The following is a work of gay erotic fiction, containing graphic descriptions of sexual acts between men. If it is illegal in your area to view or possess such material, or if you are underage in your jurisdiction, or if such material offends you, do not read it.
You might also like to read my other stories posted so far: "The Farm Boy" also under rural, "The Roomie" under college, "The Hitcher" under encounters, "Ah! Nature!" under camping, and coming soon, a three-parter beginning with "The Deflowering of Bryant" under high school.
BARE-ASS HORSEMAN
The air just at dawn was slightly chilly to my bare skin, but in the stillness of daybreak, there was no breeze. I moved quietly toward the stable along one of the wheel- tracks of the long access drive from farm house to barn, while Willoughby, my black and white English Springer Spaniel, trotted briskly ahead, knowing the routine and indifferent to my immodesty. The heavy growth of bushes and brambles alongside this portion of the drive concealed my nakedness from any viewers, had there been any, but that didn't matter. This was my farm, all 90 acres of it, and in its seclusion tucked between the stream and the mountainside, well away from the county road on the far side of the creek bed, there were never any observers to my morning nudity. Consequently, May to October, I am almost always naked when I go out to tend the horses, and a large portion of the rest of the day as well, for that matter. It has become my custom to wear clothing only when I really need it, for protection from cold or blackberry thorns, or when some unsympathetic visitor whose opinion matters to me is expected to call.
Sometimes it pleases me to imagine that there are hidden spectators, friendly and appreciative ones, of course, secluded in my hedgerows. I like to consider what they would see of me, and how the sight of me might arouse their lust. Once I even went so far as to set up the video camera at the edge of the fence to record the event, but it was not very successful. Without an operator to zoom and focus and pan the camera, all I got was a view of a slender young brown-haired naked guy, attractive and well proportioned but not very distinguishable from such a distance, walking stiffly through the frame. It is better in my mind's eye, which is equipped with an Oscar caliber cinematographer. I see the enticing form of me approaching, opening the gate, clearly bare from the waist up, lower regions suggestively veiled by greenery. But the shoulders are broad, tanned, and eye-catching, the back strong and well muscled. As I turn from the gate, biceps bunching, the viewer steals a close-up of my brawny, finely chiseled chest with its neat brown tits and its swath of browner chest hair. Then the gaze moves upward to study my lean, strong-jawed face, with its neat mustache and expressive lips, even white teeth, and sexy, masculine nose. All in shades of brown and tan-- skin, eyes, hair.
I move past the screen of shrubby branches toward the watcher. Yes! He is totally naked! the voyeur exults. His eyes/lens slide down my flat, rippled belly in extreme close-up, hastening to my bush of lush dark pubes and the mouth-watering fleshy protuberance that hangs breathtakingly beneath. It is a cock for cock worshipers, if I say so myself, and I am a cock-worshiper, so I should know. It is not one of those huge but misshapen things you occasionally see and maybe ooh over but wouldn't really want in you much less attached to you, no, but it is big enough for all natural purposes, just over eight inches, six inches flaccid--cut, big-headed, and meatily thick. It is beautiful and manly, and it is my most faithful friend and constant companion, even including Willoughby, because it is more obedient to my will. At regular intervals, my hands just naturally migrate towards it, petting, caressing, seeking reassurance. (If God didn't want men to play with their own dongs, wouldn't he have placed them somewhere else, like under the right armpit?) John Henry (my cock) rises to every occasion. He has never yet let me down, and has seen me through some tough and lonely times.
The camera lingers to savor the swinging of the gorgeous piece of tenderloin as I walk, the twin orbs of bollocks, drawn rather tightly up in their wrinkled, dark pink scrotal sack due to the cool morning air, jouncing underneath. Then it descends to take in my long but muscled legs, encased in light, even leg hair, down to my smooth shapely feet in their brown leather sandals. I imagine my spy getting a hard on, and taking out his own big, thick dick to stroke and fondle as he drools appreciatively over my six foot, one hundred seventy pound frame.
Well, it hasn't happened yet, but who knows? At any rate, even alone but for horses and dogs, as I generally was on the farm, not being romantically attached at the time, I enjoyed plenty of fantasy company, and took great solace in John Henry's presence.
I reached the stable and greeted the two eager horses, mare and gelding (pity the poor beast), straining their necks toward me and their food pail as we approached. They were glad to see me, but first things first-- they went to work on the grain immediately as I poured it down the trough. I watched them chomp for a few seconds, then went to work pouring up water from the hose, mucking stalls, and putting down fresh hay. Willoughby went off about his dogly business elsewhere on the farm, probably harassing quail and doves. The work warmed me up as nearness to the two friendly animals cheered my spirits. I patted each affectionately in passing.
Today was Gus's turn for the first exercise ride, so I fitted the bridle onto the head of the dappled gray and led him out of the enclosure. I flung the "bareback saddle" onto him, a piece of padded cloth that mainly serves just to keep my bare butt 'n balls from being soaked in horse sweat, but also has leather strap stirrups sewn in for footrests. I swung onto his back, and he jerked his head up, pleased and gratified to be chosen for a ramble outside the fenced pasture into the open field and wooded trail beyond. We set out at an easy canter, both of our long manes whipping and tossing behind our necks, horse and man together.
Just a couple of hundred yards beyond the stable, the trail dips down toward the creek bank. I was planning to ride around the perimeter of my property, but something caught my eye on the far side of the creek: a bright red Jeep parked on the rough, weedy access track that leads from the road to the creek through the trees opposite. This is the one spot on my domain where I am a little bit vulnerable to interlopers, and it is not unusual for fishermen to park there while they ply the waters for trout, but I rarely actually see anyone, especially so early. Today, though, I caught a glimpse of movement, a bare arm casting in a sliver of sunlight through the branches. But wait--the shoulder looked bare, too. And tanned. And muscular. I reined in on Gus and directed him to walk a few steps closer to the creek, on the chance that there might be a shirtless fisherman worth watching for a moment. My face split into a wide, appreciative grin. Just yards away from me was the rear view of a fine specimen of young manhood. Totally hot, and totally naked.
Well, OK, he was wearing a baseball cap, adapted for fly fishing simply by having extra flies stuck into it all around. He stood about 5' 10," with broad, bronzed shoulders tapering muscularly to a very slim waist. His butt was just as brown, and sensationally rounded, without a hair visible. His legs were magnificent. He had no idea another naked man on horseback was near. I decided that Gus could use a drink of creek water. We ambled down the bank.
When a rock rolled under Gus's hoof, the fisherman jumped as if shot-- his head jerked around toward us. I figured he was probably just some straight sporty type with a bod he liked sun on, but gee, I hadn't intended to give him a heart attack, I only wanted to get a look at the front of him. For a second, I thought he was torn between jumping into the creek or the bushes. Then the sight of me on my horse and naked registered in his handsome brain. He froze, then turned toward me with an expression of incredulity.
I liked what I now saw even better. The guy had a deep and pumped chest, mostly smooth except for just a light scattering of brownish gold chest hair. The abs rippled under smooth, tanned skin down to a swatch of neat brown pubic hair. His dick looked to be a nice piece of trimmed meat, pretty and shapely. No sign of a tan line was to be seen.
As we edged up next to him, I realized that what he could now see of me would be provocative but not entirely revealing. His side view of my body astride Gus showed my long, muscular leg, slender waist, and broad chest to advantage, as well as my strong, manly profile, but at the crotch he could see little more than upper pubes. I decided to display my wares. I swung my right leg over Gus's withers, sliding the left leg back, and sat sideways, facing the fisherman, my legs spread wide as Gus leaned down and drank. Behind the sunglasses, I could detect the eyes focus immediately upon the target zone now directly in front of them. Then he looked up at my face, upon which the grin, I now realized, was still plastered. I slid off of Gus and dropped lightly to the ground beside my new friend, leaving Gus's reins across his neck. "Good morning," was all I could think of to say.
"So you are real, then, and not The Phantom Naked Horseman," he answered. He was not yet as amused by the whole scene as I, but he was beginning to relax now.
I can't explain what happened next. Are we gay guys able to send and receive subliminal messages sometimes? Maybe there is something to "gaydar." For the first time outside of an all-gay environment, I sent my hand out to shake with another man, and he did, too; and yet what our hands went to by mutual accord was not the other's hand, but his dick. We just stood facing one another, looked boldly into one another's eyes, and each massaged the other's swelling cock. I felt John Henry respond with pleasure to the longed-for touch of another man. In my own hand, I felt the fisherman's cock growing to impressive, mouth-watering proportions. I placed my left hand on his strong hip and slowly knelt at his feet in the soft sandy dirt. His cock, now an inch from my nose, was stretched to its full, seven-plus inch, majestic length. It was hefty and smooth-skinned, not bulging with veins as so many are. I bent forward and kissed the tip of it gently and admiringly. Then I began to lick the head and shaft. My mouth closed around the mushroom cap of him, and I slid him into my throat. It was the most velvety smooth cock I had ever tasted, with no "off" flavor to it at all. The scent of his crotch as I pushed my face into it was nothing but fresh, clean, and manly.
The fisherman groaned appreciatively. He settled his weight more equally on his rubber-sandaled feet and his hips leaned into my face. While grasping the root of his pole with my right hand and continuing to massage it rhythmically, I slid up and down on the length of it as deep and as smoothly as I could. Heavy breathing rasped above my head. My left hand slid down the muscular thigh, finding it just lightly covered with silky hair, cool and still slightly damp from wading across the creek. I focused my attentions on my oral gratification. In a few pleasant, mouth-filling minutes I was treated to my reward as jets of sweet but tangy man-cum began to squirt onto my tongue and down my throat. I swallowed hungrily and continued to pump him dry.
I rose to my feet, wiping a little drool of silvery cum from the side of my mouth. My new acquaintance still seemed slightly in shock. "I should have introduced myself," I said. "I'm Steve. I live here, this is my place. This is Gus."
"Bentley. Well, Bent," said the fisherman, now actually shaking my hand instead of my cock. Well, I reflected, there was nothing "bent" about this guy: strong, sculpted, shapely, not bent. "Shit," he was going on, "Do you welcome every trespasser on your land the way you did me? You give great head, by the way--thanks."
I laughed. "Only those that are hot, naked, and male. So far, that means just you. I guess I was more desperate for dick than I realized. It's been a few weeks." My most recent and most heartbreaking breakup with a love relationship had been, as a matter of fact, more like a few months ago. It had been a painful parting, and I had been slow climbing back into the saddle. "Bent, are you set on fishing all day, or would you like to play around down on the farm? I have another horse...a loft full of fresh hay...a cabin with a feather bed and a country breakfast...what's your pleasure?"
"How about yes to all of the above, one at a time," answered Bent. "And some of your good country sausage would be good, too. I'd like to return the favor, you know."
I smiled back at him. "I'm sure that opportunity will arise."
Together, we were over 300 pounds, but Gus was a big, strong horse. I remounted, and Bent hopped on behind me, his feet dangling. His hands rested lightly on my bare hips, and his upper thighs brushed the backs of mine. Most excitingly, I could feel his dick head, still dribbling a little, press itself between the cheeks of my ass, and his pubes tickled my butt. I turned Gus, and we began to climb back up the slope of the bank to the trail, Bent holding on tighter around my waist to keep from sliding off.
We had some laughs as we rode along. Willoughby rejoined us, was introduced to Bent, whom he accepted as if a lifelong friend, and ran on ahead to the house. Bent was much more talkative now, letting me in on some details of his life. He was not long out of law school, newly signed with a big firm in town. This was the first day off he had taken in weeks, to celebrate passing the bar exam. He was not Out at the office and hadn't been dating any men since he came to town, though he had slept around some, I gathered, in college and law school days. Partners were forever trying to set him up with their nieces. He hadn't decided yet how he was going to resolve that issue, but had begun to wonder if he would ever have a guy suck his dick again. What he really needed, it seemed to me, was a nice, discreet boyfriend with, say, a country house, outside the circle of his professional acquaintances and not interested in getting into that circle. I began to think Bent and I might have some kind of a future. I was briefly in investment banking myself, got burned out fast on that life, and retired a year ago at age 27 to my former weekend getaway place (inherited from a great-aunt). Now I manage my own investments and those of a few others by modem in the nude instead of in an office and a power suit. I could cheerfully leave the halls of power and influence to Bent, if he liked them, and he could play it as straight as he pleased at work as long as he let me have the use of his delectable physique on the farm.
But I was getting 'way ahead of myself. I hadn't even kissed the guy yet, not above the waist, anyway. I tried to force myself to slow down and just enjoy a date for a change.
I suggested we go back to the house first for breakfast, and Bent seemed glad to agree. He held onto my waist, gently scratching with his fingertips at my pubic area while we rode. I love an attentive, flirtatious man. I hitched Gus to the back porch rail and escorted my naked lawyer into the big kitchen, which takes up a quarter of the house. After pouring coffee and putting a slab of bacon into a skillet, I excused myself to shower off some of the horse smell. Optimistically, I also gave myself a quick douche. Who knew?
Back in the kitchen, Bent had turned the bacon. He looked at me contentedly over his steaming cup. I remarked that maybe I smelled a little less like Gus now. Bent smiled, and placing his cup on the counter, put his arms around me tenderly. "I like the way you and Gus smell," he said. He kissed my mouth with rising passion. "I like the way you smell now, too, though," he added.
"Right now I smell bacon," I responded, breaking away but not too abruptly, to face the stove and take up the sizzling meat.
"Yeah, we'll eat. After that, I've got something for you." His hands were on my shoulders, his crotch touching my butt, his lips nibbling at the back and side of my neck.
With an anticipatory smile on my face, I finished cooking our breakfast of bacon, eggs, and toast, and served it on the big wrap-around porch, with its stunning views of fields, woods, and hillside under bright morning sun. Bent ate appreciatively, but his eyes never ceased to devour me, either. It was an exciting and pleasurable experience to be the object of a handsome young man's lust again after what seemed a long time. I was gratified and relieved to discover that I had not lost my sex appeal.
Together we cleared the table, leaving the dishes in the deep kitchen sink. My sandals had come off before my shower, and now Bent slipped out of his as well. "You said something about a feather bed?" he reminded me. "This way for the complete tour," I answered, taking Bent's hand, and we headed back into the bedroom.
Bent is an eager and assertive lover. I could tell that he had been straining a bit to hold back until now, but once in the bedroom he pretty much grabbed hold of me and had his way with me. I liked it, too. He started by enfolding me in his strong arms and turning me to face his passionate kisses. His pubic bone pressed against mine, and I could feel his firm member along my pubes and thigh, as mine also lay against his lower abdomen. After a few minutes of heavy tonguing, he pulled me down upon the unmade bed and rolled over my right leg to lie between my thighs. His belly lay across my hard- on, which extended up past my navel. He continued to make out with me, voluptuously mouthing my face and neck. Then he began to travel downward. Quickly enough, he fastened his mouth upon the head of my pulsating cock and began to blow me with energy and skill.
He had me so hot and bothered that I was unable to hold out for him for very long. The wet massage of his lips and tongue on my tender tool was more than I could bear. All too soon, I began to shoot off great streams of jizz into and around that sexy, masculine mouth. He continued to stroke and suck until my supply was spent. But then he hardly paused in his assault; he merely shifted his attentions further downward, licking at my balls and then at that lusciously sensitive area beneath them. Then I felt him tonguing my ass, and I eagerly opened my sphincter to his probing intrusion. He slobbered me up really good, but when I reached to the night stand for the jar of lubricant I had left there, he took it from me and began to slather my hole and his pole with the cream. Both were ready in short order.
I lifted my feet on either side of his flanks and closed my eyes as he entered me, preferring to savor the feel of the impact rather than to watch his intent face as he guided his missile toward its target. Bent rested his weight on knees and elbows and began to pump me vigorously. The pain was briefly intense, but also welcome. I settled into the rhythm as my asshole stretched to his dimensions. When I opened my eyes, I saw him studying my face admiringly, and smiling, while he pumped my gut. He had one cute, boyish smile. He gazed intently into my eyes from two inches away, his hot, sweet breath on my face. "You may be the best-looking man I have ever seen," were his unexpected words.
I was deeply flattered. I am not lacking in self-esteem, but who wouldn't like such a compliment? I smiled in return.
"That's what they all say when they have their cock a foot up my ass. But what I want to know is, will you still respect me afterward?"
"I'm going to respect hell out of you," Bent panted.
"But I'm going to fuck hell out of you first."
I think I recall inviting him to do just that, along with other enticing and dirty words. He responded well to the encouragement, redoubling his efforts to run me all the way through with his sword of hot steel. By the time he finished, Bent and I were both soaked with sweat, saliva, and semen. Both my dick and my asshole hummed with joy. He collapsed on top of me, panting, still occasionally licking or kissing at my neck or ear, but mostly just spent. I began to feel that there was more than simple young male lust at work here, there was a chemistry between us. I was deeply content.
After a few minutes, though I enjoyed the pressure of his body's weight on mine, he shifted to lie beside me, our limbs still entangled. His slimy dick, just about half deflated, rested across my upper thigh, while mine, still drooling a little, lay just above it. They were a handsome and well-matched pair, those two, as were Bent and me.
We began to talk a little. Bent told me the rudiments of his dilemma at the firm and about going out with some of the women he encountered and even perfunctorily fucking a few he considered most likely to talk about it, just to keep up appearances. He knew this could not go on forever, but was hoping to make partner or break off to start a firm of his own before any more of the truth about him got out than that he was handsome and hung but a mediocre lover with women. Meanwhile, he was sadly jerking off through some of the hottest and horniest times of his life until being rescued by our nude encounter that morning. I told him about my late professional life, too, and began to open up the story of my recent heartache, but in general terms at that point.
We decided to clean ourselves up a little and go for a ride. The first part, back out to the barn, was doubled on good old Gus again, but then I added a Western saddle to Kate, and we set out together mounted separately. Bent handled Gus expertly, even bare back, bare assed and barefoot. I switched over to my mare Katie. It was a wonderful and carefree morning romp. The sun was warm, but not hot, with great, fluffy white clouds passing overhead from time to time. Rarely have I ever spent such an altogether marvelous morning, exploring my entire domain and showing off to an appreciative viewer every one of its scenic, pastoral treasures.
By mid-day, we decided to stop at the creek, further down from Bent's fishing spot, where there is a wide, deep pool for skinny-dipping. I have a rope swing attached to an overhanging limb there, and it is great fun to swing out over the water and drop into the pool. We began a little game of "follow the leader" at trapeze artistry, and I was pleased to get past one-and-a-half forward somersault and all the way to double gainer before I got to a dive Bent couldn't duplicate from the swing. He busted his butt and his balls trying, though, which I admired and appreciated.
Finally, panting and tired, and in Bent's case bright red on back and ass, we sat laughing in the shallows and caught our breath.
"Do you think we could fuck on horseback?" Bent suddenly asked. I laughed harder at the abruptness and absurdity of the suggestion.
"You can fuck me anywhere," I answered, "or at least try. I can't think what we'll tell them at the emergency room if it doesn't work, though."
Of course, there was the problem of lubrication. I was still pretty juicy on the inside from the morning, but needed more for entering my asshole. We rode back to the stable, where we unsaddled Katie and found the Vaseline I keep there for the horses. Bent slathered us up with it very thoroughly, stem and stern, and we hopped onto poor Gus again, setting off at a slow walk.
"You're going to have to stimulate yourself this time, I can do nothing for you," I said lightly. "Looking at your broad shoulders and feeling my cock against your ass does something for me," was his response. "Also feeling you up." He laughed as his hands reached around and began to fondle my crotch, at the same time massaging his own cock against my backside by rotating his hips against me. My dick had become his handle for holding himself on Gus behind me. I felt his dick inflating with each bump and grind. Finally, he said, "OK, let's go for it," his hands sliding out to my thighs. I partially stood in the leather stirrups, lifting my ass off the saddle while continuing to grip Gus's withers with my knees. I felt the head of Bent's cock pressing at my sphincter; then with a quick blip of my sphincter ring and a pang of pain it plunged in. I sat back down on it as Bent scooted up as tight to my butt as he could get, his thighs parallel to mine and his arms holding me around my waist.
We tried several of Gus's gaits. Most were comical, sometimes painful attempts--it is a wonder Bent's name did not truly become descriptive of his phallic equipment. The only one that worked somewhat was the rack (Gus is five-gaited), a rocking walk similar to that of Tennessee Walking Horses. In the rack, we moved along pretty swiftly, and I was able to slide up and down on Bent's hard shaft fairly smoothly in the rhythm of the gait without much effort on my part. Bent just held on and got pumped. He claimed it felt really good, but mostly I think it was the exhilaration of doing something so kinky out of doors. Ejaculation-wise, it was a failure (he couldn't get off), but nevertheless, we had fun, which was more important. My horse and my ass both got good workouts that day.
In the center of the pasture, there was a large cube formed of hay bales covered with a tarp, curing for winter use. We stopped there this time, and I uncovered the pile, pulling out the center square to leave a sort of room with four-foot high walls around it and a floor of fresh baled hay. I opened one bale and scattered it on the bottom, and in we climbed for some afternoon lovemaking.
Now it was my turn to fuck Bent, and I was more than primed for it. We made out a little in our den of hay, but very soon I rolled my partner over and began to massage his back from a position kneeling between his legs. I savored the feel of my strong fingers sliding along his strong back muscles and down to his delectable bubble butt. Before long I was grinding my hard cock on his crack while I continued to rub his shoulders and back. He spread his legs even further, invitingly. My cock head moved closer and closer to his asshole as it rubbed, pulling at his slick sphincter. Finally, I changed my angle a little, and in it went with a satisfying pop. I lay on top of his back full length and pumped away at him with eagerness and abandon. He moaned with that combination of pain and pleasure that is the essence of ass-fucking. I am even longer in the cock than he is (about the same thickness), and I had the optimum angle for a good, deep fucking, and I gave it to him pretty heavy before finally injecting him with a nice basting of heavy sperm-butter. Afterwards, I lay on top of him for a few minutes, enjoying the sun on my full length while my cock was buried to the hilt in this gorgeous creature.
We stayed in our little haven for an hour or so, sunning in one another's arms. We finally emerged, tired, sore, and hungry. Gus had wandered off into the shade in the direction of the stable. We re-covered the hay stack, collected Gus, dropped him off at the barn, and returned to the house for a shower (together of course, how delightful) and a lunch of sandwiches and beer. By this time the warmest part of the day was upon us, and we opted for rocking chairs on the porch where we could take advantage of the breeze. It took all afternoon to share our life stories, but we were eager to tell them.
It had become obvious by now that Bent would stay past cocktails and dinner, and that our dessert, though it might involve whipped cream, would be otherwise low calorie. The way it turned out, though, he stayed the night, the weekend, so far for the rest of our lives. He kept his apartment in town, where he worked long hours at the firm but left by noon on Friday to be with me for the weekends. Often I would go into town on Tuesday night and stay until Thursday morning so that we could at least sleep together a couple of weeknights, too. Then we decided to make the arrangement permanent.
Bent was offered a partnership, but he turned it down. We are now in the process of starting our own firm--the two of us working together with clients in legal and financial aspects of estate building and planning. Office and apartment in the city, home office and playground in the country. Willoughby has a companion now, a bitch named Elizabeth, and Katie is pregnant with our next horse, scheduled to be Bent's.
Life is good.