I was beating off in my backyard the first time I caught the Wildman of Greyhall Mountain watching me. It was an unusually warm spring day and I was splayed out in an Adirondak chair celebrating the season with my dick in the air and my fatigues down around my ankles. I wasn't thinking about anything in particular, just listening to the forest, feeling my body up, and enjoying the sun on my balls.
All I wanted to do was relax and turn my brain off for a while, but a lifetime of military service had left me hardwired to be hypervigilant of my surroundings, so that wasn't always an option. A distant branch shaking out of time with the breeze was all it took to put me on alert. I've performed pretty much every body function there is in front of other men in my time, so it's not like I'm shy, but if I'd known there was an actual person watching me, I swear I'd have covered up. As the sole occupant of my family's deteriorating old hunting lodge however, I was surrounded by thirteen-thousand acres of undeveloped forest with no neighbors for miles, so my thoughts went to predator long before peeper.
The tree line was a good thirty yards from where I sat, but I was trained to read terrain for snipers, and thought I could make out hints of a dark shape in the shadows behind a bush. I'd never seen a wolf or a bear come this close to the property before, but we'd had a harsh winter, and hunger was a strong motivator. This is probably where most guys would have put their dicks away and gone inside, but with my ever-present Glock 19 holstered on the side table next to me, I was confident in my tactical superiority and stayed right the fuck where I was.
As a cloud moved over the sun, I lost track of the dark shape. My first instinct was to march over there and discharge a few rounds to scare away anything dangerous, but my slow-stroking hand had me feeling so mellow, I told myself I was overreacting to a trick of the light and took another hit from my joint. After a few repetitions of my calming PTSD mantra, my focus returned to the heavy sack-load I'd been edging out since breakfast. Another thing a guy develops during military deployment is the skill to make the most of any time he gets alone with his dick and a dirty thought. Since retiring and moving to the middle of nowhere at the ripe old age of thirty-nine, I'd learned to embrace the indulgence of long, leisurely sessions.
I tried to put it out of my mind, but I couldn't help thinking how hot it would be to stare into a wolf's eyes as I blew my load. Show it who the real alpha is. I kept my eyes on the bushes as my flopping balls tightened up, warning last call to back off my rapidly approaching monster load. My stoned mind had me imagining a wild animal watching me get myself off, and it made my fat mushroom head leak more. I don't know how my tool would measure up against a wolf's, but between sports and the service, I've seen miles of dick in my life and I'd take mine over any of them.
My beast is just long enough to be long -- about seven and a half inches the last time I participated in a barracks measuring contest -- and a nice thick girth that lands in most pussies' sweet spot past "oh wow" and just shy of "hell no." It's a perfect boyfriend dick, if your boyfriend is a fucking stud. Sure, a few women had complained it was too much, but for every one of them, ten guys complimented it in the showers. On missions where I didn't get to shower with the enlisted men, I always find... found an excuse to flop out my full package and piss in front of them to establish dominance. My balls are a little too big to be comfortable for most guys, but I like to think that all that extra testosterone helped carve my body into the muscular physique that made me so great at my job, so I let them swing with pride. I just wear a jock to keep them close when I'm active, and turn the AC up high when I'm fucking -- not that I've done that in a while.
The next time a bush shook, to my surprise, I actually spotted a pair of pale eyes starting out at me from behind it. My shock put me over the top and the first rope of cum shot out of my dick so hard it flew up over my head. It must have been pretty impressive, because the shape in the bushes smiled and the dirty face was split by a set of straight white teeth that didn't belong to any animal.
Thanks to my hair-trigger reflexes, I immediately leaned forward to stand up from the low lawn chair, but I was still cumming so hard that my dick didn't get the message to shift gears in time. My face was directly over my lap when the orgasm really hit and a hot gob of my own jizz launched up and splattered across my lips. Naturally, I gasped, leaving my idiot mouth open for the next salvo to fly right in and crash land on my tongue.
I might have sat there shaking off that load forever if my would-be predator hadn't stood up from behind the bushes, exposing himself to me in all senses of the word. My voyeur wasn't an animal; it was a twenty-something musclehead, naked as the day he was born. What I'd thought was dark fur was actually a camouflage of dried mud and forest debris slathered over every inch of his bare skin. I'm just about the straightest guy in the world, but I have no problem admitting the young man was a hell of a specimen.
He was taller than me -- which is saying something -- and piled with the kind of carved muscle rarely seen outside of a comic book. His long hair and scraggly beard were slicked down with mud, as was the impressive pelt of chest hair that spread down his torso like an arrow leading to his incredible main event. Sprouting from a hearty bush that no amount of mud could hide, his uncut fuck stick stood at full attention in front of him, every bit as big and hard as my own.
When the buff young intruder gripped his dick and pointed it in my direction, my readiness training finally kicked in. I jumped to my feet and my rod bobbed up and down, flicking the last of my load between my abs and the patio stone.
