Date: Thu, 28 Apr 2011 07:07:17 -0700 (PDT)
From: jim ford <sojourn1950@yahoo.com>
Subject: Gordy comes Home chapter 5

John had told Wylie about "life on the ranch" but very little about the
ranch itself. Now, he was bringing Wylie up to speed concerning; his dad,
Conchatta, Louis, and some of the cowhands, he would meet.

Wylie was impressed with the wrought iron gates. He could see they set back
off the road with enough space and distance that a greyhound bus could
easily turn around. They were suspended within a stone arch whose shoulders
sloped gently, until leveling off at about five feet. There they met the
fence that, apparently, stretched to the horizon on either side. Wylie was
almost disappointed to see there was not a branding symbol anywhere to be
seen.

While John continued his diatribe, he pushed a button on the overhead
console and the gates swung smoothly open. The rattle of the round pipe
cattle guard, welcomed them to the ranch.


The granite pebble drive seemed to go on for miles. Finally topping a
gentle rise, the sprawling ranch house came into view. It was backed and
bordered by two large barns and several large out buildings. There were
three large corrals, each further divided by smaller paddocks.

The red of the barns, along with the connecting white, three board fencing
stood in stark contrast to the winter brown landscape. Only the house, with
it's light brown color and faded red, Spanish tile roof, appeared to
belong. The rest seemed, almost gaudy affectations. The ranch house was
huge! Wylie had been impressed, now he was intimidated. He couldn't have
imagined such a grand setup.


John hadn't noticed Wylie's discomfort.


Wylie had heard nothing since he first saw the ranch house. He was focused
on the fact that he didn't belong here. His accusation of John living on a
"big assed" ranch seemed to echo within his brain.

If he could be "beamed" to anywhere else he would gladly kiss Scotty's
Scotsman's ass.He wished he had not let John talk him into coming. He was a
little angry at having been put into this situation. He should have known
better. Maybe if he pretended to be sick, he could make his way back to the
dorm. "Ah FUCK! How do I do I get out of this?" This was mumbled, just
beneath his breath.


John thought he heard Wylie say something. He glanced over with a
questioning look. He understood immediately. To him it was home. It had
been several years since he had brought anyone home for the first
time. John had learned then that the first view, could be a little
overwhelming.

"Wylie, it just a ranch. It's not "South Fork". Truth be told it was in
fact, a little larger. Hold on until you meet Dad and Conchatta. If you
really want to, we can go back. First thing tomorrow. I know you'll like it
here, if you give it a chance. If not, we'll go back, I promise."


Wylie met John's comments with an appreciative, yet apprehensive smile.


John gripped and released Wylie's thigh, "Relax, I promise you, you'll be
more than welcomed. You'll see, they'll treat you like family. You'll be as
comfortable here, as you want to be. If it gets too tough, I'm serious,
we'll go back."

The import of "we'll go back" was not lost on Wylie. He understood that
John would rather he be comfortable than to spend Christmas, at home with
family. Wylie's gratitude overruled his trepidation. He vowed to hide any
discomfort. How could he do less?


John`s father, apparently notified by the opening gate, was waiting in the
drive to welcome the "boys". He and John hugged warmly. Turning with John's
introduction he pushed Wylie's proffered hand aside and embraced him just
as he had his son. Wylie was shocked; first by the hug, then by, "Welcome
home son." Wylie was speechless as he returned the embrace.


Wylie had expected to meet a sickly "old man". Instead, Mr. Grant was an
obviously vigorous man, a little past middle age. His gray hair and
weathered face were the only signs of age. In Texas, those traits described
most ranchers in their middle years; sometimes even younger.

Mr. Grant had John's intense, intelligent, brown eyes. Wylie had heard
girls describe John's as "bedroom eyes". Like John he was tall and
strong. When he released him, Wylie was sure of the man's strength. He also
noticed Mr. Grant's smile lit up those brown eyes, just like his
son's. Wylie knew he was seeing his friend; in thirty years.


Suddenly the massive double doors flew open and a colorful whirlwind rushed
toward the men. Sputtering endearments in Spanish, Conchatta grabbed John
in a warm and paralyzing hug her momentum was such that John staggered back
to keep them both from taking a tumble. Once he regained equilibrium, he
lifted her up and spun around.

Once footing was re-established , she released John. Holding his hands in
hers, she turned to Wylie with an appraising glance. Apparently pleased
with her first impression, she sidestepped and wrapped Wylie in the same
warm embrace. Wylie staggered from the impact and looked at John for help.


John shrugged and smiled, saying, "Wylie, meet Conchatta, my Mamacita and
the head of the house. Dad might argue that point, but not with
Conchatta. If you want to eat well and enjoy your time here, you'd best get
along with her. Conchatta has only a couple of cardinal sins: don't taste
anything before she says it's finished. Eat a lot of what is finished and
don't complain if she puts more on your plate or she will smack your head
with one of her wooden spoons. I am amazed that Louis doesn't weigh 300
pounds. Oh and don't leave any clothes on the floor. Oh! and, don't put
your feet on the furniture. If she asks you to do something, just do
it. For God's sake! If you don't she'll probably burn every meal until we
figure out who made her mad, and have him apologize profusely."

At this last, Conchatta muttered something, reached up and smacked John on
the back of his head. "You make me sound like a dictator."


Turning to Wylie, she said, "Welcome to the hacienda, Wylie, you are more
welcome than some." Turning to bless John with a sneer. "Now I go get food
ready. Still speaking only to Wylie, "You must be starving after your long
drive."

Glancing at John, she snapped her head up indignantly and headed back into
the house. As she entered the doorway, she paused, "You can eat too, after
you apologize probusely." She then turned and royally strolled into "her"
domain.


"Wow! For once, I'm glad I kept my mouth shut:" Wylie grinned at John. Then
all three burst into laughter.


Once inside the adobe ranch house, Wylie noticed that the decor was
comfortable. It was subtly masculine, yet warm and inviting. Paintings on
the walls were of a western motif and not a print to be found. There was an
occasional sculpture; most likely Remington.

Mr. Grant was proud of his home. Pointing toward the ceiling, he let Wylie
know that each generation had added onto; what started as a simple adobe
shack. His only contribution was to remodel the inside, with a few
"nick-knacks, and raise the roof to accommodate central air ducting and
wiring for satellite television and internet. The high, beamed ceilings
were original.


Completing the tour, he gave Wylie his choice of three spare bedrooms, each
with it's own bath, large screen TV, as well as a desktop computer. All
four, including John's room, were on the opposite side of the sprawling
ranch house, from the master bedroom.


Hesitating; Wylie glanced at John.


John stepped in quickly, drawing his father's attention. He reasoned that
Wylie would sleep in his room. His bed was big enough and Conchatta would
appreciate the lessened workload.


Mr. Grant cast an appraising glance, at Wylie. Maybe the investigators had
not found out everything about Wylie Keyes. Oh well, a man had a right to
some secrets.


The smile on Wylie's face told of his relief.


John added, "Dad, his snoring kept me up the first week. Now, it's more
like a lullaby."

Wylie punched John's shoulder and was about to argue, when he heard a heavy
sigh coming from John's father.

It shocked both young men when John's Dad, softly said, "I understand, my,
uh, your mother used to say the same thing about my snoring."

John's dad was a real "cowboy". He didn't share his feelings, except in the
extreme. If he laughed, it was a gut-buster (as demonstrated, earlier in
the drive). If he was mad, it was like the gates of hell, suddenly burst
open. Now, with this simple statement, his son saw him as, almost
vulnerable.

Was the comment, "my, uh, your mother" telling? John had recently become
sensitive to his own subtle language and mannerism that might give anyone
cause to question his relationship with Wylie. He still didn't fully
understand his feelings for his friend. Right now, he understood that he
wanted Wylie in his life more; than he had ever wanted anything. John knew
he would revisit this conversation, as well as his own feelings; again and
again.


Wylie would soon learn that the initial banter was the way John and
Conchatta were. No matter; it seemed to Wylie that when it came to the
kitchen, especially, Conchatta ruled with an iron fist. When Wylie
expressed gratitude for a meal, she would glow with matronly pride. He
found good reason to compliment her. That fancy Dallas restaurant, could
learn a thing or two from Conchatta. There seemed to always be something
good on the massive stovetop or in one of the three ovens. Wylie had seen
kitchens like this, only on TV.

He learned that if Conchatta was not around, food was for the taking. If
she was present; best to ask. Normally, she left after dinner was
prepared. "Supper" was eaten at the kitchen table, in a much more relaxed
atmosphere than Wylie would have guessed, given the size of the house. It
made him feel like family.


That first night she stayed to serve dinner. Wylie was only too well aware
that his presence had effected the menu. Cesar salad; with a home grown,
raw egg added just before serving, calamari; fried to perfection and served
with a Mariana that was warm, sweet and spicy (this calamari, he
liked). The massive filet was crusted with something that seemed to enhance
the flavor, he could not identify any flavor except the delicious
beef. Alongside the filet was a huge lobster tail. Resting between the two,
was a ramekin of melted lemon butter. Wylie knew that John had asked
Conchatta to serve these foods. Wine with the meal (only one) was as good
as any at the restaurant.

Wylie was generous in his heartfelt praise for Conchatta's efforts.She
glowed. He also noticed that Conchatta served herself and ate and conversed
as if it were the most natural thing. Wylie knew it was.

Conchatta was pretty much like Wylie's first impression. If John and his
dad talked business, she remained silent or engaged Wylie. If the topic was
other than business, she did not hesitate to offer her opinion.

By the end of the meal, she knew a lot about Wylie; his situation, his
friendship with John and his future plans. He had not realized how candid
he had been, until dessert had been cleared away. He hadn't said anything
too revealing; still his usual reserve had all but disappeared. He felt at
home.

Conchatta shooed Wylie out of the kitchen, even after he insisted on
helping her clean up.


John and his dad complimented him on his efforts.


Mr. Grant rescued Wylie, from a threatened smack with a wooden spoon, by
taking his elbow and leading him out of the kitchen. "Conchatta will call
if she needs us. Let's go to the library and have a drink and get to know
each other better. We can talk about you two starting work tomorrow."

Wylie's ears perked up at once. He needed to hear about, earning some much
needed cash. His drinking with John had drained his resources faster than
anticipated. Even with John's incessant generosity, his reserves needed to
be replenished. As a business major, he should have managed better. Still,
he couldn't pinpoint a minute he would have, spent differently. Love and
passion trump reason and wealth; every time.

In the library, Wylie was impressed with the collection of books. The wall
facing the door was either windows or books. It was easy to believe that
those books were collected to be read.


Mr. Grant poured three whiskys and indicated a grouping of four wing back
chairs. John and Wylie sat in two adjoining, while Mr. Grant took one
facing theirs. The oversized fireplace had certainly been real, at one
time. Now it's natural looking flames licked around faux logs.

The conversation was relaxed and while not probing, Wylie felt that
Mr. Grant wanted to know about him and his beliefs, concerning life,
philosophy and religion. What were Wylie's goals and aspirations. Did he
see marriage and family in his near future.

This last made Wylie look at John, before answering. "I suppose, most guys
get married. I figure if I find someone I want to spend my life with, the
issue of children would be discussed at some point. Do I see myself as a
father? Right now, I honestly can't say that I do. I love kids, but raising
them is a lifelong commitment. I am not sure I want to be responsible for
molding a life. Even if I found someone," after a subtle glance at John, he
continued, " My priority now is education. This is a discussion I'll be
better prepared for in another four or five years."

Mr. Grant moved smoothly onto other topics. Wylie's swimming, studies, and
did he have a girlfriend in college or back home? The only question that
bothered Wylie, was the one about children.

There was only one person in the world he could see building a life
together. He wasn't sure if the feelings were reciprocated. Hell, he wasn't
sure the guy had a clue as to how he felt. He wasn't sure how long this
thing with John could go on without his demanding, John make his intentions
clear. Fuck! He sounded like Scarlet O'hara!

Mr. Grant finished his whisky and was about to retire. As to work, he let
Wylie know that if he worked alongside John, he would be paid. They were to
see Louis at six in the morning. He bid them good night.

John poured both a double whisky. "Wylie, I don't' mean to pressure you,
but. If we are going back tomorrow, I have to let Dad know tonight. He
doesn't have to know how you feel. Just that we are going. But, I have to
tell him tonight. So. How do you feel. Still want to go back?

"John, I honestly haven't thought of leaving since I stepped out of the
jeep. I know you set me up with that dinner. I'm not sure if I should thank
you or accuse you of playing dirty. Your Dad is a great guy. I think he
would be offended, if I left. If you left because of me, I don't think he
would forgive me. At least, not in this lifetime. He's the kind of man,
whose respect would mean a lot to me. I guess I'll stay and try to earn
it. Besides, if I hang around I might get to see Conchatta kick yo' ass."

Only now did John allow himself to fully relax. He had not been sure how
Wylie was feeling until this moment. He turned his double up and finished
it. Wylie followed suit. John brought the bottle from the counter of the
wet bar and sat it on a table between his chair and Wylie's.

Wylie wanted to know what work they would be doing. "If I know Louis,
tomorrow we will be shoveling out the stables. He'll do that just to see
what kind of worker you are. He knows I'll do whatever job he assigns. Most
guys see working inside as a restrictive punishment. They love to work
cattle. Hell, any job outside is better than anything you could do inside
except sleep and sex. I'm sure a few of the old goats think even those are
not exceptions."

"Don't worry Wylie, tomorrow will be your first day in training to become a
real shit-kicking cowboy. Those old boots you like to wear? Tomorrow you
will learn what they are really made for."

One more double finished, found them both fumbling and stumbling to get to
John's room. They got naked quickly. Here they could relax. They fell into
bed and immediately began kissing and jerking each other off. They
came. Neither regretted the quick climax. All sex is great; it just that
some sex is better.

John went to the attached bathroom and pissed, without turning on the
light.

He staggered back to bed and fell so that his face landed in Wylie's
crotch.

He could feel Wylie's dick harden against his cheek. He could feel the
sticky moistness of their ejaculate, against his face. He didn't care. He
turned his head and let his tongue taste their mixed semen.

After the first taste he realized he would gladly clean Wylie's body with
his tongue. His goal was not this soupy, sticky mixture. His desired fare,
was far meatier. He slid a little lower and took Wylie's cockhead into his
mouth.

Both froze.

If a life flashes before one's eyes as they face death; then what does one
see when they face the falsehood in all their learned values, expectations,
and preconceived notions?

The pregnant moment seemed to last forever. John knew what he had become
the moment he tasted Wylie's cock and cum. He knew he loved Wylie. He
wanted this. Would he loose Wylie? Would Wylie hate him? He had wanted to
get closer to Wylie from their first meeting. This was closer than he had
thought. Still, it felt right. It was right. Whatever Wylie's reaction:
This was right! For John.

Here, at home, he found the courage. It would be for naught if Wylie;
pushed him away or if he feigned sleep.

His life would be over; not because the world and his father might find out
he was gay. His life would be over; if he lost Wylie. Wylie's response
would change his life, for better or worse.

Wylie moved!

Ok, obviously there is more; much more. I need to see some interest or I
will decide my writing is not something worth pursuing. So. Should I post
more?