There was this friend of mine, total redneck, and we used to bump into each other in the circuit of small town life and everything was always really cordial, but there was a wall.
When we were teens, he was homeschooled down the road on a farm, and whenever we had snow days or when school was out, our parents would drop us off with one or the other for the weekend or whatever. Both my parents worked, especially in bad weather, and I'd discovered the stash of porn, mostly hetero-lesbian but also a few bi dude scenes in group cuts. And so we'd lay up stairs in my bed and pump our hearts into our fists using whatever was handy- he loved olive oil, and to this day the smell of it can make me chub. And so we did all the shit,hiding our wads under our blankets, showing off, mutual. But I never crossed the line, because I knew I was queer and I didn't want him to distance himself if he found out just how in love with him I was.
Fast forward, I'm out and had been for years, he's had a string of babies with a string of baby mamas, both of us had prioritized a good time to a stable life; both had been in trouble. And every now and again he'd come hang out, catch a buzz, but we'd never bring all that up, though it killed me not to. And I had a rule, as an out gay boy in the Mountains- they had to be the one to proposition, otherwise you might get your ass beat.
His family ended up losing the farm, and it got broken up into a bunch of wild places with owners far away, all the buildings slowly becoming derelict. And he stops by one summer day, and asks if I wanna ride down to the old sinkhole at the farm and get a buzz and reminisce. Sure, I wasn't doing nothing. So we pack up and head out, stop by the store for some beer and cigs. We get to the sinkhole and smoke one at its edge, talking about playing cowboys and Indians down in the pit as kids, and how that's where his dad buried his horse we used to ride doing chores. We're pretty rocked by this point, and it's hot in the truck, maybe in the 90s even though it was in the shade. So I say let's climb down into the pit and tweak out for the day digging through all the disused shit and old cars, and we do. And it's even muggier and hotter down there so we really start pouring sweat as we climb around, and I take off my shirt and prop up on a log, out of breath from the heat. And he looks at me with those big pupils under his ball cap and says "You remember when we were kids? Your dad's old VCR?"
"Oh yeah man, I remember that like it was yesterday. We couldn't quit!" "Yeah, we got pretty crazy," and I said "Well, in the scheme of things all of it was pretty innocent shit, I know a dozen guys around here who done the same shit." "Done the same shit with you?" And I said "No, not then. One or two now we've growed up have, after partying or when they thought wasn't nobody looking. You know how it is.' "You've always knows what you were and what you wanted and never gave a fuck what anybody thought." "Oh I cared what they thought, I just bluffed it." "Yeah well, I cared too much what they thought," he says "And things probably woulda been a lot different if I hadn't worried about what the people at the store would say when they saw us running together, or them old fucks at church"
"Listen, you ain't gotta apologize for covering your ass, I get it. We're always cool, always will be, and it can be dangerous, living here how I am. Seriously, you're good."
And then he props up on the hood of an old rusted car down in that muggy pit and kicks his boots off and says "You ain't picked up what I'm saying. I never cared you was a faggot," instinctively I winced, "I just wish I'd had the guts to be one with you."
My cock jumps at this, and the animal drive from the dope surges down between my legs, and I ask "So what are you saying?" He undoes his fly and says "I guess I wanna fuck. And not no rushed shit, we've got all day and it's hot out, and ain't nobody else gonna come down here. So let's be faggots. Show me how to do it." He's rubbing his cock on the hood of the car through his boxers and you can see the wet spot, and you can smell him in the heat-tobacco, motor oil, hay.
I stay on my perch, but pull my pants towards my boots so he can see me- a little over seven,cut pretty close, thinner than I'd like but with a big stretchy bag beneath it. And he pulls his out, fatter than I remember, especially at the base. Pretty deep curve, darker than mine- shorter, too- but uncut with a big blue vein in the hood. I remembered running my thumbs over that vein as teenagers, wishing I had the guts to beg him to fuck me.
I kick my boots off and pull my pants free so I'm naked on the log except for socks and my hat, and pull my heels up so he can watch my bag hang while I stroke. And he just takes me in, watches me in the heat with those big eyes, the animal just behind em, stroking. "Quit being a pussy then and come play with it," I say. He comes slowly, like a cat, kneels hesitantly, and cups my balls with his lips real soft like, and says "I could bury my face in you right now." "So do it." And he moves onto sucking my bag while I stroke, and then moves down under and behind it, and brings his hands up to help the search.
And there my teenage crush sucked on my hole while I beat my dick, my balls lolling on his face. I pushed out so he had something to gnaw at and he got braver, ravenous, used his teeth and his calloused hands to agitate me. I quit stroking and just hung there while he ate me, and ate me, and ate me.
When we were teens, he was homeschooled down the road on a farm, and whenever we had snow days or when school was out, our parents would drop us off with one or the other for the weekend or whatever. Both my parents worked, especially in bad weather, and I'd discovered the stash of porn, mostly hetero-lesbian but also a few bi dude scenes in group cuts. And so we'd lay up stairs in my bed and pump our hearts into our fists using whatever was handy- he loved olive oil, and to this day the smell of it can make me chub. And so we did all the shit,hiding our wads under our blankets, showing off, mutual. But I never crossed the line, because I knew I was queer and I didn't want him to distance himself if he found out just how in love with him I was.
Fast forward, I'm out and had been for years, he's had a string of babies with a string of baby mamas, both of us had prioritized a good time to a stable life; both had been in trouble. And every now and again he'd come hang out, catch a buzz, but we'd never bring all that up, though it killed me not to. And I had a rule, as an out gay boy in the Mountains- they had to be the one to proposition, otherwise you might get your ass beat.
His family ended up losing the farm, and it got broken up into a bunch of wild places with owners far away, all the buildings slowly becoming derelict. And he stops by one summer day, and asks if I wanna ride down to the old sinkhole at the farm and get a buzz and reminisce. Sure, I wasn't doing nothing. So we pack up and head out, stop by the store for some beer and cigs. We get to the sinkhole and smoke one at its edge, talking about playing cowboys and Indians down in the pit as kids, and how that's where his dad buried his horse we used to ride doing chores. We're pretty rocked by this point, and it's hot in the truck, maybe in the 90s even though it was in the shade. So I say let's climb down into the pit and tweak out for the day digging through all the disused shit and old cars, and we do. And it's even muggier and hotter down there so we really start pouring sweat as we climb around, and I take off my shirt and prop up on a log, out of breath from the heat. And he looks at me with those big pupils under his ball cap and says "You remember when we were kids? Your dad's old VCR?"
"Oh yeah man, I remember that like it was yesterday. We couldn't quit!" "Yeah, we got pretty crazy," and I said "Well, in the scheme of things all of it was pretty innocent shit, I know a dozen guys around here who done the same shit." "Done the same shit with you?" And I said "No, not then. One or two now we've growed up have, after partying or when they thought wasn't nobody looking. You know how it is.' "You've always knows what you were and what you wanted and never gave a fuck what anybody thought." "Oh I cared what they thought, I just bluffed it." "Yeah well, I cared too much what they thought," he says "And things probably woulda been a lot different if I hadn't worried about what the people at the store would say when they saw us running together, or them old fucks at church"
"Listen, you ain't gotta apologize for covering your ass, I get it. We're always cool, always will be, and it can be dangerous, living here how I am. Seriously, you're good."
And then he props up on the hood of an old rusted car down in that muggy pit and kicks his boots off and says "You ain't picked up what I'm saying. I never cared you was a faggot," instinctively I winced, "I just wish I'd had the guts to be one with you."
My cock jumps at this, and the animal drive from the dope surges down between my legs, and I ask "So what are you saying?" He undoes his fly and says "I guess I wanna fuck. And not no rushed shit, we've got all day and it's hot out, and ain't nobody else gonna come down here. So let's be faggots. Show me how to do it." He's rubbing his cock on the hood of the car through his boxers and you can see the wet spot, and you can smell him in the heat-tobacco, motor oil, hay.
I stay on my perch, but pull my pants towards my boots so he can see me- a little over seven,cut pretty close, thinner than I'd like but with a big stretchy bag beneath it. And he pulls his out, fatter than I remember, especially at the base. Pretty deep curve, darker than mine- shorter, too- but uncut with a big blue vein in the hood. I remembered running my thumbs over that vein as teenagers, wishing I had the guts to beg him to fuck me.
I kick my boots off and pull my pants free so I'm naked on the log except for socks and my hat, and pull my heels up so he can watch my bag hang while I stroke. And he just takes me in, watches me in the heat with those big eyes, the animal just behind em, stroking. "Quit being a pussy then and come play with it," I say. He comes slowly, like a cat, kneels hesitantly, and cups my balls with his lips real soft like, and says "I could bury my face in you right now." "So do it." And he moves onto sucking my bag while I stroke, and then moves down under and behind it, and brings his hands up to help the search.
And there my teenage crush sucked on my hole while I beat my dick, my balls lolling on his face. I pushed out so he had something to gnaw at and he got braver, ravenous, used his teeth and his calloused hands to agitate me. I quit stroking and just hung there while he ate me, and ate me, and ate me.
