Clayton left the convenience store out the rear exit where his old motorcycle was parked. He left Mr. Butler to lock up and count the money for the day, for he trusted no one else to do it, not even his wife. It was nearly ten thirty at night and Clayton was exhausted. That morning he had helped his mom move to an apartment on the east side of town, then he had done a closing shift at the store. It had made for a long day, one in which he had endured without complaint. First, he didn’t want to worry his mother, not after all that had happened, and second, it would do no good to say anything in front of Mr. Butler. That would have only earned him a lecture on the merits of hard work and how he was in the fix he found himself, because his father had been lazy. It was a lecture he had heard far too often over the last few months, and the last thing he wanted to do was rile up Travis R. Butler, II.
Straddling his motorcycle he thought about his life, one that had seemed to come undone right before Christmas. He turned the key and the motorcycle hesitated, then started and he revved the engine to keep it running. He knew it needed tuning, including new spark plugs. It was an old bike, a 95 125 Rebel, but when tuned up, it ran good despite the faded paint and black electrical tape covering the rip in the seat. But with money tight, he kept putting off any maintenance, hoping the old bike would keep running until he had some extra cash. When that would be, he didn’t know.
His dear ole father left back in December. It was debatable whether it was better for his father to be gone or if he should have stuck around. All Clint Phillips ever seemed to do was run up debt with one cockamamie scheme after the next, and he never held a steady job. It was his mother who kept their household together, the one with a full-time job at the bank as a teller. When his father left, she found out the extent of the debt Clint ran up and the statements showing they were behind on the mortgage and credit cards. In the end, she sold their home to pay off the mortgage and what debt she could, then rented an apartment.
For Clayton, it had been one humiliation after the next. It had always been bad with his father’s reputation, but since leaving, it had gotten worse. He was supposed to go to college in the fall, but canceled his admission when it was apparent, they could not afford the expenses he needed to cover, so he found himself floundering. He hadn’t known what he wanted to major in, so he had registered at the nearby community college to get the prerequisites out of the way, but now it felt like that option had been taken away from him.
Clayton rode around the store and onto the highway heading west back into town. The store sat two miles east of town, and he rode along the empty highway trying not to think of his situation.
Once in town, he turned south heading to the apartment, but instead of turning back to the left on Cary Street, he continued south until he found himself pulling into the drive of his old home. A Dodge truck sat in the drive, and he wondered who was looking for his father this time. He was tempted to take off, but then his pride wouldn’t let him, and he shut off the motorcycle as the driver’s door swung open.
He gasped when he saw Jake McCullough climb out.
Jake McCullough was tall, muscular, and once the object of his desires. He knew the stats from high school when Jake was a senior on the football team, and he just an eighth grader struggling with the fact he knew he was gay. Six foot two inches tall, 185 pounds, with thick wavy dark brown hair and brown eyes. Seeing Jake come toward him, the body looked about the same, but the hair was shorter than it had been in school. He went back to those two weeks in eighth grade when Jake had ridden the bus because the pickup he had at the time was in a body shop being repaired after the widow Ms. Wilkinson pulled out in front of him. And for two weeks Clayton stared wide-eyed with desire every time Jake climbed onto the bus and made his way down the narrow aisle to the back. He had been lucky to be on the route that went outside of town to pick up students for all three schools, elementary, middle, and high school. Watching Jake approach, he saw the same physical attributes. The shirt tight across the chest and loose around the narrow waist. The jeans that fit snug, bulging at the crotch making him imagine what was confined within.
“Is your dad around?” Jake asked when he drew near.
“Dad?”
“Yeah, is he around? I’ve been trying to get ahold of him for some time.”
“He owes you money too?”
Jake grimaced, nodding slowly. “Yeah, he does.”
“Why does he owe you?”
“I found him broke down on the side of the road a few weeks before Christmas and paid for his repair at Hank’s shop. He promised to pay me back when he got his next paycheck.”
“Damn,” Clay uttered to himself. He pulled his helmet off and climbed off his motorcycle. “How much?”
“Five hundred and forty bucks.”
“Shit. How long will you give me to get it together?”
“You?”
“Jake, dad is gone. Ran off leaving mom and me with his debts. We’re trying to get everyone paid. Mom sold our home and moved us into an apartment to do it.”
“Really? This isn’t your home…but why are you…”
“Here now? Just wallowing in my misery. You know, see what we had before that asshole of a father ran off.”
“I’m sorry to hear about what happened. But how are you going to pay off his debts? I’ve seen you working at the convenience store for Travis Butler and know that bastard isn’t paying you very much.”
“Well, there are not many jobs around here.”
Clay watched Jake rub his neck while thinking what to say next. He saw it in the expression, a confusion as to what to do. Then Jake straightened up and looked at him, face in shadow concealing those brown eyes.
“Take your time on paying me back. I don’t need it right away.”
Jake sat in his truck down the street from the Phillip’s place, or the house that had been their home. Why he pulled off and watched Clayton Phillips stand in front of that house, then get on that crappy motorcycle he wasn’t sure. Was it sympathy, not having a clue what it must be like for an 18-year-old guy to have such instability. Or was it something else. Like the fact the guy was attractive in a rough around the edge way. The black hair that had been messed up by the helmet or maybe it was the lean build or maybe it was the defiant way Clayton had stood up to him then spoke of being miserable. Maybe it was something about the loneliness emanating from him, something he knew all too well. There were guys online who wanted to hook up. Any night of the week he could make a drive to one town or community and hook up with a guy. But that was all it would be. A hook up, nothing more. How many times did he find the guy was married and sneaking around behind his wife’s back to be with another man? Far too often and he was sick of it. Or maybe it was because he remembered the rumors about Clayton Phillips. It had been last October for Halloween decorations were up, and Clayton would have been a senior. He overheard a couple of guys at the fast-food joint joke about him being a faggot. Evidently the rumors died down without ever exploding into an issue for Clayton, or at least he thought so. Or maybe Clint Phillips leaving him, and his mom overshadowed being called a faggot.
He wanted to tell Clayton to just forget the money owed him. But he didn’t want to make Clayton feel like a charity case, for he hated it when people had treated him with kid gloves when his father had his health scare. It had been a rough four months but in the end his father was stabilized and kept his condition under control with medication. But his father was told to stop working, so he found himself with the farm and his parents down in Tampa living near his sister and her family. He had heard the rumors how he was too young to take over the farm, only nineteen at the time. How he would fuck it up and lose everything. Well, he showed them, even increasing his acreage by buying John Hanson’s place, adding over three acres to his operation.
Even over a block away, he heard Clayton rev that old motorcycle, easing it out on the road. He watched him lean over to the center of the road, revving the engine harder to get it run. Then taillight grew smaller as that old motorcycle disappeared into the darkness. He sat there looking at the empty road, not even able to hear that motorcycle as he formulated a plan.
Jake pulled into the convenience store the next afternoon, not sure if Clayton would be working. He entered the store, the air conditioning keeping the interior just above a comfortable level, where he found Travis Butler behind the counter watching a baseball game on a small television.
“Is Clayton working today?”
“Clayton?” Travis replied as if he didn’t know any Clayton, then he frowned. “He’s in back getting some stock to put out. Why?”
Jake heard the tone, one that hated to be bothered and more importantly have someone interfere with his employee doing his job.
“I need to talk to him a minute.”
“That no good daddy of his owe you money?”
“This is between Clayton and me, not about his father.”
“Yeah, right.”
Clayton came out of the small stock room carrying five boxes of candy and Jake saw him slow when recognizing him at the front.
“Hey, can we talk. It won’t take a minute,” said Jake, wanting Travis to know he wasn’t going to take long.
“Yeah, okay.”
“In private,” Jake replied, then he moved to the front entry holding the door open for Clayton.
Jake watched Clayton fidget and pace in a circle like a trapped animal. He saw him look toward the window where Travis Butler stood watching them.
“I have a proposal for you that will let you pay me back and…get you out of this shitty job,” said Jake keeping his voice low.
“You going to give me job on your farm?”
“If you’ll take it.”
“Huh?” Clayton replied and Jake saw the surprise.
“I know there is a lot about a farm you don’t understand, but I’ve increased the size of my operation to where I could use help, even for tasks that anyone can do, and, well, over time I can teach you to do other things on the farm.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. I would pay you seventeen an hour starting out and once you can take on more, then we can talk about a higher pay.”
“Seventeen an hour? You serious?”
“Yes.”
“And what do I need to do to get this job?”
“Just say yes and let me know when you can start. I assume Travis will want two weeks’ notice?”
“He finds out about this he’ll probably fire me right now out of spite.”
Jake smiled, turning away so Travis Butler couldn’t see him. Then he looked back at Clayton. “If he fires you, then come out to my place and start right away. Do you know where I live?”
“Yes…I mean…I remember from when you rode the bus.”
Jake smiled at the acknowledgement Clayton remembered him riding the bus. It had only been two weeks and yet, Clayton remembered.
“Here’s my cellphone number. Call me when you can start,” said Jake holding out the little notebook page with its frayed edge and ballpoint pen scrawl across it that was a telephone number.
Clayton went back inside, and through the windows Jake watched him approach the counter. Clayton spoke first and Travis looked more angry than normal, then Travis replied to Clayton while pointing toward him outside. Clayton stepped back looking surprised, then he stepped back up to the counter, laying a box cutter on it. When Clayton turned, he initially looked shocked, but as he came out the door he gave Jake a smile.
“I can start in the morning.”
Jake watched Clay maneuver the lawnmower across the rear yard, a large grass area from the back screen porch all the way down to the main barn. Clay was going side to side, getting closer and closer to the screen porch where he sat watching. It had been four days since Clay showed up to work, and he had gotten him to clean out the section of barn he had been putting off for it was where his dad had packed away stuff that only had value to him. There had been a haul to a metal recycling center a couple of miles north of town out near the interstate, then two hauls to the landfill in Monroe County. He intended to make a shop in the space, already having Clay help him move the band saw, drill press, and radial arm saw into it.
Watching the shirtless Clay move across the yard, Jake tried not to think of it, his attraction toward him. He tried to think of tasks Clay could do other than the ones already on the list stuck to the refrigerator, instead he thought about what he saw. The sweaty torso, smooth and lean, and the lean arms that needed more muscle, and the long neck up to the strong jaw and oval face with its thin shapely lips and slightly upturned nose and eyebrows that arched gently over each green eye and the ears that stuck out just a bit, made more noticeable by the cap pulled down low on the head. He pictured the frown when told something had been done wrong, the smile when praised for doing something right, and the smile that turned into an open laugh, the first time at Travis Butler’s expense.
And he thought of those stares, the looks when Clay didn’t think he would notice, as he hoped they meant something. He knew his own stares did.
Clay eased along the flower bed at the screen porch, then around the house, moving to the side yard, working his way to the front. Grass and debris stuck to the sweaty skin and the cap was wet around the sweatband. Clay raised an arm to wipe his face and the wet armpit hair became visible. Jake adjusted his cock, then climbed to his feet to go inside.
Clay mowed slowly along the ditch, careful on the slope. He had the yard finished and just needed to do the ditch and the strip along the fence either side of the house. It was still a lot of grass, more than any yard in town. He glanced up at the ranch style house that was Jake’s home, one he grew up in and now possessed as his own. Clay felt jealous how Jake’s life seemed to work out even after a bad time whereas his own seemed to only get worse.
Well, not worse now that Jake had hired him. He was making more than he could at any job in town. His mom had been so pleased she dropped off a peach cobbler the day before. The way Jake had blushed and stammered his thanks had made his heart flutter.
There was times Jake gave him hope. The lingering stare, the way he pulled away when they accidently bumped hands together, and the way he caught Jake adjusting his cock, like earlier on the screen porch when he had mowed along the edge of the yard. He didn’t have the confidence to make some confession. What would he say? Hey Jake, I like you. Hey Jake, will you go out with me? Hey Jake…you want to fuck me? He scoffed at the silly notion. But it seemed his attempt to lure Jake into a first move was getting him nowhere. Going shirtless when cleaning out the barn, being in close quarters with him had seemed like the moment. But Jake had gotten him started then left to go do something else. Now he was shirtless again, his tanned skin tone glistening in the sun, the sweat trickling down his chest and back, and once again Jake had stared but made no move. It aroused him, his cock trying to stretch out down the leg of his jeans. He had openly adjusted it when he knew Jake could see him. But Jake hadn’t stormed through the screen door tugging off his clothes to come ravage him.
It had been less than a week and he didn’t know if he could endure it. This close to Jake. So close, he could see the light freckles across the cheeks, the little scare over the right eye, and how the ears were pierced, making him wonder when Jake wore earrings.
The sun was low on the western horizon, the stand of pine on the far side of the field, when Clay pulled the lawnmower into the barn and killed the engine. He climbed off feeling a tingling sensation from riding the vibrating mower so long. Even his first steps were stiff. He stretched, arms up, twisting his back one way then the other. He turned to leave the barn and saw Jake standing in the doorway watching him.
“I’m finished.”
“Yeah, I saw…do you want to clean up and eat dinner before you leave?” said Jake, getting faster with his words as he asked.
“I didn’t bring a change of clothes,” Clay replied, suddenly disappointed he hadn’t thought to do so.
“I may have some old clothes that fit you.”
“Something that fit you in the ninth or tenth grade?” Clay jokingly asked.
Jake smiled, nodding his head. “Yeah, something like that.”
“I do feel filthy and itchy.”
“Come to the house and let me see what I got that might fit you.”
Clay stood in the doorway of Jake’s childhood bedroom, a room he no longer slept in, taking the primary bedroom at the end of the hall. He watched Jake go from drawer to drawer of a dresser covered with trophies, photos, and mementos.
“These should fit,” said Jake holding up a pair of cargo shorts.
“What size are they?”
“30 in the waist.”
“That works. Should I ask how old you were when you could wear those?”
Jake smiled, shaking his head. “Probably not.”
“You got an old T-shirt or something to go with these?”
“The size of a shirt isn’t so critical; see if this is okay,” said Jake holding out a plaid shirt with the sleeves ripped off. “It’s a medium.”
“A bit large but it’ll be fine.”
“Okay, I’ll let you get showered and changed while I fire up the grill.”
Clay went into the bathroom across the hall from Jake’s old bedroom, leaving the door open. He knew it was being provocative, but he was horny and desperate and if that was what it took to lure Jake to act, then he would do it. He undid his jeans and worked the damp things down his legs sensing Jake just inside the bedroom door. He turned away, back to the door and slid his boxers down until they fell around his ankles, and he stepped out of them while moving to the tub to turn on the water.
His cock hung heavy, half hard, and it would have taken so little to make it rock hard. He felt the cool air over his bare body and wondered how much his ass cheeks parted for Jake when he bent over to turn on the water.
“Let me know if you need anything,” Jake exclaimed in a hurry, and Clay heard him rush down the hall toward the kitchen.
Clay sat opposite Jake at the small dining table, a round table with only four chairs off the kitchen. They had finished dinner, ribeye steaks from the grill with mash potatoes and salad. Jake nursed a beer while he drank the overly sweet tea, failing to get Jake to let him have one of the beers. He sensed an unease in Jake, one that made him divert his eyes or stumble over his words. He wished Jake was more comfortable around him for he worried about its cause. Was he still some kid in Jake’s eyes, someone he was embarrassed to be around. It seemed unlikely after the way Jake came to the convenience store to offer him the job. But there was something, and he dared not make it about any kind of attraction, as much as he wished it were so.
“I’ll help with the dishes then go. I need to get home to wash clothes before going to bed.”
“Wash clothes?”
“Yeah, I do my own laundry. Mom doesn’t have time and it’s the least I can do for her.”
“It’s been really tough?”
“Yeah,” Clay uttered in a low voice.
Jake sat in one of the Adirondack chairs under the two dog wood trees in his backyard. A glass of sweet tea in hand and sitting on the ground a can of bug repellent. A slight breeze kept the gnats away, but not the mosquitoes. Leaning back, he stared across the yard feeling his heart race. It felt like it could burst out of his chest. Within his jeans, his cock stirred and tried to stretch out as thoughts of lustful desire filled his head. Clay was going to wash his two pickups and grain truck, currently on the old farm pickup with the diesel tank and toolbox in the bed. Jake watched him soap up one fender, move across the front, then the opposite fender. Clay was shirtless, wearing a pair of ragged khakis cut off into shorts. The shorts were wet and clung to him. They revealed the round ass, the lean thighs, and the bulge at the crotch. Clay leaned against the soapy fender to reach across the hood with the sponge. Suds covered his hand and forearm. Suds stuck to his chest and shorts. When he stepped back, Jake watched the suds slide down the flat chest and stomach. He adjusted his cock again.
As Clay rinsed the front of the truck, then started down the side, running the sponge across the door, the back edge of the cab, then down the rear fender of the long bed, Jake watched. He watched the suds slide down the leg to the bare feet. “Fuck,” he uttered under his breath. And he adjusted his cock again.
Clay rinsed the old farm pickup, then moved to Jake’s daily driver, a three-year-old blue over silver Dodge Ram. Clay climbed into the bed to do the top of the cab first. He ran the sponge over it, leaning against the cab to reach the front edge. When he pulled away, Jake saw the hardening cock, how it pushed at the front of the shorts, clearly defined by the clinging of the wet fabric.
Jake looked at the dirty grain truck wondering how much more he could watch. He was tempted to go inside and jack off just to calm himself a bit, knowing it probably wouldn’t help. He was tempted to march across the yard and go for it. Just pull Clay away from the truck and see if he was willing. He adjusted his cock, keeping his hand on it, squeezing the hardening shaft as he watched Clay climb down from the bed. The shorts rode down revealing white boxers beneath and Clay didn’t pull them up, leaving the khaki shorts low on his waist. Jake watched the washing of the front, then down each side, until Clay was finally at the tailgate.
As Clay moved to the grain truck, a 94 GMC C7500, white with red stripes with a red grain box on the rear frame. The truck towered over Clay, and Jake saw him stand by it looking from side to side at the chore before him. Jake climbed to his feet and pulled his shirt open, the snaps popping apart. He tossed it on the chair and headed toward Clay and the grain truck.
“I’ll help you get it washed,” Jake called out.
“It’s okay, I can…” Clay began to reply as he turned to Jake. He froze as he watched Jake come toward him, shirtless, with muscular chest, the flat ripped stomach, and bulging biceps all in full view. “Yeah…I could use the help,” he stammered as Jake came up to him.
“I’ll rinse it off and you get fresh water in the bucket,” said Jake.
Jake used the mop to do the side of the grain box while Clay washed the side of the cab, then Clay rinsed off the soap while Jake stood back and watched. They moved to the other side, repeating the process, then to the front of the truck.
“How do you get the top of the cab?” asked Clay.
“The step ladder and mop,” Jake replied, going to the barn for the ladder he had forgotten to bring out.
The last section was the rear of the grain box, and Jake stood with hose in hand as Clay ran the mop up and down the panel, then side to side around the cross bracing and mechanism for the chutes. Clay stepped back, putting the mop down in the bucket.
“Okay, rinse it off.”
Jake worked the spray from top to bottom until the suds were rinsed away. He glanced over at Clay, suds stuck to the back and chest, and coating one forearm. He turned the hose on him.
“You need rinsing off too,” Jake exclaimed, laughing at Clay trying to turn away from the spray.
Jake was pleased that Clay didn’t run out of reach, didn’t grab up the hose and bend it to stop the water, instead he circled around him, then tried to get the hose away from him, laughing while uttering threats. A hand over the nozzle making the spray shoot out sideways soaking the two of them. A wrestling with the nozzle, Clay not strong enough to take it, but Jake not trying hard enough to stop Clay from turning it back on him. He let Clay get him wet, soak his jeans until they clung to his body as the khaki shorts clung to Clay’s.
Then the garden hose was on the ground as Clay and Jake wrestled with each other. Clay’s arms bulged and strained, his stomach flexed with muscle that had been hidden until now, as legs strained to hold Jake back. It was nothing for Jake, barely a strain to control Clay. He flipped him around and bearhugged him from the back. He was pressed against him, chest to back, crotch to ass, and his cock flexed with pressure of it.
Clay stopped moving, then pushed back against him. Jake felt hands grab his thighs, fingers digging into the muscle.
“Jake,” Clay uttered, leaning his head back until resting on the right shoulder. “Don’t tease me anymore.”
Jake kissed the side of the neck as he ran his hands over the chest, down the stomach, then over the wet khakis until grasping the hard cock within. He worked his right hand along its length, squeezing the hard shaft, aroused by how it filled his hand. Clay pushed back against his crotch making his own cock flex, over and over, until he felt trapped by his jeans. He worked the khakis undone, button, then zipper and pushed everything down until the wet garments lay around Clay’s ankles and his hand held the hard cock and bare ass pushed back against him. He stroked the cock slowly, feeling every inch and the flared head. He used his other hand to reach between them to undo his jeans, desperate to get them off.
“I’ve wanted this ever since I saw you that night,” Jake whispered as he got his jeans and boxers pushed down to his knees. The wet garments would go no further.
“Let me,” said Clay as he turned and went to his knees. He worked the jeans off each foot, then slipped the boxers down letting Jake step out of them. Then he rose on his knees, took Jake in hand, and kissed the head. Jake moaned, then shivered as Clay moved lips along the length of his cock. He shuddered when Clay toyed with his nuts, tugging a bit too hard when he had one then the other in his mouth. Jake braced himself on Clay’s shoulder as Clay sank his mouth on the cock, taking as much as he could.
Jake was breathing hard as he watched Clay suck his cock. A fist tight around the base of it while working that slick wet mouth on the rest of it. Clay’s head moved back and forth, back and forth, and the feeling of it made his toes curl. He got close to release, too close, too quick, and he pushed Clay’s head off his cock, grabbed him beneath the arms and hauled him to his feet. He pushed him back to the side of the grain truck, dropped to his knees, and sucked Clay’s cock. It was just long enough to make him struggle to take it, and thick enough to stretch his jaws. It was perfect, and he worked his mouth on it struggling with his desire to make Clay come right away or just rouse him up for fucking. Head to base, he worked his mouth on that cock. Drool trickled down his chin as he pushed his mouth on it, feeling the flared head slide over his tongue or push at the side of his mouth. When it flexed against the roof of his mouth, he knew Clay was close to release and he pulled off gasping for breath. The cock flexed in his face as his spit dripped off the head. He looked up and saw Clay pressed back against the truck, head back, eyes closed, and mouth open gasping for breath.
Jake took Clay by the waist and turned him around. Clay put his hands on the truck, let Jake guide him to step back, spreading his feet apart. Jake spread the ass cheeks and buried his face into it. He tongued the crevice, up and down until it was wet, then he tongued the tight opening until Clay was pushing back against his tongue.
“Jake…put it in me,” Clay uttered as he pushed back again.
Jake came to his feet, stroked his dripping cock, then pressed it against Clay’s tight opening.
Clay rested his forehead against the truck, waiting with impatience. He was so aroused even the breeze over his bare skin was too much. He felt his nudity, the full exposure to Jake. Then he felt that tongue working his ass until his cock was drooling.
“Jake…put it in me,” he uttered breathlessly, desperately, no longer afraid to say aloud what he wanted.
Jake moved behind him, and a hand held his waist, then that long cock touched is opening. He pictured the arrow shaped head and what had to be nine inches of thick shaft. He pictured how it looked slick with his spit flexing in his face. Jake pushed for entry, and he pushed back. The cock stretched him open. He shivered with the pleasure/pain of it. With just the head inside him, Jake held still until he relaxed to it, then slowly pushed into his depths. Inch after inch slid through his tightness and he felt the fullness of penetration. Jake’s cock felt twice as big as it bore into him. Deeper and deeper, impossibly deep, until Jake was pressed against his ass. Then lips touched the back of his neck, moved to the right side up to the ear.
“God, how I wanted this,” Jake whispered, and Clay thought you and me, both.
Clay took his own cock in hand, smeared its drool over the head and down the shaft, stroking it slowly as Jake began to fuck. A tug outward, then a push inward, over and over, until Jake was in a steady rhythm. Clay stroked his cock as Jake fucked his ass. Their pace increased, became physical, Jake banging against his ass. It was so loud to his ears, how flesh smacked against flesh with the rhythm of their fuck. He let go of his cock and braced himself on the truck as Jake fucked harder, faster, rocking him on his feet. His cock swung heavily between his thighs, and he looked down to see it drooling its slick, a drop a foot long swing from the head.
Jake pulled out and he felt the emptiness of it.
“Get on your back,” said Jake as he guided Clay down on the wet ground. It was soft to his back, making it seem like his body settled into the ground instead of on it. He held up his legs as Jake got down on his knees, cock sticking straight out, rock hard, ready to continue their fuck. Clay watched Jake get into position, take his legs behind the knees, and fold him in half until his ass rose up in perfect alignment. He felt that cock touch him, rub over his loosened opening, then it penetrated him again, sinking into him until Jake was pressed against his ass. The hands tightened their hold, pushed his legs tight to his chest, and Jake began to fuck. A fast, furious pace, hips bouncing off his ass.
God, how Jake fucked. Clay couldn’t take it. The shear strength of every push into his depths, how the body revealed every muscle, biceps bulging and flexing, pecs tight, the washboard surface of the abdomen. Even the nipples were sticking out hard, and he reached up rubbing one of them. Then he pinched it, twisting a bit, and Jake moaned and slammed down harder. He twisted it again and Jake hammered his ass, just slammed against it harder and harder as if to pound him into the ground. He reached out to his sides, grabbing at the wet ground, fingers digging into he mud.
Then Jake was hovering over him, hands pressing down on the back of his legs, as cock piston in his hole. It was a fast brutal rhythm. Too fast to comprehend, then Jake shoved inward and kept pushing trying to get deeper as he shuddered with release.
When Jake pulled out and rolled to his back, Clay saw his cock was still hard. He sat up, stroked his own cock, then moved over Jake. He straddled the narrow waist and sat down on the slimy cock. Jake watched him with a hungry stare. They were both breathing hard, but for Clay he couldn’t get enough of Jake’s cock. How it felt buried inside him, the fullness of it, and fucked himself while jacking off. He wouldn’t last long. Far too aroused to make it last, but he hoped this wouldn’t be the only time as he moved up and down while stroking his cock. He closed his eyes, leaned back working his ass up and down while stroking with a furious pace. Hands took his ankles and cock began to push upward as he came down. He sat up and looked down at Jake, glassy eyed, mouth open gasping for breath. Then he came, shooting thick ropes of cum across Jake’s face, down the neck, then rained cum down on the chest and stomach. He felt how his ass spasm around Jake’s cock as he kept moving up and down on it. How that cock seemed to bang his insides making him shudder as his own cock flexed with every ejaculation.
Jake watched Clay come. How he shuddered and shook with every ejaculation. The cum covering his face filled his nose with its scent, and he pushed upward, aroused by it. When Clay was spent, he sat up and hugged the sweating body, feeling its heat. He kissed him, then rolled him to his back, his cock still buried inside him. He lay heavily on him and ground his hips against the ass as he worked his cock inside it. He slow fucked Clay, wanting to feel every aspect. How it made his cock feel, and how it felt for his body to lay on top of Clay, moving and undulating with their fuck. Primitive, lost to the act. He worked his cock inside Clay until aroused to the point of release. He pushed inward, ground his hips against the ass, trying to push deeper, then he shuddered with another release, pumping out another load into Clay.
Clay rolled over and took the offered hand, letting Jake help him to his feet. He wanted to kiss Jake, do that one thing some guys freaked out about. They would suck cock, eat ass, take it in the ass, but kissing seemed to intimate, too gay for some of them. Instead, he stood in front of Jake unsure of himself. Jake reached out, took him by the back of the neck and pulled him forward until their lips met. Jake kissed him, and he opened to the kiss, while pressing his body against Jake’s.
When Jake pulled back, he was suddenly led toward the house. They left their clothes where they were strown across the yard. Naked, Jake led Clay into his home.
“Can you stay tonight?” Jake asked as he held the door open for Clay to enter.
“Yes,” Clay responded, as he trailed fingers across the bare chest. Suddenly Jake was chasing him. They circled the island in the kitchen, then raced into the short hall, where Jake caught him, lifting him off his feet.
“Hey, put me down,” Clay exclaimed as he laughed.
“Come on, you’re showering with me,” said Jake carrying him into the primary bedroom to its bathroom.
Clay rolled over seeing the early morning light before sunrise filter around the blinds into the bedroom. He stretched, then kicked off the cover revealing his nudity. A hand reached over and took his erection, slowly stroking it. Then Jake was kissing his neck.
“I thought we had to get up and get the beans picked or something,” said Clay as Jake slid next to him pressing against his body, hand still stroking his cock.
“It can wait a little longer,” Jake replied, slipping his hand down between Clay’s thighs fingering his hole, loosening it for his fuck.
It is funny how I started this story with one tone in mind and ended up with a tone that most of my stories of this nature carry. I thought how predictable and wondered what the story would be like as originally intended. So, tomorrow, same characters, same setting, a different story with a tone as originally imagined. It’ll be interesting to see how you, the reader, responds to these two stories.