Chapter 2

Colt approached cautiously. He could not resist looking at him. Colt thought only women could be beautiful. Abe wasn’t a woman, far from it, but he was beautiful.  Colt trembled afraid of Abe, but so wanting to be there.

“What are you looking at kid?”

“I’m seventeen, I am not a kid.”

“Yeah, I supposed you’re not.”

“That’s a good looking pecker you got there,” Colt mumbled nervously.

“Wanna touch it?”  Abe smirked.

“Naw, you will tell, and pa will beat the hide off me.”  

“Will not – go ahead and hold it. I don’t tell people anything that I do.”  

Colt never replied, instead he ran all the way back to the house in time to go inside with everybody else.

Minutes later Abe came back dripping wet with beads of water in his beard and hair, but looking clean and glowed with amazing white teeth.  Hatti handed him some muslin cloth to dry himself.

Colt’s ma sliced the bread and Bart fetched homemade wild strawberry jam from the cellar, under the house. 

There was a pot of three-day old coffee, sitting on the stove. The grounds used over and over, with chicory added to the pot. It wasn’t good. It was very black, bitter and bad tasting, but they drank it anyway.   

Abe paid no attention to Colt speaking mostly to his pa about cattle.   All he said to Colt was, “so long,” when they left.

“That was a surprise,” said Hatti. “Company doesn’t come this way often and they seemed decent.” 

“Yup, maybe they were a little too trustworthy, the way I see it. You can’t be telling folks that you are caring a wad of money in your saddlebags to purchase cattle.  That’s takin a chance,” said Chester.

“Uhhh, they look like they can handle themselves,” said Bart. “I wouldn’t want to mess with them.”

“Auh, they were cowboys, probably getting drunk by now and chasing after dance hall floozies in Ogallala,” added Bart’s ma.

“Now ma, don’t be fillin the boys head with sin. They are too young to hear about them saloon whores.” said pa.

“We are not too young for any of that, we don’t want to upset you,” said Bart, who was nineteen and looked older. “Colt and I know all about that stuff.”

“Never you mind boys, you don’t know a thing. Go put some fresh straw in the hen house but sweep it out first.” said their pa.

“C’mon, let’s go shovel shit,” said Colt to his brother.” they giggled and ran from the house.

The chickens squawked and flashed around outside the coop in their elongated fenced in yard. Bart pushed a shovel along the pee and shit stained floor towards the door. Colt shoveled grinning and muttering as if he was having fun.

Colt was aching to tell his brother about Abe. However, he was certain that Bart would think he was lying because Abe completely ignored him.

Talking together about sex was common. They were brothers sharing a double bed, and stroking each other off, after dark.

In the morning, they never talked about ‘pecker pulling.’ Their pa never knew, but their ma suspected, turning a blind eye, to many things. That’ is what mother’s do, figuring they would outgrow it, thinking boys will be boys.

“What’s so funny?” asked Bart.

“I’ll tell you later. If I get up the nerve, but you have to swear not to blab.”

“Serious stuff?”

“Nah, dirty stuff, well sort of dirty,” he mumbled.”

“When do you want to talk about it,” asked Bart.

“Tonight and you can jerk my doodle. I know I will be hard.”

“I can do that.”

They finished shoveling out the chicken coop. They looked mucky and didn’t smell very good. They were used to smelling like the horses, but chicken shit is nasty, dusty and the odor lingers in your nostrils.

Pa had gone to the upper range to mend a broken fence and Hatti was in the house, stacking wood by the stove. The temperature was warm in the daytime, but cold on the prairie at night. Sometimes, they burned wood for a few hours.

“Ma,” – “Colt and I finished the chickens and are going to the creek to wash this god-awful mess. That’s where we will be, if you need us for anything.”

“A-huh, grab a chunk of the lye soap and wash those clothes too, while you are there.”

“Okay ma!” and disappeared through the brush to the stream that was out of sight, from the house.”

Showing the exact spot where Abe was standing naked earlier that morning, Colt told Bart the story.

‘Why didn’t you touch it? I might have done it, although I would rather touch a girl.”

“Next time, I will.”

“What next time? Brother, you don’t know a thing. He is in some whore’s room, probably poking that pecker into some nasty hole, liquored up and sweatin bullets.  He is not giving you that chance again,” continued Bart.

“I dunt care,” replied Colt.

They got into the water scrubbing their clothes clean with soap, and then putting them onto the bushes to dry in the sun.

Back in the water, face to face, they used their hands scooping water over each other’s body. They washed, fondled their crotches to wash the smell away. When Bart ran his finger across Colt’s mouth and lips, pretending to brush his teeth, Colt began sucking his brother’s finger.

They both got quickie erections. Up to now, the only sexual thing they did was to pecker play a game they called, “make it spit.”  They saw nothing queer about it. Pecker pulling was a game.

Bart led his younger brother out of the water and laid him down resting on a strip of cloth, brought along for a towel.

He lay next to Colt putting his finger into Colt’s mouth.

“Suck it brother, see how that feels. Here, give me your hand and I will show you.”

He sucked his finger and Colt copied him doing everything together. “We better stop,” mumbled Bart, who was so sex driven, and deprived of girls, he almost cried.

“Yeaaa, we better,” Colt agreed too weak to think about what was decent.  He was seventeen, but already a grown man.

“Colt kissed Bart’s stomach and then his pecker licking it. In his mind, he was kissing Abe, sliding his mouth over the sticky head bathing it with his tongue.

 “Ohhh friggin – Bart quivered his thighs and erupted, never cuming that quickly before. Colt spit it to the ground thinking it would make him sick.

Colt went back into the water to rinse his mouth and Bart followed splashing water to feel normal again. They knew so little, yet willing to try anything that felt good.

They dried off and put their damp clothes back on, saying very little.

“You okay?” Bart eventually asked.

“Sure, I wonder how many brothers do this sort of thing.”

“Probably the horny ones around someplace. We gotta keep this quiet.”

“We keep everything quiet,” agreed Colt.

“Gaud yes, pa would put us both in a home for crazy people.”

“Yep, you know he would.”

“I love my brother, but I like girls. That’s the way it is,” admitted Bart.

“I love you too, and I have a bigger pecker,” bragged Colt.

“Nah, not so big; you’re one of those homos they talk about in the east.”

“Then don’t talk about it!”

Bart laughed, putting his arm around his brother. “C’mon, pecker head, ma is frying trout with greens and boiled potatoes for supper. Rush you to the house.” Off they sprinted; so nice to be young!

They set down for supper as a family thankful for what they had. The boys were mature now, grown men having big boy needs, and hating when those needs happens. Best of all, they were first class friends, sharing everything.

Bart was determined to find a girl from whom he could get a poke. He might have to settle for a stinky wet saloon whore. The young girls, on the farms, never pulled their bloomers down, for a poke, unless they were married.

******

Colt found himself struggling with sexual desires, which did not include women, only Abe. He was thinking how forward Abe could be with strangers. He wished he had the nerve to be that way.

“Yup, it was true. Colt was like those east coast homos. He hated the words in that expression, but liked being a homo.  The word ‘gay’ meant happy at the time.

All he needed was to wait. Cowboys have a way of finding other cowboys. For somebody like Colt, it was a cruel time, to be a man’s man.

Some cowpokes were hombres, rough and often dangerous. Colt had to tread carefully, or go the straight route with women and hope for the best. However, women were unlikely, and he shuttered at the thought.

He was a Nebraskan bred farm boy, soon to be a man and not about to ignore his genuine self-worth. He was seriously comfortable with Abe’s masculinity soaking his brain and clogging his thought process.

******

To be continued……