Country

by Jeff Mann

  “What? What, boy? What do you want?” Brice groaned against Lucas’s lips as Lucas commenced a tight cock-stroking. “Tell me what you want. Whatever it is, it’s yours. Just do it.”

  “First, I wanna feast on those big tits of yours.” Lucas shoved Brice forcibly back against the wall. Bending, he began licking and sucking Brice’s nipples while continuing to fist Brice’s dick.

  Brice nodded, cupping the back of Lucas’s head and riding his hand. “That’s great. Yep. Oh, yeah. Rougher. Yep! Make ‘em a little sore. Yep!”

  Lucas alternated between the two fur-swathed nipples, sucking harder and harder, nibbling the arousal-stiff nubs till Brice was whimpering with rapture. Just when Brice thought he was about to shoot into Lucas’s grip, the boy released Brice’s cock and dropped to his knees. He gazed up at Brice, face wet and blue-gray eyes urgent. The shower’s warm water sluiced over his shoulders and down his gym-sculpted chest.

  “Now I wanna suck you off. Okay?” Lucas whispered, running his bearded chin over the tip of Brice’s cock. Taking Brice’s balls in his hand, he gave them a gentle tug. “Okay, Daddy? I need that big thang down my throat real bad.”

  “Hell, yes. I’ve been wanting my dick in your mouth since the first moment I saw you.”

  “And I been wanting to kiss you and suck you and get screwed by you from the very same moment, you standing there in that library by that glowing crystal like some kinda burly, bearded god.”

  Grinning up at the larger man, Lucas flicked his tongue over the tip-slit in Brice’s dick. He took the glans in his mouth and sucked softly. Brice gripped Lucas’s head and slumped back against the shower wall, trembling.

  “My God. My God, you’re good,” Brice gasped as Lucas sucked harder, tightening the delicious pressure around Brice’s cockhead and sliding his lips up and down the shaft. “Oh, Jesus. W-well worth the wait. That’s w-wonderful. That’s….”

  Lucas kneaded Brice’s balls and sucked tighter and faster. Grunting, Brice thrust into Lucas’s mouth. When Brice’s thighs began to tense with imminent climax, Lucas stopped.

  “This time it’s gonna last,” Lucas muttered, getting to his feet. For long, moist moments, the two men kissed passionately, jacking each other’s cocks, grinding their loins together. Then Lucas dropped to his knees and again took Brice into his mouth.

  After several more alternations between fucking Lucas’s face and deep-kissing the eager boy, Brice had had enough. “God, Lucas, please. Please,” he groaned against Lucas’s probing tongue. “I can’t take it anymore. I’m hurting bad. Please let me come!”

  Lucas snickered. He bit Brice’s chin. “Was that ‘Please’ I heard?”

  “Yes!” Brice panted. “Please!”

  “You got it.” Lucas knelt yet again, lapping Brice’s shaft, taking the big man’s balls into his mouth and sucking them firmly, then returning his oral attentions to Brice’s aching cock. He paused long enough to look up at Brice and mutter, “My turn to say ‘Please.’ I need you to come in my mouth. Please? I need your juice on my tongue and down my throat.”

  “Oh, yeah. Uh huh. Uh huh!” Brice nodded, teeth gritted. He gazed down at the beautiful youth, even more beautiful in such a state of need and submission, and then closed his eyes, bent his knees, gripped Lucas’s head between his hands, and commenced a frantic thrusting.

  BRICE STOOD BY THE FRONT WINDOW OF THE great room, watching late afternoon snow falling over Brantley Valley, still amazed at the ease with which Lucas had trounced him four times in a row at the pool table. He was considerably more amazed remembering the bodily pleasures he’d shared with Lucas the night before and yet again that morning.

  “Planting time will be here before you know it,” Lucas said. Having just returned from a grocery run, he sprawled on the couch, flipping through a seed catalog. “I grew a nice big garden last year for me and Uncle Phil, and I want to do the same this time around. What you like in terms of fresh vegetables?”

  “I’ll eat anything you grow. God never invented a vegetable I don’t like.” Turning, Brice regarded the ruddy-bearded boy. These quiet winter days spent with Lucas, lounging around in nothing but sweats, stoking up the fire, reading, working up new tunes on the piano, cooking together…or hiking in the leafless woods, far from the surly world and, at night, making love, holding one another close…. These are the best days of my life.

  “Seed catalog, huh?” Brice settled down onto the couch beside Lucas. “I figure you got your fill of seed last night, not to mention this morning.”

  “Vulgar! That’s what Mommy would say.” Lucas tossed the catalog on the coffee table before stretching luxuriously. “Yeah, I got my fill. For now. But that’s the thing about appetite, right? You can sate it as often as you want, but it still keeps comin’ back.”

  “True enough. A fact I’m wildly thankful for, now that I have a glory like you to share my bed. Before that, desire was just an agony and a curse, a monkey on my back.”

  “God, ain’t that the truth?” Lucas rearranged himself, stretching out on the couch, resting his head in Brice’s lap, and pulling an afghan over himself. “Damn, this is all so cozy and perfect,” he said, looking up at Brice with a happy smile, then gazing over the great room with its hues of stone, wood, and leather. “The snow, the fire, your big, butch body. It’s the man-on-man hideaway I’ve waited for my whole life.”

  “Me too,” Brice said. “Honestly, I’d given up all hope that such a thing could happen, that I could find a place like this, and, more importantly, meet a guy like you.”

  Lucas nodded, tugging the blanket up to his chin. “I used to be so horny, so miserable. The one good thing about prison was that, as bad as he could treat me, Eric made me feel desired, and he always made sure we both came. Then I was here alone, celibate and jacking off every damn night. Actually, I hope it doesn’t creep you out to hear this, but—”

  “I doubt anything you could ever say would creep me out,” Brice said, running a hand over Lucas’s brow, then plucking softly at his bearded chin.

  “I hope not. So, I have all your CDs, you know, and I went to a bunch of your concerts, and I used to buy country music magazines with articles about you and pictures of you, and I used to watch your music videos…and, well, I used to jack off thinking about you. I mean, not just you, there were other Nashville stars I fantasized about, but you were sure prominent in the pantheon, so to speak. That one shirtless pic of you at your Daytona condo, the one that Country Weekly published—it was just before I went to prison—wow, I just about came in my shorts over that one.”

  “Really? That doesn’t creep me out. I think that’s hot. I’m flattered.”

  “Well…good. Who the hell would ever have thought that we’d end up here? Together? With me gulping down your come like some kinda sweet syrup? I think this is definitely the time to use my Mommy’s favorite phrase, ‘Praise the Lord!’”

  “You’re right about that. Praise the Lord indeed. Talk about God working in mysterious ways. Who else got you all het up?”

  “Ah, before prison, it was Travis Tritt and Brooks and Dunn…and you. After I got out, it was Toby Keith and Tim McGraw, plus Ty Herndon and Billy Ray Cyrus if they were looking especially scruffy…and you.”

  “So have you always been attracted to older guys? It doesn’t bother you that I’m thirteen years older?”

  “Bother me?” Lucas snorted. “Why would it bother me? Thirteen years ain’t all that much older. Plus the age difference turns me on.”

  “Well, I guess some folks would say that it would be more appropriate if—”

  “Appropriate? Appropriate to who? People can’t tell people how to feel. None of us can choose what turns us on. I like big, chunky, older guys with beards. Hell, if the Greeks could do it, why can’t we?”

  “Greeks?”

  “Yep. Athenians and Spartans and all those guys. When I got out of prison, I was one big fucking mess, as you might imagine, after all the shit that went down in there, so when
I moved in here with Uncle Phil, he got on this quest to make me feel better about who I was. God knows it’s hard growing up in West Virginia once you figure out you’re gay—you get all torn up with self-doubt and guilt and other negative shit—so one of the things Phil did was buy me a buncha books about homosexuality. They’re all in the library here. I’ve read every one.”

  “Yeah? I’ve never read much about the topic. I don’t know why. I guess I…. Up until a few years ago, I guess I was trying to convince myself I wasn’t really gay, since I knew somewhere deep inside that if I decided I was, I’d have to do something about it, and then I might lose everything if the news got out, and…that’s exactly what happened.”

  Brice bent to kiss Lucas on the brow. “Except, after I lost everything, I found something better. So those books helped you, huh?”

  “They did help. I especially liked the books about the Greeks. Stuff about myths and heroes who loved one another, a battalion of ferocious soldier-lovers called the Sacred Band. A couple cool novels about Alexander the Great and his honeys. Imagine that! Alexander-the-fucking-Great, one of the greatest military leaders in history, and he loved other men! After being told all my life that homos were big sissies and sick sinners, it was pretty cool to read about butt-kicking warriors, about the erastes—that’s the older man—who teaches his younger lover—his eromenos—how to hunt and fight and make love. Hell, even Zeus, the king of the gods, took himself a young guy as his cupbearer boy-toy. Ganymede.”

  “So you’re my hillbilly Ganymede, huh?”

  “Yep,” Lucas said. “Except you got it even better than Zeus, ‘cause not only do I mix you drinks but I cook for you too. Speaking of which, I should start those stuffed peppers. Wanna help?”

  “Sure. You said you’re making macaroni and cheese too, right?”

  “I am. Or I will. But only if you promise me two favors first.”

  Brice rubbed his belly. “As you no doubt suspect, for homemade mac and cheese, I’ll do just about anything.”

  “Ravenous, ain’t you? Okay, I really need to get back to studying for the GED, ‘cause the test is coming up in a couple of months. So let’s lay off the booze before dinner—or, okay, limit ourselves to one drink apiece—and this evening I’ll stay down here in the lodge and study, if you wanna get in bed and read or watch TV.”

  “Your bed, you mean?”

  “Yes, my bed, Mr. Brown. Now that I’ve spent several nights all snuggled up to you, it’s become a habit I don’t intend to break.”

  “Great. How about you give me one of those Alexander novels you mentioned? Guess it’s time I read up on gay lit some, now that I’ve taken the beautiful Ganymede into my bed.”

  Lucas tossed off the afghan and sat up. “Good idea. I got loads of good books waiting for you. We’ll make a well-educated erastes out of you yet.”

  “What’s the second favor?”

  “I wanna hear that song you wrote for me.”

  Brice blushed. “I don’t know how ready it is.”

  “Ah, c’mon! Please? I’m dying to hear it. I just confessed that I used to fantasize about you and jack off. Least you could do is give your number one fan another private concert.”

  “All right.” Brice coughed. “I just hope you like it. I haven’t written anything new in a long time, so I’m kinda rusty.”

  Brice fetched his guitar from its case in the corner, then sat on the footstool by the armchair. He fiddled with the tuning pegs till the instrument sounded right.

  “It’s in a weird little tuning I made up. Most folks play guitars in standard tuning, but I figured there was nothing standard about our relationship, so I wanted to try something new. So I call this ‘the Lucas tuning,’ and the song’s called ‘Redneck Angel.’ Remember when you said it’d make a good song title?”

  “I do. Cool.” Lucas leaned back into the soft couch and folded his hands behind his head. “Let’s hear it, country star.”

  “Okay.” Brice cleared his throat and began fingerpicking the initial chord. He gazed into the fire, suddenly unable to meet Lucas’s eyes. “Here we go.”

  You made it all, Lord, mountain sunsets and winter rain,

  the thick spruce forests and the crescent moon,

  April’s breezy bluebells by the river’s green rushing,

  walnut boughs, and fireflies starring in dusky June.

  You shaped this lump of stone, this buried bulb

  afraid to wake, coward sleeping long inside my chest.

  You broke down my lies, you cast me out, you made me

  envy the many men a more common love had blessed.

  Thorny troubles led me here, a high wooded hill,

  to count my loads of losses, to shroud myself in pain.

  A coffin of stone and silence was my only future,

  a lonely bed, a tale of defeat, dark-tarred shame.

  Then, like a savior’s suffering

  thorn-bound heart, the dead

  earth split, the amaryllis opened,

  a spout of scarlet light.

  You sent me a miracle

  of mercy and of might.

  You sent me a wounded stranger,

  a beautiful, bearded boy,

  a redneck angel.

  He’s a wonder of pale muscle and cinnamon fur,

  brave arms scrawled with ink, strong with sinew.

  His warm aroma’s forest-dark and musky-rich.

  He holds me hard, helps my brokenness continue.

  Let me kiss his furry breast and feel his fragile heart

  pulse beneath such dense muscle, such soft skin.

  Let me hold him in my arms, give his manhood shelter,

  live for his long-lashed, gray-blue wink, his ornery grin.

  You made it all, Lord, the golden pollen and the orchard bloom,

  the redbud’s pink flush, cornfields hot with August heat.

  You made me too, and the beauty I’m given grace to love

  in this warm bed. His nakedness is Your greatest gift, honey-sweet.

  Like a savior’s suffering

  thorn-bound heart, the dead

  earth split, the amaryllis opens,

  spouting scarlet light.

  You sent me a miracle

  of mercy and of might.

  You sent me a wounded stranger,

  a beautiful, bearded boy,

  a redneck angel.

  He’s my beautiful, bearded boy,

  my redneck angel,

  my tattooed and fuzzy savior,

  my sweet and strong and scruffy

  country boy,

  my redneck angel.

  Brice slowly strummed the last chord and stopped. “Wh-what do you think?” With difficulty, he met Lucas’s gaze.

  Lucas was staring at Brice, his cheeks wet with tears. “Oh. Oh. I….”

  He wiped his face with the back of his hand and stood. “It’s so beautiful. It was like a prayer. Thank you. I can’t believe you wrote that for me. That’s…that’s the best thing anyone’s ever done for me. Thank you.”

  Smiling with relief, Brice returned the guitar to its case, then took Lucas into his arms. “I’m the one who should be thanking you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And that fact deserved a song. My guess is that this is just the first piece of music you’ll inspire. Being with you, it’s opened up some kind of deep well inside me. You’re my new muse, Lucas. I’ve already told you that.”

  Lucas, on tiptoe, kissed Brice on the lips. “You know what, I’ll get back to studying for the GED tomorrow morning, good and early. Tonight, I wanna split a bottle of champagne. I think we got a lot to celebrate.”

  “That’s for damn sure,” Brice whispered, nuzzling Lucas’s cheek. “In the space of a few wintry weeks, I’ve gone from being a pathetic pariah to feeling like the luckiest guy in the world.”

  “Funny how that works, huh? All the days you wake up and it’s the same-old, same-old, week after week, month after month, year after year, and then one day�
��no way in hell of knowing when—you wake up and think, ‘Oh, shit, more of the same,’ but that day you’re wrong. That day, either….”

  Brice nodded. “That day, everything changes. Everything’s transformed. Everything goes straight to holy hell, to total ruin. Or suddenly everything gleams like gold.”

  “Yep,” Lucas whispered. “A golden gift. Something priceless you gotta hold onto as hard as you can.”

  “As long as you can,” murmured Brice, pulling Lucas closer.

  For a few moments, the two men embraced without words, each listening to the other’s breath as the light of a snowy dusk dwindled around them. Then Lucas kissed Brice firmly on the lips, led him to the bar, flipped on a lamp, opened the little fridge, and began uncorking a bottle of champagne.

  AS PLANNED, LUCAS ROSE AT DAWN THE NEXT morning to study, leaving Brice to sleep late. When Brice arose, the cabin’s bedroom was bright with sunlight, and chickadees were quarreling noisily outside the window. Brice climbed into camo pants, boots, and hooded sweatshirt and made his way down the hill toward the lodge. About him, snow melted, plopping down from the branches of the trees.

  Brice found Lucas in the library, papers and booklets spread out before him, a mug of coffee at his elbow.

  “Morning, Schnoozy. How’s your back?”

  “About back to normal. I think I could try some lifting today. Maybe fewer sets and lighter weights to start with, and definitely with a lifting belt. Can you join me?”

  “Yeah, eventually. Mid-afternoon, maybe. I’ve already got a lot done. Want some coffee? There’s a pot of that fancy steel-cut oatmeal Uncle Phil favors on the stove. He’s due home in mid-April, by the way. Just got an e-mail from him. He always gets back to see the spring wildflowers. Speaking of spring, check that out.”

  Lucas swiveled the desk chair and pointed out the library window. In a bed just below the glistening quartz point, tiny white flowers were sprouting from the black mountain earth.