“I’ve noticed you in the shop before” he said, “and if I’m not wrong,

you’re not always just checking out the meat on the counter. Right?” My mouth was get­ting fucked by a German sausage and I couldn’t answer.”

By Geoff Ready

(Honcho.April.1984.)

“Don’t forget to bring home the bacon!”

I was backing my Toyota pickup out of the driveway and my wife was reminding me for the third time that morning that I had to stop by the market on my way home. Her shrill reminder echoed through the neighborhood as she stood on the porch in her flowered bathrobe and yelled at me as I drove off.

Her father stood beside her, his fat stomach barely contained in a dirty T-shirt, and his belt buckle lost in the folds of his bulging belly. “And a case of beer, too!” he added.

I was having enough trouble coping with being gay and married and living in a small redneck town without the addi­tion of having an unemployed — and unemployable — father-in-law coming to roost. My wife’s habit of standing on the porch and screeching orders and grocery lists at me every morning when I left for work was bad enough when we lived alone. For the past month, Jack’s been doing it too, like an echoing shadow of his bitch daughter.

Feeling rather uninspired by the pro­spect of bacon and eggs for dinner in the middle of winter, I turned onto Highway 97 and drove south through the juniper and sagebrush towards Bend. Last night’s snow had left an inch of powder that flew off in clouds as I drove along. My only consolation from the grating send off I had gotten was that the new kid would be working with my fence crew to­day, and if he was wearing the same Levis he wore yesterday, when he applied for the job. I’d have a hell of a basket to stare at until the day was over.

The horns were already growing in my crotch. I drove the fifteen miles to the ranch with my hand massaging the hot hard on between my legs. Besides my wife, besides her old man, besides being gay in a redneck desert town, it was doubly frustrating when a hot man was put to work beside me on the job. Check­ing and mending fences in this cattle country is usually a two man job, and when you’re stuck for a long day out in the sagebrush with a hunky stud, your balls — and mind — are aching by nightfall. The anticipation of having him on my crew was driving me crazy with desire that I knew couldn’t be relieved except by hand.

Just to relieve my frustrations, I’m jacking off three, four, five times a day nowadays. In the shower after work, in the john at night, in the john in the morn­ing, maybe in the sagebrush at work during the day, sometimes in the truck on the way to or from the ranch. Pumping the anger out of myself by shooting my load whenever and wherever I can — but it isn’t working. I know I’m going to have to make a change, fast. I haven’t had regular sex with a buddy since high school, and that was ten years ago. The kid that was using me as his regular pun­ching bag back then was a senior in school when I was a sophomore. We us­ed to head into the sagebrush every fuck­ing chance we got and he’d have my legs over his shoulders even before my dick got hard. Then he’d ram the biggest dick in the school into my butt and wouldn’t pull off me until he’d given it to me maybe three times. He went to Viet Nam, after graduation, and one of the best looking men I’ve ever beheld is still there. The only chance I have to make it with a guy nowadays is when I get to Portland on ranch business and spend a night at the Majestic Baths.

Maybe Redmond has ten percent gays, like the books say, but they hide in pretty big closets. There’s nobody here that I know of. There’s a small “rap group” of young kids, down in Bend, but they’re pretty political about their rights and not my cup of tea. Redmond still has painful memories of a lesbian couple who came through the area about twenty years ago. They wanted to be alone together, but one of them had two little kids, so they threw the kids off the Crooked River Canyon Bridge, a drop of about 27 stories. One of the dykes got out of prison a few years ago and the other gets out this year. And two years ago, a 17 year old kid who had been let­ting an older guy suck his cock for two years decided he wanted to go straight and get married, so he killed the guy — decided he’d rather be a murderer than gay, I guess, so he put six bullets in the older man’s head while they were parked out in the juniper trees where they’d gone for a Saturday afternoon blowjob. The kid got 20 years and I’ll bet he’s get­ting more than blowjobs nowadays — he’s a hot looking criminal.

Those are the things people in this town think of when they think of “gay.” Gay means homosexual, queer, pansy, faggot … it’s like the Fifties in Red­mond, the men are cowboys or truck drivers. And even if the highway rest stop is pretty popular with both groups, that’s not my idea of relief.

Getting married right out of high school was my way of proving I was like everyone else. Patty and I had more sex in the back seat of my Chevy while we were in school than we’ve had since we got married. After we had been married for about a year, Patty turned frigid, just like her mama. No doubt it had something to do with the old lady’s harp­ing upon the “ways” of men. She couldn’t stand them, and she taught Pat­ty the same reservations. Patty’s old lady finally went completely crazy, and drop­ped her husband on our doorstep, then took off for California. That’s why pot­bellied Jack is living with us.

Something has to break, something has to give.

The day went as I expected. The weather never got much above freezing and the snow started up in late after­noon, so we called it quits about three o’clock. Hank, the new guy, did wear yesterday’s pants, and I did get my share of looks at his fucking crotch whenever his head was turned. If he wears shorts — I’ll eat ‘em! Nobody could show a cock like that unless they were constantly hard. It rides across the front of his thigh like a saddle horn, like the knob on my gearshift, like a Budweiser long bottle. If the kid in the Soloflex ads and Robert Redford ever got married and had kids, Hank is what they’d look like. By the time we called it quits and got in my truck to head back to the main house, I had a case of blue balls that didn’t come from the freezing temperature. I was aching bad and couldn’t wait to get in my truck and jack off a load of cum all over the floorboards on my ride back to Red­mond.

But as fate would have it, Hank need­ed a ride there too, so I gave him a lift. We rode the distance without saying too much. I dropped him at the L-Rancho where he lives, and I headed to the market. My aching cock and balls would have to wait for home.

I packed my groceries from the Prairie Market into the back of the truck and limped a half block to Bob’s Central Oregon Meats. I’m usually glad to oblige when it comes to stopping at Bob’s; he’s a hunk like you wouldn’t believe! It’s his body, his imagined cock that comes into my mind when I’m blowing my load in the shower. His shop is a specialty market where the beef would make CC Slaughter sit up and smile in his grave. Dropping by to snitch a few glances at Bob’s crotch always gets me ready to get home and head for the shower.

Bob is probably in his late twenties. He has black hair parted in the middle, that just touches his collar. Black moustache, a full chest, huge, tight biceps. Always wears Levis and boots. His Levis are so bleached out that they’re almost white — especially in the crotch, where a full, solid piece of meat is more than evident across the front of his thigh. I’m sure that I’m not the only customer, male or female, who goes out of their way to buy meat here just to look at him.

This afternoon I noticed to my dismay that mirrors had been put up behind the meat display counter. Instead of being able to look into the cutting room where Bob and his hunky helpers do their but­chering, there was a sign pointing to a buzzer to push if you need help.

It was near closing time and much of the meat had already been picked over or removed to the coolers for the night. I had to ring for service.

The mirrored partition slid back im­mediately and Bob stood just a couple of feet in front of me, above a display of chops and ribs. He must have been standing there when I reached for the button, he was so quick. I forced myself to keep my eyes above crotch level as I said I couldn’t find any bacon. His eyes didn’t seem as careful as mine; while he ex­plained to me that they were cutting up tomorrow’s supply, his eyes slowly and (at least I thought!) deliberately cruised down and came to rest on my own crotch.

Then he refocused his eyes on mine and motioned to the door at the end of the counter.

“Step on back here and we’ll get you fixed up.”

I moved down the counter and stepped in just as another guy went out the back door to the truck dock. I couldn’t see a face, but his ass flashed like a strobe light in skin tight Levis. As the door swung shut behind him I wondered if his front side was as hot as his backside.

I was surprised to find you could see out into the public portion of the market — the new mirrors didn’t reflect back here. Last minute shoppers stood at the meat counter, their attention focused on the packaged meats. One or two occasionally glanced up at themselves in the mirror and brushed back their hair.

Bob stood at a large butcher block table covered with sausages. It caught me off guard to notice that he had one hand cupping his balls. I tried not to stare, but it was difficult. I looked, instead, at his array of meat on the block. He was packaging tomorrow’s specials; there were different kinds of sausages including the common small breakfast sausages and a variety he told me were German sausage, beer sausage, blood sausage, Dutch, Scandinavian, and even some South American pepper sausage. As he picked up each one to explain it to me, he held it almost in front of his crotch. I couldn’t help noticing that the outline of his cock was definitely getting larger with each sausage — and instead of wiping his hands on a towel when he needed to, he slowly wiped them across the front of his Levis, across the bulging outline of his cock. It was driving me crazy.

“Well, give your wife a little surprise,” Bob was saying. “I think she’ll really go for one of these, and after she tries out something new, she won’t settle for bacon and eggs anymore.”

He was holding a thick German sausage, about ten inches long. I might be a small town boy, but the resemblance to a cock wasn’t lost on me. He held it in one hand while he stroked it with the other. I couldn’t do better in the shower! The nearness of Bob and the way he was handling the sausage, added to the outline of cock in his pants, made my own problem worse. I was getting harder than a rock and I knew it was evident.

“Take a taste,” he said. “Great either raw or fried.”

Things happened fast from that point on. He slipped the sausage through his hand and held it up to my mouth, offer­ing. As he did so, he stepped up beside me. I reached for the sausage but he took my wrist and held the sausage against my lips. His other hand moved to my waist and rested in the small of my back. He was moving the sausage against my lips and I opened my mouth and he slipped it in about an inch. Before I bit down, he slipped it slowly out. then in again.

Bob’s hand slid from my back to my ass as he slipped the sausage to me. His hand cupped the cheeks of my ass and ran down the length of the crack. His fingertips stopped at the bottom and he slowly pushed his finger in. His body was now up against my own, pressing me against the butcher block.

“I think you’ll like this.” he said. “It’s my specialty.”

If I were upstate in a steam bath, I’d have known how to react. In Redmond, Oregon, he caught me off guard.

“I’ve noticed you in the shop before,” he said, “and if I’m not wrong, you’re not always just checking out the meat on the counter. Right?”

My mouth was getting fucked by a German sausage and I couldn’t answer. But I think he got the answer when his hand moved from my ass to my crotch and he closed his fist around my hard on.

“I’ve got something you’ll like even better than the sausage.” he said.

His hand moved to his crotch and un­buttoned his pants. They slipped down on his hips and his cock sprang forth, thick and long, hard as steel. A large red head, its tip glistening with a drop of ex­pectancy, filled his hand. He stroked it slowly.

I was frozen to the spot. He took my shoulder and pressured me down.

“You’ve checked it out enough times, now you’ll try the real thing.” he said. “Suck it, baby … and use plenty of spit because I’m going to give it to you in the ass.”

“Jeeeesus!” I blurted. I turned my head to escape the cock. I wanted it, but not this way!

“I said suck it.” he repeated, both hands on my shoulders. I was on my knees now, his cock brushing my mouth.

“We can’t!” I said.

“Why not?”

“The windows,” I said, indicating the people just a few feet away from us.

“One way glass — they can’t see us.”

“What about your helper? What if he comes back?”

“He won’t. He’s gone for a pickup. Suck me.”

I was torn between my desire for his cock, and the years of shit I’ve gone through in this redneck town.

He put his hand on the back of my head and closed the gap. The head of his cock brushed my lips again and he thrust his hips forward. My mouth open­ed and he slipped it all the way in until it filled my throat. My eyes watered. He held the back of my head and moved his hips back and forth, fucking my mouth in long, slow strokes.

“That’s it, stud. Suck your daddy’s cock. Give him a good job. Suck it good, baby, suck it good.”

He moaned and his clasp on my head tightened. Each new thrust was sending his cock deeper into my mouth, farther down my throat as I began to relax and enjoy it. I moved my hands to his legs and pulled him even deeper into me.

“That’s it, baby, that’s it. Just relax and enjoy it. Get it good and wet, baby, because I’m going to shove it into your asshole, fucker.”

Just when I thought he was getting ready to blow off a big load of cum. he pulled out and raised me to a standing position. He turned me to the block and reached around and unbuttoned my Levis. He slipped them to my ankles and took my swollen hard on in his hand. Again he bent me over the block, with my face just inches from the sausages. He stepped closer and his cock slipped into the crack of my ass. He guided it expert­ly to just where he wanted it, and then the head poked at my asshole.

With both hands on my hips, he gave a single hard forward thrust and I felt his cock slip into my ass. When his hand reached around to grab my cock I was ready to shoot my load into his hand. He must have felt my dick begin to throb, because he leaned back and pulled me with him, pointing the head of my dick up onto the sausages.

“Shoot, baby, shoot,” he said. “Shoot your fucking hot load all over it, baby. Get those things good and wet with your thick cum because you’re going to take them up the asshole, too.”

I shot a load bigger than I’ve ever dreamed of! His fist pumped my cock and pointed it directly onto the German sausage that I’d sampled earlier. My load shot about two feet — thick, hot, white cum made large puddles all over the fucking table and almost covered the huge sausage. He started pounding harder and deeper into my asshole as he saw my juice covering the table. As the last few shots of my cum spurted onto the meat, he gasped loudly and shoved his cock deeper. His hands moved quick­ly up under my shirt and his fingers squeezed my tits until I moaned in pain. I felt his cock throbbing in my ass and I knew I was getting his load. Just at that moment the back door opened.

“Oh. shit!’ I gasped, trying to pull away again.

“Cool it, baby, we’re not done yet,” he said, pulling me backwards against his cock as he began thrusting again, harder than before.

“Let go. Your helper’s back, for chrissake!”

“He’s not my helper. He’s my buddy. Get back down there and start eating some sausage.”

He bent me down onto the block again. My face brushed the sausage and I felt warm cum all over my cheek. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the bot­tom half of his friend approaching the block. As he approached our humping figures, he started unbuttoning his pants. I stared at the outline of cock against his thigh: huge, thick, long, in pants so tight you could even see the rim of the circumcised head.

Jesus, I thought. There couldn’t be two cocks that big in all of Deschutes Coun­try!

It was Hank’s cock — Hank — my helper!

As Bob began a new series of deep thrusts into my asshole, Hank, without a word, pulled my head towards his crotch and held his cock to my lips.

“Suck him, baby,” Bob ordered. “Suck him good. He’s been telling me since yesterday how fucking hot he was to get you into the sack.’

I opened my mouth and swallowed Hank’s cock. His hands held my head and his hips thrust in concert with Bob’s hips as he fucked my butt.

Within moments, the three of us shot our loads at the same time. When Hank’s cock started shooting its load down my throat, his hands got rougher on my head, pulling my mouth farther and farther down his shaft, filling my throat with his hot cum.

I heard the door open again.

“Oh, God.” I thought.

I couldn’t speak because my mouth was full of Hank’s cock. I couldn’t pull away because Bob’s cock was shoved up my ass.

“This one’s my helper,” Bob said.

As I sucked, Bob slowly pulled his cock out of my ass. Now I could see the same guy walking towards us that I’d seen leaving the room when I first arriv­ed — I had been right. His front side was as good as his backside. And he was unbut­toning his Levis as he came towards me, an almost sadistic smile on his face.

Bob stepped back and gave way to his helper. As Hank started shooting another load of cum down my throat, I felt new hands grasp my hips and a new cock brush my ass. I was well lubricated now, and he slipped in easily. Without seeing what he had, I could feel that it was much bigger and longer than Bob’s — and Bob’s was more than ample!

He fucked my butthole with a fury that neither Bob nor Hank had shown. I couldn’t believe the ferocity and speed of his fucking. In less than a minute he was shooting his load into my ass with a passion that brought him bending down over my back and once again my tits felt like they were being twisted off.

For a moment or two, nobody moved. Then I felt the kid pulling out of my ass. Hank relaxed his hold on my head and slipped his cock out of my mouth. He pulled me to a standing position and planted his hands on my shoulders. He looked at me and broke into a big, wide smile. I returned it in kind.

Everybody was pretty well spent — especially me. As we rebuttoned our pants and rearranged our clothing, Bob picked up the sausage that I’d shot cum all over. He tossed it to his helper and told him to wrap it up.

“I’ve been checking you out ever since you’ve been coming in here.” he said. “I’ve always thought we could have a good time. Hope we didn’t go too far?”

“A little unexpected, but I needed it bad.” I said. ‘And I wanted it”

“I think I know what you need once in a while,” Bob said. “Come on back anytime. We’ve always got something back here that we don’t put out on the counters.”

He handed me the sausage, now wrap­ped in brown butcher paper.

“I think your wife will find this as satisfying as bacon.” he said. Tell her we’re out of bacon till tomorrow.”

“Well. I’ll be back tomorrow. I guess,” I said.

Hank grabbed another lift with me and I’m going to drive him to the job tomor­row morning. He asked if I’d drop by a lit­tle earlier than necessary — just in case he wasn’t awake on time. I said it was a deal.

I drove home through snow that was now coming down pretty hard. The sausage and Jack’s beer were beside me on the seat. As I puiled into the drive Patty and Jack came out of the house and stood on the porch. Before I was even out of the truck I heard her whin­ing, shrill voice.

“I suppose you forgot to stop at the butcher’s,” she was saying. ‘If you did, you’ll just have to go right back.”

“And did you remember the beer, son?” yelled Jack. He hadn’t even shav­ed all day.

I smiled a full, open grin. I felt wonder­ful.

“Nope. I didn’t forget. But instead of bacon, I got something you’ll like even more.”

They both loved it. Jack even ate three helpings. And they’re going to use some for sandwiches tomorrow. So I told them I’d stop and get some more on the way home and we could make spaghetti with it. They’re all excited.

I even tried a couple of bites myself and it wasn’t bad at all. Tomorrow I think I’ll have a couple of servings — one at the market, and another when I get home!