The Marrying Kind

On the range it can get lonely. Cows, horses and cowboys are friendly..up to a point. Some cowboys are….friendlier than others. If you get my drift. Problem is…after they get tired of being friendly they go back to their horse, their truck, their old dog, another cowboy, shit, some even got wives. What they do with them….beats me but I guess someone has to do the laundry. Always ends the same way, “Buddy, we’re gonna be friends for….ever.” Forever being as long as it takes for them to drive off the property, some less if it’s a big spread. Can’t say there weren’t a couple I woulda/shoulda/coulda (Tip of my hat to Her Honor, Judge Judy) put my brand on but they always got their britches on before the iron got hot[CH1] . 

Now a days ain’t much you can’t say or write unless it’s to a woman or someone from New York or Portland-avoid them places. So reading one of those mags for lonely men, which I guess includes lonely cowboys, I ran up on a bunch of ads from men who were looking for a full time husband. Now, straight up, I am not the marrying kind and, anyways, remember them people in New York and Portland? theys the marrying sort, not me, not here, no way, no how. You been to a wedding where two cowboys got hitched? Me neither. Why this one ad, well, it kind a touched my heart and it guaranteed to touch me some other places as well. Picture was of a man, maybe 50, least ways that’s what he said he was and no guy would lie and say they’re 50 unless they were really 90. I took a chance and answered. Hey, it only cost a stamp and saved me almost getting me a haircut from scratching my head with a pencil-don’t write much these days.

I gotta square with you. It wasn’t much of a letter, name, address, height weight, whether I had hair or not-I do but it’s been sort of crew cut since my Daddy took over cutting it after Mom took me to her beauty parlor for a little boy hair cut, you know, the kind that made all the ladies say…..”Aw, he’s just the cutest lil thing…”. Dad took one look, said several of the words that made Mom say, “Merle, I have told you not to use that kind of language in this house. Ever. The boy will hear you….”

“Well, fuck, I hope to hell he does and that’ll learn him to stay out of hen houses.” Off to the barn where I met the clippers for the first time. The result of this was about what I should have expected if I’d been older….he slept on the couch and she slept, with me, locked in their bedroom. As usual, they patched it up and life lurched along.

However, there came a time when lurching became more than either of them could do so while Dad was at a cattle auction in Brenham, Mom took me, had a moving van, filled it, and we left for her sister’s place way far away near Muleshoe up in the Panhandle. Guess from what I heard later, when Dad walked in what he found was an empty house except for his clothes and a terse note telling him to go live in the barn, he was an animal anyway. Oh, and she’d left his best boots in the range…but just on low. Personally, I think that’s what tore it for him.

It’s filthy wrong to involve children in what is truly an adult problem, specially if the only problem is their inability to get along. With a sense of timing that could not have been worse, she pulled me away from Dad at one of those moments when a boy is on his way to being a young man something she regretted but puzzled me. When the dust settled, she had to let me be with him-mainly because things were so far apart, most of the summer and an occasional holiday “to be jointly agreed upon at a later date”. Might as well have shot that last bit with a cannon; These were two people who couldn’t, by then, agree on night or day….and Sister was no help to either of them. I found out that she secretly had the hots for Dad and was beyond mad when he rejected her…..after the divorce. I heard about that one summer and, Jesus, I should have known better by then, went back and dropped that turd into the conversational punch bowl one evening during dinner. Probably could hear them two screaming across the state line in New Mexico.

Which sister was madder at the other…? Good thing I graduated in about six weeks cuz I was clearly going to need to find some other place to get food and a roof over my head; In the court papers legally I could have stuck around for about six months more, until I was 18 but there was no reason to stick around although since them two was winding up to go two falls out of three….wondered who won?

I’d called Dad who drove up for the graduation, just staying out of the line of fire, or the one that would have developed had either biddy seen him. He’d snuck in, got the things I packed at sister’s house, loaded them out in his pickup so when I marched off the stage, diploma in hand, I didn’t sit down I continued out the door into the truck and down the road. Dad handed me a beer, took the tassel from my mortar board for his rear view and the rest, I just tossed out the window.

Like most guys, I’d worn boxers and boots underneath the robe only I forgot the boxers. Dad said to go ahead, give it a rub, fact was, he steered with one hand and was jacking off with the other. The sort of father/son experience not often written about in them magazines that tell you how to be a good parent. Some cases, it might better have been if they’d told ‘em how to fuck without getting knocked up….

It felt good, open window, warm air, down below the feeling of…I leaned over and suddenly put my head over Dad’s handsome piece of meat. I don’t know if he smiled, but he ruffled my hair, said when we got home we’d hit the barn and get out the clippers. Truth was, he needed a couple a passes with the number three guards himself…how about I go full bare wood…just for him. Couldn’t shake my head cuz he liked the idea of shaving me so much he gave me a big graduation present right then. Even tasted like the barn. Easy to see Dad and I were gonna have some things in common beyond his sperm.

Neither of us were up for Playgirl Man of anything but fuck, we was two men running a ranch with about twenty hands. Did real well, Mom must have split her cunt when they found oil…not one penny of it could she get only thing she tried was to get her allowance to take care of me raised and of course he did but fucked her again cuz all the bills had to go to a bank and get their approval then they paid them. Something for me? I went myself, got the money and bought whatever was needed. I wasn’t like the other guys knew I wouldn’t be in Muleshoe longer than my 18th so…wasn’t involved with much of any one. Guess that’s why Lockett liked me. Good ole Trey Lockett, the stud of the Panhandle. Shame no one could see him tied down screaming for more after I’d paddled his ass the color of U.T. red. Good depth there, almost made my cock grow just to plumb it.

Mom and her sister loved ole Lockett, happy to see him come pick me up for the picture show or a game…whatever excuse I fed ‘em. Then, in his brand new pick up, as we headed for where we needed to go, stupid fucker would almost kill us in a head on as he watched me draw my straight edge razor out of my boot. He kinda suspected where it might go and, sonofabitch, once or twice he was right but only once or twice. That shit eating smile on his face told me he just blew a wad…hope he wouldn’t mind cleaning, it’s a mortal sin to get cum in Levi 501’s least until you haul out the tallywhacker and noticing that buttons don’t hurt but get your fur stuck in a zipper…..

I may not have known what things were called, wouldn’t have known a fetish from a cabbage but I did know that Lockett liked his pain and liked it to the point that we’d have to say it was a sleepover cuz no way could he have have gone home when I finished working him over. That razor? The thinnest of cuts. Get him nice and tied up in a chair so he could watch me strop it, cut one hair from my arm to see if it was sharp enough…..step out for a minute, come back in a black leather leather jock with a cock ring built in, full mask, the sort that is strapped on with only two eyes. Leather gauntlets, just the tips of fingers cut off and the custom boots, 24 inches high. Must have cost him a pretty penny but the moment I sauntered in, no longer the nice high school boy but someone there for my pleasure and that was to hurt him. Good thing he liked it, if not….

I knew his pride and joy was his face, been told so often how handsome he was, fuck, he’d come to believe it. Here’s the twisted part and if there was one word to describe Lockett, it was twisted, what he wanted was his face slowly, oh so slowly covered with lines, lines cut in with a razor until they just bled, wanted his lip split, his eye brows shaved off then just a thin slice of skin peeled off where they’d been. Each time we played this scene, I’d do another part of his face, never as much as he wanted but always enough for me to keep my dong in his mouth and what he heard was my voice telling him that as long as he could keep me stiff but not cum, I’d keep on slicing….But, once even a drip dropped, well, he had some options….he liked my razor, knew I was good with it, make any cut he wanted. Even that one, the one he was afraid to say, to think, to even contemplate….once, panting, heaving with desire, forgot what he was having done that time, he told me he wanted to be seated in a chair, hole in the bottom, his balls hanging down and slowly, ever so slowly, the sharp knife would begin to flay them, two cuts, one stripe of Lockett meat pulled off. Course, atfter the first time, only needed one cut, the other side was already open. How long, how far, how many stripes….he never could choke out the details and far being it from me to put words in his mouth, just my cock….

I didn’t tell no one that after that afternoon at graduation I’d skedaddle on down the road with my Dad. Mom and her sister probably wouldn’t be sorry, Lockett would go into shock…no replacement that he knew of plus some other gentleman would miss the sound of my boots on their porch when the little lady was off at the I Will Arise Baptist Church playing Bingo. They all had minor wishes and desires, tied up, chained, fucked, dildo stuck up their ass, little more up scale were a couple of guys, a Rancher and his Head wrangler, who enjoyed being made to strip at gun point, tied back to back with spreader bars for each of ‘em then electro pads in a line from their chins to their nuts. Some days, I’d vary the script a little, put all the pads on their balls and say, Sorry, Gents, I’m just in the mood for fried nuts…and turn on the machine way up high. Good guys, always ended up with a good fucking for me, sit around in our all togethers, throw down a couple, have contests as to who could hold a long neck, with the cap in, up their ass the longest…yep, I’d miss some of them. Money wasn’t bad considering I probably had more fun than they did, some evening I had to tie my schlong to my leg to avoid letting them see I was actually getting off on all this. Hope they could all maybe find each other….thought about sending them a card with just some numbers and a very few words…didn’t do it.

On those summer with Dad he and I had found out some things about each other, not quickly and not always directly sometimes we just had to guess. Like the first day, it was our ritual, in the barn, both strip, he’d get out the clippers, Wahls, with the full set of guards, take them apart, oil them, reassemble them, look at me, wink and I’d put my hands behind my back, he’d tie them, by now he was breathing hard, then hit the switch. It was like it was inside both of us; He kept a ruler to see how long I was from year to year, that was on one side, his, which didn’t grow obviously, length was noted, a small hole drilled in waiting for….something to cover it, my cock. I knew what happened if or when that happened, we’d agreed and kinda both knew that even if I didn’t get the full 6.7 inches, we’d put that hole to the purpose it was intended for, too good an idea to waste.

My legs were spread, my arms in the cuffs dangling from the steel cross member….Dad pushed the button and ever so slowly I was pulled up until pull became stretch, the muscle covered bones appeared, the creaking of joints turned to the suggestion of…almost a snap. I was up, spread eagled, approaching agony when he hit the red “Stop” button. It was so taut that even a strong wind could not have caused my body to move, only thing with motion was my ever stiffening cock as it rose ready to be….? Dad was always full of surprizes. I watched him bring a straight back chair toward me, swing it around, sit in it so his legs were on the outside, his arms casually draped across the curved top and, with only a couple of clicks, his cock ring was attached to a metal ball, bout 40 pounds as I recall, which he the rolled toward me, stopped by the bar between my ankles. Damn, I love father/son time. His cock, coming through the bars on the back of the chair was casually setting up a precum drool, the thick, viscous sort that even the weight could not pull to the floor. Damn, that looked tasty.

“Well, son, I guess you know what’s comin’ next, cept my tang, cuz it’s got pret’ much a full time stream. Kinda like yours…Good thing we got each other to drain the swamp. “

He leaned down picked up the clippers and, dragging the ball with one hand came toward me, the noise of zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz preparing me for whatever he had on his mind….never took it all off, said he liked to see some fur stick out of my tank top, a little curl here and there at the pouch on my jock….He dragged the chair with him.

Nothing like a really good all over feel to set you up and off. Course, by now I’m squirming, holding my breath to suppress the pain then letting it out; Dad knew the signs, least ways he knew my signs, and gave the rack just a touch more…he liked me screaming and got it. Finally got to my head which was flopping back and forth, the deep torture was getting to me, I wanted him to kill me slowly, cut off my legs to release the trapped agony but Dad knew what a good father knows. Standing on the chair, his arms wrapped around me, he started the clippers up the back of my skull ever so slowly….all over peel, hair falling on both of us, took cum, now sliding out of us, mixed it with my hair and gave us both hairy cocks, all the way to the other man head.

He stood there, still on the chair, put his arms around me, held my head to his and whispered/asked/told me…what about next….I licked him, shot a substantial load right into the fur on his nuts and he just laughed. “Son, you are a keeper.”

Slowly letting me down, too fast and bad things happen to your nerves, he undid me, picked me up, put me on the massage table we kept for multiple purposes-if you ran your hand along the edges, must have been ten, even a dozen tie down points plus the steel legs and frame was attached to the floor, damn, we dug holes, put in the legs, plus some other stuff for guests and general entertainment, then concreted it all back in; In a tornado, best place to be was fully held by steel bands then attached to the table, least ways underneath it, then, when the ‘nado passed, fuck each other carrying about 150 pounds of steel-not counting the bed. You think a tornado is impressed by a steel I beam? Anyways, that was the table he put me on, got out the good, penetrating mentholated oil and began to rub me. Course, stupid fucker, couldn’t resist, when he got to my balls and cock used Vicks to not only sooth but give me a slow jerk then, his “special” added in oil of peppermint. I know, some guys prefer hot salsa but we’re not much on Mexican food.

Some might wonder with all the goings on in the barn why nobody never did anything, look in to see if everything was okay. No, and I’ll tell you why. See, around here we like our company as much as we do our privacy and, hell, sometimes you get both.

For example, you’re driving down the road, past your place on the way to the market to pick up the shit you forgot yesterday. Back behind the house there’s a pick up parked almost as if somebody didn’t want nobody else to see. Well, natcherlly, you gotta go in and see what’s up and you pretty much know that when you open the door, having carefully taken off your boots, and see the bedroom is closed but the sounds come right through it. I guess you could pick up the shootin’ iron and go settle things but, after the jury laughed it out of court, you’d have to buy new sheets and probably a new mattress so you just ease on to the ice box, get out two cold ones and sit down to wait. Don’t take long. The dude comes out, hasn’t even got his britches done up when he spots you and blushes from his navel to his flat top.

“Hey Donnie, wish you hadn’t a done that, come on over, got a cold one for you…what’s the deal?”

Seems that Donnie was going down the road to pick up some shit from the market he forgot yesterday when he passes your place. Ole Brenda’s out pinning up laundry which includes the skirt she’s wearing so naturally, he’s gotta go in and help the little lady get herself untangled with her skirt and the clothes line and all then tangled up with him.

Both of you drink up and you lean back , grab

out two more, he rubs his over his chest which is sweating bullets, and everybody thinks and drinks.

“Wanta thank you for helpin’ out the little woman, she shore needed the exercise cuz ever since Peonie, that new girl at Chester’s Bar-B-Cue took my eye, well, Brenda ain’t be getting what she thinks she ought to get.” You and Donnie look at each other, finish your suds, stand up, you start to unbutton your shirt then go back in and both screw her. Only Donnie takes rear entry cuz he done the cunt part already and you fuck the almight shit outta her, telling her to do the laundry in the morning, more time to dry.

See, company and privacy. That’s what Dad and I had, if we wanted some of the guys in for a beer or Bourbon and branch, we’d just lean out the door and holler. Oh, and a perk a working for Dad; Free haircuts -given in his own way.

Things went on real good for, oh, seven, eight years. Maybe more, must have been cuz I was about to touch thirty, in fact, I know I was thirty cuz Dad had a cake made to look like a cock for dinner that night, laughed our fool selves silly. Specially when he took up his huntin’ knife and cut the head off, spewed lemon goo all over….comes a knock at the door. We figure, fuck, it’s the guys come to say howdy and wish me a happy one. Now, I’m facing the back door, Dad is still leaning back, laughing so I just yell to come on it, it’s open. Cuz it always is.

Lockett walks in. Its been a long time, but Trey, well, he’s still a stud, just an older one. Dad is watching my face and knows….something. Turns around sees Lockett and….means nothing. He’s heard about Lockett plenty but far as he knows, me too, Trey is back in Muleshoe or there abouts. Who cares.

“Ain’t you gonna ask me in. Remembered it was your birthday, brung you something.”

“Yeah? Animal, vegetable or Mineral…cuz if it’s the latter, go fuck a rocker arm on a well, we got mineral covered.” Dad is watching me, he knows we’ve both got a mean streak that has nothing to do with how we play with each other, it’s reserved for those who try and cheat us or hurts the other or our friends, then it’s just best to leave town, the county and maybe head for George Bush International cuz while we can and do forgive people double quick, do us dirt and you’re a marked man. Forever.

Dad knows I’m not going to say anything-he can tell by the way my lips just almost disappeared, just one thin line. “Well, yer here, might as well come in, set down. Beer?”

“Thank You, Sir. Want to see your present? Had it made special for you?” I look at the long, slim box covered in black leather, even has my initials cut into it; I know what it is and to say he shouldn’t have…

Dad handed him a beer and dragged the box to him, opened it, closed it shoved it back at Lockett. “Finish your beer then get out. You can sleep in the barn, there’s a sort a table, look around, some sort of bedding…”

Lockett left. As did I. So fucking mad, so fucking mad, he brought a present I didn’t need and memories I didn’t want. I knew to stay at the table I’d sooner or later pick a fight and make an ass of my self, better to just slide into my room-yeah we mostly slept together, just not tonight-and thought. Truth is…not all memories are bad and, fuck him, not all memories of Lockett were bad. He’d provided me with a learning experience, whether I knew it or not, plus had some fun with him.

Thinking about it, my hand slid down to my bulge….lingered then, what the hell, it’s my birthday, pulled open my pants, pushed the jock down and went to work on what I thought would be a long, slow jerk….

Dad looked in, doing the parent thing, just checking on me, saw the action, came over quietly knelt down, pushed my hand aside and took up sucking the good slow suck. Put one strong arm across my chest as we got near the end when I was beginning to writhe and moan, just steady on until he was licking me up, desert to a dinner we didn’t quite have. I rolled over, looked at him, raised up, licked his lips, his tongue put my head by his…”Dad, do me hard..” then rolled over on my stomach as he crawled over my legs, pulled my pants down and gave me my best birthday present: Him, My Dad.

Morning and we’re as usual, pouring over the oil runs that are stuck in the screen every morning. We’re not “breakfast people” but coffee and something that comes from a toaster or the micro is as much as we need. Don’t even put the butter away, just cover it. Second cup before we even say anything unless the house is on fire which hasn’t happened yet.

“I checked on what’s it, made sure he got taken care of. Hell of a present, sort a thing a man buys for another man when he wants it for his-self.”

Later in the day one of the roughnecks from the number three well came by to get something from the barn; brought a fork lift for it. I stood by the table as he maneuvered the cable onto the forks and out the door. Noticed a blood stain on the floor, shouldn’t leave sharp objects around, in the night, could be an accident.

And ten years passed. I guess we were rich, people told us so, told us we should move into Houston but we were the sort of men who live and die where they’re planted. That’s what happened to Dad. Both of us knew he was sick, Doc said it, told me what it was, Dad told me better. Only thing he worried about was having to keep buying Levis one or two sizes smaller in the waist, not in the crotch, just the waist.

I wished he could a died fucking me but didn’t work out that way, he took a spill, couldn’t get up, off to the hospital first in town then in Houston. Not their favorite patient, he knew what lay ahead, I knew it so all the bright smiling faces asking if he was better just pissed him off. Right at the end he could hardly breath so I pulled off his oxygen, jerked off in his nose, pushed the cum down, did it again and that was that. Last thing he did, couldn’t talk no more, was give me a thumbs up. Put the mask back on, waited, pretended to be asleep, let a nurse find the body and that was that. No need for an autopsy although, if they’d done a really thorough one, might have turned up some surprises, the sort that might have got me hard time in prison but, fuck, what can they do to you for killing a man who was dead?

More time, guys, a few, came and went. One of the oil guys and I had a very slight something or other, lived with me for a couple of years but…he was a city boy and when he left to go back to Houston, I was thankful to him. That was about the time I found the magazine advertising for husbands for gay men. I mentioned the man I found. We wrote back and forth, he lived in some place no one ever heard of in West Virginia. Talked on the phone…finally I agreed he could come for a visit, don’t read anything into it, just a visit to see if there was anything worth pursuing. I knew I could get along, had for years in some senses.

We set a date, told him the bus schedule up from Houston, told him I’d meet it. Did.

He was the last man off the bus, held his big hat over his face as long as he could but it didn’t make no difference. Lockett.

There really is a Muleshoe, Texas. An uncle of mine had a ranch there on which I spent many happy days. Actually, Rip, his name, and his ranch have stood in for several persons and locations in other stories, most notably "Bird Shooting". He's Shep Collyer and the very large spread is his. That's where I learned to shoot and fuck cowboys, an awesome duo. Brenham is real, Houston is real and if you haven't known couples who cannot get along, whatever their sexual persuasion...I cannot help you. The Ranch, what we always called it, was where I learned to eat fresh killed rattlesnake that you'd shot yourself. The bits and pieces about the "earl bidness" as my grandfather called it are accurate-I'm in the earl bidness. Rip also gave all the nephews that came to visit crew cuts, not out of any sexual motivation, but getting wheat dust in your hair is not easy to get out. These are some of the family I do miss. He died way too young, typical of the time and place, rolled a piece of farm equipment over him and was dead on the spot. As to sticking sperm up the nose, yep, I did to my own son of a bitch father, the one who broke my spine with a five iron. Didn't kill him, he just knew I'd done it which was all I cared about.

I write a great many things about cowboys, I admire them, have been around them extensively whether on ranches or oil wells. I wear boots, jeans and pearl snap front shirts over a tank top when I'm not wearing a custom made two piece double breasted, double vented suit with an English spread collar as well as an Hermes tie and Bally of Switzerland Blucher toed wing tips. Big rodeo style buckle, made at Neiman Marcus, that just has my initials, PJ, in the centre. Worn it now for...forty years. Brass doesn't wear out although the straps its been on have come and gone. 

For those who may have wondered where the back half of my "Grand Tour: Italy" went, it's coming as soon as I get Bjorn and Haakon out from under a Blue Spruce on Kodiak island....

Some one wrote me and wondered why so few of my characters have names. Well, when they need names, Lockett in this case, they have names. I've got a picture of me, two of them actually, that I'll add to my bio, should get interesting remarks. 

I hope you'll enjoy this, I enjoyed writing it

PJ