The MilkMan
by
AC Adams
SMASHWORDS EDITION
* * * * *
PUBLISHED BY:
Wes Writing on Smashwords
The MilkMan
Copyright © 2012 by AC Adams
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THE MILKMAN
I like small country towns. I like to see the horses in the fields walking and prancing as piss gushes from their hose thick dicks. Those bulls bellowing with balls swaying back and forth like a sack of apples get me in the mood for something hot. In country towns you have fruit peddlers and other kinds of peddlers going door to door. Sometimes those old men have their boys with them. There’s nothing I like better than answering the door in a pair of clean white briefs that hug my ass and make it look like a tight firm cantaloupe. The boys look at me with sullen expressions on their faces--wife beaters torn and jeans hanging low on their hips. Then they sneak back late at night calling out to me, “whooo” like hoot owls. I meet them for a romp under the Moon and Grandma’s chinaberry tree. They’re nothing but muscles and dicks. I love the earth smell of their bodies and the animal musk odor of their big dicks. Country boys have the biggest dicks and the thickest chests you can imagine. Their pecs make Michelangelo’s David turn green all over. They’re their best at eighteen. The life of farming and chores makes them lean and taut. They’re not soft in their asses like city boys. And they fuck you like they’re trying to split you in two. Nothing to occupy their time, but a piece of tired pussy here and there and maybe a pig’s ass. So I’m their everything--a boy they can “rassle, a boy they can kiss, and a boy they can fuck.” Country boys love to wrestle and pin you under their musty hairy underarms. Just breathing in that young man scent can make the softest dick rock hard. Yep, this is the life of a country town. Brokeback Mountain ain’t got nothing on us. My Grandma’s hometown even has a milkman. You never see that anymore in the big city. This is how I found out about him.
One morning while Grandma had gone to tend to her sick friend Miss Edna, I got up late and made me some breakfast. It was a ball being in Grandma’s big ol high ceiling house all by myself. That meant I could get out of bed and not worry about putting on a stitch of clothes. So there I was with the cool morning breeze from the large open windows blowing over my golden brown tight nineteen-year-old muscular ass and the sizzling hot grease from the bacon threatening to pop my big sausage dick. It was also brown and thick, curving to the left like a banana. You should have seen it jiggle and bounce as tiny splatters of hot grease stung it. I should have worn Grandma’s lacy black apron. but like any boy, I like a dare.