“I want you to wake me up whenever you desire.” I cuddled up to him, rubbing my naked body and my wide-awake Junior against his. I didn’t even hesitate to drop to my knees and take him in my mouth. Owen let out a groveling moan and pulled my head closer to him.
“I’ve wanted to feel your mouth on me for hours,” he whispered. I looked up at him, my mouth full. I could only express my desires through my eyes. He started stroking in and out of my mouth, each time letting me take him deeper. I loved licking my tongue over the head every time he started pulling out. I even used my teeth a few times, letting them graze across his head and shaft.
“I usually have such good self-control, but oh, what you do to me.”
He was holding my head tighter, his legs were tight, his cock was getting harder, and his stroking became more determined. I reached up and cupped his balls in my hand, which was enough to send him over the edge.
“Oh yes, squeeze my balls, get every drop out of me.” He pulled me to my feet and pressed his mouth against mine. We shared his wet reward until there was nothing left. “You are amazing,” he whispered again. “As much as I don’t want to be like them, I can’t seem to be able to get enough of you.”
“I understand that feeling.” I pressed my body tightly against his and let the silence speak for us.
“By the way, it snowed…a lot.” He said.
I walked over to the window and looked outside. All I could see was white. My truck, the driveway, and the path leading to the barn were covered. I knew we needed to get on it before the snow turned to ice.
“It’s best we take care of this now. I’ll throw on some clothes. I’ll need to check on my neighbors as well.”
We stepped into the mudroom to shower, share a quickie with me giving him a ‘wham-bam-thank-you-kind-sir’ fuck. Owen hadn’t even unpacked his things yet. He was almost the same size, so he slipped on a pair of my sweats and a spare coverall. Twenty minutes later, we were dressed and ready to brave the cold.
We dug the truck out, attached the snowplow, and loaded the bags of salt to salt the road and my neighbors’ driveways. Joshua and I always had a silent understanding: I cared for the road and people west of me, and he cared for the ones to the east.
The Caylor’s, our first stop, lived closer to the road and owned a smaller farm. They were retired, so the bulk of the land was leased to the dairy. At one time, Mr. Caylor’s great-grandparents owned all the farmland around us, but over the years, the land was sold and parceled out. They were in their seventies with no next generation of children to take over for them. We cleared and salted their driveway and cut a path to their barn. Owen and Cyrus Caylor worked in the barn, tending to the livestock and mucking the stalls. Owen gave the two cows, horses, and four goats a cursory check-up and let me know they were well cared for.
Unlike Sid, who had a helper a few days a week, the Caylors cared for things themselves. I checked the house, ensured their backup generator was primed, went up on the roof, and shoveled as much loose snow as possible. Mrs. Caylor sent us on our way with two loaves of freshly baked bread, four jars of her famous peach marmalade, and a warm kiss on our cheeks, worth more than anything.
It was early afternoon when we got to Sid Turner’s place. Sid’s farm was close to mine and backed up to the dairy.
We might not have shared blood, but as far as I was concerned, Sid was family. I’d known him all my life, and he was the one constant in my life through everything. My father left when I was young. Growing up, Sid treated me like the son he never had. He and his farmhand Hank spent every holiday with my family, a tradition that continued after Cyndi and I married. After my mother died, he was mourning alongside me. He was eighty-seven years old with the stamina of a man in his sixties. He spoke his mind, but with age, the ability to filter his words and be tactful had left him. Normally, I could reel him in, but lately, it was almost better to let him vent than keep whatever he was thinking or feeling inside of him.
His wife died young; she was long gone even before I was born, and he never remarried. Hank, his farmhand for fifty-plus years, died suddenly the year before, leaving Sid in a painful depression. His only living relative, a daughter named Mary, left home at eighteen and never looked back. The last he heard, she was married with married children and living in Chicago. They hadn’t spoken in over thirty years. He made me promise when he passed, I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of letting her know.
We repeated the same process we did at the Caylor’s: plowed, salted, checked, and fed, but I always went the extra mile for Sid. I chopped extra wood for his fireplace and wood-burning stove while Sid and Owen prepared a late lunch. The two of them hit it off right away. Sid lived a simple life, and it was nice not to think about the drama at my place for a few hours.
“What’s Cyndi up to?” he asked after we’d eaten and relaxed with an extra bold cup of coffee in the living room. Unlike most people in our community, Sid didn’t believe in gossip. I hated lying to him, but circumstances dictated I did.
“She went to Great Falls and got stuck there. She’ll be back as soon as the roads are clear.”
“Uh-huh.” He seemed to grunt. There was no fooling him. He knew I was lying. “More like she’s shacked up with someone there.” My mouth dropped open in shock. I hadn’t expected that. I glanced over to Owen, who gave me a half smile.
“You know I don’t throw no punches. At my age, with time flittin’ so damn fast, I gotta say what I gotta say, and I say that little wife of yours needs to be put in her place.”
I didn’t know how to react. I knew Sid didn’t like Cyndi, and for the most part, she barely tolerated him. But why did he pick today in front of Owen to broach such a personal subject?
“I want to tell you a little story.” He said. “It might not be what you were expectin to hear from me, and I might shock you, but I’ve gone enough years without speakin my mind.”
I refilled our coffee cups and silently told Owen to prepare himself. When Sid got started, it was difficult to stop him. Sid sat in his worn-out Laz-y-Boy chair, and Owen and I sat next to each other on a hideously ugly floral-print sofa that was so old it sagged when we sat.
For the first time in all the years I had known him, Sid spoke about his wife.
“You didn’t know Sarah. She was a good, decent Christian woman. She kept a clean home, and during harvest season, she either worked alongside us or was in the kitchen all night cooking to keep us fed. She birthed our three children and even suffered through the loss of two of them at an early age. I suspect that’s what eventually broke her spirit.” He drifted briefly to pay silent homage to all he’d lost.
“To anyone that looked at us, they saw the perfect couple. But Sarah was far from perfect, no one is, but in the shadows, in the bedroom of our life, Sarah was a cold, hardhearted woman. If you had ever watched television shows or movies in the fifties, you would have seen married people sleeping in separate beds. That’s the way it was for Sarah and me. She only allowed me to her bed for the benefit of breeding, and that was all. I was allowed to lie on top, put my hungry cock into her, and pump until I shot my load. As soon as I was done, she pushed me off, pulled her panties up and her nightgown down, and that was that. There were so many times I prayed I would shoot blanks so I could at least get my rocks off regularly.”