White-Nose Syndrome

Mike spoke a little louder than before, "Ok big boy, get a-moving! Tom and I are getting cold standing around."

I yelled back, "I'm not going anywhere like this."

Then I heard Mike tell Tom, "You pull'em back up since you're the one who pulled'em down."

So I supposed those were Tom's hands I felt trying to pull my pants back up. He made a real effort to repants me, but the feel of hands and fingers on my thighs and butt just made my dick harder. Because his arms were outstretched around my waistband while he faced me, I knew my shaft must be bouncing around just inches from his face.

Then I overheard Mike strategizing, "Just leave it sticking out of the fly if it won't go back in."

The heels of Tom's palms warmed the base of my cock as he tried to button me up unzipped. His panting reached my bush as he struggled not to hurt me or touch me more than necessary. A cool wet sensation under my peehole convinced me I had begun to leak precum.

When Tom's knuckles withdrew from my lowest belly, I imagined him standing back to admire his handiwork. I wondered what Joe was thinking, standing there clothed while two naked cavers tried to get my pants up despite my hard-on so that we could move on. Because there was nothing else for him to be doing, I knew Joe must still be staring at my dick. So far I hadn't heard any expressions of disgust from the guys. Perhaps they all knew deep inside they might have gotten hard too under the circumstances. Perhaps they liked having an excuse to take a good long look at another hard cock, in very dark circumstances where no one else was likely to judge them for looking. Perhaps –

"What're you waiting for, John? Let's go!" demanded Mike.

I answered from above, "Let me get this straight. While I'm struggling to get through this narrow vertical squeeze, y'all pull my pants down so you can look at my pecker when you know there's nothing I can do to stop you. Then nature takes its course. And so now that I have another seven inches added to my profile, y'all expect me to get right on through? Do you expect me to fuck the cave wall?"

Joe coughed, "Looks like at least eight to me, must be the angle."

Tom suggested, "Ah shit, John, just concentrate on all those poor bats dying or something. Problem solved."

I kept silent. I was sure there was now precum oozing down my circumcision scar.

I heard Tom again, "So thinking about those dying bats makes your cock twitch?"

This time I did reply, "Hey, I won't lie. Thanks to you I'm feeling pretty good. Y'all are cold. Looks like y'all are the ones with a problem not me.

"Yeah well you're all dressed, no wonder you feel good. Just come back down and rub one out if it won't go away. We'll turn our lamps off for privacy," offered Mike.

"So that's your suggestion? That in addition to embarrassing me by pulling my pants down and staring at my wiener while it's cold and shriveled in the cave, you think I should jack myself off in front of everyone? Despite everything I've told you about protecting the cave, you want me to shoot a wad all over it? I'd rather wait all night until I'm soft again..."

Whispering followed. Was Joe also whispering? It was too hard to tell. It was almost as if the three were communicating though a combination of hushed words, gestures, and grunts.

I interrupted, "and I better not have any wet spots on my pants when I finally get to check them."

Silence. Then a warm mouth closed on my head. It did so with a sense of hesitancy. Did the mouth expect (or even hope for) a protest from me? Was the mouth a stranger to the taste of cock? Was my sack musk overpowering after the long-day's drive and the sweaty caving?

What about the fingers unbuttoning my pants? Did they belong to the mouth? And when my pants were again down, the hands turned to my bootlaces. Was the same guy doing all this? If so, who was it? I cooperated by lifting my feet up one at a time so the boots and pants could be pulled off. I replanted my socked feet close together so that my inner thighs touched. I began to flex my glutes and quads to build heat and power. To show my silent appreciation, I swelled my cockhead, then released it, swelled it, and released it. The lips found their way beyond my glans, and left a slobbery film when retreating to the tip.

Would one or all three of them describe me as an asshole later for forcing them to get me off? Perhaps. I never expected this blow job. I was certain they'd eventually just start having a very non-sexual conversation with me about sports, or money, or my volunteer work at the state park, or other deflating topics. Also, they could have simply suggested I come back down and we take a different route rather than assuming we had to proceed up the bend. But if they were into cock, why had there been such resistance to caving naked back in the car when they could have persuaded me and Joe to show ours too? Why had I never caught anyone looking at Tom's or Mike's dicks as we caved?

Then I noticed a very faint cast of red light on the cave wall below me. Although there were no silhouettes that might have identified anyone, the presence of the light convinced me that whoever was nursing on my cock did not object to being watched by the others.

I felt a pair of hands – strong hands just like men should have – palm the sides of my thighs and squeeze them. Each little hair growing down my crack and out of my calves seemed to stand at attention and come alive.

The dim red hue went off. For the first time all evening, the four of us were in utter blackness. I wondered what it must be like to suck a cock you cannot see. I'm certain those guys online who are forced to suck cock blindfolded can always see at least a little light. The pace of sucking did pick up in the darkness – without observers, the cocksucker was free to act on his primal appetite for another man's seed. Did the void heighten his other senses? Could his tongue feel each vein? Even I could hear lip smacking so I knew the other two could. Was there a whiff of two-day old pussy juice in the creases of my sack? If so, did he recognize it or confuse it with piss or cheese? After all, I had been enjoying my bachelor weekend and had not showered after waking late this morning.

For the first time I also heard a fist hammering balls – at a very quick clip. While the guy sucking me could be the one jerking off that would mean a second guy had his hands on my thighs (and sometimes my cheeks). More likely, one of the two observers was furiously pumping himself knowing he could be heard. If so, chances are the other observer was doing the same only more quietly.

As I began to think of what might be going on just a few feet away beyond the rock ledge and through the darkness, my abs tightened and cum spasmed out of me. I had joked about not wanting to squirt in the cave ecosystem, but rationalized that doing so would be no worse than cavers spraying the walls with sneezed snot or coughed phlegm. But he kept his lips sealed as I unloaded. Or at least he tried to, but once or twice backed off to catch his breath and gulp a shot down.

I heard a couple of footsteps, then quiet. Though still fluffed, my wet dick was finally pointing down. Rather than hoist myself up as expected, I lowered myself wearing only my helmet, shirt and socks. I could tell from the sounds of breath nearby that my three companions were now standing separately. I reached up and turned my red light on. This time I didn't avoid looking down. Tom and Mike were both hard, or nearly so. Mike looked harder, or at least longer and fuller than Tom. Tom also had those pendulous balls that probably hang loose no matter what the temperature or circumstances – you know the kind I mean where you see two distinct balls rather than just a scrotum. Mike also looked a little sheepish, but Tom just grinned.

Joe was still dressed! This really confused me. I had let myself think he was the one jerking off while Tom or Mike sucked me. I had guessed Tom had to suck me for having started the whole incident, but then whoever sucked me had obviously gotten into it and Mike looked the most horned up. Maybe Joe had sucked me with his clothes on (though he seemed to be wearing long sleeves and I didn't recall feeling any sleeves against my thighs but did I really remember one way or the other?) and so Mike was the one I heard masturbating but he didn't finish? Hell, I really didn't know.

Tom asked, "So now you come down? I thought the whole problem was that we had to go up through the bend."

"It was a dead end," I lied.

Joe called me out, "That's bullshit."

"You'll never know because we are going to head back another way to make up for lost time. But Joe, now that you mention bullshit, I'll tell you what's bullshit. It's bullshit that you saw all of us naked but you're still dressed."

He took a step back, "Look I'm just minding my own business..."

"No, you look, you thought it was real funny when Tom pulled my pants off, so if you don't take your clothes off right now, I'll ask him to do the same to you while I stand around and laugh."

Because Joe had already admitted he gone nude in public before, I knew he wasn't just being modest. So when he pulled his old jeans down, I could see why he had hesitated. He was just as hard as I had been and his dick had a pronounced curve that would probably have never shown while surfing or skinny dipping. The end of Joe's cock also appeared thicker than the base but I couldn't be sure. His balls were the size of white seedless grapes and simply couldn't compete for attention with the fleshy boomerang attached to them.

"You can keep your boots," I told him while rebooting myself, "but put the rest in my pack. I'll lead. We've still got a stoopway and a crawl before we're done. But before we go there's one thing I have to take care of – I always have to piss after I cum."

Joe bent over with straight legs, spreading nearly hairless ass cheeks at us, and straightened up with the piss bottle in his hand. It used to be my wide-mouth water bottle that fastened to my water filter pump, but I had upgraded to BPA free bottles and kept this one for urine. Joe unscrewed the wide cap and walked over. I reached out for it, but he reached for my penis and placed the head inside the mouth. I started to harden again, but not so hard I couldn't pee. It was a slightly painful piss as I blasted out some cum that had gotten stuck in my tubes and my dick head had grown into one side of the bottle. Joe's hardened knob curved onto my thigh as he stood close. I clasped my hands on top of my helmet, elbows wide, and tried to wring every drop from my bladder. Ah, it felt good to get it out of me.

When the stream quietened down, Joe took his thumb and index finger and shook my dick like a gas pump nozzle before lowering the bottle. He screwed the cap back on and walked back to the pack.

We four all walked on. The passages twisted and turned. Conversation had dropped off.

A few feet before the stoopway I stopped. "This next section is only about 50 yards or so and mostly flat. The problem is that you walk with bent knees like you're in a dwarf house so you'll feel your muscles burn after a few seconds. I want you to cut your lights because with four headlamps shining ahead it creates too many shadows and makes it harder for my eyes to judge the way with my light. Also, stay close to the guy in front of you, sort of like a conga line. If the pace is too fast just say so and we'll all adjust our step so no one gets left behind or gets hurt trying to step on uneven surfaces, ok? Give yourself a good back stretch first. Joe, you go last in case there's a problem ok?"

I knew Mike was immediately behind me as I reduced my height and set off. He dutifully placed his warm hands on my waist. If I had had a torch rather than a headlamp, my sense of playing caveman would have been complete except that every illustration I had seen showed cavemen wearing skins.

The eight boot steps shuffling along made a loud commotion in the passageway. About a third of the way in, I heard Tom, "Slower..."

I changed to half-steps. The toe of Mike's boot caught the heel of mine, but he instantly modified his step in line with mine. Tom tripped anyway, pushing Mike forward, "Slower!" Mike squeezed my hips to steady himself.

I shifted to baby steps and within another yard, Mike frontside docked with my backside. He ran his hands up my back until they rested on each shoulder. Every second or third step I could feel Mike's cock just barely slap one of my cheeks as it jostled side to side.

"Leg stretch, please!" cried Tom.

I stopped, placed my hands on my knees, and slowly straightened my legs bringing my torso more parallel to the floor. Mike's arms weren't long enough to reach my shoulders in this position and I felt them slide to my lower back. Then he stepped close forward, crossed his forearms on my back as a pillow for his head, and rested his chest and belly on my back so he could straighten his own legs. I had no idea if this was how Tom or Joe were stretching their legs but I knew it would be a bad idea to ask, turn around, or shine the light behind me. At this point Mike's penis snuggled against my crack and buns. It felt soft, plump and warm like a bratwurst and I could hear and feel his breathing from the effort required to stay hunched over for so long. Because I didn't feel Mike's abs working to grind into me, I began to conclude that the slight rhythmic movement of his body into mine was being caused by Tom, or perhaps Joe. It was somewhat taboo and very exciting but the posture was just too restricted for me to say it felt good. Then Joe released his forearms, leaving the left side of face against my now sweating back, and reached under my chest where he ran his fingers through my body hair and played with my nipples. Mmmmm, maybe I was going to get hard again after all despite the stance.

"Ok," moaned Tom, "ready."

Mike peeled off my back and I returned to a 75 degree stoop for the last third.

We all heard Joe from behind, "Faster! I gotta piss." We made it out so quickly without incident that it almost raised suspicions as to why the first two thirds took so long. Joe wasted no time in topping off the pee bottle. I enjoyed the changing sounds given off as his stream grew shorter and shorter due to the rising level inside the bottle. I couldn't help but wonder if Joe had the same urgent need to pee after ejaculating that I did – could he have cum in the stoopway?

Tom looked up as high as he could, "Damn, I wish I could do a full backbend right now. That was tough."

Mike empathized, "We're just getting old buddy."

"Maybe, but that was one place where old-age osteoporosis and a hunchback would come in handy." Classic Tom. "Well I'm going second next time so I can get out quicker."

The next half hour was much kinder to our spines and quadriceps. But all too soon we reached the crawl that would almost complete our trip.

"This last section is like a paper towel tube. There are no left or right turns, the only option is straight ahead. It's the size of one of those large concrete pipes that drain ditches under driveways so we have to go on all fours. Joe has kneepads for everyone in my pack. Since you can't get lost or fall in a hole or bump your head, we're going to do this one in total darkness to really appreciate what being underground is all about. This is something you can never experience at the state park, Hades Hole, Donkey Den or Holy Belowlands. No conga line this time, just take your time. If you get achy, then do some pushups to straighten out. If you need help, yell, otherwise we'll keep quiet and you can stop whenever you want. Any questions?"

"How far?" was the only one.

"About like the stoopway but it'll probably take longer. When we reach the end I am going to sit beside the exit and listen for you to come out. When I tap you three times it means you're out so you can go a few more feet and then sit or stand and wait for everyone but keep your light off and keep quiet. Joe, when I tap you three times you turn your light on when you're ready and we'll know we're done ok?" I adjusted the knee pads that were passed to me. "Get close to the hole then lights out."

I was a baby learning to crawl. Sure I knew how to crawl. I knew this passage. But going blind always take getting reoriented. Crawling nude made me all the more babylike. A lot of my coworkers in the office would panic or suffer an anxiety attack in these circumstances. I wondered what made me different from them. What motivated me to seek out experiences like this? But was I really any different than people who get their adrenaline kicks skydiving, or scuba diving, buying stocks, or finding the best bargain at the mall? Maybe I wasn't scared of cave chimneys, but there were plenty of other fears that kept me in my routines. When I stopped crawling and listened to the silence, good memories of past cave trips came to mind, 'This planet is fucking amazing' I reminded myself.

And so was the sudden sensation of breath on my asshole. I began to crawl slowly but the breath followed. That was no accidental exhale. Tom had to be blowing on my sphincter. For a moment I feared that perhaps my anus stank and he was trying to manage his bad luck. But if that was the case why did he stay so close to it? So I paused my crawling once more. His wrists soon brushed against my calves and his long nose crashed into my crack until my body stopped him in his tracks.

I know some guys complain their wives or girlfriends won't do certain things. Well mine still sucks me, likes to get butt fucked, and sometimes we lie in bed together masturbating ourselves while watching stupid movies. But not once has she ever had her mouth near my butthole. I'm not complaining. How can I? I don't lick hers either.

But Tom was...well, how else to put it except...nasty. The same health freak who runs wearing organic food propaganda was now rooting his nose in my crack like a hog after truffles. Tap water had too many chemicals for his tastes, but not the squish from my hole? He had no idea when I last shit or showered. How could he do that? I reckoned he could have care less about going home with Mike or stopping to pay for gas on the way home tonight with his face smelling like man ass? His technique reminded me of the way I ate pussy after I had known the woman for a few years. It lacked that frantic enthusiasm associated with early dating or a honeymoon. It was slow and steady. And silent. Mike had not yet bumped into Tom as far as I could tell. Or was there a daisy chain of analingus going on behind me?

I'm no yogi but I began to flex and bow my spine, lifting and lowering my crack up and down on his mouth and nose. He seemed to enjoy the pushback from me because I could feel his tongue stiffen some and probe me. I wasn't even hard, just incredibly relaxed, like when I got massaged on a vacation.

How could Tom ever face me at the end of this tunnel when we turned the lights on, much less at run club on Tuesday nights? What the hell could I say to a guy after I had lapped at his hairy shithole?

Did my hairy crack remind him of a pussy he had eaten in high school before everyone (according to him at least) starting shaving their pubes? Otherwise it made no sense to me that he had avoided sexualizing the night early on. But he had pulled my pants down to see me. But then he didn't want to touch me too much or get me off. Or so he acted. And shit, was he with Mike or not? Had they at least gotten drunk once or twice and fucked each other? Oooooooooo, that felt good. I felt some weekend stubble as his chin kneaded my crack.

Then the top of his head prodded my butt forward like one mountain goat might to another. I began to crawl slowly forward. Why? Was he about to vomit? Were we holding up traffic? I might know a few things about caves but when it came to the people I shared this fucking amazing planet with, I was really in the dark about so much. Geology was simpler than psychology.