THE NAKED COWBOY

Shane Allison

I had a slew of cars behind me traveling down Woodville Highway on a busted tire. I was on my way to a Mother’s Day cookout at my Auntie Earline’s house when it gave out. One more day and I’ll be there, I thought. I was hoping the tire would hold until I could get somewhere to change it. I veered slowly off to the soft shoulder to let the other cars pass, and stepped out of the car into fat blades of grass I crushed beneath my ice cream Adidas. Horns blared; rednecks that sat in the bed of a truck caked with dried mud hollered a racial epithet that seemed to slice right through me. “WHOAH, LOOK AT THE NIGGER!”

“FUCK YOU, CRACKA!” I said, shoving my middle finger into the air. I made sure I was careful where I stood. Some kid got creamed by a cement truck on that same highway about two weeks ago. News said he died on impact. All that was left was crime scene tape and a bloody shoe. Just goes to show that you can’t take life for granted, ’cuz you never know when the Lord’s about to call you home.

The whoosh of wind from the cars damn near knocked me over. I popped the trunk and checked in back for a spare. There was nothing but old math textbooks sticky with melted candy, dirty stuffed animals, and clothes in plastic bedsheet bags that Ma hadn’t gotten around to taking to the cleaners. “Damn,” I said, slamming the hood of the trunk down. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway seeing as how I didn’t know the first thing about changing a tire. Sweat was already starting to break across my forehead during that merciless month of July. It didn’t help me none to be wearing a long-sleeved shirt that was fifty percent cotton, forty percent polyester either. I didn’t have a cell phone. I hated the things.

I had passed a gas station seven miles back. I looked around, using my hand as a visor to keep the sun out of my face. All that was around were broken-down barns and a hollowed out old Piggly Wiggly with the windows shuttered over with plyboard and two-by-fours. I took the tail end of my shirt and wiped the sweat from my face. I noticed a pasture with a few horses grazing, munching on bales of hay. The stretch of sun-bleached highway hushed. I locked the car and walked across onto the graveled, narrow trail that led up to a large ranch house. The cruel effects of the heat mixed with the stench of cow and horseshit, and I took off my shirt and wiped the excess perspiration from my face and neck. I felt sweat rolling down my back. I threw the shirt over my shoulder and trudged up the road stirring up dust with each step; cows mooed at me with their mouths stuffed with strands of hay. The closer I came to the two-story white monstrosity, the more I was able to make out. There was an old broken-down pickup parked out front, eaten up by rust and corrosion. Before I took another step toward the house, a gunshot rang out that was only an ass hair away from my foot. I jumped out of the line of fire, crawling in the dirt for cover. The gravel felt hard and coarse under my belly and the knobs of my elbows. Two more shots were issued, hitting the rusted-out truck and then a green tractor. Whoever it was, he couldn’t shoot for shit. I ripped a piece of material from my shirt, waved it in the air in surrender, and hollered, “Don’t shoot.”

“Get off my property,” I heard. The shooter’s words were close enough to take heed.

“I saw your livestock and thought somebody was living here.” I peeked my head from the bush where I had taken cover. “My car’s on the side of the road with a flat,” I explained. My head was throbbing from all the yelling.

“Come on outta there,” said the shooter. I was weary of these backwoods types. Don’t give them a reason to put a bullet in your ass. Especially if that ass is black. I stood up, my belly and chest peppered with dirt. I searched the house for signs of life, waving my torn shirt in the air once more hoping I wouldn’t get my head blown off.

“Come on, keep walking.”

I followed the shooter’s words. The sleeves of my shirt dragged along the trail that led up to the house. I stood at the start of the road, between yards of fence posts, in front of a porch that that was strewn with metal guts. I noticed the barrel of a gun protruding from the frame of a screen door. My mouth was dry from thirst; sweat burned my eyes. “Can you help me?” I asked. The man showed himself, holding up a rifle that seemed to be aimed directly at my head. He looked to be about middle age, sporting filthy jeans and a T-shirt to match. Black feathered tufts of hair stuck from the rim of his cowboy hat.

“I don’t have a spare and I was wondering if I could use your phone.”

“Ain’t got no phone,” he said, before he spat liquid tobacco from his mouth.

“Shit,” I said. The armed brute noticed how weary and beaten I looked.

“You want some water?” He threw his weapon over his shoulder and said, “Come on inside.” I followed reluctantly behind him up the rickety steps. “Watch that last step.” I stood out of the way of the rifle’s mouth as I followed him through the screen door. The house was a mess. He lived like he was a bachelor.

“Take a load off,” he told me as he leaned his rifle in a corner next to the refrigerator in the kitchen. I pulled a chair out from the table and took a seat.

“You wanna beer instead?” he asked.

I didn’t care at that point if it was pig piss. I was about to keel over from thirst. “So, where were you headed?”

“There’s this Mother’s Day cookout thing at my aunt’s house to celebrate all the mothers in the family.”

He fished out two cold bottles and popped the tabs off. Fizz oozed from the longnecks over his fingers smudged with crud. He handed one to me. The beer washed down my throat as I took a long swig. With the back of his hand, he wiped the drops of beer from his mouth.

“Thirsty, huh?” He smiled. “’Bout all I can do is give you a ride to your aunt’s house.”

“Okay, my daddy will go with me later to get the car.”

We both took another drink from our beers.

“Name’s Heath by the way,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Antwan.”

His shake was tough. A foam of beer formed on Heath’s chocolate-brown moustache. I wanted to lick it clean, but not with a loaded rifle so close.

“It’s beautiful out here.”

“My daddy left it to me. Been in my family for generations.”

“You stay out here by yourself?”

“’Fraid so. My daddy died a few years back, so it’s just me now.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why? You didn’t kill him. I love it out here. It’s quiet and nobody bothers me.”

I glanced between Heath’s legs, but only for a few seconds. I sat there, drinking the last swallow of beer, and thought of what his dick must look like: hard, moist with sweat, surrounded by musky pube hairs. I wondered if it was cut or uncut. The last time I beat off was that morning under the comforter with the help of a naked biker sprawled out in the naughty pages of a gay stroke mag.

“So, how about a tour of this place?” he said.

Heath grabbed two new beers from the fridge, popped the tabs, and handed me another.

“Come on, I’ll show you around.” We strolled past cows and horses, a pen of pigs, hogs, and chickens. I made sure I watched my step. I didn’t want to step in all the shit that was everywhere. Heath didn’t seem to care.

“The bank was going to take my land, but I was able to pull some strings.”

I stared at the bit of asscrack that showed over the waistline of Heath’s jeans. My dick was already thumping in my shorts, rustling around in my underwear. I thought of Heath’s hand on his dick, jacking his piece, his dirty mouth hot on my dick.

“So what about you? You married, got a girlfriend?”

I searched for an answer, not all that comfortable explaining to someone like Heath that I worship at the altar of dick. “Naw, I’m not dating anyone right now.”

“Well, you’re young. You got plenty time.”

My luck with men was shit. I spent nights in bars and clubs cruising for Mr. Right Now, sucking dick through glory holes in the back of super center sex stores, on my knees in the toilets of college libraries. For me, love only existed in corny gay romance movies.

“So what about you? You stay out here by yourself?” I asked.

“Yep, just me. I had some ranch hands working for me for a while, but I fell on bad times so I had to let them go. I’ve had a few incidences of some of my cattle being stolen. Sorry I shot at you back there. Just can’t be too careful. You know things are going to shit when you’re not even safe on your own property in your own house.”

“I can definitely relate. My auntie, who lives down the street from my folks, got her trailer broken into. Stole her flat-screen TV, her microwave, and her toaster oven.”

“Dang, even the toaster oven?” Heath asked.

“Yeah, can you believe it? My daddy installed a security system in her place.”

“Hell, my rifle is the only security system I need.” Heath’s laugh was raspy like he had sandpaper in his throat.

“Well, these animals are beautiful.”

“I had to sell off a few to get the money to keep my ranch going.”

“Have you ever considered selling?”

“I’ve had some offers, but I can’t bring myself to sell this place. It’s my home.”

My heart went out to Heath. “Would you believe that I’ve never been out on a ranch before?” Heath cut me a surprised glance.

“Jesus, never?”

“I’m a city boy for the most part. I have an apartment in midtown.” The July heat was beating against my skin. I could smell the coconut hair grease cooking in my hair. I wiped more sweat from my brow with the back of my hand. “I was born and raised down here in Woodville. My folks still stay out here. I know my way around, yeah, but I’ve never experienced anything like this before. It’s so green and wide open.”

“You’re better than me, man. I can’t stand the city. Too fussy.”

“Yeah, definitely no shortage of that, and with the students here, it’s even worse. People think that ’cuz Tallahassee is a small town, nothing goes on here, but the crime and the craziness has gotten so bad. Funny. When I turned eighteen, I couldn’t wait to get out of the sticks, from under my folks, but I miss being out here sometimes.”

“It’s quiet,” Heath said. “You can think.”

“Right, exactly. I always have this sense of unease when I’m in the city.” Heath took off his dirt-smudged Stetson, and ran his arm across his brow to clear away the sweat that was popping off his face. “Well, you know what they say. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

“Yeah, that couldn’t be truer.” I honestly had grown way past sick of the city. It was more convenient to get to work, stores, and the bars, but the stores were a rip off and I was spending more of my Friday and Saturday nights at home curled up with a good book or a movie than I did going to clubs only to be ignored by twinks who walked around like their shit didn’t stink.

“At least I got family out here in the boonies. In the city, I have never felt lonelier.”

“I have my animals, but I know what you mean. Listen, looks like we’re both out of beer. You wanna head back in the house? It’s hotter than the devil’s asshole out here.”

I grinned at Heath’s colorful analogy and made a mental note to use such a line in my writing. “Yeah, I’m melting,” I said. The minute we stepped back into Heath’s ranch house, the air from the air conditioner was like a cool kiss against my face. “Feels good in here,” I said. “This heat ain’t playing around.”

“Yeah, I think it’s like one hundred and two degrees out there today.”

“I believe it,” I said as I stared at Heath’s bubble butt tight in faded jeans. There was a rip slightly below his left asscheek. I could make out white cotton material through the tear as I followed this bohunk of a cowboy through the living room to the kitchen. Heath pulled two more Buds out of the refrigerator, and handed me one. “I don’t see how you can stand working out there in all that heat.” We sat down at his kitchen table to cool ourselves. I could feel beads of sweat dripping from my armpits.

“Don’t have a choice, really,” Heath said. “I’d love nothing more than to lie in bed all day, but the ranch gotta be run, you know? I gotta feed the cows, my hogs, and chickens, plow my cornfield. I get up at four in the morning and I don’t wind down until about eight, nine o’ clock in the night sometimes. It’s hard work without the staff I need to run this place.” Heath rolled the cold bottle across his forehead. “I guess you get used to it after ten years.”

The beer quenched my thirst as it soothed my parched throat. Both of our T-shirts were sweat soaked. I looked on as beads of perspiration trickled down Heath’s handsome face, circling around his chiseled jawline peppered with black stubble. “So, are you from here in Tallahassee?” I asked.

“I was born and raised in Destin, Florida. My mama died of cancer when I was two. My granddaddy got sick and too old to see about the ranch, so we moved back here to help him run the place until his death from Alzheimer’s disease.”

I had figured Heath wasn’t from here. They don’t make them as beautiful as him in Tally. “I didn’t think that you were from here. You don’t look like somebody I went to high school with. I’m forever running into people I went to school with. I was just telling my friend, AJ, that I get sick of running into people that—”

“Antwan, has anyone ever told you, you talk too much?” Heath’s remark was a shock to hear if not ballsy on his behalf to say.

“I know. My mama tells me that all the time. My friends say that I don’t let people get a word in edgewise. I go on and on. Would you believe that I was a shy kid growing up?”

“Antwan?” Heath said.

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and come over here. I can barely make you out sittin’ all the way down there.” Heath padded his knee. “Come have a seat.”

I thought Heath’s request was weird if not random. “Actually, I’m good. These kitchen chairs are pretty comfortable. Good and…sturdy. Strong legs. Did you make these yourself?”

“Enough with the small talk. I’m not asking; get your ass over here.”

Being that Heath’s gun was leaning against the side of the refrigerator behind him, I didn’t want to risk what would happen if I refused him. I took another swig of my beer, got up, and walked over to the end of the table Heath was sitting. He tapped his sinewy leg, motioning for me to take a seat. “I’m pretty heavy. Are you sure—” Before I could finish my sentence, Heath grabbed me and pulled me into his lap.

“That’s better. How does that feel?”

“Fine, other than the fact that the last time I sat on anybody’s lap, I was seven and he went by the name Santa Claus.” Heath chuckled before he took another drink from his beer, his full, pink lips tight around the rim of the bottle. His hands were filthy, with grit under his nails from all his hard work.

Heath rested his arm around the lower part of my back. “Things got bad when I had to put my daddy in a home. Caught the same thing my granddaddy did, Alzheimer’s. I tried to take care of him for a while, but I couldn’t give him the care he needed. Last thing he ever said to me was that he regretted having a faggot for a son.”

“Jesus, Heath, that’s awful.”

“I mean it was the disease talking. Other than the suits from the bank, I don’t get a lot of visitors out here, so it’s nice to have some good company.” I met Heath’s gaze as he supported me in his lap. His arms and shoulders were huge and strong, glistening with sweat. Heath ran a finger along my jaw. He pulled me to him and kissed me. His lips were wet and supple against mine. I could taste the beer when he slipped his tongue in my mouth. Heath ran his hand under my shirt, making my dick stir in my shorts as he traipsed my nips with a couple of dirty fingers. I felt his hard-on twitch through his jeans under my ass. “Let’s go upstairs,” he said.

“Lead the way.” I thought of my car on the side of the road, and hoped some sheriff wouldn’t ticket me, or worse, have me towed. Knowing how off the wall my family can get when beer and fried fish is involved, the party would run for hours as long as there was an abundance of liquor.

Our shirts were off before we even got to Heath’s bedroom. Other than the cover of Men’s Fitness, I had never been in close proximity of such beauty. I was beginning to think that I would have to swipe my debit card for grade-A, primo dick that came in the form of an escort. I hoped to hell I wasn’t dreaming ’cuz I was about to get my swirl on with this fine-ass, Garth Brooks-looking cowboy. We were all over each other, kissing, squeezing, Heath licking me in places I never knew existed. “Damn, you feel good,” he said as he licked and bit the lobes of my ears. My dick was hard at this point; I thought it was going to burst through my cargos. I could tell Heath had a kinky side to him from the way he was coming at me. I kicked off my shoes as Heath untied the drawstring to my shorts and pulled them and my drawers down past my ass, thighs, and off my feet. He yanked his boxer-briefs and jeans down to his snakeskin boots.

“Here, help me get these fuckers off.” Heath pressed his right foot against my belly.

“You push and I’ll pull,” I said. I pulled and tugged as hard as I could until the boot gave way.

“Do the same with this one,” he said, as I tugged at the boot that was stubborn as a mule to get off. I threw his shit-kickers off into a corner. Those damn jeans and undies were the last: Heath’s uncut prick, which had to be about nine inches, bounced from the cocoon of cotton and bleached denim. The aroma of dirt, sweat, and man-musk filled the room as we made our way onto the king-size bed. Our dicks and nut sacs rubbed together as we made out, sucking each other’s tongue. I kissed and licked down his chest, along the treasure trail of black fur that ran down his stomach. Heath’s thick dick bobbed to life, the tip of the bubblegum-pink head peeking from a tender sheath of foreskin. He was already edging cowboy prejizz from the teardrop-shaped piss spout. I lapped up that tart juice, savoring the stuff and then swallowing. Heath’s dickhead was a raging hot-pink shade. I wrapped these full, dick-sucking lips of mine around it, sucking slow and easy. I was afraid if I rushed things, Heath would come too quickly like some white guys often do. No, I wanted to savor his meat. I went down until I could feel his tip bang the back of my throat. “Choke on it,” Heath said, as he succumbed to my blow-job work, holding my head on his fat inches. He let me up long enough to catch my breath.

“Lick my balls,” Heath said. I pushed my face easily between his powerful legs. If I could get high off a man’s ball musk, I would be a junky, checking my gay-ass into a rehab clinic for nut sniffers. I washed his balls, taking the whole damn sac in my mouth as Heath pumped his cock with his dirty right mitt. After I gave his balls some much-needed attention, I moved back onto his dick and blew it a little before I made my way back up to him. I had almost forgotten a man was attached to all that dick. No way was he going to come without fucking me first. It was the least he could do, being that he damn near splattered my dirty mind all over the road an hour ago.

When Heath flipped me over on my belly, he slapped my booty. “Fuckin’ beautiful ass.” Heath grabbed my hips and pulled me until this beautiful ass of mine came point blank to his dick. I embraced the pillow in my hands, ready to get fucked, but no, Heath had something else in mind. He pulled my asscheeks apart with brute force and buried his face between my halves. “Oh, fuck,” I said. Heath tongue-teased my hole, stretching my ripe core with a finger. Couldn’t think of the last time I’d gotten my salad tossed. The way Heath was going, he was no stranger to it. He hugged my hips, his face slipping deeper between my booty.

“You want me to fuck you, don’t you?”

“God, yes.”

“Then say it. Tell me you want me to fuck you.” Heath slapped me across my right cheek as he munched on my hole.

“Fuck me.”

“Louder.”

“Fuck me!”

“Louder!” Heath yelled.

“Fuck me! Please fuck me, Heath! Fuck me!”

He pushed me back onto the bed, walked over to his bedside table, and retrieved a rubber and a small bottle of lubricant out of the drawer. Fuck yeah, I was in for it. My spit-soaked hole was ready for what this cowboy was about to lay up in me.

“You’re tighter than a steer’s asshole. When was the last time you were fucked?”

“’Bout eight months ago.”

“Yeah, I believe it,” Heath said, as he tore the yellow cellophane from the rubber and rolled the lubricated latex on his dick. He tugged at the tip to make room for his spunk. He popped the lube top open and ran a line of the grease down the shaft of his dick like he was about to shove a kielbasa sausage up my ass. “This shit right here will open you up. Turn over on your back.” I did what he wanted. Heath sat up on his knees in front of me. I pulled my legs back, down for whatever. The grease was cold going on as he slathered the stuff between my cheeks, along my taut hole. Our gaze met as he finger-fucked me. “You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I’m good.”

“Since it’s been a while for you, I’ll ease it in, go slow, so you can get used to me.”

Heath smeared more lube on his dick before he sat the bottle on the floor at the foot of the bed. “Slide all the way at the back,” he said. “This way, I got something to hold on to while I’m fucking you.” I cocked my legs up and felt the hot-pink head enter me. I braced myself when I felt inch after inch slide in. “You okay?”

“Oh yes.”

Heath gently drove his dick in. There was some slight pressure, but it soon subsided when he had all nine thick inches inside me.

“Cock feels great in you.” Heath slipped his fingers across my mouth as he sped up his fuck work. I sucked them as he worked me over. “Goddamn, you’re fucking hot,” Heath said. “I’d love to roll around with you in my mud hole out back and fuck you stupid, boy. Show you how we get down in cowboy country.” We had the bed rocking and the springs screaming beneath us. With the prime fucking I was getting, I probably wouldn’t be able to sit down for a week, but a good twisting out was worth it. Heath threw my legs up on his shoulders as if they were sandbags as he drilled his dick inside me deep and crazy. We came together in sloppy, wet kisses as he fucked me. “I got a dildo that will get you nice and stretched.” Heath eased back, allowing me breathing room, but still had my legs hiked over his shoulders as he pumped my dick in his palm. I watched from the dresser mirror as he took my ass. The harder he fucked the louder the bedsprings. Our bodies were drenched with sweat.

Pump.

Thrust.

“Fuck, this is good ass,” said Heath. He flipped me back over on my belly and took me from the back, pounding my booty as he held me in a choke hold, yet not enough to hurt me. “I’m gonna come in your fat, hog ass.”

“Don’t stop. Don’t stop fucking me,” I pleaded.

“Make you my hog bitch.”

Within minutes Heath came, spurting thick white gobs up my butt. We collapsed in the bed, but the fun was far from over. With his dick still nestled up my ass, he reached between my legs and dick-fisted me.

“I’m gonna come,” I warned.

“Good. Come for me, hog.”

“Oh god, fuck, you’re gonna make me come.”

“Do it. Shoot your juice.” Heath pumped faster and faster, his hand hot and slick.

“Fuck, I’m coming…I’m coming!”

I couldn’t hold out and spurted white globs of cum in Heath’s hand, across the bed.

“Yeaaah, fucking huge hog load, boy,” he said. Heath wouldn’t stop until every drop of jizz was drained out of my balls, cum oozing like liquid sugar over his knuckles, dripping onto my thigh. “You were pretty tight, but you loosened up once I licked you out.” We held each other, soaked in our own sweat and semen. I could taste my ass on his lips as we kissed. “I bet I can get this hole stretched to the size of a doughnut hole.” He reached around and stuffed his finger stained with my spunk back up my ass. I whimpered as he slid it in. “Yeah, I can definitely tame this ass.” Heath pulled out to taste me on his fingers. After an hour, we eventually got up, got dressed, and finished off our beers. “How about I give you a lift to your aunt’s?”

“Yeah my dad will ride back up here with me to get the car. That’s if a sheriff hasn’t had it towed.”

“I’m sure it’s fine. I’ll keep an eye on it until you can get it off the side of the road.” I didn’t want to leave. I could have stayed wrapped in Heath’s arms, spent the rest of the day fucking, sucking and who knows what else. All eyes were on Heath’s 4x4 when it pulled up in front of Auntie Earline’s house. “So, can I see you again?” Heath asked.

I grabbed a pen that was in the ashtray, took his hand,, and scribbled my number on his palm. The smell of fish and barbecue filled the air. “Call me tonight. I should be home around nine if that’s not too late.”

“I’ll do that. If you want, we could have lunch. I know a good seafood place in St. Marks that has the best trout and grouper you will ever taste.”

“Sounds like you’re asking me out on a date.” My cousins, aunties and uncles wouldn’t stop staring, wondering who it was I was up in a truck with.

“I just enjoyed your company and wouldn’t mind seeing you again, that’s all.”

“Nothing wrong with that. Give me a call tonight to discuss it,” I said.

As Mother’s Day came to a close, I couldn’t stop thinking about Heath and the toe-curling, heart-stopping sex we’d had. Luckily, Daddy had the spare for my car back at the house. I changed it off and told him that I would meet him back at the house. I remembered that I didn’t properly thank Heath for all his kind hospitality. It was the least I could do.