I want to thank my editor for challenging me to stretch my boundaries. They prefer to be nameless right now, but they know how to challenge me to stretch my mind and learn more about writing that I ever dreamed.
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In the 10 years that they'd been taking this trip, this was the shittiest hunting either of them had ever suffered through. They'd been in camp almost a week, since the beginning of deer season, and all they'd seen is the occasional sign that something was tramping around in the woods.
Ralph was the first one back by almost an hour, giving him time to grow even more disgusted by the sounds of rifles and shotguns going off in the distance, evidence that someone was having better luck than he. By the time Sam came into camp his mood had turned from bad to worse, and he had added tired and hungry to his list of complaints.
"Looks like a storm's rolling in," Sam remarked good naturedly, looking up at the sky.
Ralph scowled at the dark, rolling clouds. Great, just the fucking thing we need to cap of a spectacular fucking day of chasing our tails around here, he thought.
While they fixed dinner they cracked a six pack and made small talk, both of them avoiding the topic of whether or not they'd be able to get any hunting in the next day if the storm didn't break. As they ate they watched lightning streak intermittently across the sky, and listened as thunder would rumble somewhere far off. A little buzzed, Ralph told Sam that it was too bad he wasn't home, because his wife got so horny during storms that she was an animal in bed.
He was 35 and had only been married a year. He was smaller than Sam, but very muscular from weight lifting. In contrast, Sam was older, with graying hair and on his second marriage, ten years strong and holding. The two men had known each other for years, having met on the job and becoming friends almost instantly. Ralph had been with Sam through his first marriage and subsequent divorce, and they found each other face down and hung over in the other's guest bedroom more often than either would ever care to admit.
Conversation between the two men came easily. The more they drank, the raunchier the talk got, each trying to top the others wild sex story. By the time they crawled into their sleeping bags, they were both on edge, their minds clouded with thoughts of fucking.
Ralph tossed for what seemed hours, trying to get comfortable, willing the pressure in his balls to subside. Squirming uneasily, he finally gave in and cupped his balls, squeezing them, losing himself in the gentle yet insistent manipulation. He bit down hard on his lower lip to stifle a groan, his boxers now wet from all the precum leaking, and he was having trouble concentrating on anything other than his sore, throbbing cock and balls. Peeling back his sleeping bag, he was about to swing his legs out so he could go outside and jerk off when the deafening sound of rain surrounded him. The tent vibrated ominously as the drops splattered its surface, increasing in force until Ralph could feel the ground tremble slightly.
"Damn it!" he swore under his breath, his head falling back on the pillow.
