Farm boys have more fun is a work of pure fiction. It is the sole property of author Bill Moretini.
Warning: This work describes sexual acts between two men graphically. If this offends you, DO NOT READ!
FARM BOYS HAVE MORE FUN
The blistering heat caused the tires on my Dodge Ram to sing on the flats of old route sixty-six. The AC went out three days ago at 239,00 miles, and my shirt was plastered to me like a layer of pale blue skin. If I didn't get to a filling station soon, I'd be hoofing it with my thumb poking at the air over my shoulder when a vehicle headed my way. The needle on the gas gauge was flirting with the empty mark, and I was beginning to panic. What's that? I wondered. But the image faded in the next three miles. Fuck! Another fucking mirage. The mirage faded, and to my great relief I recognized the dark spot I'd seen in the mirage to be a filling station. "Fuck yes!" I said aloud. It turned out to be a small station which included a tiny mom-and-pop grocery store. I pulled up to a pump and got out. To my shock and disbelief, all four pumps had crude hand written signs taped to them which read, OUT OF GAS. I was devastated. No way could I make it to another station on a highway that had few. Disgusted, I entered the station and bought coffee and three candy bars. At the counter I asked,
"Would you happen by chance to have two or three gallons in a can out back?"
"Did have. Sold them out to dummies like you who don't have tha sense to carry a spare five gallon can of gas with em.
I wanted to punch the old fart out for calling me a dummy. But he was right, and I knew it.
"Farmers around these parts have elevated two to five hundred gallon gas tanks for their machinery. Ya might wanta try one of them," he said.
"Farms are few, and a ways from the highway. Which one would be the closest?"
"That would be tha McDevor farm. Frank McDevor. Two miles to F69. Turn right. Three or so miles over tha hill. Can't miss the titty-pink barn. The son's idea. No count'n for some folk's taste."
"I guess I've got enough gas to get there," I said. "Thanks."
Titty-pink? I thought. The son's idea? Strange. I kept a nervous eye on the gas gauge while I drove up the gentle incline on F69. When I crested, wham! There was no mistaking the barn. I guessed a half mile farther. As most of Texas goes, the only trees in view were those surrounding a boxy, white, two-story farm house. A few hundred yards from the driveway to the house the motor sputtered.
"Fuck! If I can't get gas from there, I'm shit out of luck," I complained.
I wasn't used to walking in such stifling heat. Even my underwear was soggy with sweat and clinging in my ass crack. A black Mustang convertible was parked in the driveway. Riser blocks between the frame and rear springs raised the rear of the car. High rear ends were nothing new to me. But they usually were attached to a gay man on his hands and knees, begging to be fucked. Those tall old-fashioned windows seemed to look at me with suspicion as I stepped onto the wooden floor of the porch. I knocked, and waited. Moments later, the door opened half way. A wholesome more than handsome young man about my age stood holding a towel around his otherwise naked body. The sight of his firm young body was arousing, to say the least.
"Hi," he said, while scanning me from hair to shoes. "What can I do you for?"
Well. to me, 'do you' had more than one meaning. And what I was thinking had nothing to do with purchasing gas.
"Uh.hi," I stammered. "Do you have some gas you can sell me? Oh, I'm Jack."
"Huh? Did you say Jack, as in jack-off? I'm Clint."
I was glad he inserted his name. If I had responded to his question with what I was thinking, I might find my body still standing while my head was rolling on the lawn somewhere behind me.
"Glad to know you, Clint," I said. "My truck ran out of gas and that station back there was out. Would you please sell me some if you can spare it?"
"Humm. Maybe. You look damn hot. Would you like to come in out of the heat for a spell?"
'Hot' could have two meanings too. Dream on, Jack, I thought.
"Why yes. Thanks for offering," I said. "My bladder is tight, Clint. I need to take a piss. May I use your bathroom?"
"See the hall? Third door on your right."
"Thanks," I said, noticing the way his towel was pushing forward thigh-high.
I unzipped and reached inside my sweat dampened underwear and grabbed my slightly firm cock and brought it and my balls out to air off. Well, you know how it goes when you are partially hard, worse yet when it's rigid...can't piss. I twitched it to prime it. I wasn't thinking clearly. That only made it harder. I reached over and turned the cold water tap on the lavatory and held my hand under and thought of dropping ice cubs into a glass of bourbon. Well, it was working. Three quarters limp now, I forced out a tiny stream. Then my urethra opened up fully. Relief, at last. I flipped off the dew and tucked it away and returned to the living room. But Clint was nowhere in sight.
"Clint?"
"In here. Across from the crapper."
I went back to the hall. On my left was a partly open door. Through it I saw the back of Clint's head and his shoulder above the back of a modern maple and black-leather-covered chair. I walked into the bedroom and stopped by the side and back of the chair. No towel! Just a whopping huge gorgeously shaped fully erect cock. Clint turned and looked up at me.
"How bad do you want some gas?" he said, and with his thumb, he wiggled his monster dick a few times.
"I., I really need it, Clint."
"I need it too, but I don't mean gas. So, what will it be, Jack?"
"I, well, I might put my tongue on it if that's what you want."
"Fucking city boys! I can tell a tap-dancer a mile away. First, go down on me. Not half way either. Suck me real good and then straddle my ribs and I'll pull your ass cheeks apart while you slide down on my hot piece of meat. Either I fuck your brains out, or you'll be hoofing it. Got that?"
"I guess I have no choice," I said, even though I would die to have that big hunk of pure manhood pounding my ass like a Jackrabbit. Then a chill shot through me.
"Where are your parents?" I asked.
"Gone for the next two days. You'll be gone and hoofing it in the next two minutes if you don't start sucking me."
"No problem! No problem, Clint!"
"Hummm. Sounds like you want to. I think you're as queer as me, but just don't trust me. Tell you what. If I blow my nuts in your ass, I'll suck you off. Okay?"
"Terrific!"
"Good! I'll spread my legs and you get on your knees and do as instructed."
"Oh yes! Let me get nude too."
"How else could I ram my cook up your sloppy asshole? Hurry up."
"I'll have you know that my asshole ain't sloppy! You'll see!"
I had striped all except my underwear. It was hurting to get in over my rigid shaft. Clint obviously saw that, because in a swift move, he grabbed the waistband in both hands and ripped it apart as if it were made of paper. Needless to say, I was impressed. Needless to say too, I now had no underwear to put on afterwards. Pissed? A little. But in an instant, I forgot about that when I saw a hefty amount of pre-cum running down the bottom side of Clint's huge and picture-perfect ultimate example of manhood. I instantly went to my knees. As I started at the base of his cock and licked my way up, I caught a whiff of erotic male pheromones. My cock twitched. I looked at the head and saw my own pre-cum oozing out the pink slit. I quickly squeezed forward, forcing a nice glob of my own onto my finger. I started to slurp that off, but Clint grabbed my wrist and leaned over and licked it off with surprising enthusiasm. That was my first solid clue that Clint was as queer as me. What a relief I felt! He grabbed a hunk of my hair and commandingly pulled my mouth to his cock again. Of course I couldn't take all of it, but I did the best I could. The sound of his moans and the way he squirmed in his chair assured me that he was enjoying it with great savor.
"Shit! Yes! Suck it, man!" he yelled. "That's a nice warm mouth you've got."
I hastened my speed, making sure not to rake the sensitive throbbing barrel of silky flesh with my teeth.
"Grab my balls, cocksucker!" he said. "Give em a little tug."
His nut sling was large, tight, fuzzy and warm. I gently pulled and twisted them at the same time. I couldn't have been sucked him more than eight minutes when he pushed my head up and off. My saliva glistened and ran down his meat and onto his hairy balls It was dripping from my chin too.
"Am I not doing a good job?" I asked.
"You're a great cocksucker. But now you're going to have to earn that gasoline."
"Surely you don't expect me to take that thing up my ass."
"No ass, no gas. Stand up."
Clint wasted no time flopping onto his back on his bed. He grabbed his shaft at the base and waved it invitingly. There was no way that I wasn't going to try to take as much of it as I could. I stepped to his bedside and stared at the menacing fuck tool.
"What are you waiting for, Jack? Remember, no ass, no gas."
"Not a problem! Where's the lube?"
"In my mouth and in yours," he said.
"Spit! No fucking way!"
With lightning speed, Clint grabbed my arm and yanked me onto the bed where I fell on top of him. I felt his cock throb against my belly. I was torn between fear and unfettered lust. Lust won. I knew that I would probably never have another chance to get screwed by a dick that size on a hot looking stud like Clint.
"Straddle my ribs on your knees and slick your ass with spit. Then guide."
"Fuck, man.I know! You aren't the only man who's screwed me!" I said.
"Then get to it, or I'll flip you onto your back and pin you to the bed and ram it in without spit!"
"Wait! Wait!" I said fearfully and loudly. "Put some spit on my hand."
He coughed up a glob of spit onto my waiting fingers. I smoothed it onto his dick. Then I used my own spit to lather my asshole. I guided the head to my hole, and then squinted as I very slowly lowered my butt and felt the dickhead gaining entry. I could see the impatience on Clint's face. The sensation was mostly pain until his cockhead slid across my prostate. Out of every position, every action involving man-to-man sex, my prostate was where I really lived. I closed my eyes and gradually lowered my ass more. His cock twitched in my gut. That feeling made me want more. It was clear that Clint was no novice at fucking guys. It dawned on me that here in no-mans-land, his experience would have been with fellow farm boys. Clint reached up and grabbed my hips with both hands. He suddenly gave a mighty thrust.
"Clint! Damn you! Take it easy!" I yelled.
"Just another inch or two," he said with a grin.
"Or two! I'm a man, not a mule!"
"No ass, no gas," he said with an evil smirk.
I knew he meant it too. I pushed out with my sphincter and gritted my teeth and eased on down till I felt his pubes tickle my ass. I did it. I took all of that monster cock up my ass to the hilt.
"Man! You are nice and tight, Jack."
"What would you expect!"
"Tell the truth, Jack. You like it, don't you?"
"Well., I'm getting used to it now. It feels good. Go ahead and hunch into me."
Big mistake. Bigger delight. His groin slammed into my sweaty butt so hard it made a popping sound. I yipped, and would have pulled off of Jack's deep drilling cock had he not anticipated that exact thing and pushed my pelvis down, keeping me impaled like a leg of lamb on a rotisserie. Out again. In again. Faster. Harder. My prostate was in heaven at the sacrifice of my stretched-tight anus, and I was loving it. Loving it's length. Loving it's girth. Loving it's deep thrust and sucking withdraw.
"I like that tight ass, Jack," said Clint.
"Love your big cock, buddy," I said. "Too much, I'm afraid. I'm on the cusp or shooting a geyser of hot cum all over you! Fuck harder! I want us to shoot at the same time!"
Whack! Clint's right hand dealt a stinging blow on my left ass cheek. My already strained sphincter clamped down hard. That triggered my nuts irreversible and my urethra tingled as cum shot though and out of it in long white ribbons of hot semen. When they splattered on Clint's face, he withdrew and then rammed me hard. My cock throbbed in my hand. Clint's cock throbbed in my gut. Our abs jerked erratically in unison. My groaning and his, filled the small bedroom with wailings of extreme ecstasy. A second surge of thick jizz blotched his right nipple, his navel and most of what lay between.
"Aawwww, fuck!" Clint yelled. "That's got to be the best ass I ever fucked!"
"Yeah.. Huge dick, tight ass. It was the best fucking I've ever gotten too."
His shit-eating grin told it all. He was just as satisfied as I was. When my breathing got back to normal, I rose slowly off of his deflating dick.
Clint insisted on carrying can after five-gallon can of gas to my truck until the tank was full.
"Thanks, Clint. How much do I owe you?"
"Hell, you already overpaid. It was my pleasure. Where ya going to?"
"Found a bulldog on the web for adoption just across the New Mexico border."
"That means you'll be coming back this way?"
"Sure am," I said, grinning.
"Stop by," he said with a wink and a confident smirk.
"You can count on it, stud," I said, and ran my tongue across my upper lip.
I opened the drivers door of my Dodge. As I climbed behind the wheel, I looked up and heard him whistling as he walked back to the farm house with his index finger spinning his key ring in tight circles. I suppose I'm just another of his many keys on his key ring, I thought. But I'm sure as hell not complaining.
"Farm boys. Wow!" I said aloud, and turned the key and watched his ass flex with every step of his confident swagger.