Fox in the Hen House

World War Two had rarely considered effects in such remote areas as the farming region of Rexburg below the western slopes of the Grand Teton Mountain range in eastern Idaho in 1943. The most noticeable effect was throwing the area back into the nineteenth century in transportation. Because of war-time petrol rationing, gas was being conserved for farm tractors and everyone had reverted to wagon and horseback except for people like old Doc Williams, whose home-visit services were absolute necessities, or like the town's middle-aged lawyer, George Watson, who was too important to travel by anything by car.

The other most prominent visual effect was the absence of able-bodied men, all of whom were off fighting the war in Europe or East Asia. This had put the area on minimal-services and mostly women workforce standing. The males to be seen were the elderly and/or absolutely necessary, such as Doc Williams; the young males too young to go as soldiers yet, such as Billy Bond, the eighteen-year-old farm boy just then riding the family's old mare into town to gather supplies; or his eighteen-year-old friend, Rob Denny, serving a vital community need by keeping the town's stable open for his absent soldier father; and those who had connections to avoid military service, such as the lawyer, George Watson, who was almost too old to be called up anyway; or the infirm and already back from the front, such as the dark, handsome, sultry-looking cowboy giving Billy Bond a hard look from the porch of the town saloon as Billy rode toward the stables.

At eighteen, both Billy and Rob were old enough to enlist and they both wanted to, if for no other reason that it would get them out of eastern Idaho. But both were the family's only sons who weren't serving already, and the military wouldn't take the last son not serving--at least not yet. They were especially strict about this in farming country, where the crops had to be raised and harvested or the nation would die.

At the stables, Billy came off his horse and led the mare to the feed box, where he knew his friend, Rob, would let the horse feed while Billy was in town. The stable was Billy's first stop, anyway, as he wanted to consult with Rob on their school assignments, which both of them received from the town's teacher to work on at night when they weren't working. The young men's lives were packed with responsibility, as any teenaged boy had to manage to be a man during this time of thinning of the male population. They hadn't been able to attend many classes for two years, so it was taking them longer to earn a high school diploma.

Billy and Rob had grown up together and they were the best of friends and shared each other's secrets. Among those secrets were that, as they were growing into manhood, they both had admitted to each other that they were more attracted to men than to women. That they both were attracted to dominant men, though, meant the there was little sexual heat between them--just understanding that they were both in a secret place that they couldn't openly acknowledge in Idaho farm country.

They had both reached an age, though, that they were able to recognize what some other men in the area saw in them that was arousing. This had been alleviated in some degree by the growing absence of able-bodied men over the past two years, but there remained a few men, mainly the town's lawyer, George Watson, who was in his early-fifties, somewhat pudgy, but highly self-assured and ruggedly handsome. Rob, being in town every day, had already succumbed to him. It wasn't just the sex. Going with George had money and support included, commodities all home-front families needed extra of in wartime. Rob's family was large and lived on the edge. He was easy pickings for men like George, given his sexual interests.

Billy, living on a small farm some ten miles out of town, was still in the "standing off" phase with the lawyer. This, of course, only made the lawyer's interest in him greater. Once Rob was conquered, Billy was the big challenge. And Billy had not discouraged Watson's attentions.

Billy was not really attracted to Watson, but there were so few other options available here in the middle of the war as the teenager started into full manhood and development of his sexual needs and desires. It was probably just a matter of time, unless the situation changed, before the lawyer's advances prevailed. He was a ruggedly handsome man for his age--just a bit too well fed. If the war went on much longer, wartime conditions might bring a change there. Both Billy and Rob were smaller-than-normal eighteen-year-olds, but they were well-muscled for their ages because they both were manual workers. They both were handsome, blond boys, willowy, smooth, and tanned of body and slim of hips--just the ticket to get the juices such as Watson's flowing.

Billy heard them in the loft of the stable, but that didn't stop him from climbing the ladder and peeking over the top and watching for several minutes. He wasn't ready for Watson at the moment--he wasn't sure that he ever would be--but Billy was ripe for being covered by some man, so he didn't shrink away from watching Rob being fucked by the lawyer. He knew that Rob would want to talk with him about the encounter later.

Rob, wearing a flapping open flannel plaid shirt and his boots but otherwise naked, was on his belly on a hay bale, his head and arms draped over one end and the sides and his booted feet pressed into the floor on either side of the bale. The lawyer, fully dressed, although his suit jacket off and on the floor next to the hay bale, and his fly open, his thick erection out and half buried in Rob's ass, was mounted on Rob's buttocks, his hands gripping the youth's hips, and was riding Rob hard.

Part of the reason Billy didn't pull away immediately was that this was the first good look he'd gotten of the lawyer's equipment. Was the size of it in erection arousing? Yes, it was, he had to admit. The man was built like a bull.

As he fucked, Watson, sensing they weren't alone, looked around and saw Billy peering at them from the top of the ladder into the loft. It wasn't lost on Watson that Billy didn't withdraw as soon as he saw what the two were doing--that he remained there, watching. The fuck of Rob thus turned into an exhibition for the more elusive young man the town's lawyer wanted to get to.

Watson pulled out of Rob's ass momentarily and turned his pelvis toward Billy to give the teenager a good look at what the man had to work with. What he had was one of his best weapons. He laughed to see Billy's eyes open wide. The man took the erection in hand and wagged it at Billy, pleased to see that Billy didn't turn his gaze away. He gave Billy a "you're next" grin. Billy involuntarily returned the smile and it was only then, when Watson seemed more interested in connecting with him than with the youth he was fucking, that Billy pulled away and Watson turned back to Rob, causing the stable boy to cry out when the man's cock was thrust up inside of him again and the pumping resumed.

Later, as Billy moved about town picking up the supplies his mother had sent him into Rexburg to pick up, he sensed that Watson was always there, somewhere, watching him. At one time, Billy saw the man talking with the dark, sultry cowboy who had watch Billy ride into town. The cowboy was younger than most men still in the area. He was tall and lean, but muscular, dark-haired, with a perpetual tight, curly mustache and beard and piercing dark eyes.

The characterization that came into Billy's thoughts when he first saw the young stranger was "foxy," which was ironic considering what Billy later found out his name was. That someone that young and fit was still here and not fighting overseas was explained by how the left arm of his flannel shirt was pinned. His left hand and forearm were missing. He was one of the few men his age in the area who could be listed among the infirm. In his case, though, disabled for war didn't seem to be the same as being incapable. The man looked fit and was dressed as a working cowboy. He obviously was able to work, which in this farming country at haying time meant that he was a man in his prime--at least as much as a one-armed man could be considered in his prime.

As Billy was preparing to mount his mare and leave town, he saw that the man was being engaged in conversation by George Watson and that the two were looking at him. Were they, Billy wondered, talking about him? Whereas he had heretofore been able to stave off the advances of Watson, Billy wasn't at all sure that he could resist the foxy-looking cowboy if the man was bent in that direction. Despite the missing forearm, the man was a hunk--and there were few hunky options available in eastern Idaho in 1943 with so many of the younger men away at war.

As he rode back to his family farm, Billy's thoughts were mixed. He kept pulling up the sexy-looking cowboy, but when he did so, the size of the lawyer's massive erection being wagged at him floated up to intrude.

* * * *

They got out to the field early in the morning, as soon as it was light. They could tell a storm was coming later in the day. The hay had been cut, but now they had to bale it. The storm that was coming promised to ruin any hay on the ground and not yet baled. It would be best to get it under cover as well, but that was too much to hope for on this day. They were delayed an hour getting started because the tractor wouldn't start. Old Man Jordan from the next farm was fetched by Billy to tend to the tractor, while Billy's mother, Frieda, and the hired girl, Katie, called a hired girl but she really was with them because she had no other family and was given room and board in exchange for work, not money, went over to the Jordan's farm to tend to ailing Mrs. Jordan to relieve her husband of that chore. He couldn't help the Bonds bale because he had his own fields to tend to before the storm hit.

Billy's dad and older brother were off to the war--the dad in Europe and the brother in the Pacific, so any crops they were going to get in this year would be those Billy, his mother, and Katie could harvest.

The tractor not completely fixed but sputtering along, they got the baler going behind it by 8:00. They'd already lost an hour. There was no way they'd get this field done before the storm hit, but they had to save what they could. They needed the hay. So, they got started, Katie driving the tractor, Billy picking the hay up as he walked along beside the baler and stuffing it in at the side. Frieda, his mother, walked behind, wearing the heaviest work gloves she could find to save her hands, and poked the wires into the bales as they came out the back. This was normally a two-person job, but there was only one, so that had to do. What Frieda could manage determined how fast the tractor could go. She had to be very careful because this was an easy way to lose a hand.

Occasionally, they all looked up at the sky at the gathering clouds. There was no way this was going to get done before the storm hit. It was coming from the west, from the coast, and wasn't likely to last long, but it was projected to be intense. There was a barn dance at the Davidson's that night and Frieda was determined to take Billy and Katie to that. She was bent on the family getting its pleasures as it could no matter the wartime conditions and the sacrifices that had to be made on the home front. "However bad we have it, we're not getting shot at like Charles and Junior are," she said.

Around about 9:00, Katie called out, "Who's that?"

"I don't know," Frieda answered. "If he needs a meal, though, he'll have to wait until we're done in the fields. I wonder what a man that young is doing... Oh, I see." That's when she saw the pinned-up shirt arm of the man riding up on a horse. "I wonder..."

Billy looked up to see that it was the foxy young man he'd seen talking with George Watson in Rexburg the previous day.

"Howdy, Ma'am," the man said, as he approached them on his horse. He raised his hat with his right hand, still holding the reins with that. The left arm hung at his side. "It looks like you could use some help with that baling."

Both of the women instinctively ran their hands down their skirts, trying to brush hay and dust off. Frieda patted her hair back into place. Both women were fine looking and had good figures. They weren't at their best, but a young, handsome man had ridden up. Neither had seen a man this interesting and arousing in over a year, despite the problem of the arm.

"I'm sorry. I can't hire help, but if it's a meal you need--" Frieda said. She didn't mention the doubt of how much help he could be with only one hand.

"No, Ma'am. I've been hired already to come out here to give you whatever help you need. I can help you bale that hay. I can manage. It looks like you'll need the help if you're going to beat the coming storm. Maybe supper and a place to put my head down tonight if you can offer that. But I've been paid to help you."

"Paid to help me?" Frieda asked. "Who paid you?"

"Mr. Watson in Rexburg. He says he's a good friend of your husband's. I needed work and he didn't need help in town, so he sent me out here."

"I'm not too proud to accept any help I can get," Frieda said. "I'm Frieda Bond and his is my son, Billy, and our hired girl, Katie. The meal is no problem and we have a bunk house going begging now because of the war. And if you are interested, there's a barn dance tonight you could go to with us. I'm not sure what you could--"

"The arm?" the man said. "Don't worry about that. I still got half of the arm left and I can put in a man's day of work. I was in Europe with the army. Got sent home when I lost half of this arm. I try to make up for not being there by doing what I can back here."

"Well, then, I think you for the help, Mr...."

"Fox. Joe Fox," the man said.

The other three did what they could to suppress smiles, because that's exactly what all of them had been thinking of him as--a fox; a sleek, dark, sultry, foxy kind of man. And all three of them thought of him in terms of sex. Frieda had gotten it regularly from her husband as Katie had from her boyfriend before their men had gone off to war. Neither had gotten it since; both missed not getting it. But they weren't the only ones. Billy had fantasized getting it from a man too--and this foxy Joe Fox was one hunk of a man. Billy had been fantasizing about getting it from this man all during his ride back from town the previous day.

Fox turned to Billy and said, "Mr. Watson sends his compliments to you," and gave Billy a knowing, searching look, which told Billy all he needed to know on why George Watson was sending them this help. If the man helped them save the hay crop, Billy knew he owed Watson. Time and circumstance were closing in on Billy in that regard. The Bonds weren't being asked to take Fox's help for money. Billy was being asked to give himself to Mr. Watson for the help being offered. The Bonds needed the hay from this field. Billy knew what he'd have to do.

* * * *

Joe Fox made all of the difference in the field. With only one hand, he couldn't stuff hay into the side of the baler or walk behind it and poke wire, but he could drive the tractor--and he could get it to working better than Mr. Jordan had too. So, once Fox had invested a precious fifteen minutes in getting the tractor to stop sputtering out, Katie walked beside the baler, stuffing the hay in, and Frieda and Billy walked behind, poking wire. Miraculously, they finished the field a good half hour before dark and the flash storm held off where they were until then.

The storm raged as they were eating dinner after all four had cleaned up, the women in the house and Joe Fox and Billy at the side of the bunk house, behind a wooden fence and under a water barrel. Both of them were stripped down to naked to sluice themselves down and Joe Fox did as much surreptitious ogling of Billy naked as Billy did of Joe Fox. Both seemed impressed and weren't able to hide their arousal.

"What Mr. Watson told me--" Fox started to say, his eyes following the curves of the naked young man's body.

"I can imagine what Mr. Watson told you," Billy broke in. "We are very grateful to Mr. Watson." He'd already done all of the thinking on whether he would or wouldn't--for both Fox and Mr. Watson. He'd do it for Mr. Watson, but he'd be more happy doing it for Fox.

No more was said just then. Nothing more had to be said. Fox reached out and touched Billy's arm with his one hand and Billy didn't shirk away. There was no more at that point, Frieda's voice being heard to tell them that supper was just about on the table, but no more needed to be done or said.

Other than the missing forearm on the left side and bullet pockmarks at the shoulder and on the torso on the same side, showing that the man had suffered more wounds than just the arm in the war, Joe Fox's body was perfect. He was trim but muscular, with bulging biceps and thighs that showed that the war wounds hadn't kept him from doing a man's heavy-manual work. His chest was expansive, tapering down to a narrow waist and a flat belly. He was hirsute, his chest and legs covered in the same tight curls of his lightly bearded face. He moved with grace, not in the least being hampered by the loss of a forearm and hand.

Billy ached for him just as much as it was evident that Frieda and Katie did when they started off in the horse-drawn wagon for the barn dance, all dressed in festive finery, four very handsome folks who were pleased with what they had accomplished that day and were ready to party. Each of them, in her or his mind, included Fox in the partying.

* * * *

The barn dance was a huge success, not least because Joe Fox, the only man between twenty and fifty there who could move on his feet--and, boy, did he know how to dance--was there and was in high party spirits. Most of those present were women or children. Some older men were there, but, at the most, they were only good--unless they were the ones carrying the tunes--for one or two dances.

Joe Fox danced with most of the women, showing that lacking one hand and forearm did not set him back appreciably. He could still embrace with the half a left arm he still had. He danced with Frieda as well as with Katie, and they were both mesmerized by him. Billy did some dancing with the younger girls too, but he didn't know how to dance and he wasn't that taken with the girls. He was a beautiful young man, though, on the cusp of manhood at eighteen, so the girls did vie for his attention. His attention, though, although he made some effort to hide it, followed Joe Fox around the barn floor. He kept going over in his mind what could have happened between him and Fox in the outdoor shower earlier in the evening if his mother hadn't called them to supper.

Billy was ready and ripe.

He was as much taken with the man as Billy's mother and the serving girl, Katie, who was four years older than Billy, were. Katie had never shown interest in Billy, though. She had set her cap for someone older. That someone older, Butch Karlsen, had gone to the war, though. Katie had the reputation of letting the young men take what they wanted from her--she was long past the virginal stage--but there were no young men here anymore for miles and miles.

Tonight, though, and for some days to come, there was Joe Fox.

As the night went on, Joe was less the center of attention, as he was being exhausted in the dance and was sitting more and more of them out. Now women were dancing with women, which is what they'd had to do for the past year and a half, and children danced with children. Billy came out of a dance thirsty and went to the punchbowl. That's when he noticed that Joe was missing from the barn. Katie was missing too, but Joe hadn't been trying to keep track of her. Thinking that Joe may have gone out to relieve himself and that Billy could use the same excuse to be close to the man, the young man left the barn to look for Joe.