The Farmer and Dale

This story is a work of fiction. It deals with love and sex among males. If such things offend you, please do not continue. The characters in this story practice safe sex, always a wise idea.

Once again I'd like to thank my editor, Tim, for keeping me on the straight and narrow, not an easy thing to do. Any mistakes not corrected are entirely my fault.

I'd also like to thank all those who sent such wonderful e-mails concerning my first posting to Nifty, "Thaw In Winter." Your comments were not only encouraging, but they just plain made me feel Good!

Finally, I'd like to dedicate this story to my new friend, Bobby. You have made me laugh, cry, ponder and marvel. You've literally curled my toes with your stories, real and imagined. You amaze me.

The author retains all rights. Please direct all comments/questions to: dlmercer@yahoo.com

THE FARMER AND DALE

Chapter One

Dale Vaden stepped out the front door, onto the porch. The overhanging roof shaded him from the gentle rays of the afternoon sun. It was a beautiful, spring day. The temperatures had been hovering in the mid-sixties for the past week. He stretched his back, groaning as his spine popped and realigned. Clearing a house of 40 years accumulation of living was not easy.

He walked down the three concrete steps at the place where porch and house joined. Stepping to the left, he seated himself on the edge of the porch. He tilted his face to the sun, reveling in the soft heat and light that bathed his skin, and turned the sightless vision behind his closed lids, a rich, radiant red. A lazy breeze touched him now and then. It sent a shiver through him, reminding him of a lovers caress, a lover who was gone after four years. Four years in which Dale had surrendered his heart and believed he'd found his life's partner. How could he have known that Tony didn't feel the same?

Dale's eyes opened as thoughts of Tony flooded his mind, "Ah shit." he whispered.

He stared across the rolling, stubbled fields that surrounded his three acres of land, in the midst of Illinois farm country. Tony was exactly what he didn't want to think about. Tony, with his tall, dark, Italian good looks. His glossy black hair, tremendously sexy, brown eyes, and his larger than life presence. It was infectious, the way he drew every eye in the room with his open, easy attitude and that booming laugh that invited everyone to join in his amusement.

Head shaking, he attempted to deny the wrenching sense of loss and the dark abyss that threatened to open at his feet when thoughts of Tony crept in. Tony and David. Even after two years, two years in which he'd come to realize that Tony really wasn't the man he'd thought him to be, it still hurt. It still hurt to think about David, his own brother, being instrumental in the breakup that tore the heart from him, and left him feeling empty and alone. Feeling not only empty and alone, but more lost than he'd ever felt in his life.

He rubbed a hand across his face, sighing in resignation. A frown crinkled his brow as he admonished himself. It did no good to dwell on the past, at least as far as he and Tony were concerned. He needed to keep reminding himself that this was for the best, that Tony had never truly made him happy. Tony was too much, `out there.' He was always busy running around, socializing, frittering away his time and money. Sure, he made a good living and worked hard, but he spent it almost as fast as he earned it. His attitude sometimes made Dale nervous.

Responsible, staid Dale, who liked to spend the occasional weekend at home instead of running all over creation. Who liked knowing there was a nest egg in the bank, who paid his bills on time and made his deadlines with unerring accuracy.

It was his and Tony's biggest bone of contention. When he was denied his way, Tony pouted with all the aplomb of a four year old. His idea of fun was spending the weekends in endless rounds of shopping, mall, and bar hopping. Dale had generally given in and gone along, until he began to feel resentful and put upon. The years of separation had shown him clearly that their relationship had been headed for trouble. Something that he'd been unable to admit while blinded by his love and need for Tony's companionship. Blinded by the picture he'd built in his mind, instead of seeing the reality of the situation.

Everything considered, Dale knew, if he was honest with himself, his biggest loss was his relationship with his brother. It had been such a shock when David and Tony had come to him, announcing that they wanted to be together. Dale had had a feeling that Tony was drifting away, it just never occurred to him that the someone he was drifting towards, was David. It was a double betrayal, one that had rocked him to his very foundations.

He missed his brother. That was why he struggled so hard to be honest with himself, to lay to rest the demons that tormented him. David had made several attempts to reconcile, but Dale had not been ready to accept his overtures. The pain was too fresh and too raw. His thoughts had been disorganized and jumbled. The ability to think clearly, without the emotional baggage clouding his thought processes, had been impossible. And so he held on to his hurt, nursing it, until the fog had lifted and he began to see all the components involved in the breakup. He began to see that Tony and David had not wanted to hurt him. His brother wasn't a heartless betrayer, he was a man in love.

A wry smile tilted his lips. Now David contended with the never ending running and Tony's spend-thrift ways. And yet, from what he heard from mutual friends, David was successfully taming Tony's wild side. Dale wasn't surprised. David had a way about him, a stubborn core of strength, that when he brought it to bear on a person, he usually managed to bend the unsuspecting victim to his way of thinking. It was a quality Dale lacked, one he admired and had been the target of many times as they grew up.

A full fledged smile lit his face as he thought of David. Dale realized, barring any reservations David might have, and he seemed to have none, that he was nearing the point of being ready to resume a relationship with his brother. A phone call first, he decided. He wasn't quite ready to see the reality of David and Tony together in domestic bliss, but a phone call would be a good start.

That resolved, Dale felt the tension that pulled at his shoulders, ease. Now all I need is a truck to haul all this stuff to Goodwill, a dumpster for the rest and a good man to give me a massage when I get all this hauling done, he thought to himself.

The dull drone of a tractor broke his train of thought. As though on cue, it came into view on the road in front of the house. Seated behind the wheel was a broad-shouldered man in dusty jeans, tee shirt, and work boots. He wore sunglasses, and had a baseball cap perched on his head. Dale couldn't make out his features or his age very well, though from his general build and posture, he seemed young. As he watched, the man turned his head, spotting him on the porch. The farmer lifted an arm and waved a friendly greeting, which Dale returned. He continued to the far edge of the field which was bordered by a hedge row. He turned the tractor in and began making rounds. The tractor hauled some kind of tank set up, which Dale assumed contained fertilizer or weed control of some kind.

He watched the farmer make a few rounds, then sighed and rose, determined to continue until the house was cleared. His grandmother had accumulated a lot of things over the years. A few things of value, like the oak library table, barrister bookcase and the two amazingly comfortable, heavy oak arm chairs with deep padded seats that resided in her bedroom. She also had an extensive set of Franciscan Ware dishes in a poppy pattern, that was displayed in a beautiful mahogany china cupboard. They were actually quite cheery looking with their raised yellow flowers and green leaves, Dale liked them. But for the most part, it was the ordinary assemblage of things one picks up as one goes through life.

Their grandmother had left the house equally to Dale and David. Dale had been seized by the notion of making a change, deciding to move, hoping the distance between himself, Tony and David would help. True it was only a few hundred miles, but Dale had found himself relaxing after the move. He'd been unaware of the tension his body was generating at thoughts of meeting Tony or David in the public places the three of them frequented. Even simple things like grocery shopping had left him with a headache.

He'd had their lawyer contact his brother about buying his half of the property, to which David had been more than agreeable. David had never been fond of vegetating in the country, perhaps another reason that he and Tony got on so well.

Dale had gratefully cleared his condo of anything unwanted, packed what he needed, arranged to have the rest of it shipped and got out of Dodge. As a writer, he was able to locate anywhere he pleased. Suddenly he was aware of the fact that he was very pleased. He loved the house. The grounds and gardens needed help and he had lots to keep him busy. He began to whistle a little off-key ditty as he returned to boxing up and clearing out the contents of the house.

Rick Hunter made yet another round on the tractor. The job was rote, one he'd done so many times over the years it was automatic. He'd learned farming from his father and his grandfather, it was something that ran in the Hunter men's veins, mingling with their blood. Normally, he could disconnect from everything, concentrate on the job, leaving his thoughts, however troubling, behind. Not today. Today, they insisted on jabbing at him with pitchfork-like tongs that had his head throbbing.

Rick was 27. It was time and past for him to be married and having a family, or so his parents told him. Like they didn't have enough grandchildren already. Seven, to be precise, three from his brother, Paul, and his wife, three from his sister, Sharon, and her husband, and one from his other sister, Karen, and her husband. You'd think they'd be satisfied with that, but no. Just this morning he'd gotten a call from his mom, hinting around about that nice girl, Vicky Williams, who attended their church.

Rick knew Vicky. Vicky liked to hang out at Smiley's, on the weekends with her friends. Once in a while she picked up a guy and took him home. Rick had been one of those guys. Vicky was a nice girl, and a decent lay, but Rick wasn't looking to marry her. Rick wasn't looking to marry any woman. Which was exactly the problem.

Over the years, he'd had more than his share of women. At 6'2", with rich, dark, honey-blonde hair, blue-green eyes and features of face and body that a modeling agency would drool over, Rick garnered more than a few looks. Looks that came not only from women, but from men as well. Rick was having a harder and harder time not returning those looks. Not the ones from the women, but those from the men.

From the time he was an adolescent, he'd been aware of an attraction for both sexes. It became more than apparent however, that the majority of the population wasn't particularly sympathetic to same sex couples. With that in mind, Rick had limited himself to dating women only, until he turned 20.

He'd gone into Springfield, with some friends for a night of bars and strip joints. While searching for an elusive club, they'd gotten lost. Rick stopped at a pay phone that luckily had a phone book, he planned to call the club and ask for directions. Paging through the book, he came across a flyer that had been stuck between the pages. Stud's, it advertised, a club that featured an all male revue, a club for men only. Rick had carefully folded the flyer and stuck it in his pocket. He made the call, he and his friends found the club they'd been searching for, and spent the rest of the evening ogling mostly naked women, while sucking down beer after beer.

Rick had been distracted. As the designated driver he had to stay sober, and though he enjoyed watching the women, thoughts of an all male revue kept creeping into his consciousness. What would it be like to watch some sexy stud dance and strip down until he was wearing next to nothing or nothing at all? The thought had Rick hard as a rock. Fortunately, under the circumstances, such was to be expected. He didn't have to make excuses for sprouting a hardon, when every other man in the room was in a similar condition. On his return home, Rick had beat off to thoughts of male strippers gyrating their hot bodies for his pleasure.

In the days that followed, thoughts of spending an evening at Stud's, became an obsession. Three weeks later he made the trip into Springfield, found the club and walked into testosterone heaven. It was better than he'd imagined. Wall to wall men, not a woman in sight. And the smell. Heated male flesh, musky and distinctive, not a flowery scent in the crowd. Rick felt his cock firming up from the smell alone.

He made his way to the bar and ordered a beer, turning to watch the couples on the dance floor. Trying not to let his inexperience show, he ran the gamut of emotions from amazement to jealousy that he wasn't on the floor dancing. Something that was soon remedied.

From the time he'd walked in the door he'd been under scrutiny. It wasn't long before he was approached and asked to dance. Feeling awkward but determined Rick accepted, and soon found himself with partner after partner. He enjoyed the dancing, heated bodies moving to a pulsing rhythm as they swayed and sometimes ground against each other. He fielded some very graphic offers, not yet finding anyone that really grabbed his attention. Until Carl.

Carl slid between him and his current partner, taking control of the dance. Rick found himself staring into a pair of mesmerizing brown eyes as, big, masculine hands closed on his hips and pulled him close to a thick throbbing bulge. His own cock responded. Without a word Carl took his hand and led him to a part of the club he'd yet to see.

In the back of the club, several dimly lit rooms, joined by open arched doorways, held club patrons who had things other than dancing or drinking on their minds. Rick saw everything from hand jobs to full out orgies taking place. No one seemed to mind the possibility that they could be watched. Most of the couples or groups concentrated on only that which they were part of.

Carl pulled Rick into a deserted corner and pushed him against the wall. Rick groaned as Carl worked open the buttons on his 501's. Carl slid to his knees and without hesitation took Rick's thick, seven inch cock into his mouth, sucking and laving as each inch disappeared between his full, wet lips. Rick swore and grasped Carl's head, his hands encouraging each bob of Carl's mouth over his throbbing length. He was in a different world, no woman had ever made him feel close to what he was feeling now.

He protested when Carl pulled away, leaving his cock, wet, exposed and aching for relief. Carl turned to face the wall, opening his own jeans and lowering them. He looked over his shoulder at Rick.

"What are you waiting for, stud, fuck me."

Rick was non-plussed for the moment. Even as the sight of that tight, muscular ass made him want to dive right in, he felt he owed Carl the truth.

"Look, man, I've never done this before." his face flamed as the words left his mouth. He was grateful that the light was so dim.

"You ever been with a woman?" Carl asked.

Rick nodded.

"Same principal, just a different hole. I want your cock up my ass. You gotta a condom?"

Rick again nodded, pulling the condom from his back pocket. Carl turned around and took it from him, giving Rick the chance to study his endowments. Carl wasn't quite as long, maybe six inches, a very nice, very full, very hard, six inches. Rick reached out and grasped Carl's cock, just as Carl grabbed his. Rick pumped Carl slowly, causing him to throw back his head and moan.

After a moment Carl stepped back, "Man, you better stop before I blow."

He moved forward again and rolled the condom down Rick's turgid length. He turned again to face the wall.

"Use some spit and a couple of fingers to open me up. It won't take much, I'm no cherry."

Rick obeyed and soon had Carl moaning as he scissored two fingers, then three into his hot, tight, pucker.

"Now, fuck me, man, now."

Taking himself in hand, Rick guided his cock to that once tiny hole that was now open and ready for him. He smeared his condom covered dick with saliva and made contact, pushing forward until he penetrated the tight anal ring and slid slowly inside a tight, velvet-lined furnace. With his hands at Carl's hips he began a slow, shallow, rhythmic thrusting that gradually increased in pace and depth. The sweat that had broken out on both men began to slide down their bodies in lazy rivulets. Spicy musk inundated their nostrils, as body odor mingled with the primal scent of sex.

Carl was grunting, pushing back into each thrust, chanting, "Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah."

Rick labored in a fog of pleasure, gasping for each breath. His hips pounded against Carl, his one objective to bury his cock, again and again, in the volcanic heat that gripped him, until finally, he erupted. His rushing fluids filled the condom as he ground deep into Carl's chute, instinct pushing him to bury his seed deep, despite the fact that it was trapped in latex, and there was no fertile field awaiting it in any case.

Dimly, Rick was aware of Carl's guttural cry as he unloaded against the wall, his hot spunk sliding down to puddle on the floor. Rick disengaged and removed the condom, dropping it into the puddle.

Both men adjusted their clothes. Carl grinned at Rick, "For an amateur, you're a hell of a top. You coming back any time soon?"

Rick returned the grin, "I'll probably be around."

Carl nodded, "Any time, stud, any time."

They made their way back to the front of the club. Rick stopped in the bathroom to use the facilities and wash up. Once back out on the floor, he quickly tired and decided to call it a night. One hell of a night. The first of many that led him to his current dilemma.

Although he'd known for years he was bi, he was just now admitting to himself that he preferred men. So where did that leave him with his family? How was he going to break the news to his parents not to expect any grandchildren from him? Rick wasn't at all sure he could face up to it. He had one more problem as well. Those nameless fucks in the city were getting old. He did want to settle down, if only he could find the right guy. A fleeting image sparked in his consciousness. The guy on the porch, the new neighbor, old Mrs. Vaden's grandson.

As he'd passed by, he'd gotten the fleeting impression of dark reddish brown hair and a lean, athletic body dressed in faded jeans and a deep green tee shirt. Only a glimpse really, and yet apparently his sub-conscious liked what it saw. Rick glanced over at the house as he made another round in the field. He could see a pile of boxes on the front porch, but the owner was apparently inside. Curiosity niggled, and he resolved to find the time to check out the new neighbor.

"This is pitiful." Dale muttered.

He was outside, at the back of the property, scrutinizing a small grove of poplar trees. Most were dead, others only partially alive, and half a dozen had been blown down or had just plain fallen over, weakened by rot. The grove wasn't very large, twenty five, thirty trees at most. He was resolved to see it pulled down. Dale had visions of oak or maple trees replacing the poplars. He liked the idea of planting trees that would stand long after he was gone.

After spending the last few days clearing everything from the house except the few pieces of furniture and other things he'd decided to keep, Dale decided to amble around the property and take a few mental notes about what he wanted to see accomplished outside. The poplar grove became his number one objective.

As he walked around, he was aware of the fact that the farmer was again in the field that surrounded his acreage. He stood contemplating the ravaged trees until the increasing noise from an approaching tractor pulled him from his reverie. From his shaded vantage, he could clearly see the man riding the tractor. As before, he was dressed in a tee shirt, jeans, work boots and baseball cap. His hands were covered by leather gloves, his eyes shaded by the dark lenses of his sun glasses.

He drove the tractor to the edge of the field, shutting it off. Blessed silence returned. Dale watched as the farmer dismounted the tractor with easy grace, the well defined muscles of his thighs bunching with the effort. Just as he remembered from several days ago, the man was broad-shouldered, muscular, his upper body shown to a distinct advantage by the clinging fabric of his tee. His arms were solid, with a light covering of soft hair that shone golden under the sun. He removed his gloves, slapping them down on the seat of the tractor and approached.

Dale's stomach clenched. The man walked with a grace and confidence that sent a shiver down his spine. This was a man filled with self assurance, a man in charge of himself, a man who could easily take control of any situation. It was there, plainly stated, written in the very air between them. Dale felt his breath ratchet a notch higher. He silently admonished himself to stop being ridiculous. This farmer was after all, just a man, a man just like any other man.

That thought came to a screeching halt when the man removed his sunglasses.

Dale found himself pinned by a gaze of laser-like intensity that left him breathless. He stared into the most vividly beautiful, blue-green eyes he'd ever seen. They were shaded by perfect fans of honey colored lashes. The corners of his eyes showed light laugh lines. Dale was caught and held, momentarily paralyzed, frozen until the man held out his hand.

"Hi, I'm Rick Hunter. You must be Mrs. Vaden's grandson. We sure were sorry to hear about her passing. She was a sweet lady."

Dale broke from his paralysis, taking Rick's hand in a firm grip. He was grateful now that he'd kept using those hand strengtheners. Rick's grip was strong, the muscles and sinews in his hand powerful, uncompromising, and yet surprisingly gentle. He was a man well aware of his strength and careful to not cause unintentional hurt.

The warmth of Rick's hand swept over Dale. To his everlasting embarrassment he felt himself blush, a fact that had him silently cursing. He hadn't blushed since he was an adolescent, not even Tony had had this effect on him.

Dale nervously cleared his throat, "Hi," he managed, "and thanks. Grams was a sweetheart, she'll be missed. I'm Dale, by the way, Dale Vaden."

Rick nodded, "Pleased to meet you Dale. While I was in the neighborhood, so to speak, thought I'd stop and introduce myself, see if there's anything you need."

A smile graced Dale face. A smile that, unbeknownst to him, took a certain farmers breath away. "Thanks, Rick, you know, I could use the name of someone who could help me clear out these trees. Would you happen to know of anyone off hand?"

Rick gave the trees a considering look, "I could help you. Dad's got a backhoe at his place, just down the road. We could knock these down and pull them out in no time. When do you want to start?"

Taken aback by Rick generous offer, Dale was momentarily speechless, then rallied, "Wow, that's really nice of you to offer, but I'm sure you've already got plenty to keep you busy." He indicated the field behind them.

"Actually, I'm pretty much done."

"I admit I don't know squat about farming, but don't you have to plow the fields and all that?" Dale asked.

Rick grinned, "You're right, city boy, you don't know farming. We use the no-till method. No plowing. We spray fertilizer and weed control. Plant the seed and it's done. It's the harvest where all the work is now. These fields are done. Between me, my dad, and my brother, we get this part of the chore done pretty quick. So how about it? I've got the time, when do you want to start?"

Dale gave in gratefully, "Tomorrow?"

"You got it, I'll be here about seven. Does that suit you? Or is that too early for a city boy?" Rick teased.

"I think I can handle that, farm boy. I'll see you at seven." Dale retorted with a grin.

Rick returned the grin, slid his sunglasses back on and headed for the tractor. Dale couldn't help watching the movement of the nicely curved cheeks that filled out the seat of Rick's jeans. He surreptitiously adjusted himself. The man was every bit as devastating walking away.

With a couple of well placed and practiced steps, Rick swung himself back up on the tractor. He pulled on his gloves and started the beast up. With a wave, he headed off across the field, Dale's gaze following. An errant breeze sent a lock of hair fluttering across his forehead. As he reached up to push it away, he noticed the smell.

Leather and sweat. Rick's gloves and Rick's sweat. Dale inhaled deeply, his cock responding instantly, filling, elongating, demanding to be set free of its imprisoning and too tight confinement. Dale looked around. The nearest neighbor was the Hunters, a quarter mile down the road, and his place was surrounded by open fields. Even in this ravaged grove, he was semi- sheltered. The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. He'd never masturbated outside. This was too good an opportunity to be missed, especially with Rick's scent urging him on.

Dale unbuttoned his 501's, pushing them and his briefs down just enough to free himself. His cock sprang free, fiercely rigid and ready. The tip was already leaking. He leaned back against a tree and closed his eyes. Taking another deep lung-full of Rick's scent, he wrapped his aromatic fingers around the thick column of meat that demanded release.

Dale gave a grunt and tensed as he began the familiar movements. His fingers squeezed and stroked. He reached down with his left hand, holding his seven and a half inch length steady as his palm swept over the wet, purple hued head, spreading precum. A groan inched its way out of his throat. He brought his right hand back to his face for another whiff of Rick. The scent was now mingled with his own. His tongue flicked out, sliding over his palm, tasting the tart, tangy flavors of precum, sweat and leather. The combination was potent. He anointed his palm with saliva, took hold of his cock and began to steadily jack himself. The pleasure built with each stroke, quickly reaching the point of no return.

"Ah God!," he gasped as his load blew. Repeated spurts of thick, white cum arced out and away from his straining body, draping over the grass, sliding down the stems to feed the earth below. Dale's knees gave out. He dropped down, head bent as he rested for a moment. As his breath and heartbeat slowly restored themselves, he opened his eyes and looked around. All was quiet. He grinned and shook his head as he laughed weakly.

Jeez, I gotta get out more, he confessed to himself as he slowly rose. Dale tucked himself in, ambling back to the house. He found himself looking eagerly forward to tomorrow and as for now? His goal was the pitcher of iced tea that graced his refrigerator.

• • • Dale finished the last dish and placed it in the drainer. Seven a.m., right on time. He could hear the approaching drone of a heavy piece of machinery. He shook his head and smiled, Rick was true to his word. Fortunately, Dale was an early riser, he'd been up since five. He covered the draining dishes with a dishtowel, unlocked the door between the kitchen and the mud room, unlocked the back door and stepped out.

It was another beautiful day. The sky was clear blue, a few clouds moving majestically overhead. Dale followed the concrete walk around to the front of the house and down to the gravel driveway, just as Rick turned in. He could clearly see the big grin plastered to Rick's face. That shit, he thought fondly, he didn't think I'd be up.

Dale motioned Rick to drive on back to the grove. He stopped back in the mud room for a pair of leather gloves, a wry smile on his face as he held them to his nose and took a sniff. He shook his head. It just wasn't the same without Rick's contribution. Walking back to the grove, he watched Rick climb down, then reach across the floorboards for something. He pulled first one, then a larger, long, bulky, black case from the backhoe.

Rick set both cases on the ground and waited for Dale. "I see you're up." he quipped as Dale reached him.

"Yeah, man, it was a real chore." Dale rejoined sarcastically.

Rick laughed and slapped him playfully on the back, "No, man, the real chores are about to begin. You ever use a chainsaw?"

Dale's brows rose as he shook his head.

"Well, you're about to learn, that is if you're not a total klutz. You're not one of these people who trip over their own feet are you?" For some reason Rick seemed to enjoy the hell out of teasing Dale.

"I can walk and chew gum at the same time, if that's what you're asking."

"Good, in fact that's great. So here's the plan."

Rick gave Dale the rundown. Rick was going to start at the outside edge of the grove and pull out a half dozen trees and haul them further up into the yard where Dale could work on them. Dale was to use the smaller chainsaw, cutting the branches off which they'd gather in one big pile. As soon as Rick got the trees down, he'd use the bigger chainsaw and go to work on the trunks of the trees, cutting them into manageable pieces. He asked Dale if he wanted to save any of the wood for his fireplace, to which Dale replied in the affirmative. It was decided they'd save the best wood for Dale's use, and burn the branch pile. Rick had already alerted a buddy of his that there was some wood to be hauled at the Vaden place, so the rest would be taken care of by his friend.

"You don't waste any time do you?" Dale asked in amazement. Rick had the whole thing planned out.

"Farmer's can't waste time, wasted opportunities can mean the difference between getting in the harvest, as opposed to watching it rot in the field while it rains." he explained with a wry smile, his blue-green eyes twinkling. "Now, let's get you checked out on the chainsaw."

Rick opened the smaller case, brought out the chainsaw and explained its operation to Dale. He donned safety glasses, handing Dale a second pair. Using one of the trees that was already on the ground, he demonstrated the chainsaw's proper use, then handed it over to Dale. He watched as Dale, at first hesitantly, then with growing confidence, wielded it. He corrected a few things concerning his stance, making sure he handled it in the safest possible way. Satisfied, Rick climbed on the backhoe and they began.

Dale found Rick's closeness a bit of a distraction at first. He'd worried he might throw a bone as they worked together. He felt like groaning as he watched Rick's tight ass do interesting things as he mounted the backhoe. Several hours later, his one worry was, would he make it through the day.

By no means out of shape, Dale ate right and exercised regularly, but this he was unprepared for, this intense physical labor. Rick on the other hand seemed to breeze through the day. Granted he spent part of it operating the backhoe, but after the trees were down, he took up the big chainsaw and began cutting the tree trunks. The chainsaw he used was far larger than the one Dale wielded. Dale felt the strain in the muscles of his arms, shoulders and back. Muscles he wished he could remain ignorant of were clamoring their protests. He could only imagine their silent screams had he been using the large chainsaw all day.

The men stopped for lunch, walking back to the house. Dale had a variety of cold cuts and cheeses from which they constructed sandwiches. They also munched on cut up veggies, which they dipped in ranch dressing. Dale offered beer and was about to take one for himself, until Rick vetoed the idea. No drinking while operating the chainsaws, he insisted. They settled for iced tea, Rick also insisting that Dale drink at least one large glass of water as well, to avoid dehydration.

Both men had worked up quite a sweat and had dispensed with their shirts on the walk back to the house. Dale had perked up at the sight. He had to admit that the scenery had vastly improved when Rick peeled off his clinging tee. There was no denying the man was built. Farm chores had done wonders for his physique.

Rick's pecs were firm, solid, slabs of muscle that shifted smoothly with each movement. He ran his hands over the damp, golden hair that had been matted down by sweat, his nipples firming at the contact. Dale shivered. His own nipples tightened, not only from the random breezes that cooled his sweat-dampened skin, but from Rick's actions and the sight of each hard level of his washboard abs. With his broad shoulders, tightly muscled arms, vee shaped torso that flowed down to trim waist, perfectly proportioned hips and legs, Rick was a woman's, not to mentions a gay or bi man's, wet dream come true.

Dale would have been surprised to know that Rick was casting more than a few glances his way. The same breeze that caused Dale's nipples to pinch tight, had brought his warm musky scent to Rick's nostril. Not only did his nose register the scent, but his cock had as well. He was glad when they reached the house, and he could excuse himself to use the bathroom. He washed up, splashing cold water on his face and the back of his neck. All the while he kept picturing Dale.

Of similar height, Dale being an inch or two shorter, he was possessed of, what Rick thought of as an athlete's build. Lean and strong, with firm bundles of muscles in his arms and legs, his chest and stomach were taut and solid, his buttocks tight, with an enticing flex that occurred when he walked or bent. The dark reddish brown hair that topped his head also lightly covered his forearms and chest. Rick cussed softly as he recalled those tightly pinched nipples. The thought of taking one into his mouth to nibble, had his cock standing at attention. He looked at himself in the mirror and smiled a rueful smile. I gotta get laid, he thought.

He opened his jeans and with some maneuvering and some judiciously placed cold water, his protesting erection subsided. He shivered, thinking once again of the advantage women had over men. At least they could hide when they were horny, instead of having their bodies broadcast it to who ever happened to look their way. He wondered what Dale would think if he came out of the bathroom with a hardon. A nifty little fantasy began in his head. He pictured Dale, falling to his knees, eager to swallow his raging rod. Said rod began responding. Rick sighed, and again applied the cold water. This time he kept his mind blank, and tucking his chastened appendage away, rejoined Dale.

After lunch, they donned their shirts, which had dried out in the sun where they'd left them draped over an old clothes line. Picking up where they left off, they continued for several more hours, until Rick called a halt. He'd watched Dale carefully and knew that he was sore and tired. Hell, he was tired himself. They packed the chainsaws into their cases and carried them up to the house, leaving them in the mud room.

Dale opened the refrigerator and indicating the beer, asked, "Now?"

Rick grinned, "Now."

Dale handed him a long necked bottle, each twisting off the cap and taking a deep swallow. Twin sighs of pleasure and relief echoed in the room.

Rick studied Dale's tired face, "Too much for you, city boy?" He asked, with teasing concern.

"Truth?" Dale replied, "Just about. I haven't been this tired since...hell, I'm not sure I've ever been this tired." He took another swig of his beer.

Rick set his bottle down and moved behind Dale, his big hands closing over his shoulders where he began a firm, soothing massage. Such a move was natural for Rick, his family was casually demonstrative, easily exchanging hugs, hand shakes, and kisses.

Dale couldn't help the groan that crawled from his throat. He'd tensed at Rick's initial touch, but it wasn't possible to remain tense while Rick worked magic on muscles that screamed for relief.

"Here's what you do." Rick told him as he worked Dale's aching muscles, "Run a tub full of water, hot as you can stand it, throw in some Epsom salts, if you have any, and soak. Then get your ass to bed, cause there's more of the same tomorrow, buddy." He released Dale with a firm pat on the back and took up his beer, gulping it down.

"I'm going to leave the backhoe and walk down to mom and dad's. There's no sense driving it back when were going to be using it for the next few days." Rick told him as he headed out the back door.

Dale followed, "Well wait a second, I can give you ride."

Rick snorted. "Save your gas, man, it's just a quarter mile," he scoffed, "but thanks for the offer. Now go take that bath. You're a might odiferous, if you know what I mean."

No way was he going to admit just how much he liked that odor or how much it turned him on. Not to mention the kind of ride he really wanted.

Dale grinned and called after him, "You better take your own advice, you're not exactly a sweet rosebud yourself."

Rick flipped him off and headed down the driveway. The sound of Dale's laughter melted over him, a feeling of well-being suffusing him. As he walked, his smile faded, his stomach tightening, quivering.

"Dale Vaden." he whispered. His stomach did a flip. Oh God, he thought, I think I'm in trouble. Anticipation and dread warred as he arrived at his parent's house, unlocked his truck, climbed inside and headed home.

The next two days passed in the same way. At lunch, which they always ate shirtless, they talked, taking the opportunity to get to know each other. Rick questioned Dale about his occupation, intrigued when Dale revealed he was a writer.

"What kind of books do you write?" he asked, "I don't recall reading anything with your name on it." Rick fired the first salvo in their usual badger sessions.

"To begin with, I write under a pseudonym. You know what that means, don't you, farm boy?" Dale had taken to teasing Rick, just as much as Rick teased him.

"Uh gee, I ain't sure mister, splain it to me, would you, please?" Rick's feigned stupidity caused them both to chuckle.

"All right, smart ass, Keith Adams, that's the name I write under." Dale confessed a bit sheepishly.

He was always reluctant for people to know his pen name. Like many writers, he felt parts of himself were displayed in each book. If a person knew he was the author, they could also reveal those parts of himself he'd just as soon keep hidden, Anonymity was comforting.

Rick gave him an incredulous look. "Are you kidding?"

Dale denied it with a shake of his head.

"Man, I've got every single one of your books!" he enthused, "Your last one, Bake Sale, man, some of those scenes literally had me howling. When the one chef was killed by the exploding cake? Even though the death itself wasn't funny, the tongue in cheek way you wrote the scene was brilliant. I gotta tell you Dale, that was black humor at its finest."

Again for the first time in years, Dale felt himself blush. Rick's praise and enthusiasm touched him like no other. To say he was pleased was an understatement.

"Thanks, man, I'm glad you liked it. I thought it turned out rather well myself."

"Wait til the neighbors hear we've got a celebrity in our midst." Rick continued, until he noticed the somewhat panicked expression on Dale's face. "What's wrong?"

Dale took a deep breath, "I'd just as soon you didn't mention this to anyone." He paused for a moment, considering his words, "I've had a few problems, in the past, from over-zealous fans. I feel like a fool even having to say that, but some people get carried away. You'd think they'd save that shit for movie stars and such, but I guess some people aren't too discriminating."

Rick nodded his understanding, "I won't say a word. And what do you mean by that, aren't too discriminating, crap? You're a talented, good-looking man. I might stalk you, if I had a few drinks in me." Rick sought to lighten the mood and succeeded.

Dale pursed his lips, frowning, "You asshole, let's go back to work."

The fourth day began much the same as the first three, Rick arrived promptly at seven and swung out of his truck. He made his way around to the back and entered, smiling as the familiar smell of coffee wafted to his nostrils. He stepped through the doorway to find a cup waiting on the table. A grin lit his face as he seated himself and brought the pungent brew to his nose, inhaling deeply before ingesting that first exquisite sip. A heartfelt groan of appreciation rumbled in his chest.

He set the cup down and looked at Dale, his grin renewing itself. Dale stood shaking his head, his own smile playing over his face.

"I can't help it, man, you've got the best coffee in the county, hell probably the whole state."

On their second day, Rick had discovered Dale's coffee. Dale had some special blend of beans he bought from a place in Seattle, which he ground himself. The stuff was heavenly. Since that first taste, Rick made it a point to start their work day with a cup of Dale's coffee.

Dale watched Rick as he nursed the treasured cup. His honey blonde hair was tousled, blown about by the breeze before he'd entered the house. Dale was seized with a sudden impulse to cross the room and run his fingers through the soft, silky strands. He felt himself begin to stiffen. Hastily, he took a chair at the table and concentrated on his own cup, silently cursing himself for a fool.

He looked up to find Rick's intense, blue-green tinged, gaze on him. A silent message seemed to flash between them, the air suddenly tense, electric. Rick broke the look, taking another sip from his cup. Dale sat, still and silent, his breath fast and shallow, his heart racing. He felt like the rabbit that cowered in the tall grass, frozen with fear, as the predator passed. In this case there was no fear, there was only the hope that the predator would strike.

"I thought we'd do something different today." Rick announced. "Give those poor, city boy muscles a chance to flex in another direction."

Dale looked up, startled, unsure what Rick meant. He was met with Rick's usual grin. A frisson of disappointment shuddered through him, but he rallied.

"Just exactly what is it you've got planned for us, boss?"

Rick went into his farm boy mode, "Seein' as how you got that there dumpster delivered yesterday, I thought we'd fill er up." He waited for Dale's reaction. Dale snorted and shrugged. "Seriously, I thought we could take care of all the stuff you want to get rid of today. Fill up the dumpster, haul the good stuff to Goodwill like you wanted. Does that sound like a plan?"

"It's a plan, man." Dale quipped. "Let's go to it. That is, if you can tear yourself away from that coffee cup."

"I'll manage." Rick replied sarcastically, taking a last sip.

He stood and they both headed out the door. Rick watched the mesmerizing flex of Dale's ass as he walked out ahead of him. He took a deep breath and silently blew it out. He'd almost blown it. When Dale sat down at the table with him, he'd had such a forlorn look on his face. It was too cute. Rick had had the sudden urge to round the table, pick him up and carry him off somewhere to love that look off his face. To replace it with passion and need. To make Dale beg for release. With that fantasy running in his head, filling his eyes, Dale had looked up, falling straight into the fire. Rick saw his eyes widen, his pupils dilate, the rhythm of his breath increase.

He'd seen that reaction before. At Stud's, when he picked up a guy for a quick fuck in the back. Only this was Dale, Dale who made his heart flutter and his stomach quiver. Dale, whom he wanted to make love to, not fuck and walk away. Dale, who changed everything. Dale, who scared the shit out of him. Dale. The man who represented heaven and could plunge him into hell.

Rick wasn't ready to face these new and unfamiliar emotions, and so he'd backed off. He'd known at that moment that Dale reciprocated his interest, at least in a physical way, but what about the rest? What about love? Rick shook his head. It was too soon, too much, he had to think about it. So lost in thought was he, that he didn't see Dale stop, and plowed right into him.

Dale stumbled and caught himself, turning, "Damn, buddy, anybody home?"

Rick had to laugh at the half annoyed expression on Dale's face. "Yeah, city boy, sorry, I was thinking."

"Whoa," Dale quipped, "that had to hurt."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, come on boy, you got too much sass in you. Let's work some of it off."

They decided to load the truck first and drop off the boxes at Goodwill. That accomplished, they headed home and began to fill the dumpster. They cleared the garage and barn of old fencing, paint cans, shingles, rotted lumber and items too numerous to mention. There was even an old refrigerator and a couple of lawn mowers that were long past their prime and irreparable.

At the end of the day, they again stood in the kitchen, slugging down a cold beer.

Dale wiped the sweat from his brow, "I thought this was going to be easier. It wasn't easier." he dead-panned.

"Looking forward to getting back to those trees tomorrow, aren't you?"

"Oh yeah." Dale agreed sarcastically.

"Hey man, three more days should see the deed done. Tell you what," Rick offered, "the day after we finish, we'll celebrate. Drag that grill out that's in the garage. You fire it up, I'll bring the steaks and we'll have a barbeque. When it gets dark, we'll light up the brush pile and have an old fashioned marshmallow roast. How's that sound?"

Dale smiled, enchanted by Rick's boyish enthusiasm, "It sound good, man, sounds good."

Rick headed out the back door, Dale following behind, "Hope you're a good cook." He turned and winked, "I'm particular about my meat."

Dale raised an eyebrow as a chuckling Rick climbed into his truck. Now just what was that supposed to mean?

Three days later, just as Rick predicted, the final tree came down. The next day was spent making a wood pile for Dale's use, and helping Rick's friend, Craig, load and haul away load after load of the excess. They finished the day early and Rick invited Dale to join him in town at Smiley's, for a few beers.

Dale accepted and spent a semi-pleasant evening being introduced to Rick's friends and acquaintances. He couldn't help but notice Rick's popularity. Several women were particularly insistent about staying close to him. He danced with some of them. Dale sat in their booth, conversing and laughing, all the while hiding his melancholy and jealousy.

Their time was over. The job was done and there was no reason for Rick to spend his days with him. All their time together and Rick had not once made a move. Beyond that look they'd exchanged in the kitchen, beyond their usual banter, there had been nothing. Dale was sure he'd seen interest in Rick's eyes. But here, now, in this bar, it was apparent that Rick was into women. Dale felt he must have been mistaken, miserably mistaken.

Any enjoyment he had derived from the evening, fell flat. When Rick returned from his latest whirl on the dance floor, Dale tendered his excuses and made his way to the door. He was stopped by a hand on his arm.

Rick halted him, "We're still on for tomorrow, the barbeque, right?"

Dale gazed at him, Rick seemed almost anxious for his answer. He smiled, "Yeah, we're still on."

"Good." Rick replied with satisfaction and surprised Dale by accompanying him out the door.

"Uh Rick?" he quipped, "You don't have to walk me to my car, man."

"Smart ass, I'm heading home. I'm going to bed so I can dream about a big, juicy piece of meat."

Once again Dale gave Rick a startled look. He shivered at the fire he saw blazing in his eyes.

Rick's eyes gentled, he reached out running two fingers slowly over the curve of Dale's cheek, while his thumb rubbed lightly across Dale's bottom lip, "Don't worry about it, babe. We'll sort it out tomorrow."

Without another word, he crossed the lot to his truck, jumped in and took off. Dale watched him leave, his head whirling, his cheek and lip tingling. Babe? Rick called me babe, he thought, oh God, I think I'm in trouble. He had no way of knowing that his sentiments had been echoed, several days earlier, by the man who'd invaded his life, his dreams, his fantasies, and his heart.

Dale climbed into his car and drove slowly home. His emotions were in turmoil. Anticipation, trepidation, excitement, fear, all warred inside his confused psyche. He wanted Rick, was sure he was falling in love with him, but he was frightened. Did Rick want anything beyond a fuck? A night? Would they begin a relationship, only to have it end? Would this be Tony all over again?

He bit his lip until the pain made him wince, admonishing himself to stop. What ever Rick wanted, he knew he wasn't going to pass the opportunity by. He was a grown man, with 30 years of living under his belt. It was time he got on with his life. He just hoped he'd be able to survive the consequences.

To be continued....