~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~
We were in the middle of nowhere. It was warm, late summer, and putting our clothes back on didn’t make any sense. After we made lunch and I had looked at Dave’s thing for like the five hundredth time, I got urges. It was something about being outdoors and nude. “Ever do a tree?”
“I’ve been horny enough, but never figured out how.”
“Trees are really sexual, don’t you think?” I said. “Always hard, pointy on top, lush and flowing in the wind.”
“You are horny.”
“C’mon,” I said, and he followed me into the surrounding forest. My thing was hard and, surprise, surprise, so was Dave’s. I was looking for a birch tree.
Stepping through the woods, both of us nude, our things bobbing, we picked our way around big rocks and fallen branches. “This is so primordial,” I said as we rock-hopped across a small stream. What I meant was wandering nude, deep in a national forest, no clothes to put on in the unlikely event we encountered anyone. As we stepped across a stream and scrambled up a small bank, I couldn’t get my eyes off Dave’s muscular legs, the way his butt muscles flexed as he pushed up the bank, his fat things swinging between his legs, his manhood bouncing. At the top of the bank was a small clearing with several birch trees at one end.
I found a tree about six inches in diameter and ramrod straight, and I pushed into it. The smooth bark was delicious against my straining thing. I pushed and rubbed and rolled. Wrapping my arms round the narrow trunk, I pushed my nipples against the bark, rubbing up and down. I kicked off my sandals and pushed my feet and toes into the loamy soil as I hung back, my hands gripping the tree, my groin pressed into the trunk, legs wrapped around the tree. I visualized my pale white butt making little circles as I rubbed.
I turned around, put my hands on my knees and pushed back, grinding my butt against the hard, cool bark. The tree trunk was narrow enough that my cheeks enveloped it. In a way, the tree was inside me. Dave watched me fooling around, hefting himself as I churned my cheeks against the birch. Walking nude through the woods with another guy inspired me. “Got the olive oil?”
“Yeah” he said, waving a small nylon bag.
Creeping along, grabbing branches and trunks as we worked our way through the woods, I searched for a branch of a certain size and height off the ground. Dave saw that I was looking for something.
Then I spotted it—a large fallen tree trunk, about four feet in diameter, flat on the ground. It was covered with moss and had probably been there for decades. Centered on top was the nub of an old branch, sticking straight up. It was about half a foot long, the size of my thing, maybe a little thicker, rounded and smooth from years of exposure to the air and weather. Inspecting it for smoothness, I decided it would work.
Wade Johnson is the golden boy jock at our school, the star quarterback-- and a total jerk. He started calling me a “queer” back in ninth grade, and he and his football goons have been hassling me every day since.
But now I’ve got something to keep Wade in line-- a video that could destroy his social life and end his football playing days for good.
You’d think Wade would keep that in mind, and try to stay on my good side. Play nice. Keep the other jocks from messing with me. But Wade’s not that smart.
At school, he’s still the same homophobic bully he’s always been. So after school, he has to make it up to me.
It’s almost like that guy wants to be punished.