Shane was posed naked on the back of his old, red pickup truck as I tried to get a provocative photo for my blog article. Fuck, he had a hot body, with a nice fanning of light fur on his pecs. It was then that I noticed the dark tattoo on his upper chest: ‘be nice.’ There had to be a story there.
“Can you tell me about your tattoo, the one on your chest?” I asked, still snapping photos.
“Uh—that one is kinda personal,” Shane muttered sheepishly.
“Come on,” I persisted. “You’re already naked on the back of a truck. What could be more personal?”
I was knocked over by his masculine charm earlier that day when Shane answered the door at his home on a ranch near the mountains in New Mexico. The blog I wrote for was doing a pictorial series called, “The Modern Cowboy,” and Shane fit the bill. The black Stetson hat, the rugged denims, the wide belt buckle, the scruffy beard. He worked as a ranch hand and also competed in the rodeo circuit, which is how he came to my attention.
Shane led me into his cozy front room for us to conduct the interview. The room was bathed in warm light from a large picture window that framed the mountains in the distance. A big, strapping man several years older than Shane soon entered with a tray of hot coffee and buttermilk biscuits with honey.
“This is Buck,” Shane gestured a casual introduction. “I work his ranch when I’m not competing, and we—uh—we share this house.”
Buck was strikingly handsome with a killer smile, a full beard, and muscular, hairy arms. I blushed as I shook his massive hand. He gave me a furtive wink before disappearing back into the kitchen.
For the next hour, I asked Shane a series of questions for the article, mostly focused on his work on the ranch and his rodeo competitions. He was evasive when I asked him about girls or any special lady in his life, but most guys get shy with such questions. I then needed to get some photos of Shane to accompany the blog article.
“I was thinking we could drive up into the mountains,” Shane suggested. “The light is beautiful up there when the sun starts to set.”
I readily agreed and we piled into Shane’s old, red pickup truck to make the trek up into the mountains. Fuck, he looked hot driving that truck, manly beyond words. I wanted to reach over, unzip his jeans, and suck him off as we made our way up the mountain. But I behaved, remembering my journalistic integrity.
We found a great spot for photos, with soft light reflecting off the mountains. I asked Shane to pose on the back of his truck. Even though he was hot as fuck, the photos just weren’t working. He seemed stiff and looked to be uncomfortable.
“Could you maybe lose your shirt?” I asked. “As long as you’re not embarrassed?”
“Shit,” he laughed. “I’ve got no issues with my body. I’ll strip down naked, if that’s what you need.”
And that’s how Shane ended up naked on the back of his truck. It’s also how I noticed the tattoo on his chest—‘be nice.’
“Uh—that one is kinda personal,” he muttered when I asked him about it. Nonetheless, Shane agreed to tell me the story behind the tattoo.
Growing up, Shane always knew that he was somehow different. It wasn’t until he was in high school that he could identify what made him different—Shane liked boys. And that was a problem. Being openly gay in his small, conventional town was simply not an option.
But Shane‘s father posed an even bigger problem. Conservative and homophobic, Shane knew his dad would never accept his truth. The secret was easy enough to hide when Shane was in high school, but became difficult once he was a man.
After Shane finished school, his dad gave him a job working in his tire shop. Shane had delivered an order of tires to an auto dealer two towns over when he stopped at a gas station to take a piss.
There were two urinals in the men’s room, an older man standing at one. Shane sidled up next to him to piss and noticed the man was hard and jacking his thick cock. Shane also noticed a wedding band.
“You want this cock, boy?” the man taunted, dangling it towards him. Shane nodded eagerly, desperate to have his first sexual encounter, as the man led him into the toilet stall.
“Bend over the toilet,” the man instructed with authority. “Yeah, that’s it. Now raise your ass a little higher, boy.”
The man spit on Shane’s furry hole and briefly worked in a finger. And then—BAM—the man plunged his cock into Shane.
The initial pain was excruciating, but Shane didn’t care. He wanted that cock more than anything. The married man spit on his cock again, and soon it felt pretty good up Shane’s ass. It wasn’t long before the married man began to grunt, “Yeah, boy. I’m about to bust in your hole.”
Instantly, Shane could feel a flood of warmth inside him. The man quickly zipped up and left. Shane reached for some toilet paper to clean his cummy hole. But before he could finish, a voice came through the crack in the stall door.
“Psst. You taking cock in there?” asked another stranger. Shane opened the stall door, and a bearded biker dude in a Harley jacket was soon breeding him.
Over the next several months, Shane became a regular at that gas station. The owner knew what was going on, and had even dumped a few loads up Shane’s ass, never getting any action at home from the wife.
But Shane didn’t want his only sexual encounters to be within the confines of a gas station. He longed for the luxury of getting fucked in a bed. So one day, he took a risk—a big risk. Shane brought home one of his gas station regulars to fuck while his dad was at the tire shop.
Shane loved fucking in a bed. He could enjoy different positions other than being bent over a toilet. And he didn’t have to be quiet. He could be loud, screaming things like, “Yeah, fuck my ass. Give me that big fuckin’ cock.”
One afternoon, Shane was getting railed on his bed a little too loudly by a hung married guy who had propositioned him down at the gas station. Suddenly, he heard an inimitable click—the click of the safety on his dad’s shotgun.
“What the fuck is this?” Shane’s dad demanded with his shotgun pointed at Shane. The married guy turned white and fumbled to pull out of Shane, covering his wet cock with the sheet.
“Dad. Lemme explain,” Shane stammered. “It’s not—”
“Shut the fuck up, son,” his dad barked, rage in his eyes. “I want you two faggots out of this house right now.”
With the shotgun aimed at them, Shane and the married guy scrambled to dress and then hurried out to Shane’s truck. Shane returned the married guy to his car at the gas station and then waited to give his dad some time to cool down before going home.
Two hours later, Shane returned home to find his dad had tossed all of Shane’s belongings onto the front yard—his clothes, his high school yearbook, his rodeo trophies. Shane tried to go inside to talk to his dad, but the lock had already been changed.
Shane knew instantly that he had lost his father for good, as well as the job at his dad’s tire shop. Shane was now homeless and unemployed with five dollars in his wallet. He slept in his truck that night.
Shane tried to find work in town, but word had traveled fast that his dad would bring hell upon anyone aiding his disgraceful son. So Shane went back to the only safe place he knew—the gas station.
The owner felt bad for Shane. He couldn’t offer him a job, but gave him some bags of expired chips and a few cartons of milk that were past the sell-by date. After a few days, the gas station owner told Shane he needed to move on, that he couldn’t have a homeless kid living in an old truck outside his gas station.
Shane decided to try his luck in the next town over, and said his goodbyes to the kindly gas station owner. Yet it never occurred to Shane that he didn’t have enough gas to make it more than a few miles out of town. Shane pulled his truck onto the gravel shoulder as the tank hit empty.
As darkness descended, Shane made himself a bed of clothes in the back of the truck for the night. He had eaten nothing but a stale bag of Doritos all day. His water bottle had run dry, and it was getting cold. There were lightning strikes in the distance. Shane thought he was hallucinating and seeing an angel as a steady white light in the distance came closer and began to blind him.
“Are you Shane?” a booming voice sounded as a man clicked off his headlights and climbed out of his oversized pickup truck.
“Yeah,” Shane replied as his eyes adjusted to the darkness again, taking in the truck and the figure of a big, strapping man.
“I’m Buck,” the man introduced. “I was at the gas station and heard you might be needing some help—maybe some honest work, too.”
One simple word—help—had never meant so much to Shane. He began to cry, weeping openly in front of this stranger.
“It’s okay, boy,” the nice man spoke softly. “Everything’s gonna be alright. I’ve got a spare room at my house for you, and a job on my ranch, if you want it. But we can talk about all that later. For now, why don’t you come home with me? We can come back in the morning with some gas for your truck.”
Shane slept late into the next day in the nice man’s guest room. His body couldn’t recharge enough. It was nearing dinner time when Shane, freshly showered, appeared in the kitchen and found Buck hovering over a big pot of chili.
“I hope you’re hungry,” Buck chuckled, “because there’s enough chili in this pot to feed an army.” After they shared dinner, Buck invited Shane out on the porch to watch the stars while Buck smoked his pipe.
Shane cleared his throat and finally found the courage to ask, “Why are you doing this? Why are you helping me?”
Buck blew a ring of smoke into the cool night air and then softly replied, “Because, just like you, my dad kicked me out many years ago when he found out that I like boys.”
Shane’s eyes widened. Buck was so gruff and manly, it hadn’t occurred to Shane that Buck might also be gay.
“Gosh, it’s getting late,” Buck yawned while emptying out his pipe and rising from his rocking chair. “We’ve got an early morning,” Buck declared. “I’d like to show you around the ranch tomorrow.”
Shane nodded absentmindedly, lost in thought. When they got back inside the house, Shane put a hand on Buck’s massive shoulder and asked softly, “Do you want to fuck me in my bed or yours?”
A look of confusion washed over Buck’s face. “Fuck you?” Buck replied incredulously. “Christ, no. That’s not why I brought you here, boy.”
Buck put his hands on Shane’s shoulders in a fatherly way and looked him in the eyes. “I think you’re an extremely handsome young man, Shane. But I didn’t bring you here to be my fuck toy, you hear?”
Shane was morbidly embarrassed by the misunderstanding, and nodded his understanding sheepishly. But climbing under the covers that night, Shane couldn’t help admitting to himself that he was beginning to fall for the handsome, strapping man who had rescued him.
Work on the ranch was challenging but rewarding. Shane and Buck got along as if they had known each other their entire lives. In many ways, they began to feel like father and son.
Shane learned that Buck had once been in love with a man named Vince, but that he had died many years ago in a car accident. Shane wondered if perhaps Buck might one day have feelings for him, like he once had for Vince.
As weeks turned into months, Shane’s affection for Buck grew deeper and stronger, and it appeared Buck felt the same. Buck was always mussing Shane’s hair at the breakfast table or giving him a playful shoulder rub while doing dishes at the kitchen sink. Shane was certain there was a bond growing between them—something beyond a father and son relationship.
It was a violent summer storm that awoke Shane one night. He wasn’t scared, but he also didn’t like being alone in his bed. He wished to be in Buck’s warm bed, safe in his strong arms—a fantasy that he had long harbored deep inside.
Shane climbed out of bed and tiptoed into Buck’s room. The floorboards creaked and Buck instantly awoke. “Everything okay?” he whispered to Shane.
“Yeah, I just—I just didn’t want to be alone in my room. Can I climb into bed with you?”
Without a word, Buck raised the covers so Shane could slip into bed with him. The lightning flashed at that moment, and Shane caught a glimpse of Buck’s naked, muscular body under the sheets.
Buck stretched an arm out toward Shane, who then cuddled next to him. Shane's hand found Buck's furry stomach and rested there for a moment before slowly trailing down Buck's hairy body. Buck moaned softly as Shane's hand rested upon Buck's hardening cock.
As thunder boomed outside, Shane's head disappeared under the covers. His mouth found Buck's big, thick cock and began to lick and suck it greedily.
"I want you inside me," Shane whispered as he surfaced. Buck nodded in assent as Shane pulled off his boxer briefs and straddled Buck's cock.
"Christ, you're tight," Buck exhaled as Shane worked Buck's big cock up his tight hole, finally resting firmly on Buck's muscular thighs with his cock deep inside Shane's ass.
With another boom of thunder, Buck sat up and flipped Shane onto his back in one quick, motion, plunging his cock even deeper inside the boy.
“Fuck me," Shane begged. "Make me yours."
Planking on his strong arms above Shane, Buck began to jackhammer Shane’s tight ass. The boy's hole seemed made for his big dick, and Buck was working hard to not blow his wad too fast. Soon, his efforts were futile.
"I'm gonna bust," Buck warned urgently. His body began to convulse and, soon, Shane could feel Buck's cock unleashing a massive load inside him. Buck collapsed upon Shane and kissed him deeply, passionately.
"I've wanted you from the moment I saw you stranded on the side of the road," Buck admitted while softly kissing Shane’s neck.
"I felt the same," Shane confessed, searching in the dark for Buck’s eyes. "I desperately wanted you to fuck me that first night, even though I know we did the right thing by waiting."
Exhausted and depleted, the two men soon fell asleep, their bodies entwined in blissful slumber. Shane would never again sleep in the guest room. His place was with Buck.
"We've been together ever since," Shane finished telling me as he jumped down off the back of the truck. His big, floppy dick taunted me as he pulled on his clothes. “I love Buck more than anything in this world.”
I had all the photos I needed for the article at that point. But not the full story. "Wait, that still doesn't explain the tattoo—'be nice.’ Where did that come from?" I asked again.
“Sorry, I didn't mean to leave that part out,” Shane apologized. “When Buck came to get me on the side of the road, his headlights nearly blinded me. The first thing I saw when my eyes adjusted was the front plate on his truck, which read, 'be nice.' And I knew instantly that this big, strapping man would be nice to me.”
Shane paused, fighting back tears, before continuing. “Buck—he's actually been so much more than just nice to me. He didn’t just save my life, he helped me to build a new one with him. And that's why I got the tattoo. Buck has the same one on his chest. We got them together down in Albuquerque on our first anniversary."
Shane’s phone then chimed loudly. "We should get back down to the valley,” he stated, reading a text. “Buck says there are storms headed over the mountains."
I looked up and could see the sky was indeed darkening. “Shit,” I exhaled. “I’m gonna have a long, nasty drive back to my motel in that storm.”
"Why don’t you stay with us for the night?" Shane offered.
“That would be great,” I readily accepted as Shane texted Buck, giving him a heads up that I would be spending the night.
"Buck just replied,” Shane stated as we got into his truck, the rain approaching rapidly. “He said he can make up the guest bed for you—or you’re welcome to share our big bed. Your choice.”
My tented pants gave Shane my answer.
Stories are fiction and intended for readers 18 and up. All characters are assumed to be legal, consenting adults.
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