It was a pretty warm day in southern Colorado as I was hoping to catch a ride to Pueblo where they held the National High School Rodeo championships each year but in order to get there I had to traverse about 75 miles of high desert. I was spending another summer at my grandparent’s ranch on the high plains of eastern Colorado. Helping them tend to their horses and cattle as well as riding fence was becoming hardship duty for a horny young buck like me. There were no girls anywhere near their 186 acre spread in the middle of nowhere and of course none of the dirty books or other masturbation aids I relied on to get me through life back home. There were however cowboys. It was a cowboy culture, but on this particular day I was about to learn a new meaning for the term cowboy-up.
Lots of cars used Highway 50 to Pueblo, CO. Pueblo was where most of the people who lived on the ranches did their trading. Plus, folks would be coming from all over for the NFHS Rodeo. I was feeling good about my chances of getting a quick ride, and thought if I got lucky there might be a cute cow girl I could meet and hang out with at the rodeo grounds.
I placed my dusty Stetson hat atop my shoulder length blonde hair and pulled out the tube of sunscreen my grandmother insisted I always have with me whenever I got a yen to go anyplace. The old folks only had one serviceable vehicle, a 1950s vintage Ford pickup and so if I wanted a change of scenery the only mount available to me was Shank’s Mare.
Flat land dropped off at the horizon in all directions except due west where a 14,000 foot massif
Pikes Peak broke through flanked by its smaller cousin Cheyenne Mountain and to the southwest lofty Greenhorn Mountain. And although it was barely 11:00 am the sun was beating down hot and bright. I would have preferred wearing shorts since the forecast called for a mid-summer typical high temperature of 95. However, the unwritten rules of rodeo fashion forbade shorts or even sneakers, much less sandals.
There I stood thumb extended; facing back toward the stoplight that comprised much the entirety of the tumbleweed town where the county road intersected route 50. I was startled to hear a vehicle idle down behind me . Turning around, I saw a pickup truck pull up from the other direction slowing to a crawl. A guy wearing a cowboy hat himself in the driver’s seat gave me a serious looking over as he rolled by. Then, he sped back up and proceeded the half mile east or so to the convenience store where he pulled in.
Since I was turned in that direction I couldn’t help but notice he remained seated in his truck after making a call from the phone that hung on the front wall of the store. He continued to sit there for at least ten minutes until finally his backup lights came on, and he pulled back onto the road. Strangely, he didn’t romp down on the accelerator the way most people who had no intention of stopping did. I could almost feel his gaze and he drew nearer and then the same grin I had seen on his first pass came into clear view.
He stopped… right beside me and with a nod of his hatted head beckoned me to climb in. Country music was playing on the radio. Good country music. It was I recall T.G. Shepherd’s classic song, “I Loved ‘Em, Everyone.” The first thing I wanted to do was start singing along. I was a happy cowboy. I’d gotten a ride and I could just bet he was going to Pueblo, too.
“Howdy, cowboy!” He said with the closed-mouth smile you tend to see from cowboys who chew tobacco and eschew dentists. “Going Rodeo-in’?”
“Yes-siree,” I responded cheerfully, trying to assess this guy. Some thing told me that something wasn’t right. What was that thing
It was like when you walk into a room decorated early American and there sits an IKEA piece. He had the Tony Lama’s—snakeskin, very expensive. The cowboy cut jeans looked like they may have logged some hours in the saddle, but he was wearing a long brushed-cotton shirt that looked like it might have a different sort of man on a horse over the left breast. I couldn’t see from the passenger seat. Colorado was full of proverbial Coca-Cola Cowboys
. You know the original dudes.
The closest they get to bullshit is a bunch of guys sitting around trading stories.
So there we were two
dudes in drag heading for Pueblo.
Another strange thing was the way he looked at me. As I took off my hat and settled in, he drawled: “Well, shit, you’re a guy. I wasn’t sure there for a minute.” Again his eyes went up and down my body, and then he paused for an instant. “Dudn’t matter, Ah’m gonna fuck ya’ anyway.”
It took a second or so for that statement to sink in.
All the while he kind of stared at me, until he thankfully took a look at the road ahead. By now we were getting up to highway speed. No possibility of jumping out at that point. But hey, I wasn’t that kind of guy. Truth is I was more like his kind of guy.
I had been wondering when the day would come when a man with sex on his mind would stop and pick me up. By then I had logged about three experiences with females while hitchhiking, but when you consider all the admonishments kids get about predatory men on the roads I was beginning to think they were overblown.
I had some limited history with males and their sex organs. Obviously, I had played with my own pretty much every day once I had learned that stroking it when it is erect led to something very pleasurable. I always compared my cock to that of the guys in the showers at school after Phys. Ed or sports practice. . I was familiar with the warm feeling of a live shaft of flesh and blood in the palm of my hand with my fingers wrapped around it, and of course, the sensation of warm goo pouring onto your fist from above. I had repeatedly jerked off one of the guys in my class in the boys’ room and I had felt a weird sense of accomplishment when he would shoot his load into the urinal. He’s intends to fuck me.
I guess I kind of laughed when he made that statement. I also got a swarm of butterflies in my stomach. That feeling of anticipation one usually doesn’t associate with rape but I have now come to associate it with wild, accidental sex.
The dude was driving with just his right hand on the wheel, giving me quick glances while I nervously sat over in the passenger seat trying to avoid his looks. Out of the corner of my eyes I saw his left hand doing something around his lap. No sooner had I processed that image that out popped an erect penis.
“Hey Cowboy, whaddya think of this”
Since I had been a life-long pecker-peeper I was compelled to look. What I saw caused a reaction. Maybe my eyes got big or I gasped or something but he could tell I liked what I saw.
What wasn’t there to like. Just two feet away was a hard, throbbing, handful of flesh and fiber that I found myself drawn to like a moth to a flame. It was a wonderful sight. It was thick but not too thick. It was long but not too long. The head at the top was bright red sporting a nice big slit out of which I hoped would shoot some pearly white cum. There was no excess flesh under that shapely head, no veins bulging, just a smooth perfectly-shaped sex tube that I don’t think a diesel dyke could resist.
He yanked the car off to the side of the road and onto the hard scrabble alongside the road
Any chance I might have had to bail out on a Lord-only-knows-how-this- will-turn-out situation probably would entail a long walk back to town and surely went out the cracked passenger side window with my reaction to his lascivious effrontery. But neither did I react or recoil the way most guys would. I knew I wanted to touch that tree trunk, and so did he.
“Slide on over here and wrap your hand around this.” He took his left hand away and left that glorious cock proudly standing there. It was almost like I heard beckon me. I coyly pondered the possibilities for a second or so (a cowboy has his pride you know) and then took a quick peek out the back window. There was no one behind us. And there were no oncoming cars. We were probably safe where we were.
Nowadays my head would be on that cock within ten seconds, but back then I was still discovering the pleasures of same-sex play. Nevertheless I was pretty eager to do what he suggested.
In an instant I was there beside him like his high school sweetheart, and that warm meat was in the palm of my left hand. It was delightful. I estimated it to measure at least 7 inches as my fist from bottom to top is about 4 inches and that truncheon would have taken two fists to completely cover. Just the head by itself was probably 2 inches in length.
“Let me feel what you’ve got,” he whispered. His right hand went down to my lap where it immediately found my own swollen member. “Oh,” another guttural whisper came from deep in his throat. “Why don’t you take that out for me?”
I’m thinking Well, at least he’s as queer as I am.
That meant I Had to take my hand off of that warm piston but only long enough to liberate my own turgid dick. And he wasted no time in encircling my unit with his rough calloused palm.
One, then two cars passed where we had stopped, going the opposite direction, but none seemed to notice. With my long blonde hair and clean shave I guess I looked like his blond girlfriend to someone speeding by.
There we were side-by-side, two cowboys blissfully fondling each other’s genitals alongside a busy highway. I was pleasuring him and know it was all he could do not to throw his head back and close his eyes in pleasure. Especially once I started working his frenulum cluster at the base of the head with the thumb and forefinger of my right hand. He was going on and on half speaking, half verbalizing while his experienced right hand was doing me so well that I started to feel on the verge of an orgasm. I had enough experience to know that cumming brings things to an abrupt end with guys and I wanted to take this further.
His breaths were now coming in short gasps and that bulbous head was moist from pre-cum. I suspected that he was getting as close as I was. But I kept pounding that magnificent meat eagerly awaiting the gusher that I knew it would give up. He turned on his directional light as the scale shack of the old weighing station came into view though there was nobody to alert. There were no cars neither coming at us nor creeping up from behind.
He couldn’t pull that truck off the highway fast enough. The right hand shifted the truck into park, while the left hand found the button to move the seat back. We both probably had the same idea, at about the same instant. “Lay back on the seat.” I immediately complied and pushed my jeans and underwear down around my boots. My back hit the door handle or something equally uncomfortable but I soon put that out of mind. With a sudden move he dove to the right and in a flash I felt a warm mouth and a swirling tongue on my hot cock. This guy was incredible. He was a real cocksucker, by far the best I’d ever experienced.
Things progressed rapidly. I felt the truck vibrate as a semi-truck rolled by and there was a whoosh or two made by passing cars, but that was all somewhere out in the ether. These two cowboys were in ecstasy and had a curious sheriff happened along we’d have been sucking cock in the county jail that night.
He’d thrown his hat into the foot well and I had his head in my hand, half encouraging his mouth and half urging him to slow down. “Stop, stop!” I shouted, “I want to suck your cock.” I had never as yet sucked a cock but I wanted the first one to be that cowboy’s beautiful penis. I could have just let the building orgasm wash over me and risk having to finish him once I myself was sated. That idea didn’t appeal to me.
He swiftly lifted his head off my cock, which was a very welcome break from what was getting to be pretty intense. He shifted his feet in my direction and I took it from there. I grasped that wonderful tool with my right hand and lowered my head toward his lap, pausing for just a second to drink in the sight of that mighty male scimitar. I remembered to roll my lips inward to cover my teeth and opened wide. I used my right hand to control the intake until I managed to relax my throat and overcome the gag reflex that all who suck cock must control. Soon I was taking the entire length of it in my mouth freeing my hand to cup his big manly balls and caress them. I was really digging it. It all felt right, sort of like it was something I had a knack for.
His balls had been drawn up into his belly so far only a portion of each sphere could be felt. “Oh man, you’re going to make me cum.” I knew that instinctively, I think a man instinctively knows exactly where the hotspots are on a cock just as nobody knows how to eat pussy like a bisexual woman. The only way I wanted to respond was to that was to emit an approving groan and keep earning my reward.
I didn’t have to wait for long.
His warm syrup hit the back of my throat and soon coated my uvula. I could actually feel it drip down to the tongue below where the salty tangy taste buds are located. The sensation was so stimulating that I wanted to stop time and feel that sensation forever. I relaxed my mouth and let my throat swallow when my oral cavity filled to capacity. After a couple more quick swallows thanks to my swirling tongue I rolled my head off his prick and onto his firm but supple belly. The pungent smell of expelled semen filled the truck cab and the pheromones were thick, but I was yet to pop off.
There was still tightness in my groin and I was so full of testosterone I would have fucked one of the prairie dogs scampering around out in the field outside the truck. I leaned back in the seat arched my back and started pumping away. Then came the tingle. He could see my face flush as an orgasm starting washing me away. All control was gone. It was on and getting hotter and more pressurized by the millisecond.
“Turn towards me! Right now man, I want it.” He said while at the same time he grabbed my left butt cheek and turned my trunk. He was strong, and experienced.
By the time we managed to get my hips rotated my cock head exploded blowing out a long white thread of spunk. It caught him on the cheek before he was able to get his mouth around it. Though he managed to salvage all there was left and send it on its way toward his innards with two audible swallows. Still my hips kept pumping my cock into his face. Spent, I collapse forward muttering an incoherent mixture of shits
and oh mans
. I had to grab on to the steering wheel in order to keep from falling onto his back.
Some I lifted myself off him and fell back toward the passenger seat. Meanwhile he was still there, his knees on the seat, supporting himself with both hands. Once he had lifted his head I was able to see a stream of faded white goo dripping down his cheek. It didn’t stay there for long. With one quick motion he wiped it with his right hand and stuck the jism- laden fingers in his mouth. He smacked his lips with approval and then flashed me a warm, appreciative smile.
“Oh, man, WOW that was fucking amazing. “ He fixed a gaze on me and then said almost in disbelief: “What’s your name, man?”
TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 2…
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<a href="https://www.lushstories.com/stories/first-time/sexhitching-diary-my-first-time-and.aspx">Sexhitching Diary: My First Time AND the Rodeo</a>