The usual disclaimers apply: if you are under eighteen or sexual content is illegal where you live, read no further.
All rights to this original fiction story are reserved by me, the author, and it may not be reproduced or published without my written consent. I wish to than Miguel Sanchez and Clark for their help editing and improving this story. Please write me with any comments or suggestions you may have.
fireflywatcher@gmail.com
Please donate to nifty.
DESOLATION
CHAPTER TEN
By fireflywatcher- Phil Ford
Twelve booths lined the front windows of Miss Sally's store. Two more were outside in front of the fruit stand for those who preferred the open air. Most of her profit came from people sitting in the booths or carrying out the food cooked in the store. There was no other place in Desolation to get anything to eat. Ranchers and locals drank their coffee there every morning. A cork bulletin board held the postings of every job, need, or item for sale in town.
Mexican illegals and others seeking work shared the shade under a tree at the edge of her property. Why in hell they ended up in Desolation with a whole country to pick from was a mystery to Sally. She put a fresh jug of ice water out front every day to quench the thirsty. Most searchers gave up and left by noon if no one offered them any work.
Later in the day teenagers, bored and looking for their friends filled the same space under the tree. Teenagers bought things and threw their trash down on the ground. The unemployed drank free ice water and left no messes to clean up and didn't make much noise. Miss Sally preferred the unemployed even if it didn't make her any money.
Miss Sally had worn her best practical skirt today. It was slimming. It was long enough to cover the varicose veins in her legs developed from years of standing on hard floors. The bait man would come today. She even bought a cute hat to keep the sun out of her eyes when she went outside to see him. At seventy, he was nearly ten years younger than Sally. He would last long enough for her to invest in a little flirting. Flirting is like eating air, it never fills you up. At her age, nothing more than that was required.
She had outlived a husband and ran his business now. Great-grandchildren visited from time to time, but none lived close by. Her days were filled with people. None of her close friends had the decency to live long enough to keep her company.
Lunch passed. No bait man came. Miss Sally was aggravated. He had always come around at about eight in the morning. Sally was lonely. In a crowded city or a tiny town, there are a lot of lonely people. All Sally wanted was one smiling face that liked her for being herself, and smiled back when she smiled. At about two-thirty in the afternoon, the bait man showed up. She gained a little glow about her, seeing him drive up. She ran to the bathroom and sent the brush through her hair, grabbed the new hat and was at the door of his truck as he stepped out.
Their conversation was just an exchange of family news. Had she heard from her grandchildren? His called him on Saturday. Who was going to graduate and where did they live? His eight year old granddaughter was coming in two weeks to help him with the business for the summer. Last week they had told the same news to each other. It really didn't matter. It was the gentle voice that told them someone cared about their lives that was important.
They both set about their business. Sally always bought a few more minnows than she could sell. He always gave her free ones for those that had died. In twenty minutes he was gone, but Sally's week was better.
A wall of black clouds had popped up to the west. It was late for thunderstorms in Desolation. Nothing but bright sky could be seen when the bait man arrived, but the wall stretched now as far as you could see. When you could see it, rain was not far away. The smell of approaching rain filled your nostrils. Ozone was what it was called, but not the kind measured as pollution in the cities.
Sally hung her new hat on the hook in her office. As she walked back to the counter she could see the wind had picked up a lot. The trash left by her shade tree was on its way down the street. As a customer opened the door, the sound of a can banging and rolling clattered in the air. He paid for his gas in a hurry and rushed back out, hoping to be home before the storm hit. Just after the bottom fell out of the sky, Laura ran in.
From her car to the door, Laura had gotten soaked to the bone. She ran her fingers through her hair and tossed her head back and forth scattering a splatter of drops across the floor below her. The blouse she had ironed fresh from the clothes line lost its shape and clung to her form.
"I have some towels in the office just for emergencies" Miss Sally said from the counter. No customers were left in the store. A few gentle strokes of a brush, and drying with the towel, brought Laura close to her former appearance except for a wrinkle or two in her blouse.
Another woman made it through the door apologizing for being late as she entered. The storm had eased up quite a bit. All the introductions were made and instructions given. "I'm glad to have you working here, Laura. Someone will be here with you all the time, to help you learn how to do everything. My number is beside the phone. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon." Then Miss Sally got her new hat and went home.
Laura felt at ease here. It was a familiar place she had visited many times in her life. Prices were marked and she could count money. Lots of little tasks, like vegetable prep for the kitchen, and cleaning the store were there to do when business got slow. The afternoon was slow, so she helped her companion with several chores. About five, Tim came in. He just needed some snuff. "You clean up pretty good, Laura," he said with his wide smile.
She looked at him again and a spark of recognition crossed her face. "Oh yeah, this morning at Aunt Patti's you checked the dryer. I was still asleep then. Thanks for the compliment." As she said that she noticed that he was kind of cute. "Maybe you can show me around, and help me meet some friends." 'Sure' was all he said and went on out the door.
Tim was sure to visit Dan, just like he did almost every day. Dan wouldn't be home for an hour though. It was just enough time for a beer run. His tank was full, or nearly. He made his way toward town at a casual pace. The bar ditches were full of water from the rain. The asphalt was still wet. Slick spots sent the pickup into a fishtail as he found them, but it always straightened out again. In low spots, the water stretched from the ditch into the road. The center stripe disappeared in a few places, covered by water.
Coming down the hill into the valley below, a pickup raced up behind him going very fast. The usual Texas courtesy of pulling to the shoulder to let others pass wouldn't work here. The road had no wide shoulder coming down the hill. It almost sideswiped him as it passed. The wind from the truck, along with the slick road sent him swerving toward the edge of the cliff beside him. Pulling it back and slowing down, it came into line with the road again. Reaching the bottom, he just pulled over and stopped.
He sat there a few minutes. His heartbeat slowed to a steady rhythm. He took off his baseball cap and laid it on the seat beside him. Sweat had soaked his hair where the brim of the hat met his head. Music would make him relax. Grabbing a tape from the glove box, he slid it in. Anything would work. He turned off the A/C and rolled down the window. Gradually accelerating, he got back on the road. He glanced back at the boulders lying by the base of the cliff, and sighed in relief.
At the beer store, he bought more than beer. A bottle of Weller rode beside him on the trip home. His coffee mug and some free ice from the store went with some of the bottles contents and rode between his legs on the seat. At Dan's house, a quarter of the bottle and all the ice were gone. He only carried the bottle to inside.
CHAPTER ELEVEN *
Deep down in his soul, Dan ached. All his unshared misery welled up from that emptiness he felt inside. He only wanted one thing in this world, someone to share his love with. He desperately needed someone to give back a little of the flood of love that flowed from his heart. Tim was his best friend. There was love shared between them. There was an intense sexual exchange that took place between them and carried their friendship into some undefined territory neither man was ready to confront. Whatever the relationship was, it was not love as Dan imagined love to be. He always felt he was in love alone. There was no comforting, no cuddling, and no closeness of spirit in the exchange he had with Tim. Between the two men a connection very similar to that of other couples in long enduring marriages bound them together. Dan was blind to this fact. Restraints of society kept them living and sleeping separately. Love for them, was as good as it could get in Desolation.
Tim came through the door without a 'hi', 'go to hell', or anything. He passed by Dan on his way to the kitchen. A cabinet door banged shut followed by the clatter of ice cubes as they hit the bottom of two glasses. He collapsed into the chair beside Dan, planting the bottle and glasses on the table between them in one motion. Tim poured an inch in each glass. He held his up and said, "To life." Tim was already warmed up and drained his glass while Dan just took a sip.
"You're getting a little ripe, my friend. I haven't had my shower yet, but you can go first while you still can. There are clean shorts on my dresser." Tim gave Dan a go to hell look for the remark. He lifted an arm above his head and held his nose. He pulled off both boots still sitting in the chair and shook his head at another smell coming from his feet. He eased up and started for the door, but stopped short when Dan said the dog might carry them away if he put them on the porch. He was naked reaching the bedroom door and piled everything in the corner. Minutes later, Tim returned in cut off shorts and slightly wet but more sobered. Dan followed suit. Both were clean and comfortable, and a lot less smelly. The bottle remained between them on the table. It wasn't a small bottle, but the half gallon size. The amount Tim had already consumed was considerable. The sobering effect of the shower was only temporary.
Dan didn't have another glass but instead decided to drink a beer. As he reached the back room, he called for Tim to come back and play some pool. It was a small house and the back porch had been enclosed to serve as a bedroom for Dan in his younger years. It had never been a private place. Three walls were lined with windows. The washer, dryer, and an extra refrigerator sat in one corner, with a small closet sticking out on one side. The room remained somewhat empty now. The pool table took up the center of the room. Opposite the appliances and closet sat on older worn couch and two small end tables. The outside door led to the small screened porch added after the older larger porch had been converted into a room. There were no curtains now. A privacy fence blocked all view into the room. Dan's fondness for the room lay in the outside door it provided. The unknown midnight adventures he had as a child all came from free passage through that door. Dan racked the balls and waited. Dan's cuts from the previous day had scabbed over but were a little stiff. He had made it through the day without ripping them open again. With luck, they would heal.
Tim reached the door, bottle and glass freshly supplied with ice, in hand. He flipped the button on the boom box as he came in the room. It was tuned to a station nearby that played a mix of all types of music, but most importantly, weather reports. He poured another inch over the ice in his glass and set both glass and bottle on the table at his end of the old couch. He looked through the cue sticks to find his favorite. He had carved a diamond on the handle with his pocket knife years before. With a loud crack, Tim broke the tightly clustered balls out of their racked formation. Two balls fell into pockets, both stripes. He circled the table three times to find his best shot. Four more shots carried four more stripes and two solids into the pockets. The last remaining stripe was surrounded by solids. His shot took another solid into a pocket and opened up the table for Dan's turn.
Two shots by Dan found their mark, but the third returned the table to Tim. Another crack and a point toward a pocket for the eight ball, and the last shot gave Tim the win. Dan racked the balls again. A little whiskey improved Tim's skill, it relaxed his shots. If he drank much more he would get sloppy and the fun of the game would be gone. Playing takes your attention. It slows the drinking process. Dan offered Tim a beer.
"You know the saying, Tim. Whiskey and beer have no fear; beer and whiskey, mighty risky. Your bottle will keep for another day." Tim poured one more glass and agreed. All thoughts of the storm, the slick road, and the cliff with boulders below had faded from his mind. Song after song played on the boom box. Each was a different style, a different type of music, or from a different time. Pleasing a small local audience forced broad compromises on a station in order to get enough advertising to stay on the air. The best part about the variety was that nearly every song wasn't just a good song, but a great song.
Dan and Tim continued their games. They sang along with some songs and danced around the room to others. Every trouble in their lives faded away. Dan put a cheap frozen pizza in the oven and in a while they ate every bit as if it was the best they ever had.
The phone rang and Dan answered it in the living room. It was his sister. Mostly she wanted someone to listen. He held on patiently until she felt satisfied and said the usual "I love you and I hope everything gets better." In the back room, Dan found Tim curled up with one of the couch cushions wadded up beneath his head. He loaded the washer and watched Tim sleep as it ran its cycle. When it finished, he moved the clothes to the dryer and it began its rhythmic sound.
He scooped up Tim in both arms and carried him to his bed. He tossed the shorts Tim was wearing on the dresser and tucked the covers up to his chest. On his side of the bed, he just let his shorts fall to his ankles and stepped out of them, leaving them where they fell. He reset the alarm a half hour earlier for Tim and crawled in switching off the bed lamp after he got settled. Tim stirred enough to plant a kiss on Dan's lips and do a little tongue dancing after he felt their bodies touch under the sheets. "Love ya" were the only words Tim uttered and Dan remained silent. Tim's hands wandered the length of Dan's body, touching, feeling, caressing, and demonstrating the affection he didn't express in words.
Time eased on top of Dan and sought his lips and mouth with his own. The beard stubble on both their faces was light, but heavy enough to remind them two male faces touched. That added to their stimulation. First, Tim's tongue reached inward, searching the depths, and then Dan's tongue challenged him in battle. The radio station was still playing in the background, echoing into the bedroom. Willie's "Don't let you babies grow up to be cowboys" came on and Tim pulled, joining in with the song. He scooted down and kept humming the tune as he engulfed Dan's manhood.
"You can sing to me any time if you do it like that," Dan kidded him. That said, Tim plunged down taking the knob down his throat and swirling his tongue around the shaft. Dan leaned across Tim's back and reached to stroke him while he enjoyed Tim's handiwork. He found Tim's tool enlarged but not hard, yet.
Tim came up for air, saying, "The red headed stranger may not come out to play, tonight. I drank a lot of that Weller." He resumed his quest. Tim stroked his tongue along the piss tube, only rising far enough to draw a breath or exhale until he felt Dan's nuts tighten up. Leaving Dan suspended on the edge of pleasure, Tim moved off and reached into the nightstand drawer. Tim was fully hard and throbbing now. "You going to have to do the dirty deed tonight," Tim declared. "I may be hard but it might not stay that way."
Tim slipped of the lid of the Vaseline jar and coated Dan's stick. Then he pushed three fingers full up his own pucker and straddled Dan, facing him, with a knee on each side. He grabbed the tool and aimed it at his pucker as he lowered himself onto it. One quick shove and his ass felt Dan's pubes tickling him. As Tim rode, he bucked his hips forward and back, adding to the sensations. He felt Dan throbbing inside him and said, "You ain't done yet, buddy," and then he started clenching his pucker to bring Dan back to full erection. "Roll us over," Tim demanded as he dropped chest to chest with Dan. Their mouths locked again as they rolled. When Dan came again, Tim responded, "Guess I'm not going to get my nut that way. Let's see how long I last." He felt around on the bed for the discarded jar and finding it, he prepped Dan and himself for the second round. "I wanted a taste of your baby batter," Tim stated. "Maybe I can get some of that sweet stuff for breakfast." He lifted Dan's legs and hung them on his shoulders. Aiming for the magic spot, Tim spread his knees apart and moved in closer. He didn't ram it in. He eased it in gently, but in one motion without stopping.
After a few long strides, Dan told Tim, "Go for it babe. I'm ready." Tim lifted Dan's hips into the air and pounded for all he was worth. Dan cumming for a third time brought Tim off. "We're going to need another shower in the morning," Dan declared. They were both painted with Dan's crème. Sated for the moment, they spooned together and dropped off to sleep.
The sound of the alarm threw Dan out of the bed with a jerk. He felt as if he had just laid down. He fumbled his way into the dark kitchen to get the coffee going. The light over the stove would be bright enough for now. Back down the hall and into the bedroom, he found the switch to the bed lamp and turned it on as well. Tim hadn't moved yet. He felt like he would explode before he reached the toilet and released all the previous nights recycled beer. He splashed water on his face and cleared his eyes. It was five-thirty now. Dan jumped in the shower and gave himself a two minute special. Tim worked at seven and he went at seven-thirty. The smell said the coffee was nearly finished making. He poured two cups, with an ice cube in his to cool it down a little.
Tim had a broad smile and one hand planted beneath the covers. He took the cup from Dan and said," I hope we had a good time last night."
"You can have more fun right now, buddy, if you hurry," Dan replied. Tim dropped to his knees and got the sweet taste he'd wanted the night before. Tim took a quick shower and rejoined Dan in the kitchen. Dan never ate breakfast but knew Tim usually did. He fixed some eggs for him. As he put eggs and toast on a plate, Tim appeared cup in hand at the door. The sun was rising and the back porch was the perfect place to sit for coffee and breakfast. Both guys were still naked and the cool morning air felt good on their skin. The dog joined them and took his spot at Dan's feet.
As Tim ate, Dan sorted through the clothes in the dryer and pulled out Tim's clothes and some for himself. He slid into his own and set Tim's on the table in front of him on the porch, getting back to his own coffee and the peace of the early morning. He would have more time to watch to day begin after Tim left for work.
Outside the screen of the porch, Dan had hung a hummingbird feeder that held a bottle of sugar water for the little birds. While they sat on the porch, three birds were in mortal combat fighting over possession of the feeder. The birds would fly at each other going with all the speed they could attain and smack into each other chest to chest. Usually each would bounce backwards and the third one would pick one as its target. Sometimes one bird fell from the air right to the ground, but returned almost instantly to the fight. Dan and Tim were both howling with laughter watching the birds, but the birds paid them no attention at all. When the winner was decided, two birds flew off leaving the victor with its treasure.
The whiskey began to get its revenge on Tim. Dan's dog was happy to get half his breakfast. Laughing at the birds made his head start pounding and he asked Dan for something to stop it. He would make it through the day and as he sweated the poison would go out with the sweat. He never asked about the bottle. Dan had slipped it to the back of a high shelf when Tim agreed to switch to beer.
The pills took effect quickly. In a flash Tim pulled on his now clean clothes. No doubt, he would get ragged at work for wearing the same clothes two days in a row but at least they were clean. When he got to his truck, he noticed the beer left in the bed and carried the two cases back into the house. "I can't carry this to work with me, so I'm leaving it here, Dan." And then he left. Dan noticed that Tim's jeans molded nicely to his ass, not the slightly baggy look they usually had after being worn all day and stretching out.
Dan had a grin on his face. On his next visit, Tim would be drinking his own beer. It would be a rare occasion. He washed Tim's plate and set it in the dish rack. His hands looked much better this morning. There was time now to catch the morning news and weather before work. Tim being there in the morning was nice. His normal companion while drinking coffee was the morning news. On his way out the door he followed Tim's advice and grabbed a pair of gloves. They might keep his hands from getting any more cuts and help yesterdays cuts heal.
Yesterday's rain renewed the green of the land and freshened the smell. Dog met him on the porch for his morning ear scratch and followed him to the truck. It was still a little early so he had a leisurely drive to work. As he neared the ranch, some cows were out on the road. Part of the morning would be taken up fixing fence in the water gaps.
Dan's boss gave him a pissed off look when he got to work. The Mexicans had played dumb after he left. The boss usually didn't hang around but left it to Dan to get things done. With Dan gone, he was forced to supervise. No one cooperated with him and pretended they didn't understand anything he said. When the storm hit he sent everyone home. They were all lined up this morning. The boss went down the line bitching to each man with Dan to translate. They all held a straight face but the conversation in Spanish was a lot different than what was expressed in English. The boss knew Spanish cuss words and each time Dan used one he smiled not knowing they were directed toward him instead of the Mexican Dan was speaking to. After everyone was lined out for the day's tasks and the boss left there was a howl of laughter among the men. Dan had never been a part of a mutiny before. Usually he was very quiet. For whatever reason, it felt good.