in the seat of his worn out jeans opens to expose bare flesh. My dick jumps with every flash of hairy cheek. He stops to pull a bandana from his back pocket, wiping his brow and neck. The old denim clings to a clear outline of a large mushroom attached to a thick piece of meat.

Dale takes a seat on a bench off to the side of the stall resting a foot on the seat. His free hanging sack looks like a baseball against his inner thigh. He pulls a smoke from the band of his hat and lights it. Taking the smoke deep into his lungs he leans back and closes his eyes. He scratches the stubble on his face and neck. Slowly his hand moves down across his chest seeking out a pink nipple. A fingertip teases the hard point. I pull the zipper of my jeans down and slide my hand inside. Dale crushes the cigarette out. He moves his hand down his leg and rubs at his confined sack. His cock starts to snake down the opposite thigh. He opens his fly far enough to get his hand inside and pull out his meat. A thick shaft sheathed in skin smooth as white silk capped by a bulbous mushroom emerges. Dale strokes his cock with one hand while the other searches for his balls. His bag spills from his jeans, his hand barely containing the egg sized contents. He pulls hard on his sack. I move away from the wall so Dale could see me stroking my dick. He opens his eyes at the sound of my movement. He stares at my hard on as I close the space between us.

A sound from behind us ends the moment. A moment of fear comes over us. We quickly stuff our hard dicks back into our pants and zip up. Dale jumps back on the haystack and I sit on the bench. By the time the intruder reaches us everything looks normal. I exchange a few words with the hand that interrupted us, get up and walk to the tack room looking over my shoulder at Dale. He looks back in my direction flashing me a seductive smile.

Images of Dale and what could've happened played through my mind all afternoon. My dick stirs at the memory of his sack, how big it is, how heavy it must feel, the silky white skin with only a few dark blonde hairs sprouting from its surface. I grab at my package thinking of his thick tool, how the oversized pink mushroom head would taste.

Around three I decide to stop for the day. I walk out of the storeroom to find Dale standing in the doorway of the office. He steps in, closing and locking the door behind him. I take him in with my eyes. His hat pushed back on his head, open shirt hanging on his still sweat coated body, old dusty jeans riding low on his hips, outline of his rod snaking down his leg, ending with snakeskin boots. He takes a couple steps toward me, stops, throws his hat and drops his shirt. I throw my hat, pull my shirt from my jeans, slowly unbutton it and let it fall. Dale strides across the room. He places his hands on my shoulders and explores my muscled frame. He twists his fingers in the dense hair covering my torso. Grabbing the back of his head I pull his face into my armpit. Like a wild man he laps at my