by Jake Mactire
“Whaddya want, buddy?”
“Fuck me!”
“Who fuck you?”
“You, Jeff. Jeffy, please fuck me. Stick it in, please.”
“You’re a boy who just loves to get fucked, ain’t ya?”
“By you, Jeffy. Fuck me, please.” I positioned myself and in one stroke buried myself in him to the hilt. He sighed in pleasure.
“You like that? You like my big dick inside you?”
“Ohhhhh yeeah. It feels great to have you in me.” I began to fuck slowly, gently, really letting him get the feel of it and enjoy it. He was so anxious and wanted it so bad, but he was really tight. He had this way of clenching down with his ass muscles on my cock when I was on an outstroke, which felt incredible. I put my head down in the crook between his neck and shoulder as I continued moving slowly in and out. I started to lick and nibble his neck and shoulder. I finally began to whisper in his ear. I stopped the in and out movement and moved from side to side. He began moaning and whimpering all the more.
“Am I takin’ good care of your ass, buddy?”
“Yes, oh yeah, feels great.”
“Jeffy’s big dick sure ain’t leavin’ you feelin’ empty is it?”
“No, it’s wonderful.”
“I’m gonna just hold still. You fuck yourself on my dick.” He began pushing back against me, wiggling and then pulling forward just a bit. It felt great. I could feel the slow fire in my belly and between my legs gettin’ stronger.
“You like fuckin’ yourself don’t ya? My dick is makin’ you feel things you ain’t even imagined before ain’t it?”
“This is really incredible, Jeffy.” I moved my head forward a bit, and he turned his. We were able to kiss like that. He started clamping down harder, and it felt like I was being milked.
“You keep that up, buddy, and I ain’t gonna be able to hold off much longer.”
“Go for it!” He intensified his efforts in impaling himself and in clenching down. I could feel the intensity building. It started in the area behind my balls; a sort of contracting that brought this incredible feeling of standing on the edge of heaven. Then my balls drew up. It was almost like they were shivering in anticipation. My dick seemed to swell and get harder. It felt like the whole world and every feeling I was capable of having was concentrated right there. I was teetering on the edge for what seemed like minutes. It felt like I was already starting to have an orgasm, but it seemed as if it went on and on. Finally I exploded. I was pumping for at least a minute. I felt like I had reached some sort of other level. I collapsed on Mike. It took a couple of minutes for me to come back to earth. I took a few deep breaths and flipped him over. He was hard as rock, and he had been pumping out precum. There was a big wet spot on the pillow, and the hair on his belly was all plastered down.
“Put your hands behind your head.” He did, clasping his fingers. He was so beautiful. Three patches of red hair among the blond, two under his arms, and one at his crotch. I knelt down and began to rub his thighs. I licked the wet hair on his belly. He was pushing his dick toward my face, but I ignored it. I licked down, bypassed his dick, and licked his balls. He was beginning to squirm and whimper again. The boy liked his balls played with. I put one finger on his hole and gently teased it, moving around the ring. I teased him even more by sticking my tongue in his piss slit, and then gently licking the back of his head. By this time, he was bucking and trying really hard to shove his dick in my mouth. He bucked his hips up, and as he was settling down, I let my finger go up his ass. I immediately found his gland and began massaging it. He was moaning real loud now, so just to intensify the feeling for him, I took him in my mouth. I worked my tongue around the ridge of his head and then down the back side, the most sensitive part. I kept one finger working his prostate, and with the other hand, I formed a tube and jerked his cock, taking it in my mouth on the up stroke. His moans got louder, and I could feel him tensing up. All of a sudden, he shot. He tasted musky, tangy, and just a bit of a bitter edge. I kept a hold of him until he stopped shuddering. Then I pulled up and lay next to him. We shared a long sweet kiss, and he snuggled against me.
After a few minutes he asked, “Jeff?”
“Yeah?”
“I really like it when you fuck me. It feels almost like we’re one person. Thank you.”
“No thanks necessary, buddy. I like makin’ you feel good. It really turns me on the way you whimper when you’re gettin’ poked.”
He started laughing sheepishly and finally got out, “I don’t whimper.”
“Yeah, ya do. It sounds really nice though. Let’s me know I’m doin’ my job.”
“I can’t be whimperin’; it makes me sound like a girl.”
I had to laugh at that one. “You’re further from a girl than just about any guy I’ve known. Don’t worry, bud, it’s a masculine whimper.” I managed to keep a straight face, just barely, as I said that.
“I don’t really whimper, do I?”
“You want me to tape record it sometime?”
“Not really. You know, I wanted you to fuck me even that first time we was ridin’ fences.”
“But you’d never done that before right?”
“Right, but there was just somethin’ about you; I knew you’d do it well and I would enjoy it.”
“Truth be told, buddy, I was enjoyin’ watchin’ your ass that trip and dreamin’ about fuckin’ it.”
“And who says dreams don’t come true?” We laughed at that one, and we drifted off into a peaceful dreamless sleep.
“THEY sure as hell did a job on your truck, Jeff.” Mike and I had come out with the sheriff to guide him to our campsite and my truck.
“You’re pretty lucky you boys were nowhere near here when the truck got vandalized. You sure that was the biker you saw on the motorcycle?”
“Yes, sir.” Both Mike and I answered in unison.
“Sheriff Johnston, do you reckon that whoever trashed my truck was tryin’ to kill us?”
“Can’t say that hadn’t crossed my mind, either that or just run of the mill vandals who are really stupid. Now I know you boys are convinced that your biker friend is behind this. That’ll be for a jury to decide when we catch him.”
“Sheriff, you reckon he might be mixed up with the rustlers?” Mike looked at the sheriff.
“If he is, there’s got to be more of ’em, and ones who know cattle. The fact that he broke down the fence inside the cattle guard and the fence on the pen with the heifers, shows he don’t know squat about cowboying.” As we were talking, the tow truck for my truck came up. I gave the driver my keys and watched him load it on the flatbed.
“You boys wanna continue on with me or go on back with the tow truck? I’m planning on following the road around and through the forest to where it comes out near Tonasket. It runs right in back of a couple of the ranches over on the east side of the forest that got hit by the rustlers.”
“Sure, Sheriff.” He’d taken plaster casts of the tracks that were dry enough. We jumped in his cruiser and began to go deeper into the forest. The roads weren’t in good shape. Budget cuts had prevented their maintenance for recreation, and environmental restrictions on logging in the national forest had prevented their maintenance for business reasons. We stopped occasionally to look at tracks and take some plaster casts. The forest was cool; its dank humidity gave off a clean smell—piney, woody, it seemed to be green, the very essence of life. The chatter of birds and squirrels was muted, in a kind of hushed and reverent way. I loved this place. Coming through here was just one more little thing that showed me I’d made the right decision in staying here and not going back to the city.
We spent a couple of hours going around and not really finding anything which could be connected to either Porky or the rustlers. Finally in the late afternoon, we began to head downhill. As we went further down, the trees began to thin and the meadows and grasslands became more prevalent. About a half-dozen miles or so from the main road, I noticed a little
turnout. It wasn’t very obvious, but there was a turnoff that had been recently used, and the brush in front of it was dead and wilted.
“Hey, Sheriff, look over there. It looks like somebody was tryin’ to hide another little road.”
“I think you’re right, Jeff.” We pulled over and got out of the truck. The sound of ravens cawing was loud. There was also a stench in the air that smelled like rotten meat. The sheriff pulled his gun out of the holster, and Mike and I picked up our rifles.
“Boys, stay behind me.” Other than the ravens, it was quiet. I could also smell wood smoke, but faintly. We moved slowly and cautiously down the path. There were enough trees here to mask whatever was here from the road. After about two hundred yards, we came on a clearing. On one side was a rough holding pen built of small trees, which were fairly freshly cut. The clearing itself looked like several vehicles had been parked there. I could see motorcycle tracks. On the other side of the clearing was another little holding pen made from brush. There were hoof prints there with shoes. Someone had corralled horses there. I saw what the smell was; in one area, there was a great deal of blood and some bits of offal. The ravens were down there scavengin’. The sheriff looked at Mike.
“You know how to track, son?”
“Can’t say I do.”
“Well then, why don’t you just stay over by the cruiser and keep a lookout. I think they’re gone for good, but who knows.”
“Jeff, you get in here with me. See if you agree with my line of thought here.” The sheriff and I began to look at the scene, trying to put together the story the tracks were trying to tell. We spent about twenty minutes walking around, squatting down to take closer looks, and following tracks and trails.
“It looks like there were about three trucks here. One of ’em seems to have been pulling a trailer.” The sheriff walked around, continuing to look at the footprints and other tracks. He spoke up again.
“One motorcycle too. Unless I miss my guess, it has the same tread as in the other places. Looking at the tracks, I’d guess four men. Three have cowboy boots, one in either work or motorcycle boots. It looks like one set of the cowboy boots has a pretty distinctive wear.” I followed him over to the larger holding pen.
“There were two cowboys here, herding the cattle from that direction. One of the ranches that got hit is just a bit away from here. Are you in agreement with me so far, Jeff?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Mike, can you bring me the binoculars?” He went to the truck and got them, then walked over, and handed them to the sheriff, who looked up and around a bit and saw what he was looking for almost immediately.
“Here’s what I think happened. They had a pretty slick little set up here. It looks like they herded the cattle here from the ranch and kept ’em a few at a time in that holding pen. When they were ready to process, they’d haul a beef outta the pen and bring ’em to the spot where all the blood is. Looks like they stunned ’em and then cut their throats to bleed ’em out.
Mike looked at the sheriff, “How would they move the carcasses around? A beef is pretty heavy.”
“If you look up in that tree over there, there’s a mark where bark’s been rubbed off. My guess is they had a pulley on a rope attached to that tree. When the beef was bled out, they’d probably put a meat hook in it, pull it up, and gut it. Then they’d attach it to the pulley and let gravity take it about ten feet over here to where this truck was parked. I reckon they butchered it in that truck.
“If I’m readin’ it right, Sheriff, they probably stayed right here.”
“You’re on the right track, Jeff. Right there close by is another truck. I’d bet that was a refrigerator truck or freezer truck. You can see a faint trail of blood where the pulley ran into the truck. The truck over there with the trailer was probably a camper. It looks big enough to have fit four men. Nobody around here’d think anything of a RV pulling a horse trailer.”
“Slick setup is right, Sheriff.”
I scooted over to Mike while the sheriff took pictures of the scene, and picked up all sorts of stuff with tweezers and put them in little plastic bags that he labeled. We both assisted with making plaster casts.
“Jeff, were you able to see the same thing the sheriff described from the tracks?”
“Yep, just growin’ up on a ranch you learn how to track; it comes in handy roundup time. When I was a kid, we used to play cowboys and Indians, tryin’ to ambush each other. I reckon that was where I started.”
“Is there anythin’ you can’t do?” I liked the way Mike was starin’ at me, admiration and appreciation mixed up with a look up and down my body. I grinned back at him.
“Speak Swahili. And my greatest weakness is kryptonite.”
“Cocky bastard.”
“Yeah, buddy, but just remember, I’m your cocky bastard.”
“There ain’t a minute that goes by that I ain’t thankful for that.”
“With all these compliments, you’re gonna give me a big head, buddy.”
“I hate to break this to ya, Jeffy, but you already got a big head.”
“I meant the one on my shoulders.”
He snickered. “Yeah, that’s the one I meant too.”
The sheriff spent a couple of hours bagging things and collecting evidence. We helped him put up a yellow crime scene tape. When we’d first come across the crime scene, Sheriff Johnston had called the ranger station in Winslett. It was only occupied by one ranger, the guy we’d met a bit ago when we got the hunting licenses. He couldn’t close the station, so asked us to come by with a report and copies of the evidence log. The sheriff told him that would take a couple of days. He was fine with that. They’d decide then who had jurisdiction.
The sheriff asked us if we wanted to go back to the ranch or to Winslett. He mentioned that Sandy had asked if we wanted to meet her for dinner in Winslett, and then she’d drive us back to the ranch. We opted for dinner with Sandy. Using the sheriff’s phone, I called her. She would meet us in the cantina. About a half an hour later, the sheriff had parked in front of his office. He thanked us and then said good night. Mike and I headed down the road to the cantina. It was only about a half a block. Hell, anything in Winslett is only about a block from anything else. We got into the cantina and looked around. Sandy had gotten a booth. Mike and I slid in across from her. We exchanged howdys and caught her up on the latest news about the rustling. The waitress came by, and Mike and I both ordered Mac & Jacks Ale.
“You two are morphin’ into one another; it’s freaky.” Sandy commented as we ordered the same beer. Her smile showed she was just joking. “Jeff, have you thought anything more about the dude ranch idea?”
“We talked about it,” Mike answered for me. I added some more detail.
“Not only did we talk on it, but I did some research online. I figure we could try it. I’m not sure how to go about advertising, but I figured I could put up a website, and I was gonna call Jonathan. He’s the editor of a gay travel magazine.”
“You gonna make it completely gay?” Sandy asked the question, but Mike also looked at me with interest.
“No, my thought is to open it to anyone who wants to come, men, women, gay, straight, anyone. I know there’s a hell of a lot of open-minded folks. Think of Tom and Ann. They and their kids would love it.”
“I think that’s smart, Jeff. I had an idea too.”
Mike piped up, “What is it Sandy?”
“Maybe we could invite Tom and Ann and their family and Jonathan up for Thanksgiving. They both have connections to magazines. Maybe we’d get featured in an article. Or at least be able to advertise.”
“We huh? You’re gonna help out then?”
“Yes, I am. Maria, José, Josh, and I have been talkin’. We’re all in on it. Maria has Thanksgiving week off, and I took it off from One Eyed Jack’s. Mr. Dobbins’ daughter and son will be home from college, and they can fill in.”
“And just what are ya all plannin’ on doin’ for the dude r
anch?” I asked. Sandy should’ve been some high-powered woman executive.
“Maria and I can do housekeepin’ and help with cookin’. José and Josh are more than happy to wrangle dudes. By the way, I almost forgot. Josh’s friend, Renee, wants to come up too.”
“He’s been spendin’ a good amount of time in Seattle. I reckon if Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher can do it with the age difference thing, so can Renee and Josh. I need to call Jonathan and Tom then.”
Sandy turned red. “I already took care of that.” I stared at her. Mike was trying hard not to laugh.
“Darlin’, I am glad you’re on my team with this. I’d hate to see you opposin’ it.”
She smiled at me. I continued, “So tell me about what is happinin’ with my house at Thanksgiving?” She had the decency to blush a bit again.
“They insisted that we charge them.” I started to object, but she cut in. “If we don’t charge, they couldn’t say anything in their magazines. Renee insisted to Josh she pay too.”
“Okay.”
“We’re charging the adults fifteen hundred dollars each for the week. That includes room and board, horseback ridin’, use of the hot tub, and maybe a tour on horseback of the area. I thought we could go get a permit and cut a Christmas tree in the national forest and put it up one night. Another night we could have a dance in the livin’ room, two-step around the Christmas tree like the cowboy song says. I’ll just have to teach Mike to dance.”
Mike turned red now. “Jeffy’s already done that.”
Sandy smirked at both of us. “I imagine Jeffy did just that. Did you like it?”
“Who wouldn’t like bein’ held in some incredibly handsome, hunky guy’s arms, rubbin’ belt buckles, and goin’ round the floor?”
“You got me there.” Sandy and Mike were starting their own conversation.
I finally decided to break in.
“Hey, you forgot, smart, good dancer, and a lot of other things.”