tagErotic CouplingsI'd Make You My Wings In Montana

I'd Make You My Wings In Montana

bycowboy109©

The Honda bounced in the way that breeds car nausea. The windows were rolled down to let in the fresh country air and a sampling of dust that already gently coated the flanks of the Honda. Jack diligently steadied his hands to draw line by line pausing in between the big rocks on the grooved dirt road. The blue fifty-cent-7-11-pen draw deep lines into the back of the passenger seat. The upholstery was a light gray smooth shorthaired fabric. The blue lines pressed indentations and looked like a tattoo.

Jack chronicled his life: The worn out rocker with the coke bottle black glasses that had promised Jack's friend 10 minutes on stage, the long blond hair down the back of the swim team girl that he adored, and the knee length slacks that were popular with the kids these days.

Jack's mother in the front passenger seat chipped happily: "We passed the last check point on our route. It's so good to be out of Chicago." She wore her JC Penny sweats and colorful blouse proudly despite the worn colors and saggy cut after only a handful of washes.

Jack's father nodded with approval: "Son, you may be 18 years old. However, grand pap's will make you a man." Father's hand reached back to squeeze Jack's knee with rough manly friendliness. Jack shook of the hand with whole body disgust. Jack's father looked a lot like Burt Reynolds – a black mustache and oily feeling about him. He wore standard blue jeans and a white short sleeve shirt that made him look like a stamped out standard.

A herd of horses ran along their car in cheery exuberance. The sunlight glistened on their healthy coats. Their manes and tails were flying in the air. They had white spots on their hooves. Their heads were held high and shook with happiness. The remote Montana backcountry had no fences. Endless thick green and deep grass stretched out in the plane. The foothills provided a border in the distance. The horses turned their galloping to the side to disappear deep into the wild grassland. The wind shook the tall bendable grass helms in large waves.

The hours drew on. Everyone was silent. Jack was completely engorged in developing his mural on the back seat. Father had given up disciplining him. Father was happily alert at the wheel. He loved dodging the big round rocks. When the tire grooves grew too deep, he gladly slithered the car offset onto the grassy center. Mother proudly held the trip description in her hand. The thumb marked the current position. Her eyes scanned for government markers: "5WNZ69, make a left!" The car softly slid sideways in the turn. Father and mother had found a happy medium, where father could be a little bit of a backcountry alcohol runner. And, she shut up her shrieks in exchange for his moderation.

After hours of open grassland, the car entered a grove of trees – dead end. At the end was a rough old cabin. The timber wood had been bleached bright from age. The front porch was low. A big fat old woman sat on the bench in front of it. She wore a large white dress with peasant-style-drawn flowers on it. Her gray hair was neatly tugged into a bun. When she stood up to see the approach car, her ample breasts heaved from the strain of standing up. The big, black slippers shuffled a few steps forward. Her big farmer hands wrung together in sincere anticipation. This was grams.

The Honda slowed down. The big dust plumb trailing it caught up and layered itself on the passengers' skin. The dust felt rough and dry. Slowly pulling up to grams the car stopped. The passengers climbed out with stiff limbs. Gramps appeared in the door way with his walking cane. The cane was a beautiful lacquered black stick. He was scrawny with intend eyes.

Mother spoke flustered polite nothings to grams. Father got Jack's bag out of the trunk and dropped it onto the porch away from the dusty dirt. Jack stood there like a rebellious lamb in silence. His punk skateboarding shoes looked out of place among the old fashioned folks. His styled and gelled black hair had long collected dust to look worn out. His hip t-shirt would not be understood by anybody here.

"It is so good to see you grams and gramps. We are so happy that you will take Jack, because he has fallen in with the wrong crowd in Chicago. He needs to be rehabilitated by country living. I wish that we could stay. However, we have to drive back to make it on time to our Monday morning shift," said mother. With another kiss on grams cheek, mother and father drove off waving out of the car window.

"You have become a beautiful young man, Jack," said grams. Her smile lighted up with old fashioned love.

"You have gotten old and fat," replied Jack.

Grams smile got stuck and helpless exasperation painted on her mum face. Gramps raised his cane and shouted: "Young man, you are not coming under my roof. Have fun sleeping with the coyotes."

"I wouldn't have any of this Nazi concentration camp anyway. This is bullshit," replied Jack with a red head.

"Oh, Jack, you don't know what you are saying. Your parents only mean the best for you by brining you to live with us," tried to help grams.

"They never asked me what I wanted. We were going to have our first gig as a band this weekend. We worked so hard to make it there," cried Jack.

"That's not music. That's noise," bellowed gramps.

"Have some food! Your empty stomach must be putting that yarn into your head. You will love it hear. We have beautiful nature all around the ranch house," invited grams.

"That filthy man is not putting a single step into my house," demanded gramps with flying spit.

"Gramps, this is your grand son. Don't be such a mean old man," said grams, while hugging Jack from the side and pushing his face against her humongous boob that was the size of his head. The old man conceded the two entering, yet broiled a deeply angry face with tense muscles all over his body.

The inside of the cabin was one large room. The sink and stove were on one end. A variety of towels, jars and pots filled the counters. Tables and chairs from thick unfinished wood stood in the middle. Single person beds were along the wall on the other side. Only four square windows let sun enter into the room. The exposed wooden beams hung heavy in the air.

Dinner consisted of a hearty, meaty soup and big hunks of home baked white bread. Gramps was silent. Grams patted Jack's hand occasionally in some kind of reassurance. The contrast of his skinny wrist and lean body to her flabby, big hand was striking. Grams shuffled with big steps to the kitchen counter to fetch and return food. Her big weight required her to walk in a way, where she would pivot around each leg in a round about way.

Night fell swiftly. With the next breath, grams was in her sleeping gown, a giant cotton dress. Gramps was in a white wife beater shirt with blue pajama pants. They turned on their back with the next breath. They slept each in their own bed along the wall.

Without electricity, the cabin was dark. As much as the until-sunrise partying youngster tried to rebel against going to bed so early, five minutes of sitting bored in the darkness made him submit to putting on the pajama. The pajama was still shrink wrapped. Ma had picked it up at JC Penny insisting against his resistance. Like every hip Chicago youngster, he slept naked at night. Now with his grand parents in the same room, he was glad to have the pajama.

Middle in the night, his bladder pressed painfully. A pale, white night shimmered into the dark cabin. A night blue sky was promised outside. The thick down comforter was warm, yet Jack's face was cool. He fell asleep once more before the bladder pain become intolerable. He slunk out of the bed. At first, his body stilled held the warms of the comforter.

When he reached the outside, the calm night blue sky soothed him. Yet, the sharp cold air rushed him. He found the wooden outhouse. The outhouse was leaning to the side. A simple metal hook was the lock. The wood beam served as a seat over the pit. He left the door open to find his way in the night. The stink of shit was stifled by the coldness of the night.

Cold shudders ran across his skin. His penis has shriveled up to its smallest size. The balls had pulled up into his belly to hide from the cold. Despite the challenges, the urine gushed out of him in a stream. His thighs bounced up and down impatiently for the stream to finish to get out of the freezing cold.

His feet felt the way back to the house over the hard baked soil and the round rocks on the ground. He felt the rough wood boards in the house. The thick down comforter covered his shivering body. He knew with time, his body heat would get trapped and he'd warm up. All he had to do was wait.

He reached down to his penis. The penis was ice cold like the metal door handle. His penis felt oddly numb from the cold. The penis skin could not sense the hand, yet the penis felt the pressure of the hand holding it. The penis hardened. It was a normally long penis, yet a skinny one.

Instinctively, he squeezed the penis. It felt good. He listened around the room. Grams was breathing with big heavy thighs. Gramps was tightly sleeping on his back. Jack pulled the foreskin over the head and back down. It felt good. Without thinking, he made a tent of the comforter with his free hand.

His heart was pounding. His breath tried to turn into panting. With great constraint, he breathed slowly to avoid making a sound with his breath. His hand slowly pumped his penis. He listened for gramps and grams. He was carefully to make a big enough tent to avoid the sound of his hand gliding over the fabric.

The sensation of his penis was so novel. He could not sense his own hand. Yet, his heart was raising, driven by the pleasure. Five minutes later cum spurted on his belly. The next breath happened and he disappeared into sleep again.

The morning arrived with harshness. Grams and gramps were accustomed to getting up with sunrise. Jack was accustomed to sleeping until noon. Gramps hit his walking cane against Jack's head board until Jack obliged and got up. Jack felt awkward about the dry cum on his belly. Gramps drove Jack outside to show him the outdoor shower with his cane. Taps of the cane directed Jack left and right.

The shower was a black hose running down from the hill behind the cabin. The hose was connected to a shower head. Apparently a creek fed the hose. Gravity carried the water down. Gramps cheeks were red with glee: "The cold water will make you a man." Gramps walked away. It seemed like he had a faint hip swing of victory in his walk as he made his way through the knee deep wild grass.

Jack felt like he had no other chance but fight to get under the cold water. The cum stain on his belly was too embarrassing. The cum had dried and matted his belly hair together. Quickly, he stood split naked under the Montana morning sun. The cold water was drizzling a foot in front of him. Cold water drops splattered on his skin only making it harder to muster the nerve for an ice cold morning shower.

A Tarzan yell escaped his lungs unbeknownst to him. His penis shriveled. The cajones took refuge in his belly again. Every muscle in his body tensed to the brim in a vain effort to shield against the cold. Frantic hands slipped all over his naked body to wash himself as if he had six arms.

A minute later, he had washed his body twice, yet didn't feel much cleaner. However, the skin all over his body had a numb feeling. It felt kind of good to have the morning sun warm up the dead cold skin. His skin felt so thick, because it had pulled together into goose bumps. A little happiness rose in his heart.

Grams had already prepared breakfast. The table was festively laden with fresh bread and a wide array of homemade confitures. Jack enjoyed trying all the different flavors: black berry, straw berry, apricots, and cherries. The bread tasted so nourishing. It must have been the country air that made him hungrier.

"Jack, while you are here on summer camp, I want you to think about what you want to do with your life," said gramps.

"Fuck, like you had such a great life vision that you ended up in this ramble shack in bum fuck nowhere. You are the best role model since Michael Jackson," gushed Jack without thinking. The moment that he had finished, he was shocked at himself.

"Your gramps was a very handsome man that was envied by many people out here," defended grams.

"So, what did he do? Win a rodeo competition?" quipped Jack.

"Actually, grand son, I was born very poor. When I was your age, I noticed that my neighbor had a bull. I asked my neighbor, if I could harvest semen from the bull. You city folks probably don't know however to make good calves you need semen from a prize bull."

"So, I'd lead the bull to mount a cow. I had this bit leather tube with a bottle at the end. I'd sleep the bulls penis in there, so that he fucked my leather tube, while he thought he was fucking the cow. Tell you what grand son, that bull filled up two ounces of semen each time."

"Then, I'd go over to a rich rancher. I offered my bull semen. The rancher had the most expensive black cowboy hat. He'd voicelessly tip the cowboy hat to give me the cow ahead. So, I'd shove my hand up the cow to put the bull semen as deep as I could to give the sperm the best chances. On the way back from the field, the rancher asked me how much I wanted. I told him to keep his money and in spring give me a cow."

"For many days, I harvested bull sperm and walked to the big farm. That bull was so productive that I could do it twice a day. The black hated rancher got real happy, because I got a big herd of cows impregnated. Every time, I visited him his eyes gleamed a bit more smug with his mind counting the money for the calves in spring."

"Come spring, he let me pick the best calve of his herd. I made sure that I picked the best. My daddy was ready to have a veal feast. So, I had to hide the calf high up in the foothills. And, I had to scare of the occasional wolves roaming down from Canada."

"And, then it was simple math. I kept impregnating the cow and raised more and more cows. A few summers later, I had a mighty herd of five hundred cows. Can you imagine that size! It was impossible for me to hide the cows any longer in the foothills. So, I brought them down on my daddy's ranch land. I still remember how proud I was, when my daddy acknowledged that the veal feast was a bad idea."

"Grand son, there is so much land here. The cows multiply on their own. It's like printing money. Now, we are too old. We sold almost everything off to live out our lives here."

After breakfast, Jack wondered off into the hill behind the house. The sun shown happily. Low tree leaves caressed his arms as he passed through the dense vegetation. Sweat had built up on his lower back before he realized it. The musk smell from his arm pits made him feel cozily at home. It reminded him of a Nat Geo show, where wild life researches put the nose of a subdued polar bear cub on the paw of mother polar bear, so that the cub could smell his ma and feel safe. Big steps led him higher up the foot hill.

An idyllic clearing appeared with a small lake and a sweeping view on the grassland. He could see the grassland stretch out. The dirt road to his grand parent's house cut right through it. No other house was visible. A walk out to get a bus back to civilization might be a multi-day trek.

He sat down under and oak tree. He listened to the gurgle of a small creek feeling the small lake. The sun caused a warm tingle on his skin. He became quickly dozy. Memories of the long haired blonde swim team girl flashed through his day dreams. He felt his erection pushing against his tight jeans. He opened the fly. A strange and free feeling caressed him. He could full expose his erection in the wild open with the wind sweeping across his penis. And, it was okay, because there was nobody.

He took off all of his clothes. He started prancing around. He held his penis. He got scared for a moment, covered his erect penis with his hand. He looked around. The cabin was covered by trees. Nobody could see him.

He lay on his back to stretch his dick toward the sun. He wanted to feel the same tingle that the sun rays put on his skin on his dick. And, it felt kind of good. However, the teenage horniness was not satisfied. So, he started pumping his dick in the wild grass. He dreamed about the swim team girl. His eyes stared into the blue sky searching for something to focus on. His body tensed with the raise to orgasm. Big spurts on cum shot on his belly again.

He mellowly let his head fall back onto a patch of grass. With the next breath, his was in post orgasm sleep. When he aroused, his mouth felt sweet and moist. He was well rested. The cum had dried against his skin into salt crust.

Again, he had the trouble of forcing himself into the cold lake to clean up. The lake was even harder than the shower, because he had to get a foot in, then the next, his feet would step into freezing cold water on slippery rocks, and he had to keep walking until his whole body was covered.

His body felt like breaking from the cold. All his muscles clenched together. He tried a swim in the freezing cold. The swim movement made the water flow across his whole skin. He felt the swoop of water across his ass. His dick wiggled like a mast in the water. The sensation was arousing. Yet, pin prick needles tingled all over his body from the cold. He rushed out of the lake. The sun felt super awesome warming his skin again.

And, thus, did the summer days pass. There was ample boredom. One time, he asked grams to use the phone. Grams explained that there was no phone. With boredom and teenage horniness, there was lots of masturbation out in the foot hills overlooking the grassland.

About two weeks after arrival a strong gust picked up. Grams hurried for Jack to go inside. Gramps moved his scrawny old body as fast as never before. Gramps put wood boards over the windows. The door was still open. The aggressive whirr of flies and mosquitoes grew intense. The sky darkened. A dark growl of thunder crawled drawn out over everybody's skin. And, in the breathless pause afterward, the sound of a thousand rocks thrown against the roof erupted. The rain came down hard with giant drops.

The intense lightning storm barreled over the grassland of Montana. The deep growls of thunder made the glasses rattle. Without saying anything, Jack knew that there would be no fire department to safe them or even anyone noticing them stranded outside of the burned down cabin.

A lonely candle flickered. Shadows were chasing in the dark corners of the cabin. Lightning flashes shot daylight brightness through the slits of the window coverings. The heavy drumming of rain was almost soothing. Grams held Jack in her arms, who was for once completely silenced and surrendered to her overly loving care.

When the rain drum eased, gramps through over his black rain coat to walk outside and inspect the potential damage and assess flood risks. Jack peered out of the open cabin door. The lightning storm had left only a mellow rain fall that smelled like an invitation for a child to play in the rain and jump into mud puddles.

Ten minutes in, a straining engine sounded. Jack immediately grew upset. He believed to discover that his grand parents had a generator and electricity after all. What bastards to withhold that from him. The engine sounded louder and louder. Jack believed that it was gearing up to operating load.

Grams peered outside. Truck doors smashed closed. Steps and voices were outside. Jack felt a fool and stepped up to the door to look outside. A blue rancher truck was standing in the rain. The windshield wipers worked hard. The car beams reflected in the rain as a thousand light sparks.

Grams, gramps, and a big rancher were talking intensely. Jack wanted to know more, yet his clothes would have been soaked half the way to the truck. They shook hands in agreement. The rancher in blue jacket and big black rain boots opened the back door of the cabin.

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