When you go to college out of state and your first return home is Christmas break, well, that can be a bit distressing, at least it was for me, because I had changed in those few months. Not changed so much as was freed, that’s the word. I felt free. I didn’t have to worry about the other kids at school and my parents always being over my shoulder. It was just me. When I slept, what I ate, where I went, and who I saw, they were all my choices. I could walk around campus in the middle of the night, order pizza at 3 A.M., whatever I wanted to do as long as I had the funds, as long as I had the nerve.
Yeah, there were many things still to do. I hadn’t conquered anything, but coming home, that just felt weird. It felt as if I were traveling at a different speed and when I got home everything was going a little slower. People around town didn’t walk with the same kind of enthusiasm. And my parents, it was weird. It was like they put up with it for a few days and slowly but surely they ground me back down to be able to exist in their little world, my little hometown. I longed to get back to college and regretted it a little, not coming back so much as having to spend all my time, all the stupid, boring time I had to spend there around the house, around the town.
And it was a boring town. The movie theater, the mall, good coffee, anything, was all thirty miles away. It was like they existed in a parallel universe. At first I had thought I’d get out everyday, adventure around and see something, try to look at my town, the towns around it, as some alien world and I would be the researcher, try to gather up experiences and sights to store them for some kind of story. I tried for a few days, but then my parents complained about the second car always being gone, then they complained about how many miles I was putting on it. A trip everyday became a trip every other day, then none at all for a two days and I just sat around the house in my sweatpants and did nothing, didn’t shower, nothing.
Sometime around noon as I sat on the couch for the fifth day with my father in his recliner eating pretzels and drinking beer it felt like that was the entirety of my existence. I knew when shows were scheduled, had plans to binge watch ‘80s horror movies, and it just felt like there was nothing else in existence when my father cleared his throat and spoke up.
“I’m surprised you’re not out with your friends,” he said.
“Naw, I haven’t really talked to them. They’re all doing stuff with their families.”
It was true. We had mostly stayed in contact via social media and all of them were busy being these idols, these statues, these fine items to be shown off to grandparents, aunts and uncles. They all smiled for the camera in their selfies but I knew the pain behind the eyes. I was fortunate in that my family, my parents weren’t anything like that. We always had this thing of sticking together, not really liking our extended family. My uncle and his son would be over for Christmas Eve and we all had to rally at my grandmother’s for Christmas day, but we didn’t go to family functions. I guess we were the black sheep. I wasn’t sure which would be more miserable and I was about to check my phone for the tenth time when my mother left the room and my father made a show of reaching into his pocket and pulling out his wallet. He opened it and I saw several bills inside. He was loaded for the holidays, probably had to stuff a few cards and get some gifts.
“Take this, here, take this,” he whispered.
I checked make sure my mother was busy in the kitchen and retrieved the bill, a hundred bucks, just like that. I looked at him suspiciously.
“Don’t tell your mother how much I gave you. I told her I was going to give you some but not how much, so that’s our little secret. Go get a shower, put on some fresh clothes, and get the hell out of the house, the keys are hanging by the door for my car. Don’t put a scratch on it and don’t drink and drive.”
“Thanks dad,” I said.
“Maybe get yourself laid,” he replied.
That’s fathers, he had this weird way of saying the completely wrong thing, some kind of joke, and it was like I didn’t want to see my father that way. But it barely felt like anything. I had a hundred bucks to spend on myself, just for me, and there was no expectation to keep it. I showered, put on new clothes, and grabbed the keys by the door. In twenty minutes I as out of the house and chipper as I walked to my fathers 1998 Cadillac. He had kept it in mint condition, bitched about the gas, complained about the cost for parts, but he always parked in the garage in the winter time, kept up with all its needs. His relationship to the car was like his relationship to my mother.
Anyway, as soon as I got in there was the first bite, a nearly empty tank of gas. I sighed and knew it would take a chunk of my money just to get out of town and depending on how far I drive it would cost more to get back. I groaned and pulled out of the driveway trying to keep myself upbeat by tapping on the steering wheel as I listened to the radio. Within a few streets I found myself aimlessly wondering as I looked for a gas station with the cheapest price. That was my father’s thing too, drive just to save money. Well, I was running low and worried about making it to any gas station when I saw one that I had been to rarely over the years. It was closer to the national forest than anything else, kind of the fill up spot for people with ATVs and dirt bikes. It was a dirty, grungy place, and I didn’t like the idea of pulling in there but then my fear of running out of gas overwhelmed me so I did. I pulled in beside the pump, looked down at the hundred dollar bill and bit my lip as I contemplated just how far I could stretch the money when there was a tap on the glass. It was a mechanic with a rag in his hand, young, about my age, holy, it was Tim. I rolled down the window and shut off the car and he smiled back at me.
Tim had been my best friend all through elementary and middle school. We used to do everything together, spend weekends at each other’s house, ride our bikes up and down every street, but then we had a falling out between junior high and high school. Not a falling out so much as a disconnect. My parents got me busy with volunteer work and working at the golf course as a caddy for a bit of extra cash, and Tim, he just kind of went his own way. I heard that he ended up in juvie hall for a month or so because he pulled a knife on someone. Then he was always fighting with his parents and teachers. He went the vo-tech route. I went the college prep route. I’d hear stories about him but I actually kind of ignored them as if I didn’t want to know, didn’t want to face the fact that I wanted to help him but was powerless to do so because my family, my friends, wouldn’t like it. Eventually I heard he just stopped coming his senior year.
“It’s been a long time,” he said.
“No kidding, it’s been years,” I replied, “I heard you dropped out.”
“Kicked,” he said.
“Too bad, well, but you’re working here,” I said.
“Yeah, it’s a job. So what are you up to today?”
“Not much, just cruising around I guess. My father gave me a hundred bucks to spend on myself. I’m trying to figure out how far it’ll stretch.”
“Heard that,” Tim said as he leaned against the car. “So uh, not going out and meeting up with your friends. I know you were popular in high school.”
“Not popular, just social,” I said, “but naw, they’re all busy with family and stuff. We don’t really do that sort of thing. I’ve been trying to adventure around but kind of stopped doing it. The hundred bucks may not get me far but it got me off the couch.”
He laughed at my joke and I laughed a little too. He looked me over, looked the car over. I looked him over, motorcycle boots, worn jeans that clung to the angles of his body, an old mechanic’s shirt with no sleeves, bigger muscles than I remembered, bigger muscles than I expected. He leaned a little more and his shirt ran up giving me a peak of his jeans that hung loose to reveal the band of his underwear, briefs. He still wore briefs just like me. And just as I was about to imagine him in just those briefs he spoke up.
“Do you get high?”
“What?”
I had heard him but just the mention of getting high, of breaking the law, well it made me perk up and I looked around. Was this some kind of setup? Was he undercover, a snitch? I looked him the eyes and tried to determine just how real the offer was and then if I wanted to do it. I wanted to do it. But I was also afraid. Cops, my parents, and just the thought of breaking the law made me feel like I would go to jail for the rest of my life.
“Do you, get high?”
“No, but uh, I might be interested.”
“Cool, I’ll fill ‘er up and come back in two hours. I know a guy.”
And like that it was done. He filled up my tank, I paid him, and drove away with my change. I drove around town again, stopped at the convenience store, browsed through the toy section of the local dollar store, and debated if I should go back. This fear in me, this fear of getting caught, made me walk on my heels. But this feeling of doing it, this rush of danger, made me walk with my shoulders high. I was a mess, an awkward, gangly, weird kid who just kept repeating, I can’t believe I found Tim again after all these years and we’re going to get high. He’s going to get weed.
And that was kind of the best part of Tim, the unpredictability. He was a person of single intent, like me a hedonist in the best sense of the word, but also something else, willing to do the things people aren’t supposed to do, willing to break the rules and break the law. That was Tim. That was why I loved him an why I feared him. I debated it from every angle, even considered talking him out of it, just driving around together and talking about old times, but in the end I gave in to it. I gave into going back there and picking him up, getting weed, and maybe even getting high.
Two hours later I picked him up and he gave me directions out of town as the sun began to set. Soon I was driving in the dark and one side road turned into a dirt road and for a long time I wondered if he even knew where he was taking us until we reached an old farmstead and he told me to pull in front of the house. I looked around and saw there were no signs of life. No lights in the house, no dogs, no domestic animals of any kind. He walked to the porch and turned back to me.
“Is this your parents’ house?” I asked. “Are you renting it?”
“Something like that,” he said.
And he walked up the steps and entered the house without even using a key. The place was mostly empty, a few pieces of furniture, but the bookshelves were empty, no TV. I followed behind him and for a moment I thought we were just trespassing on some random farm when he led me down some steps into an unfinished basement. We walked to the farthest corner to a sink basin large enough to hold a person sitting in it, well a small person, but still. He turned on the water and stripped off his shirt, then began to wash himself.
At first I was okay with it, just his chest, his stomach, but then he began to really wash his armpits, soap them up and clean them off. When he was done he threw the towels into the corner where I saw a pile of them. He must just throw them away, well into the corner, when he’s done with them, I figured.
“Do you want a drink? It’s cold water, from the well. They never had city water out here so it still works.”
“Do you know if it’s safe?”
“Who cares? It hasn’t killed me yet,” he said.
He motioned for me to drink with my hands so I did. Water ended up spilling down the front of my shirt and we laughed about it, but I did it. Then he motioned for me to pay attention before he stepped to the door to the well and he took a key from his pocket and unlocked this little padlock, set it aside, pulled a board back, and opened it.
There it was, light. There in the corner of the well room he had three marijuana plants, the walls were covered in tin foil, and two fluorescent lights powered by a line that ran up some steps and out into the yard somewhere.
“Where are you getting the power from?”
“Solar,” he said, “my weed is organic and solar grown, almost completely natural.”
“When did you start caring about that shit?”
“I don’t. I just like bragging,” he said.
“So like, you grow your own?”
“Yep,” he said. “Want a hit?”
*****
A full moon, a few clouds, we looked out over the field and back to the barn about a hundred yards away. It was quiet out there, no cars going up and down the road, just us. A little bit of weed, a few cans of beer, I was buzzing pretty good as we sat out on that old bail of hay at the end of the field.
“Why’d you bring me out here?”
“Well, at first because I hadn’t seen you in years and with you off at college, well, we probably won’t stay friends. You’ll get a job or whatever, but I’ll be stuck here in this little town so we might as well have some good memories.”
“Cool,” I replied.
“But now that we’re out here, I keep thinking about something,” he said.
I could tell he wanted to say something to me. Was is this? What did he want from me? Did he want the same things I wanted?
“I keep thinking about one of the last times we hung out and I dared you to streak from your porch to mine. It was a legitimate dare but you chickened out.”
“I didn’t chicken out. I would have been arrested and that’s one of the rules of truth or dare, you can’t get the person arrested, no permanent scars, no tears.”
“Aw, it would have been fine, one minute, you’d ran back and forth all of the time between our houses,” he said, “well, anyway, would you do it tonight?”
“What?”
“Finish that dare,” he said.
“Here?”
“Why not?”
“Because we’re not kids anymore, besides isn’t there a statute of limitations to dares?”
“Chicken,” he mocked, then began to make chicken sounds.
“Okay, I’ll do it,” I said.
“Really? Let’s see it.”
Immediately I had second thoughts, there was this feeling in my stomach. I was half drunk, half stoned, and he was right there. He looked to me, cocked his eye at me. Slowly I pushed up a little from the bail of hay, stood there beside him, and began to undress. He took my shirt, my undershirt, my shoes, my socks, and my jeans. I stood there in my briefs and he looked me over. I took off my underwear, cupped my dick and balls in my hands, and turned away. I walked half the distance and I suddenly realized that with that full moon I was completely visible out there. I turned and walked back but didn’t see him sitting on the bail of hay. He took my clothes, I thought. He’s stranded me out here naked, but then I saw his head stick up from behind the bail of hay. He stepped out and in front of me, completely naked, his dick hung loose, balls like a sack of jewels. He stood before me unashamed, completely casual. And there was only one thing on my mind.
“Where’s my clothes?” I asked.
“Safe, with mine,” he said.
“What’s going on?”
“I figured you’d be too chicken shit so I thought I’d do it with you.”
He walked to me, stepped beside me and I turned to look at that barn now farther away than I had initially thought. He started to walk like it was a stroll down the road. At first I noticed the way his dick bounced from side to side, then the farther away he got the way his ass muscles shifted with each step. He got some distance between us and I looked around for my clothes. I knew he had hid them where I couldn’t find them so I started to walk after him, faster to catch up, then I slowed and walked beside him still cradling my nuts and my dick.
The blades of grass felt strange under my feet. I was completely aware of what we looked like, but the worst part was that I was the scared one. I still covered myself. So I took my hands away, tried to walk normal. My balls bounced against my thighs, my dick swayed from side to side because I had a little bit of a chub going on that I couldn’t control. We made it halfway, past where I had gotten to, and this wind blew across the field. It felt as if it had wrapped around my entire body like a string or a scarf, then it was pulled across every part of me and gone. My dick stuck out from my body and I stopped and looked down to it, covered it as best I could with it pressed up against my thigh. He stopped, turned to me, and laughed. It wasn’t a cruel laugh. It was a kind laugh, as if there was some joke I was missing out on and he wanted to share.
“There’s no one around and I don’t care if you got a hard on for me,” he said.
“It’s not you,” I replied, “it’s, it’s this air, and being naked. I haven’t been able to jerk off since I got home. It’s weird, you know, with your parents a few rooms away. I never used to think about it, but now, I just can’t.”
“Well, there’s no one around now, so let me see it,” he said with a smirk.
I took my hands away, my hard dick stuck out from me and a little to the left. He turned away and started walking so I followed behind him, this time a little behind.
When we got to the barn and touched it I was fully prepared to turn and run back to the bail of hay and grab my clothes, get dressed, but then he opened the door to the barn and stepped inside. I looked around, considered my options, then followed. I stepped onto the old, rough concrete floor, the smell of hay still lingered there after all the time of being abandoned. Tim led me down the aisle, paused at little things here, a saw horse, a bit of hose attached to a pipe sticking out of the wall, and slow as if to draw out the time I was naked and hard. He walked from stall to stall as if checking on something, then finally we ended up at the back door again. I readied myself to run but he put a hand on my shoulder and stopped me. He stepped out first, motioned for me to follow, and he walked so I walked.
Any little sound, the hoot of an owl, the distant sound of a car engine, a semi-truck engine as it tried to climb the mountain roads, and I thought we’d be discovered. This was too good to be true. But we weren’t. We reached the bail of hay and I scratched at myself, waited for him to retrieve our clothes but he just stood there beside me.
“Are you ready for this?”
“What,” I said.
He took my hand and started to run so I ran just to keep up. There we were two young men, naked and running through the field. His limp dick bounced and so did my hard dick, though a little less, but we just ran all of the way to the end of the field where the woods were. I tried to turn back but he pulled me along the fence line to a spot where there was an opening. He pulled me through it and into the woods, then we ran again into the trees, branches scraped across our skin, leaves and things crushed under our feet. This is what it must have been like to be primitive man, I thought, so free, so naked and running around.
He took me down to a creek that we followed until we found where it started, a small waterfall, and I could tell at once that it would be the deepest part, just a few feet, maybe up to our waists, but deep enough to conceal my raging boner. I jumped into the water first, felt it wrap me up in its coolness, and swam a few feet. Tim let out a yell and jumped in behind me. I turned and shushed him but he waved it off.
“What if someone hears?”
“We’re so far away from anyone, besides I come out here all of the time,” he said.
“But we’re naked,” I said.
“So what? Do you really think there’s some cop around every corner? Not a chance, no way, it’s just us, and nature.”
He let his knees go loose like I had and began to bob there in the water in front of me. He moved back and forth and it became like this little game, this challenge. He went left then right, my foot slipped on the mud and got around me, as I struggled to recover my footing he got up behind me so that when I got to my feet he was in full contact with my body, his chest against my back, his arms under mine, around me, held me, his hips behind mine, his thighs against mine, his feet on either side of mine, and his penis, his hard penis was between my thighs. And for a moment I almost cried out in surprise when he put his fingers in my mouth with one hand and took hold of my hard penis with the other. I could feel his fingers against my tongue, creek water dripped down the back of my throat. He held me for a long time until I calmed and came to my senses. I tried to speak out but he shushed me with these little sounds as he kissed at my ear and down my neck. I was on edge. He turned me to face him. Our hard dicks pointed at one another he took mine in hand, whacked at it with his just to show me how much bigger his was. He pulled me into a kiss and stuck his dick between my thighs. I wanted him so bad but he pulled my head away by my hair.
“Not yet,” he said, “you don’t deserve to cum just yet.”
By the time we reached the bail of hay we were both almost completely dry, and my dick had gone soft but I had that need, that carnal need to be satisfied. And it was going to be over too soon, I hated the idea of getting dressed and it ending so when he didn’t stop for our clothes and he kept pulling me to the barn I knew it wasn’t over. He pulled me through the field, I slipped and scurried, and he just kept pulling me until he had me in there and he closed the gated door behind us. He took hold of my dick as I stood there.
“I feel so naughty,” I said.
“Do you want me to punish you? Because I can punish you,” he said.
“What did you have in mind a little spanking?” I asked coyly.
“Better,” he said.
He led me, our hard cocks stuck out in front of us, he led me to the barn where he pulled out this old saw horse. He made me drag it into the aisle and position it over a drain. He stroked his dick as he walked around me, ordered me to lay over it. He tied my hands, tied my ankles, and I was stuck there. I pulled at the twine, felt the way its fibers hung loose and tickled my hands and heels. I was bent over, my ass cheeks parted, my dick hung down, and he groped me, tickled my hole, then he left me there for a moment. I heard him leave the barn and I realized just how alone I felt, how vulnerable. I felt this breath stick in my lungs, then I heard his feet, the door closed, and he walked to me. I looked down to see his shoes, looked up to see him stroke his hard dick. He had a belt and pair of underwear in his other hand.
“Open your mouth,” he said.
He squatted down in front of me, slapped me a few times until I opened my mouth. He stuffed the briefs inside and I immediately tried to spit them out. He snapped the belt, my dick twitched. I saw him stroke it. I shifted, felt my own dick rub against the wood. He stepped behind me. He beat my ass, the novelty was gone in an instant and yet I wanted to do it for him, and because it felt so surreal and fun in this weird sort of way. One then the other, back and forth, thwack after thwack, I cried out and he kept at me until I managed to work the briefs out of my mouth. I told him to stop or I’d scream.
“So scream,” he said, “let me hear it, really cry out in pain.”
I started to scream. And he kept beating me. Until my ass felt like a bulb left on for hours, a piece of bread just out of the oven. I screamed until my lungs were sore and my voice cracked. I broke down, tears ran out from my eyes into my hair, snot just there on my lip. He stroked himself and walked around me, the occasional tap against my butt cheeks. That’s when he moved to my thighs and I felt this resurgence, this second wind, and started to struggle again. My body shook, my legs were uncontrollable, my ass twitched, and he moved to my ankles, untied them.
He told me to lift up my feet and took hold of my ankle, then he whipped the bottom of my foot with his belt. It stung. He did it again and I was afraid I’d never be able to put my foot down again. My toes curled and it really started to hurt, I was holding my breath more, and that’s when he switched to the other foot. Back and forth, my ass, and my feet, until I was raw. He had me. I was completely broken, and that’s when I felt him at my asshole.
“Is that your dick?” I squealed.
“Just my finger,” he said.
“Oh no, your dick is going to hurt more,” I said.
“And you’re going to love it.”
He stroked his dick a little as he sucked the finger of his other hand before he pressed it back against my hole. He kept at me like that until he got the first digit inside of me, then the first knuckle. He stood and touched his dick to my hole, too tight, he let it slide up the back of me and I felt the full length of him measured out from my hips to along my spine. It was big, long, and thick. He swiped it back down, pressed the tip at my hole, then down my taint to my balls. His dick touched mine.
“Are you ready for it college boy?”
“Please,” I said.
He spanked me and I pleaded for more. He ran his fingers along my body as he walked around to my head where he squatted and stuck his dick to my lips. It was too big. I tried to shake it off.
“I’m sticking this dick up your ass and you better get it real slick and wet because that’s the only lubricant we got tonight, just a little spit. What’s it going to be?”
I opened my mouth and wasn’t prepared for it to slip right along my tongue to my throat where I began to choke immediately. Tears came to my eyes, spit squished out from between my puffy lips that had swelled with desire and friction. He went right to the balls, I felt them on my top lip. And I began to choke so he pulled out. He let me breath for a moment, his hands on my stomach as I tried to suck in just a little bit of air. He stuck it back into my mouth, between my teeth, he fucked my face as I hung bent in half. I pulled at the twine, kicked out my feet, but he had me.
And when he decided he’d had enough of my face, I was thankful for the gobs of spit, the strands that connected us for a moment before he walked behind me. He pressed that dick against my hole and I just let go. I screamed and he pushed into me as deep as he could. He fucked me, more and more, gobs of sweat dropped from his lips as little welcome acts of kindness and humiliation. He spanked at my thighs, spanked at my ass. I gave myself over to him, to it.
We were connected, not just physically but something else, he had known my pain of blind obedience and he was able to manifest it. There I was tied down and we were rutting in an old barn like animals, and it felt like my life, the pointlessness, the emptiness of my life of being good, being normal, trying to blend. He had me. My old friend had me and I cried for him, gave my body over to him, he broke me just like my life had broken me, and that’s when I felt it. I felt this incredible sensation of freedom because it felt like that lie had been uncovered that if I just go along, just do as I’m told then this is what it felt like on the inside.
I felt my dick spasm, an orgasm of pleasure and pain unlike any other pulled at the ends of my body like a stretched rubber band, I could feel it leaving me, this squirt of goo, and it was like my body was restored, complete, until I became conscious of him on top of me. His sweat covered body slipped over mine until he grabbed hold of me and fucked me harder until he pushed inside as far as he could go. I felt his dick there, this fullness, and there was this spasm from him, this sensation, and it was over. I went limp, let the darkness take me.
The next morning I awoke to find myself face down with him wrapped around me on top of me. I stirred a little and tried to push him away but he was already awake. He held me there. I struggled but he held me. He kissed me on the neck and told me to give up. I didn’t. He told me again. I struggled. He spanked me, pressed into me, and I let go, I relaxed under him. He spanked me again playfully and walked away to the back of the barn, opened the door and I looked to see him pissing. He shook it off, then walked over to me.
“That was incredible,” I said as I lay on my back and looked up to him.
“I always knew you were a little masochist, always so obedient, you had to love pain,” he said.
It wasn’t about being good or bad. It was about my guilt. And he knew how to take it away.
