The last week or so kept me busy for a variety of reasons and, for whatever the reason, I’ve just not had the luck with gettingass. In fact, I’d been saving up loads for a potential good fuck visiting from out of town but that quickly turned into a bust when I didn’t hear from him. So much for being a good guy. So my balls are full and I’m about to fucking bust last night.
Making matters worse, a great case of insomnia kicks in. Sunday nights should be good since the weekend is ending. Most who are horny and wanting more seek it out Sundaynight, especially tweakers (who aren’t my favorite but when you’re horny, you’ll take it). And considering the time change this weekend, I’m thinking it’s going to be especially good.
As I’m cruising online, the e-mails arrive steadily and the selections are pretty good. But when it comes right down to it, I just can’t get anyone to make the commitment to get out thedoor and meet. It’s soon 4 a.m. and I’m fucking screwed, so I finally try to find a little restless sleep. Even so, I’m up at 8:45 and find a dozen or more new e-mails waiting for me and continue on my quest.
I’m not jerking off. That would not satisfy. It takes a fuck.
Among the latest lot, we soon narrow down to a 24-year-old redneck up the road from me.
And when I mean up the road, I mean north. I’m north ofAtlanta, so he’s way north, another 15 or so miles.
He can’t come down to see me since, it turns out, he’d recently lost his license and, as any good redneck, still lived with his folks. The distance was just too far to go and get him and bring him back home. But he knew of some “private places” near by.
Hitting the interstate, which ended not far from his exit, I headed his way. I texted him as I left the highway about 30 minutes later and within a few minutes, was turning down a one-lane road, barely paved at all.
A lone figure in the distance as I crested a hill could be seen walking along. Indeed, probably about 24 years old, shortly cropped hair with a reddish tint and a four- or five-day beard. He hopped in the truck with only the suggestion to turn around.
He was beefy but pale-faced with freckles. We headed back to the two-lane road and drove a couple of miles before he spoke again and suggested we turn down a dirt road distinguished only by an old, beaten mailbox.
The four-wheel drive took the rough road with ease as we came up to an unmarked railroad crossing and then a muddy patch before coming up to a clearing. The old house had certainly seen better days butsomeone had tried to revitalize it with bright paint on the exposed wood, now some of it peeling away. Its old tin roof now red, jutting up from the crisp green bushes that hid much of the house from everything. Around back the crumbling , gray structure we’d still call a barn had never housed any animals. And on this warm day, the dandelions, swayed a little in the moist air that promised a little rain later on.
I shut the truck off but he didn’t want to get out. He just stared at my crotch. I backed up a bit and whipped out my half-hard cock and let him see it. He pounced on it and began sucking.
His exertion and the heat of sex soon got the greenhouse effect going and we were both sweating, even though I was just leaning back and letting him do the work. I suggested we step outside.
He talked more than he’d ever before as we got out and began looking around for a way into the old house. An old side porch off the kitchen offered the best refuge from onlookers — which seemed to have him paranoid. Obviously, this old place was used as a fuck house around here. I could have cared less, but he wanted some place. He dropped to his knees immediately and I whipped my cock out.
He sucked but a couple of seconds in said, “If you want to fuckme, just say so.”
“I want to fuck you.”
A huge ass with a deep crevice, his hole was an angry red, as he’d obviously scrubbed it before our meeting. I spit, adding to his and shoved my cock toward his hole.
He didn’t like it but took it like a champ. In a moment, with that country slur, he was begging for me to cum in his ass. I didn’t feel like prolonging the inevitable and I released myspunk into his big white ass. Several days worth. Our position didn’t allow me to push it deep, but the boy wanted it and he kept it.
We were back in the truck in moments and back at the two-lane, me driving him to his original destination — a gas station convenience store, where I left him.
He hopped out, thanked me. With great precision, he spit on the sidewalk. I drove home, moderately satisfied, but needing a nap.