Chapter One: Bah Bungholing
“I’m sorry that Neal didn’t make the funeral, Keith. It’s just that–”
“I know what it’s just like, Kim. You don’t have to make excuses for Neal’s phobias. He didn’t make the wedding either. It’s no big deal. He let me come here for Thanksgiving. That’s progress.”
“I didn’t actually tell him you were coming,” my sister said, with a little laugh of embarrassment. She looked away from me, toward the den, where Neal still had his attention unconvincingly plastered to a football game on the TV that he didn’t have a team in. I’d been sent with the “men” to the den after Thanksgiving dinner so that Kim could clean up the wreckage. It was obvious that Neal wasn’t comfortable having me in the den with the “real guys,” though.
The wreckage here wasn’t only in the dinner dishes and pots and pans from a Thanksgiving dinner spread. Where Neal was concerned the plane had exploded three years earlier when I’d come home from a Blackwater stint in Afghanistan with a male lover in tow. I had been Neal’s macho hero to that point.
When we got to the den, Neal had immediately turned on the game and was pretending he was lost in it. In contrast, his nephew, Tom, a student at the nearby Old Dominion University in Norfolk, had chattered away–nervously, I thought. Obviously he’d been told I was queer and was doing everything he could to show that he was progressive and that didn’t matter to him. There was more to his nervousness than that.
He had found a seat across the room from me, keeping his legs crossed. I knew that, at over six and a half feet, and, despite being in my late fifties, having the hard body of a mercenary soldier, I was intimidating to him. But I was seeing something else in the looks he gave me, knowing from years in the active life before settling down with Sam, when a man was–maybe despite himself–interested. It may be despite himself, but Tom was interested.
Tom was a hunk; I would fuck him in an instant.
Tom was no slouch in the size department, either. A college junior far from home in Ohio and being taken in by family for the holiday meal, he was a strapping track star. His demeanor toward me was a bit amusing, even though I felt for his nervousness. I could easily imagine that he was more intrigued and worrying about his mixed feelings than just trying to make me comfortable in what, from the conversation at the dinner table, was clearly an uncomfortable situation between Neal and me.
I let my mind wander for a moment on holding Tom close from above and listening to him groan as I entered him. But then I shook my head and rose and came into the kitchen to check on Kim. I was doing exactly what I knew Neal was afraid I’d be doing–sizing up every man in the room, including Neal, for possible bottom fodder.
Neal also was pretty much of a hunk; I would fuck him in an instant too. I’d get added enjoyment out of it knowing his prejudices but listening to his moans of passion as I nailed his ass to the bed.
“It’s just that Neal looked up to you so much before and was so proud that he had a macho brother-in-law in the Blackwater mercenary force off doing leader bodyguard duty in Afghanistan and Iraq,” Kim said. “It was like the comic books had come alive for him. He couldn’t stop talking about where you were and what you were engaged in to his friends. He made you out to be a superhero.”
“And he all know that superheroes are hetero,” I said. “Now all he has to talk about with his friends is how I was fucking one of my buddies.”
“Keith! Language, please.” We both looked around for either Susan or Neal Jr., but both had escaped as soon as they could from the dinner table and were well free of us now.
“It’s OK, Kim. Really it is. I shouldn’t have come. You shouldn’t have invited me. We can just not do this for Christmas.” There was a catch in my throat in saying that. I had looked forward to being here for Christmas. I was beginning to get antsy living alone in my Fan district row house in Richmond that Sam and I had picked out and fixed up together.
“You need to get out more now. Put it all behind you.”
“Put it all behind me? Like it had never happened? Sam and I were a couple, Kim. We got married just like any other couple. Sam died–so suddenly I didn’t even have time to say good-bye.”
“I understand that, Keith. But you didn’t die. Married couples are separated by death all of the time. I’m not belittling what you and Sam had together. I’m saying it’s not something that others don’t face and have to cope with all the time. Mom and Dad. And I lost Mark too–we weren’t married, but close enough. After the auto accident, you were there for me and helped me pull through. I’m just trying to do the same for you.”
“I know you are, Kim. And I appreciate it.” I pulled her into me and bear hugged her. I could feel the small sob she gave me. “I know you are, Kim. I’ll figure it out. Neal isn’t going to change, though, and I don’t want to make this any more difficult for you than it has to be. I think I should go now. I do appreciate the effort you’ve gone to to invite me for Thanksgiving.”
I heard Neal exclaim from the other room about some ref call he didn’t like. I had no idea what team had been slighted. I strongly suspected Neal didn’t know either–or didn’t even care, as long as it gave him something to cheer for other than me.
Tom came out to the door to see me off. Neal pretended to not know I even was going. The look of curiosity and interest in Tom’s eyes told me that I probably could have him, if I wanted him. He was Neal’s nephew, though. I wouldn’t do this to Neal. On a certain level I fully understood Neal’s disillusionment and discomfort. Neal was in the Navy, though. None of this could really be a surprise to him, and his reaction gave me the suspicion that he’d been a lot closer to the male-male attraction than he was willing to admit to anyone–or possibly to himself. I wouldn’t be back to Norfolk for Christmas, however, that was for sure. It didn’t matter how lonely and out of sorts I was in the wake of Sam’s sudden death.
Still, all the way back to Richmond, I fantasized about having Tom underneath me, running my hands along his smooth, hard flanks to feel him tremble under me and emit a low moan. Stroking his flanks to encourage him to open to me–voluntarily–and, with a whimper, he does. Placing a hand on his shimmering flat belly, and bringing his face around to mine with my hand cupping his chin. Bringing him in for a deep kiss, my eyes locked on his, as, pressing his buttocks back with the hand palming his lower belly, I slowly enter, enter, enter him to his gasps and groans, knowing that I probably am the biggest he’d ever take. And when I’ve settled him down and was slow pumping him, looking up to see Neal sitting across the room, his cock out, stroking it, and watching Tom and me closely. Wanting to be next.
And as long as I knew it was just fantasy, I imagined barebacking Tom as I did with Sam since we declared for each other, missing the raw flesh on flesh of the stroking, my fantasy ending with filling Tom’s channel deep with my cum.
The cold shower I took when I got home in Richmond didn’t help a bit. I lay on the bed, stroking my meat, and thinking of Tom’s naked body, open to me. And of Neal, also naked, begging for me. It was the unthinkable, and after the release it gave me today, I wouldn’t think of them again. Maybe I was making some progress in coping, though. For the first time in two months I wasn’t stroking to thoughts of Sam.
* * * *
Christmas Eve and I couldn’t stand sitting at home and watching the four walls changing color. The lights on the tree Kim had badgered me into buying and decorating were driving me crazy the way they were blinking on and off. Next year less frenetic lights–if I had a tree next year–if I had a next year.
I couldn’t think of a damn reason why I’d want a next year. I missed Sam. Oh god, how I missed Sam. I was keyed up and my balls ached. I hadn’t spiked anything but my hand since before Sam died. I didn’t really see any reason to go on like this. I got up and went to the kitchen and opened the cupboard. I don’t know why I bothered to do that. I’d emptied the last bottle of booze the previous day.
The gun safe was in the bedroom. I could just . . . but maybe I’d put a bottle or two of booze in that other cabinet. No luck.
Liquor stores wouldn’t be open today. But bars downtown would be. At least some of the bars. I should go out somewhere rather than thinking about the gun safe in the bedroom.
I bet Jimmy’s would be open. Hadn’t been in there since before Sam passed. But it was worth the try. If sitting in there and nursing a drink on Christmas Eve brought memories back, I could always try buying a bottle from the bar to bring home.
At least there was booze at Jimmy’s. I found that it was just me and Eddie, the bartender, to begin with, and I almost didn’t stay. The same fuckin’ blinking lights on the poor excuse for a tree standing in the corner and the other decorations, such as they were, as I had on my tree were pathetic. That’s not why I almost didn’t settle on the stool, though. First I came in, Eddie gave me a long-faced look and said, “Sorry to hear about Sam. Here let me stand you a drink and we’ll toast him.”
I would have left right then if it hadn’t been for the drink. I growled my thanks and straddled a stool. It was a nice gesture, Eddie giving condolences and offering a drink. I didn’t want to alienate any of the good people still alive who I knew. But I was trying to put Sam in a box in my brain, not let him wander all over the place.
As I sipped, I thought about the good people I knew who were gone. Blackwater was no nursery school. We’d lost guys. It was a miracle I’d found Sam and that I hadn’t lost him–not in Afghanistan or Iraq–not until the fall, and then not to a bullet. I’d almost lost him to bullets and he’d almost lost me that once. But we’d been patched up and soldiered on. It had made us closer, had opened him to my needs–his needs too–both of us learning that life was too short to deny ourselves–to deny who we were and what our desires were.
“To Sam,” I said, lifting my glass.
“To Sam,” Eddie said, lifting his. “And to Keith and to surviving,” he added. I hesitated before drinking to that but then did so.
I saw my reflection in the mirror behind the bar and looked away quickly. When had I grown old? Where had all the lines that made my face craggy come from?
“I must say that you’re lookin’ good,” Eddie said, which pulled me out of the depression I was beginning to sink into on the aging matter. “You have one of the faces that will never go bad, and you’re body’s great. Been workin’ out a lot? Gotten any good tail?”
The questions weren’t out of line. Jimmy’s was a gay bar. Eddie was as queer as I was.
“There isn’t much else to do other than work out at the gym when you get my age and age out of the job. I’ve got a basement gym. Work out a lot.” “A lot” was an understatement. I worked out constantly to try to control my urges and my needs–and, yes, to keep my body in shape toward the time I’d need it for pleasure.
I’m sure he’d noticed that I hadn’t answered the “get a lot of tail” question. He was being sensitive about not pursuing it. In a bar like this, there was a lot of bravado about laying guys and being laid by guys. Eddie knew–or thought he knew–I didn’t say I’d done anything I hadn’t done.
“Miss the job?” he asked.
“No, not at all.” Yes, constantly.
“What job was that?”
Both Eddie and I swiveled our heads around. We hadn’t noticed the bottle blond–maybe of age, maybe not–who had slipped onto a stool down the bar. Now there were three of us. If Eddie didn’t have that insipid Christmas music on the sound system, there might be more of us.
The new guy was maybe five and a half feet tall–more than a foot shorter than I was–trim and wearing flashy clothes, including ridiculously design-tooled cowboy boots with bits and pieces in Christmas colors. I wondered if he brought them out just for the season. He screamed of trade, although I’d never seen him in here before. Eddie was acting like he’d never seen him before–and Eddie was the local matchmaker, hooking likely guys up with each other. A lot of men came to this bar just for Eddie to hook them up with someone to take home and fuck.
“Mercenary, in Afghanistan and Iraq,” I muttered, responding to his question.
“Nice one,” the young guy countered.
“It’s true,” Eddie came back with in defense of me. “Blackwater.”
“Cool, I’ve heard of them,” the young guy said, sliding one stool closer to me. “And I can believe it. My, you are one big dude, aren’t you?”
“He’s probably got more cock then you can handle, son.” Eddie was declaring doubt on the young man’s age as well as our relative sizes. “If you came in here for a drink, I’ll have to see your ID,” Eddie added.
“Of course,” the young guy said, as he pulled open a slip of a purse he’d had hanging on a long strap from his shoulder. He did the limp-wristed thing as he extracted the license, which seemed to satisfy Eddie–the license, not necessarily the limp wrist. This wasn’t really that kind of bar. The young guy was daintily perched on the stool, too. Seeing him closer, I could see that his face was more pretty than handsome and was enhanced with makeup. It was lightly applied, but it was there. There was a small gold ring pierced to his right ear I could see when his shoulder-length blond hair was pulled to the side.
Not my type in the least. But, god, I hadn’t laid anyone since Sam was still walking the earth. Eddie’s “getting any?” question had jogged my memory. I found that I involuntarily had moved a hand to my basket. The young guy didn’t seem to miss that either, and I quickly moved the hand away. My basket was becoming constrained, though.
He wasn’t even anything close to my type and I was getting hard. Still, he was quite a good-looking little piece.
“So, what’ll you have?” Eddie asked him.
“Well, I don’t know,” he said, looking tentatively at me.
“Hit him with what we had–and me–and you too, again,” I said, taking a roll of bills out of my pocket and pulling off a few. I’d done that on purpose, of course, making sure the young guy had seen that I had money to burn. Thanks to the retirement benefits of putting my life on the line for Asian tyrants, I wasn’t hurting for money. And Sam had left me his wad as well.
“Thanks,” the young guy said, pulling over another stool to the one beside mine. “My name’s Sly,” he said.
Of course it is, I thought. “I’m John.” I looked at Eddie, who knew I wasn’t John, but he just gave a little “go for it” smile and found some glasses that needed polishing at the other end of the bar.
“Gee, there’s no telling what a girl would do for a drink and dinner,” Sly said, batting his eyelashes at me.
Just don’t try so hard, a voice in my head was screaming. I had enough lust going for me at the moment. What was gaining in need for me at the moment was release. I wasn’t interested in a pseudo female at the moment. I was interested in whether he had a hole that would stretch and whether he would pant for me while I was reaming it bigger. He was spoiling the mood my mind was trying to build. Anger was creeping in around the edges. I was hearing the bullets whizzing and explosions going off. I forced them into the background.
“I don’t fuck girls; I fuck men,” I said, allowing a little venom to swirl around the edge of that. “The drinks we can do here. The dinner you’d have to get on your own, I said,” pulling a fifty off my roll and laying it on the bar top.
“There more where that came from, doll?” Sly asked, giving me a smile. His stance had changed. He suddenly was more male.
Don’t call me doll, the voice in my head screamed. “How much more?”
“Twice more than that.”
I pulled two more fifties off.
“There’s an understanding motel around the corner from here.” He looked at me expectantly.
I extracted another fifty and laid it on top of the one fifty already there.
“And there are . . . uh . . . necessities.”
“I’ve got my own rubbers,” I growled. “But tell me first. Are you going to be a guy or a girl?”
“I’ll be anything you want,” he said. He’d pretty much dropped the sissyness.
“Shall we go then?” I stood up. Any more of this and I’d change my mind. I should change my mind anyway. Sure I had to pay for it now and again before Sam and I got together. And, sure, I was old now and should expect to. But this was beginning to irritate me. My basket didn’t feel nearly as painfully constrained as it did a few minutes ago. I was still nearly hard, though. It was Christmas. I couldn’t stand the idea of going back to an empty house and making love to my hand once again–or trying to remember the combination of the gun safe.
Sly’s eyes got big as I uncoiled my body from the stool and stood up.
“Shit, you’re one honking big, tall, muscle-bound dude, aren’t you?”
“I’m big everywhere,” I said, exasperated–exasperated enough that I grabbed one of his hands and pressed it into my basket.
He groaned. “I don’t know, dude.”
Eddie leaned over the bar. “I think I told you he might be too much cock for you.”
Sly jerked his head away from Eddie.
I took my roll out, pulled off another fifty, and added it to the pile. “No more screwing around. We going to do this or not?” I placed the heel of my hand on the corner of the pile of bills.
Sly gave me a resigned look, got off his stool, and pulled the bills out from under my hand. He sauntered down to the other end of the bar. “Here, barkeep. Can you hold these for me until tomorrow? You are working tomorrow, aren’t you?”
“I’m working every day,” Eddie answered. Then he turned to me. “It’s good to see you in here again . . . John. Getting’ back on the horse is the best cure. Try not to ruin the boy; feel free to bring his attitude down a notch or two, though.”
It’s what Kim had told me at Thanksgiving too–the “getting back on the horse” part. It was worth a shot. In this case, one might get a little worried about the horse.
* * * *
It started out OK, but went downhill fast.
Sly was on his back at the foot of the bed, and my jeans and briefs already off–his down around his ankles–I was working those cowboy boots off. He was sighing and cooing for me and blowing me kisses.
Just don’t do that, my mind was crying out. I fuck men. Real men.
I kissed his feet and spread them apart when I had the boots off. He’d already sucked me throbbing hard and I’d had four fingers in his ass. The passage had opened right up. He was no boy scout. I already was sheathed with the Trojan Magnum, and we both were lubed.
He jerked and groaned as I breached his sphincter with the bulb of my cock. Reaching up, he unbuttoned my shirt and ran his hand over my pecs and biceps. “God, you’ve got muscles on your muscles. A girl’s wet dream. Hard. You’re so hard. Everywhere.” He moaned as I gave him another two inches. The walls spread for me immediately. This was no innocent.
“Oh, daddy, daddy, give it to me. Give it all to me.”
He didn’t really mean all of it. He gave me all of the fake first-time, breathless “you’re splitting me,” language when I was only half in. Sam was a real man. He took it all and asked for more. I started pumping there but it just wasn’t what I wanted. I gave him another inch, and he started writhing under me and begging for mercy.
“Oh, please, daddy, you’re too big. There, there, pump me there. Fuck your little girl.”
He wasn’t my little girl. I had more inches for him. I’d paid him extra. The anger swept up to merge with the lust. The sound of whizzing bullets and explosives flowed in again. I was back on the battlefield, all adrenaline and survival. Pumping testosterone and exhilarating danger. I held him tight, ignoring his pleas and his screams. Thrusting hard, I gave him eight inches of it. There was more to spare. Another thrust, as he writhed, ineffectually, under me. And another and another. I sensed I was in as far as I was going to get and started pumping hard, matching my thrusts to the groans of the bedsprings and the thumping of the headboard against the wall.
He gave up and became a whimpering, moaning rag doll under me as I continued driving him hard . . . until . . . finally, I found relief in release and the bullets stop whizzing and the explosions faded away.
I dragged him up on the bed–he gave me no resistance at all–and stretched my body along his back, holding him tight. I knew I’d go again. I hadn’t cleared it all. I hadn’t buried it all. It had been too long since I’d last fucked. And it wouldn’t be long before I was ready to fuck again–to try to put it all in him. That was a good thing. He was completely loose, panting and moaning, now, but who knew how soon he’d recover–and if he’d want me to stop then? If he told me to stop, I would. Maybe not if I was reaching a climax, though. He’d have to tell me before I was going real good.
As I moved, I rolled the spent condom off, dropped it on the floor beside the bed, and pulled another packet off the nightstand.
“Oh baby, baby, that was incredible, but you tear a girl apart,” he whispered. he turned his face to me for a kiss, but I buried my face in the back of his neck instead, latching onto skin with my teeth. I was hard enough again. I let my bulb find his opening on its own. Despite all the screaming his hole was gaping.
“Oh, shit. Not again, not so soon, not so deep.”
“OK, then, you can get up and dress and leave,” I said, pulling a bit away from him.
“Oh, baby, I didn’t mean it like that,” he said. “You’re big and a good fucker in a good way. Go ahead and fuck me again, deep as you can get.”
That was what I was trying to do. I wouldn’t be fully satisfied until I’d done it.
I hauled him up onto his knees, with his cheek pressed to the mattress, mounted him, and thrust in deep again.
“Oh, baby, baby, please! Oh, fuck. Oh shit. Yesss! Split me!”
I did what I could, fucking him hard and deep. My hands went around his sides and latched onto his pecs. He had rings in both nipples and I worried them between my thumbs and forefingers. His back was covered in a colorful tattoo design, and I concentrated on the rippling effect of that as he writhed while I pumped him hard.
This time I did what I could to keep the anger and the bullets and explosives at bay. It helped. I set up a rhythm of the fuck and the young man settled down underneath me.
I just couldn’t get more than eight inches inside him.
I woke in the morning, spread-eagled on the bed, my mind in a haze. I stared at the ceiling until I came to grips with where I was–what I’d done. With a low moan, I sat up on the bed. I listened for bathroom sounds, but heard none. I was alone. My eyes had scanned the room while I was trying to locate Sly–or whoever he really was–and what I saw was a room that had been tossed by someone looking for something. My eyes immediately went to the trash can under the desk and rose from the bed to check out what I’d hidden my wallet and roll of cash under. Something I’d learned in Baghdad. They never thought of money as being something anyone would put in the trash.
My foot came down on something squishy, though, and I looked down to see four used condoms. I only remember having filled three. So, Sly did deserve more for last night–but not the whole bankroll. Checking the can, I found the money roll and wallet intact.
I dragged myself back to the bar. Eddie was still there–and still, on Christmas Day at noon–we were the only ones in the bar. I’d slept the morning away, or at least the part of the morning I wasn’t fucking the young whore.
“So, back for a nip of the dog?”
“Sure, I need it. Just one, though. I fought that battle years ago and don’t want to fight it again.”
“I hear you had quite a night of it.”
“So, the rent-boy’s been in here already.”
“Oh, yes, and he wasn’t walking straight. Took his money and hobbled out.”
“I feel bad about that.”
“You needn’t. He was purring and all dreamy eyed.”
“Still, do you mind if I leave another hundred for you to give him in case he comes in?”
“Fucked him that cross-eyed, did you?”
“I was an animal. I went too far. But he made me mad; he wouldn’t drop the little girl routine. And it had been too long. It hadn’t been enough, though. I had more to give. I needed to give it all.”
“I understand, Keith,” he said as he laid a hand on my arm. “I understand that it’s rough–and I’ll hook you up anytime you’re going crazy for it–but, man, you need something regular again. You and Sam, now there was a pair. You need to get out of your house and go where you can shop for something regular.”
“I came here. And there’s just you and me,” I said, giving him a level stare. I didn’t know much about Eddie other than he looked good and was gay to be working in this bar. I probably could do a lot worse.
“Unfortunately, you and me want the same thing,” he said.
“Ah. Pity.”
“Yes, isn’t it? Look, there’s a center where guys go, down near where 64 comes into 95. It’s call the Rainbow Connection. I know, I know, a fruity name, and I don’t read you for a fruitloop kind of guy, despite that little piece you did last night. But they have gyms and sports activities too. Maybe you could–”
“Thanks, Eddie, but I’m not really the social kind of guy.”
“You need to do something, Keith. You don’t find a steady release and you might kill someone when you aren’t ridin’ regular.”
“The rent-boy . . . ?”
“Yeah, he said you almost killed him. Lucky for you he got to liking it. The building’s down in the warehouse area on the other side of the tracks. Big rainbow painted on the side. You can’t miss it.”
“Thanks, Eddie. Maybe you’re right.”
“Meantime, I’ll have my eye out for someone for you. Kind of hard to come by though–a seasoned soldier who’s also a bottom and can take the size of cock this rent-boy described to me. He thinks it’s bigger than legend has it.”
* * * *
I had horrified myself for being such an animal with the rent-boy on Christmas Eve and thus holed up in my Richmond house for the next few days, not intending to go out at all on New Year’s Eve, even though that had been a “let-all-the-stops out” party time for Sam and me–well, especially because it had been an “all-the-stops-out” party time for Sam and me. It was the one day of the year that we gave each other carte blanche at parties to fuck around. Then it was off to the clinic for both of us the next week to check on just how naughty we’d been.
My resolve to be a hermit that night was broken down by an old Blackwater buddy, Mike, who I had been bedding before I’d hooked up with Sam for a more serious–and mostly monogamous–relationship.
“Hey, guy, how are you making out?” Mike sounded over the telephone like he’d studied what to say and had been practicing it.
“I’m coping,” I answered. “Every day is a chore, though.” Mike, Mike, Mike, I was thinking. He was a strawberry blond, down to his bush. Had been a lot of fun. I remember counting his freckles out loud as I worked my tongue down his body. Always lean, he never could muscle up like the rest of us, although as hard bodied as any of us. And tight; it would take forever to work my way into him, during which he’d lay under me, stoic, his knees hooked on my hips, and only putting his own body in motion when I’d bottomed. But brave as all get out–or foolish. He was always the first on the move, changing positions under fire, charging into danger. It was a miracle he still was alive.
“Me and the guys were wondering what you’re doing for New Year’s.”
“You and the guys?”
“Yes, those in the crew after we cleared out are in Washington, being grilled in congressional committees, and our gang thought they needed some cheering up, so we’ve booked a party room at a hotel near Dulles airport. Treating them for the night. We thought you might like to come up for it.”
“Bad times for those guys. We got separated just in time,” I answered.
“Yeah, we were lucky. So, it’s the Holiday Inn on 28. I can book a room, if you like.”
Booking a room for New Year’s, I thought–Mike and me. Old time’s sake. I knew Sam wouldn’t mind. It was our tradition, anyway. Let loose for that one night. Thoughts of Mike under me, gripping my hips with his knees, holding still and looking determined as I worked to get inside him. But he’d take it all, which is more than most could say. And when I was in, he’d get animated and give me a good time, my curly blacks mingling with his strawberry-blond short hairs.
“Yeah, sure, I’d like that. Count me in,” I said.
Except I didn’t like it that much. Mike had been looking for me. I was late, as the Holiday Inn wasn’t actually fronted on Route 28, and I had to do some driving around the area to get to it. And when he met me at the door it was to introduce me.
“You found us, he said. God, you’re still looking great. Want you to meet my wife, Nadine.”
She was a bouncy little buxom blonde, not more than half Mike’s age–and he was a good ten years younger than I was–and the way she cooed and hung onto him, it was clear that there had been some changes in his life since Afghanistan.
I was happy for him, I really was, and the rest of the gang was there, and we had a jolly old time–a lot of it spent in cheering up the guys who had come later than us to Blackwater and had been caught in the investigations of how we got the job done. I made the rounds, having built up a need with the thought of Mike and me sharing a room, which wasn’t going to happen. But I didn’t see the hungry look in any of the other guys’ faces. Most of them came with women anyway.
Maybe if I hadn’t gone to my room early and fucked a pillow, the night would have turned out different, but, if so, I would have kicked myself into the new year.
About three in the morning, there was a knock on my door. It was Mike, and at last I saw that hungry look in his face.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
“Where’s Nadine?” I countered with.
“She can’t take her liquor. She’s dead on her tail in our room. Can I come in?”
“I don’t think so, Mike,” I answered. “Maybe if you hadn’t introduced me to her. Go back to your room and see to your wife.”
I didn’t slam on the door on him, but I shut the possibility of him out of my life. So far the new year wasn’t going at all well with me.
Chapter Two: Rainbow Connecting
I woke with a headache, flat on my back in my bed, naked, with my forearm flung across my eyes.
“I can’t find the coffee.”
It took me a few seconds to realize that I wasn’t alone. I’d hardly be asking myself where I kept the coffee. I might not remember where it was, but I’d then know it was useless to ask myself where it was. I opened my eyes and turned my head. He was standing in the doorway, leaning into the door frame, hand on jutted hips. He was wearing the shirt I’d worn to the center the evening before. On him the tail of the shirt came down to his knees. Even though my cock made a jerk, I hated that he was posed that way. Another swisher. I wasn’t in the market for a swisher. And I’d had no intention of bringing anyone home from the center. I’d just been checking the Rainbow Connection center in downtown Richmond out, anyway.
I’d been so frustrated coming home from Northern Virginia that, after a couple of weeks of being a hermit, I’d remembered that Eddie at the bar had suggested this Rainbow Connection place. He’d said it had a gym and sports facilities. If I didn’t get some more exercise in beyond lifting weights by myself, I thought I’d go mad.
I almost didn’t stay when I got there. They wanted to know so much, and they kept pushing activity brochures at me. I finally said, yeah, I’d like to do an Appalachian Trail crawl sometime when the weather was better but that, for now, I’d just like a pickup game of basketball. Did they have that?
“Yes, we do.”
“Now? Can I get into a game now?”
“Sure. The gym is through there. Did you bring sports gear? The locker room is down the corridor over there. See the attendant there, Travis, for a towel.”
The pickup game was fine. I was both the oldest and biggest guy on the court. I also was the best basketball player. I latched on to the next-best player, a black guy in his twenties, named Jackson, and we ganged up on the rest.
I fucked him–or got a good start on it–in a tiled room just off the shower room. I was to find that the Rainbow Connection facilities included a lot of out-of-the way cubicles like this around to accommodate the needs of its clientele. It might have looked like just a meeting place for gays for healthy activities among their own kind, but it had all of the services I’d ever found in gay bathhouses around the world. It was a social service they were doing here, but not necessarily the social service they were telling the public they were serving.
Jackson was more than willing, and I started with him after we’d done some touching and fondling in the communal shower, backing him up against the tiles of the wall, with him climbing my hips with his knees, and me fucking him shallow to work up his prostate with my bulb, ready to give him all of it, which he said scared him but that he was game for it. We gathered watchers, though, including the towel attendant, Travis, and they were coming in close and touching me and showing interest in what I had. I ended up sitting on a sauna shelf, with a series of mouths covering my cock until I exploded. Jackson was gone by that point. Travis wasn’t. He wanted all of the cock, but said he was afraid–and was about to go off duty.
I fucked him twice–at least twice–on my bed that night. But he was a squealer and tight, very tight. He sobbed and was pulling out from underneath me constantly when I was about to dive for the money. A platinum blond little trick with a limp wrist–not at all what I was in the mood for intellectually, but my dick had decided otherwise. Twice–or maybe it was three times–he’d squirmed so much, and given me a jerk and his cum so quickly, that I too released earlier than I wanted and finally thought–and probably said–“Fuck it,” and turned over on my side and went to sleep.
“Oh, lookee. Mr. Big is living up to his name and winking at me,” he lisped at me from the doorway in a Betty Boop voice, apparently forgetting all about the coffee he was trying to make. I hated that, but my cock didn’t care.
Travis came to the bed, climbed up, slit a condom packet, and crowned me. He daintily lifted a shaved leg over my hips and settled on the cock–only a couple of inches, though. He moved back and forth on it, my bulb rubbing against his prostrate and him sighing and murmuring how well I was fucking him. I wasn’t fucking him, though. This wasn’t fucking to me.
The young man was shaved close all over, pubes and pits and all. He had a slim, boyish build, with the tattoo of a little lizard–a gecko, he said–down low and to the left of his belly. He told me it covered his G spot, and, indeed, when I touched it, he became more animated.
I grasped his waist, with my thumb rubbing that lizard and took over the movement on my cock. He gave me a frightened look as I lifted him and pulled him down harder on the cock, again and again. Forcing his channel walls to expand and take more of the cock than the night before. He writhed on the cock, shuddering and moaning, beginning to gyrate wildly in a pattern that only helped me skewer him more deeply. Relentlessly, I pulled him farther down on the staff after each lift. Slamming him down hard, as he flopped about, panting hard and making little yip, yip sounds. His eyes rolled up in his head and he went limp. For all I knew he was unconscious. At that moment I didn’t care a flying fuck if he was or not.
Like with the swisher on Christmas Eve, this wasn’t what my emotions wanted, which made me angry. But it’s what my cock had to have.
I turned him onto his back, and he went over like a rag doll, his arms flopping out at the side of his body. I slapped his trim, shaved legs apart, and he groaned and jerked as I thrust deep inside him and began to vigorously pump. It didn’t take me long to ejaculate.
He lay there, in my arms, my cock going flaccid inside him but still deep inside his channel. He was panting hard and his eyes were slitted.
“Oh, god, it’s gigantic,” he murmured. “I won’t be able to walk for a week.”
“Too much?” I whispered.
“Oh, shit, no. Fuck me again, daddy. Fuck me hard. You’re such a beast.”
I was always good for seconds and a fast rebuild. He moaned as I set the reengorging cock in motion again, fucking him slower this time, but, if anything, deeper than before. He just lay there, legs spread, looking into my face in awe with a quarter pain, three quarters pleasure look on his face. Passive, taking what I was giving him, but giving me nothing in return except a pained expression, pants, and moans.
Afterward, I pulled out of him, sat on the side of the bed, and lit up a cigarette. I hadn’t been able to get much more than seven inches of it into him.
“The coffee is in the freezer,” I said.
“Who the hell puts their coffee in the freezer? And did I mention not being able to walk for a week,” he murmured.
“I’ll give you fifteen minutes; then a cup of coffee; and then I want you to leave.” I tried not to make it sound harsh. I think it crushed him, though.
I’d gotten my rocks off, which was what my cock demanded. But he was just too swishy for me. And I had no intention of going back to the Rainbow Connection again–although, on second thought, I had some unfinished business with Jackson. I didn’t really see myself with a black partner, but he was athletic, manly, and I didn’t get full time with that sweet ass of his. Still, he hadn’t been completely satisfying yet when I was pulled away from him. I’d been fucking him, but he hadn’t been fucking me back. He’d been concentrating on taking what I was giving him–just like Travis did just now and the rent-boy had done on Christmas Eve.
As Travis hobbled out of my house, I couldn’t resist taking and embracing him in the foyer. I kissed him and told him it was fine, he’d been great–that it was me; I’d recently lost a lover and was having a hard time getting back. He clearly didn’t want to leave and clung to me, and we kissed.
“Give me time,” he whimpered. “I can please you, I know. I can take it all. Just give me time.”
“You did take it all,” I said, lying; I’d had a couple more inches to give him when I decided he couldn’t take any more. “It’s not you; it’s me. I can’t control myself well enough. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” And it was true. My anger was getting in the way. I was looking for another Sam, and what I was getting was wanna be girls. I wanted another man–a man who could take it. I wanted a man who could and would take nine inches and buck with it like a bull with all nine super-thick inches inside him, a man who would come with me and then turn me on my back and ride it again like a bull. I wanted a Sam.
“Maybe sometime again . . .”
“Yes, maybe sometime again,” I answered. I doubt either one of us thought there would be a “sometime again.”
* * * *
“I think you should do the 100-mile Appalachian Trail walking trip.”
I turned from where I was reading the activities board at the Rainbow Connection center and saw Jackson standing there in sweat-stained gray gym shorts and T.
“I didn’t think you were here,” I said. I’d come to the center for him–hoping he’d be here. I couldn’t take any more hiding out in my house. I’d stayed hidden for nearly three months after the disappointment of the New Year’s party and having had such an animal with the gym attendant who no longer seemed to be working here. I hadn’t even gone back to Jimmy’s bar, thinking I’d explode if all I found there was another swishy girly guy. Jackson was the only one since Sam died who I’d even come close to fucking who was a real man. He was black, tattooed, muscular, and athletic. He hadn’t taken it all that first time, but we’d been pulled apart. I kept fantasizing doing him and getting it done–bottoming and keeping him with me, counterpunching to the end.
“You must not have checked the squash courts,” he said, obviously pleased that I’d been looking for him. “I’ve been looking for you for months, man.”
“We started but didn’t finish,” I said.
“That’s right, we did start,” he answered. “But I didn’t think–”
“I didn’t give it all to you. I wanted to know whether you could take it.”
Jackson shuddered, started to say something and then didn’t.
“You’re all sweaty and smelly,” I said.
“An hour on the squash court will do that to you. You’re pretty ripe yourself. Beating the field in pickup basketball?”
“Thought I’d get some exercise while I was shopping.”
“Find anything you want?”
“I have now. I think we should go to the showers. You want to try taking it all?”
“Best offer I’ve had all day,” he answered.
We didn’t make it to the showers. When passing one of the cubicles conveniently provided for privacy, I pulled Jackson inside and put his back against the wall.
“I’m going to fuck you right here,” I hissed.
“But I’m all sweaty and smelly.”
“That’s what’s turned me on. You’re all man. “Stay here,” I growled. “I’ll be back in just a minute.”
“Is this what you’re looking for?” he asked, pulling a condom packet out of the pocket of his shorts.
“That’s convenient,” I said.
“I was told you were in the building. I went for this before coming for you.”
* * * *
“Oh, shit, oh, fuck. Slow down, hold off for a . . . oh fuck, fuck, FUCK!”
“Relax. We can do this,” I growled. We were both naked, sweaty slick naked, with the slap, slap, slap sound backed by his moans and my groans of me pounding his ass, trying to get in deeper. “Open to me. Give it to me. Stop tensing up.”
With a sob, he went limp, the pressure of his knees against my hips letting up enough that he had to cross his ankles at the small of my back to keep his legs from sliding for the floor. He wasn’t so much relaxing as collapsing, going limp.
“Do it; give me all of it,” Jackson groaned through a clinched jaw. But I knew that he couldn’t take all of it, at least for now. And he ejaculated up my belly, meaning his response inevitably would lose intensity. I was losing him . . . at least for now.
I relaxed myself and let my balls release my cum into the bulb of the condom. I rested my forehead against his and looked deeply into his eyes.
“Sorry, man, I wanted to take it all. I’m sure I can . . .”
“It’s OK,” I whispered. It wasn’t really OK. Well, it was good–much better than with a small-bodied limp wrister–but it wasn’t great. It wasn’t Sam.
“We’ll work at it–if you’re willing.”
“It means a lot to you, doesn’t it?” Jackson whispered, “To fully possess your partner.”
“Yeah, I’m afraid it does. I had my man once. I don’t think I can be fully satisfied until I have his equal again.”
“He must have been quite a man.”
“He was.”
“You were close?”
“Very. He took a bullet for me and I took a bullet for him.”
“You were soldiers?”
“Private soldiers. Legal mercenaries.”
“And satisfied lovers? You’re a rough power top. He was tough?”
“He was tough as they come. He took nine inches without a groan. He was a man.”
“With work, I can manage it, I know I can,” Jackson murmured. “And you should sign up for the Appalachian Trail walk.”
“Why?” I asked.
“’Cause it’s essentially a couple’s walk and a chance to be alone in a tent for the night. About twenty-five miles a day along the ridge of the Blue Ridge. Four days hiking and three nights in tents, two guys to a tent.”
“So?”
“I’m signed up and I don’t have anyone else in my tent yet. Time, under the stars on top of the world–time to get it right–for me to manage it all. I want to manage it all. I want to be that man for you. I want to be able to take your nine inches without a groan.”
At least he was game for it.
Chapter Three: Appalachian Trail Humping
“So, who’s that then?”
I was sitting in the passenger seat of the truck that had brought our backpacks up to the mountain, blowing on my lukewarm coffee to pretend it was too hot to drink, as about a dozen–exactly a dozen, counting me–guys shuffled around the overlook of the Virginia piedmont where Route 64 crossed over the Blue Ridge. I hoped it wasn’t going to be this cold every morning of our hike–and, truth be known, I hoped we wouldn’t be setting off on our hike every day at this hour: it was barely 6:00 a.m. The entrance to the Skyline Drive was just above us on the ridge of the mountains. The Appalachian Trail running north criss-crossed the parkway.
“That’s who we’ve been waiting for; he’s our trail guide,” answered Jackson. He was standing next to the door of the truck. He’d been in back rechecking all of the gear we were taking. Jackson and I could manage the necessary backpacks. I felt sorry for some of the other sets of guys who were going on the hike. Few were conditioned as Jackson and I were.
“I thought it was Parker, who organized these things, who would be trail boss. And what’s the getup that guy is wearing?”
“Parker whines if he’s expected to walk across the street. That’s a park ranger–from the Shenandoah National Park that covers most of the Blue Ridge here.”
“So he’s not one of us?” I asked.
“Nope. He came down from the drive. His name is Cal Somethingorother.”
“Pity he’s an outsider,” I muttered. It was a good thing that Jackson either didn’t hear me or didn’t follow up on what I said. The ranger was a hunk–solid and built close to the ground, like Sam was. I was sure he wasn’t soft, either. He looked hard bodied. Sort of like a pug. Not real good looking, but like a take-charge kind of guy. Not much older than forty, if that. He aroused me in the same way Sam always had–which is why I’m glad Jackson didn’t catch on to my disappointment that he wasn’t connected with the Rainbow Connection center.
Cal was calling us all over to the center of the overlook parking lot. He had a deep voice that reverberated over the lot and echoed off the rock wall across the road from where we were standing. Almost immediately I wasn’t sure about him, because, as he talked and even though his eyes scanned the group of men–already paired off, with Jackson standing close beside me–the ranger’s eyes seemed to constantly come back to me in an assessing look.
“We’ll try to keep everyone together on the hike,” he was saying in the booming voice of his. “The pace will be an ambitious one, but we don’t want to lose anyone. So, I’ll need to designate someone to walk the tail and make sure no one strays too far behind. I’ll have to be in front. You, there, the tall guy.”
“Keith here?” Jackson called out, pointing to me.
“Yes, you. Keith, is it? You look like you can keep the pace. OK if you hike the tail?”
“Sure,” I said, somewhat disappointed that that explained why he’d been giving me the assessing looks–but even then, I couldn’t be sure that was it. I thought I knew that look.
“We have three overnights before meeting up with the vehicles at the Front Royal entrance in the north. We’ll be camping at Loft Mountain, Lewis Mountain, and Elkwallow. The vehicles will take us up to the southern entrance to Skyline Drive on Afton Mountain now. Your choices of dropping out along the route are right here, or at one of the camping spots. The trucks will be bringing in food supplies and any medical supplies needed where we camp each night. You want to go back to Richmond from any of those places, that’s fine. These aren’t army maneuvers, and this isn’t a boot camp; it’s an outing. Try to make the camp each night, though. Any other questions?”
I looked around. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see some of these pansies change their minds now. From the look of them, I was guessing that half would drop off along the route. One thing I thought I was clear on, though, that it wouldn’t be either Jackson or me.
But I’m glad I didn’t make that bet with anyone.
* * * *
I reached the Loft Mountain campsite after dark. This wasn’t because of any difficulty I had in hiking, but because the first of the pansies didn’t make it more than five miles before he slowed off the pace and at the eighth mile I had to use the Walkie-Talkie Cal had given me to call for the vehicle Cal had wisely told to remain at the assembly place lookout in case it had to be called in. The little darling’s partner didn’t look like he was good for more than two more miles, so I sent him back with his partner. Neither one of them complained.
We lost another pair shy of the first twenty miles.
So, when I finally walked into camp, we were down to eight, plus Cal.
Jackson had held back with me for a few miles, but when I saw that the first pair wasn’t going to make it much farther, I sent him on ahead to apprise Cal that the tail of the group was dragging.
Cal was sitting, alone, by a campfire. He was burning coffee on the open flame and poured a cup for me as soon as he saw me walking in from the track. I eased the backpack off my back and crouched down by the fire. I didn’t want to go down on my butt yet, for fear I wouldn’t get up. I managed the twenty-seven miles from the park entrance to Loft Mountain, but I couldn’t say I wasn’t sore. I hadn’t managed a hike like that for more than a year.
I was wearing a pedometer, so I knew it had been closer to twenty-seven miles than the twenty-five miles maximum Cal had told us we’d have to walk in a day.
“So, you’re the last.”
“Yep,” I said. “Where are the others?”
“They’re all wiped out–including your partner. They barely had time to pitch the tents and grab some grub before they were in them and sawing wood. You want some grub?”
“That would be nice.”
He poked around in the coals of the fire and came up with an aluminum pie plate covered with foil. It steamed when he lifted a corner, so I couldn’t complain about my dinner being cold. He was coddling it in a thick towel, and handed me the plate and a fork, keeping the towel under it so my hand wouldn’t burn.
“Thanks,” I said. “That’s how we did it in Iraq too.”
“That’s how we did it in Iraq too,” he said. “I thought you were in the service from checking you out. Carry yourself like you were and you managed the hike better than the others did.”
“Checked me out, did you?”
“Yeah, of course I did,” he said, giving me a level stare. “Infantry?”
“No, private army,” I answered. “Blackwater.”
He grunted. “I should have known.”
“You?”
“Rangers.”
“I should have known that too,” I answered in turn. “You know then that twenty-miles a day is more than these guys can do–especially since it will be more than that.”
“Yeah, I know that. It wasn’t my call. I received the plans from your center. Whoever planned this hike was an idiot. I tried to tell him, but . . .”
“That would be a scrawny little guy named Parker. You may have noticed that he isn’t on the hike himself,” I said, and we both laughed. “Anyway,” I continued, having finished both the dinner and the coffee, “I guess I’d better turn in too. I’m getting too old for twenty-five miles a day myself.”
“You don’t look too old. You look damn fine to me.”
I looked into his face when he said that and then looked away. Was that a signal of some sort? It had been so long since I’d done the dance, it was hard to tell. I hadn’t expected him to have any interest. He either did or he was naïve about how to talk to a gay guy who was open to possibilities. And I was open to possibilities. He looked like Sam; he looked like he could take it.
“You know, I don’t think anyone but you, me, and Jackson will make the last leg of this,” I said.
“If that,” Cal said. “I’ll get paid for the whole hike anyway.”
We shared a laugh again and I went to my tent. Jackson was laying on his side, in a sleeping bag, and snoring away. I knew he wasn’t in condition for any fooling around even if I could have gotten him awake. I got in my sleeping bag and stretched out behind him, with my arms around him.
I was hard, but there wasn’t anything I was going to be doing about that tonight. Truth be told, I didn’t even know who I was hard for. The thought of what Cal had said and whether or not it was the signaling it sounded like ran–and reran–through my brain until a nodded off. One thing was worth thinking about. Cal was built like Sam had been–and Sam had taken it, taken it all.
* * * *
Sure enough when we reached the Lewis Mountain camp area it was just the three of us, Cal, Jackson, and me. And again, I dragged in after dark, having had to arrange vehicle pickup for the rest of the guys who couldn’t make it to the campsite.
Cal was waiting for me by a campfire. Jackson, again, had barely managed to eat before he rolled into our tent and was asleep. While Cal was pulling a dinner for me and a cup of coffee out of the coals, I walked over to my tent, opened the flap and looked at Jackson sleeping there on the ground. Another night that he wasn’t going to be roused. This trip had been advertised with the innuendo of having sex under the stars on a mountaintop. I don’t think anyone who signed up for this hike fucked anyone or was fucked by anyone while on this tour. I certainly hadn’t gotten mine.
More than that, Jackson himself had said this was a time for us to work on Jackson molding to my needs. That obviously wasn’t happening either. I wasn’t even getting my rocks off, which was beginning to be a pain.
“He’s a handsome young man.”
I lowered the flap, turned, and agreed with Cal. “Yes, he is.”
“A couple, are you?”
“No, no, not really. I just met him at the center and we’re giving it a try.”
“But you’re not sure? The attraction is because he’s black?”
“No, not really. It’s because he’s a real man, I guess. The others who signed up for this hike . . . who didn’t make it . . .”
“I understand. And yet he’s not quite what satisfies you? You’re not young. Don’t get me wrong, you’re in extraordinary shape. Have you been looking all this time, but not satisfied?”
“I was very satisfied once–for four years.”
“But . . . ?”
“But he died.”
“Ah. A man’s man, though, was he?”
“Yes, a buddy from Blackwater–we went through Iraq and Afghanistan together.”
“And he satisfied you because . . . ?”
I paused. I didn’t know how to put it–I wasn’t sure I wanted to say it at all. “You do realize what these guys are who signed up for this hike?”
“Yeah, of course, the hike was set up by the Rainbow Connection in Richmond. It’s for active homosexuals. The guys who signed up for it are homo. I was told it would be two guys to a tent and that they’d be fucking each other at night. You’re gay and active. You’re in a tent with Jackson. I get that. You’re fucking Jackson. I’m betting you’re a top–and dominant, and probably fuck rough. I get that too. So how did this partner of yours satisfy you that others haven’t–haven’t satisfied you sexually? A big strapping stud like you; I can understand that you have needs.”
I took a deep breath. I’d probably never see this guy again and I liked talking to him. Truth be told I liked everything I saw about him. So, I leveled with him. “I have demands, needs, and am built in such a way as, well . . . he was tough. He could take me–all of me.”
“Ah, I think I understand. You are an impressively built man? Horse hung; both long and thick, I’ll bet. I’m not surprised. Here, your dinner is getting cold again. Come, eat.”
I went over and crouched down beside him, close to him, where he was patting the ground.
When he handed me the warm foil-covered aluminum plate this time, he didn’t let go, resisting my pulling it away.
“Just out of curiosity, how hung are you?” he asked. He made it sound like he was just asking if I wanted the salt passed.
I decided that what was going on here was signaling and that I might as well give him a chance to back off if it would scare him. “Nine inches by two hard,” I answered.
He whistled and looked down at the plate we both were holding. “Is this what you’re hungry for, or are you hungry for something else?” he muttered in a low growl. “I think I can give you what you want, what you need.”
Our eyes met, and I could see that he had a hunger that rivaled mine. “Let loose of the plate, Keith,” he whispered. “I can handle nine thick inches. I’d had plenty of practice.”
I let loose of the plate and he pulled me in for a kiss–and then for a deeper kiss as he unzipped my shorts and pulled my cock out. “God you are big,” he muttered.
“It’s OK, we don’t have to–”
“No, I can handle it. I want to manage it. I like it better when a man is hung like this.”
I gasped as his face went down to my lap and he took the shaft in his mouth, working it hard. Deep-throating it, although it wasn’t fully erect yet. But when it was fully engorged, he was still handling most of it.
As he was unbuckling his belt and pushing his shorts off his legs, I murmured, “Rubbers. I’ll have to get them out of the tent.”
“Did you and the lover who satisfied you use rubbers?” he asked.
“No. We were married. And got checked.”
“And have you been checked recently and only worn rubbers since.”
“Yes, but . . .”
“I’m clean. I’m betting you like it raw; I like it raw. We’re both clean. I want you to bareback me.”
He was moving a leg over my lap, facing me–and positioning his hole and my cock with a hand. And then settling on it. Descending, descending, descending.
“Oh, shit, oh, fuck,” I cried out. His short hairs were entwining with mine. He’d taken it all. Then he gently pushed me back onto the ground and began to rise and fall on the cock. He was fucking me. Deep. He had taken it all and was fucking himself on it.
The fuck got wilder. I came back up, fighting for control. Getting what leverage I could to take over the thrusts. He gave a little to me, but only a little, and we became a well-oiled fucking machine, moving with each other, moving against each other, all of me deep inside him, jabbing, thrusting, counterthrusting, sliding, rubbing, riding each other hard.
We exploded, almost together, and then collapsed, side by side, dangerously close to rolling into the fire.
“God, that was . . .”
“Incredible,” he said.
“You took it all.” And didn’t groan once, I wanted to add. You took it like Sam used to take it.
“I think it went longer than you said. I don’t think I’ve never had a dick that big,” he said. I could hear the pride in his voice. “Shit, I want . . .”
I rolled over on top of him and slid my cock deep inside him again and began a slow, deep fuck, well lubricated now by the cum I’d already deposited.
“. . . it again. Oh, fuckin’ Christ, yes, just like that.”
We both let gasps and moans take over again, although most of that was me. He was taking it like a silent movie champ. He dug his heels into the dirt by the fire to raise his buttocks for a straight, deep entry, and I fucked him hard and deep.
“His name was Sam, wasn’t it?” Cal asked in a low voice when we were spent for a second time.
“Yes, how did you know?”
“You cried out that name a couple of times.”
“Sorry. I don’t think it meant anything other than that you were satisfying me as well as he had done.”
“It doesn’t matter. My middle name is Sam.”
“Perfect,” I said, burying my face in the hollow of his shoulder because I felt myself close to tears–not tears of sadness or melancholy, but of joy. He had taken it, all of it. It hadn’t taxed him too much. He hadn’t groaned. At last I’d been with a real man, like Sam, who could take it all. And raw.
“Next time let’s do it naked, though,” he whispered. “I want to worship your body properly.”
“Deal,” I said, suddenly being worried about there being a next time. Jackson. Jackson was in the tent. God, I hoped he’d slept through all the animal rutting out here. Guiltily, I ate my cold dinner and retired to my tent. I laid down stretched behind Jackson, unzipping and crawling into his sleeping bag behind him.
In the middle of the night, he woke. My hand was cupping his package, so I could tell he was engorging upon realizing I was in his sleeping bag with him, naked. That may have been because he could feel my erection in the small of his back. I, of course, was only half dreaming–and the dream was of Cal, not Jackson.
But Jackson murmured, “Fuck me, Keith. Sorry I’ve been zonked when you come into camp. But I want you. Fuck me.”
I gave him a few inches, rubbing the bulb on his prostate, making him shudder and writhe within my grasp, and making him come. He drifted into sleep again, not caring that I hadn’t fucked him deeper and hadn’t come myself. Worrying his prostate had gotten him off nicely.
The next morning Cal asked us if we wanted to press ahead to Elkwallow or call the trucks to come pull us out.
“That would be wimpy,” Jackson said. “We’re only half way to the end. We have to show those who dropped out that it can be done.”
“Fine,” Cal said.
He hadn’t asked me. Jackson had looked at me to determine that I was willing, but Cal didn’t. And I couldn’t look at him. I was worried–and I bet Cal was too–that if Jackson saw the two of us look at each other, he would know. All of that could wait until after we were off the mountain. I didn’t know where Cal lived, but I knew that either he would come to Richmond or I’d go to him. All of that could happen after this, though. Jackson and I weren’t a couple, but we’d come on this together with the expectation of sex. Cal and me getting together could wait.
We took out for Elkwallow shortly after dawn, Cal leading the way, Jackson following, and me still taking up the tail. I didn’t have any stragglers to worry about anymore. But I had getting close enough the Cal to touch him to worry about–which I had to avoid.
We ate lunch at Skyland, a resort that had been there before the U.S. government had grabbed all of the land on the Blue Ridge mountains ridge and that now was managed by the park service. For the first time during the hike we ate in a real restaurant. I’d been too nervous to get all my breakfast down and hadn’t eaten much of the cold dinner the night before. I wolfed down my meal, neither looking at or talking to Cal, who returned the favor. All of our talking was using Jackson as an intermediary. If he suspected that there was tension in the air, he didn’t say anything. I think he did, though, and just decided that Cal and I didn’t get along–being too similar.
“Hey, you scarfing up all those calories because you plan on doing some serious calisthenics?” he asked. He knew that I knew what he meant, because he had a hand gripping one of my thighs above the knee. Cal probably had some idea what was meant too. He was gripping the other thigh. I almost wanted their hands to meet so that the situation would come to a head.
“Yes, I’m tanking up to be able to do some serious fucking calisthenics,” I answered, not caring that both men would obtain and understanding from that, but that only Cal would be getting the benefit of the exercising–also not caring if Jackson didn’t know that I was hungry because I’d already done the fucking calisthenics.
We almost lost Jackson a couple of hours later at the Hazel Mountain overlook. He stood up on the low stone wall to a get better view of the piedmont some 20,000 feet below, and he suddenly tripped and became part of the view. The slope was steep and rocky. He’d rolled far enough down it to break his leg and for Cal and me to use up more than an hour getting down to him, constructing a makeshift splint out of branches and torn strips from Cal’s and my T-shirts, and starting back up to the overlook. Cal had called for help from our shadowing trucks before he plunged down the hillside behind me, and they arrived at the overlook just before we managed to haul a semiconscious Jackson up to the road.
Cal was the first to speak as Jackson was being made as comfortable as possible in the bed of one of the trucks. “So, do we go back with them?”
“You heard Jackson,” I said. “If we go back now, all those pansies who gave up will think we’re wimps too. I say we press ahead.”
“How many tents should we keep back?”
“Just the one,” I said. “And maybe we should come off the trail somewhere away from the Elkwallow camp ground.”
“Oh? Why’s that?”
“I’m gonna fuck you so hard and long tonight, that you’re going to be yodeling. We don’t want to scare the other campers.”
“Suites me fine,” he said, with a grin. “But why wait until tonight. Once the trucks are gone, we can go back down to where we found Jackson and you can see if you can get me to yodel.”
I didn’t count on it. Just like Sam, Cal could take nine thick inches without groaning.
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