Far from the Madding Crowd

by Anel Viz

(c) Anel Viz

The men-only weekend at the adult campground lasted from Thursday evening until Sunday afternoon. We go every year to wander about in the buff and enjoy the warm summer sun with a couple of hundred other men of our persuasion. We enjoy the chance to let it all hang out for a couple of days, to be ourselves. We enjoy the outdoors, the company, the scenery. We enjoy it all.

All, that is, except the disco-style dance with an all-naked, all-male band they held every night from nine to one in the morning in the huge Quonset hut next to the office. The display of sweaty male bodies grinding together side by side would have made for a pleasant evening’s entertainment if we had earplugs. My lover and I stood watching by the bar for as long as we could stand the noise; then we refilled our plastic cups with beer and headed back to our tent, which this year we had pitched at the far end of the campground, where you could hear the music without going deaf. In fact, the crickets sounded louder.

We passed groups of men chatting around their campfires along the trail on our way back. Not all the campers had gone to the dance. There are plenty of gay men who, like us, do not share a passion for disco dancing. We have another passion in common which makes us gay, and which every gay man prefers to disco. A few hundred yards from our campsite, we passed a couple on a blanket near the fire. One stood facing the path, the other kneeling in front of him, two gorgeous male bodies gleaming white in a circle of light surrounded by a sea of blackness.

We stopped to watch, recognizing the two tall, lean men whose handsome good looks and immodestly sized hanging endowments had attracted everyone’s attention – endowments that we (lucky us!) had every chance of seeing fully erect and in action as they celebrated their gayness.

That they had chosen to do it in the open meant they wouldn’t mind. They probably wanted people to watch them, maybe even join in. We only watched, keeping to the shadows to avoid having to turn down an invitation. The man with his face to us must have seen our silhouettes, because he said something to his partner, and they shifted position to give us a better view, and turned up the heat for our benefit.

“How big do you think he is?” my lover asked.

“Impossible to say at this distance. Very big. Want to move in closer?”

He shook his head. Then the men traded places, and we got to see the other. The two were evenly matched.

The man on his knees moved his head slowly forward until his lips touched the other’s pubic mound. (I couldn’t begin to guess what the other man’s head was touching.) He pulled back just as slowly, smiled up at his partner, and turned to us. “Don’t be shy,” he called. “Come and take ringside seats before they’re gobbled up.” Then he went back to gobbling up something else.

We moved to the edge of the circle of light. “Eleven inches,” I whispered.

“Don’t we wish!” said the man with the free mouth. “Ten and a half. Ever get your hand around something that big?”

I gave an honest answer. “Something, yes; a dick, no.”

“Then give me a squeeze and yourself a treat.”

I stepped forward; my lover hung back. “You too,” the man said. “Give us both a feel and a taste.”

“We’d choke.”

“Not even a little lick?”

“We’ll just watch, thanks.”

The guy on his knees returned to his sucking. “You guys bottom?” the other asked.

“For each other.”

“Scared? It’s doable. Want to see how doable?”

I nodded. He got on all fours. For them it was very doable. My lover’s eyes bulged, and so, I suspect, did mine.

“Give you any ideas?” the man bottoming gasped out between moans.

“It does,” I said. “Let’s go to the tent, sweetheart. Our tent.”

“In our tent,” my lover said.