Midnight Farmhand

by Roland Graeme

  “You’re right. But my family isn’t one of the strict ones. Although I never used the Internet until about a year ago.”

  “No kidding!” Officer Mallory exclaimed. If Jacob had claimed to be unfamiliar with the technology of the wheel, the young cop could scarcely have seemed more surprised. “I could not fucking survive in a town like this—pardon my language—without the Internet.”

  “Yes, it’s interesting,” Jacob said. This was quite an understatement on his part, considering that his on-line explorations had included gay chat rooms and porn sites.

  “There’s a whole other world out there,” Mallory agreed.

  “Have you ever lived in a big city?” Jacob asked.

  “Not for long. The pace can get kind of hectic there, that’s for sure. On the other hand—there’s always a choice of things to do there on a Friday or Saturday night. Can’t say that about here.”

  Jacob was tempted to ask his new acquaintance what was his idea of a suitable recreational activity on a Friday or Saturday night; but his newfound boldness had suddenly deserted him.

  Mallory had finished his lunch. With no further excuse to loiter, Jacob got up and followed him to the cash register, where the two men paid their checks, one after the other.

  “Well, I have to get my butt back to work,” Mallory said.

  “Me, too,” Jacob replied—although, strictly speaking, that wasn’t true, today.

  “Maybe I’ll see you around, Jacob. Don’t be such a hermit.”

  “I’ll try not to be, Officer Mallory.”

  “Call me Duane.”

  “All right. So long, Duane.”

  “Bye.”

  Watching him get into his patrol car and drive off, Jacob decided that he liked Duane Mallory. Once the other man had progressed beyond his initial wariness toward Jacob, he was friendly enough, and had gone out of his way to put him at his ease. In the course of their brief conversation, Jacob had already gotten a distinct vibe from the man in uniform. Jacob’s newly honed instincts told him that Duane was either gay, or at the very least the kind of straight man who felt comfortable in the company of gay men. And surely any guy who pumped heavy iron the way the cop obviously did, resulting in all those muscles, must be accustomed to being hit on by gay men. It was entirely possible that he didn’t always reject their advances. Maybe this isolated rural town wasn’t such a cultural backwater, after all. Perhaps some degree of urban sophistication had penetrated even here.

  Shit, Jacob allowed himself to speculate, I wonder what he looks like naked? I bet he’s really hot … rock solid, really built. I wouldn’t mind performing a little of that “body worship” stuff on him. I bet those big, hard muscles of his feel—and taste!—as good as they look!

  Erring on the side of caution, Jacob made a pit stop in the diner’s men’s room. Then he got into his pickup truck and drove off.

  Now that he’d assuaged his hunger pangs, he felt in no hurry to get back to the farm. Impulsively, he decided to check out the mall, after all.

  Upon his arrival, he gave in to a further impulse. When he saw a hair salon, he walked in.

  “Do I need an appointment to get my hair cut here?” he asked.

  “No, sir,” the guy manning the reception desk told him. “You can always call for an appointment, ahead of time. Sometimes there’s a short wait. But today Jon can take care of you, right away.”

  Jacob submitted himself to Jon, a pretty, vivacious blond twink who, whatever his actual age might have been, looked as though he ought to still be in high school.

  “Can you do something with my hair?” Jacob asked.

  Job fingered Jacob’s locks. “There’s nothing wrong with your hair,” he decreed. “It’s very fine-textured, though. That’s why it tends to hang so limply. I can use a shampoo on you that ought to give you some body. And a layered cut will help, too. Here. See if any of these appeals to you.”

  He handed Jacob a three-ring binder, which Jacob saw was filled with photos—all head shots of handsome male models.

  “Can you make me look like one of these guys, Jon?”

  “I can make your hair look like one of them,” was all that Jon was willing to promise. “I’m a hair stylist, not a fucking plastic surgeon … not that you aren’t a good-looking dude,” he added, reassuringly. He flipped through the binder, pointing out some of the pictures. “This might be a good look for you … or this.”

  Jacob found a photo he liked. “How about this one?”

  “That’d be perfect for you.”

  As he first shampooed Jacob’s hair, then went to work on him with comb and scissors, Jon kept up a steady stream of chatter. Jacob couldn’t help comparing him with another blond man he’d met earlier that day—namely, Duane Mallory. Jacob definitely preferred the butch cop to this flighty twink. But Jon was amusing, and he seemed to be skilled at his job.

  When Jon was done with him, Jacob scrutinized himself in the mirror. The transformation was subtle, but it pleased him. He looked good—more sophisticated, and less like a hick. He paid Jon, and rewarded him with a generous tip.

  “Here’s my business card,” Jon said. “When it starts to grow out, come back and I’ll touch it up.”

  “I will.”

  Jon winked at him. “I’ll keep you looking good,” he promised, flirtatiously. “In fact—feel free to call me before it grows out, if you’ve got nothing better to do. I give massages, too—among other things. And I’m good at all of them.”

  “I just bet you are.” Even as he said that, Jacob was slightly shocked by his own boldness. Here he was, flirting with another guy, right there in a public place!

  Sauntering through the mall, Jacob decided that there was no point in going only halfway. He went into a couple of men’s clothing stores, and picked out quite a few items. They were all examples of what he had once thought of as “English clothes”—meaning brightly colored, stylish, and non-utilitarian. He realized that he had deliberately selected several articles that showed off his body a bit. Cruising attire, in short.

  His parents, back home, would be scandalized if they knew he’d just spent so much money on “vanity.” But they weren’t around to witness their son’s lapse into worldliness, and so Jacob didn’t allow himself to be too bothered by the thought of their purely theoretical opinion.

  He got back to the farm in time for supper. After emptying his shopping bags, Jacob decided to wear one of his new shirts—a snug-fitting polo shirt, navy blue with narrow horizontal white stripes, that really showed off his torso and arms to advantage. At the table, among the men who were still wearing their stained and sweaty work clothes, he rather stood out. Camilo was the first to notice, and comment on, his transformation.

  “You look different,” Camilo said. “What’ve you done to yourself?”

  “I got myself a decent haircut, for a change.”

  Camilo studied him. “It suits you,” he declared, at last. “You ought to keep it that way.”

  Merle, seated at the head of the table, grunted. “Makes you look like a goddamn pretty boy male model,” he said, dismissively. “Next thing we know, you won’t want to get your hands dirty doing farm work.”

  “No danger of that,” Jacob assured him.

  “And what’s with the shirt?” Merle asked. “It looks new, too.”

  “It is,” Jacob confessed.

  One of the other farmhands spoke up: “Looks like Jacob has found himself a girl. That must be why he’d dressed to impress.” Some of the other men laughed, and Jacob could feel his face reddening. Camilo smiled. Only Merle retained a poker face.

  After the meal, Merle intercepted Jacob and Camilo, on their way out of the dining room.

  “Don’t run off, Jacob,” Merle said, in a deceptively casual tone of voice. “I want to talk to you for a minute, okay?”

  Jacob knew what this probably meant. The manager wanted him for a lot longer than a minute, and he wanted him for sex. Jacob really didn’t want to be with Merle to
night, for some reason. He would much rather spend some time with Camilo.

  Camilo kept his facial expression impassive. “I’ll wait for you outside, Jacob,” he said.

  Merle waited until the other men, including Camilo, had gone.

  “I want you to come to my room tonight,” he told Jacob, in a peremptory tone of voice.

  “I can’t. I have other plans.”

  “Such as?”

  Not having thought his lie through, Jacob was at a loss for words. “Oh … I just thought I’d hang out with the other guys.”

  “Yeah? Including Bautista?”

  Jacob didn’t want Merle to start getting suspicious of Camilo. “No, not him … not necessarily.”

  “Well, the other guys can have you some other night. Right now, I’m in the mood for some hot action. I want your ass,” Merle said, bluntly. “Get rid of Bautista, and come to my room. Not later. Now. I’ll be waiting.”

  Jacob was disgusted—with Merle, for taking for granted that Jacob was at his beck and call; and with himself, for putting up with it. But he obediently muttered, “Yes, sir.”

  Camilo was waiting for him outside the house. Embarrassed, Jacob told him about his assignation with Merle.

  “The son of a bitch,” Camilo said. “Why don’t you stand up to him? You ought to tell him you’re not going to bend over for him anymore.”

  “I can’t afford to antagonize him. None of us can.”

  Camilo looked at him. “Of course, I’m assuming that you don’t like fucking around with him. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you do like it. Maybe you’ve got the hots for the boss.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Camilo. I put up with it, that’s all. There’s nothing for you to be jealous about.”

  “Jealous? Me? Of you? We have fun together. That doesn’t mean you belong to me—or that I belong to you.”

  “You’re pissed off at me, aren’t you? Don’t be. Please, Camilo. I’m miserable enough as it is. Don’t make me feel worse.”

  “All right. Go suck up to the boss. Spread your ass for him. It’s none of my business. But do me a favor, will you? Shove your dick down his throat and make him choke on it. Choke him to death with it. That’d serve him right!”

  Jacob was startled, and at a loss for words. Camilo seemed genuinely angry—at him, as well as with Merle.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Camilo went on. “Maybe you and I should cool it, for a while.”

  “Cool it? What do you mean?”

  “I mean, maybe I’m getting tired of all this sneaking around, and worrying about the big, bad boss man finding out about us. Who needs it?”

  “Don’t you want to have sex with me anymore?” Jacob blurted out.

  “I didn’t say that. What I don’t what to do is share you with that son of a bitch Greenley. I’m sick of it. I don’t need his sloppy seconds.”

  Now it was Jacob’s turn to lose his temper. “That’s a dirty thing to say, Camilo.”

  The other man shrugged. “If the shoe fits, wear it, kid.”

  “Fuck you!”

  “Any time,” Camilo retorted, sarcastically. “Any time—after you tell Greenley to go fuck himself. When you decide to be a man and stand up for yourself, and you hand that motherfucker his walking papers—then I’ll be happy to let you fuck me. But not before then, baby. Not before!”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “Don’t I? Try me. You have a choice to make, kid. Me or Greenley.”

  “That’s unfair.”

  Camilo gave him a hard look. “Life is unfair. The sooner you learn that, the better off you’ll be. Catch you later,” he added, brusquely, dismissively.

  They turned their backs on each other, and went their separate ways. Camilo walked across the grass toward the farmhands’ quarters. Cursing under his breath, Jacob stomped off in the opposite direction. He reentered the main house, went down the hallway, and pounded rather more loudly than usual on the door of Merle’s office.

  “Have a drink,” Merle said, when he and Jacob were alone together in his office, behind closed doors. He picked up the whiskey bottle on his desk.

  “No, thanks. I think I’d better start going easy on that stuff. I don’t want it to start interfering with my work.”

  “We’re both off the job now,” Merle pointed out. “Hell, loosen up, boy! I’m going to have one. Come on, join me. I hate to drink alone. And it always seems to make you more cooperative.”

  “I’m cooperative enough,” Jacob argued. Still preoccupied by his quarrel with Camilo, he was a lot less guarded in his speech than he usually was, in his boss’s company. But he didn’t want to piss Merle off, so he accepted the stiff drink the man poured out for him.

  “You? Cooperative? Yeah, most of the time, maybe. So tell me. What are you all dolled up for?”

  Jacob shrugged. “No reason in particular. I felt like a change, that’s all.”

  “There must be some reason. Found yourself another boyfriend? Is that it?”

  “Another boyfriend? What do you mean?”

  “Well, I’m your boyfriend, ain’t I?”

  “Not really.” Jacob was surprised by the coldness he heard in his own tone of voice. “You and I—we fuck, that’s all. You make me have sex with you. That’s all there is to it.”

  Jacob felt a certain perverse, daring satisfaction when he saw that Merle didn’t like what he’d just said. He didn’t like it at all!

  “Don’t you try to bullshit me, boy,” Merle said. “Don’t you start pretending you don’t like it. I haven’t heard any complaints coming out of your mouth.”

  “I’m not the complaining type. Like you said to me once—I do what I have to, to get along. There’s no use pissing and moaning about it, is there?”

  Merle gave him a hard look. “You’ve changed,” he said, bluntly. “You’re not the same dumb young kid you were when I first came here. You’ve gotten kind of ballsy, all of a sudden, haven’t you?”

  Belatedly, Jacob remembered that it might not be in his best interests to antagonize the other man. “No,” he mumbled. “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “I’m right,” Merle persisted. “You’re turning into one cocky, mouthy little bitch. I’m not sure I like it. Not around me, anyway. I wonder what’s caused it?” Without waiting for a response from Jacob, he answered his own question: “You have been fucking around with some other guy, haven’t you? Maybe more than one. For all I know, you’ve found yourself a whole string of lovers, by now. And they’re the ones who’ve started putting ideas in your head. Think you’re smart, don’t you, you little slut, whoring around behind my back? That explains the fancy haircut and the brand new duds. Who is it? One of the other guys here on the farm, or some town boy?” A thought seemed to strike Merle. “Hell—have you started hustling?”

  “I told you, Merle. I just wanted a change. Don’t read so much into it.”

  “I’ll read whatever the hell I choose to read into it,” Merle blustered. “I’m still the boss around here, remember?”

  “Yes, sir. You have a way of reminding me of that, every five minutes or so. A way of putting me in my place.”

  “Damn right. Come on, drink up. And then we’ll go into the bedroom and fuck. You got any problem with that, mister?” Merle demanded, belligerently.

  “No, sir. No problem at all.” Genuinely scared that he might have pushed the other man too far, Jacob was now all meekness—at least outwardly.

  “That’s a good boy. See? We understand each other. We can get along just fine, as long as you drop the attitude.”

  A few minutes later, they were in Merle’s bedroom, getting undressed. When they were both naked, Merle lost no time in getting down to business—and in emphasizing who was in charge.

  “Suck my nips,” he instructed Jacob, matter-of-factly. “You know what I like, you know what to do. So do it!”

  Jacob slithered half on top of his big body, which was stretched out on the bed, and he pressed his mouth obediently to Merle’s m
assive chest to lick and suck on each of his big brown nipples in turn. Jacob worshipped those pecs, lavishing upon them all of the oral skill he had recently acquired.

  “Yeah, that’s a good boy. That’s a good, obedient little whore. Now my pits,” Merle demanded. “Lick my sweaty, stinking pits, bitch!”

  He raised his brawny arms over his head as he lay there, and Jacob moved his mouth to each of the hairy armpits in turn. He kissed them and tickled them with his tongue, inhaling Merle’s strong body odor. As though the aroma was some potent drug he was snorting, it only got him more aroused. He hated himself for being so susceptible to Merle’s crude advances. But the Texan had a hot body, which Jacob couldn’t resist.

  “I worked up a good, hot sweat for you today,” Merle said. “Didn’t bother to scrub myself afterward, either. I saved my stink for you. I know how much you get off on that funky man smell, boy. Go on, don’t stop. Suck those nasty pits, fucker. Clean ‘em off for me with your tongue. Bitch. Horny little bitch. The dirtier and the nastier it is, the more you like it, don’t you, you slut?”

  With his mouth pressed firmly against Merle’s armpit, and his tongue lapping away rapidly, Jacob could respond to the man’s insults only by emitting muffled, vaguely affirmative grunts.

  After a few minutes of this rough play, Merle pushed Jacob away from his upper torso. Reaching down to scratch at the underside of his balls with his left hand, he said, “Suck on my cock a little, now, until it gets good and hard. Then I’ll shove it up your ass. That’s what you came here for, after all. That’s what we both want.”

  Jacob had hoped they might actually lie there together and cuddle for a while, so that their sex would have some semblance of affection in it. But if Merle wanted rough sex tonight, Jacob knew that there was no point in arguing with him, or expressing his own desires. And Jacob was becoming versatile enough to switch gears, when the situation required. He could work himself into the mood for a little rough sex easily enough. Getting his ass reamed out by Merle’s huge dick was a fair tradeoff for any humiliation he had to put up with along the way.

  He slid down over Merle’s chest and stomach, his tongue tracing a wet path across his navel and darting through the triangle of his pubic hair. Settling himself between Merle’s outstretched thighs, Jacob opened his mouth wide and let the Texan rub his heavy, limp cock over his lips. Grunting, Merle milked himself a bit, and then he pushed his cockhead between Jacob’s lips.