A gay story: Varsity Low Ch. 11 Thinkin’ back thinkin’ of you
Summertime, think it was June
Yeah, I think it was June
Layin’ back head on the grass
Chewing gum havin’ some laughs
Yeah, havin’ some laughs
You made me feel like the one
Made me feel like the one
The one
Drinkin’ back drinkin’ for two
Drinkin’ with you
When drinkin’ was new
Sleepin’ in the back of my car
We never went far
We didn’t need to go far
You made me feel like the one
Made me feel like the one
The one
Stereophonics —- Dakota
*******
August arrived and I headed west, towards Anders and his Indiana farm. Turnpikes, toll roads, Interstates, black coffee, bad burgers, Ohio rest stops, summer bugs smashed on the windshield; speeding my VW GTI through a hot August night. We’d been apart since the spring semester ended after finals, and I was deranged with pure need for him; his green eyes, killer smile, easy laugh, warm soft fur, girthy uncut dick. I drove hard all night, passing troubled towns with huge car dealerships, dying malls, weather beaten tract houses.
A couple of months prior, I celebrated the end of final exams with Griffin and Jose. We had dinner at The Tudors, which was hands down the best restaurant in town. They were already at table when I arrived.
A smiling Grif got up to hug me. “Trav! Future farm boy lookin’ good!” I was enveloped by his male awesomeness, he smelled good, all cleaned up for our dinner, wearing a deep pink polo with a ‘Country Club of Mobile’ logo. “Anders already headed back to the farm, I hear?”
“Damn Grif. You clean up real nice for a Bama boy.” I clowned. “Yeah, he wanted to get right home to the farm and help out. I fuckin’ miss him already.”
Jose stood and held out his hand, giving a firm manly handshake. “Hey. I’m Jose Hidalgo. We’ve had some classes together.” Whoa. Dude was epic hot. Tall, varsity LAX athletic, mop of black curls, devil gleam in shining dark eyes, wide smile of of white teeth in dark scruff, tiny gold hoops in each ear, lending him a vibe of rapacious conquistador prince. The kind of velvety brown skin that begged to be touched. I’d noticed him around campus, as his male beauty and charisma were hard to miss, usually with a few of his preppie blond LAX bros in his wake.
“Travis Ravenel. Call me ‘Trav’. Great to meet you.” I gave him my full on blue eyed male gaze and he returned with his alarmingly hot dark eyed version. Whoa. Cool, cool, be so very cool.
Three perfectly dry Grey Goose martinis arrived, frosty cold stems, helix spirals of lemon twist. I raised my glass; “To surviving finals without loosing our minds. Happy summer!” They both laughed, we clinked and drank. Jose was clearly no stranger to top shelf cocktails.
“So, Trav, what is your summer plan?” Grif asked.
“Mmm. June and July home in Richmond, working full time in stepmomster Vera’s commercial real estate shop. Copying, collating, filing, driving things to FedEx, fetching coffee, tending spreadsheets. They want me to get some ‘work experience’ whatever that is. Come August, I am off like a shot to Anders’ farm in Indiana, to turn myself into his farm boy. What are you up to, Grif?”
“Home to Mobile for a short visit. I’m keeping the flat in Canal Place, taking some easy summer classes, and working full time for Caleb on the campus grounds crew. Blow some weed, drink some beer, play some ball, work on my tan, swim at Northland pool.” Grif sighed.
“Working for Caleb; that is hot.” I tried not to leer.
“It would be, but Caleb made it very clear it is ‘hands off’ while I am on the payroll. I gotta respect his boundaries…he is not a dude to be fucked with.” Grif shared.
“Jose. What is your plan?” I asked.
“Home to the family place in Darien, Connecticut. The ‘rents are both with Goldman, they are never home, and probably won’t notice I’m even there until August.” he laughed. “I’ll road trip down here and hang out with Grif, maybe coax him away to our place on the Outer Banks for some beach time and golf.”
Grif gave a crooked grin, looking down, suddenly bashful. “Yeah, come back and crash with me, any ‘ol time.” Whoa. Griffin was a smitten kitten, something I never thought I would see.
Salads arrived, the martinis yielded to a nice Malbec, just the right bit of dirty. Jose excused himself to take a call from his LAX coach and headed out front.
Grif looked at me, eyebrows up, an expression of puzzled wonderment, like a cartoon character who’d just been hit over the head with a board. “There is some blazing chemistry with you two.” I said quietly.
“Yep. I am roadkill. He is so outta my league.” he sighed.
“Do not think that way. I saw how he looks at you. Ramp up the southern swagger and Grif magic. It sure worked on me. Everything good that came my way at this fuckin’ college started that October afternoon we met in Sennwick Library, remember? Anders, Caleb, weed, fun, sex, friendship, more fun, more sex, lots more weed…it was all ‘cuz of you. Could Jose be ‘the one’?” I asked.
“Maybe. He could be ‘one of the ones’. I’m considering my options.” Wicked Grif grin.
I laughed. “There we go. That’s the Griffin I know. Just the right kind of slutty.”
Jose returned to our table and we gorged ourselves on thick slabs of medium rare prime rib au juice, served with Horseradish. Old school yum. Another bottle arrived, we drank and ate. Lime sorbet for dessert, coffee. Jose fought off my valiant effort to get the check, whipped out a strapping wad of cash, tipped well, and was thanked by all. Jasper’s warning about my spending came to mind, and I had to smile. Not getting this tab; no worries dude.
Outside, we stood next to Jose’s new black Jeep Wrangler, topless, open to the late spring night. “Great meeting you, Jose! Get Griffin outta here and down to OBX for some beach time and golf. He needs a real vacay.” I said.
Jose laughed, “Will do, Trav. Have fun on the farm…let Anders turn you into a farm boy. I want to see more of you Fall semester, a whole lot more.” He gave me a naughty wink. Whoa.
I hugged Grif. “I will not see you before I head home to Richmond. Swagger and magic. You can make anything happen,” I whispered in his ear.
“Thanks. Happy summer, Trav! Give my love to Anders.” Grif enveloped me, big hands on my ass.
They drove off together. I had almost expected to be invited back to Grif’s flat, to get stupid-high and have a hectic sweaty three way, but no. Griffin’s agenda had shifted, and I liked him even more for it.
I threaded my way south from the Indiana Turnpike at South Bend, making my way on two lane roads, a tidy network of sleepy towns and green farms, little traffic away from the highway. Getting closer, I pulled over in a tiny village called Burr Oak, where the road got wide in front of Osborne Seed. I texted Anders:
ME: in Burr Oak, getting close
ANDERS: good work, right on 14B, look for the huge oak tree on the left marks the drive, I’ll be on the porch, can’t wait…
ME: got it, on my way
I found the big oak tree and turned in. Two story house, mid 19th Century, set back on an easy rise of lawn, white clapboards, tall sash windows, wide front porch, steep pitched roof of silver standing seam metal. Friendly sunny vibe of home. Riot of naturalized flowerbeds around the porch; Zinnias, Dahlias, Daylilies, tall Phlox. Big clay pots of thick red geraniums. Fresh American flag spiked out from a Doric porch column. I liked the place instantly.
Anders waved and grinned from the porch, vaulting down the front steps as I brought the bug spattered GTI to a stop. Sleeveless tee, gym shorts, brown as a berry, wide shoulders. thick muscles and natural fur. His hair was shorter back and sides, making his handsome mug leaner and more manly. I dove into his splendid arms, every fiber of my being relaxing as he bear hugged me. I huffed his scent, showered, male, uniquely Anders, Fuck all the way around, I had missed him.
“Trav! Welcome! You look yummy, swimmer boy!” He kissed me, boyish, eager, horny.
“Damn Anders, you are farm boy hot! I missed you…I drove all night, like a maniac on the lam.” I laughed. He put his arm around my waist, leading me to the porch steps, where an elderly English Pointer greeted me with slow tail wags and one low friendly ‘woof!’
“Who is this handsome canine beast?” I crouched down, the dog wiggling into my arms, giving face licks, gentle, sweet natured.
“This is Duke. He runs the place, dontcha’ ya old boy? Yep, lord of the manor.” Duke wagged with joy, gave another low ‘woof!’
Anders took my hand, leading me around the main house, Duke at our heels. “C’mon. I’ll show you the cabin house, where you’ll be staying.” Another huge old oak tree, and a tiny cottage, freshly painted board and batten, circa 1930’s. Two rooms, more fresh white paint on bead board, heart pine floors, vintage bath with large ball & claw foot tub. Anders let me take it in, grinning, suddenly bashful.
“Awesome! I love it!” Old iron bed with white chenille bedspread, scruffy vintage easy chairs, Victorian chest. Clean cut and pointedly spare, like his dorm room back in Lambeth Hall.
Anders was bursting with pride. “I cleared out all the old junk and excess furniture. Fresh paint, inside and out. New mattress. New window AC. I used Bona on these old wood floors. New faucet and a good hand shower on the tub. Windows washed, fixed the screens. Fresh new toilet seat. Clean white sheets and towels. We don’t live like your family does, but I wanted to make this nice for you.”
“It is splendid, all the more so ‘cuz you did the work yourself. You are the best boyfriend, ever. I love you, man.” I kissed him.
“My HS buds, Clayton and Winkie helped with the painting and fixing the roof. I am so glad you like it, Trav. Gimme your keys, I’ll move the GTI back here, and bring in your gear. Draw a bath if you want, get clean and relaxed from your drive, and then I’ll show you around the place.” I gave him the keys, started the bath, stripped down.
He returned with all my bags in one trip. Muscled Thor could carry shit. I was naked and he dropped the bags and enveloped me from behind, I could feel his thick girthy erection through his shorts, and I sprang eager wood, 7.5″ cut, he reached around, took my blond pink dick in his big farm rough hand. “Sorry my hands are so rough” he whispered.
“Don’t be. Put those rough paws all over me, werewolf boy!” I laughed. “Wait.” I paused the bath, fished fresh lube from my gym bag. I dropped to my knees, tugging his shorts down, freeing his 7″ of girthy drooling thickness, heavy Nordic foreskin already back from his blunt shiny glans. I went down, slow, fast, going deep and holding, starving for him after our months apart.
“Unnngh, fuck yeah, Trav, suck it! Whoa, don’t make me cum!” I pulled back and looked up, thick pecs, rug of dirty blond fur from collar bone to cock shaft. Fearsome Viking prince getting a blow job.
“Fuck me. Rough. Use my hole. Make it hurt. Own my ass!” my voice low, rough, dirty.
“OK. I can do all that.” he laughed with horny joy. He moved me to the bed. pushed me back, my feet on the floor, ass at the edge. He dropped to his knees and went down on me, hungry, kinda’ frantic, then slowing, easy southern style the way I had taught him, with finger tip ball touches. He looked up, big green eyes, gave me a wink.
“Ahhhh! Don’t make me cum! Fuck me!” I was in some kind of zone, primal need. He stood between my my legs, found the lube, and slow greased his male girth in my sight line, foreskin sliding over the glans, letting me watch him prep for taking my dude hole.
He lubed my cock with his other hand, easy, lite touch, slow teasing. I pulled my legs back, held my ankles, he lubed my boy hole, two fingers in. “Fuck me!” I ordered, begged, pleaded, demanded. He teased my hole with his blunt greased dick head, my ankles on his wide varsity wrestler shoulders, then went balls deep in one expert thrust, grunting. “Unnngh!” The pain was quick, perfect, radiating to every nerve ending.
He held, balls deep, and stroked my dick, getting me in the zone, then he was pounding my ass, while giving me a handie, a storm of muscle and fur covering me. “I gotta cum! Now!” I shot, hard, everywhere, like my soul streaming outta my dick. “Annnngh!” He slowed, balls deep, pleasuring me with his male power, while I came back to Earth.
His turn, I reached back and touched his big fuzzy scrot, cum ready balls scrunched up tight, he pounded my ass hard, full rut, making yelping grunts while unloading his spunk deep inside me. He collapsed on top of me, my jizz getting into his sweaty fur, huffing his scent, weight of muscle upon me.
We fetched around, he eased out, gentle with me now. “Daaaaamn, Trav! I guess you did miss me.” pushing a couple of sweaty tendrils of his strawberry blond mane back from his forehead.
“God damn, I needed that!” we laughed at our sweaty train wreck of hectic male lust. “Bath?’ I asked. Remembering how to walk again after being so epically taken, I went and turned the taps back on in the big claw foot tub. Anders got in first, settled back, I got in between his thick muscled legs, relaxing back into his beefiness and wet fur, enveloped in his arms, relaxing in the hot bath water. “This tub is awesome. Fits us both perfect.”
“Yeah, I thought you might like it.” his finger tips touching the smooth planes of my chest.
“Why is it called the ‘cabin house’?” I asked.
“It was built in the 1930’s on the site of the old cabin the first settlers raised when they cleared this land to farm. When they built the main house in the 1840’s, the cabin became just another outbuilding. There is a small family cemetery in the back forty, Gramps and I keep it cleared with the bush hog and string trimmer, so the brush and hedgerow does not take over. I’ll show it to you.”
“Cool, yeah, I wanna see the whole place.” I said.
“OK. You will like it here, I just know it, Trav.” We washed each other, rinsing with the hand shower, slow and easy. How I had missed just being with him. We got out of the tub and dried each other. I admired his summer tan lines, the way they enhanced his meaty male ass, dusted with dirty blond fur.
He dressed. “Get settled in Trav. I’ll bring you a sandwich, then you can nap, rest up from the drive. Gran and Gramps are up in South Bend for the day, they’ll back for supper. He slipped out, I unpacked, leaving the AC off, preferring the low warm breezes thru the screens, songbirds nearby.
Anders returned with a hearty ham and swiss on thick home baked bread, a glass of milk, some awesome chocolate chip cookies. “Gran made cookies for you.” he grinned as I wolfed the lunch. He held the milk glass to my lips, I gulped it down, some dribbling onto my chin, he licked it off with his wide pink tongue.
“Thanks…so good!” feeling suddenly sleepy, the all-night drive finally catching up with me, totally relaxed from our hectic fuck and slow bath.
“Take a good nap, Travis. I’ve got chores. I’ll fetch you before supper.” he kissed my cheek, slipped out the screen door with the empty plate. I opened the bed, and soon plunged into a deep nap, naked and uncovered, bath fresh, country breezes on my skin.
I awoke to find Anders sitting on the edge of the bed, holding my ankle in his hand. “Wake up, naked boy.” he said.
“Whoa, yeah, did I sleep all afternoon? Is it supper time?” I asked, still in nap fog.
“Not quite all afternoon. Get some clothes on your hot blond nakedness. I wanna show you the house before Gran and Gramps get back.”
“Sure, yeah, cool.” I got up, splashed cold water on my face and buzzcut at the basin to wake up, pulled on cargo shorts and polo, presented myself to Anders who was kicked back in the easy chair. “Is this OK for supper?”
“Hell yeah. C’mon, nap boy!” leading me out of the cabin house to the work-a-day jumble of back porch; bins, tools, firewood, a well used potting bench. In through the back door, mudroom, small office, stairs down to a cellar of rough stone blocks.
Big kitchen, last updated in the late 1940’s including the range. Newer stainless fridge, looking way out of place. Wide sink with dual drainboards, under a trio of big casement windows, overlooking a large, well tended vegetable garden enclosed with some serious deer fencing, “Nice garden!” I said.
“Gran’s pride and joy. She will put you to work out there, so I hope you are ready for some stoop labor, rich boy.” Anders teased.
“I’d love to work in that garden.” I responded. The center of the kitchen was a vintage Formica dinette set in chrome, pink and gray, clearly the nexus of life on the farm. Smells of recent baking, roasting, cooking made me love the room.
“Not quite like Vera and Jasper’s Richmond kitchen, huh?” he asked.
“Not at all. This kitchen has soul.” I responded.
“Good answer, Mr Ravenel.”
The living room was a happy chaos of furnishings accumulated across several generations, grouped more or less towards a big field stone fireplace. “I put up the flat panel with a satellite dish so they can watch all the MLB games. Say nothing bad about the Chicago Cubs or Gramps will put you out…old dude loves his Cubs.”
The dining room was a time capsule of Victorian treasures. Round table with six balloon back chairs. Complicated sideboard and matching vitrine displaying Haviland china that was already old when WWI started. Chandelier with etched globes and long rectangular prisms. “This is the place for holiday dinners. I help Gran polish it up. Pretty cool, no?”
“Fuck me, this is right out of a museum. You do know how rare and special this is, right?” I asked.
“Yeah, I get it.” Anders said pridefully, looking around at his heritage.
The old staircase was easy with low risers and deep treads, just the right amount of old house creaky-ness. He led me to his room, neatly made twin bed, tidy student desk with laptop and books from campus. Shelf bristling with HS sports trophies and dangling medals. Bookcase containing an early set of Hardy Boys detective novels in their distinctive blue binding.
“Those were Sam’s. The Hardy Boys, Gran’s cooking, the bench press and free weights in the cellar pretty much kept me from going full-on catatonic when I first got here after Northbrook.” he sighed. I put my arm over his shoulders and pulled him into a full hug, not saying anything, as anything said aloud would be trite and cloying and clueless on my part.
It was still early, Anders and I settled in on the front porch with cold green bottles of Rolling Rock to await Sam and Lydia, Duke sprawled out with us on the cool porch floor. Comfortable silence, clinking our beer bottles together every now and then, for no good reason, other than just being together.
An aged GMC pickup turned into the drive, Anders and I both waving from the porch, and came to a stop. Sam and Lydia got out, Duke and Anders went down to greet them. Strapping Anders carrying two big paper bags of groceries like they were nothing in his arms.
He led them up to the porch, Duke wagging and saying his low ‘woofs!’ “Gramps, Gran, this is Travis, but we mostly call him ‘Trav’. Sam had the same wide shoulders and thick manly build as his grandson, handsome in his seventies, also with Anders’ easy grin.
I stepped up with my firm dry handshake and eye contact; the ‘Washington handshake’ Jasper made me practice with him when I was a boy. “Very pleased to meet you sir. Travis Anson Ravenel.”
“Good to meet you, Trav, welcome to our little spread. Anders has been like a crazed pup getting ready for your visit.” he grinned.
Lydia was taller than Sam, stone gray hair clamped up in a bun. She was trim and angular, excellent posture lending her an air of authority, dignity, and grace.
“Pleased to meet you Lydia, thank you for having me here for August, it is great to be here.” She kissed my cheek.
“Good to meet you Travis. Anders talks about you non-stop. I hope you like fried chicken, sweet corn on the cob, and okra, ‘cuz I am making a welcome supper, just for you!” she laughed.
“That all sounds awesome, Lydia, I love it. Can we help?”
“You boys sit for a while, then you can shuck the corn and set the table with Anders. I need to get these things put away and organized.”
Anders gave me a wink and a grin, “Chill out here on the porch Trav, I’ll just put this stuff away.” He followed them inside with the heavy grocery bags massing his awesome biceps. Duke sat between my feet, demanding to be petted.
Anders and I shucked the sweet corn on the back porch and then set the table. Lydia, busy at the range sang ‘On the Sunny Side of the Street’ for no other reason than just knowing the lyrics.
Food on the table, we gathered, Sam saying grace, quick and low key. “Lydia, your fried chicken is like, the best ever! What’s your secret?” I asked.
“Thank you, Travis. I cook it slow, over a low flame, cool and drain it on a wire rack over a pad of paper towels. Never let the chicken touch the paper towels.” We crunched on the sweet corn, Anders crunching the most, making quick work of three cobs.
Sam toasted my arrival with ice tea, Anders and I with bottles of Rolling Rock. I was peppered with questions; the drive out, final exams, campus life, Richmond, Vera & Jasper. They already knew a lot, as Anders had freely spoken of our Easter weekend at the Richmond place, and shown them pix of the house.
“I have fresh blueberries with vanilla ice cream for later. I went crazy at our neighbor’s ‘pick your own’ blueberry patch yesterday. I will bake us a cobbler tomorrow.” Lydia shared with us.
I piped up, “I’ve baked pies and cookies with Alva but never a cobbler. Could I help?”
“Why sure Travis, I will show you some baking. Who is Alva?”
“Our live-in housekeeper back in Richmond. She’s been with us forever and is more like a really fun aunt.” I answered.
Anders piped up. “Yep, Alva makes a fierce apple pie” giving me a wink.
“Well, if you know pies, you can do a cobbler.” Lydia gave me a smile.
After supper Anders and I cleared up and washed dishes, dispatching Lydia and Sam to go put their feet up in the living room. I washed, Anders dried, as I did not know where anything went in Lydia’s kitchen. Anders put a big hand on the nape of my neck and affectionately shook me. “Good work, Trav, They both really like you. I can tell” he grinned.
Later we dished up vanilla ice cream with blueberries, and the four of us enjoyed desert on the front porch. The berries were plump and fresh-awesome.
**
One morning Anders and I got his canoe down from its rack in the barn, and placed it on sawhorses behind the back porch, and hosed it down, wary of spiders. A tandem from REI in lightweight T-Formex composite. “Nice! When did you get this?” I asked.
“Mmm, thanks, got for my 16th birthday. Very lightweight, it can go solo or tandem. We are going tandem on the Yellow River, swimmer boy. Wear board shorts; there is a secluded swimming spot I know.” he grinned.
Sam ambled by. “You boys going out on the river?”
“Yep. We’ll need the truck for most of the day. I wanna go in from the launch by the old bridge.” Anders said.
A flash of annoyance crossed Sam’s face. Anders clearly had not asked him in advance to use the truck. I quickly reached in my pocket and got out the key and fob to my GTI and offered them to Sam, “Y’all can take my VW if you need to go out today, full tank of gas, feel free.” I offered, grinning, hopefully sparing Anders a scolding.
“Why thank you Tav!” Sam said, taking the keys. “I’ll run Lydia up to the WalMart in Plymouth and out to lunch. Your car looks like fun to drive.” he grinned.
“I’m sure Lydia will enjoy that. Take her someplace nice for lunch. Have a good time.” I assured Sam.
Sam headed inside, annoyance diffused. “You are one quick cool-headed player, Trav…kept me from a dust up about taking the truck. Thank you for that.” Anders laughed.
“Mmm. Just remember how I saved your ass.” I leered. “I might want it later.” After changing into board shorts, we secured the canoe in the truck bed with Bungi cords. We rolled down the drive and headed out to the launch, which was just a wide cleared sandy spot by an ancient one lane bridge. Anders positioned the truck off to the side, so others could access the river launch while we were on the water.
He took the lead spot in the bow and I was back in the stern. On the water he instructed me how to sync up my paddling with his. The hardest part was focusing on my paddling, and not on the thick muscles working so perfectly in his wide shirtless shoulders and back, all accented with a fratty backwards baseball cap. Dude was country boy hot, and he was mine.
The river was August shallow, with an easy current. We were paddling upstream, which took some effort. At some spots fields and pastures came right up to the river banks, but mostly we went through a tunnel of untouched old growth forest; cool, green, primeval.
We came to a wide place in the river, the current slowed, Anders steered us to a beach-like low bank of packed sand. “This is the swim spot.” he said turning back to me with a lusty grin.
We beached the canoe, stowed the paddles, and kicked back on the cool packed sand, gulping bottled water from his pack. Farther up the sand bank, a circle of ample stones had contained many a campfire. The spot was secluded, quiet, mysterious. Generations of country boys had made their way here before us. It was a secret place to drink beer, fish, share both truths and lies, swim, smoke weed, enjoy some furtive boy sex, kick back in a cool spot during the heat of the day.
“We can swim naked if you want.” Anders said, the words alone getting us both up and shucking off our board shorts and wet sneakers. In the green river water we swam, splashed, laughed. He would have me get up on his wide shoulders, carry me for a while and and then toss me off backwards into the water. It was pure joy to swim naked together, outdoors, on a hot day. Blue sky, green leafy trees, only the dragonflies bearing witness.
After swimming we sprawled back on the sandbank, warming naked in the sun, in no hurry to get back into clammy board shorts and wet sneakers, both caught in a trance of warm sun. I reared back on my elbows to see that Anders had a thick chub going on, seven inches of girthy uncut male splendor, jutting up along his furry belly from his untrimmed sandy blond jock bush. “Go down Trav. Be my hot suck boy.” he growled, not even opening his eyes, so confident that I would eagerly service him.
I went down, licked his big fuzzy balls, scent of river water, sweat, wholesome young male musk. I took his thickening pudd in my mouth, working the foreskin over the blunt glans with spit, tongue, lips. “Unnngh!”…he liked that. I went deep and held, slow, fast, edging him, making him want it. He put one hand in the brush of my blond buzzcut, held me halfway down and shot his jizz in my mouth, low grunts indicating his horny joy. I stayed on, swallowed it all, working out some post cum. I eased off and moved up, kissing him gently, my lips still cummy with his sperm.
Without asking I propped up his head with the backpack, straddled his chest, and fucked his mouth rough with my 7.5” cut inches of pink blond dick. I was rock hard and pre-cum drooling, horny-crazed from having just serviced him, his taste in my mouth. I shot hard after only a few strokes, cumming so big my entire body shook. Anders took it all, swallowing like a champ. I fetched around and pulled out, cummy spit on those awesome pink full lips.
“Whoa. Swimming naked seems to agree with you, Trav!” he teased.
“Fuck yeah, sorry for the rough, I just, like…had to.” I was suddenly bashful after using his hot jock mouth so richly.
“No worries, Trav. I’m all yours, all the time. I fuckin’ love you.”
“I love you too, river boy. Thanks for bringing me here. This place is magic.” I said, looking around at our river spot.
“I knew you would like it. Glad it got you so ramped up; a win for me. Let’s go back in the water, wash off the sex, cool off before we head back. We’ll be going with the current going back to the launch, steering with the paddles, not much work.” he said.
We swam some more, dried off, reluctantly got back into board shorts and sneakers. We cruised back down river, barely even having to steer with the paddles, the slow river current taking us back to the old bridge, the launch, Sam’s truck.
**
Another hot morning after breakfast Anders asked, “You wanna go swimming today, Trav?”
“Yeah, it is already Hades hot. Where do we swim?” I asked.
“The public beach at Lake Max in Culver. We can hit Stan’s Barber Shop and get fresh cuts, then go set up on the beach, kick back, swim, get chili dogs at the root beer stand.”
“Yeah, that sounds awesome. Lake Max?” I asked.
“Lake Maxinkukee. The public beach is part of a park in Culver. It is a natural lake, deep, spring fed. The water can be bit cold, but that sure works on a scorcher like this.”
“Cool. Let’s go.” I grinned.
“Great. Board shorts, sneakers no socks, sunnies. I’ll find the old army blanket, pack some water in my back pack. We’ll take the GTI, so gran and gramps can have the truck if they need it.”
Anders drove, and we cruised into town, which had a ‘Mayberry’ vibe. Flags and wholesome people with happy kids and dogs on a hot August day. Anders snagged a parking spot without even trying in front of Stan’s, which was a time warp from the ’50’s.
Stan cut my hair first, buzzcut, finished the nape with hot foam and straight razor, He had a gentle, yet confident touch. After being neatly shorn, I sat and pretended to look at my phone, really watching Anders in Stan’s chair. I got a chub when Anders put his head forward, the foam and straight razor on his thick muscular wrestler’s neck.
We paid, said thanks to Stan, and headed towards the beach, where Anders had still more great parking karma. “Whoa, I like this place!” I said, grinning at Anders, the lake sparkling thru the leafy green ribbon of park.
“Yep, I knew your would, swimmer boy.” We spread the blanket and set up our gear. We lounged and then went in to swim some laps parallel to the shore. Anders churning the water with his chunky muscular crawl while I did an easygoing backstroke. The water was pretty cold, but was a respite from the heat.
We sunned on our blanket, watching a flashy, powerful speedboat tow a water skier. We were in and out of the water several more times to cool off, then dozed, tee shirts over our faces.
“Are you getting hungry? I sure am. Let’s head over to the root beer stand; get some chili dogs.” Anders said.
“Yeah, I am starving. Let’s eat some dogs!” I answered.
“We can leave the blanket and stuff here on the beach, no one will mess with it.”
Shirtless, we ambled through the ribbon of lake front park and across the road to the root beer stand which appeared to be a vintage drive-in from the 1950’s. Anders ordered for us, and we snagged a picnic table in the cool shade of the carport-like structure. Chili dogs and onion rings in red plastic baskets lined with wax paper, frosty glass schooners of excellent root beer. We dove into our food.
“Fuck me, this is good. Thanks for bringing me here.” I said. Grinning Anders had chili smeared all over his sexy mouth.
“Mmmm, yeah, we had to come here. Nexus of the Culver universe in August. Should we get two more dogs?” He asked.
“Yeah, and more root beer. No more rings. You need money?”
“Thanks, no, I am good.” he grinned. I looked around while he got the dogs. The place was busy; flirty local teens, young families with happy kids, an elderly couple enjoying big root beer floats. Simple joy of a summer day. Anders returned with two more dogs and root beers, which we both demolished. Sated, in cool shade, we were in no hurry to head back to the beach.
“Have you heard from Grif?” he asked.
“Not since right before I drove out here. He and Jose were headed down to the Outer Banks.” I responded.
“Mmm. Jose. Trouble on the hoof. I kinda’ know him. Griffin is a player, but Jose plays on a whole ‘nother level. Boys, girls, couples, small villages, faculty. Dude is a Minotaur posing as an undergrad. He gets himself talked about. Parents are loaded and he’s real flashy with money. There’s rumors in the athletic department that Jose and the LAX coach have hooked up. Lots.” Anders said, leaning forward, voice low.
“Yikes. I guessed some of that, but did not see it all. Grif seemed pretty smitten when we had dinner after finals. Do you think he will get his heart stomped by a pair of expensive LAX cleats?” I asked.
“Maybe. Grif is whip smart; he will probably read the writing on the wall and back away slowly before that happens. I hope. We should say nothing at this point, but be there for him if and when things go sideways. Who knows? Grif might be the one to hold Jose’s attention for awhile, or longer; tame the chaos. People can change, sometimes even for the better.” Anders shared.
“OK, Very wise. You’ve known Grif longer than I have; I will follow your lead. You might wanna visit the boy’s room and wash the chili off your mouth, my adorable summer werewolf boy.” I teased.
I took a rather excellent two-headed shirtless selfie of us in front of the root beer stand road sign, and we headed back to our beach spot.
We kicked back, and I texted Vera:
ME: chili dogs, rings, root beer at the lake; it is like the 1950’s here
(selfie attached)
VERA: golly, you boys look all brown and mid-west healthy
ME: must be our fresh barber shop haircuts
VERA: nice cuts. we all miss you at the firm, I hired a new girl who does nothing but spill coffee and make personal calls; even so she has somehow managed to jam all the printers
ME: LOL, truly impressive! keep her away from my spreadsheets
VERA: r u ok for money? lmk
ME: I am good, thx, u r the best stepmomster in the history of the world
VERA: LOL, u know it! have that carved on my tombstone
ME: LOL, don’t be indulgent
VERA: never that! XOXO
Anders was sprawled out next to me on the blanket reading an old paperback edition of ‘The Catcher In the Rye’.
“Is that from the reading list?” I asked.
“No. I reread it every summer. Holden always has something new to say to me.” he replied. Whoa. Another glimpse of Ander’s secret wavelength. “We should head back soon. Gramps might have chores for us before supper.” closing the book and looking at me over his lowered RayBans. “That haircut makes you look totally fearsome and boyish cute, all at the same time.”
“Thanks. Your haircut makes me wanna hold your head down on my big hard dick.” I teased.
He laughed, “OK, horny swimmer boy, plenty of time later for naughty hanky-pank. Let’s go in the water and cool off before we head back. No lap swimming; I’m still full of chili dogs.” We swam out, tread water some, and back to the blanket, drying ourselves in the hot sun, then breaking camp and heading back to the car and the farm.
Sam was working in his small office off the mudroom. He had no afternoon chores for us, and happily declared us free men until supper. We had ice tea and Lydia’s excellent chocolate chip cookies at the kitchen table.
On the back porch, Anders said, “Damn, it is hot today. Let’s check out the AC in the cabin-house. I tested it when I put it in, but a scorcher like this is the real test.” In the cabin house he locked the door behind him and put the AC on while I closed the windows. “Whoa. Cooling down fast.” he grinned, clearly pleased with himself.
“Yeah, good work stud. Thank you.”
“Anything for the comfort of your serene blond hotness.” he mock bowed.
“Nap in the coolness, then bath before supper?” I suggested.
“Yes! I need to get spooned and nap, then we can wash up.” He got right into spooning position, and I scooped him up, knowing just how he liked to be held. Muscles relaxed and his breathing slowed. My face against his freshly clipped nape, smelling of witch hazel from the barber, lake water, and clean summer sweat. I tumbled into deep drooling nap sleep, my splendid boyfriend safe in my arms.
I awakened on my back to find Anders blowing me, my 7.5″ of blond dick wet with his spit, his full pink lips wrapped around my shaft. He was slowly ramping up, using the easy southern style I had taught him. I kicked back and let it all happen, putting one hand in the freshly clipped hair on the back of his head, moving down to his thick muscular wrestler neck, his total masculinity making his servicing even hotter. He went for the close….”Unnnngh!” my grunts low as I spilled my sperm in his mouth, he gulped my load down like a champ. He stayed on my dick, getting all the jizz, letting me come back to earth.
He reared back, wiping his mouth with back of a big fist. “Whoa. Somebody needed head.” he grinned.
“That was an awesome way to wake up from a nap. What got you ramped up?”
“What you said back at the lake. About holding my head down on your dick; you made me want it.” he said.
“Can I return the favor??” I asked, trying not to leer.
“No thanks. I’m savin’ my load to fuck you later tonight. Did you bring the Speedos? Can we play ‘Swim Team’?” he looked all cute and boyish, asking for his slice of wholesome kink.
I laughed. “Yes, and yes. Anything you want, stud. I wanna be your swimmer slut boy.”
We got up, I started the bath, he turned down the AC, as the two rooms were at the right level of cool. I had packed some of the same honey bar soap that Griffin used, and we lathered each other, rinsing with the hand shower. After washing and rinsing his beefy ass, I went in ears deep and tongued his clean pink bro hole. “Ahhhh! Yeah, lick me Trav!” I gave him just enough rim to get his girthy 7″ uncut dick hard.
“Save that dick for later, varsity boy. You’ll get more rim, I promise.” We got out of the big tub and dried each other.
“Shit. I have to go up to my room get on some real shorts and shirt. No board shorts or tank tops at supper table; we don’t want Gran to get all prickly with us.”
“Got it. Never that.” I grinned, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Meet you in the kitchen, we’ll set the table and see if Lydia needs any help with supper.”
After supper we cleared up the kitchen, shooing Lydia into the living room to put her feet up and watch TV with Sam. At the big sink and drainboards Anders and I worked well together, shoulder to shoulder, he washed and I dried. I had learned Lydia’s tidy kitchen well enough to put things away without asking where they went. ‘A place for everything, and everything in its place’ was her mantra.
“This drain is getting slow again; I will have to snake it out before Gran gets after me.” Anders mused. It was cool the way he looked after the old place, as well as Sam and Lydia.
With the kitchen ship-shape we headed out to the front porch. I kicked back in one of the old wicker chairs, while Anders lit the citronella candles on the railing, the nubby glass jars glowing with flame. “These things are kinda stinky but they do keep the bugs off.” Anders chuckled.
“Mmm. Smells like summer. I like it. Should I fetch some weed?”
“No, Not up here on the porch. That would be a bridge too far for Gramps and Gran. Would you like to do a shot or five of Jack?” he countered, wicked grin.
“Hell yeah. Jack and I are old friends. We go way back.” I drawled. He fetched a bottle of Jack Daniels and two shot glasses out from the house, and we did three rapid shots each.
“Whoa. Let’s slow this down to warp speed. I don’t wanna get too drunk to fuck you, swimmer boy.” he said low and even.
My face was getting warm from the whiskey. “Mmm. Lead me astray. I wanna be your slut boy. Beat me, whip me, make me write bad checks.” I clowned for him.
Anders laughed. “No bad checks or whips. I just wanna use your sweet little ass. Let’s sit here for a while; they will go up soon.” We kicked back and put our sneakered feet up on the railing, looking out into the profoundly dark country sky, listening to the crickets, the soundtrack of our August nights.
“Do you like it here Trav? I mean really?” he asked in earnest.
“Hell yeah, I love it here. Wish I could’ve spent the whole summer with you instead of working for Vera.” I sighed.
“No. That was exactly the right thing to do. Vera and Jasper are really cool in their own special way. They approved of me, even after I shared my gruesome tale of family woe. Don’t alienate them; they can do a lot for you even above and beyond all the money.” he advised, with his quiet wisdom. Whoa.
“What made you decide to share about Northbrook with them on your first visit? It was pretty bold.” I asked, as he poured us another shot.
“Mmm. Given Jasper’s line of work he could easily find out all about me with, like, a few calls and some time on-line. I figured it would be better to be totally upfront with them instead of it seeming like I was hiding my grim and scary past. It was also the right thing to do.” Astute. Strategic and adorable. How could I be so lucky?
Lydia stepped out onto the porch. “Sam and I are headed up to bed. I see you boys found the whiskey.”
“Yep. Trav and me be drinkin’ some Jack, Gran.”
“Well, you boys are old enough to know what hangovers are. I will leave you to it. Just don’t get all stupid and burn the house down or puke in my sink.” she teased.
“Never that. I will keep him in check, Lydia, pinkie swear.” I said.
“Thank you Travis. Anders, do not think for a minute that you are ever too grown for me to give you a good hard smack.” She mock scolded.
“Love you Gran. Smack me any ‘ol time.” Anders laughed. She kissed both of us on the cheek and went back in.
“They are not big drinkers, which is ironic given my great great grandfather ran moonshine out of the barn during Prohibition.” he shared with a sardonic grin.
“Cool. Sounds like he and the bootlegging Ravenels would have gotten along just fine.” I laughed. “You wanna head back to the cabin house? I’ve had enough Jack; Lydia is surely right about those hangovers.”
“Yeah, she is wise; I’m done if you’re done.” he put the bottle and shot glasses back in the kitchen, took my hand and led me back to the cabin house in the inky darkness.
In the cabin house we got naked. “Should I find the Speedos for some ‘swim team’ play?” I asked.
“No. No kink. No rough. No talking. Stand still, right there.” He stood behind me, close enough for me to feel his heat and sense his thick muscular physicality without actually touching, his hot breath on my neck. He reached around, and with the lightest. almost imperceptible touches he grazed my flat nips slowly with his rough fingertips. I responded with an involuntary full body shiver.
He continued his slow touches; arms, shoulders, belly, upper thighs, while giving small equally light licks with just the tip of his tongue on my nape and ears. I descended into a trance, not wanting to break the spell he had me under. All I wanted was to surrender to him, feel his hot whiskey breath on my skin.
After what could have been 15 minutes or a hundred years, he moved me to the bed. whispering “Get flat on your belly for me Trav, and relax.” I complied and he was up top, giving his cat like licks and tongue flicks slowly down my spine. My trance deepened, and I would shiver with pleasure. The licks continued on the blond tight mounds of my ass, slow, slower, slowest.
He was now greasing his girthy uncut 7″, I could only hear the greased stroking. He parted my glutes and went deep, same slow light licks on my pink blond butt hole. “Unnnnnngh!” I moaned out, getting tongued by this fearsome stud. Two lubed fingers gently teased my dude slot, getting more insistent, then his blunt thick dickhead was there.
I relaxed fully and let him in, feeling his thick hardness. Slow, slow, slow, until he held balls deep. The full muscled weight of him was upon me, and he hooked his arms under my shoulders, his face on my nape. He fucked, deep digger fuck style, but slow and gentle while holding me, ramping up like Ravel’s ‘Bolero ‘. He came, nearly silent, hunching me hard, arms wrapped tight around my upper body. I felt him relax, staying in me as he fetched around from so richly taking me.
He slipped out, gentle. “Stay right there, Trav.” getting a towel and cleaning us both up. “You can talk now, Trav, it’s OK.”
“I ah…that was…just beautiful.” I managed, starting to return from the magic place he had led me to.
“Yeah, it was. I just wanted to be like, really slow and gentle with you.” he said, grinning and bashful.
“Ok. You can be slow and gentle any time. You had me immobilized, in a trance.” Anders smiled, turned me on my side and he spooned me, all of his male awesomeness wrapped around me. I snuggled into the rug of thick chest and belly fur against my back and butt.
**
Two or three mornings a week, Lydia, Anders and I would get up at dawn, have our coffee and work in the vegetable garden before the heat of the day rolled in. She taught me to place pads of fresh straw carefully under the watermelons ripening on their vines to keep them from getting ‘dirt bottom’ from resting directly on the soil.
I would follow her along the row of tomato cages, moving the bushel basket forward as she harvested the ripe heirloom fruits, while chopping weeds between the cages with a heavy hand tool called a Trupper. Anders brought up the rear, forking compost from a rusty old wheelbarrow between the rows as we retreated.
The three of us wore wide brimmed camo jungle bush hats Anders found at an Army surplus store in Plymouth. Lydia taught me about Okra and Eggplant, and to be extra gentle with the thin rinds of the round heirloom watermelons she grew.
After some effort, she settled into a folding chair in the shade fanning herself with her bush hat. I finished my Truppering, carried the bushel basket to her and sprawled out on the soft grass. Shirtless, gym shorts, muddy Merrels, sunnies, sweaty and garden dirty. Anders had gone off to the barn to get the wheezy old tiller which we used to mix the compost into the soil.
“Travis, you are natural born gardener. I am so happy you are interested.” Lydia said.
“I hope so. Teach me everything you know. I kinda’ love it. Every square foot of our Richmond property is tended by grounds keepers, so I am a total newbie.”
“It’s about knowing exactly what to do and when to do it, and that comes with experience. And, letting the plants be themselves without a lot of fuss. There has been a garden on this spot for well over a hundred years, and the plants know what to do.” she instructed.
Anders returned wheeling the tiller, and sprawled back on the grass with me. “Damn, it is getting hot. I’ll till the tomato rows, and then we should be done for the morning. Travis, you take the spading fork and churn the mature compost pile. Just break up the crust so the rain can get inside.” Shirtless, his rug of chest fur was matted with sweat and dirt, his bush hat cocked back at a raffish angle, the brim folded up on one side, sexy as fuck. I tried not to leer in front of his grandmother.
“OK, boss. I am all about compost.” I clowned. Lydia watched from her chair as we finished our work for the morning, me churning the compost heap with the spading fork, Anders muscling the tiller through the tomato row, the old Briggs & Stratton engine puffing out small clouds of blue smoke.
Later that day, after dinner, Lydia washed and sliced one of the vine ripened round heirloom watermelons we had harvested. The four of us ate the slices right down to the rind, trying hard not to get covered in the sweet juice. “Watermelon heaven” a grinning Sam declared. I agreed, my face covered in juice.
**
The evening was cooling down fast from the heat of the day, a clear sky promising some good country star gazing, far away from the light pollution of urban sprawl. Anders’ HS friend Clay was coming over with beer, and we were setting up around the fire pit out back. Duke stood watch, giving slow tail wags when I patted his noble canine head.
Anders was teaching me how to build an outdoor wood fire in the makeshift fire pit. He used long cuts of split wood, laying a large fire teepee style. “The trick is to get the first three pieces of wood standing to make the teepee, filling the center with kindling, then adding the other long cuts.” he instructed. He would stick the tip of his meaty pink tongue out over his full lips while concentrating on a task, unaware of just how boyishly hot I found this.
I fetched more wood and kindling from the pile kept dry in the barn lean to, wary of splinters and spiders. “There are two kinds of men in the world; those who can build a fire and those who can’t. When civilization collapses, we can build good fires.” he clowned for me.
A truck rolled slowly up the drive, parking next to my GTI by the cabin house. Clay emerged from the cab, easy grin, he and Anders doing the stylized jock bro shoulder hug thing, with fist bumps. He was tall and rangy, close cropped dark hair, baggy shorts and tank top, heavy manly dark scruff, coarse dark fur on sinewy forearms and chest. The heavy scruff made him look older than Anders, even though they had graduated HS in the same class, Clay ruling the basketball courts, Anders ruling the wrestling mats. Dude was hot, in a casual, unstudied way.
I stepped up, we shared a firm dry handshake, and I looked him the eye. “Hi. Travis Ravenel. ‘Trav’ for short. His easy grin got wider.
“Clayton Conner. Call me ‘Clay’. Are you visiting for a while?” he asked.
“Yeah, staying until it is time to head back to campus. I’m taking Anders back with me. I wish I could’ve spent the whole summer here, the farm is so awesome.” I said. “We had the canoe out on the Yellow River the other day.”
“Excellent. Yellow River is really just a big stream that floods in spring, but it is good kayaking and canoeing. I grew up here, born and bred.” He gave a friendly, genuine vibe.
“Should we ignite the flames?” Anders asked.
“Hell yeah”, Clay responded. Anders lit his carefully constructed teepee of firewood. We watched the flames mount and take hold. The flames danced in Anders’ green eyes and Clay’s dark eyes.
“Nice fire, Prometheus.” I teased.
“Never any doubt” Anders swaggered. “You boys keep an eye on Duke. I’ll go make us some popcorn.” Anders trotted back towards the main house.
Clay put a big friendly hand on my shoulder. “Help me get the cooler from the truck, Trav.”
His truck was a new Ford F150, black, loaded, with dealer tags. “Awesome truck!”
“Thanks, but it is not really mine. I work for my uncle’s Ford dealership in town. Some days I am lot boy; some days in a shirt and tie on the sales floor, learning the biz.” he sighed. He pulled two beers from the cooler and we leaned back against the tailgate. Lone Star, in cans. It was cold and good; we chugged.
I hope this is not too white trash for you, Trav.” indicating the beer.
“Not at all, Clay. Perfect for an August night like this.”
“Anders was like a little kid getting ready for Christmas, fixing up the cabin house for your stay here. I helped him with the painting and fixing the roof. I’ve never seen him so happy. I was his first friend here when they fetched him down from Northbrook. 8th grade. You know about Northbrook, right Trav?”
“Yep, He told me a while back.” I sighed. “Terrible thing for him.”
“Yeah, it was bad, probably far worse than we could ever imagine. He’s done really great; he was barely speaking when I first met him, like he’d been erased from the inside. If anyone were to say, break his heart, I would be fully obliged to kick their ass.” he said low and even.
“I understand, but that ‘anyone’ will not be me. I watch over him at college, and he’s met my family down in Richmond. I try and make him happy.” I responded.
“I think you do make him happy, Trav.” he smiled at me. “Let’s trade numbers. Call me if anything goes sideways for him at college. He was a big fish in a small pond here with sports and all, and I worry about him being back east with lots of uppity strangers.” Numbers were loaded into phones, and I helped him carry the cooler back to the fire, each of us taking a side handle.
Anders returned. We settled into the three least decrepit of the vintage webbed lawn chairs, gulping Lone Star, crunching popcorn, fire sending sparks into a clear sky loaded with stars. Duke sat between my feet, demanding petting by poking me with his graying snout.
“How are things with Jessica?” Anders asked Clay.
“We’re still broke up. She told me I was a skirt chasing horn dog HIMBO who should, by all that is right and holy, be promptly neutered.” Clay laughed.
“Ouch! That was harsh, even for Jess.” Anders responded. “She will fetch around; she’s always been crazy about you.”
“Yeah, well, now I am regular fucking a waitress up in Plymouth. She’s like, 35 or so. No expectations, no judgements, just friendly cum and go. It sounds trashy, but it is really cool, at least for a while. She’s a wildcat in the sack. Likes to be up top.” Clay wicked-grinned.
Anders and I laughed. “Good for you, bro. Hit it and quit it while you’re still young.” Anders said. We raised our Lone Stars and touched the cans together.
“In the words of my favorite Hoosier son, John Cougar Mellencamp. ‘little pink houses for you and me’.” Clayton clowned. We laughed and touched our Lone Star cans once again.
“So when are Sam and Lydia gonna stop by Conner Ford and pick out a new truck? You know I will get them a deal.” Clay asked Anders.
“They won’t do that until the old truck is just a rust stain on the pavement. You know how they hate to part with money.” Anders sighed.
“Sam is one of the three biggest landowners in the county. He should have a new truck.” Clay implored.
“You are preaching to the choir, Clayton.” Anders grinned. “I will tell them you offered to hook them up with a deal, but keep your expectations at like, zero.”
I pricked up my ears while appearing politely incurious, wondering just how much land Anders might one day inherit. Anders tossed some chunks of split wood onto the fire, arousing a storm of sparks into the sky.
“You boys wanna blow some weed?” I asked.
“Hell yeah!” Clay responded with delight. “How is it that the quiet clean cut preppie boys always have weed?” Clay asked of Anders who shrugged, giving me a nod and a naughty wink.
I went to the cabin house, and selected the fattest spliff from the stash Griffin had rolled and packed for me before I fled campus. Thanks, Grif! I found the clip and lighter, returned to the fire.
“Let’s get stupid-high and totally bliss out on our sky of summer stars, right Duke?” Duke wagged his old tail three times to indicate his approval. I blazed, took a huge hit, passed it to Clay, who expertly took a strapping hit, passing it to Anders. Clay was a weed boy. I knew it.
We hit and passed, probably too many times. I gaped at the flames, transfixed. “Trav! You still on the planet, bro?” Clay teased.
“Ah, yeah. Still here but kinda’ baked.” Clay and Anders grinned at me, well baked themselves. We all kicked back and looked up at the profusion of stars and crescent moon while the fire crackled, popped, and hissed. The scene primal, young men by a fire on a starry country summer night. Old Duke was sprawled out on the wood chips at my feet, happy just to be with us. I half listened as they gossiped about various HS classmates, seemingly few of whom had been college bound, some of whom were already afoul of the law.
We ramped down from the weed. Anders went back to the house and returned with three big bottles of water, and a huge plate of Lydia’s excellent chocolate chip cookies, which we promptly inhaled.
“I better head out. Work tomorrow.” Clay said pensively.
“You OK to drive Clayton? You can crash on the couch if you want, you’ve certainly done that before. Lydia won’t mind.” Anders offered.
“I am good, thanks Anders. You boys keep the rest of the Lone Star, I’ll get the cooler whenever.” We walked him to the truck. “Thanks boys, this was good.” Clay put both hands on my shoulders, looking me in the eye. “Great meeting you, Trav. Thanks for getting us high. Be a good man and look after Anders back at that fancy pants college.”
“Will do, great meeting you Clay, hope we see you again before we head back.” I said. They did their shoulder hug jock thing, and Clay rolled the truck slow and careful down the drive, signalling his turn at the road. “Will he be OK?” I asked Anders.
“Yeah. He lives not far from here.” Anders reassured.
“He is totally cool. This was fun.” I put my arm over Anders’ wide powerful shoulders, pulled him close and tousled his strawberry blond mane. Anders kissed me, deep and soulful.
“You are so awesome. I love you Trav.”
“I love you too, fire boy.”
“Lemme put the Dukester inside so they won’t come looking for him. C’mon old boy!” Duke wagged and grooved on the attention from Anders. He gently coaxed slow-moving Duke inside the back door. Duke safe for the night, Anders took my hand and led me back to the cabin house. “Go on in. I’ll bank the fire and be right back.”
I kicked back in the scruffy old easy chair. He came in, with two cans of Lone Star. “Lock the door and get naked for me. Slow. Right there. Lemma see all of you.” He obliged, putting his hands behind his head, easy massing of splendid biceps. I got up and huffed his hairy untrimmed pits; wood smoke and all-day unshowered Anders scent. I was in heat. Wicked horned butt pirate grin on that tanned manly mug. I was roadkill yet again.
He sprawled back naked in the chair where I had been. “OK Trav. Your turn. Strip for me” he purred. “Real slow, swimmer boy. Lemme see that perfect little ass.” I did as I was told. He got up and we kissed, slow, horny, all the time in the world, his big farm rough hands gentle on my nape, back, and ass. We fell back onto the old iron bed, and he positioned our bodies for some side sixty-nine, going right into it, cocks in mouths.
He sucked me with abandon, wet eager suck sounds, all his best tongue moves. My blond cut 7.5″ jumped in his mouth, as I took his girthy uncut 7″ in mine, working the foreskin over the glans, going deep and holding, wanting all of him.
We touched each others balls, and the sixty-nine made us a closed feedback loop of young male randiness, each ramping up the other. He unloaded first, spilling his clean wholesome sperm in my gulping mouth, low muffled grunts as he stayed on sucking on my dick, not missing a beat.
The taste of his sperm launched me, and I shot hard and long into his mouth, while keeping his cummy thickness in mine, muffling my grunts. We stayed, letting ourselves savor each other while the room slowly stopped spinning. We eased off and rolled onto our backs. “Daaaahmn, Trav! What was that all about?”
“That was awesome. Must be the stars. Or were we just both wicked turned on by Clay?” I asked.
He laughed, “Yeah, that could be it, he does have a vibe. I think it is ‘OK’ as long as we’re honest about it. Clay and I messed around in HS. Just wholesome teen boy stuff. He has a nice dick, dark hairy, cut, 8″, kinda’ like Grif’s.”
“Mmmm. Wicked hot, thanks for sharing. I am more turned on than jealous. Do you think he would…like to to join us?” I asked.
“No. He is totally into pussy now. He knows about us, and is actually very happy for me. I would not want to dent my friendship with him for a one-off three way, hot as that would surely be. Cool?”
“No worries, you are right. Just a slutty notion on my part.” I sighed.
“Remember when I told you that you could ask me for anything? Ask away, but you might not always get it. Very cool that you were so open and honest with me.” he said quietly. “I’d better get in my own bed. Don’t wanna freak out Gran.” He pulled on his clothes and sneakers, kissed me. “Sleep well, swimmer boy.”
“Mmmmm. I am sooo sleepy. Goodnight, stud.” I said. He slipped quietly out the door, and I slipped naked into the cool white sheets that smelled of bleach and lavender, falling fast into deep drooling sleep.
I was up with first light, slipped on old sweats, Merrells, and a loose fitting baby blue tank top. I headed to the main house, kitchen door from the back porch unlocked. They never locked any doors, which I still found mildly alarming. I was the first up, and brewed a full pot of coffee, quiet as a cat burglar. I took a huge mug out to the front porch and settled in one of the old wicker chairs to savor the dawn.
A sleep rumpled Sam stepped out the screen door onto the porch, Duke at his heels, with a big mug of coffee. “Morning Trav. Mind if we join you?”
“Good morning, Sam. Please do.” Duke wagged, poked me with his snout, and settled at Sam’s feet.
We slurped coffee. “Thanks for making coffee, Trav. You brew a good pot, strong enough to get my old heart started for the day.” he chuckled.
“My pleasure Sam, glad you like it.” happy with his compliment. We sat in comfortable silence, hearing only the storm of morning songbirds, watching the mists rise from the vast soybean field across the road, distant woods just an abstract smudge of green at the far edge, all of it Sam and Lydia’s. The dewy lawn rolled gently down to the road. Cool air already giving way to the heat of the August day. An ancient Buick LeSabre rolled slowly past, Sam and I both waved.
“You get it, don’t you Trav? You see this place. The soul.” Sam asked in a low voice.
“Yeah, I really do. There is a quiet magic here. The green and blue. The sense of seasons. The way the air feels on my skin. The clean taste of well water. The slant of sunlight in the late afternoon.”
Sam chuckled. “I knew it. Some people don’t get it. At all. But you do. You understand Anders, too. I see it. I know you boys are more than just friends, and that is OK. I just want him to be happy, to have some peace after the terrible thing that happened with his parents. I am glad he found you, Travis.”
I was touched, felt my eyes getting wet. “Thank you Sam. I am the lucky one. I think I am watching over Anders, but more often than not, he is watching over me.”
More comfortable silence. Songbirds flew in and out of the huge old oak tree at the foot of the drive. A trio of fearsome dragonflies cruised past. A great swath of naturalized daylilies bloomed around the slightly crooked mailbox down by the road.
“Well, I better get dressed for the day.” Sam sighed. “Anders and I need to call on one of our tenant farmers whose fields are under-performing, remind him of the terms of our contract. We will also call on my neighbor with the blueberries and Christmas trees. I’ve offered to buy their land, have them stay on and run the operation. Just need to coax them along towards the right decision.”
“Cool. Sounds like you’ve got plans.” I grinned. The affable farmer vibe cloaked something steely and enterprising in him, and he just pointedly gave me a glimpse. I saw that he and Jasper would get along like a house on fire, after they sized each other up. I had to smile. Little pink houses for you and me.
He rose, still spry and manly in his seventies, alpha dog. “Thanks for the coffee, Travis. You are a good man.” Duke followed him inside.
I sat for a while, letting Sam’s words into my soul, then headed back to the kitchen for more coffee. Anders was at the range, running his big breakfast game with skillets of eggs, griddles of bacon and French toast. He wore one of Lydia’s flowered aprons over baggy boxers and an old tee, backwards baseball cap, looking silly and hot at the same time.
“Mornin’ Trav!” He looked me up and down. “Nice tank top, swimmer boy!” running his pink meaty tongue over full lips, lusty gleam in big green eyes.
“Mornin’. Should I brew another pot?” I asked.
“Yeah, that would be helpful, swimmer boy.” he sang back.
Lydia sat at the table with a mug of coffee, beaming at the sight of her strapping grandson expertly making breakfast for all. “Mornin’, Travis. I am just sitting here like a queen, letting Anders make breakfast.” she laughed.
I smiled. “You are a queen. Queen Lydia of the Heartland, reigning from your kitchen throne.” I teased, kissing her on the forehead.
“Oh, Travis, you are a silver tongued devil. You should run for office!” she teased.
“I might just do that one day, your royal highness.” Anders plated and served his awesome breakfast, I poured from a fresh pot of coffee. Sam came down, dressed for his day, Duke slow at his heels. We lit into our plates, going quiet.
Lydia spoke up. “Travis, we’d like to have you out to the farm to share Christmas with us. We cut our own tree from up the road, and decorate it with all the old family ornaments. I’ll teach you more baking if you want.”
Anders pitched in. “Mmm. We can go sledding if there is enough snow; Clayton and me know all the best spots. There’s ice skating too, at his uncle’s pond. S’mores and Jack Daniels by the fire pit in the snow.”
“Yeah, thanks, sounds great, a real country Christmas. I will need to clear it with Vera and Jasper, see what they may have planned. They entertain a lot over the holidays, so it won’t be like they are sitting home alone. Sometimes I think they forget I am even there.” I responded, instantly relishing the prospect of being excused from Vera and Jasper’s relentlessly catered holiday circus at our Richmond manse, with their professionally selected and perfectly decorated tree, braying swarms of social climbing guests.
“It will be too cold for Trav to stay in the cabin house. We’ll clear out the spare room, get a new full size bed, fix it up just for him.” Lydia planned out loud.
“Yeah, new full bed and paint. Anders should have a new full bed for his room. I’ll pay Clayton to help with the hauling and painting. Get whatever you need. We’ll spruce up the living and dining rooms too. Fix up the old place. I want the boys to be comfortable whenever they stay here.” Sam directed, giving me a quick wink over the top of his ‘South Bend Tribune’.
“We attend midnight services Christmas eve. You will be joining us.” Anders declared.
“Yeah, I have been to church before. I can probably go again.” I clowned.
“Travis, you are such a card this morning! Anders, ain’t he a card?” Lydia guffawed.
“Trav is sometimes a card, but he is always a silver tongued devil.” Anders gave me a lusty grin before returning to wolfing his breakfast.
Plans were being made. I was part of those plans. It felt real good.
WG