John had told Wylie about "life on the ranch" but very little about the ranch itself. Now, he was bringing Wylie up to speed concerning; his dad, Conchatta, Louis, and some of the cowhands, he would meet.
Wylie was impressed with the wrought iron gates. He could see they set back off the road with enough space and distance that a greyhound bus could easily turn around. They were suspended within a stone arch whose shoulders sloped gently, until leveling off at about five feet. There they met the fence that, apparently, stretched to the horizon on either side. Wylie was almost disappointed to see there was not a branding symbol anywhere to be seen.
While John continued his diatribe, he pushed a button on the overhead console and the gates swung smoothly open. The rattle of the round pipe cattle guard, welcomed them to the ranch.
The granite pebble drive seemed to go on for miles. Finally topping a gentle rise, the sprawling ranch house came into view. It was backed and bordered by two large barns and several large out buildings. There were three large corrals, each further divided by smaller paddocks.
The red of the barns, along with the connecting white, three board fencing stood in stark contrast to the winter brown landscape. Only the house, with it's light brown color and faded red, Spanish tile roof, appeared to belong. The rest seemed, almost gaudy affectations. The ranch house was huge! Wylie had been impressed, now he was intimidated. He couldn't have imagined such a grand setup.
John hadn't noticed Wylie's discomfort.
Wylie had heard nothing since he first saw the ranch house. He was focused on the fact that he didn't belong here. His accusation of John living on a "big assed" ranch seemed to echo within his brain.
If he could be "beamed" to anywhere else he would gladly kiss Scotty's Scotsman's ass.He wished he had not let John talk him into coming. He was a little angry at having been put into this situation. He should have known better. Maybe if he pretended to be sick, he could make his way back to the dorm. "Ah FUCK! How do I do I get out of this?" This was mumbled, just beneath his breath.
John thought he heard Wylie say something. He glanced over with a questioning look. He understood immediately. To him it was home. It had been several years since he had brought anyone home for the first time. John had learned then that the first view, could be a little overwhelming.
"Wylie, it just a ranch. It's not "South Fork". Truth be told it was in fact, a little larger. Hold on until you meet Dad and Conchatta. If you really want to, we can go back. First thing tomorrow. I know you'll like it here, if you give it a chance. If not, we'll go back, I promise."
Wylie met John's comments with an appreciative, yet apprehensive smile.
John gripped and released Wylie's thigh, "Relax, I promise you, you'll be more than welcomed. You'll see, they'll treat you like family. You'll be as comfortable here, as you want to be. If it gets too tough, I'm serious, we'll go back."
The import of "we'll go back" was not lost on Wylie. He understood that John would rather he be comfortable than to spend Christmas, at home with family. Wylie's gratitude overruled his trepidation. He vowed to hide any discomfort. How could he do less?
John`s father, apparently notified by the opening gate, was waiting in the drive to welcome the "boys". He and John hugged warmly. Turning with John's introduction he pushed Wylie's proffered hand aside and embraced him just as he had his son. Wylie was shocked; first by the hug, then by, "Welcome home son." Wylie was speechless as he returned the embrace.
Wylie had expected to meet a sickly "old man". Instead, Mr. Grant was an obviously vigorous man, a little past middle age. His gray hair and weathered face were the only signs of age. In Texas, those traits described most ranchers in their middle years; sometimes even younger.
Mr. Grant had John's intense, intelligent, brown eyes. Wylie had heard girls describe John's as "bedroom eyes". Like John he was tall and strong. When he released him, Wylie was sure of the man's strength. He also noticed Mr. Grant's smile lit up those brown eyes, just like his son's. Wylie knew he was seeing his friend; in thirty years.
Suddenly the massive double doors flew open and a colorful whirlwind rushed toward the men. Sputtering endearments in Spanish, Conchatta grabbed John in a warm and paralyzing hug her momentum was such that John staggered back to keep them both from taking a tumble. Once he regained equilibrium, he lifted her up and spun around.
Once footing was re-established , she released John. Holding his hands in hers, she turned to Wylie with an appraising glance. Apparently pleased with her first impression, she sidestepped and wrapped Wylie in the same warm embrace. Wylie staggered from the impact and looked at John for help.
John shrugged and smiled, saying, "Wylie, meet Conchatta, my Mamacita and the head of the house. Dad might argue that point, but not with Conchatta. If you want to eat well and enjoy your time here, you'd best get along with her. Conchatta has only a couple of cardinal sins: don't taste anything before she says it's finished. Eat a lot of what is finished and don't complain if she puts more on your plate or she will smack your head with one of her wooden spoons. I am amazed that Louis doesn't weigh 300 pounds. Oh and don't leave any clothes on the floor. Oh! and, don't put your feet on the furniture. If she asks you to do something, just do it. For God's sake! If you don't she'll probably burn every meal until we figure out who made her mad, and have him apologize profusely."
At this last, Conchatta muttered something, reached up and smacked John on the back of his head. "You make me sound like a dictator."
Turning to Wylie, she said, "Welcome to the hacienda, Wylie, you are more welcome than some." Turning to bless John with a sneer. "Now I go get food ready. Still speaking only to Wylie, "You must be starving after your long drive."
Glancing at John, she snapped her head up indignantly and headed back into the house. As she entered the doorway, she paused, "You can eat too, after you apologize probusely." She then turned and royally strolled into "her" domain.
"Wow! For once, I'm glad I kept my mouth shut:" Wylie grinned at John. Then all three burst into laughter.
Once inside the adobe ranch house, Wylie noticed that the decor was comfortable. It was subtly masculine, yet warm and inviting. Paintings on the walls were of a western motif and not a print to be found. There was an occasional sculpture; most likely Remington.
Mr. Grant was proud of his home. Pointing toward the ceiling, he let Wylie know that each generation had added onto; what started as a simple adobe shack. His only contribution was to remodel the inside, with a few "nick-knacks, and raise the roof to accommodate central air ducting and wiring for satellite television and internet. The high, beamed ceilings were original.
Completing the tour, he gave Wylie his choice of three spare bedrooms, each with it's own bath, large screen TV, as well as a desktop computer. All four, including John's room, were on the opposite side of the sprawling ranch house, from the master bedroom.
Hesitating; Wylie glanced at John.
John stepped in quickly, drawing his father's attention. He reasoned that Wylie would sleep in his room. His bed was big enough and Conchatta would appreciate the lessened workload.
Mr. Grant cast an appraising glance, at Wylie. Maybe the investigators had not found out everything about Wylie Keyes. Oh well, a man had a right to some secrets.
The smile on Wylie's face told of his relief.
John added, "Dad, his snoring kept me up the first week. Now, it's more like a lullaby."
Wylie punched John's shoulder and was about to argue, when he heard a heavy sigh coming from John's father.
It shocked both young men when John's Dad, softly said, "I understand, my, uh, your mother used to say the same thing about my snoring."
John's dad was a real "cowboy". He didn't share his feelings, except in the extreme. If he laughed, it was a gut-buster (as demonstrated, earlier in the drive). If he was mad, it was like the gates of hell, suddenly burst open. Now, with this simple statement, his son saw him as, almost vulnerable.
Was the comment, "my, uh, your mother" telling? John had recently become sensitive to his own subtle language and mannerism that might give anyone cause to question his relationship with Wylie. He still didn't fully understand his feelings for his friend. Right now, he understood that he wanted Wylie in his life more; than he had ever wanted anything. John knew he would revisit this conversation, as well as his own feelings; again and again.
Wylie would soon learn that the initial banter was the way John and Conchatta were. No matter; it seemed to Wylie that when it came to the kitchen, especially, Conchatta ruled with an iron fist. When Wylie expressed gratitude for a meal, she would glow with matronly pride. He found good reason to compliment her. That fancy Dallas restaurant, could learn a thing or two from Conchatta. There seemed to always be something good on the massive stovetop or in one of the three ovens. Wylie had seen kitchens like this, only on TV.
He learned that if Conchatta was not around, food was for the taking. If she was present; best to ask. Normally, she left after dinner was prepared. "Supper" was eaten at the kitchen table, in a much more relaxed atmosphere than Wylie would have guessed, given the size of the house. It made him feel like family.
That first night she stayed to serve dinner. Wylie was only too well aware that his presence had effected the menu. Cesar salad; with a home grown, raw egg added just before serving, calamari; fried to perfection and served with a Mariana that was warm, sweet and spicy (this calamari, he liked). The massive filet was crusted with something that seemed to enhance the flavor, he could not identify any flavor except the delicious beef. Alongside the filet was a huge lobster tail. Resting between the two, was a ramekin of melted lemon butter. Wylie knew that John had asked Conchatta to serve these foods. Wine with the meal (only one) was as good as any at the restaurant.
Wylie was generous in his heartfelt praise for Conchatta's efforts.She glowed. He also noticed that Conchatta served herself and ate and conversed as if it were the most natural thing. Wylie knew it was.
Conchatta was pretty much like Wylie's first impression. If John and his dad talked business, she remained silent or engaged Wylie. If the topic was other than business, she did not hesitate to offer her opinion.
By the end of the meal, she knew a lot about Wylie; his situation, his friendship with John and his future plans. He had not realized how candid he had been, until dessert had been cleared away. He hadn't said anything too revealing; still his usual reserve had all but disappeared. He felt at home.
Conchatta shooed Wylie out of the kitchen, even after he insisted on helping her clean up.
John and his dad complimented him on his efforts.
Mr. Grant rescued Wylie, from a threatened smack with a wooden spoon, by taking his elbow and leading him out of the kitchen. "Conchatta will call if she needs us. Let's go to the library and have a drink and get to know each other better. We can talk about you two starting work tomorrow."
Wylie's ears perked up at once. He needed to hear about, earning some much needed cash. His drinking with John had drained his resources faster than anticipated. Even with John's incessant generosity, his reserves needed to be replenished. As a business major, he should have managed better. Still, he couldn't pinpoint a minute he would have, spent differently. Love and passion trump reason and wealth; every time.
In the library, Wylie was impressed with the collection of books. The wall facing the door was either windows or books. It was easy to believe that those books were collected to be read.
Mr. Grant poured three whiskys and indicated a grouping of four wing back chairs. John and Wylie sat in two adjoining, while Mr. Grant took one facing theirs. The oversized fireplace had certainly been real, at one time. Now it's natural looking flames licked around faux logs.
The conversation was relaxed and while not probing, Wylie felt that Mr. Grant wanted to know about him and his beliefs, concerning life, philosophy and religion. What were Wylie's goals and aspirations. Did he see marriage and family in his near future.
This last made Wylie look at John, before answering. "I suppose, most guys get married. I figure if I find someone I want to spend my life with, the issue of children would be discussed at some point. Do I see myself as a father? Right now, I honestly can't say that I do. I love kids, but raising them is a lifelong commitment. I am not sure I want to be responsible for molding a life. Even if I found someone," after a subtle glance at John, he continued, " My priority now is education. This is a discussion I'll be better prepared for in another four or five years."
Mr. Grant moved smoothly onto other topics. Wylie's swimming, studies, and did he have a girlfriend in college or back home? The only question that bothered Wylie, was the one about children.
There was only one person in the world he could see building a life together. He wasn't sure if the feelings were reciprocated. Hell, he wasn't sure the guy had a clue as to how he felt. He wasn't sure how long this thing with John could go on without his demanding, John make his intentions clear. Fuck! He sounded like Scarlet O'hara!
Mr. Grant finished his whisky and was about to retire. As to work, he let Wylie know that if he worked alongside John, he would be paid. They were to see Louis at six in the morning. He bid them good night.
John poured both a double whisky. "Wylie, I don't' mean to pressure you, but. If we are going back tomorrow, I have to let Dad know tonight. He doesn't have to know how you feel. Just that we are going. But, I have to tell him tonight. So. How do you feel. Still want to go back?
"John, I honestly haven't thought of leaving since I stepped out of the jeep. I know you set me up with that dinner. I'm not sure if I should thank you or accuse you of playing dirty. Your Dad is a great guy. I think he would be offended, if I left. If you left because of me, I don't think he would forgive me. At least, not in this lifetime. He's the kind of man, whose respect would mean a lot to me. I guess I'll stay and try to earn it. Besides, if I hang around I might get to see Conchatta kick yo' ass."
Only now did John allow himself to fully relax. He had not been sure how Wylie was feeling until this moment. He turned his double up and finished it. Wylie followed suit. John brought the bottle from the counter of the wet bar and sat it on a table between his chair and Wylie's.
Wylie wanted to know what work they would be doing. "If I know Louis, tomorrow we will be shoveling out the stables. He'll do that just to see what kind of worker you are. He knows I'll do whatever job he assigns. Most guys see working inside as a restrictive punishment. They love to work cattle. Hell, any job outside is better than anything you could do inside except sleep and sex. I'm sure a few of the old goats think even those are not exceptions."
"Don't worry Wylie, tomorrow will be your first day in training to become a real shit-kicking cowboy. Those old boots you like to wear? Tomorrow you will learn what they are really made for."
One more double finished, found them both fumbling and stumbling to get to John's room. They got naked quickly. Here they could relax. They fell into bed and immediately began kissing and jerking each other off. They came. Neither regretted the quick climax. All sex is great; it just that some sex is better.
John went to the attached bathroom and pissed, without turning on the light.
He staggered back to bed and fell so that his face landed in Wylie's crotch.
He could feel Wylie's dick harden against his cheek. He could feel the sticky moistness of their ejaculate, against his face. He didn't care. He turned his head and let his tongue taste their mixed semen.
After the first taste he realized he would gladly clean Wylie's body with his tongue. His goal was not this soupy, sticky mixture. His desired fare, was far meatier. He slid a little lower and took Wylie's cockhead into his mouth.
Both froze.
If a life flashes before one's eyes as they face death; then what does one see when they face the falsehood in all their learned values, expectations, and preconceived notions?
The pregnant moment seemed to last forever. John knew what he had become the moment he tasted Wylie's cock and cum. He knew he loved Wylie. He wanted this. Would he loose Wylie? Would Wylie hate him? He had wanted to get closer to Wylie from their first meeting. This was closer than he had thought. Still, it felt right. It was right. Whatever Wylie's reaction: This was right! For John.
Here, at home, he found the courage. It would be for naught if Wylie; pushed him away or if he feigned sleep.
His life would be over; not because the world and his father might find out he was gay. His life would be over; if he lost Wylie. Wylie's response would change his life, for better or worse.
Wylie moved!
Ok, obviously there is more; much more. I need to see some interest or I will decide my writing is not something worth pursuing. So. Should I post more?