COUSIN CARL
CHAPTER ONE

By Carson Carruthers


My dear Reader -- that is a literary device that was used a lot in the 1800's. I like it. I am learning all sorts of things like that in this creative writing course that I am taking. So, dear Reader, you may find some of this strange because I am using these stories for the class. I know . . . but the teacher is really cool. I just have to make sure that the stories fit the assignment. It was his idea that we write from our own experiences. I did not think that I had a lot of experience until I started working on these stories. There are going to be a few of these since the course lasts for the winter semester. One of the other techniques that he talked about in class is developing the character, and in another place he talked about the author intentionally, or unintentionally, allowing his own character to invade the story. Since these stories all have an autobiographic slant, I thought it best that I start with a description of myself.

Hi, my name is Carl. I guess you are wondering why a straight looking dude like me would be writing for a gay story archives. Well, looks can be deceiving. I look really straight. I have jet black hair that comes from my Indian heritage. Dark blue eyes. People have told me I was the only person that they have ever seen with navy blue eyes. I guess they must really be dark. Then there is the body. My body is cut and ripped, as they say. Mainly, it is that way totally unintentionally. I work. I have worked and I guess I always will work on the farm.

It was my grandfather's farm. When he died, my father inherited it. Well, he and his brother Spencer and my aunt Grace. My dad and I ran it. Then he died, and he left his share to my mother since he and I had not spoken a civil word and very damned few of any sort of word since I was . . . You know I cannot even remember how old I was. I suppose if this is going to be in chronological order I had better go back and try to figure what happened when. That was another thing we talked about in class. Just think. I am lost already and just getting started.

The present. That I know. I am twenty-one years old. I am taking a class at the high school in creative writing. The class is taught by John Rice. More on him later. It is a night class sponsored by the community college in Greenville. They have this program for adults in the evenings. The farm work is going pretty well, but my live in boyfriend just moved out and is no longer living in nor is he a boyfriend. I lost it again. Here I am telling you about the present when I was right in the middle of telling you about the farm. My aunt and uncle get a cut of the profits at the end of the year. Thus, I do not own it outright, but it is mine. I take care of my mother who has moved into an apartment in town. She hated the farm and always had. It was only after my father died that she told me. I love the farm. Since my father died it is a great place.

I guess you have figured it out by now that if you are going to read this you might as well get used to my jumping around. Back to my body. Did I actually say that? I have a really slim waist. Almost a 28 inch waist and my hips are small, but I have a muscular, bubble butt. This story is about growing up on the farm. About my friends and neighbors, Will and Phil, the boys next door. We are just plain, simple farm boys who love to suck and fuck ever since we found out how good it felt. The reason I am writing. My cousin, Robert, and his lover Rick, are writing their story and wanted me to tell mine as well. I never thought that there was much of a story, but hey if it helps some lonely dude on a farm somewhere get his rocks off, I'll tell you the whole thing. The other reason I am writing is because I am taking a course in creative writing.

Did I mention that John Rice is the teacher? I think that he is a good teacher. It is just that this class is mainly old women who want to write the next Harlequin Romance. Maybe if they were getting some they would not be into that sort of thing. Right now I am into reading gay stories because I can get no satisfaction. Since what's his name left, it has been a bit lonely on the farm. So far the sheep are safe. Hell, I don't even have any sheep. I have cattle mostly and soybeans and hay crops with which to feed them in the winter. I plan on turning this story in for an assignment. That would probably stiffen the prof's cock. The first assignment is to write an autobiography in chronological order. This assignment fits with the idea of writing about something that you know. John said that it was also important that an author know who he is and be able to recognize himself in the mirror of words. Well, you know I have trouble with keeping things in order but I promise to try.

The earliest things that I can remember have to do with the farm. I remember when I must have been about three or four, I would ride with my father on the tractor while he plowed the fields. I would sit on his lap, and he would let me pretend to drive the tractor. Sometimes when we would do this I guess my squirming would get him hard, because I could feel something poking me in the ass. Once I reached back and just squeezed it really hard. My father was only in his mid-twenties since they had me right after they got out of high school. I knew what I had in my hand even then. He got really red in the face, and after then he would make me stand up to drive the tractor. I think he was afraid that he would get hard again. I begged him to let me sit in his lap and drive to no avail. Uncle Spencer was still living with us then. He did not mind my sitting in his lap. When he got a hard on he would just rub it really hard against my ass. The first time I felt of his cock, I must have been about six. I had heard about sex at school. Boys talk even in the first grade about sex.

My parents had gone out to eat and then to see a movie. This was something that they did not do very often, but they left me with Uncle Spence, who had agreed to baby sit so that they could have a good time. I think even then my father was being hard to live with. It was just that I was young and went to bed early. It was not until I was older that I knew that the father was not suppose to scream and curse all the time. Spencer and I were lying on the couch after I had gotten ready to go to bed. I took my own bath by then, and although my mother bought me pajamas I never wore them. I slept as all boys do, in my briefs. Uncle Spencer was in his old gym shorts from high school. He was lying on the couch with just the shorts on when I came in from my bath in just my briefs. He motioned for me to come and lie with him on the couch. I did. He put his arms around me. Hell, he was only seventeen, maybe eighteen, I guess. He was muscular from all the work on the farm. He played baseball and ran track in high school. I thought that he was the coolest. He put his arm around me and pulled me to him. I could feel the few hairs that he had between his pecs on my back. I could also feel his hard cock pushed against my butt. I got an immediate boner.

My cock. I think we had better talk about it for a while since it is the prime mover in this story. I learned that in the creative writing class. Not about cocks but about prime moving force. At six years old I had a four inch cock. I had seen other boys at school and when we went to the YMCA for swimming classes. None of them had a cock as big as mine. I played with it occasionally but not enough to make it grow like it seemed to be doing. So, I just figured that I was naturally endowed. Anyway, I was to find out later that all the men in our family have big cocks early on, but only a few ever meet or exceed their potential. I think Robert is the exception. He was bigger than I was the first time we ever played around. There I go again. Let me get back to the story.

We were lying there watching the old black and white television. Spence had his arm around me. My dick got hard. Slowly, he moved his hand down and covered my cock. He then started to rub it and my little nuts through the cotton cloth of my briefs. I remember thinking to myself that if I were to die right then I would go happy. His dick was grinding into my ass. I started instinctively to push back and forth against his cock on one side and his hand on the other. Spence pushed my little jockey shorts down. I raised my ass so that he could get them around my ankles. Spencer's hard cock was pushing against my naked ass through the silky material of those old gym shorts. I figured that it was time to find out what that huge cock of his looked like. I started pulling the elastic down. His cock was only about six or six and half inches but it flopped out and I thought that it was the biggest in the world.

I seem to be avoiding getting to the nut of the matter. I guess that is a pun intended. Robert thinks that Spencer taught me all about man sex. I let him think it. I have no idea how but instinct I guess is how I learned. Spencer never forced me to do anything and rarely ever encouraged me to go anything with him. I wanted sex. I wanted him. I knew what to do. I turned over although I was loving the feel of his hand on my cock. I took his hard cock in both hands. I thought that this had to be the biggest cock in the world. It was only as I figured out later about six inches and really not that big around. I was just small. I jacked his cock. I let my hands slide up and down on it. I watched the lips of his cock sort of open and close as I pulled the skin forward and then pushed backward. Spence moaned as I picked up the pace of stoking him. It was such a pretty cock. It was so hot and hard in my hands. I wanted it. I could smell the sweet sweat from his groin. I could feel the silky pubic hair above his cock. Then without even thinking about it I took as much of his dick into my mouth as I could. I thought Spencer was going to freak out. He wiggled and moaned. He grabbed my cock and started masturbating me with a vengeance. "Oh. Oh. My peter. My peter." He moaned. That was back when people still called cocks peters. I guess growing up on the farm none of us were very sophisticated. I had never heard of a penis until I was in high school, and then Rick had to explain what it was. I thought he was going to laugh his ass off about my not knowing what a penis was.

My sucking Spence's cock was the most natural thing in the world for me. I have heard boys talk about not wanting to do it at first. They thought that it was nasty. I have heard others say that they were tricked into sucking their first cock. I know a couple of guys who have told me that they wanted a blow job so badly that they agreed to suck cock to get one. Well, no one told me to suck or not to suck. I just did it. I think there must be some natural attraction there with the instinct to do what one is suppose to do. The rest of it sounds like something that these boys picked up from that unnatural health class in the eight grade or from church. I was already sucking cock regularly by eight grade so I did not think that it was going to make me sick to swallow a load of cum. I knew by then that I loved cum. As far as church goes, it was in town, and my family was not that religious to start with. Mostly, on Sunday morning, my mom and dad stayed in bed with the door locked. I was told not to bother them. After Spence and I started fucking around no we had really fucked then any way he told me what they were doing. After the idea no longer seemed repulsive, I thought that was a great way for them to spend Sunday morning. Spencer and I spent Sunday morning doing pretty much the same thing. I had not even had a dry organism, but I really liked to do it. I loved to help Spence get his rocks off. That is what he called it. I thought it was a really cool expression. I would aim his peter like you would a gun and make it fire.

Back to the first time. I kept sucking Spencer's cock. I could feel it starting to get bigger in my mouth. It seemed that it was harder and hotter than it had been. Spencer grabbed my head and pulled me away from his cock. He grabbed it in his hand and started jerking it really hard. That is when it happened. White goo everywhere. It shot across toward the TV. It was on the back of the couch. I did not make it out of the way in time and it was on my face. Some was dripping from my upper lip. I stuck my tongue out and captured some. It did not taste that bad. I wondered why he had pulled me away. Then I thought about it and was sure that it would have freaked me out big time had he suddenly shot off in my mouth.

Uncle Spence cleaned us up. He explained what had happened. It was not that big of a surprise for me since in the last year I had seen the cows bred and there were always chickens and dogs and other animals around fucking. My father had explained that to me. Spencer told me that eventually I too would start doing what he did. He noticed that I had tasted the cream. He asked me if I like it. I said that I did. He promised me more but made me agree not to tell anyone about what we did. I would have agreed to anything Spencer asked me. I really loved him.

We went to bed. I dreamed about Spence saving me from a herd of buffalo. I think it was because there had been a western on the TV when we were doing sex. I did not say anything to my parents or to any of the people at school. No one asked me and I did not think that they needed to know about what Spencer and I did. No one was around in those days trying to stir up shit about older guys making it with younger ones. Hell, I have seduced a lot of older guys. If I get a chance, I sure am going to get in John Rice's trousers. He says say what you mean. Okay. I am not going to wear his trousers. I am going to stick my hand in them and play with that cock of his. He either wears boxers or no underwear. I can see the outline of that hog running down his left leg. Jesus. Yep, I was a perv even at that age and still am. John Rice, who is a hunk, says that I have trouble sticking to the subject. I cannot help but think about all this sex since this is the first time in a long time that I have not been getting sex on a daily basis. I sit there every night knowing that I want to suck his cock and that he sure as hell wants to suck mine and we talk about fragments and comma splices. What? I know. Back to the subject.

Spencer was in charge of the barn. He made sure that all the animals were taken care of. He was the one that did the breeding. He also took care of the machinery. When I got home from school the next day, I ran into the house, changed from my school clothes to an old pair of cut off jeans and proceeded to the barn. Spencer was lying on his back under one of the balers working on it. The lower part of his body was sticking out. He only had on a pair of shorts. The legs were really loose. I did what I had done so often before. I looked up the legs and got a glimpse of his naked cock and balls. He had no underwear on at all. I moved up quietly and slip my hand up the leg of his shorts and grabbed his cock.

"Ouch!"

"I'm sorry, Uncle Spencer, I didn't mean to hurt you." I thought that I had done something horrible. I just knew that I was going to cry.

He slipped from under the baler. I could see where he had hit his forehead on something. "You didn't hurt me. It scared me. I hurt myself when I raised up too quickly."

His hand was greasy but he reached up the legs of my cut offs and grabbed my cock. "How you going to explain a greasy cock to your mom when you have to take a bath tonight?"

I was twisting and turning. Moaning from the feel of his greasy hand on my prick. He had pulled it out the leg of my shorts and with his thumb and index finger was jacking me off. " I don't care. I don't care at all." I was so lost in my lust that I could hardly breathe. It could have caused me to turn purple I would not have cared. I reached for Spencer's cock. I grabbed it with force, and it was soon hard.

He was still lying on the floor of the barn, and I was on my knees right beside him. He said that we really did not have time to do this right now since he had to finish fixing the baler before the next day. I told him that was okay, for him to go on back to work. He had a problem pushing his cock back into his shorts, but he tried and slid back under the baler. I could not stand it. I was still kneeling there looking at that pulsating bulge in his shorts. The part of him that I really wanted was sticking out from under the baler. I said, "Uncle Spence, don't jump." I reached and started to work on his cock. "You go ahead and work on the baler. I'll do my job out here."

"Okay, but you listen good. If you hear anything that sounds like your dad or anyone else coming up then put your toy up. You understand?"

"I know, Uncle Spence, I don't want anyone to find out either."

I blew him that afternoon. That night we did it again when he went to bed. He slept in the room next to mine upstairs. My folks slept downstairs. They hardly ever came up the stairs since Spencer and I were expected to keep our own rooms and bathroom clean. We did a pretty good job too. We were not neat freaks, but for two guys we did not have a lot of messy dirty clothes all over the place. That was one of my first real chores. I had to help my mother do the laundry. We had a washing machine. That was fine, but the clothes still had to be hung on a line outside. Even if we had a drier, my mother would have made me hang them in the sun. She loved the smell of fresh laundry that had been in the sun all day. I remember once I needed a pair of briefs from the line. For some reason I was taking a bath in the afternoon. I may have been going to a birthday party. It seemed like I was always going to birthday parties for classmates. I got the briefs from the line that afternoon. They smelled so good. They were still warm when I got out of the shower and pulled them on. That to me was so sexy. I got a boner then and there. I guess that it is funny how you can remember strange things like that when you start writing.

John Rice says that you should have one point and stick to it. The one point in this is the first time that I had sex with another male was with Uncle Spencer. I think I pretty much stuck to the point. I gave you the how, when and the where. I think the why is pretty evident. I may look really straight but I have been gay as long as I can remember.

Authors Note: [this is another trick that John Rice showed me.] That was my first attempt at writing a sex story. I am still not sure that I will turn it in to my creative writing teacher, John Rice, but I am sending it along for you to post. Like I said if it helps some guy in Iowa or Isola, Mississippi, get their rocks off that will be great. I could tell you some more about what happened in my sex life that was lots more exciting. At least for me. Hell, I did not get a dry organism for another three years after I started. It still felt good. Hey, Let me know if you want more. Carl.

carrsoncarruthers@yahoo.com

I would like to thank Pieter for his excellent working in editing the stories. If you wish to email me, please put the word "one" somewhere in the subject line. Thank you. CC