Date: Sat, 26 Jan 2002 20:06:08 -0700
From: Clone Buggs <cqsqfq@hotmail.com>
Subject: Hot Pies and Size Queens part 13

Cowboy Lust


	My Sophomore year in college, I needed to clear my head of book learning,
and lab rats, and get back to my basics.  I was raised on a ranch in
Montana, and I missed the life of early to bed early to rise, and the lowing
of little doggys on the open range.  I took a summer job on a ranch near
Santa Fe, New Mexico to earn some money and clear my head for the tough year
ahead.
	I reported for duty the week after school let out, and was picked up at the
bus station by Hank, a lanky drink of water in a beaten up old Jeep.  Hank
didn't talk much, but I gathered there were about twelve hands on the place
already, counting me, and they were expecting three more in the morning.  He
was getting tired of playing taxi for the new boys.
	We pulled to a stop next to a long adobe bunkhouse, that looked like it was
built back in the days of Billy the kid, and when I made some such comment,
Hank snorted through his nose, and said something about him bein' a
worthless little shit.
	"Shoulda shot that sumbitch myself.  Had the chanct enough times.  Saved
ol' Pat Garret the trouble a making up all that bullshit."
	"Hank, just how old are you?"
	"Sommers `round ninety I reckon.  You know Billy lived `til 1928, didn't
you?"
	"No I didn't know that.  But are you still working this ranch?"
	"Aw hell no.  I own th' sumbitch.  I jes play taxi fer th' hep."  He spit
the greasy black stuff on the ground again, and pointed to the bunkhouse.  A
slick of the stuff he was chewing ran down his stubbly chin, and he wiped it
away before pointing again.
"You sleep in there.  We all eat out behind the cookhouse,"  He looked up at
the sun, and spit again.  "Supper in twenny minuts.  Don't be late or you
won't get much."  I climbed out of the Jeep, and Hank drove off toward the
house across the compound.
	After a typical ranch dinner of slabs of beefsteak, fried potatoes biscuits
and redeye gravy, the crew was given our assignments for the next day.  I
was assigned along with two other cowboys named Jack and Manuel to saddle up
and take enough grub along to spend a week popping brush up Thompson creek.
I didn't know much about the lay of the land, but Hank told me Manuel was
raised on the ranch, and knew the canyon like the back of his hand.
	Back in the bunkhouse, Jack, Manuel and me sat around talking about the
task, and heard from Manuel that we were in for a treat.
	"Thompson creek canyon is the most beautiful on the ranch, which is the
size of New Hampshire.  There's a little cabin with bunks, and a stove.  A
big swimming hole outside the door, and running water for showers.  The
drawback is it ain't got no hot water heater.  No electricity neither."  We
turned in early, eager to get an early start.
	Four A.M. found us being rousted out of bed by an already dressed and
pissed off cook.  "Get yer asses out a bed ya lazy bums.  Yer coffee's
getting cold an' my hot biscuits and bacon ain't gettin' any hotter
neither."  We rolled out and pulled on our clothes, rubbing our sleepy eyes,
and scratching itches.  We all stumbled out of the still slumbering bunk
souse, and stood in a line out back and relieved our bladders in the dust.
	It took half an hour after eating to pack three mules, saddle our horses,
and round up a change of mounts for each of us, and start off with Manuel in
the lead for the distant canyon.  Sunrise caught us an hour later, on the
banks of Thompson's creek.
	"This here's Thompson's creek boys," Manuel said.  "Ol' man Thompson named
it for himself.  He built the cabin we'll be stayin' in up at the box end.
He was a queer ol' bird, died about fifteen year ago.  I was the one found
him, I was eight at the time.  I used to go visit him `cause he'd pay good
money for a few favors, an' I always needed money when I was a kid.  Candy
an' shit like that."
	"What kinda favors a eight year old boy do for a ol' geezer Manuel?" Jack
asked.
	"I never said he was no ol' geezer Jack.  He wern't no more than thirty I
reckon.  Died a snake bite, like anyone of us could in this country."
	"So what kinda favors Manuel?"  Manuel rode for a long time in silence,
choosing not to answer Jack's pointed question.  As we were entering the
mouth of the canyon, still blue with morning mists rising off the waters of
the creek, he stopped his horse, and leaned over the saddle and spit his
first gob of tobacco juice on a coiled rattler.  The juicewad caught the
snake square on the head, and it recoiled, rattling its horny tail buttons,
and causing the animals to turn skittish.  I hadn't even seen the snake.
	"I got to admit," Manuel said, resuming the trek up the canyon.  "Ol' man
Thompson had some weird ideas about favors.  One time, he had me strip down
and stand in the water of the creek, cold as ice, while he painted a picher
of me."
	"He was an artist?"  I was starting to be intrigued with the dead Mr.
Thompson.
	"Yeah.  He was.  My moma told me that all artists was a little bit queer,
an' I ought not to get around him, but he done nice things for me, an' he
paid good money for favors like I said."
	"You still ain't told us what kinda favors you done for him."  Jack
muttered loud enough for Manuel to hear.
	"O.K. Jack, I'll tell you so's you'll keep your mouth shut.  Ol' man
Thompson liked to suck boys off.  Always paid a buck or two for the favor.
A few of the older boys used to come up here, let him do other things, and
he paid better for that."
	"What was them other things Manuel?"  Jack wasn't about to keep his mouth
shut.
	"Well, I come up here onct, and surprised him fuckin' Billy Bob Smily's
asshole.  I'd never seen nobody gettin' cornholed before, but ol' man
Thompson was show cornholin' ol' Billy Bob good."
	"You ever let him cornhole you Manuel?"  Jack had a grin on his face.
	"Not really.  I onct put some bacon grease between my thighs, and let him
slide between my legs `til he shot off.  Paid me two dollars for that
favor."
	"I'll bet." Jack smirked.
	"Say Manuel," I piped up.  "You ever do any of this stuff after you got
older?"
	"Shit yeah.  Ain't no fuckin' women aroun'.  Jes a bunch a horny cowboys.
I'll admit I played aroun' with a few dicks and buttholes in my time.  How
about you guys?"
	"Shit man," Jack said.  "If it wasn't fer cocks and buttholes I'd still be
a stone virgin.  Women don't really like a real cowboy.  They like them city
boys what take `em dancin' an' drinkin' in them honky tonks.  I ain't got
time nor money to waste on that cowshit."
	"How about you?" Manuel directed his question to me.
	"Well, I grew up around cowboys in Montana, an' I reckon I had my first
cornholin' when I was twelve or thirteen."
	"Who done it to ya?"  Manuel was squeezing his lump of cockflesh in his
saddle.
	"His name was Charlie Flowers, worked for my folks as a foreman several
years.  Had a dick on him most stallions would envy.  He just loved my
butthole.  Used to take me with him into the hills to supposedly help with
the counts and roundups, but really, it was to plug my butt with his big
dick.  I must a taken a gallon of his cum up my butt over the years I knew
him."
	"And you Jack?  What was your first time?"  Manuel had unbuttoned his Levis
and had hauled his big stiff cock out and was jacking on it.
	"Well, I'm embarrassed to say it, but it was my daddy fucked me the first
time."
	"Really?"  I looked at Jack, and wondered at the ease with which he'd
revealed his father's history.
	"Yeah.  I'd done somethin' he didn't like, I don't `member much of want it
was now, an' after supper, he took me down to the barn, and whaled the shit
out of my bare ass with his belt.  After he thought I'd learnt my lesson, he
started tryin' to comfort me, and was rubbin' some bag balm on my welts, and
next thing I know, his rough ol' finger's slidin' inta my hole.  I kinda
liked it, an' before long, he slipped his ol' hard johnson up my butt too.
An' that I did like.  My moma was dead, the year before from the Pneumonia,
an' he tole me he was so horny all the time he couldn't think straight.  Me
an' him slept together after that, `til he got too feeble to do it anymore.
We sold the ranch, an' put him in a rest home.  He died last year."
	"Sorry to hear that Jack."  I was.
	"So," Manuel spoke.  "You boys half as horny as me, we'll have a good time
this week."  The three of us grinned at each other and rode on up the
canyon.
	The cabin was small, but the bunks were comfortable, and the swimming hole
was wonderful.  We unsaddled and hobbled the horses, and the replacement
stock, and unloaded the mules, and hobbled them as well.
	We stripped and ran splashing into the cold waters of Thompson's creek, and
scrubbed ourselves with sand until the dust and sweat of the trail was gone,
and the coarse grains left our skins glowing.
	Manuel was the first to start the fun.  He swam up behind Jack, and stood
up, his hard shaft coming up between Jack's legs.  Jack reached for the
stiff log between his thighs, and squeezed the head while Manuel hugged
himself to Jack's back, and humped him.  That signaled an end to the
swimming party, and we all made for the shore, and a patch of lush grass on
the bank.  The sun dappled grass, was ideal for our fun and games, soft and
not too exposed to the hot sun, being completely overhung by a huge
Cottonwood tree.
	Manuel had left a small bag on the grass before going into the stream, and
now revealed it contained rubbers and lube.  He wasted little time suiting
himself up, and bending Jack over and greasing his hole with a couple of
horny fingers.  Jack's asshole, was open and ready, and Manuel, plowed his
big dick into him.  They were both on their knees, and Jack straightened up,
and started jacking on himself.  I couldn't resist his ten inches of leaking
log, and got on my knees in front of him and swallowed his thickness.  As
Manuel fucked into his butt, Jack fucked into my throat.
	Jack squeezed a gob of lube onto his hand and fingers, and slapped it into
the crack of my ass, and as I blew him, he worked his rough and horny
fingers into my tender asshole.  Before too long, he had most of his hand
probing my butthole.  When he started to get hot enough to cum, he started
groaning and humping my gagging throat.  He made a fist in my assring, and
forced his hand into me to the wrist.  He started pumping my ass hard,
stroking my prostate, which was exactly what Manuel was doing to his, and
before long, we were all blasting into the stratosphere, shooting cum like
there was no tomorrow.
	After a rest, Manuel, climbed over Jack, and put another rubber on.  He
laid down on my body, and worked his stiffness against my hole.  After the
preparation Jack's hand had made, he slipped right into me.  He laid his
head on my chest, and began a long slow fuck.  It felt like a slow moving
freight train with two hundred cars was making its way through my asshole.
	Watching, made Jack's rod rise again, and he was soon suited up, and
sinking slowly into Manuel's hole.  I felt like I was being fucked by two
studs at one time.  I could actually feel Jack's big dick pumping into
Manuel as he pumped his into me.  My own cock was rock hard between Manuel
and me, and the friction of our bodies rubbing together, brought me closer
and closer to the brink of a massive ejaculation.
	When my cock and balls contracted, and the hot fluid began to spurt from my
piss slit, my asshole tightened its grip on Manuel's cock, and he moaned in
my ear.  His grunted Spanish told me he was emptying his nuts in my ass.
That in turn, caused his butt cheeks to tighten down hard on Jack's big
dick, and he too began thrashing into Manuel's ass, cuming for all he was
worth.
	After that, we bathed again, and set about fixing some food to eat.  The
animals had wandered up the canyon a ways, and the sun was already going out
of the deep rocky cleft.  It was hours from sunset, but the canyon dimmed as
the sun traversed west across the sky, and the angle of light falling into
the canyon diminished.  Birds came to the stream, and their songs filled the
air.  It was good to be alive.

End