Maverick Cattle Company Ch. 10byreddirtwriter©
There are scenes of unprotected sex depicted in this story. In all cases it was between the two main characters, who are in a committed, monogamous relationship and were tested. If you aren't in the same kind of relationship, then you should always protect yourself and wear a condom.
Mitch sat quietly in the living room. Anyone who knew Mitch, even passing acquaintances, would recognize this as not normal. But the wait for the caseworker to return with Trent was wearing on his nerves. Darrin was working late at the university, and Josh stayed to get help from Zach on some classwork. Both of them perfectly reasonable explanations, but Mitch really didn't buy either excuse. He thought they were staying away intentionally so they didn't have to deal with Trent after his physical. He couldn't really blame them, he didn't see any way this was going to go well.
Mitch let out a sigh and propped his boots on the table, a habit Darrin had almost broken. But right now, he didn't care. He was tense, apprehensive and desperately wanted a beer so he could relax a little. But somehow he didn't think it would be good to smell of alcohol when the caseworker arrived with Trent. The new kid was already cornering off with Josh, the two of them going at each other like two old tomcats. Every time they had to work together, it exploded into an argument. Mitch was just happy it hadn't devolved into an actual fist fight, at least not yet. Trent seemed to recognize that he was at a disadvantage in size and muscle, as Josh definitely outsized Trent. Not taller, they were similar heights, but Josh was certainly the more muscular of the two. Mitch was just glad they had the guesthouse for Trent to live in; otherwise the bickering between the two young males would have been unbearable.
Darrin had been surprised that Trent hadn't ran away the first night, but Mitch wasn't. Trent had to be smarter than he let on, or he wouldn't have survived on the streets – his survival instincts were working just fine. Trent understood that being fed and given a warm place to sleep, and a whole house to himself, was a sweet deal. Mitch did have to laugh a little at the tough guy persona Trent was putting out, given that he looked 14 at most. But Mitch trusted the sheriff, who said Trent would be 17 in a few days. The one thing even Mitch was finding tiring was Trent's use of 'fuck' for punctuation. As Mitch started to speculate on how he might get Trent to clean up the language, he heard a car door slam shut. In spite of himself, Mitch had to chuckle. Trent was certainly not subtle.
Hoisting himself off the couch, Mitch made it to the door just in time for it to jump open and Trent to blast past him with a black look on his face. Turning back, he got a crooked smile from the caseworker as she handed Mitch a handful of small white bags. Mitch looked over the sacks that he recognized as prescription bags, and looked back at the worker, who seemed perfectly happy to not step into the house from which increasingly loud noises were coming.
"I take it the tests didn't go well," said Mitch quietly.
"They could have been worse. He tested negative for HIV, but he'll need to have a follow up test in six months. Unfortunately, like a lot of these kids, he has Chlamydia and Gonorrhea. They seem to think if they don't have anal sex, they're safe from STD's. Fortunately, both are treatable. Just follow the instructions on the prescriptions. Unfortunately, he was also on the streets long enough to have a bad case of head lice. The shampoo for them is in the other bag, you'll need to use the comb on his hair too because—"
Mitch held up his hand to stop her. "I know about the nits. And with his hair, it's going to be a pain to get them all. Anything else we need to know?"
The caseworker let out a sigh. "He's been abused. But he told the doctor that he's never had anal sex. He does have some nasty scars, some new and some older. Frankly, Mr. McRichards, he's got a lot of psychological damage and I'm not sure you and your partner are the best ones to help him. But Sheriff White Cloud seems to think that you two are exactly what he needs, and his opinion carries a lot of weight around our office."
Mitch gave the worker a piercing look and paused for an extended time before replying. "He's welcome here as long as he wants to stay. It's amazing how helpful a little unconditional love can be, and empathy from someone who's been in a similar situation."
"Maybe. But he's still a minor and I will be checking to make sure he isn't being abused in your house. Some foster family compositions are more successful than—"
Mitch stopped her with a fierce look. "Don't you dare. I swear to God I won't be responsible for what I say or do if you finish that thought. That a professional child advocate would buy into the lie that gay men routinely abuse children, well it pisses me off no end." Mitch paused for a minute, bridling his thoughts and mouth, and continued, "Do you have anything else . . . Miss?"
The caseworkers lips formed a hard line, as her eyes became slits. "No, but as I said. I will be back. And there will be surprise visits."
"Come as often as you like," said Mitch with his arms crossed.
Without a word the woman turned and walked back to her car. Mitch continued to watch until she had left their property and then turned back with a soft sigh, knowing now he had to deal with Trent.
Walking into the living room, he found Trent standing in the middle of the room looking very defiant. Before Mitch could speak, Trent spat out "I didn't sit on your fuck'n precious furniture, since I'm all fuck'n infested with fuck'n lice." Trent took in a deep breath and Mitch could almost swear there was a slight shudder. "I've got the fuck'n clap too. Goddamn it! I never let the fuckers screw me. I thought that would fuck'n keep me from fuck'n git'n it." Trent's face hardened as he turned to challenge Mitch. "So are you fuck'n git'n rid of me now? Cause now you know I'm diseased so I won't make a decent boy toy for ya."
For the second time in so many minutes, Mitch actually wanted to hit someone and this time it was Trent. Mitch knew he was just pushing the same buttons the DHS worker had already hit pretty hard. But Mitch quickly quailed his anger, realizing this was Trent's method of dealing with the problem. Mitch took a deep breath and began.
"No, you're not getting thrown out. You're also never, and I repeat never, going to have sex with either of us. You have some diseases and parasites; fortunately they're all treatable. You need to shower using the lice shampoo, and I'll wash all your bedding and clothes and take care of anything else in the dryer to kill the lice." Mitch looked Trent directly in the eyes and continued, "I'm sure it will be nice to not have it burn every time you piss, and for your head to not itch all the time. We don't know what you've been through, but no one in this house is going to judge you for what has happened."
Trent flicked his head, his hair lifting up to briefly reveal two eyes and then replied. "I don't fuck'n care what you and your boyfriend fuck'n think cause I'm just fuck'n staying here until something fuck'n better—"
Mitch stopped him with a hand motion. "Can you fuck'n say fuck'n a fuck'n sentence fuck'n without fuck'n saying fuck'n fuck'n every fuck'n time you fuck'n say a fuck'n word?"
Trent screwed his face up in distain. "Yeah, I can talk without say'n fuck'n. But why should I fuck'n care?"
"Well, because you sound like a 12 year old who just learned the word and is using it to shock adults. Give it a break, Trent. I've been say'n fuck since before you were born. And actually I bet you can't stop saying it because now it's a habit," said Mitch. He got a little glimmer in his eyes that Trent would years later recall with humor. "Actually, that's exactly what I'll do. If you can keep from saying fuck or anything like it for the next week, I'll get you new clothes. Jeans, shirts, undies, the whole thing."
Trent glanced down at his threadbare clothing, obviously intrigued. "And what if I lose? Do I have to give you head or something?"
Mitch ground his jaw briefly and then let the frustration go and ignored the blatant dig. "I have an 80 acre pasture that needs cross fencing. The corner posts have to be dug by hand since we can't get a tractor in there. So you can dig them."
Trent looked at him and considered the offer. He'd been on the street for months and had barely existed on what he got from tricks. Boorman's money would have been the most he'd gotten in weeks, but that had evaporated when they had been caught. He really did want new clothes, and he thought he could keep from dropping the F bomb for a week.
"A'right, it's a deal. I don't say fuck for a week around you, and I get new clothes," stated Trent.
"And if you do, then you're going to spend a day digging postholes in some of the worst clay on this ranch," said Mitch.
"Yeah, whatever," said Trent with flick of his hair.
Mitch held out his hand. "It's a bet then. Starting now, no fuck from your mouth in front of any of us."
"Oh fuck no! That wasn't the deal! I just fuck'n had to do it with you! I'm not fuck'n watch'n it with all three of ya!"
"That's the deal. All three of us, or nothing," said Mitch with a firm look on his face.
Trent looked at Mitch, calculating his chances and then made a counter proposal. "When I win, I get three sets of clothes."
Mitch twisted his mouth slightly as he seemed to consider the offer, when actually he was trying to keep from laughing. He'd planned all along to buy Trent more clothes, so this would be a great way to get them without Trent feeling they were a gift. After an appropriate pause so Trent would think he was considering the offer, Mitch agreed.
"Ok, three sets of clothes. I think that's fair. But if you slip even once around any of us, then you're digging fence posts." Mitch stuck his hand back out again. "Agreed?"
Trent looked at Mitch tentatively and finally took his hand and shook it.
Having saved his ears from Trent's verbal assault for at least a short while, Mitch moved on the more immediate problem. Pointing Trent to a kitchen chair, Mitch emptied the medications on the table and started going through each of them with Trent. Filling a glass with water he handed Trent his first doses. After he'd swallowed all the pills, Mitch again stressed that if he didn't take them all, and according to the instructions, they could come back. Having gone through the easiest part of the discussion, Mitch plowed on to the second.
"This is the shampoo with the stuff in it to kill lice, just follow the directions. Once you've finished, you'll have to comb through your hair with the comb that comes with it and get out the nits. That's going to take some time with your long hair," said Mitch.
Trent took the box from Mitch, glancing through the directions, he turned back with an unreadable look. "What are nits?"
"It's what they call lice eggs. The lice attach them to the hair shafts so they're hard to get out. But if you don't, they'll hatch and you will have to do this all over again." Mitch tried not to grimace as he continued. "If you want, I can help you comb them out."
"No! You're not f— You're not touching me!" shouted Trent.
"Ok, ok! Calm down. I was just offering," said Mitch.
"I don't need your, damn, help."
Mitch held up his hands and nodded. "Good enough. Let's get you in the shower and I'll throw your clothes in the washer."
Mitch ushered the boy into bathroom and adjusted the shower for him. Trent looked at it for several seconds, and then began unceremoniously striping in front of Mitch. At first taken aback, Mitch quickly chalked it up to Trent's recent life. Mitch was shocked at how skinny the kid was. He could easily count each rib. When his pants fell to the floor, his impression was amplified due to the hollow cheeks of Trent's butt, the sharp bones of his hips and his emaciated legs and calves. Mitch was also slightly surprised at the elaborate, and intricate, tattoo covering one of Trent's shoulders. The boy stepped into the shower without a backward glance, for which Mitch was happy. Grabbing the small pile of clothes to wash, he left a large towel on the side of the shower.
While Trent was cleaning up, Mitch went to the guesthouse, stripped the bed and threw everything into the washer. The pillows he ran through a hot dryer to sanitize them. Finally satisfied that everything that needed to be cleaned, was being cleaned, Mitch went back to see how Trent was doing. He quietly walked to the door to find the boy standing in the middle of the bathroom with the huge towel wrapped around him, struggling to get the nit comb through his shoulder length hair. Mitch started to offer to help again, but stopped himself and went back into the living room. Mitch listened to Trent struggle to get the comb through his hair for most of an hour. Eventually Trent walked into the living room and Mitch looked up.
"I can't get this damn comb through my hair. What happens if I miss something?" said Trent without a sign of emotion.
"Then we'll have to do it again. We'll need to check in a few days to see if you have gotten them all anyway," replied Mitch.
Trent struggled to pull the comb through again, but this time it didn't move. Looking at Mitch with a stoic look on his face Trent asked, "What if I cut the shit off?"
"Your hair?" asked Mitch, more than a little shocked that Trent had suggested it.
"Yeah, cut it off."
"Well, it would be a lot easier. Depending on how short you cut it," explained Mitch.
"You got something to do it with?" asked Trent.
"Yeah, I have a pair of clippers. You sure you want to do that?" said Mitch.
"Yeah, cut the shit off. I'm tired of my head itch'n," said Trent.
"Ok, I'll get the clippers then," said Mitch. A few minutes later Mitch returned with the shears and a handful of guards. "How long do you want to cut it? I've got a few guards to keep it all the same length."
Trent looked up and unconsciously flicked his head, moving his hair for what would probably be the last time for a long time. "How long is yours?"
Mitch raised his eyebrows, "About a 1/2 an inch."
"Yeah, do mine the same then."
"Ok, I can help if you'd like," said Mitch.
"Fu— No. I don't need any help from anyone."
Mitch silently attached the half-inch comb and handed it to Trent. He watched silently as the young man walked to the mirror and plugged in the clippers. The low buzz filled the room as Trent stood there looking at it for several minutes. Just as Mitch was about to offer to help Trent comb out the eggs again, the boy plunged the clippers down the middle of his head and a thick swath of hair hit the floor. Mitch watched silently as Trent ran the blades over his head again and again until it was sheared clean. Running his hand over his bare head, Trent said something too quietly for Mitch to hear.
"What?" asked Mitch.
"I said I haven't had my hair like this since I got thrown out. The johns like twinks, twinks don't have buzz cuts."
Mitch walked up behind the emaciated young man and without a word took the clippers from his hand and cleaned up the haircut. With his hair this short it took next to no time to do the necessary combing. Mitch was cleaning up everything when Trent started to leave, and paused. Mitch looked up, wondering what was about to happen, and almost missed the softly said gratitude.
"No problem. Anytime," said Mitch with a smile.
Mitch finished cleaning up the bathroom, sanitizing everything that might be hiding parasites. Eventually satisfied that even Darrin would be ok with the level of cleanliness, he tossed the last of the towel into a pile that was going into the washer next. He found Trent sitting quietly in the living room, slowly running his hand over his short-cropped head. Looking at him, Mitch had to chuckle at the forlorn look he knew only too well.
"Yeah, it feels funny at first. But you'll get use to it." Mitch almost laughed at the scowl he got, and then he continued. "Your clothes will be ready soon. Do you want something to eat?"
Trent look at him, unconsciously making the same head flip even through his hair was gone. "Yeah, I'm fu—, I'm starving."
Mitch quietly made Trent a pile of sandwiches and sat them in front of him. As he devoured the first one, Mitch asked what he wanted to drink.
"Do you have DP? I love Dr. Pepper!"
Mitch chuckled as he opened the fridge to the row after row of Dr. Pepper that Josh kept well stocked. "Yeah, I think we have a few."
Zach and Josh had started the evening with Zach helping Josh with homework, but it hadn't taken too long before they had started making out. Zach thought his boyfriend was incredibly good looking. Anyone would be crazy not to think he was eye candy, but their relationship was becoming more and more strained. The sex was hot, but some things that Josh seemed to really enjoy, Zach didn't. But Zach didn't want to give up. He knew that Josh had stopped asking for things during sex that he enjoyed, and Zach didn't want that either. So he had decided to try again, knowing that it would make Josh happy if he could do it.
As their make out session progressed, Zach became the aggressor. His teeth, lips and hands danced across Josh's receptive body. He tore Josh's shirt from his chest, sinking his teeth into Josh's shoulders and neck, leaving behind a lusty necklace of dark marks. Josh moaned his appreciation for the boyfriend he barely recognized. Zach's nails left parallel crimson lines down Josh's pale chest as his tongue hungrily tasted down Josh's torso. Once he reached the object of his lust, he rose up, smiling at the large wet spot marking the head of Josh's cock, showing the degree of his stimulation. Zach ripped down Josh's zipper and was surprised when Josh's hard cock jumped from the opening. A low rumble of appreciation rose from Zach's throat marking his enjoyment of Josh's little display of freeballing.
Zach took Josh's swollen dick deep in his throat, then lashing it with his tongue as he slowly lifted his head. He worked his tongue into Josh's slit, frantically sucked down the boy juice flowing from it. Zach yanked off Josh's pants, sending them flying against the wall to slide into a pool of denim at the base of it. Standing between Josh's legs, Zach reached down and grabbed Josh by the nuts and pulled them tight, tugging them until small moans of pain and pleasure emerged from his boyfriend mouth. Acknowledging the lusty effect it was having on Josh, Zach pulled them tight in his scrotum and then slapped them, getting a pained yelp from Josh, followed rapidly by a soft sigh of arousal.
After several hard slaps with similar results, Zach stepped back and quickly stripped. Moving in, he pushed Josh's legs forward until he saw his tight brown hole winking at him. Zach's typical aversion to rimming was overridden for once by his aggression. Kneeling on the floor, he pried open Josh's ass and licked. The taste was clean and slightly salty with sweat. Drilling his tongue inside Josh, he started loosening the larger man's hole. Plunging his tongue deeper inside, Zach started eating out Josh's butt. His stiffened tongue dove in again and again as Josh's moans escalated. Soon both of them were enveloped in sensual jolts that were driving Zach over the edge.
Lifting his head from Josh's ass, Zach positioned himself to plow deep into Josh's gut. Zach aimed his dick at Josh's ass and shoved himself completely inside with one thrust. Josh let out a deep moan, his body shuddering with overwhelming sensations. Zach pressed hard against Josh's legs, bending him almost in half. Jackhammered his straining cock hard into Josh's ass, Zach's bare dick rocketed in and out of Josh's gut, its tight grip driving him to the edge of his limits. With his legs shaking, Zach dropped slightly and plunged in again, hitting Josh's sweet spot.