Varsity Low Ch. 11

Anders laughed. "No bad checks or whips. I just wanna use your sweet little ass. Let's sit here for a while; they will go up soon." We kicked back and put our sneakered feet up on the railing, looking out into the profoundly dark country sky, listening to the crickets, the soundtrack of our August nights.

"Do you like it here Trav? I mean really?" he asked in earnest.

"Hell yeah, I love it here. Wish I could've spent the whole summer with you instead of working for Vera." I sighed.

"No. That was exactly the right thing to do. Vera and Jasper are really cool in their own special way. They approved of me, even after I shared my gruesome tale of family woe. Don't alienate them; they can do a lot for you even above and beyond all the money." he advised, with his quiet wisdom. Whoa.

"What made you decide to share about Northbrook with them on your first visit? It was pretty bold." I asked, as he poured us another shot.

"Mmm. Given Jasper's line of work he could easily find out all about me with, like, a few calls and some time on-line. I figured it would be better to be totally upfront with them instead of it seeming like I was hiding my grim and scary past. It was also the right thing to do." Astute. Strategic and adorable. How could I be so lucky?

Lydia stepped out onto the porch. "Sam and I are headed up to bed. I see you boys found the whiskey."

"Yep. Trav and me be drinkin' some Jack, Gran."

"Well, you boys are old enough to know what hangovers are. I will leave you to it. Just don't get all stupid and burn the house down or puke in my sink." she teased.

"Never that. I will keep him in check, Lydia, pinkie swear." I said.

"Thank you Travis. Anders, do not think for a minute that you are ever too grown for me to give you a good hard smack." She mock scolded.

"Love you Gran. Smack me any 'ol time." Anders laughed. She kissed both of us on the cheek and went back in.

"They are not big drinkers, which is ironic given my great great grandfather ran moonshine out of the barn during Prohibition." he shared with a sardonic grin.

"Cool. Sounds like he and the bootlegging Ravenels would have gotten along just fine." I laughed. "You wanna head back to the cabin house? I've had enough Jack; Lydia is surely right about those hangovers."

"Yeah, she is wise; I'm done if you're done." he put the bottle and shot glasses back in the kitchen, took my hand and led me back to the cabin house in the inky darkness.

In the cabin house we got naked. "Should I find the Speedos for some 'swim team' play?" I asked.

"No. No kink. No rough. No talking. Stand still, right there." He stood behind me, close enough for me to feel his heat and sense his thick muscular physicality without actually touching, his hot breath on my neck. He reached around, and with the lightest. almost imperceptible touches he grazed my flat nips slowly with his rough fingertips. I responded with an involuntary full body shiver.

He continued his slow touches; arms, shoulders, belly, upper thighs, while giving small equally light licks with just the tip of his tongue on my nape and ears. I descended into a trance, not wanting to break the spell he had me under. All I wanted was to surrender to him, feel his hot whiskey breath on my skin.

After what could have been 15 minutes or a hundred years, he moved me to the bed. whispering "Get flat on your belly for me Trav, and relax." I complied and he was up top, giving his cat like licks and tongue flicks slowly down my spine. My trance deepened, and I would shiver with pleasure. The licks continued on the blond tight mounds of my ass, slow, slower, slowest.

He was now greasing his girthy uncut 7", I could only hear the greased stroking. He parted my glutes and went deep, same slow light licks on my pink blond butt hole. "Unnnnnngh!" I moaned out, getting tongued by this fearsome stud. Two lubed fingers gently teased my dude slot, getting more insistent, then his blunt thick dickhead was there.

I relaxed fully and let him in, feeling his thick hardness. Slow, slow, slow, until he held balls deep. The full muscled weight of him was upon me, and he hooked his arms under my shoulders, his face on my nape. He fucked, deep digger fuck style, but slow and gentle while holding me, ramping up like Ravel's 'Bolero '. He came, nearly silent, hunching me hard, arms wrapped tight around my upper body. I felt him relax, staying in me as he fetched around from so richly taking me.

He slipped out, gentle. "Stay right there, Trav." getting a towel and cleaning us both up. "You can talk now, Trav, it's OK."

"I ah...that was...just beautiful." I managed, starting to return from the magic place he had led me to.

"Yeah, it was. I just wanted to be like, really slow and gentle with you." he said, grinning and bashful.

"Ok. You can be slow and gentle any time. You had me immobilized, in a trance." Anders smiled, turned me on my side and he spooned me, all of his male awesomeness wrapped around me. I snuggled into the rug of thick chest and belly fur against my back and butt.

**

Two or three mornings a week, Lydia, Anders and I would get up at dawn, have our coffee and work in the vegetable garden before the heat of the day rolled in. She taught me to place pads of fresh straw carefully under the watermelons ripening on their vines to keep them from getting 'dirt bottom' from resting directly on the soil.

I would follow her along the row of tomato cages, moving the bushel basket forward as she harvested the ripe heirloom fruits, while chopping weeds between the cages with a heavy hand tool called a Trupper. Anders brought up the rear, forking compost from a rusty old wheelbarrow between the rows as we retreated.

The three of us wore wide brimmed camo jungle bush hats Anders found at an Army surplus store in Plymouth. Lydia taught me about Okra and Eggplant, and to be extra gentle with the thin rinds of the round heirloom watermelons she grew.

After some effort, she settled into a folding chair in the shade fanning herself with her bush hat. I finished my Truppering, carried the bushel basket to her and sprawled out on the soft grass. Shirtless, gym shorts, muddy Merrels, sunnies, sweaty and garden dirty. Anders had gone off to the barn to get the wheezy old tiller which we used to mix the compost into the soil.

"Travis, you are natural born gardener. I am so happy you are interested." Lydia said.

"I hope so. Teach me everything you know. I kinda' love it. Every square foot of our Richmond property is tended by grounds keepers, so I am a total newbie."

"It's about knowing exactly what to do and when to do it, and that comes with experience. And, letting the plants be themselves without a lot of fuss. There has been a garden on this spot for well over a hundred years, and the plants know what to do." she instructed.

Anders returned wheeling the tiller, and sprawled back on the grass with me. "Damn, it is getting hot. I'll till the tomato rows, and then we should be done for the morning. Travis, you take the spading fork and churn the mature compost pile. Just break up the crust so the rain can get inside." Shirtless, his rug of chest fur was matted with sweat and dirt, his bush hat cocked back at a raffish angle, the brim folded up on one side, sexy as fuck. I tried not to leer in front of his grandmother.

"OK, boss. I am all about compost." I clowned. Lydia watched from her chair as we finished our work for the morning, me churning the compost heap with the spading fork, Anders muscling the tiller through the tomato row, the old Briggs & Stratton engine puffing out small clouds of blue smoke.

Later that day, after dinner, Lydia washed and sliced one of the vine ripened round heirloom watermelons we had harvested. The four of us ate the slices right down to the rind, trying hard not to get covered in the sweet juice. "Watermelon heaven" a grinning Sam declared. I agreed, my face covered in juice.

**

The evening was cooling down fast from the heat of the day, a clear sky promising some good country star gazing, far away from the light pollution of urban sprawl. Anders' HS friend Clay was coming over with beer, and we were setting up around the fire pit out back. Duke stood watch, giving slow tail wags when I patted his noble canine head.

Anders was teaching me how to build an outdoor wood fire in the makeshift fire pit. He used long cuts of split wood, laying a large fire teepee style. "The trick is to get the first three pieces of wood standing to make the teepee, filling the center with kindling, then adding the other long cuts." he instructed. He would stick the tip of his meaty pink tongue out over his full lips while concentrating on a task, unaware of just how boyishly hot I found this.

I fetched more wood and kindling from the pile kept dry in the barn lean to, wary of splinters and spiders. "There are two kinds of men in the world; those who can build a fire and those who can't. When civilization collapses, we can build good fires." he clowned for me.

A truck rolled slowly up the drive, parking next to my GTI by the cabin house. Clay emerged from the cab, easy grin, he and Anders doing the stylized jock bro shoulder hug thing, with fist bumps. He was tall and rangy, close cropped dark hair, baggy shorts and tank top, heavy manly dark scruff, coarse dark fur on sinewy forearms and chest. The heavy scruff made him look older than Anders, even though they had graduated HS in the same class, Clay ruling the basketball courts, Anders ruling the wrestling mats. Dude was hot, in a casual, unstudied way.

I stepped up, we shared a firm dry handshake, and I looked him the eye. "Hi. Travis Ravenel. 'Trav' for short. His easy grin got wider.

"Clayton Conner. Call me 'Clay'. Are you visiting for a while?" he asked.

"Yeah, staying until it is time to head back to campus. I'm taking Anders back with me. I wish I could've spent the whole summer here, the farm is so awesome." I said. "We had the canoe out on the Yellow River the other day."

"Excellent. Yellow River is really just a big stream that floods in spring, but it is good kayaking and canoeing. I grew up here, born and bred." He gave a friendly, genuine vibe.

"Should we ignite the flames?" Anders asked.

"Hell yeah", Clay responded. Anders lit his carefully constructed teepee of firewood. We watched the flames mount and take hold. The flames danced in Anders' green eyes and Clay's dark eyes.

"Nice fire, Prometheus." I teased.

"Never any doubt" Anders swaggered. "You boys keep an eye on Duke. I'll go make us some popcorn." Anders trotted back towards the main house.

Clay put a big friendly hand on my shoulder. "Help me get the cooler from the truck, Trav."

His truck was a new Ford F150, black, loaded, with dealer tags. "Awesome truck!"

"Thanks, but it is not really mine. I work for my uncle's Ford dealership in town. Some days I am lot boy; some days in a shirt and tie on the sales floor, learning the biz." he sighed. He pulled two beers from the cooler and we leaned back against the tailgate. Lone Star, in cans. It was cold and good; we chugged.

I hope this is not too white trash for you, Trav." indicating the beer.

"Not at all, Clay. Perfect for an August night like this."

"Anders was like a little kid getting ready for Christmas, fixing up the cabin house for your stay here. I helped him with the painting and fixing the roof. I've never seen him so happy. I was his first friend here when they fetched him down from Northbrook. 8th grade. You know about Northbrook, right Trav?"

"Yep, He told me a while back." I sighed. "Terrible thing for him."

"Yeah, it was bad, probably far worse than we could ever imagine. He's done really great; he was barely speaking when I first met him, like he'd been erased from the inside. If anyone were to say, break his heart, I would be fully obliged to kick their ass." he said low and even.

"I understand, but that 'anyone' will not be me. I watch over him at college, and he's met my family down in Richmond. I try and make him happy." I responded.

"I think you do make him happy, Trav." he smiled at me. "Let's trade numbers. Call me if anything goes sideways for him at college. He was a big fish in a small pond here with sports and all, and I worry about him being back east with lots of uppity strangers." Numbers were loaded into phones, and I helped him carry the cooler back to the fire, each of us taking a side handle.

Anders returned. We settled into the three least decrepit of the vintage webbed lawn chairs, gulping Lone Star, crunching popcorn, fire sending sparks into a clear sky loaded with stars. Duke sat between my feet, demanding petting by poking me with his graying snout.

"How are things with Jessica?" Anders asked Clay.

"We're still broke up. She told me I was a skirt chasing horn dog HIMBO who should, by all that is right and holy, be promptly neutered." Clay laughed.

"Ouch! That was harsh, even for Jess." Anders responded. "She will fetch around; she's always been crazy about you."

"Yeah, well, now I am regular fucking a waitress up in Plymouth. She's like, 35 or so. No expectations, no judgements, just friendly cum and go. It sounds trashy, but it is really cool, at least for a while. She's a wildcat in the sack. Likes to be up top." Clay wicked-grinned.

Anders and I laughed. "Good for you, bro. Hit it and quit it while you're still young." Anders said. We raised our Lone Stars and touched the cans together.

"In the words of my favorite Hoosier son, John Cougar Mellencamp. 'little pink houses for you and me'." Clayton clowned. We laughed and touched our Lone Star cans once again.

"So when are Sam and Lydia gonna stop by Conner Ford and pick out a new truck? You know I will get them a deal." Clay asked Anders.

"They won't do that until the old truck is just a rust stain on the pavement. You know how they hate to part with money." Anders sighed.

"Sam is one of the three biggest landowners in the county. He should have a new truck." Clay implored.

"You are preaching to the choir, Clayton." Anders grinned. "I will tell them you offered to hook them up with a deal, but keep your expectations at like, zero."

I pricked up my ears while appearing politely incurious, wondering just how much land Anders might one day inherit. Anders tossed some chunks of split wood onto the fire, arousing a storm of sparks into the sky.

"You boys wanna blow some weed?" I asked.

"Hell yeah!" Clay responded with delight. "How is it that the quiet clean cut preppie boys always have weed?" Clay asked of Anders who shrugged, giving me a nod and a naughty wink.

I went to the cabin house, and selected the fattest spliff from the stash Griffin had rolled and packed for me before I fled campus. Thanks, Grif! I found the clip and lighter, returned to the fire.

"Let's get stupid-high and totally bliss out on our sky of summer stars, right Duke?" Duke wagged his old tail three times to indicate his approval. I blazed, took a huge hit, passed it to Clay, who expertly took a strapping hit, passing it to Anders. Clay was a weed boy. I knew it.

We hit and passed, probably too many times. I gaped at the flames, transfixed. "Trav! You still on the planet, bro?" Clay teased.

"Ah, yeah. Still here but kinda' baked." Clay and Anders grinned at me, well baked themselves. We all kicked back and looked up at the profusion of stars and crescent moon while the fire crackled, popped, and hissed. The scene primal, young men by a fire on a starry country summer night. Old Duke was sprawled out on the wood chips at my feet, happy just to be with us. I half listened as they gossiped about various HS classmates, seemingly few of whom had been college bound, some of whom were already afoul of the law.

We ramped down from the weed. Anders went back to the house and returned with three big bottles of water, and a huge plate of Lydia's excellent chocolate chip cookies, which we promptly inhaled.

"I better head out. Work tomorrow." Clay said pensively.

"You OK to drive Clayton? You can crash on the couch if you want, you've certainly done that before. Lydia won't mind." Anders offered.

"I am good, thanks Anders. You boys keep the rest of the Lone Star, I'll get the cooler whenever." We walked him to the truck. "Thanks boys, this was good." Clay put both hands on my shoulders, looking me in the eye. "Great meeting you, Trav. Thanks for getting us high. Be a good man and look after Anders back at that fancy pants college."

"Will do, great meeting you Clay, hope we see you again before we head back." I said. They did their shoulder hug jock thing, and Clay rolled the truck slow and careful down the drive, signalling his turn at the road. "Will he be OK?" I asked Anders.

"Yeah. He lives not far from here." Anders reassured.

"He is totally cool. This was fun." I put my arm over Anders' wide powerful shoulders, pulled him close and tousled his strawberry blond mane. Anders kissed me, deep and soulful.

"You are so awesome. I love you Trav."

"I love you too, fire boy."

"Lemme put the Dukester inside so they won't come looking for him. C'mon old boy!" Duke wagged and grooved on the attention from Anders. He gently coaxed slow-moving Duke inside the back door. Duke safe for the night, Anders took my hand and led me back to the cabin house. "Go on in. I'll bank the fire and be right back."

I kicked back in the scruffy old easy chair. He came in, with two cans of Lone Star. "Lock the door and get naked for me. Slow. Right there. Lemma see all of you." He obliged, putting his hands behind his head, easy massing of splendid biceps. I got up and huffed his hairy untrimmed pits; wood smoke and all-day unshowered Anders scent. I was in heat. Wicked horned butt pirate grin on that tanned manly mug. I was roadkill yet again.

He sprawled back naked in the chair where I had been. "OK Trav. Your turn. Strip for me" he purred. "Real slow, swimmer boy. Lemme see that perfect little ass." I did as I was told. He got up and we kissed, slow, horny, all the time in the world, his big farm rough hands gentle on my nape, back, and ass. We fell back onto the old iron bed, and he positioned our bodies for some side sixty-nine, going right into it, cocks in mouths.

He sucked me with abandon, wet eager suck sounds, all his best tongue moves. My blond cut 7.5" jumped in his mouth, as I took his girthy uncut 7" in mine, working the foreskin over the glans, going deep and holding, wanting all of him.

We touched each others balls, and the sixty-nine made us a closed feedback loop of young male randiness, each ramping up the other. He unloaded first, spilling his clean wholesome sperm in my gulping mouth, low muffled grunts as he stayed on sucking on my dick, not missing a beat.

The taste of his sperm launched me, and I shot hard and long into his mouth, while keeping his cummy thickness in mine, muffling my grunts. We stayed, letting ourselves savor each other while the room slowly stopped spinning. We eased off and rolled onto our backs. "Daaaahmn, Trav! What was that all about?"

"That was awesome. Must be the stars. Or were we just both wicked turned on by Clay?" I asked.

He laughed, "Yeah, that could be it, he does have a vibe. I think it is 'OK' as long as we're honest about it. Clay and I messed around in HS. Just wholesome teen boy stuff. He has a nice dick, dark hairy, cut, 8", kinda' like Grif's."

"Mmmm. Wicked hot, thanks for sharing. I am more turned on than jealous. Do you think he would...like to to join us?" I asked.

"No. He is totally into pussy now. He knows about us, and is actually very happy for me. I would not want to dent my friendship with him for a one-off three way, hot as that would surely be. Cool?"

"No worries, you are right. Just a slutty notion on my part." I sighed.