Cross-Country with My Uncle Ch. 11

Mikey, a studly 18-year old finds himself intimate for the first time with Mike, his namesake 24-year old uncle whom he's idolized all his life during a cross-country drive. Steve is the 20-year old collegiate gymnast who hitches a ride with them.

"So what about this ranch?" I asked.

"Well," Steve said, "I better start at the beginning. My mom's folks own a ranch. Technically, I suppose, you'd have to say they own two ranches, but they are side by side and these days operated as one. They located in Carbon County. Rawlins is the county seat; we went through there about two hours after we left home. The spread's south of Saratoga in a beautiful well-watered valley between the south end of the Medicine Bows and the Park Range. My grandma's is a cattle ranch. My granddad's ranch raises cattle and these days they also grow some sugar beets. My grandparents grew up right there, neighbors; and they married one another about a little over sixty years ago. They both were only children, after they both inherited, they merged the two operations. The homeplace is on my granddad's ranch, where my mom and her brother grew up. My uncle died in Vietnam, leaving only my mom, Nell (really "Cornelia"). She went to Smith in the east, and was involved in the anti-war movement. That's how she met my dad, who was at Columbia at the time, though he grew up in Montana.

My brother and I grew up on the ranch, too. Or at least until we were 11 and 12. We moved to Cheyenne then, partly for schooling, and partly because of my dad's business. My mom's folks staked him, and he bought a small bank there. He now owns four banks in county seats around Wyoming. They are small, but they are well-run and profitable and actually stuffed with deposits - you'd be surprised at how much cash some of these ranchers have in the bank. Some day they'll probably be sold to some big chain and there'll be some real money there."

(Later, we learned the whole story. Back about 1915, Steve's great-grandad, seeing what was happening around Wyoming, didn't want to have a lot of outsiders coming in and drilling and digging on his land. So he went out and managed to buy up the mineral rights for his ranch, and, while he was at it, he bought the mineral rights for several of his neighbors' ranches too, so they wouldn't be bothered. Decades pass. His son, Steve's granddad, now turns out to be the biggest holder of subsurface rights in Carbon County, and a lot of his neighbors' ranches are now owned by big out of state corporations. By the 1970's these gas and oil rights were incredibly valuable, and he's been collecting on both leases and royalties. Mark and he are each beneficiaries of big trust funds, and one day they will inherit it all. For the present, however, Steve is happy with his tee shirts and an old Honda and he hardly touches the income. We learned about the Boxster a little later.)

"Anyway, Mark and I grew up on the ranch. We learned to help with the haying and help with calving, and the usual sort of ranch chores, milking our milch cows. When we were really little we had our own ponies, and we got horses as soon as we could sit them. Still have our own horses in fact. Every year as soon as school was out, we'd go back to the ranch for the entire summer, and we're still doing that. It's incredibly beautiful out there, like a paradise. We're fairly passable ranch hands, and can mend fences and all sorts of crappy stuff like that, and we're damn good at handling cattle.

"Big thing for us in the late summer is rodeo. Me and Mark, we've been a calf roping team for years, and we're pretty good. It takes a lot of practice and teamwork, and the more you work together the better you get. That's why a lot of the teams are brothers or cousins, guys who work together season after season. Our other event's totally different. Bareback riding. Thing about it is that, it's really close to gymnastics. It's all a matter of balance and timing and practice." (And, he didn't add, but it was perfectly obvious, really good abs). "Course you have to know your horses, too. We've both won a few events, at least at the county level.

"Me and Mark, we always work together if we can, no matter what the job is. And the last two summers especially, since Mark's been at Wharton. It's the first time we've ever been apart, and, frankly, it's killing us both.

"Why did you guys go to different schools then?" I asked.

At this Steve, who always seemed to have a smile on his face, clouded up noticeably.

"Well, Mark was accepted to Wharton, and in his freshman year there, we got some really bad luck. My grandpa had a serious stroke and he'll never get better, and in fact he can't last too much longer. My grandma's heart condition worsened, and it keeps her mostly bedridden these days. And," here Steve began softly to sob, "my mom was diagnosed with a kind of bone marrow cancer. It doesn't hurt; it doesn't even restrict your activity; it only kills you."

I enfolded him in my arms, and he began to weep uncontrollably, shaking all over. I cradled his head on my chest, and bent my head down and kissed his hair, and stroked his arm. Neither Mike nor I knew what to say; or more properly, we both knew not to say anything.

After a while, his sobs subsided, and he very tenderly acknowledge my comforting pets with a few awkward touches of his own, and he shyly and softly kissed my cheek. But it was a while before he could go on with the story.

"So for sure she's going to die. All three of them are going to die," and again he fell helplessly into sobbing again, as hard as before.

There was nothing to do but continue to hold the darling boy, and maybe kiss his ear a little.

Eventually he regained his composure and again resumed his story.

"So there was no way that I was going to leave them to go east. I had been admitted to Penn, just like Mark; but instead I enrolled at Wyoming. Laramie is only about an hour from the ranch and maybe 45 minutes from the house, and I can be either place any time they need me. Actually, they don't "need" me for anything. My grandparents have a ranch manager and ranch hands and caretakers and nurses and whatever, and my mom has all the care she needs - as I said her day to day life is not really affected much. But while they don't "need" me, I know they want me around, they love to see me, and I want to be around for them too. Really, I'm trying to be around for Mark too, since he isn't here. Because he'd already started at Penn, Mom and Dad didn't want him to change. So what happened is that we've been split up for the last three years, except for holidays and the summers.

"God, I look forward to the summers and Mark coming back! I know you'll think it's silly, but when I'm at home, I always sleep in his bed. Of course for the last three years I've slept in it about ten times more than he has, but for me it's always "his" bed. I don't think I could really sleep in my bed alone.

"Actually, even when he's home, I sleep in his bed, because these days now that we've been apart so much, we always sleep together whenever we can. But we've done that most of our lives."

This seemed like an important and very interesting subject, but by now everybody was so exhausted that we just lapsed into silence for a while. This day wasn't turning out the way we had all expected.

Close to Evanston, Wyoming, we stopped at a gas station. Once again, we three guys kinda brightened the place up, and again, heads turned. It was partly us, I guess, and partly the Boxster we were hauling. Anyway, we got plenty of attention. After filling up, we went into the Albertson's next door, and got some stuff for sandwiches and some fruit, and once we were across the line in Utah we found a turn-off to a ranch-to-market road, and from that took a long lane that presumably led to a ranch somewhere, but it didn't look as if it had had any traffic on it for months. It crossed a little draw and there was a little grove of cottonwoods, and there we parked. Over a somewhat dusty but flat area under the trees, we spread a couple of the extra the blanket-like furniture covers that came with the rental truck, and had our lunch. It was simple and it didn't take much time, but the situation was very pleasant.

Lying on our backs we could look up through the canopy of the cottonwoods and see an occasional puffy cumulous cloud drifting across, somehow emphasizing the sky's incredible blueness. It must have been about 78 degrees there in the grove and there was the slightest breeze from the west. Because the furniture covers, even two together, were not large, we'd had to arrange ourselves in sort of a triangle so that we all fit. Staring at the sky, I used Mikey's thigh as a pillow, and Steve's hair occasionally brushed against my calf as he looked upward. Looking over to Mike's face to make some idle remark, my cheek was resting in the thick golden hair of his thigh. It was an idea of heaven. Glancing up to him, I saw his beautiful face above his magnificently furred belly and chest, and, I was right there with my face on the thigh of the man I had idolized all my life! And just barely shifting my gaze I saw the unbelieveably cut body of my new friend, with his head right against my own leg. A new friend, yes, but our friendship seemed so intimate and intense and well-founded upon real sympathy, that I felt as though it was a relationship that would continue on and on and on, some way or other, I knew not how.

Glancing back up at my uncle, while I saw his face, I also saw up the leg of his shorts and his cockhead, which was barely covered by it. No longer was I interested in the passing clouds; I became fixated on my uncle's sex. He noticed my glance - no it was more like a stare - at once, and his penis responded by first chubbing up, and then, as it begin to fully expand, it strained against the little running short in a way that was obviously uncomfortable. I reached over toward his shorts and gave them a little tug and he raised his butt off the blanket so that I could slip them off. Steve of course watched this little by-play, and he ran his hand up into the leg of my short to touch my throbbing penis, and I immediately raised my butt and he wriggled the shorts off. Mike, in turn, scooted his big shoulders just a couple of inches closer to Steve's leg, and then reached over and freed Steve's cock, totally erect now.

So there we were. I had my head on Mike's thigh, face toward his groin; Steve schooched back and rolled a little onto his side, planted his head on my thigh; and Mike worked his way over to Steve's leg. I had my hand on Mike's phallus, Mike on Steve's, and Steve on mine. We were remarkably at peace, in the little grove, and in no particular hurry. I didn't begin to jack my uncle off. Instead, I was in a really great situation to examine, tickle, admire, and fondle his big hairy balls. I held them in my hand, gently let them come back to rest on his upper thigh, and then described tiny letters on them with the tip of one finger: I * L * O * V * E * Y * O * U * M * I * K * E. Of course I doubt he understood the message literally, but I'm sure he understood it emotionally.

Meanwhile Steve had raised himself on one elbow and again had my cock in his mouth. This time he wasn't situated so well to use whatever magic he had back in the bed in the guest room yesterday morning, when he fellated me so gently and mysteriously that I wasn't even sure what was happening (other than that I was in a kind of paradise) but he had other arts, other ways of driving me fucking crazy with his tongue and lips. Under his influence, I wanted to do to Mike exactly what Steve was doing to me, and so I suspended the worship of his testicles and moved over and covered his phallus with my mouth. And whenever Steve spiraled his tongue over my glans, I did the same to Mike; when Steve licked my shaft like a Popsicle, so I did to Mike; when Steve used his hand and lips together, so likewise did I to Mike. I thought it was a tribute to both Steve and to Mike. I couldn't tell exactly what Mike was doing to Steve, but it obviously was similar.

At a certain point, Mike released Steve, and said, "Hold it, guys." I think he was very close to popping. He laid back a moment, resting his head on the blanket, and we did the same. Then with a brief circular gesture of his hand, he indicated his plan. With a fair amount of rearrangement - basically each of us rotated, so that our feet were where our heads had been - everything was as it had been before, except I was returning to Steve his love to me; and Mike was doing to me what I had been doing to him; and so with Steve and Mike. After the shift we started slowly and deliberately again, but somewhere somebody picked up the tempo, and the change instantly propagated through the whole tiny loving circuit. Soon I couldn't last another moment under Mike's insistence, and I released Steve from my mouth, but not my hand, and with two or three specially intense strokes, I brought Steve off in a gusher, his cum spraying over both Mike and me in gout after gout. At almost the same instant, I exploded into Mike's mouth, and I soon saw Mike grow more rigid, tremble again and again, and collapse, as Steve smiled, cum leaking from his lips. I was the only one without cum in his mouth, but I leaned over and gave Steve a deep, deep kiss that lasted most of a minute; and when I collapsed again, I had the now familiar taste of Mike on my lips and tongue.

Once again we lay there in repose, joy in our souls, love in our hearts. But after a while we realized that the road called again. We put back on our shorts, and packed up the lunch things, and begin wondering how the fuck we were going to get the truck with the Porsche in tow turned around. We drove on several hundred yards further, and eventually we came to a rather derelict cattle loading ramp. It was situated in a hardpacked area off the lane easily big enough to pull the truck and the Porsche around in a big loop, and so we headed back, and soon were on I-80 again.

And it was early afternoon on the fourth day of our trip.

To be continued.