January 10, 2007
Fiction
Horsing Around
They couldn’t fuck in the house; David got too loud and it felt strange to have Marcus on him and in him while they were in the bed where he’d spent his teenaged years. They arrived two days before Christmas. When they carried their bags upstairs, David’s mother Sara told them, “You boys take David’s old room. I made up the bunk beds for you.”
Oblivious. David wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
Marcus asked him about it as they unpacked their bags.
“She probably just thinks you’re some lonely singleton with no place to be on Christmas. I’ve brought friends home from college before at the holidays. Ones who couldn’t afford to fly back home or who didn’t want to.”
Marcus stood behind him and wrapped his strong arms around David’s waist. He gazed at David in the mirror. “Babe, you really should tell them about us.”
“I know. I will.” The thought made his torso cold. Marcus was his first man-he’d brought home girlfriends all through high school and college and now this-this unfathomable desire for Marcus.
It had started in May, inexplicably, piercing as the sun’s rays. Marcus, David and a couple other interns had the horses in the wash racks, doing anti-fungal baths. The day was breezy, the horses were keyed up and having fun as they bit the water hose or shook their manes to wet down the humans. Marcus took off his shirt. Watching Marcus’s strong arms and broad back grow wet and slick as he worked on the animals captured David utterly. He’d been glad to be wearing loose khakis-they hid his growing cock. David denied the attraction through June, spent July and August nights masturbating to thoughts of Marcus and in September, they started for real.
David kept his voice low. “I’m not sure I can explain it to them when I haven’t really figured it out myself.”
“I’m not saying you have to do it right this second but-I’m not going to lie to them if they start asking about my girlfriends. Are we clear on that?”
“Clear.”
“I won’t push you. You just let me know what you’re ready for.” Marcus nuzzled David’s golden neck.
David’s gaze flicked to the bedroom’s open door. He turned in Marcus’s grip, kissed his bare scalp and dark eyebrows. “Thanks. Thanks for coming home with me and being with me and . . ..”
Loving me.
He couldn’t say that-yet.
•
After dinner, Marcus helped Sara in the kitchen. David overheard pieces of their conversation as he carried in plates and silverware: “Now, where did you meet my David?” Marcus’s voice, low as a foghorn. “He worked on my thoroughbred farm, he was one of the January interns this year.”
David stood at the dining room table, ears straining. What was his mother saying? Was she nosing around Marcus too much, too soon? He picked up the salad bowl with care. This would be an easy way to handle it, maybe if Marcus let it slip about no girlfriends. Then he felt foolish and cowardly.
“You know I always thought David would want to get out of animal care. All these years on the farm here, and 4-H through school.”
“Animals are what he loves. He’s great with them,” Marcus replied.
David moved back into the kitchen, and met Marcus’s eyes. When Sara bent over the dishwasher, Marcus gave him a quick wink.
“True. His sister, Brenda, got an accounting degree. She couldn’t wait to get off the farm.” She rose, pressing one hand against her lower back.
David touched her shoulder. “Go sit down, Mom. We’ll finish this up.”
She protested a little, until David took her to the den and made her sit down. “You want tea? Coffee?” he said over the blare of the evening news. His parents shook their heads, no, and he left them alone.
Once the kitchen was cleaned up, they all played hearts, then settled in to watch the nine o’clock news from Indianapolis. The house was the same as when David had left for college six years before: the fire sent a warm, homey scent through the house, Stan’s pipe that was fathersmell to David. All of the furniture was exactly where it had been while David was growing up. The plaid sofa on one wall, the ugly coffee table covered with water stains and indented pen marks from years of the children’s doing homework on it. David found it all a sweet comfort.
Marcus and David sprawled on both ends of the sofa. Sara sat in her wingback chair, her sewing basket at her feet. She was always quilting, always bent over a needle and thread, brows furrowed. David thought she looked like Angela Lansbury in that wolf movie from years ago: her hair tugged back, her reading glasses balanced on her nose. Sara’s mouth was down-turned and for the first time, David noticed the gray in her hair and that it was coarse-looking.
The weather report was just coming on when Marcus’s soft snore made them all look up. His shaved head was pillowed on the sofa’s back cushions, his mouth was open, eyes closed. David and Stan and Sara smiled at one another.
“We had to leave the house in Gainesville at three to make our flight up to Atlanta. He’s really tired.” David explained, his voice quiet.
“Any man who runs a farm is early to bed, early to rise,” Stan said.
“That he is.” David stood and stretched. He could touch the low ceiling in this room and he remembered leaping for it as a kid, playing Batman, playing Super-hero. “We’re gonna crash, folks.”
David pressed a quick kiss on his Mother’s forehead, another on his father’s rough cheek. He touched Marcus’s knee. “Wake up sleepyhead.”
Marcus opened his eyes and David saw a second of unease on his face. He didn’t know where he was. David leaned down a little. “We’re in Bloomington. It’s time for bed.”
“Mmmmmm.” Marcus rolled his eyes, this way and that and sat up. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have fallen asleep like that.”
Protests from David’s parents-”oh, we understand, we’re farmers, too” came from Stan and Sara’s, “men who work as hard as you boys do deserve a nap after dinner,” were sweet. Too sweet for David’s taste right now. His thoughts weren’t sweet and innocent any more and he longed to get Marcus into bed and pumping away, both of them.
But after they used the bathroom and locked the bedroom door and settled under the quilt that Sara had made, David felt something in himself lock down. Marcus brought out the shaving kit bag they’d packed last night in Florida and David swallowed as Marcus’s broad fingers tugged out the lube and condoms.
He wanted to be touched, yes-wanted Marcus’s hands and mouth on him, oh God yes, but . . ..
Something showed on his face. Marcus traced David’s nose with one finger. “Babe, are you okay?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” David lay back on the bed. His face flushed and he didn’t know why-he couldn’t explain it. “I don’t think I can do this.” He glanced at the lube. “That. Not tonight. I . . .. I’m sorry.”
Marcus elbowed up next to him, brown eyes soft. This man was so gentle and it made David’s heart tighten. “Shhh, shhh, shhh. Don’t apologize about this. It’s okay.”
David relaxed a little. “This all feels a little weird, you know.”
“Did you ever bring girls home and sleep with them here?”
“No.”
“That’s probably part of it, then,” Marcus said. “You’ve never fucked in this room, in this house even.”
“Yeah. I kept my sex life elsewhere, that’s for sure.”
Marcus put away the bag. His face was clear, even as David searched for annoyance. Marcus lay back on the too-small pillows. “Come ‘ere.”
David rested his head on Marcus’s deep chest, listening to the other man’s heartbeat, listening to the December wind hoot around the house, to the tick of the wall heaters. He felt Marcus’s heartbeat slow, his breathing grow deep and knew Marcus was dozing off again. He’d been up the night before too, with a mare who foaled three weeks early. The man was tired.
David’s cock woke up, wanting attention.
No, not now!
He knew he could slip into the bathroom and jerk off like he’d done all those years as a teenager. He knew he could roll over and stroke himself in the bed but Marcus was a light sleeper and that would wake him.
And he knew he could wake Marcus up and that Marcus wouldn’t mind. He’d done it before, at home in Gainesville.
He pressed against Marcus, his semi-hard cock easing over the dark fuzz that covered Marcus’s legs. His pre-come oozed against the wiry hair and he felt Marcus wake up.
“You horny?” Marcus’s deep voice was froggy, sleepy.
“Yeah.”
“Come ‘ere, then.” Marcus sat up and scooched the pillows under his beefy neck and shoulders so that he was half-reclining. He tugged David to a straddle over his chest. His warm hands stroked David’s lengthening cock as he talked. “You want this, don’t you? To look at me while I touch you?”
David groaned.
“Say it to me. Tell me what you want.” Marcus’s whisper was guttural, rich.
“Suck me, Marcus. Suck my cock. Please.” David pushed forward.
Marcus always made him feel like this, heated and thrusting and incoherent with desire. His pink cock waved in front of Marcus’s face. Marcus held his gaze for a time then opened his mouth and swallowed him whole and it was just what he needed, Marcus’s hands clenched against his buttocks, that warm mouth working him from root to tip and David reached up, hooked his fingers in the bedsprings above him and held on, he had to, his legs were jerking and his hips thrust faster and faster as Marcus sucked him. David pressed his forehead up against the black springs and felt the cool metal hard against his skin. Marcus wrapped one hand over him, tunneling, and used his mouth for suction as he stroked David. His cock pulsed and the waves of his coming started in his belly. Marcus used one hand to squeeze his balls-just then, just the right time-and David let loose a soft groan as his semen gushed out of him. He hung there on the springs for a while, until his breathing slowed and he could open his eyes.
His limbs were loose, gelid. David eased down onto Marcus’s belly, his legs over his lover’s hips, knees up, like a baby on a mother’s belly and yes, that’s what he was now, Marcus’s baby. The thought made David’s face flush.
Marcus stroked his back, big hands smoothing his body down and down and down and David slept.
•
On Christmas Eve day, the men went out to ride the fences: Stan, David, Marcus and Lonnie, Stan’s ranch foreman. They stopped twice and nailed some barbed wire back onto posts. David trotted next to Marcus and watched him grimace when the horses picked up an uneven jog over the hilly farmland.
“Not exactly like posting the trot is it, old man?” David teased. He’d grown up using Western saddles, learned to ride English just since going to college.
“The damn stirrups are too long to post. I’m gonna have bruises on my ass tonight from this. Geez, how do cowboys do this all day?” But Marcus grinned and tried to stand up a little in the stirrups.
David leaned over a little. “Most cowboys have someone back home to rub their ass.”
“You volunteering?”
“You bet.” David kicked Rusty into an easy lope. Marcus’s horse picked right up and they cantered together to catch up to Stan and Lonnie, who were waving.
A section of the barbed wire fencing had sagged down. David and Lonnie struggled to pull it up straight while Stan and Marcus used the clippers and mallet to repair it. Marcus wasn’t used to contorting the nasty metal; when one piece snapped back before Stan was able to hammer it, it left a jagged cut in his palm even through the leather gloves he wore. David insisted on checking the wound. The gouge of flesh and bright blood made him wince.
Lonnie had a clean bandana and Marcus wrapped the blue fabric around his hand. They finished the other repair with no problem and galloped back to the barn, shouting, the horses huffing beneath them, cattle scattering as they raced through the fields.
They got back to the house at lunchtime, everyone flushed and warm and loud as they stomped back into the house. “Oh, you men look so handsome! Like the Marlboro man come to life!” Sara said cheerfully.
David liked it, liked the energy they gave off, their strong bodies moving through her kitchen as if untamed. Sara zipped in and out, setting the dining room table, as the men washed up. David kept an eye on her as he worked on Marcus at the sink.
They stood close together. Sara stepped near as David washed Marcus’s left hand with the bar of Ivory soap she kept there, and the water was pink, bloody. “Oh, goodness! What’s wrong?”
David looked over at her, blue eyes calm. “Just a cut, Mom. Everything’s okay.” He smoothed his hands over Marcus’s, swooshing the water over the wound.
Sara’s neck flushed. “Can I help?”
Marcus looked over his shoulder at her. “I trust David. He’s got the medical training around here.”
Sara fluttered about a little. “Will it need stitches?” The sight of their hands twined together seemed to bother her. “We can call Doc Emerson.”
“Mom? Neosporin? Band-Aids?” David’s voice, cutting through her peculiar fog.
“Pantry. Top back shelf. In a blue basket on the far right.”
When he came back, David tugged away the paper towel Marcus had used to blot his hand and he squeezed the antibiotic cream on Marcus’s torn palm. David peeled back a Band-Aid pad and placed it gently on Marcus’s hand. “There,” he said. “You’ll live.” He gave Marcus a soft smile and held his injured hand for several seconds. If they were at home he would have given Marcus a kiss but David was aware of the other men talking in the dining room and his mother at the kitchen island.
Sara turned away and left the room. David leaned over, pressed his mouth to Marcus’s cheek. Not as sensual as a real kiss, but it was gentle contact and that’s what David wanted. He heard his mother’s footsteps approaching from the dining room and pulled away, his face flushed, his chest prickly with new sweat.
“You getting ready, babe?” Marcus whispered.
“I guess I am.” He gave Marcus’s injured hand a quick squeeze.
•
Christmas day was loud. David’s sisters came, Brenda and Valerie, and between them they had six kids, plus their husbands. They did the presents in the morning, had a late breakfast of Danish and cereal and then Sara fired up the kitchen and there was no stopping her.
By mid-afternoon, the kids were embroiled in various video games or the movies they’d received for presents. Stan went out to deliver the Christmas hams and liquor to his foremen and their families. David’s sisters sat in the breakfast nook; Sara liked company while she cooked but she didn’t want any help.
Sara invited Katie, a classmate from David’s high school for lunch, a girl he dated and petted and he’d nuzzled between her legs a couple of times and it was probably the first time he’d fallen in love but now he looked at her and felt nothing. David chatted with Katie for a bit then she wanted to check email and so he set her up in Stan’s office. Marcus came downstairs, freshly dressed in pressed khakis and a pale yellow dress shirt that set off his dark skin and eyes. He made David’s knees go wobbly, just seeing him at the kitchen island, trying to help with the salad and David felt a rush of heat. The women in the room perked up.
Hands off, girls.
“Want to go outside and check the horses?” David asked. His belly and groin warmed. Marcus . . . and some privacy.
“Sure.” Marcus’s gaze was even.
Sara spoke up as they headed towards the mudroom. “Don’t you horsemen ever get enough of those beasts?”
“Never!” Marcus boomed as they tugged on their jackets and pulled on gloves. “Equines are creatures from the gods!”
They ran up the hill to the barn, laughing, feet crunching on the cold earth. Belle, the head mare, poked her head out of the side window of her stall and whinnied. Inside, the barn was warmer, filled with the pleasant scent of hay and horses and rightness. Marcus went over to Paulie’s stall and David watched as Marcus checked the colt’s left haunch where the colt had banged up a fence. His big hands smoothed over the animal’s pelt and David felt himself stir, wanting Marcus’s hands on him, in him, and more.
”Hey,” David said, his voice soft.
Marcus looked up, saw his face and he stepped out of the stall. David took his hand and led him to the hayloft on the south end of the barn. Once up the ladder, David set up two hay bales, waist high and he leaned against them, watching Marcus. David was hard already, his breath puffing in the afternoon’s cool air.
Marcus’s eyes were soft. “What do you want, babe?”
“You. I want you.” David slipped off his heavy coat and loafers. He unfastened his pants and let them drop to the floor. A puff of hay dust rose in the air. Marcus’s face flushed, went tight as his gaze moved down David’s body. David tugged open his shirt. His cock stretched away at his briefs, its pink head showing at the elastic band.
David pulled off his shorts and Marcus strode towards him, big hands reaching for him. David arched back over the hay, feeling the rough straw against his spine and butt, the coolness of the air and Marcus’s warm mouth suckling him. He looked down, and it turned him on even more, like it always did. Seeing Marcus on his knees, doing what he was doing, his shaved head bobbing as his mouth worked on David’s cock.
“Stop. I want . . ..” David lifted Marcus’s head. “Come up here.” David turned and bent over the hay. His cock pronged into the straw, scratchy against him.
“Are you ready?” Marcus asked.
“Yeah. I used the lube at the house. Here.” He tugged a condom out of his pocket, listening to the quiet tear of the packet and he closed his eyes. This. This was what he wanted, Marcus on him, inside him. “Please, please.”
Marcus used one finger, and stroked behind David’s balls, rubbing the skin just there. David squirmed, groaning.
“Is this what you want?” Marcus leaned over him. His breath was warm on David’s neck, comforting.
“Yes!” David thrust back, felt the cool of the condom over Marcus’s warm cock. He rubbed back, letting it slick between his cheeks. A shudder of heat and desire ran through him. “You, Marcus, you inside me.”
Marcus ran his cock up and down, over David’s cheeks, then between them, wetting him, teasing him, getting him even more ready. David put his face into the straw, breathing its warmth, felt the dust in his ear and on his lashes and then Marcus thrust into him. David’s face scraped forward against the hay. Marcus filled him and then stood still. David waited-this moment was always between them-Marcus solidly inside him and stretching him out, a few seconds waiting and Marcus pulled back and thrust in again. David rocked against the hay bales, felt them move beneath them. His cock rubbed against the hay, that scratchiness again. Marcus’s hands gripped his hips, the gentleness gone; this was bruise-tight and David loved it, loved that Marcus felt this fucking, that Marcus lost himself a little when they were connected.
Marcus’s cock rubbed that bump inside David, rubbed him hot, made David twitch and jerk David gathered his legs and pushed back in time to Marcus’s thrusts, pushing back, opening up even more. David slipped one hand onto his bobbing cock, its smooth skin on his palm as the hay scratched against the other side. He kept his eyes open, seeing the green and the gold and yellow of the straw against his face. He spread his legs wider and lifted himself up-oh, yes, deeper, oh there-David jerked himself harder, feeling it start, close now, so close and his mouth opened and the sound was more than a groan, less than a shout, a release of air and passion and love, and he cried out, loud and wanting, feeling Marcus quicken his thrusts. David’s cock pulsed and spurted, sweet coming. Marcus gave three more fast thrusts then shuddered and stayed buried deep inside David.
David came back to awareness: hearing the horses in their stalls beneath them; realizing how cold it was; his nose twitching up and then he sneezed. Marcus slipped out of him. They slowly stood and pulled up their clothing, moving with no hurry. David adjusted Marcus’s yellow shirt into his pants and brushed off the hay dust from Marcus’s knees.
Marcus pressed against him, layering soft kisses over his face and neck. He lifted David onto the hay bales. David wrapped his legs around Marcus’s waist, pulled Marcus’s head to his shoulder.
Marcus spoke against David’s neck. “You had enough of this horsing around?”
David smiled, tightening his arms and legs around Marcus. “Never.”
Marcus drew back, his face serious. “Listen, we didn’t get to talk about this much before we left but-are you going to tell your parents about us?”
David’s chest tightened. “I guess I should.”
“If you don’t, it’s like saying you’re ashamed of me. Of us.”
David let go, let Marcus step back from his arms. “I know. I know that in my head but when I think about actually doing it . . . It kinda flips me out.”
“This would be easier if you hadn’t been straight.”
David smiled. “You’re right. At least you weren’t bringing home girls all through high school and college. I sure did.” He ran one hand through his hair, stretching his forehead up and down.
“Maybe you should talk to them one on one. Which one would be the most understanding?”
“Believe it or not, Dad. I know that sounds strange. He’s the traditional farmer, all that work ethic and Midwestern stuff but I think he might understand. And then maybe he could help me talk to Mom.”
“He seems like a good guy, well-balanced.”
“I’ll get Dad to go to the store with me this afternoon and tell him then.”
When they closed the barn door, they linked hands and walked back down the hill to the house together.
• • •
is a Central Florida writer whose work has been chosen for Best Gay Romance 2007, Country Boys, and Hot Cops (Cleis Press) and Love in a Lock-Up from StarBooks Press. Diamond’s stories have also appeared in Best Gay Love Stories 2005 and 2006 (Alyson Publications), in Feathers and Play Ball from Torquere Press, and online at Clean Sheets and Ruthie's Club. Time away from the keyboard is spent riding horses, gardening, and pondering the inestimatable beauty of tigers. More info is available at: www.vincentdiamond.com.
