Country Boys, page 11
“Tell me more ’bout how Ma was in school.”
“She laughed ’bout everythang.”
I took the videos and put them up on the highest shelf I could find.
“Whatchu puttin’ up there?” He pulled the videos down.
“Nothin’. I was jus’ fixin’ up befo’ Ma comes home.” I watched nervously as he looked at the cover. He smiled.
“Oh, m’kay,” he said, putting them back between the player and the chrome candleholders. There was nothing I could have done, no excuse I could come up with. Scared he would tell Mama about my porn. She thinks everything under the sun is a sin.
He slid one of the videos from between the chrome holders. “Doing Danny. Let’s watch this one.”
He slipped it into the player and pressed play. He sat down in the recliner next to me. Watched past the FBI warning, the promos of porn to come. It opened with two bears showering in a beach-house bathroom, kissing. I had only seen this one six or so dozen times. Brawny, soap-streaked men sucking nipples, groping heavy dicks with cock rings around tender balls. The credits rolled with fake, porn-star names. Darren Summers, Trent Rothschild. They started to blow each other. Lips. Suck. Slurp. Shower water bounced off their beefcake chests. I glanced over his crotch. His dick was hot against an inner thigh.
“Where you git these from?” he asked.
“Um ’pose to write a review on ’em for an online magazine. The editor sent ’em tuh me.”
Sounded like he didn’t believe me, but I didn’t care. He started touching himself; my eyes were glued down below. He never looked off from the TV. He watched Darren Summers get his butt spit on and licked and split. I sank into the leather with legs spread. My left foot grazed a scuffed, dusty boot. I touched myself like the song, running my thumb across my dick. He looked at me as I looked at him. I let him watch what I was doing. He moved in closer, reaching over to touch me. I love another man’s hand there. His was delicate. Not like other men that can be rough and meaningless.
His mouth was on it before too long. Head between my thighs, tongue in my middle. I looked down at mustache lips around cock muscle.
“Your tongue feels good.” I pivoted myself into his mouth. Calloused fingers played with nipples as soft as a girl’s. He knew just what to do. “Pinch ’em hard.”
Sweaty ass. I look to the crucifix, Ma’s pink Bible on the table, one of many in the house. It didn’t take long to shoot white fire. He spit me into a glass of little pink flowers. Took a tissue from the table and cleaned. I looked at the clock that said a quarter till two.
“You got tuh go. She gon’ be here in a few minutes.” I stopped the movie we were watching and put it back in its case.
“Can we git togetha again?”
He pushed his dick back into his underwear. I damn near pushed him out the door. I needed to take a shower, didn’t want Ma to catch him here.
“I’ll call ya’ tomorra.” I had no intentions of doing this again, but I couldn’t get him out of my head. The thought of him sucking.
I didn’t think of him again till I came across his number on my dresser. Wish I had never laid eyes on it. It wasn’t like I had a little black book. Men only like me ’cause I give good head. Dialed his number. Ringing and ringing. I was about to hang up when he picked up on his end.
“Hello?” I couldn’t say anything. The words just wouldn’t come out. “Hello? Hello?”
I hung up, only for the phone to ring again within minutes. Damn caller ID. I let it ring twice before I answered. Held the phone to my ear and said nothing. He said my name.
“Sorry ’bout that. Thought I had th’ wrong numba.”
“So wassup?” His voice was scratchy through the receiver.
“Nuttin’. Jus’ thought I would see wassup witchu.”
“So you only call me when you ain’t got nuttin’ to do, huh?”
I lied, told him I lost his number. It wouldn’t have mattered. I had memorized it. Way he just tore into that melon, the juice running down his fingers that day at the flea market, dripping from his knuckles, made my dick hard. I wanted him to devour me like that, make my juices run.
“Can yuh bite intuh me like yuh bite intuh dat watamelon?”
“Whatchu say?”
“Nothin’. Neva min. Got plans t’night?”
“No. I was jus’ ’bout tuh make some popcone an’ watch th’ game. But I ain’t busy.”
“Well, why ’on’t I come ova an’ we can find somethin’ to do.” I told him I would be there in half an hour. Ma was dead to the world with the TV on Soap Net. She can sleep through a hurricane. I was free-balling under the sweats tonight. I took the keys off the dining room table and snuck out quietly. I put the car in NEUTRAL and pushed it far enough up the dirt road. Neighbor’s mutt barked. I got it up to Mrs. Emma’s house. I jumped in and started the engine. “Made it.”
Clouds of dew caked the windshield. The wipers wouldn’t work. I left the window open. I looked at the address written on torn paper. 1132 Levy. Drove down the street, read off the numbers. 1122, 1129, 1132. He lived in the same house as Bruce, my daddy’s friend, used to. Bruce was out mowing the lawn when he keeled over with a heart attack. The house was a different color from the dull brown it was then. Gray this time, with white shutters. There was an engine in the carport, a broken-down old Chevy Nova in the grass with four flat tires and a popped hood exposing rusty no-good guts underneath. The neighborhood was quiet, only the sound of cars trundling past. I could see and hear the black-and-white TV from his living room. I checked my breath and rang the doorbell. I watched through his window. I saw him and felt nauseous, nervous. I get that way right before I’m about to fuck.
Beams of light seeped through the screen door.
“Come on in.”
The house smelled like motor oil and fish sticks. Tools, clothes and newspapers were strewn about. The TV was an old floor model. The kind they don’t make anymore. He must have got it from some garage sale, the flea market. He’s forever dragging something from out there. Somebody else’s trash.
“Sorry ’bout the mess. Let me move soma’ dis stuff out th’ way.” Sofa springs squeaked when I sat down.
“Didjuh have problems findin’ the place?”
“Naw, um pretty familiar wit this area.”
“You want some to drank? I got beer, juice, Kool-Aid.”
“I’ll take a beer.” He was dressed in a white tee and sweats, a switch from the sun-bleached jeans. The sweats showed off his booty nicely as they rode up the crack of his ass. Perfect with no underwear.
Easy access. My dick was hot against me. I pulled and tugged to keep it down. He came back with two cold beers.
“Jus’ put th’ popcone in th’ microwave. It’ll be ready in a minute.”
“You ain’t got no watamelon in there?”
“Naw. Why?”
“Me an’ Ma call you th’ Watermelon Man.”
“Why?”
“Every time we see you, you eatin’ a slice.”
His raspy burst of laughter erupted from deep depths. “I love it. Grew up on th’ stuff.”
“So who playin’?” I took a sip from my beer.
“Orlando Heat and the Blazers,” he replied. “Fourteen-ten, Heat.”
I really wasn’t interested. I cocked my arm on the head of the smelly sofa. He was glued to the game, shouting. Going on like he was right there in the stadium making all that fuss. A piercing siren of sound came from the kitchen.
“Popcone’s ready.”
He left during a commercial. I watched from the living room as he poured the snack into a bowl. Every corner was packed with old furniture. Checked out his butt. My dick couldn’t get any harder than it was already. Returned with the bowl of corn, shoving a handful in his mouth.
“Where you git all dis stuff from?”
“Flea market mos’ly, garage sales, Dumpstas. Lot of it’s good stuff.”
That explained the smell. I sat the bowl between us, aware of the mound in his sweats. My crazy dick was nowhere near what he had.
“I guess it beats them pricey furniture stores.”
“Yep. Ain’t nobody got dat kinda money.”
I had my fill and moved the bowl to the coffee table.
“Yoon won’t no mo’?”
“Naw, u’m full.” I moved in closer to him. He smelled like deodorant soap. I slid my hands between and pulled. I took his dick. He didn’t make a move. I yanked at elastic. Dick was bigger than most I’ve seen. It curled up to his stomach. I played with his tender foreskin. “Can I do it?”
“Go ’head.”
I moved in and worshipped the most sensitive part. I looked into his eyes while I blew him. My hand was around his shaft with lips tight. A thick scent of crotch stink. Ma’s childhood friend pushed me down on his dick.
“Open yo’ mouth. Deep-throat it.”
I gagged, but he didn’t care. I got scared thinking about how he is when he’s fucking. I went in deep. I didn’t care what was on that old prehistoric TV. Pulled sweats around his ass. I wanted to see it all. I yanked them from his ankles and flung them who knows where. That nest of pubic hair. His dick in my mouth, cut-offs down and around. He reached over below, feeling me up. Them rough fingers between my booty.
“Stand up a minute. I wanna see that ass.”
I turned around, giving him a grand view. He gave me a swift whack. It stung.
“Shake that ass.”
I gave him a lap dance. He glided his dick along my ass. He grabbed and groped, leaned back into the sofa. Said, “Sit on it.”
“Why don’t I suck you off instead?”
“Wanna fuck you.”
My ass is tighter than a maximum security prison. “Um real tight.”
He jumped from the chair.
“I got some lotion.” He fetched it from the bathroom. I finished getting undressed. Even tho he coulda took his time. I wasn’t in a hurry to get fucked. The thought of it going in. What if he rips something? I reluctantly assumed the position. His greasy dick, a rush of the chills. Got it good and ready. He put some of the lotion in me.
“You gon’ hafta go slow.”
“I will.”
I trusted him. It was a disaster with the last guy that tried. After hours he ended up falling asleep. I got away with my cherry attached.
I watched him from the mirror, behind the sofa, massaging his dick.
“Jus’ relax.” He held on to my hips.
That’s what they all say. He started with a finger, loosened me up. I closed my eyes. Oh, the anticipation. He spread me with ease. Things went well. I felt the head of it. Hard, slow, take it easy. The pain bit me. Looked in the mirror and grimaced.
“You all right?”
“Jus’ go slow.”
The pain was less and less. Harder than a beer bottle, softer than a snack cake. He held on to my shoulders. Big bull dick. I watched him in the mirror. His pubes were rough across my ass. I gritted my teeth as he used me. The sweat poured. Mama would have had a heart attack if she saw me now. There was a string of semen. I was coming close. “Don’t come in me.”
His fingers sank into the flesh of my hips. Things were a blur. The house reeked of ass and popcorn. I grunted like a hog in heat. He pulled out. Shot it on me. Dismissed himself to the kitchen. He ran a dish towel over water. Wiped himself clean before returning. My belly was clean of come. I got dressed. Leg one, leg two into my sweats. I worked the neck of my tee over my head.
“Jus’ rememba, I hafta call you, you cain’t call me,” I said.
He walked me to the door. I drove home with a sore ass. An anal virgin no more.
READY TO RIDE
Duane Williams
My buddy Larry, who owns the farm next to mine, asked if I might be looking for an extra hand for the summer. “My nephew Jason from Toronto is gonna be spendin’ July and August with me and the wife,” Larry explained. “He isn’t gettin’ along too good with his parents apparently.” I didn’t ask any questions and, to be honest, I wasn’t keen about the idea. Larry could see I was hesitating. “He’s a real good kid, Neil. Says he wants to be a farmer someday. Like his uncle, I guess.” Larry was charming me with his smile.
“Why doesn’t he work for you then?”
“I can use him once the corn comes up, but that’s not till August. Besides, I already got my hired men for the season. You won’t be sorry if you take him on, Neil. I guarantee it.”
Jason dropped by the next morning, after breakfast, to introduce himself. At eight in the morning, it was already another sweltering day. I was lounging on the back porch in my boxers with a coffee, watching Jason come up the lane on a bike. He was shirtless. As he got closer, I could see that hiring him might be a good idea after all.
“Hi there. You must be Larry’s nephew.”
“Yeah. Hi. My name’s Jason. And I bet you’re Neil.” Jason shook my hand with a vigorous grip. He said he was nineteen, although he looked older. He was definitely a looker. Thick, well-built shoulders for a kid. His pale, muscular arms were roped with veins. We stood on the back porch for a while, shooting the breeze about how the heat wave was taking its toll on farmers across the county.
“How do the cows do in this heat?” Jason asked. He seemed genuinely interested.
“Not great. They spend most of the day over there in the shade.” I pointed at the cows in the pasture. “Yesterday, I had to cool them down with the hose. That or I would’ve had a shit load of steak on my hands.”
Jason laughed as if on cue. “I love being out here in the country,” he said. He took a deep breath in and held it for a moment in his barrel chest. “The air is so clean.”
“Your uncle tells me you want to be a farmer.”
“Yeah, and I’ve always wanted to be a vet too. I love animals. Especially horses. I think living on a farm is in my blood somehow.”
“You take after your uncle, I guess.”
“Yeah, my dad’s always saying I should have been Uncle Larry’s son.” Jason rolled his eyes. “Ever since I visited an experimental farm in grade nine biology, I’ve wanted to be a vet or a farmer. My father thinks I should be a people doctor instead. But then again, he wants me to be lots of things I’m not.” Jason had a hundred questions for me about farming and dairy cows. He wondered why I was living on the farm by myself. He was leading up to the question and finally asked, “Are you married?”
“No. I’m single and happy that way.” I looked at him and winked. I didn’t bother telling Jason I was divorced. Or a closet case, for that matter. Didn’t make any difference really. Besides, I wanted to avoid the subject of Jennie. There were already too many rumors flying around the county about why we’d broken up.
“What about you? You got a girlfriend in Toronto?”
“No. Not really. Not right now anyhow.”
I gave him a brotherly slap on the back. “Single life’s more fun, buddy. Single guys get to fuck all they want. Nobody to answer to but your cock.” Jason was smiling and nodding in agreement. “Looks like you work out,” I remarked, squeezing his meaty shoulder.
“Yeah, I’ve been working out for a few years now,” Jason said modestly. His chest alone deserved a blue ribbon—the light blond hair on his beefy pecs, his swollen, pink nipples, the kind you could chew on until morning. I shifted the growing bone in my boxers.
“Well, you look great. You’re built like a farm boy.”
Jason was blushing. “You think so?” He swatted away a horsefly as it dive-bombed his head.
“Definitely. How much can you bench?”
“Two forty-five’s my best ever.” The fly was buzzing around Jason’s body, refusing to go away. “But I haven’t been to the gym since my dad kicked me out last month.” When the fly landed, it was near Jason’s nipple. “So I’ve lost a little size, I think.”
“Well, you look pretty damned good.”
“Ouch!” With a sudden reflex, Jason flicked the fly off his chest. “Fuck. That hurt.”
“Horseflies,” I said. “They bite worse than me.”
Jason looked down at the bite mark on his chest. “Look at that. The fucker drew blood.”
“At least I don’t draw blood. Not if you put a stake through my heart, that is.” Jason squinted; he wasn’t exactly sure how to take me. I could have jumped him right then and there. “When would you be ready to start?”
“Anytime you want me.”
Truth was, I’d decided to give Jason a job the minute I saw him coming up the lane. “Farmwork’s pretty tough. Sure you’re up for it?” Jason nodded and smiled with excitement. “Only pays ten bucks an hour.”
“That’s great,” he said, his blue eyes filled with enthusiastic fire. He was getting hotter every minute.
“Okay, you’re hired.” My dick pushed hard against the fly in my boxers. I reached down and gave it an obvious squeeze. Jason looked away, staring over where the cows were huddling in the shade.
“You think you’ll have to hose them down again today?”
“If it gets any hotter, I will for sure.”
“What time should I be here tomorrow?”
We made a quick plan for the next morning and said good-bye. Jason jumped on the bike, which was far too small for him, and rode fast down the lane, standing up on the pedals all the way to the road. His beautiful ass held high in the air. My new hired man.
The next morning Jason arrived at six, just like I had told him to. He looked half asleep. His blond curls were flat from a restless night in bed. “I hardly slept. Guess I was a little nervous about starting my new job,” Jason said. I had to loan him a pair of my work boots because he was wearing running shoes.
Jason had never milked a cow, so I had to show him the ropes. He took to it like he’d been raised on a farm. He had no problem handling the cows, including shoveling up the shit. He was even stronger than I’d expected, pushing around the bulls like they were harmless and weighed nothing. Within a few hours, Jason’s T-shirt was soaked. As he peeled it off, I caught a whiff in the dusty air inside the barn. Jason was perfectly ripe.
