A Dusty Tail

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I was certain my queasy and debilitating feeling of frustration would end if I could only lick the trail of hair that descended, from Dusty’s belly button, into the top of his jeans. One side of my brain told me to just do it, while, the other side told me I could destroy the friendship we’d enjoyed since starting kindergarten, thirteen years ago. I’d always felt a powerful attraction to Dusty Burton and had, always, to be close to him; and though he had never indicated that he felt the same about me, I hoped he had.

There could be no doubt his roguish, good looks had a great deal to do with the magnetic attraction I’d been concealing. His light brown, brush cut and piercing, blue eyes gave him the appearance of a ruffian and a troublemaker. Whenever there was a problem in the neighbourhood, It would be a foregone conclusion, on the part of all the grownups, that Dusty Burton was the instigator. Most hadn’t bothered to really know him as I had. His constant, calculating grin and I-don’t-give-a-shit attitude made him one of the most lovable characters you’d ever want to meet; and, in addition, he was a very amusing, practical joker.

The catalyst for the rebirth of my compulsion to eat out Dusty’s butt hole had been Mr. Richardson. Had It not been for him, neither Dusty or I would’ve been under the car together. I was on my bike when I heard my name being called. “Terry! Terry Williamson, c’mon over here, son.” He was pressure-washing his driveway. I waited till he’d stopped the noisy spray.

“Hi, Mr. Richardson, something I can do to help?” I asked. He motioned me to follow as he went into the garden, behind the house.

“I’ve got an old wreck I should’ve got rid of years ago,” he said, “been takin’ up good tomato-growing space, for ’bout thirty-five years now.”

“It’s not running, Mr Richardson?” I asked.

“Oh, heavens, no!” He said. “Can you believe it, boy, almost thirty-five years I’ve kept that automobile, sittin’ on cinder blocks and covered with that tarp.” He was incredulous that so much time had so quickly passed. “Yep, last time I drove her I was a fifty year-old.”

“Wha’ d’ya want me to do?” Something inside was telling me I wanted that car. “What kind is it, Mr. Richardson.” I had a wonderful vision of a Mustang.

“A 1961 Pontiac,” He said, proudly, as he pulled away the cover. “Yep, Terry, she’s a Pontiac Parisienne. She was a mighty impressive car when she was in her prime.” He wiped his misty eyes with a shirt sleeve. The awesome, canary-yellow convertible was way beyond kool. And no matter what, I had to have it.

“Wha’ d’ ya want done with it, Mr. Richardson?” I asked again.

“Well, son, tell ya what I’m prepared to do… Supposing, I was to offer you, say, a hundred bucks to get it out of here. You could get it over to the scrapyard, just over on Chambly Road. They’d likely give you at least fifty for the scrap value. I’m sure you’d make yourself a few bucks on the deal…what do ya think, Terry?”

“Oh, yeah, kool, ya can start plantin’ yer tomatoes this afternoon,” I told him. I was so excited I’d forgotten where I’d been going; and almost forgot my bike, too, in my rush to find Dusty.

Everything went surprising well. Dusty’s dad had a twelve volt battery charger as well as a spray-paint compressor that would inflate tires. My parents never used our garage, so we’d have a place to work. Dusty borrowed his mom’s car and pushed the Pontiac into our garage. While Mr. Richardson was suffering mixed emotions, Dusty and I were hyper with excitement. We had a convertible and a hundred bucks for repairs.

We added the necessary liquids to the battery and quick-charged it because we were so horny to see if the top would go down. Its joints complained bitterly until we did ultrabet yeni giriş a little oiling. Afterwards, It performed admirably, seating itself, out of sight, behind the rear seat. Dusty scrutinized every square inch of its exterior while I sat behind the wheel, making wild squealing and screeching sounds as I swerved recklessly.

“Ter, it’s incredible, there’s not a ding anywhere…This mother-fucker looks like it just came out of the showroom!” Dusty shouted. Can you imagine what this baby’ll be worth, once we get it running?”

“She’s not for sale!” I shouted back at him.

“Have you got tools and crap around here?…Not a big deal if you don’t. I’m sure my dad has anything we’d need. He practically lives at Tool Paradise.” The next day we proceeded to get ourselves filthy. I was amazed at how much Dusty knew about engines. He’d have only to glance momentarily at an illustration in the Owners’ Guide to assure himself everything was according to the book. “You know What, Ter, even the Owners’ Guide, in this condition, is probably worth more than fifty bucks. I couldn’t recall hearing Dusty talking financial matters since the days when he used to glom the neighbours’ milk money from doorsteps, early ever morning,

By the way, Terry, I never told ya what happened to me, earlier today,” Dusty said, all excited.

“What?” I asked.

“I was in Lachine on LaSalle boulevard an’ you know how hot it was?”

“Yeah, It was Hell.” I agreed.

“Well, since I my swim suit was in the car, I stopped for a swim at the rapids, okay. So, I come outta the water an’ I’m sittin’ there dryin’ off an’ I notice this broad. She’s shamelessly scopin’ me…’specially my basket, okay. Ter, she was really staring.” He related, with eyes as wide as salad plates.

“Yer shittin’ me.”

“No, Ter, when I caught her a few more times, ya know, like starin’ at me, okay. Fuck, my mind was racin’ like hell and mister happy was startiin’ to cha-cha-cha. I got up and walked real seductive-like to the car. Through the corner of my eye I could see she’d got up, too, and she was following me, okay.”

“Was she a good-looker?”

“Shit, Terry, Mr. Happy thought she was gorgeous. Yeah. Well anyhow, I get in the car and I’m sittin’ behind the wheel, ya know, like I was tryna get outta the sun, fer a while. Well, man, in a flash she was gettin’ in the passenger side.”

“Yeah, and?”

“Ok, so she slides over, right close to me an’, get this, Terry, this is koool.” He says, keeping me on edge. “By this time, Terry, I’m so horny I woulda fucked a porcupine, okay. She slides over, pulls my swim-suit down, slips my foreskin back and then, Terry, get this, okay, she gives my knob an examination, like she’s a friggin nurse.” He said, pausing for maximum effect.

“C’mon, Dusty, you’re just yankin’ my chain, huh?”

“No, this is a great story. So, I pass her examination with flyin’ colours. Then, an’ this is really the sexy part, Ter, she gets a Kleenex and wraps her teeth in it.”

“Oh, my God, that’s awesome,” I told him, excitedly.

“Well, Terry, she sucked my little, ‘ol cock like she hadn’ seen one since Jesus was an altar boy. Okay, so she swallows my cum, licks my cock till it’s immaculate, then puts her teeth back in ‘er mouth…I’m s’pposed to meet her at her apartment, tomorrow afternoon…Ya gonna want a blow-by-blow report?” He asked.

“I’ll be waiting with a hard on.”

Dusty, now completely satisfied with what he’d accomplished at the beach, as well as on the upper part of the engine, was ready to tackle the installing of shims, or some such things, on the connecting rods. I felt a sudden weakness in my legs when he pulled his T- shirt over his head. His muscled, hairy chest did it’s ultrabet giriş usual number on my lower body. I hoped my tongue hadn’t hung out while ogling his elusive treasure trail.

“Awww, Shit!” Dusty shouted from under the car.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, nervously.

“The freakin’ guts aren’t all here.”

“Aw, Dusty, what’re we gonna do, can we get whatever’s missing?

“I don’t know, Ter, this is an awful old car. Call Sketcher Auto Parts and ask if they’ve got a fourgang, camshaft stretcher for this model.”

“They didn’t understand what I’m askin’ for, Dusty. How do you spell it?”

“S – u – c – k – e – r!” Dusty shouted, laughing foolishly.

“Ya bastard, Dusty. You got any idea how ya scared me, y’asshole?”

Leaning on a fender, I was able to watch him, through a myriad of wires and gizmos, as he lay under the car. Straining to pull on the wrench, he grimaced through tightly-clenched teeth; a sight, in itself, that was worth the price of admission. But, the pleasure trail from his belly-button to his belt buckle was what really kept me steamed- I needed to get to the bottom of it. “Hey, Terry, you still there?”

“Yeah, why…ya wanna play another joke?”

“Naw. I need ya down here. I want ya to hold something for me?”

“Ya, man, be right down,” I said, enthusiastically. I hoped it might be Mr. Happy he wanted me to hold. I knew that being under the car with him was going to test me to my limit. I prayed he wouldn’t be saturated with sweat, the aphrodisiac that was able to turn me into a raving, sex maniac. My job had only been to hold the oil pan in place until he could hand-tighten a couple of bolts. Too soon, my usefulness had ended, and though there was no need for me to remain, I had a very strong desire to do so. “Is it all good, so far?” I asked, preferring that he knew I was still lurking.

“Yeah,” he said, enthusiastically, then added, “All we have to do, after I get all the pan bolts in, is fill the crankcase with oil and fill the rad with water. Then, with a little bit of luck, she should purr like a kitten, accordin’ to the book.”

“Fantastic,” I said, returning to my navel gazing. I had a terrible hard on just from studying his cute outie, his pointy nipples and wispy, chest hair. How I would’ve loved to put my arms around him. His muscles rippled whenever he pulled on the wrench. Fortunately, for me, there seemed to be a thousand bolts necessary to hold an oil pan in place. I could see a little more of his treasure trail every time he reached for another bolt. By now, I was hyperventilating. My body was shaking violently and I couldn’t make it stop. How, in the name of God, I asked myself, could any guy possess another so completely- Dusty was a Devil, a Devil I knew I’d never be able to – and didn’t ever want to – exorcise. My stomach was flipping over and over. My eyes were straining to focus on every detail of his heavenly body. I wanted to lick the glistening perspiration from his stomach. Inch by inch, I kept moving closer. The smell of his sweat was overwhelming. I began to feel faint. I breathed deeply and closed my eyes for a moment.

Suddenly, It was as though I was under a demonic spell. Involuntarily, my arm began to move. I was outside of myself- an innocent bystander, watching, while someone else’s fingers traced Dusty’s stomach hair. He showed no reaction and went on inserting and tightening oil-pan bolts as though nothing unusual had happened. Could it have been that he was too embarrassed to say anything, or was it that he simply didn’t know how to handle such an awkward situation. Of course, he may have thought that it was just an accident that could easily have happened in such a confined space.

By now, too excited and irrational ultrabet güvenilirmi to stop, I brazenly fumbled with his belt buckle. His body trembled. I unzipped his jeans and secured the front of his underwear’s waist-band under his balls. Between my thumb and fingers, I gently massaged his cock into a solid erection. Although I felt sure Dusty hadn’t wanted to, he mildly humped my hand. When I tugged his foreskin’ between my tightly pursed lips, there was absolutely no doubt that he knew what was going down.

I hoped His long sigh meant he was realizing at least a modicum of enjoyment from having his long, silky skin stretched over my tongue. Now, slicked with his pre cum, I continually swirled it on his knob. Sliding his skin completely back, I took a deep breath to inhale the sweet euphoric odour of his sweat before, dizzily, sucking the head deeply into my throat.

“Shit, Ter,” he said, “Now ya got me tryna get two bolts in the same hole; we’ll never get finished at this rate.” I cupped his hairy balls, for a moment, then licked the sack and took them, one by one into my mouth. his body movements indicated he was not going to tell me to stop, anytime soon. I grasped his cock and nibbled and licked him everywhere on his knob. Meanwhile, having accumulated a sufficient amount of pre cum on my fingers, I managed to get my hand between his legs and underneath him to get it in his ass crevice.

The slight, bonging sound was that of his head hitting the oil pan when I pushed two fingers into his ass hole. Considering there was no reaction to his head bumping, I wondered if his enjoyment level had gone out of the ball park. my finger-fucking caused much panting, accompanied be loud moaning. He began fucking my mouth, as hard as he could in the cramped space, until his legs stiffened. “Ahh, yeah, ahhh.” And his warm, thick, cum filled my mouth. I thought I’d have to swallow his cum forever. “Finished,” He said, almost completely out of breath, “let’s get ‘er filled with oil and water and, ah, start ‘er up.”

Contented by my incredible success, I discontentedly awaited the reaction I thought must eventually come. He had, thus far, totally avoided broaching the subject of what I had done to him. Is it possible it would never be mentioned, I nervously wondered.

After he’d made a few minor carburetor and distributor adjustments, we were proudly, cruising the brightly lit boulevards with the top down in our striking, Pontiac convertible. It happened in a drive-in while we were eating burgers that Dusty surprised me. “Ya know,Terry…I can’t stop thinking about what took place under the car; I think that was the greatest shock of my life,” he said, being extremely careful to choose the right words. At that moment I very much regretted what I’d done.

“I never sucked anybody else, Dusty,” I said, interrupting him, “I honestly don’t understand what came over me. Fuck, Dusty, I couldn’t stop myself; I’m afraid I’m insanely in love with you,” I said, embarrassed. “I’m cool with it. Ya can relax, Terry…I’m sure ya know I’m straight, but I wanna be completely honest with ya. I really enjoyed yer blow-job-“

“Oh, thank God, Dusty, I was so scared you wouldn’t wanna have anything more to do with me,” I’d interrupted him to say.

“I’ve known for a long time, Terry, about how you felt about me, and maybe one day it’ll happen for us. Maybe one day I’ll be curious enough to give it a try; I don’t know when, or if, it will ever happen but we’re even closer now than we ever were …Anyhow, what I’m tryna say is, don’t be afraid to let me know, like, if ya need me again, okay…I’ll always be here fer ya,” he said, playfully squeezing my leg and smiling understandingly.

What a sensitive and generous buddy he is, I thought; Not only has he relieved my pressure, but he’s also given me an open invitation; however, he won’t find it so easy to stay on the straight and narrow, once he’s felt my tongue ferreting into his hot asshole.

“Thanks, Dusty, I was sure I could count on ya.”

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