"Are you sure it's okay that I come home with you, overnight? Your mom, okay with it?" I say as the wind whips through the open windows of the Pensacola-bound Mustang.
He smiles, broadly, as he often does while we drive on this early Saturday afternoon, with the sun, high in the sky.
"This car was a gift, brother?" I ask, envious of my friend's good fortune, happy for him, slapping the polished dashboard in front of me, as I sit, opposite of him, on the passenger side, "Damn! This is a nice ride."
"Yeah, dad let me pick the one I wanted, and here you are," he smiles at me with his toothy grin, as he wipes his hand across the open space of the front seats, like some 1970s game show hostess.
He is my college roommate, as we travel west on I-10 from Tallahassee to Pensacola, to his home. We are shirtless, in loose basketball shorts, enjoying the warm Florida breeze.
Gavin is the same age as me, twenty-two, two months older, though. We met, our first year in Tallahassee; we were assigned to the same dorm room and became fast friends. Our sophomore year we moved into a condominium, north of town, in Killearn, all courtesy of his dad. They will not even let me pay rent or utilities, they insist, I pay nothing. He is muscular dude, Gavin, not overly developed, mind you, just a defined pronounced chest, which he keeps shaved smooth, 6-pak washboard abs that any man at any age would die to possess, with a nice treasure trail that creeps, then, disappears into the waistband of his Champion-labeled basketball shorts. He looks like the stereotypical California surfer guy, except he is a Gulf Coaster.
"This is the first time you ever been home with me, right, Buck?" Gavin asks me as he looks over at me, with another broad smile, which is slowly creeping across his light blonde features.
"Yeah," I say, "you have asked me, before, but I was always working and could never get-off."
I had been accepted to school but survived only by college scholarships and working nearly full-time at a job, which keeps me physically and emotionally, wore out.
I rarely have time for fun, so when I do have a chance to have some and leave Tally, I take it.
"You are going to have a good time, I am gonna bust my balls to make sure you do," Gavin says, "You work too hard, man."
I would love to have his busted balls spewed all over me, it has been a dream-fueled desire, since I first saw them.
"I will, man, I promise, I will have a good time," I say back to him, "you are fortunate, man, it couldn't happen to a better friend."
"I am fortunate," Gavin says, "I know it."
"You are one lucky son-of-a-bitch," I pipe back to him in my usual playful tone, he knows I mean nothing derogatory towards him or his parents.
"I suppose I am," he says, "I gotta take a piss. Do you?"
"I'll stop at the next rest stop," he says.
We drive a bit before one comes into view.
"Finally, I knew one was getting' close," Gavin sighs as he grips his package before making a fast right turn into the pullover.
He finds an empty parking stall, parks the car, as he hastily bounds for the roadside restroom.
"Hey man, I gotta go, fucking bad," Gavin says as he opens the door and bolts like human-lightning.
He slams the door, leaving me sitting there, by myself, by my lonesome.
"Awright, man, go, go," I yell as he runs down the cement walkway, "I am right behind you."
His ass fills out his basketball shorts, the fabric is pressed tight, hugging him and his firm round ass, perfectly. His many hours in the college gym have done him well, quite well.
The restroom is typical of those littered across the good ole U.S. of A. The urinals line one wall, the seated toilet stalls, further away.
The air reeks of disinfectant and man-piss.
Gavin still stands at a urinal when I enter. The sound of his forceful stream of piss hitting the back of the white enamel bowl contraption reverberates throughout the room. His shorts are slipping as he struggles to keep them from falling off his hips, revealing his shapely ass. His swimmers jockstrap peeks under the blue of his clothing. He finishes his rushed important business, shaking the yellow dewdrops from his man-pole. His gestures are exaggerated, taunting me by his revealed manhood.
I stand next to him, lowering the elasticized waistband of my shorts before yanking out my cock to relieve myself of my own liquid burden.
I casually glance over at his manhood, even in its flaccidness, he is quite impressive.
His pubes are trimmed, more like manicured, a professional job, no less, instead of a guy with a razor and a mirror, like I do, on occasion.
He strokes his limp cock, it grows somewhat, but not to its full 10-inches, before he tucks it back in his jockstrap and blue shorts. He just wanted to feel himself, I suspect.
I have seen him naked many times, so the sight of his swelling cock is not a surprise for me. It is what I have wanted, no; I have needed, for a long time.
I lust for him.
It is a game; we have played with each other, since I had inadvertently stumbled upon him, one night, in our dorm room, in the midst of one of his many hot heated fucks. He was gloriously pounding the tight pussy of one of our fellow female freshmen. The yells, the screams of the girl's pleasuring were heard echoing up and down the dorm corridors. He is known for his prowess in bed among the female student body. He established this early on when he visited the campus for orientation and sampled the twat that made themselves available to him.
"Yeah," Gavin answers me, as he fondles his packaged goods, "I'll see you outside."
He yanks his jock back up, covering his God-given assets.
He walks out the bathroom, not bothering to wash his hands.
I finally go after being 'piss-shy' around him. I am not one of those people that can piss readily in the company of other men. It is not because I feel inadequate because of my cock-size, I am more than graciously endowed. I am much bigger than most men, except Gavin. I do not know why I have such a difficult time around him, he may be the lust I have for him that keeps me at bay.
A man walks in, a blue-collar type, a slight beard on his face, just like my dad, and takes a spot next to me as I finally unleash the urine from my pent-up bladder. His boots are scuffed, his Levi's battered and worn, some ripped holes dot them. I see his muscles, naturally formed by hard work under his dirty white tee and ball cap, which is so typical of the men I grew up around, all men seem to wear them throughout the region. His cap is from a well-known plumbing company, J&S, in Tallahassee, his tee shirt has the same emblem emblazed upon it.
He stands next to me, nodding his head, smiling, and then glancing down at my exposed cock while he rakes his hand through the light beard on his masculine face.
I nod back, saying nothing from his gesture as I look upon his handsomely scruffily bearded face. I am instantly reminded of Bradley Copper, a la 'The A-Team' movie, only this man has a much darker complexion but the same amazing physique. He is reminiscent, of a well-known country star, too, but better looking.
He smiles at me, again.
I look at him and return my own coy-smile.
He unbuttons his well-worn jeans, lifting his tee, slightly, exposing a thickly furred treasure trail, pulling down the elastic waistband of his cheap white cotton briefs, revealing an equally impressive thick fur-covered tool.
He exhibits a fiercely magnificent piece of man-equipment between his legs.
I catch myself, gulping, as I see it, aloud.
A 10-incher, maybe closer to 11, if my guess-timation is correct, an inch longer than my own piece, I believe.
It is beautiful.
I am envious and catch myself longing for it, instantly.
"Uhh, Nice!" I utter aloud before I realize that I have actually voiced my approval of his cock, where he could hear it.
Men do not do that, openly, not where I'm from or anywhere, that I know.
He smiles at me.
He starts his own stream of piss, while I finish up. I do not rush to tuck my equipment back into my shorts, as I too want to show off my wares to this enticing plumber.
"You go to school in Tallahassee?" he asks me, out of the blue.
We talk while both grasping our cock, not something most men do while at a urinal, either.
"You play ball?" he says, while he strokes his hand over his cock, as he pisses, "You look like a ball player with those muscles and those broad-shoulders."
"No," I answer, while I stroke my cock, in front of him," I am a working student, I did play in high school, though."
"Well, if you are ever in need of a plumber," he says, as his hand travels along the length of his cock, "call me, please."
He puts a business card into the side pocket of my flimsy shorts, the same hand he used to stroke his cock. Sliding his calloused hand over the curvature of my shapely ass, letting his fingers graze themselves dangerously close to my visible pubic hairs, as he casually places the card and withdraws his hand, quickly, before someone walks in and catches his adventurous romp.
"A real stud, who 'goes commando', I like it," He says, once he removes his travelling hand from my buttocks.
I smile at the realization by him of my underwear-less body.
My cock pulses at the thought.
"You've gotta nice piece between those legs of yours, son," he says, "You should be proud. If you make it down to Orange Beach, this weekend, look for my truck at the Seaside Condominium. I will make a spot for you, in my bed. If you don't, you have my card, contact me."
"You better leave before your friend rushes in here," he says, "I've been behind y'all ever since you left the capitol. It's a nice ride you got there."
"Rich kid, uhh?" he asks.
"You. Not so much? I take it."
"No," I answer.
I tug my cock, again, feeling it swell a bit more from my ongoing exhibitionism to this hot blue-collared lightly bearded stud. I want him to see me slightly stiff, anyway.
"I would swallow that thing of yours in a heartbeat," he says, as if he had read my thoughts, "but we do not have the time and this is not the place."
He gently strokes the impressive length of his cock, fingering the cockhead ever so gently as the last vestiges of his piss ceases. His hand then grasps and tightly grips his girthy-sized manhood, one last time.
I catch myself slobbering profusely from what I see dangling between his spread legs.
I pull up the elastic of my shorts over my full-grown cock and exit, feeling the business card slide in my side pocket. I want to look but I do not want to seem, anxious. I do look back at him though as I leave the rest stop bathroom.
He rough, tough, manly exterior is what I grew up with, am sexually attracted to and what seems to want me, when it wants me.
He smiles at me, once again.
The tented rise of my shorts reveals the barely concealed equipment inside.
Another man hurries by me, as I turn the corner and hit the warm Florida sunshine.
"Excuse me," the stranger says as we gaze each other, he sees the erection visible in my shorts.
He smiles at me, too. Once he sees the obvious tent in my loose flimsy shorts.
Gavin is standing by the car as I make my way back to the parking lot. The stranger, the man from the restroom, the plumber's company truck is parked two spaces down from where he stands.
He sees the prominent pronounced bulge in my shorts, as his eyes flare-up from the recognition but he says nothing about the cock-tent.
He smiles, he always smiles in the devilish way he does.
"About time," Gavin says, "I thought you had drowned in the toilet."
"C'mon," he says.
The driveway to Gavin parent's home is winding and scenic, once you get through the computer-accessed gate, it overlooks the Gulf, from its high perch, up from the main road.
We park at the garage, next to a slick shiny black Mercedes-Benz, at the back of the house, next to what I surmise, may be the guest cottage.
"This is home," Gavin says with pride and a smile.
Did I mention, he is a braggart?
The road to this palatial home from the interstate was beautiful as it followed the Intercoastal north to the I-10 exit.
"This must have cost quite a penny," I say, "What does your dad do, again?"
Several of my parent's own ranch-style house could fit inside this McMansion.
I am jealous, not really, well, yes, I am. I admit.
"He is a lawyer, a good one," Gavin says, "...and he has published a few crime novels."
"Like John Grisham?"
"My dad is a good writer but he is no Grisham," he says, "he uses a pseudonym for his writing, he goes by the name of Guyton Wright."
"Oh," I say.
"So I am no Grisham, uhh," a man's deep bass voice is heard from behind me as Gavin opens the Mustang's trunk to get out our bags.
A man, clad in expensive grey business slacks, a starched white button-up and a red tie, greets me, with his coat thrown, casually over one shoulder. He is fit, built like his son with a swimmer's built and just crossing over the threshold into his mid-40s. He is clean-shaven, smelling of a subtle dose of cologne. He is the opposite of his son's lightness. He is dark, suave and quite desirable; he emanates power from his looks and strong presence.
"You must be Buck?"
Mr. Poole's eyes survey me from stem-to-stern, paying special attention to the still prominent bulge in my loose flimsy shorts. I should have worn some underwear before I met him but I do not own any. I have not worn any since my junior year in high school.
I extend my hand to shake this smartly attired man's hand with a formalized greeting.
"I am Ari Poole, Gavin's dad," the man introduces himself to me.
"Yes, sir, I am Buck Campbell," I say as I firmly grip the attorney's hand and stammer like an imbecile moron, "it's a pleasure to meet you, sir, Mr. Poole."
I feel ill-at-ease in my partial nudity, with my bare-chest, loose underwear-less basketball shorts and my flip-flopped feet. His firm handshake makes me painfully aware that this man does not play.
He is serious.
"Likewise, Buck, it's nice to meet you, too, son," he says to me, "Gavin said you played football, you surely are built, uh, strong."
"Uhh, thank you, sir," I stammer, "I played football. No more though."
"You know I am kiddin' right, dad," Gavin interjects as he hugs his dad's neck, "you know that, doncha?"
"Quite with the damned slang, Gavin, annunciate you're damned words, use them correctly, if you ever want to be taken seriously, as a man."
They part from the embrace, tense.
Gavin looks at his dad, his dad returns with the same glaring look.
"Where's mom?" Gavin asks.
"I am taking her to the airport," Mr. Poole says, "she is flying to your grandmother's in Miami."
"Is Mema, okay?" Gavin says with noticeable concern in his voice.
"She's fine, just another one of her big dinner parties, Sunday night. She wants your mom in attendance," he explains, "she'll be back, Tuesday but you'll be back at school by then."
Gavin's mom walks from the house pulling an expensive piece of luggage, on wheels, behide her by the handle.
The woman is beautiful. Gavin obviously received his blonde locks and emerald-bluish eyes from her, the woman could have been a model in her younger years, even now in her maternal years, she could be on the runway.
I stammer, like a school-kid, as I gaze upon her beauty.
"Uhhh, uhhh, it's nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Poole," I say as I gently cup her hand in mine and shake it.
"Its Angela, you are quite handsome and impressive, Buck, "his mom says to me as I slobber over her splendor, "...and strong..."
I see her eyes travel the length of exposed naked flesh, pausing, too, when she sees the pronounced outline of my cock. Unconsciously, she appears to lick her lips.
She winks at me in my slightly aroused erect state.
"Thank you, m'am."
"...and mannered too, "she says, "a real southern gentleman."
I feel myself blushing or maybe it is from the intense heat or maybe, the embarrassment from my partial erection, I am not sure.
"I hate to run but duty calls," she says as she looks down at her watch.
"Let me have that Mrs. Poole, Angela," I say as I place the luggage in the opened trunk of the black Mercedes-Benz, where Mr. Poole is sitting, patiently, in the driver's seat.
"Have a good visit, boys," she says, "I had Eloise make up the guest house for you two, we really have to go, Ari."
"Who's Eloise?" I ask, Gavin as I look over at him.
"She our housekeeper," Gavin says to me.
"Awright, honey, we need to be on our way or you will be late for your flight," Gavin's father happily answers his stunning beautiful wife with a cheesy Cheshire smile, "I will see you two, later. Have fun, boys."
"Awright, dad," Gavin sighs, the anxiety between the two seems stifled, for now, maybe not, who knows.
Mr. Poole gives his son another one of his leering glances, there is obviously some animosity between father and son.
"It was a pleasure to meet you, two," I say to Gavin's rather attractive parents.
Mr. Poole does the two-fingered salute on his forehead as he backs up and pulls down the driveway, disappearing from sight.
"Well, bud, it seems we have this big ole house to ourselves," Gavin says as he grabs me by my head and rakes his strong hands through my windblown swept hair, "whatcha wanna do. Get drunk?"
"Naw, it's too damn hot."
He walks through the metal swinging fence that separates the house and the pool from the main area of the driveway.
"We can take a swim," he yells out to me as he slings our bags on the concrete, while kicking off his Nike flip-flops. He grabs each corner of his flimsy shorts, forcefully pulling them down, diving into the pool in his jockstrap. His bare white ass shines bright against the backdrop of the blue-hued painted pool.
"C'mon, Bucko, dive in, this here cement pond," he says 'hick-like', "cool those old rickety bones of yours.'
This is what my daddy calls 'high cotton' people with money, reminiscent of those plantation days of times past. I descend from a family of sharecroppers and those less than educated people, the walking illiterates. My dad's dad only had a third grade education, he lead a life of functionally hiding his 'lack of' education. He fooled me for years until I went off school, it was then he sat me down and told me how happy he was I was receiving such a fine education. He preferred I get a 'skilled labor' job but I have my own dreams. I still do.
I drop my shorts, kick off my sandals and dive into the pool, bare as the day I entered the world, twenty-two years ago.
The water is cool and refreshing as it hits my sweaty naked flesh.
"Ahh, this feels so fucking good," Gavin yells out to me from the other end of the pool.
He wiggles in the water, removing his water-soaked jockstrap from his young lithe muscled body and throws it to the pool's rim.
"Now that feels much better, glad to have these ole boys free," Gavin says as he fondles his trimmed balled package under the water's surface.
He dives beneath the surface, revealing a taunt and muscular ass to the awaiting world, the world being me, at the present. I am more than happy to see his goods. I have just not been fortunate enough to sample him, though, considering he is straight as a board with no inclinations for anyone of the same gender to share his bed.
"So we do not have to worry about being spied on, do we, while we swim, naked, do we?"
"Nope, no worries about being seen," he answers, "I fucked so many girls out here, no one ever saw me."
"You lucky dog," I stroke his ego, with my words of praise; I have seen him with so many girls, it truly sickens me. I wish my sex life were as active as his, my cock would be happy, so happy. It is not that I have not had the opportunity to fuck a girl; I just have not wanted the pussy that is tossed my way, every day.
I crawl from the pool, making my way to one of the lounge chairs that line the edge of this designer pool. I lay back and close my eyes, soaking up the Vitamin 'A' from nature's glorious rays. The sun heats my body, stirring the longing that was awakened by the blue-collar man at the rest stop. I reach down, man-spreading my legs, so that my cock, balls and pubes can dry out, naturally, in the sun.
The sun stiffens me up, somewhat, as it dries me and heats my organ.
"Someone is getting excited," Gavin says to me as he parks his muscled butt in the chair next to me.
"The sunlight has that kind of effect on me," I laugh at these words being uttered from my mouth.
Gavin does the same, fondling his exposed package while he dries himself off in the sun's heated rays.
"This does feel good."
"You sure you don't want a beer, I do."
"If you get one, I guess, I'll have one, " I say.
He darts to the main house, his cock swinging, propeller-like, in his hurried state, as he scrambles to the kitchen to get the beers.
He returns, after a bit, with two longnecks and a semi-erection, prominently displayed between his legs. Giving me one and placing his beer on the glass table near the other lounge chairs.
"Why the woody, man, you got the hots for me?" I say, nonchalantly, but not really.
He does have such an enticing cock, I wish he would fuck me like the droves of girls that have been pierced by his dick.
"Naw, I just got a call from an old girlfriend, she wants to see me. She saw us on Frontage Road as we drove in."
"Oh," I say, "...and you want to fuck her, don't you?"
"FUCK YES!" he yells.
"What time is she expecting you?" I inquire, I knew he had told her he would see her.
"Eight p.m. at her home, her husband is out of town," he answers, "her kid is with her mother for the night, too."
"I don't blame her, she said I was the best fuck she has ever had, better than her husband," he boastfully pronounces his sexual prowess, while flapping his stiffening cock," I don't blame her, I am good."
He forcefully juts his growing cock out in full display as he stands by the rim of the pool.
"Who wouldn't want this piece of meat?" he says as he slowly glides his hand up, then down to the base of his cock.
"Whoa boy, you are gonna bust your nut before you plug that girls pussy," I say.
"I am good," he says before he dives into the pool.
He surfaces on the other side of the pool from me as I sit in the lounge chair.
"You okay with me going?"
"Yeah, I'm fine, go have some fun. You little shit," I feign happiness for him. I envy the twat that will get his cock.
"You wanna go out and get a bite to eat or just getting something here? I am sure there are some steaks in the freezer," he says.
"The steaks sound good."
Gavin left an hour ago to meet up with his married ex-girlfriend. He has left me to my own carnal devices. Seeing his hard cock has gotten my own juices flowing. The man today at the rest stop fueled this excitement, too, before we even got here.
I am still naked.
My cock is poking out at full erection between my legs.
I am fucking horny.
I am standing, outside, gazing up into the moonlit night, which is also reflecting within the large pool, right out the door from the Poole's guesthouse.
"That's a dangerous piece of equipment that you have there, son," a voice I recognize from an earlier introduction, bellows out from behind me in the dark.
I turn, facing the sound of the demanding voice, the shock apparent on my face but I do not attempt to hide my growing stiffy between my out-stretched legs.
"Uhh, Boy!" I say, nervously, as I see the face of the unknown visitor.
"You are hardly a boy, Buck, you are one damned fine specimen of a man."
End Part One
Look for Part Two with a story entitled, Uhh, Boy!