They sit on the tailgate of the ragged, rusted and battered blue Ford pick-up truck.
It belongs to Travis.
All of the hunters, who use this tract of land, recognize this heap of mechanized shit, as it is ugly, full of pocketed rust holes and a bad paint job and bellows smoke while it runs.
Their legs are spread, as wide as they can possibly make them, as they steadily stroke their glistening dicks in timed rhythm, with each other. Their bodies glisten in the morning sun, as they are drenched in its rays.
I feel my own cock stiffen in my own camo-gear, while I watch them from on high, in the permanent tree stand. I am nestled, hidden by a covering of large spaciously branched oaks; Jesse and Travis do not even know I am here, as I tower over them.
My red Chevrolet pick-up truck is stuck, in the mud, about a mile back, on the road, coming to the lodge; I decided to walk to meet them early this morning but when I got here, they were already gone.
I look at my watch.
It is 10:30 a.m.; the morning is rapidly disappearing as noontime fast approaches.
I found my own perch, on a long-used built deer-stand that overlooks the lodge and the clearing around it, and set about waiting for a deer.
There tracks on the wet ground tell me in which direction they have gone, where their stands were probably going to be or where they had placed them.
I made the decision to stay close to the river and the lodge.
I shot at a deer earlier, a large buck with its many pointed-racks of horns; as I was getting down to retrieve it, both of them, walked up, naked.
Their cocks, both hard, they were slapping about, as they walked into the clearing at the lodge from the woods, with their hunting clothes over one shoulder and their rifles, the other.
I decided to stay hidden, to see what they were up to, not letting them know I am watching, as it was quite a scene to see two spry young bucks prance, proudly, naked, into my sights from the forest.
I set my sights on them; my cock rose up in my pants as this wondrous sight.
Now where is my buck?
It probably sits, dying slowly, on the ground, off by the river or under some dense copse of trees, as I watch these two human-bucks stroke their own man-cocks on this warming Florida day.
I mutually jacked-off with my buds, too, as I was growing up in South Georgia woods, many teenage men did, and many still do.
We had to have some excuse to check out what the other guy had dangling between his legs, so we could compare our equipment and see how we measured up to the other males in the pack.
I found interest in one particular boy, who is now a man.
Travis and Jesse are lifelong friends and probably did the same thing as kids too. I did not go to school with them as I lived over the border in Georgia while they lived in Florida.
The tightness in my pants grows as I watch them both continue to play with their flesh-tools.
I unzip my fly and free my cock.
I drop the top of my Fruit-Of-The-Looms and plop my cock over the elastic waistband.
My cock stiffens upon its release from my tighty-whitey's.
As I look down at my equipment, sizing up my package, I hear a loud yell echo bellow out from down below, I recognize it as Travis' baritone voice.
I catch the last glimpse, as spurts erupt from his cock, as he shoots gobs of white man-juice onto his hairy-furred chest, as he has leaned back onto the bed of his truck, with his legs propped up, exposing his gloriously hairy hole, when he commenced shooting his load. He covers his muscle-defined furred chest and even shot his goateed face with his cum.
Some cum makes it into his wavy hair, as his cap, lies behind him in the truck bed, and onto the folds of his mouth, he licks the juice with his tongue, digesting it.
Jesse shoots his load, soon after, onto the ground, seeding in into the untilled soil behind the truck, on the 2-path white sanded-road.
He howls out, joyously, as he spills the glorious seed of his loins.
Each turn beet-red from their heightened pleasure, as their loads are expelled, and their heavy breathes abates from their labors.
I continue stroking my cock, nowhere near reaching my own explosive release, so I let it hang over my briefs, enjoying and reveling in my own blessed hardness.
They suddenly bolt from the rickety tailgate of the Ford, sprinting to the river's edge, and dive in, splashing, loudly, as they rinse the sweat and cum-soaked hairy bodies of the sticky man-fluids.
It is then; I decide to climb down from my hidden place and go see where my deer has landed.
I tuck my still-hard cock back into my pants, my bulge still apparent from the mound prominently displayed in my camos.
As I touch the wet Florida ground, I hear the splashing waters of the Apalachicola, far off in the distance, as Travis and Jesse play loudly in it, in their unbridled nakedness.
I ease my way down, creeping as quietly as I can, to where I last saw the buck when I shot at it.
As I trudge through the dense thicket of the low growth of pines and oaks, I hear the echoes of my two buds in the river, still frolicking like teenage school-boys.
I walk and walk, finding no sign of my dead buck in the thick copses of trees. Leaves and branches crunch under my boots, as the forest floor is blanketed with cast off oak leaves, pine straw, pinecones and Spanish moss.
Occasionally, I see drops of bright red blood, congealed, on pine and oak branches but no dead deer sprawled out anywhere, dying or dead.
A hawk squawks overhead, warning whatever prey it may be hunting. I do not see it but only hear it.
Perhaps, I just grazed him and did not pierce him with my bullet.
I look further, covering a wider area and backtracking where I once was, but still no sign of my dead buck.
The cold weather has not driven the snakes into hiding, either. It is still too soon for them to hibernate, hide from the approaching winter, so I am constantly scanning my feet as I walk the path, looking for any rattlesnakes that may be out and for any other snakes.
The splashing from the Apalachicola River has grown quiet, stopped.
The noise has ceased from the horseplay of Jesse and Travis.
It is upon this sudden stillness, that I decide to venture and make my way back to the lodge.
Maybe they are dressed now.
I have to go back as I need my truck pulled out of the mud on the road. So avoiding the guys is not possible. I need their help.
As I walk back to the lodge, I see the deer that I had attempted to shoot earlier, it was eating acorns under a large live oak, not a shot on it. I can count the points from where I stand; he is definitely the one I aimed at earlier. My aim was off, despite me thinking I had shot him. I guess the blood I saw was from something else.
It was gobbed up, congealed on a branch of oak leaves of a growing oak; maybe the other guys hit a deer and were not aware of it.
Once I walk into the clearing, around the house, I see the two of them, once again, sitting on Jesse's tailgate; sopping wet, they are eating cans of Vienna Sausages and packs of cheese sandwich crackers and they are still naked, as the day they were born.
I have the same cans of Vienna's tucked away in a side pocket of my hunting vest. It is a quick snack to hold back the hunger on a busy hunting day.
They see me walking up, as they nod at me at my approach.
Neither move nor try to shield their cocks from me.
"Hey man," Jesse says, "was that you we heard earlier?"
"Yeah, I guess," I say, "I have seen quite a few 'bucks' this morning. I guess those shots I heard were you, two, too, huh?"
They obviously do not get my meaning, as each grows excited at the mention of the word 'bucks'.
"So, how many have you seen?" Travis asks, as he lifts his leg then cups his sagging balls with his right hand from the tailgate, freeing them up for him to fondle.
I gaze at him as he does this; a slight wink comes from his left eye, as I see him do this.
I suspect it is intentional.
"I saw, three," I say, "I attempted to kill one and the other two, well, I am still looking at them, right now."
"You killed one?" Jesse says excitedly.
"Yeah," I say, "I attempted to, and I thought I had but once I got down from the stand, I could not find him."
"Where were you?" Travis asks.
I turn around and point to the stand that is towering over 20 plus feet above us, hidden in the branches of the large expansive limbs of the oak tree directly behind the lodge.
Jesse and Travis look at each other, obviously wondering if I witnessed their mutual jack-off session less than 30 minutes earlier when they got back to the lodge.
I say nothing, letting them ponder if I did see them or not.
Jesse's face grows a bright shade of red; his blood pressure has risen.
"You alright, man, "I say, "Your face is blood-red?"
"Yeah, yeah," Jesse stammers," I am okay. I guess I am tired."
"Hey, can one of y'all pull my truck out; I am stuck in a massive puddle further back on the road?"
"Sure," Travis says.
"Are you sure that your ole heap can manage it," I say as I jab at Travis about his pile of rusted bolts.
"Yeah, you best have Jesse do it," he says, "These bumpers are not exactly the most secure."
Travis gently taps the tailgate of his truck where he is still seated.
"I am not sure I would trust that heap, either, Travis," I say.
We all laugh at the state of disrepair of Travis' truck; it is a well-known fact that the piece of crap has been on its last legs for the longest time.
"I'll pull you out, "Jesse says, "I need to get home anyway. The wife will be expecting me, soon."
"Yep, that ole ball and chain, "Travis ribs him and reminds him that he has no such restraints.
"Appreciate it," I say, before the deed is even done.
They both stand from his tailgate.
Jesse slips on his pants, leaving his zipper unzipped, exposing his furred pubes. He leaves his shirt off, bare-chested, as he nears the cab of his truck.
He gets into the driver's side and cranks up.
Travis still stands, bare-assed naked, with his boots, socks and camouflaged baseball cap on his head, with the deer symbol in evergreen on the cap-front, unashamed of his outright nudity.
"You ain't leaving?" Jesse asks Travis as he cranks his truck and it rumbles to life.
"Naw, I'll leave in a bit," he says, "I am not in any hurry."
Jesse looks over at me, as I still standing next to the naked Travis. Travis strokes his cock as the water from the river evaporates off his haired physique. I am dressed, with my rifle thrown over my shoulder on its strap, and an impressive bulge, prominent, in my camo-pants.
"You comin' or not?" Jesse barks at me, perturbed, it seems.
"Yeah, yeah, "I say as I hurry to the passenger side of his truck and get in.
"I'll be back in a sec," I say aloud.
It is a statement said aloud, directed at Travis, but conveyed to all those around.
As we pull out of the clearing, which surrounds the lodge, nestled with high brown reed-like stalks and small pines and oaks, onto the road leading out of the lodge, I look into my side rearview mirror.
In it, I see Travis get back into the bed of his truck, lay down on his back, with his legs bent at the knees and his ass wide-open from his position, sunning him-self on this rapidly warming day. His hairy hole shines prominent, as he moons the horizon.
Jesse looks in the rearview mirror, as he drives away, nodding his head in amazement, at the spectacle that is Travis Leggett, with his assets readily on display for the both of us. As he leers into the mirror, he grabs his own exposed pubes, scratching himself and fondling his cock through the unzipped top of camo-pants.
He looks over at me, with his hand still tucked in his pants, rubbing his pubes and smiles.
I reach down to squeeze my sizable bulge in my pants; the strain of my encased member is painful. It wants to be freed.
I am rock hard.
We arrive at my stuck truck, the water having dissipated somewhat in the long hours since I first got on the scene earlier.
"I got a chain in the back, I think," Jesse says," you think you can hook it up?"
"Sure," I say.
Jesse maneuvers and backs up and gets into place.
I hook up the chain, under the front of the bumper, of my S-10 truck-body, and the other end to the rear of Jesse's truck.
I get inside the truck, behind the wheel and motion through the glass for Jesse to drive.
I am ready.
He pulls the chain taunt, and then pulls me out of the watery-muddy bog.
When we finish, he waves, at me, as he leaves, out of the rolled-down window of his truck, as he heads toward the cable that is the exit and entrance to this property.
He never zipped-up or pushed his equipment back into his pants, when last I saw him. He is still shirtless, his chest hair, covered in a light blanket of hair and a thin sheen of perspiration.
He heads in the opposite direction of me; I, on my way back to the lodge.
Jesse leaves in haste.
I pull into the brown overgrown yard; Travis is still sprawled out in the bed of his truck, legs still bent at the knees, his ass still openly presented to anyone, maybe even me. His camo-baseball-cap covers his eyes blocking out the bright rays of the almost-noon sun, high over our heads.
I slowly unbutton my camo-shirt, revealing my own thick matt of brown course hair, as I step out of my muddied truck. My treasure trail tickles in the breeze as it disappears into my own brand of underwear, my Fruit-Of-The-Looms.
A gentle breeze whips between our trucks; the wind causes Travis to jostle about, his hair having been stroked by Mother Nature.
He cock, stiffens, from the light gust.
I pull the shirt out of my pants and over my head, throwing it over the side of my truck.
I unbutton my pants, revealing the initialed 'FTL' on the bright white band of my tighty-whiteys; I reach in them, and gently tugging at my strained cock among the thick bushy pubes that cover my cock.
I plop down on the tailgate, next to Travis' naked ass and throw off my boots.
He raises his head to see what I am doing than lays back down again, not bothered by my undressing.
I stand again, yanking down my pants and briefs, simultaneously, and kick them to the ground. I bend and pick them up.
"That's a nice ass, you got their preacher," Travis says to me as he cites my wee brown anal-eye.
"Shhhh, Travis," I say.
"Everyone knows you are a pastor, Poulan," Travis says," but not everyone knows you like cock...in your ass, like me."
"Damn it, Travis," I say, "enough with your shit."
"Are you afraid that the deacon board at Open Arms Fellowship Church is going to find out that you like opening your legs to any Tom, Dick or Harry's cock that you can take up your ass, Pastor Rick?" Travis drills me about my church and them finding out my deep dark secret.
"Travis, shut the fuck up about my church," I yell back at him, angered," what I do is my business."
"Unless it is something that your congregation doesn't agree with," he says, "then it is a problem, buncha damn hypocrites. Yours is a religion full of damn contradictions and hypocrisy."
"Enough, Travis, lay off," I am angry and growing angrier the more he talks.
I glance around, scanning the woods and looking high in the trees.
I am paranoid.
"Calm down, dude," Travis says," no one is here."
"Are you sure," I say, "you and Jesse would not aware of me when I saw both of you stroking your cocks when I was up in the deer stand."
"So you saw us?"
"I did, I couldn't help myself," I say," two beautiful cock exploding their cream all over themselves, it was wonderful."
"It was," Travis says, "you want your cock sucked?"
"If you want to, bud," I say.
"Of course, I do, I need to be baptized in preacher spunk," he says.
"I can do that," I say.
My cock stiffens at the thought of Travis going down on my pole with his hot mouth.