Shy (26 page)

“That would be my assessment,” Frank said, glancing at Samson, then gazing back at me. “Eggs gathered?”

I nodded. “Cows milked?”

“Yep.”

We nodded good-bye to the chickens that were still milling about. They seemed to be talking quietly among themselves, as grieving friends do, no doubt praising their late acquaintance, whatever his name was, and wondering what had possessed him to play chicken (if you’ll pardon the expression) with a demented fourteen hundred-pound hog.

In a companionable sort of way, Frank took my hand and led me toward the barn. I wondered what was up. Then, glancing down at Frank’s crotch, I saw what was up.

Holding my hand, he dragged me past the cows that were just finishing up the hay in their mangers, which they had been plucking at while Frank relieved them of their milk. Then, one by one, as they finished their evening snack, they would wander back out into the barn lot. From there they would take their customary evening constitutional down to the pond and soak their feet, or feed on wildflowers in the pasture, or simply stand around in the copse of trees by the chicken house and watch the sun go down as they talked quietly among themselves of world events.

Deep inside the barn was a rickety wooden ladder that climbed up the back wall and disappeared into a hole in the ceiling. I could hear faint music wafting down from somewhere above. Frank climbed up the ladder first, with me hot on his heels. By the time I reached the top rung and followed him through the hole, he was already standing among the hay bales, tugging himself out of his clothes. I saw that this was no spur of the moment decision on Frank’s part. He had planned this little tryst, right down to a milk bucket with ice in it and a six-pack of beer cans cooling inside, a blanket strewn in a corner with a mattress of loose hay tucked underneath, and a beat-up old portable radio playing soft music, hanging on a nail from the rafters.

The door that opened from the second-floor hayloft at the back of the barn was flung wide, and in the distance we could see the pond and the trees and the sun setting slowly behind the tree line on the horizon. The passing clouds made the pasture piebald with gliding splotches of sunlight and shadow. A gentle evening breeze cooled my skin as I followed Frank’s example and stripped down to absolutely nothing. When we were both naked, he popped two beer cans, handed me one, stretched himself out on the blanket in the corner, and patted the floor beside him. I dropped down at his side and pressed my body alongside his. We lay there sipping our beers and watching the sun set through the hayloft door. Frank’s dick lay hot against my leg. My dick lay hot against my stomach, or it did until Frank casually scooped it into his paw and gently held it there throbbing, while he clutched his beer with his other hand.

In the cool of evening, in the silent shadowy barn, as we lay watching the sun ducking behind the treetops in the distance, I could hear my heart beating out the rhythm of my love for Frank. And when I rested my head against Frank’s warm chest, I could hear his heart beating out the same sweet song for me.

“Very nice,” I sighed, enjoying the beer and the quiet sunset and the wee movements of Frank’s fingers twiddling with my dick in a casual, yet not so casual way. I felt moisture on my leg where Frank had pressed himself against me. Hot moisture. Looking down, I saw that Frank was already starting to drip. So was I, as a matter of fact. Frank gently smeared the precome oozing out of my cock across my slit with his thumb. Once in a while, he would put his thumb to his mouth and kiss it away. My dick throbbed in hopeful anticipation every time he did. I began to tremble. Frank felt it, and pulled me closer with a satisfied sigh.

“Can I have another beer?” I asked, trying to sound casual, but my voice was little more than an excited croak, and Frank smiled at it.

“Sure,” he said, reaching for the milk bucket. His voice was pretty croaky too, and he smiled even wider when he heard himself speak. With our sex hormones in hyperdrive, we sounded like a couple of tree frogs.

I wrapped my fingers around his cock just like he was doing for me, and together we lay there, sipping our beers, casually stroking each other until we were as hard as fence posts, and occasionally brushing our lips together just to let each other know that we had more than sex on our minds. There was love there too, we seemed to be saying, as if we both didn’t know it already.

“Stanley’s sniffing around,” Frank whispered, and I realized immediately that we were not up in this secluded hayloft just for a romantic interlude. There were things besides romance that Frank wanted to talk about.

“He’s doing more than sniffing around,” I whispered back. “He’s actively seeking a buyer for the farm, or that’s what he was intimating while he sat on the fence playing with himself for my benefit.”

“All those phone calls.” Frank grinned.

“Yep.”

“He can’t sell it, you know. It’s not his to sell.”

“That’s what I told him.”

“You didn’t tell him about the will, did you?”

“Nope. Not a word.”

Silence fell as we sipped our beers. We watched the evening sky darken through the hayloft door as we thought things over. My leg was starting to thump like Pedro’s does when he’s getting his ass scratched. Lord, Frank’s fingers felt good on my dick.

Finally, Frank spoke. “We’re going to have to talk to Dad. Find out exactly where the will is, maybe see exactly what it says and make sure it’s as ironclad as Pop implied it is. I can’t imagine Pop going to a lawyer to have the will drawn up. He probably did it himself. I suppose it’s legal doing it that way, but that doesn’t mean it’s Stanley-proof.”

“We also have to make sure there are duplicate copies,” I said. “If there’s only one, and Stanley doesn’t like what it says, all he has to do is destroy the thing and there will be no proof there was ever a will at all. Then half of everything will go to him no matter what your dad’s wishes are.”

I looked up into Frank’s face and saw a lot of hurt going on behind his eyes. “I wouldn’t mind giving Stanley half of everything anyway. He’s Pop’s son too, after all. But, God, the guy just keeps doing mean things. He really is a rotten human being, not helping me out in San Diego, treating you like pond scum, breaking up your relationship with Jerry, and now trying to seduce you and come between us. These are not nice things to do. What is it you always call Stanley?”

“A dick?”

“That’s it.”

Silence reigned again. I looked down at Frank’s fingers manipulating my cock, then over at my fingers manipulating Frank’s cock. Both cocks were so engorged with blood they were standing up like parking meters. They even had little slits in the top to stick your coins in, if one wanted to be fanciful about the whole “parking meter” analogy.

After thirty minutes of stroking I was ready to pop.

“Frank,” I said, breathless. “If you keep doing that, I’m going to come. In fact, I think I’m going to come whether you keep doing it or not.”

“Oh dear,” Frank said with a gentle smile. “Mustn’t let
that
go to waste.”

He set his beer aside and slid down on the blanket until his lips were at the same level as my dick, which was throbbing and bobbing around in his fist like a snake about to strike. Looking up at me with his heavenly green eyes, Frank slid my foreskin down and pressed his lips to the underside of my cock, just below the head. He gently nipped me there with his snow-white teeth.

Oddly enough, that’s all it took. When my come shot out and splattered his face, his hair, and part of the barn wall behind him, Frank cried out louder than I did.

He took me into his mouth to finish the job, and damned if I didn’t come again. I clutched a fistful of his hair, and his eyes opened wide as my sperm hit the back of his throat. He laughed and a little stream of come dribbled out the corner of his mouth. He licked it back in with his tongue. I released my grip on his scalp before I snatched him bald-headed, then fell back on the blanket and tried not to die of happiness as his mouth continued to suck me dry.

“Wow,” he breathed, when he was sure I was finished. “That was something.” Then he said, “My turn.”

He gently laid me back on the blanket and squatted over me, his hot fuzzy ass splayed out on my chest, his balls on my chin. I scooted down a tad and scooped those gorgeous plump balls into my mouth, one after the other, while Frank took matters into his own hands. Eyes closed, he pumped his cock directly over my face, occasionally stopping to rub the length of it along my cheek or bop me in the forehead with it just for fun. I stroked his strong hairy legs, his perfect back, his beautiful smooth chest, all the while looking up into his handsome face as he looked down at me and pounded away at his beautiful hard cock directly above my nose.

Soon he was breathing in frantic little puffs, and his thighs were tensed tight around my chest. He scooted his ass back a smidgeon to position the head of his dick in the place it most wanted to go, and I opened my mouth wide and happily invited it in. Frank slid his luscious cock between my lips and clamped his eyes shut as I closed my mouth around it and drew it in. Every fabulous inch. And just as my lips traveled so far down his cock that his pubic hair was tickling my nose and it was all I could do not to sneeze and giggle and praise God Almighty for making me gay and giving me Frank, both in the same lifetime, Frank clutched my head in his hands and launched his seed into me with a happy series of grunts and groans and gasps and shudders. Hugging his ass, I lapped his juices up like well water, every drop, until finally Frank collapsed on top of me, just as contented and spent as I was.

This time it was my turn to say wow.

So as soon as I could talk, I did say it.

Twice.

Chapter 14

I
T
WAS
a Saturday morning in early August. I had been with Frank on his dad’s farm for the better part of two months. The work was hard and never ending, but my love for Frank, and his love for me, and those wonderful moments we found to sneak off and be alone, carried me happily through it. As time passed, I grew even closer to Frank’s dad, and I know Frank was pleased by that. Once in a while he would simply sit back and watch Joe and me interact with each other. During those times there was always a gratified sparkle in Frank’s green eyes and a gentle smile twisting his lips. He was thrilled that Joe and I got along so well, and somehow, I think, in Frank’s eyes, it confirmed his own good sense in falling in love with me. At least I hoped that’s what was making him smile, and not the memory of how I looked in my egg-gathering outfit.

I was still a bumbling fool when it came to helping out around the place, but my heart was in the work, and God knows I tried, and that seemed to be enough for Frank. It was with more than a little astonishment that I finally faced the fact that I was actually beginning to enjoy life on the farm. I hadn’t had to breathe into a paper bag for weeks and weeks. Social anxiety disorder? Since I was rarely off the farm, and with no social life to speak of, it wasn’t a problem. Shyness? I was surrounded by animals. Who the hell is shy around animals? Well, except for Samson. You’d have to be nuts not to be shy around that crazy fucker. But still, even Samson wasn’t enough to make me stick my head in a paper bag. Only Stanley could make me do that. Even then, it wasn’t from shyness. It was just so I wouldn’t have to look at him.

I had just sent a check to Miss Wiggins to cover our apartment rent back in San Diego for another month, but I didn’t mention it to Frank. He had enough to worry about without fretting over money.

Joe was fading fast. The constant pain and incessant coughing was wearing him down. As bad as he looked when I first met him, he looked infinitely worse now. Always a little guy, now he couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred pounds. Obviously, the cancer was eating him up, and there was absolutely nothing we could do about it.

Stanley wasn’t helping either. He was always poking around the place, digging through Joe’s papers when Joe wasn’t watching, making strange phone calls, sending off letters which he never let anyone see. We knew what he was doing, of course. It was the same thing he had been doing since he first arrived. He was sending out feelers, seeking a buyer for the farm, and digging around trying to find out if there was a will. But even Stanley wasn’t dumb enough to come right out and ask Joe about a will point-blank. He had no idea Frank and I both knew more about the matter than he did, and if he ever did learn that little fact, I figured we would be in for some rip-roaring battles. All of us. Joe included.

This morning, Stanley had driven off in his rental car to visit friends, or so he said, although Frank couldn’t imagine who his brother was referring to when he talked about friends. Stanley had not been in Indiana for years, and even when he had lived here, through high school and all, the guy was already well on his way to being a first-class jerk. Consequently, he didn’t have many friends even then. According to Frank, if Stanley had said he was off to visit
enemies
,
he would have had a broad range to choose from. If Stanley were to visit
all
of his enemies, Frank figured he would be gone through Christmas. If he was truly visiting friends, he would probably be back in about five minutes.