Down on the Ranch
 with Grandpa
(Revised)
 by: Tom Borden

© 2008 by the author

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Chapter 4 

We settled our sweaty bodies in rockers on the veranda. There was still that smell of sex and cum in the night air whenever the breeze blew over us. I loved it. I could hardly take my eyes off of Peter's beautiful strong legs as he stretched them out in front of him. The starlight made the soft hair on them glisten like threads of gold. God, how I loved having a beautiful older brother.

Grandpa leaned back and looked up into the sky. "There ain't much that can beat sittin' out under a Texas sky at night. Look at them fuckin' stars. Bright as beacons. Reminds me of the old cattle drives. The only thing missin' here is a fire and a bunch of horny fuckers sittin' around it jerkin' their dicks and tellin' dirty stories."

"Well how about us?" Peter said. "We're a bunch of horny fuckers, aren't we?"

Grandpa laughed. "I rightly suppose we are."

"Was jerking off all you ever did out there at night?" I asked.

"Shit no, boy. I told ya before. Whenever we set up camp fer the night, most of us could look forward to a good cornholin'. Them sweaty, stinkin' asses after a day's ride were ripe fer a good fuck. I have to tell ya, them were the days. We had one little cowboy with us that was the hottest little fucker ya ever seen. He was jist a fuckin' runt. No more'n five feet. His name was Butthole. Not really, but that's what we called `im. He had a cock on `im like a fuckin' bull. And he had a blazin' asshole that was open fer business anytime. He always kept it good and greasy with bacon grease he got from the chuck wagon. It made his asshole taste mighty fuckin' good. He'd take fifteen, sixteen cocks up that tunnel, one right after t'other. He was a tough little cocksucker."

"What happened to him, Grandpa?" I asked. "Is he still around?"

"Well let me tell ya. When he got back here on the ranch after one of them fuckin' drives. I see'd him fuck an old goat, right over there in the goat yard. He even tried to fuck an old settin' hen once. Shit, before he was through with that bird, the whole place was covered with feathers and squawkin' like ya never heard before. But one day he got a hankerin' to fuck the bull. I was watchin' and I warned the little fucker to git away from that animal. Well, old Butthole come up behind him and dropped his pants, Jist as soon as he lifted up that bull's tail, it reared back and kicked poor Butthole's balls right up into his fuckin' stomach. Ya know, them motherfuckin' bulls don't take no shit. We gave Butthole a proper burial in our family plot. Bless his fuckin' soul."

Grandpa looked down at his cock, which was now rock hard and bobbing up and down a little.

"Well, lookee here. Ever time I thinks of that little turd's gaping asshole, I git horny. Wish he was still here. I'll bet he's up there in Heaven right now fuckin' some of them male angels."

I reached over and swiped some of Grandpa's dripping semen off his penis and licked my fingers. "Grandpa, you said Butthole took fifteen or sixteen cocks up his ass, one after the other. Did you ever get fucked like that?"

"Boy, I'm ashamed to say I didn't. My ass was so fuckin' sore from ridin' all day, I think the most I could take up there was meby six or seven cocks before my ass started killin' me. But ya know, a good load of warm creamy cum does wonders to sooth a burning asshole."

Listening to Grandpa, I was really getting horny. Both Peter's and my cocks were stiff as boards. I took Peter by the hand and we went to the edge of the veranda and sat down with our legs dangling over. When we started kissing and running our hands over each other's body, I heard Grandpa move over to the chair next to my dad.

"Look at them two sweet little fuckers, Joe. I never seed Peter so happy. He's got a little brother back in his life agin."

My dad said, "You did a good thing, Dad. I hope you don't mind my saying so, you're a tough old bird, but you're the kindest, most generous granddaddy anyone could have."

"Aw, what d'ya mean, son?" Grandpa said. "I'm the meanest old son-of-a-bitch in Texas. Let's git offa here and down on the grass. Lemme show ya how mean I can be. Now git down there on yer back."

Grandpa threw my dad's legs up and plunged his face into his ass crack. He started to chew out my dad's asshole like a hungry wolf. It was such a horny sight to see my Grandpa eating out my dad's ass. Dad motioned for me to come over to him and sit on his face. He liked to do that so he could eat my ass out from underneath. And he liked to feel my balls dragging over his eyes and nose and mouth.

"Come on, Peter," I said. "Let's have an ass-eating daisy chain."

Peter jumped down from the veranda and backed his ass up to my mouth where I dined on his warm, sweaty hole.

The cool air was filled with the sound of slurping and moaning. We were all tired, and after awhile, we all just collapsed in a pile of flesh on the grass.

Grandpa finally said, "Shit, I think we better call it a fuckin' night. Five in the mornin' comes around pretty fuckin' quick."

He stood up and took a long piss into the bushes by the verandah.

Peter said, "Grandpa, can Brian stay with me tonight in my room?"

"You don't have to ask me that. Yer brothers. Ya can do any fuckin' thing ya want."

Our clothes were still up in Grandpa's bedroom. Peter and I decided to leave them there and just walk to Peter's room naked. When we approached the bunk house, I saw another cowboy just coming out of the latrine a few yards away. I could see him looking at us as we walked into Peter's room.

We were pretty tired and we just lay down in each other's arms. After kissing and caressing each other's bodies for awhile, we went to sleep.

The next morning, Grandpa had me doing some chores in the horse barn, while Peter did some repairs to a tractor in the big barn next to me. After a few minutes, I heard a major ruckus coming from that barn where Peter was. I ran over there to see what was happening. Peter was up in the hay loft with at least three or four other guys. I had trouble seeing from down below, but there was a lot of angry shouting, and I could hear what they were saying.

"Yer a Goddamn fuckin' queer," said one of the men. "Does the old man know he's got a fuckin' fairy on his crew? Does he know you been fuckin' his grandson?"

I heard Peter shout, "What are ya talkin' about?"

"I seen ya takin' `im naked in yer fancy room last night. And I seen through the window ya kissin' `im and lovin' him like a fuckin' pansy fag."

I took a few steps up the ladder so I could see them. They had Peter naked down on his stomach in the hay. Three men were holding down his arms and legs. The fourth one dropped his pants and dragged out his humongous hard cock.

"I hate girly men and I'm gonna show ya what a good fucking is like. You guys hold him down firmly so he don't move."

I couldn't stand by and yelled out. "Leave him alone. He's my brother."

The man turned his face toward me. "Aw, shit. It's the kid." He kicked Peter's ass hard with his boot.

When he started for me, I scampered down the ladder and out of the barn. Grandpa was just walking across the yard after having been out doing a little early morning Quail hunting. He had his rifle with him. I told him what was happening. He ran into the barn and up the ladder, with me following.

"What the fuck is you sons-of-bitches doing?" He waved his rifle at them. "Git offa `im and let `im up."

"He's a fuckin' queer," one of them said. "And he was lovin' yer grandson last night."

"Take yer clothes off," Grandpa shouted, waving his rifle again. "All a ya. Ya hear me? All a ya. Any of ya who ain't naked in the next twenty seconds gits his balls blown off."

All four of them tore at their clothes as fast as they could and stood naked before us.

Grandpa pointed his rifle at two of them. "You. I want you to git down and fuck his ass."

"What?" the man said. "I ain't gonna . . . ."

Grandpa cocked his rifle. "I said fuck him. Now."

He turned to the other two and told them to do the same thing.

They knew from experience that Grandpa meant business when he ordered them to do things. I watched the four men get into position and start fucking. The two who were getting fucked were wincing and crying out in pain.

Grandpa poked each of the fuckers in the ass with the barrel of his rifle. "Fuck `em harder, you wimpy fagots."

One of them said, "Don't call me that."

"I'll call you motherfuckers any fuckin' thing I please. When ya shoot yer load, git up and switch positions so you can git fucked yerself."

It was obvious to me when they had both shot their loads. Going through an orgasm is hard to hide. But neither of them pulled out. Grandpa looked closely and when he saw a little cum oozing out of the other guy's asshole, he poked them again with his rifle and ordered them to change positions.

Peter sat off to the side looking miserable. I sat next to him.

"Brian," Peter said, "I didn't mean to cause all this trouble."

"It's okay," I said. "When Grandpa gets through with them, you'll never see them again. I'm sure he's going to fire them."

"I still feel bad about it. Maybe it's my fault. I shoulda known someone would see us last night."

When the four had finished fucking, each holding their hurting asses, Grandpa aimed his rifle toward the open hayloft door and fired twice.

"Now git yer fuckin' asses off this ranch. I'll be kind to ya. I'll give ya ten fuckin' minutes to git yer gear and away from my sight. If yer not gone by then, you'll git yer balls shot off. You fuckin' rapscallions."

Although I hated those four cowboys for trying to rape Peter, I was secretly sorry to see them go. They had really hot bodies to die for, and I wouldn't have minded having their humongous cocks up my ass or in my mouth. As they fucked each other, the sight of their cute little asses bobbing up and down got me really hot. As I watched, I put my hand in my pocket and jacked myself off. I don't think Grandpa or Peter noticed. But when I was through, the load of cum in my underwear started running down my leg.

The three of us joined my dad on the verandah and told him what had just happened.

"I knew something like this was bound to happen," Grandpa said. "Them four was kinda hot-headed from the time I hired `em. It's a sad fuckin' thing, because they was real good workers. Ya never know about some of these cocksuckers before ya hire `em. It's like you, Peter. You was such a fuckin' horse's ass, rough as a sand spur after I hired ya. But you was a good fuckin' worker, and I jist had the feelin' I could beat some fuckin' sense into ya."

"I'm glad ya did, Grandpa," Peter said.

Just then, I saw tears rolling out of Peter's eyes. I hate to see guys cry, only because it makes me want to cry.

"I've been a lotta trouble to ya, Grandpa, since I been here." Peter wiped his sleeve over his eyes.

Grandpa sat close to Peter and put his arm around his shoulders and wiped some of Peter's tears off his cheek with his thumb. "Come on, my boy. Yer nothin' but a fuckin' joy to me. I wouldn't of accepted ya as my grandson if ya warn't."

Peter threw his arms around Grandpa and pressed his cheek against his. "I love you so much, Grandpa."

Grandpa patted Peter on the back and kissed him. "Aw, come on, my boy, yer gonna get me all blubbery in a minute. You don't want to see this tough old fart that way. Now I thinks it's time fer you to git back to the horses. Them fuckin' animals is hungry."

Peter kissed Grandpa and then he kissed me. He leapt off the veranda and ran to the horse barn.

Grandpa said, "I love that boy. Jist as much as if he was my real kin. I love to kiss him. He's got the smoothest fuckin' cheeks. Like a baby's. And his lips are so soft and sweet. Shit. I love to watch as those lips open up and curl around my fuckin' cock."

Grandpa always considered himself as tough as a boiled owl, and never used the word "sweet" unless he really meant it.

We sat quietly for a few moments, and then I noticed Grandpa's eyes were brimming with tears. I didn't say anything and looked away. He wouldn't have wanted me to notice. He really was a tough old fart, but he loved his family so much. He couldn't hide that from anyone.

I left him and my dad and went into the horse barn to see Peter.

"I'm sorry back there," Peter said. "I didn't mean to . . . ."

I put my arms around him. "It's okay. I cry a lot myself."

"But yer jist a kid, Brian. I'm grown up now and I'm not supposed to cry."

Over the years since those days I spent with Grandpa down on the ranch, I've realized a man didn't need to be a kid to cry. Having seen Grandpa's tears so long ago, I've always known it was okay.

The next day, Grandpa tacked a "Help Wanted" sign out on the gate from the main road to the ranch. Ranch hands often moved from ranch to ranch looking for work. Some stayed only a few weeks, but there were always a few who stayed for a good long time. He now had four ranch hands to replace.

That afternoon, four applicants came straggling in about an hour apart. They were all strong and rough looking young men. Grandpa interviewed each of them on the verandah. The first two left rather quickly when it became clear to them that Grandpa was going to be too strict with them. He finally told the third one he couldn't use him and let him go.

But he was willing to give the fourth one a try. Grandpa told him if he didn't work out in a couple of days, he'd be out of there. His name was Dirk Howard. Grandpa said it sounded like a movie actor's name. Dirk had round-up experience and knew how to maneuver a horse while doing it. But a couple of years before he came to us, he'd been a rodeo cowboy up around Dallas, until he broke his leg and put an end to that career.

Dirk looked like a city guy, suave and well-spoken with a smooth sound to his voice. I'd never have guessed he'd been a range cowboy. I could picture him in a suit and tie and wing-tip shoes.

Dirk's first assignment the next day was to shovel horse manure out of the stalls in the horse barn. I stood at the barn door and watched him. He'd taken off his shirt, and his well developed torso muscles glistened with sweat. He was strong and heaved all that heavy wet shit up into the cart like it was nothing. On his way to the next stall, he saw me.

"Hey, kid," he said. "You live here?"

"Yeah. Off and on when I come to visit my Grandpa. I live in San Antonio."

Dirk walked over to me and put his hand on my shoulder. "What's your name?

"Brian."

"How old are you?"

"I'm fifteen."

"Then you're old enough to know how to jerk off. Right?"

"Yes," I said.

"Do you like to jerk off?"

"Yes. Do you?" I could feel the pressure building in my penis as I glanced quickly at the bulge in his jeans.

"Sure," he said. "Maybe we could do it together sometime." He ran his fingers over my cheek.

"Maybe," I said.

He now had both of his hands on my shoulders. He smiled. "Do you want to see my cock?"

He asked the question just as smoothly and casually as though he was asking what time it was.

"I don't know." I was getting a little nervous. I didn't want to do anything with one of the ranch hands without Grandpa knowing about it. I was sure he wouldn't like it.

I started to back away. "I think my Grandpa's looking for me. I think I have to go."

"No, wait a minute," he said. "I want you to see my cock." He unzipped and pulled out his long, fat roll of meat. "Do you like this?"

"Uh, yeah," I said.

"Before you go, do you want to show me yours?"

Almost without thinking, I opened my fly and dragged out my already stiff penis.

Dirk looked at it. "Wow. For a fifteen year-old, you've got a cock that would make any guy happy."

I stood there, not wanting to move, as he knelt down and took hold of my penis. And then he slipped his full lips over it as he cupped my balls in one hand. I felt his tongue encircling it wildly. As I looked down at this gorgeous cowboy with my entire cock down his throat, I felt my orgasm taking hold of me. I grabbed his muscular shoulders as I pumped surge after surge of my cum into his mouth. His skin was moist and warm. He kept my penis in his mouth for several minutes after that, as he ran his fingers between my legs and up into my ass crack.

When he finally pulled off, he said, "Did you like that, son?"

"Yeah."

Dirk stood up and held his own hard cock in his hand. "Would you like to take my load now?"

I wanted it so badly, but I was afraid someone would come in and catch us. He gently put his strong hands on my shoulders and lowered me down to my knees. When he touched his dripping penis to my lips, I just went into a daze and took the entire length of it down my throat. He ran his fingers through my hair as he pumped his hard rod into my throat.

"I'm going to give it to you now," he said. "Are you ready?"

I heard him begin to let out a throaty growl as I felt his penis swell and throb violently against the roof of my mouth. Then came the warm, creamy thickness of his cum. It poured in so fast and hard, I couldn't hold it all or swallow fast enough, and it ran out of my mouth and down my chin in thick pudding-like globs.

He slowly pulled out when his orgasm subsided. He brought me to my feet and bore his blue eyes into mine. He pushed his hat back and smiled.

"Brian, you and I have a life's bond now, don't we? We have each other's sperm in our stomachs. And that means we're bound to each other."

I suddenly felt frightened. What was this man talking about? What did he mean we were bound to each other?

He took both my hands in his. "Promise, you will never tell anyone about this. Promise? Not your grandfather. Not anyone. Promise?

"Yes," I said. "I have to go now."

As I left the barn, I looked back. He was holding his wilted penis and smiling at me. I was kind of scared. I knew I had to tell Grandpa. Somehow he'd find out anyway. He always knew everything that went on at the ranch.

I went back to the house. It was noon, and I found Grandpa and Peter sitting at the kitchen table eating a sandwich. My dad was upstairs packing his suitcase. He'd be driving back to San Antonio that afternoon. He'd agreed to let me stay at the ranch for another two weeks.

I sat down and said, "I've got something to tell you. You know that new ranch hand, Dirk Howard. Well he . . . ."

Grandpa pointed at my face. "Ya gotta a little cum on yer chin, boy. Ya gotta learn how to clean up after ya suck a cock."

Peter looked down at his clasped hands lying in his lap.

"Did ya enjoy it?" Grandpa asked. His eyelids seemed heavier than usual, and his lower lip hung lower than usual.

"Did I . . . what?" I stammered.

"Come on, boy. I jist want to know if ya enjoyed suckin' that fuckin' cowboy's dick."

I hung my head. "I'm sorry, Grandpa."

"Christ. I didn't ask ya to be sorry. I asked ya if ya enjoyed it."

"Yes."

"Well I hope so. I'm gonna let that son-of-a-bitch finish shovelin' all that horse shit, and then his fuckin' ass is history."

"Grandpa," I said, putting my hand on his arm. "He didn't mean any harm."

"Listen, boy, I don't give a fuckin' goddamn what nobody does on this ranch as long as they git my okay. No mother-fucking cowboy's gonna fuck with my grandson . . . either one of ya . . . unless I says it's okay.

"I'm sorry, Grandpa. I was going to tell you. Honest I was."

"Well, ya didn't have to. I could feel it in my balls. That fucker was up to no good. I was gonna keep an eye on him. When I saw ya goin' in that barn, I followed ya and stood outside behind the open door where I could see and hear ya. I figgered somethin' like that would happen."

"I wish you wouldn't fire him, Grandpa. I think he's a nice person."

Later that afternoon when Dirk was shoveling the last of the horse shit into the cart, Grandpa walked in. I ran to the back of the horse barn and stood by the open shutter of one of the stalls.

"Oh, Mr. Crawford," Dirk said as he spread out some new straw in one of the stalls. "I hope you're pleased with how I've done. One of the slats on this stall over here is splintered. I'll repair it as good as new as soon as I wheel this cart out of here."

"Don't bother," Grandpa said. "Jist git yer gear and clear out."

Dirk sounded as though he hadn't heard what Grandpa said. "I met your grandson, Mr. Crawford. He's a fine young man. I'm sure you're proud of him."

"I said git yer gear and clear out."

"You know, Mr. Crawford, he reminds me of my own son, or at least what he might have looked like if he'd lived.

I didn't hear Grandpa say anything.

"But he was killed when he was only six years old. He was the light of my life. But after that, life didn't seem worth living. I contemplated suicide. It's not been easy."

I'd never known Grandpa to be speechless, but he still didn't say anything. I suddenly realized that Dirk now suspected that Grandpa knew what had happened, and he was making every effort to explain it away.

"Mr. Crawford. I don't know what came over me, but when I looked into that young boys eyes, I saw my son. I couldn't help myself. I just needed to have a part of him in me."

"Brian reminds ya of yer son?" Grandpa's voice was subdued.

Dirk turned away slightly and put his hand to his forehead. "And there's something else. I was never going to mention it, but . . . Mr. Crawford, you remind me of my own father. Incredible as it seems."

"Huh?" Grandpa was indeed speechless.

Dirk turned and faced Grandpa and moved slightly toward him. "We loved each other intensely. So much that we shared ourselves with each other intimately.

Dirk gently placed his hand on Grandpa's crotch. "I miss him so much. His loving touch. The feel of his hands on my . . . ." Dirk patted Grandpa's crotch again. "Everything he had down here was mine. And everything I have here was his."

As Dirk turned his back again, I could see Grandpa's bulge getting considerably larger.

Still turned away, Dirk said, "I shouldn't burden you with this, Mr. Crawford. My father was shot to death. He valiantly tried to save his family when thieves broke into our house. Oh, how I miss him. I can hardly look at you because, when I do, I see my dear loving father."

Grandpa took a step forward and put his hand on Dirk's shoulder. "I . . . I'm sorry to hear about your father. The fuckin' world ain't fair sometimes."

Dirk whirled around and threw his arms around Grandpa and sobbed.

Grandpa patted Dirk on the back. "It's okay, Dirk. I understand."

I could see, while Dirk sobbed, he had brought his hand between them and was vigorously squeezing and rubbing Grandpa's now enormous bulge. As I looked, Dirk unzipped Grandpa and dragged out Grandpa's huge hard piece of meat. Then I was amazed and shocked to see Grandpa reaching in and pulling out Dirks hard cock. I watched them as they moved their hips around rubbing their hard cocks together.

"Please, Mr. Crawford. I want it. I need it. I need to taste it."

Grandpa pulled his arms away as Dirk fell to his knees. He took hold of Grandpa's throbbing cock and kissed it.

"I feel as though it's his," Dirk said. "I need it inside of me, Dad. I mean Mr Crawford. Please. Please fuck me. Please. Please."

As Grandpa stood staring at Dirk, Dirk dropped his pants and ripped off his shirt. He fell back onto a large bale of hay and raised his legs as high as he could. "Please. Please."

Grandpa's eyes seemed as big as saucers as he stared down into Dirk's large red asshole. He tore off his pants and shirt and plunged his face onto that luscious asshole. He slurped with great vigor. Then Grandpa mounted the young cowboy, and I watched his blazing hot penis slowly disappearing into Dirk's rectum.

Grandpa pounded his ass like he was driving a stake into the ground. Dirk moaned and moaned, and I could tell that having his ass fucked hard was what he really wanted.

Grandpa roared like a cow giving birth as he shot his load into Dirk's ass. Then he got up and calmly put his clothes back on. He stood with his legs apart and looked down at Dirk who was still lying there, savoring the good fucking he'd just had.

"All right, you pissy-assed fucker," Grandpa said. "Git up and git yer gear and git the fuck off this ranch. Ya got ten fuckin' minutes."

Dirk looked confused as he slowly rose to his feet.

I could see Grandpa's cum running out of Dirk's ass down the back of his leg.

"But, Mr. Crawford," Dirk stammered. "I thought . . . ."

"Yer a fuckin' fraud," Grandpa yelled. "Now git yer ass movin'"

Dirk grabbed his clothes and ran naked out of the barn.

Later, after my dad drove off toward San Antonio, I found Grandpa and Peter once again rocking away on the verandah, each with a can of beer in his hand.

As I climbed up and sat down with them, Grandpa said, "Hey there, boy, did ya enjoy the show?"

"What show?" I said.

"You know what show I'm talkin' about. The big fuck I gave that Dirk guy."

"Oh . . . I . . . ."

"Someday ya gonna learn this old fart's got eyes in the back of his head. I knowed you was watchin' us."

"Oh yeah?"

"I knowed all that sob story about his son and his old man was a bunch of bull-shit. That fucker's a con man. But he had a nice ass, and I thought I'd enjoy fuckin' it before I fired his ass."

Grandpa had a phone call and went inside to answer it.

I looked over at Peter and knew he was feeling bad about me and Dirk sucking each other's dick.

"I'm sorry, Peter. I guess I did something bad. I'm sorry."

"No, you didn't do nothin' bad. I just love ya so much, I . . . ."

I went over to Peter and sat on the floor between his legs. As he ran his fingers through my hair, I put my hand up under his pant leg and along his calf. How I loved the feel of his legs.

"I love you, Peter," I said. "That will never change."

Today, as old men ourselves, Peter and I look back with love in our hearts on the many days and weeks we'd spent with our Grandpa. He was a pugnacious old man, totally innocent of book learning, egotistical and opinionated. And he drank too much beer. He was profane and tyrannical. His most invective profanity was always uncoiled in a string of foul Tex-Mex words that I, at first, was unable to understand, but later came to understand very well. He was a true Tejano, a Texan, born and bred. He spoke a blasphemous and expressive language that was unique to the Texas cowboy, certainly not one that was learned at his mother's knee. He never considered his language sacrilegious or vulgar. To him---as it was to all cowboys---it was merely slang to help make him more clearly understood.

For all of Grandpa's curious and enigmatic ways with language, he was a cagey old man---too smart to be taken in by anyone. He did indeed have eyes at the back of his head. And most important, he understood what it meant to be a man. And he recognized a man's right to engage freely in all the pleasures that God had given men to enjoy. I wondered how a man so complicated could be so loving, so caring. It really didn't matter. He was a son of the rough, wide-open ranges of Texas, and I'm proud to have been his grandson.
 

The End.

Posted: 07/18/08