Disclaimer: This is an Adam's Gay Reader pulp story (#239) written by Derek Olson. There is no copyright on it, so I wanted to share it with others before it gets lost forever. This story includes sex between adult males. If this is unappealing or illegal in your location, please do not read this story.
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-DurtyRiter
Chapter 10: Zack
(Hobie had finished his story but the other Betas wanted to know what had happened to Kevin. "We're still spending a lot of time together," said Hobie with a grin. "We're going on a camping trip out west right after graduation -- compliments of my trust fund." That brought groans of envy. Jesse sat quietly, knowing it was his turn to tell the others about his favorite freshman. Finally he began.)
I could tell you guys about Zack but you'd never believe me.
I know, I know, we all agreed to take our turn, but I mean, what's the point? You'll just say I've been smoking something.
You want me to go ahead anyway? Okay, but remember, I warned you.
You guys know I'm a local, a Vermont boy. My dad wants me to take over the family farm in a few years. I haven't had the guts to tell him, `No way, Pa!' I've seen enough dairy cattle and sap buckets to last me a lifetime already. Next week, when we're all alumni of Tuxhill College, I'm taking off for California.
Dad won't mind. My older brother can run the farm just as well as me. Dad doesn't think so. He's always telling me, Jesse, I can't rely on Tom. When I need him, he's never there." And he's right about that, but Tom'll settle down when he has to.
I knew a long time ago that I had to escape Greenville -- the milking shed, the sap-house, the hard Congregational church pews. Tuxhill College was my ticket to freedom. Dad said no son of his was going to college, but then I said, Dad, you want me to join the Navy instead? That's the choice: college or the Navy.
That got him thinking. He was afraid I'd make a career out of the military, which he didn't want. So he said: a thousand bucks a year. That was all he could pay for my college bills. I said, fine, I'll see what I can do.
Well, that same recruiter you guys met came down to Greenville High school and gave us the pitch, and somehow he sold me. It helped a lot when he mentioned there was a special scholarship fund for Vermont residents ("locals"), and I was qualified for it.
I managed to survive my first year at Tuxhill, but when I came back to start my sophomore year, I was close to quitting college. I hadn't made any close friends as a freshman. There hadn't been any romance either.
I assumed I was a normal guy. Growing up on a farm, you learn all the bodily functions, all the sex stuff, by the age of four. You figure if there's a cock between your legs, it's for fucking ass, for making babies. Any other kind of sex just isn't normal -- and no way are you anything but normal.
That's how I grew up.
But somehow things weren't clicking for me in the male-female department. I gave it a try and it didn't do anything for me. I tried not to think too much about it, tried to pretend I was just a "slow developer."
So I'm back to college for my sophomore year, wondering whether I should stay in school or quit and go enlist in the Navy, and the weather's mean and muggy. Remember the heat that year?
It's a Saturday afternoon in September. If you stay on campus, the only thing you can do is go to the football game. That doesn't interest me. I need some space. I need to figure out my life.
So I walk north out of town, toward the border. (Canada is only fifteen miles away.) It's a hot, beautiful day, the leaves are just beginning to change color, and I'm feeling all mixed up inside, kind of depressed about not having any friends, but kind of happy about having a whole afternoon to explore the countryside.
I'm also feeling horny.
I turn down a road that I know leads to an abandoned marble quarry. I've swum in that quarry a couple times before, even though the water's arctic cold. Never met anyone out there, only a deer and a few raccoons. Today I notice a path that leads around to the top of the quarry and up a gentle rise.
Pretty soon I discover another quarry hole, much smaller than the first. Since it's smaller, I figure the water may be a little warmer here.
I start peeling off my clothes. The sun feels great on my bare shoulders and chest as I toss my shirt to the ground. I glance down to admire the clean, tight swelling of my pecs, topped by ruby tits, and the sharp tapering of my belly down to my hip-hugging jeans.
There's no hair at all on my torso. That bothers me. I'd feel more masculine if I had some chest hair, like my father and brother.
I kick off my moccasins and pull down my jeans. My sinewy thighs flex in the bright sun. Now the big question: do I swim in my boxers or do I go bare naked? Horny as I'm feeling, I think, shit, why not play nature boy? There's no one within miles.
It'll be exciting to go skinny-dipping out here like Tom and I used to do back home. I feel a sex jolt just thinking about it.
So I strip to the skin.
My dick flops into the open air. It's good-sized, nicely proportioned, and of course it's underhung by a couple heavy-loaded nuts swinging low in their wrinkled pouch.
It's about thirty feet down to the water -- quite a dive -- but I'm sure the water goes down a hundred feet, minimum. Maybe two hundred feet. No danger in just plunging in.
I soar through the air, head first. Then, just as I'm about to break the surface of the water -- much, much too late -- I see it. An out jutting shelf of marble, about ten feet below the surface. It hadn't been visible from higher up because of the sun's reflection on the water.
God almighty! It takes two miracles to save me. The first miracle: I'm not killed instantly. Stunned, knocked unconscious, yes, but not killed.
Second miracle: someone is watching me and dives in to rescue me, someone strong enough to haul me up out of the frigid water.
I'm unconscious for, who knows, 15 or 20 minutes. And then, slowly, so slowly, second by second, I grapple my way back to consciousness.
Lips.
I feel sensation in my lips---on my lips. There's something . . . fleshy on them, something that feels like someone else's lips . . . and . . . Jesus H. Christ, it is! It's a guy! A guy with his mouth on my mouth, his lips on my lips!
He's giving me artificial resuscitation and he's gotta be fucking relieved to see my eyes finally pop open, even though there's shock and embarrassment in them. I'm embarrassed to find myself lying here, on a towel, naked, with another young guy hunched over me, breathing into me, making my chest swell, practically kissing me.
"Thank God," he says into my open eyes. His eyes are inches away. They're brown and large -- and curious. He has short brown hair, bushy eyebrows, thick, sensuous lips, and cheeks covered by the stubble of maybe five days' growth of beard. This is what my eyes see, but what really registers in my mind is: God, this guy is a hunk! He's the handsomest male I've ever been this close to.
My cock isn't supposed to jerk and thicken as this guy puts his hands on my body to check me out for bruises. Jesus Christ, don't get hard, Jesse! But my cock goes right ahead, lifting itself steadily toward "launch position," aiming up at the sky.
I'm still too shaken to get up or do anything to cover myself.
The guy is about my age and, incredibly, just as naked! He's got the build of a swimmer: the wide shoulders, the smooth muscles in the upper body, sinewy arms, and fine, powerful quadriceps. His entire body is deeply tanned -- something you don't see too often in upstate Vermont. There's no bikini band around his waist.
From where I lie, I can't yet see his endowment, and anyway, I shouldn't look at another guy in that place.
"Couldn't believe it when I saw you dive where you did," he says, rocking back on his haunches, at my side, drawing up his knees. We're on a sunny plateau of smooth rock just a couple feet above the water.
He puts a hand on my upper thigh as if to reassure himself that I am indeed alive.
"You okay, pal?"
I nod weakly.
So many things should be running through my head: life, death, danger, risk. But in fact, I'm only thinking about one thing: the hand on my thigh. It's just resting there. And it feels so good.
Is it the contact of his hand on my leg that makes my cock twitch and stretch toward full, vertical, lift-off position?
I'm getting scared. My hard cock scares me to death, because I don't know why it's getting so stiff. Or do I? NO! I really don't know.
My rescuer notices the condition I'm getting into.
Of course he does.
As he stares at my rigid pole his nostrils seem to flare a little and the hint of a smile plays across his face -- or am I only imagining that?
"I come out here a lot when the weather's nice," he says, still staring at my dick. "It's my private getaway spot. Never saw a Tuxhill student here before. You are from Tuxhill, aren't you?"
I find the strength to whisper yes.
"Thought so. I might be going there next year," he says.
"You're only in high school?" I ask. I can't believe he's that young.
He laughs. The motion of his body when he laughs is transmitted to his hand and from there to my thigh. I feel the vibration and so does my cock.
"Nah, I graduated last year. Just up the road. I'm taking a year off. Say, you sure made a nice recovery down here."
He's talking about my cock.
I know that's what he's talking about because he lifts his hand and sets it down again even closer to my sex tool. I can't say anything, can't even move, I'm so embarrassed. WHY AM I HARD?
"I . . . I really owe you a lot," I say, trying to change the subject. "You saved my life."
"A buddy of mine was in a diving accident once," he says in a slow drawl, brushing aside my comment. "Gave him the scare of his life. He couldn't get hard for a month. Nothing else seemed to be wrong with him, just that."
I close my eyes. Is this all a weird, weird dream?
"But then one day, we were hiking, not far from here, wearing nothing but our hiking boots, and he called to me. Said `Zack! It's happening! Thank God, it's happening.''What's happening?' I ask. 'I'm gettin' a hard-on,' he says. It was the happiest day of his life, I can tell you." We celebrated. All afternoon."
Listening to this tale only makes me harder, to the point that I'm aching to be touched.
He knows it.
He reaches for me.
I close my eyes and stop listening, stop thinking, stop breathing almost, as he puts his open palm up against the lower side of my cock and slowly rubs up and down. He's not grasping me -- only stroking the far side of my leaking dick and gently pressing against it, leaning it up toward my belly.
The pre-cum is leaking freely from the slit in my flared cockhead. It lubricates my stalk so his hand can slide up and down the length of :t almost without friction.
And that's all it takes. Zack knows that's all it will take. He sees how ready I am.
I head straight for a three-alarm climax. My body suddenly tingles and trembles from head to toe as the twitch in my groin turns into a spasm, a prolonged, gathering, rising, uncontrollable ERUPTION of spunk that shoots through the air.
Long moments pass in silence. No sounds except the hum of insects in the woods and chickadees in the woods.
"Zack?"
"Yeah."
"How'd you know?"
"Know what?"
"That I'd let you . . . do that to me."
"I didn't. But I figured if I was making a big mistake, you weren't in any shape to punch me out."
I can't help laughing.
"You're right about that. But I think somehow you knew I wouldn't mind your doing . . . what you did."
He looks at me and grins. God, those brown eyes of his do a number on me.
After a while we're both so hot that we dive back into the water. Naked young guys exploring a Vermont marble quarry, but at the same time exploring each other's bodies, using our hands and arms and legs. When we haul out onto the towel again, Zack lies down and this time his rod stands up.
It makes me hard again just to look at him. His dick is short and thick. Well, not too short, but definitely thick.
I return the favor he did me. I take his warm dick in my hand and stroke it to total hardness. Almost before I know what's happening, he shoots off.
And that's how it starts.