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This story takes place in the 1970’s, when the drinking age in the state was 18.
Chapter One: Skip turns 18.
Mercifully, the infamous song always sung to commemorate birthdays was as brief as possible, and I was grateful to Mr. Langer and his son and my best friend Greg for omitting the superfluous choruses about how old are you. I was 18 and we all knew it, and I was anxious to get to the business at hand, which involved the consumption of beer.
Genesee Beer, to be precise, and while it was certainly not the first time I had drunk beer with my pal Greg, it was the first time I could do it legally. Drinking with my friend’s father was a little weird, but since I had known Mr. Langer most of my life, after a couple of beers we were all cool with it.
Greg’s parents had divorced a couple of years ago, which was tough on Greg, but he did see him every other week. I was surprised when I got invited on this camping trip to Lake Durant, but being a fixture at the Langer house forever, I suppose I shouldn’t have been.
“You’re as bad as Greg with this hair,” Mr. Langer had said, pulling on my hair which I wore a shoulder length, much like his son. “It’s like going camping with a couple of girls, only without the fringe benefits.”
“Dad!” Greg groaned, recoiling at his father’s attempt at risque humor, but I thought it was funny.
Not something my father would say, but then again my old man wouldn’t have trucked me and a friend up in the godforsaken wilderness for a few days of camping either.
The fact that it was my birthday was reason enough for the party to become more adult, so I was happy that Greg’s dad had packed a couple cases of good old Genny with the camping gear.
“At least I won’t be contributing to the delinquency of minors,” Mr. Langer noted, since his son was two months older than me.
So that’s how we ended up sitting around the campfire on a muggy June evening in the Adirondacks, swatting the occasional mosquito and drinking. In my friend Greg’s case, drinking too much too soon, as was his custom, and before long he was falling asleep in the lawn chair.
When a nearly full beer can feel out of his hand when he nodded off, that was the final straw for his father, who escorted him into the tent we would be sharing. After getting Greg safely into the tent, Mr. Langer announced that he would be turning in right after hitting the comfort station, and he seemed pleased when I told him I would join him.
“Gorgeous night,” Mr. Langer said as we reached the somewhat primitive bathroom, which had running water and toilets but not much else.
“It’s cool that not many people are up here,” I noted.
“Thanks to you having a birthday that falls on Monday this year,” Mr. Langer said, slapping me on the back. “By the weekend this place will be packed.”
By then we would be home, but I was happy to be with Greg up here, spending the days swimming and hiking, and now drinking beer. We had been told a while back that it didn’t take as good when you could drink it legally, but that was bull.
It tasted damn good, and as I tapped my kidneys into the toilet loudly, I heard Greg’s dad doing the same thing in the next stall.
“You only rent beer,” Greg’s father said, and I laughed in response.
Greg was lucky to have a father like him, I thought to myself. I was always jealous of Greg, because compared to my old man… well, there was no comparison. Mine had no time for me. Business was all that mattered, and he had no more time for me than he seemed to have for my mother.
As I washed my hands and began brushing my teeth, Greg’s father came out of the stall and joined me at the sink. He looked like Rock Hudson, or so I always thought. About 6’2″, which made him about a head taller than me, a muscular physique and wavy black hair. He also had the hairiest chest and legs I had ever seen, and I always hoped that someday I would end up looking like him, but that wasn’t going to happen.
I could never figure out why Greg’s mother had divorced him, because if I was a girl – hell, even being a guy I knew he was good looking.
Greg was much like his father, only in a smaller version, and girls loved him too. Me, not so much, because I was a little twerp. Even now at 18 I still looked like Dennis the Menace on that TV show. Worse yet, my real name, Chris, had been long forgotten by everybody.
I was Skip, or even worse, Skippy. That was my Mom’s fault, the Skippy nickname, and I cringed every time somebody would use it. How would I make it as a doctor someday with the name Skippy? At least Greg and his father called me Skip.
“You can call me by my name if you want, you know Skip,” Mr. Langer had told me earlier.
I had tried to use his name a couple of times, but saying “Rich” felt strange, and I found myself reverting to Mr. Langer after a time. So after Mr. Langer and I finished brushing our teeth, we walked back to the tent, with only the crunching of twigs beneath our feet and the chirping of crickets Şirinevler Escort breaking the silence that surrounded us.
Chapter Two: Hand.
I woke up at some point during the night, disoriented because of the beer and the total darkness of the tent. I was on my side at the end of the tent, and there was a body right behind mine, pressing right up against me.
The warmth of the body was comforting, but I was shocked that Greg would be cuddling up like this with his father in the same tent. His hand had slid under the elastic of my underwear and had nudged it downward while grabbing my cock. The was a fairly common past-time of ours – the jerking off each other – especially when Greg was between girlfriends, while I was usually unattached myself.
As my cock got hard, the hand became a fist, and while the tempo increased, I reached behind myself and groped around for Greg’s dick. It was right around that time when I realized that something was amiss. Greg hadn’t been sleeping next to me, he had been on the far side, and the dick that was rubbing against my ass certainly wasn’t Greg.
I determined that when I grabbed hold of the stiff dick, but before I could react I heard a gasp, forced out by the feeling of warmth as it spat cum on to me.
The fist wrapped around my dick began working with more intensity, pumping my cock quick and hard. I was stunned at the realization of whose hand this was, and whether this intensified the orgasm that came washing over me, I could not tell, but soon I was cumming like a machine gun. So hard that I could feel my cum hitting the vinyl tent fabric a couple of feet away from me, and after I had gone limp the powerful hand still kept milking my flaccid dick for several minutes more before letting go of me.
I felt something being used to wipe the semen off of my ass cheek, and after that the tent got calm again with only the sound of deep and slow breathing filling the air, while the scent of cum hung around as well.
I stayed still for what seemed to be an hour, until I was sure that I was the only one awake, and only then did I quietly exit the tent. Walking down toward the edge of the lake while I pulled up my underwear, I found it tough to reconcile what had just gone on.
Mr. Langer had just jerked me off, and I had done the same to him. Looking out onto the still water of the lake while leaning against a picnic table, it seemed unreal. Greg and I, that was one thing, but Mr. Langer?
It was about then that I heard footsteps behind me, and when I looked back over my shoulder I saw Mr. Langer walking toward me. The moonlight as so bright and the night was so clear, that I could see quite clearly, but I found myself too embarrassed to look Mr. Langer in the eye as he came up and stood at my right, leaning and looking out alongside of me.
“I’m sorry, Skip.”
Chapter Three: Night moves.
“Bright out here,” Mr. Langer said as he leaned back next to me, our bodies lightly touching each other.
“Yeah,” I said, trying not to look at the man next to me who wasn’t wearing underwear like me, and even though it was sick, I continued to look at Mr. Langer’s penis.
“I guess I was hoping the darkness would hide my shortcomings from your eyes,” he quipped.
I shrugged my shoulders and forced myself to look out to the still waters of the lake, jumping a little when Mr. Langer’s arm came up, his hand brushing the hair off my neck as he slipped it under my locks and onto my bare skin.
“I’d like to say that I was drunk and didn’t know what I was doing back in the tent, but that would be a lie,” Mr. Langer said. “I’ve always thought you were an attractive guy, and now that you’re an adult I figured this would be as good a time as any to – you know.”
A rustling sound back in the tent startled us both, but it was just Greg moving around in his sleep. The quiet of the nearly deserted campground revealed every sound, so there was no way anybody could see us without us knowing about it.
“When I first touched you back in the tent, you whispered “Greg”,” Mr. Langer said. “Do you and him… never mind. None of my business. Sorry about that.”
My heart was pounding in my chest as Mr. Langer’s hand gently kneaded my neck, and I found my eyes going back to his cock again. Curiosity, I told myself. After all, it was the only part of Mr. Langer I had never seen before, and seeing the dick of your friend’s dad was kinda kinky.
“What I meant to ask you was if you had ever done stuff with other guys,” he asked. “I mean, I know you like the ladies, but have you ever…”
“Yes,” I replied, my voice betraying the nervousness I felt, and after I spoke I heard Mr. Langer sigh loudly, and his hand moved over to my shoulder.
“I always thought that you might have been attracted to me, for some reason,” he continued, and waited for my reply, which took me a minute to come up with.
“You’re a great guy, Mr. Langer,” I said. “I’ve always liked you.”
“Please Şirinevler Escort Bayan Skip,” Mr. Langer said, chuckling a little. “You shouldn’t be calling a guy who just masturbated you Mister. Rich is fine, and if you want I’ll call you Chris.”
“No, Skip is alright,” I said. “Rich.”
“That’s better,” he said giving my arm a little squeeze as he had wrapped his own around my shoulder.
His hairy body felt warm against my skin, and the crinkly texture gave me goosebumps as Mr. Langer’s manly aroma filled my nostrils.
“What did you think about what we did back there in the tent?” Mr. Langer asked.
“I – I liked it, I guess,” I admitted, and it would have been tough to say anything else, given my obvious reaction.
“Not exactly what you expected, I take it,” Mr. Langer said when he noticed where I had been looking, taking his dick in his hand and wiggling it around. “It’s probably why Jennifer left me. My little secret.”
“It’s not that little,” I mumbled, even though it was. “it doesn’t matter anyway.”
Having seen more than my share of dicks in locker rooms over the years, I had to admit that Mr. Langer’s was one of the smallest I had ever seen, and the fact that it was attached to such a large well-developed body only accentuated matters.
“It does, at least in the mind if nowhere else,” Mr. Langer said. “But thanks for being kind. See what I did in anticipation of being with you? I shaved the hair around the base of my cock – trying to make it look bigger,” he said almost derisively.
Maneuvering me around so subtly that I hardly noticed until he was done, I found myself positioned in front of Mr. Langer as we faced the lake, and his chin was resting on the top of my head while his hands ran up and down my arms. I could feel his dick getting hard as it pressed into the small of my back, while his hands came down from my arms and slid over to the elastic of my underwear.
“I don’t know what I was expecting to find when I did this before,” Mr. Langer continued, his breathing growing louder and more ragged as he looked down over my shoulder at his hands which were sliding my white cotton briefs down for me. “Certainly wasn’t expecting this.”
Mr. Langer was now reaching around me, taking my semi-turgid cock in his hands and pulling on it very slowly, and as he did I swallowed loudly, realizing that I would be hard in seconds.
“Beautiful,” Mr. Langer said, kissing the top of my head as he wrapped his hands around my cock, his fists gripping the shaft of my cock tightly, with only the head still visible. “Still can’t believe how well endowed you are, Skip. Your cock is huge.”
I wouldn’t say it was all that huge. I had seen bigger ones in magazines, but I guess compared to Mr. Langer I was big, and I had to admit that I liked the way Mr. Langer seemed impressed and proud of my cock, like my having an 8″ dick was an accomplishment instead of it just being the way I was.
I also liked what Mr. Langer’s hands were doing to my cock. His fists were squeezing it tightly, so tightly that the head of my dick had turned crimson and was as fat as a plum, and he was moving his hands in opposite directions as they made slight twisting motions.
“Omigod!” I whispered loudly, feeling my groin tingle.
“You like what I’m doing to your cock?” Mr. Langer hissed in my ear, nuzzling into my neck while watching his hands working. “You gonna cum again, Skip? I want to watch. Cum for me, babe.”
I teetered on the brink of orgasm for the longest time, my body falling back against Mr. Langer’s as his fists spun agonizingly slowly on my cock until at last, I came. Exploded was more like it, as we both looked down and watch thick jets of cum spurt out onto the sand. After my dick spat out three or four wads of my seed there was a pause, after which I started cumming again.
By the time I got done my balls were drained and all I could to was lean back against Mr. Langer while he continued to milk my cock while it went limp, his hold on me no longer savage but gentle and tender.
“You came so good, Skip,” Mr. Langer said softly. “Standing behind you like that, I was pretending that it was my own cock instead of yours. Weird, huh? Guess I have what you would call a fetish about big dicks like yours.”
I could feel Mr. Langer’s cum dripping into the crack of my butt from where he had deposited it at some time during the incredible orgasm I had been experiencing, and now Mr. Langer’s hands left my cock and started going all over my upper torso.
His hands were large but had a satiny touch as they glided softly over my chest and stomach, only occasionally slipping down to let his fingers rake through the tuft of hair above my cock and stroke the length of my dangling member.
After about ten minutes of this delicious massage, it started to become obvious that slowly but surely my cock was beginning to come back to life, and Mr. Langer chuckled a bit when he felt the result of his effort.
“Such a virile Escort Şirinevler man you are, Skip,” Mr. Langer quipped as his hands went back up my body.
“This feels so nice,” I said.
“For me too,” Mr. Langer said. “I want to make you cum again. As many times as you can before the sun comes up.”
“Mr. – I mean, Rich,” I said. “I want to do things to you to.”
“You don’t have to, Skip.”
“I know,” I told him. “I want to.”
Mr. Langer was smiling as he slipped around to face me, and he gave me a kiss on the cheek.
“I’d like that,” he said. “Later.”
Mr. Langer sat on the end of the attached bench of the picnic table and drew me close to him. We were now about the same height, and Mr. Langer only had to bow his head a little to nibble on my nipples. The little buds got stiff right away, and after he went back and forth between them for a while he reached over and grabbed my right wrist, lifting it behind my head and holding it back there.
As my arm went up I immediately caught a whiff of the tart aroma that escaped from my armpit. While I was usually fastidious about my body, there was no denying the fact that I probably smelled like I had been hiking and swimming all day and had enjoyed two orgasms, but when I tried to lower my arm Mr. Langer would have none of that. There was no way I was going to win a wrestling match with Mr. Langer, and after a few seconds I had no desire to fight anyway.
Mr. Langer’s tongue took a slow and serpentine trip; starting at my side and gliding up through the hollow of my armpit, his tongue slid through the sparse wisp of hair that sprouted from the center of my underarm,and his tongue went right on up to my bicep before taking the same route back down.
My entire body was shaking my then, and I had forgotten all about any hygienic issues. As for Mr. Langer, he seemed to be reveling in my musky scent as he buried his mouth in my armpit, licking, sucking and chewing at me as if to take in every pungent drop of sweat.
Even before he moved over to attack my other armpit, my cock was hard again, swaying around wildly as my body contorted under his oral assault. He noticed my erection but avoided it and kept licking and nibbling my armpits while my dick jerked up and down involuntarily.
Finally, Mr. Langer eased himself down onto the ground, kneeling before me while his hands stroked everywhere but my cock for a few minutes before he let his tongue caress the dripping tip of my swollen dick.
He was looking up at me as his mouth enveloped the head of my cock, but this mouth – only the fifth one that had ever touched my dick back then – was so different that I couldn’t explain it. Elite company it was at the time; Dawn Peacock, Carole Brown and Rich’s son Greg Langer, along with an old guy that had picked me up hitchhiking and didn’t leave me any choice in the matter.
Dawn, Carole and Greg were all inexperienced even if they had been eager. The old guy was experienced all right, but it’s impossible to enjoy something like that in those circumstances. Mr. Langer though, was something else.
This was a man that I admired and respected, and the fact that he would take me into his mouth made me feel like a real man for really the first time in my life.
That would have been enough right there, but when Mr. Langer started to go to work on me, it became obvious that the man had done this before, and had talents like none I had every experienced before.
He made love to my cock like it was some kind of monument, and even though I’m sure that my having had two orgasms just prior to this had something to do with my not cumming as fast as I usually would, Mr. Langer had something to do with that as well.
He teased me, bringing me to the brink of orgasm so many times that I lost count. His mouth played me like a musician while his hands kept busy too, dancing around my balls and buttocks, even slipping a finger in my ass for a time.
His lips slid down the shaft of my cock at one point, and didn’t stop where they had earlier, but instead glided all the way down until his nose was buried in my pubes, the tip of my dick in his throat while taking every inch of me. His eyes twinkled when they met mine, and it looked like he was enjoying it as much as I was while bringing his mouth slowly back up to the tip before diving back down again.
By the time he was ready to bring me to orgasm, the moon had become obscured by clouds, casting him in an eerie light as his head bobbed up and down slowly on my swollen, beet-red cock.
“I have to – need to cum,” I whispered, my hamstrings shaking from being strained and taut for so long.
“I know, Skip,” Mr. Langer answered. “Cum for me.”
It was as if he had hit a switch, for when his mouth slid back down my cock I came. Not in a violent way with cum flying all over and making him gag or anything, because I don’t even know if I even ejaculated very much to be perfectly honest.
Instead I just had an orgasm. An orgasm that mimicked what Mr. Langer had been doing to me for the last who knows how long. I held his head in my hands as my cock spasmed and twitched in his mouth, his hand rolling and caressing my balls as the tingling and spasming kept washing over me like waves relentlessly even as my dick went totally limp in Mr. Langer’s mouth.
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