What They Don't Now

On the first pass with the mower around the Hughes's backyard, Josh thought he'd seen a figure in the woods. The land behind the Hughes's lot in Farmville, Virginia, was town reservoir land, composed of a small lake surrounded by mature trees. The grounds surrounding the lake were manicured on the other side, with walking trails, but the bank had been left wild on this, marshy, side of the lake.

On the nineteen-year-old's next pass around the back of the lot, the figure materialized and stood just inside the tree line, watching the trim, blond youth, mowing in a sultry early June morning in just athletic shorts and sneakers. That was all that Coach Johnson was wearing too. If anyone asked, he would say he was out for a run, even though there were no running trails on this side of the lake.

Johnson had been Josh's swim coach for the youth's senior year, which had come a year later for Josh than for most. He'd had a rough fifth grade—twice. He had been more than just Josh's coach since that March, when Josh had turned nineteen.

The coach remained there, in sight of the Hughes lot for only a moment before turning and walking deeper into the woods. He didn't look to see if Josh would follow him into the woods, but he knew the young man would. Johnson smiled when he heard the power mower cut off. He walked almost to the edge of the lake, where the water was shallow, with cattails rising out of it in profusion. The ground was soft here, the roots of the willow trees protruding from the ground, the cascading willow branches arching over edge of the lake and trailing almost down to the surface of the water.

Here, under the sheltering willow branches, Coach Johnson slipped off his shorts and jock strap and sat down, between two roots radiating out from the willow tree trunk and reclined against the trunk. He took his erection in his hand and slow-pumped himself. Within moments, Josh was there, standing before Johnson.

"Take the shorts off and hug the tree behind me," Johnson said, and Josh slipped off his shorts and briefs and moved forward. Coach Johnson wrapped his arms around the young man's waist and pushed him into the tree, taking the young man's now-hard cock into his mouth. Josh wrapped his arms around the tree trunk behind him and moaned as Johnson deep-throated his cock and sucked on his balls. One of the coach's hands went back to pleasuring and preparing himself.

When he felt the young man trembling and murmuring, "Coach, coach. Oh, shit, Coach," Johnson reversed the young man's willowy body.

"Bend over and grab your ankles," Coach commanded and Josh did so, writhing a bit and groaning as Johnson's tongue went into his ass.

"Now, Coach, now. Please," Josh moaned.

"Yes, now, Josh," Coach Johnson said, as he reversed Josh again, held his erection raised and steady, and guided Josh down on it with his other hand. Josh whimpered at the penetration. Johnson paused in the fusion of their bodies to reach around and release Josh's curly, golden-blond hair so that it cascaded to the young man's shoulders and accentuated his angelic beauty. When he was fully sheathed in the young man's channel, Johnson gripped the youth's slim waist between his hands. Josh reclined his torso back, palming the spongy moss-covered earth at the edge of the lake and began moving his pelvis up and down on the cock in a cowboy fuck. The positioning and transitions had been smooth; the two had done this before.

The two worked together in the fuck, the coach rising and lowering Josh on the cock with a grip on the young man's waist, and Josh helping with the rise and fall with the support of his back-flung arms and the leverage of his feet planted by the older man's sides.

Josh came first, crying out to the skies through the foliage of the willow branches. Johnson fucked on to his own deep-passage creaming. Josh's body lay there, twitching, streaming out from Johnson's crotch toward the lake as they both jerked from each blast of the coach's cum in a virile rolling ejaculation.

Josh returned to the back lawn of his parents' house and had the mower powered up again as his father drove into the driveway from work. His mother would drive in in another fifteen minutes or so. They both had jobs with the small university in the rural town, Longwood. College wasn't in session, but their offices—his father working in supervising facility maintenance and his mother in the admissions office—were in a busy time of the work year.

Their sunny blond, more beautiful than handsome, small-figured son had been no problem to them throughout his life. In September, he would be starting at Longwood, as well. His grades hadn't been that great—he'd been more interested in sports than studying—but his parents' jobs at the university guaranteed his admission. Longwood wasn't a very choosy school. He even had brought down a sports scholarship, although not a large one.

It was good that he gave them no grief. They had no time or energy for complications. They had such a busy professional and church leadership life, in fact, that they didn't notice that Josh had not matured emotionally as other teenagers his age were doing. He still was engrossed in video games. He still had a treehouse he retreated to for hours. He still spent most of his time on the sports field. He still was coming to grips with a body in transition from youth to man and with the needs and desires that came with that. He still had secrets they didn't know about. He didn't date. But then a lot of youths his age hadn't found an attraction to young women yet—at least in Josh's parents' understanding.

What they didn't know wouldn't become yet another worry for them. They hadn't felt so awarded by having children that they had another one after Josh. Upon having Josh, the "children" box of their family history was marked off and they moved on to the next "ideal family" goal.

* * * *

"No, we're not getting you an Xbox One console for graduating high school and making it into Longwood. You shouldn't need to be bribed to set and achieve career goals for you own benefit. Do we look like we're made of money? Besides, aren't you getting a bit old to be playing video games? You should be getting ready for college. If you really want more electronic toys, you can earn them yourself. Mow lawns this summer."

I'm old enough to do a lot of things, Josh thought. What you don't know . . .

"Earn it yourself" struck a bell with nineteen-year-old, blond, curly haired, and blue-eyed Josh Hughes. "I don't want to just work all this summer. I want to go someplace and have fun," he responded to his father. He did know how to mow lawns. He'd just finished mowing his parents' lawn, and he stood there, behind the mower beside where his father was sitting on the back patio unwinding with a beer. Josh stood there, his hair down for a change, in just athletic shorts and sneakers, looking tanned and trim and as good as any nineteen-year-old on the cusp of transitioning from a teen's to a man's body could look—the muscles starting to show but not taking away the smooth-bodied, willowy aspect of a teenager's body yet.

"Like where? Go where? Your mother and I can't take off from our jobs. Summer is high work season for both of us. We have to prepare for the new school year. Where could you go other than to your Uncle Paul, near Roanoke?" Paul wasn't a real uncle. He had married Josh's Aunt Marie after her husband, Josh's dad's brother, Stan Hughes, had died. That meant Paul was just somewhere on the sidelines of the family, but there wasn't much real family left, so Paul got included. Paul had been considered "in" the family ever since, even though Josh's mother didn't like him all that much. Josh liked him . . . a lot, for various reasons.

Josh gave a little smile, which he hid from his father. His father had fallen right into the trap. "Yeah, I'd like that. Two weeks now at Uncle Paul's farm near Roanoke would be good. I could work for him and both get my gym work done and maybe he'd pay me something. I'd probably be learning useful skills too." Uncle Paul was perfect for what Josh wanted. He was cool and lenient and several other things too that Josh wouldn't mention to his father or, god forbid, his mother. They'd never let him go near Uncle Paul again, if they knew. What they didn't know wouldn't hurt them.

"I don't know how we'd get you there, though. It's a hundred miles from Farmville." Farmville, Virginia, was where Josh's family lived. It was a sleepy little college town in the south-central area of the state that was dead when the university students from Longwood weren't there. The next two weeks would be between sessions. Josh did things with guys at the college and got things from them—he'd done so for a year, since he'd been legal earlier in his high school years than most others. College wouldn't be coming back into session for the two weeks, though, and, even after the summer session at the university started up, it would take him time to establish connections there again.

"You wouldn't have to take me. I could get the bus to Roanoke and Uncle Paul could pick me up there. How about it?" Everything was still working out good. Josh didn't want his parents to drive him to Roanoke. He wanted to get there on his own. If he worked it right, he could keep the bus money and hitchhike there. He read a gay porn book recently where a guy his age hitchhiked across the contrary, trading sex with men for rides. There was even money left over from what the men gave him. That had made an impression on him. "I'll check on bus tickets from Farmville to Roanoke."

"OK. I'll call Paul."

Josh already knew there was no bus from Farmville to Roanoke. The nearest bus service to Roanoke was from Lynchburg, halfway there already. But, if he worked it right . . .

His father came back to say it was OK with his sort of Uncle Paul, who would pick him up at the bus station in Roanoke when Josh called him from there. Josh did have a cellphone, a primitive one, his parents let him have. They didn't know, though, that he had a far more powerful one, a smart phone, that he'd gotten through Paul. Paul had been great about tacking Josh onto his account and not telling Josh's parents he had. Paul was cool that way, and he enjoyed sticking it to his Hughes in-laws. He and Paul had other secrets too.

Josh now went up to his tree house in the backyard to make some calls of his own on a plan to get to Roanoke. The ladder up to the treehouse was a rickety one, which he'd fix, except that both he and his parents knew the ladder wouldn't support their weight—Josh was a little guy for his age—and thus, what he kept in the treehouse could be kept secret from them.

Once in the treehouse, he used his smart phone to start making some travel arrangements of his own. He had contacts—lots of contacts—his parents didn't know about. They had no idea what someone could do on the Internet.

* * * *

Mason Young pulled his Cadillac Escalade past the "For Sale" sign and behind the house in a farmette outside the outskirts of Appomattox, Virginia, where General Robert E. Lee had surrendered the South to General Ulysses Grant of the North in the American Civil War and where nineteen-year-old Josh Hughes surrendered his body to Young, as he had done a couple of times already in the last year. This was the first leg of Josh's hitchhike from Farmville to Roanoke.

Young was the only driver on this journey Josh knew personally because they were both from Farmville. Putting the car into park, Young turned to the teenager, twisted Josh around to where his back was pressed into the corner between the passenger door and the edge of the seat and his left leg was raised and bent, pressed against the back of the seat.

Young was a large, florid red head with a perpetual "you want to buy the house I'm selling" smile on his face, a robust former football player at the University of Richmond, now in his early forties but still an avid, in-shape sportsman. There were no preliminaries. Young had fucked Josh before. For him, this was just a rent-boy transaction, with a ride rather than money involved in giving him access to the young man's ass. He wrapped his right hand around the young man's neck and dipped down with his face to take Josh into a deep kiss. His left hand was busy unbuckling and unzipping Josh's shorts and fishing the teenager's cock out. He then set his hands to roaming between material and flesh of Josh's body.

All of the men Josh went with wanted to feel up the tender, young flesh of his small, perfectly formed body. As he continued controlling the lip lock and Josh moaned as he knew the man would want him to, the Realtor from Farmville fondled the young man's cock and balls intimately until Josh started rocking on the hand. Young's fingers went under Josh's balls and his index finger penetrated the older teenager's passage and rubbed his prostate.

Gasping, Josh pulled away from the kiss and murmured. "Shit. Fuck. Put it in me. Fuck me." He was rocking on the finger inside him. This wasn't the first rodeo Josh had gone on with Young. Young knew how to do him well.

Young laughed. "Yeah, that's what I'll do. I want you to suck me off first, though." He had gotten himself unbuckled and unzipped and his dick was out. It was a thick slug of a dick rising out of strawberry blond pubic curls. He guided Josh over and down with the hand on the back of his neck, and Josh took the thick cock in his mouth and sucked it like it was a lollipop.

Josh knew what to do. He'd done this before. And Mason Young knew how to enjoy taking head from a beautiful, small nineteen-year-old blond. He lay back in his seat, held Josh's curly head to his crotch, the young man's long hair fanned out on Young's thighs, and gave direction on what he liked and what he liked better. He liked deep throating, and Josh was game for taking all he could into the back of his throat.

"Gonna come," Young growled through clinched teeth, and Josh pulled his mouth off the cock and took the cum on his face.

"Let's go into the house," Young said. "It's empty but I've got the key." Young was a Realtor. The house outside Appomattox was one of his listings.

"OK," Josh said. The man had paid him $200 and agreed to get him as far as Appomattox. He was due more than just a blow job.

After his dad confirmed with Uncle Paul (who wasn't really an uncle) that Josh could come work on his farm for a couple of weeks and that Paul would pick the boy up at the Roanoke Greyhound Bus station, Josh went up into his treehouse to use the smart phone and laptop his parents didn't know he had up there. They were busy people with full lives of their own. They didn't pay that much attention to what nineteen-year-old Josh did—which was a whole lot naughtier than they could ever imagine he did.

Josh had a network of attentive male Net friends all over Virginia and North Carolina who were interested in meeting up with him on the strength of his photo, his acknowledged age, and his claimed (for real) sexual experience. What with his swim coach, a few college guys from Longwood, and some men in the Farmville men-on-guys network Mason Young was in, Josh had been a very busy young man since the beginning of the year.

It took him less than two hours to set up a relay hitchhiking route across southern Virginia from Farmville to Roanoke on his designated day. This method saved him the bus fare his dad would give him without checking to find out that there was no bus service between Farmville and Roanoke. Josh also would pick up other money along the route and arrive in Roanoke able to finance what he was doing this all for in the first place—electronics, which he'd have to keep in his treehouse so his parents didn't know he had them. Uncle Paul—good old Uncle Paul—would facilitate Josh getting what he wanted.

Josh also wanted the action with the men. He enjoyed being worshipped—having men want him, having men want to put their hands on his body intimately, having men wanting to be inside him. It was probably a phenomenon of his age and tenderness that men who lay with him—and there had now been more than he could count on both hands—were as interested in intimately fondling his body as they were in fucking him and, when they had the time and opportunity, they tended to spend more time with their hands roaming his body than with their cocks inside his channel. For his part, Josh loved the attention. He loved the gasp he'd hear as men ran their hands up his inner thighs and he willingly spread his legs and elevated his pelvis for them, becoming open, vulnerable, and willing for them.

He loved the intake of breath from them when their cockheads were positioned and he'd push his pelvis up to take the shaft inside him. When they clutched him close and began to move inside him, his low moan told the men it was what he wanted.

On the day, at the appointed hour, Josh's dad drove him to the city bus station.

"You want me to come inside to make sure you can get a ticket and sit with you until the bus leaves?" he asked.

"No thanks, Dad. I've already called and reserved the ticket. The bus is on time. You have other things you need to do. I'll call you when I get to Uncle Paul's."

Mr. Hughes did have other things he needed to do. He was glad Josh was getting old enough to look after himself. "And you'll call me if you have trouble along the route?"

Josh waved his old cellphone that did nothing much else other than make calls. "Sure thing, Dad." His smart phone, piggybacking on Uncle Paul's phone account, was buried in his backpack. He was taking some clothes. There were more clothes of his at Uncle Paul's—and work clothes for when he was working on the farm. Uncle Paul didn't wear much, if anything, in the house and neither did Josh when he visited there. Josh was taking a few ratty old T-shirts and briefs because Paul like to rip them off him before he rolled over on top of Josh and pinned his body to the mattress.

Josh stood outside the front of the bus station for some fifteen minutes before a new, black Cadillac Escalade pulled up beside him. The Farmville Realtor, Mason Young, was swiveling his head around, looking in all directions for who might be seeing Josh get into his vehicle. Josh pulled himself up into the SUV and closed the door. Satisfied they hadn't drawn attention, Young said, "Everything all right?"

"Yes. No problems," Josh answered.

"You said two hundred. It's there on the dashboard, in twenties. Look at it. You put it in your pocket, we've got a deal, you've got a ride, and I've got a blow job and a ride. You put that in your pocket and I'll drive you to Appomattox, like you want, and you'll give me what I want."

The two didn't need introductions. They both were local to Farmville. They weren't strangers. They'd hooked up before. Young knew Josh—biblically. Young's initial desire, although with all the others, to explore Josh's body with his hands and to observe and savor as he brought the young man off with his hand was a fetish of the past now. Now he wanted to fuck him.

With that, Josh's hitchhiking day from Farmville to Roanoke had begun.

After Josh had given Young a blow job in the front seat of the Escalade parked outside the house for sale on the edge of Appomattox, Young used his pass key to let them into the house. There wasn't any furniture, but some of the rooms were carpeted. Young took a couple of king-sized towels in with them as well as a picnic basket. He'd promised to feed Josh his lunch too.

Young fucked Josh on the carpeted floor of the master bedroom, with one of the large towels under them. The carpet had been cleaned and the Realtor didn't want to do anything to mess it up. They had stood facing each other after they'd stripped and kissed and fondled each other. Young, large and robust, towered over the smaller, nineteen-year-old trim blond. He covered Josh with kisses and explored him intimately with his hands, going down on his knees to taste the boy's cock. Rising and turning Josh then, he bent the boy over and plastered his face between Josh's butt cheeks and ate him out. From there it was just a matter of coaxing Josh down on his hands and knees, mounting him from behind and above, grasping the boy's slim hips to hold him in place, and fucking him to a sheathed ejaculation.