Becoming a Good Buddy by Lil' Swine

During most of my youth, my father worked seventy hours or more hours a week to provide a childhood better than his own. A staunch, God-fearing Baptist, he was more a provider than role model. There were no brothers; no other relatives closer than seven hundred miles. Since my twelfth birthday, I worked for Dad and grew up without close friends of the same age.

It was no wonder, that John, the head mechanic at Dad’s garage was my role model and fantasy man. Rough, unpolished, yet considerate, he was twelve years my senior and helped me out of serious trouble more than once. Before Dad knew about how I fucked up the engine, John fixed my car. My Baptist father could not talk about sex, which John did, open, candidly and without embarrassment. Well over six feet by some three or four inches, and overtaken with thick dark down, more fur than hair, John was rarely clean-shaven. However, his beard could grow from clean-shaven to full in less than two weeks, over which dynamic and mischievous eyes shone brightly. Often John would let it grow so long, he resembled a member of ZZ Top, although a two day growth was seductive and compelling enough to cause my cock to swell and harden.

Large and ursine John always drove to work on his Harley. Once parked, mechanics coveralls replaced the oil stained jeans and black tee shirt, sometimes in my presence. If a casual stroll into the garage were timely, my reward would be the sight of his massive, furry body as he changed clothes. Once or twice, he noticed my hard-on, but only winked as he zipped up the coveralls. On those days, I spent part of the morning in the garage toilet jacking off to get it down.

One weekend, Dad spent most of the day away on business. I was fourteen and spent most of the afternoon with John, his wife and buddies. There was not much to do and the atmosphere more suited for a party than work. John smelled of beer mixed well with Jack Daniels and feeling no pain. With his buddies around, he put his hand up Cheryl’s shorts and fingered her. Then he let his friends do the same, after which ran his finger under my nose and said: "Maybe someday I’ll let you do more than smell it."

As I got older, we became more like brothers. John knew I had little time for fun, given my conservative upbringing, and offered to take me fishing. More often than not, these times usually involved his friends, resulting in a party and all types of mischief. When we did actually fish, I always made sure to have enough beer for John to guzzle down, so I could watch him piss. Even at this early age, I found the act both fascinating and stimulating.

On one such evening after much drinking, one of John’s buddies, previously unacquainted with, began to harass me because I was a kid. Since there were no women there that evening, he suggested I’d be the group’s bitch.

“Lay off or get the fuck out,” John told him. I had hoped for an opportunity to get to know the crew better. When the Hustlers’ Magazines went around, I witnessed many boners: hard-ons that I could only stare at.

The summer after I turned eighteen, John took me for a ride through the local national forest, the tramping ground for bikers and anyone looking for mischief. When on rough terrain, I would let one of my hands slip down from his waist, and fall into his crotch. Lifting my hand back to its original position, I made sure to brush along the shaft of his cock, tucked upwards and dressed right. The forest roads were isolated mazes with dirt paths, short cuts, and foot trails: lots of places where no one could find you.

We took a break to relieve ourselves. John saw me looking at his uncut meat as a beautiful yellow stream flowed to the ground. Milking the piss from his shaft, he turned to allow me a better view. His voice, rasping, but gentle broke the spell:

"Your a man now. You got a big dick to please 'em?"

I turned toward him: "Big enough I suppose. Bigger than yours it looks like." I told no lies about my own tool, although John was a well endowed. I finished and put away my hardening cock.

John sat back against a tree, pulled out a beer from his saddlebag. His visage took on an expression of earnestness. I sensed we were about to have a serious conversation.

“I know your Dad is uptight about many things. I suspect he has only told you to keep it in your pants until you’re married. You up to talking about what it’s really about.”

In shock, I remained silent. John opened the beer, which sprayed all over. "Has he talked to you about jackin’ off and how to please a cunt…” he paused, "…or a cock. "

Rebounding from astonishment, I answered: "You know my family as well as I do. What do you think my dad would tell me about fucking?" I evaded the part about pleasing a cock.

"Well, there are several types of women in the world. You approach them all differently, but you end up taking care of them the same way. You’ve seen how I treat Cheryl. Yeah, she is a real slut, but not much different from the cockteasers at that church you go to. Remember the day I stuck my finger in her, and then made you smell it? Don’t forget this: they all smell the same. Remember that!" He grinned at the memory of the day. “ I remember you took a deep whiff then got a boner."

"What the fuck did you expect me to do?" I said my hand on my swelling crotch.

"I guess you acted as I expected." He took a deep swig of his beer. "But what would you have done if just the three of us were in the room?"

Uncomfortable with the conversation since I knew this could be a breakthrough in my desires or an end to everything, I turned the tables back on him, and replied "I don’t know. What would you have done if it were just me, you, and Cheryl?"

"Ever tasted pussy before, boy?" he said in a deep rough voice. I shook my head no. "Ever tasted cock before?"

I hesitated and nodded yes in a slight, somewhat shameful manner.

"Nothing to be embarrassed about. We’ve all done it one time or another. My first time was when my uncle forced me. After a few times of that, I learned to take it… like a man. I also did it a many times during my year in jail. You get horny in a short time and learn you got to take care of each other." John popped open another beer, relaxed against the tree and continued.

I remained silent.

"You know Nate, the guy I was ready to throw out of my house a few years ago? He’s a good cock sucker. We were in the pen together and both got out about the same time. His old lady split with his kid and money so I let him crash at our place a few weeks. Man, was Cheryl pissed at me… until I made him take care of both of us.

My hard-on was raging at this point. John had made me feel comfortable enough to ask: “So you’ve done guys too?"

He nodded in a so-what kind of way then rubbed his tool.

"You must have noticed that I’ve been getting hard way too often when I help you pull motors,” I continued.

"Yeah, and I’ve seen you jacking off in the bathroom too." He said. "In case you didn’t know it, there’s a vent going from the men’s room to the parts room that looks directly down on the toilet. You mean you never caught my act."

"No" I replied. "Does that mean you wanted me to see it?"

John drank more beer, took a very deep breath: "Come over here boy. Sit down here beside me and let me tell you like it is."

His voice, gentle and soothing, was hypnotic. I sat beside him. The hand that held the beer rested on my shoulder; the other tugged at the zipper of his jeans.” We both know what we both want, don’t we? You know we ain’t leaving until it happens. So let’s start."

John pushed my head down toward his semi-erect meat, raising his hips to meet my mouth. Genuinely surprised when his cock slid all the way down my throated and swallowed completely, he gasped: “You have indeed done this before!”

I could taste a little headcheese. Not enough to make me gag, but sufficient to increase arousal. I laid my head in his lap, stroked his rod with my mouth, and worked the head of his dick in and out of his foreskin until it was rock hard.

I changed positions between his legs for a better angle to continue working that biker’s meat. My cock oozed fluid, ready to explode and dampened my denims.

"Not so fast boy," he ordered, "something this good should last." John stroked his dick a few times, and then instructed me to strip.

I took off my boots then shirt. I could tell John enjoyed watching me. Before my pants were undone he said, "Hold it. Come over here." His massive hands on my soaked jeans, John grabbed my cock and squeezed hard. This was the first time he had touched me there. Only in my dreams had my rod felt his iron grip, and now real, an electric shiver ran through my spine.

"Get the rest of your fuckin’ clothes off," John panted.

Belt unbuckled, jeans unzipped fell down around my ankles. Stepping out of my denims, I bent to fold them when John tossed them away and growled: "Don’t worry about the God damn pants! Don’t think about anything but what I want, damn it. And get those fuckin’ socks off too."

I did as he said, and knelt between his legs back to worshiping his cock, the cock I had wanted to taste for years. John nudged me away and stood up. This was the first time I had been on my knees while he stood in front of me. He was a giant, god-like and all-powerful. As he pulled the thermal shirt over his head, I admired his Harley insignia tattoo barely visibly through the dark, matted fur that covered his shoulder blade. After tossing his shirt toward the tree, his gaze traveled from me, to his cock, then at his massive arms as he flexed them.

"Relax, now it’s my turn to show you how it is."

He pushed me so that I was lying on his shirt. The smell of his sweaty armpits rose from the shirt, filling my nostrils. My cock pointed skyward in anticipation of the touch of his hot, wet mouth.

John grabbed my balls then suddenly shifted position. His thick legs pinned my arms, and his dick hung over my mouth. Beads of sweat lined his forehead, his breath in staccato gasps:

"You’re a good cock sucker, but I like to be in control."

He took a drink of his beer, then another. He spewed the last of his beer in my face, followed by two sausage-like fingers down my throat. "If you’re going to hang around with me anymore," he grunted, "you’re going to have to earn your keep." With that, he slid his cock in my mouth while sliding his fingers out. He thrust in, then out. I was able to keep up with what he gave. Once deep inside my mouth, his cock filled my throat for what seemed an eternity. When I started to choke, John said, "Don’t even think about it."

I could not help it. I gagged and went to spew. John kept his massive tool down deep in my belly, which prevented me from losing it. After seconds of sadistic pleasure, he eased up and I regained breath. Slowly, he began to fuck my throat. Taste was the sweet salt of his preliminary emissions; touch the perspiration falling from his forehead, neck and chest, onto my face. Finally, smell, the musky scent of his ass, which burned my nostrils. All senses utilized, my head drifted among clouds of passion.

John removed his dick from my mouth, but continued to fuck my throat with his fingers. I eagerly swallowed the taste of his greasy nails. Turning around, he released my arms, his cock again deep in my throat, my belly, its destination. John’s fingers were now probing my ass. Not having been fucked before, his fingers were not welcomed there. This, however, was no deterrent to John. Three fingers began working my virgin butt. His mammoth cock plunged deeper into my throat, his manly frustrations acting out on my more than willing body. Again, I started to gag. This time he was merciful and pulled out.

"You’re doing good. Actually very good. And you will never be the fuckin’ same again."

This remark had me worried, but what could I do? He moved a little forward so his legs were once again trapping my arms. His ass was over my mouth and he said, "Make love to it. Make love to it just like you did my cock."

The smell was addictive while sucking him, but this less than fresh ass was now in my face. This was new territory for me. My tongue lightly licked around his hole. After a few minutes, I either got used to the taste or had licked it all off. I had a prime hole ready to be taken, right in front of my face. I started to insert my tongue into his hole when he groaned: "You got the idea." He then sat firmly on my mouth as I struggled for fresh air.

"Now make John happy," he growled.

I was indeed to do so. However, I had totally forgotten that he was working over my own ass with his fingers. My tongue licked all around his ass. Then he started pushing out to force my tongue even deeper in his ass. Having no other choice, I went for it and indulged myself into a pure feeding frenzy. I ate John’s butt hole for all it was worth. I threw in my tongue and licked around, I sucked hard and made him give me more. I made John happy.

"You know, my wife will be very happy with your mouth," he gasped. I paid him no attention and kept servicing a biker mechanic that was giving me what I should have been given a long time ago.

John pulled his ass away and went back to making his cock feel good. I took him deep, working that foreskin and swallowed his ever-oozing precum. I was intent on taking anything I could. Then suddenly: John turned around and went down on me.

He went into a steady rhythm of plunging his cock down my throat as he lifted up from mine. One hand tightened around my balls, the other played with my ass. I was in ecstasy and ready to let it rip. My balls got tight and John suddenly came up and growled: "Don’t even think about busting a nut, boy. I’m not finished.”

He took a few more deep plunges into my throat then lifted off me. He went to his bike for another beer. My slobber was still dripping from his cock and ass. He squatted to open his saddlebag; he made sure to show me his hot butt hole and then said, "You’ll get it some day… maybe. But not today."

He returned with a beer for me… and a small tube of axle grease.

I knew what he had in mind. “In your dreams…with that big fucker of yours!”

"In YOUR dreams." He joked back. "In your fucking wet dreams."

Against the tree, we drank our beer and talked while about what had just happened. John realized he had not pushed me over my limits. My head rested under his arm against his furry chest that was drenched in sweat; his pits pungent with strong musky maleness. As we talked, I would lick sweat from his pits and rub my nose and mouth around his muscular chest, centering on his firm nipples.

John was saying: "You’re gonna be my good buddy, now. You know that. As long as I’m around you don’t have to worry about shit from anybody or any of my friends anymore. They’re your protectors, too. If anyone gives you shit, let me know. We’ll take care of them."

I knew he really meant it and that this was somehow a life long commitment. We talked about what he wanted me to for him: dominating his wife, letting his buddies use me with his permission and above all, becoming a biker and his buddy. I was now his apprentice.

John finished his beer, and took out the tube of grease. He squeezed some out onto the palm of his hand, and started getting his tool hard again. My beer half finished, I watched in awe. Desire took precedence over thirst and I began to suck on his pendulous balls. John pulled up from my mouth as to stretch his nuts and then back down. He turned around, bent over and told me: “Start eating.”

This time, it was not a command. I would do as instructed from now on. I ate his hole as he stroked his long, thick meat with the axle grease. I grabbed my own cock, but was reminded me not to cum yet.

"It’s time" John softly spoke. Silent, I did everything he motioned me to do. He turned me around and placed his shirt under my back, slid my body down to a flat position. Then he raised my hips, placing his jeans under me. Those oil stained jeans I dreamed about getting into for years. My legs stretched over his head, John started eating me out. He was no novice at this either.

He pushed his spit into my tight hole, instructing me: "Push out and keep it like that." I did and his tongue reached further than I thought possible. John was deep inside me: tasting me; loving me. Gently, he lowered me to the ground. "Keep that hole pushed out for me.” He lubed up two fingers, inserting first one, then another into my ass.

At first, the feeling was horrid. The easy, slick spit was being rapidly replaced with the thick, viscous axle grease. The grease burned and it felt extremely uncomfortable. I could not imagine how he could stand it on his cock. John saw the discomfort on my face. His dark eyes radiant with tenderness whispered: "Do it for me... do it for me." I took a deep breath and tried to relax.

John’s fingers kept gently working my hole. After a few minutes, which seemed like hours, the burning became less intense. John applied more lube and reached further into my ass. He started massaging my prostate; it felt awkward, but good. Every time I became uncomfortable, those gentle, loving eyes soothed and comforted.

After getting three fingers into me with marginal difficulty, John spread my legs, pulled back the sheathing of his cock and placed his tool against my hole. He applied gentle pressure but could not enter.

"Look at me. Look directly at me." he sternly instructed. "Push your hole, make that MY hole, and push out as hard as you can. Just like you did when I was eating it."

I did. To my astonishment, the head of his cock was in me. I froze, but John kept telling me to relax, to look into his eyes, push out; most of all trust him.

He entered, gently; went in further, then deeper. Twenty minutes were needed for me to take him almost all the way. He would give me short breaks, sipping beer but keeping my hole worked with his fingers. When was thirsty, he would give me beer through his mouth. That beautiful thick beard and mustache covered upper lip would slowly open over my mouth and drizzle his beer into me. Then John’s cock slid into me as far as I could take it. Once used to him there, he started slow continuous thrusts. My ass was still very tight. My eyes held his, which never left mine. Although at times, I bit my lip in pain, I raised my hips to take him deeper inside.

Like a piston on fire, his lunges increased in momentum. John lifted my legs onto his shoulders. Sometimes he would pull all the way out and with no assistance, plunged back in, even deeper with the next stroke. I groaned and writhed, pain and pleasure in total concert. His breath came in short, heaving exhalations and my ass felt the hot surge thickening in his cock. He slammed my ass, balls banging my cheeks and jack hammered my insides while rotating his hips. Deep, deep inside, he arched backwards and pushed further. "Ahhhh… fuck… ahhhhhh" he moaned loudly. “Not yet…shit!” Holding his position, buried full in my ass, John’s fingers dug into my ankles. His hot breath blasted my face. I could feel his pulse through his throbbing, pulsating and burning cock. He gulped air, exhaled and with a full intake of breath, withdrew his cock slowly until nearly free…

“Goddamn,” he screamed and slammed home all the way. I could feel the load rip through my ass. I whimpered, but was happier than I had ever been. John drew back and made one more thrust. The pain was intense but incredibly desired. He dropped my legs and lay on top of me, still lightly fucking my ass. Then kissed me. The sweat from his nose poured into my mouth, my eyes, and my nose. He leaned down again, gently rolled us to our side and took my mouth into his mouth. His coarse, full beard rubbed my chin and lips raw and he kissed me again.

I had not realized until our bodies were together as one that I too had shot my load. It was matted into his furry belly, which he proudly rubbed against mine. He reached down to wipe some up. He put some in his mouth, then some into mine. The taste of cum and axle grease fingers lingered even as we continued to kiss. It still lingers in my mind today.

The hour was late and we were both exhausted. We gathered our clothes, headed back to town. It was late. John called my dad and got permission for me to stay over night. He would even take me fishing the next day. To my surprise, my father agreed. That night, John called his buddies to come over. Both of us were ragged messes. He told me to get everyone a beer, which I did. After passing them out, he put his arm on my shoulder. This gesture was indicative of my new status. Despite, Cheryl’s displeasure with this newest development, she had no say in the matter.

I became a regular fixture around John’s house. I talked my dad into letting me work the closing shift, which gave him some time off. On those evenings, I would service John’s needs and he, mine.

After college, I moved away, but we are still close. I see John every time I visit. However, like most long distance friendships, you lose contact. Seven years after the garage closed, I saw John at Dad’s funeral. After the services, John offered his condolences to Mom and me. When alone and away from the others, he invited me to his house.

“If you need some time to yourself…ya know, and get away from all the somber shit…”

I took him up on his offer a few weeks later. Now divorced, John roomed with shared the house with another biker, not from the old days. The three of us sat, drank beer and chatted until nightfall. John told a story about one of the old gang and we laughed heartily, our eyes damp with tears. “Those were the days,” John chuckled, handing me a beer. His arm lingered in the air, then rested around my shoulder. The touch was electric. The new roommate, bald and shaped like an onion inquired: “This one of your goodbuddies?”

“Always,” John replied.

John was the brother I never had, my best friend. He taught me much in life: loyalty and strength. He gave me every lesson I would ever need about pleasing a man…or men with no woman around; even pleasing a woman, if that was what he wanted. Most of all, pleasing myself. But those are other stories.

I know that he and his buddies are always there for me.

I am certainly there for them.

That's what Good Buddies are for