’49 Pickup

“DAMN!” It busted out loose, barely under his breath.

He tried to spy the fuel gage without either of them noticing. “Freakin’ nut.”

“No way he can be thinkin’ we’re gonna make it all the way back without stoppin’.”

Pressed together thigh to thigh, powerfully smelly,they all needed a bath, and with the rumblin’s inside, a lot more.

“Geez! He passed THREE in the past half hour! Right on the highway. Couldn’t miss ’em. What’s his problem? Is he goin’ for some kinda record? And what about Jack

here? Is he some kind of freak? Did he win the State championship or somethin’?”

Then, as the next row of pumps flashed by, he just happened to notice a slight turn of his uncle’s head, almost just a twitch, but it was sure as sh-t THE LOOK, that

furtive, split-second glance that told his Story. In spades.

Unc’s handsome stubbled face was twisted into a constant scowl, not much talk, what there was was short, gruff, clipped. Visibly seething with frustration ’cause they

hadn’t bagged anything all weekend. Worse, he missed finishing off a big handsome buck by inches. His horrible mood – and his suppresed urge – translated into flooring

the accelerator pedal and in some death-defying passing of as much traffic as he could get away with, careening along the twisting 9W’s two lane concrete. Thump-

thump-thump.

Did they know? How could they? Window was open yet he’s sweatin’ a lot more than usual, specially Down There, Down There where he itched like crazy, somehow

makin’ the screaming urge to piss much worse.

They’d started back home just after dawn. He hated black coffee – especially the thick as mud stuff they brewed over the campfire – ’cause of what it did to him – how it

made him feel – what it forced him into doin’, no matter how hard he concentrated on pushin’ it back in. Just had to drink it though, downing more than two brimming big

tin cups, ’cause he just had to live up to bein’ “one of the guys” Seemed like all weekend, he had been bustin’ his balls to “act like a man” Keeping up with them. His

nerves on edge from the moment they woke him up in his sleeeping bag – especially when they woke him up from that deep sleep first thing in the morning – in that

humilating state – and he knew what he was gonna have to do – somewhere – away from prying eyes, and ears. And he wished to heaven for home and that locked

bathroom door.

His youthful gut pounded like a angry, pulsating football, his hose was a twisted bloated snake with the tight locked slit starting to sting maddeningly in the last twenty

miles, like he always gets when he’s been tryin’ to hold in too much for too look. He knew when he finally got to cut loose it was gonna come out like a busted fire hydrant.

He knew it was gonna come out hot, and he knew it was gonna stink – bad. And he knew once he let go, even a squirt, no way would he be able to stop it.

And in the next few minutes he descended into that far off, terror-filled landscape, like those so many times before. Now the talk between his uncle behind the wheel, the

well-built and masculinely handsome 36 year old, and his already manly- and cocky – son was unintelligible to him, a far off babble,even though the pressure and heat of

their flanking thighs bumped and rubbed against him, right now they were only distance sensations that served to tauntingly remind him he just had to hide his

embarassment, and his grotesquely pressured urge, no matter what. He cringed inside. “What if they saw it? What if they found out?!!” “Ohhhh. Bu-bu-but WHY!”

His mind and body didn’t used to act like this. Weakling, sissy. Like a GIRL, for f–k’s sake! Oh god how he hated the feeling. It made him shrivel, he’s not bein’ a man – like

a psychic castrating stab almost. His Pop’s command ringing in his ears: “Be a MAN!”

His cousin’s B O and farts, the bright autumn foliage rushing past, the old engine’s rumble, the lumpy seat aching his sore behind, the big rigs thundering past, they were

clouded phantoms now. He was in that fog, that nether world known to all males, when for whatever reasons, they take the desperate challenge to the extreme, that blur

of sensations, that solitary torture cell, helplessly tumbling in a storm of sensations, soaked and murky and, predatory, vague fears lurking inside every thought, swishing

and sloshing and maddening teasing and needling and demanding and confronting, a sickeningly yellow sewer viciously swirling around him, inside every inch of him,

bursting from his curled toes inside soggy socks, to his rigidly pounding truncheon, to his painfully taunt neck muscles, to his ears enflamed in shame.

“Aww, come on!” He had to GO! BAD! NOW!

##################

It all started that day they all were headed to ball camp.

Everything was ok, until that day… whenever he thought of it – it felt like a long time ago – but it still stabbed the pit of his stomach, his ball sack contracted and he broke a

sweat – his darkest secret – well, almost- and bumping along home in that pickup he tried to stifle a shudder so they wouldn’t wonder why, in the middle, thigh to thigh,

worn denim the only barrier to naked flesh on flesh.

It was never a problem before that day. That Day. Never forget it for as long as he lives. A shiver bolts through his spine and shocks his achin’ teen dick.

So, that fateful day, a Sunoco station came into view. Beat up lookin’ . Didn’t matter. They all breath a sigh – some audibly, some in self-concious secrecy. One “About

time!” The Woody swerved into the lot and stopped with a jerk at the side of the station’s pit garage. We climbed out of the wagon and headed back for the white door

obliterated with greasy hand prints.

We had been in three hours of traffic after a big lunch. Everybody hadda go. Seriously. Him included.

At these well-known landmarks around the country, depending on the company or if the owner gave a sh-t, the WOMEN could be locked from the inside, but the MEN had

a lock that was always broken. This was definitely one of the those pitstops for men who didn’t care. The only thing they gave a damn about was Relief. And you doubt

the dirt and the smell and the splattered floor – maybe even a puddle or two of somethin’ – is ever gonna matter for the poor bastards who pulled into that station in the

clutches of forces a lot more demanding than an empty tank or some lube or the …uhnn… w-a-wa-wat-er…ho…uhn…ses would have stopped them from making a bee line

straight for one of those filthy doors. At lots of these stations, the MENS door just hung open, ‘cept in coldest weather.

Inside, it was small, either dimly lit, or washed in harsh glaring light. And you can bet, always and everywhere, the place stank. A small window near the ceiling let out

some of the smells, but not much. Speaking of smells, public MENS ROOMS were a place to hang out and smoke. It’s easy to forget that cigarette smoking, particularly

among male youth, was almost universal back then. So Lucky Strikes and Marlboros and Chesterfields always overlaid the aromatic gassing that hit you in the face as

you walked in. Cigarettes and Sh-t. Unforgettable.

The standard layouts of these Mid-century American gas station sh–houses must have been thought up by the military, a sadist, a voyeur, or someone with the same

mindset as those habituees of this message board. There was absolutely no sense that men should have privacy when they had to piss or sh-t. In fact, needing privacy

to unload was considered unmanly, womanish, even un-American. The military influence in spades.

So the layout of the 1930’s fixtures in these ceramic tile mausoleums, everything looking and feeling like they haven’t had a good cleaning since the very first desperate

guy christened the place, looks exactly like it was purposely designed to be used by one guy all by himself at one time. But the typical use of these MENS ROOMS soon

became not for one male secure in his privacy. Far from it. A washbasin with hot and cold spigots, next to it less than a foot away the sole urinal, it being sometimes a

shallow stall you stand at that extends down to the floor with a small basin and drain at the bottom, or else a large oblong urn – long on the axis of the typicallly healthy

male projectile, filled almost to the rim with water, A foot or so next to the pisser, a narrow wooden or metal partition, behind which is an old-fashioned large toilet bowl

with a black horeshoe shaped seat, often cracked. Hardly even a stall, and never a door. The partition would extend out from the wall to about even with the front of the

bowl, high enough off the floor to be almost even height with the seat, and low enough from the ceiling to shield the head of a guy on the bowl, but a standing guy would

be in full view. There was enough room in front of these three white porcelain receptacles for three or four men very up close up and personal to each other – together

with the users of the urinal, the bowl, and the washbasin ( used for washing hands, shaving, body washing, and sometimes even standing in for the already occupied

urinal or bowl – sorry for the graphicness here). The other three or four men might be takin’ a relaxing smoke, stripping off their dirty roadworn clothes or just prowling

around anxiously and nevously and maybe angrily stalking their vulnerable victims for a opening at the bowl or urinal. Or maybe just checkin’ out the younger specimens.

It was a good bet few guys washed their hands, (Sorry, again.)

You can bet most American males held their breath and accepted these nationwide hellholes as a natural and unavoidable aspect of life in the USA.For generations the

American male, in a culture long influenced by military rigor, learned to man-up and take it, and even get used to it. Sometimes, they were even commandeered as a

gang’s temporary clubhouse. Juvenile delinquents. J.D.’s. Guys like in that movie classic with James Dean, ya’ know?

So we all rushed in, Bud zeroed in on the pedestal urinal. Water up to the rim guaranteed a blasting loud splatter from his pent-up high-pressure projectile. No sides to

bashfully mask the echoing splash of your manly horsepiss. He headed for the bowl, secretly relishing the partial concealment of the side view of the very personal act

he was about to perform, but brothers and cousins and locker rooms and many other communal facilities, along with road trips and camping trips, had cured him of any

youthful self-conciousness he may have picked up along life’s highway. Or so he thought.

Now, I’m tellin’ you, He really had to go. REAL BAD. He felt the pounding pressure. A lot of it. In his belly, up inside his dick. That pulsatin’ pressure when you’re really

close to lettin’ loose. He sported a raging Piss Hard, that long thick rubbery sausage kind , like when a young guy wakes up in the morning and, like NOW. And it all felt

SO GOOD. So powerfully masculine.

“BE A MAN?” “Oh YES!”

An indication of how desperatly urgent his piss was to shoot outta him, he was flushed with a split second of sweet relief when he saw that the seat was up so the extra

second wouldn’t be needed to lift the seat so he’d have a wide target for what felt like it was absolutely gonna be a massive wildly uncontrollable power piss – and so he’d

have maneuvering room to aim his shooting projectile against the insides of the bowl to modulate and moderate the ear-piercing splatter that he could already feel so

strong he could taste it (the stink in the room sure added to this illusion).

His fingers trembled as he fumbled with his zipper and then he oh so gratefully lowered the elastic waistband of his well worn greying white Jockey shorts and roughly

extracted his already spurting, uncut manhood from the bulging stained wye-front pouch, all the while savoring the anticipated orgasmic flood of indescribable relief that

he knew from experience could be even more soul wretching than an early morning jack off. Oh YEAAAAH! With an expert flick of the thumb he skinned back the big

angry head, planted his size 12 US Keds manfully wide in front of the bowl, almost straddling it, his slim hips jerk an involuntary swagger – he couldn’t help himself – his

rubber soles sticking to the wet floor, the sticking feel when he adjusted his sweaty feet a little, the stink of male piss smoothering around him, from fresh to stale, diluted

and full strength. He was almost wimpering from his body’s desperate screams. In his trace all consuming wth his monstrous urge to urinate, he automatically thrust his

hips foward, relaxed his young belly, aimmed his mantool with military precision, felt his virgin cherry asshole screwin’ up, and unlocked with a manly, audible GRUNT his

now-trembling grip on every last one of his healthy, tightly clamped flood gates, all together at the exact moment, his long toes curling and clenching and – OH he felt like

a Real Man.

His shoulders jerked up, his whole body shivered, then shuddered hard for a second – He’d been holding in a viciously stretched bladderful for a looong time – someting he

was used to doing for years now, sometimes ’cause somethin’ made him have to hold it in (couldn’t get to bathroom… or some decent cover, sometimes like he didn’t

want to stop what he was absorbed in doin’ – a movie, a ball game – often just ’cause of his laziness or stubbornness or embarassment – like girls could hear me, or

somethin’).

And then he started feelin’ it. The FLOW. It felt real strong. His whole gut was lettin’ go. He instinctively clenched his abs – Hard – and then … it was all over.

He felt a massive flooding down through his body, rushing toward his rampant spurting cock. He felt his sausage rear up like a stallion as the steaming pee expanded the

piss tube, and in the next second the surge of acid pee forced open his sensitive piss slit into a gapingly stretched hole and the first spurts suddenly were overwhelmed

by sizzling hot, thick, viciously yellow manpiss, incredibly smelly, pushed out with a force that could drill through lead. And the strong, thick fully emerged projectle shot

forward, in a split second before he could get it under control, hit the floor just behind the toilet bowl with a ringing SPLAT! In a second of panic he jerked his dick and

histhick stream shot a slathering dark yellow streak on top of the rim at the back of the bowl, One more frantic jerk and his power piss hit the water with an echoing

splash and a huge splatter that made him feel the hot piss start to rain all over his frantically maneuvering fingers. His body shuddered head to toes again, and he

exhaled loudly. AHHHHHHH. The bowl water instantly started clouding the darkening yellow of lethal panther piss, bubbling foam building around the sides, and more

high wild splatter unleashed itself all over the bowl and floor, his jetting projectile shooting incredibly hard into the water.

Now, while he was absolutely totally absorbed in his boiling raging piss, the bowl water angry and turbulent and erupting against the power piss projectile – and he was

only just beginning to release the pungent floods that he had been brewing for hours and holding back inside his guts, he was completely unaware of the shock that was

about to descend on him from behind. While he was preparing for the ultimate piss, his cousin Bud had been forcefully and loudly drainig his huge steamy load into the

urinal. His teammates Bob and Ted had been pacing behind them anxiously waiting for an opening at the porcelain, the more cocksure Ted seriously considering

flooding the washbasin. Suddenly, just as our vulnerable victim’s projectile reached its obscene full force shotoing into the bowl water, an unknown youth burst into the

room, tremblng hands raggedly zpiping down his fly, as he instantly cased the joint and tramped straight for the exposed toilet – right now blocked by a furiously pissing

youth. But it couldn’t matter to him; he’d aleady all worked out what he was gonna do.And nothing on earth was gonna stop him..

He came up behind our unprotected, unaware pisser, and as he shoved his shoulder to force himself in between the bowl and the narrow parition he made split second

eye contact and blurted breathlessly “Gotta GO!” The pissing lad’s body jumped involuntarily making his jet stream fly wildly from side to side, again pissing the wall and

the floor and his leg and his sneaker. “Whaa…” Undeterred, the intruder bowed his head and instantly shot a steaming endless rush of road pee straight into the bowl,

thundering and splattering and churning the first lads darkening brew.

And man’s basic survival instinct kicked in. Barely having begun to drain the gallons he contained, his tender butthole screwed shut, and his raging thick hot torrent

stopped in a sudden lightning clench. HUHHHHUHHAAHHHH! with a agonized yelp like a hound dog with a stepped on tail. Felt like a jagged-edged knife been been

shoved up his virgin slit He was totally confused, blinded by the pain igripping his sensitive cock, his hands dripping with pee, with more splashed across his arms nd

legs and sneakers, and some of it the hot stuff from his loudly spewing bowl partner. For a moment he thought he had to try to start up again and push out more of his

burning load to empty his aching gut but the fear and humiliation won out and he clumsily hauled in his dripping penis and zipped and rushed from the sh–housed . “You

wokay buddy?” as they ambled out of that toilet. “Yeah, why not?”” he replied with irritation. But he was sure they knew. And worse, much worse, now that he had

unclenched the floodgates, he had to GO, GO worse than he could ever remember.

They climbed back into his dad’s brand new Chevy wagon and, a new and even more horrific nightmare struggle started all over. And this time he could never ask to pull

over, he could never admit it. Forty miles down the highway, just before the junction,he jerked up, trembling, shuddered that rattled his bones, and just… exploded, Big

Time,;this time, every last drop, raining down from the spreading deep puddle all over the the seat cushion to the floor awash with his pee, his jeans and socks and

sneakers and tee shirt drenched and sopping. His POWERPISS JET so brutal it shot through his soaked demin crotch and its Olympic projectile splatted against the

windsheild. Really!

Long after, neighbors told that, after hosing and scrubbing for days, the family never could get the stink out of that car.

From then on, when he had to go, he could never tell no one. And his life was dictated by finding ways to sneak off to hidden places….

##########################

They were approaching a section of factories and old porched row houses on the outskirts.

Then he notice it. His uncle started lookin’ around, lookin’ arround with a sense of… urgency. He shifted his buttcheeks against the seat with a few jerky shifts, at first

tryin’ to do it so we don’t notice; in seconds the shifts were very visible ’cause they were accompanied by his whole body starting to animate and beginning to writhe, his

boots tapping and stamping. his legs movin’ up and down and with as much room as he could take over, side to siide as he brutally shoved against my own sweaty

tremblin’ thigh. But I knew he couldn’t help it; and I sure as hell knew why.

Then he did the thing I’d never seen him do yet. Grabbed his lumpy crotch, his cock visible jutting to the upper right.

Overwhelmed by my pulsing monster urge and now absorbed in my uncle’s ordeal – I can’t stop myself even though I wanted to stop, ’cause it was makin’ my explosive

urges even worse… So he hadn’t noticed yet Jack’s panicky painful tightening grimaces and furtive clutches and leg wagging and extending and foot pushing foot

and stifled sighs. But when Jack’s leg and thigh shuddered and trembled and rythmically pulsated, he knew that Jack was in the clutches of the Big D too.

“FU–IN’ SH-T!”‘ Thought there was a Shell station somewhere the hell around here.” UUNN!”

“Nonononono oh GOD!!!” UUUUHHHHNNN! My uncle floored the engine and it roared down the urban street and then the truck almost rolled over as he swerved wildly

toward the lot and truck dock of a big old warehouse .

When the tires banged over the curb, he screetched to a halt and, on my left, Unc swung open the door climbed out and immediately Assumed the Position. There could

be no doubt what he was gonna do. On my right Jack jumped down and right away planted his stance wide. Right there, in front of everything. “What if there are cops?”

But even now with the two men on each side of the car about to loudly shoot their thick angry projectiles
He couldn’t even move his ass, even though his legs trembled as they were jammed violently into the floorboards. He was totally paralyzed. In his dazed, tramatized state
he was paralyed by that strange self-concious embarassment in even having it revealed to almost anyone that you: YOU GOTA PEE NOW! PPleeeeze.”, a trama induced

by that “incident’ in the MENS ROOM of the SUNOCO station that haunts his dreams and that he’s stubbornly determined that he’s never ever gonna tell anybody, that’s

anybody – about havin’ to go…

He just can’t go in front of everybody , AND his uncle and his wise-ass cousin Jack.

Then the sounds of the sharp spatter of two manpiss blasts
splattering across the black top

The sounds, the groans, the dripping splat. Somethin’ inside busted loose.

He saw a shed just this side off the entrance. it had a big metal door, set back in a metal frme, He detected it. That corner made between the door and the frame Cover,
There was nothin’ else. They were gonna be drained and wanna pull out any second, You just GOTTA! There’s no place else. You can’t get back in that truck. Not this

time!

He climbed out and headed in a trot for the doorway. Jack and Uncle Frank hadn’t let up yet shooting into vastly spreading puddles

He positioned himself close against the door, the frame maybe five inches deep, but the shallow alcove he imagined as COVER, and it made the floodgtes wanna unlock

again.

His Ked-encased big fieet planted themselves twisted against the door sill. He spread his legs, he leaned in, looked down at his sneakers and tried to reinforce his

stance. Then he arched his neck and stretched to gaze straight up (being private, to avoid prying eyes??), all the while ripping open his flies wide, his Jockey’s showin’.

And the he pushed, grunted, and whispered “Pleeeze”.

And he let go.

AHHHHHH. He let out a lungful of nervous pent up breathe as he shocked himself with a sudden burst of BBBRRPP.His projectile viciously attacking the metal door a

splayed back splash so he had to take a couple steps back to regain his balance and adjust his
stance to the startling force of his torrent that almost shoved him backwards with the GUSH, EEENNN AH! “Ohhhh”. “Thank you god!” ON AND ON. ‘ohhh.’

The cascading wide swath of his red hot pee rushing down the door flooding thr black top around the trash strewn lot. And finally, the last spurts came out and, still

dripping he tuckied it back into it’s pouch.

He inhaled a fully deep breath and then GRUNTED. He felt good. a glowing emptines and a feeling of well-being washed over him.

And that day’s successfully manly performance pretty much cured him for the rest of his life.Almost,

Still, that afternoon, he was plagued by the thought that he’d Broke The SEAL, and you know what that means, He knew that there was a lot more hot pee sloshin’

around his insides and now after him givin’ up the struggle, ant not long from now, it’d come on even stronger this time and start screamin’
to to shoot out – and this time it wouldn’t take no for an answer. Would he make it home in time? “Oh no, not again”, that panicky drumbeat ached inside his head.

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