Labor Day Weekend 1974

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An middle-aged man looks back on times shared with his best friend’s family back when he was younger…


The glow of the fire kept getting dimmer through the wall of the tent I was sleeping in, and the sounds of the nocturnal creatures now were louder than the crackling and popping of the last few embers in the fireplace outside.

The sounds that I wanted to hear had yet to come, and just the thought of that made my heart race as I lay naked, with only a thin sheet over me. Now that I’m in my twenties, the sounds of the forest no longer frighten me, nor does anything else out there. I don’t usually sleep naked, but experience has shown that it was much easier this way.

In the beginning, back when I was 18 and unsure of myself, it wasn’t like this, and I recall how naive and scared I had been that first time. I was as unprepared for what was about to happen as a guy could be, and while I had wished for the visit to my tent that first time, I had hoped back then it would be Eric and never expected it would be Mr. Kennedy, the father of my best friend.

Although I wasn’t a member of the Kennedy family, to the world it probably seemed that I was, because I spent most of my time at their house after my Mom died when I in my teens. My old man kinda gave up after that and just went through the motions, so I enjoyed myself a lot more at my friend Eric’s house than at my own.

I kinda wished that Mr. Kennedy was my father, because he was always fun to be around and always very friendly to me, so I liked being around him. When they started inviting me to their annual camping trip to the Adirondacks for Labor Day weekend a few years back, I jumped at the chance, even buying a small tent to use so I didn’t crowd them in their family-sized tent.

Now, four years later, Eric and I were still good friends but young men nearly done with college, and despite my life-long crush on my best friend, he had never paid a night-time visit to my tent in all these Labor day weekends. Part of me wishes that he would have, but I think I like it better this way.

The anticipation is excruciating in a way, but it makes what is going to happen even better. One time it happened so late that I was afraid Mr. Kennedy had fallen asleep or something, but he has to make sure Mrs. Kennedy and Eric are out before he visits. I can picture him in his tent, just as anxious and excited as I am, waiting for their breathing to indicate they are out cold.

And there it is – the faint sound of their tent zipper opening, and then a few seconds later comes the sound again as it closes. I hear the footsteps of Mr. Kennedy as he makes his way to the outhouse over by the far campsite. It’s a trip I had made a little earlier, the result of all of us having a few beers by the fire, and in my mind I can see him taking his cock out of his boxers and letting the pee fly into the pit toilet.

Now the door of the outhouse creaks open, and now the leaves are crackling and twigs are crunching because the footsteps are coming in the right direction, towards my tent, and as the zipper of my tent comes down, I pretend I’m sleeping.

I bursa eskort wasn’t pretending the first time. I had been asleep, so I didn’t hear the tent zippers opening and closing or the footsteps approaching. I was unaware of anything until I felt the hairy body against mine under the sheet back then.


As has been my custom recently, I let out a fake snore that doesn’t fool Mr. Kennedy, but gets us both giggling as he closes the tent up behind him and steps out of his boxer shorts while I toss the sheet off me. My lantern is on the lowest possible setting, providing just enough illumination for us to make each other out as Mr. Kennedy joins me on the sleeping mat.

“Something looks good enough to eat,” Mr. Kennedy says as he cuddles up next to me, and for the next several minutes he does just that.

After we kiss as we always do, Mr. Kennedy proceeds to make love to my body like no other man has ever done. This scene has evolved over time as well, because early on it was almost over before I knew it, but now, secure in the knowledge that I want this to happen, Mr. Kennedy takes his time.

His first name is Carl, but I have never used it. To me he is always going to be Mr. Kennedy, and in the tent, he is in control. Although at 5’10” and about 165 pounds I am nearly his equal, I am the passive one and allow him to do what he wants to me, knowing that it will be good for me too.

Although we are away from all the creature comforts, with all of the swimming and such we manage to stay pretty clean, and Mr. Kennedy seems to revel in the unfiltered aroma that I have, a manly scent these days which he drinks in eagerly.

He sucks on my nipples, going back and forth as they throb in response to his oral skills. As is his habit, he moves over from there and making my nipples throb he lifts my arm back to the wall of the tent. Without a pause Mr. Kennedy licks and chews my armpit like an animal, pasting the tiny wisp of hairs to my skin with his feral licking, and while this used to be a bit off-putting, I’ve grown to appreciate it as an sensual delight.

“I’ve missed this big boy,” Mr. Kennedy sighs as he climbs on top of me and grinds his body against mine, pressing out cocks together, and while he was hard from the start, it only took me a few seconds to become equally erect.

I remember Mr. Kennedy’s shock that first time he touched my cock, and how stunned he was that I was so much larger than him, but while it made me feel more confident about myself it didn’t really matter because I loved his just the way it was.

I don’t what I enjoy more; the feel of his still-muscular and extremely hairy body against my smooth skin, or the way he manages to squeeze our cocks together while he gently humps me – so snug that I can feel his cock pulsating against mine but the way it feels to have his manhood rubbing into mine never changes, and fortunately Mr. Kennedy stops before I cum all over us.

Sliding off of me, the still agile Mr. Kennedy is down at my hip, lifting my cock up and letting his lips slide down, coming closer than any other lips to bursa escort bayan taking me all in before pulling his lips back slowly. Again and again his mouth slides up and down, and before long my hands are tearing at my sleeping bag while my legs churn.

I start cumming, and although it seems crazy, Mr. Kennedy makes me cum harder than anyone, and in college some of my buddies at school are really good but no one compares with Mr. Kennedy. He swallows my cum as it spurts down his throat and then starts siphoning me until I finally have to playfully pull him off of me.

“Sweet nectar,” he whispers, and then adds, “Time for more sweetness.”

We hug as he rolls me onto my stomach, and then he brings my bottom end up and spreads my cheeks. They come part willingly these days, and Mr. Kennedy’s fingers stretch my anal cavity in anticipation for the best part.

His tongue comes next, and how he gets that so deep inside me eludes me, but it feels so good that my body shivers at the sensation. I can tell Mr. Kennedy is anxious because the rimming doesn’t last as long as usual. I can hear the sounds of his fist stroking his cock, oiling the stiff slender prong that he’s going to put inside of me, and then his face leaves my butt crack and he’s sidling up against me.

He’s going to take me anally, and as I feel the tip of his dick rubbing against my well lubricated balloon knot I think back to how scared I was the first time Mr. Kennedy did this to me. He might have done it TO me that time, when I was 18 and unsure of what exactly I was, but after that we have done it together, and this is no exception.

His stiff spear slides in almost effortlessly, and as he begins a slow and steady rhythm I wonder if it feels as good to him as it does to me? Maybe it does – I hope it does because there is no better feeling for me when Mr. Kennedy is inside of me, and he has such amazing self-control that he makes it last a long time.

He rolls me over a bit, onto more of my side than my stomach, and never misses a beat. His strokes are getting faster and harder, but they can’t get too hard or too fast for me. Mr. Kennedy’s cock may be modest in size but somehow it feels much bigger as it probes me deeply again and again.

Mr. Kennedy reaches around my hip and finds my cock, and I hear him chuckle when he finds me erect despite having cum just minutes ago. This is the effect my best friend’s father has on me. It’s as if his cock finds a secret place inside that stimulates me. No other man has ever found it in me, not like him.

The nighttime sounds of the forest outside and our muffled noises from inside the tent are like a symphony. with Mr. Kennedy’s grunt in perfect rhythm with the soft slapping of our skin. I’m drenched with sweat on the muggy night inside a tent that has become a sauna. The sweat is a mixture of both of our perspiration, and serves as a aphrodisiac as we start to race to a climax.

Mr. Kennedy is going to cum soon. I can tell by the sounds he is making, the speed at which he’s impaling me, and the way his fist is jacking me off. His görükle escort grip is now like iron and he is jerking me savagely now, nibbling and kissing my neck, and I can hold back no longer.

I feel Mr. Kennedy’s cock jump inside a second after I start cumming all over myself and my bedding, and I tighten my sphincter as I feel his hot seed fill my bowels. I feel Mr. Kennedy’s teeth dig into the back of my neck, and although it will leave a mark that hopefully my long hair will hide for the rest of the trip, at home I will look at it and smile.

“I love you so much, Jay,” he says as he presses his hairy and sweaty body against me, and I say the same to him, the feel of his fur against my smoothness making me shiver.

After we catch our breath Mr. Kennedy asks me if I want to take a moonlight dip with him, already knowing what my answer would be. We sneak out and go down to the lake, moving a bit down from our campsite, and as we walk out into the cool water it feels refreshing, but not as good as it feels once we get out to where the water is up to our shoulders.

We embrace, and as I wrap my arms around Mr. Kennedy he kisses me. Our bodies grind into each other, and I never tire of the feeling of our cocks rubbing together under the surface, our dicks dueling much like our tongues.

Reluctantly we head back to the campsite, using the damp towels from earlier in the day to dry us off as best we can before heading back to our respective tents. Tomorrow night we will do the same thing, and then the vacation will be over.

Mr. Kennedy would go back to his real world, with his wife while his son went off to college, and I would return to school, trying and failing to find somebody like Mr. Kennedy.

The next Labor Day Weekend I would be there with them again, and it would be much like the years past even though I had graduated college. Again in 1976 we would pretty much all be together again, with the exception of my friend Eric, who had decided that being well in your 20’s and going camping with his folks was passe, and after that year life got in the way for all of us, and the annual vacations were no more.

There were a few times when I had come back on school breaks and Mr. Kennedy would take me to a motel, but it wasn’t the same for me in those times, and although he never said it, I don’t think it was the same for him either. We needed the camping experience to make it whole.

I remained somewhat close to his son Eric and the family over the years, and even went over to their house for dinner one night recently. Eric, married and with grown kids, was doing well, and Mrs. Kennedy was also getting along fine.

Mr. Kennedy, now 80, still has both oars in the water, although of course he’s nothing like the man that came into my tent every year back in the 1970’s. He still remembers everything though, and when his wife brought out some pictures of us up and the lake, we all had a good laugh.

“Those were the days,” Mr. Kennedy said as we sat around the kitchen table and looked at the photos of four decades ago.

“Good times,” Mrs. Kennedy said.

“Best times of my life,” I said, smiling as I felt Mr. Kennedy’s hand squeeze my knee under the table, and although I’ve been lucky to have had a lot of great times in my life, it was true. None were ever better than those camping trips of the 70’s.


thanks for reading


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