tagGay MaleAaron's Summer of '74

Aaron's Summer of '74


The year is 1974.

I've just turned legal age of consent (18) and am living at home with my parents.

I hate it. But it's a small eastern Ontario border town and I can't move away until September when I start my first semester at university.

I'm still technically a virgin, albeit one with a vivid imagination. That being said, I walk around half hard most of the time, obsessing about having sex with this sexy, older guy I see cruising around alone after midnight in his rusty old car when he typically finishes his late-night shift behind the prescriptions counter at Fullerton's Drug Store on King Street, the local pharmacy.

It's the middle of summer.

The night is extremely hot and humid. I am trying to sleep, without success.

I look at my alarm clock and it tells me it's almost one o'clock in the morning. I can't stand being inside alone in my stale box of a bedroom any longer. I have to get out to walk off the frustration I feel about this guy I've been having recurring wet dreams about for weeks and weeks.

I'm out walking the streets and am about four blocks away from my mom and dad's house. Gradually, I start to hear the hesitant sounds of an old car slowly cruising up behind me.

It's the guy from the drug store I've been jerking off and fantasizing about ...

I'm surprised and feel a secret sense of guilty pleasure, knowing he and I are alone on this deserted street with no one else around at that hour of the morning.

His car is old, a real beater of a coupe. I'm surprised it's still on the road.

He goes past me. I stop to look at him and his old heap closely. Both make me half hard. His old, poorly-tuned car idles roughly as though it is about to stall out or die on him at any minute.

I recognize it to be a white, rusted-out, '63 Pontiac Bonneville two door coupe.

I imagine faded, soiled, ripped, worn-out fabric and vinyl upholstery inside. I can imagine how it must feel and smell with his strong male crotch sweat ... his unique, signature man smell.

... God ...

He stares at me as he slowly cruises by. He forgets about his old car for a second and lets his foot off the gas. It misses and almost stalls out on him. I get even harder, thinking about his old wheels and him inside all alone, just by himself. Just like me.

I take a moment then to wonder what it would be like to have his hot breath on my neck, with his tongue thrusting inside my mouth in a slow, probing, deep, invasive kiss.

He keeps on going past and disappears, turning right at a corner about five blocks ahead. I hear his engine stumbling and missing and laboring as he keeps on going. And then eventually nothing but silence.

... I keep on walking ...

A few minutes later I turn that corner and he is pulled over by the side of the dark street.

He's trying to start his old heap.

He keeps on cranking the starter. It whines and grinds away and cranks and cranks. But it won't turn over for him. Bluish white smoke comes out of both tailpipes after each long crank session.

I stop for a minute behind his car. He sees me and lets up on his starter while watching me closely out of his rear-view mirror.

He has such a look of intense, serious intent on his face. He stares back at me without blinking.

Almost a minute passes as I stand there, frozen in place, looking back at him.

After a time. he tries to start his old Bonneville again. This time the starter wails in protest and grinds away with a slow, tired rhythm. Then his car coughs, backfires, labors, reluctantly stumbles to life and idles roughly again.

I'm almost up to the back of him now.

He rolls down the window on the passenger side. I get up to the window and he leans over from his worn-down driver's seat and asks me if I want to cruise around for a while and take a midnight ride alone with him.

I really look at him.

He is in his late twenties, maybe thirty. He looks a bit disheveled and unkempt at the end of his work shift. I can tell he is hairy and toned all over. I can almost taste the "after-work" man sweat on his hot body. I see that he has medium length, dark hair. His uncombed hair is wavy and hangs down carelessly across his forehead.

He is wearing a loosened polyester tie and unbuttoned dress shirt with the cuffs rolled up to his elbows. He has a dark five o'clock shadow and is badly in need of a shave.

He looks kind of scruffy with that "tired, fed up and heading home from work at the end of a long shift look" about him.

I can see curling, dark forearm hair and strong pecs, with visible hard nipples straining through the outline of his wrinkled cotton shirt.

I can see the dark, sweat-stained armpits of his shirt with one well-developed arm slung over his steering wheel.

His strong left hand hangs casually over his steering wheel and his right hand rests down between his muscular, long legs, cupping his big, furry pube basket.

I know he works late most nights at the local drug store. I've spied on him there at times when I've gone in to the store for no other reason than to look at him furtively and pretend to shop for something.

The old sports jacket he wears when serving behind the counter is laying rumpled up on his passenger front seat beside him. He grabs it to make room for me close beside him and then on sudden impulse, shrugs it on despite the heat and humidity. I have dirty thoughts about wrapping myself in his jacket and smelling his strong, male, sweaty man scent. I'd do the same thing any time with this guy's day-old underwear briefs, if he'd let me.

I look down at his wrinkled, blue-grey dress trousers and see that he's hiding a huge, bulging hard-on. It's straining at the seam of his sweaty crotch and causing a prominent tent that fights with the zipper of his pants.

It's the hour of chance, opportunity and fulfillment for those who lust ...

He reaches out and pulls his door handle and the door creaks and opens for me. I climb in beside him. I can feel the rough vibrations from his tired engine.

It's all part of the excitement. Not knowing if we are going to go anywhere, or possibly get stranded someplace.

He must keep his foot firmly planted on his gas pedal to coax his old car along in case it stalls out on him.

He tells me the battery is low and if we stall out, he might not be able to get it started again.

He has a distinctive, masculine voice. I'd describe it as something between sandpaper grit and soft velvet, with a cold, hard steel edge to it underneath.

... he intentionally talks softly to me with that seductive voice ...

He drives on with me beside him and murmurs to his old car.

"... Come on ya' mother fuckin' cunt ... don't mess with me, ya' little shitbox ... keep movin' ya' cum-faced, little cock sucker ..."

The way he talks dirty to his old car makes me so hot, I practically shoot a spunk load in my tight jeans right then and there.

We head slowly out of town on old Highway #2 in his old Bonneville and as we head west toward the 401 turn-off at Long Beach, he lights up a cigarette and slouches down in his old sagging, stained drivers' seat.

He spreads his legs wide apart to make himself more comfortable and adjusts his furry pube bush, so I can see how hard he is. All the time he keeps looking at me sideways from the corner of his eye.

His eye lashes are long and dark and thickly veil the thoughts he is thinking. He keeps his foot planted squarely on his gas pedal, trying to nurse every last bit of juice out of his engine.

I can feel the car. I can feel him.

He has one of those cheap gas station pine tree air fresheners that most blue collar men have in their trucks ... it's dangling down underneath the dashboard under his steering wheel in front of his spreading crotch and prominent bulge. It keeps moving and fluttering so I can smell the scent. It keeps me conscious of and focused on his big, hairy package at the same time and I wonder if that's why he put it there with that intention in mind. I can intensely feel him beside me, as he keeps his eyes ahead, concentrating on keeping his old car going on down the road heading west out of town.

I reach over to turn on the radio to break the silence.

He reaches over and puts his right hand on my arm. An intense electrical shock goes through my entire body. "Ya' maybe don't wanna to do that kid," He says. "Might drain down the fuckin' battery in my baby even more."

A couple of minutes pass by between us in silence, except for the protests coming from under the hood of his old coupe.

"Ya' want music, kid?" He eventually asks while giving me a shy little grin. "Well why don't ya' tune in to ME for a bit and see what comes up for ya'...?"

He takes my hand and puts it down into the hot, moist crotch bulge between his legs. I can feel his fully-aroused cock responding immediately to my tentative grip.

His rock-hard shaft is bigger than mine. It excites me, knowing I can do this with him. He wants to take his big, hairy dick out of his pants ... I know. I slowly undo his worn brown leather belt and start to pull on his zipper. I pull down on it very slowly.

His thick cock spills out as I finish with the zipper on his trousers. I imagine what his hairy pleasure trail must be like as I stare at the base of his hard tool.

... Christ almighty, he's not wearing any underwear at all ...!!!

His thick, hairy dick is sitting out there right in front of my eyes. And all I can smell is his strong, male, sweaty pheromone scent and the pine smell from that dammed, stupid air freshener.

I love his ripe, compelling man smell. It is strong and pungent. The smell reeks of strong sexual need and desire in the dead of night between two boned-up strangers needing some hot man action.

I take my tongue and taste the pre-cum on the head of his big, hairy cock.

He shudders. The car shudders at the same time.

"Fuckin' shit!" He mutters under his breath.

"OK kid, gimme a sec here to pull my wheels over to the side of the road. If you really wanna do that to me, I gotta stop this piece of shit before we fuckin' stall out in the middle of the God-damned road!"

We pull over to the side of the road. He squarely plants his scuffed and worn, old, brown, lace-up shoe on his brake pedal. I can feel his leg muscles tense up as he presses down to stop his wheels. His old car shudders again. It keeps idling rougher and rougher and stumbles one last time, as the engine coughs and dies.


"Mother fucker!" He says under his breath.

OK ... kid, since we ain't goin' any further right now, you may as well finish what ya' got started down there. My hairy cock needs some real attention tonight. It's been one fuckin' bitch of a shitty day and this God-damned piece of fuckin' shit ain't helpin' it one damn little bit right about now."

I bend down and bury my face between his furry legs. It feels so good there. I can feel the rough texture of the smelly, stained and worn car upholstery under his legs and the friction of his trousers on my face, as he moves back and forth to make full body contact with my hungry tongue and lips.

The feeling of everything, his sweaty dick, his old shitbox of a car, the humid summer heat, his stained, pre-cum soiled dress pants make me crazy. It all practically blows my mind to think that I am doing this with him.

He lifts my head up gently and says softly, "... Just stroke it for a while, kid ..."

I do what he says and can feel the heat from his hard, throbbing hairy shaft in the palm of my hand.

"Just a sec babe .... let's see if we can get this fuckin' pathetic shitbox started again. Maybe find a more private place to do this. I really wanna be alone in the back seat with ya'."

"Would ya' like my big, hairy dick deep inside your hot little ass, babe ...???"

He grabs his sweaty basket, moves his right leg and pumps his big worn gas pedal five or six times. He turns the key. It cranks for a few seconds but won't start.

"... C'mon ya' fucker ..." he pleads. "Turn over for me ..."

He turns his key again. It doesn't start.

"... C'mon ya' Fuckin' cunt ... my big dick is tellin' ya' to start for it, baby ..."

He grabs his cock and starts to stroke it in rhythm with his starter ... then brutally pumps and cranks his wheels again ... much longer this time.

"C'mon ... c'mon ... c'mon ... ya' cunt ... do I hafta' get out and shoot a cum load in your gas tank to getcha' to start for me, baby ... c'mon ... fuckin' start ... c'mon ... c'mon ... c'mon baby ... START for my big, hard dick, ya' SON OF A BITCH ...!!!"

He turns his key one more time ... his starter cranks slower and slower ... his battery draining gradually.

One final "FUCK!!!" passes his sensual lips and he is silent.

I lean up and look into his face. It's a mask of intense frustration.

"Why not just leave it alone for a while", I say to him ..."

He looks down at me for a second and says, "Shhhh kid ... just lemme' do this baby."

"This fuckin'old shitbox of mine has acted up and caused me enough fuckin' God-dammed trouble ever since I just left work. It almost wouldn't fuckin' start at all for me behind the store at the end of my shift just now ... tryin' to go home after a shitty day and my damn fuckin' shitbox car almost won't damn well start for me ... fuck man ... I'm horny, sweaty and just wanna get outta these work clothes and jerk off ... wanna hop in a shower and beat my meat ... like I say, I'm boned up and fuckin' tired and just don't need this God-damned shit tonight."

"And it ain't fuckin' gonna stop me from what I wanna do to you now baby, on top of everything else."

He reaches down and grabs his big, hard dick and starts to beat it off in rhythm with the vibrations of his old car, as he forcefully pumps his worn gas pedal and relentlessly cranks his starter ...

He turns his ignition key one more time.

"C'mon baby.... start for me ... c'mon ya' cunt ... c'mon ... c'mon ya' mother fuckin' piece a shit ... turn over for my big cock, man ... c'mon ... yeah ... you need some more pumpin' and crankin' baby ... yeah that's it ... almost that time ... c'mon ... yeahhh that's it ... that's it ... c'mon start for my big, hairy dick baby ... yeahhhh ..."

His old car coughs and stumbles to life again and I can feel his muscles slowly relax throughout his body.

"Yeahhh ... ya' cunt-faced shitbox. You always do what my big cock fuckin' tells ya' ... dontcha' ... ya' cock-suckin,' stubborn, cum-suckin' BITCH!!!"

Then he revs it a few times, just to show it who's boss.

"Take that ya' cunt. Feel my horny cock tellin' ya' to stay runnin' for it, ya' shit-faced bitch ...!!! Yeahhh ... baby ...!"

Then he says softly to me, "Get back down there babe and keep strokin' my dick ... it wants some cute, young, sexy boy action tonight."

As if I need any more encouragement ...

After a bit, he groans softly and whispers, "I'm gonna cum real soon all over ya' babe, if you keep that up ...!"

I start to lick and suck his hairy balls. They taste sweaty and salty and are so hot in response to my probing tongue.

On a sudden impulse, I take my index finger and start to play with his ripe, hairy asshole, teasing it around the rim, while sticking my finger in and out, until his sphincter tightens up firmly around it.

He groans softly once more with intense pleasure and shifts his hips and lower body up to better feel my actions on him and to give me full access to his pungent, sweaty crotch.

"Yeahhh, that's the way ... do it ... do it NOW babe, Yeahhh, just like that BABY..." He reaches up to jerk the gear lever to DRIVE.

He stomps on the gas and his old car backfires, coughs and stalls out again.

"... Fuckin' cum suckin' shit, MAN ...!!!"

He grabs onto his dick again and tries to pump and crank his old Bonneville.

"C'mon ... start baby ... c'mon ... start for my big, hard cock, man... fuckin' start baby ... c'mon ... c'mon ... ya' fucking piece of cock-suckin' shit ..."

His starter cranks and grinds slower and slower until his battery is almost dead ...

"... FUCK ...," he mutters.

He is really frustrated. I can feel it throughout his whole body.

"Well, if we ain't goin' nowhere, might as well sit back and enjoy the fuckin' God-damned view ...!!!"

He sloughs off his old sport jacket and roughly throws it down onto the floor on the passenger side by my feet.

"Suck my cock, kid. Suck me off, babe and make me cum real hard, so somethin' good happens to me tonight."

I wrap my mouth around his beautiful, mushroom-shaped, sweaty, pre-cum leaking cock head. I can feel it throbbing and vibrating. He is on the verge of losing it and close to cumming I keep teasing the tip of it with my tongue and feel him squirm with intense pleasure each time I taste his thick pre-cum.

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