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We drove balls to the wall at night in his old pickup that always felt like it was coming apart any moment. He was in socks and there was no pedal on the foot-feed, and we got up to 130mph in some places. He tossed the baby-seat in the back before we took off so there was more room. We used to mess around sometimes, and there’s that unspoken thing between us.
But I wasn’t after that, really. He’s a buddy of mine, and his family are my friends. He tried to scare me with the speed and the carelessness of it all. He took one dogleg way too fast and I was nearly on top of him. He was sweaty and musty and he was wearing nothing but shorts, and I could smell him as the motion of the truck put my head almost in his lap.
We stopped at the end of his driveway when we got back. He put his back to the driver’s door and hiked one leg up and faced me. I ran my hand lightly up and down his leg. I could barely see him, but I know every inch of his body. He’d been drinking beer, and I could tell that he was wanting more than just conversation. He pulled his shorts off and just sat there naked except for his socks while we talked and I sweated.
My head was pounding for some reason. There are moments like that with him sometimes, and I’d sell my soul to just lick the sweat off of his body. The hair on his legs is rather coarse. His torso is smooth except for a thick dark line of fur moving south from his navel into the bush around his cock, which at that moment was stiff to the touch and lightly pulsing.
There is something eternal about the instant of that contact. Everything else is a denouement from the moment when I brush against his cock with my heart pounding and my breath shallow and the sweat dripping off of my face. There is a rush as well when it swells to completion and he moans and tenses his body, but it is only an echo of that first contact.
He’d worked all day in the parts store. The mild smell of sweat stirred with solvent and all the other chemicals and substance that go together to make up a guy that works for a living enveloped my nose and eyes as I slid down over the satin shaft of his cock, tight as a drum head, and rolled it in the velvet of my tongue slowly and with purpose. I know he loved this bit we did from time to time where he let go and let me have my way. He was floating on a moment, bouyed at the point where his cock slid in and out of my mouth and my arms encircled the small of his back to pull him tight. His thighs tensed against my chest, I buried my face into the mound of coarse, dark hair and pushed the head of his dick into my throat and held for long moments while his fingers grabbed into my shoulders roughly.
We didn’t say much. A mutter here and there or contented sigh, but seldom a sentence. I rolled up and down his cock with my lips and tongue, and he responded rhythmically with his hips and pressed into me wanting always just a bit more. His hands worked back and forth now across my shoulders, kneading then caressing, then taking his cock in one hand and working just below my lips in synchronous strokes as my spit flowed down over his fist and my tongue rolled round and round the head of his dick and across the hole that gave a steady taste of pre-cum into my mouth. I was dripping sweat all over his bush.
His belly began to tense in time with the thrust of his pelvis and tightening of his muscular thighs. I took his cock into my throat for a few more strokes and then held it in my mouth and milked it as it pulsed hot cum from deep within him and his fingers bit into my shoulders and he moaned lowly. He came for a long time; I swallowed twice and then began sucking slowly again. I could feel him relax and tremble a bit as I licked the tender head.
His cock was still hard, but I knew he needed to piss. He always did right after he came. I kept him in my mouth and pushed his hand away when he tried to raise himself up. Tentatively at first, and then in a steady, growing stream he let himself go, and I drank deep and long and took every bit of him inside of me. I knew he was a little startled, but also a little exhilarated.
We lingered for a quarter of an hour more until his wife called him on his cell phone to hasten our return back down the driveway.
We pulled up next to his trailer alongside the pens where he keeps his gamecocks. We got out of the truck and he stopped to take another piss. I passed my hand through the warm stream and licked my fingers and said good night. He picked up the sweating twelve-pack from the grass and went inside to his wife and kids.
I took the long way home and beat off while I drove. I was going seventy down gravel roads and losing control here and there, but it wasn’t the same rush. Busting a nut in the cold blast of the air-conditioned car only gave me a headache. But at least I could go home and get some sleep now without being distracted all night by the feel of his skin and the taste of my fingertips wet with his piss.