Learning to Park

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NEW STORY: "Learning to Park" (Part One) by Jack Fellowes ( TT, MM+, Oral, Anal, Dom )

USUAL DISCLAIMERS, WARNINGS: You know who you are, and you know what you're allowed to do. I take no responsibility for any negative consequences of reading the following.

LEARNING TO PARK Part One of Two by Jack Fellowes

Chapter I.

After three months, the 60-mile trip each way between home and work was becoming really tedious. I'd been living with my mother at the family farm since getting out of the army in mid-June and driving to my job in the state capital three counties away.

I just couldn't afford an apartment after buying a new car right before my discharge. I could afford to commute though, since gas was so cheap in those days before OPEC reared its ugly head and the Arab sheiks decided to boot the American companies out of their bottomless oil fields.

It was a 60-mile trip twice a day, five days a week. The only thing that made it bearable was that I was on the interstate for 57 of those 60 miles, so the whole trip usually took less than an hour.

Still, an hour behind the wheel before and after eight hours of sitting at a desk in the state's economic development department, juggling statistics and other damned lies, wasn't doing anything for the firmness--or the circulation--of my buns. So to combat butt numbness, I'd begun making it a practice to stop at one or the other of the two highway rest areas on the way--especially on the way home in the evening--to get out and stretch, do some running in place, and try a few squats and stretches.

My reasons for stopping, however innocent at first, changed when I began to be more aware of what was going on around me at the rest area...

Chapter II.

I'd known I was gay since I was about 11. I went through puberty early, blossoming into a 5'11", 180-pound combination of huskiness and gawkiness that amazed and impressed my friends. Their curiosity about my transformation, which began when they noticed my pubic hair and penile growth during those awkward nude group cub scout swims at the YMCA, helped focus my attention on my new-found sexual abilities and desires.

They wanted to see what I could do. I was perfectly willing to show them. And, because they were such willing students of my pioneering journey into horny adolescence, I helped guide most of them through the process of sprouting hair and near-perpetual hard-ons over the next couple of years, using my own equipment as a teaching aid.

Alas, for most of them it was a phase; for me it was a vocation. Thank God good ol' Wayne decided he liked boys with his girls, or I might have fallen back into celibacy for the rest of my junior high and high school career. Wayne, a gorgeous redheaded stud, was in my class, but a year older than me. He may have been slow in school, but he was fast everywhere else. I owe Wayne (widely recognized among our peers as the horniest kid in Kent County) for an awful lot, besides giving me an exclusive outlet for my oral appetites for more than six years. We got together four or five times a week until we graduated.

Beginning when I was 13 and he was 14 he supplied me with "cover" by fixing me up with an "older woman." Donna was 16, like her best friend, Judy, who was Wayne's "steady." Actually, Donna and Judy were both Wayne's dates: I was just there to keep one of them busy with a little kissing, nipple-sucking, and thigh-nibbling, while he fucked the other in the back seat of Judy's dad's Imperial, parked in the lot beside the dam at the state park south of town.

After he'd pumped a load into each of them, they'd get in the back and clean each other out by sixty-nining. Wayne hopped over into the passenger seat and watched them while he let me clean the accumulated pussy juices off his thick, cut, purple-headed seven-incher, and then vacuum a third load out of those overproductive red-furred balls of his. The funny thing is, neither girl ever saw, or asked to see, my cock, and neither ever knew I was sucking Wayne off. They were both really into each other and just assumed both of us guys were watching them eat each other out.

Everybody else around the high school assumed that Donna and I were a couple, making it the same way that Wayne and Judy were. All the other guys in my class thought I was a real stud, almost up to Wayne's level. Wayne, who had a huge fan club because he was the quarterback on the football team, was the only one who knew that the only time my uncut six-incher got hard during one of our double-dates was when I had his cock all to myself, and he never told anybody.

He also was the one who finally helped me get my driver's license. Dad never had time to teach me--he just let me practice driving the pickup around the farm--and Mom just wasn't very good at explaining things. Ironically, I flunked the parallel parking test the first time, in spite of all my experience at "parking" with Wayne and Donna and Judy. So Wayne took it on himself to make sure I passed the second time, although we often got distracted when we practiced out at the state park grounds.

When I went away to college, and Wayne went to work at his dad's lumberyard, our mutually beneficial regular schedule of me giving and him getting head was interrupted. By the time I got home for semester break, I was so hungry-horny for cock that I walked in the front door, said "hi" to Mom and Dad, then drove straight over to Wayne's after calling to make sure he was home.

Even though he'd gotten married that fall after graduation and his wife was pregnant, he told her we were going out for a couple of beers and would be back in an hour or two. Then we picked up a six-pack and drove out to the dam at the state park. Wayne drank beer while I drank his cum, three loads that time. That became our new semi-regular routine for the rest of the four years I was away at school.

The only variations in our routine came during the summer after my sophomore year when Wayne, by then already a divorced father of two, decided to try fucking my ass (neither of us knew enough to use a lubricant, and I thought I would die from the pain!) and cocksucking (he didn't mind sucking and kind of liked playing tongue wars with my foreskin, but he didn't like the taste of cum).

Wayne didn't even ask me to promise not to tell anyone about the cocksucking; he knew I wouldn't. He'd helped me create a reputation as a ladies' man that still impressed my friends at home. And, thanks to some not-so-subtle hints from Wayne, they assumed I wasn't fucking around when I was home because I was being true to my lady back at school. In fact, the only date I ever had at college was with good ol' Lady Five Fingers and a hot physique magazine. I don't suppose I was really in love with Wayne, but he was certainly the best friend I'd ever had--and the sexiest! And I knew I owed him a lot of loyalty.

My father died during my senior year. Mom sold off the stock, the farm equipment, and most of the acreage so she'd have a little to give me plus something to invest and live on, so there wasn't much reason for me to plan on coming back home to stay after graduation. I applied to several grad schools on the West Coast, and while I was waiting to hear whether I would be accepted, I decided to do something for Wayne.

Chapter III.

Besides Wayne, I'd only had man-to-man sex with one other guy, and even Wayne didn't know about him at the time. Bo was the driver who delivered fuel oil to the farm. Whenever he was there, and my folks weren't around, I followed him around like a hungry puppy. Bo was in his late 20s, about 6"4" compared to Wayne's 5'10", had curly black hair compared to Wayne's red crew-cut, and, as I was soon to learn, had eight and a half constantly drooling uncut inches compared to Wayne's neatly trimmed seven. He was also just plain drop-dead good-looking stud meat.

I fell in lust the first time I saw him, during the summer after my junior year in college. He always seemed to enjoy talking to me while he was hauling out the hose, filling our fuel tank, and then stowing the hose after he was done. He always lingered for a little while before driving on to his next stop. He would stand on the ground by the driver's side of his truck, with the door open and one leg propped up in the doorway, showing an intriguingly large bulge in the crotch of his button-fly jeans. A couple of times he caught me staring at his hidden goods, but never acknowledged it with more than a slight, knowing smile.

The summer after my dad died and I came home after graduation, Bo made a delivery on one of those rare days when Mom was in town seeing the lawyer, and I wasn't in town trying to get into Wayne's pants. I was lounging in the back yard in a pair of cutoffs, reading and trying to keep cool under the shade of our big sycamore tree, when I heard Bo honk as his truck turned into our lane.

We talked as usual while he filled the fuel tank, and I managed to work in the fact that Mom was gone for a while. He just nodded, but he seemed to be looking me over more closely than he normally did. When he asked offhandedly whether I'd been working out, it dawned on me that he'd never seen me bare-chested before. I'd been weight-training with some jock friends at school (I had to have something to fantasize about!), and I was actually pretty proud of my progress. I had gone from a 41" chest and 33" waist to 46" and 30", and I'd built my biceps up from 15" to 18"--at 5'11" and 190 pounds, I thought I was looking pretty good. And I'd always had good legs, from riding my bike from the farrm into town before I got my driver's license.

While I was trying to figure out how to let Bo know that I would be interested in seeing his "development" before he could get in the truck and drive away, he said something about never having seen the inside of a big bank barn like ours. Of course, I offered him a personally guided tour!

That gave me a great opportunity to get him out of his shirt, at least. I told him that, with the sun beating down on the barn's tin roof, it was really hot inside, and he might be more comfortable without his long-sleeved work shirt and work gloves. That's all it took. In a second, he had his gloves off and was unbuttoning his shirt, gradually exposing a muscular v-shaped torso covered with a luxurious carpet of thick, curly black hair. I could barely tell where his nipples were under all that hair, and I could barely catch my breath!

Bo broke into my trance by asking when the tour started. When I finally looked up from his chest to meet his eyes, he had a great big grin on his face. I know I must have blushed six shades of red. As we started walking toward the earthen ramp that led up to the main floor of the barn, he casually put his hand on my bare shoulder, and my arm brushed against his chest. My cutoffs, already tight, suddenly became two sizes too small, at least in the crotch! I think Bo must have noticed, judging from his quiet chuckle and another friendly squeeze of my shoulder, which didn't help the problem.

Inside the barn, I showed Bo the gaps in the floorboards where we could look down into the lower level of the barn, where we used to keep the milk cows and our small herd of goats. He really got a big kick out of the fact that my dad, who'd grown up on a dairy farm and milked 30-40 cows of his own, was allergic to cows' milk, and had to keep goats for his own milk supply.

When I opened the double-wide door overlooking our former pasture land to show Bo where we ran the conveyor in to get hay up into the mow above us, he stepped up behind me and grasped both sweat-soaked shoulders with his hands. At the same time, I felt his chest hair brushing my back. The combined sensations were even more electric than the shock I got the first time I touched an ungrounded generator while helping Dad do the milking during a power outage.

Although there was nothing I wanted more than body-to-body contact with that hunk, I nervously lurched forward, almost falling out the opening to the ground 16 feet below. Bo caught me around the waist and pulled me back into his body, which just made things worse... better... I wasn't sure anymore! At any rate, I had to get some space between us, or my heart was going to start pumping blood out of the top of my skull like a steam geyser!

I headed toward the ladder leading up into the haymow and told Bo I'd show him the family of barn owls and the colony of swallows that nested up there. I started up the ladder, but stopped to see if he was following me. He was so close that when I stopped, his nose bumped into the bottom of my cutoffs. I started to apologize, but he just pushed his nose between my thighs and started to lick at the sweat running down my thighs from my crotch. I think I just melted into unconsciousness, because the next thing I know, we were rolling around, face to crotch, in the loose hay on the floor of the haymow, trying to pull each other's clothes off without breaking the steel-bar erections that kept getting in the way.

Bo got my shorts off and just impaled his mouth on my cock, his nose pressing into my balls, which were already pulling up and priming to unload, and his tongue lapping at my pubic hair. I just stopped trying to get his jeans off at that point, to luxuriate in the feeling. Only one other person had ever sucked my cock, and Wayne mostly worked on just the head. I didn't know how easy it was for an experienced cocksucker to deep-throat a puny six inches, but then, nobody'd ever tried. I'd never thought to try it on Wayne either, but at that point I don't think I would have succeeded because of how thick Wayne's pale, blue-veined cock was.

I didn't last long. It was probably only the third stroke of Bo's hot, wet mouth down the length of my well-primed cock, when I blasted his tonsils with what felt like the biggest load of my life. He gulped it all down, then pulled off to look down at me. My eyes were rolled back and my mouth was hanging open as I gasped for breath. He laughed and asked if I was enjoying myself, then extricated his long, rigid, down-curving cock from his jeans and let it bounce against my chin.

The raw sexual scent of his precum-oozing cock woke me up! I immediately tried to force that dripping, skinned-back, giant hard-on all the way down my throat, dying to park my chin in his wiry black pubes and do for him what he had done for me. I didn't succeed the first time I tried that, either. I pulled back, coughing and gagging, but started to try again. He stopped me with a gentle "Whoa, babe," and got up on his knees, pushing me onto my back and straddling my chest, that wet, gnarly, vein-lined, one-eyed monster staring me right in the face.

He milked out a couple more big dollops of precum out of that big cock with one hand and painted my lips with his tangy juices. He put the other hand behind my neck and lifted my head toward the object of my lust. Again I started to lunge forward, but he pulled his dick away from my gaping mouth again. "Let me show you how to do it, babe," he said, "slowly and steadily, and all the way down."

Once again, he lifted my head and pulled it toward his dripping cockhead. "Say aaah," he said, grinning. "Just open wide, and get used to this big old thing in your mouth. Don't suck yet, just feel it resting on your tongue."

With that, he bunched his foreskin forward over the head and pushed the first three inches or so into my wide-open mouth, holding it firmly down against my tongue, which desperately wanted to curl up around that hot, pulsing flesh-tool and do something, anything. But I restrained myself. He just sat there, rocking ever so slightly back and forth, each forward movement depositing another squirt of tangy precum on my tongue.

"Act like you're yawning, baby. Close your eyes and just breathe out big," he said, and waited for me to comply. My mouth gaped open a little more, and he eased another couple of inches into my mouth. He still kept his foreskin pushed forward over the head, and I finally felt the end bump into the narrow opening of my throat. I started to gag again, but he kept telling me to yawn and breathe out. Suddenly, he pulled my head toward him, took his hand away from his cock, and lunged forward. The precum-slicked head of his meat slipped out of its sleeve of skin and drilled all the way down my throat. I didn't even know what had happened until my nose felt and smelled his sweaty, gamy, sexy pubic curls.

My eyes flow open to see him grinning down at me. "You got it all, babe," he laughed. "And now you're really going to get it!" Then he started seesawing back and forth slowly pulling the head out to the middle of my mouth and then gliding back down my throat. The downward curve of his erection seemed custom-made to fuck my face! While I still marveled that I wasn't choking and gagging, he picked up the pace. Then he lowered my head to the hayloft floor and leaned forward over my head, straightening his long, lean, furry body out above me in push-up position. Then he started to slowly long-dick my suddenly well-trained and gag-free throat, which by then would have opened up by sheer will power to swallow his whole hairy, sweaty body.

As he picked up the pace, the sensations became so intense that my still-hard cock, without being touched, started jetting great gobs of cum all over my belly and chest and up onto his legs. Just seconds later, I could feel his huge load erupting up his cum-tube. The first shots were delivered straight into my esophagus. Then Bo slowly backed his big throbber up out of my gullet, and let the rest of his load spray deliciously on my tongue. I reached up with one hand and gripped his cock, milking the dregs of his cum into my suctioning mouth and cleaning the inside of his foreskin with my tongue.

He fell over beside me in the hay, scooted down, and leaned over to give me a deep, tongue-fucking kiss, as if he were trying to dig his own load of cum out of my guts. Then he fell back down beside me. We both lay there on our backs, panting breathlessly, trying to recover from the heat and sexual exhaustion we both felt. Finally, I rolled over and buried my face in his chest hair, inhaling his scent, and he wrapped his arms around me and kissed the top of my head.

After a few minutes, I looked up into his contentedly smiling face. "Did you enjoy the tour of the barn?" I asked. He started laughing so hard I thought I was going to have to give him artificial respiration. I did try a little more mouth-to-mouth.

We got together about once a week for the rest of that summer. He had a small apartment over the hardware store in town, next door to the movie theater. Mom thought my sudden interest in seeing every new movie that came to town each week had something to do with the elective film course I'd taken my senior year.

Chapter IV.

Not only did Bo park that big tanker-truck dick of his down my willing throat a couple of times every weekend, but he also gave me lessons in parking my little pick-up in his rear garage. It turns out he loved getting his ass reamed as much as he loved fucking my face. He probably would have taught me how to get fucked, too, but I still wasn't ready to try it again, especially with anything that big--even with loads of lubrication.

I knew I could have fallen in love with Bo, but I also knew I'd be leaving town in the fall. I'd been accepted at grad school in Arizona in a combined accounting/statistics program. I wasn't really all that keen on leaving, but Mom kept telling me how her lawyer friend said that an M.B.A. was the only way to go.

I started making arrangements for my move west, and I also started making plans to keep both Wayne and Bo happy in my absence. I knew Wayne was still super horny and hot to fuck something besides my mouth, and I knew Bo would be ecstatic with Wayne's beer-can cock up his eager ass. So I started plotting to get them together. Who knows? Maybe Bo could even teach Wayne to like the taste of cum, especially when it comes from such a hot source.

It was easier than I thought. One weekend Wayne and I were in his car, coming out of the drive-thru, after picking up a couple of six-packs. We were on our way to one of our regular picnics of brew and spoo, when I saw Bo walking out of the local diner and heading back toward his apartment. I rolled down the window and yelled, "Hey, Bo!"

Wayne hit the brakes to let me talk, and Bo walked over to the car to chat. I introduced the two of them, but it turned out that Wayne already knew Bo as a customer at the lumberyard. Bo made his own furniture for his apartment and for some of his friends, and often special-ordered good hardwoods from Wayne. They were just casual acquaintances, but at least they seemed comfortable with each other.

A car behind us honked its horn, so Bo walked back over to the sidewalk while Wayne pulled his car to the curb. When Bo was momentarily out of earshot, Wayne poked me in the ribs and said "Grrr!" My eyebrows shot up, and he grinned. "God, I'd like to fuck those buns!" he said. I grinned back and said something to the effect that I'd often noticed Bo's ass as he climbed in and out of his fuel truck out at the farm and felt the same (I didn't say that I'd already had the pleasure of burrowing into that hairy crack).

When we parked just down the block from Bo's apartment and he caught up to us, I took the initiative. "Hey, Bo, we've got a couple of six-packs. Wanna invite us up to your place? We'll share a few with you," I said quickly. He said, "Sure!" even while Wayne was poking me in the ribs again. I looked over my shoulder at Wayne, and said, "Don't worry, you won't miss out on anything. You'll still get your horns trimmed."

He looked at me questioningly, but followed me out of the car and down the street to Bo's apartment. Once up the stairs and inside, I suggested that Bo show Wayne some of the furniture he'd made while I put the beer in the fridge and opened the first round for us. I went into the kitchenette and did something I never did--found three glasses, each of which I filled with beer. When I heard the two of them return to the living room and plop down on the couch, I picked up one glass in one hand, the second in the other, and the third between the other two, my fingers just barely gripping the middle glass.

Then I committed what is possibly the most brazen prank of my life. Walking toward Bo, I intentionally tripped on the area rug in front of the couch and fell toward him, spilling all three beers in his lap. I ended up on my knees in front of him, my face in his beer-soaked lap. He still hadn't said anything, and Wayne was transfixed, when I looked up at him, grinned, and said, "Don't want to waste all that beer." Then I sunk my face into his crotch and started sucking the beer out of his jeans, and just incidentally gumming his cock into a first-class erection. He obviously wasn't wearing briefs.

Bo was still speechless, but starting to respond with little grunts and moans to my invasion of his crotch. Wayne might as well have been in an open-eyed coma. Then I lifted my face out of Bo's lap, grinned broadly, and delivered what I thought was the greatest ad lib of my life: "It's okay, Bo. Wayne knows I like to knock back a tall one every now and then." And I kissed him while unbuttoning his sopping jeans. I pulled him up into a standing position and pulled his jeans down to his knees. Getting down on my knees in front of him, I had Bo step out of his jeans and grabbed hiss big pump handle, saying to Wayne, "This is where I learned that new throat thing you like so well." Then I began deep-throating that wonderful pulsing length of slimy uncut cock, which was happily responding to all my attention even if Bo wasn't.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Wayne starting to wake up to what was going on and rubbing an obviously steel-hard boner through his jeans. I gestured with my finger for him to come closer. When he did, I unfastened his pants, pulled out that thick stalk of his with one hand, and with the other pulled Bo's hand down and pressed the cock and the hand together. The heat of that contact woke Bo's brain up, and he started jacking Wayne off. Then he looked down, went "Oooh!" and said, "I've gotta sit on that thing!"

I stopped sucking and watched as Bo led Wayne by his throbbing cock into the bedroom. Wayne started massaging Bo's muscular buns before they got to the door. I went to the utility closet to get a mop to clean up the beer on the floor. As I mopped and listened to the satisfied sounds from the bedroom, I thought to myself, "My work here is finished."

Well, it wasn't quite done. As I was rinsing the mop in the kitchen sink, I heard Bo say, in a loud stage whisper, "Get your ass in here, Jack, and finish the damned blow job before I soak my mattress with the load that Wayne's squeezing out of me!"

I knew then that I could go off to Arizona, certain that my friends would not miss me quite so much.

Chapter V.

As it turned out, I didn't get my M.B.A. after all. Halfway through my second year, I found out the hard way that the grad school registrar had forgotten to verify my current full-time enrollment with my draft board to continue my student deferment. The Vietnam build-up had started and Uncle Sam jumped on that bureaucratic oversight. The next thing I knew, I was on my way to basic training in South Carolina.

I wondered how Bo and Wayne would fare, whether their numbers would come up too. I soon found out that Bo had already done his gig as a Marine in the Philippines before Vietnam flared up (that's apparently where he learned how much he liked being fucked). Then, just shortly before I shipped out to Nam after basic, I learned that Wayne's dad had died, he had taken over the lumberyard, and he was his mother's sole support, as well as the custodial father of his two children, who were then five and four years old. His ex-wife had decided it was her turn to play, so she just disappeared with one of her several boyfriends while the kids were with Wayne for a weekend visit.

After I got to Nam, Wayne wrote to say his mom had a stroke, so he'd hired Bo to help him run the lumberyard while he took care of her and the kids. In passing, he mentioned that both he and Bo had moved back into Wayne's mom's house with the kids to make it easier on everybody. I remember thinking, "One bedroom downstairs, two upstairs--one invalid mother, two men, two kids. Uh-huhn!" Wayne scribbled a tiny little postscript at the bottom of the page. I think it said, "By the way, I've learned to like the taste." But I can't be sure. Wayne always had really lousy handwriting.

And neither he nor Bo were very good at writing letters. Over my 16 months in Nam (out of the combat zone, thank God!), I only heard from them at holidays and birthdays, and then just short cryptic notes. Without really understanding the situation, Mom kept me posted on major developments: Bo became a partner in the lumberyard... Wayne had Rev. Wilhoite at the Methodist Church designate Bo as the kids' godfather in case anything happened to him... Wayne's mother moved to the church's nursing care facility "so she wouldn't be a burden on the boys"... and Wayne donated the materials for Bo to build a new playground in the vacant lot behind the city hall. They got the city to call it "Good Fellows Park," and Mom told me the sign at the gate catty-cornered from the hardware store where Bo's apartment used to be was misspelled as "Good Fellowes Park." She said she bet Wayne and Bo did that on purpose as a joke for me. I got a little misty when I read that.

Each time I heard something that told me how great things were going for the two of them, I patted myself on the back and told myself, "I done good!" At the same time, I was jealous as hell and feeling pretty much alone.

Actually I wasn't really alone that much. Working as chief clerk in brigade headquarters, I encountered a steady stream of hot young GIs seeking help with pay and allotment problems, requests for special leave or R&R, answers to questions about Army regulations, and the like. I tried to give as many of them as possible my closest personal attention.

Both my CO and Adjutant were happy to delegate office duties so they could head into Saigon to sample the "entertainment" and schmooze with brass from other units, and my Top Sergeant was an alcoholic who wasn't there even when he was there. Although I was only an acting staff sergeant, I actually handled a lot of important decisions on my own, backed by a bunch of administrative NCOs who would rather have been almost anywhere else, and who made sure my forgery of the CO's signature on reports and orders never got questioned. It wasn't as if the CO didn't know what was going on; he just didn't care.

I pretty much made it my official mission to get as many GIs out of Nam as quickly as the rotation would allow, with early release for sole surviving sons and seasonal employment whenever I could slip the paperwork through. I cut deals with both Navy and Air Force transport operations to make sure that none of my guys had to wait in "Never Never Land"--the garrison barracks where those with orders to ship out but no scheduled departure dates were assigned--for more than a week.

And I made it my personal mission to be sure that those guys who were stuck there had an enjoyable stay. It still amazes me how many so-called straight guys will unquestioningly stick their throbbing dicks through a hole in the wall of a booth in the PX men's room without needing to be persuaded to do so. They saw a mouth through a glory hole and plunged right in. By the time I shipped out for home, I had tasted cocks of every color, every length, every thickness, and every shape (and every rank!), and I never had to buy a single drink for their owners to get them to open their flies.

God, I loved the Army!

Chapter VI.

When I finally got my discharge and got back home, I was 26, broke, horny, and without a clue about what I was going to do with the rest of my life. Mom--my 53-year-old mother!--was dating our lawyer, a 60-year-old widower from our church, and acting like a giddy schoolgirl. She invited a bunch of relatives and my friends over to a welcome-home dinner for me, which she then skipped out on to go boating with "Mr. Mac," as she called him. Thank God Bo and Wayne were there, because I really wasn't that close to or interested in the rest of the crowd who showed up.

Wayne's kids came along, too. I'd never met them, and he hadn't really talked much in detail about them with me, so I hadn't realized they were both boys. They were now seven and six years old, and certainly had inherited their father's fresh good looks and sunny outlook. As the other guests started drifting off, Wayne, Bo, and I sat on the front porch watching the boys push an old wheelbarrow filled with hay up and down the earthen ramp to the closed door of the barn, laughing and yelling all the way up and all the way down.

Wayne and I were sitting in the old wood rocking chairs and Bo was sitting on the porch steps. Wayne, now a city councilman, as he proudly informed me, thought maybe he could use some of his political connections to get me at least an interview for a state job. "You know," he was saying, "a little politics, a little veteran's preference... I bet we can have you working within a week."

Just then the boys ran over, saw that Wayne and I were talking, and went up to Bo. Jackie, the older one (I wondered if he might have been named for me--I'd have to remember to ask Wayne), said, "Bo-Daddily, do you think Mr. Fellowes will show us inside the barn?" I smiled when I heard the great name the kids had for Bo and looked over at him, while taking a sip of my iced tea.

He looked me straight in the eye, grinning like a blooming idiot, and answered, "Guys, I don't think Mr. Fellowes gives guided tours of the barn anymore, but I'll be glad to show you around." As soon as he said that, I started laughing and choking on my tea at the same time. Bo was laughing, too, and the boys looked at us both strangely as they traipsed off toward the barn, with Bo in tow.

Wayne reached over to pound me on the back as I continued to sputter. He said, "I thought you had better control of your throat muscles." That didn't help, either. By the time I could draw a normal breath, I was on my hands and knees on the porch floor.

When I finally recovered, Wayne told me that the boys were going to spend the weekend camping out at the state park with a church group. Then he said, "Bo and I have a lot to thank you for. Can you come Friday night and stay over with us at the house until Sunday morning?"

What a great way to complete the transition back to life as a civilian!

Chapter VII.

Wayne was right. A little political pull and an honorable discharge backed by the Army Commendation Medal (for all my "good works") did help me get an instant interview with the state government personnel office. With my clerical experience in the Army, my B.A. in economics, and my graduate courses in accounting and statistics, the director thought I would be perfect for a vacancy in the department of economic development. The pay was better than anything else I expected to qualify for, so I asked him to forward my resume and application to the department's director. Within two days, I got a call asking me to come for an interview, the next day if possible. I did, and two days later I got the call telling me when and where to report to work.

So there I was, three months later, on my way home from that secure but not very exciting job, pulling off into the rest area to stretch my legs...

I really had no intention of cruising when I pulled into a parking place opposite the rustic restroom building (this was the early 70s, remember--no solar-heated, gleaming-tiled "visitor centers" lined the still lightly traveled interstates in the Midwest). That Friday just happened to be one of those days that I forgot to hit the men's room before leaving work. I really had to pee, the inevitable result of drinking either a cup of coffee or a can of Coke every hour I spent at my desk and twice that much with lunch.

At that point I'd never even connected a highway rest area, especially such a public place, with having sex or making sexual contacts. I was a small town boy with limited experience, after all. To me sex was something you did in a bed--okay, in bed, a car, or a haymow--with someone you knew by name. Yeah, I know--I'm not forgetting the anonymous or near-anonnymous episodes at the PX gloryhole in Nam--but I really did believe those experiences were unique to that time and that place. I figured that was just a military thing with guys who were far from home and close to danger. Anyway...

Entering the men's side of the restroom building for the first time, I noticed that there were two urinals, with no privacy partition between them, on one side, and two stalls enclosed only by partial walls that started about a foot or so from the floor, and ended at about the level of my nipples. A man my height could easily look down on either toilet by walking within a couple feet of the front of the booths. And I did look in and down, noticing a familiar feature in the plywood partition that separated the two porcelain stools--a roughly round hole, obviously hand-made, about five to six inches in diameter. I stored that little bit of information in my memory as I stepped up to one of the urinals and unzipped.

As I drained Junior, I began to notice all the writing and a few crude drawings on the walls in front of me and beside me. Each little message was an open invitation for mansex, and most of them were directed toward the most frequent visitors to the men's john, those drivers of the big rigs who used the rest areas for their required rest periods or, like the rest of us, to relieve their bladders or guts. And now, I realized, maybe for another kind of relief, just as natural but a hell of a lot riskier.

Milking out the last drops of piss, I looked out through the lattice opening above the urinal and realized that there a couple of cars parked further down the lot from mine. Each had a lone male occupant who looked furtively first at the other car and then at the restroom. Neither of them looked particularly interesting, so I squeezed out the last drops of piss, put my dick away, and zipped up to leave the building.

Walking to my car, I kept thinking about the "show for blow" messages and the others, the personal ads in which the proud owners of what must have been near-legendary endowments were seeking that one skilled mouth or ass they dared to "take it all and take it hard." I began to daydream about being that mouth, at least, as I drove home and for much of the weekend, mostly because Wayne and Bo were out of town, and I was stuck with good ol' Rosy Palm for my only intimate companionship.

When I wasn't fantasizing about the Big One that weekend, I was dealing with a shocking announcement from my mother. Mr. Mac had asked her to marry him and move down South to this up-and-coming place called Orlando, Florida, where he'd bought a retirement home just before Walt Disney started buying up land. She'd said yes, and let me know that after I gave her away in a small wedding in a couple of weeks, I'd have the farmhouse to myself, to keep or to sell. I had no idea what I might end up doing.

Chapter VIII.

Because of all the things I'd had to do at home before and just after the wedding, it was about three weeks after my imaginary pursuit of the Big One began that I was able to stop at that rest area again for more than a minute or two. There were just a few people there. A carload of picnickers occupied a table at the far end of the rest area. At about the midway point of the auto parking area, a man was asleep in his car. Over in the truck parking area, one husky trucker was seated on the curb next to his rig, apparently updating his log book. Another had just jumped down from his cab, slammed the door, and started walking across the car parking area toward the john as I pulled up in front.

I have to admit I did a double-take. He was lean but very muscular-looking, dressed in a sleeveless black T-shirt and black 501 jeans. He had hair as black as Bo's, and from halfway across the parking lot, he appeared to have movie-star good looks. And indeed he did, because I just kept staring at him as he walked by my car. He definitely must have noticed my rapt gaze, because he broke into a big grin just as he disappeared inside the john.

I got out of the car and stretched a bit. I could see his head through the latticework in front of the urinal farthest from the door. After what I hoped was a decent pause, I made up my mind to go in. I had intended to grab a quick look as I turned toward the urinal nearest the door, but instead I stopped cold. Instead of standing close to the urinal with one hand aiming his hose, as most men do, he stood back with both hands flat on the wall in front of him, doing a kind of vertical pushup. From my first nervous glance, it appeared he had a very long and thick hunk of meat hanging out of his fly. He wasn't pissing at the time, and he looked over at me. I self-consciously and probably unsuccessfully tried to hide the fact that I'd been staring at him, and proceeded to unzip and let loose.

I still didn't hear him pissing, and he really was doing pushup movements in front of the urinal, while making slight grunting noises. I couldn't resist asking, "Think that will help?" as I glanced at him quickly, adding to my picture of him a pair of well-defined arms and a wild tuft of thick black chest hair pushing out of the neck of his T-shirt. The inventory of sexy images he offered was overloading my sensual perceptions!

Taking his near hand away from the wall and turning about a quarter turn toward me, he said, "It better. I know I've got to piss about a gallon, and I'm not leaving here until I get rid of it." I chuckled, zipped up, and started to turn around to leave. But I looked first at his face, and then couldn't resist the urge to let my gaze drop to his cock.

There it was--the Big One I'd been dreaming about! I think I gasped out loud, but somehow I suddenly found the nerve to say what I was thiinking: "I can understand why you might have trouble getting that thing to do what you want. He's big enough to give orders, not take them."

He grinned again, displaying a set of perfect teeth as white as his hair was black. "Yeah, you're right, he does tend to lead me around a lot. Occasionally gets me into trouble. Maybe he'd cooperate a little more if I got him what he really wanted more of the time."

This was going to be a lot easier than I ever thought it would be. Who would have imagined this Greek god would be so much on the make with a perfect stranger, especially one as ordinary-looking as me? I took his bait. "And what might that be?" I asked, letting him watch me as I looked down again at his pendulous uncut cock, which was starting to pulse upward and change from a Mediterranean flesh color to a purplish red. I just kept staring as it swelled and lengthened, rising to about 15 degrees shy of horizontal.

He let loose a deep chuckle that almost masked what he said to himself--it sounded like, "I can pick em." Then, while fishing his big sack of hairy balls out of his fly to swing loosely down undeer his huge rod, he said to me, "Oh, he gives me this trouble about pissing, because his boys are all backed up with something else. Guess I really need to clear that stuff out first."

This was not only thrilling and sexy as hell, it was fun! "I've had some experience with that sort of thing. In fact, some say I'm pretty damned good at it. I'd be glad to help."

He glanced quickly out through the latticework. The other truck had left, as had the picnickers, and the guy in the other car still appeared to be sleeping. He spun away from the urinal, grabbed my arm and led me over to the stall behind him, swinging open the door and motioning for me to sit on the stool. When I did, he closed the door behind himself and moved toward me, his throbbing uncut cock pointed right at my face.

From his standing position, he could still see plainly if anyone were coming into the rest area, and from my seat, I could see just as plainly what was going to be coming down my throat--hell, all the way down to my stomach! The biggest thing I had to compare it with was Bo's eight and a half, which was a headd longer than two hands full. I put two hands on this guy's, and what stuck out looked nearly as long as my whole dick!

He pushed my hands away, gripped that big rod about halfway up the shaft with his right hand, and skinned it back to reveal a big, wet purple plum of a head. My jaw was already hanging down in utter awe of this cock, so when his left hand pulled my head forward, that monster slid right past my lips and plastered my tongue against the bottom of my mouth.

His forward thrust didn't stop until he met resistance at the back of my mouth. He held my head firmly with both hands and backed up a little, making me lean forward. The result, I realized, was that my throat was now straightened and directly aligned with the huge chub that was going to invade it. I almost came right then, I was so excited about being with such a confident, big-cocked man who knew not only how to use his blessed equipment for his own pleasure, but also how to make his partner surrender to trust and become the perfect receptacle for the most intimate gift one man can give another.

I did come in my briefs the very next instant, when he thrust forward and didn't stop until my nose was flattened against his pubic bone and buried in the musky crop of black hair that hugged the base of his cock. He paused for a moment or two at full insertion, and I tried to moan in ecstasy, but it came out like a vibrating hum job. That little stimulus surprised us both and started his hips rocking back and forth and pivoting a little, so that no part of the lining of my mouth and throat were left unmassaged by that loose-skinned-soft-yet-hard-hot-slick fucking machine.

I was so totally transported by this experience (and probably so deprived of oxygen) that I didn't realize that I had gripped his rock-hard buns in my hands and was trying to speed his momentum. Whenever he pulled out far enough that I could move my tongue at all, I used it to slather spit around every part of his cock that I could reach before the next thrust smashed my tongue back into the floor of my mouth. And every throat muscle that wasn't stretched to the breaking point was gulping and spasming, trying to compress and squeeze the huge invader now moving in and out faster than my mind could comprehend.

His harsh breathing suddenly became a machine-gun rhythm of breathy whimpers. He leaned into me, wrapping both arms around the back of my head and stopping all movements, except the automatic pulsing of the blood in the veins of the python-like cock burrowed into my craw and the throbbing arteries in the unyielding muscles of his abs. I sensed, rather than felt, his eruption begin.

The first copious explosion of his hot, thick load flooded my esophagus, followed by another that seemed to rebound off the lining of my throat, then another, and another, a smaller amount of hot cum spewing out each time, oozing downward to my gut. It seemed as if his cock kept spasming for hours. Slowly he released the headlock he had on me, and straightened up, beginning a slow withdrawal of his cock, now less rigid, but not yet smaller around.

When the head dragged across my tongue, I clamped down with my lips and tried to vacuum out whatever fluid might have remained in the tube between his glans and his prostate. The unexpected pressure triggered another set of spasms and another shot or two of his juices, which I got to savor with my taste buds for the first time. I'd remember that taste for the rest of my conscious life and, I hoped, in all my unconscious dreams.

He finally, reluctantly, pulled his softening snake out of my mouth, took a quick glance out into the parking areas, leaned against the side wall of the booth, and began to stow his tender meat back into its snug resting place in his jeans. I watched every minute detail of that process, and reached up to stop him before he could button his fly. "I thought you had to piss," I grinned up at him, reaching in and extracting his now-soft but still-puffy cock, holding it out straight in the palm of one hand, while skinning it back with the other.

I opened my mouth, stuck out my tongue and rested the exposed cockhead just between my lips. I looked up at him and saw his look of exhausted contentment turn into an impish grin. A moment later, I felt the first trickle of hot, salty piss coating my tongue. I still can't believe I did it. I'd never drunk piss before in my life, although I'd thought about it, but with him it just seemed right.

It wasn't quite a gallon... but close!

After straightening up, he leaned down and kissed me softly, and said, "Thanks. That was the best stand-up blowjob I've ever had--hell, it was the best ANY kind of blowjob I've ever had!"

I winked at him and cracked, "You did all the work, but you ought to see how much better I can do in bed."

"Baby, I want to!" he practically yelled in my face. "Where are you from? When can I see you again?"

The answer I wanted to give was "Whenever you want!" but I tried to keep my emotions down to mere nervous excitement, instead of a celebration of manic screaming and cheering. I gathered all my self-control, and said, "I don't even know your name. I'm Jack Fellowes, and I live down the road a ways on a farm in Kent County."

We talked for a while out by my car. I found out his name was Bert Lo Bello (perfect name for a perfect man), and his home and dispatch center were about 40 miles farther down the road from me. He was heading back home now, but had to leave again the next day. He was going to be on the road until Saturday morning. We made a date for Saturday afternoon. I gave him my business card; he wrote his address on an envelope he had stuffed in his back pocket and handed it to me with a key he pulled out of his fifth pocket.

"What's this?" I asked.

"If I'm late for any reason," he said, "I don't want to take a chance that you'll leave. Just let yourself in and wait until I get there. I've got to see you again as soon as possible!" He paused for just a second, but before I could voice any objections, he added, pressing the key into my palm so hard it left an impression, "I'll trust you the way you trusted me."

The only thing that kept me from jumping his bones right there next to my car was the state patrol car just then driving at a slow crawl through the parking lot. I did have trouble keeping my eyes dry enough to drive home that evening, and I had to keep my seatbelt fastened to keep from floating up to the roof of the car.

LEARNING TO PARK Part Two of Two by Jack Fellowes

Chapter IX.

On Saturday I drove up in front of the building at the address Bert had written down. It was a new high-rise apartment tower in a very nice neighborhood. In fact, the building faced one of the city's famous forested parks. I was about a half-hour early, but if I'd been able to get off work, I would have been there Friday and camped out on his doorstep the whole night and morning.

I found his apartment on the eighth floor and knocked on the door. There was no answer, so I used the key he gave me and went in. The apartment was not what I had expected for a trucker--I was stereotyping, I guess. It was very smartly furnished, very neat, and the clean smell of fresh-scrubbed manhood permeated the air. On a table just inside the door I saw a note: "Jack-- Back soon. Make yourself at home. Coffee's in the kitchen. Books on the coffee table might interest you. --Bert"

I went into the kitchen, got a cup of coffee, then walked into the living room. "This looks more like a designer's showroom than a trucker's place," I thought. I sat down on the couch and glanced at the stack of what looked like antique books next to a couple of large photo albums. Looking at the book's titles, I realized that Bert was a collector of rare erotica, and I realized that I really didn't know much, if anything, about him. I wondered what other surprises were in store for me.

Then I picked up one of the photo albums and started to leaf through it. Big surprise No. 1! It was full of professional-looking photographs of Bert, some fully clothed, some suggestively half-dressed, and some completely nude. As I turned the pages, I found even more explicit shots, some of him alone and aroused, and others with a partner who seemed to be worshipping the image of the masculine ideal that Bert conveyed. As I continued turning pages, the photos went from sexily suggestive to downright hard, hard, hard-core. And I got harder with each new image. I had to adjust my own crotch several times.

There was Bert in profile, with his 11-inch monster rampant; Bert passionately stroking himself; Bert kissing a handsome young black male, then being orally worshipped by the same guy. A few pages later, he was fucking a beautiful young Asian boy, then being caressed and kissed all over by the black, the Asian, and a husky, butch-cut football jock. There was even a couple of shots of Bert sixty-nining with and fucking a gray-haired, furry man who could have been an older version of himself.

I had unzipped my fly and stuck my hand in my shorts to tend to my spring-steel boner, when I heard a key in the door lock. I zipped up regretfully, and stood up.

Bert walked in, beaming broadly when he saw me there. He was wearing madras Bermuda shorts and a black fishnet T-shirt, and carrying a couple of bags of groceries. The hair on his head gleamed like black patent leather, and his chest hair protruded enticingly through the openings in the net shirt. His legs were as hairy and well-tanned as his arms. He put the groceries down and turned to me. "You made it," he said softly. "I'm glad." And he gave me a hug that nearly collapsed my lungs.

When I caught my breath again, I looked into his eyes and smiled. Actually, I couldn't have done anything but smile, I was so glad to be with him again. I'd been smiling nearly every minute since I met him. "I'm glad, too," I said. "In fact, I was getting pretty damned glad after seeing those." I gestured at the albums.

His expression suddenly turned serious. "I wasn't sure how you'd take those," he said, "but I wanted to be honest with you from the beginning. Those represent who I am, what I do, what I like, and how I feel about it. I didn't want you to have any false impressions about me. I may drive a truck, yes, but I own the company, and I can do pretty much whatever I want to do. And those things are what I want to do."

"I wasn't turned off by what I saw, that's for damned sure," I said. "In fact, I'm so turned on that I'm ready to jump your frame. You can explain what everything means later. I've got a few ideas I want to try out on your gorgeous sexy bod!"

"Good!" he laughed. I've been thinking about getting you naked and in my bed for the last four days! And I'm going to keep you there until we both drop from exhaustion and hunger!" He rubbed the growing lump in his crotch-hugging shorts. He sat down on the couch and pulled me down beside him. He put his arm around me and pulled me closer, so that my head was resting on his shoulder, my lips against his muscular neck.

He spread his legs a bit and guided my hand to his belt buckle. He pulled his shirt up above his nipples, while I worked to open his belt and unzip his shorts. I slid my hand into his hairy crotch, no underwear in the way, and tried to get my hand around his huge hard cock. But there wasn't much room between his shorts and his body, so I tried to pull his shorts down.

His hand on the back of my head pressed my mouth to his large, erect nipple. I opened my mouth and sucked it in, gumming it and nipping it with my teeth just as I finally extricated his cock from the tight shorts. I chewed his nipple and stroked his cock as his body undulated beneath me. He suddenly pulled my mouth to his. His lips practically swallowed mine, and his tongue snaked deep into my mouth, pushing my own tongue back. I started sucking on his tongue as if it were a proxy for his cock.

His arm around my shoulder moved down, his hand finding my own nipple and pinching it with his fingernails. I squirmed under his grasp, and released his cock to push him back. But his other hand clamped my wrist and pushed my stroking hand back where he wanted it: around his rigid, throbbing cock. I took up the long stroking motion once again. After a moment, his lips left mine and he asked, "Are you ready for the first load?"

I nodded, but before I could say anything, he pushed my head down the short distance to the drooling head of his monster cock. I mouthed the head and started to bob up and down, but he stopped me. He held my head still, and with his hips thrust his thick, choking prick deep into my throat. He pulled out slowly, then quickly thrust in again. The pressure of his hand on the back of my head, and the sideways angle of his cock blocking my airway, I thought I would suffocate and at the same time the blood vessels in my brain would explode. Then a series of rapid plunging movements pounded my oxygen-deprived brain cells into unthinking physical responses to the power of his movements. I could not hold my lips over my teeth, and I know I scraped him roughly each time he thrust in or out. He began to moan slowly, his low moans turning into shrill, staccato cries of pain-pleasure.

In a single instant, he pressed my head down with all his strength while ramming his swelling cock upward, all the way down my throat at an impossible angle, flattening my nose against his pubic bone, cutting off all hope I had of seizing even the tiniest breath. My eyes bulged, and I felt the uncontrollable spasms of his voluminous ejaculation deep in my throat. Had I been able to breathe, I would have drawn his juices directly into my lungs. But I couldn't breathe, and I couldn't swallow, and he kept filling my throat with his hot, viscous eruptions.. I thought about dying that way, and I didn't even panic as that vision formed in my brain.

Then he began to relax, releasing the pressure on the back of my head and slowly lowering his hips to the couch. When he unsheathed his mighty sword, there was an audible pop, followed by a rush of air into my oxygen-starved lungs. He held me gently but firmly while I recovered, kissing me on the top of my head, my forehead, my cheek, and then my lips when I began to breathe normally once again.

He pulled back and looked into my eyes, again turning serious. "I'm sorry I was so rough on you," he said, "but I can't always control what my body does when I am experiencing such great pleasure. I'm really selfish about getting off my way." He held me at arm's length and spoke very softly and earnestly. "Do you want to leave now, or do you think you'd like to risk sticking around for a while, maybe all night?"

I tried to summon up my sense of humor and make some wisecrack, but I was just too exhausted. I smiled weakly and said, "Just let me catch my breath, eat a little something--as opposed to this big something--to build my strength," I said, grabbing his softening cock for emphasis, "and then... you can do whatever you want with this thing."

Then I pulled his hand to the crotch of my jeans, literally dripping with the copious amount of cum from what must have been two or three spontaneous ejaculations stimulated only by the overpowering experience of his cock's assault on my throat. "See what you made me do. I've never had sex like that before in my life, Bert. I thought I'd die, but I want to experience it again and again and again."

He squeezed me firmly against him again, and just held me for a minute. Then he whispered in my ear, "Well, if that's the way you feel, what do you say about going into the bedroom and getting down to some serious lovemaking?"

I sat up abruptly and looked at him. "What do you call what just happened!!?"

He smiled. "Just a warm-up," he said, getting up and pulling me up with him. "I've got some tricks that will pin your ears back."

A sudden image flashed through my mind, of that mammoth dick fucking in one ear, pounding my brain to mush, then snaking out the other and circling my skull like a boa constrictor. "What the hell," I said, " I don't have any plans for the rest of the weekend... but I still need food first!"

Chapter X.

I survived, only because I found out Bert liked to take breaks for quiet cuddling and old-fashioned suck-face between the attacks of ferocious face-fucking. He suggested at one point, when I was trying to get my jawbone to close normally, that he might be able to give my mouth a little rest by calling my asshole into service. I quickly informed him that I was an anal virgin. He conceded we might have to work up to assfucking the way he likes it very gradually. I conceded nothing of the sort, still thinking I would fight to preserve my cherry butt at all costs from assaults by a weapon of ass destruction like his.

Over the weekend, I also found out Bert was 32, six years older than me, that he could cum an average of twice an hour for six straight hours (oh, God, did I find out!). And while he may claim to be selfish in sex, I actually got off more than he did. I think I must have an extra prostate gland somewhere in my throat down past my Adam's apple, or else he was drilling a whole lot deeper than I thought!

I also learned that the gray-haired older version of him in the photo albums was his 60-year-old uncle, who taught him the ropes, so to speak, and still stopped by occasionally for a refresher course. His uncle, like Bert named Alberto but called Albie, shared the family dick and predilection for aggressive mansex. Bert said Albie was also the photographer who took the rest of the photographs. The other "models" in the photo albums turned out to be some of Bert's employees at Lo Bello Trucking Co.

Bert thought it would be great if I came over the next time Albie was in town from Florida so we could get to know one another; I thought it might be a good idea for me to start working out and taking megavitamins immediately, to build up my strength and stamina before that ever happened. And that's no joke. I was so exhausted after that first weekend together, I barely made it to work on time each of the next three days, and I kept nodding off in the middle of number-crunching sessions to prepare the state's monthly economic reports.

But I couldn't think about much else besides Bert and how he made me feel... and how I really felt that I wouldn't mind spending the rest of my life down on my knees for him. I thought I had found Cocksucker Heaven, the Real Man of My Dreams, the Dick of Death! And for some strange reason, I made a note to myself that week to make an appointment with a lawyer to get my will in order.

Our next "date" was going to be the following Friday evening. Since Bert would be trucking back from a trip up north and would pass near the farm on his way home, we decided he'd come to my place. When I told Bo and Wayne about him and our weekend together, they insisted that I invite them over to dinner on Saturday night to meet him. I agreed, but only if they would stop at the Dutch Oven restaurant and get carry-out. They laughed and gave me a double hug, and a double grope, when I told them I didn't think I would be able to find time to cook dinner. I made another mental note to myself to stock up on high-carbohydrate snack foods and energy drinks from the health food store.

When I got home from work on Wednesday, Bo and Wayne were there with the big delivery truck from the lumberyard--oops, the Whittaker-Connelly Building Supply and Custom Furniture Co. They jumped out of the cab looking a little disheveled, after I honked when pulling into my parking space.

"Jeez, can't you guys ever just sit and talk?" I kidded them. They just grinned at me. "What's up?"

Bo walked over the back of the truck and opened the doors. "I made something for your new basement rec room," he said, "and Wayne thought we ought to bring it over before Friday." My basement rec room' consisted of a large open space that I had just finished wiring for outlets and ceiling fixtures and was in the process of enclosing with maple tongueandgroove wall paneling.

I looked into the truck and saw what looked like large, flat wooden boxes and a couple of large mattresses that looked like king-size. "What is all that?" I asked.

"It's your play pen," Wayne said. Now get the cellar door open, so we can install it." I knew better than to protest, so I let myself in the house, then opened the cellar door from inside. After about a half- hour, I saw that the boxes were part of a platform that, when assembled, was large enough for the two king-size mattresses. There was even a bookshelf-type headboard that spanned the full width of the platform.

"It looks great," I said, "but why..."

"We were getting tired of trying to sleep--and other things--in the cramped full-size bed you have in the guest room when we sleep over," Bo said. "I've been working on this for a while, but we thought we should get it set up before this Bert guy gets here."

"When he sees that," I said, "he'll think I'm planning some kind of orgy!"

They both just looked at me, and Wayne said, "So what's your point?" Then they picked up Bo's tools and headed out the cellar door. I heard them say, "See you Saturday night," as they climbed into the truck and drove away.

Chapter XI.

Friday finally arrived. I told my boss I was expecting company from out of town and begged to be allowed to leave a little early. I was out of the office, down to the garage, in my car, and on the road home by 4:10 p.m. The 5:00 news was just coming on the radio as I turned in the lane. A big semi with "Lo Bello Trucking Co." in red and green lettering on the white trailer was parked over in front of the barn. Bert was sitting on the front steps with a nylon duffel bag, and jumped up to greet me as I got out of the car. He was wearing that hot all-black outfit of sleeveless T-shirt, 501s, and engineer's boots. I got hard watching that incredible stud walk toward me.

"I thought you'd never get here," he said, giving me a big kiss and hugging the breath out of me. He was only a couple inches taller than me, and probably the same weight, but my feet were off the ground.

"Uncle! Uncle! I give!" I yelled, after pulling out of the kiss. "Let me breathe!"

He let me down, grinning sheepishly. "Sorry, it's just that I've been thinking constantly about seeing you again since last Sunday night!"

"Really?" I teased. "I'd almost forgotten about it." Then I yanked his T-shirt out of his jeans, and buried my face in that thick mat of jet- black chest hair, searching for a nipple to gnaw on, while my hands crawled over the corded muscles in his back. He grabbed my ears and pulled my mouth up to his again, this time spearing his tongue back to my tonsils.

When he finally let me go, I dropped onto the grass, catching myself on my elbows. I just sat there for a minute, looking up at him, before saying, "If I'd known you were going to get here this early, I would have given you a key."

"It's okay, baby," he said. "At the last minute I switched part of my load to another driver, so I could get done and back here before dark. I really have been dying to see you again!"

I grasped his hand, pulled him down beside me, and gently kissed him again. "You don't know how glad I am to hear you say that," I said. "I was beginning to wonder if I was crazy to feel the way I've been feeling all week."

"Maybe we're both crazy," he said. "I just can't shake the feeling that you belong to m... I mean, we belong together... oh, babe, you know what I mean!"

"I know that I think what you started to say was just what I've been thinking," I said. "It just seems as if I've found someone to really belong to, for the first time in my life. It's crazy. It shouldn't happen so fast, before I really get to know you, but everything I know about you so far, I'm crazy about!"

He kissed me again, passionately yet tenderly, then pulled back to look me in the eyes. "Do think maybe we should get up and go in the house before we give any of your neighbors who might be passing by a real show?" he asked, breaking into a little crooked grin.

"Hell, let 'em watch!" I said, pulling him over on top of me. "They just won't get a turn handling this big rig of yours!" I groped him suggestively.

After we finally got inside, the clothes came flying off and we made hard, hot, horny love for hours in the middle of the living room carpet. I waited until he fell asleep to sneak into the kitchen to eat something to keep my stomach from growling. Cum's great, but even his monster loads aren't all that filling. After I ate, I lay back down on the carpet and curled up against his hairy chest.

When I woke up again, we were in my bed, and I was securely wrapped in his arms, spoon-style, under the sheets. He must have picked me up and carried me to bed without awakening me. He was still asleep, so I just lay there without moving for a while. Most of him was asleep, that is. One part was obviously very much awake, and it was firmly nestled between my buns, sliding slightly up and down my crack in time with his regular breathing. It felt good. I began to wonder what it would feel like to have it sliding in and out...

Chapter XII.

I did manage to get him back into his clothes long enough to drag him around town for a quick tour of my old stomping grounds and a stock-up trip to the Party Place drive-thru for a couple of cases of beer. I thought about stopping when we drove through the state park, but decided against it. It was broad daylight, there were bunches of picnickers with kids around, and we had to get back to the farm before Wayne and Bo arrived with dinner.

I had told Bert all about them, and about my experiences with each of them separately and both together, He said something kind of noncommittal, so I wondered if they'd get along. I hadn't yet taken him down to the basement to see the play pen.' I thought I would just let things go their own way after the three of them got to know each other over dinner. I was torn two ways--I really wanted Wayne and Bo to see my prize, but I was also feeling a little possessive of Bert's wonder bar,' and had no idea if he'd want to share it or me.

Wayne and Bo showed up around 6:00 p.m. with the best of our local eatery's take-out menu: the famous deep-dish steak pie, farmer's salad, and shoo-fly pie. They also brought two gallons of hearty red wine from the Kent Vineyards, just down the road from the farm. Wayne made a point of announcing that the boys were staying overnight with his sister, so they didn't need to rush off right after supper. I gave him a dirty look. He just nodded toward Bert and gave me the OK' sign. Neither Bert nor Bo took notice--they were too busy checking each other out, like two dominant male dogs, circling and sniffing. At least they weren't growling.

One of the Dutch Oven steak pies was supposed to feed four people, but Bo and Wayne wisely bought three. About two hours later, three steak pies, two quarts of salad, two shoo-fly pies, and about a gallon and a half of wine were gone for good.

Bert groaned and got up from the table, walking over between Wayne and Bo. Leaning down, he gave each of them a peck on the lips. "Great chow, guys! I wish I had a restaurant like that near my place," he said, standing back up, stretching, and making a show of popping the top button on this jeans.

Bo said, "Well, you could move up here. Then you'd be able to hit the Oven whenever you wanted."

I fired off another evil stare, although I was grateful as hell someone else brought it up.

Bert just went, "Mmm, that's a thought," and started gathering up dirty dishes to take into the kitchen.

I jumped up and grabbed his armload. "No, you and Wayne go in and get comfortable in the living room. Bo can help me clean up," I said, squeezing Bo's shoulder firmly enough to make him wince.

As soon as we'd carried all the dishes into the kitchen, Bo helped me load up the dishwasher. "So...?" I asked.

"So... what?" he mimicked, then shifted to a southern-belle drawl. "Oh, you mean the gentleman caller?" Bo looked so macho, but he could be a real queen at times.

"Yes, Bitch!" I said. "What do you think?"

He tried to keep from grinning. "Well, I don't know... Except for a brief comparison of notes in the bathroom before we ate, Wayne and I haven't had a chance to agree on an official response to that question."

I picked up the wine jug. "Cut the crap, or I'll shove this up your ass, you Irish slut," I threatened in mock exasperation. "Tell me!"

He looked at the jug, mouthed, "Oooh!" then gave me a big hug and said, "We think he's great, Jack." Then he backed off a few steps, added, "But we reserve final judgment until we can see the Bert- mobile... in action." He dashed toward the living room, with me in full pursuit, swinging the empty jug. Through my mock rage and Bo's laughter, I noticed that Bert and Wayne stopped talking as soon as we came through the doorway.

We settled into a quiet round of conversation, just the usual "who do you know," "where have you been," and "when was your first time" kind of stuff. Bo reminisced about being seduced by his big brother-- literally: 6'7" to Bo's 6'4", and nine and a half inches to Bo's eight and a half. He admitted that's how he learned to love versatile sex, but especially to love being fucked by someone who knew all the right moves. I looked at Bert, who seemed to be entranced by the horny tale.

Then Bert launched into his saga of walking in on Uncle Albie while he was photographing two naked studs fucking. Albie was nude himself and sporting an 11" steelie. Bert was then just 14, and he was so entranced by the spectacle and so hot that he automatically dropped his sweats and started stroking his big uncut sausage. He didn't resist at all when Albie caught him from behind, dragged him over to the mattress, and dumped him on top of the fucking jocks, who simply incorporated his cock, mouth, and ass into their sex play. After snapping off a few more pictures, Albie joined them, pulling one jock over onto his belly and plunging his huge meat into the stud's ass, while signaling Bert to mount the other guy, who was already well-fucked. That was just the beginning of a long series of adventures, in which Bert learned that he could get almost anyone he wanted by waving his big uncut rod at them. He grabbed his crotch for emphasis, and Bo practically moaned.

Wayne gave Bo a strange wink, then said, "I guess it's my turn. And Jack's, since we started together." He grinned. "We're not talking monster meat here, either. But we always say, It's not what you've got, but how you use it,' right, Jack?"

I just scooted down and leaned a little closer to Bert, who gave my shoulders a quick squeeze and said, "I'll say!" I can't believe I blushed again!

Wayne continued, "I was 12 and Jack was 11. I thought I was normal' until Jack sucked my cock the first time. Then I figured I was bi until he set Bo and me up for our first little orgy." He very deliberately slid his hand onto Bo's bulging crotch. "Now I know what sex was meant to be," he said, leaning into Bo's face for a kiss.

Breaking the kiss after a minute, Bo piped up, "Speaking of orgies, Jack, have you shown Bert your new play pen yet?" I glared again.

Bert poked me. "What play pen? You mean there's someplace other than the carpet here, your cramped little bed, and the bathtub where we could have been doing it? C'mon, show me!" he said.

"I just haven't had time to give you the full tour," I said, instantly regretting using that phrase.

Bo jumped on it: "No tour? No guided tour? You're in trouble, Jack. You may be in danger of losing your tour guide license--I recommend refresher training, right now!" All three of them were already up, Bert dragging me up with him as Bo and Wayne led the way to the basement door.

"Now this is great!" Bert said, as he surveyed the sea of mattress covered with the huge sheet' of waterproofed sailcloth Bo had stitched together as heavy-duty bedding. "But it looks as if it hasn't been used. What do you say, Wayne? You wanna help us baptize this sex crib?"

Bert then yanked his muscle shirt over his head, while Wayne ripped open Bo's denim shirt. All I could see was hairy chests, black, curly- haired, muscular chests. All I could think was "Heaven!" It was a blur from then on.

A heavy weight on my naked chest and a monstrous one-eyed snake springing at my face finally got my attention. Bert was straddling me and coaxing his throbbing big fucker between my lips and down my throat. I looked over to the side, at least as far as my eyes would turn with my skull impaled on a rigid pole. Bo was on his back, with Wayne on hands and knees and three-fourths of Bo's cock down his throat. Both, however, were looking at me, or rather at what little was left exposed of Bert's whopper, and giving me an enthusiastic thumbs-up. I shifted attention to the matter at hand, or in mouth, whatever, when Bert's raven-black pubes pressed against my nose.

Things got busy for me for a while. Then, when Bert took a short pause from deep-dicking my face, I heard someone say, "Look at that! He's shooting again!" Then I felt three hands spreading cum over my groin and belly up to the point where Bert's muscular buns covered my chest. That helped trigger a huge shudder through my whole body that got Bert moving again. He leaned up into that now- familiar push-up position and started driving his big rig in and out, in and out, faster and faster, until he tensed and exploded with his first blast of the evening. Maybe just to show off, he pulled out to let most of his load cover my face, instead of releasing it deep inside me as he usually did.

I heard another audible moan from Bo, who said, in his queeniest shriek, "I've just gotta sit on that big thing!" I'd heard that before! Bert collapsed laughing, his cock drilling right back down my throat and his cum pasting my face to his rock-hard, fur-covered abs. I had to bench-press him up and slide out from under him, so I could catch a breath.

After a short rest, a couple of warm wet towels for clean-up, and a chance for four still-plump cocks to return to a relatively relaxed state, Wayne said, "Well, Jack, would you mind if Bo tries out your boyfriend's toy? He's so loose, I can't seem to do him much good anymore..." Bo harrumphed and slapped Wayne's firm, pale ass. "Besides, I want to show you what I've learned," he added, rolling onto his back and lifting his legs into the air, exposing his wrinkled pink hole, encircled by a fine down of carrot-red hair.

It dawned on me that I couldn't remember ever seeing Wayne's ass spread like that. I'd never even thought of him as fuckable, but suddenly my cock sprang to life and I was crouched between his stocky thighs ready to do a little drilling of my own.

Bo harrumphed again and said, "We'll take that as a yes.'" Bert was pounding the mattress in hysterical laughter, at least until Bo rolled him over on his back, gave that big dick a couple of rapid, spit- soaked slides, and climbed over Bert to center his eager rosebud over Bert's thorny prick. The next sound out of Bo's mouth, if I'd been paying attention, would have reminded me of the last time I helped Dad breed one of our heifers for the first time to our bull, ol' Babe Ruth. I guessed Bert must have been in Babe's class as a batsman.

I was pumping away, in no hurry to get off and have to abandon the sweet, tight sensation of fucking a practically virgin ass. I noticed that Bo was doing all the work, bouncing up and down on Bert's stalk, and Bert, surprisingly, was letting Bo be the aggressor, bottom-on- top. Then I noticed that Bert and Wayne exchanged a conspiratorial grin before scooting over, so their faces were together, and starting a tongue-duel. Then Wayne started squeezing and relaxing his sphincter, and I was a goner. My third load of the evening was only the third ever to land in Wayne's ass, or so he told me later. A minute later I heard Bert's familiar growly whimpers, and I knew Bo was getting a heavy load, probably deeper than anyone had ever gone before.

We all collapsed in an interlocking pile of sweaty flesh. No one moved for quite a while. Then I felt Wayne's cock twitching under my belly, and Bo's start to grow up under the arm I had jammed between him and Bert. Judging from Bo's vocalizations, I figured Bert's big'un was rejuvenating as well.

Then Wayne said, "And now for something completely different... Same partners, switch places!"

It took a minute for that to sink in, and by then it was too later. I had been rolled over on my back, my calves hiked up on Wayne's shoulders while he grabbed a tube of KY and squeezed about half of it into my asshole. Bert and Bo were on either side of me, keeping me from squirming away from Wayne's ministrations. He had worked one finger in me, and was prodding alongside it with the second.

"Relax, Jack!" he said, grinning evilly. "We just decided it was time for you to learn how to take it up the ass. I finally did, just this week, and I'm going to show you how we did it... except, in my case, I started with a small dildo. Out of this crew, I was elected both substitute small dildo and basic training coach."

"You rats!" I yelled. "You planned this all along!"

Bert leaned down to whisper in my ear. "Guilty," he said. "After you told me about Bo and Wayne, I stopped in town at the lumberyard to introduce myself on the way up north on my last delivery. These two guys didn't bother with modesty. They wanted every detail of our last two, uh, dates, and whether I'd been able to make any inroads on that cherry ass of yours."

He kissed me. "I told them no, but I was going to show you how good it can be, if it killed us both. Naturally, they volunteered to help with the lessons. Wayne goes first, dammit, but after he gets done, you'll know why I tricked you this way."

I would have said something nasty right then, but that was when Wayne popped the thick head of his past my sphincter, and I screamed at the tearing pain. Bert kissed me again to keep me quiet, and Bo whispered, "Push out, Jack. Try to squeeze him out of you." I did, but it had just the opposite effect. Wayne suddenly slipped in all the way to his balls. I gasped and sucked half the air out of Bert's lungs. Wayne held still for at least a minute, and I started really trying to follow Bo's next advice, to relax and work my sphincter muscles. Once I did, the pain subsided, and I just felt full. Almost automatically, my muscles tried to squeeze Wayne's dick out again, and he let himself be forced out an inch or two, then slowly pushed all the way back in.

I was just starting to think that I might survive this invasion, when Bert and Bo each started chewing on a nipple. Bo stroked my cock, which surprisingly was back at full stiffness, while Bert rolled my big balls around in his hand, occasionally giving them a sharp squeeze, which made me jump. Every time my body spasmed like that, Wayne quickly pulled out to the rim of his cockhead, and plunged back in again, squishing my prostate each time. He started to pick up the pace, and the other two got rougher and more passionate. I just let myself succumb to the total assault of all those mind-warping sensations, and I heard someone half-moaning, half-screaming in a machine-gun effect. At first, I thought it was someone else, but I realized it was my voice. I didn't care, because I was rising, aching, thrilling, losing it, loving it, going mad and hot and wet... Wet?

It was load number four, and it was a doozie! When I finally calmed down enough to open my eyes, I saw three big smiles on three ruggedly handsome faces, each one of them wiping a dripping wad of my wide-sprayed cum off some part of his face or body. Bert leaned over to dip his tongue in the slimy pool on my belly, and Bo kissed me on the forehead, saying, "Ready for lesson number two?"

"Could I go to the bathroom first?" I asked in a gasping whisper. I wasn't really trying to be funny, but they seemed to think I was.

To make a long story short, Bo was his usual confident but considerate sex mentor for me, cranking my education up a notch. The guy who taught me to deep-throat showed me three more positions, which we got into without his ever taking his cock completely out of my ass. He also fucked me into two more heavy orgasms.

After another bathroom break, it was Bert's turn and I guessed I was a confirmed lover of big dick up the ass. I thought, "Is that all it takes to break a cherry? I should have gotten right back in the saddle the first time I fell off that horse with Wayne all those years ago. Think what I've been missing!"

Bert rolled me onto my belly, pulled me over to the edge of the platform bed, let my feet drop to the floor. He stood behind me and positioned the skinned-back head of his cock at my still slightly gaping hole. Wayne and Bo moved around where they could see my asshole's introduction to my lover's mammoth meat. As he leaned over to whisper in my ear, I felt it push in almost half-way, spreading me wide open. As relaxed as I was, there was still no doubt that I'd saved the biggest for last. Bert nibbled at my earlobe and said, "Ready to be fucked a la Bert? Once I get my big rig through your back door, you'll never want me to pull it out again."

I hissed at him, "You conceited son of a bitch! We'll see, after you fuck me. Just get on with it!"

And he did. And he did. And he did.

I woke up from what seemed like an amazing dream, with my head hanging over the other side of the double-king-size platform from where we started, when I heard the jungle call that announced Bert's climax. He collapsed on top of me, still fully inserted. I could feel the last spasms of his ejaculation deep, deep inside me. After a minute, he started to withdraw, but I clamped down hard to hold him in me. He chuckled breathily and said, "See? I told you so."

I looked around and saw several wet spots on the mattress cover that marked where I'd cum on the path we'd traveled as he fucked me across the full width of the platform. I suddenly noticed also that Wayne and Bo were gone. "So where did your co-conspirators go?"

He laughed, "Oh, they went home as soon as I hit bottom. Didn't you hear them say good-bye and tell you congratulations?"

"Congratulations? For what?" I asked.

"For finally hooking up with the right man for the rest of your life..."

My smart mouth failed me then, and I must have gotten something in my eye, too. Bert squeezed me hard, and I must have squeezed back, because I felt something swelling up in my guts.

After-words...

It's been 25 years. Bert turned the daily management of the trucking company over to his manager, Curtis (he was the smooth young black dude in the photo album), and moved both his personal and business headquarters to the farm. But he stopped taking interstate delivery jobs from then on, because local deliveries wouldn't keep him away from home overnight.

I quit the state job and went to work for Wayne and Bo as VP- treasurer of the growing Whittaker-Connelly corporate empire: building supplies, furniture, service station/convenience marts, laundromats, and a great little restaurant-catering business called the Dutch Oven. Both of them have been named Kent County Businessperson of the Year, separately or together, on four different occasions. I guess Wayne was a lot smarter than he'd let on while we were in school.

Actually, my job title was irrelevant. Wayne and Bo ran, and still run, their businesses like a family. They listen to good ideas, reward hard work, and entertain a lot of their employees at their home (especially the single male ones!). Not surprisingly, Wayne's son, Jackie, the one who liked to sit on Bo's lap even after he was well into his teens, turned out to be as hot for mansex as his father and his Bo-Daddily. Jackie and his lover, Matthew, run the Dutch Oven now, and the food's better than ever.

Jackie's brother, Will, is as straight as his brother is gay, married to his high school sweetheart and the father of all five of Wayne's grandkids. (Not to say that Will didn't experiment with Jackie and some of us older folks now and then, just to be sure that marriage to Hannah was the right step for him.) His wife and kids are great. They come to the farm a lot to swim in our Olympic-size pool or skateboard on the ramp to the bank barn. Little Jackie II, the youngest and cutest boy, is really a touchy-feely little guy, approaching puberty and getting to be quite a flirt...

Speaking of family, I finally did meet Bert's Uncle Albie. A couple of weekends after we inaugurated the playpen, I was lying back with my legs over Bert's shoulders, his big cock still pulsing in my ass, and reveling in the afterglow of another super fuck by Superdick. I said, "I wish you were twins. I'd like to get that big dick from both ends at the same time."

He pulled out so fast I thought he'd turn me inside out, crawled over to the phone, and dialed a long-distance number. I heard him say, "Hey! It's Bert. Do you want to drive up tomorrow and meet Jack? I mean really meat him... Great! See you then." He grinned at me. "Tomorrow night, your wish comes true: Lo Bello monster meat down your throat and up your ass at the same time!" That was a visit to remember, and just the first of many great times!

When Uncle Albie died last year, he was 85. It was just three weeks after his last visit--and yes, we did! Albie left all of his photographic prints and negatives to Bert. Jackie and Matt are helping us post some of the less personal ones on our private Internet site. Jackie said he was getting a digital camera, so we could add a more recent gallery of shots of some of our extended family. He even thought a shot of Bert and me in action, mid-thrust, would be a big hit in the alt.* newsgroups.

And I commissioned the art professor at our local community college, a friend of the family,' to do a portrait of Bert in his late 20s from one of Albie's R-rated nude studies. He keeps saying he needs to see Bert naked so he can get the flesh-tone variations right in the painting. The finished work will be displayed down in our playpen for all intimate visitors to see and admire. I still marvel at the real thing, a man who is now almost 30 years older than the young stud in the photo, and I always will. I'm giving him the portrait for our 25th anniversary, but it's really for me. I never want to forget the way that cocky (yes!), kind, virile, taut-muscled, hairy young Italian stud who parked his big rig at my place, and took ownership of my body, my mind, and my heart! (And I already know what I'm getting from him for our anniversary. It really does get better with age!)

(THE END... ?)

(As usual, good words of encouragement or praise, lewd and salacious proposals, and even nude photos of yourself will be graciously received at [new address] jwhstloo@ix.netcom.com)

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