Author's Note: Thanks to all the loyal readers! I so appreciate your patience as I got this story going again. Camp Harding is back underway with Day 2 (morning). There was so much to fit in this day that the chapter had to be split into two!
As always, comments welcome at [email protected]. And follow the official Twitter/X at @mharding1985 for the accompanying illustrations.
Synopsis: It's Lucas's 18th birthday! On the second day of Camp Harding, Richard Harding wakes up prepared to make the best of it. During a playful morning swim in the river with some of his family, Richard senses change in the air. When a member of their crew gets injured on a hike, Richard gets roped into offering his old sports-massage skills as a former football coach, unexpectedly bringing him more closeness than ever before.
Chapter 2: His Special Touch
RICHARD
September 2025
-- Day 2, morning --
I woke up early, the way I always did, even on vacation. The tent was warming up. Its nylon walls glowed a brilliant orange under the sunlight.
I lay there for a minute, listening to the small sounds of the campsite stirring. The river moved somewhere beyond the trees, and a bird chirped with insistence. The zipper of another tent opened and closed.
Was it Matt?
I shut my eyes and remembered yesterday, rubbing my hand across the fur on my chest.
I remembered Matt's hand on my cock last night under the shower outside. And my hand on his cock, jerking him off.
I remembered my handsome son busting a fat nut right in front of me, a few jets of my boy's splooge splashing the shower floor and my toes.
And damn it, I remembered how I released, how I flooded out his cum puddle with my own dadmilk.
Fuck me, this is crazy... And all this remembering isn't helping my morning wood. I ran my palm down the length of my briefs' pouch, feeling the tingle on my cockhead.
Enrique was already awake, lying in his sleeping bag and scrolling on his phone. The glow lit his face softly. His five o'clock shadow darkened his features.
With his hand behind his head, the dark thicket in his armpit was unmistakable.
“Morning,” I mumbled to my sons' stepdad.
“Hey,” he replied without looking up. “You sleep deep.”
“Always do out here.”
I rolled onto my side and stretched my legs, feeling my erection getting more obvious. I flipped my engorged cock up to the waistband of my briefs, then pushed myself up. My knees complained then settled.
Enrique glanced at my crotch fleetingly, then looked away. Then he looked at my bulge again, as if sizing it up.
Enrique, Matt, and I all showered together last night. So my dick was nothing new to him. But I guess seeing my dick at full mast in my jockeys was a different sight altogether.
"I thought you have a mushroom," he murmured casually in his strong accent, looking back at his phone.
"Huh?"
"Your penis... I thought you are circumcised," he said, continuing to scroll. "Like Justin and Matthew."
"You've... seen them?" I asked.
"Oh, long time ago. But I thought they match their daddy. Like my son match me." He glanced back up at me and smirked. "To be honest, I like our style more."
I chuckled and let my eyes drift to the mound in his navy briefs.
"Yeah, me too." I gave my bulge a playful slap, and Enrique scoffed.
Is it weird to be this open with my ex-wife's husband? I didn't really care. He was as straight as can be anyway.
I unzipped the tent's flap and walked onto the dewy grass. Enrique soon followed behind me. Outside, the air was cool and clean, the kind that made you feel like your lungs were brand new.
Matt and my older brother Patrick were already up, moving around the picnic table barefoot. Matt had his sleeves rolled up and was slicing up fruit on a cutting board, persnickety even this early. His dark red hair flopped over his forehead as he bit his lip in concentration.
It looked like Matt had been talking quietly with Patrick until he saw me. Patrick then walked away to poke at the camp stove, giving me a curt nod.
I was still a bit pissed at Patrick after just learning about the shit that he got up to with my sons.
Jerking off together, watching porn, comparing cocks...? And apparently with Justin, it went back decades? I mean, what... the... fuck.
Still, I promised Matt last night that I'd try to make peace with Patrick for the sake of Lucas's birthday -- or at least I'd pretend to.
Patrick began whipping up some scrambled eggs, and Matt handed me a mug of coffee, warming me up quickly.
"No milk, one sugar?" Matt asked.
"You know me well."
And then suddenly -- coming from Justin and Lucas’s tent -- a long, unapologetic fart.
“Geez, Dad!” Lucas's voice said inside.
Justin laughed. “Sorry, bud.”
Peep. A shorter, squeakier fart followed.
“Happy birthday,” Justin added.
They both cracked up inside their tent.
I shook my head and grimaced at Matt, who rolled his eyes.
Boys, I thought. Always just boys.
I leaned against the table and watched the morning take shape -- the way the river fog lifted, the way the leaves rustled overhead. The way Lucas finally came out of the tent rubbing his eyes, taller every time I looked at him. Our birthday boy.
Eighteen, I thought. Dang.
"Well, well, it's the man of the hour," I said, giving Lucas a tight hug around his lanky frame. "Happy birthday, Lucas."
"Thanks, Grandpaaa," he said in a detached, sing-songy voice.
"Happy birthday, buddy," Matt said, tousling Lucas's curly, blond hair.
Enrique smiled softly and offered Lucas a fist bump, while Patrick gave Lucas a bear hug, slapping his back twice.
"It's all downhill from here, Lu," he joked.
Justin had just crawled out of the tent, smirking. "Hey, don't scare him already, Uncle Pat. He's still got the rest of senior year to finish."
Everyone grabbed a plate for breakfast. We playfully grilled Lucas on all the things he wanted to do now that he was eighteen as of this very day. Go to casinos, sure. Smoke? Nah. Matt, always the fancy guy from D.C., reminded him to register to vote.
After we noshed, things split naturally after a quick change of clothes. Justin wanted to join Lucas on a hike to the highest ridge in the park. Enrique volunteered to go too, eager as always.
Meanwhile, Matt mentioned he'd go for a swim, and Patrick said he'd stay back to clean up camp.
“I’ll swim too,” I said, surprising myself a little. I hadn’t planned anything. It just sounded right.
Justin clapped me on the shoulder. “We’ll be back by lunch,” he said. “Save us some food.”
The three hikers headed off with daypacks and water bottles. Lucas bounced a little ahead of his dad and Enrique, already moving like someone who wanted to get somewhere on his own.
* * * * *
Matt and I walked down to the river together after switching into our swim trunks.
The trail was short, the ground soft underfoot. When we got there, the water was clear and cold, moving fast over smooth rocks. Sunlight flickered across the surface.
There was a rocky ledge about eight feet over the river's surface, right next to the smooth riverbank.
Matt kicked off his shoes by the riverbank and peeled off his shirt without ceremony.
He hesitated for half a second, then stepped in, sucking in a breath as the water hit his calves.
“Cold,” he said.
I pulled my shirt over my head, getting it caught around my biceps. I followed him in.
“Cold's the best. Wakes you up,” I replied, stretching my arms above my head to warm up.
"Yeah, until it shrivels your stuff," he laughed, looking back over his shoulder, his hazel eyes glinting.
I figured Matt would have no problem down there. I mean, his dick took after mine. Eight inches when hard, I'd say.
Yeah. We're hung.
We swam out to a deeper section, floated on our backs for a bit. The water pressed against my chest, my shoulders. I felt my body in a way that was simple and primitive.
While we floated, I glanced over at Matt, his eyes closed and serene.
From this angle, I could tell his pecs were gaining more muscle just underneath those bubblegum-pink nipples. He's always been naturally smooth, which made his bulking progress that more noticeable.
Light freckles dusted his shoulders, and his dark copper hair, even darker in the water, floated around his head like a mane. His profile was so handsome -- a strong jaw, straight nose and long eyelashes.
He was lean -- that's never changed -- but the angles of his body looked sharper and more defined than when we first started coming here to Colorado Bend years ago.
His torso bobbed along the river's surface. And with his swim shorts soaked, the fabric clung to every curve of his penis and... yep -- that was my boy's nutsack.
I closed my eyes again and calculated just how many more inches my younger son's cock must grow to get to full mast.
I wonder if the guys who blow him have as much trouble downing that hog as the chicks who've sucked my cock.
I felt a stirring in my crotch about to betray me. I had nearly dozed off when I heard Matt wading up to the riverbank to climb onto a flat boulder.
"Had enough?" I called out.
"Just wanted a rest," he said, his arms around his knees.
I joined him silently. We sat dripping in the sun, which now hung high overhead, baking the rocks.
We watched two sparrows glide over the river toward the waterfalls upstream. Peaceful.
That’s when Patrick appeared.
“Well, well, look at this,” he said.
I complained under my breath when I heard his voice behind us.
Matt shot me a look. "Be nice," he seemed to want to say.
I raised an eyebrow.
"Hey Pat," I said curtly, looking straight ahead. "Water's good."
"Cool," he said softly, standing behind me.
Matt cleared his throat and stood up.
"Well, I don't know about you guys," Matt said. "But now that the water's warmer, I'm goin' for a little skinny dip."
"Matt, there might be people around," I cautioned.
"Dad, there's no one. Remember all the empty campsites we passed?" He walked to the edge of the rocky ledge. "I'm doin' it!"
I almost didn't recognize this intrepid, adventurous man. I reminisced with a soft smile: What happened to that shy, nerdy boy who'd hide away on the bleachers waiting to go home?
Matt bent down and dropped his swim briefs. Right in front of Patrick and me.
His smooth, lean ass caught the light as if carved by marble.
Look at it. The tight ass that I saw getting plowed every which way in his marital bed. Oh, I still remember.
Bent down, he offered the quickest glimpse of the sparse hair coating his crack, and before I knew it, he was leaping off the ledge into the river below.
Patrick gave a low whistle and walked past me to the edge, stripping his mint-green tank top over his head.
He lowered his swim shorts, letting his meaty ass taste the sunshine. Two full, firm globes with the lightest dusting of ginger-blond hair.
He looked over his shoulder at me with a half-smile, his eyes sparkling, his hair fiery red.
"Live a little, Richie."
He leapt off the ledge in a starfish pose, and I caught his heavy sack dangling between his legs. Then he disappeared with a splash, and I heard Matt whooping.
By this point, I couldn't deny that my cock was inflating to nearly-full thickness in my swim briefs. I couldn't see Matt or Patrick over the ledge, but I heard them splashing and laughing.
"Dad, just do it!" Matt called out.
I realized this was the first time I've seen my son and brother naked together. Sure, I've seen them naked plenty of times on their own -- but now here was proof that Matt and Patrick know what each other's cocks look like, what their asses look like, proof that I couldn't imagine away in my mind if I tried.
Another pang of jealousy shot through me, made even stronger by hearing them roughhousing in their birthday suits without me. I almost stood up to leave. And then...
"C'mon Richie," I heard Patrick say warmly. "Like old times."
I flashed back to years ago -- summer upon summer of Patrick and me enjoying this park with wild abandon, thinking we'd never get old. I wanted that again.
I stood up off the rock and walked over to the ledge with a stern expression. My hands on my hips, I saw Matt and Patrick looking up at me, beaming.
The shadows of their pubes were just visible under the rippling water. Then I smiled despite myself.
Oh, what the hell.
With a flourish, I bent my knees and lowered my swim briefs, kicking them off behind me. Matt and Patrick cheered.
I stood there on the ledge long enough for them to ogle.
My cock was semi-hard, hanging low over my ballsack but at its maximum girth. My glans was just creeping out of my foreskin, about three-quarters exposed. Looking down, I saw my thick, hairy meat framed by my son on one side and my brother on the other.
I felt free yet also cornered.
"Shit, Matt, you know you really do take after your daddy," Patrick muttered.
"Oh, I know," Matt replied with pride.
"Make way, boys," I said, smirking. And with abandon, I cannonballed into the river right between them.
The cold water fired through every nerve of my body. Invigorating.
We waded and splashed like idiots. I laughed -- really laughed -- the sound bouncing off the trees. It had been a while since I heard that from myself without restraint. I let myself enjoy it.
There was a moment -- just a flicker -- when things felt all right. Like they used to. Patrick and me goofing off, and now Matty was here to enjoy it too.
Patrick splashed Matt. Matt splashed back. I dunked Patrick without warning. He came up sputtering, furious and delighted.
“I'll get you back,” Patrick said, grinning.
I swam away, but Matt grabbed me playfully on the ass before splashing me in my face.
Little rascal. I tackled Matt from behind, and he squealed in surprise.
My hard cock bobbed in slow-motion under the water, and I felt it bounce against Matt's buttcheeks. Boing. Boing.
Matt put up false protest, he pretended to want to get away, but barely pulled against my arms. Instead, his lower half pressed closer to me, pinning my cock against my belly.
Suddenly, Patrick appeared from my periphery and jumped onto Matt from the other direction. Patrick's forearms circled around my shoulders.
All three of us were held together close, Patrick and I squeezing Matt with a bear hug right between our hairy bodies.
My crotch pressed closer into Matt's hip as he wriggled around to free himself.
"You guys!" he shouted jovially.
"Get ready for the dunking," Patrick said.
Our six feet danced on top of each other on the soft and silty riverbed, trying to catch our balance, while giggling up a storm.
For a split second, Patrick looked over at me, piercingly, over Matt's shoulder. His green eyes expressed contentment... intimacy... and I think a bit of an apology. I gave the faintest smile back.
Matt then dipped down beneath the water to escape our playful grasp. His shoulder brushed against my now-erect cock, and he resurfaced a few feet away.
"Nice try," he taunted.
Patrick and I still had our arms around each other for the faintest moment, then let go.
We stayed there longer than we meant to, three grown men in a river, laughing, floating, not talking about anything that mattered.
Soon, we trudged up onto the riverbank, one after the other, letting the water slosh down our bodies in ribbons that carved into every crevice.
Matt and Patrick walked in front of me in their full naked glory. I noticed how their builds were different: Matt with his tapered waist and tight buns, and then Patrick, burly but solid, with two juicy melons for an ass.
OK. I guess you could say I've become more of an ass guy after what I saw in D.C. That's why it busted my balls that Audrey kept hemming and hawing when I suggested we try anal this summer.
My mind flashed back to seeing Steven fucking Matt's perky ass, while I hid in the shadows of their posh little townhouse.
I wouldn't mind seeing my son-in-law's smooth, round ass jumping into the river too.
"Pity that Steven couldn't join us," I said, picking up a towel.
"Ah well, you know he's not really an outdoorsy guy," Matt replied, drying off his armpits.
"You should fix that," I joked.
After we put our swimsuits back on, we made our way to the dirt path that led back to the campsite, letting the sun dry off the rest of us.
By the time we approached the campsite, Matt walked ahead. I put my arm around Patrick's shoulders, pulling him in tight.
"We should talk later," I whispered to Patrick. And that was that.
* * * * *
By the time we got back to camp at mid-afternoon, the hikers still weren’t there. We waited. The sun climbed. I checked my watch.
We decided to prepare a late lunch in the meantime. Matt and Patrick moved around the picnic table and got to work. I stayed close, half-helping, half-hovering, my mind still on the river and the way Patrick’s shoulder had felt under my arm -- solid, familiar, and loaded with too much history to unpack in one afternoon.
Matt grumbled that we were missing some tomatoes. He swore he’d packed some, then remembered that Justin helped carry that cooler.
I volunteered to look through Justin and Lucas’s tent, figuring it would give me something useful to do -- and maybe a moment alone with my thoughts.
Inside, Justin and Lucas's tent smelled like sunscreen, sweat, and that faint plastic tang of new camping gear.
Justin’s duffel lay open, clothes spilling out without any attempt at order. Lucas’s side was neater: shoes lined up, backpack zipped.
I knelt and rummaged through a tote bag against the wall of the tent, moving aside some granola bars and trail mix.
Bingo. Two tomatoes underneath a half-empty bottle of olive oil.
As I stood up, my gaze snagged briefly on a pair of cotton boxer briefs lying on the nylon flooring between Justin's and Lucas's sleeping bags.
Electric blue. Black waistband. "Hanes" written across it in a bold white serif font. Square-cut, trunk style. Used.
It was turned halfway inside-out, as if yanked down in a hurry this morning to get ready.
My heart lurched at the sight of an abandoned pair of used men's undies, as it often did ever since I discovered this latest kink of mine.
I'd just gotten a whiff of Patrick's dirty white trunks a few days ago at his house when I checked his hamper. Why should this be any different?
I glanced quickly at the tent's flap and heard Matt and Patrick far away by the picnic table. Creeping up to the aqua-colored trunks, I lifted them quickly and turned them inside out in my hands, exploring the seams. I looked around at the other clothes scattered inside the tent.
This beauty must be Justin's.
It was still warm from the sun, and a slightly shadowed discoloration striped down the center of the seat -- campground sweat, no doubt. The fabric was slightly pilled, and the pouch was just barely stretched out enough to hold some form.
Before I could change my mind, I slammed the fabric into my face, first in that bulbous pouch. One long inhale.
Yep. That's it.
A sharp, earthy scent of natural musk, a bit tangy and a bit sweet. Not as acrid as I expected. Another inhale. Justin must have hiked long and hard in these.
I ran my nose down the scratchy fabric through the taint, right to the core of the briefs. The musk deepened, and the tip of my tongue peeked out to sample the sweat that stayed behind.
Oh fuck, this is as close as you can get.
My eyes flew open when I felt a long, stiff hair scratch against my lips -- a long, wavy, dirty blond pube.
I gave a few more licks, broad this time. Full tongue. The fabric dampened further with my spit. Salty.
What a man. I thought of Justin's firm, hairy ass. My eldest boy, the football star. In the prime of his life and he didn't know it.
How his asscheeks must rub against each other when hiking uphill. And the hairy crack that blossomed open for me when he bent over at the gym to pick up his towel a few weeks ago. Oh yeah, that was a special day.
I pulled my swim trunks open and saw my cock growing at full-speed in there. Like instinct, I shoved the briefs into my swim trunks and rubbed the warm fabric on my cock.
My heart threatened to pound out of my chest, while the blood rushed to my brain.
OK, that's enough, I thought guiltily. I dropped the used boxer briefs back on the ground, arranging them just so, and let the sun evaporate my saliva away.
I ducked back out into the sunlight, with the tomatoes in hand.
* * * * *
By the time I returned to the table, the sound of voices carried from the trail -- laughter first, then the crunch of boots on gravel.
Lucas emerged from the trees flushed and bright, hair damp with sweat, his blue eyes alive.
“There they are,” I said.
He grinned when he saw us, pride flickering across his face like he’d accomplished something monumental. “We made it to the top,” he said. “You can see the whole place from up there.”
Justin followed, winded but smiling, and then Enrique -- slower, careful, favoring one side.
“What happened?” I asked, already moving toward Enrique, my mind still on Justin's electric-blue undies.
“Fell down and landed my ass on a rock,” Enrique said lightly. “No biggie.”
He tried to wave it off, but the stiffness in his gait told a different story.
Matt gestured to the table, and we all sat down to eat some sandwiches. For most of the meal, Lucas raved about the view from the top and all the wildlife they spotted along the way. Meanwhile, Justin bragged about how Lucas zoomed way past them up the hill.
"He's got quads like a motherfucker now," Justin boasted.
"Language," I teased.
Lucas blushed at the compliment and changed the subject.
After lunch, Patrick prepared to go fishing with Lucas for a couple of hours. I watched as they strolled down the path to the lake, Patrick's arm around Lucas's shoulder.
Lucas's shorts hung low on his hips just below the edge of his black underwear. I made a mental note.
When the rest of us stood up from the picnic table, Enrique winced as he began walking again.
Matt noticed immediately. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Enrique said. “Just sore.”
Matt glanced at me, then back at Enrique. “Dad used to do sports massage,” he said casually. “Back when he was coaching.”
Justin raised his eyebrows, as he cleared his plates. “That’s true,” he said. “He worked some magic.”
"Think you could help him, Dad?" Matt asked.
I felt a flicker of wariness. Helping was one thing. Crossing into something more personal, more enclosed... With my ex-wife's husband? That gave me pause.
I looked at Enrique. “If that’s okay with you,” I said. “No pressure.”
Enrique considered it for a second, then shrugged. “Sure. Can’t hurt.”
I saw Matt's gaze linger at us for a long beat with a smirk he couldn't hide.
Enrique and I agreed to use the tent that we shared. Inside, the air was warmer still. I spread out a towel and told Enrique to get comfortable and lie on his stomach.
"Should I...?" he trailed off, his hands on his zipper.
"Go ahead." My heart thumped.
He sat down and removed his loose, polyester pants, revealing his tight, navy briefs from a nondescript brand. Then he turned and plopped down on his front, facing away from me. His furry legs parted ever so slightly, and I knelt over him, straddling his left leg.
"Go easy," he said. "It hurts a lot actually. Just didn't want Lucas to feel bad..."
As I worked carefully along his lower back and hip, I cleared my throat and focused on the task. His breathing hitched as I lay my hands on his hips.
"You sure this is OK?" I asked.
"Yeah... we go back long enough," he joked.
"Just relax," I murmured. He obeyed.
I swallowed, hands still for half a beat before I forced myself to continue rubbing my sons' stepfather.
The tension in his glutes underneath my thumbs began melting away, and his breathing shifted as the muscles eased.
I couldn't help but let my mind wander: So, this is the ass that Monica grabs and slaps when getting fucked now, huh?
My fingers soon adjusted. I recognized this as familiar territory from all my coaching days. Safe. Just a man helping another man, like generations before us.
Enrique shifted slightly. “You okay?” he asked me quietly.
“Yeah,” I said. “Just remembering the old technique.”
It felt natural, familiar -- years of locker rooms and post-practice sessions flooding back. Enrique closed his eyes, breathing slow.
"Is the pain right here?" I whispered, glancing at the back of his head.
"Yeah."
My left hand pressed harder into Enrique's glute and kneaded into his flesh. My thumb traced his thigh along the lower edge of his briefs, while my fingers grabbed onto the glute.
I dared myself to go further.
My thumb slid, slowly, under the hem of his briefs and lifted it higher on his asscheek. The fabric pulled slightly into his crack, threatening to give Enrique the beginning of a wedgie. Enrique's shoulders tensed.
"Looks like the issue is right here, between your hamstring and your glute," I said quickly, clinically. Enrique stayed silent.
My right hand began to mirror the left too, and I massaged underneath both of Enrique's asscheeks, the briefs now lifted slightly into his crack. That adjustment showed off more of his smooth, tanned globes.
The bulge of his nutsack was unmissable from behind. A few trimmed hairs peeked out from the taint too. Pin-straight and black as coal. Sweet.
I rubbed with more pressure, right on the tendons in his groin.
“You’re good at this,” he groaned.
“Comes with the job."
I absentmindedly brushed the back of my hand against my upper lip to wipe the sweat that had collected there.
As my fingers passed my nostrils, I caught the unmistakable scent of Enrique's ass and taint.
Holy hell, he had some good musk.
Different from Justin's briefs, for sure. Even earthier and more grounded, more masculine. Darker.
I flipped my hand, licked my fingers gently, and returned back to the task at hand.
I felt my cock growing yet again, and I shifted to the side, so Enrique wouldn't feel my fattening erection pressing onto his thigh.
But I was hooked. After massaging Enrique's dumper some more, I pressed my fingers onto my nose, onto my lips.
My swim briefs were slowly feeling wetter, and I realized I must have been leaking up a storm.
I looked down and saw a wet spot blooming in my crotch. Quickly, I rubbed my fat cockhead a few times through the thin fabric and picked up a bit of wetness.
Well, nowhere to go now.
I returned my hands back to Enrique's ass, my thumb now slightly shinier and slicker.
Fuck, who would've thought I'd get this kind of access to his ass.
I thought back to our conversation this morning -- how Enrique let slip that he once saw Justin and Matt naked.
When the hell could that have been? Visits during college? And how many times?
Spurred by another pang of jealousy, I pressed harder into Enrique's muscles.
He flinched.
"Sorry," I muttered.
"You're strong," he remarked. "Hell of a different massage than from a woman."
I chuckled. Then, drawn back to my imaginings of the past, I wondered: Did the boys ever see Enrique's hot ass too? His cock? Has his own son seen him? I thought of how to broach the topic...
"So how's your son doing?" I asked offhandedly. "Diego, right?"
I tried to remember what he looked like from family outings years ago.
"Oh, he good."
"I was thinking about what you said earlier..." I continued cautiously. "He uncut too?"
Enrique paused. "Yeah..."
"Does he -- ya know -- look like the rest of you? In that department?" I asked with a soft edge. Like it's just a joke.
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, I don't know..." I rubbed my hands along the small of his back. "Is he as big as you?" My voice sounded heavier.
Another pause. I stopped moving.
"You mean, his... pipi?"
"Yeah, his dick."
Enrique chuckled. "Maybe he's... a bit bigger, to be honest."
My cock throbbed at that. I imagined what Diego looked like now -- a dad himself already, no doubt.
"Wow. Lucky guy." I said simply. "You're a lucky papa too." He scoffed.
I returned my hand to his hips and pressed his glutes together.
"Ah! Ah!" Enrique murmured in surprise, as I pressed deeper. "Si, ahi. Right there."
That's it, papito, I thought. You can moan for me too.
"Ah!" he continued.
"S'okay, let it out," I muttered.
Slowly but firmly, I pressed my thumb into his muscle, circling it around, gliding it smoothly with my pre-cum.
My left hand snaked its way back into my swim shorts. I stroked myself silently while playing with Enrique's smooth, caramel asscheek with my other hand.
Goddamn, I was close to busting. I felt the cum edging up toward my piss slit. But our time was almost up before it would start getting weird.
To round it out, I rolled my knuckles softly into his glute. Pulling my other hand out of my briefs, I gripped his shoulder, for balance it would seem, and let my thumb slide subtly into his bushy, untrimmed armpit.
I finished the massage. Enrique sat up slowly, testing his range of motion.
“Wow, that actually helped,” he said, surprised, but looking a bit distracted.
“Good,” I replied, sitting cross-legged, averting his gaze. “Let me know if it hurts again or tightens back up.”
As he stood up, I noticed a bigger bulge than usual in Enrique's briefs.
He put his pants back on quick, adjusting his pouch discreetly, and left the tent.
I stayed behind, reflecting on whether I've gone too far.
Before I could get up, Matt peered inside the tent with a devilish smile. "So how was that?" he grinned. The sunlight shone through his hair like a halo.
"He'll feel better, I think," I said passively, wiping my hands.
"I mean, how was it for you?"
I hesitated.
Before I could answer, Matt crawled inside the tent flap.
"Since you're already at it..." he murmured, looking me straight in the eye, "Mind giving me a massage too?"
I wavered again -- just for a second -- then nodded.
Matt closed the flap behind him.
-- To be continued --
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