This story contains graphic descriptions of adult male gay consensual sexual activity. If this topic disturbs you or it is illegal for you to read, please leave this site.

Part I

We'd spent all day butchering, quartering and packing out Mark's bull elk. It was a nice four point, and he'd shot it right after dawn, up on the ridge, about a quarter mile from camp. He'd had a clean shot, and we'd brought the liver and the heart down the ridge, too, so we'd have some great camp meat this week.

It was the third day of the second elk season, and we'd both taken two weeks off to come up here in the mountains, set up camp and hunt to our hearts' content. And, hunting always meant more than getting up two hours before dawn, and hiking up to the top of the ridge, freezing our butts, waiting for a bull to wander by.

It was much more than that. It was the conversations around the wood stove, the whiskey sipping in the evening, as we cooked dinner and told stories, in falling asleep listening to the wind in the mountain spruce trees, the full moon silvery against the fresh snow on the forest floor, the camp coffee heating on the stove as we stumbled into our hunting clothes, the smell of frying bacon in the crisp mountain air.

I'd gotten my bull elk on opening day, and we'd spent most of that day butchering and packing out my elk, a little three point bull. The quarters were hanging up in the trees on the upper side of our camp, now joined by the carcass of Mark's elk.

We'd never filled our tags this early in the season, and we had another ten days to go before we had to go back to work. I wondered what we'd do with all that time on our hands.

The weather was cold and it frosted every night, so the meat would be just fine until we broke camp at the end of the season. It would hang there and age in the cold mountain air, improving its flavor so that when the butcher shop cut it into roasts and steaks, and ground the rest of it into hamburger and elk sausage, we'd be able to fill our freezers with almost a year of meat.

Butchering and hauling two elk carcasses down the mountain over three days had left up pretty tired. We thought we'd gotten in pretty good shape during deer season, but all the packing out had worn us out.

Mark was the last one in, hauling the last hindquarter. We tied a rope around it and hauled it up into the tree, joining all the other quarters. We had rolled up the hide up on the ridge, and I had packed it out on my last trip. We'd take it to one of our buddies, who knew how to tan it in the old way, and he'd turn it into soft leather, the color of caramel.

Both of us were a mess, sweaty and our hands and clothes pretty well covered in elk blood and a bit of the offal that comes from gutting out two elk over three days. And, butchering and packing out two elk carcasses left us a lot riper than the normal hunting trip.

The creek that ran by the side of camp hadn't frozen over yet, though there was a growing edge of ice along the bank, next to the several inches of snow that had fallen in the last couple of days. Part of the creek swirled in a slow eddy against a big log, forming a small pool.

Like any hunters' camp in elk season, we didn't set up a place to shower. It was just too darn cold this time of year. Still, we were filthy enough that we really needed to at least rinse ourselves off and our hunting clothes could definitely stand a wash. The wind had picked up a bit, blowing down the ravine, and the ice on the edge of the creek promised a darn chilly bath.

Still, we had the camp stove fired up in the big wall tent we had set up, and we had some nice clean clothes and a bottle of whiskey waiting for us after our plunge.

"Time to take the plunge, I guess," Mark said, stripping off his hunting jacket and shirt. He slid off his boots and camo jeans, and then unbuttoned his union suit long johns. They were bright red, and he always wore them on our hunting trips. He liked to say he really was a 19th century kind of guy and liked to wear the clothes his great grandfather used to wear.

As he unbuttoned his union suit, the thick tufts of his red chest hair pushed out of the wool, and soon, he stood bare assed naked, his cock flopping around above his nice set of balls, amidst the thick bush of hair that splayed across his groin. A thick blanket of fur marched up his firm stomach into the thatch of hair across his muscular chest, and his large reddish nipples.

I always liked going hunting with Mark. He got a little wild and crazy on these trips, and he said he liked to be a mountain man once in a while, and let his hair down. And, he'd always given me a good show of his nice ass and his thick cock on our trips, not something I'd get to see back at the office, where we both spent our days pushing paper and going to meetings.

"Last one in gets to be the cook," he chuckled, shooting a big grin at me through his four day old beard.

That's another thing I liked about Mark on these trips. He got into the spirit of being away from civilization and let everything get wild and crazy, like the red union suit, and dancing around the fire in the snow, or plunging bare assed naked into an icy stream.

I'd always tried to be like Mark on these trips, to let myself go, to get in touch with my wild side. After all, we were away from the routines of work, and the demands of home life, the constraints of "civilization". Still, in years past, I'd shave every couple of days, afraid, I guess of actually growing a beard.

I'd grown one my sophomore year in college. All the guys did, but I shaved it off after about a week, afraid of what my folks would say, and more afraid, I guess, of not "fitting in" and being the clean cut college boy I'd aspired to be. Being neat and tidy, and perfect in all ways was my goal. After all, I'm the guy who has to have his sock drawer all in order, and I still iron all my dress shirts for work.

I haven't even sported a moustache, not wanting to look the least bit "wild".

This year, though, Mark had dared me to leave my razor at home. He bet me a fifth of my favorite whiskey that I'd not shave for the full two weeks we camped in the mountains. And, I'd also have to "go commando" and not wear any shorts. It was a crazy enough bet that I took him up on it.

It wasn't the only thing I'd be doing differently this year. My girlfriend of the last five years had left me last month, and I'd been figuring out how to live by myself in my apartment. Cindy had apparently had enough of me, and left one morning, after we got into an awful fight about my obsessiveness over the laundry.

She wanted someone a little wilder in bed, too, she said.

"You're too vanilla for me, you know," she said, crying that morning. "I have needs, and you just don't excite me any more. You're too predictable."

I suppose she's right. The missionary position works fine for me, and I thought she'd always appreciate our schedule of lovemaking. Wednesday night and Saturday morning. Just like clockwork. Still, after five years, I could sort of see her point. Maybe I was too predictable, too vanilla.

I watched Mark grab a bar of soap from the camp table, and plunge into the icy stream, his naked self slipping under the water. He emerged sputtering and gave a shout.

"Damn, that's cold!"

I laughed at him, naked in a freezing creek in the middle of November, up here in the middle of nowhere.

An icy thick snowball splattered against my chest, its sharp edges poking through my shirt, icy water splashing across my face and neck.

"Get in here, Jake. If I'm freezing, you might as well freeze, too," Mark shouted, breaking into a fit of laughter as I sputtered through the remnants of the snowball in my face, and dripping into my shirt and onto my chest.

"All right, all right," I said, beginning to strip off my shirt and jeans, and unlacing my hunting boots enough so that I could slip them off and leave my jeans by the bank of the creek.

Mark had seen me naked before, at the golf club sometimes, and once last year, when we took a quick dip in the creek on one of those rare days when it turned really warm and the sun actually felt warm. Still, I was a modest guy and it was hard for me to accept Mark's ease with his body, and getting naked. He slept in the nude when we were in camp, and would jump out of his sleeping bag in the middle of the night and take a leak right outside the tent flap.

I tried to wade slowly into the creek, one inch at a time. I was finally in enough that the water was halfway up my thighs. I had my hands over my crotch, and I guess I was trying to protect my balls and cock from the icy water, or maybe Mark's gaze, until he threw another snowball, splattering ice and snow across my chest. My hands flew up, leaving my crotch exposed, and Mark quickly pitched another iceball right at my groin.

SPLAT!

My groin was plunged into a deep freeze, the snow and ice enmeshed into the thick black hair covering my balls and hiding the root of my cock. Startled by the attack, I slipped on the gravelly creek bottom, and fell, ass first, into the deepest part of the pool, my mouth taking in a cup or two of nearly frozen mountain water.

I struggled to stand up, and Mark grasped my upraised hand, pulling me to my feet, and against his strong chest. His other arm curled around my back, drawing me closer to him, until our bristly faces were just an inch apart.

"Steady, there, partner," Mark whispered to me.

My chest was heaving, and icy water was dripping down, my balls tight against my groin, my skin reddening with the sudden chill.

"Here, let me clean you up so we can get you out of here and into the tent," he said.

His thick fingers quickly rubbed the bar of soap through my hair, into my whiskery face, and through the fur that grew across my chest. His hands soon raised a lather of suds across my chest, under my arms, and down into my groin. Expertly, his fingers, soaped and cleaned my cock, and balls, with one hand soaping under my sac and around my hole and butt cheeks.

More fingers soaped my cock again, and slid my foreskin down my cock head a bit, washing around my cock head, the sensations mixing with the stinging iciness of the water, my face reddening from his close touch.

His hands turned me halfway around, and he held me steady against the rush of the snow water until I regained my balance, my bare toes gripping the gravel creek bottom. His strong hands worked their way over my shoulders and down my back, with more soap suds, until he reached my butt. Practiced finders slid down my crack, soaping me completely and cleaning my around my hole.

One finger slipped inside, slick with the soap and the water, until it was one, then two knuckles deep, other fingers sliding against the back of my ball sac, gentle, and slow.

I gasped again, the cold and the intimacy all mixed into one blur of sensation. The icy mountain air stung my lungs, my eyes tearing up at the chill that was soaking into every cell of my body. Yet, the heat and the softness of his touch lit a fire inside of me, a fire of excitement, even desire.

"There, you're clean," Mark whispered, his voice just barely audible over the burbling of the creek. "Now, wash me up."

He handed me the soap bar, and gave me a big grin.

"Come on, Jake. I'm starting to feel a bit of the chill here," Mark chuckled, obviously enjoying watch me rise to the challenge.

I gingerly starting lathering his hair, and then his stubbly beard and moustache. Slowly, at first, my fingers touched him, feeling his skin, and the texture of his hair, and then the course wiry stubble that covered the bottom of his face. My fingers shampooed him, the lather slipping off his sprouting moustache and chin, and dripped down into the thick fur of his hard chest.

The wind died down a bit, and a few skiffs of snow began to dance downward from the darkening sky. A few flakes caught in his hair, and in his beard, the white stark and pure against the red fur of this wild man.

The soap bar worked across his chest, and under his arms, my fingers feeling the heat of his armpits, and the stiff nubs of his nipples, and the hard curves of his pecs and stomach. I could smell the pure mountain creek water, a bit of the elk blood, and the last of the sweat and musty stench of this mountain man, now thinned by the clean smell of the soap. I'd never touched a man before, not in this way, not this intimate.

I paused, looking into Mark's eyes, asking him, silently, if I was done.

"Keep going, Jake," Mark whispered. "Wash me everywhere. Please."

I hesitated, the soap bar cold in my hands, the icy water now completely numbing my feet, and my legs. My heart beat loudly, and it was hard to breathe. Not just from the cold, I realized. It was something else, something new.

"Looks like you're enjoying this," Mark said, his voice awakening me from my thoughts.

I followed his eyes, and looked down, seeing my cock hard, full, and pointing upward, right at Mark. I hadn't felt myself getting hard, hadn't realized Mark had turned me on, aroused me.

I blushed, looking away, my face reddening, sweat starting to form in my arm pits.

"Oh, God," I stuttered.

The forest, the creek, the world stood still, silent. All that moved, all that was important, was my cock, hard and ready for sex, turned on my lust, my desire for my friend, for a man!

"You wear it well, my friend," Mark whispered. "That hard cock looks good on you. Enjoy it."

He took my hand, still gripping the slippery bar of soap, and guided me down, down his hard, furry stomach, into the thick bush of hair surrounding his cock, and his balls.

"Wash me, Jake, nice and slow," Mark said. "It feels so good when you touch me."

I forgot we were butt naked, standing thigh deep in an icy mountain creek, my hands touching my best friend, soaping up his cock, his balls, even, with Mark's gentle help, his butt crack and his hole. He held my hands firm, asking me to keep washing him, to work up a lather, to push my finger into the warmth of his hole.

He turned a bit, taking me back to his cock, now hardening a bit from our slippery strokings, and guided me to run a finger under his foreskin, to feel the ridge of his cock head, rubbing the soap's lather across his cock head, and around his cock, and through the thick, wiry curls of his fur.

He took one of my hands and helped me cup his balls, holding them softly, slowly rubbing the lather around them, and through the hairs of his sac, showing me how to feel their weight, how they moved under the thin skin, and the texture of their sac.

Mark leaned closer to me, pulling me closer to him, pulling our furry chests close, until the wet curls touched, until I felt the stiff points of his nipples poke into me, until I could feel the fur of his stomach and groin surround my hard, aching cock. His lips touched mine, and he held me in a kiss, his hand against my cock.

We pulled away, just a bit, his hand now sliding up and down my cock. We stood still, the water flowing around our thighs, the rumbling of the creek loud in our ears, as he kept sliding his wet, soapy fingers up and down my manhood. Again, and again, slowly, then a bit faster, keeping pace with my quickening breath, and my heartbeats.

I breathed deep, not feeling the cold air rushing deep down my throat and into my lungs, as he pumped me, faster and faster, my hips now joining in to his dance with me, matching his thrusts, beat for beat.

Nothing else mattered now. There was no creek, no mountain, no snow. There was only the pistoning, back and forth, of the slippery, warm hand, along my shaft, and gently touching my hot and needy cock head, and my seed, rising high in my balls, aching to be released.

Again and again, he slid and moved back and forth and I moved forward and back, faster and faster, until I could take no more, until my seed hurled through my shaft, spurting in thick globs against his fingers, against his thick fur, against his cock, thick and slippery on his skin, and mine.

Releasing their load, my balls dropped a bit, their sac now slippery with my newly released seed, hot in his tender hand.

Mark kissed me again, holding my now trembling body tight in his arms.

"Let's take this show inside," he whispered. "It's starting to snow."

Part II

Mark opened the tent flap, and my naked, half frozen self darted through, ready for the warmth around the wood stove, and a shot of whiskey. Our quick plunge into the icy creek to rinse off the elk blood and our sweat from packing out Mark's bull elk today left me chilled to the bone.

Yet, my cock, suddenly stiff from looking at Mark's bare ass and long cock nestled in the fur above his balls, had caught Mark's eye as we stood in the swiftly moving mountain stream. He moved close to me, his hot, slippery hand, pumping me to my first eager climax of the day. I had cum hard and fast, despite being thigh deep in the near freezing water, the first flakes of the coming snowstorm catching in my stubbly face and the fur on my wet chest, flushed and newly sweaty from my orgasm.

My bare feet and legs were numb by the cold, and the heat from the stove felt good. I held my hands over the stove, and I watched the steam rise from the tea kettle we had filled before we decided to take a quick dip. A cup of tea sounded great right now, with a shot or two of whiskey.

Mark had the same idea, and he grabbed two mugs, and poured a generous dollop of Tennessee's finest, and tossed in the tea bags. He grabbed a towel and briskly rubbed me dry, his hands and the soft terry cloth rubbing my hair and three day old whiskers dry. He moved down over my chest and belly, and then my cock, still oozing the last of my seed. His fingers cupped my ball sack, and I felt his heat rise through my groin, contrasting with the last bit of cold that had frozen my balls, even as Mark had stroked me, slow at first, and then faster and faster, until I gasped and cried out against his hard, hairy chest, crying out his name. I had spurted a long ropey stream of seed across his furry belly and the muscles of his forearm, which were clenched tight as his fingers clung tight to my blood filled cock.

I looked down at my slowly withering cock, and Mark's warm, strong fingers as he cupped my balls. He caught my eye, and I blushed, my skin now scarlet from face to chest. I stammered, looking away, ashamed of my lust, my quick spilling of my seed. Years of shame about my body, my desires throbbed in my head, my pulse rising.

Mark knows, now. Nothing will be the same. Our friendship was over. I was such a fool, such a loser.

"You are so beautiful," Mark said, shifting his gaze to my cock, and my balls, still slimed with my seed.

"I love how you came so hard, so fast," he added. "You honor me, my friend."

"Honor??" I thought. "Oh, not honor. Shame, embarrassment. Here I am, buck naked in front of my best friend. I'd just gotten hard in front of Mark, and cum long and fast. I can't believe myself. I'm such an animal."

"Yes, honor," Mark said.

"Oh, my God, I...I spoke out loud!" I wailed. "Now, you know everything. I'm so sorry. I'm such a loser."

My naked lover stood up, his big, brawny arms wrapping around me, enveloping me in his hug. He held me tight, as big tears flowed down my cheeks, into my whiskery cheeks and jaw, soaking into his skin, still wet from our plunge into the stream a few minutes ago.

"You're my lover, Jake," Mark whispered in my ear. "And, that makes you a first class winner."

"I've known we were meant to be lovers for a long time, Jake", Mark said. "I was hoping we'd become lovers on this trip. And, I think you did, too."

I nodded, my sobs still rising up out of my chest, my face still red with embarrassment.

"How did you know, Mark? I asked.

"Oh, in so many ways. The ways you've looked at me, the times you went out of your way to spend time with me. In your eyes, especially your eyes," Mark added.

I sighed, deeply. All the tension, all the years of shame and hiding seeped out of me, poison running into the dirt beneath my bare feet. I felt light, free, safe in Mark's warm, tight arms.

He kissed me, our whiskers scratchy, catching on each other, entangling us tighter, as his lips touched mine.

I kissed him back, feeling his warmth, his love for me. I breathed deep, smelling his clean, wet skin, and the woodsy smell of creek water, and a bit of the smoke from the stove.

I felt alive, finally, light, and free. Free to be me, at last.

I grabbed the towel out of Mark's hand, and gently dried him, taking my time, running my fingers through his hair, across the stubble of his face, through the thick mat of fur that covered the hard muscles of his chest. His nipples were hard, stiff in my fingers, and I stooped down to suckle them, bringing the nips to a point, wet and hard.

Mark moaned, his voice rumbling deep in his thick chest, filling my ears with his voice, his care for me.

I moved the towel lower, across his muscled stomach, and then lower, into his thick bush above his cock. Slowly, I dried the creek water from his hair, his cock, and his large, wrinkly ball sack. I explored him more, as he moved his sinewy thighs farther apart, his ball sack now loose and open. Going under and behind his balls, I gently dried all of his sack, and the sensitive line of skin leading to his hole, and his strong globes of butt muscle, covered with his curly red hair.

Once he was dry, Mark kissed me again, long and deep, then whispered my name, again and again, in my ear, as he nuzzled my neck, and softly tongued my ear lobe.

"We need a little whiskey, now, to celebrate," Mark whispered, as he moved away to the bench next to the stove, and grabbed our mugs of tea and whiskey.

The hot tea and booze felt rich and strong, as it flowed down my throat, filling my stomach with warmth.

We'd straddled the bench, facing each other, our thighs open, our cocks draped over our ball sacks. Open, naked, and lovers at last. My shoulders loosened a bit, and I stretched my arms, the tension of hauling all that meat down from the ridge easing a bit. The warmth of the tea and whiskey spread out throughout my newly-toughened body, and I started to warm up and relax.

As we slowly sipped our hot whiskey and tea, I noticed Mark also stretching out his chest and shoulders, throwing up one muscled arm and then another. His damp thatch of his thick armpit hair glistened a bit in the waning afternoon light in the tent. The taut points of his nipples moved a bit across his muscled chest as he stretched, and I longed to taste his large nipples again across my tongue.

He looked at me, looking at him, and grinned.

"Oh, we're gonna have a good time this evening, Jake," Mark said, pulling one leg up high, his hands gripping his knee, and stretching his butt muscles, his crotch opening more to me, giving me a clear view of his cock, and his hairy ball sack, loose and warm, against the rough wood of the bench.

"And, I'm about ready for having some real fun with you," he added, a big grin splitting his new beard.

Mark got up and put another stick of wood in the stove, and poured another mug of tea and whiskey for both of us. I gazed at his muscular glutes flexing around the tent as he walked, his cock dancing a bit against the thick fur that splayed across his crotch and up his stomach, forming a thick line before it merged into the thick curls that covered his chest and rose even higher, into his new red beard.

For once, I could look at a man, in all his glory, and admire his muscles, his stature, his beautiful cock. I hungered to taste him in my mouth, to suck him, and run my fingers under his balls, to feel him harden against my fingers, to slowly stroke him, giving him the same pleasures he gave me a few minutes ago, as we had stood thigh deep in the freezing mountain creek. My cock twitched at the memory, of Mark's tight, frenzied pistoning of my cock, pushing me over the edge, exploding my seed into the cold mountain air.

I wanted that for him now, to give back what he had given me.

Yet, he was the first man I'd do that with, the first time I'd be taking a man's cock in my mouth, and holding him in my hand, feeling the beat of his heart in the tip of his cock head, as I'd help him climb to the point of no return, until he could hold back no more, and share his love with me.

It was about dusk, and the tent was getting dark. Mark walked over to one of the kerosene lamps and struck a wooden kitchen match, then took off the glass chimney and lit the wick. He turned the brass screw at the base of the lamp, advancing the wick a bit, until the flame burned clean, but not too bright. He set the glass chimney down around the brass base of the wick, and a soft glow of golden light cast a bit of warmth around the tent.

The warm light glowed against his skin, turning his skin a soft bronze, his red fur ablaze with flecks of light. I could see his cockhead peak out his foreskin, growing a bit, a drop of precum sparkling.

"You're blushing again, Jake," Mark whispered, as he handed the second mug of tea and whiskey to me.

"Ya thinking about what you want to do with me?" he chuckled.

I could only nod, my throat closed with embarrassment, with hesitation. This was new ground for me, and part of me was scared. What if I wasn't good enough? What if I didn't know how to really pleasure him? What if....

"Just sip your tea and don't think about how to do it," Mark whispered, as he moved around behind me, until his hard, muscular thighs touched my back. "We've got almost two weeks to get to know each other, and to teach each other about love."

I felt his cock rub softly against my head, feeling safe, cared for, the hot whiskey doing its business, taking the tension out of my back, chasing away my fear of failing tonight.

A gust of wind rattled the canvas above us, whistling through the trees. I could hear the snow fall hard against the windward side of the tent. We wouldn't be going anywhere for a few days anyway, the way this storm was coming on.

We finished our tea and whiskey in silence, listening to the storm grow outside, feeling the strength of the tent, its ropes taut and secure, the tent poles swaying just slightly as the fresh gusts of snow-filled wind rushed down from the ridge, down from where Mark had shot his bull elk this morning.

So much had changed since then, since Mark held me close to his chest in the creek, caressing my cock, bringing my manhood to life, raising my lust to the bursting point, as I unloaded spurt after spurt of my cum against him. And, now, we would spend our evening with each other, naked and hot against each other, our noses filled with our lusty sweat and our spurts of cum drying against our skin, our scruffy beards, and the blankets that would keep out the early winter storm.

Mark took the now empty mug out of my hands, setting both mugs on the bench. His rough hand clasped mine, and he pulled me up from the bench, until my back was tight against his hard chest. His breath was soft on the nape of my neck, his fingers slowly wandering through my hair and down across my face, feeling my whiskers. I could smell the faint smell of the tea and the whiskey and the firewood, and a bit of the kerosene on his fingertips, as he rubbed his finger along the stubble of my moustache, the whiskers wiry and coarse.

One hand moved down a bit, touching the ends of the hair on my chest, his fingers again exploring me, finding first one, and then another nipple. I jumped a bit, this sensation new to me, sending a spark down my torso, down to my balls, making my cock twitch a bit, and begin to grow.

"It...it should be your turn," I whispered.

But, Mark's hands held me against him, and his fingers renewed their exploration of my now stiff nipples. I could feel my cock swelling, rising, new fingers warm against the thin skin of my shaft.

"It's both of our turns," Mark whispered in my ear, his voice tight with desire. "It always will be."

The wind picked up outside, and, finally, I felt the chill of the evening. The heat from the tea and the whiskey and our lust eased a bit, and Mark grabbed his sleeping bag, unzipped it and lay it flat over mine. I'd opened my bag flat that morning, to air out a bit.

Another gust raged down from the ridge, whistling around the corner of the tent.

"Let's get warm," he grinned.

We slipped under the warmth of Mark's big goose down sleeping bag, and the soft cotton inner blanket that he had tied in the bag before we'd left town. The blankets and the sleeping bags felt good to me, and we lay there, side by side, enjoying the warmth that was building up, our naked bodies heating the air in the bags, bringing warmth to our chilled legs and arms.

Mark turned on his side, his chest hair rubbing against my bare shoulder, his head propped up by one of his big arms. I could smell him, his manly scent, and a bit of the creek water smell, fresh and wild. His breath smelled faintly of the whiskey and the tea, warm, inviting.

"We'll take this slow. Slow and easy," he said, his deep voice the only sound in the tent.

The wind had paused, for a bit, and there was the softness outside of the snow falling on the tent roof. My heart beat loudly in my chest, eager, yet afraid. Afraid of finding out what I really liked, what it was like to be with another man, to be so ... intimate, naked, with Mark.

"I'm scared, Mark," I whispered. "Scared I'll disappoint you."

"We'll go slow," Mark repeated. "And, you can't do anything wrong."

"Touch me," he said, his voice deep now, edgy, eager.

He took my hand closest to him, bringing it across his hip, and let it rest there. His skin was warm, soft, his hipbone hard. I spread my fingers, feeling his softness, his warmth, and moved up, across his belly, his hair soft and warm, the heat of his abs heating my hands.

My knuckle felt him first, his cock head, damp, his silky foreskin stretched now, by his growing manhood. He radiated heat, the blood filling him.

"Yes," he sighed. "Touch me."

My fingers opened, and I felt him, going the full length of his hardness, until my thumb was entwined in the nest of curls at the base of his stalk. I moved up again, feeling him, hard and hot.

His hand gripped my shoulder, and moved down my chest, finding, again, my hardened nipple. Toying with its hardness, his fingers lingered, caressing the whorls of hair around my nipple, then running through the thicker patch of hair in the center of my chest, until they found my other stiffened tit.

Eagerly, we explored each other, our calloused fingers finding curves and folds, and patches of thick, curly hair, and skin wanting to be touched, again and again. The golden light from the kerosene lamp shined on Mark's face and bare back, his bag slipping down a bit, as we danced the dance of lovers.

I reached up, bringing his stubbled face close to mine, and kissed him. Our hands stopped moving, stopped exploring, as we lingered there, in that moment, lips and hands and eager cocks all tangled in our sleeping bags.

Mark moved around, swinging one massive leg around and over my head, until his swinging balls and hard cock loomed above me, filling my eyes with his masculine virility. His chest moved closer above my stomach, his mouth poised to take me deep inside of his wet, eager lips.

I slipped inside of his hot, wanting mouth, his furry chin and lips pushing against the fur at the base of my cock, his breath hot, steamy against my balls.

"Oh, my God," I moaned, not finding the real prayer I offered to the gods, gratitude for the wonders of this lover, this demigod, who now ran his tongue along my cock, driving me close to the edge of my second explosion with my new lover.

He lowered himself closer to me, his cock brushing my lips, a bit of his precum oozing onto my lips. He tasted wild, like the creek water, like the pungent smell of the spruce and pine needles on the ground where we had skinned the elk that morning.

And I slaked my thirst on his cock, taking him deep into me, like he had taken me. And I drank, I drank deeply, feeling him thrust again and again into me, his balls slapping softly against my newly bearded jaw and chin. My nose was filled with the yeasty odor of his manliness, new sweat seeping from the hairy skin of his ball sack, and the hard muscles of his groin and his thighs.

He kept me deep inside of him too, but his need was more urgent, and his thrusts deeper, hungrier. Still, my balls rose high in their sack and I could feel my jism rising behind my cock, getting ready to explode once again from my lover's touch.

Mark's breath came in short gasps and grunts, and I fingered his nipple, pinching and tweaking his tit, feeling his moans coming deep inside of his now sweaty chest. His gasps came now in rhythm, faster and faster, nearly staccato, his voice vibrating into my cock, into my balls, as he continued to suck me.

His thighs gripped my shoulders and drops of sweat flew against my face, as he thrust harder, more urgently. I felt his balls rise hard against his steeled body. His balls were large, and firm, eager to shoot their seed and release him from his passion. His sack was hot in my hand, my fingers caressing his hairs, drenched now in his lust sweat, and the drops of my saliva that lubricated his pistoning in and out of my mouth.

My own cum rose, and I could not hold myself back.

Mark let loose with a bellow that resonated around my cock, setting me off, as the first blast of him cum roared out of his manhood, half filling my mouth, his urgent pistoning cutting off my breath.

His second blast hit my tongue at the instant my first volley started to fill his mouth, my balls emptying themselves again, for the second time today, my second time with Mark.

We lay side by side, drained cock to cum-drenched face, our heads resting on the splayed thigh of each other, gasping for breath, the air filled with the stench of fresh cum and lust driven sweat of the our coupling.

The only other sound in the tent was the crackling of the wood in the stove, and the icy winds bringing a deepening snow to Elk Camp.