Author's Note: This story depicts a relationship between a cis man and genderfluid person with a penis. If that's not your thing, that's okay! There's lots of other great stuff in my profile that might be more to your liking, and tons of other great authors on Literotica besides me!
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"It'll mostly be chorin'. Nothing fancy, not till Fall anyway. Then I can get you helping with harvest. That sound alright?"
The dour farmer stood next to me in the shadow of his drive shed, taking a swig of the warming beer in his hand. Pete had known my folks; I didn't think he really needed the help much, but this was probably as close as he'd get to outright offering me a hand. Lord knows I needed it now that they were gone.
"That sounds great, yeah. Thanks."
"Pigs'll need feeding 'round 6:30, so try to be in the barn for 6:00 if you can."
"Sounds good, I can manage that."
The hard set of his face and the squint that darkened his brow said he wasn't finished yet.
"You'll have help."
I didn't know what to say to that. "Okay."
"My kid. Sam."
I hadn't known the family well growing up; I knew there were a few kids in the house, but that was about it.
"Sure, sounds great."
Pete winced and drew a deep breath, looking at me briefly for the first time in long minutes before gazing back out over his barley to speak. "Sam's a good kid, hard workin'. You just gotta let me know if you're havin' to do too much. Sam's, uh, well. They're, uh..." The older man trailed off, letting the 'they' hang heavy in the silence between us. I hadn't missed it.
"I look forward to meeting them," I said, hoping to reassure Pete. Given how rural the area was, I was mostly impressed he'd made as much of an effort as he had. Most dads around here wouldn't. He clapped my back with a calloused hand, offering a tight-lipped smile. That was good enough for him, I thought.
*******
Feeding pigs was, evidently, a two-person job. While I'd expected to meet Sam first thing in the morning, Pete was the only company I had while we shoveled corn meal around in the low light of a rising sun.
"I'll need hay down out of the loft in the south barn after this. Sam'll be over there shortly to help you out. Sound okay?"
I nodded, suddenly worried that a slip of my tongue would make me out to be another ignorant redneck. I knew good hands didn't come around every day, and couldn't imagine it was any easier to find ones with more modern manners in this county.
"Right, well, Marnie says she's cookin' up a little extra tonight; there'll be a plate for you up at the house come dinner time if you want it."
I thanked him and made my way up the muddy track.
"Heya!" came Sam's friendly call, a dark figure dropping out of the hay loft in a dark corner of the old barn.
"Hey, hi!" I replied, using my hat to scrub the sweat from my brow as I squinted into the dark.
"I'm Sam!"
Sam stepped out of the barn and into the light. The denim coveralls hid what I judged to be a short, relatively shapeless figure, but it was impossible to say whether there were boobs tucked in there somewhere or not. I supposed it was impolite to wonder, and a moot point regardless. A round, freckled face split in a friendly, if shy, smile. Earrings studded both ears and a simple cloth chocker wound around their neck. Sam shook a tousle of brown hair out, dislodging stray bits of hay, and blew the short bangs out of their eyes.
It was entirely too cute for a first impression.
"I'm Dave," I replied simply, offering a hand. Sam's was soft. Smooth. Gentle.
They jerked a thumb in the direction of the barn. "Wanna get started? We've got a bit to get through." Even the curious pitch of Sam's voice left me wondering about things I knew I shouldn't bother myself with.
A 'bit' was an understatement though. The sun climbed high as I slung bales down, making only polite small talk with Sam as I lobbed the heavy cargo down to them. The stale air grew sticky with June's humidity, and my coveralls were chafing everywhere. I tugged my arms out of the one-piece suit and tied the torso portion around my waist.
"I brought you some water," Sam said, climbing the steps to join me in the upper loft in the middle of the afternoon. I might have imagined the glance they gave me, but I caught myself hoping that the little tremble of an upper lip was real.
"Thanks," I said, slumping down onto the nearest bale. Sam pulled another one up next to me.
I slurped quietly. Pete's taciturn nature had obviously made its way down to at least one of his offspring.
"So, uh, you're June and Daryll's son, right?" Sam asked.
I swallowed. "I was."
"I'm sorry, oh fuck. That was careless of me. Right." Sam tucked a few strands of hair back shyly, looking anywhere else but at me.
"It's alright. It's a while ago now." I passed the bottle back. "Sam, that's short for..."
Sam grinned, cherubic cheeks blossoming into an immediate blush that had nothing to do with the heat. "It's just Sam," they said.
I nodded, hoping I hadn't set a foot wrong. I shouldn't have tried to pry.
Seeing the crimson flush across Sam's freckled cheeks, I felt my determination not to develop a crush slipping away. If I could just taste those lips, just for a second...
"Muggy up here, hey?" Sam mused, and I was suddenly VERY aware of my state of undress.
"Yeah, super gross," I said, reaching for the tied arms around my waist as though I planned to shrug back into the coveralls despite the heat.
"Oh, no, I didn't mean...like..."
I couldn't take another minute.
Neither could Sam.
They moved first, pouncing across the distance between us before I could brace for impact. Sam's body felt wonderful in my hands, even through the heavy denim of their own overalls, but their lips were another plane of heaven altogether. Soft, supple, and so eager to be kissed back, my reservations eroded to nothing the instant our tongues smeared across one another.
Sam's breath was shaky, either from excitement or trepidation, but mine was surely no better. The lingering knowledge that they might still have something under their coveralls that I hadn't experienced before was the faintest tickle in the back of my mind. I couldn't honestly say that I cared at that moment. Their hands ran over every inch of my hard body, sweat streaking across the corded back muscles that long summers in my Pa's barn had built. Sam's body was far softer as I wormed a hand under their denim onesie to paw at their body.
"Unhook me," they panted.
The overalls fell away and Sam tore the t-shirt beneath over their head with a shy grin. An entirely decorative bralette banded across Sam's chest, triangular cups full of almost nothing at all. It was so fucking beautiful on them.
"Kiss me," I plead.
Their hands on my face felt so right as Sam squirmed with exploratory excitement in my lap. I chewed at their lips greedily, pulling their body against me, throbbing at the mere sensation of my rough hands against the soft skin of their back.
"Let me suck you, please?" Sam asked, forehead pressed to mine, eyes closed. I could hear their need.
I nodded.
The hay scratched at my ass, and I knew I'd never cover up in time if Pete wandered back here, but the pixie on their knees in front of me, my cock in their hands, demanded I banish such irrelevant concerns at once. Sam didn't look at me, but took me halfway into their mouth and set to work eagerly; their tongue was a hurricane of warm surrender and I melted in their mouth, running a hand through those beautiful chestnut locks as their head bobbed up and down on me. The freckles that I'd fallen head over heels for worked their way across Sam's narrow shoulders, and I told myself that I'd need to count each one with a kiss as soon as I could. In all though, the ache in my belly and the fire in my chest meant that Sam's work was almost over before they'd even begun.
