ate: Sat, 8 Feb 2025 07:19:32 +0000 (UTC)
From: Justin Balancier
Subject: Wichita - Part 12
"Wichita"
Part 12
Wichita is back, to where a friend is a friend.
*********
Jack was healthy again and we, (Curly and Jack,) decided not to talk any
longer about tracking robbers, Comanche Indians, or waiting in town for
stagecoaches. None of that was worth repeating. It was dangerous to live in
the past, and the best advice was to never look back.
The obstacles for us were out of the way. We envisioned the future held a
gorgeous life. I hate that word, "gorgeous" � too lady-like for a
cowboy. However, `gorgeous' is what it was.
It is strange, well actually, remarkable, how two western cowboys can meet
and become a family. It sounds really simple and na�ve, except for the
naughty part. Don't look now, but naughty is the best part. I never
thought, from the beginning, about love. Nah, that was only in story
books. I thought about cock and exploring a warm inviting body. I felt like
saying � "You've got it all cowboy, you're one of the good guys.
Jack, a Preston, still claiming he was a top, would laugh, when alone, and
just talk. We sucked and fucked, with not a care in the world. Dang, it
took a while, but we really knew what love had to do with the whole
shebang.
For sure, love was everything, just the same, I liked the nasty part just a
little better. I don't know what Jack preferred. He wouldn't stop fucking
me long enough to talk about it. � Just kidding, he loved what he loved,
but I had him figured out.
With turn of the century, travel improvements and changes were occurring
everywhere in Wichita. However, one thing remained constant - the
appreciation for cock, on the homo wrangler, who was king.
A few chores seldom changed on the farm, except for something extra being
added from time to time. Pa was becoming arthritic and having back
problems. He thought about adding a wrangler with farming experience, to
help Jack and me.
Now, how the heck could we do "naughty" with a farm helper around watching
our every move? Having privacy meant more, than a farm hand's assistance
with something we had nicely under control. Pa, of course, was looking out
for us; however we were different from the average cowboy. Jack and I were
not average. We were above that, even if folks, never in a million years,
would agree. Kinda silly � huh?
We were not complaining, ranching alone with Jack stepping in horse shit,
and laughing about it, was one way we tossed the minutes off the clock.
We also spent time in the hayloft with my head resting in Jack's lap. He
would play with my hair, kiss my face and put his hand down the front of my
pants. Sometimes my jeans would come off and it was springtime on the
Preston ranch. Believe me; I knew what side of the bread was buttered,
when that happened.
*********
We were lying on the floor in the hay loft. Jack was holding me and had his
hand under my belt, and down my pants. He was in hot pursuit for something.
"Do you like holding on to that Preston sticky pecker?" I asked Jack.
"Shore, it belongs to me. You piss through it, but I milk it. Ha, get out
of that one," he joked, rocking my legs like a little baby.
I unbuckled my jeans and my dick sprung free. Jack leaned over and licked
around the head of my cock moaning like a cow on loco weed.
"Fuck, Curly, you are a meat rollin wrangler. Gaud, I love yuh partner. I
love everything about you." he added.
"Dang, you want to fuck. You always say that when you want to poke my ass,
and coat my insides like a bull."
My pants off, and I crawled up Jack's chest, and kissed him.
"Do you love me"" Jack asked.
"Are you talking about today, or right now?"
There was silence, as I waited for a reaction.
"Oh yeah � you do," he mumbled, placing my hand around his stiff cock.
Jack had a handsome pecker � no kidding `bout that. I wished that fucker
had a couple of flaws, so I would have something to tease him about. But
the damn thing was. � Okay � "gorgeous."
Lying on the floor naked, the hay was sticking to my sweaty skin. It didn't
concern Jack. What he did, was to look at me, spitting inside my butt, and
then pushing into me like a true husband. I was used to it, and never
became bored.
I leaked, hearing him moan and after all these many times, I was remarkably
crazy about him, I couldn't think like a dude any longer. Jack would say,
"Don't worry about thinking � just fuck with me baby." That is how he
would talk, so that is what we did.
For the record, "baby," sounded creepy to me, but I let him talk, as long
as nobody but me heard it. He soon stopped that "baby crap," I heard it
just that once.
Jack was surely something to have. No wonder the Indians wanted to keep
him; although we are not talking about that nightmare any longer. I admire
the Comanche's for having such good wit about them.
Wichita comes across as a fairy tale filled with niceties, but that's okay,
accuracy is good and although I don't know much about homos in big cities,
it does sound right. I can't afford to have negative feelings when a pecker
hanging cowpoke is in need of me. I spend more time washing my ass, dumping
a load, and swallowing Jack, than I do bragging or complaining.
********
At first light, I went to the horse stables leaving Jack chopping wood for
ma's cook stove. I drew straws with Jack, for fun. We did things like that
to break up the monotony. He got chopping wood and I got cleaning out the
stables.
We were freaky about being spontaneous and would switch farming chores
around from time to time, just to be different. Although nothing was really
different, it didn't matter, everything had to be done just the same, one
way or another.
So, here I was shoving wet piss covered horse dung off the floor. Nothing
was too good for our horses, Bucky and Mickey. I kept thinking that way as
the piles of crap became higher.
Next, I was in the cramped horse stable, brushing my horse Mickey, and
feeling uncomfortable, which is stretching a point.
If I was going to brush Mickey, the smart thing would have been to walk him
outside to the coral. I knew that, but just didn't get around to doing
it. Besides, it was working okay, as long as I didn't get horse kicked,
which in the past happened by mistake.
What started with a couple of brush strokes turning odd that fateful
morning. I'm not sure of the true order of events except standing on what
felt like a blanket of horse shit covering a piss soaked floor was
definitely number one.
A stranger was number two. Oh good grief, what is this all about?
********
The old barn door was exactly that - an old barn door. It was on rollers
and instead of opening, it rolled to the right, with a heavy push. I heard
it rolling and expected Pa or Jack any minute.
"Howdy, are you Preston? I'm looking for Elmer Preston." The door was
partially open, so I gave her a little shove. I'm Bill."
"Yup, I'm a Preston, my pa is Elmer. What cha doin here?"
"Well, you see, I was riding through Wichita, and having me a drink at the
saloon. Do you know where the rowdy joint is on the street stretch in
Wichita? � What's ere called?" he mumbled.
"The Hitching Rail."
"Yup, hee-hee, I figured a young feller like you would know where to find
the ladies...hee-hee."
"What do yuh want, Bill?" I asked.
"Well, you see, I was riding through Wichita and..."
"You've already said that, either push on with it, or get."
"A job � I want a job. Nothing too stressful, I ain't no youngster, you
know. I'm in my forties, uh the late forties."
"What's that got to do with the Hitching Rail?" I asked.
"Not a dern thing excepting it was Molly, that hooking-up female who shot
me the news about Elmer Preston, a looking for farm help."
"I'm a farmer, and I can help." Bill said.
"I don't know anything about that. You have to see my pa. He's the boss
around here."
Jack came into the barn behind Bill. Surprised to see he asked. "Who are
you?"
"Oh Jesus, don't ask him, just send him to the house. He wants to see pa."
I said.
Jack took him outside and pointed to the house. Bill waddled up the path
walking his horse, and humming to himself. He wasn't heavy; he just had a
waddle to the way he walked.
"Who was that masked man?" giggled Jack.
"Just plain Bill, not the Lone Ranger, that's for damn sure. He's looking
for a job."
"Oh no, - not that again! Can you imagine him following us around all day?"
"Lordy," began Jack, "I'd never get your lovin, and you know how much that
tight little ass �that long luscious pecker, those hard muscles, the
bushy crotch......"
"ALRIGHT" - I mumbled pulling my zipper down and flipping `Pecker Pete' in
Jack's face.
This is what I'm jawin `bout," moaned Jack, licking my crotch, with is arms
locked around my legs. Saloon Molly never got anything as good as this.
********
What I though was going to be about two minutes of silly groping turned out
to be the real, knock down, nude busting, rattle shakin, butt thumping
session of poking my ass. We traded cum back and forth like candy. Yup, a
whole heap of licking and munching. We weren't pigs, we were cowboy scouts,
enjoy the fruits of labor. Gosh, that ridiculous notion pretty much covers
nothing.
Actually being naughty with Jack was the best way for me to go. For
example, I got everything in and out of bed. Try to beat that, Miss Molly,
the happy two dollar hooker."
Jack was a man for all seasons including any time of the day when the
spirit moved him. I knew he loved sex and like stars, his eyes were on
me. I learned it, I knew it, and I worshipped him for making me the
luckiest cowboy in Kansas.
*********
Bill was out of sight, meaning he was either on the stoop, or in the house
talking to pa.
We had to get up there and put in our two cents worth of thinking. He just
might hire that coot, changing our routine drastically.
It wasn't the end of the world, of course, but we were spoiled. After we
got what we wanted, we needed to keep it for what comes naturally. Well,
you know what comes naturally, in our case.
The three of them, ma, pa, and Bill, were sitting on the stoop, just
talking and laughing.
Holy moly this was not good, and that thought crossed both our minds
thinking the same thing.
********
More to come...
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