Owen

Owen

Chapter three

by Roy Reinikainen

Lucas fumbled with the key, intensely aware of Owen's nearness. He could not recall ever reacting to a person in the way he was reacting to the man who was now looking around the elevator lobby, drinking in all the details. Lucas managed to unlock the door to his apartment on the second try, and swung it open, motioning for Owen to precede him, and apologizing for the mess at the same time.

"Like I said earlier, I had just finished shifting my stuff when I had to take my father to the airport. He's heading to Europe for a meeting," Lucas added, flipping on a light switch.

'Damn', he thought to himself, looking around at the jumble of boxes piled on the floor as well as on top of pieces of furniture. 'The place looks even worse than I remembered.' Owen was standing open-mouthed, looking from side to side. He turned to Lucas and gestured.

"All this stuff is yours?"

Lucas wasn't sure if he should interpret what Owen said as a question or an accusation. Either way, the comment seemed to carry a meaning beyond what was on the surface. He quietly swung the door closed and shoved his hands into his pockets and nodded, suddenly embarrassed by the sheer quantity of everything, especially when compared with Owen's meager possessions. He would have been willing to bet the two bags Owen was carrying were indeed all he owned.

"And, all this space?" Owen asked in wonder, looking from left to right, his arms hanging limply at his sides.

Lucas nodded again as Owen ran his fingers through his hair and then slowly shook his head.

"I'm findin' that I'm most amazed, not at the big buildings and things like that, but at you, and," he gestured to the scattered boxes and furniture. "And, all this." He gave Lucas a wry smile.

"I'm sorry, Lucas. I'm not criticizing you, or anything. It's just . . . Well, where I came from pretty much everyone had the same experiences and similar belongings. There wasn't much variation." He glanced around the room. "Until today, I never thought of myself as . . . poor, both in the sense of owning things, and in the sense of having any experience with the world outside Riverton." He heaved a sigh, his crooked smile returning, this time accompanying a sad expression.

"It's a feelin' I'm going to have to get used to." He gave Lucas another troubled look. "You mind if I sit . . . on . . ." He quickly looked about him and selected a large sturdy-looking cardboard box. "On this?" He took a deep breath and collapsed onto the box with a tired grunt, not waiting for permission.

Owen sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees, his hands dangling limply between his legs, leaving Lucas not knowing what to do or how to respond. He had always had anything he wanted. The same was true of his friends. But, until a few moments ago, he had never felt . . . guilty, about his possessions. Now, he looked at the boxes and thought of their contents in light of the background Owen described. He sat down opposite Owen, on another large box, his appreciation of Owen increasing dramatically. Here was a person who had come far on so little. He looked up when Owen began speaking.

"It's not that I've suddenly realized that I've been missing out 'cause I don't have lots of . . . stuff. Since leaving home, I've realized how little I know about the world. A person can be poor in ways other than not having enough money to do the things he'd like." He huffed a silent laugh and shook his head in rueful acknowledgement. "Course, I don't have much of that, either."

There was nothing Lucas could do other than let Owen work through his feelings. "My lack of knowledge about the world," Owen continued, meeting Lucas' gaze. "That's where I really feel poor. I know so little about things everyone else takes for granted." He suddenly reached across the narrow space separating him from Lucas, and squeezed Lucas' hand. It was a brief touch, gone as suddenly as it had happened, causing Lucas to glance at his hand, wishing the strength and warmth had remained.

"Thanks again for helping me out . . . and for not laughing at me for all the things I don't know." He looked away. "It means more to me than you can know."

"I would never laugh at you, Owen." He glanced at his hand. The warm dry touch of Owen's hand on his had been like an electric current running through him. He would have sworn that he felt both Owen's distress as well as his determination.

"Did you have a television, back home?" Owen shook his head. "No computer, either. M'father always said those things were for people with no work to do. I gotta admit, a farm is a lot of work, but . . . still. There's more to being educated than going to school. The people you meet . . ." He grinned at Lucas. "The things you see when you leave home; those are all part of a guy's education as much as what he learns from reading a book or workin' on a piece of land trying to coax things to grow."

"Yet, you got a scholarship."

Owen nodded. "I worked my damn tail off to get it, too, especially since I had to continue all my chores around the farm and deal with m'father, who was dead-set against me leavin'. He never seemed to figure that the more obstacles he set in front of me, the more determined I became." He shook his head. "I'm feelin' sorry for my brother, Jonah though. He's gonna be saddled with all my responsibilities, plus everything he's already got to do." Owen slowly shook his head. "Poor Jonah. At least, he never accused me of running away and abandoning the family."

"Your folks did that?"

"M'father." Owen's lips seemed to tighten slightly at the thought of his father. "My mother goes along with whatever he says. She says she doesn't want to make waves." He slowly shook his head, remembering his mother's attempts at peacemaking, and his father's determined efforts to have his own way. "Well, I made waves. M'father, didn't know what to do. You see. No one goes against his will. No one, until me."

He turned back to Lucas. "I gotta also thank you for not shying away whenever I've touched you, like a second ago. I've always been the sorta person who needs to touch and be touched." He shook his head. "Yet another thing, m'folks don't understand. That's not somethin' anyone does in my family." His voice lowered. "Touch, that is." He seemed to call himself back to the present. "Many guys would be bothered if another guy touched them like I have you. Y'see, I hardly realize I'm doin' it. So, thanks again. If I'm bothering you, just tell me, flat out. I'll try 'n stop."

"No . . . don't stop, please. I like being held. My parents don't discourage displays of affection, they just . . . choose . . . to be more stand-offish than me. The only person who I've known who enjoys physical contact is my sister, Allison." He grinned, allowing his fun-loving side to show. "I'm thinking you'd be able to give me a more physical hug than she does."

Owen smiled one of the brightest smiles Lucas had yet seen. "No doubt . . . though I don't expect you'd want to get too close to me, right now. I'm probably smellin' like I've never seen a shower." He held up a forefinger. "That's one thing we do have, back home."

'Oh', Lucas thought to himself, stunned by the effect of the smile. It had lit Owen's face like the sun for a brief instant, dispelling all the ghosts of home which had been hovering around him. In that instant, he knew he was in love. This was a man who wasn't ashamed of wearing his emotions on his sleeve; a man who yearned to touch and be touched as much as he. He would be willing to bet that Owen had gone through his life seldom, if ever, being told that he was loved.

Lucas wanted to reach out to Owen and tell him that not everyone in the world was uncaring. He dared not do it though. Perhaps Owen only seemed vulnerable because he was so tired.

Lucas took the hint. "Oh. Of course. You'll want to get cleaned up after your trip. Would you like something to eat?" He looked over his shoulder toward the darkened kitchen and then back to Owen. "We'd have to go out and get something, I'm afraid. Like I said, I haven't really moved in yet."

"No, I'm not hungry. They fed us something on the plane." He made a face. "I'm not sure what they served was when it was living, but I ate it. Sure didn't look like anything I'd ever seen before." He shook his head, dismissing the meal. "Wouldn't have known it was something that was supposed to be eaten if it hadn't been for everyone else eating what was on their plates." He made a slight face, scrunching up his nose and grinning.

"So, I'm not hungry, but, I would appreciate being able to get cleaned up." He looked around.

"You think you can find a pillow in one of these boxes? Once I get a shower, I can stretch out right here." He gestured to a clear space on the carpet in front of the windows. "Beneath the lights of all those buildings." He looked closer. "All those lights sorta look like stars, don't they? Just think," he mused. "There're people behind each window."

He looked up at the noise of Lucas rummaging about in one of the boxes. "Oh yeah, shower." He stood and began to unbutton his shirt. When Lucas pulled out a couple pillows and blankets from an open box, Owen was stepping out of his underwear.

The sight of the naked man almost caused him to choke. He could only describe Owen as . . . magnificent. There wasn't a blemish on his lightly tanned body, from his broad shoulders and smooth chest to the white swell of his buttocks and muscular legs. He gave Lucas a totally unselfconscious smile as he absently scratched his dense mat of dark blond pubic hair, causing his thick penis to move from side to side.

"Do you suppose there might be some soap and a towel in one of these?" He gestured to the boxes. "I'm a demanding guest, aren't I?" He moved closer and bent to help Lucas examine the contents of the open box.

Lucas inhaled deeply, the sensuous smell of a naked man, causing his penis to thicken.

"No, you're not . . . demanding, I mean." He glanced around. "Um, ahh, yeah . . . soap." Lucas held a pillow in front of himself as he tried to keep from staring at Owen who was casually moving about, peering into already opened boxes. 'And I thought he was perfect when he was dressed!' Lucas cleared his throat, trying to act casually, as he kept a tight grip on the pillow, covering what was now a full erection. He didn't want to look at his hands, but he imagined his knuckles were white with the self control he was exerting.

"There should be a box in the bathroom with some soap in it." He nodded in the direction of the bedroom and adjoining bath. "There should also be some towels in there, somewhere," he added, as Owen turned and headed for the bedroom, the muscles of his butt and legs flexing with each step he took.

When he had disappeared, Lucas sank onto one of the boxes and stared in the direction of the bedroom. Owen had carefully draped his clothing over the top of a nearby box, placing his shoes neatly side by side.

There was a shout from the bathroom. "I found the soap and a towel." He heard the glass shower door open. "Why don't you come in here and keep me company?"

Lucas adjusted himself and stood, glancing once again at the clothing on top of the box. On an impulse, he picked up Owen's shirt and bunched it in front of his nose, inhaling deeply, the scent sending a sensuous shiver through his body. He snatched up the white briefs and buried his face in them, feeling strangely perverted as he did so. He took one last sniff of the shirt, and reluctantly rearranged the clothing as he'd found it, running his fingers over the cloth.

'What a picture I'd be,' he thought, unable to keep from grinning. 'Standing in the middle of the living room with my face buried in his underwear.'

"Lucas?" Owen called. "Are you coming?"

Lucas glanced back to the clothing as he headed for the bathroom, where the shower was now running and Owen was humming an off key tune. He turned when Lucas entered the room.

"Glad you could make it! I was gettin' lonely."

Lucas hoisted himself onto the vanity counter and leaned against the mirror, bunching a towel in his lap and squeezing his erection through his slacks. "We wouldn't want that, would we?"

Owen shook his head. "Nope."

He shouted over the sound of the spray. "So . . . I've been talkin' a lot about myself. Tell me about you."

'I'm in love!' He wanted to shout at the top of his lungs. Owen turned his back to Lucas and leaned forward to wash his feet, causing the cheeks of his butt to part slightly, providing Lucas a perfectly clear view of the hairless hole and, beyond that, a full scrotum. He closed his eyes and groaned.

Owen looked over his shoulder. "Did you say something?"

Lucas shook his head and made a dismissive gesture. "Uh . . . Well, I'm still living in the same city I grew up in. I'm a sophomore at the University, studying business. I eventually want to join my father's company. He's a developer. In fact, this apartment building is one of his projects."

"Business?" Owen turned off the water, opened the shower door, and extended his hand for the towel covering Lucas' straining erection. "I'm planning on studying accounting," he said as stepped from the shower and began vigorously drying himself. "I'm good with numbers, and math and things like that. I don't think there's anything back in Riverton that would call for those skills though." He gave Lucas an apologetic smile.

"There I go, talking about me again."

"Well," Lucas continued. "I've got a sister who's two years older than me. We're good friends. I get along with my folks. I'm a pretty normal guy, really. There's not much more to tell."

"Do you have a girlfriend?" Owen asked, draping the towel over his shoulders rather than wrapping it around his waist. He leaned on the vanity and looked at himself in the mirror as he ran his fingers through his short hair. Satisfied, he turned toward Lucas, perched on the edge of the vanity, and smiled, waiting for an answer to his question.

Lucas cleared his throat. His erection really was beginning to be uncomfortable. The fresh smell of soap was almost as erotic as the smell of Owen's shirt and underwear had been. He cleared his throat once more.

"No. I'm like you. No girlfriend. I've never made much of a hit with the girls." Owen gave him a startled look.

"I'm surprised. I would have thought they'd be climbing all over you."

"Yeah, well . . ." Lucas responded. "I would have thought the same of you. Aren't there any girls in . . . Riverton?" Owen nodded at the correct name of the town.

"Sure, there are girls. Not many, but a few. Three . . . four."

"There are a few more than that here."

"That's nice." Owen seemed to dismiss the thought.

"Well," he spoke around a yawn. "It's gotta be close to three in the morning and I'm exhausted." He gave Lucas a mischievous look, smiling and flashing his dimples, the faint freckles dusting his nose seemingly more prominent than earlier. "Learnin' about elevators, and airplanes, and taxis, and meeting a new friend has taken a lot out of me. If I don't lie down soon, I'm gonna go to sleep standing up." He yawned again, covering his mouth with his hand, wearing a look of apology.

"Sorry to be so rude." He turned towards the living room. "The floor is calling! Lead me to the pillow." He grinned over his shoulder and motioned for Lucas to get off the vanity counter.

They walked into the living room, weaving around the boxes and furniture. Owen looked over his shoulder and grinned before spreading the blanket on the carpet and tossing a pillow on top. "Well . . . g'night." He shifted his weight from foot to foot, looking like a child, attempting to work up the courage to ask a favor.

"Good night." Lucas reluctantly turned toward the bedroom. He'd taken only a couple steps when Owen spoke.

"Lucas?"

He turned, a hopeful expression replacing the carefully constructed appearance of polite friendliness.

"Uh . . ."

"Yes?" Lucas prompted.

There was a brief pause. One hand opened and closed, as if Owen were grasping for the correct words. When he was unable to find the ones he wanted, he gave Lucas a rueful grin and a slight shake of his head. "Pleasant dreams, my friend." Owen bit his lower lip and then sank to his knees and began to unfold the blanket, stealing a glance at Lucas' back as he maneuvered around the stacks of boxes, heading toward the bedroom.

Lucas grinned to himself as he left the living room, feeling as if Owen's parting words had been a gentle kiss. How was it possible such simple words could make him feel so good inside?

He leaned against the wall inside the bedroom, tilting his head back, staring at the ceiling, and the restlessly moving shadow patterns cast by the light of nearby buildings coming through the tops of the tree branches outside his window.

'What am I thinking?' He tightly squeezed his eyes and then rubbed a hand over his face. "I've known him for only a few hours and I'm already planning the rest of our lives together. Hell!' He thought, pushing himself away from the wall and stripping out of his clothes. 'I don't even know if he's gay!' He stepped out of his underwear and tossed them against the far wall, not at all pleased when they hit the wall with little more than a soft plop. "I'm setting myself up for a big fall if I continue thinking like this.'

Lucas collapsed face-first across the bed. 'One minute, he gives me signals which shout that he's gay. The next minute, I'm not sure.' He rolled onto his back and bent his knees, resting his bare feet flat on the bare mattress. 'I'm probably just interpreting his actions based on what I'm accustomed to seeing in the guys I grew up with. Where he comes from, the same things could mean something entirely different.'

Lucas closed his eyes and attempted to think about something . . . anything, other than the man in the living room. 'Who is Sam?' he wondered. Owen had mentioned his friend a number of times during the ride from the airport, and then later, here at the apartment.

With those thoughts he finally fell asleep.

Owen shifted position, punching the pillow into a more comfortable shape. As tired as he was, he seemed unable to fall asleep. Too much had happened to him today to allow him to rest easy. Then, to top everything off, he'd met Lucas.

He knew himself to be a person who sought physical contact, but even so, he was troubled by his desire to hold Lucas . . . to be close to him. 'I'm probably just missin' Sam,' he thought, throwing a forearm over his eyes in an attempt to block out the light coming into the living room. 'I'm most likely thinkin' the things I am about Lucas, 'cause Sam's not here.'

He turned onto his stomach, intensely aware of his erection rubbing against the nubbly texture of the blanket. 'Oh, Sam,' he silently groaned. 'I'm missin' you, so much.'

Lucas twisted and turned trying to find a comfortable position on the bare bed. He would have sworn he was awake, but he couldn't be. Instead of late summer; it was winter. The bare branches of the trees outside his apartment, long ago stripped of their leaves, were swaying wildly in the wind. The thrashing silhouettes were seen against a leaden sky, promising a heavy snow fall. He saw himself step into the bedroom just as a strong gust of wind hammered the windows.

Losing himself in the dream, he became the man who shivered as he flicked a glance to the scene outside the windows. That man dropped the towel from around his waist to the floor, and slid between the cold sheets, pulling the blanket up to his chin. The pale yellow light from the still-steamy . . . and warm . . . bathroom, spilled into the bedroom, along with the sound of Owen's absent humming.

"Come on," Lucas shouted. "I'm freezing my nuts off, in here! You can quit looking at yourself in the mirror. There's no difference from this morning. You still don't have an ounce of fat on your body, or a grey hair, or anything. You're twenty-two for pity's sake. Every twenty-two year old looks good." He jumped in surprise as another gust of wind hammered the window.

There was an evil laugh as Owen left the bathroom, turning off the light. Lucas watched his lover of four years in the dim light. He had been joking, a moment earlier, when he told Owen he looked great. In fact, he looked better than great. He had changed a great deal in the four years since they'd met, but his fascination with cold weather had never diminished.

Owen walked to the bedroom window and stood, with his arms hanging limply at his sides, looking out at the storm, wearing a hint of a smile . . . and nothing else. Lucas could see the slight movement of his chest as he breathed. His cock hung limply, springing from the dense matt of pubic hair and draping over his scrotum, only hinting at the power it could exert when erect.

It had begun to sleet, the small ice crystals clicking against the glass in the strong wind. The yellow light of the street lights danced over Owen's bare skin, dancing patterns caused by the swaying of the trees.

"Owennnn . . . you're making me freeze, just standing there like that. If you're not coming to bed, at least put something on. You're flashing the whole friggin' world, ya know?" Owen turned to him wearing his trademarked bright smile and grabbed onto his thickening penis, wagging it a couple times at all would-be voyeurs before turning towards the bed and shaking it at Lucas.

"Show-off," Lucas muttered, pulling the blanket tighter, in no mood for his lover's antics. "I'm cold," he muttered, stifling a shiver.

His complaint was answered by a chuckle. "I know just the thing to warm you up, my handsome lover," Owen murmured, taking the few steps to the bed and slipping between the blankets. "You need an Owen blanket." He straddled Lucas, on hands and knees, and then leaned forward, playfully touching his nose to Lucas', trying to look into his eyes.

"I love you," he murmured. He could feel Lucas' erection brush against his in response. "Does that mean you love me too; or is it your dick speaking.

Lucas snaked his arms around Owen, trying to pull him closer. "I've loved you since the day we met." He was answered by a chuckle deep in Owen's throat.

"Same here," Owen murmured, his voice barely more than a breath in Lucas' ear. "Same here," he repeated, first kissing Lucas' ear and then a line along the jaw. He paused a few moments to savor the taste and feel of Lucas' tongue, and the soft moans Lucas always made when he was intensely aroused.

Owen began kissing and licking a line across Lucas' neck to his nipples, each feather-light touch of his tongue sensuous enough to leave scorch marks in their intensity. Lucas gasped in pleasure, as Owen reached one of his nipples and covered it with his mouth, gently sucking and teasing the nub of skin with his tongue.

Instead of moving to the opposite nipple, Owen licked a broad swath to one of Lucas' armpits and buried his nose in the hair, all the while making low mewling sounds of pleasure.

Lucas tightly closed his eyes, opened his mouth and took deep breaths. Owen had now engulfed his erection and was working his cock with his tongue and the muscles of his throat. "Oh geez," he groaned as he felt his orgasm begin to build, a small tingling, centered on his prostate and perineum spreading through his lower body.

From long experience, Owen knew the signals and helped the strength of the orgasm build by firmly rubbing a finger over the hard ridge of Lucas' perineum. When Lucas' groans had reached fever pitch, Owen sank his forefinger into Lucas' anus, pressing against his prostate.

Lucas gasped, clutching the sheets with both out stretched arms, rhythmically arching his back and thrusting his hips. He had always loved having his hole fingered, and when Owen's finger rubbed over his prostate, he thrust against the back of Owen's throat one last time and felt his penis begin to pulse as it filled Owen's mouth.

He could feel the muscles of Owen's throat contract as he swallowed the thick load, and then continued to milk the erection until it finally softened and slipped from his mouth.

"Ohhhhh, Owen," he murmured, at the same time he woke up, surprised at the stickiness coating his erection and the bare mattress beneath him. He raised his head and glanced toward the bedroom windows. There was no winter storm; no wildly flailing tree branches, or the sound of sleet against the window. It was summer, the trees were quiet, and Owen was not in bed with him.

He rolled onto his side and ran his fingers through his sticky pubes. 'It was all nothing more than a dream' he thought to himself. 'I shot onto the mattress, not down Owen's throat. He's not my lover, only a wonderful man.'

Lucas absently brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean, trying to recall every nuance of his wet dream, Owen's sense of humor, his smile, his taste, his smell . . the feeling of his tongue, and the weight of his body.

"Oh, Owen," he groaned, aloud, as he rolled onto his back, avoiding the large wet area on the mattress. He reached to his crotch, trying to scoop up some more sperm, and then brought his finger to his mouth, and fell asleep, sucking on his finger.

"Wake up, sleepy head!" Lucas squatted close to where Owen lay sprawled on the blanket on the living room floor, his arms clutching the folded pillow beneath his head.

Owen shifted positions, the muscles of his back flexing and rippling as he moved. Lucas drank in the sight of the naked man in front of him. His blond hair was cut short, but not so short that it wouldn't show the results of the night's sleep. His cheeks carried a hint of color, and the corners of his lips were turned up slightly, at something he was dreaming. His entire body was lightly tanned, from his broad shoulders, rippling with muscles, to his tapering back and the firm cheeks of his butt and long legs. The cheeks of his butt and legs were covered by what one could only call, peach fuzz, which found its way between his slightly spread legs, where his testicles, in their smooth-skinned bag, lay puddled on the blanket.

Owen murmured something in his sleep and tightened the muscles of his buttocks, slowly thrusting his cock against the blanket. He turned his head to face Lucas, and almost immediately turned away, continuing to murmur. He spread his legs further and thrust himself against the blanket with increased force.

Lucas thought back to his own wet dream and wondered if he might, by some chance, be starring in what was obviously a very erotic dream Owen was now having. 'What if he wakes up and finds me kneeling here, watching him hump the blanket?' Lucas thought.

"Wake up, sleepy head," he called again. Almost immediately, Owen stopped his movements. He groaned, possibly in sexual frustration and rolled onto his back, his erection throbbing, its head shiny with pre cum. It was all Lucas could manage, not to lean forward and engulf the short, thick, erection in his mouth. He licked his lips imagining the taste Owen's sperm.

'Stop it!' He silently shouted to himself, as Owen began to stretch, lovingly cupping his scrotum and caressing his erection before stretching once more. "It can't be morning," he groused in a sleep-roughened voice. "I haven't heard the rooster yet."

He turned onto his side, swallowing and frowning as he tried to rearrange the pillow.

Lucas laughed at what he was about to do. He took a deep breath and did his best rooster imitation. "Cock a doodle do," he called once, barely keeping the laughter out of his voice. He paused a moment and then reprised his earlier performance, before settling back against his heels to await a response.

Owen slowly opened one eye, giving him an incredulous look, an expressive eyebrow drawing down into a frown.

"You call that a rooster?" He yawned, stretched, and then knuckled both eyes. "You've never heard a real live rooster, have 'ya?"

"Was it that bad?"

Owen laughed as he sat up, crossing his legs and smiling a good morning. "No self respecting hen would ever be attracted to a rooster with that call. "He imitated Lucas' call and then broke into tickled laughter, shaking his head.

"Hey farm boy," Lucas easily fell into the playful mood. "Maybe my rooster doesn't want to attract any hens."

"Whooooa!" Owen threw back his head and laughed. "Don't you know? We only have the one rooster. Won't he get . . . lonely, without a little . . .," he snickered. "Companionship?"

"Stop laughing!" Lucas pushed Owen's shoulder, causing him to roll onto his back. "Just say it. You don't think I do a good rooster imitation."

"Nope." Owen struggled to sit up and then wiped his tearing eyes.

"Well, what should a real-live rooster sound like?"

Owen took a deep breath and then began laughing as Lucas waited patiently. "Okay, okay," he said, trying to regain control. He flicked a glance at the direction of the man sitting close-by, took another deep breath and did his version of a rooster's call.

"Better, huh?" He asked, nodding his head, when Lucas remained silent.

"I had no idea."

"What? That I could do such a good call? It comes with practice, 'ya know."

Lucas shook his head. "No. I had no idea that roosters where you come from had such masculine voices."

Owen playfully punched Lucas on the shoulder and hooted with laughter.

"Quit it," he gasped. "You're makin' me laugh too hard. I haven't peed yet this morning and I don't want to spray all over . . ." He glanced around. "My bed," he finished, slapping the crumpled sheet.

Lucas was in no mood to let up. "Can't you see it?" He continued, holding out a hand, motioning for Owen to be quiet so he could continue his story. "The deep-voiced rooster?" He noded to Owen who snickered. "He's very horny," Lucas continued, casting a meaningful glance at the naked man who was sitting cross-legged close-by. "Our . . . macho, rooster is not interested in the hens, and he's not equipped to give himself . . . pleasure." Owen snorted.

"He doesn't know what to do, so he chicken-walks out to the middle of the . . ." Lucas paused. "To the . . ." He paused. "Whatever the place is called where you keep chickens. Yard . . . house . . ." There was a longer pause. "Barn?" He ventured, gesturing his inability to come up with an appropriate name, and then cleared his throat when Owen snorted. "So, the rooster is out there, standing in the . . . dirt." Lucas made a face. "He's horny has hell, and has no one to get it on with. The poor bird gives a plaintive call, tilting his head back and casting an unhappy sound to the empty sky."

Lucas paused, cocking his head, as if listening. "Nothing happens."

"The next day he calls again. And then the next. Each time, the hens come rushing out, fighting to see who will be first in line. He is, after all, a stud of a rooster." Owen sputtered a laugh and nudged Lucas, scooting closer.

'I'm soooo horny,' the rooster thinks to himself. 'Gotta find a sexy guy-bird to hang around with.'

A shadow moves over the barn yard. The rooster . . . Let's call him, Hank." Owen rolled his eyes and shook his head from side to side.

"Well," Lucas continued, loving Owen's bright smile and the warmth of his body, so close. "Well, Hank looks up, and has an idea. The bird flying overhead is the sexiest buzzard he has ever seen. Out of the world, sexy . . . Ravishing, in fact . . . in a macho-buzzard-like sort of way."

"By now, Owen's knees were touching Lucas'. He reached out a hand and rested it on Lucas' leg, motioning with his other hand for Lucas to continue the story.

"So . . . Hank. He's our rooster friend, remember?" Owen snickers and nods, once again motioning for Lucas to continue. "So . . . Hank, lays down on the ground, in a very sexy, come hither pose, as the buzzard continues circling ever lower.

By now, all the hens are lined up, clucking at one another, watching the improbable show being played out in front of them, while nervously glancing toward the very large bird, lazily circling overhead. Hank does everything in his power to attract the buzzard's attention, imagining all of the sexy things the two of them might do with one another, all the while chanting, "Come to poppa, big boy."

"The hens all look up, then at Hank, and then at one another, totally perplexed. They're a little anxious too, you know. Hank's the only rooster they know, and all the hens are . . . frustrated, because they haven't been getting any." Owen tilted his head back and rolled his eyes.

"Finally Hank has an idea. He seductively turns onto his stomach, raises his rear end into the air as far as he can, which isn't far, being a rooster, you know?" Owen's fingers tightened on his leg. Lucas flicked a glance to the fingers and then to Owen's smiling face.

"Hank wiggles his rooster butt in the air and, whoosh! Immediately, there's a blur of motion. The buzzard swoops down and grabs him up, causing Hank to let out a macho squeal of anticipation. His dreams are fulfilled! The hens jump en masse, as the buzzard carries Hank off. The last thing they hear is Hank's panicked cry.

"You're a girl!"

"A girl!" Owen hooted, leaning into Lucas as they both laughed.

It wasn't the joke they were laughing at; it was the sense of familiarity they had both found with one another that was causing the reaction.

The chime of the doorbell sliced into the laughter, deflating it in a single moment.

Lucas gave Owen an apologetic look, and stood, wiping his eyes as he walked to the door.

"Who can that be?"

~ to be continued ~

Thank you for taking the time to read my work. I always welcome your email and enjoy hearing your thoughts. If you would like me to send you a pic of the character(s), please ask.

My other stories on Nifty include: Phalen (located in the Gay College Section) Phalen - Finding Happiness (Gay College Section) Chris (Gay College Section) Leith (Gay College Section) Owen (Gay College Section Wesley (Adult Relationships Section) Jess (Soon to be in the Gay Incest Section)

I hope you enjoy them all.

Roy Reinikainen roynm@mac.com