Cowboy Roundup

Taming Brooks by R.W. Clinger-5

Some of the rafters are low in the loft and I hang from one by my hulking palms, looming over Brooks. I study the cowboy’s spread legs and his open ass, which are both ready for my use.

Wearing nothing but his tan Stetson and his boots, he is splayed over a bale of hay on his back, perpendicular to me, and peers up at me with infiltrating desire in his hazel eyes; their allure telling me he can’t wait to have his bottom lodged with my c**k. The man begs, “Take a lick.”

I listen to him, draw my tongue up the smooth length of his d**k before positioning my lips over the head. I begin to suck him off like the good ranch hand that I am. My tongue ropes the head of his d**k and plays with its excess skin, works it up and down, and drives the cowboy into a mad frenzy as he cries out like a delirious wildcat. I pinch his n*****s and run fingers down and over each of his abs, suck his erection with skill and an almighty tongue that is quite…handy itself. I lasso his d**k with a palm, cause him to hump and grind my mouth and throat until he is ready to burst his load.

Quickly, I cease my lapping and licking. Kneeling between his opened legs, the cowboy’s clean-shaven ass glows at me, smiling. It’s the hottest ass that I have ever seen, smirking at me for some oral satisfaction. With my c**k burning hard between my legs, I spread his pink slit with my tongue, and probe his center like a good man, experienced. Here, I cause him to hum wildly on the bale of hay while he clenches palms over the lumber above his head, holding the beam for dear life.

He’s no Oakie dipshit. No way. He’s everything rough and tender. “You’re driving me crazy, dude. Ride it now. Tame my ass like a bronco.”

I fetch latex from his jeans and saddle it over my inches. I position myself between his legs, and rub my c**k-tip against his needy, tight hole. I press…

He arches his neck back, spreads his legs wider, and demands, “Tame it, Randy…right now!”

Immediately, I push inside Brooks’ asshole and cause him to call out my name. I pull out with ease, and rush inside him again, beginning to tame him. With skill, I hold onto his ankles, kick his ass like an angry horse, buck him with smooth hits, and open up his asshole with my d**k.

Brooks thunders, “You’re making me pre-c*m, Randy.”

I watch a line of pre-ejaculate wash against the cowboy’s lower torso. He’s so turned on by my bucking and riding that he can’t keep part of his load in. The white bubbles of semen decorates his fine, golden hair on his tight abs and smooth naval. His pulsating d**k bounces to my movements, ready to burst with very little touch, graze, lick, or…

My d**k grows even harder and I grind, glide, bolt, race, and plow his asshole. My movements are careful and galvanized, rhythmical and pounding-hard.

Brooks can’t help himself and whines up to me with wide eyes and stretched neck cords, “I’m broken, dude. Completely tamed.” He latches one of his hands on his c**k and begins to rotate palm and fingers over the uncut head.

As the sticky-hard cowboy beats his own d**k, I quickly pull out of him, rip off the condom, and stand above him with my legs spread, and my c**k directly pointed over his rising and falling chest. Together we form a rodeo of hands and c***s at work, eyes locked on each other’s steamy bodies, teeth gritting and jaws locked. We thrust our hips in synchronized motion; continuous gyrations flooding through our bo dies; vibrations that cause endless jolts as pleasure persists.

Dual lines of semen fly out of our erections at the same time. We huff and blow in shared and exhausting actions.

Breathing heavily, spent in the barn’s loft, I lean forward, slip under the rafter, climb overtop Brooks, and stick my chest to his chest, sealing us together. I place lips over his mouth, enjoy a long kiss with him, pull off, and ask, “Do I win a blue ribbon prize for riding you, bronco?”

He rolls me on my back, over the bale of hay, stands, and pushes my legs apart. He begins something else between us for the next half hour, grins down at me, hungry for his c**k to meet my ass, and explains, “The biggest blue ribbon you can imagine, cowboy. That is, as soon as I’m done saddling you up for my ride, boyfriend.”

* * * *

It’s early morning, just before the sun rises and the roosters decide to annoy me. Brooks and I are inside his kitchen and I prepare coffee for us, which is always too strong. He looks tired this morning and I wonder what’s on his mind. After pouring our coffees, I sit across from him at the small wooden table and ask, “What are you thinking about?”

“Us.” His voice sounds deflated, lacking anything at all that resembles excitement.

“What about us?” I take a sip of the hot coffee, relish it, and go for a second sip.

“I’m a man who believes in marriage and can’t accomplish that with you.”

I become flattered by his comment, overjoyed that he wants to spend the rest of his life with me. “Someday,” I say, reach across the table and pat his right hand with my left one. “Give it time. We’ll have the right to marry soon.”

“I don’t think I can wait that long.”

“So you’re going to ditch me,” I say, playing with him. “Uncle Sam f***s us over and you decide to become a cowboy player, right?”

He laughs.

I laugh.

“I’m not saying that at all, Randy, and you know it.”

What I know is simple: we’re combined by more than just s*x, our hearts seem melded together, unbreakable.

* * * *

Later in the morning Brooks is bare-chested and working in the barn. He repairs one of the narrow long floorboards on the second loft, which is where a majority of the hay is stored for the horses. He’s on his knees, pounding nails into a board, doing his repair. His tight ass is in my face, which I don’t disapprove of at all. He’s shirtless and his right biceps and back muscles stretch. A fine and decorative layer of sweat glazes his flesh. He takes a break from his job, looks over his right shoulder at my arrival, and shares a glowing smile with me that exemplifies heartfelt tenderness mixed with a hint of man-lust.

“I brought you some water,” I say, and extend to him a silver canteen with a narrow leather strap, which I have carried over my left shoulder, climbing the rungs, one after the next.

“Always thinking of me, aren’t you?” He unscrews the canteen’s lid and takes a long swig. The cords along his muscular neck flex as he consumes the liquid. Some of the water drips out of the corners of his mouth and glides down and over his chin. Once he is finished taking his drink, he wipes the back of his right hand over his mouth, shares a grin with me again, and adds, “I’ve been waiting for a guy like you to come around in my life. Glad you’re here at my side, Randy. And I’m really glad that I like you the way I do.”

I honestly don’t know what to say. What slides between my lips is rather elementary, but to the point, “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

We don’t communicate in the loft in a s****l manner. Rather, he stands and we face each other. Then our chests collide , man positioned to man. Our mouths lock together and we share a heated embrace with our mouths and tongues.

Eventually I pull away, teasing, “You need help out here?”

“More than you know.” It’s not the truth, since I’m very much aware that he can accomplish the job by himself. Honestly, he prefers my company, having me at his side like the boyfriend or lover that I am. He nails a new board among other boards in the second floor loft.

“How can I help?” I ask, and kneel next to him, pass him a few nails from a thick cardboard container, and spend the remaining morning with him, and the afternoon, choosing to be in his company.

* * * *

I’m Brooks’ boyfriend now. He asks me and I accept. In his bed. Against his heart. It’s exactly where he wants me to be. He spoils me. Lusts for me. Desires no one but me. And he says he’s going to buy me a belt buckle like a wedding band. I believe him. This isn’t a fantasy. It’s more like a cowboy fairytale. Just the two of us united as one. Together. I can’t ask for anything more: horses, a ranch, and a man I love. It’s a cowboy dream come true. Never can I think of enjoying Stockton County so much, and everything that comes with it.

Best tell you that we do everything together (shower, shave, sleep, eat, chores, and all the cowboy things on the ranch) and that the four ranch hands know about our relationship, and respect it. Cowboys around here like to be with each other, and maybe this is the primary reason why I decided to come here in the first place, besides needing a job. Truth is I never meant to fall in love. Never. Not at all. This just happened on its own. It’s sort of like how chickens lay brown eggs opposed to white; it just happens on its own and one isn’t supposed to question the process or the end product.

“Ain’t no reason to be afraid of what we have.” This is what Brooks says, confident about his chatter. He also says that sometimes a man wants to be with another man, which is his given right. Some strange female rock star in New York City sings a song about it. Born a certain way. It’s not a choice. Something like that. Not that we listen to much rock and roll in these parts. Brooks calls it companionship among or between men. Open-minded and things like that. Different than the rest of the world of cowboys. We’re all strange, but we still love. All of us. I don’t care who you are. Love is here. Honestly.

At nighttime we talk. Side by side in the bed we share. The two of us whisper. He says, “I don’t know what I did with myself before I hired you.”

“You probably had many ranch hands to choose from.”

“Maybe. But you’re the one I picked.”

“I’m not complaining.”

I turn on my side and face him. One of my index fingers discovers the scruff on his chin and brushes it. “Do you love me, Dallas Brooks?”

“I could.”

I poke his chin and ask again, “Cowboy, are you head over boots for me?”

“You’re my partner,” he admits, and I take this for what it’s worth; he does love me. Forever.