Rural Adventures -- The Camp
by Simon Galen
I.
By the time I'd gotten halfway down the Pelletier's driveway, the sky had grown dark. My dick had stiffened again and strained against my jeans as I pedaled away. I couldn't believe what had happened. I kept one hand on the handlebars and with the other, I rubbed my cock through the denim. I could still taste Danny's cum when I licked my lips and smell the medicinal balm he had used. A dark spot appeared on my jeans and my legs grew wobbly as precum started dripping from my cock. My breath grew ragged as I continued to jerk off while trying to bike, and I began to lose my balance.
There was a small bridge about a half-mile ahead. It wouldn't have been the first time I hid my bike off the edge of the road and stood in the cool, shadowy water and leaned against the concrete wall with my fly undone and my cock out. I had found the spot on a hot July day last year. In the late summer silence, I heard the deer flies drone, an occasional vehicle rumble overhead, and the echo of my gasp as I blasted my load.
But that was last year. Last year, I jerked off because the feel of my own hand felt like electricity. It was the only thing that relieved the pressure building in my pants every twenty minutes or so. Today was different. I had just discovered my boyhood hero stroking his meat in the barn. He had been standing in the stall, covered in dust and dappled light. When he came, he shot his load into my mouth and covered my face.
I came to a complete stop and breathed hard. The wet spot on my jeans had grown to an obvious size. My cock ached in my pants, and I fought every urge to pull it out right there. I wanted to go back, to learn more, but then my dad had shown up. A cool breeze tousled my hair and the first fat drops of cold rain exploded in the dust as I continued down the dirt road. What had been a fast, beautiful ride to the dairy farm was turning into a cold, wet slog back home. But the rain quickly soaked my t-shirt, and I shivered and swore. I needed to get home.
An old tan pickup truck rattled by, pulled a uey, and stopped beside me. The driver leaned over to roll down the passenger window. "Hey there guy," he yelled out over the engine. "Hop on in. I'll throw your bike in the back and take you home." The driver side door swung open, and Big Dave Lavoie stepped out and grabbed the bike's topbar as I hopped off. As if it weighed nothing at all, he swung it up with one hand and laid the bike on its side in the back of the pickup.
I got in the passenger side of the cab and buckled up as Big Dave jumped in, grabbed the beer can off the dashboard and stuck it between his thighs. He gave me a hard stare, waiting to see if I'd say anything. When I didn't say anything he grunted, turned the key, put the truck in gear, and started up the road.
II.
Big Dave was a big man, easily twice my size. My whole life, I'd heard him referred to as Big Dave or beer can, not because there was any other Dave that he may have been confused with. And he was built like a beer can: stout, solid. Everything about him gave the impression of being oversized and powerful from his barrel chest to his hands that dwarfed the can each time he took a swig. He never looked fat, just solid. Some folks in town had made the mistake of thinking he was slow as well as big and to be fair, he didn't give the impression of being quick in any way. But I'd never seen him lose a game of cribbage no matter how many beers he had in them, and if there was ever a guy who could figure out what made a small engine tick, it was Big Dave.
He and my dad had been friends a long time, but they didn't seem to hang out much lately. His son Derek and I had been good friends at one time too.
"Ain't seen you around much, Joey," said Big Dave as if reading my thoughts. "Thought it strange seems how inseparable you and Derek were."
It was true. For a while there, if Derek wasn't at my place, then I was at his, or we were out camping. And even though he and my dad were friends, and I was hanging out with his son, I was a bit in awe, intimidated even, around him. During all those years, I had never said much to Big Dave beyond "Yes, Sir" and "No, Sir."
Year-round, Big Dave wore grease-stained, brown canvas overalls that were always tight around the thighs. In the winter, he'd wear thermal underwear under them, in the summer nothing, and a t-shirt on spring days like today. No matter how clean his hands were, his fingers were always stained black, and he always smelled of his small engine repair shop: lawnmower exhaust, two-stroke engine oil, and sawdust.
During one sleepover a couple years ago when I was 16, I'd gotten up to take a piss. I didn't want to wake up Derek, so I felt my way down the hall of the trailer. In the dark, I didn't see Big Dave, until I had walked right into him, burying my face in his dense, black, chest hair and my hand landing right on his cock.
"Whoa there, boy" was all he said as I pushed past him, mortified.I don't know if it was the jump of his cock when my hand hit it, or the way his smell filled my head, but I boned up as soon as we connected. For weeks after that day, I turned red every time I saw Big Dave, waiting for him to laugh or call me out for the hardon he must have felt brushing against his leg as I darted for the sanctuary of the bathroom. I was relieved that he never did. Relieved and a little disappointed too.
That hadn't been why Derek and I had stopped hanging out though. That happened last summer when Derek had turned 18 nearly a full year ahead of me. He got a job at my dad's garage. It was just a part time thing, but it seemed like he and my dad were there all the time. It was maybe last August when I stopped by the garage one night. Some old beater was in the garage. My dad was standing back to me, quietly telling Derek what a damn good job he was doing. Under the car, I could see Derek's knees, but not Derek himself.
I cleared my throat and there was a sudden shuffle as Derek went to stand up and my dad's arm shot out. His relaxed growl grew stern as he said to Derek, "You stay down there until you finish your job, boy." Then, looking over his shoulder at me, he said evenly "Hey Joey. What are you doing down here? Dinner ready?"
"Dinner's been ready," I said, staring at my Dad's forearm as he held an out of sight Derek to his task. Under the fluorescent shop lights, the coarse dark hair that furred his arms and a streak of engine grease highlighted the grooves of the flexed muscles.
"Joey," Dad said sharply, and my eyes darted back to meet his stare. Dad gave me a lean smile. "A job came up that Derek's got to finish. Go back to the house and crack me a beer. I'll be in before it gets warm, if he does the job like he's supposed to. Right Derek?"
There was a grunt of agreement from the behind the car door.
I backed out of the garage and ran up the driveway panting. There was something in my dad's smile I hadn't seen before, something wolfish and hungry. I realized I wasn't shaking because I was scared of that look, but I was jealous it was reserved for Derek.
By the time dad came home, his beer was warm and that feral look had left his face. "Sorry sport," he said, walking in and tousling my hair like I was still a kid. "Derek did a sloppy job the first time, so he insisted on doing it again." Dad grabbed his beer and went to take a shower, whistling to himself the whole time.
After that night, Derek avoided me. For the rest of the summer and throughout our senior year, he'd go the other way if he saw me coming. But his truck was at dad's garage more often than not, regardless of what hour the job came up.
III.
Big Dave tapped the truck's brakes, jerking me out of my thoughts. I realized that while I'd been thinking about the garage with a growing erection as I realized what those jobs his son was doing with my dad were, he'd been waiting for an answer. I felt his eyes on me, and I shifted in my seat, trying to hide the obvious lump in my jeans, but my t-shirt wasn't long enough to help.
"You mind if I stop at the camp before I bring you home?" Big Dave asked as he turned away from the road toward where I lived and up White Mountain Road.
"No, Sir., I managed to croak.
As Big Dave drove, a thoughtful expression crossed his face. "You're what--a year and a half or so younger than Derek? So that would make you 18 in a week or two?" He kept one eye on me and one eye on the road as he slowly drove up the rutted road to camp.
"Today, Sir," I said.
He asked if my dad had made any plans with me. I told him no, that he was in the garage working on something that had come up.
"Probably with Derek," said Big Dave. "Your dad's been riding my boy pretty hard these days." There was a lurch as the truck tire hit a rock as Big Dave pulled in front of the a-frame camp. His massive hand landed on my thigh, just an inch south of where my cock was trying to bust through my jeans. "Seems only right I should get a turn with you."
I nodded, too excited to use my words.
"Yeah, I thought you'd be down for it," said Big Dave, but he wasn't watching me nod. He was watching the growing dark spot of denim as my cock began to drool precum. He put the truck in park, turned it off, and chugged the rest of his beer. He dropped the can out the open window.
I sat frozen. This was what I wanted even if I didn't know what was coming or what to do.
Big Dave released my seatbelt with one hand and put his other hand behind my neck and pulled us together. He moved his mouth over mine, and over my chin and neck, like he had waited so long that he was going to taste every part of me first. The sheer bulk of his muscular body drove me back into the seat as his stubble burned hot red lines every place he tasted. As I bucked in electric excitement, his free hand got a firm grip on my crotch and held me in place. I shuddered as my balls began to tighten.
Big Dave let up just enough to let me catch my breath and then moved his mouth back to mine forcing his tongue in. I tasted his beer, my sweat. Sensing that I had come back from the edge, he began rubbing my cock through my jeans. It was the first man's hand there, and he moved his hand over me like he was sizing me up.
I calmed down and began moving with him. When he reached down toward my balls and I lifted my off the seat as much as I could to give him access, I heard Big Dave chuckle. "Last chance to say no," he said. "I want to hear you tell me you want this."
"Yes!" I said, my voice cracking with excitement.
Big Dave pulled away from me. Keeping one hand on the back of my neck, he began undoing the zipper of his canvas overalls with the other. His thick, round cock with a dark red head jutted up through the open fly. "Now you can see why your daddy always called me beer can," he said as he pulled my head down against his chest and belly, careful to avoid the steering wheel. "Come on and have a taste."
The head pressed against my nose. Cutting through the smell of exhaust, oil, and sawdust, a ceder-like smell that was just Big Dave cut through. A salty sweet pitch stickied my lips. Big Dave flexed his hips making his dick jump and leave a trail across my face. He pulled back, and it returned to my lips. I opened, slightly, to taste the tip. At that moment, Big Dave saw his opportunity and pushed my head down and his hips up. The head forced its way into my mouth, and Big Dave didn't ease up until it was knocking against my throat and my nose pressed against the zipper of his fly.
He waited a few minutes to see how I'd react to having his cock in my mouth. I had never been so hard or turned on in my life as this huge guy began guiding my head up and down on his beer can cock. At that moment, it didn't matter that we were still in his truck on the side of the road--my whole world had become his cock pushing further into my mouth, the smell of Big Dave and the rough rub of my jeans as my own dick ground into the seat. I could Big Dave softly growl with pleasure and feel the tension as he kept me sucking at a steady rhythm.
He eventually pulled me off saying, "come on, let's get some more room." He opened the pickup's driver side door and dragged me out after him. Never letting go of me with that one hand behind my neck, he reached down with the other and pulled his balls out of the fly of his overalls. He pushed down on my shoulder until I dropped to my knees.
With the truck shielding us from the rural road, he pressed my face into his sack. "Lick them," he said. His balls were like him--heavy and sweaty, but with that overwhelming cedar musk. I ran my tongue all around one and then the other, losing myself in the experience until I heard the sound of a familiar truck coming down the road.
I started to get up, but Big Dave pressed down keeping me on my knees. "You just stay there and focus on what you're doing." he said, shoving his cock back into my mouth as I opened it to protest. "I'll handle this. You just breathe through your nose." He leaned forward, pinning me against the truck with his cock lodged deeper in my throat as the other truck pulled up, idling beside us.
"Hey there, Beer Can." A familiar voice said. It was my dad. I started to panic, but Big Dave just slid more of his cock into my throat, keeping me in place. "Derek around?"
"Thought he was with you," said Big Dave. `Seems like he's always at your shop."
"He was supposed to be this morning, but I haven't seen him." There was a pause, and my dad asked, "Opening up the camp early this year. Need a hand?"
"That's alright," said Big Dave. He pushed forward a little more, his cock now into my throat as far as it could go. "I'm just here to unload a couple things." As he and my dad spoke, his cock throbbed and got thicker in my throat. I grabbed his leg to keep my balance, and Big Dave used the opportunity to shove in a little further. "Well alright then," I heard my dad. I heard the truck pull forward, stop, and then back up. "Hey Beer Can, how about we send the boys camping next week? Get together like old times?"
Saying "Yeah Jack, sounds like a plan," and leaning forward like he was interested, Big Dave shoved further in. My nose was pressed full into the canvas overalls, and his balls rested on my chin. My dad could have asked him anything at that moment, and Big Dave would've practically screamed yes.
The gravel crunched under the wheels of my dad's pickup as he drove off. Big Dave, keeping me as far down on his cock as possible and pulling me with him, took a half-step back from his own truck. "Fuck," he growled, and then he pulled back and then thrust all the way in again. And again. Whatever the "old times" with my dad were, they released something savage in Big Dave, His arms wrapped around me like cables and held me in place as he began to furiously fuck my face, growling the whole time.
Each time he pulled back, the taste of his precum filled my mouth. It kept his cock slicked up as he drove it back down my throat. I reached out with one hand and grabbed the back of his legs to keep from falling. With the other, I cupped his balls, feeling as they began to tighten and pull up. I could feel my own cock pressing against my leg, begging for release.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck." It began as a soft whisper as Big Dave continued fucking my face. It grew louder into a grunt. His balls completely tightened in my hand, and then he pulled my head in close. His cock swelled to the point that I thought he'd get stuck. I could feel it pulsing as the first blast of cum splattered against my tonsils. He pulled back, still keeping my head in place and his cock securely past my lips. The next volley of shots filled my mouth. His cum was bitter--it was the distillation of the cedar and musk I'd smelled earlier. Instinctively I swallowed and ran my tongue around the head of his shaft looking for more. I licked up the last drop as he pulled out of my mouth.
Breathing hard, he looked down at me--a feral light leaving his eyes--and smiled. He swiveled his hips, and his dickhead traced out a glistening trail of cum and saliva where brushed my face.
Without putting his cock away, he turned around and started walking up to the camp door. "Well come on," he said. "I'd fuck you against the truck right now, and believe me I will before we leave here. But I think your first time should be in a bed." He opened the camp. "So why don't you get your ass over here, and I'll fuck you in Derek's bed. Call it a birthday present"
I got up so damn fast, I nearly tripped over my feet. I was so horny that Big Dave could have taken me anywhere, but doing it in his son's bed! Turning eighteen was starting to look up.
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About the Author: Simon Galen is a struggling writer/bartender living off tips and trying to put an English degree to bad use through erotic fiction. He's thankful for any comments from readers and tries to answer all emails he receives (it may take a week or so). He can be emailed at mclrebel@gmail.com.
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