the only one in town

Outpost, Montana,   1899  by Chuck Forester

Billy ran the livery stable taking care of  horses prospectors and cowboys brought into town.  He provided a fresh set of horses for stages when they got as far as what they called Outpost, maybe every month or so.  The town should have a proper name, everyone said, but it was just a collection of wooden buildings put up by a railroad that failed about the time the tracks got that far.  When the train never came, a few folks stayed and a few stranglers just sort of moved in, and nobody bothered to give it another name because there wasn’t anything except the wilderness beyond.  When there was talk of silver in mountains to the west, a few more folks, mostly men, showed up in Outpost.  Some moved on in search of fortunes, and others got drunk and never left.  Not much happened in Outpost.

Billy was big and lanky, a thirty-two year old who stood maybe 6’2” with dirty blond hair that fell to his shoulders.  He hauled firewood to town when he wasn’t working at the stables where he lived in the loft.  His body was strong with long hard muscles, and he liked it that way, and he liked working hard.  Without many folks in Outpost, his body was his best buddy.

On hot days Billy liked to stand naked under the water tower where he’d rigged a shower.  He watched himself in the back window of the stable, and he liked to look at himself and his muscles, especially at midday when the sun was directly overhead.  He liked his cock that hung long between his legs, sometimes pulling back the foreskin to see its pink head glow in the sunlight.  He liked to look at his crotch with its thick bush of dark blonde hair and low hanging balls; the hair extended down long bowed legs.

Sometimes Billy grabbed his balls and pulled. The dull pain made him feel good somehow.  It was like touching some set of electric muscles just beneath his skin.  He’d pull on his balls, and until they ached.  He found that when they started to throb he could slap ‘em, and that, too, felt good but in a different way; like the sting of a whip.  And once he slapped them, he wanted to slap them again.  With his powerful arms and long fingers he could make ‘em sting real good if he propped one leg up on a nail keg.

Billy would stand beneath the shower after he’d turned off the water and pull on his balls and watch in the window’s reflection.  He’d wait a second and watch, and then he’d slap ‘em again, checking the window’s reflection each time.  SLAP!  He’d do it again.  He’d watch as they sparkled in the sun from being wet, and they swung behind him and then settled low between his legs.  The more he slapped ‘em the more they’d sting and that got his dick hard; it bent in a smooth long arc down from his body as though wanting to enter the earth.  He tried to look at his face but his eyes always shut when he slapped hard.

Billy had a good-sized dick, he thought, and he liked watching it get stone hard, sticking out and throbbing.  The more he slapped his balls, the harder it got.  Then he would grab it.  If he’d been drinking he imaged it was being grabbed by a stranger who had just wandered into town and caught him showing off.  The stranger always grabbed his dick like he wanted to keep it warm and hard. He wondered what it would feel like it that stranger might lick it with his tongue.

When he looked at the the reflection he knew it was just him and his secret out back of the livery stable. He was he only one in town.  He looked at his body and ran his hand from his shoulder down across his nipples and grabbed his dick again.  Slowly, he pulled on it, for a minute pulling back the foreskin and tapping the head of his dick, then pinching it and sticking his little finger in his piss hole that tingled all the way up his dick.  His dick stayed nice and hard like it wanted more.  He grabbed his shaft hard and pulled it up against its natural direction, then he pulled it to one side, then to the other.  Again, it hurt at the base of his dick, but it hurt in a good way and kept his dick very, very hard.

Billy watched his wavy reflection in the window.  When he stood at one angle his torso looked longer, and at another angle his chest seemed even wider than it was.  When he stood sideways at the right spot, his arms bulged and glowed in the sunlight as they gripped his swollen dick.  He could make his dick look really big if he stood right.

Billy watched himself as he slowly massaged his dick, his forearms tensing as he twisted his little finger in his piss hole and slowly pumping his meat.  He pulled and stroked, massaging the head of his dick and finally when he couldn’t stand it any longer he threw his head back and pumped like the piston of a locomotive.  Billy’s head twisted from side to side and his body bucked as he slide his foreskin back and forth and pulled it slowly up to his finger in the head.  He kneaded his dick it as though pulling ecstasy from his body and down the tube in his dick to its head.  He kneaded it slowly, relishing every moment of its pleasure.  His body coiled as all sensation focused his crotch and then, like an arrow released from a tightly drawn bow, his crotch sprang forward and his cum flew in spurts across the muddy ground beneath him.  His were long spurts, each a big glob of cum, and three or four times he released long and sure spurts that blessed the earth.  They shot out of him with enough energy to travel to some place in his mind where men like him showed off their bodies and touched each other.

Billy turned to see himself panting in the window glass. A leering and gleeful smile emerged through the stubble on his face, and he shook his head as though he didn’t know why he liked doing it so much.

Billy wished he could watch himself when his body bucked and heaved and shot white stuff everywhere, but he could never stop those moments long enough to open his eyes.  He was too darn excited by the buzz that raced from the muscles of his ass to the tip of his dick that he never turned to look in the glass.  His eyes were always looking somewhere else: a place he called Paradise.  He figured what happened at that moment was only seen by God.

 

Billy watched himself as he caught his breath.  Then he rinsed off, and looking in the glass saw he was covered with a thousands tiny rainbows.  He stepped back and jumped up and down, watching the rainbows dissolve in the hot sun.

 

 

 

He walked back and forth in front of the glass looking at his body and still tumescent dick, sure he didn’t want to groom the horses or haul firewood for the Claybournes.  Sure he just wanted to stand there without any clothes and look at the mountains on the western horizon.  Someday he was going to cross them; and ride all the way to a place folks called San Francisco.  They said there was ships from all over the world, and lots of men who stayed up late.

About Chuck

Ivy education, long-time San Franciscan with two dogs and two homes. Have traveled most of the world and spend my days writing.

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