Virgin Summer
First-Time Gay Romance
Charlie Chubb
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Copyright © 2020 by Charlie Chubb
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Contents
1. Virgin Summer
1
Virgin Summer
Summer, 2010
“Get your ass outside boy and bring those bales of hay into the barn. I didn’t pay your Andover tuition so you could sit on your ass all summer.”
You would think getting into Harvard would be enough for my dad. It isn’t. Nothing I do is enough for him.
“Tony, get out here!”
We’re on the family ranch in Idaho and it’s hot as hell and the flies are out. Dad wants me to work with the ranch hands like I have to earn my place here. He’s such a prick. I stomp outside and slip into my boots. Flies attack my neck like it’s made of honey. I smack my neck and dad laughs.
“Get your ass over to these bales of hay. I want it all done before noon.”
“Yeah. Whatever.”
My phone buzzes with a text from Sarah. My tongue hangs heavy in my mouth as sweat picks up on my brow. I wait for my dad to go back inside before I look at my phone. Anything to avoid a lecture about how technology is ruining America. The hay is fucking huge and I don’t know how dad expects me to carry it all on my own. I’ll be exhausted again, like yesterday when he had me hand plow a plot for flowers out in the back. Mom hasn’t come back from Boston yet and he wanted it to be perfect for her.
“When you have a wife, one day you’ll understand.”
I grimaced when he said that. I pull my phone out and Sarah’s left me a brick of text. Jesus. Can this girl communicate in short, simple, sentences?
I just think like where we are right now isn’t working for me.
I know you’re trying to save it for marriage but come on!!
We’re both eighteen and everyone is doing it.
I don’t see the point in waiting.
When you get back we should do it.
I hadn’t responded which set off another text.
Derek wants to fuck me. Does that bother you?
I didn’t respond to that one either.
Whatever. I’m over it. Fucking loser. It’s over.
A break-up over text. Nice. Given the way Sarah had been chasing me, it was probably for the best. I wasn’t good at breakups. Or feelings. Or girls. Her dumping me made it easy at least. I didn’t have to worry about what I was going to say to her. I know what dad would say. He’d say I should be a gentleman and let her down easy. This took the weight off my shoulders.
I carry a bale of hay over to the barn and by then, I’ soak through my white shirt. Fuck. Could I go one day on this stupid ranch without soaking through my clothes? I peel my shirt off and toss it aside. I run my hands over my stomach, cresting and falling over my abs and then run them back through my hair. Greasy. Disgusting. Sweaty. Everything I hate about the ranch.
I stomp back over to the hay and carry another bale up the hill. Fucking Idaho. Wasn’t this place supposed to be flat? I am ready to rest after my fifth bale and I lean up against the stack when I hear footsteps and expect it to be my dad. I want a fucking cigarette and if he catches me smoking again, he will tan my hide. Dad doesn’t care I’m eighteen. If I am in his house, I follow his rules. I scowl, readying myself for another screaming match at least. But the man who comes around the corner is not my father.
“Tony, right?”
The dude has soft grey eyes, a deep tan and black hair cut above his shoulders that sticks to the back of his neck from sweat. He’s wearing a blue denim shirt, halfway unbuttoned.
“Yeah. Who the fuck are you?” I ask.
“I work for your dad, down in the barn.”
“Oh. I’m shifting bales of hay. Want to help?”
“Fuck no. I’m just here to introduce myself,” he says.
I feel relief. His eyes linger on me and a creeping discomfort flutters across the back of my neck. The redness from where the sun hits my skin burns a little warmer. I scuff my boots across the wooden slats in the barn.
“Okay.”
“I’m Tom. I just graduated from Nebraska and decided to come to work out here, enjoy the open air.”
“Cool.”
“My boyfriend didn’t like it much, so we broke up.”
“Sorry to hear that,” I mumble, my cheeks reddening. Boyfriend? My dad probably had no idea. I know the way he’d act if he heard anything like that.
“You know what, I think I will help you,” Tom says, “You look tired.”
His eyes were still on my chest. I grunt thanks and head back down the hill. We carry up a few more bales of hay. At this point, Tom’s shirt is soaked through. He takes it off and I nod.
“Play Lacrosse?”
Tom laughs.
“How’d you guess?”
“No reason.”
“Yeah. I used to play on the Rez.”
“The Rez?”
“Yeah. I’m half.”
“Cool.”
“Yeah. So like, what’s your deal, Tony?”
“What do you mean?”
“How are you with the ladies?”
I think about Sarah. Judging by how things went with her, not good, but I’ve never not had a girlfriend. I was the starting quarterback on the high school football team and had my fair share of cheerleaders lining up to date me. Sarah was perfect though: conservative, Christian, and every guy wanted her.
“Never done too bad.”
“But no girlfriend.”
“We broke up.”
She dumped me, but I figure this gets close enough. I don’t want Tom to get any ideas.
“Hm,” he says, “She figured you out, then?”
“I don’t know what you mean by that,” I grumble.
“I think you do,” he says, his grey eyes boring into me.
“I’m going for a cigarette.”
“Those things will kill you, you know.”
“Hopefully,” I say. Tom smiles. He has a cute smile.
“I’ll join you.”
We lean up against the remaining bales of hay.
“Your dad is a hardass. How come he has you out here hauling bales of hay and not Seth?”
“You know Seth?”
“Total dick, but yes, I know your brother.”
I had him my cigarette and he puffs on it.
“You don’t have to wet it with your mouth,” Tom criticizes.
I snatch it back from him.
“Whatever. You don’t have to share.”
“Okay.”
He shrugs and infuriatingly stays where he is, leaned up against the hay with washboard abs and thick black drying in the heat of the Idaho summer sun.
“Do you get tired?” Tom asks.
“Of what?”
“Of pretending.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Sure you do. Hurry up, smokey. We’d better finish this before your dad comes down here.”
He’s right. I out the cigarette and we start carrying hay again. After another hour, I need another rest. Tom goes to the tap outside and fills an old plastic cup with water. He drinks a few sips and pours the rest over his body. He sighs and sucks his stomach in as the cold water runs down him. His pants are soaked now too.
“Ah. That feels good.”
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Cooling off.”
He gets another cup of water and when I think he’s going to hand it to me, Tom pours it over me.
“JesusFuckingChrist,” I swear.
He laughs.
“Asshole!”
“You looked hot.”
We meet each other’s eyes.
“Back off,” I grunt.
Tom won’t stop looking at me. His eyes never leave mine.
“No.”
He inches closer to me. He smells like sweat, and hay, and freshly cut grass and he is standing way too close for comfort. I step back and sink into the hay.
“You’re eighteen, which is a little young for my tastes.”
“Good,” I say, “I don’t do guys anyway.”
“Bullshit,” Tom spits, biting down on his lower lip and staring at me.
My cheeks flush.
“Do you do girls?” He asks.
“I said back off,” I breathe again.
His chest rises and falls and I watch a drop of water roll down his chest, down his abs and rest right on his leather belt.
“They don’t know about you?” He gestures toward the ranch house.
“Stop it,” I say, “I don’t want to smash your fucking face in, man.”
“Then don’t,” he says, “Come on, let’s shift this hay.”
My heart won’t stop pounding and my tongue is heavy in my mouth and even with ice water dumped over my back and chest, I’m burning up. I think about Sarah and the first time I kissed her, how she tasted salty and rough and how I could not get my cock to stiffen when she dropped to her knees to please me until I thought about someone else and even then, I could never finish. I told her what we were doing was wrong and God wanted us to wait. I needed time. I still need time. Tom isn’t the type of guy to let me have it.
I follow Tom outside and we start moving hay again. This time when we finish, it’s nearly sunset. Dad comes out of the house and he grins when he sees the sight of us, two young dudes dripping in sweat from a hard day’s work. He chortles and thrusts his hands on his hips.
“Y’all did good work. Why don’t you go downtown and have a burger on me? I heard Frank’s has buffalo in.”
He reaches into his wallet and hands us a $100 bill. Tom wets his lips and grabs it.
“Thanks, Mister Stone.”
“You boys have fun.”
Tom points to a red truck parked at the end of the driveway.
“Coming?”
“What’s your deal, Tom?”
We walk away from my dad who leaves me with this maniac. We’re getting close to Tom’s truck when he asks, “Want to borrow a shirt?”
“We should go inside to change.”
“Hm. Good point.”
We turn around and he follows me back to the house. I tell my dad we’re going to get cleaned up before we go out. Once we are in my bedroom, I regret letting Tom back here. He presses his back against the door and his grey eyes are on me again.
“I need you to stop messing with me.”
He has a flat, Midwestern accent and he says that with a smile.
“I’m not messing with you.”
“Okay. Change then.”
He starts to undo his pants and I glance at him nervously.
“Slide me a pair of jeans and stop staring.”
“I wasn’t staring,” I grumble.
I throw him a pair of jeans and Tom dresses.
“Shirt?”
“Grey or green.”
“Which one will look better do you think?”
“I don’t care.”
Tom slips into the grey polo and it matches his eyes.
“C’mon then. Dress.”
If I say I don’t want to dress in front of him, I’ll be making a big deal out of it. I strip down to change and feel Tom’s eyes boring into me. If I ignore him, he’ll stop.
“Let’s head out to the truck.”
We bound downstairs, two young adults heading outside to the red truck and there’s nothing for dad to suspect. I get into the passenger side. Tom’s truck smells like cigarettes and basic lemon air-freshener. There’s a Stetson hat on the seat and he moves it over to the back.
“Sorry ‘bout the mess. You hungry?”
“Yeah.”
“Good, ‘cause I sure can eat.”
Over dinner, I learn Tom’s family is from back East and they’re Giants fans. I can’t avoid getting into an argument with him as a life long Pats fan. When the friendly waitress rests the check on the table we both reach for it and Tom’s fingers brush my hand. He lingers, I don’t.
“Sorry,” he mumbles.
“It’s nothing.”
But it isn’t nothing. That moment of contact… My cheeks go red.
“I should go back to the ranch.”
“I got whiskey in a flask in my car. I could take you to a local spot.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Tom,” I say firmly.
“It ain’t a big deal. Just normal guy stuff. Drinking. Shooting.”
I haven’t fired a gun since I was fifteen.
“Guns?”
“Uh-huh. I got a new shotgun from my pa in the back of the truck. I know a place we can shoot.”
He tempts me.
“Sure. But… whatever you think I’m into, I ain’t into it. Got it?”
Tom smiles and his teeth are perfectly white.
“Got it.”
We get back in Tom’s truck and my phone vibrates.
“Girlfriend?”
“Dad.”
“Oh.”
“I’ll tell him we’re heading out for a while.”
“Cool.”
Tom is cool. He’s the sort of guy I’d be friends with on the football team — athletic, likes football, likes trucks, loves guns. He talks my ear off about a gun show in Oklahoma for the next twenty minutes as we drive past infinite corn to isolated farmland at the top of a small hill.
I get out of the truck and he lifts the heavy tarp in the back of the van to reveal two shotguns. One is worn and the other looks way newer. He picks it up and hoists it over his shoulder.
“Know how to shoot?”
Tom is a few years older, just old enough that I don’t want to look like a tool around him, but it isn’t safe to pretend I have more experience shooting than he does.
“Sort of. I never fired a shotgun.”
“It’s easy. I’ll teach you.”
I don’t realize that agreeing to a shooting lesson involves so much contact. Tom demonstrates how to lift the gun and then he hands it to me.
“It ain’t loaded, come on.”
I lift the gun over my shoulder and it’s heavy. I hold it the way Tom just taught me and he slips behind me, pressing his hips into mine as he adjusts my stance. I freeze, uneasy with the contact but he doesn’t seem to think it’s a big deal. He pushes my finger down over the trigger.
“You want that back leg planted for balance or you’ll get knocked right on your ass.”
“I think I have it,” I say hoarsely. My mouth is dry and Tom’s closeness bothers me. He moves away from me before I get the chance to say something.
“Time to fire up this baby.”
He loads the gun, hoists it and shoots at glass bottles on a stump. They shatter and I flinch from the sound of the gun. Tom lowers it and laughs.
“Scared?”
My cheeks must be red again and I hate it.
“No. I’m not.”
“Good. C’mon.”
I hoist the gun myself.
“Want me to stand behind you?”
“No,” I say firmly, maybe too harshly. Tom laughs.
“Shit dude, no problem. If you’ve got it, you got it.”
He makes a few verbal corrections to my stance and I fire. I hit the remaining glass bottles but the kickback sends me flying a few feet back. I fall flat on my ass and Tom can’t stop laughing and hooting and hollering.
“Man I love watching city boys try to use a gun.”
He takes the gun and clicks the safety on, leaning it up against the truck. He finally helps me up.
“You okay, bro?”
“I’m fine,” I grumble. I feel like a fucking idiot and Tom’s laughter doesn’t help.
He takes my hand and lifts me to my feet but he doesn’t let go. He pushes me up against the truck and he kisses me. His lips are soft and he tastes like steak and cigarettes. He takes my lower lip between his and sucks on it hard. No. No. I like girls. I like Sarah. I don’t like this. I take his cheeks, meaning to push him away but I part his lips with my tongue and taste him more.
Tom presses his hands to my abs and his breathing is heavy as he runs his hand down my chest.
“Fuck,” he murmurs as he pulls away, “I promised myself I’d leave you alone.”
“I’m not gay,” I blurt out.
“Right. Sure.”
He rakes his hands through my hair and uses his hips to pin me to the truck. My chest is pounding.
“What if someone sees us,” I say.
“Ain’t no one out here for miles.”
“Tom,” I insist, “I’m not gay. I don’t want you to get any ideas.”
His hand is on my belt buckle and he runs his hands along the outside of my zipper.
“Funny way of showing it.”
“If my dad finds out,” I say. I’m spewing words to stop him, but most importantly to stop myself from succumbing to him. He isn’t being particularly seductive and I try not to think about what that means. He slips the leather strap out of the buckle and whips it off. My jeans sag slightly and Tom tosses my belt to the ground.
“You want this, Tony,” he says, pressing his lips to my neck. I don’t mean to moan as he sucks a bit of my neck between his lips and then rakes his tongue from my ear lobe down to my collarbone.
Tom drops to his knees. His face is at my crotch and I wish I could make my cock invisible. I’m rock hard and I can’t hide it from him anymore. He unzips my jeans and pulls them down to the middle of my thighs. He runs his hands over my boxers, worshipping my muscular thighs before he peels my boxer briefs over my ass and exposes my dick.
Virgin Summer: First Time Gay Romance Page 1