Come Christmas Steve

Come Christmas Steve

Chapter 2

Where the Home Fires Burn

Both of us had fallen asleep by the time the bus pulled into the station at Kalispell. It was dark and clear. Even with the scattered streetlights of the town, the stars were brightly shimmering. It was noticeably colder and our warm breath hung in the air as we stepped off the bus. My little brother, Billy, was there to greet us. We hugged and bumped shoulders before I introduced him to Steve. Billy pulled his glove off and shook his hand firmly. "Thanks for taking him off my hands. Does he still snore like a grizzly bear?" Billy asked.

"Sometimes. That's what these are for." Steve held out his ear buds and smiled.

"Jerks," I mumbled. They both laughed and we retrieved our bags and climbed in the pickup. It was a single cab and we had to slide together. At least it was an automatic so I didn't have to straddle the gear shifter. "So I hear from Mom that you're quite the hockey stud."

"Definitely kicking it this year. I'm only a junior and I'm outscoring the seniors."

"Nice. Way to go, lil' bro." I gave him a playful shove. "I also hear from Tom that you're quite the player off the ice too."

Billy smugly smirked and said, "I get some now and then, yeah. How about you? You playing doctor with all those hot nursing students down there at State?"

"No. Too busy studying, dude. You know me. Work, work, work."

"Yeah, right. I bet Steve here could tell a different story."

Steve was busy taking in the beauty of the drive into the foothills where our little ranch was located. He didn't get the full effect of it having only the full moon for light, but he was still in awe of it and commented off and on. Soon, we arrived at the long drive into our log cabin style ranch house. At the drive entry stood a black metal arch holding the engraved sign, "Steele Ranch" overhead. It felt good to be home again even though it hadn't been that long since I was home for Thanksgiving. We climbed the wooden steps up to the porch supported by columns of rough hewn logs and thick wooden beams overhead. Billy opened the black, wrought iron, screen door and then pushed open the heavy oak entry door. As Steve and I entered, Mom rushed out of the kitchen, pulling off her apron to greet us. We embraced and then I introduced Steve to her and she pulled him into a hug. Steve just sort of stood there all tensed up, not sure how to react to being hugged by a stranger. From his odd reaction, I wondered if he'd ever been hugged before.

The house smelled of cinnamon and pine. A crackling fire was burning in the great room's river rock fireplace. That's where the tree stood decorated with all the familiar ornaments -- all but six that is. We each had a special ornament that was ours and ours alone. On Christmas Eve every year, we would gather around the tree and read the Christmas Story from Luke and then each make a special Christmas wish as we hung our own special ornament.

I still remember how aggravated my Mom got at me the year I purposely hung my ornament in the spot Billy had been planning for his. He'd announced over and over that he was going to hang his special ornament front and center next to the baby Jesus ornament. When he tried to move mine away to put his there, I picked a fight over it and chaos ensued. My mother told me I'd single handedly destroyed the Christmas spirit that year and that she was severely disappointed in me. Worst of all, she threatened to call Santa and tell him to just give my gifts to some poor orphan boy since I didn't deserve them. I moved Billy's ornament into the spot he wanted and said I was sorry like a hundred times. My mother told me the damage was done and sorry didn't fix the sadness I'd caused. She said if I was really sorry for what I'd done and not just sorry for what happened to me because of it, then maybe Santa would change his mind. I went to bed crying my eyes out. I was sorry, truly sorry. The next morning, I trudged slowly down the steps expecting nothing under the tree with my name on it. But there it was after all -- the Daisy BB gun I'd wanted so badly. I remember looking at Mom and asking how did Santa know I was really sorry? She just gave me a hug, said she didn't know, but she was glad he did. I even let Billy have the first turn at shooting my new gun that day.

I asked about sleeping arrangements and Mom directed me to take Steve to my old room and said that Billy would be up in the attic. "I don't want to put Billy out of his room. Why don't you let me go to the attic," Steve interjected.

"Certainly not. Billy doesn't mind, do you?"

"Heck no. I prefer it to sleeping with the grizzly bear again. Besides, I'll be staying over at Jaime's some of the time anyway." We all filed up the stairs with the lodge pole railing and into the room I shared with Billy growing up. Billy gathered a few of his things to take to the attic and showed us the drawers he'd cleaned out for our use. Steve set his backpack on the bed and unzipped it. He pulled out a couple of books he'd checked out of the library to read over break. I picked them up and glanced at them, one was the biography of Mozart and the other was a historical novel about the Civil War.

"There's only one bed," Steve remarked.

"Yeah. We share it," Billy responded. "It's sure been nice having it all to myself since Shane took off for college. I miss him being around, but I love having the room and the bed to myself."

"I just realized I've never had a room to myself. I don't know what that's like," I commented.

"Me either," Steve said. "I think I'd feel lonely."

"Umm, Billy, who is this Jaime that your spending the night with? I don't remember him. Is he a new kid in town?"

"Kind of. Promise to keep a secret?"

"Sure. I always have, haven't I?"

"Yeah, most of the time you have. Jaime's not a him, Jaime's a girl."

"What!?!?" I was shocked. "Mom and Dad let you sleep over at a girl's house? No way."

"No. They don't know Jamie's a girl. I accidentally let it slip once that I was staying over at Jaime's and they wanted to meet him. So I paid a new guy who just moved in, who they wouldn't know, to come over and pretend to be Jaime. The real Jaime is this really fun, loose chick at school, who lets me do her whenever I'm in the mood and don't have any other hookups going on. We're like friends with benefits. Her old man's an irresponsible drunk and doesn't care that I'm sleeping over and banging his daughter. Sick bastard even spied on us before. I actually think he's hoping I'll get her pregnant and take her off his hands. But that ain't happening, I promise you that. Before I let little Willy out to play, I make damn sure he's got his slicker on. The kid who pretends to be Jaime charged me a couple of times to come over, but then we actually hit it off and became buds. After that, I hooked him up with the real Jaime once I started bangin' this cheerleader, so he doesn't charge me anymore."

Steve and I stared at him in stunned silence. Finally, it was Steve who said, "Wow. That's messed up."

"Seriously," I added.

"You promised to keep it a secret, remember."

"I remember, but it's still messed up."

"Why?" Billy asked. "No one's getting hurt and we're all getting something out of it. She doesn't want to be attached any more than I do, and she loves having sex as much as I do. She says I'm the best she's ever had at getting her off. Win - win."

"You just better hope you never get caught. Dad will cut your balls off and tack them to the barn wall," I cautioned.

"I know. That's the scary part. It adds to the excitement of it though."

"You always did live on the edge. I could never pull off something like that."

"I know. The only thing you ever pulled off was your skinny little dick," Billy teased. "So Steve, do you have to pretend you're asleep while he pulls one off every night like I used to?"

Steve didn't answer. It was obvious the question caught him completely off guard and he didn't quite know how to respond. His basic, truthful nature wanted to admit he did, but his social politeness prevented him from doing so. The result was a twisted face with a shrug.

"Oh my god, you do." Billy cracked up. "Billy? Billy? Are you asleep, Billy?" Billy mocked in a hushed tone. Then he revealed, "So I'd always grunt and start breathing deeply so he'd think it was okay. I mean a guy needs his fun, right? I couldn't deprive my poor bro of his nightly thrill."

"Shut up, you dweeb," I said. I was embarrassed by him talking about that in front of Steve. Of course, I knew that Billy wasn't really asleep all those times I jacked off in bed next to him. Not after he got old enough to do it himself, that is.

"Next, it's off with the boxers as he tosses the covers aside, and then the bed starts bouncing, and all the while I'm trying so hard not to laugh, unless I'm really tired. Then, I'm trying hard not to tell him to knock it off or go in the bathroom. Finally, comes the heavy breathing and soft, whimpering moans until the big event when he says ..." Just as Billy was about to say it, Steve chimed in and they said it together in perfect unison, "Ohhh, yeah, cum Shaney cum!" They both laughed and I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole.

"Fuck you both! And the horse you rode in on."

Billy headed out of the room laughing his butt off while Steve and I unfinished packing. I tried not to look at him, I was so embarrassed. "Sorry about that, but I just couldn't resist. It is kind of funny how you always say that same thing every time you cum. Is 'Shaney' your pet name for your dick?" Steve asked.

"Whatever. You two are dickheads pretending you're asleep when you're not."

"Ahh, c'mon. It's no big deal. All guys do it. Like Billy said, we just didn't want to deprive you."

"You don't. At least I've never heard or seen you doing it."

"Well, I'm just a little better at concealing it, like a Ninja-jacker. Of course I do it, just very secretly. And your brother did too, I bet."

"Yeah, I guess the truth is, I let him think I was asleep sometimes the same way he did to me. Still it was embarrassing having you two talk about it like that in front of me. I'd never do that to you guys. I don't get Billy and this whole screwing that Jaime girl like it's no big deal. And worse bouncing back and forth between the cheerleader and Jaime. I don't get how all four of us boys could come from the same parents and yet be so different."

"That was weird, all right. I don't like lies and deception," Steve said. "It always causes problems."

"It's not how we were raised, I'll tell you that. Billy always has pushed the limits a bit. Maybe it has to do with being the youngest. More than once, I got blamed for his shit. I had to keep more secrets for him than the CIA."

"Maybe so," Steve agreed. "I wouldn't know about being the youngest, or the oldest."

"So you're a middle child too?"

"You could say that, I guess. I'm hungry, are you?"

We washed up and headed down for dinner when Mom called out that it was ready. Dad had just gotten back from the airport from picking Karl up. Tom couldn't come home until Christmas Eve because he was working still. We sat down at the big table and said grace. Steve followed our example of folding our hands in our laps and bowing our heads while Dad said the prayer. Mom served her award winning fried chicken, four year blue ribbon winner at the county fair, with mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans that she'd preserved herself out of our garden, cucumber salad soaked in vinegar, all topped off with apple pie ala mode for dessert. I could tell Steve was dying for seconds but was too polite to ask. "This sure is good," he kept saying.

"Yeah Mom, after cafeteria food, it's great to be getting some good home cooking again. I'd like seconds, how about you, Steve?" I asked, giving him an opportunity to get another helping.

"Oh yes, please, if it's all right."

"Certainly, it's all right. I'm thrilled you like it."

"I don't just like it ma'am I love it. I've never tasted anything like it. I had no idea chicken could be this good. And the gravy is so smooth and flavorful. The beans are crisp and tasty, not all waxy like the ones in a can. Thank you so much for cooking this."

My mom beamed as I took a small helping of potatoes and a few more beans. I still had some chicken left but passed the plate to Steve who speared a large breast. Everyone sort of smiled surreptitiously in watching him practically make love to every bite. When it came time for pie, Mom poured herself, Dad, and even Karl a cup of coffee. The rest of us got cold milk. Not the 2% from the store either, this was the real McCoy straight from the tap, full of fat with just the thick cream skimmed off the top. "Mom," I whined. "Steve and I are college students now. We're old enough to drink coffee. Stop treating us like little kids."

My dad scowled at me and Mom looked offended. "I just didn't want poor Billy to be the only one drinking milk. I wasn't trying to offend you."

"I like milk with my pie. I prefer it actually," Steve said in an attempt to smooth over the tension and took a big gulp. The look on his face was priceless. He had a milk mustache as he set the glass down and tried to process what he'd just ingested. "That's a little different than I'm used to," he said, struggling not to gag. We all laughed and he laughed along with us. I reached over and dabbed away his mustache.

"Would you prefer coffee, Steve?" Mom asked.

"Maybe so, if it's okay. Or I could just have more water. That would be fine."

Mom fetched three more cups and saucers and even offered coffee to Billy. He accepted but put so much milk and sugar in it that it looked more like weak hot chocolate than coffee. I rolled my eyes over baby Billy getting coffee so he wouldn't have to be the only one drinking milk. I didn't see any point in making a federal case out of it though, since I'd gotten what I wanted. The pie was wonderful. The crust was flaky and light and the filling was perfect with just a hint of cinnamon. It's no wonder Dad had a bit of a gut on him. I realized that if I wasn't careful, I'd go back to school twenty pounds heavier.

After dinner, we all went into the great room by the tree and Mom plugged in the lights. We all chatted about our different activities and what school was like. Listening to Karl talk about Dartmouth, it was clear we were having totally different college experiences. Listening to Billy, we were definitely having totally different high school experiences. He was king shit on the hockey team and part of the cool kids on campus. I'd been the invisible kid in the middle row hoping not to get called on. Steve talked about his idea of becoming a botanist or maybe joining the forest service. Like always, he evaded discussion of his family or his past, other than to say he grew up in and went to school in Missoula. That was news to me.

"Shane told us that your last name is Fahrenheit. That is such an interesting last name. I don't think I've ever heard it before. Where does it come from?" Mom asked.

It's German. I looked it up. The Fahrenheit temperature scale is named after Gabriel Daniel Fahrenheit, a German physicist in the 1600's who figured out how to use mercury in a tube as a measuring device for temperature. The actual translation of the name into English is 'cheerful traveler,' which I kind of like."

"My, that's interesting. Can you trace your lineage back to the inventor?" Mom enquired.

"No, I'm sure I'm not related. Just the same last name is all." Then Steve asked what the Steele story was and my dad launched into the family history of Great Gramps coming in the 1800's to work the logging camps and falling in love with a Mormon girl who'd been sent by Brigham Young himself, along with her family, to settle the area. Her family wasn't too pleased with her marriage to a logger and none of their kids followed in her religion. He bought the ranch and lived in the old house up by the pond. Gramps Steele, my grandpa, took over the ranch and built the house we live in. My dad took over the farm since he was the oldest boy when Gramps got too old to run things and Gramps lived with us up until he died. Steve was fascinated by the story but me and my brothers had heard it all numerous times. We were occupying our time by checking out the tree and the presents beneath it, wondering what might lie in wait for us. I was really hoping for a tablet computer. My clunky old laptop was outdated. I thought I could let Steve have it since he didn't have anything but a calculator.

When Dad finally wound down the genealogy lesson, Mom slipped onto the piano bench and started playing Christmas songs. We joined in singing but Steve just listened. I knew he had a good voice and liked to sing, so I wondered why he wasn't joining in. Between We Three Kings and O Little Town of Bethlehem, I asked why he didn't sing with us. "I know you have a killer good voice, because you sing at your desk all the time when I'm trying to study."

He looked a bit embarrassed and dropping his head slightly, said, "I don't know the words to any Christmas songs except Jingle Bells."

We all looked at him in surprise. I wondered how that was possible. "Not even like Rudolph or Here Comes Santa Claus?" He shook his head.

"Well let's sing Jingle Bells then," Mom suggested and launched into a lively introduction. This time Steve sang out loudly, and beautifully. At the end, he beamed as everyone clapped and complimented his nice voice. Mom encouraged him to sit next to her on the piano bench and she pulled out a book of Christmas songs. She didn't really need the music to play, but she wanted Steve to have the words so he could follow along and sing with us. We spent nearly an hour singing and sipping hot cider. Mom had taken a quick break and made a batch of hot apple cider from real apple juice with cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg all boiled together with orange slices thrown in to replace the contents of the empty coffee pot.

Our last song was Silent Night. At the lyric, "Round yon virgin, mother and child," Steve choked up and rushed off to the bathroom. When he returned after the song was over, his eyes were red and sad, but none of us had the nerve or bad taste to pry.

We gathered in a circle with the lights off other than the Christmas tree lights and held hands. We bowed our heads and my father gave thanks for all our blessings and asked a blessing on those less fortunate. He prayed for each of us children and added a special blessing for Steve, our new friend. I felt a quiver in Steve's grip when he did so. I was reluctant to release Steve's hand at the completion of the prayer and held it noticeably longer than I should have. I hoped no one, especially Steve, picked up on it.

After the prayer, we silently filed off to our bedrooms for the night. I was tired from the long day of traveling and there was a chill in the air through the rest of the house away from the blazing fire we'd enjoyed in the great room. "Wall or edge?" I asked, peeling back the bedcovers.

"Wall, I guess," Steve answered, picking up my guitar from the corner beside the dresser and slipping the strap over his shoulder. I'd noticed he always slept facing the wall and right up against it in the dorm room so I wasn't surprised by his choice. All the better, I figured, in case I needed to get up and pee or pull one off during the night.

"Is this Billy's guitar?" he asked.

"No, it's mine. Mom wanted me to play it, but my fingers are kind of short and stubby so it didn't go so well. I had the same problem with the piano. I took a few lessons and then dropped them both. Now all I play is the iPod."

"That's a shame. I've always wanted to learn how to play the guitar."

"I've seen your air guitar. You're pretty good at that," I teased.

"Well sometimes I just get moved by the music," He said. He pulled the guitar into position and faked a rock and roll guitar solo with it. It was a little comical since it was an acoustic guitar and not an electric. Then he made a dramatic final strum motion and raised both hands up over his head and exclaimed in a pretty good Elvis voice, "Thank you, thank you very much."

I giggled at him. "I've never seen your goofy side. You're always so serious."

"I guess I'm too serious sometimes. I can't believe how good I feel here with your family. Thank you for inviting me. It's wonderful here. You're so lucky."

"You're welcome, Steve. I'm really glad you came." I stripped down to my boxers and pulled on a pair of flannel PJ bottoms with an old t-shirt. I offered him a pair but he declined.

"Is it all right if I just wear my boxers? I don't really like pajamas. After I turned twelve, no one wore them anymore and I just got used to sleeping in my boxers."

"Sure. No problem. Whatever you're comfy with. The sheets are cold, though." He stripped to his boxers and slipped in, rolled to face the wall and pulled the heavy covers over his shoulders, shivering.

"I warned you." I laid down on the edge and pulled the covers over me. I felt him still shaking and I was cold even with a shirt and bottoms on. "Dude, are you sure you don't want some PJ's?"

"No. I'm fine."

"You're shivering so much, you're shaking the bed. Or is that you secretly jacking off over there?" I joked.

"No! I'll be okay, I just need to warm up my spot and then not move."

I don't know what prompted me to do what I did next, but almost instinctively I rolled toward him and rubbed my hand over his shoulder and arm vigorously to warm him up. He reacted in surprise by tensing up at first, but quickly relaxed. When he relaxed and didn't complain, I scooched a bit closer and began to rub his chest and stomach. He surprised me then by reaching over his hip and rubbing my upper thigh. I was overwhelmed by the feeling of being close to his body and the feeling of my hand coursing over his smooth flesh. I raised a leg and placed it over his and then rubbed up and down along it. Suddenly, I became aware that I'd sprouted an erection and it was straining against his butt cheek. I quickly pulled away and slid back to my spot. My heart was racing. In a shaky voice I asked, "Warmer?"

"Yeah. Thanks," was all he said. My heart continued to race as my head spun with thoughts of what he might be thinking about me. I didn't want him to get the wrong idea. The silence between us was heavy and uncertain. I desperately wished I could read his mind and know what he was thinking. I tested out a million ways to explain away why I'd gotten wood, but none of them worked so I just lay there in silence and uncertainty. I thought of ways to make a joke and laugh it off, but nothing came that wouldn't just compound the problem. I couldn't imagine what the hell I'd been thinking by doing what I'd done. I realized that I hadn't been thinking at all, only acting on an impulse.

After a long period of dreadful silence, silence so deep it was deafening, he rolled onto his back and asked softly, "Shane? Shane? Are you asleep, Shane?" I didn't know how to respond. I gulped and just lay there motionless and mute. I feared he wanted to chastise me for what I'd done and I chose to avoid it. I began taking long, deep breaths and even faked a soft snoring sound. What was he doing? Then he started bouncing the bed in a slow rhythm. I couldn't believe it. He was getting himself off. I wondered if I had triggered it with my actions or if he was just in need. Suddenly, he exclaimed, "Ohhh, yeah, cum Stevey cum." Then the dick started giggling. He was messing with me.

"Oh, you little fucker. That is so not funny." Of course it was funny, and I busted up in spite of myself. We laughed together and I gave him a shove which resulted in a retaliatory shove back and then we ended up in a playful wrestling tussle under the covers. "Well that warmed me up," I said as we pushed away from each other.

"Definitely. Good night, roomie."

"Good night, dickhead." He snickered softly, rolled against the wall, and we both fell asleep.

The next morning, I awoke with a full bladder and an oak branch between my legs. I reached down and grasped hold of my wood through the flannel PJ's and gave it a squeeze. I lifted myself up on one arm and looked on the peaceful face of my sleeping friend and roommate. It struck me that he was quite handsome. Light filtered through the partially open slats of the blinds in my window. The blankets rose and fell in sync with his slow, steady breathing. I crawled from my warm spot and made my way down the hall to the bathroom to relieve myself. I sat on the cold toilet seat with my pants and boxers down around my ankles and my arms clutched around my middle, staring at my persistent boner. It stared defiantly back at me through its solitary eye, twitching slightly with each heartbeat. Eventually, little Shaney gave up his quest and began to soften. When it was bobbing in a downward motion, I reflected on the previous night in bed with Steve. I recalled the pleasant feeling of my hands rubbing over his body. My penis immediately switched directions and started bobbing back upwards. "Damn," I muttered, "that was a bad idea." I forced my thoughts away from that and little Shaney drooped once more, allowing me to pee.

I went back into my room and crawled back into bed with Steve. He stirred, rolled over and smiled at me. "Good morning," he said.

"Did I wake you? I'm sorry."

"Nah, I was already awake and just lying here. This bed is so nice and soft. I love it."

"I know. That rock we sleep on at State sucks," I said.

"I've had worse, but yeah, it's nothing like this. I could spend all day in here with this quilt pulled up to my neck."

"So, I was thinking about calling and checking on the status of the Going to the Sun Road and see if we could drive up to Lake McDonald and have lunch in the lodge. What do you think?"

"That sounds great. Whatever you want to do, I'm along for the ride."

"Let's get going then. If you want, you can shower first while I call. Everything is in there and towels are in the cupboard beside the mirror."

I went to my dresser and picked up my phone to search for the forest service information number. Steve stretched and crawled out from under the heavy quilt and stood up. I took a peek to see if by chance he was sporting a boner. No such luck. The outline of his limp dick was barely distinguishable in his grey boxer briefs. I looked away and focused on my task at hand. I found the number as he pulled his pants on and made his way to the bathroom with Wednesday's pair of briefs. I was thrilled to find out the road was open and clear and that the lodge was open. I couldn't wait to show him Lake McDonald.

When he returned, I gathered my clothes and before heading to the shower explained that the road was open so we should grab a quick bowl of cereal and then head off. Steve was pleased that we were able to go and asked how he should dress. I suggested he dress as warm as possible."

Downstairs, Steve warily watched me as I poured milk on my Raisin Bran cereal. I looked at him as he sat there with the pitcher of fresh cow's milk in hand but reluctant to pour the creamy substance over his flakes. "It's actually pretty good over cereal even if you're not used to drinking it. Go ahead. You'll like it," I assured him. He cautiously poured the fresh milk on the cereal and I had to laugh as he wrinkled his nose with the first spoonful. After a couple of spoonfuls, he realized I was telling him the truth and the creamy milk really improved cereal. It was just hard to drink straight up when you're used to the watered down stuff from the store. We gulped down the cereal and piled into my dad's new four wheel drive Ford that he offered in case a storm came up unexpectedly and we had to slog back home in it. I was thrilled because it is the nicest truck on the ranch. Steve was able to plug his iPod directly into the truck stereo and he shared his vast array of music with me. At first, I turned my nose up at the classical stuff, but I had to eventually admit that the baroque period was decent listening.

Steve was in awe of the incredible beauty of Glacier National Park. Along the way, while taking in the tall granite cliffs and snow covered slopes, we talked of our hopes and dreams for the future. He asked me questions about what it had been like growing up in a family like mine and, as always, deftly redirected me away from any discussion about his family or youth. The roads were well ploughed and easily managed making the drive stress free and very pleasant. When we arrived, I pulled into the lodge parking lot. There stood a magnificent, three story lodge, fashioned after an Alpine lodge in Austria or Switzerland, nestled against pines and cottonwoods even taller than the lodge. Large piles of snow had been pushed up on the edges of the walks and parking lot. We bundled up and walked together down the narrow trail to the lake's edge. It was truly breathtaking. As many times as I've seen it, I've never grown tired of it and I never will. The lake was still and glassy - nature's mirror. The towering, snow covered mountains reflected their majesty on its glassy surface. There was no one else down by the lake so I stood shoulder to shoulder with Steve and drank in the beauty of God's artistic canvas. The blueness of the sky and the lake were deep and rich, contrasting with the stark white purity of the clouds and snowy slopes surrounding the lake. I looked over at Steve's face and was pleased to see the childlike awe with which he drank in the beauty that lay before him. It made me happy to be sharing this special place with him. The dark green fir trees flocked with a dusting of fresh snowfall, made me think of the Christmas song, O Christmas Tree, and particularly one line, which I sang out softly, breaking the solemn stillness of the mountain air, "O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree, how lovely are your branches." Steve smiled at me. The biting cold stung our cheeks and our lungs, but the view laid out before us was worth the price of admission. I wanted to reach out and grasp his gloved hand as a connection of sorts while we shared this awesome experience.

"There are no words in the English language sufficient to describe this level of beauty. This is how I imagine heaven," Steve said. He pulled a small camera from his pocket and snapped a dozen pictures of the scenery. Some, he had me get in the picture and in others he had me take the picture with him in it.

"I never grow tired of seeing this place. You should see it in the summer when everything is green and the squirrels are running around and birds are chirping in the trees." Reluctantly, we left the lake's edge and hiked up the trail and went into the ranger station where Steve read all the brochures and information plaques about the park and the lake. I knew much of it already and was quickly bored. Steve, however, was enthralled and peppered a rugged, older ranger with an endless array of questions about what it was like to be a ranger and what the best path would be to get such a cool job. The ranger, who was relatively bored since there were hardly any visitors at the time, seemed quite thrilled to talk about his chosen profession and offer Steve advice. To Steve's delight, the ranger even produced a recruiting pamphlet from the U.S. Forest Service. I finally pried him away and we walked up the path amongst the towering cedars and cottonwoods toward the lodge for some chow. The beautiful old lodge was warm inside decorated with a European flair to it. The historic lodge had been built in 1914 and many of the furnishings looked to be from that period. We headed into Jamming Joe's Cafe and Pizzeria and ordered up a large sausage and mushroom. We thought about eating at Russell's Fireside Restaurant but it was a little too expensive. I ate three pieces and Steve devoured the remainder. Again, I wondered why he didn't weigh a ton the way he ate.

The journey home was spent talking about the beautiful scenery we'd just witnessed and strangely, we even dabbled into our beliefs about God. "I think there is a God for certain," I said, "I'm not sure about the different religions though. I think maybe there's more human and less God in most of them. We go to an Episcopalian church and it's okay. I find much more spiritual inspiration when I'm in nature. I see God's hand in the beauty of the earth," I said.

"I think so too. We're like children to God. I think He lets us find our own way and lets our true inner nature develop. Good people will be good and bad people will find every way to be bad. I think He already knows us and how we'll deal with things, but it's up to us to find out for ourselves who we really are. Some people have a hard time accepting their potential. Most everyone has the potential to do great things, I believe. Sadly, most squander it."

"You're deep. I don't think so deeply."

"I read a lot of poetry. That probably affects me. I'm really not that deep. I do try to think past the surface of appearances though, and look for deeper meaning to things in life." I looked over at him and smiled. The more I got to know him, the more I liked him. With each little crack in the door to his inner soul, he exposed the light of hope and self-determination within. I sat there riveted.

After arriving home and changing to older, work clothes, Steve and I helped with the evening chores. It was hilarious watching him trying to milk a cow. I let him do it by hand instead of using the milking machine. I showed him how to grab it with his thumb tucked inside and pull downward on the teat to squeeze the milk out into the bucket. My favorite cow, Martha May, was annoyed at his ineptitude and gave him a swift kick to the shin. Steve yelped and swatted Martha May's flank in retaliation. He managed the milking process finally, and after he'd gotten a couple inches into the bucket, I showed him how to use the vacuum tube milking machine. Martha May liked that much better and settled down once the familiar machine was hooked up to her.

"So you did that as a kid? Was it weird for you touching the cow's udders like that?" asked Steve.

"No. Didn't really think about it. It was just another chore to do. Farm kids don't need a sex education class, though. We see plenty of procreating and even help it along sometimes. We buy bull sperm and artificially inseminate the cows. That cute newborn steer over there is a product of my handiwork inserting the bull cum into his mother."

"Oh my god. Are you serious? How do you do that?"

"It involved a long rubber glove and trust me, it's not something you want to learn how to do. The first time Billy did it, he was looking away because he was so grossed out by it. While he had his arm shoved up inside the cow, she was busy filling his boot with cow shit." We both laughed over the image, mine from memory and Steve's from imagination. We played with the newborn steer for a bit and I showed him how the little guy would suck on a finger as if it was his mother's teat.

"Wow, he really sucks hard."

"Yeah, and he's pretty disappointed right now that he's not getting any reward for it." I paused, considered whether I should share something with him or not and ultimately decided to forge ahead. "Wanna hear a truth or dare kind of confession?"

"Okay." He looked at me with great curiosity.

"When I was a young teen, I considered letting a baby calf suck on my dick to see what it might feel like. I never dared actually do it, though. I was worried he might bite it off. Crazy, huh?"

He didn't laugh or mock me. Instead, he smiled understandingly and said, "Yeah, when we boys first figure out what cool toys we have between our legs, we get pretty creative about ways to play with them." I was appreciative of his response. It was full of understanding and lacked any judgmental tones whatsoever.

"Since I'm baring my soul, want to see something else?"

"Sure, if you want to show me."

"Follow me." I went to the north wall of the barn, stepped on a bale of hay, lifted my other foot up to a cross support in the wall then hoisted myself up to a spike in the beam. I crawled up the wall to the edge of the loft and pulled myself up and over onto its ledge. Steve followed my lead and I helped pull him up over the edge. We slid back to where there were some bales of hay and sat on them. "This is where I learned about jacking off. My cousin taught me how on Christmas Eve when I was just eleven. It was like magic to me. This became my favorite spot to hide out in or retreat to when I needed some alone time to think. I spilled about a bushel of cum up here." I watched to see his reaction. It was the same as before.

"That's cool. Everyone needs a place like this. Mine was the gardener's shed. I watched him do the combination one day and memorized it. I'd go there if I needed a private place to escape to. I pulled myself off a few times in there, I'll admit."

"You had a gardener?" I asked with unveiled incredulity. That didn't fit the image I had created for him in my mind. I'd assumed he was poor, almost destitute even. But maybe he was just deprived, like a Cinderella story. His answer gave me no more insight.

"Yes, where I lived had one." After a brief pause, he deflected the conversation back to me, "Thanks for sharing all this with me." I almost asked him if he wanted to join me in a jackoff session there in my loft. I was horny and wanted one badly and I really wanted to watch Steve jack his uncut one in front of me, but of course, I chickened out. Or maybe, I just came to my better senses. I couldn't resist dangling a little chum bait out there though.

"They'd come for Christmas - my uncle David and his family. He had all girls except for Nicolas, who was two or three years older than me. I'm not sure. Since the house was full of girls, all the boys were supposed to sleep in Karl and Tom's room with me, Billy, and Nicolas on the floor. Billy wanted to go to the attic, but Nicolas had the idea to sleep out here in the hay loft. I thought it would be a great adventure. None of the parents cared so we took our sleeping bags and flashlights along with a bag of goodies that Mom made for us to share and climbed up under the rafters. There was a ladder back then. That's when he asked if I wanted a special, early Christmas gift. He said it was better than what the real Saint Nicolas would bring me. He was right; little Nicolas's present was spectacular. The next day though, I felt so guilty about it, I thought I wouldn't get any presents or that everyone would know somehow what we'd done. I was actually glad to see them leave, thinking that once they were gone, it would be a thing of the past and all forgotten. It didn't take long before it was all I could think about. It turned out to be the best damn Christmas gift ever. I still like to come up here and jackoff. Did you ever jack with anyone else before?"

"Yeah. Some." Then he said, "Hey, look how thick this is. He reached out and took hold of it and asked, "You care if I try doing it?"

##

A Special Thanks to my editors, Flip McHooter and Paul Stevens for their incredible efforts to improve the story

All Rights Reserved

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