A Cob of Sweet Corn

“They call me, Sweet Corn cause my big ole corn cob of a dick, lookie, Right here!” Says the young naked kid prancing and talking way to loud as he comes toward me like a fluttering butterfly in the wind.

The trees are creating shade and shaking in the breeze with the quiet country river running gently in the distance providing somber music. It was all I expected when I drove out here. But this kid came scampering up from the bluff when I came to a full stop in my pick-up on the two-path dirt road.

His cock is swinging like an out-of-control pendulum between his two skinny legs.There does not look to be a speck of muscle on ‘em. This rail-thin boy. And he has what we called back in my younger days, one of those danged bird chests. Flat as a board. No muscle anywhere on ‘em. With his two-little bright-red speckled rosebud nips, the only things breaking up the stark paleness of the spindly-little lad’s skin.

“How old you be Boy?” He had to ask he looked near ‘bout a sprite.

“I’m nineteen Mister.” He says in a deliberate manner to me, an air of defiance in his cocky voice.

For which I am not so sure.

“Well, you sure as hell don’t look like it…uh…what’d you say your name was?”

“Sweet Corn. The call me, Sweet Corn.”

“What be your Christian name boy?” Another attempt to get a decent answer.

“Stevie.” He says reluctantly. “Stevie Rae Cobb. That be Ray, with an ‘e’ and not a ‘y’. I changed it. I liked it more that way. But I like to be called, Sweet Corn.”

The boy changed the male version of his name, Ray, to that of a girl’s name, Rae, he thinks as he listens to the boy. Why? Why would he do that?

“So do I.” I say. “I like Sweet Corn. So Sweet Corn, it is. And Sweet Corn, it shall be.”

We just stood there leering at each other like two bucks caught in the headlights of a pick-up truck on some hot southern summer night. For him to be a buck it would have to rely solely on that dangling monster jutting out from that mass abundance of corn-silk covering his groin. The more I look at him. It all made sense. He is a buck in the scantest of terms. But a buck, nonetheless.

“Why they call you Sweet?”

“You’d have to taste my nectar Mister to see why.” Sweet Corn says as a smile creeps across his hairless cherub-like face. But his face is all a ruse. And the man knows it. He was a little devil. Who holds a lot of power. He knew that just by looking at the kid who calls himself, Sweet Corn. The kid ain’t stupid. And he ain’t innocent, no sirree.

“So, your spunk be sweet?”

“Yes, Mister that’s what I just said.” He says this as he thrust out his pronounced midsection. “What be your name Mister?”

He be a-tempting me, thinks the man who has yet to identify himself to the boy.

The tall, big hulking dark hairy man says nothing. He cannot keep his eyes off the spry boy.

“Did you hear me?” The wiry lad whines when he asks, again. Frustrated.

“Children should be seen and not heard.”

“I ain’t no child. Mister. Would a child have this.” Sweet Corn grabs a-hold of his cock and lets his hand glide down its full resting length. As he inches along, his cock, it seems to animate and come to life with his mere touch.

The man gasps in astonishment at the life breathed into the boy’s ample flesh.

“How big is that thing?” The still nameless hulk asks.

“Last time I measured; the ruler was not long enough Mister.” Sweet Corn says proudly. As he, once again, thrust out his midsection. He keeps doing this because the man keeps on a-eyeing his cock. “What be your name Mister?”

Sweet Corn begins to gyrate his hips. Which starts his cock twirling like a whirly-gig.

“Stop that boy it looks like it hurts.” I say to the boy’s apparent skills.

“It don’t hurt Mister. It don’t. It makes me harder.” Sweet Corn says.

And it did.

“They call me…uh…uh…Bull.” He stutters before he answers.

“Is that because you got yourself one of those big ole thick bull dicks Mister?”

Bull does not answer as he rubs his jean-covered cock. His real name is Bill, but he did not want to sound plain to a boy nicknamed, Sweet Corn. Blessed with such manhood, standing, in front of him.

“Prove it Mister Bull.”

“I ain’t got to prove a ne’er thing to you boy. I’m a grown-assed man.” Bull says as he rubs his cock some more. He can feel himself hardening up inside his jeans. Being challenged only gets his juices flowing.

“You sure it ain’t chicken? Mister.” Sweet Corn says as he does a cackling sound when he finishes his sentence.

“Boy! You best be shutting the fuck up!” The anger in Bull’s voice is growing at being questioned ‘bout his manhood. But it makes him harder. This questioning. This doubting.

But Bull begins to slowly unbutton his shirt. Steady. One button at a time, revealing what is underneath, not in a seductive way, mind you, but a determined one. He doesn’t appreciate no one calling him a liar.

As the shirt falls to the side, what is underneath is revealed.

He unsnaps his jeans, letting them open, somewhat. But he does not take them down.

“I like that hair of yours Mister Bull. I like it a lot.”

“It’s what a real man has, Sweet Corn.” Bull says, “But you do seem to have a lot around that mighty long pecker of yours. So, I guess you are a man. I reckon you are.”

Bull licks his lips as he stares at Sweet Corn’s throbbin’ hard cob. It is so long, that its weight makes it look like one of those elephant’s trunks you see at the county fair.

Bull finagles his boots off, while standing, and is finally standing barefoot in the soft loamy white crystal sand of the two-path dirt road, where the two are planted firm.

“You got yourself some mighty big feet there, Mister.” Sweet Corn continues. “How big are they?”

“Sized fourteen.” Bull says with some irritation is his voice. “You sure do have a lot to say doncha boy.”

“My mama says, ‘never be afraid to speak your mind.’”

“That’s a good thing. Listen to your mama but sometimes you need to just shut the hell up.” Bull says.

“Like right now?”

“Yes, like right now.” With that, and precisely at that time, Bull drops his jeans. They fall to the sand and cover his massive feet.

“Damn, Mr. Bull. You weren’t a lyin’. You weren’t.”

“Boy a man don’t lie ‘bout what is between his legs. Well…” He hesitates, men do, and he knows it, witnessed it, “…a man with any sense don’t. Once you drop your pants either you are going to be praised or laughed out of the room with what you have in there.”

“Amen, Mister Bull. Preach it!”

“You mockin’ me boy?” A gruff Bull says. As he lets his right-hand cup under his balls as his left hand rides the length of his shaft. It is nowhere near as long as Sweet Corn’s but its far thicker than the boys.

“Naw sir, I ain’t.” Sweet Corn says, “Men, like us, don’t like to be mocked. I don’t. You are as thick as I am long.”

Those words get a giggle out of Bill…uh…Bull.

Bull kicks his pants aside. And he too is standing under creation as bare-assed as the boy in front of him.

“What-cha doin’ out here boy? By the way.”

“Skinny-dippin’” Sweet Corn answers.

“It be why I came out here, too. I’ve never seen you out here before.” Bull says, with doubt in his words.

“I been comin’ out here swimmin’ since I was a lil’ kid, Mister. “Sweet Corn says, “No lie.”

“I believe you. You do know this is Mrs. Rosalie’s place, doncha boy?”

“Yep, she be my granny.” Sweet Corn says with a mouthful of shiny-white teeth like that damned Cheshire cat in those books.

“You Mertalee’s boy?”

“That be my mama,” Sweet Corn says. “Yes, sir, that be my mom.”

“I went to school with her, many moons ago.”

“You fuck her, Mister Bull?”

“Boy, you don’t need to be disrespectin’ your mama.”

“I ain’t. I just wanna know.” Sweet Corn says, “Did you?”

“Naw, boy, I didn’t.” The truth was Mertalee Westin paid him no never mind. She did not even know he existed. Nobody did. She was no different than everyone else, he was invisible. But that changed after high school. Not that he ever graduated. He just did not show up one day. Neither he nor his mama ever heard anything from the school.

The six-foot five dark hairy beast loomed over the 6-foot corn stalk thin boy. It was truly an unlikely pair.

“You get to fuck much with that thing, Mister Bull?”

“I do aw-right.” Bull remarked. “What ‘bout you, you get to fuck much with yourin’?’

“Not as much as I would like.”

“Well, maybe we can remedy that…” Bull says, “Today. If you are a hankering for some of my thick cock.”

Each man stands before the other and fondles their respective pieces of manhood. It is a test of wills. Of manhood. And pride.

“I’ve been waitin’ for you to ask, Mister Bull.” Sweet Corn says, “But I want to swim some more, first. You want to? To take a dip in the river?”

“It is why I drove all the ways out here.”

The two scamper-down the high bluff. Like school-age children and dive into the dark murky waters of the flowing river. Both emerging out some ways from the bank. Each looking like one of those mythical creatures that the church says do not exist.

They swim around a bit. Playing and joshing. Frolicking like little children taking their first swim in the sea.

“Where be you daddy, Sweet Corn?”

“Don’t know.”

“Who be you daddy?’ Bull asks.

“Don’t know that either, Mister Bull.”

“Why your last name, Cobb, then?” Bull asks.

“I thought it went with Sweet Corn really good, so I changed it.” And the 19-year-old kid laughs like he created something no one had before.

Sweet Corn Cobb, Bull…uh, Bill thinks to himself. This kid is a riot. Or he be down-right crazy or not right in the noggin.

“So, it ain’t legal? Your last name.”

“Naw, sir, it ain’t legal. Whatever that means.” Sweet Corn says, “It don’t matter though, my granny says. It is my secret.”

The kid ain’t right but that pecker of his, shore is pretty. Bull thinks.

“You want to go up there’s on the bank, Sweet Corn?”

“Shore Mister Bull, whatsever you want to do. I’ll do.” Sweet Corn says sheepishly.

“You mean that Sweet Corn?” Bull says, “You do what I want?”

“Yes, sir. I ain’t afraid of nuttin’.”

“You ain’t afraid of nuttin’?” Bull repeats what the boy says. “You mean bustin’ a nut? Doncha?”

“Mister, I ain’t afraid of nuttin’ or bustin’ a nut. I be doin’ it all.” And with his words Sweet Corn gets his long dangling cock, hard, again.

“Damn that be a pretty sight,” Bull says when the boy’s cock is once again sprouting like a fleshy corn stalk juttin’ out of from the lad’s midsection.

“I thought the same when I saw you getting’ out your truck, ‘damn that be one big hunk of man’, I said to myself and then I came a trottin’ out of the water and a-runnin’ up to you. I was mighty happy to see you. I was.” Sweet Corn says in his lyrical southern way.

“Let me see that sweet ass of yours, first, boy.”

Sweet Corn rolls over, in the sand, his cock brushing up against the wiregrass on the riverbank.

“Doncha be hurt that cock boy, I want it inside me, today.”

“I ain’t gonna mess myself up, Mister Bull. I ain’t goin’ do nuttin’ to harm myself. There is too many fun times to be had with this here pecker.” Sweet Corn points to his cock.

And the pair laugh at that notion as each knows the power of the tools between each of their respective two legs.

“Oh boy, that be one fine ass. And your hairs look like tiny corn silks sneaking up your ass-crack. It shore be a pretty sight. Just like the hairs around your cock.”

“Well, what-cha waitin’ fur? Taste it. I dun clean myself up in the river, just fur ya.” Sweet Corn says, happily.

Bull lets his tongue lap, like his favorite black Labrador does on his own balls, at the boy’s sweet ass. While he does this, Sweet Corn coos like a baby on a bottle as Bull’s tongue darts in and out of his tender hole, his scruffy beard raking across the boy’s ass cheeks. Bull can feel the boy shudder every time his tongue dart far inside the boy’s dark passage.

“Go deeper, Mister Bull. Go deeper.”

And Bull does, as far as he can.

Bulls plays around the simple-minded boy’s slobbered hole. He moisturizes it enough and knows when the kid is ready to take in all of him. He wants him lubed and ready.

“That felt good, Mister Bull. It felt damn good.”

“I had to do it, Sweet Corn, it takes some time for me to slide my serpent into such a tiny hole like yours.” Bull says.

“I can take it. I shore can.”

“Boy, you say that, but I had to be mighty shore. Don’t want to be doin’ any damage to that sweet-tasty hole of yours.” Bull explains.

“Well, thank you, Mister Bull, but are you gonna keep jawin’ your mouth or are you gonna put that big ole bull-cock in my hole?’

“You know whats I am gonna do.” Bull says proudly.

Bull stands, his thick sausage of a cock wrangles itself out of the thick nest of unkempt fur that encircles his now enflamed bulbous cock. He picks the few strands of wiregrass from the stringy black hairs and wipes the white sand clung to his leaked cum on his leg. He is ready now. But he had been waiting on this since the strange kid came dancing up to him with his dangly wares. He knew then that he picked the right day for a skinny-dip. Something just felt right that morning when he woke up. It was going to be a special day. And here is his present now.

Bull parks his hissing serpent in the entrance of the corn silk carpet of Sweet Corn’s well-spitted hole. Slowly he enters and is met with little resistance as he inches his wide snake into Sweet Corn’s gopher turtle-like dug hole. (Notice the southern reference to a rattlesnake’s winter den.) He goes further. Each inch disappearing further into the blessed darkness. But Sweet Corn does not whimper. He just breathes where Bull can hear him.

“Give me more, Mister Bull.” The kid’s words daring him to go deeper. His fuzzy man-pubes nuzzle up against the sparkling yellow hairs of the boy’s devoured hole. He is as deep as can go. He wiggles and the boy lets out a gentle sigh. Bull has plugged Sweet Corn’s hole. Fully.

“Told you I could take it, didn’t I Mister Bull.”

“Yes, you did, Sweet Corn.” Bull acknowledges the boy.

Bull begins to pull out but stops halfway before he rams himself back in. Forcefully. He does this many times before a peep escapes from the 19-year-olds well-used mouth. The kid begins to sigh. To moan. To groan. This fuels Bull’s lust and fervor. He goes at the boy’s hole like a man possessed. Each thrust moves the unlikely pair up the slight sandy bluff. It happens so fast neither man realizes they are no longer at the water’s edge but atop the hill and laying flat on the ground on the two-path road. And near Bull’s parked truck. Sweet Corn claws into the earth as his ass is being jackhammered by the beast of a man. But Bull is relentless. His thrust. Are Harder. More furious.

But the kid takes it. As he is screaming and yelling for more but all that is crossing through Bull’s head are the words. “Fuck him! Fuck him! Fuck him! Fuck the tight little asshole of the blonde-haired man-child.”

So, he does. The world does not exist outside of what he is doing. Tearing up the tender hole of Sweet Corn. And Sweet Corn is begging for more. No one has ever been able to take him like this. But Sweet Corn is.

“I don’t wants you to waste that seed, Mister Bull. I want you to dump that seed up in my ass.” Sweet Corn says between his moans and hearty groans. “I can feels you cock gettin’ fatter in my ass. You be ‘bout the empty those big nuts of yours, ain’t you?”

Bull cannot speak as he has been swarmed with so much passion. The boy keeps squeezing the walls of his ass tighter and tighter around his cock. He wants to tell him to quit but it feels so damn good. All Bull can do is growl like a bear. But he keeps a-ramming his cock in and out of the willing boy’s hole.

It has grown eerily quiet around the carnal pair; it is as if nature is watching them in their fuck-frolic in the woods. All that can be heard is the animalistic ranting of the big bull and the pallid boy.

“Give I to me, Mister Bull. Give it to me.” Sweet Corn says as he does one final ass-squeeze on Bull’s girthy cock. It is all it takes for Bull to empty his full balls.

Bull howls as the seed spills from his loins. The man shakes at the exertion and as it takes it toll on his body.

Each shiver sends a string of white pearly cum deep into Sweet Corn’s hole. The boy takes it. Every precious drop of the giant of a man’s cream. It sends coos out of the sprig of a boy’s mouth. He can feel the load being emptied into his ass.

“I can feel your seed, Mister Bull. It be warm. Real warm.” Sweet Corn says.

Sweet Corn’s cock stayed hard throughout Bull’s forced fuck. Rubbing against the soft green grass in the middle of the road. But he did not anoint the grass with his seed. That is for Mister Bull.

Slowly, Bull’s labored breathing returns to normal. But Sweet Corn is amped up and ready to get into Bull’s ass.

Bull lifts himself off the boy’s ass.

“Doncha go nowhere, Mister Bull, let me clean that cock of yours. Don’t want to be a-wasting any of that spunk, now do we?” Sweet Corn says as he turns to Bull’s cock dangling in his face. And takes the temporarily spent member into his mouth.

This sends another bolt of electricity through the burly giant’s body.

“Whoa boy take a-easy. Take a-easy.”

But Sweet Corn does not. He devours the few remaining drops of seed from the man’s balls.

“All done,” Sweet Corn says as he lets go of the now flaccid cock. It falls out of his mouth as he stands. From his wiry thighs his cock protrudes like a pale rocket with a bright red helmet.

“That be one pretty cock,” Bull says as he looks down at the boy licking the few remaining drops of cum from his lips.

“It wants to be in your ass, Mister Bull.”

“And I want it in there, but I want to taste you first, see if you be as sweet as you claim.” Bull says.

“I am but you go right ahead and get yourself a taste. I can take you gettin’ youself a little sample. I can.”

Bull squats, in as much as he can, and is greeted face-to-cock with the boy’s long elongated tool.

“But my load is goin’ to be goin’ in your ass like yours did inta mine.”

Sweet Corn can feel Bull’s cream running down the inside of his thigh. It is a mighty big river streaming down his leg.

It does not take much effort before Bull can taste Sweet Corn’s nectar. It is sweet, almost like corn syrup. Just like Sweet Corn said it was. Bull wants more.

“Mister Bull, you need to stop gulping down my cream like there is no tomorrow.”

Through a mumbled mouth, Bull speaks, “Boy you are good. I see why they call you Sweet Corn.”

“I am goin’ to need to poke that ass Mister Bull, you keep chuggin’ down my seed there won’t be any to deposit in that ass of yours.”

Bull rips himself away from the boy’s fleshy-missile. But he does not want too.

“Doncha be easy on me Boy, I have quite a few pieces of meat like yours up in my ass. I can take it.” Bull says as he leans against his pick-up. His arms on the hood and his ass welcoming the rail-then twink.

Sweet Corn does not have the patience of Bull and plows his cock into the towering man’s presented ass. This gets a loud, “whoop,” from the older man.

“That be it Boy. Take my ass like a man does.”

Sweet Corn’s sexual fervor rivals Bull’s from minutes earlier. He storms the man’s ass with his elongated cock. He becomes a frenzy. The sweat leaking from his pores as he burns the calories from this pleasurable exercise. Bull is equally washed down in his own sweat as the sun beats down upon the pair. They are a heaping pile of man-flesh.

A straggly post-teen aged bean pole of a man plowing his hard cock into the dark hairy beast of a backside of another man bent over the hood of his late model Chevrolet. The screams, from both, are echoing throughout the pines and oaks that surround them and bounce under canopy of the road and the river. The birds and squirrels that had been watching in awe scatter to the wilds as these two drown out the peacefulness of the late day with their loud exaltations.

It seems to go on forever. Bull does not squeeze Sweet Corn’s cock as he jams back and forth into his hole. He does not have that sort of muscle control. It is taking all he can to stand still while his hole is forcefully drilled by the young man’s mammoth tool. The kid’s cock got wider once it plunged deep into his ass. He did not expect that.

“Can you take it ole man?” Sweet Corn whimpers between his own yelps of pleasure.

“Uhuh!” Is all Bull can muster as the kid increases his thrust.

Unbeknownst to the two, behind some dense brush, they are being watched. This man has his cock out of his dirty camo pants and is strokin’ in perfect rhythm to Sweet Corn’s thrust. But he is not sure how long he can last. He smears some of his gathered cream atop his excited cockhead. But he must rest, or he will blow.

“Give it to me!” Bull screams. “Give it to me!”

And all Sweet Corn can do is grunt like an animal. But his ramming has only intensified.

The man steps out from behind the greenery and walks, with cock in hand, to the side of Bull’s truck. Sweet Corn sees him but does not stop with his fucking. Bull does not see the man as his head is turned in the opposite direction.

“I am gonna blow, Mister Bull!” Sweet Corn screams. “I am gonna blow!”

“I can feel ya, Boy. Give it to me. Give it to me!”

As Sweet Corn dumps his nuts. Deep within Bull’s hairy passage Bull turns his head and sees the camo-clad man from the woods. At that very instant Bull is coated across the face with the camo-man’s spunk. The seed mixes with the dark hairs of his heavy beard. And drips like white molasses off his 45-year-old-face.

“Fuck Roscoe! Give a man some warnin’ before you bust a load all over his face.”

“I couldn’t help it, Bill, but that sweet young buck was tearing up that ass like I usually do. It got me all excited-like…” Roscoe says as he takes a few drops of his cum from his still leaking cock and brings it to his heavily bearded mouth. He sucks the last drops from his fingers.

“I am still gonna get my turn, ain’t I?” Roscoe ask, “You ain’t only gonna let lil’ ole Sweet Corn Cobb here be the only one to bury his big ole cob up in that ass of yours, are you?”

“You know Sweet Corn Cobb?” Bull says puzzled; asking the man he obviously knows.

“Everybody does, Bill. Everyone knows about a cob of Sweet Corn’s cock. Yep, everyone knows lil’ Sweet Corn Cobb, here.” Roscoe says surprised by Bill’s…uh, Bull’s lack of knowledge of the wiry teenager. “We all be taken our turns on him and he be doin’ the same to us.”

Sweet Corn pulls his still dripping cock out of Bull’s weeping cum-soaked ass. His remaining seed falling onto the summer parched earth.

“How you been doin’ Mister Roscoe?” Sweet Corn says to the crotchety old man, “You be wanting me to fuck you today or are you going to fuck me?”

An evil grin spreads across the pale devil’s pallid face. He is only just a-startin’.