The Good Old Boy Ch. 04

Off to the side there was a tube of KY jelly Louis had triumphantly produced from his veterinary supplies last night; what animal purpose it was used for I didn’t want to know. Quickly I grabbed it and used my hand to glide it all up and down his cock, stroking it slow and steady; and when he was ready I grabbed his hand and replaced mine with it, letting him continue exactly the way he liked it. I only had one good hand and I needed it for something else right now.

Only my tongue had ever been inside his tight ass before. That notion turned me on beyond belief as I closed my eyes and slid my tongue down from his balls and deep into his crack. The scent excited me on a deep, primal level and I wasn’t gentle this time as I worked my tongue into the little hole. It wasn’t as rigid now; it flexed eagerly, welcoming me in. Hungrily I licked and probed until Louis was groaning and squirming so fiercely I almost couldn’t hold him still. That’s when I paused to let him calm down; and quickly I squirted some of the jelly on my finger so that he had no idea what I was doing. He couldn’t see it, so he didn’t a chance to tense up in anticipation; when my finger circled the little entrance, he was so overwhelmed that he didn’t know it was my middle finger and not my tongue. At least, not until I slipped it in as far as I felt he could take it.

“Oh God!” He let out an incredulous sound, but he didn’t stop stroking himself, and I used my tongue on his balls to keep him so close to the edge he wouldn’t think about what was happening. His sphincter gripped my finger, but he wasn’t in pain. When I felt him relax, I started moving my finger gently inside him, not deep or hard. My fingers aren’t that big really, it was a good starter for him, and he was going absolutely crazy. I knew he was very, very close to blowing his load.

“Are you ready?” I asked in a low, sexy voice. “Because your head is going to explode.”

His only answer was kind of a muffled, urgent wail.

More KY and I slowly added my index finger. Jesus Christ. I was still completely dressed, but I was so turned on just by watching him I was about to burst, and oh God, all I wanted was to push his legs into his chest and thrust my aching cock into him and ride him like a bronco. But I managed to maintain control of myself; and suddenly Louis’ whole body went rigid as the sensation of being fucked by two fingers sent him over the edge. With his hand on his shaft, he shuddered and erupted, spurting come all over his stomach. During the last pulse I slipped my fingers out of him so he wouldn’t feel any kind of discomfort during that moment of exit. Chest heaving like a sprinter, he watched as I quickly jerked off into the blanket, leaving my dick all sticky, with animal fur stuck all over it like a glazed donut that fell on the floor.

“Shit,” I said, looking up. I felt vaguely ridiculous, my furry cock sticking obscenely out of my fly. “It’s really fucking late.”

I had to go home; he had to go home. I should have been elated from the incredible sex, but instead I was sort of depressed as I drove the country roads. Yeah, sure, we had wild, hot sex. Really, really hot sex. Ten years ago it would have been just perfect, but… somehow that wasn’t enough for me. In less than two weeks I’d be 30 years old. I wanted someone to hold me at night, not just fuck me in the back of the car and then send me home to sleep alone. When Marc and I split I swore to myself I’d never get into another relationship, that I’d love ‘em and leave ‘em from now on; but then Louis exploded into my life and broke down every barrier I had, and now everything was different. But could he ever give me what I wanted? If he couldn’t, was I willing to accept what I could have?

“So exactly where are things going with you guys?” Rachel asked me early the next week. The weather was nice and we took Will to the park, chatting on a park bench while he happily played in the sandbox with his toy backhoes and bulldozers. I’m sure everyone thought I was his daddy, since Rachel had red hair and Will’s hair was blonde like mine, but he was a stocky kid like his father, all boy. “Are you dating, just friends, lovers, what?”

“I don’t know.” I sighed wearily and braced myself for the inevitable disbelieving repetition: What do you mean you don’t know?

“I mean, we’ve never really talked about it.”

“I know, I know. You guys have more important things to do than talk.” Rachel rolled her eyes.

“We talk. We talk all the time about lots of things. Just… not that.”

Louis had popped into the Goose a few nights when I worked, and we met afterwards in the back of his Jeep, but we didn‘t have sex every single time we saw each other. We couldn’t. When he came over to the house to party and I wasn’t working, we couldn’t exactly sneak off to my room, so we casually talked in the kitchen or played X-Box with my nephew; and believe it or not, Sunday morning I got up early after working until 2 am to go on Louis’ animal follow-ups with him, and then we spent the whole day fishing. I’m not a fishing fanatic, but spending the day with him outdoors was wonderful. He was wonderful. We only caught about 3 fish because we talked all day and hardly paid attention to the fishing lines at all. I brought my latest journal and let him look through some of my sketches and notes for stories I was planning; and we smoked some weed under the trees on the riverbank, sipping beer from the cooler behind us.

“My biggest regret is that I never came out to my dad.” It wasn’t easy for me to talk about my father. With most people I didn’t, because they didn’t know him, so they couldn’t possibly understand. But Louis had seen our complicated family for himself, so he knew a little about mine and Andy’s pain at losing our dad so young, and our sadness at not getting to know him better when he was alive. Louis knew my dad wasn’t an easy person to get to know.

“You were sixteen. You couldn’t have known for sure then.”

“I knew,” I said, shaking my head as I stared off across the water. “I knew, but I was scared to tell him.”

“Well, he knows now.” He turned to me and gave me that sweet, incredible smile that almost made me weep with love for him.

“You know how men are,” I told Rachel. “Men are assholes. We never talk about anything personal, unless it’s very general.”

“Oh, I know. I don’t understand how you gay boys ever accomplish anything without a woman to move things along.”

“See… therein lies the problem.” I couldn’t quite look at her; I really did hate talking about these things, even with her. “I’m not one hundred percent sure Louis really is gay.”

“You’re fucking like bunnies, and you think he might be straight? What does he have to do, get notarized documents from headquarters?”

I made a token laugh. “Not straight, no. But he’s not out, Rachel. He’s never actually announced that he’s gay. And if he’s still in the closet, that scares me because I really think I love him, and I couldn’t stand it if he…”

“If he pulled a Bryan Mitchell?”

“Yeah.” I made a face when she said the name. “Something like that.”

“Big news flash, cowboy. You’re not seventeen anymore and neither is Louis. I’d love to march over to Mitch’s house, have a long talk with his wife and then take him out back and beat his ass for what he did to you, but let’s face it. It’s been 13 years. It’s time for you to get over him and move on.”

“I am over him,” I said in a low voice. “But I don’t know if I can ever get past what he did to me. You don’t know what it was like, Rach.”

“Whose fault was that? I tried to help, but you wouldn’t talk to me about it. You spent our entire senior year locked up in your room listening to the Smiths and crying into your pillow. I missed the prom because of Bryan Mitchell. Sean, no one loves you like I do.” She picked up my hand. “And if I was a gay man we’d both be happy forever. God help me, I’m such a fag hag. But the best I can do is tell you that, if you screw this up with Louis Welch because you’re a chicken shit, I’ll kill you.”

Unwillingly I smiled. “And what do you suggest, Dr. Freud?”

“March up to him and tell him how you feel. Demand to know if he’s gay. Cut him off till he tells you where you stand.”

“Isn’t it wonderful when people know exactly how you should live, and yet their own love lives are completely fucked?”

A few days later, I had just gotten out of bed after meeting Louis after work the night before; I was making BLTs and Andrew was placing his AC Delco parts order on the internet over at his desk across the kitchen. Several girls had given me their phone numbers at work, and when I tried to politely decline, they told me the number was for my brother, not me, and could I have Andrew call them. He was the handsome one in the family. We were both blonde and blue-eyed like our dad, but Andy was six feet tall with perfect features, and unfortunately, I was only 5’10” and had the O’Brien nose. Not what you’d call ugly, just plain, compared to him. He wanted nothing to do with women, didn’t even look at the phone numbers I taped to his computer screen. Lindsey had really done a number on him. I’d had to get the story from Louis because Andy wouldn’t talk about her.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Louis lately,” Andy suddenly remarked.

I looked at him warily; he was looking at the computer screen and not at me. I grunted. “Yeah.”

“He’s not gay, you know.”

“What?” I asked quickly, freezing.

“It’s pretty obvious you have a thing for him, and I just wanted to be sure you know that he’s not gay.”

Something inside of me died a little at that moment. My chest hurt because I couldn’t seem to breathe. I barely managed to speak, in a voice that sounded nothing like my own. “Did Louis tell you to say this to me?”

“What? No. He hasn’t mentioned it. But I have eyes, I can see what’s going on around me. I’m just trying to look out for my kid brother, you know, keep your heart from being stomped.”

I breathed an almost silent sigh of relief as the blood came back into my face. “Well, don’t worry about me,” I said with a certain amount of sarcasm. “I can handle myself.”

“Hey, that’s fine, but you can’t say I didn’t warn you.” Andy shrugged cheerfully.

Business was picking up at the Goose, thanks to my margaritas and Jello shots, and we were getting a pretty good crowd on weekends, new people instead of just the regulars who were almost part of the barstools they each claimed as their own. A lot of them were people I’d gone to high school with, but never knew. They knew me though. I’d managed to stand out pretty well in high school. Even being in the closet couldn’t extinguish my bright light. I worked the bar alone without any problems, smooth and seamless for someone with no bartending experience; I had a humorous touch with the drunks nobody who knew me in high school could believe.

“God, you’re so different,” they all exclaimed. When I asked if I was such a prick back then, they smiled. I knew I was. I tried to be. I was angry and I hated everyone. Myself, the people around me, Bryan Mitchell, my dad for dying. But people grow up and they learn to let go of their bitterness. At least, some of us do.

One evening, I’d just walked in the door and I was in the stock room rounding up a few cases of Bud Light when a sudden presence made me look up. Nick Innis was standing in the door with the toe of his cowboy boot hooked behind the other heel, staring at me with his sexy green eyes. Sexy, but strangely dead.

“Hey,” I greeted him. He was looking me over pretty intensely and I wondered exactly what he wanted.

“What’s going on with you and Welch?” he demanded.

“Louis and me? We’re friends,” I answered cheerfully.

“Bet I know what kind of friends,” he growled. “Fucking hippie.”

“Yeah, isn’t he great?” I grinned at him over my shoulder as I hefted a beer box under my good arm. “Don’t worry, Nick. You and I are still friends too.”

Yes, I’d told Louis what my brother said. I didn’t turn it into anything, even though I easily could have by saying something like, “So, are you?” But instead I left it kind of open-ended and just reported what was said. I glanced at him from the corners of my eyes, willing him to say actually, he was. I felt horribly insecure, like he could read my thoughts right on my face. Pathetic thoughts: I really like you and I’m really scared. Instead, he gave me that thoughtful, serious brown-eyed look of his.

“I think it’s sad that people have to put labels on everything, so it’s all neatly sorted and sanitized for their protection.”

Holy fucking shit, I thought; and I must have unconsciously made a choking sound of disbelief, because Louis looked at me all the more serious and thoughtful.

“You’re the last person I ever thought would have to put things in a nice little pigeonhole.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. I hated that crap he sometimes recited, like lines from some manifesto handed down by Hippie Central Command. My face had always been my downfall, broadcasting every emotion like a movie screen, and I had to fight it to remain blank and not show my disgust. Sometimes, I wanted to say, those labels and pigeonholes help people understand things. They help people define others so they don’t make complete asses out of themselves. Shit!

Despite the lack of pigeonholes and labels, Louis and I were getting to know a lot about each other. I was addicted to his taste, his smell; his kiss was like a drug I couldn’t get enough of. I felt seventeen again, waiting for the next time I’d see him, smiling at odd moments through the day when I’d think about him. Getting a hard-on when he looked at me. We were learning little things about each other; he knew my love for George Harrison, how I couldn’t hear “My Sweet Lord” without crying because of the sadness of his death and the spirirtuality and beauty of his life; and I knew that when Louis was twelve, a neighbor boy taught him to masturbate in the basement, but he didn’t think it was a homosexual experience until I informed him that it sure as hell was. Little things that anyone you’re not fucking doesn’t give a shit about. I went on his veterinary rounds with him too. At first I just sat in the truck, bored and hung over, and waited; but I grew interested in his stories and explanations of the various animals he was visiting. He wasn’t a doctor, of course, so he didn’t go on emergencies or diagnose illnesses, but he did the leg work for Dr. Kounce, the messy stuff: dressing wounds, draining abscesses, administering vaccines. This last was mostly for the large animals that couldn’t be brought to the clinic, like horses and cows, but there was one llama on his rounds. I’d never seen one up close, only in a zoo, and I found myself holding its halter while Louis gave it a shot. He was cute, but he tried to eat my hair. Louis said he must have thought it was straw.

I couldn’t help but be sucked into it. It was better than those vet shows on Animal Planet because this was real stuff. I discovered new facets of Louis just by watching him, and soon I was helping him. No one could soothe a terrified horse like he could. Their bucking would stop and the white rings around their eyes disappeared when he gently put his hands on them, speaking to them a low, calm voice. He never tried to force them or hold them down, and I never saw a dog growl or a horse kick at him, even animals the owners themselves couldn’t manage. It wasn’t just the animals that benefitted from his magic touch; he had a rapport with the humans as well. Just like skittish horses, he knew how to calm their worried owners right down with his down-to-earth, steady personality. Watching him work, I was absolutely in awe of his natural abilities with both animals and people.

“Yeah,” he shrugged when I praised him in the Jeep as we drove on to the next cattle farm. He was so sexy in his jeans and hiking boots, with his navy blue animal clinic jacket that said his name over the breast pocket and his brown hair in a ponytail down his back. “For a long time I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with my life, but when I started doing this, I realized it was my calling. I knew I had to go to vet school.”

“Will you have to cut your hair when you’re Dr. Welch?” I teased him. I loved his thick, wavy brown hair that fell to his shoulder blades and stuck to his face in little wisps when he was sweating.

“Never. And I might get another Harley, too.”

My days, that when I first came home had passed in an alcohol-soaked blur in front of the TV in my brother’s basement, had become very busy. Between Rachel and Will, my mom, Louis, and my niece and nephew on weekends, I had plans nearly every day of the week; and my nights were even busier. I usually didn’t go to bed till around four in the morning. It wasn’t meaningful work; I wasn’t using my brain. But I had to admit to myself that right now, my life in my hometown, bartending at a redneck dive, was more fun and more satisfying than any “important” job or assignment I’d ever had in the city.

I had never imagined my sex life being this good. Sex is usually most exciting the first few times, but instead of getting used to it, Louis and I were more and more hot for each other as we got closer and more in tune sexually. Both of us had a lot of lost time to make up for. The last few years, sex had become a bore. It was something I did occasionally with Marc more out of duty than any real desire, and I clearly saw now that was because he didn’t excite me. Granted, most of the time he didn’t make an effort to, but even when he did, responding was work. My secret sex life of fantasies, web sites and masturbation was much more interesting than the reality of sleeping with Marc; anytime we did do it I had to concentrate on fantasizing about those things just to get off.

Back in the city, I used to race home and go straight to the computer before Marc got there. I had a little secret circle of e-mail friends and cybersex partners that I’d linked up with through my internet trolling. I even had an anoymous e-mail account that Marc didn’t know about that I used for instant messaging and so forth after he went to bed. But now I barely even sat down at Andy’s computer. For one thing, there was no high-speed internet service out here and dial-up was too painfully slow for me to stand; for another I didn’t want my niece and nephew to stumble on some history file cache of gay porn; but the simple fact was, I just didn’t need it anymore. The peeing thing still turned me on. But there was no sexual void in my life that needed filling because I was completely obsessed with Louis’ body. Despite some things that never changed about living at home-- my mom roping me into unwanted chores and errands, crappy cell phone coverage, rednecks, the lack of decent night clubs-- to be totally honest, I was having a fucking blast.

To a point that made me feel guilty. When I moaned to Rachel that I wasn’t doing anything meaningful, she told me to stop whining. Somebody had to tend bar, didn’t they? When I was honest with myself, I knew I didn’t want to go back to the city, even if eventually I might have to. All my hipster friends and the stylish nightclubs we used to make appearances at seemed so… fake. When I was at the Wild Goose, I didn’t have to try to be witty or cool; I didn’t have to do anything but not fall over in a drunken stupor, and even if I did that, someone would make sure I got home okay. If I said something foolish when I was drunk or high, which I probably did more often than not, everyone else was either too drunk to remember it, or they were too busy worrying about the embarrassing things they had done and said to think about anything I did. Maybe they did have “Friends in Low Places” on the jukebox, and maybe someone did play it at least once a night. But it was still fun.