Dirty Little Secret

There are qualities that endear you to a person, and you 'like' that person...do you have control over who you like or don't like? No, either you like them or you don't...and 'love' is the same way...how can anyone say it's okay to love a certain person, but wrong to love someone else? There is no right person or wrong person—it's love, for God's sake, you don't know who you're going to fall in love with...."

Listening to Theresa I wished I could love her more than a friend. I wanted to take her in my arms and tell her I'd love and satisfy her the rest of our lives; that we'd live happily together for all time, but deep down I knew that was impossible...I could never be passionately in love with her or any other female.

"Sweetie," she said, "...please don't be ashamed of who you are...I want you to be happy." Then she told me: "You'll never be alone—I will always be here for you...."

I gave her soft, moist lips one final kiss.

Theresa decided to transfer to a college on the east coast. She would live with her sister while she attended school. She wasn't leaving for a couple months so we diced to spend as much time together as we could. Even though we no longer had sex, we still loved having our conversations.

With a full year of school behind me, and the credits I'd earned while still in high school, I would be a junior the coming fall term. Like Theresa, I'd been plotting an escape from my parent's house, too.

When I announced that a university with a prestigious computer science department had offered me a full scholarship, I thought my folks would jump at the opportunity to save money on my tuition.

Boy was I wrong!

"Dear," my mother said. "You're much too young to live a thousand miles from home. We have plenty of money – don't worry – we can afford to pay for your schooling here."

They didn't think I was mature enough to live on my own. I was bitterly disappointed. For five straight days we fought and argued. In the end, my mother got her way.

I had a recurring fantasy that I was going to school in any other state but this one, and I would meet a guy like me. We would date and have fun; we would sleep together and finally move in to our own apartment. I would keep him sexually satisfied; we'd fall deeply in love, and after college we'd have great jobs, get married and live open, unashamed lives.

None of that could ever happen as long as I lived here.

As long as I stayed at home, I would have to protect my dirty little secret; even if it meant countless days and nights of endless soul-searching and self-loathing; of heart-wrenching loneliness and despair.

It was like I was in prison: I was eating, sleeping and breathing but had no other freedoms. Others dictated how I thought—what I should feel---who I could like and who I could fall in love with.

I was trapped in a life that wasn't my own and I didn't know how to get out of it.

Everyone should have a 'Plan B'...an alternate plan in case your life isn't going the way you want. I came up with my own Plan B.

"What do you mean you're going to get a summer job?" my mother asked. "You don't need to work, sweetie...your father and I give you whatever you want...."

I knew this was going to be a hard sell, but I was determined.

"Mother, I want to earn my own money—I'm nineteen—I can't rely on you and dad for the rest of my life...like dad always says, 'I have to learn how to stand on my own two feet'...how am I going to learn how to do that if I come to you every time I need something?"

She frowned then said, "We'll talk about this when your father gets home...."

At the dinner table, I recited my planned presentation to my father. I was articulate, passionate and logical. When I was through I breathlessly awaited his decision.

A smirk crossed his thin lips and he said: "What the hell do you know about work? You've never done an honest day's work in your life....who the hell is going to hire you—McDonalds? Even they have standards...."

It's amazing how at one moment your pride and ego and confidence are soaring and a few seconds later you feel completely humiliated and useless. That was my dad's gift to the world—he had always been very good at crushing other people's dreams.

"Look, John..." he said when he saw my crestfallen expression. "I busted my butt to build my construction company so my son's wouldn't have to go through what I did...."

"Jimmy worked for you every summer when he was in school---what's the difference?" I challenged him; maybe for the first time in my life.

His face softened as he looked at me. He slowly shook his head, and stared at me with a kind of tenderness I'd never seen before.

"John," he said. "Your brother is a strong boy—hard, physical labor came easy to him...it was good for him...you---you're different...you're not as big and strong as your brother...your brother was a good athlete—he loved sports...you—you're the brains of the family...you're smart and sensitive...you love science and computers and art and music...you're very gifted and we're very proud of you...I think you're going to achieve great things in your lifetime...I think it's good you want to work—it shows initiative—it's what men do...you're just not cut out to work in my business."

They both felt my disappointment. My father softly added, "I'll check around with some guys I know and see if I can find you something suitable."

My mother frowned at him but I felt a glimmer of hope.

A couple days later my dad proudly announced: "I got you a job and it's even in the construction business!"

My mother said, "WHAT?"

Two days later I was standing on the side of a road holding a sign that read 'Stop' on one side, and 'Slow' on the other.

I was hired by my dad's friend who had a huge government contract to rebuild an old highway.

When I was given a signal, I'd hold up the 'Stop' sign to oncoming traffic and make them wait until I received the 'all-clear' signal and allowed the traffic to proceed.

The days were long, and it was mind-numbingly boring, but they paid me eighteen bucks an hour—not bad for my first job, huh?

My whole plan was to save as much money as possible so I could afford my own apartment. And at eighteen bucks an hour I would be able to save a lot more money faster than what I'd expected my skills to bring---namely minimum wage.

I spent my days watching the road graders and rollers shape the land and build the road. The heavy equipment fascinated me. I found out early on the operators for the equipment were making at least three-times as much as me, and I began to wonder if I could do those jobs.

I daydreamed of driving the road grader, making thirty-six bucks an hour with not a care in the world. Just drive in a straight line for ten-hours a day then go out with your buddies for a few beers after work.

I laughed at myself for even thinking I could possibly do that job, or for that matter, the dream that I had 'buddies' to have a beer with after work.

During lunch I'd sit around and listen to the equipment operators tell stories of previous jobs in different parts of the country. It seemed most of them didn't live here; by necessity they had worked in many other states.

"You gotta go where the work is, kid," an older guy named 'Red' told me.

I envied them. Make a ton of money then move on to a new place where no one knew you, and you were free to be whoever you wanted to be. Sweet!

I studied the ease with which they handled the heavy equipment. I watched a guy named Donny, in particular. He guided the grader effortlessly, with perfection. He looked like a hard and gritty character out of an old western movie.

Someone said he was forty-years-old but he looked fifty. Not a bad-looking fifty—just wear-and-tear from all the years exposed to the wind and sun. He was six-feet tall and lanky with surprisingly big forearms.

He never said a word to me, but when I heard him talk to the other guys his voice was deep and raspy; probably from chain-smoking as he operated the road grader—he constantly had a cigarette dangling from his lips.

Friday's were paydays, and when I saw my first paycheck I was thrilled. I thought I was rich.

'The Guys' all went to a nearby bar & grill for beers after work, on that day Red came up to me and said, "C'mon with us to 'Herbies' after work, kid..."

"I'm only nineteen—they won't let me in...." I replied.

"Nah—you can get in—you just can't have a beer...." So I jumped at the chance to be included in their group.

After work that day, I found myself scrunched in between Red and Donny in the biggest booth in the bar & grill. It was a tacky joint with a strange smell and old furnishings but I was excited to be there amongst these 'men of the world.'

I don't think I ever said a word. Listening to these guys made me laugh and smile and I think they were impressed that I wasn't a big-mouth-know-it-all-kid; that I knew my place; and was happy with just listening.

Once I got used to the smell of the barroom, I became very aware of another odor; the smell emanating from Red and Donny.

These guys had just worked a ten-hour shift in the hot sun and their flesh was covered with dried sweat. I didn't need beer or liquor--I was becoming intoxicated with their manly odors.

When I breathed deeply, raw, animal-like musky aromas invaded my nostrils causing my head to swoon; it shocked me when my prick got hard inside my jeans.

This was new to me. I wondered how the heck I could spring a boner just by sitting between two men smelling their odor. What kind of sicko am I?

I had excused myself to call my mom to tell her I wouldn't be home for supper. That I was eating with 'the guys from work.'

She didn't like it, but I heard my dad say in the background: "Relax dear, it's a good thing—it means his co-workers have accepted him—he's having fun 'with the boys'."

Donny and I were last to walk out of the bar. Outside, he lit a cigarette and we watched the other guys drive away. I wanted to talk, but I didn't know what to say to this quietly stoic, manly-man.

After everyone was gone he turned to me and said, "Get in the front seat of my truck" and he began walking through the parking lot.

Huh? What is he talking about? I hurried to catch-up with him. He had a big pick-up truck and when I heard him unlock the doors I felt a panic in my chest. What is this all about?

"Get in...." he said. There was no hint of a threat or anger in his voice. He was just telling me what to do.

I opened the door, grabbed the overhead handle and pulled myself into the front seat and closed the door.

"I'm gonna let you blow me tonight, kid," he said matter-of-factly.

The hair on my neck stood straight. "What? I—ah—well—I ah...." I stuttered and mumbled. I heard him open his belt buckle and pull down his zipper. "Donny, I-ah..."

"You been staring at me all week, kid...hell, your little dick even got hard sitting next to me in the booth...I know what a boy like you needs...now get over here and get your head down there...I wanna feel your tongue on my dick...."

Another man might have gotten angry, mad, told him to 'fuck-off' and storm out of his truck. I hesitated for about ten-seconds then slid next to him and lowered my head to his exposed crotch.

The first thing to hit me was his pungent aroma; his manly scent.

"Take a few deeps breaths, kid—smell my cock and balls!" He said as I felt his hand on the back of my head; he pressed my face to his crotch.

His aroma hit my olfactory senses like nothing I'd ever experienced. I sprang a boner immediately. I breathed as deeply as I could; inhaling his wonderful manly scent. My head clouded over...I sensed that this was going to be a defining moment in my life.

"Start licking my dick...."

And I did.

What struck me was the saltiness on my tongue. I licked tentatively at first, using just the tip of my tongue, but when I found how much I loved his taste—the flavor of his dried sweat—I flattened my tongue and lathered his entire cock with my saliva.

His cock was responding to my tongue. With every movement of my tongue his cock stiffened more and more. I desperately wanted to give him a full erection. I wanted his hard cock in my mouth. I couldn't wait to suck his cock.

Donny seemed to sense my desperation and teased me. I felt his hand near my head; he took his scrotum in his hand and presented it to my mouth.

"Lick my balls, kid...." is all he said.

I moaned when he said it, and my prick throbbed inside my jeans.

Eagerly, but very carefully I licked every inch of his scrotum. I felt drunk from the sweat of his balls as I licked them clean. I was a happy drunk.

His cock was now hard as a rock. He rubbed it against my face as I lavished his balls with my full attention. I felt the cum in my own balls begin to boil and churn. I'd never been this excited—not even with Tony.

"Suck my cock!"

I groaned and thought 'Oh God yessss....'

I heard him chuckle above me. I didn't care—I just wanted his prick in my mouth. It had been a long time since I had sucked-off Tony, but I never forgot what he'd taught me.

I loved the texture and taste of his cockhead. My tongue swirled over the glans; I licked all around and below the flared ridge. I explored every inch of his beautiful cock to find his most sensitive areas. When he moaned, and his hips jerked, I concentrated on those places; my tongue never left his flesh.

He leaned over and pressed his hand against my crotch. He massaged my prick through my jeans. I groaned into his hot, cock-flesh.

I bobbed my head up and down and massaged his balls while stroking the base of his cock. He was a man of few words, but his moans and gyrations told me everything I needed to know.

His hand on my boner drove me crazy with lust and desire; he knew what he was doing. The more excited I became, the more frantically I worked on his cock. Our moans filled the cab of his truck.

Suddenly, I felt his balls contract in my hand and readied myself to take his discharge. His first stream of cum hit the back of my throat; it made me cough so I pressed my tongue firm on his slit so I could more easily lap-up and swallow his thick, manly cream.

I was blissfully sucking and swallowing when my own balls erupted and flooded my briefs. It became crystal clear to me why I loved doing this so much: first off, my own orgasm was spectacular! Theresa had never made me feel this way, even with her mouth.

Secondly, and more important, was the warm glow I felt in my heart, and the deep down satisfaction I experienced by giving a man I was attracted to such an earth-shattering orgasm.

At that moment, with his cock still spewing cum in my mouth, I felt unashamed happiness. It was just me and Donny alone in this cruel world, and no one else's thoughts or opinions mattered.

After I was finished cleaning him with my lips and tongue, I sat up and he fixed his clothes.

"Not too bad kid---not bad at all!" he said.

His words made me flush with pride and joy.

Then he told me how it was going to be for the rest of the summer. No 'ifs'-'ands'-or 'buts'. He didn't ask what I wanted; he didn't even wait to hear my answer, or whether-or-not I would go along with his plan. He just flat-out told me how it was going to be and then he told me to get out of his truck—end of discussion!

I was dizzy with giddiness from his forceful words as I walked to my car. On the drive home, I heard his low, sexy voice in my head:

"You passed the audition, kid—you're going to be my summer bitch. You'll blow me whenever I want—no questions asked...every other Friday you're going to come to my motel room and suck me off then bend over while I fuck you in the ass...is your ass still virgin, kid?"

"Ah—I—yeah, it is...." I'd stuttered, shocked at his question. Tony had never gotten the chance to deflower me.

"Good! I love popping a pretty boy's cherry...you're gonna love it too, kid! You got all the makings of being a first rate fag-boy...you and me are going to have fun together, kid--you know the signal and what you're going to do?"

I assured him I understood everything.

Theresa and I went to dinner Saturday night. The only problem I foresaw with Donny's plan was my parent's suffocating attention. Theresa agreed to provide me with an alibi if I ever needed one.

On the way out of the restaurant Theresa sang the old teasing song: "Johnny's got a boyfriend—Johnny's got a boyfriend...."

At work on Monday, I was on pins-and-needles all day long. Whenever Donny drove by on the grader I watched for the signal; I paid closer attention to him than my job. A couples times an angry voice shouted through the walkie-talkie telling me to wake-up—to quit 'fucking around' and do my job.

There was only about an hour left in the day when Donny drove by and removed his cowboy hat. He was wearing a green bandana—I was crushed! That meant he didn't want to see me after work; the bandana had to be red if we were going to hook-up.

I'd thought about sucking his cock all day and now I wasn't going to get the opportunity to do it. A wave of sadness swept over me.

The next day was worse. My mind was filled with doubts the entire day. Maybe he didn't want to see me again? Maybe he had some other 'fag-boy' sucking his cock?

On his last pass by me I saw the red bandana. My heart leapt with joy. I was going to be with my boyfriend after work!

I was one of the first to leave the jobsite. As per Donny's instructions, I drove three miles and parked in front of a convenience store and waited. I stared down the highway searching for Donny's truck.

When I saw him coming I got ready; when he passed-by me I backed-up and sped out onto the highway behind him. He was going fast so I had to speed-up to get closer to him. I didn't know where we were going; all I knew was that I was to follow him. I didn't want to fall too far behind him and lose him.

He pulled into an industrial park. Since it was almost sundown most of the cars were gone. He parked in the back row; the buildings shielded us from the highway. I parked a couple stalls from him and got out of my car and jumped into the front seat of his truck.

He was already opening his jeans. When his hard-on sprang into view he said, "I been thinking about you all day, kid...."

That was about the nicest thing he could have said to me. Now I knew why Theresa had felt so good the first night I had an erection with her; it was a compliment.

Donny's cock had gotten hard thinking about me! Is there any higher form of flattery?

"Don't just look at it, kid--get over here and get to work!" he said.

I slid next to him and lowered my head to his crotch. Once again his manly aroma filled my nostrils and went straight to my brain. He held my head and told me to breathe deeply. I would have done that anyway.

Then he pushed my face onto his cock. The second my lips came in contact with his cockhead I sprang a boner. Between his aroma and the feel of his soft, firm flesh on my lips and tongue, my mind became lost in a fog of lust and desire.

This time as I pleasured him, he gave me more detailed instructions on how he wanted me to do it.

"By the end of the summer, kid, you're going to be the best little cocksucker in town!" he said through gritted teeth as my lips and tongue made him squirm and sway in his seat.

Mid-way through I felt his hand on my hard prick. He squeezed and stroked it through my jeans. Soon, a constant stream of moans from the both of us filled the cabin of the truck.

This is what I loved most of all: the two of us settling into a rhythm and enjoying the sensations we gave each other.

Suddenly, he held my head in place and pumped his hips upward forcing more of his cock into my mouth. His thrusting became more urgent. His hand on my cock moved faster.