Midnight Farmhand

by Roland Graeme

  “Did he? Good for him.”

  “I want you to make an arrest. A citizen’s arrest.”

  “You’re having yourself some night, aren’t you, Jacob?”

  “I am not drunk. I’m getting there, but I am not drunk.”

  “Well, finish your drink. Enjoy it, because it’s the last one you’re going to get here tonight. And then I’ll take you home.”

  “What, in your cop car?”

  “That’s what I’ve got sitting out front.”

  “What about my truck?”

  “It’ll be safe out there overnight. And tomorrow one of the other guys on the farm can drive you into town so you pick it up, can’t he?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Drink up, then, and let’s go.”

  “Yes, sir. You see, I’m cooperating.”

  “Yes, you are, and I appreciate it.”

  They left the bar together. Jacob moved a bit slowly and unsteadily. Standing at the passenger side of Duane’s patrol car, Jacob hesitated.

  “Do you want me to sit beside you, up front?” he asked.

  “Of course. Where else?”

  “I thought maybe you wanted to handcuff me and put me in the back seat.”

  “Don’t put any ideas in my head. You might regret them, later. Come on, get in.”

  They drove off into the night.

  “I’m really not drunk,” Jacob reiterated. “Just a little buzzed.”

  “Same difference. Relax. Sit back and enjoy the ride.”

  “I’m taking you away from your work.”

  “Actually, you’re not. I just got off duty. That stop in the bar was my last one, for the night. I was just making sure everything was okay in there, before I knocked off.”

  “Was I okay?”

  “I’ve seen and dealt with worse. Much worse. You’re no trouble. So far. Keep it that way.”

  “I was brought up to have great respect for the law.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “God, this town really does shut itself down at night,” Jacob commented. “I don’t see a single light on, in any of these houses. And we seem to be the only car moving on the street. The bar, back there, was the only sign of life.”

  “Yeah, but from my perspective, this is a good thing. It makes my job easier when everybody’s safe at home behind closed doors. Not that criminal activities can’t take place behind closed doors. Or other kinds of illicit activities, for that matter.”

  “When you say ‘illicit,’ are you referring to—?”

  “To sex, mostly,” Duane admitted. “For some reason, I’ve got sex on my mind, tonight.”

  “Me, too.”

  “What’s the matter? Haven’t you been getting it regularly, out there on the farm?”

  “I’ve had my fair share, I guess,” Jacob boasted. “But I feel restless tonight, for some reason. Maybe that’s why I was knocking back the booze kind of freely. It’s not a good habit to get into, I know.”

  “No, it’s not. Was there any particular reason, why you chose to tie one on tonight?”

  “My fucking boss. Merle Greenley.” In his present state, Jacob didn’t hesitate to name names—and tell tales. “The son of a bitch. He makes me have sex with him. Treats me like a fucking whore. ‘Suck this, Jacob.’ ‘Suck that, Jacob.’ ‘Bend over and stick this up your ass, boy!’” Jacob gave a not altogether persuasive imitation of Merle’s Texan twang. “The dirty motherfucker!”

  “Ah—are we talking about consensual sex, Jacob?”

  “He doesn’t rape me, if that’s what you mean. But I have to put out for him if I want to keep my job. The dirty motherfucker,” Jacob reiterated.

  “Interesting,” Duane mused. “You and I will have to talk about this some more, some time when you’re sober.”

  “I’m sobering up now, I can feel it. But I don’t want to talk about Merle. Fuck him!”

  “All right. Whatever you say.”

  They had left the town behind, and were on the highway.

  “Where do you live, by the way?” Jacob asked the police officer, as they neared the farm.

  “Just on the edge of town. In a house—it’s very small, and it’s nothing fancy, but it’s comfortable. I don’t pay much rent. The town owns the property; they bought it at auction, years ago. It was offered to me along with the job. One of the few perks.”

  “I can think of some other perks.” Jacob reached over and put his hand on Duane’s crotch. He squeezed the cop’s cock, through his uniform trousers. The penis felt big.

  “Cut that out,” Duane said, without heat, and not taking either of his hands off the steering wheel.

  “Are you going to arrest me?”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “Hell, yeah!”

  “Take your hand off my dick. I’m not kidding, Jacob.”

  “Yes, sir.” Jacob obeyed. “Didn’t you like it?”

  “Not while I’m driving. It’s a distraction.”

  “Pull over, then.”

  “You are pretty jazzed up tonight, aren’t you?”

  “I can’t help it. You don’t have to rush home, do you?”

  “No.”

  “I mean, you don’t have somebody waiting for you at home, in this very small house of yours, do you?”

  “Nobody. I live alone.”

  “Then when we get to the farm, instead of just dropping me off—why don’t you come to my room for a while?”

  “Your room? Do you guys sleep alone there—or do you double up? You got a roommate?”

  “No, we each have our own room. Nice and private. Want me to show it to you? Want me to show you a few things that my son of a bitch of a boss has taught me?”

  “Sure,” Duane replied, easily, as though he’d been expecting to receive just such an invitation. “It might not be such a bad idea to make certain you’re tucked in safely for the night.”

  He turned into the farm, and Jacob directed him to the farmhands’ quarters, indicating which was his room. Duane pulled into a parking spot near Jacob’s door.

  “Somebody might think it’s odd to see my car parked here at this time of night,” the cop remarked, as they got out of the patrol car.

  “Everybody’s asleep, from the looks of it. And I’m allowed to have visitors, after all.”

  “Visitors, sure. But somebody might assume I’m here on official business.”

  “Yeah, well, you and I both know that you aren’t. So it doesn’t matter.”

  Jacob led the other man into his room, after going in first to turn on a light.

  Duane glanced about the space.

  “This isn’t bad,” he said. “For its size.”

  “It’s small, but it’s comfortable. And I have it all to myself. If I had to share it with another guy, that could get kind of awkward, when you bring—I mean, when you want to have company.”

  Duane smiled. He noticed the bottle of scotch Jacob had left out on the nightstand beside the bed.

  “That’s a man-sized bottle of hooch for a young guy like you to have on hand,” he said, teasingly. “Do you mind if I help myself to a drink?” he asked. “Now that I’m finally off duty, I can indulge myself a little, I guess.”

  “No, go right ahead. Wait, let me get you a clean glass.”

  “Thanks. Do you want one?”

  “Yes, please. Now that I’m safe at home, with my bed right here waiting for me, I guess one more can’t hurt. If I pass out on you, just turn out the light and close the door on your way out.”

  Duane laughed. “You’re not that drunk. Like I said—since it’s part of my job, I’m a pretty good judge of such things. One more drink won’t hurt you. It may help you fall asleep.”

  He poured each of them a hefty drink. He handed Jacob his.

  “Get that inside you,” the cop instructed. “And then get your ass in bed, and stay there.”

  Jacob stood there holding the drink in his hand, and he took a good, long, appreciative look a
t the policeman as he sipped it. Duane was a beautiful young man, blond, strong and virile. When Jacob had first met him, during the daytime, he’d been a fantasy figure for the inexperienced young farmhand. No doubt the uniform had something to do with the powerfully sexual impression Duane had made on him. But there was nothing exaggeratedly tough or macho about him now. On the contrary, there was a gentleness about him—a soft, yielding quality which, to Jacob’s surprise, he found highly appealing under the circumstances.

  “Look at you. You’re so goddamn manly,” Jacob blurted out.

  Duane chuckled. “If that’s a compliment, I’ll accept it as such. Thanks, buddy. You’re not exactly a wimp, yourself.”

  Jacob basked in the cop’s indirect praise. But he wondered whether it would be such a good idea to let himself become involved in yet another casual, recreational sexual relationship. His life was complicated enough already. But he was drunk enough, and horny enough, not to give a damn about such niceties at the moment. The idea of being made love to by somebody who was gentle yet assertive—somebody like Camilo, in fact— appealed to him. And the hot lust for the policeman that he could feel welling up within him was the overriding consideration, obliterating all else.

  Ignoring the armchair in the room, he sat down on the bed. When Duane moved toward the chair, Jacob patted the mattress next to him, silently inviting his guest to sit there instead, right beside him. Jacob wanted to be close to him, even during the preliminaries that would precede the actual sex. Jacob was already hoping that they’d be brief preliminaries.

  As soon as Duane seated himself next to Jacob, the entire tone of the evening changed. It was like static electricity in the air; an invisible current flowing and crackling between them. Jacob knew that the cop wanted him—and Jacob wasn’t inclined to resist. The tension was like tiny invisible sparks hovering all around him, threatening to sting his flesh every time he moved a muscle.

  He concentrated on his glass and its contents in order to avoid making conversation. Duane did likewise, obviously suffering from the same momentary discomfort, the same awkwardness, that Jacob was—although to a lesser degree.

  “So, tell me, Jacob,” Duane said, matter-of-factly. “What do you like to do?”

  Jacob knew that the cop meant, what do you like to do in bed? His excitement went up a notch.

  “I don’t know,” he replied. “Just about everything, I guess.”

  Duane smiled. “No offense, but in my experience, when a guy says he’ll do anything, it usually turns out that he has a pretty specific laundry list. What’re some of the items on yours?”

  “Sometimes—depending on the mood I’m in, and when I’m with the right kind of guy—I like to be a little submissive,” Jacob admitted, shamefacedly.

  “Yeah? Sounds hot. Tell me more.”

  “I like to be the other man’s bitch. I like him to order me around, and ‘force’ me to do things. Of course,” Jacob added, quickly. “If you’re not into that kind of shit—”

  “Oh, you might be surprised—pleasantly surprised—by what I can get into.” Duane raised his glass to his lips, and took a long swig. “I’ve got a proposal to make. Why don’t we start off slow—and see if anything interesting develops, along the way?”

  “That’s fine with me.”

  For a moment, the two men drank in silence. And then, suddenly, their glasses were empty—and they were staring at each other, smiling with their eyes as well as with their lips—and Jacob was aware of another, fiercer thirst: a thirst for the other man’s flesh.

  Duane moved closer toward Jacob on the bed and slipped his arm around the farmhand’s shoulders. He began to give Jacob a little caress with the palm of his hand, not applying much pressure, sliding his hand first over Jacob’s shoulder, and then moving it over to the back of his neck before lowering it between his shoulder blades. His fingers massaged Jacob through the material of his yellow sweatshirt.

  “Relax,” Duane whispered. “Nothing bad is going to happen. Nobody’s going to hurt you.”

  The touch of the fingers down his back made Jacob shiver. Suddenly, his nervousness turned his spine rigid, and it also made his throat go dry and tight. Duane leaned forward and kissed him, also lightly, exploring Jacob’s lips with his own. The sensation of Duane’s mouth on Jacob’s was arousing, of course, but it was oddly comforting at the same time. Jacob didn’t know what he’d expected to happen when the cop kissed him, but he certainly wasn’t prepared for the sheer physical pleasure of it. Duane’s lips were soft and sweet. And his tongue, instead of the hard-thrusting oral projectile which Jacob had anticipated, moved slowly and carefully, inserting its way inch by inch into his mouth.

  Jacob closed his eyes and allowed himself to yield to the other young man’s embrace. Slowly, Duane eased their bodies downward until they were both stretched out, side by side, on the bed. Then Duane’s hands began to work their magic on Jacob’s flesh.

  His touch felt like a dozen little butterflies fluttering their way across the farmhand’s body. Jacob gasped involuntarily as Duane fingertips found his nipple and fondled it through the soft, clinging material of his sweatshirt. Inside the garment, Jacob felt the sensitive flesh of his nipples harden and swell. As though they possessed a will of their own, they responded with an intense, pleasurable throbbing to the pressure of Duane’s touch.

  The cop’s caress moved downward along Jacob’s side, over the curve of his hip and along his thigh. When the police office reached his knee, Jacob shuddered, enjoying the pressure of the other man’s fingers as they squeezed him there. Then, as Duane’s hand moved upward on Jacob’s leg, Jacob had all he could do to keep himself from crying out loud to express the delight of this intimate, loving contact.

  Duane’s hand slid in between his thighs and curved itself to the contours of his groin area, stroking him through the pliant cloth of his new designer jeans and the boxer shorts he wore under them. Duane was touching Jacob’s genitals through the double layer of fabric, but—again—very lightly. Jacob could feel that hot, static electricity again, crackling through the individual hairs that surrounded the root of his cock.

  Reflexively, Jacob wound his arms around Duane’s neck and arched himself upward, his head spinning with ecstasy as Duane’s knowing, expert fingers began to massage his crotch through his jeans. The pressure—light and intermittent though it was—was already driving Jacob past the limits of reason and restraint.

  “Relax, stud. Just relax,” Duane whispered again, as he covered Jacob’s cheeks and mouth with quick, soft kisses. “I’ll make this good for you. I’ll make it the best goddamn sex you’ve ever had. I promise.”

  Jacob heard the other guy’s words, but only dimly. His mind was whirling with sensations he could neither control nor understand. He knew that there was a man in his room, on his bed, with him, and that what they were doing was still considered taboo by some segments of society. They were making out … and soon, very soon, they were going to suck, and fuck! And yet, Jacob’s only response was an intense delight as Duane’s hands fondled his flesh. He felt only gratitude and anticipation when the blond cop began, methodically, to get him out of his clothes.

  Duane began by pulling Jacob’s yellow sweatshirt up around his torso, first as far as his chest and armpits, and then up over his head and off. Duane folded the garment neatly and deposited it onto the nightstand beside the bed. Then he reached out toward Jacob again, with the obvious intention of divesting him of the rest of his clothes.

  “Like you said,” Jacob protested, probably not very convincingly. “I’m not that drunk. I can undress myself.”

  “Let me do it,” Duane said. “It’s kind of a turn-on for me.”

  “Is it? Then be my guest.”

  Bare-chested now, Jacob lay back comfortably on the bed. Duane gripped his training shoes, unlaced them, and pulled them off his feet, one by one; but then, as he began to remove Jacob’s orange wool socks, as well, he checked himself. He held Jacob’s feet in his hands
and stroked them gently through the socks.

  “You’re a hot man,” he whispered.

  “Thanks. So are you.”

  “I like to touch you … everywhere—!”

  “Be my guest. Go right ahead.”

  “Everywhere? Even here?”

  As he spoke, the cop’s hands clasped themselves firmly around Jacob’s ankles, squeezing them through the socks. One of the hands moved upward on Jacob’s leg, sliding under his jeans to massage his bare calf muscle. The other hand slid down and massaged the ball and sole of his foot through the soft, plush wool of the sock.

  “Here?” the cop repeated, in an urgent-sounding, sexually charged whisper.

  “There, sure. Why not?” Jacob asked, in all innocence.

  The other young man evaded answering the question directly. “Um, you look sexy in those socks,” Duane murmured. “Your feet look sexy in those socks,” he specified. “What are they, about a size eleven?”

  “Not quite. Ten and a half.”

  “Hot,” Duane grunted, looking and sounding extremely excited. “Do you mind if I leave the socks on you?”

  “I don’t care. As long as you do take my pants off. Things are beginning to feel a bit confined in there.”

  “Yeah, I can see that you’re springing a boner, buddy,” Duane said, salaciously. “A big boner. I’d better let the poor thing out and give it some air, before it suffocates.”

  Deftly, he unfastened Jacob’s belt buckle and the waistband of his jeans. He quickly lowered Jacob’s zipper and eased aside the flaps of his fly. He was searching for the most sensitive, intimate areas of the other man’s body. And Jacob was eager for him to find them.

  Jacob groaned and shoved himself up at him, his groin burning with a heat, an intensity, the likes of which he’d never known. Duane’s fingertips continued to dart and probe. By now, they had actually penetrated Jacob’s open fly far enough to grasp his prickhead through the taut-stretched material of Jacob’s boxers, which now sheathed his erection like a cotton condom. Jacob felt as though he were melting internally —drifting far away from everything real, all of the anxieties and frustrations of the humdrum daytime world.