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The author would appreciate your comments – pro and con, including constructive criticism, and suggestions.
Unlike my stories in Nifty's gay authoritarian section, this one has no scenes of discipline, only sex between a sixteen year old boy and a man in his mid-twenties
Other Nifty stories by PJ Franklin in the gay, authoritarian section:
Jesse: Nebraska Rancher's Son: nebraska-ranchers-son/
Twenty Minutes To Midnight: twenty-minutes-to-midnight/
Dog Star: dog-star/
My Sarg, His Son, The Lieutenant and Me: my-sarge-his-son-the-lieutenant-and-me.html
A Foresmark New Boy: foresmark-newboy.html
Presidential Executive Order #137099: presidential-executive-order.html
Go All The Way: go-all-the-way.html
Paying Back The Ranch Hand
Nothing is deadlier to the economy of a large ranching spread than drought. You can buy almost anything in this world, just not rainfall. We had good wells that were starting to dry up, but we knew how to conserve. No male on the spread was allowed to use a flush toilet to piss. If you wanted to piss and lived in the bunkhouse, you went out the back of the bunkhouse, or in my case, out the side door of the ranch house next to my bedroom and piss all you want.
Most of the water was saved for the cattle, horses and other animals. Some of the more superstitious ranch owners would actually hire Native American shaman or witch doctors to make their spells, their rain dances or whatever it is they said they did, anything to try and make the rain fall. I didn't believe in that stuff.
I was nearly seventeen years old. I had been through this before with my family. In the past, whenever a drought would bring us right to the edge, it seemed that it would take something really strange to make it stop. Somebody would get into a bad accident and die or a building would burn down in town, something really unexpected and then it would rain. It was almost as if it took something really bad to happen before something good would happen. I still never believed all that crap until he came, Lance, that is, Lance Burrows.
We had lost a couple good ranch hands that year, papa had to cut wages and that didn't set well with a couple of the older boys who were used to the good times and wouldn't stick around for the bad ones. Usually when papa put out the word, they would come running, not this year, however, not yet anyway. Somebody would come along eventually, the question this year would be how good would they be?
I'll never forget it. This man drives up in this old pick-up and gets out. I figure him to be in his mid-twenties, wearing usual ranch hand clothes, a worn pair of Wranglers, cowboy boots and a thick fancy brown leather belt with a big silver oval rodeo buckle. I was too far away to see if that was a brass image of a longhorn steer on the buckle, but I thought it was.
His black cowboy hat set off his jet black hair pretty good. It was hot that day, humid too. There was nothing in the forecast for rain, however. I figured the man to be a salesperson or some such, anything but what he turned out to be. His name was Lance, Lance Burrows and he was to see papa about the ranch hand job papa had advertised. I watched them talk, I watched the man for a long while instead of getting back to my chores. Papa caught my eye,
"Stevie, get over here!" he called to me, I thought to cuss me out for not getting to work. I ran over, "Yes pa?"
"This here is Lance Burrows, new ranch hand, just hired him. Help him get his stuff into the bunkhouse, settle him in, OK?"
I nodded and put out my hand, "Stevie Mills, you can call me Stevie," I said and looked hard at his face, especially his eyes. My eyes were blue, my hair blonde and all I had was peach fuzz for facial hair. His eyes were brown, dark brown and he had maybe two days growth of dark black facial hair. His handshake lingered. I didn't mind.
"Burrows, call me Lance, " he said with a rich deep voice.
I was told to show Lance around and did, as well as help him store away his belongings into the bunkhouse.
"We're on conservation on account of the drought. If you need to piss, do it out back," I instructed him at the end.
"Show me where, I need to go now as a matter of fact."
I nodded and led him around back of the bunkhouse to some low lying brush. I stood there and he unzipped his fly, and pulled out his penis, I swear it was seven inches limp. I could not help myself and stared as a long yellow stream of piss shot out, whisking up the dust on the ground.
He looked over at me, I jerked my head away, "Sorry!"
"That's OK Stevie, look all you want, we're all men you know," he winked at me.
I felt myself blush despite the hot sun overhead.
24 hours later …
The downpour was starting to worry pa that there could be flash flooding from the river. Who cared? The temperature had dropped a good twenty degrees and puddles were gathering under rain gutters. I had to run from the house to the bunkhouse to not get soaked delivering a basket of food for the hands inside the bunkhouse.
Lance was standing there. I grinned at him, "You brought good luck Lance!"
He smiled and shook his head, "Oh, I doubt that, but I'm not going to complain, say, your ma is a great cook."
"Thanks, but most of it is done by my sisters."
"You're their only son?"
"Yup, I get spoiled a lot, "I grinned.
He looked at me head to toe, kind of slow like. It felt weird, but kind of good too.
"I'll bet you do partner, I'll bet you do," then he took the food, turned and walked into the bunkhouse and I ran back to the house.
That night, in my room alone, I thought about Lance bringing good luck to the ranch in the form of the rain. Somehow, I had become a believer overnight. But Lance brought more than rain. That night I closed my eyes as I lay naked on top of my bedsheets and began to pull on my erection. I was getting a ton more of them lately and that night, all I could think about was Lance Burrows as I pulled myself off, twice.
One month later …
I found myself arranging chores and work so that Lance was always around me. I don't think he noticed; he always seemed to stay on the other side of the other hands when I was there with them working. Then one evening late after work, I saw the burning end of a cigarette from the house and walked out and there was Lance, leaning up against the side of the barn, smoking.
I walked up to him, he saw me, "Smoke?"
I nodded that I did, when I really had never smoked. He gave me a cigarette, lit it for me and I nearly fell over choking to death trying to inhale it. He patted my back, "Why'd you say you smoked Stevie?"
"I don't know! I didn't want you to think I was immature I guess."
"Immature? You're not immature, I think you know what you want, "he said as I finally got rid of the last few coughs.
How did he know what I wanted?
Lance nodded, "Yea," and then he started to walk off, "Hey," I said.
He turned, "What?"
"Sometimes, I can't sleep at night, I go out the side of the house, its near my bedroom."
"Oh yea?" he said looking unconcerned.
"Yea," I said and then he nodded, turned and walked off.
That night, right at midnight, I got up. I always slept nude, I was alone in my room after all. I couldn't sleep; all I could think about was him. I walked out of my room and to the door to the side of the house. I opened it and felt a small freshening breeze against my naked skin. It felt good and then out of the corner of my eye, I saw the plume of smoke, then the coal of the lit cigarette that was coming out of the corner of Lance's mouth. He was bare-chested, still wearing his Wranglers and cowboy boots and leaning up against the side of the house.
I just stood there a moment; he looked at me, dropped the cigarette to the ground, crushed it underneath a boot, came over to me and saying nothing, reached gently around to the back of my head, cradled it, brought his full red lips to mine and kissed me, softly. I let out soft moan, parted my lips and his tongue slowly slipped in and my whole body came alive. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back, harder using my tongue just as well as he had.
How do you know how to do something like that when you've never done it? My penis was rubbing hard against his denim covered bulge out front and I let it. I got instantly hard as a rock. Lance was strong as a bull, all he had to do was pick me up and I wrapped my legs around his middle, locking my ankles. Still saying nothing, he carried me back into the dark house, back through my bedroom door and gently lay me on my back, laying down next to me and kissed me again.
"How did you know?" I asked when the kiss parted.
"I knew, so did you, as soon as we shook hands after your pa introduced us."
"Yea, "I said and tugging on his thick neck with my hands, pulled his lips to mine and we kissed again, a long hard kiss and used our tongues again.
Two weeks later, at midnight again …
I'll never understand how a man's raspy wet tongue can cause so much pleasure around another man's butthole, but it does. Lance taught me that when he flipped me over onto my knees only a couple nights after that first one, my ass way up high and he teased, licked and then pushed his right inside me. Holy shit son-of-bitch! My dick was on fire, he took care of that straight away and pulled me off, twice, while he was cleaning out my cattle chute for me.
After that and a couple more meetings in my room, it had come down to tonight. I had no choice in the matter, I just lay down onto my tummy and he lay down on top of me, his ten incher laying in my ass crack. Lance had put fingers up into me a couple of times before that besides his tongue, ones wet with his own spit. This time, I was ready for him, because I wanted to be. I reached over into my bedside desk and pulled out a tube of slippery jelly, clear stuff. I handed it back to him. He knew what to do that night because I didn't know the details. I learned, he taught me, taught me good and for keeps too.
One month later yet, a hot, humid evening two hundred miles from home in a dingy motel room at the edge of a big city, right across the street from a green colored regional farm equipment business, the curtains closed…
"Why do these beds have to make so much damn squeaky noise?" I asked breathlessly as Lance was pounding my ass in a fury, me up on all fours. We had just showered together in the room's tiny bathtub and I had sucked his dick on my knees while the hot water poured over me. I loved that, I had always wanted to do that, so we did.
"I don't know! Cheap damn mattresses I guess!" Lance said and then sensing that he was ready to bathe my insides with his musky load, I started to push back hard in rhythm, "Fuck me Burrows, you bull!"
He grunted like a bull and started to shoot. I had my hand on my own dick and shot my load off with him, then we collapsed into the creaky bed, him cuddling me close from behind as I reached for the bedside stand and two cigarettes.
I lit one, gave it to him. I lit the other and took a long satisfying full drag and blew the smoke the other direction, watching his plume fly over my shoulder.
"I wonder if my pa knows that you fuck his son up the ass?" I asked Lance and almost coughed out the laugh that followed from my ridiculous question.
"I don't know, think he would care?" Lance asked me back.
"Oh, he'd care all right, so let's not let on, "I suggested and laughed one final time.
My pa, he might care, but I didn't. Ever since Lance showed up, it had rained lots of good clean water onto pa's property, filling his wells, letting us all flush the toilets all we wanted again. Pa always said,
"Nothing comes for free, it's tit for tat son, tit for tat."
I figured pa owed Lance one, and I was the payback. I was a believer now and very superstitious about it too. After all, Lance was filling my well now, just like I wanted him too, tit for fucking tat, right pa?
"Come on cowboy, vacation's over. Finish up that stick and let's get some shut eye. Long day tomorrow, best do what your pa really sent us here to do and buy him some of those new big green tractors he likes, "Lance said and I reached over the put out my cigarette, then his and then shut off the light, cuddling my naked body back into his, his big strong black hair covered arms wrapping around me.
Yes, tit for fucking tat, I figured.
© Copyright PJ Franklin July 29, 2009
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Last updated: July 29, 2009