Thursday, October 5, 2023

The Farmer and The Miller, Post #249

 Image Courtesy of Depositphotos

 Last week’s look at Echoes of the Flute got a slew of hits but little comment.

 This week, we’ll try a little flash fiction. Enjoy.


* * * *


I don’t remember a day in my life without Dillyn. I’m sure there were some, you know, vacations, illnesses, and the like, but my mom has pictures of us crawling around in the same play pen and sleeping in one another’s arms.

Our families were next-door neighbors—still are, by the way—when both our mothers gave birth in the same month, almost on the same day. I was a day older than Dillyn… or Dil as I’ve called him for years. He calls me Thew… a habit he hasn’t broken since early childhood when he couldn’t pronounce Matthew. His last name’s Farmer, and mine’s Miller. Nowadays, our friends referred to us as the Farmer and the Miller and claimed you rarely see one without the other. Dynamic Duo, they called us, although no one’s sure who’s Batman and who’s Robin.

Those roles changed over the years. Mom said in our playpen days, I was dominant. That remained true throughout grade school but began to change in our middle school years. Dil started making decisions formerly left to me. By the time we hit our freshman year, to my mind he was the boss, although our peers sometimes felt otherwise.

Don’t get the wrong idea. We were buddies, but not to the exclusion of others. We both had a wide set of friends, mostly overlapping, not always. For example, I got along with a kid called Bud, who was universally considered the school sissy. Dil didn’t. He fraternized with a football bully named Zack, while I couldn’t stand the guy. But when push came to shove, it was still the Farmer and the Miller.

Our junior year, Dil got a lot more interested in girls than I did, although I dated and enjoyed female companionship. To be honest, that was likely because after dates—usually but not always double dates—I got a kick out of discussing them with Dil in the darkness of the car parked somewhere quiet. There were lots of near “moments,” but we always kept our hands away from where they wanted to wander. Dil got as big a kick out of these late-night talks as I did. I’m sure of that because after a while, neither of us tried to hide our erections. Of course, we didn’t take care of them either. Not until each was alone in his own bedroom later… or at least that’s the way I handled things.

After a while, I noticed something kind of odd. At the moment I reached orgasm, it wasn’t the date of the night I envisioned, it was an image of Dil suffering a boner in the car earlier that night. Whoa. What was going on?

It took until my senior year to figure that out. I’m a slow learner, sometimes. Book smart, but life but life dumb. It finally dawned on me I wanted to do something with Dil. Something personal, intimate. Something I’d never dream of doing with anyone else. I wasn’t exactly sure of what that was, but it had something to do with us sitting in a dark car with dongs trying to bust through our trousers.

Okay, problem identified, but how did I want to satisfy that urge… no, that need? Did I want us to simply watch one another masturbate? Uh-uh. That wasn’t enough. Did I want to take care of his erection? Well, yeah, if he’d take care of mine. How? Jerking off was the obvious answer. But I knew from teen talk there were other ways of satisfying a guy. But I was afraid of those because of what he might think of me afterward. But if he reciprocated, wouldn’t we be in the same boat? This would take some thought. Some planning.

And thought, I did. Not much planning, but lots of hot, frustrated thinking. And those thoughts and mental images brought some of the most satisfying orgasms I’d had to date. Those could be laid squarely at Dil’s door. He was the one claiming my carnal thoughts and desires. So what could I do about it?

Our after-date discussions in a dark car parked in private places started to become torture for me. A hundred times—an exaggeration, I’m sure—I started to touch him. And I did, in fact. I’d reach for his groin, lose my nerve, and end up gripping his shoulder and saying something stupid like “hang in there, Dil” or a more bold “I’m here for you, guy.” I was usually in pain by the time we went home.

One night when we met after our respective dates, I crawled in Dil’s Dad’s pickup, and figured he had tales to tell. If he’d borrowed the pickup, which had a camper on the back, that meant he was pretty sure he’d score. As soon as I settled in the seat, I knew it hadn’t happened.

“Man, I almost got there tonight,” he groaned. “I was this close! When she put her hand on me, I knew it was gonna happen.”

“But it didn’t.” I hoped my elation didn’t show.

“Everything but! Man, I hurt. I need to poke something.

“So take care of it.” I think a dare hid in my voice.

“Right now?”

“Why not? I’ve seen you naked in the boy’s locker lots of times.”

He glanced down at himself. “Not like this.”

I laughed. “Dil, how many nights have we sat in a car like this eyeballing one another’s hard-ons? Slide your jeans down and take care of it.”

“Not… not unless you do too.”

I reached for my belt. “Not a problem.”

“Not here,” he said. “In back.”

When I followed him into the camper, I knew how confident he’d been about getting in his date’s pants. An air mattress and blankets cushioned the hard steel bed. He even had pillows. I started to make a smart-ass remark, but Dil was already spread out and shoving his britches down around his ankles. His impressive manhood reached for the sky and pulsed, announcing it was ready for action.

Now that my moment had arrived, I didn’t know what to do.

“Come on,” Dil said, impatience evident.

I made sure the door was latched and scooted over beside him to do what I’d always wanted, I took him in hand.

“Man, that feels good,” he said. He pushed me away to kick out of his trousers and shuck his shirt. “You too. You promised.”

“Yeah, sure.” In a moment, I was as naked as he was, my need as evident as his.

“Good boner, bro,” he said, grasping me.

I almost fainted from sudden elation. “Oohhh.” I think that came from me. I grabbed him and started flailing away. After a few moments, he said up.

“That’s not… what I wanted.”

“What do you want?”

“What does Bud do for you?”

“Bud? What do you mean, what does he do for me. He doesn’t do anything for me. We’re casual friends, that’s all.”

“I always figured he… you know, took care of you.”


“Well, jerking off’s not what I need.” With that announcement, he crawled on top of me and started hunching my belly. Felt sort of good… in an odd way.

“Better,” he said, his cheek on mine, his lips at my ear. “But not quite right. Turn over and let me spoon against you.”

“Dil, I don’t wanna—”

“I know,” he panted. “I won’t, but just wanna see how it feels.”

Obediently, I turned on my side, and I had to admit his hard, buff body spooned against me felt good. Better than anything ever had. He began moving, and that felt good as well. He reached around and took me in hand, and that felt even better. After a few minutes of pure heaven, he paused to move a way a bit, and then a hot poker rammed my insides.

“Oh!” I yelled, struggling to move away. But he held me tight and continued to move against me.

“Oh, yeah!” he said with feeling.

After a minute, the pain subsided and I echoed his feelings.

Ohhh, yeahhh!”



Does this remind anyone of some incident in his/her life? Bring back memories of days gone by? I can think of one such moment in my life… well, it was similar, at any rate. Enough so that I’ll relive it tonight.

 Until next time,

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Twitter: @markwildyr

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See you later.



 New posts the first and third Thursday of the month at 6:00 a.m., US Mountain time. 

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