Gordy Comes Home - 9. Chapter 9

Sunday evening; they resumed their billiard competition.

They had spent the day lounging around. John’s dad took them to dinner in town. The conversation was good, the food was good and the company was convivial. Back at the ranch they watched football.

Afterward they discussed Christmas', past and present. Wylie spoke of Christmas with his grandmother. The memories seemed to come to him and out of him. He shared the tender memories of how they had shared the holidays. His eyes teared, more than once. He knew, that even if he cried like a baby, it would be OK.

It was late in the evening they stood around the pool table, each with a mug of 'chocolate caleinte. Wylie was rolling the cue ball against the far cushion, again and again. He had just shared memories of last Christmas. His last Christmas with his grandmother. His voice had gotten thick and his eyes had moistened.

A reflective silence descended.

Mr. Grant surprised both John and Wylie when stepped to Wylie, wrapped an arm around his shoulders and said, "You know, Wylie, it's tough to loose someone you love. It's a long road between heartache and fond memories. Son, I can promise you, you'll get there. The roads kind of rough, especially when the journey first begins. But, it gets easier."

"Strange, but you never realize when you arrive. It's always sometime afterwards that you realize you got there. I know, I been down that road a couple of times."

Mr. Grant squeezed Wylie's shoulder and gave him an encouraging smile. He winked at his son's appraising gaze. Taking his mug, he drained the last of the rum laced beverage. "Well boys, I think I'll call it a night. You two have fun." With that his eyes shifted between the two faces. Apparently satisfied with what he saw he took his mug and headed for the kitchen.

Both the young men stood respectfully silent until the man disappeared into the hallway.

John was the first to break the silence. "Well, you ready to get your ass kicked, cowpoke?"

Let the games begin:

Once the hot chocolate was finished whisky was poured into the mugs. The first shots caused each to shudder at the taste. The second and subsequent rounds tasted only of whisky.

After the fourth game in the series, they were evenly matched in eight-ball, so they switched to nine-ball.

Wylie won and informed John he "owned him" and he was to be his personal slave. There had been no prior agreement, nor wager.

Only after merciless berating and teasing, did Wylie get John down at his feet. John was there more in gratitude for the night before, than any argument Wylie offered. Wylie could have simply asked and John would have complied, with a will.

Wylie sprawled in an easy chair, in front of the library’s gas fireplace. John sat cross-legged, on the floor, and took Wylie’s left foot in his strong hands. He didn’t loose his frown until Wylie became effusive in his praise. As John sensuously massaged his foot, Wylie laid his head back and closed his eyes. occasionally sipping whisky from his mug.

“Does Master like his slave to massage his tired feet?"

Without deigning to look at his slave Wylie purred, “less talk more action, slave.”

John scooted his ass forward and gently laid Wylie’s happy foot in his lap. The ball and toes rested against John’s already hardening cock. Wylie’s head jerked as if to verify what he thought was happening. Then without even looking, he rested his head again, closed his eyes and rubbed his foot against John’s cock.

If he didn’t look, it was like being drunk. They were drunk. Weren’t they?

John couldn’t believe it! They weren’t in the dark, they weren’t drunk, yet Wylie was stroking his cock. It had been a daring move, almost a blatant declaration.

Wylie had taken it in stride.

In spite of a direct order to maintain silence, John spoke as he lifted the now happy right foot to his face. “Does Master like his slave taking care of his tired feet? Does Master want his slave to massage any other part of Master’s body?” This last was said as suggestively, as he dared.

Wylie shuddered, as his cock throbbed, at the thought.

Curious as to why John was lifting his foot Wylie’s gaze shifted in fascination. His eyes widened as a wet tongue was dragged from heel to toe.

John was watching Wylie’s crotch, where his big dick struggled for freedom.

John took the three middle toes in his mouth.

Wylie moaned, threw his head back and purposely rubbed his hardening cock. Wylie’s ministrations toward John’s cock, which had ceased while he was watching John, resumed.

John sucked and licked between his toes. Each toe got individual attention. Finally John took Wylie’s foot from his mouth.

Wylie’s cock was pulsing with each heartbeat. A wet spot formed where the head beat a rhythm against denim.

Wylie had a glazed look as he watched.

John singled out his big toe for attention. He began sucking as if it were a cock, exaggerated movements took his lips up and down the length of the toe.

Wylie was now blatantly stroking his own, denim clad, cock. While his free foot moved the length of John’s cock. Wylie unfastened his belt.

John froze.

Could he let this happen? Could he suck Wylie’s cock? He wanted this. Wylie wanted this. They could! Right here. Right now.

John’s mind worked at a furious pace. He envisioned coming nights at the dorm. Nights filled with passion. Declarations of love shared ALOUD!

Wylie would be his.

Wylie unbuttoned his jeans.

John’s heart began to race. Sweat broke out on his brow. Here on the edge of his dreams. His mouth dried up. The toe rested on his tongue. Fixated on Wylie's actions. His vision seemed to blur, as his heart tried to beat it's way out of his chest.

Wylie’s glazed eyes held John’s, as he began to lower his zipper.

Only half aware that John had stopped sucking on his toe. He was even less aware when John's gaping mouth, again, closed around it.

His sex crazed brain registered a flash of intense pain.

John had bitten down; HARD!

Wylie’s brain tried to make sense of this sudden reversal. In the time it took Wylie to sit up and understand what had happened. John was already running out of the library.

Wyle sprang to his feet in hot pursuit.

Hot on John’s trail, he hoped John would run down the hall and fall onto their bed.

Instead John had run into the kitchen and was headed out the back door.

Wylie processed this and understood. His pursuit slowed and at the back door; halted.

Adjusting to the situation Wylie dashed after John. Sprinting he closed the distance before John had cleared the backyard.

The cold night air made John ask himself why he was running. There was no simple answer.

He ran on.

He slowed his pace.

Wylie tackled him.

John, on his back with Wylie laying on top of him.

On the partially frozen lawn, amid patches of snow and dead grass, they lay. Their faces inches apart; eyes searching.

“You know, we, castrate, bad, slaves, and, make, them, eunuchs!” He humped his crotch into John's, emphasizing each word.

“I am not a slave! I am a free citizen of Texas!”

With that he rolled, taking Wylie with him.

John was now looking down at Wylie. For a moment the vision of what could have happened in the library washed through his mind. He felt his cock throb against Wylie’s groin. Lowering his face to Wylie’s, their breath mixed; frosted by the cold night air.

A shiver ran up John’s spine. His tongue moistened his dry lips. Closer now their lips almost touching. Each inhaling what the other exhaled.

Wylie rolled them once again so that John was beneath him. But that simple action had changed them both. Now, instead of a passion filled gaze, their eyes furtively, searched on the other’s face. Eye contact was avoided.

Wylie jumped up!

Standing over John he extended his hand.

John accepted and was pulled to his feet.

Their bodies connected by the momentum, immediately separated.

Looking down Wylie realized he was still holding John’s hand. He released it.

Turning toward the house, he draped his arm across John’ shoulder. Together they entered the Kitchen. There they removed their muddy clothes. Shivering, clad in boxers and tees. They made their way to John’s room and a hot shower.

An understanding silence had carried them into the house. Communication was accomplished by nods and gestures.

In the shower, neither showed signs of passion. That had passed. John knelt at Wylie’s feet to examine the bit mark. Only then was the silence broken. “Well, there are no teeth marks. I guess my bite isn’t much compared to a horse.”

“You know, I think in some cultures, they not only castrate bad slaves, they also pull their teeth.”

A weak, grateful laugh, and John commented, “Good thing we’re in Texas. I don’t think a lifetime of gumming food would be something I would look forward to.”

Later, dressed in jeans and tee shirts. They headed to the kitchen where they steamed and ravaged some of Conchatta’s tamales.

They drank beer and tried hard to keep the conversation light. After several beers they staggered to the bedroom. Underneath the nervous tension was an underlying need to reassure each other that the physical expression of what they shared was enough.

Undressing was slow and deliberate. Each wondered if tonight was to be a repeat, or would they reverse roles? Wylie allowed John to decide. When he returned, from the bathroom, he found John in the position he had occupied last night. Only tonight there was a small jar of Vaseline beside John’s right knee.

Wylie gorged his brain on the sight before him. John’s mounds shone white in the weak moonlight. Wylie knew what he liked from John’s efforts and wasted no time.

As good as it was last night, Wylie wanted to know how it felt for John. He wanted to be inside his lover. Gently he spread John’s cheeks. He saw John’s pucker spasm. He closed on his target and inhaled the fragrance; it was John, tinged with soap.

His tongue went out toward its target. Timidly at first, John’s moans encouraged him. He licked, sucked, nibbled. Everything seemed to elevate John’s ecstasy. Locating the center, his tongue teased the hole. It pulsed an invitation. He pushed and John pushed back. He was inside his lover! He licked and probed. He sucked while pushing his tongue in further.

John was writhing already. Wylie let his face rest between John’s cheeks, while his hands caressed his lover. He tweaked John’s nipples and John lifted his ass. John began humping his tongue. Wylie withdrew. He watched as John’s ass swiveled and humped the empty air, searching for Wylie’s tongue.

When a lubed finger circled John’s pucker, he relaxed. When that finger penetrated, John’s body trembled. Slowly Wylie worked John’s ass.

He had paid attention last night. Once he sensed John had relaxed his ass, he probed deeper. He felt the nut. John gasped! He raised his ass, demanding more. Wylie gave him what he needed. In short order three fingers were reducing John to a quivering lump. His head was rolling from side to side. Wylie got into position and removed his fingers. His cock head went inside. John’s reaction was instantaneous; he froze. In the next instant he was pushing back, demanding more. Wylie obliged. Once his cock was in balls deep, he held it there marveling at the warmth and tightness.

He began; slow and steady, in and out as he stroked his lover. Leaning even further, stretching, he licked John’s ear. John twisted wanting to kiss.

Wylie withdrew and grabbing John’s legs flipped him over onto his back.

Gauging the angle he grabbed a pillow and shoved it under John’s lower back. Now he penetrated John’s defenses once more. Wylie was able to fuck John and kiss him at the same time. On every in-stroke Wylie tagged John’s prostate.

John’s dick was gushing precum. He played with Wylie’s hairy chest and flicked his nipples. Wylie picked up the pace.

Frenzy overtook both men. The sounds of flesh on flesh was like the staccato of a machine gun.

Groans, moans and lungs sucking air. John’s ass clutched Wylie’s cock, while his body convulsed in ecstasy. Cum exploded from his cock and painted his face.

A beastly roar let the world know Wylie was breeding his mate. John went limp. Wylie gently licked at the cum on John’s face. Then slowly withdrew and collapsed alongside his lover.

Later that night, John awoke to find Wylie, playing with his chest hair, teasing his nipples and sucking on his already hard cock.

Thus a second round was instigated. John slid into the familiar sixty-nine position and gave as good as he got. It was heaven; almost.

Christmas was only a couple of days away. Wylie was reminded of that when he awoke to the sounds of holiday music softly echoing throughout the house. John let him know it was only during the hours that Conchatta was present. John and Wylie talked about childhood Christmas’. Their different socio-economic backgrounds were telling in the gifts received. There was no difference in the loving memories that they shared; Santa, gifts, friends and, of course, family.

Conchatta was the driving force behind Christmas at the ranch. The two were drafted to assist. She was a taskmaster! It had to be just right.

Wylie made the mistake of questioning her regarding the “exact” placement of certain ornaments and decorations. Which, in his opinion, were to be taken down and stored away, in just a few days.

That comment garnered him a smack to the back of his head. Even though Conchatta had to tiptoe to land the blow.

Wylie was more compliant and kept his opinions to himself.

John just grinned and said, “Welcome to the family.”

Wylie grunted. His smile was inside.

There was a party for the dealership employees and their families. No alcohol. No one seemed surprised when Santa arrived larger than life, wearing a Super Bowl ring. He was a big hit with all the children; young and old.

Sally was cajoled into sitting on Santa’s lap. She, however, did not appreciate the slap on her fanny when she stood to rejoin the audience. The look she gave Santa could have slain a reindeer. Only a few noted that her harsh glare was softened by a wink.

There was no party for the ranch hands. They received, just as those at the dealership, a handsome bonus. John explained that what cowboys considered a good time, involved too much alcohol and most likely a call for the sheriff or the ambulance.

Still the smells from the kitchen combined with the music brought bittersweet memories to Wylie. John seemed to sense this. Often as not, when Wylie found himself succumbing to nostalgia, he would feel John’s hand clasp his shoulder or John divert his attention. Whatever the distraction it usually resulted in Wylie smiling and forgetting.

Some of the decorations were foreign to him. John explained the significance they held for himself, his father and Conchatta.

Wylie learned that Christmas Eve revolved around a buffet. The results of Conchatta’s efforts were laid out on the massive dining room table. Conchatta and Louis, along with their children and grandchildren were present throughout the day. One of the spare bedrooms became a haven for the teenagers and a corral for the kids.

Mr. Grant seemed to delight in his suddenly crowded home.

Wylie shared this observation with John.

“Yeah, dad loves kids.”

Wylie sensed there was more that John wanted to say. He also sensed John would add to that statement, when and, if he chose.

After a moment, John chuckled. "The first few years after Conchatta and Lois came we had a piñata. I think I was about thirteen, it was hung in the breezeway, not sure why. Anyway Dad got too close and one of the children swung and hit him in the nuts. Just like those videos on TV. I wish I had that on tape. He couldn’t ride for a week and that was the last piñata."

“You are one sick individual. You wanted to see me get bit by a horse and now you’re saying you would like to have a video of your dad getting his nuts crushed. John, you don’t have a heart. You got a thumpin' gizzard.”

At that he pushed John stood up and huffily walked away. Three paces away he turned and stuck out his tongue at John.

Wylie was awed by the sheer number of people who came by to share food, drink and time, or to drop off/exchange gifts, with the Grants.

Most were people he had not met. Some John pointed out, even he had not seen for years or flat out did not know.

Joe Don and Sally seemed to be around almost as long as Conchatta’s family. By the time they left Joe Don was indeed feeling the spirits of Christmas and good whiskey.

It was almost midnight when the John, Wylie and Mr. Grant were left to themselves. Conchatta had rallied all her army, including John and Wylie, to clean up.

When John and Wylie finally climbed into bed they were both tired. There had been no real drinking. Still, it somehow seemed natural to fall asleep facing each other; arms draped over the other, while their lower limbs intertwined.

Wylie awakened before John. He was aware that something had pulled him from sleep. It took a moment to realize, John’s hand was on holding his ass, while he gently humped his hardened manhood against Wylie. Only their boxers separated the iron rods.

Fully awake, his first reaction was to mimic John’s humping. He knew it wouldn’t take much for him to cum, even if he just lay there.

Wylie recalled the night of the bitten toe. John would not react well, if he awakened while cumming into Wylie’s crotch. Whether or not Wylie came too.

Gingerly, he extracted himself. John moaned his displeasure. Wylie placed a pillow against John’s chest and the quiet humping resumed. He was tempted to watch to see if his lover would cum.

Instead he moved to the en suite and quietly closed the door. He sat on the commode, with his face in his hands and thought about his relationship with John.

Wylie had never had thought about having sex with a man. Never figured he would love a man. Still, he wasn’t sure he could love a woman more than he loved the man sleeping just feet away.

He admitted he loved John. There were so many issues. Gay in Texas was an oxymoron. John was filthy rich and he was poor. He long ago, realized that was probably a bigger issue to him than it might be to John. Wylie knew John had feelings for him. More than just the “release” they both obviously enjoyed.

John avoided Wylie’s swim team. The friendly banter and interactions that the teammates shared, seemed to leave an almost scowl on John’s face. After the first couple of times Wylie saw John’s reaction, he teased John. That was the last time John came to any practice or meet. That was only one of the things they never discussed.

Wylie made a decision. He wanted John to be a part of his life. He wanted them to have a real relationship. He wanted John Grant to be his steady BoyFriend! He shuddered at such a concept. At the same instant a steadying calm washed over him.

He would confront John.

After the holidays, back at school. Alone in their room; where there would be no escape. Where there would be no denial.

He even knew when and how! Not to the minute. Not even the day. But he would! He would say, “I love you John Grant.”

His cock got his attention. Or rather his bladder did.

He completed his ablutions and made his way to the kitchen. He didn’t check to see if John had cum or was even awake. He feared, if he looked at John, he would not be able to wait until they returned to campus.