Finding a New Sam

"You must not have checked the squash courts," he said, obviously pleased that I'd been looking for him. "I've been looking for you for months, man."

"We started but didn't finish," I said.

"That's right, we did start," he answered. "But I didn't think—"

"I didn't give it all to you. I wanted to know whether you could take it."

Jackson shuddered, started to say something and then didn't.

"You're all sweaty and smelly," I said.

"An hour on the squash court will do that to you. You're pretty ripe yourself. Beating the field in pickup basketball?"

"Thought I'd get some exercise while I was shopping."

"Find anything you want?"

"I have now. I think we should go to the showers. You want to try taking it all?"

"Best offer I've had all day," he answered.

We didn't make it to the showers. When passing one of the cubicles conveniently provided for privacy, I pulled Jackson inside and put his back against the wall.

"I'm going to fuck you right here," I hissed.

"But I'm all sweaty and smelly."

"That's what's turned me on. You're all man. "Stay here," I growled. "I'll be back in just a minute."

"Is this what you're looking for?" he asked, pulling a condom packet out of the pocket of his shorts.

"That's convenient," I said.

"I was told you were in the building. I went for this before coming for you."

* * * *

"Oh, shit, oh, fuck. Slow down, hold off for a . . . oh fuck, fuck, FUCK!"

"Relax. We can do this," I growled. We were both naked, sweaty slick naked, with the slap, slap, slap sound backed by his moans and my groans of me pounding his ass, trying to get in deeper. "Open to me. Give it to me. Stop tensing up."

With a sob, he went limp, the pressure of his knees against my hips letting up enough that he had to cross his ankles at the small of my back to keep his legs from sliding for the floor. He wasn't so much relaxing as collapsing, going limp.

"Do it; give me all of it," Jackson groaned through a clinched jaw. But I knew that he couldn't take all of it, at least for now. And he ejaculated up my belly, meaning his response inevitably would lose intensity. I was losing him . . . at least for now.

I relaxed myself and let my balls release my cum into the bulb of the condom. I rested my forehead against his and looked deeply into his eyes.

"Sorry, man, I wanted to take it all. I'm sure I can . . ."

"It's OK," I whispered. It wasn't really OK. Well, it was good—much better than with a small-bodied limp wrister—but it wasn't great. It wasn't Sam.

"We'll work at it—if you're willing."

"It means a lot to you, doesn't it?" Jackson whispered, "To fully possess your partner."

"Yeah, I'm afraid it does. I had my man once. I don't think I can be fully satisfied until I have his equal again."

"He must have been quite a man."

"He was."

"You were close?"

"Very. He took a bullet for me and I took a bullet for him."

"You were soldiers?"

"Private soldiers. Legal mercenaries."

"And satisfied lovers? You're a rough power top. He was tough?"

"He was tough as they come. He took nine inches without a groan. He was a man."

"With work, I can manage it, I know I can," Jackson murmured. "And you should sign up for the Appalachian Trail walk."

"Why?" I asked.

"'Cause it's essentially a couple's walk and a chance to be alone in a tent for the night. About twenty-five miles a day along the ridge of the Blue Ridge. Four days hiking and three nights in tents, two guys to a tent."

"So?"

"I'm signed up and I don't have anyone else in my tent yet. Time, under the stars on top of the world—time to get it right—for me to manage it all. I want to manage it all. I want to be that man for you. I want to be able to take your nine inches without a groan."

At least he was game for it.

Chapter Three: Appalachian Trail Humping

"So, who's that then?"

I was sitting in the passenger seat of the truck that had brought our backpacks up to the mountain, blowing on my lukewarm coffee to pretend it was too hot to drink, as about a dozen—exactly a dozen, counting me—guys shuffled around the overlook of the Virginia piedmont where Route 64 crossed over the Blue Ridge. I hoped it wasn't going to be this cold every morning of our hike—and, truth be known, I hoped we wouldn't be setting off on our hike every day at this hour: it was barely 6:00 a.m. The entrance to the Skyline Drive was just above us on the ridge of the mountains. The Appalachian Trail running north criss-crossed the parkway.

"That's who we've been waiting for; he's our trail guide," answered Jackson. He was standing next to the door of the truck. He'd been in back rechecking all of the gear we were taking. Jackson and I could manage the necessary backpacks. I felt sorry for some of the other sets of guys who were going on the hike. Few were conditioned as Jackson and I were.

"I thought it was Parker, who organized these things, who would be trail boss. And what's the getup that guy is wearing?"

"Parker whines if he's expected to walk across the street. That's a park ranger—from the Shenandoah National Park that covers most of the Blue Ridge here."

"So he's not one of us?" I asked.

"Nope. He came down from the drive. His name is Cal Somethingorother."

"Pity he's an outsider," I muttered. It was a good thing that Jackson either didn't hear me or didn't follow up on what I said. The ranger was a hunk—solid and built close to the ground, like Sam was. I was sure he wasn't soft, either. He looked hard bodied. Sort of like a pug. Not real good looking, but like a take-charge kind of guy. Not much older than forty, if that. He aroused me in the same way Sam always had—which is why I'm glad Jackson didn't catch on to my disappointment that he wasn't connected with the Rainbow Connection center.

Cal was calling us all over to the center of the overlook parking lot. He had a deep voice that reverberated over the lot and echoed off the rock wall across the road from where we were standing. Almost immediately I wasn't sure about him, because, as he talked and even though his eyes scanned the group of men—already paired off, with Jackson standing close beside me—the ranger's eyes seemed to constantly come back to me in an assessing look.

"We'll try to keep everyone together on the hike," he was saying in the booming voice of his. "The pace will be an ambitious one, but we don't want to lose anyone. So, I'll need to designate someone to walk the tail and make sure no one strays too far behind. I'll have to be in front. You, there, the tall guy."

"Keith here?" Jackson called out, pointing to me.

"Yes, you. Keith, is it? You look like you can keep the pace. OK if you hike the tail?"

"Sure," I said, somewhat disappointed that that explained why he'd been giving me the assessing looks—but even then, I couldn't be sure that was it. I thought I knew that look.

"We have three overnights before meeting up with the vehicles at the Front Royal entrance in the north. We'll be camping at Loft Mountain, Lewis Mountain, and Elkwallow. The vehicles will take us up to the southern entrance to Skyline Drive on Afton Mountain now. Your choices of dropping out along the route are right here, or at one of the camping spots. The trucks will be bringing in food supplies and any medical supplies needed where we camp each night. You want to go back to Richmond from any of those places, that's fine. These aren't army maneuvers, and this isn't a boot camp; it's an outing. Try to make the camp each night, though. Any other questions?"

I looked around. I wouldn't have been surprised to see some of these pansies change their minds now. From the look of them, I was guessing that half would drop off along the route. One thing I thought I was clear on, though, that it wouldn't be either Jackson or me.

But I'm glad I didn't make that bet with anyone.

* * * *

I reached the Loft Mountain campsite after dark. This wasn't because of any difficulty I had in hiking, but because the first of the pansies didn't make it more than five miles before he slowed off the pace and at the eighth mile I had to use the Walkie-Talkie Cal had given me to call for the vehicle Cal had wisely told to remain at the assembly place lookout in case it had to be called in. The little darling's partner didn't look like he was good for more than two more miles, so I sent him back with his partner. Neither one of them complained.

We lost another pair shy of the first twenty miles.

So, when I finally walked into camp, we were down to eight, plus Cal.

Jackson had held back with me for a few miles, but when I saw that the first pair wasn't going to make it much farther, I sent him on ahead to apprise Cal that the tail of the group was dragging.

Cal was sitting, alone, by a campfire. He was burning coffee on the open flame and poured a cup for me as soon as he saw me walking in from the track. I eased the backpack off my back and crouched down by the fire. I didn't want to go down on my butt yet, for fear I wouldn't get up. I managed the twenty-seven miles from the park entrance to Loft Mountain, but I couldn't say I wasn't sore. I hadn't managed a hike like that for more than a year.

I was wearing a pedometer, so I knew it had been closer to twenty-seven miles than the twenty-five miles maximum Cal had told us we'd have to walk in a day.

"So, you're the last."

"Yep," I said. "Where are the others?"

"They're all wiped out—including your partner. They barely had time to pitch the tents and grab some grub before they were in them and sawing wood. You want some grub?"

"That would be nice."

He poked around in the coals of the fire and came up with an aluminum pie plate covered with foil. It steamed when he lifted a corner, so I couldn't complain about my dinner being cold. He was coddling it in a thick towel, and handed me the plate and a fork, keeping the towel under it so my hand wouldn't burn.

"Thanks," I said. "That's how we did it in Iraq too."

"That's how we did it in Iraq too," he said. "I thought you were in the service from checking you out. Carry yourself like you were and you managed the hike better than the others did."

"Checked me out, did you?"

"Yeah, of course I did," he said, giving me a level stare. "Infantry?"

"No, private army," I answered. "Blackwater."

He grunted. "I should have known."

"You?"

"Rangers."

"I should have known that too," I answered in turn. "You know then that twenty-miles a day is more than these guys can do—especially since it will be more than that."

"Yeah, I know that. It wasn't my call. I received the plans from your center. Whoever planned this hike was an idiot. I tried to tell him, but . . ."

"That would be a scrawny little guy named Parker. You may have noticed that he isn't on the hike himself," I said, and we both laughed. "Anyway," I continued, having finished both the dinner and the coffee, "I guess I'd better turn in too. I'm getting too old for twenty-five miles a day myself."

"You don't look too old. You look damn fine to me."

I looked into his face when he said that and then looked away. Was that a signal of some sort? It had been so long since I'd done the dance, it was hard to tell. I hadn't expected him to have any interest. He either did or he was naïve about how to talk to a gay guy who was open to possibilities. And I was open to possibilities. He looked like Sam; he looked like he could take it.

"You know, I don't think anyone but you, me, and Jackson will make the last leg of this," I said.

"If that," Cal said. "I'll get paid for the whole hike anyway."

We shared a laugh again and I went to my tent. Jackson was laying on his side, in a sleeping bag, and snoring away. I knew he wasn't in condition for any fooling around even if I could have gotten him awake. I got in my sleeping bag and stretched out behind him, with my arms around him.

I was hard, but there wasn't anything I was going to be doing about that tonight. Truth be told, I didn't even know who I was hard for. The thought of what Cal had said and whether or not it was the signaling it sounded like ran—and reran—through my brain until a nodded off. One thing was worth thinking about. Cal was built like Sam had been—and Sam had taken it, taken it all.

* * * *

Sure enough when we reached the Lewis Mountain camp area it was just the three of us, Cal, Jackson, and me. And again, I dragged in after dark, having had to arrange vehicle pickup for the rest of the guys who couldn't make it to the campsite.

Cal was waiting for me by a campfire. Jackson, again, had barely managed to eat before he rolled into our tent and was asleep. While Cal was pulling a dinner for me and a cup of coffee out of the coals, I walked over to my tent, opened the flap and looked at Jackson sleeping there on the ground. Another night that he wasn't going to be roused. This trip had been advertised with the innuendo of having sex under the stars on a mountaintop. I don't think anyone who signed up for this hike fucked anyone or was fucked by anyone while on this tour. I certainly hadn't gotten mine.

More than that, Jackson himself had said this was a time for us to work on Jackson molding to my needs. That obviously wasn't happening either. I wasn't even getting my rocks off, which was beginning to be a pain.

"He's a handsome young man."

I lowered the flap, turned, and agreed with Cal. "Yes, he is."

"A couple, are you?"

"No, no, not really. I just met him at the center and we're giving it a try."

"But you're not sure? The attraction is because he's black?"

"No, not really. It's because he's a real man, I guess. The others who signed up for this hike . . . who didn't make it . . ."

"I understand. And yet he's not quite what satisfies you? You're not young. Don't get me wrong, you're in extraordinary shape. Have you been looking all this time, but not satisfied?"

"I was very satisfied once—for four years."

"But . . .?"

"But he died."

"Ah. A man's man, though, was he?"

"Yes, a buddy from Blackwater—we went through Iraq and Afghanistan together."

"And he satisfied you because . . .?"

I paused. I didn't know how to put it—I wasn't sure I wanted to say it at all. "You do realize what these guys are who signed up for this hike?"

"Yeah, of course, the hike was set up by the Rainbow Connection in Richmond. It's for active homosexuals. The guys who signed up for it are homo. I was told it would be two guys to a tent and that they'd be fucking each other at night. You're gay and active. You're in a tent with Jackson. I get that. You're fucking Jackson. I'm betting you're a top—and dominant, and probably fuck rough. I get that too. So how did this partner of yours satisfy you that others haven't—haven't satisfied you sexually? A big strapping stud like you; I can understand that you have needs."

I took a deep breath. I'd probably never see this guy again and I liked talking to him. Truth be told I liked everything I saw about him. So, I leveled with him. "I have demands, needs, and am built in such a way as, well . . . he was tough. He could take me—all of me."

"Ah, I think I understand. You are an impressively built man? Horse hung; both long and thick, I'll bet. I'm not surprised. Here, your dinner is getting cold again. Come, eat."

I went over and crouched down beside him, close to him, where he was patting the ground.

When he handed me the warm foil-covered aluminum plate this time, he didn't let go, resisting my pulling it away.

"Just out of curiosity, how hung are you?" he asked. He made it sound like he was just asking if I wanted the salt passed.

I decided that what was going on here was signaling and that I might as well give him a chance to back off if it would scare him. "Nine inches by two hard," I answered.

He whistled and looked down at the plate we both were holding. "Is this what you're hungry for, or are you hungry for something else?" he muttered in a low growl. "I think I can give you what you want, what you need."

Our eyes met, and I could see that he had a hunger that rivaled mine. "Let loose of the plate, Keith," he whispered. "I can handle nine thick inches. I'd had plenty of practice."

I let loose of the plate and he pulled me in for a kiss—and then for a deeper kiss as he unzipped my shorts and pulled my cock out. "God you are big," he muttered.

"It's OK, we don't have to—"

"No, I can handle it. I want to manage it. I like it better when a man is hung like this."

I gasped as his face went down to my lap and he took the shaft in his mouth, working it hard. Deep-throating it, although it wasn't fully erect yet. But when it was fully engorged, he was still handling most of it.

As he was unbuckling his belt and pushing his shorts off his legs, I murmured, "Rubbers. I'll have to get them out of the tent."

"Did you and the lover who satisfied you use rubbers?" he asked.

"No. We were married. And got checked."

"And have you been checked recently and only worn rubbers since."

"Yes, but . . ."

"I'm clean. I'm betting you like it raw; I like it raw. We're both clean. I want you to bareback me."

He was moving a leg over my lap, facing me—and positioning his hole and my cock with a hand. And then settling on it. Descending, descending, descending.

"Oh, shit, oh, fuck," I cried out. His short hairs were entwining with mine. He'd taken it all. Then he gently pushed me back onto the ground and began to rise and fall on the cock. He was fucking me. Deep. He had taken it all and was fucking himself on it.

The fuck got wilder. I came back up, fighting for control. Getting what leverage I could to take over the thrusts. He gave a little to me, but only a little, and we became a well-oiled fucking machine, moving with each other, moving against each other, all of me deep inside him, jabbing, thrusting, counterthrusting, sliding, rubbing, riding each other hard.

We exploded, almost together, and then collapsed, side by side, dangerously close to rolling into the fire.

"God, that was . . ."

"Incredible," he said.

"You took it all." And didn't groan once, I wanted to add. You took it like Sam used to take it.

"I think it went longer than you said. I don't think I've never had a dick that big," he said. I could hear the pride in his voice. "Shit, I want . . ."

I rolled over on top of him and slid my cock deep inside him again and began a slow, deep fuck, well lubricated now by the cum I'd already deposited.

". . . it again. Oh, fuckin' Christ, yes, just like that."

We both let gasps and moans take over again, although most of that was me. He was taking it like a silent movie champ. He dug his heels into the dirt by the fire to raise his buttocks for a straight, deep entry, and I fucked him hard and deep.

"His name was Sam, wasn't it?" Cal asked in a low voice when we were spent for a second time.

"Yes, how did you know?"

"You cried out that name a couple of times."

"Sorry. I don't think it meant anything other than that you were satisfying me as well as he had done."

"It doesn't matter. My middle name is Sam."

"Perfect," I said, burying my face in the hollow of his shoulder because I felt myself close to tears—not tears of sadness or melancholy, but of joy. He had taken it, all of it. It hadn't taxed him too much. He hadn't groaned. At last I'd been with a real man, like Sam, who could take it all. And raw.

"Next time let's do it naked, though," he whispered. "I want to worship your body properly."

"Deal," I said, suddenly being worried about there being a next time. Jackson. Jackson was in the tent. God, I hoped he'd slept through all the animal rutting out here. Guiltily, I ate my cold dinner and retired to my tent. I laid down stretched behind Jackson, unzipping and crawling into his sleeping bag behind him.