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.
Please consider supporting Nifty so we can continue to have this great resource of stories to enjoy for a long time to cum! ;-)
-DurtyRiter
Chapter 11: Hayloft
I could tell you guys that I went back to my dorm that night and stewed for hours and hours about the revelation that I was a "homo" (that's what me and my brother always called the guys we knew or thought were gay). I could say I went into a deep depression over the discovery of my sexual nature.
Or I could tell the truth.
Sure, I spent some time thinking about the strangeness of it all. I went to the library and found all the books I could on "deviant" sex. I set up an appointment to talk to a counselor, and then chickened out. I took some long walks and did a lot of soul-searching.
But the point is, I didn't plunge into a crisis or anything. Somehow, the way things had happened at the quarry spared me that. It had been so "innocent." Lying there with Zack and having him do me like he did now seemed the most natural thing in the world. How else would you want to spend an afternoon out in the country?
I knew there was more, much more, to male sex (especially after what I read in the library) and I was eager to get on with it. Trouble was, I couldn't locate Zack.
I went back to the quarry a few times and he wasn't there. The place was eerily quiet.
Zack hadn't told me his last name and I hadn't thought to ask. I hadn't gotten a phone number or address from him. We just hadn't exchanged that kind of information. Which, I guess, was part of the innocence of it all.
Soon it was October. I wanted so badly to find Zack -- to pick up where we'd left off. Sure, there were other guys around. By now I was rushing Beta Kappa Alpha, and there seemed to be upperclassmen there who were very interested in me, more than just as a new pledge.
But Zack was special. I needed to find him.
Finally it dawned on me to go around to local high schools and ask to see their yearbooks for the previous year. After a couple disappointments, I found him. In suit and tie, he smiled out at me from the corner of a big senior class photograph.
Zachary Wainwright.
I immediately checked the local phone directory and found a single Wainwright listing. I jotted down the phone number and address.
This next part you guys won't believe, knowing me like you do. I got cold feet. I just couldn't make the call. I kept picking up the receiver, punching the first six numbers, and then hanging up --just like in high school when I'd call a girl for a date.
The funny part is, I was a college sophomore and Zack was a recent high school graduate. Yet somehow he had an edge on me. I guess it was the fact that he knew himself better than I knew myself. He was comfortable with himself, with his body. With male sex.
I knew I'd never be able to make the call; the phone spooked me. I would just have to trek out to where Zack lived and hope he was home. So, on one of the last warm afternoons in October I headed out of town, wearing only a T-shirt, jeans, and sneaks.
Five miles of walking never went faster than it did that day. I felt a growing excitement about seeing Zack again. I pictured him in my mind as he had looked in the water and on the towel that day we had been together. I imagined doing things with him, new things, forbidden things.
When I reached RR 2, Box 43, I found a modest farmhouse, its paint peeling, with a small barn out back. My heart pounded in my chest as I knocked on the door. No answer. I tried again. Nothing. I panicked at the thought that I might have the wrong address or that Zack might have moved away, or that something -- anything -- might prevent me from seeing him today.
"Well, I'll be."
Coming around the side yard to the front of the house, it was him. Stripped to the waist, wearing a beat-up old pair of jeans with big tears in the knees and a split up the crotch. Plus a pair of work boots.
"Zack!"
We approached each other and then just stood, a couple feet apart. I wanted to embrace Zack like a long lost brother but wasn't sure how he'd take that.
"Where've you been?" I asked."
What do you mean?"
"I went to the quarry. You weren't there."
He smiled.
"Sorry I couldn't get out there. My dad kept finding jobs for me to do around here on the weekends. Like today. I've got to move about a hundred bales of hay in the barn, to make room for a hundred more coming in."
"No one answered the door. Is your family away?"
"Yeah. My folks drove down to St. Johnsbury to visit my grandmother. They won't be back till tomorrow."
"Zack."
His big eyebrows went up.
"I . . . missed seeing you."
"Missed you, too, Jesse. I called the Tuxhill operator and asked for your phone number but she said there wasn't anybody named Jesse going to Tuxhill."
"Yeah, that's because Jesse is my middle name."
Zack invited me inside for a Coke. As he showed me around the house, we kept looking each other over, kept accidentally brushing against each other, felt the heat rising between us. In the narrow hallway that led to the back porch, I came so close to Zack I could smell his sweat, feel the heat from his back.
"Come on out here," he said, leading me out to the barn. "Maybe we can work together and finish the job a lot faster. I mean, if you want to help."
"Yeah, sure," I said quickly, falling in behind him, gazing at the fine, squared shoulders, the rippling muscles of his back, the trim buns under faded denim.
"It's hot out here, even with the barn doors and windows wide open," he said. "You'll want to take off your shirt."
We walked into the barn. The first thing noticed was the heady smell of leather, machine oil, and fresh hay. Male smells, in a male place. And just a few feet away stood Zack, hands on hips, looking at me, waiting.
I yanked off my T-shirt, baring my chiseled pecs and abs. Zack gave me a long, lingering look, his eyes taking me in, inch by inch, in a way that seemed to take possession of my whole college-boy body. Then he smiled and motioned me to follow him to the loft. I climbed up a narrow ladder behind him.
I could see how big a job it was going to be to move the hay bales, and Zack wanted to get right into it. So we began lifting and walking the bales from one side of the loft to the other. No words spoken. Just a rhythm of work there in the barn, the smells of leather, hay, and sweat mingling together.
It was only a few minutes before I was so hot and sweaty that I wished I was wearing shorts. Zack must have felt the same way; he kept wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. Whenever our eyes met, I felt a tug down in my crotch.
"God," he said at last, "so damned hot up here. Let's get out of our pants."
So we both pulled off our jeans, put our shoes back on, and went on working in just our briefs, which were sweat-soaked. The heat, the nearness of Zack, so hunky and slick, the sex energy in the air -- it all went to my head, making me dizzy with desire. My cock was starting to throb.
"Zack," I said in desperation. "Could we stop for a minute?"
He shook his head.
"Not till we're done."
Five minutes later, we were. Just then a little breeze kicked in through the open window nearby. I hauled a bale of hay away from the others and sat down on it, my legs straddling it.
Zack came over and sat down right behind me. His knees butted forward against the hacks of my knees. His hands were on my shoulders, working thumbs and fingers into the sore muscles, easing the aches and pains.
Then his mouth was on my neck. I moaned softly as he suctioned first one side then the other side of my neck. His hands came down my arms, over the biceps and down along my forearms till they dropped to my thighs.
He was right up against me. His sculpted chest pressed against my hack, warming me, mixing his sweat with mine. And down below I felt the bulge of his cock digging against my tailbone.
I was losing it.
"Oh Jesus," I moaned.
His lips were sliding across my shoulder blades. He was lapping the salt from my skin, tasting me, savoring the flavor of college-boy sweat.
His hands came up my front side to my pees and played with my nipples. I gasped at his touch. Never had I known how much sexual energy was stored in those "useless" male tits! Zack was playing me like an instrument.
He got up, laid me down on my back, dragged my jockeys off me. I lay there, face up, legs out to the side, naked on the prickly bale, waiting for whatever would come next.
He left me there for a few minutes, and all I could think of was the joy of being a male. I'd never been so proud of my body -- its muscles, its tufts of masculine hair, its scent, and its hard erection jutting up like a flagpole.
When Zack returned, he, too, was naked and hard, and in his hand he had a bottle. He read the question in my eyes.
"It's oil."
He hauled me to my feet, went behind me, pushed my legs wide apart, and worked a heavily oiled finger in to my virgin hole. When he made contact, my whole body trembled and my cock released a huge drop of pre-juice.
"Zack, you know, I haven't ever . . . "
"I know, Jesse. Just relax and let me work some oil into your cornhole."
I felt his slick finger slide inside me and it almost undid me. When a second finger entered me, I couldn't help whimpering.
"Take it easy, buddy. I'm gonna take care of you. I'm gonna open up this little hole so you can take my cock."
He stuffed more and more oil inside me. Then he walked around in front of me and told me to hold out my hands. I did. He poured oil into them.
"Get me all 1ubed."
I reached down and lathered the oil all over his hard tube of cockflesh. It looked incredibly powerful sticking up and out from his hairy bush, all shiny and pulsating.
He went behind me, nudged between my cheeks, pressed his knob right against my cherry hole, and pushed. His hands were on my hips to hold me in place as he drove forward.
"Awwww," I moaned as the head of his cock sprang past my sphincter ring. He was inside me.
"Gonna take this nice and slow, Jesse," he muttered as he held me tightly and jacked his way steadily deeper into my hole. "Gonna let you know how it feels to be filled with cock."
Inch after inch of thick cock slid inside me. I felt so tight and it kept getting tighter. I felt stuffed to the bursting point, and he just kept feeding his prick into me. About the time I thought I might pass out, he moved his hands to my belly.
"Got you crammed full now, Jesse. My balls are right up against your butt. This college boy is set to be fucked."
Lucky thing he had entered me so slowly and my ass had had time to adjust to his size, because now the pace suddenly speeded up. He started banging in and out of me like the rams I had watched back home on the farm when they mounted the ewes.
Or like the stallion I'd once seen mounted on our mare.
I was getting fucked. Just like the ewes or the mare. Fucked by a human stallion. His dick pronged in and out of me like a snake.
Zack and I were out of control now, rutting like animals in heat. Zack's hands were all over me, roaming up across my hard pecs, down across my muscled belly, and finally, grabbing my rampant cock. He began fisting it.
I was two seconds away from paradise, and then . . .
"Uhhh, ohhhhh, Zack, I'm, I'm, I'm cummmiinnnggg!!"
My hot spunk shot through the air. Zack copped what he could of it and rubbed it all over my pecs as he plunged deeper than ever into my ass, until finally, explosively --
He came. Threw his whole body into a long, last thrust into my once-virgin ass and blasted it full of cum.
I stayed all night with Zack and he fucked me two more times. By early the next morning I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to walk again.
He must have known how sore my butt was getting. With a sheepish grin, he offered to drive me back to campus.