Derby & Max

by Eric Aaldersen

Back in the 1950s, Derby Gleason was just trying to get by. Then he meets a sexy, young guy on his paper route that suddenly makes him long for more. The first chapter in a longer historical romance.

Added: Apr 2022 11,360 words 4,391 views 5.0 stars (3 votes)


Derby Gleason’s bicycle was the greatest break anyone ever gave him. And he made the most of it. He delivered papers to help pay the bills. In this particular neighbourhood delivering papers was no small task. Derby lived in town but his paper route was out in the country by the lake. The houses were really far apart from one another, sometimes a ten minute ride on his bike. Thank god for his good old Schwinn five speed. It was as solid a bike as was ever made and Derby learned how to fix and maintain it himself. With big, sturdy metal baskets on the front and back it was perfect for getting groceries from the store, taking laundry into town, or delivering his papers. His whole route took two hours to deliver but it paid more for taking so long. Derby loved his bike.

It was the summer of 1959 in Abbottsville, Tennessee. Derby just finished his last high school exam—his last exam ever! Derby never really cared for school, never found much use for it except maybe his woodworking classes. Derby loved building things and that’s what he planned to do for a living. He already had people he sold things to on a regular basis: shelves, cabinets, desks, toys, frames and things for farming. His woodshop teacher Mr. Stevenson was really smart—nice too. He had promised Derby a letter of recommendation once he was ready to start apprenticing. Mr. Stevenson even told Derby that he could borrow his tools if he ever needed to, until Derby has able to buy his own. No, Derby didn’t have much use for school, least of all the other students.

Most kids his age seemed to spend their time and waste their energy talking about things that, in Derby’s opinion, didn’t matter anymore than the spots on a mouse’s back. Who won the last football game, what was on at the movies, who just got a new car, and other such nonsense that had nothing to do with putting food on the table or building a life. So Derby didn’t have much use for friends either. In many ways Derby’s school, and his best friend, was The Abbottsville Public Library.

Due to his circumstances, Derby had had to teach himself how to do pretty much everything from riding a bike to shaving his face. Thankfully Abbottsville’s big one-room library, which was an airplane hanger during the war, had books on pretty much everything. And if they didn’t have a particular book they could sometimes get it in from Nashville or elsewhere. Most Saturdays Derby would be in the library at a table reading a book on how to do something around the house, or in his workshop, or in the garden, or browsing through a new cookbook. Of course they had shelves and shelves full of novels and histories too, but Derby had little time for them. He’d sit at a table and read the whole afternoon away, sometimes taking notes on a yellow pad, and left only when the lights flickered to tell folks it was closing time. The librarians all knew Derby by his first name, and he knew theirs. They would even call him up sometimes when there was a new book they knew he’d like. They were all really nice to Derby, probably partially on account of his circumstances. Life was hard a lot of the time, but people can be real nice if you let them.

Next up on Derby’s paper route was the Roland house, a huge old mansion on a big slice of property that ran all the way to the lake shore. Mr. Roland paid Derby a little extra at holidays to bring the paper right to the front door as opposed to placing it in the mailbox on the side of the highway the way he was supposed to. Mr. Roland didn’t like his paper getting stolen. He was a really nice guy, a lawyer or something. So Derby turned off the gravel road and tore up the driveway, shirt clinging to his back like a second skin in the summer heat.

Not overly tall, overly short, overly lean, or overly anything Derby had gone through high school quite uncelebrated and unnoticed. He never joined any teams, made any friends, or dated any girls. The very thought of dating made him blush from his hairless chest to the floppy brown mop of hair on his head. Derby, so named because of his father’s fancy for horseracing, just went to school to do the work then came home to do more important things—he had a house to run and a small business to build! Then there was the matter of his dad, too.

He turned a curve in the driveway and the house sprung out from behind a cluster of tall cedars. As he approached the house he saw an unfamiliar pick-up truck and a man working in the front yard laying a flagstone path out to the pond.

Derby skidded to a stop, threw down his kickstand, grabbed a rolled paper from his basket and walked on up to the front door, eyeing the man lifting and laying the flagstones.

From up close Derby could see that he wasn’t a man, but a boy not much older than him. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-two, though from farther away Derby took him for much older. He was very tall—six-foot-two or maybe even taller—with big broad shoulders and beefy arms, all accentuated by the athletic undershirt that he wore. A small tuft of black chest hair decorated the centre of his powerful chest. The boy was also eyeing Derby.

“Afternoon,” he said to Derby, cocking his chin out at the boy and smiling.

“Hi. Just deliverin’ the paper,” Derby said, waiving the roll of newsprint demonstratively.

“I can see,” the other boy chuckled.

The older boy just stood there, one booted foot on a pile of flagstones, hands on his hips, chest heaving from exertion, smiling from ear to ear. He sure was good-looking, with perfect teeth and sparkling hazel eyes. He could’ve been a movie star! But Derby thought he was way better looking than Frank Sinatra or even Yul Brynner.

Derby carefully tucked the newspaper between the front doors of the Roland house as Mister Roland expected.

“Bye!” Derby called.

The handsome boy gave Derby a salute and went back to his work.

Derby turned and watched him for a bit before getting back onto his bike. He hefted those flagstones like they were made of cardboard. The veins running down his arms told Derby that he was working hard though. Even through the blue jeans he was wearing Derby figured he must have strong legs too.

“Must be nice to be strong like that,” Derby thought to himself—Derby who had always considered himself physically unremarkable. “I wonder if I could ever get that big.”

He knew darn well that he’d probably stopped growing. But he could hope.

The older boy stood up, stretched his back, then grabbed the hem of his shirt to wipe sweat from his brow, revealing a rippled stomach bisected by a thin trail of black hair that plunged down into the crotch of the man’s jeans.

“Damn!” Derby whispered aloud. He’d never seen anyone with a stomach like that, not even in pictures or magazines.

Derby stared at him fascinated, like some small animal staring at a fire for the first time; he was hypnotized by the heat and energy radiating from the older boy. Maybe the boy heard him, or maybe just realized Derby had stood there on his bike for a bit longer than what seemed right, because he glanced over and looked Derby in the eye.

Embarrassed without really knowing why, Derby launched into motion and took off down the driveway. He did, however, throw a glance over his shoulder before rounding those cedar trees and saw the older boy watching him ride away.

Charging down the highway, legs pumping like pistons, heart beating like a hummingbird’s, breath coursing in and out of him like a racehorse, Derby tried to rack his brain and think. He wasn’t done his route yet, but how many were left to deliver? Five? Six? Where was the next house on his route again? Did he turn right up ahead or keep going over the bridge? Damn! He hadn’t needed a map in a long time.

“What the heck is wrong with me?” he asked himself.

If he couldn’t settle himself down and think he might not finish his route on time. Feeling lightheaded, Derby decided to stop and take a breather. He turned his bike off the road and walked it under the bridge so he could catch some shade by the side of the river.

This was a place he had been to several times before in the warm weather. The shady space beneath the bridge felt sheltered, private, and safe. He sank down into the cool, grassy riverbank and chucked his t-shirt onto the grass so he could cool down. He should’ve been thinking about where the hell he was and where he had to go next, but his mind kept going back to the Roland house and that older boy like his brain was stuck in a rut. He kept recalling over and over again how the older boy’s arms bulged as he lifted, how his back and shoulders fanned as he reached, how his undershirt clung to his thick chest almost transparent with perspiration.

All alone on the riverbank, under the bridge, Derby allowed these thoughts to have the effect that he ran away from earlier. He let his head fall back and felt blood rush to his crotch, swelling his penis. In record-breaking time, Derby was hard as a nail. He looked around and saw no one. He listened carefully for a few seconds and heard only the forgiving sounds of nature.

He reached down, undid his pants, pulled out his cock and started stroking. He mixed his own musk with the dew on the riverbank; soon his hard, foreskinned penis was slick, glistening and throbbing like he’d never felt before. Thoughts of the boy back at the Rolands’ house streamed before his tightly shut eyes as he felt his orgasm build. His hips left the earth and thrust into his hand. Soon he jerked. A car rumbled over the bridge above him as his milky liquid shot up all over his bare chest and shoulders, his blissful cries of release drowned out by the thundering sound above him.

Derby lay there for another few minutes breathing in the scent of the earth mixed with that of his seed. He looked down at his penis lying just below his taunt belly, softening but still leaking pearly come from its eye.

He had never done that before.

He’d jerked off before, sure. He’d had thoughts about boys and gotten hard over them before. He’d ogled the bigger boys in the locker room after gym class, secretly out the corner of his eye. He even stole a muscle magazine from a corner store in Memphis when he and his dad visited the big city last year. That magazine was currently hidden safely between his mattresses at home and had provided a great deal of material for the fantasies that got his penis hard as rock on a regular basis. But Derby kept these fantasies in check and his thoughts to himself. He never acted on them, never sought the release of jerking off to them. But that boy! Damn! There was something about him that just… demanded it somehow.

He collected the come off his body, wiped his hands on the grass, and pulled his t-shirt back on. He’d need a shower when he got home, but that wouldn’t be unusual on such a hot day. He collected his thoughts, remembered the next houses on his route, and got himself back onto the road. His brain seemed to be working again, but it wasn’t long before his thoughts drifted once again.

“I wonder if that guy’ll be there tomorrow,” Derby whispered to himself as he pushed himself off and rode away.

“Where the hell you been?” Cassie called as Derby rolled into the driveway.

“Damn!” thought Derby. “I forgot.”

“I thought you’d be back by now to help me pick and shell our peas.”

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a second, Cassie,” he said quickly, keeping his distance from his neighbour.

“Where ya goin’ now?” she called as Derby stowed his bike under the eaves.

“I gotta take a shower.”

“But you’re just gonna get all sweaty again in the garden why would you—”

“I’ll just be a minute, Cassie—hold your horses,” he said as he went inside his house.

Derby’s dad wasn’t home. His truck was gone so he must’ve been on a delivery somewhere. It was just Derby and his dad in that old house now. Derby peeled his clothes off, leaving them in a sweaty lump on the floor, and ran naked to the bathroom. He jumped in the tub and ran cool water all over himself with the hand nozzle.

“That was close,” he thought to himself. He was sure that he stank, and this time he stank of more than sweat. There was no way he’d be able to work shoulder to shoulder with Cassie in her pea patch that way, not without causing a wrinkled nose, an arched eyebrow and, of course, questions—questions that Derby couldn’t answer.

Cassie was Derby’s next door neighbour and best friend. She lived with her mom and they shared a backyard and driveway with Derby and his Dad. It was Cassie’s workshop that Derby used for his woodworking, or rather Cassie’s father’s, but he didn’t use it anymore seeing as he wasn’t at home anymore. He ran off years ago and it had just been just Cassie and her mom ever since. And Derby. They did most things together, the three of them, plus Derby’s dad but only on the rarest of occasions.

He lathered lightly—to save on soap—resisted the temptation to jack off again when his demanding penis hardened despite the cold water, then jumped out and toweled himself off lightly. His erection went down at long last and he left his massive head of brown hair dripping wet. He threw on a fresh t-shirt and some blue jeans and flew out the door to meet Cassie in her garden.

Derby had his own garden as well. Year ago he built a lattice on the sunny side of their house and grew green beans on it. At the feet of the bean stalks a collection of various types of squash swelled in the sun of late June. They controlled the weeds. He also grew tomatoes in an old repurposed watering trough and potatoes in several old wooden crates. Cassie grew peas and corn at her house—spinach too, but it was finished for the year. The corn they would sell at a corner stand in August along with whatever squash they didn’t have time to lay up. And two apple trees grew at the back where their properties met with black current bushes beneath them. Beyond that was farmer Brady’s oat field which stretched almost as far as the eye could see. Between the two of them Derby and Cassie kept their amalgamated family in vegetables and preserves for most of the year.

“About time!” Cassie said as Derby knelt down next to her and started picking peas.

“Sorry, Cass.”

“What took you so long?”

“I, uh… got turned around on my route. Had to find my way again.”

“What? You’ve had that same route for years now. The heat getting to you or something?”

“Dunno. Maybe,” Derby shrugged, thinking to himself, “‘Or something’ is right.”

“Farmer Brady came by about half an hour ago. Asked if those frames he wanted were ready yet.”

“What? I told him they wouldn’t be ready until the end of the week.”

“I know, I know. He said sometimes you’re done things early and he was just driving by and thought e’d save himself a trip if they were done.”

“Oh… Man, it sure is hot lately.”

“Yeah, no kidding. What’d you go and get a shower for before working in the garden? You weren’t making yourself all handsome for me—that’s for sure—if so, you’d have done something with that hair of yours.”

Cassie gave Derby a friendly nudge and he nudged her back. Cassie was a year younger than Derby and had two years of school left. She was short and solid—not fat, but solid—with a long, strawberry blond ponytail that wagged all the way down to her full hips. Her skin was awfully fair, with freckles, so she had to wear long sleeves and a straw hat when working in the garden on a day like this.

“How was my Dad when he left? Did you notice?” Derby asked as a matter of routine.

Cassie shrugged and kept on working, “He could drive straight when he left. Be gentle. I didn’t tie these up as well as I could have.”

Derby nodded in silence. His dad was a man who spent much of his waking hours either drinking or driving, but remarkably those two activities had never overlapped to the point of disaster. So far.

“I’m gonna steam some of these for dinner,” Cassie said. “You’re coming over, right?”


“Momma bought some sausages and we’ve got potatoes. Any of your tomatoes ready?”

“Some little ones, sure.”

Derby wanted to tell Cassie about the boy working at the Roland house, but realized there wasn’t really anything to tell. As excited as Derby had gotten over the boy, they had barely exchanged two words and were only in each other’s company for a minute or two. But it seemed like more. Somehow, in two minutes, that boy had managed to fill up Derby’s head more than his History teacher had been able to in four years. But then who cared about Andrew Jackson?

Of course, Derby couldn’t tell how he felt about the boy or what he did under the bridge after seeing him. He and Cassie weren’t that close. Well… no, they were. Cassie was closer to him than any of his own brothers or sisters. But he didn’t know how she’d take it. And he couldn’t afford to drive her away. Derby and Cassie needed each other on far too practical a level for either one to risk putting a rift between them. But, oh, how Derby wanted to tell someone about that boy!

The next day Derby delivered papers faster than the speed of sound—elms and cottonwoods whipped by him on either side of the road. But when he turned down the Rolands’ driveway he slacked his pace. It was even hotter than yesterday, the sun shining like a bright yellow fireball in the cloudless sky. He slowed to a leisurely ride up their long driveway thinking it would slow his heart and stop him from sweating so hard. It didn’t.

He rounded the bend and on the other side of those cedars saw… nothing. Well, not nothing. The house was there of course, but he didn’t see what he was looking for, what he was hoping against hope to see again. The older boy wasn’t there. The truck was there, but he wasn’t. Derby didn’t know why he was so disappointed, but he was. He parked his bike, trudged up the stoop, opened the outside door and… huh?

The paper from yesterday was still there. 

That’d never happened before. Old man Roland loved his paper and never missed an issue. Derby just stood there, holding the door in one hand and the paper in the other, staring down at yesterday’s news and wondering what—

“Hey there!”

The voice came from behind Derby and launched his heart straight into his throat. He spun around, letting the storm door slam shut. It was him.

The older boy stood on the grass, leaning on a shovel, smiling up at him. He wasn’t wearing a shirt at all today. The perfectly tanned and sculpted flesh of his torso was on full display. Derby could see the broad muscles of his chest in all their glory, decorated with a small triangle of dark fur in the centre that ran down into a thin trail, over that unbelievable stomach and down into his shorts. He wore shorts today, too—ones that only came half way to his knees. Derby had guessed right yesterday, his lower body was just as powerful as everything above the waist. The muscles of his thighs nearly filled the legs of his shorts and wrapped around each knee in a powerful hold, his darkly-haired, diamond-shaped calves were clearly visible even from the front.

“H… hi,” Derby stammered.

“Can I help you with somethin’?”

“Uh… Well, I just came to bring the paper again but…” Derby stammered, trying repeatedly to force his gaze back to the older boy’s face from various parts of his impressive body. “Ya see… Mr. Roland hasn’t picked up the paper from yesterday. And that’s real strange, because Mr. Roland loves his newspaper and that’s why I bring it all the way up here to the door insteada puttin’ it in the box on the side of the highway ‘cause he really appreciates it and pays me extra for it—he’s a real nice man and…”

“Whoa! Whoa!” the older boy said, holding up his hand and smiling. “Take a breath, kid. My dad’s not dead or nothin’. He’s just on vacation.”

“Your dad?”


Here the older boy left his shovel, came up the stoop to stand in front of Derby and extended his hand.

“Max Roland. Nice to meet ya.”

“Oh,” said Derby, taking Max’s hand. Derby prepared himself for a powerful grip, but still winced a little. “Well, that makes sense then.”

“Yeah, I’m here for the summer taking care of things while the folks do it up in Europe.”

Max had his weight on one leg and shoved his hands into his back pockets, pushing the hem of his shorts dangerously low. Derby could see the thin trail of hairs that coursed down his cobbled belly spread out again, but then looked quickly back up into Max’s face. Standing face to face with Max just inches away, Derby could literally feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the sweat he’d worked up. And he sure was tall, a whole head taller than Derby.

“And you?” Max asked.


Max laughed, flashing a perfect smile of white teeth.

“You, kid? What’s your name?”

“Oh, right. I’m Derby Gleason. I’m the paperboy.”

“I figured that,” Max chuckled. “How old are ya, Derby?”

“Me? I’m sixteen. I just finished high school.”

“Really? That’s a bit young to be done school, ain’t it?”

“A bit, but I turn seventeen in September. Dad started me in school early, ya see. Not ‘cause I was real bright or anything, though. I think he just wanted me outta his hair.”

This wrinkled Max’s brow, but he didn’t pursue whatever question it raised in his mind.

“Well, I just turned twenty. I go to college in Boston most of the year.”

“Oh, wow! Boston! I’ve never been.”

Derby stood there, trying not to look at Max’s body but found himself unable to resist the round of his shoulders, the dark valley between the muscles of his chest, the bulging arms that looked as big around as Derby’s thighs. Max just stood there smiling and silent, fully aware as Derby’s eyes ran all over him.

“Uh…” Derby finally said, “Well, I guess Mr. Roland forgot to cancel his paper for his vacation.”

“I guess so. How would I go about doing that?”

What!? Derby’s face fell. If he cancelled the paper Derby would never see this guy ever again! He didn’t want that to happen. They’d just met. He had to think of something.

“Uh… well… I don’t really know. I suppose you’d have to call the newspaper company. Or I would. But I wouldn’t really know who to talk to, I’ve never really done it before and I don’t know their number by heart and—”

Max laughed and cut him off, “I’m just kidding, Derby. I read the paper too. I just didn’t get to it yesterday. You can keep on bringing it.”

“Oh. Okay. Great.”

Silence and staring.

“So…” Derby began. “That’s nice work on that flagstone path.”

“Yeah? Thanks. Those buggers were heavy,” Max said, stretching his arms over his head.

“Well,” Derby said smiling, “you sure made ’em look light moving them around like you were.”

“Oh, yeah?” Max said, grinning and folding his ropey arms across his chest. “Thanks, Derby.”

“I bet I couldn’t lift one of them even once.”

“You want a drink, kid? You look hot.”

“A drink?”

“Yeah. I was just finishing in the garden and I was gonna get myself some iced tea. You want some?”

“Oh yeah!” he answered immediately. “That’d be great. Thanks. But…”

“But what?” the boy asked, arching his thick eyebrows.

“Well… I’m not done my route yet. Folks expect their papers on time, ya know. And… I got work I need to finish up tonight at home for someone…”

“Oh, that’s too bad.”


“Well… tell ya what, why don’t you finish up your route here tomorrow? Then we’ll have some time to hang out and cool down together. Whaddaya say?”

“Awe, sure!” Derby said, grinning from ear to ear. “That’ll be great—I’ll look forward to that.”

“All right. See ya tomorrow, kid.”

Max slapped Derby on the shoulder and climbed back down the stoop to retrieve his shovel. Derby returned to his bike and watched Max saunter back around the corner of the house. Derby was about to leave when he realized he hadn’t left today’s paper; it was still in his hand. He climbed back off his bike, walked up the step and placed it between the doors with the other one. He took one step back to his bike and stopped.

He didn’t know what possessed him to do what he did next. His body just started walking around the corner of the Rolands’ house all on its own, satisfying a curiosity that it wasn’t willing to let his brain grant approval for. Derby crept up to the corner, peeked around it and saw Max shoveling dirt into a wheelbarrow.

Derby drank in every movement Max made but now, while Max didn’t know he was watching, his eyes were mostly drawn to his brown, cotton shorts. They stuck way out in the back over high, round, thick muscles and even stuck out in front, rounding over the contents of Max’s crotch. Derby’s clothes never looked like that on him. His dad teased him and said that when he turned sideways he disappeared. Max’s shorts still gaped a little at the waist. He wasn’t wearing a belt and every time he bent over his shorts slid down a little bit, gradually revealing the top of his crack, just visible from where Derby stood.

“Damn!” Derby thought. “He sure is something else.”

Then Max stood tall and hiked his shorts. Derby whirled himself back around to the front of the house before he was discovered.

He ran back to his bike, jumped on it and took off down the driveway just like he had the day before, pumping his legs as fast as he could until he reached that bridge. This time his erection already stabbed into his lower belly before he even reached the river.

Derby threw his bike to the ground, spilling the remaining rolled papers into the high grass, dove under the bridge, threw his shirt off, lay down on his back, opened his fly and allowed his overheating penis to breathe. Looking down he could see that he’d already made a big stain in the crotch of his jeans where his hard penis had been leaking. But he didn’t keep his eyes open for long.

He reached down, grabbed his already slick penis with one hand and tugged on his lightly furred balls with the other. They literally ached for release and felt fuller than Derby had ever known them to be. The head of his cock whipped in and out of his foreskin like mad. It wasn’t even a minute before he sprayed spunk all over his smooth, flat chest and stomach. His reedy grunts and groans carried on the warm summer breeze, floating over the sound of the water.

He lay on the spongy riverbank, spent. One leg bent, arms akimbo, jeans down below his knees, Derby panted and stared up at the light filtering through the planks of the bridge above him, grinning like an idiot. The confusion that flashed through his mind yesterday never even surfaced. This was right. Something about Max demanded this reverence, required it even. And Derby was more than happy to offer it. That something didn’t even have anything to do with him being another guy, nothing to do with his flesh even, and yet was somehow communicated through it. Derby didn’t quite know how to express these thoughts.

But he couldn’t wait until tomorrow.

That night Derby wolfed down his dinner double-quick.

“You got a tape worm or something?” Cassie’s mom asked him. His dad was on another delivery and once again wasn’t home when Derby returned from his paper route.

“No, Mrs. Granger,” Derby said, mouth half-full. “I just wanna finish up those frames for Farmer Brady tonight, because—” 

Derby froze. Because why? He couldn’t tell them. Or could he? He hadn’t done anything wrong. Or had he?

“Yeah, Derby?” Cassie asked. “Because why?”

“Well…” Derby began, swallowing his mashed potatoes. “I uh… I think I might’ve made a friend.”

“A friend?” Mrs. Granger said, eyebrows tenting. “Well, that’s great, Derby.”

Cassie starred into her plate, shifting her peas around with her fork.

“Who is he?” Mrs. Granger continued.

“Uh… Well, his name is Max. He’s the son of one of the families on my paper route. He’s home for the summer while his folks are gone on vacation and… well, he and I got talking yesterday and I’m gonna go back and spend some time with him when I’m done my papers tomorrow. Oh! So, Cassie, if Farmer Brady comes by again before I get back tomorrow night you can just give him his frames and tell him I’ll be by to collect the payment this weekend, okay? I’ll have them all set for him.”

Cassie shrugged one shoulder, chewed, and mumbled an affirmative.

“Well, Derby, isn’t that something,” Mrs. Granger said, smiling. “At high school for four years and you never mentioned making even one friend, now you’re not even out of school for a week and you’ve already made one. Good for you!”

Mrs. Granger was a real nice woman. She was small like Cassie, and pretty. Several years ago when Cassie was still a kid Mr. Granger started hinting around town and at church that she was cheating on him. Rumors spread like gnats in May. People would look at her sideways with nasty expressions, or they’d glare at her full on like she had some mark on her forehead. Only thing was, it wasn’t true. Mrs. Granger denied it from day one, but that didn’t seem to matter. A year later Mr. Granger left her and left town with his name intact and his head held high. Word had it that he was even remarried in Memphis. Mrs. Granger still gets dirty look so this day and no man will go near her.

Every time Derby thought about Mrs. Granger he felt sorry for her, but he also felt sorry for Abbottsville. The whole situation reminded him of something he read once: “It’s not what you don’t know that’ll get you, it’s what you know for certain that just ain’t so.” And everyone was so certain about poor Mrs. Granger. In Abbottsville it never really mattered what was true when it came to things like that, only what folk thought was true. Derby often wondered if it was different anywhere else.

In any case, Derby couldn’t imagine why Mr. Granger said the things he said and did the things he did back then. Maybe he had another woman in Memphis all along and he was the one cheating. But any man who would leave her was a damn fool in Derby’s opinion.

“Well, we’ll see,” Derby replied, polishing off his plate of food. The sausage gravy was real good and it was all he could do to stop himself from licking the plate.

“What’re you blushing for?” Cassie asked him, her eyes aslant.

“I’m not blushing!” Derby objected. “It’s hot, is all. Everybody’s blushing.”

“You won’t be in the workshop too late, will you Derby? We both need our sleep.”

“No, ma’am. I’ll be finished up well before bed, I promise.”

In the afternoon of the next day Derby charged up the Rolands’ driveway once again, but this time his basket had just one newspaper left in it; he’d rearranged things so that this was the last house on his route. He rounded those cedars and saw Max, shirtless once again, leaning on his shovel in the front garden.

But he wasn’t alone.

This older blond girl was standing in front of him, flipping her hair and holding a basket full of something. She was talking very animatedly with Max, slowly inching her way toward him. Max had his arms folded across his bare chest and inched every time she inched closer. The girl wore a breezy white skirt and a light, beige blouse that was open in the front a bit more than strict modesty would permit.

“Oh, hey, Derby!” Max called over to him, sounding very glad to see him.

“Uh… Hey, Max,” Derby said, skidding to a stop.

“Well, Hello,” the girl said, stretching a smile across her tight-looking, made up face. “Are you bringing the paper?”

“Uh… yeah. Here ya go,” Derby said, handing the newspaper over.

“Well, thank you. Aren’t you thoughtful bringing it right to the house like this,” the girl said, smiling brightly as she tucked the paper under her arm.

“So,” she said, turning back to Max, “tell me again about that wrestling team you’re on, Max.”

She reached forward as she said this and stroked Max with one hand, lightly squeezing his upper arm for a second. Max chuckled, looked at the ground, and once again took a quarter-step away from the girl. Derby felt like a kid who’d walked in on some grown-up talk and slowly slinked away on his bike.

“Hey,” Max called. “See you same time tomorrow, right Derby?”

“Yeah,” Derby said. “Sure thing.”

Max’s tented his eyebrows and gave a closed-mouth smile as he nodded toward Derby.

Derby turned and reversed back down the driveway, pushing down hard onto the pedals of his bike as he muttered curses under his breath. He barely looked up from the dirt of the road in front of him, a sour look curdled on his face the whole way home. He didn’t want to talk to anyone, he didn’t want to help Cassie in the garden, he didn’t want Farmer Brady to come by for those frames, and he hoped against hope that his Dad would still be away when he got home. But life was never that kind to Derby Gleason.

Farmer Brady didn’t come by, Cassie and her mom were away—must’ve been in town—but Larry Gleason, Derby’s father, was home and in rare form. Derby saw his truck in the drive, of course, and was able to steel himself as he stowed his bike, drawing a deep breath as he opened the door to his house and trudged inside.

“What’s for dinner?” was his father’s grumbled greeting. He sat at the kitchen table, slumped in a chair with his newspaper in one hand and a half-drained glass of whisky in the other. He hadn’t shaved today—yet again. He wore old, dirty blue jeans that he should’ve put in the basket to be washed a week ago. Derby would have to try and get them out of his room tonight if an opportunity presented itself, or they’d never get washed. His father’s hairy forearms stuck out of an unbuttoned plaid shirt like a scarecrow’s limbs.

“Dinner’s quiche with the ham that’s left in the icebox. It’ll be about an hour if I—”

“Ate it for lunch.”


“I ate the ham for lunch.”

Derby slumped and exhaled.

“But I told you that was for dinner tonight. I left you those tuna fish sandwiches for lunch and there was that canned soup if you—”

“I was sick of tuna fish, goddamnit! Is that a crime? Just make something else.”

Derby wanted to tell him to settle for the tuna fish tonight so that they wouldn’t get soggy and go to waste, but he knew that would be a fruitless argument. He’d eat the sandwiches himself and make his dad an omelet with fried potatoes.

“Fine. It’ll be eggs, though. Just lemme get cleaned up and cool down.”

“Don’t take up all the hot water. You sure shower a lot lately.”

“Better than not showering at all like some people,” Derby thought to himself, but didn’t rise to the bait. He just shut himself in the bathroom and savored the few golden moments of solitude it provided.

“Who the fuck was that bitch!?” Derby muttered to himself once he was alone. He’d looked forward to spending time with Max all day long. He’d barely slept last night thinking about it, anticipating it, wondering what they’d do together, wondering what Max would say, what he’d be like, what he’d be wearing. Now someone else was getting to spend time with him, someone who didn’t even introduce herself, just expected him to bring the newspaper and leave straight away.

“Well…” Derby thought, “I suppose that’s what I’d done everyday up ‘til now. But that wasn’t what was supposed to happen today! Today I was supposed to hear all about Max and what he did at school, and what he liked, and what he did for fun, and… all sorts of stuff.”

Instead it looked like she was gonna hear about all that stuff. Derby didn’t know why he was so angry with that girl. She hadn’t really done anything wrong—except ruin Derby’s whole day without even trying!

Maybe Max would’ve hung out with him all afternoon and evening. It was still really hot outside. Maybe Max wouldn’t have put a shirt on the whole time. Maybe Derby could’ve spent hours right next to Max, admiring his thick black hair, his perfect teeth, his sinuous neck and shoulders, his broad chest and back, his unbelievable—almost unnaturally perfect—stomach. Derby could’ve let his eyes roam up and down the thin trail of hair than ran from that triangle of fur on Max’s chest down into the waist of his jeans, gazing back and forth along the length of Max’s torso as though he would gaze a path into his flesh with his eyes.

Derby’s penis swelled as he ran the cool water over himself in the bath tub. He fixed the shower head above him and, despite the ire it might provoke in his father, turned the warm water on and let it cascade over him. He stroked himself to full erection. He let his head fall back on the edge of the tub and spread his legs, feeling the warm water run down and caress his nether regions as he gently bucked his hips into his hand. He thought of Max and let his juices slowly rise from his scrotum into his pulsing shaft and—

Bang! Bang! Bang!

“Goddamnit, Derby! Turn off that hot water!”

Derby jumped out of his daydream, throwing a washcloth over himself fast as lightning. There was no lock on the bathroom door.

“Almost done, Dad,” he called.

He turned off the water and dried himself off. Derby looked up toward the bathroom mirror. It was steamed over and he couldn’t see himself.

On the road once again, with just one paper in his basket, Derby turned down the Rolands’ driveway. He looked back over the last forty-eight hours in awe at the range his emotions had traveled; a weight of exhaustion sat on his heart. Derby couldn’t remember any time before this week when he’d allowed himself to feel so excited or so disappointed; he’d always kept his thoughts in check and on task—there was always something to do to that could take his mind off just about anything: fixing the windows at the house, filling an order in his workshop, making dinner, tending the garden, cleaning. That didn’t work with Max, though. Everything seemed to remind him of that boy somehow, like his whole brain was reorganizing itself around him. 

Max turned down the Rolands’ driveway hoping against hope that he would never see that girl again, that girl from yesterday, that girl that had ruined all his plans and forced him to go back home to his father instead of spending the afternoon with Max like he’d planned.

“I wonder what he and that girl got up to yesterday,” Derby asked himself. “She had sure seemed friendly with him. She probably woulda let him stick it in her if he wanted to…”

Derby rounded the bend in the driveway, peddled up to the house, and looked around. Max wasn’t in the front yard, so Derby knocked on the front door. No answer. Just as he was beginning to feel disappointed once again, Derby heard a weird squealing sound coming from around the house and decided to investigate. As he walked around the sound got louder and he could also hear… rain? But the sky was clear.

Then Derby turned the corner of the house and froze. Max was rinsing off in an outdoor shower. Buck. Naked.

The squealing sound came from the showerhead. Derby stood transfixed as he watched the glimmering water cascade down Max’s chiseled body, plastering the trail of fur on his chest to his skin. Max’s eyes were closed. The water streamed across his broad, v-shaped back down into the crack of his ass, down those cobbled stomach muscles and onto… wow! Max’s penis was huge! It was circumcised and hung down from a healthy bush of black hair. It arched out and over a furry sack containing a pair of balls looking like they belonged on a young colt. His penis was real thick, too, its root took up a lot of the space where Max’s powerful legs met the rest of his body.

“Damn!” Derby thought to himself. “Mine ain’t even half that big. None of the boys at school were even half that big! I didn’t know penises were even built that big!”

Derby watched as Max hefted his testicles and ran his other hand down the length of his shaft a couple of times, then brought his hands back up and ran them through his thick, black hair, showcasing his powerful arms.

Then Max opened his eyes and spotted Derby.

“Hey, there, Derby!” he called. “Just coolin’ down. Worked up a quite a sweat today.”

“Uh-huh,” Derby croaked.

“Just a sec,” he said and looked away, turning off the water.

Derby looked down and saw his own penis poking at the fabric of his jeans. There was already a small wet spot at its tip.

“Shit!” thought Derby. He adjusted himself to make his woody less obvious and tried to pull his t-shirt down over the wet spot. It almost covered it.

Derby looked back up to see Max toweling off his hair. Max gave a few quick passes over his body with the towel then threw it over his shoulder and approached Derby, his heavy penis bobbing up and down with each step.

“Do you wanna shower off too, buddy?”

“Uh… no, I’m good.”

“Okay. I’ll just go throw some clothes on. Follow me. The back door’s over here.”

“‘Kay,” Derby squeaked.

He tagged along behind Max, watching with a slack jaw as Max’s weight shifted seductively from one leg to another with each stride, one cannonball-sized muscle tensing and then the other. They walked up a few steps onto a wooden deck. Max opened a screen door and said,

“After you.”

Derby went inside and found himself in what looked to be the Roland family’s summer kitchen.

“Help yourself to something in the icebox, Derby. I’ll be back in a flash.”

Max disappeared into the house and Derby looked around. He’d always wondered what the Rolands’ house looked like on the inside. Derby and his four older siblings grew up in a one-floor, three-bedroom house with just one washroom. Derby peeked around the corner further into the house and saw a large living room with a fireplace against one wall, a parlor with a bar beyond that and probably another kitchen beyond there that they used when it wasn’t so hot. And that was just the main floor!

“I wonder how many brothers and sisters Max has,” Derby thought to himself.

Not wanting to venture too far, he returned to the summer kitchen and waited. A minute later Max returned wearing a clean pair of jeans and a fresh, white athletic undershirt.

“Man, is it ever hot!” he exclaimed as he strode to the icebox.

“You want a beer, Derby?”

“A beer? But I’m only sixteen.”

Max laughed, “This ain’t no bar, Derby. You’ve had beer before, haven’t ya?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Actually he could count the number of pints he’d had so far in his life on one hand. The beer in Derby’s house was for his father.

“So you want one or not?”

“Well, sure! Thanks.”

Max reached into the icebox and brought out a frosty six-pack of brown bottles.

“C’mon. I know where we can cool off.”

Ten minutes later Max and Derby were sitting in lounge chairs in the Rolands’ sprawling backyard beneath the shade of a tall, leafy beech tree. Derby had gulped down the first half of his beer much too quickly and was trying to savor the rest of it, but it tasted great on such a hot day. Max was on his second.

“Yeah, sorry about Sally,” Max said, rolling his eyes. “She just showed up yesterday afternoon with a basket of biscuits for me. Ever since she found out I was back home this summer she’s had a reason to just pop over about once a week. She’s been after my ass since high school.”

“Who is she?” Derby asked.

“No body,” Max said, shrugging his shoulders. “But she’s Minister McCarthy’s daughter and her parents are friends with my parents so I gotta be nice to her. She lives a few houses down the road.”

“Oh, yeah,” Derby said, swigging his beer. “Red brick house. I deliver their paper too. So… what did you two get up to yesterday?”

“Nothing. Took me forever to get her to leave though. She kept saying how she’d be more than happy to make me dinner while I’m here by myself—tonight or any other night if I wanted.” Max leaned toward Derby. “But you know something?”


“If her cooking ain’t any better than her baking, I’ll pass. I coulda hammered nails with those biscuits.”

Derby laughed and knocked back some more of his beer.

“So you sell woodworking, eh?” Max said. “I think that’s real cool, Derby. That’s a real business. You’re an entrepreneur!”

“Awe, well, I still gotta deliver papers. It’ll be a business when I don’t gotta deliver papers anymore. What’re you gonna do when you’re done college?”

“Dunno. Dad wants me to go to law school and become a lawyer, but… I don’t know if that’s for me. We’ll see.”

“Wow, a lawyer! Is that what Mr. Roland does?”

“You’d better believe it. And it’s what his father did, and his father, and his father. Get the picture?”

“Yeah, I get it. My old man doesn’t care what I do though.”

“Yeah, I’ve been curious about something, Derby. What did you mean when you said that you figure your dad started you in school early because he wanted you outta his hair? And what about your mom?”

“Oh, that. Well… ya see… It’s kind of a long story, I guess, if you wanna hear it all.”

“I’m all ears,” Max said with a smile.

“Well… All right. Mom and dad had four kids when they were younger, that’s Jake, Laura, Betty, and Peter my older brothers and sisters. They’ve all moved out now. Mom and Dad thought they were done after four kids, but ten years after Peter the stork came a knockin’ with me in his basket. Mom was kinda old by then to be having kids and Dad didn’t want her to go through with it, but she wanted to, and along came me. Mom died a couple days after from complications of birthing me so I never knew her. And Dad… well, Dad’s never been the same since. Peter told me once he used to be a lot happier, but the whole time I’ve known him he’s just been sad. And he drinks a lot. He never hit me or anything. He’s just sad pretty much all the time and kinda difficult to live with. He doesn’t really take care of things anymore—doesn’t take care of himself really, either. Pete and Betty told me it was ‘cause he didn’t have Mom anymore. They’re probably right. And I kinda remind him that he doesn’t have her, ‘cause I’m the reason he doesn’t have her. So I reckon he just wanted me outta the house as much and as soon as possible and that’s why I started school early. Once I’m making enough money I’ll move out too. So… yeah, that’s kind of a long answer to a short question. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay,” said Max. “That’s some story, Derby.”

“Yeah… well… that’s the story of me. You got any brothers or sisters?”

“Just one older brother. He lives in New York.”

“Wow,” said Derby, smiling and taking a few more swallows of his beer, “New York City.”

Derby’s stumbling and dry mouth from seeing Max naked earlier disappeared and he talked more freely. This was probably the effects of his beer, which was almost done. And he knew Max was going to offer him another.

“What’s it like in Boston?” Derby asked.

“It’s all right. I study English and Philosophy. And I’m on the varsity wrestling team. We went all-state this year. But I lost my final match.”

“Really!? Man, I can’t believe there’s a guy out there stronger than you.”

“Oh, yeah,” Max chuckled.

“Yeah! I mean… you’ve gotta be the biggest, strongest guy I’ve ever seen.”

“Well, thanks, Derby. I work at it.”

Here Max brought up his right arm and flexed it in front of Derby.

“Wow,” Derby smiled, eyes wide.

“Go on, Derby. Give it a squeeze. I wanna see if you can get your hands around it.”


Derby sat up and wrapped his small, calloused artisan’s hands around that big arm only to find that he couldn’t. Even with both hands he couldn’t touch his fingers around Max’s flexed biceps. Derby squeezed and squeezed with all his might, but couldn’t even dent the hard muscle.

“See,” Max chuckled. “I didn’t think you’d be able to.”

“Man!” Derby exclaimed, releasing his grip. “Wish I had arms like that.”

“Yeah, I gotta say, the ladies back in Boston all love my arms. Some try to squeeze them just like you did. Hell, Sally McCarthy wanted to squeeze ’em just yesterday. I pretended to be all shy, though, and wouldn’t let her. That girl’s been trying to get in my pants ever since I could get it up.”

“Oh yeah? But you don’t like her?”

“Nah,” said Max, shaking his head.

“She’s pretty.”

“I guess. Not my type though.”

Derby sat in silence and up ended his beer.

“You want another one?” Max offered.

“Sure. Thanks.”

Max reached down onto the cool grass and opened two beers, one more for each of them.

“You got a girl, Derby?” Max asked.

“Me!? Oh, hell no.”

“Why’d you say it like that?”

“Oh, well… girls just ain’t interested in me. I’m nothing special.”

“Whadda you mean? You’re an entrepreneur. And real cute too.”

Derby blushed immediately. Did he really just say that?

“Well… maybe but I don’t look like… well… I don’t look like you. I bet you’ve been with girls lots.”

Max chuckled, “I suppose I’ve had my share. But girls ain’t all there is.”

Derby still sat up in his lounge, looking over at Max. His powerful form stretched out on the lounge. One hand held his beer and the other was up his shirt, scratching lazily at his stomach, revealing just enough of his impossibly muscled mid-section to put Derby into a downright trance. Now well into his second beer, the thought that he was staring never even occurred to Derby.

“What’re you lookin’ at, Derby?” Max asked.

“Oh! Well… I was just wonderin’… Nah, never mind.”

“No, what is it?”

“Well… how’d you get your stomach to look like that? I mean, I never seen a man with a stomach like yours—not even in magazi—”

Derby cut himself off.

“Not even in magazines?” Max smiled over at him. “You look at pictures of guys often, Derby?”

“Uh… well… that’s not what I meant… Ya see…”

“It’s okay, kid. I look at them too.”

“You do!?”

“Hell, yeah. They’re good inspiration, know what I mean?”

“Oh… yeah, I guess.”

Max chugged his third beer and put it down. “Here, Derby,” he said, sitting up. “Let me give you a better view.”

He crossed his arms at his waist and brought his shirt over his head in one, smooth motion, revealing his whole tanned, muscled torso for Derby’s perusal once again.

“Bet this is better than any magazine, huh Derby?” Max said, flexing his melon-sized biceps.

Derby’s eyes went as wide a saucers and his mouth fell open. Max laughed.

“Man, you’re really into muscles, aren’t you?”

Derby just nodded in awed silence.

“Check this out!”

Max struck a couple more poses sitting in his chair and Derby continued to watch in absolute rapture. Max even did this thing where he rolled his chest muscles and bounced them one after the other. Derby didn’t even know that was possible but found it absolutely hypnotic.

“Stand up for a sec, Derby,” Max said, standing up.

Derby did as he was told.

“Punch me in the gut,” Max said, bringing his arms behind his head, really tensing his abdominal muscles.

“You sure?”

“What? You think you can hurt me, little guy? Give it your best shot! Don’t hold back!”

Derby threw one punch into Max’s gut and—

“Ahhhh!” Derby flicked his hand around for a few seconds. Max laughed. It hurt! It had actually hurt to punch Max’s stomach.

“Try it again! Go on!” Max ordered.

Derby did it again, over and over with both hands. He’d have turned his hands into bloody stumps if it meant he could touch that amazing stomach one more time.

“All right! All right!” Max said, laughing and grabbing Derby’s hands. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Derby smiled from ear to ear as Max looked down at him.

“Damn, Derby,” Max said, grinning. “You’ve got a woody.”

Derby’s smile fell and he looked down at his crotch. There it was—a noticeable bulge with a more-than-noticeable stain at its tip.

“Oh,” Derby said, backing away. “I uh… I just… uh…”

“It’s okay, buddy,” Max said, laying back down on his chaise. “Don’t sweat it. We all get them, right?”

Derby just stood there with his crotch tented out.

“Come here and lay down with me,” Max said, shuffling over to make room on his chaise.

Derby did as he was told and laid down next to Max, his head resting on the older boy’s plump, round shoulder.

“You know, it musta been all that gut punching,” Max whispered down at Derby. “Cause I’m gettin’ a woody too.”

Derby looked down and saw the clear outline of Max’s enormous penis snaking down one thigh. Derby’s eyes swelled, his head spun.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” Max said.

Derby looked up into his face, quietly asking permission.

“C’mon,” Max said, smiling down at him. “It’ll be fun. Show me.”

Derby looked back down, opened his fly, pulled his jeans and boxers down and freed his throbbing penis. He looked back up at Max.

“Hey, that’s a nice one, Derby. You’re not circumcised neither. That’s cool. Now take mine out.”

Derby looked down at Max’s crotch, the log that was his penis had only gotten bigger and a large wet stain had formed on his thigh. Derby looked back up at Max with big, pleading, slightly nervous brown eyes.

“Go on, Derby. It’s okay. Go on and pull it out. I want you to.”

Derby looked back down and brought his hands to Max’s fly. He undid the button, the zipper, then opened it and this marvelous musky scent escaped, filling his nostrils and making him lightheaded. Then Max raised his hips a little and Derby shimmied his jeans down. Max was wearing no underwear. Suddenly, once his jeans were beyond the tip of his penis, it swung up and grazed Derby’s cheek on its way to nestling firmly between the cobbles of Max’s stomach.

“Yeahhhhh,” Max moaned. “That’s much better.”

Derby thought Max’s penis looked big soft, but now it was gigantic! It was as thick as Derby’s wrist and covered in a network of pulsating veins and arteries. The plumb-sized head reached Max’s navel and leaked clear honey with every pulsation. Derby just stared and watched as the honey collected in the grooves of Max’s stomach muscles and began running down them. The balls in his furry sack had risen toward his crotch and churned slowly.

“You wanna get each other off, Derby?” Max asked.

“What… whadda you mean?” Derby asked, still staring at Max’s throbbing member.

“I mean I’ll jerk yours and you jerk mine. The guys on the wrestling team do it sometimes. C’mon, it’ll be great. You do me first.”

Derby reached out and wrapped his hand around Max’s cock. It was hot—so hot that Derby almost took his hand away. But didn’t. He started stroking up and down the shaft slowly.

“Get some of my lube and use it,” Max said.

Derby wiped his hand over Max’s muscled belly, covered it in his musk, and resumed stroking.

“Oh, yeah,” Max grunted, thrusting his hips into Derby’s hand. “That’s the stuff, Derby. Nice and slow like that.”

Max’s lube production went into overdrive and Derby smeared even more of it over his cock as he stroked it.

“Both hands, man,” Max smiled down at him. “Use both hands.”

Derby obeyed and found that Max’s length easy accommodated both his fists.

“Awwwwwe!” Max groaned. “That’s it, Derby. Squeeze harder. Faster now. Faster!”

Derby sat on top of Max, straddling his hips, fisting his enormous cock with all his might. Derby’s own cock leaked copiously and bobbed up and down, smacking his smooth belly with the force of his thrusts. Max laid back with his hands behind his head, beautifully showcasing his arms as Derby stroked him to orgasm. His head was back, his eyes closed, his face wrought into a grin of lust.

Suddenly Max thrust his hips, lifting Derby off the chaise. Derby felt the cock in his hands get even harder and then suddenly—

“Ungh!” Max grunted like a bull and his cock exploded. He sent thick, heavy streams of white come clear over his head. Three or four shots cleared his body entirely. The next half dozen fell on his face, chest, neck and shoulders, then smaller blasts filled the crevices of his rolling stomach.

Derby lost it. Seeing Max come, seeing such a powerful display of raw manhood sent him over the edge. He froze and watched and then his own cock started jerking—without even being touched—spraying come all over Max’s torso, their milky seeds mixing in the grooves of Max’s muscles.

“Whoa!” Max gasped. “That was awesome! You did a great job, Derby. That was hot! Watching your cock jerk like that without even being touched… Man, that was so hot!”

Derby just sat, crouched over Max’s pelvis, panting and smiling. Then he watched Max rub his hand over his thick chest, smearing their seed all over himself. He brought his hand up to his mouth and licked it clean. Derby’s eyes went wide.

“What? You never tasted spunk before?”

Derby shook his head.

“It’s good, man. Makes you strong, too. C’mere.”

Derby crawled forward, half lying on top of Max. Max scooped up their come from his body and put it in his mouth. Then he brought Derby up and kissed him.

Derby fought, but only for half a second. Then Max’s tongue was in his mouth and they shared the taste of their combined seed with one another. It did taste good. Max brought his arms around Derby and embraced him, squeezing him against his muscular chest as they kissed, their half-hard penises rubbing together between their slick stomachs.

He knew he was half-drunk, but Derby had never felt so energized before in his life. He’d never felt so alive, he even felt… special and strong, even—two things he’d never felt before in his entire life. He felt powerful having brought such pleasure to this man underneath him. Derby had never done for anyone what he just did for Max, nothing even close. And Max obviously appreciated it. Derby felt… proud.

He looked down at Max’s softening penis, still leaking pearly liquid. Then without so much as a glance to ask permission, he leaned down and started sucking the head with his mouth.

“Aungh!” Max roared, throwing his head back. “Awe, yeah. That’s it, kid. Suck my balls dry. Get every last drop outta them.”

Max was quickly fully hard again. Derby couldn’t get much of it into his mouth. Just the head practically filled him, so he stroked Max’s shaft with one hand and squeezed his balls with the other.

“Oh, yeah! Squeeze those big balls, man! Squeeze ’em good!”

And they were big. Even after having shot a half-pint of ejaculate, Max’s balls felt full and firm under Derby’s grip. Derby felt Max’s hand come encouragingly to the back of his head. Max ran his fingers through Derby’s thick brown locks as he suckled and slurped.

Max moaned with delight constantly and then suddenly his hips thrust forward forcing more of him into Derby’s mouth as he orgasmed again. Filling Derby’s pretty mouth to capacity, some leaked out his mouth and dribbled onto Max’s torso.

Derby released himself, face covered with come, crawled up Max’s body and shared the taste with him once more through a passionate kiss.

“Man, I loved that!” Max sighed. “Watching my spunk leak outta your pretty mouth like that and roll down my cock… Man, that was awesome, Derby!”

Derby just smiled up at him.

The two of them laid there in the shade, soaking in their bliss, for almost an hour—Derby sprawled on Max’s chest, Max with one arm around Derby and one hand gently cupping his big testicles. When they rose they rinsed off together under that outdoor shower and dressed.

Author’s Note

Wanna read the next chapter? Visit me at for this and much more. Kisses!

Love, Eric


Share your fantasy at  (Credit: Artofphoto)


For more on BRK commissions click here or go to  (Credit: Aaron Amat)

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