"Sonny and I" - Under the Wide open Sky

Sometimes a story comes in, and I am awestruck at the incredible stories of events that you guys have lived. I presume and state, that life is indeed a blessing although completely unscripted. There are often mysteries and questions that seldom make sense, yet muted words beget enchanted movements of the heart. The body then follows unrestrained....... skilfully seeking the finesse of warm touch from another .

Read this fine composition and celebrate the joy this seasoned writer found on a treacherous night, in  a daring chance he found something rare with a treasured friend.

E-

I've written a number of stories about my horny adventures in the various places that my Air Force father was stationed when I was growing up. What I haven't mentioned is my crazy summers. You see, my dad was one-quarter Native American ("Indian," if you prefer). His father (my grandfather) was half Apache, making me one-eighth. My Apache Grandpa was the one who nicknamed me Thunder Cloud.

My dad thought I should pick up on my native heritage, so beginning when I was eight he sent me to spend a few days every summer with the old man. I enjoyed it so much that it grew to a couple of weeks and later most of the summer. I loved it primarily because it freed me from all supervision. I essentially ran wild, not accountable to anybody.

Grandpa lived in eastern Arizona, the beautiful paradise of the White Mountains: clear streams, lush green meadows, tree-covered rocky slopes.

I started driving the summer I was eleven because Grandpa -- well, let's just say he was not always able to follow the curves in the road. By the time I crossed into puberty and found myself back in Arizona the summer after I began jacking off, I already had an old rusty pickup of "mine" in Grandpa's shed. The truck and I were perfectly matched: It had no plates and I had no license. It was held together with rope and duct tape. The first couple of days every summer, the old man and I would get my truck running again. And then he would mellow-out and I was pretty much on my own.


I'd drive into the forest and mountains in my truck and revert to nature for days at a time, enjoying both the wilderness and my own changing body, sometimes driving absolutely naked with my erect peter sticking up in my lap.

Those mountains are full of unpaved private logging roads up the slopes, and one-lane dirt tracks through the meadows. City people get hopelessly lost or bogged in the deep mud. Cops are unheard of and nobody cared whether a boy had a driver's permit or not because everybody outside of the towns lived close to the earth. I bounced that rattling pickup up and down logging trails and rocky outcrops, exchanging waves with the loggers and fishing guides.

I jacked off wherever and whenever I pleased.The old truck vibrated on a frequency that  stirred up my prostate and made my balls tingle. I'd retreat into the solitude of dense trees or other magical places. I'd find a grove of tall trees or a patch of sunlight where I could have a meaningful session with my always-ready right hand.

It was during those woodsy masturbations that I learned to give my balls due attention as well as my dick. My scrotum would draw up and become highly sensitive, covered in tightly wrinkled ridges which I tickled and massaged to a state of itchy anticipation while my young boner got stiffer and stiffer. Then the slow strokes, sometimes massaging my zingy-feeling nutsack at the same time that I pumped my happy-stick. The climactic results spurted explosively onto tree trunks or across clearings.

I fully enjoyed my outdoor jacking sessions. The mountains made me horny as all get-out and I would spring boners like you wouldn't believe. I often sat on the very edge of a high rocky cliff with the setting sun shining on me while I shot a load of jet-propelled ejaculate off into space. I have also laid buck nude in the long grass and played with myself while the breeze blew softly across my body and I tickled my sides and chest. I have taken my time and enjoyed myself so slow and gentle until I couldn't prolong it any longer. Before I was finished enjoying what I was doing, the lumps and streams of cum would assert themselves, force my system to climax, and blast out of my unbendable erection like the juice was launched by atomic pressure.  I reveled in amazing orgasms. I even jerked while driving.

There was a guy that lived near Grandpa's, a summer friend of mine, also part Apache. We were a contrast. I was chunky and dark-haired while Sonny was a light-weight with sort of sandy brownish hair. I was kind of earthy. Sonny on the other hand was polite and restrained. He wore a cap all the time and the ends of his hair flipped upward around the edge of the hat. A lot of times he'd come along with me. We were both kind of loners, sitting on rocks for hours without saying a word while we fished the river. We hiked into the mountains, marked our trails and easily found our way back to the truck. As for the needs of nature, we stepped behind bushes to piss and went completely out of each other's sight to crap so as not to embarrass either of us. Being together was great because of the companionship and our unspoken bond with nature and each other. But it was inhibiting in one way because I didn't masturbate around him. If he was with me I might get only one wank over a period of several days. To get that relief I would go off privately by myself, telling him I was going to dump a load, when I actually intended to take care of my boyish need by pumping one out.

One night we were sitting on the tailgate in a little clearing, laughing, eating fish that we'd filleted and broiled on sticks, spooning cold beans out of a can, and just enjoying being together without saying much. That's the kind of friends that we were.

It had been a cloudy, gray day. As we ate, mist started falling. Then suddenly we were in a pelting rain. Shoot, I had a tent along but it was behind the seat and still packed up. The rain cut our dinner short and we just piled into the old truck and sat there while the elements worked up to a serious mountain thunderstorm. It poured like fury and drummed on the truck until we were nearly deaf. The night turned cold too, and we got drenched jumping out to grab our sleeping bags from the bed of the truck. Then we had a dickens of a time getting the bags unrolled and climbing into them right there in the cab. We sat shivering on the bench seat, knowing the black-earth lane had turned to deep mud and we were going to have to sleep in damp sleeping bags all night inside that truck.

After while Sonny said he had to piss. We decided it would be better to piss into a coke can than open a door and let the rain in. So he unzipped his sleeping bag and dropped his cargo shorts and a jock. He got up on his knees on the seat, grabbed the can from me and turned to face the door for privacy. I switched on the dome light to help him aim into the can. And then I thought, You asshole. Sonny will think you've got the light on so you can look at his doo-dad. So I flipped it off. But Sonny goes "Wait! Wait! Light! I'm missing the hole and pissing on my hand!"

That set us off. We started laughing and couldn't stop. While we were laughing Sonny set the can on the dashboard and pulled up his jock and pants. I was alert to the possibilities and got a fleeting glimpse of a limp, floppy ying-yang bouncing around while he was wrestling with the jock.

Right away he asked me if I didn't need to piss too, since we had the can handy. So we snickered some more. It was a big operation for me, getting the sleeping bag open while under the steering wheel and then unzipping my jeans and pulling my dong out. Sonny handed me the can. It was nice and warm, being half full of his pee. It was the only warm thing that I'd felt since the rain started.

I was peering at the can in the dark, feeling of it to find the hole, when Sonny asked if I wasn't going to turn on the light. Okay, I said, and turned the switch. The light flashed on and I grinned to myself because Sonny was carefully "not" looking at my dick which was right there out in the open. But at the same time I knew he was totally seeing it, if you know what I mean. I took it as a compliment to our friendship that he would try to get better informed about what I had between my legs.

I pissed. Then quick as I could, opened the door, dropped the can full of piss out into the storm, and shut the door again, both of us laughing the whole time and my dick completely in view.

After we calmed down from laughing and pissing we started feeling the mountain chill again and got zipped back into our bags. I was halfway sitting up, halfway leaning against the driver's door, and at the same time trying to stick the foot end of my sleeping bag someplace that wouldn't bother Sonny. I was also thinking about accidentally seeing Sonny's dick and him looking at mine, which seemed like a natural thing to happen between the two of us, only I wasn't sure what to do about it.

I could tell Sonny was shivering, even in the sleeping bag. "Are you okay?" I asked him.

"Freezing my butt off," he answered. Although I couldn't see much in the dark, it seemed to me that Sonny had both hands inside the sleeping bag, probably clamped on his crotch and maybe stuck into the jock. Either he was using his hands to warm his balls or using his balls to warm his hands. I wasn't sure which.

"Start the truck," he suggested. "Turn on the heater."

"Heater doesn't work," I answered. "And the carbon mono would get us."

After a few more minutes of wiggling around while we tried to get comfortable, Sonny said, "What if we zipped our sleeping bags together? It would be warmer."

So we unzipped and crawled together and fumbled around quite a while with the zippers. Finally we were kind of sacked-up together in a big, uncomfortable pile and trying to get into some kind of coordinated position inside the combined bags.

Minutes went by. We were definitely warmer like that. Not sure how to explain what happened next, but I guess you could say we became more intimately aware of each other. I was thinking about Sonny looking at me, about him having his hands in his crotch and about me holding the can of Sonny's warm piss.

"I wish I had that warm can in my hands right now," I joked.

"I've got my hands in a warm place," he told me.

 What I said next was a stupid comment that I don't think I really meant, but it came rushing out anyway: "Well, you're gonna have to share your warm place for a while."

"Oh yeah?" Sonny answered. "See if you can find it."

That set us off laughing again. At the same time, we were twisting around in the sleeping bags, finally mashed side by side with our hips and thighs touching. And then Sonny started moving his hand around on his crotch. He wasn't jacking off and he may not have been fully hard. But he was clearly touching himself. I guessed he was sort of massaging his dick without actually pumping it.

Of course I had to say something crazy. "Are you getting your warm spot ready for me?" I asked.

"Just keeping my hands warm," he told me.

We sat in a sort of self-conscious silence, neither one of us saying anything, me wondering if by any little chance we might end up checking each other out.

And then Sonny started lightly rubbing back and forth on himself. Right up against me! No longer just rolling his hand around on his dick, but a sort of secret sexual sensation now. Based on my knowledge of myself and a few other boys, I was pretty sure Sonny would soon become seriously horny and progress to full-fledged masturbation using his whole hand. Him being the quiet and nice boy that he was, he would try to keep it secret from me. Or then again, he might be one of the type who would try to find out if I wanted to do the same thing.

My dick, which had been slowly thickening, became harder while Sonny jiggled himself.

"I'm gonna let my jeans down some," I told Sonny. "They're kind of in the way."

"In the way of what?" Sonny asked, but I didn't answer.

Still inside the sleeping bag with my jeans down around my thighs and my stiffening pecker sticking out through the slit in my underwear, I raised the bag a few inches and felt around to see how hard I'd become. Every little squeeze or touch made me stiffer. While Sonny rubbed his dick, I took a few slow up-and-down strokes on mine.

We seemed to draw energy from each other. I could feel Sonny playing with himself. I was now fully jacking, very stoked, keeping the bag lifted so I didn't bump it, and trying not to let Sonny know what I was doing.

 Soon I reached the compulsive horny state that most of us are familiar with, the state in which you are so dad-blamed erect that you lose your inhibitions. In other words, you are so aroused that you don't give a damn what happens. It was a dangerous moment that would either cement our friendship or destroy it. Getting my courage together, I opened my mouth and spoke the words that would take us down the path of no return, one way or another: "Do you need any help?"

No answer. Sonny quit playing with himself. We sat in total silence, total stillness. Crap, I thought, I've ruined it.

But after a few seconds Sonny gave me an answer, or part of an answer: "Do you?"

We didn't say any more, but our hands began exploring the space between us, sort of fingering each other's thighs. And then Sonny's fingers extended a few inches further and brushed my boner. It immediately sprang to a new level of hardness. "Oops," he said."Excuse me!"

"No, go ahead," I told him.

He explored my crotch with fingers that seemed sort of shaky. Even though he'd had his hands busy with his own dick, they hadn't become warm at all. His fingertips were downright cold. He zeroed in on my balls. Each time the cold fingers touched my testicles my nuts drew up a little tighter. Soon they were tight as could be, all wrinkled and leathery-feeling and highly sensitive. I don't know whether he was trying to tickle my nuts or just exploring, but the chilly fingers made my shrunken balls tingle which in turn made my dick even more erect.

So far it was only Sonny checking me out. He moved from my balls to my dick, feeling me with those icy fingers.

"Your thing is a little hard," he said.

I rested my hand on his thigh, hoping that I'd read the signs correctly. "What about yours?" I asked him.

In answer he rolled a little closer to me and I reached toward his crotch. Would you believe, he still had the jock covering his junk. I rubbed it, felt the stiffness that it contained, gave it a few squeezes -- but didn't connect with a bare dick.

"Ooh!" Sonny said. "You found my warm place!"

'Yeah. Can I use it to warm my hand for a minute?"

"What do you think?" he asked.

"Okay if I check it some?"

"Go ahead."

I curled my hand around the place in Sonny's jock where his bulge was, and gave it a bunch of slow squeezes. While I was doing that Sonny kept running the tips of his fingers up and down my stiff peter. "Use it to warm your hand," I told him, and in a second he wrapped his whole hand around my boner.

"Want me to make your warm thing feel really good?" I asked, knowing that we were either going to masturbate or call the whole thing off.

Sonny was quiet for a moment, like he was making a major decision. Then he said "Yes" in a very soft voice.

I started moving my hand back and forth on the jock's bulge. The more I massaged it, the more Sonny's hand moved on my dick. I wanted him to scoot the jock down so I could give him a better wank, but he left it in place.

We were not rushing things, just keeping to a steady pace, oblivious to the thunder and lightning and rain. The only things that mattered at this moment were two erect boys and two understanding hands.

"You're gonna make me..." Sonny said, then stopped. "Do you like to do this? A lot? I have to do it a lot."

"Me too. A lot. Are you getting the good feelings yet?"

"They're starting. You're doing it real good."

"You want to pull the jock down?"

"No, no! If the stuff shot inside my sleeping bag my mom would... I've gotta shoot in the jock. The jock will soak it up."

" Do you mind if I keep doing you? Are you really close?"

"Close. You?"

"Not long now."

 We both quit talking and concentrated on what we were doing for each other. A few more seconds went past. I could feel Sonny tightening various parts of his body, shifting around and bracing his feet tightly on the floorboard. My hand was curved around the lump in his jock and I was sliding it back and forth at jacking speed.

"Hey, what about the paper towels?" I asked. "Didn't we have a roll somewhere up here in the cab?"

"Maybe behind the seat. Hurry! See if you can find them."

"Okay. I'm gonna quit rubbing your thing for a second."

"Hurry."

I opened the zipper between us and got up on my knees to turn around and feel behind the seat. My erect peter bobbed around while I located the towels.

"They're kind of damp," I told Sonny.

"I don't give a shit. Give 'em here!"

We settled back into a big pile of wet sleeping bags, half-down pants and hard boners. Each of us had a wad of paper towels now. Sonny said, "You wanted my jock down. Here goes." He bumped around and in a minute I was feeling the real thing, not a lump in the jock.

As soon as Sonny got his jock out of the way he concentrated on making my iron-hard dick even more erect. He gave it the soft-squeeze treatment, treating me to multiple little squeezes as his hand slid upward, and another set of pulsing squeezes on the way back down. His other hand held the paper towels in readiness.

"Are you getting there?" he wanted to know.

"Not long," I told him. "What about you? "Your thing is so hard. And hot too!"

"Pump me a little. Getting close. I don't want to cum yet."

Sonny's hard-on was skinny but a lot longer than I first thought. I got my whole hand around it and gave him some slow strokes.

"Turn on the light," he told me. "Get the paper towel ready. I can't get any of that stuff in the sleeping bag! You've gotta catch all of it. Promise me!"

"Are you cumming? Already?"

In answer all I got was "Oh! Oh!"

He was banging up and down on my dick at warp speed, meanwhile saying"Oh!" again and again until finally his entire body stiffened and he told me "I'm there! Cumming! Cumming!" He was writhing around on the seat, his whole body jerking and at the same time telling me "Catch it, man, catch... OH... Catch it all! ... More cumming! More..."

At last Sonny sat still. I had one hand still around his happy-stick and the other one full of gooey paper towels. He was holding onto my dick but not moving his hand.

"Did you cum too?" he asked me.

"Not yet. Almost there. So hard I can't stand it."

"I'm gonna do you. Finish the job for you. Okay?"

He resumed stroking my erection, laying halfway against me and the other half completely bare on the old truck's seat.

Before long I told him, "I'm cumming, Sonny. You got the towels?"

"Got some in my hand. Hey, turn on the light. Please? I want to see it happen."

So Sonny pumped me right to the brink of ejaculation. I told him I was ready. He bent down to see me cum, holding the towels in front of my cum-slot while he gently slowed down to help me prolong the sensations.

"How's that?" He asked.

"Good! Good!" I told him. "Keep it up! I'm....... "

I can't even express it, can't put it in words. Here was Sonny, my excellent friend and fellow Apache, masturbating me. I hadn't shot a load in two or three days. I was stoked like never before, and Sonny was manipulating me up to the final instant of gratification. When I shot the first squirt my entire being experienced an unprecedented climax. And then there was more. And more. It just kept spurting out. Every pulse gave me another charge.

We sat there in the dark, not saying a word. There was nothing that needed to be said. We'd discovered something important about each other. We just went to sleep laying against each other. When we woke up at dawn we were both horny again. Without saying a thing we filled two more handfuls of paper towels with the juice of life.

Once we started jacking together we kept it up, and discovered BJ's too. I was fifteen that year. Sonny was less than a year younger. I kept going back to Grandpa's every summer all the way through college, soaking up a little more of my Apache roots and gradually beginning to show Sonny how to take care of the old man's affairs for me.

I never jacked off alone when I went back because Sonny was always ready for a little jaunt into the boonies, a trip to a sun-lit cliff or a camp-out in a tent. He's the real reason why I kept going back. We kept it up into our twenties, delighting each other as if we were still a couple of post-pubertal besties.

Neither of us ever had girlfriends and neither of us married. We never talked about sexual orientation. We understood the truth about each other but never spoke of it. If we hadn't been so damn spooked by the danger of "our people" discovering what was going on with us, I think we would have settled down with each other.

We kind of lost touch, perhaps because we couldn't take that one big step.

As I close these paragraphs it's more or less a week since Orlando. When you find true love, I beg you to hold onto it fiercely. It may be your only chance to love completely.

Thunder Cloud