The story below is a work of fiction, set in the format of reality. Any resemblances to real people, alive or in the hereafter, is entirely coincidental in nature. It is not meant to accurately reflect upon persons, of ranches nor rodeos, continents or islands, in countries, counties, cities, towns, villages, neighborhoods, streets, cul-de-sacs, nor governmental or non-governmental areas, which the story is staged. If a sexual scene involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then why are you here? Seriously, if guy-to-guy sex stuff makes you barf or is going to screw up your mind, you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age in any state (21yo in Alabama, Mississippi, Wyoming, Nebraska), or in most countries, you are not allowed to read this story, by law. Check with your local laws regarding such.
Following, pages of this story contain adult material', intended for an adult audience'. Bypass this warning at your own risk.
% Sexual safety matters. Remember guys, this is fiction. In real life, use protection.
Hey dudes, if you have enjoyed reading NiFTy stories as much as I have, over the years, consider adding some support for `internet $pace'.
http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html
^o^ Concluding remarks ~ reading this story could make you stiff or gooey, so I would suggest not reading it at work... just sayin'! :)
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HaRD iN THe SaDDLe 02
WriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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Put to the test right off, Gib security had their first run in with the farm crowd. Gathered in and around the former Camp Rufghup lake, which by now had been dubbed with not a fancy, geographical name, but simply put, `The Lake.'
Not a second later than LL and Cyril reaching The Lake, their attention is called, as well as the others, to the shoreline. There stands Birch Gib, like a kiddie in kindergarten, two fingers in the air.
He knew he should have been all businesslike, LL turning to Cyril, only because they were isolated from the others, says in a comedic tone, "If those 2 fingers were any lower..." he laughs.
Cyril could be a real ball-buster, in both senses, saying, "Oh? Like how does that go?"
Putting it back on Cyril's plate, LL states, "I could give you a demonstration, if you like?" LL puts two of his own digits at the rear, centered belt loop, giving a tug down!
Smiling, nodding his head up and down, like LL putting it back on him, Cyril says, "Hm, not which I'm opposed, but suddenly it comes to me... what you mean!"
"Although," LL rethinks things, "later on I might just be up for your interpretation?"
In the past, there have been guys LL just couldn't pass up, on having sex, others which he felt compelled to, out of necessity to calm his loins. Others... they looked too damn hot. With Gio, thoughts have been a mix of pulsing waves and a platonic relationship, business always the dividing line. There was one dude, ages ago whom he got serious on, but apparently it wasn't serious enough. Last year, capping it off at 30-years old, he thought it time to at least put feelers out. His feelers were working!
"Well, we'll see about that!" Cyril replies, a smile attached.
It wasn't to come right now, Cyril taking off, his target the place on the sandy beach where Birch stood.
Since some of the males had taken to totally disrobing, Birch's gripe was rule number... Birch couldn't name the number, but it was somewhere on the sheet he had drafted the rules on, given the protocol, when he, LL and Gio had met in an informal circle, along with his second in command, Trai Lockerby, 24-years old, 6'4, Brit, of Samoan descent, whom, with 2% fat hanging off his muscled frame, seemed like he could kill you just by looking at you! The four had hashed out some prelim's, Birch skipping over the number, heading right for the infraction, "...at least the loins be covered, at all times, in all places... with exception, the privacy of one's living space, to be worked out by the community of that private space."
Coming to rest, right at Keith-Kyle's side, LL makes known his presence, "Not one who can assemble words correctly to represent himself?" he meant in a businesslike manner.
Keith-Kyle turns to him, "Oh hi, LL. Yeah, I noticed that myself."
Both LL and Cyril smiled, looking down, then at each other, upon seeing Keith-Kyle's naked butt!
LL was sort of proud of Cyril, being outspoken, "Would be nice if everyone followed the rules!"
Though, Cyril licked his lips, probably because they were dry, but also a certain longing to explore those mountains to see what the cave looked like. He loved it, spelunking, whereas the opening to a cavern could be a tight squeeze! However, he couldn't believe LL was already on to him, the nudge of a pointy elbow in his side, "What?" he turns his face to LL.
"Make a like a security man?" LL tells him.
For now, there was no work for Cyril, since the crossfit program hadn't even been drawn up, formulated. Playing Robocop, he didn't mind at all, especially where someone `sweet' was at stake, says in a low voice, right into LL's ear, "Er, what's his name again?"
"Keith-Kyle," LL replies, softly, but not too mum.
As if super-sensitive hearing prevailed, Keith-Kyle turns eyes to LL, "What?"
Right to the point, LL puts the new crossfit-trainer-turned-security-guard-out-of-convenience-and-lack-of-something-to-do, outright introduces, "Cyril has something to talk to you about?" he casts eyes down to Keith-Kyle's schlong.
"Um, yeah, right," Cyril trips over words, which minutes ago he could boldly spell out the infraction, "Uh, might be helpful if you set an example, Keith-Kyle?" said with reservations, on account of everything about LL's top man looked interestingly causing a wanting nature.
He had seen LL on his left side, because he had been spoken to. Now, with the other voice in the other ear, Keith-Kyle takes notice and as if part of LL's team had spoken, he turns, says, "Who the hell are you?"
All poor Cyril could think is, `Oh my,' thinking how hot this stud looked from the rear!
Again, LL's intuition kicks in, overriding any feelings either had for the other, "Keith-Kyle, this is Cyril Bouchiere, new man to the team," yet LL didn't mention yet, how he fit in.
From boisterous to soft-spoken, Keith-Kyle offers a hand, "Oh hi. I didn't know you were part of the team?"
"Team?" Cyril questions as he shakes Keith-Kyle's rather strong grip, surprising, because he had anticipated more of a tremble.
According to LL's official, `team' team explanation, it would mean the upper echelon of enterprise, whereas guys like Gio, Jef and the others fit in. Even after a short time knowing Cyril, LL had a strong feeling the bus would not be stopping here, seeing an addition to the growing force behind the powers to be, "Team," LL defined, "those who answer only to me."
"Oh, you mean, like Caesar?" Cyril suggests, toying.
For a short second it stifled LL to reply, thinking upon role reversals, Caesar falling off his throne, laurels dropping from his head as his chin tilts, taking cock into his mouth, but saves those risky thoughts until another time and place, "Of course... except we drop all the formalities. A man gets to speak his mind. But don't worry. If I don't like what you say... that falls under Gio's department!"
Cyril was sure he would have no problem with divide and conquer, "I'll keep that in mind!"
LL walks away, moves on, since there was nothing here for him.
By this time, Keith-Kyle had repaired the infraction, especially after Rusel had stepped in, on Birch's behalf, telling everyone to coverup. As Cyril had drooled over his ass, Keith-Kyle lusted over Rusel's sweet physique, happy he was made to slip briefs on over his manhood, which now, after taking in both sight and sound of Rusel standing up to the crowd, he now had reason to keep things incognito!
LL started walking towards Rusel, Cyril following like a puppy dog, yet leaving his mark on Keith-Kyle, hand swinging back, his knuckles making contact with Keith-Kyle's sack, "Nice to be on the same team!"
"Rude!" Keith-Kyle says, cupping his briefs in one hand!
Cyril smiles, but gets serious once faced with `company business.'
Of course there were moans and groans, not the kind associated with hot sex, but having to slip dry briefs on over wet anatomy, or plainly losing the feeling of freedom to have lower parts swing in the breeze, but all adhered to Rusel's barking of orders, with the threat of walking out the front gate of Bryce Fams and not returning, looming in their minds. It was slowly dawning on the farmhands, life was and could get better as time passed!
Afterwards, Rusel making his main point, Birch dwells on it, to reconnect, "I like how you said, things being very distracting to the farmhands' work?"
Rusel had half-joined in with the others, stripping down to the waist, an effort to catch the last of the sun's rays on his shoulders, chest and back. To why Birch didn't bother to even unbutton past the v-neck of his shirt, "I bet you could be very distracting, if you bothered to try?"
"I have a job to do. Unfortunately, my team and I don't get to join in for all the hoopla," Birch returns.
"Yes," Rusel slips an index finger in between two buttons of Birch's lower shirt, "how unfortunate!"
Strange is how Birch felt. Normally, he would let no man put a hand on him, ever since... well, he wasn't dwelling on past thoughts anymore, had moved on, but was conscious of it, reason he places a hand over Rusel's exploring digits, "Sorry, but I'm on duty."
"What tha?" Rusel says to himself, upon Birch walking away.
It's not that his ego had been bruised. Rusel wasn't all that into himself, but was just being friendly. Then, discovers a flaw in himself, perhaps allowing himself to go overboard, considering the lakeside setting and the promiscuity which lurked about. When he unbuttoned his shirt, allowing to slide down his shoulders, he let it fall behind his butt. Seeing Birch had remained in composure, outfitted to do the job, suddenly Rusel saw fit, maybe he should have followed the same unwritten rule of business etiquette. However, as he slowly stepped in the direction Birch headed, he found he had lost his shirt, "Shit!" Reaction to not being able to cover up, his hands clung to hairy pecs.
Which, in passing, Chad Perry, formerly of the former camp for delinquents, says, "Hey, if it feels good, why not!" laughs his ass off.
Suddenly, Birch was out of Rusel's mind, the, "Fuckin' little bitch," became his line of sight. At first, disturbed by the comment, he realizes two things, perhaps thumbs almost in line with stimulating his nips, did feel good, but the sudden new attraction did make his loins pulse. It's what beckoned him on, to switch directions, call out ahead, "Hey, what's your name?"
"Who me?" Chad turned around, the tall, curley-head farmhand reacts.
Rusel had to admit he was a bit intimidated by the farmhand's 6'3 height, compared to his mere 5'10 stature, but as always, the way in which he conducted himself, made him rise to any man's tallness, "No, your sister!"
"I don't have a sister," Chad manages keeping a cool composure, even though the man seemed to come across like he ruled the earth!
If Rusel had to lift his eyes any further to chat, he would probably later have to be fitted with a neck brace, "I'm Rusel."
He expected a return rendering, instead, "Really?" Chad says coolly, "Do they call you Russ or Rusty?"
"Rusel," Rusel dictates, "one s', one l'. And you are?"
Chad wanted to say, `Madly in love with you,' but spoke down the few inches into Rusel's scruffy face, "Chad Perry. I was a delinquent last week. This week I'm a free man!" he laughs.
Seeing there could be some kind of connection, even though he's never fraternized with a dude taller than himself, Rusel takes Chad's hand, rubs knuckles up, from the line of Chad's lowrise briefs, right up to his bellyhole, "Nice meeting you."
"Yeah, you too." Not wasting any time, Chad says, "So, you can get into having those nips worked?"
Thinking of a wet, hot tongue, Rusel replies sharply, "I'd love to have you work them," if it meant a roundabout way to Chad's ass!
"Tight ass?"
It made Rusel stand there in silence, before saying, "How about yourself?"
Playing games, Chad reveals, "Yeah," he tweaks his own nips, "these babies sure can use some hot work... feeling goes right to my dick!"
When up against, what he perceived as another top, one which Rusel felt he could work with, he took an alternate route, "Can you get into 6-9?"
With feelings of not letting this one go, Chad responds, "With the right guy," which also meant fucking around.
"Why don't we meet up later?"
"Dinner?" Chad responds, then realizes, "Oh wait, you have to sit at the head table," meaning the gathering of LL and his head honchos.
Rusel wasn't sure about that, taking it upon himself, "I can mingle."
Turning around at the last minute, Birch was rather disappointed. He had second thoughts regarding Rusel, but was took late, seeing him with one of the former campers, whom he knew as Chad Perry, the two with hands on each others pecs, making each others' nips hard!
He stare for a few seconds, until he heard over a shoulder, "I don't go for that s&m stuff. Yourself?"
Turning around, Birch was caught off guard, looking upon youth at its finest. Though the question vague, he took the safe way out, "Of course not," though he couldn't deny it could be quite a sensitive tool for making a guy hard, having his nips stoked, gently to rough!
"I'm Colton Forest. Guys call me Colt. I'm good with horses and the `big man'," which Colt wasn't afraid to skip over everyone to ask LL, "said to ask you if you needed a security man in the stables?"
He had a good tough exterior, but Birch could tell he was young, which might not carry the experience. Yet, the washboard abs were really turning him on, plus the little trickle of hair at the bottom of Colt's deep navel, "Why don't you fill out an application?" even though he didn't have one as of yet. Didn't know if it even existed!
"I'm ready when you are," Colt started feeding his arms into his shirt, covering up that lovely, smooth, muscled young bod!
"Truth is," Birch thought it good policy, always telling the truth, except when he noticed a big shaft on a guy and he wasn't too hot looking, "I don't have any applications."
"That's cool. I'll write everything down on a piece of paper and transfer it later. Trust me, my history is short."
When first meeting, there wasn't any handshake, which didn't phase Birch too much, other than he could tell a little about a man by the `heat' he felt, which could present coolness or one a nervous disposition. However, he saw something in Colt, a man all business, serious about himself and the position he was walking into. Yet, there were other questions, one of which, "You like horses?"
"Right," Colt replies, still holding the posture of a man going about his business.
"Love working with them?"
"I do. Always have. Grew up around them."
"Then why are you so interested in changing careers?" Birch puts it to him.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, if you're going to be on the security force, you're going to have to give up working with horses and..."
"Oh no... what I meant is, patrolling the stables at night. During the day I would still work with them, but double up at night on the security."
"I see," Birch thought it over, asking, "and when do you plan on sleeping?"
Having all the answers, Colt says, "As soon as morning hits, I'll hit the sack. I don't really need breakfast. I'll grab a cup of coffee and..."
Knowing it wouldn't work, Birch says, "Hate to tell you this, but your plan stinks!" He couldn't keep a straight, businesslike face at this point, cracking a little smile.
Rather than fight, Colt surrenders, "You think so?"
"I know so. From experience. Once tried taking that route myself. Almost put me in the hospital."
"Oh," Colt sulked, hung his head up, but appreciating the guidance, lifts it, "if you say so."
Because he has had the experience, Birch knew the why's and what for's, "Trying to earn some extra cash?"
Finally, Colt show he wasn't all seriousness, lips turning up into a small grin, "I like, don't have a penny to my name, thought I'd get together some money, maybe even think about going to college."
"How old are you?" Birch asks, slowly walking away from The Lake, with it on his mind, still having Colt fill out an application.
"19. I'll be 20 at the end of the summer."
"When?" Birch asks, with a little excitement, like he was a teenager again.
"September 2."
"Really? I'm the 4th."
"Of September?" Colt asks, for lack of what his followup could be.
"One in the same," Birch replies. "We'll have to celebrate together."
Knowing Birch was older than himself, Colt says, "Y'know, you're pretty cool for an old man!"
"I'm only 7 years older. Well, almost only 6. At least soon we'll both be in the same decade!"
"Cool," Colt replies, kicking a stone as they walked.
At this very moment, Birch was feeling really cool, saying, "Y'know, there's a big benefit with you `not' working security?"
"Really? How would that go?" Colt responds.
"Well, one big reason would, I don't interact personally with any of the employees I hire?" Technically he has, but that man was hired by his brother, so didn't count!
Getting it right off, Colt says, stopping his slow trek, sitting on a boulder, "I really don't think you're an old man."
"Confessing," Birch was honest, "I'm not really that old!"
Though, steping close to the boulder, whereas their shirts were ready to touch, both were getting the message, as if linked by morse code.
"I know this is old-fashioned, kind of the way I was brought up, before... well that's another story, I was always told to ask to do something... would you, uh, mind... if I kissed you?"
Birch didn't wait, nor answer, except in actions, placing hands on Colt's waist and closing in for the kill!
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There were a few missing from the general meeting and later soaking in The Lake.
Earlier, LL had met with chief cook, Javier Quintero and feeling confident he could pull it off, suggested a kick off for his new project, the day should start with a more than hardier breakfast.
With the task before him, it was asked of him, the sky being the limit, what he needed to make things hassle free, yet nothing less than spectacular, Javier reports, "Food and manpower?"
It wasn't the first time Javier cooked for a bunch, only the bunch hadn't been this big. Yet, to feed a `bunch', he knew for this crowd, food needed to be more than doubled, "Of which LL, with Gio over his shoulder, says, "Go with him."
This was before the big powwow, of which Gio replies back, "You're going live without your number one player?"
"You have a point there," LL instantly thought about going alone, the first really big happening on the farm. "You're right. I need you here."
Turning around, LL was face to face with, "You're elected," he deposits a credit card into Clay Derringer's pocket.
"Me? But we've only met."
"Yeah, I know," LL says, having no doubts the new foreman, a little lower then Gio on the totem pole, would work out and to give Clay a bill of confidence, "Don't spend more than you need to. Every credit card has a limit. Keep it under 100 grand?"
No doubt about himself, Clay says, "You trust me with that amount?"
"Do I have reason not to?" LL replies.
"I'll keep it close to my heart," Clay tells him, patting the left side of his chest.
LL retorts, "Actually, I'd much prefer you keep it closer to your ass?"
"Right," Clay says, taking his wallet out, placing the credit card in a slot, separating it from 2 other cards...
"Oh, you have your own Visa, just case you overspend, Clay?"
"Yeah, right. A penny or two more and the sale will be declined, thank you for offering!"
There was only 3 or 4 times LL went over the limit. Then again, all it took was calling the toll free number on the back of his platinum card and the card limit was opened to accommodate any purchase, like the time he was in Ft. Lauderdale and saw a speedboat, just could not pass it up!
Regardless, Clay set out for the supermarket, Javier with his long, long, long, long list, Patrick Folly hobbling along on crutches, Corky, because he knew when a fresh vegetable was picked this month and not 3 months ago, Steve Lochner, who knew how to eat, claimed he knew his donuts and breads, and the rest, whom through perusing their files, Gio was led to believe they would best be suited for Kitchen duties: Dexter Fox, Dean Kors, Tripp Martin, Hwang Dong, Edward Doneghy and Alex Cobb. Alex, who originally worked for Gib Security, said he was getting too old for that line of work, claiming he took it on only as some summer income.
Regardless, equipped with the farm truck and some personal vehicles, they set out for town.
Last minute, Samuele Larrengina comes running by, 2-2x4 planks on his shoulder, offered, "If you stop by the yard," his lumber business, "there's a truck without a purpose. Keys are under the driver's mat?" he didn't wait for an answer.
Alex Cobb, on the sly, remarks, "I love it when a man breaks the rules like that!"
Even though they were not going to be at the farm meeting, they had been briefed on the new rules. Especially kitchen staff, they were to properly dress in sanitary attire, which included shirts. Same applied to field workers and construction, but right now the gathered kitchen staff watched as Samuele jogged away, shirtless, all of those ab muscles moving in conjunction with holding those 2 boards in place.
"Yeah," Hwang makes a slurping sound, "tough to pass up a hot man's sweaty pits, yum!"
Tripp looked at him, one eye half-cocked, "Like, Yuck! To each their own!" he spat.
There were two, both in their own little worlds, not paying attention to Samuele's vanity, Dean Kors, in total, 11 years older than the 21-year old, standing in his favorite position, fingers interlaced, behind his head, standing there like a POW, often telling it gave freedom to the pits `to breathe', airing out a shirt, if he had one on, looks down, says, "What're you doing there, Corky?"
"Started these tomato plants. I'm not sure if they're going to make it."
"They look all right to me," Dean withdrew his hands, arms falling to the side, hand moving to one of the tomato plants, fingers feeling it out, "Strong... I think you will have some winners."
"You think?" Corky looks to his left.
Moments passed, frozen in time, which each didn't care what their watches said, till Corky breaks the ice, "You look good in a beard."
"Thanks," Dean replied, cordially.
He's been with guys, off and on, but never a steady man for most of his 32 years. Either too busy working, or drifting from place to place, peddling up busy for his father's distribution company. With his death, his older brother taking over, Dean didn't care much for working anymore and put out feelers. One of the workers at the firm, who was more than a casual friend, told Dean about Bryce's farm going under and `hiring'. Apparently, Gio thought Dean's file looked impressive.
However, smiling at each other would have to wait, having been summoned to the trucks, Dean tagging Corky's shoulder, "C'mon, we better go or else we'll be hoofin' it!"
Standing, watching Dean a split second ahead of him, he touched the spot, like a sore muscle.
"C'mon, c'mon," Dean motions with his hand.
Running through Corky's mind was more than Dean being a gentleman, waiting outside the truck, holding the door, then the smile he got when he thanked him. Sitting there, in the middle of two dudes, Dean on his right, he wondered what was of more interest, the young tomato or...
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Things went without a hitch, finding the truck in Samuele's yard, which already some, with the convenience of loading up a `box-type' truck, as opposed to the bed of 3 4x4's, joked how they hoped Samuele wouldn't mind he was never getting it returned!
Proof paid off after cashing out.
Way before, they had quite a lot of looks from patrons and store employees, a bunch of guys descending on the food market.
Little did the assistant store manager realize, he would be opening a register just for the Bryce Farms gang to check out.
Even before this, there were complaints filed, not enough shopping carts, so a cute stock boy, upon hearing customers' gripes, takes the last box off his flat cart, turns to Corky, says, "If you want, I'm done with this?"
Dean, hanging over Corky's shoulder, like a guardian angel, grasps the situation first, "Very nice of you to offer."
However, the dude's attention wasn't on Dean, but the guy who seemed around his own age. Courteous though, he did offer response to both farmhands, "Just trying to be helpful!" he pushes the handle of the cart, for the two to intercept.
Dean commandeered it, leaving Corky behind, saying, "I'll take care of loading the heavy stuff," he gives Corky the heads up, a wink!
"Where might you be going with that?"
Dean's wrist almost suffered whiplash, the cart suddenly making a pitstop, simply saying, "Shopping. Why?"
It was tugged right out his grip by the store official, whom Dean could read from the badge on the chubby man's suit, `Manager'. In seconds he was interrupting Corky's conversation with the store clerk, "Bizewski, what the fuck did I tell you last time about this?"
Jake Bizewski had gone back to unloading the case of baked beans, while Corky stood next to him. Being rained down upon by the store manager's angry words, he stood, which brought the 6'2" tall employee several inches above eye view, responding, "I thought they could use it. They `are' buying out half the store?"
He knew he was being sarcastic, but felt warranted, this being his mother's brother and since he was family, had an unwritten clause in his contract, nothing could get him fired. Though, Josh was a good lad, except to his uncle, whom used the uncle-nephew relationship against him. Beginning of the summer, Josh felt like he was being handed all the shit-jobs, like garbage duty, cleaning out the deli cases, making sure the store toilets were spotless and other mindless jobs. Not one to allow others to stand up for him, his first day on the job, the 20-year old did' answer his mom truthfully when she asked, How was your first day at work?' Well, when his mother had heard exactly what she was inclined not to hear, that Josh hadn't climbed the ropes, in one day, to a managerial position, she was on the phone, reaming `Uncle Joseph's' ass out. Listening that day, to his mom on the phone, Josh sided with his mom, with no regrets about the incidents of the day. One thing he could truthfully say, whenever he did these tasks, even if it were not to his liking, Josh was honest in his approach.
Now though, he didn't exactly feel honored, being cut down in front of his new-found friend, especially comments about `mama's little boy'. Standing, like a movie theater was on fire, Josh returns, "I don't need mom to call you and threaten you with whatever it is she is holding over your head. Frankly, Uncle Joseph, it's none of my business and I don't really give a damn. But what I do give a damn about is, I'm just like any other person. Doesn't matter if I'm a customer or employee. I deserve more respect than you are giving me right now!" Josh stood, holding his ground, waiting.
"Well, for your information, your mother is not holding anything over me.'" Adding malice, Uncle Joseph says, "I have a lot of reserve, but y'know, kid, sometime I might be talking to her and it might slip, you know, the time I saw you kissing a male' customer out back?"
First, Josh bit his lip, wondering how this news would go over with Corky. However, he was `out' in the open now, with no other recourse to buck up, "So what?" Josh acts adamant.
"I doubt she will be pleased to learn her son is one of `those' faggots. Me? I don't give a shit!"
The tables had been turned, not which Josh was a vengeful person, nor a runner', like in running home to the parental perch, telling mommy, Uncle Joseph was mean to me', but he did know how furious his mom, or dad could become, if they ever found out his frightening secret, "You can't be that cruel!"
Standing there, as Corky would in any situation, he would be a listener, but in the past ten minutes of speaking with Josh, it was as if he was being virtually attacked. Drawing off his new friend's words, "He is cruel. Probably the cruelest person I've ever met. If he were `my' uncle, I wouldn't want him to be my uncle," said in the best possible way Corky knew how to express.
Corky's words went right over the uncle's head. Though he might have heard what the 21-year old said, Uncle Joseph still lashed out at Josh, "It is an infraction of company policy, being insubordinate to a manager. You're fired!"
As he said it, Dean, who had transferred some items to a wire shopping cart, comes out of the opposite aisle, `accidentally' bops Uncle Joseph's hip, saying, "Sorry, sir!"
At first, Josh show a little sympathy, but realizing he was just fired, laughs his ass off with the others, his chubby uncle having just been shoved into a `castle' of corn flake boxes.
The more Uncle Joseph tried to get up, the more he wallowed in the sea of busted open cardboard and plastic packaging, flakes shooting out all over the floor.
"Oh, now there's something you don't see everyday!"
It was Josh's friend, Ferlan O'Keeffee, very good looking muscle-stud, 5'11, medium-brown hair and standing tall, hands on hips, looked like a giant, compared to the man he was laughing his ass off at, Joseph, the chub on his ass, flailing like lost at sea without a life preserver, "Like, this has got to be the funniest thing I've ever seen," he slaps a knee and rattles off like a joke in his mixed up Irish-Tennesseean accent!
Unlike Josh, Ferlan and the big dude over his shoulder, Novak Jaroslav, whom worked with him behind the deli counter, stood there, not even lending assistance, until the 58-year old deli veteran bends over to lend a hand, "Let me help you up, Mr. Bizewski," he couldn't hold back the tears of laughter.
Instead of welcome, Novak got his hand slapped away, with words which didn't phase him a bit, "You're fired! All of you! You're all fired!"
Not really needing the job, only putting some hours to show responsibility to his dad, Ferlan had returned from the back refrigerators with a bowl of rice pudding. Wrong time to be antagonized, he accidentally, "Oops!" tips the bowl!
Meanwhile, Corky, who had already analyzed Josh's plight, had caught up with the only person whom resembled a figure of authority, Javier, "You gotta help Josh!"
Standing up front at the registers, 2 open for their convenience, waiting to be checked out, Javier had heard the commotion, but never figured one of the farmhands were involved, Turns to Corky, "Help who?" However, Javier's eye instantly shot from Corky, over to Josh, which immediately he began to study `the problem.'
Rather than Corky, who sometimes had a problem getting out the right or appropriate words, is rescued by Dean, saying, "I saw the whole thing."
"Saw what?" Javier quizzes him in a stern manner. Then, quoting something LL had said, "We're supposed to be a reflection of Bryce Farms and..."
"I know, I know," Dean replies, grabbing Javier and taking him aside, "but the store manager... he's a real asshole."
"You're still not making any sense?"
Dean and Javier went at it and in less than five minutes the picture made a whole lot of sense. In his quest to clear the `Bryce' name, Dean also promotes the three whom were out of a job.
On the side, Ferlan, whom realized Alex Cobb part of the entourage of farm shoppers, it hit him down low, how hot the baseball cap, covering the closely-cropped, bearded face and a furry v-neck, began making him feel electric, headed over to his cart. Without even an introduction, Ferlan unloops the apron he wore in deli, removes it, balls it up and starts shooting his mouth off, "You in charge here?"
He wasn't, but Alex's head was already swelling, as well as something else, "Sort of. What's up?" his eyes were scaling Ferlan from the summit to the valley below.
"What the fuck you guys shopping this dirtbag joint, when you can shop the cost club next town over?"
It was really kind of comical, Joseph, recovering from being enmeshed in corn flakes, some still clinging to his suit jacket, waves his hands and focusing on the youths, "Didn't I tell you to get out?" Waving hands above his head, "Shoo-shoo-shoo," meaning the three, "all of you!"
Edward, whom had very good hearing, speaks up, "I guess he means us?"
Not realizing it, Joseph's hatred for the three he fired, turned into a fiasco, his lunatic attitude not only ridding the store of the three former employees, but everyone thinking it an emergency, the store manager turning them out via the front doors.
He tried to coerce the holders of overflowing carts to remain, but no one took this as a drill, thinking the store was on fire or some other emergency.
Outside things fell into place, finding out Josh had an inkling for attending cooking school. Novak knew how to cook up a turkey, with all the fine trimmings and more. Ferlan, he relied a lot on Betty Crocker, but was a good and willing worker, a claim to why he had such bulging biceps.
Alex just admired and smiled, Ferlan pulling up a shirt sleeve for proof!
"Well," Javier, whom seemed like the senior officer here, put in charge, had to honestly admit, "I'm not sure what to do here?"
Placing a hand on Javier's shoulder, Edward cooly says, "When it doubt, you know to call?"
Three or four of them reply, "Gio!"
It took several minutes to straighten out the predicament they were in, but sure enough, Edward had made the right decision, all of Javier's questions answered in no time flat, with Gio leaving him with power to carry on as he sees fit. It brought Javier away from his private conversation with a smile on his face. In translation, his own judgement, he wielded the same power now as if one of LL's `upper management'.
Hobbling towards him, Patrick asks, "What's up? Did Gio say it was okay?"
Walking over to where the two fired deli workers and stockboy stood, Javier announces, "Welcome to the Bryce Farms staff!" he shakes each of their hands.
Ferlan felt kind of high, "Awesome!" Javier taking his advice, ordering them all to pile into the trucks and follow directions to the cost club.
When they finally made it back to the farm, others were called from all parts of the landscape. Primarily, the farm portion of the two lots was being worked. First order, was clearing vegetation.
What LL hadn't reckoned on, which he blame Gio for, nicely, "You and your camo outfits, Gio?"
Gio took the `whipping' for it, knowing he wasn't going to get canned over it. Yet, neither LL, nor Gio were too depressed over spending money for cheap clothing, only to have workers bear the heat by stripping shirts off, leaving them on fence posts, over bushes, tree limbs or nail on the side of a building. Even though each had plucked the garment out of the landscape, neither could outright complain too much.
Rather, LL had to admit, "Nothin' like the crisp, clean smell of a man!"
Gio tears him down, "You're sick!"
One of the rules struck down, the wearing of shirts, was at least replaced by the `sunscreen clause', which then required each farmhand to wear it. Hats were popular and not a man would be seen without one, baseball cap, bushwhacker or, a couple of guys, whom stuck with the camo-styled military look.
"Mm-mm, I think I'm going to like working here," Novak says, handing a box to Edward, who passes it on to Alex, Alex stuffing it into Ferlan's hands, it disappearing into the front door of the farmhouse.
Another party unloaded the Larrengina Lumberyard truck into the barn, where some with mechanical abilities had assembled a makeshift walk in refrigerator, which LL found on an old NASA website. He made sure there were no alien germs, after Clay gave some of the farmhands the job of making it pristine. After hearing Clay's account, LL had wished he'd overseen the detail himself, picturing not only shirts coming off when the hose `accidentally' got turned on some of the guys!
As back at the firm, in a slender office building, LL was sometimes unhappy he was the head honcho. A position such as his, people had to look up to the owner and as a result, the `CEO' had to play a certain part, instead of like Clay, breaking loose, joining in on the hosing down, going through the torture of seeing chests, cocks and balls showing, what with wet shirts and pants, before they came off. He had to be shaken out of his reverie, impacted by how it could have been, in Clay's place, eyes glued to soggy briefs and exposed flesh, "What? What? What?" he questions Gio.
"You're hard!"
"I'm what?"
At the side of the farmhouse, watching the unloading, Gio pushes his chest up to LL, pinning him against the side of the wooded house.
"What were you thinking?"
The only one who could get away with anything, with LL, was Gio and now he was getting away with plenty, his bold chest holding LL in place, hand reaching down, sliding in between shirt and pants...
"Uh, yeah," LL can't lie, especially when found out, feeling Gio's digits nearing the sock pocket of his Nouguet briefs.
"Yes?" Gio's hand freezes.
All ears, LL is about to tell, when they hear from behind Gio's back, "Are you demonstrating how I should address the boss, Gio?"
It was Jef, standing there with a big grin on his face having finished laughing his ass off. Peeling bods apart, Jef's gaze shifted from LL, down, up to facing Gio. In a split second decision, since the boss was `showing', he had to check out the other conspirator, then smartly switched his thinking to the clipboard in hand, "I have that survey you asked me to do?"
Snatching it out of Jef's hand, Gio puts an arm around Jef's shoulder, turns his back towards LL, "Oh really? Let me see what you've got here."
LL knew what that was about, Gio being protective. Regardless, it wasn't providing much comfort, still hard! Conscious of it, he looked about to see if anyone else had noticed. There wasn't a guy in view, LL thinking himself in the clear. Also, the heat generated by both Gio's chest and hand, began to subside, as did the bulge in his crotch, of which, even though it would have been more satisfying to beat off, he was relieved, "Whew!" Then, he was scared shit, clammed up when two dudes turn the corner of the house, "Oh shit!" his hand went to his chest.
"Oh sorry," Ferlan says, a big sack of something over his shoulder.
Carrying a box, Alex says, "We didn't mean to scare you, but Javier says he wants these in the basement."
"Basement?"
"Right," Alex does the talking, Ferlan and LL following him farther around the building, "Javier said it would be easier to take the big stuff through the cellar door."
LL knew the place was decrepit, but got another taste of it, offering to open the door. Much more resembling a tornado shelter, when he pulls on the handle, the old wooden door, rotted out, comes open in pieces.
"Who-o-o-oa there!" Ferland drops the back off his shoulder, over his back and makes a mad dash for LL.
Seeing LL wasn't injured, having fallen backwards over a large stone, which on the other side lay an old log, Alex jokes, "To be young again!"
However, LL wasn't too concerned about age, other than Ferlan, having reacted swiftly, catching him with balled up fist, his shirt entwined, "Fast thinking," he looks over his shoulder, with alternative of a week in traction, with an aching back, "thank you."
Making excuse for his heroics, Ferlan, in his little Southern-Irish twang, says, "My folks always said I was a quick thinker!"
LL was liking more than the quick thinking at the moment, but knew he couldn't surrender his real thoughts, "Well, thank you very much," he ironed out the crinkles in his shirt, "I owe ya one," wishful thinking!
Blessed indeed with fast decision making, Ferlan was glad about that. If not for quick-tick brain waves, he would not have backed off, rounding the house and seeing Gio pinning the boss up agains the wall. He wondered what that was about, but not really concerned with Gio, LL his focus. Already, from the first, meeting him as a group, now he offers, "Oh, by the way, Mr. Justice, I'm Ferlan O'Keeffee... 2 ee's, 2 eff's, 2 ee's."
With hand shake, LL says, "Only one `o'?"
"Right, and one `k'!"
"I'm Alex," Alex has been watching the innocent interaction.
LL introduces himself as `LL'.
Of course, Ferlan, when ducking backwards out of LL and Gio's little rubbing action, he had gone back and reported it to Alex, reason they should wait a few minutes before carrying the stuff around back. Alex knew, as well as Ferlan, what happens when two hot men grind crotches together, of which Alex hints, "You and Gio, you're more than..."
Catching, Ferlan reams, "Alex, I thought we agreed not to say anything!"
"Oh, you saw," LL turns bright red. However, like Ferlan, he has some quick reflexes of his own, kicking in, "Sometimes, but no different from any other man, when a moment becomes `special', we can't stop the hips from grinding up a memory!" at which point, he walks back over to the cellar.
Having bent his leg `n' shaped, Alex had been resting his box, drops it to the ground, "No, allow me first." Then, hesitates after his first step down the concrete stairway, turns, "I'm sorry I mentioned something about... I mean, I didn't even see it, I..."
Yeah, Alex had just fingered Ferlan, who reacts, "Thanks Alex!"
"Oops," he almost whispers, confesses, "you know... sometimes I can have such a big mouth. I should learn to control it."
It was perfect opportunity for Ferlan to get even, right the wrong, clear the slate between them, "Big mouth, Alex? I've got a big cock. I think we're a match!"
The duel over, LL laughs his ass off, saying, "Touche, Ferlan!"
Alex just stood there, as Ferlan says, after the fact, "Well, I guess you know about us then?"
A good sport, the 37-year old didn't mind playing the folly of Ferlan's joke, in fact moved' by it and since his big mouth' the instigator of shame, bows out from ego and pride, "I'm up for it, if you are," Alex smiles!
Now, Ferlan has had his own gut reactions, Alex Cobb so macho, manly, upbeat dominant attitude, is totally bonked, "Really?"
He had only a few seconds to think about this, snatching up a 23-year old Irish hottie, Alex telling him, "Well sure. They say there's a first time for everything!"
There. It had presented itself, LL wanting to join in, joke, but his position made him draw back, saying, "I have to go make a phone call," and he sped away.
Sensitive to feeling a situation out, Ferlan questions, "Was it something I said?"
Stepping up out the storm cellar, Alex smiles and about four inches from Ferlan, says, "It sure was!"
They were alone, no one to breathe down their necks, Ferlan saying, "I wasn't sure I should say what I said, but it just came out."
"About?" Alex asks, even though he could pretty much guess.
Smiling, with shy feeling, Ferlan replies, "Your big mouth?"
Without moving his head, just dropping his eyes, Alex inquires, "So, just how big does it get?" he stares Ferlan in the face.
Alex wouldn't get his answer, then hearing crutches digging in the dirt, Patrick saying, "Hey you guys, Javier sent me tell you we're all waiting for you."
"Us?" Alex asks.
"The kitchen meeting?" he eyes up the two, like they were lovers who just parted after a kiss.
"We'll be right there," Alex picks up the sack.
"That's mine!" Ferlan disputes.
Alex humors, "What? You think an old man can't pick up a sack of potatoes?"
Ferlan, going for the box, watched Alex man his way down the steps. Fortunately little windows in the basement lit their way, unable to find how to turn a light on. He calls out, "Watch your step."
He tried, but tripped over a stick or something, Ferlan yelling out, "Incoming!"
He ran into the bag over Alex's shoulder, but Ferlan found out just how rugged the `old man' could be, the crash undamaging, "No sweat!"
On the contrary, they were both sweating from not the heat of the day, but the fact, when Ferlan collided, the box, like the bag outdoors, had fallen off his shoulder and down his back. With the sack over his right shoulder, Ferlan fell to Alex's left. Gut reaction, `to grab', Ferlan's arms go around Alex's waist.
Making light of a hot situation, Alex says, "Daymn! I didn't even get my big mouth on it and you're trying to fuck me?!" he laughs.
Expect the unexpected, that's what they say.
Unexpectedly, Ferlan didn't detach. With 5'10 vs. 5'11, he could barely fit his chin over Alex's shoulder.
Unable to move, stunned by this young hottie holding him around the waist, Alex `gulped' before saying something, anything, "Are you okay?"
Dreamer or maybe just feeling the situation out, Ferlan unstuck himself, as well as desires, "Sorry. I don't know what came over me."
Setting the bag down, turning around, Alex eludes the human aspect, "Yeah, well, someone should look into getting the basement lights fixed."
Ferlan had already assessed the situation, "What lights?" he stare at Alex, a beam of light from a window lighting his handsome, bearded face.
A melancholy moment had beset them, however Patrick's yelling voice had to break up the sweetness of the moment.
"We better get going," Alex hated to say it.
"Right," Ferlan sighs with disappointing tone.
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Copyright 2014 T. Chase McPhee
`HaRD iN THe SaDDLe (Giv2GeT), and developing segments of this story, may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author.