Page 5 of Cowboy Dreams

“Few thousand,” he said. “But it’s out here in the boonies, where there’s only one gay bar in a hundred miles, and I’m surprised the rednecks aren’t lined up to beat down the men who go there.”

“Not anymore,” I said, real low. Because I’m forty, and twenty years ago, before Max’s, being out and proud could be a real risky proposition.

He must’ve caught my tone, because his hand landed on my knee, warm and strong, for just a moment. Then he had to steer a tight turn into the drive. “This is the place.”

He drove through the front gate, which stood open. I tell you, that open gate made me twitchy as hell in cattle country. Which was better than thinking back to the bad times. “You don’t have any stock on the place at all?”

“None. I might get a horse, if I’m here very long. I learned how to ride when I was a kid, and I miss it.”

“You’ll want to keep that gate shut, if you do.”

He laughed. “I grew up out here, till I was ten. I know all about good fences and good neighbors.”

“Cain’t prove it by that gate,” I drawled, to make him laugh again. I didn’t remember Mr. Pascal having a grandkid around my age. Made me wonder if we’d met back then, but my dick didn’t want to mess around comparing stories of our school days. We had better things to do tonight.

Sylvester pulled around in front of the main house and shut off the engine. With the Mustang’s voice silenced, the night hung quiet and heavy around us. “Is this still okay?” he asked.

“Depends. You got a bed in there? Or at least a thick rug?”

“Both.”

“Then, hell yeah.” I swung the door open and got out, tugging my hat down on my head. “Come on, Sylvester. You claim you got an inch on me. I’m gonna make you prove it.”

We came together at the foot of the front steps. When I’d have headed up them, he stopped me with a hand on my arm, then set his other hand behind my head. That inch of difference in our heights was matched by my boot heels, and our mouths came together perfect, with no one having to bend.

I didn’t get kissed much. Mostly at Max’s, the back room’s in demand and one or the other of you has spunk on their tongue before too long. Or once in a while, I’d bend over for someone, but that’s not a kissing position neither. So it’d been a rare thing.

And I’d never been kissed like that. Never slow and easy, warm and confident. He held me steady and kissed me like he wanted to, like he’d be good with just kissing for hours. He nipped at my lower lip, slid his cheek against mine and bit my ear, came back and made me open and take his tongue. I tried to keep up, but my breath got short and by the time he was done, I was clinging to him with both hands. Embarrassing as hell.

I let go and wiped my chin with the back of my hand, pretending I couldn’t see it shaking. “What do you call that?”

“Kissing, Joe. See when I put my mouth on your mouth—”

I shoved him, harder than I meant to. “You don’t need to kiss me to get me to suck you off.” Not sure why I was mad, but maybe because it made me want things. Made this seem like more than it was.

He caught my jaw with one hand. “Tell me you didn’t like it.”

I wanted to, but I didn’t make a habit of lying when I didn’t have to, so I pulled loose and turned toward the house. And stopped for a moment, eyes probably wide as saucers. “Damn, that’s big.”

“My great-grandfather had nine kids. I’m rattling around in it.”

“No doubt.” The lower story was fieldstone which is real rare in these parts, and the upper was stucco and timber, like something out of a postcard from Switzerland. It reminded me again of the gap between him and me, and I was wondering if this was a good idea after all when he grabbed my arm.

“Come on. The size of the house is irrelevant. The size of the bed is what counts.”

I let him guide me in the front door and waited while he locked up solid behind us. He didn’t turn on a light, so I just got a feeling of open space before he towed me up the polished wooden staircase. There was just enough moon coming in a window above the door to keep me from tripping flat on my face.

Sylvester led me past the first door at the top of the stairs, and in at the second, pausing there to flip a switch. A bedside light came on, revealing a bed that wasn’t too shabby for size neither. A king for sure. Maybe extra-long. And for a guy who’s six-three and been sleeping in a twin bed all my life, that was almost as appealing as the man at my side.

Only almost, because Sylvester set a hand behind my head and kissed me again, more of that intense mouth-on-mouth action that made my knees weak. I figured, might as well give in to the inevitable. I let that shake slide me down to kneel on the floor, looking up at him. He didn’t stop me, but when I reached for his belt buckle, he put his hand on mine. “What’s your hurry?”

“Isn’t this what you brought me here for?”

“Yes, eventually.”

“Having a hard time getting it up, Gramps?” I needled him, even though I could see a nice package straining his slacks behind that zip he wasn’t letting me at.

“Not even slightly.” He set a hand under my armpit and pulled me to my feet. “But if all I wanted was a fast blow job with both of us dressed, I could’ve taken you into the back room at Max’s.”

---