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Heat Lamp
By PFC Pflege
Part 1
I met Mark through friends of mine. He was 19 years old; I was 28. It was the summer that everyone was gin-rummy mad, and played whenever we could. Most of the guys were in their early twenties, and didn’t have a place of their own yet, or, if they did, it was a small apartment. Since I had just bought a house, it was natural that a lot of the games were played there. We’d have 6 or 8 guys playing, sometimes more; none of us had a lot of money, so the stakes were real low. On the weekends, if the fever was on, we sometimes played all night, nodding over the cards as the light of early dawn filled the rooms.
DZ Ranch Land and Cattle Company – Part 1
By FirefighterSIR
Travis knew it was too late, but he was already inside the gate.
Sweat dripped down his pits into his tight grey tank top and stained the edge where it tucked into the tight Wranglers, cinched up with a brown belt and a big rodeo buckle won back in high school. The wet tank revealed his smooth skin spread tightly over his wrestler’s build, still white despite the days of drinking out on the lake that summer.
His thick striated pecs were topped with large flat nips while his arms highlighted the thick triceps and veined bicep from years of wrestling training. A light sheen of golden hair fuzzed his forearms to match the tight buzz cut on his sweaty head topped with a worn camo ball cap.
Travis looked once more at the card he had been given a few days before. Just looking at it made his cock jump:
Unlock your true potential. Challenge yourself, dive deep, and become the man you want to be. Wrestlers and Footballers preferred. A Life changing experience. DZ Ranch Land and Cattle Company
Followed by a handwritten password for the company website.
He had just left the big Bass Pro Shop down in Manteca when a dark uniformed man had approached with a smile. The slick fast talk had not distracted Travis from looking over the muscled, bearded Daddy who proffered the card. He said he was looking for models for a new hunting lifestyle magazine. A lean, muscled biker with a drooping trucker mustache and dark glasses had accompanied the first man, constantly scanning the entrance for other prospects while the Daddy spoke.