What They Don’t Know

On the first pass with the mower around the Hughes’s backyard, Josh thought he’d seen a figure in the woods. The land behind the Hughes’s lot in Farmville, Virginia, was town reservoir land, composed of a small lake surrounded by mature trees. The grounds surrounding the lake were manicured on the other side, with walking trails, but the bank had been left wild on this, marshy, side of the lake.

On the nineteen-year-old’s next pass around the back of the lot, the figure materialized and stood just inside the tree line, watching the trim, blond youth, mowing in a sultry early June morning in just athletic shorts and sneakers. That was all that Coach Johnson was wearing too. If anyone asked, he would say he was out for a run, even though there were no running trails on this side of the lake.

Johnson had been Josh’s swim coach for the youth’s senior year, which had come a year later for Josh than for most. He’d had a rough fifth grade—twice. He had been more than just Josh’s coach since that March, when Josh had turned nineteen.

The coach remained there, in sight of the Hughes lot for only a moment before turning and walking deeper into the woods. He didn’t look to see if Josh would follow him into the woods, but he knew the young man would. Johnson smiled when he heard the power mower cut off. He walked almost to the edge of the lake, where the water was shallow, with cattails rising out of it in profusion. The ground was soft here, the roots of the willow trees protruding from the ground, the cascading willow branches arching over edge of the lake and trailing almost down to the surface of the water.

Here, under the sheltering willow branches, Coach Johnson slipped off his shorts and jock strap and sat down, between two roots radiating out from the willow tree trunk and reclined against the trunk. He took his erection in his hand and slow-pumped himself. Within moments, Josh was there, standing before Johnson.

“Take the shorts off and hug the tree behind me,” Johnson said, and Josh slipped off his shorts and briefs and moved forward. Coach Johnson wrapped his arms around the young man’s waist and pushed him into the tree, taking the young man’s now-hard cock into his mouth. Josh wrapped his arms around the tree trunk behind him and moaned as Johnson deep-throated his cock and sucked on his balls. One of the coach’s hands went back to pleasuring and preparing himself.

When he felt the young man trembling and murmuring, “Coach, coach. Oh, shit, Coach,” Johnson reversed the young man’s willowy body.

“Bend over and grab your ankles,” Coach commanded and Josh did so, writhing a bit and groaning as Johnson’s tongue went into his ass.

“Now, Coach, now. Please,” Josh moaned.

“Yes, now, Josh,” Coach Johnson said, as he reversed Josh again, held his erection raised and steady, and guided Josh down on it with his other hand. Josh whimpered at the penetration. Johnson paused in the fusion of their bodies to reach around and release Josh’s curly, golden-blond hair so that it cascaded to the young man’s shoulders and accentuated his angelic beauty. When he was fully sheathed in the young man’s channel, Johnson gripped the youth’s slim waist between his hands. Josh reclined his torso back, palming the spongy moss-covered earth at the edge of the lake and began moving his pelvis up and down on the cock in a cowboy fuck. The positioning and transitions had been smooth; the two had done this before.

The two worked together in the fuck, the coach rising and lowering Josh on the cock with a grip on the young man’s waist, and Josh helping with the rise and fall with the support of his back-flung arms and the leverage of his feet planted by the older man’s sides.

Josh came first, crying out to the skies through the foliage of the willow branches. Johnson fucked on to his own deep-passage creaming. Josh’s body lay there, twitching, streaming out from Johnson’s crotch toward the lake as they both jerked from each blast of the coach’s cum in a virile rolling ejaculation.

Josh returned to the back lawn of his parents’ house and had the mower powered up again as his father drove into the driveway from work. His mother would drive in in another fifteen minutes or so. They both had jobs with the small university in the rural town, Longwood. College wasn’t in session, but their offices—his father working in supervising facility maintenance and his mother in the admissions office—were in a busy time of the work year.

Their sunny blond, more beautiful than handsome, small-figured son had been no problem to them throughout his life. In September, he would be starting at Longwood, as well. His grades hadn’t been that great—he’d been more interested in sports than studying—but his parents’ jobs at the university guaranteed his admission. Longwood wasn’t a very choosy school. He even had brought down a sports scholarship, although not a large one.

It was good that he gave them no grief. They had no time or energy for complications. They had such a busy professional and church leadership life, in fact, that they didn’t notice that Josh had not matured emotionally as other teenagers his age were doing. He still was engrossed in video games. He still had a treehouse he retreated to for hours. He still spent most of his time on the sports field. He still was coming to grips with a body in transition from youth to man and with the needs and desires that came with that. He still had secrets they didn’t know about. He didn’t date. But then a lot of youths his age hadn’t found an attraction to young women yet—at least in Josh’s parents’ understanding.

What they didn’t know wouldn’t become yet another worry for them. They hadn’t felt so awarded by having children that they had another one after Josh. Upon having Josh, the “children” box of their family history was marked off and they moved on to the next “ideal family” goal.

* * * *

“No, we’re not getting you an Xbox One console for graduating high school and making it into Longwood. You shouldn’t need to be bribed to set and achieve career goals for you own benefit. Do we look like we’re made of money? Besides, aren’t you getting a bit old to be playing video games? You should be getting ready for college. If you really want more electronic toys, you can earn them yourself. Mow lawns this summer.”

I’m old enough to do a lot of things, Josh thought. What you don’t know . . .

“Earn it yourself” struck a bell with nineteen-year-old, blond, curly haired, and blue-eyed Josh Hughes. “I don’t want to just work all this summer. I want to go someplace and have fun,” he responded to his father. He did know how to mow lawns. He’d just finished mowing his parents’ lawn, and he stood there, behind the mower beside where his father was sitting on the back patio unwinding with a beer. Josh stood there, his hair down for a change, in just athletic shorts and sneakers, looking tanned and trim and as good as any nineteen-year-old on the cusp of transitioning from a teen’s to a man’s body could look—the muscles starting to show but not taking away the smooth-bodied, willowy aspect of a teenager’s body yet.

“Like where? Go where? Your mother and I can’t take off from our jobs. Summer is high work season for both of us. We have to prepare for the new school year. Where could you go other than to your Uncle Paul, near Roanoke?” Paul wasn’t a real uncle. He had married Josh’s Aunt Marie after her husband, Josh’s dad’s brother, Stan Hughes, had died. That meant Paul was just somewhere on the sidelines of the family, but there wasn’t much real family left, so Paul got included. Paul had been considered “in” the family ever since, even though Josh’s mother didn’t like him all that much. Josh liked him . . . a lot, for various reasons.

Josh gave a little smile, which he hid from his father. His father had fallen right into the trap. “Yeah, I’d like that. Two weeks now at Uncle Paul’s farm near Roanoke would be good. I could work for him and both get my gym work done and maybe he’d pay me something. I’d probably be learning useful skills too.” Uncle Paul was perfect for what Josh wanted. He was cool and lenient and several other things too that Josh wouldn’t mention to his father or, god forbid, his mother. They’d never let him go near Uncle Paul again, if they knew. What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

“I don’t know how we’d get you there, though. It’s a hundred miles from Farmville.” Farmville, Virginia, was where Josh’s family lived. It was a sleepy little college town in the south-central area of the state that was dead when the university students from Longwood weren’t there. The next two weeks would be between sessions. Josh did things with guys at the college and got things from them—he’d done so for a year, since he’d been legal earlier in his high school years than most others. College wouldn’t be coming back into session for the two weeks, though, and, even after the summer session at the university started up, it would take him time to establish connections there again.

“You wouldn’t have to take me. I could get the bus to Roanoke and Uncle Paul could pick me up there. How about it?” Everything was still working out good. Josh didn’t want his parents to drive him to Roanoke. He wanted to get there on his own. If he worked it right, he could keep the bus money and hitchhike there. He read a gay porn book recently where a guy his age hitchhiked across the contrary, trading sex with men for rides. There was even money left over from what the men gave him. That had made an impression on him. “I’ll check on bus tickets from Farmville to Roanoke.”

“OK. I’ll call Paul.”

Josh already knew there was no bus from Farmville to Roanoke. The nearest bus service to Roanoke was from Lynchburg, halfway there already. But, if he worked it right . . .

His father came back to say it was OK with his sort of Uncle Paul, who would pick him up at the bus station in Roanoke when Josh called him from there. Josh did have a cellphone, a primitive one, his parents let him have. They didn’t know, though, that he had a far more powerful one, a smart phone, that he’d gotten through Paul. Paul had been great about tacking Josh onto his account and not telling Josh’s parents he had. Paul was cool that way, and he enjoyed sticking it to his Hughes in-laws. He and Paul had other secrets too.

Josh now went up to his tree house in the backyard to make some calls of his own on a plan to get to Roanoke. The ladder up to the treehouse was a rickety one, which he’d fix, except that both he and his parents knew the ladder wouldn’t support their weight—Josh was a little guy for his age—and thus, what he kept in the treehouse could be kept secret from them.

Once in the treehouse, he used his smart phone to start making some travel arrangements of his own. He had contacts—lots of contacts—his parents didn’t know about. They had no idea what someone could do on the Internet.

* * * *

Mason Young pulled his Cadillac Escalade past the “For Sale” sign and behind the house in a farmette outside the outskirts of Appomattox, Virginia, where General Robert E. Lee had surrendered the South to General Ulysses Grant of the North in the American Civil War and where nineteen-year-old Josh Hughes surrendered his body to Young, as he had done a couple of times already in the last year. This was the first leg of Josh’s hitchhike from Farmville to Roanoke.

Young was the only driver on this journey Josh knew personally because they were both from Farmville. Putting the car into park, Young turned to the teenager, twisted Josh around to where his back was pressed into the corner between the passenger door and the edge of the seat and his left leg was raised and bent, pressed against the back of the seat.

Young was a large, florid red head with a perpetual “you want to buy the house I’m selling” smile on his face, a robust former football player at the University of Richmond, now in his early forties but still an avid, in-shape sportsman. There were no preliminaries. Young had fucked Josh before. For him, this was just a rent-boy transaction, with a ride rather than money involved in giving him access to the young man’s ass. He wrapped his right hand around the young man’s neck and dipped down with his face to take Josh into a deep kiss. His left hand was busy unbuckling and unzipping Josh’s shorts and fishing the teenager’s cock out. He then set his hands to roaming between material and flesh of Josh’s body.

All of the men Josh went with wanted to feel up the tender, young flesh of his small, perfectly formed body. As he continued controlling the lip lock and Josh moaned as he knew the man would want him to, the Realtor from Farmville fondled the young man’s cock and balls intimately until Josh started rocking on the hand. Young’s fingers went under Josh’s balls and his index finger penetrated the older teenager’s passage and rubbed his prostate.

Gasping, Josh pulled away from the kiss and murmured. “Shit. Fuck. Put it in me. Fuck me.” He was rocking on the finger inside him. This wasn’t the first rodeo Josh had gone on with Young. Young knew how to do him well.

Young laughed. “Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. I want you to suck me off first, though.” He had gotten himself unbuckled and unzipped and his dick was out. It was a thick slug of a dick rising out of strawberry blond pubic curls. He guided Josh over and down with the hand on the back of his neck, and Josh took the thick cock in his mouth and sucked it like it was a lollipop.

Josh knew what to do. He’d done this before. And Mason Young knew how to enjoy taking head from a beautiful, small nineteen-year-old blond. He lay back in his seat, held Josh’s curly head to his crotch, the young man’s long hair fanned out on Young’s thighs, and gave direction on what he liked and what he liked better. He liked deep throating, and Josh was game for taking all he could into the back of his throat.

“Gonna come,” Young growled through clinched teeth, and Josh pulled his mouth off the cock and took the cum on his face.

“Let’s go into the house,” Young said. “It’s empty but I’ve got the key.” Young was a Realtor. The house outside Appomattox was one of his listings.

“OK,” Josh said. The man had paid him $200 and agreed to get him as far as Appomattox. He was due more than just a blow job.

After his dad confirmed with Uncle Paul (who wasn’t really an uncle) that Josh could come work on his farm for a couple of weeks and that Paul would pick the boy up at the Roanoke Greyhound Bus station, Josh went up into his treehouse to use the smart phone and laptop his parents didn’t know he had up there. They were busy people with full lives of their own. They didn’t pay that much attention to what nineteen-year-old Josh did—which was a whole lot naughtier than they could ever imagine he did.

Josh had a network of attentive male Net friends all over Virginia and North Carolina who were interested in meeting up with him on the strength of his photo, his acknowledged age, and his claimed (for real) sexual experience. What with his swim coach, a few college guys from Longwood, and some men in the Farmville men-on-guys network Mason Young was in, Josh had been a very busy young man since the beginning of the year.

It took him less than two hours to set up a relay hitchhiking route across southern Virginia from Farmville to Roanoke on his designated day. This method saved him the bus fare his dad would give him without checking to find out that there was no bus service between Farmville and Roanoke. Josh also would pick up other money along the route and arrive in Roanoke able to finance what he was doing this all for in the first place—electronics, which he’d have to keep in his treehouse so his parents didn’t know he had them. Uncle Paul—good old Uncle Paul—would facilitate Josh getting what he wanted.

Josh also wanted the action with the men. He enjoyed being worshipped—having men want him, having men want to put their hands on his body intimately, having men wanting to be inside him. It was probably a phenomenon of his age and tenderness that men who lay with him—and there had now been more than he could count on both hands—were as interested in intimately fondling his body as they were in fucking him and, when they had the time and opportunity, they tended to spend more time with their hands roaming his body than with their cocks inside his channel. For his part, Josh loved the attention. He loved the gasp he’d hear as men ran their hands up his inner thighs and he willingly spread his legs and elevated his pelvis for them, becoming open, vulnerable, and willing for them.

He loved the intake of breath from them when their cockheads were positioned and he’d push his pelvis up to take the shaft inside him. When they clutched him close and began to move inside him, his low moan told the men it was what he wanted.

On the day, at the appointed hour, Josh’s dad drove him to the city bus station.

“You want me to come inside to make sure you can get a ticket and sit with you until the bus leaves?” he asked.

“No thanks, Dad. I’ve already called and reserved the ticket. The bus is on time. You have other things you need to do. I’ll call you when I get to Uncle Paul’s.”

Mr. Hughes did have other things he needed to do. He was glad Josh was getting old enough to look after himself. “And you’ll call me if you have trouble along the route?”

Josh waved his old cellphone that did nothing much else other than make calls. “Sure thing, Dad.” His smart phone, piggybacking on Uncle Paul’s phone account, was buried in his backpack. He was taking some clothes. There were more clothes of his at Uncle Paul’s—and work clothes for when he was working on the farm. Uncle Paul didn’t wear much, if anything, in the house and neither did Josh when he visited there. Josh was taking a few ratty old T-shirts and briefs because Paul like to rip them off him before he rolled over on top of Josh and pinned his body to the mattress.

Josh stood outside the front of the bus station for some fifteen minutes before a new, black Cadillac Escalade pulled up beside him. The Farmville Realtor, Mason Young, was swiveling his head around, looking in all directions for who might be seeing Josh get into his vehicle. Josh pulled himself up into the SUV and closed the door. Satisfied they hadn’t drawn attention, Young said, “Everything all right?”

“Yes. No problems,” Josh answered.

“You said two hundred. It’s there on the dashboard, in twenties. Look at it. You put it in your pocket, we’ve got a deal, you’ve got a ride, and I’ve got a blow job and a ride. You put that in your pocket and I’ll drive you to Appomattox, like you want, and you’ll give me what I want.”

The two didn’t need introductions. They both were local to Farmville. They weren’t strangers. They’d hooked up before. Young knew Josh—biblically. Young’s initial desire, although with all the others, to explore Josh’s body with his hands and to observe and savor as he brought the young man off with his hand was a fetish of the past now. Now he wanted to fuck him.

With that, Josh’s hitchhiking day from Farmville to Roanoke had begun.

After Josh had given Young a blow job in the front seat of the Escalade parked outside the house for sale on the edge of Appomattox, Young used his pass key to let them into the house. There wasn’t any furniture, but some of the rooms were carpeted. Young took a couple of king-sized towels in with them as well as a picnic basket. He’d promised to feed Josh his lunch too.

Young fucked Josh on the carpeted floor of the master bedroom, with one of the large towels under them. The carpet had been cleaned and the Realtor didn’t want to do anything to mess it up. They had stood facing each other after they’d stripped and kissed and fondled each other. Young, large and robust, towered over the smaller, nineteen-year-old trim blond. He covered Josh with kisses and explored him intimately with his hands, going down on his knees to taste the boy’s cock. Rising and turning Josh then, he bent the boy over and plastered his face between Josh’s butt cheeks and ate him out. From there it was just a matter of coaxing Josh down on his hands and knees, mounting him from behind and above, grasping the boy’s slim hips to hold him in place, and fucking him to a sheathed ejaculation.

They remained naked as they ate the sandwiches and drank the beer Young had brought. They were crouched down on their haunches, backs against the walls, across the room from each other, not saying much of anything, just taking each other in with their eyes. Young was starting to go heavy as a good many college football players do, but he still was muscular. He gymed and golfed and played tennis regularly. He had a ruddy complexion and his body was covered with a reddish-blond fuzz. He had his hair in a buzz cut because it was starting to recede from the center to the sides on his head. He’d come dressed for Realtor business—a business suit that he had carefully folded when they’d stripped. He sat against the wall, with his knees spread, his cock thick, still in erection, angrily projecting out and curved a bit up from a flaming red, unruly pubic bush. He made no effort to hide himself from Josh. This was the fourth time he’d fucked the boy in the last two months. Josh had every reason to be intimately familiar with every square inch of the man.

And it hadn’t just been Young. He was in a club. They’d all had Josh one evening, together, in a club member’s basement recreation room, on his pool table. That had netted Josh a thousand dollars and fully open, sore ass. He remembered that session when he took a dump for the next week. There wasn’t much Josh hadn’t experienced in the last year. And yet, with his age, size, and sunny disposition, he always gave the impression he was fresh and barely beyond innocence.

Young was fondling his cock and his balls while he ate, keeping himself hard and throbbing. “That was good. Very nice.”

“The sandwich?”

“No, not the sandwich, Josh. The fuck.”

“I’m glad you thought so.”

“Satisfying. But I’m still hard, as you see. Not fully satisfied yet. We’re already here. You don’t need to be dropped off for another half hour.”

“Fifty dollars. Another fifty dollar,” Josh said.

Young smiled. He wiped his hands with a napkin, set the remnants of his sandwich aside, fished his wallet out of his folded trousers on the stack of clothes within his reach, and took two twenties and a ten out. He fanned them out for Josh to see and then folded them and tossed the wad a few feet toward the other wall, where Josh was squatting.

“Come here. Sit on it,” he said.

Josh slowly unfolded from where he was sitting and sauntered forward. A can of lube and a string of condom packets were on the carpet by where Young was sitting and he tossed the can to Josh while he slit open a condom packet. Josh reached around with a handful of lube and greased up his hole while Young crowned himself. It was all a routine. They’d done this before. The can went back to Young and he lubed his sheathed shaft.

Young was sitting, his buttocks extending from the wall, his shoulder blades against the wall, and his legs bent and spread. Putting his hands on Young’s shoulders, Josh crouched down into the man’s lap. There was groaning and a bit of gasping, and low moaning as Josh descended on the shaft Young held steady with one hand encasing the base of his cock. They held there for a few moments as Josh’s passage stretched to accommodate the cock once more. Then Young grasped Josh’s slim waist between his hands, Josh leaned back, between Young’s bent legs, and placed his palms on the carpet behind him, and they both concentrated on the fuck—Young raising and lowering the teenager’s body with his hands on Josh’s waist, and Josh using the support of his hands and the leverage of his feet to help with the rise and fall of the cock inside his ass.

They started slow, but the fuck became intense, with both of them gasping and panting and groaning and grunting, and Josh flailing about and digging his fingernails in Young’s shoulders as Young slammed him up and down on the shaft. With cries—Josh’s tenor against Young’s bass—they announced and celebrated their near-simultaneous comings. Josh wasn’t into sex with men just for the money.

“That’s what I like about you,” Young murmured as they held afterward, cooling down, each concentrating on Young going flaccid inside Josh’s channel. “You’re a regular little firecracker.”

They showered in the master bath together, Young knowing the water to the house was still on because he was one of the listing agents. Young wanted them to shower together and Josh had agreed. Young also wanted to fuck Josh again in the shower, but Josh said, “I got a long trip ahead. We can hook up again when I get back from Roanoke.”

He didn’t want to wear himself out on what was just the first leg of a randy men-assisted hitchhike across southern Virginia.

Just under two hours out of Farmville, fifteen minutes before noon, a quarter of the way to Roanoke, Josh was a bit sore but ready for the big one on the next leg, and already over $300 to the good, including the bus fair and Mason Young’s need to have seconds. A lot of men in one day, but Josh had taken six in a couple of hours on a pool table in a man’s basement not more than three weeks before. He could do this.

Piece of cake.

* * * *

Mason Young drove Josh to the parking lot of the McLean House in Appomattox. This was a historical preservation of the house where the southern commander, Robert E. Lee formally surrendered to the northern commander Ulysses S. Grant to end the American Civil War, and here Young surrendered Josh to his next ride—and to be ridden, and ridden hard—on the boy’s hitchhike to Roanoke.

It was less than a three-hour drive from Josh’s family’s house in Farmville to Uncle Paul’s farm near Roanoke and would probably cost $18 in gas money for a car or $50 for bus ticket money, if a bus went between the two towns—at least that’s how much Josh’s dad gave him to buy a ticket on a nonexistent bus. Josh planned to make the trip in seven hours, though, and to make about $750 off the trip. He already was $150 up on his estimation because Mason Young had paid him a $50 premium for seconds, a fuck that Josh had enjoyed enough to have done it for free. The whole scheme was to make enough money to buy the Xbox One console his parents had said he couldn’t have—that they couldn’t afford and that they thought he was getting too old to want.

He would have to lie under four men—well, five, really—to get all of this done. Each of four men, each driving him on a half-hour or forty-minute segment of the journey were going to pay him to fuck a willing, small, and trim nineteen-year-old guy they’d met and conversed with—and shared photos and preferences with—on the Internet. They had to drive him on the road and, for a price, they could drive him for an hour where and how they liked.

Three of them had signed up for a $200 fee. The fourth, the one taking the Appomattox-to-Lynchburg segment of the trip, was paying $300. There was a special reason for that. He had specified how demanding he was going to be.

Josh, who had already experienced a lot, was looking forward to these demands with both trepidation and arousing anticipation.

Carter Bell was sitting in his 2019 BMW i8 coupe in the McLean House parking lot when Mason Young let Josh off. Josh had been told what car to look for, and he’d seen the vehicle in the lot, but he hadn’t told Young about the car. He didn’t want these guys connecting with each other. He had Young drive on by and over to the nearby courthouse to let him off.

“I don’t see him here yet,” Josh said, as he opened the passenger door of the Escalade. “I’ll walk around a bit. You can go on back to Farmville.”

“You sure? You’ll be OK?”

“Was I OK?”

“You know you were, kid. I could ride you all day. You’re a great lay. You’ll call me when your vacation is over and you’re back in Farmville, won’t you? You’re an itch I want to keep on scratching. I’ll get the guys together for another bang-up marathon.”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll be on the Internet.” I’ll also be playing on my new Xbox One, Josh thought. He watched Young drive away and then walked back to the fancy BMW sports car. As he walked into the parking lot, Carter Bell flashed his lights to let Josh know he saw and recognized him. Josh walked right over to the driver’s window, which was down, palmed the top ridge of the shiny panels on either side of the window, and looked down into Carter Bell’s handsome black face. “Banker10/2?” he asked.

“Chris19?” Bell responded. Neither one of them, of course, had given out real names on the deep Web hookup services they played in. Both were revealing something important about themselves though with their Net handles. An ebony arm came out of the window, grabbed the front of Josh’s T-shirt and pulled the young man’s face down to where the man inside could take him into a tongue-invading kiss. Having brought the teenager into position, the hand snaked under the hem of Josh’s T-shirt and glided up his slim chest to latch onto a nipple between thumb and forefinger.

Obviously, the sex play on the Internet hadn’t been enough. The man already wanted to start exploring the youth’s nubile body.

The $300 fee for this segment of the journey was both because the man told Josh he wanted to do him rough and what he told him he would be doing it with. Josh had more than half assumed that the ten inches long and two inches thick part of the man’s account name was an exaggeration and he wasn’t even fully convinced when the photos had been exchanged. You could be quite convincing with photoshop. Men didn’t have cocks that big, not slender, not particularly tall, men like Banker10/2.

“Get in,” the black man said gruffly when he’d released Josh’s mouth. The teenager walked around the car, opened the passenger door, tossed his backpack in the tiny excuse for a backseat, and climbed in, finding the interior space of the sports car as confining as it appeared to be from the outside. At least he wasn’t going to be fucked in the car, he thought, although his mind immediately went into contemplating how they could get into a position in that low-slung coupe interior that would enable the black guy to get his big dick inside him. Josh shuddered at the thought.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to be manhandled in the car. Bell nearly covered him right there in the front seat, going for his mouth again, fondling Josh’s basket and moving Josh’s hand to his own crotch to assure Josh that he was fully as advertised. Josh gasped at finding how hung the man was. He didn’t look like he would be. He was quite slender, although well muscled, and not particularly tall. He just had a monster between his legs. He was black as ebony and strikingly handsome. His clothes appeared to be as expensive as his car. The handle of “banker” might be giving Josh a clue how he made his money, but Josh didn’t want to pursue that question too hard. The man had explored most of Josh’s body with his hands before they even left the parking lot.

“You’re a little guy, aren’t you? Really are nineteen, aren’t you?” Bell said when he’d released Josh’s lips.

“Yes, I’m nineteen,” Josh assured him. He would have shown his driver’s license to prove it, if he had to, but then he would have risked revealing his real name. He wanted to say, you really are bull hung, aren’t you? But he didn’t. This was going to be something else. Marcus the black garage mechanic in Farmville had told Josh he’d manage to open up to a big cock right before he’d put one in Josh and it had happened and Josh had survived—and been proud of what he’d been able to sheath—so as fearful as he was about this Banker10/2, he was aroused about the adventure this would be. The man had said he’d tie Josh up during sex and that it would give Josh an extra rush to have that done. And he was being paid $300 for the adventure.

“Beautiful fuckin’ little body,” the man murmured. “I’m going to ravish it. I’m going to bind and use you until you melt.”

Josh responded with a moan and a shudder, which pleased Bell.

It wasn’t just the big cock that Bell was paying extra for. It was the manner of the fuck as well. It was just a twenty-mile drive from Appomattox into Lynchburg and they drove it in thirty-five nearly silent, brooding minutes. Bell drove them right into the center of Lynchburg, to the Craddock Terry Hotel. He had money and he spent money. He’d already checked in.

“Here’s the pass key. Go on up first. Be naked when I get there. Leave the door ajar. We’ll play this like you being surprised and raped. Try to convince me.”

Josh was naked, stretched out on the bed, when Bell entered the room.

“Hey, who are you? What do you want?” Playing the part, Josh rolled off the bed on the side away from the door, but before he could rise to move anywhere else, Bell was on top of him. The first forceful taking was right there on the floor next to the bed, Josh naked and bell just unzipped, long, thick cock out, and spiking Josh right there. The youth was told he should struggle and he did, uselessly, until giving up and lying there docilely and gasping, now believing that the man was as hung as his photos showed, while Bell took what he wanted.

After that first taking, the man spent time exploring the youth’s body on the bed, him remaining dressed, until Josh was hot and bothered and eventually begging for it. The man had restraints and bound Josh’s wrists and ankles and then teased the teenager with curve and crevice exploration. Bell had two fingers of one hand in the boy’s ass and Josh was sucking on the thumb of the other hand before Bell finished the initial foreplay.

Josh was panting hard when Bell left the bed, laid a sheet of white paper on the desk by the bed, spread out a few lines of cocaine, and asked Josh if he wanted a snort. Josh didn’t. Bell did.

Then Bell stood by the bed, with Josh watching him, and undressed. His cock, fully erect, was godawful long, just as Josh knew it would be. Bell gagged Josh with a ball gag, saying if there were any other guests on the hall, he didn’t want to disturb them. Then he bent the small teenager over the edge of the bed on his belly, and, as Josh’s whimpers transitioned into muffled screams, worked hard and diligently to get his cock stuffed up the small young man’s ass again. It seemed to Josh that Bell was even longer and thicker now than he’d been the first time. When Josh had managed to stretch to his needs, Bell fucked him to an ejaculation. He pulled Josh up on the bed, unbound his ankles, freed him of the gag, and lay on top of him, kissing and fondling him.

“That was sweet,” he whispered. “And you took it well. If it’s too much, you can shower and leave now, but I’ll only give you $100. If you stay, I’ll give you $50 more than originally agreed to—$350. But I’ll fuck you again. You’ll be glad you stayed. You’re reamed big now; the next time would be mostly pleasure.”

“I’ll stay,” Josh answered.

“I’m sorry if I—”

“I’ll stay,” Josh repeated, more firmly.

Bell snorted some more cocaine and then readjusted Josh on the bed, putting the youth on his back and pulling his arms over his head, attaching the restraints to the bed frame at the top of the bed. He opened a closet door facing the side of the bed to reveal that the inside of the door was a full-length mirror. Then he twisted Josh around so that Bell was standing at the side of the bed but was positioned so that, in fucking Josh in a missionary position, both Josh and he could see the cock working the hole in the reflection of the mirror. Then he big-cock fucked Josh again.

Bell was taking his shower when Josh left the hotel to find his next ride toward Roanoke. He wasn’t walking too steadily, and it had nothing to do with having snorted any cocaine. He had Bell’s cellphone number in his pocket for in case he wanted to do this again.

Big-cocked black bull at the Farmville garage Marcus had fucked Josh rough and Josh would go back to him when he wanted it big, but this big-cocked black bull Carter Bell had been a thug. Josh thought he’d save the phone number but probably mostly just to take it out to look at and fanaticize about what Bell had done to him, and contemplate what more he might do, if given the chance. Bell had slapped Josh’s buttocks red while he had him bent over the bed, and Josh had heard the man mutter something about regretting he’d forgotten to bring his hand whip. That certainly had caught Josh’s attention.

* * * *

Bell had kept Josh a half hour over the scheduled time, but he’d been good for the $350 he said he’d pay him. Luckily, too, the next pickup point was an easy walk away in downtown Lynchburg, at a burger joint called Bootleggers, and Josh’s next ride, from Lynchburg to Bedford had waited for him to show up. This was the shakiest of Josh’s hookups. The ride was an old geezer, curious58, pushing sixty—although Josh thought it more likely the “58” was a year of birth rather than an age—who was tall and gaunt and backwoods looking. He’d wanted to exchange sex talk on the Internet to the point of ejaculation, more so than most of the others Josh texted with, and there was a good chance that’s all he really wanted to do—talk dirty and watch Josh masturbate on Skype until he came. He hadn’t shown Josh any more than his weather-beaten, gray-beard face and an erection shot as he was jacking off, although he wasn’t bad looking—and if he wasn’t photoshopping he could get hard and get it off.

Josh had been a little leery that he’d show. He’d said he lived on a farm near Bedford, and that’s where he drove Josh in an old rusting pickup. They drove something over twenty-five miles in the mid-afternoon, and the drive lasted for forty-five minutes. The geezer was obviously nervous and having second and third thoughts. He asked intrusive questions of Josh that the young man was sure he was asking just to try to be talking and that Josh easily parried. Josh did answer the questions on who, what, and where he’d been done by other guys, and he could tell the geezer liked to hear about that. Chances were good he was in this just for the sex talk. Josh had to tone down the description of what Banker10/2 had just done with him because he was afraid the man was going to cream his pants.

The guy’s pants were tented like maybe he’d just come on the prospect of being with Josh and drop Josh off on the side of the road. But he came from the Bedford area, so he had to go back there anyway, so Josh thought he’d at least get the ride but maybe not paid for sex.

When the old men turned into a farm drive, he drove past a weather-beaten house, where an elderly woman came out on the front porch to water hanging plants as the pickup entered the farm. The geezer emitted a “Shit” when he saw the woman on the porch, but she didn’t seem to take a close look at the pickup. It was just another hazy part of her life apparently. The pickup was the farm pickup and the old man came and went as he pleased. Josh was sure it didn’t register with her that there was someone in the pickup with the old man.

He drove some distance beyond the house into the fields and parked under a corrugated-roofed, open-fronted vehicle shed, with the opening turned away from the house in the distance and pointed to a mountain range. The man was nervous, and he said he didn’t really have $200 and what would Josh do for $50? Josh was actually relieved. Bell had worked him over well and reamed him mercilessly. He was happy not to have to take another cock so soon. $50 and a ride to his next destination was still profit.

“If you take me where you promised,” he said.

They got out of the pickup and the man leaned Josh against the hood of the truck, slowly stripped him, touched and fondled him—all the men seemed to want to do that with the nineteen-year-old boy. The geezer seemed mesmerized by Josh’s hard-on, and he worshipped it with his hands, and, going down on his knees, he sucked Josh off. Josh returned the favor—the blow job part—and that was that. The geezer had a nice cock on him, although it took a while for Josh to harden it up. Josh accepted the $50 gracefully. It might have ended up worse, he thought.

The geezer drove Josh to the World War II war memorial in Bedford and left him there for his next and last hookup, which was with Gavin Greeley, another farmer, middle aged, fat as a pig, and big and strong as an ox. En route on the twenty-seven-mile drive from Bedford into the center of Roanoke in a double cab Ford 250 truck, Greeley pulled off the highway at a small manufacturing building that was deserted and for sale, drove beyond that, and stopped at a small grove of trees by a pond. He took Josh into the backseat of the truck. He too wanted to strip and fondle Josh and have Josh suck his cock. And then he lay back along the seat and Josh rode his cock in a cowboy position, leaning back and supporting himself on his hands gripping the fat man’s knees. In this position, Greeley’s belly didn’t get in the way and he achieved maximum penetration.

The cock wasn’t taxing, and the man didn’t last long before coming. He was good enough to get Josh off too, gently pushing the young man’s torso back after he’d come himself so that Josh was lying between the man’s legs, his own legs still bent back, and Josh handed his cock. Greeley wrapped his hand over Josh’s, and, together, they slowly jacked the young man off.

Naked, they walked down to the edge of the pond and skipped some rocks along the surface as Greeley talked to Josh how he’d come to go with men, in the army, when he was serving in Germany—and reminiscent about a German youth, looking quite a bit like Josh, who he had found in a male brothel and visited often.

The talk—and Josh’s familiarity with a youth Greeley fondly remembered—helped the man build up steam again and then it was up to the shadows of the trees, where Josh stood, bending over and grasping his ankles with his hands, in a position Greeley said he took the German youth in frequently, as Greeley saddled up behind him, used Josh’s lower back for a shelf for his belly, grasped Josh’s hips between his hands, thrust up inside the nineteen-year-old and fucked him a second time, rocking Josh’s buttocks back and forth on his cock. His cock was the nicest aspect of him.

Although Josh wondered if he’d come across with the agreed fee, Greeley doled out $200 in tens, fives, and ones before driving him into Roanoke and saying, in parting, “Any time you have a hankering to come this way, just let me know. You’re a real honey. I hope I didn’t call you Gerhart any time while I was screwing you. I felt like doing so. You brought a lot of old memories out of me.”

“Uncle” Paul picked Josh up at the Roanoke Greyhound Bus station, drove him to his farm in Vinton, and, first thing, took him upstairs. As the fifth man of the day, Paul fucked the hell out of Josh, bouncing him up and down on the squeaky coils of his old brass-headed bed. Josh and Paul were a good pair in bed. God knows they got enough practice. Josh had stripped and laid on the bed while Paul was checking to make sure he’d put another towel in the bathroom. He laughed when he came back in the room to find the teenager naked on the bed. He sat on the side of the bed and, enticed by the smooth, unblemished skin of the young man’s legs, ran a hand between Josh’s closed thighs. He laughed as Josh opened his thighs to the hand, dug his heels into the mattress, and elevated his pelvis. Paul came up onto the bed, between the young man’s parted thighs. Josh grimaced, turned his head to the side, and emitted a low moan as Paul slid inside him. Then, neither one of them were laughing for a long while.

Paul didn’t pay Josh a damn thing for the fucking, but he did take the money Josh had earned hitchhiking from Farmville and order the Xbox One console for Josh that he wanted. In exchange for a couple of fucks a day, which Josh enjoyed as much as Paul did, Paul drove him all the way back to Farmville two weeks later and helped him get the Xbox up into the treehouse without Josh’s parents being any wiser it was there while they both were at work. Josh worked hard on Paul’s farm when they weren’t fucking and he returned to Farmville muscled up a lot better than when he’d left.

The guys in Mason Young’s men-on-guys group marveled at how quickly Josh was developing the physique of a man the Saturday night after he came back to Farmville, as, one after the other, they screwed him on the pool table in a basement recreation room. But, if truth be known, they all would have preferred that he’d kept his sleek, willowy little body.

His parents thought he was at an orientation program for the incoming freshman class at Longwood University. What they didn’t know . . .