At fifteen years of age I was transported one thousand miles to live with my dad in Arizona. My mother, who had divorced my dad ten years previously, had just remarried, and my step dad didn't want to deal with some cocky, smart-mouth teenager. Wanting so desperately to live with my dad since I was five years old, when they had divorced, I thought the change was going to be great. Well, I guess everyone can fill in their own challenging scenarios about the "high expectations" of adolescence, but here's one day of mine, when I was eighteen years old.

"Come on, Lance, let's go! I'm outta here in thirty minutes!", were the words of my dad's deep masculine voice, blasting through my bedroom door one school morning in May. My dad was 40 years old at the time, and owner of the Maven Bridge Construction Company. He was a stern, unemotional man who had little, if any, tolerance for the weaknesses of others.

I gave a start when his commanding voice pierced my door and penetrated my serene sleep. I groaned and tightly clutched my pillow. Squinting at the clock on my nightstand, the time read. 7:05am.

"Yeah! Yeah, Dad! I'm up!!", I growled. Arching my back, I stretched my lean muscular body high on the bed. Immediately, my hands traveled up to my stiff, throbbing cock. It quivered frantically in the opening of my blue and white polka-dot boxer shorts. Slapping the rock-hard dick back and forth several times with my right hand, I released a heavy sigh and groaned. Flattening my body back down on the bed, I slid my boxers down over my feet. My hands eagerly gripped my damp, early-morning, cum-filled cock. I was wildly massaging my sweaty balls, when I heard a truck door slam downstairs in the driveway. I could feel my sleep-filled eyes widen with anticipation. My pecker got a surge of anticipation, too. The fat, six-inch pecker began to tremble and gyrate even more furiously. I was on a definite high as I moved over toward the bedroom window. Carefully sliding back the curtains, I peered down into the yard.

The lushly-scented, mid-Spring breeze teased and caressed my bare, hairless chest. My little brown nipples hardened when I gazed down to see my dad's foreman, Dengaro Ghiles, getting out of his pick-up truck. My whole frickin' body shuddered, and I savagely gripped my raging cock. Stroking it harder, I stared down into the yard at the warrior with the full leonine mane of wavy black hair with a slight hint of gray here and there. Dengaro's broad shoulders were proud and arrogant; his masculine gait was aggressive; almost military in intent. I watched as the material of his denim pants smoothed, stretched and creased with each long stride of steps. I began to imagine the intoxicating male-scent that dwelt just inside those trousers. I thought, damn, what I wouldn't give to have those muscular thighs tightly locked around my head with Dengaro's big, hard, hairy cock savagely titillating my throat and tonsils.

Dengaro at that time was forty-one years old. He was once a petty thief and a wannabe thug whom my dad had rescued from jail-time and a future life of crime, by paying a large sum of money to some very powerful business associates. My dad then set about creating a job and training opportunities for him with his lucrative construction business. My Dad and Dengaro were rough-and-tumble high school buddies. But about ten years earlier when some local lowlifes were framing Dengaro for a major theft at a department store, that was when my Dad had come to his high school buddy's rescue. And up to that point, other than being a total womanizer and getting just about every woman pregnant that he slept with, Dengaro's life seemed to be in control.

Anyway, while I was whacking my prick like a real mofo, my hungry eyes devoured the tall, lusty Latino man as he stopped to light a cigarette. After taking a deep, gratifying drag, he strode on like a panther on the prowl across the yard toward the back of the house. He kept glancing about him. It seemed he sensed that someone watched him. And just as he was about to turn the corner of the house, his head spun around and looked directly up at my window. I quickly eased back to one side, out of view, before I was seen. Closing my eyes, I shuddered and released several gasps for breath, grunted loudly, and copiously inundated the bottom of my bed with my sweet sperm. For almost a whole minute, my cock wildly quivered and squirted abundant spunk all over the place. I groaned, moaned and writhed there against the wall of my bedroom - triumphantly elated. My mind was blissfully consumed with sweet lustful fantasies of my dad's best friend, again.

Then, through my post-ejaculatory haze, I suddenly heard dad's heavy-booted steps in the hall moving toward my door.

"Come on, Lazy Ass! Let's go! Unless you want to walk to school!" he bellowed through the door.

I stood there leaning stiffly up against the wall, clutching and toying with my cum-soaked cock and balls. I sensed an impish grin playing about my lips as I made ready to respond to my impatient poppa.

"Yeah, Dad! I'm coming! I'm REALLY coming!", I shouted, trying not to laugh.

When I finally ambled down to the kitchen, twenty minutes later, Dengaro chimed in with his usual teasing, "Hey, there, Turd Head!, what Mack Truck hit you last night?"

"Yeah, yeah, so funny I forgot to laugh!" I grumbled back at him with a half-hearted smile. Slumping down at the kitchen table with him and my dad, I began to eat the cereal and drink the juice my dad had prepared for me. I was always so self-conscious around Deng, because I didn't want the handsome, full-hearted man to know that I had some really perverted thoughts about him. Also, he was always talking and bragging about the great piece of ass he had last night! The great piece of ass he had the night before! And the great piece of ass he was going to have tomorrow! All that talk always stimulated me. But it wasn't the talk about all those girls with the great tits or great pussies! Nope, it was all those mental pictures in my head of Dengaro's naked, sweaty body and his erect, rock-hard cock, is what got my young juices a-boilin'. And then I'd usually end up feeling embarrassed about my roaring hard-on. And not only that, Dengaro was constantly kidding me about something - about my big feet - my shyness with girls - my poetry writing - and my blonde curly hair (he would sometimes call me "girly curly"). Still, I weathered it with as much aplomb as possible because I'd gladly endure almost anything that the perfect Latino god wanted to put me through. In a way, I felt that I was somewhat of a masochist. But isn't that love? Isn't love, pain? My Dad hurt me by his seeming indifference. Dengaro hurt me from his sometimes cruel, intrusive attention.

I suddenly saw Dengaro waving his hands in front of me, saying, "Hey! Hey! Are you in there, bubble-head?"

"What? Oh! oh!" I heard myself responding as I brought my mind back to the present. Saying, "I must have been daydreaming!" I ducked the flying hands, slid up off the chair and walked over the sink, and deposited my juice glass and cereal bowl.

"Yeah! It seems he's always daydreaming about something, lately!" I heard my dad snidely remark, as he got up and placed his cup in the sink. He shot a disapproving glance at me.

"What time you gotta be over in Yorktown, Dave?" quickly interrupted Dengaro, unfastening his belt and beginning to shove his loose shirt tightly down inside his trousers.

Instantly my dad began to go into his cautioning lecture about me not having any of those freaky friends of mine loitering around the house during his two-day absence in Yorktown on business. He reminded me of the list of phone numbers of places where he could be reached should there be any kind of problem. He then went on to say that maybe Dengaro could drop in on me to make sure I was okay.

"Oh, yeah, Dengaro Ghiles, the babysitter, huh?!", laughed the foreman, as he re-fastened his belt. "I don't think so! And besides, who'd want to baby-sit for a big lunkhead dummy like this curly-haired dolt!"

I don't know why, but I felt myself flinch with that remark.

Realizing that I was annoyed by his remark, Dengaro laughed all the louder and harder at me. "Awh, look, Lancito's getting pissed! His face is getting all flushed! Hey, Lancito! Lancito! Did I say something wrong, girly-curly!"

"Fuck you!" I retorted, heading for the kitchen door. I wondered why Dengaro was being unusually cruel. But, whatever the reason, at that moment, I decided to just shut down all feelings for him.

"That's enough of that language, mister" interrupted my dad, "...and stop teasing him Deng! You know how sensitive he gets!"

"Awh, the little fart can't take a joke! He's so sens-sa-tive! Oh, get in the truck before I kick your ass, boy!', laughed Dengaro. Turning to my father, he asked "How old is the brat anyway, Dave?"

"He turned eighteen back in February, Deng, you know that!", replied my dad.

"I guess I just keep forgetting. He looks so much younger!" replied Dengaro. Then he called out to me with a "Yo, birdbrain, I guess we're gotta have to beef you, huh?"

'Whatever', I thought, as all three of us wandered out onto the walkway toward the front of the house. I led the group, rapidly moving toward Dengaro's truck. My dad and Deng animatedly talked business and exchanged parting remarks. When I reached the truck, I jumped up inside.

Ah, the arousing aroma of Dengaro's scent immediately filled my nostrils. For a several seconds, mental images filled my mind of having seen Dengaro from my bedroom window at this exact point, earlier; and of what had happened to my bedspread a few seconds later. Ah, my entire body shuddered from head to toe with the memory.

Those arousing mental pictures quickly dissipated when I heard my dad shouting good-bye to me. I waved, then watched as he jumped into the steel grey BMW and sped down the driveway.

With my eyes closed, I listened to the sound of Dengaro's large boots crunching loudly on the gravel as they traveled across the driveway toward me. My heart beat like that of a frightened, newly caged beast. Then, as if like magic, there was the square-jawed, wide-eyed, patrician-nosed Latino, with the perfect teeth and more perfect smile, beaming at me through the driver's window.

"Howdy, there, partner, can I drop you somewhere!?" he said, smiling as he eased up into the cab of the truck.

Perhaps yesterday and the day before yesterday, I would have laughed openly and heartily at that remark. Actually, I still thought it was funny. But I still, too clearly, remembered him referring to me as a dummy teenager in need of a babysitter. Asshole! And was even more hurt that he imagined checking-in on me to be something worthy of ridicule and contempt. Asshole!

"Yeah, you could try the front door at the Andersonville High School, Mr. Ghiles! The sooner the better!" I said, as politely as I could manage.

"MR. GHILES?" humorously chortled Dengaro, starting the vehicle, "...Mr. Ghiles, is it? Wow!.. somebody really is pissed off!" he continued, gunning the pedal and speeding out of the driveway.

Minutes later found us riding along in silence in the early-morning commuter madness of Route 73. I stole a glance over at the profile of the tense-jawed, 41-year old satyr. His large hands gripped the steering wheel, his intent hazel eyes focused carefully on the oncoming traffic. His magnificent head topped a well-proportioned six-foot frame. The 40 inch chest, the trim 33 inch waist, the long muscular legs, big feet and large hands were all of the masculine magical stuff that had allegedly made hundreds of woman scream with unbridled lust!

The thought of Dengaro in the heat of sex caused me to suddenly sweat. My penis was getting rock-hard again and beginning to spasm beneath my baggy Structure jeans. I began to experience a subtle nervousness. Then came the sudden panic that I had never been alone with Dengaro before. My dad had always been with me whenever the sexy foreman had been at the wheel. Swiftly removing my stealthy glance from the handsome driver, I stiffly focused straight ahead at the passing traffic. I somewhat unconsciously shifted on my seat because my balls and asshole had become an itching bonfire.

I soon felt Dengaro's glance on me. Deftly I placed my hands over my lap, because my rigid penis was dancing around in my pants, occasionally tenting the cloth.

I sensed it before it happened. But with an ease of movement, Dengaro reached over and placed his large hand on my burning neck. I literally shuddered from the touch.

"What's the matter, sport, got ants in your pants?" he asked, a giant Cheshire cat smile playing about his magnificent lips. His perfectly even white teeth seemed to blind me with their brightness. And his eyes now had a glow I had never seen before.

Quickly gathering my wits, I shook my shoulders, trying to flip the man's hand of.

"Knock it off, Dengaro! Stop fooling around!" I chortled.

He tightened his grip on my neck and pulled me closer. With his eyes fixed firmly on the traffic, in almost a whisper, he said:

"Don't you want to fool around, Lancito?"

After smoothing the spot he had just roughly gripped on my neck, he released his hand and placed it back on the steering wheel.

My heart thundered. I could see the percussion through my shirt. I was ecstatic; I was euphoric; I was scared. The strong natural scent of Dengaro was now heightened by his pungent sexual odor of arousal. I thought his natural body aroma was pretty intoxicating, but now, this....Wow! The smell was like an enthralling scent of everything good, happy and natural in the world. Every nerve in my body tingled vibrantly with a new life. I was sure I was fifty feet taller than everyone else on the planet. And momentarily, I had convinced myself that only me and Dengaro existed in the world. Was this what they called serendipity, the phenomenon of dreams coming true? I was positive that it was.

Dengaro swerving the truck and loudly pounding on the horn brought my attention back to reality.

"Did you see that son-of-a-bitch? Fucking psycho!" shouted the man, his eyes burning with anger, a huge vein protruding in his neck. Apparently someone had cut him off, and he was experiencing road rage.

I was even more turned on by his Latino-Warrior's aggression. The look and smell of him was strongly advancing my trembling boner towards an explosive orgasm. I squirmed on my seat, I stretched my legs, I wildly tugged at my jeans; my breathing was thick and labored. I couldn't go to school like this. I was putting out enough testosteronic pheromone heat to send every last one of my female schoolmates into advanced horniness or menstruation.

I thought about telling Dengaro that I didn't want to go to school. But then quickly thought, 'what if he's just teasing me?'. Teasing me just like he always does. Yeah, maybe he was just playing with my head.. Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! That's what he's been doing. He knows I want to make out with him and he's making fun of me. Asshole!

That realization was like some great cosmic bucket of ice water being thrown on me. All of a sudden my horny little bubble was burst all to hell. Once again, I shut all my emotions down and slumped in my seat.

Intuitively Dengaro Ghiles came out of his self-obsessed rage at the driver he was hot on the chase of, and looked in my direction.

"What happened, sport?" he asked, reaching over and roughing my hair, "Am I driving too fast?"

"STOP IT! GET OFF ME!" I shouted, shaking his hand from head!

"What the fuck's the matter with you? If I'm driving too fast, just tell me! Stop with the fucking attitude!" said Dengaro, grabbing me roughly by the neck.

The intense electricity immediately scattered throughout my body again. All those hot and crazy feelings were back. My body was alive and hungering again. But was Dengaro just having a good time with me, or did he genuinely mean what he was doing?

His hand gently combed through my hair. Then that hand began to travel down inside the neck of my shirt. While doing this he turned off the freeway onto a road that led to his mountain cabin.

A few minutes later we traveled into his driveway. He put the truck in park and turned in his seat to face me.

"Okay, lover boy, since we're playing hooky, what do you want to do" he asked, reaching over and smoothing his large hand on my cheek. His eyes burned deeply into my love-hungry psyche. The touch, the look and the scent of him totally mesmerized me beyond all I'd known up to that point.. Words wouldn't come. He moved closer, "Come on, Lancito, you have to tell me what you want. I can't assume. What do you want to do? If you can't say it....show me". Dengaro's breathing was thick and deep. I could feel the immense heat from his huge Latino cock that was beckoning me from beneath his pants. He had turned on the seat with his back now leaning against the door, and his right foot was up on the seat. Every ounce of his gorgeous masculine being was inviting me to explore that torrid, manly, sweaty territory just inside his carpenter's pants.

Nervously, I just sat there waiting for Dengaro to make the first move.

"Come one girly-curly, don't you want to make some of those fantasies you've got about me become a reality?" he asked, in a low, quiet, sex-drenched voice. Gently, he stared at me with half-closed, sex-drenched eyes.

"Wha...er ah...what fantasies?", I asked, stammering in surprise of his remark.

"Oh, come on, turd head, you wouldn't be able to feel this strongly about me, if I wasn't sending the same exact vibe right back at you!", he confessed.

I felt my eyes widened with disbelief and joy.

"You mean, that... you... you... you...?", I excitedly began.

"Yeah, me, me, me..!" Dengaro teased, "...NOW... what you gonna do about it, BOY!!!

Emboldened by his attitude and resigned posture, my hands swiftly flew to the crotch of those trousers. I couldn't wait to smell and taste the ambrosia which awaited within that denim paradise. He leaned forward and pulled my sweatshirt up over my head. Then, taking my hands in his, placed them back on the front of his trousers. I trembled and heard myself moan loudly when I felt the huge woody just beneath the cloth. In no time at all, I had Dengaro's big, hairy, steel-hard, ten inch pinga in my grateful, exploring hands. It generously oozed copious amounts of delicious pre-come, which I greedily slurped up with gusto. I was literally insane with teenage lust.

In that parked pickup truck, I spent the next three hours doing everything to Dengaro Ghiles' body that I had ever imagined...and much, much more.