Oranges

Across the table he intercepted a glance between the grandmother and grandson. There was a secret between them, but they were giving no hint as to want it may be. Marty didn't enjoy that kind of thing. He swung his head angrily and caught the eye of Abraham, who smiled at him wanly.

When he turned back Joseph was holding his dessert spoon upright and licked it slowly, his broad, wet, pink tongue sliding delicately over the hard metal. Marty was a sucker for things like that. He felt the skin on the back of his neck begin to prickle as he observed the shiny pink lips wrap around the spoon. It was supremely erotic.

Clearly Joseph knew he was attractive, but was he just laying on a tease? That mouth! Those dark, bright slightly sly inviting eyes! He was a succulent morsel to a dirty dog like himself. Joseph gave a radiant smile that that lingered and it shook Marty to the core. Beneath the table he slid his hand across the front of his trousers to push down the stir of an upthrust under his fly. 'Whoa Bowser!' he cautioned himself silently, 'This here tasty doggy-chew may be as gay as a dance-band, but it ain't for munchin'.

As soon as the last plate had been cleared from the meal Aunt Matilda pinned Marty with her eyes. "You and I will play a few hands of cards." she told him without offering any option. Carefully, as if troubled by an aching back, she rose up to allow Abraham to pull away her chair, then lifting her head she straightened her shoulders and steadied herself with a hand on the table. As she passed the sideboard she reached for the brandy decanter with splendid aplomb and carried it through into the room adjacent.

She enjoyed a few hands of poker in the evening she said, and just to make it interesting she preferred to play for real cash, which meant Marty ended the evening being light by fifty dollars. It was hardly a good result for an unemployed man, but the stakes were higher in the real game he was playing. If he could stay in flavour with the old girl he reasoned he could end up seriously rich.

His aunt was fond of saying she possessed little of value, but nothing in her household suggested any severe economy. There was no want at all. The rooms were full of old, but valuable property, and on looking outside at the back he'd seen sheds all splendidly equipped with the most up to date gear for processing crops. There were three motor trucks to move stuff around, and he'd discovered there was an office with a manager and two clerks employed. In talking with Abraham it also transpired his aunt also owned orange-groves other than those grouped around the house.

He liked the house and he liked its situation: a commanding site in the midst of two thousand acres of prime orange growing land. If the old lady floated off soon he wouldn't be averse to having a few hundred acres of it himself. Or the whole estate if it came as a present.

***

The next morning Marty awoke early, but the sun was already blasting loud daylight and fierce heat through a set of brocade curtains. He was hot, and his first thought was that he needed a shower. Afterwards he paced up and down his room, arms clamped across his chest, frowning. He hoped that a new day would bring new thoughts and different enthusiasms and allow him to get on with the serious business of ingratiating himself with the old woman. But he couldn't get her grandson out of his head. Charged memories of Joseph sitting across the table from him bounced around in his head like a Ping-Pong ball.

That young fella was a feast he wanted to consume, a treasure he wished to plunder. Oh how he wanted him. To feel his soft body surrender to his desires and subordinate to his will. It was only natural, he told himself while gazing into a wall mirror. He was still good looking and in his prime. He sucked in his stomach and puffed out his chest. Not bad. Not yet thirty and still in good shape. Not repulsive. Good jawline, nice teeth. He looked a little rugged, and young fella's went for rugged looks. And his dick was a real fine rammer when he had a bone on. Everyone admired his dick.

He wore his favourite corduroys and a black jersey with a scarf of brightly coloured silk - did they call them bandanas this far south? - and he made sure he put on boots with good high heels that would hang on to a set of stirrups. Abraham supplied him with a broad rimmed wideawake that he put on tilted over one eye, thinking that gave him a raffish look that wouldn't seem out of character. All in all he looked better now than in a goddamned city suit, he reckoned.

It had come as something of a relief to discover there was no other temptations than Joseph to his recent resolution of chastity. The house staff were mostly female, all nearly as old as the well worn Abraham and not in the ball park as far as he was concerned. The only hitch to staying straight and level for a while was the grandson with whom he was about to spend some time. Joseph was a shining beauty, and he knew his real test was going to be keeping his hands off him.

Outside the morning air was clear and the sun had just lifted over the tree tops in a long slant of russet light. When he picked his way across the outside yard to the stables behind the house he found Joseph already saddling horses and he was able to assess him more readily than had been possible at the dining table the previous evening.

He wore a flat-brimmed black wideawake with a chin strap like the one he wore himself, a chequered shirt and blue jeans that seemed to emphasis the slenderness of his form. He looked even slimmer than he had last night. He looked at him keenly. His torso was slender and a leather belt fastened tight accentuated his waist and hips. No bubble-butt, but an appealing swell to his backside all the same. He looked stunning in the morning light, skin so golden and svelte in his spotless shirt, the sweep of his neck from ear to slim shoulder hypnotised him. "Mornin' Joseph, you're lookin' quite the cowboy," he said.

Joseph's eyebrows arched as he looked at him, and again Marty felt aware of his utter delicacy, of a loveliness as yet indefinable. He arched an eyebrow and a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth and his cheeks dimpled. "Hey, I know Grandma calls me Joseph, but I reckon that's kinds' uncool," he said. "Most other people around here call me Jojo. I like that better."

"Jojo it is then."

"Great. Say, can you give me a hand fixing the cinch on this saddle. It ain't movin' for me."

Marty placed his hands on the young man's shoulders, feeling the warmth and firmness of flesh beneath the thin material of his shirt, then he leaned over him, broad chest pressing against his smaller back, the diminutive rump fitting perfectly into the curve of his lower abdomen. His hand pulled the cinch and locked the buckle easily, and then he felt Jojo's cool fingers slide on to the back of his hand. Cool fingers that provided a devilish sensation.

The fingers seemed to linger a moment longer than an accidental touch should justify, and Marty's solemn resolution began to slip. His aunt's grandson had excited him in a way he didn't need at that time. His adrenaline began to bubble and he felt his cock lifting inside his pants.

"You're soft and warm." he murmured as he dipped his mouth against the side of the succulent neck. That there was a delicate indefinable aroma about him, like a mixture of floral scented soap and new bought suede. He wanted to suck the side of that neck and sample its flavour, wanted to hear how the teenager squeaked when he gently nipped the tender skin between his teeth. Gee, when his hips pressed forward he realised just how fragile the barrier of his trousers were.

Jojo stiffened as he turned his head. Their lips brushed and there was a momentary touch of tongues, and then he grinned ebulliently as he wriggled his narrow hips like a worm. "You mustn't misbehave!" he said softly.

Marty drew a harsh draft of restraint and shuffled back to remind himself where he was and why he was there. Dammit! His halo had almost slipped off before they'd got out the stable door. The sweet thing had come near to making him by-pass the decision he'd made to stay chaste at Pitterpeetee. It was just plain good sense to stay as clean as a whistle while living with the woman he was hoping to be a benefactor, and messing about with her grandson was a certain way of ruining things. Luckily Jojo showed no sign of anger or distress.

Mounting up they set off on a walk the horses appeared to be familiar with, and within a short while they were in a forest of trees festooned with fruit. They toured the orange groves leisurely, acres of them, row upon row of trees with bright metallic looking leaves spreading out for miles, each one almost geometrically spaced from its neighbour. "Geesh! exclaimed Marty. "I didn't reckon there could be so many orange trees in the entire world."

Jojo smiled proudly. "Millions of people start their day drinkin' orange juice. Gran'ma just does her piece in keepin' 'em supplied. Say Martin, you ain't my real uncle are you? What I mean is, uncles are usually related to a fella's parents, and you aren't."

"I'm related in a distant way to your grandmother, and I guess she finds it easier and more convenient to call me your uncle. I've no rub with that as long as you don't mind. Tell you what. Let's cut the uncle stuff altogether. I'm calling you Jojo, so you just call me Marty, huh!"

Jojo beamed one of his irresistible smiles. "Sure thing, Marty."

Later they circled about and visited vast orchards of grapefruit and tangerines, acres of them too, and the sight made Marty feel old Gremlin Greed stirring inside. He knew nothing about fruit growing and had no interest in farming, so if any land came his way by inheritance he'd certainly sell it off to a property developer, or one of those big fruit growing corporations his aunt detested so much. In any event he'd be likely to make a tidy piece of hard cash.

The plantation was so extensive that the morning seemed to fly by, but all the time he couldn't prevent himself from secretly looking at his companion, his gaze a moth to a flame. Jojo had a carefree nature. He also had style and good looks. His lips parted, moist and red, and he was slim, not too tall, with nice hips. His sliver of a body took a fine seat in the saddle on the light grey mare.

Marty couldn't help recalling that what had happened in the stables before they set out hadn't been outright rejection. His body had squirmed against him, and thinking about that made his cock swell as he dwelt on the sensuous flesh that must lay beneath his neat clothes. A flat stomach and slim hips, a narrow chest with pink nipples, and not least of all, the shapely curve of a fine ass. This young fella was a hot number, and out here in the countryside there was every chance that...

No, he couldn't risk any raunchy moves with so much at stake. That would be ten miles beyond stupid. Messing around with him could lose him a generous no-effort fortune. Dammit! stop thinking about it, he berated himself silently. Think of something dark and cold instead. Think of coal mines.

Jojo led the way along a narrow path through the pine trees and scrub oaks, on the rim of the orchards. "Do you like this place? Do you like living here," Marty asked.

Joseph - Jojo - turned his head. "Like it? I love it. Gran'ma can be horrible to some people, but she's always been good to me. I get just about everything I want when I'm staying with her."

"It's getting on towards lunchtime. Will she be expecting us back?"

"Nope, I told her we'd be away a while, and I collected a couple of food bags from the kitchen before we left."

Marty nodded, pleased in a strange way his companion had made such a decision. He may have had a tempting young body he couldn't touch, but he enjoyed the youthful banter he came out with, and now he knew he had him to himself for a while longer. He gazed up at the heavens. The sky was cloudless and almost Cerulean blue. "The weather's warm. The orange groves will make a nice setting for a picnic."

The younger man scoffed at him cheekily. "Hah! You Yankee city slickers figure Florida to be all Miami sunshine, but we get hurricanes goin' though here reg'lar in summer, an' the cold seasons give us plenty of frost. Gran'ma reckons Pitterpeetee was hard-won in every way. Early settlers had trouble with the Crackers - that's folks descended from the Seminole tribes that lived here once. She says her own grandfather was murdered by 'em, an' I guess that's part of the reason she refuses to sell the land to anyone an' wants to keep it in the family."

He suddenly kicked at his grey mares ribs and cantered ahead. "This way. Follow me Marty. I know a place better for picnicking than any other around here."

They made their way out from the groves and covered a few miles of scrub country shimmering in the full blaze of late morning. Eventually they reached a fringe of dense woodland and hauled up at a spot Jojo seemed to know well. Apparently it was his secret dell, a bright green cleft between the trees where a narrow stream flashed between mossy stones and shallow banks of bracken before tunnelling into a swamp of saw-grass and mangrove roots. There they voted to swing out of their saddles and give the horses a breather.

Giant butterflies flitted in the dark backdrop of the forest as they wadded through the deep bracken by the edge of the stream. Eventually they found a clear patch of ground cushioned by velvet-like grass where the warm midday sunshine had found a route between the green canopy overhead. Jojo dumped himself on the ground and began pulling at his boots. "The water's shallow hereabouts an' I'm for steppin' in to cool my feet."

His eyes always sparkled with such merry optimism that any man would feel an urge of affectionate irritation. Marty went back to the horses to collect the saddlebags that held the food and get a couple of horse-blankets to spread on the ground. When he returned Jojo was already paddling ankle deep in the stream, and not content with throwing off his boots he'd also stripped off his jeans.

Marty surveyed the partly undressed figure with lecherous interest. He was slightly built rather than skinny. With Marty skinny always conjured up a picture of bony limbs with lack of flesh, and that wasn't true of Jojo. He was impeccably well proportioned and his lightweight figure only served to emphasis his spry youthfulness.

His legs were shapely and immaculate with an enticing butterscotch tan, and just a light fuzz of golden hair. Captivated, Marty watched the swell of his backside moving under the clinging, skimpy jockey shorts that were inadequately covered by the drape of his shirt. Even though the fella was untouchable in the present circumstances he couldn't help but groan a little in frustration. His spine had enough curve to give a truckload of sauciness to his pert ass cheeks.

Quite suddenly Jojo gave out a yelp of distress and hobbled towards the bank. "Something bite you?" Marty asked with genuine concern.

"No, I stepped on a stone an' twisted something in my leg. It feels sore." His lips curved into a winsome poor-little-me smile, brown eyes teasing from beneath long lashes as he sat down heavily on the bank and raised his foot for some attention. "Will you check things out for me?"

He watched Marty's hand curl under his ankle, felt the pressure of his fingers, and he smiled. Swiftly he let his foot revolve away so he could lean forward and point, frowning, at his calf. "There, I think that's where it hurts." he said, leaning back again.

Sunlight played on his glossy thighs and Marty was very conscious of the way his skimpy white briefs had wedged up into his crotch. He tried not to glance in that direction. It needed no imagination to define the outline of what lay inside. The material had become damp and the bulge of cock and balls was all too evident, but he was playing the game with studious concentration as he rubbed his hand along the muscle, ostensibly. feeling for tenderness. "Does that hurt?"

"Just a little."

"And this?"

"Hardly at all."

"No damage done then." He was knelt before him. Jojo might have been Cinderella and he Prince Charming, except this was no fairy tale, and while there was no impropriety in his ministrations his companion seemed to be enjoying the touch of his hands.

Jojo stretched out a leg and pointed his bare toes. "Have you done this sort of thing before, Marty?"

Marty nodded. "My mother suffered from rheumatism."

"Your mother!"

"Yes, but I've also had some experience with horses. Strained fetlocks and that kind of thing."

"Are you comparing me with a horse?"

"Certainly not," said Marty, "apart from which you don't have any swelling on the flexor tendon or clap on the back sinew."

"You ARE comparing me with a horse."

Marty laughed and stood up. "You'll live Jojo. You ain't got nothing that a hot bath won't cure."

His companion levered himself up in front of him, now showing not the slightest bit of discomfort. "Gran'ma says your going to stay here for at least a month. If you stay at Pitterpeetee for four weeks you're gonna get mighty bored. There ain't no decent looking women this side of Unction, and a guy like you probably likes to have a girl on his arm all the time."

Marty smiled cynically. "You're reckoning me as a teenager Jojo. When you get older you'll find out fella's often have to go for long spells without the company of dames."

Jojo thought about that for a moment, "Uh, uh! 'Spect you're right. But I 'spect guys find other things to occupy their time." He then swivelled his shoulders back and forth in a way that seemed deliberately precocious. "You think I'm pretty, don't you?"

Marty pursed his lips thoughtfully. "No, I don't think you pretty, I think you're damned perfect."

Encouraged by the flattery Jojo unfastened the top button on the front of his shirt and spread the collar open, The hand lingered, moving up to stroke the very spot on the slender neck Marty had yearned to kiss earlier.

As their eyes met, he noticed that he was looking at him in a curiously provocative way. His lips were slightly parted and the tip of his tongue played within the shadows. When Marty stood up, Jojo let his eyes roam up and down his body. He was taking the lead, and he was doing it with style. It was no charming whim or accident of interpretation. The fella was flirting. The young man was coming on to him! "Oh, oh! I know what you're doing."

"What am I doing then?" Jojo asked, his eyes widening in a mockery of innocence.

"You damn well know what. Back at the stables you said to not misbehave."

"That was then and there. This is here and now. Do you like male company Marty? When there's no dames around do you like cuddlin' guys who aren't wearing many clothes? Do you like me? You're a big hunky guy, an' I notched-up a king-sized crush on you the moment I saw you. You could do anything you wished with me, you could use me like a girl and I wouldn't be able to stop you."

With a low laugh the outrageous Jojo playfully leaned against him and bit his earlobe, and Marty felt his breath quicken. Marty felt like he was suddenly being pulled in all directions. Blood drummed in his ears. One moment he was lingering on a threshold, and the next he was being swept away by passion. Common-sense became ignored as his face swung down.

Jojo's lips parted slightly and he felt the tip of a tongue touch his lips. He reciprocated instantly, his own tongue snaking out to outline the shape of the offered mouth before running along the smooth ridge of his teeth. Still revelling in the taste of the young mouth and he gently bit Jojo's lower lip. He wasn't sure how he ended up with the lad in his arms, or whether Jojo said anything before his flirting little pink mouth made contact with his own. But the time for talking had passed, now only touch and taste mattered.