A Connoisseur's Feast
Part 1 - the Chase
by blondeallover@hotmail.com
The following is an account of a fantasy created by a cyber-friend and myself. All the usual warnings apply. This is an erotic story written to titillate and arouse its readers.
One might consider me a connoisseur. I am a connoisseur of cock: hard cocks, soft cocks, cut cocks, uncut cocks, big cocks, little fat ones, straight cocks, arched or curved cocks, definitely thick cocks. They say, "variety is the spice of life". When it comes to the male sex organs, I like life very spicy. I like to look at, feel, smell, and taste well formed, animated, responsive cock. When attracted, I will be solicitous, affectionate, and pandering toward the cock, balls, bush, and ass of any man who meets my fancy. In the following account, I will confess more about my narcotic predilection toward the most vital part of those of my own gender.
An uncle of mine convinced me to spend time at his ranch out west. I managed to schedule my local clients' work over the longer term. Negotiating with neighbors to tend and house sit my rural property, I hastily packed my small car for the cross-country trip. I had convinced myself I need the change of scenery. In the month or six weeks I would spend with my uncle, I agreed to organize his business data to be automated using a well-known accounting and small business software package in exchange for his hospitality.
Upon arrival, I found the wide open vista green sloping valleys surrounded by the rugged snow capped mountains a pleasing change from the close and cramped steep and deciduously dense hills, partitioned by the narrow "hollers", so typical of my Appalachian environs. I also noticed the diligent ranch hands were not unpleasant for my perusal. One in particular warranted a double take. He seemed to this easterner almost a stereotype of western outdoor masculinity and then some. His jeans were decidedly tighter than the others wore, flatteringly outlining outstanding definition in thighs, narrow hips, bubble butt, and front bulge. By mid day his western cut plaid flannel or denim shirt was unbuttoned half way down, revealing a breathtaking spread of chest hair up to a collar bone stretched to connect to strong broad shoulders. The hair on his chest matched the close cropped dark brown head of hair, festooned with well-cropped sideburns. Piercing brown eyes set off by distinct high cheekbones characterized a perpetually sensuous expression. The incessant teasing he endured from his mostly older workmates triggered him to frequently break out in a sunny but rugged and toothsome smile. Arriving on the premises at dawn for a pancake breakfast, he would sport a stetson that would seem at least one quarter size too large. His elaborately patterned freshly polished cowboy boots would always be dirty and scuffed by day's end. He would be accused of donning this impractical garb to suit the fancy and whims of his "lady". "Boy, you might take a lot of crap to get some pussy, but take it from some old ranch fuckers, you don't want to let yourself get whipped." The way they would feign real concern, mouthing this advice with their colloquial drawls, had an especially comic effect.
I was prepared to take risks to see more of this manly beauty. I would watch carefully to note where these "dudes" would take breaks to pee in the open. I hoped that I would be able to detect a distinct pattern in his urinating routine. I would be able to position myself seemingly innocently at a point in front of where he would thrillingly withdraw from his tight garments that concealed prize that would be the object of my focused study. In defeated frustration, I could discern no consistent movements to gratify my urgent curiosity. I had to resign myself to this frustration for unending weeks, settling for unsatisfying masturbatory fantasies in the shower. But I could be patient. When it comes to matters of the cock, I can be unyieldingly persistent.
With only a couple of weeks left in my sojourn in the late summer, I was hard at work at my uncle's computer when I thought I heard an especially noisy outburst of laughter and joyous frivolity coming from the horse corral. When I approached the scene of this frolicsome event, the oldest hand among them turned to me mustachioed, "oh Blondie, you're going to like this!", chortling and chuckling away. "Cowboy Bob here, that is, our `stallion' Bob made camping reservations at the forest for two at the beginning of next week. It seems after several months later, he neglected to tell his lady friend about it until yesterday." This prompted another round of guffaws at the expense of the red-faced buck. "Of course, now she is pissed off meaner than a she-mule and tells him she has to work and he better find himself someone else to sleep with under the stars."
Before all settled down, one of the other workers spoke up. "Boy, don't you know you can't order your lady around like a pizza? Lord knows, it will be a long time before you get another delivery." Another round of snorts and belly laughs erupted with the announcement of this ribald metaphor.
The oldest piped up again. "Sheeiit! . . . A looker like you oughta go to town tonight and carouse up another lady to take with you on your love fest." To the thorough amusement of the others, the man with the mustache pursed his lips and blew mock kisses in the direction of the embarrassed younger.
Bob could only conjure up a weak retort to counter the impression of his lack of sophistication. None of this was being communicated the way he had planned. ""Merle, that's dumb! That would make Anne only angrier if she knew I planned to take another girl camping." The remark only increased the pace of jests and catcalls.
Another hand shouted out, "well lookie here! . . . . we've got ourselves a regular 'Dear Abby' in the affairs of the heart." I felt for this guy and his uncomfortable predicament. I knew when he left the ranch that night, he was sorry he ever arose that morning. How many days had I had like that myself?
I was sympathetic, but even more so, opportunistic. The next day I planned to have lunch with the hands. I would do this from time to time for my amusement and to gain some insights into the surrounding environs. On this day, I would exploit Bob's vacancy in his camping plans without further adding to his embarrassment. It was a delicate task, but we cock men have to be crafty. It was an unusually warm day for so late in the summer and some of the hands already had their shirts off as they approached the open air dining benches for lunch. Included among them was the one whom I pursued so fervently. For a minute I was unnerved, almost gasping at the sight of his glistening strong rounded shoulders topping off bulging biceps.
A barrel chest of two broad round pecs served as ample foundation for the thick brown chest hair that covered them, a sumptuous dark line reclining from the foot of those sculptured mounds along six pack abs, to where a new graze of hair sprang up starting just above his navel. The furry dark line partitioned the lower meadow like an ominous fence extending below his belt only to be interrupted where a fertile imagination might conjure. If I was going to retain a cool disposition, I had to stave off the empty feeling in my abdomen and the increasingly intense tingling in my midsection. Taking a deep breath, I thought, "down boy." It would not do if my cravings were detected by any of the assembled by discernable body language. When we greeted each other, my eyes wandered about all the men and food so no one would notice the true focus of my attentions. Regaining my composure, my avaricious resolve was only intensified.
During the bean and cornbread meal, sure enough, the subject of Bob not having a camping mate arose. Even prior to discussion on this topic, I spoke of how much I was impressed with the countryside in the area and how I regretted that I had so little time to explore to suit my curiosity. The two topics of conversation intermingled smoothly but, at first, did not connect. Finally, one of the hands took the bait. "Hey Bob, why not take Blonde with you. You're always bragging about how you know the forest trails better than the rangers. Now you have a chance to show off all your familiar turf to someone who would really like to see it."
In my most modest and friendliest tone, I tried to pose a helpful resource. " I would be happy to split all the expenses with you, Bob."
My heart leapt, as I feared that the obnoxious oldest hand would derail my strategy. "Besides, you would score brownie points with the boss: Blonde's uncle", he quipped as he crudely rubbed his fist, thumb and forefinger against his nose. "Still, it wouldn't be the same as taking your lady with you, lover boy." Partially masticated food nearly dropped out of the mirthful mouths of the other hands in their enjoyment of the latest joke.
Bob seemed to resist the barbs of his tormenter and very civilly responded, "Thanks for the offer, Blonde. I will give it serious thought and let you know."
"Patience!", I counseled myself, "so far, so good." That night, I was rewarded when my uncle alerted me that I had a telephone call. Bob asked that I keep the arrangements confidential. Unbeknownst to the others, Bob had made reservations for a cabin. He asked me if I would still be prepared to pay half for the considerably more appreciable expense to be awarded to the National Park Service.
"They are really nice. They have working fireplaces and private baths." I readily agreed, excitedly realizing that I may be able to see more of my love interest than if we had just been tent mates. "You're all right Blonde. I got a sense that you are sort of an upright guy when I first met you."
If he only knew.