Ranger Roy In The Shadows: Installment 2
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. Also, please keep in mind that nothing in this story is being presented with the intent of condoning or promoting unsafe sexual practices of any kind whatsoever. 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.
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Ranger Roy truly enjoyed working at Sharp End Crag: As state parks go, the same had a quaint charm that suited him to a tee. Plus, he liked that the park was frequently full of interesting and enticing goings-on. He in fact rarely thought of New Haven, Connecticut, where he is originally from. Yet, every once in a spell something or someone from his past would resurface and make his heart pine for "the good ole days":
"Roy! You been behavin' yourself of late?," the party on the cell phone call queried.
"Lulu Mae?"
"You got that right, sugar, your Lulu is back in town!!!," she chimed.
Ranger Roy got off the phone as quickly as possible: The fact was that he and Lulu Mae had once had a hot and heavy romance of sorts, but now all there was between the two of them was a relationship of convenience with nothing in terms of sparks but still the occasional "hop in the hay". Still, he knew someday he'd have to man up and end things with her completely, as deep inside he knew what he shared with her was not really what he wanted, not at all.
It was the Labor Day holiday weekened; and the highlight of the same was this charity motorcycle event held by this all-male bikers group: As it turned out, this year's event was set up so that the last stretch of the ride was the full-length of the bicycling path right in the center of Sharp End Crag. This event culminated with one of the most popular barbecue nighttime fundraising picnics ever.
Anyhow, Ranger Roy, though he wasn't originally the one being scheduled to cover that section of the park, ended up as a result of a last-minute change being the primary one on-duty for the Sunday bikers' ride. He honestly did not know a whole lot about the bikers involved, just that most of them were guys in their late thirties and early forties and with muscular and burly builds. He liked the idea of seeing these hot masculine hairy bikers, and he had to admit that there was something about the biking itself, about these guys being out here in the rugged terrain on their flashy fancy motorcycles, that really made him feel all tingly inside and, quite frankly, all tingly especially below the waist.
It was soon enough dusk; and the charity ride, a huge success, had ended with a flair; and the subsequent barbecue was still very much in full-swing. Ranger Roy was sipping his bottle of ice-cold lemonade; and, at one point, turned around; and saw about a half-dozen bikers with hairy muscular torsos chugging down bottles of beer and laughing up a storm. One of these bikers asked him where the park gift store was. It was this question that gave Ranger Roy the idea to discreetly tail this small group of bikers.
Ranger Roy finished his burger; and drove in his official park rangers' sedan over to the gift shop. He found that biker's question about the store extremely suspicious, especially since it was posted in plain view at the park's official entrance that the gift store was only open till noon on Sundays. Plus, he vaguely remembered hearing some rumors about this secluded section of the park being popular as a hangout for mischievous teenagers.
He checked that the gift store was securely locked-up; and all alarm systems in operation. Then, he re-parked his car, so that it was completely out of view and totally obscured by a neighboring janitors' storage building and a nearby plant nursery. He sat relaxed in his vehicle, with his trusty binoculars firmly gripped and on hand; and patiently waited.
You could not hear much of anything within earshot, other than these cooing birds fluttering through some overhanging tree branches near a lake. The quiet was dirupted soon enough, however, with several groups of bikers now on the scene and having parked their motorcycles directly in front of the park gift store. These men were in their mid- to late-forties, maybe even a few in their early fifties.
"You sure this is the right one, Jerry?," one of the bikers slurred.
"Yep, sure is!," another crooned, with a big grin.
These two stumbled into the men's restroom; and did not come out until a full thirty minutes later. There were as many as twenty bikers in total that followed and went into the same restroom, usually in small groups of three or four.
Ranger Roy was keenly observing the suspicious activity with great curiosity. Then, he recalled something that he had seen recently advertised on one of these adult-content websites featuring personal ads from middle-aged males. Suddenly, something clicked; and, acting on a hunch, he decided to step things into high-gear. Granted, he knew it was a bit of a risk he was taking, yet somehow him taking such a risk just added to this feeling of excitement he had about everything. In truth, he was getting hornier by the second just thinking about everything.
He quickly grabbed two items from his glove compartment: Namely, a very authentic-looking bold-lettered "Out Of Order" sign containing the offical Sharp End Crag emblem; and his always-reliable miniature screwdriver set kit. He grabbed a roll of tape from the same compartment; and placed strips of tape securely to the four borders of the sign. Then he hightailed it out of his vehicle.
Ranger Roy made it a point once he reached the doorway to walk into the restroom as nonchalantly as possible. Once inside, as he passed by the mirror overlooking the porcelain sinks, he saw one of the bikers he recognized from outside strut out from the stall that was second-to-last in position and nearest to the wall directly opposite the entranceway. So, he hastily posted his sign to the door of the third stall after ensuring of course that such stall was unoccupied; and went inside the stall. Though he definitely stood out in his ranger uniform, fortunately for him, as best as he could ascertain, the situation was this: No one in the rest room seemed to be paying any heed to him whatsoever, not even the four bikers busily preening and primping in front of the mirror.
This restroom was designed so that both the door of each stall and the dividers separating the respective stalls were no more than one-eighth of an inch from the floor: Needless to say, this afforded all stall occupants an added bonus of privacy not found in other public restrooms. Ranger Roy, after locking his stall door, popped into the crevice one of the miniature screwdrivers, so that the door definitely would not be able to be opened from the outside. He then used another screwdriver from the set to quickly unfasten the toilet paper roll dispenser from the divider; and thereby expose two nickel-sized holes that were just perfect for what he had in mind.
He heard the neighboring stall door close shut and the sound of the latch being fastened. He sucked in his breath, and then looked through one of the holes:
This is what he observed:
One of the bikers, a white husky-build light-brown-haired dude in his early forties with a black leather jacket and dusty tight Levis on was standing facing the divider separating his stall from the first one. He unzipped his fly; and pulled down both his jeans and boxers in one crisp movement. He was already at half-mast, so to speak; and his breathing was somewhat heavy but yet sounded like it was being partially muffled by the guy trying to hold his breath in. His uncut cock was fully exposed and was about eight inches semi-hard and pretty thick with a bit of glistening slick foreskin slightly overlapping the neck of its head, it was accompanied by average-sized extremely-hairy balls that were fully consistent with the ruggedly masculine physique on display.
The biker, who sported a neatly-trimmed-beard, slipped his finger through the seven-inch-diameter-hole in the divider that he was facing and then quickly pulled back the same. He repositioned himself so that he was standing extremely close to the divider; and then plunged the full length of his manly cock into the hole. In moments, he was softly grunting and moaning in pleasure. The pleasing sucker on the other side of this glory hole was apparently going strong and with kept-up intensity for close to three minutes until a satisfied "Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!" escaped from the biker's lips.
Granted, this was not exactly his scene per se, but, nonetheless, it was becoming more and more evident to Ranger Roy that his hunch was not just on the mark but was paying off and paying off big-time at that. Plus, that twitching in his boxers was a telltale sign to him of his own growing arousal while visually feasting on all.
There were roughly fourteen other males that individually entered the second stall; and pretty much followed the routine, such as it was, of the first fellow observed. The cocks ranged from average to hung, from slightly thick to extremely thick, from cut to uncut, and from ones with tiny nuts to ones with huge and nine times out of ten low-hanging balls. The bikers were mostly white, but a few were black, oriental, or hispanic. Quite a few of them had their shirts tied around their waists.
There was one biker that really stood out from the pack: He was a stocky tanned man with a menacing-looking moustache and crewcut, roughly 250 pounds and of average height; and with a nine-inch cut cock and enourmous low-hangers. He was as hairy as a grizzly bear. He really took his time with everything; and another reason he stood out was that he got fully nude before gingerly thrusting initially just the head and a tiny bit of the shaft of his enormous manhood into the hole. He really got into it, thrusting in and partially out in repetitive movements; and with his noticeable panting increasing with each thrusting motion.
Ranger Roy was mesmerized by this last gentleman; and especially liked that he was not just hung, but had one of these fleshy and ample rears that he'd just love to get his hands on sometime. He wondered if anything could top this guy; and was wondering this when he suddenly heard a familiar-sounding voice coming from the entranceway:
"Relax, Rob, it all worked out fine, no harm done, this has to be the right one, it is the one right near the gift store."
There was a roar of laughter, though it was unclear what struck the ones laughing as funny. While Ranger Roy was attempting to piece together in his mind who this familiar-sounding voice belonged to, the door of his neighboring stall swung open once again; and this time six buffed bikers, all in their early thirties, entered together; and quickly latched the stall door so that it was securely closed. As it turned out, this stall was especially ample in size, as it was designed specifically for those physically challenged. There was no time to focus on any of that, however, especially once Ranger Roy realized that this was the group of young bikers he had encountered at the barbecue.
Yes, it was true that, ironically, Ranger Roy all along hoped that he would ecounter the bikers that were part of this particular group, but he truly was floored when he witnessed each member of the group, almost in unison, get completely nude and hang their clothes on the stall's guard-rails.
Ranger Roy was beyond simply aroused at this point: He was on Cloud Nine: He unzipped his fly and felt completely immersed in a mixture of heated lust and desire, as he speedily lowered the waistband of his loose navy and white checkered boxers, and began to stroke his thick seven-inch cut cock, giving extra attention with fingertips in between his strokes to his reddish mushroom head.
These bikers were all hung, each of them at least nine inches when fully hard; and they were all already extremely close to fully hard within moments of shucking off their clothing. It was unclear whether these young guys were a bit drunk or just plain horny as hell: In any case, they seemed to know what they were doing, as they systematically took turns plunging their cocks into the awaiting glory hole and not removing their respective cocks from the hole until each had been sucked off to completion and released what likely was an extremely huge load into the mouth of the serving cocksucker.
Ranger Roy was thinking to himself how the cocks on these young men were just sensational; and how he also greatly admired the milky-tone muscular oval-shaped nicely-smooth buns of each of these bikers: The latter reminded him of those of professional male swimmers.
It was a heavenly extra thirty minutes of ecstasy for Ranger Roy, ecstasy in every sense of the word. When this last group had finished; and departed from the restroom, that was when Ranger Roy acted the most impulsively he has done so in a long time:
He hurriedly but carefully screwed back on the toilet paper dispenser, removed the screwdriver that was nestled just under the latch to his stall; and removed his shirt, wrapping the same hastily around his waist. Then he hopped out of the stall with all of his belongings in hand and ripped off the "Out of Order" sign, folding and then inserting the same into his pants pocket.
He didn't even take a moment to scan the restroom first for onlookers, he just sped right into the glory-hole stoor and right away closed and latched its door, probably in close to record-breaking time. He unwrapped his shirt from his waist, excitedly fully exposing his manly nice-sized cock. As he, in turn, plunged his own cock through the hole, he said a silent prayer that the still-unknown guy on the other side was not at this time simply too worn out to suck just one more.
Ranger Roy in seconds felt a slippery wet tongue teasing the slit of the head of his cock; and then rolling around the neck of the head of the same. He interpreted THAT, of course, as being "in luck"; and guessed that the cocksucker must be fairly young, as most just would not have the stamina to serve as many cocks in one night. He was enjoying everything as the sucker really was getting into it and alternating hard and soft sucking all along the full length of the meaty shaft. He, in turn, did a bit of forceful pumping of his cock into the sucking cavern of the eager mouth. It occurred to him that he might want to pull out before cumming, as he was not positive that his load would not be so much that the poor sucker would choke on it.
Soon enough, it became completely apparent to Ranger Roy that doing so was no longer an option: So he released one of the hugest and thickest loads of cum that he has ever released anytime in his life into the awaiting mouth. It was like the sucker sensed the volume of the load that was coming, but, with regard to the load itself, nevertheless, wanted it, craved it, just had to swallow all of it.
Ranger Roy's heart was beating so rapidly after releasing his enormous load. There was so much pleasure and excitement as to the entire experience that it was a bit delayed, to say the least, when Ranger Roy came back to his senses; and realized that he had to hightail it the heck out of this restroom before risking being identified by the sucker, or, for that matter, anyone else still making use of the facilities at what was likely already nearing an ungodly hour.
Ranger Roy was soon enough safely back in his car; and en route to the picnic area to examine and record the post-barbecue condition of the grounds. He was unsure what exactly was making him have a flashback of sorts, but, suddenly, he found himself reliving that night earlier in the summer when he spotted Wayne sucking off those horny camping-outdoors hotel managers and then hopping into the sleeping bag of the hungest one of them.
Meanwhile, back in the restroom, the sucker "on-duty", who was actually a last-minute replacement for "the regular", was tidying up; and getting ready to discreetly depart from the park. A cellphone that the sucker thought had been off the whole time interrupted his thoughts with its usual blaring though familiar ringtone.
"Yes, I am here, Aunt Irene, what on earth is it now?"
"Wayne!, hope I am not callin' too late, hon, hope I didn't wake you, glad I got ahold of you, you are still comin' to us for Thanksgivng, right?"