tagFetishAaron's Summer of '74

Aaron's Summer of '74

bySDR2000©

The year is 1974.

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

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

I'm still technically a virgin. That being said, I walk around half hard most of the time, obsessing about having sex with this older guy I see cruising around alone after midnight in his rusty old car, when he typically finishes his late-night shift at 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 one 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 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 set of wheels idles roughly as though it is about to stall out or die on him at any minute.

I recognize it to be a blue and white, rusted-out, '63 Pontiac Bonneville 2 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 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 car 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, searching man 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 car. He keeps on cranking the starter. It whines and grinds away and cranks and cranks. But it just doesn't want to 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 concentration on his face.

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

After a time. he tries to start his old heap 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 the window down on the passenger side. I get up to the window and he leans over from the driver's seat and asks me if I want to cruise around for a bit and take a midnight ride alone with him out of town.

I look at him. He is in his late twenties, maybe early thirties. He looks a bit dishevelled 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 brown polyester plaid tie and dress shirt with the cuffs rolled up to his elbows. He has a dark five o'clock shadow and is 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 day 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, 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, man-sized basket.

I know he works late most nights at the local drug store. The old sports jacket he wears when serving behind the counter is laying rumpled up on his passenger seat beside him. I have dirty thoughts about wrapping myself in his old jacket and smelling his strong, male, sweaty man scent. I'd do the same thing anytime with this guy's day-old underwear briefs, if he'd let me.

I look down at his wrinkled, cum-spotted, 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 - this I know.

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

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

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

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 would describe it as something between sandpaper grit and velvet, with a cold, hard steel edge to it underneath. He intentionally talks softly to me with that tone of voice.

He drives on with me beside him. He murmurs constantly to his old ride. "Come on you fuckin' cunt, don't mess with me, you little shitbox. Keep movin' you cum-faced, little cock sucker. "

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

We head slowly out of town in his tired, old Bonneville and as we head west, he lights up a cigarette and slouches down in the drivers' seat.

He spreads his legs wide apart to make himself more comfortable. 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 the accelerator, trying to nurse every last bit of life out of his engine.

I can feel the car. I can feel him.

He has one of those pine tree air fresheners dangling down underneath the dashboard under the radio between us. I can smell the scent. And I can intensely feel him beside me, as he keeps his eyes ahead, concentrating on keeping his old car going on down the road 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. "You don't want to do that, kid," He says. "Might drain the fuckin' battery 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.

"You want music, boy?" He eventually asks while giving me a shy little grin. "Well why don't you 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 fabric-covered crotch 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 release his big, hairy man 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, he's not wearing any underwear at all.

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

I love his ripe 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 looking for some hot action.

I take my tongue and taste the precum on the tip of his cock.

He shudders. The car shudders at the same time. "Fuck!" He says under his breath.

"Babe, gimme a second here to pull my car over to the side of the road. If you're really gonna do that to me, I gotta stop this piece of shit before we stall out in the middle of the road."

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

Silence.

"Motherfucker!" He says under his breath.

Baby, since we ain't goin' any further now, you may as well finish what you started down there. My hairy cock needs some 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 dammed little bit right about now."

I bend down and bury my face between his legs. It feels so good there. I can feel the rough texture of the stained and ripped, 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 man dick, his old shitbox of a car, the 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 and says' "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 left hand.

"Just a sec ... let's see if we can get this fuckin' pathetic piece of crap started again. Maybe find a more private place to do this. I really want to be alone in the back seat with you, boy. Would you like my big ,hairy, man-sized dick up inside your hot, horny little ass, babe?" "

He moves his right leg and pumps the gas pedal five or six times. He turns the key. It cranks for a few seconds but doesn't start. "C'mon you fucker, he pleads. Turn over for your horny, boned-up boss man." He turns the key again. It doesn't start. "Fuckin' cunt ..." He turns the key one more time ... the starter cranks slower and slower, 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 concentration and 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 - let me do this. This cunt of an old shitbox of mine has caused me enough fuckin' god-dammed grief tonight - it's not going to stop me from what I'm gonna do to you, baby on top of everything else."

He turns his ignition key one more time ... his old car stumbles to life again and I can feel his muscles slowly relax throughout his body. "Yeah, you cunt-faced shitbox. You always do what I fuckin' tell ya' to, don't ya' bitch?" Then he revs it a few times, just to show it who's boss.

Then he says softly to me, "Keep stroking my big, hairy dick, babe ... 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 for you, kid, if you keep that up."

I start to lick and suck away on his low-hanging, hairy balls. They taste sweaty and salty and are so hot in response to my probing tongue. On impulse, I take my middle finger and start to play with his ripe, hairy asshole, teasing it around the rim, while sticking my finger in and out until it tightens up firmly around it. He groans softly once more with pleasure and shifts his hips and lower body up to better feel my actions on him.

"Yeah, that's the way... do it, do it now babe, Yeah, just like that, baby..." He reaches up to move the gear lever to drive.

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

This time he tries to start his old Bonneville. The starter cranks and grinds slower and slower until the battery is almost dead... "Fuckin', god-dammed, cock-suckin' piece a motherfuckin' shit," 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' view. Suck me boy. Suck me off, babe and make me cum real hard, so something 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 close to cumming. I call tell. I keep teasing the tip of it with my tongue and feel him squirm with pleasure each time I taste his thick pre-cum.

Ahhh... gonna cum! Gonna cum right now, baby. Yeah, yeah, oh Yeah!"

He erupts and shoots his sticky, white spunk load. Rope after thick rope of hot man jizz explodes deep in my mouth. I feel like he has branded me with his cum as it slides down my throat.

"Ahhh... yeah!"

Minutes pass and all I can smell and taste is his spent male cock, while feeling the immense heat coming from his pungent, man sweat spicy, hairy crotch. I see some of his cum - a big, white, sticky, wet, thick splodge hiding in the dark shadowed sweaty crotch of his dress pants. I rub my face in it and hope I may still be able to feel its crustiness on my face in the morning.

Minutes pass. I can feel the relaxing overall of his hot male body and the steady evenness of his breathing return. Everything is so quiet and peaceful. A steady rhythm returns to his pulse. I can feel it with my head still deep down between his long, hairy, outstretched legs.

I don't want this to end so soon.

"You're really something, baby. Next time you're gonna get fucked real good. My hairy cock wants you, boy.

Gimme a second while I get out and take a piss, OK? Be right back."

I wait inside his car for him.

Once back, he opens his driver's side door and slides in beside me. The heat inside his old car goes up 120 degrees the second he drops his hot male ass down in his seat, just inches away from me.

He turns the key in his ignition and tries to start his old car.

Of course, it doesn't start.

Pissed is a mild word to describe how angry and frustrated he is. "You slide over here into my seat. it's all warmed up for ya' now, boy. I'm gonna get out and lift the hood to see if we can get this cunt started again'... just do what I tell ya, babe... OK?"

I'm in his drivers' seat. I can feel the heat and the impression his hot, hard man ass has made in the driver's seat of his old heap over the years he's owned and driven it.

I can smell his sweaty body and feel his pervasive male heat. It feels so right for me to be sitting where I am right now. I can sense his masculine man heat enveloping me.

Yeah ...

"OK, pump it real good for me kid, and crank the fuckin' shit out of it till I tell ya' to let up on my starter for a bit."" He yells back to me.

I do it and nothing happens - just that weak, cranking noise and shaky vibrations coming from his driver's seat, running into and through me like an electric current. I can't see him because the hood is jacked up.

I know he's out there alone, pissed off and frustrated. I keep on turning his ignition key. Nothing, nothing, nothing. All I can concentrate on is getting his old car to start for him.

I just know that if I can't get it to turn over, I may never get to do this with this hot man again ...

Keep on pumping his big, man-size, worn gas pedal ...

Nothing, flooded, nothing ... whining, straining, cranking away, slower and slower ... nothing ...

Fuck ...

Sounds of his unhappy, frustrated curses and the fading, dying cranking of his starter ...

Finally, he slams down the hood and stares back at me from the front of his car.

"Well, that's enough fuckin' shit from you, you shitbox, piece of shit, cunt for one night," I hear him mutter to himself.

Slowly he walks over to his driver's side door and squats down, so his head is level with mine and is mere inches away. I cautiously lean forward to put my hand on the nape of his neck to feel the rough, coarse unshaven skin back there. He slowly moves in to plant his lips full on mine with a deep, probing, demanding kiss that sends me into total shock

"Again," I say.

He smiles teasingly at me and then playfully traces the outline of my lips with his tongue, before he slowly thrusts it into my mouth. Then he gives me one more quick kiss and winks with those long lashes as he moves back to gauge my reaction.

"Thank you, babe." Fuck this old piece of crap right now. Being with you tonight was the best thing to happen to me in a long time. Next time will be even better, I promise."

He leans in for one more lingering kiss. The feel of his rough, unshaven cheek rubbing against my sensitive skin is so sensual and masculine.

His kiss ends much too soon and leaves me wanting more from him.

He takes a deep breath finally and sighs. Then he rubs his hand through his tousled hair and asks me, "So, do I have to call you babe all the time? Or does babe have a first name?"

"Aaron," I tell him.

He chuckles quietly to himself and says, "of course. Two guys with the same letter in their first name. What else?"

"Well Aaron, I'm Adam, and it looks like I have some unfinished business to take care of with you," as he reaches down and grabs onto my stiff cock and gropes it inside my jeans.

"You know Aaron, while my fuckin' shitbox car let me down again tonight, at least you're here and that sure as hell makes up for this whole fuckin' shitty day."

I look deep into his eyes. They are a kind of rich hazel ... the color of burnt honey ...

"Tell ya' what Aaron. We've gotta' walk back into town now and I'll need to call someone to tow my old heap back to my apartment before I have to start work in the morning. Are you OK with that? I'll make this up to you next time we are alone together. Can I see you again?"

He has the most engaging grin on his face and bends in to give me one more tantalizing deep kiss.

As if he even needs to ask me. "Yes, of course, Adam," I say.

He reaches into his old car beside me and takes his keys out of the ignition. "Tempted to leave them here to see if anyone can get this shitty cunt started. But I don't think anyone would give this sorry piece of rusted-out crap a second look. Joy-riding and stealing it ain't gonna happen tonight, I don't think. Besides, it's seen enough hot, fuck-buddy cock-sucker action between you and me just now anyway."

He leans in a little further and reaches for his old sports jacket. "Gonna need this tomorrow when I have to look decent and serve customers. Here, hold onto it for me and let's start to hike it back into town, Aaron"

The texture and feel of that rough coarse fabric makes me crazy as I hold onto it next to my skin. It's like nuzzling up to him and wrapping myself around his taut, hard, hairy body.

"Next time Aaron, I'm gonna pick you up after work and take you back to my place. What we didn't finish tonight, we're gonna take care of then. You need some lessons on how to kiss a man properly and I think your tight little butt hole needs me to take care of it too."

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