“Why, the hell,
would you even consider such a thing? Goddamn it, Son,—
sometimes, I just don’t understand you a’ tall! Shit, boy!
You be think’n like a crazy man; almost as crazy as that looney old
coot you wanna’ meet up with! All you’ll be doin’ is openin’ up a
can a’ worms what’ll come back to haunt you, and take a big chomp out
a’ yore' butt. Trust me,— no good will come of it, and it could
mean a world of hurt for you’n me both! Mark my words,— you
just wait’n see, buckaroo!
And,— if’n he
hurts you half as bad as he did me, I’m gonna’ wanna’ go an’ kill the
son of a bitch! If’n the good Lord can forgive me for kill’n
Charlie in Nam, he’ll shore’ as hell forgimme' for re-tire’n his tired
old ass a little early! Howsomever, society may not, and then
you’ll have ta’ come visit your old man on death row in prison.
Would ju’ like that?
I just smiled at
him and slowly shook my head, ‘no.’
Damn it all to
hell, Casey,— I wish’t I’d a’ never told ‘ju ‘bout that worthless old
curmudgeon! I should a’ just told ju’ he done died! He
ain’t no damn good, no how! That old hardheaded bastard,— he
ain’t never gonna’ change his way a’ think’n! He’s got his
hypocritical head so far up Jesus’s butt he couldn’t see the light of
God Almighty if’n he was stand’n in two buckets full of holy shit up to
his boot tops and Jesus took a fart!” shouted my dad to me as he
slammed his hands down on the arms of his wheelchair.
I tried hard not
to laugh. God knows I tried, because I knew how serious dad was,
so I remained silent out of respect for my old man; however, inside I
was laughing my ass off at his outburst of anger. Dad always
could find the most colorful words to make his point when he was
venting anger.
“It’s all right,
Dad,— no, really,— it’s okay! Don’t feel like ya’ haf’ta hold
back none! Lemme’ know how you really feel.” I joked with
him and at least got a smile out of him. “Fuck you,— you
asshole! I’m dead serious about this, cowboy, and you know
it!” he couldn’t help but chuckle, “‘Sides,— I done raised
ju’ up better’n ‘nat! Some things in life you just have to accept
as they are. Y’ain’t never gonna’ change that old fart.
What da’ ya’ think? Ya’ gonna’ waltz up to him, stick out chore'
hand and say, ‘Howdy, Granddad, I’m Casey, yore’ only grandkid you
never knew about. Oh, yeah,— and, by the way,— I’m a cocksucker!’”
“I just ain’t a’
gonna’ tell ‘em.” I replied, “I ain’t gonna’ tell him
nothing ‘bout me. Tell me,— how’s he gonna’ know I’m even related
to him? You done went and had our name changed before I was born,
even afore you’s shipped to Nam. I don’t carry his name."
“Listen to me,
cowboy! My old man may be a lot of things, but he shore' as hell
ain’t stupid. All it ‘ud take is for him to look into them damn
violet eyes of your’n to know some-um ain’t kosher in Denmark. He
give you them violet eyes. Runs in the Langtry family. I
didn’t get ‘um but your Uncle Seth had ‘um just like our dad, so’d
yore’ Great-aunt Lillie. Yore’ great-granddad was her
brother. Now, you tell me,— how many cowboys you run into out
there what got violet eyes?”
“So, it’s a
coincidence.” I tossed off. My dad responded with a
snort. He wasn’t buying it. "Look, Dad, I know the whole
story. You told it to me about a hunner’t times or more.
How you got momma pregnant with me when you’n her was only
sixteen. Then, after granddad caught chu’ and Bubba Swanzey
suck’n each others' dicks in the barn he kicked you out. You
joined the Marines and got sent to Nam. He got so angry at you he
kicked you out of his life, but nobody can stay angry forever,
Dad. It takes a hell of a lot more energy to be angry with
someone than to forgive. ‘Sides 'at, you married momma
afore you went to Nam and granddad and grandma had you when they was
only sixteen. Two years later they had Uncle Seth.
After Granddad
cut you out of his life, you got pissed at him and cut him off
completely when you went and changed our name. How do you know he
ain’t felt bad about what he done to ya’ and tried to contact
you? How could he? He don’t know our name. Your
younger brother, my Uncle Seth, went an’ got hisself killed in
Nam. Granddad’s gotta’ be a lonely old man. I’m twenty-one
so he’s gotta’ be fifty-three. That’s pretty damn old! He
might not live a lot longer. I might not have another
chance. Look, Dad,— I just wanna’ meet him, be around him for a
while, get to know him, see what kind of man he is, and judge for
myself. He don’t haf’ta know who I am.”
“Oh,
bullshit! Who you think you’re talk’n to, boy? You never
could keep no damn secrets. Them folks you tell it to can’t
neither!” Dad laughed at me. “You tried for years to keep it from
me you had a hitch in yore' get-a-long; you liked rodeoing with the
boys a little bit better’n the girls. Hell, I done know’d it from
the time I come back from Nam my boy was gonna’ like his vice,
versa. Didn’t make me no never mind, but chore' momma and I
talked about it.
She know’d it
afore I did. Mother’s know that sort of thing about their
sons. She just figured you was chip off the old block. Hell
fire, I guess it was me what give ya’ the damn gene. I won’t deny
I shore' found ole Bubba’s dick mighty tasty. Yore’ momma knew
about that, too. Ain’t too much you can hide from folks in a
small West Texas town. She didn’t care, but I never had nothing
to do with another man after I came back from Nam. I was faithful
to your mom, Son.
I remember the
first night you sucked my dick after yore’ momma died. You was
feeling scared and all alone, so you asked to sleep with me a couple of
nights. You done thought I was asleep one night, but I was a’
playing possum to see what you’d do. After driving me nuts for
more’n an hour lick’n and a’ suck’n on my balls you finally decided to
get down to the main course and wrapped chore' pretty little lips
around my stiff dick. Thought I was gonna’ pass out for sure.
T’was like them
pearly gates parted for me and I passed on through. Surprised the
shit out a’ me! For a kid so young, you weren’t too damn shabby
neither! Got me old cock off quicker’n shit through a
goose! Swallowed ever’ bit a’ my cowboy spunk right down like a
pro. I was right proud of ya, boy. I done figured if my boy
was gonna’ like to suck a man’s dick, I didn’t never want him being
called no lousy Goddamn cocksucker.” I cringed at dad’s candor,
he took a sideways glance at me and chuckled. "Over the years,
you’ve gotten a hell of a lot better; you’ve only improved, and to be
honest with ya,’ boy, I don’t know’s your old man can give you up that
long to go rodeoing after a dream that may never come true.
‘Sides 'at, you're gonna’ miss your old man’s warm mouth wrapped around
your big, fine taste’n cowboy dick and knock’n on your pretty little
back door during the middle of a cold, long winter’s night.”
Dad shifted in
his chair and laughed at my uneasiness. Then, he grinned at me
with his patented West Texas shit-eating grin, winked and I knew the
next words out of his pie hole would be pure, unadulterated bullshit.
“Side’s, you’s
the one what done turned your poor old man into a full blown,
gin-U-wine, gold plated, butt-fuck’n faggot. Now, you’s gonna’ go
running off to ride the circuit and take away from me the warmest mouth
and tightest little asshole I ever did fall asleep in. Thanks,
one whole hell of a lot, buckaroo, for think’n ‘bout chore' dear old
dad! You done went and created this monster; now, you wanna’ lock
him in his cage and have the neighbors feed him while you go play
cowboy? I don’t think so!” Dad tried like hell to keep a
straight face; however, when he glanced up at me to see if I was buying
any of it, he broke out and roared with laughter.
“Ah, fuck,
Casey! You know how much I love ya!’ God as my witness,
boy, I loved yore’ momma; however, in many ways, you be the one what
done taught me what love is all about. I won’t never deny
that. I know you’d love to meet chore' granddaddy. If'n he
was different, I would be the first to take you by the hand to meet
him; but, he ain’t! We don’t need that old bastard in our lives,
Son. He’s nothing but trouble. He’s tomorrow’s bad news
come early. I’m just so damn proud of who you are today and what
we mean to each other, I’m afear’d of losing it and you, Son.” Underneath his
bullshit, I knew my old man had genuine concerns, was frightened for
us, and he was hurting.
“Come go with
me, Dad. I’d love to have you along. There’s plenty of room
in the new motorcoach I bought last fall. Let’s hire someone to
run the ranch. Come rodeo with me, Dad. You’n me, we’s
partners, Dad. Together, ain’t nobody what can beat us with a
rope. We done won ever’ damn rope’n competition in the western
states, ‘cep’n Texas. I understand why y’ain’t never wanted to
ride in Texas. 'At’s okay, but I wanna’ try my hand on the
circuit, pa. Grow a beard, Dad. On a slim chance we should
run into granddad, he wouldn’t recognize you today. With you as
my partner we could go all the way, Dad. We may not have another
chance.
You get around
on them store bought legs of yours real good. Don’t nobody even
know you had your legs blown off in Nam. Hell, I ain’t never seen
me no sexier walk than you got when you wear them legs what’s got your
big, cowboy boots attached to ‘em. You walk, for all the world,
like any other genuine buckaroo on the circuit. Cain’t nobody
tell. The only time you use that damn wheelchair is when we’re
home relaxing.” I grinned at him, “I always did kind a’
like you in that chair ‘cause you can’t get away from me when I gots me
the honggries for some good, hot cowboy dick.” I roared with
laughter as my old man waggled a finger at me and raised an eyebrow in
mock disgust. “Hell, it was you what taught me to rope and ride,
Dad. You ride as good as I do with them artificial legs.
You taught me to be the best, Dad? Something I couldn’t a’
learn't from nobody but a champion.” My dad looked at
me with the greatest love in his eyes, blinked back a tear, and hung
his head.
“I ain’t half
the man you are, Son.” he said softly.
“Bullshit!
What the hell you talk’n about, old man? When I’m a’ laying out
underneath you, you’re up on them stubs with that big, buckaroo dick a’
yours sunk six fathoms deeper in my ass than the Titanic lays on the
ocean bottom, just a’ fuck’n me like an untamed bronc with a burr under
its saddle, you shore be a’ fool’n me you ain’t half the man I
am. My old man’s the only man what ever fucked me so good I stay
fucked maybe four to six days afterwards. I’ve marked ‘em
off on a calendar. Ever’ morning I get up, look at myself in the
mirror, and if’n I’s still got that silly fuck’n smile on my face, I
know I’m good for another day or two. After my dad fucks me,— I
know’d I been fucked by a man; my old man; the best old man a buckaroo
could have!”
That got him
laughing again as I went to him and grabbed me a big ole handful of
cowboy-dad dick through his Wranglers. He whooped like he was
about to be scalped.
“Get away from
me you pre-vert!” he yelled in laughter, “You ain’t a’
gettin’ no in-between meal snacks, neither! Spoil your
dinner! When you come sniff’n ‘round after my dick, I better hear
me some heartfelt begging about how you’s got chore'self some powerful
honggries for a taste of the sweetest cowboy dick you ever had melt in
your mouth. I shore as hell don’t know about all that other
nonsense you been talk’n ‘bout, but I know fer damn sure you inherited
another one a’ my genes.”
“Yeah,— what’s
'at, old man?”
“The bullshit
gene!” He roared with laughter. “Damn!” he
continued, “I think you got a double dose of it, Son! What
don’t come out chore' ass, comes out chore' mouth!”
"There again,
old man,— I learn't it from a champion!" I retorted.
We were both
laughing so hard I got the hiccups. I couldn’t stop.
“Champion, my
ass! I got chore' champion!" he grinned as he grabbed his
big cowboy dick though his Wranglers. "Com’mer, boy! I's
got just the cure for them hiccups.”
I moved in front
of his wheelchair still hiccuping.
“On yer’ knees,
asshole!” he ordered me.
I love it when
my dad talks dirty to me and orders me about. He grabbed me by
the back of my head and roughly pulled my face into him until my nose
was buried deep into his crotch. I could only smell his masculine
odors and his massive cock hidden beneath the denim of his Wranglers.
“Breathe deeply,
boy!” he growled at me. “‘At’s the smell of the man what
loves you. You think about how much you wanna’ please your old
man; think about how far down that tight little cowboy throat of your’n
you’re gonna’ take your old man’s dick tonight; think about his cock
being the sacred tool what created you, boy, and I guaran-damn-tee ya,’
them hiccups will vanish.”
I took in
several deep breaths of my dad’s signature masculine smell. Dad
never used perfumed soaps or deodorants of any kind, but he would
sometimes use his favorite Aqua Velva after shave; nevertheless, he
always had a clean, virile, deep musky odor about him that would drive
me crazy even when he simply passed by me and I’d get just the faintest
whiff of him. Damned if he wasn’t right. Sure enough,
‘them’ hiccups vanished.
* * * * * * *
If you haven’t
gotten the message by now, my dad was my personal hero. He was a
simple man of the Earth who found himself in a world in transition
between good and evil. He did his best at what he could do to
make change, but he stood fast in the face of wrong. He wouldn’t
allow the insidious evil or oppression of his personal freedoms under
the name of false, misplaced, abusive religious piety, or unholy,
self-serving righteousness, to sway him from his deeper beliefs in
love. He gave his all for his country and never began to question
until after he’d done what he saw as his duty.
My Uncle Seth
followed his beloved brother and joined the Marines. I never met
Uncle Seth. He was killed his a couple of months after he was in
Nam; two weeks before I was born. His old man, my granddad, let
his youngest son march to his death without ever telling him he loved
him. A year later, a land mine blew my dad’s legs off at the
knees and he returned a hero. Dad was awarded several purple
hearts and a bronze star for heroism. Even though his legs were
blown off he was the platoon leader and managed to pull himself to
others more wounded than himself to offer help and comfort. Since
dad changed his name before he left, my granddad never knew.
He returned to
the States and the VA fitted him with two artificial legs he learned to
use almost as well as his real ones. He taught himself to walk
with little or no noticeable affectation to his stride. He
learned he could still ride a pony and once again took up the passion
of his youth,— team roping. Through the G.I. bill he went to a
community college and learned how to become a successful rancher.
Again, through the G.I. bill, he financed a small ranch. Even
though dad and my mother worked for the first several years at other
jobs they were soon able to quit and run the ranch full time. We
lived on the ranch outside of San Diego for most of my life. Dad
and I are still living there.
My mom got
cancer and died when I was fourteen. It was a blow for both dad
and me. I had already begun to go through puberty and quickly
realized no one could ever top the sexual fascination I developed for
my dad. I would jack off two or three times a day thinking about
all the wonderfully nasty things I could do with him if I had the
chance. The fact he had his legs cut off at the knees never
entered my mind. He was always that way as long as I could
remember. He was my dad and he kept his body in top physical
condition. He neither smoked nor drank heavily and ranch work was
a lot of hard, physical work most of the time.
My dad was a
tall, six foot four, lean, strong, masculine cowboy. He loved the
idea of being a Western man and he worked hard to perfect the
image. For me, he became the epitome of what a cowboy rancher
should look and act like. He was good hearted, generous to a
fault, and tried to help his neighbors when he could. He was
always truthful with me and treated me as a beloved companion rather
than strictly as a son.
One night, about
a month after my mom passed away, I couldn’t sleep. I would cry
myself to sleep, but I didn’t want dad to know. I wanted to be
strong for him. I knew his heart was broken, and if it hadn’t
have been for me, I think he would’ve given up. He knew he had to
keep going for me. I woke up and found my pillow and bed around
my head was soaking wet. I knew I’d cried a little before I went
to sleep but not enough to soak my pillow and upper portion of my
mattress.
A horrible
thought crossed my mind: did I wet the bed? But, I couldn’t have,
could I? It wasn’t wet around my waist and even though my dad
taught me to sleep in the raw my dick wouldn’t be able to piss so high
it soaked my pillow. I was baffled. I was also a little
frightened. I didn’t know what was going on, and I never felt
more alone in my life. I got up from my bed and slowly walked to
my dad’s room.
He always left
his door open so he could hear me call out to him in the night if I was
frightened or needed him for anything. It was a full moonlit
night, and I could see everything in the room clearly. I quietly
walked up to his bed and stood there silently as I watched him
sleep. It was a warm summer night, and he was sleeping in the raw
with no sheet or cover over him. He was laying on his back
breathing softly. His enormous dick lay up and to the left of his
stomach and his huge balls hung loosely between his massive
thighs. I could see the two stumps of his legs stopping at just
below his knees. It didn’t bother me his legs weren’t
normal. He was my dad. He was perfect like he was. I
stood for the longest time marveling at his beauty.
He didn’t shave
as much as when mom was alive. Since it was only the two of us and a
couple of ranch hands he’d go several days without shaving and began to
look pretty scruffy after a while. He would usually shave once or
twice a week. He said it saved him time. I thought his
several days worth of beard made him so virile looking he would keep my
dick hard for days until he shaved.
My dad was
beyond gorgeous. He was a God to me. I would’ve worshiped
at his feet,— and, over the years, have done so many times. As I
was standing there I knew my feelings for him were overwhelming all my
senses. I could even smell his clean masculine odor and my dick
began to get hard. The longer I stood there the harder it
got. I had to play with myself. This was too sensual to be
able to privately look upon my personal God and have such an erotic
moment without manipulating myself. I began to slowly jack myself
off and really wasn’t paying much attention to dad. I threw back
my head and was really getting into my fantasies of him and me together
while only allowing myself to glance upon the beauty of my God enough
to trigger another wave of sexual excitement through my body.
Finally I allowed myself one good look of drinking all of him in, when
I got a shock. Dad was laying on his side propped up on his elbow
watching me. He was smiling at me.
“Casey?”
He asked softly with concern in his voice. “You all right, Son?”
I stopped
playing with myself immediately and ran from the room in
embarrassment. I flew to my bed in tears and lay there crying my
heart out. Dad had a way of whistling real loud using two of his
fingers when he wanted me for something. He taught me never to
ignore his whistle. It was a signal for me to come to him
immediately in case he needed me in an emergency. I was deep into
my pillow when I heard his whistle. My first thought was he tried
to get to his wheelchair, fell to the floor and couldn’t get up.
No matter how embarrassed I was or how much I was hurting, it was our
signal my dad needed me. I hit the floor on a run for his room,
ran through the door and over to his bed. He was still laying
there, but he was holding his arms out to me.
I didn’t
hesitate, I was in his big cowboy arms in a minute crying my heart out
again as he stroked and petted me to calm me. For some reason I
knew I was safe in his arms, and I didn’t really have to say a word, he
understood; however, after he got me settled down he began to quietly
ask me a few questions. He looked down at my crotch and smiled.
“Nice big dick
ya’ got there, youngster. Hell, Son, I weren't near that big at
yore’ age. I do declare, you're gonna' be bigger'n me or my
brother. I think you inherited that from yore' granddaddy.”
he complimented me. I didn’t respond. He kept stealing
kisses from me; kissing me behind my ear and on my neck. “You
know you just done paid yore' old man the sweetest compliment a son
could give his dad?”
“No, sir.”
I answered meekly.
“Well, ya’
did. I woke up and found my handsome cowboy son standing by my
bed with a fistful of his big, buckaroo dick playing with hisself while
he admired his dad.”
“I’m sorry,
Dad." I was quick to explain, "I was scared in my
room. Some'um’s happening to my body I’m afraid of, and I came in
here to talk to you about it; maybe, ask you to lemme' sleep with you
the rest of the night. But, when I got in here, I saw you was
asleep and,— you just looked, so,— ” I started crying again and
he stole some more kisses to calm me.
“Let’s
understand one thing between us, okay?” He asked
rhetorically. I knew there was more to come, “Don’t chu’
never feel embarrassed or upset over yore’ feelings for another person,
especially yore’ old man. What you were doing a while ago was a
response to an honest feeling you were having about chore' dad and
there ain’t nothing wrong with it, h’it ain’t nothing to be
ashamed of. Now, the next thing,— can you tell me what’s going on
with your body,— what’s making you afraid?”
“I ain't never
told ju,' Dad, but since mom died I cry myself to sleep almost ever’
night; however, lately I’ll wake up and my pillow and all around my
head will be soaked. I don’t mean just wet, I mean water logged,
soaked! I’m afraid because I thought I was wetting my bed, Dad,
but h’it ain’t down around my waist or the middle of my bed. I
ain’t told ju' ‘cause I get up in the mornings, strip my bed, and wash
everything including my pillow and then dry them. Ever' thing’s
ready for the next night; but, damn it, Dad, it’s happening more and
more often, and I’m getting tired of having to change my sheets ever’
damn day.”
Dad didn’t say
anything for a minute, like he was thinking. He just held me
close and stole another couple of kisses.
“Know what,
cowboy?”
“What, Dad?”
“I think I know
what’s wrong, but I think yore’ idea of bunk’n it in with me for a
couple of nights is a good idea.”
“What da’ ya’
think's wrong with me, Dad?”
“I don’t wanna’
say what I'm a' think'n right now, but I’ll tell you this, Son, I’ve
cried myself to sleep many nights. Ain’t nothing wrong with
crying when you miss someone. Don’t mean you’re weak or you ain’t
got control of yore’self. It’s just you’re still grieving for
your ma, boy. So am I, for that matter. It’s probably
gonna’ take us longer than either of us thought to recover from her
death. I can look at you sometimes and know you’re thinking about
her. I know the way you look at me, now and then, you know I’m a’
think’n ‘bout her, too. That’s part of grieving, Son. It’s
part of life. It’s part of learning to let go. We have to
let go, Casey, we ain’t got no choice in the matter; however, yore’ mom
wouldn’t want either one of us going on grieving too long for
her. Know’n and love’n yore’ ma like I done, I know’d she’d want
us to go on with our lives and take her love and memory with us.
In a way, I guess I’m a little more fortunate than you, Son.”
“How’s ‘zat, pa?”
“After I planted
my seed in her, she carried you in her body for nine months; then, when
she had you, she gave me the greatest gift a man could ever receive,—
she gimme’ you, Son. You’re a part of her, but you’re a part of
me, as well. You came from her body and, in effect, I still have
a part of her to help me let go. I have to go on to make sure
that part of her is okay and grows into a fine young man.
I’ve heard
you crying, sometimes way into the night, but I didn’t know if I should
come to you or not. Y'ain't said much to me since yore’ ma
died. I thought you was working things out on your own. I
didn't wanna' push and make things worse. Glad ju' come to me,
though. It's always important you do, Son, when y'ain't sure
'bout some'um. However bad you might think it is, your old man
ain't never gonna' turn you away.
Somehow, I’m a’
think’n this is God’s way of telling us we need each other, we need to
stop being so damned macho independent, and lean on one another a
little more. After all, we’re all we got now, pardner. So,
get chore'self comfortable over there next to me, and when I think I'm
sure I have an idea what's wrong with you, you’ll be the first to know,
okay?”
“Okay,
dad. Dad?”
“Yes, Son?”
“Thanks.”
“S’what I’m here
for, buckaroo. I love you, Casey.”
“I love you,
too, Dad.”
End of Chapter 1
~ Texas Longhorns Copyright
2004/2005 ~ Waddie Greywolf All rights
reserved ~ Mail to:
waddiebear@yahoo.com