I held it there and fingered his hole as he roared and shook uncontrollably. Within seconds his body tensed as he lost the fight. His balls contracted against my chin with each pulse of his erupting dick. Successfully suppressing my gag reflex, I waited for the final few shots before pulling back to taste the last of them on my tongue.
“Holy Fuck!” Mike roared as he slipped from my mouth, and I stood up. Holding his head in my hands; I pressed my lips to his. Our tongues mingled in a passionate kiss.
“Thank you,” I said after breaking the kiss. Mike just grinned and pulled me back for another.
When our lips parted a second time, I bent down and pulled his briefs up. Grabbing his soft dick, I lovingly tucked it inside them. I pulled up his jeans, reaching around, ensuring the proper fit and tugged them closed before buttoning and zipping them up. I finished by pulling his belt closed, being sure to slip the hook into the correct hole. He grabbed his shirt but didn’t put it back on, only standing silently for a minute, just looking at me. His smile faded for a few moments as he lost himself in thought. With Mike, it was often mingled with sadness. There was some of that, but also what looked like resolve.
“I have something else to show you,” he said, “but first let’s go upstairs. I need to grab something and I’ll make us a quick lunch.”
With a small book in Mike’s hand and a couple of excellent pulled pork sandwiches in our bellies, we headed back downstairs. We walked around the corner of the shop where his ATV was parked. He stowed the book in a toolbox that was bolted to the cargo rack and hopped on. I stepped up and straddled the seat at his back, running both hands over his chest as I wrapped my arms around him.
With a kick it started, and we were off, rumbling down the driveway. We turned left after crossing the creek and cattle guard, then up the small lane to the grove of trees that overlooked the ruined foundation of Mike’s childhood home. We came to a stop at the base of an enormous oak tree surrounded by several towering pines. High in the tree was an old treehouse.
“Joe and I built this when we were kids. I’ve always kept it in good shape, I know it’s stupid, but some of my best memories are of this old treehouse. I intend to keep it up as long as I can climb the ladder.”
He pulled the book out of the toolbox and walked over to the ladder.
“We used to climb the tree until Joe fell and broke his arm. After that, mom wouldn’t let us play in it until we built a proper ladder. I’m happy she did because it saved my life. Do you think you can climb it?”
“I think so, my ankle is feeling pretty good, just don’t tell Doc,” I replied. Mike let me go first, following close enough to catch me if I slipped.
“Reach into that hole, grab the lever, push up, pull it to the left, then push forward to unlock the hatch,” Mike instructed.
“Why so complicated?” I asked, opening the hatch and climbing up into the treehouse.
“We saw my uncle snooping around a few times and made the lock to keep him out. It didn’t work, but we thought it was cool and kept it anyway. It wasn’t until a few years ago that I found out what he was really doing up here.” Mike climbed in and reached up into a gap between two boards in the ceiling. “I found this when I was fixing a hole in the roof and needed to take these boards down to get to the leak.”
Mike handed me a dusty gift box, the kind used to hold a shirt or two. I sat down on an old mattress and opened the box. There were a couple of magazines with naked men in various poses. Most were in black & white, all with flaccid dicks and flexing various muscles. Several pages seemed to be stuck together in spots. Mike and I shared knowing smiles. A few dozen Polaroid pictures were loose in the box as well.
“This one’s of Joe’s dad,” Mike said. A tall good-looking man was leaning against a tree with his huge hard cock cradled in one hand.
“I see the similarities,” I said, smirking. We looked through the other photos, there were several more of Joe’s dad and a few other men. All naked with several having sex with Joe’s dad or each other. “Has Joe seen these?” I asked.
“I told him when I found them, but he didn’t seem surprised or even interested, so they’ve stayed up here. Honestly, I never got along with my uncle and they aren’t worth much to me either.”
I closed the box and set it aside. Grabbing an old couch cushion, I placed it between my back and the treehouse wall. I spread my legs and Mike picked up the small book before settling down on the mattress between them. He leaned back against me, and I wrapped my arms around his naked torso.
“This is what I wanted to show you,” he said, holding up the small book and opening the cover. It was a photo album, just large enough for one picture on each page. The first was a black & white image of a man, he looked to be in his twenties, standing next to a dark haired woman who was holding a baby. They stood on the porch of an old farmhouse.
“That’s my mom, holding me in her arms. My dad is there next to her,” Mike said while pointing to him. “I was a week old when my grandfather took this photo. Gramps was so excited to have his first grandson, he bought that camera for my parents to take pictures of me growing up.” Mike shuffled through a few pages to find a photo of his father in uniform. “This is the last one taken of dad. I was so young at the time, that I really don’t remember him.”
Mike took a long breath before turning to the last page occupied by a photo. It was of him, only a few years before, sitting on the porch steps with his mother, trimming a pile of green beans for canning.
“Joe took this one, it was late summer of eighty-seven. He put this album together for me, taking the photos from his own. I lost everything the following spring.”
Mike closed the small album and set it down. I pulled him close and held him tightly until he was ready to go on.
“That winter the snow hit record levels. Even down here in the valley it caused trees to down power lines and make the road impassable. We were in the dark and isolated several times that winter.
“The following spring, the pastures were already flooding when warm weather and heavy rains melted feet of snowpack in just hours.”
“I woke up to the house shaking and my mom screaming. Running downstairs there was water and mud flowing through the house and climbing up the stairs. She was clinging to the banister near the bottom of the staircase. I ran down to grab her when our Wagoneer crashed through the front wall, pushing her under the water and knocking me off the stairs. The current forced me out through a large hole in the wall and something hidden in the water did this,” he said, guiding my right hand up over the scar on his bare chest.
“The water carried me near the old oak where I managed to grab onto the ladder. I climbed up into the treehouse and yelled for mom, but I could barely see anything in the darkness. I could only hear the roar of the water and the cracking of timber as the water ripped our house apart. I was shivering; ice-cold water drenched the few clothes I was wearing. I knew I needed to get warm to survive. I stripped everything off and dried my skin with an old sweatshirt before holding it over the wound in my chest. I crawled into my sleeping bag and waited.”