Blown Glass

"So here we are now: a sip of wine, a sip of water.

Someday maybe, maybe someday we'll be smarter."

- Jimmy Eat World

I. I laid on a thick layer of straw in the barn. He let me stay that night after my farm work was done. His few acres of land were hidden away from the city. The little barn was silent besides the occasional chirping frog and a train horn in the far distance behind the forest. I felt contentment for the first time in a long while. I heard no blaring TV or my parents shouting at each other. I didn't smell empty brown glass bottles of half-drunk Millers beside me. Most wouldn't think a barn smelled good, but to me it was a little slice of heaven. I turned toward Tannhauser and he let out a little bleat as he laid down with the sunset. The air was filled with a wet mix of lavender and hay, and the scent of the newborn goat nearby.

He had given me a plaid sleeping bag even though the night air was unseasonably warm for May. Wrapped in my cocoon, my thoughts were still. My body and mind were tired from a long day working his yard, working for him. The crackling of the straw sounded like gold as I stretched out my happy young body and sighed. I had earned my sleep by being a good farmhand for him. I liked it when he told me what to do, and I smiled when I was done. It gave me peace.

I had worked there a month when I saw his first visitor. It was only a few days before his lady-guest that I had the courage to ask if I could stay in the barn for the night. It was a strange request, but everyone had some place they didn't want to be. For me, I didn't want to be home with my dad and stepmom. He understood. He even allowed me to bring my glass-blowing supplies over and set up a little corner in the barn. It was my little hobby, my only hobby, and it made me happy to make my glassy creations.

I was firing up the torch when I could see the headlights flip off. I turned off the flame as I peered through the cracks between the cedar planks of the barn. A young woman came out, with a nervous, anticipatory smile. She had ample breasts that she showed off with a low-cut, flattering dress. I didn't know if he had called an escort, or if that was a friend he had in the area. Whichever it was, it was obvious she was there for his dick. I laid down on the side of the barn that faced his house. I rolled over in the hay to get a better peek through a knot-hole in the barn. I admit, I was jealous when I saw her jet black hair, and her eager smile, approaching the door.

His windows didn't have blinds over them. There was no need. I was the only one who could see in, and nobody cared what a young farm hand saw. I was nobody, and it seemed here that normal societal rules didn't apply. We were just two men on the property, living our lives to survive and get what pleasure and happiness we could.

He didn't care I was there, or maybe he did. I was unsure as I saw a light turn on in his TV room that faced the barn where he knew I was laying. Her face was flushed as he looked deeply into her eyes and spoke to her softly. He was reaching behind her to undo her blouse and he reached in tenderly for a kiss. As their lips met, he seemed to look passed her, out the window with a smirk, towards me. I doubt he could tell if I was looking or not, because there were no lights on in the barn, but his stare in my direction un-nerved me. I felt a strange sensation like a wave pass through my body. I could only describe it as dunking myself in Lake Michigan by Carol Beach. I felt like I wanted to shiver, but my mind was consumed by the experience. Two of the chickens clucked from a minor skirmish in the coop.

When I looked up again, I could see the soft skin of her pale back. Her dress was unzipped and I could tell by the placement of his hands on the crux of her back that he was on his knees to lick the nipples on her round breasts. Maybe it was my imagination, but I felt like he was teasing me. They turned so I could see them in silhouette. I thought her breasts were beautiful, but I had no interest in touching them. Still, my dick twitched as I imagined him pleasing her, and how much she enjoyed it.

Her whole dress was off quickly. He pressed her face gently against the window that was closest to the barn where I lay. Her hands were braced on either side of the window as she spread her legs. Her eyes rolled back as I imagined him tonguing her below. Why did he have to pick the window where he knew I was sleeping? I could see how happy she seemed, as he treated her just the way she wanted. She let out a deep moan that I could hear clearly through the window, as his tongue hit just the right spot. I could see hands reach up and play with her breasts. She seemed to be so consumed that her concerns floated away save one, the desire to feel his cock slide in her. But he teased her relentlessly all up and down her body, until the window became fogged with sweat and saliva. My face felt cool as I imagined that the pillow I rested my head on was made of glass like the window in the living room.

I thought maybe I should respect his privacy, but soon the moaning was so loud I couldn't shut it out. I then thought he wanted me to see. He wanted me to know how well he could please her, how much of an alpha male he was. With this thought, I got down on my chest again and watched them closely. He was now inside her and she wanted the world to know that she was the one pleasuring him. He dominated her from behind, and at times her volume was loud enough to make the two goats stir. She was very flexible. He held her jet black hair back as she pressed her nipples against the sweaty window. Sometimes I could see her blue eyes grow large as his dick hit her in the right spot deep inside her young, supple body. I wondered how large he was. I wondered if his dick was thick or long or both. Whatever the size, it was right for her. She seemed deeply satisfied as she orgasmed loudly. I could see his heaving bearded face through the fog of the window. He had pulled out and was shooting on her back, as she continued to scream. His green eyes crossed as the pleasure of his cock's release poured out on top of her. I wanted her to move out of the way so I could see his manhood in all its glory, releasing his seed freely.

My girlfriend was in Nova Scotia for the summer, and it had been a month since I had felt the soft warmth a woman's body wrapped around me. We were out of college for the summer. We both did what we could to avoid our respective families for the summer. I had found an okay job on the outskirts of Pleasant Prairie, and I talked to her on weekends. I wasn't thinking about her then, though. I was thinking about her face, and her pleasure, and I felt a tinge of jealousy.

To focus my mind away from my unusual thoughts, I reheated my acetylene torch, and spent the evening molding a glass plate. It was mostly transparent but I added streaks of black like the hair of the young woman Murad had fucked. I added streaks of dark blue like her eyes. The plate had almost cooled and hardened by midnight when my heart had settled down enough to sleep. For just a moment, I pressed the cool glass plate against my face. After a few moments, I became embarrassed at myself and my lust. I put an extra helping of food on the plate for Tannhauser, and put it in his pen before laying back on the hay in the sleeping bag for the night. My dreams were filled sweaty black hair and blue eyes filled with sweet satisfaction.

II. I spent the day fixing the fence that the obstinate goat had damaged. His budding horns had become stuck in the wire mesh, and he had created quite a racket trying to escape the shocks. Dr. Umar had heard the bleating from the house and quickly cut the power. He tenderly carried the goat into the barn. He told me to fix the entire side of the fence that had been pulled out the ground in the chaos. He gave me money to go to Menards on the County Line road. It gave me pleasure when he asked me to do something. It made me happy to do it. I didn't have to think about, just do. It made me happy to do it well and see somewhere behind his green eyes, a hint of happiness or respect or appreciation, or whatever he hid behind his dark Mediterranean features.

When the fence was fixed, he came out and asked me to hook up the electricity to the solar panels on the roof. I gave a small smile and said, "Yes Sir," dutifully. It was tough work. The more he asked of me, the more pleasure I felt. I almost felt sexual pleasure as he pointed his thick hand from point to point in the backyard directing me where to go and what to do. His cool confidence filled me with a motivation to be a better worker. In a small way, I felt important and a better person when he bossed me around.

I was covered in sweat from climbing on to the roof and pounding the grounding rods into the Earth. The sun was getting close to the horizon, when he told me to wash the fence posts off with the hose. The vibration of the power-sprayer went through my body in waves. As the long, hard day faded to evening, I looked over and saw Dr. Umar undressing in the bathroom. His blinds were wide open. I turned away when I saw he was unbuttoning his shirt getting ready for a shower. When I saw his dark chest hair, I wanted to shower as well. Dried sweat coated my forehead. I washed off a fence post, and the moss on it reminded me of his chest hair. I imagined washing him off with the hose. I had worked well for him all day, I could help him shower. I imagined spraying his body with the hose as he turned around. I turned back toward the bathroom and I could see him stepping out of his overalls. He had no underwear on, so in one single movement I saw his thick, olive cock fall out and swing in front of him. I heard the water of the shower start in the bathroom, and I tried to concentrate on my task. The hose water was cold. I took off my shirt and gave myself a cold splash to cool down, and also to deter the growing bulge in my pants. It's meaning made me uncomfortable, but it seemed irrelevant. My mind was tired from the long day of work, and men had to shower off.

I reached down beneath my pants and my long cock was hard at attention. I rubbed it under my underwear, and there was a large wet spot where the head of my dick was throbbing. I tried to think of Emily. I remember the night I came back to school last summer. When I walked in my apartment, she was naked with fuzzy pink handcuffs over her head. Her body was soft and pale. She liked being tied up. The truth was, I liked being tied up to, but never had the courage to ask her. I was strong and sometimes I'd flip her over from missionary position while we were fucking and have her ride my dick. I'd close my eyes and imagine I was pinned down and being used. In the barn, my cock twitched letting out a thick gusher of pre-cum. It was enough to lubricate my cut cock, and I began to stroke myself.

I looked over at Murad in the shower. He seemed so confident as he washed all parts of his body off. I had spent all day helping him. I wanted to be in the shower helping to get to his hard to reach places. Like Emily on top of me during sex, it gave me peace and it gave me meaning when I could do a little bit of contentment to another person, whether if it was just being the long cock that she could get herself off on, or whether I was the young farmhand, working diligently to please my boss. I wanted to be that contentment for him.

The more I stroked it, the more precum came out, until my dick glistened in the evening light in the barn. It was engorged and wanting more and more attention. The palm of my hand was slick, and I brought it up to my stubbled mouth, and I tasted my fluid. I wondered if it tasted different than other guys. I wonder what it tasted like as it squirted freshly into my mouth. I looked over at Murad again. He was toweling off. I could see him dry each one of his balls. I could help him, it was my job to do what he needed. He looked up in the direction of the barn where I stood. There was no way for him to know that I watching through the cracks in the barn, but I could see his eyes. His green eyes stared at me out of his broad-chested Mediterranean body. His gaze pierced my soul. I could feel my asshole twitch as my dick shot out a hot string of cum on to my stomach. It felt so amazing as I continued to stare at his body. The second time I shot, it went further on to my chest. I gritted my teeth to stop myself from making a sound, but the third time, I could control myself. I looked at his hooded dick, and I shot all the way to my chin. The release of pressure brought a deep, warm sense of happiness. I reached my tongue down to my chin and tasted my ejaculation. I thought it tasted salty, like I imagined the Mediterranean Sea did, beautiful, deep, overpowering, and salty blue-green. I closed my eyes, and I was there on the beach of Tunisia. The beach there smelled like hay, and sweat, and cedar, and him.

When I woke up, my clothes stuck to my body due to dried cum. I hoped it wasn't noticeable, but there was something about the farm and his demeaner that it seemed like societal norms didn't matter much here, so I didn't think about it much. He asked if I needed a ride home.

"I know this is a strange request, but I was wondering if I could stay here tonight," I said with decided vulnerability. "My house is well... I'm happy to stay out here in the barn, you don't even need to know I'm here."

He smiled at me. "Aren't they going to come looking for you?" he asked.

"Absolutely not," I said, which was more or less, the truth.

He smiled at me, with a hint that he understood. "If they ever ask, I'm going to say I don't know where you are," he said bluntly. He came out and left me a sleeping bag and pillow, and he gave me a delicate, bearded smile. "Do have any weed?" he asked. It filled me with pride that I could continue fulfilling him at this late hour.

"No," I said, "But I can get some." He smiled approvingly at me and underneath his eyes, seemed something as human as desire. He started to walk back to the house when I said, "I can even make you a pipe." I smiled. "Glassblowing is a talent of mine."

"We'll see," he said mysteriously. He handed me a hundred dollar bill from his wallet, and told me to get what I needed for him.

That was the first night I slept there. His few acres of land were hidden away and silent. The little barn was silent besides the occasional chirping frog and a train horn in the far distance behind the forest.

III. The first time I remember touching glass, I was scared and uncomfortable. I pulled out small pieces from my dad's head with large tweezers. My hands were shaking. My stepmom had busted a bottle on his head while drunk, screaming about his infidelity. I didn't know who was responsible for the fight, but I thought the embedded glass bits looked painful, and I helped him pull the ones out that he couldn't reach on his own. We all do what we can when we can. For a young man, with no money and little confidence, there was little power I had to help anyone. Pulling broken glass out of my dad was all I could do to help as a 15-year old while my stepmother was passed out drunk on the couch.

The brown glass was covered in drops of red blood. I remember how jagged the pieces seemed as I searched through his thinning hair. When I was done, I didn't know how to get rid of the pieces. There was no garbage deep enough to throw them away, and I didn't want my stepmom to find them when she woke up again. I took the acetylene torch from the garage and proceeded to melt the broken pieces into a clump. The blood and flecks of skin burnt off until it seemed clean and sterile. When it was cool, I decided it was a paperweight. I used it to hold my homework down when I had to work outside on the all-too-normal occasion that there was too much yelling to concentrate inside.

Ever since, I liked to blow glass. I loved to make things out of those things that the rest of the world ceased to care about. My glass pieces rarely lasted in that turbulent household, but we all try to hold back the tide of entropy in our own way. The fragility was glass reminded me of myself, and I could see my reflection in my creations.

IV. I had finished the hash pipe I promised; it was strong and thick so that it wouldn't break. I added streaks of dark red running through it. It was unusually thick, similar to the shape of his Arab dick, that I had seen clearly through the windows of his house many times that month. It seemed he didn't like clothes while in the house, or he liked to tease me, but I leaned toward the former. He looked like a man who was tired of social convention and moved out here for a new start. He seemed at peace in the moments he came home from his day job and shed his black suit at the hook by the front door. I would wait for the moment when I'd watch him take his tie off, until the moment he stepped in the shower. I spent days reheating the pipe until it felt just as I imagine his cock felt in my hands and in my mouth.

When I knocked on his door that night, my right arm was tired that day from splitting wood. He had brought in a contractor to take down a pine tree from the center of his yard that weekend. It had begun to lean, after a century of life, towards his house, and I was slowly turning it into a functional wood pile. Sweat and pine sap permeated all of my clothes. Every day he asked more of me, and I never let him down. His smiles to me seemed now less superficial and more friendly. Due to our age difference, he still seemed mysterious to me, but I had admired his cool work ethic, and it filled me with a sense of fulfillment every time he asked me to do something for him.

It was a Friday night, and I told him I had a pipe and weed, and asked if he was interested in smoking. "Let me get some wood for a fire," he said before closing the door and reappearing out back with some charcoal. It was just us that night, beneath the stars. The bonfire was large and smelled thickly of pine. I showed him how to use the pipe.

Dr. Umar seemed wordly enough, but he obviously lacked any knowledge of how to relax or enjoy pleasure. I wondered if I had been born in a different life, if I'd have had more interest in stocks and less in getting stoned and listening to Arcade Fire in the garage. But as I looked over his chiseled body illuminated by the flickering light from the fire, I thought to myself, life wouldn't be all that different. Both versions of myself had things to learn from each other.

He coughed and coughed like a child smoking a cigarette for the first time. It made me smile to know I had at least one thing he didn't, the lack of a gag reflex when I smoked. He laid back on his lawn chair and looked at the stars. "I had to take down the tree," he said. Things often sounded profound while high. "Sometimes things get too big and then they break. A big wind comes by and it is so determined to stay strong that it just cracks and destroys the house underneath it." I nodded although I was wondering if he was even talking to me or to himself. "I'll plant Asparagus where the tree was. When a big wind comes it is willing to bend and it survives. And if it doesn't, it comes back year after year. It might not look as mighty as the tree, but it survives, and how can one be happy if you don't survive?"

"Just enjoy yourself," I said, "There is nobody here to stop you."

He smiled at me through blood-shot eyes with dark bags under them. I smiled back, laughing quietly that I was, in a way, taking his virginity (when it came to pot at least). "You are right," he said. "Sometimes it is just difficult to let go."

"I can help. I like to help around here," I said. "I'm glad you hired me. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it." His eyes had already rolled back in his head, and his mouth was slightly open. "Dr. Umar?" I asked. I leaned over near him and shook his arm. He was sound asleep, but looked happy wherever his mind had gone.