Blood Lines

[explorer]

said it on Smoking Men. My first post, so go semi-easy on me.
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Fuck... what a long day in the fields. Got my ass outta bed at 4am (hit the snooze button too many times), scrambled for some coffee and headed off the to farm. I was tired, hungry and surely not in the mood for hauling pipe in what turned out to be 90 degree temps. Fields needed watering before they sun scorched, so not much to say about that.
Made it through to lunch with my head slumped against a hay bail. Told my boss, Mike (one of my oldest and best friends to “fuck off”), he laughed and said “one of those days, eh kid?” Not sure why, but yeah, not a great day. We all have ‘em.
Mike’s known me since I was in my 20’s. And was of the few friends who didn’t blink an inch when I figured out I was gay and told folks. Think his words were something like “Huh... well don’t expect me to give you a pay raise because of sexual orientation.”
*chuckle* I still laugh at that. The man really didn’t give a rat’s ass, which kinda took me by surprise given he’s 58.
I’m rambling. Sorry. Tend to do that from time to time. Oh, and my name’s Tate. And not as in “tatter tot”... what the hell were my parents thinking when they named me?

So Mike sits himself down on a bail across from me, tosses me an MGD and gives me the look. You know, the look you get from your parents when they know something’s pricking away at ya and they wanna find out.
I take the beer, swill half of it in a couple gulps and take a deep breathe.
Looks like that from Mike don’t come without a price.

“Alrighty Tate,” he says. “What’s on yer mind?”

Saw that coming a mile away.

“Hell boy, you look like shit warmed over,” he continues (not one to mince words, that man).
“Sex or money?” he asks while looking me straight in the face. “Come on kid... no offense, but you ain’t real complicated. Sex or money?”

And son of a bitch if I don’t hate talks like that from him. Both my folks are gone and he’s the one last person who knows me well enough to peg me when I’m not in my straight mind.

I take another swig of beer, kick off some straw from the barn floor and avoid eye contact.

“You in there son?” he asks while finishing his beer. “Hello? Earth to Tate.”

I seriously don’t know what was pecking at my brain, and I sure as hell didn’t wanna discuss it. So, I kick around some more hay, finish my beer, chuck it into the trash can and get up to leave.

That was a huge mistake.

“NATHANAL WALKER JOHN!!” I hear from the barn. “I’m talking to you and you better not walk your sorry ass outta here without answering me!!”

That kinda tone and words really stops you dead in your tracks. So I slugged around, looked Mike square in the face... and said absolutely nothing.

Is there such a thing as “pissed off in a loving way?” That’s how he looked.
He glared me down, pulled out a Marlboro from his front pocket, sparked it up with his zippo, blew smoke at the floor and shook his head.
And I knew I was in serious deep shit.
First clue should have been him calling me Nathanal... only my mother called me that, and only when I’d royally fucked up.
Second clue was how hard he was sucking on that smoke. He’s smoked for as long as I’ve known him, but I know his habits well enough to know that when he takes a massive, deep inhale and holds it, all hell’s gonna break loose.

So, I settled back to my hay bail and waited for whatever. And shit, when Mike is that pissed, it’s a hell of a wait.

He started, thank god. “You shut your fucking mouth and listen very closely Tate. We got some things to talk about that have been a long time coming. And you going all hippie shit right now is just going to make it worse.”

And I was totally confused.

“What?” I interrupted.

That was quickly shut down by Mike.
“I said shut the fuck up, son. Which part of that was unclear?”

Internal thoughts, “I’m seriously in deep shit.”

Mike snubbed out his smoke on the floor (something I’ve always thought was insanely stupid, what with dry hay and hardwood floors).

He pulled out two more beers from behind him (think this was something he’d seen coming or planned... not like the guy carried a six pack of beer with him everywhere he went). Tossed one to me, cracked open the other for himself and took a half-bottle swig.

And then of all weirdness, pulled out a fresh pack of Marlboro’s and tossed it to me. I caught it, with my free hand, looked at it and then looked at Mike with a “what the fuck” expression.
He then tossed me a zippo lighter.
And yes, my head was completely spinning at this point.

“Yer gonna need these,” he said, as plain and simple as talking about the weather.

Frankly, I didn’t have any words. Fucking weird beyond comprehension comes to mind. So I just sat there... a pack of cigarettes in one hand, a lighter in the other and a much needed beer on the floor between my legs.

And my obvious confused look didn’t go unnoticed.
Mike started laughing. Well, not really “laughing,” more like “amused chuckling.”

“Son,” he says, “Yer dad ain’t here anymore, so this promise falls to me.”

I again had the most confused as hell look on my face as you can imagine.
I didn’t smoke. Never even thought about it besides having an occasional cigar with the guys playing poker. I looked at the pack of Marlboros in one hand and the zippo in the other, both of which had just been tossed to me by someone I considered a best friend/uncle and, well, you can imagine the rest. I was confused as hell.

I set both the lighter and the smokes down, grabbed my beer, chugged it empty and again stood up to leave.

“Maybe I should have added ‘sit yer ass down and listen’ to that list,” he said with a seriousness I don’t think he’d ever used with me. “Look at yer right hand, son... it’s bleeding.”

And sure as hell, I looked down and he was right. Just between the fingers on my right hand next to my thumb. What the hell? If a pipe or wire had ripped through my gloves, I sure would have felt or noticed that.

I stood again, but this time stumbled back a few steps. This was becoming way too fucking weird.
I looked down and the blood from my hand was dripping all over the floor and staining the loose hay.

“What the hell is going on!” I asked to both Mike and anyone who could hear.
I shook my hand and more blood splattered across the barn floor. Pulled out my work gloves and pulled the right one over my hand, which quickly turned dark red from more blood.
I turned to Mike, with both fear and fury and asked “what in the hell is going on???”

He just sat there on his hay bail, sparked up another smoke and slowly exhaled while looking at me spinning around like a chicken with it’s head cut off.

And then I felt it.
The pain. Rising up from my right hand.
The kind of pain that you really never, ever want to imagine. Burning. Horrific. Climbing.
I fell over backwards against a horse stall, saw Mike running at me... and that was it.

Then I’m home in my R.V., thinking what a horribly fucked up and tiring day I’d had.

Laying pipes in the scorching heat. Yup. Beers with Mike. Yup. Something weird about smokes and blood and dad and promises... my brain was pulling a major blank on that part.

I looked down at my right hand.
No blood.
OK... weird dream, but there was something not real right. A scar there between my forefingers. Lord knows I’ve got enough scars to lose track, but this one looked new.

And there was something else.
Something felt missing. Kind of like a lost key ring or such.
I looked around but couldn’t put my finger on it. And that’s when there was a knock on my door.
Kinda stumbled up, shook myself a few times to clear the cobwebs and opened the door.

“Yeh?” I asked.

“Hey Tate. Your uncle Mike sent me by. Said you might need some tending to,” came the kinda gravely voice from outside.
Normally I’d have slammed and locked the door (who know’s what kinda freaks are out there?), but the mention of Mike dropped my guard and I stepped back and let the guy in.

And damn, good call on dropping my guard ‘cause this was friggin hot. We’re talking rugged, farm hand, handsome as hell hot.
About six foot tall, thick mustache with a hint of grey, salt and pepper short cropped hair, fully loaded package in the front of his worn Wrangle jeans, thick chest with hair flowing outta the top of his t-shirt and going all the way down his thick, tan arms.
Absolutely no lie when I say I was instantly in need of adjusting my dick ‘cause it was swelling like no one’s business.

He stepped in, closed the door behind him, I took the opportunity to do a little sliding in my pants, turned back around and saw his eyes. Fuck the adjusting. Wasn’t gonna help.
Clear blue eyes. And I mean fucking blue. His slightly leathered and tan face just made ‘em stand out like I’d never seen.

And like a complete fuckin idiot, I just stood there, speechless, while he stood looking at me, around me and finally broke the silence.
“Um, you gonna invite me in?” he said as he held up a six pack of beers, raised an eyebrow that was surely an amused look and slid past me to drop the beers on the table.

I spun around and gathered my senses a bit. He held out his hand for a shake and hit me with one of the firmest grips I’ve ever felt.

“Name’s Craig,” he says while still vice-gripping my hand. “Tate, right? Yer uncle Mike speaks pretty highly of ya. It’s good to finally meet you in person.”

And my internal voice was saying absolutely nothing but “ummmmm.”

Craig grabs a couple beers from the pack, hands me one, plops his extremely nice ass down in a chair, takes a couple swigs and setting his beer down on the table just looks me square in the eyes.

“You gonna open that or just hold it?” he says, referring to the beer in my hand.
He laughs softly to himself, takes another swig from his beer as I crack open mine and says “And no need to be hiding that” as he points his beer bottle at my obviously swollen crotch. “I take it as a compliment. Got one myself if it makes you feel any better,” as he grabs his crotch and takes another swig of beer. “You’re as handsome as yer uncle told me. Also told me you were a bit out of sorts right now, so I’m gonna cut you some slack for standing there like an idiot.”

And I was. Standing there like an idiot. Shit.

“Take a load of Tate. I ain’t gonna bite and you look pretty well spent,” he says while motioning to the chair across from him.

And fuck if my brain isn’t just spinning outta control at this point. Weird ass day, fucking hot as hell man in my place and I’m acting like a complete fuckin idiot.
I take a swig of beer, slide into the chair, set my beer down and my brain is drawing a complete blank.
So I stare at the table and spin my beer around reading the label (brilliant).

Craig reaches over and grabs my right hand from the bottle, spreads my fingers apart and says “new scar from the looks of it. How’d you manage that?”
He lets go and slides back into his seat while watching me with those unbelievable blue eyes.

I look at the scar, look back at him, do a dumbass shrug and say “honestly, don’t know.”

He gives me a puzzled look, pulls out a pack of smokes, lights up and blows smoke right at me.
“Oh, you mind?” he asks after the fact.

Normally, I’d have said ‘yes, I do mind,’ but I let it slide and just cracked the window and said “no problem.”

He took another huge drag, exhaled slowly through his nose, flicked his asses into a spare cup and said “bud, we got some talking to be done.”

He took another drag, a swig of beer and held out his right hand.
“Take a look,” he said.

Trying to keep my raging hard on from distracting me more than it already was, I looked at his hand. Damn. Big, well worn rancher hands.
I looked up at him like I was supposed to be seeing something and he chuckled.
“Wrong focus boy” as he pulled another long drag on his Marlboro, snuffed it out in the cup, laughed a bit and pointed to his fingers.
“Same scar Tate.”

I looked again and damn if he wasn’t kidding. Same scar, same place. I took a serious swig from my beer, finishing it off and he handed me a fresh one.

“Like I said, we’ve got some talking to do.” And as he popped open another beer for himself, I felt his boot slide into my crotch.
He laid back, lit up another smoke and for a good couple of minutes just worked that worn shit kicker deeper and deeper.

Me, I just just sat there. Shocked, but loving every fucking minute of it. And it didn’t take long before I just took a deep breathe and enjoyed it.
Who the hell wouldn’t?
My neck relaxed. My legs relaxed. I slid down a bit to give a bit more access.

I finally looked over at Craig and he was smiling like there was no tomorrow.

“Yup, Mike was right. You need some serious tending to,” he softly whispered as he reached out and held my right hand.
“And I’m real sorry bud... this is gonna hurt like a son of a bitch.”

And that’s when the pain in my hand exploded again. My brain suddenly recalled earlier in the day, but this was beyond what I thought could hurt.
And then came the blood. Fuck the scar... it was gone and was dripping blood all over the fucking place. And yeh, I screamed. Feel yer arm boil and you’d fucking scream too.
And Craig would not let go of my hand. Damnit, the man had the grip from hell.
And he was bleeding too. And obviously in a shit load of pain, though I don’t think anything would compare to what I was feeling.
And then he gripped harder and let out the most ear piercing grown I think I’ve ever heard. And I didn’t just hear it, I felt it. Going straight through me. Up from my hand, arm, chest, body.
As he yelled, I felt that sound pumping into me. Fuck if I know any other way of explaining it. It was like being fucked through your skin. And mixed with the unbelievable pain was a strange feeling. A great feeling. And yeh, it was way, way too much for my brain to handle, let alone put into words.

And as quickly as it started, it stopped.

Craig slumped backwards into his chair, I fell forward into my arms onto a bloody table and all I could here was sighs of deep breathing. I closed my eyes a bit... and passed out.

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“Mmmmm, fuck yeh. Ride that pole nice and slow. Yeh........ mmmmmmmmmmm.
Fuck yeh, those fingers feel real good.
Yer making this cowboy real, real happy....
Mmmm... oh hell yeh. I’m gonna have to put in overtime for payback, but it’ll be worth it.
I’m so damn comfortable. Hope you don’t mind if I just lay here and enjoy the show.
Oooohhh.... I’ll take that as a yes.
Do me a favor handsome and grab me a smoke my lighter.
Mmm... thanks.
Fuck... you are exceptionally good at riding a cowboy.
Mmmmmmm.
Smoke ain’t bothering you is it?
Whoa! Guess not.
Mmmmmm, you are somethin’ else.
Wouldn’t believe what a fucked up day I had. Your are just the ticket.
Mind grabbing me another smoke?
Thanks.
Damn, when did you put that dick ring on me? It’s real nice regardless, though you know it’s gonna take me a good while longer to fill you up. Though I’m already juicing you.
Ya feel that?
*deep inhale and slow exhale while shoving in deeper*
Yeh... I so fucking needed this. Thanks bud. You fucking made my day like you wouldn’t believe.
You’ve got one unbelievable ass...
and shit, I’m sorry, but I seriously gotta take piss.

“No need to move. Go right ahead,” came a voice from a foggy distance.

I opened my eyes.

Shit, that wasn’t a dream.

Somewhere between the handshake and me passing out, Craig had moved me to the bed, stripped us both and was riding my fully hard on dick.

“Go ahead,” he said again. “Figured you might need some release so there’s towels underneath. Piss away, but I ain’t moving.”

And he wasn’t kidding. He leaned over and started chewing on my nipple while sliding up and down on my dick.

“Bud, I’m serious,” I said. “I gotta take a serious piss.”

He half laughed and said “yeh, got that. How long you think you can hold it?”

Shit, not long.
But pissing with a hard on ain’t something I’d had much experience at. And Craig was obviously not gonna stop, or let me up to hit the head.

I laid back, grabbed another smoke and relaxed as I slowly exhaled. And that’s when I looked into those damn blue eyes of his and realized smoke wasn’t all that I was exhaling. I could feel the stream of warm pulsing into him. I was fucking pissing in his ass! And it felt good. Good in the worst kinda wrong way.
Took another deep drag from the cigarette hanging from my lips, set the smoke aside in the ashtray (where did that come from?), leaned back, exhaled and let loose with one friggin whopper piss right up his ass.
And fuck, between the warmth of his hole and his muscles clamping down on my dick, I think it was the best piss I’d ever had.

“Feels good lad, don’t it?” he smiled and said as he rubbed his mustache against my lips.

I leaned over and snagged my smoke, took another deep drag, held it in and pulled this sexy fucker in closer.

He responded with a harder thrust and a smile.
“Pain’s gone I assume.” Followed by another thrust and one of the most sensuous kisses I’d ever experienced.
He pulled slowly away with whispers of smoke trailing from his mouth.
It was then I realized I hadn’t exhaled before he kissed me.
Fuck, this was something new and real hot.

I blew out a small bit of smoke, grabbed his gorgeous salt and pepper hair and pulled him in for a bit more.
Damn this man tasted good.
My dick found a renewed spring and I slammed into his ass, enjoying the look on his face.

New game. I could seriously grow to like this. And I thrust hard up inside him again.
He moaned.
Again, something new that I was really getting to like.
I hit him again and this moan was much more deep than the last.

I laid back, pulled him to my chest, glanced over and realized my smoke had gone out and lit another.
Slammed into him harder and deeper and felt a growling against my chest from him.

Oh, fuck yeh, I could seriously get to like this.
I reached down and grabbed his extremely hard and thick dick. And pulled on it without hesitation.
Got another chest growls from him.
Yanked out some spit into my hand and began massaging that bad boy while I slid up and down in his ass.

Took another huge drag on my smoke, pulled his face to mine and forced it into his lungs.
He held it, and returned it.

I pounded him again and he leaned back with a bear growl I’d never heard before.
Smoke still streaming from his mouth and nose, this man came like I’d never seen. Hit my chest. Hit my face. Hell, hit the wall behind me.
And he pushed down deeper on me while still grunting. And fuck, I unloaded in him for what seemed an eternity.
I’ve had great sex, but this was something completely different. I think just about every ounce of my body fluid was being poured into this man.

Soaked, sweating, smelling like pit juice, we finally slid apart. And yeh, good call on his part for the towels underneath ‘cause it was quite the proud mess.

We both reached for a smoke and he sparked his lighter for mine, then laid back with an extremely satisfying sigh and exhale.

I took a real deep drag on my cigarette, held it and slowly exhaled through my nose... enjoying the look of the smoke on my chest.

Craig leaned over and kissed me gently, which seemed kinda odd for such a rugged man. And then he smiled while taking another drag off his smoke.

“What you smiling at, ya sexy, horny bastard?” I asked with a laugh.

“You,” he replied with a chuckle.

I took another drag, snuffed out my smoke and just looked at him, waiting for an answer.

“How’s that hand?” he asked, gesturing to the scar on my right hand.

“Um. Fine... why you asking?” I replied, a bit confused.

He didn’t immediately reply but got up and went to the pockets of his pants that were laying on the floor.
He turned around and tossed me a handkerchief.

“Think you forgot these this morning,” he said as I folded back the fabric. “Mike said you’d likely need ‘em. Sure as hell he was right.”

Inside, the pack of Marlboro’s and the zippo Mike had tossed at me earlier.

[Redsguy22]

Fuckin great shit here, man.