The Fork in the Path

Guest writer: Austin

I still don't even know how it happened. A few days ago I was a perfectly normal university student: a shitty part-time job, good friends, a girlfriend I'd been with for two years, grades that hovered somewhere between decent and disappointing, and — the crown jewel — a single dorm room to myself on campus, a perk I'd only landed because I'd made the cross-country team. Life was going great. I'd just wrapped up the last of my finals when my buddy Marcus invited me and Sasha to a weekend camping trip with the crew.

It was a good spot — real wilderness, the kind with trails clawing up into the mountains and a slow, green river threading through the whole park that you could float down on an inner tube with a beer in your hand. But it also had a central pavilion with actual showers and bathrooms, so the people who liked to pretend they were roughing it could pretend, and the people who wanted hot water didn't have to squat in the bushes. Sasha and a couple of the other girls were going to stay a few days and then peel off to another friend's place.

We got lucky with the sites — three of them, all crammed shoulder-to-shoulder on a little gravel beach off the river. Close enough that the whole group could sprawl out and still be within shouting distance. When we arrived, Marcus and his girlfriend were wrestling with this enormous six-person tent, so Sasha and I just shrugged and decided to share it with them rather than fight with our own. Then we all dragged ourselves up a trail that started right behind our sites — two hours of climbing, hot enough that by the time we got back down everyone was drenched and starving.

We drank a few beers, roasted hot dogs over the fire, did the standard camping thing. The whole group — nine of us, four couples plus Diego — hung around our site because Marcus had brought the food. After a few more beers than were strictly good for us, someone produced a joint, and things got hazy. Beyond our fire there was almost no light at all; the clouds had rolled in and swallowed the stars.

We were just bullshitting about nothing, doing introductions for the girls who hadn't met everyone yet. Marcus and Diego went way back — childhood friends, though Marcus had moved away when they were ten and they'd only reconnected at university. Their families used to camp here every summer, and Diego got us a good deal because the owner was a family friend. Diego was the only single guy in the group, perfectly content to hang out and watch the rest of us be couples. He was also the first one to pull out the weed. Marcus and I had been tight since high school. Arjun was Marcus's friend from his classes and from the gym — the two of them were amateur bodybuilders, in school for physical therapy, at the weights almost every day. Cole had run cross-country with me since high school, though it was a community thing, so he and Marcus barely knew each other; Cole had gone to a private school and Marcus didn't run.

Our beer-and-weed-soaked brains eventually dissolved into the usual shit-talking and hollering, which drove the girlfriends off to bed or to the fire at the neighboring sites. We were getting tired but didn't want to actually sleep, and somehow that turned into the five of us deciding to jump in the river to wake ourselves up. We stumbled down to the bank and stood there, nobody willing to go first — you could feel the cold bleeding off the water like it was breathing. Finally someone dared Marcus to dive in naked, he refused, which set off another round of trash talk, and the next thing I knew we'd all agreed to skinny dip.

If it hadn't been for the beer and the weed, I'd never have considered it. It's remarkable how little self-preservation you have when you're drunk and high and nineteen.

"ON THREE!" Cole bellowed once we'd shucked our clothes into a pile. "One, two, THREE!"

We cannonballed in. It wasn't deep, but that water hit like liquid ice. I swear my dick and balls tried to crawl up inside my body and my lungs forgot how to work. Lucky for me, at six-foot-two I could stand with the water lapping just under my belly button. Marcus, Cole, Diego, and Arjun were all around my height, so we were all standing there, chest-deep in the shock of it, wheezing.

We could barely make each other out in the dark. Slowly our eyes adjusted, and then our luck held — a seam tore open in the clouds and the starlight came down on us.

Not enough to see faces, but enough to see bodies. Marcus and Arjun were both gym rats, and it showed: big slabs of pec tapering down to tight waists, shoulders carved into hard round caps, that deep V-cut in the hips catching the pale light when they turned toward the bank. The difference was the texture. Arjun's chest was furred with dark hair, a soft mat of it across his pecs and trailing down his stomach, while Marcus's chest was pale and smooth, almost glossy, every muscle standing out in sharp relief like it had been polished. Arjun was a touch bigger overall, but Marcus's bare smooth torso threw his six-pack into such brutal definition in the starlight that you couldn't look away from it.

Cole had the runner's build, same as me: lean and corded, muscle laid on thin, all of it built for speed and not for show. Cardio and nothing else keeps you visibly cut, though our best features were all underwater — huge, powerful thighs and calves, the kind of legs that look sculpted out of something harder than flesh. Our builds were near-identical. His cleanly shaved head versus my mess of wavy hair made us easy to tell apart even in the gloom.

And then there was Diego. Just a regular guy — not ripped, not soft, built like somebody who moved a lot but never touched a barbell. But he had that wild head of dreadlocks he'd been growing for years, obvious even at night, a black halo around his head. He wasn't a full hippie, but his chest was dusted with hair, and he carried that faint weed-and-cedar smell around him like cologne. He was actually growing different strains for Marcus to study for his PT work, injury relief and all that. He was our dealer, our hookup, the guy who made sure the parties never ran dry. Chill as hell.

Once we'd caught our breath and let the cold truly sink its teeth in, we all bolted for the bank as one, scrambling up the gravel with our dicks swinging, grabbing armfuls of clothes, and sprinting for the fire. We dove into our chairs and yanked sweaters over our heads and threw blankets across our laps, letting the flames bake the water off us. I cracked another beer and lit another joint and passed it around.

Half an hour later we surrendered around one in the morning and shuffled off to bed, where the girlfriends were already dead asleep, burrowed into our sweaters and towels like little nests. We doused the fire and I followed Marcus into the tent. He stripped off his clothes and climbed over his girlfriend onto their shared mattress, flashing me one pale white ass cheek in the process. I slid in beside Sasha, and she immediately ground her back into me for warmth.

The second her ass pressed against my crotch, my cock filled out to half-mast, the head sliding out from my foreskin to poke at the inside of my boxers. In a tent this small, with four other sleeping people inches away, there was nothing to do about it. So I just wrapped an arm around her and let it throb against her until I drifted off.

I woke with a jolt a few hours later. Grey dawn light was filtering through the tent walls, and years of early-morning training had hardwired me into an early riser. Normally on a vacation I could roll right back over, but I was still half-buzzed and a little high, and that semi I'd fallen asleep with had matured into a full, aching morning erection, so hard it was pressed flat against my stomach. Every breath either of us took rocked the air mattress, and every rock dragged her soft, bare thigh across my cockhead. There was no way I was sleeping through this.

No privacy in the tent, and I was too foggy to figure out how to work around four other people. So I decided to go for a quick run — redirect the blood, burn off the edge, maybe catch a few more hours after, or at worst duck into the showers and take care of it properly. Not wanting to wake anyone, I just pulled on last night's t-shirt and shorts and slipped out. Couldn't find my underwear in the dark, but lucky for me I wasn't much of a precummer, so even with the shorts chafing against my wood I wasn't going to leave stains.

Grey light was sifting through the trees as I set off at a slow, easy pace down the path by my site. There was a small rise, and I wasn't in any hurry, so I kept it barely above a jog. The cool morning air cleared my head a little, but the steady friction of my cock against the fabric kept my hard-on exactly where it was. I ran for about half an hour before deciding to just head to the showers, find an empty stall, and deal with it the old-fashioned way.

There was a fork in the trail ahead — one arrow pointing to the bathrooms, the other toward a longer loop. I was just about to follow the shower sign when I heard a strange noise from the other path. A wet, rhythmic sound, like something swallowing. I figured maybe another runner had tripped and hurt himself, so I took the fork to check.

Nobody on the path. Then the sound again, just off it, behind a curtain of branches. I hesitated, then pushed quietly through. If it was someone hurt, I couldn't just walk on. If it was a bear, I wanted a head start.

The branches gave way to a hidden grove — a real clearing, big enough that you'd never guess it existed from the trail. And on the far side of it was the source of the noise.

A man stripped to the waist, shorts shoved open, his balls hanging free and resting right on the chin of another man who was on his knees in the grass, the standing guy's cock buried all the way down his throat. The sounds were the kneeling man choking wetly around the shaft, a sloppy, gurgling rhythm as spit ran down the standing guy's balls. His hands were gripping the other man's thighs and calves, working up and down, and his choking got louder — but he didn't sound like he was in trouble. He sounded like he was enjoying the hell out of it. Then the standing guy knotted a fist in the kneeling man's dark hair and yanked him off his cock. The guy on his knees gasped for air, chest heaving — and even as he gasped he strained forward against the fist holding him, lips chasing the glistening cock like it was the only oxygen in the world, little whimpering moans spilling out of him. He was tall even on his knees, hunched over to reach.

I'd spent enough time in locker rooms and watched enough porn to have seen my share of dicks. And I was secure enough to admit that the one in front of me was bigger and thicker than mine. Everyone always said Asian guys were small; this guy obliterated the rumor. Slightly curved, cut, thick from root to tip, pulsing with every heartbeat, a fat mushroom head that kept its girth all the way down into a neat black thatch of pubes. It was slick with the other man's spit and maybe his own pre-cum, shining in the grey light like it had been oiled.

The standing guy was breathing hard — it must have been good head. About five-ten, smooth chest rising and falling, forearms and biceps veined and bulging, the muscle cut and functional rather than gym-vanity, with just a hint of soft belly at the waist. Real working-man's muscle.

My own uncut dick was straining against my shorts. Gay or not, this was a scene straight out of a porno, and I was already horny as hell. I was about to back out and leave them to it — head straight to the showers and jerk off with the image seared into my brain — when the guy yanked the other man back down onto his cock. I caught the kneeling man's quick smile before his lips sealed back around the shaft, and I watched his throat bulge and stretch as he swallowed the whole thing to the base. I couldn't help myself. I reached into my shorts. I told myself I was just rearranging, but the second my hand closed around my cock it felt too good to stop. So I stood there in the brush, slowly edging myself.

Maybe I let a stifled moan escape. Maybe I stepped on a twig. Or maybe the movement just caught his eye — because before I could do anything, the standing guy pulled the other man off his cock again and spoke.

"So — you just gonna watch, or do you want a turn?" He held the kneeling man out at arm's length like he was offering me a beer. "Beau won't mind. Will you, Beau?"

Beau, on his knees, shook his head and immediately tried to drag himself back onto the cock in front of him. The guy laughed and let him, and Beau impaled his throat right back down the shaft with a wet, greedy sound.

"He really loves cock first thing in the morning." He smirked at me. "You've clearly got your hands full over there. So why don't you come help me give Beau a throat full?"

"I— my— I have a girlfriend," I stammered, like that explained anything.

"Yeah, so do I," he said, while Beau bobbed on his cock like his life depended on it. "But I'm not gonna tell her. Beau's not saying anything. So where's the downside? Come on over, man."

So I did. I walked across the clearing on shaky legs, and the guy smirked wider and hooked a finger through the waistband of my shorts, tugging me closer. With one quick motion he popped the button and dragged the zipper down just far enough for the shorts to drop around my ankles — and pulled me in beside him, angled slightly in front. My cock sprang free and stood straight up, foreskin peeling back off the head on its own.

Up close his cock wasn't quite as long as it had looked from across the clearing, but it was still thicker than mine. He gave it a slow stroke while he looked me over, casual as anything.

I didn't even get time for second thoughts. The morning air was nearly as cold as the river had been, but before I could react, Beau — still on his knees — swallowed my entire uncut cock down to the root.

"Oh, fuck," I breathed. My knees nearly buckled.

The shock of the cold air on wet skin and the sudden slick heat of his mouth was a full-body jolt. His tongue worked expertly under my foreskin, rolling the hood back, lapping at the bundle of nerves beneath the head, then he pulled up slow and dropped back down, tight and wet, over and over, almost no resistance and yet somehow crushing. I'd never been blown like that in my life. He dragged his teeth — just the edges — over the ridge of my head and I saw white. I was already close when he pulled off with a wet pop and dove down to my balls, sucking one into his mouth and rolling it, then the other, all while his big hand pumped slow, slick strokes up and down my shaft. He had huge hands. He kept bringing me right to the cliff edge and then easing off.

While he was switching between my cock and my balls, teasing me toward orgasm and back, I felt the other guy chuckle behind me. His arms came around my waist and his hands slid up under my shirt, warm palms dragging over my stomach, up my abs, until his fingers found my nipples and started rolling and pinching them. I flinched away from the sharp little sparks — and Beau reached up and grabbed a cheek of my ass in each hand, yanking me forward again, his mouth sealing back over my cock. His hands were so big they covered almost my whole ass.

The heat of Beau's throat and the wall of the other man's body against my back were already too much, and then I felt soft lips brush the side of my neck.

My whole body shuddered. I flinched away from his mouth, which drove his fingers deeper into my nipples, so I flinched back the other way, and Beau hauled me forward by the ass cheeks right back down his throat. Pain and pleasure and something like panic all tangled together, and the only thing that came out of my mouth was one gasp:

"More."

I was lost. A storm of sensation, lips and now teeth dragging along the tendon in my neck, a hot throat swallowing around my twitching cock, big hands kneading my ass. I barely noticed that while he'd been pulling me forward, Beau had also been spreading my cheeks wide apart. The guy behind me had definitely noticed.

I felt it before I understood it: something wet and blunt and rock-hard pressing against my hole. His cockhead, slick with pre-cum and spit, nudging right up against the tight little ring of muscle. The cold air hit my spread cheeks and the heat of his head pressed in, hot as a brand. I couldn't even find words. I clenched, trying to keep him out.

He chuckled, and his warm breath ghosted over my neck. Then he bit me — not hard, just the points of his teeth, a sharp pinch. I gasped and my hole unclenched on instinct, and in that instant the wet head slipped past the ring and into me.

"Wait. Fuck," I gasped.

But Beau chose that exact moment to swallow me to the root, and the guy behind me pushed, and the two of them moved together like they'd planned it. I didn't even recognize the sound that came out of me. My nose buried in Beau's pubes at the exact moment the curved, cut cock behind me bottomed out inside me.

A hand clamped over my mouth like a vise — the other guy's — and he started pulling out and driving back in, long and slow, that thick curve dragging along my inner wall and hitting something that lit up my whole spine. Was that the prostate? Every thrust into my ass was met, perfectly, by Beau pulling up and dropping down my cock, and my body stopped belonging to me. The rhythm ran through us like a machine. The only thing keeping me upright was my fists knotted in Beau's hair. I could have shoved them off. I didn't want to. No — worse. I loved it. The cock in my ass picked up speed, the slap of skin against skin echoing in the quiet grove, and Beau matched the tempo with his mouth like they'd been doing this together for years.

"Nice to meet you, man," the guy laughed behind me, and slammed into that spot one last time.

I screamed into his palm. I felt his load start to pump into me — hot and thick, flooding deep, his cock twitching and jerking with each pulse, his balls pressed tight to my ass. He held himself buried to the root, hips grinding, dumping every drop inside me the way I'd emptied myself into Sasha a hundred times. And the feeling of being filled — of being used and wanted and filled all at once — shoved me right over the edge. I started shooting into Beau's throat.

He pulled back fast so most of it landed in his mouth, his tongue working just under my head, milking me, drawing out every last drop I had to give. Then he pulled off and rose to his feet, swallowing audibly, throat bobbing.

The guy pulled out of me, and I've never felt so suddenly empty and unfinished in my life. Then I realized they'd both been holding me up — my legs folded and I dropped to my knees in the grass, gasping, still seeing stars, still feeling his load settling deep inside me while the blood rushed out of my head and down to everything else.

My vision cleared just in time to see a hand on either side of my head, pinning me in place, and a monstrous uncut cock shoved into the space in front of my face, getting furiously jacked by its owner. Beau's cock. It was almost comically huge — dwarfed the other guy's and mine both, so big it didn't even look fully hard. I figured out what was coming a half-second before it hit, so I slammed my eyes and lips shut, and the guy held my head steady while Beau let out a moan that was almost a roar.

The first rope hit my face like a slap. Then another. And another. It felt like a shower — thick, hot, heavy, splattering across my forehead, my cheeks, my lips, my chin, dripping into my hair. It went on and on. It took almost a full minute for him to stop, and another minute after that for me to realize the other guy had let me go and was already walking away, laughing.

"Thanks, man! Hope to see you again!" he called back, his chuckle fading into the trees.

By the time I wiped Beau's load out of my eyes, I was alone in the clearing. They'd fucked me, sucked me, filled me, painted my face, and just left. I peeled off my shirt and wiped myself clean, pulled my shorts back up, and staggered out to the path. They were gone.

I ran to the showers as fast as my shaky legs would carry me and jumped straight into a stall without even waiting for the water to warm up, scrubbing the dirt off my knees and the cum out of my face and hair. I reached back and touched my hole, gently. It didn't hurt — it just felt hollowed out, a little open, slightly gaping, tender in a way that made my stomach flip. Not damaged. Used.

I stayed in there a long time. Longer than I planned, because even after being blown and fucked stupid, I still had to get off. I came a second time standing under the water, two fingers pushed into my own wrecked hole, imagining the curved cock back inside me, imagining it hitting that spot on every single stroke, and it barely took a minute.

On the walk back, it really sank in. I'd stumbled onto two guys going at it and ended up getting fucked by one of them. And then I'd jerked off thinking about it. About being used. What the hell was wrong with me?

Everyone was already up when I got back — fire going, coffee on. Sasha demanded to know where I'd been and why I was shirtless (I'd tossed the cum-stained tee into a bush), so I told her I'd gone for a run, gotten turned around, and tripped over a root, and some early hikers had pointed me back. That covered both the absence and the faint bruises on my knees. They laughed at me, Sasha shoved a sweater over my head and a mug into my hands, and the group launched into planning the day.

We decided to walk to the main office to check the bulletin board. It was a thirty-minute walk and I was feeling fragile, wobbling a little, but everyone blamed the "fall." Only I knew it was my ass trying to remember its old shape. The desk was empty with a BACK IN 5 MINUTES sign, so we browsed the board — mazes, farmers' markets, tube rentals for the river float, guided hikes. Diego wandered off to check the water level. We were arguing over what looked worth doing when a voice rang out behind us.

"Good morning, everyone! Need a hand with anything, or just browsing?"

I turned — and froze. The ranger holding the BE BACK sign absolutely towered over all of us. Six-five at least. Tan short-sleeve shirt straining across a chest built like a barn door, tan shorts, sun-browned skin, sleeves cutting into thick arms. And a name tag.

Ranger Beau Kessler.

Beau.

I stared up at him in silence. He looked down at me with an easy, welcoming smile and a dark twinkle in his eye.

"You okay, man? Look like you took a spill." He nodded at my knees. "You need anything? We've got first aid in the back."

"Did somebody say first aid?" A second ranger emerged from the side door, same tan uniform, same dark twinkle — and biceps that stretched his sleeves to the point of complaint. He came to a stop beside Beau with an expression hovering between concern and a smirk.

Ranger Kenji Nguyen.

"I don't think so," Sasha said. "My boyfriend tripped on a run this morning, but he's fine — just walking a little funny. Some hikers helped him back to the showers. We're just picking something to do today!"

"No problem at all. Today's perfect for the lazy float," Kenji said, stepping up beside me to point out the route on the board, close enough that I could feel the warmth coming off him. "But the next two nights are Adults-Only Maze nights, too. In the fall it's a huge corn maze, but there's a smaller indoor one open year-round. Adults' night costs a little more, but it comes with drinks, and there's men-versus-women laser tag after. It's a blast." His eyes kept drifting back to me — then slid over my friends, cataloguing them with a slow grin. He clapped me on the back hard enough to make me feel it. "If you go, tell them Ranger Don sent you. They'll hook you up."

My friends thanked them, and we headed for the door. I held it for everyone and was the last one out, but a big hand landed on my shoulder and stopped me.

"If those knees give you any trouble," Beau said quietly, "just have one of your friends bring you back here. We'll take a look. We've got painkillers if you need 'em." His fingers rubbed slow circles against my back, and then he winked.

I followed my friends out into the daylight, dazed.

"That laser tag sounds amazing! Too bad we'll miss it — you guys have to rock it for us!" Sasha burrowed under my arm and laced hers around my waist for the walk back. "And those rangers were so nice, weren't they?!"

I didn't trust my voice, so I just nodded, and let her tow me back toward the campsite — still feeling Beau's hot, heavy load drying on my skin and Kenji's thick load sitting deep in my hole — while the whole group chattered away about the day ahead and never once guessed that the guy walking funny beside them had just had his entire life quietly rearranged in a hidden grove before breakfast.