Happy Birthday, Farmer John - Not Safe for Work

This story is intended for mature readers, of legal age to possess such material, and contains subject matter some may consider objectionable. If you're a young 'un, or object to M/M romance, you're in the wrong place. Kindly leave. Those of you of age, and who believe love is love, enjoy!

A few days ago I reposted my dear friend John's birthday story from last year, and now it's time to post again! Happy Birthday, John! I still intend to give these two a full novel one day, but for now, here's my gift to you: Umm... it's a bit more explicit than last year's...

The Cowboy and the Carny 
By Eden Winters

Day One


One by one the midway lights dimmed, signaling the late summer crowd to amble through the gates marked, "Greenway County Fair." Young, old, short, and tall shuffled away in groups or singly toward the parking lot. 

Shane shut down the Ferris wheel, making a quick round with a flashlight to ensure no distracted couple lay in the shadows between the control box and concession stand. He'd caught them there before, pretending not so notice a flash of panties or hands down each other's pants as he intoned, by rote, the carnival rules, such as they were. What did he care if some young woman showed her gratitude for the stuffed bear her date won, or if a couple of local guys found the shadows too tempting and decided to test the boundaries of their friendship. Didn't matter to Shane none—Lord knew he'd picked up plenty of short-term amusements on the job.

All clear. He tuned out the cheesy carnival music blaring from overhead speakers, sighing deeply and wishing the night might have turned out differently. He'd had his eyes on a cowboy, spotted the man every now and then, Stetson pulled down low over his forehead, jeans tight across firm thighs and muscular haunch.

They'd made eye contact a time or two, Shane casually mentioning what time he'd get off. Cowboy smiled, nodded, and walked away. For good, apparently.

Shane sighed again, resigned to spending the night once more with a cold beer and a hot right hand. He entered the fun house, checking for stragglers as he always did.  A distorted image appeared of himself with a huge body and tiny head; the next mirror showed him ten feet tall and spaghetti stringy. Clearing the first room, he approached the door to the second, stopping in his tracks. There stood the cowboy, framed by two mirrors.

"Wha--?" Shane started to ask.

Cowboy grinned, pressing a fingertip to his lips.

Shane stepped closer, Cowboy stepped back, waving an admonishing finger.

Shane huffed out a breath. Cowboy huffed too.

Bending slightly to place the flashlight on the floor, Shane rolled his eyes upward to watch Cowboy mirror the gesture.

A slow smile spread across both his and the cowboy’s faces. That was to be the way of it, then? Determined to see how far the game would go, Shane slowly unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, watching Cowboy copy his every move. He slipped a hand inside the fabric, sliding his fingers across his chest, watching, spellbound, as a callused hand did the same to muscular pecs four feet away.

He pinched his nipple, imaging the cowboy's work-hardened digits, and moaned. One beat behind him, the pretend mirror image followed suit. Shane grew bold, snaking a hand down to heft the prominence in his jeans.

Faded denim bulged, the stranger obviously turned on. Slowly, slowly, Shane lowered his zipper, peeling his jeans and boxers down his hips to hang on his thighs. He held his breath, worried he might go too far. Cowboy thumbed open a button, the zzzzzzzzzzziippp of tiny metal teeth voicing willingness to up the ante. Shane gave his aching cock a few languid strokes, biting down on his lips to stifle groans as the cowboy did the same. An impressively hard cock came into view, ropey veins standing out in stark relief. A wide crown peeked out from a meaty fist, a pearly drop of fluid gathering at the cowboy's slit that Shane wanted to lick off. But when he stepped forward, his quarry once again backed away. Oh, hell, if this was all he was gonna get, he'd make the most of it.

He reached one hand under his balls, pressing his fingers beneath his sack, picking up the pace on his shaft with his other hand.

When he sped up, so did the cowboy; when he slowed down, the hardened hands stroking in tandem with him did too. Escalating the challenge, he teased, licking his palm to run over the head, pleasuring his audience by pleasuring himself. Outside a whistle blew, warning of a power shutdown in five minutes. His hand flew faster on his flesh, his balls drawing up, groin tingling.

Cowboy's nostrils flared wide, his eyes slightly unfocused. Shane wanted to reach out and touch so badly.

Their grunts and groans echoed throughout the fun house. All around, in every mirror, hands stroked cocks, faster and faster. Shane's hips bucked of their own accord, the Cowboy's faltering rhythm keeping sporadic time.

Deep inside the tension grew. Compressing beneath his balls with one hand, other hand steady pumping up and down, Shane threw back his head, eyes closed. He cried out, the answering cry sounding a few feet away more than merely an echo.

Pulse after pulse erupted from his flesh. As the last contraction gushed come from his body, a loud thwap! sounded outside. The lights went off.

Shane fumbled for the flashlight, but when he hit the button and illuminated the surroundings, all he saw was dozens of Shanes with pants around their thighs and slowly wilting cocks.

Talk about the one that got away.



Day Two

The brim of a Stetson, the pointed toe of a scuffed boot, the flash of a silver buckle. Each and every glimpse of western wear sent Shane's pulse to racing and his dick to rising, and being in Texas, cowboy sightings happened on a regular basis. Several times he'd had to shift, or squat and fake tying a shoe to hide an inconvenient erection. The carnival was full of cowboys, but so far he'd not seen his cowboy. Once again the night wound down with nothing to look forward to but a lonely evening in a cheap hotel room.

Once the midway lights dimmed, Shane made his usual inspection of his assigned areas, rounding up a trio of teens who'd hoped to pass unnoticed and get up to a little mischief involving a can of spray paint and a tilt-o-whirl.

The lights-out warning sounded before he'd finished shooing off the offenders, and Shane picked up the pace to finish his rounds, holding out a faint bit of hope for a meeting with the cowboy he'd whacked off with the night before. He'd no sooner set foot in the fun house when the lights went off. He flipped the switch on his flashlight, sending 1,000 candlepower reflecting from mirror to mirror. His pulse quickened as he approached the door between sections, where he'd spotted Cowboy the previous evening.

He felt rather that saw movement and, startled, he dropped the Q-beam, the light spinning like a whirligig before stopping, aimed directly at the mirror before him. A tall shaped loomed behind, crowned by the bulky mass of a Stetson.

Cowboy stepped up, face in shadows. Shane watched in the mirror as the man lowered his head, grazing warm breath and soft lips across the sensitive skin where Shane's neck met his shoulder. The cowboy hadn't wanted words the night before, and so Shane remained silent and still, waiting to see where the stranger might lead him.

In the mirror he watched the man's big, rough hands snaking around his body at the same moment that he felt a pronounced lump prodding his rear through two layers of denim. Those hands made short work of Shane's belt buckle, button, and zipper, easing Shane's waistband down over his hips.

Cool air washed over Shane's naked backside, and he stared, fascinated, at the sight before him. Cowboy rained open-mouthed kisses along Shane's neck, and Shane's tilted his head to allow his elusive lover more room to play. Cowboy released him long enough to undo his own pants, releasing a nice hard length to glide in the crevice of Shane's ass.

A coarse palm fondled Shane's balls, and cowboy brought his other hand up to Shane's mouth. Shane laved it with his tongue, getting the man’s palm nice and wet and anticipating where it’d go. Cowboy brushed his knuckles over Shane's chest, skating fingers back down to business.

That moistened palm worked Shane in perfect tempo with the rigid length prodding between the globes of his ass cheeks, and the teeth nipping and nibbling at his neck. The cowboy’s other hand traveled up and down Shane's torso. Lips and hot gusts of breath caressed Shane's ear. Cowboy spoke for the very first time.

"Look," the big man said, grasping Shane's jaw to aim his face toward a mirror. Even in the semi-dark the vision of being fisted, lover's face mostly hidden in darkness, tightened Shane's balls against his groin.

Several times the rhythm broke while Cowboy spit into his hand, providing more lubrication. Grunts, groans, and the slap of Cowboy's fist sounded louder than Shane knew they actually were, stuck in the confines of the funhouse. Right then he couldn't bring himself to care.

Faster and faster the stranger worked him, nudging against him from behind, each thrust pushing Shane forward into the demanding tightness of Cowboy's fist.

The one-two beat grew frantic, stuttered, the harsh breath rasping in his ear telling Shane that Cowboy wouldn't last much longer. The familiar tingling began deep within, and Shane's voice joined Cowboy's in crying out.

They stilled, Cowboy huffing into his ear while Shane caught his own breath. Holding on to each other for support, they stood quietly, recovering in the aftermath. Cowboy stepped away, unbuttoning his shirt and slipping it off, cursorily wiping the mess off Shane's ass, thighs, belly and groin.

Then he stared deep into Shane's eyes, placing a hand behind Shane's head to draw him near. Their lips touched and opened, Cowboy's tongue swiping the inner recesses of Shane's mouth.

Pulling away, voice deep and resonate, he said, "Same time tomorrow night?"

Too sated to speak, Shane merely nodded. Cowboy gave him a smile and a wink, then faded into shadows.



Day Three

The next morning raced by, Shane splitting time between fantasizing what the night might bring, and dreading the fair's wrap-up, when he'd be road-bound again, waiting for his next anonymous hookup. Not that Cowboy wasn't anonymous; hell, Shane didn't even know the guy's name.

He arrived at work early, deciding to take in the sights himself before starting his shift on the Ferris wheel. As he sauntered past the stock pens, a familiar Stetson caught his eye. He stopped next to the bleachers, watching as Cowboy mounted a horse and thundered out into the corral, swinging a lasso over his head in pursuit of a steer.

Cowboy neatly roped the steer, flung himself from the saddle, and had the struggling beast trussed up like a Christmas turkey in no time. Damn!

Only when Cowboy strode back to the fence, removing a pair of worn leather gloves, did he notice Shane watching. A slight nod of his head was his only acknowledgement. Despite an overcast sky, Shane's world grew a little brighter.

About six o'clock the bottom dropped out of that ominous sky, torrential rains turning the ground to mud and chasing even the hardiest of carnival goers from the lure of rides and games. With no way of knowing what Cowboy planned, Shane waited in the funhouse for an hour before finally giving up. On his way to the parking lot, jacket pulled over his head to shield from the rain, he noticed lights on in the barn behind the stock pen and ventured inside.

There he found Cowboy, smoothing a brush down a horse's flanks. A wink, an upturn of lips, and then Cowboy stepped away from the horse, turned on his heel, and strode away. Shane followed him into a tack room, filled with saddles, bridles, and other horsey gear. Loose hay covered the floor. Cowboy grabbed a colorful blanket from a shelf, spreading it out over the hay, then knelt at its edge. He held out a hand in invitation.

Shane placed his fingers in a sand-papery palm, letting the man tug him down to the blanket and into a rough embrace. Lips found lips, Cowboy taking his mouth forcefully in a bruising display of passion that sent the Stetson falling backward to land on the floor. Shane moaned. Cowboy chuckled, heavily padded fingers making short work of the buttons on Shane's shirt. As in the first day at the funhouse, Shane followed suit, mirroring Cowboy's movement. Shirts fell away, hands moved to buckles and zippers.

Cowboy upzipped Shane’s fly, reaching into boxers to draw out Shane's cock. Likewise, Shane freed Cowboy's ready length. They stroked, pushing into each other's hands until Cowboy stopped and stood, kicking off his boots and shucking his faded denim. Shane’s tennis shoes joined the boots in being flung toward the wall; jeans and boxers joined a pile of discarded clothing. Seeing Cowboy totally naked for the first time made Shane's mouth water. All lean muscle, dusty with fine, dark hair. He dropped to his knees on the blanket. This time, Cowboy allowed Shane to call the shots, and he opened wide, taking Cowboy into his mouth. Working half that length with lips, tongue and, very lightly, teeth, Shane fisted the lower part. Cowboy groaned, wrapping his fingers in Shane's hair and slowly pumping with his hips.

Just when Shane thought Cowboy was ready to fly, Cowboy pulled out, dropped to the blanket, and pushed Shane onto his back. Mouth met mouth, groin met groin, and they bucked against each other, Shane's saliva serving as lube.

Once more Cowboy rolled away before finishing, urging Shane onto his side, and then turned top to tail to return the oral favor. As with the rope earlier, Cowboy knew what he was doing, bobbing up and down on Shane, apply gentle pressure to his balls, occasionally skating a finger back to tease an opening that Shane desperately wanted filled. 

Shane gave as good as he got, and grunts, groans, slurps, and harsh breathing echoed in his ears as he played the cowboy. All too soon that familiar tightening began in his groin, and though he tried to fight it, tried to prolong the experience, he knew he wouldn't be long.

He suddenly found himself on his back again, a muscular body grinding into his. Slick cocks trapped between their bellies, the two men pushed and shoved, crying out when they came. They lay together on the blanket until their breathing calmed. Cowboy's expressive sky blue eyes stared down at him, and once more Shane's lips were claimed, the kiss gentler than before.

Shane wanted to speak, to mention that the next night was the last night of the carnival, but each time he opened his mouth, Cowboy filled it.

He drifted off, waking up several hours later – alone and covered by a blanket that smelled faintly of horse and Cowboy.



Day Four

The flashing lights lost their luster, the clowns seemed depressed, and even the normally cheerful scents of cotton candy and funnel cakes added dreariness to an otherwise cloudless day. Tonight the midway would close. Tomorrow workers would tear down the Ferris wheel and other rides, loading them onto a trailer to transport to winter storage. That morning Shane and many others received their notices. When the carnival left town, he'd be unemployed, with no idea where to go or what to do.

His gloomy thoughts still allowed him to think of his Cowboy, hoping for a night to remember before he had to figure out a future.

All that afternoon he watched and waited, but no Cowboy. He made his rounds. Still no Cowboy. He waited in the funhouse until lights out, then let his flashlight guide him to the stock pens. Not a single horse remained. It looked as though Cowboy had left without saying goodbye. Well, not that he said much anyway.

Heart heavy, Shane trudged out to his beat up car, sighing as he clicked open the locks and climbed inside. Before he could close the door, a hulking shape stepped up. "Move over," came a rumbling growl.

Heart pounding, Shane scrambled over the shifter to the passenger seat, never thinking to question where Cowboy intended to take him. Was this safe? After all, he didn't really know the guy. Shane’d spent the last six years drifting, taking odd jobs here and there and traveling with whatever fair hired him. If he suddenly disappeared, who'd know?

Cowboy fired the ignition, backing from the parking lot and heading farther out of town, houses becoming fewer and far between. He turned off the paved road, red dust swirling before the car's high beams.

He pulled up in front of an old farm house, killing the ignition. Without a word he got out, rounding the hood to open Shane's door. "A gentlemen," Shane teased. "I like that in a man."

Remaining silent, Cowboy wrapped an arm around Shane's shoulders, leading him up the front steps and into the house, the screen door screeching protest. Down a darkened hallway they marched, Shane counting on Cowboy to guide him around obstacles in the dark. Cowboy flipped a switch, flooding a bedroom with light. He dragged Shane to the bed, tossing him on the patchwork comforter crosswise.

Cowboy took his time removing Shane's shoes, socks and jeans, running his tongue up Shane's leg, from calf to groin. The boxers went next. Shane felt a bit silly wearing only a T-shirt when the rest of him was naked, until the shirt was dealt with as efficiently as the rest of his clothes.

Next, Cowboy disrobed in practiced, unhurried motions, Stetson first, then shirt, boots, socks, jeans. He'd gone commando. He fell to his knees, rough hands parting Shane thighs, and wasted no time in diving in, taking Shane's balls into his mouth, first one, and then the other. He nipped at Shane's inner thighs.

Shane spread his legs wider, silently inviting the cowboy to explore further. A saliva-drenched finger speared his hole, and Shane squirmed, willing more speed into the action. Surely tonight the cowboy would ride him, even if he had to whinny and call himself Trigger.

Never ceasing his task, Cowboy reached toward the night stand and fumbled inside. Shane heard the crinkle of plastic and the unmistakable snap of a pop top, then cool slickness brushed his heated reaches, the cowboy working a fingertip inside of him, then what felt like two. Shane grunted, driving back against the invasion.

The mysterious stranger stood, bringing Shane's legs up over his shoulders, lined up, and sank into Shane's body.  Shane clenched his eyes tight, fighting to relax and ride out the initial burn. Gradually the discomfort eased, his hole packed with an impressive erection.

He opened his eyes to find those soulful eyes questioning him, and when Shane nodded, Cowboy began to move, plunging fully inside and drawing away again, until only the bulbous head of his dick remained inside, stretching Shane's hole wide. Shane's cock, so full it ached, curved over his belly, leaking a pearly drop from the tip. Cowboy grasped the head, working a thumb through the slickness and across the glans, hips snapping out a steady one-two cadence.

The head of Cowboy's dick dragged forward and back over Shane's sweet spot, and Shane shoved back, impaling himself again and again. The bedsprings squeaked out protest, keeping time with their fucking.

Little by little the pressure built until Shane hovered on the very edge of sanity. Cowboy's eyes locked with his, the man's face showing what could have been a grimace or a grin. "Ahhh…" Cowboy exclaimed, rhythm faltering. His eyes squeezed shut, hand frantically stroking Shane's flesh. Shane's own cries joined the cowboy's, splatter after splatter anointing his stomach.

Cowboy pulled out, tossed the condom toward what Shane hoped was a trashcan, and collapsed on the bed, tugging Shane onto his chest.

Shane didn't quite know what to do now. Should he say, "It's been fun," and leave? Stay the night? The cowboy's silent treatment baffled him, as did the man's return night after night. With no real place to call home, Shane didn't often get repeat performances.

Sticky with come and sweat, he sucked in a deep breath, slowly exhaling, sending tension out with the air. He'd worry about later…later. For now he'd enjoy being comfortable and satisfied.

He'd just about fallen asleep when Cowboy asked, "Know anything about horses? I've a mind to keep you around a bit, if'n you're willing."

Shane mumbled a sleepy reply against Cowboy's pecs. "Keep riding me like you just did and I can learn." He wriggled closer, Cowboy's arms squeezed him tighter, and Shane drifted off to sleep.

2 comments:

  1. Very nice. My Sweet Southern Belle does delicious cowboys... lovely story (& it would be interesting to see your take on cowboys... after sexy rockers... just saying me gots my priorities straight!) Hugs, Z.

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