I grew up in Western Maryland. My Irish-Italian father worked in a coal mine. Yes, there are coal mines in Maryland. My Polish-American mother was a stay-at-home wife and mother. We lived about a mile and a half outside of town in a two-story clapboard house, perched on the side of a hill above a narrow, winding county road.

My home life was remarkable only for being unremarkable. My parents were good parents, and I got along with my three brothers and a sister. The only discord between my parents occurred when my father swore, which was often.

We went to mass every Sunday, not because my parents possessed any burning religious zeal, but because it was the thing that small-town families did on their Sunday mornings in the sixties. Those were the days before strongly-held or fervently-feigned religious beliefs became acceptable as public spectacle.

I matured early, beating my brother - two years older than me - to puberty. Although I would eventually have sex with women, my earliest sexual fantasies always involved men.

My first sexual encounter occurred in a state park in West Virginia during a United Mine Workers' Union summer picnic. I was sixteen. He was in his early twenties. He had a nice face, short dark brown hair and a solid build.

I spotted him sitting in an open air picnic pavilion with his pregnant wife. Every time I looked, his eyes seemed to be fixed on the dives I took from the stationary dock in the middle of the small lake. Between those clumsy dives that only a dim teenager would attempt, I stared back.

When sides were picked for volleyball, he and I ended up on the same team. Wearing a pair of tattered cut-off jeans that doubled as my swim trunks, I flirted with him between every volley. Up close, I could see his eyes. They were blue. Each time I made a good play, he gave me a 'thumbs up'.

After dinner, the president of the union local addressed the crowd from a platform set up at one end of the picnic pavilion. I sat with two of my brothers and my sister on a picnic table near the back. This way, I had a good view of my volleyball teammate seated off to the side and about a third of the way toward the front of the pavilion. Midway through the ongoing series of speeches by local and regional UMW officials, he got up, stretched, and wandered off alone. He glanced toward me as he walked to the back of the pavilion and headed toward the parking area.

While my younger brother tormented my poor sister with a dead moth, I drifted away to find him. I caught up with him leaning against a tree just beyond the last row of parked cars and pick-up trucks.

'You lost?' he asked.

'No. Are you?'

'You a smartass?'

'Uh-huh'. I was being honest.

'Me, too' he admitted putting a cigarette in his mouth. 'You're a smartass and a damned good volleyball player.'

After that exchange, neither one of us said anything for a few minutes. He lit his cigarette and lounged against the tree. I squatted, picked up a stick and began stabbing the ground, then flicking the loosened dirt under my ass.

'How old are you?' he asked exhaling a cloud of smoke.

'Seventeen.'

'You got big legs for seventeen.' He looked down at me. 'I would have figured you to be around eighteen or nineteen.'

I didn't say anything. The thought that I should have said that I was eighteen, rather than seventeen, crossed my mind. The earlier lie would have to do.

'What's your name?' he asked, taking another drag on his cigarette.

'Thomas.' The sound of applause and whistles came from the pavilion. 'My friends call me Tom.'

'Not Tommy?'

'No!' I hated being called Tommy.

'Can I call you Tom?'

'Sure. What's your name?'

'Peyton.'

I recalled one of our volleyball teammates calling him Peyton. I rolled the name 'Peyton' over in my mind.

He stuffed his cigarette in his mouth and extended his right hand toward me. I dropped the stick and stood up. I gripped his hand in mine. Peyton squeezed my hand. I squeezed his in return.

'Nice to meet you, Tom.' He plucked the cigarette from his mouth and nodded. Through a cloud of exhaled smoke, he looked me over.

'You're a big guy. You play sports?'

'Football.'

'Baseball?'

'No, I hate baseball'.

'Me, too.

Through the trees I heard music playing on the public address system - The Stars and Stripes Forever. A man and a woman stumbled by. The woman's arm was wrapped around the man's waist as though she was supporting him; he did look drunk.

'You want a beer?' Peyton asked.

'Not really. I don't drink.' I mulled my response over in my head. I regretted my answer. Every sixteen-year-old that I knew drank beer.

'Because of football?' he asked.

'Yeah. Our season starts in a few weeks and I don't drink when I'm training.' Of course, at sixteen, I didn't drink when I wasn't training.

Peyton crushed his cigarette against the tree and locked his eyes on the zipper of my cut-offs. I stuffed my hands in my back pockets and made fists to draw the front of my shorts tighter around my cock and balls. Peyton looked back toward the pavilion and then again at the mound in the front of my pants.

He lit another cigarette.

'Your dad in the mines?' he asked.

'Yeah, over in Garrett County.' I bent my knees slightly and with my fists still in my back pocket, I hiked my pants up even more, framing the 'goods' snuggly in the 'v' of my crouch.

He nodded and took a long draw on the cigarette. I kicked a rock with my shoe and looked at him as he leaned against the tree.

'You got a girlfriend, Tom?'

'Naw, not really. There's a girl I like, but . . .' I stopped myself before admitting that I didn't have a driver's license.

'Stud like you probably has a lot of girlfriends, right?'

I looked at him and slowly shrugged.

'There are a couple that kinda like me I guess, but, right now, I don't have the time. I just play football.' I removed my right hand from my back pocket and slipped it under my shirt. I scratched my stomach while Peyton watched.

I scratched my chest which teased my shirt higher exposing my naval and the top of my shorts. I glanced at Peyton. His stare seemed to be fixed on the metal button just above my zipper.

Peyton took another drag on his cigarette. He looked down and laughed when he exhaled.

'I'm just thinking about something funny.'

I watched him silently.

'Listen, Tom, if you don't want a beer, do you mind if I have one?'

'No. That's fine. I'm getting ready to go back anyway.'

'You want to keep me company while I drink my beer?'

I looked up.

'I guess so.'

We walked through the parked cars to the edge of the parking lot. Peyton's ride was a pickup, a new Chevy with a camper shell. I stopped at the passenger side door. Peyton walked to the back.

He dropped the tail gate and lifted the back of the shell.

'Beer's back here.'

I walked to the rear of the truck.

'Get in'.

I lifted my right leg and placed my foot on the lowered tailgate. I could feel Peyton's eyes on me. I hoisted myself up and, ducking my head, made my way inside. I looked for a place to sit.

'Sit down on that box of oil over there,' Peyton instructed, pointing toward the front of the camper.

Stooped over, I sat down on a box of Quaker State motor oil. Peyton climbed in, pulled up the tailgate, and lowered the back of the camper shell. By doing so, he effectively shut out any spying eyes in the parking lot as well as any chance of a breeze.

'Damn, it's hot in here,' Peyton remarked looking around for a place to sit. As he turned to sit on the wheel well, our heads almost touched. Although the air outside had cooled, inside the camper was sauna-like from the day's heat and humidity. Peyton reached behind him and slid open a small window on the side of the camper.

Grabbing the handle of a beat-up Igloo cooler and pulling it toward him, he opened the lid and pulled out a can of beer. He pulled up his shirt and wiped the cold water from the can. He had the beginnings of a gut. A patch of hair circled his naval.

'Sure you don't want one?' he asked.

I shook my head.

'I wish I had a soda or even water to give you'. Peyton popped the top of his beer can.

'I'm okay' I replied. 'Do you mind if I take off my shirt?'

Peyton's eyes lit up.

'No. Go ahead. It's hotter than hell in here.'

I began to peel myself out of the damned thing, but the back of my shirt was soaked with sweat and clung to my body grimily. After I leaned over further to get a better grip, Peyton grabbed it at the shoulders and pulled. As the shirt moved over my head, I breathed in the scent of my own sweat.

Peyton lifted the beer to his lips, closed his eyes and took a long pull. He swallowed several times before taking the can away from his mouth and resting it on his knee. He stretched the other leg straight out placing the heel of his shoe on one of the raised ridges of the truck bed. He leaned back against the side of the truck and looked at me.

'You naturally built like that?'

'What do you mean?' I asked.

'I mean, is that - 'he pointed the can toward my chest - 'natural, or is it from working out?'

'I guess it's from both.'

Peyton took another swig of beer and nodded. I put my hands behind my head and leaned my back against the camper shell. I slowly stretched out my left leg, placing my foot inches from his. Peyton looked at my foot and followed my leg up to my crotch. Taking my hands from behind my head, I tucked my thumbs into my pants waist just above the zipper. I cupped my fingers under the bulge in the front of my jeans.

Peyton drained the can and then reached into the cooler and pulled out a second beer.

'We can go right after I finish this one.'

'I'm in no hurry' I grinned. I knew that this picnic wouldn't be over for another hour or two.

Peyton guzzled the beer.

'Can you hold this for me?' he asked handing me the half-empty can.

I took my thumbs out of my pants as he handed me the beer and pulled off his shirt. The circle of hair around his naval continued upward in a straight path and spread out over his pecs. He didn't have a large chest, but his shoulders and arms impressed me. I could feel my cock straightening against my balls.

'Phew, that's better.'

I nodded and handed him his beer. My cock head pulsed against the denim of my shorts. I wanted to reach down and pull it upward, liberating it from between my leg and my pants. Instead, I sat motionless, afraid that any further movement would reveal the onset of a raging erection.

Peyton finished the second can of beer and dropped it on the bed of the pickup truck. He brought his right leg up, leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees. He looked up the length of my leg and saw the outline of my hard cock.

Peyton reached over and put his hand on my leg, just above my knee. I saw no reason to move.

'You look like you're a very big boy,' he said, motioning with his head and eyes to my crotch.

'I don't know' I said. 'Maybe'.

'You want to pull it out for me so I can see?'

Of course I did.

I unbuttoned the top of my shorts and raised my ass. I leaned back against the truck and slowly pulled my pants down. Peyton watched as my cock and balls appeared parallel to his face.

'Mother fucker, you got a big dick, Tom. I bet you're popular with the ladies.'

I smiled, shrugged and sat back down on the box of oil. My cock bobbed between my legs. Peyton appeared to weigh his options for a minute before he reached inside the cooler and pulled out another beer. He held the unopened can next to my cock. Cold water dripped on my thigh. I still didn't move.

God Bless America began playing over the PA system. Peyton held the cold beer can against my cock and then pulled it back. He opened it and took a swallow.

'God bless America,' he said, staring at my cock before taking another swallow of beer.

Peyton sang along with the music. '. . . to the prairies, to the oceans white with foam, God Bless America . . ' On the words 'my home sweet home', Peyton reached over and grabbed my cock.

'Yessir, God bless America'.

Peyton set the beer down on the truck bed. He reached behind him and closed the window and moved forward, dropping to his knees. He positioned himself in front of me and took my cock in both of his hands.

'You don't mind if I do this, do you Tom?'

'Uh-uh. I don't mind at all.'

Peyton dipped his head between my legs and licked the top of my cock. I lifted my arms. I wanted to put my hands on him, but I wasn't' sure how he would react. I dropped them to my side as his mouth covered my cockhead.

His saliva ran down my shaft. I closed my eyes. I'd stroked my cock thousands of times. I had jerked off every day since I was ten. Nothing had prepared me for the intense pleasure of that moment in the back of Peyton's pickup truck.

He looked up.

'I bet you get plenty of girls going down on you, don't you Tom?'

'Uh, yeah.' It was a lie, but it seemed like the right response.

Sweat beaded on Peyton's back. It poured from my face. Peyton sucked me with such force that I imagined the truck rocking back and forth in rhythm with his head. 'What if my parents find me?' I thought, until his sucking made me forget the world outside the camper shell.

I didn't remember moving my hands to his body but there they were. I saw my fingers spreading out, feeling the muscles in his man's back and shoulders while his mouth serviced me. I discovered how sensitive my cock head was as Peyton ran his teeth lightly over the ridge.

I wiped his back with my hands and spread his sweat over my thighs. I felt the sides of his face and heard the moist sounds his mouth made as it roamed over my cock.

I felt my cock jam against the rear of his mouth. He tried to take me into his throat but it would not pass beyond the back of his tongue. I was glad when he gave up and began sucking the head and the top inches of the shaft.

I could feel my orgasm begin in my ass. I desperately tried to hold back, but I couldn't. Peyton gagged, and fell back against the wheel well when I started to blow my load. My remaining blasts became airborne splattering both Peyton and the side of the camper shell.

'I wasn't expecting that much' Peyton said reaching forward and grabbing my throbbing cock. 'I've forgotten what it was like being seventeen.'

'Or sixteen,' I thought.

My cock drooped between my legs to the box. After a few minutes, the head came to rest in a pool of cum and sweat.

Peyton picked up the beer can and washed the taste of my load from his mouth. He kept his eyes on my cock as he drank. He unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock.

'You don't mind if I jerk off, do you Tom?'

I remember thinking that his cock looked like a surfboard - long, fatter in the middle. Whereas my cock head was round and thick, his cock head tapered from its junction with his shaft. The sight of Peyton's rod reinvigorated my cock. Within seconds, I was hard again.

Peyton managed to pull his pants down in the cramped quarters. He fell again to his knees and pulled me in his mouth, his hand never leaving his cock. He moved his head around, washing my cock in his spit. He coated my cock with his saliva and ran his other hand up and down my cock in time with his mouth. He leaned back and stroked me with one hand while stroking himself with the other.

My breathing deepened. Peyton pulled his hand away from my cock and dived face down into my lap. On a down stroke, I came a second time. This time, he didn't release my cock until he'd sucked the last drop. He sat up and looked at me. I kept my eyes on him as he erupted. His cum fell across my left thigh in long ribbons of white. I remember the heat of it.

In the background, the Marine Hymn played over the PA system.

Sated, we wiped off with an oil rag, dressed, and then we said goodbye behind the pickup.

The night air felt cool against my skin. My clothes were still soaked with sweat.

Walking back toward the pavilion I met my sister walking toward our car.

'You're all wet. Whadja do, go swimming in your clothes?'

'I did some push-ups and sit-ups on the other side off the parking lot.'

'That's so stupid,' she sneered.

I watched as Peyton help his wife pack up. When he went to throw some dirty paper plates and cups in a trash can, he looked over at me. He nodded as he and his wife walked toward the parking lot.

 

Tom O'Neil

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