A Place to Crash

This story was inspired by true events in my life. The names of every character (and a few other details) have been changed to protect everyone involved. It was a long time ago, but it is too close to true for me to risk harming anyone by it being figured out. I am trying to make this a faithful retelling of wild and kinky stuff as it really happened, so don't expect unrealistic stuff like ten inch cocks, or simultaneous orgasms or chiseled jocks spewing eight ounces of cum six feet in the air. What really happened was wild enough not to need a bunch of embellishment. If you're still here, let's dive into the story:

*****

I had a handful of really close friends in high school. One of them was Christian Avis (the first of many false names). Christian was kind of an outsider, not really part of any clique or group, but a few of us would hang out at his house a lot. It was centrally located in our small town, so it was easy for the guys without jobs (and therefore without cars) to get there by bicycle. Christian's mom didn't work, so there was always adult supervision present, which made the more-engaged parents comfortable to allow their kids to spend time there. It was quite common on weekends, or in the summer, for guys to spend the night at the house, after staying up late watching TV or playing games. Often there would be one of us crashed on the sofa and another one sharing the other half of Christian's huge king bed. There was a daybed in the seldom-used dining room, but it wasn't usable because it was piled high with his mom's craft materials. Christian's Grandmother had used it when she was terminally ill and had to be cared for. After she passed, his mom took over the room for her quilting, knitting, and color-by-number painting.

Christian's father, Tim, was a short man in his early 50's. He wore his hair close-cropped, and it was more gray than black, already. He wore wire-rimmed glasses and had thin lips over teeth that were a little crooked. He was kept lean by the work he did as a welder, a skill he learned in the Navy. Tim enjoyed spending time with Christian's friends, playing board games with us, or cards. He also took us turkey hunting in the spring, squirrel and rabbit hunting in the summer, and deer hunting in the fall. He laughed a lot but was very competitive.

Christian's mom, Boopsie (she wouldn't let anyone call her Mrs. Avis, nor whatever her real first name was - she insisted on her nickname from everyone), was also in her early 50's. Time had not been as kind to her - she was a heavy smoker, which left her with the yellowed teeth and wrinkled skin of a woman ten years older. It was impossible to tell if she had an attractive figure or not, since she always wore shapeless dresses. She wore thick glasses, and her eyes had pronounced crows-feet when she smiled, which was often.

Tim and Boopsie seemed perfectly normal parents on the outside, for the most part. Oh, they let us drink a few beers, as long as we committed to spend the night so they could monitor us. I had a job and a car and looked mature for my age (and the drinking age at the time was just 18), so I never got carded. I would bring a 12 pack of the cheapest beer over after my job, which got shared among everyone, including Tim and Boopsie, so by the time it got distributed around, nobody had enough to get drunk - just a little tipsy. They would also share raunchy jokes with us and let us watch R rated movies with them on the TV (cable was new, back then, and Cinemax was a novelty, which we called skinemax because of the suggestive movies they would play after 10pm). They were the cool parents, but they aways kept a close eye on everything, so it felt like we were being wild teenagers without the danger of being wild without a safety net.

I spent more time at the Avis household than any other of our group of friends, because I had a... challenging home life, let's say. I was always looking to spend as much time away from home as possible, and my mother was just as happy to have me out of the house a lot.

When it was just me and Christian for the night, I would sleep in his bedroom, sharing his king sized bed, with a pillow between us to separate us. He had an impressive collection of Playboy, Esquire, and Penthouse, along with a handful of harder-core magazines stashed in a box in his closet. It never occurred to me to ask where he got them, but in retrospect, I suspect they were supplied by his father. After everything was quiet in the house, we would jack off together while drooling over the women in the magazines. Don't get too excited, yet... Christian and I never touched each other. I would have been fine with it, if he had started anything. I was a bit initiated to such things, having already had sex with both males and females by that point in my life. But it was the 1970s, and outside of California, there was still a severe stigma on anything "gay". I don't think I ever heard the term "bisexual" until four or five years later. So there was no way I was going to initiate any contact and risk being thought gay, and he never did either. The only reason I bring it up is because I always needed to pee soon after jacking off, and several times when I opened the door of Christian's room to go to the bathroom, his father Tim was standing nearby, trying hard to look busy. I got the impression he was monitoring our activities.

The summer between Junior and Senior years, I will say I turned 18 for purposes of this story. The very next weekend, five of us went on a hunting trip for squirrel and rabbit. The tent was a "family" sized tent, but it was really only comfortably large enough for four. Five across had us sleeping shoulder to shoulder. Tim set the sleeping arrangements, and he put himself at the far right, with me next to him. By the time we arrived Friday evening and got the camp set up, it was already too dark to hunt, so we sat around the campfire and told stories and drank beer. Tim pulled out a bottle of whiskey and passed it around. In retrospect, I think he knew that I wouldn't drink whiskey, having gotten sick on it a couple years before. Everyone else took swigs from the bottle, and when we piled into the tent, they were all soon snoring away in deep sleep. I drifted off, too, but before too long, I felt a hand on my belly. It was a hot summer, and my sleeping bag was unzipped down to about knee level, and it could easily have been an accident. In the darkness, I couldn't tell if Tim's eyes were closed, but he was breathing evenly, and he seemed to be asleep. What happened next couldn't have been an accident, however.

Tim's hand moved, slowly but quite deliberately down over my underwear, and cupped my dick and balls. He was still breathing rhythmically, as if asleep, but I wasn't. I'm certain I didn't take a breath for a minute or more, as he squeezed my cock through my underwear. I don't know what I ever did to make him think I would be alright about that... in those days I was very careful to seem completely heterosexual. But there was no denying that he was checking for a reaction, and he was certainly getting one. Every time my heart beat, my erection grew, until it was long and firm, with the head attempting to work it's way past the waistband of my underwear. He slid his hand inside my briefs, and wrapped it around my hard on, slowly jerking me off. I was no longer holding my breath, I was breathing quite heavily. To my right, almost touching me, was one of our friends, one who had a girlfriend and would very likely NOT be ok with "gay stuff" going on right next to him. Another classmate was to his right, and finally, not six feet away, Christian was snoring away, while his father wanked my cock in the darkness.

After a couple of minutes of this, I must have gotten a bit noisy, because Tim placed a cautionary hand over my mouth, lightly. I nodded, signaling I understood. Tim then scooted down in his sleeping bag until his head was even with my waist. He worked my briefs down over my hips, and I raised my hips to make it easier. Any pretext I might have made to not being a willing participant was gone in that moment. Tim took the head of my cock between his lips, and began to gently suck on it, while stroking my shaft with his hand. I was a little freaked out by the situation, but this wasn't the first time an adult had initiated sexual contact with me, and I was a teenaged boy, after all, eager to get my rocks off. It didn't take long, either. Tim was quite the talented cocksucker. I remember thinking it must be a skill he picked up in the Navy (the Village People song "In the Navy" was popular that summer, and the obvious jokes were fresh in the pop culture lexicon). I didn't hold back at all, and I quickly felt my orgasm rush through me, pumping jets of cum into Tim's mouth. I didn't find any spunk in my sleeping bag the next morning, or on my underwear, so I assume he swallowed it all. Quite the feat, given how hard I tended to cum in those days.

Tim scooted back up into a regular sleeping position. He pulled my underwear up, and tucked my dick back inside. Then he did something I found odd. Instead of asking me to reciprocate, he jacked himself off. I could quite clearly hear his breathing, and I could feel his arm moving, where we were pressed so tightly together. The movements and his breathing became more rapid, and I could quite clearly tell when he came. I could even smell the scent of his spunk. Then he squeezed my arm, and rolled over to face the wall of the tent. I lay awake a long time, but eventually drifted off to sleep. In all this time, not a single word was said by either of us.

*****

The next morning everything seemed exactly as a normal hunting trip. We cooked sausage, eggs, and potatoes in a big cast iron Dutch oven over the fire, along with instant coffee. Everyone ate with gusto. I tried not to look at Tim. I was having the usual guilt feelings about "gay stuff", but I pretended nothing had changed. After breakfast, everyone took up their shotguns, and we divided the mountain into sectors, with arrangements to meet back at the camp for lunch and again for supper. I drew the recently timbered-over area near the top of the mountain (really a very big hill that was part of a ridgeline of similar hills). It was accessed by walking the timber haul road, and the thick young growth of briars and brambles discouraged busting into the brush off the road, but made excellent habitat for rabbits and squirrels, so I was sure to get my bag limit quickly. Indeed I got three squirrels in the first hour, and settled in on a big oak stump to read for a couple of hours before heading back down to camp.

A while later, Tim came walking up the haul road. His designated sector was the next one farther down the mountain, so I knew he had to be coming to talk to me. I swallowed, dreading the conversation, not knowing how to handle this. But Tim came up, sat next to me, offered me a cigarette, and said nothing as we smoked and looked out over the valley below us. After a while, he told a couple of jokes, and I began to relax.

As we talked, he moved a little closer to me, and reached over, wordlessly squeezing my crotch. We both went silent, not another word exchanged. He could feel that my cock was hard inside my jeans. He stood and beckoned me to follow him down the road a ways. Less than a hundred yards down the road, a game trail cut through the brush, and he turned down that. Within mere feet, we were hidden from the haul road by dense brush. Tim set his shotgun against a stump and held his hand out for mine. I handed it over, and he set it next to his.

He turned to me and without saying anything, reached for my belt. He unbuckled me, unzipped my jeans, and reached in to fondle my cock. I didn't resist. I half expected him to get on his knees in front of me, but he surprised me by unfastening his own trousers and letting them slide down to his ankles. He pushed mine down over my hips and took my cock in a firm grip. He guided my hand to his cock, and for several minutes we stood there, a teenage boy and a middle-aged man, jacking each other off with our pants around our ankles. I got a chance to check out his penis. It was a bit shorter than mine, perhaps six and a half inches, but with good girth, and his balls were quite large. His shaft had a slight bend to the left, and his circumcised head was like a plum sitting atop the shaft. As always when I held a cock that wasn't my own, I was struck by the heat, and by the resilient feel.

He pressed down on my shoulders, and I knew it was time to pay him back for the previous night. Obligingly, probably more easily than he expected, I got on my knees in front of him. I didn't have a lot of experience sucking cock, but it wasn't my first time. I licked up and down his shaft, inhaling the scent of his old spice cologne mixed with the pheromones of his man scent. There was also a faint trace of soap smell. He probably cleaned himself up after last night, but since we were camping, there wasn't enough water to get the soap out of his pubic hair or the hair on his balls.

I jacked his shaft with my hand, and a big drop of precum oozed out of his pee slit. I rubbed it all around the spongy head before taking the bulb into my mouth. He tasted good to me, and I sucked on the head while jacking the shaft with my hand. I felt deliciously naughty, sucking on a married man's cock, and his appreciative moans added to the slutty emotions. I sucked harder, and I was rewarded with more precum which tasted slightly sweet, not the salty that I expected. I used my other hand to roll his balls around, and I felt them tightening against his body. I took more of his shaft into my mouth, until I started to gag, and then backed off just a fraction of an inch. I looked up at him, and his eyes were closed, clearly lost in the moment or thinking of someone else. I held my fist against my mouth and began to bob up and down on his shaft, eager to finish him, hoping for the same from him afterwards. He tried to push my head down further on him, but my fist was preventing it. Almost immediately after that, he surprised me with a gush of semen into my mouth. There was no warning jerking or pulsing of his shaft, and no spurting against my throat, just a sudden mouthful of incredibly salty cum, which I swallowed right away, but not soon enough, because the flow just kept coming, and I coughed, splattering cum on his crotch, belly, and legs. I put my mouth back on his cock, and resumed sucking, but he opened his eyes, and pulled me off of him. "Too sensitive." he said. The first words either of us had uttered in long minutes.

Tim pulled me to my feet, and tried to kiss me, which I was unprepared for, and pulled away from him. I had never kissed a man, and it felt like an extra line I was unwilling to cross. He just nodded, as if he understood. He pulled his hunting pants up and zipped himself inside. I began to pull my jeans up, too, but he stopped me. Once he was all tucked away, he got on his knees in front of me, and gave me the best blowjob of my young life. I had never had my balls sucked, and he did that, taking both of them at once into his mouth. I had never been deepthroated before, and he did that, taking me all the way into his mouth until his nose was buried in my pubic hairs, and his glasses were pressed against my belly. He alternated techniques, changing it up each time I was about to cum. I think he really wanted this moment to last, or perhaps wanted to make sure it was very much impressed in my memory.

Eventually I couldn't last any longer. His hair was too short for me to wrap my fingers in, so I settled for grabbing his ears, and I thrust full into his mouth several times. He just opened his throat and took it like a pro. When I shot my load, he withdrew till he was just holding my head in his mouth, and he didn't miss a drop, swallowing it all. I didn't make too much note of it at the time, but later I found myself wondering if this kind of technique was what I could gain if I spent a lifetime sucking cock, like he apparently had, despite being married with a son. Spoiler alert: I never did get to his level. Turns out I far prefer women after all, and the opportunities for practice were never that frequent.

When I had finished, I pulled my jeans up, and followed him back out onto the haul road. He looked me in the eyes and said sternly "Not a word to anybody about this. You hear me?" I promised I would never breathe a word of it to a soul, and reader, I have kept that word until now. Tim walked back down the hill, and I returned to my stump, staring off into the distance, thinking.

Nothing more happened between us that weekend, even though I stayed awake late that night, expecting a repeat. Perhaps he was afraid the others weren't sleeping soundly enough. Perhaps he was satiated. I don't know. I know I wasn't. I was becoming one hell of a sexed-up young man.

******

If I thought that hunting trip was going to be a one-time thing, I thought wrong. Although Tim acted outwardly like nothing had changed (and I think I successfully did too), he would sit on the sofa next to me when the gang would be watching movies. All the chairs were closer to the TV than the sofa (except Boopsie's chair), and anyone sitting in them would have had to turn in the seat to see anyone on the sofa. Tim would casually reach over and massage my crotch while the movies played. What surprised me was that Boopsie never once glanced in our direction when this occurred, though even just a tiny turn of her head would have revealed what her husband was doing. Later, I found out that she probably was watching all along, turning only her eyes, and not her head.

Another of our friends, Dwight, began staying over on weekends as often as I did, and he slept in Christian's room, while I slept on the sofa. Occasionally, but not always, as fall turned to winter, Tim would come out to the living room in the middle of the night, illuminated only by the streetlights coming through the windows, and he would give me a blowjob. He was always dressed in a robe when this happened, so I had easy access to his cock as he knelt in front of the sofa I was lying on. I would stroke his shaft or massage his balls while he blew me, but he never stuck around after I shot my load. Wordlessly, he would head back to his and Boopsie's bedroom, leaving me wondering. I wasn't exactly craving his cock, but I wanted to reciprocate in some fashion, for the pleasure he was giving me. As it had been all along, we never said anything to each other, and the couple of times I tried, he just put his finger to my lips to shush me.

In March, as the weather turned toward spring, my mother and I had a huge fight. To this day there is disagreement as to whether I left home (my mother's version) or was thrown out (the way my sisters and I all tell the tale), but the net result was, I was homeless, and had half a semester of school to finish. I thought I would be sleeping in my car, but as soon as the Avis family heard about it, they insisted that I move in with them until graduation.

Boopsie cleared her craft materials off the daybed in the dining room, and her in-progress works were all packed away to make room for my paltry possessions. The daybed was made up, and an agreement was reached that I would contribute to the household food budget, but the rest of what I made with my part time job would be saved for when I went away to college. They made a big deal out of the fact that very few people in our small town were going to college, and they were eager to support me.

The first few nights were uneventful, but eventually there came a night where Tim came to me, as he had done before when I was sleeping on the sofa. There were several differences, however. Firstly, it was a school night, and no other teenagers were staying over. Secondly, Tim closed the door that led to the living room and Christian's room beyond, doubling the sound barrier between us and Christian, and leaving only the door that led to the back of the house where his and Boopsie's room was standing open. I wondered why he left it open, but I assumed he must be leaving himself a quick getaway.