Dirt road main street

Welcome to my attempt at a short story. My hope when I started was to start, tell the story, and end in six or seven thousand words. Sorry; didn’t happen. I admire authors who can do that; tell everything in a single and we don’t feel robbed. Hope you enjoy it. RJC.

I remembered coming here when I was fourteen years old. It was my mother’s home town back in the day of a three-story schoolhouse, a grain elevator, three churches, and a bank. It was a town with a dirt road main street but there was a six-room hotel, a gas station, a park, and a gym where the boys and girls used to play b-ball and v-ball.

Now almost fifteen years later I found myself looking at much less than when I a tween. My mother’s maiden name meant everyone knew who she was, her family who stayed, unlike her, kept the town alive. The house in town was mine now; mom having walked the last mile.

Her eldest sister got the house after my Grandparents died and willed it to my mom not liking her brother who stayed. There was the homestead a mile east where my mom grew up with four sisters and the same number brothers. 160 acres back in the twenties, now grown to over 6000 today because of my uncle, who I admired, and his kids that stayed.

It was the biggest house in town sitting on a corner lot with a hedge of Lilac’s on two corners stretching 150 feet across the front and the other down the side. Back in the day, it was the doctor's house. My grandfather bought it when the Doctor/vet died taking my mother’s mother off the farm and into town to spend her last year.

I stood looking at the house now wondering how it could look so small compared to how I saw it as a young kid. It stood proud with two tall stories along with an attic that had half-moon windows on all sides. The body was traditional white with green trim with stained glass above all the windows cascading wonderful colors on the inside.

The downstairs had one bedroom with a bath, an L shaped kitchen, dining and living room, along with a parlor separated by huge pocket doors. It had an entry; double doors with an area between the front and ones that came into the house. On the interior doors, there were long oval pains of frosted glass and knobs of crystal.

I walked in; the door never locked, the smell of this old house filling my nostrils. I’d come in off the screened porch to the north, part of the kitchen to the right, and the stairs going down to the basement on the left. It was actually the back stairs.

My uncle had used the stairs that went to the second floor as kind of a pantry and the formal staircase now led to the floor with the bedrooms. And what a staircase it was. Measuring maybe five feet across, eleven short steps taking you halfway to a landing with two windows side by side; same stained glass above both.

With a turn to the right and another eleven steps brought you to the top; bathroom to the left along with the northwest bedroom. It was funny how I knew which stairs creaked and I’d step to the side. To the right of the bathroom was the room with stairs to the attic. It was this room that the back stairs entered and was a room my aunt never used.

Turning to the right and looking down the wide hall where there was another door matching the one downstairs that led to a small porch. On the left was the east room, the next door was the southeast room and the lone west room on the right. I remembered as a kid playing the old Victrola it that room.

I rested my bags in the northwest room; the one I stayed in years ago. What was I going to do? I didn’t need this place; sure as hell would never move here. I opened the window and as I went back downstairs I opened more windows until I was back at the screened porch and the door I came in.

I had spent the summer here all those years ago; the city kid. I guess word travels fast when a rental car pulls into town and sat out in front of the biggest house. Sitting on the steps swatting at bugs I pulled out the fatty from my shirt pocket putting a flame to it. As I French inhaled the thick blue smoke I thought back on the farm boy who befriended me so long ago.

I remembered the first time I saw him, covered in dust, driving a tractor, and wearing a B-ball hat. He was truly covered in dust, sweat running down his slim chest making little trails in the dirt as he bounced by. The first person who ever touched me.

I had come to terms with my sexuality that summer after exploring all kinds of stuff with him. We jacked each other off in a field, he sucked me first then I sucked him behind bales of hay, and I put my dick in his ass after he begged me. It was the summer I kissed him the day before I left and never laid eyes on him again. My first kiss.

Another long draw, smoke rolling over my top lip and up my nose, and I shook my head at the memory. I watched the old truck drive by kicking up dust then skidding to a stop. Gravel flew as the thing hit reverse and now it skidded to a stop behind my rental. The guy got out slamming the door extra hard and he marched right up into my personal space. He looked like.

“You got a lot of nerve coming back here, Chancellor.”

“Billy?”

“No. He was my older brother. What the fuck did you do to him? Did you know he hung himself the day after you left? What did you do to him?” And now I stood puffing myself up a little just in case.

“I didn’t do anything to him.”

“Someone saw.” He stated. And then, “Is that good shit?” He asked nodding to the joint I was smoking.

“You can’t buy it here but in Washington, it’s good shit.” And I handed it to him.

“You’re, Ben?”

He nodded chocking on the infused bud I’d brought with me. “Some of the guys might come gunning for you. If I’m seen here talking to you, rumors will start to fly.” He said handing it back.

“Nobody will do shit; my mother’s maiden name will see to that. Why did you stop, Ben?”

“I just wanted to know if it was true? Did you and Billy, do stuff?”

“Like what?”

“Stuff. You know. Stuff like in porn; things guys do?”

“You ever been with a girl, Ben?”

“If you fuck a girl in this town the wedding bells ring.”

“What about the other boys?”

“There’s a couple of guys that do stuff, like what you and Ricky were doing. But I’ve never. All the rest of us just jack off to porn.”

“And what kind of porn is that, Ben?”

“It’s not that I don’t like girls if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“What kind of porn do you watch when you jack that big cock I can see growing in your pants?”

“I got to go. Do you think you can come back here and stir up shit like the last time? My parents aren’t gonna find another son hanging from the rafters in the barn.” And he turned back to the old pick-up he pulled in with.

“Do you still do that kind of shit, city guy?”

“Why do you ask? Do you see me as safe or something? Do you think we could have a wild night up in my room, suck and fuck till the sun comes up? I’m going to Willow for dinner, maybe I’ll see you there.” And he got in his truck.

This small town was cancer for boys; afraid to fuck a girl, wind up with a shotgun wedding or something, and afraid of being caught with a boy doing what boys do. Either way, it sucked and I felt sorry for Ben. I finished my blunt thinking about what Ben said and what he’d asked.

I changed, freshened up, got in my rental, and drove the 7.2 miles to Willow City. The Café was as I remembered, small, worn tile on the floor showing the wood beneath, and all heads turned to the new guy in town. My uncle was the only one who didn’t look in my direction; no big surprise. I walked to the counter.

I sat never turning around to see if not knowing got the better of him; I’m sure it did. His large calloused hand rested on my shoulder and I said, “Uncle.” Not turning.

“Care to sit with us?”

“I’m good here, Uncle.”

“Pull the stick out of your ass and be neighborly.” This was not quite the way I saw this going down but really wasn’t a surprise.

“Take your hand off me, old man, or it’ll be my foot up your tired old ass.” I felt his hand leave my shoulder and a heavy sigh from the man behind me and a hush came over the place.

“I’m sorry, Ryan. Can we start over?” Glad he said it because I was ready to.

I turned and stood, stuck out my hand, “Good to see you, Uncle.”

“Come sit with us, Son.” And I nodded in agreement following him back to the round table.

“How long are you stayin? Sorry I didn’t come for you Mom’s service.”

I looked at my aunt, a large but timid woman, and smiled. I liked her from the start when I came years ago because when uncle wasn’t around she had a lot to say. “You being here will just drudge all that shit up again,” And his head turned to the ringing of the bell over the door. “Ben!”

I looked at him thinking he cleaned up right nice. Now the cowboy boots and pearl buttons did nothing for me, but the fuckin wranglers he poured himself in was hitting a high note for me.

“Sir” And I was sure he soiled himself.

“I see you got the last of the alfalfa in. Tell your daddy if he wants one of my grandsons to come over and help; all’s he has to do is ask.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll be sure and tell him.” And he walked to the bar sitting in the same chair I had.

“I asked how long you were stayin, boy?” And I stood.

“Sit your ass down, Boy.” And he stood.

“You sit your own ass down before I knock you on it.” And I threw a fifty on the table. “You’ve gone and spoiled my appetite.” And I walked to the door with everybody looking at me.

“I think I might stick around for a while.” And the bell chimed my exit.

What started out bad then turned better; then went to total shit. The seven-mile drive takes ten minutes and I did it in five. I was so… fuckin pissed the way he talked to me; nobody does that. I didn’t care if he was one of the most powerful men in the county, lived here his whole life, grew a quarter section of land into ten square miles; some of the most fertile lands within fifty miles.

What really pissed me off was I left without eating and I was fuckin starved. I walked in going through the lower cupboards knowing my Aunt liked a little nip after dinner; found it. I walked back out to the screened porch never grabbing a glass and drinking right from the bottle.

I’m not sure how much time passed and I saw headlight turn off and the familiar truck came to a stop. Ben got out holding a bag and he was laughing. “You sure do know how to make an exit. Brought you a burger and fries. Thought your Uncle was gonna stroke out.”

“It didn’t go well, did it?” and I reached for the bag. “This was really nice of you, Ben.”

“If you’re gonna be up for a while, I could climb out my window and walk back.” And he kicked the dirt.

He was all of, twenty-five years old, and he was talking about sneaking out his bedroom window to come back and see me. “Now why would you want to do that, Ben?”

“I just thought. I don’t know. I would really like to smoke some more of that dank shit you brought from out west.”

“Some of what my Uncle said, hit home. Me being here is just going to drudge up shit from years ago. I don’t want to bring it down on you, Ben.”

“My brother killed himself. He is the only one who knows why sept, maybe you. I’d like to come back if that’s ok?” I nodded taking a huge bite of the burger squeezing juice along with all the fixings on my shirt.

“I should be back in a half, I live.” I cut him off.

“I know where you live, Ben.”

As he walked back to his truck I pulled the buttons of my shirt and took it off. He paused just to look at me before getting in his truck. Now I had been single for a long time, no hookups, I too was a jackoff guy watching porn. What was I thinking?

After devouring the burger and fries Ben brought me I walked the stairs and went through my bag looking for the couch-lock joints I brought. I washed my front after removing the soiled jeans and underwear then put on sleep pants. Back in the bathroom, I looked at myself in the oversized mirror; I looked good.

My frame wasn’t by accident; I worked at it. I ran, pushed my upper body, and yoga made me a little bendy. I liked what looked back at me. I could hear something pull up outside and I saw my Uncle getting out of a brand new pickup. This should be interesting. I took the stairs one at a time, him pounding on the screen door only causing me to pause on the landing.

I looked at him, “Can I come in?” He asked.

I pushed the door open then turned my back on him. I sat, picking up the bottle taking a long swallow, set it back down, and put a lighter to the fat joint. Blowing the smoke in his face was uncalled for but what can I say?

“You made a real ass of yourself back in Willow.”

“No, Uncle. I think you are the one with shit on your face.” Ben was right; I think he was ready to, stroke out.

He was clearly under stress, pulling at the collar of his white shirt, rubbing his hands over his coveralls. Then he hit me with it, “I see Ben brought you dinner.” His eyes looked to the bag. That slimy son of a bitch.

“He’s a good boy. He doesn’t need to be stained by you like his brother was.” That did it.

“Out!” and I stood. He did as well.

“Get out of my house.” And I helped him with his spenders in one tight fist and pushed him out the door.

“This was my Father’s house.”

“It’s not about was; this my house now. If you come back; well, don’t push me, old man. You wouldn’t like to see me when I’m mad.” He threw gravel for a hundred feet when he left.

Seconds later Ben was walking in, “Really? You wouldn’t want to see me mad? That was from the Hulk. You are too much, Ryan.”

“Ben. This isn’t a good idea. I can go home when things go to shit or my house gets burned down. You are stuck here.”

“God, it’s hot.” And the snaps on his shirt popped.

Ok. I didn’t like the shirt but what was under it; ‘we have a winner, folks.’ “What the hell does your mom feed you?” I asked. Holy shit.

“Your funny.”

“It’s not a joke. Holy shit; look at you.” And I wasn’t kidding.

His hair was blondish; maybe from the sun or natural along with blue eyes, And Jesus Christ. His arms were bigger than mine and I thought mine were big. His upper body was a dark tan, cuts under his pecks along with eight ripples over his stomach. The sparse hair on his chest got a little fuller going down over the V that disappeared into his pants. This, was not, a good idea.

“You actually blew smoke in his face. I had to bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.” And I had to smile at the balls I showed.

“It would be best if you went home and crawled back in your window, Ben.”

“It sounds so… childish, the way you say it.”

“Childish is you having to do that. I didn’t come back here wanting to bring shit with me from the past.”

“Just smoke some of that killer stuff with me, Ryan.” And he sat next to me hitting off the bottle then giving me a long look.

“Why are you doing this, Ben?”

“I want to know what you and my brother did.” And now it was out in the open.

“What do you think we did? What did you hear?”

“It wasn’t so much about what I heard, it was the things I didn’t. I mean, I got things third hand. You guys did do stuff, right?”

“It was a long time ago, B. We were teenagers. Yes, we did stuff.”

“What’d you do?”

“Fuck, Ben. It’s not something I want to talk to you about.”

“He cried that night. I need to know. Billy never cried.”

“Look, Ben. I am gay, ok? I have never been with a girl and it’s been too long since I’ve been with a boy or a man.” And I took a deep breath.

“We did stuff. All the stuff you see in porn, we did that. Well, I don’t know how hardcore you are, the kind of shit you watch, it was basic stuff.” I couldn’t believe I was telling him this.

“He really liked you. It made him so… sad you were leaving. I felt sad for him, not even understanding. Now, are you going to put a match to that?”

Here he was telling me things I really didn’t need to hear. His brother was a little more than fun and some experience to me at fourteen. I, evidently, was more than that too, Billy. I thought back to the two and a half months I spent here; the bugs, heat, and my fuckin allergies I suffered. Billy was the only one who befriended me; he didn’t have to.

He was a year older than me; almost two. On that first day, we walked the dirt roads refusing rides from everybody who drove by, and he asked me if I jacked off. Now there is a huge ice breaker. “Who doesn’t?” was my reply.

We did jack off that day and most after until the afternoon he wanted to try something different. Hello, my first blowjob. I mean we were teenagers. We had no practice to draw from, I never expected how fast I would cum, and never realized I should have tapped him out or something. I exploded in Billy’s mouth and he never stopped sucking till I had to push him off.

From your Author:

In all honesty, when I started this it was an attempt, on my part, to do ‘a one-off.’ There comes a time when you just have too many words and the need to break shit up into chapters comes. This is fiction and non-fiction. Things from my life, things from the past, and just some boy shit I made up.

With all that said, I would like to say again that; I am not a writer. I have always been criticized for things that are so… obvious. Even though I use spell check, Grammarly, and multiple reads; shit slides by. That’s on me. I try. You try it sometime.

Now, I’m sure a high school dropout could find punctuation issues, simple spelling shit that passes by an old man of sixty. I mean no harm, I want everyone to comment and rate, most of all, be as honest as I have been with you. I, of all people, love constrictive criticism; but don’t, fucking grade me and act confused because you just couldn’t, fuckin, fallow. RJC.