Date: Tue, 1 Nov 2016 23:04:32 +0000 (UTC)
From: a4f101@yahoo.com
Subject: Pop's Last Ride

Here's a story taken from my Tumblr, at a4f101.tumblr.com/storytime. You
can find this one, and the pic that inspired it, here:
http://a4f101.tumblr.com/post/130905834889/

You can also find a whole lot more of my stories here on Nifty - look for
'a4f101' in the Prolific Authors listing.

This story is purely a work of adult erotic fantasy, copyright me 2016. I
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*****

"It's not bad," Clint said, powering the seat back to a relaxed angle and
shifting himself around to get comfortable. "A little floaty."

"It's smooth," I said. "There's a difference. Trust me, you'll appreciate
it one day. It's the last of the big American land yachts."

"It's a cop car with leather seats," he chuckled. "Pops sure liked his cars
big," he went on after a beat, quieter.

I glanced briefly at the rearview mirror. The box was sitting in the middle
of the back seat, belted in. It was sturdy, solid, handsome in its plain
way. Just like him. Felt like Dad was right there in the cabin with
us. Initially it had been a little weird, but as the miles of Florida
rolled by under the big Mercury's tires, hundreds more to go, it had become
kind of comforting. Dad's passing had been awhile coming, but he'd seemed
too young, too vital. Made you think. Made me glad that he was with us, in
a way, as me and my son took his car back to Maryland. Like he was taking
one last ride with his boys.

"He sure did," I smiled, settling in myself. "Dad liked nothing better than
cruising down the freeway in a big, comfy V8. We almost never flew
anywhere. Your Grandma hated it, but I thought it was great."

I grinned at the memories flooding up, all those miles of America and
Canada we'd seen, the highway unspooling under our wheels. Later on, Mom
stopped coming on so many of the trips, so it'd just be Dad and me, and in
a lot of ways, I liked that even better.

"Your Pop loved to set the cruise control, stretch out, and if Mom wasn't
with us, fire up a cigar and just cruise," I said, flicking my eyes at the
box in the mirror again.

"Oh yeah?" Clint grinned. "Sounds like a damn good way to travel to me."

I nodded at the glovebox.

"Check it out," I said. "He usually kept a few in there. They may not be
any good by now, but who knows?"

Clint popped the lid with an excited grin, and sure enough, sitting on top
of a stack of road maps, there were a couple of cellophane-wrapped
Padrons. I chuckled, shook my head. You could smell the faint traces of
them in the headliner, even though he kept his cars nice, had them detailed
often, and usually for that exact reason.

"So... can we?" Clint said, holding them up. I looked from them to him,
shrugged and grinned.

"Spark `em up, bud," I said, and shit, I sounded almost exactly like Dad
did back in the day, in voice and word.

Soon enough, it was like going back in time, the air growing rich with the
powerful aroma of Dad's cigars, an older and a younger man taking a long
cruise. Only now I was behind the wheel, and it was my son, big and
handsome and at ease on the passenger side, puffing away with a big grin on
his face. Damn, I loved my boy. Damn, I was going to miss Dad.

"You and Pop do this a lot?" Clint asked, one elbow on the armrest between
us, the other forearm resting on his upraised knee, all strong and tan and
golden-haired.

"Every once in a while," I smiled. "It was kind of special. Our thing."

"Sounds pretty great," Clint smiled at me, and I was struck by a sudden
wave of love for the kid. For the man, I guess, out of college now and
getting ready to make his own way in the world. This must have been how Dad
felt taking these long drives with me when I was 20 or so. It was a
powerful thing. I reached over and gave the back of his neck a gentle
squeeze, under the brim of his ballcap, feeling the scrape of his buzzcut
in my palm. The way he smiled over at me, let me keep my hand resting
there, even settling back into it a bit, sent a powerful buzz all through
me. Through my heart, and down though my loins too. Warm, powerful, a
little intense.

"It was, son, it was," I smiled, my voice a little thick. "Made me feel
like a real man."

"Did it, Dad?" he said, and slowly ran his hand up and down the exposed
inches of his thigh past his shorts. A real simple gesture, but I knew what
it meant. I remember doing the same thing, when Dad's big paw squeezed the
back of my neck like this, making my big young dick firm up in my pants,
just like his did. How his deep, rich voice would slowly rumble, as the
cigar smoke swirled around us, as a big V8 engine hummed lazily in front of
us, while my hand slid down my inner thigh to grope at the big bulge down
the leg of my pants, Dad's hand giving my own bristly young neck another
encouraging, manly squeeze.

Clint's cock was starting to make an unmistakable stretch down the inside
of his left thigh, and he grazed his fingers over it real lightly as he
took a puff on his Padron and slowly adjusted himself. I couldn't help but
grunt at the sight, and that just made his big grin stretch even wider as
he exhaled.

"Why don't you tell me about it, Dad?" he said, his voice thick with the
smoke.

I looked at him, and even though I couldn't see his eyes behind his
Oakleys, the smile on his face told me everything. That, and the way his
arm on the armrest between us grazed lightly up and down against mine, the
hairs tickling against me. Then he slowly pulled on his cigar, and I felt
my own cock push its way down the leg of my shorts. I sprawled out a little
more to give it room, saw him look at it and nod, still smiling. I glanced
up at the rearview mirror again, to the box on the back seat.

"Damn, Dad," I thought. "I wish you were really here to see this..."

I reached down with my right hand and gave my son's bare knee a solid
squeeze, grazing my palm up the inside of his thigh a little, loving the
light grunt he let out as he took another puff on his cigar.

"Me and Dad were close, bud," I said, taking another hit on my own. "Real
close. These drive times were our time. Hours on the road, nothing to do
but relax, watch the world go by, and talk. I remember the first time he
let me smoke like this. I was, what, 17? One of the first times Mom didn't
come with us."

***

The scent of Dad's cigar, the way he looked with his handsome,
dark-stubbled jaw clenched around it. The hair on his thick forearms arms
waving a little in the breeze coming through the little vent window. The
grin on his face as he looked over at me, saw me watching him, and how he
casually plucked the cigar from his lips and offered it to me, across the
big bench seat. How it tasted, how it felt, the tip moist with his spit as
I took it between my lips. How hard my teen cock got almost immediately in
my jeans. The way he looked at it and nodded, grinning, approving.

"Yeah, you get it," he chuckled. "You're a man just like me, bud."

How he'd let me see his own big erection, snaked down his thick thigh, as
we passed his cigar back and forth. The way the tip of his tongue flicked
at the tip of the cigar when he took it back from me, as if to savor my
spit on it. How I started to do the same thing when it was my turn. How
insanely hard I was, my cock big and throbbing and insistent inside my
boxer shorts, making me hitch at it, constantly adjusting myself while Dad
did the same.

"Take it out if you want to, Sport," he said. "Two hundred miles to go -
might as well get comfortable."

I hesitated, feeling suddenly shy, but he just gave me a another of those
sexy grins of his, and I heard the sound of his zipper. Even with the wind
rushing through the vent window, the hum of the big engine, the thrum of
the tires on the interstate below, it was the loudest sound ever. He
reached down, fished around, and then his cock emerged, huge and hard, the
head already gleaming, arcing up proudly from the gaping fly of his
khakis. He gave it a slow stroke, sighing contentedly.

"Nothin' better than this, son," he grinned, and he didn't have to convince
me any more. I unzipped my Levi's and pulled my own big young dick out,
curved like his, and nearly as large. He nodded, giving me an impressed
grin, and when he stretched his thick forearm along the back of the bench
seat and gave the back of my neck a squeeze, a bead of precum welled at the
tip of my dick as I grunted with pleasure.

***

"Fuck," Clint grunted now, reaching down to squeeze his big young bulge
with his cigar hand, and I felt my cock belch precum into my underwear.

"Take it out if you want to, bud," I said, my voice a little husky with
smoke and lust.

Clint grinned at me, and after a moment, pulled the leg of his shorts up
his thigh, towards his crotch, revealing the sheer white stretch of his
boxer briefs clinging to the thick young muscle of his thigh. Then he
slowly peeled the leg of his boxer briefs back, and there it was, the
gleaming head of his young college-boy cock, throbbing hard against his
inner thigh. I grinned at him, then trailed my fingers down from where
they'd been resting on his knee while I told him those old stories, grazing
along until they reached the thick head of his big young dick, dancing
lightly over the subtly moist heat of his flesh. He groaned a little,
bubbled precum under my fingers, and then his hand closed over mine and
brought it down to press more firmly against him, letting me feel him throb
as he took another draw on his smoke.

"Nice, big guy," I growled, and he grinned even wider as he exhaled the
thick mouthful of smoke down over our joined hands, over the gleaming,
slow-dripping head of his dick.

"Your turn, Dad," he said huskily. I shifted my knees up to cradle the
bottom of the steering wheel, and the big Mercury wavered a little in its
lane as I tugged on my zipper, cigar clenched between my teeth like Dad
always did when he extracted his piece, and hauled my cock out. Clint's
grunt was music to my ears, met with one of my own as he tentatively
reached out towards my throbbing paternal cock and grazed his fingertips
over the sticky head of it.

"Go ahead, Sport," I said, and that echo of Dad's voice from thirty years
ago reverberated through me, twinned with a deep tingle of pleasure as my
son wrapped his hand around my thickness and gave me a slow, exploratory
stroke.

***

The big "Welcome to Pennsylvania" sign flashed by, but I barely noticed, my
eyes half-closed with pleasure as I stroked on my big teen cock, Dad's
strong hand rubbing the back of my neck easily, the power in his big
ex-Marine paw radiating through me as he squeezed and rubbed encouragingly.

His voice was deep and rich, talking about manly things - sex, women, his
best buds growing up. The long nights in the humid heat of Vietnam, the
scent of cigars, sweat on bared cheats, the grunts and sounds of big young
men pleasuring themselves. The time him and his best bud double-teamed a
little hooker in a sweaty, musty little room in Saigon, the feel of her
petite body sandwiched between two big young American men. The heat in his
buddy's eyes as they locked on his over her head, the sensation of slipping
his big young Marine cock up inside of her, and finding his best friend's
seed, all thick and warm there, slicking his way up into her depths. The
feeling of the other man's tongue, thick and smoky and scotch-soaked, as it
fumbled inside of his mouth, tentative at first, then with heated, lusty
assurance as Dad fired off his own load up inside of the girl, adding his
own cum to his best bud's.

"Damn, I miss those days, bud," Dad said, as I moaned and tried to keep
from shooting all over the dashboard. "Not the war, fuck no. But the
adventure. The freedom. The bond. You get what I'm saying, son?"

"Yeah Dad," I said, looking over at him, seeing his eyes gleaming at me,
looking back and forth from the turnpike to me. He brought the nearly-done
cigar over to my lips, held it for me to take a deep draw, then took one
for himself. It was incredibly intimate, even amongst all the other
mind-blowing intimacies happening on that big, cushy bench seat at seventy
miles an hour. He grinned round the stub of the cigar, eyes meeting mine
for a moment, then plucked it from his mouth and blew that rich smoke all
down over my hand as it stroked at my straining, leaking teen cock, and I
was done for. I moaned, grunted, dropped my head back against the headrest,
and unloaded, ropes of thick young cum spattering my t-shirt as Dad growled
encouragement at me, rubbing the back of my neck even more insistently.

"Good man, Sport," he said, as I moaned and shot the last little
dribbles. He hooked his beefy forearm round the back of my neck and tugged
me closer across the big bench seat. It felt completely natural to shuffle
over and nestle into his side, lulled my the hum of the motor, the tires,
like I'd done when I was a little boy. Only now, the soft press of his lips
to the crown of my head was different, and the way he squeezed his big arm
round me encouragingly as I took his big, leaking cock in my hand was very
much a new thing.

***

"Holy shit," Clint half-moaned. He punched the button on the side of his
seat, reclining the seatback a little more, then unbuckled his seatbelt,
lifted his hips, and shucked his cargo shorts. I guess the Mercury's
Florida-grade tint was a bonus, but I couldn't have cared less if everybody
else on the road saw this. My son, the big handsome kid who looked so much
like his Pop did at that age, stripping down to his sheer white boxer
briefs, reaching inside of them to haul his big young dick out properly,
grinning over at me as he slow-jacked himself with one hand, clutching his
half-smoked cigar in the other. Damn. It had taken me at least two rides
with Dad like this to be so bold, but kids these days were a bolder
generation, or so I kept on hearing. I sure was seeing the living proof
right now, as my son tucked the fabric of his Nike undershorts under his
big balls - the hair on them trimmed down, I noticed with a wry grin - and
spread his muscular thighs as he took a puff on his smoke and stroked his
big young dick proudly for me.

"Here, bud," I said, and flipped the armrest up. This model had a split
bench seat, and putting the armrest up made a little backrest and room for
Clint to shuffle his ass sideways, closer in, grinning as he did.

I slipped my arm round his big shoulders, and when he transferred his cigar
to his left hand and offered it up to my lips - just like Dad did on that
first drive - I grunted lustily, leaned in and took a draw on it, even
though my own was smoldering away in my left hand. The tip was damp with my
son's spit, and I savored the rich taste of the smoke and the moistness, my
big hand slipping down to cup his big, firm right pec as he continued to
stroke his big, wet cock with his right hand. When I leaned over to exhale
the cloud of smoke down onto his stroking hand and the fat tip of his cock,
all slick and glossy with precum, I saw it jerk in time with his moan.

"Then what happened, Dad?" he asked, a hint of boyishness mixed in with his
husky, adult curiosity.

***

I'd been thinking about it for some time - not just fifty-odd miles, but a
good few years, by that point. There wasn't room between his barrel chest
and the steering wheel to do it properly, and I only had limited experience
anyway, but I leaned in and inhaled the powerful, musky scent of his cock,
tinged with the rich smoke of his cigar. Before I had a chance to
second-guess myself, I lapped at the fat, wet tip of it, experimentally at
first, and then when Dad moaned hungrily above me and grazed his thick
fingertips through my hair, with more purpose. I felt the big Oldsmobile
bobble a little on the road as I lapped my tongue round the rim of his
head, then stretched my lips over it and swallowed it, starting to work the
shaft with my hand as my spit began to drizzle down his length.

"Aw hell, buddy," Dad moaned, and rubbed the back of my neck encouragingly
again, leaning back a little more in the seat to give me room to nurse on
his fat, salty cockhead.

My cock was back to near-full hardness in my other hand, and I guess if we
passed a trucker, he'd get a hell of a show, but I was too busy in my own
heady world to know if we did or not. I sucked eagerly on him, doing the
best I could with the room I had, until I felt the big muscles of his thigh
stiffening up underneath me, his big hairy balls pulled up tight to his
body.

"If you don't want a mouthful, kiddo..." he started to moan, but I guess my
faster sucking and stroking gave him all the answer he needed.

"Aw fuck, Davey!" he bellowed, and then he was coming, pulse after pulse of
hot, rich, mineral-tasting cum soaking my tongue, blasting the roof of my
mouth. I swallowed furiously, remembering how difficult it was to chug down
my buddy Tommy Hughes' load, and caught the overflow with the hand that had
been stroking Dad's shaft.

He was sweaty-faced, big chest heaving, staring at me with a mix of awe,
pride, lust and love as I sat up, licking his excess cum off the back of my
hand. When he passed me the smoldering stub of his cigar, I leaned in and
drew on it, fumbling with my rehardened cock, and then exhaled the smoke
down onto the wet, slowly wilting mass of his big Dad cock.

Dad growled at me, looked up to check his mirrors, then punched the button
for the four-way flashers, pumped the brakes, and hauled the big
Ninety-Eight over to the breakdown lane. He barely had the shifter in Park
before he leaned in, threw his big arm round my back and hauled me back
across the big leather bench seat to him, his mouth finding mine
hungrily. I grunted in surprise when his fat, smoky tongue plunged into my
mouth, slurping up the smoke-tinged flavor of his thick, pungent load, but
I kissed him back just as hungrily, my hand gripping my cock to stop me
from firing off another load.

"Fuck!" he grunted, sitting back, wiping his mouth, then grinned at me. He
batted my hand away from my jutting, leaking cock, chuckling at my hungry
moan of disappointment.

"We'll be stopping for the night soon, son," he grinned. "Save it for
then. Trust me, it'll be worth the wait."

This time, it was me kissing him, and he indulged me for a few minutes, the
car rocking on its big, soft springs in the downdraft of the traffic
rushing by us at seventy miles an hour. Then he gave me a firm, but gentle
push back over to the passenger side, dropped the shifter back into Drive,
and started to push the car back up to merging speed.

"Got me a running buddy, looks like, huh Sport?" he said with a grin and a
wink as he pulled back onto the highway.

***

"Jesus christ," Clint grunted now, his cock making slick, wet sounds as his
hand strummed it. His nips were like bullets under his blue polo shirt, and
the way he clamped his cigar between his lips and reached down under his
balls to fondle himself while he stroked made me growl with hunger.

I slid my hand from around his shoulders, pushed his hand away from his
taint, and watched him reclaim his smoke and continue jacking his big, wet
young cock, as my fingers slipped down inside his shorts, under those big,
tight, shaved balls of his, finding the sweaty, lightly furred stretch of
his taint beneath.

"Oh fuck!" he yelled, picking up the pace, smoking and stroking at once as
I fondled him, and when my thick middle finger found the humid depth of his
cleft, the crisp fur there, and then the tight knot of his hole, his hips
jerked hard.

"Gonna fuckin' cum, Dad!" he gasped, and I nearly ran off the road watching
that fine young piece, almost a twin of my own, fire those pearly jets of
college-boy cum all up the front of his polo shirt. His hole throbbed and
twitched tightly against my probing fingertip as his whole body bucked in
his seat, deep in the throes of an epic cum. Yeah, I'd been there, and I
chuckled at the fond memories of all those rides with Dad over the
years. Chuckled, and slowly stroked my own big, throbbing dick.

Clint's hand reached for me, and I indulged him, growling at him as I
grazed my lips over the bristly nape of his neck. I could tell he was
leaning in to try what I'd tried with my Dad that first time, but I tugged
on the collar of his shirt, pulling him upright.

"I got us a room for the night in Savannah," I said. "But maybe we should
call it a day at St. Augustine, find a room there, and see what we can get
into, son. What do you say?"

"I say fuck yes," Clint grinned, and the Merc weaved again when he leaned
in and planted a warm, wet, smoky kiss on my lips.

"Gonna mean an even longer drive tomorrow, Sport," I said, squeezing the
back of his neck lovingly as he settled back against my side.

"Even better, Dad," he said, running his hand up and down my thigh. "So
long as we stock up on smokes before the next leg."

"There's a box of Dad's Robustos in the trunk, buddy," I growled into his
ear, and I felt the thrill course through his big, athletic body.

"Then punch this boat up to eighty-five, and let's get to that hotel, Dad,"
he said, taking another long draw on his cigar and exhaling all over my
aching dick.

Eighty-five - hell, this thing would cruise all day long at ninety. So I
took us there, looking up at the rearview mirror again, at the box that
contained Dad's ashes. This was gonna be one hell of a last ride for him,
and an even better first one for me and my boy.