— Originally published in Inches magazine - July, 1994 —
A circle of cocks at the logging camp
In times when jobs were easier to come by, Mark would never have accepted one that meant spending the summer in the deep woods. He was a city boy, through and through. He'd had all he wanted of wooded Maine when his parents packed him off to summer camp when he was in his teens. He hated the gnats and the black flies, he set no store by assurances that there were no poisonous snakes, and he hated being away from the buzz and excitement of the city. Not to mention being away from all those cock-loving men in the New York Jacks, a masturbation group he had joined just before he left Manhattan.
Yet here he was, far from the nearest town, cooking for a bunch of lumbermen. He hadn't gone to cooking school to end up preparing what the men called "grub." He'd had visions of working his way up in the kitchen of some pricey restaurant which critics regularly gave at least two stars. No such restaurants were hiring at present, and many were actually laying off staff. So in the end, Mark had had to eat crow and go back to his school's employment office to see if the job opening he had indignantly spurned might still be available. Not surprisingly, it was; the other graduates had also turned their noses up at it. He agreed only to four months cooking for this bunch of "meat and potatoes" men, who would stare in disgust at even such a decorative touch as a sprig of parsley or a carrot curl. The way they shoveled the food into their big maws, the way they covered everything with ketchup struck Mark as gross. He was sure they would wolf down moose turds if Mark deep-fried them and saw that there was plenty of ketchup to drown them in.
The only consolation was that there were some hunky men among the woodsmen. Several great figures were packed into the Levi's and coveralls they wore. Some were graceful, too, leaping from log to log when bundling them in the river for the float down to the lumber mills. In the brief bit of time Mark had to himself between cleaning up after one meal and starting the next he enjoyed watching these fellows. When Jean-Baptiste, the blackly hairy French-Canadian giant, slipped on one occasion and fell in the river, he came up laughing, his wet clothes clinging to his big body, showing that, unlike many big men, he was hung in proportion to his size. Mark thought that if Jean-Baptiste could get that big dick erect it would rival some of the logs.
There was Sherman, almost as big as Jean-Baptiste and just as hairy, but blond. He worked stripped to the waist not looking as naked as he might because he was thickly covered--chest shoulders, and back--with curly blond hair. And there was tall, red-headed Burt, who hadn't much in the way of a butt yet had a nice bulge in the front of his jeans.
All the men looked virile and sexy--even old Curly, called that because most of his locks were a thing of the past, replaced by creeping baldness. Older than the rest, he was a master with the saw, making sure the trees fell away from the men rather than on them.
How did these men stand being away for so long from the women they were forever reminiscing or fantasizing about? It drove Mark wild to be away from all those men so proud of their cocks in the Jacks. He thought of them often, back in the city whacking off while they sized each other up, sometimes comparing their cocks to see whose was biggest, fattest, most heavy-headed.
The ache in Mark's groin increased daily. He began to dream of some of the men here, though he normally didn't think about men who were straight as these surely were.
One Sunday, when the men didn't work, though of course Mark did (no days off for the cook), French Freddie, a small but muscular man, said some of them were going swimming in a nearby lake. The river was too full of logs destined for the downstream mills to offer much open water. Freddie asked if Mark would like to come along, since they'd likely be back before Mark had to start dinner. Nobody lingered long in Maine waters, either inland or at the shore, not if you didn't want to turn purple. Mark jumped at the opportunity to see the men undress before their dip. He happily tagged along behind the half-dozen or so who were going.
"Cookie, be sure you're back in time to get us dinner," called out one man who was remaining behind.
"You could live off your fat," red-headed Burton said, joshingly.
"Maybe, but I don't plan to," the man said.
The lake was not far away, though it was in a direction Mark had not yet explored. Neither was it very large. As they came to the edge, a couple of the men began to shiver at the sight of it.
"Jeez, it even looks cold. Wouldn't be surprised to see an iceberg come floating by," said Andy and backed off.
"Chicken-shit" Sherman said, starting to undress.
"Yeah, well, nature didn't cover me with fur the way it did you," Andy said.
Sherman proudly ran his hands through the thick hair on his chest then he dropped his pants.
The glimpse Mark got of everybody's equipment was fleeting at best. As soon as they took their clothes off, those still determined to swim ran for the lake and plunged in. The instant one put a toe in the icy, spring-fed water, good intentions were apt to be abandoned. The only way to get the reluctant body wet was to leap in and swim vigorously. Sherman and Burton began to swim side by side in the not-very-wide lake, perhaps racing each other, perhaps not. Mark and the others swam fifty yards or so parallel to the shore, then back to where they'd left their clothes, and out.
First out, Mark saw, as the men emerged from the water with teeth chattering, the cocks he had missed when they were running toward the lake. Shriveled by the icy water, cocks and balls alike huddled up close to the bodies and were unimpressive, nowhere close to the size Mark had fantasized when thinking about the men just before going to sleep some horny nights.
As the swimmers dried themselves off with towels, the cocks began to grow a bit. But before that process got very far, clothes were being put on again. Jean-Baptiste stood on the shore and applauded Sherman and Burton as they emerged, shivering and shrunken like the others, panting from their effort to pull ahead of each other in the last few strokes of their cross-lake swim. Like everybody else, they seemed to have cocktail sausages between their legs. Ah, well, Mark thought. So he had under-estimated the diminishing effect of the frigid lake; at least everyone except Burton had impressive buns. The water hadn't reduced those.
As the men started back toward the camp, they veered away from the path through the woods. They came on a cabin which seemed to Mark to have been abandoned years ago. The men exchanged looks.
"Uh, some of us are stopping here for a while," red-headed Burton said to Mark, a bit hesitantly. "Maybe you'd just as soon continue back to camp."
Mark, nonplussed, said "Well, I'm not sure I know the way." "Should have told the kid back when we left the path," Curly said. "Didn't think about our having a newcomer with us 'til we got here," Burton said.
"Hell, he's a young buck. Must have as big a load to get rid of as any of us," Jean-Baptiste said with a wink.
"You're right," Sherman agreed. "Ever been part of a circle jerk? Back when you were in high school, kid?" "Oh, yeah," he said, nodding.
"Come on, then." Sherman led the way into the cabin.
Mark noticed stains on the rotting old floorboards. Dried cum from previous circles, he suspected.
A circle was indeed what they formed when they got inside. Mark took his place between lanky Burton on one side and Curly on the other, across from Jean-Baptiste and Sherman, with French Freddie and Andy on the sides. Though reluctant to join in the swim, Andy was ready enough to participate in this. He had his cock and balls out of his pants while the others were still fumbling with zippers and buttons. A formidable cock it was too, not having been immersed in the cold waters of the lake.
"You can strip all the way, just to underwear, or not at all, so long as you have cock and balls out where we can all see them," Jean-Baptiste said, undoing his belt and letting his pants fall, then pushing down his underpants so that his whole crotch with its thick bush was visible. As Jean-Baptiste began to manipulate it, the shrunken cock began to grow. Mark could see that he was right in thinking that it would rival the timber when hard.
As Curly on one side and Burton on the other undid belts and dropped pants, Mark noticed that their eyes were focused on his fly, awaiting the debut of the new young cock. He noticed that the others too watched with interest as he pulled out a dick that no man need apologize for. It somewhat surprised Mark that men who were straight took this much interest in other cocks. They continued to eye his crotch as he fished out his balls, not as large as some others and not as loose.
Sherman, getting warm as he yanked at his steadily swelling dick, stopped wanking and began to unbutton his shirt. He peeled it off and threw it back where he'd put his towel. He never wore an undershirt, so his hairy chest was thrust out in all its blond glory. He ran his hands through the hair and roughed it up. Mark wished it were his fingers running through all that fur.
Seeing that Mark was admiring Sherman's hairy chest, Jean-Baptiste stripped his shirt off also. With one hand he kept stroking his ever-bigger cock, with the other he played with his nipples, which began to stand out, almost begging to be sucked. Just as Mark's hands ached to tangle in Sherman's blond chest and stomach hair, so his lips began to ache to suck at those big French-Canadian tits. That might be possible at the New York Jacks, where only penetration was forbidden, but Mark doubted that it would be allowed here.
By now the two big hairy men had worked their cocks up until they looked like the commemorative cannons that stand on New England greens. It was incredible that things which had been so small at the lake could have grown so huge. Both would stretch any mouth, asshole, or cunt to the outermost limits.
Mark stroked his cock slowly and lovingly, not in any hurry to shoot. He imagined it was first one man's meat, then another's that he was stroking. He had ceased to feel self-conscious about looking frankly at all the hard dicks pointed toward the center of the circle. All the men seemed to take great interest in each others' cocks. He thought they might close their eyes dreamily and drift off into a fantasy of past fucks, but none seemed inclined to be anywhere but here; none were missing a trick.
Jean-Baptiste transferred the attentions of his free hand from his big succulent nipples to the area under his big pendulous balls, and then to the hairy balls themselves, which he caressed tenderly. Then, to Mark's surprise, he stepped across the circle toward Mark. With slow deliberate strokes he pushed his ample foreskin forward so it formed a rosette at the end of his cock, then a nozzle. Mark, circumcised himself, was impressed by all that foreskin.
Jean-Baptiste then surprised him by taking hold of the foreskin on each side and pulling it apart so there was a wide opening. He held it out invitingly an inch or two from Mark's dick.
"You want to see what it feels like to have all that skin around the head of your dick?" Jean-Baptiste asked. "Put the head inside my skin."
Mark stepped forward and put the end of his cock into Jean-Baptiste's foreskin. The Frenchman gave it a push that spread the flesh over the shaft of Mark's dick. Jean-Baptiste strained to make the skin cover more of Mark's long dick. As the heads of their cocks rubbed against each other inside the cocoon of skin, their pre-cum mingled. It was exciting to feel the big Canuck stroking his own cock with Mark's inside. Both swelled even more until the foreskin could barely cover the wet tips.
Jean-Baptiste took a step backward to withdraw, but Mark stepped forward and leaned over to suck at his tempting tits. Jean-Baptiste gasped, not at Mark's forwardness but at the sensation of having a mouth wrapped around his nipple. He let out little moans almost like cat purrs. Having got away with this much, Mark went further and began to stroke Jean-Baptiste's hairy body, almost like petting a cat.
Seeing Mark do that, Sherman stepped forward from his place in the circle and stood beside Jean-Baptiste, thrusting out his chest to offer it for stroking too. Mark happily accepted the offer. Soon the fingers of his left hand were tangled in blond chest hair and those of his right in black. Sherman's blond hair was wiry but Jean-Baptiste's was long and soft. The different sensations in his hands set Mark's cock to bobbing. So did the taste of Jean-Baptiste's long nipples.
Eventually Sherman and Jean-Baptiste drew back to their places in the circle. French Freddie came over to Mark, apparently wanting to compare measurements. Being short, he could place his cock under Mark's easily and see that Mark had him bettered by more than an inch in length and a fair amount in thickness. He shrugged in defeat and drew back to his position, whacking away faster than most.
Burton, beside Mark, reached over and stroked his full buttocks, such a contrast to his own flat ass, Mark drew away a little, fearing Burton might be aiming to stick a long finger in his asshole and finger-fuck him. He dreaded what a relaxation of his guard back there might lead to, perhaps being split wide open by those cannons on the two hairy giants.
"No," Burton reassured him. "We don't allow that here, so don't worry. Just wanted to feel those nice curved cheeks."
"Oh," Mark said. "In that case ..."
Given permission, Burton patted the butt some more, admiringly and perhaps enviously.
Now two or three of the men were jerking away with their eyes nearly closed, having who knows what fantasy to bring them closer to shooting. Mark swung his gaze around the loosely formed circle, studying the great variation in size and shapes of cocks and ways of handling them. Andy had a great bulbous head out of proportion to the thickness of the shaft, which took a decided curve to the left. French Freddie had a head that came to a fairly narrow and sharp point and a distinct upward curve to it. Curly's was veiny and not as hard as the rest, seeming more pliable. Curly's balls were not as fat as Jean-Baptiste's--nobody's were--but they hung in a sack that swung far lower than anyone else's and swayed between his legs as he stroked. No veins showed in Burton's long, thin, smooth, pale dick.
Mark also noted the difference in the way the men stroked: Sherman rather roughly and sometimes with two hands, Jean-Baptiste lovingly and tenderly as though his great cock was an old friend. French Freddie was whacking away rather desperately as though angry at his cock for not performing. Andrew was given to a twisting sort of motion Mark had seen guys in New York use and was always meaning to try.
Mark wasn't sure these men permitted other men to give them a hand, as was possible in New York, but he decided to take a chance. If he offended he could claim ignorance of the rules, being new in the camp. He stepped over to Sherman and held out his hand. Sherman, seemingly pleased that his big dick impressed, let go of his shaft and stepped forward to let it rest heavily on Mark's hand, which quickly gripped its great thickness. Jean-Baptiste, seeing Mark start to stroke Sherman's cock, presented his great dick in case Mark wanted to stroke that also. Mark definitely did, enjoying the way all that foreskin slid back and forth.
With a hand on each of the two biggest cocks, Mark's own was sticking out unattended. Jean-Baptiste took care of that, reaching out a hairy mitt to cup Mark's balls, then to stroke Mark into a hardened state.
The other men, their view blocked as the trio formed a closed unit, drew close so they could see what the three were doing.
Mark leaned over and searched in Sherman's blond chest hair for his tit. They were not as prominent as Jean-Baptiste's, but when the tip of his tongue found one as he chewed at the chest hair, Sherman gave a start; his tits were obviously sensitive.
The other men began to reach into the threesome and try to wrest Mark's cock from whoever's hand was working it. They felt up each other, but Mark, being the novelty in the group, was the center of attention. There was room for more than one hand on either Sherman's or Jean-Baptiste's huge cocks, but it was one at a time on Mark's.
Suddenly Sherman gasped, pulled his cock out of the grasp of Mark and the others and cried out, "Stand back, I'm going to cum."
Mark had to drop Jean-Baptiste's dick in order to back away, which he did just as Sherman shot a great load on the stained floor. The first big spurt was followed by another equally big, and then by a few additional dribbles which fell at his feet. The sight of it set Jean-Baptiste off in three great spurts, going Sherman one better.
Mark felt his own time approaching and cried out--"Oh, yeah!"--as he felt his cum propelled the length of his dick and out onto the cabin floor.
Curly and Andy and Burton soon followed suit, with cries and gasping breaths. The floor was now well-spattered.
Only French Freddie was still working away, his neck muscles a bit taut and his face getting red as he became desperate to add to the mess on the floorboards.
The others began to act like a cheering section, urging him on while their own cocks slowly subsided.
"Come on, Freddie," Curly said. "You can do it. We've seen you."
"Bang that fucker, Freddie," said Andrew, "Shoot that load."
"Been draining it too much in the latrine, have you?" snickered Sherman.
No sooner had he said it than Freddie shot a spurt that topped them all. It flew across the space between them into the blond hair of Sherman's belly. As Sherman looked down and saw the white drops clinging to the hairs, another spurt from Freddy hit Sherman's bush.
"Sorry," Freddie gasped, but he clearly wasn't.
"I'm a fucking mess," Sherman said and leaned back to get a handkerchief out of the pocket of the pants lying with his towel. He wiped away Freddie's errant drops, then cleaned away some final drips emerging from his own now-relaxed cock.
As they put their clothes back on, Jean-Baptiste said, "That gives me one big appetite. Let's get Cookie back to his kitchen double-fast."
Mark had never seen Jean-Baptiste when he didn't have a huge appetite, but he knew it wouldn't matter what he served them as long as there was plenty of it, and plenty of ketchup to go with it.
If the men were now dreaming of food, however, and looking forward to the next meal, Mark had a longer view of things. He was looking forward to the next session of what he now thought of as The Lumber Jacks. This wasn't going to be such a bad summer after all.
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