Date: Tue, 10 Feb 2004 13:01:34 -0800 (PST)
From: Pendragon <pendragon03301@yahoo.com>
Subject: Waiting for Jason 3

I must have dozed off sitting next to Marty in the park because the next
thing I knew a cold, wet nose was sniffing in my left ear. Then a sloppy
tongue wiped across my chin; I rolled to my right, swatting away the
annoyance.

Bear! Undoubtedly the ugliest, silliest dog ever created, Bear was half
Rottweiler, half Dachshund, with a huge, bear-like head, immense paws,
and the body of a wiener dog. It also had such a huge cock that it
dragged along the ground -- a source of endless amusement to us as he
gave little yips every time he dragged it across a sharp rock or stick.

Mark, the bombastic owner of Bear, was as outgoing as his unusual pup.
Mark was a hillbilly's hillbilly: stocky, hairy all over, bearded, loud,
obnoxious, and absolutely hilarious. I've never met a more outgoing guy;
you could either love him or hate, but you could never ignore him.

"I see he gotcha agin," Mark boomed. "Heh, heh, heh," he guffawed,
knowing I loved the dog but hated the sloppy kisses, especially when I
was least expecting it.

Marty scrambled next to me, reaching for a large stick that was just out
of reach, finally rolling over completely (giving a great view of his
tight ass in his faded khakis) and lunging for the stick as Bear grabbed
the other end.

"Give it to me, you worthless piece of shit," Marty yelled. "Drop it.
Drop it now!"

So much for a quiet afternoon, I thought. Damn; it was oppressively hot
and humid. The usual after-work crowd was gathering on the hilltop,
joining Marty for his daily vigil, waiting for Jason.

Mark plopped himself down next to me, poked me in the ribs (I hate
that!), then grabbed me in a headlock and rubbed his knuckles into the
top of my head (I really, really hate that!) I squirmed, rolled away, and
snarled, "Pervert!" then jumped aside as he lunged at me.

The air was thick and humid, pregnant with the pending storm, dark clouds
rolling in from the southwest. It was perfectly still, always an ominous
sign that a bad storm was building and approaching.

Jerry wandered by with his fussy little mutt (must be part Poodle, it was
so nervous) and then Doug came over the hill from the other side. Soon,
at least 12 of us were sitting around talking, laughing, playing with the
dogs, smoking, and otherwise wasting time before heading home. Marty sat
alone at the edge of the group, gazing into thewoods, waiting for Jason.

"You just gotta get over this boy, boy," Mark boomed, grabbing Marty
from behind and lifting him up in a lung-collapsing bear hug. Marty
squirmed but his gaze never left the meadow across the road, just in case
Jason really appeared.

"Let me go, you hillbilly oaf," Marty drawled. "You squeeze any
tighter and I'll shit all over your leg."

Mark dropped him and backed away. "Man, I think you farted on me!" Mark
boomed. "What did you have for dinner last night. Damn, you are
potent!" he announced waving his hands about as if caught in a swarm of
bees.

Marty turned his head, gave a mischievous grin, folded his legs under him
and sat back down to gaze across the road.

"Marty has it bad," Jerry said, tossing a stick to his dog. "Never
seen anything like it." Jerry was the token fat guy in the group in a
friendly, roly-poly sort of way. His dark slick hair was never combed,
his black-framed glasses didn't help his appearance much, and his
clothes always looked as if he'd slept in them -- for weeks. But he was
a nice guy, had a quiet, witty sense of humor, and one of the biggest,
fattest cocks I'd ever seen.

I'd never actually seen it close up; Jerry and I never played. But I
remember driving through the park one early morning and seeing Jerry on a
hilltop just above the road getting what looked like a spectacular
blowjob from another guy who cruised the park routinely. What I saw was
impressive and others had confirmed the accuracy of my momentary
observation.

Bringing my attention back from that momentary flashback, I realized that
Mark had launched into one of his infamous stories of being a predatory
top. Although he had a full-time job as an estate manager for a wealthy
resident, Mark managed to travel extensively in the region, ostensibly
looking for rare botanical specimens to add to his employer's
collections. He thought nothing of driving 100 or 200 miles to look at a
rare shrub or poke around in an obscure nursery -- and then come home
empty handed because it wasn't what he expected.

Actually, Mark never came home empty handed per se and heinvariably
found a rare male specimen to scrutinize. He alwaysprovidedus with an
instant-replayvivid account of his latest roadside or bookstore
conquests, punctuated with graphic details and often a good bit of fun.

" . . . So I pass this egg truck once more on the highway and looked in
the driver's open door of this butt-ugly step van type thing. And there
was this young guy, long, thin legs hanging out of tan shorts, and I said
to myself, `Self, that guy was playing with his dick driving along
here.' So I pull up alongside and hike up my butt and pull down my pants
and wiggle my weenie at him," Mark boasted. A few gasps came from the
group.

"And . . . ? Dave asked, wriggling his eyebrows.

Mark beamed, rolled his eyes, and said, "Wouldn't you like to know?"
Then turned away. "As . . .I . . . was . . . saying . . ." he paused
for full dramatic affect, "This kid just about drove off the road. I
thought he was going to crash through the rail or lose control and hit
me, so I slowed down and let him pass."

Marty had turned away from his vigil and was listening to Mark's story.
I gave a quick look at Marty and then checked over his shoulder to the
tree line in the meadow, just in case Jason showed up.

"So this egg guy speeds up, taps his break lights, and goes roaring off
at the next exit," Mark explained. "He left me in the dust! (Pause,
pause) What could I do but follow?" he smirked. We laughed with him,
anticipating the next installment of the usual recitation of a Mark-romp
through the woods.

He didn't disappoint us. Mark came upon the truck, abandoned at a
roadside pull-off, where a clear path ran back into the woods and into a
clearing.

"So I break through the trees and there's this guy with his pants off,
butt naked, and he's slung himself tummy down across a fallen tree
trunk. My God, he was gorgeous! Nice hairy butt; long, long legs; and a
great big ol' dick hanging down. I about peed myself," Mark boomed.
"Then he looked back over his shoulder at me and spread his cheeks to
the world," Mark boomed. "I couldn't resist," he chortled.

I was losing interest; this was another one of Mark's innumerable tales
of conquest. I could predict the rest of the story: Mark does this, guy
does that; Mark gets rough (he was really into spanking then), guy gets
passive; Mark gets rougher, guy wants it bad; guy sucks Mark, Mark plows
guy. Mark always gets louder and louder as the details become more
explicit until he's practically shouting out the story; same old, same
old. My mind drifted off and I watched the tree line across the road. Did
I see a flicker and a moving shadow or was it the wind, which had
suddenly picked up a bit. The sky was turning an ominous purple-black,
like a bad bruise.

"So finally the kid says, `Beat me daddy with a ten-foot pole!' and I
fucked him so hard his eyeballs about fell out!" Mark boomed in his
loudest voice -- which is really loud -- at precisely the same moment
that an elderly couple walking their dog came into view on the road below
us. They paused, shocked, and held their hands above their eyes, looking
around trying to determine where this awful, offensive language had
originated.

Mark dove for the ground, followed by the rest of us, laughing and
guffawing, and rolling around in unadulterated mirth at this cosmic faux
paux. It was the only time I ever saw Mark blush -- and he turned purple
and crimson in his embarrassment. The couple chatted quietly then moved
along, shaking their heads.

One by one we sat up and looked around. The couple was gone.

So was Marty.

I looked across the road. The last I saw of him, he had just broken
through the brush at the edge of the meadow. He turned briefly, looked
directly at me, gave the tiniest wave of his hand -- and turned into the
woods with the biggest grin on his face I'd ever seen.

To be continued . . .

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