Ranger Roy In The Shadows: Installment 1
by Dave Krenshaw: davekrenshaw@yahoo.com
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This story is entirely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents portrayed in such work are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, that you yourself have knowledge of is entirely coincidental. All comments as to this story are greatly appreciated: Please send the same to me at: davekrenshaw@yahoo.com (Please put the title of this story in the subject line of your email, so that I will know that your email is not any type of commercial solicitation); and please be sure to state in your email if a reply from me is welcome.
Sharp End Crag is a serene state park nestled in the heart of West Virginia in a rural area overlooking verdant hills and amber wheat fields. It is a place where tourists and locals equally flock to in order to escape the mundane and reduce the stress of everyday life. This summer is pretty much the same as all prior summers there, with a few notable exceptions: One is that this is the first summer that the park is hosting a national hotel managers' convention retreat for an all-male national hotel managers association. Another is that this is the first summer that a gay pride fundraising crafts sale event is taking place in the pavillion area of the park every weekend throughout the summer.
The final exception, saving the best for last, is that a rookie, first-time on duty, at least in Sharp End Crag, has been assigned to the park by the state agency office as a seasonal and potential year-round replacement for one of the regulars. This man, an honored military veteran now in his mid-forties and originally from New Haven, Connecticut, is definitely not the type to mess around with. His birth name being Roy Vincent Saunders, Jr., he is simply referred to by colleagues and even a few close relations as "Ranger Roy".
Ranger Roy is six-feet-two with a solid and slightly muscular build including nicely-defined pacs. With auburn hair and hazel eyes, he has a stately imposing appearance and a bit of a belly from chugging down a brew or two now and then. In general, he is in pretty decent form, with a moderately hairy body and a treasure trail of hair that reaches down to below his waist. He rarely ever takes off his tailored shirt while on-duty, but often leaves several of the top buttons unbuttoned, exposing his matted chest hair slightly tinged with gray. He has a neatly trimmed moustache, thin in width, and other than short bushy sideburns, nothing else distracting from his slightly-tanned complexion, except of course his pretty hot body. He is never seen on duty without his trusty park ranger hat on: The hat is a classic-style light beige canvas number with a real snug fit on him. His only deviation from the standard ranger uniform are his boots, which are leather and honey-brown in color as required but more cowboy-western-style in design and strikingly adorned with metal studs highlighting the upper parts of the same. His pants are a loose fit and match his tan short-sleeved shirt and button-down-the-front vest, the latter adorned with his park ranger's badge and his official identification badge.
Anyhow, fast forward to the third weekend in July; and all in Sharp End Crag is in full swing, with families with young children scurrying about in the daytime in a vain attempt to catch a breeze or two during the nature hikes and noontime picnics in one end of the park; and the gay pride crafts sale going on in another end of the same. One of the highlights of the pride sale is a table filled with mosaic-tile-decorated jewelry boxes made with popsicle sticks by a young man in his early twenties with a slim build, crew-cut light-blonde hair, blue eyes, and a sheepish grin: No more than five-feet-eight-inches in height, he has a low-key presence while diligently manning his table, but, at the same time, has this charismatic quality that somehow draws one in like a magnetic suction force: His name is Wayne.
Nothing unusual was going on at the sale, but, coincidentally, just as Wayne was about to go on his break, Ranger Roy stopped by and asked him a question about one of the boxes prominently on display in the center of the table. It was then that Wayne made eye contact with Ranger Roy; and though he had vaguely recalled the same strutting about the park in uniform at least once or twice during a previous weekend, for reasons the former could definitely not explain it felt like he was seeing the ranger for the very first time. Park Ranger Roy ended the exchange by giving Wayne a firm handshake, and, when the latter stammered in trying to get out his words of farewell, he followed the same with a hugh smile and a discreet wink.
Soon enough, it was nighttime and the chaos and celebrating during the day a distant memory. In a semi-secluded area of the park, the members of the hotel managers' convention were camping out in the majestic outdoors and busily setting up their sleeping bags and dousing their barbecue grills with water. You could not hear much of anything within earshot, other than a few whispered exchanges barely audible, the hooting of owls, and a slight whistling sound from the breezes permeating the confines of overhanging tree branches. There were about a dozen of these men, all with average to husky builds, and all discreetly bisexual and ostensibly happily-married family guys. The sounds of the sleeping bags being unzipped mingled with the sounds of the passing breezes; and, suddenly, seeming out of nowhere, Wayne showed up, dressed in a tight tank and Levis that did not leave a whole lot to the imagination. Nonchalantly, the hotel managers stripped, shucking aside their shorts and tee shirts, till they were all standing around in white tight boxer briefs. All of them were smiling at Wayne, who stared at them admiringly and more than a bit nervously. One of the managers, a stocky man of average height and with well-defined pecs and a very hairy body gave Wayne a reassuring nod. In just a matter of moments, Wayne got out of his clothes, chucking the same on a nearby folding chair. The men from the convention pulled down their boxer briefs, virtually in unison.
"Jake, did you just hear something?!", one of the convention participants barked out to his neighbor.
"Relax, Bob, it probably was just the wind, or your imagination has got the best of you, as usual."
Quietly, or so he was trying to be, and lurking in the shadows, taking in all with great pleasure and amusement was none other than Ranger Roy himself. Distracted, he had just dropped a bottle of beer from his grasp; and this of course was what Bob apparently just heard.
Though he was pretty sure that he was not in view, he ducked down a bit behind the obscuring bush as a precaution. He was vicariously really enjoying all so far and greatly looking forward to what was to come. He just prayed that his mishap of sorts had not spooked the group too much to continue with their activity. A moment or two passed; and to his relief, he quickly gathered that the group was once again in full-swing. He watched the men encircle Wayne, who went over to one of the men, the tallest of the convention members, dropped down to his knees, and took a meaty thick six-inch cock in his mouth and began sucking him off to completion with the fervor and finesse of a real pro.
Ranger Roy unzipped his fly hastily, lowered the waistband of his loose plaid boxers, and began to stroke his thick seven-inch cut cock with a pinkish mushroom head. Each of his strokes was carefully synchronized with each of Wayne's bobs of his mouth going up and down the full length of the other man's cock. It was almost too good to be true, as Wayne went on to each of the remaining eleven participants; and sucked each of them off, swallowing in total a complete twelve loads of the thickest cum imaginable.
Ranger Roy was close, real close. He thought, at first, that he might not go all the way this time, as he did not particularly like the mess involved. Yet, when Wayne, after finishing up with number twelve, slipped into the sleeping bag of the hungest convention member; and began to moan in ecstasy as the same began to hump him and make love to him, Ranger Roy was pushed over the edge: With his chest heaving and his breath panting, he released three consecutive loads of cum spurting from his huge bull-sized low-hanging jewels: He was in heaven, truly, and eagerly awaited the next time he would have a feast for the eyes.