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.

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Chapter Twelve

 

Monty is the first to break our tearful hug. "Now you know, Truman."

I shake my head from side to side. "I'm sorry I kept asking, Monty. I didn't want—"

He hushes me and pulls me back into a tight hug. "It's okay, Truman. I needed to tell you what happened to Jonas."

"Are you okay, Monty?" I whisper into his chest.

"I am, cowboy. I'm good, but your dad is paying me to work the horses, not stand here and cry all day. We'd better get out there and get started."

I nod and slide out of his arms. We both face the bathroom sink. Cold water washes away the tears and the intense emotions we've been sharing. I'm glad he told me about Jonas, but now I'm wondering if I went too far, even if Monty did say he was okay. I think it's alright, because he gives me a tender hug before as we're leaving the bunkhouse.

For our training this morning, the only gear we need is halters and the lunge lead. We bring all four horses to the round pen and put them in side stalls. Monty has me start the lunging lessons first, with one of the colts, Chance. I connect the 25-foot-long lunge strap to Chance's halter, then lead him into the large pen.

Monty climbs up to sit on the top rail. He looks at Chance and says, "We don't want these boys getting the idea that they always go after the fillies. When it's time for the boys to work, they need to calm down and follow our commands."

I nod to show I understand. I move to the center of the round pen, turn and face Chance, and click my tongue, giggling the lunge strap slightly. Chance ignores me for a moment, then remembers that I'm in charge and snorts and jumps into a slow trot. After I have him trot around the pen twice, I hiss at him, signaling a canter. He doesn't hesitate, starting a slow, rocking lope around the ring.

Every time Chance passes in front of Monty, I notice that Monty isn't watching the colt. He's looking at me. I'm not sure why, so I begin to worry. Maybe he's regretting telling me everything. He might be thinking that it was his personal business, and I don't have a right to know about how he lost Jonas. I'm beginning to second guess myself, and my stomach is cramping up from anxiety. The colt notices and becomes agitated. I have to remind myself that the horses pick up on our emotions. This isn't the time for me to be agonizing over Monty and Jonas and what I now know. I try to clear my head and focus on the training.

"When you come back around this time, bring him to a halt," Monty says. "Make him stand calmly for half a minute. Then start him up again at a walk."

I do as Monty asks. Chance is anxious. He prances around a bit, but I talk to him. "Steady, Chance. Shhhhh. Whoa, boy." He finally stands still, turning his head to look at me. His ears twitch back, then forward. He's not sure what I'm doing, but he listens to me.

"Good job, Truman. Now walk him again."

I gently flick the strap and say, "Chance, walk." The colt's ears pivot. He's listening to me. He starts walking, slowly, ears twitching, listening.

"Same thing, cowboy. Bring him to a stop and hold him there. Teach him to stand calmly and wait for your commands."

The colt works well for me, doing exactly as I ask. I turn him and have him walk in the other direction, then trot, then canter. Stop and wait. Start again. Stop and wait more. He's got it now, and I'm bursting with pride at what we've accomplished. Around the pen one more time, and this time as Chance passes Monty, I see Poppa standing next to him, looking over the fence.

Poppa is smiling really big. "Truman, I'm so proud of you, son. You're becoming quite the cowboy!"

I want to shout, but I stay calm. "Wrangler, Poppa. I'm a horse wrangler."

Monty chuckles. He knows what I mean. Monty slides off the fence as Chance trots by and grabs the colt's halter. After unfastening the lunge strap, he leads the colt to a side pen and walks him inside. "Get out one of the fillies," Monty tells me.

I do, and Monty walks to the center of the pen while I hook Misty up to the lunge. I climb up onto the fence next to Poppa while Monty sends the filly through her paces. She's naturally talented. Intelligent. Obedient, but still spirited.

"Is she the one you want to train as a cutting horse?" Poppa asks.

"Yes, sir," Monty replies. He sends Misty into a canter, then almost immediately shouts, "Whoa!" She slides to a halt, eyes on Monty, waiting. "Walk," he says, and she starts again. He hisses and she leaps into a canter. I'm surprised to see that. We usually trot them before giving them the canter command, but Misty doesn't care. She's doing whatever Monty asks.

Poppa is nodding his head in approval. "You've convinced me, boys. And if you think the other horses can benefit from advanced training, let me know. We aren't hurting for money at the moment, so we can hold off selling these horses and make a little more after you've given them more training." Poppa slaps my knee and tells me, "Keep learning all you can, Truman. You have a real talent at this, and Monty is the best teacher you could hope to find."

"Yes, Poppa," I reply. Then I have an idea. "Poppa, I could learn a lot more if I moved into the bunkhouse with Monty for the summer."

Poppa looks at me funny. I think he might be using that mind-reading ability he has. I hope not, because I don't want him to know everything I'm thinking. I really do think it would be good if I was staying in the bunkhouse. Monty can teach me all sorts of things, mostly about horses. I just don't want Poppa to know about some of the other things I want to learn from Monty.

"We'll talk about it at lunch," Poppa says. He looks back at Monty, seems to study him carefully for a bit, then turns and heads toward the barn.

Monty lunges Misty. I watch. Monty seems okay to me. I don't notice the sadness any more. If anything, he's enjoying himself, smiling every time the filly responds to his commands. I hope it was okay, asking him about Jonas. And I hope Poppa will agree to letting me stay in the bunkhouse.

Suddenly, I'm nervous again. Will Monty be upset when he finds out what I asked Poppa? Does he want me out there with him in the bunkhouse? Maybe he likes his privacy? Oh, shit, what was I thinking?

͠ ͠ ͠

We finish lunging the horses and turn them out to pasture. Then we carry the tack back into the storeroom in the barn. As I'm hanging up the halters, Monty moves up next to me and puts one hand on my shoulder.

"Are you okay, Truman?"

"Yeah, ummm, I'm fine. Why?"

"You seem nervous."

I am, but I don't want to admit it to Monty. Or let him know the reason why. "No, I'm fine."

Monty coils up the lunge lead and hangs it from its hook on the wall. He glances at me and says, "You're not a very good liar, you know."

He's right. I suck at lying. But if I tell him what I'm thinking, it will upset him again, so I decide to keep my mouth shut. I turn so I'm facing him, then lean back against the cabinet next to the wall and cross my arms over my chest. There's no point in pretending that I'm not nervous, but I've decided that he's not going to get me to talk.

Monty isn't having that. "We work together. And I thought we were becoming friends ... and close in other ways too. Don't you think you owe me the truth?"

I look up at Monty. My heart is in my throat, but I know he's right. I swallow my fears and say, "I'm worried that you're upset with me for pushing you to talk about Jonas."

Monty nods. He understands why I'm concerned, so he walks over next to me, turns and leans against the cabinet too. His voice is soft and reassuring as he says, "There's no need to worry, Truman. It hurts every time I think about Jonas's accident, but this time, for some reason, I needed to tell someone what happened. And to tell you the truth, it actually hurts just a little less because I shared with you."

"Then you're not upset?"

"No. I'm really not."

I turn to Monty. "Cowboy hug?" I ask.

He grins and faces me, pulling me into his arms. It's a long and tender hug, and I shiver at how good it feels.

"Thank you for helping me to open up, Truman. I really did need that."

"You're welcome, Monty." I hold onto him, loving the way our bodies are pressed together. I sigh and say, "Monty ..."

"What is it, Truman?"

"So, ummm, I kinda helped you out, right?"

"Yep."

"Then maybe you would, ummm, sort of help me out with something," I softly say.

Monty pulls away from me, but he slides his hands down to grip mine. He's holding my hands as he stares into my eyes. "With what?" he asks.

I look to the side. I'm a little embarrassed to say this. "I've been thinking, Monty, that even though I'm gay, I don't really know what it means to be gay. I need someone to teach me."

"What are you saying, Truman?"

"I want you to show me, to teach me about being a gay man."

"You mean you want me to do sex stuff with you?"

"No," I quickly say. "Well, yes. But I want more than that. I want to know what it's like to be in love with someone. And to be loved."

Monty begins shaking his head in denial, but I grip his hands even tighter and say, "Monty, I'm one thousand percent sure that I'm gay and ninety-two-point-five percent sure that I love you."

Monty's lips begin quivering. He snorts and laughs. "You're that sure, are you?"

I shrug. "I don't know. I've never been in love before, so I don't have a clue how I should be feeling. I just know I feel safe with you, and sleeping in your arms was the most exciting and crazy and wonderful thing I've ever done, and now I think about you all the time and I want to be with you every moment of the day, so I think this may be what it feels like to be in love." I pause to take a breath, and Monty is just smiling at me, enjoying my rambling explanation. "Monty, you're teaching me all about horses, but I want more. I want you to teach me this—" I reach down and cup his groin— "and this." I bring my hand up to his chest and touch his heart. "I want to understand what it means to be in love. Can you understand that?"

Monty nods, then says, "I do understand, but Truman, love isn't really something I can teach you. Love is more like something that just happens."

"Will it happen for us?"

"I'm not sure." Monty frowns and thinks for a bit. "You see, Truman, the thing is it may have happened already. My heart is telling me that I feel the same way about you that I felt about Jonas, and that scares me."

"Why?"

Monty sighs. "When I lost Jonas, it destroyed me. I was devastated and didn't want to go on living."

"Is that why you quit school and joined the army?"

"Yep, it sure is. I thought I could run away from my pain. Forget about how much I hurt. But I couldn't. It followed me, haunted me. I dreamed of Jonas every night. I could hear his voice at odd times during the day, calling to me, but when I turned around, he wasn't there. I still dream of him most nights. The first time I slept without having nightmares was when you slept in my arms."

My heart leaps in my chest. "Then it could be love," I urge. "It could be what we both need."

Monty looks down, frowning. "I'm scared to try, Truman. I don't want to hurt like that again, and I'm afraid of what will happen to me if I let myself fall in love with you. It's wonderful to think that life is giving me a second chance at love, but I'm just not ready to risk my heart like that again."

I touch his chin and lift his face so that we're looking each other in the eye. "Monty, I get it. It's your second chance at love, and the first time hurt you worse than you've ever been hurt before. And maybe it won't work out. Maybe we'll both be hurt, but I'm willing to risk it."

"I'm not sure I am, Truman. I don't want to be hurt. I sure as heck don't want to hurt you."

"I don't want that either, Monty, but I want us to try. If we don't try, you'll be throwing away your second chance and denying me my first chance before I even get started."

Monty stares into my eyes. Have I changed his mind? Have I convinced him?

I wait.

Monty blinks, then slowly leans down. His mouth is open slightly. I tilt my head up, and our lips connect. His breath is sweet; his tongue touches my lips. I push against him, sliding my tongue out, touching his. He slides one hand around to the back of my neck, pulling me closer, and rests his other hand on my hip, stroking my side. I place both my hands on his chest, pressing against him, not to push him away, but to feel his warmth and strength. I turn my head to the side and push deeper into the kiss. Our tongues dance, first in my mouth, then in his.

This must be love. If it isn't, I can't imagine how good it will be when we do fall in love.

The kiss ends. I stare into his eyes.

He leans in and kisses me again.

͠ ͠ ͠

Lunch is delicious. Momma's made beef and vegetable stew today, with homemade cornbread. I'm not sure which one I like better: her biscuits or her cornbread. They're both incredible, but the cornbread tastes better with stew. Momma dices jalapeño peppers and adds them to the batter, along with corn. It's sweet and spicy and delicious, and it goes great with the hot stew.

While we're chowing down, Poppa mentions my idea of bunking with Monty for the summer.

Momma glances at me, then looks over at Monty. I can see she's considering the idea, so I explain why I think it would be a good idea.

"Monty has taught me so much already, but I want to learn more. We're going to start breaking the horses to saddle soon, and I want to be sure I know what to do. Then Monty is going to teach the horses to cut cattle, maybe other things too, and I think I'd learn faster if I could spend more time with him, learning everything he has to teach me."

I think I've done a pretty good job presenting my case, and I'm glad I'm sitting down, because my cock is starting to swell up at the thought of some of the things Monty might teach me.

Poppa looks at Monty. "Is that okay with you? You don't mind having a stinky roommate for the summer, do you?"

Monty looks at me, surprised. I'm sure he wasn't expecting this, and he seems nervous at first until he smirks at me and jokes back with Poppa. "If he starts stinking too bad, I'll just toss him in the shower, clothes and all. Nah, I don't mind. We can plan our training sessions the next day. It should be good."

Momma and Poppa look at each other. I suspect this isn't the first time they've talked about it. I bet they talked while we were still out in the barn. I wouldn't be surprised. I've never heard Momma and Poppa argue, so I think they talk about most everything and decide long before they let the rest of us know what we're going to do.

Momma nods her head slightly, and Poppa turns to Monty and says, "I'm trusting you to keep my boy safe, Monty. Can I rely on you?" Poppa is giving Monty an intense stare, and I'm wondering what is really going on here. Why is Poppa asking Monty this question? I feel my face getting hot, and it's not from the jalapeño cornbread!

Monty is blushing too, but he looks Poppa in the eye and says, "You can count on it, Mr. Greene. I'll take good care of him."

Poppa just nods and takes another bite of cornbread.

͠ ͠ ͠

We spend a few hours moving my clothes and some other things I'll want from my bedroom to the bunkhouse.

Momma stops by while we're putting my things away. She takes one look at the curtains and says, "These are old and ratty. We can do better." She leaves and returns a few minutes later with another set of curtains, dark blue, made from heavier material. "These should do nicely," she says, motioning for me to help her take the old ones down and put up the new ones. "You can pull these back to let in the sunlight, or close them on the rare mornings Poppa lets you sleep in." She winks at me.

That's not the only reason I can think of for drawing the heavier curtains closed. They should give Monty and me complete privacy, when we want it.

After moving my stuff into the bunkhouse, there's not much time left for working with the horses, so Monty and I just go straight to the afternoon chores, knocking them out in no time.

After he gets home from school, Carson has me work on my back and shoulders. He doesn't say anything about why I've moved into the bunkhouse, other than to remind me to get my toothbrush and shampoo out of our bathroom. He also suggests I grab some deodorant spray; he has an extra can I can have.

During supper, Mattie is moping. She's probably heard the news too, and she's not happy about it. That's too bad. I really don't care.

͠ ͠ ͠

There's no bathtub in the bunkhouse, just a shower, but it's bigger than the one in the house. Big enough for two. Perfect for my first lesson.

At the moment, Monty is standing next to his bed while I close the new, heavier curtains to give us privacy.

I turn and see him biting his lip in nervousness. "Are you sure you want to do this, Truman."

I'm feeling suddenly shy, but I nod my head and reply, "Completely sure."

Monty swallows hard and takes off his shirt, then drops it on the bed. He sits down and pulls off one boot. Glancing over at me, he gives me a funny frown. "Aren't you getting undressed?"

"Oh, ummm, yeah," I stutter, quickly sitting down on the bed I'm pretending I sleep in and yanking off my boots. I look up at Monty and grin bashfully. I don't know why we're acting so silly about this. We've seen each other naked. But I guess that was just playing around, and this time, it's more serious.

Monty works off his other boot and stands up. "You know, we don't have to do this tonight," he says. "We can just sleep together again, if you want. And kiss some more."

I shake my head vigorously. "No, Monty. I do want to do this. Tonight." I pull my tee-shirt over my head and drop it on the bed next to me.

"I'm just saying there's no need to rush." Monty looks a little scared, or it could be uncertainty. He's asking me if I'm sure, but I think he may be the one having second thoughts.

I stand up and move over in front of Monty. He's breathing in short, rapid, nervous pants. I stop inches away and reach up with one hand, placing it on the side of his face. With one thumb, I trace gentle circles on his cheek. The stubble on his chin tickles my thumb. He turns his head slightly, pushing against my hand. He takes my hand and moves it to his lips, kissing my palm.

I stand on my tiptoes and pucker my lips. He turns to face me and leans down, meeting my lips with his own. We kiss, gently, carefully. We're checking to see if this is still what we want. I sigh and blow out my breath. He closes his eyes and wraps me in his arms.

While he's holding me, I move my hands down to his belt buckle. It's not easy working it loose when it's not my own belt. Everything is backwards, but I get it unfastened and work the loose end out. Then I unsnap his jeans and pull them open, sliding them off his hips. Next, I pull his underwear down to join his pants, halfway down his thighs, releasing his still-soft cock. I begin fondling it, marveling at the silky texture of his skin. I rub my thumb over the cap, which causes a tiny drop of clear fluid to pool in the opening. It's a bit sticky and slippery, and I rub it all over the tip.

Monty's cock begins to swell. I stroke him slowly. He's soon fully hard, and I'm having the time of my life, slipping my hand up and down his shaft, running my fingers through his pubes, fondling his balls.

I look up at Monty. His eyes are closed. His breathing is slower now, steady, calm. He opens his eyes and sees me studying his face.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Monty?" I ask, teasingly.

He grins wryly and nods his chin toward his hard cock. "I think you have your answer there in your hands, cowboy." He reaches for my pants, works the top button loose, unzips and pulls the fabric aside. My underwear is poking out obscenely. I'm so hard, and it's a huge relief to have my pants out of the way.

Monty pulls my underwear waistband away from my body and glances down at my boner. My cock is hard, standing straight up and throbbing, more rigid than it's ever been before. It's dancing with excitement and anticipation.

I giggle and say, "As you can see, I definitely want to do this!"

We don't waste any more time removing our pants and socks. We strip off and toss our clothes all over, then Monty takes my hand and leads me to the shower.

͠ ͠ ͠

His hands have been over every inch of my body, gently bathing me, leaving me covered with a slippery layer of soap and water, and now he's running his fingers over my skin a second time.

My eyes are closed. I'm trying to guess where he'll go next.

He begins with my arms, moving down to my hands. He threads his fingers into mine, holding my hands like lovers do. He kisses my nose and I giggle. He releases my fingers and soaps up my wrists, my forearms, my biceps. His fingers creep into my armpits. He gently scrubs me there, then holds my arms up to rinse away the soap. He runs his hands down my sides, bumping slowly over my ribs, sliding around to caress my tummy, moving back up to my chest. He lingers on my nipples, and I giggle again because it tickles.

He turns me around and makes slow circles on my back, running one hand up and across my neck, the other down to my butt. He caresses my butt cheeks, one at a time, and slides his hands down to my legs. He runs one hand along the back of each of my legs, down my thighs, across my calves, then brings them back up again, along my inner thighs. His fingers brush across the back of my balls. I shudder and spread my legs, but he doesn't touch me there again. Instead, he turns me around and kneels down in front of me, washing the front of my legs. I open my eyes and see my cock throbbing above his head.

He looks up, his eyes seeking mine, asking permission. I nod.

Still kneeling in front of me, he takes my cock in one hand, my balls gently cupped in the other. He cleans me carefully with more soap. Each pass of his hand over the end of my cock makes my entire body shake. He adds more soap and begins slowly stroking me. I feel the exciting tingles begin, but multiplied a million times. I stand on my tiptoes. My balls pull tight in my sack. Monty's hand slides up my cock, his thumb rubbing in small circles around the tip. I cry out as my cock lurches and silver threads launch through the air, landing on Monty's shoulder.

I grab his head and pull him against my body, pressing his face against my groin, feeling tiny spurts of juice oozing out onto his cheek. I hold him there, gasping for breath, body still shaking with tiny aftershocks. I pull him to his feet and kiss him. "That was amazing, Monty," I whisper, then kiss him again.

He pulls me against his chest. His cock is hard now, squeezed between us.

"My turn," I say, rubbing his firm chest with the bar of soap I'm holding in one hand.

"I'm not that dirty," he says, grinning. "I showered while you were working out with Carson."

"So you're completely clean, everywhere?"

He nods. "Pretty much."

I lather up both my hands and grab his cock. "Here?" I ask.

He grins. "Could use another rinsing."

I slide one hand up and down his shaft and grip his spongy cap with the other. I need both hands because his cock is so thick and long compared to mine, though not as hard. Mine is still rigid as a rock; it hasn't gone down at all. His is hard on the inside, with a soft outside. I love the way it feels in my hands, and the soap is making everything wonderfully slippery.

I must be doing something right, because Monty is moaning softly now. His head is tilted down, and he's resting his forehead on my shoulder. Every now and then, he nibbles at the skin on my neck, which I really like; it makes tingles run up and down my spine. His hands are resting on my waist.

I speed up my hands, working his shaft from top to bottom and twisting the other hand around the cap. Monty groans and his entire body tenses up. I feel his cock throbbing beneath my fingers as it spurts thick globs of goo all over my chest and stomach and hands.

I hold his cock, amazed by how much it shot out. Okay, technically, it wasn't his cock splurting all over me. His balls make the spunk, and muscles at the base of his cock work together to force the cum out. I remember everything I've read about it, but it was amazing to see it in person and watch his cock flexing and feel the hot cum landing all over my body. Very exciting. Lots better than the books I've read.

Monty moves me closer to the shower head and begins washing my body where he splattered all over me. My cock is throbbing still, and he soaps me up for a second round. It takes a lot longer this time, but the explosion at the end is more intense. My balls must be working hard to keep up!

Finally, my cock begins to droop and fall asleep. Monty and I hold each other tight, our floppy cocks pressed together, our chests and bellies touching, our hands clasped around each other at the waist. He kisses me gently and I kiss him back.

I'm now ninety-eight-point-seven percent certain that I love him.

 

The end of BROKEN, Chapter Twelve