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'52 Panhead is my second effort at long fiction. The first was Stonegate Stables, over on Nifty in gay/relationships, July 2007. Jeff and Evan and the other characters in '52 Panhead are figments of my overworked imagination and shouldn't be confused with any living, breathing people.

There is a fair amount of graphic same-sex sex in this story, so bail out now if you need to by law or personal preference. Having said that, this is by no means a stroke story; it's the story of four men and the gradual development of their intertwined relationships. They just happen to have a lot of sex while they're developing those relationships.

'Panhead' refers to an engine configuration that Harley Davidson produced between 1948 and 1965. The Panhead in this story was manufactured in 1952, the year I was born. http://www.panheadparts.com/panhead_harley-davidson_1.html

Many thanks to David of Hope, and, as always, to Steve. Love you.

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The guttural throb of the '52 Panhead pulsed through the still air of the old garage. I scooted my ass back on the seat to put my feet up on the highway pegs, grabbed the bars, and imagined I was flying down the road, putting the miles behind me. Several of us rented space in the red brick historical building - mostly guys into old cars, but a few with bikes, like me. This particular mid-January night at a little after eight, I was alone.

After a moment, I thought I heard something in the stroked motor and slid forward so I could listen better. My crotch made contact with the gas tank, and the growl of the engine vibrated my balls and dick right through my jeans. I scooched a little further up so that the base of the tank pressed just below my nuts, and after a few moments, I had a pretty good hard-on going.

Just as I shoved a hand down my jeans to straighten out my dick, a low voice asked, "Am I interrupting something?" A guy was standing at the edge of the light cast by my fluorescent. "Wouldn't want to come between a man and his Harley." His voice was deep and there was humor behind the words.

"Uh..... no" I stammered, yanking my hand out of my pants. "Thought I heard something in the motor." Turning off the engine, I slid back on the seat and faced him. "Lookin' for somebody?"

"Nope, just heard the bike. Sounded like a stroker and thought I'd take a look. Early '50s Pan?"

"Yeah, '52. And it is a stroker - 84 inch."

I looked at him more closely, but he was mostly in shadow, and all I could see were the polished toes of a pair of black wing tips. It was an odd moment - him standing silently just out of sight, me watching him - and something about it seemed almost familiar. I waved him closer with my hand, and after a slight hesitation, he stepped into the light.

Christ, he was gorgeous. He was wearing dark suit slacks that fit him well, with the jacket slung over his shoulder; the loose tie hanging from his unbuttoned shirt collar made me instantly think about undressing him further. He looked to be a few inches taller than my 5'10", with black hair curling over the collar of his shirt. His face was strong, his jaw a little heavy and dark with five o'clock shadow. More black hair peeked out of the neck of his white t-shirt, sprinkled the backs of his hands, and disappeared up his forearms into his rolled up sleeves.

He was lean, with the leggy, broad shouldered body of a swimmer in contrast to my heavier, more muscular build. The slacks hugged his thighs as he squatted down by my leg near the back of the bike. He had a nice package going in his trousers, and I gave it a considering look while he was checking out the pipes.

Glancing up at me as he stood, he held my gaze a split second longer than necessary, then wandered over to the bench, looking at the tools I had scattered around. My tool was responding to him, stretching its way up my belly as I watched him. When he picked up a torque wrench and ran his fist leisurely up and down the stainless steel shaft, my cock hardened so quickly that I groaned.

He shot me another glance, put the wrench down, and as he began walking toward the door, I realized he had a slight limp. When he passed me, he reached out a hand to touch the gas tank right where my balls had been. For a wild moment I thought he was gonna grab my crotch, but he kept walking, and when he brought his hand back, his arm brushed across my belly as he passed me. At his touch, my gut clenched tight and my dick jerked.

I sat there staring at the door as the sound of his foot steps faded away. Jesus, I hadn't reacted to someone that strongly in years. I have a pretty active sex life - mostly with a few guys I know, and occasionally with a guy I don't - but shit, this dude turned me inside out in less than five minutes, and he was gone before I had the wits to get his name, number, or any other damn thing.

Fuck.

I cleaned up and put my tools away, stopping to run my hand up and down the torque wrench, wanting to feel what he'd felt in those few seconds. As I gripped the wrench, I looked across the circle of light to where he'd stood, remembering again the odd feeling I'd gotten. I tried to put my finger on it, but finally shook my head in frustration, unable to nail exactly what I'd felt.

I had a beer when I got home, sitting at the kitchen table with the dog at my feet. Since my cock was still half hard from my encounter with the mystery man, I unzipped my jeans. Knowing it was about to get some attention, my dick came fully to life, pushing insistently up my belly. I closed my eyes as I kneaded my nuts, thinking about the contours of the bulge in his trousers.

I'm a leaker, and by the time I moved my hand to my cock, the front of my shorts was wet with precum. I slicked it down my pole and started stroking, tightening my fist over my cock head each time until I was right on the edge. Then I pulled my t-shirt up, tweaking my nipples for a few minutes while I finished the beer. Once, when my dick bobbed frantically up from my belly, desperate for relief, the dog tipped his head and gave it a quizzical look.

Finally, I put the empty on the table and got back to business, gripping my balls in one hand as I stroked quickly with the other. Less than a minute later I was spewing cum onto my bare chest, a couple hard shots followed by several long drizzles, panting all the while. When I was good and drained, I wiped up with a napkin and went in to bed.

You know how sometimes you get a terrible yen for something, but you're not even sure what it is? One of those longings that makes it tough to fall asleep, and nibbles at the edge of your thoughts when you're stuck on hold or sitting in traffic? Well, I had it bad. The next few weeks I was restless and irritable, and I had no fucking clue what the problem was, except I figured it had something to do with this guy. Night after night, I found myself glancing at the door every time someone came in, but Fate is a moody bitch, and he didn't show, so finally I quit looking.

January petered out in gray, rainy days that drained the sky of color and reminded me of his eyes, the little I'd seen of them. February started out the same, but improved steadily, so that by the 18th, the sun was out more than not, and the trees were starting to think about greening up.

Around 10pm, when I'd almost convinced myself I'd never see him again, I heard boots headed my way. They were just a little uneven, barely enough to notice, but I heard it. I didn't turn around, just kept wiping my hands on a rag - but my dick stirred and I knew it was him. The boots stopped a few feet away, and my heart thumped real hard against my ribs a few times before I put down the rag and turned slowly to face him. He was standing just inside the light, his eyes roaming over my face, stopping on my mouth for a moment, then coming back up to meet my gaze. Tonight he was wearing black jeans, a snug white t-shirt, and a pair of well-used Doc Martens, and he looked even better than he had the first night.

That odd sensation swept through me again, and I thought, This. This is what I want.

I wasn't sure what the hell he was doing back here again, I just knew I was glad to see him. We looked at each other for a few tense seconds. He didn't seem inclined to move from his patch of concrete so, finally, I leaned back against the bench and spread my feet in invitation. He studied my boots for a moment like he was thinking about it, then stepped between my legs. Now we were staring at each other from a foot apart, and my heart rate went nuts again when he licked his lips.

The anticipation was killing me, but there was something going on here, something I didn't want to disturb, so I didn't grab him and shove my tongue down his throat like I wanted to; I just stood there and waited for him while my dick leaked into my sweaty underwear.

Our gaze held as he tilted his head and leaned slowly toward me, closing his eyes a split second before our lips met. Oh, my God. We weren't touching anywhere else - just our mouths - and there was so much going on in those first few seconds that my knees started to shake. I clenched my hands into fists as something moved in the pit of my stomach, something I'd never felt before and couldn't put a name to.

Jesus, this guy could kiss. His lips were soft and warm against mine, and his tongue was hard, probing my mouth insistently. When the kiss wound down, I pulled my head back slightly, took a shaky breath, and demanded, "What the fuck is your name?"

He chuckled, a low, throaty 'heh-heh-heh' that stirred the something deep in my belly again. "Evan. Yours?"

"Jeff." I smiled back at him. "Where'd you learn to kiss like that?"

Instead of replying, he kissed me again, and this time I was ready for him. When we broke apart, we were breathing hard and he was rubbing his dick through his jeans. I reached down and pushed his hand aside, shoving my fingers deep between his legs and pulling his whole package forward, squeezing gently.

"Oh, yeah," he groaned softly and leaned into me, his hands braced on my chest, and then he bit my neck hard enough to make my dick lurch.

I pushed him back a step, far enough to yank his belt apart, popped the buttons down his 501s like I was being timed, and stuck my hand in his pants. His cock sprang up to meet me, slapping into my hand with an enthusiastic smack. He snorted in amusement as he moved his hands to my nipples, working them gently through my t-shirt.

I pushed his underwear down so that I could see him. His cock was beautiful - dark pink, lean and toned like the rest of his body, with a head larger than the shaft. Just the way I like 'em. He didn't have a porn star cock, huge and veiny; instead it was just average sized, a little smaller than mine, which was kind of reassuring since the rest of him was so delicious. His black bush was trimmed, and his balls were hairless, heavy ovals that hung low over the front of his jeans when I lifted them free.

My left hand jerked his cock steadily while I undid my own pants and sank to my knees in front of him. As I buried my face in his crotch, he ran his fingers through my hair, then cupped his hand around my head, and slid his other hand up his chest. I sucked on his balls and licked his belly, occasionally running my tongue up his dick. The smell of him was potent and it worked on me like a drug, blotting everything else from my mind.

While I was circling the tip of his cock with my tongue, he was watching my mouth with an expression close to pain on his face. I slowed down and waited til his eyes shifted up to mine. After a second, his face softened a little and he blinked at me, so I got back to business. When I got serious about sucking his cock, he spread his feet and gripped the edge of the bench. As he got into it, he began fucking my mouth, so I got a finger wet, then reached deep and poked it in his ass.

He let out a strangled cry and began to pump hard, ramming himself down my throat, his nails leaving marks in the bench. I swallowed the first shot, then spit his cock out and finished him by hand. His second and third shots hit me in the chest, and the rest pulsed out over my fingers and dripped onto the floor, making little white puddles on the dusty concrete.

I wiped my mouth as I got to my feet, then hoisted myself up onto the bench. I was rock hard and leaking precum like crazy, so I sat there slowly stroking and dripping while he got his breath back. Finally, he turned to me and said, "Where the fuck did you learn to suck cock like that?" - a parody of my earlier question. I just grinned at him and he turned toward me, replacing my hand with his own on my dick. He let out a quick breath and looked down. "Fuck, dude, you're hung."

He looked into my eyes for a second, then back at my dick, shaking his head slightly. He growled softly as he ran his hand up and down, the engorged veins of my penis pulsing in his fist. His other hand wandered over my chest, and when he had me twisting into his hands and moaning, he slid his tongue out of my mouth and bent to my cock.

In my not-so-humble opinion, a really good mouth is better than an asshole every time, especially if the guy pays attention. Then he can fine tune things and just blow you away, no pun intended.

Well, Evan paid attention, and by the time I was ready to shoot, my toes were cramped, my molars ached, and the muscles in my ass were clenched so tight I was trembling. He stayed with me as I unloaded and I could see his throat working, trying to keep up with me. When he lifted his head, my cum glistened at one corner of his mouth. Fuck, I almost came again just lookin' at him. I pulled him to me, licked it off, then kissed him, tasting us both.

When I figured my knees would hold, I pushed him back a little and hopped off the bench, stuffing my dick back in my pants and zipping up as I headed for the fridge. When I got back with two long necks, he was sitting bare-assed on the bench where I'd been, his jeans puddled on top of the Docs, looking down at his hands. I handed him a beer and hopped up next to him, putting a hand on his leg and giving him a squeeze. He swung his head toward me and said, "Thanks" softly, smiling at me a little. I didn't know if he was thanking me for the beer or the blow job, so I just nodded.

"I been hoping you'd come back. I was pissed that I hadn't asked your name or anything." I stopped, feeling like a virgin teenager with a schoolboy crush. "Anyway... fuck. I'm glad you're here."

Jesus, Jeff. I rolled my eyes at myself and looked away in disgust, wishing to Christ he'd say something. The silence stretched out, and finally my nerves started to go, so I lift my hand off his leg, but just then he curled his fingers over mine and squeezed hard.

I turned back to him, meeting his mouth as he kissed me long and deep. He slid my hand slowly up his leg until I was palming his cock, which was about half hard. Holding my hand in place, he pushed up into it, groaning as the pressure increased and he got harder. He was still kissing me, his groan vibrating into my mouth, when I felt his hand on my fly. He pulled my cock out and started stroking me slowly, his hand warm and snug, and it felt fucking great.

After a few minutes, I slid off the bench and tugged on his dick until he hopped off next to me.

"Lose the jeans," I ordered.

My voice was rough with arousal, and I dropped my pants as he quickly untied the Docs, toed them off and stepped out of his 501s. I put both arms around him, running one hand up behind his neck and spreading the other low on his back. He worked my nipples with one hand and kissed me as he stroked my dick slowly.

I slid my hand down, grabbing a handful of his hard, round butt, and then slid a finger into the crack of his ass. He clenched for a second, then spread his feet a little more and leaned into me so I could reach him easier.

His asshole was warm and soft, still a little wet from our first round, but I pulled my finger back and shoved it in his mouth next to my tongue. We loaded it with spit and I slid it in more gently this time, rubbing just behind his balls with my other fingers. It wasn't long before he was pushing back against my hand, so I loaded him up with another finger, and after a minute he broke the kiss to rest his forehead on my shoulder, breathing hard.

Turning his face to my neck, he said softly, "I want you to fuck me," his breath hot on my skin. "I gotta see what that thing feels like in my ass."

Don't have to ask me twice. I jiggled my fingers in him, making him first gasp, then groan with pleasure. "I was hoping you'd say that," I replied.

Turning him toward the bike, I watched while he climbed on, standing on the pegs. I slid on behind him and pushed him forward til his head was out over the headlight and his ass was in the air. The view from where I was sitting was spectacular, and I admired it for a moment. The dark pink weight of his balls swung between his long legs, and his round white ass just begged me to bite it, so I did, making him jump a little and chuckle again, 'heh-heh.' He reached back between his legs and dragged a finger across his hole a couple times, then cupped his nuts in his palm and stretched them down. That little show got my attention, and I buried my face in his ass.

Evan moaned when I ran my tongue from his balls up to his hole and circled a couple times. While I worked on his butt, flicking my tongue, then sucking my way down to his nuts, he jerked his dick slowly, a thin strand of precum hanging from the tip, making a shiny pinstripe down the side of the rusty tank.

Grabbing his hips, I pulled Evan back toward me until his asshole hit the tip of my cock, and then I eased up to let him control the action. He kept coming slowly until the head of my dick popped past the tight ring of his pucker. Taking several deep breaths, he slid down another couple inches, then a little more, until pretty soon his ass was settled against my belly. I gripped his shoulders and pulled him slowly back against my chest, wrapping my arms around him as he relaxed. His heart was pounding hard and he was shaking a little.

"You ok?" I said softly.

"Yeah," he replied in an unsteady voice. "Just give me a second."

He sat still for a couple minutes before sliding his hand down to touch where my dick entered him. I could feel his fingers tracing around his hole, then down my cock to stroke my balls lightly. My cock flexed inside him, making us both grunt with pleasure, and I could see him smile a little.

He began to move then, rising up about half way and sinking slowly back onto my cock. About every fifth time, he'd go clear up til just the head of my dick was still inside him, then he'd make several short, quick strokes, gripping me tight with his ass muscles.

I took that as long as I could, then grabbed him around the waist, and held him down tight in my lap, gritting my teeth in concentration. When he gave me a questioning look over his shoulder, I shook my head. "That's too good."

I stood up, lifting him with me, pushing him forward, and wrapped my hands around the front of his thighs. I pulled my hips back, then yanked him back against me, driving my cock deep. He gasped and dropped his head, pulling himself a little farther forward over the bars as I started pounding into him, fucking him hard. I watched my cock slide in and out of his ass, and felt my balls banging into his. His dick was slapping up against his belly with every thrust, slinging precum all over the tank, and the wet, smacking sound it made finally tripped my trigger.

"I'm gonna... pop," I managed to grind out before I held him tight against me and froze for a second, just on the edge. He clamped his ass tight as my nuts emptied into him. When he felt my dick pulsing, he gave his cock a couple quick pumps. His first shot cleared the bars and landed out in front of the bike. By the time he was finished, cum trickled down both sides of the tank and pooled in the indentation around the gas cap.

My knees collapsed and I pulled him down with me, my dick still in his ass.

"Jesus H. fucking Christ," he muttered as he leaned back against me. We sat there til my dick softened and slid free, then we both got off the bike and cleaned up with a couple of shop rags. We dressed silently, and when he had his boots back on, he stood up, took my chin in his hand, and kissed me. Pulling away, he looked into my eyes for a long moment, his face expressionless, then turned and walked to the door.

Just as he reached the threshold, he stopped and looked back over his shoulder at me.

"Maybe I'll see you again," he said mysteriously, stepped through the doorway, and was gone.

I stood there like a dumb fuck, lost in a post-orgasmic daze, until it hit me that I still hadn't gotten his Goddamn phone number.

Fuck!

* * *

The next few months passed slowly. I thought a lot about that night in the garage, about who he was, and if I'd ever see him again. I jerked off to those memories every night for weeks, but none of my orgasms even began to approach what I'd felt with Evan. After a while, the whole thing started to take on a dream-like quality, and I began to lose the finer details of his face and voice, no matter how hard I tried to see him in my mind's eye.

But I worked steadily on the Pan and made good progress. I liked being at the garage; I felt closer to him there, and teased myself with imagining him walking through the door. What would he say? What would I do? Would we have anything to talk about, or was it all about fucking?

Not so long ago, I'd have been fine with it being all about fucking, but now... now, I wanted something else, something more.

* * *

The first weekend of May it was warm enough to ride without bundling up like Nanook of the fucking North, so I hit the road. The wind pounded into me as I flew along the old blacktop road, flattening my t-shirt against my chest. The muscles of my arms and chest and belly tightened as I held the big bike into the curve, leaning the machine over as the engine growled its way up the incline. The mountains were spectacular this time of year - a million shades of green - and I had blown out of the city early, hungry for some solitude. Although it was a Friday, the café at the halfway point was fairly empty, only a few tourists up and about. I filled up on blueberry pancakes, bacon, and cold milk, then hopped back on the bike and motored on up the hill.

The stroked engine sounded even better out here in the open than it had back in the garage in town. I'd put eight months and probably too much money into the restoration, but my dick got hard every time I looked at her, so I figured it was worth it. The paint job I'd thought up one night after a few beers and a mediocre blow job from a nameless trick looked as good on the bike as it had in my head. At first glance, the bike just looked dark purple, but if you took a minute and let your eyes roam over the tank, you realized there were images in the paint, suggestions of a muscled arm, the taut tendon of a strong neck, the edge of a stubbled jaw.

It was a man, looking back over his shoulder. It was the face of a man I'd met twice, a face that I saw in my dreams on those nights it took me forever to fall asleep. In the dreams, he'd appear suddenly, as he did the second time in the garage. I'd been dreaming about him for five months now, but it was still a surprise when he came around the corner, or stepped into the room, or whatever the dream scenario was this time. There was some sort of connection between us, cause I always knew he was there just before I glanced up at him, although the dreams were silent.

I looked forward to the dreams so that I could see him again, but they were frustrating because I couldn't touch him in them, and I loved touching him the one time we were together. His skin was warm and smooth where it lay over the tight ripples of his stomach; his cock was silk over warm steel, and the feel of it pulsing in my hand was a memory I tormented myself with on the nights I couldn't sleep at all. When I closed my eyes, I could feel his mouth on mine, the softness of his lips backed by the hard press of his teeth, and the tongue that made something deep in my gut come alive for the first time.

I woke up from those dreams with my cock so hard it hurt, my stomach in knots, covered in the precum that his memory always caused to ooze from my slit. It slicked my hand when I stroked myself, eyes closed to hold on to the feel of the dream as long as possible. It didn't take me long to climax, but I always tried to stretch it out because I was never sure when I'd dream about him again. I was so fuckin' scared that each one would be the last, and then he'd be lost to me forever.

I dreamed of him last night, and the emptiness I felt this morning chased me from the house. His memory was so closely tied to the Pan that riding it was bittersweet, but today it felt good - I was smiling as I blasted down a short straight, braking into the next switchback. I was pretty far up the mountain now and hadn't seen a car in miles. The trees flashed by in a blur of greens and browns, and I slowed a little to take in the beauty of the mountain in spring. A park service sign caught my eye - Parker Falls, two miles. Why not, I thought. I had no where to go and all day to get there, so I made the turnoff and rode slowly down the narrow dirt road until I reached a small parking area.

There was another bike parked already, a new Fat Boy with bags, and I almost turned around and left. I wanted solitude today, not some loudmouth biker wrecking my mood, but I stopped anyway and sat there for a moment after I turned off the engine, listening to the sudden silence. There were several trail signs, all leading eventually to the falls, so I took the one that looked least traveled. The woods were quiet and still, just the occasional squirrel chattering at me from a treetop, pissed that someone had the balls to hike around in his forest. I was wandering along, looking off into the trees, when I realized I could hear the falls. I glanced up and stopped dead in my tracks.

A shirtless man leaned against the fence at the edge of a drop off, and as he looked back over his shoulder at me, I felt a cold chill; it was the painting on my tank, the face from my dreams, the man I had begun to think I'd only imagined. He wore his black jeans low on his hips with the Docs I remembered from before. His hair was a little shorter, his eyes pale; his bare back was a smooth expanse of pale skin over well-defined muscle. His face was still as he watched me, and I swear to Christ I wasn't sure if he was real or not.

I stared at him for a full minute before I dared walk closer to him. He watched me approach, his eyes roaming over my face, and a slow smile began to widen his mouth. I stopped a few feet from him, looking into his eyes, seeing again the things about him that had attracted me from the first - those amazing grey eyes, the squarish jaw, the full mouth. He hadn't taken his shirt off the one time we were together, and now I could see the firm curves across his shoulders, the harder angles of his chest defined by a light dusting of black hair fanning out to small, dark nipples. A fine trail of dark curls fell past his navel, dropping down into his jeans to spread into the trimmed bush of his crotch, which I remembered in cock-hardening detail.

My heart rate had increased the instant I saw him, and now my blood was hammering at every pulse point in my body. I reached out a not quite steady hand and ran my fingertips down the firm curve of his upper arm. He was warm and solid - a real man, not a mirage conjured up by my desperate imagination. His smile widened, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and I smiled in return, stunned at having found him here, in this unlikely place.

I opened my mouth to speak, but had to swallow and lick my lips before I could get a word out. "Evan. What... why didn't you ever come back?"

"Because I needed you to find me," he replied cryptically in the deep voice I remembered so well, raising a hand to grasp my wrist firmly. "And you did. You did. It's really good to see you again, Jeff."

His words broke something free in me and I stepped forward, grabbing his shoulders, pulling him to me and kissing him hard, three months of need making me rougher than I meant to be, but he met me with the same bruising passion, fisting one hand in my shirt and gripping the back of my neck with the other. We fought through the kiss, hungry for each other in a way I'd never been for someone. When we broke apart, breathing hard, I pressed my forehead to his, eyes closed, jaw tight, fighting for control. Month after month of longing, the surprise of finding him here, the potency of our kiss - all had me at the ragged edge, and I could feel my knees shaking as I clung to him.

I pulled back a little, looking at him for a moment before kissing him again, more gently this time, drawing it out, tasting him, moaning into his mouth when his tongue slid across mine. He ran his hands down my back and under my shirt, pulling it up and over my head as we broke apart for a second. His spread hands kneaded the muscles of my chest, pausing to stub a thumb across my nipple, tightening it and shooting little thrills to my nuts.

The feel of his long back under my hands was familiar, although it had been months since I'd touched him, and then only briefly; but still, I knew how the furrow of his spine would feel as my fingers slid down it, down into the waist of his jeans and onto the upper slope of his round ass. If I had any doubts that the man in my arms was flesh and blood, my cock sure as hell didn't, surging wildly up my belly to press uncomfortably against my jeans.

We kissed for several minutes, grinding against each other, our hands becoming more insistent as we explored each other's bodies. I thumbed open the top two buttons of his fly, then slid a hand down the front of his jeans, bumping immediately into the slippery head of his cock. He sucked in a breath and quickly opened his pants, shoving my hand between his legs to cup his balls. He closed his fingers over mine, squeezing his nuts hard, shuddering a little.

He exhaled and let go of my hand, wrapping his around the back of my head and pulling me to him. His skin was faintly salty when I ran my tongue up the center of his chest to the hollow of his throat, kissing the soft skin there. When I circled his belly button and nipped his taut stomach, he groaned and closed his fingers in my hair. I chewed on his nipple for a moment, and then tugged his jeans to mid-thigh, running my hands up his legs to grab his ass, feeling his muscles tense as he swayed slightly.

As I ran my tongue up the underside of his cock, a fat, clear drop of precum oozed from his slit. After watching it for a second, I scooped it up with the tip of my tongue and moved slowly back until it shimmered between us; then I sank my mouth down on him. He gave a long, open-mouthed groan and dropped his head back onto his shoulders, leaving one hand behind my head and lowering the other to his balls, rolling them in his fingers as I sucked him, holding them in his palm for me to lick.

As I blew him, my hands roamed his backside. I ran my fingers down the valley of his ass, trailing them over his hole, as warm and soft as I remembered it. As I drew my fingers back up, he pushed his hips back slightly, and that unspoken invitation was all I needed. I tugged his jeans to his ankles just before he dropped to his knees to kiss me, then lay back in the grass and pulled his legs up to his chest. I looked at him for a moment, still astounded that we were together again.

His cock bobbed down to his belly with every beat of his heart, tugging at his balls each time, and a shiny thread of precum connected the matted hair of his stomach with the tip of his dick. I scooped my finger through it and touched it to his hole, using the slickness to ease into him. I moved my finger around to loosen him up a little, but he lifted his head and panted, "Fuck that, do it!" so I pulled my finger free and grabbed my dick. He bared his clenched teeth, growling softly as I pressed into him, bottoming out in one long stroke.

He let out a big sigh and relaxed around me, reaching for my wrists as I slid my hands up the backs of his thighs to push his legs further forward. I knew I wasn't gonna last long, so I angled for his prostate right from the get-go and smiled slightly when his moans rose in pitch. Sweat was dripping off my chin by the time his head arched back, and he came in three shuddering bursts that slathered the tight ripples of his belly with cum.

His ass muscles tightened on my cock as he came, pulsing around me, and I had to blow. I pulled out and hung over him on one arm as my cock fired load after load onto the damp, curly hair of his crotch. When I finally opened my eyes, he was watching me with a smoldering look on his face. I braced my other arm as he curled a hand around the back of my neck and pulled himself up to kiss me, his booted feet tangled up in his jeans between us.

By now it was late morning, pretty warm, and we were covered in cum, sweat, and dead grass. I pulled him to his feet and we hauled our jeans back up, then followed the noise of the water until we came out at the edge of the river just above the falls. Several big boulders made a quiet pool, so we stripped and waded in, grimacing a little at the chill of the water. We rinsed off quickly, then climbed onto a flat boulder and lay on our backs, letting the sun dry us. He reached out to hold my wrist loosely in his hand as he spoke. "What now?"

I rolled my head to him. "Come back to my place. I just live a couple blocks from the garage, so we can leave the bikes there. I'm not letting you get away so easy this time." He smiled, his eyes closed to the sun and gave my wrist a squeeze. "Besides, I haven't had a chance to feel that," I gave his soft dick a tug, "up my ass yet."

When his smile faded slightly, I asked, "You do fuck, don't you? I mean, if you don't, man, that's cool. You give great head, and I could fuck you all afternoon." I stroked him until he began to fill a little. "But I'd sure like to."

He sat up and gave me a tight smile. "Yeah, I fuck." He looked off into the woods. "You hungry?"

I let it go for now. "Sure, let's go."

We waded back to shore and dried off with our shirts, then walked back down the narrow trail with him in front. His limp was more pronounced now, and as I watched him gimp along, I wondered what had happened to him. The sight of his round ass in those tight black jeans gave me another hard-on which I rubbed as I thought about getting him home and into my bed, or at least as far as the living room floor.

Fifteen minutes later we were back at the bikes, shattering the silence of the woods with the blat-blat of the Pan and the throaty growl of the Fat Boy. On the ride back to town, I let him stay a little ahead of me, enjoying the sight of his shoulders and back muscles working as he negotiated the curvy road. His long legs were stretched out to the highway pegs, and the image of them pulled back to his chest as I stroked into him rolled around in my head as we rode.

I smiled to myself. I hadn't had a day this good in years, and it was barely noon.