WEEKEND IN THE WOODS
By Bob Boyer

Finally, he was alone by the lake with the horny, hairy sailor, just 
the two of them sucking and fucking under the big sky...

   Like a lot of young men who grew up in the Seventies and Eighties, 
I was raised by a single mother. She was awfully busy, sometimes 
holding down a couple of jobs, but she was determined that I wouldn't 
suffer from the lack of a father. After she and my father split, I saw him 
on occasion -- but the occasions grew further and further apart, and by 
the time I was nearing my teens, he was no longer a part of my life. 
Mom occasionally dated, but none of her male friends lasted very long, 
and so, for much of my childhood and adolescence, it was just the two 
of us.
   Mom had a younger brother named Phil who was making a career 
in the U.S. Navy, and who arrived for overnight stays when he was on 
leave. I always knew that I was named for him and that he was my 
godfather. In fact, Mom referred to him as Phil and to me as Little 
Philly for much of my childhood. Needless to say, as I got older, I 
discouraged her pet name for me. But occasionally it would slip out in 
the presence of my friends and make me red-faced as they snickered.
   One day right after I turned eighteen, Phil arrived at the house, 
dressed in civvies, and announced that he had chosen to retire early. 
Eventually, it would mean a cut in his pension, he said, but he wanted 
to settle down. Looking back on it, I guess Mom had known his plans, 
because she welcomed him and let him know that he could stay with us 
as long as he needed to.
   As the months passed, he became a pleasant fixture in our small 
household, helping with the chores, recounting stories of his travels, 
and, when he was working, paying a portion of the household 
expenses. If there was a downside to his living with us, it was that, like 
the "salty seaman" he had been for so long, he occasionally got drunk, 
stumbled home from god-knows-what tavern, threw himself into his 
first-floor bedroom, and slept it off. Fortunately, he was never 
obnoxious or violent.
   On some of these drunken outings, he was accompanied by his 
friend, Larry, who had been a high school buddy years before. They 
had been teammates on some varsity team or other, but thankfully they 
never bored Mom and me with old jock stories.
   One Friday night, well past midnight, I was watching TV when the 
front door opened, and Phil and Larry entered, both tipsy. After a rather 
forced greeting to me, in which they made a poor stab at appearing 
sober, they glided down the hall to Phil's bedroom and shut the door 
behind them. This was not the first time that the two had returned 
together to sober up here so that Larry would not have to face his wife 
and children.
   A few minutes later, I decided to turn off the TV and go to bed, but 
as I passed Phil's room, I heard strange, low animal noises through the 
door. There was soft throaty laughter and whispering, then silences, 
then the sound of four stockinged feet walking about, and finally the 
creaking of the bed.
   This had me so curious that I tiptoed the rest of the way down the 
hall, slipped out the back door, and circled enough of the house to 
come to the lighted window of Phil's room. Though the blind was 
down, there was a space between the blind and the sill that allowed me 
a clear view of most of the room. What I saw really "blew" my callow, 
late-adolescent mind.
   Uncle Phil was seated on the edge of the bed, leaning back on his 
elbows, his head thrown back and his eyes closed. He was down to his 
tee shirt. His pants were unzipped and his cock was out, standing at 
attention. Kneeling on the floor in front of him, between his lanky legs, 
and still fully dressed, Larry was stroking my uncle's cock. Up and 
down, gripping the shiny pink shaft. A bottle of Cornhusker's lotion 
was lying on the bed, which explained the oily lather that squished 
between Larry's stroking fingers, running down onto Uncle Phil's big 
hairy balls.
   A moment later, Larry had taken the cock into his mouth and was 
close to gagging as it invaded his throat. Phil arched up, and even 
through the closed window, I could hear him moan with pleasure. All 
kinds of thoughts flashed through my brain. Was Larry queer? He 
couldn't be. Right after high school, he had married a plump little 
cheerleader type. Babies followed at decent intervals. And he was 
thoroughly masculine. Sure, his toned physique had turned a bit stocky, 
the solid muscles had been overlaid with a softer layer, but his fine 
hairy arms and his dark beard shadow and sturdy moustache screamed, 
"This is a man."
   Uncle Phil leaned forward, his big prick still pumping between 
Larry's lips. He pulled his buddy's knit shirt out of his pants and up his 
torso until his massive chest was available to Phil's hands, the large 
brick-red nipples thrusting through the black curly hair. Phil began to 
maul his chest, deeply massaging the flesh and twisting the prominent 
tits between his fingers. Then he manipulated the strong shoulder 
muscles of his friend.
   After a few minutes of this, Phil took his cock away from Larry's 
lips, raising his friend up by his underarms enough to indicate that he 
wanted to exchange positions. Larry finished hiking his shirt off, then 
lay back on the bed. Sitting beside him, Phil slipped his fingers into the 
bulging crotch of Larry's pants. He smiled as he cupped the thick 
throbbing flesh within. In a moment, the zipper was down, and then the 
trousers, revealing a short, but thick cock with a solid red-purple head.
   Before Phil began to suck his friend's dick, he fell upon his big chest 
and their lips met. I had never seen men kiss before. Their tongues 
thrust wildly in and out of each other's mouth, their rough stubbled 
cheeks rubbed together. The passion was so strong it looked for all the 
world as though they were trying to eat each other's face. At one point, 
Larry grabbed my uncle's jaw in both of his hands, forcing his tongue, 
even his lips, into his partner's mouth. When their faces parted, the skin 
was red and slippery with spit and sweat.
   Phil now took the thickness of Larry's dick into his mouth, sinking 
over it until his lips were buried in the hairy bush at its stubby base. 
Larry was twisting and churning on the bed, his hands on Phil's head, 
regulating as best he could the pistoning of his cock from which hot 
semen had so often squirted into his wife's deep slash, making babies. 
His ass began to thrust uncontrollably up and down, forcing his cock 
deeper into my uncle's mouth, and with a cry he exploded. Thick white 
cum dripped out of Phil's mouth and onto Larry's thighs.
   Phil wiped his mouth with the back of his hairy hand and smiled 
down at his panting friend whose belly was still undulating and whose 
cock was bright red and slick with semen. He quickly unbuttoned his 
own pants and slipped them off. His own dick had never softened and 
now stood straight out from his crotch. It was not thick, but had a 
muscular look -- the veins that circled it were prominent, and the shaft 
curved slightly up. He straddled Larry, face to face, sitting on his 
stomach. Taking a glob of lotion on his hand, he slicked up his member 
and began to stroke it with that expertise that only long experience can 
bring. His chest heaved under his tee shirt. Both he and Larry had 
strange leering smiles on their faces. I swear, as he beat that meat, it 
seemed to get longer, until he leaned back and thick ropes of cum 
spewed out over Larry's chest, some hitting his buddy's cheeks and 
forehead.
   By the time of this encounter, I was hardly a stranger to 
masturbation. I had been whacking my own meat for quite a while. I 
knew what it was to watch spurt after spurt of cum arc from my 
impatient cock. In fact, as I watched the two older men pleasure each 
other, my cock had become rigid. As they had come close to climax, I 
rubbed my own warm, throbbing prick through my thin running shorts 
with the side of my hand. As Uncle Phil spent his load, my own hot 
load had gushed out, wetting the fabric of my shorts and dripping down 
my legs. The familiar, pungent smell of adolescent cum rose to my 
nostrils.
   I stood there shaking. The two men kiddingly rubbed the gooey 
spunk around Larry's curly-haired chest and belly. Then, after a few 
surprisingly gentle kisses on the neck and on the lips, they both stood 
up with their hands on each other, as though they could not yet let go of 
the experience. It was astonishing to see such strong, solidly built men 
gently stroking each other's chest and biceps, their fingers, their hands, 
their arms interlocking.

   It took me many months to come to terms with what I had seen that 
evening. At first, I blushed when facing Uncle Phil, much as I tried not 
to. And, during the days that followed, in the privacy of my bedroom, I 
often used the memory of their lovemaking to drive my own rising 
passion to higher peaks and ever more forceful ejaculations. Strangely, 
in the months that followed, I became fixated on Uncle Phil's lanky 
physique. Whenever I would see him lounging around the house in 
various states of undress, I would memorize the sinewy muscles of his 
forearms, the knotted biceps (like softballs beneath the ivory skin of his 
upper arms), the light brown curly hair that covered most of his rippling 
belly and solid chest. And always in my mind's eye was the steely cock 
with those low-slung balls.
   Hard as it was to admit it, I had come to envy Larry, who had felt 
every inch of that manliness, who had tasted the warm sap from those 
balls, and who had accepted the deep kisses of my uncle's bristly 
mouth.
   One day as I walked in the door after my last class, Mom called 
out, "Little Philly, your uncle wants to talk with you. He's in his room."
   I entered the bedroom to find Uncle Phil, who was apparently just 
out of the shower. He had a small plaid terry cloth wrap around his 
narrow waist. A towel was casually hooked over his neck, and his body 
hair glistened with tiny water droplets.
   "Your mom tells me that you used to go camping with your dad 
when you were a lot younger, and that all the gear is still down in the 
basement. If you'd like, we could take a weekend soon and take off for 
Butte Lake. Just you and me. Lots of good camping up there, as I 
remember."
   "Can't say I'm much of a camper, Uncle Phil, but it sounds cool, if 
you want to go. "
   So, it was settled. Two weeks later, we had scrubbed up all the 
dusty equipment from under the cellar stairs, packed all of it, plus a 
couple of boxes of food, into my uncle's beat-up van, and were heading 
for the northeast corner of the state, which was known for its 
picturesque lakes and dense pine forests.
   After we arrived in the area, Phil drove the rough tree-shaded roads 
that connected the lakes within the large state preserve. We pulled off 
between the trees of what appeared to be a virgin forest, finally selected 
a secluded spot right on a little inlet, and set up the semblance of a 
camp. As it was early on a warm summer evening, and fishing for our 
supper seemed too chancy, we settled for some tinned food and then, as 
the sun was going down, prepared for bed.
   We spread our two sleeping bags on the ground near the glowing 
coals of the dinner fire. Uncle Phil began to strip off his clothes and, to 
my surprise, was soon in the buff, showing no embarrassment. He 
stepped a few feet into the woods and took a noisy piss, shaking his 
flaccid dick as he returned to the clearing.
   "Get out of your clothes, Little Philly," he said casually.
   I winced at the name, but quickly shed everything.
   Phil was lying back on his sleeping bag, his sinewy arms behind his 
head. "You're a damn good-looking young man, if you'll forgive me for 
saying so."
   "Thanks, Uncle Phil," I said nervously, sitting on my sleeping bag, 
my arms wrapped around my knees, trying not to stare at the 
handsome, fully masculine man who lay fully exposed to me only a 
few feet away.
   "Betcha got the babes at school wrapped around your little finger, 
huh?"
   I was silent.
   "With a big hog like that hanging between your legs, you must 
make the ladies drool! Don't be embarrassed -- you're hung well. It runs 
in the family. You been slipping that nice fat dick of yours up any good 
snatch lately?"
   My God, I thought, he's been thinking about my cock like I've been 
thinking about his. After a long silence, I answered, "I don't know what 
to say, Uncle Philly." I was really blushing.
   "You don't need to say anything -- your dick's doing the speaking 
for you," he laughed.
   I looked down and, sure enough, my dick was rapidly filling and 
rising.
   Phil put his right hand on his own prick and began to beat it gently. 
"Get in that gym bag over by you and see if there aren't some rubbers 
loose in the bottom of it."
   I reached around in the bag, found a big handful of condoms, and 
pulled them out.
   "Bring 'em over here. You and I are gonna help each other out in the 
sex department, but I'm not gonna take any chances. I've fucked some 
strange pussy, not to mention some strange butt, all over the friggin' 
world. What would your mom say if I was to give you the clap, or 
worse? Sailors have a reputation, you know!" he said with a smile.
   Yeah, I wondered, what would Mom say if she knew we two men, 
nephew and uncle, were about to explore each other's private parts!
   I went to his side and kneeled down. "Put one on my prick," he 
instructed. As I peeled off the foil, he reached inside his shaving kit and 
pulled out the same bottle of Cornhusker's lotion and smeared just a 
thin layer all over his rigid manhood. I was shaking as I slipped the 
latex over the warm head of his cock. In order to unroll it all the way 
down, I had to hold his hot manflesh -- the first hard cock I had ever 
touched other than my own.
   "Umm," he moaned, "unwrap another one and get your dick over 
here."
   I did as he said, turning my naked crotch toward his head and letting 
him cover mine quickly, expertly, with both hands caressing the shaft. 
Then he slipped his hands up my stomach and all over my smooth 
chest.
   What happened then was pretty much a replay of what I had seen in 
his bedroom, only I was experiencing firsthand the glorious feeling of 
my uncle's rough hands and hairy flesh, his fiery mouth and his 
powerful thighs, all at my fingertips, all responding to my touch.
   After a few minutes, both of us, sweaty and breathing deeply, had 
filled the reservoirs of our rubbers and were lying beside each other on 
his sleeping bag. The back of my left hand was lightly mussing the hair 
on his chest and belly. His right arm was around my neck, and his 
fingers were playfully tweaking my big swollen nipples. We would 
kiss and he would rub the muscles of my neck.
   As the sun went down over the western end of the lake, we 
remained in the glow of the fire, which gently crackled and sputtered. 
We had discarded the dripping rubbers, joking about how hot, endless 
loads must run in the family -- just like big pricks!
   Eventually, we stood up and, with our arms around each other's 
shoulders, moved to the edge of the clearing to take urgent pisses, then 
returned to the blanket to fall asleep in each other's arms.

   After a deep, peaceful sleep, I awoke the next morning with an 
amazing feeling. As I quickly came to consciousness. I realized that 
Phil had my already-hard cock deep in his mouth and, more amazingly, 
his middle finger was pushing through the clenched ring of my asshole.
   "Feel good this morning, Philly honey?" With his free hand, he was 
massaging my chest and stomach deeply.
   "Uh huh, " I sputtered, twisting a bit against the invasion of my 
love-chute.
   "Take it easy, babe. Uncle Phil woke up, still horny as shit, looked 
at your nice ass and decided that there was no time like the present to 
take your cherry." On the word "cherry," he slipped his finger fully into 
my hole. "I ain't gonna hurt you, kid. Just trust me and go with me." 
The probing finger thrust in and out.
   I didn't say a word -- I just became putty in his hands, as they say. 
His throbbing, curved dick was already sheathed in its opaque wrap. 
With another palmful of lotion, he slicked it up for the battering of my 
cherry. He knelt between my legs and pulled the back of my legs onto 
his hard thighs.
   Within a minute, he had aimed his cockhead at my tender, puckered 
tunnel entrance. I sucked in my breath as the head forced its way into 
me. Slowly, he fed me more and more of the slick shaft. Finally, he 
was in me to the hilt -- I could feel the curly hair at the base of his prick 
wedged into my asscrack.
   Uncle Phil began the patient strokes that helped my ass 
accommodate his big dick with less pain and more pleasure with each 
passing moment. I could hardly believe the feeling. A caring stud was 
pistoning my willing ass, and I could feel not only the powerful 
pumping and the fullness of my love-chute, but also the suction as the 
muscles of my asshole grabbed the rigid head.
   "My God, you're a tight pussy," he growled, and adjusted my butt a 
bit so as to get a better thrusting angle.
   As Phil fucked me, driving me almost delirious, I rubbed my hands 
all over his matted, muscular chest, pressed the hard pink nipples that 
pierced the curly chest hair, and gripped his rippling shoulders and hard 
biceps -- my young, soft hands celebrating the hard masculinity of my 
uncle the sailor. How many other men and women -- in how many 
ports, in how many bunks -- had felt that ultimate intimacy?
   Just then, his pumping speeded up, driving me crazy as his cock slid 
over my prostate. I couldn't hold back any longer, and my dick started 
spewing cum all over the place. And as I came, my asshole pulsated 
around Phil's pistoning dick, which drove him over the edge, and I 
could actually feel the expansions and contractions of his cockshaft as 
he shot sailor spunk into the condom. We collapsed against each other 
and fell back to sleep for another couple of hours.
   The rest of that weekend was spent fishing and swimming and 
chasing each other through the woods naked. Mainly, though, it was 
filled with love and bonding, both physical and psychological.
   Back in the van, heading for home that Sunday evening, Uncle Phil 
held my hand and thanked me for giving him such pleasure.
   As we turned onto the main road and left Butte Lake behind us, I 
looked at his hard jaw, his handsome profile, his thinning, curly hair. 
"No sweat, Uncle Phil. I filled as many rubbers as you did, and my ass 
never felt as good as when you were filling it."
   We both smiled about that, and hugged each other a lot as the van 
tooted along the state highway toward home.