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“ADVENTURE (noun): an unusual and exciting, often hazardous, experience or activity.” The New Oxford Dictionary of English
Welcome to the second story in my new “Adventure” series. (The first is “Devil With A Blue Dress On” in the transgendered section.) My two previous stories “The Arrangement” and “Breaking The Arrangement” were autobiographical. Everything in them is based on what actually happened to me as I was growing up.
The Adventure series has no such restrictions. While some of the stories may have a kernel of truth at their heart, for the most part they are pure fiction, a chance to stretch my wings as an author and go where my lust and imagination takes me.
It was a good day for hunting. The early fall had brought a refreshing crispness to the weather and turned the canopies of the trees into a harlequin’s umbrella of chartreuse, ocher, butterscotch and copper. The rainstorm from a couple of days before had left the earth comfortably soft but not overly wet, perfect for hunkering down once the prey was ensnared. Best of all, the quarry was plentiful.
As I walked up the trail I could see my potential targets scattered along its borders, their uncertain eyes tracking me as I moved toward them, trying to determine my purpose. Some, the shyer ones, moved deeper into the trees while others less wary than their counterparts stood their ground, one or two even moving toward the path I was walking.
After several minutes of surveillance I spotted my prey resting against the trunk of a small oak tree. Young but clearly mature. A little smaller than average build with a delicate body and longish limbs, the legs firm and muscular. As I drew slowly closer I could see a pair of grey eyes stealthily peeking out from under half lowered eyelids. The eyes were rather near together above an irregularly shaped nose which emphasized the leanness of the face. A fringe of tousled flaxen hair fell over the ridge of the ears. A good selection, I thought to myself, not a trophy specimen but still very nice. The trick now would be to finish my approach without spooking him further into the woods.
When we were about two feet apart his eyes snapped open, all pretense of disinterest gone; his gaze locking with mine as each of us appraised the other. Straightening up to step away from the tree he gave a short, inquisitive tilt of his head, wordlessly asking my intentions, intentions I made clear by running the tip of my tongue across my semi-parted lips. With a crooked smile and a short nod of his head he accepted my offer. I had snagged my prey.
Still not speaking we walked deeper into the woods, the back of my hand occasionally brushing against his denim covered crotch. Our destination was one of the “Cocksuckers’ Coves,” a series of a dozen or so secluded grottos which dotted the most remote corner of this county park.
Accessed by the means of twisty paths which sometimes doubled back on themselves, each cove was literally carved out of the bushes and underbrush in the shape of an “L” lying on its side. You entered though a narrow passageway which mimicked the vertical line of the L and, about five feet later, made a second turn to enter the actual cove, usually a 4 x 5 foot clearing edged by brush and vines about seven feet tall. The ground in each cove was cleared of plants and covered with wood chips. Every cove contained a log lying on its side as well as a three to four foot stump setting upright. Some even had small garbage cans.
The intricate and artificial nature of these coves had spawned a number of rumors about their origins, one wag insisting the “other fairies” were responsible. The most common theory was horny park employees had created and maintained these little slices of heaven so they could get their balls drained on a regular basis. Although no one had ever seen a park employee in one of the coves, it was an well accepted rule that anyone wearing the brown park work uniform who entered a cove would be treated like royalty with everyone falling to their knees in homage. Regardless of who or what created these sanctuaries, for several years they had served as a well-known spots where gay men could enjoy each other without fear of harassment.
My prey turned out to be as delicious as he looked. His dick was pale white, longer than average but thin nestled in a clump of golden down which also lightly covered his scrotum. His balls were equally compact, rounded like marbles instead of the usual egg shape.
He had no hesitation about using me for his pleasure, demanding I lie on my back while he squatted just above me slowly lowering his sac into my gaping mouth. I treated his balls as though they were the finest chocolate cream eggs, desiring the syrup they held inside. My tongue felt the weight of each one as they licked back and forth, occasionally pausing while I sucked the full scrotum as deeply inside me as I could, his precum dripping on my forehead and running into my hair.
When he couldn’t stand another lick, he stood up, pulling me to my knees at the same time. There was Ataşehir Travesti no gentleness about him as he quickly shoved his cock as far down my throat as he could, causing me to choke. Without giving me a chance to recover he began to quiver, his manjuice pouring out of him like water from a garden hose. Pulling back slightly, I reveled in its salty taste, its slimy texture.
Even after his orgasm we continued our sex play. I cleaned him with my tongue and fingers paying special attention to his balls. Despite one of my better efforts he remained semi-flaccid but urged me to lie back down again to suck his nuts. Finally, after about fifteen minutes had passed, he stopped me and said he had to go, he had another appointment to keep and just couldn’t be late. I was surprised by his goodbye, an open-mouthed kiss with some tongue. Most men I suck off just want to leave afterwards. Only my special lovers kiss me. I hoped I would see him again.
Nowhere near reaching my bag limit for the day, I was following my conquest out of the cove to begin the search for another dick to nurse on when it happened. Just as we left the cove and turned to begin walking down the little trail toward the main path, a hand extending from the end of a light tan sleeve thumped down on my shoulder stopping me in my tracks. Any illusion I had that this was the mythical park worker vanished as I heard the words “That’s far enough faggot. You’re under arrest.” The light brown uniform belonged to a county employee all right, it belonged to a deputy sheriff.
After dismissing my companion, “You’re free to go. We’re only after the cocksuckers like this one here. But spread the word, the fairy circles are closed,” the deputy turned his attention to me.
“Put your hands behind your back.” I complied and felt the cold circles of metal against my wrists like sandpaper soaked in salt. The metallic click of the cuffs as they locked caused my fear to rise up as thick as any cum that had ever coated my throat.
As the deputy read me my rights “You have the right to remain silent…,” I began to tremble, the words of the warning adding an air of horrifying finality to what was happening. This wasn’t a bad dream I would wake up from. I was being arrested. I was going to jail. I would lose my job, my apartment, be placed on the list of registered sex offenders. To this day I don’t know how I managed to stay upright and not melt like a wicked witch doused with water.
When he had finished Mirandizing me, the deputy again grabbed my shoulder this time turning me around to face in the opposite direction. And there stood the sheriff.
He was a large, heavy man with a squared off face whose dark leathery skin looked like an old, well-polished boot. Unlike his deputy whose mousy brown hair was worn long and combed over his scalp to conceal a bald spot, the sheriff’s hair was gray and cropped close to his head in a marine-style cut. He looked me up and down like a drill instructor inspecting a new recruit, one not particularly liking what he saw. I tried for a second to return his gaze only to find my eyes dropping to the shiny silver badge pinned on his chest. Here was a man who gave off an almost palatable sense of command and virility. Orders would be followed, no excuses would be accepted, no nonsense would be tolerated. “Follow me son, we need to talk,” he demanded turning to reenter the cove never looking behind to see if I was obeying.
“OK son, go sit on that stump over there. I suppose you know you’re in a heap of trouble here.” I nodded my agreement. “Funny thing is, it isn’t really your fault, not that I expect you to start laughing or anything.” Puzzled at his affability, I remained silent waiting for him to go on.
“Blame it all on a soccer mom. Seems she’s got a son who she sent to that summer camp out Bradyton way. You know the one those fundamentalists run.” I nodded in response.
As he talks the sheriff moves over until he’s standing in front of me about three feet away with his crotch at the level of my face. I notice just the slightest start of swelling in the area.
“Anyway, it seems like the kid got up in the middle of the night to take a piss. Caught one of the camp counselors doing some late night knob polishing with a buddy in the next stall. He didn’t see anything but he heard the friend tell the counselor he was getting to be a good enough cocksucker he might just take him to visit the coves at the county park.”
At this point in the sheriff’s recitation, there’s no question about his swelling. It looks like he’s carrying a flashlight inside his left pant leg, not as big as a four-cell Maglite but not a penlight either. I notice the left hand he uses to reposition the dark brown material of his trousers has a small blue anchor tattooed on the back.
“The kid gets back from camp. He doesn’t know shit about sex but he knows he likes going to the park. So he asks his mom if he gets to be a good enough cocksucker would she take him to the park? After that the shit hit the fan. She hauls the kid off to his dad Anadolu yakası travesti and the interrogations begin.” His hand picks at his pants again.
“They were pretty good interrogations too since the father of the is none other than our esteemed new county prosecutor. Of course the kid’s in tears, scared as hell, didn’t know what he did wrong, doesn’t know what’s going to happen and the way his asshole father is carrying on isn’t making things any better, muttering about sin, hell and eternal damnation between questions. Are you following all this son?”
I nodded warily, still perplexed about why he’s telling a guy in handcuffs all this.
“Good ’cause we’re getting near the payoff. You don’t mind if I get a little more comfortable while I tell you this do you, son?”
Without waiting for my answer, the sheriff gave a downward tug on his zipper. Almost immediately his fly spread outward, allowing his underwear to bulge up through the gap like a white mushroom pushing through the dark floor of the forest.
“That’s better. It was getting a little tight in there.” The deputy, who had been sitting on the vertical log while the sheriff conducted his soliloquy sniggered, a sound that was quickly cut off with a sharp glace from the sheriff.
“Monday I get summoned to the prosecutor’s office and treated to a 45-minute harangue about how the queers are ruining this community, trying to seduce children into their perverted lifestyle, sinning against God’s will. Then he asks me what I’m going to do about it.
“When I tell him I don’t think there’s much I can do about it. Bradyton’s in the next county over. Neither of us have any authority there. and anyway even if we did, nobody molested his kid. Hell his kid didn’t even see anything. Doesn’t even know what cocksucking is. Just heard somebody talking. Not against the law to talk. If he didn’t make any bigger deal of it than he already had the kid might just forget about it.
“That was the wrong answer. His face got a red as a ripe apple. He didn’t yell though. If anything his voice got lower, harder but lower. Never mind his son he tells me. The boy is going to a military school where he’ll get the discipline and training he needs.”
Now the sheriff chuckled openly. “Ain’t that just the place to send a young kid asking about cocksucking, a boy’s military school. He’ll get discipline and training alright. The kid’ll be the belle of the barracks by the time the first week’s over. I could have told him it’d be better to send the kid to board at a whorehouse, at least then he’d have a chance to get some pussy but fuck ’em, it ain’t my problem.”
By now my fear had drained away from me like water from a leaky bucket only to be replaced by curiosity. I was still under arrest but it was clear the sheriff had something on his mind, otherwise why bother with this talk we when he could just take me in.
As if he had read my thoughts the sheriff said “I know I’m rambling a bit son but stay with me. Once he got through consigning his own boy to the second circle of hell, the prosecutor gave me my marching orders. Close down the coves, arrest the all the faggots. Strike fear and terror into those deviates. Just about what you’d expect from a bible-thumping, Dr. Laura listening pimple on the ass of humanity. Only problem is that pimple’s my boss. I don’t like what he’s got in mind but I don’t want to lose my job either. So now we come to the meat of the situation.”
To better illustrate his next words, the sheriff reached down and pulled his dick out into the open. I watched entranced as his tube of flesh emerged from its cottony cocoon, arching downward and followed by a set of balls that swung freely from underneath his rod. The head of his cock was like an oversized southwestern rain hat perched on a thick pole, round and tapering to a blunt end. His dusky pisshole was already leaking precum, giving the tip the look of having been coated with glycerin. As he continued to speak his balls bobbed up and down with each breath he took.
“I like having my cock sucked. So do a lot of men. A lot of these men are married. There’s a lot of men out there who love to suck cock. You’re one of them. Again a lot of these men are married. Despite what that asshat prosecutor and the people who voted him into office believe, there’s nothing immoral about that. What men do among themselves in private is nobody’s business but their own. Trouble is finding a place to do it. The motel on the edge of town rents rooms by the hour to non-married couples, provided they’re a man and a woman. They sure ain’t renting one to two guys. The nearest adult bookstore is 78 miles from here. Even I frown on folks using the bathrooms in the basement of the library. That’s why the coves exist.
“Everybody knows they weren’t an accident. No sprites from some fairy tale waved a magic wand to make them. A bunch of us in higher positions here in the county used our influence to quietly make sure there was a place to go outside of the public view. No sense waving things in people’s faces. Bursa Travesti What they don’t see they’ll tolerate. And it worked, no one’s scaring any horses out here. Cocks are getting sucked, butts are getting fucked and everybody’s happy. Everybody but the prosecutor who wants to fuck everything up because he’s a small-minded bigot that… ah, I don’t want to rant about it anymore. Point is there are options. Question is do we want to utilize those options?
“Now we can haul you off to jail, make an example of you like the prosecutor wants. Bust everybody who comes in here over the next week. Raze the coves and plant poison oak in their place. Really do the whole ‘Carthage must be destroyed’ bit. Never mind that we’d be destroying the gay community along with it. You probably don’t like that option do you?”
Violently I shook my head no, my movements bringing me closer to the sheriff’s al fresco offering.
“Didn’t think you would. So here’s the other option. It’s not an accident that of all the people cruising for sex here today we picked you. Do what I’m about to ask, there’s no arrest, this never happened. If you do your job quickly, we can reopen the coves yet this month.”
After the sheriff outlined his plan, I began to laugh. This was revenge at its Machiavellian best.
“From that reaction I take it you agree,” the sheriff asked. Still using my head to communicate. I nodded.
“Good. Is there anything else you want before I take these cuffs off you?”
For the first time during our encounter I spoke. “I want to suck your cock.”
Now it was the sheriff’s turn to laugh. “Damn son, I thought you were a mute or something. Sure you can suck my cock. But you have to suck Billy’s too,” he stated jerking his head in the direction of his deputy who was already walking toward us. “In fact, I want you to do Billy first. He’s had a chance to see you in action. I haven’t.”
In the blink of an eye Billy was standing before me. “I can already see we’ve got a problem here,” said Billy his voice tinted with the echo of hill country. “Your hands are cuffed behind your back and my pants are still up. I guess you’ll have to use your teeth to unbuckle my belt and get my pants down.”
Before I could respond the sheriff intervened. “For Christ’s sake Billy, you’ve been reading too many of those letters in those HOMBREs you keep hidden in that box up in the attic. The man can’t undo your pants with his teeth. Strip ’em off yourself.” Actually I could have but it would have taken at least a half an hour, almost always a mood killer and besides the quicker I got done with Billy, the quicker I could do the sheriff.
Still, as Billy’s pants puddled around his boots, I couldn’t resist giving a small demonstration of my skills by grabbing the waistband of his briefs with my teeth and pulling them down to below his knees in one continuous movement. Determined to put on a good show, I attacked his dick like a famished man at a feast.
My lips took the place of my hands as I moved back and forth on Billy’s rod, stopping to lick into his piss hole every time I reached the crest of his cock. As he reached down to cup my chin in his hands, I noticed a golden band on Billy’s left hand. That explains why he has to hide his HOMBREs up in the attic, Billy’s a married man who likes to get a little strange now and then.
Billy’s cock felt feverish in my mouth as it rubbed against my tongue. His hands left my chin and rested against my cheeks. Now Billy was doing the work, feeding me his dick as he pulled my head back and forth along its length. All I needed to do was keep my lips lock tight against the warmth of his flesh.
His breathing beginning to match the pistoning action of his cock, Billy began to shudder. A few more strokes and it was over for him, his seed spilled across my tongue, slowly sliding down my throat to join the earlier contribution from another man. Now, the preliminary event over, I can turn my attention to the real object of my desire.
Even out of his uniform, for he had stripped completely while watching me do Billy, the sheriff radiates authority, his iron will apparent in his bearing. Here is a man, a man whose maturity has come not with age but with years of experience in making others do exactly what he wants.
“Son, you sure you don’t want me to unlock those cuffs,” he asks while he fold his clothes and carefully lays them over the log.
“Maybe next time,” I replied somewhat amazed at my audacity in presuming there might be a next time.
I go to the sheriff as a worshiper in ancient Greece might go to his god, on my knees with reverence and a sense that I am not worthy of what I am about to receive. With Billy my tactic was one of speed, with the sheriff my strategy is one of slowness.
Crouched before him the service begins as I crane my neck upwards to gather the tip of his cock in my mouth. Almost indolently I begin to climb upwards, pulling myself along by the pursuing motion of my lips. As I near the top the sheriff’s hands pull me toward him, his cock brushing past my uvula and into my throat blocking my windpipe and forcing me to breathe through my nose. The sheriff doesn’t cease his guidance until my lips have encircled the base of his dick, crushing against the flatness of his abdomen. I barely have enough room for air to get to my nostrils.
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