TEXAS LONGHORNS
By Waddie Greywolf

Chapter 4


I awoke the next morning laying on my side facing away from my dad.  He was spooned up against my backside with his arm underneath the pillow my head was resting on.  I didn’t move, but looked to see his big hand holding my pillow like he was purposely pulling it to him so my head wouldn’t drift far from his.  His other arm was thrown gently over me in such a way as to seem protective rather than possessive.

I thought about the night we just had and marveled at how my heart could feel so much lighter this morning.  I realized our loss was still very real and would probably cause more periods of grief; but now, it wasn’t just my pain, it wasn’t only dad’s pain, it was our pain.  It seemed so simple when dad explained it to me, but I had to admit, it made sense.

My thoughts were drifting back and forth from the night to the excitement of having my dad hold me.  I could feel his warm breath on my neck and something hard pressing into my butt crack and lower back.  I popped a boner.  I slowly bent my legs at the knees and found my legs folded up perfectly under his two stubs.  He must have felt my movement because he moved one of his legs on top of mine.  This was too much.  I boldly took his left hand resting about my mid-section and moved it down to my dick.  To my surprise he wrapped his big, calloused hand around it and gave it a couple of strong, slow strokes.

“And, you thought I was asleep.”  he whispered  as he bussed a kiss behind my ear.

“I guess I’m busted again, huh?”  I chuckled.

“Sooo, busted!” Dad said laughing while kissing my neck. “Not to worry, honcho,— you can’t help but feel my warrior down there poking you in the back.  So, I guess you might say, your old man’s busted, too.  Damn, but you feel good, Son.”  

I pushed my ass back and clenched my butt cheeks around his big dick.

“Don’t even think about it, honcho.”  he said groggily.

“What?” I asked naively.  Moving my butt still tightly clenched around his dick.

“You’re too young to be having thoughts like that.  Ain’t say’n it’s wrong,— just you’re too damn young.”

“How old I gotta’ be?”

“Eighteen.  Old enough to make an adult, rational decisions for yourself based on more mature thinking only age can bring about.”

“Tell that to my friend down there in your hand.”  I moaned.

Dad raised up and holding my dick like a microphone he moved his head down within inches and spoke.

“Not until you’re eighteen!” he barked at my dick, “Now, go back to sleep and don’t wake up until his eighteenth birthday.” he instructed it.  Dad let go of my dick, laughed, and I moaned.  

“Yeah, fat chance of that happening.” I laughed.  “How old were you and Uncle Seth when you first did it?” I countered.

“Oh, gees, Spence warned me.  He said you’d try to pick holes in my logic.  Your Uncle Seth and me was a different time and a totally different situation.  We done what we did in a large extent for self-preservation.  We were brothers, and their was only two years difference in our age.  There wasn’t a lot of difference in our physical sizes.

You’re my son, Casey, you’re only fourteen, you’re seventeen years younger than me, and although we live in a relatively free country our relationship is not a democracy.  When you reach eighteen, then you can become an equal with me.  You’ll be able to get a driver’s license, vote, drink alcohol, and God forbid, die for your country.  Then you may make that choice for yourself; however, until that time, as your parent, as an adult, I hold the trump card,— I make the rules.  Now, gimme’ a hug, grab my legs for me, and let’s get some breakfast.”

“Grumble, grumble, grumble,— .”  I said to myself as I went to get his legs.  Dad winked at me and fell back on the bed laughing.

“Ah, Casey,— I love ya,’ boy.  I know you might be frustrated right now, but trust me, you’ll turn around twice and your eighteenth birthday will be tomorrow.  Don’t try to grow up too fast, Son.  Enjoy being a kid.  Life goes by so fast you’ll look back and remember these days with yore’ old man as the best years of your life.  I promise, honcho.  Maybe we shouldn’t sleep together no more if your dear old dad, ‘The Sex Machine,’ gets you all hot and bothered.”

“Oh, no!  Doc Winchester told us to share.  Doctor’s orders!  Please, Dad, I won’t push the issue.”

“All right, we’ll see how it goes.  It would be pretty cold to send you back to your bed after last night.  To be honest, Case, I think I need you to stick around for a while.  Can’t argue with the doctor, Case,— ‘sides, he’s too damn big.”  I agreed with dad.

* * * * * * *

The next Saturday and Sunday dad and I were roping in the local rodeo.  We practiced hard all week and won a little money on Saturday, but we didn’t take the big prize.  We weren’t fast enough yet.  Dad was, but I was still learning.  Nevertheless, we were getting better.  Saturday night we went to dinner at the Winchester’s again and dad told Mr. Winchester he thought we were going to be okay.  Donna and Spence were thrilled to hear it.  Dad didn’t go off by himself with Mr. Winchester this time.  He talked openly with them in front of me.

“So, young man,” Mr. Winchester raised an eyebrow at me, “you don’t think I hypnotized you?”

“I didn’t mean no disrespect, Sir.”

“None taken, Son; however, halfway home, on Ball Road, did you have the urge to ask your dad to pull the truck over so you could tell him you loved him?”   he winked at my dad and smiled.

“Uhh, yes, Sir.”  Then it suddenly dawned on me he must have put that suggestion in my mind.  He also probably was behind my mom coming to me, but I didn’t want to think that.  I needed that to be real.  I started blushing. Then I told him what I saw and heard and ask him if he suggested that as well.

“No, Casey, all I suggested to you was when you got to the place where you were secretly grieving you would wake up and your dad would be waiting for you.  What you experienced was outside any suggestions I made.  I would like to believe it was real.  From the way you describe it, it was real to you.”

“Yes, Sir.  It’s important to me to know it was real.”

“No one here believes otherwise, Son.”  I looked at each one of them and got the same feeling they believed me.  I felt better.  I winked at my dad.

“Well, you’ll be happy to hear one thing, Mr. Winchester.”

“What’s ‘zat, Son.”

“I saved ya’ the eggs.”  I thought Mr. Winchester was going to fall off his chair laughing.  Dad and Mrs. Winchester didn’t have a clue.  Spencer Winchester held his big arms open for me.  I went to him for a hug and a stolen kiss.  I always felt safe in his arms.  I wondered if he and my dad,— don’t go there, Casey, ain’t none of your business.

* * * * * * *

That night dad and I watched a movie and both fell asleep on the living room couch in front of the T.V.  That wasn’t unusual.  We joked about the T.V. acting like a tranquilizer for both of us.  Sometimes, we would have to watch a movie two or three times to make it all the way through it without falling asleep.  He got me up to go to bed.  I always helped him with his legs after he gets his clothes off.  He sits on the side of the bed, I help him undo them and set them aside for him.  I like being able to be there for my dad and help him.  I’m sure he could do it without me, but he lets me help and it makes both of us feel good.  He can use his arms real good to get himself situated in the bed.

We hugged, kissed goodnight and rolled over to go to sleep.  I guess I got too much sleep in front of the T.V.  I was wide awake and couldn’t get back to sleep.  I thought about getting up and going back downstairs to watch the rest of the movie, but I knew I’d probably feel sleepy in the morning and we had another day of rodeoing ahead of us.  I didn’t want to be sluggish from lack of sleep.  Dad was counting on me as his partner.  I couldn’t help thinking about dad holding my dick the other morning like it was no big thing.  (his action, not my dick!)  His nonchalance about it sent all kinds of thoughts racing through my mind.

I rolled over and saw him laying there in the moonlight.  He was on his back, it was a warm night and he had thrown the sheet off of him.  I couldn’t help admire him and naturally popped a boner.  At my age, it wasn’t uncommon to have erection at any given moment.  Riding with my dad in his truck, if the sunlight came though the window and landed on my crotch just right I’d get hard.  My cock had to be the lightest object on Earth, a single thought could lift it.  Sometimes it was enough to drive me crazy.  Best,— or worst of all, I knew I wanted ‘something’ with my dad.  I wanted him so bad, but what did I want?  I didn’t really know.  I just knew I wanted to touch and feel him in places I could only imagine were forbidden.  I’d only fantasized about sex.  I’d never really done anything but jack-off.  Lord, I’d done that so much I considered myself a first class, world expert.  Portnoy had no complaints compared to mine.  Holden Caulfield?  A rank amateur.  For now it was enough to lay there, watching him and sweating bullets; bullets composed of adolescent sexual tension, imagination, fantasy and frustration; a heady brew, at best.  I knew dad was a  sound sleeper and he seemed to be really sleeping even more soundly since we had our breakthrough.         

I slowly moved down between his legs, just to get a better view of him, you understand; no, really,— nothing more.  Jesus, I can’t tell you why I did it, I don’t know what made me do it. I certainly wasn’t thinking about going further at the moment.  I just wanted to see what he might look like if I was directly in line with his body looking up at him in all his glory.  I eased myself into position directly below the stumps of his legs.  His massive legs were slightly spread and his huge balls hung all the way down and rested on the soft, white, cotton linen of the sheets.  His big dick was in its usual position upon his belly and to the left.  I gently moved closer to his crotch.

I felt like a slithery snake inching my way up to a bird’s nest to steal its eggs.  I laughed to myself wondering if I could steal my dad’s eggs.  I felt certain Spencer Winchester would want me to save them for him.  I almost lost it at the thought. ‘How could I be so silly and irreverent at a moment like this?’ I chastised myself.  I seemed to be irreverent a lot lately.

It was extremely perverse of me to think my dad was more beautiful than other men because I could lay between his stubs and get more close to his genitals than I might if he had the rest of his legs.  I could almost taste my prize.  They were certainly within reach.  The smell of him was like the draw of a magnet.  The closer I got the more full bodied his male odors bloomed through my nares until I cast all reason aside.  Just a little more and,—.

I slowly and agonizingly inched myself toward my goal like a grateful penitent on his pain endured way, following his own personal station’s of the cross,  to his ultimate redemption.  I knew I had to have a taste of my dad’s holy orbs to complete my supplication into the secret rites of male bonding.  

To me, my dad was the ultimate cowboy.  I desperately wanted to become like him, a cowboy, more than anything I could imagine.  It was more than a teen crush for an adult idol figure; although, there was a healthy dollop of that mixed in the roux; it became an obsession in my gut, my very soul, to become the total package my father represented.  I felt, at that moment, to ingest his essence would be to become him; my Eucharist, my passport into manhood.

I thought about the consequences.  I knew if I did this and he awoke I’d probably be banished to my bed.  Was it worth the chance?  I took another deep breath inhaling his essence.  Hell come Friday, yes, it would be worth it!  If the worst should happen, I rationalized I wouldn’t be vanquished forever.  I felt I knew my dad better than that.  I knew my dad was finding it more and more comfortable leaning on me for a little support.  He really had become more relaxed and seemed to welcome the fact we had our grief epiphany about mom.  I could tell by the way he’d roll over in the night, grab me and hold me close.  Even in a state of deepest alpha-sleep, he would always steal a kiss or two.  Our roping together seemed like it was beginning to jell because of our new understanding.

Slithery snake was poised, ready to strike, his tongue flicking in and out of his hot, watery mouth to see if he was yet quite close enough to taste his prize. His tongue was within a silly millimeter of sexual pay-dirt when disaster struck.  Like an insect caught in a Venus Fly Trap the stumps of my dad’s legs came together to trap slithery snake’s head in a death grip.  His massive legs closed like the jaws of a spider’s mandible trapping my head between them like a vice; the very jaws of death.  Slithery snake’s heart was beating a fierce tattoo,— ta-pucket-ta, ta-pucket-ta,— .

Oh, shit!  I was caught between my old man’s stumps.  I couldn’t move my head for fear of waking him.  I couldn’t even back up he had me locked between them so tightly.  What, the fuck, was I going to do?  So much for my cheap-ass Walter Mitty fantasy.  I should’ve known.  In every foolproof plan there’s an inherent flaw,— the word ‘fool.’  Any man who thinks he can devise such a plan is, himself, a fool.  I was living proof of my own axiom.  This was not one of my best laid plans. (npi)  Talk about being major ‘busted’!  This was far worse than being caught with my hand in the cookie jar; although, I had to admit, the analogy was perversely apt.

‘Oh, my God,’ I thought, ‘if he farts, I’m a dead man!’  I almost laughed. Why do we pray to God when we find ourselves up to our necks in a bucket of shit of our own making?  Why, the fuck, were these stupid thoughts running through my head at a time like this?  ‘Calm down!  Relax!  Get a grip, honcho!  Don’t panic!  Let’s think this through,— .’  I shouted in my mind.  I heard my dad take a deep breath and sigh.  Was that a sign?  Was he trying to tell me something?  Was he letting me know I was busted, big time, and he had me right where he wanted me?  Was he only waiting for my next move?  I knew my dad’s sense of humor and this predicament, in which I found myself, was something he would find,— at my expense,— hilariously funny.

What were my options?  I could try to move out of the situation.  That might awaken him, and I really would be busted.  I could wait for a while to see if he relaxed his legs, then I would be free to retreat; however, on the other hand, I’d come this far, did I really want to sound retreat?  My rock hard dick and the overwhelming, masculine dad odors pouring forth from his body cancelled that idea pretty damn quick.

If any good might come of my current plight, when he closed his legs entrapping me, he advanced my head to where my nose was resting pressed tightly, up against his ball sack.  What misfortune,— what luck!  Slithery snake had only to flick out his serpentine tongue and the golden egg was his. The thought popped into my head, ‘Better to have one small taste of paradise and be thrown out than to have missed the chance.’

I was done with reason.  I moved my tongue, and for the first time, tasted my old man’s essence.  It was electric.  Confined between his massive thighs, unable to move, being held tightly against my will became just too damn erotic to put into words.  I pulled my tongue back into my mouth, only to have his flavor burst upon my senses.  It was wonderful.  I held very still.  One small movement on either of our part would’ve caused me to erupt like Krakatoau.  Holding my breath, it finally passed.

I became more adventurous and began to kiss, lick and clean all around his heavy balls wherever my tongue could reach.  Then, miraculously, after several minutes of feasting he breathed deeply, let out another sigh, and relaxed his legs.  In fact, he spread them further apart than they previously were.  My banquet was spread before me.  It was mine for the taking.  I felt like a hungry beggar who found an invitation to the feast.  It was as if my own personal Red Sea parted and the promise land lay there before me.  I no longer had any further doubts there was, indeed, a God.

Like any hungry beggar, I was not going to let this golden opportunity pass me by.  I kissed, licked, and cleaned every inch of my old man’s balls.  I even gently took each one into my mouth and chased them around with my tongue.  I must have made love to his sacred orbs for over an hour.  The only response I got from my dad was, every now and then, he would take a deep breath and let it out with a sigh; a very contented sigh.

I decided I’d had my fill of making love to my dad’s balls and begin to think of even larger pursuits.  Did I dare?  If he didn’t wake up from my attention to his balls, I doubted seriously he would even notice if I took me a big ole taste of his handsome penis.  My brain told me, ‘No, no!’ but my buddy between my legs was screaming at me, ‘Oh, yes, Sweet Jesus, yes! Go for it, cowboy!’  Have you ever noticed when there’s a conflict of interest between your big brain and the smaller one on the head of your dick, which one usually wins?  Lord, help me, I was weak.  Later, I thanked the Lord for any intervention he may have provided.

And so it was, my dad’s penis was the most erotic, sweetest tasting thing I every had in my mouth.  Once again, I followed my action on his balls.  I kissed, licked and cleaned every inch of surface on his dick.  I ran my tongue around under his foreskin to get his best flavors and have them explode in my mouth.  It reminded me of man flavored ‘pop-rocks.’ I had to be careful because when I cleaned around the head of his sensitive dick, under his foreskin, I heard my dad wince and sort of breathe quickly several times.  I lay still until he settled down and his breathing returned to normal.

I didn’t know if he would ejaculate or not.  I didn’t know if someone who was asleep could reach a climax.  I was certainly ready to take him if he did.  I had no fear of taking my old man and could only imagine the taste of his male ejaculate from having tasted my own.  I sucked and sucked on him and got pretty damn good at taking him down my throat without gagging.  I knew how good the head of my dick felt when I skinned it back and wondered what he would feel and how he would taste to have his raw head fucking my throat.

My little buddy down south was yelling at me like Speedy Gonzales to go for it. ‘Reba! Reba! Andelay!’ I took about three good hits on his dick with his foreskin pulled back and felt my dear old dad about to erupt.  I quickly pulled back only a second before his first volley slammed into my mouth hitting the back of my throat and easily sliding down my gullet.  There followed two more equally massive volleys which I greedily swallowed.  His come tasted like the rest of him; strong, masculine, tart, a bit salty and a little sweet.  It tasted of his unique maleness; summer hay; horse sweat; tack; talc; Aqua Velva; saddle soap, and leather; all wonderfully good, masculine flavors.

I quickly cleaned him with my mouth.  I didn’t lose a drop of his come and swallowed it all.  All I had left to do was gently clean under his foreskin and around the head of his dick.  Once again my dad winced, but he soon settled down again.  I hated to let him go and just held him in my mouth for a while.  Finally, I knew I had to get some sleep.  I let go and rolled over on my side facing away from him.  My dick was hard as a rock, but I didn’t care.  I had a memory to jack-off to for tomorrow.  It should be good for, at least, six good sessions.  Dad told me I had the ‘piggy’ gene.

I was laying there trying to go to sleep, but I was still much too excited.  My dick was so hard the skin on my face was pulled so tight I couldn’t close my eyes.  As David Bowie sang, I thought I was turning Japanese.  I felt my dad move and roll over toward me.  He threw his big arm over me and moved his other under my pillow to cradle my head.  He pulled me up to him and gently kissed me behind my ear.

“Thanks for the blow-job, cowboy.  That was sweet of you.”  He whispered, then added, “One of the best I ever had.”

I couldn’t move.  I was sooo busted!  However, he didn’t seem mad or upset.

“I’m sorry, Dad,  I — ”  

“Shuuuu.  It’s all right.  You didn’t do nothing wrong.  Now, I’m gonna’ help my little buddy out.”

He wrapped his big, calloused hand around my dick and started pumping it.  I can’t describe how good my old man felt playing with my dick. He only took a handful of strokes, my back arched and I shot one hell of a load that went ‘splat’ against the headboard.  Dad chuckled to himself as he leaned over and cleaned my come from me and my dick.  He acted like it was the most natural thing in the world for him to do.  I hugged him and kissed him.  He didn’t hold back and returned my love.  We settled down, I was exhausted, but my heart was at peace.  We lay there with him still holding me, stealing a kiss from time to time.

“Dad?’

“Yes, Case?”

“I thought I had to wait until I was eighteen.”

“You worried you didn’t obey me and wondering why I ain’t mad?”

“Well,— yes, Sir,— sort of.”

“Maybe I wasn’t clear,— I thought you understood.  I told you, you had to wait until you’re eighteen to fuck or get fucked.  Didn’t never say nothing ‘bout suck’n dick or jack’n off together.”

“Really?!”  I asked and exclaimed at the same time.

“I wouldn’t a’ let you go as far as you did if’n I had any problem with you show’n me a little love’n.  One of these nights, I expect to get me a big old taste of your cowboy dick, youngster.”

“Holy shit!  Really?  Ya’ mean it, Dad?”

“Scout’s honor, honcho.  Now, let’s get some sleep.  You wanna’ win that rodeo tomorrow or not?”

“Damn straight, Dad!  I have a good feeling about tomorrow.”

“So do I, Son,— so do I.”  he said chuckling to himself like he knew something I didn’t.  He stole another kiss and my lights went out.
        
* * * * * * *

The next morning I was floating on a cloud.  Dad kept laughing at me like I was a kid with a new puppy.  Well, I was!  How many kids get to be that intimate with their cowboy dad, ‘The Sex Machine’?  I didn’t say much.  I guess I didn’t have to, I kept a silly grin on my face all morning that told my dad all he needed to know.  I can’t lie to my dad.  I could never keep a secret from him.  One look at me and he’d know I was lying.  I never even tried.

Since mom passed away I took it upon myself to help him with things she had always done before.  Dad had, pretty much, overcome his handicap of living without his lower legs; however, there were still a number of things he needed assistance with; he would never use the word ‘help.’  He was too proud a man to ask for anyone’s help.

One of my tasks, I learned to love, was assisting him in the shower.  We had a specially built shower and separate tub he could use to wash or bathe himself if he wanted; however, it was quicker and saved time if he had a little assistance.  It wasn’t really practical for him to wear his prosthesis’ in the shower and having only two stubs for legs could present a precarious situation at times.  At fourteen, I was big enough for him to lean on for support and to steady himself.  I would bathe him all over when he’d allow me to.  Most times, he just wanted me to scrub his back for him and he’d do mine.  He could take care of the rest of himself pretty well.  That way, I would bathe myself and we would finish more quickly.  Well,— hell,— it saved water and gas.

He needed more assistance drying himself than bathing for obvious reasons, and I took great delight toweling him dry. Did I mind?  What do you think?  It became a routine for me to take my shower the same time he did, and after a while, there were no more inhibitions between us.  Didn’t mean our dicks didn’t get hard.  He would smirk at my attempts to keep a straight and sober countenance when all he had to do was look at my penis to know what was in my heart.  I stopped apologizing for my stiff dick and he did the same.  We would lay on the couch together watching T.V. and our dicks would stay hard the whole time.  We became so relaxed and  comfortable with each other, we never bothered to put clothes on when it was just the two of us around the house.  We just lived with the fact, when we touched each other for any reason our dicks would get hard.  He would laugh and tell me.

“The day yore’ ole dick don’t get hard around me no more is the day I start worrying.”  Then he would laugh and make me blush.  That would make him laugh all the more.  God, I loved him, but better than that, I knew he loved me.

* * * * * * *

That afternoon at the rodeo my dad was looking especially handsome and sexy.  He positively had a glow about him.  My old man radiated charm and self-confidence.  It was our annual hometown rodeo and most of the folks knew my dad and I were a team.  They all came around to wish us well.  I must have had something wrong with me because they all kept looking at me funny.  ‘Gees,’ I thought to myself, ‘does it show after you have a night like me and my dad had?’  Dad kept looking at me and chuckling to himself.

“What?”  I finally confronted him. “What’s wrong with me?  Everyone keeps staring and looking at me funny.”  Dad almost double over with laughter.

“I ain’t a’ gonna’ tell you no more.  You don’t believe me no ways.”  He grinned wickedly at me.  I let it pass.

The Winchester’s waved to us and walked over to wish us well.  That meant more hugs and kisses from the two most important people in our lives at the moment.  Big Spence Winchester held me, then held me at arms length looking into my eyes like he was searching for something.  He looked at my dad and grinned.  Donna Winchester turned to talk to another lady about something and wasn’t paying attention to us.

“When?”  Mr. Winchester grinned at my dad.

“Last night.”  Was all my dad replied.  Mr. Winchester looked at me again and smiled.

“You’n your dad gonna’ win today, Case?”

“I sure hope so, Mr. Winchester.”

“I have no doubt you will, Son,— no doubt at all.  You’n your dad be a team now.”  He said.

Well,— I knew that.  Of course we were a team.  I thanked him for his faith in us and told him I hoped he enjoyed the rodeo.  I didn’t figure out ‘til much later Spencer Winchester knew my dad and I bonded.  He knew us that well.

  We won the big prize that day and dad was thrilled.  It was the first major prize money we won together.  He wasn’t thrilled so much for the money as he was we were really coming together as a team.  It was almost like we couldn’t make a bad toss.  Years later he told me after that night my whole personality  changed.  He said I became more mature and focused on what I was doing.  He told me I became a delight to have around.  I was at an age I was beginning to accept responsibilities as an adult, but not so old I thought I knew everything.  It was a great time of bonding between my dad and me.  He was right, I look back on those days today as the best years of my life.

* * * * * * *
            
As time went by, I saw my dad and Mr. Winchester growing closer.  They didn’t just jump into bed with each other.  It happened gradually over the years.  According to dad, even though Spencer Winchester had fantasies of being with another man, he never had before he met my dad.  Mr. Winchester was very much in love with his wife and worshiped her.  He would never hurt her or consider leaving her; however, my dad presented a safe and uncomplicated way for him to love another man.  It was too great a temptation for Spence Winchester to pass up.

My dad was always up front and truthful with me.  He would never consider doing anything with anyone before he talked to me about it to find out how I felt. I knew in my heart dad would never consider another woman.  My mom would be his only wife or female lover. When he asked me how I would feel if something should happen between him and Mr. Winchester, I told him to go for it. By that time, our relationship was so solid I had room to share him; especially, with someone as important to us as Spencer Winchester. I came to think of Spencer Winchester as a second dad. I knew I could go to him with anything and he would be there for me. Years later, after Mr. Winchester passed away, Donna Winchester told me she knew about him and my dad all along.  I asked her if it bothered her.

“Lord no, Casey!  His love for your dad only intensified our love.  You’re dad taught my husband how to be a lover and not just a sex partner. The last years of my husband’s life was such most women only dream of  from their husbands.  I will miss him with all my heart.  I will never find another like him.  One day, I hope to tell your dad how much I love him and what he means to me.”  
    
* * * * * * *

Dad and I agreed on some courtesy rules.  We would announce our presence by hollering at the front door we were home and if we brought someone with us.  It saved us from scurrying about to hide ourselves if we were otherwise preoccupied.  Many times, I would come in from school, holler to dad, he would holler back to join him.  I would go to his bedroom only to find him and Mr. Winchester laying in bed together, buck-ass naked, talking quietly.  It never bothered me, I was glad they could share a little love. They’d just move apart and motion for me to join them.  After a hug and a kiss I’d lay between them and tell them about my day.  If his door was closed, with his red bandana tied around the knob, I knew better than to bother him.
 
After I got to high school, I developed interest in other sports and played everything.  I became more social in our community and began to date.  It was just the accepted thing and dad encouraged me.  I had any number of male friends I spent time with, but they all knew my dad and I spent a lot of time together rodeoing.  A lot of weekends we’d be gone, on the road, to some rodeo to compete.  We were winning more and more.

 I never was sexually active in high school.  Mainly, because I was getting all I needed and wanted at home from my dad.  I just didn’t need any more and never really tried to get to second base with a girl.  I would kiss and make out with them, but that was about it.  I didn’t feel comfortable invading their physical space by feeling them up; besides, it just never really appealed to me. I didn’t find the idea of making love to a woman repulsive, I just didn’t need or want to.  I was always popular with the girls and in demand for dates because they knew they could trust me not to abuse them.

Once in a while I’d have some girl not want to take ‘no’ for and answer and accuse me being gay or worse, sexless.  I would patiently explain to her I didn’t look upon sex as something that should be engaged in without planning and consideration of the consequences.  If I expected the girl to marry me to be a virgin shouldn’t she have the right to expect the same from me?  I didn’t push the religion card; however, most assumed that was the reason.

When we weren’t on the road rodeoing,  Dad took me to church, but he always insisted I neither accept anything I read in the bible nor believe a preacher’s interpretation of scripture at face value.  He always told me a preacher was no more educated, holy, or capable of interpreting scripture than any common man.  Many times, due to their own personal demons, they were far worse and caused more harm than good.  Many Sundays over dinner we would pick apart the preacher’s sermon.  I knew certain things a preacher would say would set dad off for that Sunday afternoon.  I knew the subjects and the way a preacher would put his particular spin on a topic would ignite my dad’s fuse.  I could hear him muttering to himself and crashing pots and pans around in the kitchen fixing our dinner.  He wouldn’t calm down until I joined him and discussed it with him.  I have to admit, my dad was almost always right.

It’s funny how little things like that get around in a small town and the parents’ of the girls I would date adored me.  They knew if I promised to have their daughter home by eleven we would be walking in the door at ten ‘til.  Instead of working against me or being an embarrassment, it only added fuel to my available fire and gave me the social standing of being a ladies man, a jock, and big man on campus.  Not all the guys accepted my position, but they all respected my right to be that way.  I can’t say I didn’t enjoy the image of being well liked and admired.  I never had to worry about one of my teammates or buddies suggesting I might be ‘that way.’

I ain’t bragging mind you, but I seemed to reach physical maturity faster than most of my classmates.  By my freshman year in high school I was having to shave twice a day.  I kept a small leather bag in my locker with a can of shaving cream and a safety razor.  I would go to the head in the gym and shave after lunch everyday.  If I didn’t, I would have much more than a five o’clock shadow by the time school let out.  It was cause for much good natured teasing from my fellow jocks.  I almost got the feeling they were a bit envious.  

I also developed in other places more quickly and earlier than my classmates.  I had the biggest dick in school.  There was no one close to my size in the whole school.  My coaches, who were mature men, were smaller than me.  I was even bigger than my dad.  Some of my buddies began calling me by my last name ‘Longhorn’ because of the size of my dick.  It all started in Mr. Crane’s English class when he was trying to teach the class what a metaphor was.  He explained it was using descriptive words to describe a person or an object.  One of my buddies whooped and slapped me on the back and spoke to the teacher.

“You mean like we call ole Casey here the ‘Longhorn,’ Mr. Crane?” Randy Stark burst out laughing.

“No, Randy, that’s his last name.”

“Yes, Sir, but it best describes what he’s got hang’n between his legs.”  

The class went bananas laughing.  I could feel the blood rushing to my face.  The more I tried to hide and sink lower in my seat the more the class hooted and laughed.  Not to lose control and to make a point, I suppose,  Mr. Crane nodded his head in agreement.

“If that’s the case, then ‘yes,’ referring to Mr. Longhorn by his last name to intimate something about his person would, indeed, be a metaphor, Mr. Stark. Thank you, Mr. Stark, for that astute observation and thank you Mr. Longhorn for your maturity and patience with your classmates.  That simple description by Mr. Stark, at your expense, probably made them learn something they would’ve otherwise immediately forgotten upon leaving this class.  For whatever embarrassment Mr. Stark’s use of metaphor may have caused you, Mr. Longhorn, I apologize; however, please consider it was for the betterment and edification of the less fortunate of your male classmates.”

“Oooouuu,—.”  Went the class looking directly at Randy Stark.  It was his turn to turn red and sink into his seat as the class, including me, laughed at him.  From that day forth, it was all over the school and eventually all over town.  I was stared at more and more and finally came to realize, maybe my dad was right.  Maybe, I was becoming a stud like him.  I certainly didn’t feel like a stud.  I didn’t put on airs or try to act like a stud; however, somehow, I got the reputation I was hopelessly straight.  Only my dad and Spencer Winchester knew the real me.  I couldn’t wait until my eighteenth birthday to have my old man take me.

I’d find notes shoved in my locker from girls asking if they could ride my ‘Longhorn.’  I’d have some of my fellow teammates, whom I thought were totally straight, take me aside and ask if they could suck or would I fuck them with my ‘Longhorn.’  They would patiently explain they weren’t gay or nothing, but just because we were buddies and so tight they thought maybe they could do that for me; as a buddy, you understand.  Yeah, right!  I understood.  I never did anything with them which only solidified my reputation as straight.

I would find pictures of longhorn cattle, kids would cut from magazines, and paste to my locker.  I never bothered to take them down.  It was soon covered with pictures of longhorn cattle.  It got to be such an ‘in’ thing to do they began to sign their names to them.  I would always make it a point to thank each one who thought enough of me to take their time to do it.  Being a cowboy, I sort of liked that.  It got me voted most popular kid in school my junior and senior years.

I got really close to a couple of my buddies; one in particular named Dwayne Harding.  He lived on a ranch not far from ours and was an only child like me.  Except for his dick, Dwayne was bigger than me physically, but he had the soul of a teddy bear.  He wasn’t one you would want mad at you. He could take care of himself; however, he would never start anything with anyone and would try his damndest to walk away from a bad situation if he could.  If some guy was stupid enough to push him beyond his limit, God help him,— he never did it the second time.

We became best buds and played sports as teammates through secondary and high school.  We spent a lot of time together either at his house or mine; mostly at our house because Dwayne lived with his mom and step-dad who was a Colonel in the Marines.  He was stationed at Camp Pendleton.  His step-dad was all the time getting on Dwayne’s case.  I could tell Dwayne didn’t like being around him so we stayed away from his place as much as possible.

 Dwayne admired and respected my dad, but he was quiet around him.  He was always polite and considerate to my dad, but he would rarely initiate conversation unless dad asked him a direct question.  I just chalked it up to Dwayne’s shy side.  I though maybe Dwayne was uncomfortable around my dad because of his legs.  Dad knew what Dwayne’s problem was, but didn’t tell me what he and Spence thought until Dwayne began to have trouble in school.  I told him I didn’t subscribe to their idea because Dwayne would’ve told me.  Dad just smiled at me.

Dwayne and I practically grew up with each other, and he was very supportive when my mom died.  Outside our homes we were always together. However, in all the years we were alone together we talked about everything but sex.  We never discussed sex, our feelings or thoughts about it.  I didn’t know if Dwayne was straight or gay.  It never entered my mind.  Dwayne was just my buddy and it wouldn’t have made any difference to me either way.  I was pretty naive sometimes and just operated from the assumption everyone was straight until I found out differently.

Dwayne and I knew there were several boys and a couple girls who were  gay.  We figured there were several more who were closeted and discussed them a couple of times but not in a derogatory manner.  That was about as close as Dwayne and I got to talking about sex, and I learned he was, at least, tolerant to the point of coming to their aid if they were in trouble.  We saved a couple of gay guys from being abused and getting the crap beat out of them more than a few times.  We even stood up for a lesbian couple who was going to be kicked out of school, not because they did anything, but because they admitted they were a couple.

Since we were pretty much the two top dogs, big guns, on campus our opinions mattered and filtered down through the rest of the students.  Even though we spent a lot of time together we were above question.  No one would ever point a finger at me or Dwayne.  We had no fears that way.  We were cowboys, for cries sake.  Cowboys don’t suck each others’ dicks!  Do they?  Dwayne and I didn’t.

We were at my house one afternoon doing our homework after Dwayne helped me with my chores.  We went by his place on the way and did his.  Chores always seemed to go faster when you had someone to give you a hand. It became our routine for most days of the week.  Then after we got our homework done, Dwayne would leave to go to his house for dinner; however this night was Friday and we didn’t have a game or school the next day.

Dad told me that morning before I left for school I could invite Dwayne for dinner and to stay the night.  The Winchesters were coming for dinner and Dad had the latest spooker movie he rented from the video store we could watch later.  I told Dwayne before school started and he was excited.  We got permission from his mom on our way home from school when we stopped by to do Dwayne’s chores.  She told us she had to go to her sister’s house to stay the night anyway and wouldn’t have time to fix a proper dinner for Dwayne and her husband.

Dwayne always loved to have dinner with us because it became a family affair.  Dad and I ran an equal opportunity kitchen.  We hung a sign over the door that read: ‘This is an equal opportunity kitchen.  Don’t pass through this portal unless you have a giving heart and are willing to get your hands dirty.’

Either dad or I would fix a main course and the others would make a salad, fix a vegetable or get the table ready.  Many times we had Spence and Donna Winchester there and Dwayne came to love them both.  They loved Dwayne as well.  Dwayne was an all around good kid.  He was intelligent, soft spoken, well mannered, polite, and as faithful as an old hound dog.
                                          
    Donna Winchester brought over a wonderful peach cobbler she made.  It was delicious.  We were having dessert when the phone rang.  Dad went to answer it.  He came back and told Dwayne it was for him, it was his dad.  Dwayne got a look of horror on his face and turned white.  He slowly got up from the table, walked to the hallway and softly answered the phone.

Sitting in the dining room, the four of us could hear Dwayne’s step-dad yelling and screaming at him on the phone.  It was not a voice of reason, consideration or concern.  It was obvious Dwayne’s step-dad was livid about something.  The four of us looked at each other in shock and disbelief.  Dad just shook his head and went back to eating his cobbler.  My dad was almost as wise as Spencer Winchester and between them, nothing passed their observation.

Dwayne hung up the phone but didn’t return to finish his dessert.  Instead he turned, ran from the hallway, up the stairs to my room.  We could hear him crying as he went.  Dad motioned for me to go after him.  I got up and dad grabbed my arm.

“Case, if you need help or support, holler.  Spence and I will be there in a second.”  I looked at Mr. Winchester and he nodded his agreement.

I ran upstairs to find Dwayne laying across my bed almost in a state of hysterical convulsions, sobbing his heart out.  I went to him, took him in my arms and lay with him on the bed.  I didn’t try to get him to talk, I just wanted him to get it out.  I guess my actions of taking him in my arms and saying comforting things while petting him created a calming effect.  I know he got a roaring hard-on.  I could feel it pressing against me through my Wranglers.  I chuckled to myself and thought, ‘My buddy is sooo busted!’ until, horror of horrors, my old warrior began to stiffen.  Dwayne finally calmed down and began to talk to me.
 
“What’d ju’ do to make your step-dad so angry, brother?”  I asked Dwayne.

“I didn’t do nothing, Case.  He came home and found no one there and went crazy.  He wants me to come home immediately to fix his dinner.  He knows where mom is, and I told him she gave me permission to stay the night at your place.  Didn’t do no good.  If I don’t go home he’ll come over here, cause a scene, and force me to go with him anyway.  I don’t wanna’ go, Case, but if’n I don’t, he’ll embarrass the shit out a’ me if he comes over here and my life won’t be worth live’n for several weeks.”

I was quiet.  Somehow, I knew just wanting Dwayne to come home to fix dinner for his step-dad wasn’t all there was to it.  That wasn’t enough to cause such rage.  I didn’t know whether to probe further or not, when Dwayne spoke.

“That ain’t all, Case, but I can’t tell you the rest.”

“Don’t think you have to, brother, I have a pretty damn good idea.”

“No you don’t, you couldn’t have, Case.  You’d think terrible things about me.  You wouldn’t wanna’ be my buddy no more.”

“Because he forces you have sex with him, Dwayne?”

Dwayne didn’t answer my question.  He didn’t have to.  He collapsed into my arms and started sobbing again.  I felt so sorry for him; yet, I also felt helpless.  Sex without the benefit of affection can be devastating for a young person; especially, if they have leanings that way to begin with.  It would almost seem like they were being used as a punishment for their difference.   ‘Ah, mankind,’ I thought to myself, ‘your multiplicity and perversions know no boundaries; and why, the hell, does my dad always have to be right?!’


End Chapter 4 ~ Texas Longhorns
Copyright 2005 ~ Waddie Greywolf
All rights reserved ~
Mail to: waddiebear@yahoo.com