I stumbled out of the bush and into a clearing, at last. I’d been slogging through the Yukon “jungle” of scrub spruce and sedge tussocks for three straight days, had picked up more blackfly bites than a swamp-bogged moose, more branch scratches than a treed lynx. So any open space was mighty welcome.
I brushed back my hat and let the warm summer sun bathe my face, the cool breeze dry my sweat, taking a much-needed break from the headlong fever of the Klondike gold rush. Canadian Shield showed through the yellow grass and green moss on the floor of the clearing, and as I ambled over to the edge of the patch of fresh air, I saw that it was actually the ten-foot-high cut bank of the Yucatash creek.
And then I saw something that made my eyes and trousers pop: the Goldtwinkle Twins, as they were derisively known, on the flat, pebbled creek bank opposite, sexing it up all out in the open like 1898 was the age of enlightenment!
I dropped my hat and pack and went belly-down in the grass and moss, my trail-reddened eyes locked on the pair of fervent man-lovers. They were less than 50 feet away from my vantage point, the red-haired little one – Tommy Mulray, I pegged him – on his knees in the smooth pebbles, earnestly sucking on the big, hairy, hanging nut sack of the giant known as Dag Grunthle.
The pair of prospectors were as naked as any man’s lust for gold, like they’d been going about the grim task of taking their weekly baths when things had gotten a lot out of hand. Dag was huge, bushy headed and bearded, body hairy as a black bear and built the same. While Tommy was small, smooth, sleek, and ivory as a soap bar. He tugged on his partner’s balls with his mouth – first one, then the other, then both – Dag’s enormous, arrow-straight cock casting an ominous shadow over the ardent sack sucker’s face.
My eyes watered, right along with my mouth. There was no doubt now that the rumours were true: the Goldtwinkle Twins were as bent as an old gold-panner’s back. Some in Dawson City had said that they just fostered their queer reputation to keep claim-jumpers away. But now I was getting the truth, in the sun-drenched, water-dappled, Tamarack-backed raw.
I pumped my hips, humping the soft grass and springy moss, as Tommy disgorged Dag’s matted sack and licked up, up, and up the guy’s claim-stake of a cock. He finally made it to the cap-crowned top, then opened wide and swallowed, Dag grunting like a pack-mule.
Tommy sucked on the big man’s knob, Dag arching his gigantic body and extending his massive arms up into the air like he was seeking sexual salvation. Praying, no doubt, that his entire tremendous staff would be baptised in the hot, unholy waters of Tommy’s mouth.
But little Tommy had other ideas, popping Dag’s dripping purple hood out of his mouth and pinning it against the brute’s stomach. He started licking up and down the wrist-thick, vein-ridged shaft of Dag’s cock, really lapping at it, Dag groaning some more, tree-trunk legs trembling.
I humped the ground faster, harder, ignoring the ants crawling up my legs. A hard-luck sourdough had to take his pleasure from the harsh, beautiful land wherever he could find it.
Tommy licked the foreskin almost right off Dag’s thunder cock, before pulling the stiff, glistening member back down to horizontal, like a barman pulls down a draft handle to give a customer some good head. He engulfed Dag’s hood in his warm, wet mouth again, some of the giant’s shaft this time, commenced cocksucking.
‘Attaboy!’ I exhaled, spitting out the last of my tobacco in my excitement. I was really thumping the tundra now, the sun and scenery heating me up like gold fever, my balls boiling right along with Dag’s.
Tommy was just too tiny to come anywhere close to deep-throating the giant, but the little guy could still handle a rod. He gripped Dag’s fleshy ass cheeks and furiously bobbed his head, red lips flying back and forth, halfway down the big man’s corded shaft, mouth pressure-sealed to extract maximum cock satisfaction.
Dag buckled, shook, Tommy blowing his socks off. I was sure the grizzled bear was blasting his load, dousing his partner’s throat in man-juice. So my own hips took flight, my ground-down stick of dynamite primed for explosion.
But then Dag shoved Tommy away, the little man with the obscenely stretched-out mouth doing an ass-plant in the pebbles. I instantly stilled my loins, certain now that Dag was going to split his cocksucking buddy’s ass in half like firewood with his pole-axe of a prick.
But I was wrong again. Because Dag helped Tommy to his feet, then went down on to all-fours on the creek beach. Tommy quickly moved in behind the felled colossus, greasing up his own modest cock with some goo from a handy jar. David was going to top Goliath!
‘Well, I’ll be bejeegered,’ I breathed, shimmying even closer to the edge of the ledge for a better look, my steel-hard tool burrowing a trench in the terrain. I’d seen some strange sights under the midnight sun, but this was going to be one of the best.
But then the creek bank suddenly gave way, the thin topsoil breaking loose and sending me slithering down the embankment like a slow-moving serpent intruding in the Garden of Eden. Fatally distracting the Goldtwinkle Twins from their anticipated ass explorations. They had their rifles out and levelled by the time my elbows touched water.
‘On your feet, mister!’ Dag ordered, cocking his Winchester.
I climbed upright, brushing myself off, grinning as confidently and unconcernedly as I could. ‘Hiya, boys,’ I blustered.
‘Git over here,’ Tommy responded, gesturing with his Lee-Enfield.
‘Over there?’ I politely enquired, pointing to their side of the creek.
‘Move yorn ass!’ Dag bellowed.
I moved, my ass and every other body part, wading into and across the cold, fast-running creek. The high-water mark was my nipples.
I stood in front of the angry pair on the pebbled bank, dripping plenty and shaking a little. I didn’t like the look in Tommy’s shrewd, pale-blue eyes one bit; the way his finger cosied up to that rifle trigger. Still, I had to admire Dag’s dong, still full of life and twice as big, up-close. It glistened in the sun, along with the other gun barrels.
‘Tryin’ to jump our claim, are ya?’ Tommy spat. Then, before I could deny the truth: ‘We ain’t found nuthin’ here, anyways, so you’re out of luck all the way.’ He looked ready to fill my golden dreams with lead. And the rough justice of the north wouldn’t have blamed him one bit.
‘No, no,’ I protested. ‘I was just …’
‘What’s your name, mister?’ Dag growled.
I grinned. ‘Jack Taylor’s the name, friend. Miner, adventurer, stock promoter, mule-skinner, and sled dog …’
‘Fucker,’ Tommy cut in. ‘And two-bit swindler. I’ve heard of you, Jack “Tip” Taylor. Always a hot, bum tip for the suckers, right?’ He spat at my feet, turned to his partner. ‘This bumwipe’s sold more shares in more phony mines, salted more barren ore samples with gold dust, than a Barbary Coast pirate.’
‘Now, see …’
‘Still tryin’ to get rich off the backs of others, yeah, Tip?’ the little man sneered.
‘Get on out of here, why don’t you?’ Dag gritted. He tilted his rifle down and threw his free arm around Tommy’s shoulders. ‘This t’ain’t no place for someone like you … and your schemes.’ He crooked Tommy’s head in his thewed limb and jerked it up, planted his lips on the other man’s lips. They devoured each other’s mouths like they hadn’t eaten anything but hardtack for days on end.
Until they noticed that I was packing, too – a hard-on in my Mackinaw trousers, as I watched them lip-wrestle, eyed their nude bodies. That’s when they realised that I wasn’t being put off by their antics; I was being turned-on.
It mightn’t have been the best strategy on my part, either (though I really had no control over it). Because when Tommy saw I couldn’t be dissuaded away by disgust, his stubby finger tightened on the trigger again.
Until Dag set me free with another, ‘Get on out of here, why don’t you?’
And I skedaddled.
They watched me track back into the bush until we were all out of sight. Then I waited a few hours, jerking off and swatting blackflies, before swinging on back to my ridge for some more reconnaissance, nice and quiet-like. There were a couple of things I was interested in: that huge, handsome cock of Dag Grunthle’s, and the contents of that bulging saddlebag I’d glimpsed through the partially-open flap of the men’s tent.
And after only a couple of days of unobserved observation, I saw my chance to get both.
Tommy was leading their mule off down the creek, heading back to town for more supplies, no doubt. I watched him go, then impatiently waited for the sun to finally set and the northern lights to come out. Before making my move. I stole down from the ridge and across the creek and into the miners’ encampment, skulking right into the white canvas tent that held the snoring man left behind to work and guard the claim.
My opinion is that the direct approach is best. So long as you’ve got some sugar to sweeten your surprise.
‘What in tarnations?’ Dag roared, when I’d kicked the sleeping giant in the ass.
I struck a match and lit his lantern, basking the angry bear in the warm glow of my outstretched erection. He stared at the seven-and-a-half-inch pleasure tool sticking out of my unbuttoned fly, transfixed.
‘This what you been missin’ around here, hard-rock?’ I queried, taking a hand to my shooting iron and polishing.
He swallowed, black eyes aglow, making no move to rise up off his haunches and toss me to the wolves.
When you’ve been in the confidence game as long as I have, you get to be a keen observer of human nature, and human emotion. And it’d been obvious to me almost from the get-go that big Dag was a man yearning for a fellow big man – someone that could fill him up to satisfaction; take him in, both ways, without the fear of asphyxiation or injury.
‘Then what are you waitin’ for, stud?’ I asked.
He shucked his Bay blanket like somebody had set it ablaze, quick-crawled over to me and my man-divining rod. He grabbed up my tightened sack and gulped down my swollen hood, three-quarters of my pulsing prick in one huge, hungry swallow.
‘Easy, big fella!’ I yelped, staggering backwards.
He jerked me close again, clamping me down hot and tight in his big mouth and big hands. He pulled on my pipe with his thick lips, my balls with his thick fingers, sucking me right down to the furline and back up again, fast and hard.
I clung to his bushy head, watching and feeling him suck and suck and suck, suck me almost right down his throat. His ferociously tugging mouth flooded me with heat, his heavy-handed ball-juggling making me shudder and tingle.
I let him get a good, grateful taste of my lengthy dong, meat gleaming pink in the lamplight before disappearing into the cauldron of his maw, filling him up, over and over. Then, with my body and balls surging just about beyond my control, I shoved the cock-eating behemoth on to his back.
I pinned him down to the ground, straddling his head, pushing his longjohns down and exposing his immense slab of a cock. Then I gave him some of what he’d been giving me – what he’d been pining after for so long out there in the wilds – dipping my head down and tonguing his fat cap up off his hairy belly and taking his vein-ribboned shaft deep as a man can take it.
I engulfed all of his mammoth member in one fell swoop, stretching my big mouth as wide as I could and relaxing my throat muscles to the point of sleep. He grunted his surprise, and delight, his body jerking, his rain barrel voice reverberating all through my cock and body. He urgently bobbed his head up and down off the ground, anxiously sucking on my cock in gratitude.
I groaned back, gripping the furry base of his pole and deep-sucking the giant. Doing what his little pal, Tommy, was just not physically capable of doing. Because it was no easy task even for lantern-jawed, deep-throated me. I’ve sunk a lot of shafts in my day, mining and otherwise, but never one as long and wide as Dag’s.
I even gagged a little when his hood clogged the back of my throat, shaft cramming my mouth and bloating my cheeks. I pulled back up, disgorging the monster, lips dragging along throbbing, bumpy shaft slow and sensual. Dag shuddered, but never stopped sucking on my prick.
I bit into his cockhead, chewing on the soft, spongy helmet. I twirled my tongue all around his cap, spooning up some leaking precome and smacking my lips with satisfaction. Before stuffing my mouth and throat with meat again.
I matched the big man’s frantic cocksucking pace blow for blow, gripping his jumping thighs and pistoning my head up and down, gorging full-length, drinking in his salty precome and inhaling the musky scent of his sweating balls. But before either of us could blow our tops, I tried to give the gasping giant something else he obviously craved.
I took one final deep, damp pull on his prodigious prod and lifted my own pulsating dick out of the molten pit of his mouth. Then I wobbled up onto my boots and rasped, ‘Time to fill some hole, major miner – to the rim.’
I’d intended to let the big man top me to his dick’s content; but had to switch gears when he spun over on to his hands and knees faster than a drill bit. He wagged his huge ass at me, begging for every inch I could give him.
So, I pushed my trousers and underwear down and got in behind him, slapped his ass with my spit-slick cock. His cheeks and body jumped. ‘Where’s the gun oil, grizzly?’ I gritted.
He pointed. And I slathered, my cock and his crack.
‘Please, fuck me!’ he pleaded, his husky voice gone almost feminine as I fingered his hairy cleft.
I screwed a couple of digits into his surprisingly tight anus, pumped them. He reared up on his paws and roared, buttocks trembling. I yanked my fingers out and plugged my cockhead in between his full moons, pressing against his pucker. The air in the sweltering tent went stifling, thick with the smell of cock and balls and man-sex, as I pushed, plunged my pike into Dag’s asshole.
I plowed deep into the man’s hot, gripping chute, deeper than he’d gotten it in a very long time. ‘Yes, by God!’ he bellowed, ramming his ass back, swallowing up all of my dong.
I gripped his formidable waist and churned my hips, fucking his vice-like manhole full-length and furious. It was a big, tough job, and I was … well, a fairly big man.
The sharp, wet crack of my rocking thighs against Dag’s shivering cheeks filled the suffocating tent, as I plundered his gloryhole. I was on fire, burning with eroticism, slapping balls boiling and clenched cock singing, deep-drilling the big man, packing his bowels. He latched on to his own flapping cock and frantically jerked, his bear-like body bouncing in rhythm to my relentless pounding.
It was hot as the Mounties on my trail, and I soon cried, ‘Fuck, I’m coming!’
‘Me, as well!’ Dag hollered back, my pistoning prong exploding in his sucking chute.
I held on to the man-mountain for dear life, buffeted by ecstasy, blasting off wad after wad into Dag’s anus, dynamiting his ass. He rattled on the end of my spurting, spearing prick, jacking hot shots of semen out of his own ruptured cock. We blew steam for what seemed a full change of season, until at last I collapsed on top of the giant, into his loving arms.
And at the crack of dawn, Dag located my crack. He stretched my ass like it’d never been stretched before, the heavyweight miner burying his shaft to a hot, tight depth not physically possible with his other partner.
Which is how Tommy found us, when he crept back into camp. ‘Sonofabitch!’ he wailed.
Before we could stop him, the jealous leprechaun had grabbed up the saddlebag and flung its nuggeted contents back into the creek – in great, glittering, golden handfuls.
Dag eventually caught up with Tommy, calming him down in a bear-hug. While I put my silver tongue to good use, explaining the concept of a “train” and a “three-way ass-stack” to the two miners in the most flowery language I could muster; how positions like that could accommodate all our needs.
They took me in on their claim, to help with the recovery of the lost gold and the discovery of any more gold. A full-share partner and playmate. It’d been a three-man job all along, in my opinion.