The Rogue and the Runaway

Copyright© 2014 – Nicholas Hall


Chapter Three


"'Pinicon Ridge"


"I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,

And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;...

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,

Dropping from the veils of morning to where the cricket sings;

There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,

And evening full of linnet's wings.


I will arise and go now, for always night and day

I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;

While I stand on the roadway or on the pavement gray,

I hear it in the deep heart's core." –

(W.B. Yeats)


A couple of miles down a gravel country road, past a large farm house and a smaller newer home across the road, a quick turn through an open gate, another mile or so on a well-maintained gravel lane, dipping and twisting through a hardwood forest until, coming up in front of me on much higher piece of ground large enough to hold a small barn, a larger shed, and the place of our destination, illuminated by a bright yard light, graced by a full-length three season porch, a comely, a well maintained, snug, inviting woodland home.

Seth stopped his truck, bounded out of it to mine as I brought it to a halt alongside his, opened my door, and said, "Welcome to my home, `Pinicon Ridge! Grab what you need and follow me."

Right, I thought, "said the spider to the fly" and gathered up my overnight bag, following my host toward the home. Any port in a storm, I thought silently; I desperately needed a shower and a really good night's rest, which, I hoped I'd get; not that I'd object or turn down an offer of some sorts, but I did really need good night's sleep! We trekked through the porch and entered a large room, quite open and a combination of a kitchen, dining room, and living room.

The kitchen was very modern, the living room well appointed, and, in a small alcove toward the rear portion of the living room, an office area with a desk and, from first glance, a rather new desk top computer and printer. A large stone fireplace adorned a portion of one outside wall of the living room and was quite visible from the kitchen as well.

"I use that," Seth commented noting my more than just a casual glance at the fireplace, "in case I lose power and its cold, but I have a backup gas generator so I'm not without power for long. It's not unusual to lose electric power here during storms or late winter when we get ice instead of snow. There are other times in the spring and fall, I have a fire in the fireplace just to take the chill off, then I don't have to start the furnace. It saves on propane, besides, I just like a fire in the fireplace; makes it feel `homey' you know what I mean?"

Not really, since we did have a gas fireplace at home, but mother only instructed the staff to light it when we entertained. It added, "ambiance" she thought and made prospective campaign donors or others they were courting, more likely to contribute or agree with what my father might be proposing. I thought it was more the drinks, food, and more than a little promises of pork-barreling that did the trick, but what the hell did I know?

"Come on, I'll show you around," Seth said excitedly, evidently happy to have company and quite proud of his home.

The house was bigger than I thought at first, from the outside. A hallway led to the rear portion of the home where two bedrooms, a laundry room, a pantry equipped with cupboards and a large upright freezer and a commercial icemaker, a large bathroom, and an access door to a basement. Pointing out one of the bedrooms, Seth told me to put my duffle in there, indicating with a jerk of his head and a comment, his room was just across the hall. The bed in the guest room really looked inviting; of course the other bed, with my host naked and stiff as a nine iron, would probably be just as inviting, if not more so, but that could wait, I thought.

He led me to the bathroom, pointed out the towels, washcloths, shampoo, and body wash, and said with dismay, "It distresses me to say, dear David, you're ripe and need to scrub some of the road dust and grime from your body," and grinned at me again. Every time he looks at me he either smiles seductively or grins! It was all I could do to keep from grinning back and, I must admit, I was not altogether successful.

With that, he announced wearily, "I'd love to visit some more, but frankly, I'm wore out. I had some trotlines that weren't producing the way I thought they should so I pulled them out. I promised my brothers I'd help bale hay tomorrow afternoon so I'd better be rested." With that he went to his bedroom and shut the door.

The shower was heaven-sent, I swear! The hot water cascaded across my head and body as I lathered up and scrubbed. I lingered longer on my now growing cock, as I thought about Seth, and soon, I was throbbing up and down on my tool of delight until I shot three good ropes of cum, spurting from my piss slit, hitting the shower wall, sticking just a moment before sliding down, propelled by the hot water, down the drain. I milked my sensitive rod until there was no more to offer and rinsed.

This was more than just a shower and a nice jack-off; it was as if I was sloughing off the dirt and residues of degradation and mistreatment I'd endured all these past years and was beginning life anew, free from my fears and the specter of homophobia so prevalent in my family. I stepped from the shower "clean," spotless, and fresh in spirit as a new-born babe, bright and glowing as roses in the morning sun. Once dried, I slipped on clean underwear, crawled into bed, and fell sound and gloriously asleep.

Whether it was the sound coming from the front of the house, the smell of freshly percolating coffee, or the cacophony of song birds outside my open window welcoming the morning awakening me I know not, but it was early, I thought; earlier than I usually woke up, that's for certain as I checked my watch. Strange, I thought, for the first time in a very long, long time, I woke up totally rested and relaxed. It was a great feeling!

Clad only in my bikini briefs, quite forgetting to put on some pants, feeling quite comfortable in my present state of dress (or undress depending on how one views it), I wandered into the kitchen, saw no one there, but almost drooled at the smell of the coffee. Venturing out on the porch, I was greeted by a sight definitely more pleasant and brighter than what I could ever see at home. Out before me, down the incline the house rested on, was a fairly broad and long body of water; longer than wide, bordered on the far shore by heavy timber, a marshy end some distance off to my left, a gap to my right evidently leading to some other body of water, and on the near shore, beyond the wide clearing leading to the house, more timber, only not as dense as the far shore.

Birds of all sizes, colors, and sounds flitted in and out of the rushes in the marshy end of the lake, adding a kaleidoscope of colors highlighted by the brightening sun and an almost orchestral symphony of song echoing out into the calm morning air.

"Nice," I heard Seth say as he stepped up behind me. He must've been getting dressed when I walked through the kitchen I thought, until he said with a big sigh, "Beautiful," stepped up close, really close, behind me, and wrapped his arms around my middle, his hands and fingers resting on the elastic on the front of my bikini's, and pulled me close to him so my bare back rested warmly against his NAKED CHEST AND STOMACH!

"It certainly is," I sputtered in reply, "I've never seen anything like this before." Nor had I ever felt anything like this before as his crotch made contact with the small of my back, his bulging hardness encountering my body just above my scantily clad butt-crack. It felt natural for me to relax and melt back in his arms, allowing my body to rest easily against his.

Resting my arms comfortably on his, I couldn't help but notice they were lightly haired, tanned, and wiry, strong, but not muscle bound, from hard work; I had no doubt his chest and shoulders were equally as developed. Seth was not a large man, but sinewy, with little fat on his well-proportioned frame, hips and waist trim, and legs, lanky but stalwart. He was taller than me, his chin resting almost at the top of my head, grazing the top of my ear, so to speak to me, which, when he did, had to lower his head.

"Neither have I," he murmured softly in my ear and I realized he wasn't talking about the same display of nature's wonders as I was.

"I wasn't referring to the water or the woods," he continued and slipped his hands down a little lower, just at the point where, now creeping upward toward the elastic of my skimpy underclothing, Mr. Happy was preparing to wish the world "good morning." I knew from experience, if I released it even the slightest little bit, the drooling head would poke happily over the top of my briefs and greet the world with great eagerness. Breathing a little deeper, I knew if he slipped his hands any lower, he'd have something stiff to hold on to and the way it felt in the back, if I stood on my tip toes, I'd have something to anchor to as well.

My mouth dry, my heart beating with the rapidity of hummingbird wings, nerves twisting my tongue and my thoughts, I stupidly squeaked out, "Coffee done yet?"

Seth laughed, pulled away, gave my right butt cheek an affectionate squeeze, which I didn't object too, and answered, "I'll check!"

I turned and did my own visual inspection of the man who, for whatever reason, had taken such a liking for me and me for him, as well. Seth was definitely taller than me by six inches or so and outweighed me at least thirty or forty pounds. Clad in low rise boxer short that did little to conceal the stiff, savory sweet staff clearly in excess glory compared to my seemingly paltry offering. He turned to me, holding a cup of coffee, as I continued to gawk at the protrusion in his shorts, and asked, "Cream and sugar?"

I stammered, face turning quite scarlet, "Cream only, please," my concentration suddenly broken on what seemed to be a rather large, stiff, male appendage struggling to remain confined in its cotton enclosure, wiggling and jiggling as he walked.

He laughed at my embarrassment, winked, and looked down to view my own protuberance, having escaped above the waist band of my briefs, smiling at the world and drooling at the sight of the cup of coffee – or something!

"Like I said before," he acknowledged with a giggle, "Nice!"

I poked it back under cover before accepting the proffered coffee, with cream thank you very much, and we returned to the porch to sit at the small table there and enjoy our morning brew and each other's company. Remembering Seth didn't like speaking across tables, I deliberately moved my chair next to his, so close he wouldn't "lose the intimacy" of the conversation since my leg rested up against his (not the chair or table leg).

"Don't you have to work today?" I asked.

"Not until this afternoon. We have to let the sun dry the dew from the hay that's raked up before we bale it."


"Well, if it's wet or too green, once it's in the barn or storage shed, spontaneous combustion will occur and we'll lose not only the crop but probably the building as well."

I was so damned ignorant; all I knew was the city life and a fairly pampered home life with little outside experiences. Seth patiently explained that hay is just one of the cash crops the farms produce, in addition to corn, soybeans, and a few oats. Burridge Farms does not raise livestock anymore and relies on the grain and hay crops to produce the farms income.

"We get about four crops of hay a year, depending on the weather," he continued. "We cut it one day and rake it into rows. If the weather is sunny and dry, we turn it every day and when it's dry enough, we bale it in big round bales. Those bales are taken from the field and stored in large sheds or covered with plastic if we don't have a buyer right away. Currently, all of the hay we cut and bale is sold right out of the field since there are severe droughts in several parts of the country and the ranchers and dairy people need the fodder."

Seth was clearly happy helping his brothers and sister farm the land, but it wasn't his first love, so I pressed the subject.

"I know it's none of my business, but if they farm and you help, why do you have this place and not some house on farm ground?"

"'Pinicon Ridge?" he replied.

"Yeah; I suppose I'm just nosey," I responded apologetically.

"Well, it's kind of a long story," he answered, "but we're in no hurry are we?"

Shaking my head `no' and in doing so, came to the conclusion I could spend all day or longer, with Seth, he was that much fun to be with!

"My Great-great-grandfather, Hiram Burridge, came to the area from Pennsylvania, bought seven hundred acres of land for little or nothing, and each generation since has added to the purchase over the years. This particular piece of property, about one hundred twenty acres of timber and marsh land, was bought by my grandfather. The property was contiguous, you know, abutted, the original farm and our house, so it was an obvious and natural purchase. We drove by the house I was raised in on the way here, in case you're curious."

Seth's grandfather built the original cabin, now the house, named it "'Pinicon Ridge'" for the high ground it sat on and the Wapsipinicon River flowing nearby, and used it for a duck shack; a place he and his cronies to gather in the fall to hunt the ducks and geese that utilized the Mississippi Flyway. The slough in front of the cabin and surrounding cuts, bays, river, and access to the Mississippi made it a natural habitat for the migrating birds to rest and feed during their long journey south. The hunters enjoyed the bounty of the hunt and comradeship that went with the days and nights spent at the hunting shack.

When Seth's grandfather passed away, all of the farm land, including this particular parcel, went to Seth's father and his brother, Will. Will really didn't want to farm, had no inclination to do so, and was more content spending his days hunting, fishing, and trapping the river bottoms and surrounding territory. Joe, Seth's dad, and Will came to an agreement that deeded `Pinicon Ridge to Will.

"Uncle Will made all sorts of improvements to the land," Seth continued, "including the lane, electricity, and other modern conveniences. He added the indoor plumbing and septic system, constructed the small barn, and the rest of the outbuildings. Nets, trapping gear, boats, motors, and other items were stored in them. They also housed his tractor and provided a heated shop for skinning animals and repairing nets. I still use that same building for the same purposes. When he died four years ago, I was surprised to discover he'd left the property to me."

"Didn't he have a wife and children to leave it to?" I asked.

"Nah," Seth answered with a grin and a lecherous waggling of his eyebrows, "he was not about to marry some woman! He and I were kindred spirits." His last comment was said with a wink and a smile at me.

I just grinned back! "I know the feeling!"

Well, that issue was now out in the open and we knew where we both stood, without a doubt!

"The rest of the family was comfortable with me owning it; besides neither of my brothers or my sister really enjoy hunting and fishing like I do. They'd rather farm and I'd rather be here, plus, I do have a minor stake in the operation, as you now know. Burridge Farms keeps them busy and quite comfortable economically."

"How big is the farm?"

"We own a little over two thousand acres and rent another one thousand. Joe Jr. and Marie live in the home place, Mom and Dad live in the newer house across the road, Doug and Kim and their families live on a place a couple of miles west of here, and Connie and her husband Larry and family live on another section just down the road a piece."

"Dad, although he says he's retired, still honchos the outfit and Mom keeps the books. I suppose once she gives it up, I'll take that over. None of the rest of them are interested in accounting and I'm the one with the degree in it. I can do that and still fish and stuff."

"How many kids do they all have?"

"Oh," he said, thinking for a moment, "Joe Jr. has five, Doug has three, and Connie has seven. Horny bunch aren't we?"

I didn't comment, thinking to myself they aren't the only ones if what I could see peeking out under his shorts, hanging down his right thigh. It was a flaccid, helmet covered completely, with a soft, almost vein-free, smooth, and nicely shaped foreskin, looking quite tasty I thought, but then Seth began discussing the actual property `Pinicon Ridge sat on.

"Burridge Slough, that's the body of water we're looking at," pointing toward it, "contains all sorts of fish, including panfish, some gamefish, and rough fish. When there's open water, like now, I can catch bluegills, crappies, bass, and once in awhile a northern pike. During the winter, I fish through the ice for the same species."

Seth described how in the fall, the ducks and geese migrate to the sheltered slough to feed and rest on their journey south, giving him the opportunity to harvest a few for his meals. The woods contain large expanses of walnut, hickory, pecan, oak, and maple trees, with scrub timber as well, providing habitat and food for squirrels and others critters, as well as firewood for the fireplace and a wood burning stove in the shop.

Rabbits, deer, coyotes, and furbearers such as mink, raccoon, and others populate the woods and surrounding lands. Those he hunts and traps during season. Away from the river, upland game birds, pheasant and quail, abound in the hedgerows and swales of the farms'

Seth paused, smiled at me, looked out over the slough again, and said wistfully, "There's everything here I ever needed and wanted in life – now!" and looked at me.

It didn't take me long to tumble to his meaning and desires. I was beginning to feel the same way myself. Seth stood, straightening out his undershorts, thus hiding the object of my desire, and announced, "Let's have breakfast; I've got my monthly state reports to fill out and file before I go bale hay this afternoon."

To be continued:


Thank you for reading The Rogue and the Runaway – Chapter Three – `Pinicon Ridge -

"I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,

And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;..." – (W. B. Yeats)


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Nick Hall


This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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