A Redneck Romanced

As you be seein’ the likes of me on the television us rednecks ain’t all about the romancin’. Us guys anyways. Aim us at what you be wantin’ us to be doin’ and we be a-doin’ it. No questions. We take out our rifles, find our targets and shoot. Done. And we are outta there. Plain and simple. Wham-Bam-Thank you ma’am.

It is the same with our dicks. They get hard. We fire off a load and move on. Well, it is what I do. And what my buds do too. It be what our pappies did so if it was good enough for our pappies it be good enough for us. That be what I was taught. That be what I do. (Did.) Until it was not no more. Mind you.

All I want in the world is all in my little ole county. Give me my camo. My truck. It is the best damned truck in the world. Mind you. Got it lifted so high ain’t ne’er person ever going to see me inside of it. If I can help it. I work when I need to and do not when I do not have to.

I live there in the deep piney woods out on Keller Road. It be named for my great-grandpappy. He built his home out there before the turn of the century back before there be trucks. Mind you. (How they lived without any trucks I will never understand.) And after that war between them Yankees and us. I do love livin’ myself in Dixieland.

My single-wide be parked a few feet away from that old homestead. On one side. And my sister and her current beau live on the other side in their up-on-cinder blocks mobile trailer. My momma and pops lives in the homestead. It be more shack now. But you do not mess with my grandpappies perfection. And it be perfect. Pops lives there, in between his visits to the Old Number Seven, that be what we call the old county jailhouse down there near the railroad tracks on the southside of town. It be what everybody calls it. Those of us who know it well. Mind you.

But I have told you enough about me. Let me tell you how this here redneck romanced his way into a pickle. Me, I am a-talkin’ ‘bout me. Mind you. Just so we clear. Now I done be soundin’ like my dear blessed Momma. Bless her lil’ heart.

I was out a travellin’ the backroads. It be what I do. It was the heat of summer. Dang near losin’ all my body meltin’ away into a sweaty-heap in my truck. No air conditionin’ in it. Mind you. Real men do not need it. My trailer do not have none either. That be why God created windows. The natural way. He makes the gentle-like breezes for good people like me. That be what the preacher done up and told us on Sunday mornin’ we when go to the meetin’ house.

Anyways I was out on Old River Road. The road that follows the river. You know? A smart man done came up with that name, mind you. And I had a hankerin’ to go take myself a dip. To cool off. Mind you. Wash my sweaty body down in the river. It was not Saturday, my usual bath day but I needed some relief. So, I decided to go.

I turned off. Went through the wide-open field. My truck be bouncing me up and down like one of those jackhammers on that danged TV set. It done nearly shook my breakfast clear outta me. That would not have been a pretty sight. Mind you. That welfare cheese and the yellow grits. And momma’s homemade scrambled eggs. Eggs from her own yard birds, mind you. And my only cup of coffee I drink every day. Black. And strong. A drink a real man like me drinks in the early mornin’ hours before the sun rises. And while the cock crows out in momma’s special-built hen house. Mind you.

Anyway, I made it through the pasture and to my secret spot. (I thought it was, anyway. I found out that day, it were not like I thought.)

And then I done saw him. A wiry man. Pale. Looked like all color done been drained clear from him. I thought he might be a ghost, at first, but it was not nighttime, so I had to check. I got out of my truck and came stormed down to ‘em.

He waved his hand liked a loon and told me who he was. Sounded like he talked a mile-a-minute. Real crazy-like. Faster than anyone I ever done met. My ears could barely decipher what he be sayin’. But I done figured out what I needed too. Mind you.

I should tell you by the time I done entered the pasture and got to the river I had taken off all my clothes as I made my way to my secret spot. I had done it this way many times. No one had ever been there so there should not have been no one there this time. But he was.

He said his name was “Sweet Corn.” That part I heard. I should tell you he was a sight. Have you heard of tell of ’em? With that name, I suspect he would be known far and wide. But I never have heard tell of him till he be wavin’ that big ole dick at me. And I waved mine back at him. That got me quite a big toothy grin on his face. Almost a dare, I believe. Mind you.

I was hard by the time I stepped down outta my truck. I had gotten off me a few strokes from the gate to the river just ne’er enough to get me primed for a good cum shootin’ once I got to where I was aimin’ to go. But that had done changed.

Ole Sweet Corn done dived to the ground in front of me and took me all in his mouth. Before I could even spake a single word from my mouth. It happened so lickety-split all I could see was a blur before I realized he was down there a-slurpin’ on me like one of those frozen Slurpee’s you get down there at the convenience store.

That man be good. He looked like he kissed my dick. Planted his mouth all over it. I got harder. And harder. It be what I do when anyone gets near my dick. I get myself a big ole spankin’ hard-on.

Pops taught me to be proud of my wood. Any man worth his salt know’d how to use his cock. Pops made sure I knew what to do with mine early on. He took me down to the whore house on the opposite side of the county. Far away to not let my mom’s find out about it. Bein’ as I was only fifteen at the time and leakin’ so much sap onto the sheets, they were still damp come mornin’ time. Pops knew it was time.

Now my cockhead it got huge. With Sweet Corn’s mouth done wrapped around it so tight. Done blown me up like one of those hot-air red balloons you get down there at the county fair come November. He had one of those magic mouths. Mind you. Better than any whore I ever been with. (And I was not a-payin’ ne’er a thing for it this time.) Never been swallowed by anyone by the likes of him. Before. And it felt danged good. Mind you.

He let his mouth crawl up and down me. He tucked his nose in my curly pubes and done smelled me like some of those pretty wildflowers out there in the pasture bloomin’ every time he neared my root. Like, I said, I was primed. It did not take me long before I bust my nut. He did not let up, one bit, took every drop I gave him down his gullet. Never saw a drop wasted from his mouth. Not ne’er a one. Mind you. The boy had him some suction on that mouth of his. I bucked like one of those Brahma’s out wanderin’ in the field near the river as he gulped me down. I passed several of ‘em drivin’ to this here secret spot. Them Brahma’s sure know what they have dangling between their two back legs is mighty powerful.

When he finished, he stood up and smiled at me. Any other time I would have decked any fella for doin’ what he just did to me. But Sweet Corn was different. I did not want to mess up his pretty mouth. I wanted him to do it again. If’en he would. I had some hope he would.

I told him my name. When he finally let me. Its Buck, by the way. Buck Keller. “Buck” to my friends.

He smiled. And waved again. And asked me if I wanted to fuck him. I was puzzled. Never been offered such a thing from anyone so willing you usually have to buy them a beer or fork over a roll of money to get such an offer. But here he was just offerin’ it up like the dang offering plate in church on Sunday.

Now my dear momma and pappy did not raise a fool. Mind you. I took him up on his offer. I was still hard. Mind you. I am only thirty-one, I reckon, last time I had myself a birthday. Anyways. But I am not sure. I only went to the sixth grade had me enough schoolin’ by then, learned all I needed to learn my pappy said. Pappy needed my strong back in the fields. So, I up and called it quits. Smartest damn thing I did in my whole entire life. Mind you. It sure was.

I was still drippin’ from Sweet Corn’s slobber. He mouthed that he wanted my dick lubed good so to be swallowed up whole by his sweet ass. Usually, the girls in the whore house wanted extra money for me to ram my dick in their backside. I usually did not have enough and only fucked their backsides on those special occasions. Like when one of my buds was gettin’ himself hitched and we would all gang up on one girl, share her, and wanted to show off in front of our other redneck buds.

But this was only between Sweet Corn and me. I would have him all myself. It was my lucky day. And I was dang proud to have him.

I slide my dick in. Inch by inch. It disappeared into his ass. I should tell y’all I am only seven inches. Not much, mind you. But my pals called me “Beer Can.” Because of my girth. That is wide, mind you, real wide, for those who do not know.

Yep. “Beer Can Buck.” That be my nickname among my redneck buds. But they only know why. It is our little secret.

Now, this got ole Sweet Corn a squealin’ like I be a killin’ him or something, but he did not want me to quit. He yelled, “harder and harder.” And I did. I wanted him satisfied. You would have thought I sweated away all my water on the drive here, but I was drenched again in my own stank as the sun beat down on us that summer afternoon.

The harder I pounded the louder Sweet Corn squealed. And the harder my dick became. I was in love. Yep. I was in deep in love. It was like this redneck had been romanced by Sweet Corn’s lone little ass. This was my favorite thang. My most favorite thang in the whole wide world. Or at least Lowden County, mind you. Lowden County is my home.

Sweet Corn asked me to ease up a bit. Take it slow. He said he wanted to feel me as I went in and out of him. I admit. I wanted to slow it down too. It would take longer to get this second load off. It usually does. I could feel his soft tender insides as I eased myself in and out. He even squeezed me every now and again. That felt even better.

He cooed like one of my momma’s yellow tabby kittens laying on her big ole lap as I fucked him all gentle-like. I was all fired up. The veins on my pecker all swelled up with blood as I was molesting his sweet little ass every time, I plunged in. After a while, Sweet Corn asked if he could ride me. I must admit I have never been ridden like a horse before. I know. I know. But usually, it happens so fast I only do it one way. Doggy-like. But this was different. Mind you. This was with Sweet Corn. And I had just met the lanky fella. I told ‘em. Sure.

I got on my back in the little area that we had claimed as our own. The dew still leaked from my still hard cock. As Sweet Corn stood over me. And then he sank down, upon me, I heard a gasp escape from my lips. He felt good. Damn good. I told him I was not sure how long I would last if we kept this up. But he did not let up. Every time he got to the tip of my cock with his ass-lips I felt like I was going to blow like that geyser I once read about in a book when I was back in school days. He was teasin’ me. No one had ever done that to me before. Mind you. Finally, I told him he had to stop. It was getting’ near time for him to get my spunk in his ass.

Sweet Corn rolled over on his back like a doe in the dew-soaked mornin’ grass and presented his ass to me. He said he wanted to see my face when I emptied into him. You can guess that the hairs on Sweet Corn’s hole looked like those fine yellow corn silk threads you see when you peel back the green husk on a freshly yanked ear of corn. It was mighty pretty. Mind you. He was wet. Soppin’ wet. The more I had fucked him the looser he had become. And the wetter he became. Our juices mingled together. His and mine. And the closer I found myself to cumming. I was near ‘bout at my wits end. When I knew I had to change my position from bein’ ridden.

I let my dick rest at the entrance to his soppin’ wet hole. I was throbbin’ my heart beatin’ clear down to my cock. I saw the blood as it rushed to my cock when I looked down at all them veins all crisscrossing over it.

“Poke it on in, Beer Can.” Sweet Corn said. “Poke it all the way in.”

His words were like a sweet lullaby as he told me what he wanted.

I took a breath. Then another one before I rammed my cock into his ass. He squealed like he had done before when I slid my cock into him but this time it was all I could do. I felt the tension in my back as the sensation shot from there to my balls. It was time. Damn time for it. Mind you.

Each heartbeat sent another stream of my juice into his hole. I yelled something. I did not what it was. The words were not my own. They must have come clear out of the mouth of Ole Slew-foot himself as he walked in the fiery depths of hell. Mind you. It happened about six, maybe seven times I reckon. I am not sure. By this time, Sweet Corn’s hole was so loose. Much of my seed done spilt out of ‘em. I cum a lot but I reckon this was the most I had ever offered up to another living soul.

As I gave him my load, he busted his nut all over his chest and bellybutton. It was pure white pearl-like drops of what looked like rich mother’s milk. My pops call it baby-batter.

Now I did something I never had done before; I scooped up some of it and brought it to my mouth. He was tasty. It was pure just like homemade Georgia Shine. 100 proof. Mind you. I could have gotten drunk on it had he had more to give. But I raked my fingers over his chest and amongst his fine hairs and then down to his cock. And whisked this bounty to my mouth. I could not get enough of this boy. I was hungry for ‘em. Near ‘bout starved. Mind you.

I was in a pickle. No one would understand. I told Sweet Corn this was to be our secret. He said “aw-right.” It was our secret. But his face told me I was not the only one. He had sampled many of the other rednecks in the hammocks around Lowden County. His sly smile told me so. But I did not need to know who. I just wanted him to be all mine. His ass had romanced this redneck. Mind you to remember what I am tellin’ you. It happened. It did.