A Second Chance
(Copyrighted by the author)
Editor: Radio Rancher
This is a story of love between two men. As such there is some sex but it is really more about their relationship. If you're into romance, I hope this story pleases you.
The following story has to do with graphically explicit sexual descriptions of sexuality between consenting adults. It is intended for the entertainment of mature adults, is entirely fictitious and is only intended to be a fantasy. The names are fictitious as well. Any similarities to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. If you are not at least 18 years old please do not read any further down in this story.
The author retains all rights. No reproductions are
allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...
I called Greg back; "Greg we have to be in Denver on Saturday
by 9:30 p.m. at the General Aviation Terminal. JC will be meeting us
there when he comes in from Honolulu. He'll be arriving at Gate 32,
and he'll get to general aviation on his own. I want to take
Buckaroo, 'cause I think Cowboy would be a little bit too brash and
flashy, with James' portrait right in his face. What do you think of
"Charles," Greg answered, "I think just the opposite; I think it would do him good to see a portrait of his uncle being displayed in such a prominent, befitting manner." He was thinking, `I wonder why Charles doesn't want him to see his Uncle James' portrait; could it be that he doesn't want JC to see his own reaction?' then he continued, "Of course; that's your decision. It's only my thoughts."
"You have a good point, Greg; let me think about that and I'll get back to you, but go ahead, lay on the flight crew, and take care of all the preparations as you always do so well."
"A question, Charles: will we be spending the night in Denver, returning to Casper, or going somewhere else from Denver?" `I always have to out guess him, to keep one step ahead of him.'
"Sorry, Greg; no, we may go downtown to do a little shopping, depending on how JC feels when we see him; otherwise, we'll just go shopping in Casper. But to your question -- we'll be returning to Casper; any thing else?" I answered, wondering if we would, indeed, go shopping.
"Okay, Charles; I'll get right on it, you do want Richard as your pilot; correct?" He was thinking, `If Charlie didn't want Richard as his pilot, I'd be looking for a psychiatrist to see what the matter was.' Then he laughed out loud.
I simply said, "Oh, yes, and I also want Clyde and Carl aboard; you and Richard can choose any others for the flight crew; OK?"
"Okay, Charles; just let me know which aircraft, so they can fuel it and have it ready to go; I'm sure you'll get a call from Richard before long," Greg said, as he thought, `I don't think I've ever scheduled a trip, by air, that Richard didn't pre-call Charlie for one reason or another. That's to be expected, and Richard IS chief of aviation.'
I was just sitting in my chair, eyes closed, not sleeping but daydreaming, about what, I can't remember. I do that more and more, lately. Someone dear to me told me that daydreaming was the body's way of letting the spirits soar and the mind relax. James was quite a philosopher. It seems the older I get, the more I do it. Still drifting in thought, I heard Clyde coming in the door. I opened my eyes and looked at him.
"Charles, dinner's served," he informed me.
"Will you join me, please?" I asked, hoping he would, because eating by myself was lonely, but I've gotten used to it; but that's not saying I enjoy or even like it, for that matter.
"I'd be most happy to, Charles," Clyde answered, as he thought, `I always try to make a point of eating with him if it's only Charlie and me for the meal. I feel a little sad for him always being alone.' Then he continued, saying, "You really need someone; you have this beautiful home and no one to share it with." He walked away, thinking again, `And I keep telling him that; it's almost like James' spirit has a hold on him.'
As he began to walk away, I said, "Clyde, I'm getting to be too old now; oh, yes, I have looked, and I've seen, but I'm afraid, because every time I look at them, I'm comparing and judging them to a ... a ... a mythical being."
I was famished and the meal was out of this world. I told Clyde. "I have no idea how you do this, but every time you fix prime rib, it gets better and better; you just amaze me."
"Stop that, Charles, you're embarrassing me; I'm just a poor country boy that knows how to cook," Clyde said, as he blushed a cute shade of pink.
I looked at him with a wide smile and said, "I don't know about you being a poor country boy, but you certainly DO know how to cook." He thanked me for the compliment.
We finished dinner, and dessert was homemade peach cobbler, which was scrumptious. Clyde finished cleaning up and told me that he was leaving for the day. He asked if I needed anything special before he left. I told him, no, and that I'd see him in the morning.
I went into the living room, turned on the TV, flicked through the channels, trying to find something intelligent to watch (that was a joke!), so I turned it off, picked up a book, and started reading. Clyde had lit a wonderful roaring fire in the fireplace. My reading was interrupted by the ringing of the phone. I stood up and headed to the office. Answering, I said, "Hello, this is Charles Lambert; may I help you."
"Hi, Charles, it's Richard; have you decided on Cowboy or Buckaroo for the trip to Denver, tomorrow?"
"Yes, I think we'll take Cowboy; I think Greg had a good idea, or would that be a problem?" I said with a chuckle.
Richard said, "No problem, Charles; I just want to make sure it's shipshape for you and your guest."
"I have no doubt that Cowboy will be shining tomorrow; I know you too well, and of course I pay you enough," I chuckled aloud.
"Our lift off time will be 8:45 p.m. which puts us into Denver, at approximately 9:20 p.m., give or take ten minutes; is that alright with you, Charles?" Richard asked.
I answered with a warm feeling in my heart, "You're the boss when it comes to flying, just so long as we'll be there by 9:30 p.m. which will gave us a fifteen minute cushion as well."
"Okay; goodnight, Charles, see you tomorrow," Richard said with a soft, warm, sincere voice.
"See ya tomorrow, Richard; have a goodnight," I told him as I hung up the phone.
It wasn't too late but the jet lag was getting to me, so I decided to call it a night. Then I remembered my mental note about the PJ's, so I went back to the bedroom, opened the dresser, took every pair I owned out of there, and headed back to the living room. I proceeded to tear them into pieces and burn them in the fireplace. I thought that this must look stupid to someone -- IF there were someone here to see me. A cold chill shot up my spine, and then I knew there really WAS someone watching, as my eyes filled with tears. I whispered, "I still love you, James, and I always will; I miss you so much, but no one will ever know the deep love I still have for you."
I waited for the fire to die down, and then headed for the bedroom. I undressed, took a quick shower, and crawled into bed, naked. Taking the spare pillow, curling up with it, and drifting in and out of a light sleep, my dreams caused my manhood to awaken, and I knew I had to give myself pleasure. I began slowly stroking my cock with my right hand; my left hand was toying with my balls, rolling them around gently, but firmly, squeezing tighter around my manhood. I stroked faster and faster. Then I released my balls. I then slid my finger into my ass, reached my prostate, and massaged it, thinking all the while about James, and how wonderful it felt the many times when his manhood was buried deep inside of me. With those thoughts racing in my mind, I exploded with relief. I slowly wiped up my cum with my fingers, tasting it, but something was missing, and had been for too many years -- the taste of someone else's mixed with my own. I didn't even get out of bed to clean up. I just lay there in my mess, still remembering, still dreaming, and then finally falling into a deep, restful, loving sleep.
I awoke to the smell of bacon frying and fresh coffee brewing. I got out of bed, with my dried cum in places I didn't think I could reach, but I just put on a robe, and headed into the kitchen to find Clyde, preparing some breakfast.
He just looked at me and said, "Good morning, Charles; did you have a good night?"
"Yes, I had a wonderful dream about someone special." I couldn't help but smile at him, knowing he would be wondering who I was talking about. But I wanted him to wonder.
"Good to hear you had a good night's sleep; are you ready for breakfast?" he asked with a smile.
"Well, give me a few minutes and I will be." I turned and headed into the bathroom, to take care of the morning ritual -- the four S'es -- shit, shower, shave, and shampoo, PLUS brushing my teeth.
Finished, I headed back into the kitchen and found that Clyde had already gone into the dining room, so I joined him there, me, still in a robe but a different one, and ready to eat. I commented, "It sure smells great, as always."
"Speaking of smells, when I came in, this morning, the place smelled like someone was burning clothes," he remarked, frowning, waiting for an explanation.
"Oh, shit! I burned up all my PJ's last night in the fireplace." I snickered while blushing bright red.
Clyde stared at me with a look of disbelief and said, "What the hell did you do that for? Oh, sorry, Charles, that's none of my business." He was still looking at me like I'd burned down the house.
"It's okay, Clyde; I've been wearing pajamas ever sense I lost James, and the other night, coming home from Paris, I slept all natural for the first time since then. And it felt so dammed good, I burned my PJ's." By the time I had finished that sentence, Clyde was laughing so hard he spit a mouthful of food all over the table.
"Oh, shit, Charles, I'm sorry;" He rushed to the kitchen and brought back a washcloth and towel. Then he said, "Sure do wish I could've been a little mouse in the corner, to see that," still laughing, almost uncontrollably.
I was laughing so hard my eyes were watering, and I choked on a piece of bacon. I picked up my cup of coffee, drank a sip, trying to get control of my thoughts, but again, to no avail. I said, "That would've been hilarious; we needed a video camera to capture that for posterity."
Clyde responded, "A video clip like that, and I could've blackmailed you for a million bucks." His continued laughing trailed off into a chuckle.
"Oh, alright, you got me on that one." I was still blushing a lighter shade of pink.
"Good to hear that; I don't get you, often," Clyde laughed, then changing his thoughts, he added, "do you want anything special tonight, aboard Cowboy, for your guest?"
Wondering what would be good for a meal for JC, then thinking, 'If he's coming in from Hawaii, he'll be starved,' I said, "Clyde, I'll just let you surprise us!" I just knew it would be unforgettable and delicious!
Clyde said, "Sure, Charlie; I'll have some quick food ready." He seemed to be in a deep thought, grinning at me.
"Thanks," I replied, as I left the dining room for the bedroom; then, I changed into something more presentable and casual.
The rest of the day around the ranch was typical -- typical, that is, except for me; I seemed to be on edge, trying to think what to say, or how I was going to say it. 'How would JC react to seeing the ranch? Would he like it, or hate it? Would he like Casper, or not?' My mind was in a blur, trying to guess... no, trying to figure out... no, trying to analyze... '... Gees, Charles, quit torturing yourself. Just let things happen; he's only human, not a monster.' I was excited about JC coming, but I needed to relax; 'Maybe I'll take a tranquilizer,' I thought. 'No, I want to have a sharp mind tonight.' My thoughts were interrupted by the telephone again.
Running down the hall to the office, I picked up the receiver; "Hello, Charles Lambert speaking."
"Hello, Charles; Greg, here; everything is all set; Carl will pick you up at 8:15 p.m., and I'll meet you at the aircraft. Is there anything else I need to know?"
"Greg, I have a weird question; if you were me, how would you dress? I'm thinking casual, but should I make a more formal appearance?"
"Charles, you do tax my brain; and you're trying to make ME the scapegoat." He chuckled. "Now, who is mentoring whom? I thought you were the boss." His laughter grew a little harder. "Well, I think because it's such a short flight, and because you want to make a good impression, I'd wear a suit and tie if I were you; nothing too flashy, you know, you want more the refined look; yeah, that's the Charlie you want to be tonight."
"Thank you, Greg, you're a darling; see you later."
The time to leave was near, so I got dressed in a light tan colored suit, with a light green shirt, and a plain brown tie. I looked at myself in the mirror and thought, 'Is this what Greg was thinking? Sure it is; it's about as plain Jane as I can muster.' Then I splashed on some Stetson, my latest favorite after-shave cologne, chuckling to myself.
I heard someone pull up to the front of the house. I knew it was Carl, but, not meaning to, I bumped into him as I was leaving and as he was approaching the door. We almost knocked each other down.
Carl spoke, "Oh, I'm sorry, Charles; didn't realize you were coming out."
"No, it's I who should apologize; I should've waited for you to knock." I was thinking `Oh, Charles, slow down you're too excited, no, too anxious, too nervous.'
"Charles, it's ok, I was daydreaming as well," Carl said. He was wondering, 'What will JC be like? But why am I concerned? Could it be that I'm worried about Charles?'
"You're daydreaming, Carl; hope it's nothing serious, or too earthshaking." I chuckled to myself.
Nothing more was said on the way to the airport; upon arriving, I saw Cowboy glistening in the evening sky, highlighted by the huge floodlights of the airport. You could see the wide black stripe down the fuselage, bordered on both sides by two thin golden stripes, trailing off at the rear of the fuselage, into flames of black and gold. I was thinking how nice it would look, if and when we place bucking broncos on the tail surfaces in the same color scheme.
As I got out of the car, I spotted Greg standing by the stairs; looking up at him, putting my hand out to shake his, I said, "Good evening, Greg; how are you today? Hope this is a smooth flight." I must have had a serious or nervous look about me.
Greg said, "Charles, nice outfit; just what the doctor ordered; you look tense, and nervous, what's the matter?"
"Nothing, Greg." 'You think he's going to believe that?' I was thinking to myself. 'Might as well be forthcoming.' "Sorry. I just hate to admit it when I'm nervous; that brief meeting we had in Paris still leaves me uncertain."
"That's to be expected, Charles; it's no different, I'm sure, than what JC is feeling about now. Just get on that plane, relax, and enjoy the flight. I'm right here with all the moral support I can give you; you got that!" He thought, `I know everything's going to be okay once the ice is broken and they're aboard Cowboy.'
All who were going were aboard, and Richard spoke, "Flying time's about forty-five minutes; with clear weather, there should be no turbulence, making for a smooth flight. You all need to sit down and buckle up, it's going to be a quick take off." Then he was off to the cockpit. I thought to myself, 'No wonder they changed it to the flight deck.'
We all buckled in, then Cowboy began to roar, rolling away from the hanger toward the end of the taxiway, turning into the wind, and then mightily surging forward with the thrust from his massive engines. It's still strange the way it feels when the wheels lift off and there is nothing supporting you but the air outside.
The flight was short; I felt us descending, knowing we were approaching Denver. I knew it wouldn't be long, now. I felt Cowboy touch down, then the reverse thrusters engaged as we were breaking. Turning onto several taxiways, we approached the G.A.T. Pulling up to our parking spot, I heard the engines shutting down. Now the waiting game was upon us. Richard told us that JC's flight would be about thirty minutes late due to some minor mechanical problems they had had in Honolulu.
I was so excited, knowing that Uncle Charlie was waiting for me, 'cause we were late getting out of Hawaii, due to a minor malfunction in the galley of the 747. We were half an hour late departing, but the Captain was able to make up about fifteen minutes of the flying time. But that was still going to have us landing later than scheduled, and it was changing the rotation of aircraft landing, which would make us late by about thirty minutes.
We landed without incident. When we had all the geese deplaned, I gathered my one small suitcase, with the extendable handle and wheels, nothing fancy, just the average crewmembers' travel luggage. With very little in the way of civilian clothes, and the necessary toilet articles, I too deplaned, asking the gate agent the quickest way to the General Aviation Terminal. They gave me directions; it seemed confusing, so I decided to go to the employee's exit onto the tarmac, find one of the baggage wagon drivers, and asked him for a favor. I noticed Roy's nametag.
"Sure, what do you need?" Roy replied.
"Could you give me a lift to the General Aviation Terminal; I have someone there who's been waiting a long time for me." Hoping he would say yes, but knowing he wouldn't, I still hoped, though.
"Hop on and I'll drop you off; it's not far out of my way, anyhow," he offered, smiling at me.
"Thanks so much; you're a lifesaver."
I had no idea about whom or what to look for, so I thought I'd just go inside the terminal building and look for Uncle Charlie. We came around the end of a hanger and I could see only one 737; even close, it was a beautiful aircraft.
Now, I've been around many large airliners, but this one was truly gorgeous. I also noticed that the stairway was there, and the boarding doors open. I thought, 'Do I go up and see, or do I go into the terminal and see if uncle's there?' While I was contemplating which to do, I saw someone I recognized -- the gentleman standing on the boarding stairs looked like the person that Uncle Charlie was with; could that be his plane. So I walked up to the stairs and said, "Hello, would this happen to be Charles Lambert's aircraft?"
Greg turned to see who was speaking, noticed it was JC, and waved, motioning for him to board the aircraft. He said, "Hello, JC; you got that right; it's Charlie's aircraft." They grinned at each other, but they didn't know that each was having his own happy thoughts.
Hearing Greg talking to someone, and not knowing who it was, but hoping it was JC, I got up and walked to the boarding door, looked out and sure enough, there he was, coming up the stairway; he was gorgeous, just as I remembered from the flight to Paris. I just wanted to reach out and squeeze him, but something was telling me, 'Charles, don't be presumptuous; you have no idea where this is going; control yourself.' Gathering my wits about me, I said, "Welcome aboard, JC,' and then added, 'I hope your flight from Honolulu was enjoyable."
JC casually said, "It was so-so." He was thinking, `The whole trip, all I thought about was this moment.'
We were still standing on the landing before entering the aircraft; Carl, Clyde, Richard, and Greg were all standing in or around the doorway, so I figured ... 'Good time for introductions.'
So I said, "JC, this is Capt. Richard Lane, Chief of Aviation, and my one and only pilot; if he's not flying this bird, I don't fly!"
Richard reached out to shake JC's hand, saying, "Pleasant to meet you, JC; I've heard a lot about you." He thought to himself, `Charles wasn't wrong. He looks just like James.'
JC responded, saying, "All good things, I hope." He grinned, thinking, `I know him; he seems familiar.' Then brushing those thoughts aside, 'I'll have to pay attention.'
"This is my personal secretary and much, much more, Greg Carlson."
Smiling at him, Greg shook his hand and said, "Pleasant to see you again, when you have a little more time to relax."
JC answered, "Same here; yes, last time we saw each other, I was rather busy." He was chuckling and smiling at Greg.
'And now, for my bodyguard/chauffeur ... Carl Mattson. Just don't get on his bad side," I chuckled.
Carl then reached out to shake hands with JC, and said, "Welcome, JC, and don't worry about me; my bark is worse than my bite. If you listened to Charles, he'd tell ya that I could chew up tanks and spit out nails." This brought a huge laugh, not only from JC, but from the rest of the guys.
JC, still laughing, said, "Thank you, and from what I see, Charles might just be right." He continued laughing.
"Last, but not least, is my personal chef and confidant, Clyde Summers."
Clyde reached out, taking hold of JC's hand with a firm grip. "You look starved; yes, I'm the chief cook and bottle washer for this crew," he said, smiling all the while, shaking JC's hand like he was churning butter.
JC smiled at Clyde and said, "Thank you, Clyde. I am somewhat famished." He licked his lips hungrily, as if he could already taste whatever Clyde could cook up.
After introductions, everyone got back in the aircraft, except for JC and me; we just stood on the landing, looking at each other, trying to figure out what to say. Carl had taken JC's things in, and stored them in the second bedroom. I then spoke, saying, "Would you like to come aboard? I know you've been on many airplanes, but I think this one is kind of special. I've named it, `Cowboy,' a very sentimental name to me."
"Yes, I would, Uncle Charlie. You don't mind me calling you that, do you?" JC asked with a look of admiration and loving.
"That's OK with me," I answered, smiling back at him.
As we entered the cabin, JC noticed the bar, making the comment, "Very attractive," and turned to face the bulkhead, gazing upon James' portrait with a serene look about him, his eyes glistening with joyous expression on his face. He said, "That's a painting of my Uncle James. I just wish I had known him; I'm hoping I'll get to know him through your help, Uncle Charlie."
"You will, JC; you will." My eyes filled with tears. Intending silence, I looked into the portrait and said, "Cowboy, this is your nephew, JC; he'll learn how loving, caring, kind hearted, and what a wonderful person you were; just remember ... I still love you!"
As we both stood there, looking at the painting, JC slipped an arm around my shoulders, and to my surprise, only then did I realize that my words had been spoken aloud. I blushed, saying, "I'm sorry; that wasn't supposed to be heard."
With glassy eyes, JC spoke, "Uncle Charlie, you have nothing to be sorry about; no one, and I mean no one, could have given me a more beautiful introduction to my Uncle James than you just did! There is no one that could ever tell me that you two were not truly in love. Not even my father had a good word for Uncle James, or for you, Uncle Charlie".
"I'm so sorry to hear that, JC; one's own father
should be the one to love his son, unconditionally, with no strings
attached!" Something was horribly wrong; my mind went back to when
JC was referring to his father, in the past tense. 'Why?' I
Then JC walked up to the painting, concentrating on the face, taking his fingers and ever so lightly touching it, tracing the deep dark blue eyes, the nose, the lips, the ears, and the hair. Then he ran his fingers down to the engraved plate, tracing the words. He looked up at me and, in an astonishing voice, exclaimed, "`COWBOY'; that was James' nickname, wasn't it? And you named this plane in memory of him, didn't you?" I simply nodded my head, and JC began to cry.
I turned to him, opened my arms, and took him into them, hugging him ever so tightly. He, in turn, returned the hug; each of us was crying. I whispered into his ear, "It's all right, JC; it's all right. We both miss him, and I'll take you to him, soon."
'I think I'll take him to where his ashes are scattered,' I thought to myself. I'm always closest to James up there at that spot.
But something else was happening as well, and I was sensing something that my mind wasn't ready to accept. 'No, Charles, no; this is wrong. He's your nephew,' I chided myself.
So, once again, I pushed it out of my mind; but it was becoming extremely difficult to keep it out of there.
JC was thinking, `Thank you, Charlie ... a loving uncle, someone, and a father I never had after junior high school. However, he's more than that; I'm feeling something more exciting, and my heart was pounding. I hope he can't feel it. No, Justyn,' he formally admonished himself, 'no; he is still in love with Uncle James. I could never take his place, put it out of your mind. I know he was doing everything within his power, not to kiss me. He felt that if he did, he would loose me. That's what held him back.'
Clyde came in, breaking the tension as he said, "If we let Richard get this bird in the air, I can serve up some vittles, unless you have something else on your mind, Charles?"
"Yes, I do have something else in mind, but..." I caught myself from saying more, paused for a few seconds, then asked JC, "... Would you like to go into Denver and do some shopping for some clothes? I know you told me that you were short on civilian clothes, but I think you look handsome in that uniform."
"Can we put that off until tomorrow, Uncle Charlie? I'm sure I can get what I need in Casper, and I AM rather tired."
I grinned at him. "JC, we can do whatever you want; this is your vacation."
JC smiled back, saying, "In that case, can we go? I'm hungry." He looked at Clyde, and rubbed his stomach, and licked his lips. We all laughed.
I looked at Richard, giving him the high sign, saying, "Okay, Captain Lane, you wanna get this bird in the air? ... March!" I commanded, pointing to the cockpit ... err ... flight deck, whatever.
Before Richard could turn and leave, JC said, "Richard, didn't you used to fly for United Airlines?"
"Yes, I did; how did you know that?" Richard asked with a sly grin.
"I caught a few hops in the jump seat with you; you're a great pilot!" He was smiling at Richard.
"Well, thank you, JC, for that compliment," Richard replied, blushing a little.
"You earned that compliment on that last flight when I rode in the jump seat; you brought that bird in, in one hell of a storm, and I never even felt the wheels touch the ground. Now that's flying, or piloting, whichever you want to call it," JC said warmly.
Even with all the niceties, time was a-wasting! I cleared my throat, looked mockingly stern at Richard, and again pointed to the flight deck.
"Again, thanks;" Richard said to JC, "but now I HAVE to get this bird in the air so we can eat." He smiled at JC with a glimmer of thanks in his eyes.
We all took our seats; JC and I were setting in the two front-most recliners in the lounge; Carl and Greg were sitting in the other two, and we all buckled up.
Then Richard came on the overhead speakers, saying, "Buckle up back there; Cowboy's a-headin' home."
We felt Cowboy's engines start, and then we began to move out onto the taxiways and onto the runway; then his engines began to roar. His powerful thrust pushed us into the luxuriously upholstered seats. Almost instantly we were airborne and heading home. No sooner were we airborne than Clyde came into the lounge, saying, "Hors d'oeuvres and snacks will be served shortly."
He rolled out a large food cart with all sorts of goodies, Crab Cakes, raw Oysters on ice, Shrimp Cocktails, Club sandwiches, Tuna Salad sandwiches, Grilled Ham and Cheese (some, Swiss; some, American) and other goodies. I just said, "My God, Clyde, you have out done yourself again."
Everyone else thanked him and told him how delightful it looked, and after a few bites, they were raving about how good everything was.
As we finished eating, JC and I took a little tour of Cowboy. Up to that point, the only thing he'd seen was the lounge. First, I showed him the galley, then the combination conference room/dining room, and on the way back, I showed him the guest bedroom, then the main restroom, and finally, back to the master bedroom and its private bath with Jacuzzi. He was impressed.
"You've been aboard several 737s, but, obviously, never a custom-built one." I explained to him that Buckaroo was a duplicate in every detail to Cowboy, except for the painting that hung in the lounge; that painting was of me. Of course the nameplate was different, and I smiled as I explained that. When I did so, JC looked at me with a curious look.
JC then asked me, "Was James' nickname for you ... Buckaroo?" He was thinking, `Had to be, if Cowboy were Charles' nickname for James, then Buckaroo must have been James' nickname for Uncle Charlie; yeah, I know I'm right,' he reasoned, but he asked, anyway.
We were standing in the middle of the master bedroom. I could tell he was probably wondering if we made love in here, and probably realizing that his Uncle James died some thirty-odd years ago.
In addition to those, JC continued thinking, 'Yet, Uncle Charlie's still remembering their love for each other, as if Uncle James passed only a few days ago. God! I hope I find someone who I can cherish with that kind of love and admiration that Charlie still shows for James.'
I answered, "Yes, those two nicknames we gave to each other; Cowboy was the first; I gave that to James the second time we made love,; he gave me Buckaroo on the third occasion." This was my first chance to tell JC something very personal about his Uncle James and myself.
JC said, "You know, I was never back to Casper since we moved away; I think I was one or two years old, so I have no idea what the place looks like."
By the time we'd eaten, and I'd taken JC on the tour, we were approaching Casper.
Richard came on the P.A. system again, saying, "Back to your seat's, Cowboys; it's time to buckle up; if you don't, I'll lasso and hogtie you to'em; we're on our final approach into Casper."
Greg said, "I think we need to get Richard a pair of chaps and a rope when he flies this plane." Everyone started laughing at that remark.
JC said, "I'm already enjoying my visit." He had a huge smile on his handsome face.
I said, "Not as much as I am enjoying having you here, JC." I just smiled at him, happier than I'd been in many a day.
We could feel the flaps being lowered as we were on final approach into Casper; touching down we were soon taxiing into general aviation and the stairway was placed, then we de-boarded. Carl pulled the car around. With his gear, JC and I were driven out to the ranch while Greg took the remainder of the crew home in a company van.
"JC, I am really pleased you came here to enjoy Charlie's hospitality," Carl said with a grin. "I think you're going to enjoy yourself."
"I am already, and the anticipation of sharing Charlie's ranch with him is quite exciting," `Oh my God,' he thought. 'That didn't come out right at all ... or did it? Of course, it did,' he mentally answered himself. 'Sharing a ranch doesn't mean sharing Charlie.'
We arrived at the ranch house, Carl pulled up to the front door, and we all got out. It was now near one o'clock in the morning, so Carl excused himself and went home, but not before I told him, "I'll need you tomorrow morning -- we'll say 10 o'clock -- so we can take JC into town for some shopping."
Carl replied, "No problem, boss; I'll be here at 10:00 a.m. sharp. Just make sure you're all up and out of bed, or I might have to take you to town naked."
JC chuckled and said, "If I don't get some clothes, other than this uniform, I might just have to take you up on that offer."
Somehow, that remark had me very interested in what he would look like sitting in the back of that car, naked.
I looked at JC as we entered the house, and spoke; "It's time for the nickel tour of the Lazy 'L'. Yes, that's the name of the ranch." We walked down the hall. I showed him the kitchen, the dining room, the living room, then down the hallway and showed him the study. Then in James' office, there was a smaller painting of me, and then my office where there was a similar-sized painting of James. After that, we turned left, going out into the bedroom area. There was a guest bedroom and bath with an extra-large shower and tub. Then back to the master bedroom with its king-sized bed, and with the painting of Casper Mountain over the head of the bed; then into the master bath, with an oversized Jacuzzi tub in one corner and in the other, an oversized shower with four spray heads.
JC replied at the end of the tour, "Very attractive place you have, Uncle Charlie." `This is a dream house,' he marveled to himself. 'No wonder my uncles loved it so much!'
I asked, "Are you tired, JC, or would you like to talk some more, tonight?" I knew I had many questions that I wanted to ask, but I also knew that we had plenty of time, and I don't want to be pushing him.
"Uncle Charlie, I'd really like to go to bed; I'm so tired. It's been a long day. If you don't mind?" He was thinking, `God, I wish I could crawl into bed with him, if for no other reason than just to be close to him. Still, I know this isn't going to happen anytime soon. Oh, how I wish we could.'
"No problem, JC; you have a good night's sleep, and make yourself at home, and I mean that! I'll see you in the morning, and Clyde will be here preparing us a scrumptious breakfast as always."
I walked back to the guestroom with JC, put out my hand to shake his, then drew it back and said, "This isn't the way for a nephew and an uncle to be saying goodnight." I opened my arms to hug him and he came into my arms. We hugged each other for a few minutes, not a long passionate one, but nonetheless. we did hug.
JC pulled away and said, "Thank you, Uncle Charlie; I needed that; and thank you for everything. I'll see you in the morning." He smiled at me and I could tell he was deep in thought: `I just wish that hug could have turned into more. But never will that happen ... or will it? Who knows?'
"Goodnight, JC; see you in the morning. Tomorrow brings another day."
To be continued . . .
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