Date: Sat, 1 Mar 2008 12:06:57 -0700
From: Roy <roynm@mac.com>
Subject: Owen, chapter 3 - gay college section

Owen

Chapter three

by Roy Reinikainen


Lucas fumbled with the key, intensely aware of Owen's nearness.  He could
not recall ever reacting to a person in the way he was reacting to the man
who was now looking around the elevator lobby, drinking in all the details.
Lucas managed to unlock the door to his apartment on the second try, and
swung it open, motioning for Owen to precede him, and apologizing for the
mess at the same time.

"Like I said earlier, I had just finished shifting my stuff when I had to
take my father to the airport.  He's heading to Europe for a meeting,"
Lucas added, flipping on a light switch.

'Damn', he thought to himself, looking around at the jumble of boxes piled
on the floor as well as on top of pieces of furniture.  'The place looks
even worse than I remembered.'  Owen was standing open-mouthed, looking
from side to side.  He turned to Lucas and gestured.

"All this stuff is yours?"

Lucas wasn't sure if he should interpret what Owen said as a question or an
accusation.  Either way, the comment seemed to carry a meaning beyond what
was on the surface.  He quietly swung the door closed and shoved his hands
into his pockets and nodded, suddenly embarrassed by the sheer quantity of
everything, especially when compared with Owen's meager possessions.  He
would have been willing to bet the two bags Owen was carrying were indeed
all he owned.

"And, all this space?"  Owen asked in wonder, looking from left to right,
his arms hanging limply at his sides.

Lucas nodded again as Owen ran his fingers through his hair and then slowly
shook his head.

"I'm findin' that I'm most amazed, not at the big buildings and things like
that, but at you, and," he gestured to the scattered boxes and furniture.
"And, all this."  He gave Lucas a wry smile.

"I'm sorry, Lucas.  I'm not criticizing you, or anything.  It's just . . .
Well, where I came from pretty much everyone had the same experiences and
similar belongings.  There wasn't much variation."  He glanced around the
room. "Until today, I never thought of myself as . . . poor, both in the
sense of owning things, and in the sense of having any experience with the
world outside Riverton."  He heaved a sigh, his crooked smile returning,
this time accompanying a sad expression.

"It's a feelin' I'm going to have to get used to."  He gave Lucas another
troubled look.  "You mind if I sit . . . on . . ."  He quickly looked about
him and selected a large sturdy-looking cardboard box.  "On this?"  He took
a deep breath and collapsed onto the box with a tired grunt, not waiting
for permission.

Owen sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees, his hands dangling
limply between his legs, leaving Lucas not knowing what to do or how to
respond.  He had always had anything he wanted.  The same was true of his
friends.  But, until a few moments ago, he had never felt . . . guilty,
about his possessions.  Now, he looked at the boxes and thought of their
contents in light of the background Owen described.  He sat down opposite
Owen, on another large box, his appreciation of Owen increasing
dramatically.  Here was a person who had come far on so little.  He looked
up when Owen began speaking.

"It's not that I've suddenly realized that I've been missing out 'cause I
don't have lots of . . . stuff.  Since leaving home, I've realized how
*little* I know about the world.  A person can be poor in ways other than
not having enough money to do the things he'd like."  He huffed a silent
laugh and shook his head in rueful acknowledgement.  "Course, I don't have
much of that, either."

There was nothing Lucas could do other than let Owen work through his
feelings.  "My lack of knowledge about the world," Owen continued, meeting
Lucas' gaze.  "That's where I really feel poor.  I know so little about
things everyone else takes for granted."  He suddenly reached across the
narrow space separating him from Lucas, and squeezed Lucas' hand.  It was a
brief touch, gone as suddenly as it had happened, causing Lucas to glance
at his hand, wishing the strength and warmth had remained.

"Thanks again for helping me out . . . and for not laughing at me for all
the things I don't know."  He looked away.  "It means more to me than you
can know."

"I would never laugh at you, Owen."  He glanced at his hand.  The warm dry
touch of Owen's hand on his had been like an electric current running
through him.  He would have sworn that he felt both Owen's distress as well
as his determination.

"Did you have a television, back home?"  Owen shook his head.  "No
computer, either.  M'father always said those things were for people with
no work to do.  I gotta admit, a farm *is* a lot of work, but . . . still.
There's more to being educated than going to school.  The people you meet
. . ."  He grinned at Lucas.  "The things you see when you leave home;
those are all part of a guy's education as much as what he learns from
reading a book or workin' on a piece of land trying to coax things to
grow."

"Yet, you got a scholarship."

Owen nodded.  "I worked my damn tail off to get it, too, especially since I
had to continue all my chores around the farm and deal with m'father, who
was dead-set against me leavin'.  He never seemed to figure that the more
obstacles he set in front of me, the more determined I became."  He shook
his head.  "I'm feelin' sorry for my brother, Jonah though.  He's gonna be
saddled with all my responsibilities, plus everything he's already got to
do."  Owen slowly shook his head.  "Poor Jonah.  At least, *he* never
accused me of running away and abandoning the family."

"Your folks did that?"

"M'father."  Owen's lips seemed to tighten slightly at the thought of his
father.  "My mother goes along with whatever he says.  She says she doesn't
want to make waves."  He slowly shook his head, remembering his mother's
attempts at peacemaking, and his father's determined efforts to have his
own way.  "Well, *I* made waves.  M'father, didn't know what to do.  You
see.  No one goes against his will.  No one, until me."

He turned back to Lucas.  "I gotta also thank you for not shying away
whenever I've touched you, like a second ago.  I've always been the sorta
person who needs to touch and be touched."  He shook his head.  "Yet
another thing, m'folks don't understand.  That's not somethin' anyone does
in my family."  His voice lowered.  "Touch, that is."  He seemed to call
himself back to the present.  "Many guys would be bothered if another guy
touched them like I have you.  Y'see, I hardly realize I'm doin' it.  So,
thanks again.  If I'm bothering you, just tell me, flat out.  I'll try 'n
stop."

"No . . . don't stop, please.  I like being held.  My parents don't
discourage displays of affection, they just . . . choose . . . to be more
stand-offish than me.  The only person who I've known who enjoys physical
contact is my sister, Allison."  He grinned, allowing his fun-loving side
to show.  "I'm thinking you'd be able to give me a more physical hug than
she does."

Owen smiled one of the brightest smiles Lucas had yet seen.  "No doubt
. . .  though I don't expect you'd want to get too close to me, right now.
I'm probably smellin' like I've never seen a shower."  He held up a
forefinger.  "*That's* one thing we *do* have, back home."

'Oh', Lucas thought to himself, stunned by the effect of the smile.  It had
lit Owen's face like the sun for a brief instant, dispelling all the ghosts
of home which had been hovering around him.  In that instant, he knew he
was in love.  This was a man who wasn't ashamed of wearing his emotions on
his sleeve; a man who yearned to touch and be touched as much as he.  He
would be willing to bet that Owen had gone through his life seldom, if
ever, being told that he was loved.

Lucas wanted to reach out to Owen and tell him that not everyone in the
world was uncaring.  He dared not do it though.  Perhaps Owen only *seemed*
vulnerable because he was so tired.

Lucas took the hint.  "Oh.  Of course.  You'll want to get cleaned up after
your trip.  Would you like something to eat?"  He looked over his shoulder
toward the darkened kitchen and then back to Owen.  "We'd have to go out
and get something, I'm afraid.  Like I said, I haven't really moved in
yet."

"No, I'm not hungry.  They fed us something on the plane."  He made a face.
"I'm not sure what they served was when it was living, but I ate it.  Sure
didn't look like anything I'd ever seen before."  He shook his head,
dismissing the meal.  "Wouldn't have known it was something that was
supposed to be eaten if it hadn't been for everyone else eating what was on
*their* plates."  He made a slight face, scrunching up his nose and
grinning.

"So, I'm not hungry, but, I would appreciate being able to get cleaned up."
He looked around.

"You think you can find a pillow in one of these boxes?  Once I get a
shower, I can stretch out right here."  He gestured to a clear space on the
carpet in front of the windows.  "Beneath the lights of all those
buildings."  He looked closer.  "All those lights sorta look like stars,
don't they?  Just think," he mused.  "There're people behind each window."

He looked up at the noise of Lucas rummaging about in one of the boxes.
"Oh yeah, shower."  He stood and began to unbutton his shirt.  When Lucas
pulled out a couple pillows and blankets from an open box, Owen was
stepping out of his underwear.

The sight of the naked man almost caused him to choke.  He could only
describe Owen as . . . magnificent.  There wasn't a blemish on his lightly
tanned body, from his broad shoulders and smooth chest to the white swell
of his buttocks and muscular legs.  He gave Lucas a totally unselfconscious
smile as he absently scratched his dense mat of dark blond pubic hair,
causing his thick penis to move from side to side.

"Do you suppose there might be some soap and a towel in one of these?"  He
gestured to the boxes.  "I'm a demanding guest, aren't I?"  He moved closer
and bent to help Lucas examine the contents of the open box.

Lucas inhaled deeply, the sensuous smell of a naked man, causing his penis
to thicken.

"No, you're not . . . demanding, I mean."  He glanced around.  "Um, ahh,
yeah . . . soap."  Lucas held a pillow in front of himself as he tried to
keep from staring at Owen who was casually moving about, peering into
already opened boxes.  'And I thought he was perfect when he was
*dressed*!'  Lucas cleared his throat, trying to act casually, as he kept a
tight grip on the pillow, covering what was now a full erection.  He didn't
want to look at his hands, but he imagined his knuckles were white with the
self control he was exerting.

"There should be a box in the bathroom with some soap in it."  He nodded in
the direction of the bedroom and adjoining bath.  "There should also be
some towels in there, somewhere," he added, as Owen turned and headed for
the bedroom, the muscles of his butt and legs flexing with each step he
took.

When he had disappeared, Lucas sank onto one of the boxes and stared in the
direction of the bedroom.  Owen had carefully draped his clothing over the
top of a nearby box, placing his shoes neatly side by side.

There was a shout from the bathroom.  "I found the soap and a towel."  He
heard the glass shower door open.  "Why don't you come in here and keep me
company?"

Lucas adjusted himself and stood, glancing once again at the clothing on
top of the box.  On an impulse, he picked up Owen's shirt and bunched it in
front of his nose, inhaling deeply, the scent sending a sensuous shiver
through his body.  He snatched up the white briefs and buried his face in
them, feeling strangely perverted as he did so.  He took one last sniff of
the shirt, and reluctantly rearranged the clothing as he'd found it,
running his fingers over the cloth.

'What a picture I'd be,' he thought, unable to keep from grinning.
'Standing in the middle of the living room with my face buried in his
underwear.'

"Lucas?" Owen called.  "Are you coming?"

Lucas glanced back to the clothing as he headed for the bathroom, where the
shower was now running and Owen was humming an off key tune.  He turned
when Lucas entered the room.

"Glad you could make it!  I was gettin' lonely."

Lucas hoisted himself onto the vanity counter and leaned against the
mirror, bunching a towel in his lap and squeezing his erection through his
slacks.  "We wouldn't want that, would we?"

Owen shook his head.  "Nope."

 He shouted over the sound of the spray.  "So . . . I've been talkin' a lot
about myself.  Tell me about you."

'I'm in love!' He wanted to shout at the top of his lungs.  Owen turned his
back to Lucas and leaned forward to wash his feet, causing the cheeks of
his butt to part slightly, providing Lucas a perfectly clear view of the
hairless hole and, beyond that, a full scrotum.  He closed his eyes and
groaned.

Owen looked over his shoulder.  "Did you say something?"

Lucas shook his head and made a dismissive gesture.  "Uh . . . Well, I'm
still living in the same city I grew up in.  I'm a sophomore at the
University, studying business.  I eventually want to join my father's
company.  He's a developer.  In fact, this apartment building is one of his
projects."

"Business?"  Owen turned off the water, opened the shower door, and
extended his hand for the towel covering Lucas' straining erection.  "I'm
planning on studying accounting," he said as stepped from the shower and
began vigorously drying himself.  "I'm good with numbers, and math and
things like that.  I don't think there's anything back in Riverton that
would call for those skills though."  He gave Lucas an apologetic smile.

"There I go, talking about me again."

"Well," Lucas continued.  "I've got a sister who's two years older than me.
We're good friends.  I get along with my folks.  I'm a pretty normal guy,
really.  There's not much more to tell."

"Do you have a girlfriend?" Owen asked, draping the towel over his
shoulders rather than wrapping it around his waist.  He leaned on the
vanity and looked at himself in the mirror as he ran his fingers through
his short hair.  Satisfied, he turned toward Lucas, perched on the edge of
the vanity, and smiled, waiting for an answer to his question.

Lucas cleared his throat.  His erection really was beginning to be
uncomfortable.  The fresh smell of soap was almost as erotic as the smell
of Owen's shirt and underwear had been.  He cleared his throat once more.

"No.  I'm like you.  No girlfriend.  I've never made much of a hit with the
girls."  Owen gave him a startled look.

"I'm surprised.  I would have thought they'd be climbing all over you."

"Yeah, well . . ."  Lucas responded.  "I would have thought the same of
you.  Aren't there any girls in . . . Riverton?"  Owen nodded at the
correct name of the town.

"Sure, there are girls.  Not many, but a few.  Three . . . four."

"There are a few more than that here."

"That's nice."  Owen seemed to dismiss the thought.

"Well," he spoke around a yawn.  "It's gotta be close to three in the
morning and I'm exhausted."  He gave Lucas a mischievous look, smiling and
flashing his dimples, the faint freckles dusting his nose seemingly more
prominent than earlier.  "Learnin' about elevators, and airplanes, and
taxis, and meeting a new friend has taken a lot out of me.  If I don't lie
down soon, I'm gonna go to sleep standing up."  He yawned again, covering
his mouth with his hand, wearing a look of apology.

"Sorry to be so rude."  He turned towards the living room.  "The floor is
calling!  Lead me to the pillow."  He grinned over his shoulder and
motioned for Lucas to get off the vanity counter.

They walked into the living room, weaving around the boxes and furniture.
Owen looked over his shoulder and grinned before spreading the blanket on
the carpet and tossing a pillow on top.  "Well . . . g'night."  He shifted
his weight from foot to foot, looking like a child, attempting to work up
the courage to ask a favor.

"Good night."  Lucas reluctantly turned toward the bedroom.  He'd taken
only a couple steps when Owen spoke.

"Lucas?"

He turned, a hopeful expression replacing the carefully constructed
appearance of polite friendliness.

"Uh . . ."

"Yes?" Lucas prompted.

There was a brief pause.  One hand opened and closed, as if Owen were
grasping for the correct words.  When he was unable to find the ones he
wanted, he gave Lucas a rueful grin and a slight shake of his head.
"Pleasant dreams, my friend."  Owen bit his lower lip and then sank to his
knees and began to unfold the blanket, stealing a glance at Lucas' back as
he maneuvered around the stacks of boxes, heading toward the bedroom.

Lucas grinned to himself as he left the living room, feeling as if Owen's
parting words had been a gentle kiss.  How was it possible such simple
words could make him feel so good inside?

He leaned against the wall inside the bedroom, tilting his head back,
staring at the ceiling, and the restlessly moving shadow patterns cast by
the light of nearby buildings coming through the tops of the tree branches
outside his window.

'What am I *thinking*?'  He tightly squeezed his eyes and then rubbed a
hand over his face.  "I've known him for only a few hours and I'm already
planning the rest of our lives together.  Hell!' He thought, pushing
himself away from the wall and stripping out of his clothes.  'I don't even
know if he's gay!'  He stepped out of his underwear and tossed them against
the far wall, not at all pleased when they hit the wall with little more
than a soft plop.  "I'm setting myself up for a big fall if I continue
thinking like this.'

Lucas collapsed face-first across the bed.  'One minute, he gives me
signals which shout that he's gay.  The next minute, I'm not sure.'  He
rolled onto his back and bent his knees, resting his bare feet flat on the
bare mattress.  'I'm probably just interpreting his actions based on what
I'm accustomed to seeing in the guys I grew up with.  Where *he* comes
from, the same things could mean something entirely different.'

Lucas closed his eyes and attempted to think about something
. . . anything, other than the man in the living room.  'Who is Sam?' he
wondered.  Owen had mentioned his friend a number of times during the ride
from the airport, and then later, here at the apartment.

With those thoughts he finally fell asleep.


----------


Owen shifted position, punching the pillow into a more comfortable shape.
As tired as he was, he seemed unable to fall asleep.  Too much had happened
to him today to allow him to rest easy.  Then, to top everything off, he'd
met Lucas.

He knew himself to be a person who sought physical contact, but even so, he
was troubled by his desire to hold Lucas . . . to be close to him.  'I'm
probably just missin' Sam,' he thought, throwing a forearm over his eyes in
an attempt to block out the light coming into the living room.  'I'm most
likely thinkin' the things I am about Lucas, 'cause Sam's not here.'

He turned onto his stomach, intensely aware of his erection rubbing against
the nubbly texture of the blanket.  'Oh, Sam,' he silently groaned.  'I'm
missin' you, so much.'


----------


Lucas twisted and turned trying to find a comfortable position on the bare
bed.  He would have sworn he was awake, but he couldn't be.  Instead of
late summer; it was winter.  The bare branches of the trees outside his
apartment, long ago stripped of their leaves, were swaying wildly in the
wind.  The thrashing silhouettes were seen against a leaden sky, promising
a heavy snow fall.  He saw himself step into the bedroom just as a strong
gust of wind hammered the windows.

Losing himself in the dream, he *became* the man who shivered as he flicked
a glance to the scene outside the windows.  That man dropped the towel from
around his waist to the floor, and slid between the cold sheets, pulling
the blanket up to his chin.  The pale yellow light from the still-steamy
. . . and warm . . . bathroom, spilled into the bedroom, along with the
sound of Owen's absent humming.

"Come on," Lucas shouted.  "I'm freezing my nuts off, in here!  You can
quit looking at yourself in the mirror.  There's no difference from this
morning.  You still don't have an ounce of fat on your body, or a grey
hair, or anything.  You're *twenty-two* for pity's sake.  Every twenty-two
year old looks good."  He jumped in surprise as another gust of wind
hammered the window.

There was an evil laugh as Owen left the bathroom, turning off the light.
Lucas watched his lover of four years in the dim light.  He had been
joking, a moment earlier, when he told Owen he looked great.  In fact, he
looked better than great.  He had changed a great deal in the four years
since they'd met, but his fascination with cold weather had never
diminished.

Owen walked to the bedroom window and stood, with his arms hanging limply
at his sides, looking out at the storm, wearing a hint of a smile . . . and
nothing else.  Lucas could see the slight movement of his chest as he
breathed.  His cock hung limply, springing from the dense matt of pubic
hair and draping over his scrotum, only hinting at the power it could exert
when erect.

It had begun to sleet, the small ice crystals clicking against the glass in
the strong wind.  The yellow light of the street lights danced over Owen's
bare skin, dancing patterns caused by the swaying of the trees.

"Owennnn . . . you're making me freeze, just standing there like that.  If
you're not coming to bed, at least put something on.  You're flashing the
whole friggin' world, ya know?"  Owen turned to him wearing his trademarked
bright smile and grabbed onto his thickening penis, wagging it a couple
times at all would-be voyeurs before turning towards the bed and shaking it
at Lucas.

"Show-off," Lucas muttered, pulling the blanket tighter, in no mood for his
lover's antics.  "I'm *cold*," he muttered, stifling a shiver.

His complaint was answered by a chuckle.  "I know just the thing to warm
you up, my handsome lover," Owen murmured, taking the few steps to the bed
and slipping between the blankets.  "You need an Owen blanket."  He
straddled Lucas, on hands and knees, and then leaned forward, playfully
touching his nose to Lucas', trying to look into his eyes.

"I love you," he murmured.  He could feel Lucas' erection brush against his
in response.  "Does that mean you love me too; or is it your dick speaking.

Lucas snaked his arms around Owen, trying to pull him closer.  "I've loved
you since the day we met."  He was answered by a chuckle deep in Owen's
throat.

"Same here," Owen murmured, his voice barely more than a breath in Lucas'
ear.  "Same here," he repeated, first kissing Lucas' ear and then a line
along the jaw.  He paused a few moments to savor the taste and feel of
Lucas' tongue, and the soft moans Lucas always made when he was intensely
aroused.

Owen began kissing and licking a line across Lucas' neck to his nipples,
each feather-light touch of his tongue sensuous enough to leave scorch
marks in their intensity.  Lucas gasped in pleasure, as Owen reached one of
his nipples and covered it with his mouth, gently sucking and teasing the
nub of skin with his tongue.

Instead of moving to the opposite nipple, Owen licked a broad swath to one
of Lucas' armpits and buried his nose in the hair, all the while making low
mewling sounds of pleasure.

Lucas tightly closed his eyes, opened his mouth and took deep breaths.
Owen had now engulfed his erection and was working his cock with his tongue
and the muscles of his throat.  "Oh geez," he groaned as he felt his orgasm
begin to build, a small tingling, centered on his prostate and perineum
spreading through his lower body.

From long experience, Owen knew the signals and helped the strength of the
orgasm build by firmly rubbing a finger over the hard ridge of Lucas'
perineum.  When Lucas' groans had reached fever pitch, Owen sank his
forefinger into Lucas' anus, pressing against his prostate.

Lucas gasped, clutching the sheets with both out stretched arms,
rhythmically arching his back and thrusting his hips.  He had always loved
having his hole fingered, and when Owen's finger rubbed over his prostate,
he thrust against the back of Owen's throat one last time and felt his
penis begin to pulse as it filled Owen's mouth.

He could feel the muscles of Owen's throat contract as he swallowed the
thick load, and then continued to milk the erection until it finally
softened and slipped from his mouth.

"Ohhhhh, Owen," he murmured, at the same time he woke up, surprised at the
stickiness coating his erection and the bare mattress beneath him.  He
raised his head and glanced toward the bedroom windows.  There was no
winter storm; no wildly flailing tree branches, or the sound of sleet
against the window.  It was summer, the trees were quiet, and Owen was not
in bed with him.

He rolled onto his side and ran his fingers through his sticky pubes.  'It
was all nothing more than a dream' he thought to himself.  'I shot onto the
mattress, not down Owen's throat.  He's not my lover, only a wonderful
man.'

Lucas absently brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean,
trying to recall every nuance of his wet dream, Owen's sense of humor, his
smile, his taste, his smell . . the feeling of his tongue, and the weight
of his body.

"Oh, Owen," he groaned, aloud, as he rolled onto his back, avoiding the
large wet area on the mattress.  He reached to his crotch, trying to scoop
up some more sperm, and then brought his finger to his mouth, and fell
asleep, sucking on his finger.


----------


"Wake up, sleepy head!"  Lucas squatted close to where Owen lay sprawled on
the blanket on the living room floor, his arms clutching the folded pillow
beneath his head.

Owen shifted positions, the muscles of his back flexing and rippling as he
moved.  Lucas drank in the sight of the naked man in front of him.  His
blond hair was cut short, but not so short that it wouldn't show the
results of the night's sleep.  His cheeks carried a hint of color, and the
corners of his lips were turned up slightly, at something he was dreaming.
His entire body was lightly tanned, from his broad shoulders, rippling with
muscles, to his tapering back and the firm cheeks of his butt and long
legs.  The cheeks of his butt and legs were covered by what one could only
call, peach fuzz, which found its way between his slightly spread legs,
where his testicles, in their smooth-skinned bag, lay puddled on the
blanket.

Owen murmured something in his sleep and tightened the muscles of his
buttocks, slowly thrusting his cock against the blanket.  He turned his
head to face Lucas, and almost immediately turned away, continuing to
murmur.  He spread his legs further and thrust himself against the blanket
with increased force.

Lucas thought back to his own wet dream and wondered if he might, by some
chance, be starring in what was obviously a very erotic dream Owen was now
having.  'What if he wakes up and finds me kneeling here, watching him hump
the blanket?' Lucas thought.

"Wake up, sleepy head," he called again.  Almost immediately, Owen stopped
his movements.  He groaned, possibly in sexual frustration and rolled onto
his back, his erection throbbing, its head shiny with pre cum.  It was all
Lucas could manage, not to lean forward and engulf the short, thick,
erection in his mouth.  He licked his lips imagining the taste Owen's
sperm.

'Stop it!'  He silently shouted to himself, as Owen began to stretch,
lovingly cupping his scrotum and caressing his erection before stretching
once more.  "It can't be morning," he groused in a sleep-roughened voice.
"I haven't heard the rooster yet."

He turned onto his side, swallowing and frowning as he tried to rearrange
the pillow.

Lucas laughed at what he was about to do.  He took a deep breath and did
his best rooster imitation.  "Cock a doodle do," he called once, barely
keeping the laughter out of his voice.  He paused a moment and then
reprised his earlier performance, before settling back against his heels to
await a response.

Owen slowly opened one eye, giving him an incredulous look, an expressive
eyebrow drawing down into a frown.

"You call that a rooster?"  He yawned, stretched, and then knuckled both
eyes.  "You've never heard a real live rooster, have 'ya?"

"Was it that bad?"

Owen laughed as he sat up, crossing his legs and smiling a good morning.
"No self respecting hen would ever be attracted to a rooster with *that*
call.  "He imitated Lucas' call and then broke into tickled laughter,
shaking his head.

"Hey farm boy," Lucas easily fell into the playful mood.  "Maybe my rooster
doesn't *want* to attract any hens."

"Whooooa!"  Owen threw back his head and laughed.  "Don't you know?  We
only have the one rooster.  Won't he get . . . lonely, without a little
. . .," he snickered.  "Companionship?"

"Stop laughing!"  Lucas pushed Owen's shoulder, causing him to roll onto
his back.  "Just say it.  You don't think I do a good rooster imitation."

"Nope."  Owen struggled to sit up and then wiped his tearing eyes.

"Well, what should a real-live rooster sound like?"

Owen took a deep breath and then began laughing as Lucas waited patiently.
"Okay, okay," he said, trying to regain control.  He flicked a glance at
the direction of the man sitting close-by, took another deep breath and did
his version of a rooster's call.

"Better, huh?" He asked, nodding his head, when Lucas remained silent.

"I had no idea."

"What?  That I could do such a good call?  It comes with practice, 'ya
know."

Lucas shook his head.  "No.  I had no idea that roosters where you come
from had such masculine voices."

Owen playfully punched Lucas on the shoulder and hooted with laughter.

"Quit it," he gasped.  "You're makin' me laugh too hard.  I haven't peed
yet this morning and I don't want to spray all over . . ."  He glanced
around.  "My bed," he finished, slapping the crumpled sheet.

Lucas was in no mood to let up.  "Can't you see it?" He continued, holding
out a hand, motioning for Owen to be quiet so he could continue his story.
"The deep-voiced rooster?"  He noded to Owen who snickered.  "He's *very*
horny," Lucas continued, casting a meaningful glance at the naked man who
was sitting cross-legged close-by.  "Our . . . macho, rooster is not
interested in the hens, and he's not equipped to give himself
. . . pleasure."  Owen snorted.

"He doesn't know what to do, so he chicken-walks out to the middle of the
. . ."  Lucas paused.  "To the . . ."  He paused.  "Whatever the place is
called where you keep chickens.  Yard . . . house . . ."  There was a
longer pause.  "Barn?"  He ventured, gesturing his inability to come up
with an appropriate name, and then cleared his throat when Owen snorted.
"So, the rooster is out there, standing in the . . . dirt."  Lucas made a
face.  "He's horny has hell, and has no one to get it on with.  The poor
bird gives a plaintive call, tilting his head back and casting an unhappy
sound to the empty sky."

Lucas paused, cocking his head, as if listening.  "Nothing happens."

"The next day he calls again.  And then the next.  Each time, the hens come
rushing out, fighting to see who will be first in line.  He is, after all,
a stud of a rooster."  Owen sputtered a laugh and nudged Lucas, scooting
closer.

'I'm soooo horny,' the rooster thinks to himself.  'Gotta find a sexy
guy-bird to hang around with.'

A shadow moves over the barn yard.  The rooster . . . Let's call him,
Hank."  Owen rolled his eyes and shook his head from side to side.

"Well," Lucas continued, loving Owen's bright smile and the warmth of his
body, so close.  "Well, Hank looks up, and has an idea.  The bird flying
overhead is the sexiest buzzard he has ever seen.  Out of the world, sexy
. . . Ravishing, in fact . . . in a macho-buzzard-like sort of way."

"By now, Owen's knees were touching Lucas'.  He reached out a hand and
rested it on Lucas' leg, motioning with his other hand for Lucas to
continue the story.

"So . . . Hank.  He's our rooster friend, remember?"  Owen snickers and
nods, once again motioning for Lucas to continue.  "So . . . Hank, lays
down on the ground, in a very sexy, come hither pose, as the buzzard
continues circling ever lower.

By now, all the hens are lined up, clucking at one another, watching the
improbable show being played out in front of them, while nervously glancing
toward the very large bird, lazily circling overhead.  Hank does everything
in his power to attract the buzzard's attention, imagining all of the sexy
things the two of them might do with one another, all the while chanting,
"Come to poppa, big boy."

"The hens all look up, then at Hank, and then at one another, totally
perplexed.  They're a little anxious too, you know.  Hank's the only
rooster they know, and all the hens are . . . frustrated, because they
haven't been getting any."  Owen tilted his head back and rolled his eyes.

"Finally Hank has an idea.  He seductively turns onto his stomach, raises
his rear end into the air as far as he can, which isn't far, being a
rooster, you know?"  Owen's fingers tightened on his leg.  Lucas flicked a
glance to the fingers and then to Owen's smiling face.

"Hank wiggles his rooster butt in the air and, whoosh!  Immediately,
there's a blur of motion.  The buzzard swoops down and grabs him up,
causing Hank to let out a macho squeal of anticipation.  His dreams are
fulfilled!  The hens jump en masse, as the buzzard carries Hank off.  The
last thing they hear is Hank's panicked cry.

"You're a *girl*!"

"A girl!" Owen hooted, leaning into Lucas as they both laughed.

It wasn't the joke they were laughing at; it was the sense of familiarity
they had both found with one another that was causing the reaction.

The chime of the doorbell sliced into the laughter, deflating it in a
single moment.

Lucas gave Owen an apologetic look, and stood, wiping his eyes as he walked
to the door.

"Who can that be?"



~ to be continued ~



Thank you for taking the time to read my work.  I *always* welcome your
email and enjoy hearing your thoughts.  If you would like me to send you a
pic of the character(s), please ask.

My other stories on Nifty include:
Phalen  (located in the Gay College Section)
Phalen - Finding Happiness   (Gay College Section)
Chris   (Gay College Section)
Leith   (Gay College Section)
Owen   (Gay College Section
Wesley   (Adult Relationships Section)
Jess (Soon to be in the Gay Incest Section)

I hope you enjoy them all.


Roy Reinikainen
roynm@mac.com