We were parked in a deserted, weed-infested lot on Front Street. The morning sun was just rising from the other side of the river, big and yellow. Everything was quiet, empty, the crumbling buildings and streets still slumbering in the early light. Except for me and the cowboy—we were tugging on each other’s bared, erect cocks. “Gosh, but you’re huge!” the cowboy gushed for the tenth time, his sky-blue eyes fastened on my ten-inch dong, his sunbrowned hand riding up and down the smooth, hot, pulsating length of my cock. I smiled vacantly, my amber eyes slightly glazed, tugging back just as tight and quick on the cowboy’s hard, throbbing slab of beef. The cowboy was around my age, young. He had a sun-tanned, eager face, thick blond hair curling out from under his white cowboy hat, and was dressed in a checked red shirt and blue jeans, his body tight and compact. I was wearing a tight white T-shirt and equally tight pair of blue jeans, adding to the boyish appearance of my face and body, my soft brown hair cut short.
