BROKEN

By Wes Leigh

 

This is a work of fiction intended solely for the entertainment of my readers; any resemblance to any real people or places is purely coincidental. Readers who would like to chat are encouraged to contact me at weston.leigh@protonmail.com.

This story is the property of the author and is protected by copyright laws. The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent.

If you enjoy this story, please support the Nifty archives today with a thoughtful donation by visiting https://donate.nifty.org/.

 

Chapter Ten

 

"I could use that cowboy hug now," I say.

Monty wraps me in his arms. I press my face against his warm chest. He holds me, and doesn't let me go, even when my cock gets a little hard and starts poking him. I don't think it's a problem, `cause I feel something poking me back.

Monty whispers in my ear, "This is a little more than a cowboy hug, Truman."

I giggle and wiggle my hips. "I know."

Monty pulls away, ending the hug. "We'd better stop. Before things get out of hand."

I'm disappointed, but I understand what he means. "Is it because you're working for Poppa?"

He's confused when he hears me ask that. "What do mean, Truman?"

"Isn't that what you said to all of us, that time in the barn? About how Poppa has given you responsibilities here, and you couldn't betray his trust by doing something with his fifteen-year-old daughter? And now you're probably going to tell me the same thing. That you can't be messing around with his thirteen-year-old son."

Monty releases me from our hug and moves back a step. I don't know how I've done it, but somehow my words have injured him. I immediately feel horrible. What is wrong with me today, and why am I messing up every ten seconds?

Monty looks down at his boots, sighs, then looks back up at me. He points at his bed and motions for me to sit back down. I do, but I'm facing sideways now. I don't want to look him in the eye. I'm afraid of what I'll see. Monty sits next to me, and we both stare at the wall. He clears his throat a little, then says, "I did say that, Truman. And I meant it. Every word. But there's an important difference between you and your sister."

"Yeah, I know," I mumble. "She's fifteen and starting to do sex stuff, and I'm only thirteen and don't have a clue what I'm doing and don't even know for sure that I'm gay and—"

Monty places his hand on my leg to stop my rambling. "No, Truman. That's not it."

I turn to look at him, blinking back more tears. "Then what is it, Monty?"

He turns to face me. He's nervous, but he takes a deep breath and says, "I'm not attracted to your sister."

I hear the words. I process them. I put together everything he said into one sentence: There's an important difference between me and my sister, and that difference is he's not attracted to her. My brain begins to draw a conclusion, and my heart begins to pound at the possibility.

There's a sharp knock on the bunkhouse door. I yelp in surprise. Monty's eyes open wide in fear.

Monty stands up quickly and pulls his shirt out of his pants. He has a growing problem there, and the untucked shirt covers it up nicely.

I jump off his bunk and run for the bathroom, closing the door behind me and listening with one ear pressed against the door. I hear my dad's voice asking if Monty has seen me. Monty says I'm in the bathroom. Poppa says something about Momma having cold milk and fresh baked chocolate chip cookies for a snack, if we're interested. Monty tells Poppa we'll be right over.

I wash my hands and face in cold water. It helps lower the tent that's been growing in my pants. I dry my face on a towel and open the bathroom door slowly. Monty is alone, and he's grinning bashfully at me.

"That was close," I say, stepping out into the bunkroom.

Monty blinks, then frowns. "We weren't doing anything wrong, Truman."

"I guess not," I reply, but if we weren't doing anything wrong, why did we both have boners? And I'm also thinking about what Monty said before Dad knocked on the door. I think if we'd had another five minutes, we might have started doing something wrong. Maybe not. Maybe I'm overthinking again. Maybe it's just wishful thinking on my part.

Yes, Monty didn't say he's attracted to me, but I think he is, and I know for sure that I'm attracted to him. I can admit it to myself, and I guess I should tell Monty too.

And I will.

When the time is right.

Just not right now, `cause Momma's chocolate chip cookies are best fresh out of the oven, when they're soft and squishy and fall apart as you pick them up. If they're really hot, they burn your tongue and the stick to the top of your mouth, and then you have to drink milk fast to cool it off. After we eat cookies, I'll tell Monty that I like him, and I hope he'll admit that he likes me too.

͠ ͠ ͠

Man, oh, man, those cookies hit the spot. We don't eat them all, but we do make a huge dent in the first dozen. Momma won't let us have any more, because she's doesn't want us to spoil our supper. She swats my butt as she whooshes us out the door. "Go do your chores, rascal."

Monty and I head out to the barn. I'm in charge. I know everything that has to be done, and I have a great time ordering Monty around. He does whatever I tell him, but he's smirking a little, so I know he thinks it funny that I'm telling him what to do. He doesn't complain. He's a good worker, and I'll have to tell Poppa later that my assistant did a good job and should get a pay raise!

The last chore is feeding the chickens. I point at the sack of feed and tell Monty to scoop out one handful, then spread it on the ground. He squints at me and scoops out the smallest handful he can. I know what he's doing. He's making fun of me for bossing him around.

"Not like that," I say, glaring at him playfully. "A big handful." I reach into the sack and fill my hand with feed, then toss it out for the chickens. But I don't throw it all on the ground. I keep a little in my hand. "Try again," I tell Monty, pointing at the sack. "A full handful of feed this time."

He reaches into the sack, scoops up a generous amount, and opens his hand to show me. I nod and gesture at the chickens. He turns and begins tossing the feed to the chickens, who squawk and flap their wings, fighting for the best morsels.

With a mischievous grin on my face, I reach up and pull back on the collar of Monty's shirt, then open my hand, dropping the grain I was holding down Monty's back.

He jumps and leaps away from me. "You little ..." he starts to say, then stops himself. He pretends to be mad at me, but I can see he's trying not to smile. He dances around for a few seconds, trying to get the feed out of his shirt, but only manages to send it trickling down his back. He tugs his shirt out of his pants, letting most of the particles fall out onto the ground, but then his eyes fly open wide and I know some of it has slipped down inside the back of his pants.

I'm laughing hysterically, watching him dance around, trying to shake out the feed but only making it worse.

He points a finger at me in warning. "Just wait." He pulls off his shirt and hangs it on a nail, then reaches into the back of his trousers, trying to get the grain out. I stare at his body. He has a nice tan and great muscles in his arms and chest. He's not as big as Carson, but I think he's perfect.

I laugh again and grab another handful of feed, throwing it at his chest.

He stops dancing around and rushes me, grabbing double handfuls of grain and dumping them inside the front of my shirt.

I throw a big handful at his head.

He grabs the front of my pants and pulls them away from my body, tossing feed down inside.

It's a free-for-all! Chicken feed is flying everywhere. The chickens are jumping and cackling and flapping their wings. Monty and I are laughing uncontrollably, shouting and throwing feed and trying to keep the other guy from shoving some down into places where it shouldn't be.

"Okay. Okay!" I shout. "Truce?"

Monty pauses. His eyes are sparkling and I know he's having as much fun as me. The chickens are enjoying it too, because there's a lot more of their food on the ground than usual. They're flapping their wings and scrambling around just waiting for the silly humans to get out of their way so they can eat.

I drop the rest of the feed in my hands and show Monty that I'm now unarmed. He grins and does the same. Then he stops smiling when he realizes where some of the tiny particles have managed to go.

I begin giggling again when Monty, with an exaggerated grimace, pulls his pants away from his belly and looks down inside. He shakes his head as if he can't believe what he's seeing. I managed to get a pretty good handful down in there during our fight, so I know what he's looking at.

Monty unbuckles his belt, unzips his pants and pulls them down around his knees. I get my first good look at his floppy cock inside his underwear. Just like Carson. A man cock. Big and bulky and poking out to one side.

Monty pauses. I look up into his eyes, and I know he's caught me staring. I shrug and smile, then look back down at his cock. It looks as big as Carson's. Maybe bigger.

Monty hooks his fingers in the waistband of his underwear, then slides them slowly down. His cock flops out. It's beautiful. Long and thick, with nice veins running up and down the sides. He's circumcised, like me and Carson. The tip of his cock is bright red, shaped like a big mushroom jutting out on the end of his cock. His pubes are black, like the hair on his head, thick and curly and filled with chicken feed. I giggle as Monty runs his fingers through his pubes, sending seeds raining down to the ground. He shakes and brushes and gets all the bits off, then stands there, letting me check him out. And I do. I like his cock.

Monty slowly pulls his underwear back up, tucking everything away, and reaches down for his pants. I wish I could see more, but I'm glad he wasn't embarrassed to show me his stuff.

That's when I realize I have the same problem. I can feel bits of seed scratching my cock and balls and butt crack. Giggling, I scoot behind a partition and start stripping off my clothes. I don't know why I'm suddenly bashful. Monty let me see all his gear, so I should return the favor, am I right? There's just one little problem. Actually, one big problem. I'm completely hard. I can't let him see me like this, so I hide behind the partition while taking off my clothes, shaking out the seed, and plucking errant grains out of my butt crack.

Monty waits patiently, standing sideways to me. He acts as if he's not looking, but he's glancing sideways every now and then. Cheater. He's trying to see through the cracks in the partition. I know he is.

I get a naughty idea. I shouldn't do it, but I do. I walk around the partition with my boner leading the way, and I give Monty a good look at everything I have. I know I'm not that long. Just a little over four inches. And my pubic hair is thin and blonde and almost invisible against my pale skin. My cock is throbbing, leaping toward Monty with each beat of my heart.

He turns to face me and looks at my body, every part of me, and he looks at my cock the longest. He reaches down and pulls his jeans out, making room. I know what's happening. His cock is getting hard too. He does like me. He is attracted to me.

Monty gulps and says, "Ummm, Truman, what other chores do we need to do?" He looks up into my eyes and I see the sadness coming back. Why? What am I doing wrong?

I move back behind the partition and put my clothes on. I will figure this out. I will. And then I'll convince Monty to be my boyfriend. I know we like each other that way. I just need to figure out why Monty keeps pulling away from me and what is making him so sad.

͠ ͠ ͠

"Carson will be home soon, right?" Monty asks as we leave the chicken house, our clothes more or less back in place.

"Yeah. Why?" I ask.

"Are you going to work out this afternoon?"

"I'm sure I am. Carson said something about working on my legs today."

"You might want to take a quick shower then. Clean off any stray chicken feed."

I grin and nod. "I think I got most of it, but you're right. I should shower first. Then change into workout clothes. Are you going to shower too?"

"I need one." Monty chuckles. "I think I missed some." He's walking kind of funny, so I can imagine where some of the chicken feed is hiding right now.

He puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me against his side. It's a nice hug, but stiff. Something is still bothering him. One minute, something is drawing him to me. The next minute, something is pulling him away. He's like one of those meteors with an eccentric orbit around the sun, spending years out in the loneliness of space before being drawn back in for a short while, burning brightly in the sun's embrace, then hurtling away again.

I know he likes me. I think he wants to get close to me, but for reason, he's afraid.

͠ ͠ ͠

I'm straining to lift my legs into the air. It's my last rep for this exercise, and my legs are shaking with fatigue. I grit my teeth and lift with all my might.

Carson is standing next to me, encouraging me, pushing me. "Doin' great, Truman. Now hold it. Hold it. And slowly drop back down. Slower."

My legs touch the barn floor and I gasp and pant. I did it.

Monty is sitting on a bale of hay, watching me. I look over and our eyes connect. He smiles and nods. "Good job," he whispers. Monty's hair is wet and curly. He's changed clothes after his shower, and now he's enjoying the torment Carson is putting me through.

I'm wearing nothing but my PE shorts. And I do mean nothing. No shirt. No underwear. I know. I know. It's very risky, but I have a plan.

Carson has me stand up next to the weight bench and walks me through the last exercise: lunges. I know what to do. Step forward with one foot and bend my knee, extending my other leg behind me. Stand up, and bend down on the other leg. Repeat. Monty is watching closely. I think his eyes are locked on my bulge, which is stretching out my shorts with every lunge.

Time to implement my plan. I get most of the way through the reps and then stand up quickly and grab the back of one leg, around the thigh.

"What's wrong, Truman?" Carson asked, alarmed.

"Cramp," I moan, grimacing and squeezing the back of my leg.

Carson kneels behind me and starts massaging my thigh, pressing his thumbs into the flesh.

"Lower," I say, while hiking my shorts up in the front. My cock and balls pop out of the leg opening on one side, in full view of Monty. Carson can't see; he's busy massaging my thigh from behind.

Monty stares at my junk for a moment, then shakes his head slightly while grinning. Our eyes connect again and he whispers, "Bad cowboy."

I wiggle my junk at him and stuff it back inside my shorts. "Oh, that's better, Carson. The cramp is going away now. I think that did it."

"You'd better stop there. You've done enough."

"Yeah." I slowly stretch out my leg, grimacing. "Don't want to do that again," I say, grinning impishly at Monty. If he didn't know I liked him before, he knows now.

Carson nods. "Start drinking more water in the afternoon before your workout. That'll help."

͠ ͠ ͠

We eat supper. Carson and Mattie head upstairs. Momma and Poppa take their coffee to the living room to watch an evening show on the television. I say I want to ask Monty a few questions. They assume it has to do with horse training, and I don't tell them otherwise. I hurry to catch up with Monty, then we walk out to the bunkhouse together. We don't talk. We're both thinking.

When we reach the bunkhouse, I lie down on the bed next to his, on my side, facing him. He turns off the lights, except for a small lamp next to his bed. He lies down on his own bed, facing me. It's nice this way. Cozy. Relaxed.

"So you have some questions for me?" Monty asks.

"Yes."

"About horses."

"No."

Monty gulps. He knows what I want to talk about. It's been happening all day. The little ways we keep flirting with each other, then pretending there's nothing between us when we both know there is. I want to talk about that, but I don't think he's ready. I've decided to start easy, taking a page out of the horse training book. I see Monty as one of those skittish colts who hasn't learned to trust me yet, and I need to take it slow at first.

"That boy. Was it you?" I ask.

"What boy?"

"The one who got caught humping another guy's bed. Was that you?"

Monty looks confused for a bit, then he remembers what he told me earlier. He may think I've forgotten, but I haven't. I say, "When you caught me humping your bed, you said it's perfectly normal. Something a horny teenage boy would do. And you said you knew another teenage boy who did the very same thing. Was it really another boy? Or was it you? Was it something you got caught doing once?"

I don't think Monty was expecting this question. He looks up at the ceiling and chuckles. "No. It wasn't me."

"It wasn't?" I'm not sure I believe him. I think he's too embarrassed to admit that he did the exact same thing I did and got busted in the act. "You're not the boy who did that?"

"Nope. But it was my bed," he admits.

"What?"

He grins. "Yep. When I was thirteen, I caught another boy in my bed, humping it."

"Are you kidding me, Monty? This has happened to you before?"

"Yep."

"Who was it? How did it happen?"

Monty rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling. I think he may chicken out and refuse to tell me, so I wait patiently. He sighs and says, "His name was Jonas. His family owned the ranch next to ours, so we grew up together and spent almost every moment of every day hanging out with each other. If I wasn't sleeping at his house, he was sleeping at mine. We were closer than brothers. And the bed-humping happened in my bed when Jonas was sleeping over at my house."

I hold up a hand to stop him. "Wait a second. I remember you telling us about your best friend who lived on the horse ranch next to yours. I think you said something about riding in rodeos with him when you were in high school. Is that the same guy?"

Monty turns to look at me. He nods. "Yep, that's him, but this was way before high school."

Grinning, I ask, "How did you catch him humping your bed?"

Monty smiles bashfully. "We were thirteen at the time. We'd been staying up late, watching scary movies on the TV in my bedroom, drinking sodas. My bladder was bursting, and I couldn't wait any longer, so I paused the movie and told him I'd be right back. I started down the hallway to the bathroom, but my dad was in there. I danced around for a minute, but he was taking forever, so I headed back to my bedroom to let Jonas know it would be a little longer than planned."

"And he was ...?"

Monty nodded. "Humping away, just like you. Trying to poke a hole in my bed with his boner."

"Was he embarrassed?"

"Oh, yeah."

"What did you do?"

"Turned around and ran out as fast as I could, pinching my wiener so I wouldn't leak on the floor, and ran back for the bathroom. Dad wasn't in there anymore, so I ran inside and yanked my undies down and peed like a racehorse."

Monty's story is making me giggle, but I'm also getting a boner.

Monty continues, "When I finally finished, I washed up and headed slowly back to my bedroom. I didn't want to have to face Jonas, but I knew I had to."

I sit up. This story is getting interesting.

Monty continues, "When I got to the bedroom, Jonas was covered with a blanket, completely hidden from me. I sat down next to him and heard him crying softly. He was so embarrassed, just like you were today, and he didn't want to talk to me. He was afraid I hated him, but I told him the same things I told you. He wasn't a pervert. He wasn't disgusting. He was a normal, horny teenager, and it wasn't a big deal."

"Did he believe you?"

"Eventually. We were best friends after all, and I had to keep reminding him that there was nothing he could do that would make me reject him. He said, `You don't know that. There might be something about me that makes you hate me.' I shook my head and said, `Nope. Never. Don't care what it is, you're always gonna be my best friend.' He got really quiet and asked, `What if you found out I'm gay?'"

"Wow," I mumble. "He actually said that?"

Nodding, Monty replies, "Yep."

"What did you say?"

"I told him the same thing I told you. I said, `That would be okay with me, because I'm gay too.' He didn't believe me at first, but I finally convinced him."

"How do you convince someone you're gay?" I ask, curious.

Monty grins sheepishly. "Well, I suppose there are a few ways you could do it. I decided on the most direct route. I sucked his dick."

My jaw drops. I can't believe what Monty is telling me. "You ... you sucked his cock?"

Monty nods. "And then I let him suck mine."

I flop back on the bed, laughing. "Oh, my God. This is so funny." I turn and look at Monty. "What happened then?"

"We went to bed and fell asleep and trained horses together the next day. Nothing changed in our relationship, except our sleepovers became a bit more frisky."

"Best friends and sex buddies?"

Monty frowns a bit. "I guess you could say that. It started out that way, but over time, it became pretty clear that we had strong feelings for each other."

I sit up again. The gloom is starting to creep back into Monty's eyes. I'm afraid to ask him anything more, but I think he may be getting close to explaining one of the mysteries in his past.

"Where is Jonas now?" I ask.

Monty looks at me. He reaches up to wipe his eyes. A single tear escapes and rolls down his cheek. "Is it okay with you if we don't talk about this anymore?" he asks. "I'm feeling kinda tired."

I nod and get to my feet. He stands up, and we give each other a gentle hug for a few seconds. Then I walk for the door, turning to wave goodbye as I head for the bunkhouse door.

He turns off the lamp, and I hear him stripping off his clothes in the dark.

I step outside and walk back to the main house, crunching over the gravel and opening the back door. I wander into the living room and sit down on the couch next to Momma and Poppa. They can see I'm a bit moody. I try to watch the program they have on, but I can't get into it. I keep thinking about Monty and wondering what happened between him and Jonas that makes him so unhappy.

When the program ends, I say, "Momma ... Poppa ... would it be okay if I sleep in the bunkhouse tonight. I want to talk to Monty some more. About stuff."

My parents look at each other. Momma nods slightly. Poppa turns to me and says, "Sure, son. Just don't stay up too late."

I get up and give them both a kiss, then walk back out to the bunkhouse. It's very dark outside now, but I know the way and don't need a light. When I reach the bunkhouse door, I knock softly. I hear Monty say, "Come in, Truman."

It's dark inside the bunkhouse too. I feel my way along the wall and find Monty's bed. I sit down on the edge without saying a word. His hand finds my arm in the dark, and he slides his hand up my arm to my shoulder and around to my back. He begins gently rubbing my neck.

I pull off my shirt and drop it on the floor. Lifting one foot, I tug off my boot and toss it aside, then yank off the other. I stand up, drop my jeans to my ankles and kick them aside. Then I turn and lift Monty's blanket. He scoots back, making room for me. I slide into his bed, pushing my back against him, and he wraps me in his arms before dropping the blanket down around us.

I rest my head on his shoulder, close my eyes, and fall asleep.

 

The end of BROKEN, Chapter Ten