Chapter 1

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Clifford and Brian Hagen, farm men and brothers, drove slowly up route three, also known as “Longhorn Trail road,” sharing, an appreciation for things quiet and beautiful.

County route three, is a road about as rural as a road can get. For sure, this is cow country in Abilene Kansas about 150 miles west of Kansas City.

The Hagen boys, known around Abilene as cowboys, own a farm on Longhorn Trail, left to them by their parents. It is not much of a farm any longer. The barns are in rundown condition, fences need mending, and most of the animals sold off and gone. However, the house they keep in good condition.

Cliff raises chickens that he tends to mostly for eggs. Brian takes care of the riding horses on what they call a ranch. It is not much of a chore; they have five horses, not like the days when their dad had eighty.

Both men ride horses and enter the county fair each year in the horse jumping competition. They are not very good at that either, and the horses are getting older.

When fair time rolls around, the Hagan boys are there. They do not give a hoot about the midway, games, or amusement rides, only the barns where farm studs and boys hang out. They are hoping to meet a cowboy or two who is gay. It never happens, but they do it anyway.

Farming can be a hard chore, making for hard men, so for the Hagen’s, the barn is the call of the wild.

Women flirt, because Cliff and Brian are sexy, and they will flirt back, but it ends there. From front to back, Cliff and Brian are entertaining to see including super personalities, great laughs and walking as if molesting the air, with their legs. Their hair frames waves around their ears and forehead covered by a black Stetson hat for Cliff and a white hat for Brian. Hot stuff in a small town, not bad – not bad at all

The town folks (some anyway), think they are wife searching, but truth be known, they are hoping to connect with dudes.

Now the Hagen boys, approaching forty, are authentic men looking for a threesome, a foursome, or whatever the hell, they can muster up.

Masculine in stature, with plenty of stature hidden beneath the jeans and boots they wear, pretty much describes what the public sees. Behind the scene, however, like 1880 cowboys, their lives are much different.

During the summer, they take turns driving the excursion train on the old Smoky Valley Railroad, a heritage railway located in Abilene, Kansas. A non-profit organization offering public excursion train rides May through October.

The town of Abilene is small and boring, so when an event happens to bring people to town. The Hagen’s are there too.

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“I’m tired,” said Cliff who was driving.

“TIRED! – Bullshit, you’re not doing anything but sitting and steering. I’m doing the watching.”

“I’m driving, I’m watching,” remarked Cliff. “You are such a jackass, only looking at the lake. Watch the road, not the lake.”

Such talk between these brothers was normal. They were more than family; they were friends, the best possible friends one could imagine.

As they bounced along the barely travelled country road, the well-used pickup truck belonging to Cliff did a fair amount of shaking and sputtering. It was nothing serious, just part of the day.

Brian kept an eye out for wildlife in the road. There was always deer; however, he was more concerned about small animals, not so easy to see. Turtles and rabbits often crossed the road, for no other reason, than to get to the other side. Yeah, it’s an old joke, but Brian liked saying it.

He rested his arm on the open window with his eyes glued to the passing scenery. Sure, Brian was watching the road, but Belvidere Lake as well.

The County owned the lake, and Cliff would fish there along with some town folks respecting the land and environment. No boats allowed on the lake and no camping either. However, fishing permitted – not a bad deal.

Belvidere Lake, although small, was pristine and not spoiled by camps with septic runoff in the water, boats, and trash left by campers.

For as long as the Hagen boys could remember, Belvidere Lake rested undisturbed by people.

Every place, one looked, was rural. Farms along the road were set back a ways, not having the same view as did Clifford and Brian.

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“STOP – stop the truck,” exclaimed Brian almost in a panic. He was upright with his head halfway out the window. He clearly saw something upsetting.

“What – I don’t see anything in the road,” Cliff responded almost as wildly as his jackass brother did. However, the truck did come to an immediate stop.

A bulldozer had ripped up pastureland and pushed trees out of the way creating a roadway to the lake. The road was not finished, but drivable coated with gravel. A crew of men gathered near the water’s edge.

OMG there is building going on, meaning the land has been sold and being developed. That means people, and people meant problems, at least in the minds of the Hagen brothers.

There were several bulldozers and front-end loaders clearing land and grading a second road along the lake on the far side. A contractor with construction plans in his hand was talking to somebody who appeared to be the property owner.

Brian immediately thought he was some ‘zero’ character. Cliff drove within twenty feet of where they were standing.

“Hello there gentlemen, sorry to be pulling in like this, but we live across the road, it’s the farm on the hill. I’m Brian and this is my brother Clifford Hagen.”

“I’m Rick Sanderson; I represent the National Commercial Bank of Abilene. The bank owns the lake and the property, not me,” he said smiling.

“I thought the County owned the property,” added Brian looking at Rick, the man he called a zero. Actually, he was quite nice, friendly, and good-looking eye candy. “Dang, he can’t be much older than thirty nine,” thought Brian.

“With overnight changes going on around here, you men are curious. Am I correct?” Sanderson remarked.

“Well yeah, we live here, so yes; curious is a good word to use. Don’t you think so brother Brian?”

“Brother Cliff, the word is perfect, I am curious as hell.”

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“The Commercial Bank purchased the land from the county; it’s one of those simple but confusing things. However, it is still private,” said Sanderson.

“How u figure?” asked Cliff. “I mean how it is still a private lake, if the county no longer owns it. Why the two roads?” he asked.

The board of directors, decided to build cabins here for their employees to use as a summer retreat; at least those employees who care to come here for the summer.

The cabins are no charge for employees to use; however, campers supply their own blanket and sheets and of course, food. No boats or misuse of the land allowed (just fishing and swimming). Camping is not open to the public. It’s strictly private.

“That sounds decent,” remarked Cliff.

I see on the architects drawing where a meeting room and kitchen is also being built.” Rick added, holding the drawings so Brian could look at them.

Brian stood close to Rick, almost touching him. He could sense heat radiating from Rick’s body at least he thought he could.

Rick smelled like fresh strawberries, Brian was positive about that, yikes simply delicious. Dang, this was nuts, all he could do was pretend to look at the building plans, hoping that Rick wouldn’t move away from him – but he did.

“There will be a few well maintained cabins on the east side of the lake only, continued Rick. “ Each cabin has a holding tank for sewage that Dickinson County, Dept. of public works, will empty. No septic tanks or drain fields, so nothing will seep into the ground. Electricity and fresh water is already on that side of the lake.”

The Hagen farm overlooked Belvidere Lake so of course, Brian and Clifford were interested in the news. “Any more questions,” asked Rick Sanderson.

“Nope,” they both replied. “That’s quite the rundown, thanks,” said Cliff.

“It was my pleasure,” replied Rick rolling up the building plans and putting a rubber band around them.

“I gotta say you smell really nice,” added Brian, just like strawberries.

“Ha-ha, thanks, you’re the first guy who ever told me that,” answered Rick very politely. “Dang, imagine that!”

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Back on the farm that evening, Brian sitting next to his brother Clifford put his arm around his neck and they started to wrestle.

“Cut the crap, leave me the fuck alone. Don’t you want to talk about the lake” asked Cliff.

“We already talked about it, there isn’t anything we can do, and you’re not the bank president.”

“I know twerp, I just thought talking would make us feel better.” Replied Cliff, with his leg thrown over his brother’s crotch.

“Bullshit – you know what would make me feel better!” stressed Brian. Both men were gay in their own special way, using their cocks as play toys.

“Clifford’s dick grew like a cannon, fit for a British war ship. When he pulled it out during his teenage years, it made Brian a believer. He never got tired of playing with it.

The farm was definitely rural nestled in the hillside. Moving to the city frightened them with violence they saw on the news. Of course, not every big city was like that, however they were hard to convince. They had been to Kansas City and didn’t like it. It wasn’t violent, just busy, and they felt out of place.

They used each other for sex, and finding a different man was limited. However, they both wanted to enlarge on that idea, but it never happened. In truth, anything of substance can be a life style plan. They often bumbled the next step, whenever they tried. So much for a life style plan!

The county fair each year was a feeble attempt to meet somebody, but it was just that – FEEBLE, and another dead end.

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They were cowboys country bumpkin’s content to barn fuck like their ancestress did long before they were even born.

It wasn’t wrong for them to fondle crotches when they were alone. They survived blowjobs since their teenage years. It felt so right, how could it be wrong?

However, the time eventually came when Brian wanted to get butt fucked, and that was all she wrote. Cliff added it to the recreation chart. They knew little about top or a bottom. It was simply, whoever got there first.

“That’s pretty hard – wanna?” asked Brian, rubbing the back of his hand across Clifford’s swollen crotch.

“Let’s flip for it, - heads you’re a bottom – tales a top, call it,” said Cliff.

“Yeow, – I’ve got ‘heads’ – looks like I have to open up with one leg on your shoulder.” Brian babbled grinning, “duh, guess I’m the bottom!”

“You fucker – you cheated, “you want to be on the bottom,” mumbled Cliff with hands on Brian’s sculptured cowboy ass. “ Okay ready?” Cliff asked.

“Brian pulled off his jeans throwing them on the floor. I hope I am not too hot to handle. However, I was born ready.” he replied – believe it!” 

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To be continued...