For my mom, this was the last straw. I had gotten in trouble earlier this year for selling pirated DVDs; now, a week after graduation, I got caught drunk driving. "I just can't trust you, can I?" my mother fumed. It was about 3 a.m. when we left going home. My three buddies and I had been cruising around town all night partying and drinking. Five hours and fifty beers later, I was in trouble. Good thing summer was coming up soon, or so I thought.
"Mom, no way!" I yelled. My mother was packing me up and shipping me out west to my Uncle Mike's ranch in Montana for the whole summer. Not a bad place, unless you like feeding chickens and shoveling horseshit all day. He was my mom's older brother and he was a widower. My Aunt Gwen died 8 years ago. They had five kids---Mike Jr., Brian, Allison, Stacy and Lonnie. The oldest four had gone to college or settled down. Eighteen-year old Lonnie had just graduated high school and was going to college in the fall. Mom thought it would be good for me to get away from the city for the summer.
"You need to get away from Rick and those boys for a while. Some time in the country will do you good. Lonnie will be there. I remember how much fun you two had together when you were younger." Fun? He made me eat dirt when we were 9 and put my head in the pig trough when I was 11. I guess we had different definitions of "fun". I wasn't looking forward to this, but I wasn't going to let him pick on me, either.
I had a major growth spurt in 9th grade, and being a sturdy 5"10, I had a boost of confidence and a cockiness that made me more or less invincible to being picked on. I was still pretty lanky, but I could hold my own in a fist-fight any day. If I had to spend the entire summer with Lonnie, I was ready.
When my plane landed, I walked into the terminal and recognized Uncle Mike easily. He was a mountain of a man, 6"4, 250 lbs. He was also the kind of guy who'd mop the floor with you, then buy you a beer. He helped me with my bags and went outside to the truck. It was blazing hot that morning (ninety-three degrees at 10:40 a.m.). Uncle Mike and Lonnie lived on a ranch about 6 miles outside the city limits. The last I remember it was a huge, sprawling place with lots of open range. I'll admit it was a nice place, I was just angry I was being forced to be here against my will. When we pulled up, it was a sight: a huge, mini-mansion style place, two stories high, with a four-car garage and a lawn the size of a golf course.
"I remodeled it two years ago. Wait 'til you see the inside," he beamed. This place was some contrast to the three-story walkup my mom and I shared in Pittsburgh."Maybe this won't be too bad. A little retreat-like getaway," I thought. The entire house was grand. Hardwood floors, a spacious TV room, a kitchen big enough to seat 25 and a backyard that stretched out to the horizon. It was when he led me back there that I saw this guy lying on his stomach, facing away from me. He was clad only in a pair of speedos that clung to his tight ass. He had a fairly brown skintone, obviously from hours of sunbathing. Uncle Mike turned down the volume on the blaring stereo so he could hear himself.
"LONNIE! Get your ass up, boy!" he thundered. I couldn't believe this was Lonnie? 18 year-old Lonnie? He sat straight up, eyes widened in surprise. "Holy shit, dad! You scared the fuck outta me!" Lonnie looked like he could easily pass for 25. He wa about 6 feet tall, and a firm and sturdy 180, more or less. He had short, light brown hair and bangs that fell into is eyes depending on which way he cocked his head. He had an impressive physique. Not Schwarzenegger big, but with defined pecs, toned, muscular legs and a six-pack to kill for.
"Go show your cousin John to his room," Uncle Mike said. Lonnie walked towards me with a smile so big his eyes squinted.
"How's it goin' bud?" he asked as he gave me a quick hug. As we pressed together, the hard bulge in his skivvies was undeniable. "Let me get that for you," he offered as he lifted one of my bags onto his shoulder with effortless ease.
"Damn," I thought. I don't know if I was actually gay, but when we'd change over in the locker room after gym, it became hard not to stare at some of the guys walking to and from the showers, their asses bouncing and dicks swinging. I say if someone's attractive, it's okay to look, but not too long. That's why I only took fleeting glances, but it was hard not to notice Lonnie, especially the way the tight speedos clung to his taut, hard-as-a-rock ass.
Just then, Uncle Mike gave me a hard pat on the back, which startled the shit out of me. "Whoa, boy! Guess the house is a bit much for ya?" he bellowed.
"It sure is," I exclaimed, trying bravely to cover up the real reason for my glazed and hypnotic stare.
"Well, I gotta go back into town for some feed and things," my uncle said. "You go on and get settled in and make yourself at home. Some brews and some whiskey in the fridge. Don't drink too much now. Don't wanna ship ya back in worse shape than you came," he laughed. I laughed too. Uncle Mike was my favorite, even if I didn't get along with Lonnie. Somehow, I had a feeling that was going to change.
"C'mon up, Johnny," Lonnie said rather friendly. We went upstairs, where he led me down a long hallway. He walked ahead of me at a steady pace, while I quietly admired the view from the rear. "Checkin' it out, huh?" Lonnie quipped.
"What?" I asked, knowing I gave myself away.
"Checkin' out the house? It's pretty big for just dad and me, but it was his idea to add on to it." I breathed a sigh of relief. This was the second time I almost let my eyes get me in trouble. He opened the door to a nice, motel-sized room.
"Set your stuff up and chill if ya want. I'll be in my room if you need anything," he said, smiling enigmatically. It creeped me out somehow. Not a Jack Nicholson "The Shining" creepy but a sexy, bad boy creepy. I got my things unpacked and put away my stuff, then I familiarized myself with this resort they call home. I went back upstairs and heard music coming from down the hall. I walked to the doorway and saw Lonnie sitting on the edge of the bed, talking on the phone. He was still wearing his skimpy swimwear. He motioned for me to come in and sit by him. I felt a slight twitch in my pants and prayed I wouldn't catch a noticeable boner in front of him. What would he think? I sat down and put my hands in my lap. He was on the phone with one of his boys, then he reached in a pair of jeans and pulled out a sandwich bag that had, like 40 joints in it. He took one out and sparked it up. Lonnie too his ear from the phone and asked me, "You smoke?"
"Hell, yeah!" I exclaimed. He just grinned and nodded, took a few puffs, and passed it to me. For like the next two hours we sat up in his room getting stoned and catching up on the last few years.
"Wow man, you really grew up," Lonnie said like a proud great-aunt or something.
"And, uh, so have you," I groaned. Lonnie took one more drag of like, our 20th joint and passed it to me. He then went for the door. Where are you going?" I asked in a pot-induced haze.
"Just down to the sun porch. Coming?"
"Maybe later. Mind if I smoke some more?"
"Nah, man. Knock yourself out."