Date: Wed, 04 Apr 2007 02:51:57 +0000
From: Lance Johnston <lance7818@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Wrangler

This is a true story that happened to me when I was 14. It helped me
realize I would always enjoy the intimacy of a man. Comments are welcome at
lance7818@hotmail.com


"Want some of this?"

The confused look on my face must have startled him for a moment as he
stood there. I saw his right hand on the horse tack that I thought he was
stealing and asking me to be some sort of accomplis. Then, I saw his left
hand and knew exactly what he was talking about.

"It's big. You should see it." He was holding his dick through his jeans.

I resisted and said, "Naw --- I don't think so," as I stood there frozen in
my tracks. This was my first time to be asked such a question, by anyone.
His name was Steve, he was a summer wrangler working at a riding stable in
a CO mountain resort town my family vacationed at since I was very young. I
was 14 now and had been hanging out at this riding stable since I was 10.

Every year we would vacation here and whenever my parents were fishing, I
was at the stable. I got to know the horses and the wranglers. Even got a
few free rides over the years.  This summer, however, I was allowed to be a
wrangler during my two week vacation. I guided rides, saddled horses, even
herded them to evening pasture. There wasn't much I didn't get to do.

The stable owner, Rocky, was 100% cowboy, from his familiar straw cowboy
hat down to his boots. It was probably my third summer when I saw him wipe
the sweat off his brow, revealing for the first time to me, his bald
scalp. His hat covered his head so you could only see his tanned and
weathered face and none of the tender white skin on the top of his head.
Rocky was tough as nails. Even in his 5'8" frame, and in his fifties, no
one messed with him.

This was Steve's first summer here. He was 28, about 5'11", and thin as a
rail, but strong.  He looked nice in his jeans and boots with his red hair,
youthful face, and nicely filled-in moustache.

"Don't you even want to see it?"

A million thoughts flooded my mind in a split second. Of course, I wanted
to. But, what if Rocky caught us? What if my parents found out? What if
Steve told the other wranglers?

"Come on," he said, as he began to walk toward another part of the barn.

A bit dazed, I followed him, thinking to myself that all I was going to do
was look at his dick, like I had with several of my friends. After all, he
said it was big and none of my adolescent friend's cocks could be described
as "big".

Steve led me through a door that took us into a hallway to a part of the
barn that hadn't been used in years. There were rusted out cars and broken
and rusted tack, scrap wood and metal. It was the place where junk was put
out to pasture. Even though the sky outside was bright from the early
afternoon sun, where we were was dark. I could hardly see Steve. He took my
hand as he led me to another door.

It was an old bathroom. The sink and toilet were still there, but hadn't
been working in years. We got inside and he closed the door.

He pulled out his pud and said, "Here, touch it." My hand was trembling as
I reached for his dick. To find it, I put my hands on the sides of his
waist, feeling his leather belt. Once I found the buckle, I moved down the
front of his jeans. I could feel the heat from his cock as my hand got
closer. The smell of his unleashed manscent lightly hitting my nostrils. I
touched his dick and immediately felt the sweaty hot skin that had been
confined since before dawn.  Steve's dick was cut with a massive helmet
which filled the palm of my hand.

I reached for his shaft with my other hand. Not long, but it definitely had
girth. My young hand had difficulty wrapping around it completely. I moved
my hand to his dick root and could feel his pubes, coarse and full. I
wondered what other fur might be available to touch.

"You are big," I whispered as I felt his dick get harder in my hands. It
stood straight out in front of him. I grabbed my own cock which was
standing at attention, but confined by my own jeans. I was stroking him and
me at the same time.

Steve put his right hand on my shoulder and said, "Put it in your mouth." I
just stood there not answering, still stroking him and me. "Come on," he
said, "try it." I felt more pressure on my shoulder.

I got on my knees. The pungent aroma of his sweat had fully engaged my
sense of smell now. The combination of soft skin with the hardness and heat
of his erection, seemed strangely appealing to this novice. I opened my
mouth and took it in.

The skin of his dickhead was soft, and pliable at the tip. I caressed every
crevice and tasted every part of his exposed dick. I knew enough to not
scrape my teeth on his dick, but other than that, I wasn't sure what to
do. He coached me.

"Lick the head. That's right, just like that."

"Suck it like a lollipop." He began to moan and I was tasting something
salty but unsure of what it was. I continued to move up and down on his
hard dick. My mouth was stretched to capacity. Then he said, "Bite it." So,
I did, thinking I would hurt him if I bit too hard. Then, to my surprise,
he said, "More. Harder."

The thrusts in and out of my mouth were getting stronger and I could feel
him start to tense up when suddenly he grabbed the back of my head and
pulled it into his crotch as his load squirted down my throat. It was hot
and almost choked me. I pushed back against him to get free, but his grip
was so tight I couldn't move. I finally stopped wrestling and waited for
him to pull out of my mouth.

We finished and he put his dick back in his pants. We walked out of the
bathroom down the dark hallway and emerged back into daylight like we had
just completed a task that Rocky had given us.

There was a couple waiting for a ride. Rocky met me in the barn and asked
me if I would take these two out for two hours. I obliged. I wasn't very
talkative on that trip, re-living the experience that had happened just
moments before - tasting the cum in the back of my throat thinking about
how this was something I had secretly wanted for awhile now but wondering
what label might be put on me now.

We returned after the two hour ride and Jack, another wrangler, who was
over 6' tall, in his 30s with black fur called to me. "Hey, Bill, can I see
you for a minute?"