Two Men in a Pickup
by Rock Lane Cooper

This is a work of gay erotic fiction. If you are offended by such material or if you are not allowed access to it under the laws where you live, please exit now. This work is copyrighted by the author and may not be copied or distributed in any form without the written permission of the author. I may be contacted at:

Chapter 6, part 1


Rich lives on a farm somewhere north of Kearney. Kirk is on his way, driving Danny's car, and he thinks he's almost there, but he's starting to wonder if he's maybe a little lost. It's late Saturday morning. The rain has turned into a drizzly fog, and he pulls off the highway onto a narrow country road to take a leak in a ditch thick with tall grass and a clump of cottonwoods.

He steps out of the car and discovers the road is slippery as chocolate pudding. The mud sticks to his boots and the grass is wet against his jeans as he lets go with a steamy stream of piss, sighing and moaning, as he does when he's waited too long.

Out of the mist, rolling in the opposite direction comes a big fucker of a truck, wide as the road and pulling a horse trailer. It comes to a stop at the front bumper of the car, and the driver rolls down his window to take a good look at Kirk, who's shaking his dick and stuffing it back into his wranglers.

"Reckon you can back up that candy-ass Fairlane a ways so I can get where I'm goin'?" the truck driver says.

"Yeah," Kirk says, pulling up his zipper.

The driver is a guy, six-seven years older, curly hair down to his shirt collar, chewing on a toothpick. He points up the road. "See that turn off?" There's a grassy patch over a culvert in the ditch and a wire fence gate. "Got a gelding and a mare in the trailer. They're goin' in that pasture."

So Kirk jumps in the car with his muddy boots and throws it into reverse. Since he's not much good at this even on a sunny day and a dry road, he's soon off the side and stuck in the ditch, water-logged and spinning the wheels.

The truck driver pulls by him and yells down from his window to just sit tight and he'll be back to help get him out.

Kirk turns off the car, gets out, and decides to walk along behind the trailer, looking at the rump ends of two horses, one chestnut brown, the other nearly coal black. The rain starts coming down again.

He jumps around in front of the truck to open the gate. "Much obliged," the driver says as the truck pulls up beside him, wipers clicking-clicking. "Hop in. You gonna get your ass wet."

Kirk runs around to the other side of the cab, boots sliding on the slick grass, and has to pull hard on the handle to wrench the door open.

The cab is full of tools, rope, machinery parts, pop cans. "Just shove that shit on the floor," the guy says and reaches for a mud-streaked straw cowboy hat that he pulls onto his head. Then he strikes out across the bumpy field.

In the cab, there's the heavy smell of grease, oil, dirt, wet clothes, and sweat. The floor mat is thick with gravel stones and hay leaves.

One jolt through a gopher hole and the visor on Kirk's side of the cab flops down. On the back side of it, there's a photo of a naked girl. The guy looks over at Kirk and laughs. "Hey, if you like that, there's more over here." He flips down the visor on his side, and there's a whole row of them. "Little something to keep a lonesome cowboy company on the road," he grins and then snaps both visors up again.

Meanwhile, Kirk is checking the guy out. He's wearing a blue work shirt, with sleeves rolled up over his elbows, and jeans with frayed pockets and a hole in one knee. The button fly of his levi's is stretched tight over a big bulge, the denim worn to a pale blue all around it. The guy's hands on the wheel are thick and strong, and he slams the floor shift hard when he changes gears.

They let out the horses at the far end of the pasture, where there's a little wooden shelter. The rain is still coming down, and as it picks up, they jump back into the cab. Water is dripping from the brim of the guy's hat, and for a long time he's looking out the window, watching the horses help themselves to the rich green grass.

"You know, boy," he says spitting his toothpick out the window and slowly turning to Kirk. "I'd like to see you do something for me."

"What's that," Kirk says.

"Show me your peter again. I seen you got a nice one."

"I dunno," Kirk says.

"Heck, I'm not shy," the guy says reaching with both hands to his fly. "Show you how it's done."

Kirk, for all his curiosity, is less than enthusiastic. He's got not a great feeling about this guy and a hunch he has more on his mind than show and tell.

The guy pops open his buttons, and out comes a big sucker, uncoiling from the guy's fly. A couple strokes and it's stretching up over his belt buckle.

"Let's see you do that," he says sticking one elbow in the open window and putting the other arm along the back of the seat, the thumb of his hand touching the back of Kirk's neck.

"I dunno," Kirk says again, looking out the cracked windshield, then glancing back to see the thing has gotten even bigger and longer.

The guy doesn't wait. He shoulders Kirk into the corner of the cab and is grabbing at his zipper. Kirk is twisting and turning, trying to get his hand on the door handle.

He feels his jeans coming open and fingers jabbing through to his jockeys. Still no door handle; he struggles harder and gives a mighty lurch, kicking with one free leg.

"Hold still, ya little rascal," the guy says, starting to laugh. "I'm not gonna hurt ya."

Now the guy's fingers are clamped over Kirk's belt, pulling hard, rough knuckles against his bare skin.

Finally, Kirk's hand comes down on the door handle, and with the weight of both of them pressed against it, the door flies open. Kirk pitches backward, out into the rain.

The guy has a grip on his jeans, and Kirk's narrow hips glide right out of them. He stops, hanging upside down, one foot pinned under the guy's chest. His shirt tails falling loose and his jeans around his knees, he feels cold drops of rain all along his bare skin.

The guy can hardly stop laughing. Then he lets Kirk fall, pulling off both jeans and boots as Kirk lands on the back of his neck in the wet pasture grass.

"Ain't you a sight," the guy says and hangs onto one of Kirk's legs, reaching for his jockeys.

Kirk pulls free and jumps to his feet. He dives to grab for his clothes, but the guy muscles him away and slams the door shut, almost on his fingers.

In a second, he's revving up the engine and starts driving in slow circles around Kirk, who chases after him in his socks yelling, "You sonofabith," until he scrambles into the back of the truck and starts pounding with his fists on the top of the cab.

The truck comes to a quick stop and the guy jumps out, leaping into the back with Kirk, his fly still open and his dick swinging. One arm shoots out and he catches the front of Kirk's shirt in his fist. He's not laughing anymore.

Kirk spins around, ducking, twisting free, and dives over the side into the grass. Then he runs like hell into the mist.

When he stops, he has crossed a slough, slipped and fallen to his knees two or three times, and scratched his balls stepping through a barbwire fence. His socks are soaked and muddy, and his feet hurt.

He looks around and listens but hears nothing. With no sense of direction, he keeps walking until he comes to another fence and on the other side of it train tracks. Across the tracks is a two-lane highway; a car passes, headlights turned on in the rain and fog.

He's shivering now, both wet and cold, and he goes through the fence and over the tracks, to stand for a long time by the road waiting. Pulling his shirt tail down over the front of his underwear with one hand, he sticks out his thumb when he sees the next pair of headlights coming.

A blue Dodge Dart whishes by on the wet highway and then brakes and rolls to a stop on the shoulder. Kirk runs along behind until he catches up to it. The window rolls down, and inside are two women.

"Honey," one says, "what happened to you?"

He starts to explain that he went off the road and got stuck in a ditch. But he is shivering and his teeth are chattering too much for him to talk, let alone finish a sentence.

"Hell, get yourself in here," the driver says and shows him there's a blanket in the back seat, under a box of groceries. "You can wrap yourself up in that."

"Thank you kindly," Kirk says, trying to be polite, though not sure what manners to use with two women when you're soaking wet and missing your pants. He gets in, and in a minute they're back on the road and picking up speed.

"I'm Betty," says the one at the wheel. She gestures to her friend. "This here's Veronica. Actually it's not her real name; we just call her that. What's yours?"

"K-K-Kirk," he says, pulling the warm, dry blanket over him. Veronica is turned in the front seat, smiling, and helps tuck in the blanket between his legs, right up to his balls.

"Where's your car at?" Betty wants to know, a cigarette in the corner of her mouth, like a truck driver. "I got a chain; we'll pull you out."

So he explains what happened, and eventually, after a couple of false tries, they find what looks like the right road.

"I think this is it," Kirk says, peering out the window into the mist.

"You went up that road in this weather?" Betty says. "Shit."

After considering the chances of winding up in the ditch herself, she and Veronica decide to take him home with them. Betty has a boyfriend with a tractor that'll get him out.

They go a couple more miles, they turn off the highway, and after a right, a left, and another right, following gravel roads, they pull into a farmstead with a rambling old house with big old cedar trees, and across the way an even older barn with a windmill. Behind a falling-down shed that might have once been a garage for a Model A, there's a boxy trailer house, with a row of straw bales around it.

Betty pulls up to the front gate of the house and kills the engine. "Gotta admit one thing. I'm just about dying o' curiosity," she says, glancing up in the rear view mirror. "Where's your britches?"

"Left 'em in the car," he says, always ready with a lie. "With my boots. Didn't wanna get them muddy."

"I reckon that's good a reason as any," Betty says, looking at him like he's probably fool enough to do such a thing. "Tell you what," she goes on, "there's a boy in that trailer over there about your size. While you're waitin', he might set you up with a pair."

With that the door of the trailer swings open, and Kirk can't believe his eyes. It's his buddy Rich, who's calling out, "Betty, who ya got there with ya?"

Kirk is out of the car in a flash, the blanket around him, and high-tailing it over to the trailer.

"What the hell happened to you?" Rich is laughing, slapping his legs at the sight of Kirk hopping through puddles, wet hair in his face, bare legs and muddy socks.

Kirk slips by him into the trailer, and Rich calls out to the women, "It's OK! He's a friend o' mine."

Kirk hears Veronica shouting back something like "He's kinda cute, but if you ask me, he don't seem to have the sense he was born with."

Rich steps inside and pulls the door shut. The trailer is warm, the main room is small and cluttered, a TV on in one corner with a snowy baseball game from someplace where the sun is shining.

"You gonna tell me what happened?" Rich says, a grin from ear to ear and starts pulling on the blanket until he's got all of it and Kirk is standing there in wet shirt and underwear.

"You wouldn't believe it," Kirk says, and before he tells Rich the story, he puts both arms around him and kisses him hard and long, pressing against him. "Oh, man," he says, "I thought I'd never get here."

"Feels like you're happy to see me," Rich says, reaching down to put his hand on the front of Kirk's jockeys.

"Sure as shootin'," Kirk says, and that's the last thing either one of them says for a while. Kirk starts pulling off Rich's clothes, shirt buttons first, then popping open his belt and unzipping him.

Out swings his equipment, getting stiff, while he's pulling Kirk's wet shirt over his head. They settle onto the couch, pushing a cat and several cushions onto the floor, and stopping only for as long as it takes to yank Rich's jeans off.

Not really stopping either; their mouths still on each other, sucking on nipples and belly buttons. On TV it's the bottom of the 2nd inning.

They've got each other by the dick, legs and knees pumping. Then there's wrestling to see who can get on top, and someone's foot kicks over the coffee table, magazines and a bowl of peanuts spilling onto the carpet.

Kirk ends up on the bottom, Rich pressing down on him, grinning and laughing, grinding his hard cock against Kirk's. The old couch groans under them; Kirk feels his butt slipping down between the rough edges of two cushions.

Rich is grabbing at his wrists, and Kirk swings one arm free and over his head, hooking an electrical cord with his fingers and toppling a lamp onto them. Rich grabs it as it falls.

"Shit," he says, reaching to set the lamp back, "I'll get killed if this gets broke."

Kirk twists out from under him, wrapping both arms around his ribs. "Gotcha," he laughs.

"Not for long," Rich says, and as he pushes against Kirk, they slide off the couch and start rolling across the carpet and up against the TV stand.

Kirk is flat on his back again, looking up at Rich. He can feel several peanuts under him, and he's arching up against Rich, trying to reach one of them lodged under his butt.

Rich is squirming on top of him, and doesn't stop, pressing Kirk's legs apart with his knees. Kirk can feel Rich's cock again, tapping first against his balls and then the warm head gliding over them.

He presses his thighs together against Rich's bare hips, now working in short pushes, his cock moving back and forth alongside Kirk's. Then Rich bends forward pressing down with his chest, his face buried against Kirk's neck, licking and sucking on his ear, and sticking in his wet tongue.

Kirk's legs go limp, falling away from Rich, and then they slam together again with a smack. There's a burst of hot cum on his stomach, and another, and another. He didn't even feel it coming. Then he realizes it's not all his.

In two seconds, Rich is huffing and puffing and lying flat out on top of him. "Damn," he keeps saying. "Damn, damn." Then he kisses Rich with his mouth wide open, the pool of cum between them spreading like an oil slick.

Somewhere just overhead, Kirk can hear the TV announcer calling a pop fly and a runner out at second. And a purring cat starts rubbing along his ankle. On the roof of the trailer, there's the sound of rain falling hard.

Rich's breath is warm in Kirk's ear. If Kirk has any thought of the Fairlane he borrowed and left stuck in a ditch, that thought is miles and miles away.

Rich finally rolls off onto his side, propped up on one elbow, rubbing their cum in a big shiny puddle all over Kirk's belly and chest. Then he rubs it over himself, stroking his cock, then Kirk's.

"Whoa, don't do that," Kirk says, grabbing Rich's hand until it stops .

"Aw, right," Rich says, just gripping his cock, "you're Mr. Sensitive," and gives him a quick squeeze.

"Ow!" Kirk says and reaches for Rich's dick. "See how you like it!"

"I love it," Rich says lying back, letting Kirk pull on his dick, still fat and hard. "Don't stop."

The thick smell of their cum fills the close, warm air of the trailer. Rich puts his hand over his nose and inhales deeply, sighing "Ahhhhhh" and inhaling again.

Then he lifts his leg, pulling off the one sock he's still wearing, and wipes Kirk and himself until they're mostly dry. He sits up. "I'm gonna get this last bit here with my tongue," he says, and starts licking between Kirk's legs. "Open up a little," he says.

Kirk protests, getting ticklish. But Rich goes to work on him anyway, licking all the way down to his feet. "Oh, no, not my toes!" Kirk says, but Rich has pinned him down, and he can't move.

Then Kirk feels Rich's warm, moist mouth open over his toes, wet tongue sliding slippery between them. Kirk is squirming and beside himself. His feet are the most ticklish part of him.

Looking down, he realizes he's got a view of Rich's ass, and he grabs between the cheeks, fingering for his crack. Rich lifts his head long enough to say, "Don't stop!" and then keeps on slurping away on Kirk's toes.

Kirk pinches with his fingers until he's got a good grip on a bunch of curly short hairs, and he pulls hard. This also seems to have no effect.

"I think I'm gonna piss!" Kirk says, suddenly feeling himself ready to let fly all over the carpet.

By this time, Rich is laughing too hard to keep going, or he's just had enough, and twists around until he's face-to-face with Kirk again.

"Here, taste this," he says, kissing Kirk, his tongue gritty with sand.

"Yuck!" Kirk says, spitting, coughing, and wiping his mouth. The sand starts filling up all the spaces between his teeth.

"You got great tasting toes," Rich says. "Ever try 'em?"

"Yuck!" Kirk keeps saying and gets to his feet. "Where's the bathroom. I gotta piss bad."

Rich points the way, and Kirk gets there more or less just in time to relieve himself, not bothering to lift the seat.

When he's done, he finds Rich in the kitchen, bent over with his head in the refrigerator. Kirk walks up behind Rich and lets his dick bump up against Rich's backside, then taps the end of it on his butt cheeks.

Rich wiggles his ass. "Hungry? We got ham and cheese."

"How about this?" Kirk says, reaching for an open can of chocolate syrup in the refrigerator door. He pours a thick, cold stream of it down Rich's naked back.

Rich jumps and spins around. And before he can catch his balance, Kirk pushes him backward, tipping the can over the front of him. Then they're wrestling for it, a carton of eggs and a container of OJ spilling out onto the kitchen floor.

In a minute, Rich slips and goes down, pulling Kirk on top of him. They are both laughing.

"Tell you what I want to eat," Kirk says, still holding the can, "Chocolate popsicle." He pours the syrup over Rich's cock and starts licking and sucking it up.

Rich is saying, "Wait, wait!" and struggles to his feet, chocolate dripping down his legs. He reaches into the refrigerator, knocking a carton of milk to one side and grabbing a spray can of whipped cream.

He flips off the top and squirts between his legs. "Make it a sundae!" And Kirk, on his knees, slurps Rich's cock into his mouth and starts sucking on him, swallowing sweet, chocolatey whipped cream with bits of sand.

"Hold your horses," Rich says, pushing Kirk back. He has an open jar of maraschino cherries and with two fingers dips out one and balances it on the end of his dick.

Kirk catches it before it falls and pops it into his mouth. "Want nuts with that sundae?" Rich says, pointing to his balls.

"Only if they're crushed," Kirk says, cupping them in the palm of one hand and wrapping sticky fingers tight around them. He pulls Rich to him again, feeling his slippery, slathery cock glide back along his tongue. He sucks Rich steady and easy, just the way Danny taught him.

By now he's swallowed the chocolate and the whipped cream, and he's down to the salty taste of Rich's precum. Rich is pumping his dick into the back of Kirk's mouth and his balls are pulling up tight against Kirk's chin.

Then he goes really hard, sucks in his breath, and comes in big globs filling Kirk's mouth with warm creamy cum.

"Mmmmmmmmmmmm," Kirk is humming, milking Rich's cock with his tongue.

"Atta boy, atta boy," Rich is saying in a loud whisper. "Atta boy..." And his voice trails off. He takes Kirk by the ears and pulls him up until their lips meet, their wet naked arms wrapped around each other, bare chests pressing hard together, skin sticky with sweat, cum, and chocolate syrup.

Now they are both saying, "Mmmmmmmmmmmmm," all dreamy. And in the living room it's the end of another inning, and there's a break for a beer commercial.

"Now it's your turn," Rich finally says and lifts Kirk by the armpits onto the counter top. One hand on his thigh, after spreading Kirk's knees apart, he reaches for the chocolate and whipped cream. Kirk feels the smooth formica under his balls as they slip down between his legs.

"Whoo-hoo-hoo," he crows as the cold syrup hits his dick, then the whooshing cold foam of the whipped cream, right up past his curly bush to his belly button. Somehow, in spite of the sudden chill between his legs, he's getting harder, his dick lifting and nodding.

"Don't move," Rich says and carefully places a cherry on the tip. Then he puts his hands on both of Kirk's knees, pushing them even wider apart, and licks his lips.

Slowly he opens his mouth wide and closes it over the end of Kirk's dick. Next, Kirk can feel Rich's warm tongue going round and round, licking it clean.

Rich leans back, grinning and chewing. "Got yer cherry," he says, then quickly gobbles down the rest of Kirk's dick.

"Yikes," is all Kirk can say, surrendering. The back of his head falls against the cupboard behind him, rattling the dishes. All along his dick, the cold is turning gradually to warm as he feels Rich's tongue make contact with skin.

Already juiced from sucking Rich, he's quick to get hard, his dick pointing straight up. There's whipped cream now all over Rich's face, and as he sucks he's stroking the inside of Kirk's thighs right up to his sticky balls.

Now everything between Kirk's legs is like hot fudge, and the warmth is going in waves in both directions, hitting his toes first. He's breaking into a sweat, and he can't remember ever being cold. He goes limp, eyes closed, breathless, his dick going rigid as a barn broom handle.

"Are you coming?" Rick says.

"Fuck!" Kirk says, feeling the waves rolling back toward his crotch, and he grips the edge of the counter, toes curling tight.

"Let 'er buck!" Rick says, holding Kirk's dick in one fist, and suddenly Kirk feels the shock of something ice cold shoved against his balls.

"Holy shit!" Kirk's eyes fly open just as a rope of his cum flies up in front of him, and he sees Rich watching him and grinning big as an open barn door. Then the waves splash outward again and he feels himself dissolving into each squirt of cum that's shooting out of him, turning himself inside out, a Yellowstone geyser just hissing and spraying and then gradually dying down to nothing but little ripples of memory.

"Did ya feel that?" Rich says when Kirk comes around. The freezer door is open, and Rich is holding up a package of frozen steak. "Isn't THAT something!"

"What the fuck?" Kirk says, starting to breath again. "You put that on my balls?"

"It's supposed to be crushed ice," Rich says, "but anything frozen will do the trick." He tosses the steak back in the freezer and flips the door shut. Then he closes the refrigerator door with one foot.

"Where did you learn that?" Kirk says.

"Not off a cereal box, that's for sure," Rich laughs.

Kirk eases down off the counter top, his butt sticking and peeling up from the surface. They are both streaked with chocolate and dripping globs of cum, smeary hand prints on their legs and sides.

"Whadda ya say we head for the showers?" Rich says, takes Kirk by the hand and leads him across the slippery floor toward the bathroom.

Hard to tell when it's raining and when it's just the drops falling on the trailer roof from the trees overhead. Sometimes there's a clatter of them against the aluminum siding in a gust of wind.

"That your bedroom?" Kirk wants to know as they walk down the narrow hallway to the shower.

"Naw, that's Gordon's," Rich says. "I sleep on the couch." He steps past Kirk into the room. "Got a suitcase of my stuff in here, that's all."

The bed is a tangle of sheets and an old brown bedspread. A closet stands open with old jeans and work shirts hanging from hooks. There are boots and shoes kicked in a pile in one corner. A dresser drawer yawns open, with jockey shorts, undershirts, and socks heaped together.

"Who's Gordon?" Kirk says.

Rich surveys the room, one arm around Kirk's shoulder. "Gordon's my cousin -- second cousin. He looks after me." Rich laughs. "Tries to anyway."

Rich gets down on hands and knees, then rolls onto his back, and reaches with one long arm under the bed. "He's got a box of girlie magazines under here." He pulls out beat up Playboys and Penthouses. "Drives all the way to Omaha for some of these."

Kirk squats beside him. "Why does he keep them under the bed?"

Rich shrugs. "Doesn't want his girlfriends to know, I guess."


"Oh yeah, this is his love nest," Rich says and pulls a used rubber from under the bed. "And there's more where this one came from."

It's limp and flat as an old man's sock, curly dark hairs caught in the roll around the open end, the reservoir tip still hanging full with milky semen.

"Fresh one," Rich says. He opens one of the magazines and lets the rubber fall into it.

He picks out another magazine. "This must be one of his favorites," he says, laughing as he pulls apart thumb-worn pages that are stuck together.

The fold-out falls open to reveal Miss April. "Do anything for you?" Rich asks.

"Not really," Kirk says.

"Me neither," Rich says. "But if you like big breasts, she's sure got 'em." He puts the magazine back in the box and laughs. "I set a mouse trap in here once. Nailed him good."

He pushes the box back under the bed. "He kicked my ass from here to the middle of next week." He laughs some more, looking up at Kirk and reaching between his legs to hold his dick.

"I kinda like you," Rich says, and Kirk feels his face go all red.

"Don't say that," Kirk says, standing up. "I'll start thinkin' you're queer."

Down the hall in the living room, there's a home run on TV, and the announcers start shouting over the roar of the crowd.

"You're a pisser," Rich says and gets up. He pulls Kirk into the bathroom. "Let's shower up. I'm sticking to myself."

The bathroom has space for one person either on the toilet or at the sink and one other person in the shower. Rich pulls the curtain aside and turns on the water. The sound of the spray fills the room, and he hops in.

Kirk puts down the toilet seat lid and sits on it, watching steam roll up from the shower and playing with his dick.

"How come you live with Gordon?" he says.

Rich is splashing water and slapping himself. "He sorta took me in. I didn't have no place to go."

"Nice guy?"

"When he's not kicking my ass," Rich laughs. He throws open the curtain, dripping and naked, wet hair in his face, and pulls a towel from the rack on the wall. "Your turn," he says, and they squeeze by each other in the narrow space.

Kirk dives into the spray and starts rubbing his chest, down to his crotch, the water turning to a chocolaty slurry on his belly.

Rich steps over to him, tossing the towel into the sink. "Let me wash your back," he says, and before Kirk can say anything, Rich reaches for the soap and starts lathering him up.

He feels Rich's hands wiping in big swirls over his shoulder blades and down to his butt. Then there's the touch of his fingers slipping and wriggling between his butt cheeks, first scrubbing, then just stroking his crack.

"Nice, huh?" Rich says.

"Where'd you learn that?" Kirk says.

"On my own," Rich says. "Show you what else I learned." He steps into the shower and reaches around to Kirk's front, first rubbing his chest with soapy hands, touching his nipples, which pop up like radio buttons. Then his hands glide down through his matted bush to pull on his penis.

Kirk can feel Rich's body pressing against him, from shoulders down to the backs of his knees, cock sliding over his soapy butt. And Rich's hand is working steadily along the length of Kirk's dick. The other hand, reaching around to cradle his balls, gently rolling them against each other.

"Ever try this before?" Rich says, his cheek against the back of Kirk's neck.

"Might of," Kirk says, laughing, his head rocking back onto Rich's shoulder. "Not the way you're doin' it."

Rich pulls down on his balls, ever so firmly, and Kirk's dick arches straight up to his belly. The stroking alternates with a fluttering motion with one or two fingers under the tip of his penis, then a quick grip and pulling down on his balls, followed by more long steady stroking.

Kirk realizes he's in good hands. "Wow," he sighs.

"That's called the windmill," Rich says. "When the wind blows," fingers flutter again, "the top spins round and round."

Until now, Kirk hasn't known there's more than one way to beat off.

"Lift your leg a little," Rich says, and Kirk feels Rich slip his soapy cock between his thighs, snug under his ass crack.

It's hard and long, the knob end of it gliding over the tender spot behind his balls and then bumping right up against them.

"Wow," Kirk says again, and with his arms reaching up over his head, he leans back against Rich and lets himself surrender to the flow of sensations around his crotch, front and behind.

Rich starts pumping his hips, pushing in as he strokes down with his hand. With each thrust, he presses harder against Kirk's butt, letting out a puff of breath against his ear, "Woof, woof, woof."

Rich's cock feels warm and hard between Kirk's legs, knocking against his balls from behind. The rhythm speeds up, and now he's feeling Rich's balls, too, slapping the back of his thighs each time Rich drives his cock in.

"What do you call this?" Kirk says, squeezing out the words between his teeth.

"Woof, woof, woof," Rich keeps saying, breathless.

"You mean doggie style?" Kirk says.

Rich starts to laugh and almost loses a beat. Now he has his fist wrapped around Kirk's dick, jerking faster, the other arm pressed tight across Kirk's chest, thumbing one nipple.

"Yikes," Kirk says. "I'm shootin' already." And he feels himself let fly, head back, the spray from the shower blasting him full in the face. Then, knees going weak, he sinks forward into the corner.

Rich sinks with him, letting go of Kirk's cock, and wrapping both arms tight around his body. He pumps his hips once, twice more, then one last stroke, pressed in as far as he can go, and Kirk feels hot, wet bursts against the back of his balls.

"Woof," Rich says, more of a sigh this time, and leans his whole body against Kirk. They stand together a minute unmoving, breathing heavy, hearts beating.

Finally Rich leans back, washing the soap from Kirk's backside, then turning him around to let the spray fall down his front, touching their cocks together and holding them side by side, still fat and chunky, in the palm of his hand.

"I'm gonna do something weird," Rich says. "Don't freak yourself out." Then he squats down, still holding Kirk's dick, and gently kisses the end of it, giving it a little lick with his tongue. The sensation sends a rippling shiver through Kirk.

"Why'd you do that?" Kirk says.

Rich stands up and steps out. "Just wanted to," he says and grabs his towel from the sink before pulling shut the shower curtain.

Kirk stands in the hot spray for a while, wiping at the bits of congealed cum stuck in the hair around his dick and down his legs. Somehow he even has cum in his armpits.

When he turns off the water and steps out of the shower, he finds a towel neatly folded on the toilet seat, and he wipes the fog from the mirror to study himself as he dries off.

He rubs his hair with the towel until it's standing up in all directions, then maneuvers in the small space of the room to reach the other parts of his body. Between his legs, his dick hangs down like the limp end of a garden hose.

Tossing the towel on the floor, he steps out of the bathroom and feels the air cool on his skin. Glancing up the hallway, he can see Rich sitting on a chair in the living room, his towel wrapped around him and bending forward to pet the cat, stretched out on the floor. Beyond him is the TV, the game still in progress.

Grabbing his dick, Kirk marches toward them, and as he enters the room goes, "At-at-at-at-at. Gotcha both!"

With that he looks to one side and sees two other people sitting together on the couch. One is Veronica, who was in the car that stopped to give him a ride. The other is the guy in the truck, who jumped him and took his jeans and boots.

They all burst out laughing, and Kirk stands frozen, covering his crotch with both hands.

"And this naked gunslinger here is my friend Kirk," Rich says, extending an arm in Kirk's direction.

"We've met," Veronica says with a little wave, eyeballing him head to toe.

The guy gives him a crooked smile. "So have we," he says. "I'm Gordon."


© 2003 Rock Lane Cooper