Carter City Farms Ch 02

JK and Tommy share farm responsibilities and more

This story is original fiction in two chapters. All characters engaged in sexual activity are over 18. Arguably, the story involves incest—if you consider sex between two guys, one of each of whose parents married late in life. There is no biological connection. No AI was used in the creation of this story. © 2023, all rights reserved. Brunosden

We reached the farm just after one. We had stopped for lunch and we really didn't start out from the Holiday Inn until almost 10. Tommy drove the last leg—and I spent most of the trip teasing his thigh, occasionally brushing his crotch. Once, I unzipped him and pulled him out into the breeze. But I had to stash him quickly as a speeding semi passed us on the narrow County Road. His cab was at least four feet higher than ours, and he easily could look down on us. It was mid-May, but already the dryness was obvious. I guessed it would be a hot summer requiring lots of irrigation. I was certainly hot in that cab.

We passed "my" drive and I noticed the For Sale sign on my house. Mother had moved in with Tommy's Dad. They had carved out the minimum five acres around the old homestead (keeping the bulk of the farm acreage possibly to attach to Bill's) and put it on the market. There wasn't much real estate demand in that part of the state—no lakes, no mountains, lousy weather, not even an exurb, one restaurant in the tiny town—but lots of churches. There's a small creek along the north side of the farms, and it's been widened into a pond—but hardly a view to brag about. I think there's a good chance it will still be on the market when I graduate unless they relent and sell more land with the home. (But, I think she needs my permission to do that. In fact, I think she needs my consent to sell the homestead as well. Dad left the farm to me, giving her the legal minimum: the right to live in the house for so long as she wanted or lived.) Fortunately, from her standpoint, the church members didn't know about the probate details or questions would have been raised about Dad's decisions, even more than her quick marriage to Bill had.

The next drive was Tommy's family farm. We drove down the long dirt road which demarcated the two farms. Our house was near the road; Tommy's house was at the farthest northern part of the property with a view of the creek and pond—so the two houses were about as far apart as possible. Everything had been carefully planted. And it looked like Bill had painted his house, maybe even before my mother moved in. It was yellow—her favorite—which clashed, I thought, with the red metal roof. We pulled up in front on the dirt drive. Tommy jumped out, stretched and loped to the large porch and front door—which of course was not locked. The house was deserted. They wouldn't be home for three more days. I knew the layout, but it had changed; most of the furniture was ours. She had moved in, and brought home with her. Tommy noted my inspection. "All of our old stuff is now being used to 'stage' your old house. Nothing has been discarded. We've moved your stuff up to the old guest room next to mine. We're going to be sharing a bath." With the last words, he tried his best to leer, but it failed miserably. He was much too cute and innocent (well, at least he is cute) to pull off a leer. Dimpled boys simply can't do a proper leer!

After hitting the WC off the kitchen, we went to the fridge, grabbed two long necks and emptied them before we went back out to move my stuff into the house. As we did so, I noticed one more important change: mother had moved the master bedroom to a space which had been an attached guest space with a remodeld bath on the first floor in an attached el—presumably to separate her and Bill from Tommy's space and giving them a nice view of the pond. And all the bedrooms had window air conditioners. Our rooms were the only rooms on the second floor, tucked under the eaves. Tommy had graciously given me the old master.

All my furniture had been moved in—including my extra-long double bed. I briefly wondered whether she had found my stash of porn (some of which was gay) during the move. I flipped on the AC, pushed off my Nikes and dropped onto the bed. "Mom, I'm home."

As I did so, Tommy jumped on top, squirmed to make himself comfortable, and brought his lips to mine, grinding his crotch and hard dick into mine. "Welcome, home, bro. I'm gonna take some payback for the truck tease."

I thought it was time for me to make my first move. So I flipped him over and trapped him under me. I backed off while keeping contact below, reached under and pulled off his tee. I dove in and took his left nipple, sucked hard, then used a bit of teeth. It darkened, hardened, and grew. He was nearly screaming in pleasure. So, I repeated with the right. "Fuck, Blackie. I'm not a girl. Leave my tits alone..... No don't." False protest. Quietly, he whispered, "That's so good." I continued for a few moments until I had him under control. So much for his payback ideas.

Then I reached down, unbuckled and unsnapped. I scooted up on his chest, and miraculously pulled his jeans off easily. Obviously he was helping as they were so tight. Of course, I knew he was commando. I flipped around, pushed his thighs apart and took his cockhead inside my mouth. My hands went under his ass cheeks and I pulled him up into me. My tongue rolled around under the hood and landed on his slit. Then I released his dick and my tongue went to his taint. My forefinger went to his rim. He was absolutely wild, bucking and hollering. His hands even began to beat my back. I decided it was time.

I pushed my denim clad ass back into him, trapping his head and his shoulders. With my hands, I rolled him up under me. I spit on my forefinger and inserted to the first knuckle. He hissed and renewed his attempts to escape. "This ass is mine, boy. Maybe not today. But soon." With those words, I pushed deeper, found his prostate, and pushed on it, hard. I'm not sure he had ever touched it before. Certainly no one else had. It produced the exquisite electric shock-like sensation up his spine. He had never felt anything like it before. I poked it again. And, he did instantly react. He exploded onto my face, covering me with jism which dripped down onto his balls. Just as quickly as it had begun, he quieted. So I released him and dropped my head into his crotch, licking the cum from his balls. He wasn't moving at all. Minutes later, I flipped around and took him into my arms, my hands firmly on his ass cheeks, squashing his dick alongside mine.

He had tears in his eyes. And he was whimpering like a hurt child. I licked his salty tears. "What's wrong, babe?"

"You make me feel so good. The things you do to me make me lose control. I don't like losing it. I know you want my ass. That you want to stuff my hole with your big fucking cock. I feel like a girl. It's gotta be wrong. It's gotta be sinful. I'm a man, not a slut. A man fucks women. He doesn't get fucked by another man."

Oh man, I was afraid of morning after remorse. But, remorse delayed may be worse than just the morning after. He's been enjoying every minute. You can't fake that. But his doubts have been festering. I've taken him into my world. At first a bit slowly by showing enjoying sex with a guy doesn't make you gay. Then, I took away the comfort of his being in control, of making choices. Now, I've stuck a finger in his ass and he knows how good it can feel. And that such feelings can result in submission. My next words are probably going to determine our future.

"Tommy, I'm really happy you like us being together. I'm glad I can make you feel good, yeah, cum. We are life-long friends. We should be able to talk about anything. I promise I won't have any secrets from you. When I look at you, the last thing I think is that you're a girl. And certainly not a slut. I don't want a girl or a slut. I want a big strong hunk like you who can take as much as he gives. And, that doesn't mean that you can't have girls too if that is what you want. Let's try thimgs for a few weeks. Then you can decide. I won't touch your asshole again unless you ask me to."

He looked hard into my eyes. I could see the thought processes as his emotions moved across his face. He was in turmoil—wanting more of what we have, but afraid that family and friends would consider him deviant if he did so. Or maybe that wasn't the fear. Maybe the fear was losing control which he equated with his manhood. What more can I say to calm him? But, at that moment, I think he decided. I felt his arms tighten around me, and his dick hardened anew.

"Get the fuck out of those clothes. When I'm naked, boy, you're naked. When I jack you, you jack me. When I suck you, you suck me. And don't touch my asshole again unless I give you an engraved invitation."

"Oh, and one more thing. I'm not your babe, bro."

"Yes, sir. Yes, sir." I rose and stripped. I stood before him, apparently chastened and contrite, but my legs were spread and my dick was pointing straight up. He reached over, gripped my ass and pulled me to him as he mouthed my cock and started to suck. So I dove for his—again.

The next days were terrific. We did have a few tense moments when I tried something new, but we got over it. We slept together in my bed, taking turns spooning. Both of us got a lot of thigh action, particularly with early morning wood. We jacked each other all the time—in bed, in the fields, in the barn. We sucked each other and swallowed. Our hands and arms were intertwined all the time. I made sure he initiated most of the time when we were alone and not working. And we didn't talk about it. A tap, a stroke, a gesture and we were wrapped into each other again, shooting our cum into fists and mouths and even open fields. We even had a few late afternoons in the pond, skinny-dipping and jacking on the grass.

My mother and his dad returned and soon we were very busy. Each day started early, but usually we were able to take on tasks together. Most days, it was clear that we were equals—with the strength to take on heavy tasks, the intelligence to decide on the proper actions, the foresight to scope out problems before they occurred. The hired guys liked us, joked that we were fraternal twins, but were willing to take direction from us, although we were clearly younger. Farm work turned from chore to joy with Tommy by my side.

Throughout the early mornings at breakfast and the early suppers, my mother was quiet—except for the mandatory prayers before we ate—which got longer and longer. She hardly ever made a comment or spoke directly to me or Tommy. Her attention was focused solely on Bill. And he seemed to basking in it.

One of the farm hand's bitches gave birth to a litter of perfect little spotted mutts—but mostly Australian sheep dog, we thought—but didn't know of any neighbor with one. Maybe it was recessant genes popping up after a generation. We put our dibs on two. They'd be old enough to leave with us for State—assuming we both went, but that would mean we'd be looking for a pet-friendly apartment rather than a dorm. I was ready for that. Or they'd stay with Tommy on the farm when I left and be ours in the future..

We became expert at rolling the long radial watering lines with the John Deere. (We had decided to grow the organic vegetables in three circles (six if we counted both farms, each divided into four irrigation segments). Tommy was unerring with the tiller and the fertilizer on the row crops. He could drive a perfect straight line for over a thousand feet before carefully turning to return.

On the rare rainy day, we cleaned, oiled and repaired the equipment. Clearly, Tommy had learned a lot in his gap years and at CC-Tech. He was a first class mechanic.

And I kept the records—when we had irrigated and how much, when we had fertilized, which pesticides we had used. I really didn't mind the bookwork, but really liked being Tommy's sidekick in the fields.

It was clear that Bill was backing off. It turned out his health was not what we had thought. And mother is pretty persuasive. She was definitely pushing for retirement in Texas. He was pleased to let us take on most of the work load.

Supper was early—around five. We were then free. Occasionally, we went to town—although there wasn't much there. Sometimes we watched TV. We played video games in our room often. Fortunately, the sleeping arrangements meant that our night time activities didn't need to change much—we just alternated beds and rooms and tried to keep the linens reasonably clean.

We were both comfortable with where we had come and where we were. I longed for more, but was unwilling to risk the status quo to get to it. Give him time. Give him time.

One night, Tommy was unusually quiet and seemed disturbed. I noted the change immediately. When we went upstairs, I quietly asked, "What's up, Tommy? Something is obviously wrong."

"Well, I've been wondering—something I do a lot these days. I've noticed how cold your mother is to you. She never touches you. She hardly looks at you. And she hardly ever talks directly to you. Then I got to thinking, when she and Dad got home from the honeymoon, she didn't hug you as Dad hugged me. I'm not even sure she welcomed you home from State. What's up?"

"It's complicated. I didn't think you really needed to know, but I guess I was wrong. I shouldn't be keeping important things from you. But this is a blockbuster. You'd better be sitting or lying down."

"You're aware of course that my Dad was killed in a freak machinery accident last September. I was devastated. He was my best friend and buddy. I hadn't been home that summer, but I did come home, at his urgent request between the summer and fall semesters. Dad met the bus in Carlton. He was alone. He told me we were going to have dinner before driving home. He needed to talk."

"It turns out that your Dad and my mother had been having a serious affair—probably for several years. How they managed to keep it a secret is a mystery to me even now. Dad found out in July. He finished early one day and arrived unexpected at home. He found them in bed—in his bed. There was an argument, of course. Bill and Dad had never been close—but they had been good neighbors who helped each other from time to time. I guess it was pretty violent with things being thrown around. Dad accused his "sanctimonious" wife of hypocrisy. He even used the ultimate insult: 'So you took the commandment to love your neighbor literally. You Jezebel.' Dad moved out of their room immediately and into the bunkhouse with the hands. A few days later, Dad changed his estate plan and will—leaving me the farm if he died and the rest of the estate, changing the beneficiary of his insurance, and leaving Mom only the minimum required by Kansas law. He told me he had filed for divorce."

Tommy was rigidly at attention. "It's hard to believe. But the quick actions after your Dad's death and the marriage certainly raised a lot of eyebrows. Believe me, JK, I didn't know. I guess I'm really naïve. Dad and I were good friends, but he rarely confided in me. We're kind of private guys."

"As I said, my Dad moved to the bunkhouse. He wasn't sleeping well, obviously. His whole life was in turmoil. About a month and a half later, the accident occurred. I knew about the situation between them, but no one else did except the lawyer. She was still living in our house, although I guess she and Bill continued to get together whenever. Mom warned me to stay out of the investigation. She feared that the circumstances of the divorce might cloud the investigation. At that time, she didn't know about the changed will, but she did find out a few weeks later. Fortunately I was at State and a terrible phone call was all that resulted. You know the rest."

"Since then, we've rarely spoken. I know that she has created a scenario in her mind: Dad was killed because I had spent the summer at State and he was exhausted from the extra work that my absence entailed for him. The fact that we hired another guy to take my place was irrelevant to her. She needed to blame someone other than herself."

"I haven't touched her since then. I know she wants out—probably to Houston where my step-sisters live. I think she's trying to work out the finances. I'm guessing your Dad is part of the equation. As soon as the insurance is collected and the lawsuit is settled, I presume they're out of here."

"I come into legal ownership of the farm on my 21

st

—this August. I haven't talked with the lawyer, but I don't intend to try to push the insurance and the settlement into the estate—which would make it mine."

"I can't believe this, JK. How have you kept this all bottled inside?"

"I have no reason to believe that there was any foul play in my Dad's death. And I don't think your Dad is involved in any way. Your Mom's been dead for a long time, and he was lonely. Maybe they can find love and peace together—but not with me. And I've got you now. I just want all of this to be over."

Tommy rose from the bed and drew me into the tightest hug ever. And I let it all out. I started sobbing. "Tommy, you're all I got left. Please don't pull away from me. Maybe I'm gay, but I love you. I think maybe I always have."

Tommy pulled me to him and we dropped onto the bed. He wasn't letting me go anywhere. "I'm here for you, JK. I'm here."

"There is something more."

"Oh, no. What more can there be?"

"I told you before I didn't have any secrets. I've just dropped a big one. But there is another. Remember my roommate, Brent?"

Tommy grunted and backed off a little from the embrace.

"When I got back to State last September, all of this was simmering inside. Dad had confided the details. Then, a few days later he died tragically. And Mom had pretty much thrown me out. Brent was a good listener, and I spilled all of this to him. Then, like just now, I broke up. Brent was in bed studying, nude like always. He called me over, pulled me into his arms and into his bed. He whispered soothing words and stroked me into a quiet place."

"And that was the beginning. Soon he had me naked. He spooned me and continued to stroke me, including my dick which was soon achingly hard. He pushed me over onto my side and used his thigh to push mine forward. Within minutes, he had opened me with his long fingers and his hard cock was knocking at my door. He lubed me carefully and slipped in, while whispering words of comfort. Then he took me, brought me to a place I didn't think was possible for a man to do to another man. He filled me. And I blew just from his pressure inside me. That wasn't the last time we did it. After then, when he didn't have a date, or she didn't satisfy him, or I was feeling down or tense, he would draw me into his arms and take me—always the same way, with a spoon and a slow rear entry, fisting my dick."

"I never had any feelings for him—I don't now. It was just a way to get physical relief from my problems."

"Forgive me, Tommy, for not telling you all of this long ago. There's nothing more. I'm gonna go to my room now. We have a busy day tomorrow."

Tommy didn't stop me. He didn't say a word. And I didn't blame him. I had betrayed our friendship and his trust. And I had dropped some monstrous disclosures on his back.

For the next weeks, we worked together mechanically and mostly in silence. No more mutual anything. I was alone and miserable.

Then, one night Tommy came into my room. He had just showered and he looked like the angel I remembered. He sat on the edge of the bed. "I forgive you, JK. If I had been in your shoes, I'm not sure how I would have handled it. I don't consider you to be spoiled goods. You're my bro and my best friend—and I've missed you." Then he bent over and lightly kissed me on the lips.