*This is Part 2 of the series. Be sure to read Part 1 on my page.*
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Still dripping with cum and saliva, the two men made their way a short distance down a slope, hoping to find a creek to wash up. In these damp Oregon forests, the moss-covered trees dripping with dew, you never have to walk too far before you see a spring, a brook, a river, or even a pond. It didn't take long for Andrew, the older one, in his early thirties, a toned and masculine railroad crewman by trade, to find a small stream.
Making haste, Jason, the smaller black man about ten years his junior, had started removing his clothes to inspect them for any evidence of their previous taboo transgression.
Andrew followed suit, removing his slacks and underwear and kneeling beside the gurgling water. As he scooped up water to hand-scrub and rinse a few saliva stains, he couldn't help but look up, seeing his partner-in-crime squatting down, and cleaning his clothes.
Jason's cocoa-brown rump was fully exposed, and between his flawless, plump glutes was a clean and tight hole. It puckered occasionally as he moved about, inspecting his clothes. But what really drew the attention of the older white man, was the sight of Jason's flaccid dick and balls, dangling vulnerably between his legs. The foreskin-protected penis wagged side to side as the young man moved, but the view was partially obscured by the bulbous testicles, supported in their wrinkly sack. He admired the scrotum as it slowly contracted in the cool, late morning breeze, pulling those egg-shaped balls closer to the warmth and security of his body.
Andrew had a flash memory of extending his finger to touch that meat pouch, it was silky smooth. His own cock started to grow, he looked down between his legs to watch the head poke halfway out of his hood. Then new images popped into his head as he imagined what that puckering hole might feel like if he were to run his fingers across it. There was no time to act upon his sexually intrusive thoughts, they had to get back on the road.
He scooped up some of the frigid water from the stream and started rinsing his sticky cock with it. Almost instantly the flesh recoiled from the shock, retracting into himself.
They both toweled themselves off with some shop rags that Andrew kept in his eight-year-old 1930 Chevrolet Pickup. And then they put their clothes back on, hopped into the truck, and started off, still on their mission to drive into Portland to run errands.
"Stumptown", as it was referred to in those days, was quite a large city, though it couldn't surpass the size and population of Seattle. As the old truck started down a Downtown avenue, Jason leaned his head out of the window, admiring the fiery colors of the urban trees, their Autumn leaves ablaze with hues of red, orange, and yellow. Then towering above them were the massive blocks of masonry structures. Foundations of granite or concrete made up the ground floor, but above that, brick and mortar extended several stories into the sky. It was broken up by neat rows of glass windows and the occasional decorative belt course that ran horizontally and divided the masonry of the structure.
Jason had rarely been to Portland, though he lived within a two-hour drive from it. His family didn't feel safe or even welcome. He marveled at the size of the buildings, and he couldn't help but stare at all manner of citizens who walked the streets. On a street corner stood a small iron and bronze post, a decorative shape with four bowls each with a small fountain of gushing water.
"What is that?" He inquired with giddy curiosity. He pointed at the waist-high fountain on the sidewalk.
The older man ducked his head to peer through the dirty windshield, "Oh, that's a Benson Bubbler, they were installed by the city's richest man some decades ago. Water always flows from them so that folks can get a drink."
Jason nodded, his eyes dancing every which way as he tried to soak in every sight. "How do they make the buildings so tall? Wouldn't they wobble?"
"What?" Andrew cocked an eyebrow and then shook his head, "I dunno how they build 'em. I just suppose they do it somehow. I've been in one of 'em and they're pretty sturdy. No wobbling as far as I could tell." As he scanned the road, he found what he was looking for, "Ah, we're here."
The truck parked parallel to the city walk, and the two men stepped out and into the dull light of the cloudy gray skies. The pedestrians were all manner of folk. Some were gentlemen, dressed in suits and fedoras; ladies sporting their narrow, heavy coats, their hair pinned up under small hats decorated with a bit of lace, ribbon, netting, or sheer. Then there were working-class folk. Men wore their slacks or overalls, and both sexes were wrapped in their faded or worn overcoats.
At the ground level of a high-rise structure was the telegraph office. They both entered and stood in a short line. In the background, they heard one of the clerks say "May I please have the next customer?" One of the women ahead of them then approached the counter and was greeted with a cordial smile. Against the back wall was a row of teleprinters, written messages were being tapped into the loud, humming machines through the mechanical keyboard, and then the messages were sent through the analog cable to their destination. Incoming responses were automatically typed out through the boxy steel beasts.
Jason couldn't help but admire the intricate carving of the decorative woodwork along the clerk windows. As they stood in line, he was facing Andy, he didn't realize how handsome the man looked in his pastel blue long-sleeve shirt and burgundy colored neck tie peeking out of his sandy brown knitted vest. The straw boater hat atop his head framed the sharp, masculine features of his face.
"You there!" The clerk growled at Jason, "I'll help you now."
Jason turned to Andrew, "I'll only be a moment." Then he continued to the window to deliver his message and have a telegram typed into the teleprinter.
Andrew stepped out of the queue and stood near the entrance of the office, his eyes wandered, glimpsing the pricing board, and then landing on the plump little rump of his younger friend. He would look away, but again and again, his gaze would turn back to the hindquarters with which he would later intend to play.
With a receipt and confirmation of his telegram in hand, Jason happily marched toward his older buddy and they left the office together. They would stop off at a local hardware store for Andrew to purchase a few new tools, then off to a department store to get a few things for his mother and wife, and then they drove to a local automat.
The two walked up to the entrance of the automat, through the big windows they could see several tables with patrons eating their pre-cooked meals. Lining three walls in the far back were the rows and rows of automat doors. A customer walked up to a set of windows with a sign above reading "corn chowder", he put a few coins into the slot next to one of the glass doors and the little door popped open, allowing him to take his meal. The building, both interior and exterior, was a stunning example of Art Deco style. There were only curved corners to walls and rooms, the ceiling had a curved recess where hidden lights created a bright halo that filled the room. Chromed metal features made the building glimmer, and the fantastic curved patterns cut and inlaid into the korkoid floors had given the automat diner a unique quality.
