Chapter One
My name is Billy and I'm eighteen years old. I live on my uncle's place near Burnt Wood, Oregon, only Tom isn't really my uncle, because I was a foster kid. I ended up at Toms' when the last family I was with, decided to move to Eugene. Tom was our closest neighbor and the only person who seemed to take any interest in me. My foster family only seemed interested in church. They dragged me to church so much that I got sick of it. And they never let me go anywhere or make any friends. Only Uncle Tom seemed to care. I'd go over as often as I could.
"I don't have much to offer," he'd said a month before I was supposed to move. "But I know you like the country and want to stay in your school."
We were sitting with our boots propped-up on the pine log railing of his front porch. It was the most peaceful property on the whole road. My heart beat loud over his generous, unexpected invitation. I couldn't seem to find any words.
Tom is a VERY big man, who doesn't talk unless he has something to say. He sipped his coffee while looking at a woodpecker hopping up a dead fur.
"So?--you interested in staying at Uncle Tom's Cabin?", he joked a bit in his quiet way.
"S-sure!" I felt so damn excited.
And ever since that day, I've called him Uncle Tom. That was a year ago.
I'm telling you all this because I want to tell my story--and like say, Tom doesn't talk much, while I'm kind of wordy, I guess--and there's lots going on right now. I mean, like I said before, Tom is a very big man--all muscle, and nearly six-foot-two. He reminds me of Hercules or something. He's also handsome as hell, with black hair and a rough jaw. I'm pretty nicely built for my age. I'm five-foot-eight and I only shave about once a week because it doesn't seem to grow in very fast. My hair is brown, but lighter in the summertime.
When I told you how my heart pounded to hear Tom invite me to stay with him?--well, it's because he always makes my heart beat fast when he's near me. It's like I can feel him--feel the heat through his flannel shirt. His wanting me to move in made me feel proud and special.
But because he's so quiet, his body sort of ends up speaking for him in a kind of funny way. You know what I mean? Like, it sort of says things to me which get me all excited inside. Whenever we're having a beer on the porch--like after a week of cutting firewood--I have a hard time staying calm. Before I know it, I'm noticing Tom's chest hair curling from his opened shirt, or watching his biceps roll when he lifts a beer bottle. It's crazy. I don't want to look--but like I said--it's like his body is talking to me or something.
Worst of all I guess, is how my dong seems to have a mind of its own. I have a big dick. I know I do because the guys at school always look right at it after gym class. And when I look at theirs, I wonder why mine hangs down so low and theirs don't.
When I'm washing dishes with Tom, or sitting on the porch, my dork just starts swelling. The next thing I know, it's all the way hard. And no matter how loose my overalls are, my crotch just pokes out like a tent.
So a couple of weeks ago, as we're having a second beer on the porch, I caught Tom looking over at my telltale fly. I thought I'd die, because even though I sure know when I'm throwing a rod, I'd come to thinking that Uncle Tom either didn't--or didn't seem to care.
His own crotch always seems way packed. Like his muscles, it just bulges. Every time I look over at it, his zipper is all mounded--like it can't seem to hold his dick and balls inside. That sight only makes my dick swell up more.
"You know, Billy," Tom said after eyeing my jeans, "you can talk to me about anything."
I swallowed my Miller and tried crossing my legs. It only made it worse. "Um, sure," I said, my mind racing, my heart beating. "I know that."
"I mean, here it is Friday night, and you're stuck splitting another six pack with your Uncle Tom." His voice is very deep and thoughtful. Whenever he speaks, it's always out at the trees, even though he's talking to me. I kind of like that, but it doesn't work when I do it, too. I always end up looking at his face.
"Don't you ever feel like taking the pickup into town? --maybe meet a few girls?", he asked after hearing nothing back.
I didn't know what to say then. He and I had never talked about chicks before. I looked over at his unshaven face. "Well," I asked, "do you feel stuck here with me?"
I watched him scratch his chin and smile a little out at the woods. He took a long swig of beer. "Thirty-two isn't eighteen, Billy. At your age I'd at least learned what I needed to about girls. Aren't you even interested?"
I didn't know what to say, or even what to think. Hell, I'd spent all my free time singing hymns. I didn't know squat about dating or things like that. I looked at him, then down at his pants. Tom wasn't excited down there the way I still was, but he still looked big in the crotch. It didn't take much to imagine a bunch of girls crowding around him in a bar, or at a dance. And then my cock stiffened even more when I imagined him flirting.
"I don't really dig girls," I heard myself say. "I know I should, but I don't." I shrugged a little.
Beer number two always gets me feeling light in the head and saying anything that springs to mind.
Uncle Tom tilted his chair back more. We listened to a bunch of crows arguing up in the cedars. I tried to use my mind to calm my pounding heart and relax my nonstop boner, but it wasn't working.
"They don't do much for me either," Tom said. He ran his hand through his black wavy hair. He watched the crows yelling as they flew off. "So, I guess neither one of us feels stuck here on the old porch."
"I can't wait for Fridays," I said, watching him down beer number two. "It feels great to relax with you after cutting wood all day."
"You ready for another?", he asked after a while.
I nodded, getting up to go bring out two more. My eyes drifted over the stretched-out length of his physique--at how snug his waist was, and how huge his shoulders were.
When I came back, I thought I'd done a pretty good job of shifting my dick to one side, but my crotch came right in line with his face as I handed him his beer.
"Don't be embarrassed by this," he said slowly after I'd put my feet back up on the railing, "--but are you always that horny, Billy?"
My mind really spun its wheels at that question, because to tell you the truth, I didn't really know what the word 'horny' meant. I mean, I'd heard guys in school joke about it--but I didn't dare ask them what it was. I only knew it was something about sex.
I felt my neck begin to burn. "I don't know what 'horny' even is, Uncle Tom."
I saw him pause as he put his beer to his lips. Then he nodded a bit. I waited, hoping he wouldn't laugh or anything. We looked out at the woods. The sun was very bright, making the porch feel dark and cool.
"It's that feeling guys get when their dick won't stay down," he finally explained out at the trees. "When you're feeling horny, your wang goes up like the horns on a bull."
I felt my cock swell up even more at hearing Tom speak about 'dicks' and 'wangs'. Then my whole face turned red, because I know what I look like when I'm blushing.
"Every guy on the planet gets horny, Billy," he added, looking at his beer closely. "I'm that way right now myself."
I felt my heart really start pounding then, and knew my face probably looked all pink. I didn't dare check out Tom's crotch, but mine really began throbbing. "Y-you are?", I asked.
Beer number three always seems to go right to my dick. It's like my mind shuts down and my cock takes over.
"Just seeing yours all turned-on like that makes mine get going, too," Tom smiled slightly. "It's kind of like when someone yawns—you can't help yawning with 'em," he explained.
A third beer also loosens up my mouth. I can't seem to think before I speak.
I looked over at his bunched-up jeans--then at Tom's shirt-stretching biceps.
"I always get this way when you’re around," I heard myself tell him. "I know it's stupid, but I can't help it," I whispered. "It just gets all tingly and shit."
Tom didn't let me feel embarrassed for long. "You make me that way, too," he said matter-of-factly. "I guess that's why we're talking about it." He paused to take a new swig. "There's no sense hiding what we can't hide anyway."
"Wow," I breathed, looking out at the trees. Suddenly I was glad we lived so far from the road. We could talk about anything without anyone else to bother us. I swallowed almost a whole third of my beer.
"Are you upset, Billy", he asked quietly after a while.
My heart thudded in my chest, yet my brain seemed real light—like a big weight was lifting off me.
"God, no," I said quickly. "I just thought--I dunno--just thought I was a freak or something."
Tom sat relaxed; his big legs propped up on the railing. His calmness calmed me down, too. And then I smiled, because he'd said I make him horny the same way he makes me horny. It seemed hard to believe, but I accepted it as the biggest compliment I'd ever gotten.
And when I finally looked over, he was unbuttoning his flannel shirt! Tom never unbuttoned or unzipped anything. The most I'd ever seen in a whole year was him with a towel around his waist--and then only as he went from the bathroom into his bedroom.
"You feel like another brew?", he stood up and then spread his shirt wide open and took it right off. He let it drop onto the porch.
"Sure," I said. I tried like the devil not to stare, but God! His chest is so pumped, his nipples actually spear straight through all that black hair.
He smiled some at my open mouth. "I know we never go beyond three," he said, running his fingers through his pec carpet.
"I kind of feel like getting hammered tonight," I admitted, disbelieving the size of his bicep when it rolled and swelled into a mound.
He laughed a bit, making his abs stand out in ridges. His abs have almost no hair at all on them. All that black hair covers his hunky pecs, then the rest of him is smooth.
"We've never gotten hammered together, Billy," Tom said. "I hope you're not a mean drunk."
I heard the screen door open and Tom's boots on the floor. I didn't know what 'mean drunk' meant, either, and then figured it out. At the same time, I found myself unbuttoning my own shirt and taking it off.
Because Tom was always so modest, I, too, never went around shirtless. We each kept the bathroom door closed. We'd kept our bedrooms doors shut, too.
The air felt sexy on my muscles--the back of the chair cool against my bare skin. I looked at the wide circles of my pink nipples.
The more my chest develops, the wider my nipples get. They sit smack in the middle of each pec, not a whisp of hair anywhere. My nipples are so pointy, they look like someone could just pinch them off.
I heard Tom's boots as he came towards the door. I flexed my right bicep, watching it rise into power. I'll never have Tom's arms, but mine are real big.
And then I was looking right at Tom's crotch as he handed-down my beer. I swear I could feel its heat on my face, it was so full. A manly trail of black hair travelled down his muscular stomach, fanning out as it reached the top of his jeans.
Tom said nothing about how we'd stripped off our shirts. But when we clinked bottles together, his green eyes stared at my pointy nipples.
Then he propped his feet back up on the railing.
"Can I ask you something?", I said after a while.
"Ask away."
I gave up trying to find the right words. The beer wasn't letting me. "Do you--you know--masturbate much?", I asked, instantly feeling blood rush up my neck. I waited to hear a laugh, but it never came.
Instead, Tom just quietly lifted his bottle to his lips. "All guys do," he answered, looking at the woods. There were a pair of Stellar Jays flashing blue and black through the pines.
"To me it's a real private thing," I said, feeling okay about saying more. "I only found out how one time in the shower. It really scared me at first."
Tom nodded. "It is private, I guess," he agreed. "It's pretty personal."
We watched the female jay boldly land a few yards from the porch. Only then did the male join her.
"But it's sex," Tom said. "And sex without love is pretty lonely sometimes."
His words seemed to hit me--echoing in my head. I'd never once thought of it being lonely because I'd never really thought of trying to masturbate with anyone. I glanced over at his big hairy chest--at his big biceps.
And then it really hit me, that no matter what happened now, it would always be lonely by myself--now that I knew we were both horny for each other. I saw, too, that even when Tom had left the porch for a few minutes, I felt sort of empty.
Taking his shirt off was like a gift to me or something. When I saw him checking out my muscles, that was like a gift, too. It made me feel like a man. it made me hope we'd always keep our shirts off.
"You ever try doing it with someone else?", I managed to ask him, trying to sound normal--trying not to look his way.
His silence this time made my heart pound so loudly, I could hear it in my ears.
"We could if you want to," I heard him say back. “I'm sure no expert, though." He took a swig of beer. "I'm about as shy as you are, truth be told."
We sat silent for a while.
"Do I really make you--um--make you feel horny?”, I asked, looking at his big chest and arms. I couldn't believe a guy like Tom would be as shy as me about sex! Wow. It made me feel kinda bold all of a sudden.
He didn't look at me staring at his huge hairy tits. He just crossed his ankles on top of the railing. It mounded-up his jeans.
I looked out at the woods, the way he did.
"Yeah, you do," he said. "I never looked that good when I was eighteen," he said. "I don't know how you put on all that muscle."
Uncle Tom still looked out at the trees, as if he wasn't really checking me out, but I knew he was.
"I want to take off my jeans," I heard myself say. "Is that okay?"
In reply Tom just reached down and undid his belt buckle. Then I heard a rasp as he pulled down his zipper.
We both struggled to stay seated while shoving our jeans over our thighs--and when our bare feet connected with the railing, we were wearing only white Calvins. My cock was so hard it nearly ripped a hole through the pouch. I wanted to adjust it but felt too self-conscious.
Only then did I glance his way. The hair on his huge thighs was so dark, and his skin so tanned, the mound of his pouch looked whiter than ever, trying like hell to hold all he had inside it. I could see the shape of his giant cockhead pressing out the cotton.
"You've got a big cock," Tom said, swigging his beer.
"God--so's YOURS," I answered, glad he was looking at me the way I was at him.
"Mine feels like a fencepost seeing yours," he said, not actually looking at me.
I reached down then to try and shift mine. All the nerves up my shaft sent little shocks through me. I pushed it to make it lie sideways, which nearly poked it out the side.
My balls swelled up. "Mine almost hurts it's so horny," I said.
"Maybe we should just take these off, too," Tom said, not making a move to do so.
"It's good we're so far from the road," I laughed, my voice all breathy. I couldn't believe Uncle Tom was willing to be naked with me—right there on the front porch!
My name is Billy and I'm eighteen years old. I live on my uncle's place near Burnt Wood, Oregon, only Tom isn't really my uncle, because I was a foster kid. I ended up at Toms' when the last family I was with, decided to move to Eugene. Tom was our closest neighbor and the only person who seemed to take any interest in me. My foster family only seemed interested in church. They dragged me to church so much that I got sick of it. And they never let me go anywhere or make any friends. Only Uncle Tom seemed to care. I'd go over as often as I could.
"I don't have much to offer," he'd said a month before I was supposed to move. "But I know you like the country and want to stay in your school."
We were sitting with our boots propped-up on the pine log railing of his front porch. It was the most peaceful property on the whole road. My heart beat loud over his generous, unexpected invitation. I couldn't seem to find any words.
Tom is a VERY big man, who doesn't talk unless he has something to say. He sipped his coffee while looking at a woodpecker hopping up a dead fur.
"So?--you interested in staying at Uncle Tom's Cabin?", he joked a bit in his quiet way.
"S-sure!" I felt so damn excited.
And ever since that day, I've called him Uncle Tom. That was a year ago.
I'm telling you all this because I want to tell my story--and like say, Tom doesn't talk much, while I'm kind of wordy, I guess--and there's lots going on right now. I mean, like I said before, Tom is a very big man--all muscle, and nearly six-foot-two. He reminds me of Hercules or something. He's also handsome as hell, with black hair and a rough jaw. I'm pretty nicely built for my age. I'm five-foot-eight and I only shave about once a week because it doesn't seem to grow in very fast. My hair is brown, but lighter in the summertime.
When I told you how my heart pounded to hear Tom invite me to stay with him?--well, it's because he always makes my heart beat fast when he's near me. It's like I can feel him--feel the heat through his flannel shirt. His wanting me to move in made me feel proud and special.
But because he's so quiet, his body sort of ends up speaking for him in a kind of funny way. You know what I mean? Like, it sort of says things to me which get me all excited inside. Whenever we're having a beer on the porch--like after a week of cutting firewood--I have a hard time staying calm. Before I know it, I'm noticing Tom's chest hair curling from his opened shirt, or watching his biceps roll when he lifts a beer bottle. It's crazy. I don't want to look--but like I said--it's like his body is talking to me or something.
Worst of all I guess, is how my dong seems to have a mind of its own. I have a big dick. I know I do because the guys at school always look right at it after gym class. And when I look at theirs, I wonder why mine hangs down so low and theirs don't.
When I'm washing dishes with Tom, or sitting on the porch, my dork just starts swelling. The next thing I know, it's all the way hard. And no matter how loose my overalls are, my crotch just pokes out like a tent.
So a couple of weeks ago, as we're having a second beer on the porch, I caught Tom looking over at my telltale fly. I thought I'd die, because even though I sure know when I'm throwing a rod, I'd come to thinking that Uncle Tom either didn't--or didn't seem to care.
His own crotch always seems way packed. Like his muscles, it just bulges. Every time I look over at it, his zipper is all mounded--like it can't seem to hold his dick and balls inside. That sight only makes my dick swell up more.
"You know, Billy," Tom said after eyeing my jeans, "you can talk to me about anything."
I swallowed my Miller and tried crossing my legs. It only made it worse. "Um, sure," I said, my mind racing, my heart beating. "I know that."
"I mean, here it is Friday night, and you're stuck splitting another six pack with your Uncle Tom." His voice is very deep and thoughtful. Whenever he speaks, it's always out at the trees, even though he's talking to me. I kind of like that, but it doesn't work when I do it, too. I always end up looking at his face.
"Don't you ever feel like taking the pickup into town? --maybe meet a few girls?", he asked after hearing nothing back.
I didn't know what to say then. He and I had never talked about chicks before. I looked over at his unshaven face. "Well," I asked, "do you feel stuck here with me?"
I watched him scratch his chin and smile a little out at the woods. He took a long swig of beer. "Thirty-two isn't eighteen, Billy. At your age I'd at least learned what I needed to about girls. Aren't you even interested?"
I didn't know what to say, or even what to think. Hell, I'd spent all my free time singing hymns. I didn't know squat about dating or things like that. I looked at him, then down at his pants. Tom wasn't excited down there the way I still was, but he still looked big in the crotch. It didn't take much to imagine a bunch of girls crowding around him in a bar, or at a dance. And then my cock stiffened even more when I imagined him flirting.
"I don't really dig girls," I heard myself say. "I know I should, but I don't." I shrugged a little.
Beer number two always gets me feeling light in the head and saying anything that springs to mind.
Uncle Tom tilted his chair back more. We listened to a bunch of crows arguing up in the cedars. I tried to use my mind to calm my pounding heart and relax my nonstop boner, but it wasn't working.
"They don't do much for me either," Tom said. He ran his hand through his black wavy hair. He watched the crows yelling as they flew off. "So, I guess neither one of us feels stuck here on the old porch."
"I can't wait for Fridays," I said, watching him down beer number two. "It feels great to relax with you after cutting wood all day."
"You ready for another?", he asked after a while.
I nodded, getting up to go bring out two more. My eyes drifted over the stretched-out length of his physique--at how snug his waist was, and how huge his shoulders were.
When I came back, I thought I'd done a pretty good job of shifting my dick to one side, but my crotch came right in line with his face as I handed him his beer.
"Don't be embarrassed by this," he said slowly after I'd put my feet back up on the railing, "--but are you always that horny, Billy?"
My mind really spun its wheels at that question, because to tell you the truth, I didn't really know what the word 'horny' meant. I mean, I'd heard guys in school joke about it--but I didn't dare ask them what it was. I only knew it was something about sex.
I felt my neck begin to burn. "I don't know what 'horny' even is, Uncle Tom."
I saw him pause as he put his beer to his lips. Then he nodded a bit. I waited, hoping he wouldn't laugh or anything. We looked out at the woods. The sun was very bright, making the porch feel dark and cool.
"It's that feeling guys get when their dick won't stay down," he finally explained out at the trees. "When you're feeling horny, your wang goes up like the horns on a bull."
I felt my cock swell up even more at hearing Tom speak about 'dicks' and 'wangs'. Then my whole face turned red, because I know what I look like when I'm blushing.
"Every guy on the planet gets horny, Billy," he added, looking at his beer closely. "I'm that way right now myself."
I felt my heart really start pounding then, and knew my face probably looked all pink. I didn't dare check out Tom's crotch, but mine really began throbbing. "Y-you are?", I asked.
Beer number three always seems to go right to my dick. It's like my mind shuts down and my cock takes over.
"Just seeing yours all turned-on like that makes mine get going, too," Tom smiled slightly. "It's kind of like when someone yawns—you can't help yawning with 'em," he explained.
A third beer also loosens up my mouth. I can't seem to think before I speak.
I looked over at his bunched-up jeans--then at Tom's shirt-stretching biceps.
"I always get this way when you’re around," I heard myself tell him. "I know it's stupid, but I can't help it," I whispered. "It just gets all tingly and shit."
Tom didn't let me feel embarrassed for long. "You make me that way, too," he said matter-of-factly. "I guess that's why we're talking about it." He paused to take a new swig. "There's no sense hiding what we can't hide anyway."
"Wow," I breathed, looking out at the trees. Suddenly I was glad we lived so far from the road. We could talk about anything without anyone else to bother us. I swallowed almost a whole third of my beer.
"Are you upset, Billy", he asked quietly after a while.
My heart thudded in my chest, yet my brain seemed real light—like a big weight was lifting off me.
"God, no," I said quickly. "I just thought--I dunno--just thought I was a freak or something."
Tom sat relaxed; his big legs propped up on the railing. His calmness calmed me down, too. And then I smiled, because he'd said I make him horny the same way he makes me horny. It seemed hard to believe, but I accepted it as the biggest compliment I'd ever gotten.
And when I finally looked over, he was unbuttoning his flannel shirt! Tom never unbuttoned or unzipped anything. The most I'd ever seen in a whole year was him with a towel around his waist--and then only as he went from the bathroom into his bedroom.
"You feel like another brew?", he stood up and then spread his shirt wide open and took it right off. He let it drop onto the porch.
"Sure," I said. I tried like the devil not to stare, but God! His chest is so pumped, his nipples actually spear straight through all that black hair.
He smiled some at my open mouth. "I know we never go beyond three," he said, running his fingers through his pec carpet.
"I kind of feel like getting hammered tonight," I admitted, disbelieving the size of his bicep when it rolled and swelled into a mound.
He laughed a bit, making his abs stand out in ridges. His abs have almost no hair at all on them. All that black hair covers his hunky pecs, then the rest of him is smooth.
"We've never gotten hammered together, Billy," Tom said. "I hope you're not a mean drunk."
I heard the screen door open and Tom's boots on the floor. I didn't know what 'mean drunk' meant, either, and then figured it out. At the same time, I found myself unbuttoning my own shirt and taking it off.
Because Tom was always so modest, I, too, never went around shirtless. We each kept the bathroom door closed. We'd kept our bedrooms doors shut, too.
The air felt sexy on my muscles--the back of the chair cool against my bare skin. I looked at the wide circles of my pink nipples.
The more my chest develops, the wider my nipples get. They sit smack in the middle of each pec, not a whisp of hair anywhere. My nipples are so pointy, they look like someone could just pinch them off.
I heard Tom's boots as he came towards the door. I flexed my right bicep, watching it rise into power. I'll never have Tom's arms, but mine are real big.
And then I was looking right at Tom's crotch as he handed-down my beer. I swear I could feel its heat on my face, it was so full. A manly trail of black hair travelled down his muscular stomach, fanning out as it reached the top of his jeans.
Tom said nothing about how we'd stripped off our shirts. But when we clinked bottles together, his green eyes stared at my pointy nipples.
Then he propped his feet back up on the railing.
"Can I ask you something?", I said after a while.
"Ask away."
I gave up trying to find the right words. The beer wasn't letting me. "Do you--you know--masturbate much?", I asked, instantly feeling blood rush up my neck. I waited to hear a laugh, but it never came.
Instead, Tom just quietly lifted his bottle to his lips. "All guys do," he answered, looking at the woods. There were a pair of Stellar Jays flashing blue and black through the pines.
"To me it's a real private thing," I said, feeling okay about saying more. "I only found out how one time in the shower. It really scared me at first."
Tom nodded. "It is private, I guess," he agreed. "It's pretty personal."
We watched the female jay boldly land a few yards from the porch. Only then did the male join her.
"But it's sex," Tom said. "And sex without love is pretty lonely sometimes."
His words seemed to hit me--echoing in my head. I'd never once thought of it being lonely because I'd never really thought of trying to masturbate with anyone. I glanced over at his big hairy chest--at his big biceps.
And then it really hit me, that no matter what happened now, it would always be lonely by myself--now that I knew we were both horny for each other. I saw, too, that even when Tom had left the porch for a few minutes, I felt sort of empty.
Taking his shirt off was like a gift to me or something. When I saw him checking out my muscles, that was like a gift, too. It made me feel like a man. it made me hope we'd always keep our shirts off.
"You ever try doing it with someone else?", I managed to ask him, trying to sound normal--trying not to look his way.
His silence this time made my heart pound so loudly, I could hear it in my ears.
"We could if you want to," I heard him say back. “I'm sure no expert, though." He took a swig of beer. "I'm about as shy as you are, truth be told."
We sat silent for a while.
"Do I really make you--um--make you feel horny?”, I asked, looking at his big chest and arms. I couldn't believe a guy like Tom would be as shy as me about sex! Wow. It made me feel kinda bold all of a sudden.
He didn't look at me staring at his huge hairy tits. He just crossed his ankles on top of the railing. It mounded-up his jeans.
I looked out at the woods, the way he did.
"Yeah, you do," he said. "I never looked that good when I was eighteen," he said. "I don't know how you put on all that muscle."
Uncle Tom still looked out at the trees, as if he wasn't really checking me out, but I knew he was.
"I want to take off my jeans," I heard myself say. "Is that okay?"
In reply Tom just reached down and undid his belt buckle. Then I heard a rasp as he pulled down his zipper.
We both struggled to stay seated while shoving our jeans over our thighs--and when our bare feet connected with the railing, we were wearing only white Calvins. My cock was so hard it nearly ripped a hole through the pouch. I wanted to adjust it but felt too self-conscious.
Only then did I glance his way. The hair on his huge thighs was so dark, and his skin so tanned, the mound of his pouch looked whiter than ever, trying like hell to hold all he had inside it. I could see the shape of his giant cockhead pressing out the cotton.
"You've got a big cock," Tom said, swigging his beer.
"God--so's YOURS," I answered, glad he was looking at me the way I was at him.
"Mine feels like a fencepost seeing yours," he said, not actually looking at me.
I reached down then to try and shift mine. All the nerves up my shaft sent little shocks through me. I pushed it to make it lie sideways, which nearly poked it out the side.
My balls swelled up. "Mine almost hurts it's so horny," I said.
"Maybe we should just take these off, too," Tom said, not making a move to do so.
"It's good we're so far from the road," I laughed, my voice all breathy. I couldn't believe Uncle Tom was willing to be naked with me—right there on the front porch!
