Cowboys

by Tom Graham

  I made the sheriff’s acquaintance when a scuffle occurred in the saloon and I was drawn in. Though people in town knew I fucked men, it wasn’t discussed. Most allowed me my privacy. Certain things were tolerated so long as they were not done openly, but that day in the bar, an itinerant preacher scorned my conversation with another cowhand I had fucked in the past. When the preacher started in, the cowhand hit him in defense of me, and I was grabbed and wrestled to the floor. When the sheriff stepped in he took us all to the jailhouse where things were sorted out.

  He released the preacher and cowhand but kept me on, leaning against his desk while I sat before him. As he spoke I noted the bulge at his crotch, a sizeable thickening that ran down his thigh. I quickly lost track of our talk as I was greatly in need. A week in town and no fucking. I was tired of my own hand, eager for cock. And Sheriff Reed knew it.

  As he spoke about the incident at the saloon his hand came to rest on his bulge and he rubbed himself. “People like that preacher don’t want to understand about men. I’d reckon his anger about what you might do with another man is fueled partly by his Bible-reading and partly by his desire to do the very thing he condemns.”

  The sheriff began to unbutton his pants, pulling them open below the gun belt, talking all the while. “Preacher up in Wichita was just like this fellow, hellfire and damnation, but when I happened upon him fucking a man in an alley he ceased such talk. From then on he also took my cock.”

  As Reed said this, he reached in and pulled out his big cock, which had gotten about halfway hard. He stroked it before me, and I let out a long sigh, as I longed to strip down and have it up me. He pulled on himself and watched me squirm. As the cells were empty since Bob Brown had been dispatched to stand trial at the county seat, he led me to one where he made me strip off my pants.

  I sat while Reed put his cock in my mouth and had me suck it until it was wet, after which he had me lie on a cot. “You lie still,” he said as he got behind me and pulled my rump up a bit. I felt his prick poke at me, his hands pull me open to reveal my hole. He pushed into me and let out a moan. “Ain’t had me a decent fuck since Wichita,” he said, “so I’m gonna do you for some time.”

  His thick cock snaked deep into my bowels, feeling much like a creature up there, squirming inside me, going deeper and deeper. He set up a rocking motion, like one would on horse-back, but he was far short of gallop. Easy canter at first, just in and out, and not seeming to care that someone might come in. The cells were in back, a door separated us from the office, but it was unlocked. I suppose he just didn’t give a damn, his need overpowering everything else. That I well understood.

  I got a hand under me and took hold of my prick, which was dribbling juice. My balls ached for release. I palmed myself, and the sheriff seemed to like this. “Go to it, boy,” he said. “Make yourself squirt while I fuck you.”

  As he rode me, I pumped my prick, and as I picked up speed so did he. When I unleashed my spunk, I let out a yell and he pushed hard into me, holding me at the waist and driving his big thing deep into my ass. He growled and let go, pounding me, shoving hard and long. I thought about what he was releasing inside me, and I held onto my prick as he did so.

  When Reed finished, he pulled out and had me turn over. I looked down: he was still stiff. “Once ain’t enough,” he told me. I looked at his cock below his gun belt, at the way he’d stayed dressed, had opened only what was needed for the fuck. It made my breath catch, the sight of him like that. I looked up at the shiny silver badge while he reached down and took hold of my spent cock.

  He played with me some, pulling on me then feeling my balls. He got me stiff again then leaned down and sucked me into his mouth. I watched as he fed, sucking like a babe on a tit. He didn’t touch himself while he did this, and I enjoyed the sight of his big prick standing ready, pointing at me. My ass quivered at the thought of taking it again.

  Reed kept at me with his mouth and tongue until I bucked and gave him what he wanted. He sucked and swallowed until I was dry and even then kept on, as if he needed to suck cock as much as to fuck. Finally he relented.

  He went to the basin, washed himself, then soaped his prick. He made me lean against the wall and drove that big piece of meat up me until my hole felt raw. As he fucked me I considered that he probably did it this way most often as men usually coupled quickly, carrying out the act in alleyways and barns and dark streets. Reed was different now, rougher, and I could tell this was a position he favored, that the first had been relief and this was a fuck for enjoyment.

  There was no rocking motion now, he was fucking full out, working to get his spunk rising. He growled more than murmured, and he felt like an animal behind me, a big bear or horse with its prick up me. I was hard again but couldn’t do anything about it as I needed my hands for support against the wall while he assaulted my bottom. Then he came and roared as he emptied himself, his thrusts rough and hard, as if he were down to the last of his cum and working to get the final drops up out of his balls. When he relented at last and pulled out, I felt weak-kneed and sank onto the cot.

  The sheriff looked down at me, both of us breathing hard. I thought about what he’d be like naked, how solid he looked. I wondered if he had a pelt across his chest, one of those thick furs that ran down to the stomach and around the cock. I could see dark hair plentiful at his crotch.

  His rod was soft now, and he again went to the basin and washed it, but he didn’t button up. He came to me, had me lie back and palm my prick while he put a finger up me. He worked my hole and I worked my rod until I erupted in small spurts. His eyes blazed at the sight. Afterward, he handed me a wet cloth and let me clean myself while he washed again at the basin. Only then did we dress.

  “How long you in town?” he asked at the door.

  “ ’Til my money runs out. Usually don’t make last more than a week or two.”

  “You at the hotel?”

  “Room two-twelve.”

  “I can’t be seen going to your room and you can’t be here again, not without another scuffle,” Reed said. “But I’m riding out tomorrow on business so you can meet me near that old cabin by the stream just east of town. Nine A.M. I’ll be in need of you again.”

  When I left, several curious fellows stopped me. I told them the sheriff had lectured me on the virtues of keeping away from trouble. I didn’t linger to hear their response.

  It was dusk when I found myself on my own. I went to the livery with the idea of getting my horse and riding to the stream for a twilight swim, but the blacksmith spoke about Clay and I fell to melancholy.

  “I know you were friends,” Buck said. He was big and burly, his thick bare chest gleaming with sweat. I always thought he’d be a good fuck but knew him to frequent the whores. I said nothing and let him continue. “Found him out back one night, bullet in his head and his pants off, which led to great speculation.”

  “Does the sheriff suspect anyone?”

  “Happened before Reed came on, right after we lost Sheriff Rawlings, so nothing’s been done and nobody knows a thing far as I can tell. You might ask Reed to look into it.”

  I still rode to the stream, stripped, and swam, but I thought of Clay all the while. Because of what Buck had said and because we’d fucked out here in the cover of night. Finally, I lay on the shore and recalled Clay’s every inch, fixing not just on his cock but on his face, the smile, his soft curly hair. And I cried a bit.

  When I got back to town, the sheriff’s office was dark, and I wondered if Reed lay in there naked, prick in hand, thinking maybe of me. It would be a long night for both of us.

  The next morning, I didn’t attend to my cock as was my habit. I preferred to leave it for the sheriff. I had a good breakfast and rode to the stream where I found his horse tethered. Reed stood on the shore without his coat. I came up behind him, noting again his straightness, as if he bent to no man. His long legs were slightly apart and I saw myself between them, the heavy cock for me to suck.


  “Morning,” I said as I approached.

  He turned and squinted, as the sun was behind me. He nodded but said nothing, his gaze lingering on me as if deciding a thing. Finally he spoke. “I put a blanket down over there,” he said, and he indicated where the woods met the shore. He followed me to it. My prick had been hard since before I got off my horse, and when I had undressed for Reed it stood stiff, wet at the tip. He didn’t remove a stitch, contented, it seemed, to see me revealed. He drew a long breath, looked me well over, then removed his clothing. Slowly I saw the whole of him, lean but solid and covered in the thick dark hair I’d imagined. It ran the whole front of him, and his erect cock sprang from its nest. Once naked, he handled his thing, his other hand at his balls, which were big and heavy in their bag. As he worked himself he told me to get on the blanket on all fours. When I did, he stood over me. “I’m gonna ride me out a good fuck,” he said. “So you just stay still, let me put it up you.”

  He entered me urgently and pumped in and out as if he hadn’t done this for some time. He was a man who could never get enough, who could fuck and fuck and still fuck again. He grunted, pushing his cock in and out, riding me like a horse. I listened to the flow of the stream and the birds who bore witness. Roaring, the sheriff shoved his prick deep into me, and I felt him release a hot, forceful stream. He rode me hard as he emptied and kept at it for some time, gripping me with powerful hands until the climax passed.

  He didn’t pull out but remained still. He reached under and took hold of my cock, pulling at it like a cow’s teat, milking until I squirted my cream. After I had quieted, he withdrew and led me into the stream where he washed my prick and ass. His big cock grew hard again. He washed himself then led me back to the blanket.

  Reed laid me on my side, got his head down at my crotch, and began to suck me. As he slurped he moved around and put his prick to my face and I opened my mouth to it, sucking as much of the shaft as I could. We lay there for some time sucking prick, all else of life far away. I didn’t think of Clay or any of the others who had fucked me. I considered only Reed, whose thick cock pushed into my throat, whose dribble I tasted.

  After a while I couldn’t hold back, and I emptied a frothy load into Reed’s mouth. As he swallowed my spunk, I sucked fiercely on his prick, but it delivered nothing. Instead, Reed pulled it out and made me stand. Bending me forward, he put a finger up my hole and felt around inside me. I looked over my shoulder and saw him kneel, pull me open, and get his face down there where no man belonged. I felt his tongue on me. I had to grab my prick as this aroused me no end, the idea of the sheriff licking my hole driving me beyond anything I’d known. Growling in pleasure, he went at me and I bore down to open to him. At that point, he poked in, tongue-fucking me. I unleashed a long moan, and he made agreeable sounds, as if pleased with his meal.

  Reed licked for some time, during which I let go a few more squirts. Then he turned me around and licked my rod clean of the drops that remained.

  “Lie down,” he told me, and I eased onto the blanket. “On your back.” He kneeled between my legs then took them and pushed them back so my knees were up around my ears. My hole was exposed, and he looked down at it for some time. “Hold your legs,” he commanded, and I did, which freed him to attend to his prick. He worked spit onto it then guided the thing into me. Once inside, he took hold of my legs again, using them for leverage, and he began to drive in and out of me.

  As Reed fucked, he looked me over, and I thought he must be one of those who appreciate the whole man, who consider more than just the fuck hole. I had heard of men kissing men but had never experienced such a thing and wondered if the sheriff had done this. I pictured him with his mouth on mine while his prick worked me below. The thought made me clench my hole, at which he issued a rumble of approval.

  My prick stiffened yet again as Reed used my bottom. I was as much aroused by the man himself as by the fuck, partly because in my experience men rarely faced each other during the act. It was mostly a cock shoved up an ass and never mind the face, but Reed was looking at me and thereby allowing more. I wondered if he’d done others this way, knowing he probably had, hoping he hadn’t.

  For some time he thrust in and out of me before he told me he was ready to spend. When he grunted and pushed down harder, I saw his expression change, jaw clenched, face flushed, eyes blazing. I grabbed my pecker and pumped but, being so thoroughly emptied, had nothing left to squirt. Reed seemed pleased with my efforts while he delivered his spunk inside me.

  When he finally withdrew he sat back on his haunches, and I noted his big cock finally at rest. Soft now, it hung heavy between his legs, and I longed to hold it in that quiet state but made no move toward him.

  “I’d best be getting on with my work,” the sheriff said, looking at me as if he wanted no such thing. He lingered a bit more, then stood, went to the stream, and washed himself. I did likewise, and he kept his hands off me. We went to the shore and dressed.

  As he rolled the blanket, I told him about Clay. “It happened before you arrived,” I said, “and nobody did anything about it. He was stripped and shot, and I don’t know who did it, only that my good friend is gone. Could you look into it? Buck, the blacksmith, found the body and may know more than he lets on. I suspect Clay was killed because he fucked men and someone found that intolerable.” Reed studied me, and I felt compelled to add, “He fucked me regular.”

  He nodded, said he would see what he could do, then rode away. I stayed on a bit and walked the shore, as it was a fine day. When I returned to town, I saw nothing of Reed and was careful not to ask after him. I went to the saloon but didn’t want to get on with anybody even though one man would have fucked me. That night in my hotel room, I played with my cock for a long time, thinking of Reed fucking me, hoping he was in bed with his big thing stiff for me as well.

  I didn’t meet up with Reed for three days. He had two men in custody so the cells weren’t available, and other times he seemed occupied with work. When I passed him on the street on the night of the third day, he offered me a look that said we would take up again when things permitted. My money had run out, and I would leave town in the morning, so I grew bold and decided to visit the sheriff’s office as I had business in the inquiry after Clay’s death.

  I stopped by late, and he seemed pleased that I did. “I’ve been tempted to turn men out of the cells so I might have you,” he offered. “I want no other.”

  I looked about the room, ready to do as he pleased, to strip naked then and there should he desire. My cock grew hard, and as I rubbed it, he issued a moan of sorts. “I would take time with you if I could,” Reed said, “but we can only go out back for a quick fuck.”

  This was to my liking, so we went out behind the jail, and I dropped my pants and bent to have him. He grunted throughout, which wasn’t long, as he was pent up. He went at me as others had in alleyways, rough and urgent until spurts began. I’d been pulling on my cock and came as well, desiring no more happiness than this.

  When Reed had finished he remained in me, prick still hard. He put his arms around me and said once more, “I want no other,” which I took to be a statement of his feelings toward me.

  “Nor do I,” I told him, at which his mouth touched my neck. I knew this was as close to a kiss as he could manage.

  We returned to the office where he sat behind his desk and had me sit opposite. “I’ve learned who may have killed your friend,” Reed said, “but there’s no proof, so he’ll likely remain free.”

  “Tell me.”

  “In your absence Clay took up with a man called Charles Robey, a clerk at the general store. He settled here some months ago. Robey’s married with children, lives in a house in town, and is churchgoing, respected. Word has it Clay approached him to fuck and was killed as a result, but I don’t believe this is so. I suspect Robey is another one who condemns himself for his need of men by lashing out at those very men. We’ll never know if he killed Clay, but it’s likely he was the one
as they were seen talking earlier that night. I’ve spoken with Robey, who says this was idle conversation. I suspect he killed Clay and probably did it after they had fucked because a man of that sort will always satisfy himself before killing.”

  I couldn’t help crying at this. Reed came to me, put a hand on my shoulder. “You loved the boy,” he said.

  “I suppose I did.”

  He went quiet, kept rubbing my shoulder, then spoke softly. “As you heal from your loss maybe one day you’ll love again.”

  I put a hand to his. “One day, yes.”

  POLE INN

  Guy Harris

  The sun was just dipping below the mountains as we approached Carson Hole. I was in the back of old Jack’s rusty pickup, freezing my butt off, but I didn’t care. If I’d known Weaver’s foreman was going to be such an asshole I never would have agreed to come work for him in Wyoming. I needed to get away from the ranch to clear my head. I turned and peered through the truck’s cab. A tiny cluster of buildings and electric lights glowed up ahead. It looked like something out of Mad Max—an outpost of civilization with nothing but vast empty space surrounding it. All around me the swell of the mountains rose up from the edges of the valley before pushing straight into the sky. At least the countryside was pretty here. I pulled my jacket collar higher as the icy air whipped around me.

  Seeing as how Carson Hole had the only bar for two hundred miles, folks were charitable enough to call it a town. But it was really just a one-block length of Route 13 with a general store/post office, Riley’s Feed and Tools, and the Pole Inn bar. I’d been in the feed store for a few minutes earlier in the week, but this was my first proper visit to town. As we got closer to the lights, I could make out the blue and red neon sign that read POLE INN.