Hiking with Greg, I never really figured out why Greg liked hanging out with me, but I was grateful for his company on this late afternoon hike along the Blue Ridge. Greg had a heavily muscled, but defined and powerful frame. His shirtless body was covered in hair, that only made him look bigger. I was a little taller, lean and thin, lightly hairy to the point people thought I shaved my body. Both of us had the gray hair that gave away our ages (both pushing 50), but Greg's hairier body with more visible gray made him look like my elder. We had packed lite, met at the trail head after work. The tail was steep and twisted, but we were both experienced hikers and made good speed up the trail. While we've been having a hot summer, the cool mountain breeze mixed with the mostly shaded trail made the hike pleasant. We wordlessly pressed on, the sounds of our labored breathing mixing with the rustling leaves, bird calls and other natural sounds of the unspoiled mountains. In under two hours, we'd reached the top of this particular ridge, and made out way to the rocky overhang off the main trail. It was remote enough that we were completely out of sight of any wayward hikers, who we could hear long before they could see us through the thick underbrush. We dropped our packs, and took a moment to take in the view: The entire valley lay stretched out below us, lit by the late afternoon sun. immediately below, was the many shades of green from the treetops and miles of open meadows, leading to the rural farmlands and finally the towns and cities. We dropped our packs and caught our breath, just silently enjoying the moment. Greg smiled and said “tick check”, as has become out ritual. He dropped his pack, letting the cool breeze wash over his shirtless back, then quickly loosened and stepped out of his hiking shorts, at last standing there fully nude except for his boots. I followed his lead, and then we both carefully examined each other's exposed skin for ticks or other parasites. I took a long time with Greg, his hairy body required a careful look. Starting at his calves, I bend down and looked closely at his muscular legs, from the top of his bootline, his calves pumped and sweaty from the trail, his lean inner thighs, and up his glutes to his lower back. He raised his arms, and I checked each triceps, armpit and the back of his neck, to his hairline. Moving to the front, I began again, lingering a little long at his massive, veiny quads and then at his groin. Greg's cock was as thick as the rest of him, and I liked just looking at it. He didn't seem to mind the attention, so I stared and pretended to be focused on my search for ticks, on his giant egg-shaped balls, his heavy sack, and then his thickening cock. I knew that he enjoyed the attention, and his cock throbbed and grew the longer I stared at it. Soon, it was semi-hard and swinging with his every motion, the fat cock head dripping with precome. I stood up and finished my inspection, then spread my legs and arms so Greg could return the favor. Greg used his hands more that I did, like a trainer with a champion dog. From behind, he ran his beefy fingers up my legs and spread my ass cheeks, squeezing them this way and that, in an exaggerated inspection. After my own cock was hardening, he finished my backside and turned his attention to my front. With little body hair, he could have done the whole thing visually from a distance, easily. But, he claimed his eyes were unreliable and always felt under my ball sack, then each ball, the along the base of my shaft, and finally when I was mostly hard, he's retract my foreskin and check the wet, pink head. Then, just when I was relaxed and enjoying the attention, he''d move to my chest, palpitating my nipples and pectorals, then up to my neck before pronouncing me clean. At that point, we both unfolded the camp chairs we'd brought, and I poured us each a very tall shot of fine Tennessee whiskey. Still naked, we'd took out seats and wordlessly gazed toward the horizon. I lit my cigar, then passed the matches to Greg. He introduced me to them, and now a hike hardly seemed worth while unless there was cigars and whiskey at the summit. But, we didn't come here to drink, or smoke. We came here to jack off. Greg introduced me to jacking my cock in nature, in the woods, or the beach, or where ever we could get a few minutes of peace and solitude. There was a thrill like nothing else, to be naked, exposed, and hard in the outdoors. To stroke and then cum with abandon, with no cum rags, or porno, or locked doors. It was a real rush. Greg leaned back and closed his eyes, but his cock was getting harder and longer as I watched. Greg once accused me of going on these hikes just to see his hard cock, and he was mostly right. It was huge, bigger than I've ever seen, I was sure that I could grip it wit two fists and there would still be too much to suck remaining. Greg had large hands, but even so it looked like he was holding a beer can when he gripped it. It was heavy, and pulsed with his own heatbeat as it became fully hard. Greg reached down and gripped the shaft, and started to slowly stroke. I watched the first long strokes in rapt fascination, his thick foreskin gliding over the fat head, then back again past the flaring glans and down the tight, hard shaft. “Greg” I said, “Your cock is so hard, so huge!”. He grunted and grinned a little bit. “Stroke that big cock, rub your foreskin over your dripping cock head!” I continued. I was incredibly hard myself, my own cock slapping against my flat belly. I started stroking absently, watching the monster show before me. “Greg, my cock is so hard, just from watching you stroke your massive rod.” I confessed. “Your cock head is glistening with your dripping precome.” Greg fed off my words, his total focus focus on his own cock, they way it felt; it's hardness, it's heat, the feeling of his fist sliding his foreskin over the hard shaft and the thick mushroom head. His massive balls bouncing and swinging with every stroke. I could feel my own orgasm rising up, so I slowed my strokes down and took another swig of whiskey. Greg's breathing was heavy and almost panting now, his body was tensing up, his muscles forcing veins to pop up under his skin on his thighs, his abs and chest and his neck. “Are you going to cum, Greg?” I asked, “Cum hard? Shoot a big thick load?” He grunted an affirmative. I pressed him further. “Greg, is your big cock ready to cum?” I could see the fat purple head swell up, his stokes came faster. “Stroke that thick shaft!” I urged, “Show me your big, hot cock shoot a thick, sticky load!”. He grunted and his body tensed up, then a wave seemed to move up from his legs to his cock, and he shot a thick stream of cum, followed by another and another, each matching a stroke of his tight fist. His hips thrust up involuntarily, giving extra speed to his final spurts of thick sticky juice, now covering the ground. Greg was a real paradox; Masculine, dominant, forceful, outspoken republican, but as “out” as they come. I was almost a polar opposite; quiet, reserved and very closeted. We enjoyed each other's company, even though sexual was completely non-contact. I was close, but I wanted to wait until Greg came down off his post orgasm funk. I stroked my cock with long, slow movements, feeling the large veins, the soft skin, the rising cum with each one. I edged myself carefully, letting the sticky precome drip down my shaft and coat my knuckles. I felt my orgasm rise up, and I backed off, over and over again, until I felt like my nuts would burst.”I'm ready man” I said, my chest heaving with the effort. Greg opened his eyes and watched me, his focus tight on my dripping mushroom head. He grinned, and said “Bring that cock over here.” Normally, I would have refused, laughing off his suggestion. But, in the deep fog of lust and horny abandon, so close to release that my drips of precome had turned into a gently pulsing stream, I obeyed. I stood up and straddled his sitting form, pushing my cock right into his bearded face. I could feel his hot breath on my foreskin, just seconds from loosing control. He said “Feed me, man” and I lost it. I grunted deeply, and thust my hips forward. My whole body tensed up and I came. I started pumping thick ropes of milky white cum even before the actual orgasm shook my body, then I shot more, again and again, each hot sticky jet erupting from my body and burning out my cock like a bullet from a rifle. Greg opened his mouth to catch the thick pulsing streams on his tongue, but missed often enough that his face and goatee were soon dripping with my fresh spunk. He greedily swallowed and licked his cum covered lips, moaning and making guttural sounds as he gulped it down. It covered his face and dripped onto his hair chest. My body was shaking, and I think I must have swayed a little unsteadily, because Greg was holding me still with his powerful hands, as the last weak jets of semen pulsed from my cock. Gingerly, I stepped over Greg, and fell back into my chair. He was still licking his lips and tasting the remainder of my seed from his face. We sat and watched the sunset, finishing our whiskey and cigars, Greg refusing to clean the wet cum off his face while we relaxed. Shortly, we'd make the long trek down to our cars, in the fading sunlight.