by Eli Easton
After he finished the morning milking, feeding, and watering, he went into his workshop in the barn to clean and repair some tools. People tended to think farmers had the winter off, but that was hardly the case. The growing season was nonstop work on the land, so the months of winter were spent trying to catch up on everything else. He needed to empty out and disinfect his milk tank, clear the lines, do maintenance on all the farm equipment, do any cleaning and organizing he’d put off, order seeds and supplies, catch up on bookkeeping, and a million other tasks.
He tried to repair a clogged blower, but he needed an itty-bitty Philips screwdriver, and all the ones on his worktable were too big. He had one in the farmhouse, but it was a long walk through the snow. In frustration he tried again to open the bottom drawer of the old worktable. The wooden monstrosity was built by his grandfather. It had a fantastically large work surface and built-in drawers along one side, like a desk. But the bottom drawer had been jammed for as long as David could remember. Like always, today it just wouldn’t budge. There was probably some tool upright in there that was blocking the sliders. It was one of the many someday problems on the farm’s never-ending list. It was depressing to think about how long that list was.
Frustrated, David gave up and set the blower aside. He picked up a pair of huge shears to sharpen instead.
At noon he left his workshop to head to the house for lunch, and he found the farm transformed. He shuffled through a good foot of drift crossing the yard. The snow was thick and fluffy and dry as a bone. Oh, this was good stuff, this snow. In a few days it would be soggy and icy and an absolute pain, but right now it was like a pillow from heaven.
He found the itty-bitty screwdriver in the junk drawer and put it in a pocket for later. Then he warmed up leftover chicken dumpling soup and a delicious nutty bread Christie had made that tasted purely wonderful smeared with apple butter. He ate at the small kitchen table, watching the snow continue to come down. The view was so thick with flakes it looked like the white Swiss dot curtains Susan put up in Amy’s bedroom.
He had an urge to reach out to Christie. He debated with himself. He didn’t want to get greedy or impinge on Christie’s workday. But the idea of sharing this rare magical snow with someone—withChristie—was too appealing. He decided to call instead of text.
“Hey, David. What’s up?” Christie sounded surprised to hear from him.
“Hey. You seeing the snow out there?”
“Yes! It’s fantastic. I’m trying to get a rev done for my boss so I can go out and play in it.” The joy in his voice made David’s enthusiasm bubble higher.
“I was thinking the same thing. How do you feel about snowmobiles?”
“God yes! Where do you normally ride?”
“Around the farm, and there’s a trail through the woods the locals use. Would be nice to get to it before dark. It’s so pretty out there.”
“Sounds perfect.”
“Is three too early for you?”
“No, that works. I’ll bring all the dinner stuff too and cook there afterward.”
“Why don’t I pick you up on the snowmobile? We can drop the food at the house before we head out. The farm lane drifts up pretty high because of the wind, so you’d struggle walking over here.”
“Okay. Thanks. See you at three?”
“See you then.”
The rest of the afternoon was all happy anticipation. David fixed the clogged blower and a few other tools, then texted Earl to make sure he’d be in as usual to do the evening milking. Earl was a retired farmer David had hired a few years ago. He came in three hours a day to do the second milking and muck stalls. He said he could make it fine despite the snow, which David was relieved to hear.
He went to the garage to check the snowmobiles. He filled the newer one up with gas and made sure it started. Then he brought in the cows and shut the pasture gate. The snow was getting high enough they’d possibly flounder. Plus, honestly, he wanted to be able to ride the snowmobile in the pasture without worrying about the herd.
He sent Christie a reminder to dress warm, took a shower, and got on his own snow clothes. He was at Christie’s by three. The ride over there through the deep powder was everything he could have wished for. This was going to be a blast .
“Ready to go?” he asked when Christie opened the door.
Christie’s cheeks were bright and his eyes sparkled. He looked as excited as David felt and was bundled up in jeans, boots, and various layers of fleece and wool. “Yeah, just let me grab the food and my parka.”
They trudged out to the snowmobile. “I can put the food in the back.” David lifted the top of the rear seat and placed the bag inside. “You can ride behind me back to the farm.”
He felt a little strange saying it, but Christie grinned. “Sounds good to me.”
David got on the snowmobile, and Christie put a leg over and sat behind him. The excitement David had been feeling about the snow all day peaked, tingles running up his legs. “Better hold on.”
Christie scooted closer so his parka was up against David’s back. He put his hands on David’s hips. David started the snowmobile and backed out of the driveway. A moment later they were heading down the farm lane.
“Wow! You’re right, this lane really drifts over!” Christie had to yell in David’s ear to be heard over the engine.
David nodded. He didn’t trust his voice to speak at the moment, and particularly not yell. Anyway, it was nice going down the lane between their houses in silence.
When they got to the farm, David stopped the snowmobile and turned it off so they could hear each other, but Christie made no move to get up.
“Think we need to put the food in the house?” David asked.
“It’s probably just like being in the fridge where it’s at now, right?”
“Yeah.” David hesitated. Christie’s hands were still on his hips. “I have another snowmobile if you want to drive one, but you’d have to follow me closely. I know where the potholes and branches and things are. You can just ride with me if you want.”
Christie was silent for a moment. “I’m okay like this if you are.”
David didn’t mind at all. He started the engine again, and they were off. He rode around the pasture for a while. It was ten acres and had some fun little hills and dips. Then he opened a gate and they headed down the slope to the woods, where he could pick up the local trail. When he got back on the snowmobile after closing the gate, Christie’s hands didn’t go back to his hips. Instead he put his arms around David’s waist completely and shifted a little closer.
David rode through the snow, the dark branches of leafless trees on either side, and the orange and peach of sunset at the horizon, and he felt… incandescently happy. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt like this, like joy was a fossil fuel buried deep in his soul, and he had suddenly struck deep and hit a gusher. He felt vibrant and alive, wanting to be in this moment and nowhere else, wishing he could bottle it up and keep it forever.
Christie snuggled up closer behind David as if he were cold, chest pressed to back through layers of winter wear. He tightened his arms around David’s waist, hands entwined under his ribs.
David knew he should probably turn and head back to the house. But he wanted to ride just a little while longer. It felt so good, Christie against him like that.
Too much, a worry niggled in his mind. You like this too much.
He pushed the thought away. Everyone needed human contact from time to time. He wasn’t hurting anyone, certainly not Christie. Right now he was going to focus on the snow and on this feeling of happiness and not berate himself with ideas of right and wrong, appropriate and inappropriate. Or why he felt like he was soaring.
He put his gloved hand over Christie’s and rode on.
That evening David nodded off in front of the woodstove while Christie watched the news. The homemade pizza had been delicious. He helped with the dough and Christie brought ingredients for two combinatio
ns—a Margarita pizza with various cheeses, and one with prosciutto ham and a long, pale-green pepper. The heat from the woodstove proved to be a little too soothing after the meal and being out in the snow for hours. When Christie nudged his leg with a knee and smiled down at him apologetically, David roused himself from his rocker, abashed. They bundled up again, and he drove Christie home on the snowmobile. The farm lane was even more drifted than it was when he picked Christie up.
“Guess we’ll have to go the long way around on the roads ’til this lane clears a bit,” David said when they arrived at Christie’s driveway.
“That works, as long as they plow the streets.”
“They’ll be clear by midmorning,” David assured him. The township was good like that. And David would make sure his own driveway was done early in case Christie wanted to come by.
Christie paused by the side of the snowmobile, hesitant. “Good night, David. I had a blast today. It was fun. It’s always fun being with you.”
There was an edge of something in his voice, but David didn’t want to analyze it. “Yeah it was fun. Night, Christie.” He revved the engine and pulled out.
River and Tonga were already asleep on the rug when David returned. They didn’t even stir. He decided to call it a night and banked the fire in the woodstove. It was only ten, but he was full, content, and hideously sleepy. The dark and warmth of bed sounded good. He shut off the lights and went up.
He woke several hours later to sweaty sheets, tangled limbs, a hollow need, and a painfully aching erection. He’d been dreaming he was trapped in an avalanche of snow that fell on him from the roof of the barn. He’d been terrified at first, but then in his dream, someone was in the snow with him. Christie. They pushed and patted the snow with their hands until they formed a little room, like an igloo. It made perfect sense in the dream. Then Christie said they had to warm up to survive, and he pressed close, his back to David’s front. He pulled David’s arms around him like a blanket, and David wanted to save him, to warm him, but he was so turned on. He couldn’t help but rut against the seat of Christie’s jeans, rutting, rutting. And in the dream, Christie pushed back and moaned, working his hand between his own legs.
David woke rutting against the sheets, frustrated. He was too old to spend in his sleep, but he was close. He squeezed his eyes shut in the dark room and pushed his hands under the waffle-knit shirt he slept in, rubbed his skin, his nipples, with calloused hands before shoving them into his pajama bottoms.
Lord, it was months since he had an orgasm, and longer still since he was this hard and aching, since sex felt this good. He tried to reimmerse himself in the dream as he stroked, feeling the snow around him and Christie’s body against his. It wasn’t long before the pleasure peaked, sharp and bright, and he pumped seed into his flannel bottoms and all over his hand.
And then… then he was awake, empty, and ashamed. He turned on the bedside lamp and got up to clean himself off and change his pants. He couldn’t look at himself in the bathroom mirror.
It was a sin. Touching himself was bad enough, but to think about that while he did it.
But it started as a dream, he reminded himself. He couldn’t control his dreams. He’d had dreams about crazy sex things in the past, even one memorable dream-slash-nightmare about masturbating in a church pew during service through a hole in his pants, hoping not to be caught. That didn’t mean he’d actually do something like that, in real life Christie was his friend. That was all it was.
That was all it could be.
Act II: Germination
Chapter 9
Thanksgiving
David came in from the morning milking to find Amy in the kitchen in her robe. She was staring blearily at a large raw turkey sitting on the counter in a pan. She yawned.
“Hey. I told you you didn’t have to get the turkey ready. My friend Christie is going to do that.”
“It’s almost seven thirty. I should at least start some stuffing, or the meal will be late.”
David put a hand on her shoulder. She’d had a heavy week of nursing finals at school, she said, and she looked tired. He felt a heavy fondness for her trickle down his throat. He was happy to have his kids home, but he was nervous about today, if he were honest. “I told you he’s a good cook. He’s got plans for the stuffing.”
He knew Amy didn’t care much for food preparation, but like him, she had a strong sense of duty. It was just like her to worry about the meal. “Who is this guy again?”
David poured himself a cup of coffee. “He’s Ruth Landon’s nephew, our neighbor on the other side of the lane. He lives alone and likes to cook, so he’s been sharing meals with me in exchange for grocery money. He’s a nice guy.”
“But why—”
He heard a car pull into the driveway. River, in his doggie bed, only shifted his eyes toward the back door, still in his morning snooze. But Tonga gave a happy yip and ran over there. His tail banged staccato on the wall near the door.
“That’s him.” David went out to help.
Christie got out of his car looking festive in his parka and a bright-red scarf.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” Christie said cheerfully. “I brought lots of bags.”
“I’ve got it.” David went to the hatchback of Christie’s car and opened it. He grabbed four of the fabric grocery bags. “Are you feeding an army?”
“You can’t stint the holidays.” Christie grabbed the final items from the back—a bag with what looked like straw inside and a Tupperware cake saver.
This close up David noticed the extra paleness of his face, everywhere but the two little flushed spots on his high cheekbones. His blue eyes were darker than usual too. Christie looked nervous.
David didn’t blame him in the least, but he tried to be reassuring. “Thanks for coming today. It’s nice to have you here.”
“Thanks for inviting me even though your kids are home.”
David cringed a little at Christie’s usual bluntness. “Why wouldn’t I? I’d like for you to meet them.” It was true. He did have an itch to get Christie, Amy, and Joe in the same room, to try to reconcile the two halves of his life a little.
Was Christie a “half” of his life already? It sure felt that way. Their friendship had grown very important to him in a very short amount of time. But he was still a little terrified about this. Christie was so different from Amy and Joe. He was different when he was with Christie.
What would Amy and Joe make of it? What if they didn’t understand? But his kids had their own lives. Why shouldn’t he be allowed to have one too?
“Come on.” He gave Christie a smile he hoped was encouraging and led the way into the house.
Amy stood in the kitchen with a clean turkey baster in one hand and the other grabbing the counter. She stared at Christie as they walked in, her mouth hanging open.
David and Christie put their armloads of bags and things on the counter.
“Amy, this is Christie. Christie, my daughter, Amy.”
“Hi, Amy. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Christie was polite and super smooth. Amy, however, was not.
“Oh.” She was still staring. Then she blinked, looked down at her robe, tossed the turkey baster on the counter like it was hot, and blushed. “Oh, h-hi. Dad, you didn’t tell me we were having company so early!”
“I just told you—”
“I have to get dressed! Wow, you brought a lot of food. Can I help? Just let me go get changed, and I’ll help. Okay? I’ll just be a minute. So don’t worry about getting the turkey in. Be right back!”
Amy fled the room. David felt a little guilty. He told Amy Christie was coming over early to get the turkey in, but he should have reminded her this morning when she as half-asleep. She was obviously embarrassed to be seen in her nightclothes. Not the best way to introduce them.
Still, she seemed very enthusiastic and friendly.
“She’s adorable,” Christie said, unpacking the bags.
“Yeah. I mean, thanks.�
�� David frowned as he grabbed some butter and went to stick it in the fridge.
“Oh, you can leave that out. It’s easier if it’s softened.”
“Okay.” David stood there, fridge door open. It didn’t occur to him Amy might find Christie cute. In retrospect he should have known. Christie was a very good-looking man, and closer to Amy’s age than his. Did Christie find Amy attractive that way too? The idea of the two of them dating was horrible, gut-wrenching. He felt a little sick.
No, that would never happen. Amy dated Christian boys. And she surely wasn’t Christie’s type either. He probably dated sophisticated women in the city. David was getting upset over nothing. He must be more worried about this day than he realized.
Christie gently took the box of butter out of his hands. David blinked and looked up. He saw quiet grace in Christie’s eyes.
“It’ll be okay,” Christie said softly. “You’re having a lonely friend over for the holiday. No big deal, right?”
His tone was odd, as if there were more to it than that, as if he were making up a story that wasn’t true. But that was the truth, wasn’t it?
David took a deep breath. “Right. So what can I do to help?”
Christie looked at the coffee pot on the counter, which was nearly empty. “Can you make another pot of coffee? I’m dying for some. And there’s a bag of muffins in my stuff. Maybe put those on a plate? You can leave them on the counter for people to nibble on for breakfast. I’ll start the stuffing.”
“I’m on it.” David started another pot of coffee.
Amy came down a few minutes later, dressed in a long black skirt, boots, and a red sweater. Her hair was back in her usual bun, and her face was scrubbed clean. She smiled nervously. Christie was chopping celery and carrots on Susan’s old cutting board.
