CTM + JCP

You never mind why I was walking along Black Creek Road in the middle of the night. It ain’t nothing to tell. Let’s just say I was in a dark foul mood and found myself walking along the edge of the road, using the faded white strip faintly glowing in the moonlight to guide me.

But here’s the thing. I never would have believed I would have done it. Not in a fucking million, million years would have I gotten in Jordan C. Peterson’s car in the past. Not after the way he treated me in high school and how he bullied that poor Sullivan boy. The fucker was bad news, and everyone knew it. Well, everyone except Ruth Mayfield, the daughter of one Rev. Mayfield of the Bethel Free Will Baptist Church. But then again, maybe she liked being called easy and rebellious. Goddamn was she ever defiant of her reverend father. And it was common knowledge she and Jordan were in the back seat of his old Bonneville more than in the front.

But I could see the temptation. If I’m honest, I had considered it, what it would be like to be in the back seat of that Bonneville with Jordan C. Peterson. Ya see, it’s like this; that bastard was tall, with a lean muscular build and thick wavy black hair and…hell, a fucking god when it came to his looks. He even had dark brown eyes that would make you burn within from his stare. And his daddy was the sheriff for these here parts, and lucky for Jordan for it enabled him to get out of hell of a lot of trouble over the years. The pot plants behind the widow Hanks place, the burning down of the Bradberry’s old tool shed (there weren’t nothing in it at the time, so…), getting caught busting mailboxes with a bat, and god only knows how many times Jordan got pulled for speeding or just driving like a goddamn fool.

Jordan was a year older but out here in the sticks, with the damn school so small as to be pitiful, everyone knew everyone else, one or two grades above and below their own. And funny enough, I got along with Jordan through elementary and middle school. Not one time did we come to words or Jordan threaten to knock my teeth out. But sometime in the ninth grade, he changed. Some said it had something to do with his ma-ma running off with some truck driver from Jackson, Mississippi, but others said there had been some falling out between him and his daddy sometime afterward. I don’t rightly know which, if either, were the cause, but damn, we all saw the results. He began to bully some of the boys, none worse than Mark Sullivan. Mark had the nicest clothes, the most expensive watch and cellphone, and upon turning sixteen, a brand-new BMW convertible. And Jordan gave him a busted lip and a black eye for it. Nothing like envy and jealously to bring out the worst in an asshole.

You’re probably wondering what I did to make Jordan go after me. Well, you see, I’m a curious sort, the kind of person who will sneak a look at anything or work for hours to get past a password. That desire to know something I shouldn’t came into play one day in the school office. I went to hand in a note from ma-ma that I would be out the following Friday morning for a dentist appointment and saw Jordan’s file laying out.

A file open to his student profile page with his full god given name: Jordan Cornelius Peterson. Most of us didn’t know each other’s full name for who uses it in daily conversation, and it would be no surprise some were a bit embarrassed by their name. Well, let me tell you, Jordan C. Peterson did not take too kindly to his name being broadcast to a group of his friends during the lunch break. He got a week’s detention, and I got three days once the dust had settled from the ass whooping, he gave me out behind the cafeteria. That was where he finally caught me when I ran, knowing I was making it worse.

By what’ve said, you would think I’d hate the bastard to the point I’d never ever get into his fucking car. And up till a month ago, you’d be right. But that was before I saw another side of him. A side he never showed no one, not even Ruth. When he caught me spying on him and seeing him like that, he threatened to kill me, but then…he didn’t.

I had finished mowing the yard and before daddy could give me another chore to do, I jumped on my mountain bike and took off. I was still shirtless, just a pair of ragged jean shorts, sweating so I knew I was a disgusting sight. But Cypress Creek called me with its spring fed and shaded slow moving waters. Most went in at the bridge on Route 2431, but I had no desire to hang with them, listening to the boys talk of fucking pussy and the girls gossiping about the ones not present. I had another place to put in, one that required a four-wheel drive vehicle or a mountain bicycle. I didn’t have the former, but I damn sure had the latter, and on that hot-as-fuck afternoon, I made my way down that rutted washed out fire lane through the papermill pine until I came to the small path that led to the creek.

I didn’t see Jordan’s bicycle when I strolled down the path, but I saw it when I ran out, sitting behind a cypress tree a good eight or nine feet off the path. Therefore, I strolled down that path thinking I had the place to myself where I could swim and rest on the bank, and if so inclined, jerk off too. Imagine my surprise when I walked right up on the bastard sitting on the sandy bank crying.

Yep, you read that right. Jordan C. Peterson was crying. Just rocking back and forth, mumbling something too low for me to make out. And crying. And he was stripped down to a pair of boxers that clung transparent to his round ass, not leaving much to the imagination. I quickly got over my shock of seeing him like this, then tried to figure out how to peep at his front, see if I could see what was between those muscular legs without being seen. God knows, if he saw me…

He must have sensed me behind him, for he had turned and with a look of pure shock saw me behind him not six feet away.

“Charlie McKenzie, I’m going to…”

He had not even been able to finish what he wanted to say. Probably couldn’t decide which torturous death suited me in that moment. But he came up as fast as a striking rattler, just so damn fast, I had hardly time to turn and start to run when I felt his hand grab me by the neck and pull me down on my back. He was on me, knees pinning my arms down and one hand on my neck while the other wiped tears from his eyes.

I thought I was a goner. I just knew Jordan would beat the shit out of me for seeing him crying. But shockingly, he suddenly let me go and rolled to my side on his back.

“Go.”

“What?” I asked like a fool.

“GO!”

You don’t have to tell me twice, not when it would avoid an ass whooping. I jumped my ass up and ran. Ran up that narrow path, slapping limbs back, making my way back to my bike, and finally seeing Jordan’s on the way. I didn’t look back, not once, instead I got my ass on that bike and rode back to the highway, not slowing until I was at least a mile down the road.

I thought about that a lot since. I knew from the community gossip the Peterson household had a lot of problems and the gossip also said the old man took it out on Jordan. Seeing him down at the creek crying seemed to confirm the worst of the gossip. It ain’t no excuse for him to be a bully, but it did explain a lot. In high school I would have thought he deserved it, but since then, thinking about all the stupid shit that went on in those corridors and out behind the cafeteria, I had a change of heart. No one deserved it, not even Jordan C. Peterson.

Two weeks later, I was walking down the road in the middle of the night. I saw my shadow stretching out in front of me realizing lights were coming up from behind. I looked back while moving to the shoulder. Headlights were coming closer and closer, until I could see it was a sedan, a car instead of a truck or SUV. It raced past and I saw it was Jordan in his Bonneville. The brake lights lit up the night as it came to a quick stop.

I stood on the shoulder while the car sat in the road idling, with me wondering what Jordan was up to. Was that bastard trying to figure out some new torment to lay on me? It seemed such a long time, me on the shoulder and Jordan sitting in the road, neither of us moving.

Finally, my curiosity and probably a bit of stupidity mixed with wanton lust for his body got the best of me, and I eased up on the road and walked toward the idling car. I figured it would race away when I got close, but it sat there as I came along side of it. The passenger window lowered, and I found myself bent over, looking into the car. By the dashboard lights I could see Jordan sitting behind the wheel looking back.

“Why are you out here in the middle of the night?”

It was just a question without any menace.

“I…huh, well, you just never mind.”

He laughed, shaking his head.

“Get in.”

“What?”

“I think you’re getting away from something. I am. Get in.”

As I said before, I reached for the door, opened it, hesitating for only a second, then got into that Bonneville. Jordan put the car in drive and took off. For a mile or so, he drove madly, speeding so fast he had me terrified I was going to die in a crumbled wreck wrapped around a tree. But when we bounced over Cypress Creek bridge, he suddenly slowed. Then he broke the silence in the car.

“You haven’t told anyone about seeing me at the creek.”

I knew what he meant. I hadn’t gossiped like most others would have done. Instead, I had kept his secret.

“I didn’t see any need to blab about that.”

After a long silence, “it’s just so hard sometimes. I don’t know what the bastard expects from me. And since graduating, I…”

“You what?”

“I don’t know. Nothing seems right.”

You got that right, I thought.

“You ever wish you were someone else?” I asked, wondering if that question sounded as dumb to him as it did me.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “And from somewhere else too.”

He slowed, then turned into the drive that led down to the old Cunningham place. One of those places that every community seems to have. Run down, abandoned, a place that just seems too cursed for human habitation. I knew the story, most everyone did. The family fell on hard times, and once all the children left, so did the wife. Mr. Cunningham tried to keep going with the small farm, some foolish pride, a man’s need to hold on to a place, but an accident injured him and the medical expenses and resulting disability caused him to lose the place. When no one showed up for the auction, the place was left to languish. Daddy said the land weren’t worth shit.

The headlights barely shined up the old drive what with the grass and other growth between the old ruts and along each side. Jordan didn’t seem to give a shit as stuff scrapped the bottom and each side of the Bonneville. He just kept on going until the house came into view. The front porch had collapsed, and all the windows were busted out. Behind it the shadow of the old barn. I had been here before on my bike and knew the roof was collapsed on it and inside the house there were beer and whiskey bottles, used condoms, and other trash scattered across the floors.

Jordan pulled to the front of house in what was left of the gravel drive and stopped. He left the car running and I assumed we would sit for only a minute, then we’d head back.

“What a shit hole,” Jordan uttered.

“Yeah, it’s messed up.”

“Have you been inside it?”

“Yeah, but not with anyone, you know, to party.”

“To party,” Jordan whispered, then laughed but one full of sadness.

Jordan shut the car off, raised the armrest between us, and turned to face me, resting his right leg on the seat between us.

“What’s the worst thing you ever done?” he asked, and I turned away knowing I hadn’t done anything that could be considered bad or outlandish, figuring he would consider me weak.

“Nothing,” I finally whispered.

“Nothing? You ain’t messed with someone…or messed around with someone?”

He was talking about sex, and I panicked. “I ain’t no virgin,” I lied and knew he knew I was lying as soon as I said it.

“I think ya are, but don’t matter.”

I looked around at his silhouette. Then I felt it, his foot touching my leg. At first just a touch, brief and barely perceptible, then another that held the contact. I knew I should pull away, and slide closer to the door, but I didn’t. I sat there letting his foot touch my leg. Then I felt it move, the back-and-forth movement of the toe of his shoe moving against my leg.

Jesus, was he making a pass at me? Was he showing a willingness to mess around?

“Have you ever thought about sex different from what most others do?” A question barely loud enough to hear. But damn I heard it, every fucking word. I swallowed hard and it sounded so loud in my ears I just knew he heard it too.

“You want me to stop?”

I should have said yes. It was the thing a guy would say to another guy touching him inappropriately. I had to stop this, for it was gay. I had to stop this, for it was Jordan C. Peterson.

“No,” I whispered in reply.

Jordan moved his foot away so he could slide closer. He was next to me, the right arm draped over the back of my seat and the left reaching across his lap to my thigh, where I felt the hand, then the fingers moving, digging into the flesh. I was so nervous my heart was racing in my chest, but I was also so aroused my cock stirred in my shorts.

“I’ve wondered what it would be like,” Jordan whispered as he moved his hand up my thigh and over my crotch. Those bloody fingers worked my growing cock until I was rock hard. I pressed back against the seat and spread my legs giving him more room to manipulate me.

“I hoped you were willing, Charles Thomas McKenzie.”

He knew my full name and I looked over at the silhouette of his head.

“You’re not the only one who can snoop through personal records.”

The fingers tugged on the button of my shorts, pulling it free, then the zipper was tugged down letting the shorts fall open.

“You’re not going to stop me, are you?”

“No.”

“You can touch me, too” he whispered as I felt his fingers work behind the waistband of my boxers and slip down into them until touching my cock. Bare skin against bare skin. Those fingers worked along the shaft until touching the head and I gasped as they squeezed it, then rubbed it.

I reached over, glad for the darkness so he couldn’t see it shake with my nervousness. I touched his thigh, then slipped it down between them and up until rubbing over the crotch. I felt the thick denim along the zipper, then worked along the side of it until following the hardening shaft of his cock. It lay to the left, away from me, and I worked my fingers along its length until touching the head. He moaned and pushed up against my fingers.

“Feels good, don’t it?” Jordan asked.

“Yeah,” I uttered as I felt him work my cock up and out of my boxers. He let go of it and reached over to the side of the seat and suddenly I was laid back. The hand came down on my abdomen then slid down until holding my cock. I figured we would jerk each other off, or maybe Jordan would ‘make’ me suck his cock, for I wanted to do it in the worst way. I was fumbling with his jeans trying to get the fuckers undone while his hand worked my cock until I felt it move slickly over the leaking head.

“Goddamn,” I uttered as I pushed my cock up through Jordan’s hand.

Then he shocked me again, this time the biggest of them all. Or at least I thought so at the time. He pushed me down and leaned over my crotch. I looked down, stunned to see Jordan C. Peterson holding my cock up as he leaned to it. I felt his tongue take a swipe at it, then a lick that made me shudder. That wet, slick tongue just slow dragged over the head of my cock. I grabbed the edge the seat and held on as if on a rollercoaster taking a wild ride. I felt light-headed and dizzy, and so fucking aroused.

“Fuck,” I cried out, not caring how loud, as lips moved down my cock until I felt his nose press into my abdomen and my cock enveloped in his mouth. His head moved up and down as I felt those lips work my cock. I laid a hand on his head, running my fingers over the short stubble of his hair as I felt the rhythm of his suck. The up and down of lips along my cock. I shivered and tried to push upward. Hands held me down as he worked his lips along my cock and ran his tongue over the head of it.

“Jordan…Jordan…I’m going to…”

He held me down and worked his mouth faster on my cock. It pushed me over the edge for I have never felt anything like it. Never had my hand felt like this, no matter how much oil I used on it. I gritted my teeth and shuddered, trying to shove upward, then I filled his sucking mouth with cum.

 

 

Jordan sat up staying next to me. I felt my spit slick cock out in the open, how the air seemed to caress it as it stayed hard. I saw him push his jeans and boxers down until below the knees and take his cock in hand slowly stroking it.

“Charlie? Will you do it? Do what I did.”

I pushed my shorts and boxers down until gathered around my ankles. I worked each foot free until shed of them, then I pushed him back against his seat as I fumbled for the lever to recline his seat.

I felt his hand come over my hand guiding it to the lever. Together, we rotated it allowing his seat to recline. I got down in the footwell and leaned over his cock. It was hard and thick in my hand. I stroked it to just get the feel of it. To feel that thick veiny shaft and the wide flared head, spongy between my fingers. I heard him moan and felt him push upward, working his cock through my fist.

“Charlie…please…put it in your mouth.”

Goddamn he sounded so desperate.

I leaned down and did as he had done. A touch with my tongue, a slow drag over the head, then letting it slip between my lips. I pushed down as far as I could but no matter how hard I tried; I could not take all of it. But damn I tried, over and over, lips tight around that thick shaft.

I tasted the sweetness leaking from the head. Felt how that flared head filled my mouth, rubbing over my tongue and pressing against the roof of my mouth, then cutting off my air. I worked my mouth over that fat cock until Jordan was pumping it upward. His hands took my head and held me in place as he fucked my mouth, his pace increasing until he was shuddering and grunting.

The first wad nearly choked me as it hit the back of my throat. The next hit the roof of my mouth followed by wad after wad until my mouth was filled with his cum. I was forced to swallow, doing so until I had taken every precious drop and Jordan was trying to get my mouth off his cock.

“Stop, stop, I can’t take anymore.”

 

 

We sat next to each slowly stroking still hard cocks. Then I saw Jordan unbutton his shirt and lean forward to take it off. I followed his lead, tugging my t-shirt over my head and tossing it in the footwell with my shorts and boxers. We were naked and both still hard. It felt so taboo, so evil but in a good way. You know what I mean? I wanted more. I wanted to do something I didn’t have the courage to ask for. All Jordan had to do was ask, or better yet just get me into that big ass back seat and do it. I’d let him fuck me knowing that fat cock would hurt like a mother fucker. But I’d do it, for I had considered it so often while fingering my hole late at night. I wanted it so bad. Just once, I wanted to feel a guy put it in me.

What would it be like? Would it be better than getting sucked off?

“Will you get in the back with me?” Jordan asked.

Here we go! That fucker is going to do it.

“Yes,” I whispered, trying to keep the desperation and desire out of my voice.

Jordan opened the driver’s door causing the interior light to come on. We could see each other, hard cocks held up, hand slowly stroking them. I looked from his fat cock up to his face, seeing those dark brown eyes staring back.

“Come on, Charlie, let’s get in the back.”

Yeah, Charlie, get your ass in back and get ready to be fucked.

I eased out the passenger side and opened the back door. Before I could get in, I saw Jordan sliding across the seat feet first.

“Come on Charlie, I want to try it.”

I stood there stark-naked thinking I had lost my mind. There was no way this was possible. Did Jordan C. Peterson really want me to fuck him? Fuck.

Despite my disbelief, I didn’t keep that bastard waiting. I clumsily climbed in over him while he helped me get between his legs. Then he surprised me again, doing the one thing that I thought the big macho bastard would never do. He cupped the back of my neck and pulled me down into a kiss. And I kissed him back. I couldn’t help it. I wanted the contact, the press of lips against lips, tongues dueling, and hot exhales shared between us. I pushed against him, pressed my cock against his abdomen then felt it slip between his thighs where I pumped it down below his tightening sac.

I felt a hand take my cock and hold it against his ass. He really wanted me to fuck him. He really wanted me to penetrate his ass with my cock. Damn…holy fucking shit, the bastard wanted it.

“Charlie, do it, do it, put it in me,” a pleading and it took me a second to realize it was Jordan’s voice, quivering and urgent and desperate in tone. “Do it Charlie.”

And I did. I pushed through his tightness, feeling the squeeze on the head of my cock. I shivered with the feel of it. Moaning when I had it in him and pushing deeper into his hole. Inch after inch, I pushed until I felt a hand on my waist stopping me. A shuddering exhale and a gasp for breath, then the rake of hands up my sides and over my back. Skin against skin, the warm rub of it and it added to my arousal.

“Fuck, Charlie, do it, do it…fuck me,” Jordan uttered, and I felt him push upward trying to take more of my cock. I couldn’t stop myself. I pushed into his depths, sinking my cock into him all the way. Then I found a place for my hands to brace myself, anchored my knees between his legs, and began to fuck. To tug outward, then push inward, slowly, struggling with the feel of his tight opening around my cock. But he eventually loosened to my penetration, and I began to fuck faster, harder, driving into his depths all the way.

“Yeah, fuck me harder…harder. Fuck me, Charlie,” Jordan begged as I kept increasing my pace.

I didn’t slow, not once. I was to wound up, to aroused and desperate for this fuck. It was more than I dared dream, to have Jordan let me fuck him. To feel my cock inside his hole and his hands moving over my bare torso. Soon those hands were moving over slick skin as I sweated. I felt like I was burning up. Sweat ran into my face, trickled down my back and chest. It rained down on Jordan and I wondered if he felt the heat of each drop, or if he was aware of it at all.

“Let’s change positions,” Jordan uttered, and I slowed to a stop, then collapsed on top of him, a heaving breathless mass.

After a few long seconds to catch my breath, I stepped backward out of the car and watched Jordan turn over and get on his hands and knees. He backed up to the edge of the seat, his ass right there for the taking.

“Come on, don’t make me beg. Fuck me, asshole, fuck me,” Jordan uttered as he dropped to his elbows.

I moved up to his ass and just sank every goddamn inch into his hole. I shoved it in until I smacked against his ass, then I started to fuck. Wildly, without rhythm. I held that waist and jammed cock into him over and over, until I thought I would burst into flames. I was gasping for breath and burning up, but I didn’t slow. I thrust into his depths relentlessly, fucking to cum.

He raised his head and cried out, and his body shivered and shuddered, and I knew he had stroked himself off while getting fucked. I could smell that manly scent of fresh cum. I tightened my grip and hammered his depths. I felt it, the surge of release building. My muscles tightened and my toes curled. My cock was so sensitive I didn’t think I could take it. Then I felt that final swelling, that flex just before release. Then I filled his hole with cum as I tried to jam my cock deeper with every ejaculation.

 

 

We rode back to my house in silence. The smell of our sex hung heavy in the air, and I pictured his cum on the back seat, runny, trickling across its slope. I glanced over and saw his bare upper body and how the skin glistened wetly in the dim light. I wondered if I looked the same to him, sitting in just my shorts, our shirts on the seat between us.

In the car, it took only a couple minutes to arrive at my home, and he slowed to a stop in the road at the end of the drive.

“Hey, I…”

I didn’t know what to say. Thanks for the fuck? Or were we at an awkward after sex phase where we were not supposed to talk about it?

“Thanks for the ride home,” I finally uttered as I opened the door to get out. Stupid, lame, and utterly not what I wanted to say. I wanted to ask if we could meet up and do it again. Then I wanted to know if he could go further. You know, like, maybe, he fuck me? I wanted to more sex, different positions, and, if I’m honest, to do more than just fuck in the back seat of his Bonneville. Like go on dates, hold hands, or give each other simple little kisses in moments of intimacy. But I didn’t have the nerve to say that, especially not to Jordan C. Peterson.

I expected him to remain silent, knowing he must feel ashamed about what we done and how he begged me, Charlie fucking McKenzie, to fuck his ass.

I stepped out onto the edge of the drive and looked back inside the car. Jordan was looking ahead, but then he gave me one more surprise for the night. He leaned toward the passenger side looking up at me with a gentle smile.

“Hey, can we…hang out or something?”