Passage
Thomas Lucia

Europe: I had dreamt of this since my early teens, and at twenty-two, here I was…staying with a college buddy’s relatives in South Germany for an open-ended visit. The members of the Faustmann family consisted of mother Petra, father Franz and their son Karl, who was a bit younger than I was. Their home was huge and airy: the heavily wood-paneled ceilings and stucco-type walls were something out of a Tyrolean fairytale. The entire group appeared sturdy, massive-limbed, with a countryside brand of shyness...no surprise their livelihood was dairy farming. They were very generous to house me, and perhaps more than curious to experience an American, from what my friend implied…and after nearly eight years studying the language, I was all too happy for the invaluable, first-hand experience.

  Franz’s younger brother Horst was also there assisting in the reconstruction of the horse stalls. Never uttering more than a few indecipherable syllables, his presence was otherwise powerfully felt: a bulky, brawny tough guy who was never caught smiling and nearly always keeping to himself. His densely muscled frame was an awesome sight and his brooding aloofness fired my curiosity. No matter what the temperature, he was scantily clad in ripped, unbuttoned flannel shirts or tattered, stained t-shirts, his jeans and work pants often tight and weathered, hugging powerfully built legs. Usually smeared with machine grease and flecked with sawdust, he was the quintessential lumberjack. Adding to the lure, he was exceptionally handsome: big-featured and strong-boned, he had the most amazing blue-grey eyes, full, fleshy lips and skin somehow beautiful and rugged at once.

  It took a while to get accustomed to the family’s heavy dialect, but before long, my decent ear had us conversing with relative ease. Herr and Frau Faustmann were very jovial and caring hosts, but nonetheless expected a good day’s effort around the farm and grounds. I soon got used to the rhythm of everyday life and Karl was a great companion. Being far from the next real city, we made our fun as we worked and sweat through all the chores and duties demanded us.

  As weeks passed, the effects of my daily labors became evident with some muscle growth of my own: bulkier biceps and deeper pectorals, veins now evident and even some chest hair beginning to sprout. While at school, I barely had time for the gym and even less for dating. At night, I would lie in the darkness feeling my body winding down and my thoughts unraveling like slackened cords…drowsily – perhaps subconsciously – musing over passionate encounters, sexual episodes with partners unseen, blurred by emotions I had yet to comprehend…or accept.

  When my chores took me close to the stables, I would see Horst as he handled the long planks of wood or sometimes cooling himself under the hose, and find myself more and more fascinated with this strapping, enigmatic woodsman. His presence affected me like nothing I had yet encountered: his overwhelming masculinity, his dark, musky scent and the perplexing ambiguity of angry ogre and reticent teddy bear...making my head spin and my heart race. I was at once unsettled by and exhilarated with the rush of emotions and physical reactions his presence engendered. What was happening to me?      

  As summer filtered into the valley, Horst became gruff and uneasy and I found myself even more intimidated...and hornier than ever. By now, he had discarded any type of shirt, his skin tawny and sweat-soaked under the relentless sun. He traded his old, worn jeans for short overalls that barely contained his over-sized frame. His dislike of underwear apparent: the heavy wet spot between those tree-trunk thighs and steely ass, and the raised outline of his cock making it all too obvious. His defined musculature was awe-inspiring, and every exertion emphasized his staggering structure: ripped biceps flexing into sharp peaks, striated forearms, a powerful chest and a Herculean set of calf muscles all kept me sheepishly hard…and very frustrated!

  At the onset of July, Karl left for a month’s visit with cousins near the French border. With him gone my workload increased, but I somehow found myself with loads of time…time to explore the surrounding forests and meadows, time to catch up on correspondences…and time to think about Horst. He mesmerized me; and when we invariably faced each other at the dinner table or when I glimpsed him at the stalls, I couldn’t stop myself from staring – all too often red-faced as he caught me tracing that perfect profile or the sinuous outline of his muscled physique. His usual response was a brief halt of duties and a narrow, suspicious squint. There were rare moments when I thought I had caught him watching me: lumbering past as I swept the walk or weeded the garden, or stopping his woodwork and trailing my steps…his gaze lingering, searing, sometimes with a suspicion of a smile…, or was it mockery? I feared he would eventually take me by the collar and chew me out, punch me out or expose me to the Faustmanns…divulging what I had yet to admit to myself.

  Summer deepened. One morning Franz asked me to help clear some of the cubicles of wood leavings, and the proximity was galvanizing. Handing me shavings and strips of wood, his rough, rugged hands brushed the insides of my arms and the contact was electric. His eyes met mine and I shuddered with the danger – the hope – of what could transpire. A split second of seemingly endless elation and erotic connection danced between us…a connection real or contrived?

  One particularly humid late afternoon – the family away for the day – I decided to check out the newly refitted stalls, feeling safe (and somewhat disappointed), knowing Horst was also off the property. The rich heady mix of fresh hewn wood and tangy, weathered leather nearly had me dizzy. Most of the horses were still in the paddocks, so I could freely roam the compartments, admiring the craftsmanship and savoring the hardy, virile atmosphere.

  Sunrays slanted through the wood-framed windows, reminding me of the hour and that I hadn’t eaten. Heading toward the main house as I left the stable, I could hear something around the side of the building – a splashing sound – and then I caught sight of him. With one hand braced against the outer wall – straps unbuckled, overalls resting on granite-hard hips – he stood relieving himself in gratified abandon. The other hand held his enormous dick. It was remarkably thick and the stream of piss hard and heavy. I stood open-mouthed as he caught me staring. “Was kuckst du an?” he asked. After so many weeks of speaking only German, my capacity to formulate and articulate deserted me. Still peeing, he uttered, softly, “Komm’”, as he nodded me nearer. Without thinking and devoid of my fore-going angst, I found myself within inches of the man I had come to fear and crave.

  My back now flush against the whitewashed outer wall, I was at once inebriated by and astutely aware of his aura: his heat, his scent, his hulking, taut body wet with want – now, unbelievably, finally at hand. Unexpectedly, he rammed himself hard against me – devouring my neck with a passion and desperation that left me breathless. He grunted something unintelligible, his face grazing mine. Finding my mouth, he kissed me hungrily, licking and biting my open lips. My hands kneaded and clawed at all I could reach – the encounter so heady and rough, the contact intoxicating.

  Emitting guttural, savage groans, he pressed himself even harder now against my slighter frame. Somehow, I managed to push him a few inches back, trying to catch my breath – and look into those extraordinary eyes. He allowed me my wish, and amazingly, he smiled. His face so magnificently beautiful, his desire so potent, so evident, I wondered how my tenuous legs still held me upright.

  A balmy blanket of breeze wrapped around us in the sultry, feverish evenfall.
Trembling, I took his hand as he led me into the stable. Inside a freshly hayed stall, he heaped some blankets and motioned me toward them. I stood atop the sweet-smelling spread as he dropped his overalls, and there before me stood this six-foot-three mass of marble-hard muscle and veiny sinew. With naked abandon, he approached me and slowly unbuttoned my jeans – all the while staring into my eyes and teasing my lips with his darting tongue. With his hand around my neck, he joined our lips and his kisses grew ravenous. We lowered ourselves onto the covers as our heated, reactive flesh converged. His lips and tongue probed and lapped at my mouth and ears. I grew dizzy as he gnawed at my sensitive neck; and finding my pits, he bit and played till I nearly came. Thick roughened fingers tugged at my nipples and the pain only made me wilder. With both hands, I pulled his head to mine and devoured what I could of him. The stony hardness of his massive cock was ever-present and instinctively, inevitably, I opened my legs...entreating him to take me, fuck me.

  Ropy veins striped his biceps and groin as his lust intensified. The long, gummy foreskin – slimy and shiny with a wellspring of precum – tickled the hairs on my puckered asshole as it found its mark. The fat rubbery head pressed into me, and the pain was searing and ecstatic. I tried to ease the imminent inrush, but his cock was rabid. His bulldozing hips humped and pummeled my clenched, meaty cheeks, his dick riding and scraping my prostate as I nearly passed out. With my legs hugging his driving ass, I could feel his low-hanging elephant balls rubbing and banging against my butt. He slipped his right arm under my lower back and surprised me as he rammed his distended dickmeat all the way inside.

  We danced a wild and earthy fuck: his muscles fighting mine, his potent prick probing the limits of my unfledged cunt. I was awed by his power, and drank in his energy. The sensations of skin on skin and the savage carnality were staggering, euphoric. Moaning and humping against him, I could feel his body begin to stiffen. His cock seemed to thicken inside me – his thrusts becoming spastic, uneven – as he tightened his grip. Growling and cussing he began to climax. The sensations up my tortured hole had me bucking as I wrapped myself even tighter around him, my ass contracting as I felt the heat and wet of his heavy blasts of cum.

  His cushiony lips enveloped mine, as his still-stiff knob continued its spate. Feverishly kissing, with his hard, rippled belly jerking my swollen cock, I felt the serge of my own imminent shoot: “Oh man! Oh God! Oh fuck…oh FUUUCK!!!!!” I bucked and shuddered as I lifted us off the floor. He raised himself as I shot hard and far with huge gobs of spooge pelting his chest and flying up onto his sweaty face. “JAAAA....FUUUCK!!!”, he drawled. His stomach still hard-pressed against me, with my body arched and driving violently upwards, I continued to empty my cum-heavy nutsack.

  Pungent sperm spotted his face and mouth as he leaned down to kiss me. I lapped at my own spunk as his tongue found mine, sharing the heated prize of our sex. Wet and warm he lay sprawled atop me – his over-sized hands caressing and covetous, his alien smile gentle, impassioned. “Du machst mich schwach”, he whispered – “you make me weak”. I was speechless.

  I brushed back the hair from his beautiful face, and heard his voice clear and sweet as he shared himself…in the stall, as evening fell unnoticed