Country Matters

From August, 2010

My work schedule in the summer is such that I truly have no days off until close to the very end.  This was one of the ways I finally got some relief.

On one of my three days off from work last summer, I'm sitting in my favorite rest area. It's off a state highway, so not as much traffic---in either cars or men. There is the usual trickle of older men on a late midweek morning. Some hot. Most not. I am reading a book---I really do get things done as I cruise. Suddenly this panel truck pulls in--a cable company van. He's mid 40's, shaved head, muscles obvious under the uniform short sleeve shirt. We do the eye lock thing as he heads in to piss in the fiberglass shell enclosing the pit toilet. He stays in there a long time, but there is a family picnicking---I'm not playing in there with them around. He finally saunters out and makes his way to the water pump--(yeah--this is rural west Michigan!) He has to pass my car to get there, where I'm sitting in my front seat, with the car door open and NPR on low. We nod. He drinks. He comes back toward me.

"Hot." Me or the weather?

I play it safe. "Yeah." It was one of those overly humid days.

"You look busy."

"Not really. Just busy work."

"This place looks crowded."

"It is today."

"Damn."

Long silence.

He looks at the bulge in my 501's. He sighs.

I smile--he gets points for not doing that awful lick of his lips that so many men do.

"Well..." He sighs again. "Guess I'll get going."

He strides back to the van, sits behind the wheel for a long moment, then starts the engine. He pulls out of the parking space and lingers behind my Focus.

Ah, the universal sign for "Follow me."

I close the door and start the engine. He pulls out of the rest area slowly, making sure I’m following and turns right. I follow.  I have to wait for traffic before I can turn. I think I see him turn down a country road.  I lose him for a moment--but am pretty sure I know where he's headed--near a corn field--a place and road where there's next to no traffic.

I spot him. He's already parked and out of the van. He opens both side doors to cut off the view. I park a few yards away, grab my travel size lube and start towards him. He is bent over stepping out of his work pants.

"Hey," he says. "Just changing into some shorts."

"Nice."

He's commando. He throws the work pants into the van. There actually are a pair of shorts ready to step into. I swallow hard. "You want that sucked first?"

"Naw."

The smile flickers off my face.

He turns his back to me. "I want this fucked hard."

I'm instantly erect. He gets on all fours on the floor of the van as I drop my jeans. I finger his hole. With my pants around my ankles, I get on my knees in the roadside vegetation and start to rim him. He moans. He wants it fast and hard and deep. I can give him all that. I reluctantly stop rimming, and slap my drooling cock on his ass. And slip in. Fuck, he's perfect: open, but still tight. I sigh and slowly begin the stroke.

"Don't cum in my ass!"

I'm not even close, of course.

"I won't," I promise.

I am picking up steam--an incredibly short fuck for me, but we are in wide open country. I look down. He's already cum.

"Please cum on my ass. Let it trickle down my crack."

I pull out and do just that.

We clean up, I give him a number. We're all done.

Or so I think.

A day later at work, my knee itches. I scratch through my 501s. I finally step into the bathroom and pull the jeans down. I'm covered in an ugly rash.

I slowly realize--I tongued his ass while kneeling in poison ivy. I have never had such a bad case....