Spring And A Ring - 1. Chapter 1

I looked at the little blue velvet-covered box that had been closed and slid across the jewelry store's glass counter to me. The jeweler had an interesting idea about combining gemstones in a way that looked both classic and innovative, and after spending a previous solid two hours drawing designs back and forth, I settled on what he'd drawn in the first place. That was proof to me that consumers need to leave the artists alone to communicate with their muses. We both laughed about those two hours spent on a cold February morning, but I stopped laughing when he showed me the final result. It was.....perfection. It was to me, anyway; but the ring wasn't for me to wear. I think I spent ten minutes just looking at the yellow and white gold size 12 ring, covered with Montana Yogo sapphires and diamonds and one ruby, also a Montana native. I'd saved a long time for this ring, and had done more than a few bone-rattling bull rides to win prizes that would afford this.....symbol. That's all a ring is; a metaphor for something you can't say at all, or can't say enough. I bought it because I couldn't just say what I wanted-----needed-----to say to Tim Turner, originally from Winnett, a town about an hour-and-a-half's drive North of my log cabin in the Little Belt Mountains.

It was gonna take a fuck-ton more bravery to do this. Lots more than any of the twenty-five times I'd mounted a bull at a rodeo. The bulls doesn't know me, and I don't know them. We're just Chess opponents, in a way; but we're not on a checkered board in front of fans half-drunk on Bud Light some Saturday evening in fair-weather months. We're the pawns, able to move wherever we wanted, but we can't do much harm to anyone but ourselves and each other. I fell plenty of times. Come to think about it---what harm am I gonna inflict on a one-ton animal? Not much. I'm 32 years old. Stand only 5'7" and weigh maybe 145 pounds. I'm lean, but I'm strong. Baling and stacking hay between Montana and Oklahoma keeps me fit. I figure I have another five years of that as a career, and maybe two more years of bull riding. After that? Maybe I can work in a customer service call center for Nasty Pig or Fort Troff. Both of 'em got enough of my money over the past ten years; might as well get some of it back, even if I hate talking to people.

Well, except for Tim Turner.

I'd talked from our early days with Tim from sun-up to sun-down, letting my ears drink the nectar of his deep, sonorous, seductive voice. I was more than prepared T-Mobile to inform me regretfully that 'Unlimited Talk' does not apply for me anymore. That wouldn't surprise me. Tim doesn't like texting or emails. Thinks they're 'sterile' and an excuse for people who are conversationally challenged. I'd not thought about it like that, since talking or texting or emailing, I don't really want to communicate just for the sake of communicating. The whole 'social media' thing bugs me. I want someone to create an 'unsocial media' website or app. No one talks or tries to hook up with each other. Just a bunch of profiles ignoring each other. Ad sales generated by companies catering to self-absorbed emo introverts with offers for pyramid-schemed naturopathic Adderall. I don't know. All I know is Tim Turner and I talked at least thrice a week early on, ranting about politics and the weather (which, more and more, are inextricably connected). And one way or another, one of us made a drive to see the other to give our phone's batteries a rest, and the opportunity for a head to rest on a chest. Either combination works just fine, but I like my head on Tim Turner's chest.

He's my favorite bull. Big, wide, muscle beneath fur, the occasional snort if we've been at the bottle of Rye, but mostly he's just.....'there', as visible and reliable as the island mountain ranges that surround Central Montana, sentinels guarding us from encroaching prairies and tourists.

Tim and I had met at a Red Cross mobile blood drive last year. We were parked on two tables, head to feet, by a not-yet-dead-but-must-almost-be nurse Florence Nightingale. Might be a slight exaggeration, but to say this blood drive nurse was old was to state the obvious to anyone within one hundred feet of her. This solid man on the table adjacent my own could not be missed by my eyes, both of which would've rebelled against me if I'd pulled my eyelids down for even a fraction of a second. He and I could see each other, and after some inane introductions that did not require impossible handshakes, we eased into conversation about Spring of 2025, which was just a less-cold continuation of Winter, still delivering lots of moisture-rich snow for crops. Forty-five minutes later, we were done giving blood at almost the same time, me finished maybe five minutes before Tim. I waited for him over at the snack table, where other scrub-dressed original members of the 19th Century got their 'stern faces' on and commanded that we sit for awhile after giving a pint or a liter or however much they took from us, so we didn't pass out.

Tim Turner came next, but didn't make it to the snack table. He was holding the bandage to his inside elbow, and I watched as his eyes rolled back in his head and he just collapsed, mid-stride from where he'd been lying for about forty-five minutes. I was up instantly, and then almost blacked out, myself. Ain't this just silly.....two prime-aged agro men, unable to give blood without fainting. It'd be funny if it wasn't so embarrassing. Three other waiting big burly farmer-types swept poor Tim up and parked him back on the table where he'd just come from. One of the other nurses brought him a big glass of apple juice. I hoped it was apple juice; maybe the Red Cross takes urine donations, too. He drank it all in one gulp and laid back down. Crisis averted, it all returned to business as usual. Men are such weak babies.

I stood up, cautiously this time, and walked over to the table where Tim Turner was lying, eyes closed.

"You think you'll live?"

"Oh. You mean I'm still alive?"

"Unless I'm dead, too, and we're in Purgatory."

"I'm pretty sure I'm a few elevator stops below there. Damn, that was.....weird. Never had that happen before. Please tell me I didn't spaz out on the floor once I was down there."

"Nope. You looked like an extra in 'Shoot-Out At The OK Corral'. I think you pooped your pants."

"WHAT??!"

"Nah, just kiddin'. Won't get too many opportunities to scare a feller, so I just thought I'd take it when it came."

"You're somethin' of a fucker, you goddamned hayseed."

"And now you're gettin' all flowery on me. I guess I'll have to take you out for dinner, since you got so flirtatious. The Gold Bar's open."

"You're not taking me to The Gold Bar."

"But I don't have a birthday gift certificate for McDonald's, which is still piss-elegant for someone like you."

"Y'know, if someone doesn't kick your ass for being so lippy, I'm gonna do it as soon as I can stand up."

"Oh, so your little fainting thing has a second act? Glad I got a front-row seat. No one is gonna confuse you with Baryshnikov, that's for sure."

"Who?"

"Um, he's.....never mind. Just put your knappy head back down for a few more minutes. I'm gonna go get my truck and pull it up to the front door. The orderlies can load you on a stretcher into the back, and we can go get some prime rib from my buddy Shlomo Radditz. He owns The Gold Bar."

"I know Shlomo."

"....Oh?"

"YOU know Shlomo?"

"Oh....."

Well, thank you, Shlomo "The Homo" Radditz, openly a Friend-Of-Dorothy and restaurateur. You initiated a whole conversation and saved Tim and me a whole lotta time to get there. We'd find out soon enough how, why and when we each became acquainted with the purveyor of the best, if not the only, good food in Fergus County. Reservations strongly recommended, Wednesday through Saturday. Tim rolled his eyes and agreed to go to dinner with me, probably just to humor me and shut my mouth, something I'm often incapable of doing when it's in the presence of Studly Hotness. That was Tim Turner, plus or minus 250 ml of blood.

The evening was good and relaxing. Because we'd both given blood, we forewent cocktails that would've likely been coma-inducing. Dinner was 24 ounce cuts of prime rib, rare, and the biggest russet potatoes grown in the Western Hemisphere, loaded with butter and bacon and anything else on the line in The Gold Bar's kitchen. I think we both replaced all the depleted iron and stockpiled enough to get us through the following six weeks until we could be public spectacles once more at a mobile blood drawing.

I drove Tim back to his truck afterward. Well afterward, actually; we kinda lazed around the cleared table and had Absinthes after dinner, prepared traditionally with sugar cubes and ice water. Tim just looked at me as if I was gonna do something to top wormwood liqueur and references to Baryshnikov, but honestly, I'm just a simple farmer and rodeo rider. What do I know about culture? Beyond agriculture, I mean. Not much. Just paid attention in my Walpole, Massachusetts, upbringing. My cultured parents were not pretentious about their appreciations. My own mother's retail mantra: "If you can afford something real, something genuinely perfected, whether the arts or pearls or mankind, your money is spent more wisely than you can possibly believe. And always: consume Art first."

Mom was right, and a year after meeting him, I was buying something genuinely perfected for a perfect, genuine man, both works of art. The ring wasn't meant, really, to do anything but substitute a mirror for Tim. He could look at that ring on his finger and remember that I think it runs a close second to him in rugged handsomeness and refined beauty. I think Mom would've approved of Tim Avroham Turner for those attributes alone. The ring box made several trips in and out of my pocket so I could look at its contents and, as is my wont, second-guess my intentions and impulsive actions. Three or five pocket extractions later, I was no less intent on giving Tim this ring, despite the blue velvet by then conspicuously word and rubbed raw by my Levis pocket and my own insecurities.

Between last Spring and this one, we each suffered some losses and disappointments. A few bad harvests and investments, Tim lost his farm to mortgage foreclosure. He was also rejected in seeking Chapter Twelve bankruptcy. That's the decision that allows a farmer or rancher to dispose of some debt and repay the rest while continuing operations. I was there with him for that court decision, and while all the pride that man ever had evaporated when he told me about his financial state, the bankruptcy rejection really laid even lower. Fortunately, we'd been hanging out together for about three months, so when July came, I felt comfortable following his truck to Winnett with my own, loaded with my horse and tack and big, old dog. Got to the place he was then temporarily on, just an old green house and a red barn lent to him by a sympathetic neighbor. My original intention was just a few days or a week together there. Tim needed a friend after some serious setbacks and disappointments. I could offer him nothing but iced tea and sympathy, but I had those in abundance.

Tim was as depressed as he could get, and went straight for the Rye. I asked him to let it go for the evening, and to just let me sit with him through a quieter evening, free of distractions and obstructions. He did, and over the course of the evening, the two old overstuffed club chairs got closer together each time one of us got up to pee or pour more iced tea. Finally, feeling neither bravery nor hesitation were anything Tim Turner needed in the immediate moment, I exercised more of one and none of the other, covering his hand with my own. Weathered, rough skin never felt so tender and vulnerable as in that moment, and Tim just smiled a little and squeezed my thumb with his hand. We said nothing.

Minutes and then an hour passed, and still, we just sat and pondered current events and the currents of emotions I could speak only for myself having. July wasn't all that much of a hateful bitch; not like Winter and Spring. Summer just showed up, brought the heat and long days, flying insects and chirping crickets, and the slow tick.....tock.....tick of the antique clock on the wall behind the big chairs. When it rang out 8:00PM, I yawned and lifted my hand from Tim's.

"Sorry, Bud.....that's me, not you. I've been sittin' too long. I need to get up and move around a bit."

"Water the horses and walk the dogs?"

"Sure, why not? Neither of 'em will do those things for each other."

Tim laughed and we left the house to get in half an hour of motion before it would be time to sleep. Yeah, we sleep early. Can't wake early fully rested if you stay up late.

I'd thought about this a lot. I was sure of the act, but not the timing, and timing is everything: whether soft-boiled eggs, buying or selling, making a mess or cleaning it up. Or asking a man to believe in me and my intentions.

"Uh, Tim....."

"Yup."

"So, how long you have this place?"

"I count on each night until morning only that I get to park my head on a pillow, and my horse and dog have their shelter, too."

"Do....uh.....you have options?"

"Nope. Maybe $7,500.00 to my name and debts far exceeding 'em. Fuck. Sorry. I hate this."

"I hate it for you, Tim."

We were silent for a moment.

"Umm....."

"Yup?"

"So.....I was thinkin'......I need to go back to Walpole and see my old people. Got a grandfather on one side who's struggling, and a grandmother on the other who might not know me the next time we see each other. I'm thinkin' two weeks there, but maybe three if my own folks need my help in their house. Gettin' ready to downsize. I might be useful to 'em."

"Oh.....okay. Well, keep your phone on and charged, I guess. Please, I mean."

"I will. But that's not all I meant. I can't take Fergus and Leo with me on the plane, no matter how many seats I buy. So....."

"So you need 'em watched while you're gone."

"Yeah, that's it. Want you to do it."

"So you're gonna leave 'em here with me? I can't guarantee I'll still have access to this. My life's kinda both up in the air and upside down right now."

"Not what I'm asking, Tim. I.....want you to move you and your critters down to my place."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"And then what, when you get back?"

"Then we can have face-to-face conversations again that don't require FaceTime on our phones."

"You know what you're suggesting? Because I think I do."

"You wanna say it or should I?"

"You go."

"Move there, Tim. Stop by the Post Office and get an address change card."

"And do what?!"

His voice was raised, but not by my suggestion; only that someone had to point to the elephant in the room. The underemployed and non-assetted one.

"Gonna share my earnings with you, and while I'm on the road harvesting, you keep the critters safe and fed. I won't have to rely on that nipple-headed moron of a neighbor kid. You like my little home, and it's big enough for another man and another dog. The boys get along well, too. So do our mares. Everyone's fine with everyone else. Also.....if ya wanna think about it, I want to re-roof that place. Won't get any rain until September, so if you wanna tear off the shingles and get 'em ready for burning this Winter, I'd pay you to do that, too."

"Stop. Please stop. I'm sorry, but everything you're saying is all good and well, but I'm sufferin' some prideful stuff at the moment, and I'm having a hard time thinking this isn't charity."

"'Charity' would be me giving you money and you sitting around doing nothing while I'm gone. I'd be paying someone to re-roof the house. Might as well pay the man I know would do a good job."

"So put on the new roof, too?"

"You know how?"

"Yup. Done a roof or two in my time."

"Okay, so?"

"Lemme sleep on it."

"Ya slept last night, ya silly fucker."

"I guess that's right.....or tried to sleep. Umm, you're the first person I've shared a bed with, Sal. Well, since summer camp. I was happy then to greet a new day without being soaked in a scared Wyoming kid's bladder remnants from the bunk above mine."

"So today's a new day, and I need a new roof, and Tim; just live there. With me. I have room. Don't feel you're cornered. It's not like I'm parking a shiny rock on your finger."

"No.....you're not. I'd ask if you're sure about this, but I think ya probably are."

"How much do you have to move?"

"Not much. My saddle, some clothes, computer and stuff, a horse and a dog. Everything else went away in the auction."

"Just to be magnanimous, I'll give you another night to sleep on it. When we wake up tomorrow, I'll need you to point me in the direction of boxes. We can pack up your stuff, you can hand over the keys, we load the horses and dogs and whatever else, and head back to our place."

When I said 'our place', I think it surprised us both. With neither of us rushin' around to ask what that meant or to say what that meant, we just nodded and talked about what to do for a late dinner. Tim had the makings for BLTs, one of my favorites. Can't go wrong with simple food for simple men with a complex future ahead of 'em.

Tim and I convoyed down to my place and got everyone situated. My dog Fergus was great with Tim's dog Leo, sharing his toys and encouraging some frolic that following afternoon. My mare Daisy and Tim's horse Naomi were blasé about each other, not too concerned about anything but eating. I opened my computer to see some emails from harvest clients. Nice. I'd be busy, not only with last year's contacts and contracts, but some new farms, too. Just what I like; being busy, being in demand, and young enough that I could still look forward to riding bulls if there were any rodeos in the areas I'd be working. And on the subject of riding bulls.....

.....or gettin' ridden by a particular bull.....well, after dinner, I hoped.

I told Tim I had a fresh chicken from a neighbor I could cut up and grill for dinner. He smiled at that idea, so I got out the Italian salad dressing to marinate the pieces in for a few hours, then found a couple of ears of corn to put on the grill with the chicken.

"You much for brown basmati rice, Tim?"

"Yeah. I like it."

"I'll make some. Uhhh....."

"Uh-oh. Every time you do that, I wonder what's gonna change next."

"Ummm.....well, nothing is gonna change, so to speak.....but I kinda wanted to see what you thought about later.....maybe.....y'know.....just checkin' if we're compatible in another way....."

"Fuckin'?"

"Well, if you wanna be so blunt about it, yeah, 'fuckin''."

"Why later?"

"What, you mean now?"

"Animals are settlin' in just fine. Got their lunch and so did we. And, ummm......"

"A rare 'um' from you now? My turn to get nervous, Tim?"

"Look, it's like this. I know you're into me. I'm into you, which I think you also know. We've been kinda goin' steady for a month or two, which I like and have never done before. We ain't 'done the deed', though, also which I like and have done plenty of times before, enough to know I'm tired of nervous closet cases who won't even look at me in public afterward. You ain't like that. I mean, I don't think you are, anyway."

"I'm not, Tim"

"One way to find out, I reckon."

"Oh? How's that?"

"Lose the clothes and find the lube."

I smirked and acted surprised and cocky.

"And what makes you think I have lube here?"

"Well, if ya don't, you're gonna wish you did. I guess we could use butter, but you're gonna need somethin'."

"SERIOUSLY! You think your dick is that big??"

"No, I think my hole's that tight. So. Lube or butter?"

"I think I have some bacon grease somewhere....."

"Okay. That'll just make me hungrier afterward, though."

"I have lube. So, really, I'm gonna....."

"If ya don't mind."

"Oh, I don't mind. Just kinda thought a big alpha like you would want......"

"Looky here; what I want is what I'll get: you inside me. Don't get all hung up on the stereotypes; we'll be switchin' it up, one-for-one on average. First time, though.....I want you inside me. Well, come on and get goin'; I don't like cuttin' into my suppertime, if ya don't mind."

"Mind??! 'Me', MIND?! Fuck no, Tim Turner."

'Fuck no, Tim Turner' turned into 'fuck yes, I'll fuck Tim Turner', as many times as his heart desires. He wasn't only a truly tight-holed alpha stud-fuck, but a passionate kisser with exceptional oral hygiene. Tim easily out-weighed me by 50%, and was taller by a good five inches. Luckily I had a bit larger-than-normal dick, because his ass was so hard and round, that treasure hidden in there would've been impenetrable otherwise. And he was just a plain, ol' passionate man who wanted a good fuck for both of us. I'm used to being on the bottom, in the rare three-times-a-year I am with a man. This time, though.....I was suddenly expanding my pleasure horizons significantly. Particularly when this deep-voiced stud would whisper to me,

"C'mon, I know you can fuck me harder'n that. Fuckin' pound me right out into the corral!"

I tried. I really tried.

Almost two hours later, we both shot our loads on or in each other. Nothing was wasted, except a whole lotta water weight. I've never sweat like that before, and I sure the fuck didn't want to ever have sex again unless I was guaranteed to lose five or more pounds in the process. When we came down from the high of serious man-on-man sex, I'll be danged if Tim Turner didn't park his head on my chest. It was like a round loaf of sourdough bread covering an English muffin, but it sure fit just right. I rubbed the back of his head and worked my way down to his ass. I let my fingers find his hole, and as expected, three of my loads were in the process of pretending to be the Von Trapp family, making a daring escape between two mounds of Alpine mountainous flesh. Being daring, I collected some of it and raised my hand to offer it to Tim.

He frowned and took umbrage with my generosity.

"You're fuckin' kiddin, right? That's been in my ass!"

"Well, I guess askin' you for a follow-up blowjob is out of the question, too......"

Tim was silent for a split second and then laughed.

"It's a good thing for you you're cute!"

"You think I'm cute?"

"I don't date ugly fellas."

"So we're dating.....glad you finally realized that."

"Why not? Might as well. I ain't got much else goin' on right now."

"YOU ARE SUCH A FUCKER."

"In theory, yeah; we'll find out next time. If there's enough lube or butter."

The grilled chicken and everything else met with approval from us both. We ate outside and enjoyed am impending sunset and cooler air. I played some music through the bluetooth speakers inside and we stayed out, talking even after the barnyard light came on. All sorts of little flying things were drawn to it immediately, and the bats were drawn to them. Somehow, or rather, 'I-know-just-how', Tim's and my hands met again and were locked up nicely. He smiled shyly at me.

"You okay with this?"

"What 'this' are you referring to?"

"Oh, I dunno.....kinda.....I guess 'being together' out in public."

"The nearest road is half a mile from me, and I drive on six miles of it to see my nearest neighbor. We didn't shock the horses earlier, and I'm pretty sure they were both lookin' through the bedroom window, wonderin' why you were so lucky gettin' bred, and they never are anymore. YES, I'm fine with this. I'd be fine with more than this, Tim."

He smiled at me and parked a tender little kiss on my lips. Tim's kisses.....the true treasure in The Treasure State that is Montana.

I didn't get to Massachusetts as early as I wanted, but I went for five days a week later. I was glad I did; I got to say good-bye to my grandparents and spend some time with my folks, too. I asked Tim to hold off on the roof so we could do it together, but never discussed a timeframe for it.

We grew to be fine throughout that Summer, and soon we had six months in together since the time we met at the blood drawing. Since then, we'd given a lot more blood, always together, and always with the same warning from the nurses (one in particular) : "EAT SOMETHING BEFORE YOU COME HERE!!!" We did, and somewhere, someone benefitted from O-Negative and B-Positive red stuff. What we got out of it? Civic responsibility and getting to lie down together in public without someone calling Don or Marjorie in Washington, DC. Bitches, all of 'em.

I harvested from July to September, and was home again on 1 October, 2025. Tim and I talked at least twice daily while I was away. That one time I got sent flying from a bull's back and he kinda stepped on my leg, Tim was all but making a plane reservation while talking with me on the phone. I assured him I was fine and being released with a brace, which would allow me to do my job without hesitation. Tim wanted me to promise I'd stop bull-riding until I was in my 40s (at which point I'd be retired from it anyway). I made no such promise, but we argued about it for awhile. I healed, made good money harvesting, and was back home just in time for cooler weather, which I loved more than any other. An unexpected benefit was a nice, generous bequest from my grandparents, in the form of nearly half a million dollars in still-growing Apple and Microsoft stock. They didn't ever use computers themselves, but they knew I and seven billion other people did.

First thing I noticed when I drove back in was the new cedar shake roof, lookin' beautiful and professionally installed.

"Wait.....I forgot all about the roof! You tore off the old one and did this, all by yourself?"

"Not all by myself. Tearing off the old shingles was easy enough, but I got the neighbor kid's little brother to sort through the shingles as I threw 'em down. I had given him a hammer and hauled the anvil out of the barn. Showed him how to get the nails out, and he did a good job."

"Nice! Didya pay him out of the cash in the closet safe?"

"Yeah, that, and I taught him how to ride. They don't have horses."

"Because they have neither common- nor horse-sense. The roof looks incredible!"

"Uh, so, I also added a ¼" layer of foam core beneath the black paper. Increased insulation and a weather block, too."

"You really amaze me, Tim. Thanks."

"Uh, that's okay. Told ya I would. So, you think you're gonna be hungry? I snared a rabbit and have a stew goin' in the crockpot."

"You're kidding."

"Nope. Marinated it in milk and seltzer water to take away the gamey taste. There's a coarse-grain mustard, shallot and white whine reduction to go on the rabbit, if you like. Braised celery and roasted cherry tomatoes. Typically like those with Tilapia, but all they had in town was some real anemic-lookin' fillets, and not enough of 'em to satisfy you n' me. So, rabbit stew, the way my great-grandmother from France taught me. For after, I made a sour cream and dark chocolate cake, and some ice cream. Real exciting vanilla, I'll have you know; but I picked up some fresh Flathead cherries, and poached 'em in Port wine. Nothin' fancy; just a 'welcome home' snack."

"Dang! Some 'snack'! This is amazing, Tim. How long before dinner?"

"Three orgasms. Get in the shower. I'll join you there. Then we're gonna throw you a 'welcome home fuck', and you'll forget you were almost crippled by that bull. THIS bull is gonna make it more of a challenge for you to walk. Only for three days, though. Four days, max. I promise. Kinda, anyway."

I smiled and launched myself at Tim, throwing my arms around his neck and laying my best kiss yet on his sexy lips. For a man just a little over 30, he was still exciting for and excited by Life, and he was in mine and I was in his. Showered and cleaned out and ready for whatever this man was gonna do to me, we toweled off and rubbed just a little coconut oil on to help keep our hides moist while the air in the area lost much of the water in it. Montana's Autumns are known for dry air. In one Autumn and Winter, I'll go through a whole pound of coconut oil all over me after a shower, and sometimes, I'll still be scratching itches. Tim was about to scratch my most substantial itch in maybe my entire life, and I'll be danged if that jar of coconut oil didn't also make a lovely lube. In combination with cum, it was lovely all night and three loads up my road-weary ass. We broke long enough to savor his stew, and I wondered if hunting wabbits with my own Elmer Fudd might not be a great idea to also get us through Winter.

And then Winter.....it came, and brought a six feet deep snowdrift with it, right up against the East side of the house. When I opened the door, there was a wall of snow. Fergus and Leo went nuts, barking like the snow was an intruder. It would be, if I didn't close the door fast. I thought it was funny, and certainly not the first time. I turned to see Tim's reaction, but he was getting on some additional layers and went out the back door before I could even say anything to him about being shut in for Winter. Heck, I'd have been fine with it, though the house might get a little crowded with two horses also living in it.

I changed my duds and went out to join Tim for whatever his plan was. Ah.....smart man. He fired up the little Bobcat, which he'd installed tracks on in November. That beast, and I mean the Bobcat and not the Tim, made quick work of clearing the snow away from the side of the house. I used a plain, ol' shovel to refine the work, and soon we were back to normal. Once back inside, we took showers, coconut-oiled each other back up and got dressed again. We had worked-up appetites.

"Tim. Grilled cheese and tomato soup?"

"Gonna put tomatoes in it like last time?"

"I was plannin' on it."

"And half-n-half and a pinch of basil n' thyme, and maybe a wee spoonful of cooking sherry?"

"You wanna make it?"

*Silence*

"Yeah, I guess I'd better."

If you're gonna describe the meal you want to make for Jacques Pepin, maybe you should just ask Jacques Pepin to make it for you.

We ate well that afternoon, and had enough that dinner wasn't a consideration. In the cold, Wintery months that followed, Tim and I grew closer and.....curiously.....more predictable. We were a comfortable fit. Tim was always kind and compassionate with people, always willing to help in any way he could. This from the man who had only months ago few options of his own. That no longer weighed heavily on his mind, allowing us to weigh heavily on each other's bodies. (His more than mine, as I've already made clear.)

We determined that the two of us could work together in a more local capacity next Summer, and maybe not even have to leave the state. We'd have the same issue with the horses, but we could take the dogs with us, traveling around to cut hay, and holding each other's hands and hearts in the truck from job to job. Late one night with the wind howling outside and the four of us inside snuggled up before the fireplace, my head was on Tim's chest and his arm around me, holding me close. He nuzzled the top of my head and squeezed me just a little.

"Ummm......"

"Uh-oh.....here we go again....."

"Hush, You."

*Silence*

"Well, Tim?"

"You're rushin' me.

*More silence*

*Throat-clearing (not mine)*

"So.....um.....would it fuck things up too much if I said......"

*Silence*

"Um.....if I said.....I kinda.....like.....love you?"

***Me From Silence to Screaming in a micro-second!***

"YOU DO??!"

"Yeah, and I'm right here; you don't need to shout at the barn or wherever."

"Oh! SORRY! NO, it would not 'fuck things up' if you said that! Although I'm probably doing that right now with my reaction, but damn! Hearing that was NOT on my horizon AT ALL! TIM!"

"Well, ya knew it, though, right? Kinda been makin' it obvious since you got back from Oklahoma."

"Yeah.....I think.....I was feeling that! Although sometimes it's hard to tell the difference between feeling like someone newly loves you or wants to break up with you. You're sure you know the difference, right?? We're not breaking up?"

"Oh, I know the difference. You would, too. Though, yeah, it's a challenge, kinda. This is the first time I've said that to a man, and the first time I've been in a relationship with one. With anyone, actually. So, I'm kinda like that snowstorm; I'm just kinda blowin' on in, ready I guess to make a mess of things, but hopin' I don't."

"You're making no messes here, Tim. Fuck. You love me. You said so. Say it again!"

"Um, I love you."

"I love you, Tim; and not because you said it first. Wanna know the truth? I think I felt that way when I saw the roof and ate your rabbit stew, and watched how you looked like you were actually happy to see me."

"I was real happy to see you. My dick was happy to see your hole again, too. Real happy. Both of us real happy. That's about when we knew, my dick and I."

"Is the rest of you onboard?"

"Yeah, definitely."

"Me and all of me, too. Dang, Tim; this is something I don't know if I'd ever really experience; loving and being loved by a good man. Not just because we live in a rural area, but because I've had my life on autoplay for awhile. You're a most welcome disruption to that. When I was in Walpole with my family, I thought about you all the time, and I wanted badly to tell them about you. That would've been a secondary part of a bigger conversation, and I knew they weren't ready for it. Bad timing on my part, too; considering the grandparents weren't well."

"You think you could ever have that conversation with your family?"

"Maybe. Now that you're in my life, I think it's less of a risk. I don't know how they'd react, honestly. They're hyper-conservative Massachusetts Catholics. Stereotypical. I think having a serious boyfriend would help them absorb some of their own reactionary shock, really."

"You think they'd have more of a problem because you're gay and have a boyfriend, or because your boyfriend is gay and a somewhat lapsed Jew?"

"I don't know. I don't even care. It's not a conversation I need to have with them right now. YOU and I need to have a lot of conversations. That's my priority."

"We don't need to discuss anything. It'll happen as it happens. Don't rush things. I'm 31, you're what.....32? We have awhile. Let's focus on a foundation that'll keep us not needing to worry about the relationship and concern ourselves more with work and a financially secure future. You can imagine, I'm sure, that I need a second chance at that. I guess there is one thing I need to know, though.....you have any issue with us not being the same religion?"

"They are the same, Babe. Both Abrahamic. All we need to do now is adopt a little Palestinian kid, and we'd have a full-meal-deal family. Look, I'm not practicing my faith, and you said you're a little lapsed in yours. I don't see my foreskin gettin' in the way of your lack of the same flesh. If there are dietary or other concerns of the law, then we can discuss those. I can keep a kosher kitchen, if you'll help me know all that entails."

"Not my biggest concern, but thanks. Yeah, I don't see a problem with religion, either. If I need to get my Hebrew on, I can go into town and talk with Shlomo for an afternoon."

I smiled and hugged him close. Fuck, yeah: Tim loves me!

Winter yielded to Spring and we yielded to sleeping in a little later since it was very much probable we were up sodomizin' the ever-livin' fuck out of each other the night before. We did it in the house, in the barn, the backs of our trucks, a motel room a few times when we'd go over to Missoula to be with more of the gay tribe, and once, because I have no self-control but an almost self-lubing pussy, at the fairgrounds in the Elm grove behind the exhibition barns. That one was intense. Made my legs weak. The look in my man's eyes when he shot inside me was like watching some epiphany take place. It's amazing how useful a hay bale can be, and an insulated Carhartt jacket draped over the straw so I can be draped over all of it.

And so, here I was, a year later: a little blue velvet-covered box with a wholly impractical ring in it for my man. A silent 'I love you', two total karats of beauty on his finger to tell him he's a great big bounty of beauty in my life.

Earlier that morning and after we'd had buttermilk pancakes with blueberries in 'em (no bacon, because we're thinkin' of eating healthier. Just once in awhile.), I kissed the back of Tim's neck while we were washing the dishes.

"Babe, I'm gonna run into town, and later meet you at the Red Cross thing."

"Okay. You going to the store? We need bathroom stuff. I'll send you a text."

"That'll work. Oh, and forget dinner; this is our one-year thing, you know."

"So you noticed, too."

"Sure I did. You went a little aggressive with the Sharpie on the entire page of the calendar. Ray Charles would've seen the date circled so much."

"You exaggerate, of course. The Gold Bar?"

"Seems like a good tradition to keep."

"Okay. I'll get cleaned up so Shlomo doesn't think we're just shleppers."

"Oh, I'm a shlepper for you, Tim. Entirely. 101%. That's me. Just lemme look at you and shlep all day long."

"You're silly, but you're my silly shlepper. Okay. Done in here. I'm gonna muck the stalls and then myself. See you later."

We kissed nicely for a few seconds, and Fergus barked and wagged his tail. He knew I was going for a ride, but I wasn't taking him. I'll make it up to you, Old Friend. Just like I need to make up to you for all those screaming orgasms your Papa and I have, twice a day or more on Sundays. I'm sorry you're probably almost deaf now.

In my truck and parked at the temporary Red Cross donation center, I saw in my mirror the approach of Tim Turner's old F150, road-weary and beaten up like a truck should be, if it has lived a useful life. Both of our trusty steeds were rusty, indeed. Wouldn't have it any other way. Tim's motor fell silent, and we got out and met at the door to the building, the former Hackamore Club at the West end of town. The little blue velvet box was in my breast pocket where it would not squish me, like it would in the too-tight pockets of the Carhartts I was wearing. The blood drawing registration person got our names and Red Cross donor cards, and we waited only maybe three minutes before the same (and now even more ancient) Nurse Nightingale hobbled slowly over the old linoleum tiles to get us. She looked at both of us with skepticism.

"You two boys remember to eat first?"

"Yes, Ma'am; Tim and I both had lots of pancakes with even more lots of maple syrup."

"Good. Maybe you've learned your lesson. I hope so. I don't need so much excitement in my life anymore, even if you boys are being heroes for someone in a hospital somewhere. You wanna be in your usual configuration? Heads to toes?"

Tim nodded. The nurse turned to me and told me to keep an eye on him.

"I will."

"And you do the same for him, Paul Bunyan."

"If you insist, Nurse."

"I do. Here comes the vampire to hook you up and drain you out. Raise your free arm if you need anything."

We agreed we would, and she took her youthful, charming and welcoming demeanor to her next waiting victims. We were poked and draining ten minutes later, during which we talked and squeezed the little red blood-cell-shaped stress ball. Like some do, Tim dropped his, but the workers were not near to get him another. While he was looking away from where I laid, I reached in my pocket and pulled out the little box. I held my hand closed and out in Tim's direction for him to take with his non-bleeding arm.

"Here's an extra."

Tim knitted his brows, likely wondering why I had an extra squeezy thing. He accepted it, but kept his eyes on mine. He could feel it was not a stress ball, and when he uncurled his fingers, there it was. Not a red, squishy ball in the shape of a blood drop, but a blue, solid box in the shape of a future he hadn't considered yet. Tim looked at me with almost fear and shock and apprehension, all at once. He manipulated the box open with one hand and saw the contents. He gasped inwardly and held his breath. He looked at it for long time and then at me. Fuck me, were his eyes moist? Really??

The same nurse, who likely attended many injured on the front lines of the Revolutionary War, stopped between our tables and looked at Tim.

"I saw you drop your blood cell. Do you need......oh. I see. No, I guess you do not need another one. Not if you have that."

She turned and looked at me.

"It appears you took me seriously when I said to keep an eye on him. Seems you're planning to do that."

"Sure am."

"Good. No one has ever been worse off for listening to me. Now just relax, both of you boys. You just got started, and you have quite a ways to go until you're finished, both literally and figuratively---I hope."

Nearly breaking her face, she smiled at us and walked away, whistling. I looked at Tim and he looked at me. He held up the ring in the box, though discreetly, peering at the ring like it might as well have been one being discovered by Howard Carter in a certain gravesite. I smiled just a little smirk.

"So, Tim; you wanna?"

*Silence*

"Yup."

One year to the day after meeting, we gave blood and I gave Tim a ring. One year later to the day, our courtship and engagement officially up, we drove down to Denver to enjoy a Spring Festival there with some other couples we'd come to know on the internet. We'd all been planning the event, and in the big suite at The Brown Palace Hotel we secured, one of the clerks at the courthouse joined twenty people to become ten couples in marriage. We paid her to do it on her own time, and she was happy to be asked. It was all nice, and within minutes, a roomful of people became legally united as a mere formality to how we all really already felt in our hearts.

A little while later, when everyone left to get ready for a night out at the festival, Tim and I were alone and getting out of our fancy clothes (new Levis and new western shirts).

"Babe, what're we wearing out?"

"A cockring and a dot of Drakkar Noir on each ass cheek, Tim. Nothing else."

"If you're gonna do that, then we stay in."

"No argument from me. I'll send a text to Sarah and Rebecca to let 'em know we'll see everyone at breakfast tomorrow."

I did and received a text almost instantly. They and most of the others were doing exactly what we were. Nice. I showed Tim and he got his Caveman on and picked up my naked and little-compared-with-his ass, carrying me to the bed in the next room. He let me drop onto it, and I bounced twice with a smile on my face. Tim growled at me.

"What?? You gonna get all growly and plant hickeys on me?"

"I was thinkin' of plantin' babies in you."

"I have no objection!"

"You know, I don't mind your objections, Babe. Gotta speak your mind."

"Have you known me not to?"

Tim smiled and leaned down to kiss me.

"No, you seem to have the reasonably good sense to say what you want, and then listen to your man and stand back so he can have his way."

"Oh-HO! You get a ring on it, and now the gay misogyny comes flyin' right out!"

"Oh.....was that out loud? Sorry. I meant to say.....ummmm......."

"Oh, geez......"

"I love you, Salvatore Michelangelo Agnello del Vecchio."

"I love you, Tim Avroham Turner. I think I've been falling in love with you since we first met and gave blood together."

"Well, YEAH.....I'd sure hope so! I'm the one who started all this falling two years ago! Did you bring lube? Or coconut oil?"

"Oh, fuck. No. Will toothpaste work?"

"I'd rather avoid it, though I like the idea of a minty-fresh ass. Well, you know what? I think we can let it go for one night, even if we're officially on our honeymoon."

"Oh, I don't know; our mouths aren't busy or tired....."

That was Spring 2025. I wanted fifty more years like these two had been. We had more time to get and more blood to give, and more of our hearts to each other, too, as we continued to grow together and learn more about the two men in the relationship they created together.

This is Spring 2075. So much happened, and Tim and I have endured it all. Our marriage was annulled by The Powers That Be, but for as long as we had it, we made that little marriage work well for us. They didn't take the relationship or ring, and they couldn't erase Tim's name from my property since I deeded 49% of it to him. Our lives are good, though; we're still in love, and we still give blood. This might be our last year doing it, but it became a tradition to recognize when we met, how we managed along the way, and a little good we tried to do, all without falling anymore.

Except for falling more deeply in love, Tim and me.