Country Boys, page 14
I wore myself out on Billy, finally slumping onto him and sliding out, then collapsing as if about to expire. With what seemed my last breath I managed a raspy “Hallelujah” and Billy responded with another “Praise the dick.”
We lay side by side after, Billy with hands across his chest, eyes closed, breath steady, and I thought of all kinds of things to say but said none. Instead I went to sleep.
He awakened me at dawn, greased, sheathed, and ready. “Shush,” he said as his cock went in even though I’d made no sound. He lay on his side behind me, going at it, and as he fucked he reached over to get hold of me and started an equal motion so I was done front and back which caused me to dissolve into a sort of swoon, not sure I was even awake because isn’t this every man’s dream?
But soon he grunted, rammed it home, then worked me enough to make me shoot, after which he declared it time to get up and fix the bike. I found this dose of reality unwelcome as I was ready to stay naked with him and fuck away the rest of my life but he was out of bed and into overalls—without underwear, just a T-shirt—and I saw the last of his great cock.
In the early morning chill Billy looked over the motorcycle, which we’d rolled over from the highway, while I stood watching. He did much of what I already had—to no avail—then stood pondering for a bit. Finally he smiled, unscrewed the gas cap, poked a finger around both the outside and inside, and took out a pocket knife—but before he went to work he showed me my problem. “Airhole’s plugged,” he said and I looked at the pinhole in the cap, probably the most unnoticed thing on a motorcycle.
“Something’s in there,” Billy went on. “Dirt. Bug, maybe. No air comin’ in, no gas goin’ out.” And he dug the point of his blade into it, extracted the ick, wiped it on his overalls, then put the cap back on. “Give her a try,” he said.
“It can’t be,” I replied, laughing. But it was. The bike sputtered then started and with a few twists of the throttle began a familiar purr.
“I never would have thought of that,” I said and Billy, standing with hands in his pockets, grinned and I thought how much I liked this man, how almost foreign he seemed compared to my usual partners and how refreshing this was. I also thought of that big dick, free inside those baggy overalls, and I wondered if other men had come to call or would in the future. But then I saw Bob Stremple on the porch and Billy turned back into the boy. “Got her running, Pa.”
Bob came down to us. “So I see. Breakfast is on.”
“You hungry?” Billy asked and I said no, I’d best get on my way because I knew if I went back inside I’d never want to leave. I shut off the bike, went to Bob and shook his hand. “Thanks for putting me up and the supper last night. You saved a weary traveler and it is much appreciated.”
He looked me over then and I wondered what he might have heard during the night and if he was leading up to calling me on it but he just let go of my hand and nodded. “You ever out this way again, you stop by.”
Billy laughed at this and Bob passed him a look that made the boy clamp his mouth shut but he still grinned from ear to ear.
“Bye, Billy,” I said as I got back on the bike. “Maybe I will ride up this way again.”
He looked at me in that singular way a man does when he’s had his dick up you and he nodded. When I started the engine he laughed and as I rode away I gave thanks to the bug or whatever it was that had crawled into that gas cap and given me the time of my life.
WRESTLING GATORS
Vincent Diamond
I don’t remember which made my heart beat faster—the twelve-foot alligator sunning itself on the left bank of the pond or the naked, six-foot-plus blond guy asleep on the right.
The gator I was expecting—I’m a wildlife wrangler working the Tampa Bay region. What used to be swamp and pine forests has gotten bought up and turned into gated developments and jogging trails. Problem is, no one has found a way to tell the animals that they’ve been evicted. That was kinda my job.
The golf course called me in to catch this gator. It was big enough not to be intimidated by the golf carts or the golfers. A player had whacked at the gator with a club yesterday, and the reptile just hissed and snapped at the guy. The manager called me when the foursome got back to the clubhouse.
My Ford pickup was an early ’80s model with real spark plugs, a carburetor, and an eight-cylinder engine I tuned to run in near-silence, a necessity when you chase wild animals for a living. It rumbled quietly beneath me as I let the truck idle closer to the pond. Somewhere in the woods a blue jay screeched and a nice May breeze ruffled the kid’s hair.
The gator’s eyes stayed closed. So did the blond kid’s.
Now that I was closer, I could see that he was midtwenties, maybe. Maybe not really a kid, but young to me. I’d turned thirty-five in December and weird as it was, that got to me even more than turning thirty had. It’s not like I was a doddering old man, but I sure noticed my hard days lately: chasing through the woods after a hog, or climbing through some old lady’s attic for a possum. Wildlife wrangling isn’t exactly like a desk job, you know? A lot of nights I got home; took a long, hot shower; jerked off, and was in bed—asleep—by nine o’clock. I’d even gotten a heating pad for my back.
Looking this guy over on a warm May morning made me heat up somewhere else, though. He was fair-skinned, not so white as to be sickly looking, just creamy skinned, with freckles on his lower arms and a few on his face. His chest was smooth, muscled. Not that fancy-boy look you get from weightlifting—more like he worked for a living, too. Golden fuzz started just below his belly button and turned into thick and springy pubic hair above his cock. It was cream-colored too, lying slender and soft against his pink testicles, so pale that I wondered if he’d put sunscreen on it. A real blond, this kid. The sun glinted in the highlights of his reddish-gold pubic hair. His long legs were slim and evenly muscled.
My cock snaked up in my shorts and began to pay attention.
I could have just watched him and jerked off in my truck but I wanted to give him a try. It was hokey but the Knight in Shining Armor routine might work here. I put the truck in PARK and grabbed the cattle prod from my gun rack.
When I got about four yards away from him, I spoke quietly. “Sir, wake up please, but don’t move. Wake up!”
His eyelids twitched and one hand made a brushing away don’t-bother-me jerk.
“Sir, wake up, please. This is urgent. Wake up, you could be in some trouble.” I let my voice get harder, deeper.
“Huh? Wha?” The kid opened his eyes and they made me stop short. The palest blue-gray, his eyes looked alien, surreal. They stood out from his golden skin like pearls. His gaze locked on me, the truck, the cattle prod, and his whole body stiffened. Not in quite the way I’d imagined, but still. Reality never matches fantasy, ya know?
“Wake up and stay absolutely still.” I nodded over to the gator.
He looked over, too. “Jesus Christ!”
“No, that’s an alligator.”
He scrabbled backward, his feet tangling in the beach towel, falling back on his elbows.
I bent down and offered a hand. “Don’t move fast, just get up real quiet like and we’ll get to the truck.”
He grabbed my hand—hard—and we stood up. He wobbled a little, pressed against me to balance, and Mr. Rascal came to half attention in my shorts. He bent over to snag his clothes, showing me a muscled ass. Nice. We eased back toward my truck, me playing the Knight with that silly cattle prod pointing toward the gator. I opened the passenger door and he leaned against the seat. He didn’t seem too worried about being naked in front of me. And I sure wasn’t complaining. Now that I was up close, I saw there was a fine layer of grit and pond dirt on his skin, left over from his swim. He was taller than I was, maybe six-three, and I found myself counting the freckles on his chest. He was so different from the dark, hairy Italian that I saw in the mirror every morning.
He saw me looking and held out one hand. “Paul.”
“Denny,” I said as we shook hands. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
“No, I’m down from Michigan, visiting my sister. She has a condo on the fourteenth fairway.”
“Didn’t she tell you not to go swimming in freshwater?”
“We didn’t really get a chance to talk much. I got in late last night and she had to go to work this morning.”
“Shoot, you’re lucky that gator didn’t want you for breakfast. I seen ’em snap through a turtle shell like we snap a crab claw.”
“Jesus Christ,” he said again. He pushed back his damp hair with trembling hands. I could practically see the adrenaline kicking through his system—adrenaline and fear. His face was flushed. “Was that thing in the water with me?”
I looked over at the gator; its skin glistened in the sunshine. “Yeah, it looks like he’s been swimming.”
“Fuck.”
“Love to.” I met his strange gaze, those pale eyes on me like moonlight.
He smiled. He ran one hand over my chest, fingers tweaking at my nipples. Before I knew it, his lips were against me, then his tongue, probing at my mouth. I groaned and grabbed him. The truck door swung in and knocked me on the legs—I knew it would leave a bruise—but I didn’t care. I pressed him back onto the seat.
When I licked down his neck, I got a tongue full of pond goo. Yech. I stood up and his face registered disappointment. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“How about a little mini-shower? I’ve got some water in the back.”
“Sure.” He sat up, his long, pink cock bonging against his belly. Nice.
I reached in my truck bed and set my five-gallon watercooler on the side so that the spigot was over the edge. He had to bend down to get under the trickle. “Got any soap?” he asked.
“Just this.” I pawed in the glove compartment and gave him one of those small soaps you get in motels, handy when you get filthy on the job.
“Aren’t you gonna help me out?” He washed his face and neck and I nibbled at him.
“I’ll give you more than some help.” He washed and I rinsed him down, using a Wendy’s cup left from dinner the night before. The water made him shiver. I watched it trickle down his chest and over his belly button, drip down his beautiful, pale cock. As I looked, it filled and rose. It turned from cream to rich pink and it reached up toward me, bobbing in the morning air.
I grabbed the soap and held his gaze while I cleaned his cock. Its skin was soft against my calloused palm, bouncing as I wrapped my hand around it. The suds made him so slippery that I lost my grip a couple of times as I jerked him off. He leaned against the truck, the water trickling down his torso, and as the suds were washed away, my hand tightened on his cock. His head dropped back, his mouth open and wanting, and I grabbed harder, pulling with each stroke. With my other hand I cupped his balls, stroking and tugging in time with my jerks on him.
As I watched, his beautiful cock changed color, from pink to deep wine as blood rushed through it. I felt his balls draw up, tightening a little, and then he gasped. His fingers gripped my upper arms and he cried out, “Oh fuck yes! Yes!” He came, gushing wet spurts of creamy semen. It glistened in the sunlight, a silvery sheen in the puddles of water around us. The first shot splashed up on his chest. The next few went into the air and landed on his belly. I kept up with a few more strokes and felt his cock soften in my hand.
“Oh, man. You’ve got some smooth moves there.” His voice was whispery, a little shaky.
“I’ve got more smooth right here,” I said, grabbing my own cock. I turned him around and pushed him against the passenger seat. His ass was round, the cheeks pale and smooth, not a trace of hair. I gripped his cheeks from below, playing, kneading. I used my thumbs to pull his cheeks apart and he squirmed in my grip. He thrust back and forth against the seat, moaning. As I played with him, I saw the gator on the bank move. Away? Was I going to lose him?
But seeing Paul bent over the truck’s seat, ass pushed out, my hard-on straining at my khakis, I wasn’t about to stop. Mr. Gator would hang around the neighborhood. Paul? Maybe wouldn’t.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the gator settle down and go back to sleep. He’d been shifting to expose the other side of his body to the sun. Paul pressed his butt against my fingers, turned his head to plant a wet half kiss against my chin. “You got some protection, doncha?”
“In the glove box.”
Paul fumbled through fast-food napkins, straws, and a box of shotgun shells, and found the lube and condoms. I grabbed the lube, smeared some on my fingers. Paul’s asscrack was light brown and then pink just outside his hole. Dark red fuzz wisped around his anus and I wet it with lube. I tickled him, using one finger, just inside him a little, then out.
Paul groaned and pushed backward. “Please!”
“No more yapping!” I leaned down, let my weight sink against him. I rubbed my hard cock against his ass, watching the khaki fabric tease at his skin, feeling my shorts tight against my hard-on. “I’ll fuck you when I’m good and ready.”
I slipped one lubed finger inside him, pushing past his band of muscle, feeling it loosen and then let me in. Oh, bliss. He clamped down, gasping. He was tight and warm and damn, I wanted to spear into him. But that wasn’t how it was in my fantasies, so I made myself slow down.
Enjoy it, take my time.
Paul panted on the seat in front of me. Birds sang from the trees and from a distance I heard a lawnmower grumble. The gator slept on the edge of the pond. All around us the morning moseyed on while I was about to fuck one of the most gorgeous guys I’d ever seen.
My zipper was loud. My cock popped out of my shorts before I even pulled them down. The air was cool, easing over my cock, up under my shirt, between my legs. I gave my balls a gentle roll as I freed them. Paul twisted to look down. “Nice dick, dude.”
“It’ll be nicer up your ass.” I stroked it a few times, a rough, steady pull. Paul’s face and neck flushed and he groaned.
“My turn,” Paul said. He turned to face me. He was damp from sweat and the little shower he’d taken. His mouth opened. His long, pink cock grew again as I watched it. That made me even harder, knowing he was hot again, that I’d made him respond. He gripped my cock with warm fingers, teasing. I moaned. He gave me a quick half smile, then kept his gaze down as he worked on me. The sound of skin on skin seemed loud, a whishwhish of friction and pleasure. “You’re hot, man, so fucking hot.”
“Don’t stop,” I whispered. He eased one palm under my balls, kneading and twisting. He looked up then, and pushed one finger to just the right spot behind my balls. His finger circled and rubbed, circled and rubbed.
“Oh, yeah, right there,” I moaned.
Blood filled my groin. The sounds of the morning faded away—all I could hear was our panting and the stroke of his hand on me. Precum slicked his hand. It tightened on my cock.
“I’m gonna come if you keep going. Get me covered, pretty boy. It’s time to fuck.”
The condom felt cool but his fingers were warm as he tugged it over me. I smelled the condom—that faintly medicinal odor—and I smelled Paul, the real scent of his skin beneath the soap. I nipped at his ear and neck as he got the rubber set. “Ready, big boy?” he asked.
“I hope you’re ready, pretty boy,” I growled and turned him around—hard. He winced as his knees hit the edge of the truck floor, but then he bent over the seat, showing me that glorious ass, and I didn’t care.
His wet skin made a slick sound against the vinyl seat. My knees were jammed against the metal of the doorframe—more bruises, but I didn’t care. I grabbed his ass and spread his cheeks apart, thumbing between them, making him groan. His hole winked at me as I stretched him apart.
Nice. More than nice.
One of my billy clubs rolled off the seat as Paul squirmed around. I grabbed it and his gaze followed my hand as I played with the hunk of metal. “I keep this around to put animals out of their misery.” I stroked it around his shoulders and alongside his neck. Paul rubbed his face on it. The black metal looked nasty against his freckled cheeks—deeper than naughty, dirty.
Hot.
“Just fuck me, hillbilly boy and shut up.” His voice was hoarse and he sounded mean. Annoyed. He pressed back and my cock bonged up against his ass.
I slipped my cock between his cheeks and clamped them together with my hands. The wet of the condom made it slippery and milky and Paul panted as I teased him, moving up and down, feeling his warm flesh against me. I slipped the billy club between his cheeks, too. “Which do you want, pretty boy? The club or me?”
“You!”
“Beg me,” I ordered.
“Fuck me,” he panted back. “Please fuck me!”
I teased him—and myself—some more. My cock thudded up against his cheeks, thrusting around, looking for a home. I spread his cheeks again and put the head just inside. Paul groaned again and pushed backward. “Come on!” he bawled. “Fuck me, you fucking cock tease!”
It was time. I pushed up inside him, feeling my own buttcheeks clench together as I thrust in. He was tight—lubed open, but still young enough to be tight and warm. The feel of his warmth past the condom was sexy as hell. I pushed in as far as I could, my balls rubbing up against his. The truck’s old chassis shifted as I stroked in and out of him, the seat squeaking a little as I pumped into him. The billy club fell to the floor again, forgotten.
Paul rubbed his own cock on the seat as I fucked him. He gave a breathy, “Oh, oh, oh,” with every thrust of my cock inside him. His face was wet with water and sweat and his mouth stayed open. “Oh, right there, get me right there!” he groaned. I gave a twisting thrust and that must have worked. His whole back tensed, his shoulders bent back and he raised his head as he cried out again. “Oh, god, Denny, fuck me till I come. Fuck me!” One more angled thrust and he came. He tightened down on my cock, spasms of his own orgasm connecting to me and I felt myself getting closer. My cock heated up, thickened even more, and my balls drew up.
