roughrawready:

Be kind, this is my first perv story. @drakestories and @a4f101 are HUGE influences, so if it sounds similar, it’s because their stories really turn my crank. Let me know what you think!

Got Away

It had been three years since Vince had last run into Shane. The high school reunion, where Heather Paulson got shitfaced and threw herself at him. Heather may have been the hottest cheerleader in school, but the years and having kids had stolen her tight body. 

Her husband, though, was still sex on two legs. A baseball star back in the day, whatever Shane had been doing in the decade between had been good to him. If anything, Shane Paulson had grown into his own, thickening where it counted, gaining the kind of swagger that comes from experience and getting yourself sorted. That night, Vince held the image of Shane’s sculpted ass and confident bulge, wrapped in those tight Wranglers, in his mind for later, jerking his own thick meat until he coated his own belly twice. 

The thought of Shane’s dick–the fat vein that pulsed along the side, the heft of it in his hands, the smell of the day’s musk–drove Vince to the edge. Shane was a stud in school, and Heather was his girlfriend, sure. Before they got married, Heather was a Good Christian Girl, and those girls didn’t put out. And Shane Paulson was unsurprisingly a horndog in the way all teenage boys are, masses of testosterone and risk, hunger and discovery.

Shane didn’t seem to care if the hole he was sticking was one of the other slut cheerleaders, or sometimes, the kid that everyone called a queer. The Paulsons lived a couple doors down from where Vince and his Mama had lived, and the boys had played together during summers in grade school. 

The last year of high school, Shane would come over unannounced, usually late. The darkness would make him seem more formidable, almost menacing, but in retrospect Vince remembered how the young man was shaking. Vince would bring him into the garage him Mama almost never used, and Shane wouldn’t look at him as he hooked his shorts up under his hairy balls. He would pull up his shirt, revealing a man’s chest, hair already dusting between his pecs.

Shane was always hard by the time he sat down on a rusty folding chair, and Vince was always on his knees between his legs. There were no words, just the grunts of a boy careening towards manhood, his dick already there. Shane had a big piece–it was a frequent locker room joke that Paulson had a third leg–and Vince sank down on it every chance he got.

Vince would suck as best he could, and the scent of Shane Paulson’s sweat would often bring him off in his own shorts. Shane barely made a sound as he got close, his breath catching as he would clamp his hands down along the back his cocksucker’s head. There was an insistence, a drive to finish, as Shane’s dick became impossibly hard, the thick vein on the side transmitting his heartbeat onto the side of Vince’s mouth like a code. 

The cum never tasted good when it came. Still, it had been part of Shane, and so Vince consumed it like breath. The bleach aftertaste coated his mouth well into the following morning, and Vince would use its lingering memory to fuel a morning spank session. 

This went on through senior year and well into the summer after, all before Vince left for the East Coast. Shane’s visits had started as sporadic events–Vince imagined it was when Heather gave him blueballs. Over that last summer, Shane pretty much showed up every night, often staying for two or three rounds. Vince would have aching knees and a sore jaw in the morning, but it was the happiest he’d ever been.

Vince fled Texas for college and never looked back. The only thing he ever missed were those humid nights when Shane Paulson visited. 

They ran into one another at the reunion. Shane’s wife got plastered, and confessed loudly what everyone else saw–Vince had clearly filled out into manhood, his body tight from regular training. Heather offered to fuck Vince in the bathroom, letting slip that she hadn’t fucked Shane since she got pregnant with their third son. Vince excused himself to the bathroom, as a humiliated Shane heaved his wife out of the auditorium. 

Last week, Vince’s Mama passed. He was at once devastated and prepared, as he watched her slide away slowly to cancer. There was a kind of peace now that she was gone, but Vince was still all frayed nerves and trembling hands. He was in his Mama’s house, tending to the boxes that amounted to her life. The summer was particularly brutal, the humidity winning against the air conditioning in his Mama’s house. 

That night, Shane Paulson showed up at his Mama’s back yard. Vince was nursing a glass of bourbon, looking out as he caught Shane–the man who had fed him God knows how many loads of spunk when they were both boys–coming in through the side. Their eyes met, and for a moment Shane seemed paralyzed, as though he had somehow figured wrong. In the hazy lights from his neighbors’ yards, Shane’s hard cock looked obscene and almost throbbing in his tight suburban cowboy jeans.

Vince met the man’s eye again, tearing them away from the huge ridge that ran along Shane’s right hip. Vince nodded as he popped open the back door, a faint smile playing across his face as the lock made a familiar, satisfying click. 

To be continued?