Life Boat IV by Sin Titulo
By the time we graduated that Spring, the four of us had become fast friends. We'd made vows to stay in touch no matter where we al ended up in life. But unfortunately, all those vows of friendship and love were for naught. Life intervened and put distance between us all, and Viet Nam loomed on the horrizon for Tony and Reese. Tony came back after two tours alone. We never found out what happened to Reese. His name is now one of thousands on the black memorial wall in Washington D.C. where it brings tears to my eyes everytime I visit it. Tony came back a change person, and we never really had much in common after he returned. After we split up that Summer, Jim to Texas, to get settled at Texas A&M before school started. He had a minor Baseball career at A&M, and was recruted into the minor league but never advanced beyond that. I bought a battered old '49 flathead Ford, and spent the warm summer months in the Rockies painting and drawing and generally working on my skills. I had one encounter that Summer that still comes to mind.
My angels who had put up the funds for me to go to college, were introduced to me by Mrs. N and her husband at a dinner party they gave in my honor. The couple Mr. and Mrs L., were Jewish. Their only son had been planning to go to Princeton and had been accepted. They had given him a new car to drive back to New Jersey, to school. Along the way, he apparently fell asleep at the wheel, and didn't survive the crash. They were devistated, but were glad to put the education fund they had created for their boy David, at my disposal. It was enought to pay for my school fees, and any books and materials. The school I chose to attend, and had been accepted at, had offered me a job as a floor monitor in the new dormatory they were building on campus. I was due to report to work a week before the actual start of classes for orientation and to get settled in before the other students would begin to arrive. That gave me seven weeks to myself and the freedom to draw and paint in the mountains.
I would get up early, usually before dawn, and head for the hills. Once there, I liked to look for backroads I'd never taken , and spend the day either looking for likely landscapes to paint, or just exploring. It was on just such a morning that I met Mr. T. I'd followed a dirt road for several miles along the front range headed south from Denver. The rocky formations were looking promising, when I came to a barbwire gate across the road that was hung with a posted sign.
Frustrated, I sat there for a while trying to decide what to do. Finally, I concluded that if I went through the gate and got caught, I had a good excuse with my painting equipment and sketchbooks filled with drawings. I got out and lifted the top loop of wire over the post and laid the wire gate down on the ground. I drove through, and then got out and closed the gate again. I knew the biggest sin in cow country was to leave a gate open. Another few minutes on the road, and I turned a curve and there in front of me was a ranch house nestled into the rocks. I pulled into the yard in front of the place, thinking I would ask permission if anyone was home. As I got out of my Ford, the door of the house opened, and a real working cowboy stepped out onto the front porch. He was tall, nearly matching my six four height. He was wearing a pearl snap button shirt faded from the sun to a pale pink. I could see under the arms and where the collar had protected the cloth from the sun's rays, it had once been red instead of the pale color it now was. His faded levis where tight and worn to threads in several places, and his beaten up boots looked like they spent their life standing in cow shit. He walked across the yard to where I was standing, his rolling gate marked a true horseman.
"You see the posted sign?" His voice was soft spoken, and not unkind.
"Yes sir. I did."
"'Spect you left the gate open; yeah?" He stuck his thumbs through the beltloops of his levis. His thin waist was chinched in a beaten up brown leather belt with a Navajo sandcast buckle in pure silver. As he got closer, I could see he had a band of white skin across his otherwise ruddy forehead from wearing a hat all day. His blue eyes were steady on me, as he assessed what the day had brought onto his property. He looked to be about forty.
"No sir. I shut it behind me."
"Well, that's sompthin'. What can I do for you?" I quickly explained why I had come onto his property. He wanted to see some evidence of what I said being true. I pulled out my best sketchbook, and he stood there silently flipping through the pages. Once in a while, he'd comment that he knew that rock or those trees, or that peak. He seemed to like looking at the drawings, and spent a little time looking carefully throught the complete book. When he finished, he handed it back to me, scratched his head and looked down at his feet for a moment.
"I run about six hunnert head of cattle back in here.
They're all spread out now, and they can be people shy. Never know how one of the bastards will react to a man on foot. I let you go back in there you might get hurt." He had removed his thumbs from the belt loops, and had fished out a sack of Bull Durahm, a packet of cigarette papers and was rolling himself a smoke. He licked the edge of the filled paper, and rolled his cigarette, and finished rolling it with his right hand while he stuffed the tobacco sack back in his shirt pocket. He took out a box of matches and struck one, lighting his cigarette. All the time he was doing this, I could see he was thinking about me. I kept quiet.
"How old are you son?" He finally blew out a cloud of smoke and asked.
"I turned eighteen in January sir. Are you going to let me go back there and do some painting?"
"Thinkin' about it. . .What would you give me if I did let you? Ain't nothin'free in this world." He took another drag on his smoke, and looked off into the distance. Somewhere a cow bellowed. He glanced toward the sound, and with his cigarette dangling from his lip, he hooked his thumbs back into his belt loops. I thought for a moment wondering what I had that he might want. I knew what I wanted to offer, but wondered if he'd take it badly and kick me off his property if not punching me out for suggesting it.
"Well son?" He was looking at me again.
"I don't have much to give. How about a blow job?" I grinned at him hoping he'd take it the way I intended.
"Jeesus Christ!" His voice went up an octave, and he turned sideways to me and looked back down the road. the way I had come. I figured he was about to send me packing.
"Or maybe a drawing of something you like on your property." I hugged my sketchbook to my chest, and he looked back at me again. He had a glint in his eye, and I could tell he was thinking again. He took a drag.
" 'Bout four miles back along this road, you'll come to a split fork. take the left hand trail, and in about another mile or so you come to a shack. That was my granddaddy's first house he built on this ranch back in 1889 when he first come out here from the east. I always wanted a paintng of it to hang in the house here." He pointed at the house with his chin. I glanced at the house, and saw a woman standing in the open door watching us talk.
"Is that your wife?" He turned and looked.
"Yep. Been married going on twenty years now. No kids though." He kicked the dirt with his boot, and then looked back at me. "You go on back in there, and do me a painting of that ol' shack, and I'll buy it off you when it's done."
"Deal," I said, offering my hand. He shook it with his rough callused hand, and then touched his forehead in a kind of salute, and turned away. I turned and put my sketchbook on the back seat of my Ford, and climbed in behind the wheel. He turned back halfway to the house, and came over to the car door.
"You keep an eye out for those damn cows; you hear?" I nodded. "Meybe I'll trot out to see how you're doing later in the morning."
"OK. I'll do my best to have something to show you."
He grinned, and straightend up and headed back to the house.
"I'll bet you will," he said under his breath so I barely heard him.
I started the engine, and put the Ford in gear. He never looked back as I pulled out of the yard, and headed further back into his ranch. I found the old shack without trouble, and quickly set up my little easel and canvas, I soon had a good start on the painting. I liked the scene, and after an hour of painting steady on it decided to let it rest for a while and do a drawing of it for my sketchbook. I was working on the sketch when I heard a horse approaching. I looked up and Mr. T. was riding a gray gelding toward me, looking tall in the saddle, now wearing his old straw hat. He looked like John Wayne to me as he rode up. He swung his left leg over the horse's rump, and gracefully dropped to the ground with a spring. He tied the reins to a shrub bush and walked over to where I was sitting on a boulder working. He looked over my shoulder, and grunted. He then walked over to the painting on the easel, and stood looking at it with his thumbs in his belt loops.
Finally he turned back to me and said he liked it.
He walked to the horse, and took a bottle out of the saddlebag. He opened it and took a drink. He offered it to me and I saw it was whiskey. I shook my head, and it occured to me he was here for more than to just see how I was doing. I closed my sketch book and stood up. I laid the book down on the rock I'd been setting on, and he walked over to me, shoving the flat bottle into the back pocket of his worn levis.
"Been thinking about your offer this morning." He looked suddenly shy.
"What? The blow job?" He nodded, his ears turning red. "I'd suck your dick any day Mr. T." He grinned nervously.
"Well, I ain't no queer or nothin' but I do have my thoughts now and then. Always wondered about what it might feel like having some ol' boy sucking my cock. The ol' lady won't touch it for nothin' and it's been a while since she put out for me."
"Really? A handsome guy like you and she won't fuck you?"
"Not no more. Oh we used to nearly every night, but after there weren't no kids coming along, she kind of lost interest. Doctor told her she was the problem, not me, but after that she told me my big dick hurt her too much to do it."
His hands were hanging over his crotch, and I could see a growing bulge there. It looked like it was going to be big. I reached out and rubbed the mound in hiis pants, and he just stood there and let me feel him up. He closed his eyes, as if he didn't want to see what was happening, and I began to undo the big Navajo buckle. He started breathing a little heavier as I loosened the belt and started on his fly buttons.
I dropped to my knees in the sand, and tugged his pants down. He sighed a little and I looked up to see him looking down at me, his hat shading his face so I couldn't read his expression.
His big cock still covered in his cotton briefs, was laying up his left hip at an angle. It looked to be a good seven or eight inches, and thick as a kid's wrist. His balls were tight in their sack, but looked like a good handful. I pulled his briefs down around the top of his pants, and his rigid cock remained hard against his hip. This man was horny as hell.
"Why don't you sit on that rock there." I pointed to where I'd been sitting. He hobbled over to it and took my sketchbook off and sat down. He carefully set the book down leaning against the rock. I got down again between his knees, and examined his beautiful cock pulsing with his heartbeat. I took it in my hand, and pulled it away from his stomach. He shivered when I touched him.
"How long has it been since you unloaded this pistol sir?"
"Whew! I cain't remember. A month of Sundays anyway. I have to jack off once in a while so I don't get blue balls." I grinned. He sighed again as I began to stroke up and down his thick shaft. "Won't take too much of that son."
"Then how about this?" I leaned forward, holding his cock in my open palm, licked up the underside of his shaft.
"Oh jeesus!" He jerked under my tongue. I licked him some more, and he gradually relaxed nd let me do my thing. When I got around to taking the head in my mouth, his big work roughened hands suddenly grabbed my head in a vice grip. I started sucking for all I was worth. He started making little mewing sounds in his throat, and it didn't take long before he grunted and started filling my mouth with his sweet cream. I swallowed it down, and then slipped down over his shaft taking as much of it into my mouth as I could fit. He remained hard, and never let go of my head.
The second load I sucked out of him didn't take long either. He was truly a man in deep need of relief. After I came up off his cock which was still hard after my second helping of his cum, he sighed, and asked me if that was all.
"What? You still want more?" He grinned sheepishly at me. "Tell you what. I'd like to have that big dick of yours up my butthole. Are you game for it?"
"I ain't never fucked anybody there. Won't it hurt?"
"I've taken somebody about your size before, and it didn't hurt as much as the smallest dick I've had in me. If you want, I'd love to feel you fuck me good and hard with this thing." I licked a drop of cum off the piss slit that had oozed out as we talked.
"I'm game. Always wondered what it would feel like."
I stood up and started stripping. He kicked off his boots, and bent over to pull his pants and briefs off.
His legs were white as fleece on a sheep. His ruddy blood filled cock was in stark contrast to the rest of his body. When he took off his shirt, I could see he had a v of suntan that ran down his chest into a thatch of dark hair. He took off his hat, and dropped it on the pile of clothes he'd shed, and then looked at me questioningly.
"Sit back down on the rock and let me get you good and wet. I don't have any lube to help you get it in except for spit."
"Why don't we go into the shack. There's a bunk in there. I sometimes hire a hand to work for me when I round up the cattle. This is where they stay when I do."
"Let's go then I want you in me bad." The shack was bit dusty and smelled of astringent. The center of the one room, had an old cast iron potbellied stove. Next to it a wooden box, was filled with fire wood. Against the back wall, was a rope bed, with a thin rolled up mattress at the foot end. He unrolled the mattress, and I sat down on the bed. He stood there waiting while I worked up a good mouthfull of spit. I finally took him in my mouth again, and sucked up and down his shaft getting it good and wet. When he was dripping spit, I pulled off him and rolled over, raising my ass in the sir with my knees on the bed. He was still standing on the floor next to the bed. I pulled him to me by reaching through my legs, and placed his big cock head at my hole. He began to push into me slowly as I relaxed my sphincter. Once the head was in, he slipped down into me easily. I moaned with the pleasure of my first fuck in weeks since my friends had left town. He instinctively grabbed my hips with his callused hands and began a slow pump action in and out of my hole.
"Man," he moaned. "I never thought it would feel this good." I tightened my muscles around him and he groaned with pleasure. "Ain't no pussy can do that." He fucked me for a long time. we tried several different positions, an finally he had me on my back across the bed and was on his knees leaning across my torso as he fucked me harder and harder. After a dozen hard strokes into my guts, he groaned and began to whimper with pleasure. I knew he was about to cum third time in my body.
He humped me hard, and then seemed to freeze into his last hump. His big cock began to throb inside me, and I could feel his jetting another load of his hot cum into my hole. When he finished shooting his wad, he laid his head on my chest, and took my left niple in his mouth. He sucked for several moments before he finally sat up, his softening cock slipping out of my hole as he did .
We got dressed out in the sunshine again, and talked a bit about the painting. He didn't seem to want to talk about the sex. After a while I told him that the painting would take several days to finish, and asked him if he minded if I stayed in the shack until it was done. He grinned, and said that would be fine if he could visit me now and then while I was there. I told him I'd be hurt if he didn't come to see me as often as he could get away from his wife.
"I'll bring you some canned goods to eat."
"Thanks, that would be nice. I need to ask you to call my mother and tell her not to worry and explain what I'm doing here. Just tell her it would take too ling to come and go everyday. She'll understand." I wrote my home number on a scrap of sketch paper and handed it to him.
"Shore 'nuff."
I hugged him, and after a moment of hesitation, he hugged me as well. After we broke apart, he climbed on his gelding, and rode away. I picked up a rag, and wiped away the painting I'd done. I wanted this painting to take a while. Some where close by a cow bellowed, but it wasn't visible.
email: sintitulo2@yahoo.com