Country Boys, page 16
He pulled back, fondling my balls firmly. “I had a feeling,” he smirked, and set to sucking me as hard and fast as I’d ever been treated to before.
“Oh, god,” I groaned, rising up on my toes, working my hips forward in time to the sucking, smacking passes of his mouth. My balls tightened in his hand, and with one last moan I came, holding his head close, thrusting my cock along his tongue as spasm after spasm wracked me and he swallowed every drop.
I sagged against the freezer, completely spent. Ted got to his feet, his hands on my hips, and nuzzled into my neck. “Damn, I needed that,” he grinned, kissing me on the lips. “You all right?”
“Yeah.” I nodded toward the windows out to the darkened street; in the distance, the streetlights blinked yellow. “Hoping the cop doesn’t see the lights on after closing and check up on me.”
“Mmm. D’you have a bathroom where we can clean up?”
“Yeah.” I pushed away from the freezer, picking up my slacks just to carry them in front of me modestly as I led the way to the tiny employee-only washroom.
“That’s better,” Ted murmured, and pressed me tight against the wall beside the toilet, kissing me hungrily.
I grunted, startled, but quickly returned the kiss, dropping my slacks to drag him closer by his still-open jeans. He slid those big hands around the small of my back, crushing me against him until his tongue was down my throat and I could barely breathe. When he pulled back, it was only far enough to look into my eyes. His lips quirked up fondly, and he carded the tips of his fingers through my hair.
“Is Barry working tomorrow night?”
I grinned. “No. Morning shift.”
“Good. See you for a quickie?”
“Absolutely.”
I breezed into the diner the following afternoon with a huge grin. There was no point in trying to hide it; I was pretty sure I’d even smiled in my sleep. “How’s business?” I asked Barry.
“Booming. Hey, question for you.” He rested a pair of black-rimmed glasses on the counter.
I glanced at him; he was still wearing his. “What are those?”
“Found them on the floor by the freezer.”
I swallowed. “Oh.”
Barry shook his head. “Listen, you know I don’t mind the night shift too much. If you want me to take one so you two can use an actual bed sometime, I would.”
I blinked. “What?”
He lowered his head, staring at me mock-accusingly over the rims of his glasses. “It wasn’t hard to piece together, even before these.” He waved the glasses. “You’ve never been this interested in my marriage before. Marilyn says hi, by the way, and thanks for the flowers.”
“Uh.” I looked away, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach. “I guess I figured you’d be against that kind of thing.”
Barry shrugged. “You must want it pretty bad if you’re getting it on in the kitchen. It’s none of my business anyway, but it’s not like I can’t relate, too.”
I shook my head again. “Well, thanks. I didn’t expect this.”
“I have a feeling you didn’t expect him, either,” Barry winked. “You let me go home a few hours and rest up, and I’ll come back before your fella gets here.”
“Thank you, Barry.”
“You’re welcome.” He winked again, wiping his hands on his apron. “Don’t forget: we’re not all conservative around here.”
“BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN”
Simon Sheppard
They’d grown up together, Perry and Tom, in the same little backwater town in north-central Florida, a spot far enough from Disney World to still be an outpost of proud, self-proclaimed crackers. Back in high school, skinny, awkward Perry had had a crush on Tom, who’d been on the football team and seemed unafraid of anything. But it wasn’t till they graduated—Perry with honors, Tom pretty much just scraping through—that Perry had dared speak up.
It was the end of a stifling July afternoon, expected thunderstorms not having arrived, and they were parked out in the middle of nowhere, the two of them in Perry’s dad’s pickup, sharing a joint and staring toward the sun setting garishly over the flat, heat-seared horizon. It was 1989.
“Jesus,” Tom said, exhaling a cloud of smoke, “I can’t stand sticking around this cracker town any longer than I have to.”
“Nothing wrong with being a cracker,” Perry said, then inhaled, paused, exhaled. “But I’m gonna miss you, buddy.” Why the fuck had he said that? Why? Fucking sentimental fool.
“Nah, I’m getting out,” Tom said, “as soon as I can. Perry?”
“Yeah?”
“I got accepted to a college in Colorado. Football scholarship. And I’m going.” A long pause. “But I’ll miss you, too.”
Perry let the smoke out. He was feeling like he’d had enough. “You’re kidding.”
“And why would I be kidding you?” Tom took the joint from Perry’s trembling hand and took a deep hit. Then he reached his right hand over, touched Perry’s face and turned it toward his.
“Tom…” Perry began. “I…”
Tom leaned over, placed his mouth on Perry’s, felt his friend’s lips open, and slowly exhaled a stream of smoke into Perry’s mouth.
Perry took the smoke in, feeling his chest expand, his heart pound, his dick get hard, so hard. He recycled the pot smoke back into Tom’s lungs, then let his tongue find his buddy’s.
The sun had set, it was dark; there was not much of anything around, not even orange groves. Anybody driving by would announce his presence with oncoming headlights in plenty of time. Safe, kind of. Still kissing, Tom let his hand trail downward, over Perry’s T-shirt, down to the bulge in his jeans. Perry, for his part, having dreamed so long of just such a moment, still felt scared and more than a little giddy, though some—a lot—of that might have been due to the grass. Nevertheless, he decided to help out, reaching down and unzipping his own fly. Tom’s fingers burrowed their way inside, pressing on Perry’s hard-on through his rapidly moistening briefs.
It felt amazing.
Tom ended the kiss, leaving a trickle of drool running down Perry’s chin. He undid Perry’s pants, tugged the tattered white cotton briefs down over his friend’s thin thighs, and Perry’s damp, uncut dick sprang forth, into the humid Southern air.
“Oh my god, Tom!” Perry gasped, feeling his cock being enveloped by Tom’s mouth. “Oh, sweet Jesus.” And then, suddenly, everything screamed to resolution, Perry pumping a big load of sperm into Tom’s mouth, and all the while, Clint Black was singing on the radio.
Tom leaned out of the open window and spat out his pal’s sperm. A car’s headlights were heading their way, but the deed was already done.
“You better straighten yourself up, buddy,” Tom said. “You’ve gotta drive me home.”
That was the beginning of it. Perry and Tom sucked each other off a lot that burning summer, and Perry, unlike his friend, liked to swallow. One weekend, when they both had time off from their lousy jobs, Perry was able to borrow his father’s pickup and they drove all the way to Panama City, where they rented the cheapest motel room they could find. That was where Tom fucked Perry for the first time, the first-timer pain softened by illegal beer and a couple of hits of good grass. It was tough for Perry to take it while he was lying on his back, so he straddled Tom’s football-player body and rode his dick, bouncing breathlessly up and down, feeling his guts being stretched by hard flesh, his own erect cock standing straight up, leaking juice, until they both, within seconds of each other, came.
Afterward, they pulled on their swimsuits and headed out to the beach. Lying on the powdery sand, watching Tom run into the surf, his husky body shining with seawater, it occurred to Perry that he’d never felt happier.
There was, really, only one complication to their secret bliss. Carrie. She’d been Perry’s girlfriend through most of high school (the two of them enduring countless “Perry and Carrie” jokes) and she’d chosen the night of their senior prom to inform Perry that she was pregnant and would not, no never, “kill the baby.” Though Perry had been a pretty good student—especially in English, where his writing skills shone—his family couldn’t afford to send him off to college. So he’d figured on a couple of years at community college, and then maybe a transfer to somewhere else. And now the prospect of a kid put all that into question.
Sure, Perry was almost certain that he loved Carrie, and he enjoyed fucking her, or at least he had before pregnancy came into the picture. So if her birth-control pills had failed, well, he would do the honorable thing and marry her. But for now, this one last summer of equivocal freedom, he would get stoned and drunk and let Tom fuck him and not say a word about Carrie…unless asked.
And, at last, Tom did ask him. Maybe he hadn’t mentioned her earlier because he really didn’t want to know. “Hey, what’s happening with Carrie?” he said, one night in late July.
“I’m getting married to her, I guess. She’s expecting. We’re getting married before the kid comes.” Despite his facility in English, Perry wasn’t one to varnish the facts.
“Wow,” Tom said. “Wow. I was hoping that maybe someday…”
He sounded unexpectedly emotional. But Perry thought that Tom—the one who’d be leaving in just over a month—had no right to be upset. Things were the way things were. He rolled over, scootched down, and took Tom’s cock back into his mouth. It tasted saltily of Tom’s recent orgasm, but even so, it started getting hard again within seconds.
Things just were the way things were.
Carrie lost the baby soon after she and Perry got married. It was the first of a series of disappointments, but then, Perry knew, life was really just one damn letdown after another. As the months, and then the years, crept by, he sometimes thought back to those couple of relatively carefree months after high school when he and Tom had all that fun. And he remembered—at night, usually, as he lay in bed next to his sleeping wife—the taste of Tom’s dick, how Tom felt inside him. Oh well, those days were gone forever. He wasn’t really queer, he knew, it was just a fling between friends.
Oh, sure, there had been a couple of other moments. Once, when he was drinking a beer at the Last Stop Bar, he’d met a trucker whose rig had broken down outside town, and they ended up back at the trucker’s motel room, more than half-drunk, the burly trucker barely able to get his big, smelly dick hard inside Perry’s mouth; Perry, not having any erection problems himself, eventually got bored, jacked off, and left. And stuff had happened a couple of other times, too. But mostly, he was faithful to Carrie. Mostly.
At first, Tom had sent him letters every once in a while, letting him know how he was doing in school in Colorado, telling Perry how much he missed him. Perry would write back, with not much news to report, never getting as emotional as Tom seemed to be. What, after all, would be the point? He was married, he was a redneck boy, and Carrie, after a lot of trying, was pregnant again. He never told Tom about that last thing, though, and when Tom sent a letter saying, “You should really come out here, Per. There are mountains, real mountains like you’ve never seen,” Perry never got around to writing a reply. There were a couple more letters from Tom, increasingly pleading, and then the notes stopped coming.
They named the baby Lisa Marie.
Lisa Marie was four when Perry heard from Tom again. It was surprising news, really. Tom had been on the verge of flunking out of college when he met a country-rock band that had come to play a concert at his school. They’d needed a roadie, so Tom had signed on, moved to Los Angeles, and—apparently—now spelled his name “Thom.” The band had gone through a fallow period when the original guitarist had overdosed and nearly died, then gone through rehab, then relapsed. But with their new guitarist—one who could keep his eyes open on stage—they’d scored a big hit, one Perry had found himself humming along to whenever it was on the radio. Now they were going on a nationwide tour, and they’d be playing in Orlando in about a month. Would it be okay if Thom came north on a visit?
“Oh, sure, bud!” Perry wrote back, right away. “It would be great to see you.”
The week before Thom was due to arrive, Perry found himself uncommonly happy. Even Carrie noticed the difference. “You’ve lost that hangdog look,” she said. “Guess you’re excited to see your old friend, huh?” She’d known Thom, of course, but had never much liked him.
When Thom showed up, he was maybe fifteen pounds heavier, and his hair was a lot longer. But it was still the same old Tom, only with an h. Carrie had cooked dinner for them, and they all sat around talking somewhat awkwardly, Perry barely able to control his thoughts. At last, when Carrie was in the kitchen getting dessert, Thom leaned over and whispered, “So how about it, Perry? Want to go out and get hammered and talk over old times?”
Perry just nodded. “Hey babe,” he said, when Carrie returned with the Bundt cake, “Hope you don’t mind, but Thom and I are gonna go out and have a few drinks, catch up on things. We’ll probably be late, so don’t wait up.” He tried to keep his tone as controlled as possible, and, scrutinize as he might, he couldn’t spot a trace of suspicion on his wife’s face.
“So when Mama got sick, I quit community college so I could take care of her. I figured being an English teacher wasn’t all that great an idea, anyhow.”
“And now?” Thom asked.
“I work at a stable over at Ocala.” That was where rich folks kept their horses, something for their daughters to do on weekends. “It’s kind of a long commute, but I like the job, and it pays pretty good.” He didn’t bother telling Thom that the middle-aged businessman who owned the horses sometimes paid Perry generously for rides that had nothing to do with horses.
“Well, I guess life threw us both a few curves.” Thom put his hand firmly on Perry’s thigh. It was all Perry could do to keep the truck from swerving off the road.
Might as well just say it, since his dick had been hard ever since they’d gotten into the pickup. “Thom, you just thirsty? Or are you horny?”
“What do you think?” His hand traveled upward and gave Perry’s well-remembered hard-on a squeeze. “Well, I guess I don’t have to ask you that.”
They wound up in the same cheap motel where Perry had sucked the fat, soft dick of the drunken trucker. They opened the bottle of bourbon that Thom had bought and swigged it down from the plastic glasses that had been standing, wrapped in cellophane, next to the not-very-clean sink.
“Man, I’ve thought so much about this,” Thom said.
Perry felt slightly uneasy and somewhat drunk. “Let me suck your cock,” he said.
Thom’s prick was hefty and hard and it filled Perry’s mouth up with masculine flesh. Jesus, it was good to be sucking it. He felt Thom’s hand on his head, stroking his hair. Thom said something under his breath that might have been “breaking my heart,” something like that. Perry wasn’t sure how he was supposed to react, so he just kept on sucking.
“Hey, back off. I’m real close,” Thom said. Perry did, his friend’s swollen dickhead just inches away. But cum was already drooling from Thom’s piss slit, and with a spasm, the thick cock started to shoot. Before Perry was able to get his mouth back on it, a spurt landed on his hair, but he got to gulp the rest of it down.
“Fuck, that felt great,” Thom said, after he’d caught his breath. “You have no idea how often I’ve thought of that.”
Perry just knelt there, his hard-on still in his jeans.
“You want to get off?” Thom asked.
“Maybe later.”
“So you want to just lie around and talk?”
“Sure.”
They stripped naked and got into the saggy bed. They lay there, side by side, drinking bourbon, not saying very much. Thom rolled onto his side and started stroking Perry’s lanky, stretched-out body. His fingertips moved from Perry’s Adam’s apple, over the curve of his neck, his chest; touched a nipple, squeezed it; then ran over the dark blond hair of Perry’s belly, down to his bush, his hard dick. He grabbed that cock, held on to it for dear life, and felt his own shaft hardening again.
Soon Thom was on top of Perry, grinding his hard-on against his buddy’s. But when he spread Perry legs and began caressing his warm asshole, Perry spoke up.
“Hey, uh,” he said, somewhat woozily, “I really don’t think, with my wife and all, that you should…”
“Hang on.” Thom rolled off Perry and reached over for his tour jacket. Fishing in the pocket, he pulled out a rubber and a little packet of lube.
“You came prepared,” said Perry, “didn’cha?”
It hurt a little when Thom entered him—he hadn’t been fucked in a while—but he soon relaxed into the delicious feeling of his friend thrusting away inside him. He tried to keep his hand away from his own dick, focus on nothing but Thom’s pleasure. But eventually he had to say it: “You mind if I come?”
“Course not. You been waiting awhile.”
Perry’s orgasm was intense, and then Thom pulled out, stroked himself just a few times, and filled up the greasy rubber with his own milky cum, spurt after spurt into the translucent tip.
When they’d showered and gotten dressed, they decided to go for a walk, maybe sober up some before driving back to Perry’s. The motel was on the edge of what town there was, and it didn’t take long before they were walking through a dimly lit field, the crescent moon being socked in behind thick clouds. The crickets were loud. Thom reached for Perry’s hand and gave it a squeeze. Perry squeezed back. As they stood there, silent, hand in hand, there was a zigzag flash of lightning, illuminating cypress and saw palmetto, and seconds later a crash of thunder. A small explosion in the sky.
“Jesus,” Thom said. “Jesus.”
