PERMISSION - OCTOBER 2007 free porn video

Prologue

I knew I would always remember taking my high school buddy, Napoleon’s virgin ass on that picnic table in a warm lemon grove back in my hometown of Laredo. There was so much I would remember from that trip back in July- my twin brother’s military funeral the day before, after he’d been killed in a bombing in Iraq… the wild encounter that erupted the same evening between our old high school friend Napoleon and me when I found him going through my brother’s stash of old, cum-stained porn magazines… my Dad barging in, drunk and naked, just as Napoleon started fucking me, and then Dad taking charge of both of us as Napoleon wrecked my ass in a hot fuck… and the next morning, laying on my sleeping bag naked next to my buddy Napoleon, my seed being the first to claim his sweet Latin hole.

Later, after Napoleon gave me a ride home on his motorcycle and went home to his wife, my Dad put my stuff in the back of his truck and drove me up to the airport. Before I got out of his truck, he grabbed both sides of my face and kissed me hard, just like he had done when I had arrived. “Take good care of yourself, Guy,” he told me.

Not, “Call me when you get home.” Not, “Try to come home again before too long.”

Without another word, I got out of the truck and pulled my duffle bag out of the back. As my Dad pulled away, I lit a cigarette and watched him go. For some reason, I started feeling pretty damn sorry for myself. On that July day, I wondered if I would ever see this place- or those two men- again.

Back home in D.C., life got back to normal- or what passed for “normal”- for me and my “son” lover, Shark. Working on projects for general contractors kept me busier than I probably wanted to be, but Shark and I still found plenty of time to bang each other in my sling. Shark loved it when he dropped by one night and discovered that I had installed a mirror on the ceiling above the sling. As a gift for my 28th birthday in August, he dragged me down to the body shop and had his friend there tattoo my inside left thigh with a design he made on his computer. After that, he called sucking my dick “dinner and a movie” because of the ink on my thigh next to my dick. “I feel like dinner and a movie,” he’d say, and I’d get rock hard.

In early October- hardly two months after burying my brother- I got a call telling me that my Dad suffered a heart attack and died. As it turned out, my Dad didn’t show up at his construction company office that Tuesday morning. Buks, his chief foreman, and Nikki, his office manager, figured he was just sleeping one off and would come in after lunch. When he didn’t, Buks called my Dad’s place, but just reached the voice mail. Worried, Buks drove out to the house, and when Dad didn’t come to the door, Buks jimmied the lock and went in. He found my Dad lying naked on the floor next to his bed, not breathing. He dialed 911, but it was too late.

After Nikki called and gave me the news, I didn’t have time to figure out what to make of it. I just had to do what I had to do and go take care of it. The soonest I could get a flight out of
D.C. was Thursday morning.

Thursday, October 11, 2007

As soon as I arrived at the Laredo airport late Thursday afternoon, I grabbed a cab and went down to my Dad’s house. I unlocked the door and went in. I climbed the stairs and found the door to my old bedroom open. I walked in. The aroma of smoke, shit and cum seemed to still hang in the air from the last time I was there.

I picked up the phone, and found Napoleon’s home phone number was still in the memory. I punched it. The phone rang three times before his wife, Cindy, answered. “It’s me, Cindy- Guy,” I said. “I’m back in Laredo to take care of my Dad. He’s died. Is Napoleon around?”

“Sorry to hear about your dad,” she told me. “Napoleon’s busy right now. I’ll have him call you back.”

I wandered down the hall to my Dad’s bedroom...

I found the keys to his truck in a tray on top of his dresser drawers and put them in my pocket. I made his bed, grabbed a cigar, his clip and his Navy Zippo from inside his humidor, and walked out, closing the door behind me. Back in my own room, I clipped the cigar and lit it. I called my Dad’s office, hoping either Nikki or Buks might still be around, but all I got was the voice mail. “You’ve reached Frank Maddix and Sons Construction Company,” the recording of my Dad’s gruff voice announced over the phone. “We’re not opened right now. Leave a message, or better yet, friggin’ call back later if you really want to talk to someone… beep!”

I had to laugh to myself. “Not opened right now”? “Friggin’’”? My Dad must’ve been taking lessons in sweetly fractured English from that stud foreman of his, Buks Nell, a transplanted Afrikaner from Cape Town. Plainly, leaving a message was going to be in vain. Hanging up the phone, I figured I’d just hop in Dad’s truck whenever I woke up the next morning and drive five miles west on SR 359 to his office. I knew Dad kept a safe there, and before I tore up the house looking for his papers, I thought I would check the safe at his office and see what I could find there.

The shadows in my room got longer as the sun set. It was still hot. I turned on the lamp next to my bed and took off my clothes. Both my brother’s bed and mine remained unmade from my visit back in July, and the ashtray was still filled with cigarette and cigar butts. Before I’d left D.C., I had already called the monsignor at the Cathedral of San Agustin to arrange Dad’s funeral service, and he kindly me invited to supper the day after I arrived to go over it all.

The folks at Seton Medical Center, where they had taken Dad’s body, told me they could send him over to the Hillside Funeral Home if that was “ok” with me, and I told them to go ahead. As I sat on my bed smoking, I called the funeral home and made an appointment for 3 the next afternoon.

A light went off in my head as I sat there smoking and thinking about my Dad laid out naked under a shroud in a cold room. I got up, went back into his bedroom, and slid open his closet door. I found his old Navy blues on a wire hanger with a sheet of plastic d****d over them. Obviously, he had taken them to the dry cleaners after wearing them to my brother’s funeral. I stuck my cigar in my jaw, and pulled them down from the rod they were hanging on. Holding them over my arm, I took them downstairs and out to his truck. I gently folded them and laid them in the passenger seat so I wouldn’t forget to bring them when I visited the funeral home the next day.

I didn’t know what any of the badges, pins or ribbons on his uniform meant, but I knew that he did, and that he would want to take them with him.

The great thing about living out in the “Ranchettes” was that your nearest neighbor was at least a mile way. Night came with total blackness- no streetlights to slice the dark. Even though it was still hot, I went inside, piled up some logs in the fireplace, and lit a fire. I went upstairs and took another cigar from my Dad’s room, then stopped by the kitchen when I got back downstairs. There were a couple of MGD’s in the fridge, and I pulled them out by the plastic rings connecting them. I pulled open the cabinet above the sink and took down my Dad’s bottle of Cutty. I stuck my thumb in a shot glass, and managed to juggle everything back out through the screen door and onto the porch.

I put everything down next to a dirty ashtray my Dad kept on top of a rusty old TV tray next to his rocking chair. The chair was covered with a grimy old Mexican poncho he’d picked up on one of his trips across the border. I sat my naked ass down in it, poured myself a shot and downed it. I popped open a beer, took a few puffs on Dad’s cigar, and swallowed a belt. The night was black except for the light from the fireplace inside dancing through the windows, the twinkling stars overhead, and the orange glow from the end of my cigar. By now, my shaft was completely hard. I took a few puffs from my Dad’s cigar, and held its glowing end above my piss slit. In the glow, I saw a puddle of my pre-cum building up in the gap. With my cigar between my fingers, I rubbed my thumb over it and brought it back up to my mouth, sticking my tongue out. The rope of pre-cum, stretching from my stiff red dickhead to my fuzzy chin, shimmered like a spider-web after a light, Spring-time shower.

For the rest of that sultry evening, I sat in Dad’s rocking chair, smoking, drinking and beating off. I couldn’t help but remember how many times he’d busted through the screen door when I had said or done something to disappoint him, and sit in this same chair, smoking and sulking.

Even after I shot a load, I just sat there and rocked. It must’ve been 2 a.m. Friday morning before I felt myself dozing off; I went upstairs and lied down on top of the unmade sheets and cover on my old bed.

Friday, October 12, 2007

Friday morning, the hot West Texas sun poured through the bedroom window and woke me up. I looked over at the alarm clock on the bedside table. It was already a quarter to eleven. “Shit,” I thought to myself, as I scrambled into the bathroom, “if I don’t get my ass over to Dad’s office before Noon, they’ll be closed for lunch and half the day will be fucking shot!”

I brushed my teeth and took a short shower. Still naked, I scampered down to the front porch and grabbed my pack of cigarettes. I had a whopper of a fucking headache, and wouldn’t you know it, the pack was empty. Damn!

I hustled upstairs. Since I was meeting the Monsignor for dinner at his rectory at 5, I went ahead and pulled my suit out of my duffel bag and put it on. Instead of fumbling around with the tie, I folded it and stuffed it in the pocket of my jacket.

By the time I got downstairs, I realized Dad’s keys were in the pocket of my jeans. I rushed back upstairs, grabbed them, locked up the house, and jumped into my Dad’s truck. When I started it up, I could see that the fuel gauge was on “Low,” but I remembered there was a gas station on the way where I could fill up… and get a cup of coffee and a fucking pack of smokes!

After I filled up the tank, I went inside, got a cup of coffee and asked for a pack of Marlboros from the cashier. It seemed like forever while she swiped my card and gave me a receipt to sign.

Back in the truck, I took a quick slug of coffee and burned myself. Damn! I put it in the cup holder and tore the wrapper off my pack of smokes. I fumbled around my pockets, but couldn’t find my lighter. Shit! After running back into the store and grabbing a book of matches from the counter, I was back in my truck, lit up and got back onto SR 359 headed west to my Dad’s office. I was already sweating like a pig in my fucking suit.

I made a quick left and pulled into the gravel parking lot at my Dad’s office- “office” being a glorified term for a trailer perched on cinder blocks and a set of wooden stairs leading up to the door. When I got to the door, the blinds in the window were pulled shut and a sign hung in the window with the face of a clock on it. The sign said “Will return at,” and the hands on the face of the clock below were set to 1:00.

I fumbled with my Dad’s keys, trying to figure out which one- if any- would unlock the door. Next thing I knew, I heard something banging around inside and at least two voices. The first thing that popped into my head was that the place was being burglarized. And that I’d also left my fucking phone back at the house and couldn’t call the cops!

It almost goes without saying that there has hardly been a day in my life that I haven’t had some incredibly dumb idea pop into my thick skull. Today would be no different. I decided I would try to quietly open the door, go in, surprise the burglars and scare them off. Damn, I wished that strapping stud foreman, Buks Nell, was here to back me up.

First, I tested the door and found it was unlocked. I pushed it open slowly, hoping the rusted hinges wouldn’t creak. As I stuck my head in, the banging and bumping was louder and I could hear heavy breathing. I smelled the familiar scent of my Dad’s favorite brand of cigar burning.

And I saw Buks Nell’s hairy muscular ass thrusting into Nikki, the office manager’s backside. Buks’ Ben Davis work pants were dropped to the floor and circled around his white socks and work boots. Nikki’s skirt was on the floor and her blouse was d****d across the back of her desk chair. The front of Buks’ sleeveless t-shirt was pulled over his head and stretched tight across his thick neck and wide back. As they fucked on the desk, one of my dad’s cigars smoldered in an ashtray next to them and a bottle of Wet lubricant sat next to that.

Before I could shut the door and beat a hasty retreat, the fucking rusty hinges on the door started to squeal. Buks let go of Nikki’s breasts, stood upright and turned around, facing me as I peaked through the door like some kind of “peeping Tom”. Fully erect and sporting a light purple-headed boner aglow with lube, Buks recognized me and beamed a smile as sunny and wide as a Cape Town beach on his black-bearded face.

Forgetting that his pants were wrapped around his ankles, he started to walk toward me with his hand out. When he almost tumbled over, he stopped himself, chuckled and bent over. He pulled up his work pants, but that 8-1/2 inch fat dick of his wasn’t having anything to do with being stuffed into his trousers. When it popped out of his open zipper, I couldn’t take my eyes off it.

He walked up to me, put one big hairy arm behind my shoulder while the other wrapped behind my head and pulled me into the heavy black forest of hair across his chest. “Ahweh, my bru,” he said, meaning “Hello, my friend”. “Howzit since the news of yer late Pops?” he whispered in my ear, meaning “How’s it going since your Dad passed away?”

His thick, greasy boner pressed against my shirt as it found its way inside my jacket and against my gut.

By now, Nikki stood up, trotted behind her desk and covered her full, light brown breasts with her blouse.

Buks had immigrated to Texas when he was 16, sponsored by his father. When he couldn’t take his father’s abuse anymore, he enlisted in the Navy. When he discharged at age 24, he came to my Dad’s fledgling construction company and asked for a job. As a fellow Navy vet, my Dad felt obliged to give him a chance as a laborer. For awhile, Buks even slept on the couch at our house. Twenty-two years later, Buks was the central figure in my Dad’s thriving business. He was also known for the wet spot that showed up constantly next to the zipper in his khaki pants, and for taking every piece of snatch available to him- including lovelorn housewives wanting estimates for a new deck, kitchen, or whatever. Now, at age 46, Buks was as robust and virile as ever.

Dad hired Nikki to run the office after my Mom got sick and couldn’t work anymore. About the same age as Buks, Nikki was a stunning Latina woman with deep brown eyes and a hefty bust. But she also had a strong maternal instinct, and in the weeks before my Mom eventually died, she’d bring something delicious to work that my Dad could bring home, re-heat and share with my Mom, my brother and me for supper.

One thing I didn’t know about Nikki, until then, was that she had a dick. As she stood behind her desk, I saw that she was endowed with a thick, uncut brown cock and low-hanging balls, completely shaved.

When I finally took my eyes off Nikki, I looked up into Buks’ furry face and told him, “I can come back later, buddy.”

Buks let out a big laugh and slapped me on the back. “You can come back later and we’ll prob’ly still be fokken,” he said, meaning fucking.. “Or you can shut the fokken door, take yer clothes off, go sit in your Pops’ chair, and join the fokken party, mate!.”

He slapped me hard on the butt, and said, “It’s all the same either way, bru! That okay with you, Nikki?”

“That’s ok with me, Buks,” she answered.

I slammed the door shut and twisted the lock closed. I took off my suit coat and hung it on the hat rack next to the door. Buks laughed again. While I unbuttoned my shirt and took it off, he unbuckled my belt, unzipped my pants and pulled them down to my shoes. I kicked off my shoes and lifted one foot at a time as he bent over and took my pants off. As I hung them up next to my jacket, Buks spit into both of his hands and rolled my throbbing boner between them.

Taking my dick in his big hand, he told me, “Come on over here.” Dragging me by my dick, he pulled me over to Nikki’s desk. “Give Guy his Dad’s cigar,” Buks told her. Nikki dropped her blouse, came around the desk, and handed me the cigar burning in the ashtray. I stuck the cigar in my jaw and puffed a few times to get it going good again.

Buks said, “I may not be a smoker, but I just love the smell of a good cigar- especially when I’m fokken!”

He spit into both of his hands again and rubbed up my cock with it. I plopped my ass down in my Dad’s old office chair, grabbing my stiff rod pointing straight up to my belly-button. With that cigar in my mouth, I started puffing and stroking my meat.

Buks bent Nikki back over her desk. He grabbed his bottle of lube and squirted it over his dick, put it down, and spread her cheeks. I could see that he’d made a definite impression on her sweet brown hole. He put himself back inside her and started rocking his hips back and forth. Both of them groaned as they fucked. I had to let go of my dick, afraid I was about to shoot.

Buks turned his face toward me while he fucked Nikki and grinned. He said, “That’s a mighty fine collection of artwork on your skin, mate! Ever think you’re gonna run out of room?”

I chuckled, put my cigar back in my mouth, and grabbed my dick again. “Maybe I will, Buks, when you run dry on cum!” I said.

Buks laughed and stepped up his pace fucking Nikki’s hole. After awhile, he looked back at me again, and said, “Doesn’t all that ink scare off the konts?” he asked, meaning cunts.

Taking my cigar out of my mouth, I replied, “Wouldn’t know about cunts, Buks. I’m a dick and ass man, myself.”

“Are you now, bru?” he answered, with a big smile on his face. His dick came out of Nikki’s ass with a “plop” and he walked over to where I sat. He kicked my knees apart and stepped between them. He put his greasy dick in my face, and pulled my face forward with his hand on the back of my head. Holding my cigar between my fingers, I wrapped my arm around his waist and took his dick in my mouth. The sweet perfume from the lube he was using filled my nostrils as I took his shaft into my throat and buried my nose in his hairy bush. “Sweet,” Buks said as he started rocking his hips again and throat fucking me.

Nikki sat up and brought her own rod to attention with two fingers up her ass. The heavy bush surrounding Buks’ balls banged against the hair on my chin as he glided perfectly down my throat. He put his hand on my neck, feeling my Adam’s apple go up and down with every stroke in my throat.

I don’t think I’ve ever sucked cock that eagerly in my life, but finally, I gagged. It must’ve been the first time in a very long time, but I choked and he pulled his dick out of my throat.

“Easy, bru,” he told me.

He turned around and walked back to Nikki’s desk. He put both of his hands on the edge of the desk, and hoisted his ass on top of it. Nikki backed up to him, and Buks grabbed her around the waist. Suddenly, he lifted her and sank his dick in her ass as she spread her legs across his thighs and she faced me. That Buks knew how to fuck!

“Get on her joint!” Buks ordered me.

And I did exactly as I was told. I put down my cigar, and took Nikki’s shaved rod in my mouth. I only took her cock out of my mouth to spit on it and watch my drool run down her shaved balls and onto Buks’ hairy sack below as he fucked her ass.

When the moment came, Buk’s dick started shooting up Nikki’s slot and then his load started dripping down over his hairy nuts. He started breathing hard and groaning. About the same time, Nikki’s cock knocked her load into the back of my throat. Like a greedy fucker, I slurped up every drop of Buks’ load draining out of Nikki’s ass, then stood up and blew my own load between Nikki’s ripe breasts.

Sighing, Buks leaned back on Nikki’s desk and she fell back with him, his dick still up her ass. My load made a puddle between her breasts. He dipped his paw in and fed Nikki my spunk.

“Shit!” Buks hollered. “That’s even hotter than when your fokken Pops decided to join us!”

Grunting and groaning, Buks and I rolled our hairy bodies over Nikki’s smooth, cum-soaked body for a while. We stuck to each others’ skin like Scotch tape on a birthday package.

I couldn’t resist asking him, “You mean my Dad joined in with you two?”

“Oh yeah,” he replied. “At first, he used to just sit nekk** in that chair, smokin’ and jerkin’- like you were. But after your mum passed, he’d join right in, the both of us friggin’ this fine woman’s arse.”

After a while, I got up and ran out to my Dad’s truck. The hot gravel in the parking lot stung the bottoms of my bare feet. I must have looked like a fucking naked idiot. I fetched a cigarette, lit it, and hopped back across the scorching gravel and back into my dad’s office, smoking.

I gave Buks’ dick a tug, and unable to resist myself, got on my knees and sucked his limp, sticky cock-helmet. Nikki rubbed her hands over my shaved head while I did. When I stood up, Buks told me that I could trust him- then told me that he would see me shortly.

Nikki and Buks sat on her desk, wrapped their legs around each other, and kissed. I pulled my clothes back on and left them to each other. I only wished I didn’t have so many appointments to keep. Or that it was my Dad, along with me, making love with that stunning couple.

I went into my Dad’s office and sat down. On his desk in front of me sat a brown portfolio envelope with the business card of a lawyer stapled on the cover. I opened it and pulled out a bunch of papers. “Last Will and Testament – Frank Madidix” “Power of Attorney – Frank Maddix” “Deed of Trust- Calvary Hills Catholic Cemetery – Frank Maddix” “Articles of Incorporation – Frank Maddix and Sons Construction Co.”

Nikki came to the door of my Dad’s office. Buks soon appeared behind her. “I’m sorry all of this shit landed on yer head, Guy,” Buks said to me. “Call the lawyer,” Nikki said, and then, “Can I get him on the line for you?”

I shook my head and she put me through to him. By the time I hung up, I had an appointment with the lawyer next Tuesday morning at 9 a.m.

As I walked out of my Dad’s office carrying the envelope with Dad’s papers, Buks came up to me. He’d put his shirt and work pants on, but was still barefoot. He told me Nikki was in the bathroom, dressing and “freshening up”. He put his hand on my shoulder, and asked me, “Mate, ya’ got any ideas about the business?”

“Buks, first I gotta go over these papers and see if I can figure out what Dad wanted, then talk with the lawyer,” I told him. “Trust me, Buks; I completely understand where you are coming from in all of this.”

“I hope you do, indeed, mate,” he said. “And thanks for making it a hot fuck! You’re every bit the stud your Pops was, even if you prefer just dick.” He laughed, and added, “Never could convince your old man that it’s only skin anyways.”

After I got in Dad’s truck, I placed the envelope on top of my Dad’s Navy blues sitting on the passenger seat next to me. I lit a cigarette and started up the truck. The clock on the dashboard said it was 2:00. I rolled down the window and rested my elbow outside of it. I had an hour to get to the funeral home for my appointment, but I would have to go straight through downtown Laredo and traffic along the way.

But for a few minutes, I just wanted to sit, smoke and think. It occurred to me that even though I didn’t have a clue what was in Dad’s final directives, Nikki must have. She’d pulled them out and put them all together for me, after all. And if she knew, did Buks, too?

I took a final drag on my smoke. When I pulled open the ashtray, I found it completely stuffed, so I flicked the butt out the window, pulled out of the parking lot and made a left onto SR 359. In the end, I thought to myself, my Dad had made all the decisions he needed to and, as usual, was in charge.

When I got to Hillside Funeral Home, I pulled my tie out of my jacket pocket and put it on. I got out of the truck and walked over to the passenger side. I took my Dad’s Navy blues off the passenger seat, shut the door, and walked up to the entrance.

When I went in, a man in a crisp blue suit greeted me and escorted me into a conference room. We sat down, and he offered the usual condolences. I put my Dad’s plastic-wrapped uniform on the large table. The funeral director explained to me that when my Mom died over 10 years back, my Dad had purchased what they called a “Pre-Need” contract. I’d never heard that term before: “Pre-Need.”

He said the contract covered the preparation of his body for burial, casket, fees for stuff like transportation and Church services, and a plot next to my Mom up at Calvary Hills- even a notice in the newspaper. Dad had already paid for all of it. He told me that the sales person had probably offered a viewing at the funeral home in the package, but that since it wasn’t in the contract, Dad probably didn’t want it.

I told him that since my Dad was of Irish descent, he might appreciate an old-fashioned drunken wake- most likely at the AmVets where he belonged. “Can you get in touch with them?” I asked. “They can put the drinks on my credit card.”

“As a matter of a fact, I’m a member of the local post,” he told me. “I’ll arrange it myself; there won’t be any charge.”

“Since I spoke with you, Guy, I went ahead and got in touch with Monsignor Silos at the Cathedral to schedule your Dad’s funeral service,” he said. “If you approve, the services will be held next Wednesday, at 10 a.m. I’ve arranged for his burial immediately after the service- probably around Noon.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I appreciate it.”

He said he would be in touch with the Post Commander at AmVets and arrange for a wake at 6 p.m., Tuesday, the day before burial. A notice would run in the Sunday paper. He asked me about the uniform that I had laid on the table earlier.

I told him, “A couple of months ago, we buried my brother, Gabe, and he wore his old Navy uniform to the service. It fit him like a charm. I was hoping that he could be buried in it.”

“No problem, Guy,” he told me. “Would you like to see your Dad before you go? It won’t be shocking; a lot of the work has been done already.”

For the first time since getting the news of my Dad’s death, I felt like crying. I mean, out-loud really bawling. I grabbed the arms of the chair so hard my knuckles turned white. I let out a howl, put my arms in front of me on the table, and buried my head in them. Man, did I cry.

When I sort of had control of myself, I sat back up in the chair. I rubbed my hand over my eyes and said, “No. I’ll say good-bye Wednesday morning.”

The funeral director stood up and so did I. He firmly shook my hand and told me that he hoped the arrangements would meet every expectation of my Dad and me. He walked me to the door, and I stepped outside onto the portico. As he closed the door, I fumbled in my inside jacket pocket for a smoke. I stuck it in my trembling lips, fumbled with the lighter and finally lit it. My knees were shaking so bad, I thought I’d drop like a ton of bricks if I tried to walk back to the truck. I leaned against the railing of the portico and took a long drag from my smoke. And another. And another. Wiping my eyes, smoking and missing my Dad.

When I got back in the truck, it was 4:00. I had plenty of time to get back downtown to the Cathedral. I decided to head in that direction anyway. The Cathedral of San Agustin was an historic site, and I knew if nothing else, the chapel would be open if I got there early. I needed some peace and quiet.

For at least half an hour, I sat in the cool adobe chapel. I loosened my tie and sat back in the old pew made from mesquite wood. I bent over and put my head in my hands on the pew in front of me. I got up, went to a bank of candles and lit one. I put a dollar in the slot of the tin box next to it. I was tired- I really wanted to go back to my Dad’s house, have a smoke and go to sleep. I went back to where I had been sitting and slumped into the pew.

Finally, I got up, went into the heat outside and stretched like a puppy dog. I lit up another smoke, and pulled up my tie. When I was finished smoking, I walked down the path of clay tiles to the parish Rectory. I rang the bell, and shortly, Monsignor Silos opened the door and greeted me with a hug.

The padre was wearing jeans with a fancy belt decorated with Native American beads around it. A big Mexican cowboy shirt covered his chest- open at the collar- with a cow-tail lariat necktie around his neck. He opened his arms to me like he was giving communion at Mass, and hugged me.

“Guy Maddix!” he exclaimed, with a slight Spanish accent. “Let’s sit down and eat!”

He took me into the kitchen, and apologized for the Spartan surroundings. He laid a book of Biblical passages on the table and asked me to look through it. He opened the door to an old oven and pulled out a foil-covered casserole, sat it on the burners above, and peeled back the foil. He pulled a couple of Modelos Negros beers out of the fridge, and popped off the caps. After he set them on the table, he took a spatula and dished up some enchiladas from his casserole for both of us to eat.

I took off my suit jacket and hung it on the back of my chair. I hadn’t eaten in a couple of days, and the padres’ enchiladas hit the spot. The Monsignor smiled at me as I wolfed down the food he offered me with a spoon, pausing only to lift my bottle of beer to my lips.

When I’d finished eating, he asked if I wanted more. Even though I wanted more, I said “No, padre. Mind if we take our beers outside and have a smoke?”

He got up from the table and put our dishes in the sink. He opened the refrigerator and pulled out another couple of beers.

“There’s a bench in the garden with an ashtray next to it, Guy,” he said. “I gave up cigarettes a long time ago- and so should you! But let’s go sit and talk.”

Outside, I lit a cigarette and we talked. Our family never was much into church-going, until somebody had to be buried. I felt guilty accepting his hospitality. I put my smoke out and we went back inside.

“Do you have a favorite reading you want me to give at your father’s Mass?” he asked.

“I do, Monsignor,” I answered. “Something from the Nativity according to St. Luke.”

“St. Luke is such a stern book,” he told me. “The Nativity from St. Matthew is much more serene.”

“Then the stern book of St. Luke is perfect for my Dad,” I answered.

“I think you should speak before Communion, Guy,” he told me.

“I will, padre,” I replied. “I’m going home tonight and getting on my Dad’s computer- print out ‘The Sailor’s Prayer’. Okay?”

The priest nodded his head. Then he noticed the grease stain on my shirt- the one Buks left when he hugged me and his fat greasy cock crept inside my jacket, rubbing against my shirt.

“Guy!” he said with dismay, “I hope my enchilada sauce hasn’t stained your shirt!”

He scurried over to the sink, grabbed a sponge and tried to rub the grease stain from my shirt.

I got up and took his hands in both of mine. I kissed his bended fingers, reached for my jacket and put it on.

He walked me to the door and told me that if I had anything I needed to talk over before the funeral next Wednesday, to give him a call. He said a notice would appear in Sunday’s church bulletin. I thanked him, got in the truck and drove home.

It was still early when I got back to my Dad’s house- at least “early” by my standards. I called the airline, explained my situation and asked if I could get a seat back to D.C. after my Dad’s funeral next Wednesday. They got me on a flight out of Laredo at 5.p.m. Then I stripped and got in the shower and turned it on hot. I soaped up real good, and watched the suds flow down my inked skin in the steam from the shower, through my golden bush, down my legs and into the drain.

After I rinsed myself, I toweled off and got in my old bed. “Am I being a sorry-assed puppy dog wondering why Napoleon hasn’t called me back?” I thought to myself. As I fell asleep, I thought, “It wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened. Or maybe I just like fucking with him so much!”

Saturday, October 13, 2007

Saturday morning, I woke up to the sound of a vehicle pulling up in the driveway and then a stiff rap on the door. I sat up, pulled on my jeans and went downstairs. When I answered the door, Buks was there smiling at me. “Well, don’t just stand there,” he said. “Invite me in ya’ motherfucker!”

I reached up and hugged the big man. “Come on in!” I said. “Want some coffee?” I asked.

“Cup of tea would hit the spot,” he said. “Ya’ got any?”

I shuffled through the cabinets and drawers in the kitchen, but couldn’t find any tea. “Sorry,” I said.

“That’s alright,” Buks told me. “I just dropped by to see if I could take ya with me up to Lakeside for some skinny dippin’ and fokken in the woods at Lake Casa Blanca. Ya’ game?” he asked.

Well, I was more than “game”, but I told him, “I’ve been waiting for a call from a buddy of mine- Napoleon. I don’t want to miss the call,” I said.

“I think I know who you mean,” Buks answered. “He the bloke that married one of your brother’s pretty gooses, and your brother stood up as Best Man for him at their weddin’?”

“Yeah- Napoleon,” I replied.

“Well, if he ain’t called ya’ back by now, bru,” Buks said, “why not go corner him at work? Last I heard of him, he was workin’ up at a motorcycle shop- Laredo Choppers.”

I told him that maybe I would. “How do I get there?” I asked him.

“It’s off the interstate,” he told me. “Go north on 35 and take the Santa Ursula turn-off and head west.”

Buks smiled and chuckled, then fondled my groin. “You fokken with a married bloke, mate?”

I put my own hand over his as it cradled my crotch. “I hope so!”

He let go of me and headed for the door, laughing. “Let me get my ass up to the lake,” he said. “Maybe I’ll find some willin’ ass or kont in the bushes! I’ll drop by tomorrow and see how you’re doin’.”

After Buks left, I went upstairs, cleaned myself up and got dressed. I made some coffee and had a smoke. The pack was getting close to empty.

I jumped in my Dad’s truck and headed west on SR 359. When I got to I-35, I headed north and made the exit at Santa Ursula. Shortly, I saw the sign on the right, “Laredo Choppers”. I pulled into the parking lot and saw Napoleon’s truck with his bike up in back.

I pulled a boner right away.

As I got out of the truck, I saw Napoleon dragging a ramp to the back of his truck. He lowered the tailgate and hooked up the ramp. I lit a cigarette and walked toward him. As he started to get in the back of his truck, he saw me, jumped down and walked in my direction. I took another drag on my smoke, threw it away and continued to walk toward him. When we met, we hugged each other. I wanted to lift him off the ground.

When we let go of each other, he looked down at the stiffy in my crotch. “You happy to see me, brother, or what?” he asked. A bright smile lit up his sunny Latin face.

“Hell yeah!” I shouted, beaming myself.

Napoleon put his hands in the pockets of his overalls. “What brings you back to town?” he asked me.

“My Dad died on Tuesday,” I told him. “Funeral’s next Wednesday. I spoke to your wife and mentioned it. Didn’t she tell you?”

“Holy shit!” Napoleon said. “No, she didn’t. I’m surprised she didn’t hit me in the head with a frying pan,” he added, chuckling.

“I don’t get it, Napoleon,” I said. “Why would she want to hit you?”

He patted me on the fanny and told me to go get in his truck, and then he joined me. He turned to me with a dead-serious look on his face.

“After you left, I was feeling all guilty and stuff,” he said, “so a couple days later I just broke down and told her what happened between you and me.”

“Everything?” I asked.

“Well, not everything,” he answered. “But enough. I was so sorry.”

“Sorry about what happened with us?” I asked, feeling a little annoyed.

He playfully slapped me up the side of my head, and said, “No way, man. That was fucking hot- I’ll never forget it!”

We were quiet for awhile and he looked down in his lap. Obviously, he was trying to hold himself together- to keep from crying.

“I was so fucking sorry I went behind her back like that,” he stammered. “I never thought it would happen and it will never happen again. I promised her.”

“So what happened when you told her?” I asked. “Did she cry?”

Napoleon looked back up at me and chuckled while he wiped his eyes. “She didn’t cry, Guy. I was crying like a baby, though. She got really mad- and I mean really mad. We were sitting in the kitchen and I almost thought she was gonna go after me with one of her kitchen knives or something- and at that moment, I wouldn’t have blamed her if she did.”

“Holy fuck,” I said.

“Holy fuck is right,” he said. “She kept yelling at me and telling me to get ‘that fucking Guy Maddix’ on the phone.”

He added, “I kept telling her that yelling at you over the phone for half an hour wasn’t gonna make her feel any better, that you were all the way back in D.C. I told her that calling you just wasn’t going to do any good.”

“Wow,” I whispered.

“So then she tells me, ‘Fine! You know what would do some fucking good, Napoleon? What would do some fucking good is if I met that bastard face to face and straightened his lousy ass out!’” Napoleon said that she wanted him to call me and tell me to get my ass back to Laredo to see her.

“But you never called me, buddy,” I told him.

“Nope, I didn’t,” he said. “She told me that sooner or later, you would be back in town and she would find you. She told me to get my good-for-nothing ass out in the garage. Then she came down with a blanket and some of my stuff and said I could sleep in my truck until I called you up. Then she locked the door.”

“Damn!” I said. “I’m really sorry.”

Napoleon laughed. “So I spent the next two weeks eating sandwiches and drinking beers out of my cooler that I’d pick up on the way home. I tried to scrub myself in the laundry sink in the garage as best I could so I didn’t stink at my job. When I had to piss or take a dump, I drove up to the gas station at the end of the block.”

“What happened after two weeks?” I asked him.

“Well, I pulled into the garage one day after work, and saw her standing by the door leading into the kitchen. She told me she was tired of our daughter asking her why daddy wanted to live in the garage and that I could come back in the house. She even let me back in the bedroom, but since then, all we do is sleep. She keeps saying she wants to see you, so I’m surprised she didn’t tell me that you called.”

“Napoleon,” I said, “I want you to tell Cindy that you found out I was back in town for my Dad’s funeral, and that you called me.”

“That’s a bad idea,” he said.

“When are you off work?” I asked him.

“The shop’s closed Sunday and Monday,” he answered.

“Fine. When you get home tonight, tell Cindy I’m coming over around lunchtime tomorrow.”

“That’s also a bad idea, Guy,” he said. “Tomorrow’s Sunday, and my daughter will be home. She’s already seen enough weirdness.”

“Is she at school on Monday?” I asked him.

“Yeah, but…” he said, until I interrupted him.

“Good. Unless I hear from you, I’ll be there at Noon on Monday,” I told him. “If that’s what Cindy wants, that’s the least that she deserves.”

“Man, this is gonna be weird,” Napoleon told me. “There’s no way I’d just walk away after what happened between you and me. But I love my wife and I’m gonna do all I can to keep her.”

“Understood, stud,” I told him and then got out of his truck.

As I walked around to the back of his truck, Napoleon joined me there. He went up the ramp and unhitched the straps from his bike. He swung his leg over the seat and started backing it down the ramp. Seeing those overalls get nice and tight over his sweet butt made me hard.

“Treating myself to some new details,” he said, referring to his bike.

When he got his bike off his truck, I put my fuzzy chin next to his jaw. “I’ll see you Monday, fucker,” I whispered in his ear.

He shook his head and goosed me. “Monday it is, big boy!”

As he started up his bike and rode it into the shop, I took out my last cigarette and lit it.

On the way back to my Dad’s house, I stopped at his favorite liquor store. I picked up a carton of Marlboros, a case of MGD bottles, and two fifths of Cutty. I also cleaned out their supply of Monte Cristo cigars.

Down the road, I found a sex shop, stopped and went inside. I picked up two bottles of Wet lubricant and a bottle of poppers. Whatever happed over the next few days, I wasn’t doing without!

Back at the house, I got everything out of the truck and put it all away. I took the envelope containing all my Dad’s papers out of the truck and put it on the kitchen table. After showering upstairs, I came back to the kitchen and turned on the overhead light. Since the beer wasn’t cold yet, I got my shot glass and ashtray off the porch. I filled the glass, lit one of my fresh cigars, and knocked back the whiskey. I pulled Dad’s papers out of the envelope and spread them on the table.

By the time I went to bed several hours later, the bottle was half empty and the ashtray overflowed with cigar and cigarette butts. Two loads of cum were drying in my bush. I’d expected to be happy when I finished going through my Dad’s papers, but as dropping two loads on myself attested, I found a lot more to be happy about than I had bargained for!

Until I drifted off to sleep, I couldn’t wait for my fuck-buddy Buks to rap on the door Sunday morning- even though I forgot to pick up some fucking tea bags!

Sunday, October 14, 2007

Before showering Sunday morning, I went downstairs and put on some coffee. I dumped the ashtray and rapped a fresh pack of smokes against the counter. I peeled off the wrapper, took one out and lit it. Taking the ashtray with me, I went outside and sat, smoking, while the coffee brewed. To be honest, I was hoping Buks would show up before I went back upstairs to get dressed; maybe I could get him in the shower with me.

When I finished my smoke, I decided to go back in, clean myself up and get dressed. I left the door open in case Buks showed up while I was inside. I brushed my teeth and showered. The scruff on my face could’ve used a trim, but I didn’t feel like doing it. Back in my room, I put on my jeans and grabbed a fresh pair of socks and a white t-shirt from my brother’s drawers. I put on my boots, went downstairs and poured myself a mug of coffee. I went outside and took another cigarette. Before I finished smoking it, Buks pulled up in his truck and met me on the porch. “Howzit!” he bellowed and hugged me like a bear.

In one hand, Buks held a box of tea bags and handed it to me. “Feel like puttin’ on some water for me?” he asked.

“Sure thing!” I replied.

We went inside and while he sat down at the kitchen table, I put a pot of water on the stove. I pulled down another mug and dropped a tea bag in it. While I waited for the water to boil, I topped off my own mug of coffee. When the water boiled, I splashed some into his mug and gave it to him as I sat down.

“So ya’ game for some skinny-dippin’ and fokken up at the lake?” Buks asked me.

“Damn right I am, buddy!”

He took the tea bag out of his mug and took a sip with his twinkling brown eyes staring at me over the rim. He slammed down his mug and growled, “Fokken-A!”

I told Buks that before we left, I needed to discuss some business with him. I told him that last night, I’d gone through my Dad’s papers. “OK, mate,” he told me.

I explained that, as best I could tell, he left his personal property and this house to me, since now I was his sole survivor. Buks shook his head. Then I told him that he left equal shares of the construction business to me, his sole survivor, and to Buks. Again, he calmly shook his head. Finally, I told him that Dad had named Nikki as executor of his estate and that she would be responsible for distributing the proceeds. Buks took a gulp from his mug and calmly shook his head again.

“Something tells me that you already knew about this,” I told him.

“Of course I knew about it!” he laughed. “Your Pops told Nikki and me his intentions a long time ago. He never thought you or your brother would ever be interested in takin’ over the business and would just sell it off cheap or let it go to hell!” He said that he and Nikki had already planned to meet me at the lawyer’s office on Tuesday morning.

I asked him, “So I guess now that we’re 50-50 partners, neither of us can do anything without the permission of the other, right?”

He shook his head, got up and put his hand on my shoulder. “The only fokken permission I’m wantin’ right now is to share as many loads of man-juice as we can muster down by the lake, bru!”

“You got it, buddy!” I pulled a six-pack out of the fridge and a fresh cigar from the counter.

“Lube’s already in the truck,” he told me as I started to head upstairs.

After I locked up the house and stuffed my smokes and lighter into my back pocket, I found myself practically running to his truck and jumping in. Before I closed the door, he took the six-pack and cigar from me. He stuck the cigar in the front pocket of his shirt and closed the door. He walked around and opened the rear cab door and put the beer in a cooler sitting next to a rolled-up sleeping bag on the back seat. After he got in his seat and fired up the engine, he slapped me on the knee and bent over to kiss me.

“Here’s to good times, mate,” he said.

“Giddy-up!” I replied.

When we got to the lake, Buks pulled off onto a dirt road. About half-way to the water, he pulled off the road and parked. “We walk from here, mate,” he told me. Outside the truck, he handed me the sleeping bag and grabbed the cooler.

Leading me through the brush and pine, we arrived at a secluded spot and I unrolled his sleeping bag. His bottle of lube fell out as I did. After spreading out the sleeping bag, I tossed it on top. Both of us stripped off our clothes as fast as we could.

I went over to the cooler and unscrewed the top from a bottle of beer, and walked onto the sleeping bag, holding it out to him. “How about a cold one, Buks?” I asked.

“How about a hard one!” he replied as he pushed the beer away and dropped to his knees. forcefully grabbing my balls with one hand and his own thick boner with the other, he said, “Enjoy yourself, mate; I think I’ll make myself busy suckin’ on this awhile if ya’ don’t mind!”

With that, he swallowed my cock all the way to where his hand was stretching my nuts. When he finally came up for air, he took a deep breath, cleared his nose and launched a thick load of spit straight into my piss-slit. He stuck out his tongue and loaded it up with his spit before working it inside me. Then he spit on his hand that was working his own bulging shaft and went back to jerking it.

Repeatedly, he took my shaft all the way into his mouth, sucking me really hard. The next time he came up, he took his hand off my nuts and spit on it. Before going back down on me, he grabbed my dick as firmly as he could and jerked me as hard as he was stroking himself. I put one hand on the back of his head and took a swig of beer with the other.

It wasn’t long before my knees started shaking. With his mouth and fist still working my rod, I squatted, put my hand behind me and came to rest on my elbows. I spread my legs and pointed my knees to the sky.

Buks didn’t miss a beat. I handed him my bottle of beer and he came up for a belt. Then he handed it back to me and was right back on my dick, sucking and rimming my slit with his tongue. And making a damn lot of noise as he happily went at it.

After awhile, he rolled over onto his back and motioned to me. I squatted over his face and he pulled my dick back into his mouth. I face-fucked him, bouncing up and down with my hips. He took his other hand off his dick, reached between my legs and started fingering my asshole.

With Buks’ thick boner and fat hairy balls staring at me, I crawled over him and took him all the way into my mouth. Just like on Friday back at the office, I couldn’t swallow that piece of lumber for very long without gagging, so I paced myself by taking it out and gliding my tongue up and down the back of his shaft and over his purple helmet. Then I’d take him all the way down my throat again.

About 20 minutes after that, I was sure I was going to shoot. I started working his dick faster and faster with my hand and mouth. I didn’t want to climax without him squirting, too. Even as I started to shudder and was ready to blow, he just kept working my dick and fingering my hole. Finally, I sort of yelped, “Hey Buks! I’m about to lose it!”

As I rocked my cock in and out of his mouth, I heard a muffled sound come from his throat. He took me out of his mouth for a second and said, “Yeah, mate, blow it!” and then swallowed me again.

I worked his cock furiously with my hands and mouth, but not more than two minutes later I knew I was going to finish. While stroking him as hard as I could, I took my mouth off him and said, “I’m cumming, Buks. I’m gonna cum right now!”

My load ripped up my shaft and out of my slit like water from a bent garden hose when it’s been released. “Yeah, bru!” Buks growled after he pulled my boner out of his mouth and pointed it straight down at his bearded face. I kept shooting my load and he kept swallowing me and then pulling me out over his face.

He spit on his hand and took over working his own cock. He worked it so hard that his big hairy balls were literally bouncing up and down, striking the back of his shaft and then bouncing off his thighs again. After a couple more minutes, his dick erupted with a powerful squirt that hit me in the nose as I leaned over his cock. Another squirt bounced off my fuzzy chin, and then another hit me in the forehead and started to drip down between my eyes. Fucking-A, bull’s-eye!

Buks groaned and grunted while he shot. First, I took the head of his dick between my lips and swabbed it off, and then I took him all the way down my throat. I wasn’t sure, but I hoped that for as long as I could swallow that monster, he was still blowing spunk down my throat.

Finally, he relaxed. While I cleaned cum out of his thick bush, I noticed how fine the gray hair was growing into his black nest. I rolled off the top of him and came around so we were face to face. He pulled ropes of his cum off my face with his hand and fed it to me on his fingers. His beard was covered with my spunk. I licked it off and fed it to him from my tongue. We wrapped our arms around each other and had a long, deep masculine kiss.

“So are you gonna fuck me like that, Buks?” I asked him.

He reached over and grabbed the bottle of lube and rapped my chin with it. “Even better, Guy,” he said. “Let’s take a dip and then have some lunch!”

We splashed around in the warm lake water for about half an hour. It was turning into a beautiful West Texas autumn afternoon. Several times, he put his big hand on top of my shaved head and told me to take a deep breath. Then he’d push me under the water surface and press my face into his crotch. When I came back up after the last time he did it to me, he laughed.

“Just practicin’ your breath control, son,” he said, grinning, “so the next time ya’ swallow my dick for a long time, ya’ won’t be gaggin’ on it!”

We waded back to the shore and got back on the sleeping bag. He opened the cooler and handed me a bottle of beer and a sandwich sealed in a plastic bag. He took the bottle cap and bag from me, stuffed it in the cooler, and then took out a beer and sandwich for himself. We stretched out on our sides facing each other. He took a big bite out of his sandwich. “Eat up, son,” he said, putting his bottle of beer to his lips.

That was the second time in less than 15 minutes that Buks had called me “son”. Even though I probably wouldn’t be calling him “Dad” – much less “Daddy”- anytime soon, this inked-up motherfucker felt warm inside when I heard him say it!

We finished our sandwiches and beers. Buks stowed the empty bottles in the cooler. I could see bread crumbs stuck in his beard; he probably saw the same on my scruff. I rolled over onto my stomach. Buks pulled up over my side; he put his arm across my back and his face behind my ears. I thought he was purring like a cat. We stayed like that until the sun started dropping in the western sky, turning the clouds yellow and orange.

Buks rose up and slapped me on the butt. “Come on, son,” he said. “We gotta get movin’!”

“I thought you were gonna fuck me,” I told him.

“We’ll see about that,” he said. “My latest goose is kicking me out of the hen house, and I gotta get my shit out of there by tonight.”

“What’s up with that?” I asked.

“Aw hell,” he sighed. “These konts all get to the same point sooner or later. First they want a commitment. Then the headaches start settin’ in. And then a horny bloke like me that just wants a reg’lar piece of ass gets shown the door. Story of my life.”

“Where ya’ going?” I asked.

“Like usual,” he said, “go sleep in the office ‘til I figure out somethin’ else.”

“Why not bring your shit over to the house?” I asked. “I’m gonna be leaving Wednesday and it would probably be great if you stayed there awhile, making the place look lived in.”

“I’ll take you at your word, son,” he said, and chuckled. “But what you really mean is that you want me to fokk yer bum!”

Sheepishly, I shook my head. “Well yeah- you promised you would, big man!”

“Let’s get our clothes back on,” he said. “I’ll grab the cooler and you roll everything else up in the sleeping bag.”

We got back to the house around 4 that Sunday afternoon. Buks grabbed the cooler while I took the sleeping bag. When we got in the house, I offered him some tea.

“The sooner I get goin’, son,” he said, “the sooner I’ll be back.”

Not thinking, I reached up to pluck my cigar from his shirt pocket, but he pushed my hand away. “I said I’ll be back,” he scolded me. “Be a couple hours. Keep yourself busy- clean out your ass. I hate shit and piss when I’m fokken!” He laughed and went out the door.

I hoped that this Sunday night was going to be sort of like Sunday nights when my brother and I were k**s, and my Dad “inspected” our assholes. Only tonight, “inspection” was going to be done by a stiff, horny Afrikaner dick. I bounded up the stairs two at a time, ripping my clothes off as I headed for the bathroom. I jumped in the shower and filled that old enema bottle with steamy water. I put the beak in my chute, and flushed it up my slot until it ran out clean. When I was done, I pulled a bottle of lube out of the medicine cabinet, went down stairs with it, and sat on the porch with a bottle of beer and my smokes.

For the next three hours, I sat in my Dad’s rocker, putting lube up my ass. All the while, I was drinking beers and smoking, until the headlights of Buks’ truck came plowing up the driveway.

He started pulling boxes and a couple of suitcases out of the back of his truck. I asked him, “You eat yet?”

“Not yet,” he barked at me. He pulled my cigar out of his front shirt pocket. He screwed open the tube and stuck the cigar in my mouth. “Get upstairs in bed and light this fokker,” he growled. “I’ll be up for supper in a minute- just make sure yer arse is being served!”

I heard him come back and forth through the door a couple more times, and then rumble up the stairs. When he came into my Dad’s bedroom, he was already stripped naked. He put me on my knees and elbows on the bed. I grasped my hands together with my cigar between my fingers. He spread my ass and started licking my hole. He pulled the bottle of lube off the bedside table and I could hear him greasing up his cock while he ate me out. I couldn’t believe how great his expert treatment of my ass felt!

“Thanks for greasing up your hole for me, son,” he growled. “Supper’s finished- it’s time for desert!”

As soon as his cock passed my rim, I knew there weren’t going to be a lot of preliminaries tonight. Just me getting fucked.

In no time flat, his whole shaft was up my chute and into some serious fucking. I took a drag on my cigar and tried to push my ass closer to him, but he was already filling me up to his balls and thrusting in and out of me like a man possessed. I fucking loved it, and told him so, loud and often! With his hands around my waist, he drilled my ass for a long time, rotating and coming at me from every direction he could. I tried to squeeze my slot around his dick, but he told me, “Knock it off. Let me do the fokken, son!”

After a long while, he flipped me over onto my back and parked my left leg over his right shoulder. I put my cigar in my mouth and he put that fucking dick of his up my ass again. He poured another shot of grease on my cock, and while he fucked me hard, he wrapped his slick hand around my cock. I wrapped my hand around his hand and the two of us stroked it so hard we practically pulled my dick out by the roots. Hr kept rocking his cock in and out of me, practically turning my fuck hole inside-out.

Finally, Buks started shaking and I knew he was going to cum. Beneath the thick hair on his chest, I could see his muscles tighten. I took one of his nipples in my hand and twisted it. I wrapped my other arm around his waist and forced him deep inside my spread ass. He kept jerking my dick until finally I gave it up and shot my own load.

Buks slowed down for maybe half a minute, and then started rapidly pounding my hole some more. “Jeez!” he said to me. “There’s nothin’ like feelin’ the quiver inside a man’s fuck hole when he’s squirtin’ his juice!”

Shortly, Buks let out a shout and busted a fat wad in my ass. He took my leg off of his shoulder and pushed back so my knee was in my chest, fully exposing my chute and bringing my ass further up. He kept on pumping his hot seed inside me. When he was done, he climbed up over me. He stuck his cum-streaked cock over my chin and into my mouth. His hands were still shaking as he fed me his meat and cum. It had been more than an hour since we got started, and his hairy body was drenched with sweat. So was mine- his and my own.

“Ag!” he said, meaning “Wow”. I rolled the big man over and went down between his thighs to clean off his knob some more.

“Set the clock, son,” he told me after awhile. “I’m off to work early tomorrow.”

I set the clock for 6 a.m. As Buks turned over on his side, I scooted up behind him, stuck my arm under his neck and rested his chin in the palm of my hand. I took my other hand and wiped it in my crack, taking some of the seed dripping out of me onto my forearm and the back of my hand. I stuck that arm between my legs and under my balls. When the alarm clock went off the next morning, my arm was still there, covered with Buks’ dried semen.

Monday, October 15, 2007

As soon as we got up, Buks headed for the bathroom to shower. Before he got to the bedroom door, though, he turned back to me and asked, “You comin’ with me, son?”

As soon as we got in the bathroom, he lifted up the toilet seat and started to piss. I walked up next to him and did the same. He put his arm around my waist, and said, “Don’t be goin’ and splashin’ any on me!” He chuckled and made his stream harder- he splashed on me! I fucking loved it, and he could tell.

I pulled back the shower curtain and Buks stepped into the back of the tub. I bent over and turned on the faucet. When the temperature of the water was just right, I stepped into the tub in front of him, pulled the shower curtain closed and turned the shower on. I soaked myself down from head to toe, and then took off the shower head so I could do the same to him. By the time I turned around, I could see that both of us had a bad case of morning wood.

While I put the shower head over Buks, he reached out and grabbed my hard dick. He reached down and took the bar of soap and lathered me up- front and back, head to toe. He handed the soap to me and I did the same for him. I put the shower head back in its catch and turned around.

Buks grabbed my soaped-up boner. “Let’s see how fast we can make each other squirt, eh son? Just for sport!” I took his soapy piece of lumber in my hand, and the two of started pulling each other’s boners fast and furious. After about 10 minutes, Buks shot a stream of spunk that landed on my thigh. I kept jacking him until he coaxed my own stream of jizz out of my dick a minute or so later.

After we got out of the shower and were drying ourselves off, I asked Buks, “So what do I get for winning that little competition?”

“Winnin’?” he asked. He held his plump limp dick up and pointed a