But I went on a backpacking vacation recently and had an encounter like I've never had before while out hiking. I was with two friends, both jock boys who I met on the trail a couple of years ago. They're 6 feet or 6'1" like me, so we have long strides that let us cover a lot of ground in a short amount of time. We get together at least once a year for a backpacking trip, sometimes with a few other, older guys. But this time it was just us young guns because we wanted to tackle some serious miles in one of the East Coast's premier wilderness playgrounds, the Smokies.
We had all been through there before at least once, on the Appalachian Trail. But for this trip, we wanted to explore some of the hundreds of miles of other trails that sometimes crisscross with each other throughout this half-million-acre park. Some trails feed into the A.T. on the ridgeline, but we wanted to avoid the A.T. as much as possible because that's where most people go when they're there. This was going to be just us, away from the herd, and we weren't even that concerned with sticking together as a group, either. If one or two of us shot ahead, or fell behind, so be it. We were all self-sufficient in terms of gear and food, etc., and as long as we all ended up at the pickup spot in a few days' time, we were good to go. Each of us had a cell phone, so we were all set in case this trip turned into three separate solo hikes.
On Day 3, we were still basically hiking together when we ran across something very rare on a long-distance trail in the Great Smokies. No, it wasn't a bear. They're everywhere. It wasn't even a park ranger (your chances of seeing a bear are 10 times greater than seeing a ranger, lol). It was a black guy out backpacking, by himself. We stopped and chatted with him for a few minutes, a customary ritual on the trail. You share info about what lies ahead for the other guy, then go on your separate ways. And my buds did just that after hearing about a water source a mile or so up ahead for us.
But I lingered a little, going a bit further with the convo the way hikers do, making small talk out of stuff like what's your "trail name," where you're from, where you went to school, etc. I was already horny to begin with from hanging with my jock bros and inhaling their hiker-sweat from 3 days in the backcountry. And now I had this fucking hot black guy to myself, in the middle of nowhere, his shirt off like mine because of the heat wave in the South, his fucking chiseled abs glistening with sweat, the smell of his man odor filling my nostrils, and his gorgeous smile with pearly white teeth flashing as he talked or laughed while we exchanged info.
And naturally I was getting bonered up bigtime, which is bad because you can't exactly hide it on the trail when all you're wearing is skimpy hiker shorts. I could swear he was checking me out, too, while we talked, so I'd look behind me now and then to let him have a glimpse, and I was pretty sure he liked what he saw on me. I asked where he was planning to stop for the night, and he asked where my group was planning to camp. I told him our ultimate destination in a few days' time, and he indicated he'd be heading out in a day or so, back in this direction in fact.
That next afternoon one of my buds was explaining that he wanted to pound out some serious miles, hiking faster to test his endurance, and we wished him well. He has never run a marathon before, but he's thinking of doing the New York City Marathon this fall. So off he went, not running per se, but hiking double time as it were. I'm sure on good stretches he would try to run a little, but it's hard with a pack on your back.
Then I hung back to take a break, and suddenly I was hiking solo for the first time on this trip. It felt great, and I was enjoying it a lot thinking of my first time in the wilderness like this, solo, when all of a sudden up came the black dude. Turns out he didn't go much farther the day before, and in the morning he decided to start doubling back to where he parked his car. I was thrilled.
We hiked together the rest of the day, taking numerous breaks wherever you could sit down (in the woods, you take advantage of those spots, especially when it's hot), or wherever there was a water source and we needed to camel up. I was sporting a raging hardon by this point, since my one true weakness is an addiction to black cock. I don't care if I pass a homeless black dude on the street, all I can think of is how big his dick is and what it would be like bent over doggie while he's plowing it home.
It became fairly obvious we weren't going to catch up with my buds, so around 6 or so I suggested we start looking out for a good spot to pitch our tents. About an hour later we found a perfect spot, down off the trail a little ways, alongside a small stream. The trees were evergreens and there was a carpet of soft brown needles on the floor. I think we both knew it was going to be perfect for other reasons, too, since by this time I was pretty sure the vibes that were flowing were not all one way.
We cooked our dinners, even shared a little of our food with each other, I texted my buds to let them know that I was OK, and then we sat back and continued our ongoing conversation about the one thing that bonds college jock types like nothing else: college football. My newfound bud was from Asheville and had gone to Appalachian State. I knew a lot about the Mountaineers, and he was actually good friends with a few of them from when he was in school. We talked about the famous Michigan game, which we both watched on TV that day a few years back, and then about some bigtime games we have actually seen in person. Turned out we were both SEC fans, and we had both gone to games at LSU, Auburn and Tennessee. We were really connecting on this stuff, and by this time, too, I noticed he was frequently touching himself, quickly rubbing his crotch nonchalantly and almost without thinking about it.
"What's so funny?" I asked.
"You," he said, smiling with those fucking hot lips and white teeth from ear to ear. "You can't keep your eyes off my pants."
And that was it. I was busted. I laughed nervously, but he assured me it was all alright. He confessed he was getting horned up while I was talking about this hottie football player (it was David Carr, of Fresno State, seen above, and if you ever saw him play or met him in person, you know exactly what I'm talking about), and I guess I was going on a little more than I realized about his chiseled chin, eye-popping biceps (the biggest guns on any quarterback I've ever seen) and his cut pecs and abs. And that was that: Slider was blatantly stroking his cock, and I was staring at him doing it.
Suddenly I was bold enough to confess something of my own, and I knew from that point on it would be the game-changer.
"You know, I've got a confession to make.... I'm one of those white boys who worships black cock."
His smile was now bigger than ever, and it was contagious. "Well get over here boy and worship."
And that is how for the next half hour or so, I was on my knees in front of him as he squatted on his sleeping pad, my head bowed in worship amid the aroma of manly sweat, the beautiful bush of a black man's curly pubes, and the rock hard pole of an 8 inch piece of cut chocolate cock that looked, smelled and tasted of pure hotness. The head was lighter skinned than the rest of the shaft, and I proceeded to polish it even brighter with my lips, tongue, and eventually the back of my throat. He was enjoying it so much, he was moaning loud enough for anyone to hear on the main trail above us. He told me he had days worth of load and he wanted to give it all to me. As it turned out, I should've kept going down on him, since swallowing a few loads would've been ideal protein replenishment out here on the trail.
But the bottom whore in me wanted that cock in my ass. No condoms carried by either one of us. No problem, for either one of us. And we had plenty of lube from the coat of saliva I was slobbering all over his pole. The only problem was, I had no way to clean myself out. And I knew that it might pose a problem. But when you're outdoors with a stranger who's hot, sexy, black and hung and you haven't touched yourself in a few days, nothing else matters except his raw dick and your hole.
We each stripped down, fondled each other's hardons, and I even had him raise his arm over his head so I could burrow in his sweaty smooth pits -- a must as anyone who has read my previous blogs knows. To avoid anyone stumbling on us and seeing everything, we retreated to my tent, which is roomy enough for 2 but you can't really sit up in it, so I laid flat on my stomach and held my ass up slightly. He climbed on top, found my hole, and started going in. Slowly, since I was tight, but determined to squish his pubes against my backsides. (I told him I love that feeling.) He got his cock in me all the way finally, and then slowly started to pump it in and out. Suddenly he rammed it, which made me grunt like a pig, and he proceeded to hump it hard and rough. He had one arm wrapped around my neck in a choke hold, which I love, and his head buried in my neck, his tongue licking my ear and his dreds dangling on my face. I could've gone all night long, and so could he have, too. Just then he started ramming it, pulling back a little, and ramming it again, over and over for about 10 times, never leaving my hole but going deeper and deeper with every thrust. When I asked if he was getting ready to shoot, he sighed that he had been shooting his load with every one of those thrusts and had already planted it deep up my cunt. In all, the fucking took less than 10 minutes.
He laid still for a while, in that position, his dick in my ass still, when I started raising my ass cheeks and squeezing my inner ass muscles to stroke and milk his bone, which was still rock hard. He moaned like I was sucking him again and whispered his hot breath in my ear asking me not to stop. We did this for a little while, and just as he was recharged enough to give me another fuck with another load, his cock suddenly slipped out of my ass. He looked down, and said "Ooops."
I could tell it was all she wrote for our fucking that night. He had literally fucked the shit out of me, and we ended with a rather messy fuck. I apologized, but he was very supportive, acknowledging that we had no way to clean me out beforehand. If I had known I was going to get fucked that night, I might have tried fasting for at least a day, but on the trail, that simply is not possible. So we called it quits, even though we both knew we could've gone all night. We cleaned up thoroughly -- his cock and my ass and then my tent floor -- and we went to bed in our own tents. In the morning, we exchanged phone numbers and email addresses, hit the trail, and in about an hour or so came to the side trail he needed to take back to his car.
"This is me," he said, looking down the hill. "Let's do this again sometime. For real."
A hot black jock with an 8 inch cock who fucks like that doesn't have to ask me twice. And since getting home from that trip, we have made tentative plans to meet in Pennsylvania in October. I'll fast, I'll be so cleaned out you can store food in there, I'll have plenty of lube, and I'll come home with plenty of cum.
Hampton Inn, here we come.
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