Monday, May 10, 2010

Iowa Farm Boy, Part II

I actually slept better than I thought I would. Maybe the emotional draining had done it, or maybe it was just true that the guilty always sleep easily. I was awakened by the sound of a thrumming motor very close to my head. I slowly opened my eyes, looked up to find Steve atop his motorcycle. In a flash the entire events of yesterday filled me.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I got kicked out.”

Steve nodded. “I was afraid of that. Get on.” I gave him a funny look. He patted the back of the motorcycle seat. “GET ON!”

I hesitantly grabbed my bag and threw a leg over the seat, I was barely settled when he took off. With nothing to hold on to I felt sure I was going to go over the side and onto the gravel in the alley.

“GRAB MY WAIST, YOU STUPID SHIT!” And he sped up even more. I grabbed hold for dear life.

We sped down main street and headed out of town on one of the farm-to-market blacktops. A couple miles out Steve slowed and pulled onto a small gravel lane. Another mile down the shady lane he pulled up in front of an old farmhouse. A barn and a couple of sheds were set some ways back from the house.

He shut the bike down and I carefully climbed off. I had no idea what Steve had planned or what the hell was going to happen. He lifted the top of the seat and pulled out a small bag, tossing it to me. “There’s a couple sandwiches that should get you through the day. Fresh water from the well over there. Stay the fuck away from my house and sheds. You can stay in the barn for now, and you might show gratitude by mucking the horses’ stalls. I’ll be home late afternoon and we’ll talk about what can happen from here.” I was stunned. “Well.......?”

“Thank you.....” he glared at me and I quickly added “Sir.”

He climbed on the bike and was gone.

I was hungry, scared, cold, and just plain mad at myself. I had fucked up so royally I really began to wonder if I would ever get my life back in order. I could deal with the hunger thanks to the sandwiches from Steve. The sun was higher in the sky and I knew it would be at least 70 degrees that day, so another problem solved. Scared and mad?, well, I just had to put those on the back burner.

I unwrapped one sandwich and ate it slowly, sitting alongside the wall of the barn. As I finished it, I was determined to pay back Steve in any way I could, first for not telling my father about what really happened in the barbershop, and second for giving me somewhere to spend the day. I ripped off a couple of layers of the clothes I’d bundled up in the previous night, stashed them in my duffle bag, and made my way into the barn carrying the bag.

The barn was small with a couple of horse stalls below, a small kit room, an area to hose down the horses, and a small loft above filled with hay for the horses. I led the two horses out to a small pen making sure the gate was closed, found an old radio I could turn on for musical distraction, and went to work inside with an energy that surprised even me. Hours later I’d managed to muck the stalls, sweep out the entire barn, restack some loose hay bales, and give the horses a good brushing down. I was sweaty, filthy, but surprisingly happy. Somehow working hard had helped me keep my mind off the incredible mistakes of yesterday. A voice on the radio told me it was 3:30. I figured Steve would be home sometime after 5:00. The nervousness crept back into my stomach.

I brought the horses back into their stalls, ate the second sandwich, then stripped naked in the barn. I was covered in hay, horseshit, and dust and smelled just as bad. I turned on the hose usually used for the horses and gave myself a good scrubbing holding the hose over my head. The water was ice-cold but it felt good to be clean. I could feel my nuts and dick shriveling from the cold water. Turning the hose off, I found an old towel in the kit room and dried off. A couple of woolen blankets were there and I grabbed them and my duffel bag and climbed into the hay loft. Using one blanket to cover a loose pile of hay, I made a small bed, lay down, naked, and pulled the other blanket over me, falling asleep almost immediately.

The warmth of the loft and the weight of the wool blankets must have been too much heat during my nap. I had kicked off the blanket on top and was sprawled out on my stomach my ass completely exposed when I heard Steve’s growl,

“Get up. Get dressed. Get in the house, now.”

He was already on his way down the ladder when I grabbed some clean jeans, t-shirt, my socks and my work boots. I could feel myself blushing, again from Steve seeing me naked in rather awkward circumstances. I made my way from the barn to the back of the house where the kitchen door was open. I slowly stepped in. Steve was at the stove, his back to me, wearing only his wife-beater t-shirt, tight jeans, and black boots. Those jeans cupped his ass, lifting the cheeks higher than seemed possible. He turned around and caught me staring.

“Sit down at the table. Dinner’s ready.”

Dinner was a good beef stew along with chunks of earthy, heavy bread. We ate in silence. A glass of milk for me, a cold beer for Steve. I kept my head down the entire time, afraid to make eye contact with Steve As I was sopping up the last bits of gravy on the plate, he said,

“Do the dishes then come into the living room. We need to talk.”

As I quickly gathered up the few dishes and hurriedly washed and dried them my mind went over and over what little speech I could make to try to put my life back in order. Go see the minister, get him to talk to my folks, get back to school in a day or two, and keep my head down for the last few months of my senior year, were the arguments I would make.

I stepped into the living room. Steve was sitting in a huge leather chair, his dark brown eyes watching me carefully as I entered. A black ottoman was sitting a bit away from the chair. He patted the top and I understood that was where I was supposed to sit. I was only about a foot from him, sitting just lower than him, looking up into those eyes.

“Look, Steve, I’m really, really sorry about yesterday....” I spit out. Steve raised a hand and slapped me hard. Tears welled in my eyes.

“Shut up and listen. While you were napping I went through your bag. I found the note your folks left you. You are in deep shit and I know what you’re thinking. See the minister, plead with your folks, and be the dutiful little boy. It’s a plan, and if it’s the one you’ve got your heart set on, I’ll drive you to town now so you can talk to the minister.

“But I’m going to offer you another plan, one that I think, deep down, a boy like you really wants. You see, I’m not stupid. I’ve seen you grow up, I’ve seen you blush in my shop when I touch you, I’ve seen you wait outside the shop to watch me ride my bike home, and I’ve seen that boner under my black cape twice a month for the last 3 years.

“I think what you really are is a first-class candidate to be a barberboy. Now I know you don’t really know the full meaning of that term but I’m offering you a chance to learn what it means, and who you really are.

“Instead of going back to your folks I’m offering you a chance to stay with me, work for me, finish high school, and after a three month apprenticeship, choose your next step in life. I’ll feed you for that three months, clothe you, and put a roof over your head.

“You’ll tell everyone in school that you’re working for me at the farm and barbershop to earn extra money for college. You’re folks won’t say anything because they’ve basically disinherited you. I’ll even make a small weekly deposit to your savings account in case you decide to go to college.

“You’ll learn to call me ‘Sir’ without constant prompting, you’ll shine shoes and boots at the shop, you’ll keep the barbershop spotless, you’ll do all the farm work I ask you to do, you’ll sleep in the barn, and you’ll do other services for me as I request them.

“You did a good job in the barn today so I know you can work. If you work like that over the next three months I’ll respect you, I’ll teach you, I’ll whip you into shape, and hopefully I’ll learn to trust you. And I’ll make you grow as human being. So which is it. To the minister’s house tonight or do you want to start an apprenticeship?”

I was stunned. I could barely breathe. It was more than I could comprehend. Steve just continued to stare at me.

“Sir, I would like to stay here, Sir.”

“Then your apprenticeship begins now. Push that footstool back and get on your knees.”

I did as he said, my head spinning.

“I want my boots cleaned now.”

I looked about for a shoeshine kit or brush or shoe polish.

“You’ll only need your tongue. Get to work.”

He pushed my face to his left boot and I slowly began to lick. Above me I could hear a low growl in Steve’s throat. My dick began to throb.

As I tongued that boot, humiliated at first by even agreeing to do so, I slowly grew more and more avid in my work. Above me I could hear Steve undo his belt. I could hear him tug at the buttons of his 501s and I heard him spit, probably into his hand. The growls continued, slowly at first then more quickly as I switched over to his right boot. I could hear him yanking on his dick, the slurping of spit mixing with precum. I worked my tongue over every square inch of those boots, growing almost hungry for the taste and texture on my tongue.

As the growls started coming with every breath he took I knew he was close to coming. I plunged my face on to that boot and licked with every ounce of energy I had. I inhaled the aroma of the leather, drinking it in, a musty richness sending me into a sensory overload. Above me I heard a guttural, long, loud gasp. I could feel his load hitting my head, my neck, and the back of my shirt. If I thought I could have gotten away with it, I would have put my hands on my own throbbing dick and burst my own load in probably seconds.

“Stop. Stay kneeling with your head down. Good boy.”

A moment later he stood and lifted me up. I kept my chin down, almost afraid to look at him. He lifted my chin and looked directly, deeply inside me.

“Good job, boy. Now out to the barn. You are NOT to masturbate this evening. Is that clear? Set the alarm for 6:00. You’ve got a lot of work to do before I take you to school in the morning.”

I half stumbled, half floated to the barn. I set the alarm and climbed into the loft. My aching cock leapt from my pants as I pulled them off to crawl into my make-shift bed. I could follow Steve’s instructions about not touching but was afraid I’d have wet dreams that night as aroused as I was. Still, I was exhausted, emotionally and physically, and fell into an almost blissful sleep as I wondered what was in store for me.

The next morning the blanket was yanked off me. Steve stood at the foot of my bed. Throwing a hooded sweatshirt at me, he said,

“The alarm would have gone off in 10 minutes. Thought I would be your personal alarm this morning. Get up, get dressed, put on that sweatshirt and meet me outside.”

My morning hard-on was huge. It took everything I had to relax enough to get a load of piss out. I tugged on my jeans and t-shirt, the sweatshirt, socks and boots, and headed out to meet Steve. He stood just outside the door, both horses saddled and ready to go.

“Get on. These horses, like you, need some exercise. We’ll ride for about a half hour, then you’ll brush them down and cool them off. Then you shower with the hose in the barn, put on clean clothes and meet me in the kitchen.”

We mounted the horses and began a great ride through his back pastures and woods. I was never great at riding, but watching Steve was inspiring. The way his ass fit in the saddle was near perfection. I purposefully fell a few steps behind every chance I could just to gaze at it those watermelon-sized mounds of muscle gripping the leather. When we were in sight of the barn he kicked the sides of his horse and set out in a full gallop. My horse took no urging but fell right in stride with his companion. I was hanging on for dear life when the horses pulled to a screeching halt at the barn door.

Steve merely dismounted, dropping the reins in my hand, and headed for the house. I quickly took care of the horses, hosed myself off after taking care of them, and dressed the best I could with the last clean shirt and jeans I had. As I approached the kitchen I could smell bacon frying. I knocked, unsure if I should enter without doing so. The door opened and Steve pointed to a chair at the table. No words–just a point. Was he mad at me? It shook me a little.

A plate of bacon, eggs, and home fries was set in front of me. We ate in silence, my keeping my head down all the time. As we finished the food, I squeaked a

“Thank you, Sir.”

I got up quickly picked up all the dishes and set out for the sink. Steve left the room. After scrubbing and drying them all I heard Steve coming back in the room. He had on his leather jacket and held a second jacket and helmet in his hands.

“These are for you to wear when you’re on the bike with me. Take good care of them. Do not take them to school, but leave them at the shop each day. When we are alone you are to call me ‘Sir’ at all times. I will address you as ‘barberboy’ or ‘boy.’ When in hearing of other people you will STILL call me ‘Sir’ and I will address you as ‘Jack.’

“Yes, Sir, but everyone knows me as John or Johnny.”

“And today you are being re-christened to a name I like. To me you’ll be ‘Jack.’ When we get to the shop I expect you take care of any cleaning that might need to be done before I open. The you walk to school, you fucking apply yourself, and immediately after school you’ll come directly to the shop where I’ll have plenty of work lined up for you. Now get this jacket and helmet on. We’re running late, barberboy.”

And life fell into a pattern that first month: morning work, school, after school work at the shop, more work at the farm, homework in the loft, exhaustion and sleep. Saturdays were spent in the shop working full-time, Sundays on the farm tackling larger projects. Two or three nights a week I would be called into the living room after finishing the dishes. No words had to be exchanged, Sir just pointed at his boots, and I was immediately was on my knees with tongue flying into grateful action. Never was I allowed to touch myself during these times, but after the first boot-licking episode Sir had granted me the privilege to masturbate when I returned to the hay loft. And this I did most gratefully. Being 18 I still measured an orgasm by how far I could shoot. More than once I’d shot in an ear, or an eye, but that first time he let me jack-off I hit the wall nearly a foot behind my pillow.

And twice daily, six days a week, I would put on a leather jacket, zip up the front and sleeves, don a motorcycle helmet and hold on to Sir, tightly grabbing his waist as we made our way to town or back home again. My nostrils would fill with the scent of his jacket and on our in-bound trips I was glad we went directly to the back door of the shop so that I could get in the shop and at least begin to lose my rock hard erection before I walked to school from the shop.

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