This is the story of a city boy who worked for a summer in rural Alabama shortly after World War II.
The story is fiction and it involves explicit homosexual activity. If such is offensive to you or if you are underaged, please read no further. Otherwise, please enjoy.
I would love to hear your reactions to the story. Anything like a summer adventure you've had? All comments or criticisms are welcome, and will be answered. macoutman@yahoo.com.
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SUMMER JOB
by Macout Mann
IV
Sunday Morning after breakfast I decided to take a walk alone. I went down the same path that I had taken with Paul Earl, but I went much further into the deep woods.
I did have one moment of panic. A wild flower I was about to step over looked like it was moving. I gazed down and discovered that it wasn't a flower at all. It was a coiled copperhead. I stepped back and gave the snake a wide berth as I continued on.
Periodically I would come out of the woods into a clearing. Often the clearing contained one or two rustic shacks. I had learned that most of these had already been there when Sykes acquired the land, and in them lived most of the blacks who worked for the company. I didn't see any activity in most of them, but at one a youngish black woman was doing laundry. She seemed to be in her twenties, shapely, and wearing nothing but a bra and panties. No reason for her to be wearing anything more, or even that much out in the middle of nowhere, but I was sure aroused by seeing her. I don't think that she was even aware that I was there. I continued on back into the forest.
It was almost lunch time when I got back to the hotel. Paul Earl was lounging against one of the four-by-fours that served as columns holding up the second floor veranda and the roof above it. He asked where I'd been and I told him about seeing the black woman.
"Did you fuck her?" he asked with a perfectly straight face.
"No!" I almost shouted.
"I sure as shit would have," he retorted.
I wondered.
The noon meal on Sunday was the highlight of the week. There was always fried chicken with lots of poultry seasoning blended into the flour coating and with enough pepper added that you could see black flecks in the crust. Rice cooked so that every grain was separate, served with chicken gravy. A couple of vegetables. Yeast rolls. And lemon or chocolate pie for desert. And of course, the ubiquitous iced tea.
After lunch I was back in my room. I had bought a couple of magazines at the store, and was stretched out in my Jockeys reading them, when there was a knock. I went to the door and opened it just wide enough to see who was outside. It was Paul Earl and Chuck Partridge, the boy who had been on Hatfield's survey crew. I invited them in.
"We're goanna go and get some home brew," Paul Earl told me. "You wanna come? It's pretty good shit."
"Sure," I responded, "I'd like to see what it tastes like."
"Well, pull on some jeans and we'll head out."
Outside Chuck had a beat up Ford pickup, god-knows-how-old. I was put in the middle, of course, and we roared off down State Highway 56. At least the sign said that was what it was. Didn't look like much of a "high" way to me. I'm sure at one time Chuck's truck had had a muffler, but now the noise made it almost impossible for anyone to talk while the ancient Ford was in motion. Four or five miles out of town we turned onto a side road and went a half-mile or so before stopping at a shack like the ones I'd seen that morning.
We'd each contributed a buck toward the brew, and Paul Earl jumped out, reached in back to get four empty Mason jars that he would exchange for full ones, and headed into the woods behind the house.
While Chuck and I were waiting for Paul Earl to return, he casually reached for my dick. I thought, "Goddamn, what have I got myself into?"
"I could tell you had a nice one before you put on your jeans," he confided. "Wanna feel mine?"
Shit, I didn't know what to do. Felt totally trapped. I did the "polite" thing and reached for his crotch. What I grabbed onto felt as big as the snake I'd almost stepped on that morning.
"Yeah," he said, as he continued to finger my hardening prick, "feels so much better when somebody else touches you, don't it?"
"So, yall are gettin' to know each other, are ya?" Paul Earl had returned with the brews.
Chuck maneuvered the pickup back in the direction we'd come from and at the highway turned back toward Sykes. A little over half way there, he turned into another dirt road and soon pulled over to the side. We each took a Mason jar and pawed our way through the underbrush, coming out in a clearing about ten by twelve feet. "This is a nice secret place to have fun," Paul Earl commented. The three of us sat on the grass and started to drink our home brew. It wasn't as smooth as what comes out of a brewery, but it was stronger, and the flavor wasn't bad.
I asked Chuck how he liked working for Capt. Hatfield.
"Beats the shit out of limbin' trees," he chuckled. "It's goanna take a year or two to finish the survey," he continued. "By then maybe I can get outa this fuckin' place."
We continued to chat about this and that. Paul Earl went back to the truck to get the fourth bottle and poured a share for each of us. We were all feeling the effects.
Chuck slid closer to me and once again reached for my dick. Only this time he also freed it from its hiding place. "You do have a nice dick," he said.
"I told ya," Paul Earl echoed.
God! They'd been talking to each other about my fucking equipment!
Chuck went down on me. I was beyond giving a damn. I just leaned back and enjoyed it, as a grinning Paul Earl looked on.
We were all bare-chested, but now Paul Earl also stripped off his jeans. Like yesterday he was freeballing. He came over and offered me his tool. I let him stick it in my mouth, but I could hardly concentrate on sucking him while Chuck was bringing me to the edge. I pulled off of Paul Earl and yelled, "Oh fuck, I'm cumming!" Chuck continued to minister to me and took my load like it was mothers' milk. And then without a pause, he gobbled Paul Earl down. I decided that Chuck had to be queer.
After Chuck had drunk Paul Earl's seed, he also stripped off his tattered jeans. He also wore nothing underneath. "Well, which one of us do you want to get blowed by?" Paul Earl asked Chck.
"Very democratic," I thought, although I knew what the answer would be.
"You've tasted me lotsa times, Paul Earl," Chuck acknowledged. "I want the new boy to eat me. And you may as well join the club," he said to me. "Get them fucking jeans off."
Well my jeans were more than half off anyway, so in a moment all three of us were bare-assed. Chuck lay on his back and I took his eight inch monster into my still-almost-virgin mouth. "Yeah, suck that motherfucker," he cried.
Then I felt Paul Earl's finger slide into my virgin ass. "God no!" I thought. "Not that!" But the stimulus of his finger somehow turned me on more as I pleasured Chuck.
"Yeah," Chuck repeated, "eat my dick, motherfucker!" He gave me his load in five or six massive spurts. I was surprised that he tasted different from Paul Earl. Home food versus hotel food, I guessed.
I wondered what was going to happen next. I knew we were all probably being eaten by chiggers. Would sure as hell need a shower as soon as I got back to the hotel. But the three of us just lay naked on the ground grinning at each other.
"You wanted to know why I never stayed around the hotel after supper," Paul Earl finally told me. "Well, this place aint all that far, and a bunch of us like to get together down here. It aint too far to walk. There's a trail that leads up to the road. And usually there's at least one other horny guy up here.
"You'll prob'ly wanna play yall's silly fuckin' games back at the hotel, but anytime you wanna fuck around, you'll be welcome. Just be willin' to give as good as you get."
Then to Chuck he said, "I know this boy aint never fucked another guy or been fucked. It's time he saw what it's like." Paul Earl's dick was once again hard as a rock. You'd prob'ly rather have Joel's dick up your ass than my stubby fucker," he teased.
"I jus' need a dick, Paul Earl. Fuck me."
Paul Earl spit in Chuck's hole and Chuck slobbered all over Paul Earl's dick, and then Paul Earl pierced the other boy's anus in one quick thrust, burying himself against Chuck's ass cheeks. "Yeah, hit that sweet spot, man!" Chuck cried. I looked on.
"Fuck me, man!" Chuck yelled, and Paul Earl methodically pumped his tool in and out of his buddy's ass.
"Yeah, take that dick," Paul Earl repeated as he began to pound Chuck's willing hole. Faster and faster he humped, and louder and louder Chuck moaned. "You like that don't ya?" Paul Earl panted. "Oh fuck!" he screamed as he rammed home and dropped a new load, filling Chuck with his sperm.
"Goddamn! Yes!" Chuck answered. I thought he could have been heard all the way to Sykes.
It was about four-thirty when Chuck dropped us back at the hotel. Walking up the steps to the second floor I said, "I don't mean to insult Chuck, but is he queer, Paul Earl?"
Paul Earl laughed and said, "Nah, I don't think so, but I can see you might wonder. I just think he gets off on having sex, whatever kind it is."
I was ready to head for the shower, but Paul Earl added, "Come in to my room for a minute."
Once we were inside he said, "I'll let you fuck me, if you wanna."
"Some other time," I begged off. "I've had enough sex for one afternoon."
"When you're ready, just lemme know."
Free of grass stains and bugs, we went to supper. Sunday night's was the simplest meal of the week. Make your own sandwich. But with fixings like deviled ham, made by grinding the last bits of locally cured country hams, it was still to die for. The only thing that wasn't the best was the bread. It was the soft "light bread" baked by Merita, or one of the other Southern commercial bakeries. So soft you could wad it up into a ball and squeeze it.
It had been a busy day. I was ready for bed.
Copyright 2013 by Macout Mann. All rights reserved.