Shooting Matt Ch. 08

"What the hell you two doing?" Our inquisitor is reed thin, younger than me, older than Matt. His face is thin but without that rat-like look of some. In fact, he's not bad looking. His hair is buzzed. It's hard to make out the color, blonde, light brown. The buzz cut disguises but doesn't hide the receding hairline. He doesn't look pissed, not exactly anyway. Perturbed? Sure. But also, under the perturbed, I think he looks a little intrigued. I tell myself to relax. There's nothing to be gained by freaking out.

"Sorry, buddy. Long story, pretty stupid one, besides. Lost a bet. The upshot being we have to take a picture of publicly exposing ourselves for our wives." I sound convincing enough to my own ears.

"Your wives?" asks Ken, as the name tag so names him, sounding far less convinced than I had hoped for. "Wives who want their husbands to take pictures of each other's dicks?"

"I said it was a stupid bet," I say with a shrug. "Who, besides a buddy, am I going to ask? Some stranger?"

"You know there are security cameras all over the place?"

"Sure," Matt chimes in. "The deal was it had to be a public place."

Ken stares at him for a moment.

"Bullshit. Maybe you got wives but they aren't part of this. Give me a fuckin' break. You're getting each other off."

"Busted," Matt confesses with a grin. I'm pissed. True, my story was weak and wasn't working but still.

"We actually came to get lumber to fix a fence," Matt continues. "But my bro, dude, he started sportin' major wood, which, 'cause he's free-ballin', was totally like 'hey look at me'. It was kinda awesome and made me horny. So, really dude, sorry and everything. You know?"

Ken shakes his head. "No, not really. I don't know." He looks at us. "You two qu - gay or something?"

"I am," Matt volunteers. "Randy claims he's bi but I think he's a total flamer personally."

I glare at him. Ken, the fucker, chuckles.

"Whatever you are you got the IQs of a couple fence posts. There's guys in here that'd be happy to slice your dicks off for that shit." He pauses. "And those the guys who work here. The customers are worse. Keep your dicks in your pants for fuck sake. You really need lumber?"

"Dude, we got plenty of wood, but yeah, we need lumber," Matt tells him and then grins.

"Jesus Christ," Ken says, shaking his head. "Follow me."

He leads us to the fencing. There's nothing unique about my fence. They have plenty of boards to match. We load up a dozen.

I decide to go ahead and spring for a power washer. If I'm going to spring for that, I might as well get a sprayer for the paint. And I might as well get the paint.

"Hey, Ken, could you give us a hand with this stuff?"

I stare at Matt. What is he up to now?

Ken looks taken aback but after a second, he nods.

"Randy, with your back, let Ken and I take care of loading this stuff?"

I stare at Matt. There's nothing wrong with my back. He nods. "Hop on in the truck. It'll only take a second. Roll the windows down." We reach the truck and Matt lowers the tailgate. "Oh hey, bro, give me my phone back."

I hand him the phone. The door squeals open. I forgot the WD-40. It squeals closed. I roll the windows down. I'd left them cracked open a little but the cab is still hot. The truck jostles as the lumber and paint and odds and ends are loaded. The tailgate slams. I'm reaching for the ignition when the passenger door opens and Matt climbs in.

He's flushed. It's warm out but not enough to explain how red his face is.

"Talk to Ken, bro."

"Huh?"

"Just act like I'm telling you how to use the power washer," a voice outside the driver's window tells me. Ken stands there. In one hand he has the instructions to the power washer. I jump for the second time in the past thirty minutes when I feel Matt's hands at my waist.

"Chill, bro, chill," Matt whispers.

"No, you don't need to pre-treat the wood, not unless it's really mildewed," Ken tells me from the window. "Power wash it, seal the wood and then paint or stain. You really have to clean the sprayer out ,though after using the sealer."

Matt unbuttons and unzips the cut offs.

"Lift your ass, bro."

I do. He pulls the cut offs from under my ass, pulls them over my knees, and lets them fall around my ankles.

Ken reaches through the window and hands me the manual. I take it and stare at it blankly. I swallow a gasp when Matt's mouth swallows my soft cock.

"Nod once in a while. Make it look like we're talking," Ken tells me. His eyes are on what's happening in my lap.

"That's right. Suck his dick. Make him hard." Ken's voice has dropped half an octave.

Matt doesn't appear to mind being told what to do. Ken is holding Matt's phone. I quit worrying about how this happened or even what, exactly, is happening. I'm getting my dick sucked. In a parking lot, not for the first time, but the first time right in the middle of the parking lot. We're no more than fifty feet from the entrance. I stuff a rag down the throat of the person inside me screaming, "are you crazy" and give myself over to pleasure.

My hand finds Matt's head, his long hair hangs in a ponytail. I use my right hand, partly because he's on my right side but mostly I don't want my hand in the way of the shoot. In my mind, I'm not getting a blow job in my truck in broad daylight with a stranger filming it. I'm watching it. It's on the TV, hell it's on the computer screen and I'm sprawled on a couch, legs splayed. My ex-wife is on her knees. I'm fucking her face. She's not giving me head; I'm fucking her. My hand presses hard against the back of her head. She gags. I don't stop. I'm saying all the angry, hateful, vicious things I've thought but never said to her.

The image collapses in horror and disgust. I feel sick. The idea of cumming out of anger and resentment appalls me. I feel my cock start to fade. Matt's hand strokes my leg. I feel him telling me, without words, to relax. I lean my head back on the seat of the truck and work my hand under his ponytail. My hand rests on the back of his neck. It's sweaty. The truck is hot. I don't press against him with my hand. It's not there to force anything. It's just another place for my skin to touch his.

Ken offers a steady stream of advice and commentary that is, frankly, more distracting than erotic. On the other hand, the poor bastard is stuck. He can't join in. He can't jerk off, not now anyway. The only thing available to him is his mouth. Still, I'm reminded that one of the worst sins of pornography is the dissemination of the belief that non-stop "dirty talk" is essential to sex.

I desperately shove these distracting thoughts away. I want to enjoy this, really experience it, now, not later.

My fingertips stroke the sweaty skin of Matt's neck. I whisper to him, not Ken, not the camera, that what he's doing feels unbelievable. And it does. Given the confines of the cab of mid-size truck there's not a lot he can do. I'm not fat but there's not enough room between my body and the steering wheel for him to do more than move his mouth up and down my cock and stroke with my hand.

I hope you believe me when I say, that was more than enough.

My mind has completely tuned out Ken. I'm only distantly aware he's still standing at the driver's side window.

Matt lifts his head, freeing my cock. I'm close. He senses it. He presses the side of his head against my belly and chest. His lips brush the head of my cock, his questing tongue caresses the side of the crown. His mouth is open. I don't need to look to know this is so. My head remains on the headrest. My eyes remain closed.

I don't buck my hips. I don't even breathe hard. I concentrate on the feel of his head against my body and his hand on my cock.

His hand sails slowly over the skin of my cock. Our bodies are slick. The sum of my precum and his spit is greater than the parts. His touch is feather light, yet I feel it all over my body. I swear I feel his touch in the highest most hair follicle on the top of my head to the tiniest tip of my little toe.

I cum in total silence; Ken adds the groans. I have no idea how much of my cum makes it into my lover's mouth. I remain perfectly still. The only movement is of spasming muscles behind my cock and the slow movement of Matt's hand.

When he sits up, he's smiling. I can't tell if there is any of my essence in his mouth but there is some on his cheek. I wipe it away with a finger. There's some in his hair. I press my lips over it and kiss it away.

Our kiss is sweet. Not literally. Cum is neither salty nor sweet. It's not the semen that imparts the sweetness.

"Jesus. Fuck." Ken offers from the window. Reality swirls around us, carried in on his voice. Matt leans away from me and holds out his hand.

Ken hands him his phone back.

"Thanks, dude," Matt tells him in total sincerity.

Ken seems unable to move. I'm afraid I'll run over his toes if I try to drive away.

"Later, man," Matt offers. Ken steps back with a nod.

The engine turns over with a blessed lack of drama. As I pull out onto the street I glance over. Ken is still standing there, hands atop the push bar of the dolly, watching us drive away.