by Tom Graham
Jack pulled to a stop in the middle of the road, directly across from the bar’s sign. There were trucks parked all along the street. Through the closed door of the bar I heard Waylon Jennings on the jukebox and smelled cigarette smoke. Jack rolled down his window, and I hopped out of the side of the truck near his door.
“I’ll be drivin’ back through ’bout ten o’clock if you need another lift,” he said. I nodded my thanks while blowing on my hands and stamping my feet to get warm. He let out a rheumy laugh. “Maybe if they ain’t too liquored, you could try and catch yourself a warmer ride with one of them young bucks inside. I expect you’ll be plenty cozy in no time, Johnny.” He cackled as the truck pulled away. Fever, his white and gray herding dog, gave a loud bark from the passenger seat of the cab.
I stepped onto the sidewalk and brushed off the front of my jacket, then slapped my hands down the length of my jeans to get the dust and hay off. I was bent over with my ass in the air when the door of the bar opened and a woman’s voice called out.
“Nice fanny, cowboy.”
I stood up quick. She was five foot nothing, but her hair was so tall it just about touched her boyfriend’s chin. He was a big man with a brown Stetson and a mean glint in his eye.
“What do you say when a lady gives you a compliment?” he said.
Oh, shit. All I wanted was a damn beer.
Across the street, a man got out of a truck parked in front of Riley’s Feed and Tools. He must have been there since before Jack dropped me off. He sauntered across the street toward us, and my stomach turned over. There was no way I’d be able to fight both him and the guy in the Stetson without getting pummeled. He was tall and muscular, with wide shoulders and long legs. His faded jeans fit like a second skin over well-muscled thighs and lean hips. The sleeves of his plaid shirt were rolled up despite the cold, revealing the kind of thick forearms and broad hands I always associate with men who ride horses for a living.
“Is that what you call a rhetorical question, Cletus?” he said.
Cletus and the girl had turned away from me to face him.
“Stop calling me Cletus, you goat-fucker.”
The girl with the big hair put her hand on her boyfriend’s arm as if to hold him back, but all the earlier threat had gone out of his voice.
“Now, Cletus,” the newcomer drawled, “you know as well as anyone that goats aren’t my thing.”
Cletus froze for a second then abruptly stalked off down the street, his girlfriend half-running to keep up. He got into a Dodge Ram with oversize wheels, paying no mind to the girl, who stood on the sidewalk by the passenger door, tapping her foot.
“I’m betting fifteen seconds,” the stranger said. He started counting them off. At fourteen, the girl jerked the door open herself and got into the truck. He laughed. “I was close. He should know better than to get Rhonda mad.”
He turned toward me, and I looked directly at his face for the first time. He was still grinning, full lips revealing even white teeth. His eyes were friendly and mischievous at the same time. My cock hardened in my jeans as he smiled at me. I was glad I’d worn my shirt untucked.
I held out my hand. “I’m Johnny.”
He shook my hand, and a surge of heat went straight to my crotch. “Hank,” he said. “Why don’t you let me buy you a drink to make up for Cletus’s bad manners?” He opened the door to the bar. I thought I felt his hand on my back through my jacket as we walked in, but I couldn’t be sure.
Inside, people filled all the booths and tables, and it was standing room only at the long wooden bar on the right. A pair of ski poles crisscrossed the mirror behind the bar, framing a broad-shouldered, beefy bartender whipping out drinks with graceful speed.
“I didn’t think there were this many people in all of Wyoming,” I said.
Hank laughed and cut through the crowd at the bar. “Beer okay?” he asked.
“Yep.”
He held up two fingers to the bartender, who nodded and continued setting drinks on a tray for a waitress in skintight jeans. A few minutes later the bartender came over and set two draft beers in front of us. “You must be the new hand up at Weaver’s place,” he said. I nodded.
“Johnny, meet Owen Rideout,” Hank said. “Best bartender in Carson Hole, and not a bad horseman either.”
Owen winked at me. “I’m the only bartender in Carson Hole, but I’ll take any compliment I can get.” He was probably forty or so, and handsome in a rugged way. The sheer size of his muscles made him imposing, but the laugh lines around his eyes and mouth matched his easygoing manner. I imagined he didn’t have much trouble keeping peace in the bar.
Hank pulled out some cash, but Owen waved it away. “On me. Nice to meet you, Johnny. I hope we can say hello properly when things slow down a bit.” He nodded at Hank with a twinkle in his eye then moved off down the bar.
His hand on my elbow, Hank guided me toward the back of the room. When we first came in, I hadn’t noticed the narrow door at the far end of the bar, but as we drew closer I heard the sound of pool balls clicking off each other.
“Want to play a game? It’s quieter back there,” Hank said.
I wanted to do anything that let me look at him a little longer. I nodded yes. There were five pool tables and four dartboards in the back room, along with a glass door that seemed to lead to an outdoor deck. All the pool tables were in use, so Hank and I played a few games of darts. The waitress came through every once in a while to deliver more drinks. We tipped her, but she refused money for the beers. “Owen says it’s all on the house for you boys tonight.”
Between throws at the dartboard, Hank told me about himself and his cattle ranch, which was about thirty miles down Route 13, nestled up against the mountains. “You wouldn’t believe what the Japanese will pay for good Angus beef,” he said.
“I expect you’re right.”
“What about you?” he asked. “What brought you out to Weaver’s place?”
“Running cattle,” I told him.
“You have family in Wyoming?”
“California.”
“California, huh? That’s nice.”
I nodded.
“Do you miss it?”
“Sometimes.”
“Do you like Wyoming?”
“Yes and no.”
“You’re not much of a talker, are you?” he said with a smile.
I shook my head.
He threw back his head and laughed. “All right, Johnny, let’s play a new game.”
A table had opened up, and Hank took two pool cues off the wall and handed one to me. I tried not to stare as he leaned over the table to rack the balls. His wide shoulders tapered down to narrow hips and a perfectly rounded ass. He picked up two blocks of chalk and suddenly turned to toss one to me. I wasn’t sure if he’d seen me staring at him. His eyes lingered on mine as he slowly rubbed the chalk over the tip of his cue. When he leaned over the table again to line up the cue ball I thought I might come in my jeans.
He turned back to me, casually running his hand down his cue. I wished I was that stick. If my cock got any harder I’d have to go jack off in one of the bathroom stalls, drunk cowboys right outside taking leaks. I thanked god again for my untucked shirt.
“Why don’t you take the first shot?” he said.
We played two games before I relaxed enough to hit the balls somewhat regularly. Hank went out of his way to put me at ease, asking me questions and not seeming to mind my short answers. As we continued playing, the room started to clear out. The waitress came in and announced last call.
As we played, I found myself transfixed by Hank’s hands, imagining how they’d feel on my ass, my dick. Several times I thought I caught him staring at me. The rhythm of the game, the way he moved around the table—I was mesmerized.
The waitress popped her head in again and said, “Owen told me to ask if you’re sure you don’t want anything else.” Suddenly I realized the back room was empty except for us.
; Hank looked at me and I shook my head no. “I think we’re all set, Dotty,” he said. “Thanks for taking such good care of us tonight.” He tried to hand her some bills, but she waved them away.
“You’ve tipped me enough already tonight, Hank. And Owen says I get to cut out early ’cause ya’ll are the last ones here.”
When she had gone, Hank looked around at the empty room then grinned at me. “How about a wager?”
“What kind?” I said.
“If I miss this shot, you can dare me to do anything you want.”
“And if you don’t miss?”
“Then I can dare you,” he said.
I licked my lips, and his eyes flicked to my mouth and stayed there.
“Deal,” I said.
He gave me a wicked smile, and I felt a quiver all the way from my cock to my ass.
Hank surveyed the table for a while, making a show that this was serious business. He pointed to a ball with his cue and then to a side pocket. He lined up the shot and took two tentative strokes before thrusting the cue forward. The balls smacked together then slid smoothly across the felt, the ball dropping gently into the pocket.
“Looks like I made it,” Hank said. He stood there looking at me until heat coursed through my body.
“Looks that way,” I said.
Hank came over and took the cue out of my hand. For a second he stayed there, inches in front of me. I smelled the soap on his skin, noticed the five o’clock shadow along his jaw. A vein pulsed in his muscular neck, making me think of his cock and what it would be like to run my tongue over his skin. Then he laid both our sticks on the pool table. “Let me show you something,” he said.
He walked ahead of me toward the glass door at the back of the room and I stared greedily at his beautiful ass and thighs. Then I noticed his reflection in the glass. He was watching me watching him, lust and amusement mingled in his expression. I held his gaze and smiled.
Hank opened the door. “After you,” he said. As I walked past him, I let my hand brush against his crotch. He let out a small gasp, and I could feel his hardness through his jeans.
We were on a deck insulated on all sides by glass. The dark emptiness of the valley slid away for miles toward the uprising of the mountains, and the sky was bright with stars. It was cold out here compared to the bar, but not like it’d been in the back of Jack’s pickup. It suddenly occurred to me that I’d long since missed my ride back to the ranch. But I didn’t care. Hank came and stood next to me facing the view, his leg touching mine. I reached over and dragged my hand slowly up the top of his thigh, stopping right next to his crotch. He turned so his body faced mine, and I traced my fingers along his inner thigh. I heard his breath catch as I stopped again just before reaching his cock.
“You like to tease, don’t you?” he whispered. I grinned at him in the half dark, and he licked his lips.
“I’m going to make you moan,” he said with a wicked smile. My cock pulsed.
There were chairs and tables all over the deck, but he guided me backward until I was leaning against the back wall of the building. He ran his hands up my thighs then cupped my ass. “I’ve been wanting to do that since I saw you get out of that pickup,” he said.
I unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it off him and stroking his muscular arms. “And I’ve been wanting to do this.” I kissed the pulse in his neck, tasting the salt on his skin. Then I ran my lips over the springy hair on his chest and forearms. I lifted his right hand and sucked a finger into my mouth, surprised by the smoothness of his skin. His lips parted as he watched me, then he pulled off my jacket and unbuttoned my shirt.
“Is Owen likely to come back here and find us?” I asked.
“It’ll take him a good hour or more to close up.”
He got my shirt off me and ran his hands over my biceps and chest. “Looking good, Johnny.” He let his fingers trail down my abdomen. A shiver coursed through me, but he stopped short of my cock.
“Turnabout is fair play,” he whispered devilishly. He explored my mouth with his lips and tongue while running his hands over my stomach again. I reached for his pants, but he held both my wrists together with one of his hands and pulled them over my head. He kissed my neck, stroking me everywhere but my cock with his free hand. I arched against him, but he pushed me back against the wall. He ran his tongue lightly against my lower lip, unbuttoning the top button of my jeans and slowly pulling down the zipper.
“What do you want, Johnny?” he said. Still holding both my wrists together, he kissed me deeper. He edged my jeans and underwear down below my hips and ran his hand over my naked thighs and ass. My cock was standing straight up, aching for release. I moaned.
“That’s what I wanted to hear,” he said. He gave me his wicked grin, then brought his free hand up and licked the length of it. When he finally touched my cock, I thought I would explode. He seemed to know exactly how far he could push things before pulling back. After bringing me to the edge several times, he said again, “What do you want, Johnny?” My cock throbbed in his warm hand as he stroked and stroked me.
All I could do was groan. He rubbed me faster, sliding his knee gently between my legs until it rested against my balls with steady pressure. I clenched my thighs around him. I wanted to touch him, but he held my wrists firmly against the wall above my head.
“Oh, god,” I moaned into his mouth. Hot spurts shot over my stomach and chest. “Oh, god. Oh, god.”
He looked down to admire his handiwork, then brought his mouth back to mine, letting go of my hands. They tingled as I brought them down and the blood flowed back into them. He pulled a bandana out of his back pocket and helped me wipe myself off.
“Now you,” I said, reaching for him. I could see his hard-on through his jeans.
“I think we’d better check on Owen first.”
I looked at his crotch.
He grinned as he buttoned up his shirt. “Oh, don’t worry about that. You still owe me a dare, remember?”
I finished putting my clothes back on, and he led the way back into the bar. My legs felt unsteady.
The jukebox had been turned down, but Patsy Cline’s voice filled every corner of the dimly lit room. Owen, shirtless now, stacked crates of empties. The neon beer signs above the bar reflected colors off the sheen of sweat on his torso—huge, thickly muscled shoulders, massive biceps, and a slightly round, taut belly. He squatted to lift another case, and I stared at the bulge of his thick thighs, straining his jeans. If I hadn’t come just minutes before, my cock would have been at full attention.
I excused myself to go to the men’s room while Hank continued over to Owen. Just before I went into the bathroom I heard Hank say, “You’re such a show-off.” Owen laughed.
In the bathroom, I took a leak and cleaned myself up. When I opened the men’s room door I saw Hank sitting on a barstool, Owen across from him polishing the bar with a towel.
“…closeted hick,” Owen said.
“That’s Cletus for you. But how can I blame him for hating me? It must be depressing knowing your first lay is the best you’ll ever have.”
Owen flicked Hank with the towel. “I’ve always loved your modesty best.”
“What a lie,” Hank said. “You always said it was my sweet ass.”
Owen looked up and saw me. “Hey there, Johnny.”
I smiled at him.
“I hear you had a cold ride into town. That Jack treats his dog better than the Queen of England.”
I took a seat next to Hank while Owen rubbed the towel over the bar in front of me. I couldn’t help staring at the play of muscles in his arms and chest as he stroked the wood. The hair on his chest was dark and springy, tapering down invitingly to the top of his jeans. He saw me watching him and smiled. In the mirror behind the bar I saw Hank roll his eyes indulgently.
“I can make coffee if you’d like something hot,” Owen said.
“Thanks,” I said, “but I’m pretty warm already.” I put my hand on Hank’s thigh and
ran my fingers toward his crotch.
“Are you up to your old tricks again?” Hank said.
I grinned and shrugged.
“Johnny likes to tease,” he said.
“Not as much as you do,” I replied. I looked at Owen, who was glancing between my hand and face to see what I’d do next. He’d stopped wiping down the bar, and was clenching the towel in one hand. I smiled at him then let my eyes travel back down his happy trail. The bulge in his pants looked as big as the rest of him. I turned to look at Hank, who was giving me his wicked grin.
“You don’t even need to be dared, do you Johnny?” Hank said.
“Don’t stand on ceremony on my account,” Owen said.
That was all the encouragement I needed. I rubbed my hand over Hank’s hard-on, then unbuttoned his fly. His cock sprang out, reaching toward the ceiling. It was long and thick, the head glistening with creamy precum. All I could think of was getting it into my mouth. But his wasn’t the only cock I was hoping to suck that night. I looked over at Owen, whose hard nipples and shallow breathing told me he was more than ready to get in the game. Hank seemed to read the indecision in my eyes about where to start first, and laughed out loud.
“Don’t worry, Johnny. You’ll have as many chances as you want at this rodeo.”
“Seeing as how we all just met,” Owen said, “we ought to tell you both Hank and I are clean. But I’ve got plenty of skins if you’d feel more comfortable.”
A cowboy and a gentleman, I thought. It was good to meet such nice people after being treated like crap all week at the ranch.
“Same for me,” I said. “And I want you to know just how much I appreciate your hospitality.” Without another pause I slid off my barstool and took Hank’s cock into my mouth. Owen laughed, and Hank laugh-moaned as I circled the head of his cock with my tongue. A minute later I heard Owen vault up onto the bar for a closer view. Without taking my mouth off Hank’s cock, I used both my hands to pull his pants down farther. I sensed him taking off his shirt, but all my focus was on the feel of his cock in my mouth. When I’d freed his thighs and ass, I used my right hand to hold him in position so I could take him further into my mouth. I sucked down as much as I could, coming back again and again to the sweet spot on the underside of his shaft with my tongue. I cupped his balls with my left hand, feeling them tighten and pull up as I worshipped every inch of his sweet cock.
