Conflicted

“I have learned over the years that when one’s mind is made up, this diminishes fear; knowing what must be done does away with fear.” —Rosa Parks

”We need, in every community, a group of angelic troublemakers.” – Bayard Rustin

The Bonfire

The wood had been stacked over nine feet high. It consisted of old lumber from the Clark’s barn, fallen limbs from the woods behind the pasture, broken down pallets from the hardware store in town, and even the wood from some old chairs found on the side of the road. It looked like a scene from some medieval setting, or a dystopian future. The low rise in the middle of the pasture with the wood rising at its peak. From a distance, it looked taller, somewhat menacing with the dark jagged outline of it against the grey sky of late winter.

It was Henry’s birthday and his parents had agreed to a party, then a bonfire in the back pasture. He was nineteen, a freshman at the community college with plans of transferring in another year. The party was inside, the large family room and adjacent kitchen area decorated with banners. There had been a cake, nothing left but a circle of icing where it had set on the plater, and the dining table covered in the remains of the cookout.

Clayton pulled the tractor into the rear yard, a trailer hitched to it. The lane to the back pasture too rough for some of the vehicles, so most would ride the trailer. As the partiers climbed on the trailer, a few went to their vehicles, those that knew there would be no issue in traversing the lane.

Wil went to his old Cherokee and Franklin to his old Blazer. Dakota followed Porter across the rear drive to his Jeep, an old CJ7 with a bikini top, no doors and a body with faded paint and rust along the rear wheel wheels. He looked to his left and saw Hunter going to his Jeep, a newer model, a TJ series with a coil spring suspension and hardtop. He thought the newer Jeep less worthy of the name than his old CJ, made all the worse by being owned by Cameron Hunter Easton. His nemesis since eighth grade, something their friends had inquired about for years trying to discern what happened between them to make them go from best friends to mortal enemies.

Dakota watched Hunter climb into his Jeep with Owen and Kathy, then he spit on the ground and climbed into the older CJ7.

“Hey Dakota, wait up. I’m riding with you,” yelled Porter, running across the rear yard to catch up with him.

The four offroad vehicles fell in behind the tractor, easing along at only a couple of miles an hour. They circled the barn, following the lane past the front pasture on the left and a field in cultivation to the right. At the back of them, they cut through a stand of trees that followed a natural drainage ditch across the property, angling to the rear of the property on the western side. They came out in the back pasture, the gate already open for the cows were put in the front pasture that afternoon, and eased along the base of the low hill until at the closest point to the pile of wood rising up at its highest point. It was nearly dark, the sky a faint glow in the west.

Clayton and Henry were carrying a can of fuel, leading everyone to the top of the hill. There was a circle of things for sitting; a tree trunk trimmed of all its limbs, camp chairs, an old bench, a short church pew, and two wood boxes. There was a folding table set up behind the circle with snack foods laid out and a cooler with iced down drinks.

Clayton poured the fuel over the wood at its base, then lit it. Flames rose around the base, slowly biting into the wood itself. The flames climbed up boards, then the limbs. After a short time, the flames seemed to engulf the entire pile of wood. Flames rose high in the dark sky and illuminated the circle of friends. On the west side sat Hunter and his closest friends, and on the east side sat Dakota and his closest friends. The bonfire blocked their view of each other. There would be no eye contact for a long time, not until the wood burned down, but they knew the other was there.

For years, since they became angry with each other in the eighth grade, they had made cutting remarks toward each other, pushed passed each other in the halls of the school, and a couple of times, once in ninth grade, then again in the tenth grade, gotten into fights that caused the school to summon parents and give them detention.

Their friends tried to discern the exact cause of the rift. What transpired one night in the fall of their eighth-grade year. What betrayal, or perceived betrayal occurred that still kept the two of them angry with each other.

 

It was after midnight, the fire burned down to a less than three feet high, only the largest of limbs remaining as fuel for the flames. It illuminated the circle of friends with a dim amber glow. The night was still, the air still warm and heavy with humidity, making everyone feel lethargic. Everyone talked in low voices as if afraid to disturb the night.

Hunter looked over the low flames and saw Dakota talking to Porter. They sat close and were talking in low hushed voices. Porter seemed to look toward Hunter, then the two of them laughed. Hunter knew it had to be about him. When it came to be disparaging, Dakota would always make him the target. He wondered what nasty thing Dakota had said about him, and if he dared to refer to that night, embellishing it to make him the one that instigated it. He felt his anger. Felt the fury of it that made him sit with clinched jaw and trembling hands.

“Fuck him,” Hunter uttered, climbing to his feet.

He saw the looks from his friends, the fatigue of having to listen to his exclamations about Rayford Dakota Barton. He didn’t wait for the usual admonishments. He started walking, at first thinking he would go for something to drink, but he went straight past the coolers, out into the pasture heading toward the woods in back.

He felt it so unfair, how Dakota had started it, then was the one who freaked out about it, then grew angry when he had gotten mad from his own fear of the possibility of others finding out.

He had been at Dakota’s house, the two of them holed up in his room playing video games. Each won games and suffered loses. They taunted each other, pushed the other to make mistakes, all the while lying next to each other on Dakota’s bed.

He couldn’t remember how it started. What caused Dakota to do it. The pushing him over and wrestling him down, pinning his arms over his head. There had been the usual taunt of telling him to say ‘uncle’, but after several refusals, Dakota had grown quiet, then he had done it. Leaned down and kissed him. A quick touch of lips, then pulling away.

He remembered how it shocked him. How Dakota had taken such initiative, been the one to do what he had considered so many times before. He knew what it meant, to want to kiss another boy. He had been thirteen, just a kid in so many aspects, but not in that one. He knew he was gay. He knew he wanted to kiss a boy, to touch him in some way he could not yet imagine.

After the shock, he had leaned up and kissed Dakota. A kiss that lasted longer, kept their lips together until it was Dakota who pulled away.

It still seemed so crazy, how Dakota had freaked out. After making the first move, the one who kissed him, to turn around and freak out after being kissed back. It had hurt to such a degree, he had rushed home and locked himself in his room. He cried, something he would never admit to anyone, something that upset him until he made himself sick, missing school for a couple of days.

 

Dakota turned to watch Hunter walk away and disappear into the darkness. As his friends kept talking, he was no longer listening to their gossip. With eyes locked on where Hunter had disappeared into the darkness, his mind drifted to the night of the kiss, the night he had dared to kiss him. When Hunter kissed him back it had been a shock, an awareness of what existed between them, and more fearful to him, what could exist. He hadn’t known how to handle it. He pictured the moment he pulled away from Hunter, the shock on Hunter’s face knowing it reflected his own expression.

The fear led to the arguments, then the fights.

He stared into the darkness wondering where that asshole was going. Didn’t he know it was too dark to see. Fuck him, let him stumble on a snake or raccoon or maybe one of those coyotes that was killing Buddy Harrison’s cows.

He sat back, bouncing one knee hard and fast. It was reflection of his agitation. This seething anger he felt toward Hunter. And when he was honest, an anger toward himself.

“Hey Dakota, do you think that girl at the drugstore will go out with me?” asked Owen, but Dakota didn’t hear.

“Dakota?” Owen stated, waving a hand in his face. “Earth to Dakota.”

“What?!” Dakota barked, then grimaced at his reaction. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“That girl at the drugstore; do you think she’ll go out with me?”

“The one with the long dark hair?”

“Yeah, her.”

“I don’t know. Ask her out and see,” Dakota replied, pushing himself out of the camp chair. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he added as he walked out of the circle of friends and into the pasture. He moved along the line Hunter had taken, disappearing into the darkness knowing his friends were wondering what he was up to.

 

The sky was brilliant with stars and it allowed Hunter to see the dark silhouette of the woods. There was no point that stood out in the darkness, but he didn’t consider it for his mind was circling the anger and hurt he felt about Dakota. He kept up his steady pace, one step after the next until he was at the fence that ran along the edge of the woods. By then his eyes had adjusted to the faint light of the stars that barely illuminated his surroundings. He could see the fence posts, their even spacing along the edge of the dark woods, then he made out the upper strands of barbwire stretched tight between them. He knew there would be three more strands below the two he could see. He moved to the fence next to a post where the strands would be most stable. Gently reaching out, he found places between barbs for his hands, then ran his right foot along one of the invisible strands until he found a gap between barbs. He stood on the right foot, swung the left over the fence, seeking purchase on a strand of wire. The wire moved beneath him and he struggled to bring the right foot over the wire, causing him to drop to the ground nearly off-balance. He stood still, gaining his balance, and saw the silhouette of someone coming toward him. There were just a shadow, a black void blocking out a part of the low fire and those around it, but he knew it was Dakota. The build, the way he walked, all spoke of him.

“Fuck,” Hunter uttered, as he backed a few steps until under the tree canopy, then he turned and slowly made his way into the woods, using his hands to feel his way along.

 

Dakota got to the fence and stared into the darkness. “Fuck,” he uttered for all he saw was a few silhouettes of trees that were near the fence, and beyond that utter blackness. There was no sign of Hunter. He pulled out his phone intending to turn on the flashlight feature. But it dawned on him it would make him visible to Hunter. Phone back into his pocket, he climbed over the fence and eased into the woods.

He was breathing hard. Anxious, and if asked he would have denied it, but he was truly nervous. Hunter was somewhere in front of him. Or maybe he was to one side watching him stumble into the woods. A stick snapped, and the sound of it seemed so loud there was no way Hunter didn’t hear it.

He moved deeper into the woods until he had to stop, unable to see anything, not even his own hand that he waved in front of him.

Why did he follow Hunter? What was he thinking? He stood in the dark knowing he should turn around and go back. But he stood still, hearing his own breathing. Then he heard footsteps, the soft crunch of leaves and twigs, approaching him. At first he couldn’t figure out from what direction, then he heard a step closer, only a few feet away. It was right behind him.

“What are doing here?” asked Hunter.

Dakota heard the strain of the voice, the hurt and anger within it. He stood silence, waiting for Hunter to act out. How he had no idea but he waited, unable to make the first move.

“You come here to start a fight?”

Dakota heard the change in tone, the softening of the voice. It sounded like the voice of someone who was hurt. That night came back to him, that first kiss, the one he initiated, then the second one, the one Hunter initiated. And since that night, nothing but a simmering insecurity and fear that was like being strangled. Flashbacks of the arguments, the way Hunter tried to ignore him, looking away when they passed in the corridor at school, or got up and walked away when he joined a group of their friends. It had hurt, more than he could admit, but he couldn’t take it back, couldn’t tell Hunter not to go, that he was sorry. And he was sorry, but his fear kept him from saying it aloud. Instead he let the anger linger, consume him, and destroy the friendship that had been so important to him during their elementary school years.

But they were alone, unable to even look each other in the eyes.

“No,” Dakota whispered just loud enough for Hunter to hear.

Another step closer, so close he sensed the physical presence behind him. It was as if he could feel the warmth of Hunter’s body and every exhale of breath.

“Then what?” Hunter asked.

Dakota turned. He realized he could see Hunter’s silhouette, framed by the soft warm glow of the remaining bonfire and the few lights being used around the circle of their friends. Hunter was about three feet behind him, just out of arm’s reach.

He wanted to say he was sorry, tell Hunter things just got out of control, and he never meant it to get this far. He knew it wasn’t true. He had let his fear cloud his judgment. And Hunter had responded to his rebut. But he couldn’t form the words, couldn’t bring himself to say what needed to be said. Only a physical response was available to him, some action to make something happen, to push Hunter and him beyond this stasis.

Suddenly Dakota was moving, reaching out to the dark silhouette until he felt the shirt. Fingers closed grabbing it and suddenly he had Hunter pulled to him. He leaned toward him, kissing the side of his face. He moved across the face, seeking the lips.

Hunter was frozen, didn’t seem to move at all as Dakota kissed his lips, then along the jaw feeling the roughness of a beard coming in. He kissed the side of the face until he felt the ear, picturing the black stud in the earlobe.

“Please…”

The whisper sounded desperate even to his own ears. And he was desperate.

 

Hunter heard the plea, the one word utterance. Please. Please, what? Forgive him for all his betrayal, then cruelty. Stop being mad and they make up, try to become friends again. Or was there something else Dakota wanted. Something that Dakota wanted him to give.

He knew what Dakota wanted, but to admit to it made it real, made it something he had to decide whether, or not to act upon. Dakota wanted him, in this moment in the most carnal way.

He reached out and grabbed Dakota and spun him around. He moved up against his back and ran hands around the narrow waist, up and down the chest and stomach. With one hand he grabbed Dakota by the jaw, pushing upward and back. With the other he reached down, groping him, manipulating the cock within the confines of the jeans until he felt it stir.

“Please, what?” Hunter uttered in a harsh tone.

“Hunter…let’s…”

Dakota still couldn’t say it, bring himself to say aloud what he wanted from him. Thus, he still couldn’t admit to his desire for another of the same sex.

It tore at Hunter, infuriated him, confused him at the shear stubbornness of it. It made him want to pull away and leave Dakota in the darkness of the woods. He lessened his hold and hands grabbed each of his thighs.

“No! Don’t leave,” Dakota begged.

Hunter didn’t want to leave. He wanted to stay, to feel Dakota against him, to feel the warmth of his skin, the strength of his muscles, the masculine nature of him. He wanted to feel Dakota’s sex, and he wanted most of all, to be interlocked together, feeling his own sex within him.

He tugged roughly at Dakota’s jeans, slipping the button free, then tugged the zipper down. He pushed down on the waistband, jeans and boxers, frantic to get them down. Dakota held to his thighs as he reached for the thickening cock, stroking it until Dakota was erect and pushing back against him. He stepped back, put one hand to Dakota’s neck and pushed him to bend over as he used the other to undo his own jeans, working madly to undo them, then push them down to mid-thigh. He worked his boxers over his hardening cock, then stroked it to full erection.

A hand brushed his own aside and took him, roughly stroking him, then tugging him forward. It made him feel delirious, raving, someone on the very edge. Dakota moved, pulling him along until he saw the faint silhouette of a tree. Dakota leaned against it while guiding him forward until his cock touched warm flesh. Up, down, Dakota rubbed his cock along the cleft between ass cheeks. Then he was slipping between them until he knew he was pressing against Dakota’s opening, the tightness of it trying to inhibit his penetration. Dakota pushed back increasing the pressure on the head of his cock. He pushed Dakota’s shirt up, then held the narrow waist and pushed. Dakota cried out with a stifled moan. He felt the shuddering body through his hands and he waited for it to subside, then pushed deeper. Slowly, inch after inch, he pushed into Dakota until over halfway inside him.

He tightened his grip and his toes curled as he savored the feel of it. His cock being squeezed by the tight opening and enveloped within the soft heat of him.

“Do it,” Dakota pleaded.

Hunter began to fuck. To tug outward, then push inward, over and over. He built up his pace, fucked with abandon, not holding back. Dakota wanted to be fucked, so he would fuck him. Fuck him as hard as he could. He thrust into Dakota’s depths with growing intensity until his hips smacked against the firm round ass. The sound of it was violent and far too loud, but he didn’t give a shit. If someone was nearby, let them hear it.

The hand clinging to his right thigh pulled away and he knew Dakota would be stroking his own cock. The thought of Dakota being so turned on he had to take himself in hand spurred him to keep up his pace, fuck with all this strength. Sweat trickled down his face and down his sides. His body was burning up, but he didn’t slow. He fucked. Fucked Dakota’s ass until he felt it, the surge of release coursing through him. He tightened his grip, fingers digging into the firm flesh, and shoved inward all the way. He hammered his hips against Dakota’s ass trying to push deeper. His cock grew so sensitive, swelled so thick, he lost his rhythm. Slamming against Dakota, jerking and shaking, he shoved inward and came. He felt every ejaculation, the flex of his cock as it spewed wad after wad into Dakota’s depth. He fell still savoring the last ejaculation as Dakota shuddered, shoved back on his spent cock and cried out.

Hunter stepped back, pulled up his boxers then jeans and got himself dressed. Dakota was stumbling around in front of him, attempting to do the same, uttering something too low for him to hear. Dakota kept his back to him, refused to turn around and face him, even in the darkness. His old fury arose, making him desperate to get away from him. He turned toward the dim light of the bonfire and walked away.

 

Hunter came back into the light, to his circle of friends, making his way to a cooler for a water.

“Hunter, did you see Dakota?” someone asked, Hunter not even sure who.

“No,” he replied, not bothering to look around.

Renewed Passions

Two days later, Dakota was riding toward town for lunch. He was in their old farm truck, a ninety-four F-250 with a tool box across the bed behind the cab and sitting behind it, a diesel tank to refuel tractors in the field. He adjusted the air conditioner, then debated on whether he preferred the windows down. He was unfocused, easily distracted, to the point he was angry with himself. He had been so tormented by what had happened at the bonfire, then down in the woods. Changing the radio once again, he tried to distract himself, focus on the music, or the work awaiting him when he got back to the barn, the cultivator needing new sweeps put on it. But all he had been able to think about was Hunter. Every hour, all day and late into the night he thought of him and what they had done. The feel of a hand holding him by the jaw, how it tilted his head back. Controlled him, held him in place. The other hand working to strip him from the waist down. How it felt, cock freed from its confinement and his ass bared to Hunter. To be pushed over, submissive to Hunter. To feel Hunter’s cock within his hand and how he was able to guide Hunter to him until he felt that cock touch him. Then there was the penetration, the pleasure/pain of it and how it made his cock stir every time he thought of it. The press against his hole, then penetration. The sweet penetration. How he stretched to take Hunter, then felt his fuck. The physicality of it. The sound of their bodies smacking together still echoed in his ears. It had seemed so loud he had been shocked no one at the bonfire had heard.

Then there was his shame, his inability to talk about it. To admit to what they had done and what it meant. He fell back into his role of nemesis, Hunter’s rival, even as it tore at his soul, making him hate himself.

When Hunter had gotten up and left that night, he had watched him trying to make himself ask him to stay just a little longer. But he sat next to Porter and watched Hunter disappear into the darkness.

Pulling into one of the angled parking spaces on Main Street, he looked down the sidewalk surprised to see how many people were out for a Monday afternoon. He looked in front of him at the courthouse, then to his left at the hardware store where Hank Gibson was coming out with a brown paper bag. He climbed out and moved to the back of the truck, looking for a gap in traffic. A Buick, then a flatbed Ford, and the gap in traffic was enough to allow him to jaywalk across to the other side. The Soda Shoppe was right in front of him, now more a drug store with its grill closed and the counter blocked off. To its right was the town’s cinema, a single screen theater that had been closed for years, the front allowed to deteriorate. To the left, Ann’s Diner, the only restaurant left in downtown, although rumors persisted of a deli coming to the old clothing store space up the street on the corner.

As he strolled across the street, he felt the hot summer sun on his bare arms. He was dressed in the appropriate attire, the costume of a farm boy. The shirt with the sleeves ripped off, tight jeans, and work boots that were scuffed and dirty showing everyone they were not for show. He kept his ballcap pulled low instead of tilted up, the bill tightly curved. It concealed his eyes, not letting others see into them too closely, for he feared they would reveal too much.

How they scanned over other boys, looked at their bodies with a lust that rattled him. Then there were the times he crossed paths with Hunter. Face to face, he put on one façade, but when Hunter wasn’t looking, oh how he let that façade slip as he stared at the one, he most desired. Anyone could see it in his eyes if he were not careful.

He ordered his favorite, the burger with cheese and bacon, finding it was still a chore to eat it all. He paid Cindy, dropping a few bills on the table for her tip, and left. He was tempted to walk the sidewalks. It was only three blocks long to the north and to the south, just two blocks. It would take only a few minutes, but the cultivator was waiting and he had told his dad it would be done today. He moved to the back of the Chevy truck parked in front of the diner, saw there was no traffic coming, and strolled back across the street to his truck.

Engine idling, he fidgeted with the radio, flipping from the country station to the rock station coming out of Montgomery. The Mitchell boy, the oldest of the three, came down the sidewalk. Dakota knew the boy would be a senior in high school and wondered if he was till a virgin, doubting it. The boy was blonde headed, a true light blonde, and tall and lean and boyishly cute. He had seen the girls flirt with him and knew the Richardson girl, whose family owned the Ford dealership, was his girlfriend. He felt his attraction toward the boy, then he felt his frustration. The boy was straight, a girlfriend from one the more successful families in town, so there was a path to a good life, one that met expectations of family and friends. One that didn’t need to be concealed.

He had to get out of town, get on the road for home. He put the truck in gear and looked back to see if the coast was clear when a Jeep pulled to a stop behind him. He knew the Jeep without needing to see the driver. But behind the wheel he saw him. Hunter sat with both hands on the steering wheel dressed in a white t-shirt and jeans. A ball cap on backwards, a way of keeping it from blowing off while driving, and dark shades that concealed the eyes. Hunter looked his way, nodded forward, up the road, then pulled away.

Dakota grimaced then backed into the street. As he put the truck in drive, he watched the Jeep turn right at the next intersection. He accelerated away slowly, hesitant to catch up with Hunter, but at the intersection he turned right and accelerated.

He followed the Jeep out of town, through the Magnolia neighborhood, then past the mobile home park, across Lofton Creek, and into the countryside. They drive past the Turner Dairy, the water tower, until they came to Miller’s Landing Drive, the old dirt road that led down to the old logging camp on Lofton Creek. Dakota followed the Jeep, keeping back out of the dust blown up behind it. He knows where it is going and doesn’t need to keep up. They pass the fire tower manned by the forestry department, looking out for wildfires, knowing the recent dry weather has increased the threat. The dirt road descends steeply as it prepares to cross the creek, and Dakota slows as he nears the bridge. He sees the track the all-terrain tires took, turning off the dirt road and along the fire lane that runs parallel to the creek. He eases off the road, careful not to spin the tires in the sandy soil, and follows the tracks left by the Jeep. It is only a short distance, around a curve of the lane, he finds the Jeep parked and its driver nowhere to be seen.

He pulls up behind the Jeep and shuts off the engine. He sits in the silence, staring at the back of the Jeep for such a long time, he wonders if he can make himself get out. Eventually he reaches for the chrome lever and pulls releasing the latch allowing the door to swing open. He climbs down and eases the door closed. It clicks shut and he stands in the ensuing silence, the only sound a rustling of the trees.

He knows where Hunter waits. He can picture the place. The wide sandy bank and how the creek curves into it. The creek is shallow along the bank but in the elbow of the curve, the waters darken with their depth. The swimming hole, the place they used to come as fifteen and sixteen year olds to cool off during the hot days of summer. Few come during the day now since the swimming hole filled in, no longer deep enough to swim. They come at night, building a fire on the sandy bank and hang out, drinking, and smoking, and just getting rowdy.

The path is clear, cutting through the trees for forty feet or so, and Dakota is soon coming into the small clearing, the tree canopy not large enough to cover it. Hunter is standing in the sunlight, face in deep shadow from the ballcap, but he senses the eyes watching him as he approaches. He looks over at the swirling waters, the overgrown opposite bank, and the disturbance of a fish striking the surface. Then he looks at Hunter as he closes the distance between them.

“What do you want?” he asked, and he can hear the ugliness of his tone. How he sounds so angry. He wants to take it back, to say he’s sorry. But he keeps going, pushing Hunter away in the only way he knows how. “Well?”

“Why?” Hunter asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You know goddamn well what I mean.”

Hunter’s tone sounds as angry as his own. It is cutting, sharp as any knife, and he fights to control his breathing. It hurts to hear Hunter like this, but he knows he deserves it.

“I think we should forget what happened.”

Hunter shifts from one foot to the other, then looks up at the sky. His face is pained, and Dakota can hear the low utterances of profanities. Then Hunter looks at him.

“Why do you do this? Why can’t you just admit it? This inability to talk about it, to tell me how you really feel-“

“Stop!” Dakota heard the fear in his own voice, how Hunter was suddenly pushing the issue.

“No, you have to talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Fuck,” Hunter exclaims, turning away from him.

He watches him look away then turn back to him.

“Then why did you follow me to the woods? Why did you follow me here?”

“I just wanted to see what you had to say.”

“Really? Saturday night you bent over and guided me to fuck you.”

“NO, stop.”

“You bent over, jeans around your ankles, and guided me to put my cock in your ass. You pleaded with me to do it.”

“Stop, please…”

“You wanted it. You wanted me to fuck you. Just admit it. Tell me you wanted it. And maybe, you don’t hate me, but-“

“STOP! No.”

“No? Goddamn it, Dakota,” Hunter replied, stepping over to the water’s edge and dragging his boot through it. “Then tell me you don’t want it. That you want me to leave and never have anything to do with you again. Tell me to never contact you again.”

The silence was almost physical between them. Stifling and hot, like the humid summer air, and the two of them felt short of breath.

Dakota saw how this was playing out. The finale. The end of everything. He could tell Hunter yes then walk away and it would be over. It would let him go on pretending, living the lie he had endured for far too long.

“I can’t.”

It was whispered, barely audible, but Dakota saw Hunter had heard, for he spun around and stared at him.

“I can’t…do you hear me?” Dakota yelled, his own frustration rising to the surface.

Hunter started walking toward the path and Dakota ran over and grabbed him by the wrist, tugging him back toward the creek. He had the advantage of surprise and was able to drag Hunter back, stumbling to get his footing.

“Dakota; just stop,” Hunter exclaimed as he tried to pry the hand from his wrist.

“Don’t go,” Dakota replied.

Hunter pushed him trying to free himself. He fell backwards into the edge of the creek and it made Hunter stop.

“You okay?” Hunter asked.

Dakota got to his knees and was soon in front of Hunter, holding tight around the thighs. He buried his face in the stomach.

“Dakota, let go.”

“No.”

“Dakota, I’m not asking again.”

Dakota held tight knowing he was acting out in such a childish manner. Hunter tried to pry himself free, pulling and tugging on his hands, then his body. There was a ripping sound, and Dakota felt his shirt pull free of his back as it ripped in two.

“Let go,” Hunter exclaimed.

Dakota felt the change in Hunter. The way he tried to free himself. There was another pull of his shirt causing it to pull apart at the front as buttons popped loose. It was in two pieces and soon his arms were being forced up as Hunter pulled it free.

“You want this? You want me to fuck you again? Is that what you want?” asked Hunter as he pushed Dakota to his back, dropped to his knees, taking him by each leg and spinning him over. “Tell me to stop. Go on, tell me!”

“No,” Dakota uttered as he moved to his hands and knees. Water swirled around each wrist and he felt the wet sand dampen the knees of his jeans.

“This is insane,” Hunter uttered as he began to climb to his feet.

Dakota knew he had to stop Hunter. That Hunter could not leave, not like this. Whatever it took, he had to make him stay. He wanted so much from him, more than he could admit, and to let him leave now would be unbearable. He moved quickly, swinging around and grabbing Hunter in a bearhug. He tackled him, brought him down into the edge of the creek. They rolled back and forth, until both were soaking wet.

Dakota knew he infuriated him, made Hunter so upset he tried to crawl away. His legs were jerked out from under him, and he went down in the shallow waters, then he felt Hunter moving over him.

“You want me? You really want me to do this?” Hunter uttered, as he lay on him.

Dakota felt the weight of Hunter, the body against his bare back. It pressed him down into the shallow waters. He should have been chilled, instead he felt his arousal, the feverish nature of it as his cock began to harden, painfully, trapped in his jeans beneath him. An arm went around his neck pulling his head up.

“Answer me,” Hunter uttered right in his ear.

“Yes, Yes, Hunter…do it.”

The weight lifted from his back and he looked over his shoulder as Hunter got up on knees between his legs. When Hunter grabbed the waistband of his jeans at the top of his ass and jerked him to his knees, he held his head down until his hair was in the water, as hands worked to undo his jeans. A tug to free the button, then another to unzip them and suddenly Hunter was working them down. He helped Hunter get them off, moving one leg then the other, as Hunter pulled the jeans free of each one.

“Why do you do this?” Hunter uttered as a hand smacked against the right cheek.

Dakota howled, more from the shock of it, then he held his head down as Dakota struck the ass cheek again.

“You want me to fuck you? Get me hard,” Hunter exclaimed and Dakota turned to see him undoing his jean, then working the wet things down. The white boxers were translucent, the cock visible through them and he turned to Hunter and pushed his mouth against the head of it.

Hunter worked his boxers down freeing his cock, and Dakota wasted no time taking it in his mouth.

Hunter was angry, frustrated, and growing aroused as Dakota sucked his cock. He watched him move on it, push forward until nearly gagging, then pull back until his cock nearly slipped free. He was responding to the manipulation despite telling himself not to. He balled his hands into fist as Dakota sucked until he was hard. Then he reached for him, held him by the head between his hands and began to fuck. To drive his cock through the lips until his cock was so hard, he ached for release.

He pushed Dakota off his cock, manhandled him until he was on his back, lying in the edge of the creek. He grabbed up each leg by the ankle and spread Dakota, legs wide apart, then pushed back until the ass opened to him. Spread wide, revealing the tight opening. He put his cock to it and pushed.

Dakota arced his back and cried out as Hunter’s cock breached the tightness. He pushed inward until Dakota had the head. He watched the body beneath him shiver, then felt fingers digging into each thigh. Dakota looked up with glassy eyes.

“Fuck me. Do it,” Dakota uttered.

Hunter realized he asked for it, plainly uttering the word. An admittance. A command. A plea. Fuck me Dakota had said. He slid his hands down the legs until holding each behind the knee and he folded Dakota in half and buried his cock into the depths of Dakota’s hole. He moved over him and with full fluid strokes began to fuck, tugging outward until nearly slipping free, then shoving back inward, all the way, hips pressing against ass.

Dakota kept his eyes open. Stared up at him as he fucked him. He moved with a brutal pace, the sound of bodies coming together echoing over the water. Then he slowed. Moved though the loosened ring of Dakota’s opening slow enough to feel every inch of his cock. He shuddered with the way it felt, the tight opening squeezing his cock as he moved through it. He wanted to lean down further, to bring their lips together. He wanted it to be intimate, an act demonstrating there was something between them. But he couldn’t do it, couldn’t let it get that intimate.

Pushing up on his hands, he began to fuck harder, faster, once again slamming his cock into Dakota’s depths. He saw him stroke his own cock. He wondered what it would be like to let Dakota fuck him. How would it feel to have that cock inside his body? But Dakota wouldn’t give him what he needed. The confession of how he felt; that he needed him.

He pressed the thighs down each side of the torso and hammered his cock inside him. Every shove inward made Dakota grunt and moan, and it spurred him to keep fucking. Fucking until his own body reached its limits of endurance. Every muscle tightened, and he slammed into Dakota’s depths and shuddered with release.

He opened his eyes to see Dakota lying beneath him with the clear waters swirling around him. Pools of cum were scattered over the chest and a large pool on the stomach below the still drooling cock. Dakota looked up, eyes pleading, but he knew there was no way Dakota would say it. To speak of it aloud.

Staggering to his feet, he pulled his wet boxers up, then jeans. He straightened his t-shirt back into place while watching Dakota sit up. He saw the eyes watch him dress, then turn away as Dakota looked down.

“I’m sorry.’

Hunter heard the apology, and it infuriated him. He had to get away from him, had to stop what was happening between them. He could not speak of it. No words came to mind that he could say that would change how he felt. He wanted someone to be by his side, someone he could come out and live openly with, not someone who couldn’t look him in the eye and confess even when there was no one else around. He picked up his cap, shook out most of the sand and put it on. Then he left Dakota sitting in the creek.

 

Driving down the road that leads to his home, he smacked the steering wheel in frustration. What was Dakota doing? What did he expect from him? He was tired of hiding, living this lie. He sped up, pushed the Jeep to get him home as soon as possible.

He pulled into the drive and saw his dad’s truck behind the house. Pulling around he saw his mom’s SUV in the garage. He pulled into his usual spot and sat for a minute after shutting off the engine. He realized his clothes had dried out on the way home, only his boxers were still damp against his skin. He ran his hand through his hair, unbuckled, and climbed down.

Through the mudroom, he came into the kitchen seeing his mom stirring around, putting dishes away. In the living room, his dad was watching television. It seemed ironic, the comedy one that revolved around two men who were gay. His dad laughed at some joke, and Hunter wondered if he would be laughing after they talked.

He went into the living room, picked up the remote, shutting off the television.

“I was watching that,” his dad exclaimed.

“I know, but we need to talk.”

His dad sat back, realizing something was wrong. The expression of concern fell over his face, and he nodded with his understanding.

“Mom, can you come sit. I’ve got something to say.”

He watched her place some utensils in a drawer, slide it closed, and come into the living area, taking her usual chair next to his dad, only a small round side table between them.

“What is it, Hunter?” she asked.

“I should have told you sooner, but I have to tell you now.” Hunter took a deep breath, then looked at his dad, then mom. “I’m gay.”

 

Hunter lay on his bed, picturing his parent’s reaction. The shock, then the grimaces. Then a weak denial from his mom while his dad sat silent. He tried to tell them the facts of homosexuality, how it was a natural thing within humans, and with different aspects, within other animals. But he stumbled, losing his train of thought. But after a while, his parents sat back and accepted his confession.

He had left them to think further of it, their youngest son being gay, while he went to shower and put on clean clothes. In clean clothes, he lay on his bed playing video games to take his mind off the whole situation. He knew the real issue wasn’t him being gay, but that he wouldn’t be leaving a heir of the Easton family. It seemed so selfish, but he knew it was so ingrained in humans, this fundamental need to reproduce, to continue the species. His older brother could give them an heir. They didn’t need him to do it. Dinner had been awkward, but his parents had tried to make it a normal night. His dad talked about the farm and his mom talked of family, neighbors, and recent events in the community.

He smiled when he thought of his mom’s question, how it was asked in such a nervous way. If was an effort, one he appreciated, despite hitting a nerve he didn’t dare reveal.

Have you been dating someone?

He had told them the truth. No, he wasn’t dating anyone. How do you tell someone, especially your parents, that the person you wanted to date was someone who would not talk about being gay, much less about any notion of a relationship.

 

Dakota drove around for two hours, going all the way up to Greenville on back roads, then south for twenty miles, then back. He tried to figure out what to do. Hunter was right to be angry. He couldn’t talk about it. To admit something that was so disparaged in his home. His mother refused to let them watch anything on television that had a gay character. If a show that had been a favorite suddenly had one appear in an episode, that was it, she no longer allowed them to watch it.

His mom came from a poor family, one that ticked all the wrong boxes. A father out of work most of the time and a mother who suffered depression. Then there was the fact there had been seven children, his mother the third of the bunch. It was a family of misery, one that was down to his mom and two brothers. Both parents were gone and four of her siblings. A drug overdose, a heart attack, cancer, and the one that had been the toughest for his mom and the two brothers, a suicide.  Six funerals, and he remembered four of them. His mother so stoic at his grandfather’s, then the two sisters and the other brother. His grandmother and one sister died when he was just a toddler. He had no idea how hard it made his mother, but he saw how it made her sorrowful and zealous in her religion.

Zealous to the point she would reject her own son if she knew.

He felt stuck, unable to move forward. It seemed he would live day to day, alone, introverted, always wearing a mask to conceal himself.

Turning on Moldboard Lane, he was going to cut through Pleasant Grove, the small village nestled among the largest stand of pine in the area. It would take longer to drive down the old slag road that wound through the countryside, perfect for his need to consume as much time as possible before getting home. He had to get himself settled before facing his mother, for right now he felt anyone could see the guilt on his face.

Aftermath

The next morning, Hunter went out and mowed the lawn, the area around the barn, then went back to the fishpond and mowed its banks. It had been some time since it had been mowed and he had to move slowly. It took over ninety minutes to get the sloped ground around the pond mowed, added time that allowed him to continue thinking about his situation with Dakota. As he put the mower back in the barn he had come to the realization Dakota was an unhealthy person in his life. He had to keep away from him and not feel so torn about his own life.

He moved through the barn and came out on the side facing the house and saw Landon’s 4Runner. His older brother was in college, studying horticulture and environmental studies. He was surprised to see him home, for he was taking courses during the summer trying to get his dual degree finished as soon as possible.

He entered the kitchen to find Landon sitting at the island watching their mom preparing lunch. He smiled, one that spoke of a knowing. Landon had been told.

“Go wash up,” their mom said with a quick glance over her shoulder, then she went back to preparing a salad.

 

Hunter was on the back porch sitting in the rocking chair. The porch softly squeaked with every rock, a rhythmic sound that should have aggravated him, but it didn’t. Instead it spoke of his rhythmic movement, keeping time as he rocked, lost in thought.

Landon came out with two glasses of tea, handing him one, then taking a seat in the swing at the end of the porch.

“You okay?” Landon asked.

“Yeah.”

“That doesn’t sound very convincing.”

Hunter looked at his brother with his gentle smile, and he smiled back.

“I guess not.”

“What’s wrong?”

“You won’t tell anyone will you? I mean it, no one can know.”

“Of course.”

Hunter tried to circle around the issue with Dakota, but he found himself telling him everything. The kiss, then the fight afterward, the reason for the animosity between them since then. He had paused, wondering how much he should tell Landon, but he wanted this confession, to be able to tell someone everything, and he told of the bonfire, what they did in the woods, then again down at the creek the day before, and how it tore at him, made him feel like he was a loser, unable to have the life he wanted.

Landon listened, didn’t interrupted once. Then he set his glass on the porch floor and rocked slowly looking at Hunter.

“Shit. That explains a lot.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why you have been so miserable these last few years. I knew something was up but had no idea what. You gave no sign of being gay, or at least that I could read, and this thing with Dakota. I think you need to stay away from him, find someone else to date.”

“That’s just it. What if there is no one else?”

Hunter heard how that sounded, even to himself. He knew Dakota and he couldn’t be the only one in the region.

“Do you remember Ricky?” Landon asked.

“Ricky Van Wyck?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, yes. He was the…” Hunter was about to say the cutest boy in Landon’s class and he looked at him as he laughed.

“Go on. You thought he was cute too. God, how the girls flirted with him.”

“He had that blonde hair and the bluest eyes and-“

“Okay, we know he was an attractive guy. But did you know he is gay, living in Atlanta.”

“What? No.”

“He came out after his tour in the Navy. Emily told me for they are still keeping in touch.”

“He’s gay.”

“And I’m willing to bet, little brother, not the only one from my class.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t repeat this, but Emily said some of them thought Paul Freeman was too.”

“He was the guy from Oak Hill.”

“Yes. His dad worked at the bank in town and his mother taught at the elementary school, second grade if I remember correctly.”

“What is he doing now?”

“He’s up at the university too. I’ve seen him a couple of times for the building with his curriculum is near mine.”

“But you don’t hang out together?”

“No, and Emily said it was probably just him putting this place behind him.”

“But what about Dakota?”

“I think you need to let him go. You know his mom, what she is like.”

“Yeah, she’s a bit intense.”

“That’s putting it lightly. Can you see how that would make it hard for Dakota to come out. I don’t know about his dad, but his mom would put him out, I know it.”

“I don’t know how someone could do that.”

“And it’s always the most sanctimonious asshole too.”

“Who are you talking about?” their mom asked coming out of the back door.

“No one,” Landon and Hunter replied in unison. They laughed, and it grew in intensity until their mom laughed too, even though she didn’t know why.

Their mom sat next to Landon, and they fell into a conversation about college, she once again suggesting Hunter reconsider it. But she knew Hunter was set on farming and saw no need to spend the time or money for college. It was Landon who wanted to try something new, a greenhouse operation, which was something they had no experience, thus it made sense he would go to college. Their dad had already bought the Norton place on Gardner Lane, cleaning up the pasture behind the old barn for greenhouses when Landon graduated in a year.

The soft squeak of the floor board under the rocker, the squeak of the chains holding up the swing, and the rustle of the tree canopies made it a perfect summer day, one that gave Hunter comfort as he listened to their mom talk about Elizabeth Greene being pregnant with their fifth child and Landon sarcastically remarking how someone should tell her they know what causes a woman to get pregnant.

 

Dakota avoided his mother, keeping outdoors helping his father, then climbing in his Jeep and taking off. He told them he was going to hang out with one friend or another, a lie, one to keep away the questions. Time and time again, he found himself at the creek. He would sit on the sandy bank and watch the slow-moving waters while he sought some answer that avoided conflict. But it was impossible, and he knew it.

Hunter was avoiding him, refusing to even make eye contact when they crossed paths. At the store in Coffee Springs, the office at the grain elevator, and in town, at the diner where Hunter had walked right past him at the front entrance, so close their shoulders brushed, not giving him any acknowledgement. It hurt, more than he could admit to anyone. He saw Clay and Owen at the department store in Greenville, and they acted normal until he asked Owen about Hunter, knowing the two of them were close friends. Owen stammered a vague reply, saying Hunter was fine, then changed the subject.

He was changing the oil in the combine, the big machine moved out of the barn and into their large back yard, when he began to think differently about his situation. It was stifling hot in the metal barn, and in the yard, he could feel what breeze there was as he worked around the combine, and this small degree of comfort allowed him to consider options that lay before him about his life. What if he told his parents, came out that he was gay? What was the worst that could happen? He was nineteen, a man in his mind, and one that could get his own place to live. If his mother told him to get out, he could simply grab up his stuff and leave. The Jeep was in his name, rightfully his, and he had his own checking account, his father had him take some of the income to cut down on the overall taxes paid. His father was the unknown, the one he didn’t know what response to expect. Would he side with his mother and cut him off, refuse to share the farm with him, his only son? Or would he defy his wife and allow him to continue farming?

He kept circling back to this conflict, this unknown. If he wanted a shot at life, a life the way he wanted, no needed, then he had to plan around this issue. He needed a job opportunity; one he could fall back on if his father joined sides with his mother.

He finished with the maintenance and put the combine back into the barn. In the mudroom, he used the degreaser on his hands and forearms, scrubbing until his skin felt raw, but the grease and grime was removed. His mother was in her sewing room and he passed it quietly, and went down the hall to his room. Door eased closed, he sat his desk and plotted a way for him to go forward. He pulled up Word and made a list, then searched the region for job listings, not yet confident enough to reply to any of them. Then he pulled up the social media sight. He clicked on Hunter’s page and saw there had been only one post in the last few days. Hunter standing next to his brother, Landon with the silver 4Runner behind them. They were smiling for the camera and Landon had an arm around Hunter’s shoulders. Below the imagine, Hunter had typed a caption.

The best brother a guy could have. Always supportive.

He saw it, Hunter coming out and Landon’s acceptance. He knew by the look on Hunter’s face it was true. He picked up his cellphone and dialed Franklin.

“Hey what’s up?”

“Will you do something for me?”

“Sure, if I can.”

“Will you ask your dad if there are any jobs at the elevator. A permanent job, not some part time position only during the harvest.”

“Seriously? Did something happen with your folks?”

“Not yet, but I know it will.”

“Dakota, what are you talking about?”

“Can I tell you something and even if you don’t like it, you will keep it to yourself?”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“Will you keep anything I tell you a secret?”

“Yes, yes. What is it?”

“Franky…I’m gay.”

“No shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Wait, is this what is between Hunter and you?”

“Please don’t ask me that, not now. I’ll tell you everything after I…”

Dakota let his voice trail off, what he was going to say unfinished.

“You’re not going to tell your mother, are you?”

“Eventually, but I have to have a plan to live on my own.”

“Shit, dude, what are you going to do?”

“First, I’m going to have a job opportunity, so will you ask your dad about the possibility of working at the elevator?”

“Yes, of course.”

30 Days Later

Hunter entered his room towel drying his hair. He went to the chest of drawers for a pair of boxers when he heard his computer chime of an incoming message. He slipped on a pair, tossed the towel over the foot of his bed, and sat down at his desk. He pulled up his email and saw a message from Dakota. He moved the curser to the delete symbol and clicked it. The message disappeared. He rolled back and stared at his computer. Why was that asshole contacting him? It had been about a month since that afternoon at the creek. Since then, he had avoided him, ignored his presence when they crossed paths. The next couple of weeks had been painful by how often they did cross paths. Over the following weeks he realized he had not seen Dakota. It was as if Dakota had disappeared. He knew Dakota was still around, a couple of their mutual friends having made reference to him, something about taking a job at the grain elevator working in the office and warehouse. It had been puzzling, for everyone knew Dakota would take up farming with his father.

Something had changed, something he just now really considered. He rolled back to his desk, brought up his email again and clicked on the trash folder. The unread message was at the top of the page.

‘Can we talk?’ was the heading. He clicked it and leaned forward to read it.

I know how much I hurt you. It was all my fault and I know it was because I was scared to be seen as gay. There, I said it to you. I’m gay. I don’t know if you heard, but I’m working at the elevator, and I’m living in town at the Oakdale Apartments. You know the ones, out on the east side of town. Not the best apartments in town, but they are cheap.

Hopefully you’re wondering why I’m not farming with my father or still living at home.

I came out to them two weeks ago. It was as bad as I feared, but you know what? I had faced the reality of what could happen and had a plan. A job and a place to live. Mother had no idea the threat of making me leave would be such an easy thing for me. I had my clothes already packed up when I told them.

I tell you all of this because I miss you. When I think of the last time I saw you, how you just brushed by me without even a look, it hurt. Deservingly so, but it still hurt. I want another chance. A chance to do right by you.

I’ll be at the creek tomorrow at three o’clock. If you don’t come, I will know not to contact you again.

Dakota

 

“Fuck,” Hunter uttered as he rolled back from his desk. He had read the message three times; still not sure he believed it. Dakota came out to his parents? It seemed impossible. Then he remembered seeing Dakota’s father bush hogging the ditch along one of their fields two days prior, a job that had always been Dakota’s. There he remembered Owen mentioning Dakota was with Franklin’s father a week ago, the two of them coming out of the bank.

Later that night, sprawled out across his bed, Hunter kept telling himself there was no way he was going meet Dakota. Not in a million years after everything that happened. Then he remembered the conversation Landon and he had had about Dakota and his mother, how she would surely toss him out if he confessed to being gay. He rolled to his back, feeling torn as to what to do.

In the last two weeks he had gone out with two guys. One was a twenty-eight year old guy in Greenville working to be a real estate agent. The guy had talked nonstop about how he was going to make it big selling homes in the region. More than once the guy had pointed at the BMW in the parking lot bragging about how he was able to buy it a year ago. It as too much, too ambitious compared to his own goals in life.

Then there was the guy from Jasper. He had been nice, but something didn’t sit right, and he had to gently tell him he didn’t think it would work out. He considered how his rejection was too quick, that he was holding the guys to a higher standard than he should.

Now he had Dakota wanting to talk. He pictured him. Six-foot tall, lanky build, with jet black hair and brown eyes. The strong cheek bones, a heart shaped face, the thin lips that curved up with such an impish grin at times. He pictured him in t-shirts, shirts with sleeves ripped off, and the tank top with a red cross on front. Then he pictured him naked. The cock that hung heavy over its sac, both darker in skin tone that the rest of him. The sparse pubic and underarm hair giving him a boyish appearance. The long torso and nipples that sat high on the pecs, each with just enough definition to be visible.

The long fingers, the way collar bone was so visible and that indention at the base of the neck. The teeth that looked perfect until you were close to him and noticed the bottom row had one tooth slightly angled, breaking the perfect curve. There was a mole on the left ass cheek and another, smaller, just below the right eye.

Hunter tried to stop. This picturing of every aspect of Dakota. He started having images of him during their sex. How his own cock looked as he pushed it into him. It was too much, and he rolled off the bed to go down and watch television with his parents. Anything to not think of it.

 

Dakota parked on the fire lane and made his way down to the creek. He was relieved to see no one else was there as he stepped into the small clearing. His watch showed it to be ten till three. He stood on the bank and watched the waters move past, the surface swirling and rippling with its passage.

He stood still lost in thought. Would Hunter come to the creek, or would he refuse to show up.  Dakota kept struggling with what to say, repeating over and over one apology, then another, questioning himself, if he could really bare himself to Hunter.

A glance at his watch he saw it was five after three, and he was suddenly nervous. He began to pace, walking the sandy bank along the creek, up, then back, until his footprints had completely disturbed the surface. He glanced at his watch and saw it was fifteen after three. He looked at the place the trail came out into the open area, then he looked around at the waters, it so clear the bottom was visible in the shallow areas.

Then he heard it, a vehicle pulling down the fire lane. Would it be Hunter or someone else come to party by the creek. He moved to the center of the sandy bank and watched the trail for who would appear.

A blue ballcap, then the unmistakable profile of Hunter coming toward him. There was a hesitancy to his approach, the pace slower than usual for Hunter. Nearing the clear area, Hunter looked up and Dakota waved. “What the fuck are you doing,” he uttered to himself, feeling foolish for it. Hunter continued his approach, coming out on the sandy bank, angling to his right, crossing over until standing at the edge of the creek. Dakota watched him as he looked over the waters.

“Okay, I’m here,” said Hunter without turning to face Dakota.

Everything Dakota rehearsed left him. He was flummoxed, as his old fears resurfaced. Hunter turned toward him, and he saw the expression, one that showed impatience.

“I told you I came out to my folks, and god that did not go well, but it was as expected, and I’m working at the elevator, Franklin put in a good word for me with his dad, and-”

“Dakota, I know all of that.”

“Yeah, I guess you do. Look, I’m sorry. I let it get to me, way too much. I wasn’t living my life and hated myself for it, and I…took it out on you. I’m really sorry and have so much regret. We should have been having this conversation a year ago…or longer. But I want another chance, to show you I’ve changed, accept my fate with others finding out. I don’t care if someone rejects me for being gay. I’m finding out who my friends are and…”

Dakota laughs, nervously, shaking his head, then he talks slower, less frantic.

“I’m realizing what I’m missing. A life where I can be myself and hopefully…share it with someone else. Share it…with you, if you’ll let me.”

“Dakota,” Hunter uttered.

It sounded like a rejection, the tone of Hunter’s voice, weak and pained.

“I’m just asking for us to start over. Go out on dates and get to know each other like we once understood each other.”

“You want to go out on a date, just a dinner somewhere and talk.”

“Yes.”

Hunter dragged the toe of his boot through the water, then stepped back from the creek and turned to Dakota.

“I’d like that.”

 

Hunter followed Dakota into his apartment, seeing the sparsely furnished living room. Two armchairs, a side table between them and a television sitting on a coffee table. The dining area was empty and in the kitchen the countertops only had two containers and a package of sweet rolls. The walls were bare, giving the room an unlived in look. It should have been sad, a depressing sight, but it was Dakota’s freedom, a place he could live as he sought. To Hunter, it looked like hope.

They had had dinner at the diner, sitting at the front storefront realizing later what a mistake it had been. So many from their region knew, either of Hunter or Dakota, and some knew of both, giving them frowns and dirty looks. But they had been surprised by those that merely smiled or gave a small wave as they passed. Will Jackson, one of the guys at the elevator, even came over to say hello.

It was their second date. For Hunter it finally felt like a new start.

Now he followed Dakota to the bedroom. A twin bed, a nightstand with a lamp and the chord for charging a cell phone draped over it. On the floor, along the wall opposite the bed, folded boxers, t-shirts, and socks lay in a neat row.

“I know how it looks,” said Dakota.

“It looks fine,” Hunter replied as he let Dakota pull him toward the bed.

Suddenly Hunter felt Dakota touching him, hands seemingly everywhere at once. Working buttons free down the front of his shirt, the loosening of his belt, the opening of his jeans, then the hot exhales through his boxers, lips seeking his cock.

He helped get his clothes off. Held his arms down for the shirt to slide down them, lifted one foot then the other until standing naked in front of Dakota. Hands moved up his legs, then manipulated his cock, the sac, then moved up his stomach as lips touched his cock. He shivered with the touch of fingers and lips, then shuddered when those lips slipped over the head of his cock and took him.

Dakota moved on his cock. From head to base, lips sliding slickly along its length. Then tongue licked up its length and around the head. He shivered and balled up his fist, struggling to hold still. It was too much, and he took Dakota’s head between his hands and slow fucked that hot slick mouth until so aroused he had to stop.

Hunter pulled Dakota to his feet, got the shirt off, then jeans and boxers. Stripped naked, he pushed Dakota back until he fell on the bed. It squeaked and rocked with the weight of him, and Hunter moved down by the bed, grabbed each leg, and pushed them up then back. He spread Dakota and when Dakota took hold of his legs, he began to toy with his ass. He rubbed fingers up and down the dark line from sac to opening, then he rubbed the tight opening until Dakota was moaning.

“Fuck,” Dakota uttered.

With one finger, he penetrated Dakota, buried it inside him, then twisted and turned the finger within the tightness until he felt it loosen. Then he used two fingers, then three, working to loosen Dakota.

He rose with legs on his shoulders and put his cock to the loosened opening. A push and he had the head of his cock inside him. Another push and Dakota cried out as he held half of his cock inside him. He tugged outward, then pushed inward, slowly, gently, over and over, working deeper and deeper, until his hips pressed tight to the upturned ass.

He moved over him, folding him in half, and began to fuck. To tug outward, then push inward, all the way, until in a steady rhythm. He increased his pace until the bed rocked and squeaked, sounding as if it would collapse beneath them, then he slowed until he could feel every damn inch move through that tight ring.

When he became so hot, so worked up, his skin was wet with sweat, he maneuvered Dakota around on the bed and to his stomach. He lay on him, feeling the captured heat of their bodies. He moved slickly over him as he pushed into his depths. He fucked slowly, grinding his hips against the round ass. He bearhugged him, pulled his head up, while kissing the side of the neck. Then he tugged on the ear as he ground his cock into Dakota’s depths, trying to sink it deeper into him.

Naked flesh against naked flesh. The hot exhales of desperate men kissing, touching, fucking. The room felt like an oven and closed in around them. Hunter only sensed Dakota. The mouth, the neck, the long arms, sweaty torso, firm around ass, and when he slipped a hand underneath him, downward, he felt the slick head of a drooling cock.

He rolled over next to Dakota gasping for breath.

“Sit on it,” Hunter uttered.

Dakota was soon sliding down his cock. It disappeared inside them as ass ground down on his hips. Then Dakota began to move. Up, down, over, and over, while stroking his own cock.

“Let me,” Dakota uttered as he increased his pace, both in how fast he fucked himself and stroked his cock.

The bed squeaked in rhythm with Dakota. Every slid down Hunter’s cock, the bed squeaked. It grew louder as Dakota moved with abandon, until it began to bang into the wall.

Hunter arched his back, shoving upward, and came. He shuddered and jerked with every ejaculation as his cock spewed wad after wad into Dakota’s depths. He fell back, mouth open gasping for air.  A wad of cum landed across it, another hit him under the chin, then he felt it rain down on his chest, then stomach.

They fell still, both breathing hard. Then Dakota climbed to his feet and held out his hand.

“Shower with me.”

 

The shower steamed up the small bathroom. The cheap plastic shower curtain fogged up. Under the warm spray, Dakota put his forearms on the wall and pushed his hips back, legs spread.

“Hunter…do me…do me again.”

Hunter moved to him stroking his erection, then he pushed it down aligning it with Dakota’s hole and slowly sank into his depths.

“Fuck yeah, do it. Fuck me,” Dakota uttered.

Hunter held the narrow waist and fucked. Slowly, gently, sinking all the way into Dakota, then tugging outward until nearly slipping free. He fucked until Dakota was pushing back on his cock, then he pushed him against the wall and increased his pace.

“Pump it in me,” Dakota uttered.

And far too soon, Hunter did so, shuddering with his second release. He jammed his cock all the way into Dakota as his cock shot wad after wad until he was spent. When he pulled free, he turned Dakota and stooped before him. The cock hit him in the face, and he moved to capture it with his mouth. He sucked down on it until his nose was buried in the dark pubic hair. He moved his lips along the length, toyed with the head, and guided Dakota to fuck his mouth. Suddenly Dakota was moving with an urgency. The push inward then the tug outward until the head was at his lips. Dakota cried out and shuddered. The cock flexed, thickened, then filled his mouth with cum.

 

Dakota woke first, feeling the naked Hunter up against his back. He looked at the sunlight filtering into the room around the cheap blinds and smiled. He lay back, snuggling closer to Hunter. The arm wrapped around his chest tightened its hold and a kiss touched the back of his neck.

“A little longer,” Hunter whispered before drifting off to sleep again.

Five Months Later

Landon drove, with his dad in the passenger seat and his mom in the back. He could smell the pot roast and the apple pie in the back of her SUV as they eased along Potter Road to the old Mayfield place. The house came into view, the siding scraped, a few new boards in place, ready for paint. He slowed, then eased onto the freshly graveled drive. They could hear the crunch of gravel under the tires as he moved around the small farmhouse, coming around and pass the detached carport. Two Jeeps sat underneath it. They were twenty-fours years apart but so much in similar.

Parked near the back stoop, they climbed out and went around to the tailgate to get the food his mom had cooked. As he closed the tailgate and started toward the house, the back door swung open, and Dakota stood in it wearing an apron.

“Come on in. I’ve got the table set and the side dishes ready.”