Date: Sat, 26 May 2007 17:50:41 -0700 (PDT)
From: Boyatt Hart <boyatthart@yahoo.com>
Subject: SEX  ED  101  WITH  BULL    (part 1)

All the usual disclaimers apply.  Please don't steal this story off of Nifty.
Enjoy it if it's your cup of tea.  If not, move along.


                         SEX-ED 101 WITH BULL
                            by Boyatt Hart


       In 1975 I was 21 years old and as horny and tightly closeted as any
young man of my era could possibly have been.  I had no clue there was
anyone else on the planet like myself because society just didn't permit
educated discussions of sexuality and all of its varied forms.

       Only the most feminine images of male homosexuality were shown in
the media and nobody raised objection to this practice.  Besides, even if
someone had wanted to there would have been no platform available from
which to voice it.  It was more than 20 years until the internet and a host
of magazines celebrating larger and older men would emerge to challenge the
perception of gays as women trapped in men's bodies.  And, since I knew I
didn't fit that description, I knew I wasn't gay. I had me figured for a
late-blooming straight boy.

       So I was sailing through my youth, stealing glances at the big,
brutish men who stirred my loins, confident that my great heterosexual
awakening would arrive any minute.  I was sure my fascination with the
physically intimidating men who had intrigued me since earliest childhood
would one day blossom into the craving for boobs and pussy that it seemed
all the other guys my age exhibited.

       By age 21, though, its overlong delay was causing me to lose
confidence in its arrival.  Tale after tale was told by schoolmate after
schoolmate about getting his first pussy until I began to withdraw from the
few friends I'd made at college out of sheer frustration with that hunger
for men that would not die.

       I even tried two conquests of my own, certain that if I could just
stick my dick in a girl's pussy then I would suddenly "get it" and have my
long awaited coming out as a straight guy.  All that was left in my wake,
however, were two terribly confused girls and one almost irreparably
damaged self-concept.

       Having reached the age of adulthood I began going home on weekends
less and less.  I was content to stay around campus to avail myself of the
college library for weekend writing assignments and keep an eye out for the
weightlifting competitions that frequently showed on Wide World of Sports
to occasionally fuel long, leisurely jack-off sessions.

       The town in east Texas where I went to school had recently gone wet
and the inevitable rumors of "the local queer bar" were not lost on my
young ears.  It was the butt of homophobic jokes for the straight boys and
an object of derision for the cliquish gay twinks who preferred spending
their weekends in Dallas haunting gay mega-discos like The Landing or The
Old P.

       I had been to those places and knew there was nothing there for me,
which I took as further evidence in my mind that I was not gay.  But my
imagination ran wild with all the rumors of this place where fat old
truckers and farmers supposedly came looking for guys willing to perform
sex acts on them that their wives would not.

	It was called Lost In The Pines and, once I determined to
investigate it for myself, I learned why.  It was probably for good reason,
but I've never seen a place with such a storied reputation stuck so far in
the middle of nowhere.  My hands were trembling as I parked and turned off
the engine.

       Whatever I was expecting to see when I got there it was certainly
not what I found.  I sat in the nearly empty dirt parking lot and stared in
disbelief at this dingy clapboard dump with a lone neon sign that read Cold
Beer.  It could have been any crusty beer joint in east Texas.

       There was nothing from the outside that gave the slightest hint of
anything gay about it and I nearly pulled away.  But my inner voice shouted
my instinct down so I mustered the courage to go on in and have a look.

	I nervously walked through the door and the chatter of the four men
inside ground to a halt as it became obvious I was a new addition to their
world.  The man behind the bar asked me what I wanted so I ordered a
draught beer.

	"We don't get a lot of new traffic through here," he began as he
filled my mug and brought it to my end of the bar, "It's not a very easy
place to find so we tend to see the same faces most of the time.  You new
to this area?"

	I explained my circumstances and told him that I saw no reason to
drive all the way to Dallas when I had been told I could find what I was
looking for locally.  The atmosphere relaxed instantly with those words and
the chatter slowly started to pick up steam again.

	The bartender made the introductions for the other patrons and
asked my name.  I told him loudly enough for everyone to hear and they
immediately began to include me in their conversation.  Their line of
questioning sounded innocent enough on the surface but it quickly became
clear they were trying to determine my reasons for turning up there,
without giving away too much about their own.

	Once they concluded my intentions were honorable we all started to
loosen up and I began taking closer looks at the men in my company.  Two of
them looked to be in their late 30s or early 40s and were of average height
and weight; not bad looking, but not the kind of men who turn my head
either.  It wouldn't have mattered anyway as they were obviously too
involved with each other to have given anyone else a second look.

       The barkeep was a closer fit to my taste in men, being a good bit
heftier than the two I just mentioned, but being easily more than 40 yrs my
senior his age was a little too advanced.

	Then there was the man at the opposite end of the bar from me, at
whom I couldn't keep myself from stealing lingering glances.  Being
somewhere between the ages of the barkeep and the other patrons, call it
50-ish, he stood out from the others for two reasons: one, because was he
was black and, two, because of his physical preponderance.  The barkeep had
introduced him as Leon but addressed him by the nickname Bull.

	He was mostly bald with a round, rugged face and every so often he
would break his silence by commenting or laughing in a voice as deep and
mellifluous as Barry White's, if not a little deeper.  His thick, rippling
forearms were resting high on the bar and when the bartender stood in front
of him I could still see the slope of his wide shoulders on either side.
The arms of the short sleeved, bright blue jumpsuit/coverall he wore, that
was so popular among middle-aged men of the time, contoured tightly over
their rounded thickness.

	It was when he rose from his barstool and walked past me to the
men's room that I saw just how appropriate the moniker of Bull truly was.
Every square inch of the fabric that made up his attire was stretched to
the limit of its elasticity in order to cover the myriad powerful looking
bulges that comprised his massive body, including the one in his crotch.
My cock exploded into a raging hard-on.

	He gave me a wink and a smile as he strode by and I could feel the
antique pier-and-beam foundation that supported the floor quiver under his
magnificent, manly bulk.  I was entirely smitten by him.  My mind worked
feverishly to burn the image of his powerful stride into my memory for the
inevitable jack-off session that would take place when I got home.

	A few minutes later I was shaken from my concentration by the feel
of an enormous hand on my shoulder and a, by then, familiar deep voice
saying, "So, you shoot pool, son?"

	I didn't have to wonder who it was, nor did I have to give any
thought to my response.

	"Love to!" I shot back.

	I proceeded to enjoy thoroughly getting the crap beat out of me as
the conversation flowed freely between us, unable to keep my eyes off his
burly bulk as he sunk shot after shot and completely unashamed of my
uncontrollable hardness at the sight of him.  I almost creamed every time
he bent over in front of me to take a shot.  His butt was wider than my
shoulders and his shoulders were so wide that his back fanned out in the
V-shape of a bodybuilder's.

       In spite of the fact he was two or three inches shorter than me,
about 5' 10" I judged, his weight had to be well over 300 lbs.  I felt
small, bordering on frail, in his presence.

	As our game wound down our talk returned to the subject of the bar.
By that time the number of patrons inside had grown to about the number of
quarters I had lost in paying for all of our pool games.

	"The most important rule to obey in our little establishment here
is that nothing happens inside.  It's just a place to meet.  Whatever goes
on after that goes on someplace else.  You get my meaning, son?" he
intoned.

	"Yes, sir" I responded with my heart fluttering at what I hoped
would come next.  He didn't make me wait long for it and I had quickly
become so totally at ease with him that I had no qualms about accepting his
invitation to follow him to his home.

       We arrived at his house, a modest frame structure that certainly
wasn't out of a picture book but had been well kept.  If possible it was
farther in the middle of nowhere than the bar.  Come to think of it, the
bar was merely on the outskirts of nowhere by comparison.  He opened the
door, switched on a light and ushered me in.

       It was obvious a woman had never set foot in the place.  It wasn't
that it was messy, just that it was decorated with the sense of utility
that a guy sees the world through as opposed to the sense of aesthetics you
associate with women.  It had a totally masculine feel about it.

       "Want a beer?" he asked.

       "Sure," I replied, "Where's the john?  I need to piss."

       "Outside then, son.  Well water.  I try not to be wasteful with it.
One of the benefits of livin' way out like this.  Public toilet," he said
with a laugh, "Think I'll join you."

	That said he led me out into the yard.  The light of the full moon
bounced off his bright blue coverall and shiny skin, perfectly accentuating
the contours of all his seductive bulges with black shadows.  With complete
lack of inhibition he unzipped, fed the fattest slab of uncut dick I had
ever seen through his fly, backed his skin about half way up onto the head,
put his hands in his pockets and proceeded to pelt the ground in front of
him with a thick, forceful, high-arching stream.

       I wanted desperately not to let on that this was my first experience
with a man and whipped mine out just as casually, but his hyper-masculine
display caused my dick to betray me by immediately springing hard.
Certainly I had always enjoyed sneaking glances at men's dicks at urinals,
but I had never before that moment regarded the act itself of pissing as
being sexy.

       "That's what I like about you youngsters, son; 0 to 60 in under a
second!" his deep voice boomed with a laugh that echoed in the surrounding
woods.

	I had to laugh with him at the clever analogy, but blushed as I
managed only a halting stream through my erection.  It sure didn't help
that when he had finished pissing he pulled a hand from his pocket and, a
smile on his rugged face as he watched me, proceeded to fondle himself
half-erect.

	Once we were both done we packed up our equipment, walked back
inside and he sat down on what was obviously, judging from the deeply
pitted cushion, his side of the couch.  He patted the seat next to him and
raised his huge left arm for me to slide under.  I quickly accepted his
offer and tingled all over as, for my first time, I affectionately cuddled
next to the burly girth of a man who had effectively stepped out of my
jack-off fantasies and smack dab into the middle of my reality.

	I had never been one to focus on trivial details like race.  I was
and still am a connoisseur of body type.  As long as a man is thick, wide,
round, solid and strong I don't give a damn about anything else.  His age
and rugged looks were certainly an added attraction, but even without them
I would have judged him with a blue ribbon.

	"So, what do you like to do, son?" he asked.

	The word son would have been antithetical to me in ordinary
circumstances, but every time he said it I got a shiver.

	"You know, fool around," I said evasively.

	"That covers a lot of territory."

	"Yes, sir, it does."

       	"Got anything specific for me?" he returned.

	I decided at that point that the best course of action was to be
truthful with him.  He was clearly a little surprised, but very reassuring
with me about it.  I was greatly relieved and more than ready to entrust
myself to his tutelage.

	"How `bout we start by letting you do a little exploring.  I can
full well remember my first time how starved I was just to feel another
man's body," he said as he unbuttoned his coverall down to the bottom of
his belly.

       His invitingly expansive chest slipped into view.  My dick raging
hard in its confinement, I place the index finger of my left hand at the
top of the respectable furrow that ran down the middle.  I remember how
pale and small my hand looked against the vast relief of his rich, dark
skin tone.  Tracing the furrow downward I spread my hand and slid it over
on top of the mound the other side of him from me.  My hand looked
spider-like under the tight fabric.

       What I sunk my fingers into, in spite of the silken texture of his
lightly furred flesh, was at least as much muscle as fat.  It had the
firmness of a pec more than the softness of a tit.  I noticed his nipple
straining his attire and moved my hand to it.  The raised, leathery flesh
of his areola covered a significant portion of my palm and signaled his
arousal loud and clear.

       He wrapped his enormous right hand around my wrist and pulled my
hand out of his one-piece.  I was wondering what I might have done wrong
when he placed my hand on a bulge in the right thigh of his trousers that
was obviously his balls.  He then guided it along the hard lump above them
that jutted across his thigh toward his right hip, slowly tracing my hand
along its length until it settled over a big wet spot.  I pulled away from
him a little to get a better view and was astounded at the thickness of it.

       I looked back to his face and he was sporting the most mischievous
smile I had ever seen.  Unexpectedly he placed his left hand behind my head
and, with the cock-thick fingers of his right hand, guided my face to his
for my first real kiss. Like an idiot I puckered my lips, but I'm not sure
he even noticed as quickly and effortlessly as he penetrated them with his
thick, probing tongue.

       He pressed me hard against him and my lips, stretched as they were
around his tongue, felt inadequate against his.  I felt him lift his hand
off mine and before I knew it he was forcefully groping at the hard lump in
my jeans.

       I was overwhelmed by the experience and knew I was about to shoot.
I tried to pull back from him and moved my hand off his wonderful cock to
his giant paw.  I could imagine from the feel how tiny my hand must have
looked against his as he allowed me to push it off my hard-on.

       "Something the matter, son?  Am I going too fast?" he asked with
sincerity.

       "No, sir...well...yes,sir.  I mean, I was about to shoot off...and..." I
stammered in reply.

       "I think I know just the thing for that," he drawled with his wry
smile.

       Next thing I knew he had had my jeans stripped down to my knees and
as my rock hard dick sprung free it grazed his big forearm.

       He laid his hand flat on my crotch so that his thumb and index
finger horseshoed the base of my cock and pressed down into my fat pad to
expose its full length.

       "Nice," he sighed as he waggled it back and forth in front of his
face.

       The next thing I felt was absolutely out of this world!  He leaned
into my crotch and let my cock head part his lips as he slowly sank his
mouth down on it.  I watched in amazement as my shaft slowly disappeared in
his mouth until he stopped with just bit of my dick showing from his large,
voluptuous lips.  I instinctively knew by the amount of pressure on my
glans that I had reached his gullet and felt a little proud.

       The suction of his warm, wet mouth on my hard-on was better than
anything I had ever imagined.  Just when I thought it couldn't get any
better, I felt his throat yield to my cock head and watched in awe as the
last inch or so of my shaft vanished from view, his lips pressed against
the back of his hand.

       He only had to bob his head maybe three times before I succumbed to
an earthshaking orgasm.  I patted his head and told him of my impending
load.  He backed up the shaft until only my cock head remained in his mouth
and took my meat in a firm grasp.  Helpless to stave the inevitable any
longer, all I could do was watch, babbling my apologies, as spurt after
spurt of my semen spewed into his mouth.  To my surprise, however, he
stayed down there until my eruption had fully subsided and I slumped back
into the couch.  To my even greater surprise he sat up looking as satisfied
as me and swallowed.

       "Feel better, son?" he asked with a knowing smile.

       I affirmed with a breathless nod.

       "Damn, son, how long's it been since you fired that thing off?" he
laughed, "Can't even remember the last time I took a load that size."

       He leaned in and kissed me again with even greater force than before
and the familiar taste of my own ejaculate permeated my mouth.

       "Think you're ready do that for me, son?" he inquired, "I'm hard as
a rock."

       "Yes, sir" I said, "I think so."

       He rose before me and shucked his arms out his sleeves, allowing the
top half of his one-piece to hang from the waistband and finally reveal to
me the full splendor of his hulking physique.  My heart quickened as my
eyes drank him in.

       Starting from his face, I slowly lowered my gaze to his massive
chest and shoulders.  I was mesmerized by his dark, wide-set nipples, their
prominent size emphasizing the power of the pecs they decorated. I studied
the deep clefts they formed against his great, round belly, then followed
his faint treasure trail until I arrived once more at the sausage-like
bulge he had guided my hand to a few minutes earlier.  I ran my hand over
it again, savoring the feel of its bulky hardness and noticing that the wet
spot had grown significantly larger.

       "You want to do the honors?" he asked pointing at the remaining
fastened buttons.

       "Yes, SIR!" I responded excitedly as I reached to begin undoing
them.

       He placed one of his hands over both of mine and smiled as he said,
"Son, I just took your load.  I think you can stop calling me sir.  Leon's
the name...Lee to my friends.  That would include you now."

	"Thank you, sir...Leon...Lee," I stammered, "I'm sorry.  It's just my
upbringing, I guess."

	"Nothing to apologize for, son.  You'll grow into it, I reckon" he
comforted me.

	With that he let me proceed to finish unbuttoning him.  I tugged
the snug fitting waistband of his coverall down over his wide hips and
melon-sized buns, then stared gape-mouthed at what sprang free and loomed
in my face.



(AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the end of part 1 but stay tuned for part 2.  If
big men are your thing I promise it won't disappoint.  Kindred spirits may
write to me at boyatthart@yahoo.com)