The Ranch

The flow of air upon El's bare flesh, over his back, against his ass and thighs and calves, across his belly, in his face, made him aware of his nudity, driving home the fact that he was naked outdoors, about to be impaled upon Harlan's mighty prick, and El was aroused by the nature of the act they were about to perform in the ravine. Although their chance of being seen was almost nil, just the idea that, theoretically, they might be caught—that he might be caught, with a cock up his ass, mounted by another man, equally naked, was intoxicating. His balls, risen inside his tightened scrotum, ached, and his cock twitched and strained. He wondered whether Harlan felt the same way.

Taking his long, jutting cock in his hand, Harlan guided it between the satin-soft mounds of El's glorious backside, driving the smooth, rigid organ resolutely forward, until it encountered the stout resistance of his partner's anal sphincter. Gripping his prick more firmly, Harlan forced it through El's puckered asshole. Immediately, the penetrated man's anus began to flutter frantically around Harlan's shaft. It felt wonderful, Harlan thought, enjoying the squeezing sensations effected by the circular muscle's spasms. In a few moments, the contractions ceased, as El's asshole relaxed, accepting the invading erection.

Driving his hips forward, in a slow, steady motion, and holding the tip of his prick firmly against El's anus, Harlan an inch, followed by another inch, and another, slowly through El's asshole until, at length, he'd introduced the entire length of his eight-inch cock into his lover's rectum. Harlan's groin crushed El's flattened buttocks. He remained still, delighting in the feel of his future 'bride's" anus circling the base of his prick and the feel of his own pubes shoved hard against El's sleek, firm butt cheeks. Abruptly, as if it had just realized that it had been invaded, El's asshole began fluttering frantically again. Harlan moaned. The quivering, squeezing motions were heavenly!

El, too, felt sensations he'd never experienced before—at least not this intensely. His asshole began to quiver and spasm anew, and the skin of his cock, already taut-stretched, tightened further yet, as his member swelled another few millimeters, more blood surging into the chambers of its cavernous, spongy tissue. He squirmed, groaning, and resisted the urge to cry out, the urge to demand that Harlan begin pummeling him. After a few moments of combined agony and ecstasy, his protesting, outraged sphincter relaxed, admitting defeat, as it opened to admit his beloved's thick, hard cock.

Behind him, Harlan withdrew most of his prick, until only its purple glans remained within El's anal opening. After a moment's pause, he rammed his erection forward, through El's relaxed, open asshole, as far into his rectum as possible. El's butt cheeks were crushed before each lunge into his bowels, and the firm muscles jiggled and bounced before each of Harlan's repeated thrusts into his lover's depths. The men moaned in unison.

Harlan's hips moved faster, as he plunged his prick again and again into El's bottom, delivering each stroke faster and faster, harder and harder, with greater force and vigor each time, jabbing and stabbing, lunging and plunging, ramming and cramming his dick into El with all the force and energy he could muster.

Harlan watched himself fucking El, pretending he was a detached third party, rather than a participant in the action. He couldn't ignore the frantic sensations of his cock's sliding back and forth inside El's asshole and between his honey's smooth, curved butt cheeks. He couldn't dismiss the wonderful clinging of El's asshole; he couldn't disregard the crushing of El's buttocks before his deep, hard thrusts; he couldn't discount the flexing and contracting muscles in his belly, his thighs, his back, and his ass, as he continuously rammed his cock home, again and again; and he couldn't deafen his ears to his own and his partner's frenzied moans and groans—nor, of course, would he want to do so; these sensations were heavenly!

Harlan watched his cock vanish between El's buttocks as, again, it penetrated the other man's rectum, entering El's bowels. It was wonderfully exciting to watch his manhood skewer El. It was delightful to see his penis, thick and hard, part El's buttocks repeatedly, as it rammed and retreated to ram again, each stroke proclaiming his conquest of the territory his prick had invaded. It was exhilarating to watch his manhood slide through the snug circle of El's impaled anus. It was marvelous each time his cock slid home, piercing and penetrating El anew.

* * *

As George pulled to the side of the driveway, Laura shook her head. "The drive to Dallas seems longer every time we make it."

"Leave the things we retrieved," George suggested. "I'll bring them in."

He opened his door, rounded the front of the truck, and opened his wife's door for her, a ritual he'd performed from their first date to the present. "Have Juanita fix you a pot of tea and relax."

"Thank you, dear."

He watched her walk to the door, admiring the way her fanny sashayed back and forth in the blue designer dress. She was a beautiful woman. If she weren't so tired from the trip home, he thought, they might—well, lovemaking could wait; her needs came first, now, as always.

He claimed the belongings they'd driven to Dallas to collect—a few heirlooms she'd missed during their stay at The Ranch. From now on, they'd decided, these articles would make the journey, round trip, whenever they left Dallas for some time at The Ranch.

After he'd taken the last item into the house, he thought of Harlan and Eliot, down at the petroglyphs site, and, remembering the binoculars he and Laura used when they went bird-watching, he fetched them and stuck his head into the kitchen, where Laura sat, sipping her tea.

He showed her the binoculars. "Thought I'd run these down to the boys; might help Eliot survey the area around the site, if he needs to do so."

"That's considerate of you, George."

"Should be back before long. Get some rest, if you want."

"Be careful."

George returned to the pickup, started the engine, and started down the driveway. It would take him only a few minutes to pick up the road south.

* * *

Harlan's hips bucked as he drove his dick harder and harder, faster and faster, with greater force and strength into El's bottom, making his fiance's impaled buttocks bounce and rebound with greater and greater speed and vigor.

"Uh!" El moaned. "UhUhUhUh!"

There was something about fucking outdoors that seemed to energize both men. It was a new experience, for one thing. Neither Harlan nor El had made love in the open air, on thick, cool grass, birdsong sounding from the tops of nearby trees, a creek rushing through a ravine, sunlight on their naked skin, and a breeze fanning their bare flesh. These sensations, as much as those of their intercourse, aroused them mightily, kept the hard, increased their stamina, and inflamed their passion. The naughtiness of being fully exposed, especially in such an intimate context as making love, was more than merely thrilling, although it was certainly that; it was a powerful aphrodisiac.

Rammed and slammed from behind, El drove his own hips back, as forcefully as he could, to meet his sweetheart's lunges into his bowels, delighting in the way that Harlan's cock crammed him full, forcing his asshole into a wide, accommodating circle through which Harlan's rigid cock slid back and forth with a force and tempo that were tantamount to assault. He felt as if his own balls might explode, so close was he to orgasm, but he fought to hang on, wanting the hot, fierce sex to last as long as possible. Forever would be too short.

* * *

George almost didn't see his son's Hummer. He slowed his truck, bringing it to a stop in the middle of the faint, rugged road.

Harlan had parked his own vehicle on the side of the road, pointed into the lush ravine halfway between The Ranch and the site at which George had found the petroglyphs, and it was obvious to George that Harlan had camouflages the vehicle. To anyone else, the Hummer's concealment would not have been obvious and might, indeed, have gone undetected, but George knew The Ranch better than anyone, including Harlan, who, he imagined, knew it second best.

The clump of vegetation was too thick, and, on closer inspection. it didn't look right. Branches had been inserted into the ground, as if they were saplings, but no sapling was as bushy with foliage as these pretend slender young trees. Besides, several other branches had been added, sideways, so that they crossed one another, in a fashion in which no tree George had ever seen or heard of had ever grown or could grow.

At first, he suspected Harlan had attempted to conceal the Hummer, but why would he? There was no need. A chill went along George's spine. This wasn't right. Something was wrong. Maybe Harlan and Eliot were in trouble, captives of some psychopath. George and Laura were wealthy, and they were famous. Had Harlan been kidnapped? Had Eliot been abducted, along with him, or, worse, murdered? Had both boys been killed?

He turned off his engine, took his rifle from the gun rack mounted in the back of his truck's cab, and slung the strap of the binoculars' case over his shoulder. Making his way carefully and quietly off the road and into the mouth of the hidden ravine, he paused behind a tree, and surveyed the landscape before him. His eyes widened, and his mouth gaped.

His son was naked, humping his college roommate, Eliot!

Unbelievable!

George tried to look away, knowing that by continuing to watch his son, he himself was committing an act of gross indecency, violating Harlan's and Eliot's privacy. They were grown men. They had the right to do as they pleased; they had more than a right: the Supreme Court had ruled that same-sex marriages were Constitutionally protected, valid and binding contracts. If men or women could now marry other members of their own sex, surely they could have sex. Look away, George ordered himself. Now! But the horror of seeing his son committing such a horrendous act as this, coupling with another man, was too horrific to ignore, and he found he could not look away. Appalled, he continued to watch, to peep, as horrified by his own voyeurism as he was by the behavior of his son and that of his son's lover.

Eliot slammed into Eliot's ass a final time. Orgasm seized him, overwhelmed him, and Harlan buried his cock completely inside his lover's ass. His thighs flexed, his ass cheeks contracted, his belly heaved, and his balls launched their store of semen deep into Eliot's innermost depths. Harlan shuddered, gasped, and held onto Eliot's hips for dear life, his clutching fingers making deep, white indentations in Eliot's flesh, as jet after jet of Harlan's thick fecundating fluid spurted and gushed into the sterile depths of Eliot's rectum.

Finally, spent and exhausted, Eliot pulled free, his wilting cock sending a last streamer of white semen across Eliot's back and backside, and branding him with the warm, sticky remnants of his molten, viscid seed. As Harlan's prick continued to shrivel and soften, he watched his cum slowly trickle down the deep, spread cleavage of Eliot's ass. Some of the semen oozed and seeped from the archaeology student's wide, gaping asshole, dribbling down Eliot's perineum and over the sac of his balls.

George almost cried out. Fighting for self-control, he managed not to gasp, to retch, or even to sob, and he quickly, but quietly retraced his steps. He climbed into his truck, managed to get turned around, and drove back, along the road, to The Ranch.

On the way home, it dawned on him: Laura knew. She knew their son was gay. She probably also knew that Eliot was gay. How long she'd known, he wasn't sure, but he was certain she knew. Her knowledge of their son's sexual orientation explained the conversations she'd initiated over the past six months about homosexuality and same-sex marriage. (Had she known that long? It seemed more than likely.) She'd been preparing him for the moment when Harlan told him the truth about himself, about who he was and had always been.

A mile later, as he continued to ruminate on the matter, George realized something else as well: Harlan was afraid his father wouldn't approve of his son's homosexuality or of his choice for a lover. Harlan had most likely lived in fear for—how long? Months? Years? His own son—his only son—had dreaded facing his father. Had George unintentionally fed his son's fear? He'd always tried to be there for Harlan, had always loved him and tried to show his love for him, but, sometimes, like many fathers, including George's own, he'd been judgmental; he'd found fault with Harlan's views, his values. The very fact that his son had never revealed his homosexuality to his father, as he had to his mother, suggested that Harlan did fear his father's disapproval. Maybe he even thought George would disown and disinherit him.

If the truth were to be told, George had found the sight of his son having sex with another man revolting. He'd considered it obscene and repulsive, but that didn't mean he also thought Harlan was revolting, obscene, and repulsive, did it? No, George knew that he loved his son, always had, always would, but that didn't mean he had to share or endorse Harlan's beliefs about sexuality and marriage. There could be genuine disagreement and debate with another person, even when the other person was a cherished loved one. Images of Harlan having sex—anal sex—with Eliot flashed through George's mind; he remembered Harlan fucking his roommate—no, his lover—from behind; he recalled Harlan's ejaculate spewing over Eliot's back and buttocks and thighs. He should have looked away, but he'd found, at the time, he was unable to do so. It was as if he were entranced by the horror of the spectacle he witnessed.

But there was no reason to characterize same-sex sex as "repulsive," George saw. It was simply different from heterosexual sex. Although it was non-reproductive by nature, sex between two men or two women was still a way to cement a loving relationship and to communicate and proclaim one's love for another person. He had found same-sex sex "revolting," he realized, not because it was unnatural or immoral, but because he had been taught to regard it in this way. He'd been educated, not by the schools he'd attended, but by the society of his day. Parents, one's extended family, popular culture, and society in general, at the time, had maintained that homosexuality was "sick," "unnatural," and "immoral." Until recently, such sex—such lovemaking—had even been criminal. Men and woman had gone to jail, sometimes to prison, simply for making love to another member of their own, rather than the opposite, sex.

George was ashamed, not of his son, but of himself, for allowing society to determine his beliefs, his values, his thoughts and feelings, rather than having had the courage to form his own convictions. He was glad, now, that he'd stumbled upon Harlan and Eliot in the ravine. The incident had opened his eyes, had made him see that his repugnance for homosexuality was a product of his times. He need not, and would not, allow his life and his relationship with his son to be determined—determined and ruined—by such bigotry. Today, this moment, George Thicket was a new man, thanks to his son and his son's romantic partner.

At home, Laura said, "George we have to talk. About Harlan. About Eliot."

He sat down with her, in the living room, where she'd been reading a book. "I know. I saw them this afternoon, together." He gulped, barely able to get out the words. "Having sex."

Laura's brow crinkled, as her eyes widened and her jaw dropped.

"Our son is gay. Eliot is his lover."

"I'm sorry, George. I should have told you before now." Her hand covered his, and she gave it a squeeze. "He's asked Eliot to marry him; Eliot said yes. They're going to tell you before they go back to school." She paused, her eyes searching her husband's face. "How do you feel about that?"

George looked weary. He sighed. "I can't say I'm overjoyed." He reflected. "I never suspected, never thought . . . ." His voice trailed off.

"Neither had I," she admitted. "It came as quite a shock. It's a lot to take in, a lot to process."

When Harlan and Eliot returned home, a bit past three o'clock, Harlan announced, "We have something to tell you, Mom and Dad."

If Harlan looked frightened, George thought, Eliot looked terrified.

"I know, son," George said.

Harlan looked shocked. He turned to his mother. "Mom!"

"I didn't say a word," Laura said.

"Then how?" He looked at George. "How do you know? What do you know?"

"Four things," George answered. "One: you're gay. Two: Eliot's gay. Three: you're marrying one another."

Eliot had actually stepped behind Harlan, as though he expected George to charge across the room and attack him.

Harlan looked unsure, insecure, anxious. Eliot looked on the verge of panic. "What's the fourth thing, Dad?"

"I love you, son, just the way you are, and any friend—or fiance—of yours is a friend of mine." He reached into his pocket, extracted his key ring, and removed one of the keys. He walked across the room, hugged Harlan, hugged Eliot, and placed the key in his son's hand. "You and Eliot should stay in the guest house during the rest of your visit. When you tie the knot, I hope you'll consider getting married at The Ranch, if Eliot's parents don't object."

"They'd be honored, George."

"You'd better get used to calling me 'Dad," son."

Eliot blushed. "Thank you, Dad."

"And I'm 'Mom.'"

"Thanks, Mom."

Harlan took Eliot's hand in his. "Come on, honey. I think you'll love the guest house. Mom and I decorated it."

"I still need to study the petroglyphs in much more detail, you know."

"They're thousands of years old. They'll still be here tomorrow and the next day and the next. Tonight, you belong to me."

They went forth, into the late afternoon, hand in hand.

"I'm proud of you, George," Laura said.

"And I'm proud of you." He watched Harlan and Eliot, happy together, and he said, "And I'm proud of our son."