[Having given my former partner - that evil toad, Martin Solomon - an opportunity to give his own version of past events, it seems only fair that I allow my lover - Matthew Swanson - an opportunity to give the reader a fresh perspective on his life too.
In my opinion, Matt is absolute perfection in every way, but he makes no claim to sainthood. In truth, his early life was squalid in the extreme.
So here it is - the gospel according to Matthew.]
My education was a bit patchy and I pretty much missed out on high school altogether. If anyone asks me about my schooling, I tell them I attended the University of Hard Knocks.
One day, I'd like to pick up the threads and maybe attend night school. I don't want to do anything grand - like medicine or law; I just want to acquire greater general knowledge about the world and the people who inhabit it.
I recently watched a college debate on the local TV channel. The topic was: "Homosexuality - Nature or Nurture". I listened very intently because it was something I'd never thought about before.
The speakers said a lot of well-meaning but essentially silly things. I know they were walking on eggshells in order to be politically correct, but it became evident to me that not one speaker happened to be gay.
It also seemed that none of them had taken the trouble to actually speak with any gay people in order to compare their fine assumptions with stark reality.
Having thought deeply about the matter, I have decided that gay guys and girls are definitely born that way. Nurture may have some impact; it may contribute in some way; but - in my own case at least - I am 100% positive that I was born gay.
Admittedly, I endured considerable sexual abuse as a boy. My stepfather and my older two half-brothers - Abel and Nathaniel - routinely had sex with me from around age eleven until I fled our farmhouse at age twenty-one.
I don't think any of them were homosexual. Or even bisexual. They were just highly sexed in a disturbingly animalistic way. To put it bluntly, they'd fuck anything with a pulse.
It didn't seem to bother them whether their partner was male or female. Even our livestock weren't exempt.
But they did at least have sex with women when they could. Because they were all unredeemably unattractive men - poor hygiene, no manners and loutish faces - they generally had to pay for sex outside the family.
I remember that Abel had a prized stash of pornographic magazines. They were all straight porn. The first time I looked through one - when I was about ten - I was utterly appalled by the loving close-ups of women's genitalia.
I thought snatches were just about the ugliest and scariest things I'd ever seen. On the other hand, I thought the guys servicing these magazine tarts had beautiful genitals. I thought all the cocks and balls looked great.
So, I had a jaundiced view of the female anatomy well before Pa took me to sleep in his room each night and well before my brothers started joining in.
I didn't enjoy what they did to me, especially since they regularly beat me up too; but when I reached my mid-teens they started taking me to a local truck stop. I was a nice-enough looking kid and I was very popular at that particular venue.
Pa and the boys seemed to enjoy watching me being fucked. Maybe this was meant to humiliate me. I sometimes wonder if any money changed hands. It wouldn't surprise me. And, afterwards - when we got back home - they would all take turns fucking me, slopping about in other guys' cum.
I never felt humiliated by sex with total strangers. The reality is that I was thrilled by their attentions.
However unsavoury the locale, and however furtive the coupling, at least it was sex without any accompanying violence.
Some of the guys were handsome and some of them were gross. That didn't bother me all that much because they all had something I'd begun to crave - a stiff cock to go up my ass.
I had become totally addicted to the thrill of being fucked by men who didn't stink of cow dung; men who were only passing through Plainsville; men who lived in far-distant and sophisticated cities; men who sometimes kissed me and held me in an embrace.
In my mid-teens, I began to run away from home at weekends and hitchhike to wherever a passing vehicle might be headed. Occasionally I hitched a ride with a family or a couple, but my travels usually came courtesy of single or married guys travelling alone.
Some were good Samaritans; some had no hidden agenda; but almost all of them were up for sexual contact of some kind.
Occasionally, it was me who steered the conversation in that direction; I'd ask if there was anything I could do to repay their kindness. Often, it was the driver who introduced the topic of sex, especially the married men.
I think wives would be astonished how keen their husbands are to discuss their unsatisfactory sex lives.
So, when a guy complained that his woman hated giving him head or wouldn't swallow or wouldn't engage in sex at all, well, that's when I would insinuate that I was perfectly willing to help him out.
And that's how I came to suck dicks or offer up my tight young ass in the cramped environs of a car, or in the back of a van, or on the sleeping berth of a truck.
My weekends became a thrilling sequence of sexual encounters with men who were kind - men who didn't treat me roughly; men who seemed to appreciate me.
I wasn't seeking the excitement of far-away cities. I was seeking the thrill of giving blow-jobs or being fucked.
I don't think I'd been conditioned to do this by my family. Their attentions were always unwelcome and squalid.
I resented being a human waste-disposal unit for my kinsmen's jizz.
On my weekend adventures, I think I was driven by my own natural inclinations. I simply lived to be fucked by men who didn't "own" me.
When I look back at old class photographs, I see a nice-looking kid with a sad or wistful expression. I guess my home life accounted for this to a large degree, but my life at school wasn't exactly pleasant either.
I was a member of the snarly, reclusive and smelly Swanson clan. Showering was not encouraged at home. Pa would go mental about the waste of heat and water. He reckoned it was enough to wash once a week and maybe change underwear then too.
So I made no friends. Maybe other kids' parents warned them not to associate with me.
I was never invited to parties and it never even occurred to me to invite anyone to my house. Had I done so, Pa would have thrashed me. And besides, I certainly never wanted any of my classmates to see the squalor in which we lived.
Once I was old enough for weekend "escapes", I would sneak a shower in cold water and do my best to look and smell appealing. It worked. I seldom walked far before a ride came along.
I clearly remember the very first time I took off for a day or two. It was a Saturday afternoon. Almost as soon as I reached the highway, a dark-coloured sedan pulled up on the hard shoulder and waited for me come alongside.
I hadn't yet attempted to thumb down a ride. It was such an isolated spot that I guess the driver thought I must be in need of a lift.
I suppose the guy was in his early thirties, but, at that time in my life - I was just fifteen - he seemed old to me. He was quite handsome and had a lovely smile.
He asked where I was heading and I told him nowhere in particular; just northwards. He said he could take me around fifty miles before he'd be turning off to the east. He also said he'd welcome the company as it was all too easy to doze off at the wheel on long trips.
I never asked his name. I just called him "sir".
He told me he was a travelling salesman and that he'd been on the road for nearly a week. He mentioned that he couldn't wait to get back home as he was missing his wife and kids.
'Maybe not the kids so much' he said with a laugh. 'They're a real handful at times.'
'But you must miss your wife' I replied. 'I bet it's lonely being on the road. How long before you'll be back home?'
'Another week to go' he sighed. And then, with a laugh, 'Until then it's just me and my right hand for company.'
I laughed along with him and told him that my right hand got a lot of exercise too.
'Well it would do at your age, son. How old are you?'
'Just turned eighteen' I lied.
'Nope. To tell the truth, sir - I prefer guys.'
I waited, half-expecting him to apply the brakes and tell me to get out of the car.
There was a lengthy silence. From the corner of my eye, I could see him glance at me a few times as if assessing something.
'What sort of things do you do with guys?' he asked.
'Whatever they want, sir.'
'Yep. I love giving head to nice guys. Men like you, sir.'
And then, greatly daring, I moved my hand to rest in his lap. He didn't object.
At first he didn't seem to have any reaction at all. And then I felt his cock swelling in his pants. I began stroking it through the light material of his trousers.
I eventually teased it into an upright position where it strained like a prisoner against the waistband.
'I'm gunna pull over for a while' he said, choosing a section of road with a clearing on one side.
Shortly afterwards, his trousers and shorts were down around his ankles and his dick was in my mouth.
Except in my brothers' porn mags, I had never previously seen a circumcised cock right up close. I liked the smoothness of it even if it did seem a bit odd without a foreskin. It wasn't a very big dick, but it was certainly rock-hard and sweet-smelling.
His balls smelt nice too. I'd never encountered the smells of cologne and deodorant before. It was like being with a different species.
When I took his balls in my mouth - one at a time - he placed his hand gently on my head and urged me onwards.
'Oh; that feels so good. Don't stop.'
So I kept on sucking at his sac for several minutes, at the same time slowly stroking his shaft with one hand.
His breathing became laboured. He guided my head back to his cock. I tasted the pre-cum seeping out of him, swirling my tongue around the head of his dick while I did so.
Then I went right to the base of his shaft and stayed there, alternately clamping hard with my lips and then easing the pressure.
He started to breathe more heavily. He pushed my head down firmly.
'Now!' he exclaimed.
And I felt his cock grow even harder and thicker before a blast of cum hit the back of my throat. I kept one hand on his balls, gently pulling them downwards as he shot his load.
The first gush, which I hastily swallowed, was followed by several more spurts.
His hips were raised off the seat. He seemed to be in ecstasy and I was too. I kept swallowing until he had no more to give.
'Thanks, kid' was all he said.
We drove off again as soon as his pants were zipped up.
I noticed that he wrapped his dick in a handkerchief before tucking it into his shorts. I assumed this was to avoid any after-cum staining his underwear or seeping through his trousers.
This was a nicety I'd never even thought of before. Pa and my brothers simply pulled up their pants and that was that. I must confess I did the same. So our trousers and underwear were always stained.
You can pick up lots of little hygiene tips while hitchhiking.
The remainder of the trip was silent. There was no further conversation. I think he was a bit embarrassed or ashamed of himself. When we reached his turn-off, he pulled over so I could get out.
'Take care, kid' he said before pushing a twenty dollar bill into my hand.
And then he was gone. I was left at the side of the road; twenty dollars richer and with the taste of his cum still on my palate.
I never saw him again. That was a pity because I liked him and I liked sucking on his incredibly clean junk. So different to Pa and the boys on the farm.
They always stank like polecats and no way did I ever savour the taste of their vile juices. I always spat it out if I could, but that usually earned me a slap or two.
I remember walking for a very long time after Mr Twenty Bucks dropped me off.
Finally a truck came along. It took a long time to slow down. I'd already decided the driver was going to ignore me, but then the red brake lights came on and I ran to where he had stopped.
'You want a ride, son?' asked the driver.
'Yes please' I said, and climbed up to sit beside him in the cab.
He was definitely middle-aged. Somewhere between forty and fifty, I guess. But he had a pleasant enough face and manner.
And I knew there might be some more fun to be had because his gaze seemed to assess me as I clambered into the cab and settled down. It was as though he was undressing me with his eyes.
I didn't mind. I knew my body wasn't too bad. I certainly didn't fear being undressed, whether figuratively or literally.
'Been on the road long, son?' he asked after a few minutes.
'Probably two hours since I last had a ride' I replied. 'The guy had to turn off and I'm headed north.'
'I'm headed north all the way' he said, and he named the town where he planned to stop for the night.
'Is it OK if I go all the way with you?' I asked.
He chuckled. It was the sort of laugh people give when discussing something smutty.
'Kid' he said, 'If you like going all the way, then Clem here is your man.'
I didn't pretend to misunderstand him. Once again my hand rested in someone's lap. But this time my action was reciprocated. Clem reached across with his free hand and groped me eagerly.
'That's a mighty fine rig you've got there' he said. 'How old are you, son?'
It seemed to be every driver's favourite question. So I told my favourite lie.
'Just turned eighteen, sir.'
'Well that's just dandy. How about I pull over when we reach the next side road and we can have a little party on the bench-seat behind me?'
I readily agreed to this suggestion. Once we'd parked up in a quiet and unlit area, we moved to the back. It was like a small but comfy sofa bed.
Clem immediately started to undress, so I did the same. As soon as I was lying naked beside him, his hand was at my junk, groping, exploring, squeezing.
'Boy, you sure are hung for a youngster" he commented.
'Thank you, sir' I said. 'But' - reaching out to hold his own dick -'you're not exactly puny yourself.'
And he wasn't. I'd say his cock was about the same size as mine - a little over six inches. The only difference was that my own cock is very thick - at the base, it's almost as thick as my wrist - whereas his was about average.
What he did have - and how I longed to suck on them - was a set of huge low-hangers. His sac hung even lower than my Pa's - and that's saying something.
He reached down and began to suck on my dick. He was good at it. I was definitely enjoying the sensation. But, as I may have mentioned before, I prefer to do the sucking myself.
I was already a cock-worshipper in my mid-teens.
I asked him to stop. I told him I was close to shooting my load. It wasn't true, but he took his mouth away and allowed me to access his own junk. I enjoyed the feel of it in my mouth.
He didn't smell as good as the previous guy - his sac was definitely a bit musty - but he had a very long foreskin and I had a great deal of fun teasing it with my tongue.
And then there were those incredible balls. I found I was able to wrap my hand tightly around the base of his scrotum, gently twist it, and still access each testicle fully. He obviously enjoyed having his testicles pulled downwards and vacuumed into my mouth.
I ran my tongue over each plum-sized ball as it rested on my tongue. I could have done that all night long, but Clem had a question.
'You wanna fuck me, son?'
'I'd rather you fucked me, sir. I want to feel your balls slapping against me and I want your cum in my ass.'
'You want it, you've got it' he replied. 'Most young guys seem to think they should do the fucking. That way they can still feel like they're the man.'
'Not me, sir. I love being fucked. Especially by a real man, a mature man like you.'
'If I'm gunna fuck your ass, then you'd better call me Clem. Don't seem right to be called "sir" by a boy I'm about to screw.'
I rolled onto my side, my back towards him.
'OK, Clem. Fuck me.'
'I ain't got no lube, son. I'll have to use spit.'
'That's OK' I said.
And it was. Some proper lube might have made the first stage easier, but I survived.
As his cock began to enter me, I was consumed with happiness. This was no ugly, sweaty kinsman. This was a thoroughly nice man who was trying to start gently.
I didn't have the heart to tell him he needn't be so thoughtful. I didn't want him to know I'd been accustomed to vicious rapes since age eleven or twelve.
But Clem was incredible considerate - at least that's how it started.
He slowly inserted the head of his dick. It was a bit dry but I still clenched on it welcomingly. Then he went further and further inside me - it seemed to move just a millimetre each time he pushed.
I'd never experienced this before. I appreciated the opportunity to feel warm flesh enter me at a snail's pace.
It was a beautifully graduated incursion. In my mind's eye, I saw a hard dick nudging its way through my rectum; I imagined the foreskin pushed right back as the head of his dick gently pushed walls aside; I envisaged droplets of pre-cum helping to smooth its path.
And - above all - I felt myself succumbing to the exquisite pleasure of being penetrated.
Of course, things couldn't possibly go so slowly forever. Eventually, Clem felt the need to move more swiftly and surely; just as I felt a growing need to be fucked mercilessly and masterfully.
We transitioned into doggy-style. Clem began to hammer away at me. This alone would have been joy enough, but there was the added pleasure of feeling his huge balls slap against me.
That pleasure was also somewhat painful; each time he slammed into me, his heavy balls would slap against my own. I was on the point of suggesting a new position - so sore were my gonads - when Clem told me he was getting close.
That was sufficient incentive for me to suffer in silence.
When Clem's cum entered me, it came in short sharp jerks. There was no pause between spurts. He kept thrusting in and out throughout. I could feel some of his juice escape my arse and trickle down my leg.
I reached a hand behind me, slicked my hand with his cum and then brought my hand to my mouth to taste it. A bit saltier than I was accustomed to but still a welcome taste on my palate.
And, when it was over, after he'd withdrawn, Clem paid attention to my own cock.
He didn't take me in his mouth, but he jerked me off in almost the same manner as I would have done it myself. He seemed to know exactly what speed and rhythm I preferred. Intuitively, he held my dick exactly as my own hand would.
He paused occasionally to rub his thumb over the pre-cum oozing out of me, positioning my foreskin just as I would - occasionally using it to massage the glans and occasionally letting it slide back and forth to its full extent.
He knew when I was about to blow; he edged for a while just as I would. And then he just went for it and the jizz shot out of me and all over his face and my chest.
'Whoa' he exclaimed. 'I forgot how far you youngsters can shoot. That's what I call a real blast.'
We slept for a while after that.
When dawn began to break, Clem woke me up by positioning his cock at my asshole once more. He took longer the second time, but I didn't mind. It was a wonderful way to wake up.
When Clem reached the next truck-stop, I said I'd better be heading back homewards.
'Didn't you want to keep going north?' he asked.
'Well, that was the plan when you picked me up, but I was always going to head back again today. I have to get home. I have chores to do and my old man will kick the shit out of me if I'm not home by this afternoon.'
'You're eighteen, son. Stand up for yourself. Your Pa has no right to be beating up on you.'
'I'll keep that in mind' I said.
I could hardly tell him I was really only fifteen and that beatings were simply a part of life on the Swanson farm.
'Maybe I'll see you on the road again one day' Clem said.
'Maybe. I hope so. I'd like that. I usually set out on a Friday or Saturday night and head back on the Sunday.'
But I never did encounter Clem again. And I had less hitchhiking luck on the way home too.
I got a lift for quite some distance from a family. I sat in the back of a people-mover with a large dog that kept farting and trampling on my balls as he raced from one window to the other. They were nice folk, but it was hardly an adventure.
After that I got a ride with a mean-looking guy in his thirties.
The funny thing about that ride was that it looked quite promising at one stage. The guy started talking about his Saturday night.
Apparently he'd attended some sort of orgy or swingers party. He told me he'd had a whale of a time with several different partners. He said it made him horny all over again just thinking about it.
'I'm feeling horny myself just hearing about it' I said.
He didn't reply.
'Seems a shame' I continued. 'Two horny guys in the middle of nowhere. Maybe we should help each other out.'
The car screeched to a halt.
'Goddamned degenerate!' he screamed at me. 'Get out of my car before I smash your faggot face in!'
I did as he ordered and he took off like a rocket. I walked carefully for a while in case he decided to turn around and "accidentally' run me down. He never did return and I received no further offers of a ride, so I was pretty footsore by the time I reached home.
I was greeted by a torrent of abuse from Pa.
After I'd prepared dinner and cleaned up, Pa slapped me around a bit for having taken off and then I was hauled off to bed.
At least Nate and Abel didn't join in for once, but I was subjected to one of Pa's more vicious sexual assaults.
As his foul jizz poured into me, I tried to pretend it belonged to Clem or Mr Twenty Bucks.
For the next six years I continued my weekend disappearances whenever I could.
I met some nice families that way, but the best rides were always with men - married men, single men and even a few big-city guys who were openly gay.
Admittedly, I didn't maintain a statistical log, but I'd say around 90% of the guys I rode with proved open to some male-on-male action.
I'm not saying that 90% of all men would be similarly inclined. My personal experiences are not reliable data because it's highly likely that most guys who stopped for me only did so because they were actively looking for possibilities.
After all, a great many drivers didn't stop at all. They sped past without a thought. Maybe 90% of those drivers were not up for a gay experience.
When Pa insisted it was time I left school - he considered an education pointless for a farm boy - I was put in charge of all the cooking and the housework.
I also had chores on the farm as well. So, my weekends became increasingly important to me. They were my opportunity to engage with men who treated me kindly and to see a bit of the world beyond Plainsville.
It never occurred to me to disappear permanently. I had nowhere to go and no friends or relatives to stay with.
However awful it was, the farm was my home; and I guess I was more or less brainwashed into regarding myself as Pa's property; he "owned" me. So I accepted the abuse and the beatings that came my way each time I returned home.
I remember one guy particularly fondly. He was a long-distance truck driver and he passed through Plainsville every other weekend.
His name was Tom and I was thrilled every time I caught a ride with him. Tom was a happily married man with school-age children.
But he liked to play away from home. With men and women. He wasn't fussy as long as the other party was young.
I guess he'd have been in his early to mid thirties when I knew him.
What was so special about Tom? For a start he was clean and good looking. He had sandy hair and bright blue eyes. His grin was a bit crooked and he had a great sense of humour.
His dick was a bit bigger than average - around seven inches or so - and he had a very high sex drive. He could blow a wad and be ready to go again within just a few minutes.
And he knew how to fuck too. He could last as long as he wanted. He was magnificent in bed. Or in a truck cab. Or in a men's' room. He was a skilled tool-man in every circumstance.
Sometimes, Tom would stay at a motel. I loved it when that happened because he'd sneak me into his room so we could share a bed for the night.
And sometimes he'd call into a diner and treat me to a burger and fries. He even gave me coins for the juke box. He was a generous guy.
I remember the last night I ever spent with Tom. It was a Saturday and I would have to head home the next morning.
He took a room in some hick town I'd never visited before. After a visit to the local greasy spoon, we locked ourselves away for the night and stripped off our clothes.
Tom told me I needed a shower. He wasn't rude about it. I know I used to smell pretty bad back then. A weekly wash in cold water didn't do much to erase the aromas of farm life.
I remember luxuriating in a hot shower. I was impressed with the free sachets of shampoo and hair conditioner. I would have stayed in the shower for hours but Tom reminded me that he needed a wash too.
When we hit the bed, Tom just lay still as he usually did. For all that he was vigorous when fucking me, Tom rarely did much else.
In all the time I knew him, he never once attempted to suck my dick. He occasionally jerked me off, but I think his focus was on penetration and little else.
Maybe that's how it was with his wife too. I don't know. And I didn't mind because my own focus was on being penetrated. So we were a good match.
Oddly enough, Tom did like to kiss; long deep kisses with his tongue thrusting against mine. And he liked it when I sucked his tongue into my mouth.
On that last night, I lavished a lot of attention on Tom's balls. Sucking on them long and hard. His balls were a good size and not the kind that disappear when highly excited and about to be emptied.
I remember how nice his sac smelled. The motel soap was fragrant. It reminded me of the blossoms in spring.
Once I sensed that he wanted me to move on, I turned my attention to Tom's cock. It was dripping wet at the tip and his foreskin had begun its retreat.
I liked the fact that Tom's dick was long enough to test my throating skills. I loved contracting my throat muscles around his knob. And he loved it too.
He also enjoyed it when I played games with his foreskin; nibbling at it, sliding it back and forth with my lips, teasing it with my tongue. And then Tom would indicate that he was ready to fuck me.
He wasn't an imaginative lover. His favourite positions were doggy-style or with me on my back with my legs on his shoulders.
He never used any protection. I once asked him why and he told me.
I now know his reasoning was flawed but I believed him at the time. Tom's view was that STD's were caused by infected cum. He reasoned that if he never sucked a guy off or allowed himself to be penetrated, then he couldn't catch anything.
It sounds non-sensical today but I hope it worked out OK for him.
On our last evening together - and neither of us knew it was to be the last time - Tom was feeling particularly randy. We weren't out to break a record or create a memory, but I know he shot his jizz into me five times between dusk and dawn.
I was feeling a little sore when we parted company. He headed one way and I started walking in the opposite direction.
I never saw him again. Perhaps he was shifted to a different route.
A family gave me a lift for some of the way home but, after that, there was nothing for at least an hour or more. And then a black sedan slowed down after passing by me.
When I reached the vehicle, the passenger window was already lowered. The driver was quite young; maybe twenty-one or thereabouts.
'Where are you headed?' he asked.
'I'm aiming to catch up with friend who lives near Plainsville.'
'Well, I'll be passing through Plainsville' he said. 'Hop in.'
'I'm Mitch' he informed me.
'I'm David' I lied.
Most people didn't even bother asking my name. When they did I often used an alias just in case something went wrong. If I made a sexual overture of some kind and the guy objected, then I didn't want him blabbing about the fairy boy from Plainsville.
But nothing went wrong on this ride.
Mitch was a pretty talkative guy. He told me he was engaged but that he and his girl attended different colleges. He joked about how he sometimes drove all weekend just to spend a short time with her.
Apparently, his fiancée's room-mate usually went home on weekends, leaving the coast clear for the engaged couple to do what engaged couples usually do. But this had not been one of those weekends. The room-mate was in residence, so the best he got was a few torrid kisses and a bit of mutual groping in his car after dining out.
'And now I've got a bad case of blue balls.'
I'd never heard this term before. It sounded like some weird pigmentation problem. I stared at the space between his thighs and realised for the first time that there was a sizeable package there. Maybe his balls were swollen for some reason.
'Blue balls? What's that?'
He turned to glance at me. He looked incredulous.
'You're kidding. Right?'
But - feeling very ignorant - I assured him I didn't have a clue what he was talking about.
So Mitch explained it to me. I gathered that the word "blue" meant sore, sad, disappointed or frustrated. It made sense. Far more sense than that he actually had a blue scrotum like some rare monkey or baboon.
'You never had blue balls?' he asked.
'Nope, but then I never go very long without sex.'
'I'm not talking about just jerking off' he replied.
'Nor am I' I replied. 'I have sex nearly every day of my life.'
'You can't be married already. How old are you?'
'Would you believe eighteen?'
'No' he said.
But he didn't follow up. Maybe he didn't really want to know.
'Maybe I could help cure your blues' I suggested.
He considered this for a while before slowing right down and parking at the side of the road.
'What do you have in mind?' he asked.
'Whatever you want.'
'OK. But I'm not a faggot, kid. I'm just a bit frustrated. A head-job would sure make me feel better.'
We turned down a track that led to a deserted farmhouse. I knew the place well. I could remember the family that had once lived there.
He parked beneath a shady tree and we released our seat-belts.
'I'm gunna close my eyes and pretend you're my girlfriend' said Mitch.
And with that he altered the pitch of his seatback until he was lying almost horizontal. A quick glance revealed that he already had an erection. There was a tent at his crotch.
I undid his belt and then unbuttoned his Levis. He cooperated to only a small extent. He raised his hips so I could pull down his jeans and shorts. And then I leaned across and got up close and personal with an excitingly large dick.
He was circumcised and his cock looked as though it was carved out of some beautiful stone - rock-hard and beautifully pale; and I could make out the delicate veins of his shaft; they were like the faint violet tracings of a rare and precious marble.
But it was the size of his cock that impressed me most. It was as good as some of the dicks in my brothers' porn magazines.
'Jeez' I exclaimed. 'You sure are hung.'
'Yep' was all he said, but when I looked up he had a smile on his face; a very proud and satisfied look despite his eyes being closed.
'Must be almost eight inches' I suggested.
'It IS eight inches' he snapped.
I terminated the conversation by taking his cock in my mouth. Pre-cum was already dribbling freely and the glans and was slick and moist with sweet clear juice. I gave him the best head I could, deep-throating him totally and occasionally just sucking on his knob while I took a breather.
I fondled his balls too. He had nothing to boast about in that area but I didn't mind. I was simply entranced by the length of his cock and how hard it was.
And then - quite abruptly - he asked 'Do you take it up the arse?'
I lifted my head and told him I did and that I'd love him to fuck me.
I told him he had the biggest dick I'd ever handled - true - and that I wasn't sure I could take it all - false. I was certain I would manage somehow. The soreness from being repeatedly fucked by Tom had miraculously disappeared.
'I'm not a faggot' he told me for the second time 'but I wouldn't mind fucking you, boy.'
'And you can keep your eyes closed' I teased.
'Damn straight I will.'
His eyes were now open as he sat up and rummaged in the glove compartment. He located a condom. I didn't comment, but I wondered how reliable that condom would be after languishing in his car through the heat of summer.
I suggested we get out of the car. I proposed that I would lean across the hood while he had has way with my ass. He was a bit nervous about this.
'What if someone comes along?'
'They won't. The place is deserted. Anyway, you'd hear the gravel crunching long before any vehicle reached us.'
There was nothing gentle about the way Mitch entered me. Maybe he didn't realise that guys don't get moist like girls do.
So - when he first started pushing inside me - it became a slow and rather painful progress. But he was a determined guy and his rock-hard cock was in no mood to be denied.
When he was finally balls-deep inside me, I hoped he might pause before beginning to fuck in earnest. But he didn't. Maybe blue balls need to be cured as fast as possible.
Mitch went into slam-fuck mode, somehow managing to ignore the lack of lube and the fierce protests of my ravaged ass.
He only paused once. I heard him mutter something angrily. And then he seemed to hammer at me even faster, using his eight-incher like an offensive weapon.
Suddenly, I began to feel intense pleasure. Suddenly, my ass was relaxed and enjoying every inch as Mitch bucked hard against me. Previously, he had studiously avoided holding me; he'd just clasped my shoulders to keep me still and to give him greater purchase.
Now he actually held my hips firmly. Presumably he no longer cared if this might be faggot-like. He had surrendered to the thrall of sensation.
With a few vicious final thrusts, I could tell that Mitch was about to explode. His breathing was ragged and he gave a few primal howls as the cum erupted from his dick. I envisaged his head thrown back as his jizz shot forward.
He slumped on top of me, pinning me tight against the hood of his sedan. He stayed there for quite a while as his cock dribbled its last few droplets. When he finally withdrew and stood upright, I turned around to look at him. He was examining his dick angrily.
Glancing down, I saw that only the retention ring and a few shreds of latex remained in place. Maybe that explained why things had suddenly gone smoother a while back.
'Useless fucking thing' Mitch growled. 'I hope you're clean, kid. If I get the clap I'll hunt you down and kill you.'
'You'll be fine' I assured him. 'I'm just a wholesome farm boy.'
He actually smiled at that point. As he peeled off the tattered condom, I sensed a grudging change in his attitude.
'Well, farm boy, you have one hell of a tight arse. I'm no faggot, but it felt sensational. I'll ask you again - how old are you, kid?'
I told him the truth.
'Shit' he exclaimed. 'I was thinking maybe sixteen or seventeen. We just broke the law, boy. How did you get to be so expert with another guy's dick?'
'Practise' I replied, 'but it's a long story. I don't want to bore you.
And, as for the law, I won't be saying anything. It's not like you're into little kids. If anything, it was me who did the seducing. OK?'
We put our pants back on and got back in the car. Mitch reached into his glove compartment again and produced a hip flask. He took a swig and offered me a taste too. I pretended to be familiar with booze and took a sip. It was like setting off a fire in my mouth.
I coughed and spluttered and could feel my cheeks burning. That made Mitch laugh. He was considerably less uptight than he was when I'd first propositioned him as we drove along the highway.
He seemed to be in no hurry to drive off, so we chatted for a while. Nowadays, I'm familiar with post-coital afterglow. Back then, I knew nothing of this phenomenon. Most of my encounters were fuck and go, with very little conversation.
'Still got blue balls?' I asked.
'Well' he replied, slowly rubbing the package between his thighs, 'I'm not sure. Maybe I need to lose another load just to be certain.'
I was a bit surprised by this. Here was a guy who'd been at pains to distance himself from what he viewed as "faggot" behaviour, and yet here he was suggesting a return bout.
I'd had sex with quite a number of straight guys - guys who'd been open to a little experimentation - but none of them had been so openly disdainful of gays. Maybe Mitch was someone who protested too much.
Anyway, I happily took over the task of tending to his needs. Once again I took his dick into my mouth while he lay back in his reclined seat.
My tongue found and savoured traces of jizz that still clung to his shaft. And then I savoured the taste of his pre-cum as it began to flow.
After a while, he lifted my head away. I looked up at him. He smiled and suggested we get out of the car again.
This time there was no condom. And this time my ass was already relaxed and lubricated. His jizz from our previous fuck was still inside me.
Mitch lasted longer than he had the first time. And he seemed to be relishing the process more. Sure, he still went at me like a mad thing for much of the time, but he also slowed down now and then. I think he was enjoying the long glide from tip to base as his cock smoothed its way in and out of me.
For my part, I thrilled to the sensation of having a really long dick inside me. I gratefully accepted every inch.
I felt both full and fulfilled. It was as though this was what I was born for - to be totally dominated by as much cock as possible; to be pushed to the max.
Just as he had the first time, Mitch howled at the skies when his load finally shot out of him. I was in ecstasy as his shaft quivered and spasmed inside me. I didn't feel each spurt but I was definitely aware of a warm pooling around the head of his dick.
This was like manna from Heaven. A big dick and a gutful of warm, creamy fluid. I wished it could have lasted forever.
Afterwards - when Mitch dropped me off further down the highway - I watched his vehicle speed off until it was a mere speck in the distance.
I smiled to myself, wondering whether he played the 'I'm no faggot game' all the time. I guess a girl's ass feels much the same as a boy's ass, but Mitch had displayed an expertise that hinted he was no stranger to guy-on-guy sex.
I have attempted to give you some idea of my sex life up until I left home. To some it may sound sordid, but - for me - my weekends away from home were the closest I ever came to feeling free and experiencing some semblance of happiness.
Finally, on one of my excursions beyond Plainsville, I met the love of my life. His name is Andrew. He's drop-dead handsome, with a beautiful body and by far the biggest dick I have ever encountered. He has the world's best set of low-hangers too.
But I am not completely shallow. His looks and his attachments are enough to turn anyone's head; but it is his personality, his kindness and his steadfast character that complete the deal for me. He is a thoroughly decent man. The whole enchilada.
So I no longer feel an urge to go roving at weekends. Andrew rescued me from a wretched existence and my life with him is wonderful. Not perfect, but definitely wonderful.