Approaching Storm

Lightning Strike

1

There is a persistent pulsating boom of thunder, simultaneously, flashes of bright erratic blue lightning streaks across the rainy night sky. Large drops of rain are pounding on the dark coal black asphalt, filling and overflowing the ruts and potholes of the backcountry-paved road.

A solitary figure walks down this rain-drenched road, clasping a too small button-down shirt close to his bosom, trying to stay warm but knowing he will not be able too. The shirt does not button closed. It is just a way to fight away the cold sleet of rain. Wrapped around his right arm is a neatly placed ACE bandage, although wet as his shirt, it is protecting, an assumed and concealed wound, underneath. There are lights from an unknown vehicle’s headlights, approaching him, in the distance, from over a far distance hill.

His bare feet splash in the shallow puddles that pocket the well-worn road with each forward trudge he makes. He pulls the shirt, closer to his chest, as a gust of winds sweeps over him. The shirt is the only stitch of clothing, he has on, barely keeping him somewhat decent, covered, and far from warm.

He shivers. He shakes in the coolness of the night.

He walks on, completely soaked to the bone.

The vehicle nears. The headlights are growing ever brighter.

He moves to the overgrown grassy shoulder. The high grass whips his bare legs, but he keeps moving, despite the bare shoeless feet and the damp grass.

He does not want help, nor does he expect it.

He keeps walking, his head down, his hair matted down close to his head like a wet helmet.

The vehicle slows as the dual headlights hit him in their high beams. It slows as it creeps by him.

He keeps walking in the opposite direction, undeterred in his forward mission.

He turns his head, stopping briefly, looking back at the vehicle, which is a pick-up truck. The rain whips hard against his face as the downpour has become torrential in its sheet.

He resumes his walk, as the truck comes into view next to him. He keeps on his trek. The truck has backed up and creeps slowly as it matches his pace.

“Hey, man,” a deep baritone voice, screams out to him, over the rain from the interior of the truck, “You need a ride?”

He nods his head, ‘no.’

He shakes his head, violently, in protest, exclaiming his ‘no.’

The truck, still in reverse, creeps along with him as he trudges on.

“Did you hear me, Mister, do you need a ride?”

He nods his head, ‘no’ before he speaks, “I have no money.”

“I gathered that, Mister,” the man says, “Do you need a ride?”

“Yes,” he answers, hesitantly.

“Come on, then, and git yourself in my truck,” the stranger says.

He walks from the grass, the rain pouring down upon him like the Biblical flood of old as his right bandaged hand grasp onto the wet handle to the side door, opening it. The bare cheeks of his ass slide across the slippery Naugahyde seats, the wet squeaky sound breaks through the silence of the truck cab.

“You cold?” the stranger asks, as he leans forward, turning the heater up inside the truck cab.

He pulls his wet shirt in closer to him, tighter. His hair sticks to his head, drops of water cascade off him, puddles form in his seat under his bare as and at his feet in the floorboard.

“Better?” the man asks.

He nods his head.

The man puts his truck in ‘drive’ and resumes his wayward journey.

There is an eerie silence in this warm cab, neither man talking, the windows fogging up as the moisture from his wet clothes and the heat, mingle together into a steamy cloud.

They pass a white-painted cinder block church, The Greater Pleasant Valley Baptist Church, on the right side of the road. There is nothing out here to let him know where he is.

“Where am I? He asks, out of the blue, on this black stormy night to the driver.

“What?” the driving stranger asks, shock in his voice.

“Where am I?”

“Mineola,” the stranger asks.

“Where is Mineola?”

“In Baker County,” the man says, “Florida.”

“What?” he catches himself sounding shocked.

“Where is your clothes, your pants, Mister?” the man asks him back.

“I don’t know,” he answers because he does not know. He has no idea.

“What’s your name?”

“I don’t know,” he answers.

The man brakes, hard, flinging himself and the stranger forward in their seats, at the startling abrupt stop.

“You don’t know where you are. Who you are and why you have no pants?” the man says, as the rain pounds down hard on the windshield as the wipers whisks away the torrential flood in rapid movement.

“No, Mister, I don’t,” he pleads, “I don’t know anything. I just know I needed to walk, so I did. It was instinct.”

“Do you know why your arm is bandaged up?” the man, the frustration, ever more visible in his words.

“No. No. No, I have idea why my arm is wrapped up,” he gasps, his won frustrations bleed out from him.

The man presses his foot back on the accelerator as the truck lunges forth on the road.

“I’m Aaron, by the way,” the man says, coolly, as he looks toward the unknown man, “Can I call you, Joe? You look like a friend of mine. A man I once knew, he was named Joe, besides you look like a ‘Joe’.”

“Okay.”

“We must be somewhere out in the boon-docks?” the man questions Aaron.

“Yep, we are,” Aaron says, “I am almost home.”

“You live out here?”

“Yep,” the man answers, “I work south of here, in the phosphate mines.”

“Would you mind coming to my place? I think I got some clothes that might fit ya?”

“Oh, okay,” he answers, “I do need some clothes. Don’t I. I am so cold.”

“We’re here,” Aaron says as he turns down a dirt road off the main road.

The rear-end of the truck slides from side-to-side, as he barrels down the slushy dirt road, he fights the muddy mess but keeps the truck squarely in the middle of the soup. The motor revs up but the truck goes onward. The wipers fight their own battle against this downpour, but he wins the battle against the muck.

Joe shivers, despite the humidity inside the truck.

“Home, sweet home,” Aaron, says as he pulls into his driveway between two towering longleaf pine trees and a long two-path dirt path up to a singlewide trailer, with a solitary security light illuminating the trailer, “It ain’t much, but it’s paid for.”

A loud boom of thunder shakes the truck as a clash of lightning flares through the night sky while the rain continues with its opened up from the heaven’s drenching.

“C’mon in” Aaron says as it bolts from the truck and the front door of his mobile home.

Joe’s side of the truck opens to the small porch in front of the man’s humble abode.

Joe, the name chosen for him by the stranger, opens his side door and follows behind his host.

He takes two steps of the four-step entrance, at a time as his bare feet. He is under the slight lean-to like porch and the front cheap front door. His feet hit the threadbare carpet on the inside of the trailer, at the living room. At the doorway, is a short hallway going to a room at the front of the trailer.

“Joe” stands on the carpet, water dripping off him, making a puddle in the threadbare necessity of the carpet. His bare feet bury into the carpet. A shiver rakes through his body.

“You can take a shower, in here, “Aaron says as he walks out of the bathroom, into the hallway, “there is a towel on the commode, shampoo, and soap in the shower.”

“Thanks.”

“Sure,” Aarons says, “I am gonna git myself a shower in the back bathroom. I’ll bring you sum-thing to wear when I am finished.”

“Okay.”

“Joe” trudges into the tight compact bathroom.

The linoleum feels cold under his feet. He pulls the soaked button-down shirt from his body, it is a wet-sopping mess, clumping on the floor, releasing its water from the sponge-like cotton shirt.

The shower spray warms him as it pelts him, like tiny bullets, quite the opposite of the rain that is continuing outside. He feels warmer, now.

2

“Joe!” a holler reverberates from down the short hallway, “Joe!”

Footsteps on the floor are heard next in the hallway, he hears them. The footsteps draw closer to the bathroom door.

“Joe!” Aaron leers into the bathroom, “Did you hear me, Joe?”

“Oh! Oh! Sorry,” Aaron says, “I am not used to that name, yet.”

“I have you some underwear out here in the living room, when you are finished.”

“S’kay, Aaron, thanks,” Joe says from the shower, which is now, being turned off.

“Did you want to shave, Joe? I can git you a razor,” Aaron asks.

“Naw, I am fine,” Joe answers, “I am fine. I am fine.”

“S’kay.”

The floor of the trailer reacts to the weight of Aaron’s walk from the bathroom to the living room. A towel wrapped snug around his waist. It flaps as he makes his way to the couch. His hair is wet and there is longneck bottle of beer on the end table next to his recliner. He takes a deep swig-gulp as he plops back, relaxing. He flings the boxers to the sofa opposite of him.

The shower is cut-off in the adjoining room, where Joe is.

Aaron can hear the feet step in the bathroom. He suspects he may have some water damage under the bathroom floor, which causes the squeaks when someone stands on it. It is why, he, has avoided the room but a onetime use by the stranger is all right, he confidently assures himself.

Joe walks from the bathroom. He brushes the damp towel through his frazzled wet hair as he dries himself off.

“You wanna a beer, Joe?” Aaron asks.

“Naw, for some reason, I do not think I like beer,” Joe answers, surprised by his own words.

“I have some tea. Ice cold, if you would rather have it.”

“Is it sweet?” Joe asks.

“Of course,” Aaron says, “Have a seat.”

Aaron walks to the kitchen, getting a glass from an overhead cabinet and filling it from a pitcher in the refrigerator with the cold tea.

“You want any ice?” Aaron says, “I usually don’t drink my tea with it. It gets to watery.”

“No, it is fine.”

Aaron brings his guest the tea.

“Thanks,” Joe says.

Joe slides his bare back further onto the couch. The towel is thrown over his shoulders as he spreads his legs, relaxing in his seated stance.

“There, there are you some drawers on the couch,” Aaron laments as he sits, tucking his towel down into his crotch.

Joe does not rush to get the under drawers on.

“Oh, okay,” Joe says where he stands, between the sofa and a table in front of it and begins pulling up the underwear.

Halfway up his legs, the underwear stops.

“Mmm, I think, these things are gonna be too small for me,” Joe says, “What size are they? By the way?”

“Medium.”

“I think I need a larger pair,” Joe says, “Oh, well. I think these, will not work.”

Joe drops the drawers and sits back on the couch.

Relaxed.

His discarded damp towel is on the sofa, bumping up next to his bare leg.

“I tried,” Aaron says.

With this comment, Aaron flings his own towel aside, revealing his own naked groin.

“You hungry?”

“Yeah, I am,” Joe says as he leans back on the couch.

“I think I may have some sandwich meat and bread,” Aaron says as he stands and trudges to the kitchen.

In the kitchen, Aaron hears a low-whirring sound behind him.

On the sofa, seated with his legs, spread, his dick flopped to one side of his thigh, Joe snores. There is a slight curvature to the man’s cock, in its flaccidity.

“Well, go to sleep!” Aaron says, with a note of irritation in his voice.

The ground underneath the singlewide trailer shakes as a loud boom of thunder vibrates through the atmosphere and the blue light of a bolt of electricity weaves its jagged path through the rainy night sky lighting up the windows of the curtain-less trailer.

“It’s gonna rain the whole damn night,” Aaron moans, as he pours the tea back into the plastic pitcher, “I guess he does not want this, either.”

3

“Joe! Joe! Joe! Joe!” Aaron shouts to the man lying sprawled out, in an angle, still seated, on the couch. Low moaning snores are creeping forth from the gaping mouth of the naked man.

There is no answer from the naked sleeping man.

In his sleep, the man has a semi-piss erection. His cock flops from one side where the man sleeps in a seated upright position to the other thigh.

“JOE! JOE!” Aaron shouts, again, much louder.

The high volume stirs the slumbering man.

“Uh! Uh! Uh!” Joe stirs, still drowsy.

“You want some coffee?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that would be good, “Joe says as he slides up against the back of the couch.

Joe darts like a crazed lunatic to the front bathroom and the eventual sound of a steady stream of piss is heard barreling from the closed-in space.

“I found these,” Aaron says as he leans on the doorframe of the bathroom.

Aaron has on a pair of tighty-whiteys, his morning erection strains against the piss-stained fabric of the underwear. In his fingers is a worn Bike jockstrap.

“You want’m?” Aaron asks as his free hand massages his bulge.

Joe shakes the leaking dew from his cock, while giving himself a gentle tug on his relaxed tool.

“Yeah, I’ll take them, “Joe says, “I imagine you are tired of looking at my junk.”

Aaron says nothing.

“This damn thing is itching,” Joe says as he scratches the wrapped bandage on his right arm.

“Whatever it is. It must be healing,” Aaron says, “Here.”

Aaron flings his used old jock to his naked houseguest.

Joe steps into the slightly used jock, bringing the frayed and worn material up and over his cock, while tucking his dark hairy balls in the sling-like basket of the swimmer’s jock with the narrow-thin band around his waist.

“These fit,” Joe says, “Thanks.”

Joe cups his now concealed ball sacs in his hands, feeling their weight and hairiness in his fingertips.

“I forgot I had’m, until this morning,” Aaron says, “It’s the only thing I kept since before I lost some weight. They look good on you, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Joe answers, flatly, “You got some coffee?”

Joe squeezes by Aaron in the doorway, their fabric covered cocks brush against the other in the narrow doorway. Neither man withdraws from such intimate contact. Both men act as if this type of contact is something familiar between them.

“Yeah, the pot should be made now on the coffeemaker,” Aaron says happily, as he fondles his underwear-encased cock.

The wafting aroma of made java fills the long rectangular-square abode.

Aaron looks toward the kitchen, toward the jockstrap-clad stranger as he fills a mug full of the steaming liquid. The roundness of the man’s shapely hairy ass, catches his attention, stirring an intense feeling in his groin.

He grabs his cock, squeezing himself tight, as his cock grows in his tighty-whiteys. It has been a while since he has been so enthused and entranced by a visitor.

4

“How’s the coffee?” Aaron asks as the two men sit on his back screened-in porch.

The soft dew of morning rises from the uncut grass, shaded by the many trees that fill the unkempt backyard.

“Good,” Joe says, “it is warming my soul.”

The men are seated in identical plastic chairs, legs spread, as wide as the chair will allow, borne out of a need to give a man room for his spacious junk.

“You have any inkling of who you are, yet?”

Joe shakes his head, ‘no.’

“You’ve got a nice place, here, Aaron,” Joe says, “Is that a river down there?”

“Yeah, the Allapoochee,” Aaron says, “It has some of the best fish in the county in it.”

Aaron looks over a Joe. His eyes look at his almost naked guest from the tip of his unkempt hair to his bare feet.

“How tall are you?” Aaron asks.

“6’2.”

“Your weight?” Aaron further queries.

“210 lbs.”

“You think someone would be missing you, such as you, a 6-foot 2 man 210 lbs., hunk of a man, someone must be looking for such a strapping fellow, like yourself,” Aaron says.

“Not that I know of,” Joe says, “I am hard to miss. Aren’t I?”

“That you are,” Aaron says, “You strike quite an imposing figure.”

“An impressive,” Joe says, as he squeezes his cock and feels his ass clutch tight against the round coldness of the cheap plastic chair.

Aaron can see his guest shimmy in the chair. He knows what he is doing.

“You wanna see the river?”

“Sure,” Joe answers.

“Follow me, then.”

Both men stand, Joe falls in step behind Aaron as they follow the hewn path between the flowers and somewhat overgrown yard.

“It looks like you have planted some flowerbeds about the yard?” Joe comments.

“Yeah, I have quite the green thumb. I got that gift from my daddy,” Aaron boasts.

“Oh, I just noticed the barn, there, at the edge of the trees,” Joe also comments, “Yeah, my dad and I built it before he died.”

“It is nice,” Joe compliments his host, “When did you move here?”

“When I was twenty-five,” Aaron says, “About 12 years ago.”

“You are thirty-seven?”

“Yeah, how old are you?” Aaron asks.

“I am forty-one, I think?” Joe says, “I remember tasting cake, for some reason, and eating a lot of icing.”

“You like icing?” Aaron asks, “Me, not so much. I am not a sweet type of a guy. I like savory.”

5

The men stand among the many oak trees on the riverbank.

Joe has his bandaged hand on a towering oak tree. Aaron is on the opposite side of the same tree.

“We got ourselves quite a storm, here, last night, didn’t we?” Joe says, “Why was I wandering like an aimless vagabond until you stumbled on me?”

“I saw you when I came over Hurricane Hill,” Aaron says, “…I was wondering what would have a fella out here and about in such a storming squall.”

“…and we still do not know why?” Joe says, “Do we?”

The roar of the rushing river whizzes by both men as they stand on either side of the water oak, with its long roots dipping themselves into the mighty waters.

Aaron fondles his cock through his briefs as the morning sun hits him in the back.

Joe’s bandaged right-hand grips and cups his cock, too, out of the sight of the man that picked him up on the side of the road, last night. He fishes into the jock, feeling the hairy pubes and his growing morning erection. The harder he gets, the more the signature of his bent cock, happens.

“Do you swim in the river, Aaron?”

“Yeah, I do, “Aaron answers, “You wanna take a dip?”

Joe answers by dropping his too-small jock and dives into the river. His cock in complete hardness kisses his treasure trail with its uncommon curve.

“I guess that is a ‘yes,’” Aaron says as he drops his briefs and dives into the river.

6

Both men are sitting in the muck of the riverbank on a sandbar, their arms, form into a ‘V’ behind them, as they soak up the rays of the early morning sun.

“Do you have to go to work?” Joe asks as the sun shines on the pair basking the hairy men.

“No, I am off on Friday,” Aaron says, “This is what I had planned to do.”

“Go skinny-dipping?”

“Yep.”

Aaron leans up and lets his hand glide up his cock. This solitary stroke instantaneously swells his cock back to its severe hardness.

“You horny too?” Joe asks.

“Yes, “Aaron says as a moan escapes his lips.

Joe’s cock grows hard too, as he glances toward his host cock, with the swirling water of the river around his balls. Joe’s cock curves toward his belly, as he gets harder.

“You get much action with that thing?” Joe asks as he licks his lips.

Aaron’s thick cock pokes through the dark mire of the river. His stubby cock, with its massive domed head, peering out like a striking snake between his legs invites the stares of the stranger.

“I do alright, “Aaron says, “I have not fucked a willing hole in a while.”

“You can fuck, mine, if you want?” Joe says.

“Oh!”

Aaron stands, his cock, fills the vision of the older man, next to him.

7

“I like my ass plugged bareback,” Joe, says, “I like seed buried deep in my willing hole.”

“No rubber?” Aaron says, with a note of hesitancy in his voice.

“Good ole southern man-seed should not be wasted but swallowed up,” Joe says, “…by a willing hole like mine.”

Joe stands, the water streaming off him, as he turns his ass toward Aaron’s sharp knife-like cock.

“Put that monster inside me, Aaron.”

Aaron’s strokes his hard tool, a drop of pre-cum oozes out and materializes on the glaring red crown of his cock. He smears his juice over the blood-infused dagger.

“What is that, 10 inches, Aaron?”

“Naw, its only nine, but it is nine thick inches…” Aaron drones on as he mixes his sweat with his spit, lubing up his throbbing rod of man-flesh.”

“I want it! I want it, now!” Joe says as he sticks his spit-licked finger into his waiting ass.

Joe’s haired-rimmed ass, sweats under the morning sun, as the fierce moving river swirls and whirls round and round his feet.

“It is not one of the biggest, I have had…” Joe says, “…but it will not be turned down, either.”

“It will work out just fine,” Aaron says, “I have not gotten any complaints.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Joe says, as he flexes his hairy crack for Aaron, “Now poke that cock in my hole, Big Boy.”

8

Aaron’s cock slithers into Joe’s dark hole. With each gentle glide of the swelled snake into the waiting hole, Joe sighs, loudly, as the snake creeps into the gopher turtle hole that is Joe’s ass.

“OH! OH! That cockhead of yours feels so good! OHHHH! OHHHHH!”

Joe’s loud moans carry through the dense copse of trees on the riverbank.

“Squeeze my cock with those muscles of yours,” Aaron orders.

The darkness wetness of Joe’s oft disturbed cavern milks the seed from Aaron’s cock, his hood tickles the walls of the dark cave.

“AAAHHHHH! AAAHHHHHHHH!”

The moans drown out the wet sloshing of Aaron’s cock in his ass.

The birds in the trees scatter as the intensity and volume grows between the two men.

Squirrels stop their hurried scurrying about and watch the sweaty men frolic in their lust as each ready to bust their nut. A rambling fox gazes at the pair as the testosterone-generated screams bellow out from both of their squealing mouths.

“Hook me with that curved cock,” Aaron screams as Joe’s cock plows through the roof of his tender anal cavity.

The pleasure is overwhelming.

***

“Uhm, that was good, Joe,” Aaron says as he runs his hand across his ass, wiping the fresh man-cream into the crack of his vulnerability, “I knew you’d be a good fuck.”

Joe strokes the last gobs of cum from his still hard cock, the last vestiges of his cream seeping from his balls, as a clear string-like string of cum falls in the rushing river at his feet, disappearing in the brown murky waters.

“You are one hell of a good fuck,” Aaron says as he turns and faces the man who had just planted his seed in his most vulnerable of orifices, “I imagine you have been told that before.”

Joe says nothing.

“I want you to fuck me, again,” Aaron says, “…in my playroom.”

“Your playroom?” Joe asks, with a look of bewilderment on his face.

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“In the barn, in my backyard.” Aaron says, “You saw it as we walked down the path to the river.

“Oh!”

“C’mon,” Aaron says with excitement apparent in his voice.

“I gotta take a piss, first,” Joe says as he aims his cock downstream as a yellow stream of his man-piss erupts from his cock, “I can fuck, again.”

“I have no doubt about that,” Aaron replies with a certain amount of restrained allure in his voice.

Once finished, Joe shakes the last drops from his wagging cock, a stray amount of the remaining man-dew flings in the wind.

“Let me clean that up for you,” Aaron says as he takes Joe’s cock into his mouth, gurgling on the dangling man-meat.

With his lower and upper lip, he massages the man’s cock, running the slithering tongue over the veins that crisscross the fleshy appendage.

“Let’s get to my playroom, “Aaron says, “I want you back in my ass.”

Joe follows Aaron, the morning sun peeks through the oak trees and the smattering of dogwoods and other trees that dot the backyard.

“You are gonna like this place,” Aaron says with a bit of devilish impish tone in his words, “It ain’t much, but it suits the purpose.”

The weeds on the path whip their legs as each man’s cock flop from side-to-side as they make their way to the non-discreet barn on the corner of the yard.

“C’mon on inside,” Aaron say as he unlatches the heavy wooden door on the barn.

The door slings open, the morning sunlight illuminates the gadgets and devices that fill the tight little barn.

“Whoa!” Joe gasps as he sees what is inside, “You play in here?”

“Yeah! I fuck and am fucked in here,” Aaron says, “I also keep my adorable pets in here.”

From behind his back, his brings as small metal pipe across the back of Joe’s neck.

“You got out, one time, Jacob,” Ron says, “…that will not happen again.”

On the floor, the man moans, as he brings his hand to the back of his head. He feels a warm wetness. It is blood. He brings the damp fingers to his face so he can see and confirm. There is red.

“I remember. I remember now, the guy from the bar, my name is Jacob,” as the words leave his mouth, the world fades into blackness and the memories of how he got here, storms back into recollection but it is too late.

End Part 1