Date: Wed, 10 Jan 2024 23:10:57 +0000 From: Griz Subject: Harvard Comes To Montana - Chapter Twelve "Harvard Comes To Montana" - Chapter Twelve By Griz umgriz@protonmail.com Okay, twelve chapters now. One for each pup. I just looked at the calendar. I'm runnin' out of time if I want to tell this story to conclusion before 2024 is finished. Kidding (kinda). Jeff's story is not going to run like `General Hospital' or `The Hung And The Chestless'. My continued thanks for the positive and helpful comments and reactions to this story. One man wrote that he hoped the people in the story are real. I promise you, they are all real. Their names aren't the same, nor are their exact circumstances for some. There are a few you've yet to meet. Also: as is the case with smaller communities, everyone knows everyone else, if only by name, face and reputation. Jeff and Tom were best friends, and Tom and Kristi really did begin dating. Lu, the hash-slingin' waitress at the Empire really could have put Jessye Norman to shame, had they sung on stage together. And Lu was untrained. Just Prime, Grade-A, natural talent. Another reader asked what the tubing was that `Jeff' in the photo was holding. That's a virgin nylon rope. The fibers need to get `seasoned'. My dad did that by dragging a new rope behind our truck on the county road a few times, then soaking it in a creek way down-stream from here the cattle drank. Logic: cattle don't need to ingest nylon fibers. The soil would filter them out, although that's not the best solution, either. More farmers and ranchers are moving back to hemp ropes now, and away from synthetic fibers like nylon. History Lesson for you: until the 20th century, almost all nautical rope was hemp, because the wetter it got, the stronger it became. Okay, back to our regularly scheduled program, starring Jeff and Fergus County. And Sebastian. Thanks for reading, and thank you for writing. With Sincere Respect and Appreciation for All of You; Griz *** The following story is a work of erotic fiction. If you are under the age of 18 or if this type of fiction is prohibited in the location where you are reading this, do not read any further. All characters and names are creations of the author. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Please show your support for Nifty, a great organization that gives opportunities to all types of authors to express themselves. To find out how you can contribute, go to donate.nifty.org/donate.html *** *********************************************************** I was tired after a full day working the field with the combine crew, opening gates and closing others so they could take down the first of the crops. I wanted nothing more than to rinse off, climb in the hot tub and soak until the Rural Electric Association sent us a `thank you' card for being their highest-usage and profit-generating customer. I rinsed off in the barn bathroom. While out-and-out B.O. does nothing for me, some work funk is a different story; even if it's my own. I guess it's because there's proof I did something other than read old Archies comic books and drink Kool-Aid. (Orange. There is no other flavor. Okay, except Grape. And FINE, Strawberry. Geez.) Once in the Jacuzzi, I leaned my head back and turned my eyes off, enjoying the peace and quiet. Mom was getting dinner ready for the crew. We had so much to share, and the guys didn't get all the love from a lot of farms. Not for lack of interest; just lack of time and resources for some farmers' kitchens. Some margins were so lean, it was all the farmers could do to pay their contract prices agreed upon much earlier in the year. We had two deep freezes. Mom said one was for her and Dad and me, and one was for me. Whaddya want, I'm seventeen, and my metabolism was as fast as my refractory period: lightning. There ya go. I was enjoying my relaxation when I felt the water level change, moving up my chest just a little. From experience, I knew someone else was in the hot tub with me. I smiled, my eyes still closed. "So; all the dust in the air chase you out of the field, too?" No answer, but I knew my brother would've preferred crawling into an empty (of other people) hot tub. What the fuck?! Anders was tugging on my briefs. He was going to leave me naked in there, unable to get out without embarrassment. Well, I think it would be the combine crew who would be embarrassed; I had nothing to be embarrassed about, after all. I opened my eyes to see no one in the hot tub with me, but my underwear was being pulled down my legs. Fuckin' Anders, sneakin' under the water to pull his under-handed shenanigans. I reached beneath the bubbling surface and pulled up on two ears which were NOT attached to my brother's head. "Marc! Wow! What're you doing in here?! Where's my underwear?!" "I'm making up for lost time and claiming some farmboy ass, that's what I'm doing in here; and you got my shirt, so I get your shorts. Fair trade, I'd say. Wouldn't you?" "NOT TODAY! Mom is in the house! The combine crew will be back here for dinner!" "No she isn't, and no they won't. She and your brother took everything out to them in the side-by-side thing. Just you, me, your horse and your new dog family. We have by my estimation one hour of Alone Time. So: in here, or in the hayloft?" "Not in here! If some spuzz comes floating to the surface, I don't want to have to explain THAT to anyone. Sheesh.....well, I can't say I haven't wanted this moment to come for a few days, so let me get dried off. And give me back my underwear! I'll get you a clean pair." "The fuck you will; I want some farmboy funk on these if I'm gonna wear `em. But that'll be later, after they've dried out. Come on, get going; there's your towel, or do I have to dry you off?" "This is so.....reckless! And completely unlike me; I'm the very definition of proper and provincial. Still.....Paco seems to be on your side of this argument, not mine. Who am I to argue with you two?" "No one who has any sense in his head and cum in his balls. Remember when I said we had about an hour? All your time-wastin' has us down to 50 minutes. Tick-Tock, Jeffrey!" "STOP CALLING ME JEFFREY!" "Heh.....nope. Not yet. That's a privilege that has to be earned, and until I have you horizontal, I can't say you've earned anything except my eyes on this watch. Hurry yer ass up to the hayloft! This offer is not good until Midnight tonight, like they used to say on infomercials!" I laughed and ran into the barn, toward the stairs. "Hi, Lola Cola! Hi, Pups! Don't mind your Uncle Jeff! He's just runnin' up the stairs to take care of something he should have Sunday morning!" Lola Cola woofed at me, as did her twelve pups. Approval? Complaint? Suggestions? Probably. Everyone's a critic. Marc laughed behind me. I turned my head to see him about three steps behind me, but I could feel his hand on my ass. Damn, was his arm was long and his aim good.....he hit `It' just right. Marc, you have a very talented index finger, I must say. Shivers ran through my body, and I hesitated at the top step. Marc's hand never left my too-pale rump. Damn, this felt incredible. His hands felt rough, but I wasn't complaining; the texture was completely the opposite of my still-soft, (most of the time) unexposed skin. Maybe professin' at a college level was more tactile than I thought. Whatever----it was just nice to have Marc behind me, right at my behind. Once we were both up in the loft, I looked over the edge. Bolt and Stan both were looking right at me, shame and derision on their faces. `Jealous, Boys?', I thought as I turned to begin moving my hands all over Marc's tight, furred chest. This guy was perfect. MORE than perfect. He was MY Perfect, if only for maybe 45 more minutes. Marc pulled my face toward his, and we broke into a passionate kiss. Maybe it was a kiss of relief that we finally made it to this moment. Whatever it was, we were both acting like teenagers. Well, ONE of us was acting; the other really was a teenager. ANYWAY..... Marc's hands moved down to my ass and pulled me tightly up against him, our cocks straining to assert dominance. I could feel precum leaking from Paco's mouth, drooling all over himself and Marc's.....Marc's.....? I'd have to ask him what he named his cock. But not right now. We were busy, and we had maybe 40 minutes remaining. So much man to enjoy, so little time. I decided now was as good a time as any to feel his high, round, rock-solid glutes, too. They were hard, yeah; but the skin was soft. Velvet covered with the finest corn-silk soft, dark hair. It grew in quantity----and quality, not to mention length, believe it or don't----as my fingers moved inward to that sublime valley between the hills. You know the one to which I refer, if I may be so proper and piss-elegant for one moment. If Marc wanted to show me his skills as a swordsman, I'd match him with my own. My finger found his maidenhead, or whatever the fur-covered masculine version of a hole was called. Marc was still damp from the hot tub, but by no means enough. I pulled back and got my finger slimed with my own precum, running the tip against the tip (so to speak), collecting enough slippery goo to do the job I had in mind. Marc must've deduced my maleficent intentions. He moaned into my mouth, still plastered against his own. The number of times I'd dreamed of kissing Marc Taylor, including (to be honest with you) within the first 15 seconds of seeing him in my truck after finding him on Highway 87 on Sunday morning. Now we were kissing-----straight-on making out, really-----and I was JUST RIGHT THERE to breach his security, taking what was mine, and offering him what was his. My cock was harder than hard now, and Marc's was no less so. The aroma of two men in heat (is that right? maybe just `excessively horny and hormonal'?) in a barn's hayloft probably scared all the animals within a radius of five acres. Poor Lola Cola----probably thinking, `WHAT-----I just pooped out these twelve, and now two MORE males want some?! WHY ME?!?' Ah.....but nothing at that moment was about you, Lola Cola. Nothing at that moment was about anything other then Marc getting inside me, and me returning the favor. I was ready for this. I was aching to share myself completely with Marc, and although we were down to now maybe five minutes, we could still manage something reasonable; something meaningful. Something more than a handshake, for fuck's sake. Been there, done that. My aim was true. My finger still well-lubed by my own precum. "Incoming, Marc....." "Incoming, Jeff....." We were THERE. SO READY. PAST THE POINT OF NO RETURN. And then: I turned my head in time to see both Anders and Mom standing there, staring at us with wide-mouthed horror on their faces. Another second, and the combine crew were right behind them, coming up the ladder. Must've been twenty of them! Lola Cola was barking! OH, FUCK! The sound they all made together, shouting and screaming at us, like a foghorn or nuclear bomb siren. It got louder and louder, and I seemed frozen. Immobile. What the FUCK was happening to me?! Suddenly, damnit. DAMN IT ALL TO HOBSON. My phone buzzed a `good morning' to me, right on time. I grabbed the cheery fucker and threw it against the (carpeted) floor. IS IT TOO MUCH TO ASK that I have an erotically charged dream about my new (only) boyfriend?! Siri, did you have to take me so literally when I asked you to wake me up at 4AM?! Don't you know me well enough by now that I meant 4:30?! ARRGH! What Marc and I could've accomplished with 30 more minutes! Heck, we could've accomplished 20 combine crew men, combined (after sending Mom and Anders away, of course). Even if not THAT, one or both of us could've.....well, we all know what we could've.....but I'll wait to share that when it actually FUCKING HAPPENS. Because apparently TODAY, my expectations were un-fuckin'-reasonable. Goddamned Siri. Gonna change the name to `Coitus Interruptus'. "Hey, C.I.; what's the weather for Fergus County today?" "Look out yer fuckin' window. You're not blind." "Hey, C.I.; schedule me time with Marc between 7PM and Midnight Saturday." "Five hours is a long time. He'll be thoroughly bored with you in just 30 minutes. What are the other four and a half hours for? Him holding you while you cry and apologize for `these things just happen sometimes'? YOU'RE SEVENTEEN. That's not supposed to happen for another 50 years. I'll schedule you for an hour, and if you manage to not embarrass me, Marc or yourself, next time we'll go for 90 minutes. `Five hours'? Who do you think you are? Rocco Siffredi?" Yeah, this morning definitely got me up on the wrong side of the bed. That dream was SO REAL. The kiss, incredible. If the real one is only half that good, I'll be twice as pleased. And really.....who am I to complain? It WAS a really nice dream, and for once it was nice to sleep in, rather than get up before needing to. It took a few minutes, but my mind was clear and my heart light after a full night's rest. The evening before had gone so perfectly. Mr Taylor's blessing on Marc and me was unexpected, to say the least; but it was my own hope, given voice by someone whose opinion mattered to me. To hear him say he wanted lots of grandsons by Marc and me.....perhaps not exactly what I'd been thinking at that point, but now I couldn't NOT think of it. I yawned and stretched, pulled on some sweat pants and sneakers, and took off to attend to the morning chores---but still pissed off that not only was that a dream, but one cut short! The chicks were no longer `Bobby and Cindy Brady-Cute', and it would be awhile before they were `Greg and Marcia-Hot'. All ten chicks were at the `Peter and Jan-Awkward' phase. Fresh water and feed for them, and I moved on to the barn to first check on Lola Cola and the Bernese von Trapp Children (there WERE twelve of them in real life, you know). The net was still secure as we'd left it. I didn't see the owl, but I saw OC as soon as I came through the door. Both he and Lola Cola were anxious to get out of the stall to relieve themselves and get some fresh air. I sat with the puppies in the meantime. My favorite little guy was awake and mewling. I picked him up and gave him some love. We continued with the hand-nursing. Since Lola Cola was giving all dozen pups equal tit time, we felt they could get through the night well enough. LeVar was certain we were past the point of danger, but supplementing Mommy Milk with the formula would help the pups continue their positive development. Mom, and Anders and I were happy to do it. The added benefit: human-canine early socialization, and also Lola Cola's continued trust in us to help care for her pups. It would be another three weeks until their eyes opened, and we could begin feeding them a thin gruel in addition to the Mommy Milk and formula. Bolt and Stan were happy horses these days, delighting in being the Two Wise Men (plus OC, the other Wise Man) in the stable with Mom and the Babies. I gave them fresh hay and some oats, and cleaned out their water troughs before filling them to the brim. I released them a little early into the little pasture to run and graze as they wished. They'd also be welcomed by the preggers cattle. I was expecting warmer weather today. We were closer to August now, and with it, more and longer-lasting high pressure barometrical conditions. The high pressure wasn't just atmospheric; it was now solidly on the people of the farm, too. More combine guys would be here Sunday, and take down probably 500 acres. 18% of the harvest. Same amount on Monday, same on Tuesday. Two days' inaction, and then more of the same. Mom made the comment while we were cleaning up after the steak dinner last night that the Hutterites had supplied us with so much convenient food that we could feed the combine crews and truckers at least two meals a day and still have food remaining for the freezer. Hutterites are good people, and if you don't know their history, you'll find some interesting articles online about them. Originally Austrian anabaptists that speak a dialect of German, dress plainly in black, Hutterites live communally and cooperatively, and are found throughout Montana, North and South Dakota, Washington and Wyoming, and in the Plains Provinces of Canada. Kind, plain-living, devout people. We've been friends with members of the King Colony since they and we homesteaded in the same areas of Fergus County. I grew up with Joe, Joe Jr, Eli, Esther, Susie, Paul, Peter and dozens more. We go to their weddings and funerals, and they come to ours. And yet, all the way to the current day, there are some people in the county who attack Hutterites with the same prejudices abnormally reserved for Native Americans, Latin folks, gay kids and so many others. Like the song goes: `You have to be carefully taught' as children to grow up hating others. With the morning chores finished, I showered in the barn and serenaded myself with exciting selections from Broadway shows that only entered the nightmares of Rogers & Hammerstein and Lin-Manuel Miranda. Or his grandmother, Carmen. There's a reason you've never heard of any Polish opera singers----we have as much vocal talent as we do hair on our chests. As I was scrubbing away, I looked at a corner of the bathroom that would be plenty large enough for a few deeper, floor-to-ceiling shelves. I was thinking that a few changes of clothes would be just right there. I was also thinking.....there was also plenty of room on the opposite side of the bathroom wall for a bedroom. Maybe I never got around to asking Dad to build one for me, but Anders and I could easily get it done ourselves. Do you want the truth? I was already planning (plotting? Conspiring?!) that my older brother and Eva would reunite for more than coffee or steak picnics. I wanted my brother to smile again, and for more than becoming a parent of a dozen puppies. I was hoping I'd be an uncle of humans at some point, too. But here's The Truth: I wanted a seventh generation on the Wojtowicz homestead. Not desperately, but definitely. I wanted to die an old man, fully assured that as I joined Dad, our future was assured and sustained. And my room with its East-South exposure, would be a perfect nursery for that nascent seventh generation. Maybe two or three times. THAT is what drives my thought of living in the barn, in a bedroom on the other side of the wall from the bathroom, 100 feet away from the horses, Old Cat, Barn Owl, and a fully stocked refrigerator. Maybe not in that exact order, too..... Oh, fuck. Since I'm spilling all my T: it mattered more to me that we as a family got another 75 years than I get another 50 years with a man in my life. A Marc in my life, even. Even? Specifically. Some of you think, I'm sure, that I carry on far too much about this land and this blood------but you just don't get it. When this much work has gone into a successful 130 year old business, you will care about it more than you care about what makes you happy. Most of the time. I wanted the best of both worlds: my farm to live for a hundred years past my birth, past my death, past the weakening memory of my name; and Marc (I strongly believe). Just Marc. Sure, I'd love kids, and yeah, I believe we could figure out a way to have `em. One? Two? At least. A dozen? A dozen little Marclets and Jefflets running around, getting in the way of everything, driving us to drink, running through allll the money and otherwise doing questionable things while smiling innocently? Don't tease yer boy Jeff. I'd be the first one to have the house added onto until the new foundation was in the next acre, and everyone had her or his own bathroom (which they'd keep clean themselves). I drove my old truck to town, smiling and blasting (through the one Detroit factory-installed speaker) some vintage `No Doubt'. It was now 5:00 AM, and I was wide awake, happy with the preceding night's `Last Supper' with the Taylors Senior, and the news that Marc now had property here. I know I was hoping for too much, but I wanted even more for Marc to be interviewed for and offered the job with the school district. There were all the obvious reasons he was qualified for and deserved it; but there were just as many that could preclude him. No public school administrative experience. Not known to Fergus County and Lewistown. Too young. Not old enough. Too hot. GOD, was Marc Taylor hot. If that disqualified him for the job, I could not imagine two things: 1, what he would be qualified for, and 2, who could they possibly want to hire? Roseanne Barr? On the horizon, I saw Eva's shack. Because I didn't get any coffee at home, I wanted to be awake enough for an early-morning greeting with Sebastian. I didn't doubt he could make himself comfortable, but I still didn't want to neglect him. We'd been together a majority of our lives. He was my 4H project, yes, but he'd come to mean more to me than only that. I grew up with him. We experienced the best and the worst of agro life together, and we came through it with a purple ribbon to share. My first, his last. Damnit. "Morning, Jeff!" "Hi, Love; Happy Friday!" "You are a master griller! That steak was incredible! I made the rest into a sandwich to enjoy for lunch. You and Anders and your mom were so nice to include me." "You're more than welcome, Eva. I think you made the evening perfect, and that's not to say anything about your cheesecake, which was also perfect!" "Thanks! Another experiment! What has you up so early, where are you going, and what do you want to drink? I'm working part-time as a reporter for the `Daily Disappointment' Newspaper, you know!" "Your contributions could only improve the `Snooze-Argus', Eva.....Fergus County's own tabloid. I'm going out to see Sebastian and make sure he remembers me. Last night was his first away from the farm since he came to live with us." "Awww.....poor little guy! You're a good dad! How would you like a new drink? White Chocolate Huckleberry Rum Mocha!" "You don't need to say that twice! I'd love one." "Jeff.....I liked meeting Marc. Seems like a good guy." "I think so. We didn't get around to talking about going out with you and Anders tomorrow, but I'll check with him when he returns from Great Falls later today." "Orrrr......you could check with him right now; unless I'm mistaken, that's the Taylors' hot rod Mustang pulling in right behind you." I turned around and looked, and sure enough, Marc was behind the wheel of the racy red car, with Mr Taylor riding shotgun. I pumped the brakes so Marc would know it's me, and told Eva I'd pull around to the end of her shack. "Keep my tab open, Eva; Taylors' order is on me!" She smiled and I drove on so the Taylors could have the window. I ran up the steps on the opposite side of the shack and ran through the door and up to the window to say hi to the Taylors from the inside, crowding Eva in the window. "Hi! Welcome to Snore-bucks! What can I get thoroughly screwed up for you?!" Everyone laughed (my goal), and Marc smiled widely at me. I stepped back so Eva could do the actual work, and went back outside so I could talk with the Taylors. "Nice surprise to see you as you drive out of town for the last time, Mr and Mrs Taylor! Hi, Marc....." "Hey, Jeff. We got an earlier start than anticipated, which is good. We're stopping for breakfast at `Big Boy's' in Great Falls. Don't suppose we could convince you to come with us?" "Aw, thanks; I have to go see Sebastian and then get ready for the Custom Combine guys to come through. If I can, though.....and this is just an offer.....I'd like to convince you to take Dad's big crew cab truck to Great Falls. Every valley between here and there is filled with deer and antelope, and you're going in the dark. They get hypnotized by headlights and make bad decisions----which can destroy vehicles and injure folks inside them. His big one-ton truck has a grill guard and is just a beast in its own right, and seats all of you and all your luggage. Leave your Mustang here, take off in the truck, leave it here when you get back, Mark. You're carrying very precious cargo today." Mrs Taylor exchanged a look with Mr Taylor, and uncharacteristically, spoke up first. "Young Man, thank you. I was concerned about that very thing when we were planning this trip. We can't all three fit in our old truck. What do you two think?" "Can't argue with logic, and can't turn down a logical and generous offer, either. Mrs Taylor and I are onboard with that, and gratefully. Marc?" "You heard him.....very precious cargo. We follow you to your farm and leave this there?" "Yeah, great! I'm only seven minutes from here. It won't set you back much. Eva, can you time a coffee order so it'll be ready by the time Team Taylor make their way back from the farm?" "Jeff, you're just silly! Of course I can!" Eva took the orders and promised to have them prepared in about 15 minutes. I turned my truck around and aimed it at the county road, and with our little early-morning caravan in route, we drove back to the farm. I know Dad would have offered the very same thing. Anders, too. Mom? She'd also pack a breakfast and sneer at the thought of anyone eating overly-salted junk food in Great Falls. Back at the farm, I got out of my truck and pointed Marc to drive the Mustang into the equipment barn, where it'd be safe during the time the combine crew would be driving through with their beasts. I ran in the house and got the keys to the big truck, returned and helped load the luggage into the bed. Before they were seated, I gave Mr and Mrs Taylor hugs, then helped them get in. We kept a short step stool in the bed, since the door height of the truck was considerably taller than their car's. I then gave them a run-down on the amenities, including the buttons to heat and cool the seats, the interior lights, and of course, where the drink holders are located. Does a truck really need eight drink holders, when it seats only five people? Guess so! Surely reduces the chances of spills! My attention was then turned to Marc. With Mr Taylor's hug and blessing yesterday, Marc and I were past the point of delicacy. I pulled him into a tight hug and held him, my face aimed at his ear. "Boyfriend." "Boyfriend." That was it. He climbed in (without the stool, since he has the legs of a Morgan Horse) and buckled up. I showed him how to adjust the mirrors, the seat, the steering wheel, his own heating and cooling, the moonroof, everything. I also reminded him that if he's not familiar driving Diesels, that the motor will sound different until he gets up to highway speed. Then I connected his phone to the radio, so if he wanted to call or receive a call, he could do it without fumbling around for his phone-----and keep his eyes looking out for errant ungulates. They were all strapped in safely and ready to go. I rode the running board with them up to the county road and wished them a safe trip and a happy future in New Mexico. The Taylors in back looked adorable; like they were royalty riding in a limousine. You know this by now, but: I will miss them. As they drove away, Anders appeared at the barn door leading to the bathroom. Great minds, we W Boys have. "Tell me one or two things, Jeff; you lent them Dad's truck, and/or they are taking at least six Bernese puppies with them to New Mexico." "Only one of those, Anders. I talked them into taking the truck, since I know there are entire herds of deer between here and Great Falls. If Marc hit one of `em with that too-low Mustang, there could be human body injuries, as well as to deer and car. He'll drop the truck off and get the Mustang when he comes back later this morning." "Another good call. Who are you, you mature, wise person; and what have you done with my sex-crazed little brother?" "I am NOT sex-crazed! GEEZ! A normal, functional farmboy makes twenty or thirty mistakes, and suddenly he's a slut!" "Your eloquent logic defies description, Baby Brother. SO ANYWAY: Are you going into town today?" "Yeah, as in, now. I want to go check on `Sebastian The Wonder Steer'. You need something from town?" "Nah. Just thinking of riding along. You're coming back after the fairgrounds, right?" "No place else to be until the Combiners get in. I'm going up to get changed into something different. Go say `hi' to Lola Cola and kids. I saw them already; it's great how they're all doing well so far." "All right. That's where I'll be, in case you get back down here and I'm not in your truck. Um, since you're going in the house, can you leave a note for Mom?" "Since I'm the literate one, I don't see any options to that." "Ass." "Hole." I wanted to get dressed in decent clothes, just in case there were other farmers there while I was checking on Sebastian. Anders and I made our way into town, and of course, stopped back at Eva's to get some Go Juice. "Well, looky here; the Anders and Jeff Comedy Road Show! What're you two rascals gettin' up to together?" "Fairgrounds, Eva. Finally going through with my original plans before being sidetracked by Team Taylor only half an hour ago. Been busy yet this morning?" "Surprisingly. Boys, why don't you park this and come in? I have some cinnamon rolls I'm trying out. Fresh out of the oven." "Don't have to tell us twice; Jeff, park this thing before someone with an appetite sees it. Broken-down old bucket of bolts....." "You can WALK all the way to town, or back to the farm; I'm going in to try these cinnamon rolls and get some coffee. I don't know what YOU'RE gonna do, Smart-ass." "You tell him, Jeff!" We laughed, and I pulled around to the hill's side of the coffee shack. We walked up the three steps to get inside. It was mostly an empty space, since Eva had configured the service area for the window only. There was plenty of room to build a counter, though; if she wanted to make room for folks to come in and sit. We sat on a bench by the door, which was just fine. Eva pulled two HUGE cinnamon rolls out of a pan, slathered on some frosting and handed the plates to us. Then she poured us just plain, black French Roast. "These are all the flavoring you're gonna need, I think. But tell me honestly: are they okay?" Anders and I looked at each other and smiled. We knew already that we'd love Eva's creations, whatever she chose to put in front of us. Still.....just to be polite, you see.....we forked big hunks of the rolls in our gaping maws and groaned as our tongues were seduced by the flavor. Before either of us could answer, we each took another bite. And another. Within five minutes, or plates were clean. I could honestly have eaten another. "Eva, that was incredible. This was just an experiment?! It tasted like you'd been perfecting the recipe for years." "Yeah, Jeff.....I saw the recipe on Pinterest and it looked good. Sometimes that's the recipe, sometimes it's the baker, and sometimes it's the photography. At least you liked it. I'll see if I can get it the same with the second try, and if so, I'll run up a cost analysis. Might make sense to offer `em, and it might not. Made sense for you two, anyway!" Anders stood up and walked over, pulling Eva into a hug. "The best I've ever had. I think I can promise that Jeffrey and I will be steady customers for these. And you're right; nothing fancy for coffee. Perfect to have it just black with these cinnamon rolls." "STOP CALLING ME JEFFREY!" "Whatever, Jeffrey." We all laughed, and Eva turned to take a drive-up customer's order. "Anders, look at this area right here. You know, if Eva wanted it, we could build her a counter big enough for four or six stools, and shelves on her side of it." "I like that idea. Run it past her sometime." "No, YOU run it past her sometime, you idiot! That's something she'd want to hear from you, not me!" "I think it's safe to say everyone would like anything to be said by me and not by you, ya sex-starved teenager. But really, there's a concern already. Can you guess?" "Not parking.....oh. Max capacity? No, that shouldn't be a problem, and her baking kitchen isn't accessible by the public. Compliant restroom, I'd bet." "I'd bet, too. Still, I think you have a good idea; that is, if Eva wants in-house traffic." "One way to find out, I guess." Eva was now making the customer's drinks. We could see by the convex mirror mounted outside the window that she had another car waiting." "You boys look so cute sitting on that bench, like you're waiting for the school bus to pick you up." "In Jeff's case, like he's waiting for his regular appointment to get reprimanded by the principal." "What....." "You know, seeing you guys there gives me an idea. If I had a counter against the wall or something, I could get some foot traffic in here, too. Like folks just wanting to sit and drink and eat here, rather than in their rigs. What do you guys think of that?" Before I could say anything, Anders jumped right in. "Dang, that's a good idea, Eva; don't you think so, Jeff?" "Um.....yes. A real good idea, Eva. Um, rather than against the wall though, what about extending it from your service counter? That way you can see your customers and they get a view out the windows." "Even better! Oh, that's good! So, I haven't thought about this, obviously; but if I had room for four stools, that'd be just right. Before I hired anyone to work here, I had the regular bathroom upgraded and enlarged so it's ADA-compliant. 30" door, high-rise toilet, higher sink. I think that would satisfy the county sanitation person. The steps are already ADA-compliant, too." Anders and I just looked at each other again, smiling. I wanted another cinnamon roll, but wanted to get into town even more. "Eva, that roll was incredible. How many did you bake today?" "Only six. I had one already and liked it, but that's just my own selfish conceit thinking it was good. I needed real opinions, and I know you boys would be honest. So, what do you think?" Anders smiled warmly at Eva. Lots conveyed in that smile, I was certain. "Since you asked: sell the last three. All you have to say is `fresh-baked 30 minutes ago', and they'll fly out the window themselves. Don't know what to tell you to charge, but I'll say for something of this quality, I'd pay $4.50 for it. $5.00 if it came with butter, a knife and fork and a napkin. `The Works', so to speak." I nodded my approval to that idea. My gosh.....Anders and Eva, collaborating on counter and cinnamon roll sales. They communicated so well together. If Mom and Dad were here this morning, they'd be in the corner, giggling their heads off. Where's Norman Rockwell to paint this moment and slap it on a Saturday Evening Post magazine? Eva refilled our Javas and gave us hugs. Me first: two seconds. Anders second: seemed like forever. I heard him tell her that he'd work with her on the design for the counter, and that he and I would build it just how she wanted it. Eva just smiled and snuggled in closer for more huggage. After what seemed like an entire day, we continued on toward town and the fairgrounds. I looked over at Anders when we got into town and had streetlights to offer some illumination. He had a peaceful smile on his face. Before Sunday, it had been years since I saw a smile on his face. Even when I would go visit him in Bozeman on an extended weekend, he looked.....not unhappy, but definitely not happy. You know the difference between those two; as wide as the Grand Canyon. Anders and I both grew up fast, for different reasons, with different reactions to Time and Circumstance. At our roots, though; we're brothers who love each other get each other, and when one of us was happy, we generally both were. At least since Sunday. "Did you ask Marc about Saturday?" "Dangit, no; I did not. I'll talk with him later when he comes to trade rigs again. I hope he'll want to go; don't want to be a Third Wheel for you and Eva." "Oh, you wouldn't be." "Thanks; It'll be fun, regardless....." "No, you misunderstand me. This is a `package deal'; it's both of you, or you stay home. I had to take you along on my first date with Eva, and I'm not repeating that disaster." "That was NOT my fault! You bought the biggest Coke at the theater, and my hands were just not big enough for it! And then you bumped it, and it ACCIDENTALLY spilled into the bucket of popcorn! Sheesh!" "Which was positioned RIGHT ON MY LAP, you little asshole!" "Meh. You should be thanking me. Eva felt so sorry for you, she agreed to a second date. If it weren't for me, she'd have forgotten your name a week later. AND you wore brown corduroy trousers on a date, and to a drive-in movie theater, too. Didn't you get even a tiny amount of the Gay Gene?" "Nope. You definitely cleaned up in that department, Kiddo. If I played from your rule book, I'd have asked Eva for her shirt." "Well, until you start being active again, you should certainly ask her for her bra." Anders laughed and punched my shoulder, and within seconds we were recalling other events from that fateful first date and laughing about it, as well as other blood-relative mishaps over the years. How we lived past being ten years old would be a mystery, but I'm glad we did. I felt our lives were rich with memories. Not all were good, particularly for my big brother; but from this moment forward, we could create new memories that would be the best yet. I know we both wanted that, and we were both young enough yet that we had plenty of time to fill our lives, if only today, with more smiles, more laughter, more huge cinnamon rolls and incredibly smooth coffee. The fairgrounds were all lit up near the roping arena. That seemed strange. Lots of traffic, too. Curious. We got through the gates and drove behind the horse track to the livestock barns. People were there with their trucks and trailers. What was going on, anyway?! I saw Sam Knox talking with a fireman. My heart sank, although there was no smell of smoke and no flames anywhere that I could see. "Ah, Jeff! I'm glad to see you. You got the message, I see." "What message, Mr Knox?" I looked around for my phone. Damnit. I bet it was sitting on that little bench at Eva's. I knew I had it with me when I left the house this morning. "Well, it seems we have a wiring issue in the livestock barn. Short circuit or something. The lights won't come on and stay on. I'm sorry, Jeff; but we need to get the animals cleared out so they're safe. I won't have a disaster on my watch, particularly not involving kids' 4H projects" "Wow, okay, Mr Knox. My brother came with me. We'll get Sebastian out of his stall. I'm sure he's freaked out by all the activity." "If he is, he's a good actor; it seems more to me like he's happy at the thought of having the whole barn back to just himself. Jeff, I'm sorry, but I don't think this will be resolved anytime soon. Can you take your steer home with you?" "Oh, yeah; of course! Anders and I will load him now. Mr Knox, what about Jennie Tuss' heifer? We're the only ones left." "I can't reach her, Jeff. We'll try to find room for her with the horses until someone calls back." "Their place is only five miles from ours. I'll take her with us and keep her in our barn until someone from the Tuss ranch can come get her. That is, if it's okay with you. I brought the three-horse trailer, and this truck can easily pull them both." "That would be a blessing, Jeff. No reason to stress the animals out with all this." While I drove over to get my trailer hitched up, Anders and Mr Knox had a slight mini-reunion. Mr Knox had been the Biology teacher at the high school for 40 years. It was because of him that over 30 kids had gone on to careers in veterinary medicine, human medicine, pharmacology and other allied health sciences. Anders was one of them, and as a direct result of Mr Knox' class. He retired when Anders graduated, much to the dismay of everyone else who had hoped to be in his class in coming years. Anders helped me load Sebastian and Jennie Tuss' heifer. I grabbed her and my files and ribbons, and we were soon out of the fairgrounds. Poor Mr Knox looked so disappointed, as if he personally were responsible for the wiring problem. I was glad we were there, but selfishly, I didn't want Sebastian being stuck in that stall for four days, anyway. This was Sebastian's `Get Out Of Jail Free' card. A purple ribbon and an early release for good behavior (and a wiring problem); doesn't get much better than that, Sebby! On the way back to the farm, I drove Anders past Mr and Mrs Taylor's house. Correction: Mr Marc Taylor's house. Anders remembered it immediately. "So I guess here's where you'll be when you're shirking your business responsibilities." "Apparently only on Sundays." "`Only on Sundays'? What does that mean?" "Oh, Marc was giving me grief about both of us being so busy this Summer and Autumn that we'd have time only on Sundays to get together." "You mean to `hook up'." "Well....." "Look, Jeff; if keeping your head in the game Monday through Saturday means you can have Sunday off, by all means, go for it. There's nothing at the farm that will scratch your particular `Farmboy Itch'. Monday through Saturday: your ass is mine. Sundays: It's alllll Marc's. Only one of those is hyperbole, by the way." I could think of nothing witty to say. I could think of nothing at all, actually; I could only laugh to the point of tears. Oh, my gosh.....this was a priceless treasure, having family who were not only loving and supporting of having a gay kid in the house and business, but were also comfortable enough to make jokes that lived right on the line between R- and X-rated. "Anders, can you try to reach the Tuss ranch on your phone? If they're answering, let's just get Jennie's white ribbon heifer over there sooner than them coming later, and having to negotiate with the Custom Combine crews" "On it." Anders did reach them, and told us they were grateful for the lift and delivery. Absolutely not a problem for us. We got over there in a little over half an hour. The Sun was up above the horizon, which made me feel more comfortable than driving and hauling in the dark. Again: deer who are the worst fuckin' pedestrians on the planet. Dad always said, `the worst pedestrians are the ones who don't drive', and I had little argument with him. I also applied it to deer and antelope, whether they could attain a driver's license or not. When we got there, I noticed Tom was out with Rand Junior (lots of Juniors in Fergus County). I waved as I got closer, and waited to be directed where to turn. Rand pointed right at the barn, which worked for me. This trailer had a long lift gate, so I didn't need a ramp anywhere to back up against. Once Anders had the gate down, Jennie came running out of the house and threw her arms around him, hugging Anders and all of the air right out of him. Farm girls give fierce hugs. "Thank you for bringing her back!" Anders smiled and helped Jennie lead her little cow into the barn. I talked with Rand Jr and Tom. "Hey, Jeff; you got your own steer in there? Tom said you were showing this year. How'd you do?" Tom brought up the photo I'd sent him with Sebastian, me and the purple ribbon in it, and showed it to Rand. "Ya goddamned redneck; remember I told you that yesterday?" "Oh, that was yours, Jeff?" Tom wasn't done having fun. "No, Junior: it was the OTHER Jeff Wojtowicz with the five-year-old Black Angus steer named Sebastian. Holy fuck. If you could keep your head out of the pages of your grandpa's 1970s Playboy magazines for half a second, at least the ones you can still separate, you could put two and two together!" "You know, Sanger; I'm about to take you out back and feed you to our big Duroc. She's hungry, though your skinny ass won't do much for her. Or anyone else, for that matter." "Okay, Boys.....you're funny fuckers, but Tom, what're you doing over here?" "Oh, those goddamned agri-vultures are over at our place, talkin' to Dad and Mom. I knew I wouldn't like the conversation or the company, so I saddled up and rode over here." "Tom, what're they doing there?" "Who, Mom and Dad? They own the place." "No, you silly bonehead. Their visitors. Who's there? ADM?" "Yup." Rand got called away by his little sister, leaving Tom and me alone for a moment. "Tom, what's happening?" "Okay, I'll tell you because you're my boy and all, but keep this down-low, Jeffrey. We're going under. Last two harvests were busts for us, and this one isn't going to be enough to keep us afloat. We had great luck for so long, but the cost of irrigation equipment and our new used tractor set us way back. First Nasty-ional Bank can't extend Dad. Never seen a grown man cry before. Mom's going nuts, and I'm just angry. No one's fault; 1,000 acres aren't really enough to count on for one good harvest to cover two bad ones. I'm just glad I got to graduate before this happened." "Fuck, Tommy. I'm sorry. Listen, I gotta go.....the Custom Combine crew will be at the farm within the hour. Is your dad making the deal today?" "No, just listening to them." "Tom, just go with me on this, okay; get back home and tell him you talked with me, and that he shouldn't agree to anything for at least two days. If Archer Daniels Midland is interested, they'll still be on Sunday or Monday. Just let me have a little time, Brother From A Different Farm. Okay?" "Okay, but what can you do? Go break some banker's legs?" "No, but the thought makes my mouth water. I'll tell you later. And keep this conversation just between us. Nothing to the Tuss family. Your parents only. I'll call you later." "I've seen that look in your eyes before.....last time it was when you watched me wrestle, and wanted to trade places with me on the mat when you saw my opponent." "Can you blame me? Studly fucker, covered in fur. A great ass out back and a great smile up front, and fast moves. He'd be easy to get off with ten times before he had to rush home to his girlfriend." "You know, I think Sigmund Freud would have a field day with your head." "Anyone with sense wants my head." "Um, exactly how did you mean that.....or should I ask?" "Nope, probably better if you don't. All right, looks like Jennie's cow is safely home again. I'm happy for her; first 4H project, and she takes a ribbon. And she's only eleven years old. Funny that she'd show and win with a cow instead of a pig, considering they're pork producers." "Pigs can be too overwhelming for a kid. They'll try to take dominance, and a kid can't handle that. Better to start with a dumb-as-a-box-of-rocks cow." "HEY, NOW! Sebastian is RIGHT THERE, and his hearing----along with the rest of him----is Purple Ribbon Exceptional!" "Smarter than the human who raised him, anyway. He must have a massive ego." "`Massive' something, Tommy. Takes right after me." "Oh, Lord.....why aren't there any normal farm boys here like in Oklahoma?" "`Normal' and `Oklahoma' are not two words to use in the same sentence. Tom, listen: just let me try something, and I'll call you later. You and your folks around this afternoon or evening?" "Yeah. Where are we gonna go? Heck, we can't afford to go to town for a pack of gum, to hear Dad talk. We'll be home." "Gum is over-rated. Land is under-rated. Just hold your horses for a few hours." "Don't know what you're up to, but I'll go with ya on it." We hugged and I went back to the truck. Jennie Tuss gave me a big, squeezing hug, too. That kid is a future champion steer wrestler, I'll tell ya. Back in the truck, we honked and drove back to our place. Anders called Mom. The crew had not yet arrived, so I breathed a little easier. "Anders, did Mom talk with you about the Hutterites wanting to not-so-discreetly buy the farm?" "She did. Made sense from a business standpoint, but that was majorly sucky timing on their part. I don't care how much food they brought with them. That was a bribe that Stevie Wonder could've seen coming." "Agreed. So, I want to talk with you and Mom when the combine crew are here are at the farm and getting busy." "Uh-oh.....don't tell me you like the idea of selling. Just want to take the money and run off with Marc, is that it?" I screeched the truck to a halt, no easy feat on a gravel county road." "NOTHING like that, and don't even joke. Look, I have a serious hang-up on Marc Taylor, but he's not us and he's not this land. Even if it were just him and the farm competing for space in my heart and mind, he'd run a seriously far distant second to the land. I know you know that, but really; I want no part of selling our farm to anyone. Well, not exactly ALL of it....." "Noted, and I get you, and I am sorry for saying that. I know how much this means to you." Anders reached out and wrapped his left hand around the back of my neck, shaking it only slightly. That was the hug I'd get, in terms of regret and penitence. I know he didn't mean what he said, but I'll take any chance I can get to stand on a soapbox and proclaim to anyone who'll listen: The farm is me and I am the farm. Let no man put asunder what the homesteaders have joined together for generation after generation, in the past and to come. We smiled at each other, and drove on until we got to the big pasture. With no one else in it, I stopped the truck and dropped the tailgate. Sebastian didn't need to be told twice; he backed out of the trailer and trotted out a few yards before stopping to turn and moo at me. Whether it was gratitude or annoyance that I didn't do this sooner, I didn't know; nor did I particularly care. The pasture wasn't being mown today, and the combiners would be in another section entirely. "Enjoy your time whilin' away the hours, consultin' with the flowers, conferrin' with the bees, ya big beast! Do you remember where the creeks are out here? Poop anywhere you want! No, really! Just act like you own the place! With a purple ribbon, I'll gladly share your name on the farm deed. For a day." I don't love many sentient beings for more than a day. Well, except Mom and Anders. Sebastian. Bolt. Lola Cola and sure, why not; The Twelve Elves. Kristi and Tommy. Eva. And will you looky there; right there, space for one more. Time will tell. Or I'll tell Time: Hurry The Fuck Up Already.