I recently got back to Boston after a turn around experience in Oregon. I went there at sixes and sevens, as my marriage was falling apart, and came back on cloud nine with a handsome, six foot stud on my arm. Of course I'd been living in denial for over seven years before I finally found my own personal Bareback Mountain with Russell so, on my return, Suzanne and I decided to call it quits. She didn't have much choice actually. My life, and my butt, had taken on new perspectives.

I work for an international advertising company and every summer used to fly my wife and kids back to Oregon to see what's left of my family. Lately I've been going by myself as Suzanne doesn't like the primitive conditions and my kids aren't into fishing and stuff. They prefer Disneyland. Sue's always been very fastidious and something of a hygiene freak. Not the type for the country. Also she doesn't approve of my extended family. Especially my father who's almost old enough to be my grandfather and has been married three times. It's a very complicated family tree and extremely dysfunctional. He now lives on his own in a run down caravan. Suffice to say my wife and kids were not happy campers.

On the contrary I always have a great time with my Dad who's a survivor and invariably up to something new. One year he's running a kind of tourist train between Hood River and the local museum in Parkdale and the next he's making new cars out of wrecked parts. He assembled a really great vintage BMW in that way. This visit he was happily fixing satellite aerials for rich people in the neighbourhood. They shift with the wind, which is pretty strong. He never runs out of ideas. I suppose in some ways I take after him which is probably why we get on so well. I'm only first generation refined and still very rough around the edges. Take me away from the town and put me by a lake or river or something and I immediately revert to type. My father's type. Suzanne couldn't stand it.

My Dad's best friends run a convenience store. They're simple folk and very proud of their son who they've just put through college. Usually the intelligence quotient isn't too high in these parts, which is one reason I left town. Also it's not the kind of place to be gay although at the time I married Suzanne I was trying to persuade myself I was straight. Of course there were some good-looking guys around but not the type that appealed to me so I was never really tempted. Slow witted with not much on top even if they had plenty down below. A ten-inch dick attached to a six-foot asshole doesn't make much of a sexual equation.

Mind you in the summer there were a lot of loggers around and I did have something of a hot fling with one of those. I was barely eighteen at the time and he could barely resist me I was so green. I didn't know my ass from a hole in the ground although Brad soon taught me. He had a dog called Luscious and as you know dogs can help a lot when you're shy and have difficulty in meeting people. He also had a luscious dick. The juiciest I've ever tasted. He was cutting logs for my father to store up for the winter and was usually very scantily clad so I could appreciate and count every muscle on his virile body. I used to love watching the sweat run down his chest and got particularly excited when he lifted his axe to cut a log. It gave me an eyeful of his hairy armpits. Also a heady whiff of heaven. That's when I learned just how hard my dick could get. Strange what can turn you on. Sometimes you spend the rest of your life trying to find it again. In fact when I saw Matthew McConaughey in 'Frailty' I fairly flipped. I've seen that movie, or a particular part of it, a hundred times.

Anyway, my own private logger man used to throw a bucket of water over him when things got too hot and this made his cotton workpants transparent. It made them stick to him too. He looked like the centrefold of Colt or something although at the time I'd never seen a gay magazine. Of course my interest in the bulge in his pants didn't go unnoticed and as there was nobody around that day he took my hand and placed it firmly on his throbbing dick. I gulped. It felt like a full-grown trout. I never imagined a man could have such a huge thing between his legs. My own dick paled in comparison although it was pretty darn hot now.

"Bet you'd like some of that," he said, sounding just like Jeff Stryker about to score although at the time I hadn't seen a gay movie either.

"If you promise not to tell your Daddy, I'll let you suck it."

I went beetroot red and shook like the proverbial leaf as he drew out his long, thick Stryker cock. I had no idea where to begin. How could I suck something, which was so big and hard. He took my hand again and led me to a secluded place in the bushes, then he undid my jeans and went down on me. I was so excited I came almost immediately. My head began to spin and I nearly fainted. He wiped his mouth and laughed.

"Try and make my dick last a little bit longer," he said.

I closed my eyes and opened my mouth and let him do the rest. At first I made some pathetic attempts to lick his dick but then I began to get the hang of it. I wrapped my lips round his mushroom head and sucked hard. His pre-cum was sweet and salty at the same time. Better than honey butter and that was my favourite.

"Wow, that feels good," he said encouraging me and inserting more and more of his dick in my mouth until my jowls nearly burst.

He took hold of my head and started pumping rhythmically. At times I thought I was going to suffocate. Then just when I didn't think I could stand it much longer his dick suddenly popped out of my mouth and as I gasped for air he covered my face, and most of the rest of me, with his hot creamy cum. It tasted and smelled so good that for the next few weeks I was a frequent night visitor to his tent and am happy to say that soon I was no longer green. Although I must have turned a lot of other colours while he had his horny way with me. I kid you not I can still feel his huge prick up my ass. He made quite an impression I can tell you.

Having sex with Brad was more informative than any sex manual you could ever lay your hands or eyes on. You might say I cut my teeth on that logger's big log. In fact his lessons were so exciting and effective he had me fairly biting the bark from one of his trees. He prised open my tight little butt lips like they were the pages of his log book and taught me all about my prostrate gland which he called my love button. Man, did he know how to turn that button on. He stimulated me so much with his tongue, his fingers and finally the tip of his dick that my head and my butt lit up like horny neons and could have illuminated half the forest.

He was a smooth talker and cooed and coaxed my ass to open wide and drink its 'milk' until it sobbed lustily for his dick like a baby in need of its mother's tit. He flattered the fuck out of me too. Told me my moist love hole reminded him of soft marshmallows and that it was more succulent than a woman's cunt. Of course, his hardness hurt my softness in the initial stages but I was swooning so much with pleasure I didn't really notice. He drew his dick in and out of me slowly at first, always leaving my ass crying for more, then he began hitting my prostrate harder and harder with each well calculated stroke. It felt so good. Like heaven in fact. Trouble is while he was regularly filling my insatiable ass with his thick, juicy cock every weekday, on Sundays our little Methodist church was filling my impressionable head with terrifying sermons of fire and brimstone and eternal damnation. In fact, when my intensive summer butt course was over and my ass was running on empty, my mind was full of such tremendous guilt complexes that I decided to put it all behind me and go straight so to speak. After a few years of abstinence, during which butter wouldn't melt in my mouth (or anywhere else for that matter), I did the 'right thing' and married my childhood sweetheart.

Suzanne and I had good sex at the beginning, trying all sorts of different positions and whispering sweet nothings into each other's ears while we did so. So my dick never went hungry. But secretly I was always waiting for Mr. Right to come along and whisper sweet somethings into my hungry ass. Of course I had my occasional adventures. A few furtive fucks in cars and dark doorways when I met some hot guy on my way home from work and the occasional motel meeting with someone I wanted to see naked. But I remained a fairly faithful family man until Russell tipped the balance and I was ass over tip in love with him. Hook, line and sinker in fact. Appropriately enough the day we went fishing.

Joe and Bette had a celebratory dinner when their pride and joy came home so that's how I met him. Easy as that. It was as if the rest of my life had just been a prelude and a preparation. Bette served something, which Joe called slow elk. It was actually beef but Joe told us a tale of one of the local farmers whose cow had been shot by some hunters. They apologised and excused themselves by saying they thought it was a slow elk. Russell smiled politely although he had probably heard the same story hundreds of times before. Our eyes met over the table. There was something very Matthew McConaughey about him. We clicked immediately. Of course he was all of fifteen years younger than me but he was so mature and macho looking that it didn't seem to matter. And just like Matthew he was slow talking but sexy with it. Later I was to discover he even had the same armpits.

One of his most endearing habits was carrying a Starbucks coffee mug around with him and looking for places to re-fill it. He wasn't too fussy what kind of coffee was inside. Just as long as it was thick and hot. He'd stop continually at various diners and gas stations. He called them pit stops. But the kind of pits that stopped me in my tracks were his horny armpits, strongly smelling and also strongly reminiscent of my favourite actor. Although I couldn't smell his of course. I should be so lucky.

Russell was very embarrassed about those pits of his as they gave off a potent smell no matter how many times he washed them or smeared them with deodorant. But for me it was the call of the wild. My nose perked up at the savoury scent of them and my dick with it. The first time I got to see them I couldn't wait to get my nose nuzzled in there. We were on a fishing trip in a wonderful place called Joseph. It's an Indian reservation and fairly pulsing with spirituality but, of course, I was feeling anything but spiritual and pulsing in an altogether different way when I got my first look at Russell's pits.

He was wearing one of those sleeveless fishing jackets and as he threw the line over his head to hook his fish I swooned. Nobody before had ever had quite so physical an effect on me.

Until that weekend trip nothing sexual had passed between us and he treated me with the utmost respect and called me 'sir' and all that. All part of his education I suppose but it drove me absolutely crazy as it made me feel as old as Methuselah and light years away from his dick. He told me later that he was feeling similarly frustrated as to all intents and purposes I was a happily married man and a friend of the family. But he couldn't wait to get inside my pants either. Anyway my reaction to his armpits was a dead giveaway and it didn't take us long to go on a steamy sexual hayride after that. It was freezing cold at night and we climbed into the same sleeping bag to keep warm. Easy as that.

I'd brought a bottle of brandy for warmth and Dutch courage so we were both feeling pretty bright-eyed and bushy-tailed by the time we climbed into our communal sack. It was a double sleeping bag that I'd used with my wife. It had a zip down the middle so you could sleep separately or together. I don't remember who suggested it. It just sort of happened. As everything seemed to be doing between us. I mean we were so happy and natural together it seemed inevitable we would soon become two little bugs in a sexual rug.

We lay side by side looking silently at the stars for what seemed an eternity. Then I heard the deafening roar of the zip as he pulled it down between us. It was so horny and erotic. I'd never felt like this when I was sharing it with Suzanne. We were both fully dressed so it took a wee while for us to work our way in and out of each other's clothes. This of course only made it even more exciting. I had buttons on my jeans and his erect dick was making it difficult for me to work his pants down over his hips. You could say we both had our problems.

At the same time we were pressing our bodies together and lunging at each other with our tongues. I slipped my hand up under his sweater and caressed his chest and rubbed my groin against him as neither of us seemed to have any hope of reaching our imprisoned dicks. He thrust his hot sturdy tongue into my mouth tearing at my hair as he did so and sending my senses sailing. We wriggled and writhed and almost came in our pants as we declared our love to each other. I popped a few buttons before I eventually turned him over and popped his ass and fairly tore the sleeping bag and his butt to shreds before the night was over.

We had no time or inclination for ceremony and my dick slipped into him as naturally and as easily as we had slipped into our relationship together. Give or take a few 'sirs' that is. He sucked in my dick like he'd been hungry and thirsty for it all his life. Yes sir, and that's the truth. And I put seven wasted years into each thrust as I fucked him.

Trying to describe the perfect fuck is virtually impossible. It would be like a bird trying to explain to you how it feels to fly. Suffice to say all our nerve endings were naked and raw and we flew on one stupendous wing. It was a long stimulating flight and he was hot and sweaty at the end of it and very conscious of his armpits and their smell. Without a word I buried my nose in them, as I'd wanted to do since that afternoon and drank every delicious bead of sweat that fell from them. Russell couldn't believe it and cried and whimpered with pleasure and pulled my hair again as I drank my horny fill from his pits and drove him wild with my tongue. He came in happy profusion and I couldn't help wondering how we were ever going to get that sleeping bag clean again.

Next morning when we woke up our bodies were literally stuck together. In spite of the cold we jumped into the lake and washed away a night of sex and semen. But we couldn't wash away the way we felt for each other. And didn't want to. I'd borrowed my father's remodelled BMW and we went to the nearest diner for a celebratory breakfast. We'd already had a celebratory dinner but this was different. It was just the two of us. And there was no slow elk. In fact we felt fast and furious. The road between the convenience store and my father's place is surprisingly long and straight. We roared up and down that road like two happy children. The first ride was against the wind so we turned our Hood Valley caps round for the first trip and reversed them for the other. A simple and childish thing but somehow very special as we were doing it together. We didn't care what people thought either although they must have thought we were mad. Or in love. They'd have been right on both counts.

Russell had finished college and was footloose and fancy free so I took him back to Boston with me. I was determined to get him a job in my advertising company. Of course I had to be discreet. We were no longer in the wilds of Hood Valley. I found a little place for us to live and began to unravel my marriage with Suzanne. She said she'd had her doubts about me for years and we parted amicably. And expensively. I now have two families to support. Still Russell's been doing some modelling lately and making a packet with his 'packet.' As I told you he's six foot tall. He's also got huge shoulders, a ruggedly handsome face and muscles in all the right places. Especially between his legs.

He fucks me best when I'm face down with my ass raised like a cat in heat. In that position he reaches places other dicks never reach and the whole of the Oregon logging industry seems to be behind each thrust. His staying power is absolutely phenomenal. I feel like an electric cable connected to a fully charged pylon, which sends my vibrating body sailing miles above the ground until we fuse and plunge into utter oblivion. But even as I chew the pillow in orgasmic delight, I still can't wait to roll over and get my teeth into those armpits of his and nibble away at them like a horny cow chewing the cud. What's more, when I'm blissfully on my back with my legs wrapped round his neck and my tongue lolling out of my mouth, I can catch the drips that invariably fall in cascades as he revs up his sexual motor and rams all of his Oregon youth into my ass making me almost pass out with pain and pleasure.

Of course I run the risk someone else is going to fall for his armpits, and I'm his first affair, so he might eventually look elsewhere but meanwhile life is oh so fucking good. So that's about it. Thanks for staying the course. I would like to give you a bit more lust and thrust before I go but it gets to be repetitious and irksome after a while. Better you imagine the highs I get when I see him naked before me especially when the tables are turned and his nutcracker thighs are wrapped round me as I fuck him. At such times, the bastard always lifts his arms above his head or grabs the bedrail so I can get an eyeful and a mouthful at the same time and drown in continuation in those heavenly pits of his and nip his nipples in the bud as I cum inside him and make him jump for joy.

Occasionally, we long for the wide open spaces and head for the nearest hills for a repeat performance of our first hot and horny night together. Unfortunately, I had to throw that double sleeping bag away. For obvious reasons. Anyway we're much happier (and hotter) in a single. It makes his pits flow wild and free like the Columbia River.

Mutual satisfaction is the key to any relationship and 'It's the pits,' has assumed a whole new connotation for me. You might even say plumbed new depths, if you see what I mean. As I pointed out earlier, the strangest things can turn you on. And Russell's pits do it for me every time. By the way, check out that film 'Frailty.' It might give you some good ideas.