He shakes his head. “Oh, hell no. I don't regret this. The only thing I regret is that I wasn't smart enough to try and reach out for you, and to apologize to what I did to you.”
I sigh. Yes. Perhaps so. “I'm pissed off at you. Pissed off we had to wait this long.”
“I know. I really fucked that up, right? Anyway, I don't plan to tell my family about my little coming out of the closet incidence. And I'll tone down on the slurs and insults. It really was to get publicity. That's all.”
“You're not doing that around me,” I hiss, folding my arms, before he parts them and gives me a little hiss.
Guess we have a long way to go before we finally sort out the clusterfuck of webs and emotions that leave us here. I just hope that we'll be on the same page before long.
And that this time, we won't spend the next four years suffering, struggling to understand, before we find out way back to each other.
I might need to beat him up a few more times in boxing, though.
He can handle beating me up in bed.
I'm okay with that.
My Cousin From Hell
~ Bonus Story ~
A Super-Steamy First Time Gay Romance
The Barton farm, owned jointly by Harriet Barton and her second cousin, Eldridge Granger, needed a new farm hand. Dillon had died in Iowa’s first auto accident, so Eldridge sent his son, Freddy, to take Dillon’s place.
Carl, Harriet and Jacob’s son, was glad Dillon was gone, because he had abused Carl. He was also sad, because taking care of the house and his older parents was a full-time job for him. With Dillon no longer available, Carl was expected to do Dillon’s job plus his own.
Carl remembered Freddy as a fat and bratty little kid, always making life miserable for his cousin. The man who got out of the carriage was no longer fat, nor little, but still appeared to be ready to make Carl the target of his venom. He was also well-built, and one of the most attractive men Carl had ever seen.
The cousins sort things out between them, while Harriet and Jacob treat Freddy well, but constantly criticize Carl. That leads to a major blow-up, with Carl demanding respect. Jacob gives it to him, but Harriet just won’t let up.
Meanwhile, Carl and Freddy acknowledge their mutual attraction, and late at night sneak into the shower for sex. They take care not to let Jacob and Harriet know, but it’s difficult to keep from looking at each other, and difficult for that not to be noticed.
The family is settling into its new arrangement, Jacob, Harriet, Carl and Freddy, with Jacob and Harriet beginning to help with some of the chores. Then, Jacob has a heart attack. Freddy takes the family horse and races to the doctor in town, three miles away. When he returns, magic seems to happen. Jacob will recover, but it will take several months, and he is ordered not to go upstairs, where the bedrooms are.
Harriet claims the right to stay downstairs with Jacob, and tells the lovers to move into the larger bedroom with the big bed. She knows, and decides it doesn’t matter. Carl and Freddy take her up on the offer, and confess their love.
* * *
Chapter One
Dillon’s funeral was sparsely attended, maybe six or seven people plus the preacher. My parents were grieving, of course. He’d been like a member of the family, eating meals with us, occupying the third bedroom in our house, doing whatever needed to be done, and was treated with love and respect. Getting run over by one of those new-fangled horseless carriages left him dead at the accident site.
I wasn’t grieving, I was despondent. Mom and Dad are too old and sick to work the fields, a full-time job for a strong, healthy man. Dillon had done everything; now it would be my responsibility, one I’d never be able to fulfill. I was just plain weak and scrawny. Mom had sent a telegraph message to her second cousin, Eldridge Granger, in Ohio. He and Mom owned the farm together. Cousin Eldridge paid the hired hand in exchange for twenty percent of the profits. We needed a new hired hand.
The preacher approached me after the ceremony. “Carl, this must be hard on you. Dillon was like a brother, and his death has to have hit you hard.” I thanked him, we shook hands, and he walked away.
If only he knew. Dillon had a mean strike, and would torment me if Mom and Dad weren’t around. I had a lot of “accidents” around Dillon. Tripping, falling down, “running into” doors, tearing my clothes, and always full of bruises. I gave up telling my parents about it, they never believed me. Hit me hard? Not his death, but him. I was glad he was gone, and couldn’t wait for Cousin Eldridge to hire a new hand.
That day all I could get done was weed the vegetable garden. Oh, and feed the chickens, too. No fresh food for the sheep, no watering the corn, no checking the fence line, and certainly no riding into town and getting supplies. I was tired, sore and feeling helpless that night, and fell into a fitful sleep.
The next day I started by getting fresh food for the sheep. Fortunately, BC, our Border Collie, kept them in line, and I let them out to graze. I fed the dog, filled the sheep’s water, checked the fence line, and fixed three pickets that needed it. That was the entire morning, from six to noon. I went in for lunch, and Dad asked me if I’d gone to the store for fertilizer. Shit. The vegetable garden and corn both needed fertilizer, and it was fifteen miles each way to Council Bluffs. The nearest town, McClelland, had a general store and a doctor, and it was three miles away. No fertilizer at the store, so that meant Council Bluffs.
There was a lot to see, do and buy in Council Bluffs, even more in Omaha, but it was rare that I got to go there. It was four hours in each way by horse-drawn cart, which in July meant leave at seven in the morning, get there at eleven, then find shade until at least six in the evening. I’d get home at ten at night. That would have to wait until tomorrow.
I ate a sandwich and drank a cool lemonade. Mom reminded me she and dad can’t do the farm work, and she was sure she’d hear from Cousin Eldridge soon. Yesterday wasn’t soon enough for me.
Between twelve-thirty and two I watered the vegetable garden, gave the animals fresh water, and collapsed on the lawn. Our neighbor’s daughter, Margaret, came by. She was a twenty-two, a year older than me, and there was no question she wanted to get me in bed. “Hey, Carl, whatcha doin’?” Her blouse was unbuttoned almost all the way down, and she wasn’t wearing a bra. She bent over, making sure I saw her breasts. If this was her brother, Rory, I’d have been on him immediately. Girls just didn’t do anything for me.
She flounced her skirt, showing she was wearing nothing beneath it. “Wanna go skinny dippin’? Me and Rory and our friends are goin’.” If it was just Rory and his friends …
Rory joined her, and I reconsidered. He was shirtless, wearing cut-off jeans hung low on his hips, with no drawers that I could see. And I could see plenty. I made a quick decision, went inside to tell dad I needed to cool off, and went with the neighbors’ kids to a local creek. There were already about fifteen young people there, and when we joined them, they had reached a decision.
“OK, the girls will go half a mile upstream, the guys half a mile downstream. No sneaking around and peeking,” declared a girl about my age. Even if I liked girls, I wouldn’t peek at her. Her face was like a pig’s, she had three chins, and I didn’t know anybody made clothes that large. All the girls but Margaret took off.
That left eight guys and Margaret. “If you stay, you’re gonna suck our dicks,” said a guy of maybe twenty-five, Rory’s age.
“OK,” agreed Margaret. “Who’s first?” The guys all looked at each other, nobody volunteering to go first.
“Margaret, go with the other girls, or I’m tellin’ ma.” Rory had called her bluff. She got a frightened look on her face, and ran after the group of girls disappearing around a bend.
We followed Jonathan, the guy who told her to suck dicks, and trooped southward until we came to where the creek emptied into a pool. We all got naked, and I found out that I wasn’t the only one staring at other guys’ privates. Rory was staring, too.
I was the first in
the water, because if I hadn’t jumped in, everybody would see my hard dick. Rory followed quickly, and soon all eight of us were swimming and horsing around. I felt a hand on my penis, and looked around.
“I saw you looking,” Rory said.
“You were, too,” I reminded him. He just grinned, then took my hand and put it on his manhood. He was a little bigger than me, and equally hard. Without saying a word, we just stood where we were and stroked each other. I ejaculated first, grateful it couldn’t be seen through the water. Rory followed a minute later.
“Let’s stay behind when the others go,” he said. I imagined all the things we would do, and I was hard again, breathing raggedly, and just staring at handsome Rory. “We need to join the others,” Rory reminded me, so we floated over to the other guys.
Jonathan was the center of attention, rapt eyes staring at him. “She was Mexican, with dark hair and very light skin. Some of the others who were available were better-looking, but I’d never had sex with a Mexican before, so I took her to the bedroom. She just took off her clothes, and lay on the bed. I told her to suck me, but she said that was extra. I just rammed it into her, and she lay still like she was sleeping. After I spouted, she got out of bed, put her clothes back on, and left.
“Mexican twat is no different from any other twat.” Jonathan must have gone to a whorehouse. I’d heard about them in school, but wouldn’t want to go to one unless it had guys instead of girls. I’d never had sex with anybody; the closest was minutes ago with Rory. I couldn’t wait until the others left.
The others soon got out, got dressed, and left to do chores. Rory and I got out naked, and he told me to kneel on the ground and take his penis in my mouth. I did as he ordered, and started sucking. Almost immediately his hands were on the back of my head, pushing me down, and his hips were bucking forward. I needed to gag, but couldn’t. In less than a minute he spouted down my throat. When he pulled out, I vomited.
Rory got dressed. “What about me?” I asked.
“What about you? There’s nothing about you. We’ll get together whenever I want and you’ll suck me. I don’t suck guys.” He left me kneeling in the dirt, feeling used and dirty.
It was nearing dark when I got home. Mom yelled at me for ignoring my chores, and told me I couldn’t eat until I’d watered the vegetable garden, put the sheep away, and fed and watered them and the dog.
It was pitch black, after ten, when I went inside. BC had kept the sheep together, and as soon as I opened the gate, she herded them inside their pen. I was too tired to eat, and went straight to bed. The next morning Dad woke me at five, and handed me a list for Council Bluffs. First, though, I had to take care of the sheep and dog.
The ride to Council Bluffs took four hours, and I got there at eleven. I tied the horse at the feed store, where they had shade and water, and space for the wagon. Then I went shopping. I finished at two-thirty, then found grassy shade with water for the horse. I had bought a bottle of cold root beer and a sandwich in town, and ate those. The horse grazed and I slept until six, and we were home by ten.
It was almost midnight by the time I had wiped down the horse, gotten him food and water, got food and water for the other animals, and was too tired to eat again. I went to our bathing room, used the flush commode, and took a shower in our cast iron bathtub. The previous owner had put in the plumbing and fixtures as a gift for his wife. The windmill pumped the water, and provided power for a system of levers and pulleys in the barn, used to raise and lower bales of hay.
When they bought the farm together, Ma and Uncle Eldridge were fascinated by indoor plumbing, and powered hay-lifting. I still was. Almost every other farm in Pottawattamie County still had outhouses, and everybody bathed in the kitchen.
When I was finished, Ma gave me the good news. “The new hired hand arrives day after tomorrow.” I smiled for the first time since Dillon’s funeral. “He’s sending his son, Freddy, to do the work.” My smile disappeared. Where Dillon was just mean, Freddy had been vicious.
Chapter Two
My last day of trying to do everything by myself. Dad woke me up at five and told me to put away the things in the cart. I had left it by the barn, too tired to deal with it. I managed to eat a peach for breakfast, then went back to the slave pit. I fed and watered all the animals, including the chickens I’ve been forgetting to mention. If we had a grassy enclosure for them, they could eat bugs, and we’d save on food. I don’t know what would happen if we put them out with the sheep. BC just might start eating them.
It started to rain, first time in weeks. I skipped watering the vegetable garden, and the corn finally got some water without me breaking my damned back. I threw more feed to the chickens, and that kept them happy. I brushed the horse, and gave him a couple of sugar cubes. Ma was yelling my name, and I pretended I didn’t hear her. She finally quit yelling at the same time Rory walked into the barn like he owned it.
He was shirtless again, water dripping down his chest. He dropped his cut-off pants to the ground before speaking. “Over here, boy, on your knees and suck me.”
“Not until you suck me first,” I told him. He started advancing toward me, and I told him I’d fight him if he tried, and then tell his folks what he had made me do. He walked out the front barn door, and I walked out the back. At the house, I asked Ma if she’d been calling me.
“That was half an hour ago, Carl. You need to bring me some vegetables for the ice box. We’re plum out.” Except for lettuce and cabbage, I didn’t mind getting vegetables in the rain. There was no way to harvest the low-to-the-ground crud without getting dirty. I took off my outer clothes, and spent half an hour in the garden in my drawers. Then I took those off, put my clothes back on, and took in several loads of vegetables. I handed the vegetables to Ma, along with my dirty drawers for the laundry.
Dad said he couldn’t wait for Cousin Freddy to get here, because I was a slow worker. I didn’t say anything, but went up to my room for dry clothes. I stayed there, lay on my bed, and resumed reading Arms and the Man by George Bernard Shaw. I’d gone to see The Philanderer last year in Omaha, and really enjoyed it. I was working my way through his plays, one by one.
Nothing good lasts forever, and in our house rarely more than a few minutes. Ma yelled up for me to tidy up the house for Freddy, and to go get her some eggs and a slaughtered chicken. “I want to be sure to feed the boy right,” she said.
She hadn’t fed me at all the last several nights. I hope I die before I get old, I thought. I tidied up the house, cleaned out Dillon’s room and found a collection of photographs he’d taken with his pocket Kodak. The first few were of Margaret, completely naked. Then there were a few of her lying on the floor with her legs spread. There were maybe ten of her sucking his dick, and another ten of him having intercourse with her. I wondered who had taken those?
The mystery was solved with the last picture. Rory was having sex with his sister. He might be the most disgusting person I’d ever met, I thought to myself. I took his sheets off the bed, and threw them away. He probably hadn’t changed them in a year, and they were covered with dried semen from Dillon pleasuring himself.
I took the photos and sheets out to the trash barrel and burned them. It had almost stopped raining, and the fire lit easily. On my way out the door, Ma told me to weed the front yard so it will look nice for Freddy. I pulled up maybe three weeds, threw them in the burning trash barrel, and went back inside.
That night, I had my first dinner in several days, mostly because I made dinner for everyone. I went to bed early, and woke up at five to take care of the animals. By nine in the morning the sun was boiling, so I put on a broad hat and took off my shirt. And, that’s the first Cousin Freddy had seen of me in more than ten years.
When he stepped from the carriage, I was shocked. Instead of the fat little kid who used to play pranks on me, and get me in trouble, and in general act like a terror when I was around, at my age he was fully developed and maybe the best-looking guy I’d ever see
n. He was dressed in a suit, waistcoat and tie, and generally just exuded sex. This was the same kid who used to throw mud at me.
Ma, who was too crippled to get up and make herself a pot of tea, came fairly running out the front door. She embraced him, kissed him on both cheeks, and told him not to try and work until he was rested from his trip. Dad, too crippled to get out of bed many days, walked confidently outside, and took Freddy’s bag. Not to be too left out, I joined the group.
“Hi, Freddy. Haven’t seen you in a long time. In case you don’t remember, I’m Carl.” He ignored the hand I held out, and turned back to my parents. Same shitty kid, just grown up into a shitty adult.
Freddy and my parents went into the house. I tried to follow, but Freddy stopped me. “The house is dirty enough without you tracking more in.” He turned to my mother. “You’ve been too sick to clean house, Aunt Harriet. Whoever has been doing it isn’t doing you any favors.” He walked to the back door, and addressed by father. “Uncle Jacob, you’re too infirm to take care of the animals and crops. Somebody’s been falling down on the job.”
To Love A Hitman Page 18
