by Rob Rosen
Still, I had twenty years under my belt, so to speak, and made the first move. “Take your shirt off,” I told him.
He hiked the T-shirt up and over his head, revealing smooth muscle, with just a hint of a blond down that ran across his chest and along his ripped belly before disappearing invitingly inside his shorts. I reached out and tweaked a thick-nubbed nipple, twisting it between a thumb and index finger. He groaned, his eyes rolling back for the briefest of moments.
“Yeah, dude,” he rasped. “What next?”
“Shorts. Off.”
Again, he grinned as he leaned backward and kicked off his sneakers, then rolled his shorts down his ass, his thighs, and off his legs, leaving only his socks and boxers, the material straining against what bulged beneath. I ran my hand across the cotton, caressing this unfamiliar part of him, before I slipped my hand in the fly and released the beast. It sprung out, pink and wet and stupendously thick.
I held on to it, feeling the blood course within, then ran my fingers across the slick mushroomed head. I sucked the pungent jizz of my digits, salty sweet, yummy. He watched, amused, clearly curious of my next move.
I looked up, locked eyes with him, yet again. “I waited a long time for this, dude,” I managed.
“Four years. I know.”
Twenty-four. He didn’t. I leaned in and kissed him, soft and perfect. “Take the boxers off, Chad.”
He fell backward, supine, and was naked in a jiff, his cock, fat and rock-solid, jutting straight up, a fifth limb. I stared down hungrily at my friend. Naked. Hard. Mine.
A shiver ran down my spine. He smiled at me. My fingers traced the veins atop his feet, my palms gliding up his shins, his meaty calves, his hairy, worked thighs, which I quickly spread apart. I lifted his legs, his pink, puckered hole coming into view. I leaned down, breathed in deeply. It was a smell I recognized, only stronger, purer. I took a lick, a suck, a twirl of my tongue around the hair-rimmed halo. He bucked his ass into my face.
“Eat it, dude.”
I spread his cheeks apart and dove in, my tongue gliding up and in and back, probing the smooth interior of him. He groaned and smacked his cock against my forehead. I moved my lips up and took a suck, working the length down my throat. A gagging tear ran down my cheek. I popped it out, my mouth moving southward, licking the shaft and then both his heavy nuts, covered as they were in wiry, blond fuzz. I engulfed one ball at a time, pulling his sac down, eliciting a moan and an arched back. And still my mouth zeroed in on his hole, that one inch of flesh I’d never before seen and yet ached to for so many fucking years. I probed and pushed at it, kissing it, getting it good and wet, ready for the onslaught.
“Dude,” he said, “someone’s got too many clothes on.”
Which didn’t last for long. I was naked and alongside him in no time flat, his legs still raised, my finger teasing his hole as my tongue darted in and out of his mouth. As good as my imagination had been, this beat it by a mile.
The teasing ended; my finger slid in, immediately followed by a second. His hole constricted around them, then relaxed. He sighed and allowed the intrusion, beating his meat the whole time, keeping pace with my pushing and prodding, our lips still melded together, our eyes still wide open.
He bit down on my lip. “Let me suck your dick,” he pled.
Music to my ears. I flung my body over his, my prick dangling over his open mouth, my fingers still entrenched up his chute and my mouth already flush around his rod. I pushed my ass down, fucking his throat, in and out, in and out, the warmth spreading over and through me.
His hands reached up and found my hole, already wet with sweat. He entered me as he gobbled down. Two friends, a perfect yin and yang. Finger-fucking and cock-sucking in unison. Four years, twenty-four years, twenty-four seconds; the wait had been far too long.
I gazed down and watched his balls begin their steady rise as my fingers began to butt up against his granite-solid prostate. His breathing quickened, as did my own. We were both close, so fucking close, teetering on the very edge.
I popped his cock out of my mouth and began a quick stroke on it, eyeing his dick-hole, waiting for the inevitable. He did the same with my own, just as his body quivered and quaked, rocking the van from side to side. He came in torrents, his prick spasming and shooting over and over again, the come flying up and out, landing on his thighs, his calves, and the mattress. Within seconds, my own cock spewed, thick gobs of come that rained down on his neck and chest. And all the while, the two of us moaned and groaned, the sound nearly deafening, filling the space all around us.
I collapsed on top of him. Trying to catch my breath, my body drenched in sweat and sticky come.
“Wow,” I finally managed.
“About fucking time,” he added.
I laughed, knowingly. It was a gross understatement.
I felt his body moving slightly, reaching for something. A towel, I hoped. Instead, I heard a piece of paper crinkling. I craned my neck to the side. “What you got there?” I asked.
“Whatever it is you spent all our money on.” He read the certificate, a look of bewilderment on his face. “Apple Computers? Never heard of them.”
Again, I laughed, my cheek nestled atop his blond bush. “No? Well, they’re sort of new.”
He set the paper down and ran his hand across my ass, raising those now-familiar goosebumps in his wake. “And they’re a good investment, dude?”
Another gross understatement. I stroked his balls and felt his cock begin to rise again. “Only time will tell, dude,” I replied, sucking on his widening, helmeted head.
Sweet Home Alabama
The windows were rolled down, the air sticky, humid, smelling of grass and jasmine, manure and magnolia blossoms. The road was empty, cracked, pocked like a moonscape. I’d taken the backroads home. It was longer, for sure, but more scenic. Quieter. It’d been more than a decade since my last visit, and I needed to get accustomed to this place again. To the pace again.
I hadn’t been paying much attention to my driving. No point, really. The road was fairly straight, and I was the only one on it. My mistake. The deer probably saw me coming; I hadn’t seen it. My tires skidded for some twenty feet, loudly, the sound stabbing at the silence. I missed the deer. The water oak wasn’t so lucky. Neither was my car, for that matter. The Beemer was barely ten months old.
“Fuck,” I cussed, lumbering out of the car and kicking the still-smoking rear tire. The deer stood in place, staring at me. “Asshole,” I screamed, causing no discernable reaction.
I looked up to where I’d come from and down to where I’d been heading. Nothing. Not a car, not a house, not even a telephone pole. My backroads route was not such a keen idea, after all.
“Now what?” I asked, after I tested my cellphone. “Fucking shock, no reception. Two tin cans and a mile of string would’ve been a safer bet.”
I plopped my ass down on the weathered asphalt and watched as the deer disappeared into the woods, bored finally with my sudden appearance. “Send back some help, Lassie,” I shouted after it, my voice lost in the thick copse of trees.
Exhausted, I stretched out behind my wreck of a car and stared up at the trees, the branches and leaves so dense I could barely see the sky. A woodpecker chiseled out a techno beat somewhere nearby. Other than that, eerie silence. Well, save for my zipper sliding down, soon followed by my semi-woodie popping out, beating off seeming to me a better option than fretting about my stuck-in-the-middle-of-nowhere situation. A temporary diversion, to be sure, but a pleasurable one at least. The warm breeze flowed over my stiffening cock as a bead of precome slid down my pulsing dick-head. I rubbed my finger across the piss-slit and took a lick and suck.
“It was then I felt the rumble, heard the clacking off in the distance. A car was approaching. Hallelujah. I popped my prick back in and jumped up. Minutes later, an ancient truck pulled up. It was rust red, or perhaps red with rust—hard to tell. A country-western ballad seeped out of the open window, the
n went dead as the driver hopped out, his boots crunching the dead leaves along the pavement.
“Right nice car you had,” he drawled, his smile wide on his scruffy face, the teeth tobacco stained.
“Deer, one, BMW, nada,” I informed. He looked familiar and yet not.
“Gets ‘em every time,” he added, reaching out a calloused hand. “Chet,” he said, by way of greeting.
“Luke,” I told him. “Don’t suppose you’re with AAA, are you?”
“Nope, hadn’t had a drop of whiskey in nearly five years,” he replied.
I grinned. “Wrong club, but close.”
“Yep, that there was a joke. Figured you could use one. You know, what with the…” He finished his train of thought by pointing to what had only recently been my car.
I laughed, despite the dire circumstances. “Thanks. I, um, don’t suppose there’s an auto mechanic with a tow truck just around the bend, is there?”
“There’s a bend just around the bend, as a matter of fact. Then another one after that. But you’re in luck.
Not so strangely, I didn’t feel that lucky, all things considered. “Is there a tow truck just after that bend then?”
He laughed, a big belly laugh that shook the sinewy muscles in his exposed, farmer-tanned arms. “Oh, hell no, friend. You’re in luck ‘cause the nearest mechanic who can tow you is my cousin Jeb.”
“And Jeb is just after the bend that’s just after the bend after the bend?”
“Give or take twenty bends,” he informed, the smile fairly intoxicating.
“Which one is it, give or take?”
He removed his baseball cap and scratched his head, revealing a shocking mound of sandy brown hair, short on the sides, long in the back. “Well now, let’s say give, just to be on the safe side. And he’ll be right on over to get you after I give him a holler.”
“Thanks—” I said, but was unable to finish the sentence.
“Tomorrow, when he’s back from his huntin’ trip.”
“Oh,” I said, my own smile now faltering.
“Don’t fret none; I got me a tent out back you can use for the night. Ain’t seen no bears in a good long while. Should be safe. Enough.”
I gulped and attempted another smile. He laughed and slapped me on the back. “That was another joke, Luke. I got me a spare room you can use for the night. No problem.”
I decided not to argue, seeing as I was seemingly out of viable options and my ultimate destination was still more than twenty miles south. I walked around to the passenger door, reading the bumper sticker as I went by: My other pick-up truck is a pick-up truck. My apparent savior was a veritable comedian. I prayed he wasn’t a homicidal one.
“You from around here, Luke?” he asked as he put some rubber to the road.
“Used to be,” I replied. “A long time ago. Lucy Johnson’s boy. You know her?”
His truck came to a screeching halt, nearly sending me flying through the bug-splattered windshield. “You’re Luke Johnson?” he asked with a long, low whistle.
“Between my driving and yours, it’s a miracle I still am, but yes.”
He laughed, yet again. “Luke, it’s me. Chet Sullivan. We used to be neighbors, once upon a time.”
My heart skipped a beat. I knew he looked familiar. Still, it had been a long time, years for him to grow into a man—and a big, muscular, handsome man at that. I left for college up in Boston; he’d obviously stayed put. My frame remained slender, tighter, more hairy than last we’d seen each other, but I could still fit into my high school letterman’s jacket. Chet, on the other hand, was a good hundred pounds heavier, rife with muscle, his face fuller, his arms covered in a thick down and not just a few battle scars. In truth, it was hard to see the boy I’d known in the man sitting next to me.
I prayed he didn’t remember our last drunken encounter. I didn’t want to get killed in my sleep. Or my wake, for that matter.
We arrived at his cabin a short while later, nestled in the woods, small and cozy. I called my mother and told her what had happened. She told me she’d be down to get me in the morning. I told her I’d let her know if that was necessary, hoping beyond hope my car could somehow be resurrected.
I looked up. Chet was smiling at me from the couch. “Man, you look the same,” he said. “Must be a lady-killer up north, huh?”
I blushed, my face a crimson red, and merely nodded. “And you, you look, well…”
The smile widened. “Yeah, I know. Bigger. It’s all them biscuits and gravy. Not to mention working down at the plant. Anyway, want a tour of the place?”
“Sure,” I said, following him around.
Needless to say, it was a quick tour. Place couldn’t have been more than six hundred square feet, and my guest room was more like a closet with a bed. Still, beggars couldn’t be choosers. “Ain’t much,” he said, “but there is one check in the old plus column. Follow me out back.”
He opened a screen door, the view beautiful, the forest lush, green, brimming with color, the aroma uniquely southern. We walked outside onto a deck. An above-ground hot tub lay situated in the middle. “Nice,” I commented.
“Let’s take a dip. Takes the tension right out of ya.”
I hesitated, the flush rising up my neck again. My day was growing stranger, more disconcerting by the second. “No bathing suit,” I tried.
He grinned and punched me lightly on the arm. “Nah,” he said. “Just go nekkid. What’s the big deal?”
He didn’t give me time to respond, the big deal still hidden in my pants, where I would’ve liked it to remain before it got even bigger. Instead, he shucked off his boots and began to unbutton his sleeveless shirt, revealing a wide chest, covered in brown fur, with two thick, pink nipples jutting out. He looked up at me and motioned for me to follow suit.
I relented, turning around in modesty to undress. I had seen him naked before. In the locker room many years prior. Plus, that one other time. But this was different. For one, we were alone. For another, there was no alcohol involved this go around.
Newly undressed, I turned around. He was standing there, stark naked, hairy from head to foot, thick with muscle, his cock hanging low, his balls even lower. He smiled and strode to the tub’s ladder. I followed close behind, staring up at his ass as he climbed the rungs, his cheeks parting as he did so, the pink of his asshole teasingly appearing and then disappearing. I craned my neck up and took a deep whiff. He smelled of soap and sweat, an intoxicating combination.
The tub was on the small side. Chet being on the large side. There was barely room enough for the two of us. His knees knocked mine, his feet brushed my own. I gulped and forced a smile. “Nice,” I said. “The view, I mean. Of the forest.” My usual eloquence was clearly escaping me.
“Yep,” he agreed. “Ain’t nothing like it. You must miss it, living in the city and all.”
I nodded. Little did he know just how much I missed it. “It hasn’t changed much out here. Just like I remembered it.”
“Yep. Only change is us. All grown up now, huh? Still the same in here, though.” He pointed to his chest. “Still the rowdy teenager inside.” Again, I nodded, knowing what he meant. Then he surprised me, knocking the breath right out of my lungs. “Remember the last time we done seen each other?” he asked.
I hesitated, terrified, knowing full well what he was getting at. “Can’t rightly say that I do,” I lied.
“Senior year, graduation party. Out in the woods down south from here. Looked a lot like this place, if I remember correctly,” he said to me, his toes abutting my own, my cock gradually swelling at the sound of his voice. “Man, we were wasted. Mad Dog 20/20. Stuff was strong as shit.”
I grinned, nervously. “Been a long time. Hard to remember ever being that young even,” I replied.
“Funny,” he said, now leaning in, his eyes boring right on through me, “I recall it just like it was yesterday. We was in the woods, you and me, off from the others. Takin’ a piss behind a wide,
old oak. You done kissed me square on the mouth.”
“We were drunk,” I reminded him.
He leaned in even closer until I could smell the coffee on his breath. “What about now?” he asked in a raspy whisper, his lips just barely brushing my own, sending a spark of white-hot lightning down my spine. He upped the ante by reaching out to grab my cock, squeezing the shaft with a tug and a stroke. “I think I’ve got my answer.”
I moaned and mashed my mouth into his, our tongues snaking and swirling around each other, our eyes opened, watching intently, lustfully. Eventually, he broke away with a wicked grin and a sigh. “Takes me back,” he said. “Good times.”
“Yep,” I said, reaching up to run my hand over his chest, to take a thick nipple in between my fingers for a pinch and a twist, “but even better now.”
He groaned and slid in again, enveloping me in his massive arms, melding me into his chest as he devoured my mouth with his. We stood up, his hands rubbing the small of my back, mine parting his hairy ass, my fingers instinctively zooming in around his crinkled hole. “Tastes better than it feels,” he offered, in between perfect kisses.
“Never did find that out the last time,” I told him.
He laughed. “Like a fine wine, it betters with age.”
“Hope I don’t have to take your word on that.”
“Nope,” he said, climbing the inside ladder, one foot on the edge of the tub, the other on a lower rung, his ass perched above my face, his hair-haloed ring winking down at me. “Taste away, good buddy.”
I grinned and moved in. I’d waited forever to hear those exact words; I didn’t wait a second longer. I pushed his cheeks apart and rammed my face in between, licking his hole and then delving inside. He moaned and ground his butt downward. I slapped his cheek, the noise pinging in all directions. I spanked it again, louder, louder still, while I ate him out, reaming his insides with my deft tongue.
“Fuck yeah,” he groaned. “Spank that hairy ass.”
