The music was upbeat; country music played and sung by a local country band consisting of four men and one woman. Their music is danceable and easy listening, bringing a light hearted atmosphere and a touch of happiness to those crowded inside the dining room/bar area. The group now playing, was booked for the enjoyment of those who partook of the food and spirits several times a year on a Friday night for the large fish fry crowd of diners and on Saturdays, where prime rib was the special at “Big Momma’s and Uncle Fat’s Country Pub and Eatery.” This wasn’t the only group playing here on a periodic basis, but by far the most popular. When I asked if they’d play today, they didn’t hesitate in consenting, expressing how honored they felt by being asked and allowed to perform.
The crowd was steady all afternoon, but I’d set six o’clock as the end of this particular gathering. It’d been a long day and a trying few weeks; the stress, the disappointment, the heartache, and feeling of loss was heavy and this celebration of a life well spent was just what I needed to help me bring closure to the past unpleasantness and start a new life! Well, it really wasn’t a “new” life but more of a renewal since the life I’d be living wouldn’t be unfamiliar but greatly altered.
The sun rose this morning in a cloud free sky, it’s radiance warming our small community along the river and waking me from a restless night, alone and anxious to get the day over, but yet not wanting it to begin, knowing part of me, at the end of day, would never be the same.
Maple Grove is home to approximately four thousand people enjoying most of the accoutrements of small town living while still having a nice shopping district, small mall, its own school, police department, volunteer fire department, municipal building, city park, a bank and a credit union, lawyers, auto and small engine repair shops, car dealer, boat sales and repairs, several bait shops, a couple of small manufacturing companies, and a marina. It is, what many would consider, a relatively prosperous community consisting of mainly middle and upper middle class families. The homes are well kept and have at least one car, more than likely two, in the garage. Boats, ATV’s, motorcycles, and other such toys abound. Although there is some local employment in shops, the service industry, and small businesses, a large number of wage earners commute approximately thirty miles to work in large factories and businesses in a metropolitan area.
The farm land, away from the river, is good, black, fertile soil capable of producing two hundred plus bushels of corn per acre and sixty to eighty bushels of soybeans per acre as well. There are several cattle feedlots and farms and hog production confinement operations in the area and when prices are right, do very well indeed.
The community and area was prosperous when I was growing up, except for a few of us!
I am the youngest of five with two older brothers and two older sisters. Since I am a “tag along,” a “Tony come lately,” there was only one older brother, eight years older in fact, left at home by the time I entered school. My siblings saw me as a nuisance, an “accident” which affected their own personal life style, a real pain in the ass of whom they were extremely jealous, and tended to not only try to ignore me, but it seemed they took every opportunity to make my life miserable.
My parents, Harold and Ruth Hartman, raised us on two hundred and forty acres of marginal farm land edged on the east side by the river. One would think with all of the great farm land in the area, ours would be just as prosperous as the others. Unfortunately, we were one of several exceptions! There’s probably eighty or so acres of bottom timber land which floods every spring, another twenty or so in pasture, about ten where the house, barn, and other outbuildings are located, and the rest in crop land. The crop land is a mixture of light, brown loam, clay/sand/ dirt mix, and one section of more sand than dirt Daddy used for hay ground.
Daddy bought the farm after he’d been discharged from the Marines during the Vietnam War. Shrapnel from a booby-trap bomb exploding cost him an eye and some other grievous injuries, bringing on a medical discharge and a government pension. The farm was very cheap (the bank had it on a foreclosure) and he was able to obtain a farm credit loan to help pay for it. He married his high school sweetheart and they settled down to raise their family.
The woods in the bottom land and the river, as well as the poor farm land, provided for us. We had our own milk, meat, and vegetables. Momma kept a large garden, as well as several fruit trees, and the large freezer and the pantry shelves were filled to capacity with frozen and canned fruits, vegetables, and pork and beef. We also had a flock of chickens which provided us with eggs to eat and sell as well as fryers for the table and freezer. Small game and ducks hunted by Daddy and my older brothers provided supplemental variety for the table. Hickory nuts, walnuts, and pecans from the timber added to our natural bounty. How Momma, a wisp of a woman, shorter than Daddy by a foot, and lighter by ninety to one hundred pounds, ever managed it all, I’ll never know!
We didn’t have a great deal, but yet we did; money, no, but we still had clothes to wear (albeit from St. Vincent de Paul’s or hand-me-downs), a place to live, and plenty to eat. I was happy, but my older brothers and sisters weren’t. They couldn’t wait to get out of the house and leave home to find their own way.
There were several other families who lived along the river, living on the edge of poverty others thought, whose parents made their living from the river by commercial fishing, some trapping, and odd jobs or low paying waitressing positions or day labor. Because of where we lived and how we dressed, we were known collectively by the disparaging term as “river rats!” It didn’t bother me as much as it did others, but I was young and I was loved so how much more could I ask for?
Daddy’s cousin, Everett Hartman, enlisted the same time as Daddy and returned two years later, unharmed! He bought the “Four Corners Bar” and married his high school sweetheart, Momma’s younger sister, Lora. She was as small as Momma, just as lively and full of life! Cousin Everett became “Uncle” Everett, who, unlike Daddy, was just as thin as a rail. When they changed the name of the bar to “Big Momma’s and Uncle Fat’s Country Pub and Eatery” people laughed since it was just the opposite of what the owners looked like. The name, Uncle Everett’s and Aunt Lora’s outgoing, welcoming personalities, customer service, and excellent but limited menu of fine foods, caused their little business to thrive and grow in customers and financially.
Unfortunately, they were unable to have any children, as much as they desired it. They would’ve been wonderful, loving parents! Apparently adoption didn’t present a very encouraging alternative path to becoming parents. They were informed, by whom I don’t know, their occupation and where they lived in such close proximity to “Big Momma’s” didn’t present a conducive environment to raise a child.
As the “last pup in the litter to nip on a tit” as Uncle Everett so adroitly put it, I became their favorite nephew and, yes, a surrogate son for them! I was more than happy to do so, since they were my favorites as well, thank you very much. When Momma would go visit her sister, I went along. While the two of them visited, Uncle Everett entertained me or vice-versa since we had a great time! He’d take me into the bar/dining room, sit me on a bar stool, listening to my chatter, my questions, and comments on the state of whatever, while he served his customers. Sipping on a hot chocolate, if the weather was cold, a soda, nibbling on popcorn or snacking on something from the kitchen “they fixed too much” of, I received an education unlike many young boys would ordinarily receive, but more valuable by far.
Not once was I subjected to any harassment, vulgarity, or the “naughtiness” mentioned by those who felt it wasn’t a good environment for a child. Uncle Everett listened to me, answered my questions, and challenged me to learn more. He and the customers treated me with respect and I returned it! I learned not only how the restaurant and bar business ran and functioned successfully, but about investments, banking, farming, history, wildlife, government, and other sundry information my young mind absorbed like a sponge and stored away for future use.
The variety of customers who frequented “Big Momma’s” were from all walks of life and varying degrees of education. All contributed to my storehouse of knowledge! For some reason or other, they delighted in visiting with a precocious young boy, telling me stories, asking questions, answering mine, buying me treats, and in general enjoying spoiling me rotten. God, how I loved it!
I learned how to handle people without causing great offense to them or great bodily harm to me as well as setting the standards for my own intolerance of injustice or provocative bullying by others. Uncle Everett would tolerate no nonsense in his business and didn’t hesitate to politely ask the offender to either correct his or her behavior or leave. If they refused, he then summoned the law, having them remove the offender. This was a skill, handling people so they still maintained their pride even when wrong, I found extremely useful when I entered the teaching field years later.
Uncle Everett, when business was slow or he had a bartender to tend the bar, also taught me play cards, specifically poker. I was a quick study when it came to that particular game! I enjoyed the challenge. I learned from him his secret of success in cards; he was a card counter! Uncle Everett memorized every card played, discarded, or visible to him during the game. He quickly discovered I had a similar ability and then the real education began. Uncle Everett, I learned, used his card playing skills and abilities in the service to build the nest egg he used to buy what is now “Big Momma’s.”
Whenever Uncle Everett wanted to go fishing, whether to catch a catfish or a crappie, I was invited along. During hunting season I again accompanied him afield or in the woodlands as we hunted rabbits, squirrels, pheasant, or quail, toting safely under my arm a single shot .410ga shotgun he “just happened” to have laying around until some young lad would want to use it.
If we were leaving early in the morning on one of our expeditions, I’d spend the night with them, which also meant I’d have the opportunity to help Uncle Everett and Aunt Lora at “Big Momma’s.” I’d work in the kitchen, help the waitress’s clear tables or pour water for the customers, wash up glasses at the bar, and just help out in general. If I was really tired, one of them would walk me over to the house, tuck me in, give me a kiss goodnight, and I’d fall asleep.
On my tenth birthday, Uncle Everett and Aunt Lora gave me an eighteen speed mountain bike! I was thrilled, never having a new bike before, only those handed down from older brothers. Now I could ride to Aunt Lora’s any time, well, when it wasn’t snowing or raining. Rather than take a chance on the highway, I’d pedal down our lane, hook a left, ride by the neighbor’s lane, and at the corner, hook a right, ride a mile until I came to state highway, scoot across it, and I was at “Big Momma’s and Uncle Fat’s Country Pub and Eatery.”
It was also at age ten, in the fifth grade, I experienced some of life’s realities in a very painful manner! As I grew older, I found myself more fascinated by boys and their penises rather than girls who didn’t have one. Unfortunately, in my quest to see more of what fascinated me, I failed to learn to be more cautious in viewing other boy’s peckers. As a result of being caught in the restroom looking at the boy’s pecker poked out peeing in the urinal beside me, the owner of the beheld cock took offense!
He called me a “fucking, faggoty, queer,” punched me in the gut and face, and left the restroom. It hurt something terrible! I returned to my room and the teacher, noticing I was greatly distressed, sent me to the nurse when I pleaded I didn’t feel well. The nurse diagnosed me with having a tummy ache. Shit, I knew that already!
Momma was with Daddy at the V.A. Hospital for a checkup (he had various on-going medical problems as a result of his injuries) and wasn’t home, so the nurse called my other emergency number – Uncle Everett and Aunt Lora. The bar at “Big Momma’s” was fairly busy so Aunt Lora left the kitchen to pick me up. Fortunately, she had a couple of other cooks working, preparing for the evening special and current orders.
She was so wise in the ways of small boys, even though having none of her own, asking very little of me in way of explanation. I was happy she didn’t! How do you tell your favorite Aunt, your mother’s sister, another boy punched you in the gut because you were caught ogling his long, fat cock?
Instead of taking me home, she drove to “Big Momma’s” and, when exiting the car, suggested, rather than lay down and rest, perhaps Uncle Everett would be willing to see to me since she had to supervise and help the others prepare the day’s special. I could’ve and should’ve hugged her right then and there, but I knew if I did, I’d end up sobbing sloppy, wet tears all over her shoulder.
I sat in my usual stool at the end of the bar, watched as Uncle Everett poured a can of 7UP® into a glass full of ice, and set it front of me, telling me it “would be good for your tummy!”
The bar was busy and the dining room moderately so, keeping the bartenders and the two waitresses hopping! The longer I sat, sipping my cold drink, the more unhappy and afraid I became. What would I tell Momma and Daddy? I couldn’t tell them the truth could I? They’d probably hate me forever, I thought. Sales slowed at the bar and evidently Uncle Everett sensed I was not a very happy camper. He leaned on the bar across from me speculating,
“Something or someone said or did something to give you a tummy ache –right?”
I nodded sadly, my eyes began to gush tears like a fountain in the park. He quickly stepped around the bar and with an arm around my shoulder pulling me close to his side, ushered me into his office. Closing the door, he wrapped both his arms about me, pulled me close so my head was resting on his chest and murmured softly,
“Why don’t you tell Uncle Fats all about it!”
I sobbed out the whole sordid tale; the boy in the restroom, how I thought more about boys than girls, fear of how the kids at school would hate me for being “queer,” and the disappointment Momma and Daddy would feel if they found out!
“They’re probably going to send me away and I’ll never see them again,” I wailed, “or drop me in the river to be eaten by big turtles and crawfish!”
I finally stopped my crying, somewhat, held on to Uncle Everett as tight as I dared, and hiccupped, “What will I ever do, Uncle Everett?”
He sighed, not one of disgust, but of sympathy, of love, and, in a very non-judgmental voice and manner, responded,
“My sweet, sweet, and so sensitive Tony, you’ve just been exposed to how mean and vicious the human animal can be, especially toward those who might be different from others, whether it be color, religion, or matters of who they might love! You’ll have to learn to be more careful, cautious in the future, concealing from others how you truly feel until the time is right to reveal it and now’s not the time.”
“When will I know?”
“I’m not certain, I’ve never had to concern myself with the question, but I do know you’ll know, of that I’m certain! I’ve had a lot of contact with boys and men who, like you, prefer their own sex and react in much the same way. Some had the same experience as you and had to learn as you are; others had no problem. There are some who are quite open, but not flaunting their sexual preferences, while others either wait or never reveal it. I notice them at the bar and they seem so sad, never being able to express their love except in quick, secret places and some not at all.”
“Most the time, Tony, until you get older and the time is right, you’ll have to be like a chameleon, blending in with the background or groups of people, trying to stay almost invisible, not revealing your preferences.”
He paused, finally adding, “When you’re a patriot afloat in a sea of pirates, you don’t want to wave your flag or shoot off your cannon to draw attention to yourself! Know what I mean? I can’t say life will be easy; you’ll have some difficult times ahead of you, but I know you can handle it!”
Even at ten years of age, I knew very well what he meant; don’t pop a bone around other boys, gawk at other boys cocks, especially at school, or bring attention to myself with shooting my mouth or something else off.
“What do I tell Momma and Daddy? I don’t want to lie about why I came home from school!”
He grinned, “You don’t have to lie, just tell them you had a tummy ache and Uncle Everett gave you some soda and let you rest in his office, which you’re going to do when we’re done talking, and you felt better. Or,” he laughed, “you can tell them you took a healthy dump and everything got better real quick!”
I decided to stick with the soda story!
Momma and Daddy asked nothing more once they heard my story. I knew Uncle Everett would never tell them or anyone else what we’d spoke of that afternoon when I was in fifth grade.
I discovered, when I was in my last year of high school, I needed not to have been worried. Momma and Daddy thought for many years my sexual preferences were not girls, but boys, especially since I didn’t date girls or make excuses for not doing so. Most parents who truly love and trust their children, may be initially disappointed, but really only wish happiness for them, I found. I learned my lesson well from Uncle Everett! I was still able to view those luscious, fat, thin, short, or long male appendages, albeit very carefully, and fantasize about them while working my own cock vigorously with my right hand. Someday, I’d think, the right guy would come along.
My thoughts returned to the guests who were visiting with each other, while partaking of the luncheon, so I began winding through the gathering again, greeting those who just arrived or those I hadn’t seen who were preparing to leave. As I thanked them for coming and for their expressions of sympathy and condolences for my loss of Uncle Everett, it’d hit me, every so often, he was the fourth member of my immediate family I’d buried and mourned the loss of!
Momma was the first, during my third year of college, succumbing to cancer. Two years later, Aunt Lora passed away as a result of an auto accident, and in the fall of this previous year, Daddy died from complications of his injuries while in the service. He’d never been really well, but after Momma died, he took less care of himself, even at my urging for him to do so! Uncle Everett, it seemed to me, simply died of a broken heart! He missed Aunt Lora so; I don’t know how he survived as long as he did without her. The doctors said he had a heart attack, but I thought I knew better.
My brothers and sisters didn’t come to this funeral, in fact, after Daddy’s funeral didn’t speak to me again, all as a result of proprietorship of the farm!
During Middle School I continued to work at home helping Momma and Daddy on our small farm, while still helping Uncle Everett and Aunt Lora at “Big Momma’s.” The same pattern of work continued in my high school years, only my hours and duties at “Big Momma’s” increased. I waited tables, tended bar (although I was too young to do so), helped in the kitchen, washed dishes, and cleaned up. Anything needing done, I’d do.
I expressed my desire to go to college and my concerns for paying for it to Uncle Everett and Aunt Lora. I was saving as much as I could, but still gave Momma and Daddy some to help them, and had applied for scholarships, but was uncertain how much I’d get to help out. Momma and Daddy couldn’t help much although I knew they’d do all they could, but even with only one at home now, it wouldn’t be much, but given from the heart and personal sacrifice.
“Don’t you worry, Tony,” Aunt Lora said confidently, “you’ll continue to work here during vacations and holidays to help pay the bills. Besides your Uncle Everett and I have been setting aside a little bit to help you. We see how hard you work and your grades still were great, so we decided early on you should go to college.”
When I protested, Uncle Everett shushed me by announcing, “You’re not the only person who needed help over the years and we enjoy doing it!”
I continued visiting my way through the people at the luncheon, learning time and time again, there were indeed many who benefited from the goodness of “Uncle Fats and Big Momma,” as they referred to my aunt and uncle verses my preference for “Uncle Everett and Aunt Lora.” It offended me not, since the terms were not used derogatorily, but from respect and familiarity.
“Big Momma and Uncle Fats’” charity ranged from offering a sympathetic ear and encouraging words, along with advice if warranted, to a box of groceries when there was a need; a hot meal on a cold day to a hungry traveler or neighbor who just didn’t have the cash available, covering the bill to repair an old truck that was needed to get back and forth to work, driving someone to a doctor’s appointment, or sitting with a spouse or family members on a death in the family. All of this was done quietly without advertisement and without expectations of accolades in return. “Big Momma and Uncle Fats” lived their belief; “whatever you do for the least of us, you do for all of us.”
I was so upset my brothers and sisters didn’t find it in their hearts to attend Uncle Everett’s funeral and witness the outpouring of affection and thanks people had for Uncle Fats and Big Momma. Instead, they let their own selfishness and jealousy taint their thought and deeds, preferring to believe Uncle Everett and Aunt Lora betrayed them!
Momma’s illness, later diagnosed as cancer, caused Daddy great concern on how to pay for the medical bills. Insurance would pay a great share of it, but there were still costs. He indicated to me he might have to sell our farm in order to meet the bills. He didn’t and the bills were still paid! I had an inkling what happened, but decided to hold my thoughts to myself and see what happened. After Daddy’s death this past fall, my brothers and sisters wanted to sell the farm and divide the proceeds, obviously caring little for the home we were raised in. Their thoughts and dreams of great wealth (HA!) came crashing down like a sloppy, wet cow pie on concrete when the will was read and the estate settled. Daddy didn’t own the farm; Uncle Everett did! Daddy sold it to him when Momma was sick and used the money to pay the bills. What little was left amounted to only a couple thousand dollars apiece and nothing more. It really pissed off my siblings!
Uncle Everett rented the land out, but I continued to live there whenever I came home .I never asked him who rented it, but I did notice the crop land was changed, somewhat, from row crops to vegetables, especially sweet corn. I assumed it was our neighbors who had a farm to market truck garden and U-pick strawberries.
I continued to work for him at “Big Momma’s” even after college and I began teaching. It was pretty lonely at first, without Momma and Daddy, especially the first summer after Momma died, but I adjusted to the loss. Not once, while I was home, at “Big Momma’s,” or any other time, did my brothers and sisters come to visit or inquire how I was doing. Without Uncle Everett and Aunt Lora I would’ve been totally devastated! When Aunt Lora passed away it was if I was losing my mother all over again.
Shit, Uncle Everett even owned all of the farm machinery and household furnishings. The only items left to be sold or divided up were Daddy’s personal items such as his watch, clothing, and some of those items. His marine medals and uniforms went to me since no one else saw any value or sentiment attached to them. I glommed on to a picture of Momma and Daddy before anyone else could and squirreled it away until the others were gone.
Nine months after Daddy died, Uncle Everett passed away and I soon discovered I was his sole heir! His lawyer called informing me I was the executor of the estate and forewarned me of my inheritance. Talk about my siblings being mad; they were fucking furious! So damned mad they wouldn’t even come to the funeral! Again, their dreams of money and wealth coming their way was thwarted. Uncle Everett always said “your feet get cold waiting for dead man’s shoes!” How right he was! They could have cared less I’d lost the four most important people in my life. Fuck‘em!
Not only, in one school year, did I lose my father and my uncle, but my job as well! I’d been teaching history and economics in a small high school about one hundred and fifty miles from Maple Grove and, since Momma’s death and after graduating from college, I’d spent summers, holidays, and those weekends I could get free, to go home and help Daddy and work at “Big Momma’s.” Daddy’s health deteriorated fairly fast in the last year of his life, and we both knew it wouldn’t be long before he joined Momma.
I happened to be home the weekend Daddy passed away. I called my brothers and sisters, as he grew weaker on that Saturday, begging them to come home before it was too late! They didn’t! Uncle Everett came, however, and sat with me, each of us holding one of Daddy’s hands, and watched him slip away.
It wasn’t a good school year for me! In March, I was given notice I’d be without a job the next school year. Falling enrollment meant fewer teachers were needed. I started making application to other districts, but they were suffering the same problems as the one I was in. Since there were many layoffs in the state, there was a glut of teachers, especially history teachers. Even my minor in Economics didn’t persuade another district to hire me.
Uncle Everett passed away two days after the school year closed and the beginning of my layoff. I’d cleaned my desk out, terminated my apartment lease, and was home when it happened. I didn’t have a teaching job any longer, but I did have a much larger responsibility, running “Big Momma’s” and Uncle Everett’s estate.
The next day after his death, I made arrangements for his funeral and burial, and called the entire staff of “Big Momma’s” together for a meeting. I closed the establishment until after the funeral, but wanted to know how they would feel about continuing to work at “Big Momma’s” and for me. I explained how much I’d like to have them continue with me, but if they felt they couldn’t, I’d be happy to write them a very favorable recommendation. I also asked, those who stayed with me (all chose to do so), if they’d mind putting on the funeral luncheon. Again, they agreed, commenting it was their honor to do so! Uncle Everett and Aunt Lora would’ve been so proud! The head cook asked if I had anything in mind and when I sort of shrugged, he suggested they do the same for Uncle Everett as they had for Aunt Lora. I thought it was a great idea and let the staff plan it! It certainly took one more worry from my shoulders.
In the meantime, I had a great deal to do prior to the funeral! I met with the attorney in order to finalize the provisions of the will and begin sorting out his financial records. The attorney told me much of what I already knew; Uncle Everett had investments in land, a portfolio of stocks and bonds, a large quantity of United States savings bonds, several bank accounts, with only one a personal account, a safe deposit box in one of the banks, and his business accounts, including payroll accounting, accounts receivable, and payable, were handled by an accounting firm. I didn’t mention to the attorney I had the combination to the office safe. He didn’t know there was a safe so who am I to tell secrets? There was a great deal to sort out, but I’d have to do that after the funeral.
It was nearing six, the time I’d set to close down the luncheon, so I informed the kitchen, and wait staff, to stop replenishing the refreshment table. I wanted to begin cleaning up as soon as possible so staff would be able to get home relatively early. We’d have to reset the dining room for the next day’s business, clean up the bar, and prepare the kitchen along with doing prep work for the special. We wouldn’t begin serving from the menu until eleven in the morning, but we opened the bar at ten and, undoubtedly, there’d be those regulars who’d be ready.
“Tony, old boy,” a blustery, loud, and irritatingly familiar voice sounded as a fat hand clasped me on the shoulder!
The voice and mannerisms quickly identified a miscreant I’d hoped to avoid – no such luck! I turned, shrugging his hand from my shoulder and smiled, facing his royal ugliness, forced smile you understand, at Douglas Boyer, two years younger than me, a blowhard, bully, and lout from high school. Douglas was the only son of the owner of Boyer’s Motors and Service Center, a large new and used car dealership in Maple Grove.
Douglas, topped my five foot nine inch height by perhaps five inches and outweighed my own weight of one hundred fifty pounds, by at least one hundred pounds or more! I thought, naked with two sets of tits running down his belly, he would look like an overweight hog, long for the market, or as Uncle Everett would’ve stated; “I never saw anything that big what didn’t eat hay!”
Looking at Douglas, my smile turned from forced to genuine as I remember our encounter in high school. In my senior year, because of scheduling conflicts, I was placed into an underclassman physical education section. Douglas, used to being the big frog in the little pond, would bully and intimidate the younger boys, even to the point of waggling his wanger at them while in the shower room, ridiculing their smaller male parts, laughing and pointing. It was so humiliating to the young ones who were in the process of growing and developing both physically and sexually! One day, after class, Douglas was in the shower room, bragging how his cock was the biggest in the county! He shut up when I stepped into the shower and remained silent in my presence the rest of the term.
“Now that Fats is dead,” he yawped obnoxiously, “and all that money you get now, you need to remodel this dump and give it a little class! Probably should buy yourself a new car instead of driving around in that old wreck of a pickup truck!”
Before I could respond to the rude, crass son-of-bitch, by telling him to go fuck himself, a male, somewhat smaller than me and definitely lighter in weight, stepped between Douglas and me, jabbed Douglas in his fat gut, threatening,
“Move it, Dougie-dipshit, before you piss me off! For you, the party’s over, got it?”
I never would’ve believed it, but I saw it happen! Dougie-dipshit blanched and damn near turned himself inside out trying to get the hell away from his accoster and out the door of “Big Momma’s!”
The young man turned, faced me, a smile of amusement on his face, and greeted me with a simple, “Hi, Tony!” His expression sobered as he expressed his regrets and condolences on the death of Uncle Everett; “I know you’ll miss him much more than the rest of us will.”
I thanked him, struggling to put a name to the face in front of me, but for the very likes of me, I couldn’t raise anything in my memory giving me a clue, although he did look so strangely familiar.
“Don’t have a clue who I am, do you?” he asked mischievously.
Shrugging my shoulders, then slowly wagging my head side to side, admitting my confusion and lack of knowledge.
“No, I’m afraid you have me at an embarrassingly obvious disadvantage and I sincerely apologize!”
“Craig Ingersoll!” answered, proffering his hand, “Your neighbor.”
Hold it, the Craig Ingersoll I remember is four or five years younger than me, slightly on the chubby side, not very tall, extremely shy, barely talking to anyone, sat behind the bus driver on my school bus, and lived with his grandparents. His grandparents farmed the place next to us when I was growing up. Along with their regular farm work, albeit the place was about the same size as ours and about as productive I thought, they also raised vegetables they sold at a small roadside stand next to the parking lot at “Big Momma’s” and at farmer’s markets in the cities.
Standing in front of me, however, was a young man, shorter than me by only a couple of inches, probably ten or fifteen pounds lighter, slightly tanned, slender but well fit and trim bespeaking of someone who took care of himself (compared to me who did little during the school year in terms of fitness), and was used to hard work.
“Well, I’ll be damned!” was the only surprised response I could come up with at the time. I’d been completely flummoxed, pleasantly so I should add, and felt almost the fool! I gripped his hand, responded to his similar grip, held on to it, and added, with disbelief,
“Yeah,” Craig answered smiling and dipping his head shyly, yet keeping hold of my hand, almost reluctant to release it.
Now I recognized him! It was the same mannerism he exhibited years before when I climbed on the bus, would see him looking at me, and I’d just say “Hi!” as I walked by. His response was as if I’d given him a million bucks!
Still holding his hand, I excused myself as I released it since I noticed the last of my guests getting ready to leave.
“Don’t go away; I want to visit with you, Craig. I really want to hear the story about your relationship with ‘Dougie-dipshit!”
I met those last few who were leaving, at the door, thanking them for coming, shut and locked it when they departed, walked back toward where Craig was standing, and waved him toward the bar.
“How about a beer? It’s been a long day!” I offered.
He didn’t hesitate to seat himself on a bar stool while I drew us each a tap beer. Sliding his across the bar, I raised my glass in toast, he responded, we each took a sip, and I asked,
“Okay, tell me how in the hell you can bring so much fear into one of the biggest bullies ever to go through high school. He couldn’t get out of “Big Momma’s” fast enough!”
He laughed, took a long hard drink of the beer, set it down, and answered, “You were out of high school when I entered. You know how Doug was such a braggart, don’t you? He seemed to be most impressed with his the size of his cock, claiming to have the biggest in the county, which he didn’t, of course, but who was to correct him? He’d just make life miserable for them, either by continually ridiculing them or sucker punching them in gym class or the hallways.”
“I’d made up my mind, after talking with my grandparents, going into high school, I wouldn’t hide the fact I was a gay boy. I didn’t want to flaunt it, and my grandparents agreed, but yet I wasn’t going to deny it! I joined the newly formed Gay/Straight Alliance in school and started feeling comfortable with myself. I happened to have gym class the same hour, just before lunch, as did Doug and some of his buddies. I always waited until most of the guys were done showering before taking mine, mainly because I just didn’t really want to pop a hard-on if some good looking stud was in there, but it also reduced the opportunity for others to make some comments, like “cover your butthole” or “soap up your dick, here comes your date;” you know?”
“Anyway, I was just finishing up, rinsing the soap off, when Doug and one of his buddies walked in to take their showers. They made some remarks about the little gay boy jacking off or something, but I ignored them, hoping to get out before they were too obnoxious. I didn’t make it! Doug’s buddy grabbed me as I heard Doug tell him to hold me so he could ram his fat cock up my ass and show me what a ‘real man’s cock felt like’.”
“Well, I was a virgin, and still am, so there was no way that was going to happen! The buddy grabbed me, I swiveled my head, spotted Doug soaping up his hard “not championship cock,” and when he grabbed my hips readying me for a corn-holing, I kicked back, landed a good shot on his balls! He swore, the other guy loosed his grip on me, I slipped away, and ran for my life! Shit, I was so damned mad! Running by the equipment room, I spotted the barrel full of baseball bats, grabbed one, turned and ran back toward the shower room. The two of them were coming out, ready to chase me. Instead, they saw me charging them with a baseball bat, screaming like a banshee! I was going to beat them to dog shit status and they knew it!”
“I swung and missed, they ran away from me, down a row of lockers; I swung again, connected with one of the small locker doors left standing open, and demolished it! The noise and my continued shouting really made them kick their asses in gear, running through the door to the hall. You remember how crowded that hall could be, especially before lunch? Well, they must have forgotten in their fear of being mauled by a baseball bat wielding shrimp and joined the masses. They also forgot they were bare assed naked! Not me; I stopped, returned the bat, got dressed, and went to lunch. I never let on a thing as I sat eating, listening to the laughs and Ms. Krebs, the lunch room monitor scream for the vice-principal. Of course, if questioned, I’d just deny any knowledge. Doug wasn’t about to admit a little shit like me attacked him for attempted rape.”
“The next day, I was slightly late to school, although the bus was on time. At lunch, I walked up to the table where Doug and his buddies sat, plunked down six lug nuts from his one of his pickup truck wheels and told him the next time he pissed me off, I wouldn’t warn him! Never bothered me since; in fact, if he sees me coming, he’ll generally walk across the street so he won’t have to face me.”
I laughed so hard there were tears in my eyes! Most entertaining story I’d heard in years and the most revealing! Without any subtly or guilt, Craig admitted his sexual preference and was most comfortable with it. However, the conversation was going to have to come to an end, as much as I would have loved to continue it.
“Craig, I must excuse myself. We have to clean up and get ready for business tomorrow.”
“If you don’t mind company,” he offered, “let me help.”
I wasn’t about to refuse him and it was the perfect excuse to get to know him better.
Visiting, almost as two old friends who had much to catch up on as we worked, made the time pass by and the work less effort. His shyness of yesteryear seemed to have disappeared, at least around me. I did notice, every once in a while, if I touched him or put an arm around him, he did seem somewhat embarrassed. This didn’t seem to deter our conversation however. I discovered, while I was in college, he was in high school; while I was teaching he was enrolled in college seeking a Horticulture degree and; he finished it in three and a half years, using his AP courses from high school and an extra heavy load in college, and returned to the farm to take over the business.
His grandparents were both still living, aging gracefully, with good health, and ready for him to take over. I was quietly surprised he seemed to know more about me than I did about him!
We finished cleaning up and readying “Big Momma’s” for the next day and, as much as I hated to do so, needed to bring our conversation to a close. As I thanked him, instead of just shaking his hand, I pulled him close to me (very close), hugged him, telling him how much I appreciated his help. When our bodies touched, I discovered why he was somewhat embarrassed when we previously touched each other. I was having the same reaction and it had to be evident as well to him.
Climbing into his truck, he announced, “Hey, now that you’re Uncle Fats sole heir, once you get everything sorted out, give me a shout and I’ll show you the farm. After all, we’re business partners!” He gave a wave and drove off, leaving me wondering what the hell he meant by “business partners?”
Locking up “Big Momma’s” and checking Uncle Everett’s house, made me face the reality of having two homes to deal with. I could either sell it, lease it to someone, or live in it. I really enjoyed where I lived now, since it was close to the river and the house I grew up in, and really didn’t want to leave it. It was a problem I’d have to postpone until another time.
The next few days were busy with running “Big Momma’s,” meeting with the attorney, and several meetings with the accountant. I found out from both of them Uncle Everett was indeed an equal partner with Craig Ingersoll in the farm. Uncle Everett supplied the funding for expansion and new equipment and Craig supplied the “sweat equity.” The business was doing quite well, if the books were accurate and I had no reason to doubt it.
“Big Momma’s” always closed on Mondays and I wasn’t about to change it. Everyone needs a day off! After doing some office work, about mid-morning I decided to pay a visit to Craig. I drove across the state highway, traveled the gravel about a mile (the same route I used to ride my bicycle), hooked a left toward my house, and pulled up in front of the gate leading to, as the sign proclaimed, “Ingersoll Farms- Fresh Vegetables and U-Pick Strawberries (in season),” Another smaller sign read “Now picking here.”
Entering the gate, a young man directed me to a hay field where rows of cars were parked and a young lady directed me to a parking space. I climbed out of my truck and she greeted me, welcoming me, and informed me I could either use my own containers or buy some from the cashier’s wagon, and pointed toward it, located down the lane. I thought it looked like one of those concession wagons one sees at the county fair, but there were people lined up on two sides of it waiting to have their containers full of strawberries weighed so they could pay or being sold containers by others.
The ones working the sales trailer, so noted because it did have wheels on it, along with the dozen or so assisting those customers wanting to pick, were all young, probably high school age. Along the rows were young men and women directing pickers which row to start in, how to move the little flags to mark where they stopped, and helping others, especially the elderly and those with small children, carry their full containers to the sales trailer. I noticed all workers had a small two-way radio, microphone attached to their red “Ingersoll Farms” polo shirts, and an ear-bud in their ear.
I approached one young man and asked to speak with Craig. The young man wondered if a crew chief could help and I indicated not. He then mumbled something into the radio, waited for a reply, and, evidently receiving one, asked me my name. After giving it to him, he mumbled some more into the microphone, and finally told me Craig would be here in about five minutes.
“He’s with a work crew moving some irrigation equipment.”
Sure enough, about five minutes later, Craig motored up on an ATV. His company shirt was wet, his baseball cap was wet, he was dirty, and he was grinning!
“Glad you’re here!” he grinned, “I was thinking about you!”
Probably not as I was beginning to think about him, I’d wager!
“Climb on behind me!” as he patted the space behind him, “I’ve got to go back and make certain the guys have the system working.”
Who am I to turn down an invitation from such a handsome guy! Climbing on, my arms wrapped around his waist in order to secure myself, my belly snugged close to his back, we motored down a path toward his destination. Once I rested my head on his shoulder and when I did I thought I picked up a sigh of satisfaction from him. For my part, the satisfaction and pleasure I felt from the closeness evidenced itself in the hard pressure of part of me against his back.
There were three fields of strawberries, each between thirty and forty acres, counting the one where people were picking, and coming to “Field 3” six young men were standing in the path, watching three self-propelled irrigation “guns” pulse, sending spews of water out front and to the sides, encompassing a one hundred and eighty degree area.
“Looks good guys!” he complimented. “Check the shutoff?”
A nod from the young man who apparently was the crew chief confirmed the devices would shut off when they reached the other end of the field. He dismissed them for the rest of day, but reminded them they had to move equipment again in the morning. Craig’s radio crackled, he answered it by instructing the caller to close the patch down, put up the sign indicating picking the next day would be in “Field 2,” and close out the registers when the last of the customers left.
“Sometimes we can pick the same field two days in a row, which we did today. The berries are ripening just at the right speed, and depending on the weather, we can get two days from “2” as well. So, far it’s been one hell of a good season if the weather continues. Too hot, we lose berries and too wet, they get mushy and rot.”
We rode back to the cashier’s wagon, Craig visited with the crew chief, gathered up the bank bags containing the receipts, inquired if everything was entered into the laptop and forwarded to the server at the house and received reassurance they had been, then asked if there were pre-picked orders for the next day. I wasn’t paying that much attention to the conversation since it was none of my business, but I did overhear Craig instruct the crew chief to have workers there in the morning around five o’clock to fill the orders.
Closing up, he made a tentative sniff of his arm pits, giggled, announcing; “I need a shower! Follow me in your truck to the house! Grandma and Grandpa would like to meet you and remake your acquaintance. They went to the funeral but not to the luncheon.”
Craig showered and I visited with his grandparents. It was a pleasant conversation; truly renewing an acquaintanceship I’d neglected over the years. They seemed extraordinarily pleased to see me and noted their happiness and approval in my apparent friendship with their grandson.
I was having a difficult time keeping focused on our discussion as I envisioned Craig in the shower, water cascading down his nakedness while he washed, soaped, and caressed those front and back portions of his body, causing me to swell, thicken, and lengthen within the confines of my boxer briefs and faded, warm, but decent looking jeans! I was able, I hoped, to conceal my increasing tumescence by crossing my legs, albeit making me uncomfortable considering my size, and folding my hands across my lap.
Craig appeared, hair slightly damp, wearing a tight almost form-fitting t-shirt, jeans riding low on his hips which did nothing but accentuate his slim waist, narrow hips, well-proportioned legs, tennis shoes, and an almost flirtatious smile! The sight brought a silent groan of desire to grow in my throat, almost causing me to spew my load in my briefs! I had to control my urge to rip those clothes off of him, toss his legs over my shoulders, and bury my stiff length into the depths of what I imaged was the most perfect and receptive body part ever conceived! I didn’t since I didn’t think his grandparents would think the time or place was appropriate.
Reluctant to part from his company, again, although it was well past lunch time and knowing he’d not eaten nor had I, closing my gaping mouth, I then reopened it and invited him to have something to eat.
He laughed and sounded a resounding “yes!”
I swallowed hard, deciding, given the opportunity, I wouldn’t mind making a meal of parts of him either!
We dined at a small supper club across the river. The open-face prime rib sandwich was perfect! Finishing our meal, again reluctant to leave his company, I suggested we retire to the bar/lounge area for a drink. Tap beer was our choice since I had to drive home and we both had to work on the morrow. Watching him nurse his beer, as did I, brought me to a hardness I’d didn’t think I’d ever experienced trying to decide what part of him I’d like to nurse on first; below or above the waist; front or back!
It was close to nine o’clock when we arrived back at Craig’s house. Both of us knew the next day or days would be busy, yet we were wanting to spend more time together, at least in my mind. Our inexperience led to hesitation on taking our budding relationship to a higher level. We exchanged cell phone numbers, vocalizing our enjoyment of the day together, and saying our goodbyes, seeing the warmth in his eyes, made me want to hold him in my arms and kiss him into the next day or week.
“Will I see you again?” I asked hesitantly.
“You bet!” he responded enthusiastically.
The next few days were extremely busy for me, becoming reacquainted with staff, customers, menus, ordering supplies, and doing book work. I also was busy cleaning out Uncle Everett’s house, at least those items no longer needed or desired, such as his and Aunt Lora’s clothing. I kept all of the furnishings, appliances, linen, dishes, kitchen utensils, and bedding. Aside from the personal items I kept, such as pictures, the rest went to St. Vinny’s or in a big dumpster. As I worked, at the house and at “Big Momma’s” my thoughts also included my dinner with Craig.
His life was apparently busy as mine! The vegetable farm, during the summer, consumed his every waking moment, it seemed. From what I could remember, his main crops were the strawberries, sweet corn, and pumpkins. The strawberries and the pumpkins were “u-pick” crops with some going to local markets and farm markets. There were at least four farmer’s markets and cadre of young people he employed hauled produce to and sold for him. Other crops he marketed, through farm markets, were an assortment of other vegetables, such as tomatoes, green onions, peppers, radishes, four varieties of lettuce (butterhead, loose leaf, Romaine, Iceberg), and winter and summer squash. It was, I noticed from the accounting records, a very profitable business for me to be a partner in.
We didn’t make contact again until Friday night at our fish fry. “Big Momma’s” was packed, with all of the tables full, the bar two deep, and a line of customers waiting to be seated. Our special, deep fried catfish fillets, served with sides of coleslaw, rye bread, and either hushpuppies or corn bread with maple syrup, was extremely popular, keeping the kitchen staff humping their asses to keep up, as were the table waiters! One of the most experienced waiters told me it would be like this until the kitchen closed at nine.
Craig and his grandparents were seated about seven and I took the opportunity to visit with them for just a few minutes. The very sight of him, smiling when he saw me approach the table, tilting his head slightly as I stood next to him, hand on his shoulder while visiting, seemed to invite me to nuzzle his neck, concentrating my lips on caressing what I imagined was a very erotic spot, leading us to further exploration, but I knew I couldn’t, not now, not here! He did nothing to discourage my attention when he slowly, sensually, ran his tongue across his lips, sending my bow to a cocked position, my bolt taut and quivering against the string, taking all of my will-power and self-control to keep from firing it into my drawers.
Before departing, much to my sorrow, from their table, Craig asked,
“You off on Monday?”
I nodded eagerly, responding aloud, “Even if I wasn’t, I would be!” and winked.
There was no way, the entire time they were in “Big Momma’s,” I could keep my eyes from him. Each time I looked in his direction, I found him looking at me. We’d smile at each other, silent messages passing between us. Several times I noticed people walk up to his table, talk to him, and receive an answer while he wrote something down in the small notebook he carried. Either he was a very popular person or a crown prince! I thought him the latter, but I wanted to be the one to crown his prince with my lips and mouth!
Sunday night’s, broasted chicken night, crowd was smaller than we ordinarily would have in the summer, but it was also stormy, with off and on heavy downpours of rain. Craig, wet and smiling, came in around nine, settled at the bar, and ordered a tap beer. My heart flipped when he spotted me, tossed me a wink, and waved me toward the bar. Since we weren’t busy then, with the kitchen closing and a few diners finishing up, I joined him.
It gave me the opportunity to seek some answers concerning all of the people who stopped by to visit with him on Friday evening while he was trying to eat.
Laughing, he informed me those were the people who grew the tomatoes, lettuce, cucumbers, radishes, peppers, green onions, and any other specialty vegetables for us. I noted the inclusion of me in the discussion as partner and part owner.
“We start the seeds in our green house and raise them to transplant size or supply the sets or seeds. There are several farm wives, widows, and a couple of single mothers, who raise them for us and deliver them to send out on the trucks to either farmer markets or grocery stores. We split the proceeds with them 70/30. Seventy percent to them and thirty percent to us. They make money and we make a small profit without the intense work it’d take to grow those crops.”
The rain continued as we visited and any crowd we may have anticipated staying and frequenting the bar after the kitchen closed soon departed for home. My staff began cleaning up and readying for business when we opened on Tuesday. I sent the wait staff, kitchen staff, and bartenders home around ten thirty, locked up, and invited Craig over to the house.
“I’m not going home tonight; it’s raining too hard!” I said.
“Neither am I!” he answered with a sly, mischievous grin.
My cock stiffened rapidly at his announcement! I quickly grabbed a six-pack of long-necks from one of the coolers, left a note in the register, gathered up the bank bags, and stepped into the small office. Craig followed me in and was mildly shocked when I retrieved two more bank bags from the small safe and a holstered pistol, which I attached to my belt.
I explained I never locked the small safe, only the office door. With such large amounts of money in receipts from Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays, the money was removed from “Big Momma’s” and put in the larger, more secure safe in the house. The pistol was for my own protection. Uncle Everett did it for years, so I saw no reason to change.
Soaked to the skin after the run from “Big Momma’s” to house, money in the safe and pistol on the kitchen table, I popped the tops on a couple of beers, handed one to Craig, and began stripping off my wet clothes.
“These are going in the dryer!” I muttered.
He got the message, emptied his pockets, putting everything on the kitchen table as well, and stripped down to his briefs. Nearly naked, he took my breath away; trim body and waist, svelte, body toned from hard work, made him as tempting as a delectable sweet all-day sucker! I wanted to lick and suck every spot on his body, especially that particular part which was tenting his underwear! His briefs were tight enough to accentuate the nice mounds of his butt, bringing a twitch and jolt to my tumescence in the manner of a horse spotting the stall it claimed as home or a mare it was going to mount!
He hesitated until deciding his underwear belonged with the wet clothes, pulled them off, and let his hard cock free itself from the confines so it could point straight up, sort of, since it had a nice, slight curve, nudging the leaking head toward his stomach.
“You’re beautiful!” I sighed, my eyes damn near raping him on the spot, as I slipped my boxer briefs down and off, freeing my own hard, stiff, love staff.
“You’re ----- big!” he said slowly his eyes widening.
Craig shushed any comments I might’ve made by placing his arms around the back of my neck and gently pulling my head down slightly so our noses, then our lips touched! Our lips made contact, the heat, the softness, the deliciousness of our first kiss, a first with a male for both of us, expanded into open mouths, tongues seeking the other’s, my arms pulling him tightly to me in a strong, loving embrace, and our naked fronts touched, separated only by our hard, eager cocks! Lips locked in love, our bodies began to gyrate, moving one sex organ against the other.
“Let’s take this to the bedroom!” I said, hating to break contact but knowing we should.
Pulling back the covers, I settled on my back, urged him to join me by patting my stomach, indicating I wanted him belly to belly, face to face, cock to cock! The very heat of him as he stretched out on my own nakedness, his head on my shoulder, our faces lip to lip, re-engaging in our kiss, thrusting against each other almost brought my roasting chestnuts to a finish!
We stopped, just in time for both of us, Craig, his head now resting again on my shoulder, said softly,
“Do you know how long I’ve dreamed of this?”
“Ever since I realized every time I saw you, either on the school bus, working in the fields, or in town, my pecker got stiff!”
“When was that?”
“When I was in fifth grade; I even got in a fight over you!”
“Some kid said you were the biggest dick in school!”
Reaching down, he clasped my twitching todger carefully in his hand, sliding his hand up and down slightly,
“It wasn’t until I was older, I realized the comment was a compliment, not an insult!” now running his fingers up down the underside of my pecker to my balls, tickling them, and moving those delicate flanges back up through the little gap in the glans to my leaking cock-head.
“Did you win?” I gasped.
“Nah, he was in eighth grade and bigger than me!”
Craig paused, circled my stiffness with his hand, commenting almost reverently, “I love this!”
“Then you’ll really love this!” I announced as I urged him forward as I scooted down, placing my hands behind him on his nicely rounded, oh so wonderful buttocks, pushing his crotch forward until I was able to take his penis into my mouth! My tongue licked the Cowper’s fluid forming on the tip, savored it, and found it not at all disagreeable.
“Oh, my!” he whimpered, followed by “Oh, shit!” as I sucked down his cock until my nose was close to his pubic bush. It was a first for me, but relying on what I’d seen and read on the Internet, I had a pretty good idea what to do!
It took about two minutes of me bobbing, sucking, flicking my tongue on the sensitive head of his penis, to cause his balls to tighten, his shaft to swell, and jets of semen began spurting into my waiting and eager mouth! He unleashed a copious amount and I swallowed it, wanting to ingest his essence into me, claiming him, making him part of me.
Leaning forward, over my head, his hands bracing himself so as to not place undue pressure on me, I heard him sigh, a soft sigh of pleasure and of his release. He slowly softened, his penis shrinking, releasing the final droplets of his tasty, viscous offering onto my tongue. Reluctantly, I let the current object of my delight and affection slip from my mouth, released my hold on his buttocks, and allowed him to roll to my side, one arm and one leg draped over me, maintaining sensual contact with my own warmth, doing nothing what-so-ever to calm my rampant rod!
Snuggling his face close to my neck, lips delicately kissing the skin, tongue tasting and exploring there and nearby, Craig, speaking softly, proclaimed,
“You’re everything I ever dreamed of, desired, and loved, except for one thing!”
Pausing, his mouth moved to my ear, his tongue swept inside, bringing shivers to cascade up and down my body, and pressing his lips close to my ear, his breath increasing the rigidity and swelling in my dick, breathed,
“Everything except this; I want you to fuck me, breed me, seal me to you forever!”
My cock bounced with anticipation while my mind reasoned I’d never be able to stuff my telephone pole into what appeared to be a garden hose sized opening! It didn’t seem to deter Craig, however. He rolled from me onto his belly, stuffed a pillow under his crotch raising his butt into a more accessible and inviting position, and pulled his ass cheeks apart with his hands.
Swallowing, I gulped, commenting, “I think I’ll need some lube of some sort,” and headed toward the bathroom where I had a bottle of silky smooth hand cream I used when my hands were dried out from work either on the farm or at “Big Momma’s.”
Kneeling between his outstretched legs, rather than act on his desire immediately, I looked with admiration and desire at his naked backside before me, offering a banquet for me to partake in, almost begging me to embrace, fondle, and delight in! My cock dribbled, my mouth salivated, and my head bowed down, as I placed my nose and tongue just above the valley of his sweet buns, and licked up his spine to his shoulder. Tasting and kissing my way around his neck, spending some time in the erotic spot below and behind his ears, feeling him quiver with pleasure. I turned his head, engaged his lips, parted them, and pressed our mouths together in the most passionate kisses. As I danced with his tongue, swept his mouth, and exchanged breaths, I felt him shudder several times, signaling his orgasm and the spewing of his cum on the sheets!
Without waiting for him to recover, I moved down to my starting point and ventured even farther south. Using my hands I spread those soft mounds, revealing the small, wrinkled, pulsing opening to his inner self! My desire increased as I blew softly on it, bringing another quiver from him; my tongue and lips began worshipping, poking, and wetting the place I’d soon enter! My ministrations soon brought a begging plea from my lover,
“Please, take me, Tony!”
I was only too happy to oblige! Recalling what I’d read and viewed, I knew I had to be well lubricated as would he, and be patiently slow in my insertion to reduce any harm and lessen his pain; thus, I liberally lubricated him and me.
Once satisfied I’d done all I could to prepare him, with one hand around my cock to guide me, I placed it at the opening to his holy-of-holy’s and pushed gently! I failed to gain purchase, so, at his urging, I pushed harder and the head of my cock popped through the outer ring. As difficult as it was to force it open, it snapped tight around my shaft, locking my penis head just inside. The moist warmth and the constricting force of his anal ring, almost caused me to explode my rocket, but I stopped all movement, temporarily.
After allowing his muscles and bowel to adjust and my impending orgasm to subside, I moved just an inch or so forward; Craig grunted a muffled, low moan, giving me an indication he’d never shoved anything in where my cock now resided!
Fearing I’d do irreparable harm if I continued, I asked, “Should I stop?”
“No,” he responded groaning slightly as he did, “just go slow; I’ll tell you if you need to stop!”
Again, I started my forward motion, but this time didn’t stop, only moved slowly, watching and listening to him for any sign to cause me to stop or pull out. Slowly, slowly, his warm, moist, kneading sheath stretched and muscles relaxed as I was accommodated until my soft, pubic bush rested against his soft, warm buttocks. I waited a moment, then began my back, forward, back, forward dance of love, picking up speed until we both were gasping our pleasure! We peaked at the same time, my ejaculation flooding his bowel with my semen while his expended on the sheet, again!
Much to my regret, wanting to reside permanently where I now was located, my shaft began to wilt, causing me to slip out. Rolling to his side, I turned him so we were face to face, hugged him close, kissed him with the passion of a desirous lover, and apologized if I’d hurt him in any way.
“Only at first,” he confessed, “but you have to admit you are a pretty big boy!”
We relaxed in each other’s arms, knowing nor wanting to turn back from where we were, wanting and eager for our continued commitment and love for each other.
“Will your grandparents worry if you’re not home tonight?” I asked somewhat concerned.
“Nah; I told them I was going to seduce you and spend the night!”
I was as hard as a battering ram when I woke in the morning, with his butt up against my crotch and my dick head resting at his entrance. It’d be so easy to slip in there, but I wondered if he might be a bit tender from the night’s activities.
He turned his head, mumbling, “It’s still raining!”
“It’s too wet to work today and, besides, Grandpa already has the sign out announcing we’re closed for the day!”
“Yep, I told him yesterday to put it out this morning. The weather forecast was for rain all day today!”
“Can you stay awhile?”
“A long while?”
I slipped my hand over his warm, soft, lower body until I made contact with his pubic bush. Sliding it lower, encountering his stiff cock, I ran my fingers delicately, carefully up and down from near his balls to the tip and back again before carefully cupping those wonderful eggs of his, rolling them gently in my hand.
“God; that feels good,” Craig sighed contentedly.
The rain pounded even harder on the roof as he snuggled closer to me.
“If you liked that,” I grinned, “you’ll love this,” raising his legs and maneuvering my own body and hardness up to his butt cheeks.
The thunder was too loud to hear what he said as I made contact and settled into familiar rhythm which would bring pleasure to both of us many times over the years.
Thank you for reading “Big Momma’s and Uncle Fat’s”
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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