Getting Hot in the Family Hay Barn

The following short story is based upon the actual experience of a valued reader of mine who has gave me permission to create a story from the material. DJH, I hope you approve of the liberties I took with your tale.

*****

GETTING HOT IN THE FAMILY HAY BARN

     My mother was one of twelve children, so roughly ninety percent of the people in the little farming town where I grew up was family. Most of my relatives were farmers … except for my father who owned a small mercantile store. Early on, I learned that during summers I had an option of working in the store or on mom’s parent’s farm. I chose the rural life. Harder work, but there were compensations. Like working alongside some of my hunky cousins, for instance. And one in particular … Cousin Jim.

     I’ve known since I was a little kid that I was different from the rest of the boys in town. But exactly how didn’t come into focus until the day Jim and I were moving last season’s hay in the barn loft in anticipation of putting recently cut bales behind the older hay. I’d always liked to be around Jim. He was pleasant-natured and fun. But more than that, he was as handsome as any man I’d ever seen on a movie screen. And built, too. Although I’d never seen him buck naked, just with his shirt stripped off.

     Tearing down one stack of hay and lugging each bale fifty or a hundred feet to start building another is hot work in a stuffy barn with no breeze. Sometimes I was virtually swimming in sweat. Pieces of straw got under my clothes and itched. Baled hay’s got an odor all its own, and its not sweet like new-mown hay. It was even heavier in this enclosed space.

     About three hours into the morning, I noticed Jim had disappeared. I was considering hunting him up when a whole bucket of cold water sloshed all over me. After I got over the shock, I turned and saw Jim laughing his head off. Half glad and half mad, I took after him over the hay bales. Just as I got to the top, he grabbed me and pushed me over on my back. That was okay, I enjoyed the physical contact. But then he started tickling me, which I can’t stand. When I opened my mouth to let out a yelp, he covered it with his hand. And something happened. Things changed.

     Staring straight into my eyes, he slowly and deliberately lay down right on top of me. His legs on mine. His groin pressed into me. Belly to belly. Chest to chest. His big, chocolate brown eyes inches from mine. A mischievous smile stretched his broad handsome mouth. The musky man-smell of him did something to me. Clean hard-earned sweat dripped on my cheek. But it was the heat of his body that made me understand how I was different. I got hard. I got so hard, I knew he felt it pulsing against him.

     My face got warm from embarrassment. And something else. Excitement. What was going on? Guys don’t get hard for guys. Besides, Jim was married with three children. But that didn’t matter because I was experiencing something so different it was hard to avoid putting a name to it. Sexual excitement. I was trembling-chill-bump-aroused at being so intimate with a handsome, hunky guy I admired so much.

     The straw scratched my back uncomfortably, but I would have lain there the whole live-long day if he’d just stay where he was and look at me like that. At length, he spoke. His raspy voice came from low in his throat.

     “You promise not to yell, and I’ll let you up.”

     My head must have nodded all on its own, because I sure didn’t want him to let me up. He slowly lifted his body from mine and stood. His britches were full like always, but it didn’t seem like he’d sprung a bone like mine. With a wry grin, he studied my bulging groin before climbing down off the stack and going back to work, leaving me to will away as big an erection as I’d ever had. When I came down to join him, we worked side by side without mentioning what had happened. In fact, we never talked about it.

     But Cousin Jim had opened my eyes and made me understand something fundamental about myself. I was different. Probably different from every one of the four hundred or so other souls in my little town.

*****

Hey, DJH, thanks for letting me take liberties with your story. We’ll hear some more of it later. Hope it held you interest. 

As always, thanks for reading, fellas ... and gals. You can always contact me at markwildyr@aol.com. Be happy to hear from you.

Mark

New posts are published at the first of every month at 6:00 a.m.