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He was out before first light, driving up the canyon to catch the start of the day. First shooting in black and white, he sought the dim, earliest light of the false dawn, highlighting the silhouettes of the rugged mountains, and the twisted forms of the junipers. His camera fit easily in his hand, a trusted, familiar tool to capture the art of this new day.
The air was crisp, and the fog from his breath coated his moustache with a thin frost. His steps crunched on the frozen ground, leaving the imprint of his hiking boots.
He pulled his jacket tight against him, and slipped on a glove for his left hand, leaving his other hand bare against the air as he focused his lens, and clicked through a sizeable number of new photos.
The thermos of coffee that Bill had brewed for him before he left provided a welcome cup that warmed his lips and belly, the aroma of the dark roast filled his nostrils with the familiar smell that added another layer of pleasure to this spectacular morning of quiet beauty.
In the distance, a hawk cried, and then a scrub jay, his eye catching a glimpse of its dusky blue and gray colors, just now discernable as the eastern light began to filter into the canyon. The beginnings of a breeze flowed down the canyon, adding the scent of sagebrush and a faint whiff of ponderosa pine.
All was right with the world, he thought, in this beginning of a new day. He was pleasantly satisfied with everything about life, especially after an evening spent naked with his new lover.
Bill had been everything a man could want in a lover, tender, arousing, eager to please Tom in every way. It has been such a long time, too long, since Tom had been with a man. And, last night had taken Tom to new heights of ecstasy.
Tonight would be even more special, Bill had promised him this morning, as he filled Tom's thermos with coffee, and packed him a lunch.
"Now, get out there and have a great day," Bill had said. "There's no one else on the ranch but you and me, and I'm working in the south canyon today, leaving you the main canyon and the rimrock country."
"Photograph to your heart's content, and then I'll cook you a special dinner tonight."
"And, a special dessert," Bill said, giving him a wink and a big smile.
Tom's balls tingled at the thought of what Bill might have in mind, as he remembered Bill taking his hard cock deep into his mouth, and gently fondling his balls with his calloused, weathered hand.
He breathed in the cold morning air, detecting Bill' faint odor of old leather, fresh cowboy sweat, and good Pendleton whiskey in his moustache, along with a tinge of dried cum that still clung to his beard, left over from Bill's last spurting of his seed around midnight.
He hadn't thought he could get it up again, but Bill was patient with him, gently rubbing his back, and then fondling his balls, and holding his spent cock his hand, playing with Tom's chest hair and nipples with his other hand. It didn't take long until Tom was ready again, letting Bill roll him over once again, until his cock was buried deep inside of Bill's mouth and hungry lips and tongue.
"Dang, I better concentrate on the morning light, and not Bill giving me another blow job, if I'm going to get anything done today," he said, chuckling as his words were getting lost in the emptiness of the canyon's still, icy air.
His cock twitched, anticipating the new lessons that Bill could teach him tonight, and what he wanted to do with Bill's muscular body and large, uncut cock. Bill had yet to really get to know Tom and his own ability to love a man with everything he had to offer.
He laughed, thinking of what he wanted to do with Bill tonight, after they'd sipped their whiskey, and watched the sun come down over this vast landscape of paradise, just the two of them, two lovers, at last.
The scrub jay responded, with its own cry of delight about the promise of the day.
High clouds caught the first rays of the sun, and Tom went about his business of studying the emerging light of this new day, taking advantage of this wild terrain.
By midmorning, he needed a break and drove a little further up the canyon, to a little hot spring that Bill had told him about. It was about fifty yards up a side canyon, with barely a trail leading up to it.
The pool was steaming, and there was a split rail fence around it.
"Take a dip there," Bill had told him. "And there's a bottle of whiskey next to the large rock, so you can spike your coffee with a little antifreeze."
Bill stripped off his coat, and flannel shirt, and everything else, and walked down the stone steps into the pool of hot spring water, thermos and coffee mug in hand.
He sat down in the pool, letting the water come up to his neck, feeling the heat take out the stiffness and cold of the morning. Soon, the coffee and the whiskey, and the hot mineral water eased him into a bliss he hadn't felt for years.
A hawk circled above, catching the first thermal of the day, as Tom gazed into the sky, watching the thin lines of the cirrus move in from the west.
"Could be a storm moving in tonight," he said to himself.
He ran his hand across his face, and his chest, feeling the hairs of his beard and the thick mat of fur across his chest. He remembered how Bill had done that with him last, night, gently toying with his nipples, making them erect, and more sensitive to Bill's fingers and lips.
His cock swelled a little in the water, the shaft thickening, reminding him of Bill gently stroking him, and then taking him deep in his lover's mouth, sucking him with a lover's passion, until Tom's cock erupted, spewing the first load of his jism across Bill' moustache and beard. Tom's pulsing ropes of cum oozed down into the thick curls of Tom's bush, as Tom moaned and thrashed, and a new wave of hot sweat filled his armpits and coated his muscular shoulders and chest.
His balls tingled at the memory, and he lazily jacked his cock, renewing those feelings, those memories of lovemaking with Bill.
It was more, so much more than a one-night stand. Bill was everything he'd ever hoped for in a lover, and a partner. And, tonight, he'd give back to Bill everything that he'd felt about him, and everything he wanted to do with Bill, to show him that he was loved by Tom, that they were partners, yes, lovers.
The heat of the water soaked deep into Tom, as he slid away, his mind imagining what this evening would be like for him and Bill.
He'd hold Bill in his arms, running his fingers through Bill's beard, and down his shirt, feeling the hard muscles of his shoulders, chest and belly, and brush his hands against the thickening nipples of Bill's meaty chest.
Their lips would touch, and he'd whisper to Bill that he loved him, that he wanted him, and that he'd spend the night pleasuring him.
Tom's fingers would slowly, so slowly, unbutton Bill's shirt, and he'd take the time to caress the coarse hairs across the cowboy's chest, returning to his nipples to play with him, tweak him, until his nipples ached and throbbed.
He'd slip Bill's shirt down off his of his shoulders, until he stood there, bare chested, the manly odors of his armpits rising into Tom's nostrils, mixing with the faint smoke of the fireplace, and the whiskey from their breath.
Tom's fingers would play, again, across Bill's strong shoulders and down his back, feeling the thick cotton of his jeans and the worn leather of Bill's belt. And, then, moving between them, he'd touch the cool metal of the rancher's silver belt buckle, loosening it, until only the top button of his jeans and the zipper was between Tom's moist, hungry hand and Bill's thickening cock.
Bill would already be barefoot, his boots pulled off by Tom as they sipped their whiskey, and watched the evening sky turn from a fiery crimson to a burnt orange, then to violet and a final slice of color in the west.
He'd touch Bill, then, running his fingers along the now hardening shaft of Bill's cock, and feel the coarse curly hairs of the thick nest of man fur above his cock. One hand would cup Bill's large balls, Tom's fingers and palm feeling the sweat and the hairs of Bill's sack, and the cum-heavy balls that even then would start rising, preparing for the first of their orgasms of this long, moonlit night.
Bill would slowly strip him, too, taking in the fresh sweat of Tom's thickly furred armpits, and the heat of his hairy chest, and hungry nipples. Bill's calloused fingers would soon let Tom's shirt and then his jeans fall to the wooden floor of the living room, until Tom's naked body would glow in the light of the fire that blazed in the big stone fireplace, next to the sheepskin rug.
Candles would be lit around the great room, and on the mantel, below the stuffed head of the grizzly bear above the fireplace, and the racks of pronghorn and elk horns that adorned the knotty pine paneling of the great room.
They would refill their glasses then, another shot of whiskey and soda, and hold their glasses to each other's lips, as they slowly tasted the aged spirits, and felt the warmth of the whiskey slide down into their bellies.
Time would stand still, and only the burning of the aged pine and oak in the fireplace would measure the evening. Occasionally, one of them would move over to toss another log onto the fire, but this would be the only distraction for the two lovers, as they caressed and fondled each other.
Sometimes, there would be frenzied sucking and thrusting, as one or both of them would rise to a climax. Yet, most of their time would be simply holding and touching each other, exploring each other's bodies, and sensing what was the most beautiful and tender way to express their love for each other.
They took nourishment from each other, in a simple touch, a caress, a movement of a finger or lips or, a hard and thrusting cock, and everything else about them, each expressing to the other the simple joy of having a lover, and all the time in the world to show their lover how much they loved them.
Spurts of their manhood soon drenched their bodies, pearls of cum rubbed into thick swirls of fur, until beards and chest hair and ball sacks smelled richly of manly orgasms and lustful sweat. The rich, yeasty stench of sex filled the room, mixing with the smoke from the fire, and the aromas of the steaks and potatoes they had devoured at dinner, and the wisps of fine whiskey on their moustaches and beards.
Already, this place, this ranch in this incredible canyon, felt like home. He could put roots down here, helping Bill with the land, the cattle; sipping their morning coffee on the porch, watching the sunrise, or sitting in the hot springs up the canyon, sharing the soaring of the hawks, being part of this land.
It could all be here for him, this special place, to be shared with this special man, who was now part of his life, and part of his soul.