Aftermath

Prologue

On 2 September 2004, it became a tropical depression. The islands of the Caribbean began to take precautions and the coastal regions of the southern United States began to watch the weather channels with greater and greater frequency, hoping it would turn north, then northeast and into the open waters of the Atlantic Ocean. But it defied the prayers and pleadings of everyone, moving west until in the Gulf of Mexico where it intensified. The Gulf of Mexico gave the hurricane the very sustenance it needed: warm waters and hot humid air. It grew quickly. A category one, then two and far too soon over the course of two days of slow movement, a category five with sustained winds of one hundred sixty-five miles per hour. It turned, heading north and computer models put it making landfall somewhere between Fort Walton Beach, Florida and New Orleans, Louisiana.

The citizens of the coastal region began preparations for the worst. Windows were boarded up, boats put in dry dock or carried up one of the rivers, and those on barrier islands or right on the coast headed inland. For someone never exposed to such a thing, the coast seemed far too calm for such precaution. The low waves rolled up the sandy white beaches and the sky was partially cloudy, but the locals knew it was only an illusion. The waves came faster and faster, slowly increasing in size. The sky continued to cloud over, until no sun was visible.

The hurricane came closer and closer but grew weaker, giving those in its path hope. But on the night of 16 September 2004, at two in the morning, the category three storm came ashore in Gulf Shores, Alabama with one hundred twenty mile an hour sustained winds. The storm surges varied along the coast. Pensacola and surrounding areas on the bays got a ten-to-twelve-foot surge. Gulf Breeze, Florida, just across the bay from Pensacola, got a nine-foot surge.

Power lines were downed, leaving much of the region in darkness as the hurricane roared up the Perdido River, the natural line separating west Florida from Alabama. The next morning the people came out to find the level of destruction the hurricane had wrought on their state and their lives. Homes and businesses were leveled, but some houses on stilts survived, but not all. Some had their floors pulled out from under them, others were simply gone, nothing but the stilts left to show where they had been. Inland the damage continued. Homes were damaged, barns blown apart, and across the counties, pine stands were sheared off just below their tops, leaving jagged trunks pointing at the sky.

The hurricane was estimated to have done 37 billion dollars in damage.

Coming Home

The interstate traffic was heavier than usual, and it was obvious most were heading to the Gulf Coast from Pensacola to Mobile or a place to the north. There were more utility trucks than a person could count. I passed groups of them from power companies as far away as North Carolina. I wondered how much of the other traffic was going to do clean up after the hurricane. It was why I was heading that way.

It had been only a month when I had left home for my sophomore year of college. After only ten days on campus the first report came out of a weather pattern to be watched. I had been in the cafeteria when it aired. I had thought nothing of it. It was the time of year for the storms to develop and being from the Gulf Coast, it was a natural occurrence. You just naively assumed it would be someone else’s misfortune. Two weeks later the anxiety set in that this may be one that effects home.

I slowed in traffic as we passed a road crew cleaning up fallen trees and a highway sign crushed underneath one. Staying in the left lane, I accelerated enough to pass the slower traffic. More utility trucks and motorist gawking at the fallen trees, the billboard twisted like a bad origami attempt at making something, and a little further up the road, a barn tore from its foundation and laid out in a pasture like a model kit waiting on someone to put it back together.

I’d seen it before. Frederick in 1979 and Opal in 1995. Each had done their fair share of damage. But this one was different. This one had taken out both barns. The older wood frame barn, one that had survived all the precious hurricanes, did not survive this one. It was torn apart and scattered through the field behind it. The newer, pre-engineered barn had most of its metal wall and roof panels sheared away, leaving a bare steel structure with the tractors parked underneath none the worst for wear and tear. Jackson, my older brother, said metal panels were scattered all the way to the McDonald place and into the woods behind it.

Thinking of the McDonald’s place made me think of him. I tried not to do it. I left for college last fall thinking this was it. I’d go to college, graduate, and take a job in a city and rarely if ever see him again. I knew it was just a fantasy to think there could have been anything between us. He had been what Brain in the dorm would call ‘eye candy’. He had been that, and more. He had been the reason I knew I was gay. He had been the manifestation of my longing for contact with another guy. A sexual, physical contact that masturbatory fantasies late at night could not alleviate.

I came to the familiar descent in the interstate, crossed Wet Weather Creek and accelerated to make the climb back up to the next plateau. Around the sweeping righthand curve, I came to my exit. There were no signs marking it, all blown away, but for me, none were required. I pulled my Ford Explorer into the exit lane and braked while descending to the highway that passed under the interstate.

The Explorer had not been my first choice, for I had maneuvered dad in hopes of a Cherokee, but the Explorer was mom’s and she wanted to go to a bigger Tahoe, and since I needed wheels, justified dumping the four-year-old Explorer on me so she could get a Tahoe.

Twenty miles. That was how far I had to drive from the interstate exit to get to my parent’s drive. Just twenty miles that usually didn’t take more than thirty minutes despite having to pass through Atmore. Jackson had told me last night that I should plan on it taking twice as long. The town had suffered substantial damage and he wasn’t sure Main Street was open. It was always the case after a storm. Everything took longer or couldn’t be done at all. Power was still out for most in the region and clearing of roads was progressing but when every road had to be cleared, it just took time.

I drove down the four-lane heading toward Atmore while thinking of him then chastising myself for doing so. It made no sense. I had met a couple of guys on campus, got past that virginity nonsense, and was seriously considering asking Thomas out, the guy three doors down from me in the dorm, who looked like that British actor with the dark hair, full lips, and tall lean body. He had told Marcus, his dormmate, I was doable. Yeah, for him I totally was doable.

I passed a small farm with silos behind a barn, and I thought of him again. It was an obsession fueled by long bus rides from school staring at him for as long as I dared, or at school functions, a dance or pageant, seeing him either a part of it or sitting in the bleachers where I had a better view of him.

Wesley McDonald.

That is his name, this obsession of mine. He is eighteen, a year younger than me. He is the epitome of a farm boy. He is tall, lanky, always in jeans and boots and he liked to show off his arms with sleeveless shirts with the top buttons left undone, or t-shirts ripped one way or another, revealing just arms or the entire sides of his torso, or when riding his bike or knocking around town on a weekend during the hottest months, the loosest tank tops. How often I hid behind that oak tree on the fence line between our properties and watched him make rounds in their field on that old 4020. How many times I touched myself while doing so is too embarrassing to admit.

Coming into town I see I do need to detour over to either S Trammell Street or all the way over to S. Presley Street. I turn right over to S. Trammell then head south, cross the railroad tracks that split town, cross 31 that runs parallel to the tracks, then head on south by the old grocery store center, then into a residential area I’ve not been through in years.

When a detour sign indicates I can swing back over to Main Street, I make the turn. Heading south, through the old residential area, then into the commercial area where the newest shopping centers and fast-food joints are located, I see they are open, power restored, and the worst damage taken care of. As I make the long sweeping curve just before the state line to enter Florida, I pass a Jeep, an old CJ7, and I instinctively look, knowing that it is the wrong color. This one is white, and Wesley drives a blue one.

Once again, I’m thinking of him. I think of how we were similar in some ways. We were both tall and lanky, me at six foot one, but Wesley was six foot four and had a better build, although still lean. We both had brown hair but whereas I was fair skinned, he was darker in tone, one where his hair seemed to match in tone.

I had blue eyes and he had brown; deep brown so dark they looked almost black. But those were physical attributes, and the most important thing was attitude. The person within the body. I was shy, a true introvert, something college gave me the freedom to push past, but at home, in this conservative place, it made me so introverted I felt as if I could suffocate. Wesley was outgoing, friendly to everyone, always smiling and joking around. He’d playfully punch you in the upper arm or grab you around the neck pulling you close. So many times, that contact made my heart race.

I passed the sign for entering the state of Florida, surprised to see it still standing. But its strange how this imaginary line, a human attempt at organizing this place, was such a thing. I passed this demarked place and felt as if I was home, just ten miles left in my trip. I passed the fields, those with cotton destroyed, with most of the cotton blown away or into a fence line, then passed woodlands. Those of oak, maple, magnolia, mixed with cedar and pine had some damage, mostly along the perimeter. When I came to a stand of pine planted for the papermill I saw what Jackson and dad had spoke of in our recent phone calls. For as far as the eye could see, the trees were sheared off just below where their limbs would have stretched out horizontally. The tops littered the ground, and I knew if not cleaned up, they would soon be a fire hazard. Then I noticed the barns, carports and other small structures scattered across yards and fields. Houses had trees on their roofs, or roofs covered in bright blue or green tarps.

I’d never seen such destruction except on television. The storm wasn’t one of the worst, nowhere near the top ten, and yet, I passed no home or farm that had not suffered some damage. I couldn’t imagine what the damage would be like along the coast.

About halfway home I came to Butler’s General Store, a throw back to another time. There were two gas pumps out front with barely enough room to get a modern vehicle up to them. Inside was dark aged wood walls and ceilings and wood floors so worn and dark and hardened, they could have been concrete. At front was the old drink cooler, a horizonal slide top that was perfect for someone to lean against while chatting with Mrs. Butler or one of her sons who occasionally ran the store. In back sat two short meat cases that had not been utilized in years. Dad said they had a small butcher shop in back that at one time had done a fair business.

As I approached, it was obvious the store had power for the gravel parking lot that surrounded it appeared full of trucks and SUVs. What caught my attention next was the blue CJ7 sitting on the other side of the road under the large oaks. I could have waited the five minutes it took to get home but any excuse to stop was sufficient for me to slow and ease off the road, pulling up to the Jeep and parking.

I ambled across the road and into the store where I saw several farmers standing around talking of the hurricane and the damage it had wrought. They spoke to me, asked of my family, then two of them moved aside from the cooler, knowing that was what I came in for.

I grabbed a soda, spun off the top and took a long satisfying drink. My drive was three hours from campus, and I had not had anything since lunch an hour before I left.

“How is college?” Mrs. Butler asked as I laid down a five-dollar bill.

“Good but this semester has barely gotten started.”

“Well, I’m sure your daddy and brother appreciate you coming home,” she replied picking up the bill then handing me my change.

“Robert McDonald said y’all lost both barns,” said Mr. Burns.

“Yes, sir,” I replied, “but the metal barn’s structure is not damaged. We just need new roof and wall panels put back on it.”

“Your old barn was damaged?” asked Mr. Grimes.

I knew he lived over in Clear Springs, ten miles away, and had not been in the loop for local gossip.

“Yes sir, there is nothing left but the concrete slab.”

“That barn has been here since…” Mr. Grimes stumbled to a stop, trying to imagine the span of its life and how it was this hurricane that took it out.

“Granddad said the main section was built sometime around 1896 or 97, but he wasn’t sure. No one cared to keep track. I just know it was made of heavy pine timber and it was really old.”

Then came the husky voice, a southern accent I would know anywhere. It was to my left, down the aisle toward the back of the store.

“Jacob Sullivan, you finally made it home,” said Wesley.

I looked up to see him walking toward me. A sleeveless white t-shirt and worn frayed jeans, all so dirty I doubt two washings would clean them. As he drew near, I could see his arms were filthy up to the elbows and there was a smudge of dirt on one cheek. He ran a hand through his sweaty hair, and it stood up messily like in some photo shoot. If I could have gotten away with it, I would have jumped him right there in the store.

“What have you been doing?” I asked, smiling at him, more thrilled to see him than I could admit.

“The storm damaged the cow barn, so I’ve been getting it fixed.

“That’s chainsaw oil?” I stated, pointing at the bottle while wondering how he could fix the barn with a chainsaw.

“Oh, yeah, well, that oak tree fell on it.”

“The big one on the pasture side?” I asked.

“Yep. That bitch landed right on the west end of the barn, taking out the lean-to where we stored the hay trailer.”

“It mess up your trailer?” asked Mr. Grimes.

“Yes, sir,” Wesley replied, “bent it between the axles and hitch. The thing is curved like a banana.”

“How much?” Wesley asked Mrs. Butler, tossing a ten on the counter.

I stood to the side just watching him take his change and put his wallet away, then like a puppy dog, I followed him outside. We crossed the road with me following his every step all the way to his Jeep.

“Hey, if we get everything cleaned up, maybe we can do something while I’m here,” I said as I kicked at the dirt.

“We probably have two more days in just getting everything that FEMA will pick up out to the roadside.”

“From what Jackson said, we have about the same.”

“Maybe we can go down to Pensacola for a burger or something once we get the debris to the roadside. They say the stores near the mall are opening back up. It is just downtown and everything across the bay that is off limits.”

“I’d like that,” I replied trying to control myself. I didn’t want Wesley, who was younger, to look at me like I was some fool, or worse, looking like a 13-year-old girl with a crush.

I followed Wesley down to Hawkins Mill Road, the one we lived on. It wasn’t a long road, only a little over three miles from end to end, connecting Highway 89 to 29, but about a mile down it after passing a few hundred acres of pine, we came to our homes. Mine was first, and I turned off the highway onto the gravel drive and immediately saw the damage. There was a tarp on the roof of the house on the south end, and in back the skeletal frame of the newer barn and to its left, one wood post standing where there once was a barn. I looked over the property and saw down trees, a few on fences, and over on the McDonald property were a forty-acre pecan orchard sat, it appeared as if more pecan trees were uprooted and lying on their side, than those left standing. But with a heavy load of pecans, nuts that were still green and at their heaviest, none were spared of losing limbs. I could see the two-story farmhouse, the upper section of the barn and the two silos of the McDonald farm and it was obvious all suffered damage. One silo was missing its dome metal roof and the other was missing a section of it.

As I pulled around our house and next to dad’s truck, I couldn’t help but think it could have been worse. But there was still a hell of a lot of work to do.

The Longest Two Days

 Not once over the next two days, did I see Wesley. Not in the pecan orchard or passing by in his Jeep. I looked for him. Every trip to the road right-of-way, where FEMA instructed everyone to drag debris for them to pick up. Looking at the tree limbs, sections of trunk, then all the wall sections, roof framing, and posts from the old barn, and the piles of twisted and bent metal from the other barn, I knew the ditches and shoulder of the roads all through the county would be piled high. I couldn’t imagine where FEMA would take it all.

I used one of the tractors with a chain to drag debris to the ditch, while dad drove a front-end loader borrowed from Mr. Henderson. Usually, the loader would be scooping up silage for cows, but now it was used to load smaller debris in the bucket where dad would take it out to the ditch and dump it. Jackson was using a chainsaw to cut trees into manageable sections.

We worked tirelessly from sun-up until about six in the afternoon, when bodies begged for relief. Red faced, soaked to the skin with sweat, we came in each day desperate for a cool shower, clean clothes, and something to eat. I have never been so tired. Every muscle seemed fatigued to the point it wanted to refuse to function. I lay catatonic on the sofa while Jackson and dad sat in lounge chairs with their feet up and reclined all the way back. But on that second day, we were laying around satisfied with ourselves for having the worst of the debris in the ditch. The next day would be smaller tasks such as roof repair, fence repair, getting the salvaged items from the barns protected, and clean up the fields and property of smaller debris. The salvaged items we would stack on the remaining concrete slab of the old wood framed barn and cover it with a tarp. The best boards from the barn were salvaged for use to keep everything off the slab.

“You boys ready to eat?” mom called out from the kitchen as he she headed to the table with a bowl of mashed potatoes.

“Yes,” we replied in unison as we wearily climbed to our feet.

And it starts…

 I was on the fence separating our property from the McDonald’s. On their side along the fence was their pecan orchard, and I found myself looking over downed trees wondering how they would get all of them removed. It appeared half the trees were down, and the other half had limbs hanging down, broke from the high winds and weight. Then I would return to my task, cutting the trees out of the fence line so it could be repaired. It was about nine in the morning, and I had cut up two small trees and was working away at a large magnolia when my focus became strained. I knew if we did not get the magnolia cleared away, it would simply turn toward the sky and keep growing from its downed state. But I found myself looking over the fence for Wesley was working on the pecan trees. He had started at the front of the orchard, and I quickly worked out he was simply cutting the trunk from the root and top and cutting the top into manageable pieces that a tractor could drag to the ditch. He was making fast work of it, using a large Stihl chainsaw that appeared to have a 36” bar. It looked huge compared to the small Echo I was using, especially with the long bar. I watched Wesley’s biceps flex with his movements as he wielded the saw around one tree then the next. I looked at the way his white t-shirt stretched and flexed with his movements and how it billowed loosely around the waist. When he was bent over, I looked at his ass, round and full in the tight jeans, imagining it pumping cock into my hole. I struggled to focus, knowing a mistake with a chainsaw could be a bloody disaster.

It was getting near noon, time to stop for lunch, when Wesley arrived at a fallen pecan tree just over the fence from where I was working on a pine. The pine had been a lone wolf, standing tall all by itself just inside our side of the fence. Instead of breaking off like most, it had uprooted and fell almost parallel to the fence, so its limbs crushed sections of it. I had started at the top, cutting limbs into manageable sections then working down the long trunk. I was near the root when I saw Wesley move to the next pecan tree. He was sweaty and filthy, but he carried the chainsaw with apparent ease to the place where limbs branched out from the trunk. Chainsaw placed on the ground, he pulled the t-shirt off, wiped his face with it, then tossed it over the trunk.

I found myself just standing there, staring at his upper body. He had filled out since I last saw him. He was still lean, but muscular too, like one of the guys on campus who jogged all the time, or like Sam down the hall in the dorm, who was on the swim team. But before me wasn’t a runner or swimmer, but a body made of labor on a farm. I looked at it with a desire that would consume me if I didn’t get a hold of myself. The skin glistened wetly in the sun, beads of sweat trickling down, and when he raised his arm, the small patch of underarm hair was visible despite not being very thick.

I turned, forcing myself to look away and get back to work. That is when I saw Jackson driving up in dad’s truck. He pulled up next to me, lowering the passenger window.

“Hey, mom has lunch ready. Jump in and let’s go eat.”

I set the chainsaw in the back of the truck and climbed in. The shock of air conditioning felt wonderous and I held my calloused hands in front of one vent then sat back and rocked with the truck as Jackson drove us back to the house.

“I saw Wesley was sawing up their pecan trees.”

“Yeah. He’s not cutting them up very much.”

“No need if he’s just dragging them out to the ditch.”

“Yep. I’m probably cutting too much.”

Nothing else was said until we neared the gate to leave the field and I could feel Jackson slowing down even more.

“Wesley has grown up. Not a little kid anymore,” Jackson uttered as he eased through the gate.

“No, he’s only a year younger than I am.”

“I’m surprised one of girls haven’t snatched him up. But then again…what about you?”

“What about me?”

“You meeting anyone on campus?”

There was something about the way Jackson asked and how he never looked over, as if he didn’t want to put me on the spot. And he hadn’t said girls, but something less gender oriented. It felt like an opportunity to come clean, but I was breathless with my heart racing in my chest. This wasn’t the time to go testing brother’s tolerance.

“Yeah, but nothing special,” I replied just as vaguely.

Jackson drove me back out and as we pulled up to the old pine, we could see Wesley and his mom sitting on the tailgate of his dad’s truck. Wesley was eating a plate lunch while his mother sat with him. She waved when we drove up and as I came to the base of the pine, chainsaw in hand, she called out.

“I guess you’re glad to get your ma-ma’s cooking.”

“Yes, mam, but I’d prefer it under different circumstances. I see you did fried chicken too,” I replied, seeing Wesley hold up a leg and take a bite out of it.

“If I don’t bring it to him, I think he’d work until he passed out.”

“Mom!” Wesley scolded her, shaking his head while she just smiled at him, then back at me.

“It’s a real mess, isn’t it?”

“I’ve never seen the likes before,” I replied.

“Well, don’t let me hold you up anymore. I know Wesley said he hopes you boys have time to do something before you head back.”

“He did,” I whisper so low no one could hear. “I hope so too,” I replied, then fired up the chainsaw, needing the distraction. While I put that saw through the pine, sawdust flying out from underneath it, covering my boots, I considered it, how Wesley had even mentioned it to his mother. Maybe he just wanted to get together like we had done in the past. Nothing special or anything that would give me hope for more. But I tried to read more into his mother’s statement than I knew I should be doing. I glanced over when I finished the cut and saw Wesley going back to his chainsaw as his mother climbed into the truck to leave. I looked at the long torso, the way the shoulder blades moved and how the jeans hung on the waist. I wanted to climb over the fence and go to him. To put my hands on that body and feel the hot slick skin. I’d put my lips to it, kiss it, tongue it, anything to arouse him.

The next three trees were two dogwoods and a small oak, which took no time to cut up. I headed to the back of the field where the tractor sat in the shade of the trees along the back fence. I had a chain on the platform ready to start dragging everything to the road. This was the part that wouldn’t take long. I started at the back and worked toward the front, giving myself more time to watch Wesley before we were separated, me no longer able to look at him.

The next day Jackson and I repaired the fence, working one section to the next back in place or replacing it if too damaged. I could hear Wesley with the chainsaw somewhere in the pecan orchard but never saw him until lunch time when his mother drove around, and he came out and once again sat on the tailgate with her to eat the lunch she had brought him.

Jackson and I worked through the rest of the day and the next, going around the property repairing fences. It was almost four o’clock when we drove the last staples into the fence post to complete the last repair.

“Finally, we’re done,” Jackson said as he straightened up and stretched his arms.

“Yes, finally,” I added as I picked up the bag of staples and his hammer, then headed to the truck.

“Let’s call it a day and go get cleaned up.”

"What else do we need to do?”

“I think we have the worst of it done. The insurance guy is supposed to be here tomorrow to talk to dad about the damage and what will be done about the roof and the barns, and I’m going to see what beans I can salvage from the Hudson place,” said Jackson, referring to a field of soybeans. I knew from what dad had said they had blown over and it would be difficult to combine them. Jackson said he would do it, for he had more patience than dad and the field would have to be cut in one direction, from west to east, thus taking twice as long.

“You need me to drive the truck?” I asked referring to the grain truck.

“Nah, I’ll do it. It is going to be such slow going, no need for both of us to be there. Why don’t you get up with Wesley and do something fun?”

Dinner and a Movie

 I cleaned up, putting on a college t-shirt, dark blue with orange and white lettering across the front, and a pair of perfectly worn and faded jeans. Then I lay across my bed and brought up the McDonald’s telephone number.

“Hello?” Mrs. McDonald answered.

I introduced myself, told of our progress in cleaning up and inquired about their progress. I was relieved to hear they had the worst of it done, but there were a few pecan trees still to be dragged out to the ditch. I felt an opportunity slipping away, but she went on about how Wesley and his father had stopped for the day, both weary of their efforts from the last few days.

“Can I speak to Wesley?” I asked, hoping the change in my voice didn’t give me away.

“Sure, he’s right here waiting for me to hand over the phone.”

He had been waiting to talk to me. I could see him impatiently motioning his mother to hurry. When his voice came over the line I was smiling.

“Hey, I was going to call you.”

“Well, I beat you to the punch. What are you doing this evening?”

“Nothing; you want to do something?”

Oh, yeah, I want to do something. “I’d like to go grab dinner and maybe go see that new action flick.”

“Are any theaters open?”

“Yeah, the one at the mall in Pensacola reopened a couple of days ago. You want to ride down and see what restaurants are open?”

“What time you want to go?”

“It’s after five now; how long before you can be ready to go?”

“Now,” Wesley replied, and I could hear the amusement in his voice.

The waiter left the table to get our drinks, and we settled down to wait. The tavern was short staffed, and it was surprisingly busy. I guess we were not the only ones desperate for a night away from the mess. We talked of the hard work involved coming down, how much there had been to do and what was left to do, our place basically done, and Wesley having to pull downed pecan trees from the orchard the next day. Then we talked of other farms and the nearby towns. The destruction each experienced and where they were at in cleaning up. At the restaurant, we were silent for what seemed far too long, and I knew I had to break the silence.

“Wesley, I was wondering…are you going to farm with your dad? I mean, I assume so.”

“Since I didn’t go to college this fall?”

“Yes.”

He grew serious, leaned forward looking down at the table for a long time, then he slowly looked up and I saw a change in expression, one I’d never seen in Wesley before.

“Honestly, I was going to go this fall, but things were messed up, even before the hurricane.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dad, he, huh…the farm is not doing good. He tried corn last year and lost his ass on the crop and this year, he planted heavily in soybeans and…”

“The hurricane messed them up?”

“Yes. The last few years he has been scrapping by, giving more to the elevator for seed, fertilizer, and with the corn, drying fees. It has been so bad mom got a job at the grocery store in town. He’s planning on selling off the land up in Glendale and Forest City and rent out the land around home.”

“What’s he going to do?”

“He has a job with the county lined up, something with the soil conservation department.”

“And what about you?”

“I’m going to find work and save up for next fall. I’ve checked on a student loan, but it isn’t enough, so I need to make some money for living expenses.”

“Where are you going to college?”

Wesley smiled. “The same place as you.”

“Really?” I was surprised, shocked, for I had assumed he was going to be a farmer after he didn’t leave for college back in August.

“Who had the burger with Swiss cheese?” asked a waiter who had appeared by our table plates in hand.

“That would be me,” Wesley replied.

While we ate, going back to small talk, I plotted and schemed, wondering if I could talk Wesley into sharing a dorm room with me. Then I wondered at the wisdom of it considering how I wanted him so and if he didn’t return the feeling, it could be tough, or worse, awkward if Wesley ever figured it out.

The movie theater was almost full. We sat in what I considered the ideal seats. Two thirds of the way up and in the center. While waiting on the previews to start, Wesley asked about college. He wondered about the cost of dorm rooms, meal plans, and what books costs per semester. I nearly told him of my idea about sharing a room, and how I could help with expenses if he needed it. But I considered how it would sound, someone willing to go that far.

The lights dimmed and the light on the screen widened, preparing for the previews. We watched six previews, then the opening credits. The movie began with an action scene and quickly rolled into the story. At some point I felt Wesley’s knee bump into mine. Once, twice, then a third time. He didn’t pull away, but held the contact.

Did he know what it meant? Was he aware he was even doing it? I looked over and he appeared the same, eyes focused on the scene. My heart raced as I considered what it meant to me, this simple contact between knees. I looked over and pushed back at the same time. I wanted to see if I got a response, good or bad. He kept his eyes on the screen, but I felt him push back. Then I felt his fingers rake along the side of my thigh.

There was no mistaking what this meant.

As he worked his fingers from the side of my thigh to the top I reached down and put my hand over his and squeezed, lightly, just enough to show my liking of his touch. Then I moved my hand to his thigh. I felt the sold muscle of it, the firmness beneath my massaging fingers. My cock grew until I had to adjust it as his fingers moved along my thigh. The damn armrest was in the way and despite how it would look, I raised it, freeing us of the obstruction. His hand went down between my legs and grazed my jeans right over the place my nuts were packed in. He rubbed the fabric, and I felt every rake of the finger. He pushed into the jeans and worked nuts around in their tightening sac and I shuddered from the manipulation. I boldly moved my hand up his leg until I felt it. A tube of flesh lying over the left thigh. I ran my fingers along its length. Wesley shifted in his seat and gave his jeans a tug at the crotch. He was as unsettled as I.

For the last forty minutes of the movie, we watched the climatic action on screen while tormenting each other. We kept each other hard, cocks painful in their confinement.

As soon as the last closing scene was finished, we were up, heading to the exit. We didn’t stop until in the dark parking lot, heading to my Explorer. It was a forty-five-minute drive back home, but we would not be heading straight back. Not on this night. There was a giggle, then a laugh, as we cut down the drive aisle until at the passenger door. It was facing away from the cinema, and we were out further than most, so I grew bold again. I unlock the door then I pushed Wesley against the back door, pushed my body against him, then put my lips against his, quickly, daringly, then without a word I pulled back and headed around to the driver’s side.

“Tease,” Wesley uttered.

I made my way to I-10 to cut west over to 29 to head north. I moved with traffic as fast as it allowed, swung to the exit ramp and moved into the four-lane traffic heading north

“How did we not know before now?” I asked aloud, not sure if it was meant for Wesley or just me questioning myself.

“You were older so in school I always felt like a kid looking up to an older boy. I didn’t think I had a chance,” said Wesley. I knew the age difference in grade school could seem so large, especially when transitioning from middle school to high school, then who turned sixteen first and got their driver’s license and with it a sense of freedom.

“I always thought you were straight. That there was no way you could be gay.

“I thought the same. There could be nothing that indicated we were anything but like everyone else.”

We rode in silence for a minute, then I heard Wesley, a whisper, barely loud enough to hear. “I so wanted you to like me. You know?”

“Same here, but I felt foolish wanting you. I had always wondered if it were just the fact you were next door and I was so desperate.”

“Yeah.”

We got past the gas stations and markets and camper dealership and along the road outside the city’s influence, there was very little on each side. A few businesses but mostly houses spread far apart, until we came into Cantonment with its housing developments and foul stench of a papermill. Luckily the two traffic lights were green, and we motored through without having to stop.

“You’re not going straight home, are you?” Wesley asked.

“Hell no,” I replied and smiled at him.

Instead of turning where I should, I kept heading north until I came to a left turn, I knew was for a narrow two-lane road that cut through pine forest with only a few homes and farms.

“I’ve not been down this road in a long time,” said Wesley.

“Dad still farms the Hopkins and Butler fields.”

“I think the last time I came down here was to help drive the grain truck for your dad when Jackson had been sick and laid up.”

“That was last fall.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Seems like it was longer ago…you gone and all.”

It hit me. The way Wesley would take off his shirt when I was nearby. How he had always initiated contact, the wrestling around or the head locks that lasted longer than normal. That little extra squeeze, holding me tight. Then there was the way he had been the one to ask about doing something. The tone of it almost pleading. The signals had been there. So many signals and now I saw how they added up to this momen

“The Hopkins place has, or had a barn near the front, just inside the gate. I wonder if it was damaged,” I said, hinting at the possibility of a place we could go out of sight of others.

“It sat within those old oaks. Maybe, they protected it.”

“Hopefully,” I replied as I drove along the curving rough road, the edge breaking apart and the main bed hopelessly patched up. It rocked and bounced the Explorer, but I didn’t slow.

Farm Boys and Old Barns

We rounded the last curve before the Hopkin’s place, and there was a moment of disappointment. Two oaks were down along the front of the property. I slowed down, wondering if the drive was open, the headlights not powerful enough to see clearly across the entire front of the property.

 “Looks bad,” Wesley whispered.

“Yes; those are large trees but I think the drive is past them,” I replied, hoping beyond hope I was right.

After a hundred feet, past the first tree, I could see the drive was indeed past the next downed tree. I eased into the gravel drive and down into the woods that separated the barn and field in back from the road. The headlights moved over the brick piers that demarked the place where the house originally sat then swept over the trees and understory growth until coming back on the lane. After a short drive, we came into the small clearing where the barn sat. There was a pine down that lay so close to the front of the barn I was shocked not see some damaged, but it appeared the barn was unscathed.

“Looks okay,” Wesley whispered as I pulled past the end of the barn. One of our cultivators sat under the open end of the barn. Blown limbs had caught in it, making it look as if we tried to conceal it.

I moved to the back of the barn and pulled up to the large double doors. Explorer in park and headlights left on, I looked over at Wesley, then the two of us leaned toward the other. Our lips touched then I felt his hand touch my neck, then hold it as he kissed back passionately.

“Let’s go inside,” I whispered when we finally pulled apart.

With the doors left open, the Explorer’s lights lit up the interior along the main level. Down the center the floor was concrete as was the section to our right. Down the left side there was a raised wood floor, where the Hopkins had had a wood shop set up. The work bench still lined the main wall and there were two large wood tables, their legs thick posts, sitting in the middle of the space. I led Wesley to the first table, then turned to him. We kissed while feeling the other’s body with an intimacy never allowed before. I felt his chest, then solid stomach, and finally that round ass that had been such a temptation. While doing so, I felt his hands move over me in the same manner.

I pulled back and lifted his t-shirt over his head. Bending down, I pressed lips to his chest, moving to one nipple then the other. I tongued it, then bit down lightly on the hardening nub making him shudder. I felt him clutch at my t-shirt just below the neck at the back. Roughly, he tugged on it as I dragged my tongue across his chest, then downward. Down I moved, going to my knees in the process. I circled his navel and felt his stomach undulate with the ticklish nature of my touch. I kissed his abdomen right above the waistband of his jeans as I tugged on the front pulling the button free. A tug on the zipper and the jeans fell open revealing dark boxers. The front tented out and I moved my mouth to where his cock head was apparent. I kissed it, then mouthed it through the boxers until they were wet, and Wesley was gasping for breath. I tugged everything down impatiently, jeans and boxers, until they were around his calves. With his help, the sneakers were kicked off, and I quickly freed each leg from the jeans and boxers. I sat on my heels and looked up at his nakedness. The headlights shined on him as if the center of a stage, with skin shiny and wet where my tongue had been over it. And from his crotch, a hard curved cock angled upward with a wide flared head.

I rolled forward off my heels back on my knees. I moved to that cock, angled my head down until my mouth could just simply slip right over the head. I kept moving, pushing forward until I had most of it. The head pushed against the top of my mouth, and it lay thick on my tongue. I sucked, then pulled lips back along shaft until only the head remained in my mouth. I tongued it, pushed at the slit feeling the head swell, then I pushed forward again.

It seemed as if I was sucking his cock for a long time, but I knew it was only a few minutes when he was tugging on my t-shirt to get it off. I sat up raising my arms and let the t-shirt pull upward. Wesley tossed it on the table then reached down and pulled me to stand.

“Let me,” Wesley uttered as he moved to his knees. He buried his face in my crotch. I felt the manipulation of his mouth seeking out my cock, then working along its growing length. He had me hard as rock in no time, then just as quick, I felt his lips wrap over the head of it as jeans and boxers were pushed down my legs. He sucked me until my cock ached for release. It was never so hard, standing up at a forty-five-degree angle when he finally released it, drool dripping off his chin and down my cock. I pulled him to his feet and pushed against him. Lip to lip, chest to chest, and cock to cock, undulating against him feeling the heat of his body.

“Jacob…fuck me…please,” Wesley uttered as he pulled me to the table, he backing to it until he bumped his ass against it. I helped him jump up on it and he lay back holding his legs up for me. I took each and rested them on my shoulders as I moved closer. When my cock pushed against his spread ass I stopped and ran my hands up his stomach and over his chest while leaning over his prone body. I kissed him while pumping my cock a long side of his. I worked it over the smooth skin until it was sliding through the slick it was drooling.

“Goddamn it, Jacob, stop teasing me.”

I stood and took my cock. I put it to his tight opening and pushed. There was such a tight squeeze on the head I thought I would come. I kept pushing, slowly, gently, sinking into Wesley until the head and a couple of inches of shaft were in his hot insides. I held still letting him loosen to my penetration. He was gasping for breath but soon he moved his feet to my upper chest, spread his legs at the knees and clutched the edge of the table.

“FUCK, DO IT, fuck me…fuck me, Jacob.”

I began to fuck, to tug outward then push back in, increasing my pace until my hips smacked his ass and the table rocked beneath him. The tight hole slowly loosened its grip on my cock as I pumped it into his depths. My pace increased until the sound of our bodies smacking together echoed in the old barn.

I grabbed his legs, slipping the feet over my shoulders and pulled them tight to my chest holding him in place as I resumed fucking his ass. It was glorious, the feel of burying my cock inside him. The fingers that were digging into my thighs. The soft pleadings from Wesley. It spurned me on, to keep fucking. I had an awareness of my own body not like anything I had felt before. The physicality of this fuck. The working of muscle, the increase in heart rate, and the heavy breathing.

I grew close, felt that rise in arousal, and I pulled out of Wesley and watched my cock flex up and down between us. I didn’t want to come yet, and I wanted this experience to be much more. I reached out and took Wesley by the hand and pulled him to his feet.

“Do me,” I uttered as I moved by him and bent over, resting forearms on the table.

Wesley came up behind me and I felt his cock rub across my cheeks.

“Spread your ass,” Wesley uttered.

I reached back and did as he asked. I spread myself open for him. I wanted to feel him touch me, to penetrate my body. His cock rubbed up and down my ass, making it wet and slick. Then the head pressed against my tightness, pushing with determination. I shuddered as I stretched open, feeling the head of his cock breach my tightness. Then I shivered as he pushed inward what seemed far more than he was actually sinking into my ass. He held still, hands holding my waist, while I rested my head on the table and continued to shiver. Then I felt it, my opening loosened to his penetration. I pushed back and he knew. He tightened his grip on my waist and pushed until I felt his abdomen against my ass.

I raised my head, looking up into the darkness.

“Jesus,” I cried out, the fullness of penetration such an incredible feeling. This connection between us.

Wesley tugged outward and I began to feel the emptiness of his withdrawal, then the push back into my depths. Over and over, Wesley worked his cock inside me, tugging outward and pushing in with a slow gentle pace. Then I felt his fingers tighten their hold and his pace increase. Faster and faster, Wesley moved until smacking against my ass. He rocked me roughly and it only increased my aroused state. This steady motion aligned with his fuck.

A hand let go of my waist and took me by the shoulder. Wesley tugged me to stand, and the arm wrapped around my neck. He tugged me back against his sweaty chest while hammering cock into my ass. He took me in hand, stroking roughly keeping pace with his fuck.

It was too much. I felt my need for release build. I shuddered while rocking to Wesley’s fuck, my cock swelled and grew so sensitive to Wesley’s manipulation I cried out. Then I came, hard, each ejaculation making me shudder. Wesley nipped my shoulder, moaned, the jammed his cock into my depths and kept shoving forward as he filled my ass with his cum.

I leaned against the table and Wesley was across from me leaning against the side wall. We were still naked, cocks hanging heavy but flaccid. I felt my sex, this sexual nature of myself. It would take little to arouse me again.

Wesley came to me, going to his knees and I watched him suck my cock into his mouth. In no time I was hard as a rock, rocking on my heels, pumping it in his mouth. I felt a hand go up one leg, rub over a cheek, then push fingers between them. He sucked while teasing my hole, fingers racking over it, then one, then two pushing into it. He finger-fucked me while sucking, pushing me until I filled his mouth with my second load.

When he stood, he was hard, cock angled up and flexing with his arousal. I dropped to my knees and held it by the base while dragging my tongue over the leaking head. He moaned and shuddered from my manipulation, and I kept it up, working my lips along its length. I tugged on his nut sack until he shivered, then I buried his cock in my mouth, the head in my throat. I pulled back and toyed with the head again. He shoved forward a few inches and cum hit the back of my throat, then it flooded my mouth. I swallowed and swallowed and swallowed, amazed he could come so much the second time.

Then we just stood there kissing and touching and uttering silly little declarations to each other.

A Time of Change

I’m sitting at my desk trying to focus on the next chapter of some required reading. My dormmate is out and the room is quiet except for the occasional voice of someone out in the corridor. A rumble of thunder and I turn to the window and see it has gotten darker, the sun blocked by swirling, rising grey clouds. A flash of lighting, the boom of thunder, and suddenly it is raining. I sit back and watch it, reminded of my last day at home. Wesley and I had taken off for one last time alone. We were at the old barn but with a shower of rain crossing the countryside, we ended up outside, naked and horny, wrestling around in the rain. Then we fucked down in the mud and the memory of it makes me need to adjust my cock.

The last few days at home had been a roller coaster of emotions. Wesley and I forming a bond I hoped never diminished. Jackson pulling me aside and bluntly asking about it, only for me to realize he knew and just wanted me to admit it. Then there had been mom and dad. Thankfully, Jackson was there, but he had been right. It wouldn’t be something they expected, not really, but once the confession was made, it didn’t take long to get past the questions and shock. When I got with Wesley next, expecting a conversation on how he might come out to his parents if he was ready to do so, he let me know it was done. He had told them the night before, laughing while he recalled how his mother just smiled the one she used when she already knew. His dad had been surprised, but the next time I saw Mr. McDonald he treated me no different, as if everything was as it had been.

I look at the calendar on my laptop, the dates of exams, final papers, etc. all notated, and below them the date I can head back home. It can’t arrive fast enough. But the best part is Wesley will be here next fall, only a year behind me. A whole year that upon graduation will be a trial, the separation required of us. I’ll go off to a job, the start of my career while Wesley remains behind to complete his degree. But until then, we’ll have three years together on campus. Three years to explore the other in a new light. Then after the year apart, seeing each other only on weekends or holidays, we’ll be able to move into that adult stage of life. Of jobs and responsibilities and making a home, but with Wesley, it all seems so amazing, this opportunity to live together through this life.

Author’s Note: The storm referenced at the beginning is based on Hurricane Ivan from 2004. Although I took some liberty with details, I attempted to convey the destructive power of this storm, one not near one of the worst.