Walking past a news-stand one day, a small tabloid banner caught my eye. "Rolling in the Hay with Russell Crowe, Page 8." I grabbed the paper, paid for it then proceeded to the nearest empty park bench. I felt a mixture of surprise and pride, until I turned to the appropriate page. Pictured with Russell lying on a bed of straw was some young blonde actress that I'd never seen before.
It was a screencap from one of his earliest films, one, the author said, was co-written by Crowe. The surprise had gone, but I felt now felt more pride than ever. That scene had plainly been written by Russell. How do I know? I inspired it, not some busty peroxide bimbo.
You see, like me, Russell blends in perfectly with big-city life, the endless nights of parties and other events, but at heart he's one with the country. When people meet me, Shane Parker, they see a well-dressed twenty-five year old, well built with sharp blue eyes, blond hair swept back into a pony-tail, an easy smile and a light tan. Juggling cellphones for most of the day, most people wouldn't believe I was born and raised in the country.
That's right, I lived on a farm with my parents and three brothers in the New Zealand outback. Plenty of sun, fresh air, animals and hardly any neighbours. Our closest neighbour was a young man, who I met for the first time at the tender age of fifteen, making him ten years older than me.
He appeared at our door one night, introducing himself as our new neighbour. I happened to be coming down the stairs as he was shaking my father's hand and suddenly, he was shaking mine too like an adult. As the youngest member of the family, it wasn't often I got treated as befitted my age. I think that was the first thing that really struck me about him - friendly.
"Call me Russ," he was saying, to me as much as Dad. His eyes were a strange sort of blue, much deeper than mine, yet they seemed to shine with something I couldn't quite put my finger on. He had the five o'clock shadow from three days ago, which made his thin, pink lips stand out a little. Under the scruffy red workshirt and faded blue jeans, he certainly was "built like a brick shit-house," as Mum later put it.
I was instantly captivated by him, not sexually at that point, not consciously anyway. I wasn't aware until much later that a man could actually have a relationship with another man. In any case, I was excited when my Dad told him that if he needed any help, I was free. Being a teenager, I made some grouchy comment which Russ laughed at, but inside I was praying that his farm would need entire days of my time, just so I could satiate my curiosity. Russ was the last thing I thought about before I fell asleep that night.
The good news came a week later. Russ needed some help moving some furniture in and around. Dad dropped me off one morning outside the house , a two storey building of grey slate and white walls. The front door was open so I went in. I found Russ unpacking a box in the living room. He was wearing the same old jeans but a white tank top this time, and he looked freshly-shaven. His smile was cheerful and welcoming, like he was pleased to be back here.
The white walls were full of old movie posters. There were no photos on the mantlepiece or anything to suggest he had anyone else living with him. Throughout the day, we unpacked countless boxes and hauled all sorts of furniture around the place, all the while exchanging banter. I found out that he was an aspiring actor who had a city apartment but needed a place like this to unwind.
I didn't bother to ask how he managed to afford the place if he was only aspiring - I was more interested in the city. What was it like? Was it fun to live there? I fired question after question at him and each one he answered with that same polite patience. Sometimes he smiled, sometimes laughed, and in hindsight I think it was at the naivete of some of my questions.
That evening, after the work was over, we sat on the steps of the front porch with bottles of iced Coke. The porch was narrow, so we were shoulder to shoulder. My lanky side seemed pathetic compared to his rippling upper arm. That was a real reminder of our age difference, since on all other planes we were pretty much on the same level (I always was the smartest out of my brothers). I think what I really liked was the feeling that he was my buddy, older and wiser than my friends or brothers but not old like my Dad or uncles.
Over the years, we became good friends. Russ wasn't around all the time - sometimes I wouldn't see him for months. When he came back, he would always let me know as soon as he got home and then we would meet up.
I was 19 now, a proper man. My lankiness had gone, and all the physical labour had left me ropy and toned. I had let my hair grow wild, down to my shoulders. I rarely wore anything apart from old jeans and tank tops, maybe a shirt on cooler days. I still worked a lot on our farm, but I also took care of Russ's when he wasn't there. By this time, it had a couple of horses, a dozen sheep, four cows and some hens.
There wasn't much work to do there, but I kept the place perfect for him. This soon became a permanent arrangement, and he paid me to stay there to keep an eye on things. My parents were all too happy for me - they really liked Russ as well.
By now, I had also accepted the fact that I found men attractive, Russ above all. Sometimes in the bathroom I would gaze at my seven-inch cock and wonder if Russell had one just as big, or bigger. I used to masturbate as I thought of Russ doing the same.
I knew in the real world nothing would happen between us. He was obviously straight, wanted a wife and kids and all the rest of it, but also I was his friend. He's the sort of person who wouldn't spoil a good friendship with sex. I respect him a lot for that. I was quite happy to sit in front of the TV with him and watch the rugby with a can or two of larger, or help him practice his lines.
All that didn't stop me from fantasising though. When we practised his lines and I took the female part, I wished he really meant what he was saying, and that we could kiss and touch as the script directed. My desires have always been a mix of lust and love. Sometimes I dreamed of him entering my room one night, undressing me as we kissed then laying me back on the bed to make love to me. Other times, I would imagine myself in the kitchen one morning, then all of a sudden he rams me up against the fridge, rips off my shorts and sticks his thick cock up my ass.
Yes, I have seen Russ's cock, just like he's seen mine. When you live with someone that long, it's inevitable. I'm more of a pre-Apple Adam, so he's had more than his fair share of my manhood. but he on the other hand, was quite bashful about showing his penis off. Occasionally, I saw it peeking out of his boxers at breakfast, once or twice if he was dashing around naked after a quick shower. The skin is smooth and darker than the rest of his body, and there's definitely more thickness than length. I sometimes nibbled my finger while thinking of his foreskin, how I might chew it until he came, all the while tugging on his big balls in their dark sack. All these treasures were surrounded by a bush of wiry brown pubes. If I was any sort of artist, I could draw you a perfect likeness.
So what did I do during the time Russ was away, apart from work and jerk, that is? I read non-stop. He had stacks and stacks of books, which kept growing every time he returned from the city. Among the most interesting, was a book based on the Kama Sutras (from a rather direct fan, he told me), which included some amazing positions and even a section on sexual reflexology. Before reading that, I would frowned upon sucking someone's toes, but it's actually a simple and effective way of arousing a partner, before or between intercourse. I tried that on myself, and although the uncomfortable position left me more in pain than pleasure, there certainly was something to it.
One thing me and Russ are both keen on is our beer. When I came across a book on home-brewing, I was only too happy to try out some recipes. I had all the equipment and ingredients ready except for the appropriate disinfectant. The nearest store that was likely to have it was an hour's drive away. To hell with that, I thought and brought in a bottle of disinfectant we use on the milking machines. Now this stuff is strong, and just the smell of it can make you feel like you've just drank a quarter of vodka. I figured it wouldn't matter if I rinsed the keg out well.
The beer came out nicely a few months later, smooth and golden. I was too excited to take the keg from the barn to the kitchen - I took a swig right there. It went down with a sickly-sweet tang, and I knew it didn't taste right. I was glad Russ was away - I could get rid of this beer and rinse out the keg to cover up my maligned attempt at brewing. Not that he would have minded, but I didn't like feeling that I was wasting his money. In any case, I was about to carry the keg out to the drain when I felt a sudden stirring in my shorts.
I was tempted to ignore it and get on, but it became stronger and more insistent. My stiff knob was literally tingling in my shorts, the head almost poking above the waistband. Annoyed at my body's timing, I reached down to adjust my cock. The moment my hand touched it, an amazing sensation flooded upward through my body. I let out an involuntary groan. I was growing unsteady on my feet. My head became fuzzy. Suddenly, I found myself prostate in a bed of straw.
It didn't matter. I ran a hand up the moist crotch of my shorts again, feeling that amazing sensation course through my body once more. Every hair stood on end. Even my nipples, usually soft and pink, were taut buds pulsing with sexual energy. I yanked my shorts down to my knees and lay back again, taking a firm grasp of my pulsating member. It was almost completely bright red and shook with arousal.
I fisted it with one hand, the other clutching my warm ballsac. My insides felt undescribable. With each stroke it felt like a Millenium fireworks display exploding within each limb. Within a minute, thick ropes of jism erupted from my swollen dickhead, spattering my pale-blue T-shirt.
There wasn't time to wonder what was happpening - my hand kept rubbing my sore cockshaft up and down. My body was ready for round two without even a two-minute pause. Bright lights flashed before my eyes as I felt a second orgasm approaching. The hand cupping my balls moved lower, and I started rubbing the ripe, puckered flesh of my anus with my middle finger. I'm no stranger to fingering myself a little while jacking off, but tonight I was shoving it in and out like my life depended on it.
I arched my hips off the ground, a second away from bursting. The sound of jeep's engine filled my ears. Through the open barn door I could see headlights coming up the drive. Russ was home!
I wanted to scream a few curses aloud, but I couldn't let Russ find me like this. Scrabbling around on the floor, I found my shorts and tugged them on quickly. There were splashes of cum all the way up the front of my T-shirt. I pulled it off quickly and tucked it in the back of my jeans. My head still felt fuzzy and it was hard getting to my feet.I wobbled a bit as I tried to walk towards the keg and tip it.
"Shane, are you in there?"
The echo of Russ's voice throughout the barn made me trip and fall into another bale of straw. Too late to get rid of the beer. I saw him walking towards me as I picked myself up. He was wearing one of those old-style cowboy tuxedos, necktie duly loosened, his face bore an amused expression. "OK, shirtless, where is he?"
Before I could answer, he caught sight of the keg. "Aww, nice one mate! What a welcome-home present."
It was like some sort of comedy where one actor wants to stop the other drinking from a bottle he's just pissed in. I could only watch as Russ dipped the tankard into the keg. Maybe I wanted him to drink it just so I could watch him shoot load after load with reckless abandon. In any case, it was too late. He had drank the tankard dry.
"Fuckin' 'ell!" he slurred, blinking hard. I caught him under the arms as he stumbled backwards. His weight sent us crashing down into another pile of straw. The pressure of his back against my cock was proving too arousing. I wriggled out from under him, hopefully before he noticed I was hard. The next task was to get him into the house. That wouldn't have been easy if I was sober.
Nevertheless, I stood up and tried to pull him by the arm. He simply tugged back and landed me on the straw again. I could see the sizeable bulge in his trousers, and just the sight of it made my own rigid meat throb.
"Bloody hell, Shane," he whispered with his eyes closed. "This beer just reminded me of something."
"What?" I asked, seizing the chance to stroke myself without him seeing.
"I haven't had a decent shag in months," he chuckled. He reached down and unbuttoned his trousers. I held in a gasp as he pulled out his hard cock. I'd never seen it erect before. It was beautiful, dark-red and throbbing. I watched him rub it gently with his fingers as if I wasn't there.
Suddenly he opened his eyes. They wandered from my face down to me crotch. I jumped as he thrust his hand down the waistband, his fingers grazing the slick, smooth skin around my cock. "Looks like someone's been getting a head start," he grinned.
I pulled my shorts down for him and my dick sprung free. Matching his rythym, I started to stroke it, all the time gazing at him. His cock was spitting out precum like an expectorant teenager. I lay close beside him and carried on wanking.
I knew he was watching me closely, but I was shocked when his hand gripped my shaft. I let out a little moan as he squeezed it tight, pulling the skin taut around my cockhead. I reached over and helped him stroke. I couldn't believe it - I was actually touching his cock!
After a few moments of frenzied wanking, I straddled his thighs. As he jerked us both, I slid off his jacket, his tie and then slowly unbuttoned his shirt. He raised his torso a bit so I could pull it off. I ran my fingers up his belly and then through a forest of dark chest hair to his nipples. I rubbed them with the palms of my hands, feeling them harden at my touch.
Russ started urging me downward. I brought my face level with his cock. He pressed the shiny head against my lips. My tongue flicked over it, tasting sweat and precum. All the while, I was pulling his trousers off his legs.
When he was as naked as me, I took hold of his shaft and let my tongue glide wetly over every contour of his dickhead. It throbbed hard against my tongue. Russ was writhing in the straw. I took him in my mouth, all the way until my nose jammed up against his pubes. For a moment, I kept still, just enjoying the feeling of his hot, pulsing meat in my mouth.
I started to bob my head up and down, curling my tongue around the underside of his shaft like a taco. His eyes were closed, as if he were trying to hold his orgasm in until the last minute. I released his cock and started working on his balls. I swallowed them whole and used my tongue to tease them. They started to tighten.
I quickly released them, not wanting Russ to come just yet. Instead, I kissed the insides of his thighs gently, moving slowly inwards. I pressed my lips to that spot behind his balls and extended my tongue. I would've found my target if he hadn't pulled me up.
Russ seated me on his belly, just in front of his cock. He began to rub the head against my ass suggestively with a boyish grin. I was too horny to consider things like lube or condoms (I was definitely clean, and so was he.) so I just pushed back onto it.
I gritted my teeth as the head broke into my tight ring and made it's way up. His thick shaft stretched my ass in a way no amount of fingering had ever done. I could feel it pulsing against my insides, especially my prostate. He grasped my hips and began to move me back and forth slowly.
I let out a long moan of pleasure as I rode him. It had all been quite slow until now, when he started bucking his hips upwards. His cock thrust deeper inside me. The way he was going, I felt like I was sitting atop a wild horse. Suddenly, his eyes rolled back his body tensed up beneath me. I felt a hot eruption inside my ass as he came. Then he just lay there, smiling up at me. Gradually, I eased myself off him and stood up.
I don't remember much else of that night. If I concentrate hard, I might recall some wispy images of Russ touching me, or entering me. I'm sure he did it more than once. In any case, I woke up the next day in my bed, naked.
The house was silent. I hurried over to the window and looked out on the empty farmyard. After pulling on a pair of jeans, I hurried downstairs and outside. Russ's jeep was gone. The keg of beer stood empty by the drain.
I felt dirty, embarrassed, ashamed. He didn't want to remember anything we'd done and the easiest way was to run back to the city. Well fine. Why should I be the thing that won't let him forget? I turned back inside. It was time to go.
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