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.
