Wynning a Stallion
@partybcys
“Shit.” He laughed at himself and put a hand to the closest tree. Good job, Matty. You successfully kept from yourself from face-planting. His eyes scanned the thin forest, hoping he’d find a nice, fluffed up bush where he could relieve himself. Six beers, a few waters and some salty peanuts will do that to you. And a nice doobie will let you forget you gotta pee until it’s too late.
When the sensation hit him, he quickly excused himself from Grayson - his friend. They were on the first of hopefully many short, summer camping trips. It was a chore to keep himself upright and to his credit he had not pissed his pants . . . yet.
He stopped a few feet from another tree, curling his hand around his crotch, sucking in a sharp breath and kicked his foot. I’m not gonna make it, he admitted, eyes dancing from one end to the other, making sure that Grayson hadn’t followed. Travis had been in this situation before and would always put himself a few minutes of distance worth between him and whoever. But right now nature was calling and he had to answer.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzip! What fumbled out of his fly was shadowed by the trees, but one could easily make out the length and width. It twitched, the length wiggling a little as the head started to spit. A steady stream began to go, and Matty let both hands grab ahold. He closed his eyes, smiling dumbly from the weight he felt in his hands. Heavier than any mans should be. He sometimes wondered if his being a freak also made him the biggest guy on the planet . . . . or at the very least, the country.
