Date: Sun, 16 Jan 2005 13:08:34 EST
From: Tommyhawk1@aol.com
Subject: Farmwork is for Suckers story

			  FARMWORK IS FOR SUCKERS
			   By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
		      WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM

     Whichever moron first wrote down the cry of a rooster as being
"Cock-A-Doodle-Do!" had never heard one of the damned things. I got a dose
of the real article my first morning on the farm after I returned from
college, and agreed to spend the summer living with my mother. This farm
was not my home; my mother had married the owner of this farm some four
months before, and when I got out of college, it was go to live out the
summer on the farm or find a place of my own.

     So I had resigned myself to a summer of country living with the
nearest large town nearly a hundred miles away and three miles to the
nearest neighbor, and had gone to bed, missing the familiar sounds of
traffic and trying to get used to the near silence of late spring when the
crickets hadn't yet begun singing. It was quiet but for the wind in the
trees nearby, I went right off to sleep with that gentle wind playing
through the open window over my body.
     And I awoke to a cacophony. "Ur-ur-urrrrr-urr!"
     I damned near pissed myself, it scared me so bad. I jerked away,
flailing at the covers over me, thrashing while I looked about
wildly. "What the hell?" I screamed out. It was barely light.
     "Ur-ur-urrrr-urr!"
     "God damn it!" I had the thing identified now, a large Rhode Island
rooster was perched on a fence not three feet from my open window, blaring
out his famous call. Louder than a sonofabitch! It pierced my ears every
time he gave out that throaty yodel of his.
     "Shut the fuck up!" I yelled at the damned creature, but it didn't
even budge. I thought about shoving a hole through the screen over the
window so I could throw a shoe at it (the thought of the meaty thunk of one
of my size 11's hitting that thing was damned tempting, but I held off,
settled for shutting the window. That helped...but not much.
     "Damn it to hell!" I groused. I could hear people moving about in the
house, decided I might as well get some breakfast. I was supposed to help
out on the farm, at least some, in exchange for my keep. I decided I would,
until I could find a job and then it was going to be nothing but the
familiar 9-to-5 (or whatever) for me. Farming was for suckers! Especially
the sort of farm my mother's new husband had, a few chickens, some cows,
and not enough farmland to let him bring in any real-sized crop, about 500
acres. It was more like an attempt to be self-sufficient, and at that, he
had to have a farmhand to help him. Plus me, I guess...for a while.
     Bob, Mom's new husband, grinned up at me from the breakfast
table. "What's the matter, Ted?" He asked me. "Couldn't sleep?" That grin
told me he knew exactly what had me up at sunrise.
     "I'm going to kill that rooster." I warned him. "I'm going to rip his
throat out and beat him to death with it."
     "Ted!" Mom remonstrated with me. Well, it wasn't proper talk for
mealtime.
     "He was just doing his job." Bob said. "Making sure we wake up and
take care of the farm. You'll learn that while you're here."
     "Yeah." I decided not to argue with him, living in his home and eating
his food. "What do you have planned for today?"
     "I'll be cutting the hay today." Bob said. "Tomorrow I'll bale it, so
you'll start by helping us haul in our first batch of hay for the season."
     "Really?" I was surprised, even I knew that was a middle-of-summer
sort of thing, not mid-June.
     "Got some seed from Sweden, I think it is. That stuff's used to
growing the minute the snow melts. It's been growing just fine. I mow it
now and I'll get a second cutting from it about the end of August, if we
get enough rain between now and then. Anyway, we have quite a bit of hay
left over from last year, so I'll need you and Gunter to move it out to the
feeding shed to make room for the new hay."
     Just as we finished eating, the heavy sound of boots resonated from
the front porch. "That'll be Gunter." Bob said. Gunter, I knew was the
farmhand. "He'll be showing you what to do today. You pay attention to him,
he's a born farmer."
     I'm not sure what I was expecting. With a name like Gunter, you sure
don't imagine anyone small and meek, and Gunter sure wasn't that. I got a
look at him and my jaw dropped down.
     Gunter was only a little older than me, maybe twenty-two or so. He had
a large frame, heavily muscled arms, a long, serious-looking face and
simple blue eyes above a long, straight nose. His overalls were medium
blue, the shirt was a plain light yellow color, the hat was washed-out red
with a white "A" on it. His hair was the color of his shirt, pale yellow.
     "Good morning." He said to me, holding out his hand. I took and he
shook it amiably. "My name is Gunter and I work for your father." He didn't
have an accent to match his body, but did seem to have picked up his use of
words from a Scandanavian father.
     "He's not my father." I clarified. "Well...stepfather, I guess, sort
of. He's married to my mother, I mean." What do you call your mother's
husband when he hadn't had the slightest hand in raising you? I looked at
Bob and shrugged an apology, all I could figure out to do. Bob shrugged in
his own turn, looked away, not offended, but not pleased either. I think he
had something of the same dilemma.
     "You're supposed to show me what to do around the farm." I said,
trying to change the subject.
     "He'll help you with the hay." Bob clarified. "With you two moving the
hay, it'll go like clockwork. Then you can spend the rest of the morning
showing Ted about the place."
     "Sounds good." Gunter said and I agreed. The more fool I!
     I was certain of my mistake an hour later. The sun shone through the
narrow spaces between the boards of the barn like so many solid golden
right-sides triangles decorated with glitter jutting out from the sides of
the barn. Both the triangles and their glittering contents were from the
same source, hay dust. There were only about a hundred bales left in the
otherwise cavernously empty barn. Five thousand bales could be placed
inside this barn, according to Bob. I thought of moving that number now
that I had something to compare it with, and I groaned in agony.
     Yet through the golden shafts of light, his body golden brown from the
as-yet gentle summer sun of early June, Gunter moved like a god, carrying a
bale of hay in his strong arms. Where the light hit his body on the right
side from the sunlight, it shone with a yellow, sparkling luster. He had
stripped off the shirt and was now only wearing a pair of overalls, his
body bare beneath it, his shoulders and arms broad-muscled, stippled with
pale blond hair and powerful-looking as they held without a quiver the dead
weight of the bundled box-like clutches of long grass, which weighed some
sixty or seventy pounds each. I had removed my shirt, but only because it
was soaking wet with sweat already and begun to itch. I'd been forced to
pause and catch my breath time and again, but he labored on, the guy wasn't
even sweating, for Christ's sake, whereas I was covered in salty, itchy
perspiration that caused all the hay dust to cling to me like so much
fucking fairy dust!
     "Three more bales left." he told me kindly, not nagging but letting me
know either I got back to work right away or I'd leave him the last of the
work. So I moved my tired body over and grasped one of the bales, the thin
wires cutting my fingers despite the heavy work gloves I had on, and I
began to lumber back with it. How could Gunter carry these things so
easily, I wasn't that much smaller than he was.
     But farmwork had this other problem to it, it didn't call on every
muscle you had. I was using my back and my arms, but the rest of my body
wasn't contributing so my carefully sculpted body wasn't performing the way
it did on the weight machines at college. Gunter showed the way muscles on
a farm built up naturally, with broad shoulders, strong biceps on his arms,
thickly muscled chest, which tapered past a narrow and undefined flat waist
down to legs no larger than anybody else's. Oh, Gunter was stronger than
me, but only in the ways that farming life trained his body.
     Still, here and now, that was what counted.
     I got that miserable bale of hay over to the truck and strained to
toss it up onto the truck bed, and it tumbled like some lopsided pair of
dice glued together, and nearly bounced off the bed entirely. I clambered
up onto it and saw Gunter had simply left his bale on the truck bed but not
stacked, I snatched up the somewhat-easier job of stacking the bales into
place while he fetched the last two. He didn't argue, just placed the bale
on the foot of the truck bed and took back off again.
     Finished, I got into the passenger side of the truck and Gunter took
the wheel. "Man, I'm beat!" I moaned. "That was harder than it looked."
     "You must let the hay work with you when you carry it." Gunter
suggested. "Use the weight, don't fight it."
     "That's easy for you to say." I said. "You grew up doing this. I'm a
city boy, remember?"
     "I remember." He said. The trip took some time, for Gunter didn't try
for speed on the uneven ground of the meadow. "So." I said after a
while. "What are you going to do with your life when you're done working
for Mr. Fields?" I asked him.
     "Do?" He looked at me, puzzled. "I see no reason to leave
Mr. Fields. He is a good man to work for."
     "Really?" I was surprised. "Not going to try to buy your own farm,
even?"
     "I could do that, one day, maybe." he agreed, quickly enough I
realized that it was his only plan, being on a farm. I was still thrashing
about with doctor-lawyer-Indian chief, and he was acting like anyone who
didn't want to farm all his life was weird, or something.
     "Not me!" I said. "I'm wondering if I shouldn't go stay with my dad
instead." Mom had begged me to come help, and I had agreed. Dad had an
apartment in town and I would have ended up as cook-maid-handservant if I'd
gone to stay with him. But as I say, I was wondering about my choice.
     "You don't like it here?" He asked me. "This is a good place, some
chickens, some cows, some horses, good land, enough of all of it for a man
live on and still have some to sell. A good life."
     "Farmwork is for suckers." I said scornfully as only a
nineteen-year-old with dreams of owning a corporation can deliver it. "You
work all day and it doesn't rain or the cows get sick and you're wiped
out."
     "If you're careful that doesn't happen." Gunter said. "My grandmother,
she can tell the weather. She said this was a good year for crops with lots
of rain all summer."
     "Great." I grimaced. "Bad enough to work a farm, I got to get
drenched, too?"
     "Well, if you don't like the work, best you should go stay with your
father." Gunter said, effectively ending that conversation.
     We got out to the shed and I was surprised to see it was an old
adobe-like structure, something you'd expect to see in Arizona rather than
South Dakota. "We're going to pile the hay inside that?" I asked him.
     "Certainly." he said.
     I looked again at the structure, it was nearly as big as the hay
barn. "Why not just put the hay here to begin with?" I asked. "Save a lot
of work trucking it down each week."
     "The place is too tight for hay." Gunter explained. "Hay dust can
build up and you get too much and it explodes and catches fire, all by
itself."
     "Really?" I said. "Is that why the hay barn has all those holes in
it?"
     "Sure." Gunter said. "Room enough to let out the dust, but small
enough to keep out the rain and the mice.
     "Oh." I said. "I'd wondered about the way the boards were a
quarter-inch apart. I figured it was because he didn't have enough money to
go all the way around."
     "You don't like Mr. Fields." Gunter observed.
     "Not that." I said. "Just don't see the sense in it, that's
all. Farming is for suckers."
     "Let's get the truck unloaded." was Gunter's only answer.
     Inside, I saw that the size of the place was deceptive, this place
would hold about three or four hundred bales, but no more. The walls must
have been six or eight inches thick.
     Unloading the truck was no easier than loading it had been even though
we'd been able to drive the truck bed up to a sort of loading dock, the
door was raised on a high foundation some three feet up, the entire thing
flush with the walls. The land wasn't even, but we were able to get the
truck within three feet of the door, close enough to toss the bales over
into the shed. That helped some, but not much, for inside we had to pick it
up again, walk over and put the bales against the wall, and the door by
which we entered was the only light in the shed, it was dim inside even in
mid-day. I didn't see why we had to stack it so neatly, but Gunter was
doing it and I just followed suit, determined not to gripe for a time. I'd
attacked the guy's way of life on the trip over and feeling a bit contrite.
     We rested and talked some more sitting on the dock (or whatever you
ought to call it), Gunter carefully prodding my point of view and me being
nice about it instead of nasty. By being gentle and non-confrontational,
Gunter was able to define what I hated most about farm life. "You think
farm life is lonely." he said to me. "That is not so."
     "Sure." I said. "If you have a big family around you, maybe. I got Mom
here, and her new husband, and you, I guess, and that's it. And this isn't
my farm by any stretch of the imagination." Bob had three sons who would
surely snatch the farm on his death even if I were stupid enough to want
it. "All I could do if I stayed would be a hired hand...like you."
     That stung him, a little, he drew up in proud dignity. "It is honest
work I do."
     "And all you do." I said. "You work all day and then go home and sleep
and come back tomorrow and do it all over again. When do you have any fun?
Saturday nights?"
     "I could." he admitted. "There are places for a man to go."
     "Where?" I sneered. "Church on Sunday, maybe. A church picnic? Find
yourself a wife there and drag her back with you. To where? With your
family, maybe, go live with them?"
     "I could do that." He said.
     "Farming is for suckers." I said to him. "Give me a city to live in
any day. Plenty to do there."
     "Such as?" he asked me. "What do you do in the city when you want to
have fun?"
     He had me there. Still, growing up on a farm, I didn't have much to
have to hide. "Well, back at college, I used to go to a bar I knew and
drink and dance and then go home with someone. Lots of action to be had in
a college town." Plenty of young men out on the prowl, it was practically a
sexual candy store, at least with the crowds I hung out with, not that I
planned to give Gunter any details about that.
     "You are too young to go to a bar." he pointed out.
     "They don't check your ID at this place." I said. "And I never drank
anything alcoholic anyway. I went there to dance and meet people." That was
the owner's benevolent policy toward the many underaged gays any college
town has; he let us in but wouldn't serve us alcohol. The police knew it
and basically left us alone. A fair trade, even if it left me "dry," so to
speak.
     "What is the name of this wonderful place?" he asked me.
     For a moment, I considered lying, but how was this country bumpkin
going to know a bar more than halfway across the state was a gay bar? "It's
called Rovers." I said. "They have an afternoon mixer every Saturday
that's...what's wrong?" The look on his face...oh, shit!
     "I have heard of this place." he said to me.
     "Oh." I said.
     "In this place, they have men who go with men?"
     I'd never heard it phrased that way. "Well...yeah, some of them do." I
said, uncomfortably.
     "You are a man who goes with men?" he asked me. I bit my lip, wanting
to bite my stupid tongue off instead, and he said, "It is all right, if
that is what you want to do."
     "Uh...okay." I said. "Thanks."
     "Let's get back to work." he said, and I was glad to do it.
     Shit, me and my big mouth! Why hadn't I named off one of the many bars
back near my college which were for straights? Why had I given myself away
like that? Counting on his ignorance, that was what I'd done. Just because
he lived out on a farm didn't mean he had to be buck-ignorant. Just...hey,
in that case, how had he even known about Rovers?
     When we stopped again, I asked him. "Gunter?"
     "Yes?"
     "How did you hear about Rovers?"
     "A friend of mine went to your school." Gunter admitted. "He came to
visit me last Christmas and we talked."
     "So how did he hear about Rovers?" I asked.
     Gunter shrugged. Now HE was the one who was uncomfortable! Quite a bit
so, in fact, more than just idle gossip would make him.
     "Is your friend a...a man who goes with men?" I pressed him.
     "Yes, he is."
     I was getting curious about this guy. Hell, if I was going to be stuck
out on this farm all summer, maybe Gunter could introduce me to his
friend. Better that than whacking off all summer, maybe!
     "What's your friend like?" I asked him.
     "He is a good friend." Gunter said, and I recognized something in that
tone.
     "Gunter, did you and your friend ever, uh...?"
     Gunter looked at me, and flushed. Managed a nod.
     "Even last Christmas?"
     Another nod.
     "Why, Gunter." I was impishly pleased. "I never would have guessed it
by looking at you."
     Gunter looked at me. "As you say, farming can be lonely. It is better
when you have a friend who is with you."
     "Yeah." I agreed.
     Gunter looked at me, licked his lips, and then stood up. "We should
get back to work." He said, standing up and turning to me.
     I reached up inside and cupped his basket, feeling his manhood through
the overalls. No briefs on underneath! I'd suspected as much. "What's the
hurry?" I said. "You're supposed to show me about life on the farm when
we're done. This is a part of farm life I'd be interested in learning more
about." I gave my hand a light squeeze and thus palpated his balls and the
soft cock lying atop it, and Gunter groaned, and I felt the cock filling,
expanding in my hand. I didn't let go, I let it get firm and begin to press
upwards insistently before I permitted it to spring away from his testicles
where it had plastered itself tightly before, and I followed it up with my
fingers, stroking, rubbing his shaft through the fabric and Gunter leaned
back against the door frame and he groaned again, utterly compliant, so
much studly putty in my hands. I scooted over on my buttocks until I could
replace my hands with my face, I was a little too low to really latch onto
his cock, but I could and did gnaw at his balls, biting upwards into his
crotch, and his hands came around and ground his groin into my face,
bending his knees to lower himself down and now I could nibble at the hard
rod inside the denim fly and it rolled beneath my lips over and now it was
past the fly with the thicker material, jutting out into the cloth, a
single layer of it, between me and it and I could nearly taste the
succulent morsel of manmeat within.
     "Uh, uh, guh-uh!" Gunter groaned, finally giving some voice to his
acquiescent silence, and I looked up at him, his body pale now in the
diminished light of the shed, but still very large, very buffed, all
masculinity in the form of this body languishing upright against the
threshold and lips parted slightly to let the small sounds of rising
passion exude.
     As I gnawed at him, he grunted a few more appreciative sounds, then
his hands pulled tighter and he began to hunch actively at me, passive no
longer, but exerting his masculine right to take the initiative in
lovemaking, he was now fucking at my face, as if he could drive his dong
into my mouth right through that cloth, or maybe he was just enjoying this
bit of submissive action of mine, beneath him, reaching up for him as if I
were half his height, and then his hands clutched the back of my head and
he ground his crotch into me, hard, nearly bruising my nose or almost
breaking it, I'm not sure which, and I gasped for air which I wasn't
getting, then struggled free, placing my hands on his hips as a
consolation, stroked him there and he released me, his chest heaving, and
then his hands flew down to his fly and he began to tug at the two buttons
there I'd felt when he ground his basket into my face, two metal studs
round and hard and flat-topped, then he reached in and found that hard dong
and tugged it hard, it skittered against the cloth, the head making a bulb
of extended material as it arced across and then it burst out into light of
day.
     "Wait a minute." I said and I slid down to stand on the ground. This
gave me freedom to move, but put his crotch out of my reach. Well, that
wouldn't work.
     But he saw my dilemma and responded, he knelt down onto one knee and
now that nine-inch prick was aimed right at me, I only had to bend over and
it slid into my mouth like it belonged there.
     Gunter moaned and hunched toward my face, and now it wasn't an
oppression, it was aiding me to take that long massive pud, it lunged into
my mouth and throat like a torpedo, then was pulled back and I only need to
make half the movement, the rest came from the hungry thrusts of Gunter's
body towards me, and between us we gave that tall dick all the loving it
craved, the pale pud's foreskin wavered and danced on my tongue like a
snake wriggling about, sending the long body downwards into my clutching
throat.
     Gunter used his lithe hips to fuck up at my face and I found it better
to hold still as he hunched his body back and forth, small sounds of
pleasure dripping from his lips like dew drips from a bluebell.
     But he was unsatisfied and knelt completely down, fucked at me some
more, and then lowered himself to his buttocks and swirled his legs out
from under him, to let them dangle over the ledge, and now it was up to me
to continue this assault upon his cock and my mouth, and I dove to my task
with a will, my lips making moist, squishy sounds with each thrust and
withdrawal of my lips upon his pud. He lay completely back now, gasping and
his chest blowing like a horse after a long race, his hands stroking his
body seductively, aimlessly, disjointedly and he was lost in his passion,
insensible to anything but my lips upon his dong and I smiled around his
cock as I wrenched him to greater and greater heights of glory. His dong
was steel-hard now, hard as anything so soft on the outside can be, velvet
wrapped iron and his breaths took on a more urgent sound to them, his body
rippled with slow sinuous waves, it was like he was moving in a
dream-state, the way a dog's legs twitch when they're asleep, and his cock
took on a hotness like nothing I'd ever felt before, he turned from hard
breaths to groans that rose up from the depths of that massive chest, he
suddenly spasmed, lurched, his body thrashed like a fish out of water...and
I felt it then while he was in the total epileptic-like state, felt his
jism pouring out of his prick and into my mouth, a hot salty gush that
flowed rather than spurted, rising up like water in a pool fed from
beneath, and I was able to drink it as it flowed, siphoning off the flood
of man-jizz and feeling it coursing like squibs of heated liquor down my
throat, burning and yet intoxicating at once.
     As I drained the last dregs from his pipe of jism, he fell back, quiet
again, only his breaths moving his body still, flexing and puffing like a
bellows. He hadn't sweated for all our exertions of the day, but now there
was a sheen of golden light upon him and this was the sweat of coitus, when
the body, no matter how well-trained or adapted, delivers itself with every
last erg of strength, all of it directed outwards, leaving nothing behind.
     I rose up, wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and then onto my
jeans, smiled down at him, his body moving slower now, yet he was still
loath to stir about, and he looked up at me and smiled bashfully.
     "You see?" I said to him. "That didn't take so long, now did it?" And
I smirked at him, one side of my face making the grin, feeling like the
very devil himself, and he laughed.
     "Yes, you were right, this made a good break." He said.
     "We'd better get moving before anyone wonders what is taking us so
long." I said to him, holding my hand out to let him rise up. He took it,
though with a hand on my lower arm instead of hand-to-hand, and lifted
up. I felt his legs lifting outwards but didn't think much of it, maybe he
was sort of using them as ballast to rock himself erect, and then those
long legs latched around me and he fell back again, and this time, arms
around me as well, I fell with him and his lips matched mine, kissing the
leftover remnants of jizz upon my lips and replacing it with his own hot
nectar of moisture.
     I was startled by his energy, since I'd figured I'd drained the guy
dry, but he was like an animal only half-done with his rut, and he rolled
both of us over and now he was on top mostly, though I was still only
three-quarters turned, the side of the door preventing me from moving any
more, and then he kissed my neck, ardently but with tenderness as well
while his hands played upon my skin like the strums of the strings of a
guitarist playing a slow melody and the notes resonated from my lips, slow
sounds of passion awakening. His strong arms moved me like a child into a
prone position and then began to play over me once more, feeling very
un-fatherly indeed, more like a lecherous animal pawing at me, a fate far
better than any I can imagine.
     His lips were insatiable, it was like he was trying to kiss every part
of me, and I wondered at his ardor given that I must taste like hay, so
much of the hay dust clung to me, but he didn't seem to notice it, even
playing his tongue on my body, kissing one screaming nipple of delight
awake, until I shuddered as he dug into my navel with the tip of his
tongue, a hard jabbing invader into my mid-section, swirling around in the
tender, untouched and neglected flesh inside, so that it moaned in
excitement, I had never before felt my navel so much as a part of me, it
was an indentation in my body and now it was totally awake and exerting
itself, and then Gunter's hands were undoing my belt and fly which only
made itself known to me when it came undone and I felt the cool air of the
spring breeze upon my heated skin, more and more of it exposed as he peeled
my jeans from my body like a hunter skinning a rabbit, leaving me naked and
exposed to him to feed upon as he would.
     Then my cock was freed and my balls felt the air and the wind played
in my pubic hair and tickled my ballsac, my jeans were now falling around
my ankles, trapped by my shoes but he didn't care, he had exposed all of me
but my feet and he ignored that, he took my prick in one strong hand and
guided it competently to his lips.
     I felt the powerful suction hit me all at once and I groaned. "God,
yes, oh, God, yes!" I moaned as his hot mouth showed me that he was as
expert at this as myself. Having been on a farm hadn't stinted his sexual
training at all, I wondered how often his friend from my college came to
visit him! Whatever the reason, though, he was no virgin, he plied his
mouth on me with enormous skill, so that every wobble and thrust of his
face upon my crotch was rewarded by a burst of pleasure from me, so that I
was rapidly brought to my pleasure.
     I felt it rising up like a tide that could not be contained, I was
boiling up from within, like the bubbling froth of stewing broth too well
lidded, I felt my climax knocking for entrance into my brain in no time.
     Yet it stayed outside, though I know I didn't bar its way, it was
like, having brought me to the edge of excitement, somehow, Gunter's
ministrations delayed and held me there on the brink. I had never felt
anything like it, how did this simple country boy know how to suck cock so
well?
     "Oh, God, you're good, you're too good, God, I gotta get off, I gotta
get off!" I moaned. "Please, let me get off, please!"
     He moved faster then, and even that wasn't enough, I can't describe
how it was, to be teetering on the brink of ejaculation, yet somehow
restrained and unable to throw yourself over the side! I could only gasp
and groan and moan out my frustration, held back and detained, delayed at
the border of desire, I couldn't, couldn't get across! "Uh, uh, uh, huh!" I
gasped out. "Oh, God, more, more, more!" I moaned.
     His hands suddenly clenched and he was squeezing my balls! Hard, too,
pain combined with pleasure and suddenly mixed into one, and I wasn't just
falling into my climax, I was being bodily tossed in like a prisoner thrown
into a pit by two ruffians, I plummeted into my climax and I landed and I
burst apart like a ripe melon, I screamed as I ejaculated, I sprayed him
hard, so hard his head lifted off in surprise, and I drenched that
beautiful face of his, I mean I covered him with jism while his hand played
a poor second fiddle to his lips, pumping me and draining me of jism,
failing in some elemental way to feel as good as his mouth had, but enough,
damn, yes, good enough!
     I was wrung completely, absolutely dry when I was done with my climax,
I was lying there like a limp rag, unable to move from this compromising
position even if a regiment of priests happened along right then and began
tsk-tsking at me in unison, I wouldn't have been able to move even to cover
myself.
     But Gunter covered me, with his body laying upon me and he kissed me
slowly, and I returned it as groggily as I could, tasting my come all over
his face, not that he seemed to mind, or even know it was there. His hand
stroked my hair back, smoothing the ruffled tangle, and he declared, "Now
we are done with the break."
     "Yeah." I agreed. "You're right. Now we're done. I know I am, done
completely in, that is."
     He stood up and raised me up with him, like we were part of one body
moving now and we stood and embraced some more.
     "Damn, Gunter, you're a mess." I said as I looked at him, at the
cream-colored jism staining his sun-bronzed face, clinging to one cheek,
dotting his forehead in three places, dangling like a loose piece of string
from one ear. "Let me clean that off of you."
     He offered me his bandanna and I used it to wipe him dry. "Next time
you plan to suck me that hard, warn me ahead of time, will you?" I chided
him.
     "That will be tonight." he said.
     "All right." I said. "Fair warning enough."
     "I should show you were the cattle are." He said. "We should check the
fences anyway. We have about another hour before lunch."
     "Oh. Yeah." I said, my mind wrenched from the paradise of conjugal
passion to the mundane needs of existence. "Let's do it." And we went back
to work as a couple of farm hands once more.
     Bob looked up at me as I came in with Gunter for lunch. "Well, I hope
my hired hand didn't wear you out too badly this morning." He said. "I need
you two to clean out the hay barn, sweep it clean."
     "Sounds good to me." I agreed.
     Bob regarded my smiling face with some surprise. "How do you feel
about farm life now you've had a taste of it?" he asked me.
     "Farmwork is for suckers." I said. Then, after a pause. "But I think
I'm going to like it here."
     Especially with a sucker like I had with me!

				  THE END
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