Hunter Lee, Home at Last Ch. 02

I scrambled for my clothes and shook the hay from my hair. Lola Belle stumbled, pulling on her panties and giggling. She was chattering on about something, I didn't care, and I wasn't listening. I walked out of the barn before she was done talking. I was preoccupied with whoever had been spying on us from the barn doors. I checked all around the area and saw no trace of anyone. All the lights in the house were dimmed, no obvious movements. My head swam with beer.

Jesse's truck was gone. It was late, after all. Candy had so many wine coolers I imagine she made herself sick. A few uncles sat on the front porch smoking and dipping chewing tobacco. They laughed, teasing about me getting lost on the ranch I grew up working. I said my farewells and set to walking the seven miles back to Jesse and Candy's. The humid night air was cooled by a pleasant light breeze.

The stars were so beautiful. Wispy clouds raced across the sky with the prairie breezes. The night wind kissed my face and wicked the sweat from my chest. I still tasted Lola Belle on my lips, smelled her on my fingers. The roar of the chirping bugs filled my ears, loud as the ocean waves in California. Rustling in the brush, like rabbits and foxes chasing each other, is the only occasional noise. A lonesome hound bellowed from a house somewhere in the distance.

About halfway back to Jesse and Candy's, I took my eyes down from the sky and found myself blinded by truck headlights with high beams. I recognized the roar of the engine, and Jesse's long lean figure stretched across the cab to open the passenger door. He'd changed from his good suit to a thin white t-shirt and jeans. His blue eyes all the bluer for being bloodshot, his face pale but his cheeks rosy. Drunk as a skunk.

"I was headed back that way to fetch you, Lee. Candace was tired; I thought I'd take her home first. I could not find you anywhere to tell you," he said. Jesse's voice was so soft and deep, like the purr of a tall, thin tomcat. I climbed in the cab and he handed me a frosty can of beer from a cooler. I looked concerned and took a sip.

"My brother is a deputy sheriff, as long as I'm not speeding, he don't care if we drink on the back roads." Jesse winked at me and turned his eyes back to the road. "Where were you anyways?"

I shifted uncomfortably on the long bench seat. "I was..."

"Where ever you was," He interrupted. "You stink like pussy."

We both laughed. The remainder of the car ride was quiet until we reached the main gate.

"I lied about not being able to find you, there. I wanted to apologize for ..." That velvet voice of his faltered. "I want to apologize for interrupting you earlier."

So it was Jesse! At least it wasn't my Mom. "Well that's what happens. " I said, "No harm done."

We both laugh again. His cheeks flush nearly purple, embarrassed to be talking to me in such a way. We had only ever exchanged polite words, little jokes here and there. The silence is awkward and Jesse does not move the truck. He finally reaches across my legs for the gate remote; his unsteady hands brush my knee. The glass of his eyes catches mine as if he's going to say he's sorry. A nervous laugh escapes his throat. Jesse rests his hand on my knee. My thigh.

There is such a tentative look on his face. His knuckles are white, his fingers tremble. He's chewing the dark pink of his thin cupid lips as he leans towards me. Partly out of shock, maybe even a part of curiosity, maybe I don't want him tattling on me about the barn to Candy ... I hold perfectly still and let my brother in-law brush his lips against mine. His face is prickly with stubble. My beard had grown out long enough to be soft. We seemed stuck together, like Velcro, two unshaven beards slick with sweat.

His lips taste like beer, and his tongue slips between my lips slick and sweet with a tinge of smoky barbeque sauce and baked beans. I feel how sharp his teeth are through his thin delicate lips. His fingers are in my hair now, half gripping, and half petting. I have my hands around his waist. I don't know if I'm holding him, or just holding the weight of him off my chest. I'm not even necessarily aroused, but I feel my body responding despite what my mind may think.

Jesse's smashing himself into my face. With all the desperation and awkwardness of a virgin his tongue dives unskillfully in my mouth. I feel his hands roving the muscle of my thighs, across my belly, up my chest, down my back. He's leaning back and pulling me down on top of him. He rests his hands on my ass, one of his knees pressed nearly onto the dashboard, his legs are so long. He calls me baby. I laugh a little. He may be so drunk he's thinks I'm a woman.

He shifts his weight and I sit back up. I almost say, this is crazy, Jesse. I almost say we've just had too much to drink, but those long slender fingers of his are fighting with the zipper of my slacks. He sits up a moment and yanks my fly open, his eyes on my boxers, sticky with sweat and Lola Bell's juices. I'm half hard just for the cool air conditioning kissing the sweat from my balls, for the adrenaline of kissing another man. I thought I'd never do it. I thought I'd be disgusted to be with another man. It wasn't half bad, actually.

Jesse's fondling my pubic hair, the way you would pet a kitten. His hands dip lower and he's gripping the base of my shaft. I will say this about being with men, there are no fluttery, weak little tugs. It's never too fast or too hard or too dry. Men naturally know what pleases other men. Perhaps I was just allowing Jesse to do this out of vanity, perhaps no one could make love to me as well as I could make love to myself, as if Jesse were my mirror image. You rationalize like that, in these situations.

He nips the tender flesh of my neck, where it dips into my collar. That perfect sensitive spot that makes me squirm under his hands, my hips rolling forward. He strips his sweat soaked shirt off his back, leaving it in a damp heap on the cab floor. I see now that Jesse is not my mirror image at all. In contrast to my soft, pale skin, my dark curls and dark, inconstant colored eyes, Jesse was all gold.

The hair of his head was spun straw gold. The fleece of his arms and chest was a paler gold than the other gold. His skin was the warm honey color of working long hours in the fields, dotted with cinnamon freckles. There was a delicate little trail of golden fuzz just above the crack of his ass that poked tentatively out of his jeans, and I slid my hands down the long, lean muscles of his back and stroked it idly. The waist of his jeans dipped lower, revealing a firm expanse of his little milky white ass.

Jesse lowered his face into my lap and stroked me a moment more. He looked up at me curiously. I don't know if I moaned or nodded or just sat there, but he flicked his curious tongue against the side of my shaft. Then a longer one. I imagine I tasted terrible, like a long sweaty day and a short sweaty roll in the barn. Jesse didn't seem to mind. Before long he had worked his way down my length and rested the stubble of his chin in my pubes.

If I were to describe to you Jesse's first of many forays of sucking my cock, I couldn't. Not that the moment was too precious or any bullshit like that, but that there really is nothing that can describe my mixed feelings. Of the initial shock and revulsion, and then realizing that it felt good. Incredibly good. Unbelievably. And then when the going was good, all my drinking wilted my enthusiasm for the new experience. Whiskey Dick. What a bitch. I didn't want to hurt Jesse's feelings. On the other hand... Maybe I was curious. Maybe I'm bi. Maybe I was that drunk. Maybe I just really like to fuck, and the desire to fuck supersedes silly things like taboos of gender, race, age, et cetera.

I cradle Jesse's face in my hands and pull him from my flagging erection. I lay him back in the seat and begin frantically tugging at the buttons of his fly. Who the hell still wears button fly jeans? I feel his pulse through the denim and his cock positively springs out of his shorts at me. For a moment I was terrified. I thought it was a pink anaconda about to attack my face.

I am of decent length and girth, horizontal and vertical. It suits me well and I've never had it called "cute little pecker." Jesse was monstrous and uncut. It was a ropey, vein-covered thing at least the length of my arm. At moments like these, perhaps size is entirely perspective. Anything that large aimed at your face is genuinely nerve racking.

His balls were dusted with light blonde fuzz, lending his package an almost cherubic glow. I cradled that giant lizard in my hands and tried my best to imitate what he had done to me. I flicked my tongue across the tip, ran my lips down the sides with long, slow kisses. With great difficulty and effort I settled my lips around him and managed to only gag myself once or twice. That deep voice of his was a growl in the back of his throat, like a sleeping lion, and he would growl and gasp in rhythm with my ministrations, almost cheering me on.

He smelled like the leather of saddles, salty hot sweat and a hint of something sugary, like sweet onions, or perhaps bell peppers. Despite the gnarled and formidable appearance of his cock, the skin was smooth and soft, the foreskin making everything slip and slide and move around under my tongue. Velvet over steel, I'd heard some woman say once, and she was right.

My first time performing oral sex on a man, I found myself a little giddy with power. I've seen enough prison movies to know I could just bite down hard and he would bleed to death. But I didn't. It's a euphoric experience, imagining I was Jesse, and instead of me between his legs, my prim little sister hard at work, choking with tears in the corners of her eyes as I did. And perhaps later Jesse would have such an experience, but instead of thinking about football or prettier, less prudish women, he would be thinking of me and my gray/gold hazel eyes looking up at him from the base of his cock.

My soft palate grew inflamed and sore. The back of my throat felt bruised. My jaw ached and I thought I would never be able to close my mouth properly again. Drool coated my chin and oozed from the stretched, raw corners of my mouth. I felt a pulse quicken somewhere deep inside Jesse, and his hands are in my hair. He's pulling my hair. He yanked my head off his lap and I found myself too startled to react in proper time.

Before I can do anything, or say anything, or catch my breath, he nearly slams my head into the passenger door. I'm lying down with my face in the vinyl of the bench seat. He's so much stronger than I'd thought, because he had me by my hips and was throwing me around like a rag doll. Jesse's long, thin fingers are yanking, hard, and my pants are around my knees so quickly I didn't even know what was going on until I felt him spit on my ass.

The monstrous head of his cock parted my ass cheeks and I could not breathe. I thought surely he would rip me in two. I thought I was going to scream. Slowly, he pushed forward. The first inch was the worst. I broke out in goose-bumps and a cold sweat. My sore jaw clenched shut so tight it made my face tingle. To all of the readers who have not experienced being fucked in the ass, imagine taking a shit in reverse. At first, it is excruciating. By the time Jesse had fought his way through my virginal sphincter, and his entire length was in my entrails, the most curious waves of feeling began.

It began as the tickle of his pubic hair against my ass. I could feel the pulse of him, the heat of his body going through me. It gave me shivers, perhaps of delight, or maybe excitement. Jesse could feel my body responding and thrust himself deeper inside me with every stroke. It felt like he was reaching for something. And then he hits it. A sensation so strong it buckles my legs out from under me. Unable to support my own body weight, Jesse wrapped his hands around my stomach, holding me up.

It is no mean feat for two tallish men to fuck on the seat of a medium sized truck. My head was smooshed up against the passenger window. Jesse's feet kicked the door, one of his elbows rested on the dashboard. Jesse was only soft and gentle for that first minute, after that it was brutal. Hard, deep and fast he's slamming those bony legs of his into the tender meat of my thighs, his long, slender fingers digging trenches in my flesh. All I could do was pray it was over soon. I feel sharp stabs of pain as his pace quickened to a crescendo.

Finally, it was over. I had been with a man. He started to fall onto my back, supporting his weight on his hand, leaving a steamy, sweaty handprint on the glass. I thought of the movie "Titanic" for some reason. He seemed to have trouble catching his breath. I was too.

Eventually he did get up off me. Let me pull my pants up around my sore ass. He buckled his jeans and watched the pavement before us, as if nothing happened. We went up the driveway in silence. Once he was done, it seems he lost interest in me. What a douchebag. The last thing he said to me was a curt goodnight, as he grabbed another beer from the fridge and headed to bed.

Upstairs in my little guest room apartment, I nearly jumped in the shower with my clothes still on. I had to soak my shorts in the sink with a little ice water. I'd seen my sisters do it often enough to get blood stains out of panties. A pale pink creamy mess was running down the back of my thigh and around my knee. All I could think about was being clean. The smell after anal sex was a heavy amalgam of bathroom smells. I smelled his spit, my spit. Two sets of cocks and balls and the sweat of two men and damp clothes and work boot leather and the faint traces of my blood and my bowels overhanging all of it.

I'm probably misquoting Vladimir Nabokov, but I vaguely remember reading something in Lolita that makes the mixture of blood and sex fluids almost romantic. I can't think of that passage right now, but I can assure you, there was nothing romantic about seeing the blood on my washcloth. The sight of my own blood disturbs me in normal circumstance, but in this instance it nearly made me hurl. I'm certain it was only a little bit, and the women reading will scoff, but it was upsetting at the time.

That was the second most purifying shower of my experience that week. I washed between my legs three or four times, until the skin was raw and pink and I still felt the prickles of his unshaven beard on my thigh, the trickle of cum rolling from my ass and down my balls with that final thrust. I must have been under that cold shower for the better part of an hour.

I sobered up quickly. The reality of my actions of the last few days began to settle in. I was here for a funeral. I had been given a substantial responsibility and instead of taking care of things, I was fornicating. It was like college all over again. My shower is cut short by muffled noises wafting up from the floor below me. That Jesse was just an animal. Probably not even washed up from me, and he's plowing my sister's fields too. I felt the familiar twitch in my loins, my balls ached for another release.

In my mind, I see Jesse laid out on the bed, my sister bouncing up and down on his lap, forcing that massive cock into her and riding him hard while he's got those long, slender hands of his wrapped around her waist, pushing her down with the same rough force he seems to approach all his lovers with. In my mind I could "accidentally" see through a partially opened door, and sneak in ever so quietly.

Standing behind my sister, I could take her hair in my hands and push her head down onto Jesse's thin, muscular chest. I'd spit on her little puckered hole and slowly work my cock into her well trained ass. I imagined how much I'd relish her squeals of displeasure, and how much she would resist. I could imagine the feel of my balls pressed against Jesse's and the heat of his cock in her pussy as I plowed her ass.

My own long awaited orgasm arrived almost too quickly and left me with a little wanting. I put on a pair of pajama pants and laid on top of the covers, spread eagle, arms out, worshipping the ceiling fan, that so lovingly licked the moisture from my damp skin and whispered sweet things to me until I fell asleep.