He was as tall as me and his nose crooked, probably bad healings from brawls. He sported a full beard that never seemed to changed – he was tidy. We shook hands and he told me to sit. From behind us I heard the bead doorway shuffle. Sanjay entered with my MacBook and placed it in front of his father. He too had cleaned himself and was wearing some cheap Aéropostale shirt. His legs were bare as he only wore undies at home. He sat next to me. We spoke about the YouTube channel and its mere 150 subscribers. I had ran some data from it and showed him our daily watchers, as well as my plan to market it. He simply stared and asked questions now and then. He was focused on this project. Then, he raised his hand on the air and simply asked me to showed him my footage. I connected my camera and showed Karan the best matches of the night. He watched the one with Sanjay thrice and skipped my personal favorite, the one with Vikas. He’d stop Sanjay’s match and tell him how he can fix his posture, or where he made mistakes. “You gotta be strict with kids, Mister Brooks,” Karan said as if Sanjay wasn’t in the room. “Otherwise they don’t learn anything. You know, he dyed his hair without my permission. Terrible taste.” “Come on dad – look it’s already fading so I have to go for a paint job soon,” Sanjay exploded into groans of annoyance. “I think it fits him,” I said, laughing. Karan looked at me in disbelief before laughing himself. “An American man like yourself should know better,” he said before placing his hand on my shoulder in a gesture of friendliness. “Do you have any kids, back in America?” “No, I don’t, Mr. Karan,” I said. John and I used to speak about adopting, but it never came to fruition. Karan moved his hand from my shoulder. “Ah! I shall introduce you to my some friends of mine. Indian women are very good, very nice. Pretty -” he said. “Come on dad, Alex isn’t like that -” Sanjay interrupted, a bit hurried. “-he doesn’t, he doesn’t need you to meet girls. I mean, look at him.” The fun was sucked out of the room and Sanjay knew it. Sometimes when he interrupted our conversations his dad disapproved, as if he wasn’t old enough to add his input. Sanjay scratched his head nervously. Karan looked at him, then the MacBook, who was still playing other matches from the night. “Upload them all,” he roared, shaking the table. “All… of them?” I said. I spent there a whole afternoon. There were hours of footage. “Yes. Why, you can’t?” He looked at me while messaging his moustache. He had one eyebrow raised, as if judging. “No, yes it’s possible.. It’s just, the editing… and the uploading time… It’d be a while.” I said, almost sheeplike. How was I to explain slow WiFi to a man who could barely use Google? “Oh. Then, stay the night.” He said, standing up. “Sanjay can fix a bed for you. That’d be no problem, right? You staying the night?” His English was rough, his accent sharp. I thought of my hostel – it was perhaps half a hour away on walk. I looked outside and the night was pitched black. Karan began standing up, already knowing I wouldn’t say no. Sanjay took this opportunity to place his hand on my inner thigh. “It’d be no problem, sir,” I said. I looked at Sanjay slightly. He was smiling, his dyed hair messy post-shower. The shirt fitted him tightly and his pecs showed. “I want my YouTube channel to grow, Mister Brooks.” He said right before exiting through the bead doorway. “Your skills, plus my men? We’ve got a good thing going.” He moved the bead strings to the side and exited, his cane tapping on the hard tiles. I felt Sanjay squish my thigh tighter. My pants perfectly countered around his strong fingers. “We can sleep in my bed for tonight,” he whispered. We’ve got a good thing going indeed.

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