Nandita To Nandini
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Becoming Bi Part 1: Bought And Paid For free porn video
When I was a teenager growing up in Chamblee, Georgia, a married couple in their fifties lived down the street. The husband's name was Dale. The wife's name was Geneva. They had a daughter named who lived somewhere in Tennessee, but I only met her on three or four occasions when she returned for holidays or birthdays.
Dale worked for the DeKalb County water department as some form of manager, and Geneva had a small business selling antiques. Both Dale and Geneva were well-liked and sociable people. I remember that Geneva had a younger sister who drove in from Tennessee from time to time to pay them a visit. Geneva and her sister would sit in the front yard in their lawn chairs, drinking white wine and cracking jokes. Neighbors up and down the street would stop to chat with them under the shade of their maple trees.
Dale was a big fisherman. He owned the only bass boat in the neighborhood, and whenever fish were in season he made weekly trips to Lake Lanier. He would leave very early on a Saturday morning, usually before daybreak, and return late Sunday afternoon. Passing Dale and Geneva's house late on a Sunday meant you would probably see Dale cleaning out his bass boat after two days on the lake. There were wells to drain and fish guts to rinse away and minor boat maintenance to perform. That boat was Dale's pride and joy. He kept it spotless. It was beautiful to the eyes of a teenage boy. The hull was silver and blue, and it sparkled with flakes of bright glitter that refracted the afternoon sun. Even by today's standards, it was a sleek and beautiful bass boat.
The important part of my story begins when I was nineteen years old and attending Georgia State University. I was living at home at the time with my parents and a younger sister, and attending classes downtown a few days a week. I had a partime job working cleanup for a local roofer. It happened on a spring Sunday afternoon when I was walking past Dale's house. Standing in the bed of his pickup truck, Dale called me over to his driveway to lend him a hand. He handed down to me a few heavy coolers and several fishing rods while he initiated some small talk. Like most teenagers, I felt a little awkward around adults, but Dale was hipper than most adults, especially for a man nearing retirement. He wore t-shirts that commemorated his visits to Key West, and he listened to Jimmy Buffet while working around his garage. I distinctly remember the chain he wore around his tan, burly neck: a large silver arrowhead pendant pointing downward. Even among the other k**s who lived in the neighborhood, Dale and Geneva were alright. Despite her age, you could tell Geneva was once a very pretty girl with a slim, attractive body. She was always tan during the summer months. She wore ankle bracelets and silver rings on her toes, and she favored bright pastel sundresses that accentuated her bronze shoulders, full breasts, and athletic calves. Despite her age, she painted her toenails lemon yellow, powder blue, or cotton candy pink. She was a fun lady and sexy for her age.
Dale knew that I liked his boat. All the k**s in the neighborhood liked his boat. He knew that my family never fished, but we did go camping from time to time, so Dale offered me a job. If I helped Dale unload, clean, and stow away his gear every Sunday evening, he would pay me twenty dollars a week. For 1984, that was decent money for a nineteen year-old k**, considering it would only take an hour at most. So on Sunday afternoon for the next few weeks, I kept a lookout for Dale returning home after his weekend on the lake. He usually backed his boat trailer into his driveway between 7 and 8:00 p.m. when Mom was clearing the dishes and Dad was watching 60 Minutes. I would rush two doors down the street to help Dale clean and stow away his gear.
A couple weeks passed. I got to know Dale a little each time. I learned, for example, that Dale had spent three years in the navy until he received an honorable discharge when his father passed away and his mother's health began to fail. I learned that Dale was quite an athlete growing up near Charleston, South Carolina. He was a high school football and baseball star and played for a junior college whose name I don’t recall. He played competitive softball well into his forties, and was a powerful hitter and right fielder. Dale shared with me his history as we organized and put away all the gear that made Dale an accomplished fisherman. In the back of his stand-alone garage in his backyard, Dales had shelves loaded down with tackle boxes, fishing rods, and boat equipment. Also in the back corner of his garage, Dale kept a wooden desk and office chair lit by a single lamp. Fishing magazines covered the desk. An old green rotary telephone. Baseball caps and old cigar boxes filled with rusty fishing lures. Above the desk hung a calendar with large breasted women posing in bikinis, and Dale scribbled notes across the days of the month as a way to plan future fishing trips. He tracked moon phases and read the Farmer's Almanac to better understand when the fish would bite. This desk was Dale's man cave, tucked in the darkened reaches of his garage out of sight of the rest of his house, the place separate from the main house where he could be alone and be himself.
Our relationship took a notable turn when on one particular Sunday afternoon, I saw Dale back his trailer into his driveway. As usual, I walked two doors down the street to meet him. As we worked through our usual routine, I soon noticed that Dale wasn't wearing any underwear. Underneath the thin gym shorts he often wore fishing and around his house, I could clearly see Dale's dick swinging from side-to-side. When Dale stood in the bed of his pickup truck, I could clearly see from my vantage point standing on his driveway the head of his dick pinned against his thigh. I pretended not to notice, and Dale pretended not to notice. As a former high school athlete myself, I understood how the older boys at school were more confident about their bodies in the locker rooms and showers than the ninth graders. I assumed that Dale's casual attitude about his dick bouncing around meant that older men Dale's age were even more confident about their bodies. Dale was a very masculine and physical specimen for a man in his 50's. He was probably six feet tall, and he had broad, powerful shoulders and big forearms. His legs were thick and muscular despite the fact that he carried a firm beer belly around his waist. He was tan like Geneva from all the hours spent on the lake. I didn't think much of Dale's lack of underwear at the time, and his partial nudity became more and more common over the following Sundays. Whenever I was helping Dale around his boat or garage, his swinging cock was part of the bargain. As we worked around his truck and boat, I caught glimpses of his hairy balls or his shaft shifting from side to side. Yes, it was a little awkward at first, but it also made me feel like more of a man. Dale was so unconcerned about what I could plainly see with my own eyes that I considered the regular peep show my initiation into manhood.
Dale's true intentions became more clear to me on a particular afternoon in late July. I had been helping Dale around his boat and garage for eight or ten weeks at this point, and I would sometimes help Dale on other days of the week to prepare for his next trip to the lake. One of the brake-light assemblies on his boat trailer had shorted out, so Dale purchased a new one. Lying on the concrete floor of his garage, Dale squirmed his way underneath the back of the trailer, telling me which tool he needed from his canvas pouch. He lay there on his back, fiddling with the light assembly, his knees up and his legs spread wide apart. I could plainly see the full length of Dale's cock and balls under the thin fabric of his gym shorts. As he shifted his weight from side to side, his shorts spread even further, which gave me a more direct view of his crotch. Its head, balls, and shaft hung there in a nest of pubic hair. His cock and balls were no more than two feet away from where I sat Indian-style on the cold, concrete floor of the garage. He spread his hairy thighs even wider so I got an even better view. His cock was as strong looking as the rest of Dale's body. His heavy and hairy balls strained the nutsack, tugging at the base of his dick. It seemed like a separate creature unto itself. It rocked and swayed with its own habits and its own behavior. Dale stayed in that position for several minutes as he replaced the light assembly. I looked on, becoming more and more transfixed by the close and immediate presence of it. My face flushed. My heartbeat quickened. Dale made sure I got a close look at everything he wanted me to see.
I realize now that Dale was grooming me for something bigger. He exposed himself to me to gauge my reaction. Would I say something? Would I dream up an excuse and leave his garage in a fluster? Would I reach out and take hold of his cock? Ultimately, I said nothing. I was too confused. Having turned 19 only a few weeks earlier, I knew very little about sex. I knew even less about grown men who flaunted themselves as a way to tantalize neighborhood boys. I remember lying in my bed that night a little afraid of Dale but very excited about him at the same time. I lay naked in the darkness stroking myself, thinking about Dale’s powerful hamstrings, his meaty cock and woolly balls. I thought of the calendar girls hanging above Dale's desk, illuminated in the dark corner of his garage, arching their slim backs and jutting out their tight asses in neon bikinis. I saw Dale’s mammoth balls hanging there only an arm’s length away. I remember jacking off to the memories of Dale's cock until I shot a hot load onto my naked chest. I lay still on my bed afterward, my chest heaving up and down. I lay there thinking about everything I saw between Dale's thighs. As I laid there, I wished I had reached out to touch it.
Only two short days later, I was back at Dale's garage. It was early evening, perhaps 7:00 p.m., so the yards across the neighborhood were already growing dim with the setting sun. I was hosing off and wiping down the boat in the driveway, and Dale was sitting at his desk in the back of the garage, talking on the phone. Geneva came from the house and joined us for a moment in the driveway. Holding her purse and car keys, she told Dale she was heading to her antique booth. I distinctly remember Geneva saying in a sing-song voice, "You two boys have fun now."
I took the wash bucket and rags to the back of the garage to rinse them under the spigot. I was there for a few minutes when I heard the garage door close. A few minutes more, and I heard Dale calling to me from his desk. When I walked through the side door into the garage, I found it darker than usual, except for the single lamp on Dale's desk illuminating the far back corner. A quick glance told me Dale was sitting in his office chair with his fingers laced across the back of his head and his elbows up. I thought he wanted to pay me for the week and send me on my way.
As I stepped closer, I realized Dale was naked there in the darkness. He sat in his office chair facing me, his hips thrust forward and his feet set wide apart on the floor between us. For the first time, I could see the full extent of Dale's nudity. I could see the silhouette of Dale's massive biceps set against the yellow light from the desk behind him. His burly shoulders, and his brawny chest. Dale's stomach was large and round, but he wasn't fat. He was more lumberjack than couch potato. His torso appeared firm. Rock solid. His chest hair was thick and silvery in the light. It ran down his stomach and down his midsection, where it diffused onto his muscular thighs. Standing there perhaps ten or fifteen feet away from him, I remember taking a mental inventory of the situation. There I was standing in the back of my neighbor's garage. My neighbor was stretched out before me - totally naked. The large garage door was closed to the driveway and the the street in front of the house, so no one could see in or know what was happening in the darkened reaches of Dale's garage. Even Geneva was gone. Standing there, taking in the landscape, I could make out Dale's cock between his legs with a tangled nest of hair at its base and around its balls. The cock lay backward on his stomach. The balls hung downward toward the floor.
It would be an understatement to say I was nervous. I remember my pulse quickening. I remember feeling like my feet were frozen in place. Dale sat there staring back at me, waiting for me to do something. His posture was more of a command than an invitation. With his fingers laced behind his head and his feet set so wide apart, he projected a perfect confidence. Remembering all this now, it is difficult to explain how I knew what to do under those circumstances, how Dale compelled me to step closer to him without saying a word. Finally, only a few feet away, I could clearly see his cock and balls: its girthy shaft and swollen head resting semi-erect on his stomach. He had repeatedly teased me with glimpses of it until now. Now, I could not take my eyes off of it.
My behavior was a striking demonstration of Dale's power over me. I knelt and took my place between Dale's knees. Dale made no sound. He said nothing. He simply sat there in his swivel chair with his hands on the back of his head and his elbows in the air with his hips thrust forward. I looked up at Dale, but I couldn't see his face. The lamplight positioned behind him on the desk cast Dale in a dark silhouette. Kneeling there for perhaps a minute, I finally reached out and took hold of his thighs. I felt his muscular legs. I felt the warmth of his woolly flesh. I knelt there for a minute, surveying the shape of his nudity. The round but muscular bulge of his stomach. The presence of his powerful legs. I recall the necklace Dale wore. The silver chain twisted through the chest hair below his neck. The silver pendant reflected the yellow lamplight, and the arrow pointed directly at Dale's dick. And there was Dale, staring down at me from his silhouette of confidence. I remember the flush of nervousness in my face. I could feel the thump of my heartbeats.
His cock was a healthy seven inches in length. Its girth was impressive. The shaft arched upward, away from me, onto his hairy stomach. At its base, two huge balls strained the confines of the nutsack. Despite the hot flush of nervousness across my face, I reached out and took Dale's cock into my hand the way you might pick up a hammer by its handle. It felt strong, like the rest of his body. It felt warm, dense, and substantial. Hefty to the touch. I remember feeling both afraid and hopelessly curious at the same time. I remember moving Dale's cock around as a way to understand its operation and how it behaved. I squeezed the firm shaft and felt its length throb against my grip. I tugged it forward and felt its tension. I tugged again, only to feel it pull away in response. The firm, swollen ridges of the head were shaped like a wedge. The thick shaft and the cloven head were designed to pry and force their way into tightly clenched spaces. Dale's posture of expectation told me what to do. Dale's silence told me what to do. Even the pouty face of the calendar girl, staring down at me from the wall above Dale's desk, told me what to do.
It was all very surreal as I remember it. There I was on my knees in my neighbor's garage only two houses away from my own house with a man's cock in my hand. A cock that clearly wanted attention. Leaning forward, I mouthed the head a few times. It was smooth and tight as a plum against my lips. I kissed it. I ran my lips around its ridges and felt it swell against my mouth. I ran my tongue down the shaft and found the flesh soft and thin. I knew what a blowjob was, so I proceeded to give one. I slowly slid my mouth over the wedge of the head. It was a mouthful, so I opened wider. My lips felt the ridge of the corona pop into my mouth for the very first time. I took the head into my mouth cavity and felt it fill the empty space. I gripped the hairy base and moved my head in a vertical motion. I eased into a slow, mouth-watering rhythm. My heart pounded. My head and mouth rose and fell like an oil derrick.
Sucking cock for the very first time is an out of body experience. I distinctly recall the flush of nervous warmth that came over me as I sucked the dick. A warm, nervous sense of belonging. I recall the increasing desire to take it deeper into my mouth, which I did until the fullness of the head pressed against the back of my throat. I recall reaching up with my left hand and running my palm over the hairy stomach, feeling the strength and masculinity in one hand while grasping the base of the hardening cock with the other. Dale clearly knew what he was doing. He lay there very still so not to distract me. He lay there with his hands still clasped behind his head, allowing me to work through the early stages of becoming a sucker of cock. My movements and mouthwork must have been clumsy that first time, although I don't recall it that way. I remember the push and pull of the sucking experience as rather fluid. Here was a large, engorged cock with a set of balls packed to the brim and ready to burst. I wanted to please it as best I could.
When I wasn't sucking, I was stroking. When I wasn't sucking or stroking, I was holding the cock out of the way so I could work the enormous balls. I was surprised by their hardness, like two cauldrons knocking against one another. I licked and mouthed at them greedily. All the while, Dale remained perfectly motionless, leaving his waist and hips thrust forward into my face with his chin on his hairy chest. To Dale's eyes, it must have been a welcomed sight. The little neighbor boy from down the street, finally kneeling between his knees to suck his cock and balls. All those weeks of earning my trust but seducing me at the same time. The orchestrated process of making my acquaintance and then gradually exposing himself to me, inch by inch, and now finally reaping the filthy reward.
As for me, the whole experience took on a mystical air. Kneeling beneath a man as large and powerful as Dale was exhilarating. My own cock got hard. Taking the swollen head into my mouth and tasting its flesh was glorious. It was all aggression, power, and strength. My six inch prick couldn’t hold a candle to the engorged shaft and heavy nuts. I was lean and submissive in comparison. Even weak. This contrast in both our bodies must have struck Dale as a beautiful and righteous accomplishment. I succumbed to his dominance, and he must have known that as he watched my head bounce up and down and heard my timid whimpers and cowering moans.
Then his thighs flexed. His buttocks tightened. Sensing the change in his demeanor, I realized Dale was approaching the end. He let out a primal grunt. He breathed more deeply now. His stomach heaved up and down. I was about to witness another man ejaculate. I was about to watch a man in his 50’s cum before my very eyes. I stroked the length of the cock with one hand and toyed the woolly balls with the other. I realized how the tempo of my strokes and the firmness of my grip could bring him down to earth or push him over the precipice. The cock grew even harder. Its cloven head blossomed even further. I couldn’t believe how hard it felt. It stood tall like a monolith, like a rigid totem to the many weeks Dale groomed me for his filthy purpose. He groaned again but this time louder and angrier than before. He was fight to force the balls to release their payload.
Another moment later and Dale sprang to his feet. The sudden force of his movement startled me and pushed me backward. Dale stepped forward and towered over me. He palmed my forehead with such strength that he craned my neck backwards. I thought for an instant he meant to hurt me. There like a colossus, his legs wide apart, Dale held my head stationary with one hand. The cock in my face. He jacked off viciously with his other hand and made cruel, growling noises. Although he never said a word, everything about his posture and attitude said, "Don't you fucking move a muscle!" I froze and knelt perfectly motionless. His hand gripped my head, and I stared up at him, a little afraid. In the shadow of his enormous body, I witnessed the potency of the boiling semen in the balls. I saw the nutsack clench. I saw his furry chest, shoulders, and arms tighten. His legs straightened and became stone. Then baring his teeth and saying something unspeakable to me, he let loose gushing torrents of spunk across my face. Three or four times, I can't be sure. It was a big greasy load from a big muscular man. It felt hot, shameful, and foul.
It took me a few moments to process what had just happened. There I was, kneeling on the floor, my face covered in Dale's warm semen. The masculine scent was all I could smell. I tasted the alkaline tingle across my lips. And there was Dale, standing over me in his massive silhouette. His hips and torso quivered from the release of so much sexual tension. His knees buckled and his thighs quaked. The weight of his hand still held me in place. The length of his cock, held tightly in Dale's fist, was inches from my face. He breathed deeply now and glistened in the darkness from perspiration. He stroked and shook the last beads of jizz from the cock and wiped it across my cheek. Feeling the stickiness of his cum hanging on me, all I could do was watch.
Dale gradually awoke from his orgasmic euphoria. He slowly straightened up and turned towards his desk and into the lamp light. As Dale walked around totally naked, I got my first real look at his physique. How his thick calves transferred power from the concrete floor into his thighs. How his hairy thighs and buttocks conveyed their strength into his back and torso. How his back and shoulders relayed their might into his arms and neck. Although his cock grew flaccid, it was hardly less menacing. It swung from the tangle of hair between his legs. Hanging loosely in the July heat, his balls were spent but still intimidating. Tan and hairy and glowing with sweat, Dale possessed a ferocious body.
Dale counted some dollar bills in his wallet, and yanked a shop rag from a cardboard box. He stepped toward me, stooped down, and grabbed my wrist. He wrapped both the money and the rag in my palm of my hand as a way to consummate our deal. As I wiped Dale's jizz from my face, I noticed he had given me a fifty dollar bill. Dale had determined I deserve a raise. Looking up into Dale's face, I realized I now belonged to him. I was bought and paid for. Dale had marked me as his very own.
Dale worked for the DeKalb County water department as some form of manager, and Geneva had a small business selling antiques. Both Dale and Geneva were well-liked and sociable people. I remember that Geneva had a younger sister who drove in from Tennessee from time to time to pay them a visit. Geneva and her sister would sit in the front yard in their lawn chairs, drinking white wine and cracking jokes. Neighbors up and down the street would stop to chat with them under the shade of their maple trees.
Dale was a big fisherman. He owned the only bass boat in the neighborhood, and whenever fish were in season he made weekly trips to Lake Lanier. He would leave very early on a Saturday morning, usually before daybreak, and return late Sunday afternoon. Passing Dale and Geneva's house late on a Sunday meant you would probably see Dale cleaning out his bass boat after two days on the lake. There were wells to drain and fish guts to rinse away and minor boat maintenance to perform. That boat was Dale's pride and joy. He kept it spotless. It was beautiful to the eyes of a teenage boy. The hull was silver and blue, and it sparkled with flakes of bright glitter that refracted the afternoon sun. Even by today's standards, it was a sleek and beautiful bass boat.
The important part of my story begins when I was nineteen years old and attending Georgia State University. I was living at home at the time with my parents and a younger sister, and attending classes downtown a few days a week. I had a partime job working cleanup for a local roofer. It happened on a spring Sunday afternoon when I was walking past Dale's house. Standing in the bed of his pickup truck, Dale called me over to his driveway to lend him a hand. He handed down to me a few heavy coolers and several fishing rods while he initiated some small talk. Like most teenagers, I felt a little awkward around adults, but Dale was hipper than most adults, especially for a man nearing retirement. He wore t-shirts that commemorated his visits to Key West, and he listened to Jimmy Buffet while working around his garage. I distinctly remember the chain he wore around his tan, burly neck: a large silver arrowhead pendant pointing downward. Even among the other k**s who lived in the neighborhood, Dale and Geneva were alright. Despite her age, you could tell Geneva was once a very pretty girl with a slim, attractive body. She was always tan during the summer months. She wore ankle bracelets and silver rings on her toes, and she favored bright pastel sundresses that accentuated her bronze shoulders, full breasts, and athletic calves. Despite her age, she painted her toenails lemon yellow, powder blue, or cotton candy pink. She was a fun lady and sexy for her age.
Dale knew that I liked his boat. All the k**s in the neighborhood liked his boat. He knew that my family never fished, but we did go camping from time to time, so Dale offered me a job. If I helped Dale unload, clean, and stow away his gear every Sunday evening, he would pay me twenty dollars a week. For 1984, that was decent money for a nineteen year-old k**, considering it would only take an hour at most. So on Sunday afternoon for the next few weeks, I kept a lookout for Dale returning home after his weekend on the lake. He usually backed his boat trailer into his driveway between 7 and 8:00 p.m. when Mom was clearing the dishes and Dad was watching 60 Minutes. I would rush two doors down the street to help Dale clean and stow away his gear.
A couple weeks passed. I got to know Dale a little each time. I learned, for example, that Dale had spent three years in the navy until he received an honorable discharge when his father passed away and his mother's health began to fail. I learned that Dale was quite an athlete growing up near Charleston, South Carolina. He was a high school football and baseball star and played for a junior college whose name I don’t recall. He played competitive softball well into his forties, and was a powerful hitter and right fielder. Dale shared with me his history as we organized and put away all the gear that made Dale an accomplished fisherman. In the back of his stand-alone garage in his backyard, Dales had shelves loaded down with tackle boxes, fishing rods, and boat equipment. Also in the back corner of his garage, Dale kept a wooden desk and office chair lit by a single lamp. Fishing magazines covered the desk. An old green rotary telephone. Baseball caps and old cigar boxes filled with rusty fishing lures. Above the desk hung a calendar with large breasted women posing in bikinis, and Dale scribbled notes across the days of the month as a way to plan future fishing trips. He tracked moon phases and read the Farmer's Almanac to better understand when the fish would bite. This desk was Dale's man cave, tucked in the darkened reaches of his garage out of sight of the rest of his house, the place separate from the main house where he could be alone and be himself.
Our relationship took a notable turn when on one particular Sunday afternoon, I saw Dale back his trailer into his driveway. As usual, I walked two doors down the street to meet him. As we worked through our usual routine, I soon noticed that Dale wasn't wearing any underwear. Underneath the thin gym shorts he often wore fishing and around his house, I could clearly see Dale's dick swinging from side-to-side. When Dale stood in the bed of his pickup truck, I could clearly see from my vantage point standing on his driveway the head of his dick pinned against his thigh. I pretended not to notice, and Dale pretended not to notice. As a former high school athlete myself, I understood how the older boys at school were more confident about their bodies in the locker rooms and showers than the ninth graders. I assumed that Dale's casual attitude about his dick bouncing around meant that older men Dale's age were even more confident about their bodies. Dale was a very masculine and physical specimen for a man in his 50's. He was probably six feet tall, and he had broad, powerful shoulders and big forearms. His legs were thick and muscular despite the fact that he carried a firm beer belly around his waist. He was tan like Geneva from all the hours spent on the lake. I didn't think much of Dale's lack of underwear at the time, and his partial nudity became more and more common over the following Sundays. Whenever I was helping Dale around his boat or garage, his swinging cock was part of the bargain. As we worked around his truck and boat, I caught glimpses of his hairy balls or his shaft shifting from side to side. Yes, it was a little awkward at first, but it also made me feel like more of a man. Dale was so unconcerned about what I could plainly see with my own eyes that I considered the regular peep show my initiation into manhood.
Dale's true intentions became more clear to me on a particular afternoon in late July. I had been helping Dale around his boat and garage for eight or ten weeks at this point, and I would sometimes help Dale on other days of the week to prepare for his next trip to the lake. One of the brake-light assemblies on his boat trailer had shorted out, so Dale purchased a new one. Lying on the concrete floor of his garage, Dale squirmed his way underneath the back of the trailer, telling me which tool he needed from his canvas pouch. He lay there on his back, fiddling with the light assembly, his knees up and his legs spread wide apart. I could plainly see the full length of Dale's cock and balls under the thin fabric of his gym shorts. As he shifted his weight from side to side, his shorts spread even further, which gave me a more direct view of his crotch. Its head, balls, and shaft hung there in a nest of pubic hair. His cock and balls were no more than two feet away from where I sat Indian-style on the cold, concrete floor of the garage. He spread his hairy thighs even wider so I got an even better view. His cock was as strong looking as the rest of Dale's body. His heavy and hairy balls strained the nutsack, tugging at the base of his dick. It seemed like a separate creature unto itself. It rocked and swayed with its own habits and its own behavior. Dale stayed in that position for several minutes as he replaced the light assembly. I looked on, becoming more and more transfixed by the close and immediate presence of it. My face flushed. My heartbeat quickened. Dale made sure I got a close look at everything he wanted me to see.
I realize now that Dale was grooming me for something bigger. He exposed himself to me to gauge my reaction. Would I say something? Would I dream up an excuse and leave his garage in a fluster? Would I reach out and take hold of his cock? Ultimately, I said nothing. I was too confused. Having turned 19 only a few weeks earlier, I knew very little about sex. I knew even less about grown men who flaunted themselves as a way to tantalize neighborhood boys. I remember lying in my bed that night a little afraid of Dale but very excited about him at the same time. I lay naked in the darkness stroking myself, thinking about Dale’s powerful hamstrings, his meaty cock and woolly balls. I thought of the calendar girls hanging above Dale's desk, illuminated in the dark corner of his garage, arching their slim backs and jutting out their tight asses in neon bikinis. I saw Dale’s mammoth balls hanging there only an arm’s length away. I remember jacking off to the memories of Dale's cock until I shot a hot load onto my naked chest. I lay still on my bed afterward, my chest heaving up and down. I lay there thinking about everything I saw between Dale's thighs. As I laid there, I wished I had reached out to touch it.
Only two short days later, I was back at Dale's garage. It was early evening, perhaps 7:00 p.m., so the yards across the neighborhood were already growing dim with the setting sun. I was hosing off and wiping down the boat in the driveway, and Dale was sitting at his desk in the back of the garage, talking on the phone. Geneva came from the house and joined us for a moment in the driveway. Holding her purse and car keys, she told Dale she was heading to her antique booth. I distinctly remember Geneva saying in a sing-song voice, "You two boys have fun now."
I took the wash bucket and rags to the back of the garage to rinse them under the spigot. I was there for a few minutes when I heard the garage door close. A few minutes more, and I heard Dale calling to me from his desk. When I walked through the side door into the garage, I found it darker than usual, except for the single lamp on Dale's desk illuminating the far back corner. A quick glance told me Dale was sitting in his office chair with his fingers laced across the back of his head and his elbows up. I thought he wanted to pay me for the week and send me on my way.
As I stepped closer, I realized Dale was naked there in the darkness. He sat in his office chair facing me, his hips thrust forward and his feet set wide apart on the floor between us. For the first time, I could see the full extent of Dale's nudity. I could see the silhouette of Dale's massive biceps set against the yellow light from the desk behind him. His burly shoulders, and his brawny chest. Dale's stomach was large and round, but he wasn't fat. He was more lumberjack than couch potato. His torso appeared firm. Rock solid. His chest hair was thick and silvery in the light. It ran down his stomach and down his midsection, where it diffused onto his muscular thighs. Standing there perhaps ten or fifteen feet away from him, I remember taking a mental inventory of the situation. There I was standing in the back of my neighbor's garage. My neighbor was stretched out before me - totally naked. The large garage door was closed to the driveway and the the street in front of the house, so no one could see in or know what was happening in the darkened reaches of Dale's garage. Even Geneva was gone. Standing there, taking in the landscape, I could make out Dale's cock between his legs with a tangled nest of hair at its base and around its balls. The cock lay backward on his stomach. The balls hung downward toward the floor.
It would be an understatement to say I was nervous. I remember my pulse quickening. I remember feeling like my feet were frozen in place. Dale sat there staring back at me, waiting for me to do something. His posture was more of a command than an invitation. With his fingers laced behind his head and his feet set so wide apart, he projected a perfect confidence. Remembering all this now, it is difficult to explain how I knew what to do under those circumstances, how Dale compelled me to step closer to him without saying a word. Finally, only a few feet away, I could clearly see his cock and balls: its girthy shaft and swollen head resting semi-erect on his stomach. He had repeatedly teased me with glimpses of it until now. Now, I could not take my eyes off of it.
My behavior was a striking demonstration of Dale's power over me. I knelt and took my place between Dale's knees. Dale made no sound. He said nothing. He simply sat there in his swivel chair with his hands on the back of his head and his elbows in the air with his hips thrust forward. I looked up at Dale, but I couldn't see his face. The lamplight positioned behind him on the desk cast Dale in a dark silhouette. Kneeling there for perhaps a minute, I finally reached out and took hold of his thighs. I felt his muscular legs. I felt the warmth of his woolly flesh. I knelt there for a minute, surveying the shape of his nudity. The round but muscular bulge of his stomach. The presence of his powerful legs. I recall the necklace Dale wore. The silver chain twisted through the chest hair below his neck. The silver pendant reflected the yellow lamplight, and the arrow pointed directly at Dale's dick. And there was Dale, staring down at me from his silhouette of confidence. I remember the flush of nervousness in my face. I could feel the thump of my heartbeats.
His cock was a healthy seven inches in length. Its girth was impressive. The shaft arched upward, away from me, onto his hairy stomach. At its base, two huge balls strained the confines of the nutsack. Despite the hot flush of nervousness across my face, I reached out and took Dale's cock into my hand the way you might pick up a hammer by its handle. It felt strong, like the rest of his body. It felt warm, dense, and substantial. Hefty to the touch. I remember feeling both afraid and hopelessly curious at the same time. I remember moving Dale's cock around as a way to understand its operation and how it behaved. I squeezed the firm shaft and felt its length throb against my grip. I tugged it forward and felt its tension. I tugged again, only to feel it pull away in response. The firm, swollen ridges of the head were shaped like a wedge. The thick shaft and the cloven head were designed to pry and force their way into tightly clenched spaces. Dale's posture of expectation told me what to do. Dale's silence told me what to do. Even the pouty face of the calendar girl, staring down at me from the wall above Dale's desk, told me what to do.
It was all very surreal as I remember it. There I was on my knees in my neighbor's garage only two houses away from my own house with a man's cock in my hand. A cock that clearly wanted attention. Leaning forward, I mouthed the head a few times. It was smooth and tight as a plum against my lips. I kissed it. I ran my lips around its ridges and felt it swell against my mouth. I ran my tongue down the shaft and found the flesh soft and thin. I knew what a blowjob was, so I proceeded to give one. I slowly slid my mouth over the wedge of the head. It was a mouthful, so I opened wider. My lips felt the ridge of the corona pop into my mouth for the very first time. I took the head into my mouth cavity and felt it fill the empty space. I gripped the hairy base and moved my head in a vertical motion. I eased into a slow, mouth-watering rhythm. My heart pounded. My head and mouth rose and fell like an oil derrick.
Sucking cock for the very first time is an out of body experience. I distinctly recall the flush of nervous warmth that came over me as I sucked the dick. A warm, nervous sense of belonging. I recall the increasing desire to take it deeper into my mouth, which I did until the fullness of the head pressed against the back of my throat. I recall reaching up with my left hand and running my palm over the hairy stomach, feeling the strength and masculinity in one hand while grasping the base of the hardening cock with the other. Dale clearly knew what he was doing. He lay there very still so not to distract me. He lay there with his hands still clasped behind his head, allowing me to work through the early stages of becoming a sucker of cock. My movements and mouthwork must have been clumsy that first time, although I don't recall it that way. I remember the push and pull of the sucking experience as rather fluid. Here was a large, engorged cock with a set of balls packed to the brim and ready to burst. I wanted to please it as best I could.
When I wasn't sucking, I was stroking. When I wasn't sucking or stroking, I was holding the cock out of the way so I could work the enormous balls. I was surprised by their hardness, like two cauldrons knocking against one another. I licked and mouthed at them greedily. All the while, Dale remained perfectly motionless, leaving his waist and hips thrust forward into my face with his chin on his hairy chest. To Dale's eyes, it must have been a welcomed sight. The little neighbor boy from down the street, finally kneeling between his knees to suck his cock and balls. All those weeks of earning my trust but seducing me at the same time. The orchestrated process of making my acquaintance and then gradually exposing himself to me, inch by inch, and now finally reaping the filthy reward.
As for me, the whole experience took on a mystical air. Kneeling beneath a man as large and powerful as Dale was exhilarating. My own cock got hard. Taking the swollen head into my mouth and tasting its flesh was glorious. It was all aggression, power, and strength. My six inch prick couldn’t hold a candle to the engorged shaft and heavy nuts. I was lean and submissive in comparison. Even weak. This contrast in both our bodies must have struck Dale as a beautiful and righteous accomplishment. I succumbed to his dominance, and he must have known that as he watched my head bounce up and down and heard my timid whimpers and cowering moans.
Then his thighs flexed. His buttocks tightened. Sensing the change in his demeanor, I realized Dale was approaching the end. He let out a primal grunt. He breathed more deeply now. His stomach heaved up and down. I was about to witness another man ejaculate. I was about to watch a man in his 50’s cum before my very eyes. I stroked the length of the cock with one hand and toyed the woolly balls with the other. I realized how the tempo of my strokes and the firmness of my grip could bring him down to earth or push him over the precipice. The cock grew even harder. Its cloven head blossomed even further. I couldn’t believe how hard it felt. It stood tall like a monolith, like a rigid totem to the many weeks Dale groomed me for his filthy purpose. He groaned again but this time louder and angrier than before. He was fight to force the balls to release their payload.
Another moment later and Dale sprang to his feet. The sudden force of his movement startled me and pushed me backward. Dale stepped forward and towered over me. He palmed my forehead with such strength that he craned my neck backwards. I thought for an instant he meant to hurt me. There like a colossus, his legs wide apart, Dale held my head stationary with one hand. The cock in my face. He jacked off viciously with his other hand and made cruel, growling noises. Although he never said a word, everything about his posture and attitude said, "Don't you fucking move a muscle!" I froze and knelt perfectly motionless. His hand gripped my head, and I stared up at him, a little afraid. In the shadow of his enormous body, I witnessed the potency of the boiling semen in the balls. I saw the nutsack clench. I saw his furry chest, shoulders, and arms tighten. His legs straightened and became stone. Then baring his teeth and saying something unspeakable to me, he let loose gushing torrents of spunk across my face. Three or four times, I can't be sure. It was a big greasy load from a big muscular man. It felt hot, shameful, and foul.
It took me a few moments to process what had just happened. There I was, kneeling on the floor, my face covered in Dale's warm semen. The masculine scent was all I could smell. I tasted the alkaline tingle across my lips. And there was Dale, standing over me in his massive silhouette. His hips and torso quivered from the release of so much sexual tension. His knees buckled and his thighs quaked. The weight of his hand still held me in place. The length of his cock, held tightly in Dale's fist, was inches from my face. He breathed deeply now and glistened in the darkness from perspiration. He stroked and shook the last beads of jizz from the cock and wiped it across my cheek. Feeling the stickiness of his cum hanging on me, all I could do was watch.
Dale gradually awoke from his orgasmic euphoria. He slowly straightened up and turned towards his desk and into the lamp light. As Dale walked around totally naked, I got my first real look at his physique. How his thick calves transferred power from the concrete floor into his thighs. How his hairy thighs and buttocks conveyed their strength into his back and torso. How his back and shoulders relayed their might into his arms and neck. Although his cock grew flaccid, it was hardly less menacing. It swung from the tangle of hair between his legs. Hanging loosely in the July heat, his balls were spent but still intimidating. Tan and hairy and glowing with sweat, Dale possessed a ferocious body.
Dale counted some dollar bills in his wallet, and yanked a shop rag from a cardboard box. He stepped toward me, stooped down, and grabbed my wrist. He wrapped both the money and the rag in my palm of my hand as a way to consummate our deal. As I wiped Dale's jizz from my face, I noticed he had given me a fifty dollar bill. Dale had determined I deserve a raise. Looking up into Dale's face, I realized I now belonged to him. I was bought and paid for. Dale had marked me as his very own.
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