Founder

by Jodi Payne

  But Kelly would hate it here, he decided, with nothing but rough work to be had and sometimes not much of that. It was just as well that he didn't let the kid come along, he told himself, but he did miss Kelly more than a little, and more often than just now and then. He missed Kelly right now something fierce.

  One too many whiskeys later he dragged himself outside to the pay phone, punching numbers and scratching his head. It took him a few tries to get the barn number right, but finally he remembered and someone answered.

  "Hel-lo?” a voice said cheerfully. It was one he didn't recognize, for which he was grateful.

  "Uh ... Yeah. Is Kelly around? Kelly Ayers?"

  "Hold the line.” The phone banged around like they'd dropped the receiver and left it swinging. “Kelly? Kelly!"

  "Jesus, George, quit yer yellin'.” Aubrey recognized Kelly's voice. He knew it well, even from a distance. “What's the problem?"

  "Phone."

  "Phone?” Kelly sounded surprised. Or maybe wary.

  "Would I lie? Phone."

  "Shit. Who is it?"

  "What am I, your secretary? Answer the damn phone."

  There was a brief, silent pause and then Aubrey heard Kelly's soft breath in his ear. “Uh, hello?"

  Aubrey hesitated a minute and thought about hanging up, but the whiskey was working its magic on his nerves. “Hey, kid."

  "...who is this?” Well, that was insincere. Kelly sounded like he knew damn well, but Aubrey figured he deserved the slight.

  "It's me, Kelly,” Aubrey said gently. “It's Aubrey."

  "Where are you?” This time, the reception didn't sound cold at all. Kelly sounded concerned and maybe hopeful.

  "I'm in ... uh ... I'm pretty far away right now."

  "You okay, cowboy?"

  Aubrey thought maybe his heart was going to break all over again. Six long months later, but just hearing the kid's voice, hearing Kelly call him ‘cowboy’ was enough to send him reeling backward in time. “Yes. Well ... yes, I'm okay."

  "You don't sound okay.

  "How are you?” Aubrey shifted the conversation away from himself.

  "I'm ... okay."

  There was a long silence and then Aubrey cleared his throat. “Thelma says you're doin’ good, the barn's doin’ good."

  "Yeah,” Kelly said with a tense sigh. “Barn's good, Guin's good ... look. Why the hell are you calling me, Aubrey?"

  "I..."

  "Because I'd just about managed to get through one damn day without thinkin’ about you."

  Aubrey's throat tightened up and he shifted from foot to foot. “I ... I guess I shouldn't have called, I know. Thing is, I've been thinking about you, too, and I'm just drunk enough to be able to tell you that I miss you."

  Aubrey heard Kelly's breath catch and then a heavy sigh. He crossed his arms over his chest and paced the step or two that the pay phone receiver would allow, waiting for Kelly to say something. He finally gave up waiting.

  "You there?"

  "Yeah. Yeah,” Kelly answered, but Aubrey could tell there was something wrong. He didn't like Kelly's clipped tone. “Look, if, uh...” Aubrey waited for Kelly to choose his words. “Aubrey, if you can't tell me that you miss me when you're sober, then you can go to Hell and stay there."

  The phone went dead in Aubrey's ear. Aubrey felt short of breath and the thick lump of raw emotion in his throat threatened to choke him. He hung up the phone slowly, sadly, but then his temper flared and he picked up the receiver again and slammed it down into its metal cradle several times over before physically pushing away from the thing, leaving the battered receiver swinging violently back and forth. “Fine!” he shouted at the phone. “Just fine!"

  He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth and walked away from the pay phone, taking several long strides out into the street and looking down the long, straight road leading out of town. He looked back at the phone again, shaking his head at himself. He knew he was wrong. He was always wrong. No amount of booze could really cloud it that much. “Fuck you, then,” he said softly, though he knew damn well he didn't mean it.

  The sounds of the pub got loud as the doors swung open. “Everything all right, Aubrey?"

  Aubrey whirled around to find Carl approaching him. The bar door closed behind him with a sold thud, muting the sounds of the music again. “Yeah. Perfect."

  "You drunk?"

  "Some."

  Carl stepped closer, his voice thick and low and his breath smelling of tequila. “Drunk enough?"

  Aubrey looked at him. After a moment, he nodded sharply. “Upstairs,” he said, and stepped past Carl, headed for the narrow staircase that led up to his apartment.

  * * * *

  The music thumped below them, voices drifting up through the floorboards. Aubrey could feel the vibrations in the soles of his feet as he pulled his boots off. Carl, still standing, put a hand on his shoulder. “No penetration. All right with you?"

  Aubrey glanced up at him. The last time he'd heard the word ‘penetration’ referring to sex was in a doctor's office a hundred years ago. “Whatever. You want me to blow you?"

  "Yeah,” Carl said. “That's what I want."

  "You gonna blow me back?"

  Carl's lips twitched, but he nodded. “Yeah, okay."

  "Damn right, okay,” Aubrey snarled. He shrugged, then reached forward from where he was sitting in his easy chair and pulled Carl closer by the hips. He yanked down Carl's zipper and popped open the button at the top of his Levis mechanically, finding Carl's cock underneath the denim fabric. Carl reached down and pulled it out himself, impatiently pushing it in Aubrey's face.

  Aubrey grimaced and batted Carl's hand away roughly. “Relax, asshole,” he snarled, and took the shaft of Carl's prick in his own thick fingers. Carl's cock was impressive, solid and heavy, and he was surprisingly hard considering he claimed to be straight. Aubrey figured this was a fantasy thing for Carl, that this was a deviance that his wife would be horrified to find out about. Something that got Carl hard. Or maybe a way to get back at a prude of a wife that wouldn't suck him off.

  Aubrey didn't stop to think about what Carl might think of him the next day or where he would go once this got out. He just opened his mouth and sucked Carl's brains out through that dick.

  Carl rested his hands on Aubrey's shoulders and was entirely passive as Aubrey blew him, groaning and panting, but keeping completely still until Aubrey could sense that his orgasm was close. Then Carl started to bark orders and jerk his hips around like a horny teenager who'd seen too many bad X-rated films.

  "Yes. Fuck. Come on. Right down your throat, man, just like that. Suck me."

  Carl's words did nothing for Aubrey and his already reluctant erection was actually starting to flag further, so Aubrey opened his own jeans and closed his eyes, tugging and stroking himself as he sucked Carl off and letting the image of Kelly's eyes and Kelly's skin wash over him.

  "Fuck! Yes!” Carl's choked shout was garbled and rough as he came. Aubrey swallowed, but it didn't taste like Kelly or smell like him either and Aubrey was forced from his fantasy and back to the reality of the half-naked married man standing before him. Carl pulled out of Aubrey's mouth and tucked himself back in, still panting hard. Obviously it was good for him.

  "Okay.” Carl said, kneeling in front of Aubrey and lowering his head toward Aubrey's lap.

  "You done this before?” Aubrey asked doubtfully.

  "A couple of times, yeah."

  Aubrey rolled his eyes. “Just don't bite the damn thing off,” he ordered, and forced himself to relax back into his chair. He closed his eyes and let Kelly in again; the kid's mouth, his smile, his ass, and moaned as Carl took him in. Carl's mouth was as hot and wet as anyone's and Aubrey was able to work with it.

  "Fuck. Ah, fuck.” Aubrey grunted, tangling a hand in Carl's hair, but by then it wasn't Carl anymore, it was Kelly that was grunting and bobbing his head in Aubrey's lap. He started to roll and buck his hips, but Carl kept slowing him d
own, wouldn't let him fuck his mouth the way Kelly would have, pushing at his insistent hips and finally pinning them to the chair. It frustrated Aubrey, and he grunted impatiently as the images dissolved again. Growling, Aubrey hooked a hand behind Carl's head and tugged on it, forcing Carl to swallow him deeper for his last few thrusts.

  He groaned as he came, filling Carl's mouth with his spunk, which Carl took only one mouthful of before making a sour face and spitting it out onto the floor. The rest landed across Aubrey's lap.

  Aubrey didn't move as Carl got to his feet.

  "Glad you changed your mind,” Carl told him. “I better get home.” He tipped his hat, as if to say thank you, but Aubrey had to wonder what for. He'd had better sex with his own left hand.

  Saying nothing, he followed Carl to the door with his eyes and watched as it latched behind Carl.

  He was suddenly overcome with a splitting headache, which he knew would only be cured by one of two things: more whiskey, or sleep. He looked around for a bottle, but only found an empty one, so he stumbled into his bedroom, dropping clothing as he went before collapsing into his bed.

  Chapter Sixteen

  In his more lucid times to come, Aubrey knew that was how and when his slow but steady downward spiral had begun. He could point to that night in his apartment and see how he'd started to let himself die inside. It began with Carl Wright's libido and the consumption of the better part of a bottle of Jim Beam, and so far it didn't seem to have an end. Weeks of it wore on Aubrey until he wasn't just trying not to care anymore, he actually didn't.

  "Christ,” he swore, the sound conveniently swallowed by the abundance of hay and thick wooden walls in Carl's cow barn. It had taken some practice, but Carl was turning out to be a damn good cocksucker. Aubrey's ass clenched, his hips snapped, and his fingers kneaded the back of Carl's neck. These days, Carl took everything Aubrey dished out, thrust after thrust like he was born Queer. When Aubrey was right on the edge, he shoved Carl out of the way and stroked his aching prick, come shooting from him in milky ribbons that landed soundlessly in the straw bedding that covered the stall floor. He squeezed and stroked himself until every drop was spent.

  Meanwhile, Carl was already dressing and was about to step out of the barn for a smoke. Aubrey tucked his cock back into his jeans and made himself presentable before joining Carl.

  Carl nodded and handed Aubrey a cigarette. “So, what'd you think of the stew?"

  "Good. Hearty. Sue sure can fix up a meal."

  "She sure can,” Carl agreed, praising her as if he hadn't just had another man's cock in his mouth.

  Aubrey never smoked the cigarette, but he let Carl light it and held it in his hand for a while until the butt was small enough that anyone would have thought he had.

  "Baby's getting’ big."

  "Happens fast,” Carl agreed. He seemed to be chewing something over and finally he spat it out. “Gonna fuck you next time."

  "Guess again, asshole,” Aubrey snorted. He stubbed out the cigarette with the heel of his boot and tossed it into the coffee can by the door.

  "Really want to."

  "Well, you can forget it. Fuck your wife. Make more babies."

  "Don't you like to fuck?"

  Aubrey looked at Carl. “How about I fuck you?"

  To Aubrey's surprise, Carl seemed to mull that over. “You first,” he answered, and Aubrey raised an eyebrow. “Then me the next time. Deal?"

  "Deal.” Aubrey snorted. “Got pie?"

  "Yep. Cherry, I think."

  * * * *

  Aubrey worked hard every day, showing up at the farm on time and not leaving until the work was done. After paying his weekly rent, he spent the bulk of his pay on booze, rubbers, lube, and a few staples for the kitchen. His apartment was a mess; clothing strewn here and there, half-eaten, week-old food in the fridge, and every trash bin in the place had at least one bottle in it. In keeping with his state of mind, it really didn't matter to him.

  He knew the letter in his hand would go unanswered, but it was nice of Thelma to write anyway. She continued to write even though he didn't write back, and she always signed her letters “Love, Thelma", which just confused him. In this letter she told him about the farm's new crop of foals, about her eldest boy getting into college, and about Haley and his stubborn refusal to buy a new truck despite needing a jump every time he drove that old Longbed into town. She signed it cheerfully, but the postscript suggested, as it always did, that he write to Kelly. She said he was doing well in the barn, but that he didn't seem himself at all.

  He'd tried to write once, a couple of weeks ago, to tell Kelly that he was sorry for calling drunk, that he meant it when he said he missed Kelly; but he wasn't sober then, and he wasn't sober now, either. Perhaps if he was sober when Thelma's next letter arrived, he'd write Kelly then. But he knew he wouldn't be. The road to Hell was paved with good intentions, after all, and although deep inside he didn't want to be, he was certainly on it.

  So instead he decided to call Kelly again, despite the drink. It was his fourth phone call to Kelly. The second and third had ended much like the first, but they'd lasted longer, and during his last call, it seemed to Aubrey that Kelly was trying to keep him on the line, asking him endless questions about meaningless things like the weather and his truck.

  It was a warm night and Aubrey turned to take advantage of the little bit of evening breeze as he stood at the pay phone. The line rang and rang, but just when he was going to give up someone finally answered it.

  "Yeah?"

  Aubrey blinked. He hadn't expected the kid to answer himself. “Uh, Kelly?"

  "Hello? Aubrey? Hey,” Kelly answered, almost stammering into the phone.

  "Yeah. Hey.” Aubrey cleared his throat.

  "If you're drunk again, I don't want to know it."

  "Okay.” So Aubrey wouldn't tell him.

  "Are you drunk again?"

  "I thought you just said...?"

  "Just answer the question.” Kelly sounded worried and once again Aubrey felt like he shouldn't have called.

  "Yeah. I'm sorry, kid, I am."

  "Damn it, Aubrey, are you ever going to call me sober?"

  "Probably not."

  Kelly snorted into the phone. “Well, at least you're honest about that much.” There was a long silence that Aubrey didn't try to fill. He rubbed his forehead and paced as far as the receiver would let him go, two steps away and two steps back. Kelly finally spoke up. “So uh, we were just laughing about you last night."

  "Yeah?"

  "Yeah. Haley was telling us a story about the night Little Blue got out of his stall."

  Aubrey rolled his eyes. “Oh, damn, that was a long time ago. Ancient history."

  "Did you really set the barn on fire?"

  "Nope. Hep set the barn on fire. I'd already passed out by then."

  Kelly laughed. “Oh, right! You were one dumb bastard back then."

  Kelly was right; he had been a dumb bastard back then. He rolled right off of weekends pumping gas to full weeks mucking stalls. He knew nothing about horses then, not even how to ride one, and Little Blue knew an idiot when he saw one. He'd slipped his halter while Aubrey was bringing him in from turnout and Aubrey had been chasing the bastard around the barn before he ran head first into an open split stall door. Hep, the barn manager at the time, had thrown him into the stall to keep his sorry ass out of the way and then at some point while Hep took up the chase, either he or Little Blue had kicked some hay into his space heater and it went up in flames. Hep had it under control right away, but Aubrey had come around just in time to see smoke and the hay burning and he'd run from the barn screaming, “FIRE!” at the top of his lungs. The barn never actually caught, but Haley liked to tell the story that way.

  "You still there, Aubrey?"

  "Oh, yeah. Just remembering. Good times.” Much better times. And it wasn't all that long ago really, so why couldn't he find that part of himself again?

  "Wish they'd all been good,”
Kelly said more seriously.

  "Hey, once a fuck-up, always a fuck up."

  "That's not what I meant, Aubrey."

  Didn't matter, Aubrey meant it. He changed the subject. “So, Thelma says you're not yourself."

  Kelly was instantly defensive, snapping in a way that made Aubrey realize she was right. “Thelma is a nosy woman."

  Aubrey could imagine Kelly kicking the dirt floor and squinting out over the dark pastures. “Okay. So ... how are you, then?"

  "Fine,” Kelly answered tersely.

  "Fine.” Aubrey snapped back.

  "Look, I miss you, okay? Fuck off."

  Aubrey nodded. He heard Kelly loud and clear. “Yeah okay, I miss you, too. Or am I not allowed to say that because I'm drunk?"

  "Aubrey,” Kelly sighed. “Look, can I ask you something straight out?"

  "Yeah,” Aubrey answered, bracing himself.

  "When are you coming back?"

  "Kelly..."

  "Or ... okay,” Kelly was talking faster now, and Aubrey could hear the anxiety. “If you're not coming back, when are you going to ask me to quit this job and come to you?"

  "Never, kid.” Aubrey answered softly. “I'd never do that."

  "You'd never ask me to quit my job, or you'd never ask me to come live with you?"

  "Don't matter. One depends on the other, don't it?"

  Kelly swallowed hard enough that Aubrey could hear it. “Why don't you come back here? It's all blown over now. I bet Haley would take you back if you asked him.” The kid's voice got softer. “I would."

  "Would what? Give me a job?"

  "Take you back, asshole."

  "Oh. You don't want me back.” Aubrey thought about the sty he was living in, physically and mentally. Nobody wanted the sorry, shameless bastard he'd become.

  "You don't know what I want!” Kelly shouted in his ear. “You never did know what I wanted, and you left without letting me tell you. Damnit, Aubrey, why do you keep calling if you don't want me there and you won't come back here?"