Date: Sun, 11 Jan 2004 10:43:33 -0800 (PST)
From: Niftyguy <niftyguy_30307@yahoo.com>
Subject: southern nights, chapter two

Warning: the following story contains graphic descriptions of sex between
consenting adult males. If you are underage or do not wish to read such
materials, or if reading this sort of material is illegal in your
jurisdiction, then read no further.  If you have any feedback or
encouragement, feel free to drop me a line at niftyguy_30307@yahoo.com.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

	I slept late the next morning.  By the time I woke up, sunlight was
streaming through the windows, causing the stained glass panels in the top
panes to cast a mosaic of colored shadows onto the old, thick rugs that
covered the wide planks of the floor.  I just lay there for a few minutes
after my eyelids fluttered open, savoring the soft firmness of the mattress
that was suspended between the carved mahogany posts.  Thanks to the
ceiling fan and the air conditioning (a modern convenience that Uncle Ed
had felt very guilty about installing just five years before), a cool
breeze blew softly through the room, enabling me to enjoy my burrow under
the antique quilt despite the fact that summer had already arrived.

	Eventually, reluctantly, I roused myself and padded downstairs to
make some coffee and what turned out to be a real sausage and eggs
breakfast.  I couldn't help but smile at the irony of my uncle dying from a
stroke suffered in the aisles of the local Piggly Wiggly; his refrigerator
and freezer were already filled to the brim with unhealthy food, so I
really couldn't fathom why he would have needed more.  Just so that I
wouldn't feel completely guilty, I sliced two of the nearly overripe
peaches from the bowl of fruit on the kitchen counter.

	Once breakfast was finished and the dishes were done, I opened the
one door that I hadn't yet breached, the one that led into my uncle's
study.  It was a grand old room, one I knew well from family visits when I
was a boy, when it was still my grandfather's lair.  The walls were lined
with floor-to-ceiling bookcases that groaned under the weight of dusty,
leather-bound books.  A pair of overstuffed couches flanked the fireplace,
and at the center stood the giant desk, which, according to family legend,
was fabricated from the remains of a mammoth old oak tree that had once
stood about a hundred yards behind the house.  Piles of books, letters, and
assorted papers covered the surface of the desk, and before long I was lost
in sorting through the accumulated debris of one man's life.

Eventually, after the hall clock chimed first eleven, then twelve, then
one, and then finally two times, I realized that I had been sitting there
for four hours.  I thought briefly about making some lunch, but opted for a
run instead, to counteract the effects of the late (and decadent)
breakfast.  I had visited Uncle Ed a number of times over the years, so I
had several favorite runs to choose from.  As soon as I could put on shorts
and shoes (no need to bother with a t-shirt in the afternoon heat), I was
on my way out of the little town and into the surrounding countryside.
Everything was as I remembered, from the pastures and orchards to the
creeks and barns.  By the time I finally looped back around to the
outskirts of Dumont and Uncle Ed's particular tree-lined street, I felt
positively at peace, like I belonged there.  Slowing down to walk the last
block, it was almost like I was going home.

	Just as I was turning to go up the driveway, a battered old pickup
sputtered up the street, slowed down, pulled across the road, and stopped
right in front of me.  The driver, a sandy haired young man, maybe a year
or two older than my neighbor across the street, leaned out and waved at
me.

	"Afternoon," he called, flashing a smile.

	"Good afternoon to you," I replied, walking over to the truck,
which was idling noisily.

	"Name's Randy Brinker.  You a relation to Mr. Edward?"

	"Yes, I'm his nephew.  Jeff MacNeil."  I reached my hand out to
meet his, all the while sizing him up.  He was wearing a pair of overalls
without any shirt, and I immediately noticed the brown, quarter-sized
nipple that peeked out from behind the left side of the bib, just asking to
be tweaked.  His arms and chest were strong and tan, evidence of time spent
working outside, and the hairs on his rippling forearms had turned into
spun gold.

	"Pleased to meet you, Mr. MacNeil."

	"If it's all the same, you can call me Jeff."

	Randy broke into a grin, causing his pale blue eyes to light up.
"If you say so.  I don't go so much on manners, anyway.  My mama always
says I got shortchanged in that department.  I guess I got more than my
fair share of other things, though."

	I smiled.  "Manners wouldn't necessarily be at the top of the list
of what I'd want an extra helping of."

	Randy looked like he was about to say something, but he just
smirked and let it pass.

	"If you don't mind me excusing myself, I think I'd better go
shower," I said, looking down at my sweaty torso.  The thatch of dark hairs
scattered across my pecs was wet with perspiration, and a rivulet followed
the trail of hairs that led from my sternum down to my navel.  "I just got
back from a run."

	"I sure don't mean to keep you, sir.  But there was something I
wanted to ask you, if you don't mind.  I talked to your uncle just about a
week ago about me storing my equipment for my lawn business in an old shed
on his land out on Timberjack Road.  You know the place?"

	I thought for a moment.  "You know, I think I was out there once,
years ago, but I'm really not sure.  Have you already put your stuff out
there?"

	"No sir.  I was just fixin' to take it out when I heard your uncle
had passed, and I didn't know what to do.  I don't know if you can say
right now, but do you think there's any way I could still use that shed, at
least for this summer?  Is it gonna be yours now?  It's just some mowers
and other stuff, but my mama's been telling me that she wants it out of our
yard, and I can't find another place to put it."

	"Well, it seems like we should be able to work something out, at
least while I'm settling my uncle's estate, but I probably should go take a
look at the property before I give you the A-OK."

Randy broke into a broad smile.  "If you like, I could come by tomorrow and
we could go out together.  I'll have my equipment on the truck so you can
see how much it is.  The deal Mr. Edward and I had was that I'd mow his
lawn for free as rent, and I'd do the same for you."

I looked around at the enormous lawn that surrounded the rambling house and
laughed.  "I'd probably be getting the better end of that deal.  Of course,
at my age, I suppose I could use all the exercise I can get, too."  I
winked at him.  "I'm trying to outrun middle age, and I think it's gaining
on me."

"I don't know, Mr. Jeff.  It looks to me like you're in pretty good shape."

I felt my face flush in response to this small validation.  "That's nice of
you to say.  It sure takes more work the older you get.  But you'll find
that out soon enough."  I winked at him once more, almost as a test this
time.  "Maybe I should come to work under you."

Randy looked a little puzzled, causing me to laugh.

"I was just kidding.  What time will you be over tomorrow?"

"How about 10:00?  I have to do the Whitehouse sisters' lawn early, but I
should be done by then."

	"Sounds good.  I'll see you then."

	Randy waved as he drove away, leaving a cloud of belching exhaust
fumes in his wake.  When he disappeared around the corner, I bounded the
last yards up to the porch, through the front door, and up the wide
staircase to the second floor.  After I kicked off my shoes and skinned off
my shorts, I paused momentarily in front of the full-length mirror in the
hall, taking stock.  Not bad, though I was either going to have to be
careful about all of the deep-fried Southern cooking or ratchet up my daily
mileage.  Raking my hand through my thatch of dark pubic hair and grasping
the base of my heavy cock, I reflected that there was at least one muscle
that I needed to exercise more often, but it wasn't clear that I'd have
much opportunity down here.  Not that I'd done that much recently in New
York.  Just the thought of sex was enough to set things in motion, and an
erection immediately began to spring to life.  As my fat head started to
poke through the moist folds of my foreskin, I briefly contemplated
detouring to the bedroom for a little self-inflicted fun, but the tall
downstairs clock rang four chimes.  Just enough time to hop in the shower
and make it downtown for a quick haircut before things closed up at 5:00.
My fun would have to wait.

	My watch read 4:45 as I walked up to the Main Street barber shop,
freshly showered and clad in shorts, sandals, and a clean polo shirt.  To
my dismay, the barber was pulling down the shades right as I reached the
door.

	"Sorry Mister," the red-headed proprietor of the shop said as I
entered.  "I'm just closing up shop now.  You'll have to come back
tomorrow."

	"Are you sure?  No way I could change your mind?  Even just for a
little trim?  It's too hot down here for this shaggy mane."

	"Can't argue with that.  Where you from?"

	"Well, I'd tell you, but that might not help me get a haircut."

	The young barber smiled, crinkling his green eyes.  "You must be a
Yankee then.  But I reckon I could tell that from your accent."

	"I've always had family here, but I'm from New York City."

	"New York City?  Well, by God, I should run you off."  The barber
laughed and extended his hand.  "Robert Wilkinson, but everyone calls me
Robbie."

	He had a very strong grip, causing his sturdy, freckled forearm,
covered with reddish fuzz, to flex when he shook.  Thick, ropy veins stood
out in sharp relief.  "Jeff MacNeil, pleased to meet you.  I'm Ed Mayhew's
nephew."

	Robbie shook his head.  "I was really sorry to hear Mr. Edward had
passed.  He was the very first haircut I did, six years ago.  I've cut his
hair every two weeks ever since."  He pulled down the last shade, on the
door.  "Since you're a relation of his, I'll make an exception and cut your
hair.  Just don't tell anyone around town about it."

	He guided me over to a chair.  "You want to take that shirt off
before I put the sheet on?  Even with the air on, you're goin' to sweat
under there.  No need to spoil your shirt."

	"I suppose that's a good idea."

	I removed my shirt, sat down in the old-fashioned barber chair, and
Robbie the barber spread the striped covering over my naked torso and began
to trim my unruly locks.  We chit-chatted about this and that, my family
connections to Dumont, my mother's marriage to a damn Yankee, what New York
was like, and the fact that he played first base for a local semi-pro
baseball team.

	"If I do say so myself, we're the best entertainment in town.
Maybe even the only entertainment that's not behind closed doors, if you
know what I mean.  You should check out a game, even if it's not the
Yankees."

	I was very close to dozing, but I managed to grunt an assent.
Sitting there in the warm and humid air, listening to my very sexy barber
talk about his heroics on the baseball diamond, hearing the buzz of the
clipper, feeling his strong hands roam across my scalp and through my hair,
I started to get very mellow, and not a little turned on.  Despite the
hard-on that I had sprung, which required me to shift in the seat to
relieve some of the pressure on my dick, I found myself drifting hazily
between sleep and wakefulness.  Finally, Robbie moved to my side to clean
up a few stray hairs in front, and I could feel him press his crotch
against my forearm.  I didn't give an inch, and neither did he.  Pretty
soon it became very clear that I wasn't the only one who was sporting wood.

	I decided to play it cool, but I couldn't resist pushing back just
a little bit, putting some very subtle pressure on the substantial and
growing package that was still encased in Robbie's jeans.  I couldn't be
sure that I was contending with a true dick of death, but it was clear that
he was hung more than well enough to finish any job that needed to be done.

	Finally, my haircut was complete.  Robbie pulled the striped cloth
off of me, exposing my naked torso.  As I watched him in the mirror, he
reached back and grabbed a powdered, bristle-hair brush, and used it to
sweep the stray hairs off of the back of my neck, all the while staring
openly at the enormous bulge tenting my shorts.  Very slowly and
deliberately, he ran his free hand over my stubbled chin and cheeks.

	"Looks like you could use a shave, too."

	"You think so?"

	"Yeah, how `bout I throw one in, on the house?"

	Who was I to argue?  Before I could whistle five bars of "Dixie," I
was flat on my back in the chair with a hot towel covering my face.  I
could hear him first assembling what he needed to give me a shave, and then
a long zipper being pulled down, which I realized must be his blue barber's
coat.

	"Gettin' kind of hot in here," he almost whispered.

	"No kidding," I said, becoming even more turned on as he moved the
towel off of my face and began to spread lather across my cheeks and chin.
As I had guessed, he had unzipped his smock, allowing me to feast my eyes
on his naked chest and belly as he moved into position behind my head and
produced a straight razor.  As he began to methodically scrape my skin, my
eyes scanned every square inch of exposed, freckled skin, from the ripped
abdominal muscles to the wisps of reddish blond hairs in the cleft between
his beefy pectorals to the pale nipples that protruded at least half an
inch from the hard, muscled expanse of his chest.

	Shave complete, he grabbed the damp towel that had covered my face
and wiped the remaining stray spots of lather.  He leaned down to my ear.

	"Maybe I can find another spot to shave.  You ready for some really
personal service?"

	I nodded wordlessly, and he moved around to my side, where he ran
one hand down my torso, stopping only when he reached the waistband of my
shorts.  He winked at me before unbuttoning the waistband and lowering the
zipper. Since I was getting a little low on clean clothes, I hadn't put on
any underwear when I got dressed, so I was grateful that he took care as he
opened my fly.  Now freed from all restraints, my cock bounced into view,
and Robbie grabbed the veiny shaft in his big paw.

	"Fuck yeah, that is one hot piece of uncut meat," Robbie drawled as
he leaned down.  Very deliberately, he used his moist tongue to probe under
my foreskin, which still partially covered my plum-shaped head.  All I
could muster was a deep groan as my eyes rolled back in my head.  The feel
of his raspy tongue on the sensitive, normally hidden flesh was pure
delicious torture, and I started squirming around in the old leather chair,
desperate to release some of the erotic energy that was radiating through
my body.

	After teasing me with his tongue for a couple of minutes, Robbie
apparently decided to get down to business.  As soon as he had pulled my
shorts off, leaving me completely naked in the chair, he spread my legs
wide open and began to fondle my swollen balls, which were suspended in a
light cloud of dark hairs.

	"Oh yeah," he said, talking more to himself than to me.  "We're
gonna take care of these fuckers."

	Before getting down to business, Robbie paused long enough to unzip
his jeans and extract his fat, fireplug dick.  As he slipped off his
barber's coat, I reached out and grasped the bobbing cock that floated at
my side.  I swear that the thick vein that ran along the top of his shaft,
from his groin all the way to his blunt head, transmitted the rhythm of his
pulse into my hand, and the tempo seemed to speed up as I slowly jacked the
full length of his cock, squeezing a fat pearl of clear, slick precum out
of the gaping slit at the tip.

	"Fuckin' sweet, you Yankee bastard, but I've got some other
business before we really get down to business."

	In a flash, he had my legs hooked back over the chair handles, my
nuts lathered up and his straight razor at the ready.  I was so
unbelievably hard that the skin of my ballsac was pulled taut, enabling him
to easily scrape the sparse hairs that covered it and the base of my dick.
Nothing if not thorough, as soon as he was done, Robbie ran his thick index
finger across the slippery, lathered skin, searching out stray hairs that
had escaped the attention of his sharp razor and ratcheting up my level of
excitement to an almost unbearable level.  Finally satisfied with his
handiwork, he grabbed a damp towel and wiped my groin clean.

	"You wanna see your haircut in the mirror?"

	"Ooh, yeah, show it to me."

	Robbie reached over to the counter behind him and grabbed a small
hand mirror.  As he jacked my cock with one hand, with the other he showed
me my now-hairless nuts from every possible angle.  I let out a low
whistle.

	"Mmm, very nice.  I can see that you're gonna get a big tip today."

	Robbie squeezed the base of my cock and grinned.  "I think I've got
that tip already, Yankee man.  But I'm gonna have to taste it to make
sure."

	With that, he squatted down and began to nuzzle around my smooth
balls.  The very first contact between his tongue and the naked flesh was
electric, and it only intensified as he took first one and then the other
shaved nut between his lips and into his warm mouth.  It was as though his
razor had somehow exposed nerve endings that had long been hidden, and they
were now transmitting unbelievably horny messages to every fiber of my body
and soul.

	His tongue and lips were relentless as they thoroughly explored
every square inch of naked flesh.  On more than one occasion I thought that
I was just going to lose it and hose him down with at least a gallon of
sperm, but somehow I managed to hold it together.  There was a brief lull
in the activity when my horny barber stood up, kicked off his shoes, and
stepped out of his jeans.  Stepping quickly back in front of the chair, he
straddled the footrest, enabling him to position his hard dick right up
against mine.  We were both leaking like crazy, guaranteeing that our
shafts would slide across each other with only the slightest friction, just
enough to stoke a growing fire.  In a flash he had both of our hard dicks
gripped in his big, meaty paw, and he started to jack them together like
there was no tomorrow, almost as though he wanted to fuse them together and
form one giant prick that we shared between us.  Reaching down, I inserted
just one finger into the mix, enabling me to frig a couple of choice spots
that demanded a little bit of extra attention.  By now he was positively
grinding against me, going for broke, and I could feel his own shaved balls
rubbing against mine.  Our temperature was rising, our sap was flowing, our
cocks were at full mast, and then I pulled my finger out, allowing full
contact between flesh that had been tormented for just too damn long, and I
was on my way.  All I managed by way of warning was a grunted "oh fuck,"
but that was enough to get his attention.  His eyes were absolutely glued
to the junction of our bodies as I began to shoot a geyser of cum straight
up.  Droplets rained down on me and dribbled over his darkening prick.  He
suddenly had a very determined look on his face, and his fist needed to
pump only three or four more times before all hell broke loose.  Squirting
wildly, he literally hosed me down.

	 Lying there in post-orgasmic bliss, I truly think I lost track of
where my dick left off and his started.  The rich smell of our mixed semen
penetrated my nostrils, and I savored the slippery touch of his hand as I
rocked back and forth ever so slightly.  I think I even started to drift
off a little bit . . .

	"Mr. MacNeil, Mr. MacNeil, your haircut's done."

	"Mmmm, what?" I shook my head as I jerked awake.  Opening my eyes,
I saw Robbie standing there, fully dressed, in the process of putting
combs, scissors, and clippers back where they belonged on the neat, marble
counter under the mirror.

	"I said I'm done with your haircut.  You done gone and fell asleep
on me.  From where I stood, looked like you were having one helluva dream,
too."

	Trying to be unobtrusive, I slipped one hand under the sheet that
was still covering me and checked out the status of my equipment.  Still
pretty damn hard, but it did not feel like I had creamed in my pants.  At
least I wouldn't have a big stain to explain.  Very matter-of-factly,
Robbie pulled the sheet off of me and brushed away a few stray hairs that
scattered across my arms.  I thought that I caught him checking out my
crotch, very briefly, but I couldn't be sure.  If he did, he no doubt could
make out the remnants of what had been a monster erection.

	After I had put my shirt back on and was settling up, he reminded
me once more to check out the Dumont Devils, his baseball team.  "Anybody
you'd want to see would be there, and maybe a few you wouldn't."

	"I'm not sure how long I'm going to stay down here, but I'll be
sure to check it out before I go."

	With that, I bid him goodbye and emerged into the sticky heat of
the late afternoon.  Temporarily disoriented, I wasn't sure which way to
go, but I quickly remembered the way home.  Slowly but surely, I was
getting my bearings.