LONG ROD
I shouldn't gripe. Here I was, three years out of college and doing well. I landed what sounded like a crummy job selling used farm equipment and had steady promotions so I was now sales manager for three states: Ohio, Pennsylvania and West Virginia. Making a good buck. It involved a lot of travel supervising salesmen with problems, handling unusually large deals, difficult customers etc. Travel was no problem for a bachelor but gays tended to move to much bigger cities than the usual little Midwest farming towns. I had to be in the main office in Chicago about once a month and there was a lot of action there but it was a long haul to get my rocks off. So I was a constantly horny homo. One nice perk was that I had discovered lots of great untrammeled trout streams in my country travels and my second joy after sucking cocks was fly fishing. I kept my fishing gear in the back of my SUV along with a small tent and a generous cooler box and a one burner little propane stove.
The best fishing was early in the morning and late in the day before the light ran out and on weekends sometimes I would set up camp in the afternoon, fish in the evening and again in the early morning. This was one such weekend and I had been fishing in the morning of an unusually hot August day. It gets real toasty in chest high waders and by eleven O:Clock I was sweaty and thirsty. I cracked open a beer, drank half of it getting my gear off and got my sweaty bod into the nice cool stream with a bar of soap. I soaped up my cock more than it needed - it felt damn good and as usual it had been a long time between sex except except by my own hand, and I had a woodie on. Then around the downstream bend about thirty feet away appeared another fly fisherman! I grabbed a towel but I had a real tent showing.
The fisherman said, "My name's Tim Duncan, I'm roasting and I'll give you my life savings if you have another cold beer for me." I introduced myself, invited him ashore and went to the tent for another beer. He was a nice looking guy, early thirties, maybe six inches shorter than my six foot six. My gaydar was ringing full blast. He was getting out of his waders and all he had on was socks, a polo shirt and a pair of boxer shorts with a large tent in them. He looked at my protuberant towel and said, "It looks like we may share more interests than fishing and cold beer. What are the odds that I would come upon a member of "the family" on an otherwise empty stream?"
"One in twenty, if you believe the polling statistics, which I don't," I said.
"Me either. Some guys lie and some aren't even aware they're gay or at least they won't accept the possibility," he said. "I don't know you well enough to ask this, but how big is that thing?" he said, staring at my towel. I told him nine inches and a bit, but I hadn't measured it in years. "You've got me beat by about an inch. Could I see it?" I answered by taking off my towel. "Wow, I wasn't inclined to believe you but it looks longer than nine inches to me." Without my asking he shed his boxers and a lovely uncut boner rising about forty five degrees from the horizontal greeted my eyes. I told him I thought that thing would be a lovely dessert after my beer. "You may eat dessert if you put that long schlong up my butt first," he said.
I chugged my beer while I went to the tent and retrieved my ever available rubbers and lube. He wanted to be on his knees but I wanted him on top so I could watch his cock. He complied, lubed me up and climbed on. He'd had some experience because I entered him with not much resistance. He settled down, took me all in and said, "I've never felt so completely fucked. You've got me spoiled already." He went up and down slowly and obviously wanted the pleasure to last. He tightened his sphincter and I said, "That feels entirely too good but relax 'cause I don't want to cum yet." His organ was leaking now and I reached up, wiped off the precum and then licked my finger. Would I ever taste precum that wasn't delicious?
"Don't cum in me, please. When you're ready to pop I'll lift off and jack you off. I know it's kinky, but I dearly love to watch a cock squirt," he said. I didn't reply but who doesn't like to watch a guy shoot? That's why the porn industry calls it "the money shot." I didn't last much longer before I told him the time was nigh and he climbed off and gently stroked my impossibly swollen dick.
"Oh God, I just love this feeling when I'm on the edge. So close. So close now.... o, oo, Oh, OH YESSS!" The first spurt went almost to my chin and he let go of my boner. We both stared as it jerked up and down and the splooge squirted out on my chest and belly. When I stopped squirting and only a thin stream of dishwater thin cum leaked down my cock he bent down and licked it off.
"Heroic! I counted nine shots. You must have been saving up for awhile," he said. "But enough of this palaver, my dick is aching for release so how about it?" We changed positions, he got on his back and I bent over his leaky woodie. It was so hard his foreskin was mostly retracted and his cockhead was beet red. He tasted sort of spunky. Different than my recollection of the couple of uncut peckers I had sucked before. Maybe because of the waders and his sweat, but I liked it. I fondled his balls while I sucked. Nice big firm ones and I was careful not to hurt him and spoil the day. I quit long enough to do as he had requested and let me know when his orgasm was imminent so I could watch him unload.
He was talking the whole time, telling me how good it felt. He wanted me to swirl my tongue around his rod and I had done that before but when he asked me to wag my head around so his organ would bang around in my mouth that was a new one for me. In a minute or so his voice changed pitch to a higher note and soon after he told me he was "on the edge" so I lifted my head off and began to just tickle the underside of his pecker head.
"Oh yeah. As the Rabbi said, it won't be long now....," he said
TO BE CONTINUED