Cowboy Shirt

Not everywhere you go in life is memorable. In fact, most of life’s little stops are pretty forgettable unless something out of the ordinary happens. Then it becomes an unforgettable experience and hopefully one you enjoyed. My trip to the dry cleaners was definitely that!

Davis St. Cleaners has been cleaning my shirts for several years. They do a nice job. Right amount of starch and folded properly as I prefer having my button-down shirts returned to me in a box. Easier, I find, to put them in a drawer then to take up space in my mini closet in my tiny bedroom in my shoe box of an apartment. Not complaining, but in town rents are sky high so small living is all I can afford.

Anyway, last Tuesday I went to pick-up my shirts and the store’s owner, O’dell Davis was not there, but his son, Mack was working the counter. Mack is a very healthy male specimen. Six one or two, athletic build, handsome face with deep set brown eyes, a dimpled chin, broad smile and perfectly aligned, white as snow, teeth. I have a thing for really white teeth. I’ve spent mucho denarosover the years trying to get mine bright, bright white, but even when some treatment works it never lasts and I’m back to a lackluster, off-white, smile. But this young man, early twenties maybe, had the real deal.

“Sorry, Mr. Jenner,” he said, “The shirts aren’t done yet.”

Normally that would not have been a problem, but one of them was a black western job that I need for a party I was invited to that night. The ‘Rodeo’ party was a bachelor party for a guy I work with. The party was at a local country western bar. I needed to look the part.

“That’s a problem Mack,” I said, “I really need one of those shirts for tonight.”

“We close at seven. I’ll be sure they’ll be ready by then,” Mack told me.

I guess by the scowl on my face he saw that would not be good enough. My problem was I had promised to stop by my folks’ house and help my dad rehang his sixty-inch TV. He had been repairing it and needed another set of hands to get it back on the wall. I know what your thinking, “Who the hell fixes their own TV?” My father is the original Do-It-Yourselfer. U-tube has made him even more willing to take on tasks he has no clue how to go about accomplishing. He figured out what was broken and for under ten dollars fixed it. Not bad for a guy who ran a shoe store all his life.

“Would you like me to drop your shirts off after we close,” Mack asked?

“Could you? That would be great. It’s not too much trouble,” I asked?

“Nah, It’s right on my way home.”

* * * *

About seven-fifteen Mack showed up.

“Thanks for doing this,” I said. Then I told him about the rodeo party, the outfit I planned to wear and why I needed the western shirt.

“I know that bar,” Mack said, “I’ve been there a few times.”

“Really,” I asked, “I’ve never been there. Do you think this will be ok to wear?” I pulled out the western shirt from the pile he had just delivered.

“Well,” he hesitated. “Let me see the rest of the outfit.”

With that we began a complete survey of my wardrobe. He encouraged me to try on different things, mixing shirts with different pants. Soon he was helping me put on and take off various garments. His hands were everywhere. And I do mean EVERYWHERE.

After this went on for some minutes, I found myself standing in my BVD’s and looking at the clock.

“It’s getting late,” I said. “I still gotta’ jump in the shower.” The truth was I was having fun, loved the touching and wished it could go on and maybe even further. That’s why his next offer emboldened me.

“Why don’t you get in the shower and I’ll lay out the right outfit? That’ll save a few minutes and you’ll get to your party on time.”

“Or,” I suggested, looking straight into those beautiful brown lights, “Why don’t you get in the shower with me and I’ll just be late for the party?”

I didn’t wait for an answer. I pulled off my underwear, tossed it over my shoulder aiming, nonchalantly, at him as I turned toward the bathroom and walked into the shower. My guess was right. Within seconds Mack, naked, was standing at the shower waiting for my invitation. The shower, like everything else in my apartment was tight. All the better for sharing.

I reached out, grabbed his neck and pulled him toward me. We immediately had skin-to-skin contact in a whole host of places thanks to the cramped environment. Our arms had nowhere to go other than around each other. Our legs alternated position and our cocks buffed on each other as we fought for space, twisting, turning under the warm spray. Soon our lips found each other’s, and our tongues danced together in emulation of the ballet our feet were performing. Hands touching whatever they could reach without losing the magic of the embrace. Never before and never since do I remember my cock being as hard as it was in that moment. The shower, sadly, didn’t last long as the diminutive hot water heater soon gave up its load and the water turned cold.

Toweling each other off became an unexpected pleasure. Every easy stroke of the cotton soft towel Mack applied intensified my senses. His talented hands slowly traveled from the back of my neck, across my shoulders, down my back, and carefully dried the cave of ecstasy. Following that he moved farther south finally caressing each foot and toe. No one’s ever been so attentive to my feet. I loved it! Gently he turned me around and began moving up my body, lingering to carefully dry my balls with amazing dexterity. Then after paying appropriate attention to my stiffened penis he continued north until we found ourselves kissing passionately. His still wet body was crushing mine until I could free myself from his embrace and begin to dry him, trying to give back the kind of experience I just received. Mack, as much as he enjoyed giving, had little patience for accepting sensual pleasure from someone else. Instead he took the towel out of my hand, quickly dried himself and after surveying the bedroom whispered in my ear, “Where’s the bed?”

His confusion didn’t surprise me. Motioning him to stay put I moved across the room, opened a closet and out popped a Murphy bed. Again, one of the necessities of cramped living. Mack’s young eyes lit up as he grabbed my hand and pulled both of us down on to the bed. Now he began in earnest to make me melt into a puddle of pleasure. He pushed me onto my back and splayed himself on top of me. I felt like every inch of my body was covered by some part of this Mack blanket. His hands encircled my face as he started kissing my mouth. Then he moved to my neck, then shoulders and paused for a long siege on first one and then the other nipple slurping and licking and sucking while his hands found new places to explore. I wrapped my arms around his athletic frame, one hand on his back and the other on the back of his neck pulling him tighter but not so tight to interfere with this journey of exploration in which Mack was engaged.

Soon, “Too soon,” I thought, he and this talented tongue of his was on the move again further down my torso, along my treasure trail, finding my cock, licking it up one side and down the other repeatedly until swallowing it whole. His hands, in constant movement like a concert pianist, touched me wherever they could reach: belly, balls, butt. I was lovin' it! I’m not sure what thoughts were racing through my brain, but one thing I wasn’t thinking about was being late for the party.

When I started to pump Mack must have assumed I was getting close so he released my now wet, throbbing cock from his masterful control and in an instant was on his knees, facing me, slowly lowering himself down impaling his self-moistened hole on my erect pole. This turn of events left me speechless and I uttered the only words that made sense. “FUCK!” It felt sooooo good! He began a steady up and down rhythm. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I repeated over and over.

“Enjoying this,” Mack asked?

“Fuck, yes,” I replied.

Then he leaned forward and clamped his luxurious lips on to mine. Our tongues dueling again. Bent forward his rhythm slowed, so I made up the difference with thrusts, easy at first, but then with increasing passion. I reached down for his cock and began to stroke it in time with my now ferocious pounding. Mack seemed to appreciate the gesture. The sex was just too hot to last and soon he announced he was going to cum.

“I’m right with you, buddy,” I hollered. As if on cue he shot a massive load clear over my head and I filled his ass with ‘a gallon’ of cum. He dropped down to cover me again with his body bringing us back to where we had begun. We lay there for some minutes until Mack reminded me I had a party to get to.

Was it the spontaneity? The unexpectedness? Or the pure delicious lust? I’ll never know the answer, but I’ll never forget the feeling. Even today, when I reflect back on that day, my entire body tingles and I swear I can still feel every inch of him.