Nils got his tool box and went to work on my car. I asked him a couple of times how it was going, but his focus was so intense that he didn't hear me. Within a half an hour, he had the engine purring, softer than it had ever sounded. "I'll be back," he said, heading out of the barn and toward the house. Watching him saunter up the hill toward the house, he did look like a young Arnold, albeit wider. He came back out with a duffle bag. "Let's go," he said to

me, tossing the bag into the back seat, along with his toolbox. I got in, and backed the car out of the barn. Nils shut the barndoors, then got in on the passenger side. As I drove down the driveway and out onto the road, I noticed that he stared straight ahead, never looking back. He had that focused look again. He was leaving his entire world behind, and heading out to conquer a new one. His face was stoic and strong, leaving behind the look of a farmboy, and maturing into a man. His brow was thickening, and his jaw, square-cut and solid,

sprouted a heavy golden stubble, so coarse it looked like a razor would have a hard time mowing through it. Sitting this close to him in the car, I realized how massive he was. He had on a short sleeved white shirt, showing off forearms that were at least twice the size of a normal man's. His thighs were packed into his jeans like sausages, so tight that I could see the muscle groups through the denim. He looked over at me as I was eyeing them up and down. "Like that?" he asked. He flexed his thighs, and the fabric tightened even more. He flexed one leg, then the other, back and forth, making the muscle dance up and down. "Look at these monsters," he said, staring down at them as he made them ripple. "Huge fucking set of wheels." "You said 'fucking'," I said, shocked that the huge amish stud would use such language. "That's right, outsider. I'm on rumspringa, remember, I can say and do anything I want, and I like 'fucking'. And just imagine how hard I can do it too, with these beasts." He rubbed his big hands up and down his thighs. Then he

made a fist, and slammed it into his leg. "Heh, heh," he said, "nothing can hurt these suckers." He slammed his fist into his thick leg. "Fucking donkey strength," he crowed, staring at his undulating treetrunks. I was getting dizzy. The car was heating up, and smelled of Nils' farmboy sweat and muscle. Maybe I had bit off more than I could chew. Nils' dominate streak was just beginning to blossom. A shudder ran down my spine and into my groin. The thought of his dominate nature growing and growing as he grew and grew made me hard as a rock. Just as I was beginning to worry that he would notice, he grabbed my hand and laid it on his leg. "Ever feel such power and size before, englishman?" Fuck. I groped the hard thigh under my hands. So hard. So like steel.

I pulled my hand away. Must...concentrate...on driving, I told myself. But I couldn't. Every pleasure sensor in my body was exploding. Sweat was beading on my forehead and upper lip. I looked over at Nils. He met my glance with his deep blue eyes. He smiled, then raised hs left arm slowly and flexed. So huge. Fuck. That freaky triple peak jutting up higher and higher. He smirked at me, then took his other hand and slapped it down on his flexed bicep so that I could hear how thick and hard it was. I felt the shudder again, only ten times stronger, surging down my spine and into my balls and cock. My toes curled. My gut tightened up. And I came. And came, and came. Right in my pants, without ever having stroked it. So good, so intensely good, pleasure like I had never realized, an orgasm of profound depth. I pulled the car over to the side of the road. I heard Nils going "heh, heh," in that cocky way of his. I looked over at him, my eyes glazed, and saw that he had a pretty good boner of his own. "You liked that, didn't you, you big cocky fuck?" I said to him. "Yep," he said, still rubbing his own arm, appreciating its size and power, rolling his wrist to make the forearm muscles twist and bulge. "Now, let me drive," he said. "What?" I said. "You can't drive. You probably don't even have a license." Nils got out of the car and came around to the my side. I locked the door. He squatted down and deadlifted the driver's side tires off the ground. "Move over and let me in, or I'll shake you over," he said, bouncing the car up and down. I figured he'd eventually just tear the door off anyway, so I moved, or rather, fell, into the passenger seat. I unlocked the door and he put the car down, and got in. He got in, grinning ear to ear. "You're all proud of yourself, aren't you?" I said. "Yep," he answered. "Bully farmboy," I said. "Pipsqueak cityboy," he said. "Dickhead hayseed." "Pussy smartass," he said, then he punched me playfully my shoulder. I don't know what scared me more, the pain from his little 'tap', or the speed with which he was taking the ramp onto the Pennsylvania turnpike. He had the pedal floored, and we were spitting gravel all the way up. "Dude, slow down!" I yelled. "Whoooohooooo!!" he hollered, as we tore toward the ticket booth. He aimed toward the middle booth, the one with an attendant of course. As we flew through it, Nils flexed his left arm at the guy, and kept going. "That is not going to count as paying the toll," I said to him, looking back, only to see the attendant leaning out of the booth and writing down my license plate number. Not good. "Have you ever driven before?" I asked him. "Sure, lots of times, but never on the turnpike," he answered, still accelerating. "Slow down, man, we're going over 90 already!" "Plenty more power left in this baby," he said, grinding the pedal down with his big musclefoot. We were flying by every car and truck on the road. Nils zigzagged around the slower moving vehicles with the skill of a stockcar racer. My heart was in my throat and pounding hard. "Fuck," said Nils, and I noticed him looking in the rearview mirror. I looked back, and saw the flashing lights coming our direction. "That didn't take long," I said. "I can lose him," said Nils, a wild look in his eyes. "Hoooooo, no, not in this car. Pull the fuck over." "Nah, I can lose him," he repeated. "Dude, it's the state police. They'll have your ass in jail for years. Pull over!" The cruise was gaining on us, but not very fast. We were going over 110. Nils careened from one lane to the other, sometimes using the shoulder to pass, sometimes coming within centimeters of the concrete divider in the left lane. "What are you, afraid of the policeman? Afraid he'll kick your ass?" I thought that would get him, and it did. He looked over at me and said, "Hell no." He looked in the rearview mirror. "Not a cop in this state who I couldn't take," he said. "Sure, sure. You're fucking afraid," I said. "You think so huh?" he said, slowing down. "Just for that, after I'm done kicking his ass, I'll do the same to you." Oh great, I thought. Well, at least I got him to slow down. Now, the trooper's car was gaining on us. Nils was so psyched up that his hands were bending my steering wheel. "You crazy amish fuck," I said. He just chuckled. We slowed down even more, and the flashing lights closed in on us. When he got behind us, Nils manuevered onto the shoulder and stopped the car. •

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