A Bird In The Hand...
Sometimes when things are just impossible it's a good idea to get the hell out of Dodge. Barry and I were not seeing eye to eye on anything. He was a royal pain in the ass and, I'm sure, he was thinking the same of me.
I threw a sleeping bag, the one man pop-up tent and a few other necessities in the back of the pickup and roared out of the parking lot. Maybe he needed some time alone in the apartment. I was in no mood to talk any more. If he didn't know where I was and if where I was didn't have a phone, well, maybe we'd both take some time to cool down and think seriously about our life together.
I screeched into the first 7-11 I saw and loaded up with stuff that I knew he would have had a fit over. So, I was rebelling, driving like crazy and stocking up on junk food. So what?
I got a gigantic cherry lime coke and took off for the Blue Ridge mountains. It wasn't that far. The drive was one I had always enjoyed. It was early fall, with just a nip of coolness in the air. The trees were barely blushed with red and orange around Charlottesville. As I climbed higher the spots of color spread.
I remembered a place I'd found all on my own back in ought five B.B., five years before Barry. It was a wilderness camp site with a view that had been thrilling. It was isolated. There were four other sites within walking distance, not crammed right up against you with only a tree or two for separation like at the drive in campgrounds. As long as you checked in with one of the park rangers you were permitted to occupy a site for up to a week and build a campfire.
When I made my stop to get that permit I let my mad at Barry slide to the back burner. The ranger on duty was still wearing the summer uniform, black boots, khaki knee socks, khaki shorts, black web belt with a brass buckle, short sleeve khaki shirt with a black tie and a matching baseball cap. That cap had to be his own stab at individuality. I was sure the uniform headgear was the wide-brimmed campaign hat that owed its design inspiration to the Rough Riders.
I've always been a sucker for a man in uniform. This one was so damn good looking, not a pretty face but rugged, with bright blue eyes, long lashes, heavy black eyebrows and raven hair, just slightly longer than the proper regulation cut.
What wasn't covered in khaki was golden bronze. He was a few inches shorter than me. I'd guessed he outweighed me by ten, fifteen pounds. His body was stocky but not flabby. His bare arms and legs both attested that one should find the rest of him well muscled and not too hairy. He had broad shoulders that strained the khaki, while the body of the shirt draped down and was gathered in random pleats tucked in at a slim, but not girlish, waist. His thighs were awesome both in size and the clear definition given to every muscle.
O.K. So I studied him intently while we took care of the permit. Not that I was going to do anything. There's no charge for looking. I was on the outs with Barry but not that far out. When he finished he told me that, as a safety precaution, the wilderness sites were patrolled.
"Thanks for your help. See you on the mountain, maybe, then," I said sticking out my hand.
He looked me in the eye and I got this feeling. It doesn't happen often but it's seldom wrong when it does. "Anything's possible," he commented and gave my hand a squeeze.
Oh, my. Walking back to the car I was arguing with myself, I want to meet him up there, no you don't. Taking a day or two off and pigging out on junk food is a silly 'I'll show you' rebellion. What now seemed possible with Ranger Rick was much closer to treason.
Fuck it. He'll never show up. By the time I get to the off road parking, I'm history. Anyway, I was most likely reading too much into a look and a handshake. It happens when you're emotional.
The carryall for the tent doubles as a backpack. I loaded up, tied the sleeping bag across the top, locked up the pickup and took off with the latest park trail map in my pocket.
It was as I remembered, a spot from which you could imagine seeing the panorama of history playing out below. The War for Independence, those struggles to cross over and inhabit the lush lands of the Ohio, The War Between the States, all kind of ghosts roam over those hills. The stillness lay like a blanket, not even the light traffic on the parkway intruded here, just the jay, the wind. I dined on SnowBalls and two cups of steaming fresh tea and watched the sun bed down. Now fire twinkles could be seen, marking where man intruded on nature.
I let my fire die down, decided to not hide in the tent and stretched out on the sleeping bag. Sliding in and out behind the streaks of clouds overhead the silver sliver of moon blinked on and off overhead. I was pleasantly warm. The site was in a slight hollow. The night wind's chill was carried over it as the earth radiated back the sun's warmth that had been captured all day. I dozed off.
A sharp crack as a log rolled over and for an instant flamed up again woke me. I had just drifted away into a dreamscape. Barry was there and then like a giant soap bubble my vision burst. Being out, away, alone, I missed that shit. Barry was not one who ascribed to the adage about never going to bed mad. We hadn't touched each other for four days now. Just thinking about him I got horny. Well, being honest, I'd been horny ever since I walked out of that Ranger's office. Thinking about Barry just made in unbearable.
I was alone. It sure wasn't going to hurt anyone or harm mother nature if I worked off my frustration. Worse things have been spilled on the ground in our National Forests. With that comforting thought I stripped off my clothes, right down to, but not including, the hiking boots which I slid back on after getting my legs free. It's a weird look, but, who was looking? In the dark I wasn't stepping off that sleeping bag in my bare feet.
For some reason I got turned on even more considering dumping a load into the smoldering embers of the fire, letting it sizzle, pop and crackle in the silence. Standing there, my legs toasting, I touched myself, tentatively at first. Exploring, as if what I found was foreign. I cupped my balls, lifting, judging their weight. Then, with just a middle finger and thumb I grasped my semi-erect penis and gingerly felt along its length, marveling as it reacted to this minimum of attention, growing firmer, longer.
Reaching the end I pulled back the foreskin letting the bulbous head out into the dark, cool night. There was a tinny s-s-s from the embers below as a dew drop of pre-cum tumbled out and down. I felt and found another waiting. With my first finger I rubbed in tiny circles, massaging the liquid into my dick head as it throbbed, aflame with its own sex heat.
I heard myself utter a low moan of pleasure. Pressing up between my pecs with my other hand I grabbed and twisted a handful of flesh that included my left nipple. Gasping at the pain I pinched even harder, then pulled my hand away. Fighting against being moved, fingernails scraping across that swollen nipple, I moved my hand to where I was able to roll up a handful around my right nipple with the heel of my hand. Clamping down I tugged and pulled, moaning.
Letting my first finger move to join my middle finger I started traveling down the length of my cock, stretching my dick skin tighter and tighter as I went. Reaching the point where I could flick my balls with my little finger, I stroked back up. Swollen to its full fury, there was little skin left to pull up over it's crowning glory which let two more drops fall into the glowing embers. P-s-s-s-s. S-s-s-tp. Then a small log popped and split in two showering sparks, singeing hairs on my legs.
I was too deep into myself to even flinch as the smell of burnt hair mingled with the smoke and warm earth odors swirling around me. Letting go the mass of flesh at my chest I reached across and pinched on the tip of my left nipple. As the pain shot in I reached the top of my cock again and squeezed hard, sending a return shot into my gut.
Working together my hands rubbed, stroked, pulled, pinched setting me writhing as passion and pain melded into one body shaking emotion. One hand was now firmly wrapped around my pulsing, hot prick, beating steadily.
Grunting and flinching I continued tearing at my nipples, massaging my pecks, pausing now and then to firmly grab and pull on my neck and traps, relieving the tension. I was burning, without a thing to take off to get cooler except the skin on my body which I was ripping and tearing at, lost in a tide of emotions.
Suddenly a pair of arms wrapped around my waist, grasping me tight. I cried out, struggling. I caught him one on his shin or lower calf with a boot. He yelped and lifted me off the ground. A chin with rough stubble scraped on my shoulder as a soft Southern drawl and warm breath reached my ear.
"Easy, fella. Ya'll calm down now, ya hear me."
He was strong. I was afraid to go limp in his arms. That just might land me bare assed in the fire. I couldn't break free. Then, thrashing in his bear hug, I realized the body pressed against me, holding me, was unclothed and just as aroused as I had been, until he scared most of the hard out of me.
"Ain't go'na hurt you. Just thought maybe t' join in the fun," the voice at my shoulder said. To make sure I grasped his intent he pumped his hips, running what felt to be a sizable cock up and down on the crack between my buttocks.
Somehow, without easing his grip around my waist, I felt his hand rubbing, tugging on the flesh above my cock hairs. Between that and his thrusting against my backsides I found my erection returning. Each time his hand pulled, my cock jerked higher, swelling full again, until it smacked against his hand, rigid, demanding attention.
"Go'na help you out , hoss. Give this baby a good whackin'. If'n that's lik’ble."
He took over where I had stopped, wrapping my cock in his fist, stroking full, holding tight. He pressed me back into him with his down beat and a tug from the arm still locked around my waist. I rocked with him, my butt twitching, clinching, trying to capture him between my hot cheeks. Hell, I was no longer trying to escape. I was still horny.
With both hands free and the passion mounting again I went wild. I grasped his arm lifting his hand to my mouth, licking and chewing on his fingers as I returned to rubbing and tugging on my body. This was a rough tobacco farming Virginian if the smell and taste of his hands was any indication. There was no dirt, just calluses and the residue of years of toil that no scrubbing could erase.
My hips were twitching, but . . .
I turned my head brushing on his stubble. "I didn't come prepared. We better just keep it to exchanging hand jobs. O.K.?" What the hell was I going to do if he didn't want to be reasonable? Bite off a finger? Somehow, I prayed, he had to be willing to keep things safe and sane.
"Way ahead of ya. Already got m' rubber overcoat on Junior here."
A man of few, but meaningful, words.
"Let's back up a little, fella. Gotta get som'n outa my sock and don' want us fallin' in that fire."
Oh, yeah. A man who comes out in the wood prepared. A former Boy Scout no doubt. What would he be lugging in his sock? A pack of cigarettes for the traditional smoke after? I doubt it. Not if he was anxious to retrieve it now. Well, well, what a surprise. I felt his fingers rubbing something cool and soothing into my crack. I bucked and exclaimed as he penetrated with a finger, marking the spot. Not going to be no spit and polish job. I smiled.
While he had been busy with his preparation, responsibility for my cock had returned to my hand. I took it slow, anticipating the heightened feelings that would come once he was stroking me again, front and back together.
He rose slowly beneath me. His legs were between mine, knees bent, hands on top of my hips. I thrust back with my ass. In one slow smooth sliding motion his cock moved up between my cheeks and on in. My waiting hole just damn gobbled that dick. He stood, lifting me by my waist and lowered me. I was now firmly anchored, his cock deep in my eager chute.
His chin was back on my shoulder, now on the other side. He was breathing hard. A soft moan came as he held me tight and humped. He humped again. His arm across my gut trembled with each thrust. Laying his other hand on mine we manipulated my prick. His hand guided mine, pumping back as he stabbed into me, gliding out as he withdrew. Again. Again. I groaned with pleasure as that hot rod and mine both grew longer, harder.
I ran my hand up into his hair. It was thick, heavy, almost covering his ears. I stroked it then laid my hand again on his chest. It was heaving. My mouth was open sucking in air. Soft cried and moans drifted into the night air as I exhaled. My nipples were hard and sore. Just rubbing them set me shivering, rolling tight into my gut a gathering of sensations. Then one more pierced me.
My night visitor shifted his head and with the next shove bit down gently but firmly setting my shoulder on fire. We continued pumping together on my cock as his hips ground against me, searching, and I thrust my butt back, begging.
Stroke by stroke, plunging in then out, our temp gradually increased. So did the sounds of our coupling. Muffled cries became louder exclamations as I felt his organ swelling. I screamed, baying at the moon. He clamped hard on my shoulder with his teeth. Both his arms locked around me. With a massive groan he buried himself, thrashing against me as his cock pulsed. I felt each gush hot within me. My hand whipped savagely. I quickly joined him, my legs quivering, muscles tense as my cum boiled over and spew into the night.
I stood there my body shaking. He was no longer gnawing on my shoulder. It ached. Good. I ached all over. Good. His warm hands were stroking my flanks. He was still pressed hard against me, his cock filling me, less than before, but still pulsing. It slowly faded, growing limp. He was humming, then softly I heard him speak.
"Mi'ty nice night. Enjoyable. Tight little ass you got there, fella." I fell him ease away, leaving me empty. "Oh, here, jus' to prove I didn't tell a lie." A hand came over my shoulder holding a well packed rubber by its open end. His other hand was no longer touching me. The night wind made me shiver. I took the offering and stepped forward dropping it in the embers. I turned to face my evening guest.
Behind me lay my sleeping bag and just fading into the woods, down the trail was a white ghostly form. He may have been a farmer but he was a skilled woodsman, too.
I collapsed onto my sleeping bag, tugged it open and finally took off my hiking boots and socks. Snuggling down I was warm, sore and still twitching. As the afterglow faded I closed my eyes and drifted with memories, curled up, hands cupped between my legs.
I awoke to find my Ranger squatting by the dead campfire, poking around with a stick. He was out of uniform, sturdy hiking boots; socks rolled down over the tops; ragged, torn jeans cut off at mid thigh and a worn gray sweat shirt with the arm ripped out. As I sat up bare chested, he glanced over and raised the stick, lifting that rubber out of the ashes.
"Had a busy night?" He was grinning. Looking at me with teeth marks on a shoulder, one very red nipple and a couple of light but obvious scratches on my chest he winked. "Looks like it got a little wild up here last night. Hope it was worth it."
I shrugged and started grabbing clothes. How to I explain to anyone about last night? Tugging on my tee shirt I struggled inside the sleeping bag to get into my jeans. "Didn't expect visitors so early. Can you stick around for coffee? I've got chips and candy bars, if you're hungry," I kept talking to avoid answering his question as I crawled out and gingerly walked bare foot to the tent.
He gave me a quizzical look. "Real woodsy fare you're packing."
"Well, this wasn't really a pre-planned thing. Just grabbed some stuff at a 7-11 and drove." I was hopping around as I pulled on a fresh pair of socks. I made it back over to the sleeping bag and smacked down hard on my ass. A quick, inadvertent gasp. Damn, I was still sore. How fucking big had been that dream dick?
"That good, hu?" He was almost laughing at me. "Want some real breakfast? Replenish. Restore." Then I noticed those eyes. I know that look.
I gave all my attention to getting my boots on, running a tally on the should I's vs the shouldn't I's.
He stood, stepping over as I finished tying my boots and offered me a hand up. He pulled me right into his own space. We were close enough I could smell his breath, minty fresh. "I'd like to have you . . ." Our eyes started talking. " . . . as my guest for breakfast." He was still holding my hand. Gave it a squeeze when he paused, just like he had back at the station when he'd avoided a clear answer about seeing me again.
That did it. "I'd like to have you . . . have me . . . for breakfast. Where?" I returned the favor with two squeezes for his one.
There were sparks flying between us right then than struck both of us dumb. We stood there, our eyes continuing to search, reaching into the depths of each others being, asking questions, giving answers, blinking, our gaze so intent I felt my eyes watering. Without a word he lifted my hand and, turning it in his, bent and put a kiss in the middle of my palm. That simple act shattered me. I gasped for breath.
"This can't . . . I can't . . . " Words stuck in my throat. I shook my head and tried to pull my hand away.
"It can." His voice was soft. "Don't fight it. Some things just happen without planning. You didn't come here to meet me. I didn't plan my day off camping to meet you. But its happened."
A Bird In The Hand . . . (in the bush with number two)
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