Chapter 2
Mack hadn't made it down the mountain to the shelter when the storm hit. He had decided upon a cave instead. It was a deep cave. It was dry, too. He figured it would offer him more than enough protection from the elements until the storm let up. Like Eddie and Talbot, this young hiker had no thoughts that the freak storm could possibly continue for more than a couple of hours. It was simply not the right time of the year for any major snowfalls to hit the area. Hell, at the top of Bear Creek Mountain, where he had camped the night before, basalt was already showing through the ice, giving access to ice tunnels which hadn't, been unblocked for exploration for years.
The cave was good shelter. However, it had no food supply, which the cabin down the mountain did have. He had enough food in his pack for a few more days, but since he had been on his way down the mountain at the time of the storm, he hadn't been any too easy on his food supply on the descent. So, he certainly wasn't prepared for any long hours in isolation. As far as fuel went, he had managed to gather enough wood the night before to keep him warm until morning. Wood, though, was no longer so easy to come by. What's, more, the snow was getting deeper. The wind cut through his parka like a cold knife blade.
"Christ," he mumbled. "This surely can't last!" He stamped snow off his boots. If the snow and the wind weren't enough, the mountain was hastily becoming socked in with fog.
He dropped another piece of wood on the fire. There was, luckily, a natural opening somewhere in the rocks above that allowed the smoke an adequate vent for exit.
He went back and stood at the mouth of the cave, out of the wind, watching the snow being blown every which way within a mist that swirled in giant vortexes.
If the storm held on any longer, it was going to surprise one hell of a lot of people -- Mack included. However, if it did keep going, Mack was going to be in something of a fix. Yet, it would have been a bit ridiculous to head out into the mess if it were going to blow over in a few more hours.
Mack surveyed the terrain. It wasn't as if he were lost on the mountain -- storm or no storm. He had been up this route so many times in the past, he could probably find his way out blindfolded. However, he would have preferred not doing so through snow up to his crotch.
Hell, he'd wait it out. Surely, it wouldn't last very much longer. If it did, he would have to at least make it as far down the mountain as the cabin. There, at least, would be a supply of emergency provisions. And, if rescue came -- worse coming to worse -- they would go to the cabin first.
Still, he would go that route when he had to do so. Until then, he would wait until he had at least burned up the wood supply he had gathered that morning.
His sleeping bag was still unrolled. He decided to make himself as comfortable as possible -- just in case he would find himself out in that mess, after all.
He began to unlace his hiking boots, setting them close to the fire to dry after he had removed them. He did the same with his socks, pants, and shift, leaving him only in his underwear. Hell, he hadn't even worn thermal underwear. Then, he wouldn't have ever dreamed he would be caught up in a Goddamned blizzard this late in the season.
His shorts were wet, too, since he had slipped while gathering wood and had gotten enough snow on his ass to become melted by his body heat. So, he stripped off his underpants and added them, to the clothing arrangement around the fire. In the end, figuring he might as well warm his T-shirt, too, he was stripped naked.
As the cave wasn't all that large, and the fire was big, the area was comfortably warm, despite the conditions just beyond the cave entrance.
Mack lingered atop his sleeping bag, finding nakedness, the fire, and the blizzard outside, definitely a turn-on. In proof, his cock -- large even when flaccid -- was going even longer and fatter as it swelled toward erection.
Jesus, but he should have brought along somebody. Somebody he could now roll to his belly to feed his swollen cock into his tight ass.
Not that he wouldn't have brought alone somebody... if there had been anybody to bring. The truth was, however, there was no one in Mack's life at the moment who would have been interested in spending their spare time up on a mountainside, hiking, fucking and sucking.
Shit, maybe he shouldn't have broken up with Bob. In fact, it was still hard for him to figure out why they had broken up. They had both been interested in the same things: like hiking, sucking and fucking. They had certainly been good in bed together. At least, they had been good in the beginning. Yet, after three years, they had -- by mutual consent -- decided to once again go their separate ways. Mack wasn't even too sure where Bob was at that moment. He thought maybe he had gone to Los Angeles: a transfer in his job at the phone company. It was strange how two people could become so close for three years and then suddenly become complete strangers again.
Not that they had parted with screams and fights and accusations. They hadn't. Nor had there been anyone else... for either. Their relationship had simply run its course.
Mack hadn't found anyone else. However, he hadn't looked very hard, either. He had actually enjoyed his freedom after Bob. Except, of course, at times like this, when a warm, hard, male body and a tight, gripping, male asshole would have been more than welcome.
Oh, Mack wasn't friendless. He had a lot of friends. Mainly, though, they were straight. After so many times of coming into the mountains with a gay lover, he certainly had no inclination to saddle himself with one of his straight friends who would have been as shocked as all hell if Mack had suggested zipping sleeping bags together and cuddling for warmth.
He hadn't been up to looking for a new lover in the bars, either. Not only had he tired of that particular scene over the years, but he had never found a relationship in a bar which had lasted beyond a night -- at most two nights. The two lovers he had found in his lire (Bob and an earlier lover, Jim) had been discovered -- strangely enough -- while out in the mountains or the wilderness. Jim had come into Mack's life for one marvelous summer of homosexual exploration at the Jackson Boys Camp. Bob had turned up while Mack had been sunbathing during a week of backpacking the trails on Maui, no less.
Oh, well, there was nothing at all wrong with doing yourself... either with your hand, or (if you were hung big enough and had a body limber enough) with your own mouth. So, since there seemed to be nobody else handy in the long run, doing yourself did have certain advantages. If you didn't know what turned you on, it was doubtful anyone would ever, be able to find the right buttons to push.
He stretched out fully on the sleeping bag. He put his hands to the small of his back and lifted his legs toward the ceiling.
He had a good look over his muscled chest, over his sleek belly, to the stiff mass his cock was making at his crotch. The mouth of his cock was damp with moisture. Although it hadn't yet begun to leak much pre-cum. His balls, still flaccid in the warmth supplied by the fire, hung along the shaft, heavy balls having pulled the skin almost as far as his pulpy, down-jutting cock-head.
He dropped his legs over his head, touching his toes to the sleeping bag. Even without bending any farther, he had already brought his large cock within licking distance. Its fat head, shot through the enfolding flesh of bulky foreskin, was only a tongue's-length away.
With his right hand, he fondled his balls. Me continued playing with them, finding the tube that ran from his balls up through his solid shaft of prick. He squeezed the tube shut and then began milking it for the preseminal juices contained within it.
Juice oozed free, forming a thick string that dropped toward his mouth. He opened his lips for it, letting the fluid drool to the tastebuds on his tongue. The string broke under its own weight. Mack shut his mouth and swallowed it. He stuck out his tongue, lapping the remainder of his juices from the head of his prick. The moisture tasted good. But it always did.
During the few seconds be had maintained this position, his spine had relaxed. His cock had dropped even closer to his mouth. Mack knew, though, his cock could be made to drop even farther. How far, he had discovered at a very early age. Hell, he was sucking off his own cock before most kids in his age group had even discovered what masturbation was all about.
He bent his legs, bringing his knees to rest directly behind his head. The maneuver curved his spine even more than it already was. As a result, his cock-head actually brushed Mack's lips, glossing them with his latest drooling of preseminal liquid. He opened his mouth and ovaled it about the pulpy corona of his prick. He sucked gently, tasting more of his salty male flavors as they drooled to coat his tongue.
His back relaxed more into its position, losing tightness which had, until then, persisted.
He put his hands to his muscled asscheeks, feeling his vertebrae bend to ease his cock deeper into his mouth. The head of his prick actually penetrated as far as the opening of his throat. His fingers clamped hard on his ass, tugging so that his crotch could drop even closer to his face.
His cock was a mouthful, even for Mack, who had become accustomed to its size a long time ago. At almost eleven inches, it was so large in circumference that Mack had trouble squeezing even his large hand shut around it. There was one long vein that took root where the shaft of his cock anchored amid the brown hair on his lower belly. It meandered all of the way down to the opened oval of his foreskin. Aside from that, the rest of his cock was silky smooth against his lips, mouth, and throat lining.
His balls pooled over his forehead even though the scrotum had already begun to gather his balls into a steadily compacting bag of skin furred with wiry brown hair. Later, when his balls had moved out of his way, he would be able to see the winked pucker of his asshole. Maybe he would even watch -- mouth stuffed full of his cock -- while he poked a thick finger up his rectum.
He released some of the pressure his hands were exerting on his ass. At the same time, the fire the same time, the fire ignited a pitch pocket in one of of the branches thrown on it. The resulting flame pleasantly roasted Mack's upturned asscheeks.
The release of pressure caused Mack's body to come unbent a little, much like a spring coming partially uncoiled. As a result, his cock slipped slowly, outward along his throat, his compressed lips drawing his foreskin to the point where it was almost as completely cowling his erection as it hooded his cock when his prick was flaccid. His tongue poked into the small snout of skin, claiming the juices which had oozed to be cupped inside.
It was easier going, sucking on his cock now, than it had been when he was a youngster. A kid, after all, who thinks he's the only guy in the world interested in mouthing his own cock to eruption, has a whole lot of experimentation to do before he gets it right. He had many times choked on his huge cock. He had many times choked on a tremendous deluge of squirting cum. He had many times come away with a backache because he had been too anxious in his inexperience, too.
Now, without even the springs of a bed to aid him in his suck, he knew just how to go about it. Like a yoga expert, he would come out of his contortion feeling pleasantly stretched, as well as pleasantly drained.
His ovaled lips held the loose skin in position, while gently bouncing hips pushed the hard inner core back and forth... back and forth... back and forth...
His scrotum elevated, like a fleshy curtain going up on a stage play. What was revealed, though, was the crease of his ass, lined as it was with brown hair, punctuated as it was by the brown pucker of his asshole.
The fingers of his right hand dropped into the crease, the tip of his middle finger touching his pucker. Watching, as he continued to fuck his face, he slowly screwed his finger up his butt.
It felt good. It felt damned good. Except he couldn't help remembering how it had been when Bob's cock had gone gliding inside of him. That had admittedly been better. A finger could never substitute entirely for a cock -- any cock. When you didn't have an extra cock handy, however, you had to make do. When you didn't have an extra body around, you had to make do, too. Mack was making do now.
He continued sucking, continued fucking his face. His large finger screwed deeper up his asshole. He dragged his left hand down to his chest, pinching first one nipple and then the other. His nipples were already hard when he started, but the pinching did seem to make them go even tauter.
They rose like miniature citadels from dime-sized circles of dark-brown flesh found positioned on the lower fold of each rectangular pectoral.
He licked. He sucked. He pinched. He dug his finger deeper. He felt the slow knotting in his guts going even tighter.
It wouldn't be long now. It never took all that long when he sucked himself off. After all, he knew what he liked by way of a suck and he delivered it. There were no fumbles along the way to abort the pleasure or delay it once it had begun. No, the pleasure simply built and continued building until finally...
"Aaaagghhhbh!" he groaned over his cock. As his mouth was full at the time, the vibrations of his lips and throat only increased his enjoyment, pushing him one step closer to that ultimate moment he was searching to find.
He felt the pulse of his cock inside his mouth. He saw the way his balls were tugged flush to his cockbase. He felt the sudden contraction of his asshole around his plugging finger.
His finger found his prostate and twisted against it, releasing a new surge of pleasure and liquid.
"Aaaggghhh... agh... agh!" he grunted again.
He was on the verge. He knew he was on the verge. He willingly pushed himself that one final step necessary to get off.
"Grrrrunnghhhhh!" he growled, gargling on the sudden deluge of hot cum suddenly being pumped... pumped... pumped... into his throat.
He sucked, an automatic gag reflex swallowing every bit of his hearty meal of hot, sticky jism.
His finger twisted up his butt, working his prostate for whatever juices might yet be jettisoned to feed his face.
He squeezed his right nipple hard until he was completely lost in his pleasure. He then put his left hand back on his balls and squeezed his emptying testicles.
"Oh... yes... yes... yes... fucking... God... yes!" he moaned.
His spunk was delicious. He had always found it so. Even in the beginning, when he was just learning how to suck his cock, he had never gagged because of the taste, but rather from the quantity. There was always so much of it. Wad after wad of the stuff. So much of it, it was only the years of constant practice which had given him the expertise to siphon it all up.
When he finished, when he had sucked it all down, having even gone so far as to milk his tubes one more time for any stale sperm lurking inside of them, he spit out his cock.
He slowly came unwound.
He felt pleasantly stretched, pleasantly drained of inner tensions. He also felt a little chilled.
He added more wood to the fire and crawled into his sleeping bag.
He warmed quickly, dozed for awhile, then came awake to feed the last of his wood to the dying flames. He checked his watch. He would have to start soon if he wanted to make sure of reaching the cabin by nightfall.
Outside the cave, the weather certainly hadn't improved. If anything, it had gotten worse.
Goddamn, the thought of going out into that mess wasn't appealing at all.
He had half a mind to stay right where he was, cuddled in his sleeping bag until the storm blew over -- no matter how long it took. Except the wood would soon be gone. Without wood, there would be no fire. Without fire, it would soon be as cold in the cave as it was outside.
So, Mack got up while the cave was still warm. He put on his clothes which had grown toasty warm.
He then rolled up his sleeping bag and repacked his knapsack to make sure the contents were balanced for easy carrying.
He put out the fire, dousing it with snow. God knew, there was nothing in sight the fire could have burned down. But past conditioning had trained him to always make sure a campfire was out before leaving it unattended.
He stepped out of the cave and into the blizzard. A gust of wind almost knocked him off his feet.
Jesus Christ, it was cold!