My son, My trade

The following is a work of fiction depicting graphic scenes of sexual encounters between consenting individuals which is meant to be enjoyed by a mature audience.

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Following the day of postal carrier Clayton Hoyt's curious visitation and the shocking discovery of his son's sexual leanings, Buck began keeping a closer eye on the homestead.  The old two-story was situated nearly side-by-side with the row of houses on both sides of the residential street perpendicular to the one where Ralph's Place was located.  With the entrance door wide open Buck had a clear view of his house from the end of the bar where he usually sat between orders.  The nice early Spring weather made it possible to run ceiling fans instead of air conditioning and leave the door ajar. 

With seventeen-year-old Marc on summer break from the local high school where he would be attending his Senior year in the fall the boy had much time on his hands.  He'd been scouting out a part-time job but hadn't come across anything that either interested him or paid enough money for the bother.  Weather permitting, most days Buck spied him hopping on his bicycle presumably to meet up with his buddies.  At least that's what he told Buck when he popped in at the bar to let Dad know his intentions.  Before that afternoon a few weeks back Buck would never have had reason to doubt his son's word.

Occasionally a few of his buds came back to the house with Marc after they were done shooting hoops or whatever it was teenage boys did when they got together.  Buck knew them all.  He'd gone to school with most of their fathers.  In this old factory town most locals never really went far.  Billy Warren was Marc's closest friend, but Buck regularly also saw Bryan Hodges, Jason Whithers, Joey Dunlap and that little nig Darnell Taylor.  Buck didn't trust that particular one.  He was a sneak and a wiseass and his father, Eugene, was worse.  Liked to get tanked up at the bar at least one night a week and start trouble.  Buck had to cut him off and toss him more than once.  Gene was a big man, but so was Buck.

"Since when's Marc keepin' comp'ny with that fuckin' Bramble kid?" old Hank Rochester asked as he ambled into the bar early one fine afternoon.  Hank was near seventy, retired from the packing plant, with a face full of wrinkles looking like a road map.

Rick Bramble was low-life scum.  Had been since Buck knew of him in high school.  His teenage son Gage was no better.  They lived in a rundown hovel on the outskirts of town, commonly known by locals as Shacktown.  Rick never made it through to graduation.  Signed up with the army, but even they didn't want him.  Beat shit out of his wife, Louella, on a regular basis until the day the cops hauled him away.  Tried and convicted, he served some time over in Stonehedge Prison.  By the time he was released Louella had been long gone.  Left their kid with his widowed grandmother.  She said he was too much like his father.  Viola Bramble, Rick's mother, Gage's grandmother, was all too happy to turn the boy back over to his father when Rick returned.  Gage was too much trouble.

"Why you think Marc's hangin' out with Gage?" Buck asked as he poured the man's favorite suds from the tap. 

"Jest seen him and that lapdog friend-a-his goin' into your place with your boy," Hank told him.  "I know my eyes are ole but you can't mistake them little hooligans.  We don't need no Brambles stirrin' up trouble around this here neighborhood."

Buck was perplexed.  Gage Bramble was definitely not the type Marc would be associating with.  He was nothing like Bryan, Jason, Joey or even Darnell.  The Brambles were foul-mouthed, cigarette smoking, under-educated law-breaking mongrels.  There had been some trouble a few years back between Marc and Gage in Junior High.  At the time Buck was proud that Marc hadn't backed down to the bully.  It was unfeasible that the boys had developed anything resembling real camaraderie now.  Reasonably certain that old Hank was indeed mistaken Buck thought nothing more of it.

Then, two days later while walking out a regular delivery man, Buck saw the beat-up old Dodge nose up to the bumper of his 2002 Ranger.  The '90 Daytona had taken quite a few hits as evidenced by the dents and scratches.  Its back window was cracked.  The rear bumper had been bashed in and was being held up by wire.  Buck knew that faded red battered car.  It belonged to Rick Bramble.  And Gage, like Marc, was driving age.  What in hell was going on?

Not a half hour later, manning his post behind the bar, Buck saw both Gage, in his ever-present well-worn leather jacket, and his cohort in crime Jay Kovacs, a slim youth with wild curly hair, come out of his house.  They were slap happy, fist bumping and grinning from ear to ear, and obviously quite pleased with themselves.  A twinge of worry burned in Buck's gut.

Postal carrier Clayton Hoyt hand delivered bar mail to Buck, never once looking him directly in the eye.  Hours later, presumably at the end of his shift, the mail van was parked further down the street and Hoyt was hoofing it over to the Hauser home.  Sometime later he would exit the house looking quite nervous and sometimes glancing in the direction of the bar.  From this distance he couldn't possibly see Buck at his post watching the various comings and goings.  Goofy Clayton was getting a piece of Marc's young ass several times a week.  And Buck was mortified by the boner be sprouted each time he spied the geeky guy pussyfooting his way into the house. 

Buck hadn't thought much of Marc's friends and classmates visiting his son but now, with what he was sure he knew about Clayton, he began to wonder.  Were all those teen boys fucking each other while he was out of the house at work?  Were Gage Bramble and Jay Kovacs getting in on the action?  No, that was inconceivable.  Or was it?

Now, Buck was never the type to hold back.  He always confronted a situation head on, usually without collecting all the facts.  Fists first, talk later.  This was a rather delicate situation.  If there was a reasonable explanation (although he couldn't imagine what that could be) he didn't want to make accusations.  Especially since it involved his son.  In this case he needed to sit back, shut his mouth, keep a watchful eye and collect information. 

More came a few nights later.  He had worked a long shift.  Eight to five.  There was Marc slouched down on the couch dressed in an oversized t-shirt and cotton knee-length shorts with his feet crossed in front of him on the coffee table watching a replay of last night's major league baseball game.  He was sipping from a can of Coke and munching from the bag of chips open at his side.  Just a normal teenager.  Buck felt almost guilty for the obscene things he'd been imagining.  His eyes lingered on the boy's smooth, almost hairless legs and his bare feet, recalling those thighs raised and parted as he finger fucked himself up in his room the other night.  Cripes, he was getting a daddy hard-on again!

Buck kicked off his Timbs, sat down on the love seat perpendicular to the boy and watched some of the game amid light conversation.  After a short while Marc got up for another soda, asked Buck if he wanted a beer, which Buck accepted, and walked past his dad into the hallway.  Buck's eyes wandered to the seat of Marc's shorts hugging the cute little ass he'd seen in action.  He unconsciously smacked his lips, and then silently cursed himself for his perverse thoughts.  In a short while Marc returned and stood close so as to hand off the can of Budweiser.  Buck's gaze went past the extended hand to the front of Marc's shorts.  His nice-sized Hauser dick was jiggling around under the material.  The boy was going commando!

Feeling as if the heat had suddenly elevated Buck took a draw of the beer, made the excuse that he was going to reheat last night's left overs and got himself out of the room.  His big, healthy dick was pounding against the front of his jeans.  What the fuck was wrong with him, getting turned on by his own son?  He had never boned up over a guy before.  He was as hetero as they came, for crap's sake.  What the fuck was going on?

After the chicken, mashed potatoes and a second beer were consumed Buck laid crossways on the love seat and promptly conked out.  When he awoke and checked his watch he was startled to discover it was nearly 9 PM!  Just then he heard the creak of a staircase board as Marc cautiously made his way down.  Buck remained on the couch, allowing the boy to believe he was still asleep.  Marc stealthily made his way to the front door and let himself out as quietly as he could.  Buck waited a few moments, rose and followed his son's trail.  Opening the door a few inches and peering out he saw no sign of Marc. Opening it wider he stepped into the threshold and stood there, looking down the street one way and then the other.  Thinking the boy had eluded him he was about to turn back when he caught sight of Marc entering Ralph's Place.  What in hell was his boy doing going into that juke joint at this time of night?

Buck went back inside, contemplated his options and finally decided to pursue the boy.  It would have been one thing to burst into the house and interrupt Marc and Clayton, if they were up to anything at all.  It was quite another to mosey over to the neighborhood bar under the guise of chatting up the regulars. 

A '70s tune, a classic Eagles hit, could be heard as Buck stepped up to the wooden door of the establishment.  In a moment of indecision he paused, then turned the handle and stepped inside.  Cigarette smoke wafted up and was blown around by the multiple ceiling fans with half an inch of dust crusted atop their blades.  The 48" flat screen anchored high up on the wall at the front corner of the place was playing the game.  Mets vs. Phillies.  Fourth inning.  Tied score. 

Four guys were shooting darts (and the shit) while they guzzled beer, one of the two tables was occupied by two others, feet either up on the opposite chair or table top, drinking and watching the game and three of the eight bar stools were occupied.  Buck knew every face.  The crowd, such as it was, never changed much.  Most were from the neighborhood while two others worked the canning factory down at the nearby waterfront.  They'd obviously never made it home after their shift.  There was no sign of Marc.

But for the tv and jukebox one could have heard a pin drop when Buck first appeared.  The look on every face was one of utter shock and disbelief.  Behind the bar Axel, who looked every bit the aging biker, broke the silence.  With an almost nervous laughter he said, "Buck, what you doin' back here?  Didn't you have enough of this place today?"

Why was Axel tending?  Ralph himself had relieved Buck at the end of his shift.  "Axe," he said, sauntering over to the bar.  "What the fuck you doing here?  What happened to Ralph?"

"Ralphie, he had himself an emergency and had to split," the bearded man replied, his steely blue eyes piercing through Buck.  Buck knew this wasn't true.  He had passed Ralph's car parked right in front of the place.

From the corner of his eye he observed the two canning workers rise from their seats and move over to stand in front of the bathroom door.  Dickie Amalfatano, the one-time muscle-bound Guinea from two blocks over, rose from his stool and went over to join them.  They stood there with arms crossed over their chests like sentries, Dickie's biceps flexing, with their eyes fixed on the television.  Buck had the uncomfortable feeling all other eyes were on him.

"Wanna shot?" Axel was asking.  "Quick shot and you get the hell out of here.  Gotta be back in the morning, don't you?  We---I got things covered here."

Buck truly sensed that Axel was trying to get rid of him.  That none of them wanted him here.  Why were those three blocking the bathroom?  Where the fuck was Ralph?  Where had Marc disappeared to?

And then he knew.  He drew in a deep breath and stood upright, eyes and nostrils flaring with the realization.  The hairs on the back of his neck prickled.  His son, young Marc, was in that bathroom.  With Ralphie.  Getting fucked.

Axel quickly deduced from his appearance that Buck was more than suspicious and gave a warning look to the others.  The dart game came to a swift end as those four players went over to stand with Dickie and the canners.  Buck looked directly at the group, his knowing eyes going from one face to another.  They all knew.  The entire fucking bar knew.  Why in hell was he, the boy's father, the last to know?

Appearing much calmer than he was Buck turned back to Axel, stared him in those blue eyes and spoke evenly.  "I'll take that shot now."  Axel nodded and poured.

Buck toyed with the glass for a moment.  Looking over his shoulder at the toilet Judas’, then back to Axel he lifted the shot and said, "You know, Axe.  It's kind of strange that Ralphie's car is parked out front when you say he took off in an emergency."

Axel smiled a smile that never reached his eyes.  "Georgie came and picked him up.  They took off together."  Georgie was Ralph's twin brother.

"Must have been some emergency."  He was toying with Axel.  With all of them.  He flirted with the idea of pretending to have to use the rest room just to see their reaction.  But he wasn't about to enter into an altercation with the blockade.  The old Buck would have gone in fists flying.  Age and common sense had calmed him down.  Downing the amber liquid, he loudly knocked the glass on the bar top with his eyes trained on Axel, then turned away and headed to the exit.  Before passing through and into the night he turned back to see all eyes on him and said, "Night, gents.  Carry on."

It wasn't until after eleven, way past closing time at Ralph's, that he heard Marc come home.

His strong resolve broke on a Friday night.  Buck was working the more lucrative closing shift, three to ten.  The place was jammed.  Every seat at the bar and tables was occupied, a six-man dart competition was being held and others were standing around drinking and bullshitting.  Locals were mixed with factory workers unwinding at the end of the week.  They'd come straight from the job and stayed, ordering in several pizzas and making a night of it.  Buck was on the go almost from the moment he took over Ralph's place behind the bar.  Nothing was ever said between the two men about the other night.  Axel had to have told him about Buck's surprise appearance but one would never know from Ralph's demeanor.  He was pretty damned good at being duplicitous.  Buck had known Ralph all his life.  Now he realized he didn't really know him at all. 

Around the eight o'clock hour Dennis Burkhardt bounded through the entrance.  Denny was a cross-country truck driver out of the hills of Kentucky.  He drove a powerful eighteen-wheel sleeper.  It took a big man to drive a truck like that and, if anything, Denny was big.  From a double, going on triple chin, to a belly to rival St. Nick, Denny weighed in at about 350.   Thick, bushy brown hair billowed out from under his always present ragged Peterbilt cap.  A dense growth of woolly mustache and beard covered most of his chops.  His proboscis was pug-like and his lips swollen and livery.  The overly large yellowed t-shirt he wore still hugged his chest and couldn't contain his belly, hiking up a few inches to reveal his hairy navel.  Burkhardt was only thirty-four, but the weight made him look a good deal older.

Buck liked Denny.  Heck, everybody liked Denny.  Appearance aside, he was just a good-natured, happy-go-lucky bumpkin with lots of riotous stories from the road.  The moment Buck saw him (as if he could be missed) Buck poured his usual, a Miller from tap and a shot of Jack.  The bottle stayed on the bar.  Denny could handle a lot. 

As the trucker hoisted his substantial weight onto a bar stool Buck swore he could hear the wood squeal.  Turned out Denny had been on the road the past six days and he was in a drinking mood. Buck kept them coming.  Although it was amazing how much the big man could handle Buck always feared one day Denny, in the middle of one of his many animated tales, would clutch his chest and drop to the floor right there in Ralph's.  Too much weight and too much booze wasn't the greatest of combinations.  But just try and tell that to Denny.

Ralph's was especially lively that night.  By about nine-thirty, with closing time just around the corner, it had thinned out a good bit.  Buck made last call fifteen minutes later.  Most bid their adieus; a few stragglers remained.  Denny drained his last beer, pulled out his cell and, glancing around to make certain no one was in earshot, made a call.  A few minutes later he said his farewells and left Buck to contend with the remaining die hards.  By 10:05 the bar was empty and Buck went about his closing routine.  First order of business was placing the evening's receipts in the safe and then he set about wiping down the tables and bar.  Before mopping the floor and attacking the rest room he hauled the garbage out the back door. 

The moon was full that evening and the cans were right outside the door so he hadn't bothered with the flood light that lit the back area like Christmas time.  To the right of the bar was the abandoned laundromat and beyond that a vacant lot accessed by a side street.  As he tossed the weighty bags into the container he noticed Denny's rig parked there, its cab facing the bar.  He snickered.  Big Denny was likely camping out there tonight on the mattress in the sleeper compartment. 

Buck was about to turn back when a sudden movement to the right, coming from the other side of the old laundry place, caught his eye.  Someone was crossing the overgrown lot and approaching the truck.  A passing cloud blocked the moon glow for a few moments and when it passed Buck had a clearer view.  To his astonishment he recognized his son, Marc, climbing up into the driver's section of the cab!  Buck's jaw dropped as he watched Marc disappear into the truck, close the door behind him and move toward a figure in the passenger seat.  Sonofafuckingbitch!  Even obese, good ole' boy Denny was doing his son!

Paralyzed by incredulity Buck was rooted to the spot.  He couldn't see what was going on in that cab, but he had a fairly good idea.  Had Marc no shame?  No scruples at all?  Cripes, the kid was just like his mother.  He'd let anything fuck him.  But...Denny?  Of all fucking people?  The fat fuck was, like, three, maybe four of him!  With that bigass belly how in hell could be even fuck?  All sorts of vile images flashed before Buck's incensed eyes.  Try as he might he couldn't wash them from his imagination.  At the moment he didn't even realize it but, despite his revulsion, his hard cock was knocking against the crotch of his jeans.

He contemplated going over there, grabbing Marc by the scruff of his neck and yanking him out.  Big as that bastard was, he thought of beating Denny to a pulp.  But to what end?  Would be wind up losing Marc the way he'd lost his tramp wife, Greta?  He'd caught them red-handed in the living room on the couch, her and the vacuum cleaner salesman.  Smacked him around pretty good.  Greta, the whore, ran off with the sonofabitch.  After five months, bored with his hose, she was back.  But only for a short time.  He wouldn't risk losing Marc, even for a little while.  Life would be pretty damned lonely without the kid.

What he had to do was grow a pair and confront his son.  Find out just what in hell was going on. For weeks he had overlooked Clayton, the high school visitors, the other night at the bar and all he times he'd noticed Marc creeping out at all hours.  He had to nip this thing in the bud before it grew into something bigger.  Get the kid back on the right track, on the straight and narrow.  Emphasis on straight. 

But, right now, he couldn't move.  He stood there in the shadows of the building with his eyes trained on the truck.  Every now and then he detected movement.  Damn, he just knew that fat slob was fucking his boy!  And, worse, that Marc was enjoying it.  Unable to control his own libido he fished out his burning erection and began stroking, pushing aside the guilt he felt for the thoughts he was having about his own son.  But there was a part of him that desperately desired to be the one in the cab of that truck with Marc.

The inside of the truck smelled like grease, sweat and piss.  Crushed bags from fast food joints, discarded hamburger wrappers and french fry containers were littered all over the floor.  A plastic jug containing what suspiciously looked like piss was tucked in an area between the seats.  The musky, intoxicating scent of funky male sweat pervaded the area and aroused Marc.  He had slipped into the driver's seat, swung his legs over the right side and sat with his left arm slung over the steering wheel as he faced Denny.  The funky trucker filled the passenger's seat, which provided him more room than the other with the hand wheel impeding his movement. 

"Been missin' you, boy," the trucker greeted in his husky voice.  "Been thinkin' 'bout your sweet little asshole all the way from Montana."

"Yeah, well, my asshole's been twitchin' ever since you called," Marc teased.

Denny lewdly groped his crotch.  "Seems like I got me somethin' here to take care-a that fer ya, Marky."

Marc hated to be called that.  Sounded like a little kid.  He was seventeen, for crap's sake.  But these older dudes, they seemed to get off on it.  He wasn't about to berate them for it, though, long as they gave him what he wanted.  A nice stiff dick pounding his hole.  And Denny sure had a prize piece.

"Whyn't you get on over here, boy, an' show Denny how much you want his ole pecker.  You know how to get the ole pot a a boilin'."

Marc licked his teenage lips and, without hesitation, moved in for the taking.  His hands slid up under Denny's worn t-shirt and grabbed hold of his man boobs.  He worked the shirt up high on Denny's large chest, totally exposing his bountiful breasts and squeezed them in his hands.  Like the rest of him, Denny's udders were plentiful.  They spilled out to the sides and drooped downward obscenely.  The areolae were half-dollar sized, purplish, swollen and surrounded by fine hairs.  Hard rimmed nipples the thickness of Marc's index finger jutted out at about half an inch from the dark flesh.  Marc scraped his thumbs over the nubs and marveled, "Nice tits, Denny."

"Work 'em, boy," the bearded trucker breathed gruffly.  "The more you work 'em the harder I gets.  And the harder I gets, the better I fuck your pussy."

Marc kneaded the flabby mounds while scraping the pad of his thumbs over the fleshy nubs.  Denny reacted immediately, groaning low in his throat.  He was already breathing heavy and Marc just knew that dick was rising to the occasion.  Denny liked a young man to worship his obese body and Marc, well aware of the final reward, was more than willing to accommodate.  He pinched Denny's big rubbery nubs between thumb and index fingers, then began pulling on them.  Denny's big udders actually lifted up and out from his chest as Marc tugged.  Denny was letting out guttural sighs and groans of pure pleasure.

"Suck 'em, boy!" Denny gushed breathlessly.  "Suck them man tits!"

On the edge of the seat Marc leaned all the way in, rolled out his tongue and began taking long, dog-like swipes all over the surface of Denny’s left breast.  He paid special attention to the hardened nipple, lapping and taking it between his lips to nip with his teeth and suckle it. When he'd worked one up he moved on to the other, slovenly bathing the plump boob with saliva.  He even lifted the flab to get underneath, where it was funky and sweaty before settling on the teat and suckling like a newborn baby.

"You surely do like 'em, don'tchya, boy?" Denny managed through his panting.

"Fuck, Denny, you've got tits almost like a girl," Marc replied, looking up past his drooping chins into Denny's flushed face.  "I could nurse on these babies all night long."

"Got me somethin' else for ya to nurse on," Denny teased with raised brows.  "Knowin' how much you like it I ain't takin' a piss all night.  And I've had met a shitload of beer."

"Fuck yeah, Denny," Marc grinned, looking not much like the innocent high school boy he normally appeared to be.  "You sure know to treat a pig boy."  With renewed interest he went back to work on Denny, giving his sensitive nips a few more flicks, then running a zig-zag trail down and over the multiple mountains of the fat trucker's belly.  His hands played over the slopes and valleys, clutching the folds and caressing them with seeming adulation.  For a big man Denny's torso was virtually hairless down to the navel, where a growth began.  Marc used the fingers of both hands to spread the indent open and went to tonguing it the same way he also tongued the man's usually ripe asshole.  At the same time his fingers were busy working on the clasp and zipper of Denny's pants. 

Denny managed to lift his bulk enough to allow Marc to yank them down to his ankles.  His rock hard cock was already poking out of the fly of his piss-stained boxers.  What he didn't have in length, the fat man made up for in girth.  Those six inches of man meat were as thick as Marc's wrist, with a bulging cockhead atop.  Judging by the jungle sprouting out from his underwear it seemed as if all hair went to his scalp, under his pits and around his groin.

Marc opened wide, took the plump cockhead into his mouth and secured his lips around the flange.  Grabbing hold of Denny's bloated nut bag he pulled on it while stroking the thick circumference of the fat cock.  Having consumed more than his share of brew and storing it up for this moment Denny was ready to let it rip.  Denny's strong stream hit the back of Marc's mouth causing him to choke a bit, but he quickly rebounded.  The warm and salty nectar shot out as if from a firehose and Marc had to keep gulping to keep up with the steady flow.  As always with Denny, he was surprised that it still had the taste of beer.  With the amount in Denny's overtaxed bladder he just might get drunk off the stuff. 

Marc valiantly chugged the seemingly endless flow of piss, challenging himself not to lose a drop. Wouldn't have mattered.  On long hauls Denny used a piss bottle and often times missed, thusly the unmistakable odor of urine permeated the cab.  Marc didn't mind; the raunchy smell reminded him of the nasty rest room out back of old Joe Stankowitz's garage.  At least once a week Marc reveled in the filth at Joe's, on his knees in front of the grizzled proprietor or his brusque mechanic.  Denny's cab was an upgrade compared to that shithole.

Marc drank from Denny's spout, swallowing all the trucker's hot piss until the flow subsided to a trickle.  Even after it came to an end he sucked on the head, digging his tongue into the pisshole as if to coax out more.  "Gawt damned, boy, you surely be a piss pig!" Denny raved.  Marc grunted an acknowledgement as he went about sucking Denny's dick.  It wasn't the easiest of tasks.  He had to unlock his jaws and open frightfully wide to take the double-wide into his working mouth.  But Marc had had a lot of practice on Denny.  Although plastered against the underside of the beast he managed to slather his tongue around the thick beating cord while he sucked on the shaft. 

"Ain't one damned bitch can suck Denny's cock good as you, Marky-boy," the big man babbled. Marc groaned at hearing Denny's distortion of his name and allowed his teeth to rake over the man's piece in retort.  But Denny was a guy who appreciated a bit of manhandling and groaned contentment instead of annoyance.  He had a tough cock; he could take it. 

Marc hadn't been at it long before Denny commanded, "Lemme see that sweet pussy of your'n, boy.  Can't get that sumbitch off my mind ever since I first laid eyes on it."  Marc came off Denny's destroyer, wiped the back of a hand across his mouth and shimmied off his shorts.  He was bare beneath.  Scooting down with his head resting against the door and his ass at the edge of the seat he lifted his runner's legs, spread them wide and displayed his fine wares.  Denny's eyes sparkled and he smacked his thick lips as if he'd just approached his favorite buffet.  Marc wet his middle finger and seductively ran it down his smooth ass cleavage, pausing to swirl it around the inviting hole.

Moonlight cascading through the windshield seductively illuminated the interior of the cab and gave the bawdy teen an almost ethereal air.  Denny was overcome with lust.  His breathing was deep and heavy, his fat nostrils flaring like a race horse and his eyes shining with depravity.  Beads of feverish sweat broke out on his brow.  While he sometimes got lucky with the hitchhikers he picked up in his travels, Denny had an affinity for young Marc.  The kid was in a class all by himself.  He was a special treat.  Denny had no regrets about the things he did with Buck's slut son.  Buck was a real great guy but, hell, it was Marc who had propositioned him all those months ago.  Not the other way around.  What was a big man like him, lonely most of the time on the road, supposed to do?  Turn it down?  Hell, no!  That kid had a pussy on him like none other.  And he'd do just about anything.  Denny bragged to the teen-loving mountain folk back home in Kentucky about the fine piece of ass he had on the east coast.  They were all itching for a taste.

Denny hefted his large body over so that beefy legs were planted in the free space between the two seats and facing the delectable teen.  "C'mon, Denny," Marc fake-whined, fingering himself now, "eat my juicy pussy."  Denny laid his glove-like paws on the boy's smooth rear quarters and kneaded the succulent flesh as he glared hungrily at the tempting hole.  His manipulation was making the indrawn lips spread like a rubber band.  When Marc removed his hand to join the other in holding the back of his head Denny worked one finger into the gyrating ass.  Marc moaned, moistened his lips and rolled his eyes up in extreme pleasure.  Denny's fingers were the size of sausages and could easily have him shooting a boyload in short time.

But Denny was up for a whole lot more than plain old finger fucking.  He sat back to admire the desirable teen one last time.  Then, with a low and savage growl he attacked.  Denny dove in like a starved man.  His famished mouth was all over Marc's splayed crack, kissing, licking and sucking the smooth and youthfully tender flesh.  Saliva leaked from his maw and clumped in his bushy beard.  Marc moaned passionate ooh's and aah's; those wiry, matted bristles felt fantastic against his tender ass.  Grunting like a stuck pig Denny dug his tongue into the flexing sphincter and voraciously ate the teen dream out.  He fucked his fat cow's tongue in and out, curling the tip up under the ass lip and reveled in the pungent flavors.  There was nothing quite like the asshole of a young'n.  Denny put it right up there alongside barbequed spare ribs and ham hocks.  With a heaping helping of mashed taters on the side, if'n you please.

While Denny sure knew how to suck out an asshole the hour was getting late and Marc needed cock.  He hadn't had any since the three o'clock hour when Buck left for work.  His father was barely out the door when big-dicked Clayton Hoyt showed up with that stupid grin on his face wanting some pussy.  Clayton always wanted pussy.  The goober was the horniest motherfucker around.  Then again, so was Marc.  They were an unconventional match. 

"Ooooh, Denny," Marc purposefully cooed.  "You do that sooooooo good.  Makes my little pussy hungry for your big, fat cock."  It wasn't really big, but it certainly was fat. 

With one final ass lick Denny unlocked his lips from the boy hole and looked across at the seemingly wholesome teen.  His 'stache and beard were knotted and wet and his plumped-up, protruding lips were glistening with saliva.  His eyes raked over the smooth, supple body laid out before him, the kind of physique Denny had never known.  He'd come out of his mama's belly already stout.  Marc was everything a youngster should be.  He was cute as could be with clear complexion, emerald speckled eyes and sultry pink lips.  His hair was short and of a dark brownish hue.  Standing he was about 5'10" or 11", long and lean with just the right amount of teenage muscularity.  His waist was enviously slim and his lightly hairy legs powerful from his biking and athletics as power forward with the school b-ball team.  He had nuts and a bolt on him like a man, a good seven to eight inches and a heavy sac coated with the finest of down.  And that ass!  Oh, that ass!  Wasn't too flat, wasn't too fat.  It was just about the most perfect tight little ass Denny had ever seen.   Boy howdy, how he wanted to sink his dick into young Marc.

They both had enough practice to know that, considering his size and the limitations of the cramped quarters, Denny on top just wouldn't work.  If it could, Marc would just simply disappear beneath him.  Denny shifted backwards in the shotgun seat, his bulky shoulders pressed up to the door and his feet planted wide in the space between the seats.  Marc swiftly rose and climbed up on the big man.  Denny's ham-like hands grabbed him by his trim waist to steady him while Marc planted his feet to either side of the trucker and squatted over him.  Reaching into the console he quickly located the jar of lube he knew Denny kept secreted there and smeared a healthy helping of it all over Denny's throbbing dick.

"Gonna ride you like the wind, Denny," he announced huskily.  Taking Denny by the shoulders for support he lowered his ass to the eagerly awaiting column of flesh below.  Marc sighed when the large head kissed his twitching pucker, well aware of what was soon to come.  Gritting his teeth he bore down and Denny, that fat sonofabitch, somehow managed to thrust upward and popped that cock past his tight sphincter.  Marc's eyes shot wide and his mouth gaped with seeming horror as the substantial width rearranged his insides.  His fingers dug into Denny's beefy shoulders and a strangled cry rose up out of throat.  Denny comfortingly ran his paws up and down Marc's trim flanks.  Initial penetration was always like this.  Cripes, was a good thing the big rig was parked in an isolated place the first time they'd fucked because Marc had squealed like a stuck pig.  But the kid had proved to be relentless, determined to have all of Denny inside him.  This night was no different.

They remained nearly motionless for some time with Marc's butthole flexing around the large dickhead throbbing inside him.  Every time with Denny Marc thought he was prepared for that gut-wrenching pain but it was always the same.  And a part of him actually embraced the wrecking spasms radiating through his young body from the monstrously-wide dick.  There was only one way to conquer that unbearable ache and that was to meet it head on.  Marc leveraged his hands against Denny's flabby chest, clenched his jaw and forced himself down on the rockhard cock.  He felt that huge cockhead driving up into him, clearing the way for the rest of the shaft.  When it was buried to the hilt he rested again.  But only momentarily.

Denny excitedly observed the teen dream impaled on his hog.  The boy's handsome face was flushed and his eyes were glazed with lust.  Beads of fine sweat had popped out on his brow.  His pretty cock sucking mouth was agape and a raspy sound rose from his throat.  His boy dick was leaking a steady stream of juice and his perky nipples were standing at attention.  Denny ran his hands up the teen's taut torso and took those buds in hand, rubbing them between his fat fingers.  Marc gasped and his young body jerked at the touch.  Denny wanted to get his lips around those babies and suckle on them awhile but, given his size, that was sadly impossible.

Then Marc began to move, rising and falling over Denny slowly at first but gaining speed with each effort.  That initial jolt of pain had dissipated and Marc was left with a delicious sensation of fullness.  He cherished the sweet pain.  Denny's hands were all over him, caressing his flexing thighs, stroking his oozing dick, pinching his nubs and appreciating the youthfulness of his body.  Marc slapped his mitts on Denny's sumu-sized belly and manipulated the flab.  He knew how much that turned the fat fuck on.  Cripes, that first time he got down there kissing and licking Denny's rolls the big man practically shot his wad.  Marc was a boy without shame.

Denny's meaty member was enveloped by Marc's clutching asshole time after time.  On one hand Marc was grateful Denny was gifted with width instead of size, on the other he craved more.  He shuddered to imagine the challenge of Denny's width combined with the length of Clayton Hoyt's freakish appendage.  Just the thought of it drove him to post more frenetically on the obese trucker's gearshift.  Slapping his palms up against the roof of the cab he jounced up and down on the stout cock.  Every time he rose the thick ridge of the meaty head was caught by his sphincter and obscenely pulled his asslips out.  Marc was a boy gone wild on Denny's ass wrecker, shoving himself down it and frantically grinding his ass against the man's hairy lap.

The interior of the cab was quite balmy by now.  Both of them were dripping sweat.  Marc leaned backward, effectively making the cock work his pelvis and rake over his prostate.  In this position his healthy teen dick was arcing out and up over Denny's saddlebag gut.  Denny snatched up the well-proportioned piece in one meaty paw and rammed his fist along its length.  Marc gushed a "fuck yeah" and ferociously pounded himself on Denny's ass-stretching piece.  Damn, he loved that cock!  Fat, sloppy and ugly as he was, at this moment Denny was the most desirable man in the world to the sexed-up teenager.

Marc rode that fuckstalk hard.  The inside of the cab reeked of sweat and sex.  The windows were completely fogged.  Beads of sweat flew from the boy's rapidly undulating body and rained on Denny, who had rivulets of perspiration draining from every pore.  Marc's tongue was lolling out of his mouth and his head was bobbing around his shoulders like a rag doll.  Looked to Denny like the kid had gone into a fuck trance.  He was huffing and puffing and his green eyes had a glazed look about them as they stared off into space.  Through his dick Denny felt when Marc finally tensed.  His breathing grew desperate, his entire frame quivered and, with a yowl to wake the dead in the nearby cemetery shot his young load.  Thick ropey blasts burst from the boy's widened slit bisecting Denny's flabby tits and catching him in the face.  Denny counted at least six thick spurts of pearl white drenching him from cheek to belly button. 

All through his ejaculation Marc never stopped humping.  In fact, it seemed to Denny the kid was actually humping even more energetically.  It was like Marc wanted to bruise the fuck out of his ass, to have something to remember when Denny was back out on the road.  All at once Denny felt those familiar sensations, the oncoming rush of exhilaration.  As he observed Marc twitching about and carrying on like he was in the throes of some sexual revelation that intense roaring went off in his head, his big body stiffened and, for the briefest moment, he thought sure he was suffering a coronary.  White hot lights flashed before his eyes and a roar slowly built deep in his lungs, up through his esophagus and finally issued from between his clenched teeth.  With his eyes tightly shut Denny's massive body lurched and his dick erupted.  Was like a cannon going off in Marc's asshole, shooting, backing up and then shooting again.  Heavy surges shot up into Marc's asswalls again and again, filling him with man seed.  Marc valiantly rode Denny clear through their mutual release, his insides squeezing on the fat, hard dick as if trying to absorb the last liquid pulse.

Without releasing the stupendous weapon from his hole Marc fell on Denny.  As the man attempted to recapture his breath Marc went to work lapping up his spent cum along with Denny's sweat.  His doglike tongue diligently lapped all the man's flabby torso, suckled on his still-swollen nipples and even ate cum out of his scruffy beard and 'stache.  Finally he covered Denny's mouth with his own, dove in and hungrily sucked on the man's fleshy tongue.   Denny's lusty moans were muffled by the cute boy, who continued to mouth him wildly.

"Gonna talk to your Pa 'bout you comin' out on the road with me for the summer," Denny later announced as they were gathering themselves together.  "Tell him it'd be a educational experience for you.  Want you to meet my kin in Kin-tucky."  Then, with a comical fluttering of his beetle brows, "And they sure want ta meet you."

Marc was back in the driver's side slipping his t-shirt back over his head.  "Sure would like to do that, Denny.  But Dad is pretty intent on my taking on a summer job.  To help with the bills."  While he thoroughly enjoyed Denny's drive-bys, an entire season would be way too much of a good thing.  With Denny tapping him every day, probably more than once a day, his ass would be a big gaping hole by the end of the trip.

They parted, Denny sleeping over in the spot and inviting Marc to stop by in the morning before he departed.  Marc was non-committal.  The teen hopped down from the cab and sauntered across the overgrown lot, out to the street and along the sidewalk headed for home.  It was a short trek.  He mounted the crumbling stairs.  Buck really needed to do something about that.  The front door was unlocked, as usual.  Everybody in this neighborhood knew each other, had for years.  He was about to go upstairs when, from the side room his name was called.  Marc stiffened.  It was nearly midnight.  What was his father doing up at this hour? 

Gingerly, certain he smelled of sex, Marc went over to lean against the threshold and looked into the dimly lit room.  Buck was on the sofa.  The television was on, but muted.  There was an open bottle of Scotch and a tumbler on the coffee table. 

"Get in here, boy.  We need to have a talk."