Date: Fri, 10 Jul 2020 01:03:10 +0000
From: j8d1bd81n_01 <j8d1bd81n_01@protonmail.ch>
Subject: Slug Trail

I've held onto this story for a while. Maybe it has been out of
embarrassment, guilt, fear of being misconstrued, or just not knowing how
to process it. Now that I'm older, I'm not ashamed -- and I have returned
to it as a defining moment in my evolution, if you can call it that.
_____

Gerald lived around the corner from my family. For years, I had mowed his
lawn, as I did for most neighbors growing up. In the two years since
Gerald's wife died, however, my family tried to spent a little more time
with him. Mostly, that duty fell to me, whether it was lingering in his
dusty living room after mowing the lawn as he finished yet another story
or handing over leftovers from whatever our dinner was the night before.

As I reached my senior year of high school, I was nudged to take Gerald
on short hikes on the outskirts of town. I could drive, and with Gerald
in his 70s, we weren't crazy about him doing so. He liked me, he needed
to get out of the house more than he admitted, and I didn't mind
exploring the forest.

I actually had started going out there on my own. My teenage body was a
mess of random sensations and ideas. One thing I really enjoyed was the
feeling of my gym shorts against the head of my cock, with bonus points
for a cool breeze hitting both. The kids these days would call it ASMR, I
guess. For me, it meant hitting the trail in my basketball shorts, no
underwear, not doing anything out there that would get me into trouble.
Definitely finishing when I got home. Maybe multiple times.

Today's hike started like most others. It was the morning after a decent
rain, so we had the trails to ourselves. Our conversation was limited to
Gerald asking me to wait up, which was normal. I usually ended up a few
paces ahead of him, no matter how slow I took it. The days of Gerald
being "in shape" had passed, with his broad shoulders and meaty forearms
holding on as relics. His legs were slim but likely toned, literally
doing the heavy lifting for his stout upper torso. His chest matched the
width of his shoulders all the way down, punctuated by a large round
belly that protruded over his khakis. Always khakis.

We took a left where we normally didn't and ended up down a much steeper
trail than normal. The path had narrowed, with brush overgrown on both
sides. I second-guessed my shorts and envied Gerald's khakis. We'd want
to turn back soon.

I slowed at a switchback and heard Gerald call out behind me.

"Let's take a breather," he said, panting after.

I turned around, noticing the sound of maybe a small creek. I swatted
back the brush.

There stood Gerald, now facing me about 6 feet away. My eyes locked on
his midsection and my heart jumped: He had started to take a leak. In
front of me was the greyish-red head of his dick hanging a good 6 inches
from his zipper and leading a slow clear stream to the dirt below.

This was not a common thing. I mean, I had seen glances of dicks in the
locker room, though us kids got pretty adept at keeping them out of each
other's sights. I had definitely not seen Gerald's. And it was a shock.
It was like seeing him for the first time, meeting the tufts of silver
hair that emptied from his fly. I felt ... discomfort: my rapidly beating
heart stinging my Adam's apple. My rapidly hardening dick tenting my
shorts.

"You should probably go too," he said. "I don't know if you'll get
another chance."

Here's where my 18-year-old brain strained to process the information in
front me. This was an adult man. This adult man found it perfectly normal
to pee in front of another guy. Therefore, that is what adult men did. So
I should do it. Surely he had seen dicks before, so another guy's dick
maybe being hard wouldn't be something weird or even something he'd
notice.

I turned to the side as his stream slowly trickled. There wasn't really
anywhere to go or any way to shield myself without getting into the
brush. I'd have to pull it out in front of him. Like adult men did,
right?

I reached under my shorts leg to pull my cock through. The shorts would
provide some coverage. My eyes focused on the forest. No, my cock was not
fitting through there. In fact, this was only making it harder.

I pulled down my waistband, only to have it slap back against my cock. Oh
no. Here I was drawing attention to myself. I pulled the waistband down
again farther to rest under my balls, my cock pointing out naked. I
glanced down at my pubes. Thank goodness I had some. For a second, they
made me feel like I fit in during this situation somehow.

I could feel Gerald's eyes on me as I stood, nervous, not peeing. Like it
wouldn't come out. I closed my eyes. All I could see was Gerald's
dangling penis, still trickling next to me IRL. It only made my dick
harder. Mine was skinnier than his but a little longer at that stage. It
had served me well to that point but had never been the focus of someone
else's attention this way.

"You're not wearing underwear, son?" Gerald said. His tone was a snicker.
My limbs tensed -- any hope of me playing this coolly had disappeared. "I
guess it was laundry day!"

I chuckled, pushing down my boner so I looked less aroused. A drip of
precum dangled from the tip. We were both watching it.

"There we go," Gerald said softly.

"I'm sorry, I ... ," I said.

"That's OK," Gerald said. "We all get pee shy."

He was shaking his dick as he spoke, the head bobbing up and down wildly
as the last drips of piss drizzled around him. A few hit his pant legs.
Another downside of khakis.

I snapped my waistband back over my rock-hard dick, embarrassed and a
little relieved at the opportunity to change the subject.

"We should probably start making our way back to the car," I said. "I
don't know how much more downhill this goes. But it might be steep either
way."

Gerald fumbled with his zipper, forcing all of his meaty cock back into
his pants. It was as exciting to see this "new side" of Gerald as it was
terrifying.

"Are you going to be OK going back uphill?" I said. Like he had a choice.
I was a strapping young man, but certainly not strapping enough to carry
him.

Gerald looked me in the eye as I stepped forward. His eyes then turned to
my shorts, or rather the tent they had become. The unmistakable round end
of the tent pole not only matched the contours of my dick head but also
boasted a dark damp spot, just in case you couldn't miss it otherwise.

"Are YOU?" he said.

I was embarrassed. Without words. Seconds passed. Gerald looked me in the
eye and turned away.

Ugh.

I began to formulate my apology to however this would come back to bite
me when we got home. My face read shame. I wanted to run. It would be
worse if I left him here. I slowly trudged back up the path.

Gerald stayed, watching me.

"You know, son," he said, his voice slightly raised in volume but not
tone. "You can take care of what you need to. I'm not in any kind of a
hurry. I've been 18, too." Then under his breath: "Believe it or not."

We stood there for a few minutes. I was more stunned than anything, not
wanting Gerald to see my hard-on that continued to rage, as though it was
incapable of taking the cue. Did he know I came to the forest myself and
why I wasn't wearing underwear? How could he? When would we just leave? I
was almost shaking.

Gerald walked over.

"Brian," he said gently, "Now I'm just joshing with you. We can go, or we
can wait here for a while. I'll go up yonder right there and keep a look
out."

Gerald made his way back to where we stood prior. He stood, facing away.

"Not anybody I can see, all safe," he called out in a
quiet-pretending-to-be loud voice.

I pulled my dick back out over my waistband. I stood firmly, as though I
had a duty to do that I was ... not doing. But damn if I'd try. For moment
I felt the breeze touch my throbbing red dick head as I held the shaft.
Behind me, I heard Gerald.

"You know, the wife and I, we used to go camping all the time and not see
someone for days," he said, emphasizing the "days." I caught him turning
his head over his shoulder, likely seeing me with my dick out at
attention yet again. His khakis rode the bottoms of his round ass cheeks,
just below the sweat stain on his back. "Oh, the trouble we would get in,
I tell you." He sighed back into the air.

At this point, I needed to do something. I gave my dick a few short,
quiet strokes and peeked at Gerald. Nope he wasn't watching. I tugged a
bit more, noticing the skin on my shaft as it pulled tight, the head now
slick with precum and at least twice its normal thickness.

And I exploded.

Lines of cum shot in front of me, at least 6 feet up the path, hitting
the leaves of the brush, dripping into a puddle near my feet. It was like
I had never cum before, and every ounce of seed that had built up had
been expunged. I was fresh. A little faint. What a relief. And a miracle
none had dripped onto my shorts.

I collected myself, kicked dirt over the semen in front of me, and turned
to face Gerald.

"All set. Are you ready to head back?"

Fear hit me in a new way as I realized we'd have to walk through the web
of cum I'd just laid down on the path out. Well, I'll hit that off right
away, as I began the hike up undaunted and ready to put that behind me
quite literally. I heard Gerald shuffle over to follow.

In a few steps, he paused.

"Ah," he said. "Slug trail."