BROKEN
By Wes
Leigh
This is a work of fiction intended
solely for the entertainment of my readers; any resemblance to any real people
or places is purely coincidental. Readers who would like to chat are encouraged
to contact me at weston.leigh@protonmail.com.
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"I could use that cowboy hug now," I say.
Monty wraps me in his arms. I press my face against his warm
chest. He holds me, and doesn't let me go, even when my cock gets a little hard
and starts poking him. I don't think it's a problem, `cause I feel something poking me back.
Monty whispers in my ear, "This is a little more than a
cowboy hug, Truman."
I giggle and wiggle my hips. "I know."
Monty pulls away, ending the hug. "We'd better stop. Before
things get out of hand."
I'm disappointed, but I understand what he means. "Is it
because you're working for Poppa?"
He's confused when he hears me ask that. "What do mean,
Truman?"
"Isn't that what you said to all of us, that time in the
barn? About how Poppa has given you responsibilities here, and you couldn't
betray his trust by doing something with his fifteen-year-old daughter? And now
you're probably going to tell me the same thing. That you can't be messing
around with his thirteen-year-old son."
Monty releases me from our hug and moves back a step. I
don't know how I've done it, but somehow my words have injured him. I
immediately feel horrible. What is wrong with me today, and why am I messing up
every ten seconds?
Monty looks down at his boots, sighs, then looks back up at
me. He points at his bed and motions for me to sit back down. I do, but I'm
facing sideways now. I don't want to look him in the eye. I'm afraid of what
I'll see. Monty sits next to me, and we both stare at the wall. He clears his
throat a little, then says, "I did say that, Truman. And I meant it. Every
word. But there's an important difference between you and your sister."
"Yeah, I know," I mumble. "She's fifteen and starting to do
sex stuff, and I'm only thirteen and don't have a clue what I'm doing and don't
even know for sure that I'm gay and—"
Monty places his hand on my leg to stop my rambling. "No,
Truman. That's not it."
I turn to look at him, blinking back more tears. "Then what
is it, Monty?"
He turns to face me. He's nervous, but he takes a deep
breath and says, "I'm not attracted to your sister."
I hear the words. I process them. I put together everything
he said into one sentence: There's an important difference between me and my
sister, and that difference is he's not attracted to her. My brain begins to
draw a conclusion, and my heart begins to pound at the possibility.
There's a sharp knock on the bunkhouse door. I yelp in
surprise. Monty's eyes open wide in fear.
Monty stands up quickly and pulls his shirt out of his
pants. He has a growing problem there, and the untucked shirt covers it up
nicely.
I jump off his bunk and run for the bathroom, closing the
door behind me and listening with one ear pressed against the door. I hear my
dad's voice asking if Monty has seen me. Monty says I'm in the bathroom. Poppa
says something about Momma having cold milk and fresh baked chocolate chip
cookies for a snack, if we're interested. Monty tells Poppa we'll be right
over.
I wash my hands and face in cold water. It helps lower the
tent that's been growing in my pants. I dry my face on a towel and open the
bathroom door slowly. Monty is alone, and he's grinning bashfully at me.
"That was close," I say, stepping out into the bunkroom.
Monty blinks, then frowns. "We weren't doing anything wrong,
Truman."
"I guess not," I reply, but if we weren't doing anything
wrong, why did we both have boners? And I'm also thinking about what Monty said
before Dad knocked on the door. I think if we'd had another five minutes, we
might have started doing something wrong. Maybe not. Maybe I'm overthinking
again. Maybe it's just wishful thinking on my part.
Yes, Monty didn't say he's attracted to me, but I think he
is, and I know for sure that I'm attracted to him. I can admit it to myself,
and I guess I should tell Monty too.
And I will.
When the time is right.
Just not right now, `cause Momma's
chocolate chip cookies are best fresh out of the oven, when they're soft and
squishy and fall apart as you pick them up. If they're really hot, they burn
your tongue and the stick to the top of your mouth, and then you have to drink
milk fast to cool it off. After we eat cookies, I'll tell Monty that I like him,
and I hope he'll admit that he likes me too.
͠ ͠
͠
Man, oh, man, those cookies hit the spot. We don't eat them
all, but we do make a huge dent in the first dozen. Momma won't let us have any
more, because she's doesn't want us to spoil our supper. She swats my butt as
she whooshes us out the door. "Go do your chores, rascal."
Monty and I head out to the barn. I'm in charge. I know
everything that has to be done, and I have a great time ordering Monty around. He
does whatever I tell him, but he's smirking a little, so I know he thinks it
funny that I'm telling him what to do. He doesn't complain. He's a good worker,
and I'll have to tell Poppa later that my assistant did a good job and should
get a pay raise!
The last chore is feeding the chickens. I point at the sack
of feed and tell Monty to scoop out one handful, then spread it on the ground. He
squints at me and scoops out the smallest handful he can. I know what he's
doing. He's making fun of me for bossing him around.
"Not like that," I say, glaring at him playfully. "A big
handful." I reach into the sack and fill my hand with feed, then toss it out
for the chickens. But I don't throw it all on the ground. I keep a little in my
hand. "Try again," I tell Monty, pointing at the sack. "A full
handful of feed this time."
He reaches into the sack, scoops up a generous amount, and
opens his hand to show me. I nod and gesture at the chickens. He turns and
begins tossing the feed to the chickens, who squawk and flap their wings,
fighting for the best morsels.
With a mischievous grin on my face, I reach up and pull back
on the collar of Monty's shirt, then open my hand, dropping the grain I was
holding down Monty's back.
He jumps and leaps away from me. "You little ..." he starts to
say, then stops himself. He pretends to be mad at me, but I can see he's trying
not to smile. He dances around for a few seconds, trying to get the feed out of
his shirt, but only manages to send it trickling down his back. He tugs his
shirt out of his pants, letting most of the particles fall out onto the ground,
but then his eyes fly open wide and I know some of it has slipped down inside
the back of his pants.
I'm laughing hysterically, watching him dance around, trying
to shake out the feed but only making it worse.
He points a finger at me in warning. "Just wait." He pulls
off his shirt and hangs it on a nail, then reaches into the back of his
trousers, trying to get the grain out. I stare at his body. He has a nice tan
and great muscles in his arms and chest. He's not as big as Carson, but I think
he's perfect.
I laugh again and grab another handful of feed, throwing it
at his chest.
He stops dancing around and rushes me, grabbing double
handfuls of grain and dumping them inside the front of my shirt.
I throw a big handful at his head.
He grabs the front of my pants and pulls them away from my
body, tossing feed down inside.
It's a free-for-all! Chicken feed is flying everywhere. The
chickens are jumping and cackling and flapping their wings. Monty and I are
laughing uncontrollably, shouting and throwing feed and trying to keep the
other guy from shoving some down into places where it shouldn't be.
"Okay. Okay!" I shout. "Truce?"
Monty pauses. His eyes are sparkling and I know he's having
as much fun as me. The chickens are enjoying it too, because there's a lot more
of their food on the ground than usual. They're flapping their wings and
scrambling around just waiting for the silly humans to get out of their way so
they can eat.
I drop the rest of the feed in my hands and show Monty that
I'm now unarmed. He grins and does the same. Then he stops smiling when he
realizes where some of the tiny particles have managed to go.
I begin giggling again when Monty, with an exaggerated
grimace, pulls his pants away from his belly and looks down inside. He shakes
his head as if he can't believe what he's seeing. I managed to get a pretty
good handful down in there during our fight, so I know what he's looking at.
Monty unbuckles his belt, unzips his pants and pulls them
down around his knees. I get my first good look at his floppy cock inside his
underwear. Just like Carson. A man cock. Big and bulky
and poking out to one side.
Monty pauses. I look up into his eyes, and I know he's
caught me staring. I shrug and smile, then look back down at his cock. It looks
as big as Carson's. Maybe bigger.
Monty hooks his fingers in the waistband of his underwear,
then slides them slowly down. His cock flops out. It's beautiful. Long and
thick, with nice veins running up and down the sides. He's circumcised, like me
and Carson. The tip of his cock is bright red, shaped like a big mushroom
jutting out on the end of his cock. His pubes are black, like the hair on his
head, thick and curly and filled with chicken feed. I giggle as Monty runs his
fingers through his pubes, sending seeds raining down to the ground. He shakes
and brushes and gets all the bits off, then stands there, letting me check him
out. And I do. I like his cock.
Monty slowly pulls his underwear back up, tucking everything
away, and reaches down for his pants. I wish I could see more, but I'm glad he
wasn't embarrassed to show me his stuff.
That's when I realize I have the same problem. I can feel
bits of seed scratching my cock and balls and butt crack. Giggling, I scoot
behind a partition and start stripping off my clothes. I don't know why I'm
suddenly bashful. Monty let me see all his gear, so I should return the favor,
am I right? There's just one little problem. Actually, one big problem. I'm
completely hard. I can't let him see me like this, so I hide behind the
partition while taking off my clothes, shaking out the seed, and plucking errant
grains out of my butt crack.
Monty waits patiently, standing sideways to me. He acts as
if he's not looking, but he's glancing sideways every now and then. Cheater. He's
trying to see through the cracks in the partition. I know he is.
I get a naughty idea. I shouldn't do it, but I do. I walk
around the partition with my boner leading the way, and I give Monty a good
look at everything I have. I know I'm not that long. Just a little over four
inches. And my pubic hair is thin and blonde and almost invisible against my
pale skin. My cock is throbbing, leaping toward Monty with each beat of my
heart.
He turns to face me and looks at my body, every part of me,
and he looks at my cock the longest. He reaches down and pulls his jeans out,
making room. I know what's happening. His cock is getting hard too. He does
like me. He is attracted to me.
Monty gulps and says, "Ummm,
Truman, what other chores do we need to do?" He looks up into my eyes and I see
the sadness coming back. Why? What am I doing wrong?
I move back behind the partition and put my clothes on. I
will figure this out. I will. And then I'll convince Monty to be my boyfriend. I
know we like each other that way. I just need to figure out why Monty keeps
pulling away from me and what is making him so sad.
͠ ͠
͠
"Carson will be home soon, right?" Monty asks as we leave
the chicken house, our clothes more or less back in place.
"Yeah. Why?" I ask.
"Are you going to work out this afternoon?"
"I'm sure I am. Carson said something about working on my
legs today."
"You might want to take a quick shower then. Clean off any
stray chicken feed."
I grin and nod. "I think I got most of it, but you're right.
I should shower first. Then change into workout clothes. Are you going to
shower too?"
"I need one." Monty chuckles. "I think I missed some." He's
walking kind of funny, so I can imagine where some of the chicken feed is
hiding right now.
He puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me against his
side. It's a nice hug, but stiff. Something is still bothering him. One minute,
something is drawing him to me. The next minute, something is pulling him away.
He's like one of those meteors with an eccentric orbit around the sun, spending
years out in the loneliness of space before being drawn back in for a short
while, burning brightly in the sun's embrace, then hurtling away again.
I know he likes me. I think he wants to get close to me, but
for reason, he's afraid.
͠ ͠
͠
I'm straining to lift my legs into the air. It's my last rep
for this exercise, and my legs are shaking with fatigue. I grit my teeth and
lift with all my might.
Carson is standing next to me, encouraging me, pushing me. "Doin' great, Truman. Now hold it. Hold it. And slowly drop
back down. Slower."
My legs touch the barn floor and I gasp and pant. I did it.
Monty is sitting on a bale of hay, watching me. I look over
and our eyes connect. He smiles and nods. "Good job," he whispers. Monty's hair
is wet and curly. He's changed clothes after his shower, and now he's enjoying
the torment Carson is putting me through.
I'm wearing nothing but my PE shorts. And I do mean nothing.
No shirt. No underwear. I know. I know. It's very risky, but I have a plan.
Carson has me stand up next to the weight bench and walks me
through the last exercise: lunges. I know what to do. Step forward with one
foot and bend my knee, extending my other leg behind me. Stand up, and bend
down on the other leg. Repeat. Monty is watching closely. I think his eyes are
locked on my bulge, which is stretching out my shorts with every lunge.
Time to implement my plan. I get most of the way through the
reps and then stand up quickly and grab the back of one leg, around the thigh.
"What's wrong, Truman?" Carson asked, alarmed.
"Cramp," I moan, grimacing and squeezing the back of my leg.
Carson kneels behind me and starts massaging my thigh,
pressing his thumbs into the flesh.
"Lower," I say, while hiking my shorts up in the front. My
cock and balls pop out of the leg opening on one side, in full view of Monty. Carson
can't see; he's busy massaging my thigh from behind.
Monty stares at my junk for a moment, then shakes his head
slightly while grinning. Our eyes connect again and he whispers, "Bad cowboy."
I wiggle my junk at him and stuff it back inside my shorts. "Oh,
that's better, Carson. The cramp is going away now. I think that did it."
"You'd better stop there. You've done enough."
"Yeah." I slowly stretch out my leg, grimacing. "Don't want
to do that again," I say, grinning impishly at Monty. If he didn't know I liked
him before, he knows now.
Carson nods. "Start drinking more water in the afternoon
before your workout. That'll help."
͠ ͠
͠
We eat supper. Carson and Mattie head upstairs. Momma and
Poppa take their coffee to the living room to watch an evening show on the
television. I say I want to ask Monty a few questions. They assume it has to do
with horse training, and I don't tell them otherwise. I hurry to catch up with
Monty, then we walk out to the bunkhouse together. We don't talk. We're both
thinking.
When we reach the bunkhouse, I lie down on the bed next to
his, on my side, facing him. He turns off the lights, except for a small lamp
next to his bed. He lies down on his own bed, facing me. It's nice this way. Cozy.
Relaxed.
"So you have some questions for
me?" Monty asks.
"Yes."
"About horses."
"No."
Monty gulps. He knows what I want to talk about. It's been
happening all day. The little ways we keep flirting with each other, then pretending
there's nothing between us when we both know there is. I want to talk about that,
but I don't think he's ready. I've decided to start easy, taking a page out of
the horse training book. I see Monty as one of those skittish colts who hasn't
learned to trust me yet, and I need to take it slow at first.
"That boy. Was it you?" I ask.
"What boy?"
"The one who got caught humping another guy's bed. Was that
you?"
Monty looks confused for a bit, then he remembers what he
told me earlier. He may think I've forgotten, but I haven't. I say, "When you
caught me humping your bed, you said it's perfectly normal. Something a horny
teenage boy would do. And you said you knew another teenage boy who did the
very same thing. Was it really another boy? Or was it you? Was it something you
got caught doing once?"
I don't think Monty was expecting this question. He looks up
at the ceiling and chuckles. "No. It wasn't me."
"It wasn't?" I'm not sure I believe him. I think he's too
embarrassed to admit that he did the exact same thing I did and got busted in
the act. "You're not the boy who did that?"
"Nope. But it was my bed," he admits.
"What?"
He grins. "Yep. When I was thirteen, I caught another boy in
my bed, humping it."
"Are you kidding me, Monty? This has happened to you before?"
"Yep."
"Who was it? How did it happen?"
Monty rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling. I think
he may chicken out and refuse to tell me, so I wait patiently. He sighs and
says, "His name was Jonas. His family owned the ranch next to ours, so we grew
up together and spent almost every moment of every day hanging out with each
other. If I wasn't sleeping at his house, he was sleeping at mine. We were
closer than brothers. And the bed-humping happened in my bed when Jonas was
sleeping over at my house."
I hold up a hand to stop him. "Wait a second. I remember you
telling us about your best friend who lived on the horse ranch next to yours. I
think you said something about riding in rodeos with him when you were in high
school. Is that the same guy?"
Monty turns to look at me. He nods. "Yep, that's him, but
this was way before high school."
Grinning, I ask, "How did you catch him humping your bed?"
Monty smiles bashfully. "We were thirteen at the time. We'd
been staying up late, watching scary movies on the TV in my bedroom, drinking
sodas. My bladder was bursting, and I couldn't wait any longer, so I paused the
movie and told him I'd be right back. I started down the hallway to the
bathroom, but my dad was in there. I danced around for a minute, but he was
taking forever, so I headed back to my bedroom to let Jonas know it would be a
little longer than planned."
"And he was ...?"
Monty nodded. "Humping away, just like you. Trying to poke a
hole in my bed with his boner."
"Was he embarrassed?"
"Oh, yeah."
"What did you do?"
"Turned around and ran out as fast as I could, pinching my wiener
so I wouldn't leak on the floor, and ran back for the bathroom. Dad wasn't in
there anymore, so I ran inside and yanked my undies down and peed like a
racehorse."
Monty's story is making me giggle, but I'm also getting a
boner.
Monty continues, "When I finally finished, I washed up and
headed slowly back to my bedroom. I didn't want to have to face Jonas, but I
knew I had to."
I sit up. This story is getting interesting.
Monty continues, "When I got to the bedroom, Jonas was
covered with a blanket, completely hidden from me. I sat down next to him and
heard him crying softly. He was so embarrassed, just like you were today, and
he didn't want to talk to me. He was afraid I hated him, but I told him the
same things I told you. He wasn't a pervert. He wasn't disgusting. He was a
normal, horny teenager, and it wasn't a big deal."
"Did he believe you?"
"Eventually. We were best friends after all, and I had to
keep reminding him that there was nothing he could do that would make me reject
him. He said, `You don't know that. There might be something about me that
makes you hate me.' I shook my head and said, `Nope. Never. Don't care what it
is, you're always gonna be my best friend.' He got
really quiet and asked, `What if you found out I'm gay?'"
"Wow," I mumble. "He actually said that?"
Nodding, Monty replies, "Yep."
"What did you say?"
"I told him the same thing I told you. I said, `That would
be okay with me, because I'm gay too.' He didn't believe me at first, but I
finally convinced him."
"How do you convince someone you're gay?" I ask, curious.
Monty grins sheepishly. "Well, I suppose there are a few
ways you could do it. I decided on the most direct route. I sucked his dick."
My jaw drops. I can't believe what Monty is telling me. "You
... you sucked his cock?"
Monty nods. "And then I let him suck mine."
I flop back on the bed, laughing. "Oh, my God. This is so
funny." I turn and look at Monty. "What happened then?"
"We went to bed and fell asleep and trained horses together
the next day. Nothing changed in our relationship, except our sleepovers became
a bit more frisky."
"Best friends and sex buddies?"
Monty frowns a bit. "I guess you could say that. It started
out that way, but over time, it became pretty clear that we had strong feelings
for each other."
I sit up again. The gloom is starting to creep back into Monty's
eyes. I'm afraid to ask him anything more, but I think he may be getting close
to explaining one of the mysteries in his past.
"Where is Jonas now?" I ask.
Monty looks at me. He reaches up to wipe his eyes. A single
tear escapes and rolls down his cheek. "Is it okay with you if we don't talk
about this anymore?" he asks. "I'm feeling kinda
tired."
I nod and get to my feet. He stands up, and we give each
other a gentle hug for a few seconds. Then I walk for the door, turning to wave
goodbye as I head for the bunkhouse door.
He turns off the lamp, and I hear him stripping off his
clothes in the dark.
I step outside and walk back to the main house, crunching
over the gravel and opening the back door. I wander into the living room and
sit down on the couch next to Momma and Poppa. They can see I'm a bit moody. I
try to watch the program they have on, but I can't get into it. I keep thinking
about Monty and wondering what happened between him and Jonas that makes him so
unhappy.
When the program ends, I say, "Momma ... Poppa ... would it be
okay if I sleep in the bunkhouse tonight. I want to talk to Monty some more. About
stuff."
My parents look at each other. Momma nods slightly. Poppa
turns to me and says, "Sure, son. Just don't stay up too late."
I get up and give them both a kiss, then walk back out to
the bunkhouse. It's very dark outside now, but I know the way and don't need a
light. When I reach the bunkhouse door, I knock softly. I hear Monty say, "Come
in, Truman."
It's dark inside the bunkhouse too. I feel my way along the
wall and find Monty's bed. I sit down on the edge without saying a word. His
hand finds my arm in the dark, and he slides his hand up my arm to my shoulder
and around to my back. He begins gently rubbing my neck.
I pull off my shirt and drop it on the floor. Lifting one
foot, I tug off my boot and toss it aside, then yank off the other. I stand up,
drop my jeans to my ankles and kick them aside. Then I turn and lift Monty's
blanket. He scoots back, making room for me. I slide into his bed, pushing my
back against him, and he wraps me in his arms before dropping the blanket down
around us.
I rest my head on his shoulder, close my eyes, and fall
asleep.
The end of BROKEN, Chapter Ten