Fun on the Bush Walk
I like to do a particular bush walk when needing to expend excess energy. It is considered a specific challenge and is off the beaten track. I have not run into anyone game enough to try it, bar a couple of hardcore BMX'ers who have screamed by me occasionally. At the end of the trek, I am usually drenched in sweat and drained of vigour.
I stopped midway for a break on this particular day, perched on a ledge overlooking a small valley. As I relaxed, voices were heard below me, two at least. I leaned over the edge but could not see anything. The sound increased and was male in tone. The dialogue waxed and waned as if they were discovering something of great interest.
I strained my ears to the sounds below me, faintly making out some dialogue. It appeared that the guys were looking at porno mags because every so often, there was a comment to the effect a particular model had big tits and a hairy bush.
How did they get down there, I wondered. Gazing over the edge, given the trees and scrub, I could see no obvious path. The height and inverted incline of the rocky wall face precluded climbing from my position, yet clearly, a discrete space was hidden from prying eyes.
Motivated, I decided to find a way to where those voices emanated. I retraced my steps, but after several hundred metres, the ledge below the path gave way to a sheer cliff. Creeping forward, I found several possible entry points that appeared dangerous. Continuing, I noticed the ledge rose, and behind a copse of trees, I discerned the faint markings of a path that allowed access to the lower level when forced.
It was clear that people frequented this area because I saw several discarded soda cans and chip packets. I approached cautiously, trying to be as silent as possible, which was difficult given the dense undergrowth.
Shortly, I came across two BMX bikes leaning against the rock wall. The scrub became more dense as I proceeded, but I heard voices again. It was not a conversation anymore but the distinct noises of sexual activity. The guys I had discovered ogling naked women were now moaning and hissing. My cock rose to attention as I crept forward, trying desperately not to make any noise of my own.
Eventually, I came across them in a hollow directly below where I originally heard them. The spot was hidden from the hiking track above and challenging to approach. Ordinarily, this would be the perfect spot for some illicit action, but why choose this place? There must be many places to select that did not involve such an arduous trek.
Then I saw them. Two young guys, older than 18, judged by the blonde's arm tattoo. He was confidently fucking his brunette friend's doggy style while he flicked through a porno magazine. Both were grunting, and the blonde was dripping in sweat.
Suddenly, the blonde pulled his cock out of his friend's arse. The brunette rolled onto his back and stuck his cock into the air while the blonde straddled him in the reverse cowboy position. They fucked like that for several minutes, and I thought seriously about whipping my cock out and having a cheeky, voyeuristic wank.
"I need to come," Groaned the blonde after he stopped bouncing on his friend's cock.
The two friends manoeuvred into a side-saddle 69 position, sucking anally stained cocks to climax. While not coming simultaneously, the blonde exploded first, and his friend exploded moments later. They stayed locked in that position while they cleaned each other. After sitting up, they embraced and kissed passionately before reluctantly dressing.
That was my signal to make a discrete exit without being discovered, despite wanting to join in. What I saw was a display of high eroticism, and my mind raced. How could I introduce myself and get an invite to play? Both guys were attractive with athletic bodies like minds, beautiful cocks and high-energy enthusiasm. They knew how to fuck and were very much into each other.
Were they gay or bisexual? To me, they seemed to get turned on by leering over naked women. I bet they had a stash of magazines at that hollow. I planned to return the next day and investigate further.
In the meantime, I got back to the trail and noticed a cut on my thigh that was bleeding profusely, being cut from a bush I squeezed through while making my way back from the hollow.
There was a rock just off the path where the entrance to the ledge was located. I decided to wait there for the guys to emerge. I ended up staying longer than I anticipated, but eventually, they emerged, non-plussed that I was there.
"You guys don't have a plaster or band-aid, do you?" I asked after they nodded in my direction.
"Sorry, man," said the brunette, "I got nothing."
The blonde shook his head, too, but acknowledged the bleeding.
"That looks bad," He said.
Neither seemed at all suspicious that I happened to be positioned at the exact spot where they emerged from their secret spot. Granted, the trail was popular, and I had encountered a couple of people walking in the opposite direction when I commenced the bush walk earlier that day.
These two were very nonchalant, walking their bikes and conversing without a care in the world. They had cleaned up, so it was impossible to tell they had just engaged in some hot man-on-man action.
"My folks live not far from where the trail ends," said the blonde, "I can grab a band-aid if you like."
"Thanks," I smiled, "As long as it's no bother."
"None at all."
As we walked toward the trail's endpoint, we did the introductions. The blonde was Jack, and his companion was Drew.
"I'm Jason; nice to meet you," I said.
We chatted about general stuff, and I noticed that Drew had a barely concealed rectangle between the top of his shorts and his t-shirt nestled snuggly against his abdomen. This clumsy attempt at sneaking contraband into his house would not fool anyone. It was so poorly concealed that Drew constantly adjusted himself as we walked the trail.
"What you got there?" I asked as we neared the end of the bush walk.
Drew went instantly red but said nothing.
"I mean, it must be spicy," I said, "Since the way you're attempting to hide will fool no one."
"Told you," Jack chimed in, evidently finding humour in his friend's discomfiture.
"Fine," Drew huffed, pulled the book out from his t-shirt, and thrust it in my direction.
I took the book from him and whistled in awe. I held in my hand a Danish
Color Climax
magazine published in the late seventies. It was in good condition for its age.
We crossed the road and sat under a gazebo in the park. My two companions exhibited nervousness as I thumbed through these ancient pages of European hardcore filth.
"Were you boys looking at this before?" I asked rhetorically.
Drew and Jack exchanged nervous glances, unsure how much I knew.
"Yes," Drew confessed, "It's part of my dad's collection."
