A Frog Giggin' We Go

A veil of darkness has cast its vast net of pitch-blackness upon the back wooded swath of God’s fertile acres in this desolate section of the South Georgia wilderness.

There are no visible twinkling stars in the night sky.

There are no low hanging clouds, either.

The heat of the summer is still reaping it humid warmth on this night despite the sun ducking beneath the horizon.

It is as if the world is devoid of any breathing and living soul.

The insects are not making their incessant noises. A gentle wind wafts through the moss-laden trees. The Spanish moss is waving its redbug-infested angel hair-like spaghetti grayness in this breeze as it sweeps through this eerie stillness.

It is a perfect night to go a frog giggin’.

A rambling Dodge pick-up truck storms its way down the solitary paved backcountry road breaking through the eerie silence of the night and into the cramped and cluttered front yard. Where sits a house in desperate and dire need of some paint, with it outside floodlights on, lighting up the yard in a sea of light.

HONK! HONK! HONK!

“Damn it, man,” Lowell, a hulking young man, with a drooping cigarette in his mouth, shouts from the clutter-packed front porch of the house, “I’m comin’! I’m comin’, man! Hold ya damn shit together. I’m on the phone.”

Lowell takes a long drawl from his cigarette, as he mumbles into the phone at his ear.

“Get your ass in fucking gear man. C’mon. C’mon!” Tyson yells from the rolled down window on his side of the pick-up, “Hurry the fuck up, man. The damn frogs are a-waitin’ on us.”

His hands are flailing in exaggerated motions in a somewhat subdued mocking disgust out of his driver’s side window. He is slightly tipsy from the many beers that he has been drinking over the past few hours. An open can of Bud sits nestled between the crook of his open and spreads legs. The chill of this sweaty tin can send a cool electrified shiver through his body as it moistens his blue jeans.

“C’mon, man, get a fucking move on,” Tyson screams, again, “C’MON!”

His last loud word is that of a sarcastic-tinged moan of desperation and anxiousness.

HONK! HONK! HONK!

Tyson lays down hard on the truck horn, the palm of his hand, red and sore, from the applied pressure, the noise carrying loudly throughout and among the copse of oaks and pines clustered in thick wooded grove-like patches around the house.

“Alright, man, you’re gonna wake up the damned dead,” Lowell screams as he bolts from the front door, “I’m comin’! I’m comin’!”

“Like anyone is gonna hear us, man,” Tyson says, “There ain’t nobody out here but us, two.”

Lowell slams the door on his side of the truck as he gets in. He is huffing and puffing, from his short run from the house, to the idling truck. The cigarette hangs lazily in the corner of his mouth. He tosses it out the window. It lands on a bare patch of unfertile earth near the driveway and quietly extinguishes itself sending a thin line of smoke upward.

“It is ’bout fucking time, man, its 10 o’clock, “Tyson says, “Oh, wait, it’s actually later.”

“Quit you-bitchin’ man, I’m here. I’m here,” Lowell says, “Let’s get a move on.”

Tyson glances toward his best bud and the swelled-up and obviously hard crotch between Lowell’s legs.

“You got yourself some kind of chubby, there, doncha, man?” Tyson asks, “You been talkin’ to Shelby. Huh, haven’t you? She done gone, and got your knob hard?”

Tyson’s word slur somewhat as he makes this blatant observation.

The smell of spilt beer fills the interior of Tyson’s cluttered truck cab. Budweiser cans litter the floorboard and the space between the two men in the seat of the older model Dodge pick-up.

“You drunk, already, Tyson? We ain’t gonna catch many frogs with ya bein’ drunk, man,” Lowell asks.

“Naw, man, but I will be soon, shore enuf, I know,” Tyson says, happily.

“Shit, man!” Lowell says, exasperated, “Couldn’t you have waited till we got out to the swamp?”

The once humming motor of the parked and sitting truck is backed up and barrels out of the dirt driveway like a Tasmanian devil let loose on the plains of the Outback.

“Ya git enough beer for the both of us and just enuf for ya?” Lowell asks.

“Like I’d forget something like that, it’s all in the back, along with everything else, we need,” Tyson pipes in, there is some frustration in his words.

“It’s one hell of a hot night,” Lowell says, “…but it always is, here in South Georgia.”

Lowell takes his camo-cap on and off while he roughly rakes his long lean fingers through his close-cropped haircut, as the wind from the speeding truck whips across his face and through the open cab of the truck, providing some much-needed breeze and relief on this stifling hot night. His button-down short-sleeved camouflage shirt is open. His shirt flaps, showing a white cotton wife-beater tee shirt, under it.

“What took you so damn long, anyway, man?” Tyson asks.

“It was a phone call.” Lowell says, “It was Shelby.”

“Oh, shit, she had been a-calling ya, again? I was just jokin’ about her givin’ you a hard-on. Seems I was right, uh, again.”

“Yep, the damn girl won’t let up on me,” Lowell sounds annoyed, “She want let me be. I need my fucking space.”

“You need to grow some fucking nads and drop that girl before she bust your head, open,” Tyson moans.

Lowell looks to his friend and says nothing.

“I’ve got a big pair, you know that” Lowell laments, “They are just tied up in knots.”

“Yep, in Shelby’s hands,” Tyson says, flippantly.

Lowell grabs his gonads and lets Tyson see that his balls are gripped tight in his right hand.

“Enough about this shit,” Tyson says, “Let’s go get us some damned frogs.”

The truck speeds down the two-lane gravel-infused asphalt road. The truck’s headlights are illuminating the yellow stripe in the center and the border of the white paint on the edge. It is almost hypnotic as the colors meld into a solid line.

Tyson drifts to the right, lulled into almost a coma-like trance by the painted center stripes.

“HEY MAN!” Lowell yells from the top of his lungs, “WAKE UP! WAKE UP!”

Tyson is jarred back awake from his temporary slumber and rights himself back onto his proper lane on the empty road.

“Hey man, wake, your damned self, up,” Lowell bellows, “We are almost there.”

“UH HUH,” Tyson shakes his head, waking himself from his lulling slumber, “Sorry, man.”

Tyson scoots up in the back of the seat, from his slouching position on the steering wheel as he presses his back, firm against the back of the sticky sweaty seat. Sweat slides down his back and in the front in a steady stream, soaking through his white cotton tee. His black chest hair is making a dark carpet, which is reflecting through the thin-threadbare of the front of his shirt.

“Damn, I am soaked!” Tyson exclaims.

“Well, take your damned tee-shirt off,” Lowell pipes in.

Tyson grabs for the lower corner of his tee, bringing it up and over his head, as he is freed from the cottony softness of the shirt. The wind whips through the two open windows, fanning the flames of the dominant ocean of dark curly hair on his thick-matted chest.

“Better?” Lowell says as his looks to the naked hairy torso of his life-long pal.

Lowell unconscientiously whips his tongue over his rosy lips.

“Fuck, yes,” Tyson answers.

They drive for five miles south, down the asphalt road that crosses in front of Lowell’s house. They are headed to the south end of Soggy Bottom Swamp. Property once owned by Tyson’s family, back in the olden days before the dreaded War Between the States.

“You best slow down, or you’ll miss the damn cut-off,” Lowell interjects.

“I know where it is, dammit,” Tyson scowls, “I ain’t no shallow-headed fool.”

Tyson slaps his open palm across Lowell’s chest, catching Lowell by surprise at this unnecessary roughness. Lowell catches his breath but does not retaliate with a similar gesture.

“Slow down!” Lowell screams.

“Dammit, man!” Tyson yells as he stomps down hard on the brake.

Both men lunge forward in their seats as the truck comes to a slamming full stop.

A smoking trail of burnt rubber and squealing tires, made by the back radials, break through the silence of the night.

The beer tucked in the crook of his Tyson’s spread crotch flies from its stationary place, spilling some of it on his bulged pants as it falls on the floor toward his booted feet.

The can rolls around, spilling what is left of its precious contents onto the already dirty floorboard. He lifts his foot off the brake. The can rolls and settles under the truck seat and nudges against the braces holding it in place. Tyson lifts his foot from the brake and applies pressure to the gas as the truck resumes on its way.

“Shit! Shit!” Tyson yells, “My damn beer spilt!”

“I toldya man, I toldya,” Lowell says, quite excitedly.

“Shut the fuck up, man,” Tyson yells, “Now my dick is soaking wet with spilled beer.”

“It is not the first time, man,” Lowell says as he stifles back a laugh, “…and it will not be the last, either.”

Lowell lets out an audible laugh, once he sees the rather large wet spot on Tyson’s jeans.

“Fuck! It looks like I done pissed on myself like some damned drunk.”

Tyson turns down the two-rut road. The close and low-hanging limbs that blanket the road like a green canopy swat the moving truck as it makes it way toward the swamp at the roads end.

“You git the diesel for the airboat?” Lowell asks.

“I toldya I got everything, we would need,” Tyson says, “Doncha know I would do it.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know,” Lowell says, “…if my truck wasn’t in the shop, I would have helped your git awl that we would need.”

“Not a problem, man,” Tyson says, “Shit happens. Shit happens.”

“Yeah, the bitch’s name is Shelby,” Lowell says angrily with an undercurrent of giggles in his voice.

Lowell laughs after he makes his frustrated comment about his girlfriend.

“The girl did quite a number on your truck with a baseball bat, man, didn’t she?” Tyson says.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Lowell says as he leers angrily at Tyson.

The headlights of the Dodge slice their beamed light through the blackness of night revealing the cleared area ahead. Their camp for the evening is directly ahead, on the south end of Soggy Bottom Swamp. Tiny pinpricks of eyes are glaring and staring back at them, reflected by the high intensity headlamps of the truck.

“Damn! Did you see all those eyes,” Tyson says, “FROGS! FROGS!”

“I told ya the little fuckers would be out here tonight, didn’t I? Didn’t I?” Lowell says.

Both men are happy that they have chosen this night to go a-giggin’.

“Yep, that you did,” Lowell says, “At least I am away from Shelby for the night. Thank the fuck.”

“What is that bitch’s problem, anyway?” Tyson says as he opens his door, while his boots step onto the leaf covered ground as the squishy sound of wet earth squeaks under his heavy feet.

Lowell does not answer.

“Did you hear me, man,” Tyson says, “What’s the damned girl’s problem?”

Lowell still does not answer.

“I am gonna take these jeans off, okay,” Tyson says, “I am not gonna let them chafe my ass.”

“Go right, ahead,” Lowell says, “It is only the two of us out here, anyway, like always.”

Lowell watches as Tyson unsnaps and eases his beer-soaked jeans off his thighs.

Lowell takes off his own camo-shirt and throws it over the side of the bed of the pick-up. His muscles shine against the paleness of his pale tank-topped tee. He is as hairy as Tyson, both boys matured quite early, both are covered in an abundance of hair since before their 17th birthday. They are now, 20-years-of-age, ever-ready, and ripe to be plucked.

Tyson stands in his cotton Hanes briefs, torn in two places near the bulged fly. His olive skin shines against the white fabric peeking out from the wide openings of his strong musculature is undeniable. Thick tufts of hair run along his legs, from under his tee, and from the two gaping holes on either side of the fly. His sweat soaked tee hugs him like a second skin, the continued sweating from the night heat makes one of man’s signature signs of manhood glare under the white material.

Tyson stands in his torn and ragged briefs, mud encrusted boots, and his backwards turned camo-cap on his shaggy-haired head.

Like the wee boy, when he was a toddler, who would often strip off all of his clothes and go running around the yard once his mom had him fully dressed and ready for church or school, he stands now under the light of a far off moon in all his masculine glory, unashamed.

“Better?” Lowell asks.

“Fuck yeah,” Tyson says happily, “I am much cooler.”

Tyson’s briefs are clenched so tight to his compact, muscled, and hairy body that there is nothing left to the imagination.

“You wanna get the truck unloaded now or get on out there into the swamp and git to a-giggin’?” Lowell asks.

“There ain’t much to unload, Lowell,” Tyson says, “It ain’t like we are a gaggle of cackling hens out here for some prissy-fied shopping spree. Are we gonna go get us some frogs or stand around here yelping like a pussy?”

“I know. I know, c’mon,” Lowell moans.

“What’s her problem, anyway, by the way?” Tyson inquires.

Lowell does not answer.

In the bed of the truck are the handheld floodlights and the two prong forks used for spearing the jumping amphibians, along with some vegetable oil and their sleeping bags. It is just enough for these two lifelong friends out in the woods for some good ole country fun.

“Hand me a beer, Lowell, since mine spilt all over me and in the truck,” Tyson orders as he props his hand on the side of the bed of the truck.

His right hand automatically goes to his bunched and sausage-like crotch and cups the bulge that is now as hard as a steel pipe in his tighty-whities. The head of his cock is peeking its crowned, cut, and mushroom-shaped head out from under the elastic waistband. Tyson fingers the tip of this man-tool, as it now is sticking its head out like a periscope. Tyson makes a string of man-cream like a strung tightrope from the head of his cock with his extended right finger.

“Here,” Lowell says as he tosses a fresh can of Budweiser to his pal.

“So, are you scared of pussy, Lowell?” Tyson says as he gently shakes the can of beer in his left hand, hidden from Lowell, behind the side of the truck, while with his right hand he smears another clear gob of man-cream over the head of his cock.

“WHAT! FUCK NO!” Lowell exaggeratedly protests.

“That ain’t what Shelby told me,” Tyson says, “She done stripped naked in front of you and offered to let you fuck her and you fucking turned her down.”

“Naw, man, that ain’t true,” Lowell protest, “I like pussy. I like pussy, a whole hell of a lot.”

“You sure?” Tyson ponders, “Really?”

“Yeah! I am!” Lowell answers without hesitation or missing a beat.

As Tyson moves his right hand from his cock and places it on the pull-tab of the can, he aims the shaken beer at Lowell and lets it spew. The beer showers Lowell in a blanket of hobs-like wetness.

“DAMMIT MAN! WHY’D THE HELL DO YOU DO THAT?” Lowell yells as the beer soaks him down from head to toe.

“Now I ain’t wet all by myself,” Tyson exclaims with a hearty smile on his face.

“You gonna jack your cock in front of me, too?” Lowell asks, flatly, as he whisks the beer from his face like a windshield wiper.

“I may,” Tyson answers, “It is not like you haven’t seen my tool, before, we’ve jacked off in the woods, behind your house and mine, and out here, so many times, since we were kids.”

Lowell yanks his wet tank top over his head, revealing his thickly fur-covered chest. The tiny swirling hairs on his chest are soaked down with the spray of the cheap Budweiser. He unsnaps his 5-0-1’s, one after another, until his own white briefs are visible, underneath. He kicks his boots off and slides his jeans from his hips.

“So why didn’t you fuck her, Lowell? When she showed you, her pretty…her pretty-little heart-shaped twat. She was a wantin’ it from you, man. You know that doncha, bud?”

Lowell does not answer as he puts his dirty boots back on. His appearance mirrors that of his friend, only paler, of which he is wearing virtually the same thing, a pair of white briefs, not torn, his boots, just as mud covered and his camo-cap, facing forward, instead of backward, on his head.

“What? What? What is heart-shaped?” Lowell asked.

“Her pussy snatch, her pubes, it is shaped like a neat little Happy Valentine’s Day heart,” Tyson answers, as he grips his cock, strongly in his right hand.

“Have you fucked her? Have you fucked Shelby, Tyson?”

“YES!” Tyson answers, sharply, and very direct, “Yes, I have, more than once.”

Lowell’s broad shoulders fall, he is more relieved instead of being mad that his best friend has fucked his girlfriend.

“Was she any good?” Lowell asks.

“Why don’t you take a dive into her sweet little muff, sometime, and find that out for yourself? She came to me saying she wanted some cock,” Tyson says, “She wanted some dick.”

Lowell grabs his cock. His cockhead is now peeking over the waistband, just like Tyson.

“You want me to fuck you, Lowell?” Tyson asks, “Like we have been doing for years.”

Tyson drops the waistband of his briefs. His cock pokes out from the dense fur like an aimed spear from his muscled loins. A thick nest of fur hides the hilt of his fleshy sword.

“Like I let you do when we were both in high school,” Lowell says, “Yes, I want you to fuck me. I want your cock buried deep in my ass.”

Lowell drops his briefs and steps out of them. His hand finds his cock and strokes it. A tiny drop of his cum twinkles in the moonlight. He smears it over his swelled cockhead where others are joining it as he leaks more of his cum Deep from within his two dangling balls.

The only light is that from the moon, high above, which is casting an ominous and eerie glow on the outskirts of this clearing on the edge of the swamp. Where it was once a night of complete and total darkness, light has steadily etched its way back into the summer night.

“Your ass did feel good back in the day,” Tyson says.

“It still does,” Lowell happily says.

Lowell walks up to his best friend and plants a slobbering wet kiss on the scruffy face of his friend. He nudges closer to his high school chum, grinding his naked groin roughly against the equally bare groin of Lowell. The anguished frothing makes each man, even harder.

Tyson snakes his hand behind Lowell’s backside and plunges his finger deep into the ass of his best friend.

“AHHHH!” Lowell moans as he rubs the leaking cream from his cock against the hairy leg of Tyson.

Lowell’s cock expels even bigger gobs of cum against Tyson’s leg as their mutual grinding continues and intensifies. Each man competes with the other on the loudness of his vocal volume. So far, it is a tie on the moan and groans being voiced in their riding lustfully on each other’s legs.

“Get on the tailgate,” Tyson orders, “Put your ass. Up.”

Lowell does as he is told. His sweaty ass slides on the cool metal of the tailgate.

“You have such a nice ass, Lowell.”

Lowell’s stature, all six feet and one of it, poses quite an impressive image. His years of playing football have tightened up his body, although the last time he played, seriously, was two years ago. The years in that high school weight room have made the baby fat of his puberty fade and his maturity has brightened his impulsive masculinity. His cock, in all its 8” length proves why he swaggers with so much confidence in his walk.

In his resting seated place, with his feet dangling down from the open tailgate, his cock juts out like a knife from his pubes.

“I wanna see that sweet little ass of yours, Lowell,” Tyson commands.

Lowell slides his ass to the end of the tailgate and presents his posterior to his childhood friend.

“Nice,” Tyson says as he slaps the hair-covered butt-cheek of Lowell’s ass, “You have one hell of a hairy ass…and the ring of hair around that little red rosebud of a butt-hole wants my cock, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” Lowell answers, as he feels Tyson’s finger slice into his crack.

He squeezes his muscles deep within the folds of his ass on Tyson’s finger.

“That’s right clamp your ass-muscles down on my finger. Squeeze it. Squeeze it. C’mon. C’mon,” Tyson says, “Get that ass ready for something much bigger than my finger.”

Tyson can feel the clamping of Lowell’s vice-like ass on his finger. The wet silky ring of Lowell’s ass flesh is milking his finger as if his finger were a leaking teat.

“Oh, yeah, man, that’s it, that’s it,” Tyson cajoles as the pressure is applied by his single digit in Lowell’s ass.

Lowell’s moans are shallow as his legs are thrown to the high heavens, preparing his avenue for an on-time delivery, which is expected to arrive, soon. His knees are bent, opening his crack for easier entry.

The light wind whips through the cluster of hair that encircles his tight clenched ass, which is also heavy carpeted with fur. Tyson’s finger plunges in and out of this tender spot like a dipstick on his truck.

Lowell’s sighs respond to every fingering into his hirsute hole. The sighs are those of joy-filled ecstasy and intense longing desire. The longing is for Lowell’s spear-like hard cock that ricochets back and forth from his crotch as his finger drills into the ass that is in proximity.

“Put your legs over my shoulders,” Tyson orders, as he scoots back on the truck’s tailgate.

The sound of sweaty flesh on metal is heard as Lowell edges closer to his best friends swaying steel-hard cock and the target that is his waiting asshole.

Lowell’s legs are pressed hard, his calves compete against Tyson’s against the furry chest of his childhood friend of the most powerful. The forest of hair of both men mingles amongst themselves like a shared carpet.

“I can’t do that,” Lowell protest, as his ass does not align with the flesh-dagger that is swinging between Tyson’s legs.

A gust of wind whips through the trees, this breeze creeps over Tyson’s exposed crack. A shiver shoots through his frame as he is startled by this act of nature.

“Your cock got harder, “Lowell moans as Tyson’s cock juts out, stabbing him with its steeliness.

“That gust of wind,” Tyson says, “It was its fault.”

“Just like when were teenagers and we would get a hard-on when the wind would pass over us,” Lowell interjects, “I want your cock in my ass.”

“Yep. I want it in there, too.”

“Stick that rock-hard cock in my hole and fuck me, hard, Tyson,” Lowell begs, “Fuck me, gig me with that hard pole.”

Tyson looks down.

Between his muscled legs, he can see his throbbing cock. The bloated veined tool with the blood infused organ swelled to its hardest proportions pointing toward the hairy hole of his friend.

From looking down at his stiffened cock, he looks into the deep wispy blue eyes of his childhood friend while he instinctively guides his hard cock into Lowell’s anxious hole. Lowell’s anxious hole opens, like the parting of the Biblical Red Sea taking in his thick girth-blessed length.

Lowell gasps as Tyson’s cock snakes in, inch by inch into his ass.

Tyson pauses as Lowell’s ass, opens more for the fleshy girder.

“Take it. Take it,” Tyson calmly coos, “Take it!”

Lowell breathes in, as another inch goes into him.

The veiny cock disappears slowly into Lowell’s ass. Tyson can feel the muscle-amber folds of Lowell’s ass squeezes and milk him. Each gentle thrusting of his cock as he sinks it into Lowell’s sweet velvety tenderness excites him.

Tyson can hear the low audible moan emanating from Lowell as he plunges slowly in, his cock grows even harder. He closes his eyes, enraptured by the vice-like grip of Lowell’s ass.

Lowell’s ass has always been tight. No matter how many times he has fucked it. It never seems to stretch but retract back to it former pre-fuck dimensions.

Lowell sighs.

Lowell has had no problem taking him.

Tyson stops once he can go no further, his cock has disappeared into Lowell’s dark passage.

Their hair, his pubes, and Lowell’s ring of anal hair, fight amongst themselves like a rambunctious bleacher full of rowdy folks once the football game has gone in to overtime.

Tyson opens his eyes.

He stands. His cock buried like an undiscovered treasure in Lowell’s ass.

He can feel Lowell’s ample ass applying its pressure to his cock-rod the longer he remains motionless in the happy cavern.

The sound of nature has awakened behind them. Tyson does not move. The tiny insects are buzzing about the frenzied amorous pair. Mosquitoes are biting his bare and exposed ass, little pinpricks of their sword-like nose-swords are making their mark on his soft tender flesh.

“FUCK ME! FUCK ME!” Lowell shouts joyously out-of-the-blue, “FUCK ME! FUCK ME!”

The words startle Tyson from his sexual stupor.

Lowell shoves his ass into Tyson’s groin, grinding hard against the furry loins of his best friend while the hard cock sinks Deeper into his inner core. Lowell can feel the tinkling of his prostate by the steely member of his long-time childhood friend.

Tyson shoves hard in response to Lowell’s forceful pressures by burying his cock in Lowell’s dark interior.

The fury between the two men amps up to intensity as each plays their role in this act. The power and strength between each of their legs, magnifies, Tyson is the surging dynamo as the power courses out of his cock and feeds Lowell’s stretched ass.

Their banging thighs of flesh-against-flesh reverberate through the trees and across the lily-padded swamp water as Tyson hammers his cock, like a jackhammer, into Lowell’s ass.

“FUCK ME! FUCK ME!”

“TAKE MY COCK! TAKE IT! TAKE MY COCK!” Tyson screams, his yell competing with the loud banging of his groin against Lowell’s sweaty ass.

Lowell’s moans fill the night air around the desolate Deep Bottom Swamp.

The creatures of the night are stirring, making their unbridled mischief as the two-hunky country boys fuck like mad under the oak trees on the letdown tailgate of the pick-up.

With each plunge of Tyson’s rod into the worn and well-lubed hole of Lowell. Lowell offers up tiny dribbles of his precious man-cream from his leaking pee-hole as his best friend powerfully drills him in his ass. This hearty oil of a blessed man spills out, like a slow gusher from Lowell’s cock, the cum pools in his treasure trail and meanders further down into the abundance of hair that flowers him like a garden over the young manpower, well-built and sturdy body.

“FUCK ME! FUCK ME!” Lowell howls.

The birds respond by loud caws and sing-song music to Lowell’s ripping voice through the night. The sounds of nature concur with the consensual activity, taking place between the two men in the back of the parked pick-up.

Each man is bathed in a light sheen of sweat as each of his years-long lust manifest in a way that only a man would understand.

Lowell can feel the raised blood-filled veins on the topside of Tyson’s ever-present steel-like cock with each delivery into his spread asshole. He clenches these muscles, with each passage of Tyson’s cock into his sweet tenderness.

That feeling of this man’s cock overwhelms while he delivers more spoonfuls of pre-cum from his own cock. This sensation beats any high he gets from giggin’ for any swamp varmint.

A cock in the ass is worth more than any ole frog.

“FUCK ME! FUCK ME! FUCK ME!” Lowell screams.

Tyson’s face contorts in expressions of extreme pleasure as his cock slices through Lowell’s ass. Each plunge brings him closer to what all men want, a climatic body-shaking cum explosion.

“My ass is better Shelby’s pussy, ain’t it?” Lowell asks in a moment of coherence.

Tyson nods in his head in agreement and moans aloud a stream of ‘uh-huhs’ in illegible sentences while he continues with his swift and excited pounding of Lowell’s parted ass.

Tyson is awash in buckets of man-sweat and reeking of a hard-pounding fucking.

“FUCK ME! FUCK ME!”

Tyson looks down as he buries his cock, once again, into Lowell’s ass. His ass swallows his cock with extreme ease. The mixture of his leaking cum and softness of the lubed hole devours his cock as he nears his expected climax.

“UH! UH! UH! UH! UH! UH! UH!” Tyson snarls, like a man possessed, as he assaults Lowell’s ass with his cock.

“I AM GONNA CUM! UH! UH! UH!” Lowell yells as his cock explodes, raining down splatters of his own cum onto his face and body.

“That’s good, m’boy, drain those nuts,” Tyson vocalizes.

Lowell’s face is blanketed in the milky white creaminess of his own ball-created DNA. His chest hair splatters with the excess that did not wind up on his face.

He heaves and ho’s as his body is raked with prolonged ecstasy.

Tyson reaches for a congealed gob of man-milk that covers his friend, bringing that manly essence to his outstretched tongue, and swallowing it down his gullet.

“Mmmm,” Tyson says as he savors the salty sweetness of Lowell’s cum.

He grabs another handful and smearing it through Lowell’s heaving chest, rubbing the expelled cum across the course dark matted hairs.

“I want your load in my ass, Tyson,” Lowell says as he clamps down on Tyson’s cock, which is buried deep in his ass.

“You, got it,” Tyson says as he shoves his cock, rammed hard into Lowell’s ass.

“UH! UH!” Lowell moans, as he works and tightens his ass muscles around Tyson’s cock, forcing more cream out of it.

“I AM GONNA CUM!” Tyson screams.

A quivering shake goes through Tyson as his pent-up cum ejaculates from his buried cock into Lowell’s ass.

He shoves his cock, harder and harder, as his balls dump their capacity load in the tender folds.

“FFFUUUUUCCCCKKKKKKK!” Tyson screams, “FFFUUUUUCCCCKKKKKK!”

His body continues it shaking as he unloads his balls.

“GIVE IT ALL TO ME!” Lowell says as he milks the cock of his lifelong friend.

His ass muscle flex and squeeze, Tyson jumps, moans, as all his thick pearly-white cum is sucked dry from his balls. His body relaxes, pulling his cock out of Lowell’s ass.

POP!

It is the sound of the mushroom-headed cock exiting from the velvety-red lips of Lowell’s ass.

“AHHH!” Tyson moans once his cock is freed from Lowell’s tight and cum-packed ass-chamber.

Tyson stands upright, backing away from the trucks tailgate, his hands on his hips, his flaccid cock dangling like a clock’s pendulum between his legs, sweat in a glistening sheen covers his taunt body. Lowell rights himself on the tailgate in a seated position, he, too, is covered in his own natural juices of cum and sweat. His cock, limply, rest between his wet legs. He can feel the cum easing like a bubbling brook from his ass.

Lowell looks into the eyes of his best friend. Tyson returns the gaze.

“So, we gonna go a-giggin’ or not?” Tyson says.

“Let’s go git us some frogs!” Lowell says, as his boots hit the ground and his cock flaps in the night as the crickets begin their singing chirps.

Both pick up their dirt covered white tighty-whities from the ground and slip them over their sweaty thighs. They grab the forked prongs from the bed of the truck and the gas-can full of diesel for the airboat and the flashlights and head to the sandy shore of the swamp and parked airboat.

“I’m hungry! We need to get some critters so we can fry them up,” Tyson says, “I need to replace some of that protein replaced that I gave you.”

Lowell nods his head in hearty agreement.

“I want more of it before we leave tomorrow morning, Tyson,” Lowell says, “I ain’t had enough of it to satisfy my hunger for your stiff cock.”

Tyson winks to Lowell as the motor to the airboat revs-up to whirling life, kicking up dust, dirt, and swamp water into the night air.

THE END