"I'll go with him."
"Of course you will," the Lazy S foreman said, turning and giving me a leer and a snicker. I thought that was a bit mean because Sam wasn't getting anything the foreman hadn't gotten before him. Who was he to be showing judgmental?
The foreman told Sam that someone needed to go up to the Culbertson farm up the valley half way to the top Hahn's peak to check on the fences there before the snows came. Old man Peyton was a cattle man himself, but he'd bought the Culbertson farm up the valley with his brother over at the Circle K ranch. The Peytons saw the end of King Cattle coming and decided to dabble in farming themselves a bit. But a man couldn't maintain his claim on farming land out here on the edge of civilization without maintaining the fences. Homesteaders were drifting in, and the law let them grab anything thought to have been abandoned.
I turned to Sam Saunders and gave him what I thought was a secret smile but what probably wasn't a bit of a secret in the Lazy S bunkhouse. I was kind of a screamer—couldn't help it—and there wasn't much privacy attached to sudden hard on sex in a bunk house. Sam smiled back, clearly pleased I'd agreed to go with him. He looked good enough to eat. A good six years older than me, but in a lot better shape than I'd managed yet. I was getting there, though. It's a big reason I'd come here.
I had only recently arrived from back East to try my hand at being a cowboy. It was such a romantic thought and was being played up in the adventure literature for young men. Especially mentioned among my friends in Pennsylvania was how hard bodied and randy cowboys could be. I liked both the idea of hard-bodied men and me being hard bodied too.
It certainly had been one big adventure for me so far. Although only of average height and pretty slim, Sam had been at it long enough to have really muscled and toughened up. Back East he could have traveled with a troupe as the muscle man, I thought—and a handsome one at that. Curly reddish hair, a dandy's handsome face, and an "aw shucks" demeanor that turned into something else when he was fucking me.
"Remember to camp out at Dayton's mill on Slater Creek until you meet up with the man Peyton's brother is sending from the Circle K," Chuck told Sam. "His name's Jake."
We did just that—stopping at Dayton's mill to camp—before riding our horses up the valley and into the mountains, where the air was crisp and nature was both beautiful and wild.
"Smells like snow," Sam said, as we were unloading the horses and setting up camp next to Slater Creek. "And the water's already icing up."
"Good thing you brought all that liquor, then," I said, with a laugh.
"Ain't that the truth? It might snow a blizzard up at Culbertson's while we're there and we'll be stuck up there all winter with nothing to do but to keep our insides warm with liquor."
"Nothing to do?" I asked as I heaved my saddle off my horse and set it down not far from where Sam was getting an open fire going. "Is that the only thing we could do up there to keep warm?"
"Not at all, not at all," Sam muttered in a hoarse voice as he reached out and drew me into him and into a deep kiss. "We ain't had a go of it for a week, and I've been hard for your sweet tail since ten minutes after the last throw."
Our bodies were rocking against each other. Our hands had gone straight for each other's crotches. We were both hard. I'd been hard for him for the past five miles as we climbed to the camping area, and I anticipated what would happen there. I got the top four buttons of his rough cotton shirt open and latched my mouth onto a nipple. I knew that nipple play turned him into a wild man. And it was working here.
He was scrabbling at my belt and then the buttons of my fly, and I felt my jeans gliding down my legs. I stepped out of them, and he unbuttoned the flap of the union suit I was wearing underneath. He pushed that down between my legs to where he could lodge a gloved finger in the entrance to my hole, wiggling it there as I opened to him. Satisfied I was opening to him, his gloved hand took possession of my cock and started stroking.
"Don't make me wait," I whimpered in a low voice.
"Not a chance of that," he growled back.
I was on my belly over my saddle, my arms flung out above my head gripping the base of two saplings at the edge of the stream, my butt pointed to the sky. The flap of the union suit had been pulled through my legs and up my back so that my puckering hole was exposed. Sam was on his haunches behind me, between my spread legs, one gloved hand spreading my buttocks to expose and stretch my hole, his tongue driving me crazy inside my crack, and his other hand having pulled my cock through and stroking it. I was doing a lot of egging-on screaming . . . until I came. He milked my cock for everything he could get out of it, and being young and in pretty good shape for an Easterner, I kept giving him cum for a few seconds.
"Now you. You. Fuck me! Give it to me now."
Sam complied, moving over my back, latching onto my pecs with his gloved hands. Entering, entering, entering me, and pumping, pumping, pumping. I writhed under him. Never before had he given it to me so hard and deep. Never before had we had such privacy to be able to let it all out. Never before had I felt free enough to scream for more of it, deeper. At the ranch, we'd never been far enough from the ears of others to engage in the wild fuck Sam now was giving me.
I felt him tense, hold for several seconds, and then, in a heavy release of breath, give me his load deep up inside me. Once, twice . . . four times in all. I was swimming in cum.
It was only while we were cooling down, that we both looked around and saw him—over to the side at the edge of the clearing, down on his haunches, elbows on knees, a long blade of grass extending from his mouth as he chewed on the end of it, an enigmatic smile on his face, one hand holding the reins of the horse grazing beside him and the other open and dangling between his legs.
Who knew what he'd been doing with it before we saw him, but the bulge in his crotch was huge. Everything about the man was huge—not as in fat—but as in tall, bulky, muscle bound. He made Sam look scrawny. Dark, curly hair, swarthy complexion—he must have had some Mexican in him—hair in profusion. Five-o'clock shadow on his face, but the promise of hair everywhere else—spilling out of the neckline of his shirt, on the backs of his hands and on his knuckles. A face that was so ugly that it was mesmerizing and arousing; a body that was powerfully built, a real muscle man. A man my friends in Pennsylvania had said was out West, just waiting for me.
"You must be Jake, then," Sam said, trying for a calm voice conveying that we weren't doing anything out of the ordinary at all.
And, indeed, we weren't—really. The reality was that there were so few women out on the frontier as yet that the men mostly had to do with just their right hand or other men. Still, there was no way of knowing how one man would react to coming upon that as opposed to another man.
* * * *
It had been a rough ride from the campsite up to Culbertson's farm, and Sam had said we should start checking the fences right away. It looked even more like snow was coming up here than it did down at the Lazy S. I stuck to Sam, and Jake went his own way. Something in the way he eyed me as we rode along gave me chills of both fear and arousing anticipation.
Sam and I would be staying in the same cabin with this man for a week or more. I hadn't thought about that before. I assumed I'd have Sam all to myself. We'd have to be more careful and observant than we were at the campsite. It wouldn't be any different from being in the bunkhouse with other men, and I'd been looking forward to it just being the two of us.
I may have been apprehensive of the man as we rode along, but he and Sam were having a good old time jawing and talking of shared experiences, which included, again to both my apprehension and arousal, their visits to the same male brothel in Hayden. They discovered they both were fond of the same male whore and what they said about what they liked in how he looked and what they could do with him, sounded awfully familiar to me.
I wasn't shocked, though, because, again, I didn't find this as unusual as most public claimed to think, considering the needs of men and the male-to-female ratio on the frontier. There were a whole load more fit and randy men on the frontier than there were women. It wasn't uncommon for the men to turn to each other. Most, indeed, could enjoy both women and men as long as they regularly could get off. Without someone else, they had to take the matter into their own hands, and it's not hard to get tired of that.
It was because of the virile, muscular, and randy men that I'd come West. I wanted the knees of a strong man between my thighs. The men in Pennsylvania were OK, but I'd heard arousing stories about the doings of the men on the frontier. I had tried several men out at the Lazy S before settling on Sam, and none of the men before him had thrown me out on my tail. I had learned that size mattered too. Sam was the biggest of all who had fucked me. Within three weeks of my arrival at the Lazy S, half the cowboys in the bunkhouse—and the foreman as well—had fucked the "sweet little piece coming in from the East." There was even talk of not needing to make the run to the brothels of Hayden this fall. I was just shopping, though, and when I settled in for Sam, I kept my legs closed to the rest of the men in the bunkhouse.
That night, after Sam had tended to the horses and I had cooked our meal—and Jake had gotten started on the drinking—we celebrated our arrival by dipping into the large supply of liquor Sam had brought up—the clinking of the saddlebags on the horses reminding us of good times to come all the time we were riding up into the mountains.
