We trudge through the woods, covered in towering longleaf and loblolly pines, shrub oaks and various others, too, along with palms, on an old truck trail. On this 2-path white sandy road, we cross over puddles and ditches full of water, making our way, due north from the hunting lodge situated on the Apalachicola River, to our individual places of hunting.

The Florida backwoods are quiet in these wee early morning hours. Spanish moss hangs lazily from the ancient oak trees, casting an ethereal eerie glow about us; the path is dotted with pinecones of various sizes, while we walk deeper into these woods, toward our eventual destination.

Firebreaks crisscross this 2-path white sandy road, as forest fires, are a common threat here in the summer, from the frequent lightning strikes when storms arise and with the many lazy landowners who carelessly ignite unattended fires when they do their 'supposed' controlled burnings.

A sensation shoots through my being, an instant 'electrical' charge.

I am warm, as the coffee has hit the spot.

Jesse follows close behind me, clad, much as I am, in the dress of a modern American hunter, with his rifle strapped firmly over his shoulder, as we make our way to the deer stands that we set-up, late yesterday afternoon, when we arrived at the hunting lodge, before a rainstorm, popped up, unexpectedly.

Now is our time to 'bag a buck' and re-claim our southern heritage as men for another season. This annual rite is played out across the South and in other parts of the good ole U.S. of A. too.

Before we get to the stands, I am overtaken with the overwhelming urge to piss, that unexpected 'sensation' resurfaces, nature tells me I need to relieve myself of my liquid burden, the need has kicked in like some wild animal.

"I gotta take another piss, Jesse," I say, "Give me a minute?"

I sling my rifle on its strap, the barrel, away from me, as I unzip my camo pants and fish deep into my pants for my cramped and flaccid cock, as it is nestled in the furry confines of my pubes.

I yank my tool out and take the much-needed whiz.

Steam rises from my hot liquid as it mixes with the cold autumn air on this North Florida morning, just as it did from the piss out the lodge door earlier.

As I pee against an ancient and withered oak, a pesky raccoon darts from its hiding place, behind it, causing me to jump and gasp out in surprise at the unforeseen visitor, which alarmed me.

Jesse laughs at my sudden shock.

I give him 'the finger.'

I poke my cock back in after my piss, giving it a strong and hearty tug, before it goes into my pants and is zipped up, secure, but first I take a quick whiff of my own musky-maleness, on my hands, as the transference of my odors from my sweaty nuts excite me, reeking of my masculinity.

"I guess the coffee kicked in, "I say, "sorry 'bout that, brother."

"No problem, hopefully the deer will not catch a whiff of your piss-scent," Jesse says, "I would hate for it to spoil our hunt, this morning."

We march on through the woods, seeing the beauty of an unspoiled forest; it has not been 'clear cut' for timber, of its pines and hardwoods. The Timber Barons of North Florida have been denied this little piece of paradise for decades. It is an unspoiled untouched tract of protected land, which will remain protected for future generations.

As we find our way to our individual stands, the temporary ladder-like structures, resting on whatever strong trees that can support our weight, the woods become alive with the movements of its furred critters.

I get to mine, first, Jesse keeps walking, a bit, his, a few hundred feet beyond mine, we are within talking distance from each other, up in our stands, 20 feet up in the air. Our conversation will carry on while the activity below us commences, as we wait, patiently for a deer to appear, those many feet below us.

It is long moments of silence as we sit on our stands.




Dew rises from the ground as we wait, patiently. It is cool, this autumn morning, I am glad that I am not wearing any underwear, as I feel my balls and cock begin to sweat and twitch but I am not one to wear any, anyway, even when I am hunting. The anxiety of bagging a buck has fueled my adrenaline, causing my pores to break out in sweat; I want to shoot one, this first day of hunting season.

A 'possum and two of her babies, wander behind her, as we wait in the deer stand.

She is completely unaware that humans are roosting many feet above her as the leaves crunch under the weight of her and her brood, scurrying towards an unknown destination.

As we sit in the silence.

The quiet.

Acorns and pinecones, fall from their respective trees, breaking through the quiet stillness, hitting, the carpet of decaying leaves, pine straw, making popping sounds as gravity brings them down to the earth, in their final resting place.

In this quiet, I drift off, daydream, for a moment and think of him, my married lover.

I introduced 'going commando' to him, my brother-in-law; he married my sister, a few years back. His bachelor party was a joyous riot of unadulterated passion, he explored, we explored, some things the night of his 'ball and chain party' the night before, we even had a shared tryst, an hour before he marched down the church aisle and said 'I do.'

It was wonderful; it still is, as we have continued our 'relationship' on a regular basis at various locations and at various times, even here at the lodge.

A voice.

"Travis...Travis," a whisper breaks the stillness of the foggy morning, high above the ground.

I am lost in my daydreams of Sean.

"Travis...Travis," another whispered mention of my name, "Travis...Travis."

The whispers have grown louder, breaking through the harsh quiet of the morn.

It is Jesse.

It has brought me out of my daydream-stupor.

"Yeah," I answer back, quietly.

"Look to your right," Jesse says.

I do as he says, to see what he is bringing to my attention.

In the clearing, there is a large buck and a yearling; they are walking, unaware of us as we are perched high above them. They are standing in the high grass of the open meadow, hidden among the high brown reeds that dot the landscape. They stop and gaze about, surveying the area, the buck lifts his nose, sniffing the air, a cloud of vapor escapes from its flared nostrils as it smells the early morning air.

I reach for my rifle but Jesse, already has his already in place, aiming, ready to fire.

I click my rifle, readying it, as I do; the buck hears the barely audible sound and bolts like lightning from the wide-open space of the overgrown brown-blanketed meadow.

Jesse fires off a shot before I attempt but it misses, sailing through the air, piercing the morning with a roaring sound as it tears through the light fog.

The white tail of the deer, flaps, waves, at us, as he and the yearling depart in haste from the scene at a stealth-like gallop.

"DAMN!" Jesse cries out at his failed attempt.

"Calm down, man," I say, "more will come up, they always do."

"I just wanted to get the first buck of the season," he says, "I wanted to get one before you do. You got one first, last season, I want to be the one to bag one this season before you."

"You will," I say, "if not, it will be what it will be."

"I know, I know," Jesse says.

We get quiet again.

A doe walks through the clearing, it is alone, walking undeterred by its loneliness, with a single-mindedness, to eat, maybe it is following the previous two.

Who knows?

I point erratically, like a crazed man, at the lone doe as it walks through the high grass.

Jesse nods his head, 'no,' he has no interest in this one.

He wants something bigger.

I nod, 'okay,' I understand, he wants the 'man' of the species, the full rack of horns in its entire splendor.

Times passes slowly, almost to a standstill, as we roost on our camouflaged perches high above the horizon, still waiting.

The hours tick away as the sun rises in the east.

"Now, I have to take a piss," Jesse says, "I can't hold it, any more, myself."

"Did you bring your gallon milk jug?" I ask.

"No," he says, "you know I didn't."

"You know if you take a piss, we are fucked, royally screwed," I say, "The deer will not come anywhere near us, today."

"I know," he says, "but I hafta go...bad."

He sits back down on his stand but he is struggling, rocking back and forth, as his bladder is full and his brain is telling him, to empty it, to take his dick out and relieve the stain on his necessary parts but that is his quandary.

"Man, I'm not sure I am going to be able to manage this," he says, "I am about to bust a gut."

"See if you can hold off a bit longer," I say.

I do not think we are going to see any more deer, it is getting late, we have had two opportunities this morning and we blew both of them.

I am just enjoying seeing Jesse squirm.

It is funny.

"Man, I can't hold off any more, I have to piss," Jesse says as he stands and unzips the fly of his camo pants.

He pulls down the zipper, slowly, fishes about, inside his sweaty pants for his tool.

Once he finds his 'treasure' nestled among his thick Florida-Boy fur, he pokes it through the fly and a yellow stream of man-fluid arches from his body hitting the ground 20 feet below him onto the already dew covered ground.

His male dew mixes with natures own on this cool frosting morn.

The warm liquid and the cool air create a fog as it escapes from his warm body; it is still cool enough to produce the vapor.

"Ahhh," Jesse says as his continues his stream.

"Sounds like you are enjoying your piss after a good long fuck," I say.

"Ahhh," escapes from his lips again as this piss has reached the 30 second mark.

"Damn, man, you did have to go," I say.

Finally, he finishes and shakes off his limp wiener, where I can see it. He gives himself a gentle stroke as he finishes. He looks at me, while he does it, to see if I notice the attention, he has paid to his manhood.

I nod but say nothing at the gentle glide of his hand upon his growing cock.

"Now, I have to go," I say.

I do not really but I do not want to waste an opportunity to stroke myself in front of him, to show off, show my exhibitionist side of my personality.

Jesse still has his cock out, letting himself, breathe, letting his cock get some much-needed air.

I yank my cock, out of it camo-confines, overtaken by my own thick pubes and let the urine stream in an identical arch, much the same way, Jesse's had done, seconds earlier.

I feel the same relief as any man feels when that damned pressure is 'let go' from the bladder, unlike Jesse, I do not sigh loudly at the release, although I have countless times.

I finish and wave my cock, proudly, shaking the last drops of piss-dew from my own dipstick.

I do not rush to shove my manhood back into my trousers, either, I let the cool morning air envelope my exposed cock and balls.

"This feels so good," I say, "freed balls and cock in the early morning air."

The day has begun to warm up, where it was once cool; the temperature has risen to near 60 degrees Fahrenheit.

I am comfortable but getting hotter as the minutes, tick away.

In the distance, we hear a rifle shot.

It ricochets through the woods.

"Did you hear that?" I say.

"Yeah," he says, "it sounded far off though."

We do not tuck our cocks back into our pants, right away; we leave ourselves exposed to the elements a few moments more.

The hunting is over; the piss by the both of us was the closing out of today's hunting expedition.

It is now, 9:45 a.m. as I look down at my watch.

"Wanna go back to the lodge, Jesse?" I ask.

"Sure," he says.

We both tuck our cocks back into our pants. I do not bother to zip mine up; I just fasten them so I can get down off the high perch.

We make our way down our stands.

"Well, that was a bust," Jesse says irritated.

"It is what it is, man," I say, "there will be other days, deer season just started. We'll be back out in the next few days."

"I know but I had hopes of shooting one this morning," he says.

"But you didn't," I say, "no sense crying over it. Just enjoy this morning, I am."

I begin unbuttoning my shirt and pulling it off, then my tee shirt, over my head.

"Whatcha doin' Travis?" Jesse asks.

"Getting' naked," I say, "we are the only ones out here, might as well, relax."

"What 'bout that other guy," he says, "that other gunshot we heard."

"So the fuck, what," I say, "He has a cock, nothing he hasn't seen before."

I kick my boots off, slide my camo-pants down my legs, and then I put my boots back on.

"Damn, that feels better," I say, as I throw my pants, shirt and t-shirt over my left shoulder.

I fondle my cock as it is freed from my clothing. The slight morning coolness hardens both of my nipples. I reach and tweak them with my strong hairy fingers, feeling them grow even harder in the air. My cock reacts to the stimulation too and begins to stiffen up because of the nipple play.

"You gonna get naked, brother," I say to Jesse, not my real brother, but my comrade in southern maleness.

He does not answer me but continues to leer at me as I walk, with my clothes thrown over one shoulder and the rifle strapped over the other.

"So what's it gonna be?" I say, as I look over at him, "you gonna free that cock, trapped in your pants or not. It wants out, I know it and you know it too."

He does not answer me as I poke and prod him, trying to get him to strip down on this warming autumn morning.

"What the fuck, you jacked your cock last night on the couch," I say, "I saw you shoot your load all over your damned stomach and rub into to your pubes and chest. What difference does it make if I see you now, if anyone sees you now?"

He says nothing.

"You know the shit that happens out here at the lodge; the guys bring their girlfriends out here to fuck, hiding what they do from their wives. Hell, you bring Patricia Moore out here, to fuck, all the time, behind her husband's back," I fire back at Jesse, "you, do it behind Marie's back."

He stops and looks at me when I make this comment.

"Who the fuck told you that?" Jesse fires a volley of harsh words back at me.

"No one," I say, "I saw you, with her, fucking out by the river at few weeks back. I watched you plow that twat for over an hour and shoot you're cum up into her pussy."

He says nothing.

"I saw Sean, fuck you, your brother-in-law, too," he says," The guy has fucked your ass a lot."

"Yes, he has, "I say, "you wanna join us?"

Jesse says nothing, as he has said very little in the past few hours, and even last night but when he does, he blasts me with this crap.

I am not trying to hide what I do; I am not bothered by what I do or who I do.

"Are you bothered by who fucks me, Jesse?" I ask him.

He looks, expressionless, at me, still mum, with his head, lowered as though he is ashamed or is it something else.

"Do you want to fuck me, Jesse?" I ask.

He still does not respond.

The puzzled look is still plastered all over his face.

He stops; cold in his tracks, still having not answered me.

Jesse takes his strapped rifle off his shoulder, lays it against a dogwood tree, just off the path we are walking on.

Then he stands back up.

Without warning, he starts unbuttoning his own button-down camo shirt, pulling it out of his pants, loosening it from around his waist. He throws the shirt to the ground, not caring about it. He has no t-shirt on underneath. His pits are heavily sweated, I smell him, as his lifts his arms to remove the shirt. From where I stand, the cum, he unloaded from his cock and smeared across his chest and pubes, reeks loudly from the growing morning temperatures, as it is a mixture of it and his own sweat.

His natural juiced-smell permeates from his body, overwhelming the air around us.

It is intense and powerful in its odor.

"Whatcha doin' man?" I ask.

"What the fuck does it look like I am doin', Travis?" he answers, tersely.

I did not expect such a response as this or the striptease but, hell, I do not care.

He kicks off his boots and yanks down his camo pants, revealing a rapidly growing cock in his underwear-less groin.

Once the pants are off, he stands for a moment, in the sandy-sparsely grassed trail in his hunting socks on the wet earth and smiles.

He just smiles and says nothing, reveling in his own nudity in front of me.

He knows I am watching him intently and he likes it, male ego is fascinating that way, adulation and attention, when one wants it because of no other reason than 'just because.'

He reaches between his legs and strokes his cock, in the wildness of nature.

He smiles at me, as he fondles his erection to life. Never really answering any of my questions as his cock steadily grows hard in front of me as we stand in the clearing on the trail leaving our deer stands behind us.

My own cock begins to react to the visual performance in front of me by Jesse, and begins to harden.

He bends to pick up his gear, his hairy balls, drop between his legs, they move about, adjusting to the cool air, which is steadily warming up as the morning works its way towards noon.

Like me, he places his clothes over one shoulder and the rifle, strapped, over the other.

"What you waitin' for," he says, "let's go."

I am puzzled for a moment and just stay in my spot, the same spot I stayed in while he undressed and stroked his male-equipment.

"You comin' along shithead or are you just gonna gawk, "he says, "Let's get a move on."

We walk along the dense trail, our cocks flopping back and forth against our bare thighs, as each of us, are hard, as we carry our burdens, clothes and rifles. We say nothing as we walk, just a quiet stillness between us as we make our way back to the hunting lodge.

The flesh sounds of slapping man-meat on our thighs echo through the woods.

Once back, I put my rifle into my battered blue Ford pick-up, on the gun rack. As does Jesse, he puts his rifle in his Toyota.

We throw our clothes into our truck beds.

We have said nothing about what each of us has said to the other, a half hour earlier.

Our cocks, both rock-hard, jet out prominently from haired pubes, leaking the natural man-juice from both of them.

I decide to break the silence.

"So do you want to fuck me, Jesse?" I say, "You can, I will let you, I want you too."

Jesse looks at me.

"Travis, I don't want to fuck you or have you fuck me," he says, "nor do I want to do anything with you and your brother-in-law, I have no fucking interest in doing anything of the sort with you or any guy."

"Oh," I say, stunned.

"I do not mind being naked around you," he says, "heck; we have seen each other naked since we played football and baseball together in high school. I have seen your cock so hard many times, I do not care or are even phased by it."

"Oh," I say.

"Plus, we jacked off together as teens," he says, "so I have seen you shoot your loads, a plenty."

I say, "Oh," again.

Now I am speechless.

Overhead, a buzzard circles us as we stand in the clearing near our trucks, eyeing some unforeseen carcass, or perhaps signaling the end of a lifelong friendship.

"I would not mind jacking-off now," he says, "heck, it was one of my best teenage memories, I have, stroking our cocks together, as we grew up, experiencing mutual masturbation, together."

I listen to him more.

"When I first fucked my girlfriend and when you pretended and said you had fucked a girl, "he says, "I knew different. I knew you did not like girls. You were too busy watching me and the other guys in the locker-room."

He continues.

"I did not care, I still do not care," he says, "you are my best friend; you have always been my best friend. Who you fuck, is your business, Travis."

I am relieved. He knew all along and does not care.

"So you wanna stroke out a load, now, like old times?" he says, "then take a dip in the Apalachicola, while we can, before winter sets in?"

I nod.

He nods.

We proceed to stroke our still hard wangs as we sit on the tailgate of my Ford truck as the sun beats heavily upon us, heating us, even more, with our fiery man-sticks between our legs.



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