PART FOUR
The Smoke rose from the grill, on the patio as the juice from the steaks dripped onto the burning coals. The smell of charcoal fluid and meat greeted Heath when he opened the front door. He looked out onto the patio where his dad, in cut-offs and a ribbed, tank T-shirt, stood watch over the grill. He alternated between swigging from the longneck bottle of beer in his left hand, and poking at the embers with the tongs in his right. Dropping his equipment by the door, Heath wandered onto the patio. "Smells good."
Dad stood in the shower, the water slowly cascading down his arms in tiny rivulets. With an unsteady rhythm, the drops fell to the ground, forming a small puddle that spread aimlessly across the floor.
Time seemed suspended as I looked into my father’s eyes. I waited. My body shivered inside. I felt my flesh tingle with the touch of Dad’s hand on my shoulder. "Heath," my father said softly. He placed his hand beneath my chin, supporting it gently in his hands. "Heath?"
"Y-y-yeah?" I responded, focusing my gaze.
"Well?" he asked.
Previews:
LINKS:
http://freakshare.net/files/d2v4g9lr/Animation—Stonewall—Riot.part1.rar.html
http://freakshare.net/files/s8gqx7zx/Animation—Stonewall—Riot.part2.rar.html
http://freakshare.net/files/413ypdw3/Animation—Stonewall—Riot.part3.rar.html
http://freakshare.net/files/9gri7nnv/Animation—Stonewall—Riot.part4.rar.html
http://freakshare.net/files/86fu4dqv/Animation—Stonewall—Riot.part5.rar.html
http://freakshare.net/files/dj4amzf9/Animation—Stonewall—Riot.part6.rar.html
http://freakshare.net/files/zeom1×4v/Animation—Stonewall—Riot.part7.rar.html
Take six horny dudes out on the road. Turn them loose and watch what happens. Road Trip Vol. 4 is more than just a journey down to Big Sur. It’s a sexual tsunami on the California coast where unabashed and unrelenting cocksucking, ass munching and fucking climax with torrential splashes of cum.
PART TWO
I heard his footsteps on the stairs. I’d been waiting for this for about half an hour. My breathing stopped. What now? I wondered. Is this when he beats the shit out of me for being a fag? But man, I’m not a fag. It just happened. The sound of his heavy walk ceased just outside the door. My blood coursed through my veins. There was no knock, but I could hear his breathing. He walked down the hallway to his room. The door closed. I rolled onto my side. I could feel the wet spots on my shirt from where I’d cum.
Dad was gone the next morning when I woke up. He was always gone. I made it seem unusual, given the circumstances the night before, but it wasn’t uncommon at all. I walked into the living room and looked at the scene of my sex crime: the sofa, the kitchen, his bottle of beer still sitting there. His bare chest, the flexing biceps, his mouth — the images flashed through my mind. I grabbed my bags and headed to school.
