Date: Mon, 14 Jun 2004 22:12:52 -0700 (PDT)
From: dl mercer <dlmercer27@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Farmer and Dale, Chapter 2

This story is a work of fiction. It deals with love and sex among males. If
such things offend you, please do not continue. The characters in this
story practice safe sex, always a wise idea.

Thanks to Tim, my ever-patient editor. Without you, I'd be floating in a
sea of comma splices.

And to Bobby/RimPig to whom this story is dedicated: Thank you for this
`uncommon' friendship.  You are treasured.

The author retains all rights. Please direct all comments and questions to
dlmercer27@yahoo.com



THE FARMER AND DALE

Chapter 2


The next day arrived bright and sunny. Dale gazed out the window at the
perfect weather as he sipped his morning cup of coffee. He felt
groggy. He'd slept fitfully, tossing and turning, worrying and obsessing
about what would happen today. Generally driving himself insane, at 2 a.m.,
he'd been ready to screech. He'd gotten up, turned the shower on, as hot as
he could stand and stepped in, letting the water pour over him. The steamy
heat relaxed him, as had the long, slow, jack off session. Knees weak with
the powerful release, totally warm and relaxed, he'd wobbled back to bed
and crashed, sleeping soundly until almost seven.

He yawned again, and took another sip of coffee. His gaze wandered randomly
over the yard. He was grateful there would be no work today. He'd never
have heard the end of it if Rick had arrived to find him still in bed.

The thought of Rick and bed, in the same sentence, caused a jittery tremor
in his mid-section.  Determined to put those thoughts out of his head for a
time, Dale fixed himself some breakfast, cleaned up the kitchen, and
planted himself at his desk in front of his laptop. His current manuscript
had been neglected for almost two weeks, a situation he was about to
remedy.

                                              * * *

Rick had spent a similarly restless evening. After leaving Dale in the
parking lot at Smiley's, he knew he was committed. Though he'd tried to
hide it, Rick had seen the increasing sadness in Dale's eyes last night. He
was sure that he was the cause. He'd been careful to make no overtures
toward Dale, still uncertain of what he wanted to do. Last night at
Smiley's had clearly shown him his path. As he'd danced with one woman
after another, his eyes had continually looked to Dale.

It was Dale he wanted in his arms. He shuddered, instantly aroused at the
thought. Dancing with Dale, their arms wrapped around each other, bodies
locked together as they swayed to some slow, smokey melody? It was enough
to put a saint on the bone. And Rick was no saint by any means.

He lay in bed, stroking his rigid cock with slow, easy movements. It was
the second time since he'd hit the sack. Dale invaded his dreams, leaving
him hard, aching. When Dale had made his excuses and rose to leave, Rick's
desire to stay left with him. He'd quickly made his own excuses and caught
up to Dale. Almost panicked, he had to confirm their plans for the
following day. His relief had been monumental when Dale agreed.

In the parking lot, Dale had rallied enough to tease him about walking him
to his car. Rick had automatically fired back that remark about a juicy
piece of meat. His comment, though teasing and earthy, was as close a hint
as he could come up with. He hadn't bothered to hide the desire in his
eyes. Dale's look of startled uncertainty had struck a chord deep
inside. He wanted nothing more than to pull him into his arms right then
and there. He'd settled for those gentle words of comfort, the soft caress,
that telling endearment.

Rick groaned, his strokes increasing in frequency until he released, semen
flooding his abdomen.  After resting a moment, he rose and walked on
unsteady legs to the bathroom. Grabbing a wash cloth, he held it under the
faucet, dampening it with warm water. As he cleaned up, he stared at
himself in the medicine cabinet mirror.

Committed. Yes, he was committed. He intended to begin by revealing his
feelings to Dale.  Difficult as that might be, it was bound to be the easy
part. It was the reaction of his family and friends that he dreaded, but
his feelings could no longer be denied. He had no intention of losing Dale
if, God willing, Dale would have him. Rick felt he was irrevocably ready.

                                              * * *

The day moved on apace. Dale lost himself for a time in his work and felt
better for it. He called a halt, mid-afternoon, had a quick snack, then
went to work. He pulled the grill from the garage to the back door, cleaned
it up, and built his pyramid of charcoal in the center of the bed.  Leaving
it, he returned to the kitchen and began preparing various dishes for their
meal.  Macaroni and cheese, his mother's killer recipe, baked beans, pasta
salad and a plate of mixed, raw veggies for dipping. There was beer
chilling in the fridge along with a tall pitcher of iced tea, sweetened
with sugar and flavored with lemon, a few slices of which floated in the
refreshing, amber brew.

He'd just glanced at the clock, noting it was exactly five, when he heard
Rick's truck pull into the drive. Dale's nerves tingled, his stomach
cartwheeling as he watched this most beautiful of men slide gracefully from
his vehicle. Dale closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This leap into
the unknown was frightening, yet inevitable. There was no going back, only
forward, knowing somehow, someway, it was going to be all right. Calmer, he
was able to greet Rick with a warm, casual smile.

Rick walked in with his usual familiarity, grin in place. "I see the
grill's ready to go. I brought the steaks, and...," with a flourish he set
a covered dish on the table, carefully removing the top, "Mom baked us a
pie. Hope you like lemon meringue."

"You mean you aren't going to try to convince me you baked this yourself?"
Dale teased.

"I told you I can't cook. My abilities run in other directions."

"Such as?"

"I'll show you later." Rick intoned softly.

His words caused a clenching pinch in Dale's middle that slid straight to
his cock. He grabbed some matches and made a hasty retreat, "I'd better
light the charcoal."

Rick smiled at Dale's obvious nervousness. He was set on a course of
seduction, Dale's reaction was encouraging. He followed Dale out the back
door. It was time to turn up the heat.

By the time they sat down to eat, Dale was as nervous as a cat in a rocking
chair factory. Rick had trailed him constantly. His nearness kept Dale
wound tight, waiting for some move, some touch that never came. At one
point, in the kitchen, as he'd tossed dressing into the salad, Rick had
been so close, Dale felt the warmth of his body radiate outward, seeping
into his own over- heated skin. Goose bumps chased up and down his arms,
his nerveless fingers had fumbled with the utensils he used, until he
managed to lose his grip and toss one halfway across the room.

Rick had chuckled and retrieved the offending utensil. He took it to the
sink, and using a dab of dish soap, gave it a quick wash and rinse. He
handed it back to Dale, his eyes soft, the blue-green warm, tranquil.

"Calm down, babe, it'll be alright, I promise." he soothed.

Dale turned back to the salad swallowing hard, his eyes tearing. He nodded
silently, relieved when Rick excused himself to use the bathroom. If he
doesn't touch me soon, I'm going to have a heart attack, Dale swore
silently.

Rick returned, helping to set the table. They served themselves buffet
style from the dishes that lined the counter and rested on the stove. Rick
started with a fork full of mac and cheese, his eyes closing in sheer
appreciation at the delectable flavor. Opening them, he found Dale watching
him expectantly.

"This is great, Dale. Tons better than that stuff out the box."

Dale explained about it being his mom's recipe. They dug in, conversation
sporadic and easy between mouthfuls. Dale felt himself relaxing at the
normality of it all. He could see this scenario taking place on a regular
basis, knowing he wouldn't mind cooking for such an appreciative
recipient. Not to mention of course, that as long as it was Rick, he
wouldn't mind in any case, compliments or not.

Both men put away a good meal. Afterward, they attended to the cleanup,
Rick insisting on doing the lion's share, as Dale had taken care of the
dinner preparations. Dale fixed numerous containers for Rick to take home,
stating quite honestly that there was too much for him to finish alone.

Dishes done, food put away and everything back in shape, they decided to
leave the pie for later.  The sun was setting as they headed outside. They
grabbed beers, the bag of marshmallows and a couple of lawn chairs, hauling
them out to the brush pile. Once there, they set up their chairs near a
sturdy section of wood fence that marched a short way from the corner of
the barn. Dale's grandmother had planted clematis vines there, which were
slowly winding their way up the fence, the buds still forming. Dale and
Rick settled in, waiting for the approaching darkness to deepen.

For the most part they sat quietly, their conversation low and
desultory. There was something infinitely soothing about watching a day
come to an end. The birds had all made for their roosts, a few errant
chirps piping out here and there. Crickets and frogs began to sing. Small
moths fluttered low to the ground, landing first here, than there, as they
sought mates. Every now and then, the distinctive buzz of an early June bug
could be heard. The big outdoor light that topped the electric pole in the
backyard, flickered to life, its blue/white light attracting a cloud of
insects that would swirl, hover, dive and court its pearly glow until
morning.

Sheltered from its light by the silent bulk of the barn, Dale and Rick sat
in the dark, nursing their beers, until Rick stood.

"I think it's time to light this fire." he said softly. His words conveyed
a distinct duality, a subtle, double meaning that what not lost on
Dale. His voice was hushed, as though reluctant to interrupt nature's night
song.

Taking up the matches and newspaper that Dale supplied, he wound the paper
into several long twists placing them here and there among the branches. He
selected two long, sturdy ones for their marshmallows, placing them aside
by his chair. Returning to the brush pile, he struck a match and lit first
one, then another, of the twisted paper torches. The brush caught, smoking,
crackling. The flames at first hesitant, took hold, then boldly, gleefully,
dug in, reaching for the sky.

Dale's breath caught in his throat. Not only was the fire impressive, but
the man revealed in its glow was magnificent. Rick was outlined,
highlighted, gilded golden like some pagan god by the fire's leaping
light. His hair shone, shimmering, spun silk. Dale felt himself a lowly
supplicant, as he rose from his chair and approached the burning altar.

Rick turned to watch Dale's approach, his own breath at first hitching,
then rushing to fill his lungs. Dale too was gilded by the flames. His
dark, reddish, brown hair shimmered in the flickering light, the red
highlights winking like fire opals. His body seemed to float, flow like
approaching lava. Rick felt the heat of the fire at his back. It paled in
comparison to the inferno that approached.

He took a few steps forward, meeting Dale, staring into his wide green
eyes. The flame was reflected there, dancing in those calm pools of mossy
green. Rick reached out, his arms enclosing Dale, pulling him close.

"I have to." he whispered. His mouth sealed over Dale's.

The fire burned merrily, mindlessly ignorant of the conflagration, but a
few feet away, that built and threatened to put it to shame.

Dale put everything into their kiss. He felt himself drown and was
resuscitated, awakened by the flavors, scent and heat of the man in his
arms, by the clever tongue that languorously explored his mouth and the
thick demanding bulge that undulated so sensuously, insistently against his
own.  Rick drew back, his retreat pulling a whimper of protest from
Dale. He stared at the beautiful face just inches from his own. Dale's eyes
opened, glazed, stunned, his lips swollen from the fierce passion of their
kiss. Rick's cock spiked, he grunted with the exquisite pain of it.

"Say yes, babe. Dale, say yes." he pleaded, his voice a rough, husky rasp
that sent shivers down Dale's spine.

Without hesitation Dale whispered, "Yes."

Rick groaned and took his mouth again. His hands began moving over Dale in
an age old pattern that was made new with each pair of lovers it
guided. Exploring, roving, Rick's hands paused at the twin mounds of taut
flesh encased in rough, tactile denim. Fingers curled in, squeezing,
kneading, pulling Dale's hips tight against his own. Rick ground himself
almost feverishly against his new lover. The pressure was an excruciating
tease, hot and pleasurable, but not enough. Not nearly enough.

One hand relinquished its bounty, searching for new treasures. It glided
over Dale's hip and around. Rick found the buttons of Dale's jeans, slowly
releasing each one. Dale's hips moved with the rhythm of the fingers that
squeezed his ass. Each forward motion brought him firmly against Rick's
other hand. The fingers brushing against his erection sent small electric
shots down his spine which culminated into one wrenching jolt as Rick's
hands simultaneously released to slide instantly into his jeans, pushing
them down. While one resumed its place on his ass, holding him steady, the
other encircling his raging hot, silky smooth erection. Dale cried out as
Rick began to lightly stroke his cock.

Rick murmured softly, his cheek pressed to Dale's, his warm breath
feathering over his ear, "I know baby, I know. It's ok. It's all right. Ah
God, you feel good, so good."

Dale's breath panted from his mouth, his heart pounded as Rick slowly
worked him. Everything disappeared, save the man who held him, touched him.

Dale found himself turned, draped over the sturdy wood fence near their
chairs. His fingers dug into the wood when he felt Rick lower his
jeans. Rick knelt behind him. Dale felt his fingers untying his shoe laces.

"Take them off, sweetheart." Rick ordered.

Dale obeyed, toeing off his loosened shoes. He was beyond objecting to
anything. Rick divested him of his jeans and briefs, leaving him bare-assed
and exposed. He felt the heat of Rick's breath, a moment before his tongue
laved one firm cheek.. Rick moved over his ass, licking, kissing, lightly
biting, until impatient to claim the prize, he spread Dale's cheeks. He
gazed at the soft, tender, brownish-pink rosebud with lustful wonder. Here
was the physical treasure.  Here was the place that would allow their
bodies to become one.

Rick breathed deeply, inhaling the erotic spice of his lover. His tongue
gently touched, slowly swirled over that sweet pucker, causing it to
clench. A few moments of concentrated effort saw it relax, as it welcomed
the slick wet heat of his burrowing tongue.

Dale's moans drove Rick on, as each one became tinged with an increasing
degree of desperation. Rick rose, quickly unfastening his own jeans,
releasing his demanding cock. He draped his body lightly over
Dale's. Moistening his fingers, he found Dale's quivering hole and slid
one, slowly inside. Dale bucked under him. Rick held him steady.

His mouth again found Dale's ear. "Is this mine?" he questioned, his finger
sliding slowly in and out. His teeth found Dale's earlobe, lightly biting,
as he eased Dale open, expertly finding his prostate.

"Yes!" Dale ground out, shivering with increasing need.

A second finger joined the first, causing Dale to groan and push back into
Rick.

Releasing Dale's ear he moved to the other, his stubbled cheek against
Dale's, "Is it still mine, baby?" Fastening his teeth to Dale's lobe, he
sucked and nibbled.

"Rick! Yes." Dale gasped as the taut ring of muscle loosened under Rick's
relentless strokes.

Moments later a third finger was introduced. Dale whimpered as pleasure and
pain mingled. He felt some slick substance smeared at his burning hole
which made the penetration easier. He fought to relax, eyes closed as he
panted.

Worried by Dale's whimper, Rick had spread precum from his leaking cock
over his tightly coned fingers, working them slowly into Dale's pucker. He
sighed with relief as he felt Dale relax. With slow and easy strokes he
opened his lover, readying him for their joining. Dale was again moaning
his pleasure, pushing back into each inward stroke.

He leaned forward, and spoke two words in Dale's ear, "Tell me."

"Yours," Dale groaned, "yours, yours, yours."

"That's right baby. Mine. I'm going to take what's mine. Now."

Withdrawing his fingers, Rick quickly sheathed himself with one of the
condoms he'd brought, just for this occasion. His cock resembled nothing so
much as a steel spike waiting to be driven into its berth. His only desire
was to drive into Dale's soft, welcoming sheath. Just as the spike's
intended berth would give way for such an invasion, so would this fleshy
channel. At first resisting, fighting the intrusion, beckoning pleasure and
burning need caused it to give way, accepting the hard tunneling length
that pierced it.








Dale ground out Rick's name. Agonized pleasure and fiery pain warred at his
breaching. Rick stopped, holding steady, giving Dale's body the time it
needed to adjust. Moments passed.


"Now, Rick, now." Dale panted. The pain was gone, pleasure only, awaited.
"Are you sure, babe?" Part of Rick was serious, in that he wanted to make
sure Dale was unhurt, that he find only pleasure from now on. The other
part was that imp that found pleasure in teasing his lover.

Dale groaned dramatically, "Don't tease me now, you bastard, move!"

Rick nuzzled Dale at that place where neck and shoulder joined. Animal
instinct washed over him as his bit down, holding Dale in place, claiming
his mate as he thrust slowly forward until he was fully seated, buried to
the root.

He rested against Dale, sudden irritation washing over him at the presence
of their shirts. He wanted more skin, more Dale. Impatiently, he pulled his
own shirt over his head, dropping it at their feet.

He reached for Dale's, pushing it up, "Take it off Dale, now."

Dale complied, lifting his arms, shivering as cool air washed over his damp
skin. Rick pulled away the offending garment, covering Dale with his own
heated body. Grasping Dale's hips, he began to move. The skin of Dale's
back rubbed his nipples, causing them to peak. He reached around with one
hand, finding one of Dale's, already beaded, hard. He pinched it firmly,
pulling a gasp from Dale, a gasp that fought for a place between his steady
moans and grunts of pleasure.

Dale felt weakened by Rick's sudden urgency. Once begun, he moved with
unrelenting, machine like precision. He drove them steadily upward with
long gliding strokes that became short jabbing punches with a staccato
rhythm that hit Dale's nut with unerring accuracy. Approaching orgasm had
both men's balls drawing up tight, Rick's slapping against Dale with each
hard thrust.

Knowing he was about to shoot, Rick slid his hand from Dale's chest,
down. He grasped Dale's cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. Twin
guttural groans broke free as Dale's cock swelled, thick streams of cum
erupting in rhythmic bursts. Rick shot his load, his ass clenched tight as
he rocked against Dale, his cock once again buried to the hilt, grinding
deep into the sheath that convulsed, squeezing, milking, draining him.

Release calmed their urgent mating frenzy. Exhaustion seeped in. Rick's
cock slipped free and he dropped to the cool grass, pulling Dale down with
him. They lay in a relaxed, rubbery heap until Dale shivered.

"It's a little cold, now that the heats off." Dale quipped weakly.


Rick slid his hand over the cool skin of Dale's ass, "You are cooling off a
mite." he agreed. He groaned and rose, pulling Dale up. "Better cover up,
babe, don't want any important parts getting frost bit."

Rick adjusted his own jeans while Dale donned his. They gathered up the
rest of the discarded clothing, shoes and the neglected marshmallows. The
fire had burned down to glowing embers that glittered sullenly under
powdery ash. The remains of the bonfire seemed to be sulking. It's heat had
not matched that generated by two horny humans.

Arms full, they returned to the house. Dale dropped his shoes in the mud
room. Everything else landed on the kitchen table. Rick's contributions
joined his. He looked up to find Rick watching him, a tender, yet somewhat
uncertain look on his face. Dale gave him a slow tentative smile.  Rick's
own lips began to curve in a smile as he pulled Dale into his arms.

He held him firmly, rocking slightly. He pulled back, cupping Dale's cheeks
in the palms of his hands, kissing him. Slowly, lovingly, softly,
sweetly. His arms again brought him close, their bodies melded from chest
to thigh as he nibbled gently at Dale's lips, sliding his tongue in,
finding Dale's, engaging it, enticing it to dance. Dale whimpered at the
exquisite sensuality of Rick's actions. His seduction was like hot melted
chocolate, rich, decadent, irresistible.

Again Rick pulled away. He looked deeply into to Dale's eyes, his own,
open, vulnerable, hopeful. "I don't know about you," he confessed quietly,
but I'm in love."

Dale closed his eyes, tears squeezing from the corners. Incredulous joy
raced through him. He opened his eyes to find Rick waiting, his expression
lost, resigned. Dale reached out, gently stroking his fingers over Rick's
cheek.

He smiled. A brilliant, watery smile, "I love you too, angel."

Rick's own eyes filled with tears, he squeezed Dale lightly, "God, babe,
you scared me for a minute there."

Contrite, Dale kissed Rick, his hands gently rubbing his back, consoling,
reassuring. He slowly ended the kiss, "I'm sorry baby, you surprised the
hell out of me. I was hoping, but I never really believed, you'd say those
words. Guess I didn't realize just how intelligent you are."

Rick's brow rose, "You know, city boy, casting aspersions on the
intelligence of the man you just accepted as your partner, doesn't exactly
speak too well of your own judgement."

Dale nodded sagely, "You're right. I take it back. I have excellent
judgement and superior manipulative skills. I skillfully steered your
monumental intellect into realizing your love for me."

Rick snorted, laughing, "Care to repeat that?"

"Not really." Dale replied as he gazed fondly at his partner. He felt giddy
with joy. "Are you staying the night?"

"You bet, unless you want me to go home." Rick offered with a teasing
twinkle in his eyes.

"Fuck no! Come on, stud, I need a shower." Dale exited the kitchen and made
for the stairs. He stopped, looked over his shoulder and winked, "You can
wash my back, and anything else that strikes your fancy."  Rick grinned and
followed, "Yee haw, hurry up, babe, somehow you got real dirty."

Dale took off, Rick chasing him up the stairs.

                                              * * *

Dale stirred, stretching, his limbs sliding against the cool cotton
sheets. He smiled a sleepy and satisfied smile. Reaching for Rick, his eyes
opened to find the other side of the bed empty. He lay back,
unconcerned. Rick must be in the bathroom or possible downstairs
already. Lord knows he wasn't ready for another session yet, but some
cuddling would have been nice.

Last night they'd showered together. He'd sucked Rick off, Rick
reciprocated, his skill making Dale's knees weak. Hitting the bed, they
snuggled together, warm and naked, talking quietly until they drifted
off. Dale woke sometime in the night to find Rick between his legs. Rick
had found the lube and condoms Dale kept in the night stand. He had gently
prepared him, making love to him at an excruciatingly slow pace. Every move
had been so tender, so filled with love, Dale had been rocked to his very
core.

Much as he reveled in Rick's care, he reached a point where he hovered on
the edge of release.  Rick had made him beg. He trapped Dale's arms over
his head, making sure he couldn't touch himself. Holding him imprisoned,
Rick whispered hotly in his ear, ordering Dale to tell him what he wanted,
what he needed, how badly he wanted to come, until desperately he begged,
groaning with relief as Rick increased the pace, pounding his clasping
chute, his aching cock sliding between their sweat drenched bellies, until
he unloaded, practically screaming with relief.

After resting for a few moments, cooling semen gelling between them, Rick
rose and returned from the bathroom with a warm damp washcloth and a dry
towel. He gently cleansed Dale's sticky skin, from his belly to his well
used pucker, then toweled him dry. With a tender smile on his face, he slid
his fingers through Dale's hair, brushing it softly back from his face,
leaning in for a kiss. Rick returned to bathroom, taking care of his own
cleanup. He came back and climbed in bed, pulling Dale into his arms. They
drifted immediately to sleep.

Dale sighed and rolled out of bed. He entered the bathroom. A niggle of
disquiet quivered in his belly. He made use of the toilet, picked up the
jeans he'd discarded on the floor the night before and pulled them on. His
bare feet made no sound as he walked downstairs. He glanced into the living
room, then entered the kitchen. No Rick. No note. No nothing. Stomach
clenching in dread, he looked out the kitchen window. Rick's truck was
gone.

                                                 * * *

Dale spent the day, first wandering aimlessly, then sitting, lost in a fog
of misery. At first he convinced himself that Rick had left to go get some
clothes or something and that he'd be back.  After several hours, he
convinced himself there would be a phone call. By dusk he realized Rick
wasn't coming back.

He agonized over the idea of calling Rick's parents, but finally vetoed the
idea. What could he say? Aside from the fact that Rick didn't live with
them, they might not have heard from him today in any case. He had Rick's
number, but refused to use it. If Rick was breaking things off, he wasn't
going to chase him. And yet he worried, what if something had happened to
him?

Finally in a fit of panic, he called Rick's parents. His mother answered
the phone. Dale casually inquired if she knew when Rick was coming to take
the backhoe back to their farm. Rick's mother innocently answered that she
wasn't sure, but told Dale she'd ask Rick when he came in from the barn. He
ended the conversation with a polite affirmative of having enjoyed the
untouched lemon meringue pie. So Rick was unhurt. Dale's worst fears were
confirmed.

He was devastated, stunned. Last night had been incredible, perfect. How
could Rick just leave?  Was the whole thing a lie? Had he done something
wrong? Nothing made sense, all was darkness and confusion. Dale found
himself on the floor, crying and rocking in misery. It was Tony all over
again, only this time a hundred, a thousand times worse. Dale was
shattered. He curled up on the floor and tried to make himself disappear as
darkness filled the house, and night descended.

                                                 * * *

Dale woke at 4 a.m. shivering, his muscles cramping. He pulled himself to
the sofa, his mind blank as he rested, extending his limbs, easing the ache
until he was able to stand. He walked slowly upstairs and entered his
bedroom. Seeing the mussed sheets on the bed, he stilled the twinge that
threatened to awaken the emotions he locked away.

He pulled the sheets free, leaving the bed unmade. Entering the bathroom he
threw the sheets in the hamper. He avoiding making eye contact with the
mirror. He wanted to see no one, least of all himself. Back in the bedroom,
he donned jock, shorts, socks and tee shirt. Downstairs he added running
shoes. He let himself out of the house, the cool air making him shiver as
he warmed up, stretching.

Ready, Dale ran. He ran at a slow steady pace, mind blank, body on
automatic. He ran until his legs cramped, protesting, and then he
walked. Walked down road after road, sweat running from his exhausted
body. He walked until his legs quivered with the strain, and then he
stopped, breathing hard, lost. For the first time he took a look
around. The territory was totally unfamiliar.

He wanted nothing more than to lay down in the grass beside the
road. Finished. Done. Over.

An old red pick up truck chose that moment to come over the hill, a
grizzled old man at the wheel. He stopped by Dale.

"You ok, young man?" he asked.

Dale swallowed, his throat parched, "I'm looking for Wallings Road. Do you
know where it is?"

"Son, that's about 25 miles north of here. You hoofin' it?"

Dale nodded, despair threatening to break through the carefully constructed
mental fence he used to pen his emotions.

"Get in," the old man ordered.

Even if he'd wanted to, Dale was too tired to protest. He wobbled to the
passenger door and crawled in. His hip, thigh and calf muscles burned as he
silently settled back, buckling his seat belt.

The old man stepped on the gas. His radio was tuned to some station that
played old country hits.  The music was low and the old man talked. He
rambled on and on, over each passing mile. Dale let the soothing sound of
his voice wash over him, not really paying attention to the words. He
seemed to need no replies or encouragements to continue his conversation,
happy to have a captive audience.

Forty minutes later, they pulled into Dale's driveway. Dale offered to give
the man, Henry, some gas money.

"Not necessary, Dale. I enjoyed the company." Dale opened the door, about
to make his exit, when Henry stopped him. "Take my advice, son, whoever she
is, forget about her. It ain't worth killing yourself over. You hear?"

Dale felt his throat close. He nodded, choked out his thanks and stumbled
to the back door. In the kitchen, he got a glass of water and drank it
slowly, cautious about making himself sick by taking too much too soon. He
opened the refrigerator door and came face to face with all the barbeque
left overs. Squashing the surge of emotion that threatened, he pulled the
large garbage can from the mud room and began throwing everything in,
containers and all. Finishing with the lemon meringue pie, he scooped it
out with his hands, throwing the pie in the trash and placing the dish in
the sink.

He cleaned up his hands, Mrs. Hunter's pie plate, and dragged the trash
container to the end of the driveway. Tomorrow was pick up day. Dale
returned to the house and heated himself a cup of broth, sitting at the
table, sipping it slowly, along with another glass of water. He felt
nothing. He was numb. A vast and bottom-less weariness settled over him. He
rose and swayed, steadied himself and climbed the stairs. Taking a blanket
from the closet, he lay on the bed and rolled up in it, pretending strong
arms held him, keeping him safe and warm.

Dale spent the next three days punishing himself, hiding from the
overwhelming emotions that threatened to bury him. He learned his lesson
from the day before, and paid attention to where he walked. Now he only
walked. His tired, abused body was on the verge of collapse. He walked for
miles and fed it nothing but broth and water. Pounds were melting away and
Dale hadn't needed to lose weight.

He didn't bathe. He didn't shave. He didn't change his clothes. By the
fourth day his appearance was totally disreputable, his smell even
worse. After staggering home at the end of that fourth day, Dale sat at the
kitchen table sipping his broth. His nose wrinkled and he peered at it
suspiciously, the thought running through his head that it must be
rotten. He checked the date on the can and found it acceptable. Taking
another sip, he nearly gagged. He took the cup to the sink and dumped the
contents.

Again he settled at the table and drank his water. The smell poured over
him. The miasma was rank, borderline putrid. Suddenly he realized what it
was. It was him. He stank. An unexpected snort of amusement broke from
him. A chuckle became a small laugh, until he was laughing
uncontrollably. He swayed, sliding from his chair to the floor, laughing
hysterically, until tears ran from his eyes. Tears of mirth that became
tears of misery. Laughter turned to gut wrenching sobs that tore through
Dale's weakened body leaving him shaking uncontrollably, his body cramping
and quivering with the effort.

Finally he quieted. He lay on the floor staring at the legs of the chairs
and table as his mind slowly came awake. Still down, slow, silent tears
streamed down his face as he opened the gate and let reality return. Dale
had reached and experienced his catharsis. The tears he now cried brought
healing, the acknowledgment of an end. He was ready to let go, to resume
his life.

Feeling a new calm, a soothing peace, he levered himself up and stripped,
dropping his clothes into the trash. Naked, he slowly made his way upstairs
for a bath, a baptism as it were, signaling his new beginning.

To be continued....