Date: Fri, 19 Dec 2008 21:58:45 -0800 From: unclebugga73@msn.com Subject: Just Another Day The place was crowded. Men and women of every level of repute, from respectable to downright unsavory, were milling about. Some were sickly thin; some had bellies that defied the laws of physics and stretched dirty T-shirts to their absolute limits. Some smiled with genuine friendliness, while others smiled with half their given teeth. There were those walking with a strut and those making their way with a pronounced limp. There were kids and elderly folks, complainers and shifty-eyed mutes. I saw one or two who didn't look as bad as they smelled. I also noticed that there were just as many who quickly tossed paper bills onto the counter as there were those who deliberately counted out a pocket full of coins. It was just another day in a local convenience store. I was waiting to pay for the gasoline that I had pumped well over ten minutes earlier. The blonde-haired girl behind the counter was certainly in no hurry to get the line moving. Her name-tag said: Danielle. She appeared to be in her mid-twenties and had a very attractive face, despite the depressed expression that working in a place like this had given her. Though she was hiding behind some baggy jeans and an oversized T-shirt, I could tell that she had the kind of body that could make a catholic bishop kick out a stained-glass window. I was finally able to step up and hand over my money. I received a brief-but-sincere smile from Danielle, and headed briskly toward the exit. I don't know what it was, but something compelled me to turn around just before reaching the double glass doors. The girl was looking at me. Her eyes traveled up my jeans, over my T-shirt, saw me watching, then snapped their attention to the next customer. I pushed through the door, strode across the lot, hopped in my car and turned the key. Engine purring, I pulled the shift lever down and . . . Nothing. I couldn't budge. They had obviously allowed a moron to design this gas station. If you made the mistake of pulling up to a certain pump, you found yourself at the mercy of the car in front. With drab landscaping, signs, and a catawampous positioning of the gas pumps, there was simply no way around, or back if there happens to be a car behind you - and there always is. You simply can't move until the usually brain-dead driver of the smoking, choking automobile in front of you finally gets his or her lolly-gagging ass out of the store. This, of course, can only happen as fast as the girl behind the counter can squirt cheese sauce over tortilla chips and ring up a twelve- pack of beer. When this person finally does return from the store, they have to eat at least five nachos, one by one, find a song on the radio, then, against all odds, remember how the hell a key and a gas pedal work. Also, more often than not, I wind up behind the one hillbilly in the world who is cautious enough to wear a seat belt and, for the life of himself, can't get the complicated thing to work. With his gut inflated with beer and nachos, the challenge for the poor sap is even greater. Just another day at the local convenience store. The car that was preventing my escape this time, however, was another common sight at mini marts: the Camero. Yes, the Camero. The mode of transportation preferred by tattoo- wearing, Lynyrd Skynyrd-loving, shaven-headed, testosterone-riddled red-necks everywhere. Now I don't want to sound uppity. It wasn't like I was driving a BMW or a Mercedes or something. I was behind the wheel of a simple little American compact pickup. I was a practical man so I didn't purchase the full-sized truck. But, I also wanted to display a bit of masculinity. So I didn't go with the Mini Cooper. Or the Caravan. Anyway, I realized that the driver of the faded-gold Camero was in the car. I figured he was one of those inconsiderate assholes who sit waiting for his companion right there in the way instead of pulling around to the front of the building to allow others to get out. I also figured his companion was likely a big-breasted, cigarette-smoking, foulmouthed, twenty-five-year-old with a tramp-stamp tattoo on her back, just above the whale-tail of her thong. Then I noticed that he was fiddling with something on his dashboard. It never fails that guys like this will have a stereo system that's worth more than the car itself. Suddenly though, the hood of his car popped. He had pulled the release lever. He stepped out and raised the hood the rest of the way. If there was ever a car that was reliably unreliable, it was the '70's era Camero. It obviously wouldn't start. As he trudged back and forth from the engine to the driver's seat, jiggling things and trying the key, I got a good look at him. He was indeed tattooed and shirtless. He was indeed sporting a buzz-cut. He was indeed very intriguing. I had always known that I was attracted to guys, but had never acted on it. I had always been afraid of what it meant. Fortunately, I had no problem hiding it, no problem pretending to be attracted to women. Of course, that's because I am. Attracted to women, that is. Very much so. I had been very successful with the fairer sex too, I have to say. But I've never been able to disconnect that little mechanism in my eye that never fails to spot a well-built guy and turn my head. This guy had turned many heads in his day, I assure you. Not that his day had been all that much longer than my own. He also looked to be in his mid-twenties, which was just a couple of years younger than I was. The jeans he was wearing weren't skin tight, but they accentuated his lower body enough to draw your attention. Even though he still maintained those ever-so-sexy crevices that taper down from where most guys carry love handles, creating an arrow that points to the hidden treasure below his waistband, the channels of his ABS had become a bit shallow. This was most likely due to an affinity of his own for beer and cheese sauce. It didn't detract from him in the least, however. He was naturally hairless, save for light patches around each nipple and a narrow trail that happily trickled down his stomach. The tattoos on his upper arms weren't the all-too-common tribal arm bands. They were, instead, made to look as though his biceps were wrapped in barbed-wire with little streams of blood dribbling down from the depicted puncture wounds. Below that buzz-cut was a set of glowing green eyes and a face full of stubble. He was no doubt very athletic and surely a scrapper if push ever came to shove. I estimated him to be around six-foot and wearing about a hundred and eighty pounds. He wasn't exactly chiseled anymore, but the lack of perfectly defined edges somehow made him more sexy, more masculine, in a natural sort of way. Despite all of these sexy features, he still possessed a sense of dirtiness. For all I knew the jeans may have been fresh from the washing machine and he could've been a shower addict, a clean freak, but he gave the impression of being slightly unkempt. That, though, was a part of what intrigued me so much. That and the confident swagger that was evident even as he moseyed from the front of his Camero to the front seat, trying to get the thing started. Being the kind of guy who checks under the hood when he has a flat tire, I am no good to anyone in these situations. Still, I found myself turning my engine off and exiting my truck. I approached him knowing that I couldn't match his swagger even I faked it. So I was my usual mild-mannered, easy-going, not quite shy, not quite outgoing, self. "Is there anything I can do? Do you need a jump or something?" I asked. "Hey, thanks . . . but I don't think it's the battery, man . . . I've been having trouble with this damned starter . . . I think I'm gonna have to push it out of the way for now." His masculine voice wasn't as pleasant as his personality. "Could you give me a hand?" he asked and slammed the hood shut. "Sure," I chirped, eager to please. This guy had parts of my body talking that usually never uttered a peep. "You know, I think our bumpers line up . . . Maybe I could just push you with my pickup." "Hey, that 'd work . . . Yeah, just push me along side the building in the dirt over there, that 'd be perfect for now. At least I'll be out of the way here." Maybe he wasn't the inconsiderate asshole I thought he was. "No prob," I said. I hopped back into my truck and fired the engine. He guided me forward until I got our bumpers to meet as gently as possible, then slipped into the Camero and pulled his transmission into neutral. We made it around the cock-eyed pumps without a hitch. I eased him along the building and shut my engine back off. "Can I give you a ride somewhere?" I asked as I again stepped out of my little Ford. "Hey . . . Uh, that 'd be great . . . if it's not too much trouble . . . I just live down that road there," he said, pointing toward one of the more rugged neighborhoods in town. "No trouble," I said, genuinely happy to help. I had no delusions of something happening with this guy. I mean, I had very few acquaintances and even fewer friends that were as straight acting as this guy. So some deluded notion that he and I would end up rolling in the hay had less chance of entering my mind right then than the answer to a quadratic equation. I just wanted to spend a little more time in his company. I did have a silly idea that we might become friends. The idea of being friends with a guy like this somehow satisfied all the unfulfilled wishes I'd had as a kid, when I longed to be accepted by the older cool kids in the neighborhood, even though this guy was younger than me. "Great . . . Give me one sec," he said, "I'll tell Danielle to keep an eye on my car." With that confident strut, he strolled toward the door of the store. He returned within a minute and we both climbed into my vehicle. "Name's Chas, by the way," he said as he slammed the door, then offered his hand. "Trevor," I said, accepting the hand. As I backed up, he scratched and adjusted different parts of his body. "Is Danielle your girlfriend?" I asked as I pulled onto the street. "Sister," he said. "Oh . . . Well, whoever her boyfriend, he's a lucky guy." "Is that your way of asking if she's single?" he smirked. For the first time his demeanor matched his callous voice. At five-foot-eleven and one hundred and sixty pounds, I wasn't all that much smaller than this man, but I had never considered myself tough. I was a pitiful fighter when it came down to it. So his turn in tone unnerved me a bit. I began to stammer. "N . . . no . . . I was just . . . Y . . . you know . . . Just - - "Well, she ain't . . . But you should tell her what you just said." "I . . . I'm sorry. . . . I don' t under . . ." "She's had a tough go of things . . . Doesn't really believe in her self . . . It'd be good for her to hear what you just said . . . to hear it from someone like you." He flashed a smile that reminded me of the one Danielle had offered me in the store. There was definitely a family resemblance. "Someone like me?" I asked. "Yeah . . . Someone she thinks is cute." My head snapped toward him. "What?" He pointed toward the road, silently and calmly warning me that I was about to leave the pavement. I righted the course and glanced at him again. Seeing the question still on my face, he finally clarified himself. "When I told her you were gonna give me a ride home, she asked I was talking about the cute guy in the little red pickup. . . . I guess that's you." He followed that last part with a disagreeing chuckle. I had certainly never thought of myself as ugly. At my afore mentioned height and weight, I had black hair, dark brown eyes, a naturally tanned complexion from the few pints of Shoshone Indian blood that ran through me, and a firm, fit physique. My only drawback was the features of my face which my family and friends had no choice but to describe as - boyish. That's not necessarily a bad thing, unless you are pushing thirty and desperate for the world to view you as manly. Despite all this, and the success with women that I've enjoyed, I was still surprised that this girl had found me cute; I really didn't know why, but I was. "Well, she seems sweet," was all I could get out of my mouth. "I don't think she likes being thought of that way, but, yeah . . . She is." For the next few minutes, Chas gave me directions to his house, one to two words at a time. Slumped down in the seat, knees spread wide, jean-covered crotch on full display, offering navigational commands with that devil-may-care demeanor, he was making it hard for me to concentrate on my driving. I just loved his nonchalant attitude. I had the feeling that this guy wouldn't react any differently, whether the sky fell on his head, or if he found a winning lottery ticket in his Cracker Jacks. We finally made it to his place. It was an old double-wide mobile home, surrounded by a drooping chainlink fence that corralled a yard of brown grass peppered with beer cans and dog droppings. The place was falling apart at the seams, but somehow out shined all the dilapidated structures on the rest of the street. The front porch, which kind of leaned, held a couple of lawn chairs behind a railing that was broken in more than one place. There was another Camero sitting on blocks in the driveway, and an engine resting on a tarp in the middle of the dead sod. "I think the starter in my other car there is still good . . . Good enough for now," he said as we came to a stop. "Been out of work for a while, so I can't afford new parts." He made no attempt to get out of the truck for a good minute, his eyes glancing around. "Danielle lives with me right now . . . Good thing, cuz she pays the rent and buys food." I could tell he wanted, needed, to talk, to vent some things. But, like most guys, especially the confident, boys-don't-cry type, it just doesn't come out easily. Me being a total stranger, I was surprised he was revealing anything. Then again, the fact that I was a stranger may have made it easier; a guy like this would likely rather be shamed in front of a stranger than in front of family. Finally he opened the door and flung his legs out. "Well thanks for the ride, man . . ." I couldn't think of anything to say to extend the conversation. I wanted to ask if he needed a hand taking the other part off of his car, or a ride back to the gas station. But, I figured he would suspect something, that I was desperate. But, he solved it all for me. "Hey, you want a beer or something, man?" he asked as he stood. "Hey, sounds great," I said and immediately put my face in my hand. I was doing it again. I had a tendency to try to act like guys I liked, guys I looked up to. I had noticed Chas had a habit of preceding most everything he said with, "Hey." Now I was doing it. I was so pathetic. Cutting the engine and stepping out of my little red pickup, I tried to tell myself to calm down, that nothing was going to happen with this guy. I reminded myself that if there was any chance of becoming friends, I'd better not give him reason to think I was annoying or childish. Or queer. "Come on in, man," he said. I followed, trying not to run. "I got to grab my tools." We crossed the lopsided porch, the creaks and groans of the decaying wood giving me second thoughts. I accidentally let the screen door slap shut behind me, forgetting that they are spring loaded. "Sorry, man," I said afer jumping out of my own skin when the thing cracked behind me. "Hey, don't worry about it . . . What would ya like?" he asked, approaching the refrigerator. "Hey, anything, man . . . Cold soda 'd be great," I answered and turned around to hide my embarrassed cringe. I could hear him chuckle. It was a reflex; I hated the taste of beer. I'd always thought that beer tasted like skunk piss. Still, if I didn't want this guy to think I was a wimp, I should've drunk one. "Sure thing," he said. He tossed me a diet Coke. "Don't tell Danielle, these are hers . . . She can't stand beer either." Man, I was embarrassed. He could tell. He could tell I was a wimp. "Yeah, well . . . I . . ." I almost said something cheesy like, "I'm driving," but thought better of it. "Hey, don't worry about it," he said with a cocky smile as he popped the top of a can of Old Milwaukee. Just then a dog came clacking across the kitchen floor from the open back door, tail wagging, feet slipping on the linoleum. "Hey, Boner!" Chas hollered, his hand petting and patting the dog's side. "Danielle hates the name I gave him," he said and laughed. It was the kind of laugh of a devious brother who likes to antagonize his sister, even now that they are grown. All of a sudden the dog noticed me and the gangly, rottweiler-mix charged toward me, feet spinning like a cartoon. I was standing a step or two in inside the little living room of the mobile home and when the dog's feet found the traction of the carpeting in front of me, he launched himself and nearly knocked me over. Chas laughed at first, then called the dog back. "Hey, don't worry . . . He's too friendly to bite," he said. "Hey, I love dogs." I hated myself. I did love dogs; I had one of my own. But I was still saying "Hey." Chas petted and roughhoused with the dog around the kitchen for a minute, then grabbed a tool box off of the table, from among the morning's breakfast dishes, and a swarm of flies, and headed toward the door. "Guess I better get that starter off . . . I don't want to leave my car down there too long." I followed him out to the driveway, eyes on his ass, Boner right behind us. The car on blocks had no hood, just a plastic tarp covering the engine. Chas pulled it off and stuffed it through one of the open windows. As he rummaged through his tool box, which he had positioned on one of the fenders, I stroked Boner's head and asked, "You gonna need a ride back to the mini mart?" "Yeah, but you don't have to wait around . . . I can get someone else to give me a lift . . . Sure you got shit to do." He found the tool he was looking for and crawled under the Camero. "That's all right . . . I mean, I don't know much about auto mechanics, but I'm pretty sure that removing a starter doesn't take all that long." "Well, it doesn't," he said from below the car, "if all goes right . . . But I don't know when things have ever all gone right." "No prob . . . I got nothin' goin'," I said. "Hey, thanks . . . I'll owe you big." "Naw," I said and squatted down to try and look under the car, to see what he was doing. I also wanted to get a nice look at his crotch as he laid with his legs apart, one knee up. I was afraid he might be able to look up through the engine and see me staring at his body, so kneeling by the fender was my solution. As I stared, picturing and fantasizing, Boner nudged me, trying to get my attention. I scratched behind his ear without looking at him. As Chas pulled and yanked and did whatever it is one does to remove a starter, his movements caused his legs to squirm, which caused the wrinkles in his jeans around his crotch to change shape and position and for things beneath to jiggle. It was hypnotizing. To make it even more inviting, he was still shirtless. Therefor, that little trail of hair above the button of his Levis was still visible. I was nearly drooling. I continued petting Boner until I suddenly found my hand stroking air. The dog had decided to investigate my crotch. "Hey! Whoa!" I blurted and nearly fell back on my butt. I grabbed the fender of the car and pulled myself to my feet. "Hey, what's up?" Chas asked. "Hey . . . uh, nothin'," I said, "dog's gettin' frisky." Chas laughed, then cursed as the wrench slipped, skinning his knuckle. I stepped around the front of the car and knelt again, right next to his legs and lowered my head to look under the car. "You all right?" "Hey, yeah . . . Just took the hide off my knuckle . . . Nothing new." "Oh . . ." I was all the way down on my knees now, peering under the Camero. Boner suddenly leaped on my back. For a split second, I thought he was just trying to play, then I felt him start to hunch. "What the hell! Get off of me you horny bastard!" I hollered. "Hey, he is getting frisky today, isn't he?" Chas said and laughed. "He doesn't even get that way with Danielle . . . He must really like you." "Hey, well I'm saving my self, so he's out of luck." Chas responded with a low chuckle. The dog wandered around, huffing and drooling. The heat was building as the Saturday morning made its way past noon. I found myself leaning against the fence when I wasn't handing Chas different tools from his box. After about a half an hour of cursing and slamming wrenches against the cement, the starter was in Chas's hand and he was strolling up the steps of the trailer house. He plunked the greasy part down on the table, upsetting all the flies. He grabbed a dish towel and cleaned his hands on it. He grabbed another beer from the fridge and leaned against the sink. I turned down another diet cola and since he already though of me as too wimpy for beer, I figured I didn't have to force down a can of skunk water either. As he leaned against the sink, one hand braced against the counter, the other holding his brew, feet spread apart, asking me where I lived, I stole repeated glances at his chest and arms. He finally caught me looking. "What?" he asked in a tone that wasn't exactly civil. "Hey . . . uh, nothing . . . I was just looking at those tattoos. . . . I've never seen that before . . . it's cool." He looked at the barbed-wire tats on his arms. Then his eyes slowly looked up toward me. "Right." Shit. He knew I was checking him out. If he didn't, he surely thought I was weird, or, at the very least, dorky. I hadn't said or done a thing yet that would make him want to be friends with me. Friends. I was so childish, wanting a friend this bad. I had other friends, ones I'd known for ever. But not one of them was as cool and sexy as this guy. I truly felt like a little kid around him. "So what do you do?" he asked. I couldn't believe he was still interested in asking about me. I figured he'd just want me to drive him back to the store and get the hell away from this little dark-haired dork. "I uh . . . I work in a sign shop . . . Doing graphic design type stuff of a computer." He nodded, as if he figured I did something on a computer. "The last shop I worked for closed up . . . No other mechanics are hiring right now . . ." As I listened to him tell me why his last employer had to shut down, Boner traipsed across the floor again. He had again come in through the back door, which was apparently left permanently open. The dog immediately approached me and pawed at my leg. I reached down to pet him, my eyes looking at Chas as he continued to speak. "Danielle's boyfriend worked there too . . . When they closed up, he took off . . . She couldn't afford both halves of the rent so she moved in here . . . Now she's paying both halves anyway, cuz I'm out of work. . . . But the rent is alot cheaper here than where she was livin' . . . Should be . . . this place is a disaster." I was trying to listen and sympathize, but he was so damn sexy, I couldn't quit picturing dirty things I'd like to do with him. I told myself to stop, that it was ridiculous to hope for such things. Then I suddenly realized there was a discrepancy in what he had just said, and what he had told me earlier in my truck. He had implied that Danielle was taken. But now he was inferring that her boyfriend had left. Of course, this had apparently all happened around two months earlier, so she had most likely found someone else already. Girls like her go from one relationship to another like a rented car, barely giving themselves time to change their oil. The more he spoke, the more I noticed that he was rubbing the hair on his stomach and scratching his crotch. I was worried that he would see my eyes on his groin, but every time his hand moved down there I couldn't keep from looking. He finally sat on a chair at the table, legs spread, crotch thrust forward. I took the cue and sat my self. I tried to match his laid-back way of slouching in the chair, which put my crotch blatantly on display as well. This position was too inviting to Boner. Not my own, but the dog. The rottweiler mixed-mutt decided to sniff between my legs again. I flinched and shoved him away. Chas seemed unaffected as he took a swig from is beer, though his other hand reached down to adjust his package. My own package stirred. The dog click-clacked his way over and shoved his nose into Chas's crotch. Chas casually shooed him away. "Well, shit . . . I guess I should get this fuckin' starter on," he said, picking up the dirty part and examining it. Boner sat down to lick himself, his big pink prick protruding an inch or two from its sheath. I waited, watching Chas. He stared at the part in his hands, stalling. Suddenly he plunked it back down on the table, the dishes jumping and clinking. "Hey, you got a girlfriend, man?" he asked and swigged his beer. "Uh . . . Yeah, well . . . uh, sort of . . ." "Sort of?" "Yeah, well . . . I just met this girl . . . You know . . . We've gone out twice . . . So, you know," I said. It was all true. I don't know why I was having so much trouble talking about it. "Gettin' any?" he asked with a wicked grin. "Uh . . . Not yet . . . I mean "You've never gotten any?" he said. It was an obvious joke, but I didn't catch on. "Well, yeah! Of course! Just not with this girl! We've only gone out "Hey, easy, man . . . Only screwin' with ya." "Oh . . ." Chas laughed, shaking his head. "Your too easy, man," he said. He was right; my goat had always been an easy one to get. "I know . . . I'm such a sucker sometimes," I said. I offered a laugh, hoping he wouldn't think that I take myself too seriously. "Don't worry about it . . . I mean, hey, you're a good-looking guy, I'm sure you get lots of action." Now I really didn't know how to react to that. I told myself that it was just something people say. A guy can say something like that to another guy without it meaning anything. Someone as self-confident as this guy is surely secure enough to compliment another man without thinking twice about it. "I guess," I said sheepishly. "Hey, come on now . . . You know your leaving your mark." "I hope not," I said. "I don't need a bunch of little Trevors running around." "That's true," he said and chuckled. "Hey, do what I do, and just do 'em in the ass." We both laughed over that. "Hey, their ass is always tighter than their cunt," he followed up. He glanced down and saw Boner's pink poker pointing at him as the dog continued to clean himself. "Looks like all this sex talk is givin' old Boner a boner." I looked while trying to act like I wasn't really looking. "Hey, Gotta say, it's doing the same for me," Chas said, rubbing his crotch and smiling at me like two little boys sharing a naughty secret. My own soldier enthusiastically reported for duty. I didn't know what to say or how to act. I didn't know if I should say, "Me too," or pretend I was unaffected. I knew this was just something guys do; they talk about boners and pussy; they fondle themselves and embellish the size of their equipment and their sexual resumes. But this guy admitting to being aroused, to having an erection right in front of me, had knocked me off of my game, and I didn't have the best grip to begin with. "You poppin' wood too, man?" he asked, swigging beer and cupping his meat. "Uh . . . I . . ." Of course I was. Big time. "Don't worry about it, man . . . Talkin' pussy 'll do it every time." "Yeah," was all I could articulate. "I'm tellin' ya, that's the worst part about bein' out of work . . . No pussy . . . Can't afford it . . . I mean, I can't take a woman out and expect her to pay for everythin' . . . So I gotta wait till I get a job, so I can take a woman out to dinner and get some dessert." He laughed at his lame pun. "Sure could stand to empty my nuts, though . . . And before you ask, my sister's no help." "I . . . I would never ask that, man!" I said, completely unsettled. Chas started laughing. "Too fuckin' easy, man . . . You are just too fuckin' easy!" Okay, he was kidding. That's good. Not that knowing this could do anything to dispel my hard-on. "I gotta piss, man," he said, still laughing. He stood and strutted to the bathroom down the hall from the livingroom. The dog scrambled to his feet as Chas left the room. He stared down the hall, waiting on his master's return. Meanwhile, I tried to clear my head. I told my self that this was just another day. This was just another macho guy who still has his junior highschool sense of humor. There wasn't any hidden meaning behind his words. This was just another redneck. After a minute or so, Chas returned. I noticed a small wet spot on the front of his jeans. I really wanted to think that he had done it on purpose, just for me. But I knew that it was a common thing. I rarely left a toilet without saving the last few drops myself. So I shook the thought from my head, but . . . . . . he saw me looking. He scratched his crotch like a baseball player while his other hand rubbed the hair on his stomach. His eyes were locked on mine. I couldn't move, couldn't look away. I knew it was coming: he was going to beat me up or kick me out. "It ain't easy pissin' through a hard dick," he said, his tone was matter-of-fact. "Yeah, I hate that," I said, my throat dry and tight. He sidled over to the fridge and snatched another Old Milwaukee. He turned slowly back around, his hand back on his package. He tilted his head and flicked one eyebrow up. I was immediately immersed in an internal debate over whether or not he was asking what I thought he was asking, or if he was asking anything at all. I watched him manipulate his tool and slowly looked up at him again. He smiled and again he flicked one eyebrow up. I just stared at him, not knowing what to do. He suddenly motioned with his head for me to follow him. Before I could think about what I was doing, I was right on his heals. So was Boner. Chas simply entered the little living room and approached a blanket-covered sofa. As he turned around, he took a swig from the beer and rubbed his hardened member. He scratched the light patch of hair on his ABS, his hand sliding down subtly, but noticeably. The tips of his fingers disappeared beneath the top of his Levis. I was mesmerized, unable to pull my eyes away. He swigged the beer again and said, "Take it out, man." "Huh?" I said, my attention jolted away from his waistband. "Unzip me." I stood there at a strange kind of crossroad, my eyes on a pendulum, swinging from his crotch to his face. I wanted this; I had wanted it my whole life. But, I'd just met this guy, so I didn't know if I should do it. I didn't know if I should just go for it and become, if even for one day, what I'd always feared I was. If I did it, could I ever go back? If I did it, I wanted to do it right. I didn't want him to be displeased with me. Man, had this guy cast a spell over me. "Come on," he said, his fingers sinking further down behind the denim, "there's no one around. Who's gonna know? . . . Let's just get off, man . . . I need it bad." He was direct and stoic, not at all as lustful as his words. He obviously knew I wanted it. He peered into my eyes and winked. Just think, this all started out as just another day at the convenience store, I thought to my self as I knelt. I had planned to gas up my pickup and take a drive to a neighboring town to watch some off-road races. I just like staring at the shirtless guys, suntanned and sweaty, smeared with motor oil, working on their machines. My girlfriend, the one I had mentioned to Chas, worked on Saturdays. I wasn't supposed to meet her until late that evening. So, I was gonna treat myself to some eye-candy. Now, here I was, on my knees reaching for the zipper on the kind of guy I had visualized in many jerk-off sessions. I couldn't believe I was doing it. I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience, like someone else was controlling my body while I watched, helplessly. On my knees, my face level with the button on his jeans, I tentatively placed my hands on the front of his thighs. I gazed up at his face. He licked his lips and spread his feet further. I know he wanted me to do it, but the idea of him thinking of me as the kind of guy who would suck a dick, gave me pause. I continued to peer up into his eyes. His jaw clenched as his breathing increased. Slowly, while swigging the beer, his free hand reached out and pulled my face against his crotch. I could feel the granite-like firmness of his cock beneath the denim. Off to my side, I could hear Boner panting. "Take it out, dude," he said with a low purr. My hands made their way up to the top of his fly. Leaving the button fastened, I lowered his zipper, slowly, hesitantly, my eyes still locked on his. When I finally pulled my gaze way from his and looked at his open jeans, I realized that he wasn't wearing any underwear. I could see the skin of his pulsing erection peeking at me. After a quick glance at his expression, I fished his member out. I spread the fly of his jeans apart as far as it would go, letting the nicest piece of man-meat I'd ever seen spring out like a jack-in-the-box. It was nearly eight inches, thick and lined with veins. He was circumcised and his pubic hair was surprisingly trimmed. I was immediately hit with an aroma, a musky, balmy scent emanated profusely from his loins. I realized that he had built up quite a sweat when he was working on his car in the hot sun. He quite likely hadn't bathed in a few days either. I wasn't exactly complaining, however. The lust in me was building, overriding my reluctance. I felt for his balls and freed them. They flopped out and hung down far below the bottom of his zipper. His prick was jutting straight up, and dripping. "Come on, Trev' . . . ," Chas said, pushing my head forward, forcing my face against the tip of his tool. He released the pressure on my head, but my mouth was covered with his pre cum. I swiped my lips with my tongue and tasted him. For the first time in my life, I tasted another man. Then I tasted him again. This time my tongue was directly on his cock. I licked his dripping hole and salivated over the silky skin on the underside of his large, mushroom head. I started to run my tongue down the length of his shaft, but Chas pushed my head back slightly and aimed his prick at my mouth and placed the slimy tip at my lips. "Come on, just take it!" His voice was breathy, but deep and sedated. I opened my mouth and allowed that mushroom head to enter. Closing my lips around the girth of his steely phallus, I felt him push it across my tongue and down my throat. I started to gag, prompting him to pull back slightly. I coughed around his prick, trying not to let my teeth scrape the tender tissue of his precious manhood. As I coughed, my eyes began to water and my nose began to run. But before I could regain my composure, he sank his cock back down my gullet in one steady shove. I continued to cough and gag as he began fucking my mouth, slow and steady at first, building to a rough, raw pace. For someone who hadn't gotten off for so long, and who was so full of lust that he was seducing a total stranger, Chas seemed to have great control. He fucked away at my choking face without slowing for a good minute, then eased off and slid his rod in and out methodically. I wasn't really sucking or anything else. I was merely trying to keep breathing as he ravaged my throat. I hadn't expected that my first chance to suck a cock would go quite like this, but I was loving it. It was embarrassing at first, but I quickly began to love the way his balls repeatedly bounced off my chin. I reached down to massage my own package and felt an ample wet spot. My cock had been raging and leaking lube the entire time. I rubbed my own weapon more aggressively while Chas bred my face. Seeing me playing with my self, he halted, his dick balls deep in my mouth, and said, "Take yours out, man . . . Jerk it!" I obediently undid my fly and pulled out my screaming friend. I hadn't been blessed with the kind of equipment that Chad had, but I had no need to be embarrassed. I had over six inches when fully aroused, and a full sack. Of course, it didn't really matter right then; for, at that moment, I wouldn't have cared if I'd had the little dicky of a five-year-old. I just wanted to get it out and get it off. But, in this position, I couldn't really get my jeans out of the way enough to fully access my junk. Noticing this, Chas pulled out of my mouth and allowed me to push my pants down to my knees. I also took this opportunity to catch my breath. Back in position, Chas instantly reinserted his rod and resumed his assault on my throat. With my knees so close together, constricted by my pants, I still didn't feel right. I managed to rock back on my heels and push my pants down to my ankles, making it possible for me to spread my knees and go at my self. I still hadn't adjusted fully to the rough action of the cock in my mouth, and couldn't seem to get my hand to jerk in rhythm with Chas's erratic thrusts, when I felt something touch the tip of my prick. Then I felt it again. Chas had his hand on the back of my head as he drilled my throat, making it impossible for me to look down and discern what, other than my own hand, was making contact with my cock. A few more swipes and I knew what it was. Boner was licking my drippings. It didn't really bother me; in fact, it felt good. I pulled my hand away and let the dog's tongue do its thing. That tongue was huge. It nearly covered my entire shaft in one lap. The warmth of the soft, slobbery palate as it slopped its way down between my balls and inner leg, was about to cause me to erupt. The action at my face eased as Chas became mesmerized over the sight of his dog licking me. Boner stepped back, huffing loudly, drool running from his mouth. I slid my hands up and gripped Chas's ass. I could feel the ripple of his muscles as he slowly, sensuously drove his organ in and out of my mouth while making low, gravely noises in his throat. Boner approached me again, panting. He sniffed my dick then his head ducked down between my legs, his tongue flicking at my ass hole. I flinched, but didn't care. I was looking up into Chas's eyes and losing myself in the look of animalistic lust on his face. He was still holding the beer can with one hand and my head with the other. The feel of the dog's furry muzzle and warm breath beneath my balls and around my ass was pure pleasure. Suddenly, Boner's head pulled back and he frantically circled me. On my knees, butt jutting back as I accepted Chas's pumping prick, my hole was more easily accessible for the dog's tongue from behind. He instantly went to work on my ring, licking vigorously. It felt absolutely incredible, but it was more blatant and embarrassing somehow than what he had been doing. I reached back to shoo him away, but Chas stopped me. "No . . . Let him, man . . . Let him lick . . . It's hot." It was still strange, almost freaky, but if he liked it, then I was willing to let it go. Besides, it felt so damn good! I tried to push my ass back further, but with Chas holding my head and fucking my throat, I couldn't reposition myself. I attempted to reach back and spread my cheeks apart; even this was difficult. Suddenly, Chas pulled out of my mouth and stepped back. "Here, man," he said and undid the button on his jeans and let them fall all the way to his ankles. He then sat on the sofa with his ass hanging off the edge, his knees spread wide. "This way you can get that ass up for the dog." I promptly moved forward and sucked his cock back down my gullet. My hands instantly roamed all over his bare thighs. They were firm and muscled with only a moderate covering of hair. I began bobbing my head up and down his shaft and felt the dog's tongue back on my ass. He was right, this position, leaning forward over his lap, raised and opened my ass at the optimum angle for Boner's tongue. The dog went at my hole enthusiastically, pushing and burrowing with his nose against my ring, opening me slightly. It felt so amazing, yet the lingering guilt for allowing something so dirty and taboo was keeping me from an orgasm. When the question of what Chas would think of me after this was over crossed my mind, I nearly lost my erection all together. But, Boner decided to change the game once again. He abruptly quit licking my ass and took a few flicks at the back of my dangling balls. Then he paced back and forth behind me, pressing up against my side, then whipping around to nudge me from the other side. I had no idea what he was doing, I was trying to concentrate my efforts on Chas's prick. Then, without warning or finesse, Boner pulled himself over my back. He instantly started hunching, causing me to nearly bite down on the dick in my mouth. "Hey!" I said, raising off of Chas's member, "get off of me!" I started to push him off but again, Chas stopped me. "Hey, let him go, man . . . Let's see if he can do it," Chas said, casually. "Shit, no, man! . . . I don't want to be fucked by a dog!" I said in a frantic whisper. "Awe, shit . . . I don't think he can get it in you . . . I just want to see him try . . . It looks so hot, seeing him mounted over you, man." The dog was still hunching, his dick jabbing at the air between my spread legs. I tried to reach back to get him off, but he was heavy and he was strong and he was clutching my waist tightly with his forelegs. "Please get him off of me!" I pleaded, looking into Chas's eyes. "This is too much." Before Chas could respond one way or the other, Boner's cock stabbed my hole. I screamed into Chas's face and begged him more urgently to get the dog away from me. That k-9 cock jabbed my sphincter again, harder. "Shiiiiiittttt! . . . Get him off!" "Come on, Boner . . . Get down, boy." Chas said, half-heartedly. The dog's dick hit my hole again and stayed, at least an inch deep. His rapid, aggressive hunching immediately drove it in further. I screamed, and tried to squirm. "Get him out! Get him out!" "Hey, is he in you, man?" Chas asked. "Fuck! Get him out! . . . Just get him out!" I screamed, my face buried into the cushion between Chas's legs. Chas stood up. I thought he was going to get the dog off of me, but he just leaned over to get a better look. "Holy shit, He is in you . . . That's fuckin' hot, dude." I couldn't believe he sounded so unaffected by it all. As I said, he would act the same if the sky was falling or if he won the lottery. "Please! Get him out!" I begged, my eyes and voice full of tears. I tried to squirm again. "Hey, hold still, man." Chas commanded in that deep, authoritative voice. "He's already in you . . . Might as well go for it." "No! . . . Get him out! . . . I don' t want to do this . . . it hurts! . . . Shit, it hurts!" I tried to stand up or move or something. I just wanted that thing out of me. This was not what I bargained for. I wanted to please Chas, but not like this. But Chas wouldn't let me up. He held me down and locked my head between his knees. I was looking right down at his jeans, bunched around his ankles. I could see some skid marks and was aware of the accompanying scent. "Just let him do it, man. . . . It's totally fuckin' hot, man." "Please!" I begged. That burning cock was buried deep now. It hurt like hell and I felt like the dirtiest, lowest man on earth. I was clutching Chas's thighs above me as he continued to hold my head between my legs. I was sobbing, begging him to please make it stop. "Hey, just relax, man . . . Relax your hole . . . I know you know how . . . I know you been fucked before." He was just as calm and collected as he was when he first climbed into my truck. "I've never been fucked!" I cried. "Hey, my ass . . . When I told you to unzip me, I just wanted you to jack me . . . You're the one who dropped to your knees . . . You've sucked cock before . . . I'm sure you've offered up your ass a time or two." He was wrong. I'd always wanted to be with a guy, but never actually did it. I was always too afraid to. I wanted to be with him, but I didn't want this. I wasn't a fag. I wasn't! "No . . . Please . . . You can fuck me, just not this!" I pleaded through tears. "Shit. This is so fuckin' hot," he stated, his voice as cool as ever. I couldn't see it, but I knew he was stroking his dick. He tilted his head back and finished off the beer and tossed the can across the room. My ass was still screaming. The dog's cock was still gouging my innards with a piston-like motion. Then it all slowed. The hunching eased. Then my ass started stretching. I whimpered and begged again for Chas to get the dog out of me. Boner's schlong seemed to be growing, swelling. The ring of my ass felt like it was going to tear. It occurred to me that it was the dog's knot. I knew enough about dogs to know about this little trinket. Even city folks have had to have seen a couple of dog's all snagged up, genitals to genitals, at least once in their life, even if it was only on the discovery channel or something. Either way, it scared the hell out of me. I didn't want to have that thing locked in me. I hadn't wanted it in me in the first place. "Oh, shit! . . . Please! . . . He's tearing me! Shit!" I screamed. "Oh, fuck, is his knot swellin' already?" Chas asked, loving every minute of it. "Please, you've got to get him out! . . . Please, it hurts!" "No can do now, man . . . Tryin' to pull him out would do more damage to your hole than just lettin' 'im finish . . . He's tyin' to you . . . Breedin' your ass." I was whimpering, and sniffling, pleading silently for it to all be over with. "Uh, oh. Here he goes . . . Gonna turn around on ya," Chas announced. I let loose another scream as the dog stepped over and turned himself around, his knot rotating inside my anal canal. The pain made me go limp. My head would've been on the floor if not for Chas's knees, clamped against the sides of my neck, my shoulders against his chins, holding me up. Boner and I were now ass to ass. His cock was pulsing inside of me, cumming. "I think he's cummin' in ya, man . . . I hear it," Chas said, with that nonchalant drawl of his. "Fuck. This shit is fuckin' hot." I whimpered loudly, my hands clutching his thighs. The burning in my ass was so bad it felt like I was spewing molten lava from my bowels. Boner's spunk began to drizzle out from around his embedded pole and down my legs. It felt hot but somehow helped to soothe the fire that raged in my over-stretched ring. "Oh shit yeah. Here it comes." Chas said, his laid back voice not matching the exuberance of his words. Along with the pain, I felt so low and vile, so ashamed. "He's bitchin' you out, man . . . Breedin' your ass," Chas said, coolly. This wasn't helping my feelings any. "Yep, that's fuckin' hot," he said and slapped my ass then sat back on the couch. My head nearly dropped to the floor without the aid of his legs. I caught my self, but not before my ass tugged against Boner's knot, causing me to yelp and hiss. "Come on, man," Chas said, patting his lap. "Finish me off, man." My arms trembled as they held my weight, weakened by the pain and indignity. I stared at Chas; I couldn't believe he expected me to suck his cock now. I had been humiliated and degraded as it was, sucking his cock while still being glutted by his dog felt like complete submission. Chas was completely temperate. His impressive dick standing as hard as I've ever seen a dick stand. He patted his lap again and scooted his ass further forward, allowing his balls to hang off the edge of the couch. His knees were spread wide; it all looked very inviting. But I just couldn't. I was in too much pain and feeling too disgusted. "Come on, man," Chas whispered, "please . . . I need to get off." With my ass hung on a dog cock, being filled with k-9 cum, being bred, I still wanted to please this guy. I wanted to help him get off. But I was hurt that he would let this happen to me, that he thought so little of me. My eyes were still filled with tears of pain, both physical and emotional. I shook my head in answer to Chas's request and lowered myself to my elbows. I stared at the floor, my breathing like that of a woman in labor. Suddenly I felt Chas's hands on both sides of my face. He raised my head until we were making eye contact. Without a word he began to pull me gently forward. I obeyed and started to inch closer until I met the resistence of Boner's knot. I whimpered and cringed. Chas scooted his ass toward me, his balls dangling, both cheeks entirely off the edge of the sofa. His tool was now within reach of my mouth, but I still hesitated. The pleading look in his eyes nearly broke me, but I held. Just when I thought I had out-willed him, he jammed my face into his crotch. He held me there, my nose and mouth crammed into the space between his package and his thigh. I tried not to enjoy his smell. But it was impossible. The sweat of his crotch and the aroma drifting up from his ass was all it took for me to start to feel aroused again. The pain in my ass had begun to numb, helping me ease back to a lustful state. I tentatively flicked my tongue and tasted the moisture around his balls. I licked again, taking in more. With each lick, I became more turned on. I moved my head down, venturing to taste his ass. Before my striving tongue could reach his flavor-crater, Chas pulled my head up and blatantly shoved the tip of his leaking prick at my lips again. When I opened my mouth to take it, Chas shoved my head down roughly, filling my throat with his meat. Again I was coughing and gagging, my breathing, still agitated by the large knob of dog flesh that I was trying to pas through my sphincter, became even more labored. Chas held my head in place and began humping his hips up into my mouth. The muscles in his stomach revealed themselves with every thrust. Pushing with his feet planted on the floor, he drove that redneck cock into my unprepared throat, his nut sac whipping up and down like a paddleball. I braced my hands on the sofa on either side of his legs, and tried my best to control my choking. Boner was panting heavily and beginning to fuss. He was thrashing and pulling, refilling my ass-end with pain. This time, however, the pain was less of a searing fire and more of a dull ache, one that had a bit of pleasure to it. Something deep in my ass was tingling, seemingly wanting to suck the dog's cock in further, reactivating my shrunken shaft. It returned to full strength and was leaking again. I could hear the soppy, squishy sounds of each movement of his dick as it rested in a bath of its own cum inside my ass. Chas's thighs were tightening, his pace slowing though the strength of each thrust had increased. He suddenly let out a deep, gravely sigh as he unloaded in my mouth. I didn't know a human male could cum so much. It just kept spewing from his spigot, over flowing out of my already choking throat. It was dribbling down the corners of my mouth. My own hose started spraying, my own orgasm finally igniting. I felt it this time, every round, every exquisite shot. I thought I might pass out. If not from the ecstasy of my climax, then from the lack of oxygen. I was still having trouble breathing around Chas's tool. Suddenly, Boner tugged stiffly, yanking me off of Chas's pole and causing the last two discharges from his spout to land on my face. I yelped and coughed and coughed and yelped. Boner was trying to drag me around the livingroom by the stern. I was drooling as I strived frantically to catch my breath. I coughed and gasped some more and I crawled backward as fast as I could to keep Boner's knot from ripping my ass ring. As soon as I had found a bit of my composure, I reached back and grabbed the dog's hind leg. I managed to keep him from moving while I finished calming myself. I looked at Chas; his ass had sunk to the floor, his feet spread out in front of him. He was looking at me with the same expression he'd worn since I met him at the mini mart. "I needed that," he said, his voice giving only a hint of how drained he was. "Thanks, man." "Fuck you!" I wanted to scream. I wanted to yell at him, to tell him that he was an asshole for letting the dog fuck me, that he was a jerk for being so rough when he was fucking my face. I wanted to tell him that he obviously only cared about his own pleasure. But, after the whole event, even as I remained locked onto his dog's breeding tool, I wanted to impress this guy. I didn't want him to think I was a wimp. I didn't want him to think that I couldn't handle a little rough sex. I shouldn't have expected that he'd be gentle, that he be romantic. In fact, I should have expected just what I received. And, to be honest, I received just what I'd always fantasized about when I pictured doing it with a guy like this. I realized as I knelt there, Boner's cock still nestled in my ass, Chas's spunk still running down my face, that I felt very satisfied. I hadn't been that satisfied after sex in my life. After a few minutes, Chas stood and pulled up his pants. He walked over to me with that ever-so-sexy strut. He squatted in front of me, looking into my eyes. "You all right?" he asked. Though his voice was still unchanged, he seemed to be genuinely concerned. "I think so." "That was hot, man . . . You really know what you're doin'" "Yeah, well . . . I didn't want to do this," I said, indicating Boner's involvement with a turn of my head. "I don't like this." The pain was starting to reinstate itself, causing me to grimace. "Hey, man . . . I saw you shoot two loads . . . Couldn't have been too bad." I just stared at him, wincing. Man, I was attracted to this guy, but I didn't know how to take him. I couldn't tell if he liked me all. He was so unaffected by life that he was impossible to read. He turned away and began tinkering about the house. Boner kept wanting to follow him, forcing me to keep a hold on his leg. I silently begged and pleaded for his know to deflate. The wet, squishy noises were no longer arousing. I felt so exposed every time Chas walked into the room while I was still on the floor, pants around my ankles, dog lodged in my butt. Suddenly Chas walked up to me and started fumbling in my pants that were bunched up around my feet. "What are you doing?" I asked. "I need your keys . . . Got to go pick up Danielle from work and my nephew from his friend's house . . . We'll have to get my car going later." He found the keys and started to walk away. "You're just gonna leave me here?" I asked, horrified. "You ain't goin' anywhere for a while . . . Last time Boner did the shorthaired pointer bitch next door, it took him nearly an hour to disengage . . . Don't worry, I won't be gone long . . . Danielle's gonna shit when she sees you and Boner." He stopped just at the door and looked back. He stared at the sight of his dog tied to a man for a good minute. Finally, he looked me in the eye and smiled. It was a different smile for him. It was appreciative. Then he left. I could hear my truck start and peel off down the street. Then all I could hear was Boner's panting and my own whimpering. It started as just another day. . . . To be continued if anyone wants it to? . . . ***************************************************************************** Please let me know what you think . . . I love comments, positive, negative or indifferent . . . Feedback keeps me writing . . . Send all opinions to unclebugga73@msn.com Thanks for reading.