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In Hank’s Hands

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Submitted by Sam

I spilled out of the passenger seat the moment we came to a stop, grateful we’d finally arrived at our destination. I wasn’t great at long car rides to begin with, but between being cramped into my friend’s small car and the hounding I’d taken after misreading the map, I was desperate for some fresh air.

And fresh it was. Nestled between Wheatley and Erieau along the shore of Lake Erie was a small campground my friends liked to frequent in the summer—and this time I’d been suckered in to join them.

I was never an outdoorsy kid, and became even less so into my teens, but as this was my last summer home before going off to university it seemed like a good time to finally try new experiences.

“You made it,” called a familiar voice. Alli, one of the only people who was able to talk me into anything, was hurrying over. I smiled in greeting and hoped my pale face didn’t give away the queasy feeling in my stomach.

“Joe couldn’t read the map,” snapped Tom, popping the trunk and hauling out a toofer and scowling at me as he made his way to the picnic table on the site. “We barely made it to the liquor store.”

“We had plenty of time,” I mumbled, looking to Alli for support. She smiled sweetly in response then offered to help Mike with his sleeping bag. I was glad to be left alone for a moment.

The whole experience was firmly and completely outside of my comfort zone. I knew about a third of the 20 or so folks who had gathered for the weekend, and I knew even fewer of them well. The group was fairly evenly mixed between guys and girls, with most of us being part of the recent graduation class. A few, like Tom and Mike, had graduated the year prior, but had close friends in my age group or, in Tom’s case, were dating girls in my grade.

I was wrestling my bag from the car, an ugly green and black travel bag with awful purple trim—the only bag I owned that was big enough to fit my stuff for the night and not a suitcase—when another familiar voice greeted me.

“Hey Joe,” I froze.

Alli was a good friend, and a good reason to leave the comfort of my parent’s basement for the wilds of an Ontario campground, but she wasn’t the reason.

Hank… Hank was a reason just to keep breathing.

I turned and melted as I met those ocean blue eyes, cloaked as they almost always were behind his mussed sandy-blonde hair. Hank was perfection in my eyes: a thick farmboy frame toned by years of swim team work with a wide face and wider grin. He was the kind of guy I wanted—and wanted to be—friendly, smart, and well liked; a teddy bear in human form.

“How was the ride,” Hank pressed, coming up around the door and wrapping me in a friendly hug.

“Good,” I huffed as his furry arms squeezed the wind out of me. “I got a little lost.” I pulled back and looked down to hide my blushing cheeks.

“I heard,” he thumbed back towards Tom and I rolled my eyes. “Don’t worry about it, he’ll cool off once he’s had some drinks.” I nodded in response but found my mouth suddenly dry, my mind blank as Hank smiled at me.

Fuck those eyes, I thought, losing myself in those deep blues. I imagined myself falling forward and into them, into Hank as our lips met…

“You’ve got a big sack,” Hank blurted, breaking me out of my daydream.

“Excuse me?”

“Your overnight bag, I thought you were only staying the night?” Hank nodded down towards my bag, still only halfway out from where I’d shoved it to give my feet more space on the drive.

“Oh, right,” I yanked the bag hard and dislodged it, maneuvering it up between me and Hank as I stepped out from the car and made my way towards the others. Maybe the fresh air or the car ride had me further off than I thought, because the brief exchange with Hank had caused my dick to stir and I didn’t want to run the risk of bulging up in front of everyone.

“This was all I had,” I explained after nudging the door closed with my hip. “But mom’ll be here in the morning to pick me up. I have a shift tomorrow and couldn’t get rid of it.”

“Well it’s too bad you can’t stay longer, but it’ll make it easier on all of us to fit.” Hank dropped a heavy arm over my shoulder and pulled me towards the side of the campsite.

We came up to the largest of four tents, arranged in a semi-circle around a fire pit and a couple of picnic tables, and Hank moved the flap aside to crawl in.

“You’ll be staying in this one with me an’Alli, and the other girls,” he said pointing down towards the far end of the tent. “It’s meant for eight, but we’ll be fine to squeeze in here for a night.”

“Great,” I said, doing my best to feign excitement.

My head was swimming. Sure, the prospect of spending the night in a tent with Hank was exciting, but my nerves were quickly getting the better of me. Out of my element and surrounded by strangers, and now pressed into a tight space with my crush: it was an introvert’s nightmare.

Blessedly, Alli joined us not soon after, and in a few minutes I had everything packed away and was nursing a water bottle while we waited for hot dogs and corn on the cob to cook on the fire. I didn’t drink then, far too concerned with maintaining appearances and adhering to the strict codes of conduct my parents had instilled in me, but as the time passed I eased into the situation, finding solace in stealing glances at Hank when everyone else was occupied.

Gradually, the light faded away and increasingly drunken stories and showtune singalongs ushered us into the night. Folks drifted from the campfire and before long we were all tucked in our tents.

I was snug, but not uncomfortably so, in the far end of the tent, awkwardly pressed as deeply as possible into the corners where the sloping roof met the nylon base. Hank was tucked in next to me—eliciting nerves and a half chub in equal measure—and the girls were side by side in the rest of the tent.

It was cosy, cosier still as I tried to keep a respectful distance between Hank and the tent I was pitching on my own, and for the first time since getting in the car to drive out, I felt comfortable.

I was about to drift off when Hank suddenly belted “Steamroller!” and started logrolling his way over the girls. Shrieks and giggles and cries of “Hank nooo-“ filled the tent as the thick farmboy rolled to the far end.

“Oh no,” uttered one of the girls. But before anyone could ask why, Hank was rolling back, bumping his way along the tent.

It was a curious thing being pressed at the end of the tent. On the one hand, I was glad to be a part of something, even passively, watching at some distance as the scene unfolded. I was often an outsider, and was happy to be so most of the time, a voyeur in the casual passing of my friends’ everyday lives.

But on the other, I so wanted to feel Hank on top of me, to have him close and pressed against me, to be included in his world if no one else’s…

I also really didn’t want him feeling the erection throbbing in my shorts, provoked by the very thought of even sharing the same air as him, let alone having him—

“Woof!” The air pressed out of me as all 200-some-odd pounds of young man rolled on top of me and stopped.

I was staring straight into Hank’s blue eyes. He was heavy, yes, but it was such a good feeling. Our noses were almost pressed together and I felt his hot beer breath on my cheeks and lips. I felt my face flush as my heart raced, my pulse thrumming uncontrollably in my fully rigid dick, undoubtedly tapping into his groin. Every gay, adolescent fantasy and desire was running rampant in my mind—and then he was gone, logrolling his way back down the tent to screams and shouts and greater protests.

Hank settled into his spot on the return roll and in time the tent quieted down, drifting off to sleep as the chirps and skitters of the nighttime woods settled in around us.

But I couldn’t sleep.

Between the strangeness of laying in a tent, the alien soundscape around me, and the adrenaline of being mere centimeters away from Hank, my body couldn’t relax.

That, and I really needed to piss.

Cursing my luck and admonishing myself for drinking so much water, I began to awkwardly extract myself from my sleeping bag. By some miracle, I managed to shimmy my way out of the tent without stepping on anyone, despite being blind in the darkness of the tent.

Once outside, I stretched my six-foot-four frame and gave my eyes a moment to adjust. The campsite was barely accented in silver moonlight but I was able to make out the edges of the picnic tables and tents. The edge of the woods beyond was visible only as a line beyond which all light vanished.

I almost lost my nerve, for a moment, shivering slightly in nothing but my worn plaid boxers. I felt exposed in the dark, and stupid for not having stayed home.

But I still really needed to piss.

With my eyes a bit more accustomed to the lack of light, I moved towards the darkness of the edge of the camp site. Just as I was reaching the dark edge of the woods, my path was bathed in light, with my silhouette falling out before me.

“Joe?” a harsh whisper at my back froze me in place.

“Hank?” I mumbled, turning around and squinting in the light. If I had felt exposed before, now I felt stripped bare. Even though Hank lowered the flashlight so I could see him better, I felt as though all my secret desires were laid bare.

“What are you doing,” he whispered, closing the distance between us. “Don’t you know not to go wandering into the woods at night?”

“I had to piss,” I hissed back. As Hank got closer, the light revealed more of him. His bulky frame was mostly hidden by a t-shirt, it’s age apparent in the worn-thin fabric and the many holes that gave me glimpses at the smooth belly and pecs that lay beneath. But the real treasure was further down: a pair of equally aged briefs, and a thick bulge hanging low in the soft blue cotton.

“There’s a washroom this way,” Hank said after a moment. “Follow me.” I was glad to be engulfed in darkness as Hank moved off along the path. The image of Hank’s bulging briefs had gone right to my dick, and as it throbbed and inflated I worried it would slip free of the fly. Cloaked in the darkness trailing behind Hank’s flashlight though, my embarrassing erection was hidden and secret.

By the time we reached the washroom, a squat cinder block building with a green roof, my boxers were tended obscenely. Hank entered first without barely a glance back, and I followed, grateful that my boner remained unseen.

The interior of the building was rough. A single orange bulb, the second and third long burnt out, illuminated a pair of sinks with metal mirrors bolted to the wall. Opposite the sinks was a stainless steel trough. The room ended in two toilets, separated by a green pressboard wall but no doors.

Somewhere, a drip echoed.

Hank shuffled ahead, his flip flops scraping on the cement floor, until he took a spot in front of one of the toilets.

I followed behind him in a daze, watching as he moved his feet into a wider stance, rummaged out his package, and settled to let his flow start.

“I thought you had to piss,” he said, throwing a glance back over his shoulder.

“Yeah,” I stammered and made my way to the other toilet. I sat out of habit, running my boxers down to my shins. My dick popped up in response, free of the cloth tent and twitching with need in the night air.

I sucked in breath and groaned as the air caught my precum-slicked tip.

“You okay, Joe?” Hank asked from the other stall. His stream had started, and it sounded strong. I imagined a thick, powerful flow, rushing from a thick dong of a penis. I barely managed to form the word: “Yup.”

Biting my lip to suppress a moan, I took my dick in my hand and gently squeezed, feeling it’s girth and firmness. By pure muscle memory, I began to rub it, up and down, using my pre to slick my fingers and the head.

I knew it was a risk, surely I’d be caught. But my dick had made a decision. As much as I needed to hide this from Hank, as much as word of this moment could ruin me, as much as I still needed to piss, I needed this so much more. The hug, his arm on my shoulder, his weight on top of me, his beer breath on my face: everything Hank had done since I arrived had wormed its way down into my cock, and it was desperate for release.

I became drawn down into my imagination, into my desperation. Could I finish before Hank noticed? Could I keep stifling my breath?

“Dude,”

No.

“Uh, Joe?”

No; please no.

“What are you doing?”

Sheepishly, I looked up from the glistening, pleading head of my erect cock, expecting to meet Hank’s disgusted look.

Instead, the ruby read tip of his penis filled my view.

“Hank, I—“

“Shhh,” he said, running his fist along the shaft and squeezing out a drop of precum. “It’s okay, Joe. I’ve been wanting this too.” His fingers slid over the head and smeared the precum around until his cock glistened.

I sat mesmerized, unable to take my eyes off his dick as my own hand followed his lead, slowly working up and down my shaft to milk out pleasurable tingles.

He was cut, like me, but much more tightly. Where my own penis had a bit of loose skin that slid up and down with my hand, Hank’s hand moved unaided along the engorged length of his shaft. He moaned as he looked down at me with those deep blue eyes, licking his lips with a desire I’d never seen on his wide, soft face.

His knees bent and nearly buckled as his fingers caressed his cock head again, and he groaned deeply in pleasure.

“I’ve gotta sit,” he said, shuffling forward until he was straddling my lap. Without breaking eye contact, he began to lower himself until the sandy-blonde fuzz on his ass cheeks brushed against my thick thighs. Then he collapsed, fully resting his weight on me so that we were pressed together, our cocks lightly touching tips with each of our strokes.

“Fuck,” I breathed, disbelief written across my face and whispered in each shallow huff of air. Here he was, the young man of my dreams, his hairy ass pressed against me, his dick now rubbing mine, his breath washing over me…

And those eyes. Those deep oceans, flooding with desire, with lust, with a pleading need. His masturbating hand uncurled and reached, grasping both our shafts together. Hank moaned and whimpered as he felt the heat of my dick against his own and his pace increased.

I wrapped both hands around him, feeling the thickness of his love handles, and traveling down to knead his firm butt. My touch pushed him further in his lust and soon we were both panting. His hips began to buck and I responded in kind, both of us fucking his hand and moaning and grunting as his ass ground against my lap.

Our voices echoed lewdly off the cinder-block walls, broken only occasionally by the sounds of the toilet seat creaking beneath me.

Hank hunched forward and I rose to meet him, pressing our foreheads together. Gone then was the mild-mannered farm boy I’d known, replaced by a bull in full rut. His plump lips were slack and open, as he huffed and panted. Drool sparkled on his bottom lip.

How I longed to kiss that lip, to suck on it gently, to feel it as my tongue slipped past and danced with his.

But Hank had other plans. He ceased masturbating us and swiped his hand across his lip, coating it in spit. He looked at me, his eyes now glazed over with lust and pleasure, as he took our dicks in hand again.

Slowly, almost agonizingly so, he began again, mixing his drool with our cock spit and edging our dicks. His hand worked in slow semi-circles, building up speed and grip until a foam bubbled up between his fingers.

He grit his teeth and growled, throwing his head back and I found myself now matching his animal intensity, growling low in my throat as he wracked my body with untold pleasure.

In the orange glow of that solitary light bulb, his nipples gleamed, coated in the fine sweat Hank had worked up while working our dicks.

They called me, rigid with need, and I obliged. I gave his ass one final squeeze and a firm swat, bucking up to emphasize my enjoyment and need.

“Giddy up,” I snarled, and grasped his nipples, twisting them hard. I didn’t know where this sudden dominance had come from, but I didn’t have time to dwell on it. A groan caught in Hank’s throat and I twisted harder. “Cum for me, farm boy.” I encouraged, and flicked my thumbs across his nipple tips. “Cover me in your milk, Bull.”

Hank groaned and whimpered but he didn’t stop pumping and twisting. His fist worked in a sloppy fury, and both of us let our heads and eyes loll about lost in the intense pleasure of the moment. We were both so close to the edge, desperate to cum with each other—for each other—but raw passion and need wouldn’t push us over.

We made eye contact just as I neared the peak, and an electricity passed between us.

“Cum on me, Hank,” I pleaded, connecting at last with the need we both had. Hank whimpered, melting and leaning in close to me. I saw it all in slow motion, the bulking and bucking bull reduced to the farm boy who needed this moment of closeness as much as I did. Our lips brushed together as we shared a shallow, stuttering breath.

And then he came.

Hank’s cock erupted, and his voice followed. His cum splattered across my belly and slapped into my chest, leaving deep pools of thick, white syrup. A deep, rumbling below reverberated off the cinder block walls, and he shook with each shot as his balls emptied all over me.

Hank’s orgasm shot and shuddered through him and me, and my own cock blasted his trembling torso in a jet of cum and then another, before a final dribble mixed with the frothed spittle in his hand.

We were soaked in rapidly cooling spit and sweat and cum, and the heat of the moment was quickly ebbing away.

I flexed my thighs and gripped Hank’s sides, wanting to hold on to him and this moment for as long as I could.

But for Hank, the realization, and perhaps the shame, of what we had done was already heavy on his mind. He eased himself off me, still shivering with the aftershocks of his orgasm, and shuffled to the sink, wiping our mixed fluids away with scratchy brown paper towel and water from the sputtering faucet.

I took up a spot next to him at the other sink, but I didn’t speak. Hank’s silence said enough.

We dressed in silence and made our way back to the campsite. Hank doused his flashlight before climbing back into the tent, but I didn’t follow him. I needed a moment alone to let my eyes, and heart, adjust to the darkness.

I’d gotten what I’d wanted, in a way, but now I wondered if I’d lost something in the exchange. I wondered if Hank had lost himself in the moment and if I’d lost him for good.

I moved off towards the edge of the woods, into the shadows. I was pissed; and I still needed to pee.

Comments and feedback are welcome: twitter @yvr_sam


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I'm Brad, and I'm an avid masturbator. I'm the primary author here at BuddyBate, publishing the experiences of readers, adding fiction content submitted by visitors and sharing some of the best masturbation porn available.

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4 thoughts on “In Hank’s Hands

  • February 26, 2022 at 1:45 pm
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    That was so hot. Well described, loved it

    Reply
  • February 27, 2022 at 12:21 pm
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    My 1st experience with being stroked by another male, was amazing/awesome. I couldn’t believe how great his hands felt around my hard lubed up shaft. He was truly experienced at stroking skills. I have never forgotten my 1st male HJ and later on, my 1st experience with him stroking and sucking me off.
    Paul

    Reply
    • February 28, 2022 at 6:55 am
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      Hey Paul feel like chatting? 32 straight, love to chat, roleplay, take time to talk and enjoy exploring fantasies online together. Jerking together too. Just looking for online but substantial connection. Kik: Superuktime

      Reply

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