Country

by Jeff Mann

  “Thanks, buddy. I guess you were one of the first folks to ever hear the stuff I wrote. Well, anyway, I lied and lied and lied, to everyone else and to myself, just to get into that spotlight and stay there. After a few year of trying to have a sex life with Shelly, we both gave that up. I tried to be celibate, but….”

  “Celibate? Fuck! You’d have to institutionalize me. I gotta have my poontang. I’d blow my brains out otherwise.”

  “Yeah, that’s one thing we’ve always had in common, though I guess you didn’t know it. We’re both oversexed hound dogs. It’s just that you’re a pussyhound and I’m an asshound.”

  “The Hound Brothers.” Wayne snickered. “I had absolutely no earthly idea that you liked guys. You dated quite a few little girls back in high school, didn’t you?”

  “I learned to be a good actor.”

  “No need to act now, big man. Seems like you need a friend bad. Glad I’m in town when you need the company.”

  “Me too. You just keep saving my ass. My hero.” Brice bumped Wayne with his shoulder.

  “Somebody’s gotta do it.” Wayne bumped back. For a long minute, the two friends simply watched the fire and listened to the train rumbling along the tracks at the base of the mountain.

  “So who’d you love?” Wayne said, eyes still on the fire.

  “There was a frat brother. His name was Nathan. Short, muscular little guy a year younger’n me. Tanned skin, brown goatee. He was my first. We got drunk one night, started wrestling…. That was long before Nashville, long before I realized how much I’d have to give up to make it in the country music world, so I threw my whole heart into it. When I got serious, he got scared, so that was the end of that.”

  “Yeah. Sounds like me. When a girl got serious, I was outta there. Tried that with Gail. Guess I didn’t get away fast enough.”

  “I’m glad. I’m glad you’re happy.”

  “Me too. Wish you were happier.”

  “Me too,” Brice sighed. In the state of chemical relaxation he found himself, it was proving especially difficult not to wrap an arm around Wayne and kiss him hard on the mouth.

  “Who else?” Wayne said.

  “Another frat guy a year older. Gerry. Strong, beefy guy. About my height. Black beard, hairy body. God, did he look great in a pair of tighty-whities. He let me blow him every now and then, even though he had a girlfriend. When he graduated and left town, I thought I was gonna die.”

  “Yeah? I don’t think I’d die if I lost Gail, but I sure as shit would be miserable. Don’t know what I’d do without her.”

  They fell silent. Then Brice sat up, rubbed his bleary eyes, and said, “There was someone else. Someone when I was younger.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” Brice swilled the rest of his whiskey. “Life is short, right?”

  “Sure is. Roy and Gail’s mother are reminding me of that. So?”

  “So I’m real tired of lying. My manager wanted me to lie, and Dr. Zucker wanted me to lie, and—”

  “Dr. Zucker? Who’s that?”

  “Ex-gay therapist in Nashville.”

  “Oh, hell, Brice. You didn’t buy into that bullshit, did you?”

  “No. Just couldn’t bring myself to. Look, I told all those lies before ‘cause I thought I’d lose everything, but I’ve lost just about everything anyway, so….”

  “So you wanna tell the truth now. I get it.” Wayne shrugged. “Ain’t nothing you can say that’s gonna make me run out that door.”

  “You swear?”

  “Brice. Jesus. I swear.”

  “You,” Brice said. “I was in love with you.”

  Wayne’s face went blank. He shifted his gaze from Brice’s face to the floor, then to the fire, then to the snow-blind windows, then back to Brice. “You little bastard. Really?” To Brice’s relief, Wayne faintly smiled.

  “You ain’t gonna punch me?”

  “Punch you? Are you brain-dead? Fuck, I’m flattered. So all those times we were hiking or hunting or shooting the shit by the lockers….”

  “Yeah. I was wanting you. I thought about you a lot in college. Even wrote some songs about you. Most of the guys I’ve wanted over the years have reminded me of you in some way. Strong. Kind. Masculine. Loyal. I still think you’re one of the best-looking men I’ve ever met, on top of what a great guy you are. I’m still a little in love with you, to be honest. This isn’t creeping you out?”

  “Naw.” The faint smile broadened into the catfish grin. “Like I said, I’m flattered. Wait till I tell Myrtle that you threw yourself at me just like the twisted predator she said you’d be.”

  “Wayne! Don’t you dare.”

  “I’m joshing you, stupid. But you ain’t gonna make a pass, are you?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  “Naw. Sorry. I’m straight through and through.”

  “Yeah, I know that. In high school, I used to think about getting you real drunk and trying to take advantage of you. In fact, that first Christmas I came back from college, I was bound and determined to get you soused on some of that cheap Canadian whiskey you liked and then coax you into at least letting me give you a blow job. But you didn’t come home for Christmas, dammit.”

  “Might have worked. A mouth’s a mouth, right?”

  Brice gaped. “Well, shit.”

  “Except I might have freaked out the next day. Who knows? And then we wouldn’t be here tonight. Still buddies.”

  “So no blow job tonight, huh?”

  Wayne gently bounced the side of his fist against Brice’s shoulder. “Nope. Sorry. I’d have to tell Gail, and she’d machine-gun both of us. Besides, with that back of yours….”

  “You might have to call for an ambulance, yeah,” Brice said, feeling both disappointment and relief. “Okay. Guess I’ll have to keep looking for a gay version of you. Meanwhile, we have this, right?” Brice offered his hand.

  “You’re damn right we do,” Wayne said, taking Brice’s hand and squeezing it. “I’m glad you told me. I do love you, man. Not the way you might want, but…. Okay, enough drinking and enough shocking revelations. It’s late. Let’s get you up to bed, gimp.”

  BRICE WOKE AT 3:30 AM WITH A VERY FULL bladder and hobbled to the bathroom, back hurting him again. He hadn’t quite finished pissing when he remembered how much he’d told Wayne.

  “Oh, hell,” Brice murmured, rummaging through his booze-bleared memory. “Did I scare him to death? He didn’t leave, did he?”

  Anxiously, he trundled down the hallway in his boxers and undershirt to the small guest bedroom in the back of the house. To his relief, there he saw the lumpy silhouette of a man’s form in the bed and heard the soft sound of a man’s snores.

  Still here, Brice thought. Didn’t run off. Fast asleep.

  Dim moonlight illuminated the room, faded, then grew bright. Brice sat on a chair beside the bed, rested his elbows on his knees, propped his chin in his hand, and watched Wayne sleep. He could see his friend’s face against the pillow, the darkness of his mussed hair, thick eyebrows, and beard. He could see a bare shoulder rising just above the blankets. The urge to touch Wayne’s face, to kiss his cheek, to climb into bed with him and hold him close was so great that Brice began to tremble.

  No. No. Ain’t gonna be the predator that the world expects. No. He’s my friend. He trusts me. He’s already made it clear that he doesn’t want what I want.

  Brice’s left hand gripped his right, as if to prevent it from straying closer. He rose, throat dry and chest tight. He paused. On the floor at the foot of the bed, beside Wayne’s hiking boots, lay the shapeless heap of his cast-off clothes. Stiffly, Brice hunkered down and ran a hand through the pile.

  Jeans, flannel shirt, turtleneck. Underwear! Jesus, he’s entirely naked.

  Lifting the white briefs, Brice pressed the crotch to his face, breathing the man-musk deep.

  Oh, Jesus. Oh, Jesus. The aroma of him. Oh, Jesus. Why the hell can’t things be different? Lord, why’d You bring this
beautiful man back to me? To comfort me or just to torture me further? Why do You make me want so bad someone I can never have?

  Heart pounding, Brice shook his head and returned the briefs to the pile of clothing. He stood up and shuffled silently through the chilly air back to his own room. There, he stood by the warmth of the radiator, by the window overlooking the snow-covered park, and listened to the faint sound of the river’s whitewater rushing over its stony bed. There was the newly renamed bridge—great big fat symbol of my great big fat fucking failure, Brice thought—and the winter-whitened mountainside beyond. Moonlight illuminated the entire scene. Brice touched the window glass and chill filled his fingertips.

  Cold snow. Cold river. Cold moon. Brice swallowed hard. Damn, even with Wayne just down the hall, I feel so alone. Hell, especially with Wayne just down the hall, I feel alone. Or at least my body does.

  Brice sat on his bed, put his head in his hands, and closed his eyes. A few tears rolled down his cheeks. Another train moaned in the distance, its low call filling the valley. Brice cussed himself, wiped his face, popped another pain pill, took a big swig of water, and climbed back into bed. He lay there, listening to the train move closer, and thought of Wayne’s naked body sprawled beneath blankets only yards away.

  Seems like I never get what I want the most, but that sure don’t make me unique. I guess that’s true of most folks. I remember Wayne’s body so well…in the showers after Phys Ed, and in the Greenbrier River, where we used to skinny-dip, or up at the Reservoir, him stretched out on the shore snoozing, wearing nothing but cut-off denim shorts, black hair covering his chest and belly. There’s some gray there now, probably, like there is on me, this funny little patch of silver between my pecs. Damn, the fantasies I used to have about that boy! In high school and in college. I used to fill Kleenex after Kleenex, jacking off and thinking about him. In my head, he was so sweet and submissive. In my head, he did all the things he’d never do in real life, either then or now. Oh, damn….

  Brice slid his hand over his hardening cock and stroked it. He looked out the window at the uncompromising winter night. Then he closed his eyes and constructed a warm alternative to the bitter facts that trammeled his life and hemmed in his heart.

  WAYNE AND ME, WE’RE IN THE OLD TARPAPER-plastered garage behind the Meador house. Where Wayne and his father used to work on their carpentry projects. Where Wayne and me used to change the oil in his car and my beat-up Chevy truck. Where him and me used to sneak swigs of that bottle of Annie Green Springs Berry Frost hidden behind a pile of wood scraps.

  Wayne’s eighteen, just like me. It’s a hot summer night. We’re both barefoot and bare-chested, wearing nothing but jeans. We wrestle around for a while, laughing and getting sweaty, but I’m bigger and stronger, so I grab him by the wrists and I force him back against the wall. Wayne grins at me and squirms, his groin rubbing against mine, and starts cussing me.

  “Lemme go, goddamn you, Brice Brown. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “Don’t give me that shit,” I say, kissing his forehead. “You want this as bad as I do.”

  “Hell, no, I don’t,” he says, but the gleam in his eyes tells me otherwise. “Lemme loose now, or I’m gonna kick your ass.”

  “Shut up,” I say. “This ain’t about ass-kicking. This is about ass-fucking. You want me inside you, don’t you, buddy?”

  Wayne’s eyes grow wide, and his mouth trembles. “Hell, no. Fuck you, Brice. Whatever gave you that idea? Lemme loose, or I’ll yell for Dad.”

  “You’ll so fulla shit,” I say, gripping his wrists harder. “Fuck, you’re so hot. You’re the prettiest goddamn redneck boy I’ve ever laid eyes on,” I say. I rub my face up against his, and I nuzzle his neck, and I say, “I got you now, don’t I? You want this too, don’t you?” and he looks at me, those dark brown eyes full of need, and then he groans and nods and bows his head, and I say, “I got you. You ain’t going nowhere. I want you so bad, you hot little fucker. And you want me just as bad. Don’t you? Don’t you?” and Wayne grunts, “Uh, huh. Uh, huh. Uh, huh,” and he slumps against me and trembles, and I free his hands and squeeze a hairy pec and run my hand over his furry, flat belly, and I unbutton his jeans and reach down into his briefs and feel how hard he is, how much he’s loving this, so young and strong, so willing to give himself to me.

  “You want me to make love to you now?” I whisper in his ear. He moans and nods. He wants it so bad. So I commence to pinching and tugging on his tits, and then I drop to my knees and unzip him and haul his hard cock out of his jeans and I take him in my mouth, and he’s sweet and sour and salty and bitter all at once, and he grips my head and thrusts into me so far I’m ready to choke, but then we get our rhythm and pretty soon there’s the taste of precum on my tongue and his legs are shaking and he’s groaning low in his throat.

  “Do you want me to stop?” I ask, pausing.

  “Hell, no,” Wayne whispers, shaking his head real fast back and forth, so I keep on, sucking harder and faster. He whimpers, and then he throws back his head and grunts, “Damn, Brice. Oh, damn, Brice. I’m so close. So close. Stop, man. Stop. I don’t want to finish so fast, okay?”

  “You bet,” I say. I stand, and I wrap my arms around him, and he presses his face against my bare shoulder, and I can feel the wet of his tears as he says, “Brice, buddy. I’ve wanted this for so damn long. I love you, Brice, buddy. I love you.”

  “I love you too, Wayne,” I say, pulling him even closer. He’s wet with sweat, and he smells so good. I kiss him and kiss him and kiss him, and then I unbutton his pants and slide them off his hips and I run a hand over his ass—his butt-cheeks are so firm, and coated with soft, fine hair—and I say, “Do you wanna get fucked?” and he rubs his tear-stained face against mine and nods, so I wet my forefinger in my mouth and slip it between his butt-cheeks and I start fingering his hole….

  Brice opened his eyes and took a deep breath. He was close to coming. The world created in his head was so much more appealing than reality that he didn’t want it to end yet, so he stopped stroking himself till the crisis had passed.

  Wayne would kill me if he knew about my jack-off fantasies. Or maybe not. He said he was flattered to know how I felt. Hell, if he knew the details, he’d probably elbow me in the ribs and call me a sick pervert and then ask me to mix him up another drink. Just another reason I love the guy.

  So what would happen tonight, in a world where I got what I wanted? With Wayne naked in the next room? From the nightstand drawer, Brice pulled the camo bandana he’d used before for solitary sessions. The snow had resumed, batting at the windowpanes. With one hand, he stroked his cock. With the other, he pinched his left nipple, already stiff from cold and arousal.

  “Hey, Brice? You awake?”

  I rise on one elbow. Wayne’s standing in the bedroom door, in a shaft of moonlight. He’s naked, his brawny arms wrapped around himself. At forty, we’re built much the same, still muscular but getting fleshy in the chest and belly, but that’s just fine. I love the extra pounds that maturity has added to his frame.

  “Yeah. Come on in. What’s wrong?”

  “I had a real, real bad dream. Scared the hell outta me. You and me were trapped on a hill—we were Rebel soldiers, I think, ‘cause we were both dressed in gray—and a whole bunch of guys in blue were shooting at us and advancing up the hill…and then I got shot in the thigh, and you picked me up and were carrying me to safety, but then some of the bluecoats got between us and the woods, and they aimed their guns at us…and I woke up.”

  “Damn Yankees. They’re always causing trouble. Hey, it’s cold. Get on in here with me,” I say, lifting the covers.

  “You sure?”

  “Hell, yes, I’m sure. C’mon.”

  Wayne hurries across the cold floor and dives into bed beside me. He scoots back against me, teeth chattering, and I wrap him in my arms and spoon him from behind. He’s so much shorter than I am that my body cups his from head to toe.


  “Oh, that’s better. That feels good. You’re so warm, Brice,” he mumbles, taking my hand in his.

  “You just sleep here with me. I’ll take care of you, buddy,” I say, rubbing my beard against his bare shoulders. When he cuddles closer, I cup the beefy swell of his right pec in my palm and knead it. I run my hand over the curve of his belly and feel the soft fur there. Then I cup his hairy pec again and start fingering the little nub of his nipple.

  “Man, Brice,” Wayne sighs. “That feels so good. Keep it up, okay?”

  And so I do, fondling his nipples and kissing his shoulders and nuzzling the back of his neck. Then I lower my hand to his crotch and find the hardness there and start stroking him. His cock is just as I expected, medium in length but real thick.

  Wayne grunts. He presses his head back against my chest and thrusts into my hand. “Oh, yeah. Mmmm. Oh, yeah.”

  “You want this, man?” I ask, fiddling with his piss-slit and finding it juicy.

  “Oh, God, yes. I been wanting this for years, Brice. Touch me, man. Hold me and touch me any way you please.”

  We lie there for a long time, me jacking his cock and fondling his tits. Then he starts rubbing his butt up against my hard-on and that’s when I know dreams can come true.

  “Yeah?” I say, gripping an ass-cheek, caressing the soft fur there.

  “Yeah. God, yeah. Please. I need…I need….”

  Wayne pauses, grinding back against my groin and thrusting into my hand.

  “Oh, man. I need….”

  He pulls away, to my disappointment. But then he rolls over onto his back, and he takes my hand, and then he bows his handsome head and looks over at me, and the surrender and the love in his eyes make me want to just break down and cry.

  “Do whatever you want. I need…I need you inside me, Brice. So damn bad. Please, buddy? Please? Take me, man. Screw me hard. Treat my butthole right.”